Chapter II: Part 2

Locke cannot be truly regarded as the author of sensationalism any more than of idealism. His system is based upon experience, but with him experience includes reflection as well as sense. His analysis and construction of ideas has no foundation in fact; it is only the dialectic of the mind ‘talking to herself.’ The philosophy of Berkeley is but the use of one word instead of two, which have the same meaning with it. For objects of sense he would substitute sensations. He imagines himself to have changed the relation of the human mind towards God and nature; they remain the same as before, though he has drawn the imaginary line by which they are divided at a different point. He has annihilated the outward world, but it instantly reappears governed by the same laws and described under the same names.

[Sidenote: _Philosophy and the history of philosophy._]

A like remark applies to David Hume, of whose philosophy the central principle is the denial of the relation of cause and effect. He would deprive men of a familiar term which they can ill afford to lose; but he seems not to have observed that this alteration is merely verbal and does not in any degree affect the nature of things. Still less did he remark that he was arguing from the necessary imperfection of language against the most certain facts. And here, again, we may find a parallel with the ancients. He goes beyond facts in his scepticism, as they did in their idealism. Like the ancient Sophists, he relegates the more important principles of ethics to custom and probability. But crude and unmeaning as this philosophy is, it exercised a great influence on his successors, not unlike that which Locke exercised upon Berkeley and Berkeley upon Hume himself. All three were both sceptical and ideal in almost equal degrees. Neither they nor their predecessors had any true conception of language or of the history of philosophy. Hume’s paradox has been forgotten by the world, and did not any more than the scepticism of the ancients require to be seriously refuted. Like some other philosophical paradoxes, it would have been better left to die out. It certainly could not be refuted by a philosophy such as Kant’s, in which, no less than in the previously mentioned systems, the history of the human mind and the nature of language are almost wholly ignored, and the certainty of objective knowledge is transferred to the subject; while absolute truth is reduced to a figment, more abstract and narrow than Plato’s ideas, of ‘thing in itself,’ to which, if we reason strictly, no predicate can be applied.

[Sidenote: _Possibility of a new method._]

The question which Plato has raised respecting the origin and nature of ideas belongs to the infancy of philosophy; in modern times it would no longer be asked. Their origin is only their history, so far as we know it; there can be no other. We may trace them in language, in philosophy, in mythology, in poetry, but we cannot argue _à priori_ about them. We may attempt to shake them off, but they are always returning, and in every sphere of science and human action are tending to go beyond facts. They are thought to be innate, because they have been familiar to us all our lives, and we can no longer dismiss them from our mind. Many of them express relations of terms to which nothing exactly or nothing at all _in rerum naturâ_ corresponds. We are not such free agents in the use of them as we sometimes imagine. Fixed ideas have taken the most complete possession of some thinkers who have been most determined to renounce them, and have been vehemently affirmed when they could be least explained and were incapable of proof. The world has often been led away by a word to which no distinct meaning could be attached. Abstractions such as ‘authority,’ ‘equality,’ ‘utility,’ ‘liberty,’ ‘pleasure,’ ‘experience,’ ‘consciousness,’ chance,’ ‘substance,’ ‘matter,’ ‘atom,’ and a heap of other metaphysical and theological terms, are the source of quite as much error and illusion and have as little relation to actual facts as the ‘ideas’ of Plato. Few students of theology or philosophy have sufficiently reflected how quickly the bloom of a philosophy passes away; or how hard it is for one age to understand the writings of another; or how nice a judgment is required of those who are seeking to express the philosophy of one age in the terms of another. The ‘eternal truths’ of which metaphysicians speak have hardly ever lasted more than a generation. In our own day schools or systems of philosophy which have once been famous have died before the founders of them. We are still, as in Plato’s age, groping about for a new method more comprehensive than any of those which now prevail; and also more permanent. And we seem to see at a distance the promise of such a method, which can hardly be any other than the method of idealized experience, having roots which strike far down into the history of philosophy. It is a method which does not divorce the present from the past, or the part from the whole, or the abstract from the concrete, or theory from fact, or the divine from the human, or one science from another, but labours to connect them. Along such a road we have proceeded a few steps, sufficient, perhaps, to make us reflect on the want of method which prevails in our own day. In another age, all the branches of knowledge, whether relating to God or man or nature, will become the knowledge of ‘the revelation of a single science’ (Symp. 210, 211), and all things, like the stars in heaven, will shed their light upon one another.

MENO.

_PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE._

MENO. A SLAVE OF MENO. SOCRATES. ANYTUS.

[Sidenote: _Meno._]

_Meno._ Can you tell me, Socrates, whether virtue is acquired
by teaching or by practice; or if neither by teaching
nor by practice, then whether it comes to man by nature, or
in what other way?

[Sidenote: Meno asks Socrates ‘How virtue can be acquired?’ Before giving an answer Socrates must enquire ‘What is virtue?’]

_Socrates._ O Meno, there was a time when the Thessalians
were famous among the other Hellenes only for their riches
and their riding; but now, if I am not mistaken, they are
equally famous for their wisdom, especially at Larisa, which
is the native city of your friend Aristippus. And this is
Gorgias’ doing; for when he came there, the flower of the
Aleuadae, among them your admirer Aristippus, and the
other chiefs of the Thessalians, fell in love with his wisdom.
And he has taught you the habit of answering questions in a
grand and bold style, which becomes those who know, and
is the style in which he himself answers all comers; and any
Hellene who likes may ask him anything. How different is
our lot! my dear Meno. Here at Athens there is a dearth =Steph.= 71
of the commodity, and all wisdom seems to have emigrated
from us to you. I am certain that if you were to ask any
Athenian whether virtue was natural or acquired, he would
laugh in your face, and say: ‘Stranger, you have far too
good an opinion of me, if you think that I can answer
your question. For I literally do not know what virtue is,
and much less whether it is acquired by teaching or not.’
And I myself, Meno, living as I do in this region of poverty,
am as poor as the rest of the world; and I confess with
shame that I know literally nothing about virtue; and
when I do not know the ‘quid’ of anything how can I
know the ‘quale’? How, if I knew nothing at all of Meno,
could I tell if he was fair, or the opposite of fair; rich and
noble, or the reverse of rich and noble? Do you think that
I could?

[Sidenote: _The definition of virtue._]

_Men._ No, indeed. But are you in earnest, Socrates, in
saying that you do not know what virtue is? And am I
to carry back this report of you to Thessaly?

[Sidenote: He does not know, and never met with any one who did.]

_Soc._ Not only that, my dear boy, but you may say further
that I have never known of any one else who did, in my
judgment.

_Men._ Then you have never met Gorgias when he was
at Athens?

_Soc._ Yes, I have.

_Men._ And did you not think that he knew?

_Soc._ I have not a good memory, Meno, and therefore I
cannot now tell what I thought of him at the time. And
I dare say that he did know, and that you know what he
said: please, therefore, to remind me of what he said; or, if
you would rather, tell me your own view; for I suspect that
you and he think much alike.

_Men._ Very true.

_Soc._ Then as he is not here, never mind him, and do you
tell me: By the gods, Meno, be generous, and tell me what
you say that virtue is; for I shall be truly delighted to find
that I have been mistaken, and that you and Gorgias do
really have this knowledge; although I have been just saying
that I have never found anybody who had.

[Sidenote: Meno describes the different kinds of virtue, but is unable to give a common notion of them.]

_Men._ There will be no difficulty, Socrates, in answering
your question. Let us take first the virtue of a man—he
should know how to administer the state, and in the administration
of it to benefit his friends and harm his enemies;
and he must also be careful not to suffer harm himself.
A woman’s virtue, if you wish to know about that, may also
be easily described: her duty is to order her house, and
keep what is indoors, and obey her husband. Every age,
every condition of life, young or old, male or female, bond
or free, has a different virtue: there are virtues numberless, 72
and no lack of definitions of them; for virtue is relative
to the actions and ages of each of us in all that we do. And
the same may be said of vice, Socrates[3].

[Sidenote: _The nature of definition._]

[Sidenote: Meno, not without difficulty and by help of many illustrations, is made to understand the nature of common notions.]

_Soc._ How fortunate I am, Meno! When I ask you for
one virtue, you present me with a swarm of them[4], which are
in your keeping. Suppose that I carry on the figure of the
swarm, and ask of you, What is the nature of the bee? and
you answer that there are many kinds of bees, and I reply:
But do bees differ as bees, because there are many and
different kinds of them; or are they not rather to be distinguished
by some other quality, as for example beauty, size,
or shape? How would you answer me?

_Men._ I should answer that bees do not differ from one
another, as bees.

_Soc._ And if I went on to say: That is what I desire to
know, Meno; tell me what is the quality in which they
do not differ, but are all alike;—would you be able to
answer?

_Men._ I should.

_Soc._ And so of the virtues, however many and different
they may be, they have all a common nature which makes
them virtues; and on this he who would answer the question,
‘What is virtue?’ would do well to have his eye fixed: Do
you understand?

_Men._ I am beginning to understand; but I do not as yet
take hold of the question as I could wish.

_Soc._ When you say, Meno, that there is one virtue of
a man, another of a woman, another of a child, and so on,
does this apply only to virtue, or would you say the same of
health, and size, and strength? Or is the nature of health
always the same, whether in man or woman?

_Men._ I should say that health is the same, both in man and
woman.

[Sidenote: Health and strength, and virtue and temperance and justice are the same both in men and women.]

_Soc._ And is not this true of size and strength? If a
woman is strong, she will be strong by reason of the same
form and of the same strength subsisting in her which
there is in the man. I mean to say that strength, as
strength, whether of man or woman, is the same. Is there
any difference?

_Men._ I think not.

[Sidenote: _The sameness of virtue._]

_Soc._ And will not virtue, as virtue, be the same, whether 73
in a child or in a grown-up person, in a woman or in a
man?

_Men._ I cannot help feeling, Socrates, that this case is
different from the others.

_Soc._ But why? Were you not saying that the virtue of a
man was to order a state, and the virtue of a woman was to
order a house?

_Men._ I did say so.

_Soc._ And can either house or state or anything be well
ordered without temperance and without justice?

_Men._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ Then they who order a state or a house temperately
or justly order them with temperance and justice?

_Men._ Certainly.

_Soc._ Then both men and women, if they are to be good
men and women, must have the same virtues of temperance
and justice?

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ And can either a young man or an elder one be good,
if they are intemperate and unjust?

_Men._ They cannot.

_Soc._ They must be temperate and just?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ Then all men are good in the same way, and by participation
in the same virtues?

_Men._ Such is the inference.

_Soc._ And they surely would not have been good in the
same way, unless their virtue had been the same?

_Men._ They would not.

[Sidenote: Then what is virtue? Gorgias and Meno reply, ‘The power of governing mankind.’]

_Soc._ Then now that the sameness of all virtue has been
proven, try and remember what you and Gorgias say that
virtue is.

_Men._ Will you have one definition of them all?

_Soc._ That is what I am seeking.

_Men._ If you want to have one definition of them all, I know
not what to say, but that virtue is the power of governing
mankind.

[Sidenote: _The nature of definition._]

_Soc._ And does this definition of virtue include all virtue?
Is virtue the same in a child and in a slave, Meno? Can
the child govern his father, or the slave his master; and
would he who governed be any longer a slave?

[Sidenote: But this cannot apply to all persons.]

_Men._ I think not, Socrates.

_Soc._ No, indeed; there would be small reason in that.
Yet once more, fair friend; according to you, virtue is ‘the
power of governing;’ but do you not add ‘justly and not
unjustly’?

_Men._ Yes, Socrates; I agree there; for justice is virtue.

_Soc._ Would you say ‘virtue,’ Meno, or ‘a virtue’?

_Men._ What do you mean?

_Soc._ I mean as I might say about anything; that a round,
for example, is ‘a figure’ and not simply ‘figure,’ and I
should adopt this mode of speaking, because there are other
figures.

_Men._ Quite right; and that is just what I am saying about
virtue—that there are other virtues as well as justice.

_Soc._ What are they? tell me the names of them, as I would 74
tell you the names of the other figures if you asked me.

[Sidenote: Meno names the virtues, but is unable to get at the common notion of them.]

_Men._ Courage and temperance and wisdom and magnanimity
are virtues; and there are many others.

_Soc._ Yes, Meno; and again we are in the same case: in
searching after one virtue we have found many, though not in
the same way as before; but we have been unable to find the
common virtue which runs through them all.

_Men._ Why, Socrates, even now I am not able to follow
you in the attempt to get at one common notion of virtue as of
other things.

_Soc._ No wonder; but I will try to get nearer if I can, for
you know that all things have a common notion. Suppose
now that some one asked you the question which I asked
before: Meno, he would say, what is figure? And if you
answered ‘roundness,’ he would reply to you, in my way of
speaking, by asking whether you would say that roundness is
‘figure’ or ‘a figure;’ and you would answer ‘a figure.’

_Men._ Certainly.

_Soc._ And for this reason—that there are other figures?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And if he proceeded to ask, What other figures are
there? you would have told him.

[Sidenote: _Illustrations._]

_Men._ I should.

_Soc._ And if he similarly asked what colour is, and you answered
whiteness, and the questioner rejoined, Would you
say that whiteness is colour or a colour? you would reply, A
colour, because there are other colours as well.

_Men._ I should.

_Soc._ And if he had said, Tell me what they are?—you
would have told him of other colours which are colours just
as much as whiteness.

_Men._ Yes.

[Sidenote: He has a similar difficulty about the nature of Figure.]

_Soc._ And suppose that he were to pursue the matter in my
way, he would say: Ever and anon we are landed in particulars,
but this is not what I want; tell me then, since you call
them by a common name, and say that they are all figures,
even when opposed to one another, what is that common
nature which you designate as figure—which contains straight
as well as round, and is no more one than the other—that
would be your mode of speaking?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And in speaking thus, you do not mean to say that the
round is round any more than straight, or the straight any
more straight than round?

_Men._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ You only assert that the round figure is not more
a figure than the straight, or the straight than the round?

_Men._ Very true.

_Soc._ To what then do we give the name of figure? Try
and answer. Suppose that when a person asked you this
question either about figure or colour, you were to reply,
Man, I do not understand what you want, or know what you 75
are saying; he would look rather astonished and say: Do
you not understand that I am looking for the ‘simile in
multis’? And then he might put the question in another
form: Meno, he might say, what is that ‘simile in multis’
which you call figure, and which includes not only round and
straight figures, but all? Could you not answer that question,
Meno? I wish that you would try; the attempt will be
good practice with a view to the answer about virtue.

_Men._ I would rather that you should answer, Socrates.

_Soc._ Shall I indulge you?

_Men._ By all means.

[Sidenote: _Definition of colour and figure._]

_Soc._ And then you will tell me about virtue?

_Men._ I will.

_Soc._ Then I must do my best, for there is a prize to be won.

_Men._ Certainly.

[Sidenote: Figure is defined by Socrates to be that which always follows colour.]

_Soc._ Well, I will try and explain to you what figure is.
What do you say to this answer?—Figure is the only thing
which always follows colour. Will you be satisfied with it,
as I am sure that I should be, if you would let me have
a similar definition of virtue?

_Men._ But, Socrates, it is such a simple answer.

_Soc._ Why simple?

_Men._ Because, according to you, figure is that which
always follows colour.

(_Soc._ Granted).

_Men._ But if a person were to say that he does not know
what colour is, any more than what figure is—what sort of
answer would you have given him?

_Soc._ I should have told him the truth. And if he were
a philosopher of the eristic and antagonistic sort, I should
say to him: You have my answer, and if I am wrong, your
business is to take up the argument and refute me. But if
we were friends, and were talking as you and I are now,
I should reply in a milder strain and more in the dialectician’s
vein; that is to say, I should not only speak the truth, but I
should make use of premisses which the person interrogated
would be willing to admit. And this is the way in which
I shall endeavour to approach you. You will acknowledge,
will you not, that there is such a thing as an end, or
termination, or extremity?—all which words I use in the
same sense, although I am aware that Prodicus might draw
distinctions about them: but still you, I am sure, would speak
of a thing as ended or terminated—that is all which I am
saying—not anything very difficult.

_Men._ Yes, I should; and I believe that I understand your
meaning.

_Soc._ And you would speak of a surface and also of a solid, 76
as for example in geometry.

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ Well then, you are now in a condition to understand
my definition of figure. I define figure to be that in which
the solid ends; or, more concisely, the limit of solid.

_Men._ And now, Socrates, what is colour?

[Sidenote: _The imperiousness of Meno._]

[Sidenote: And now, what is colour?]

_Soc._ You are outrageous, Meno, in thus plaguing a poor
old man to give you an answer, when you will not take
the trouble of remembering what is Gorgias’ definition of
virtue.

_Men._ When you have told me what I ask, I will tell you,
Socrates.

_Soc._ A man who was blindfolded has only to hear you
talking, and he would know that you are a fair creature and
have still many lovers.

_Men._ Why do you think so?

_Soc._ Why, because you always speak in imperatives: like
all beauties when they are in their prime, you are tyrannical;
and also, as I suspect, you have found out that I have a
weakness for the fair, and therefore to humour you I must
answer.

_Men._ Please do.

_Soc._ Would you like me to answer you after the manner of
Gorgias, which is familiar to you?

_Men._ I should like nothing better.

[Sidenote: Meno, Gorgias, and Empedocles are all agreed that colour is an effluence of existence, proportioned to certain passages.]

_Soc._ Do not he and you and Empedocles say that there are
certain effluences of existence?

_Men._ Certainly.

_Soc._ And passages into which and through which the effluences
pass?

_Men._ Exactly.

_Soc._ And some of the effluences fit into the passages, and
some of them are too small or too large?

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ And there is such a thing as sight?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And now, as Pindar says, ‘read my meaning:’—colour
is an effluence of form, commensurate with sight, and palpable
to sense.

_Men._ That, Socrates, appears to me to be an admirable
answer.

[Sidenote: _The definition of virtue._]

_Soc._ Why, yes, because it happens to be one which you
have been in the habit of hearing: and your wit will have
discovered, I suspect, that you may explain in the same way
the nature of sound and smell, and of many other similar
phenomena.

_Men._ Quite true.

_Soc._ The answer, Meno, was in the orthodox solemn vein,
and therefore was more acceptable to you than the other
answer about figure.

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And yet, O son of Alexidemus, I cannot help thinking
that the other was the better; and I am sure that you would
be of the same opinion, if you would only stay and be
initiated, and were not compelled, as you said yesterday, to
go away before the mysteries.

_Men._ But I will stay, Socrates, if you will give me many
such answers. 77

[Sidenote: Virtue, according to Meno, is the desire of the honourable and the good. His definition is analysed by Socrates.]

_Soc._ Well then, for my own sake as well as for yours, I will
do my very best; but I am afraid that I shall not be able to
give you very many as good: and now, in your turn, you are
to fulfil your promise, and tell me what virtue is in the
universal; and do not make a singular into a plural, as the
facetious say of those who break a thing, but deliver virtue to
me whole and sound, and not broken into a number of pieces:
I have given you the pattern.

_Men._ Well then, Socrates, virtue, as I take it, is when he,
who desires the honourable, is able to provide it for himself;
so the poet says, and I say too—

‘Virtue is the desire of things honourable and the power of
attaining them.’

_Soc._ And does he who desires the honourable also desire
the good?

_Men._ Certainly.

_Soc._ Then are there some who desire the evil and others
who desire the good? Do not all men, my dear sir, desire
good?

_Men._ I think not.

_Soc._ There are some who desire evil?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ Do you mean that they think the evils which they
desire, to be good; or do they know that they are evil and
yet desire them?

[Sidenote: _The desire of good and evil._]

_Men._ Both, I think.

_Soc._ And do you really imagine, Meno, that a man knows
evils to be evils and desires them notwithstanding?

_Men._ Certainly I do.

_Soc._ And desire is of possession?

_Men._ Yes, of possession.

[Sidenote: Men desire evil, but not what they think to be evil.]

_Soc._ And does he think that the evils will do good to him
who possesses them, or does he know that they will do him
harm?

_Men._ There are some who think that the evils will do them
good, and others who know that they will do them harm.

_Soc._ And, in your opinion, do those who think that they
will do them good know that they are evils?

_Men._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ Is it not obvious that those who are ignorant of their
nature do not desire them; but they desire what they suppose
to be goods although they are really evils; and if they are
mistaken and suppose the evils to be goods they really desire
goods?

_Men._ Yes, in that case.

_Soc._ Well, and do those who, as you say, desire evils, and
think that evils are hurtful to the possessor of them, know
that they will be hurt by them?

_Men._ They must know it.

_Soc._ And must they not suppose that those who are hurt 78
are miserable in proportion to the hurt which is inflicted upon
them?

_Men._ How can it be otherwise?

_Soc._ But are not the miserable ill-fated?

_Men._ Yes, indeed.

_Soc._ And does any one desire to be miserable and ill-fated?

_Men._ I should say not, Socrates.

_Soc._ But if there is no one who desires to be miserable,
there is no one, Meno, who desires evil; for what is misery
but the desire and possession of evil?

_Men._ That appears to be the truth, Socrates, and I admit
that nobody desires evil.

_Soc._ And yet, were you not saying just now that virtue
is the desire and power of attaining good?

_Men._ Yes, I did say so.

[Sidenote: _The self-contradiction of Meno._]

[Sidenote: The desire of good is really common to all of them.]

_Soc._ But if this be affirmed, then the desire of good is common
to all, and one man is no better than another in that
respect?

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ And if one man is not better than another in desiring
good, he must be better in the power of attaining it?

_Men._ Exactly.

[Sidenote: Virtue is the power of attaining good with justice.]

_Soc._ Then, according to your definition, virtue would appear
to be the power of attaining good?

_Men._ I entirely approve, Socrates, of the manner in which
you now view this matter.

_Soc._ Then let us see whether what you say is true from
another point of view; for very likely you may be right:—You
affirm virtue to be the power of attaining goods?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And the goods which you mean are such as health and
wealth and the possession of gold and silver, and having
office and honour in the state—those are what you would
call goods?

_Men._ Yes, I should include all those.

_Soc._ Then, according to Meno, who is the hereditary
friend of the great king, virtue is the power of getting silver
and gold; and would you add that they must be gained
piously, justly, or do you deem this to be of no consequence?
And is any mode of acquisition, even if unjust or dishonest,
equally to be deemed virtue?

_Men._ Not virtue, Socrates, but vice.

_Soc._ Then justice or temperance or holiness, or some other
part of virtue, as would appear, must accompany the acquisition,
and without them the mere acquisition of good will not
be virtue.

_Men._ Why, how can there be virtue without these?

_Soc._ And the non-acquisition of gold and silver in a dishonest
manner for oneself or another, or in other words the
want of them, may be equally virtue?

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ Then the acquisition of such goods is no more virtue
than the non-acquisition and want of them, but whatever is
accompanied by justice or honesty is virtue, and whatever
is devoid of justice is vice. 79

[Sidenote: _The whole cannot be defined by a part._]

[Sidenote: But this definition repeats the thing defined:—virtue = the power of attaining good with a part of virtue.]

_Men._ It cannot be otherwise, in my judgment.

_Soc._ And were we not saying just now that justice, temperance,
and the like, were each of them a part of virtue?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And so, Meno, this is the way in which you mock me.

_Men._ Why do you say that, Socrates?

_Soc._ Why, because I asked you to deliver virtue into my
hands whole and unbroken, and I gave you a pattern according
to which you were to frame your answer; and you have
forgotten already, and tell me that virtue is the power of
attaining good justly, or with justice; and justice you acknowledge
to be a part of virtue.

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ Then it follows from your own admissions, that virtue
is doing what you do with a part of virtue; for justice and
the like are said by you to be parts of virtue.

[Sidenote: But if we do not know the nature of virtue as a whole, how can we know what a part of virtue is?]

_Men._ What of that?

_Soc._ What of that! Why, did not I ask you to tell me the
nature of virtue as a whole? And you are very far from
telling me this; but declare every action to be virtue which is
done with a part of virtue; as though you had told me and I
must already know the whole of virtue, and this too when
frittered away into little pieces. And, therefore, my dear
Meno, I fear that I must begin again and repeat the same
question: What is virtue? for otherwise, I can only say, that
every action done with a part of virtue is virtue; what else
is the meaning of saying that every action done with justice
is virtue? Ought I not to ask the question over again; for
can any one who does not know virtue know a part of
virtue?

_Men._ No; I do not say that he can.

_Soc._ Do you remember how, in the example of figure, we
rejected any answer given in terms which were as yet unexplained
or unadmitted?

_Men._ Yes, Socrates; and we were quite right in doing so.

_Soc._ But then, my friend, do not suppose that we can
explain to any one the nature of virtue as a whole through
some unexplained portion of virtue, or anything at all in that
fashion; we should only have to ask over again the old
question, What is virtue? Am I not right?

_Men._ I believe that you are.

_Soc._ Then begin again, and answer me, What, according to
you and your friend Gorgias, is the definition of virtue?

[Sidenote: _The torpedo’s shock._]

[Sidenote: Meno compares Socrates to a torpedo whose touch has taken away his sense and speech.]

_Men._ O Socrates, I used to be told, before I knew you, that
you were always doubting yourself and making others doubt; 80
and now you are casting your spells over me, and I am simply
getting bewitched and enchanted, and am at my wits’ end.
And if I may venture to make a jest upon you, you seem
to me both in your appearance and in your power over others
to be very like the flat torpedo fish, who torpifies those who
come near him and touch him, as you have now torpified me,
I think. For my soul and my tongue are really torpid, and I
do not know how to answer you; and though I have been
delivered of an infinite variety of speeches about virtue before
now, and to many persons—and very good ones they were, as
I thought—at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is.
And I think that you are very wise in not voyaging and going
away from home, for if you did in other places as you do
in Athens, you would be cast into prison as a magician.

_Soc._ You are a rogue, Meno, and had all but caught me.

_Men._ What do you mean, Socrates?

_Soc._ I can tell why you made a simile about me.

_Men._ Why?

[Sidenote: Socrates is the cause of dulness in others because he is himself dull.]

_Soc._ In order that I might make another simile about you.
For I know that all pretty young gentlemen like to have pretty
similes made about them—as well they may—but I shall not
return the compliment. As to my being a torpedo, if the torpedo
is torpid as well as the cause of torpidity in others, then
indeed I am a torpedo, but not otherwise; for I perplex
others, not because I am clear, but because I am utterly perplexed
myself. And now I know not what virtue is, and you
seem to be in the same case, although you did once perhaps
know before you touched me. However, I have no objection
to join with you in the enquiry.

_Men._ And how will you enquire, Socrates, into that which
you do not know? What will you put forth as the subject of
enquiry? And if you find what you want, how will you ever
know that this is the thing which you did not know?

[Sidenote: _Pindar and the poets._]

[Sidenote: How can you enquire about what you do not know, and if you know why should you enquire?]

_Soc._ I know, Meno, what you mean; but just see what
a tiresome dispute you are introducing. You argue that
a man cannot enquire either about that which he knows, or
about that which he does not know; for if he knows, he has
no need to enquire; and if not, he cannot; for he does not
know the very subject about which he is to enquire[5].

_Men._ Well, Socrates, and is not the argument sound? 81

_Soc._ I think not.

_Men._ Why not?

_Soc._ I will tell you why: I have heard from certain wise
men and women who spoke of things divine that—

_Men._ What did they say?

_Soc._ They spoke of a glorious truth, as I conceive.

_Men._ What was it? and who were they?

[Sidenote: The ancient poets tell us that the soul of man is immortal and has a recollection of all that she has ever known in former states of being.]

_Soc._ Some of them were priests and priestesses, who had
studied how they might be able to give a reason of their
profession: there have been poets also, who spoke of these
things by inspiration, like Pindar, and many others who were
inspired. And they say—mark, now, and see whether their
words are true—they say that the soul of man is immortal,
and at one time has an end, which is termed dying, and
at another time is born again, but is never destroyed. And
the moral is, that a man ought to live always in perfect holiness.
‘_For in the ninth year Persephone sends the souls of
those from whom she has received the penalty of ancient crime
back again from beneath into the light of the sun above, and
these are they who become noble kings and mighty men and great
in wisdom and are called saintly heroes in after ages[6]._’ The
soul, then, as being immortal, and having been born again
many times, and having seen all things that exist, whether
in this world or in the world below, has knowledge of them
all; and it is no wonder that she should be able to call to
remembrance all that she ever knew about virtue, and about
everything; for as all nature is akin, and the soul has learned
all things, there is no difficulty in her eliciting or as men say
learning, out of a single recollection all the rest, if a man is
strenuous and does not faint; for all enquiry and all learning
is but recollection. And therefore we ought not to listen
to this sophistical argument about the impossibility of enquiry:
for it will make us idle, and is sweet only to the
sluggard; but the other saying will make us active and inquisitive.
In that confiding, I will gladly enquire with you
into the nature of virtue.

[Sidenote: _The crucial experiment._]

_Men._ Yes, Socrates; but what do you mean by saying that
we do not learn, and that what we call learning is only a process
of recollection? Can you teach me how this is?

_Soc._ I told you, Meno, just now that you were a rogue, and
now you ask whether I can teach you, when I am saying that
there is no teaching, but only recollection; and thus you 82
imagine that you will involve me in a contradiction.

_Men._ Indeed, Socrates, I protest that I had no such intention.
I only asked the question from habit; but if you can prove
to me that what you say is true, I wish that you would.

[Sidenote: A Greek slave is introduced, from whom certain mathematical conclusions which he has never learned are elicited by Socrates.]

_Soc._ It will be no easy matter, but I will try to please
you to the utmost of my power. Suppose that you call
one of your numerous attendants, that I may demonstrate
on him.

_Men._ Certainly. Come hither, boy.

_Soc._ He is Greek, and speaks Greek, does he not?

_Men._ Yes, indeed; he was born in the house.

_Soc._ Attend now to the questions which I ask him, and
observe whether he learns of me or only remembers.

_Men._ I will.

_Soc._ Tell me, boy, do you know that a figure like this
is a square?

_Boy._ I do.

_Soc._ And you know that a square figure has these four
lines equal?

_Boy._ Certainly.

_Soc._ And these lines which I have drawn through the
middle of the square are also equal?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ A square may be of any size?

_Boy._ Certainly.

_Soc._ And if one side of the figure be of two feet, and the
other side be of two feet, how much will the whole be? Let
me explain: if in one direction the space was of two feet,
and in the other direction of one foot, the whole would
be of two feet taken once?

_Boy._ Yes.

[Sidenote: _Socrates and the boy._]

_Soc._ But since this side is also of two feet, there are twice
two feet?

_Boy._ There are.

_Soc._ Then the square is of twice two feet?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And how many are twice two feet? count and tell me.

_Boy._ Four, Socrates.

_Soc._ And might there not be another square twice as large
as this, and having like this the lines equal?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And of how many feet will that be?

_Boy._ Of eight feet.

_Soc._ And now try and tell me the length of the line which
forms the side of that double square: this is two feet—what
will that be?

_Boy._ Clearly, Socrates, it will be double.

[Sidenote: He is partly guessing.]

_Soc._ Do you observe, Meno, that I am not teaching the
boy anything, but only asking him questions; and now
he fancies that he knows how long a line is necessary in
order to produce a figure of eight square feet; does he not?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And does he really know?

_Men._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ He only guesses that because the square is double,
the line is double.

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ Observe him while he recalls the steps in regular
order. (_To the Boy._) Tell me, boy, do you assert that a 83
double space comes from a double line? Remember that
I am not speaking of an oblong, but of a figure equal every
way, and twice the size of this—that is to say of eight feet;
and I want to know whether you still say that a double
square comes from a double line?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ But does not this line become doubled if we add
another such line here?

_Boy._ Certainly.

_Soc._ And four such lines will make a space containing
eight feet?

_Boy._ Yes.

[Sidenote: _Socrates and the boy._]

_Soc._ Let us describe such a figure: Would you not say
that this is the figure of eight feet?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And are there not these four divisions in the figure,
each of which is equal to the figure of four feet?

_Boy._ True.

_Soc._ And is not that four times four?

_Boy._ Certainly.

_Soc._ And four times is not double?

_Boy._ No, indeed.

_Soc._ But how much?

_Boy._ Four times as much.

_Soc._ Therefore the double line, boy,
has given a space, not twice, but four times as much.

_Boy._ True.

_Soc._ Four times four are sixteen—are they not?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ What line would give you a space of eight feet, as
this gives one of sixteen feet;—do you see?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And the space of four feet is made from this half
line?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ Good; and is not a space of eight feet twice the
size of this, and half the size of the other?

_Boy._ Certainly.

_Soc._ Such a space, then, will be made out of a line greater
than this one, and less than that one?

_Boy._ Yes; I think so.

_Soc._ Very good; I like to hear you say what you think.
And now tell me, is not this a line of two feet and that of
four?

_Boy._ Yes.

[Sidenote: He has now learned to realize his own ignorance, and therefore will endeavour to remedy it.]

_Soc._ Then the line which forms the side of eight feet
ought to be more than this line of two feet, and less than
the other of four feet?

_Boy._ It ought.

_Soc._ Try and see if you can tell me how much it will be.

_Boy._ Three feet.

[Sidenote: _The progress of the boy’s education._]

_Soc._ Then if we add a half to this line of two, that will be
the line of three. Here are two and there is one; and on
the other side, here are two also and there is one: and that
makes the figure of which you speak?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ But if there are three feet this way and three feet
that way, the whole space will be three times three feet?

_Boy._ That is evident.

_Soc._ And how much are three times three feet?

_Boy._ Nine.

_Soc._ And how much is the double of four?

_Boy._ Eight.

_Soc._ Then the figure of eight is not made out of a line of
three?

_Boy._ No.

_Soc._ But from what line?—tell me exactly; and if you 84
would rather not reckon, try and show me the line.

_Boy._ Indeed, Socrates, I do not know.

_Soc._ Do you see, Meno, what advances he has made in his
power of recollection? He did not know at first, and he
does not know now, what is the side of a figure of eight feet:
but then he thought that he knew, and answered confidently
as if he knew, and had no difficulty; now he has a difficulty,
and neither knows nor fancies that he knows.

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ Is he not better off in knowing his ignorance?

_Men._ I think that he is.

_Soc._ If we have made him doubt, and given him the ‘torpedo’s
shock,’ have we done him any harm?

_Men._ I think not.

_Soc._ We have certainly, as would seem, assisted him in
some degree to the discovery of the truth; and now he will
wish to remedy his ignorance, but then he would have been
ready to tell all the world again and again that the double
space should have a double side.

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ But do you suppose that he would ever have enquired
into or learned what he fancied that he knew, though he
was really ignorant of it, until he had fallen into perplexity
under the idea that he did not know, and had desired to
know?

_Men._ I think not, Socrates.

_Soc._ Then he was the better for the torpedo’s touch?

_Men._ I think so.

[Sidenote: _Construction of the figure of eight feet square._]

[Sidenote: The boy arrives at another true conclusion: which is, that the square of the diagonal is double the square of the side.]

_Soc._ Mark now the farther development. I shall only ask
him, and not teach him, and he shall share the enquiry with
me: and do you watch and see if you find me telling or
explaining anything to him, instead of eliciting his opinion.
Tell me, boy, is not this a square of four feet which I have
drawn?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And now I add another square equal to the former
one?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And a third, which is equal to either of them?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ Suppose that we fill up the vacant corner?

_Boy._ Very good.

_Soc._ Here, then, there are four equal spaces?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And how many times larger is this space than this
other?

_Boy._ Four times.

_Soc._ But it ought to have been twice only, as you will
remember.

_Boy._ True.

_Soc._ And does not this line, reaching from corner to corner,
bisect each of these spaces? 85

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And are there not here four equal lines which contain
this space?

_Boy._ There are.

_Soc._ Look and see how much this space is.

_Boy._ I do not understand.

_Soc._ Has not each interior line cut off half of the four
spaces?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And how many such spaces are there in this section?

_Boy._ Four.

_Soc._ And how many in this?

_Boy._ Two.

[Sidenote: _The doctrine of reminiscence._]

_Soc._ And four is how many times two?

_Boy._ Twice.

_Soc._ And this space is of how many feet?

_Boy._ Of eight feet.

_Soc._ And from what line do you get this figure?

_Boy._ From this.

_Soc._ That is, from the line which extends from corner to
corner of the figure of four feet?

_Boy._ Yes.

_Soc._ And that is the line which the learned call the diagonal.
And if this is the proper name, then you, Meno’s
slave, are prepared to affirm that the double space is the
square of the diagonal?

_Boy._ Certainly, Socrates.

_Soc._ What do you say of him, Meno? Were not all these
answers given out of his own head?

_Men._ Yes, they were all his own.

_Soc._ And yet, as we were just now saying, he did not
know?

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ But still he had in him those notions of his—had he
not?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ Then he who does not know may still have true
notions of that which he does not know?

_Men._ He has.

[Sidenote: At present he is in a dream; he will soon grow clearer.]

_Soc._ And at present these notions have just been stirred up
in him, as in a dream; but if he were frequently asked the
same questions, in different forms, he would know as well as
any one at last?

_Men._ I dare say.

_Soc._ Without any one teaching him he will recover his
knowledge for himself, if he is only asked questions?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And this spontaneous recovery of knowledge in him is
recollection?

_Men._ True.

_Soc._ And this knowledge which he now has must he not
either have acquired or always possessed?

_Men._ Yes.

[Sidenote: _Socrates is more confident of some things than of others._]

[Sidenote: Either this knowledge was acquired by him in a former state of existence, or was always known to him.]

_Soc._ But if he always possessed this knowledge he would
always have known; or if he has acquired the knowledge he
could not have acquired it in this life, unless he has been
taught geometry; for he may be made to do the same with
all geometry and every other branch of knowledge. Now,
has any one ever taught him all this? You must know about
him, if, as you say, he was born and bred in your house.

_Men._ And I am certain that no one ever did teach him.

_Soc._ And yet he has the knowledge?

_Men._ The fact, Socrates, is undeniable.

_Soc._ But if he did not acquire the knowledge in this life,
then he must have had and learned it at some other time? 86

_Men._ Clearly he must.

_Soc._ Which must have been the time when he was not a
man?

_Men._ Yes.

_Soc._ And if there have been always true thoughts in him,
both at the time when he was and was not a man, which only
need to be awakened into knowledge by putting questions to
him, his soul must have always possessed this knowledge, for
he always either was or was not a man?

_Men._ Obviously.

_Soc._ And if the truth of all things always existed in the
soul, then the soul is immortal. Wherefore be of good
cheer, and try to recollect what you do not know, or rather
what you do not remember.

_Men._ I feel, somehow, that I like what you are saying.

[Sidenote: Better to enquire than to fancy that there is no such thing as enquiry and no use in it.]

_Soc._ And I, Meno, like what I am saying. Some things I
have said of which I am not altogether confident. But that
we shall be better and braver and less helpless if we think
that we ought to enquire, than we should have been if we
indulged in the idle fancy that there was no knowing and no
use in seeking to know what we do not know;—that is a
theme upon which I am ready to fight, in word and deed, to
the utmost of my power.

_Men._ There again, Socrates, your words seem to me
excellent.

_Soc._ Then, as we are agreed that a man should enquire
about that which he does not know, shall you and I make an
effort to enquire together into the nature of virtue?

[Sidenote: _The nature of hypothesis._]

_Men._ By all means, Socrates. And yet I would much
rather return to my original question, Whether in seeking to
acquire virtue we should regard it as a thing to be taught, or
as a gift of nature, or as coming to men in some other way?

[Sidenote: Socrates cannot enquire whether virtue can be taught until he knows what virtue is, except upon an hypothesis, such as geometricians sometimes employ: e. g. can a triangle of given area be inscribed in a given circle, if when the side of it is produced this or that consequence follows? [The hypothesis appears to be rather trivial and to have no mathematical value.]]

[Sidenote: Upon the hypothesis ‘that virtue is knowledge,’ can it be taught?]