Alcibiades 1

Plato · a new plain-English translation from the Greek

SOCRATES: Son of Cleinias, I imagine you're wondering why I, who was your first lover, am the only one who hasn't stopped, when all the others have given up — and why the rest of them wore you out with their conversation, while I haven't so much as spoken to you in all these years. The cause of that wasn't anything human, but a certain divine opposition, whose power you'll learn about later. But now that it no longer opposes me, I've approached you like this. I'm hopeful it won't oppose me again in the future. So in this time I've been watching, and I think I've pretty well worked out how you've dealt with your lovers. Many of them were full of themselves, and yet there wasn't one whose pride you didn't outmatch and drive away.

SOCRATES: And I want to go through the reasoning behind that pride of yours. You say you have no need of any man for anything, because what you already possess is so great that you need nothing — starting from your body and ending with your soul. You think, first, that you're the most handsome and the tallest man around — and anyone can see that's no lie — and next, that you come from the most vigorous family in your own city, with the most and the best friends and relatives on your father's side, ready to serve you if you ever needed it, and that your mother's side is no worse or fewer. And beyond all I've mentioned, you think you have at your disposal a power greater still in Pericles, son of Xanthippus, whom your father left as guardian to you and your brother — a man who can do as he pleases not only in this city, but throughout all Greece, and among many great foreign peoples too. I'll add that you're also rich, though that seems to be the one thing you take least pride in. On all these grounds you've held yourself high and beaten your lovers, and they, being weaker, were beaten — and this hasn't escaped you. That's exactly why I know you're wondering what I have in mind that keeps me from giving up this love, and what hope I'm relying on to stay when the others have fled. ALCIBIADES: And maybe, Socrates, you don't realize you've beaten me to it by only a little. I was actually planning to come to you first and ask this very thing — what do you want, and what hope are you looking toward, that you keep bothering me, always turning up so attentively wherever I am? I really am curious what your business is, and I'd love to find out. SOCRATES: Then you'll listen to me eagerly, it seems, if — as you say — you really want to know what I have in mind, and I can speak as to someone who will listen and wait it out. ALCIBIADES: Certainly — go on and speak. SOCRATES: Look, then — it wouldn't be strange if, just as I started with difficulty, I also stopped with difficulty. ALCIBIADES: Speak, my good man — I'll listen.

SOCRATES: I suppose I must speak, then. It's a hard thing to approach a man who's no less a lover of himself than his admirers are, but still I must dare to tell you what I have in mind. Alcibiades, if I saw that you were content with what I've just described, and thought you should live out your life with just that, I'd have given up this love long ago — or so I persuade myself. But as it is, I'll accuse you of holding quite different ambitions, and from this you'll see that I've kept my mind fixed on you the whole time. I think that if some god said to you, 'Alcibiades, would you rather live having what you now have, or die at once if you're not going to be allowed to acquire something greater?' — I think you'd choose to die. But let me tell you what hope it actually is that you're living on now. You believe that as soon as you come forward before the Athenian assembly — which will happen in just a few days — you'll show the Athenians that you deserve honor beyond anyone who's ever lived, Pericles included, and that having shown this, you'll have the greatest power in the city; and if you're the greatest here, you'll be greatest among the other Greeks too, and not only among Greeks but among the foreign peoples who share this same continent with us. And if that same god then told you that you must hold power only here in Europe, and would not be allowed to cross into Asia or take a hand in affairs there, I think you still wouldn't be willing to live on those terms alone, unless you could fill just about every human being with your name and your power. I think you consider no one worth mentioning except Cyrus and Xerxes. That you hold this hope, I know for certain — I'm not guessing. Now perhaps you'll say, since you know I'm telling the truth, 'Well, Socrates, what does that have to do with the point you said you'd make, about why you won't leave me alone?' I'll tell you, dear son of Cleinias and Deinomache. Bringing any of these plans of yours to completion is impossible without me. I believe I have that much power over your affairs and over you — which is exactly why I think the god has kept me from talking to you until now, and I've been waiting for the moment he would allow it. For just as you have hopes of showing the city that you're worth everything to it, and once you've shown that, of gaining power immediately, so I hope to gain the greatest power with you by showing that I'm worth everything to you, and that no guardian, no relative, no one else is capable of handing you the power you desire — except me, together with the god. When you were younger, and not yet so full of that hope, the god, I think, wouldn't let me speak to you, so that I wouldn't be speaking in vain. But now he's let me go — now you'll listen to me.

ALCIBIADES: You seem far stranger to me now, Socrates, now that you've started speaking, than when you followed me in silence — though even then you looked strange enough. So, whether I actually have these ambitions or not, you seem to have already decided, and even if I deny it, that won't do anything to persuade you otherwise. Fine. But suppose I really do have these thoughts in mind — how will it happen through you, and not otherwise? Can you say? SOCRATES: Are you asking whether I can give some long speech, of the kind you're used to hearing? That's not my way. But I think I could show you that this is so, if you're willing to help me with just one small thing. ALCIBIADES: If it's not some difficult service you mean, I'm willing. SOCRATES: Does answering questions seem difficult to you? ALCIBIADES: Not difficult. SOCRATES: Then answer. ALCIBIADES: Ask. SOCRATES: I'll ask you, then, as someone who holds the views I say you hold. ALCIBIADES: Let it be so, if you like, so I can also see what you're going to say. SOCRATES: Come then — you intend, as I claim, to come forward and advise the Athenians before long. Now, suppose that just as you were about to step up to the speaker's platform, I took hold of you and asked: Alcibiades, since the Athenians are deliberating about some matter, why are you standing up to advise them? Is it because you know better about it than they do? What would you answer? ALCIBIADES: I'd say, I suppose, that it's about things I know better than they do. SOCRATES: So on matters where you happen to have knowledge, you're a good adviser. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And you only know what you've learned from others or found out yourself? ALCIBIADES: What else could there be? SOCRATES: Is there any way you could ever have learned or discovered something without being willing either to learn it or to look for it yourself? ALCIBIADES: There isn't. SOCRATES: And would you have been willing to look for or learn something you thought you already knew? ALCIBIADES: No, certainly not. SOCRATES: So there was a time when you didn't think you knew the things you now happen to know? ALCIBIADES: There must have been. SOCRATES: Well, I have a fair idea myself of what you've learned — tell me if I've missed anything. As I recall, you learned letters, and lyre-playing, and wrestling — you never wanted to learn flute-playing. Those are the things you know, unless you've been learning something without my noticing — though I don't think so, since you never leave the house, night or day, without my knowing. ALCIBIADES: No, I haven't gone to any teachers besides those.

SOCRATES: So then, when the Athenians deliberate about how to write correctly, will you stand up then to advise them? ALCIBIADES: No, by Zeus, not I. SOCRATES: Or when it's about notes on the lyre? ALCIBIADES: Not at all. SOCRATES: And they're certainly not in the habit of deliberating about wrestling holds in the assembly either. ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: Then what will they be deliberating about when you stand up? Surely not about building. ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: Because a builder will advise them better than you on that. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And not when they deliberate about prophecy either? ALCIBIADES: No. SOCRATES: Because a seer, again, knows better about that than you. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Whether he's small or tall, handsome or ugly, well-born or not. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: Because advice belongs, I think, to the one who knows about each thing, not to the one who's rich. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And whether the one giving advice is poor or rich will make no difference at all to the Athenians when they deliberate about health in the city — they'll look for the adviser to be a doctor. ALCIBIADES: Naturally. SOCRATES: So when will you stand up as someone about to give correct advice? What will they be considering then? ALCIBIADES: When it's about their own affairs, Socrates. SOCRATES: You mean about shipbuilding — what kind of ships they ought to build? ALCIBIADES: No, not that, Socrates. SOCRATES: Because you don't know shipbuilding, I suppose. Is that the reason, or something else? ALCIBIADES: No, that's the reason. SOCRATES: Then what sort of 'their own affairs' do you mean, when they deliberate? ALCIBIADES: I mean about war, Socrates, or peace, or other matters of the city. SOCRATES: Do you mean when they deliberate about whom to make peace with, and whom to make war on, and how? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And shouldn't it be with whoever is better to make peace with? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And at whatever time is better? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: And for as long as is better? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Now if the Athenians were deliberating about whom they should wrestle with, and whom to box against bare-handed, and how — would you give better advice than the trainer? ALCIBIADES: The trainer, surely. SOCRATES: Can you say what the trainer would look to in advising whom one should wrestle with and whom not, and when, and in what way? I mean something like this: should one wrestle with those it's better to wrestle with, or not? ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that many too, whenever it's better? ALCIBIADES: That many. SOCRATES: And at whatever moment it's better? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: But surely someone singing also has to play the lyre at some point to match the song, and to keep step? ALCIBIADES: Yes, he has to. SOCRATES: So at the moment when it's better? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And to that same degree—as much as is better? ALCIBIADES: I agree. SOCRATES: Well then—since you used the word 'better' for both cases, playing the lyre to match the song and wrestling—what do you call the 'better' involved in lyre-playing, the way I call the one in wrestling 'athletic'? What do you call that one? ALCIBIADES: I don't follow. SOCRATES: Well, try to copy me. I answered, remember, with 'whatever is correct all the way through'—and what's correct, surely, is whatever conforms to the skill in question. Isn't that so? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And the skill was athletics? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And I said the 'better' thing in wrestling was the athletic thing. ALCIBIADES: You did. SOCRATES: And rightly so? ALCIBIADES: I think so. SOCRATES: Now it's your turn—since speaking well would surely suit you too—tell me first, what is the skill that governs playing the lyre and singing and keeping step correctly? What is the whole of it called? Can't you say yet? ALCIBIADES: No, I can't. SOCRATES: Try it this way, then. Who are the goddesses whose skill this is? ALCIBIADES: Do you mean the Muses, Socrates? SOCRATES: I do. Now look—what name does the skill take from them? ALCIBIADES: I think you mean music. SOCRATES: That's what I mean. So what is it that happens correctly according to this skill? Just as over there I told you what happens correctly according to the skill, athletics—so here, what do you say? How does it happen? ALCIBIADES: 'Musically,' I'd say. SOCRATES: Well put. Now then—the 'better' involved in making war, and the 'better' involved in keeping peace—what do you name that better thing? Just as in the other cases you named the better thing on each side—'more musical' for one, 'more athletic' for the other—try to name the better thing here too. ALCIBIADES: I really can't manage it.

SOCRATES: But surely it would be shameful if someone heard you discussing and advising about food—saying that this is better than that, and better now, and by this much—and then asked, 'What do you mean by better, Alcibiades?'—and about that you could say 'the more healthful,' even though you don't claim to be a doctor. But about the matter you do claim to have expert knowledge of, and will stand up and advise on as one who knows—about that, it seems, if you were asked and couldn't answer, wouldn't you be ashamed? Won't it look shameful? ALCIBIADES: Very much so. SOCRATES: Then consider, and try hard to say, what the 'better' in keeping peace points toward, and the 'better' in making war on whoever needs to be fought. ALCIBIADES: But no matter how I consider it, I can't think of it. SOCRATES: Don't you at least know that whenever we go to war, we do so making accusations against each other about how we've been treated, and that we name the thing itself as we go into it? ALCIBIADES: I do—that it's because we're being cheated, somehow, or coerced, or robbed. SOCRATES: Hold on—suffering each of these in what way? Try to say what the difference is between one way and another. ALCIBIADES: Do you mean, Socrates, the difference between justly and unjustly? SOCRATES: Exactly that. ALCIBIADES: Well, that's a difference of the whole and entire kind. SOCRATES: Well then—which side would you advise the Athenians to make war on, those doing wrong or those doing what's just? ALCIBIADES: That's an awkward question—even if someone actually thought one ought to make war on people acting justly, he wouldn't admit it. SOCRATES: Because it isn't lawful, it seems. ALCIBIADES: No, and it doesn't seem honorable either. SOCRATES: So it's with an eye to this that you'll frame your arguments too—the just? ALCIBIADES: I have to. SOCRATES: So isn't it just this—what I was asking a moment ago, the 'better' with respect to making war or not, and against whom one should and shouldn't, and when and when not—that turns out to be the more just thing? Or not? ALCIBIADES: It appears so. SOCRATES: How then, my dear Alcibiades? Has it escaped your own notice that you don't know this—or has it escaped mine, that you've been learning it, going to some teacher who taught you to distinguish the more just from the more unjust? And who is this person? Tell me too, so I can enroll myself as his student along with you. ALCIBIADES: You're mocking me, Socrates. SOCRATES: No, by Zeus the god of friendship, who belongs to both of us, and whom I'd least of all swear falsely by—if you really have someone, tell me who. ALCIBIADES: And what if I don't? Don't you think I could know about just and unjust things some other way? SOCRATES: Yes—if you'd discovered it yourself. ALCIBIADES: But don't you think I could discover it? SOCRATES: I certainly do, if you went looking for it. ALCIBIADES: Well, don't you think I would have gone looking? SOCRATES: I do—if you'd thought you didn't know. ALCIBIADES: But wasn't there a time when that was exactly my situation?

SOCRATES: Well put. Can you then name the time when you thought you didn't know what's just and unjust? Come now—last year, were you searching, and did you think you didn't know? Or did you think you knew? Answer truly, so our conversation isn't wasted. ALCIBIADES: Well, I thought I knew. SOCRATES: And the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that—wasn't it the same? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: But before that you were a child, weren't you? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Well, back then I know perfectly well you thought you knew. ALCIBIADES: How do you know that so well? SOCRATES: I often heard you, as a boy, at the schoolmaster's and elsewhere, whenever you played knucklebones or some other game—not talking as someone at a loss about just and unjust things, but quite loudly and confidently declaring of whichever boy it happened to be that he was wicked and unjust and behaving unjustly. Am I not telling the truth? ALCIBIADES: But what was I supposed to do, Socrates, whenever someone was treating me unjustly? SOCRATES: And if you happened not to know at the time whether you were being treated unjustly or not, is that what you're saying—what should you do then? ALCIBIADES: No, by Zeus, I certainly wasn't ignorant—I knew clearly that I was being wronged. SOCRATES: So you thought—even as a child, it seems—that you understood what's just and unjust. ALCIBIADES: I did—and I did understand it. SOCRATES: At what point had you discovered this? Surely not at the time when you thought you knew it. ALCIBIADES: No, certainly not. SOCRATES: So when do you think you were ignorant of it? Look carefully—you won't find that time. ALCIBIADES: By Zeus, Socrates, I really can't say. SOCRATES: So it wasn't by discovery that you know it. ALCIBIADES: It doesn't look that way, no. SOCRATES: But just now you said you didn't know it by learning it either. And if you neither discovered it nor learned it, how do you know it, and from where? ALCIBIADES: Well, maybe I answered you wrongly on that point—claiming I knew it through discovering it myself. SOCRATES: Then how did it actually happen? ALCIBIADES: I learned it, I suppose, the way everyone else does. SOCRATES: We're back to the same question again. From whom? Tell me that too. ALCIBIADES: From the many. SOCRATES: You're taking refuge in poor teachers, appealing to 'the many.' ALCIBIADES: What, then? Aren't they capable of teaching this? SOCRATES: Not even how to play checkers properly, and I'd think that's a lesser matter than justice. What about it—don't you think so too? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So they're incapable of teaching the lesser things, but capable of teaching the more serious ones? ALCIBIADES: I think so, anyway—there are plenty of other, more serious things they're capable of teaching, beyond checkers. SOCRATES: What sort of things?

ALCIBIADES: Well, for instance, speaking Greek—that's something I learned from them, and I couldn't name any teacher of my own for it; I trace it back to the very people you say aren't serious teachers. SOCRATES: But, my noble friend, of that subject the many are indeed good teachers, and they might justly be praised for teaching it. ALCIBIADES: Why is that? SOCRATES: Because they possess what good teachers of anything need to possess. ALCIBIADES: What do you mean by that? SOCRATES: Don't you know that anyone who is going to teach anything at all must first know it themselves? Or not? ALCIBIADES: How could it be otherwise? SOCRATES: And that those who know agree with one another, and don't disagree? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And on matters where people disagree, would you say they know those things? ALCIBIADES: No, certainly not. SOCRATES: Then how could they be teachers of those matters? ALCIBIADES: In no way at all. SOCRATES: Well then—do the many seem to you to disagree about what a stone is, or what wood is? And if you ask anyone, don't they agree with each other, and reach for the same thing whenever they want to pick up a stone or a piece of wood? Likewise with everything of that sort—and this, I gather, is more or less what you mean by 'knowing how to speak Greek.' Or not? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So on these matters, as we said, they agree with one another and each with himself privately, and publicly the cities don't dispute with one another, some saying one thing and some another? ALCIBIADES: No, they don't. SOCRATES: So it's reasonable that they'd be good teachers of these things at least. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So if we wanted to make someone knowledgeable about them, we'd be right to send him to be taught by these many people? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: But what if we wanted to know not merely what kind of things men are, or what kind horses are, but which of them are fast runners and which aren't—are the many still capable of teaching that? ALCIBIADES: No, certainly not. SOCRATES: And is it sufficient proof to you that they don't know this, and aren't reliable teachers of it, that they don't agree with one another about it? ALCIBIADES: It is, to me. SOCRATES: And what if we wanted to know not merely what kind of things men are, but which are healthy and which are sickly—would the many be adequate teachers for us there? ALCIBIADES: No, certainly not. SOCRATES: And it would be proof to you that they're bad teachers of this, if you saw them disagreeing? ALCIBIADES: It would.

SOCRATES: Well then—what about now? On matters of just and unjust people and actions, do the many seem to you to agree with themselves, or with each other? ALCIBIADES: Least of all, by Zeus, Socrates. SOCRATES: And what about it—do they disagree about these things more than about anything else? ALCIBIADES: Far more. SOCRATES: Now, I don't suppose you've ever seen or heard of people disagreeing so violently about what's healthy and what isn't that they came to blows and killed one another over it. ALCIBIADES: No, certainly not. SOCRATES: But over just and unjust things, I know for a fact that you have—and if you haven't seen it yourself, you've at least heard of it, from many others and from Homer too; for you've heard the Odyssey and the Iliad. ALCIBIADES: Of course I have, Socrates. SOCRATES: And these are poems about a dispute over just and unjust things? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And it was this very dispute that produced the battles and the deaths, both for the Achaeans and for the Trojans on the other side, and for Penelope's suitors against Odysseus. ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: And I think the same is true of the Athenians and Spartans and Boeotians who died at Tanagra, and later at Coronea—where your own father Cleinias lost his life—the dispute over nothing else but justice and injustice produced those deaths and battles. Isn't that so? ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: So shall we say these people knew the very things about which they disagree so violently that, contesting each other, they destroy themselves to the last extreme? ALCIBIADES: It doesn't look that way. SOCRATES: So you appeal, as teachers, to people you yourself admit don't know? ALCIBIADES: So it seems. SOCRATES: Then how likely is it that you know what's just and unjust, when you wander so uncertainly about it, and evidently neither learned it from anyone nor discovered it yourself? ALCIBIADES: Given what you're saying, it's not likely. SOCRATES: You see again how badly you've put that, Alcibiades? ALCIBIADES: What do you mean? SOCRATES: That you say it's I who am saying this. ALCIBIADES: What, then? Aren't you the one saying I know nothing about just and unjust things? SOCRATES: No, I'm not. ALCIBIADES: Then who is? SOCRATES: You are. ALCIBIADES: How so? SOCRATES: You'll see it this way. If I ask you which is greater, one or two, you'll say two? ALCIBIADES: I will. SOCRATES: By how much? ALCIBIADES: By one. SOCRATES: So which of us is it who says two is greater than one by one? ALCIBIADES: I am. SOCRATES: Wasn't it I who asked, and you who answered? ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: In what we've just said, do I seem to be the one speaking — the one asking the questions — or you, the one answering? ALCIBIADES: I do. SOCRATES: And if I ask what letters spell Socrates, and you tell me, which of us is speaking? ALCIBIADES: I am. SOCRATES: Come then, tell me in general: when a question is asked and answered, which of the two is speaking — the one who asks, or the one who answers? ALCIBIADES: The one who answers, it seems to me, Socrates. SOCRATES: And wasn't I the one asking, all the way through, just now? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And you were the one answering? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: Well then — which of us said what was said? ALCIBIADES: It appears, Socrates, going by what we've agreed, that I did. SOCRATES: And wasn't it said, about just and unjust things, that Alcibiades, the handsome son of Cleinias, doesn't know them but thinks he does, and is about to go into the assembly and advise the Athenians on matters he knows nothing about? Wasn't that what was said? ALCIBIADES: It appears so. SOCRATES: Then Euripides' line applies to you, Alcibiades: it seems you've heard this from yourself, not from me — I'm not the one saying it, you are, and you're blaming me for nothing. And you're quite right to say it — for you have in mind, my excellent friend, to attempt a mad undertaking: to teach what you don't know, having neglected to learn it. ALCIBIADES: I think, Socrates, that the Athenians and the rest of the Greeks rarely deliberate over which things are more just or more unjust — they think such matters are obvious, and so, setting them aside, they consider instead which course will be advantageous if acted on. For I don't think the just and the advantageous are the same thing — many have profited by committing great injustices, and others, I think, have gained nothing by acting justly. SOCRATES: Well then — even granting that the just and the advantageous are, as it happens, different things, surely you don't imagine you know what's advantageous for people, and why? ALCIBIADES: What's stopping me, Socrates — unless you're now going to ask me from whom I learned it, or how I discovered it myself.

SOCRATES: Here's what you're doing. If you say something that isn't quite right, and it happens to be possible to demonstrate this by the very same argument as before, you act as though you need to hear something entirely new — different proofs — as if the old ones were worn-out tools you can no longer wear, and nothing will satisfy you unless someone brings you evidence clean and untouched. But I'll let your evasive preambles go and ask all the same, from where you've come to know what's advantageous, and who your teacher is, and I'll ask all those earlier questions in a single question: isn't it clear you'll end up in the same place, and won't be able to show either that you found out what's advantageous on your own, or that you learned it? And since you're too fastidious to enjoy tasting that same argument again, I'll let that one go — whether or not you know what's advantageous for Athens. But this — whether the just and the advantageous are the same thing, or different — why haven't you shown that? If you like, question me the way I've been questioning you; or else, work through it yourself in your own speech. ALCIBIADES: But I don't know, Socrates, whether I'd be able to work through it in front of you. SOCRATES: Well, my good man, think of me as the assembly, as the people — there too you'll have to persuade one man at a time. Isn't that so? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And isn't the same person able to persuade one man alone and many together about whatever he happens to know — just as the schoolteacher persuades both one person and many about letters? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And won't the same man persuade one person and many about number as well? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And this will be the one who knows — the arithmetician? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: And won't you too be able to persuade one person of exactly what you can persuade many of? ALCIBIADES: Likely so. SOCRATES: And these are clearly the things you know. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So is there really any difference between the speaker in the assembly and the one in a private conversation like this, except that one persuades a crowd all at once of the same things, and the other persuades one person at a time? ALCIBIADES: It seems so. SOCRATES: Come now, then, since it appears the same person can persuade both many and one, practice on me, and try to show that the just is sometimes not advantageous. ALCIBIADES: You're insufferable, Socrates. SOCRATES: Well, it's out of this very insufferableness that I'm about to persuade you of the opposite of what you refuse to be persuaded of by me. ALCIBIADES: Go on, then. SOCRATES: Just answer what I ask. ALCIBIADES: No — you speak instead. SOCRATES: What? Don't you want, more than anything, to be persuaded? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: Then if you yourself say that things are so, wouldn't you be most persuaded of all? ALCIBIADES: I think so. SOCRATES: Then answer — and if you don't hear from your own mouth that the just and the advantageous are the same, don't trust anyone else who says so either. ALCIBIADES: Fair enough — I'll answer. I don't think I'll come to any harm by it.

SOCRATES: You're quite the prophet. Now tell me: do you say that some just things are advantageous, and others not? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And what about this — that some of them are noble, and some not? ALCIBIADES: What do you mean by that question? SOCRATES: Has it ever seemed to you that someone was doing something shameful, yet just? ALCIBIADES: No, not to me. SOCRATES: So all just acts are also noble? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And what about noble things in turn — are all of them good, or are some good and some not? ALCIBIADES: I do think, Socrates, that some noble things are bad. SOCRATES: And some shameful things good? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Do you mean something like this — that many men, in war, went to help a comrade or kinsman and were wounded and died, while others, who didn't go to help when they should have, came away unharmed? ALCIBIADES: Exactly. SOCRATES: And you call that kind of help noble, in terms of the attempt to save those who needed saving — and that's courage, isn't it? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: But bad, in terms of the deaths and wounds? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And isn't courage one thing, and death another? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: So helping one's friends isn't noble and bad in the same respect? ALCIBIADES: It doesn't appear so. SOCRATES: Then consider whether, wherever a thing is noble, it's also good, just as it was in this case. You agreed that the help was noble in respect of the courage involved — so consider this very thing, courage itself: is it good or bad? Consider it this way: which would you choose to have for yourself, good things or bad things? ALCIBIADES: Good things. SOCRATES: And the greatest goods most of all? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And you'd least of all choose to be deprived of such things? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: Then what do you say about courage? At what price would you accept being deprived of it? ALCIBIADES: I wouldn't even accept living, if I were a coward. SOCRATES: So cowardice seems to you the worst of evils. ALCIBIADES: It does to me. SOCRATES: Equal to being dead, it seems. ALCIBIADES: I say so. SOCRATES: And life and courage are the most opposed things to death and cowardice? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And you'd want the one most of all for yourself, and the other least of all? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Is it because you hold the one to be best, and the other worst? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: So you hold courage to be among the best things, and death among the worst. ALCIBIADES: I do. SOCRATES: So helping one's friends in war, insofar as it's noble, you called noble because it's an instance of a good thing — courage? ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: But bad, insofar as it's an instance of a bad thing — death? ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then isn't it right to call each action in this way: if, insofar as it produces something bad, you call it bad, then insofar as it produces something good, it must be called good? ALCIBIADES: I think so. SOCRATES: And insofar as it's good, isn't it noble — and insofar as it's bad, shameful? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So when you say that helping friends in war is both noble and bad, you're saying nothing different from calling it both good and bad. ALCIBIADES: I think you're right, Socrates. SOCRATES: So nothing noble, insofar as it is noble, is bad — and nothing shameful, insofar as it is shameful, is good. ALCIBIADES: It doesn't appear so. SOCRATES: Now consider it this way too. Whoever acts nobly — doesn't he also act well? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And those who act well — aren't they happy? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And happy through possessing good things? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: And they gain these by acting well and nobly? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So acting well is good? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And isn't faring well noble? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So once again the noble and the good have turned out, for us, to be the same thing. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: Then whatever we find to be noble, we'll find, on this same reasoning, to be good as well. ALCIBIADES: Necessarily. SOCRATES: And what about this — are good things advantageous, or not? ALCIBIADES: Advantageous. SOCRATES: Do you remember, then, how we agreed about just things? ALCIBIADES: I believe we agreed that those who do just things must necessarily do noble things. SOCRATES: And that those who do noble things do good things? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And that good things are advantageous? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Then just things, Alcibiades, are advantageous. ALCIBIADES: So it seems. SOCRATES: Well then — isn't it you who's been saying all this, and I only the one asking? ALCIBIADES: I appear to be, it seems. SOCRATES: So if someone stands up to advise either the Athenians or the people of Peparethus, thinking he knows what's just and unjust, and says that just things are sometimes bad, wouldn't you laugh at him — seeing that you yourself say the just and the advantageous are the same thing? ALCIBIADES: But by the gods, Socrates, I honestly don't know what I'm saying anymore — I seem to be in some strange condition. One moment one thing seems true to me as you question me, and the next moment something else. SOCRATES: And do you really not know, my friend, what this experience is? ALCIBIADES: I certainly don't. SOCRATES: Well, do you think, if someone asked you whether you have two eyes or three, and two hands or four, or something else of that sort, you'd give different answers at different times, or always the same ones?

ALCIBIADES: I'm starting to worry about myself now, but I think I'd say the same thing each time. SOCRATES: And isn't that because you know? ALCIBIADES: I think so. SOCRATES: So on whatever matters you unwillingly give contradictory answers, it's clear that on those matters you don't know. ALCIBIADES: Likely so. SOCRATES: And you say you wander back and forth in your answers about just and unjust things, noble and shameful things, bad and good things, advantageous and disadvantageous things? Then isn't it clear that this wandering happens because you don't know about them? ALCIBIADES: It seems so to me. SOCRATES: Is this how it works, then — whenever someone doesn't know something, his soul must wander about that thing? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: Well then — do you know how you'd go up into the sky? ALCIBIADES: No, by Zeus, I don't. SOCRATES: And does your judgment about it waver back and forth? ALCIBIADES: No, it doesn't. SOCRATES: Do you know the reason, or shall I tell you? ALCIBIADES: Tell me. SOCRATES: It's because, my friend, though you don't know it, you don't imagine that you do. ALCIBIADES: What do you mean by that now? SOCRATES: Look at it together with me. Things you don't know, but recognize that you don't know — do you waver about such things? Take the preparation of a dish — you know, presumably, that you don't know that? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: Well then, do you form your own opinions about how it should be prepared, and waver about it, or do you hand it over to someone who knows? ALCIBIADES: The latter. SOCRATES: And if you were sailing on a ship, would you have opinions about whether the tiller should be pulled in or pushed out, and waver about it since you don't know, or would you hand it over to the helmsman and keep quiet? ALCIBIADES: To the helmsman. SOCRATES: So you don't waver about things you don't know, as long as you know that you don't know them? ALCIBIADES: It seems not. SOCRATES: Do you see, then, that mistakes in action come from this very ignorance — the ignorance of thinking you know when you don't? ALCIBIADES: What do you mean by that, again? SOCRATES: We set about doing something, I take it, whenever we think we know what we're doing? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: But whenever people don't think they know, don't they hand the matter over to others? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: So people of that kind — those who don't know but hand things over to others — live free of mistakes, because of that very habit of entrusting such things to others? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Then who are the ones who make mistakes? Surely not those who know. ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Since neither those who know, nor those among the ignorant who at least know that they don't know, are left over -- isn't the only group remaining those who don't know but think they do? ALCIBIADES: Yes, that's the group. SOCRATES: So this is the ignorance that causes wrongdoing, the shameful kind of stupidity? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And when it concerns the most important things, it's at its ugliest and most destructive? ALCIBIADES: By far. SOCRATES: Well then -- can you name anything more important than what is just, noble, good, and advantageous? ALCIBIADES: No, I can't. SOCRATES: And isn't it precisely in these matters that you admit you're at sea? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And if you're at sea, isn't it clear from what we've said that you don't merely fail to know the most important things -- you don't even know that you don't know them, and think you do? ALCIBIADES: It looks that way. SOCRATES: Good grief, Alcibiades, what a condition you're in! I hesitate even to name it, but since we're alone, it must be said. You're living with ignorance, my friend -- the worst kind there is, as your own words convict you and you convict yourself. That's exactly why you're rushing into politics before you've been educated for it. And you're not the only one this has happened to -- so has most everyone who manages the affairs of this city, except for a few, and perhaps your guardian Pericles. ALCIBIADES: Well, Socrates, they do say he didn't become wise on his own, but by keeping company with many wise men -- Pythoclides and Anaxagoras. And even now, at his age, he keeps Damon around for that very reason. SOCRATES: Really? Have you ever seen a wise man unable to make someone else wise in the same thing he knows? Take the man who taught you your letters -- he was skilled himself, and he made you skilled, and anyone else he wanted to. Isn't that so? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And you, having learned from him, could make someone else skilled too? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: The same with the lyre teacher and the trainer? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: Because surely this is fine proof that people who know something really do know it -- when they're able to produce someone else who knows it too. ALCIBIADES: I think so. SOCRATES: Well then, can you say who Pericles made wise -- starting with his own sons? ALCIBIADES: What if Pericles's two sons just turned out slow-witted, Socrates? SOCRATES: Then take Cleinias, your brother. ALCIBIADES: And what would you say about Cleinias -- a man out of his mind? SOCRATES: Well then, since Cleinias is out of his mind, and Pericles's two sons turned out slow, what should we blame for your own condition, that he lets you go on this way? ALCIBIADES: I suppose I'm to blame, for not paying attention.

SOCRATES: Then name someone else -- any other Athenian, or foreigner, slave or free -- who is credited with having become wiser through keeping company with Pericles, the way I can point to Pythodorus son of Isolochus and Callias son of Calliades, who became wise and distinguished through their association with Zeno, each having paid him a hundred minas. ALCIBIADES: No, by Zeus, I can't. SOCRATES: Very well. So what do you intend for yourself -- to leave things as they are, or to take some care over it? ALCIBIADES: We should decide together, Socrates. And in fact, hearing you say this, I find myself agreeing: it seems to me that the men running this city, except for a few, are uneducated. SOCRATES: And so what follows from that? ALCIBIADES: If they were educated, then anyone attempting to compete with them would need to learn and train first, the way one does before facing athletes. But since even they have come to city affairs as amateurs, why should I need to train and burden myself with learning? I know very well that in natural ability alone I'll far surpass them. SOCRATES: Good grief, my excellent friend, what a thing to say! As if that were worthy of your looks and everything else you have going for you! ALCIBIADES: What exactly do you mean by that, Socrates, and why say it? SOCRATES: I'm upset, both on your behalf and on behalf of my own love for you. ALCIBIADES: Why? SOCRATES: That you should think your contest is with the men here. ALCIBIADES: Then with whom? SOCRATES: That's worth asking, for a man who thinks himself so high-minded. ALCIBIADES: What do you mean? Isn't my contest with these men? SOCRATES: Suppose you intended to pilot a warship into battle -- would it be enough for you to be the best helmsman among your own crew? Or would you think that necessary, sure, but keep your eye fixed on your true opponents rather than, as you're doing now, on your fellow crewmen -- whom you need to surpass so thoroughly that you wouldn't even think of competing with them, but rather have them, humbled, fighting alongside you against the enemy -- if indeed you intend to accomplish some genuinely fine deed worthy of yourself and of the city? ALCIBIADES: Well, that is what I intend. SOCRATES: Then it's quite something for you to be satisfied with being better than the soldiers, instead of looking to the enemy's commanders to see whether you've ever surpassed them -- studying them, training against them.

ALCIBIADES: Who do you mean by these, Socrates? SOCRATES: Don't you know our city is forever at war with the Spartans and the Great King? ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: So if you intend to be the leader of this city, wouldn't you be right to think your contest lies against the kings of Sparta and of Persia? ALCIBIADES: You may well be speaking the truth. SOCRATES: No, my good man -- rather, you ought to be looking to Midias the quail-fancier, and others of that sort, who attempt to manage the city's business while still carrying, as the women would put it, the servile hair on their souls, from a lack of culture they haven't yet shed, still speaking with a foreign accent, come to flatter the city rather than to rule it. It's toward these men you should look, and neglect yourself accordingly -- neither learning what needs to be learned, nor training in what needs training -- when you're about to enter so vast a contest, all the while showing up fully prepared for city business! ALCIBIADES: Well, Socrates, I think you're right, but I also think the Spartan generals and the Persian king are no different from anyone else. SOCRATES: But my excellent friend, look at what kind of opinion this is that you hold. ALCIBIADES: Concerning what? SOCRATES: First -- which way do you think you'd take better care of yourself: fearing them and believing them formidable, or not? ALCIBIADES: Clearly, if I believed them formidable. SOCRATES: And do you think you'd be harmed at all by taking care of yourself? ALCIBIADES: Not at all -- I'd gain a great deal instead. SOCRATES: So this belief of yours has this one great flaw already. ALCIBIADES: True. SOCRATES: Now for the second point -- that it's also false. Consider it from what's likely. ALCIBIADES: How so? SOCRATES: Is it more likely that better natures arise in noble families, or not? ALCIBIADES: Clearly among the noble. SOCRATES: And that those who are well-born, if also well-raised, come to full excellence? ALCIBIADES: Necessarily. SOCRATES: Let's then examine our situation against theirs, setting them side by side -- first, whether the kings of Sparta and Persia seem to be of lesser stock. Don't we know that the one line descends from Heracles, the other from Achaemenes, and that both the family of Heracles and that of Achaemenes trace back to Perseus, son of Zeus?

ALCIBIADES: And ours too, Socrates, traces back to Eurysaces, and Eurysaces's back to Zeus. SOCRATES: And ours too, noble Alcibiades, traces back to Daedalus, and Daedalus back to Hephaestus, son of Zeus. But their lines, starting from themselves, run back through king after king all the way to Zeus -- some kings of Argos and Sparta continually, the others of Persia forever, and often of Asia besides, as even now. We ourselves, though, are private citizens, and so were our fathers. And if you had to display your ancestors and Eurysaces's homeland Salamis, or Aegina, home of the still earlier Aeacus, before Artaxerxes son of Xerxes -- imagine how much laughter you'd earn! No, watch out that we aren't outmatched by these men both in the grandeur of lineage and in upbringing generally. Or haven't you noticed how great the advantages of the Spartan kings are -- whose wives are publicly guarded by the ephors, so that so far as possible it never goes unnoticed if the king is born of someone other than a descendant of Heracles? The Persian king so far surpasses this that no one even suspects a king could be born of anyone but himself; so the king's wife is guarded by nothing but fear. And when the eldest son is born, the one who will hold the throne, first everyone in the king's domain holds festival, and afterward, every year on that same day, the whole of Asia sacrifices and celebrates the king's birthday; whereas when one of us is born, as the comic poet says, not even the neighbors much notice, Alcibiades. After this the child is raised, not by some cheap nurse-woman, but by eunuchs judged the best among those around the king; among their other duties is caring for the newborn, and especially contriving that he become as handsome as possible, by reshaping and straightening his limbs -- and doing this earns them great honor. When the boys turn seven, they go to the horses and to their trainers, and begin to go out hunting. At twice seven years, the boy is taken over by those they call the royal tutors; these are four men chosen as the best among the Persians of mature age -- the wisest, the most just, the most self-controlled, and the most courageous.

SOCRATES: Of these, one teaches him the magianism of Zoroaster, son of Oromazes -- which is the worship proper to the gods -- and he also teaches the arts of kingship; the most just one teaches him to speak the truth all his life long; the most self-controlled teaches him to be ruled by none of the pleasures, so that he grows accustomed to being free and truly a king, ruling first the things within himself rather than being enslaved to them; and the most courageous makes him fearless and free of dread, on the ground that to feel fear is to be a slave. But for you, Alcibiades, Pericles set over you as tutor the most useless of his household slaves due to old age, Zopyrus the Thracian. I could go on describing the rest of your rivals' upbringing and education, if it weren't a long business, and if what I've said weren't already enough to show the rest that follows from it. But your own birth, Alcibiades, and upbringing and education -- or that of any other Athenian, so to speak -- concerns nobody at all, unless it happens to be one of your lovers. And if in turn you care to look at wealth and luxury -- clothes with trailing robes, perfumed ointments, crowds of attendants following about, and all the rest of Persian softness -- you'd be ashamed of yourself, once you noticed how far short of it you fall. And if in turn you're willing to look at self-control and orderliness, ease and adaptability, greatness of spirit, discipline, courage, endurance, love of hard work, love of victory, and ambition for honor -- all as the Spartans practice them -- you'd think yourself a mere child next to all of that. And if wealth is something you do care about, and you think yourself somebody on that account, let's not leave that unspoken either, in case you come to see where you actually stand. If you're willing to look at Spartan wealth, you'll find that what we have here falls far short of what they have there. As for land -- both their own and Messenia's -- no one here could rival them in extent or quality, nor in the ownership of slaves, whether the rest or the helots specifically, nor indeed in horses, nor in all the other livestock grazing throughout Messenia. But let all that go -- there isn't as much gold and silver in private hands among all the Greeks combined as there is in Sparta alone; for many generations now it has been flowing in from all the Greeks, and often from foreigners too, and never flows back out anywhere -- exactly like the fable Aesop tells of the fox speaking to the lion: the tracks of the money going into Sparta are plain to see, but no one could ever spot tracks coming back out.

SOCRATES: So you should know well that the Persians are richest in gold and silver of all people, including the Greeks, and their king is richest of all. Enormous sums flow in to their kings from taxes of this kind, and beyond that there is the royal tribute, no small amount, which the Spartans pay to their own kings. Now the wealth of the Spartans, great as it looks against Greek fortunes, is nothing against the Persian king's. I once heard from a trustworthy man, one of those who had traveled up to the King, that he passed through a very large and fertile stretch of land, nearly a day's journey across, which the local people call the Queen's Girdle. There was another region called her Veil, and many other fine, rich places set aside for the Queen's wardrobe, each named for the piece of adornment it supports. So I imagine that if someone told the King's mother, Xerxes' wife Amestris, that the son of Deinomache intends to take the field against her son -- a woman whose jewelry alone is worth perhaps fifty minas, if that much, while her son's estate at Erchia doesn't even run to three hundred acres -- she would be astonished at what on earth this Alcibiades could be relying on to think of contending with Artaxerxes. And I imagine she would say that the only thing a man could possibly rely on for such an attempt is diligence and wisdom -- since among the Greeks those are the only things worth mentioning. But if she learned that this Alcibiades is undertaking it while not even twenty years old yet, and utterly uneducated besides, and that when his lover tells him he must first learn, take care of himself, and train before going to contend with the King, he refuses, and says what he already has is enough -- I think she would be amazed, and would ask: what in the world does the boy rely on? And if we said: on his beauty, his stature, his lineage, his wealth, and his natural gifts of soul, she would think us mad, Alcibiades, comparing all that to what they have.

SOCRATES: And I think even Lampido, daughter of Leotychidas, wife of Archidamus, and mother of Agis -- all of them kings -- would be no less astonished, looking at what her own family possesses, to learn that you mean to contend with her son so poorly prepared as you are. Isn't it shameful, though, if the wives of our enemies think more clearly about what sort of men ought to challenge them than we think about ourselves? Well, my friend, trust me and trust the inscription at Delphi: know yourself. These are our real rivals -- not the ones you imagine. There is no one else we could ever surpass except by diligence and skill. If you fall short of them, you will fall short of becoming famous among both Greeks and foreigners -- which I think you desire more than anyone has ever desired anything. ALCIBIADES: So what kind of care must I take, Socrates? Can you show me? You seem more than anyone to be speaking the truth. SOCRATES: Yes -- but this calls for shared deliberation, as to how we might both become as good as possible. I don't mean that you need education while I don't; there's nothing separating me from you except one thing. ALCIBIADES: What's that? SOCRATES: My guardian is better and wiser than your Pericles. ALCIBIADES: Who is that, Socrates? SOCRATES: A god, Alcibiades -- the one who wouldn't let me speak with you before today. Trusting in him, I say that you will come to distinction through no one but me. ALCIBIADES: You're joking, Socrates. SOCRATES: Perhaps -- but I'm speaking the truth, that we need care, all people do, but the two of us especially, urgently. ALCIBIADES: You're not wrong about me. SOCRATES: Nor am I wrong about myself. ALCIBIADES: So what should we do? SOCRATES: We mustn't shrink back or grow faint, my friend. ALCIBIADES: That wouldn't suit us, Socrates. SOCRATES: No -- so we must examine the matter together. Tell me: we say we want to become as good as possible -- yes? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Good at what? ALCIBIADES: Clearly, at what good men are good at. SOCRATES: Good at what, exactly? ALCIBIADES: Clearly, at conducting affairs. SOCRATES: What kind? Horsemanship, say? ALCIBIADES: Certainly not. SOCRATES: Then we'd have to go to horsemen for that? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Or do you mean seamanship? ALCIBIADES: No. SOCRATES: Then we'd go to sailors for that? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Then what do you mean? What affairs, conducted by whom? ALCIBIADES: The ones the best and finest Athenians conduct.

SOCRATES: And by 'the best and finest' do you mean the sensible ones or the senseless ones? ALCIBIADES: The sensible ones. SOCRATES: So whatever a person is sensible at, that's what he's good at? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And whatever he's senseless at, he's bad at? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: Now, is a cobbler sensible at making shoes? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: So he's good at that? ALCIBIADES: Good. SOCRATES: But isn't the cobbler senseless at making cloaks? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So he's bad at that? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Then by this reasoning the same man is both bad and good. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: Do you really mean that good men can also be bad? ALCIBIADES: Certainly not. SOCRATES: Then whom exactly do you mean by the good? ALCIBIADES: I mean those capable of ruling in the city. SOCRATES: Not ruling over horses, surely? ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: Over people, then? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Sick people? ALCIBIADES: No. SOCRATES: People on a voyage? ALCIBIADES: No, I don't mean that. SOCRATES: People harvesting? ALCIBIADES: No. SOCRATES: People doing nothing, or people doing something? ALCIBIADES: Doing something, I mean. SOCRATES: What sort? Try to make it clear to me too. ALCIBIADES: I mean people who deal with one another and make use of each other, the way we live together in our cities. SOCRATES: So you mean ruling over people who make use of other people? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Ruling boatswains who make use of rowers? ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: That's the pilot's skill, isn't it? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Or do you mean ruling over flute-players, who lead singers and make use of a chorus? ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: That's a chorus-master's skill, in turn. ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: Then what on earth do you mean by ruling people who make use of other people? ALCIBIADES: I mean ruling, within the city, over those who share in citizenship and deal with one another. SOCRATES: What skill is this, then? Suppose I asked you again as before: what skill enables one to rule people who share in seafaring? ALCIBIADES: Piloting. SOCRATES: And what knowledge enables one to rule people who share in singing, as we just said? ALCIBIADES: The very one you just mentioned -- chorus-training. SOCRATES: Well then -- what do you call the knowledge that rules people who share in citizenship? ALCIBIADES: Good judgment, Socrates, I'd say. SOCRATES: Really? Is the pilots' skill a kind of poor judgment? ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: It's good judgment, then?

ALCIBIADES: So it seems to me -- good judgment aimed at keeping the passengers safe. SOCRATES: Well put. Now, this good judgment you speak of -- what is it aimed at? ALCIBIADES: At governing the city better and keeping it safe. SOCRATES: And what is present or absent when the city is governed and kept safe better? Suppose you asked me: what is present or absent that makes a body better governed and kept safe? I'd say: health present, disease absent. Don't you think the same? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And if you asked me again: what presence makes eyes better? I'd likewise say: sight present, blindness absent. And ears, when deafness is absent and hearing is present, become better and better cared for. ALCIBIADES: Right. SOCRATES: Well then -- what presence or absence makes a city better, better cared for, and better governed? ALCIBIADES: It seems to me, Socrates, when friendship arises among the citizens toward one another, and hatred and factional strife are absent. SOCRATES: By friendship do you mean agreement or disagreement? ALCIBIADES: Agreement. SOCRATES: Through what skill do cities agree about numbers? ALCIBIADES: Through arithmetic. SOCRATES: And private individuals -- isn't it through the same skill? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And each person with himself? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Through what skill does each person agree with himself about which is longer, a handspan or a cubit? Isn't it through the art of measurement? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And don't private individuals agree with one another the same way, and cities too? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And about weight, isn't it the same? ALCIBIADES: I agree. SOCRATES: But this agreement you speak of -- what is it, and about what, and what skill produces it? And is it the same for a city as for a private person, both with himself and with another? ALCIBIADES: It's likely to be. SOCRATES: What is it, then? Don't tire of answering -- press on and tell me. ALCIBIADES: I suppose I mean friendship and agreement of the sort a father has toward a son whom he loves, and a mother, and a brother toward a brother, and a wife toward a husband. SOCRATES: Do you think, Alcibiades, that a man could agree with a woman about wool-working, if he doesn't understand it and she does? ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: Nor does he need to -- that's a woman's skill. ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And could a woman agree with a man about soldiery, without having learned it? ALCIBIADES: No indeed. SOCRATES: That, I suppose you'd say, is a man's skill in turn. ALCIBIADES: I would. SOCRATES: So by your account, some subjects belong to women, others to men. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: Then in these matters at least there is no agreement between women and men. ALCIBIADES: No. SOCRATES: Nor friendship either, if friendship was agreement. ALCIBIADES: Apparently not. SOCRATES: So insofar as women do their own tasks, they aren't loved by men on that account. ALCIBIADES: It seems not. SOCRATES: Nor are men loved by women on account of doing their own tasks. ALCIBIADES: No. SOCRATES: Then cities aren't well run on this basis either, when each group does its own tasks? ALCIBIADES: I do think they are, Socrates. SOCRATES: What do you mean, when the friendship we said had to be present for cities to be well run is absent? ALCIBIADES: But it seems to me that friendship does arise among them precisely on this basis, that each group does its own tasks. SOCRATES: That's not what you said a moment ago. Now what are you saying -- that friendship arises where agreement is absent? Or can agreement arise about matters where some know them and others don't? ALCIBIADES: Impossible. SOCRATES: And when each group does its own tasks, are they acting justly or unjustly? ALCIBIADES: Justly, of course. SOCRATES: And when citizens in a city act justly, doesn't friendship arise among them? ALCIBIADES: It seems necessary again, Socrates. SOCRATES: Then what do you mean by this friendship or agreement about which we need to become wise and well-judging, in order to be good men? I can't grasp either what it is or in whom it resides -- sometimes it appears present in the same people, sometimes not, going by what you say. ALCIBIADES: But by the gods, Socrates, I don't even know myself what I'm saying -- it seems I've long been unaware, without noticing, of being in a most shameful state. SOCRATES: Well, you should take heart. If you had noticed this at fifty, it would be hard for you to attend to yourself; but as it is, you're just the age at which one ought to notice it. ALCIBIADES: And once someone notices it, Socrates, what should he do? SOCRATES: Answer the questions put to him, Alcibiades. If you do that, then, god willing -- if my prophetic sense is to be trusted at all -- both you and I will be better off. ALCIBIADES: It will be so, at least as far as my answering goes.

SOCRATES: Come then, what is it to take care of oneself—since we might easily miss the mark and think we're caring for ourselves when we're not—and when exactly does a person do this? Is it when he cares for what belongs to him that he's also caring for himself? ALCIBIADES: That's how it seems to me, anyway. SOCRATES: Well then, when does a person care for his feet? Isn't it when he cares for whatever belongs to the feet? ALCIBIADES: I don't follow. SOCRATES: Do you call anything the property of the hand? For instance, would you say a ring belongs to any part of a person other than a finger? ALCIBIADES: No, certainly not. SOCRATES: And a shoe belongs to the foot the same way? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And clothes and bedding belong to the rest of the body in the same way? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So when we care for our shoes, are we then caring for our feet? ALCIBIADES: I still don't quite follow, Socrates. SOCRATES: Well, Alcibiades, do you call caring for something correctly by some name? ALCIBIADES: I do. SOCRATES: So when someone makes a thing better, do you call that correct care? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: What skill, then, makes shoes better? ALCIBIADES: Shoemaking. SOCRATES: So it's by shoemaking that we care for shoes? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: But do we care for the foot by shoemaking too? Or by whatever skill makes feet better? ALCIBIADES: By that other skill. SOCRATES: And isn't it the same skill that makes feet better as makes the rest of the body better? ALCIBIADES: I think so. SOCRATES: And isn't that skill gymnastics? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: So it's by gymnastics that we care for the foot, and by shoemaking for what belongs to the foot? ALCIBIADES: Quite so. SOCRATES: And by gymnastics for the hands, and by ring-engraving for what belongs to the hand? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And by gymnastics for the body, and by weaving and the other crafts for what belongs to the body? ALCIBIADES: Absolutely. SOCRATES: So it's by one skill that we care for the thing itself, and by another that we care for what belongs to it. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: Then when you care for what's yours, you aren't caring for yourself. ALCIBIADES: Not at all. SOCRATES: Because, it seems, the skill by which one would care for oneself is not the same as the one for caring for what belongs to oneself. ALCIBIADES: It doesn't appear to be. SOCRATES: Come then, by what skill could we care for ourselves? ALCIBIADES: I can't say. SOCRATES: But at least this much we've agreed—that it's not a skill by which we'd make any of our belongings better, but one by which we'd make ourselves better? ALCIBIADES: True. SOCRATES: Now, could we ever have known what skill makes a shoe better without knowing what a shoe is? ALCIBIADES: Impossible. SOCRATES: Nor what skill makes rings better, if we're ignorant of what a ring is. ALCIBIADES: True. SOCRATES: Well then—what skill makes a person better? Could we ever know that while being ignorant of what we ourselves actually are?

ALCIBIADES: Impossible. SOCRATES: So is it in fact easy to know oneself, and was whoever set up that inscription in the temple at Delphi some ordinary fellow, or is it something difficult, not for just anyone? ALCIBIADES: To me, Socrates, it's often seemed like anyone could do it, and often seemed extremely difficult. SOCRATES: But Alcibiades, whether it's easy or not, this much holds for us regardless: if we know it, we might quickly know how to care for ourselves, but if we don't know it, we never could. ALCIBIADES: That's so. SOCRATES: Come then, in what way might the thing itself be discovered? For that way we might quickly find out what we ourselves actually are, whereas remaining ignorant of this we're presumably unable to. ALCIBIADES: You're right. SOCRATES: So hold on, for god's sake. Who are you talking with right now? Anyone but me? ALCIBIADES: Yes, you. SOCRATES: And I with you? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So it's Socrates who is doing the talking? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: And Alcibiades who is listening? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And Socrates converses using speech? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And conversing and using speech you'd call the same thing, I suppose? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: But isn't the user distinct from what he uses? ALCIBIADES: What do you mean? SOCRATES: Take a shoemaker—he cuts with a knife and an awl and other tools, doesn't he? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So the one who cuts and uses tools is distinct from the tools he uses in cutting? ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And in the same way, would what the harpist plays with be distinct from the harpist himself? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: This, then, is what I was just asking—whether the user always seems distinct from what he uses. ALCIBIADES: It does seem so. SOCRATES: So what shall we say of the shoemaker—does he cut only with his tools, or with his hands too? ALCIBIADES: With his hands too. SOCRATES: So he uses those as well? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And does he also use his eyes in shoemaking? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And we agree the user is distinct from what he uses? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So the shoemaker and the harpist are distinct from the hands and eyes they work with? ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: And doesn't a person use his whole body too? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: And the user was distinct from what he uses? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So a person is distinct from his own body? ALCIBIADES: It seems so. SOCRATES: Then what on earth is the person? ALCIBIADES: I can't say. SOCRATES: You can say this much at least—that it's whatever uses the body. ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And does anything use it other than the soul? ALCIBIADES: Nothing else. SOCRATES: Ruling it, then? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And here's something I don't think anyone could think otherwise about. ALCIBIADES: What's that? SOCRATES: That a person must be one of three things. ALCIBIADES: Which three? SOCRATES: Soul, or body, or the two together as one whole. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: But we agreed that whatever rules the body is the person. ALCIBIADES: We did. SOCRATES: So does the body rule itself? ALCIBIADES: Not at all. SOCRATES: For we said it is ruled. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: Then this couldn't be what we're looking for. ALCIBIADES: It doesn't seem to be. SOCRATES: Well, does the combination of both rule the body, and is this then the person? ALCIBIADES: Perhaps so. SOCRATES: Least of all possibilities. For if one of the two isn't ruling along with it, there's no way the combination could rule at all. ALCIBIADES: Right. SOCRATES: And since neither the body, nor the combination of both, is the person, what's left, I think, is either that the person is nothing at all, or, if it is something, that it turns out to be nothing other than the soul. ALCIBIADES: Exactly so. SOCRATES: Do you need it demonstrated to you still more clearly that the soul is the person? ALCIBIADES: No, by Zeus—it seems sufficient to me as it is. SOCRATES: And if it's not exact but only roughly adequate, that's enough for us; we'll know it exactly when we've worked out something we passed over just now because it needed lengthy examination. ALCIBIADES: What's that? SOCRATES: What was just now put something like this—that first we ought to examine the very thing itself; but instead of the thing itself, we've examined what each particular thing is. And perhaps that will be enough—for surely we could say nothing has more authority over us than the soul. ALCIBIADES: No, indeed. SOCRATES: So isn't it right to think of it this way—that you and I are conversing with each other, using speech, soul to soul? ALCIBIADES: Quite so. SOCRATES: This, then, is exactly what we said a little earlier—that Socrates converses with Alcibiades using speech, addressing his words not to your face, it seems, but to Alcibiades himself—and that is the soul. ALCIBIADES: So it seems to me. SOCRATES: So the one who commands us to know ourselves is telling us to come to know our soul.

ALCIBIADES: So it seems. SOCRATES: So whoever comes to know something belonging to the body has come to know his own belongings, but not himself. ALCIBIADES: That's right. SOCRATES: So no doctor knows himself, insofar as he's a doctor, nor does any trainer, insofar as he's a trainer. ALCIBIADES: It doesn't seem so. SOCRATES: So farmers and other craftsmen are far indeed from knowing themselves. For it seems they don't even know their own belongings, but something still further removed than their belongings, given the skills they practice—for they know only the things that serve to tend the body. ALCIBIADES: True. SOCRATES: So if self-knowledge is temperance, none of these people is temperate in virtue of his craft. ALCIBIADES: I don't think so. SOCRATES: And that's exactly why these crafts are considered menial and unfit for study by a good man. ALCIBIADES: Quite so. SOCRATES: So again, whoever tends the body tends his belongings, but not himself? ALCIBIADES: It looks that way. SOCRATES: And whoever tends money tends neither himself nor his belongings, but something still further removed from himself? ALCIBIADES: I think so. SOCRATES: So the businessman is no longer even attending to his own affairs. ALCIBIADES: Right. SOCRATES: So if someone has become a lover of Alcibiades' body, he wasn't in love with Alcibiades but with something belonging to Alcibiades. ALCIBIADES: True. SOCRATES: But whoever loves your soul? ALCIBIADES: That must follow from the argument. SOCRATES: So the one who loves your body, once it stops blooming, goes away and leaves? ALCIBIADES: So it seems. SOCRATES: But the one who loves the soul doesn't leave, so long as it's moving toward what's better? ALCIBIADES: That's likely. SOCRATES: So I am the one who doesn't leave but stays on as your body fades, while the others have gone off. ALCIBIADES: And you do well in that, Socrates—please don't leave. SOCRATES: Then be eager to become as fine as possible. ALCIBIADES: I will make the effort. SOCRATES: For this is how things stand with you: Alcibiades, son of Cleinias, has had, it seems, no lover—nor has one now—except a single one, and a dear one at that, Socrates, son of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete. ALCIBIADES: True. SOCRATES: And didn't you say I only just barely got to you first, when you would otherwise have come to me first, wanting to find out why I alone don't go away? ALCIBIADES: Yes, that's how it was.

SOCRATES: Well, the reason is this: I alone was your lover, while the others were lovers of your belongings. And your belongings are fading with your youth, while you yourself are just beginning to bloom. And now, if you aren't corrupted by the Athenian people and made uglier, I will never abandon you. This is exactly what I fear most—that you'll become a lover of the people and be corrupted by it. Many good men among the Athenians have already suffered this fate. For the people of great-hearted Erechtheus wear a handsome face—but one must see it stripped bare. So be on guard against the very danger I'm describing. ALCIBIADES: Which danger is that? SOCRATES: Train first, blessed one, and learn what you need to learn before going into public affairs, and not before, so that you go armed with a remedy and suffer nothing terrible. ALCIBIADES: I think you're right, Socrates. But try to explain in what way we might take care of ourselves. SOCRATES: Well, we've made this much progress so far—what we are has been reasonably well agreed upon—and we were worried that, missing that mark, we might unknowingly be caring for something else instead of ourselves. ALCIBIADES: That's so. SOCRATES: And after that, that it's the soul we must care for, and it's to this that we must look. ALCIBIADES: Clearly. SOCRATES: And the care of bodies and money must be handed over to others. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: So in what way might we know the soul most clearly? Since knowing this, it seems, we'll also come to know ourselves. Good heavens—are we failing to grasp what that Delphic inscription we just mentioned is well saying? ALCIBIADES: What do you have in mind by that, Socrates? SOCRATES: I'll tell you what I suspect this inscription means and is advising us. There isn't likely to be much of a parallel for it, except in the case of sight. ALCIBIADES: What do you mean by that? SOCRATES: Consider it with me. If it addressed one of our eyes as though it were a person, and advised, 'see yourself,' how would we understand what it was urging? Wouldn't it be to look at that in which the eye, by looking, would see itself? ALCIBIADES: Clearly. SOCRATES: So let's think what, among existing things, we could look at and see both that thing and ourselves at the same time. ALCIBIADES: Clearly, Socrates, mirrors and things like that. SOCRATES: You're right. And isn't there something of that sort present in the eye with which we see? ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Have you noticed that when someone looks into an eye, his face appears in the eye facing him, as if in a mirror — the thing we call the pupil, since it is a kind of image of the one looking in? ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: So an eye that looks at an eye, and looks at that particular part of it which is best and by which it sees, would in this way see itself. ALCIBIADES: So it seems. SOCRATES: But if it looks at anything else belonging to a person, or at anything else that exists, except the thing it happens to resemble, it will not see itself. ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: So if an eye is going to see itself, it must look at an eye, and specifically at that region of the eye where an eye's excellence happens to reside — and this, I take it, is sight? ALCIBIADES: Just so. SOCRATES: Well then, dear Alcibiades, if a soul is going to know itself, must it not also look at a soul, and especially at that region of itself where a soul's excellence, wisdom, comes to be — and at whatever else resembles that? ALCIBIADES: I think so, Socrates. SOCRATES: Can we say that anything about the soul is more godlike than this — the part concerned with knowing and understanding? ALCIBIADES: We cannot. SOCRATES: So this part of it resembles the divine, and whoever looks at that, and comes to know everything divine — god and understanding — would in this way come to know himself best of all. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: Now, just as mirrors can be clearer, purer, and brighter than the mirror in the eye, isn't god also clearer and brighter than the best part of our own soul? ALCIBIADES: It does seem so, Socrates. SOCRATES: So by looking toward god we would be using the finest mirror there is for human affairs, to see the excellence of the soul, and in this way we would see and know ourselves best. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And didn't we agree that knowing oneself is soundness of mind? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: So if we do not know ourselves and lack soundness of mind, could we know what is bad and good for us? ALCIBIADES: How could that happen, Socrates? SOCRATES: I imagine it seems impossible to you that someone who doesn't know Alcibiades could know that something belongs to Alcibiades, precisely because it is his. ALCIBIADES: Impossible indeed, by Zeus. SOCRATES: Nor then could he know that what is ours is ours, if he doesn't even know us ourselves? ALCIBIADES: How could he? SOCRATES: And if he doesn't even know what is ours, he can't know what belongs to what is ours either? ALCIBIADES: It seems not. SOCRATES: So we weren't quite right just now when we agreed that there are people who don't know themselves, yet know their own affairs, and others who know the affairs of such people. It looks like all of this — knowing oneself, one's own affairs, and the affairs of one's own affairs — belongs to one and the same skill. ALCIBIADES: It looks that way. SOCRATES: And whoever is ignorant of his own affairs would likewise be ignorant of other people's affairs too. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: And if he's ignorant of other people's affairs, he'll be ignorant of the affairs of states as well. ALCIBIADES: Necessarily. SOCRATES: Such a man could never become a statesman, then. ALCIBIADES: Certainly not. SOCRATES: Nor even a manager of a household, for that matter.

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not. SOCRATES: Nor will he even know what he is doing. ALCIBIADES: No, indeed. SOCRATES: And won't the one who doesn't know make mistakes? ALCIBIADES: Certainly. SOCRATES: And making mistakes, won't he fare badly, both in his own life and in public affairs? ALCIBIADES: How could he not? SOCRATES: And faring badly, isn't he wretched? ALCIBIADES: Very much so. SOCRATES: And what of those for whom he acts? ALCIBIADES: They too. SOCRATES: So it's not possible to be happy unless one is sound of mind and good. ALCIBIADES: It isn't possible. SOCRATES: So bad people are wretched. ALCIBIADES: Very much so. SOCRATES: So it isn't the man who has grown rich who escapes wretchedness, but the man who has grown sound of mind. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: So states have no need of walls, or triremes, or dockyards, Alcibiades, if they mean to be happy — nor of numbers or size, without excellence. ALCIBIADES: No, indeed. SOCRATES: So if you intend to manage the city's affairs rightly and well, you must give the citizens a share of excellence. ALCIBIADES: Of course. SOCRATES: But could anyone give a share of something he doesn't have himself? ALCIBIADES: How could he? SOCRATES: So you yourself must first acquire excellence — and so must anyone who intends not merely to govern and look after himself and his own affairs privately, but the city and the city's affairs. ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: So it isn't power or authority you must arrange for yourself, to do whatever you like — nor for the city either — but justice and soundness of mind. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: For by acting justly and soundly, you and the city will act in a way pleasing to the gods. ALCIBIADES: Likely enough. SOCRATES: And, as we said before, you will act looking toward what is divine and bright. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: And indeed, looking in that direction, you will see and come to know yourselves and your own good. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And so you will act rightly and well? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: But truly, if you act this way, I am willing to guarantee that you will be happy. ALCIBIADES: You are a reliable guarantor. SOCRATES: But if you act unjustly, looking toward what is godless and dark, then likely enough you will act just as such things suggest, not knowing yourselves. ALCIBIADES: So it seems.

SOCRATES: For consider, dear Alcibiades — when someone has the power to do whatever he wishes, but lacks understanding, what is likely to happen to him, whether a private man or even a city? Take someone sick, who has the power to do as he pleases, but lacks a physician's understanding, and is a tyrant besides, so that no one can rebuke him — what will happen? Won't his body, in all likelihood, be ruined? ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: And on a ship, if someone had the power to do as he saw fit, but was without understanding and the skill of a helmsman, do you see what would happen to him and his shipmates? ALCIBIADES: I do — they would all perish. SOCRATES: And likewise in a city, and in every office and position of power, doesn't faring badly follow wherever excellence is absent? ALCIBIADES: Necessarily. SOCRATES: So it isn't tyranny you should be preparing, my excellent Alcibiades, for yourself or for the city, if you mean to be happy, but excellence. ALCIBIADES: That's true. SOCRATES: And before one has excellence, it is better for a man — not just a child — to be ruled by someone better than to rule. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: And what is better is also finer? ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: And what is finer is more fitting? ALCIBIADES: How could it not be? SOCRATES: So it is fitting for the bad man to be a slave — since that is better for him. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So badness is a slavish thing. ALCIBIADES: So it appears. SOCRATES: And excellence is a fitting mark of the free. ALCIBIADES: Yes. SOCRATES: So one ought to flee, my friend, from what is slavish. ALCIBIADES: Most certainly, Socrates. SOCRATES: And do you now perceive how you stand — in a manner fitting the free, or not? ALCIBIADES: I think I perceive it only too clearly. SOCRATES: Do you know, then, how you might escape your present condition? Let's not put a name to it, for a man of your promise. ALCIBIADES: I do. SOCRATES: How? ALCIBIADES: If you are willing, Socrates. SOCRATES: That's not well said, Alcibiades. ALCIBIADES: Then how should I say it? SOCRATES: That it will happen if god is willing. ALCIBIADES: I say it, then. And besides this I say something more: it looks as though we're about to exchange roles, Socrates — I'll take yours, and you mine. For there's no way I won't be your tutor from this day on, and you'll be tutored by me. SOCRATES: My noble friend, then my love will be no different from a stork's — once it has hatched a winged love in you, it will in turn be cared for by that very love. ALCIBIADES: Well, that is how things stand, and I shall begin from this very point to attend to justice. SOCRATES: I would wish you to keep it up to the end. But I am uneasy — not that I distrust your nature, but because I see the strength of the city, and I fear it may get the better of both you and me.

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