Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 46

Seeing one of those who were with him, a young man, but feeble of body, named Epigenes, Socrates addressed him. 

Socrates: "You have not the athletic appearance of a youth in training, Epigenes." 

And he: "That may well be, seeing I am an amateur and not in training." 

Socrates: "As little of an amateur, I take it, as anyone who ever entered the lists of Olympia, unless you are prepared to make light of that contest for life and death against the public foe, which the Athenians will institute when the day comes. 

"And yet they are not a few who, owing to a bad habit of body, either perish outright in the perils of war, or are ignobly saved. Many are they who for the selfsame cause are taken prisoners, and being taken must, if it so betide, endure the pains of slavery for the rest of their days; or, after falling into dolorous straits, when they have paid to the uttermost farthing of all, or maybe more than the worth of all that they possess, must drag on a miserable existence in want of the barest necessaries until death releases them. 

"Many also are they who gain an evil repute through infirmity of body, being thought to play the coward. Can it be that you despise these penalties affixed to an evil habit? Do you think you could lightly endure them? Far lighter, I imagine, nay, pleasant even by comparison, are the toils which he will undergo who duly cultivates a healthy bodily condition. 

"Or do you maintain that the evil habit is healthier, and in general more useful than the good? Do you pour contempt upon those blessings which flow from the healthy state? 

"And yet the very opposite of that which befalls the ill attends the sound condition. Does not the very soundness imply at once health and strength? Many a man with no other talisman than this has passed safely through the ordeal of war; stepping, not without dignity, through all its horrors unscathed. 

"Many with no other support than this have come to the rescue of friends, or stood forth as benefactors of their fatherland; whereby they were thought worthy of gratitude, and obtained a great renown and received as a recompense the highest honors of the state; to whom is also reserved a happier and brighter passage through what is left to them of life, and at their death they leave to their children the legacy of a fairer starting-point in the race of life. 

"Because our city does not practice military training in public, that is no reason for neglecting it in private, but rather a reason for making it a foremost care. For be you assured that there is no contest of any sort, nor any transaction, in which you will be the worse off for being well prepared in body; and in fact there is nothing which men do for which the body is not a help. 

"In every demand, therefore, which can be laid upon the body it is much better that it should be in the best condition; since, even where you might imagine the claims upon the body to be slightest—in the act of reasoning—who does not know the terrible stumbles which are made through being out of health? 

"It suffices to say that forgetfulness, and despondency, and moroseness, and madness take occasion often of ill-health to visit the intellectual faculties so severely as to expel all knowledge from the brain. 

"But he who is in good bodily plight has large security. He runs no risk of incurring any such catastrophe through ill-health at any rate; he has the expectation rather that a good habit must procure consequences the opposite to those of an evil habit; and surely to this end there is nothing a man in his senses would not undergo. . . . 

"It is a base thing for a man to wax old in careless self-neglect before he has lifted up his eyes and seen what manner of man he was made to be, in the full perfection of bodily strength and beauty. But these glories are withheld from him who is guilty of self-neglect, for they are not wont to blaze forth unbidden." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.12 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 45

There was once in the city a fair woman named Theodote. She was not only fair, but ready to consort with any suitor who might win her favor. 

Now it chanced that some one of the company mentioned her, saying that her beauty beggared description. "So fair is she," he added, "that painters flock to draw her portrait, to whom, within the limits of decorum, she displays the marvels of her beauty." 

"Then there is nothing for it but to go and see her," answered Socrates, "since to comprehend by hearsay what is beyond description is clearly impossible." 

Then he who had introduced the matter replied: "Be quick then to follow me"; and on this wise they set off to seek Theodote. They found her "posing" to a certain painter; and they took their stand as spectators. Presently the painter had ceased his work; whereupon Socrates: 

"Do you think, sirs, that we ought to thank Theodote for displaying her beauty to us, or she us for coming to gaze at her? . . . It would seem, would it not, that if the exhibition of her charms is the more profitable to her, the debt is on her side; but if the spectacle of her beauty confers the greater benefit on us, then we are her debtors."

Someone answered that "was an equitable statement of the case."

"Well then," he continued, "as far as she is concerned, the praise we bestow on her is an immediate gain; and presently, when we have spread her fame abroad, she will be further benefited; but for ourselves the immediate effect on us is a strong desire to touch what we have seen; by and by, too, we shall go away with a sting inside us, and when we are fairly gone we shall be consumed with longing. Consequently it seems that we should do her service and she accept our court."

Whereupon Theodote: "Oh dear! If that is how the matter stands, it is I who am your debtor for the spectacle." 

At this point, seeing that the lady herself was expensively attired, and that she had with her her mother also, whose dress and style of attendance were out of the common, not to speak of the waiting-women—many and fair to look upon, who presented anything but a forlorn appearance; while in every respect the whole house itself was sumptuously furnished—Socrates put a question: 

"Pray tell me, Theodote, have you an estate in the country?" 

Theodote: "Not I indeed." 

Socrates: "Then perhaps you possess a house and large revenues along with it?" 

Theodote: "No, nor yet a house." 

Socrates: "You are not an employer of labor on a large scale?" 

Theodote: "No, nor yet an employer of labor." 

Socrates: "From what source, then, do you get your means of subsistence?" 

Theodote: "My friends are my life and fortune, when they care to be kind to me." 

Socrates: "By heaven, Theodote, a very fine property indeed, and far better worth possessing than a multitude of sheep or goats or cattle. A flock of friends! . . . But do you leave it to fortune whether a friend lights like a fly on your hand at random, or do you use any artifice yourself to attract him?" 

Theodote: "And how might I hit upon any artifice to attract him?" 

Socrates: "Bless me! Far more naturally than any spider. You know how they capture the creatures on which they live; by weaving webs of gossamer, is it not? And woe betide the fly that tumbles into their toils! They eat him up." 

Theodote: "So then you would counsel me to weave myself some sort of net?" 

Socrates: "Why, surely you do not suppose you are going to ensnare that noblest of all game—a lover, to wit—in so artless a fashion? Do you not see, to speak of a much less noble sort of game, what a number of devices are needed to bag a hare? 

"The creatures range for their food at night; therefore the hunter must provide himself with night dogs. At peep of dawn they are off as fast as they can run. He must therefore have another pack of dogs to scent out and discover which way they betake them from their grazing ground to their forms; and as they are so fleet of foot that they run and are out of sight in no time, he must once again be provided with other fleet-footed dogs to follow their tracks and overtake them; and as some of them will give even these the slip, he must, last of all, set up nets on the paths at the points of escape, so that they may fall into the meshes and be caught." 

Theodote: "And by what like contrivance would you have me catch my lovers?" 

Socrates: "Well now! What if in place of a dog you can get a man who will hunt up your wealthy lover of beauty and discover his lair, and having found him, will plot and plan to throw him into your meshes?" 

Theodote: "Nay, what sort of meshes have I?" 

Socrates: "One you have, and a close-folding net it is, I trow; to wit, your own person; and inside it sits a soul that teaches you with what looks to please and with what words to cheer; how, too, with smiles you are to welcome true devotion, but to exclude all wantons from your presence. 

"It tells you, you are to visit your beloved in sickness with solicitude, and when he has wrought some noble deed you are greatly to rejoice with him; and to one who passionately cares for you, you are to make surrender of yourself with heart and soul. The secret of true love I am sure you know: not to love softly merely, but devotedly. And of this too I am sure: you can convince your lovers of your fondness for them not by lip phrases, but by acts of love." 

Theodote: "No, upon my word, I have none of these devices." 

Socrates: "And yet it makes all the difference whether you approach a human being in the natural and true way, since it is not by force certainly that you can either catch or keep a friend. Kindness and pleasure are the only means to capture this fearful wild-fowl man and keep him constant." 

Theodote: "You are right." 

Socrates: "In the first place you must make such demands only of your well-wisher as he can grant without repentance; and in the next place you must make requital, dispensing your favors with a like economy. Thus you will best make friends whose love shall last the longest and their generosity know no stint. 

"And for your favors you will best win your friends if you suit your largess to their penury; for, mark you, the sweetest viands presented to a man before he wants them are apt to prove insipid, or, to one already sated, even nauseous; but create hunger, and even coarser stuff seems honey-sweet." 

Theodote: "How then shall I create this hunger in the heart of my friends?" 

Socrates: "In the first place you must not offer or make suggestion of your dainties to jaded appetites until satiety has ceased and starvation cries for alms. Even then shall you make but a faint suggestion to their want, with modest converse—like one who would fain bestow a kindness . . . and lo! The vision fades and she is gone—until the very pinch of hunger; for the same gifts have then a value unknown before the moment of supreme desire." 

Then Theodote: "Oh why, Socrates, why are you not by my side, like the huntsman's assistant, to help me catch my friends and lovers?" 

Socrates: "That will I be in good sooth if only you can woo and win me." 

Theodote: "How shall I woo and win you?" 

Socrates: "Seek and you will find means, if you truly need me." 

Theodote: "Come then in hither and visit me often." 

And Socrates, poking sly fun at his own lack of business occupation, answered: "Nay, Theodote, leisure is not a commodity in which I largely deal. I have a hundred affairs of my own too, private or public, to occupy me; and then there are my lady loves, my dear friends, who will not suffer me day or night to leave them, for ever studying to learn love charms and incantations at my lips." 

Theodote: "Why, are you really versed in those things, Socrates?" 

Socrates: "Of course, or else how is it, do you suppose, that Apollodorus here and Antisthenes never leave me; or why have Cebes and Simmias come all the way from Thebes to stay with me? Be assured these things cannot happen without diverse love charms and incantations and magic wheels." 

Theodote: "I wish you would lend me your magic-wheel, then, and I will set it spinning first of all for you." 

Socrates: "Ah! But I do not wish to be drawn to you. I wish you to come to me." 

Theodote: "Then I will come. Only, will you be 'at home' to me?" 

Socrates: "Yes, I will welcome you, unless someone still dearer holds me engaged, and I must needs be 'not at home'." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.11 

IMAGE: John William Godward, The Tease (1901) 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 44

But indeed, if chance brought Socrates into conversation with any one possessed of an art, and using it for daily purposes of business, he never failed to be useful to this kind of person. 

For instance, stepping one time into the studio of Parrhasius the painter, and getting into conversation with him: 

"I suppose," Parrhasius," said Socrates, "painting may be defined as 'a representation of visible objects,' may it not? That is to say, by means of colors and palette you painters represent and reproduce as closely as possible the ups and downs, lights and shadows, hard and soft, rough and smooth surfaces, the freshness of youth and the wrinkles of age, do you not?" 

"You are right," Parrhasius answered, "that is so." 

Socrates: "Further, in portraying ideal types of beauty, seeing it is not easy to light upon any one human being who is absolutely devoid of blemish, you cull from many models the most beautiful traits of each, and so make your figures appear completely beautiful?"  

Parrhasius: "Yes, that is how we do." 

"Well, but stop," Socrates continued; "do you also pretend to represent in similar perfection the characteristic moods of the soul, its captivating charm and sweetness, with its deep wells of love, its intensity of yearning, its burning point of passion? or is all this quite incapable of being depicted?"

"No," he answered, "how should a mood be other than inimitable, Socrates, when it possesses neither linear proportion nor color, nor any of those qualities which you named just now; when, in a word, it is not even visible?" 

Socrates: "Well, but the kindly look of love, the angry glance of hate at any one, do find expression in the human subject, do they not?" 

Parrhasius: "No doubt they do." 

Socrates: "Then this look, this glance, at any rate may be imitated in the eyes, may it not?" 

"Undoubtedly," he answered. 

Socrates: "And do anxiety and relief of mind occasioned by the good or evil fortune of those we love both wear the same expression?" 

"By no means," he answered; "at the thought of good we are radiant, at that of evil a cloud hangs on the brow." 

Socrates: "Then here again are the looks with it possible to represent?" 

Parrhasius: "Decidedly." 

Socrates: "Furthermore, as through some chink or crevice, there pierces through the countenance of a man, through the very posture of his body as he stands or moves, a glimpse of his nobility and freedom, or again of something in him low and groveling—the calm of self-restraint, and wisdom, or the swagger of insolence and vulgarity?" 

"You are right," he answered.

Socrates: "Then these too may be imitated?" 

"No doubt," he said. 

Socrates: "And which is the pleasanter type of face to look at, do you think—one on which is imprinted the characteristics of a beautiful, good, and lovable disposition, or one which bears the impress of what is ugly, and bad, and hateful?" 

Parrhasius: "Doubtless, Socrates, there is a vast distinction between the two." 

At another time Socrates entered the workshop of the sculptor Cleiton, and in course of conversation with him said: 

"You have a gallery of handsome people here, Cleiton, runners, and wrestlers, and boxers, and pancratiasts—that I see and know; but how do you give the magic touch of life to your creations, which most of all allures the soul of the beholder through his sense of vision?" 

As Cleiton stood perplexed, and did not answer at once, Socrates added: "Is it by closely imitating the forms of living beings that you succeed in giving that touch of life to your statues?" 

"No doubt," he answered. 

Socrates: "It is, is it not, by faithfully copying the various muscular contractions of the body in obedience to the play of gesture and poise, the wrinklings of flesh and the sprawl of limbs, the tensions and the relaxations, that you succeed in making your statues like real beings—make them 'breathe' as people say?" 

Cleiton: "Without a doubt." 

Socrates: "And does not the faithful imitation of the various affections of the body when engaged in any action impart a particular pleasure to the beholder?" 

Cleiton: "I should say so." 

Socrates: "Then the threatenings in the eyes of warriors engaged in battle should be carefully copied, or again you should imitate the aspect of a conqueror radiant with success?"

Cleiton: "Above all things." 

Socrates: "It would seem then that the sculptor is called upon to incorporate in his ideal form the workings and energies also of the soul?" 

Paying a visit to Pistias, the corselet maker, when that artist showed him some exquisite samples of his work, Socrates exclaimed: 

"By Hera! A pretty invention this, Pistias, by which you contrive that the corselet should cover the parts of the person which need protection, and at the same time leave free play to the arms and hands . . . but tell me, Pistias," he added, "why do you ask a higher price for these corselets of yours if they are not stouter or made of costlier material than the others?" 

"Because, Socrates, Pistias answered, "mine are of much finer proportion." 

Socrates: "Proportion! Then how do you make this quality apparent to the customer so as to justify the higher price—by measure or weight? For I presume you cannot make them all exactly equal and of one pattern—if you make them fit, as of course you do?" 

"Fit indeed! that I most distinctly do," he answered, "take my word for it: no use in a corselet without that." 

"But then are not the wearer's bodies themselves," asked Socrates, "some well proportioned and others ill?" 

"Decidedly so," he answered.

Socrates: "Then how do you manage to make the corselet well proportioned if it is to fit an ill-proportioned body?" 

Pistias: "To the same degree exactly as I make it fit. What fits is well proportioned." 

Socrates: "It seems you use the term 'well-proportioned' not in an absolute sense, but in reference to the wearer, just as you might describe a shield as well proportioned to the individual it suits; and so of a military cloak, and so of the rest of things, in your terminology? But maybe there is another considerable advantage in this 'fitting'?" 

Pistias: "Pray instruct me, Socrates, if you have got an idea." 

Socrates: "A corselet which fits is less galling by its weight than one which does not fit, for the latter must either drag from the shoulders with a dead weight or press upon some other part of the body, and so it becomes troublesome and uncomfortable; but that which fits, having its weight distributed partly along the collarbone and shoulder blade, partly over the shoulders and chest, and partly the back and belly, feels like another natural integument rather than an extra load to carry." 

Pistias: "You have named the very quality which gives my work its exceptional value, as I consider; still there are customers, I am bound to say, who look for something else in a corselet—they must have them ornamental or inlaid with gold." 

"For all that," replied Socrates, "if they end by purchasing an ill-fitting article, they only become the proprietors of a curiously-wrought and gilded nuisance, as it seems to me. 

"But," he added, "as the body is never in one fixed position, but is at one time curved, at another raised erect how can an exactly-modeled corselet fit?" 

Pistias: "It cannot fit at all." 

"You mean," Socrates continued, "that it is not the exactly-modeled corselet which fits, but that which does not gall the wearer in the using?"

Pistias: "There, Socrates, you have hit the very point. I see you understand the matter most precisely." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.10 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 43

Being again asked by someone, could courage be taught, or did it come by nature? Socrates answered: 

"I imagine that just as one body is by nature stronger than another body to encounter toils, so one soul by nature grows more robust than another soul in face of dangers. Certainly I do note that people brought up under the same condition of laws and customs differ greatly in respect of daring. 

"Still, my belief is that by learning and practice the natural aptitude may always be strengthened towards courage. 

"It is clear, for instance, that Scythians or Thracians would not venture to take shield and spear and contend with Lacedaemonians; and it is equally evident that Lacedaemonians would demur to entering the lists of battle against Thracians if limited to their light shields and javelins, or against Scythians without some weapon more familiar than their bows and arrows. 

"And as far as I can see, this principle holds generally: the natural differences of one man from another may be compensated by artificial progress, the result of care and attention. All which proves clearly that whether nature has endowed us with keener or blunter sensibilities, the duty of all alike is to learn and practice those things in which we would fain achieve distinction."

Between wisdom and sobriety of soul, which is temperance, Socrates drew no distinction. Was a man able on the one hand to recognize things beautiful and good sufficiently to live in them? Had he, on the other hand, knowledge of the "base and foul" so as to beware of them? If so, Socrates judged him to be wise at once and sound of soul, or temperate. 

And being further questioned whether "he considered those who have the knowledge of right action, but do not apply it, to be wise and self-controlled?" 

"Not a whit more," Socrates answered, "than I consider them to be unwise and intemperate. Everyone, I conceive, deliberately chooses what, within the limits open to him, he considers most conducive to his interest, and acts accordingly. I must hold therefore that those who act against rule and crookedly are neither wise nor self-controlled." 

Socrates said that justice, moreover, and all other virtue is wisdom. That is to say, things just, and all things else that are done with virtue, are "beautiful and good"; and neither will those who know these things deliberately choose anything else in their stead, nor will he who lacks the special knowledge of them be able to do them, but even if he makes the attempt he will miss the mark and fail. 

So the wise alone can perform the things which are "beautiful and good"; they that are unwise cannot, but even if they try they fail. Therefore, since all things just, and generally all things "beautiful and good," are wrought with virtue, it is clear that justice and all other virtue is wisdom. 

On the other hand, madness, he maintained, was the opposite to wisdom; not that he regarded simple ignorance as madness, but he put it thus: for a man to be ignorant of himself, to imagine and suppose that he knows what he knows not, was, he argued, if not madness itself, yet something very like it. 

The mass of men no doubt hold a different language: if a man is all abroad on some matter of which the mass of mankind are ignorant, they do not pronounce him "mad"; but a like aberration of mind, if only it be about matters within the scope of ordinary knowledge, they call madness. 

For instance, anyone who imagined himself too tall to pass under a gateway of the Long Wall without stooping, or so strong as to try to lift a house, or to attempt any other obvious impossibility, is a madman according to them; but in the popular sense he is not mad, if his obliquity is confined to small matters. In fact, just as strong desire goes by the name of passion in popular parlance, so mental obliquity on a grand scale is entitled madness. 

In answer to the question: "what is envy?" he discovered it to be a certain kind of pain; not certainly the sorrow felt at the misfortunes of a friend or the good fortune of an enemy—that is not envy; but, as he said, "envy is felt by those alone who are annoyed at the successes of their friends." 

And when some one or other expressed astonishment that any one friendlily disposed to another should be pained at his well-doing, he reminded him of a common tendency in people: when any one is faring ill their sympathies are touched, they rush to the aid of the unfortunate; but when fortune smiles on others, they are somehow pained. 

"I do not say," Socrates added, "this could happen to a thoughtful person; but it is no uncommon condition of a silly mind." 

In answer to the question: "what is leisure?" Socrates said that most men do something: for instance, the dice player, the gambler, the buffoon, do something, but these have leisure; they can, if they like, turn and do something better; but nobody has leisure to turn from the better to the worse, and if he does so turn, when he has no leisure, he does but ill in that. 

To pass to another definition. They are not kings or rulers, Socrates said, who hold the scepter merely, or are chosen by fellows out of the street, or are appointed by lot, or have stepped into office by violence or by fraud; but those who have the special knowledge how to rule. 

Thus having won the admission that it is the function of a ruler to enjoin what ought to be done, and of those who are ruled to obey, Socrates proceeded to point out by instances that in a ship the ruler or captain is the man of special knowledge, to whom, as an expert, the shipowner himself and all the others on board obey. 

So likewise, in the matter of husbandry, the proprietor of an estate; in that of sickness, the patient; in that of physical training of the body, the youthful athlete going through a course; and, in general, everyone directly concerned in any matter needing attention and care will either attend to this matter personally, if he thinks he has the special knowledge; or, if he mistrusts his own science, will be eager to obey any expert on the spot, or will even send and fetch one from a distance. The guidance of this expert he will follow, and do what he has to do at his dictation. 

And thus, in the art of spinning wool, Socrates liked to point out that women are the rulers of men—and why? because they have the knowledge of the art, and men have not. 

And if anyone raised the objection that a tyrant has it in his power not to obey good and correct advice, Socrates would retort: 

"Pray, how has he the option not to obey, considering the penalty hanging over him who disobeys the words of wisdom? For whatever the matter be in which he disobeys the word of good advice, he will fall into error, I presume, and falling into error, be punished." 

And to the suggestion that the tyrant could, if he liked, cut off the head of the man of wisdom, his answer was: 

"Do you think that he who destroys his best ally will go scot free, or suffer a mere slight and passing loss? Is he more likely to secure his salvation that way, think you, or to compass his own swift destruction?" 

When someone asked him: "what he regarded as the best pursuit or business for a man?" Socrates answered: "Successful conduct"; and to a second question: "Did he then regard good fortune as an end to be pursued?"—"On the contrary," he answered, "for myself, I consider fortune and conduct to be diametrically opposed. 

"For instance, to succeed in some desirable course of action without seeking to do so, I hold to be good fortune; but to do a thing well by dint of learning and practice, that according to my creed is successful conduct, and those who make this the serious business of their life seem to me to do well." 

They are at once the best and the dearest in the sight of God, Socrates went on to say, who for instance in husbandry do well the things of farming, or in the art of healing all that belongs to healing, or in statecraft the affairs of state; whereas a man who does nothing well—nor well in anything—is, he added, neither good for anything nor dear to God. 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.9 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 42

Once when Aristippus set himself to subject Socrates to a cross-examination, such as he had himself undergone at the hands of Socrates on a former occasion, Socrates, being minded to benefit those who were with him, gave his answers less in the style of a debater guarding against perversions of his argument, than of a man persuaded of the supreme importance of right conduct. 

Aristippus asked him "if he knew of any thing good," intending in case he assented and named any particular good thing, like food or drink, or wealth, or health, or strength, or courage, to point out that the thing named was sometimes bad. 

But he, knowing that if a thing troubles us, we immediately want that which will put an end to our trouble, answered precisely as it was best to do. 

Socrates: "Do I understand you to ask me whether I know anything good for fever?" 

"No," he replied, "that is not my question." 

Socrates: "Then for inflammation of the eyes?" 

Aristippus: "No, nor yet that." 

Socrates: "Well then, for hunger?" 

Aristippus: "No, nor yet for hunger." 

"Well," answered Socrates, "but if you ask me whether I know of any good thing which is good for nothing, I neither know of it nor want to know." 

And when Aristippus, returning to the charge, asked him "if he knew of any thing beautiful."

He answered: "Yes, many things." 

Aristippus: "Are they all like each other?" 

Socrates: "On the contrary, they are often as unlike as possible." 

"How then", he asked, "can that be beautiful which is unlike the beautiful?" 

Socrates: "Bless me! For the simple reason that it is possible for a man who is a beautiful runner to be quite unlike another man who is a beautiful boxer, or for a shield, which is a beautiful weapon for the purpose of defense, to be absolutely unlike a javelin, which is a beautiful weapon of swift and sure discharge." 

Aristippus: "Your answers are no better now than when I asked you whether you knew any good thing. They are both of a pattern." 

Socrates: "And so they should be. Do you imagine that one thing is good and another beautiful? Do not you know that relatively to the same standard all things are at once beautiful and good? 

"In the first place, virtue is not a good thing relatively to one standard and a beautiful thing relatively to another standard; and in the next place, human beings, on the same principle and relatively to the same standard, are called "beautiful and good"; and so the bodily frames of men relatively to the same standards are seen to be "beautiful and good," and in general all things capable of being used by man are regarded as at once beautiful and good relatively to the same standard—the standing being in each case what the thing happens to be useful for." 

Aristippus: "Then I presume even a basket for carrying dung is a beautiful thing?" 

Socrates: "To be sure, and a spear of gold an ugly thing, if for their respective uses—the former is well and the latter ill adapted." 

Aristippus: "Do you mean to assert that the same things may be beautiful and ugly?" 

Socrates: "Yes, to be sure; and by the same showing things may be good and bad: as, for instance, what is good for hunger may be bad for fever, and what is good for fever bad for hunger; or again, what is beautiful for wrestling is often ugly for running; and in general everything is good and beautiful when well adapted for the end in view, bad and ugly when ill adapted for the same." 

Similarly when he spoke about houses, and argued that "the same house must be at once beautiful and useful"—I could not help feeling that he was giving a good lesson on the problem: "how a house ought to be built." He investigated the matter thus:

Socrates: "Do you admit that any one purposing to build a perfect house will plan to make it at once as pleasant and as useful to live in as possible?" and that point being admitted, the next question would be:

"It is pleasant to have one's house cool in summer and warm in winter, is it not?" and this proposition also having obtained assent, "Now, supposing a house to have a southern aspect, sunshine during winter will steal in under the veranda, but in summer, when the sun traverses a path right over our heads, the roof will afford an agreeable shade, will it not? 

"If, then, such an arrangement is desirable, the southern side of a house should be built higher to catch the rays of the winter sun, and the northern side lower to prevent the cold winds finding ingress; in a word, it is reasonable to suppose that the pleasantest and most beautiful dwelling place will be one in which the owner can at all seasons of the year find the pleasantest retreat, and stow away his goods with the greatest security." 

Paintings and ornamental moldings are apt, he said, to deprive one of more joy than they confer. 

The fittest place for a temple or an altar, he maintained, was some site visible from afar, and untrodden by foot of man: since it was a glad thing for the worshipper to lift up his eyes afar off and offer up his orison; glad also to wend his way peaceful to prayer unsullied. 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.8 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 41

Now Charmides, the son of Glaucon, was, as Socrates observed, a man of mark and influence: a much more powerful person in fact than the mass of those devoted to politics at that date, but at the same time he was a man who shrank from approaching the people or busying himself with the concerns of the state. Accordingly Socrates addressed him thus: 

"Tell me, Charmides, supposing some one competent to win a victory in the arena and to receive a crown, whereby he will gain honor himself and make the land of his fathers more glorious in Hellas, were to refuse to enter the lists—what kind of person should you set him down to be?" 

"Clearly an effeminate and cowardly fellow," he answered.

Socrates: "And what if another man, who had it in him, by devotion to affairs of state, to exalt his city and win honor himself thereby, were to shrink and hesitate and hang back—would he too not reasonably be regarded as a coward?"

"Possibly," he answered, "but why do you address these questions to me?" 

"Because," replied Socrates, "I think that you, who have this power, do hesitate to devote yourself to matters which, as being a citizen, if for no other reason, you are bound to take part in." 

Charmides: "And wherein have you detected in me this power, that you pass so severe a sentence upon me?" 

Socrates: "I have detected it plainly enough in those gatherings in which you meet the politicians of the day, when, as I observe, each time they consult you on any point you have always good advice to offer, and when they make a blunder you lay your finger on the weak point immediately." 

Charmides: "To discuss and reason in private is one thing, Socrates, to battle in the throng of the assembly is another." 

Socrates: "And yet a man who can count, counts every bit as well in a crowd as when seated alone by himself; and it is the best performer on the harp in private who carries off the palm of victory in public." 

Charmides: "But do you not see that modesty and timidity are feelings implanted in man's nature? And these are much more powerfully present to us in a crowd than within the circle of our intimates." 

Socrates: "Yes, but what I am bent on teaching you is that while you feel no such bashfulness and timidity before the wisest and strongest of men, you are ashamed of opening your lips in the midst of weaklings and dullards. Is it the fullers among them of whom you stand in awe, or the cobblers, or the carpenters, or the coppersmiths, or the merchants, or the farmers, or the hucksters of the marketplace exchanging their wares, and bethinking them how they are to buy this thing cheap, and to sell the other dear—is it before these you are ashamed, for these are the individual atoms out of which the Public Assembly is composed? 

"And what is the difference, pray, between your behavior and that of a man who, being the superior of trained athletes, quails before a set of amateurs? Is it not the case that you who can argue so readily with the foremost statesmen in the city, some of whom affect to look down upon you—you, with your vast superiority over practiced popular debaters—are no sooner confronted with a set of folk who never in their lives gave politics a thought, and into whose heads certainly it never entered to look down upon you—than you are afraid to open your lips in mortal terror of being laughed at?" 

"Well, but you would admit," he answered, "that sound argument does frequently bring down the ridicule of the Popular Assembly." 

Socrates: "Which is equally true of the others. And that is just what rouses my astonishment, that you who can cope so easily with these lordly people, when guilty of ridicule, should persuade yourself that you cannot stand up against a set of commoners. 

"My good fellow, do not be ignorant of yourself! Do not fall into that commonest of errors—theirs who rush off to investigate the concerns of the rest of the world, and have no time to turn and examine themselves. Yet that is a duty which you must not in cowardly sort draw back from: rather must you brace ourself to give good heed to your own self; and as to public affairs, if by any manner of means they may be improved through you, do not neglect them. Success in the sphere of politics means that not only the mass of your fellow citizens, but your personal friends and you yourself, last but not least, will profit by your action." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.7 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 40

Glaucon, the son of Ariston, had conceived such an ardor to gain the headship of the state that nothing could hinder him but he must deliver a course of public speeches, though he had not yet reached the age of twenty. His friends and relatives tried in vain to stop him making himself ridiculous and being dragged down from the stage. 

Socrates, who took a kindly interest in the youth for the sake of Charmides, the son of Glaucon, and of Plato, alone succeeded in restraining him. It happened thus. He fell in with him, and first of all, to get him to listen, detained him by some such remarks as the following: 

"Ah, Glaucon," he exclaimed, "so you have determined to become prime minister?" 

Glaucon: "Yes, Socrates, I have." 

Socrates: "And what a noble aim! if anything human ever deserved to be called noble; since if you succeed in your design, it follows, as the night the day, you will be able not only to gratify your every wish, but you will be in a position to benefit your friends, you will raise up your father's house, you will exalt your fatherland, you will become a name thrice famous in the city first, and next in Hellas, and lastly even among barbarians perhaps, like Themistocles; but be it here or be it there, wherever you be, you will be the observed of all beholders." 

The heart of Glaucon swelled with pride as he drank in the words, and gladly he stayed to listen.

Presently Socrates proceeded: "Then this is clear, Glaucon, is it not? That you must needs benefit the city, since you desire to reap her honors?" 

Glaucon: "Undoubtedly." 

"Then, by all that is sacred," Socrates continued, "do not keep us in the dark, but tell us in what way do you propose first to benefit the state? What is your starting point?"

When Glaucon remained with sealed lips, as if he were now for the first time debating what this starting point should be, Socrates continued: "I presume, if you wished to improve a friend's estate, you would endeavor to do so by adding to its wealth, would you not? So here, maybe, you will try to add to the wealth of the state?" 

"Most decidedly," he answered. 

Socrates: "And we may take it the state will grow wealthier in proportion as her revenues increase?" 

Glaucon: "That seems probable, at any rate." 

Socrates: "Then would you kindly tell us from what sources the revenues of the state are at present derived, and what is their present magnitude? No doubt you have gone carefully into the question, so that if any of these are failing you may make up the deficit, or if neglected for any reason, make some new provision." 

Glaucon: "No, to speak the truth, these are matters I have not thoroughly gone into." 

"Never mind," he said, "if you have omitted the point; but you might oblige us by running through the items or heads of expenditure. Obviously you propose to remove all those which are superfluous?" 

Glaucon: "Well, no. Upon my word I have not had time to look into that side of the matter either as yet." 

Socrates: "Then we will postpone for the present the problem of making the state wealthier; obviously without knowing the outgoings and the incomings it would be impossible to deal with the matter seriously." 

"But, Socrates," Glaucon remarked, "it is possible to enrich the state out of the pockets of her enemies!" 

"Yes, to be sure, considerably,"answered Socrates, "in the event of getting the better of them; but in the event of being worsted, it is also possible to lose what we have got." 

"A true observation," he replied.

"And therefore," proceeded Socrates, "before he makes up his mind with what enemy to go to war, a statesman should know the relative powers of his own city and the adversary's, so that, in case the superiority be on his own side, he may throw the weight of his advice into the scale of undertaking war; but if the opposite he may plead in favor of exercising caution."

"You are right," he answered. 

Socrates: "Then would you for our benefit enumerate the land and naval forces first of Athens and then of our opponents?" 

Glaucon: "Pardon me. I could not tell you them off-hand at a moment's notice." 

"Or," added Socrates, "if you have got the figures on paper, you might produce them. I cannot tell how anxious I am to hear your statement." 

Glaucon: "No, I assure you, I have not got them even on paper yet." 

Socrates: "Well then, we will defer tending advice on the topic of peace or war, in a maiden speech at any rate. I can understand that, owing to the magnitude of the questions, in these early days of your ministry you have not yet fully examined them. 

"But come, I am sure that you have studied the defenses of the country, at all events, and you know exactly how many forts and outposts are serviceable and how many are not; you can tell us which garrisons are strong enough and which defective; and you are prepared to throw in the weight of your advice in favor of increasing the serviceable outposts and sweeping away those that are superfluous?" 

Glaucon: "Yes, sweep them all away, that's my advice; for any good that is likely to come of them! Defenses indeed! So maintained that the property of the rural districts is simply pilfered." 

"But suppose you sweep away the outposts," he asked, "may not something worse, think you, be the consequence? Will not sheer plundering be free to any ruffian who likes? But may I ask is this judgment the result of personal inspection? Have you gone yourself and examined the defenses? Or how do you know that they are all maintained as you say?" 

Glaucon: "I conjecture that it is so." 

Socrates: "Well then, until we have got beyond the region of conjecture shall we defer giving advice on the matter? It will be time enough when we know the facts." 

"Possibly it would be better to wait until then," replied Glaucon.

Socrates: "Then there are the mines, but, of course, I am aware that you have not visited them in person, so as to be able to say why they are less productive than formerly." 

"Well, no; I have never been there myself," he answered.

Socrates: "No, Heaven help us! An unhealthy district by all accounts; so that, when the moment for advice on that topic arrives, you will have an excuse ready to hand." 

"I see you are making fun of me," Glaucon answered. 

Socrates: "Well, but here is a point, I am sure, which you have not neglected. No, you will have thoroughly gone into it, and you can tell us. For how long a time could the corn supplies from the country districts support the city? How much is requisite for a single year, so that the city may not run short of this prime necessary, before you are well aware; but on the contrary you with your full knowledge will be in a position to give advice on so vital a question, to the aid or maybe the salvation of your country?" 

"It is a colossal business this," Glaucon answered, "if I am to be obliged to give attention to all these details." 

Socrates: "On the other hand, a man could not even manage his own house or his estate well, without, in the first place, knowing what he requires, and, in the second place, taking pains, item by item, to supply his wants. 

"But since this city consists of more than ten thousand houses, and it is not easy to pay minute attention to so many all at once, how is it you did not practice yourself by trying to augment the resources of one at any rate of these—I mean your own uncle's? The service would not be thrown away. 

"Then if your strength suffices in the single case you might take in hand a larger number; but if you fail to relieve one, how could you possibly hope to succeed with many? How absurd for a man, if he cannot carry half a hundredweight, to attempt to carry a whole!" 

Glaucon: "No, for my part, I am willing enough to assist my uncle's house, if my uncle would only be persuaded to listen to my advice."

Socrates: "Then, when you cannot persuade your uncle, do you imagine you will be able to make the whole Athenian people, uncle and all, obey you? 

"Be careful, Glaucon," he added, "lest in your thirst for glory and high repute you come to the opposite. Do you not see how dangerous it is for a man to speak or act beyond the range of his knowledge? To take the cases known to you of people whose conversation or conduct clearly transcends these limits: should you say they gain more praise or more blame on that account? Are they admired the rather or despised? 

"Or, again, consider those who do know what they say and what they do; and you will find, I venture to say, that in every sort of undertaking those who enjoy repute and admiration belong to the class of those endowed with the highest knowledge; while conversely the people of sinister reputation, the mean and the contemptible, emanate from some depth of ignorance and dullness. 

"If, therefore, what you thirst for is repute and admiration as a statesman, try to make sure of one accomplishment: in other words, the knowledge as far as in you lies of what you wish to do. If, indeed, with this to distinguish you from the rest of the world you venture to concern yourself with state affairs, it would not surprise me but that you might reach the goal of your ambition easily." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.6 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 39

A conversation held with Pericles, the son of the great statesman, may here be introduced. Socrates began: 

"I am looking forward, I must tell you, Pericles, to a great improvement in our military affairs when you are minister of war. The prestige of Athens, I hope, will rise; we shall gain the mastery over our enemies." 

Pericles replied: "I devoutly wish your words might be fulfilled, but how this happy result is to be obtained, I am at a loss to discover." 

"Shall we," Socrates continued, "shall we balance the arguments for and against, and consider to what extent the possibility does exist?"  

"Pray let us do so," he answered. 

Socrates: "Well then, you know that in point of numbers the Athenians are not inferior to the Boeotians?" 

Pericles: "Yes, I am aware of that." 

Socrates: "And do you think the Boeotians could furnish a better pick of fine healthy men than the Athenians?" 

Pericles: "I think we should very well hold our own in that respect." 

Socrates: "And which of the two would you take to be the more united people—the friendlier among themselves?" 

Pericles: "The Athenians, I should say, for so many sections of the Boeotians, resenting the selfish policy of Thebes, are ill disposed to that power, but at Athens I see nothing of the sort." 

Socrates: "But perhaps you will say that there is no people more jealous of honor or haughtier in spirit. And these feelings are no weak spurs to quicken even a dull spirit to hazard all for glory's sake and fatherland." 

Pericles: "Nor is there much fault to find with Athenians in these respects." 

Socrates: "And if we turn to consider the fair deeds of ancestry, to no people besides ourselves belongs so rich a heritage of stimulating memories, whereby so many of us are stirred to pursue virtue with devotion and to show ourselves in our turn also men of valor like our sires." 

Pericles: "All that you say, Socrates, is most true, but do you observe that ever since the disaster of the thousand under Tolmides at Lebadeia, coupled with that under Hippocrates at Delium,  the prestige of Athens by comparison with the Boeotians has been lowered, whilst the spirit of Thebes as against Athens had been correspondingly exalted, so that those Boeotians who in old days did not venture to give battle to the Athenians even in their own territory unless they had the Lacedaemonians and the rest of the Peloponnesians to help them, do nowadays threaten to make an incursion into Attica single-handed; and the Athenians, who formerly, if they had to deal with the Boeotians only, made havoc of their territory, are now afraid the Boeotians may some day harry Attica." 

To which Socrates: "Yes, I perceive that this is so, but it seems to me that the state was never more tractably disposed, never so ripe for a really good leader, as today. For if boldness be the parent of carelessness, laxity, and insubordination, it is the part of fear to make people more disposed to application, obedience, and good order. 

"A proof of which you may discover in the behaviour of people on ship-board. It is in seasons of calm weather when there is nothing to fear that disorder may be said to reign, but as soon as there is apprehension of a storm, or an enemy in sight, the scene changes; not only is each word of command obeyed, but there is a hush of silent expectation; the mariners wait to catch the next signal like an orchestra with eyes upon the leader." 

Pericles: "But indeed, given that now is the opportunity to take obedience at the flood, it is high time also to explain by what means we are to rekindle in the hearts of our countrymen the old fires—the passionate longing for antique valor, for the glory and the wellbeing of the days of old." 

"Well," proceeded Socrates, "supposing we wished them to lay claim to certain material wealth now held by others, we could not better stimulate them to lay hands on the objects coveted than by showing them that these were ancestral possessions to which they had a natural right. But since our object is that they should set their hearts on virtuous pre-eminence, we must prove to them that such headship combined with virtue is an old time-honored heritage which pertains to them beyond all others, and that if they strive earnestly after it they will soon out-top the world." 

Pericles: "How are we to inculcate this lesson?" 

Socrates: "I think by reminding them of a fact already registered in their minds, that the oldest of our ancestors whose names are known to us were also the bravest of heroes." 

Pericles: "I suppose you refer to that judgment of the gods which, for their virtue's sake, Cecrops and his followers were called on to decide?" 

Socrates: "Yes, I refer to that and to the birth and rearing of Erectheus, and also to the war which in his days was waged to stay the tide of invasion from the whole adjoining continent; and that other war in the days of the Heraclidae against the men of Peloponnese; and that series of battles fought in the days of Theseus—in all which the virtuous pre-eminence of our ancestry above the men of their own times was made manifest. 

"Or, if you please, we may come down to things of a later date, which their descendants and the heroes of days not so long anterior to our own wrought in the struggle with the lords of Asia, nay of Europe also, as far as Macedonia: a people possessing a power and means of attack far exceeding any who had gone before—who, moreover, had accomplished the doughtiest deeds. These things the men of Athens wrought partly single-handed, and partly as sharers with the Peloponnesians in laurels won by land and sea. Heroes were these men also, far outshining, as tradition tells us, the peoples of their time." 

Pericles: "Yes, so runs the story of their heroism." 

Socrates: "Therefore it is that, amidst the many changes of inhabitants, and the migrations which have, wave after wave, swept over Hellas, these maintained themselves in their own land, unmoved; so that it was a common thing for others to turn to them as to a court of appeal on points of right, or to flee to Athens as a harbor of refuge from the hand of the oppressor." 

Then Pericles: "And the wonder to me, Socrates, is how our city ever came to decline." 

Socrates: "I think we are victims of our own success. Like some athlete, whose facile preponderance in the arena has betrayed him into laxity until he eventually succumbs to punier antagonists, so we Athenians, in the plenitude of our superiority, have neglected ourselves and are become degenerate." 

Pericles: "What then ought we to do now to recover our former virtue?" 

Socrates: "There need be no mystery about that, I think. We can rediscover the institutions of our forefathers—applying them to the regulation of our lives with something of their precision, and not improbably with like success; or we can imitate those who stand at the front of affairs to-day, adapting to ourselves their rule of life, in which case, if we live up to the standard of our models, we may hope at least to rival their excellence, or, by a more conscientious adherence to what they aim at, rise superior." 

"You would seem to suggest," he answered, "that the spirit of beautiful and brave manhood has taken wings and left our city; as, for instance, when will Athenians, like the Lacedaemonians, reverence old age—the Athenian, who takes his own father as a starting-point for the contempt he pours upon grey hairs? When will he pay as strict an attention to the body, who is not content with neglecting a good habit, but laughs to scorn those who are careful in this matter? When shall we Athenians so obey our magistrates—we who take a pride, as it were, in despising authority? When, once more, shall we be united as a people—we who, instead of combining to promote common interests, delight in blackening each other's characters, envying one another more than we envy all the world besides; and—which is our worst failing—who, in private and public intercourse alike, are torn by dissension and are caught in a maze of litigation, and prefer to make capital out of our neighbor's difficulties rather than to render natural assistance? 

"To make our conduct consistent, indeed, we treat our national interests no better than if they were the concerns of some foreign state; we make them bones of contention to wrangle over, and rejoice in nothing so much as in possessing means and ability to indulge these tastes. From this hotbed is engendered in the state a spirit of blind folly and cowardice, and in the hearts of the citizens spreads a tangle of hatred and mutual hostility which, as I often shudder to think, will some day cause some disaster to befall the state greater than it can bear." 

"Do not," replied Socrates, "do not, I pray you, permit yourself to believe that Athenians are smitten with so incurable a depravity. Do you not observe their discipline in all naval matters? Look at their prompt and orderly obedience to the superintendents at the gymnastic contests, their quite unrivaled subservience to their teachers in the training of our choruses." 

"Yes," he answered, "there's the wonder of it; to think that all those good people should so obey their leaders, but that our hoplites and our cavalry, who may be supposed to rank before the rest of the citizens in excellence of manhood, should be so entirely unamenable to discipline." 

Then Socrates: "Well, but the council which sits on Areopagos is composed of citizens of approved character, is it not?" 

"Certainly," he answered.

Socrates: "Then can you name any similar body, judicial or executive, trying cases or transacting other business with greater honor, stricter legality, higher dignity, or more impartial justice?" 

"No, I have no fault to find on that score," he answered. 

Socrates: "Then we ought not to despair as though all sense of orderliness and good discipline had died out of our countrymen." 

"Still," he answered, "if it is not to harp upon one string, I maintain that in military service, where, if anywhere, sobriety and temperance, orderliness and good discipline are needed, none of these essentials receives any attention." 

"May it not perhaps be," asked Socrates, "that in this department they are officered by those who have the least knowledge? Do you not notice, to take the case of harp-players, choric performers, dancers, and the like, that no one would ever dream of leading if he lacked the requisite knowledge? and the same holds of wrestlers or pancratiasts.  

"Moreover, while in these cases any one in command can tell you where he got the elementary knowledge of what he presides over, most generals are amateurs and improvisers. I do not at all suppose that you are one of that sort. I believe you could give as clear an account of your schooling in strategy as you could in the matter of wrestling. No doubt you have got at first hand many of your father's "rules for generalship," which you carefully preserve, besides having collected many others from every quarter whence it was possible to pick up any knowledge which would be of use to a future general. 

"Again, I feel sure you are deeply concerned to escape even unconscious ignorance of anything which will be serviceable to you in so high an office; and if you detect in yourself any ignorance, you turn to those who have knowledge in these matters (sparing neither gifts nor gratitude) to supplement your ignorance by their knowledge and to secure their help." 

To which Pericles: "I am not so blind, Socrates, as to imagine you say these words under the idea that I am truly so careful in these matters; but rather your object is to teach me that the would-be general must make such things his care. I admit in any case all you say." 

Socrates proceeded: "Has it ever caught your observation, Pericles, that a high mountain barrier stretches like a bulwark in front of our country down towards Boeotia—cleft, moreover, by narrow and precipitous passes, the only avenues into the heart of Attica, which lies engirdled by a ring of natural fortresses?" 

Pericles: "Certainly I have." 

Socrates: "Well, and have you ever heard tell of the Mysians and Pisidians living within the territory of the great king, who, inside their mountain fortresses, lightly armed, are able to rush down and inflict much injury on the king's territory by their raids, while preserving their own freedom?" 

Pericles: "Yes, the circumstance is not new to me." 

"And do you not think," added Socrates, "that a corps of young able-bodied Athenians, accoutered with lighter arms, and holding our natural mountain rampart in possession, would prove at once a thorn in the enemy's side offensively, whilst defensively they would form a splendid bulwark to protect the country?" 

To which Pericles: "I think, Socrates, these would be all useful measures, decidedly." 

"If, then," replied Socrates, "these suggestions meet your approbation, try, O best of men, to realize them—if you can carry out a portion of them, it will be an honor to yourself and a blessing to the state; while, if you fail in any point, there will be no damage done to the city nor discredit to yourself." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.5