Meno

Men.

Can you tell me, Socrates, whether virtue can be taught, or is acquired by practice, not teaching? Or if neither by practice nor by learning, whether it comes to mankind by nature or in some other way?

Soc.

Meno, of old the Thessalians were famous and admired among the Greeks for their riding and their riches; but now they have a name, I believe, for wisdom also, especially your friend Aristippus’s people, the Larisaeans. For this you have to thank Gorgias: for when he came to that city he made the leading men of the Aleuadae—among them your lover Aristippus—and the Thessalians generally enamored of wisdom. Nay more, he has given you the regular habit of answering any chance question in a fearless, magnificent manner, as befits those who know: for he sets the example of offering himself to be questioned by any Greek who chooses, and on any point one likes, and he has an answer for everybody.

Soc.

Now in this place, my dear Meno, we have a contrary state of things: a drought of wisdom, as it were, has come on; and it seems as though wisdom had deserted our borders in favour of yours. You have only to ask one of our people a question such as that, and he will be sure to laugh and say: Stranger, you must think me a specially favoured mortal, to be able to tell whether virtue can be taught, or in what way it comes to one: so far am I from knowing whether it can be taught or not, that I actually do not even know what the thing itself, virtue, is at all. And I myself, Meno, am in the same case; I share my townsmen’s poverty in this matter: I have to reproach myself with an utter ignorance about virtue; and if I do not know what a thing is, how can I know what its nature may be? Or do you imagine it possible, if one has no cognizance at all of Meno, that one could know whether he is handsome or rich or noble, or the reverse of these? Do you suppose that one could?

Men.

Not I. But is it true, Socrates, that you do not even know what virtue is? Are we to return home with this report of you?

Soc.

Not only this, my friend, but also that I never yet came across anybody who did know, in my opinion.

Men.

What? You did not meet Gorgias when he was here?

Soc.

I did.

Men.

And you didn’t consider that he knew?

Soc.

I have not a very good memory, Meno, so I cannot tell at the moment how he struck me then. It may be that he did know, and that you know what he said: remind me therefore how he expressed it; or if you like, make your own statement, for I expect you share his views.

Men.

I do.

Soc.

Then let us pass him over, since in fact he is not present, and do you tell me, in heaven’s name, what is your own account of virtue. Speak out frankly, that I may find myself the victim of a most fortunate falsehood, if you and Gorgias prove to have knowledge of it, while I have said that I never yet came across anyone who had.

Men.

Why, there is no difficulty, Socrates, in telling. First of all, if you take the virtue of a man, it is easily stated that a man’s virtue is this—that he be competent to manage the affairs of his city, and to manage them so as to benefit his friends and harm his enemies, and to take care to avoid suffering harm himself. Or take a woman’s virtue: there is no difficulty in describing it as the duty of ordering the house well, looking after the property indoors, and obeying her husband. And the child has another virtue—one for the female, and one for the male; and there is another for elderly men—one, if you like, for freemen, and yet another for slaves.

Men.

And there are very many other virtues besides, so that one cannot be at a loss to explain what virtue is; for it is according to each activity and age that every one of us, in whatever we do, has his virtue; and the same, I take it, Socrates, will hold also of vice.

Soc.

I seem to be in a most lucky way, Meno; for in seeking one virtue I have discovered a whole swarm of virtues there in your keeping. Now, Meno, to follow this figure of a swarm, suppose I should ask you what is the real nature of the bee, and you replied that there are many different kinds of bees, and I rejoined: Do you say it is by being bees that they are of many and various kinds and differ from each other, or does their difference lie not in that, but in something else—for example, in their beauty or size or some other quality? Tell me, what would be your answer to this question?

Men.

Why, this—that they do not differ, as bees, the one from the other.

Soc.

And if I went on to say: Well now, there is this that I want you to tell me, Meno: what do you call the quality by which they do not differ, but are all alike? You could find me an answer, I presume?

Men.

I could.

Soc.

And likewise also with the virtues, however many and various they may be, they all have one common character whereby they are virtues, and on which one would of course be wise to keep an eye when one is giving a definitive answer to the question of what virtue really is. You take my meaning, do you not?

Men.

My impression is that I do; but still I do not yet grasp the meaning of the question as I could wish.

Soc.

Is it only in the case of virtue, do you think, Meno, that one can say there is one kind belonging to a man, another to a woman, and so on with the rest, or is it just the same, too, in the case of health and size and strength? Do you consider that there is one health for a man, and another for a woman? Or, wherever we find health, is it of the same character universally, in a man or in anyone else?

Men.

I think that health is the same, both in man and in woman.

Soc.

Then is it not so with size and strength also? If a woman is strong, she will be strong by reason of the same form and the same strength; by the same I mean that strength does not differ as strength, whether it be in a man or in a woman. Or do you think there is any difference?

Men.

I do not.

Soc.

And will virtue, as virtue, differ at all whether it be in a child or in an elderly person, in a woman or in a man?

Men.

I feel somehow, Socrates, that here we cease to be on the same ground as in those other cases.

Soc.

Why? Were you not saying that a man’s virtue is to manage a state well, and a woman’s a house?

Men.

I was.

Soc.

And is it possible to manage a state well, or a house, or anything at all, if you do not manage it temperately and justly?

Men.

Surely not.

Soc.

Then whoever manages temperately and justly will manage with temperance and justice?

Men.

That must be.

Soc.

Then both the woman and the man require the same qualities of justice and temperance, if they are to be good.

Men.

Evidently.

Soc.

And what of a child or an old man? Can they ever hope to be good if they are intemperate and unjust?

Men.

Surely not.

Soc.

Only if they are temperate and just?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

So all mankind are good in the same way; for they become good when they acquire the same qualities.

Men.

So it seems.

Soc.

And I presume, if they had not the same virtue, they would not be good in the same way.

Men.

No, indeed.

Soc.

Seeing then that it is the same virtue in all cases, try and tell me, if you can recollect, what Gorgias—and you in agreement with him—say it is.

Men.

Simply that it is the power of governing mankind— if you want some single description to cover all cases.

Soc.

That is just what I am after. But is virtue the same in a child, Meno, and in a slave—an ability to govern each his master? And do you think he who governed would still be a slave?

Men.

I should say certainly not, Socrates.

Soc.

No, indeed, it would be unlikely, my excellent friend. And again, consider this further point: you say it is to be able to govern; shall we not add to that—justly, not unjustly?

Men.

Yes, I think so; for justice, Socrates, is virtue.

Soc.

Virtue, Meno, or a virtue?

Men.

What do you mean by that?

Soc.

What I would in any other case. To take roundness, for instance; I should call it a figure, and not figure pure and simple. And I should name it so because there are other figures as well.

Men.

You would be quite right—just as I say there are other virtues besides justice.

Soc.

What are they? Tell me. In the same way as I can tell you of other figures, if you request me, so do you tell me of other virtues.

Men.

Well then, courage, I consider, is a virtue, and temperance, and wisdom, and loftiness of mind; and there are a great many others.

Soc.

Once more, Meno, we are in the same plight: again we have found a number of virtues when we were looking for one, though not in the same way as we did just now; but the one that runs through them all, this we are not able to find.

Men.

No, for I am not yet able, Socrates, to follow your line of search, and find a single virtue common to all, as one can in other cases.

Soc.

And no wonder; but I will make an effort, so far as I can, to help us onward. You understand, of course, that this principle of mine applies to everything: if someone asked you the question I put to you just now: What is figure, Meno? and you replied: Roundness; and then he said, as I did: Is roundness figure or a figure? I suppose you would answer: A figure.

Men.

Certainly.

Soc.

And for this reason—that there are other figures as well?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

And if he went on to ask you of what sort they were, you would tell him?

Men.

I would.

Soc.

And if he asked likewise what color is, and on your answering white your questioner then rejoined: Is white color or a color? your reply would be: A color; because there are other colors besides.

Men.

It would.

Soc.

And if he bade you mention other colors, you would tell him of others that are colors just as much as white?

Men.

Yes.

Soc.

Now suppose that, like me, he pursued the argument and said: We are always arriving at a variety of things, but let me have no more of that: since you call these many things by one single name, and say they are figures, every one of them, even when they are opposed to one another, tell me what is that which comprises round and straight alike, and which you call figure— including straight equally with round under that term. For that is your statement, is it not?

Men.

It is.

Soc.

And in making it, do you mean to say that round is no more round than straight, or straight no more straight than round?

Men.

No, to be sure, Socrates.

Soc.

What you mean is that the round shape is no more a figure than the straight, or the straight than the round.

Men.

Quite right.

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[*](Cf. Plat. Prot. 337a.) 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,[*](There is something of Gorgias’ stately style in the definition that follows; but the implication seems mainly to be that the substance of it will be familiar to Meno because he was a pupil of Gorgias, who had learnt his science from Empedocles.) 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[*](Empedocles taught that material objects are known to us by means of effluences or films given off by them and suited in various ways to our sense-organs.) 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 [*](Fr. 82 (Bergk); cf. Aristoph. Birds 939.) 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

[*](Perhaps from Simonides.); 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.