Meno (85-89)

Soc.

And does this line,[*] drawn from corner to corner,

cut in two each of these spaces?

Boy.

Yes.

Soc.

And have we here four equal lines[*] containing this space[*]?

Boy.

We have.

Soc.

Now consider how large this space[*] is.

Boy.

I do not understand.

Soc.

Has not each of the inside lines cut off half of each of these four spaces?

Boy.

Yes.

Soc.

And how many spaces of that size are there in this part?

Boy.

Four.

Soc.

And how many in this[*]?

Boy.

Two.

Soc.

And four is how many times two?

Boy.

Twice.

Soc.

And how many feet is this space[*]?

Boy.

Eight feet.

Soc.

From what line do we get this figure?

Boy.

From this.

Soc.

From the line drawn corner-wise across the (our-foot figure?

Boy.

Yes.

Soc.

The professors call it the diagonal: so if the diagonal is its name, then according to you, Meno’s boy, the double space is the square of the diagonal.

Boy.

Yes, certainly it is, Socrates.

Soc.

What do you think, Meno? Was there any opinion that he did not give as an answer of his own thought?

Men.

No, they were all his own.

Soc.

But you see, he did not know, as we were saying a while since.

Men.

That is true.

Soc.

Yet he had in him these opinions, had he not?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

So that he who does not know about any matters, whatever they be, may have true opinions on such matters, about which he knows nothing?

Men.

Apparently.

Soc.

And at this moment those opinions have just been stirred up in him, like a dream; but if he were repeatedly asked these same questions in a variety of forms, you know he will have in the end as exact an understanding

of them as anyone.

Men.

So it seems.

Soc.

Without anyone having taught him, and only through questions put to him, he will understand, recovering the knowledge out of himself?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

And is not this recovery of knowledge, in himself and by himself, recollection?

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

And must he not have either once acquired or always had the knowledge he now has?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

Now if he always had it, he was always in a state of knowing; and if he acquired it all some time, he could not have acquired it in this life.

Or has someone taught him geometry? You see, he can do the same as this with all geometry and every branch of knowledge. Now, can anyone have taught him all this? You ought surely to know, especially as he was born and bred in your house.

Men.

Well, I know that no one has ever taught him.

Soc.

And has he these opinions, or has he not?

Men.

He must have them, Socrates, evidently.

Soc.

And if he did not acquire them in this present life, is it not obvious at once

that he had them and learnt them during some other time?

Men.

Apparently.

Soc.

And this must have been the time when he was not a human being?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

So if in both of these periods—when he was and was not a human being—he has had true opinions in him which have only to be awakened by questioning to become knowledge, his soul must have had this cognizance throughout all time? For clearly he has always either been or not been a human being.

Men.

Evidently.

Soc.

And if the truth of all things that are is always

in our soul, then the soul must be immortal; so that you should take heart and, whatever you do not happen to know at present—that is, what you do not remember—you must endeavor to search out and recollect?

Men.

What you say commends itself to me, Socrates, I know not how.

Soc.

And so it does to me, Meno. Most of the points I have made in support of my argument are not such as I can confidently assert; but that the belief in the duty of inquiring after what we do not know will make us better and braver and less helpless than the notion that there is not even a possibility of discovering what we do not know,

nor any duty of inquiring after it—this is a point for which I am determined to do battle, so far as I am able, both in word and deed.

Men.

There also I consider that you speak aright, Socrates.

Soc.

Then since we are of one mind as to the duty of inquiring into what one does not know, do you agree to our attempting a joint inquiry into the nature of virtue?

Men.

By all means. But still, Socrates, for my part I would like best of all to examine that question I asked at first, and hear your view as to whether in pursuing it we are to regard it as a thing to be taught, or as a gift of nature to mankind,

or as arriving to them in some other way which I should be glad to know.

Soc.

Had I control over you, Meno, as over myself, we should not have begun considering whether virtue can or cannot be taught until we had first inquired into the main question of what it is. But as you do not so much as attempt to control yourself—you are so fond of your liberty— and both attempt and hold control over me,[*] I will yield to your request—what else am I to do?

So it seems we are to consider what sort of thing it is of which we do not yet know what it is! Well, the least you can do is to relax just a little of your authority, and allow the question—whether virtue comes by teaching or some other way—to be examined by means of hypothesis.

Soc.

I mean by hypothesis what the geometricians often do in dealing with a question put to them; for example,

whether a certain area is capable of being inscribed as a triangular space in a given circle: they reply—I cannot yet tell whether it has that capability; but I think, if I may put it so, that I have a certain helpful hypothesis for the problem, and it is as follows: If this area [*] is such that when you apply it to the given line[*] of the circle you find it falls short[*] by a space similar to that which you have just applied, then I take it you have one consequence, and if it is impossible for it to fall so, then some other. Accordingly I wish to put a hypothesis, before I state our conclusion as regards inscribing this figure in the circle by saying whether it is impossible or not. In the same way with regard to our question about virtue, since we do not know either what it is or what kind of thing it may be, we had best make use of a hypothesis in considering whether it can be taught or not, as thus: what kind of thing must virtue be in the class of mental properties, so as to be teachable or not? In the first place, if it is something dissimilar or similar to knowledge, is it taught or not—or, as we were saying just now, remembered? Let us have no disputing about the choice of a name: is it taught? Or is not this fact plain to everyone—that the one and only thing taught to men is knowledge?

Men.

I agree to that.

Soc.

Then if virtue is a kind of knowledge, clearly it must be taught?

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

So you see we have made short work of this question—if virtue belongs to one class of things it is teachable, and if to another, it is not.

Men.

To be sure.

Soc.

The next question, it would seem, that we have to consider is whether virtue is knowledge, or of another kind than knowledge.

Men.

I should say that is the next thing we have to consider.

Soc.

Well now, surely we call virtue a good thing, do we not, and our hypothesis stands, that it is good?

Men.

Certainly we do.

Soc.

Then if there is some good apart and separable from knowledge, it may be that virtue is not a kind of knowledge; but if there is nothing good that is not embraced by knowledge, our suspicion that virtue is a kind of knowledge would be well founded.

Men.

Quite so.

Soc.

Now it is by virtue that we are good?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

And if good, profitable; for all good things are profitable, are they not?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

So virtue is profitable?

Men.

That must follow from what has been admitted.

Soc.

Then let us see, in particular instances, what sort of things they are that profit us. Health, let us say, and strength, and beauty, and wealth—these and their like we call profitable, do we not?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

But these same things, we admit, actually harm us at times; or do you dispute that statement?

Men.

No, I agree.

Soc.

Consider now, what is the guiding condition in each case that makes them at one time profitable, and at another harmful. Are they not profitable when the use of them is right, and harmful when it is not?

Men.

To be sure.

Soc.

Then let us consider next the goods of the soul: by these you understand temperance, justice, courage, intelligence, memory, magnanimity, and so forth?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

Now tell me; such of these as you think are not knowledge, but different from knowledge—do they not sometimes harm us, and sometimes profit us? For example, courage, if it is courage apart from prudence, and only a sort of boldness: when a man is bold without sense, he is harmed; but when he has sense at the same time, he is profited, is he not?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

And the same holds of temperance and intelligence: things learnt and coordinated with the aid of sense are profitable, but without sense they are harmful?

Men.

Most certainly.

Soc.

And in brief, all the undertakings and endurances of the soul, when guided by wisdom, end in happiness, but when folly guides, in the opposite?

Men.

So it seems.

Soc.

Then if virtue is something that is in the soul, and must needs be profitable, it ought to be wisdom, seeing that all the properties of the soul are in themselves neither profitable nor harmful, but are made either one or the other

by the addition of wisdom or folly; and hence, by this argument, virtue being profitable must be a sort of wisdom.

Men.

I agree.

Soc.

Then as to the other things, wealth and the like, that we mentioned just now as being sometimes good and sometimes harmful—are not these also made profitable or harmful by the soul according as she uses and guides them rightly or wrongly:

just as, in the case of the soul generally, we found that the guidance of wisdom makes profitable the properties of the soul, while that of folly makes them harmful?

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

And the wise soul guides rightly, and the foolish erroneously?

Men.

That is so.

Soc.

Then may we assert this as a universal rule, that in man all other things depend upon the soul, while the things of the soul herself depend upon wisdom,

if they are to be good; and so by this account the profitable will be wisdom, and virtue, we say, is profitable?

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

Hence we conclude that virtue is either wholly or partly wisdom?

Men.

It seems to me that your statement, Socrates, is excellent.

Soc.

Then if this is so, good men cannot be good by nature.

Men.

I think not.

Soc.

No, for then, I presume, we should have had this result: if good men were so by nature, we surely should have had men able to discern who of the young were good by nature, and on their pointing them out we should have taken them over and kept them safe in the citadel, having set our mark on them far rather than on our gold treasure, in order that none might have tampered with them, and that when they came to be of age, they might be useful to their country.

Men.

Yes, most likely, Socrates.

Soc.

So since it is not by nature that the good become good,

is it by education?

Men.

We must now conclude, I think, that it is; and plainly, Socrates, on our hypothesis that virtue is knowledge, it must be taught.

Soc.

Yes, I daresay; but what if we were not right in agreeing to that?

Men.

Well, it seemed to be a correct statement a moment ago.

Soc.

Yes, but not only a moment ago must it seem correct, but now also and hereafter, if it is to be at all sound.

Men.

Why, what reason have you to make a difficulty about it, and feel a doubt as to virtue being knowledge?

Soc.

I will tell you, Meno. I do not withdraw as incorrect the statement that it is taught, if it is knowledge; but as to its being knowledge, consider if you think I have grounds for misgiving. For tell me now: if anything at all, not merely virtue, is teachable, must there not be teachers and learners of it?

Men.

I think so.

Soc.

Then also conversely, if a thing had neither teachers nor learners, we should be right in surmising that it could not be taught?

Men.

That is so: but do you think there are no teachers of virtue?