Digression 1, Socrates’ retreat into ignorance - the Charmides, Hippias Major, Lysis, Clitopho, and Hippias Minor, with reference to the Seventh Letter

In my previous post I discussed Socrates’ ‘if I think anyone else has the natural capacity to look to one and the many, I pursue him in his footsteps, behind him, as if he were a god’ (Phaedrus 266b5-7), with which he reflected on the two methodical principles of dialectic, which he has announced (265d-266b). I argued that the only person that Socrates could consider to be better than himself in having ‘the natural capacity to look to one and the many’ was Plato. Having discovered the Form thanks to the impact that the fixation of Socrates’ mind on the definitions of moral terms had on his own mind – he realised that Socrates must be fixing his mind on a completely different entities than those perceived by our senses, which he believed to be caught in the Heracleitean flux, Plato had every reason to take Socrates’ words as pointing at himself. But what impact did these words have on Socrates, when he saw them written in the Phaedrus? The five dialogues which followed the Phaedrus – the Charmides, Hippias Major, Lysis, Clitopho, and Hippias Minor – indicate that Socrates reacted to the Phaedrus by retreating into philosophic ignorance. These dialogues I shall discuss in the present post.

Plato says in his Seventh Letter that in his youth he desired to enter on a political career. I infer from the Letter that this desire was the strongest in the last year of the democracy, i.e. in 405, the year in which, I believe, he wrote the Phaedrus, the second part of which is marked by his desire to enter politics in democracy. He says in the Letter that when the democracy was replaced by the aristocrats, who immediately invited him to join their administration, although he thought ‘that they would administer the State by leading it out of an unjust life into a just way’ (ek tinos adikou biou epi dikaion tropon agontas dioikȇsein tȇn polin), instead of joining them, he ‘watched with the keenest interest (autois sphodra proseiche ton noun) what they would do (ti praxoien, 324d4-6).’ In this period of ‘waiting’, I believe, he wrote the Charmides. But then he ‘saw how these men within a short time caused men to look back on the former government as a golden age’ (horȏn dȇpou tous andras en chronȏi oligȏi chruson apodeixai tȇn emprosthen politeian, 324d7-8), and in consequence, he says, ‘I was indignant (eduscherana te), and I withdrew myself from the evil practices then going on (kai emauton epanȇgagon apo tȏn tote kakȏn, 325a4-5)’; to this short interval of his ‘withdrawal’ I assign the Hippias Major. Then the oligarchs were defeated by the democrats, ‘who exercised great moderation’ (pollȇi echrȇsanto epieikeiai, 325b4-5). And so, Plato says, ‘then once again (palin de), though more slowly (braduteron men), I was carried by a desire to take part in public and political affairs (heilken de me homȏs hȇ peri to prattein ta koina kai politika epithumia, 325a7-b1)’. To this period, which ended with Socrates’ trial and death, I assign the Lysis, Clitopho, and Hippias Minor – and the Meno, which I shall discuss in Digression 2.

In the Phaedrus Plato put into Socrates’ mouth the apodictic proof of the immortality of soul founded on the conception of soul as ‘self-moving motion’ (to auto heauto kinoun, 245e7-246a1). In the Charmides Socrates lists ‘motion that moves itself’ (kinȇsis autȇ heautȇn kinein, 168e9-10) among the notions that he does not believe himself to be competent to settle (egȏ men ou pisteuȏ emautȏi hikanos einai tauta dielesthai, 169a7-8). Since the Charmides is dramatically dated in the year of Plato’s birth, it was a good place to combine Socrates’ retreat into ignorance with a prophetic pointer towards ‘the great man who will be needed’ (megalou dȇ tinos andros dei) to discover which of the things which exist can relate its power to itself, if any (169a). Furthermore, in the unfolding of the divine love in the Phaedrus the central role is played by ‘the nature of Beauty’ (hȇ tou kallous phusis) which the lover sees ‘as it stands side by side with Self-control on a holy pedestal’ (meta sȏphrosunȇs en hagnȏi bathrȏi bebȏsa, 254b). In the Charmides Socrates ends his investigation of self-control by bewailing his inability to discover what it is. But at this point Plato didn’t take Socrates’ retreat into ignorance very seriously. The young Charmides says ‘but I don’t really believe you at all’ (egȏ mentoi ou panu soi peithomai, 176b1), expressing his desire to be guided by Socrates towards elf-control. Charmides’ guardian Critias – who at the time of Plato’s writing the Charmides was about to become the leader of ‘the Thirty tyrants’ – not only approves of Charmides’ resolve, but commands him never to desert Socrates (mȇ apoleipȇi toutou, 176b7).

Plato’s desire to enter politics – or better to say, his engagement in politics of those days – transpires in the closing scene of the dialogue. When Socrates asks what the two of them are ‘conspiring about doing’ (ti bouleuesthon poiein), Charmides answers that they’ve done their conspiring (bebouleumetha). At which point Socrates asks: ‘Are you going to resort to the use of force (Biasȇi ara), without even giving me a preliminary hearing in court (kai oud’anakrisis moi dȏseis;)?’ – Charmides: ‘I shall resort to force (Hȏs biasomenou), since Critias here orders me to (epeidȇper hode ge epitattei); in view of this (pros tauta) you now consider (su au bouleuou) what you will do (hoti poiȇseis).’ – Socrates: ‘But there is no consideration left (All’ oudemia leipetai boulȇ), for when you’re intent on doing something (soi gar epicheirounti prattein hotioun) and are resorting to force (kai biazomenȏi), no man will be able to resist you (oudeis hoios t’ estai enantiousthai anthrȏpȏn).’ – Charmides: ‘Well then (Mȇ toinun), don’t you resist me either (mȇde su enantiou).’ – Socrates: ‘I won’t resist you then (Ou toinun enantiȏsomai).’ (176c5-d5) – As can be seen, Plato’s reaction to Socrates’ retreat into ignorance was coloured by his desire to engage in politics.

Plato was obviously well aware that the Thirty needed Socrates if they were to ‘administer the State by leading it out of an unjust life into a just way’, and he was afraid that it would not be easy for Socrates to adhere to their wishes, but he had hoped it could be done.

It took Plato a very short time to realise how iniquitous were the practices of the Thirty: ‘Among other things (ta te alla) they sent for Socrates, an older friend of mine, whom I would not hesitate to call the best man then living, and sent him with a number of others (kai philon andra emoi presbuteron Sȏkratȇ, hon egȏ schedon ouk an aischunoimȇn eipȏn dikaiotaton einai tȏn tote) to arrest one of the citizens and bring him to execution (epi tina tȏn politȏn meth’ heterȏn epempon, biai axonta hȏs apothanoumenon). Their purpose in this was to involve Socrates in their actions (hina dȇ metechoi tȏn pragmatȏn autois), whether he liked it or not (eite bouloito eite mȇ), but Socrates, so far from obeying, was prepared to risk everything rather than participate in their infamous deeds (ho d’ ouk epeitheto, pan de parekinduneusen pathein prin anosiȏn autois ergȏn genesthai koinȏnos).’ (324d8-325a3, translation Walter Hamilton)

In consequence, Plato gave up on politics: ‘I withdrew myself from the evil practices then going on’. Bury’s ‘I withdrew myself‘ stands for Plato’s emauton epanȇgagon, where the verb epanagȏ means ‘to bring up’, ‘to elevate’, an expression well chosen for the activity in which he became engaged; in the Hippias Major he turned his eyes up to the Beautiful itself.

In the introductory discussion Hippias presents himself as a successful politician and businessman; he has succeeded in transforming the task of teaching wisdom into a profitable business, which he combined with his political activities; his countrymen often sent him to other cities as their ambassador. He tells Socrates that in Athens he is going to give a talk on ‘the beautiful practices (peri epitȇdeumatȏn kalȏn) to which a young man ought to devote himself (ha chrȇ ton neon epitȇdeuein, 286a3-5)’: ‘So make sure you come (all’ hopȏs paresȇi kai autos) and bring others (kai allous axeis), who will be able to listen and judge critically what has been said (hoitines hikanoi akousantes krinai ta legomena, 286b7-c2)’. Socrates promises to do so ‘God willing’ (an theos thelȇi), but at present he wants Hippias to answer a question concerning the subject: ‘Quite lately, my noble friend, when I was condemning as ugly some things in certain compositions, and praising others as beautiful, somebody threw me into confusion (enanchos gar tis, ȏ ariste, eis aporian me katebalen en logois tisi ta men psegonta hȏs aischra, ta d’ epainounta hȏs kala) by interrogating me in a most offensive manner, rather to this effect (houtȏ pȏs eromenos kai mala hubristikȏs): “You, Socrates, pray how do you know what things are beautiful (Pothen de moi, ȏ Sȏkrates, oistha hopoia kala) and what are ugly (kai aischra)? Come now (epei phere), can you tell me (echois an eipein) what beauty is (ti esti to kalon;)?” In my incompetence I was confounded (kai egȏ dia tȇn emȇn phaulotȇta ȇporoumȇn te), and could find no proper answer to give him (kai ouk eichon autȏi kata tropon apokrinasthai); so, leaving the company (apiȏn oun ek tȇs sunousias), I was filled with anger and reproaches against myself (emautȏi te ȏrgizomȇn kai ȏneidizon), and promised myself (kai ȇpeilouun) that the first time I met with one of you wise men (hopote prȏton humȏn tȏi tȏn sophȏn entuchoimi), I would listen to him (akousas) and learn (kai mathȏn), and when I had mastered my lesson thoroughly (kai ekmeletȇsas), I would go back to my questioner (ienai palin epi ton erȏtȇsanta) and join battle with him again (anamachoumenos ton logon). So you see that you have come at a beautifully appropriate moment (nun oun, ho legȏ, eis kalon hȇkeis), and I ask you to teach me what is beauty by itself (kai me didaxon hikanȏs auto to kalon hoti esti), answering my questions with the utmost precision you can attain (kai peirȏ moi hoti malista akribȏs eipein apokrinomenos); I do not want to be made to look a fool a second time by another cross-examination (mȇ exelenchtheis to deuteron authis gelȏta ophlȏ). Of course you know perfectly (oistha gar dȇpou saphȏs), and it is only a scrap of your vast learning (kai smikron pou tout’ an eiȇ mathȇma hȏn su tȏn pollȏn epistasai).’ – Hippias: ‘A scrap indeed (smikron mentoi), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates); and of no value (kai oudenos axion), I may add (hȏs epos eipein).’ (286b7-e6, translation B. Jowett)

All those who knew Socrates would be dying with laughter at this moment, for the ‘somebody’ bringing him into confusion (eis aporian) with the question ‘what is beauty itself’ (ti esti to kalon), was Socrates himself, his critical self. The self-confidence with which Hippias expressed his certainty that he knew the answer and that it was just a scrap of his learning of no value (oudenos axion) promised a discussion of the utmost philosophical importance, yet presented in the form of comedy.

On the dating I propose, I read the Hippias Major in the light of what Xenophon says concerning Socrates and the Thirty: ‘When the Thirty (epei hoi triakonta) were putting to death many citizens of the highest respectability (pollous men tȏn politȏn kai ou tous cheiristous apekteinon) and were encouraging many in crime (pollous de proetreponto adikein), Socrates had remarked (eipe pou ho Sȏkratȇs): “It seems strange enough to me (hoti thaumaston hoi dokoiȇ einai) that a herdsman who lets his cattle decrease and go to the bad (ei tis genomenos boȏn agelȇs nomeus kai tas bous elattous te kai cheirous poiȏn) should not admit (mȇ homologoiȇ) that he is a poor cowherd (kakos boukolos einai); but stranger still (eti de thaumastoteron) that a statesman (ei tis prostatȇs genomenos poleȏs) when he causes the citizens to decrease and go to the bad (kai poiȏn tous politas elattous te kai cheirous), should feel no shame (mȇ aischunetai) nor think himself a poor statesman (mȇd’ oietai kakos einai prostatȇs tȇs poleȏs).” This remark was reported (apangelthentos de autois toutou) to Critias and Charicles, who sent for Socrates (kalesante ho te Kritias kai ho Chariklȇs ton Sȏkratȇn)’ (I.ii.32-33) and told him: ‘You shall not converse (mȇde su dialegou) with anyone who is under thirty (neȏterois triakonta etȏn, I.ii.35, tr. E.C. Marchant).’

I believe that Socrates obeyed the order, for he did not want to bring Plato and his other young friends and followers into trouble. And so, Plato recreated Socrates for himself and for his friends, contrasting the brilliance of his questioning, rooted in his philosophic ignorance, with the scholarly pomposity and intellectual inaptitude of Hippias.

The investigation of ’what beauty is’ ended in a vicious circle. When Socrates pointed it out to Hippias, the latter declared that all Socrates’ investigations were just ‘scrapings and shavings of argument (knȇsmata toi esti kai peritmȇmata tȏn logȏn), cut up into little bits (kata brachu diȇirȇmena). What is both beautiful (all’ ekeino kai kalon) and most precious (kai pollou axion) is the ability to produce an eloquent and beautiful speech (hoion t’ einai eu kai kalȏs logon katastȇsamenon) to a law-court (en dikastȇriȏi) or a council-meeting (ȇ en tȏi bouleutȇriȏi) or any other official body (ȇ epi allȇi tini archȇi) whom you are addressing (pros hȇn an ho logos ȇi), to convince your audience (peisanta), and to depart with the greatest of all prizes (oichesthai pheronta ou ta smikrotata alla ta megista tȏn athlȏn), your own salvation (sȏtȇrian hautou te) and that of your friends and property (kai hautou chrȇmatȏn kai philȏn). These then are the things to which a man should hold fast (toutȏn oun chrȇ antechesthai), abandoning these pettifogging arguments of yours (chairein easanta tas smikrologias tautas), unless he wishes to be accounted a complete fool (hina mȇ dokȇi lian anoȇtos einai) because he occupies himself with trumpery nonsense (lȇrous kai phluarias hȏsper nun metacheirizomenos).’ (304a4-b6, translation B. Jowett)

Socrates’ closing entry begins as a response to Hippias: ‘You, my dear Hippias (Ō Hippia phile), are blissfully fortunate (su men makarios ei) because you know (hoti te oistha) what way of life a man ought to follow (ha chrȇ epitȇdeuein anthrȏpon), and moreover have followed it with success (kai epitetȇdeukas hikanȏs) – so you tell me (hȏs phȇis).’

But then it turns into a sort of mini autobiography: ‘I, however, am subject to what appears to be some supernatural ill fortune (eme de daimonia tis tuchȇ, hȏs eoike, katechei). I wander about in unending perplexity (hostis planȏmai men kai aporȏ aei), and when I lay my perplexity before you wise men (epideiknus de tȇn emautou aporian humin tois sophois), you turn on me and batter me with abuse (logȏi au hupo humȏn propȇlakizomai) as soon as I have explained my plight (epeidan epideixȏ). You all say (legete gar me) just what you, Hippias, are now saying (haper kai su nun legeis), how foolish (hȏs ȇlithia te) and petty (kai smikra) and worthless (kai oudenos axia) are the matters with which I occupy myself (pragmateuomai); but when in turn I am convinced by you and repeat exactly what you tell me (epeidan d’ au anapeistheis hupo humȏn legȏ haper humeis), that the height of excellence is (hȏs polu kratiston estin) the ability (hoion t’ einai) to produce an eloquent and beautiful speech (logon eu kai kalȏs katastȇsamenon perainein) and win the day in a lawcourt or any other assembly (en dikastȇriȏi ȇ en allȏi tini sullogȏi), I am called every kind of bad name by some of the audience, including especially that man who is always cross-questioning me (hupo te allȏn tinȏn tȏn enthade kai hupo toutou tou anthrȏpou tou aei me elenchontos panta kaka akouȏ). He is a very close relative of mine (kai gar moi tunchanei engutata genous ȏn) and lives in the same house (kai en tȏi autȏi oikȏn), and when I go home (epeidan oun eiselthȏ oikade eis emautou) and he hears me give utterance to these opinions (kai mou akousȇi tauta legontos) he asks me (erȏtai) whether I am not ashamed (ei ouk aischunomai) of my audacity in talking about a beautiful way of life (tolmȏn peri kalȏn epitȇdeumatȏn dialegesthai), when questioning makes it evident (houtȏ phanerȏs exelenchomenos) that I do not even know the meaning of the word “beauty” (peri tou kalou hoti oud’ auto touto hoti pote estin oida, Socrates does not investigate what “the beautiful” means; he wants to know what it is). “And yet,” he goes on, “how can you know (kaitoi pȏs su eisȇi, phȇsin) whose speech is beautiful or the reverse (ȇ logon hostis kalȏs katestȇsato ȇ mȇ) – and this applies to any action whatsoever (ȇ allȇn praxin hȇntin’ oun) – when you have no knowledge of beauty (to kalon agnoȏn)? And so long as you are what you are (kai hopote houtȏ diakeisai), don’t you think that you might as well be dead (oiei soi kreitton einai zȇn mallon ȇ tethnanai)?”

The question of Socrates’ critical self implies that it would be better for Socrates to be dead rather than living. But it does not mean that he does not enjoy his life: ‘It is my lot (sumbebȇke de moi), you see (hoper legȏ), to be reviled and abused alike by you gentlemen (kakȏs men hupo humȏn akouein kai oneidizesthai), and by him (kakȏs de hup’ ekeinou). However, I suppose all this must be endured (alla gar isȏs anankaion hupomenein tauta panta); I may get some good from it – stranger things have happened (ouden gar atopon ei ȏpheloimȇn). And indeed, Hippias, I do think I have got some good (egȏ oun moi dokȏ, ȏ Hippia, ȏphelȇsthai) out of my conversation with the two of you (apo tȇs amphoterȏn humȏn homilias); I think now I appreciate the true meaning of the proverb, “All that is beautiful is difficult” (tȇn gar paroimian hoti pote legei, to “chalepa ta kala,” dokȏ moi eidenai).’ Socrates finds his life beautiful, and looking back on his discussion with Hippias, he clearly has enjoyed every minute of it.

The Thirty were defeated, democracy was restored, and Plato was ‘once again, though more slowly, carried by a desire to take part in public and political affairs’. I view the Lysis as the first dialogue Plato wrote in this period. Socrates discusses friendship with two boys, Lysis and Menexenus, and in his initial discussion with Lysis – when Menexenus was called away – he makes the boy aware of the importance of knowledge for his attainment of freedom and happiness. He is still forbidden by his parents to do many things he would like to do, like driving his father’s chariots and taking the reins in a race, but he is allowed to write as he wishes, and to tighten or slacken whichever of the strings he wants on his lyre, and to pluck or strike them as he wants. Why is it, Socrates asks, that he is allowed to do these things, while he is forbidden to do those first mentioned. The boy answers: ‘I think it is because I know these things (Hoti oimai tauta men epistamai) but not those (ekeina d’ ou, 209c2).’ Socrates welcomes the boy’s answer: ‘Excellent (Eien ȏ ariste)!  So your father is not waiting for you to come of age (ouk ara tȇn hȇlikian sou perimenei ho patȇr) to trust everything to you (epitrepein panta), but on the day he considers that you know better than himself (all’ hȇi an hȇmerai hȇgȇsȇtai se beltion hautou phronein), he’ll trust both himself and his property to you (tautȇi epitrepsei soi kai hauton kai ta hautou) … What about the Athenians? Do you think they’ll trust you with their affairs (Ti d’; Athȇnaious oiei soi ouk epitrepsein ta hautȏn), as soon as they realise that you know enough (hotan aisthanȏntai hoti hikanȏs phroneis;)?’ – Lysis: ‘I do (Egȏge)’ (209c2-d5, translation Donald Watt).

This one simple line, which I put in bold, expresses Plato’s hopes that democracy may become combined with true aristocracy, the people electing as their leaders those who know how to govern the city well. To make it possible, Socrates had to become fully engaged in it; but his professed ignorance stood in the way of his becoming thus engaged.

In the discussion on friendship that took place when Menexenus returned, Plato displays Socrates’ ignorance in its negativity; the strenuous discussion ends as follows. The slaves ordered the boys to come home, and Socrates said ‘just as they were leaving (ȇdȇ apiontȏn autȏn): “Lysis and Menexenus, we’ve now made utter fools of ourselves (Nun men, Lusi kai Menexene, katagelastoi gegonamen), an old man like me and you (egȏ te, gerȏn anȇr, kai humeis), since these people [they were surrounded by a large audience] will go away and say (erousi gar hoide apiontes) that we think we’re friends of one another (hȏs oiometha hȇmeis allȇlȏn philoi einai) – for I consider myself one of your number (kai eme gar en humin tithȇmi) – though we were not as yet able to find out precisely what a friend is” (oupȏ de hoti estin ho philos hoioi te egenometha exeurein).’ (223b3-8, tr. Donald Watt)

No wonder that Socrates was not pleased. Diogenes Laertius writes in his ‘Life of Plato’: ‘They say that (phasi de kai), on hearing Plato read the Lysis, Socrates exclaimed, “By Heracles (Sȏkratȇ akousanta ton Lusin anagignȏskontos Platȏnos “Hȇrakleis,” eipein), what a number of lies this young man is telling about me!” (“hȏs polla mou katapseudeth’ ho neaniskos”, III. 35, tr. R.D. Hicks).’ The ancient anonymous Life of Plato says that having read the Lysis Socrates said to his friends that this young man takes him ‘wherever he wants (hopȇi thelei), as far as he wants (eph’ hoson thelei), and to encounter whoever he wants’ (pros hous thelei, 1).

And so, Plato wrote the Clitophon to show that he was not the only one, who was unhappy with Socrates’ retreat into ignorance. Clitopho, a politician of some rank – he figures in Aristophanes’ Frogs 967 side by side with Theramenes; in Arist. Ath. Pol. 29. 1-3, after the Sicilian disaster, on the side of the oligarchs, and at 34.3, after the surrender of Athens at the end of the Peloponnesian wars, he figures among those who attempted to save democracy – says to Socrates: ‘When I used to keep your company (egȏ soi syngignomenos) I was often stunned by what I heard from you (pollakis exeplȇttomȇn akouȏn), and I thought you put things better than any other (kai moi edokeis para tous allous anthrȏpous kallista legein), every time you disparaged mankind like a god in a tragedy (hopote epitimȏn tois anthrȏpois hȏsper epi mȇchanȇs tragikȇs theos humnois legȏn): “Where are you rushing to (Poi pheresthe), you human beings (anthrȏpoi;)? Don’t you know that all your actions are beyond the point (kai agnoeite ouden tȏn deontȏn prattontes;)? It’s money you do your very best to get (hoitines chrȇmatȏn men peri tȇn pasan spoudȇn echete), while you couldn’t care less if your sons to whom you will be leaving it, won’t know how to use it in a just way (tȏn d’ hueȏn hois tauta paradȏsete [lacunam statui: oudemian poieisthe epimeleian, Themistius, Slings notes] hopȏs chrȇsontai dikaiȏs toutois). You don’t find them teachers of justice (oute didaskalous autois heuriskete tȇs dikaiosunȇs), if it can be learnt, that is (eiper mathȇton), - or, if it can be acquired by training (ei de meletȇton te) or exercise (kai askȇton), people to exercise (hoitines exaskȇsousin) or train them adequately (kai ekmeletȇsousin hikanȏs). Indeed, earlier on you never had yourselves taken care of that way (oude g’ eti proteron humas autous houtȏs etherapeusate).” (407b1-8) … And so this argument brings you to a fine conclusion (kai teleutai dȇ kalȏs ho logos houtos soi): for a man who doesn’t know how to use his soul (hȏs hostis psuchȇi mȇ epistatai chrȇsthai), to leave his soul idle (toutȏi to agein hȇsuchian tȇi psuchȇi) and not to live (kai mȇ zȇn) is better than to live (kreitton ȇ zȇn) according to his own lights (prattonti kath’ hauton); and if he must live at all costs (ei de tis anankȇ zȇn eiȇ), he is better off spending his life as a slave rather than as a free man (doulȏi ameinon ȇ eleutherȏi diagein tȏi toioutȏi ton bion estin ara), and handing over the rudder of his thinking to somebody else (kathaper ploiou paradonti ta pȇdalia tȇs dianoias allȏi), who has learned the art of steering human beings (tȏi mathonti tȇn tȏn anthrȏpȏn kubernȇtikȇn) this art which you often call politics, Socrates (hȇn dȇ su politikȇn ȏ Sȏkrates eponomazeis pollakis), and which you claim is precisely the same as judication and justice (tȇn autȇn dȇ tautȇn dikastikȇn te kai dikaiosunȇn hȏs estin legȏn).’ (408a4-b5)

But when Clitopho asked Socrates’ disciples ‘What do we say is the way to start learning justice’ (pȏs archesthai dein phamen dikaiosunȇs peri mathȇseȏs, 408e2-3), he got no satisfactory answer. When in the end he asked Socrates ‘what the aim and the product of justice is’ (hopoi teinousa estin kai autȇs hoti pot estin to ergon, 410a5-6), it was the same: ‘One of two things must be true (duoin de thateron), either you know nothing about it (ȇ ouk eidenai se), or you don’t wish to share it with me (ȇ ouk ethelein autȇs emoi koinȏnein, 410c5-6).’ He ended with the words: ‘For a man who isn’t yet persuaded by your exhortations (mȇ men gar protetrammenȏi anthrȏpȏi) you are worth the world (axion einai tou pantos se phȇsȏ), but for someone who is (protetrammenȏi de) you’re almost a stumbling-block (schedon kai empodion) for reaching complete virtue (tou pros telos aretȇs elthonta) and so becoming truly happy (eudaimona genesthai, 410e5-8). (Translation from Clitopho S.R. Slings)’

The last in this chain of dialogues is Hippias Minor. Eudicus opens it: ‘Why on earth don’t you have anything to say (Su de dȇ ti sugais), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), after Hippias’ magnificent lecture (Hippiou tosauta epideixamenou;)? Don’t you find anything in his talk to praise, like the rest of us (kai ouxi ȇ sunepaineis ti tȏn eirȇmenȏn), or even to argue against (ȇ kai elencheis), if there’s something you’re dissatisfied with (ei ti soi mȇ kalȏs dokei eirȇkenai)? You needn’t worry: those of us who might have the best claim to an interest in philosophical discussion are on our own now (allȏs te epidȇ kai autoi leleimmetha, hoi malist’ an antipoiȇsaimetha meteinai hȇmin tȇs en philosophiai diatribȇs, 363a1-5, unless told otherwise, translation from Hip. Maj. Robin Waterfield).’ – We can expect something quite special.

Socrates replies that he would like to ask Hippias what he thinks about Odysseus and Achilles, ‘if Hippias would wish to talk about it’ (ei boulomenȏi estin Hippiai, 363b6). So Eudicus turns to Hippias: ‘You’ll answer Socrates’ questions, won’t you (ȇ gar, ȏ Hippia, ean ti erȏtai se Sȏkratȇs, apokrinȇi;)?’ – Hippias: ‘It would be monstrous of me (Kai gar an deina poioiȇn) to evade Socrates’ questions, Eudicus. After all, every time the Olympic games are on, I leave my home in Elis and go to Olympia, to the sacred precinct there, and make myself available to the assembled company of all the Greeks, to expound any subject on which I’ve got a lecture prepared, and to answer any question: anyone only has to ask (ȏ Eudike, ei Olumpiaze men eis tȇn tȏn Hellȇnȏn panȇgurin, hotan ta Olumphia ȇi, aei epaniȏn oikothen ex Ȇlidos eis to hieron parechȏ emauton kai legonta hoti an tis boulȇtai hȏn an moi eis epideixin pareskeuasmenon ȇi, kai apokrinomenon tȏi boulomenȏi hoti an tis erȏtai, nun de tȇn Sȏkratous erȏtȇsin phugoimi).’ – Socrates: ‘What a happy feeling, Hippias (Makarion ge, ȏ Hippia, pathos peponthas), to enter the sacred precinct at every Olympic festival with such confidence in your mental expertise (ei hekastȇs Olumpiados houtȏs euelpis ȏn peri tȇs psuchȇs eis sophian aphiknȇi eis to hieron). I very much doubt (kai thaumasaim’ an) that any athlete goes there to compete with such sanguine confidence in his physical prowess (ei tis tȏn peri to sȏma athlȇtȏn houtȏs aphobȏs kai pisteutikȏs echȏn tȏi sȏmati erchetai autose agȏnioumenos) as you claim you have in your intelligence (hȏsper su phȇis tȇi dianoiai).’ – Hippias: ‘Naturally that’s how I feel, Socrates (Eikotȏs, ȏ Sȏkrates, egȏ touto pepontha): ever since I began to compete in Olympia (ex hou gar eirgmai Olumpiasin agȏnizesthai), I have never been up against anyone who could beat me at anything (oudeni pȏpote kreittoni eis ouden emautou enetuchon).’ – Socrates: ‘What a splendid ornament to Elis, and to your family, your reputation for wisdom must be, Hippias (Kalon ge legeis, ȏ Hippia, kai tȇi Ȇleiȏn polei tȇs sophias anathȇma tȇn doxan einai tȇn sȇn kai tois goneusi tois sois)!’ (363c5-364b3)

Having contrasted Socrates’ urbanity with Hippias’ scholarly pomposity, Plato lets Socrates come to the point: ‘But come, tell us about Achilles and Odysseus (atar ti dȇ legeis hȇmin peri tou Achilleȏs te kai tou Odusseȏs;). Which of them do you think is better, and in what respect (poteron ameinȏ kai kata ti phȇis einai; 364b3-5)?’ Hippias answers: ‘My claim is (phȇmi gar) that Homer portrayed Achilles as the best (Homȇron pepoiȇkenai ariston men andra Achillea), and Odysseus as the most complex (polutropȏtaton de Odussea, 364c4-7)’. Before the discussion gets really going, Plato again underlines the contrast between the two. Socrates: ‘Now, would you do me a favour (ar’ an ti moi charisaio toionde;)? Please don’t laugh at me (mȇ mou katagelan) if I’m a bit slow at understanding what you say (ean mogis manthanȏ ta legomena) and keep asking questions (kai pollakis anerȏtȏ), but try to be tolerant and considerate as you answer them (alla moi peirȏ praiȏs te kai eukolȏs apokrinesthai).’ – Hippias: ‘It would be monstrous behaviour on my part (Aischron gar an eiȇ), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), to educate others on these very points (ei allous men auta tauta paideuȏ) and to think that I deserve payment for it (kai axiȏ dia tauta chrȇmata lambanein), and then not to be patient and tolerant in answering your questions (autos de hupo sou erȏtȏmenos mȇ sungnȏmȇn t’ echoimi kai praiȏs apokrinoimȇn).’ – As can be seen, at this point Socrates brings his self-aware ignorance into play in the most unobtrusive manner.

Socrates avers that he does not understand what Hippias means by ‘most complex’ when referring to Odysseus: ‘Perhaps I’ll understand it better if you answer this question (kai moi eipe, an ti enthende mallon mathȏ): isn’t Homer’s Achilles complex (ho Achilleus ou polutropos tȏi Homȇrȏi pepoiȇtai)?’ – Hippias: ‘Not at all (Hȇkista ge), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates): he’s the most straightforward (all’ haploustatos ‘most simple’), honest character (kai alȇthestatos ‘and most truthful’).’ (364e4-8) Hippias quotes the words: ‘For I hate as I hate the gates of Hades the man (echthros gar moi keinos homȏ Aïdao pulȇsi) who conceals one thing in his heart while saying another (hos ch’ heteron men keuthȇi eni phresin, allo de eipȇi, Iliad IX, 312-313).’ He adds: ‘In these lines the poet reveals each man’s character (en toutois dȇloi tois epesin ton tropon hekaterou tou andros), since it’s Achilles he has speaking them to Odysseus (poiei gar ton Achillea eis ton Odussea legonta tauta ta epȇ): Achilles is honest and straightforward (hȏs ho men Achilleus eiȇ alȇthȇs te kai haplous) while Odysseus is complex and deceitful (ho de Odusseus polutropos te kai pseudȇs).’ – Socrates: ‘Now I think I see what you mean, Hippias (Nun ȇdȇ, ȏ Hippiai, kinduneuȏ manthanein ho legeis). By “complex” you seem to mean “deceitful” (ton polutropon pseudȇ legeis, hȏs ge phainetai).’ – Hippias: ‘Certainly (Malista), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates): that’s how Homer portrays Odysseus (toiouton gar pepoiȇken ton Odussea Homȇros) in many places (pollachou) in both the Illiad (kai en Illiadi) and the Odyssey (kai en Odusseiai).’ – Socrates: ‘I suppose, then (Edokei ara, hȏs eoiken), that Homer distinguished between honest and deceitful people, as not being the same (Homȇrȏi heteros men einai anȇr alȇthȇs, heteros de pseudȇs, all’ ouch ho autos).’ – Hippias: ‘Of course (Pȏs gar ou mellei ‘how could he possibly do otherwise’), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates).’ – S.: ‘And that’s your opinion too (Ȇ kai soi dokei autȏi), Hippias (ȏ Hippiai;)?’ – H.: ‘Most certainly (Pantȏn malista): it would be monstrous to think otherwise (kai gar an deinon eiȇ ei mȇ).’ (365b3-c7)

Socrates with his inexorable inductive questioning is going to argue that the honest man (anȇr alȇthȇs ‘truthful’) and deceitful (pseudȇs) is one and the same: ‘Answer for Homer as well as yourself (apokrinai koinȇi huper Homȇrou kai sou).’ – Hippias: ‘All right (Estai tauta); hurry up and ask whatever you want (all’ erȏta embrachu hoti boulei ‘ask shortly anything which you like’, B. Jowett).’ (365d3-5)

This is not going to be a short questioning.

Socrates: ‘Would you say that deceitful people are capable of action, or, like invalids, incapable (Tous pseudeis legeis hoion adunatous ti poiein, hȏsper tous kamnontas, ȇ dunatous ti poiein;)?’ – Hippias: ‘Extremely capable, I would say (Dunatous egȏge kai mala sphodra), especially at deceiving people (alla te polla kai exapatan anthrȏpous).’ – S.: ‘So your opinion, apparently, is that they are capable (Dunatoi men dȇ, hȏs eoiken, eisi kata ton son logon) as well as complex (kai polutropoi). Is that right (ȇ gar;)?’ – H.: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S.: ‘Is it inane stupidity or a kind of unscrupulous wisdom which makes them complex and deceitful (Polutropoi d’ eisi kai apateȏnes hupo ȇlithiotȇtos kai aphrosunȇs, ȇ hupo panourgias kai phronȇseȏs tinos;)?’ – H.: ‘Unscrupulous wisdom – no doubt about it (Hupo panourgias pantȏn malista kai phronȇseȏs).’ – S.: ‘Apparently, then, they are wise (Phronimoi men ara esin, hȏs eoiken).’ – H.: ‘Yes indeed, too wise (Nai ma Dia, lian ge).’ – S.: ‘If wise (Phronimoi de ontes), do they know what they are doing, or not (ouk epistantai hoti poiousin, ȇ epistantai;)?’ – H.: ‘They know very well (Kai mala sphodra epistantai); that is why they are unscrupulous (dia tauta kai kakourgousin).’ – S.: ‘Given this knowledge (Epistamenoi de tauta ha epistantai), are they ignorant (poteron amatheis eisin) or clever (ȇ sophoi; ‘or wise’)?’ – H.: ‘Clever, of course (Sophoi men oun), at least in their sphere (auta ge tauta), deception (exapatan).’ (365d6-366a1)

At this point Socrates takes stock of what Hippias is saying; it is Hippias, he points out, who is saying all this; Socrates is only asking questions.

Socrates: ‘Wait a minute (Eche dȇ). Let’s review what you’re saying (anamnȇsthȏmen ti estin ho legeis): liars are capable (tous pseudous phȇis einai dunatous ‘you say that liars are capable’), wise (kai phronimous), knowledgeable (kai epistȇmonas) and clever (kai sophous) at their falsehoods (eis haper pseudeis;)?’ H.: ‘Yes (Phȇmi gar oun, ‘This is what I maintain’).’ – S.: ‘And liars are different from honest people (Allous de tous alȇtheis te kai pseudeis ‘and you maintain that …’ is carried on from Hippias’ previous answer) – quite the opposite, in fact (kai enantiȏtatous allȇlois)?’ – H.: ‘Yes (Legȏ tauta, ‘This is what I am saying‘).’ – S.: ‘Well then (Phere dȇ), your view is apparently that liars are to be ranked among capable, clever people (tȏn men dunatȏn kai sophȏn, hȏs eoiken, eisin hoi pseudeis kata ton son logon ‘according to your argument’).’ – H.: ‘Right (Malista ge).’ – S.: ‘In saying that liars are capable and clever at precisely their lying (Hotan de legȇis dunatous kai sophous einai tous pseudeis eis auta tauta), do you mean that they are capable to lie if they wish to do so (poteron legeis dunatous einai pseudesthai ean boulȏntai) or incapable to lie as they wish concerning things about which they are lying (ȇ adunatous eis tauta haper pseudontai)?’ – H.: ‘Capable (Dunatous), in my opinion (egȏge).’ – S.: ‘So, to sum up (Hȏs en kephalaiȏi ara eirȇsthai), liars are those (hoi pseudeis eisin) who are clever (hoi sophoi te) and are capable of lying (kai dunatoi pseudesthai).’ H.: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S. ‘So someone who is incapable of lying (Adunatos ara pseudesthai anȇr) and is ignorant (kai amathȇs) could not be a liar (ouk an eiȇ pseudȇs).’ – H.: ‘Right (Echei houtȏs).’ – S.: ‘Now, ability is doing what you want, when you want (Dunatos de g’ estin hekastos ara, hos an poiȇi tote ho an boulȇtai, hotan boulȇtai).’ (366a2-c1)

At this point Socrates turns to Hippias’ manifold wisdom to prove that the same man can tell both the truth and a competent lie about the same subject. He begins with arithmetic: ‘If someone were to ask you (ei tis se eroito) what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700 (ta tris heptakosia hoposos estin arithmos), you would tell him the true answer in a moment, if you pleased (ei bouloio, pantȏn tachista kai malist’ an eipois t’alȇthȇ peri toutou, 366c7-d1) … If a person were to ask you (ei tis se eroito) what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700 (ta tris heptakosia hoposos estin arithmos), would not you be the best and most competent teller of falsehoods (poteron su an malista pseudoio kai aei kata t’auta pseudȇ legois) about these same matters (peri toutȏn), if you wanted to tell falsehoods (boulomenos pseudesthai) and never give a true answer (kai mȇdepote alȇthȇ apokrinesthai)? Would the ignorant man be better able to tell falsehoods in matters of calculation than you would be, if you chose (ȇ ho amathȇs eis logismous dunait’ an sou mallon pseudesthai boulomenou;)? Would he not in his ignorance frequently stumble upon the truth although he wanted to tell a lie (ȇ ho amathȇs pollakis an boulomenos pseudȇ legein t’alȇthȇ an eipoi akȏn, ei tuchoi, dia to mȇ eidenai), whereas you who are the wise man (su de ho sophos), if you wanted to tell a lie (eiper bouloio pseudesthai) would always and consistently lie (aei kata ta auta pseudoio;)?’ – Hippias: ‘Yes (Nai); there you are quite right (houtȏs echei hȏs su legeis).’ (366e3-367a5) (366c7-367a5, tr. B. Jowett)

After arithmetic Socrates asks in the same way about geometry (367d-e), then about astronomy (367e-368a), and then he asks in general: ‘Now (Ithi dȇ), Hippias (ȏ Hippia), just look at branches of knowledge in general (anedȇn houtȏsi episkepsai kata pasȏn tȏn epistȇmȏn), to see if there are any exceptions (ei pou estin allȏs echon ȇ houtȏs, 368a8-b1) … and tell me (eipe moi), having regard to the admissions which you and I have made, whether you discover any department of art or any kind of wisdom or cunning, whichever name you use, in which the true man and the false are different and not the same (ean pou heurȇis ek tȏn hȏmologȇmenȏn emoi te kai soi, hopou estin ho men alȇthȇs, ho de pseudȇs, chȏris kai ouch ho autos; en hȇitini boulei sophiai touto skepsai ȇ panourgiai ȇ hotioun chaireis onomazȏn): tell me, if you can, of any. But you cannot (all’ ouch heurȇseis, ȏ hetaire – ougar estin – epei su eipe, 368e3-369a2, tr. B. Jowett).’ – H.: ‘I can’t (All’ ouk echȏ), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), at least not without further deliberation (nun ge houtȏs).’ – S.: ‘Even that won’t help (Oude ge hexeis), in my opinion (hȏs egȏ oimai).’ (369a3-4)

To make the point, Socrates argues that since ‘the same person has turned out to be false as well as true (hoti anapephantai ho autos ȏn pseudȇs te kai alȇthȇs), if Odysseus is false (ei pseudȇs ho Odusseus ȇn) he is also true (kai pseudȇs gignetai), and if Achilles is true (kai ei alȇthȇs ho Achilleus) he is also false (kai pseudȇs, 369b3-5).’ Turning back to the verses with which Hippias justified his claim that Homer portrayed Achilles as a true and honest man, whereas Odysseus as a complex and deceitful man, he shows that it is in fact Achilles who turns out to be ‘complex’ and ‘a liar’. For shortly after addressing Odysseus with the words ‘I hate as I hate the gates of Hades the man who conceals one thing in his heart while saying another’, Achilles says to Odysseus that in the morning he will see him sailing home – Socrates quotes seven verses in which Achilles proclaims it, and then in addition he quotes three verses in which Achilles proclaimed his decision to do so face to face with Agamemnon, ‘in front of the whole army’ (enantion tȇs stratias hapasȇs, 370d2) –  but ‘he tells Ajax that he won’t sail away’ (pros ton Aianta ouk au phȇsin apopleuseisthai, 371b4-5) – Socrates quotes six verses in which Achilles says that he will ‘check Hector (Hektora schȇsesthai)’, the leading warrior of the Trojans, ‘by my hut (amphi tȇi ‘mȇi klisiȇi), my dark ship (kai nȇï mlainȇi).’

Hippias objected that ‘it was Achilles’ goodwill towards Ajax that induced him to say a different story to him (hupo eunoias anapeistheis pros ton Aianta alla eipen) than to Odysseus (ȇ pros ton Odussea)’; whereas Odysseus (ho de Odusseus), whether he speaks falsely or truly, speaks always with a sinister purpose (ha te alȇthȇ legei, epibouleusas aei legei, kai hosa pseudetai, hȏsautȏs).’ – Socrates: ‘Then Odysseus would appear after all to be better than Achilles (Ameinȏn ar’ estin, hȏs eoiken, ho Odusseus Achilleȏs) ?’ – H.: ‘Certainly not (Hȇkista ge dȇpou), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates).’ – S.: ‘Why (Ti de;), were not the voluntary liars only just now shown to be better than the involuntary (ouk arti anephanȇsan hoi hekontes pseudomenoi beltious ȇ hoi akontes;)?’ (371e1-8, tr. Jowett)

Hippias can’t argue with Socrates on Socrates’ terms, he sets aside all the conclusions they had reached in their previous discussion, and asks: ‘And how (Kai pȏs an) , Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), can those who are intentionally unjust (hoi hekontes adikountes), and voluntarily do premeditated injury (kai hekontes epibouleusantes kai kaka ergasamenoi), be better than those who err and do wrong involuntarily (beltious an eien tȏn akontȏn)? Surely there is great excuse to be made for a man telling a falsehood or doing injury or any sort of harm to another, in ignorance (hois pollȇ dokei sungnȏmȇ einai, ean mȇ eidȏs tis adikȇsȇi ȇ pseusȇtai ȇ allo ti kakon poiȇsȇi;). And the laws are obviously far more severe (kai hoi nomoi dȇpou polu chalepȏteroi eisi) on those who lie or do evil, voluntarily (tois hekousi kaka ergazomenois kai psudomenois), than on those who do evil involuntarily (ȇ tois akousi, 371e9-372a5, tr. Jowett).’

And at this point, in spite of the due respect to Socrates’ power of inductive questioning, I cannot but agree with Hippias. And, I believe, Plato wants his readers to do the same.

Against this heartfelt plea of Hippias Socrates retreats into his ignorance: ‘You see (Horais), Hippias (ȏ Hippia), as I have already told you, how pertinacious I am in asking questions of wise men (hoti egȏ alȇthȇ legȏ, legȏn hȏs liparȇs eimi pros tas erȏtȇseis tȏn sophȏn;). And I think that this is the only good point about me (kai kinduneuȏ hen monon echein touto agathon), among many bad ones (t’alla echȏn panu phaula); for where things are concerned, I am confused and blundering (tȏn men gar pragmatȏn hȇi echei esphalmai, kai ouk oid’ hopȇi esti). My deficiency is proved to me by the fact that when I meet one of you who are famous for wisdom (tekmȇrion de moi toutou hikanon, hoti epeidan sungenȏmai tȏi humȏn tȏn eudokimountȏn epi sophiai), and to whose wisdom all the Hellenes are witnesses (kai hois hoi Hellȇnes pantes martures eisi tȇs sophias), I am found out to know nothing (phainomai ouden eidȏs). For speaking generally, I hardly ever have the same opinion about anything which you have (ouden gar moi dokei tȏn autȏn kai humin, hȏs epos eipein), and what proof of ignorance can be greater than to differ from wise men (kaitoi ti meizon amathias tekmȇrion ȇ epeidan tis sophois andrasi diapherȇtai;)?’ (372a6-c2, tr. Jowett)

This retreat into ignorance, can it be seriously meant, set as it is at the point when Socrates’ intellectual capability has been shown to excel Hippias’ ‘wisdom’ in every respect, including knowledge of Homer? And if it is spoken in irony, isn’t that irony badly misplaced, when he goes on to say: ‘My opinion, Hippias, is (emoi gar phainetai, ȏ Hippia)) the very contrary of what you are saying (pan t’ounantion ȇ ho su legeis); for I maintain that those who hurt or injure mankind (hoi blaptontes tous anthrȏpous kai adikountes), and speak falsely (kai pseudomenoi) and deceive (kai exapatȏntes), and err voluntarily (kai hamartanontes hekontes alla mȇ akontes), are better far than those who do wrong involuntarily (beltious einai ȇ hoi akontes, 372d3-7, tr. Jowett).’

But am I not too hasty when I see this passage as being directed against Socrates’ self-proclaimed ignorance? For Socrates went on to say: ‘Sometimes (eniote), however (mentoi), I am of the opposite opinion (kai t’ounantion dokei moi toutȏn); for I am all abroad in my ideas about this matter (kai planȏmai peri tauta), a condition obviously occasioned by ignorance (dȇlon hoti dia to mȇ eidenai) … My present state of mind is due to our previous argument (aitiȏmai de tou nun parontos pathȇmatos tous emprosthen logous aitious einai), which inclines me to believe that in general those who do wrong involuntarily are worse than those who do wrong voluntarily (hȏste phainesthai en tȏi paronti tous akontas toutȏn hekasta poiountas ponȇroterous ȇ tous hekontas), and therefore I hope that you will be good to me (su oun charisai), and not to refuse to heal me (kai mȇ phthonȇsȇis iasasthai tȇn psuchȇn mou); for you will do me much greater benefit (polu gar toi meizon me agathon ergasȇi) if you cure my soul of ignorance (amathias pausas tȇn psuchȇn), than you would if you cured my body of disease (ȇ nosou to sȏma). I must however tell you beforehand, that if you make a long oration to me (makron men oun logon ei ‘theleis legein prolegȏ soi) you will not cure me (hoti ouk an me iasaio), for I shall not be able to follow you (ou gar an akolouthȇsaimi); but if you will answer me, as you did just now (hȏsper de arti ei ‘theleis moi apokrinesthai), you will do me a great deal of good (panu onȇseis), and I do not think that you will be any worse yourself (oimai de oud’ auton se blabȇsesthai).’ (372d7-373a5, tr. Jowett)

But can the reader at this point take seriously Socrates’ ‘I hope that you will be good to me, and not to refuse to heal me; for you will do me much greater benefit if you cure my soul of ignorance, than you would if you cured my body of disease.’ Can Socrates really expect any curative effect on his soul from further questioning of Hippias, considering the way his questioning of him proceeded so far? And if he knows only too well what his questions will be, where they will lead, isn’t he playing an irresponsible game with something that is truly important, care for his soul?

After this appeal to Hippias Socrates appeals to Eudicus: ‘And I have some claim upon you also (dikaiȏs d’an kai se parakaloimȇn), O son of Apemantus (ȏ pai Apȇmantou), for you incited me to converse with Hippias (su gar me epȇras Hippiai dialegesthai); and now (kai nun), if Hippias will not answer me (ean mȇ moi ethelȇi Hippias apokrinesthai), you must entreat him (deou autou) on my behalf (huper emou).’ – Eudicus: ‘But I do not think, Socrates, that Hippias will require any entreaty of mine (All’, ȏ Sȏkrates, oimai ouden deȇsesthai Hippian tȇs hȇmeteras deȇseȏs); for he has already said that he will not run away from any man’s questioning (ou gar toiauta autȏi esti ta proeirȇmena, all’ hoti oudenos an phugoi andros erȏtȇsin).’ – Did you not say so, Hippias (ȇ gar, ȏ Hippia; ou tauta ȇn ha eleges;)?’ - Hippias: ‘Yes, I did (Egȏge); but then, Eudicus, Socrates is always troublesome in an argument (alla Sȏkratȇs, ȏ Eudike, aei tarattei en tois logois), and, if I may say so, mischievous (kai eoiken hȏsper kakourgounti).’ – Socrates: ‘Excellent Hippias (ȏ beltiste Hippia), I am not so intentionally (outi hekȏn tauta poiȏ) – if I were, it would show me to be a wise man (sophos gar an ȇ) and a master of wiles (kai deinos), as you would argue (kata ton son logon) – but unintentionally (alla akȏn), and therefore you must pardon me (hȏste moi sungnȏmȇn eche); for, as you say, he who is unintentionally mischievous should be pardoned (phȇis gar au dein, hos an kakourgȇi akȏn, sungnȏmȇn echein).’ – Eudicus: Yes, Hippias, do as he says (Kai mȇdamȏs ge, ȏ Hippia, allȏs poiei); and for our sake (alla kai hȇmȏn heneka), and also that you may not belie your profession (kai tȏn proeirȇmenȏn soi logȏn), answer (apokrinou) whatever Socrates asks you (ha an se erȏtai Sȏkratȇs).’

And so Hippias says to Eudicus: ‘I will answer (All’ apokrinoumai), as you request me (sou ge deomenou).’ And to Socrates: ‘And do you ask (all’ erȏta) whatever you like (hoti boulei).’ (373a5-c5, tr. Jowett)

Socrates desires (epithumei) to examine the question (diaskepsasthai to legomenon), as to which are the better (poteroi pote ameinones), those who err voluntarily or involuntarily (hoi hekontes ȇ hoi akontes hamartanontes, 373c7-8). He asks whether he calls some runners good and some bad, then whether good runners run well, bad runners badly, then whether slow runner isn’t a bad runner, fast runner a good one, speed being a good thing, slowness bad. When Hippias admits all this, Socrates asks: ‘Which of the two is a better runner (Poteros oun ameinȏn dromeus)? He who runs slowly voluntarily (ho hekȏn bradeȏs theȏn) or he who runs slowly involuntarily (ȇ ho akȏn;)?’ – Hippias: ’He who runs slowly voluntarily (ho hekȏn).’ (273d5-7) After some more questioning Socrates asks: ‘Then in a race (En dromȏi men ara) he who involuntarily does bad actions, is worse than he who does them voluntarily (ponȇroteros ho akȏn kaka ergazomenos ȇ ho hekȏn;).’ – Hippias: ‘Yes, in a race (En dromȏi ge).’ (373e6-7, tr. Jowett)

Then Socrates similarly examines ‘how it is at a wrestling match (Ti d’ en palȇi;) – which is the better wrestler (poteros palaistȇs ameinȏn), he who falls voluntarily (ho hekȏn piptȏn) or involuntarily (ȇ ho akȏn;)?’ – Hippias: ‘He who falls voluntarily (Ho hekȏn), doubtless (hȏs eoiken).’ – Socrates: ‘And is it worse and more discreditable at a wrestling match, to fall, or to throw another (Ponȇroteron de kai aischion en palȇi to piptein ȇ to kataballein;)?’ – Hippias: ‘To fall (To piptein).’ – Socrates: ‘Then at a wrestling match also (Kai en palȇi ara), he who voluntarily does bad and discreditable actions (ho hekȏn ta ponȇra ergazomenos) is a better wrestler (beltiȏn palaistȇs) than he who does them involuntarily (ȇ ho akȏn)?’ -Hippias: ‘That appears to be truth (Eoiken).’ (374a1-6, tr. Jowett)

Then Socrates asks the same questions concerning any bodily exercise (en pasȇi tȇi tou sȏmatos chreiai), thus ascertaining that ‘he who has the better physic (ho beltiȏn to sȏma) is able to do both (dunatai amphotera ergazesthai) that which is strong (kai ta ischura) and that which is weak (kai ta asthenȇ), that which is foul (kai ta aichra) and that which is fair (kai ta kala), so that when he does bad actions with the body (hȏste hotan kata to sȏma ponȇra ergazȇtai), he who has the better physic does them voluntarily (hekȏn ergazetai ho beltiȏn to sȏma), and he who has the worse (ho de ponȇroteros) does them involuntarily (akȏn). (374a7-b3) Then he asks the same questions concerning bad and ugly bodily figures and postures, thus ascertaining that ‘the voluntarily ungracefulness comes from excellence of bodily frame (aschȇmosunȇ ara hȇ men hekousios pros aretȇs estin), and involuntary from the defect of the bodily frame (hȇ de akousios pros ponȇrias sȏmatos, 374b8-c1, tr. Jowett)’. Then he arrives to the same conclusion concerning the voice (phȏnȇs peri): ‘that which is voluntarily out of tune is better (hȇ men hekousiȏs apaidousa beltiȏ) than that which is out of tune involuntarily (tȇs akousiȏs apaidousȇs, 374c2-4).’

Then he asks: ’Would you choose to possess goods (Dexaio d’an poteron t’agatha kektȇsgthai) or evils (ȇ ta kaka;)? – Hippias: ‘Goods (T’agatha).’ – Socrates: ‘And would you rather have (Poteron oun an dexaio) feet which are voluntarily or involuntarily lame (podas kektȇsthai hekousiȏs chȏlainontas ȇ akousiȏs;)?’ – Hippias: ‘Feet which are voluntarily lame (Hekousiȏs).’ (374c5-d1, tr. Jowett) Then he asks similar questions concerning eyes (374d), then concerning other parts of body, ears, nostrils, mouth, ‘and all the senses (kai pasas tas aisthȇseis): those which involuntarily act ill (tas men akontȏs kaka ergazomenas) are not to be desired (aktȇtous einai), as being defective (hȏs ponȇras ousas); and those which voluntarily act ill (tas de hekousiȏs) are to be desired (ktȇtas) as being good (hȏs agathas ousas)?’ – Hippias: ‘I agree (Emoige dokei).’ (374d9-e2, tr. Jowett)

Then Socrates goes on to ask the same questions concerning musical and other instruments, then concerning ‘soul of a horse’ (psuchȇn hippou, 375a1), then concerning a dog and any other animals. Finally he comes to the soul of a man: ‘Is it better to possess the soul of an archer (anthrȏpou psuchȇn ektȇsthai toxotou ameinon estin) which voluntarily misses the mark (hȇtis hekousiȏs hamartanei tou skopou), or of one who misses it involuntarily (ȇ hȇtis akousiȏs;)?’ – Hippias: ‘Which misses voluntarily (Hȇtis hekousiȏs).’ [Jowett translates these lines much more elegantly, using the word ‘mind’ instead of ‘soul’, but I wanted to be close to the original.] Socrates wants to generalise: ‘Then the soul too (Kai psuchȇ ara) which involuntarily errs (akousiȏs hamartanousa) is worse (ponȇrotera) than the one which errs voluntarily (ȇ hekousiȏs).’ Hippias narrows it down: ‘Yes, in archery (En toxikȇi ge).’ Socrates therefore goes on to ask how it is ‘in the art of medicine’ (ti d’ en iatrikȇi;): ‘has not the soul which voluntarily works harm to the body (ouchi hȇ hekousa kaka ergazomenȇ peri ta sȏmata), more of the healing art (iatrikȏtera;)?’ – Hippias: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – Socrates: ‘Well (Ti de;), and in lute-playing and in flute-playing, and in all arts and sciences (hȇ kitharistikȏtera kai aulȇtikȏtera kai t’alla panta ta kata tas technas), does not the better soul voluntarily do what is bad (ouchi hȇ ameinȏn hekousa ta kaka ergazetai) and discreditable (kai aischra), and goes wrong (kai examartanei), and is not the worse that which does so involuntarily (hȇ de ponȇrotera akousa;)?’ – Hippias: ‘That is evident (Phainetai).’– Socrates: ‘And we should perhaps prefer to have the souls of slaves (Alla mȇn pou tas ge tȏn doulȏn psuchas kektȇsthai dexaimeth an mallon) which voluntarily do wrong and make mistakes, rather than those which do so involuntarily (tas hekousiȏs ȇ tas akousiȏs hamartanontas kai kakourgousas), for they are better concerning it (hȏs ameinous eis tauta). – Hippias: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – Socrates: ‘And should we not desire to have our own soul in the best state possible (Ti de; tȇn hȇmeteran autȏn ou bouloimeth’ an hȏs beltistȇn ektȇsthai;)?’ – Hippias: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – Socrates: ‘Won’t then our soul be better (Oukoun beltiȏn estai) if it does wrong and errs voluntarily (ean hekousa kakourgȇi kai examartanȇi) than if it does so involuntarily (ȇ ean akousa;)?’ – Hippias: ‘O, Socrates, it would be a monstrous thing (Deinon ment’an eiȇ, ȏ Sȏkrates) if those who do wrong voluntarily (ei hoi hekontes adikountes) are to be better (beltious esontai) than those who do wrong involuntarily (ȇ hoi akontes).’ (375a7-d4)

At this point, in spite of the fact that throughout the whole preceding discussion Socrates excelled Hippias in every respect, we may only hope – and I believe Plato did – that the reader agrees with Hippias.

But Socrates presses on: ‘But that appears to be the only inference from what has been said (Alla mȇn phainontai ge ek tȏn eirȇmenȏn).’ – Hippias: ‘It does not appear so to me (Oukoun emoige)’. – Socrates: ‘But I thought (Egȏ d’ ȏimȇn) it appeared so to you as well (kai soi phanȇnai). But answer again (palin d’ apokrinai).’

We come to the final act.

Socrates: ‘Is not justice a power (hȇ dikaiosunȇ ouchi ȇ dunamis tis estin), or a science (ȇ epistȇmȇ), or both (ȇ amphotera;)? Must not justice, at all events, be one of these (ȇ ouk anankȇ hen ge ti einai tȇn dikaiosunȇn;)?’ – Hippias: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S.: ‘But if justice is a power of the soul (Oukoun ei men dunamis esti tȇs psuchȇs hȇ dikaiosunȇ), then the soul which has the greater power (hȇ dunatȏtera psuchȇ) is also the more just (dikaiotera esti); for that which has the greater power, my good friend, has been proved by us to be the better (beltiȏn gar pou hȇmin ephanȇ, ȏ ariste, hȇ toiautȇ). – H.: Yes, that has been proved (Ephanȇ gar). – S.: ‘And if justice is a science (Ti d’ ei epistȇmȇ;), then the wiser will be the better soul (ouch hȇ sophȏtera psuchȇ dikaiotera), and the more ignorant (hȇ de amathestera) the more unjust (adikȏtera;)?’ – H.: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S.: ‘But if justice be power as well as science (Ti d’ ei amphotera;)? – then will not the soul which has both science and power (ouch hȇ amphoteras echousa, epistȇmȇn kai dunamin) be the more just (dikaiotera), and that which is the more ignorant (hȇ de amathestera) be the more unjust (adikȏtera;)? Must it not be so (ouch houtȏs anankȇ echein;)?’ – H.: ‘Apparently (Phainetai).’ – S.: ‘And has it not been shown that the soul which has the greater power and wisdom is also better (Oukoun hȇ dunatȏtera kai sophȏtera hautȇ ameinȏn ousa ephanȇ), and better able to do both good and evil (kai amphotera mallon dunamenȇ poiein, kai ta kala kai ta aischra) in every sort of action (peri pasan ergasian;)? – H.: ‘Certainly (Nai).’ – S.: Such a soul, then, when it acts ill (hotan ara ta aischra ergazȇtai), acts voluntarily (hekousa ergazetai) by power (dia dunamin) and art (kai technȇn) – and these either one or both of them are elements of justice (tauta de dikaiosunȇs phainetai, ȇtoi amphotera ȇ to heteron)? – H.: ‘That seems to be true (Eoiken).’ – S.: ‘And to do injustice (Kai to men ge adikein) is to do ill (kaka poiein estin), and not do injustice (to de mȇ adikein) is to do well (kala)?’ – H.: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S.: ‘Hence the better and abler soul (Oukoun hȇ dunatȏtera kai ameinȏn psuchȇ), when it does wrong (hotanper adikȇi), will do wrong voluntarily (hekousa adikȇsei), and the bad soul (hȇ de ponȇra) involuntarily (akousa;)?’ – H.: ‘Apparently (Phainetai).’ – S.: ‘And the good man (Oukoun agathos anȇr) is he who has the good soul (ho tȇn agathȇn psuchȇn echȏn), and the bad man is he who has the bad (kakos de ho tȇn kakȇn)?’ – H.: ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S.: ‘Then it is a property of the good man (Agathou men ara andros estin) to do wrong voluntarily (hekonta adikein), and of the bad man (kakou de) to do it involuntarily (akonta), if the good man (eiper ho agathos) is he who has the good soul (agathȇn psuchȇn echei)?’ – H.: ‘Which he certainly has (Alla mȇn echei ge).’ – S.: ‘Then, Hippias, he who voluntarily does wrong (Ho ara hekȏn hamartanȏn) and disgraceful things (kai aischra kai adika poiȏn), if there be such a man (eiper tis estin houtos), must be the good man (ouk an allos eiȇ ȇ ho agathos)?’ – H.: ‘There I cannot agree with you (Ouk echȏ hopȏs soi sunchȏrȇsȏ, ȏ Sȏkrates, tauta).’ – S.: ‘Nor can I agree with myself (Oude gar egȏ emoi), Hippias (ȏ Hippia); and yet that seems to be the conclusion which, as far as we can see at present, must follow from our argument (all’ anankaion houtȏ phainesthai nun ge hȇmin ek tou logou).’ (375d8-376c1, tr. B. Jowett)

Does Socrates’ ‘Nor can I agree with myself’ at 376b8 save Socrates’ moral integrity – and if it does, is it not at the expense of his consistency? His ‘if there be such a man’ at 376b5-6, which implies the belief that no good man would voluntarily do wrong and disgraceful things, is powerless within the framework of his self-proclaimed ignorance.

Socrates ends the whole discussion with the words: ‘As I was saying before (hoper mentoi palai elegon), I am all abroad, and being in perplexity am always changing my opinion (egȏ peri tauta anȏ kai katȏ planȏmai kai oudepote t’auta moi dokei). Now, that I or any ordinary man should wander in perplexity is not surprising (kai eme men ouden thaumaston planasthai oude allon idiȏtȇn); but if you wise men also wander (ei de kai humeis planȇsesthe hoi sophoi), and we cannot come even to you and rest from our wandering, the matter begins to be serious both to us and to you (touto ȇdȇ kai hȇmin deinon ei mȇde par’ humas aphikomenoi pausometha tȇs planȇs).’(376c1-6, tr. B. Jowett)

The situation has become serious both for Socrates and for Plato. In the Charmides, Lysis, Clitopho, and in the Hippias Minor, he pushed and pulled Socrates out of his ignorance, which he could not see otherwise than a pretended ignorance. It served Socrates well in his encounters with Hippias and other ’wise men’, but didn’t it amount to his reneging on his responsibility to himself and to his fellow men? At any rate, Plato could not get any further in his attempts to make Socrates face the responsibilities concerning his intellectual capabilities. They must either part their ways or come to a cathartic reconciliation. What actually happened we can infer from the Meno, to which will be devoted my next post.