Meno (75-79)

Soc.

Then what can this thing be, which bears the name of figure? Try and tell me. Suppose that, on being asked this question by someone,

either about figure or about color, you had replied: Why, I don’t so much as understand what you want, sir, or even know what you are saying: he might well have shown surprise, and said: Do you not understand that I am looking for that which is the same common element in all these things? Or would you still be unable to reply, Meno, if you were approached on other terms, and were asked: What is it that is common to the round and the straight and everything else that you call figures—the same in all? Try and tell me it will be good practice for your answer about virtue.

Men.

No, it is you who must answer, Socrates.

Soc.

You wish me to do you the favour?

Men.

By all means.

Soc.

And then you will agree to take your turn and answer me on virtue?

Men.

I will.

Soc.

Well then, I must make the effort, for it is worth our while.

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

Come now, let me try and tell you what figure is. Just consider if you accept this description of it: figure, let us say, is the only existing thing that is found always following color. Are you satisfied, or are you looking for something different? I am sure I should be content with a similar account of virtue from you.

Men.

But it is such a silly one, Socrates.

Soc.

How do you mean?

Men.

Well, figure, as I understand by your account, is what always follows color. Very good; but if some one said he did not know color, and was in the same difficulty about it as about figure, what answer do you suppose would have come from you?

Soc.

The truth, from me; and if my questioner were a professor of the eristic and contentious sort, I should say to him:

I have made my statement; if it is wrong, your business is to examine and refute it. But if, like you and me on this occasion, we were friends and chose to have a discussion together, I should have to reply in some milder tone more suited to dialectic. The more dialectical way, I suppose, is not merely to answer what is true, but also to make use of those points which the questioned person acknowledges he knows. And this is the way in which I shall now try to argue with you. Tell me, is there something you call an end? Such a thing, I mean, as a limit, or extremity—I use all these terms in the same sense, though I daresay Prodicus[*] might quarrel with us. But you, I am sure, refer to a thing as terminated or ended: something of that sort is what I mean—nothing complicated.

Men.

Yes, I do, and I think I grasp your meaning.

Soc.

Well then, you speak of a surface, and also of a solid—the terms employed in geometrical problems?

Men.

I do.

Soc.

So now you are able to comprehend from all this what I mean by figure. In every instance of figure I call that figure in which the solid ends; and I may put that more succinctly by saying that figure is limit of solid.

Men.

And what do you say of color, Socrates?

Soc.

How overbearing of you, Meno, to press an old man with demands for answers, when you will not trouble yourself

to recollect and tell me what account Gorgias gives of virtue!

Men.

When you have answered my question, Socrates, I will answer yours.

Soc.

One might tell even blindfolded, Meno, by the way you discuss, that you are handsome and still have lovers.

Men.

Why so?

Soc.

Because you invariably speak in a peremptory tone, after the fashion of spoilt beauties, holding as they do a despotic power so long as their bloom is on them. You have also, I daresay,

made a note of my weakness for handsome people. So I will indulge you, and answer.

Men.

You must certainly indulge me.

Soc.

Then would you like me to answer you in the manner of Gorgias,[*] which you would find easiest to follow?

Men.

I should like that, of course.

Soc.

Do not both of you say there are certain effluences[*] of existent things, as Empedocles held?

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

And passages into which and through which the effluences pass?

Men.

To be sure.

Soc.

And some of the effluences fit into various passages,

while some are too small or too large?

Men.

That is so.

Soc.

And further, there is what you call sight?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

So now

conceive my meaning,

as Pindar [*] says: color is an effluence of figures, commensurate with sight and sensible.

Men.

Your answer, Socrates, seems to me excellently put.

Soc.

Yes, for I expect you find its terms familiar; and at the same time I fancy you observe that it enables you to tell what sound and smell are, and numerous other

things of the kind.

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

It is an answer in the high poetic style, Meno, and so more agreeable to you than that about figure.

Men.

Yes, it is.

Soc.

But yet, son of Alexidemus, I am inclined to think the other was the better of the two; and I believe you also would prefer it, if you were not compelled, as you were saying yesterday, to go away before the mysteries, and could stay awhile and be initiated.

Men.

But I should stay, Socrates, if you would give me many such answers.

Soc.

Well then, I will spare no endeavor, both for your sake and for my own, to continue in that style; but I fear I may not succeed in keeping for long on that level. But come now, you in your turn must try and fulfil your promise by telling me what virtue is in a general way; and you must stop producing a plural from the singular, as the wags say whenever one breaks something, but leave virtue

whole and sound, and tell me what it is. The pattern you have now got from me.

Men.

Well, in my view, Socrates, virtue is, in the poet’s words,

to rejoice in things honorable and be able for them

[*]; and that, I say, is virtue—to desire what is honorable and be able to procure it.

Soc.

Do you say that he who desires the honorable is desirous of the good?

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

Implying that there are some who desire the evil, and others the good? Do not all men,

in your opinion, my dear sir, desire the good?

Men.

I think not.

Soc.

There are some who desire the evil?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

Thinking the evil to be good, do you mean, or actually recognizing it to be evil, and desiring it nevertheless?

Men.

Both, I believe.

Soc.

Do you really believe, Meno, that a man knows the evil to be evil, and still desires it?

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

What do you mean by desires? Desires the possession of it?

Men.

Yes; what else could it be?

Soc.

And does he think the evil benefits him who gets it, or does he know that it harms him who has it?

Men.

There are some who think the evil is a benefit, and others who know that it does harm.

Soc.

And, in your opinion, do those who think the evil a benefit know that it is evil?

Men.

I do not think that at all.

Soc.

Obviously those who are ignorant of the evil do not desire it, but only what they supposed

to be good, though it is really evil; so that those who are ignorant of it and think it good are really desiring the good. Is not that so?

Men.

It would seem to be so in their case.

Soc.

Well now, I presume those who, as you say, desire the evil, and consider that the evil harms him who gets it, know that they will be harmed by it?

Men.

They needs must.

Soc.

But do they not hold that those who are harmed are miserable in proportion to the harm they suffer?

Men.

That too must be.

Soc.

And are not the miserable ill-starred?

Men.

I think so.

Soc.

Then is there anyone who wishes to be miserable and ill-starred?

Men.

I do not suppose there is, Socrates.

Soc.

No one, then, Meno, desires evil, if no one desires to be such an one: for what is being miserable but desiring evil and obtaining it?

Men.

It seems that what you say is true, Socrates, and that nobody desires evil.

Soc.

Well now, you were saying a moment ago that virtue is the desire and ability for good?

Men.

Yes, I was.

Soc.

One part of the statement—the desire—belongs to our common nature, and in this respect one man is no better than another?

Men.

Apparently.

Soc.

But it is plain that if one man is not better than another in this, he must be superior in the ability.

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then virtue, it seems by your account,

is ability to procure goods.

Men.

I entirely agree, Socrates, with the view which you now take of the matter.

Soc.

Then let us see whether your statement is true in another respect; for very likely you may be right. You say virtue is the ability to procure goods?

Men.

I do.

Soc.

And do you not mean by goods such things as health and wealth?

Men.

Yes, and I include the acquisition of gold and silver, and of state honors and offices.

Soc.

Are there any things besides this sort, that you class as goods?

Men.

No, I refer only to everything of that sort.

Soc.

Very well: procuring gold and silver is virtue, according to Meno, the ancestral friend of the Great King. Tell me, do you add to such procuring, Meno, that it is to be done justly and piously, or is this indifferent to you, but even though a man procures these things unjustly, do you call them virtue all the same?

Men.

Surely not, Socrates.

Soc.

Rather, vice.

Men.

Yes, of course.

Soc.

Then it seems that justice or temperance or holiness or some other part of virtue must accompany the procuring of these things;

otherwise it will not be virtue, though it provides one with goods.

Men.

Yes, for how, without these, could it be virtue?

Soc.

And not to procure gold and silver, when it would be unjust—what we call the want of such things—is virtue, is it not?

Men.

Apparently.

Soc.

So the procuring of this sort of goods will be no more virtue than the want of them; but it seems that whatever comes accompanied by justice will be virtue,

and whatever comes without any such quality, vice.

Men.

I agree that it must be as you say.

Soc.

And were we saying a little while ago that each of these things was a part of virtue—justice and temperance and the rest of them?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

And here you are, Meno, making fun of me?

Men.

How so, Socrates?

Soc.

Because after my begging you not to break up virtue into small change, and giving you a pattern on which you should answer, you have ignored all this, and now tell me that virtue is

the ability to procure good things with justice; and this, you tell me, is a part of virtue?

Men.

I do.

Soc.

Then it follows from your own admission that doing whatever one does with a part of virtue is itself virtue; for you say that justice is a part of virtue, and so is each of such qualities. You ask the meaning of my remark. It is that after my requesting you to speak of virtue as a whole, you say not a word as to what it is in itself, but tell me that every action is virtue provided that it is done

with a part of virtue; as though you had told me what virtue is in the whole, and I must understand it forthwith—when you are really splitting it up into fragments! I think therefore that you must face the same question all over again, my dear Meno—What is virtue?—if we are to be told that every action accompanied by a part of virtue is virtue; for that is the meaning of the statement that every action accompanied by justice is virtue. Or do you not agree that you have to meet the same question afresh? Do you suppose that anyone can know a part of virtue when he does not know virtue itself?

Men.

No, I do not.

Soc.

And I daresay you remember, when I answered you a while ago about figure, how we rejected the sort of answer that attempts to proceed in terms which are still under inquiry and has not yet been admitted.

Men.

Yes, and we were right in rejecting it, Socrates.

Soc.

Well then, my good sir, you must not in your turn suppose that while the nature of virtue as a whole is still under inquiry you will explain it to anyone by replying in terms of its parts, or by any other statement

on the same lines: you will only have to face the same question over again—What is this virtue, of which you are speaking all the time? Or do you see no force in what I say?

Men.

I think what you say is right.

Soc.

Then answer me again from the beginning: what do both you and your associate say that virtue is?