CHAPTER I. OF THE QUALIFICATIONS OF A GENERAL.

THE MEMORABLE THOUGHTS OF SOCRATES.

BY XENOPHON.

_TRANSLATED BY EDWARD BYSSHE_.

CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:

LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK & MELBOURNE.

1888.

INTRODUCTION.

This translation of Xenophon's "Memorabilia of Socrates" was first

published in 1712, and is here printed from the revised edition of 1722.

Its author was Edward Bysshe, who had produced in 1702 "The Art of

English Poetry," a well-known work that was near its fifth edition when

its author published his translation of the "Memorabilia." This was a

translation that remained in good repute. There was another edition of

it in 1758. Bysshe translated the title of the book into "The Memorable

Things of Socrates." I have changed "Things" into "Thoughts," for

whether they be sayings or doings, the words and deeds of a wise man are

alike expressions of his thought.

Xenophon is said to have been, when young, a pupil of Socrates. Two

authorities have recorded that in the flight from the battle of Delium in

the year B.C. 424, when Xenophon fell from his horse, Socrates picked him

up and carried him on his back for a considerable distance. The time of

Xenophon's death is not known, but he was alive sixty-seven years after

the battle of Delium.

When Cyrus the Younger was preparing war against his brother Artaxerxes

Mnemon, King of Persia, Xenophon went with him. After the death of Cyrus

on the plains of Cunaxa, the barbarian auxiliaries fled, and the Greeks

were left to return as they could from the far region between the Tigris

and Euphrates. Xenophon had to take part in the conduct of the retreat,

and tells the story of it in his "Anabasis," a history of the expedition

of the younger Cyrus and of the retreat of the Greeks. His return into

Greece was in the year of the death of Socrates, B.C. 399, but his

association was now with the Spartans, with whom he fought, B.C. 394, at

Coroneia. Afterwards he settled, and lived for about twenty years, at

Scillus in Eleia with his wife and children. At Scillus he wrote

probably his "Anabasis" and some other of his books. At last he was

driven out by the Eleans. In the battle of Mantineia the Spartans and

Athenians fought as allies, and Xenophon's two sons were in the battle;

he had sent them to Athens as fellow-combatants from Sparta. His

banishment from Athens was repealed by change of times, but it does not

appear that he returned to Athens. He is said to have lived, and perhaps

died, at Corinth, after he had been driven from his home at Scillus.

Xenophon was a philosophic man of action. He could make his value felt

in a council of war, take part in battle--one of his books is on the

duties of a commander of cavalry--and show himself good sportsman in the

hunting-field. He wrote a book upon the horse; a treatise also upon dogs

and hunting. He believed in God, thought earnestly about social and

political duties, and preferred Spartan institutions to those of Athens.

He wrote a life of his friend Agesilaus II., King of Sparta. He found

exercise for his energetic mind in writing many books. In writing he was

clear and to the point; his practical mind made his work interesting. His

"Anabasis" is a true story as delightful as a fiction; his "Cyropaedia"

is a fiction full of truths. He wrote "Hellenica," that carried on the

history of Greece from the point at which Thucydides closed his history

until the battle of Mantineia. He wrote a dialogue between Hiero and

Simonides upon the position of a king, and dealt with the administration

of the little realm of a man's household in his "OEconomicus," a dialogue

between Socrates and Critobulus, which includes the praise of

agriculture. He wrote also, like Plato, a symposium, in which

philosophers over their wine reason of love and friendship, and he paints

the character of Socrates.

But his best memorial of his old guide, philosopher, and friend is this

work, in which Xenophon brought together in simple and direct form the

views of life that had been made clear to himself by the teaching of

Socrates. Xenophon is throughout opposing a plain tale to the false

accusations against Socrates. He does not idealise, but he feels

strongly, and he shows clearly the worth of the wisdom that touches at

every point the actual conduct of the lives of men.

H. M.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I. SOCRATES NOT A CONTEMNER OF THE GODS OF HIS COUNTRY, NOR AN

INTRODUCER OF NEW ONES.

I have often wondered by what show of argument the accusers of Socrates

could persuade the Athenians he had forfeited his life to the State. For

though the crimes laid unto his charge were indeed great--"That he did

not acknowledge the gods of the Republic; that he introduced new

ones"--and, farther, "had debauched the youth;" yet none of these could,

in the least, be proved against him.

For, as to the first, "That he did not worship the deities which the

Republic adored," how could this be made out against him, since, instead

of paying no homage to the gods of his country, he was frequently seen to

assist in sacrificing to them, both in his own family and in the public

temples?--perpetually worshipping them in the most public, solemn, and

religious manner.

What, in my opinion, gave his accusers a specious pretext for alleging

against him that he introduced new deities was this--that he had

frequently declared in public he had received counsel from a _divine

voice_, which he called his Demon. But this was no proof at all of the

matter. All that Socrates advanced about his demon was no more than what

is daily advanced by those who believe in and practise divination; and if

Socrates, because he said he received intelligence from his genius, must

be accused of introducing new divinities, so also must they; for is it

not certain that those who believe in divination, and practise that

belief, do observe the flight of birds, consult the entrails of victims,

and remark even unexpected words and accidental occurrences? But they do

not, therefore, believe that either the birds whose flight they observe

or the persons they meet accidentally know either their good or ill

fortune--neither did Socrates--they only believe that the gods make use

of these things to presage the future; and such, too, was the belief of

Socrates. The vulgar, indeed, imagine it to be the very birds and things

which present themselves to them that excite them to what is good for

them, or make them avoid what may hurt them; but, as for Socrates, he

freely owned that a demon was his monitor; and he frequently told his

friends beforehand what they should do, or not do, according to the

instructions he had received from his demon; and they who believed him,

and followed his advice, always found advantage by it; as, on the

contrary, they who neglected his admonitions, never failed to repent

their incredulity. Now, it cannot be denied but that he ought to have

taken care not to pass with his friends either for a liar or a visionary;

and yet how could he avoid incurring that censure if the events had not

justified the truth of the things he pretended were revealed to him? It

is, therefore, manifest that he would not have spoken of things to come

if he had not believed he said true; but how could he believe he said

true, unless he believed that the gods, who alone ought to be trusted for

the knowledge of things to come, gave him notice of them? and, if he

believed they did so, how can it be said that he acknowledged no gods?

He likewise advised his friends to do, in the best manner they could, the

things that of necessity they were to do; but, as to those whose events

were doubtful, he sent them to the oracles to know whether they should

engage in them or not. And he thought that they who design to govern

with success their families or whole cities had great need of receiving

instructions by the help of divinations; for though he indeed held that

every man may make choice of the condition of life in which he desires to

live, and that, by his industry, he may render himself excellent in it,

whether he apply himself to architecture or to agriculture, whether he

throw himself into politics or economy, whether he engage himself in the

public revenues or in the army, yet that in all these things the gods

have reserved to themselves the most important events, into which men of

themselves can in no wise penetrate. Thus he who makes a fine plantation

of trees, knows not who shall gather the fruit; he who builds a house

cannot tell who shall inhabit it; a general is not certain that he shall

be successful in his command, nor a Minister of State in his ministry; he

who marries a beautiful woman in hopes of being happy with her knows not

but that even she herself may be the cause of all his uneasinesses; and

he who enters into a grand alliance is uncertain whether they with whom

he allies himself will not at length be the cause of his ruin. This made

him frequently say that it is a great folly to imagine there is not a

Divine Providence that presides over these things, and that they can in

the least depend on human prudence. He likewise held it to be a weakness

to importune the gods with questions which we may resolve ourselves; as

if we should ask them whether it be better to take a coachman who knows

how to drive than one who knows nothing of the matter? whether it be more

eligible to take an experienced pilot than one that is ignorant? In a

word, he counted it a kind of impiety to consult the oracles concerning

what might be numbered or weighed, because we ought to learn the things

which the gods have been pleased to capacitate us to know; but that we

ought to have recourse to the oracles to be instructed in those that

surpass our knowledge, because the gods are wont to discover them to such

men as have rendered them propitious to themselves.

Socrates stayed seldom at home. In the morning he went to the places

appointed for walking and public exercises. He never failed to be at the

hall, or courts of justice, at the usual hour of assembling there, and

the rest of the day he was at the places where the greatest companies

generally met. There it was that he discoursed for the most part, and

whoever would hear him easily might; and yet no man ever observed the

least impiety either in his actions or his words. Nor did he amuse

himself to reason of the secrets of nature, or to search into the manner

of the creation of what the sophists call the world, nor to dive into the

cause of the motions of the celestial bodies. On the contrary, he

exposed the folly of such as give themselves up to these contemplations;

and he asked whether it was, after having acquired a perfect knowledge of

human things, that they undertook to search into the divine, or if they

thought themselves very wise in neglecting what concerned them to employ

themselves in things above them? He was astonished likewise that they

did not see it was impossible for men to comprehend anything of all those

wonders, seeing they who have the reputation of being most knowing in

them are of quite different opinions, and can agree no better than so

many fools and madmen; for as some of these are not afraid of the most

dangerous and frightful accidents, while others are in dread of what is

not to be feared, so, too, among those philosophers, some are of opinion

that there is no action but what may be done in public, nor word that may

not freely be spoken before the whole world, while others, on the

contrary, believe that we ought to avoid the conversation of men and keep

in a perpetual solitude. Some have despised the temples and the altars,

and have taught not to honour the gods, while others have been so

superstitious as to worship wood, stones, and irrational creatures. And

as to the knowledge of natural things, some have confessed but one only

being; others have admitted an infinite number: some have believed that

all things are in a perpetual motion; others that nothing moves: some

have held the world to be full of continual generations and corruptions;

others maintain that nothing is engendered or destroyed. He said besides

that he should be glad to know of those persons whether they were in

hopes one day to put in practice what they learned, as men who know an

art may practise it when they please either for their own advantage or

for the service of their friends; or whether they did imagine that, after

they found out the causes of all things that happen, they should be able

to cause winds and rains, and to dispose the times and seasons as they

had occasion for them; or whether they contented themselves with the bare

knowledge without expecting any farther advantage.

This was what he said of those who delight in such studies. As for his

part, he meditated chiefly on what is useful and proper for man, and took

delight to argue of piety and impiety, of honesty and dishonesty, of

justice and injustice, of wisdom and folly, of courage and cowardice, of

the State, and of the qualifications of a Minister of State, of the

Government, and of those who are fit to govern; in short, he enlarged on

the like subjects, which it becomes men of condition to know, and of

which none but slaves should be ignorant.

It is not strange, perhaps, that the judges of Socrates mistook his

opinion in things concerning which he did not explain himself; but I am

surprised that they did not reflect on what he had said and done in the

face of the whole world; for when he was one of the Senate, and had taken

the usual oath exactly to observe the laws, being in his turn vested with

the dignity of Epistate, he bravely withstood the populace, who, against

all manner of reason, demanded that the nine captains, two of whom were

Erasinides and Thrasilus, should be put to death, he would never give

consent to this injustice, and was not daunted at the rage of the people,

nor at the menaces of the men in power, choosing rather not to violate

the oath he had taken than to yield to the violence of the multitude, and

shelter himself from the vengeance of those who threatened him. To this

purpose he said that the gods watch over men more attentively than the

vulgar imagine; for they believe there are some things which the gods

observe and others which they pass by unregarded; but he held that the

gods observe all our actions and all our words, that they penetrate even

into our most secret thoughts, that they are present at all our

deliberations, and that they inspire us in all our affairs.

It is astonishing, therefore, to consider how the Athenians could suffer

themselves to be persuaded that Socrates entertained any unworthy

thoughts of the Deity; he who never let slip one single word against the

respect due to the gods, nor was ever guilty of any action that savoured

in the least of impiety; but who, on the contrary, has done and said

things that could not proceed but from a mind truly pious, and that are

sufficient to gain a man an eternal reputation of piety and virtue.

CHAPTER II. SOCRATES NOT A DEBAUCHER OF YOUTH.

What surprises me yet more is, that some would believe that Socrates was

a debaucher of young men! Socrates the most sober and most chaste of all

men, who cheerfully supported both cold and heat; whom no inconvenience,

no hardships, no labours could startle, and who had learned to wish for

so little, that though he had scarce anything, he had always enough. Then

how could he teach impiety, injustice, gluttony, impurity, and luxury?

And so far was he from doing so, that he reclaimed many persons from

those vices, inspiring them with the love of virtue, and putting them in

hopes of coming to preferment in the world, provided they would take a

little care of themselves. Yet he never promised any man to teach him to

be virtuous; but as he made a public profession of virtue, he created in

the minds of those who frequented him the hopes of becoming virtuous by

his example.

He neglected not his own body, and praised not those that neglected

theirs. In like manner, he blamed the custom of some who eat too much,

and afterwards use violent exercises; but he approved of eating till

nature be satisfied, and of a moderate exercise after it, believing that

method to be an advantage to health, and proper to unbend and divert the

mind. In his clothes he was neither nice nor costly; and what I say of

his clothes ought likewise to be understood of his whole way of living.

Never any of his friends became covetous in his conversation, and he

reclaimed them from that sordid disposition, as well as from all others;

for he would accept of no gratuity from any who desired to confer with

him, and said that was the way to discover a noble and generous heart,

and that they who take rewards betray a meanness of soul, and sell their

own persons, because they impose on themselves a necessity of instructing

those from whom they receive a salary. He wondered, likewise, why a man,

who promises to teach virtue, should ask money; as if he believed not the

greatest of all gain to consist in the acquisition of a good friend, or,

as if he feared, that he who, by his means, should become virtuous, and

be obliged to him for so great a benefit, would not be sufficiently

grateful for it. Quite different from Socrates, who never boasted of any

such thing, and who was most certain that all who heard him and received

his maxims would love him for ever, and be capable of loving others also.

After this, whosoever says that such a man debauched the youth, must at

the same time say that the study of virtue is debauchery.

But the accuser says that Socrates taught to despise the constitution

that was established in the Republic, because he affirmed it to be a

folly to elect magistrates by lots; since if anyone had occasion for a

pilot, a musician, or an architect, he would not trust to chance for any

such person, though the faults that can be committed by men in such

capacities are far from being of so great importance as those that are

committed in the government of the Republic. He says, therefore, that

such arguments insensibly accustom the youth to despise the laws, and

render them more audacious and more violent. But, in my opinion, such as

study the art of prudence, and who believe they shall be able to render

themselves capable of giving good advice and counsel to their

fellow-citizens, seldom become men of violent tempers; because they know

that violence is hateful and full of danger; while, on the contrary, to

win by persuasion is full of love and safety. For they, whom we have

compelled, brood a secret hatred against us, believing we have done them

wrong; but those whom we have taken the trouble to persuade continue our

friends, believing we have done them a kindness. It is not, therefore,

they who apply themselves to the study of prudence that become violent,

but those brutish intractable tempers who have much power in their hands

and but little judgment to manage it.--He farther said that when a man

desires to carry anything by force, he must have many friends to assist

him: as, on the contrary, he that can persuade has need of none but

himself, and is not subject to shed blood; for who would rather choose to

kill a man than to make use of his services, after having gained his

friendship and goodwill by mildness?

The accuser adds, in proof of the ill tendency of the doctrine of

Socrates, that Critias and Alcibiades, who were two of his most intimate

friends, were very bad men, and did much mischief to their country. For

Critias was the most insatiable and cruel of all the thirty tyrants; and

Alcibiades the most dissolute, the most insolent, and the most audacious

citizen that ever the Republic had. As for me, I pretend not to justify

them, and will only relate for what reason they frequented Socrates. They

were men of an unbounded ambition, and who resolved, whatever it cost, to

govern the State, and make themselves be talked of. They had heard that

Socrates lived very content upon little or nothing, that he entirely

commanded his passions, and that his reasonings were so persuasive that

he drew all men to which side he pleased. Reflecting on this, and being

of the temper we mentioned, can it be thought that they desired the

acquaintance of Socrates, because they were in love with his way of life,

and with his temperance, or because they believed that by conversing with

him they should render themselves capable of reasoning aright, and of

well-managing the public affairs? For my part, I believe that if the

gods had proposed to them to live always like him, or to die immediately,

they would rather have chosen a sudden death. And it is easy to judge

this from their actions; for as soon as they thought themselves more

capable than their companions, they forsook Socrates, whom they had

frequented, only for the purpose I mentioned, and threw themselves wholly

into business.

It may, perhaps, be objected that he ought not to have discoursed to his

friends of things relating to the government of the State, till after he

had taught them to live virtuously. I have nothing to say to this; but I

observe that all who profess teaching do generally two things: they work

in presence of their scholars, to show them how they ought to do, and

they instruct them likewise by word of mouth. Now, in either of these

two ways, no man ever taught to live well, like Socrates; for, in his

whole life, he was an example of untainted probity; and in his discourses

he spoke of virtue and of all the duties of man in a manner that made him

admired of all his hearers. And I know too very well that Critias and

Alcibiades lived very virtuously as long as they frequented him; not that

they were afraid of him, but because they thought it most conducive to

their designs to live so at that time.

Many who pretend to philosophy will here object, that a virtuous person

is always virtuous, and that when a man has once come to be good and

temperate, he will never afterwards become wicked nor dissolute; because

habitudes that can be acquired, when once they are so, can never more be

effaced from the mind. But I am not of this opinion; for as they who use

no bodily exercises are awkward and unwieldy in the actions of the body,

so they who exercise not their minds are incapable of the noble actions

of the mind, and have not courage enough to undertake anything worthy of

praise, nor command enough over themselves to abstain from things that

are forbid. For this reason, parents, though they be well enough assured

of the good natural disposition of their children, fail not to forbid

them the conversation of the vicious, because it is the ruin of worthy

dispositions, whereas the conversation of good men is a continual

meditation of virtue. Thus a poet says,

"By those whom we frequent, we're ever led:

Example is a law by all obeyed.

Thus with the good, we are to good inclined,

But vicious company corrupts the mind."

And another in like manner:

"Virtue and vice in the same man are found,

And now they gain, and now they lose their ground."

And, in my opinion, they are in the right: for when I consider that they

who have learned verses by heart forget them unless they repeat them

often, so I believe that they who neglect the reasonings of philosophers,

insensibly lose the remembrance of them; and when they have let these

excellent notions slip out of their minds, they at the same time lose the

idea of the things that supported in the soul the love of temperance;

and, having forgot those things, what wonder is it if at length they

forget temperance likewise?

I observe, besides, that men who abandon themselves to the debauches of

wine or women find it more difficult to apply themselves to things that

are profitable, and to abstain from what is hurtful. For many who live

frugally before they fall in love become prodigal when that passion gets

the mastery over them; insomuch that after having wasted their estates,

they are reduced to gain their bread by methods they would have been

ashamed of before. What hinders then, but that a man, who has been once

temperate, should be so no longer, and that he who has led a good life at

one time should not do so at another? I should think, therefore, that

the being of all virtues, and chiefly of temperance, depends on the

practice of them: for lust, that dwells in the same body with the soul,

incites it continually to despise this virtue, and to find out the

shortest way to gratify the senses only.

Thus, whilst Alcibiades and Critias conversed with Socrates, they were

able, with so great an assistance, to tame their inclinations; but after

they had left him, Critias, being retired into Thessaly, ruined himself

entirely in the company of some libertines; and Alcibiades, seeing

himself courted by several women of quality, because of his beauty, and

suffering himself to be corrupted by soothing flatterers, who made their

court to him, in consideration of the credit he had in the city and with

the allies; in a word, finding himself respected by all the Athenians,

and that no man disputed the first rank with him, began to neglect

himself, and acted like a great wrestler, who takes not the trouble to

exercise himself, when he no longer finds an adversary who dares to

contend with him.

If we would examine, therefore, all that has happened to them; if we

consider how much the greatness of their birth, their interest, and their

riches, had puffed up their minds; if we reflect on the ill company they

fell into, and the many opportunities they had of debauching themselves,

can we be surprised that, after they had been so long absent from

Socrates, they arrived at length to that height of insolence to which

they have been seen to arise? If they have been guilty of crimes, the

accuser will load Socrates with them, and not allow him to be worthy of

praise, for having kept them within the bounds of their duty during their

youth, when, in all appearance, they would have been the most disorderly

and least governable. This, however, is not the way we judge of other

things; for whoever pretended that a musician, a player on the lute, or

any other person that teaches, after he has made a good scholar, ought to

be blamed for his growing more ignorant under the care of another master?

If a young man gets an acquaintance that brings him into debauchery,

ought his father to lay the blame on the first friends of his son among

whom he always lived virtuously? Is it not true, on the contrary, that

the more he finds that this last friendship proves destructive to him,

the more reason he will have to praise his former acquaintance. And are

the fathers themselves, who are daily with their children, guilty of

their faults, if they give them no ill example? Thus they ought to have

judged of Socrates; if he led an ill life, it was reasonable to esteem

him vicious; but if a good, was it just to accuse him of crimes of which

he was innocent?

And yet he might have given his adversaries ground to accuse him, had he

but approved, or seemed to approve those vices in others, from which he

kept himself free: but Socrates abhorred vice, not only in himself, but

in everyone besides. To prove which, I need only relate his conduct

toward Critias, a man extremely addicted to debauchery. Socrates

perceiving that this man had an unnatural passion for Euthydemus, and

that the violence of it would precipitate him so far a length as to make

him transgress the bounds of nature, shocked at his behaviour, he exerted

his utmost strength of reason and argument to dissuade him from so wild a

desire. And while the impetuosity of Critias' passion seemed to scorn

all check or control, and the modest rebuke of Socrates had been

disregarded, the philosopher, out of an ardent zeal for virtue, broke out

in such language, as at once declared his own strong inward sense of

decency and order, and the monstrous shamefulness of Critias' passion.

Which severe but just reprimand of Socrates, it is thought, was the

foundation of that grudge which he ever after bore him; for during the

tyranny of the Thirty, of which Critias was one, when, together with

Charicles, he had the care of the civil government of the city, he failed

not to remember this affront, and, in revenge of it, made a law to forbid

teaching the art of reasoning in Athens: and having nothing to reproach

Socrates with in particular, he laboured to render him odious by

aspersing him with the usual calumnies that are thrown on all

philosophers: for I have never heard Socrates say that he taught this

art, nor seen any man who ever heard him say so; but Critias had taken

offence, and gave sufficient proofs of it: for after the Thirty had

caused to be put to death a great number of the citizens, and even of the

most eminent, and had let loose the reins to all sorts of violence and

rapine, Socrates said in a certain place that he wondered very much that

a man who keeps a herd of cattle, and by his ill conduct loses every day

some of them, and suffers the others to fall away, would not own himself

to be a very ill keeper of his herd; and that he should wonder yet more

if a Minister of State, who lessens every day the number of his citizens,

and makes the others more dissolute, was not ashamed of his ministry, and

would not own himself to be an ill magistrate. This was reported to

Critias and Charicles, who forthwith sent for Socrates, and showing him

the law they had made, forbid him to discourse with the young men. Upon

which Socrates asked them whether they would permit him to propose a

question, that he might be informed of what he did not understand in this

prohibition; and his request being granted, he spoke in this manner: "I

am most ready to obey your laws; but that I may not transgress through

ignorance, I desire to know of you, whether you condemn the art of

reasoning, because you believe it consists in saying things well, or in

saying them ill? If for the former reason, we must then, from

henceforward, abstain from speaking as we ought; and if for the latter,

it is plain that we ought to endeavour to speak well." At these words

Charicles flew into a passion, and said to him: "Since you pretend to be

ignorant of things that are so easily known, we forbid you to speak to

the young men in any manner whatever." "It is enough," answered

Socrates; "but that I may not be in a perpetual uncertainty, pray

prescribe to me, till what age men are young." "Till they are capable of

being members of the Senate," said Charicles: "in a word, speak to no man

under thirty years of age." "How!" says Socrates, "if I would buy

anything of a tradesman who is not thirty years old am I forbid to ask

him the price of it?" "I mean not so," answered Charicles: "but I am not

surprised that you ask me this question, for it is your custom to ask

many things that you know very well." Socrates added: "And if a young

man ask me in the street where Charicles lodges, or whether I know where

Critias is, must I make him no answer?" "I mean not so neither,"

answered Charicles. Here Critias, interrupting their discourse, said:

"For the future, Socrates, you must have nothing to do with the city

tradesmen, the shoemakers, masons, smiths, and other mechanics, whom you

so often allege as examples of life; and who, I apprehend, are quite

jaded with your discourses." "I must then likewise," replied Socrates,

"omit the consequences I draw from those discourses; and have no more to

do with justice, piety, and the other duties of a good man." "Yes, yes,"

said Charicles; "and I advise you to meddle no more with those that tend

herds of oxen; otherwise take care you lose not your own." And these

last words made it appear that Critias and Charicles had taken offence at

the discourse which Socrates had held against their government, when he

compared them to a man that suffers his herd to fall to ruin.

Thus we see how Critias frequented Socrates, and what opinion they had of

each other. I add, moreover, that we cannot learn anything of a man whom

we do not like: therefore if Critias and Alcibiades made no great

improvement with Socrates, it proceeded from this, that they never liked

him. For at the very time that they conversed with him, they always

rather courted the conversation of those who were employed in the public

affairs, because they had no design but to govern.--The following

conference of Alcibiades, in particular, which he had with Pericles, his

governor--who was the chief man of the city, whilst he was yet under

twenty years of age--concerning the nature of the laws, will confirm what

I have now advanced.

"Pray," says Alcibiades, "explain to me what the law is: for, as I hear

men praised who observe the laws, I imagine that this praise could not be

given to those who know not what the law is." "It is easy to satisfy

you," answered Pericles: "the law is only what the people in a general

assembly ordain, declaring what ought to be done, and what ought not to

be done." "And tell me," added Alcibiades, "do they ordain to do what is

good, or what is ill?" "Most certainly what is good." Alcibiades

pursued: "And how would you call what a small number of citizens should

ordain, in states where the people is not the master, but all is ordered

by the advice of a few persons, who possess the sovereignty?" "I would

call whatever they ordain a law; for laws are nothing else but the

ordinances of sovereigns." "If a tyrant then ordain anything, will that

be a law?" "Yes, it will," said Pericles. "But what then is violence

and injustice?" continued Alcibiades; "is it not when the strongest makes

himself be obeyed by the weakest, not by consent, but by force only?" "In

my opinion it is." "It follows then," says Alcibiades, "that ordinances

made by a prince, without the consent of the citizens, will be absolutely

unjust." "I believe so," said Pericles; "and cannot allow that the

ordinances of a prince, when they are made without the consent of the

people, should bear the name of laws." "And what the chief citizens

ordain, without procuring the consent of the greater number, is that

likewise a violence?" "There is no question of it," answered Pericles;

"and in general, every ordinance made without the consent of those who

are to obey it, is a violence rather than a law." "And is what the

populace decree, without the concurrence of the chiefs, to be counted a

violence likewise, and not a law?" "No doubt it is," said Pericles: "but

when I was of your age, I could resolve all these difficulties, because I

made it my business to inquire into them, as you do now." "Would to

God," cried Alcibiades, "I had been so happy as to have conversed with

you then, when you understood these matters better." To this purpose was

their dialogue.

Critias and Alcibiades, however, continued not long with Socrates, after

they believed they had improved themselves, and gained some advantages

over the other citizens, for besides that they thought not his

conversation very agreeable, they were displeased that he took upon him

to reprimand them for their faults; and thus they threw themselves

immediately into the public affairs, having never had any other design

but that. The usual companions of Socrates were Crito, Chaerephon,

Chaerecrates, Simmias, Cebes, Phaedon, and some others; none of whom

frequented him that they might learn to speak eloquently, either in the

assemblies of the people, or in the courts of justice before the judges;

but that they might become better men, and know how to behave themselves

towards their domestics, their relations, their friends, and their fellow-

citizens. All these persons led very innocent lives; and, whether we

consider them in their youth or examine their behaviour in a more

advanced age, we shall find that they never were guilty of any bad

action, nay, that they never gave the least ground to suspect them of

being so.

But the accuser says that Socrates encouraged children to despise their

parents, making them believe that he was more capable to instruct them

than they; and telling them that as the laws permit a man to chain his

own father if he can convict him of lunacy, so, in like manner, it is but

just that a man of excellent sense should throw another into chains who

has not so much understanding. I cannot deny but that Socrates may have

said something like this; but he meant it not in the sense in which the

accuser would have it taken: and he fully discovered what his meaning by

these words was, when he said that he who should pretend to chain others

because of their ignorance, ought, for the same reason, to submit to be

chained himself by men who know more than he. Hence it is that he argued

so often of the difference between folly and ignorance; and then he

plainly said that fools and madmen ought to be chained indeed, as well

for their own interest as for that of their friends; but that they who

are ignorant of things they should know, ought only to be instructed by

those that understand them.

The accuser goes on, that Socrates did not only teach men to despise

their parents, but their other relations too; because he said that if a

man be sick, or have a suit in law, it is not his relations, but the

physicians, or the advocates who are of use to him. He further alleged

that Socrates, speaking of friends, said it was to no purpose to bear

goodwill to any man, if it be not in our power to serve him; and that the

only friends whom we ought to value are they who know what is good for

us, and can teach it to us: thus, says the accuser, Socrates, by

persuading the youth that he was the wisest of all men, and the most

capable to set others in the right road to wisdom, made them believe that

all the rest of mankind were nothing in comparison with him. I remember,

indeed, to have heard him sometimes talk after this manner of parents,

relations, and friends; and he observed besides, if I mistake not, that

when the soul, in which the understanding resides, is gone out of the

body, we soon bury the corpse; and even though it be that of our nearest

relation, we endeavour to put it out of our sight as soon as decently we

can. Farther, though every man loves his own body to a great degree, we

scruple not nevertheless to take from it all that is superfluous, for

this reason we cut our hair and our nails, we take off our corns and our

warts, and we put ourselves into the surgeons' hands, and endure caustics

and incisions; and after they have made us suffer a great deal of pain,

we think ourselves obliged to give them a reward: thus, too, we spit,

because the spittle is of no use in the mouth, but on the contrary is

troublesome. But Socrates meant not by these, or the like sayings, to

conclude that a man ought to bury his father alive, or that we ought to

cut off our legs and arms; but he meant only to teach us that what is

useless is contemptible, and to exhort every man to improve and render

himself useful to others; to the end that if we desire to be esteemed by

our father, our brother, or any other relation, we should not rely so

much on our parentage and consanguinity, as not to endeavour to render

ourselves always useful to those whose esteem we desire to obtain.

The accuser says further against Socrates, that he was so malicious as to

choose out of the famous poets the passages that contained the worst

instructions, and that he made use of them in a sly manner, to inculcate

the vices of injustice and violence: as this verse of Hesiod,

"Blame no employment, but blame idleness."

And he pretends that Socrates alleged this passage to prove that the poet

meant to say that we ought not to count any employment unjust or

dishonourable, if we can make any advantage of it. This, however, was

far from the thoughts of Socrates; but, as he had always taught that

employment and business are useful and honourable to men, and that

idleness is an evil, he concluded that they who busy themselves about

anything that is good are indeed employed; but that gamesters and

debauched persons, and all who have no occupations, but such as are

hurtful and wicked, are idle. Now, in this sense, is it not true to

say:--

"Blame no employment, but blame idleness"?

The accuser likewise says that Socrates often repeated, out of Homer, a

speech of Ulysses; and from thence he concludes that Socrates taught that

the poet advised to beat the poor and abuse the common people. But it is

plain Socrates could never have drawn such a wild and unnatural inference

from those verses of the poet, because he would have argued against

himself, since he was as poor as anyone besides. What he meant,

therefore, was only this, that such as are neither men of counsel nor

execution, who are neither fit to advise in the city nor to serve in the

army, and are nevertheless proud and insolent, ought to be brought to

reason, even though they be possessed of great riches. And this was the

true meaning of Socrates, for he loved the men of low condition, and

expressed a great civility for all sorts of persons; insomuch that

whenever he was consulted, either by the Athenians or by foreigners, he

would never take anything of any man for the instructions he gave them,

but imparted his wisdom freely, and without reward, to all the world;

while they, who became rich by his liberality, did not afterwards behave

themselves so generously, but sold very dear to others what had cost them

nothing; and, not being of so obliging a temper as he, would not impart

their knowledge to any who had it not in their power to reward them. In

short, Socrates has rendered the city of Athens famous throughout the

whole earth; and, as Lychas was said to be the honour of Sparta, because

he treated, at his own expense, all the foreigners who came to the feasts

of the Gymnopaedies, so it may, with much greater reason, be said of

Socrates that he was the glory of Athens, he who all his life made a

continual distribution of his goodness and virtues, and who, keeping open

for all the world the treasures of an inestimable wealth, never sent any

man out of his company but more virtuous, and more improved in the

principles of honour, than formerly he was. Therefore, in my opinion, if

he had been treated according to his merit, they should have decreed him

public honours rather than have condemned him to an infamous death. For

against whom have the laws ordained the punishment of death? Is it not

for thieves, for robbers, for men guilty of sacrilege, for those who sell

persons that are free? But where, in all the world, can we find a man

more innocent of all those crimes than Socrates? Can it be said of him

that he ever held correspondence with the enemy, that he ever fomented

any sedition, that he ever was the cause of a rebellion, or any other the

like mischiefs? Can any man lay to his charge that he ever detained his

estate, or did him or it the least injury? Was he ever so much as

suspected of any of these things? How then is it possible he should be

guilty of the crimes of which he was accused; since, instead of not

believing in the gods, as the accuser says, it is manifest he was a

sincere adorer of them? Instead of corrupting the youth, as he further

alleges against him, he made it his chief care to deliver his friends

from the power of every guilty passion, and to inspire them with an

ardent love for virtue, the glory, the ornament, and felicity of families

as well as of states? And this being fact (and fact it is, for who can

deny it?), is it not certain that the Republic was extremely obliged to

him, and that she ought to have paid him the highest honours?

CHAPTER III. HOW SOCRATES BEHAVED THROUGH THE WHOLE OF HIS LIFE.

Having, therefore, observed myself that all who frequented him improved

themselves very much in his conversation, because he instructed them no

less by his example than by his discourses, I am resolved to set down, in

this work, all that I can recollect both of his actions and words.

First, then, as to what relates to the service of the gods, he strictly

conformed to the advice of the oracle, who never gives any other answer

to those who inquire of him in what manner they ought to sacrifice to the

gods, or what honours they ought to render to the dead, than that

everyone should observe the customs of his own country. Thus in all the

acts of religious worship Socrates took particular care to do nothing

contrary to the custom of the Republic, and advised his friends to make

that the rule of their devotion to the gods, alleging it to be an

argument of superstition and vanity to dissent from the established

worship.

When he prayed to the gods he besought them only to give him what is

good, because they know better than we do what things are truly good for

us; and he said that men who pray for silver, or for gold, or for the

sovereign authority, made as foolish requests as if they prayed that they

might play or fight, or desired any other thing whose event is uncertain,

and that might be likely to turn to their disadvantage.

When he offered sacrifices he did not believe that his poverty rendered

them despicable in the presence of the gods; and, while he offered

according to his ability, he thought he gave as much as the rich, who

load the altars with costly gifts, for he held that it would be an

injustice in the gods to take more delight in costly sacrifices than in

poorer ones, because it would then follow that the offerings of the

wicked would for the most part be more acceptable to them than the gifts

of the good; and that, if this were so, we ought not to desire to live

one moment longer: he thought, therefore, that nothing was so acceptable

to the Deity as the homage that is paid him by souls truly pious and

innocent. To this purpose he often repeated these verses:--

"Offer to heaven according to thy pow'r:

Th' indulgent gracious gods require no more."

And not only in this, but in all the other occasions of life, he thought

the best advice he could give his friends was to do all things according

to their ability.

When he believed that the gods had admonished him to do anything, it was

as impossible to make him take a contrary resolution as it would have

been to have prevailed with him in a journey to change a guide that was

clear-sighted for one that knew not the way, and was blind likewise. For

this reason he pitied their folly, who, to avoid the derision of men,

live not according to the admonitions and commands of the gods; and he

beheld with contempt all the subtilties of human prudence when he

compared them with divine inspirations.

His way of living was such that whoever follows it may be assured, with

the help of the gods, that he shall acquire a robust constitution and a

health not to be easily impaired; and this, too, without any great

expense, for he was content with so little that I believe there was not

in all the world a man who could work at all but might have earned enough

to have maintained him. He generally ate as long as he found pleasure in

eating, and when he sat down to table he desired no other sauce but a

sound appetite. All sorts of drink were alike pleasing to him, because

he never drank but when he was thirsty; and if sometimes he was invited

to a feast, he easily avoided eating and drinking to excess, which many

find very difficult to do in those occasions. But he advised those who

had no government of themselves never to taste of things that tempt a man

to eat when he is no longer hungry, and that excite him to drink when his

thirst is already quenched, because it is this that spoils the stomach,

causes the headache, and puts the soul into disorder. And he said,

between jest and earnest, that he believed it was with such meats as

those that Circe changed men into swine, and that Ulysses avoided that

transformation by the counsel of Mercury, and because he had temperance

enough to abstain from tasting them.

As to love, his advice was to avoid carefully the company of beautiful

persons, saying it was very difficult to be near them and escape being

taken in the snare; and, having been told that Critobulus had given a

kiss to the son of Alcibiades, who was a very handsome youth, he held

this discourse to Xenophon, in the presence of Critobulus himself.

"Tell me, Xenophon, what opinion have you hitherto had of Critobulus?

Have you placed him in the rank of the temperate and judicious; or with

the debauched and imprudent?" "I have always looked upon him," answered

Xenophon, "to be a very virtuous and prudent man." "Change your

opinion," replied Socrates, "and believe him more rash than if he threw

himself on the points of naked swords or leapt into the fire." "And what

have you seen him do," said Xenophon, "that gives you reason to speak

thus of him?" "Why, he had the rashness," answered Socrates, "to kiss

the son of Alcibiades, who is so beautiful and charming." "And is this

all?" said Xenophon; "for my part, I think I could also willingly expose

myself to the same danger that he did." "Wretch, that you are!" replied

Socrates. "Do you consider what happens to you after you have kissed a

beautiful face? Do you not lose your liberty? Do you not become a

slave? Do you not engage yourself in a vast expense to procure a sinful

pleasure? Do you not find yourself in an incapacity of doing what is

good, and that you subject yourself to the necessity of employing your

whole time and person in the pursuit of what you would despise, if your

reason were not corrupted?" "Good God!" cried Xenophon, "this is

ascribing a wonderful power to a kiss forsooth." "And are you surprised

at it?" answered Socrates. "Are there not some small animals whose bite

is so venomous that it causes insufferable pain, and even the loss of the

senses?" "I know it very well," said Xenophon, "but these animals leave

a poison behind them when they sting." "And do you think, you fool,"

added Socrates, "that kisses of love are not venomous, because you

perceive not the poison? Know that a beautiful person is a more

dangerous animal than scorpions, because these cannot wound unless they

touch us; but beauty strikes at a distance: from what place soever we can

but behold her, she darts her venom upon us, and overthrows our judgment.

And perhaps for this reason the Loves are represented with bows and

arrows, because a beautiful face wounds us from afar. I advise you,

therefore, Xenophon, when you chance to see a beauty to fly from it,

without looking behind you. And for you, Critobulus, I think it

convenient that you should enjoin yourself a year's absence, which will

not be too long a time to heal you of your wound."

As for such as have not strength enough to resist the power of love, he

thought that they ought to consider and use it as an action to which the

soul would never consent, were it not for the necessity of the body; and

which, though it be necessary, ought, nevertheless, to give us no

inquietude. As for himself, his continence was known to all men, and it

was more easy for him to avoid courting the most celebrated beauties,

than it is for others to get away from disagreeable objects.

Thus we see what was his way of life in eating, drinking, and in the

affair of love. He believed, however, that he tasted of those pleasures

no less than they who give themselves much trouble to enjoy them; but

that he had not, like them, so frequent occasions for sorrow and

repentance.

CHAPTER IV. SOCRATES PROVETH THE EXISTENCE OF A DEITY.

If there be any who believe what some have written by conjecture, that

Socrates was indeed excellent in exciting men to virtue, but that he did

not push them forward to make any great progress in it, let such reflect

a little on what he said, not only when he endeavoured to refute those

that boasted they knew all things, but likewise in his familiar

conversations, and let them judge afterwards if he was incapable to

advance his friends in the paths of virtue.

I will, in the first place, relate a conference which he had with

Aristodemus, surnamed the Little, touching the Deity, for he had heard

that he never sacrificed to the gods; that he never addressed himself to

them in prayer; that he never consulted the oracles, and even laughed at

those that practised these things, he took him to talk in this manner:--

"Tell me, Aristodemus, are there any persons whom you value on account of

their merit?" He answered, "Yes, certainly." "Tell me their names,"

added Socrates. Aristodemus replied: "For epic poetry I admire Homer as

the most excellent; for dithyrambics, Melanippides; Sophocles for

tragedy; Polycletes for statuary; and Zeuxis for painting." "Which

artists," said Socrates, "do you think to be most worthy of your esteem

and admiration: they who make images without soul and motion, or they who

make animals that move of their own accord, and are endowed with

understanding?" "No doubt the last," replied Aristodemus, "provided they

make them not by chance, but with judgment and prudence." Socrates went

on: "As there are some things which we cannot say why they were made, and

others which are apparently good and useful, tell me, my friend, whether

of the two you rather take to be the work of prudence than of hazard."

"It is reasonable," said Aristodemus, "to believe that the things which

are good and useful are the workmanship of reason and judgment." "Do not

you think then," replied Socrates, "that the first Former of mankind

designed their advantage when he gave them the several senses by which

objects are apprehended; eyes for things visible, and ears for sounds? Of

what advantage would agreeable scents have been to us if nostrils suited

to their reception had not been given? And for the pleasures of the

taste, how could we ever have enjoyed these, if the tongue had not been

fitted to discern and relish them? Further, does it not appear to you

wisely provided that since the eye is of a delicate make, it is guarded

with the eyelid drawn back when the eye is used, and covering it in

sleep? How well does the hair at the extremity of the eyelid keep out

dust, and the eyebrow, by its prominency, prevent the sweat of the

forehead from running into the eye to its hurt. How wisely is the ear

formed to receive all sorts of sounds, and not to be filled with any to

the exclusion of others. Are not the fore teeth of all animals fitted to

cut off proper portions of food, and their grinders to reduce it to a

convenient smallness? The mouth, by which we take in the food we like,

is fitly placed just beneath the nose and eyes, the judges of its

goodness; and what is offensive and disagreeable to our senses is, for

that reason, placed at a proper distance from them. In short, these

things being disposed in such order, and with so much care, can you

hesitate one moment to determine whether it be an effect of providence or

of chance?" "I doubt not of it in the least," replied Aristodemus, "and

the more I fix my thoughts on the contemplation of these things the more

I am persuaded that all this is the masterpiece of a great workman, who

bears an extreme love to men." "What say you," continued Socrates, "to

this, that he gives all animals a desire to engender and propagate their

kind; that he inspires the mothers with tenderness and affection to bring

up their young; and that, from the very hour of their birth, he infuses

into them this great love of life and this mighty aversion to death?" "I

say," replied Aristodemus, "that it is an effect of his great care for

their preservation." "This is not all," said Socrates, "answer me yet

farther; perhaps you would rather interrogate me. You are not, I

persuade myself, ignorant that you are endowed with understanding; do you

then think that there is not elsewhere an intelligent being?

Particularly, if you consider that your body is only a little earth taken

from that great mass which you behold. The moist that composes you is

only a small drop of that immense heap of water that makes the sea; in a

word, your body contains only a small part of all the elements, which are

elsewhere in great quantity. There is nothing then but your

understanding alone, which, by a wonderful piece of good fortune, must

have come to you from I know not whence, if there were none in another

place; and can it then be said that all this universe and all these so

vast and numerous bodies have been disposed in so much order, without the

help of an intelligent Being, and by mere chance?" "I find it very

difficult to understand it otherwise," answered Aristodemus, "because I

see not the gods, who, you say, make and govern all things, as I see the

artificers who do any piece of work amongst us." "Nor do you see your

soul neither," answered Socrates, "which governs your body; but, because

you do not see it, will you from thence infer you do nothing at all by

its direction, but that everything you do is by mere chance?" Aristodemus

now wavering said, "I do not despise the Deity, but I conceive such an

idea of his magnificence and self-sufficiency, that I imagine him to have

no need of me or my services." "You are quite wrong," said Socrates,

"for by how much the gods, who are so magnificent, vouchsafe to regard

you, by so much you are bound to praise and adore them." "It is needless

for me to tell you," answered Aristodemus, "that, if I believed the gods

interested themselves in human affairs, I should not neglect to worship

them." "How!" replied Socrates, "you do not believe the gods take care

of men, they who have not only given to man, in common with other

animals, the senses of seeing, hearing, and taste, but have also given

him to walk upright; a privilege which no other animal can boast of, and

which is of mighty use to him to look forward, to remote objects, to

survey with facility those above him, and to defend himself from any

harm? Besides, although the animals that walk have feet, which serve

them for no other use than to walk, yet, herein, have the gods

distinguished man, in that, besides feet, they have given him hands, the

instruments of a thousand grand and useful actions, on which account he

not only excels, but is happier than all animals besides. And, further,

though all animals have tongues, yet none of them can speak, like man's;

his tongue only can form words, by which he declares his thoughts, and

communicates them to others. Not to mention smaller instances of their

care, such as the concern they take of our pleasures, in confining men to

no certain season for the enjoying them, as they have done other animals.

"But Providence taketh care, not only of our bodies, but of our souls: it

hath pleased the great Author of all, not only to give man so many

advantages for the body, but (which is the greatest gift of all, and the

strongest proof of his care) he hath breathed into him an intelligent

soul, and that, too, the most excellent of all, for which of the other

animals has a soul that knows the being of the Deity, by whom so many

great and marvellous works are done? Is there any species but man that

serves and adores him? Which of the animals can, like him, protect

himself from hunger and thirst, from heat and cold? Which, like him, can

find remedies for diseases, can make use of his strength, and is as

capable of learning, that so perfectly retains the things he has seen, he

has heard, he has known? In a word, it is manifest that man is a god in

comparison with the other living species, considering the advantages he

naturally has over them, both of body and soul. For, if man had a body

like to that of an ox the subtilty of his understanding would avail him

nothing, because he would not be able to execute what he should project.

On the other hand, if that animal had a body like ours, yet, being devoid

of understanding, he would be no better than the rest of the brute

species. Thus the gods have at once united in your person the most

excellent structure of body and the greatest perfection of soul; and now

can you still say, after all, that they take no care of you? What would

you have them do to convince you of the contrary?" "I would have them,"

answered Aristodemus, "send on purpose to let me know expressly all that

I ought to do or not to do, in like manner as you say they do give you

notice." "What!" said Socrates, "when they pronounce any oracle to all

the Athenians, do you think they do not address themselves to you too,

when by prodigies they make known to the Greeks the things that are to

happen, are they silent to you alone, and are you the only person they

neglect? Do you think that the gods would have instilled this notion

into men, that it is they who can make them happy or miserable, if it

were not indeed in their power to do so? And do you believe that the

human race would have been thus long abused without ever discovering the

cheat? Do you not know that the most ancient and wisest republics and

people have been also the most pious, and that man, at the age when his

judgment is ripest, has then the greatest bent to the worship of the

Deity?

"My dear Aristodemus, consider that your mind governs your body according

to its pleasure: in like manner we ought to believe that there is a mind

diffused throughout the whole universe that disposeth of all things

according to its counsels. You must not imagine that your weak sight can

reach to objects that are several leagues distant, and that the eye of

God cannot, at one and the same time, see all things. You must not

imagine that your mind can reflect on the affairs of Athens, of Egypt,

and of Sicily, and that the providence of God cannot, at one and the same

moment, consider all things. As, therefore, you may make trial of the

gratitude of a man by doing him a kindness, and as you may discover his

prudence by consulting him in difficult affairs, so, if you would be

convinced how great is the power and goodness of God, apply yourself

sincerely to piety and his worship; then, my dear Aristodemus, you shall

soon be persuaded that the Deity sees all, hears all, is present

everywhere, and, at the same time, regulates and superintends all the

events of the universe."

By such discourses as these Socrates taught his friends never to commit

any injustice or dishonourable action, not only in the presence of men,

but even in secret, and when they are alone, since the Divinity hath

always an eye over us, and none of our actions can be hid from him.

CHAPTER V. THE PRAISE OF TEMPERANCE.

And if temperance be a virtue in man, as undoubtedly it is, let us see

whether any improvement can be made by what he said of it. I will here

give you one of his discourses on that subject:--

"If we were engaged in a war," said he, "and were to choose a general,

would we make choice of a man given to wine or women, and who could not

support fatigues and hardships? Could we believe that such a commander

would be capable to defend us and to conquer our enemies? Or if we were

lying on our deathbed, and were to appoint a guardian and tutor for our

children, to take care to instruct our sons in the principles of virtue,

to breed up our daughters in the paths of honour and to be faithful in

the management of their fortunes, should we think a debauched person fit

for that employment? Would we trust our flocks and our granaries in the

hands of a drunkard? Would we rely upon him for the conduct of any

enterprise; and, in short, if a present were made us of such a slave,

should we not make it a difficulty to accept him? If, then, we have so

great an aversion for debauchery in the person of the meanest servant,

ought we not ourselves to be very careful not to fall into the same

fault? Besides, a covetous man has the satisfaction of enriching

himself, and, though he take away another's estate, he increases his own;

but a debauched man is both troublesome to others and injurious to

himself. We may say of him that he is hurtful to all the world, and yet

more hurtful to himself, if to ruin, not only his family, but his body

and soul likewise, is to be hurtful. Who, then, can take delight in the

company of him who has no other diversion than eating and drinking, and

who is better pleased with the conversation of a prostitute than of his

friends? Ought we not, then, to practise temperance above all things,

seeing it is the foundation of all other virtues; for without it what can

we learn that is good, what do that is worthy of praise? Is not the

state of man who is plunged in voluptuousness a wretched condition both

for the body and soul? Certainly, in my opinion, a free person ought to

wish to have no such servants, and servants addicted to such brutal

irregularities ought earnestly to entreat Heaven that they may fall into

the hands of very indulgent masters, because their ruin will be otherwise

almost unavoidable."

This is what Socrates was wont to say upon this subject. But if he

appeared to be a lover of temperance in his discourses, he was yet a more

exact observer of it in his actions, showing himself to be not only

invincible to the pleasures of the senses, but even depriving himself of

the satisfaction of getting an estate; for he held that a man who accepts

of money from others makes himself a servant to all their humours, and

becomes their slave in a manner no less scandalous than other slaveries.

CHAPTER VI. THE DISPUTE OF SOCRATES WITH ANTIPHON, THE SOPHIST.

To this end it will not be amiss to relate, for the honour of Socrates,

what passed between him and the sophist Antiphon, who designed to seduce

away his hearers, and to that end came to him when they were with him,

and, in their presence, addressed himself to him in these words:--"I

imagined, Socrates, that philosophers were happier than other men; but,

in my opinion, your wisdom renders you more miserable, for you live at

such a rate that no footman would live with a master that treated him in

the same manner. You eat and drink poorly, you are clothed very

meanly--the same suit serves you in summer and winter--you go barefoot,

and for all this you take no money, though it is a pleasure to get it;

for, after a man has acquired it, he lives more genteely and more at his

ease. If, therefore, as in all other sorts of arts, apprentices

endeavour to imitate their masters, should these who frequent your

conversation become like you, it is certain that you will have taught

them nothing but to make themselves miserable."

Socrates answered him in the following manner:--"You think, Antiphon, I

live so poorly that I believe you would rather die than live like me. But

what is it you find so strange and difficult in my way of living? You

blame me for not taking money; is it because they who take money are

obliged to do what they promise, and that I, who take none, entertain

myself only with whom I think fit? You despise my eating and drinking;

is it because my diet is not so good nor so nourishing as yours, or

because it is more scarce and dearer, or lastly, because your fare seems

to you to be better? Know that a man who likes what he eats needs no

other _ragout_, and that he who finds one sort of drink pleasant wishes

for no other. As to your objection of my clothes, you appear to me,

Antiphon, to judge quite amiss of the matter; for, do you not know that

we dress ourselves differently only because of the hot or cold weather,

and if we wear shoes it is because we would walk the easier? But, tell

me, did you ever observe that the cold hath hindered me from going

abroad? Have you ever seen me choose the cool and fresh shades in hot

weather? And, though I go barefoot, do not you see that I go wherever I

will? Do you not know that there are some persons of a very tender

constitution, who, by constant exercise, surmount the weakness of their

nature, and at length endure fatigues better than they who are naturally

more robust, but have not taken pains to exercise and harden themselves

like the others? Thus, therefore, do not you believe that I, who have

all my life accustomed myself to bear patiently all manner of fatigues,

cannot now more easily submit to this than you, who have never thought of

the matter? If I have no keen desire after dainties, if I sleep little,

if I abandon not myself to any infamous amour, the reason is because I

spend my time more delightfully in things whose pleasure ends not in the

moment of enjoyment, and that make me hope besides to receive an

everlasting reward. Besides, you know very well, that when a man sees

that his affairs go ill he is not generally very gay; and that, on the

contrary, they who think to succeed in their designs, whether in

agriculture, traffic, or any other undertaking, are very contented in

their minds. Now, do you think that from anything whatsoever there can

proceed a satisfaction equal to the inward consciousness of improving

daily in virtue, and acquiring the acquaintance and friendship of the

best of men? And if we were to serve our friends or our country, would

not a man who lives like me be more capable of it than one that should

follow that course of life which you take to be so charming? If it were

necessary to carry arms, which of the two would be the best soldier, he

who must always fare deliciously, or he who is satisfied with what he

finds? If they were to undergo a siege who would hold out longest, he

who cannot live without delicacies, or he who requires nothing but what

may easily be had? One would think, Antiphon, that you believe happiness

to consist in good eating and drinking, and in an expensive and splendid

way of life. For my part, I am of opinion that to have need of nothing

at all is a divine perfection, and that to have need but of little is to

approach very near the Deity, and hence it follows that, as there is

nothing more excellent than the Deity, whatever approaches nearest to it

is likewise most near the supreme excellence."

Another time Antiphon addressed himself to Socrates: "I confess you are

an honest, well-meaning man, Socrates; but it is certain you know little

or nothing, and one would imagine you own this to be true, for you get

nothing by your teaching. And yet, I persuade myself, you would not part

with your house, or any of the furniture of it, without some gratuity,

because you believe them of some small value; nay, you would not part

with them for less than they are worth: if, therefore, you thought your

teaching worth anything you would be paid for it according to its value;

in this, indeed, you show yourself honest, because you will not, out of

avarice, cheat any man, but at the same time you discover, too, that you

know but little, since all your knowledge is not worth the buying."

Socrates answered him in this manner:--"There is a great resemblance

between beauty and the doctrine of philosophers; what is praiseworthy in

the one is so in the other, and both of them are subject to the same

vice: for, if a woman sells her beauty for money, we immediately call her

a prostitute; but if she knows that a man of worth and condition is

fallen in love with her, and if she makes him her friend, we say she is a

prudent woman. It is just the same with the doctrine of philosophers;

they that sell it are sophists, and like the public women, but if a

philosopher observe a youth of excellent parts, and teacheth him what he

knows, in order to obtain his friendship, we say of him, that he acts the

part of a good and virtuous citizen. Thus as some delight in fine

horses, others in dogs, and others in birds; for my part all my delight

is to be with my virtuous friends. I teach them all the good I know, and

recommend them to all whom I believe capable to assist them in the way to

perfection. We all draw together, out of the same fountain, the precious

treasures which the ancient sages have left us; we run over their works,

and if we find anything excellent we take notice of it and select it: in

short, we believe we have made a great improvement when we begin to love

one another." This was the answer he made, and when I heard him speak in

this manner I thought him very happy, and that he effectually stirred up

his hearers to the love of virtue.

Another time when Antiphon asked him why he did not concern himself with

affairs of State, seeing he thought himself capable to make others good

politicians? he returned this answer:--"Should I be more serviceable to

the State if I took an employment whose function would be wholly bounded

in my person, and take up all my time, than I am by instructing every one

as I do, and in furnishing the Republic with a great number of citizens

who are capable to serve her?"

CHAPTER VII. IN WHAT MANNER SOCRATES DISSUADED MEN FROM SELF-CONCEIT AND

OSTENTATION.

But let us now see whether by dissuading his friends from a vain

ostentation he did not exhort them to the pursuit of virtue. He

frequently said that there was no readier way to glory than to render

oneself excellent, and not to affect to appear so. To prove this he

alleged the following example:--"Let us suppose," said he, "that any one

would be thought a good musician, without being so in reality; what

course must he take? He must be careful to imitate the great masters in

everything that is not of their art; he must, like them, have fine

musical instruments; he must, like them, be followed by a great number of

persons wherever he goes, who must be always talking in his praise. And

yet he must not venture to sing in public: for then all men would

immediately perceive not only his ignorance, but his presumption and

folly likewise. And would it not be ridiculous in him to spend his

estate to ruin his reputation? In like manner, if any one would appear a

great general, or a good pilot, though he knew nothing of either, what

would be the issue of it? If he cannot make others believe it, it

troubles him, and if he can persuade them to think so he is yet more

unhappy, because, if he be made choice of for the steering of ships, or

to command an army, he will acquit himself very ill of his office, and

perhaps be the cause of the loss of his best friends. It is not less

dangerous to appear to be rich, or brave, or strong, if we are not so

indeed, for this opinion of us may procure us employments that are above

our capacity, and if we fail to effect what was expected of us there is

no remission for our faults. And if it be a great cheat to wheedle one

of your neighbours out of any of his ready money or goods, and not

restore them to him afterwards, it is a much greater impudence and cheat

for a worthless fellow to persuade the world that he is capable to govern

a Republic." By these and the like arguments he inspired a hatred of

vanity and ostentation into the minds of those who frequented him.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I. A CONFERENCE OF SOCRATES WITH ARISTIPPUS CONCERNING PLEASURE

AND TEMPERANCE.

In the same manner, likewise, he encouraged his hearers by the following

arguments to support hunger and thirst, to resist the temptations of

love, to fly from laziness, and inure themselves to all manner of

fatigues. For, being told that one of them lived too luxuriously, he

asked him this question: "If you were entrusted, Aristippus, with the

education of two young men, one to be a prince and the other a private

man, how would you educate them? Let us begin with their nourishment, as

being the foundation of all." "It is true," said Aristippus, "that

nourishment is the foundation of our life, for a man must soon die if he

be not nourished." "You would accustom both of them," said Socrates, "to

eat and drink at a certain hour?" "It is likely I should?" "But which

of the two," said Socrates, "would you teach to leave eating before he

was satisfied, to go about some earnest business?" "Him, without doubt,"

answered Aristippus, "whom I intended to render capable to govern, to the

end that under him the affairs of the Republic might not suffer by

delay." "Which of the two," continued Socrates, "would you teach to

abstain from drinking when he was thirsty, to sleep but little, to go

late to bed, to rise early, to watch whole nights, to live chastely, to

get the better of his favourite inclinations, and not to avoid fatigues,

but expose himself freely to them?" "The same still," replied

Aristippus. "And if there be any art that teaches to overcome our

enemies, to which of the two is it rather reasonable to teach it?" "To

him to," said Aristippus, "for without that art all the rest would avail

him nothing." "I believe," said Socrates, "that a man, who has been

educated in this manner, would not suffer himself to be so easily

surprised by his enemies as the most part of animals do. For some perish

by their gluttony, as those whom we allure with a bait, or catch by

offering them to drink, and who fall into the snares, notwithstanding

their fears and distrust. Others perish through their lasciviousness, as

quails and partridges, who suffer themselves to be decoyed by the

counterfeit voice of their females, and blindly following the amorous

warmth that transports them, fall miserably into the nets." "You say

true," said Aristippus. "Well, then," pursued Socrates, "is it not

scandalous for a man to be taken in the same snares with irrational

animals? And does not this happen to adulterers, who skulk and hide

themselves in the chambers and closets of married women, though they know

they run a very great risk, and that the laws are very strict and

rigorous against those crimes? They know themselves to be watched, and

that, if they are taken, they shall not be let go with impunity. In a

word, they see punishment and infamy hanging over the heads of criminals

like themselves. Besides, they are not ignorant, that there are a

thousand honourable diversions to deliver them from those infamous

passions, and yet they run hand over head into the midst of these

dangers, and what is this but to be wretched and desperate to the highest

degree?" "I think it so," answered Aristippus. "What say you to this,"

continued Socrates, "that the most necessary and most important affairs

of life, as those of war and husbandry, are, with others of little less

consequence, performed in the fields and in the open air, and that the

greatest part of mankind accustom themselves so little to endure the

inclemency of the seasons, to suffer heat and cold? Is not this a great

neglect? and do you not think that a man who is to command others ought

to inure himself to all these hardships?" "I think he ought," answered

Aristippus. "Therefore," replied Socrates, "if they who are patient and

laborious, as we have said, are worthy to command, may we not say that

they who can do nothing of all this, ought never to pretend to any

office?" Aristippus agreed to it, and Socrates went on.

"Since then you know the rank which either of these two sorts of men

ought to hold, amongst which would you have us place you?" "Me!" said

Aristippus; "why truly, not amongst those that govern; for that is an

office I would never choose. Let those rule who have a mind for it; for

my part, I envy not their condition. For, when I reflect that we find it

hard enough to supply our own wants, I do not approve of loading

ourselves, besides, with the necessities of a whole people; and that

being often compelled to go without many things that we desire, we should

engage ourselves in an employment that would render us liable to blame,

if we did not take care to supply others with everything they want: I

think there is folly in all this. For republics make use of their

magistrates as I do of my slaves, who shall get me my meat and drink, and

all other necessaries, as I command, and not presume to touch any of it

themselves; so, too, the people will have those, who govern the State,

take care to provide them with plenty of all things, and will not suffer

them to do anything for their own advantage. I think, therefore, that

all who are pleased with a hurry of affairs, and in creating business for

others, are most fit to govern, provided they have been educated and

instructed in the manner we mentioned. But, for my part, I desire to

lead a more quiet and easy life."

"Let us," said Socrates, "consider whether they who govern lead more

happy lives than their subjects: among the nations that are known to us

in Asia, the Syrians, the Phrygians, and the Lydians, are under the

empire of the Persians. In Europe, the Maeotians are subject to the

Scythians; in Africa, the Carthaginians reign over the rest of the

Africans. Which now, in your opinion, are the most happy? Let us look

into Greece, where you are at present. Whose condition, think you, is

most to be desired, that of the nations who rule, or of the people who

are under the dominion of others?" "I can never," said Aristippus,

"consent to be a slave; but there is a way between both that leads

neither to empire nor subjection, and this is the road of liberty, in

which I endeavour to walk, because it is the shortest to arrive at true

quiet and repose." "If you had said," replied Socrates, "that this way,

which leads neither to empire nor subjection, is a way that leads far

from all human society, you would, perhaps, have said something; for, how

can we live among men, and neither command nor obey? Do you not observe

that the mighty oppress the weak, and use them as their slaves, after

they have made them groan under the weight of oppression, and given them

just cause to complain of their cruel usage, in a thousand instances,

both general and particular? And if they find any who will not submit to

the yoke, they ravage their countries, spoil their corn, cut down their

trees, and attack them, in short, in such a manner that they are

compelled to yield themselves up to slavery, rather than undergo so

unequal a war? Among private men themselves, do not the stronger and

more bold trample on the weaker?" "To the end, therefore, that this may

not happen to me," said Aristippus, "I confine myself not to any

republic, but am sometimes here, sometimes there, and think it best to be

a stranger wherever I am." "This invention of yours," replied Socrates,

"is very extraordinary. Travellers, I believe, are not now so much

infested on the roads by robbers as formerly, deterred, I suppose, by the

fate of Sinnis, Scyron, Procrustes, and the rest of that gang. What

then? They who are settled in their own country, and are concerned in

the administration of the public affairs, they have the laws in their

favours, have their relations and friends to assist them, have fortified

towns and arms for their defence: over and above, they have alliances

with their neighbours: and yet all these favourable circumstances cannot

entirely shelter them from the attempts and surprises of wicked men. But

can you, who have none of these advantages, who are, for the most part,

travelling on the roads, often dangerous to most men, who never enter a

town, where you have not less credit than the meanest inhabitant, and are

as obscure as the wretches who prey on the properties of others; in these

circumstances, can you, I say, expect to be safe, merely because you are

a stranger, or perhaps have got passports from the States that promise

you all manner of safety coming or going, or should it be your hard

fortune to be made a slave, you would make such a bad one, that a master

would be never the better for you? For, who would suffer in his family a

man who would not work, and yet expected to live well? But let us see

how masters use such servants.

"When they are too lascivious, they compel them to fast till they have

brought them so low, that they have no great stomach to make love, if

they are thieves, they prevent them from stealing, by carefully locking

up whatever they could take: they chain them for fear they should run

away: if they are dull and lazy, then stripes and scourges are the

rewards we give them. If you yourself, my friend, had a worthless slave,

would you not take the same measures with him?" "I would treat such a

fellow," answered Aristippus, "with all manner of severity, till I had

brought him to serve me better. But, Socrates, let us resume our former

discourse."

"In what do they who are educated in the art of government, which you

seem to think a great happiness, differ from those who suffer through

necessity? For you say they must accustom themselves to hunger and

thirst, to endure cold and heat, to sleep little, and that they must

voluntarily expose themselves to a thousand other fatigues and hardships.

Now, I cannot conceive what difference there is between being whipped

willingly and by force, and tormenting one's body either one way or the

other, except that it is a folly in a man to be willing to suffer pain."

"How," said Socrates, "you know not this difference between things

voluntary and constrained, that he who suffers hunger because he is

pleased to do so may likewise eat when he has a mind; and he who suffers

thirst because he is willing may also drink when he pleases. But it is

not in the power of him who suffers either of them through constraint and

necessity to relieve himself by eating and drinking the moment he desires

it? Besides, he that voluntarily embraceth any laborious exercise finds

much comfort and content in the hope that animates him. Thus the

fatigues of hunting discourage not the hunters, because they hope to take

the game they pursue. And yet what they take, though they think it a

reward for all their toil, is certainly of very little value. Ought not

they, then, who labour to gain the friendship of good men, or to overcome

their enemies, or to render themselves capable of governing their

families, and of serving their country, ought not these, I say, joyfully

to undertake the trouble, and to rest content, conscious of the inward

approbation of their own minds, and the regard and esteem of the

virtuous? And to convince you that it is good to impose labours on

ourselves, it is a maxim among those who instruct youth that the

exercises which are easily performed at the first attempt, and which we

immediately take delight in, are not capable to form the body to that

vigour and strength that is requisite in great undertakings, nor of

imprinting in the soul any considerable knowledge: but that those which

require patience, application, labour, and assiduity, prepare the way to

illustrious actions and great achievements. This is the opinion of good

judges, and of Hesiod in particular, who says somewhere--

'To Vice, in crowded ranks, the course we steer,

The road is smooth, and her abode is near;

But Virtue's heights are reached with sweat and pain,

For thus did the immortal powers ordain.

A long and rough ascent leads to her gate,

Nor, till the summit's gained, doth toil abate.'

And to the same purpose Epicharmus:--

"The gods confer their blessings at the price

Of labour--."

Who remarks in another place--

"Thou son of sloth, avoid the charms of ease,

Lest pain succeed--."

"Of the same opinion is Prodicus, in the book he has written of the life

of Hercules, where Virtue and Pleasure make their court to that hero

under the appearance of two beautiful women. His words, as near as I can

remember, are as follows:--

"'When Hercules,' says the moralist, 'had arrived at that part of his

youth in which young men commonly choose for themselves, and show, by the

result of their choice, whether they will, through the succeeding stages

of their lives, enter into and walk in the path of virtue or that of

vice, he went out into a solitary place fit for contemplation, there to

consider with himself which of those two paths he should pursue.

"'As he was sitting there in suspense he saw two women of a larger

stature than ordinary approaching towards him. One of them had a genteel

and amiable aspect; her beauty was natural and easy, her person and shape

clean and handsome, her eyes cast towards the ground with an agreeable

reserve, her motion and behaviour full of modesty, and her raiment white

as snow. The other wanted all the native beauty and proportion of the

former; her person was swelled, by luxury and ease, to a size quite

disproportioned and uncomely. She had painted her complexion, that it

might seem fairer and more ruddy than it really was, and endeavoured to

appear more graceful than ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of

affectation in all her gestures. Her eyes were full of confidence, and

her dress transparent, that the conceited beauty of her person might

appear through it to advantage. She cast her eyes frequently upon

herself, then turned them on those that were present, to see whether any

one regarded her, and now and then looked on the figure she made in her

own shadow.

"'As they drew nearer, the former continued the same composed pace, while

the latter, striving to get before her, ran up to Hercules, and addressed

herself to him in the following manner:--

"I perceive, my dear Hercules, you are in doubt which path in life you

should pursue. If, then, you will be my friend and follow me, I will

lead you to a path the most easy and most delightful, wherein you shall

taste all the sweets of life, and live exempt from every trouble. You

shall neither be concerned in war nor in the affairs of the world, but

shall only consider how to gratify all your senses--your taste with the

finest dainties and most delicious drink, your sight with the most

agreeable objects, your scent with the richest perfumes and fragrancy of

odours, how you may enjoy the embraces of the fair, repose on the softest

beds, render your slumbers sweet and easy, and by what means enjoy,

without even the smallest care, all those glorious and mighty blessings.

"And, for fear you suspect that the sources whence you are to derive

those invaluable blessings might at some time or other fail, and that you

might, of course, be obliged to acquire them at the expense of your mind

and the united labour and fatigue of your body, I beforehand assure you

that you shall freely enjoy all from the industry of others, undergo

neither hardship nor drudgery, but have everything at your command that

can afford you any pleasure or advantage."

"'Hercules, hearing the lady make him such offers, desired to know her

name, to which she answered, "My friends, and those who are well

acquainted with me, and whom I have conducted, call me Happiness; but my

enemies, and those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name

of Pleasure."

"'In the meantime, the other lady approached, and in her turn accosted

him in this manner:--"I also am come to you, Hercules, to offer my

assistance; I, who am well acquainted with your divine extraction and

have observed the excellence of your nature, even from your childhood,

from which I have reason to hope that, if you would follow the path that

leadeth to my residence, you will undertake the greatest enterprises and

achieve the most glorious actions, and that I shall thereby become more

honourable and illustrious among mortals. But before I invite you into

my society and friendship I will be open and sincere with you, and must

lay down this as an established truth, that there is nothing truly

valuable which can be purchased without pains and labour. The gods have

set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the

favour of the Deity you must be at the pains of worshipping Him; if you

would be beloved by your friends you must study to oblige them; if you

would be honoured by any city you must be of service to it; and if you

would be admired by all Greece, on account of your probity and valour,

you must exert yourself to do her some eminent service. If you would

render your fields fruitful, and fill your arms with corn, you must

labour to cultivate the soil accordingly. Would you grow rich by your

herds, a proper care must be taken of them; would you extend your

dominions by arms, and be rendered capable of setting at liberty your

captive friends, and bringing your enemies to subjection, you must not

only learn of those that are experienced in the art of war, but exercise

yourself also in the use of military affairs; and if you would excel in

the strength of your body you must keep your body in due subjection to

your mind, and exercise it with labour and pains."

"'Here Pleasure broke in upon her discourse--"Do you see, my dear

Hercules, through what long and difficult ways this woman would lead you

to her promised delights? Follow me, and I will show you a much shorter

and more easy way to happiness."

"Alas!" replied the Goddess of Virtue, whose visage glowed with a passion

made up of scorn and pity, "what happiness can you bestow, or what

pleasure can you taste, who would never do anything to acquire it? You

who will take your fill of all pleasures before you feel an appetite for

any; you eat before you are hungry, you drink before you are athirst;

and, that you may please your taste, must have the finest artists to

prepare your viands; the richest wines that you may drink with pleasure,

and to give your wine the finer taste, you search every place for ice and

snow luxuriously to cool it in the heat of summer. Then, to make your

slumbers uninterrupted, you must have the softest down and the easiest

couches, and a gentle ascent of steps to save you from any the least

disturbance in mounting up to them. And all little enough, heaven knows!

for you have not prepared yourself for sleep by anything you have done,

but seek after it only because you have nothing to do. It is the same in

the enjoyments of love, in which you rather force than follow your

inclinations, and are obliged to use arts, and even to pervert nature, to

keep your passions alive. Thus is it that you instruct your

followers--kept awake for the greatest part of the night by debaucheries,

and consuming in drowsiness all the most useful part of the day. Though

immortal, you are an outcast from the gods, and despised by good men.

Never have you heard that most agreeable of all sounds, your own praise,

nor ever have you beheld the most pleasing of all objects, any good work

of your own hands. Who would ever give any credit to anything that you

say? Who would assist you in your necessity, or what man of sense would

ever venture to be of your mad parties? Such as do follow you are robbed

of their strength when they are young, void of wisdom when they grow old.

In their youth they are bred up in indolence and all manner of delicacy,

and pass their old age with difficulties and distress, full of shame for

what they have done, and oppressed with the burden of what they are to

do, squanderers of pleasures in their youth, and hoarders up of

afflictions for their old age.

"On the contrary, my conversation is with the gods, and with good men,

and there is nothing excellent performed by either without my influence.

I am respected above all things by the gods and by the best of mortals,

and it is just I should. I am an agreeable companion to the artisan, a

faithful security to masters of families, a kind assistant to servants, a

useful associate in the arts of peace, a faithful ally in the labours of

war, and the best uniter of all friendships.

"My votaries, too, enjoy a pleasure in everything they either eat or

drink, even without having laboured for it, because they wait for the

demand of their appetites. Their sleep is sweeter than that of the

indolent and inactive; and they are neither overburdened with it when

they awake, nor do they, for the sake of it, omit the necessary duties of

life. My young men have the pleasure of being praised by those who are

in years, and those who are in years of being honoured by those who are

young. They look back with comfort on their past actions, and delight

themselves in their present employments. By my means they are favoured

by the gods, beloved by their friends, and honoured by their country; and

when the appointed period of their lives is come they are not lost in a

dishonourable oblivion, but live and flourish in the praises of mankind,

even to the latest posterity."

"Thus, my dear Hercules, who are descended of divine ancestors, you may

acquire, by virtuous toil and industry, this most desirable state of

perfect happiness."

"Such was the discourse, my friend, which the goddess had with Hercules,

according to Prodicus. You may believe that he embellished the thoughts

with more noble expressions than I do. I heartily wish, my dear

Aristippus, that you should make such an improvement of those divine

instructions, as that you too may make such a happy choice as may render

you happy during the future course of your life."

CHAPTER II. SOCRATES' DISCOURSE WITH HIS ELDEST SON LAMPROCLES

CONCERNING THE RESPECT DUE TO PARENTS.

Socrates observing his eldest son Lamprocles in a rage with his mother,

spoke to him in this manner:--"Come hither, my son. Have you ever heard

of a certain sort of men, who are called ungrateful?" "Very often,"

answered the young man. "And do you know," said Socrates, "why they are

called so?" "We call a man ungrateful," answered Lamprocles, "who,

having received a kindness, does not return the like if occasion offers."

"I think, therefore," said Socrates, "ingratitude is a kind of

injustice?" "I think so too," answered Lamprocles. Socrates went

on:--"Have you never considered of what nature this injustice is? For

since it is an injustice to treat our friends ill, and on the contrary, a

piece of justice to make our enemies smart for their conduct, may it be

said, with like reason, that it is an injustice to be ungrateful towards

our friends, and that it is just to be ungrateful towards our enemies."

"On mature consideration," answered Lamprocles, "I think it is criminal

to do injustice to either of them." "If, then," pursued Socrates,

"ingratitude be an injustice, it follows that the greater the favours are

which we have received, the greater is the injustice in not acknowledging

them." Lamprocles granted this consequence, and Socrates continued--"Can

there be any stricter obligations than those that children are laid under

to their parents? For it is they who gave them a being, and who have put

them in a condition to behold all the wonders of Nature, and to partake

of the many good things exhibited before them by the bounty of

Providence, and which are so delightful, that there is not anything that

all men more dread than to leave them; insomuch that all governments have

ordained death to be the punishment of the most enormous crimes, because

there is nothing can more effectually put a stop to the rage of the

wicked than the apprehension of death. In the affair of marriage, it is

not merely the gratification of the appetite which Nature has so strongly

implanted in both sexes for their preservation that we regard; no, that

passion can be satisfied in a less expensive manner, even in our streets,

and other places; but when we design to enter into that state, we make

choice of a woman of such a form and shape, by whom we may expect to have

fine children, and of such a temper and disposition as to assure us of

future happiness. When that is finished, it is then the chief care of

the husband to maintain his wife, and to provide for his children things

useful for life in the greatest abundance he can. On the part of the

wife, many are her anxieties and troubles for the preservation of her

offspring during the time of her pregnancy; she gives it then part of her

nourishment and life; and after having suffered the sharpest pangs at the

moment of its birth, she then gives it suck, and continues her care and

love to it. All this she does to the poor helpless infant, so void of

reason, that it knows not even her that is so good to it, nor can ask her

for its own necessities. Full of tenderness for the welfare and

happiness of her babe, her whole time, day and night, is spent in

pleasing it, without the least prospect of any recompense for all her

fatigue. After this, when the children are come to an age fit to be

instructed, the fathers teach them all the good things they can for the

conduct of their life; and if they know any man more capable to instruct

them than themselves, they send them to him, without regard to the

expense, thus indicating by their whole conduct, what sincere pleasure it

would afford them to see their children turn out men of virtue and

probity." "Undoubtedly," answered Lamprocles, "if my mother had done all

this, and an hundred times as much, no man could suffer her ill-humours?"

"Do not you think," said Socrates, "that the anger of a beast is much

more difficult to support than that of a mother?" "Not of a mother like

her," said Lamprocles. Socrates continued, "What strange thing has she

done to you? Has she bit you, has she kicked you, as beasts do when they

are angry?" "She has a tongue that no mortal can suffer," answered

Lamprocles. "And you," replied Socrates, "how many crosses did you give

her in your infancy by your continual bawling and importunate actions?

how much trouble by night and by day? how much affliction in your

illnesses?" "At worst," answered Lamprocles, "I never did nor said

anything that might make her blush." "Alas!" said Socrates, "is it more

difficult for you to hear in patience the hasty expressions of your

mother, than it is for the comedians to hear what they say to one another

on the stage when they fall into the most injurious reproaches? For they

easily suffer it, knowing well that when one reviles another, he reviles

him not with intent to injure him; and when one threatens another, he

threatens not with design to do him any harm. You who are fully

convinced likewise of the intentions of your mother, and who know very

well that the hard words she gives you do not proceed from hate, but that

she has a great affection for you, how can you, then, be angry with her?

Is it because you imagine that she wishes you ill?" "Not in the least,"

answered Lamprocles; "I never had such a thought." "What!" continued

Socrates; "a mother that loves you; a mother who, in your sickness, does

all she can to recover your health, who takes care that you want for

nothing, who makes so many vows to heaven for you; you say this is an ill

mother? In truth, if you cannot live with her, I will say you cannot

live at your ease. Tell me, in short, do you believe you ought to have

any reverence or respect for any one whatever? Or do you not care for

any man's favour and goodwill, neither for that of a general, suppose, or

of any other magistrate?" "On the contrary," said Lamprocles, "I am very

careful to gain the goodwill of all men." "Perhaps you would endeavour

to acquire the goodwill of your neighbour, to the end he might do you

kind offices, such as giving you fire when you want it, or, when any

misfortune befalls you, speedily relieve you?" "Yes, I would." "And if

you were travelling with any man, either by sea or land, would you count

it a matter of indifference whether you were loved by him or not?" "No,

indeed." "Are you then so abandoned, Lamprocles," replied Socrates,

"that you would take pains to acquire the goodwill of those persons, and

yet will do nothing to your mother, who loves you incomparably better

than they? Know you not that the Republic concerns not herself with

common instances of ingratitude; that she takes no cognisance of such

crimes, and that she neglects to punish those who do not return the

civilities they receive? But if any one be disrespectful to his parents

there is a punishment provided for such ingratitude; the laws reject him

as an outlaw, and will not allow him to be received into any public

office, because it is a maxim commonly received amongst us, that a

sacrifice, when offered by an impious hand, cannot be acceptable to the

gods, nor profitable to the Republic. Nobody can believe, that a person

of such a character can be capable to perform any great or worthy action,

or to act the part of a righteous judge. The same punishment is ordained

likewise for those who, after the death of their parents, neglect to

honour their funerals: and this is particularly examined into in the

inquiry that is made into the lives of such as stand candidates for

offices.

"Therefore, my son, if you be wise, you will beseech Heaven to pardon you

the offences committed against your mother, to the end that the favours

of the Deity may be still continued to you, and that you may not forfeit

them by an ungrateful behaviour. Take care, likewise, that the public

may not discover the contempt you show her, for then would you be blamed

and abandoned by all the world; for, if it were suspected that you did

not gratefully resent the benefits conferred on you by your parents, no

man could believe you would be grateful for any kind actions that others

might do you."

CHAPTER III. SOCRATES RECONCILES CHAEREPHON AND CHAERECRATES, TWO

BROTHERS WHO WERE FORMERLY AT VARIANCE.

Two brothers, whose names were Chaerephon and Chaerecrates, were at

enmity with each other. Socrates was acquainted with them, and had a

great mind to make them friends. Meeting therefore with Chaerecrates, he

accosted him thus:--"Are you, too, one of those who prefer the being rich

to the having a brother, and who do not consider that riches, being

inanimate things, have need of being defended, whereas a brother is

himself a good defence, and, after all, that there is more money than

brothers? For is it not extravagant in such men to imagine that a

brother does them wrong because they enjoy not his estate? Why say they

not likewise, that all the world does them wrong, because they are not in

possession of what belongs to the rest of mankind? But they believe,

with great reason, that it is better to live in society and to be ensured

of a moderate estate than to have the sole possession of all that is

their neighbours', and to be exposed to the dangers that are inseparable

from solitude. Nevertheless, they are not of the same opinion as to the

company of their brothers. If they are rich they buy themselves slaves

to serve them, they procure themselves friends to stand by them; but for

their brothers they neglect them; as if a brother were not so fit to make

a friend of as another person. And yet it is of great efficacy towards

the begetting and establishing of friendships to have been born of the

same parents and brought up together, since even beasts, we see, retain

some inclination for those who have come from the same dams, and have

been bred up and nourished together. Besides, a man who has a brother is

the more regarded for it, and men are more cautious to offend him."

Chaerecrates answered him thus:--

"You are indeed in the right to say that a good brother is a great

happiness; and, unless there be a very strong cause of dissension, I

think that brothers ought a little to bear with one another, and not part

on a slight occasion; but when a brother fails in all things, and is

quite the reverse of what he ought to be, would you have a man do what is

impossible and continue in good amity with such a person?" Socrates

replied, "Does your brother give offence to all the world as well as to

you? Does nobody speak well of him?" "That," said Chaerecrates, "is one

of the chief causes of the hatred I bear him, for he is sly enough to

please others; but whenever we two happen to meet you would think his

sole design were to fall out with me." Socrates replied, "Does not this

proceed from what I am going to say? When any man would make use of a

horse, and knows not how to govern him, he can expect nothing from him

but trouble. Thus, if we know not in what manner to behave ourselves

toward our brother, do you think we can expect anything from him but

uneasiness?" "Why do you imagine," said Chaerecrates, "that I am

ignorant in what manner I ought to carry myself to a brother, since I can

show him as much love and respect, both in my words and actions, as he

can show me in his? But when I see a man endeavour to disoblige me all

manner of ways, shall I express any goodwill for that man? No; this is

what I cannot do, and will not so much as endeavour it." "I am

astonished to hear you talk after this manner," said Socrates; "pray tell

me, if you had a dog that were good to keep your flocks, who should fawn

on your shepherds, and grin his teeth and snarl whenever you come in his

way, whether, instead of being angry with him, you would not make much of

him to bring him to know you? Now, you say that a good brother is a

great happiness; you confess that you know how to oblige, and yet you put

it not in practice to reconcile yourself with Chaerephon." "I fear I

have not skill enough to compass it." "I think," said Socrates, "there

will be no need of any extraordinary skill in the matter; and am certain

that you have enough to engage him to wish you well, and to have a great

value for you." "Pray," cried Chaerecrates, "if you know any art I have

to make myself beloved, let me know it immediately, for hitherto I never

perceived any such thing." "Answer me," said Socrates. "If you desired

that one of your friends should invite you to his feast when he offered a

sacrifice, what course would you take?" "I would begin first to invite

him to mine." "And if you would engage him to take care of your affairs

in your absence on a journey, what would you do?" "I would first, during

his absence, take care of his." "And if you would have a foreigner

entertain you in his family when you come into his country, what method

would you take?" "I would make him welcome at my house when he came to

this town, and would endeavour to further the dispatch of his business,

that he might do me the like favour when I should be in the city where he

lives." "Strange," said Socrates, "that you, who know the common methods

of ingratiating yourself, will not be at the pains of practising them.

Why do you scruple to begin to practise those methods? Is it because you

are afraid that, should you begin with your brother, and first do him a

kindness, you would appear to be of a mean-spirited and cringing

disposition? Believe me, my friend, you will never, on that account,

appear such. On the contrary, I take it to be the part of an heroic and

generous soul to prevent our friends with kindness and our enemies with

valour. Indeed, had I thought that Chaerephon had been more proper than

you to propose the reconciliation, I would have endeavoured to have

persuaded him to prevent you; but I take you to be more fit to manage

this matter, and believe you will bring it to pass rather than he." "What

you say is absurd and unworthy of you," replied Chaerecrates. "Would you

have me break the ice; I, who am the younger brother? Do you forget that

among all nations the honour to begin is reserved to the elder?" "How do

you mean?" said Socrates. "Must not a younger brother give the

precedency to the older? Must he not rise up when he comes in, give him

the best place, and hold his peace to let him speak? Delay, therefore,

no longer to do what I desire you; go and try to appease your brother. He

will receive you with open arms; it is enough that he is a friend to

honour, and of a generous temper, for as there is no readier way to gain

the goodwill of the mean and poor than by being liberal to them, so

nothing has more influence on the mind of a man of honour and note than

to treat him with respect and friendship." Chaerecrates objected: "But

when I have done what you say, if my brother should not be better

tempered, what then?" "What harm would it be to you?" said Socrates. "It

will show your goodness, and that you love him, and make him appear to be

ill-natured, and not deserving to be obliged by any man. But I am of

opinion this will not happen, and when he sees that you attack him with

civilities and good offices, I am certain he will endeavour to get the

better of you in so kind and generous a contention. You are now in the

most wretched condition imaginable. It is as if the hands which God has

given us reciprocally to aid each other were employed only to hinder one

another, or as if the feet, which by the divine providence were made to

assist each other to walk, were busied only in preventing one another

from going forward. Would it not, then, be a great ignorance, and at the

same time a great misfortune, to turn to our disadvantage what was made

only for our utility? Now, it is certain that God has given us brothers

only for our good; and that two brothers are a greater advantage to one

another than it can be to either of them to have two hands, two feet, two

eyes, and other the like members, which are double in our body, and which

Nature has designed as brothers. For the hands cannot at the same time

reach two things several fathoms distant from one another; the feet

cannot stretch themselves from the end of one fathom to another; the

eyes, which seem to discover from so far, cannot, at the same time, see

the fore and hind-part of one and the same object; but when two brothers

are good friends, no distance of place can hinder them from serving each

other."

CHAPTER IV. A DISCOURSE OF SOCRATES CONCERNING FRIENDSHIP.

I remember likewise a discourse which I have heard him make concerning

friendship, and that may be of great use to instruct us by what means we

ought to procure ourselves friends, and in what manner we should live

with them. He said "that most men agree that a true friend is a precious

treasure, and that nevertheless there is nothing about which we give

ourselves so little trouble as to make men our friends. We take care,"

said he, "to buy houses, lands, slaves, flocks, and household goods, and

when we have them we endeavour to keep them, but though a friend is

allowed to be capable of affording us a far greater happiness than any or

all of these, yet how few are solicitous to procure themselves a friend,

or, when they have, to secure his friendship? Nay, some men are so

stupid as to prefer their very slaves to their friends. How else can we

account for their want of concern about the latter when either in

distress or sickness, and at the same time their extreme anxiety for the

recovery of the former when in the same condition? For then immediately

physicians are sent for, and all remedies that can be thought of applied

to their relief. Should both of them happen to die, they will regret

more the loss of their slave than of their friend, and shed more tears

over the grave of the former than of the latter. They take care of

everything but their friends; they will examine into and take great

notice of the smallest trifle in their affairs, which perhaps stand in no

need of their care, but neglect their friends that do. In short, though

they have many estates, they know them all; but though they have but few

friends, yet they know not the number of them; insomuch that if they are

desired to name them, they are puzzled immediately, so little are their

friends in their thoughts. Nevertheless, there is nothing comparable to

a good friend; no slave is so affectionate to our person or interest; no

horse can render us so great service; in a word, nothing is so useful to

us in all occasions. For a true friend supplies all the wants and

answers all the demands of another, either in the conduct of his private

affairs or in the management of the public. If, for instance, his friend

be obliged to do a kindness to any man, he puts him in the way of it; if

he be assaulted with any danger he immediately flies to his relief. At

one time he gives him part of his estate, at another he assists him with

the labour of his hands; sometimes he helps him to persuade, sometimes he

aids him to compel; in prosperity he heightens his delight by rejoicing

with him; in adversity he diminisheth his sorrows by bearing a share of

them. The use a man may make of his hands, his eyes, his ears, his feet,

is nothing at all when compared with the service one friend may render

another. For often what we cannot do for our own advantage, what we have

not seen, nor thought, nor heard of, when our own interests were

concerned, what we have not pursued for ourselves, a friend has done for

his friend. How foolish were it to be at so much trouble in cultivating

a small orchard of trees, because we expect some fruit from it, and yet

be at no pains to cultivate that which is instead of a whole estate--I

mean Friendship--a soil the most glorious and fertile where we are sure

to gather the fairest and best of fruit!"

CHAPTER V. OF THE WORTH AND VALUE OF FRIENDS.

To what I have advanced above I shall here relate another discourse of

his, as far as I can remember, in which he exhorted his hearers to

examine themselves, that they might know what value their friends might

set upon them; for seeing a man who had abandoned his friend in extreme

poverty, he asked Antisthenes this question in presence of that very man

and several others: "Can we set a price upon friends as we do upon

slaves? One slave may be worth twenty crowns, another not worth five;

such a one will cost fifty crowns, another will yield a hundred. Nay, I

am told that Nicias, the son of Niceratus, gave even six hundred crowns

for one slave to be inspector of his silver mines. Do you think we might

likewise set prices upon friends?" "I believe we may," answered

Antisthenes; "for there are some men by whom I would rather choose to be

loved than to have twenty crowns; others for whose affection I would not

spend five. I know some, too, for whose friendship I would give all I am

worth." "If it be so," said Socrates, "it would be well that each man

should consider how much he can be worth to his friends, and that he

should endeavour to render himself as valuable as he can in their regard,

to the end they might not abandon him; for when I hear one complain that

his friend has betrayed him; another that he, whom he thought faithful,

has preferred a small gain to the preservation of his friendship, I

reflect on these stories, and ask whether, as we sell a good-for-nothing

slave for what we can get for him, we are not likewise tempted to get rid

of an ill-friend when we are offered more for him than he is worth?

because I do not see men part with their slaves if they be good, nor

abandon their friends if they be faithful."

CHAPTER VI. OF THE CHOICE OF FRIENDS.

The following conversation of Socrates with Critobulus may teach us how

we ought to try friends, and with whom it is good to contract

friendship:--"If we were to choose a friend," said Socrates to him, "what

precaution ought we to take? Ought we not to look out for a man who is

not given to luxury, to drunkenness, to women, nor to idleness? For with

these vices he could never be very useful to his friend nor to himself."

"That is certain," answered Critobulus. "Then," said Socrates, "if we

found a man that loved to live great, though he had not an estate to

support the expense, and who having daily occasion to employ the purses

of his friends should show by his actions that whatever you lend him is

so much lost, and that if you do not lend him he will take it ill of you,

do you not think that such a man would be very improper to make a friend

of?" "There is no doubt of it," said Critobulus. "And if we found

another," continued Socrates, "who was saving of what he had, but who, on

the other hand, was so covetous that it would be quite unfit to have

anything to do with him, because he would always be very ready to receive

and never to give again?" "In my opinion," said Critobulus, "this would

be a worse friend than the former. And if we should find a man who was

so carried away with the desire of enriching himself that he applied his

mind to nothing else, but getting all he could scrape together?" "We

ought not to have anything to do with him neither," answered Critobulus,

"for he would be good to no man but himself." "If we found a quarrelsome

man," continued Socrates, "who was every day like to engage all his

friends in new broils and squabbles, what would you think of him?" "That

he ought to be avoided," answered Critobulus. "And if a man," said

Socrates, "were free from all these faults, and were only of a humour to

desire to receive kindnesses, but never to concern himself to return

them, what would you think of him?" "That neither he, too, would be

proper to make a friend of," replied Critobulus; "and indeed, after

having rejected so many, I can scarce tell whom we should take." "We

ought to take," said Socrates, "a man who were the reverse of all those

we have mentioned, who would be temperate in his manners, faithful in his

promises, and sincere in all his actions; who would think it a point of

honour not to be outdone in civilities so that it would be of advantage

to have to do with him." "But how can we be certain of all this," said

Critobulus, "before we have tried him?" "When we would give our judgment

of statuaries, we have no regard," replied Socrates, "to what they say of

themselves, but consider their works; and he who has already made good

statues is the person of whom we have the best opinion for those he shall

make for the future. Apply this to the question you asked me, and be

assured that a man who has served his former friends well will be likely

to show no less affection for those that come after; as we may strongly

conjecture that a groom, whom we have formerly seen dress horses very

well, is capable of dressing others." "But," said Critobulus, "when we

have found a man worthy of our choice, how ought we to contract a

friendship with him?" "In the first place," answered Socrates, "we must

inquire whether the gods approve of it." "But supposing they do not

dissuade us, how are we to take this precious prey?" "Not by hunting, as

we catch hares," said Socrates; "nor in nets, as we take birds, nor by

force, as we take our enemies; for it is very difficult to gain any man's

friendship against his will, or stop him by force, and detain him in

prison as a slave, seeing such ill-usage would oblige him rather to wish

us ill than to love us." "What, then, ought we to do?" pursued

Critobulus. "It is reported," replied Socrates, "that there are some

words so powerful that they who know them make themselves loved by

pronouncing them, and that there are likewise other charms for the same

purpose." "And where can one learn these words?" added Critobulus. "Have

you not read in Homer," answered Socrates, "what the Syrens said to

enchant Ulysses? The beginning of it is thus--

'Oh, stay! oh, pride of Greece, Ulysses, stay!'

"You say true," continued Critobulus; "but did not they say as much to

the others, to stop them too?" "Not at all," said Socrates, "they

enchanted with these words only the generous men who were in love with

virtue." "I begin to understand you," said Critobulus, "and seeing this

charm, which is so powerful to enchant and captivate the mind, is nothing

but praise, you mean that we ought to praise a man in such a manner that

he may not distrust we laugh at him; otherwise, instead of gaining his

affection, we shall incur his hate; for it would be insupportable to a

man, who knows he is little and weak, to be praised for his graceful

appearance, for being well-shaped, and of a robust constitution." "But

do you know no other charms?" "No," answered Socrates; "but I have

indeed heard it said, that Pericles knew a great many, by means of which

he charmed the Republic, and gained the favour and esteem of all."

Critobulus continued, "What was it that Themistocles did to make himself

so esteemed?" "He used no other charms," said Socrates, "than the

eminent services he rendered to the State." "Which is as much as to

say," replied Critobulus, "that to gain the friendship of the great, we

must render ourselves capable to perform great actions."

"And could you think it possible," said Socrates, "that any one should

share in the friendship of men of merit without being possessed of one

good quality?" "Why not?" answered Critobulus; "I have seen despicable

rhetoricians beloved by the most famous orators, and persons who knew

nothing of war live in familiarity with great generals." "But have you

seen men who are fit for nothing (for that is the question we speak of)

get any friends of consequence?" "I confess I have not," answered

Critobulus; "nevertheless, since it is impossible for a man of no worth

whatever to have the friendship of men of condition and merit, tell me

whether the man who acquires the character of worth and merit obtains, at

the same time, the friendship of all who possess that excellent

character?" "The reason, I suppose, why you ask this question," answered

Socrates, "is because you frequently observe dissensions among those who

equally cherish honour, and would all of them rather die than commit a

base action; and you are surprised, that instead of living in friendship,

they disagree among themselves, and are sometimes more difficult to

reconcile than the vilest of all man." "This is a misfortune," added

Critobulus, "that arrives not among private men only; for dissensions,

nay, even wars, will happen sometimes, to break out in the best-governed

republics, where virtue is in the highest repute, and where vice is held

in the utmost contempt. Now, when I revolve these considerations in my

mind, I know not where to go in search of friends; for it is impossible,

we see, for the wicked to cultivate a true friendship among themselves.

Can there subsist a true and lasting friendship amongst the ungrateful,

the idle, the covetous, the treacherous, and the dissolute? No, for

persons of such a character will mutually expose themselves to hatred and

contempt; to hatred, because of the hurtful effects of their vices; to

contempt, on account of the deformity of them. Neither, on the other

hand, can we expect, as you have well observed, to find friendship

between a virtuous man and a person of the opposite character. For how

can they who commit crimes be in good amity with those that abhor them?

But what puzzles me most, my dear Socrates, is to see men of merit and

virtue harassing one another, and endeavouring, to the utmost of their

power, to crush and ruin their antagonists, when, in different interests,

both are contending for the most lucrative posts of the Republic. I am

quite at a loss to account for such a conduct on the principles of

friendship; for when I daily observe the noblest affections of the mind

rooted up by the sordid views of interest, I am in a great doubt whether

there is any real friendship and affection in the world." "My dear

friend," replied Socrates, "this matter is very intricate; for, if I

mistake not, Nature has placed in men the principles both of friendship

and dissension. Of friendship, because they have need of one another,

they have compassion of their miseries, they relieve one another in their

necessities, and they are grateful for the assistances which they lend

one another: of dissension, because one and the same thing being

agreeable to many they contend to have it, and endeavour to prejudice and

thwart one another in their designs. Thus strife and anger beget war,

avarice stifles benevolence, envy produces hate. But friendship

overcoming all these difficulties, finds out the virtuous, and unites

them together. For, out of a motive of virtue they choose rather to live

quietly in a mean condition, than to gain the empire of the whole earth

by the calamities of war. When they are pinched with hunger or thirst,

they endure them with constancy, till they can relieve themselves without

being troublesome to any one. When at any time their desires for the

enjoyments of love grow violent and headstrong, then reason, or

self-government, lays hold on the reins, checks the impetuosity of the

passion, keeps it within due bounds, and will not allow them to

transgress the great rule of their duty. They enjoy what is lawfully

their own, and are so far from usurping the rights and properties of

others, that they even give them part of what they have. They agree

their differences in such a manner, that all are gainers, and no man has

reason to complain. They are never transported with anger so far as to

commit any action of which they may afterwards repent. Envy is a passion

they are ignorant of, because they live in a mutual communication of what

they possess, and consider what belongs to their friends as things in

their own possession. From hence you see that the virtuous do not only

not oppose, but that they aid one another in the employments of the

Republic; for they who seek for honours and great offices, only to have

an opportunity of enriching themselves, and exercising a cruel tyranny,

or to live an easy and effeminate life, are certainly very wicked and

unjust, nor can they ever hope to live in friendship with any man.

"But why should he who desires not any authority, but only the better to

defend himself from the wicked, or to assist his friends, or be

serviceable to his country; why should such a man, I say, not agree with

another, whose intentions are the same with his own? Is it because he

would be less capable to serve the Republic, if he had virtuous

associates in the administration of affairs? If, in the tournaments and

other games, the most strong were permitted to enter into a league

against the weaker, they would infallibly be victors in all the courses,

and win all the prizes; for which reason they are not suffered to do so.

Therefore, in affairs of State, since no man is hindered from joining

with whom he pleases, to do good to the Republic, is it not more

advantageous, when we concern ourselves in the government, to make

friendship with men of honour and probity, who are generally, too, the

most knowing and capable, and to have them for our associates than to

make them our adversaries? For it is manifest, that when a man is

engaged in a combat, he ought to have some to assist him, and that he

will have need of a great many, if those whom he opposes be valiant and

powerful. Besides, he must be liberal, and give presents to those who

espouse his quarrel, to encourage them to make a more resolute and

vigorous defence. Now, it is beyond all dispute, that it is much better

to oblige the good, though they are but a few, than the wicked, of whom

there is a great number, because the former are easily gained over to

your side; whereas the latter are hardly won by the best favours, and

those in the greatest abundance, too, to espouse your interest.

"However it be, Critobulus, take courage, endeavour only to become

virtuous, and then boldly pursue the friendship of honest men; this is a

sort of chase in which I may be helpful to you, because I am naturally

inclined to love. I attack briskly those I love, and lay out all my

skill to make myself beloved by them. I endeavour to kindle in their

minds a flame like mine, and to make them desire my company, as ardently

as I long for theirs. You stand in need of this address when you would

contract a friendship with any one. Hide not, then, the secrets of your

soul from me, but let me know who they are for whom you have a regard:

for, having made it my study to please those who were agreeable to me, I

believe that, by long experience, I have now got some considerable

insight into the pursuits and ways of men." "I have longed a great

while," said Critobulus, "to learn this art, especially if it may be

employed to gain me the friendship of those whose persons are not only

comely and genteel, but whose minds are replenished and adorned with all

virtue." Socrates replied: "But my method forbids to use violence, and I

am of opinion that all men fled from the wretch Scylla, because she

detained them by force: whereas the Syrens did no violence to any man,

and employed only their tuneful voices to detain those who passed near

them, so that all stopped to hear, and suffered themselves to be

insensibly charmed by the music of their songs." "Be sure," said

Critobulus, "that I will use no violence to them whose friendship I would

gain, and therefore delay no longer to teach me your art." "Will you

give me your word likewise," said Socrates, "that you will not even give

them a kiss?" "I promise you," said Critobulus, "I will not, unless they

are very beautiful persons." "You mistake the matter," replied Socrates;

"the beautiful permit not those liberties; but the ugly grant them freely

enough, because they know very well that should any beauty be ascribed to

them, it is only in consideration of that of the soul." "I will not

transgress in this point," said Critobulus; "only impart to me the secret

you know to gain friends."

"When you would contract a friendship with any one," said Socrates, "you

must give me leave to tell him that you have a great esteem for him, and

that you desire to be his friend." "With all my heart," answered

Critobulus; "for sure no man can wish ill to a man who esteems him." "And

if I add besides," continued Socrates, "that because you set a great

value on his merit you have much affection for his person, will you not

take it amiss?" "Not at all," said Critobulus; "for I am sensible we

have a great kindness for those who bear us goodwill." "I may, then,"

said Socrates, "speak in that manner to those whom you desire to love:

but will you likewise give me leave to advance that your greatest

pleasure is to have good friends, that you take great care of them, that

you behold their good actions with as much joy as if you yourself had

performed them, and that you rejoice at their good fortune as much as at

your own: that you are never weary when you are serving them, and that

you believe it the glory of a man of honour to surpass his friends in

benefits, and his enemies in valour? By this means I think I shall be

very useful to you in procuring you good friends." "Why do you ask me

leave," said Critobulus, "as if you might not say of me whatever you

please?" "No, indeed," answered Socrates, "for I remember what Aspasia

once said, that match-makers are successful in their business when they

tell truth of the persons in whose behalf they court, but that the

marriages made by their lies are unfortunate, because they who are

deceived hate one another, and hate yet more the person that put them

together. And therefore, for the same reason, I think I ought not to

tell lies in your praise." "You are then so far only my friend," replied

Critobulus, "that if I have any good qualities to make myself be

esteemed, you will assist me; if not, you will invent nothing in my

behalf." "And do you think," said Socrates, "that I should do you more

service in giving you false praises, that are not your due, than by

exhorting you to merit the praise of all men? If you doubt of this,

consider the consequences of it. If, for instance, I should tell the

owner of a ship that you are an excellent pilot, and he upon that should

give you the conduct of the vessel, what hopes could you have that you

should not perish? Or if I should say, publicly, that you are an

experienced general, or a great politician, and if you, by that character

which I should unjustly have obtained for you, should be promoted to the

supreme magistracy, to what dangers would you expose your own life, and

the fortune of the State? Or if I should make any private person believe

that you were a good economist, and he should trust you afterwards with

the care of his family, would not you be the ruin of his estate, and

expose yourself to ridicule and contempt? Which is as much as to say,

Critobulus, that the shortest and surest way to live with honour in the

world is to be in reality what we would appear to be: and if you observe,

you will find that all human virtues increase and strengthen themselves

by the practice and experience of them. Take my advice, then, and labour

to acquire them: but if you are of a different opinion, pray let me know

it." "I might well be ashamed," answered Critobulus, "to contradict you:

for no good nor solid objection can be brought against so rational an

assertion."

CHAPTER VII. SOCRATES SHOWETH ARISTARCHUS HOW TO GET RID OF POVERTY.

Socrates had an extreme tenderness for his friends, and if through

imprudence they fell into any misfortune, he endeavoured to comfort them

by his good counsels; if they laboured under poverty he did all he could

to relieve them, teaching all men that they ought mutually to assist one

another in necessity. I will set down some examples of his behaviour in

these occasions.

Meeting Aristarchus, who looked very dejected, he said to him, "I see,

Aristarchus, that something troubles you, but impart the cause of your

grief to your friends, and perhaps we may comfort you." "Indeed," said

he, "I am in great affliction; for since the late troubles, many persons

having fled for shelter to the Piraeus, it has so fallen out that my

sisters, nieces, and cousins have all thrown themselves upon me, so that

I have no less than fourteen of them to maintain. You know very well

that we receive no profit of our lands, the enemies being masters of the

open country; our houses in the city are uninhabited, there being at

present very little company in Athens; nobody will buy any goods; no man

will lend money upon any interest whatever, and I believe we may as soon

take it up in the middle of the streets as find where to borrow it. And

I am much concerned that I shall not be able to assist my relations whom

I see ready to perish, while it is impossible for me to maintain them in

the present scarcity of all things." Socrates having heard him

patiently, said to him, "How comes it to pass that Ceramon, who has so

many persons in his family, finds means not only to maintain them, but

likewise to enrich himself by the profit he makes of them, and that you

are afraid of starving to death, because you have a great many in your

family?" "The reason," answered Aristarchus, "is this, Ceramon has none

but slaves to take care of, and I am to provide for persons who are

free." Socrates went on: "For which have you most esteem, for Ceramon's

slaves, or for the persons who are at your house?" "There is no

comparison between them," said Aristarchus. "Is it not then a shameful

thing," replied Socrates, "that Ceramon should grow rich by means of

those whom you acknowledge to be of less value, and that you should grow

poor and be reduced to straits, though you keep men of condition in your

house, whom you value more?" "By no means," said Aristarchus, "there is

a wide difference betwixt the two; the slaves that Ceramon keeps follow

some trades, but the persons I have with me have had a liberal education

and follow none." "May not he," replied Socrates, "who knows how to do

anything that is useful be said to know a trade?" "Yes, certainly." "And

are not," continued Socrates, "oatmeal, bread, the clothes of men and

women, cassocks, coats, and other the like manufactures, things very

useful?" "Without doubt." "And do not the persons at your house know

how to make any of these things?" "On the contrary," said Aristarchus,

"I believe they know how to make all of them." "What are you then afraid

of," added Socrates? "Why do you complain of poverty, since you know how

to get rich? Do not you observe how wealthy Nausicides is become, what

numerous herds he is master of, and what vast sums he lends the Republic?

Now what made this man so rich? Why, nothing but one of those

manufactures we mentioned, that of making oatmeal. You see, too, that

Cirthes keeps all his family, and lives at his ease upon what he has got

by being a baker. And how doth Demeas, of the village of Colyttus, get

his livelihood? By making cassocks. What makes Menon live so

comfortably? His cloak manufacture. And are not most of the inhabitants

of Megara in good circumstances enough by the trade which they drive of

coats and short jackets?" "I grant all this," said Aristarchus, "but

still there is a difference betwixt these persons and me: for, whereas,

they have with them some barbarians whom they have bought, and compel to

work what brings them in gain; I, for my part, keep only ladies and

gentlemen at my house, persons who are free, and some of them my own

relations. Now would you have me to set them to work?" "And because

they are free and your relations," said Socrates, "do you think they

ought to do nothing but eat and sleep? Do you observe that they, who

live thus idle and at their ease, lead more comfortable lives than

others? Do you think them more content, more cheerful, that is to say,

more happy than those who employ themselves in any of those manufactures

we have mentioned, or in whatever else tends to the utility or

convenience of life? Do you imagine that idleness and laziness

contribute toward our learning things necessary; that they can enable us

to retain those things we have already learnt; that they help to

strengthen the body or keep it in health; that they can assist us to get

riches, or keep what we have got already; and do you believe that labour

and industry are good for nothing? Why did your ladies learn what you

say they know. Did they believe them to be useless things, and had they

resolved never to put them in practice? Or, on the contrary, was it with

design to employ themselves in those matters, and to get something by

them? Is it a greater piece of wisdom to sit still and do nothing, than

to busy oneself in things that are of use in life, and that turn to

account? And is it not more reasonable for a man to work than to be with

his arms across, thinking how he shall do to live? Shall I tell you my

mind, Aristarchus? Well, then, I am of opinion that in the condition you

are in you cannot love your guests, nor they you for this reason, that

you, on the one hand, feel they are a burden to you, and they, on the

other, perceive you uneasy and discontented on their account. And it is

to be feared that the discontent will increase on both sides, and that

the sense of past favours will wear off; but when you set them to work

you will begin to love them, because they will bring you some profit; and

when they find that you regard them with more complacency they will not

fail to have more love for you. The remembrance of your kindnesses will

be more grateful to them, and the obligations they have to you will be

the greater. In a word, you will be kinder relations and better friends.

Indeed, if what they were to do was a thing worthy of blame, it would be

better to die than to think of it; but what they can do is honourable,

and becoming of their sex, and whoever knows how to do a thing well will

acquit himself of it with honour and pleasure. Therefore defer no longer

to make the proposal to them, since it will be so advantageous to all of

you, and be assured they will receive it with joy and pleasure." "Good

God! what a fine scheme you have proposed! Indeed, I cannot but approve

of it; nay, it has made such a wonderful impression on my mind, that

whereas I was lately against borrowing money at all, because I saw that

when I had spent it I should not be in a condition to repay it, I am now

resolved to go try where I can take some up upon any terms, to buy tools

and other materials to set ourselves to work."

What was proposed was forthwith executed. Aristarchus bought what he

wanted; he laid in a provision of wool, and the ladies worked from

morning to night. This occupation diverted their melancholy, and,

instead of the uneasiness there was before between them and Aristarchus,

they began to live in a reciprocal satisfaction. The ladies loved him as

their protector, and he considered them as persons who were very useful

and necessary to him.

To conclude, some time afterwards Aristarchus came to see Socrates, and

related the whole matter to him with great content, and told him the

women began to complain that none but he was idle. "Why do you not put

them in mind," said Socrates, "of the fable of the dog? For, in the days

when beasts could speak, according to the fable, the sheep said to her

master, 'You are a strange man; we yield you wool, lambs, and cheeses,

and yet you give us nothing but what we can get upon the ground; and the

dog, who brings you in no profit, is kindly used, for you feed him with

the same bread you eat yourself.' The dog, overhearing this complaint,

answered her: 'It is not without reason that I am used so well. It is I

who protect you; it is I who hinder thieves from taking you away, and

wolves from sucking your blood. If I were not always keeping watch about

you, you would not dare so much as to go to feed.' This answer was the

reason that the sheep yielded freely to the dog the honour they pretended

to before. In like manner do you also let these ladies know that it is

you who are their guardian and protector, and that you watch over them

for their safety with as much care as a faithful and courageous dog

watcheth over a herd committed to his charge. Tell them that because of

you no man dares hurt them, and that it is by your means that they live

at ease and in safety."

CHAPTER VIII. SOCRATES PERSUADES EUTHERUS TO ABANDON HIS FORMER WAY OF

LIVING, AND TO BETAKE HIMSELF TO SOME MORE USEFUL AND HONOURABLE

EMPLOYMENT.

Another time, meeting with Eutherus, one of his old friends, whom he had

not seen for a great while before, he inquired of him from whence he

came? "At present," answered Eutherus, "I come not from abroad; but

towards the end of the war I returned from a voyage I had made, for,

after having lost all the estate I had upon the frontiers, and my father

having left me nothing in Attica, I was forced to work for my living, and

I believe it better to do so than to be troublesome to others; besides, I

can no longer borrow anything, because I have nothing left to mortgage."

"And how much longer," said Socrates, "do you think you shall be able to

work for your living?" "Alas! but a short while," answered Eutherus.

"Nevertheless," replied Socrates, "when you come to be old it will cost

you something to maintain yourself, and yet you will not then be able to

earn anything." "You say very true." "You had best, then," continued

Socrates, "employ yourself now in business that will enable you to lay by

something for your old age, and get into the service of some rich man,

who has occasion for an economist, to have the inspection over his

workmen, to gather in his fruits, to preserve what belongs to him, that

he may reward you for the service you do him." "I should find it very

difficult," replied Eutherus, "to submit to be a slave." "Yet," said

Socrates, "the magistrates in republics, and all that are in employments,

are not, therefore, reputed slaves; on the contrary, they are esteemed

honourable." "Be that as it will," said Eutherus, "I can never think of

entering into any office where I might be liable to blame, for I would

not like to be censured by another." "But where," said Socrates, "will

you find any employment in which a man is absolutely perfect, and

altogether free from blame? For it is very difficult to be so exact as

not to fail sometimes, and even though we should not have failed, it is

hard to escape the censure of bad judges; and I should think it a very

odd and surprising thing if in that very employment wherein you say you

are now engaged you were so dexterous and expert as that no man should

find anything amiss.

"What you are, therefore, to observe is to avoid those who make it their

business to find fault without reason, and to have to do with more

equitable persons; to undertake what you can actually perform, to reject

what you find yourself unfit to do; and when you have taken in hand to do

anything, to accomplish it in a manner the most excellent and perfect you

can. Thus you will be less subject to be blamed, will find relief to

your poverty, lead an easier life, be out of danger, and will

sufficiently provide for the necessities of your old age."

CHAPTER IX. IN WHAT MANNER SOCRATES TAUGHT HIS FRIEND CRITO TO RID

HIMSELF OF SOME INFORMERS, WHO TOOK THE ADVANTAGE OF HIS EASY TEMPER.

One day Crito, happening to meet Socrates, complained to him that it was

very difficult for a man who would keep what he had to live in Athens;

"for," said he, "I am now sued by some men, though I never did them the

least injury, but only because they know that I had rather give them a

little money than embroil myself in the troubles of law." Socrates said

to him, "Do you keep dogs to hinder the wolves from coming at your

flocks?" "You need not doubt but I do," answered Crito. "Ought you not

likewise," replied Socrates, "to keep a man who were able to drive away

all those that trouble you without cause?" "I would with all my heart,"

said Crito, "but that I fear that in the end he, too, would turn against

me." "Why so?" said Socrates; "is it not better to serve a man like you,

and to receive favours from him, than to have him for an enemy? You may

be certain that there are in this city many men who would think

themselves very happy to be honoured with your friendship."

After this they happened to see a certain person name Archedemus, who was

a man of very good parts, eloquent, and extremely skilful in the

management of affairs; but withal very poor and in a low condition, for

he was not of that sordid disposition to take all he could get, by what

means soever, but he was a lover of justice and of honest men, and

abhorred to make rich, or to raise himself by informing and backbiting;

for he held that nothing was more base than that wretched practice of

those miscreants called sycophants or informers. Crito cast an eye upon

him, and as often as they brought him any corn, or wine, or oil, or any

other thing from his country-houses, he sent him some of it; when he

offered sacrifices he invited him to the feasts, and showed him many

civilities of the like nature. Archedemus, seeing the doors of that

house open to him at all times, and that he always found so favourable a

reception, laid aside all his former dependences, and trusted himself

wholly to Crito; then he made it his business immediately to inquire into

the characters of those sycophants who had slandered Crito or informed

against him, and found them to be guilty of many crimes, and that they

had a great number of enemies. This encouraged him to take them to task,

and he prosecuted one of them for a crime which would have subjected him

to a corporal punishment, or at least to a pecuniary mulct. This fellow,

who knew his case to be bad, and that he could not justify himself,

employed all sorts of stratagems to get rid of Archedemus, who

nevertheless would not quit his hold till the other had discharged Crito,

and given him money besides, in name of trouble and charges. He managed

several of his affairs with like success, which made Crito be thought

happy in having him; and as when a shepherd has an excellent dog, the

other shepherds are glad to bring their flocks near his that they may be

safe likewise, so several of Crito's friends began to make their court to

him, and begged him to lend them Archedemus to defend them. He, for his

part, was glad to oblige Crito; and it was observed at length that not

only Crito lived undisturbed, but all his friends likewise; and if any

one reproached Archedemus that self-interest had made him his master's

creature, and to adore him and be so faithful and zealous in his service

he would answer him thus:--"Which of the two do you think most

dishonourable--to do services to men of quality from whom we have

received favours, and to enter into their friendship to declare war

against bad men, or to endeavour to prejudice men of honour, and to make

them our enemies, that bad men may be our friends?" From thenceforward

Crito contracted a strict friendship with Archedemus, and all his friends

had likewise a great respect for him.

CHAPTER X. SOCRATES ADVISES DIODORUS TO DO JUSTICE TO THE MERIT OF

HERMOGENES, AND TO ACCEPT OF HIS SERVICE AND FRIENDSHIP.

Socrates, meeting one day with Diodorus, addressed him thus:--"If one of

your slaves ran away, would you give yourself any trouble to find him?"

"Yes, certainly," answered he; "and I would give public notice, and

promise a reward to any that brought him to me." "And if one of them

were sick, would you take care of him, and send for physicians to

endeavour to save his life?" "Without doubt I would." "And if you saw,"

replied Socrates, "one of your friends--that is to say, a person who

renders you a thousand times more service than a slave, reduced to

extreme want--ought you not to relieve him? I speak this to you on

account of Hermogenes. You very well know he is not ungrateful, and that

he would scorn to receive the least favour from you and not return you

the like. You know likewise that a great number of slaves are not to be

valued like one man who serves willingly, who serves with zeal and

affection, and who is not only capable of doing what he is desired, but

who can likewise of himself think of many things that may be of service

to us; who reasons well, who foresees what may happen, and from whom we

may expect to receive good advice. Now, the best managers hold it as a

maxim that when we find anything of value to be sold cheap we ought to

buy it. Think of it, therefore, for as times now go you may procure

yourself many friends at a cheap rate." "You say right," replied

Diodorus, "and therefore pray send Hermogenes to me." "Excuse me in

that," answered Socrates, "you would do as well to go to him yourself as

to send for him."

This discourse was the reason that Diodorus went to Hermogenes, and for a

small gratification obliged him to be his friend; after which Hermogenes

took particular care to please Diodorus, and sought all opportunities of

serving him and of giving him content.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I. OF THE QUALIFICATIONS OF A GENERAL.

Let us now see how Socrates was serviceable to those who were desirous to

qualify themselves for employments of trust and honour, by advising them

to apply themselves diligently to the study of their duty, that they

might acquire a perfect knowledge of it.

Having heard that there was arrived at Athens one Dionysodorus, who

undertook to teach the art of war, he made the following discourse to one

of his friends, who pretended to one of the highest posts in the army:--

"It were a scandalous thing," said Socrates to him, "for a man who aims

to be chief over others, to neglect to learn how to command, when so fair

an opportunity offers; nay, I think he would rather deserve to be

punished, than the man who should undertake to make a statue without

having learnt the sculptor's trade; for as in war the whole fortune of

the Republic is trusted to the general, it is to be presumed that his

good conduct will procure success, and that his faults will be followed

with great losses. And, therefore, a man who should neglect to make

himself capable of such an employment, and yet pretend to it, ought to be

severely punished." By these reasons he persuaded this young man to get

himself instructed.

After the youth had imagined that he had acquired some knowledge of the

art, he returned to pay Socrates a visit, who, jesting him, addressed the

company that were present in this manner:--"Do not you think, gentlemen,

that as Homer, when speaking of Agamemnon, gives him the surname of

venerable, we ought also to bestow the same epithet on this young man,

who justly deserveth to be called by that name, since, like him, he has

learned how to command? For, as a man who can play on the lute is a

player on that instrument, though he never toucheth it; and as he who is

knowing in the art of physic is a physician, though he never practise; so

this young man, having learned to command is become a general, though not

a man of us should ever give our voice to make him so. On the contrary,

it is in vain for him who knows not how to command, to get himself

chosen; he will not be one jot a better general for it, no more than he

who knows nothing of physic is a better physician, because he has the

reputation of being one." Then turning towards the young man, he went

on--"But because it may happen that one of us may have the honour of

commanding a regiment or a company in the troops that are to compose your

army, to the end we may not be entirely ignorant of the military art,

pray tell us by what he began to instruct you." "By what he ended,"

answered the young man; "for he showed me only the order that ought to be

observed in an army, either in marching, encamping, or fighting." "But

what is that," said Socrates, "in comparison of the many other duties

incumbent on a general? He must, besides, take care for the preparations

of war; he must furnish the soldiers with necessary ammunition and

provisions; he must be inventive, laborious, diligent, patient, quick of

apprehension; he must be mild and rigorous together; he must be open and

close; he must know to preserve his own, and take what is another's; he

must be prodigal and a ravager; he must be liberal and covetous; he must

be wary, and yet enterprising. I confess that he ought to know likewise

how to draw up his troops in order of battle; and, indeed, order and

discipline are the most important things in an army, and without them it

is impossible to have any other service of the troops than of a confused

heap of stones, bricks, timber, and tiles; but when everything is in its

due place, as in a building, when the foundations and the covering are

made of materials that will not grow rotten, and which no wet can damage,

such as are stones and tiles, and when the bricks and timber are employed

in their due places in the body of the edifice, they altogether make a

house, which we value among our most considerable enjoyments." Here the

young man, interrupting him, said:--

"This comparison puts me in mind of another thing that generals ought to

observe; which is, to place their best soldiers in the first and last

ranks, and the others in the middle; that those in the first rank may

draw them on, and those in the last push them forward." "He has taught

you too," said Socrates, "how to know the good and the bad soldiers

asunder, otherwise this rule can be of no use to you; for if you were to

reckon money upon a table, and were ordered to lay the best at the two

ends, and the worst in the middle, how could you do this, if you had not

been shown how to distinguish between the good and the bad?" "Indeed,"

replied the young man, "he did not teach me what you mention; and, I

suppose, we must learn of ourselves to discern the good soldiers from the

bad." "If you please," continued Socrates, "let us consider how a

general ought to govern himself in this matter. If it were to take any

money, ought he not to make the most covetous march in the front? If it

were an action of great peril, ought he not to send the most ambitious,

because they are the men who, out of a desire of glory, rush into the

midst of dangers? And as for them, you would not be much troubled to

know them, for they are forward enough in discovering themselves. But

tell me, when this master showed you the different ways of ordering an

army, did he teach you when to make use of one way, and when of another?"

"Not at all," answered he. "And yet," replied Socrates, "the same order

is not always to be observed, nor the same commands given, but to be

changed according to the different occasions." "He taught me nothing of

that," said the young man. "Go to him, then," added Socrates, "and ask

him concerning it; for if he know anything of the matter, and have ever

so little honour, he will be ashamed to have taken your money and send

you away so ill-instructed."