"I know very well that you are not of this number, and that you have improved to your advantage the time you have spent in learning the art of war and other laudable exercises. I imagine, likewise, that in the memoirs of your father, the great Pericles, you have found many rare stratagems, and that by your diligence you have also collected up and down a great number of others. Nor do I doubt but that you frequently meditate on these matters, that nothing may be wanting in you that may be of use to a general. Insomuch, that if you find yourself in doubt of anything, you immediately have recourse to those that know it, and spare neither presents nor civilities to incline them to assist you and to teach you the things of which you are ignorant." "Alas! Socrates," said Pericles, "you flatter me, and flatter me for many things that, I am afraid, I am deficient in; but by that you instruct me in my duty."

Upon this Socrates, interrupting him—"I will," said he, "give you an advice. Have you not observed that in the high mountains, which are the frontiers of Attica, and divide it from Boeotia, the roads through which you must of necessity pass to go from one country to the other are very rough and narrow?" "Yes, I have." "Tell me, besides, have you never heard say that the Mysians and the Pisidians, who are in possession of advantageous places where they dwell in the dominions of the King of Persia, arm themselves lightly, and make continual inroads upon the neighbouring provinces, and by that means are very troublesome to that king's subjects, and preserve their own liberty?" "I have heard so." "It is probable, too," continued Socrates, "that if the Athenians would possess themselves of the mountains that are between Boeotia and Attica, and if they took care to send thither some young men with arms proper for inroaders, our enemies would be much prejudiced by them, and all those mountains would be as a great rampart to cover our country from their insults." "I believe what you say," answered Pericles, "and take all the advices you have given me to be very good." "If you think them so," replied Socrates, "endeavour, my friend, to put them in practice; for if any of them succeed you will receive the honour, and the Republic the profit; and even though they should not meet with success the Republic would have no inconvenience to apprehend, nor you the least dishonour."



CHAPTER VI. SOCRATES DISSUADES GLAUCON, A VERY FORWARD YOUTH, FROM TAKING UPON HIM THE GOVERNMENT OF THE REPUBLIC, FOR WHICH HE WAS UNFIT.

A young man whose name was Glaucon, the son of Ariston, had so fixed it in his head to govern the Republic, that before he was twenty years of age he frequently presented himself before the people to discourse of affairs of state; nor was it in the power of his relations or friends to dissuade him from that design, though all the world laughed at him for it, and though sometimes he was dragged from the tribunal by force. Socrates had a kindness for him, upon account of Plato and Charmidas, and he only it was who made him change his resolution. He met him, and accosted him in so winning a manner, that he first obliged him to hearken to his discourse. He began with him thus:—

"You have a mind, then, to govern the Republic, my friend?" "I have so," answered Glaucon. "You cannot," replied Socrates, "have a more noble design; for if you can accomplish it you will be absolute. You will be able to serve your friends, you will raise your family, you will extend the bounds of your country, you will be known not only in Athens but through all Greece, and perhaps your renown will fly even to the barbarous nations, as did that of Themistocles. In short, wherever you come you will be respected and admired."

These words soothed up Glaucon, and won him to give ear to Socrates, who went on in this manner:—"But it is certain, my dear friend, that if you desire to be honoured, you must be useful to the State." "Certainly," said Glaucon. "I conjure you, then, to tell me," replied Socrates, "what is the first service that you desire to render the State?" Glaucon was considering what to answer, when Socrates continued:—"If you intended to make the fortune of one of your friends, you would endeavour to make him rich, and thus perhaps you will make it your business to enrich the Republic." "I would," answered Glaucon. "Would not the way to enrich the Republic," replied Socrates, "be to increase its revenue?" "It is very likely it would," said Glaucon. "Tell me, then, in what consists the revenue of the State, and to how much it may amount? I presume you have particularly studied this matter, to the end that if anything should be lost on one hand, you might know where to make it good on another, and that if a fund should fail on a sudden, you might immediately be able to settle another in its place." "I protest," answered Glaucon, "I have never thought of this." "Tell me at least the expenses of the Republic, for no doubt you intend to retrench the superfluous." "I never thought of this neither," said Glaucon. "You had best, then, put off to another time your design of enriching the Republic, which you can never be able to do while you are ignorant both of its expense and revenue."

"There is another way to enrich a State," said Glaucon, "of which you take no notice, and that is by the ruin of its enemies." "You are in the right," answered Socrates; "but to this end it is necessary to be stronger than they, otherwise we should run the hazard of losing what we have. He, therefore, who talks of undertaking a war, ought to know the strength on both sides, to the end that if his party be the stronger, he may boldly advise for war, and that if it be the weaker, he may dissuade the people from engaging themselves in so dangerous an enterprise." "All this is true." "Tell me, then," continued Socrates, "how strong our forces are by sea and land, and how strong are our enemies?" "Indeed," said Glaucon, "I cannot tell you that on a sudden." "If you have a list of them in writing, pray show it me, I should be glad to hear it read." "I never took a list of them." "I see, then," said Socrates, "that we shall not engage in war so soon; for it is like that the greatness of the undertaking will hinder you from maturely weighing all the consequences of it in the beginning of your government. But," continued he, "you have thought of the defence of the country, you know what garrisons are necessary, and what are not; you know what number of troops is sufficient in one garrison, and not sufficient in another; you will cause the necessary garrisons to be reinforced, and will disband those that are useless?" "I should be of opinion," said Glaucon, "to leave none of them on foot, because they ruin a country, on pretence of defending it." "But," Socrates objected, "if all the garrisons were taken away, there would be nothing to hinder the first comer from carrying off what he pleased. But how come you to know that the garrisons behave themselves so ill? Have you been upon the place, have you seen them?" "Not at all; but I suspect it to be so." "When, therefore, we are certain of it," said Socrates, "and can speak upon better grounds than simple conjectures, we will propose this advice to the Senate." "It will be very proper to do so," said Glaucon.

"It comes into my mind too," continued Socrates, "that you have never been at the mines of silver, to examine why they bring not in so much now as they did formerly." "You say true, I have never been there." "Indeed, they say the place is very unhealthy, and that may excuse you." "You rally me now," said Glaucon. Socrates added, "But I believe you have at least observed how much corn our lands produce, how long it will serve to supply our city, and how much more we shall want for the whole year, to the end you may not be surprised with a scarcity of bread, but may give timely orders for the necessary provisions." "There is a deal to do," said Glaucon, "if we must take care of all these things." "There is so," replied Socrates; "and it is even impossible to manage our own families well unless we know all that is wanting, and take care to provide it. As you see, therefore, that our city is composed of above ten thousand families, and it being a difficult task to watch over them all at once, why did you not first try to retrieve your uncle's affairs, which are running to decay, that after having given a proof of your care, faithfulness, and capacity in that smaller trust, you might have taken upon you a greater? But now, when you find yourself incapable of aiding a private man, how can you think of behaving yourself so as to be useful to a whole people? Ought a man who has not strength enough to carry a hundred pound weight undertake to carry a burden that is much heavier?" "I would have done good service to my uncle," said Glaucon, "if he would have taken my advice." "How!" replied Socrates; "have you hitherto been unable to govern your uncle, who is but one person, and do you imagine, when you have failed in that, to govern the whole Athenians, whose minds are so fickle and inconstant? Take heed, my dear Glaucon, take heed, lest a too great desire of glory should render you despised. Consider how dangerous it is to speak and employ ourselves about things we do not understand. What a figure do those forward and rash people make in the world who do so: and you yourself may judge whether they acquire more esteem than blame, whether they are more admired than contemned. Think, on the contrary, with how much honour a man is regarded who understands perfectly what he says and what he does, and then you will confess that renown and applause have always been the recompense of true merit, and shame the reward of ignorance and temerity. If, therefore, you would be honoured, endeavour to be a man of true merit, for if you enter upon the government of the Republic with a mind more sagacious than usual, I shall not wonder if you succeed in all your designs."



CHAPTER VII. SOCRATES PERSUADETH CHARMIDAS, A PERSON OF MERIT AND GREAT CAPACITY, BUT VERY MODEST AND DIFFIDENT OF HIMSELF, TO UNDERTAKE THE GOVERNMENT OF THE REPUBLIC.

As Socrates, who was ever watchful for the interests of his country, and consulted the good of every one with whom he conversed, took care, on the one hand, to dissuade persons who had no capacity for it, however bent they were upon the thing, from entering upon any offices of trust, so he was ever mindful, on the other, to persuade those that were bashful and diffident to take upon themselves the government of the Republic, provided he knew they had proper talents and abilities for it. In confirmation whereof we shall here relate a conversation of his with Charmidas, the son of Glaucon. Socrates, who knew him to be a man of sense and merit, and more capable to govern the Republic than any that were then in that post, but withal a person very diffident of himself—one that dreaded the people, and was mightily averse from engaging himself in public business—addressed himself to him in this manner:—

"Tell me, Charmidas, if you knew any man who could gain the prizes in the public games, and by that means render himself illustrious, and acquire glory to his country, what would you say of him if he refused to offer himself to the combat?" "I would say," answered Charmidas, "that he was a mean-spirited, effeminate fellow." "And if a man were capable of governing a Republic, of increasing its power by his advices, and of raising himself by this means to a high degree of honour, would you not brand him likewise with meanness of soul if he would not present himself to be employed?" "Perhaps I might," said Charmidas; "but why do you ask me this question?" "Because you are capable," replied Socrates, "of managing the affairs of the Republic, and yet you avoid doing so, though in the quality of a citizen you are obliged to take care of the commonwealth." "And wherein have you observed this capacity in me?" "When I have seen you in conversation with the Ministers of State," answered Socrates; "for if they impart any affairs to you, I see you give them good advice, and when they commit any errors you make them judicious remonstrances." "But there is a very great difference, my dear Socrates," replied Charmidas, "between discoursing in private and contending in a public manner before the people." "And yet," replied Socrates, "a skilful arithmetician can calculate as well in presence of several persons as when alone; and they who can play well upon the lute in their closets play likewise well in company." "But you know," said Charmidas, "that fear and shame, which are so natural to man, affect us more in public assemblies than in private companies." "Is it possible," said Socrates, "that you can converse so unconcernedly with men of parts and authority, and that you should not have assurance enough to speak to fools? Are you afraid to present yourself before dyers, shoemakers, masons, smiths, labourers, and brokers? for of such are composed the popular assemblies. This is the same thing as to be the most expert in a fencing-school, and to fear the thrust of an unskilful person who never handled a foil. Thus you, though you speak boldly in the presence of the chief men of the Republic, among whom there might perhaps be found some who would despise you, dare not, nevertheless, speak in the presence of an illiterate multitude, who know nothing of the affairs of state, and who are not capable of despising you, and you fear to be laughed at by them." "Do they not usually," said Charmidas, "laugh at those who speak best?" "So likewise," said Socrates, "do the men of quality with whom you converse every day; and I am surprised that you have eloquence and persuasive sense sufficient to bring these to reason, and that you think not yourself capable even to approach the others. Learn to know yourself better, Charmidas, and take care not to fall into a fault that is almost general; for all men inquire curiously enough into the affairs of others, but they never enter into their own bosoms to examine themselves as they ought.

"Be no longer, then, thus negligent in this matter, consider yourself with more attention, and let not slip the occasions of serving the Republic, and of rendering it, if possible, more flourishing than it is. This will be a blessing, whose influence will descend not only on the other citizens, but on your best friends and yourself."



CHAPTER VIII. SOCRATES' DISPUTE WITH ARISTIPPUS CONCERNING THE GOOD AND BEAUTIFUL.

One day Aristippus proposed a captious question to Socrates, meaning to surprise him; and this by way of revenge, for his having before put him to a stand: but Socrates answered him warily, and as a person who has no other design in his conversations than the improvement of his hearers.

The question which Aristippus asked him was whether he knew in the world any good thing, and if Socrates had answered him that meat, or drink, or riches, or health, or strength, or courage are good things, he would forthwith have shown him that it may happen that they are very bad. He therefore gave him such an answer as he ought; and because he knew very well that when we feel any indisposition we earnestly desire to find a remedy for it, he said to him: "Do you ask me, for example, whether I know anything that is good for a fever?" "No," said Aristippus. "Or for sore eyes?" said Socrates. "Neither." "Do you mean anything that is good against hunger?" "Not in the least," answered Aristippus. "I promise you," said Socrates, "that if you ask me for a good thing that is good for nothing, I know no such thing, nor have anything to do with it."

Aristippus pressed him yet further, and asked him whether he knew any beautiful thing. "I know a great many," said Socrates. "Are they all like one another?" continued Aristippus. "Not in the least," answered Socrates, "for they are very different from one another." "And how is it possible that two beautiful things should be contrary one to the other?" "This," said Socrates, "is seen every day in men: a beautiful make and disposition of body for running is very different from a beautiful make and disposition for wrestling: the excellence and beauty of a buckler is to cover well him that wears it. On the contrary, the excellence and beauty of a dart is to be light and piercing." "You answer me," said Aristippus, "as you answered me before, when I asked you whether you knew any good thing." "And do you think," replied Socrates, "that the good and the beautiful are different? Know you not that the things that are beautiful are good likewise in the same sense? It would be false to say of virtue that in certain occasions it is beautiful, and in others good. When we speak of men of honour we join the two qualities, and call them excellent and good. In our bodies beauty and goodness relate always to the same end. In a word, all things that are of any use in the world are esteemed beautiful and good, with regard to the subject for which they are proper." "At this rate you might find beauty in a basket to carry dung," said Aristippus. "Yes, if it be well made for that use," answered Socrates; "and, on the contrary, I would say that a buckler of gold was ugly if it was ill-made." "Would you say," pursued Aristippus, "that the same thing may be beautiful and ugly at once?" "I would say that it might be good and bad. Often what is good for hunger is bad for a fever; and what is good for a fever is very bad for hunger; often what is beautiful to be done in running is ugly to be done in wrestling; and what is beautiful to do in wrestling is ugly in running. For all things are reputed beautiful and good when they are compared with those which they suit or become, as they are esteemed ugly and bad when compared with those they do not become."

Thus we see that when Socrates said that beautiful houses were the most convenient, he taught plainly enough in what manner we ought to build them, and he reasoned thus: "Ought not he who builds a house to study chiefly how to make it most pleasant and most convenient?" This proposition being granted, he pursued: "Is it not a pleasure to have a house that is cool in summer and warm in winter? And does not this happen in buildings that front towards the south? For the beams of the sun enter into the apartments in winter, and only pass over the covering in summer. For this reason the houses that front towards the south ought to be very high, that they may receive the sun in winter; and, on the contrary, those that front towards the north ought to be very low, that they may be less exposed to the cold winds of that quarter." In short, he used to say, that he had a very beautiful and very agreeable house, who could live there with ease during all the seasons of the year, and keep there in safety all that he has; but that for painting and other ornaments, there was more trouble in them than pleasure.

He said further that retired places, and such as could be seen from afar, were very proper to erect altars and build temples in; for though we are at a distance from them, yet it is a satisfaction to pray in sight of the holy places, and as they are apart from the haunts of men, innocent souls find more devotion in approaching them.



CHAPTER IX. SOCRATES RETURNS SUITABLE ANSWERS TO A VARIETY OF QUESTIONS PROPOSED TO HIM.

Another time being asked whether courage can be learnt as an art or was a gift of Nature, he answered: "In my opinion, as we see many bodies that are naturally more vigorous than others, and that better endure fatigue, so there are some souls that are naturally more brave, and look dangers in the face with greater resolution. For I see some men, who live under the same laws, who are brought up in the same customs, and who are not all equally valiant. Nevertheless, I believe that education and exercise add much to natural courage. Whence comes it to pass that the Scythians and the Thracians durst not face the Lacedemonians with pikes and targets; and, on the contrary, that the Lacedemonians would not fight against the Thracians with shields and darts, nor against the Scythians with bows? I see it to be the same in all other things, and that when some men are better inclined by nature for certain things than other men are, they very much advance and perfect themselves in those things by study and diligence. This shows that they who are most favoured by Nature, as well as those to whom she has been less indulgent, ought to apply themselves assiduously to the things by which they would gain themselves a reputation."

He allowed no difference between knowledge and temperance; and he held that he who knows what is good and embraces it, who knows what is bad and avoids it, is learned and temperate; and when he was asked whether he believed that they who know very well what ought to be done, but do quite otherwise, were learned and temperate? "On the contrary," answered he, "they are very ignorant and very stupid, for, in my opinion, every man who, in the great number of possible things that offer themselves to him, can discern what is most advantageous for him to do, never fails to do it; but all who govern not themselves well and as they ought, are neither learned nor men of good morals."

He said likewise that justice and every other virtue is only a science, because all the actions of justice and of the other virtues are good and honourable; and that all who know the beauty of these actions think nothing more charming; as, on the contrary, they who are ignorant of them cannot perform any one virtuous action, or, if they attempt to do it, are sure to perform it in a wrong manner. So that the persons only who possess this science can do just and good actions; but all just and good actions are done by the means of virtue, therefore justice and virtue is only a science.

He said, moreover, that folly is contrary to knowledge, and yet he did not allow ignorance to be a folly; but that not to know oneself, or to imagine one knows what he does not know, is a weakness next to folly. And he observed that among the vulgar a man is not accused of folly for being mistaken in things that are unknown to most of the world, but for mistaking in things which no man mistakes that knows anything at all; as if any man should think himself so tall as to be obliged to stoop when he came in at the gates of the city; or if he thought himself so strong as to undertake to carry away whole houses on his back, or to do any other thing visibly impossible, the people would say that he had lost his wits, which they do not say of those who commit only some slight extravagances; and as they give the name of love to a violent affection only, so they give the name of folly only to an extraordinary disorder of the mind.

Reflecting on the nature of envy, he said that it is a certain grief of mind, which proceeds, not from the misfortune of friends or good fortune of enemies, but (which is very surprising) only from the prosperity of friends. "For," said he, "those may be truly said to be envious who cannot endure to see their friends happy." But, some wondering whether it were possible for a man to be grieved at the good fortune of his friend, he justified the truth of what he had advanced, by telling them plainly that there are some men so variously affected towards their friends, that, while they are in calamity and distress, they will compassionate and succour them, but when they are well and in prosperity will fret at and envy them. "But this," he said, "is a fault from which wise and good men are free, and never to be found but in weak and wicked minds."

As to idleness, he said that he had observed that most men were always in action, for they who play at dice, or who serve to make others laugh, are doing something, but in effect they are idle, because they might employ themselves more usefully. To which he added, that no man finds leisure to quit a good employment for an ill one, and that if he did he would deserve the greater blame, in that he wanted not something to do before.

He said likewise that the sceptre makes not the king, and that princes and governors are not they whom chance or the choice of the people has raised to those dignities, nor those who have established themselves in them by fraud or force, but they who know how to command; for if it were allowed that it is the duty of a prince to command, as it is the duty of a subject to obey, he showed in consequence of it that in a ship, where there are several persons, the honour of commanding it is given to him who is most capable of it, and that all obey him, without excepting even the owner of the vessel; that likewise in husbandry, he to whom the land belongs obeys his own servants, if they understand agriculture better than himself; that thus the sick obey the physicians, and they who learn exercises, their masters; nay, that even women are masters of the men in working with the needle, because they understand it better than they; in short, that in all things which require care and industry men govern themselves when they think they are capable of doing so; otherwise, they leave themselves to the conduct of such as they judge to have more capacity, and take care to have them near at hand for that purpose. And if any man made him this objection, that a tyrant is at liberty not to believe the best advices, he answered, "Why do you say he is at liberty not to do so, seeing he will bear the smart of it? for every man who shuts his ears to good counsel commits a fault, and this fault is always attended with some damage." And if it were said that a tyrant is permitted to put to death the men of the best parts and understanding in his State, he replied again, "Do you think he is not punished in losing his chief supports, or that he will be quit for a slight punishment? Is to govern in this manner the way to preserve himself? or rather, is it not the certain means to hasten his own ruin?"

Being asked what was the best study for man to apply himself to, he answered, "To do well;" and being asked farther whether good fortune was the effect of study, "On the contrary," said he, "I think good fortune and study to be two opposite things; for what I call good fortune is, when a man meets with what is necessary for him, without the trouble of seeking it; but when he meets with any good success after a tedious search and labour, it is an effect of study. This is what I call to do well; and I think that all who take delight in this study are for the most part successful, and gain the esteem of men, and the affection of the Deity. Such are they as have rendered themselves excellent in economy, in physic, and in politics; but he who knows not any one thing perfectly is neither useful to men, nor beloved by the gods."



CHAPTER X. SOCRATES, IN CONVERSATION WITH SEVERAL ARTIFICERS, A PAINTER, A STATUARY, AND AN ARMOURER, SHOWETH HIS SKILL AND GOOD TASTE IN THE FINER ARTS.

As Socrates studied to be useful in all his conversations, so he never happened to be in company even with tradesmen but he always said something that might be of service to them. Going once into the shop of the painter Parrhasius, he entertained himself with him in the following manner:—

"Is not painting," said he, "a representation of all we see? For with a few colours you represent on a canvas mountains and caverns, light and obscurity; you cause to be observed the difference between soft things and hard, between things smooth and rough; you give youth and old age to bodies; and when you would represent a perfect beauty, it being impossible to find a body but what has some defect, your way is to regard several, and taking what is beautiful from each of them, you make one that is accomplished in all its parts." "We do so," said Parrhasius. "Can you represent likewise," said Socrates, "what is most charming and most lovely in the person, I mean the inclination?" "How think you," answered Parrhasius, "we can paint what cannot be expressed by any proportion, nor with any colour, and that has nothing in common with any of those things you mentioned, and which the pencil can imitate; in a word, a thing that cannot be seen?" "Do not the very looks of men," replied Socrates, "confess either hatred or friendship?" "In my opinion they do," said Parrhasius. "You can then make hatred and friendship appear in the eyes?" "I own we can." "Do you think likewise," continued Socrates, "that they who concern themselves either in the adversity or prosperity of friends, keep the same look with those who are wholly unconcerned for either?" "By no means," said he, "for during the prosperity of our friends, our looks are gay and full of joy, but in their adversity we look cloudy and dejected." "This, then, may be painted likewise?" "It may." "Besides," said Socrates, "magnificence, generosity, meanness of mind, cowardice, modesty, prudence, insolence, rusticity, all appear in the looks of a man, whether sitting or standing." "You say true." "And cannot the pencil imitate all this likewise?" "It may." "And in which do you take most pleasure," said Socrates, "in regarding the picture of a man whose external appearance discovereth a good natural disposition, and bespeaks an honest man, or of one who wears in his face the marks of a vicious inclination?" "There is no comparison between them," said Parrhasius.

Another time, talking with Clito the sculptor, he said to him, "I wonder not that you make so great a difference between the statue of a man who is running a race and that of one who stands his ground to wait for his antagonist with whom he is to wrestle, or to box, or to play a prize at all sorts of defence; but what ravishes the beholders is, that your statues seem to be alive. I would fain know by what art you imprint upon them this wonderful vivacity?" Clito, surprised at this question, stood considering what to answer, when Socrates went on:—"Perhaps you take great care to make them resemble the living persons, and this is the reason that they seem to live likewise." "It is so," said Clito. "You must then," replied Socrates, "observe very exactly in the different postures of the body what are the natural dispositions of all the parts, for when some of them stoop down, the others raise themselves up; when some are contracted, the others stretch themselves out; when some are stiff with straining, others relax themselves; and when you imitate all this, you make your statues approach very near the life." "You say true," said Clito. "Is it not true likewise," replied Socrates, "that it is a great satisfaction to beholders to see all the passions of a man who is in action well expressed? Thus, in the statue of a gladiator who is fighting, you must imitate the sternness of look with which he threatens his enemy; on the contrary, you must give him, when victor, a look of gaiety and content." "There is no doubt of what you say." "We may then conclude," said Socrates, "that it is the part of an excellent statuary to express the various affections and passions of the soul, by representing such-and-such motions and postures of the body as are commonly exerted in real life whenever the mind is so-and-so affected."

Another time, Socrates being in the shop of Pistias the armourer, who showed him some corselets that were very well made: "I admire," said Socrates to him, "the invention of these arms that cover the body in the places where it has most need of being defended, and nevertheless are no hindrance to the motions of the hands and arms; but tell me why you sell the suits of armour you make dearer than the other workmen of the city, since they are not stronger nor of better-tempered or more valuable metal?" "I sell them dearer than others," answered Pistias, "because they are better made than theirs." "In what does this make consist?" said Socrates, "in the weight, or in the largeness of the arms? And yet you make them not all of the same weight nor of the same size, but to fit every man." "They must be fit," said Pistias, "otherwise they would be of no use." "But do you not know," replied Socrates, "that some bodies are well-shaped and others not?" "I know it well." "How, then," continued Socrates, "can you make a well-shaped suit of armour for an ill- shaped body?" "It will be sufficient if they are fit for him," answered Pistias; "for what is fit is well made." "You are of opinion, then," added Socrates, "that one cannot judge whether a thing be well made, considering it merely in itself, but in regard to the person who is to use it; as if you said that a buckler is well made for him whom it fits, and in like manner of a suit of clothes and any other thing whatsoever. But I think there is another convenience in having a suit of armour well made." "What do you take that to be?" said Pistias. "I think," answered Socrates, "a suit of armour that is well made does not load the bearer so much as one ill made, even though it weigh as much. For ill-made arms, by pressing too much upon the shoulders, or hanging cumbrous on some other part, become almost insupportable, and greatly incommode the person that weareth them. But those arms which, as they ought, distribute an equal weight to all the parts of the body, that join upon the neck, the shoulders, the breast, the back, and the hips, may be said to be glued to the body, and to weigh nothing at all." "For this," said Pistias, "I value the arms I make. It is true that some choose rather to part with their money for arms that are gilt and finely carved, but if with all this they fit not easy upon them, I think they buy a rich inconveniency." Socrates went on:—"But since the body is not always in the same posture, but sometimes bends, and sometimes raises itself straight, how can arms that are very fit be convenient and easy?" "They never can," said Pistias. "Your opinion therefore is," said Socrates, "that the best arms are not those that are most fit, and fit closest to the body, but those that do not incommode the person that wears them." "You, too, are of the same opinion," replied Pistias, "and you understand the matter aright."



CHAPTER XI. DISCOURSE OF SOCRATES WITH THEODOTA, AN ATHENIAN LADY, OF NO GOOD CHARACTER; WHEREIN HE ENDEAVOURETH, IN THE MOST ARTFUL AND ENGAGING MANNER, TO WIN HER OVER FROM THE CRIMINAL PLEASURES TO WHICH SHE WAS ADDICTED UNTO THE SUBLIMER AND MORE INNOCENT DELIGHTS OF PHILOSOPHY AND VIRTUE.

There was at Athens a very beautiful lady called Theodota, who had the character of a loose dame. Some person was speaking of her in presence of Socrates, and saying that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world; that all the painters went to see her, to draw her picture, and that they were very well received at her house. "I think," said Socrates, "we ought to go see her too, for we shall be better able to judge of her beauty after we have seen her ourselves than upon the bare relation of others." The person who began the discourse encouraged the matter, and that very moment they all went to Theodota's house. They found her with a painter who was drawing her picture; and having considered her at leisure when the painter had done, Socrates began thus:—"Do you think that we are more obliged to Theodota for having afforded us the sight of her beauty than she is to us for coming to see her? If all the advantage be on her side, it must be owned that she is obliged to us; if it be on ours, it must be confessed that we are so to her." Some of the company saying there was reason to think so, Socrates continued in these words:—"Has she not already had the advantage of receiving the praises we have given her? But it will be yet a much greater to her when we make known her merit in all the companies we come into; but as for ourselves, what do we carry from hence except a desire to enjoy the things we have seen? We go hence with souls full of love and uneasiness; and from this time forward we must obey Theodota in all she pleases to enjoin us." "If it be so," said Theodota, "I must return you many thanks for your coming hither." Meanwhile Socrates took notice that she was magnificently apparelled, and that her mother appeared likewise like a woman of condition. He saw a great number of women attendants elegantly dressed, and that the whole house was richly furnished. He took occasion from hence to inform himself of her circumstances in the world, and to ask her whether she had an estate in land or houses in the city, or slaves, whose labour supplied the expenses of her family. "I have nothing," answered she, "of all this; my friends are my revenue. I subsist by their liberality."

Upon which Socrates remarked that "friendship was one of the greatest blessings in life, for that a good friend could stand one in stead of all possessions whatever." And he advised Theodota to try all her art to procure to herself some lovers and friends that might render her happy. The lady asking Socrates whether there were any artifices to be used for that purpose, he answered, "there were," and proceeded to mention several:—"Some for attracting the regard of the men, some for insinuating into their hearts; others for securing their affections and managing their passions." Whereupon Theodota, whose soul then lay open to any impression, mistaking the virtuous design of Socrates in the whole of this discourse for an intention of another sort, cried out in raptures, "Ah! Socrates, why will not you help me to friends?" "I will," replied Socrates, "if you can persuade me to do so." "And what means must I use to persuade you?" "You must invent the means," said Socrates, "if you want me to serve you." "Then come to see me often," added Theodota. Socrates laughed at the simplicity of the woman, and in raillery said to her, "I have not leisure enough to come and see you; I have both public and private affairs which take up too much of my time. Besides, I have mistresses who will not suffer me to be from them neither day nor night, and who against myself make use of the very charms and sorceries that I have taught them." "And have you any knowledge in those things, too?" said she. "Why do Apollodorus and Antisthenes," answered Socrates, "never leave me? why do Cebes and Simmias forsake Thebes for my company? This they would not do if I were not master of some charm." "Lend it me," said Theodota, "that I may employ it against you, and charm you to come to me." "No," said Socrates, "but I will charm you, and make you come to me." "I will," said Theodota, "if you will promise to make me welcome." "I promise you I will," answered Socrates, "provided there be nobody with me whom I love better than you."



CHAPTER XII. OF THE NECESSITY OF EXERCISE TO HEALTH AND STRENGTH OF BODY.

Among others who frequented Socrates, there was a young man whose name was Epigenes, and who was very awkward in his person and behaviour, and had contracted an ill habit of body, having never learnt nor used any exercise. Socrates reproached him for it, and told him that it was unworthy of any man to be so negligent of himself. Epigenes slightly answered that he was under no obligation to do better. "You are no less obliged to it," replied Socrates, "than they who train themselves up for the Olympic Games. For do you believe that to fight for one's life against the enemies of the Republic, which we are all obliged to do when the Athenians please to command us, is a less important occasion than to contend with antagonists for a prize? How many men are there who, for want of strength, perish in fights; or have recourse to dishonourable means to seek their safety? Some are taken prisoners, and remain in slavery all the rest of their days, or are forced to pay so great a ransom, as makes them live poor and miserable ever afterwards: others are ill thought of, and their weakness is imputed to cowardice. And do you value so little all these misfortunes, which constantly attend an ill habit of body, and do they seem to you so slight? In my opinion, there are no fatigues in the exercises but what are more easy and more agreeable. But perhaps you despise the advantages of a good disposition of body: nevertheless, they are considerable; for men in that condition enjoy a perfect health, they are robust and active, they come off from combats with honour, they escape from dangers, they succour their friends, they render great services to their country. For these reasons they are well received wherever they come, they are in good reputation with all men, they attain to the highest offices, they live the more honourably and the more at ease, and they leave their posterity the most noble examples. If, therefore, you do not practise the military exercises in public, you ought not to neglect the doing so in private, but to apply yourself to them with all possible diligence.

"To have the body active and healthy can be hurtful to you in no occasions: and since we cannot do anything without the body, it is certain that a good constitution will be of great advantage to us in all our undertakings. Even in study, where there seems to be least need of it, we know many persons who could never make any great progress for want of health. Forgetfulness, melancholy, loss of appetite, and folly, are the diseases that generally proceed from the indisposition of the body; and these diseases sometimes seize the mind with so great violence, that they wipe out even the least remembrance of what we knew before. But in health we have nothing like this to fear, and consequently there is no toil which a judicious man would not willingly undergo to avoid all these misfortunes. And, indeed, it is shameful for a man to grow old before he has tried his own strength, and seen to what degree of dexterity and perfection he can attain, which he can never know if he give himself over for useless; because dexterity and strength come not of themselves, but by practice and exercise."



CHAPTER XIII. SEVERAL APOPHTHEGMS OF SOCRATES.

A certain man being vexed that he had saluted one who did not return his civility, Socrates said to him, "It is ridiculous in you to be unconcerned when you meet a sick man in the way, and to be vexed for having met a rude fellow."

2. Another was saying that he had lost his appetite and could eat nothing. Socrates, having heard it, told him he could teach him a remedy for that. The man asking what it was, "Fast," said he, "for some time, and I will warrant you will be in better health, spend less money, and eat with more satisfaction afterwards."

3. Another complained that the water which came into the cistern was warm, and nevertheless he was forced to drink it. "You ought to be glad of it," said Socrates, "for it is a bath ready for you, whenever you have a mind to bathe yourself." "It is too cold to bathe in," replied the other. "Do your servants," said Socrates, "find any inconvenience in drinking it, or in bathing in it?" "No, but I wonder how they can suffer it." "Is it," continued Socrates, "warmer to drink than that of the temple of AEsculapius?" "It is not near so warm." "You see, then," said Socrates, "that you are harder to please than your own servants, or even than the sick themselves."

4. A master having beaten his servant most cruelly, Socrates asked him why he was so angry with him. The master answered, "Because he is a drunkard, a lazy fellow who loves money, and is always idle." "Suppose he be so," said Socrates: "but be your own judge, and tell me, which of you two deserves rather to be punished for those faults?"

5. Another made a difficulty of undertaking a journey to Olympia. "What is the reason," said Socrates to him, "that you are so much afraid of walking, you, who walk up and down about your house almost all day long? You ought to look upon this journey to be only a walk, and to think that you will walk away the morning till dinner-time, and the afternoon till supper, and thus you will insensibly find yourself at your journey's end. For it is certain that in five or six days' time you go more ground in walking up and down than you need to do in going from Athens to Olympia. I will tell you one thing more: it is much better to set out a day too soon than a day too late; for it is troublesome to be forced to go long journeys; and on the contrary, it is a great ease to have the advantage of a day beforehand. You were better therefore to hasten your departure than be obliged to make haste upon the road."

6. Another telling him that he had been a great journey, and was extremely weary, Socrates asked whether he had carried anything. The other answered that he had carried nothing but his cloak. "Were you alone?" said Socrates. "No; I had a slave with me." "Was not he loaded?" continued Socrates. "Yes, for he carried all my things." "And how did he find himself upon the road?" "Much better than I." "And if you had been to carry what he did, what would have become of you?" "Alas!" said he, "I should never have been able to have done it." "Is it not a shame," added Socrates, "in a man like you, who have gone through all the exercises, not to be able to undergo as much fatigue as his slave?"



CHAPTER XIV. SOCRATES PROPOSETH SOME REGULATIONS FOR THE BETTER MANAGEMENT OF THEIR PUBLIC FEASTS.

Socrates having observed that in public suppers every one brought his own dish of meat, and that sometimes some brought more and others less, was wont, when this happened, to bid a servant set the least dish in the middle of the table, and to give some of it to all the company. No man could, in civility, refuse it, nor exempt himself from doing the like with his own dish, insomuch that every man had a taste of the whole, and all fared alike. This in some measure banished luxury and expensiveness from these feasts. For they who would have laid out a great deal of money in delicacies cared no longer to do so, because they would have been as much for others as for themselves.

Being one day in these assemblies, and seeing a young man who ate his meat without bread, he took occasion to rally him for it upon a question that was started touching the imposing of names. "Can we give any reasons," said he, "why a man is called flesh-eater—that is to say, a devourer of flesh?—for every man eats flesh when he has it; and I do not believe it to be upon that account that a man is called so." "Nor I neither," said one of the company. "But," continued Socrates, "if a man takes delight to eat his meat without bread, do you not take him to be, indeed, a flesh-eater?" "I should think it difficult to find another who better would deserve that name." Upon which somebody else taking the word said, "What think you of him who, with a little bread only, eats a great deal of flesh?" "I should," replied Socrates, "judge him, too, to be a flesh-eater; and whereas others ask of the gods in their prayers to give them an abundance of fruits, such men in their petitions it is likely would pray only for abundance of flesh."

The young man whom Socrates had in mind, suspecting that he spoke upon his account, took some bread, but continued still to eat a great deal of flesh with it. Socrates perceived him, and showing him with his finger to those that sat next to him, said to them, "Take notice of jour neighbour, and see whether it be the meat that makes him eat his bread, or the bread that makes him eat his meat."

In a like occasion, seeing a man sop the same morsel of meat in several sauces, he said, "Is it possible to make a sauce that will cost more, and be not so good, as one that is made by taking out of several different sauces at once? For there being more ingredients than usual, no doubt it costs more; but then because we mix things together, which the cooks never used to mingle, because they agree not well with one another, we certainly spoil the whole; and is it not a jest to be curious in having good cooks, and at the same time to be so fantastical as to alter the relish of the dishes they have dressed? Besides, when we have once got a habit of eating thus of several dishes at once, we are not so well satisfied when we have no longer that variety. Whereas a man who contents himself to eat but of one dish at a time finds no great inconvenience in having but one dish of meat for his dinner."

He made likewise this remark: that to express what the other Greeks called "to eat a meal," the Athenians said "to make good cheer;" and that the word "good" shows us that we ought to eat such things only as will neither disorder the body nor the mind, which are easily had, and purchased without great expense. From whence he inferred that they alone who live temperately and soberly can truly be said to make good cheer—that is to say, to eat well.



BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I. THAT PERSONS OF GOOD NATURAL PARTS, AS WELL AS THOSE WHO HAVE PLENTIFUL FORTUNES, OUGHT NOT TO THINK THEMSELVES ABOVE INSTRUCTION. ON THE CONTRARY, THE ONE OUGHT, BY THE AID OF LEARNING, TO IMPROVE THEIR GENIUS; THE OTHER, BY THE ACQUISITION OF KNOWLEDGE, TO RENDER THEMSELVES VALUABLE.

There was always, as we have already remarked, some improvement to be made with Socrates; and it must be owned that his company and conversation were very edifying, since even now, when he is no more among us, it is still of advantage to his friends to call him to their remembrance. And, indeed, whether he spoke to divert himself, or whether he spoke seriously, he always let slip some remarkable instructions for the benefit of all that heard him.

He used often to say he was in love, but it was easy to see it was not with the beauty of one's person that he was taken, but with the virtues of his mind.

The marks of a good genius, he said, were these—a good judgment, a retentive memory, and an ardent desire of useful knowledge; that is to say, when a person readily learns what he is taught, and strongly retains what he has learnt, as also when he is curious to know all that is necessary to the good government either of a family or of a republic; in a word, when one desires to obtain a thorough knowledge of mankind and of whatever relates to human affairs. And his opinion was that when these good natural parts are cultivated as they ought, such men are not only happy themselves, and govern their families prudently, but are capable likewise to render others happy, and to make republics flourish.

On the one hand, therefore, whenever he met with any who believed themselves men of parts, and for that reason neglected to be instructed, he proved to them that men of the best natural parts are they who have most need of instruction; and to this purpose he alleged the example of a high-mettled horse, who, having more courage and more strength than others, does us very great service, if he be broke and managed in his youth; but if that be neglected, he grows so vicious and unruly that we know not what to do with him. Thus also dogs of a good breed, and that by nature are the most strong and mettlesome, are excellent for game, if they are well taught; otherwise they are apt to become high rangers and at no command. In like manner among men they who are blessed with the greatest advantages of Nature, to whom she has given the most courage and the greatest strength to enable them to succeed in their undertakings, are likewise the most virtuous, and do more good than others, when they meet with a good education; but if they remain without instruction they fall into an excess of ill, and become most pernicious to themselves and others. Merely for want of knowing their duty they often engage themselves in very wicked designs; and being imperious and violent, it is very difficult to keep them within bounds and to make them change their resolution, which is the reason they do a great deal of mischief.

On the other hand, when he saw any of those men who pique themselves on their estates, and who believe because they are men of high condition that they are above instruction, or have no need of it, because their riches alone are sufficient to gain them the esteem of the world, and to make them succeed in all their undertakings, he endeavoured to convince them of their error, and to show them that they, too, have need of instruction. He told them that that man is a fool who imagines with himself that he can know the things that are useful from those that are hurtful, without having ever learnt the difference; or who, not discerning between them, fondly thinks that because he has wherewithal to buy whatever he has a mind to, he can therefore do whatever may lend to his advantage; or who, judging himself incapable to do what is useful for himself, thinks, nevertheless, that he is well in the world, and in a safe and happy condition of life. That it is likewise a folly for a man to persuade himself that, being rich and having no merit, he will pass for a man of parts; or that, not having the reputation of being a man of parts, he shall nevertheless be esteemed.



CHAPTER II. CONFERENCE BETWEEN SOCRATES AND EUTHYDEMUS, IN WHICH HE CONVINCES THAT YOUNG MAN, WHO HAD A GREAT OPINION OF HIMSELF, THAT HE KNEW NOTHING.

When Socrates, on the other hand, found any who soothe themselves up in the belief that they are well instructed, and who boast of their own sufficiency, he never failed to chastise the vanity of such persons. Of his conduct in this particular I will relate the following instance—

He had been told that Euthydemus had bought up several works of the most celebrated poets and sophists, and that this acquisition had so puffed him up with arrogance, that he already esteemed himself the greatest man for learning and parts of any of the age, and pretended to no less than being the first man of the city, either for negotiating or for discoursing in public. Nevertheless, he was still so young that he was not admitted into the assemblies of the people, and if he had any affair to solicit he generally came and placed himself in one of the shops that were near the courts of justice. Socrates, having observed his station, failed not to go thither likewise with two or three of his friends; and there, being fallen into discourse, this question was started: Whether it was by the improving conversation of philosophers or by the strength of his natural parts only, that Themistocles surpassed all his countrymen in wisdom and valour, and advanced himself to such a high rank and to so great esteem, that all the Republic cast their eyes upon him whenever their affairs required the conduct of a man of bravery and wisdom? Socrates, who had a mind to reflect upon Euthydemus, answered that "a man must be very stupid to believe that mechanic arts (which are comparatively things but of small importance) cannot be learnt without masters; and yet that the art of governing of States, which is a thing of the greatest moment and that requires the greatest effort of human prudence, comes of itself into the mind." And this was all that passed in this first interview.

After this Socrates, observing that Euthydemus always avoided being in his company, lest he should be taken for one of his admirers, attacked him more openly; and once when he happened to be where he was, addressed himself to the rest of the company in these words:—"Certainly, gentlemen, by what may be conjectured from the studies of this young man, it is very likely that when he shall have attained the age that permits him to be present in the assemblies of the people, if any important affair come to be debated there, he will not fail to give his judgment of it; and in my opinion he would introduce his harangue by a very pleasant exordium, if he should begin with giving them to understand that he had never learnt anything of any man whatsoever; he must address himself to them in words to this purpose:—

"'Gentlemen, I have never been taught anything, I never frequented the conversation of men of parts, I never gave myself the trouble to look out for a master that was able to instruct me. On the contrary, gentlemen, I have not only had an aversion to learn from others, but I should even have been very sorry to have it believed I had done so; nevertheless, I will venture to tell you what chance shall suggest to me in this present occasion.' At this rate they who present themselves to be received physicians might introduce a like discourse as thus:—'Gentlemen, I have never had any master to teach me this science; for, indeed, I would never learn it, nor even have the repute of having learnt it; nevertheless, admit me a physician, and I will endeavour to become learned in the art by making experiments on your own bodies.'"

All the company fell a-laughing at this pleasant preface, and from that time Euthydemus never avoided Socrates' company as he had done before; but he never offered to speak, believing that his silence would be an argument of his modesty. Socrates, being desirous to rally him out of that mistaken notion, spoke to him in this manner:—

"I wonder that they who desire to learn to play upon the lute, or to ride well, do not endeavour to learn it alone by themselves; but that they look out for masters, resolved to do everything they bid them, and to believe all they say, there being no other way to arrive at perfection in those arts; and that they who hope one day to govern the Republic, and to declaim before the people, imagine they can become fit to do so of themselves all of a sudden. Nevertheless, it must be owned that these employments are more difficult than the others, since among the great number of persons who push themselves into office so few discharge their duty as they ought. This shows us that more labour and diligence is required in such as would capacitate themselves for those offices than for anything else."

By these discourses, Socrates having prepared the mind of Euthydemus to hearken to what he intended to say to him, and to enter into conference with him, he came another time by himself into the same shop, and taking a seat next to this young man—"I have heard," said he to him, "that you have been curious in buying a great many good books." "I have," said Euthydemus, "and continue to do so every day, designing to have as many as I can get." "I commend you very much," said Socrates, "for choosing rather to hoard up a treasure of learning and knowledge than of money. For you testify by so doing that you are not of opinion that riches, or silver and gold, can render one more valuable, that is to say, a wiser or a better man; but that it is only the writings and precepts of the philosophers and other fine writers that are the true riches, because they enrich with virtue the minds of those that possess them." Euthydemus was pleased to hear him say this, believing that he approved his method; and Socrates, perceiving his satisfaction, went on: "But what is your design of making a collection of so many books? Do you intend to be a physician? There are many books in that science." "That is not my design," said Euthydemus. "Will you be an architect, then?" said Socrates, "for that art requires a learned man. Or do you study geometry or astrology?" "None of them." "Do you mean to be a reciter of heroic verses?" continued Socrates, "for I have been told that you have all Homer's works." "Not in the least," answered Euthydemus, "for I have observed that men of that profession know indeed a great many verses by heart, but for anything else they are for the most part very impertinent." "Perhaps you are in love with that noble science that makes politicians and economists, and that renders men capable to govern, and to be useful to others and to themselves?" "That is what I endeavour to learn," said Euthydemus, "and what I passionately desire to know." "It is a sublime science," replied Socrates; "it is that we call the royal science, because it truly is the science of kings. But have you weighed this point, whether a man can excel in that science without being an honest man?" "I have," said the young man, "and am even of opinion that none but honest men can be good citizens." "And are you an honest man?" said Socrates. "I hope I am," answered Euthydemus, "as honest a man as another." "Tell me," said Socrates, "can we know who are honest men by what they do, as we know what trade a man is of by his work?" "We may." "Then," said Socrates, "as architects show us their works, can honest men show us theirs likewise?" "No doubt of it," replied Euthydemus; "and it is no difficult task to show you which are the works of justice, and which those of injustice, that we so often hear mentioned." "Shall we," said Socrates, "make two characters, the one (J) to signify justice, the other (I) to denote injustice; and write under one of them all the works that belong to justice, and under the other all that belong to injustice?" "Do," said Euthydemus, "if you think fit."

Socrates, having done what he proposed, continued thus his discourse:—"Do not men tell lies?" "Very often," answered Euthydemus. "Under which head shall we put lying?" "Under that of injustice," said Euthydemus. "Do not men sometimes cheat?" "Most certainly." "Where shall we put cheating?" said Socrates. "Under injustice." "And doing wrong to one's neighbour?" "There too." "And selling of free persons into slavery?" "Still in the same place." "And shall we write none of all these," said Socrates, "under the head of justice?" "Not one of them," answered Euthydemus; "it would be strange if we did." "But what," replied Socrates, "when a general plunders an enemy's city, and makes slaves of all the inhabitants, shall we say that he commits an injustice?" "By no means." "Shall we own, then, that he does an act of justice?" "Without doubt." "And when he circumvents his enemies in the war, does he not do well?" "Very well." "And when he ravages their land, and takes away their cattle and their corn, does he not do justly?" "It is certain he does," said Euthydemus; "and when I answered you that all these actions were unjust, I thought you had spoken of them in regard only of friend to friend." "We must, therefore," replied Socrates, "put among the actions of justice those very actions we have ascribed to injustice, and we will only establish this distinction, that it is just to behave ourselves so towards our enemies; but that to treat our friends thus is an injustice, because we ought to live with them uprightly, and without any deceit." "I think so," said Euthydemus. "But," continued Socrates, "when a general sees that his troops begin to be disheartened, if he make them believe that a great reinforcement is coming to him, and by that stratagem inspires fresh courage into the soldiers, under what head shall we put this lie?" "Under the head of justice," answered Euthydemus. "And when a child will not take the physic that he has great need of, and his father makes it be given him in a mess of broth, and by that means the child recovers his health, to which shall we ascribe this deceit?" "To justice likewise." "And if a man, who sees his friend in despair, and fears he will kill himself, hides his sword from him, or takes it out of his hands by force, what shall we say of this violence?" "That it is just," replied Euthydemus. "Observe what you say," continued Socrates; "for it follows from your answers that we are not always obliged to live with our friends uprightly, and without any deceit, as we agreed we were." "No; certainly we are not, and if I may be permitted to retract what I said, I change my opinion very freely." "It is better," said Socrates, "to change an opinion than to persist in a wrong one. But there is still one point which we must not pass over without inquiry, and this relates to those whose deceits are prejudicial to their friends; for I ask you, which are most unjust, they who with premeditate design cheat their friends, or they who do it through inadvertency?" "Indeed," said Euthydemus, "I know not what to answer, nor what to believe, for you have so fully refuted what I have said, that what appeared to me before in one light appears to me now in another. Nevertheless, I will venture to say that he is the most unjust who deceives his friend deliberately." "Do you think," said Socrates, "that one may learn to be just and honest, as well as we learn to read and write?" "I think we may." "Which," added Socrates, "do you take to be the most ignorant, he who reads wrong on purpose, or he who reads wrong because he can read no better?" "The last of them," answered Euthydemus; "for the other who mistakes for pleasure need not mistake when he pleases." "Then," inferred Socrates, "he who reads wrong deliberately knows how to read; but he who reads wrong without design is an ignorant man." "You say true." "Tell me likewise," pursued Socrates, "which knows best what ought to be done, and what belongs to justice, he who lies and cheats with premeditate design, or he who deceives without intention to deceive?" "It is most plain," said Euthydemus, "that it is he who deceives with premeditate design." "But you said," replied Socrates, "that he who can read is more learned than he who cannot read?" "I did so." "Therefore he who best knows which are the duties of justice is more just than he that knows them not." "It seems to be so," answered Euthydemus, "and I know not well how I came to say what I did." "Indeed," said Socrates, "you often change your opinion, and contradict what you say; and what would you yourself think of any man who pretended to tell the truth, and yet never said the same thing; who, in pointing out to you the same road, should show you sometimes east, sometimes west, and who, in telling the same sum, should find more money at one time than another; what would you think of such a man?" "He would make all men think," answered Euthydemus, "that he knew nothing of what he pretended to know."

Socrates urged him yet further, and asked him: "Have you ever heard say that some men have abject and servile minds?" "I have." "Is it said of them because they are learned or because they are ignorant?" "Surely because they are ignorant." "Perhaps," said Socrates, "it is because they understand not the trade of a smith?" "Not in the least for that." "Is it because they know not how to build a house, or to make shoes?" "By no means," said Euthydemus; "for most who are skilled in such professions have likewise abject and servile minds." "This character, then," pursued Socrates, "must be given to those who are ignorant of the noble sciences, and who know not what is just nor what is honourable?" "I believe so." "We ought, therefore, Euthydemus, to do all we can to avoid falling into that ignominious ignorance that sinks us down so low." "Alas, Socrates!" cried he out, "I will not lie for the matter; I thought I knew something in philosophy, and that I had learnt whatever was requisite to be known by a man who desired to make a practice of virtue; but judge how much I am afflicted to see that, after all my labours, I am not able to answer you concerning things which I ought chiefly to know; and yet I am at a loss what method to pursue in order to render myself more capable and knowing in the things I desire to understand." Upon this, Socrates asked him whether he had ever been at Delphi, and Euthydemus answered that he had been there twice. "Did you not take notice," said Socrates, "that somewhere on the front of the temple there is this inscription, 'KNOW THYSELF'?" "I remember," answered he, "I have read it there." "It is not enough," replied Socrates, "to have read it. Have you been the better for this admonition? Have you given yourself the trouble to consider what you are?" "I think I know that well enough," replied the young man, "for I should have found it very difficult to have known any other thing if I had not known myself." "But for a man to know himself well," said Socrates, "it is not enough that he knows his own name; for, as a man that buys a horse cannot be certain that he knows what he is before he has ridden him, to see whether he be quiet or restive, whether he be mettlesome or dull, whether he be fleet or heavy—in short, before he has made trial of all that is good and bad in him—in like manner, a man cannot say that he knows himself before he has tried what he is fit for, and what he is able to do." "It is true," said Euthydemus, "that whoever knows not his own strength knows not himself." "But," continued Socrates, "who sees not of how great advantage this knowledge is to man, and how dangerous it is to be mistaken in this affair? for he who knows himself knows likewise what is good for himself. He sees what he is able to do, and what he is not able to do; by applying himself to things that he can do, he gets his bread with pleasure, and is happy; and by not attempting to do the things he cannot do, he avoids the danger of falling into errors, and of seeing himself miserable. By knowing himself, he knows likewise how to judge of others, and to make use of their services for his own advantage, either to procure himself some good, or to protect himself from some misfortune; but he who knows not himself, and is mistaken in the opinion he has of his own abilities, mistakes likewise in the knowledge of others, and in the conduct of his own affairs. He is ignorant of what is necessary for him, he knows not what he undertakes, nor comprehends the means he makes use of, and this is the reason that success never attends his enterprises, and that he always falls into misfortunes. But the man who sees clear into his own designs generally obtains the end he proposes to himself, and at the same time gains reputation and honour. For this reason, even his equals are well pleased to follow his advices; and they whose affairs are in disorder implore his assistance, and throw themselves into his hands, depending upon his prudence to retrieve their affairs, and to restore them to their former good condition. But he who undertakes he knows not what, generally makes an ill choice, and succeeds yet worse; and the present damage is not the only punishment he undergoes for his temerity. He is disgraced for ever; all men laugh at him, all men despise and speak ill of him. Consider likewise what happens to Republics who mistake their own strength, and declare war against States more powerful than themselves; some are utterly ruined, others lose their liberty, and are compelled to receive laws from the conquerors."

"I am fully satisfied," said Euthydemus, "that a great deal depends on the knowledge of oneself. I hope you will now tell me by what a man must begin to examine himself." "You know," said Socrates, "what things are good and what are bad?" "Indeed," answered Euthydemus, "if I knew not that, I were the most ignorant of all men." "Then tell me your thoughts of this matter," said Socrates. "First," said Euthydemus, "I hold that health is a good and sickness an evil, and that whatever contributes to either of them partakes of the same qualities. Thus nourishment and the exercises that keep the body in health are very good; and, on the contrary, those that cause diseases are hurtful." "But would it not be better to say," replied Socrates, "that health and sickness are both good when they are the causes of any good, and that they are both bad when they are the causes of any ill?" "And when can it ever happen," said Euthydemus, "that health is the cause of any ill, and sickness the cause of any good?" "This may happen," answered Socrates, "when troops are raised for any enterprise that proves fatal; when men are embarked who are destined to perish at sea; for men who are in health may be involved in these misfortunes, when they who, by reason of their infirmities, are left at home, will be exempted from the mischiefs in which the others perish." "You say true," said Euthydemus, "but you see, too, that men who are in health are present in fortunate occasions, while they who are confined to their beds cannot be there." "It must therefore be granted," said Socrates, "that these things which are sometimes useful and sometimes hurtful are not rather good than bad." "That is, indeed, the consequence of your argument," replied Euthydemus; "but it cannot be denied that knowledge is a good thing; for what is there in which a knowing man has not the advantage of an ignorant one?" "And have you not read," said Socrates, "what happened to Daedalus for his knowing so many excellent arts, and how, being fallen into the hands of Minos, he was detained by force, and saw himself at once banished from his country and stripped of his liberty? To complete his misfortune, flying away with his son, he was the occasion of his being miserably lost, and could not, after all, escape in his own person; for, falling into the hands of barbarians, he was again made a slave. Know you not likewise the adventure of Palamedes, who was so envied by Ulysses for his great capacity, and who perished wretchedly by the calumnious artifices of that rival? How many great men likewise has the King of Persia caused to be seized and carried away because of their admirable parts, and who are now languishing under him in a perpetual slavery?" "But, granting this to be as you say," added Euthydemus, "you will certainly allow good fortune to be a good?" "I will," said Socrates, "provided this good fortune consists in things that are undoubtedly good." "And how can it be that the things which compose good fortune should not be infallibly good?" "They are," answered Socrates, "unless you reckon among them beauty and strength of body, riches, honours, and other things of that nature." "And how can a man be happy without them?" "Rather," said Socrates, "how can a man be happy with things that are the causes of so many misfortunes? For many are daily corrupted because of their beauty; many who presume too much on their own strength are oppressed under the burden of their undertakings. Among the rich, some are lost in luxury, and others fall into the snares of those that wait for their estates. And lastly, the reputation and honours that are acquired in Republics are often the cause of their ruin who possess them." "Certainly," said Euthydemus, "if I am in the wrong to praise good fortune, I know not what we ought to ask of the Deity." "Perhaps, too," replied Socrates, "you have never considered it, because you think you know it well enough.

"But," continued he, changing the subject of their discourse, "seeing you are preparing yourself to enter upon the government of our Republic, where the people are master, without doubt you have reflected on the nature of this State, and know what a democracy is?" "You ought to believe I do." "And do you think it possible," said Socrates, "to know what a democracy or popular State is without knowing what the people is?" "I do not think I can." "And what is the people?" said Socrates. "Under that name," answered Euthydemus, "I mean the poor citizens." "You know, then, who are the poor?" "I do," said Euthydemus. "Do you know, too, who are the rich?" "I know that too." "Tell me, then, who are the rich and who are the poor?" "I take the poor," answered Euthydemus, "to be those who have not enough to supply their necessary expenses, and the rich to be they who have more than they have occasion for." "But have you observed," replied Socrates, "that there are certain persons who, though they have very little, have nevertheless enough, and even lay up some small matter out of it; and, on the contrary, there are others who never have enough how great soever their estates and possessions are?" "You put me in mind," said Euthydemus, "of something very much to the purpose, for I have seen even some princes so necessitous that they have been compelled to take away their subjects' estates, and to commit many injustices." "We must, then," said Socrates, "place such princes in the rank of the poor, and those who have but small estates, yet manage them well, in the number of the rich." "I must give consent to all you say," answered Euthydemus, "for I am too ignorant to contradict you; and I think it will be best for me, from henceforward, to hold my peace, for I am almost ready to confess that I know nothing at all."

Having said this, he withdrew, full of confusion and self-contempt, beginning to be conscious to himself that he was indeed a person of little or no account at all. Nor was he the only person whom Socrates had thus convinced of their ignorance and insufficiency, several of whom never came more to see him, and valued him the less for it. But Euthydemus did not act like them. On the contrary, he believed it impossible for him to improve his parts but by frequently conversing with Socrates, insomuch that he never left him, unless some business of moment called him away, and he even took delight to imitate some of his actions. Socrates, seeing him thus altered from what he was, was tender of saying anything to him that might irritate or discourage him; but took care to speak more freely and plainly to him of the things he ought to know and apply himself to.



CHAPTER III. PROOFS OF A KIND SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE.—WHAT RETURNS OF GRATITUDE AND DUTY MEN OUGHT TO MAKE TO GOD FOR HIS FAVOURS.—AN HONEST AND GOOD LIFE THE BEST SONG OF THANKSGIVING OR THE MOST ACCEPTABLE SACRIFICE TO THE DEITY.

As Socrates considered virtue and piety as the two grand pillars of a State, and was fully persuaded that all other qualifications whatever, without the knowledge and practice of these, would, instead of enabling men to do good, serve, on the contrary, to render them more wicked and more capable of doing mischief. For that reason he never pressed his friends to enter into any public office until he had first instructed them in their duty to God and mankind. But, above all, he endeavoured to instil into their minds pious sentiments of the Deity, frequently displaying before them high and noble descriptions of the Divine power, wisdom, and goodness. But seeing several have already written what they had heard him say in divers occasions upon this subject, I will content myself with relating some things which he said to Euthydemus when I myself was present.

"Have you never reflected, Euthydemus, on the great goodness of the Deity in giving to men whatever they want?" "Indeed, I never have," answered he. "You see," replied Socrates, "how very necessary light is for us, and how the gods give it us." "You say true," answered Euthydemus, "and without light we should be like the blind." "But because we have need of repose they have given us the night to rest in; the night, which, of all times, is the fittest for repose." "You are in the right," said Euthydemus, "and we ought to render them many praises for it." "Moreover," continued Socrates, "as the sun is a luminous body, and by the brightness of his beams discovers to us all visible things, and shows us the hours of the day; and as, on the contrary, the night is dusky and obscure, they have made the stars to appear, which, during the absence of the day, mark the hours to us, by which means we can do many things we have occasion for. They have likewise made the moon to shine, which not only shows us the hours of the night, but teaches us to know the time of the month." "All this is true," said Euthydemus. "Have you not taken notice likewise that having need of nourishment, they supply us with it by the means of the earth? How excellently the seasons are ordered for the fruits of the earth, of which we have such an abundance, and so great a variety, that we find, not only wherewith to supply our real wants but to satisfy even luxury itself." "This goodness of the gods," cried Euthydemus, "is an evidence of the great love they bear to men." "What say you," continued Socrates, "to their having given us water, which is so necessary for all things? For it is that which assists the earth to produce the fruits, and that contributes, with the influences from above, to bring them to maturity; it helps to nourish us, and by being mingled with what we eat, makes it more easily got ready, more useful, and more delightful; in short, being of so universal an use, is it not an admirable providence that has made it so common? What say you to their having given us fire, which defends us from cold, which lights us when it is dark, which is necessary to us in all trades, and which we cannot be without in the most excellent and useful inventions of men?" "Without exaggeration," said Euthydemus, "this goodness is immense." "What say you, besides," pursued Socrates, "to see that after the winter the sun comes back to us, and that proportionably as he brings the new fruits to maturity, he withers and dries those whose season is going over; that after having done us this service he retires that his heat may not incommode us; and then, when he is gone back to a certain point, which he cannot transgress, without putting us in danger of dying with cold, he returns again to retake his place in this part of the heavens, where his presence is most advantageous to us? And because we should not be able to support either cold or heat, if we passed in an instant from one extreme to the other, do you not admire that this planet approaches us and withdraws himself from us by so just and slow degrees, that we arrive at the two extremes without almost perceiving the change?" "All these things," said Euthydemus, "make me doubt whether the gods have anything to do but to serve mankind. One thing puts me to a stand, that the irrational animals participate of all these advantages with us." "How!" said Socrates, "and do you then doubt whether the animals themselves are in the world for any other end than for the service of man? What other animals do, like us, make use of horses, of oxen, of dogs, of goats, and of the rest? Nay, I am of opinion, that man receives not so much advantage from the earth as from the animals; for the greatest part of mankind live not on the fruits of the earth, but nourish themselves with milk, cheese, and the flesh of beasts; they get the mastery over them, they make them tame, and use them to their great advantage in war and for the other necessities of life." "I own it," said Euthydemus, "for some of them are much stronger than man, and yet are so obedient to him, that he does with them whatever he pleases."

"Admire yet further the goodness of the gods," said Socrates, "and consider, that as there is in the world an infinite number of excellent and useful things, but of very different natures, they have given us external senses, which correspond to each of those sensible objects, and by means of which senses we can perceive and enjoy all of them. They have, besides, endued us with reason and understanding, which enableth us to discern between those things that the senses discover to us, to inquire into the different natures of things useful and things hurtful, and so to know by experience which to choose and which to reject. They have likewise given us speech, by means whereof we communicate our thoughts to each other, and instruct one another in the knowledge of whatever is excellent and good; by which also we publish our laws and govern States. In fine, as we cannot always foresee what is to happen to us, nor know what it will be best for us to do, the gods offer us likewise their assistance by the means of the oracles; they discover the future to us when we go to consult them, and teach us how to behave ourselves in the affairs of life."

Here Euthydemus, interrupting him, said, "And indeed these gods are in this respect more favourable to you than to the rest of mankind, since, without expecting you to consult them, they give you notice of what you ought or ought not to do." "You will allow, therefore, that I told you true," said Socrates, "when I told you there were gods, and that they take great care of men; but expect not that they will appear to you, and present themselves before your eyes. Let it suffice you to behold their works, and to adore them, and be persuaded that this is the way by which they manifest themselves to men, for among all the gods that are so liberal to us there is not one who renders himself visible to confer on us his favours. And that Supreme God, who built the universe, and who supports this great work, whose every part is accomplished in beauty and goodness; He, who is the cause that none of its parts grow old with time, and that they preserve themselves always in an immortal vigour, who is the cause, besides, that they inviolably obey His laws with a readiness that surpasses our imagination; He, I say, is visible enough in the so many wondrous works of which He is author, but our eyes cannot penetrate even into His throne to behold Him in these great occupations, and in that manner it is that He is always invisible. Do but consider that the sun, who seems to be exposed to the sight of all the world, does not suffer us to gaze fixedly upon him, and whoever has the temerity to undertake it is punished with sudden blindness. Besides, whatever the gods make use of is invisible; the thunder is lanced from above, it shatters all it finds in its way, but we see it not fall, we see it not strike, we see it not return. The winds are invisible, though we see the desolations they daily make, and easily feel when they grow boisterous. If there be anything in man that partakes of the divine nature it is his soul, which, beyond all dispute, guides and governs him, and yet we cannot see it. Let all this, therefore, teach you not to neglect or disbelieve the Deity, because He is invisible; learn to know His presence and power from the visible effects of it in the world around you; be persuaded of the universal care and providence of the all-surrounding Deity from the blessings He showers down upon all His creatures, and be sure to worship and serve this God in a becoming manner."

"I am sure," said Euthydemus, "I shall never derogate from the respect due to the gods; and I am even troubled that every man cannot sufficiently acknowledge the benefits he receives from them." "Be not afflicted at that," said Socrates, "for you know what answer the Delphian Oracle is wont to return to those who inquire what they ought to do in order to make an acceptable sacrifice. 'Follow the custom of your country,' says he to them. Now, it is a custom received in all places for every man to sacrifice to them according to his power; and by consequence there is no better nor more pious a way of honouring the gods than that, since they themselves ordain and approve it. It is indeed a truth that we ought not to spare anything of what we are able to offer, for that would be a manifest contempt. When, therefore, a man has done all that is in his power to do, he ought to fear nothing and hope all; for, from whence can we reasonably hope for more, than from those in whose power it is to do us the greatest good? And by what other way can we more easily obtain it, than by making ourselves acceptable to them? And how can we better make ourselves acceptable to them, than by doing their will?"

This is what Socrates taught, and by this doctrine, which was always accompanied with an exemplary devotion, he greatly advanced his friends in piety.



CHAPTER IV. INSTANCES OF THE INVIOLABLE INTEGRITY OF SOCRATES.—HIS CONVERSATION WITH HIPPIAS CONCERNING JUSTICE.

Concerning justice, it cannot be said that Socrates concealed his opinion of it, for he plainly revealed his sentiments by his actions, as well in public as in private, making it his business to serve every man, and to obey the magistrates and the laws; insomuch, that as well in the army as in the city, his obedience and uprightness rendered him remarkable above all others. He fully discovered the integrity of his soul, when he presided in the assemblies of the people; he would never pass a decree that was contrary to the laws; he alone defended the cause of justice against the efforts of the multitude, and opposed a violence which no man but himself was able to resist. Again, when the Thirty commanded him anything that was unjust, he did not obey them. Thus, when they forbid him to speak to the young men, he regarded not their inhibition, and when they gave orders to him, as well as to some other citizens, to bring before them a certain man, whom they intended to put to death, he alone would do nothing in it, because that order was unjust. In like manner when he was accused by Melitus, though in such occasions others endeavour to gain their judges by flatteries and ignominious solicitations, which often procure them their pardon, he would not put in practice any of these mean artifices that are repugnant to the laws, and yet he might very easily have got himself acquitted, if he could have prevailed with himself to comply in the least with the custom, but he chose rather to die in an exact observance of the laws, than to save his life by acting contrary to them, for he utterly abhorred all mean or indirect practices; and this was the answer he gave to several of his friends who advised him to the contrary.

Since I am now illustrating the character of Socrates with regard to justice, I will, at the same time, relate a conversation I remember he had with Hippias of Elis on that subject.

It was a long while that Hippias had not been at Athens; and being arrived there, he happened to come to a place where Socrates was discoursing with some persons, and telling them that if any one had a mind to learn a trade, there wanted not masters to teach him; nay, that if one would have a horse trained up there were persons enough to undertake it; but that if one desired to learn to be a good man, or to have his son, or any of his family taught to be so, it would be difficult to know to whom to apply himself. Hippias rallying him, said:—"What! Socrates, you are still repeating the same things I heard you say so long ago." "Nay, more," replied Socrates, "and always upon the same subject; but you, perhaps, being learned as you are, do not always say the same thing upon the same subject." "Indeed," said Hippias, "I always endeavour to say something new." "Is it possible," replied Socrates? "Pray tell me if you were asked how many letters there are in my name, and which they are, would you answer sometimes in one manner and sometimes in another? Or if you were asked whether twice five be not ten, would you not always say the same thing?" "In subjects like those," said Hippias, "I should be obliged to say the same thing as well as you; but since we are upon the theme of justice, I believe I can now say some things of it, against which, neither you nor any man else can make any objection." "Good God!" cried Socrates, "what a mighty boast is here! Upon my word, Hippias, you have made an admirable discovery! and you have reason to value yourself upon it; for, let me tell you, if you can establish one single opinion of justice, the judges will be no longer divided in their sentiments, there will be no more quarrels, no more suits at law, no more seditions among citizens, no more wars between republics. Indeed, it much troubles me to leave you before you have taught me this secret, which you say you have discovered." "I give you my word," answered Hippias, "that I will tell you nothing of it, till you have first declared your own opinion concerning justice; for it is your old way to interrogate others, and then to laugh at them by refuting what they have said; but you never make known your own opinions, that you may not be obliged to give a reason for them." "Why do you lay this to my charge," said Socrates, "since I am continually showing to all the world what are the things I believe to be just?" "How do you show it?" said Hippias. "If I explain it not by my words," answered Socrates, "my actions speak it sufficiently; and do you think that actions deserve not rather to be believed than words?" "Much rather," said Hippias, "because many may say one thing, and do another; nay, we see that, in fact, many who preach up justice to others are very unjust themselves; but this cannot be said of a man whose every action is good, and that never in his life did an unjust thing." "Have you known, then," said Socrates, "that I have accused any man out of malice, that I have sown dissension among friends, that I have raised seditions in the Republic; in short, that I have committed any other sort of injustice?" "Not in the least," said he. "Well, then," added Socrates, "do you not take him to be just who commits no manner of injustice?" "It is plain, now,'" said Hippias, "that you intend to get loose, and that you will not speak your mind freely, nor give us an exact definition of justice. For all this while you have only shown what just men do not, but not what they do." "I should have thought," said Socrates, "I had given at once a good definition, and a clear instance of justice, when I called it an aversion from doing injustice. But since you will not allow it to be so, see whether this will satisfy you: I say, then, that justice 'is nothing but the observance of the laws.'" "You mean," said Hippias, "that to observe the laws is to be just?" "Yes," answered Socrates. "I cannot comprehend your thought," said Hippias. "Do you not know," pursued Socrates, "what the laws in a State are?" "The laws," answered Hippias, "are what the citizens have ordained by an universal consent." "Then," inferred Socrates, "he who lives conformably to those ordinances observes the laws; and he who acts contrary to them is a transgressor of the laws." "You say true." "Is it not likewise true," continued Socrates, "that he who obeys these ordinances does justly, and that he obeys them not does unjustly?" "Yes." "But," said Socrates, "he who acts justly is just, and he who acts unjustly is unjust?" "Without doubt." "Therefore," said Socrates, "whosoever observes the laws is just, and whosoever observes them not is unjust." "But how can it be imagined," objected Hippias, "that the laws are a good thing, and that it is good to obey them, since even they that made them mend, alter, and repeal them so often?" To this Socrates answered, "When you blame those who obey the laws, because they are subject to be abrogated, you do the same thing as if you laughed at your enemies for keeping themselves in a good posture of defence during the war, because you might tell them that the peace will one day be made: and thus you would condemn those who generously expose their lives for the service of their country. Do you know," added he, "that Lycurgus could never have rendered the Republic of Sparta more excellent than other States if he had not made it his chief care to incline the citizens most exactly to observe the laws? This, too, is what all good magistrates aim at, because a Republic that is obedient to the laws is happy in peace, and invincible in war. Moreover, you know that concord is a great happiness in a State. It is daily recommended to the people; and it is an established custom all over Greece to make the citizens swear to live in good understanding with one another, and each of them takes an oath to do so. Now, I do not believe that this unity is exacted of them, only that they might choose the same company of comedians, or of musicians, nor that they might give their approbation to the same poets, or all take delight in the same diversions, but that they may all unanimously obey the laws, because that obedience is the security and the happiness of the State. Concord, therefore, is so necessary, that without it good polity and authority cannot subsist in any State, nor good economy and order in any family.

"In our private capacity, likewise, how advantageous is it to obey the laws? By what means can we more certainly avoid punishments, and deserve rewards? What more prudent conduct can we observe, always to gain our suits at law, and never to be cast! To whom should we with greater confidence trust our estates or our children, than to him who makes a conscience of observing the laws? Who can deserve more of his country? whom can she more safely entrust with public posts, and on whom can she more justly bestow the highest honours, than on the good and honest man? Who will discharge himself better of his duty towards his father or his mother, towards his relations or his domestics, towards his friends, his fellow-citizens, or his guests? To whom will the enemy rather trust for the observing of a truce, or for the performance of a treaty of peace? With whom would we rather choose to make an alliance? To whom will the allies more readily give the command of their armies, or the government of their towns? From whom can we rather hope for a grateful return of a kindness than from a man who strictly obeys the laws? and, by consequence, to whom will men be more ready to do good turns, than to him of whose gratitude they are certain? With whom will men be better pleased to contract a friendship, and, consequently, against whom will men be less inclined to commit acts of hostility, than against that person who has everybody for his well-wisher and friend, and few or none for his ill-wishers or enemies? These, Hippias, are the advantages of observing the laws. And now, having shown you that the observance of the laws is the same thing with justice, if you are of another opinion, pray let me know it." "Indeed, Socrates," answered Hippias, "what you have said of justice agrees exactly with my sentiments of it." "Have you never heard," continued Socrates, "of certain laws that are not written?" "You mean the laws," answered Hippias, "which are received all over the earth." "Do you think, then," added Socrates, "that it was all mankind that made them?" "That is impossible," said Hippias, "because all men cannot be assembled in the same place, and they speak not all of them the same language." "Who, then, do you think gave us these laws?" "The gods," answered Hippias; "for the first command to all men is to adore the gods." "And is it not likewise commanded everywhere to honour one's father and mother?" "Yes, certainly," said Hippias. Socrates went on:—"And that fathers and mothers should not marry with their own children, is not that too a general command?" "No," answered Hippias, "this last law is not a Divine law, because I see some persons transgress it." "They observe not the others better," said Socrates; "but take notice, that no man violates with impunity a law established by the gods. There are unavoidable punishments annexed to this crime; but we easily secure ourselves from the rigour of human laws, after we have transgressed them, either by keeping ourselves hid, or defending ourselves by open force." "And what is this punishment," said Hippias, "which it is impossible for fathers, who marry with their own children, to avoid?" "It is very great," said Socrates; "for what can be more afflicting to men, who desire to have children than to have very bad ones?" "And how do you know," pursued Hippias, "that they will have bad children? What shall hinder them, if they are virtuous themselves, from having children that are so likewise?" "It is not enough," answered Socrates, "that the father and the mother be virtuous: they must, besides, be both of them in the vigour and perfection of their age. Now, do you believe, that the seed of persons who are too young, or who are already in their declining age, is equal to that of persons who are in their full strength?" "It is not likely that it is," said Hippias. "And which is the best?" pursued Socrates. "Without doubt," said Hippias, "that of a man in his strength." "It follows, then," continued Socrates, "that the seed of persons who are not yet come to their full strength, or who are past it, is not good." "In all appearance it is not." "In those ages, then, we ought not to get children?" said Socrates. "I think so." "Such, therefore, as indulge their lust in such untimely fruition will have very weakly children?" "I grant they will." "And are not weakly children bad ones?" "They are," said Hippias.