Plato’s Meno
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January 23, 2019Supply and Demand
January 25, 2019Plato’s
Meno
MENO: Can you tell me, Socrates, is virtue the sort of thing you can teach someone? Or
is it the sort of thing no one can teach you, but you pick it up by practicing it? Or maybe
it’s neither: virtue is something people are born with, or something they get some other
way?
SOCRATES: Thessalians used to have a good reputation among Greeks,
Meno – for
being such good riders and for being so rich; now, it seems, they are famous for
wisdom, particularly your friend and fellow citizen, Aristippus of Larissa. The credit
goes to Gorgias, for when he moved to your city the leading Aleuadae – your lover
Aristippus among them – fell in love with his wisdom, and so did the other leading
Thessalians. Specifically, he got all of you into the habit of giving sweeping and
confident answers to any questions put to you – as if you were all experts. In fact, he
himself was always ready to answer any question put by any Greek; all questions
answered. On the other hand, here in Athens, my dear Meno, the opposite is the case.
Here it’s as though there were a wisdom drought; it has all drained away to where you
come from. So if you want to put this sort of question to one of us, everyone will have a
good laugh and say to you: ‘Good stranger, you must think I am a lucky man, to know
whether virtue can be taught or not, or where it comes from. Me, I’m so far from
knowing whether virtue can be taught or not that I don’t even know what it is.’ I’m just
as badly off as all my fellow citizens in this regard, Meno, and I blame no one but
myself for my utter ignorance about virtue. For if I don’t know what something is, how
could I know what it’s like? Unless you think someone who has no idea who Meno is
could know whether he is handsome or rich or a real gentleman, or just the opposite?
Do you think that would be posible?
M: I don’t; but, Socrates, you really don’t know what virtue is? Should I say this about
you to everyone back home?
S: Not only that, my friend. Tell everyone back home that I think I have never yet met
anyone who
did
know.
M: What? Didn’t you meet Gorgias when he was here?
S: I did.
M: Didn’t you think then that he knew?
S: My memory is not so good, Meno
, so I cannot tell you now what I thought then.
Maybe he knows; you know what he used to say, so you remind me of how he spoke.
You tell me yourself, if you will be so kind, for I’m sure you agree with everything he
says.
M: I do.
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M: Yes.
S: And if he went on to ask what they were, you would tell him?
M: I would.
S: The same would go for color, if he asked you what it is, and you said it is white, and
he interrupted by asking, ‘is white color or
a
color?’ You would say it is
a
color, because
there are other colors?
M: I would.
S: Likewise, if you were asked for a list of other colors, you would list others, all of
which are colors just as much as white is?
M: Yes.
S: Then if he pursued the argument, as I did, and said: ‘we always end up back at the
many. Don’t keep answering me like this. Instead, since you call all these
many
things
by
one
name, and since you say none of them is
not
a shape – even though none is the
same shape as the others – tell me what
one
thing applies just as much to roundness as
to straightness. Say what it is you call ‘shape’ – for example, when you say, ‘roundness
is just as much
shape
as straightness is.’ You
do
say that, don’t you?
M: I do.
S: And when you say that, do you say roundness is no more round than straight is, or
that straightness is no more straight than round is?
M: Certainly not, Socrates.
S: All the same, you
don’t
say roundness is more of a shape than straightness is – or
vice
versa
?
M: That’s true.
S: So what is this
one
thing to which the term shape generally applies? Try to tell me.
For think what it would be like if you responded, like so, to the man who asked you all
these questions about color and shape: ‘I don’t understand what you want, or what you
mean.’ He would probably find this incredible and reply: ‘you don’t understand that I
want to know what these cases have
in common
?’ Even hearing that, is it true you would
still
have nothing to say, Meno, if someone asked: ‘what is the
one
thing that applies to
roundness and straightness and all the other things you call shapes, and which is the
same in all of them?’ Try answering this question, by way of working up to the one
about virtue.
M: No! You answer it for me, Socrates.
S: You want me to do this for you as a favor?
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M: I certainly do.
S:
Then
you will be willing to tell me about virtue?
M: I will.
S: Let’s forge on. The subject is worth it.
M: It surely is.
S: Now then, let me try to tell you what shape is. See whether you will accept the
following account: shape, let’s say, is the one thing that invariably accompanies color.
Does this satisfy you, or do you want to go about defining the term in some other way?
For myself, I would be satisfied if you defined virtue in some such way as this.
M: But this is a silly sort of definition, Socrates.
S: How so?
M: It’s silly that you say shape always accompanies color. Because what if someone says
he doesn’t know what color is. He’s just as confused about color as he is about shape.
Now what do you say about your definition?
S: That it is certainly a true one; and if my questioner is going to turn out to be one of
those clever debaters who turns everything into a competition I will say to him: ‘I have
given my answer; if it is wrong, it’s up to you to refute it.’ On the other hand, if we are
among friends – as you and I are – and if we want to pursue the question, we must
answer in a manner more conducive to agreeable, productive discussion. By this I mean
that answers given must not only be true; they must also be made in terms the
questioner admits to understanding. I will try to abide by these rules myself. So let me
ask you: have you ever heard tell of something called ‘the end’? I mean something like a
‘limit’ or ‘boundary’ – because all these terms are, so as far as I am concerned, basically
synonymous. Prodicus might want to split hairs at this point, but you surely call
something ‘finished’ or ‘completed’. That is all I am trying to get at, nothing fancy.
M: I do know of such a thing, and I think I understand what you mean.
S: Additionally, you call a certain something ‘a plane’, and a certain something else ‘a
solid’, as in geometry?
M: I do.
S: Then this is enough to tell you what I mean by ‘shape’. For I say this of every shape: a
shape is that which limits a solid; in a word, a shape is the limit of a solid.
M: And what do you say color is, Socrates?
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S: You are outrageous, Meno! You trouble an old man to answer questions, but you
yourself are not willing to recollect and tell me what Gorgias says virtue is.
M: After you have answered this, Socrates, then I will tell you.
S: Even someone who was blindfolded could tell from your way of talking that you are
handsome and still have lovers.
M: How is that?
S: Because whenever there is a discussion going on, you give orders, as spoiled children
do – who behave like tyrants until one day they finally grow up. I get the sense you
aren’t completely oblivious to the fact that I am at a disadvantage when I’m around
handsome people; so I will do you the favor of answering.
M: By all means, do me the favor.
S: Do you want me to answer á la Gorgias, this being the mode you would most easily
follow?
M: Of course, I want that.
S: Both of you subscribe to Empedocles’ theory of effluvia, am I right?
M: Certainly.
S: And so you believe there are channels through which effluvia make their way?
M: Definitely.
S: And certain effluvia fit certain channels, while others are either too small or too big?
M: That is so.
S: And there is a thing you call sight?
M: There is.
S: From this, ‘comprehend what I state,’ as Pindar says, for color is an effluvium off of
shapes that fits the organ of sight and is perceived.
M: That seems to me a most excellent answer, Socrates!
S: Perhaps it was delivered in the manner to which you are accustomed. At the same
time, I think you can deduce from this answer what sound is, and smell, and many such
things.
M: Quite so.
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S: It is a theatrical answer, so it pleases you, Meno, more than the one about shape.
M: It does.
S: It is
not
better, son of Alexidemus. In fact, I am convinced the other one is, and I think
you would agree if only you did not have to go away before the mysteries, as you told
me yesterday that you must; if only you could stay and be initiated.
M: I
would
stay, Socrates, if you could tell me many such things as these.
S: I certainly won’t be lacking enthusiasm to tell you such things, for your sake and my
own; but I may not be able to tell you many. Come now, you too try to fulfill your
promise to me. Tell me the nature of virtue as a whole and stop making many out of
one – as jokers say whenever someone breaks something. Please allow virtue to remain
sound and whole, and tell me what it is, for I have given you examples of how to go
about it.
M: I think, Socrates, that virtue is, as the poet says, “to find joy in beautiful things and
have power.” Therefore I say that virtue is to want all the best things in life, and to have
the power to get them.
S: Do you mean that the man who desires the best things in life desires good things?
M: That’s certainly right.
S: Do you take it for granted that there are people who desire bad things, and others
who desire good things? Don’t you think, my good man, that all men desire good
things?
M: I certainly don’t.
S: You think some want bad things, then?
M: Yes.
S: Do you mean that they believe the bad things to be good, or that they know they are
bad and want them anyway?
M: I think there are both kinds.
S: Do you think, Meno, that anyone, knowing that bad things are bad, still wants them?
M: I certainly do.
S: Wants in what way? To have for himself?
M: What else?
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M: Yes.
S: So virtue is something that does good?
M: That follows from all this.
S: Then let us consider, one by one, the sorts of things that do us good: health, let’s say,
and strength, and beauty, and wealth. We say that these things, and others of the same
kind, do us good, don’t we?
M: We do.
S: Yet we say that these same things also sometimes do us harm. Do you agree or not?
M: I do.
S: Look then, what deciding factor determines in each case whether these things do us
good or harm? Isn’t goodness a function of correct use, and harm a function of misuse?
M: Certainly.
S: Let us now look at the qualities of the soul. There is a thing you call moderation, and
justice, courage, intelligence, memory, nobility, so on and so forth?
M: There is.
S: Consider any and all items on this list you believe
not
to be knowledge but something
else instead; don’t they all at times harm us, at other times do us good? Courage, for
example, when not based on forethought, is mere recklessness; when a man is
thoughtlessly confident, he gets hurt; but when he is mindful of what he does, things go
well.
M: Yes.
S: The same is true of patience or mental quickness. A brain like a sponge and an even
temper are all very well in one who minds the proper use of such things; to anyone else,
they may bring harm.*
M: Very much so.
S: Therefore, in short, all the soul does, and has done to it, concludes happily – if
directed mindfully. Otherwise, things may end badly?
M: That is likely.
S: If then virtue is something in the soul, and necessarily good, it must be a matter of
mindfulness. For all other qualities of soul are in themselves neither good nor harmful.
As accompanied by forethought or thoughtlessness, they become good or harmful. This
argument shows that virtue, being good, must be a kind of mindfulness.
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M: I agree.
S: Furthermore, those other items we were considering – wealth and the like – are at
times good, at times harmful. Here again it is as with the soul: mindfulness produces
benefits; thoughtlessness causes harm; so in these cases, if the soul uses and directs
things rightly, benefits result; bad use causes harm?
M: Quite
S: The mindful soul directs rightly, the thoughtless soul wrongly?
M: That is so.
S: So we can generalize: all human activities depend on the soul, and those of the soul
depend on mindfulness, if they are to be good. According to this argument what does
good would be mindfulness, and we say that virtue does good?
M: Certainly.
S: Virtue then, as a whole or in part, is a matter of mindfulness?
M: What you say, Socrates, seems to me quite right.
S: Then, if that is how it is, the good are so by nature?
M: I do not think they are.
S: For if they were, this would follow: if the good were so by nature, we would have
people who recognized those among the young who were naturally good; we would
take those they pointed out and guard them in the Acropolis. We would vault them up
there more carefully than gold, lest someone corrupt them. When they reached maturity
they would be useful to their cities.
M: Reasonable proposal, Socrates.
S: Since the good are not good by nature, does learning make them so?
M: I now think that must necessarily be so, Socrates. And clearly, on our hypothesis, if
virtue is knowledge, it can be taught.
S: Perhaps, by Zeus, but mightn’t it turn out we were wrong to agree to this?
M: Yet it seemed right at the time.
S: We should not only think it right at the time. We should think so now, and in the
future, if it is indeed sound.
M: What is the trouble? Something is making you doubt virtue is knowledge?
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S; I will tell you, Meno. I am not saying it is wrong to say virtue is teachable if it is
knowledge, but see whether it isn’t reasonable of me to doubt whether it is knowledge.
Tell me this: if you take virtue, or any sort of teachable thing, won’t there necessarily be
those who teach it and others who learn it?
M: I think so.
S: On the other hand, if there are no teachers or learners of a given something, won’t we
be right to assume the subject cannot be taught?
M: Quite so, but do you think that there are no teachers of virtue?
S: I have often tried to find out whether there are any teachers of it, but in spite of my
best efforts I cannot find any. This in spite of the fact that I have searched for them with
the help of many people, in particular many whom I believed to be most qualified in
this matter. And now, Meno, Anytus has by great good fortune wandered over to sit by
us. Let us include him in our search party. Doing so makes perfect sense, for Anytus is,
in the first place, the son of Anthemion, a man both wealthy and wise – and who did
not become rich by sitting on his hands, nor by being handed a gift like Ismenias the
Theban, who recently acquired the possessions of Polycrates. No, he rose up thanks to
his own wisdom and hard work. What’s more, he did not become offensive, or get a
swelled head – get too big for his britches. He was a well-mannered and well-behaved
man. Also he raised our friend here well – gave him a good education; so the majority
here in Athenians believe, for they are electing him to the highest offices. It is right then
to look for teachers of virtue – to see whether there are any and, if so, who – in the
company of such a man as this. Therefore, Anytus, please join me and your guest-friend
Meno here in our inquiry into the identities of teachers of virtue. Look at it in this way:
if we wanted Meno to become a good doctor, to what teachers would we send him?
Wouldn’t we send him to the doctors?
Anytus: Certainly.
S: And if we wanted him to be a good shoemaker, to shoemakers?
A: Yes.
S: And so with other professions?
A: Certainly.
S: Let’s go around the same point again, like so: we say that we would be right to send
him to the doctors if we want to make a doctor of him; whenever we say this sort of
thing, we mean that it would be reasonable to send him to those who practice the
discipline in question rather than to those who do not, and to those who charge fees for
this very discipline, and who have shown themselves to be teachers of those who wish
to come to them and study. Isn’t this what we would think, in sending him off, and
wouldn’t we be right?