Menexenus

You back from business or some other place, Menexenos?

I was at the townsquare, Socrates; back from the assembly hall.

What precisely had you to do with the City-State's council? Or is it too obvious that you believe you are at the conclusion of your training and higher education, and in belief you're already so sufficiently adequate you mean now to be oriented towards greater affairs; do you try your hand at leading elderly men like us, you amazing man—at your ripe young age, in order that your household not lack continually granting some director to manage us?

Well if you allow and advise it, Socrates, I will be eager to be in charge: And if you don't, I'd not. Although I went to the assembly just now and found out that the council is going to select someone to speak over the dead—as you know, they are going to hold a funeral.

Of course; well, whom did they pick?

No one, they...put it off until tomorrow. Really, I think they'll choose Archinus or Dio.

And yet, Menexenos, there are a lot of different ways in which it might be glorious to die in battle. In fact, it gets a lovely funeral, one proper for a noble man too; and if one should happen to die quite poor, he still receives due praise—even should he be a scoundrel, it's by men who are both bright and eulogize not at random, the ones singing their praises so beautifully spend a long time preparing their statements so that what they say is both relevant and not about each man, although they weave in a way most gorgeously expressions—their result, to bewitch our soul; they even offer praise to their city in every single way and commend those who died in the war and our relatives, all the ones who came before, praising us ourselves who're still alive: Such that I, Menexenos, am eminently well disposed to being flattered by them, and each time I stand out apart when I listen, I'm enchanted because in the moment I believe I have become taller and more noble, even more—a bit too beautiful. Such that, by and large, a few out-of-towners always gather with me and listen to what I become rather prideful towards them on the spot over; actually, I do believe those men experience these same things as relates to myself and the rest of the city, and that they consider it more amazing than before in being persuaded by the speaker. This grave attitude stays with even me some three days or more: The speech is like a song I can't get out of my head the speaker's voice, so that it's almost the fourth or fifth day that I recollect myself and notice where I am, still on earth; up to then, I am obsessed with not living in the Isles of the Blessed—deceased. This 's how professional speakers are in relation to us.

Oh Socrates, you're always coming down upon the the Assembly speakers. But truth is now I think a man who's been picked will not easily walk away; 'cause in every conceivable way the selection comes like right now; & so the actual speaker will be either way forced to speak, reading of one's own heart.

Where'd you get that from, my dear man? Are the speeches of these people in the particulars so finely prepared?, and yet it is no difficult matter to speak extemporaneously on such matters. Like, if one wished to speak properly about the Athenians among Peloponnesians, or about Peloponnese amidst the Athenians, you'd need a fairly right good speaker—one being persuasive and of honorable intention: And whenever anyone is brought to trial or struggling with these individuals, they become the same ones even he compliments. It's no big deal to be seen speaking well?

You don't think so, Socrates?

Oh my, by God no—I do not!

Then you think you'd be able to speak yourself, if it was needed and the council were to select you?

And—even to me Menexenus, it really is no marvel to amaze 'at I speak to effect what with a teacher present I did happen upon, she being at quite the admirable state over her study of the rhetorical art, but also as the very one who has made other quite a few other men—& good ones too—into public speakers; but one also who went far, sir, passed the Greeks; I mean Pericles, Xanthippou's son.

Who is this lady? Or is it clear that you mean Aspasia?

Yes, I'm talking even, like Konnos from Metrobios since these two are my instructors; one's a music teacher and she, the very art of rhetoric. So then I say should a man be supported like so, it really is no amazing marvel to speak with cleverness: But even someone who had ever worse up-bringing than I—though, if trained in music by Lampros, but also in publically speaking by Antiphon of Ramnosios,—even still might this guy be able to be honored as a celebrity by telling the Athenians how great they are?

And what would you be able to say, if it were necessary for you to speak?

Just me on my own—perhaps nothing at all: But I sat listening to Aspasia just yesterday as she was mourning, a funeral speech delivered over these very same matters: Because I heard just what you're talking about, how the Athenians were about to select the speaker; when she was about to start going through some of it on the spot, as which matters were in need of speaking about, and had seen to the rest of it earlier I believe that she composed the funeral speech which Perikles pronounced, as much of it were left over she pieced together from that famous man.

So truly you'd even remember what it was Aspasia herself said?

If not, I'd be mistreating you; I am a student of hers, that's true—and I took quite a few hits when I kept forgetting lessons in discipline.

Then, why'd you go through that?

There was no way to not, the instructor had it in for me (the one whose speech I bore out); solemnity.

No way Socrates; but tell me and you will quite please me, was it you who wanted Aspasia to give the speech, or someone else? Well, say it!

But you might laugh at me, if I seemed to you an old man still playing games.

Not a bit, Socrates; but say it in every turn of phrase.

Then actually, it being necessary to do as you please—that it even almost might, if you were to direct me to start dancing with my clothes off; I would to amuse you, since we are both alone. But she spoke, I do believe, by starting her speech about the dead men like this:

"So in the act, know that we have the things appropriate to these of our dead, o' the ones fated to be conveyed down that road of one's destiny, bearing ourselves to the grave together out of the city, but individually by the family members: And in reasoned measure does the law direct the rest of the universe to recompense the men and must do so. But in a speech well-said about deeds properly accomplished, a memory and universal order in affairs of state do come into being as a result of people hearing; there is need of such a rationale for whomever will properly compliment the dead and graciously give advice to the living by encouraging fathers and brothers to remembrance of their excellence, to recall their fathers and mothers, and if some of their children still among the living are left behind, his speech comforts these people. So what reason could we seem to have for a speech? Or how should we rightly begin in praising great men, for whom living their life made their relations so overjoyed by cause of virtue, they even exchanged their final last in return for security of the living: I believe it right, according to human nature—just as they became noble in such a way, also to hymn them in praise. But they became great by cause of their being born from excellent people. Let's then give credit first to their noble birth, and afterwards praise their upbringing and education; and on top of these considerations, let us elucidate in speech the actual act of their deeds, display it as a noble and worthwhile undertaking. So since the generation of their children made first a beginning of their nobility, since it is no foreign family's source, and does not declare these children as resident aliens in the land with their having come here from somewhere else: Rather it shows that native locals in reality do live inhabiting their homeland and they are raised not by a cold step-mother like others have been; but from the mother of the country in which they live, even now having breathed their last, they rest upon the familial grounds of she who bore and raised and helped establish you. The absolute most just and right thing on the earth exists primarily, the mother herself—for this is also how the nobility of these men comes together in being so arranged.

"It is a land also worthy of all people's complimenting praise, not just ours, in a lot of various ways, but first is the single greatest aspect that it succeeds in being loved by the gods. And the disputes the gods have in relation to it stand as our witness, in reasoned a speech: How could this country, which the gods praise, not be rightly praised by all humanity? And a second grounds for praising may properly be that at that very time when all the earth in bloom brings forth every manner of living creature, both beasts and grazing herds, in this season our land is shown barren and cleansed of wild animals; it chose and gave birth to man from amongst living creatures, who in our understanding surpass the other forms of life and believe in right and the gods alone. And this argument is given proof by the fact that the land gave these creatures birth, and created our ancestors. But every young thing to which the earth gives birth has its necessary means of sustenance, the offspring to which a woman is clear in giving birth—both truly and not in fact—rather she is surpassed if she has no streams to nurse her offspring. With respect to this fact, our country and mother both provide ample proof as to how she created humanity itself; in fact, she was alone at the time when ever she was first to bear the people's nourrishment, the fruit of grains or barley, produce from which, in the most gorgeous, noble way, the human race is fed. It is more fitting to accept such proof as relates to the ground than a woman: For the earth resembles a female in conceiving and giving birth, but woman actually imitates the planet. But she does not envy this fruit; rather she distributes it even to the other fruits of earth. Among this belongs the creation of olives, which aid one's toils, for her children: She was raised and came of age to prime of youth and offered them gods as their heads of state and teachers—and it is fitting in such circumstance to omit their names—as we do know—those of us who set life up disposed towards a way of living each day, practicing the very first abilities people acquired as relates to safeguarding the land we teach the proper means of acquiring and utilizing tools of defense.

"Born and raised in such a way the ancestors of these people inhabited a city-state they had equipped themselves, which one does right to recall in brief terms. Now the actual constitution of the city, its state is nourrishment for human beings—lovely because of its good people, it is the antithesis of evils. Then as our ancestors held a funeral rite in this lovely state it is necessary to elucidate, on account of its constitution, those noble men and the ones of today, these kin of the men who just made their final end. But the very city itself was then, and is still now, a land in which we presently are ruled by the best in birth, and for all time from that fact do many things result. One line of reasoning calls this state democratic, another calls it something else, but it is in reality a government of the best according to approval of the majority. Since there were always sovereign authorities for us to deal with, and at one time these were hereditary, at another elected, they have control of the city, by and large, with respect to the majority and they appoint authorities and also grant strength to those continually esteemed best in reputation, and neither by infirmity nor poverty—no, not even inherited ignorance will ever have rejected even one soul, but the opposing qualities are not honored as they are in other cities: Though it is only one horizon—he who acquires a reputation for wisdom or being noble holds power in office. And its creation equal-made is cause of this, our nation. Now the other cities have been supplied with all different types of various people to such extent their citizens are strange and the constitution of the city-states, a little club run by warlords: So each of them live regarding each other as slaves and masters. However we were, and our kin, all born as brothers of our sole mother and deem it inappropriate to be each other's slave or master; instead, the legal status of our birth compelled us to seek liberty in our very nature under the law, and never to yield to each other anything at all except a reputation for excellence and good sense.

"Indeed from such cause these people's fathers and our own, even these men themselves, and the men of noble birth have been thoroughly indoctrinated by freedom of every kind—so many great endeavors they unveiled for all humankind as personally as public property because they consider the necessary condition concerning their liberty that the Greeks go to war for Greeks, even non-Greeks on behalf of all of Greece. So then, as how they beat back Eumolpos and the Amazonian women marching to field of battle, and enemies even before, so did they defend the Thebans against Argives and repel Heraclids from Argos, which is appropriately related a brief outline, and the poets on the subject have already memorialized quite well by praising their excellence in song for every kind of virtue; so, if we try to order the same things in everyday discourse, perhaps we would appear outclassed. So these things then I do think right to dismiss, since they also have their due; but no author of these matters as yet possesses a worthy reputation for having taken up their worth in worthwhile lines, no poet as yet in remembrance—concerning these affairs I believe one must memorialize them by praising and engaging others to appropriately set the achievements of the ones who accomplish them both in song and some other form of poetry. It's for these causes I speak these words first as reasons: Those born of this land held in check the Persian rulers of Asia who were trying to enslave Europe, the men of our familial line whom it is both justified and needful to praise in their being memorialized first for their virtue. A virtue truly one must see, if intending to praise it right, as if occurring in speech at that famous hour when the Asian continent did service to its third of Kings; Cyrus, the first of these, had liberated the Persian cities he controlled at his own behest at once subjecting their masters, the Medes, to slavery and ruled over the rest of the mid-East unto Egypt as well; and his son was able to march on Egypt and Libya: But the 3rd King, Darius, crossed on march the borders of the Scythians, and ruled at sea the ships throughout the isles to such extent that no one was a match for him; opinions, of every human, were held in subjugation; so the Persians' empire had made slaves of so many great and warlike peoples. And when Darius had found fault with us and men of Eretria (really just pretending to attack Sardis) as pretence, he sent 500,000 in various ships, some three hundred craft—commanded Datis in charge of the fleet and ordered him to bring back Eretrians and Athenians if he wished to hold on to his head; but sailed to Eretria for quite a number of men, who maintained the best reputation of the Greeks at that time for the necessities of waging war; but he conquered these men within three days and divided up their country entirely so that no one could escape in such a manner as this: Going to the furthest reaches of Eretria the soldiers, dispersed from sea to sea, clasped their hands passing through all the land that they could tell the King, No one can have escaped them. With this as their intent did they march from Eretria to Marathon, believing it expedient amidst this very self-same necessity that the Athenians move onward allied with the Eretrians. But in the execution of these activities, and though they did attempt, none of the Greek city-states assisted the people of Eretria or Athenians except from Sparta—They do arrive always from the latest fight.—and every one of the rest was astounded, in love with the salvation of the present now keeping peaceful quiet. One who becomes involved in this matter, truly, should know such men just happen to be the ones who took their display of virtue at Marathon—the strength of the foreigners they also checked as arrogance from all the east and first fixed their monuments of victory over savages; commanders and teachers take for each other the other's place because resisting Persian might could not be futile, but the entire mob and all wealth give way to virtue. Then, so I do state that those men not only become our fathers in sharing our corporeal frame, but even so doing of our freedom and that of all the people in this country; now, looking to that action, and seeing the most recent conflicts the Greeks dared hazard for the sake of salvation, they started learning from the men of Marathon. So the most noble acts in speech must be then dedicated to their memory, while runner-up goes to those who fought at Salamis and for the statue of Artemis in the naval battle and won. In fact, one might have a good many of these men's deeds to wade through, and such acts do succeed each other waiting over land and by sea also to prevent these things: And this seems to me the most glorious of these feats—this I recall to mind—that they effect the next effort accomplished for the men at Marathon. These men who fought at Marathon in point of fact only showed the Greeks the possibility of defeating large numbers of foreigners on the ground with just a few, but at sea it was yet unclear and the Persian navy held repute as being unbeatable by cause of their multitude, resources, technical ability and strength; this is praiseworthy in the men who fought the engagement at sea, worthy for they dispensed with the fear the Greeks held and they stopped being terrified to great extent of young and men. From either side did it come about that those who fought at Marathon and the battle of Salamis—the other Greeks were trained by the men who made war by land and sea; they came to understand and got accustomed to not fearing foreigners. Third I pronounce the task at Plataea was, for the numbers and scope of its achievement, a matter of national security for Greece—a precedent of this affair between Spartans and Athenians. So these men all were defense against the greatest and most problematic threat, and because of this virtue in courage they are offered our praises now and for time to come by future generations; but after this were a good many of the Greeks' cities still under a foreign power, and the king himself was reported as intent on trying for the Greeks again. There is just cause for us to be mindful of these facts for we are men who by the actions of our predecessors do complete salvation by completely removing the driven barbarians from the sea. These were men both who fought at Eurymedon and went on campaign to Cyprus, even sailed to Egypt and many different places by different means: One must recollect them and understand with gratitude their importance in getting the king to pay attention in fear for his own safety, his mind on security, but not in plotting successfully ruin for the Greeks.

"Even this then indeed, this war wore the entire polis out on behalf of its citizens and the rest of the allies against the foreigners; but when peace came about and the city received its honor, there came to the city-state an occurrence not uncommon for the successful—at first a rivalry, and rivalry led to envy: Which also caused this city's listening to the Greeks in the war. After this, the war having occurred, they joined battle at Tanagra over the freedom of Boeotian people in confronting the Spartan foe—there was a battle hotly disputed, which a later action determined—for some left to depart leaving behind those they were trying to assist; meanwhile our forces achieved victory on the third day at Oenophyta by restoring rightfully those who were wrongly exiled. These then were the first men after the Persian war who presently assisted Greek against Greek for the sake of liberty to become bravely noble and liberate those whom their assistance aided: They 're the first laid to rest by the city which honors them in this memorial. After this, a great war broke out and as all the Greeks were up in arms cutting the country apart, and paying in full the price of undeserved gratitude for their city, our men defeated them by sea and taking the Spartan leaders at Sphagia,—they could have destroyed them—but yielded and recompensed, and even made peace, because they were intent on the need to wage war against Greeks to the point of victory and not out of a personal enmity of the state to destroy the fellowship of the race; but with foreigners, to the death. These men deserve their praise, who fought this war to rest here because they demonstrate that if someone were at odds over how some others in the prior conflict against the barbarians outshone the Athenians, their contentions are not true: Because these men here show that—with Greece in factional dispute—they overpowered the foremost of the rest of the Hellenes with whom they once overcame the foreign barbarians together, to conquer these men on one's own. The third conflict came, after this peace, unexpectedly and terrible; the one in which many great men made an end and lie here, so many in Sicily erected as endless monuments in defense of freedom for the people of Leontini whom they aided by cause of sworn oaths sailing even to far-flung places; and on account of the length of the voyage, the city at a loss and unable to help them—failling of this, they came to misfortune: Their enemies in bitter conflict retained greater grounds for praise of their virtuous prudence than the others' friends—but many in battle throughout the Hellespont, on a single day, took all the enemy ships overcoming many, and still more, and they said this was a thing fearfully unexpected as event of the war; I speak of this, the arrival to such a desire for victory, for the city as relates to the rest of the Greeks, that they actually dared to solicit the hateful king of Persia who repudiated their overture along with us, reintroduced this again in private—foreign act against the Hellenes—and united all the Greeks and barbarous peoples both against the city-state: Where indeed the city's might and virtue be quite clearly shown. Now the foe though it had already been exhausted in war and learned of the young men in Mytilene did assist with sixty ships, manned them themselves as well with men agreed to be the greatest to conquer the enemy as they freed the allies—They met a fate beneath them, unburied at sea: Now they have lain at rest. They are to be memorialized in praise; our victory came from the excellence of those men not only at the time in naval battle, but throughout even the remainder of the war, since the city has a hold on its repute because of their being honored for never flagging in armed conflict, all people could not—the reputation is also true!—overcome us, we were beaten by our difference from them, not by any other of them: We defeated ourselves and yield only to our own. And after this, a calm set in, and peace, for the rest; our domestic struggle was fought like that so if it is our lot for people to rebel, that no city-state otherwise boast of our city's disorder. Since the real citizens came together, one with another, apart from the Piraeus, outside the town so happy, humble, and beyond the hope of the rest of Greece (and they did settle the war with moderation against the men at Eleusis) and not one of those allegations was true in other respects, except for kinship in truth of fact, supplying its constantly loving kindness, alike in language and not just in speech, but as an action: It is necessary as well for those who have died at each other's hands in this conflict to have a memory and exchange some with whom we are able through prayer and sacrifices amongst such men as these, who in their strength outstrip those grasping their knees since even we have traded in our hostility. It's neither out of cowardice they bind each to the other, nor in hatred, but out of misfortune . And we are ourselves, who live, are witness of this: Beings in truth we ourselves acquire the same opinion as those people in relation to each other about things we did and suffered. But after this a total peace came about for us, the city kept itself peacefully quiet, forgiving on the one hand the foreign in that they, in suffering sufficiently badly at the city's hands, were not lacking in their defense, while on the other Athens, in anger at the Greeks, calls to mind how in suffering well the kind of favor they paid back—since they come together with the foreign other, depriving them of the ships which saved those people before, and obliterate the city walls, as return for preventing theirs from falling: But the city Athens was so minded as to never defend Greeks in servitude against each other, nor from foreign threats. Then, as we were disposed to this intention, the Spartans have come to believe their allies in defense of freedom, Athens, have fallen and that it was their work to toil slaving over the rest; they keep doing these things. And so why make idle talk? Truly, I wish not to speak about what happened with men of old, nor just after these things—but we our very selves do know how thoroughly struck to dumb they came of good use in the city of the Greeks and were the first—Argives, Boeotians and Corinthians,—and the thing most sacred, divinest of all, even the king didn't know what to have done in this affair,—so it happened that from not a single quarter did hope of relief arrive to him except from this city, which he readily did lose. And what is more, even if someone wants to justifiably find fault with the city, the one stating this sole allegation would make a proper claim that it has always been too disposed to pity which is service, even, of a lesser kind. In particular, at the time they were unable to remain steadfast and could not directly oversee the policy which had been adopted at Athens, that it would not assist anyone in a condition of servitude against the ones subjugating them, but instead relented and helped them and here she has assisted the Greeks in freeing them from slavery, so that they are as free as they were enslaved, while there it dared not to aid the king out of respect for its trophies at Marathon and Salamis and Plataea: But in allowing exiles and those who want to help did Athens save them with integrity. And with reinforced walls and filled with ships, accepting the war since it was compelled to war on the Parians' behalf we fight the Spartans. The king feared the city's state when he saw the Spartans give up fighting by sea and, wanting cause to revolt, he demanded of the mainland Greeks whom the Spartans had earlier provided him whether it would be an alliance with us and the rest of the allies; he thought we would not want to so that his excuse might be the pretext for an uprising. And he deceived the other allies, because they wanted to surrender to him; the Corinthians and men of Argos, Booetians and other allies assembled and swore an oath that if resources were needed, they would hire the Greeks in Greece proper—but we alone were not so reckless as to hire them nor give our word. Truly thus indeed is the noble aspect of the city's form and its freedom, the steadfast and healthy, anti-foreign nature, for being purely Greek separately from those not like us. Now descendants of Pelops and Cadmus, of Aegyptus or Danaus and a great many other whose nature is foreign—except when Greek by habit of custom—do not intermingle with us; but Greeks proper live untainted by foreign affiliation which is where the city gets its hatred purely of a foreign race. And yet we were singled out again for not wanting to act shamefully and to accomplish an impious act in hiring Greeks out for those not of our land: Then, when we arrived at the same matters by which we were earlier wasted in war, under God our execution of the war was better than in the past; in fact, with our ships and walls and our colonies we have come to desist from war in such a way so as to be content with its resolution, as are our enemies. However, we are bereaved of loss in truth, such virtuous men, in this war too, those brave men who made use of their difficulty in Corinth and betrayal at Lekhaeos—the noble men and ones who freed the king and sailed to victory over the Spartans at sea: I recall these to you, but it is proper to compliment them and put such men to rest.

"These are truly the deeds of the men who lie here, and of as many of the others who died for the city, a lot of finely worded things and the rest still yet so much more, and more beautiful: So many days and nights would not be enough for one who means to completely finish relating them. Then as these things are, those recalling the children of these men must direct each, every man—just as in war-time—not to desert the company of one's ancestors, nor to submit in yielding to cowardice hereafter. So therefore I myself, you children of great men, also now, even for what time remains I order—whenever I should happen upon meeting with one of you—I will both remember and encourage you to be the best possible; and presently I am justified in saying what our fathers dictated to proclaim for those forever left behind: If they should suffer some experience, when they are about to take a chance. But I relate to you what I heard from those famous men and the sort of things they would now say with sweetness in accepting your strength—to judge by signs they argued upon a time. Rather it is necessary to believe one hears those men themselves say what I state: & they uttered these words—

"Oh children, the fact that you come from brave fathers is a proclamation present even now; but while it is possible for us to live less than gloriously, we choose to make an end in lovely fashion before you do, before those upon a time who received the blame, sooner than our own fathers and the entirety of the race before us shrinks in shame,—we think he who shames his own kind lives no kind of life and believe for such a man that no single person, nor any of the gods, is dear to one meeting his end either above ground or below. Then it is necessary for men recalling our speech, if you embellish it somewhat otherwise, to fashion it in virtue knowing in this that all other things, both possessions and pursuits, are shamefully wrong. But luxurious wealth conducts its quality of possession through weakness—though such a one is rich to another degree, and not to his own benefit;—not beautiful in body and strength in being evil, in living together with respect to proper things there appears otherwise inappropriate content also making it an object more translucent in its possessing and exposing cowardice: All knowledge becomes separately of good judgment and the rest of its virtue is bad character—it seems not like true wisdom. It is for these reasons at the outset and in the final, last and through everything that you must try to possess every last thing completely in how to exceed both us and the men proceed us in fame: But if not, you must know that we, as for us, should beat you in contest of virtue, it is a shameful victory; but if we lose, our loss brings happiness. In particular, if we should fall short of victory and you conquer us—assuming you prepared your faculty of opinion towards the ancestors not for the purpose of killing or wasting your idea of it, to know for certain that for a person thinking about 'what's real there' is nothing more shameful than exhibiting oneself being honored not for one's own worth, but by cause of our fathers' traditional repute: That it is the honor due, children to their parents, as a glorious house of treasure; and that it is used for both wealth and esteem in this monument, and to not hand over our children out of some weak bit of courage, at a loss after seeing its own resources and grounds for praise. And if in general then you put these things in to practical service, friends, you come to us as dear friends when the attendant fate conveys you home; and thus taken care of and made shameful will no one accept you very kindly auspicious: Why some boys are to have these things said for them.

"Our fathers from whom we take life and mothers eternally need to take comfort in bearing unfortunate loss, and so if one should be reconciled also to not mourn—since they need no cause of distress—for the fate that befalls it will be sufficient to provide this, but healing men, those who mitigate remembrance recollect what prayers they offered them were the gods made hearers of. Because they do not pray for them to be made children immortal, rather to be great and well-known—they achieve these goals, which are the greatest good; all's not so entirely easy for a mortal man, according to his mental capacity, in what occurs in his life. And in bearing bravely their misfortunes as mere events, the fathers of brave sons are truly seen as being such themselves; if they give ground, they will give grounds for suspicion or have no place among our people, or will utter lies when praising us: But the imperative is neither of these, it is instead those who, especially among us, commend them in act providing themselves of appearance in reality as fathers of real men. For a good while now, the phrase 'nothing to excess' has been thought to have been well-said; it is, in truth, also well reasoned; but for any man, all the things which lead to happiness have been referred to oneself, or very near this, and that they not be raised up amongst other people by whom, whether they behave well or ill, they are compelled to err and that a man's affairs are ready to live the best possible way—this is a man of sense and this brave man is also wise; he will be persuaded of belief in the proverb despite money, by cause of children, in spite temptations because he neither exults in excess of joy nor is he too wrecked by grief: He will be seen accomplishing this of his own free will. We value such people as one of us willingly and assert they are so; we now allow that we ourselves are thus, not in anger or out of fear as to whether one must make an end presently. In deed we ask our fathers and mothers, with this same intention, to keep living for the rest of our life knowing those who sing and wail in grief will not do us a favor, unless there is a perception of the living for the departed; in this manner they would please not, and in disgracing themselves they bear too onerously their burden: Deftly with moderation can they present grace. Now, our matters will soon have their end, and it will be the most beautiful end for human beings so that it be the more fitting to adorn or hymn them and in caring for our women and children, and supporting them and turning our mind from here they would in particular live the more beautiful life in forgetfulness of fate, more upright, they're dearly beloved. This is enough to proclaim with us: But we wish to address the city so that they will take care of our fathers and sons in raising moderately the children and tend with worthiness the elderly; and now we know even if we advise encouragement, it will be sufficiently seen to.

"Those men therefore, oh you children and families of the dead, mandate that we bring this message back and I have reported it as readily as I can; and I myself ask on their behalf, on behalf of those who remember their own and for those of good cheer concerning their people—since we both in public and privately care for and about you, our elderly—wherever each should happen upon one another, whomever it is from their midst. You yourselves must certainly know of the city, how to serve it,—are aware of how it sets down laws concerning the children of men who died in the war and cares for their parents, and especially how it commands the other city-states to stand guard over the dominion which is largest in order that the fathers and mothers of the deceased not be harmed; it raises children in common, fully willing for no orphan be unwatched over by establishing them in the figure of their father while still yet children, and whenever they go to a man's final goal, it sends them away to their own fate after fitting them out in full suit of armor to demonstrate and recall the purposes of their father are a tool of the ancestral virtue it offers—and for the sake of an omen's favor the city starts to go to our familial abode, leading the way gloriously with strength at arms. It honored the dead to never abandon them and formed our laws, custom and beliefs according to each full year in common for all to see for each what happens in private, and established for them wrestling and horse-racing contests, and the whole art of music, and has clearly brought to establishment a fate of the dead in the house of son and heir, even for sons in their father's home, a place of their parents at the Governor's by fashioning all public business of everyone as careful service throughout all time. It is needful that you reflect on these concerns early in the day and endure fate, because to the dead and the living you are the most loved and easy to honor and do service. Now by this time you and all the others both must together depart by law in crying grief aloud for those who have made their end."

This is the speech, Menexenos, of Aspasia from Mytilene.

My god Socrates, you're saying Aspasia must be pretty blessed if she could compose such words despite being a woman.

Well if you don't believe me, follow along with me, and hear her while she speaks.

I've met Aspasia a number of times, Socrates, and I know what she's like.

So, what? You don't like her and now you're grateful to hear her oration?

I'm quite, oh Socrates, grateful for this speech of hers, or from whomever the man is who spoke it to you; and in a lot of other ways I'm grateful to the speaker.

That would be fine: So long as you don't defame me, in order that even in turn I might recite you a lot more lovely speeches, of the political kind, from her.

Don't worry, I won't blow your cover; only, tell me one.

Well, this will work.

Hippias Minor

And why are you so quiet, Socrates? With all that Hippias has shown—off; and you aren't praising any of his assertions, or asking any questions: Does something seem to've been said amiss to you? Particularly since we ourselves have also been left alone—we who lay claim to hold a share, insofar as we do, of passing the time philosophically.

Actually Eudikos, there are a few things I would like to learn from Hippias which he was just now saying about Homer. In fact, I used to listen to your father Apemantos about how Homer's Iliad is a more beautiful poem than The Odyssey, and that its degree of superiority is the same as that of Achilles over Odysseus; now on each of these counts he said there's Odysseus to consider on the one hand, and Achilles on the other. So I would gladly—that is, if Hippias is willing—inquire about that in order that he consider these two men, which of them he says is better; since a lot of different things have been pointed out to us, about other poets—and especially Homer.

Well it's obvious that Hippias won't grudge you that—if you were to ask him a question, to answer. But really Hippias, if Socrates asked asks you answer? Or what will you do?

In fact, I'd be doing some pretty terrible stuff, Eudikos, if I went to Olympia for the Greek national holiday whenever the Olympics are held—with me constantly heading from my home at Helis back to the temple—were I to present myself even arguing that someone should want a speech from me that is all ready for show, and I was wishing for an answer to what someone asked; but right now I would rather run away from Socrates' questioning!

Hippias, you've come to an ecstatic state of being if you are so hopeful as concerns your mind with regard to wisdom that you head off to the temple for each Olympiad: And I would be shocked if one of the athletic competitors were so fearless and trusting in his body he went there and someone challenges him; just like you say about your intelligence.

It's likely, Socrates, this is what happens to me; but that's why I have started to compete at the Olympics—I have yet to meet up with anyone at any point who was stronger than myself in anything.

You say that your opinion, Hippias, is a gorgeous offering of wisdom for the Eleans' city and for your parents. But what do you say to us about Achilles and Odysseus both—which do you figure was better and of what cause? Because each time we are all in the temple and you perform a rhetorical display, I'm left at a loss by your words—but am hesitant to ask yet one more question because a great crowd is present and I would prefer not to get in your way by asking about the exhibition; but right now, since there are fewer of us and Eudikos here encourages us to speak: Do tell and show us for sure, what did you mean about these two men—how do you judge them?

Well I still want it, Socrates, to be more transparent than when I went through what I'm saying both about these men as well as others, because I say that Homer made Achilles the greatest man of the ones who went to Troy, and he made Nestor the wisest and Odysseus trickiest.

Oh my! Hippias, then won't you do me a favor like this, that is not to laugh at me, if I hardly understand what's being said and keep re-iterating questions? But try to answer me kindly at ease.

It would be a real shame, Socrates, if I educate others in these very matters, and expect to make money because of this, but when questioned myself by you I had no judgment to speak of and I answered abrasively.

You're being very reasonable. But surely when you said Achilles was made the greatest, I thought I understood what you meant when you also said Nestor was made wisest; but when you spoke of Odysseus saying that the poet made him the most versatile—as the truth must be said to you in reply—I entirely missed what you mean by this: Tell me again, I'll understand a little better then. Did Homer make Achilles the opposite of tricky?

The least so, Socrates: He made him the simplest and most truthful since, when the poet has them conversing with one another, in the section called Prayers Achilles tells Odysseus:

"Laertes' god-born son, inventive and resourceful Odysseus,
There is need to speak out in my declaration quite bluntly,
Just as I bring it off and do think is best to finish this:
Because I despise any man, who would bury one thing in
His heart and utter another, as I hate the gates of Hell.
But I'll speak my own mind as will be best when accomplished."

Between these men he makes clear the manner of each in words, how Achilles is honest and direct, and Odysseus is tricky and deceptive: Since he has Achilles speaking these words to Odysseus.

Now, Hippias, I am already willing to take a chance on learning what you mean: You say that the tricky man is false, that's how it seems.

Entirely, Socrates; since Homer has made Odysseus such a liar in a lot of places throughout the Iliad and Odyssey both.

Oh, so Homer thought one man was truthful, and another false; but it's not the same man.

Well, how would he not be, Socrates?

Does it seem so, for real, to you?

Absolutely true; in fact, it'd be awful if it not.

Then let's let Homer go for now since it is simply impossible to keep asking questions about why on earth he intended to make these his words: But since you appear to take up his cause, and these things you're saying Homer meant seem right to you, do answer on behalf of Homer and yourself together.

This will be so, but ask in brief what you want.

Do you make a claim such that false men are unable to do anything, like men in distress, or that they are able to get something done?

I personally say they are able to do quite a number of different things, like deceiving people.

Well they are capable, it seems, of being tricky also according to your argument; right?

Yes.

And they are wily and frauds through being foolishly devoid of sense, or because of depravity and a certain arrogance.

By cause of their depravity above all, and its intention.

Then they do make sense, so it seems.

Yes, by God—quite a bit of it.

And since they're sensible they know not what they do, or do they understand?

They understand exactly; for these reasons they also commit wrongs.

But in knowing these things that they understand, are they ignorant or knowledgeable?

They're wise in the very knowledge of how to deceive.

Hold it: Shall we recollect what it is you claim? You say that false men are able, sensible, have an understanding—are "wise"—in relation to these very things, they're liars?

Well in fact, that is what I'm saying.

You mean some men are both honest and liars, and they're the exact opposite of one another?

That's what I argue.

Come now, some of those who are quite able and wise, as it seems, are the false men according to your logic?

Oh, absolutely.

But when you say the liars are of strong ability and wisdom according to these very qualities, do you claim they are strong liars if they want to be, or that they are powerless in relation to these very lies they tell?

I mean they are capable.

To repeat the main idea, false men are wise liars and able to deceive?

Yes.

Then a man who is unable to lie, and stupid, can be not false?

He cannot.

So each one has an ability, the man who does what he wants whenever he wants to: I speak not of one constrained by illness, nor of things like this, but like how you are able to write my name whenever you wish, I mean this. Or not, you who can be so,—do you call that ability a power?

Yes.

Do tell me, Hippias, aren't you acquainted with arithmetic, the art of calculation?

Above all others, Socrates.

So then if someone were to ask you what the sum of three times seven-hundred is, if you wanted, you'd say it fastest of all and, most important, be accurate concerning this problem?

Certainly.

You claim to be as capable as possible and wisest regarding these things?

Yes.

Then are you both wisest and most able alone, or even the best at these very things (being the most capable and smartest)—that is, logical calculation?

I'm clearly the best too, Socrates.

Then you would speak the most powerful truths there are about them, right?

I do think so.

But what about falsehoods concerning the very same facts? Now just as we said earlier, do respond to me in an appropriate and dignified way, Hippias: If someone asked you how much 3 x 700 was, might you specifically lie and forever tell lies as relates to the same things that concern these, intentionally lying and never answering truly; or could someone who doesn't know math be of greater ability than you if you preferred to be false? Or if the ignorant one should want to tell a good many untruths, would he unwillingly say true things, if he happened to be right through his ingnorance; but even if you, a wise man, wanted to lie, would you always be a liar according to the same effects?

Sure, it is just as you reason.

So the false man is a liar as relates to other matters, however not about number; he can't tell a lie as he's counting?

It's also true, good God, about number.

Then shall we make this our supposition, Hippias, that he is a person false as relates to calculation and number?

Yes.

So who would this person be? Shouldn't one start with him if he intends to be a liar, as you just agreed, that he has the power to lie? But you just argued that one who can't be false, if you recall, is a man who can never be untrue.

Well yes, I remember and it was so stipulated.

Therefore you were just shown to be the one most capable of lying about math?

Yes, actually this was also counted true.

So you are also the best able to speak the truth regarding mathematics?

By all means.

Then the same man is best able to speak untruths and true answers as concerns calculating math?—and this is a logical man because of these facts, a good mathematician.

Yes.

Who, then, becomes a liar regarding calculation, Hippias? The good man or someone else? Because the same man is also able to; and this man is truthful as well.

He seems to be.

So do you see that the same person is both lying and truthful about these facts and that the true one is not a bit better than the liar? Since it is clearly the same man and he is the opposite of contrary, as you just now were thinking.

He doesn't seem so in this case.

You want that we should look at it from another perspective?

If you want.

So you also have experience of geometry?

Why yes, I do.

So, what? Isn't it also the same in geometry; the same person is best able to mislead and give correct proofs in relation to the figures? A mathematician.

Yes.

Then concerning these things, would someone else besides this man be good?

No, this one's right.

So the wise man who's good at geometry is the most capable at both? And even if someone else tells untruths about the figures, would the good teacher still be this man? Because this one is able, and the bad one is unable, to lie: So wouldn't the man who's unable to deceive be a liar as was agreed?

This is true.

Then let's look at it a third way besides—astronomical science, which is, again, a technical skill you believe you have greater knowledge of than the foregoing. But really, Hippias?

Yes.

Then even in astronomy these same things are also true?

Seems apparent, Socrates.

And in astronomy, then, if someone else is untrue, the quality astronomer will be the false one—the one with the power to lie: But he who is incapable, won't—since he's ignorant.

So it seems.

The same man then, even in astronomy, will be both true and false?

Apparently.

Come now, Hippias, and look freely like this according to all forms of knowledge to see whether on earth there exists a thing that is otherwise or if it's like so. You are, by all means, the wisest man with respect to abilities which are greatest of all, as I have heard you brag about before when you recount in full your great wisdom one should emulate in the marketplace amongst the merchants. You said you went once to Olympus and that everything you wore on your person was of your own making; first off the ring which you wore—since you started from that—was your own workmanship, as you fancied yourself a ring-maker, and another gemstone was your work, and a bath-scraper and flask for oil which you made yourself; next, sandals which you wore you said you yourself had cut the leather for, and a cape and shirt you wove; and what everyone thought a most unusual exhibition of the greatest intellect, since you said the belt you wore beneath your shirt was just like the Persian fabrics, very costly, and you wove this yourself; in addition to these things you said you came with poems in hand—epic, tragic and ceremonial—and a bunch of speeches, compositions of all different kinds; and as for the abilities which I was just now discussing you said you had come to particularly excel in other skills, as well as rhythm and harmony and calligraphy and quite a few others in addition to these, as I seem to recollect: Actually, I forgot about your skill at memorization, so it seems, a trick which you believe you are a man most brilliant at; and I think I'm forgetting a great many others. But what I mean to say, looking at your own abilities (and they are considerable) and to others', do tell me whether on earth you find, out of the agreements made between me and you, anywhere a place where the truthful man and the lying one are found separately and not as one? Look willingly into whichever type of wisdom or villainy, or whatever else you please to call it; you will not find one my friend—as it doesn't exist—since you say so.

Well, I can't Socrates; not right now like that.

Nor will you, as I believe; and if I am telling the truth, remember what results for us from your line of reasoning, Hippias.

I really do not understand what you mean, Socrates.

Well perhaps you're not making use of your tricky memory right now—since it's clear that you do not consider it a need; well, I'll remind you. You were thinking about how you said Achilles is truthful, and that Odysseus is a liar and wayward?

Correct.

Then you now see that the same one who is both false and true has been plainly shown so that if Odysseus is false, he too becomes truthful, and if Achilles is true he also becomes a liar: And the men are no different from each other, nor are they opposites—instead they're alike?

Oh Socrates, you always twist some words like these into arguments since you take what's to be the most contentious part of the argument and grab hold of this detail in particular, and you do not fight the matter out in its entirety with reference to the proposition; since right now, if you wish, I'll show you with a lot of evidence, by sufficient cause of reason, that Homer has made Achilles a more poetical figure than Odysseus, and one who is no liar: But he made the other deceptive, and a compulsive liar, and man worse than Achilles. But if you want, go ahead and make a counter-argument, a speech matched with speech, on how one or the other is greater: And these men here will know all the more which speaks more reasonably.

Hippias, I certainly do not argue that you are wiser than I; rather I am accustomed to pay attention whenever someone says something, and especially when the one speaking seems reasonably wise to me and I want to understand what he says—I learn by asking and compare and consider once again what reasons are said in order to comprehend: But if I think the one speaking seems thoughtless, I neither ask another thing nor do I care about what he is saying. And you will realize this for a fact, whom I consider to be wise, because you will find me no problem over statements made by this type of man; you'll discover I am one who learns from him in order that by learning I may be of some use. Since I have also now come to consider you speaking, what you were saying in the verses you just quoted, when you pointed out that Achilles speaks to Odysseus in belief that he's a phony; it seems out of place to me, if the reasons you speak are true, that Odysseus—the trickster—appears in no place as a liar while Achilles seems a wily fellow according to your own argument: At any rate, he does lie since he declares these words you just quoted by verse:

'Because I despise any man, who would bury one thing in
His heart and utter another, as I hate the gates of Hell.'

A while later he speaks of how he would not be convinced by Odysseus and Agamemnon both, and that he would not, for the life of him, remain in Troy; but says,

"Tomorrow, after sacrifice is offered to Zeus and to all gods
I will load up the ships and draw them forward into the ocean:
If you want to watch, and if it is a concern to you, you'll see
By dawn sailing on the Hellespont with its schools full of fish my
Ships as they're rowed to convey the men straining eagerly forward;
And if the shaker of earth, glorious Poseidon grants fine sailing,
It's on the third day I shall arrive at Phthia, the fertile land."

While before these lines, when he's lambasting Agamemnon, he says

"And now I will go back to Phthia, since it's so much better to
Head home with the curved ships—I am not minded to stay here and be
Disrespected while I suck up riches and pile up more wealth."

At the time he says these things he's in front of the entire army, and on the other occasion before his companions: Nowhere is he seen either prepared or trying to sail the ships to return home; but in manner quite appropriate to his upbringing, he puts little stock in the truth of what he's saying. So in fact, Hippias, I was asking you questions from the beginning at a loss as to which of these two men had been better fashioned by the poet's making, and I was considering both of them to be great men and thinking it's difficult to decide which is better in relation to falsehood and truth and the rest of what comprises virtue; because they're also both quite alike in relation to this.

Because you're not looking at it properly, Socrates. One the one hand, as for the lies Achilles tells, he appears to be lying not out of some plot, but unwillingly he is compelled by the army's disaster to stay put and assist; now on the other, Odysseus lies willingly, according to his scheme.

You're deceiving me, my dearest Hippias, and you yourself copy Odysseus!

No way, Socrates: What do you mean, and in relation to what reason?

I'm saying that you say Achilles does not tell untruths by design and he was such a treacherous cheat, in addition to pretentious, just as Homer made him, that he seems quite a bit more disposed than Odysseus towards easily avoiding notice through his own boasting—with the result that he is inconsistent enough to contradict himself and Odysseus doesn't notice: He certainly is not seen saying anything to him to the effect that Odysseus perceived he was lying.

What sort of statements are these, Socrates?

Don't you know that later, after he speaks to Odysseus, he says he'll sail away right with the morning; then goes and tells Aias that he won't sail off—instead he says something else?

Wait, where?

The lines where he states—

"For I will not even think about blood-spattered war until the
Son of bellicose Priam, illustrious Hector, has arrived
Right before the tents and ships of the Myrmidon soldiers slaughtering
The Argives, and ignites the ships with consuming fire:
But around my bed and dark ship, I believe that Hector—
Even though craving a battle,—will check the fight held back."

Now Hippias, do you think the son of Thetis, who was tutored by Chiron (& he was so very wise), was so forgetful that though he had been berating liars just a little before, at the furthest extreme of deception he says to Odysseus he would sail away—and told Aias he will stay, but you believe he wasn't plotting, and considered Odysseus antiquated, and that he is superior to him by very means of this conniving and lying?

No, I believe not, Socrates; instead, through being persuaded of these very things in good faith he says different ones to Aias than he did to Odysseus; but what truths Odysseus speaks he says always with an ulterior motive, and tells as many lies in the same spirit.

Oh Odysseus is better, so it seems, than Achilles.

No, of course not a bit Socrates.

But why? Weren't men who purposely lie just shown to be better than unwitting liars?

And how, Socrates, would men who willingly do wrong and hatch plots on purpose and perform bad deeds be better than those who don't mean to, for whom a great deal of forgiveness is considered right—if someone, without knowing it, acts unjustly or lies or commits some other wrong? Even the laws are considerably harder on those who purposely perform evil acts, and tell awful lies, than they are on the unaware.

You do see, Hippias, that I am speaking reasons true when I talk about how I am intent on the questions of the wise? I am even bold enough to consider this one thing the only true good, holding the others of low esteem; because I get tripped up over how the facts are disposed, and I do not know how they really are. And for me sufficient proof of this truth is that whenever I associate with one of you who is well-regarded for wisdom, and with men whose wisdom all the Greeks are witness to, I seem to know nothing; 'cause none of the same things, so to speak, seems right to me and to you. Although what sign proves ignorance better than whenever one should disagree with men of wisdom? And I do consider this incredible fact to be the good which saves me, since I am not ashamed when I learn; instead I learn by asking questions and I am very grateful to the respondent, and I never cheat anyone out of goodwill due. But I never deny it when I happen to learn something, I don't consider the lesson to be my own discovery; instead I compliment the one who instructs me for being wise and I display what I learned from him. And what's more, at present I don't agree with your line of reasoning, in fact I am very much at odds with you; and I am certain that this difference is on my end because my nature is such as I am in order that I not say I am one bit better. Now it seems to me, Hippias, to be entirely the opposite of what you argue; the men who harm people and commit injustices and tell lies and deceive people and make mistakes voluntarily, but not, in general, unwillingly, are better than they who do not mean to. However, the contrary of these claims sometimes seems best to me and I wander around these truths, clearly on account of my not knowing; but right now, in the present situation I am out of sorts and I believe that they who willingly do wrong are a bit better than those who do so unintentionally. And I fault the prior arguments as cause of the current crisis to the effect that in the present case it now appears that those who unwillingly do all these things in the particulars are worse than ones who mean to. So do me a favor and don't refuse to heal my soul, since surely it is better by far for you to do me a good turn by cutting my mind off from ignorance than by curing an illness of the body. So if you want to speak a lengthy speech, I tell you right now that you would not cure me—for I won't follow you—but if you're willing to reply to me like you just did, you'll definitely assist me; and I think you yourself will be no worse off. I would quite rightly call you for help, too, Apemantos' son; but you have whet me for conversation, and now, if Hippias wishes not to answer me—you must beg him for me.

Oh Socrates, I don't think Hippias will have any need of our begging; he hasn't yet mentioned any such thing, actually he says that he will not run away from any man's inquiry. Isn't that right, Hippias? Wasn't this what you said?

True, I did; but Socrates, dear Eudikos, is always causing trouble in conversations and looks just like a serious trouble-maker.

My dearest Hippias, I certainly don't do these things on purpose—since I would truly be wise and terrible according to your logic—but rather inadvertently, so do forgive me: Since you, once again, say one should forgive a man who means to do no wrong.

Please do exactly this, Hippias; but both on our account and for the sake of your foregoing statements, do answer the questions Socrates will ask you.

Well I will answer, if you're asking: So, ask whatever you wish.

Truthfully, I ardently wish to look deeply into what is currently being said, which on earth are better: Men who willingly or unwillingly commit a wrong. I really do think, for the purpose of inquiring, that the most genuine way is to go about it in this manner. So answer me: Do you say a certain runner is good?

I call some that.

And worthless?

Yes.

Accordingly one who runs well is good, and one who runs horribly is bad?

Yes.

So then the slow runner runs badly and the quick one does well?

Yes.

Then in a race, you also have running fast as positive and being slow is negative?

But why would it [not]?

Then which is the better runner, the one who means to run slowly or who doesn't?

The willing one.

Then running is an act of doing something—like making poems?

Certainly, it's to create an effect.

But if "making" is to do something, isn't it also to do work?

Sure.

Ah, the one who runs badly works at this awfully embarassing performance in a race?

A terrible one, & how would he not?

And the slow runner runs badly?

Yes.

Therefore the good runner, of his own free will, accomplishes this bad and shameful effect, but the bad runner does so unwillingly?

Looks like it.

In a race, then, the man who unintentionally turns in a bad showing is more worthless than one who means to?

Sure, in racing.

What about in wrestling? Which wrestler is better, the one who falls intentionally or unintentionally?

The one who means to, it seems.

It is far worse, and a greater shame, to lose a wrestling match than to pin your opponent?

Fall and you lose.

And in a match, therefore, the wrestler that intentionally does a poor and pathetic job is better than the one who doesn't mean to?

Apparently.

And what about in every other use of the body? The man of superior physique is unable to accomplish both effects at once, in terms of strength and weakness, both ugly and lovely: So whenever he does something awful in relation to his body, the man who's in better shape conducts his business knowingly—but the one who's out of shape is unintentional?

It appears to be the case even in relation to matters of strength.

What about good posture, Hippias? Is it not of a better body to willingly assume an awful and painful position, but to do so unintentionally's of a worse one? But what do you think?

I agree.

And unshapeliness is a voluntary act dependent on a positive trait, but when involuntary it is from a bodily defect?

It appears to be.

And what do you state about voice? Do you say it is better to be purposely grating than involuntarily?

That the intentional discordance is preferrable.

And that it's a worse conditition to be so involuntarily?

Yes.

Would you take good possessions over bad ones?

I'd have the good ones.

Would you really rather have feet that are purposely misshapen, or crippled against your will?

On purpose.

But the quality of lame feet is not negative and unsightly?

Yes, it is.

What? Isn't poor vision a state of eyes' weakness?

True.

So which set of eyes would you want to possess and which would you rather live with? Ones that someone willingly sees poorly and squinty-eyed with, or unwillingly?

Ones that see willingly.

You believe that in your own affairs the things which willingly commit evils are better than the unwitting ones?

Such things are surely true.

Therefore one single principle encompasses everything, like ears and nostrils and a mouth and all the senses, and it states that the perceptions which unintentionally do harm are not worth having, as they are evil, while the ones that do so purposely are to be acquired since they're good.

Seems right to me, at least.

What? A better sense of involvement results from which tools, ones you intentionally produce bad effects with or unintentionally? For example, is the rudder with which one involuntarily misguides a ship better than one by which someone means to?

The latter.

And isn't it exactly the same way with a bow and lyre and flutes and all other things?

You speak the truth.

Why? Getting a horse whose temper is such that one voluntarily rides it badly is better than doing so unwillingly?

With a bad temper, willingly.

And that's a better horse?

Yes.

Then the actions of a soul from a horse with the better temper would willingly do evil things, and with the temper of a very bad horse it would be unwilling?

Of course.

So, same with a dog and all the other animals?

Yes.

Wait, what? Is it better to possess an archer's mind which purposely misses its target or a head which accidentally misses?

An eye that misses on purpose.

Then this is also a better soul as relates to archery?

Sure.

And a soul which inadvertently makes a mistake is more despicable than one that intends to?

In archery at any rate.

What about in medical practice? Isn't the one that purposely does a bad job on bodies more doctor-like?

Yes.

OK, so this skill in this form of practice is better than the non-medical kind?

Considerably.

But why? Take the art of playing a harp or flute, everything else that relates to these skills as forms of knowledge: Isn't the art or skill that knowingly creates bad works, ones to be ashamed of, and errs—isn't the unknowing one worse?

It seems to be.

But then, I imagine, we should accept the character of servants who willingly, rather than unwillingly, make mistakes and commit wrongs as they are better in regard to these things.

True.

But why? Shouldn't we want to have them with a mind that is as wonderful as possible?

Yes.

Then it will be a better soul that intentionally does evil work and wrongs; better than unintentionally?

But wouldn't it be awful, Socrates, if the men who purposely do wrong end up better off than ones who do it unintentionally?

But surely they do seem to be as a consequence of our statements.

Hm, not to me.

I thought they seemed so to you too, Hippias. Answer me again, is not justice either a certain type of ability or form of knowledge; or is it both? Doesn't justice have to be at least one of these things?

Yes, it must.

So if justice is therefore an ability, the more capable soul will be more a more just one? Since, I suppose, you most noble man, such a power appears better to us.

It does appear so, generally.

And what about if it is a type of knowledge? Isn't the soul that's more knowledgeable in wisdom a more just one, and the less informed soul is more unjust?

Yes.

But what about if it's both? Is not the soul that's thus in relation to both knowledge and power more just, and the one of greater ignorance more unjust? Isn't it necessarily so?

It seems so.

So the more powerful soul of greater wisdom appears to be better, as a proposition, and is of greater ability in doing both beautiful and ugly things according to its entire quality of action?

Certainly.

Why then whenever it produces unappealing actions, it does so willingly by means of its power and ability; but these facts appear under the auspices of justice, in reality either together or individually?

They appear to.

And acting unjustly is the act of doing bad things while not being unjust means to do virtuous ones?

Yes.

Therefore the more powerful soul is also a more noble one, even when it is unjust, it will intentionally do wrong; but the wicked soul acts unjustly against its own volition?

It appears so.

So the man who possesses a good soul is virtuous, and he with a bad one is evil?

Yes.

To purposely commit acts of injustice is an act of a good man provided that a bad one unintentionally does so—if the good man has a good soul?

Well that truly is the case.

Oh, so even if this particular man willingly commits errors and does ugly, unjust things, Hippias, he should be no different than the good man.

I don't have any grounds to agree with you on these matters, Socrates.

And I don't even agree with myself, Hippias: But it is necessary for us to appear like this for the time being, according to our conversation. However, as I've been saying for a while now, I have wandered all over the place in concern about this and things never seem right to me. And although I don't consider aimlessness any marvelous feat, and the same goes for personal disposition, still if wise men like yourselves will stray, this matter has already become terrible for us should we come to you not disabused of our error.

Euthyphro

What's the new news, Socrates? Why, have you left your pastimes at Apollo's gymnasium to pass the time here near the Magistrate's court? There's no way you also just happen to have a suit before the official as I do.

Certainly not, Euthyphro, what the Athenians term just—a suit; an indictment rather.

What do you mean? Someone has, so it seems, brought you up on charges; but I wouldn't make that the charge, that you indict another.

Certainly not.

Someone charged you?

That's the truth.

Who might this be?

I myself do not know the man, Euthyphro, very well. He seems to me some young lad, an unknown one. But they named him, I do believe, as Miletos; and he is from the Pittheus clan. If you recall to mind a man of that family name, Miletos; type of fellow with straight, smooth locks—and lightness of beard—but has a curved, charming nose.

I'm not picturing him, Socrates; but what charge has he filed against you?

What kind of charge? A fairly respectable one, I do believe: Since it is no minor matter, his being so young, to have realized such needed action. Now that one, as he says, knows what way the young people are being corrupted, and who the people corrupting them are. He must even happen to be a wise man and, after seeing my own ignorance—in belief that man's corrupting those of such an age,—he came intending to denounce me, as at one's mother, on behalf of the city's state. He even seems, I believe, to be the sole man in politics starting off right; since rightly to be concerned for the young is primary that they will become best: Just as is seen for right, a true tiller of the ground to take care of the young vines first, and after this come also the rest. As is evidenced that Miletos perhaps first clears us off, the ones ruining the young peoples' growth, so he says; since after this is clear that by caring for the elderly, he will be responsible for the most benefits and greatest good for Athens—as at least seems likely to happen for one started out from so authoritative an outset.

I would prefer it, Socrates; but I'm afraid the opposite may occur: Now, seems to me he simply sets out from the fire's place to harm our city's state in trying to victimize you. And tell me, what does he say you even do to mislead the kids?

Things strange, you admirable man, as these here to hear; for he says I'm a maker up Gods, also that I create new gods and not believing in the ancient ones he alleged because of these very acts: So he states.

I see, Socrates: It's because you say the supernatural happens to you repeatedly. So because of belief you carve a new vein concerning the divine, he has charged this allegation; and certainly slanderous does he come to court, knowing such things easily hook the masses. Because even myself, truth be told, when I state something about the divinities in the citizens' assembly—for telling them what is to come—they laugh like at a crazy man: And yet, I have not once said anything untrue whenever I foretell the future; nonetheless, they are jealous of all such as we who are like this. Though one must not consider these, but have it out instead.

But maybe, Euthyphro my dear friend, being laughed at is no matter at all. Now for Athenians surely, as I do believe, it is not especially of concern should they consider somebody clever—that is, unless disposed to teaching one's own personal wisdom; but they'd think he makes even other people like this: They therefore get angry whether, as you figure, it is out of envy or by some other cause.

Then about this right here, how ever it is they're disposed to me: I'm not very eager to experiment.

Well perhaps you think you scarcely present yourself and that you are unwilling to teach your knowledge of wisdom. Though I am afraid, through my love of humanity, I seem to them exactly like I can so effusively pour myself out to every man I speak to; not only for free, but that I would quite happily even be put out of pocket if someone cares to hear me. So then, as I was saying even now, if they would laugh—just like you say you felt—it would be nothing too unpleasant to put up with them making fun of one at court. But if they're going to be respectful, the way in which this will turn out—opacity except to you seers.

But perhaps it won't be any concern, Socrates; instead, you will fight your case quite mindfully while I think I too shall win mine.

An indictment for you, really Euthyphro? Are you defending or per suing?

I am plaintiff.

Pursuing what?

A man I am thought insane, yet again!, to pursue charges against.

And why's this—does your prey fly on wings?

He's far from taking flight; the man happens to be quite very old.

Who is this?

He's my father.

Your own, oh most noble sir!

Absolutely correct.

But what is the accusation, and what is the suit for?

A charge of murder, Socrates.

By god's own son! Oh Euthyphro, is it that so many miss how the right way is? But I just cannot believe to act rightly is a man's succeeding at this; more like one who goes already a bit too far beyond wisdom.

Far enough by God, dear Socrates.

But the dead man is, surely, a family member deceased of your own dad; or I suppose it is clear? Since you certainly would not charge him with a vengeance for murder on another's behalf.

Funny that you think there a difference whether the man killed is a stranger or relative, but not that this alone must one watch out for: Whether the killer slew him rightfully or no.—and if it was legal, to let it go; but if not, one needs to proceed, even if the murderer lives in your own home and sits down to dine with you (since the guilt does equally defile should you live associating knowingly with such a one if you do not cleanse yourself by atoning and proceed to prosecute that man). The dead man, in fact, was a worker of mine and since we farm in Naxos, the servant was there working on our land. But when he was belligerently drunk and had been angered by one of our household slaves, he killed him. Then my father tied him up by the feet and hands, threw him into some ditch and sends a man back to get legal advice from a religious expert on what to do. But in this span of time, dad took little thought of the tied-up man and neglected him as a murderer, it being no concern if he should perish—so then this is what also happened: For he has died from hunger and cold and because of chains before the messenger came back from the Oracle's representative. So this is what both my father and the rest of my family are also sore about because I prosecute for murder, on a murderer's behalf, my father who did not commit murder, so those people say; and if he did kill him in particular,—the deceased being a homicide,—one should not worry about it as such: That is immoral, a son to attack his father for just punishment of death—but they're looking at it wrong, Socrates, the religious as it is both about holiness and in relation of what's wrong.

Indeed you do think you know from God himself so precisely about matters divine, how they are disposed concerning things religious and the unholy so that—with these affairs so accomplished, as you state—you have no fear in passing judgment on your father as to how you may happen to perform an act of impiety?

It'd be ill of use to me, Socrates, and Euthyphro would not be any different than most people if I don't know such things as these, all of them, exactly.

Then it is far best for me, Euthyphro you are incredible!, to become your disciple, and in response to the accusation—the one about Miletos—best too to challenge him on these very facts and argue that even in the past I made quite the effort to know about matters divine, and now since that man says I act speaking thoughtlessly and err in cutting a new mold about the divinities, I have actually become your student—"And if, on the one hand Miletos," I'd say, "you do agree that Euthyphro is wise with respect to such things, consider how I am also practicing correct belief and drop your charges against me: If on the other hand you refuse, bring a suit against that teacher before you do me alleging he's corrupting his elders, both myself and his own father by instructing me and berating to punish him"—and should I fail to convince and not get the action dismissed, have you charged before me instead, is it best to say these very things before the judges I appealed to challenge him?

My God, Socrates; then if he tried to have me indicted, I might find, I suppose, some way in which he is not right and our argument would have pertained a lot sooner to that other guy in court than be about myself.

And truly, my dear companion, in sight of all this I want to be made your pupil knowing that any given other, sure—as well as this guy Miletos—while they simply seem not to see you, he perceived me so pointed and easily that he wrote me up for impiety. So now, by god Zeus tell me what at present you assert you so reliably know about what kind of thing is holiness and sacrilege, both concerning murder and the rest? Or is 'piety' itself the same as itself in every action, and ungodliness, conversely, is opposed to the pious in every case, but is similar to itself also in possessing one particular appearing in relation to its most ungodly form—the every same thing which should, will be impiety?

Doubtless totally, my Socrates.

Do tell me already, what holy piety is and what is impious unholiness?

Well I mean then that the holy is just what I am doing right now, when someone is behaving wrongly as relates to capital crimes like misrepresenting the sacred or something else such as this, it's to prosecute the one who is at fault—whether he happens to be a father, your mother or whomever else; but that not to proceed being impious: Since, Socrates, I shall tell you a proof to view how our customary is so of divine law—which I already told others also, that these things might turn out rightly so—let none chance they may, even be anyone who might, give in to an impious man. Now, the very people who do honor to Zeus for being the chief and most law-abiding of the gods also agree on this point, that he bound his father for trying to consume his own sons (which was unwarranted) and that God it was in return castrated him by cause of other acts like this; but they are angry at me that I go after my father for being unjust and thus do they contradict their own arguments concerning the gods and about me.

Well this isn't the reason why I'm being prosecuted, that whenever someone makes claims such as these about the gods, I accept it somewhat argumentatively—is it? Because, so it seems, someone will say I am at fault. So now if these things do seem right to you too, who are well aware of such matters, it really is necessary, as it appears, that we defer to you. Since what will we even say, I mean also ourselves agree to know nothing about them? But tell me—by God friend—you really think these things happened like this?

As well as things even more amazing than these, Socrates, which most people do not know of.

And the war, you believe there really was one between the gods, terribly bitter rivalries as well, and battles and a lot of other such sort of things which are both stated by the poets and by talented artists, even other divine accounts depicted for us, in particular at the great Panathenaeum festival where the tapestry rich in such designs is taken up to the Acropolis? Ought we say these truths are facts, Euthyphro?

Not only that, Socrates, but what I was just now saying; and I'll describe a lot of other things to you, if you wish, concerning the divine: When you hear them, I'm certain you will be shocked.

I wouldn't be surprised; but tell me these things in detail for one time more at your convenience: Now try to say more clearly just what I was asking you.—'cause you, my friend, showed me well enough earlier when I asked what ever the holy is; but tell me how this thing—holiness—happens to be what you do in prosecuting your father for murder.

And I was speaking truthfully, Socrates.

Perhaps: But the truth is, Euthyphro, you also say a lot of other things are holy.

They are, in fact.

Then remember that I advocated not for you to explain to me one or two of the many holy things, but that very form by which the pieties all are holy? Because you were saying surely by means of one single type both that unholy things are impious and things pious are holy: Or do you forget?

I recall.

Then go ahead and show me this apparent ideal, what on earth it is, in order that by looking to and using it as example's self—which such a thing should be, of those which either you might or someone else could use—, I may say is holiness and what could not be such I'd say is not.

If you want so, Socrates, I will tell you like this.

Well really, I do wish.

The thing that's dear to the Gods is therefore holy, but if not loved by them would be unholy.

All right, Euthyphro, and just as I kept searching for you to answer, now in the same way am I also do respond: However, whether it be true—I am not certain yet; but you clearly will fully prove what reasons you stated as really true.

Oh, quite so.

Come on, let's examine what we say. Both piety and a pious person are holy while that which god detests, whether object or man, is impious: But it's not the same thing, entirely opposite rather—the holy in relation to impiety; isn't that so?

So then it is.

And seems to be said well enough?

I think so, Socrates (that's what they say).

Then also that the gods, Euthyphro, team up and quarrel with one another and have rivalries amongst them against each other, and this also is said?

Why, it's spoken of.

But the difference between whose what, most noble fellow, makes hostility and angry feelings? We should look into thus: If you and I were at odds over a total, about which of two groups was greater, the difference concerning these might make us hostile enemies; or, were we to arrive at a sum in direct relation to such things, would we get over it so quick?

Pretty surely.

Therefore, should we differ also about something greater and one smaller, if we were to go measure, we would fast depart from our dispute.

These matters are fact.

And even if we came to weight in, as I imagine, might we make distinction about the heavier and lighter both?

& why not?

What about, indeed, if we disagree, and in relation to what capacity for judgment, were we unable to reach decision; would we be each other's enemy in a rage? Perhaps it's not inconvenient to you, but—as I'm reasoning—look at whether these things are both right and wrong, fair and ugly, good and evil. Is it not that these relate to what we just disagreed about and, incapable even of recourse to a sufficient choice, do we turn hateful to one another, whenever we become enemies,—both you and I and all other people too?

But the disagreement is this, Socrates, and over these facts.

But what are the gods, Euthyphro? Even if they do not quarrel, might they differ about these very facts?

They certainly must.

And certain of the gods—you see, my noble Euthyphro—variously consider some things lawful according to your rationale, and lovely and shameful and great and bad: But certainly they can't have gone to war against each other if they weren't at odds over these things? Isn't that right?

You're speaking reasonably.

Consequently, they all individually believe beautiful things are also good and right, they even love these traits, but despise their opposite?

No doubt.

And the same stuff, so you say, some think just and others wrong over which they form factions in disagreement and attack each other—this is the case?

It is.

Wow, it looks like the same things are hated and loved by the gods, and the same matters would be divinely both detested and dear?

Apparently.

Then both holy things and impieties will prove to be the same, oh Euthyphro, to judge by this line of reasoning?

Chance may be.

You did not answer the question I just posed, you curious wonder. Though, I wasn't asking this per se—what manages to be the same as both pious and unholy—but what maybe might be dear to the divine and hateful to them—as seems likely: I mean so that what you do now in punishing your father be no matter for amazement if by doing this you render service pleasing to Zeus, but hated by Kronos and Uranos; an act dearly beloved to Hephaistos, but also hostile to Hera.—and if there is some other god differs from a different one on the subject disputing in turn, also to those gods according to the same facts

But Socrates, I think, at least about this here, none of the Gods each disagrees at odds with an-other differing as if there were no need to pay the penalty for any man who kills another wrongly.

But why? Have you heard someone disputing that one who kills unjustly or does something else unlawful, whatever it is, ought not pay a penalty?

Actually, they stop at nothing to make these challenges in a lot of places, ways—even in courts of law: Since they commit all manner of wrongs, they do and say an awful lot when they're put on trial.

It's true even they agree, Euthyphro, that they're wrong and despite their agreement, don't they still say they should not be penalized?

Absolutely, this is fact!

So they don't do and say any old thing; as I believe they wouldn't dare to argue in disputing this as fact, that if they do not harm—they must stand trial; rather, I think they say they are not guilty: Right?

You are asserting truths.

Then they do not dispute that is the case—as if it were not necessary for the wrong-doer to offer amends—but rather they fairly contend who is at fault, both for doing what and when.

Your assertions are true.

Therefore the Gods also come to be subjected these exact things if they bicker about what is right and wrong, as your argument states; and some men say they do each other harm while others disagree? Since clearly neither a divine nor human being, you amazing man, is so senseless as to argue against this bit, that it's the one who commits wrong by whom justice must be served.

Yes, this you speak is true, oh Socrates, at least in the abstract...

But I think, Euthyphro, the claimants dispute each, every point as carried out in act—people as well as gods—that is, if the gods have disagreements; though differing as concerns some action, some claim a transaction has been rightly carried out while others say it's been unjustly done: Isn't this right?

Of course.

Come now, my friend, show me too (so I may become more wise) what proof you have that all the gods believe that man suffered a wrongful death.—the one who after slaying a man while employed as laborer got tied-up by his master because of the one who died and he sooner gains his end on account of the chains before the man who bound him learned what must one do from the authorities on burial and homicide, and on behalf of such a man it indeed is proper for his son to proceed against and incriminate the father for murder? Come and, as regards these matters, try to clarify something specifically for me as to how above all the gods consider this one act to be right: And should you demonstrate this sufficiently plain to me, I will never stop singing your praises famed for wisdom.

Well perhaps it is no small task, Socrates, since I would positively be able to show you.

I understand; it's because I seem to you less of a worthy student than the judges, since you clearly indicate for those men both how unjust acts are and that every one of the gods hates such things.

Positively clear, Socrates, especially if they hear me speaking.

Oh, they will listen—if you are thought to speak reasonably. I came to realize this as you were explaining and I considered it personally: "If that in particular which Euthyphro points out as true, how all the gods consider a death such as this to be unjust is wrong—what more have I to learn from him with respect to what on earth 'the religious' is and what is its opposite? Actually, this ought be it in deed, as it seems: What is hated by the divine. But really, as relates to this fact they appear forever indistinct—divided presently as piety and what it is if not: Since being hated appears also loved by the gods." As a result, I'll let you go on this: If you wish, let all gods and every one of them hating consider it injustice itself. But this correction do we now stipulate in the argument—how what all gods hate is impious and that which they love is holy: And what some love while others hate it,—one way or another, neither; both—then you want us to distinguish about "the pious" and the ungodly just like this?

And what's to prevent it, Socrates?

Nothing stopping me, Euthyphro, but have a look at your own thought: If assuming this premise is so easy, you will show me what your proposition states.

Well I should say piousness is this: What all the gods would cherish; and its opposite, which the gods all detest, is unholy.

Then let's review this again, Euthyphro, to see if our argument's well-stated; or ought we let it go and accept this hypothesis as our own, which other folks assume—if someone should say some thing carries weight on its own, would we so agree it holds true? Or must what the speaker argues for be looked into?

Have to look in to that: Although, I personally think this here now is well argued.

My good man, we are about to now improve. But consider such proposition as this: Is 'the Holy' loved by the gods because it's piety, or is whatever's loved by the gods holy & pious?

I don't know what you mean, Socrates.

Rather, I'll try to relate it a bit more clearly. Do we say something gets carried and carries, and is led on also leading, even seen & seeing and all other such things you learn to notice—either of two things are other than each other, even how different?

I believe that, myself, I understand.

Then there is also something loved and a thing's other to this, that which does love?

Sure, why not?

Tell me whether the carried object is brought off because it is said to succeed at it, or by some other cause.

No, rather through this.

And that which is led, surely, by cause it is guided; and what is seen since it's viewed?

Yeah, OK.

Then a thing is not really seen because it is looked at, instead its opposite—since it's seen—on account of this being perceived: It is not that something guided, because of this, gets led—rather because it is led, for this reason it's referred to as guided: A thing is not carried because it gets toted, but rather as it is carried an object is borne. Is it elucidated, oh Euthyphro, what I want to convey? But I want this should mean, if something happens or happens to someone, not that whatever it is occurring simply happens, but that which happens is an event's own occurrence: What happens to someone they do not suffer, rather whatever the experience as is impression. Or do you not concur thus?

No, I do.

Therefore even that which is loved or happens is what, an occurrence experienced by somebody?

Yes I agree.

Ah!, even this then is just as the foregoing: Not because a thing is loved is it felt as love of those whom it's loved by, but because it is experienced as being loved?

It must.

Well what then are we saying about the pious, Euthyphro? But that it is whichever thing is loved by all the gods, as you argue?

Certainly.

It's because of this that thing is holy, or by some other fact?

No, it's because of this.

Oh, since it is piety it's loved—and not because it is loved—on account of this holy fact it is pious?

Apparently.

So the outcome, I guess, is as it's loved so an object cherished by the gods is also dear to them?

And how would it not?

Then what's dearly loved by the divine is not pious, dear Euthyphro, nor is piety just loved by the gods as you claim; insteatd our explanation is other than this?

How is that, Socrates?

Since we agree "the pious" gets loved because of this fact, that is, it's piety; but not that because it is loved is it pious: That right?

Agreed.

Say what's loved by gods as that which is held dear to the divine, by means of this very act in being loved, is cherished—but not because it is dear to the divine, that for this cause is loved?

Your reasons speak truth.

But if what the gods love and the holy were thing one and the same, that is piety, whether on the one hand the pious were loved by virtue of its being holy and on account of its being loved by gods it was cherished as dear to them, or on the other, because of being loved by divine gods that which the gods love they were to cherish dearly—even the pious would be holy through its being loved: And now you see how it is otherwise disposed, since they are both entirely either to each other. For in the first place, that which is loved, is which sort of thing receives affection; but conversely, the type of thing which is loved, because of this affection is dear cared for; and you, Euthyphro, happen to—in posing the question with respect to holiness, "What is piety?"—wish not to clarify the matter's substance to me, but claim there is some quality about it that piety is affected this holy state—to be loved by all beings divine: But what it is you've yet to say. So if it's beloved to you, in order you not hide it from me, rather please explain again from the top what on earth the holy is, whether it is by gods' love or some state of experience—since we will not have disagreements concerning this—instead do tell willingly what is piety and what the irreligious is?

But Socrates, I do not have any means to tell you what I bear in mind: For we have somehow gone always around what we were to be running toward and it does not want to stay somewhere we might set it down.

These statements of yours, Euthyphro, look to be those of our ancestor Dædalus. And if I were to posit explaining them as a reasonable position, perhaps you would have me as the butt of a joke on the grounds that both the effect of labored explanations shies away from me in relation to how the running argument goes and wants not to remain anywhere run might set it down: But up to now (since the suppositions are your own). Indeed, as an other point there missing joke; for they do not wish to wait for you, as you can see yourself.

Seems to me pretty nearly the same joke, Socrates, that the words you tie up are bound to lack: Because this circumlocution in them "will not stay in place,/[w]ill not stay still.", I am no inspired man; but you seem to me—you Dædalus!, since these accounts keep waiting not on my account, at least.

Then you run the risk, my friend, of becoming that much more clever than this, our forebear in terms of skilled art by such self-same extent he created his own objects so artistic they seemed to move, so do I make even another type of thing—as so it seems—not stay still in relation to my own concerns. And truly, this is the most intelligent aspect of my way, that I am unwittingly wise: Because I would prefer my statements remain words and run staying fixed motionless instead of being engaged in Dædalus' skillful knowledge made into the wealth of needy Tantalos. As if that weren't enough, since you seem a bit soft to me, I shall myself consent to show you how one may instruct me concerning holiness. And so you don't slack off: Forsooth, whether it seems required to you that what is right must be entirely just holiness.

For my part, agreed.

Then is also everything which is upright, pious? Or is the holy entirely just, and what is just right's not altogether godliness—but part of it, holy, and the rest as some thing and else?

Socrates, I'm not responding to your thoughts expressed.

And in truth, though younger than I am you are no less than smarter by that same degree of difference: But what I mean is, you are too much—by cause of riches, for wisdom. But do, you blessed soul, be prepared and intent: For really understanding what I mean to say is no difficult task. Because I argue the converse of what the poet who made poetic this verse says,

Even the man who planted all this couldn't want to blame God who
Begets everything, true: For where fear is will be respect's awe too.

So, I take this differently than the poet; tell you how?

Of course.

I don't think it means 'so that fear may be there should be shame too'—although a lot of people seem to me terrified, also scared of diseases and poverty, afraid of a great many such evils while being not one bit respectfully fearful of those things which terrify them; that seem right to you too?

Of course.

But it says where there is awe, there is also fear: Since there exists the sort of man who is god-fearing regarding some matter, and though ashamed, has not come to be frightened, or worries about no reputation of ill-repute?

So, then he is afraid.

Oh, no; this is invalid as reasoning: For where fear is will be respect's awe, too; but in order there be respectful awe even where there is fear, but not that fear be everywhere awe. What's more, I think fear is a form of awe's own.—respect, since it's a portion of fear like something too great in amount; so that it's not just where quantity is would be excess: But where is too much there must also be measure. You follow that, somewhat, now?

Absolutely.

Although even arguing such a thing begs the question: Justice's right next to also being devout? Or where devotion is pure, is there also just right; but for justice to be right, not in every case holy: But is piety just a limb from the body of right? Do we talk like this, or you think it's otherwise?

No, like thus; since you appear to reason correctly, I guess.

See closely the thing after this: Now, if the pious is moiety's share of justice, it is our need to discover truly what sort of part this takes as holiness in relation to what is just. So then, if you ask me about matters current, like of what sort is allotted when even in number and what does it happen this number would be—I'd say it were not odd, but rather equal: don't you think?

Seems right, to me.

Then you try too and in like manner show me what part of justice is spirituality so we may reasonably claim, even to Miletos, that we have not acted wrongly or been justifiably indicted for atheism; as men ostensibly have come to know quite well enough from you about things religious and reverence, also what they are not.

Well, really I think this, Socrates, portion of justice is religious doctrine in relation to dutiful service of the Gods and as relates to caring for human beings; that which remains seems a part of being just.

And you seem to me, Euthyphro, to reason quite admirably; but I still lack one little thing: For I am yet to understand service, that which you term it as. But you perhaps do not name, I'd guess, what sort of services they are and with reference to other things, like in service as to gods—our logical claim, right?—the sort of thing we say about horses: Not that every man knows how to tend to them, but that their trainer; in truth?

Does without a doubt.

Since equestrianism tends to train horses:

Yeah.

No one truly knows how to tend to dogs except the hunter who raises them.

Putting it simply.

Because hunting, no doubt, tends to graze dogs—

Sure.

And to be a cowboy, serve cattle?

Pretty much.

It indeed is both devout service and reverence of gods, Euthyphro? So you state?

I do say so.

Then every form of service, brought about the same end? Which sort of thing follows here: Assuming it as a good which assists the beneficiary, just like so you see that horses, when serviced by horsemanship, they profit and are made better.—or do they seem to you not?

I think they do.

And dogs, for example, do so gain from being tended to, and cows, and all other things as like so: Or in case of harm to the one receiving service, do you think it is true service?

My God, oh no.

But you do if it helps?

How could I not?

Then truly even religious service being gods' is both to assist them and magnify them as gods? And would you also grant one that whenever you do something pious, you cause some portion of the gods to become more holy?

By Zeus I do not!

But I don't think you, Euthyphro, are considering this—even I am quite a way off—but for this reason I also tried asking you what on earth you say service of the gods means because I didn't believe you stated as such.

And rightly so, Socrates: For I've not mentioned it much.

Well: What service of gods would be the righteous one?

The very one, Socrates, which the servants do in serving their masters.

I know; that would be, so it seems, a certain waiting on gods.

So, certainly then.

Then you might be able to say in treatment of what business the practice doctors administer happens to be service-oriented? You don't believe it's for health?

In fact I do.

And what about the work of shipbuilders? You could say to the business of what action their engineering is serviceable?

Clearly, Socrates, for the production of a boat.

Even construction workers serve to build houses?

Yup.

You great man, do say: The act of tending to gods, towards fulfillment of what effort would it be of service? For it is clear that you know, seeing as how you say you're the one who knows, it's the divine things best.

And I do speak true words, Socrates.

Then proclaim by God himself what on earth that divinely good work is which the gods make cause complete employing us as their servants?

Oh Socrates, a lot of beautiful things.

And the Generals too, my friend? But you could nonetheless quite easily say their objective is to produce victory in war: Don't you?

But how could I not?

I think farmers also accomplish a lot of splendid things: Though the sum of them is—as the finishing touch—their nourishment out of the ground.

Undoubtedly.

But what about the many, and lovely, things which the gods produce? What is the foremost summary of its production?

I told you a little earlier even, Socrates, that these things are all of a much greater labor to learn precisely how they hold true: However, I do tell you this quite simply, that if someone understands both how to pronounce things that are gratifying to the Gods and do this while praying in sacrifice, the sacred things exist in the form of these acts and such matters preserve people's own home and the public concerns of their cities; but the opposite of things which have been made acceptable are impious—they're things that subvert everything unto destruction.

Really, very true I beg of you, sincere Euthyphro, far in fewer words; if you wanted, you would've tried to say just the main point of what I asked: But no, rather you are—so clearly, too—eager to teach me. And what's more, now just when you were towards it you gave up the distinction which, had you answered,—I would have learned from you as realization what divine law purely is. Now, since the questioner must follow the inquired wherever the latter may drag him, what once again do you say the religious is and why holiness? Do you not argue it as some particular awareness of offering both sacrifice and prayer?

I gather it is.

Then you claim burnt offerings are the gods' to be offered, and that they demand prayer?

Oh very much so, Socrates.

Then understanding the gods in terms of commandment and giving ought be divinely sanctioned knowledge—by this, your argument?

Wonderfully well, oh Socrates! You understood what I said.

Because I am a lover, dear friend, of your wisdom and I have paid attention to it so that which you speak shall not fall into the dust. Instead, do assert for me what is this service to the gods? Are you saying you believe it both what they ask for and you bestow on them?

That's true, I am.

So it's not that asking appropriately can be what we beg of them; you mean they ask for these things?

But why, what?

Again the act of properly giving the things those Gods do happen to demand of us, you're saying these are given back to them in turn? But it certainly cannot be a teachable skill that offers these gifts to someone—to bring presents—which are not at all needed.

True, Socrates, you've a point.

Then the art of religious piety would be, Euthyphro, a skilled kind of trade for gods and human beings between each other?

Like commerce, if calling it so pleases you.

On the contrary, I find nothing pleasant unless it happens to be true. But tell me what advantage the gods profit by the gifts they accept from us? Since what they give to everyone is clear: For we have no good thing which would exist unless those gods grant it. And that service they receive from us, what benefit for them? Or do we get so much greater a deal than they in relation to our trade we take all that which is good from them, but they are in receipt of nothing from us?

But Socrates, you think the Gods are helped by these offerings which they take from us?

But what in the world would these things be, straight from your heart—the gifts from us for the gods?

What else do you believe it is besides honor and its reward even—what I was just, have been saying—it's grace?

Aha!, true devotion is that which given freely satisfies, Euthyphro; but isn't that assistance also dearly beloved to the gods?

I do suppose it most cherished of all—everything.

Then this, once more—as it appears to be—is piety: What wholly pleases the gods?

Absolutely certain.

Then you're astonished to utter these statements wondering if the arguments, you find, seem to go about instead of standing still and you accuse me of making them move on like Daedalus since I myself am rather a bit more skilled than Daedalus even at creating mazes that zero in? But don't you realize our conversation has just come right back around to the same point? For certain you recall previously that the pious & holy both seem not the same to us and appeared to differ from each other: Remember?

Oh I recollect.

Then you are reflecting on how you say the holy dear to gods is selfless love? And this is no-thing other than becomes true devotion—right?

Very true.

So either we just now did not agree each with the other properly or if we were, now we are putting it incorrect?

It seems...

A need, once again, to examine what the pious is from its beginning as a rule because until I know for my self, I will not back down. But don't look down on me; instead, hold your intention entirely fixed that, right this very now, you speak the truth: Now you know even if you were some person else, you are not to be dismissed as a fickle Proteus until you speak. Because if you did not know accurately about holiness and sacrilege, there is simply no way you could ever try to, on behalf of a hired hand, proceed against an old man like your dad for charge of murder; no, if that were the case you would even be so terrified of the Gods to hazard risking this—in fear that doing it you might be wrong,—and become disgraced before the people: But now you know for certain that you clearly think you know, in general, both what the religious is, what isn't. So say it, most blessed Euthyphro, and conceal not what you believe it as.

Once again, well then... But Socrates, now you're getting a bit involved; and it's time for me to go.

To do whatever you do, my friend; in leaving you ruin me—my hope, I came to great expectation that if I learned religion from you, about the impious too, I will be reconciled with the charge Miletos claims by confessing to him that I am become now wise because of Euthyphro about the heavenly as truth demonstrated even that I no longer act ignorant in speaking my mind I introduce not new ideas about the divine and above all about the rest, my life would that I might live a better one.