Book 4

Socrates was so useful in all circumstances and in all ways, that any observer gifted with ordinary perception can see that nothing was more useful than the companionship of Socrates, and time spent with him in any place and in any circumstances. The very recollection of him in absence brought no small good to his constant companions and followers; for even in his light moods they gained no less from his society than when he was serious.

Thus he would often say he was in love; but clearly his heart was set not on those who were fair to outward view, but on those whose souls excelled in goodness. These excellent beings he recognised by their quickness to learn whatever subject they studied, ability to remember what they learned, and desire for every kind of knowledge on which depend good management of a household and estate and tactful dealing with men and the affairs of men. For education would make such beings not only happy in themselves, and successful in the management of their households, but capable of conferring happiness on their fellow-men and on states alike. His method of approach varied.

To those who thought themselves possessed of natural endowments and despised learning, he explained that the greater the natural gifts, the greater is the need of education; pointing out that thoroughbreds by their spirit and mettle develop into serviceable and splendid creatures, if they are broken in as colts, but if unbroken, prove intractable and sorry jades; and high-bred puppies, keen workers and good tacklers of game, make first-rate hounds and useful dogs, if well trained, but, if untrained, turn out stupid, crazy, disobedient brutes. It is the same with human beings.

The most highly gifted, the youths of ardent soul, capable of doing whatever they attempt, if educated and taught their duty grow into excellent and useful men; for manifold and great are their good deeds. But untrained and untaught, these same become utterly evil and mischievous; for without knowledge to discern their duty, they often put their hand to vile deeds, and through the very grandeur and vehemence of their nature, they are uncontrollable and intractable: therefore manifold and great are their evil deeds.

Those who prided themselves on riches and thought they had no need of education, supposing that their wealth would suffice them for gaining the objects of their wishes and winning honour among men, he admonished thus. Only a fool, he said, can think it possible to distinguish between things useful and things harmful without learning: only a fool can think that without distinguishing these he will get all he wants by means of his wealth and be able to do what is expedient: only a simpleton can think that without the power to do what is expedient he is doing well and has made good or sufficient provision for his life: only a simpleton can think that by his wealth alone without knowledge he will be reputed good at something, or will enjoy a good reputation without being reputed good at anything in particular.

I will now show his method of dealing with those who thought they had received the best education, and prided themselves on wisdom. He was informed that Euthydemus, the handsome, had formed a large collection of the works of celebrated poets and professors, and therefore supposed himself to be a prodigy of wisdom for his age, and was confident of surpassing all competitors in power of speech and action. At present, Socrates observed, he did not enter the Market-place owing to his youth, but when he wanted to get anything done, he would be found sitting in a saddler’s shop near the Market. So, to make an opening, Socrates went to this shop with some of his companions. At the first visit, one of them asked:

Was it by constant intercourse with some wise man or by natural ability that Themistocles stood out among his fellow-citizens as the man to whom the people naturally looked when they felt the want of a great leader?

In order to set Euthydemus thinking, Socrates said: If in the minor arts great achievement is impossible without competent masters, surely it is absurd to imagine that the art of statesmanship, the greatest of all accomplishments, comes to a man of its own accord.

Some time afterwards, meeting Euthydemus again, he saw that he was reluctant to join the circle and anxious not to betray any admiration for the wisdom of Socrates: Well, gentlemen, said he, when our friend Euthydemus has attained his full powers, and some question of policy is before the Assembly, he won’t be backward in offering advice: that is obvious from his behaviour. I fancy he has prepared a noble exordium to his addresses, with due care not to give the impression that he is indebted to anyone for his knowledge. No doubt he will begin his speech with this introduction:

Men of Athens, I have never yet learnt anything from anyone, nor when I have been told of any man’s ability in speech and in action, have I sought to meet him, nor have I been at pains to find a teacher among the men who know. On the contrary, I have constantly avoided learning anything of anyone, and even the appearance of it. Nevertheless I shall recommend to your consideration anything that comes into my head.

This exordium might be adapted so as to suit candidates for the office of public physician. They might begin their speeches in this strain: Men of Athens, I have never yet studied medicine, nor sought to find a teacher among our physicians; for I have constantly avoided learning anything from the physicians, and even the appearance of having studied their art. Nevertheless I ask you to appoint me to the office of a physician, and I will endeavour to learn by experimenting on you.

The exordium set all the company laughing.

Now when it became evident that Socrates had gained the attention of Euthydemus, but that Euthydemus still avoided breaking silence himself, and thought that he assumed an air of prudence by remaining dumb, Socrates wanted to put an end to that affectation. How strange it is, he said, that those who want to play the harp or the flute, or to ride or to get skill in any similar accomplishment, work hard at the art they mean to master, and not by themselves but under the tuition of the most eminent professors, doing and bearing anything in their anxiety to do nothing without their teachers’ guidance, just because that is the only way to become proficient: and yet, among those who want to shine as speakers in the Assembly and as statesmen, there are some who think that they will be able to do so on a sudden, by instinct, without training or study.

Yet surely these arts are much the harder to learn; for many more are interested in them and far fewer succeed. Clearly then these arts demand a longer and more intense application than the others.

For a time, then, Socrates continued to talk in this strain, while Euthydemus listened. But on finding him more tolerant of his conversation and more attentive, Socrates went alone to the saddler’s; and when Euthydemus had taken a seat beside him, he said: Tell me, Euthydemus, am I rightly informed that you have a large collection of books written by the wise men of the past, as they are called?

By Zeus, yes, Socrates, answered he, and I am still adding to it, to make it as complete as possible.

By Hera, retorted Socrates, I do admire you for valuing the treasures of wisdom above gold and silver. For you are evidently of opinion that, while gold and silver cannot make men better, the thoughts of the wise enrich their possessors with virtue.

Now Euthydemus was glad to hear this, for he guessed that in the opinion of Socrates he was on the road to wisdom.

But Socrates, aware that he was pleased with his approbation, went on to say: Tell me, Euthydemus, what kind of goodness do you want to get by collecting these books?

And as Euthydemus was silent, considering what answer to give, Possibly you want to be a doctor?

he guessed: Medical treatises alone make a large collection.

Oh no, not at all.

But perhaps you wish to be an architect? One needs a well-stored mind for that too.

No, indeed I don’t.

Well, perhaps you want to be a good mathematician, like Theodorus?

No, not that either.

Well, perhaps you want to be an astronomer?

And as he again said no, Perhaps a rhapsodist, then? They tell me you have a complete copy of Homer.

Oh no, not at all; for your rhapsodists, I know, are consummate as reciters, but they are very silly fellows themselves.

Then Socrates exclaimed:

Surely, Euthydemus, you don’t covet the kind of excellence that makes good statesmen and managers, competent rulers and benefactors of themselves and mankind in general?

Yes, I do, Socrates, answered Euthydemus, that kind of excellence I greatly desire.

Why, cried Socrates, it is the noblest kind of excellence, the greatest of arts that you covet, for it belongs to kings and is dubbed kingly. However, he added, have you reflected whether it be possible to excel in these matters without being a just man?

Yes, certainly; and it is, in fact, impossible to be a good citizen without justice.

Then tell me, have you got that?

Yes, Socrates, I think I can show myself to be as just as any man.

And have just men, like carpenters, their works?

Yes, they have.

And as carpenters can point out their works, should just men be able to rehearse theirs?

Do you suppose, retorted Euthydemus, that I am unable to rehearse the works of justice? Of course I can, — and the works of injustice too, since there are many opportunities of seeing and hearing of them every day.

I propose, then, that we write J in this column and I in that, and then proceed to place under these letters, J and I, what we take to be the works of justice and injustice respectively.

Do so, if you think it helps at all.

Having written down the letters as he proposed, Socrates went on:

Lying occurs among men, does it not?

Yes, it does.

Under which heading, then, are we to put that?

Under the heading of injustice, clearly.

Deceit, too, is found, is it not?

Certainly.

Under which heading will that go?

Under injustice again, of course.

What about doing mischief?

That too.

Selling into slavery?

That too.

Then we shall assign none of these things to justice, Euthydemus?

No, it would be monstrous to do so.

Now suppose a man who has been elected general enslaves an unjust and hostile city, shall we say that he acts unjustly?

Oh no!

We shall say that his actions are just, shall we not?

Certainly.

And what if he deceives the enemy when at war?

That too is just.

And if he steals and plunders their goods, will not his actions be just?

Certainly; but at first I assumed that your questions had reference only to friends.

Then everything that we assigned to injustice should be assigned to justice also?

Apparently.

Then I propose to revise our classification, and to say: It is just to do such things to enemies, but it is unjust to do them to friends, towards whom one’s conduct should be scrupulously honest.

By all means.

Now suppose that a general, seeing that his army is downhearted, tells a lie and says that reinforcements are approaching, and by means of this lie checks discouragement among the men, under which heading shall we put this deception?

Under justice, I think.

Suppose, again, that a man’s son refuses to take a dose of medicine when he needs it, and the father induces him to take it by pretending that it is food, and cures him by means of this lie, where shall we put this deception?

That too goes on the same side, I think.

And again, suppose one has a friend suffering from depression, and, for fear that he may make away with himself, one takes away his sword or something of the sort, under which heading shall we put that now?

That too goes under justice, of course.

You mean, do you, that even with friends straightforward dealing is not invariably right?

It isn’t, indeed! I retract what I said before, if you will let me.

Why, I’m bound to let you; it’s far better than getting our lists wrong.

But now, consider deception practised on friends to their detriment: we mustn’t overlook that either. Which is the more unjust deception in that case, the intentional or unintentional?

Nay, Socrates, I have lost all confidence in my answers; for all the opinions that I expressed before seem now to have taken an entirely different form. Still I venture to say that the intentional deception is more unjust than the unintentional.

Do you think there is a doctrine and science of the just, as there is of letters?

Yes.

Which, in your judgment, is the more literate, the man who intentionally blunders in writing and reading, or the man who blunders unintentionally?

The one who blunders intentionally, I presume; for he can always be accurate when he chooses.

May we not say, then, that the intentional blunderer is literate and the unintentional is illiterate?

Indeed we must.

And which knows what is just, the intentional liar and deceiver, or the unintentional?

The intentional, clearly.

You say, then, as I understand, that he who knows letters is more literate than he who is ignorant of them?

Yes

And he who knows what is just is more just than he who does not know?

Apparently; but here again I don’t feel sure of my own meaning.

Now come, what do you think of the man who wants to tell the truth, but never sticks to what he says; when he shows you the way, tells you first that the road runs east, then that it runs west; and when he casts up figures, makes the total now larger, now smaller?

Why, I think he shows that he doesn’t know what he thought he knew.

Are you aware that some people are called slavish?

Yes.

To what do they owe the name, to knowledge or to ignorance?

To ignorance, obviously.

To ignorance of the smiths’ trade, shall we say?

Certainly not.

Ignorance of carpentry perhaps?

No, not to that either.

Of cobbling?

No, to none of these: on the contrary, those who are skilled in such trades are for the most part slavish.

Then is this name given to those who are ignorant of the beautiful and good and just?

That is my opinion.

Then we must strain every nerve to escape being slaves.

Upon my word, Socrates, I did feel confident that I was a student of a philosophy that would provide me with the best education in all things needful to one who would be a gentleman. But you can imagine my dismay when I realise that in spite of all my pains I am even incapable of answering a question about things that one is bound to know, and yet find no other way that will lead to my improvement.

Hereupon Socrates exclaimed:

Tell me, Euthydemus, have you ever been to Delphi?

Yes, certainly; twice.

Then did you notice somewhere on the temple the inscription Know thyself?

I did.

And did you pay no heed to the inscription, or did you attend to it and try to consider who you were?

Indeed I did not; because I felt sure that I knew that already; for I could hardly know anything else if I did not even know myself.

And what do you suppose a man must know to know himself, his own name merely? Or must he consider what sort of a creature he is for human use and get to know his own powers; just as those who buy horses don’t think that they know the beast they want to know until they have considered whether he is docile or stubborn, strong or weak, fast or slow, and generally how he stands in all that makes a useful or a useless horse?

That leads me to think that he who does not know his own powers is ignorant of himself.

Is it not clear too that through self-knowledge men come to much good, and through self-deception to much harm? For those who know themselves, know what things are expedient for themselves and discern their own powers and limitations. And by doing what they understand, they get what they want and prosper: by refraining from attempting what they do not understand, they make no mistakes and avoid failure. And consequently through their power of testing other men too, and through their intercourse with others, they get what is good and shun what is bad.

Those who do not know and are deceived in their estimate of their own powers, are in the like condition with regard to other men and other human affairs. They know neither what they want, nor what they do, nor those with whom they have intercourse; but mistaken in all these respects, they miss the good and stumble into the bad.

Furthermore, those who know what they do win fame and honour by attaining their ends. Their equals are glad to have dealings with them; and those who miss their objects look to them for counsel, look to them for protection, rest on them their hopes of better things, and for all these reasons love them above all other men.

But those who know not what they do, choose amiss, fail in what they attempt and, besides incurring direct loss and punishment thereby, they earn contempt through their failures, make themselves ridiculous and live in dishonour and humiliation. And the same is true of communities. You find that whenever a state, in ignorance of its own power, goes to war with a stronger people, it is exterminated or loses its liberty.

Socrates, answered Euthydemus, you may rest assured that I fully appreciate the importance of knowing oneself. But where should the process of self-examination begin? I look to you for a statement, please.

Well, said Socrates, I may assume, I take it, that you know what things are good and what are evil?

Of course, for if I don’t know so much as that, I must be worse than a slave.

Come then, state them for my benefit.

Well, that’s a simple matter. First health in itself is, I suppose, a good, sickness an evil. Next the various causes of these two conditions — meat, drink, habits — are good or evil according as they promote health or sickness.

Then health and sickness too must be good when their effect is good, and evil when it is evil.

But when can health possibly be the cause of evil, or sickness of good?

Why, in many cases; for instance, a disastrous campaign or a fatal voyage: the able-bodied who go are lost, the weaklings who stay behind are saved.

True; but you see, in the successful adventures too the able-bodied take part, the weaklings are left behind.

Then since these bodily conditions sometimes lead to profit, and sometimes to loss, are they any more good than evil?

No, certainly not; at least so it appears from the argument.

But wisdom now, Socrates, — that at any rate is indisputably a good thing; for what is there that a wise man would not do better than a fool?

Indeed! have you not heard how Daedalus was seized by Minos because of his wisdom, and was forced to be his slave, and was robbed of his country and his liberty, and essaying to escape with his son, lost the boy and could not save himself, but was carried off to the barbarians and again lived as a slave there?

That is the story, of course.

And have you not heard the story of Palamedes? Surely, for all the poets sing of him, how that he was envied for his wisdom and done to death by Odysseus.

Another well-known tale!

And how many others, do you suppose, have been kidnapped on account of their wisdom, and haled off to the great King’s court, and live in slavery there?

Happiness seems to be unquestionably a good, Socrates.

It would be so, Euthydemus, were it not made up of goods that are questionable.

But what element in happiness can be called in question?

None, provided we don’t include in it beauty or strength or wealth or glory or anything of the sort.

But of course we shall do that. For how can anyone be happy without them?

Then of course we shall include the sources of much trouble to mankind. For many are ruined by admirers whose heads are turned at the sight of a pretty face; many are led by their strength to attempt tasks too heavy for them, and meet with serious evils: many by their wealth are corrupted, and fall victims to conspiracies; many through glory and political power have suffered great evils.

Well now, if I am at fault in praising even happiness, I confess I know not what one should ask for in one’s prayers.

But perhaps you never even thought about these things, because you felt so confident that you knew them. However, as the state you are preparing yourself to direct is governed by the people, no doubt you know what popular government is?

I think so, certainly.

Then do you suppose it possible to know popular government without knowing the people?

Indeed I don’t.

And do you know, then, what the people consists of?

I think so.

Of what do you suppose it to consist?

The poorer classes, I presume.

You know the poor, then?

Of course I do.

And you know the rich too?

Yes, just as well as the poor.

What kind of men do you call poor and rich respectively?

The poor, I imagine, are those who have not enough to pay for what they want; the rich those who have more than enough.

Have you observed, then, that some who have very little not only find it enough, but even manage to save out of it, whereas others cannot live within their means, however large?

Yes, certainly — thanks for reminding me — I know, in fact, of some despots even who are driven to crime by poverty, just like paupers.

Therefore, if that is so, we will include despots in the people, and men of small means, if they are thrifty, in the rich.

I am forced to agree once more, cried Euthydemus, evidently by my stupidity. I am inclined to think I had better hold my tongue, or I shall know nothing at all presently.

And so he went away very dejected, disgusted with himself and convinced that he was indeed a slave.

Now many of those who were brought to this pass by Socrates, never went near him again and were regarded by him as mere blockheads. But Euthydemus guessed that he would never be of much account unless he spent as much time as possible with Socrates. Henceforward, unless obliged to absent himself, he never left him, and even began to adopt some of his practices. Socrates, for his part, seeing how it was with him, avoided worrying him, and began to expound very plainly and clearly the knowledge that he thought most needful and the practices that he held to be most excellent.

Skill in speaking and efficiency in affairs, therefore, and ingenuity, were not the qualities that he was eager to foster in his companions. He held that they needed first to acquire prudence. For he believed that those faculties, unless accompanied by prudence, increased in their possessors injustice and power for mischief.

In the first place, then, he tried to make his companions prudent towards the gods. Accordingly he discoursed on this topic at various times, as those who were present used to relate. The following conversation between him and Euthydemus I heard myself.

Tell me, Euthydemus, he began, has it ever occurred to you to reflect on the care the gods have taken to furnish man with what he needs?

No, indeed it has not, replied Euthydemus. Well, no doubt you know that our first and foremost need is light, which is supplied to us by the gods?

Of course; since without light our eyes would be as useless as if we were blind.

And again, we need rest; and therefore the gods grant us the welcome respite of night.

Yes, for that too we owe them thanks.

And since the night by reason of her darkness is dim, whereas the sun by his brightness illuminates the hours of the day and all things else, have they not made stars to shine in the night, that mark the watches of night for us, and do we not thereby satisfy many of our needs?

That is so.

Moreover, the moon reveals to us not only the divisions of the night, but of the month too.

Certainly.

Now, seeing that we need food, think how they make the earth to yield it, and provide to that end appropriate seasons which furnish in abundance the diverse things that minister not only to our wants but to our enjoyment.

Truly these things too show loving-kindness.

Think again of their precious gift of water, that aids the earth and the seasons to give birth and increase to all things useful to us and itself helps to nourish our bodies, and mingling with all that sustains us, makes it more digestible, more wholesome, and more palatable: and how, because we need so much of it, they supply it without stint.

That too shows design at work.

Think again of the blessing of fire, our defence against cold and against darkness, our helpmate in every art and all that man contrives for his service. In fact, to put it shortly, nothing of any account that is useful to the life of man is contrived without the aid of fire.

This too is a signal token of loving-kindness.

Think again how the sun, when past the winter solstice, approaches, ripening some things and withering others, whose time is over; and having accomplished this, approaches no nearer, but turns away, careful not to harm us by excess of heat; and when once again in his retreat he reaches the point where it is clear to ourselves, that if he goes further away, we shall be frozen with the cold, back he turns once more and draws near and revolves in that region of the heavens where he can best serve us.

Yes, verily, these things do seem to be done for the sake of mankind.

And again, since it is evident that we could not endure the heat or the cold if it came suddenly, the sun’s approach and retreat are so gradual that we arrive at the one or the other extreme imperceptibly.

For myself, exclaimed Euthydemus, I begin to doubt whether after all the gods are occupied in any other work than the service of man. The one difficulty I feel is that the lower animals also enjoy these blessings.

Yes, replied Socrates, and is it not evident that they too receive life and food for the sake of man? For what creature reaps so many benefits as man from goats and sheep and horses and oxen and asses and the other animals? He owes more to them, in my opinion, than to the fruits of the earth. At the least they are not less valuable to him for food and commerce; in fact a large portion of mankind does not use the products of the earth for food, but lives on the milk and cheese and flesh they get from live stock. Moreover, all men tame and domesticate the useful kinds of animals, and make them their fellow-workers in war and many other undertakings.

There too I agree with you, seeing that animals far stronger than man become so entirely subject to him that he puts them to any use he chooses.

Think again of the multitude of things beautiful and useful and their infinite variety, and how the gods have endowed man with senses adapted for the perception of every kind, so that there is nothing good that we cannot enjoy; and again, how they have implanted in us the faculty of reasoning, whereby we are able to reason about the objects of our perceptions and to commit them to memory, and so come to know what advantage every kind can yield, and devise many means of enjoying the good and driving away the bad;

and think of the power of expression, which enables us to impart to one another all good things by teaching and to take our share of them, to enact laws and to administer states.

Truly, Socrates, it does appear that the gods devote much care to man.

Yet again, in so far as we are powerless of ourselves to foresee what is expedient for the future, the gods lend us their aid, revealing the issues by divination to inquirers, and teaching them how to obtain the best results.

With you, Socrates, they seem to deal even more friendly than with other men, if it is true that, even unasked, they warn you by signs what to do and what not to do.

Yes, and you will realise the truth of what I say if, instead of waiting for the gods to appear to you in bodily presence, you are content to praise and worship them because you see their works. Mark that the gods themselves give the reason for doing so; for when they bestow on us their good gifts, not one of them ever appears before us gift in hand; and especially he who co-ordinates and holds together the universe, wherein all things are fair and good, and presents them ever unimpaired and sound and ageless for our use, and quicker than thought to serve us unerringly, is manifest in his supreme works, and yet is unseen by us in the ordering of them.

Mark that even the sun, who seems to reveal himself to all, permits not man to behold him closely, but if any attempts to gaze recklessly upon him, blinds their eyes. And the gods’ ministers too you will find to be invisible. That the thunderbolt is hurled from heaven, and that he overwhelms all on whom he falls, is evident, but he is seen neither coming nor striking nor going. And the winds are themselves invisible, yet their deeds are manifest to us, and we perceive their approach. Moreover, the soul of man, which more than all else that is human partakes of the divine, reigns manifestly within us, and yet is itself unseen. For these reasons it behoves us not to despise the things that are unseen, but, realising their power in their manifestations, to honour the godhead.

Socrates, replied Euthydemus, that I will in no wise be heedless of the godhead I know of a surety. But my heart fails me when I think that no man can ever render due thanks to the gods for their benefits.

Nay, be not down-hearted, Euthydemus; for you know that to the inquiry, How am I to please the gods?

the Delphic god replies, Follow the custom of the state

; and everywhere, I suppose, it is the custom that men propitiate the gods with sacrifices according to their power. How then can a man honour the gods more excellently and more devoutly than by doing as they themselves ordain?

Only he must fall no whit short of his power. For when he does that, it is surely plain that he is not then honouring the gods. Therefore it is by coming no whit short of his power in honouring the gods that he is to look with confidence for the greatest blessing. For there are none from whom a man of prudence would hope for greater things than those who can confer the greatest benefits, nor can he show his prudence more clearly than by pleasing them. And how can he please them better than by obeying them strictly?

Thus by precept and by example alike he strove to increase in his companions Piety and Prudence.

Again, concerning Justice he did not hide his opinion, but proclaimed it by his actions. All his private conduct was lawful and helpful: to public authority he rendered such scrupulous obedience in all that the laws required, both in civil life and in military service, that he was a pattern of good discipline to all.

When chairman in the Assemblies he would not permit the people to record an illegal vote, but, upholding the laws, resisted a popular impulse that might even have overborne any but himself.

And when the Thirty laid a command on him that was illegal, he refused to obey. Thus he disregarded their repeated injunction not to talk with young men; and when they commanded him and certain other citizens to arrest a man on a capital charge, he alone refused, because the command laid on him was illegal.

Again, when he was tried on the charge brought by Meletus, whereas it is the custom of defendants to curry favour with the jury and to indulge in flattery and illegal appeals, and many by such means have been known to gain a verdict of acquittal, he rejected utterly the familiar chicanery of the courts; and though he might easily have gained a favourable verdict by even a moderate indulgence in such stratagems, he chose to die through his loyalty to the laws rather than to live through violating them.

Such views frequently found expression in his conversations with different persons; I recollect the substance of one that he had with Hippias of Elis concerning Justice. Hippias, who had not been in Athens for a considerable time, found Socrates talking: he was saying that if you want to have a man taught cobbling or building or smithing or riding, you know where to send him to learn the craft: some indeed declare that if you want to train up a horse or an ox in the way he should go, teachers abound. And yet, strangely enough, if you want to learn Justice yourself, or to have your son or servant taught it, you know not where to go for a teacher.

When Hippias heard this, How now?

he cried in a tone of raillery, still the same old sentiments, Socrates, that I heard from you so long ago?

Yes, Hippias, he replied, always the same, and — what is more astonishing — on the same topics too! You are so learned that I daresay you never say the same thing on the same subjects.

I certainly try to say something fresh every time.

Do you mean, about what you know?

For example, in answer to the question, How many letters are there in Socrates and how do you spell it?

do you try to say something different now from what you said before? Or take figures: suppose you are asked if twice five are ten, don’t you give the same answer now as you gave before?

About letters and figures, Socrates, I always say the same thing, just like you. As for Justice, I feel confident that I can now say that which neither you nor anyone else can contradict.

Upon my word, you mean to say that you have made a great discovery, if jurymen are to cease from voting different ways, citizens from disputing and litigation, and wrangling about the justice of their claims, cities from quarrelling about their rights and making war; and for my part, I don’t see how to tear myself away from you till I have heard about your great discovery.

But I vow you shall not hear unless you first declare your own opinion about the nature of Justice; for it’s enough that you mock at others, questioning and examining everybody, and never willing to render an account yourself or to state an opinion about anything.

Indeed, Hippias!

Haven’t you noticed that I never cease to declare my notions of what is just?

And how can you call that an account?

I declare them by my deeds, anyhow, if not by my words. Don’t you think that deeds are better evidence than words?

Yes, much better, of course; for many say what is just and do what is unjust; but no one who does what is just can be unjust.

Then have you ever found me dealing in perjury or calumny, or stirring up strife between friends or fellow-citizens, or doing any other unjust act?

I have not.

To abstain from what is unjust is just, don’t you think?

Even now, Socrates, you are clearly endeavouring to avoid stating what you think Justice to be. You are saying not what the just do, but what they don’t do.

Well, I thought that unwillingness to do injustice was sufficient proof of Justice. But, if you don’t think so, see whether you like this better: I say that what is lawful is just.

Do you mean, Socrates, that lawful and just are the same thing?

I do.

Because I don’t see what you mean by lawful or what you mean by just.

Does the expression laws of a state convey a meaning to you?

It does.

And what do you think they are?

Covenants made by the citizens whereby they have enacted what ought to be done and what ought to be avoided.

Then would not that citizen who acts in accordance with these act lawfully, and he who transgresses them act unlawfully?

Yes, certainly.

And would not he who obeys them do what is just, and he who disobeys them do what is unjust?

Certainly.

Then would not he who does what is just be just, and he who does what is unjust be unjust?

Of course.

Consequently he who acts lawfully is just, and he who acts unlawfully is unjust.

Laws, said Hippias, can hardly be thought of much account, Socrates, or observance of them, seeing that the very men who passed them often reject and amend them.

Yes, said Socrates, and after going to war, cities often make peace again.

To be sure.

Then is there any difference, do you think, between belittling those who obey the laws on the ground that the laws may be annulled, and blaming those who behave well in the wars on the ground that peace may be made? Or do you really censure those who are eager to help their fatherland in the wars?

No, of course not.

Lycurgus the Lacedaemonian now — have you realised that he would not have made Sparta to differ from other cities in any respect, had he not established obedience to the laws most securely in her? Among rulers in cities, are you not aware that those who do most to make the citizens obey the laws are the best, and that the city in which the citizens are most obedient to the laws has the best time in peace and is irresistible in war?

And again, agreement is deemed the greatest blessing for cities: their senates and their best men constantly exhort the citizens to agree, and everywhere in Greece there is a law that the citizens shall promise under oath to agree, and everywhere they take this oath. The object of this, in my opinion, is not that the citizens may vote for the same choirs, not that they may praise the same flute-players, not that they may select the same poets, not that they may like the same things, but that they may obey the laws. For those cities whose citizens abide by them prove strongest and enjoy most happiness; but without agreement no city can be made a good city, no house can be made a prosperous house.

And how is the individual citizen less likely to incur penalties from the state, and more certain to gain honour than by obeying the laws? How less likely to be defeated in the courts or more certain to win? Whom would anyone rather trust as guardian of his money or sons or daughters? Whom would the whole city think more trustworthy than the man of lawful conduct? From whom would parents or kinsfolk or servants or friends or fellow-citizens or strangers more surely get their just rights? Whom would enemies rather trust in the matter of a truce or treaty or terms of peace? Whom would men rather choose for an ally? And to whom would allies rather entrust leadership or command of a garrison, or cities? Whom would anyone more confidently expect to show gratitude for benefits received? Or whom would one rather benefit than him from whom he thinks he will receive due gratitude? Whose friendship would anyone desire, or whose enmity would he avoid more earnestly? Whom would anyone less willingly make war on than him whose friendship he covets and whose enmity he is fain to avoid, who attracts the most friends and allies, and the fewest opponents and enemies?

So, Hippias, I declare lawful and just to be the same thing. If you are of the contrary opinion, tell me.

Upon my word, Socrates, answered Hippias, I don’t think my opinion is contrary to what you have said about Justice.

Do you know what is meant by unwritten laws, Hippias?

Yes, those that are uniformly observed in every country.

Could you say that men made them?

Nay, how could that be, seeing that they cannot all meet together and do not speak the same language?

Then by whom have these laws been made, do you suppose?

I think that the gods made these laws for men. For among all men the first law is to fear the gods.

Is not the duty of honouring parents another universal law?

Yes, that is another.

And that parents shall not have sexual intercourse with their children nor children with their parents?

No, I don’t think that is a law of God.

Why so?

Because I notice that some transgress it.

Yes, and they do many other things contrary to the laws. But surely the transgressors of the laws ordained by the gods pay a penalty that a man can in no wise escape, as some, when they transgress the laws ordained by man, escape punishment, either by concealment or by violence.

And pray what sort of penalty is it, Socrates, that may not be avoided by parents and children who have intercourse with one another?

The greatest, of course. For what greater penalty can men incur when they beget children than begetting them badly?

How do they beget children badly then, if, as may well happen, the fathers are good men and the mothers good women?

Surely because it is not enough that the two parents should be good. They must also be in full bodily vigour: unless you suppose that those who are in full vigour are no more efficient as parents than those who have not yet reached that condition or have passed it.

Of course that is unlikely.

Which are the better then?

Those who are in full vigour, clearly.

Consequently those who are not in full vigour are not competent to become parents?

It is improbable, of course.

In that case then, they ought not to have children?

Certainly not.

Therefore those who produce children in such circumstances produce them wrongly?

I think so.

Who then will be bad fathers and mothers, if not they?

I agree with you there too.

Again, is not the duty of requiting benefits universally recognised by law?

Yes, but this law too is broken.

Then does not a man pay forfeit for the breach of that law too, in the gradual loss of good friends and the necessity of hunting those who hate him? Or is it not true that, whereas those who benefit an acquaintance are good friends to him, he is hated by them for his ingratitude, if he makes no return, and then, because it is most profitable to enjoy the acquaintance of such men, he hunts them most assiduously?

Assuredly, Socrates, all this does suggest the work of the gods. For laws that involve in themselves punishment meet for those who break them, must, I think, be framed by a better legislator than man.

Then, Hippias, do you think that the gods ordain what is just or what is otherwise?

Not what is otherwise — of course not; for if a god ordains not that which is just, surely no other legislator can do so.

Consequently, Hippias, the gods too accept the identification of just and lawful.

By such words and actions he encouraged Justice in those who resorted to his company.

He did also try to make his companions efficient in affairs, as I will now show. For holding that it is good for anyone who means to do honourable work to have self-control, he made it clear to his companions, in the first place, that he had been assiduous in self-discipline; moreover, in his conversation he exhorted his companions to cultivate self-control above all things.

Thus he bore in mind continually the aids to virtue, and put all his companions in mind of them. I recall in particular the substance of a conversation that he once had with Euthydemus on self-control. Tell me, Euthydemus, he said, do you think that freedom is a noble and splendid possession both for individuals and for communities?

Yes, I think it is, in the highest degree.

Then do you think that the man is free who is ruled by bodily pleasures and is unable to do what is best because of them?

By no means.

Possibly, in fact, to do what is best appears to you to be freedom, and so you think that to have masters who will prevent such activity is bondage?

I am sure of it.

You feel sure then that the incontinent are bond slaves?

Of course, naturally.

And do you think that the incontinent are merely prevented from doing what is most honourable, or are also forced to do what is most dishonourable?

I think that they are forced to do that just as much as they are prevented from doing the other.

What sort of masters are they, in your opinion, who prevent the best and enforce the worst?

The worst possible, of course.

And what sort of slavery do you believe to be the worst?

Slavery to the worst masters, I think.

The worst slavery, therefore, is the slavery endured by the incontinent?

I think so.

As for Wisdom, the greatest blessing, does not incontinence exclude it and drive men to the opposite? Or don’t you think that incontinence prevents them from attending to useful things and understanding them, by drawing them away to things pleasant, and often so stuns their perception of good and evil that they choose the worse instead of the better?

That does happen.

With Prudence, Euthydemus, who, shall we say, has less to do than the incontinent? For I presume that the actions prompted by prudence and incontinence are exact opposites?

I agree with that too.

To caring for what is right is there any stronger hindrance, do you think, than incontinence?

Indeed I do not.

And do you think there can be aught worse for a man than that which causes him to choose the harmful rather than the useful, and persuades him to care for the one and to be careless of the other, and forces him to do the opposite of what prudence dictates?

Nothing.

And is it not likely that self-control causes actions the opposite of those that are due to incontinence?

Certainly.

Then is not the cause of the opposite actions presumably a very great blessing?

Yes, presumably.

Consequently we may presume, Euthydemus, that self-control is a very great blessing to a man?

We may presume so, Socrates.

Has it ever occurred to you, Euthydemus —?

What?

That though pleasure is the one and only goal to which incontinence is thought to lead men, she herself cannot bring them to it, whereas nothing produces pleasure so surely as self-control?

How so?

Incontinence will not let them endure hunger or thirst or desire or lack of sleep, which are the sole causes of pleasure in eating and drinking and sexual indulgence, and in resting and sleeping, after a time of waiting and resistance until the moment comes when these will give the greatest possible satisfaction; and thus she prevents them from experiencing any pleasure worthy to be mentioned in the most elementary and recurrent forms of enjoyment. But self-control alone causes them to endure the sufferings I have named, and therefore she alone causes them to experience any pleasure worth mentioning in such enjoyments.

What you say is entirely true.

Moreover, the delights of learning something good and excellent, and of studying some of the means whereby a man knows how to regulate his body well and manage his household successfully, to be useful to his friends and city and to defeat his enemies — knowledge that yields not only very great benefits but very great pleasures — these are the delights of the self-controlled; but the incontinent have no part in them. For who, should we say, has less concern with these than he who has no power of cultivating them because all his serious purposes are centred in the pleasures that lie nearest?

Socrates, said Euthydemus, I think you mean that he who is at the mercy of the bodily pleasures has no concern whatever with virtue in any form.

Yes, Euthydemus; for how can an incontinent man be any better than the dullest beast? How can he who fails to consider the things that matter most, and strives by every means to do the things that are most pleasant, be better than the stupidest of creatures? No, only the self-controlled have power to consider the things that matter most, and, sorting them out after their kind, by word and deed alike to prefer the good and reject the evil.

And thus, he said, men become supremely good and happy and skilled in discussion. The very word discussion, according to him, owes its name to the practice of meeting together for common deliberation, sorting, discussing things after their kind: and therefore one should be ready and prepared for this and be zealous for it; for it makes for excellence, leadership and skill in discussion.

I will try also to show how he encouraged his companions to become skilled in discussion. Socrates held that those who know what any given thing is can also expound it to others; on the other hand, those who do not know are misled themselves and mislead others. For this reason he never gave up considering with his companions what any given thing is. To go through all his definitions would be an arduous task. I will say only enough to indicate his method of analysis.

His analysis of Piety — to take that first — was more or less as follows: Tell me, Euthydemus, what sort of thing is Piety, in your opinion?

A very excellent thing, to be sure, he replied. Can you say what sort of man is pious?

He who worships the gods, I think.

May a man worship the gods according to his own will and pleasure?

No, there are laws to be observed in worshipping the gods!

Then will not he who knows these laws know how he must worship the gods?

I think so.

Then does he who knows how he must worship the gods think that he must do so according to his knowledge, and not otherwise?

He does indeed.

And does everyone worship the gods as he thinks he ought, and not otherwise?

I think so.

Then will he who knows what is lawful about the gods worship the gods lawfully?

Certainly.

Then does not he who worships lawfully worship as he ought?

Of course.

Yes, but he who worships as he ought is pious?

Certainly.

Shall we therefore rightly define the pious man as one who knows what is lawful concerning the gods?

I at any rate think so.

In dealing with men, again, may one do as one chooses?

No, in the case of men too there are laws of conduct.

Then do not those who observe them in their dealings with one another behave as they ought?

Of course.

And do not they who behave as they ought behave well?

Certainly.

And do not they who behave well towards men act well in human affairs?

Presumably.

And do not those who obey the laws do what is just?

Certainly.

Do you know what sort of things are called just?

The things that the laws command.

Consequently those who do what the laws command do both what is just and what they must do?

Of course.

And are not they who do what is just, just men?

I think so.

Do you think then, that any obey the laws without knowing what the laws command?

I do not.

And knowing what they must do, do you suppose that any think they must not do it?

I don’t think so.

Do you know of any who do, not what they think they must do, but something else?

I do not.

Consequently those who know what is lawful concerning men do what is just?

Certainly.

But are not they who do what is just, just men?

Exactly.

At last, then, we may rightly define just men as those who know best what is just concerning men?

I think so.

And what of Wisdom?

How shall we describe it? Tell me, does it seem to you that the wise are wise about what they know, or are some wise about what they do not know?

About what they know, obviously; for how can a man be wise about the things he doesn’t know?

The wise, then, are wise by knowledge?

How else can a man be wise if not by knowledge?

Do you think that wisdom is anything but that by which men are wise?

No.

It follows that Wisdom is Knowledge?

I think so.

Then do you think it possible for a man to know all things?

Of course not — nor even a fraction of them.

So an all-wise man is an impossibility?

Of course, of course.

Consequently everyone is wise just in so far as he knows?

I think so.

Now to seek the Good, Euthydemus: is this the way?

What do you mean?

Does it seem to you that the same thing is useful to everyone?

No.

In fact, what is useful to one may sometimes be hurtful to another, don’t you think?

Assuredly.

Should you call anything good except what is useful?

No.

Consequently what is useful is good for him to whom it is useful?

I think so.

Consider the Beautiful: can we define it in any other way? Or is it possible to name a beautiful body, for instance, or vessel, or anything else that you know to be beautiful for all purposes?

Of course not.

Then does the beauty in using anything consist in using it for just that purpose for which that particular thing is useful?

Certainly.

And is a thing beautiful for any other purpose than that for which it is beautiful to use that particular thing?

For no other purpose whatever.

The useful, then, is beautiful for any purpose for which it is useful?

I think so.

Next comes Courage, Euthydemus.

Do you think it a beautiful thing?

I prefer to say very beautiful.

So you think Courage useful for no mean purposes?

Of course — or rather, for the greatest.

Then do you think that in the pressure of terrors and dangers it is useful to be ignorant of them?

By no means.

So those who feel no fear of such things because they are ignorant of them are not courageous?

Of course not, for in that case many madmen and cowards would be courageous.

What of those who are afraid when there is no ground for fear?

Still less, of course.

Then do you think that those who are good in the presence of terrors and dangers are courageous, and those who are bad are cowards?

Certainly.

And do you think that any are good in the presence of such things, except those who can deal with them well?

None but these.

And bad, except such as deal badly with them?

These and none others.

Then do both classes behave as they think they must?

How can they behave otherwise?

Then do those who cannot behave well know how they must behave?

Surely not.

So those who know how they must behave are just those who can?

Yes, only they.

Well now, do those who are not utterly mistaken deal badly with such things?

I think not.

So those who behave badly are utterly mistaken?

Presumably.

It follows that those who know how to deal well with terrors and dangers are courageous, and those who utterly mistake the way are cowards?

That is my opinion.

Kingship and despotism, in his judgment, were both forms of government, but he held that they differed. For government of men with their consent and in accordance with the laws of the state was kingship; while government of unwilling subjects and not controlled by laws, but imposed by the will of the ruler, was despotism. And where the officials are chosen among those who fulfil the requirements of the laws, the constitution is an aristocracy: where rateable property is the qualification for office, you have a plutocracy: where all are eligible, a democracy.

Whenever anyone argued with him on any point without being able to make himself clear, asserting but not proving, that so and so was wiser or an abler politician or braver or what not, he would lead the whole discussion back to the definition required, much in this way:

Do you say that your man is a better citizen than mine?

I do indeed.

Then why didn’t we first consider what is the function of a good citizen?

Let us do so.

In financial administration, then, is not the better man he who makes the city wealthier?

Certainly.

And in war he who makes her stronger than her rivals?

Of course.

And on an embassy he who turns enemies into friends?

Presumably.

And in debate he who puts down strife and produces harmony?

I think so.

By this process of leading back the argument even his adversay came to see the truth clearly.

Whenever he himself argued out a question, he advanced by steps that gained general assent, holding this to be the only sure method. Accordingly, whenever he argued, he gained a greater measure of assent from his hearers than any man I have known. He said that Homer gave Odysseus the credit of being a safe speaker because he had a way of leading the discussion from one acknowledged truth to another.

I think that I have said enough to show that Socrates stated his own opinion plainly to those who consorted with him: I will now show that he also took pains to make them independent in doing the work that they were fitted for. For I never knew a man who was so careful to discover what each of his companions knew. Whatever it befits a gentleman to know he taught most zealously, so far as his own knowledge extended; if he was not entirely familiar with a subject, he took them to those who knew.

He also taught them how far a well-educated man should make himself familiar with any given subject. For instance, he said that the study of geometry should be pursued until the student was competent to measure a parcel of land accurately in case he wanted to take over, convey or divide it, or to compute the yield; and this knowledge was so easy to acquire, that anyone who gave his mind to mensuration knew the size of the piece and carried away a knowledge of the principles of land measurement.

He was against carrying the study of geometry so far as to include the more complicated figures, on the ground that he could not see the use of them. Not that he was himself unfamiliar with them, but he said that they were enough to occupy a lifetime, to the complete exclusion of many other useful studies.

Similarly he recommended them to make themselves familiar with astronomy, but only so far as to be able to find the time of night, month and year, in order to use reliable evidence when planning a journey by land or sea, or setting the watch, and in all other affairs that are done in the night or month or year, by distinguishing the times and seasons aforesaid. This knowledge, again, was easily to be had from night hunters and pilots and others who made it their business to know such things.

But he strongly deprecated studying astronomy so far as to include the knowledge of bodies revolving in different courses, and of planets and comets, and wearing oneself out with the calculation of their distance from the earth, their periods of revolution and the causes of these. Of such researches, again he said that he could not see what useful purpose they served. He had indeed attended lectures on these subjects too; but these again, he said, were enough to occupy a lifetime to the complete exclusion of many useful studies.

In general, with regard to the phenomena of the heavens, he deprecated curiosity to learn how the deity contrives them: he held that their secrets could not be discovered by man, and believed that any attempt to search out what the gods had not chosen to reveal must be displeasing to them. He said that he who meddles with these matters runs the risk of losing his sanity as completely as Anaxagoras, who took an insane pride in his explanation of the divine machinery.

For that sage, in declaring the sun to be fire, ignored the facts than men can look at fire without inconvenience, but cannot gaze steadily at the sun; that their skin is blackened by the sun’s rays, but not by fire. Further, he ignored the fact that sunlight is essential to the health of all vegetation, whereas if anything is heated by fire it withers. Again, when he pronounced the sun to be a red-hot stone, he ignored the fact that a stone in fire neither glows nor can resist it long, whereas the sun shines with unequalled brilliance for ever.

He also recommended the study of arithmetic. But in this case as in the others he recommended avoidance of vain application; and invariably, whether theories or ascertained facts formed the subject of his conversation, he limited it to what was useful.

He also strongly urged his companions to take care of their health. You should find out all you can, he said, from those who know. Everyone should watch himself throughout his life, and notice what sort of meat and drink and what form of exercise suit his constitution, and how he should regulate them in order to enjoy good health. For by such attention to yourselves you can discover better than any doctor what suits your constitution.

When anyone was in need of help that human wisdom was unable to give he advised him to resort to divination; for he who knew the means whereby the gods give guidance to men concerning their affairs never lacked divine counsel.

As for his claim that he was forewarned by the deity what he ought to do and what not to do, some may think that it must have been a delusion because he was condemned to death. But they should remember two facts. First, he had already reached such an age, that had he not died then, death must have come to him soon after. Secondly, he escaped the most irksome stage of life and the inevitable diminution of mental powers, and instead won glory by the moral strength revealed in the wonderful honesty and frankness and probity of his defence, and in the equanimity and manliness with which he bore the sentence of death.

In fact it is admitted that there is no record of death more nobly borne. For he was forced to live for thirty days after the verdict was given, because it was the month of the Dêlia, and the law did not allow any public execution to take place until the sacred embassy had returned from Delos. During this interval, as all his intimate acquaintances could see, he continued to live exactly as before; and, in truth, before that time he had been admired above all men for his cheerfulness and serenity.

How, then, could man die more nobly? Or what death could be nobler than the death most nobly faced? What death more blessed than the noblest? Or what dearer to the gods than the most blessed?

I will repeat what Hermogenes, son of Hipponicus, told me about him. When Meletus had actually formulated his indictment, he said, Socrates talked freely in my presence, but made no reference to the case. I told him that he ought to be thinking about his defence. His first remark was, Don’t you think that I have been preparing for it all my life?

And when I asked him how, he said that he had been constantly occupied in the consideration of right and wrong, and in doing what was right and avoiding what was wrong, which he regarded as the best preparation for a defence.

Then I said, Don’t you see, Socrates, that the juries in our courts are apt to be misled by argument, so that they often put the innocent to death, and acquit the guilty?

Ah, yes, Hermogenes, he answered, but when I did try to think out my defence to the jury, the deity at once resisted.

Strange words, said I; and he, Do you think it strange, if it seems better to God that I should die now? Don’t you see that to this day I never would acknowledge that any man had lived a better or a pleasanter life than I? For they live best, I think, who strive best to become as good as possible: and the pleasantest life is theirs who are conscious that they are growing in goodness.

And to this day that has been my experience; and mixing with others and closely comparing myself with them, I have held without ceasing to this opinion of myself. And not I only, but my friends cease not to feel thus towards me, not because of their love for me (for why does not love make others feel thus towards their friends?), but because they think that they too would rise highest in goodness by being with me.

But if I am to live on, haply I may be forced to pay the old man’s forfeit — to become sand-blind and deaf and dull of wit, slower to learn, quicker to forget, outstripped now by those who were behind me. Nay, but even were I unconscious of the change, life would be a burden to me; and if I knew, misery and bitterness would surely be my lot.

But now, if I am to die unjustly, they who unjustly kill me will bear the shame of it. For if to do injustice is shameful, whatever is unjustly done must surely bring shame. But to me what shame is it that others fail to decide and act justly concerning me?

I see that posterity judges differently of the dead according as they did or suffered injustice. I know that men will remember me too, and, if I die now, not as they will remember those who took my life. For I know that they will ever testify of me that I wronged no man at any time, nor corrupted any man, but strove ever to make my companions better.

This was the tenor of his conversation with Hermogenes and with the others. All who knew what manner of man Socrates was and who seek after virtue continue to this day to miss him beyond all others, as the chief of helpers in the quest of virtue. For myself, I have described him as he was: so religious that he did nothing without counsel from the gods; so just that he did no injury, however small, to any man, but conferred the greatest benefits on all who dealt with him; so self-controlled that he never chose the pleasanter rather than the better course; so wise that he was unerring in his judgment of the better and the worse, and needed no counsellor, but relied on himself for his knowledge of them; masterly in expounding and defining such things; no less masterly in putting others to the test, and convincing them of error and exhorting them to follow virtue and gentleness. To me then he seemed to be all that a truly good and happy man must be. But if there is any doubter, let him set the character of other men beside these things; then let him judge.