Will not the Athenian people, too, entrust their affairs to you when
they see that you have wisdom enough to manage them?
Yes.
And oh! let me put another case, I said: There is the great king, and he
has an eldest son, who is the Prince of Asia;--suppose that you and I go
to him and establish to his satisfaction that we are better cooks than
his son, will he not entrust to us the prerogative of making soup, and
putting in anything that we like while the pot is boiling, rather than
to the Prince of Asia, who is his son?
To us, clearly.
And we shall be allowed to throw in salt by handfuls, whereas the son
will not be allowed to put in as much as he can take up between his
fingers?
Of course.
Or suppose again that the son has bad eyes, will he allow him, or will
he not allow him, to touch his own eyes if he thinks that he has no
knowledge of medicine?
He will not allow him.
Whereas, if he supposes us to have a knowledge of medicine, he will
allow us to do what we like with him--even to open the eyes wide and
sprinkle ashes upon them, because he supposes that we know what is best?
That is true.
And everything in which we appear to him to be wiser than himself or his
son he will commit to us?
That is very true, Socrates, he replied.
Then now, my dear Lysis, I said, you perceive that in things which
we know every one will trust us,--Hellenes and barbarians, men and
women,--and we may do as we please about them, and no one will like to
interfere with us; we shall be free, and masters of others; and these
things will be really ours, for we shall be benefited by them. But in
things of which we have no understanding, no one will trust us to do as
seems good to us--they will hinder us as far as they can; and not only
strangers, but father and mother, and the friend, if there be one, who
is dearer still, will also hinder us; and we shall be subject to others;
and these things will not be ours, for we shall not be benefited by
them. Do you agree?
He assented.
And shall we be friends to others, and will any others love us, in as
far as we are useless to them?
Certainly not.
Neither can your father or mother love you, nor can anybody love anybody
else, in so far as they are useless to them?
No.
And therefore, my boy, if you are wise, all men will be your friends
and kindred, for you will be useful and good; but if you are not wise,
neither father, nor mother, nor kindred, nor any one else, will be your
friends. And in matters of which you have as yet no knowledge, can you
have any conceit of knowledge?
That is impossible, he replied.
And you, Lysis, if you require a teacher, have not yet attained to
wisdom.
True.
And therefore you are not conceited, having nothing of which to be
conceited.
Indeed, Socrates, I think not.
When I heard him say this, I turned to Hippothales, and was very nearly
making a blunder, for I was going to say to him: That is the way,
Hippothales, in which you should talk to your beloved, humbling and
lowering him, and not as you do, puffing him up and spoiling him. But I
saw that he was in great excitement and confusion at what had been said,
and I remembered that, although he was in the neighbourhood, he did not
want to be seen by Lysis; so upon second thoughts I refrained.
In the meantime Menexenus came back and sat down in his place by Lysis;
and Lysis, in a childish and affectionate manner, whispered privately in
my ear, so that Menexenus should not hear: Do, Socrates, tell Menexenus
what you have been telling me.
Suppose that you tell him yourself, Lysis, I replied; for I am sure that
you were attending.
Certainly, he replied.
Try, then, to remember the words, and be as exact as you can in
repeating them to him, and if you have forgotten anything, ask me again
the next time that you see me.
I will be sure to do so, Socrates; but go on telling him something new,
and let me hear, as long as I am allowed to stay.
I certainly cannot refuse, I said, since you ask me; but then, as you
know, Menexenus is very pugnacious, and therefore you must come to the
rescue if he attempts to upset me.
Yes, indeed, he said; he is very pugnacious, and that is the reason why
I want you to argue with him.
That I may make a fool of myself?
No, indeed, he said; but I want you to put him down.
That is no easy matter, I replied; for he is a terrible fellow--a pupil
of Ctesippus. And there is Ctesippus himself: do you see him?
Never mind, Socrates, you shall argue with him.
Well, I suppose that I must, I replied.
Hereupon Ctesippus complained that we were talking in secret, and
keeping the feast to ourselves.
I shall be happy, I said, to let you have a share. Here is Lysis, who
does not understand something that I was saying, and wants me to ask
Menexenus, who, as he thinks, is likely to know.
And why do you not ask him? he said.
Very well, I said, I will; and do you, Menexenus, answer. But first I
must tell you that I am one who from my childhood upward have set my
heart upon a certain thing. All people have their fancies; some desire
horses, and others dogs; and some are fond of gold, and others of
honour. Now, I have no violent desire of any of these things; but I have
a passion for friends; and I would rather have a good friend than the
best cock or quail in the world: I would even go further, and say the
best horse or dog. Yea, by the dog of Egypt, I should greatly prefer a
real friend to all the gold of Darius, or even to Darius himself: I am
such a lover of friends as that. And when I see you and Lysis, at your
early age, so easily possessed of this treasure, and so soon, he of
you, and you of him, I am amazed and delighted, seeing that I myself,
although I am now advanced in years, am so far from having made a
similar acquisition, that I do not even know in what way a friend is
acquired. But I want to ask you a question about this, for you have
experience: tell me then, when one loves another, is the lover or the
beloved the friend; or may either be the friend?
Either may, I should think, be the friend of either.
Do you mean, I said, that if only one of them loves the other, they are
mutual friends?
Yes, he said; that is my meaning.
But what if the lover is not loved in return? which is a very possible
case.
Yes.
Or is, perhaps, even hated? which is a fancy which sometimes is
entertained by lovers respecting their beloved. Nothing can exceed their
love; and yet they imagine either that they are not loved in return, or
that they are hated. Is not that true?
Yes, he said, quite true.
In that case, the one loves, and the other is loved?
Yes.
Then which is the friend of which? Is the lover the friend of the
beloved, whether he be loved in return, or hated; or is the beloved the
friend; or is there no friendship at all on either side, unless they
both love one another?
There would seem to be none at all.
Then this notion is not in accordance with our previous one. We were
saying that both were friends, if one only loved; but now, unless they
both love, neither is a friend.
That appears to be true.
Then nothing which does not love in return is beloved by a lover?