Open Plato Project - Alcibiades text, translation, and commentary

Alcibiades

Greek text

103a1{ΣΩ.} Ὦ παῖ Κλεινίου, οἶμαί σε θαυμάζειν ὅτι πρῶτος
ἐραστής σου γενόμενος τῶν ἄλλων πεπαυμένων μόνος οὐκ
ἀπαλλάττομαι, καὶ ὅτι οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι δι’ ὄχλου ἐγένοντό σοι
διαλεγόμενοι, ἐγὼ δὲ τοσούτων ἐτῶν οὐδὲ προσεῖπον. τούτου
103a5 δὲ τὸ αἴτιον γέγονεν οὐκ ἀνθρώπειον, ἀλλά τι δαιμόνιον
ἐναντίωμα, οὗ σὺ τὴν δύναμιν καὶ ὕστερον πεύσῃ. νῦν δὲ
103b1 ἐπειδὴ οὐκέτι ἐναντιοῦται, οὕτω προσελήλυθα· εὔελπις δ’
εἰμὶ καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν μὴ ἐναντιώσεσθαι αὐτό. σχεδὸν οὖν
κατανενόηκα ἐν τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ σκοπούμενος ὡς πρὸς τοὺς
ἐραστὰς ἔσχες· πολλῶν γὰρ γενομένων καὶ μεγαλοφρόνων
103b5 οὐδεὶς ὃς οὐχ ὑπερβληθεὶς τῷ φρονήματι ὑπὸ σοῦ πέφευγεν.
104a1 τὸν δὲ λόγον, ᾧ ὑπερπεφρόνηκας, ἐθέλω διελθεῖν. οὐδενὸς
φῂς ἀνθρώπων ἐνδεὴς εἶναι εἰς οὐδέν· τὰ γὰρ ὑπάρχοντά
σοι μεγάλα εἶναι, ὥστε μηδενὸς δεῖσθαι, ἀπὸ τοῦ σώματος
ἀρξάμενα τελευτῶντα εἰς τὴν ψυχήν. οἴει γὰρ δὴ εἶναι
104a5 πρῶτον μὲν κάλλιστός τε καὶ μέγιστος – καὶ τοῦτο μὲν δὴ
παντὶ δῆλον ἰδεῖν ὅτι οὐ ψεύδῃ – ἔπειτα νεανικωτάτου γένους
ἐν τῇ σεαυτοῦ πόλει, οὔσῃ μεγίστῃ τῶν Ἑλληνίδων, καὶ
104b1 ἐνταῦθα πρὸς πατρός τέ σοι φίλους καὶ συγγενεῖς πλείστους
εἶναι καὶ ἀρίστους, οἳ εἴ τι δέοι ὑπηρετοῖεν ἄν σοι, τούτων
δὲ τοὺς πρὸς μητρὸς οὐδὲν χείρους οὐδ’ ἐλάττους. συμπάντων
δὲ ὧν εἶπον μείζω οἴει σοι δύναμιν ὑπάρχειν Περικλέα τὸν
104b5 Ξανθίππου, ὃν ὁ πατὴρ ἐπίτροπον κατέλιπε σοί τε καὶ τῷ
ἀδελφῷ· ὃς οὐ μόνον ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει δύναται πράττειν ὅτι
ἂν βούληται, ἀλλ’ ἐν πάσῃ τῇ Ἑλλάδι καὶ τῶν βαρβάρων
ἐν πολλοῖς καὶ μεγάλοις γένεσιν. προσθήσω δὲ καὶ ὅτι τῶν
104c1 πλουσίων· δοκεῖς δέ μοι ἐπὶ τούτῳ ἥκιστα μέγα φρονεῖν.
κατὰ πάντα δὴ ταῦτα σύ τε μεγαλαυχούμενος κεκράτηκας τῶν
ἐραστῶν ἐκεῖνοί τε ὑποδεέστεροι ὄντες ἐκρατήθησαν, καί σε
ταῦτ’ οὐ λέληθεν· ὅθεν δὴ εὖ οἶδα ὅτι θαυμάζεις τί διανοού-
104c5 μενός ποτε οὐκ ἀπαλλάττομαι τοῦ ἔρωτος, καὶ ἥντιν’ ἔχων
ἐλπίδα ὑπομένω τῶν ἄλλων πεφευγότων.

{ΑΛ.} Καὶ ἴσως γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ οἶσθ’ ὅτι σμικρόν
104d1 με ἔφθης. ἐγὼ γάρ τοι ἐν νῷ εἶχον πρότερός σοι προσελθὼν
αὐτὰ ταῦτ’ ἐρέσθαι, τί ποτε βούλει καὶ εἰς τίνα ἐλπίδα βλέπων
ἐνοχλεῖς με, ἀεὶ ὅπου ἂν ὦ ἐπιμελέστατα παρών· τῷ ὄντι
γὰρ θαυμάζω ὅτι ποτ’ ἐστὶ τὸ σὸν πρᾶγμα, καὶ ἥδιστ’ ἂν
104d5 πυθοίμην.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀκούσῃ μὲν ἄρα μου, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, προθύμως, εἴπερ,
ὡς φῄς, ἐπιθυμεῖς εἰδέναι τί διανοοῦμαι, καὶ ὡς ἀκουσομένῳ
καὶ περιμενοῦντι λέγω.

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ μὲν οὖν· ἀλλὰ λέγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅρα δή· οὐ γάρ τοι εἴη ἂν θαυμαστὸν εἰ, ὥσπερ
μόγις ἠρξάμην, οὕτω μόγις καὶ παυσαίμην.

{ΑΛ.} Ὠγαθὲ λέγε· ἀκούσομαι γάρ.

{ΣΩ.} Λεκτέον ἂν εἴη. χαλεπὸν μὲν οὖν πρὸς ἄνδρα οὐχ
104e5 ἥττονα ἐραστῶν προσφέρεσθαι ἐραστῇ, ὅμως δὲ τολμητέον
φράσαι τὴν ἐμὴν διάνοιαν. ἐγὼ γάρ, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἰ μέν
σε ἑώρων ἃ νυνδὴ διῆλθον ἀγαπῶντα καὶ οἰόμενον δεῖν ἐν
τούτοις καταβιῶναι, πάλαι ἂν ἀπηλλάγμην τοῦ ἔρωτος, ὥς
105a1 γε δὴ ἐμαυτὸν πείθω· νῦν δ’ ἕτερ’ αὖ κατηγορήσω διανοή-
ματα σὰ πρὸς αὐτὸν σέ, ᾧ καὶ γνώσῃ ὅτι προσέχων γέ σοι
τὸν νοῦν διατετέλεκα. δοκεῖς γάρ μοι, εἴ τίς σοι εἴποι θεῶν·
“Ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, πότερον βούλει ζῆν ἔχων ἃ νῦν ἔχεις, ἢ
105a5 αὐτίκα τεθνάναι εἰ μή σοι ἐξέσται μείζω κτήσασθαι;”
δοκεῖς ἄν μοι ἑλέσθαι τεθνάναι· ἀλλὰ νῦν ἐπὶ τίνι δή ποτε
ἐλπίδι ζῇς, ἐγὼ φράσω. ἡγῇ, ἐὰν θᾶττον εἰς τὸν Ἀθηναίων
105b1 δῆμον παρέλθῃς – τοῦτο δ’ ἔσεσθαι μάλα ὀλίγων ἡμερῶν –
παρελθὼν οὖν ἐνδείξεσθαι Ἀθηναίοις ὅτι ἄξιος εἶ τιμᾶσθαι
ὡς οὔτε Περικλῆς οὔτ’ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς τῶν πώποτε γενομένων,
καὶ τοῦτ’ ἐνδειξάμενος μέγιστον δυνήσεσθαι ἐν τῇ πόλει, ἐὰν
105b5 δ’ ἐνθάδε μέγιστος ᾖς, καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησι, καὶ οὐ
μόνον ἐν Ἕλλησιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τοῖς βαρβάροις, ὅσοι ἐν τῇ
αὐτῇ ἡμῖν οἰκοῦσιν ἠπείρῳ. καὶ εἰ αὖ σοι εἴποι ὁ αὐτὸς
οὗτος θεὸς ὅτι αὐτοῦ σε δεῖ δυναστεύειν ἐν τῇ Εὐρώπῃ,
105c1 διαβῆναι δὲ εἰς τὴν Ἀσίαν οὐκ ἐξέσται σοι οὐδὲ ἐπιθέσθαι
τοῖς ἐκεῖ πράγμασιν, οὐκ ἂν αὖ μοι δοκεῖς ἐθέλειν οὐδ’ ἐπὶ
τούτοις μόνοις ζῆν, εἰ μὴ ἐμπλήσεις τοῦ σοῦ ὀνόματος καὶ
τῆς σῆς δυνάμεως πάντας ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἀνθρώπους· καὶ
105c5 οἶμαί σε πλὴν Κύρου καὶ Ξέρξου ἡγεῖσθαι οὐδένα ἄξιον
λόγου γεγονέναι. ὅτι μὲν οὖν ἔχεις ταύτην τὴν ἐλπίδα, εὖ
οἶδα καὶ οὐκ εἰκάζω. ἴσως ἂν οὖν εἴποις, ἅτε εἰδὼς ὅτι
ἀληθῆ λέγω, “Τί δὴ οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτ’ ἐστί σοι πρὸς
105d1 λόγον; ὃν ἔφησθα ἐρεῖν, διὸ ἐμοῦ οὐκ ἀπαλλάττῃ;” ἐγὼ δὲ
σοί γε ἐρῶ, ὦ φίλε παῖ Κλεινίου καὶ Δεινομάχης. τούτων
γάρ σοι ἁπάντων τῶν διανοημάτων τέλος ἐπιτεθῆναι ἄνευ
ἐμοῦ ἀδύνατον· τοσαύτην ἐγὼ δύναμιν οἶμαι ἔχειν εἰς τὰ σὰ
105d5 πράγματα καὶ εἰς σέ, διὸ δὴ καὶ πάλαι οἴομαί με τὸν θεὸν
οὐκ ἐᾶν διαλέγεσθαί σοι, ὃν ἐγὼ περιέμενον ὁπηνίκα ἐάσει.
ὥσπερ γὰρ σὺ ἐλπίδας ἔχεις ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐνδείξασθαι ὅτι
105e1 αὐτῇ παντὸς ἄξιος εἶ, ἐνδειξάμενος δὲ [ὅτι] οὐδὲν ὅτι οὐ
παραυτίκα δυνήσεσθαι, οὕτω κἀγὼ παρὰ σοὶ ἐλπίζω μέγιστον
δυνήσεσθαι ἐνδειξάμενος ὅτι παντὸς ἄξιός εἰμί σοι καὶ οὔτε
ἐπίτροπος οὔτε συγγενὴς οὔτ’ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς ἱκανὸς παραδοῦναι
105e5 τὴν δύναμιν ἧς ἐπιθυμεῖς πλὴν ἐμοῦ, μετὰ τοῦ θεοῦ μέντοι.
νεωτέρῳ μὲν οὖν ὄντι σοι καὶ πρὶν τοσαύτης ἐλπίδος γέμειν,
ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐκ εἴα ὁ θεὸς διαλέγεσθαι, ἵνα μὴ μάτην
106a1 διαλεγοίμην. νῦν δ’ ἐφῆκεν· νῦν γὰρ ἄν μου ἀκούσαις.

{ΑΛ.} Πολύ γέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, νῦν ἀτοπώτερος αὖ φαίνῃ,
ἐπειδὴ ἤρξω λέγειν, ἢ ὅτε σιγῶν εἵπου· καίτοι σφόδρα γε
ἦσθ’ ἰδεῖν καὶ τότε τοιοῦτος. εἰ μὲν οὖν ἐγὼ ταῦτα δια-
106a5 νοοῦμαι ἢ μή, ὡς ἔοικε, διέγνωκας, καὶ ἐὰν μὴ φῶ, οὐδέν
μοι ἔσται πλέον πρὸς τὸ πείθειν σε. εἶεν· εἰ δὲ δὴ ὅτι
μάλιστα ταῦτα διανενόημαι, πῶς διὰ σοῦ μοι ἔσται καὶ ἄνευ
σοῦ οὐκ ἂν γένοιτο; ἔχεις λέγειν;

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ ἐρωτᾷς εἴ τιν’ ἔχω εἰπεῖν λόγον μακρόν, οἵους
δὴ ἀκούειν εἴθισαι; οὐ γάρ ἐστι τοιοῦτον τὸ ἐμόν· ἀλλ’
ἐνδείξασθαι μέν σοι, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, οἷός τ’ ἂν εἴην ὅτι ταῦτα
οὕτως ἔχει, ἐὰν ἓν μόνον μοι ἐθελήσῃς βραχὺ ὑπηρετῆσαι.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ εἴ γε δὴ μὴ χαλεπόν τι λέγεις τὸ ὑπηρέτημα,
ἐθέλω.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ χαλεπὸν δοκεῖ τὸ ἀποκρίνασθαι τὰ ἐρωτώμενα;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ χαλεπόν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀποκρίνου δή.

{ΑΛ.} Ἐρώτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὡς διανοουμένου σου ταῦτα ἐρωτῶ, ἅ φημί σε
106c1 διανοεῖσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔστω, εἰ βούλει, οὕτως, ἵνα καὶ εἰδῶ ὅτι καὶ
ἐρεῖς.

{ΣΩ.} Φέρε δή· διανοῇ γάρ, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, παριέναι συμβου-
106c5 λεύσων Ἀθηναίοις ἐντὸς οὐ πολλοῦ χρόνου· εἰ οὖν μέλλοντός
σου ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὸ βῆμα λαβόμενος ἐροίμην· “Ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη,
ἐπειδὴ περὶ τίνος Ἀθηναῖοι διανοοῦνται βουλεύεσθαι, ἀνί-
στασαι συμβουλεύσων; ἆρ’ ἐπειδὴ περὶ ὧν σὺ ἐπίστασαι
βέλτιον ἢ οὗτοι;” τί ἂν ἀποκρίναιο;

{ΑΛ.} Εἴποιμ’ ἂν δήπου, περὶ ὧν οἶδα βέλτιον ἢ οὗτοι.

{ΣΩ.} Περὶ ὧν ἄρ’ εἰδὼς τυγχάνεις, ἀγαθὸς σύμβουλος εἶ.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ταῦτα μόνον οἶσθα, ἃ παρ’ ἄλλων ἔμαθες ἢ
106d5 αὐτὸς ἐξηῦρες;

{ΑΛ.} Ποῖα γὰρ ἄλλα;

{ΣΩ.} Ἔστιν οὖν ὅπως ἄν ποτε ἔμαθές τι ἢ ἐξηῦρες μήτε
μανθάνειν ἐθέλων μήτ’ αὐτὸς ζητεῖν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔστιν.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; ἠθέλησας ἂν ζητῆσαι ἢ μαθεῖν ἃ ἐπίστασθαι
ᾤου;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἃ ἄρα νῦν τυγχάνεις ἐπιστάμενος, ἦν χρόνος ὅτε οὐχ
ἡγοῦ εἰδέναι;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν ἅ γε μεμάθηκας σχεδόν τι καὶ ἐγὼ οἶδα·
106e5 εἰ δέ τι ἐμὲ λέληθεν, εἰπέ. ἔμαθες γὰρ δὴ σύ γε κατὰ
μνήμην τὴν ἐμὴν γράμματα καὶ κιθαρίζειν καὶ παλαίειν· οὐ
γὰρ δὴ αὐλεῖν γε ἤθελες μαθεῖν. ταῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἃ σὺ ἐπίστασαι,
εἰ μή πού τι μανθάνων ἐμὲ λέληθας· οἶμαι δέ γε, οὔτε
νύκτωρ οὔτε μεθ’ ἡμέραν ἐξιὼν ἔνδοθεν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ οὐ πεφοίτηκα εἰς ἄλλων ἢ τούτων.

{ΣΩ.} Πότερον οὖν, ὅταν περὶ γραμμάτων Ἀθηναῖοι βου-
λεύωνται, πῶς ἂν ὀρθῶς γράφοιεν, τότε ἀναστήσῃ αὐτοῖς
συμβουλεύσων;

{ΑΛ.} Μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ ὅταν περὶ κρουμάτων ἐν λύρᾳ;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐδαμῶς.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδὲ μὴν οὐδὲ περὶ παλαισμάτων γε εἰώθασι
βουλεύεσθαι ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ μέντοι.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅταν οὖν περὶ τίνος βουλεύωνται; οὐ γάρ που ὅταν
γε περὶ οἰκοδομίας.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οἰκοδόμος γὰρ ταῦτά γε σοῦ βέλτιον συμβουλεύσει.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδὲ μὴν ὅταν περὶ μαντικῆς βουλεύωνται;

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ.

{ΣΩ.} Μάντις γὰρ αὖ ταῦτα ἄμεινον ἢ σύ.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐάν τέ γε σμικρὸς ἢ μέγας ᾖ, ἐάν τε καλὸς ἢ
αἰσχρός, ἔτι τε γενναῖος ἢ ἀγεννής.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Εἰδότος γὰρ οἶμαι περὶ ἑκάστου ἡ συμβουλή, καὶ οὐ
107b10 πλουτοῦντος.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ ἐάντε πένης ἐάντε πλούσιος ᾖ ὁ παραινῶν,
οὐδὲν διοίσει Ἀθηναίοις ὅταν περὶ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει βου-
107c1 λεύωνται, πῶς ἂν ὑγιαίνοιεν, ἀλλὰ ζητήσουσιν ἰατρὸν εἶναι
τὸν σύμβουλον.

{ΑΛ.} Εἰκότως γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅταν οὖν περὶ τίνος σκοπῶνται, τότε σὺ ἀνιστάμενος
107c5 ὡς συμβουλεύσων ὀρθῶς ἀναστήσῃ;

{ΑΛ.} Ὅταν περὶ τῶν ἑαυτῶν πραγμάτων, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Τῶν περὶ ναυπηγίας λέγεις, ὁποίας τινὰς χρὴ αὐτοὺς
τὰς ναῦς ναυπηγεῖσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Ναυπηγεῖν γὰρ οἶμαι οὐκ ἐπίστασαι. τοῦτ’ αἴτιον
ἢ ἄλλο τι;

{ΑΛ.} Οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ περὶ ποίων τῶν ἑαυτῶν λέγεις πραγμάτων
ὅταν βουλεύωνται;

{ΑΛ.} Ὅταν περὶ πολέμου, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἢ περὶ εἰρήνης ἢ
ἄλλου του τῶν τῆς πόλεως πραγμάτων.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρα λέγεις ὅταν βουλεύωνται πρὸς τίνας χρὴ εἰρήνην
ποιεῖσθαι καὶ τίσιν πολεμεῖν καὶ τίνα τρόπον;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Χρὴ δ’ οὐχ οἷς βέλτιον;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ τόθ’ ὁπότε βέλτιον;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ τοσοῦτον χρόνον ὅσον ἄμεινον;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ οὖν βουλεύοιντο Ἀθηναῖοι τίσιν χρὴ προσπα-
λαίειν καὶ τίσιν ἀκροχειρίζεσθαι καὶ τίνα τρόπον, σὺ ἄμεινον
ἂν συμβουλεύοις ἢ ὁ παιδοτρίβης;

{ΑΛ.} Ὁ παιδοτρίβης δήπου.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν πρὸς τί <ἂν> βλέπων ὁ παιδοτρίβης
107e10 συμβουλεύσειεν οἷς δεῖ προσπαλαίειν καὶ οἷς μή, καὶ ὁπότε
καὶ ὅντινα τρόπον; λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε· ἆρα τούτοις δεῖ
προσπαλαίειν οἷς βέλτιον, ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρα καὶ τοσαῦτα ὅσα ἄμεινον;

{ΑΛ.} Τοσαῦτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ τότε ὅτε ἄμεινον;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ ᾄδοντα δεῖ κιθαρίζειν ποτὲ πρὸς τὴν
ᾠδὴν καὶ βαίνειν;

{ΑΛ.} Δεῖ γάρ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τότε ὁπότε βέλτιον;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ τοσαῦθ’ ὅσα βέλτιον;

{ΑΛ.} Φημί.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; ἐπειδὴ βέλτιον μὲν ὠνόμαζες ἐπ’ ἀμφο-
108b1 τέροις, τῷ τε κιθαρίζειν πρὸς τὴν ᾠδὴν καὶ τῷ προσπαλαίειν,
τί καλεῖς τὸ ἐν τῷ κιθαρίζειν βέλτιον, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ τὸ ἐν τῷ
παλαίειν καλῶ γυμναστικόν· σὺ δ’ ἐκεῖνο τί καλεῖς;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἐννοῶ.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ πειρῶ ἐμὲ μιμεῖσθαι. ἐγὼ γάρ που ἀπε-
κρινάμην τὸ διὰ παντὸς ὀρθῶς ἔχον, ὀρθῶς δὲ δήπου ἔχει τὸ
κατὰ τὴν τέχνην γιγνόμενον· ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἡ δὲ τέχνη οὐ γυμναστικὴ ἦν;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Ἐγὼ δ’ εἶπον τὸ ἐν τῷ παλαίειν βέλτιον γυμνα-
στικόν.

{ΑΛ.} Εἶπες γάρ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καλῶς;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Ἴθι δὴ καὶ σύ – πρέποι γὰρ ἄν που καὶ σοὶ τὸ καλῶς
διαλέγεσθαι – εἰπὲ πρῶτον τίς ἡ τέχνη ἧς τὸ κιθαρίζειν καὶ
τὸ ᾄδειν καὶ τὸ ἐμβαίνειν ὀρθῶς; συνάπασα τίς καλεῖται;
οὔπω δύνασαι εἰπεῖν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ ὧδε πειρῶ· τίνες αἱ θεαὶ ὧν ἡ τέχνη;

{ΑΛ.} Τὰς Μούσας, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγεις;

{ΣΩ.} Ἔγωγε. ὅρα δή· τίνα ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἐπωνυμίαν ἡ
τέχνη ἔχει;

{ΑΛ.} Μουσικήν μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν.

{ΣΩ.} Λέγω γάρ. τί οὖν τὸ κατὰ ταύτην ὀρθῶς γιγνόμενόν
108d5 ἐστιν; ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ ἐγώ σοι τὸ κατὰ τὴν τέχνην ἔλεγον ὀρθῶς,
τὴν γυμναστικήν, καὶ σὺ δὴ οὖν οὕτως ἐνταῦθα τί φῄς; πῶς
γίγνεσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Μουσικῶς μοι δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Εὖ λέγεις. ἴθι δή, καὶ τὸ ἐν τῷ πολεμεῖν βέλ-
108d10 τιον καὶ τὸ ἐν τῷ εἰρήνην ἄγειν, τοῦτο τὸ βέλτιον τί
108e1 ὀνομάζεις; ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ ἐφ’ ἑκάστῳ ἔλεγες τὸ ἄμεινον, ὅτι
μουσικώτερον καὶ ἐπὶ τῷ ἑτέρῳ, ὅτι γυμναστικώτερον·
πειρῶ δὴ καὶ ἐνταῦθα λέγειν τὸ βέλτιον.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ οὐ πάνυ τι ἔχω.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μέντοι αἰσχρόν γε εἰ μέν τις σε λέγοντα
καὶ συμβουλεύοντα περὶ σιτίων ὅτι βέλτιον τόδε τοῦδε καὶ
νῦν καὶ τοσοῦτον, “ἔπειτα” ἐρωτήσειεν “τί τὸ ἄμεινον λέγεις,
ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη;” περὶ μὲν τούτων ἔχειν εἰπεῖν ὅτι τὸ ὑγιει-
νότερον, καίτοι οὐ προσποιῇ γε ἰατρὸς εἶναι· περὶ δὲ οὗ
109a1 προσποιῇ ἐπιστήμων εἶναι καὶ συμβουλεύσεις ἀνιστάμενος
ὡς εἰδώς, τούτου δ’, ὡς ἔοικας, πέρι ἐρωτηθεὶς ἐὰν μὴ
ἔχῃς εἰπεῖν, οὐκ αἰσχυνῇ; ἢ οὐκ αἰσχρὸν φανεῖται;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Σκόπει δὴ καὶ προθυμοῦ εἰπεῖν πρὸς τί τείνει τὸ
ἐν τῷ εἰρήνην τε ἄγειν ἄμεινον καὶ τὸ ἐν τῷ πολεμεῖν
οἷς δεῖ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ σκοπῶν οὐ δύναμαι ἐννοῆσαι.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδ’ οἶσθα, ἐπειδὰν πόλεμον ποιώμεθα, τί ἐγκα-
109a10 λοῦντες ἀλλήλοις πάθημα ἐρχόμεθα εἰς τὸ πολεμεῖν, καὶ
ὅτι αὐτὸ ὀνομάζοντες ἐρχόμεθα;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε, ὅτι γε ἐξαπατώμενοί τι ἢ βιαζόμενοι ἢ
ἀποστερούμενοι.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔχε· πῶς ἕκαστα τούτων πάσχοντες; πειρῶ εἰπεῖν
τί διαφέρει τὸ ὧδε ἢ ὧδε.

{ΑΛ.} Ἦ τὸ ὧδε λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ δικαίως ἢ τὸ
ἀδίκως;

{ΣΩ.} Αὐτὸ τοῦτο.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτο γε διαφέρει ὅλον τε καὶ πᾶν.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; Ἀθηναίοις σὺ πρὸς ποτέρους συμβου-
109b10 λεύσεις πολεμεῖν, τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας ἢ τοὺς τὰ δίκαια πράτ-
τοντας;

{ΑΛ.} Δεινὸν τοῦτό γε ἐρωτᾷς· εἰ γὰρ καὶ διανοεῖταί τις
ὡς δεῖ πρὸς τοὺς τὰ δίκαια πράττοντας πολεμεῖν, οὐκ ἂν
ὁμολογήσειέν γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ γὰρ νόμιμον τοῦθ’, ὡς ἔοικεν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα· οὐδέ γε καλὸν δοκεῖ εἶναι.

{ΣΩ.} Πρὸς ταῦτ’ ἄρα καὶ σὺ [τὸ δίκαιον] τοὺς λόγους
ποιήσῃ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη.

{ΣΩ.} Ἄλλο τι οὖν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἠρώτων βέλτιον πρὸς
109c10 τὸ πολεμεῖν καὶ μή, καὶ οἷς δεῖ καὶ οἷς μή, καὶ ὁπότε καὶ
μή, τὸ δικαιότερον τυγχάνει ὄν; ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεταί γε.

{ΣΩ.} Πῶς οὖν, ὦ φίλε Ἀλκιβιάδη; πότερον σαυτὸν
λέληθας ὅτι οὐκ ἐπίστασαι τοῦτο, ἢ ἐμὲ ἔλαθες μανθάνων
καὶ φοιτῶν εἰς διδασκάλου ὅς σε ἐδίδασκε διαγιγνώσκειν
τὸ δικαιότερόν τε καὶ ἀδικώτερον; καὶ τίς ἐστιν οὗτος;
109d5 φράσον καὶ ἐμοί, ἵνα αὐτῷ φοιτητὴν προξενήσῃς καὶ ἐμέ.

{ΑΛ.} Σκώπτεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ μὰ τὸν Φίλιον τὸν ἐμόν τε καὶ σόν, ὃν ἐγὼ
ἥκιστ’ ἂν ἐπιορκήσαιμι· ἀλλ’ εἴπερ ἔχεις, εἰπὲ τίς ἐστιν.

{ΑΛ.} Τί δ’ εἰ μὴ ἔχω; οὐκ ἂν οἴει με ἄλλως εἰδέναι
περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων;

{ΣΩ.} Ναί, εἴ γε εὕροις.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἂν εὑρεῖν με ἡγῇ;

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ μάλα γε, εἰ ζητήσαις.

{ΑΛ.} Εἶτα ζητῆσαι οὐκ ἂν οἴει με;

{ΣΩ.} Ἔγωγε, εἰ οἰηθείης γε μὴ εἰδέναι.

{ΑΛ.} Εἶτα οὐκ ἦν ὅτ’ εἶχον οὕτω;

{ΣΩ.} Καλῶς λέγεις. ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον
110a1 ὅτε οὐκ ᾤου εἰδέναι τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα; φέρε, πέρυσιν
ἐζήτεις τε καὶ οὐκ ᾤου εἰδέναι; ἢ ᾤου; καὶ τἀληθῆ
ἀποκρίνου, ἵνα μὴ μάτην οἱ διάλογοι γίγνωνται.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ ᾤμην εἰδέναι.

{ΣΩ.} Τρίτον δ’ ἔτος καὶ τέταρτον καὶ πέμπτον οὐχ
οὕτως;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε πρὸ τοῦ παῖς ἦσθα. ἦ γάρ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τότε μὲν τοίνυν εὖ οἶδα ὅτι ᾤου εἰδέναι.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς εὖ οἶσθα;

{ΣΩ.} Πολλάκις σοῦ ἐν διδασκάλων ἤκουον παιδὸς ὄντος
καὶ ἄλλοθι, καὶ ὁπότε ἀστραγαλίζοις ἢ ἄλλην τινὰ παιδιὰν
παίζοις, οὐχ ὡς ἀποροῦντος περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων,
ἀλλὰ μάλα μέγα καὶ θαρραλέως λέγοντος περὶ ὅτου τύχοις
110b5 τῶν παίδων ὡς πονηρός τε καὶ ἄδικος εἴη καὶ ὡς ἀδικοῖ·
ἢ οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγω;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ τί ἔμελλον ποιεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁπότε τίς
με ἀδικοῖ;

{ΣΩ.} Σὺ δ’ εἰ τύχοις ἀγνοῶν εἴτ’ ἀδικοῖο εἴτε μὴ τότε,
110b10 λέγεις, τί σε χρὴ ποιεῖν;

{ΑΛ.} Μὰ Δί’ ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἠγνόουν ἔγωγε, ἀλλὰ σαφῶς
ἐγίγνωσκον ὅτι ἠδικούμην.

{ΣΩ.} Ὤιου ἄρα ἐπίστασθαι καὶ παῖς ὤν, ὡς ἔοικε, τὰ
δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε· καὶ ἠπιστάμην γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐν ποίῳ χρόνῳ ἐξευρών; οὐ γὰρ δήπου ἐν ᾧ γε
ᾤου εἰδέναι.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Πότε οὖν ἀγνοεῖν ἡγοῦ; σκόπει· οὐ γὰρ εὑρήσεις
110c10 τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον.

{ΑΛ.} Μὰ τὸν Δί’, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὔκουν ἔχω γ’ εἰπεῖν.

{ΣΩ.} Εὑρὼν μὲν ἄρ’ οὐκ οἶσθα αὐτά.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ πάνυ φαίνομαι.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν ἄρτι γε οὐδὲ μαθὼν ἔφησθα εἰδέναι·
εἰ δὲ μήθ’ ηὗρες μήτ’ ἔμαθες, πῶς οἶσθα καὶ πόθεν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ ἴσως τοῦτό σοι οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἀπεκρινάμην, τὸ
φάναι εἰδέναι αὐτὸς ἐξευρών.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ δὲ πῶς εἶχεν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμαθον οἶμαι καὶ ἐγὼ ὥσπερ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι.

{ΣΩ.} Πάλιν εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν ἥκομεν λόγον. παρὰ τοῦ;
110d10 φράζε κἀμοί.

{ΑΛ.} Παρὰ τῶν πολλῶν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ εἰς σπουδαίους γε διδασκάλους καταφεύγεις
εἰς τοὺς πολλοὺς ἀναφέρων.

{ΑΛ.} Τί δέ; οὐχ ἱκανοὶ διδάξαι οὗτοι;

{ΣΩ.} Οὔκουν τὰ πεττευτικά γε καὶ τὰ μή· καίτοι
φαυλότερα αὐτὰ οἶμαι τῶν δικαίων εἶναι. τί δέ; σὺ οὐχ
οὕτως οἴει;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Εἶτα τὰ μὲν φαυλότερα οὐχ οἷοί τε διδάσκειν, τὰ
110e10 δὲ σπουδαιότερα;

{ΑΛ.} Οἶμαι ἔγωγε· ἄλλα γοῦν πολλὰ οἷοί τ’ εἰσὶν δι-
δάσκειν σπουδαιότερα τοῦ πεττεύειν.

{ΣΩ.} Ποῖα ταῦτα;

{ΑΛ.} Οἷον καὶ τὸ ἑλληνίζειν παρὰ τούτων ἔγωγ’ ἔμαθον,
καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμι εἰπεῖν ἐμαυτοῦ διδάσκαλον, ἀλλ’ εἰς
τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἀναφέρω οὓς σὺ φῂς οὐ σπουδαίους εἶναι
διδασκάλους.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’, ὦ γενναῖε, τούτου μὲν ἀγαθοὶ διδάσκαλοι οἱ
πολλοί, καὶ δικαίως ἐπαινοῖντ’ ἂν αὐτῶν εἰς διδασκαλίαν.

{ΑΛ.} Τί δή;

{ΣΩ.} Ὅτι ἔχουσι περὶ αὐτὰ ἃ χρὴ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς δι-
δασκάλους ἔχειν.

{ΑΛ.} Τί τοῦτο λέγεις;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ οἶσθ’ ὅτι χρὴ τοὺς μέλλοντας διδάσκειν ὁτιοῦν
111b1 αὐτοὺς πρῶτον εἰδέναι; ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τοὺς εἰδότας ὁμολογεῖν τε ἀλλήλοις καὶ
μὴ διαφέρεσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐν οἷς δ’ ἂν διαφέρωνται, ταῦτα φήσεις εἰδέναι
αὐτούς;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Τούτων οὖν διδάσκαλοι πῶς ἂν εἶεν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐδαμῶς.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; δοκοῦσί σοι διαφέρεσθαι οἱ πολλοὶ ποῖόν
ἐστι λίθος ἢ ξύλον; καὶ ἐάν τινα ἐρωτᾷς, ἆρ’ οὐ τὰ αὐτὰ
111c1 ὁμολογοῦσιν, καὶ ἐπὶ ταὐτὰ ὁρμῶσιν ὅταν βούλωνται λαβεῖν
λίθον ἢ ξύλον; ὡσαύτως καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα τοιαῦτα· σχεδὸν
γάρ τι μανθάνω τὸ ἑλληνίζειν ἐπίστασθαι ὅτι τοῦτο λέγεις·
ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν εἰς μὲν ταῦθ’, ὥσπερ εἴπομεν, ἀλλήλοις τε
ὁμολογοῦσι καὶ αὐτοὶ ἑαυτοῖς ἰδίᾳ, καὶ δημοσίᾳ αἱ πόλεις
πρὸς ἀλλήλας οὐκ ἀμφισβητοῦσιν αἱ μὲν ταῦθ’ αἱ δ’ ἄλλα
φάσκουσαι;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ γάρ.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰκότως ἂν ἄρα τούτων γε καὶ διδάσκαλοι εἶεν
ἀγαθοί.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν βουλοίμεθα ποιῆσαί τινα περὶ αὐτῶν
εἰδέναι, ὀρθῶς ἂν αὐτὸν πέμποιμεν εἰς διδασκαλίαν τούτων
τῶν πολλῶν;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’ εἰ βουληθεῖμεν εἰδέναι, μὴ μόνον ποῖοι
ἄνθρωποί εἰσιν ἢ ποῖοι ἵπποι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τίνες αὐ-
τῶν δρομικοί τε καὶ μή, ἆρ’ ἔτι οἱ πολλοὶ τοῦτο ἱκανοὶ
διδάξαι;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἱκανὸν δέ σοι τεκμήριον ὅτι οὐκ ἐπίστανται οὐδὲ
111e1 κρήγυοι διδάσκαλοί εἰσιν τούτων, ἐπειδὴ οὐδὲν ὁμολογοῦσιν
ἑαυτοῖς περὶ αὐτῶν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’ εἰ βουληθεῖμεν εἰδέναι, μὴ μόνον ποῖοι
111e5 ἄνθρωποί εἰσιν, ἀλλ’ ὁποῖοι ὑγιεινοὶ ἢ νοσώδεις, ἆρ’ ἱκανοὶ
ἂν ἡμῖν ἦσαν διδάσκαλοι οἱ πολλοί;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦν δ’ ἄν σοι τεκμήριον ὅτι μοχθηροί εἰσι τούτων
διδάσκαλοι, εἰ ἑώρας αὐτοὺς διαφερομένους;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δὲ δή; νῦν περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων ἀνθρώ-
112a1 πων καὶ πραγμάτων οἱ πολλοὶ δοκοῦσί σοι ὁμολογεῖν αὐτοὶ
ἑαυτοῖς ἢ ἀλλήλοις;

{ΑΛ.} Ἥκιστα νὴ Δί’, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; μάλιστα περὶ αὐτῶν διαφέρεσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Πολύ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὔκουν οἴομαί γε πώποτέ σε ἰδεῖν οὐδ’ ἀκοῦσαι
σφόδρα οὕτω διαφερομένους ἀνθρώπους περὶ ὑγιεινῶν καὶ
μή, ὥστε διὰ ταῦτα μάχεσθαί τε καὶ ἀποκτεινύναι ἀλλήλους.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων ἔγωγ’ οἶδ’ ὅτι,
112b1 καὶ εἰ μὴ ἑώρακας, ἀκήκοας γοῦν ἄλλων τε πολλῶν καὶ
Ὁμήρου· καὶ Ὀδυσσείας γὰρ καὶ Ἰλιάδος ἀκήκοας.

{ΑΛ.} Πάντως δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ταῦτα ποιήματά ἐστι περὶ διαφορᾶς δικαίων
112b5 τε καὶ ἀδίκων;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ αἱ μάχαι γε καὶ οἱ θάνατοι διὰ ταύτην τὴν
διαφορὰν τοῖς τε Ἀχαιοῖς καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις Τρωσὶν ἐγένοντο,
καὶ τοῖς μνηστῆρσι τοῖς τῆς Πηνελόπης καὶ τῷ Ὀδυσσεῖ.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Οἶμαι δὲ καὶ τοῖς ἐν Τανάγρᾳ Ἀθηναίων τε καὶ
Λακεδαιμονίων καὶ Βοιωτῶν ἀποθανοῦσι, καὶ τοῖς ὕστερον
ἐν Κορωνείᾳ, ἐν οἷς καὶ ὁ σὸς πατὴρ Κλεινίας ἐτελεύτησεν,
112c5 οὐδὲ περὶ ἑνὸς ἄλλου ἡ διαφορὰ ἢ περὶ τοῦ δικαίου καὶ
ἀδίκου τοὺς θανάτους καὶ τὰς μάχας πεποίηκεν· ἦ γάρ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Τούτους οὖν φῶμεν ἐπίστασθαι περὶ ὧν οὕτως
112d1 σφόδρα διαφέρονται, ὥστε ἀμφισβητοῦντες ἀλλήλοις τὰ
ἔσχατα σφᾶς αὐτοὺς ἐργάζονται;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ φαίνεταί γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν εἰς τοὺς τοιούτους διδασκάλους ἀναφέρεις
112d5 οὓς ὁμολογεῖς αὐτὸς μὴ εἰδέναι;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔοικα.

{ΣΩ.} Πῶς οὖν εἰκός σε εἰδέναι τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα,
περὶ ὧν οὕτω πλανᾷ καὶ οὔτε μαθὼν φαίνῃ παρ’ οὐδενὸς
οὔτ’ αὐτὸς ἐξευρών;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐκ μὲν ὧν σὺ λέγεις οὐκ εἰκός.

{ΣΩ.} Ὁρᾷς αὖ τοῦθ’ ὡς οὐ καλῶς εἶπες, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη;

{ΑΛ.} Τὸ ποῖον;

{ΣΩ.} Ὅτι ἐμὲ φῂς ταῦτα λέγειν.

{ΑΛ.} Τί δέ; οὐ σὺ λέγεις ὡς ἐγὼ οὐδὲν ἐπίσταμαι περὶ
112e5 τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ μέντοι.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ ἐγώ;

{ΣΩ.} Ναί.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δή;

{ΣΩ.} Ὧδε εἴσῃ. ἐάν σε ἔρωμαι τὸ ἓν καὶ τὰ δύο πότερα
πλείω ἐστί, φήσεις ὅτι τὰ δύο;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Πόσῳ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἑνί.

{ΣΩ.} Πότερος οὖν ἡμῶν ὁ λέγων ὅτι τὰ δύο τοῦ ἑνὸς
ἑνὶ πλείω;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐγώ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἐγὼ μὲν ἠρώτων, σὺ δ’ ἀπεκρίνου;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Περὶ δὴ τούτων μῶν ἐγὼ φαίνομαι λέγων ὁ ἐρωτῶν,
ἢ σὺ ὁ ἀποκρινόμενος;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐγώ.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’ ἂν ἐγὼ μὲν ἔρωμαι ποῖα γράμματα Σωκράτους,
113a5 σὺ δ’ εἴπῃς, πότερος ὁ λέγων;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐγώ.

{ΣΩ.} Ἴθι δή, ἑνὶ λόγῳ εἰπέ· ὅταν ἐρώτησίς τε καὶ
ἀπόκρισις γίγνηται, πότερος ὁ λέγων, ὁ ἐρωτῶν ἢ ὁ ἀπο-
κρινόμενος;

{ΑΛ.} Ὁ ἀποκρινόμενος, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἄρτι διὰ παντὸς ἐγὼ μὲν ἦ ὁ ἐρωτῶν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Σὺ δ’ ὁ ἀποκρινόμενος;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; τὰ λεχθέντα πότερος ἡμῶν εἴρηκεν;

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνομαι μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων
ἐγώ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἐλέχθη περὶ δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων ὅτι Ἀλκι-
βιάδης ὁ καλὸς ὁ Κλεινίου οὐκ ἐπίσταιτο, οἴοιτο δέ, καὶ
113b10 μέλλοι εἰς ἐκκλησίαν ἐλθὼν συμβουλεύσειν Ἀθηναίοις περὶ
ὧν οὐδὲν οἶδεν; οὐ ταῦτ’ ἦν;

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ τοῦ Εὐριπίδου ἄρα συμβαίνει, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη·
σοῦ τάδε κινδυνεύεις, οὐκ ἐμοῦ ἀκηκοέναι, οὐδ’ ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ
ταῦτα λέγων, ἀλλὰ σύ, ἐμὲ δὲ αἰτιᾷ μάτην. καὶ μέντοι
113c5 καὶ εὖ λέγεις. μανικὸν γὰρ ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἐπιχείρημα ἐπι-
χειρεῖν, ὦ βέλτιστε, διδάσκειν ἃ οὐκ οἶσθα, ἀμελήσας
μανθάνειν.

{ΑΛ.} Οἶμαι μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀλιγάκις Ἀθηναίους βου-
λεύεσθαι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας πότερα δικαιότερα
ἢ ἀδικώτερα· τὰ μὲν γὰρ τοιαῦτα ἡγοῦνται δῆλα εἶναι,
ἐάσαντες οὖν περὶ αὐτῶν σκοποῦσιν ὁπότερα συνοίσει
113d5 πράξασιν. οὐ γὰρ ταὐτὰ οἶμαι ἐστὶν τά τε δίκαια καὶ τὰ
συμφέροντα, ἀλλὰ πολλοῖς δὴ ἐλυσιτέλησεν ἀδικήσασι με-
γάλα ἀδικήματα, καὶ ἑτέροις γε οἶμαι δίκαια ἐργασαμένοις
οὐ συνήνεγκεν.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα ἕτερα μὲν τὰ δίκαια
113e1 τυγχάνει ὄντα, ἕτερα δὲ τὰ συμφέροντα, οὔ τί που αὖ σὺ
οἴει ταῦτ’ εἰδέναι ἃ συμφέρει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, καὶ δι’ ὅτι;

{ΑΛ.} Τί γὰρ κωλύει, ὦ Σώκρατες; εἰ μή με αὖ ἐρήσῃ
παρ’ ὅτου ἔμαθον ἢ ὅπως αὐτὸς ηὗρον.

{ΣΩ.} Οἷον τοῦτο ποιεῖς. εἴ τι μὴ ὀρθῶς λέγεις, τυγχάνει
δὲ δυνατὸν ὂν ἀποδεῖξαι δι’ οὗπερ καὶ τὸ πρότερον λόγου,
οἴει δὴ καινὰ ἄττα δεῖν ἀκούειν ἀποδείξεις τε ἑτέρας, ὡς
τῶν προτέρων οἷον σκευαρίων κατατετριμμένων, καὶ οὐκέτ’
ἂν σὺ αὐτὰ ἀμπίσχοιο, εἰ μή τίς σοι τεκμήριον καθαρὸν
114a1 καὶ ἄχραντον οἴσει. ἐγὼ δὲ χαίρειν ἐάσας τὰς σὰς προ-
δρομὰς τοῦ λόγου οὐδὲν ἧττον ἐρήσομαι πόθεν μαθὼν αὖ τὰ
συμφέροντ’ ἐπίστασαι, καὶ ὅστις ἐστὶν ὁ διδάσκαλος, καὶ
πάντ’ ἐκεῖνα τὰ πρότερον ἐρωτῶ μιᾷ ἐρωτήσει; ἀλλὰ γὰρ
114a5 δῆλον ὡς εἰς ταὐτὸν ἥξεις καὶ οὐχ ἕξεις ἀποδεῖξαι οὔθ’ ὡς
ἐξευρὼν οἶσθα τὰ συμφέροντα οὔθ’ ὡς μαθών. ἐπειδὴ δὲ
τρυφᾷς καὶ οὐκέτ’ ἂν ἡδέως τοῦ αὐτοῦ γεύσαιο λόγου, τοῦ-
τον μὲν ἐῶ χαίρειν, εἴτ’ οἶσθα εἴτε μὴ τὰ Ἀθηναίοις συμ-
114b1 φέροντα· πότερον δὲ ταὐτά ἐστι δίκαιά τε καὶ συμφέροντ’
ἢ ἕτερα, τί οὐκ ἀπέδειξας; εἰ μὲν βούλει, ἐρωτῶν με ὥσπερ
ἐγὼ σέ, εἰ δέ, καὶ αὐτὸς ἐπὶ σεαυτοῦ λόγῳ διέξελθε.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’ οὐκ οἶδα εἰ οἷός τ’ ἂν εἴην, ὦ Σώκρατες, πρὸς
114b5 σὲ διελθεῖν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’, ὠγαθέ, ἐμὲ ἐκκλησίαν νόμισον καὶ δῆμον·
καὶ ἐκεῖ τοί σε δεήσει ἕνα ἕκαστον πείθειν. ἦ γάρ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἕνα τε οἷόν τε εἶναι κατὰ μόνας
114c1 πείθειν καὶ συμπόλλους περὶ ὧν ἂν εἰδῇ, ὥσπερ ὁ γραμ-
ματιστὴς ἕνα τέ που πείθει περὶ γραμμάτων καὶ πολλούς;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ περὶ ἀριθμοῦ ὁ αὐτὸς ἕνα τε καὶ
114c5 πολλοὺς πείσει;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὗτος δ’ ἔσται ὁ εἰδώς, ὁ ἀριθμητικός;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ σὺ ἅπερ καὶ πολλοὺς οἷός τε πείθειν
114c10 εἶ, ταῦτα καὶ ἕνα;

{ΑΛ.} Εἰκός γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔστι δὲ ταῦτα δῆλον ὅτι ἃ οἶσθα.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἄλλο τι οὖν τοσοῦτον μόνον διαφέρει τοῦ ἐν τῷ
114d1 δήμῳ ῥήτορος ὁ ἐν τῇ τοιᾷδε συνουσίᾳ, ὅτι ὁ μὲν ἁθρόους
πείθει τὰ αὐτά, ὁ δὲ καθ’ ἕνα;

{ΑΛ.} Κινδυνεύει.

{ΣΩ.} Ἴθι νῦν, ἐπειδὴ τοῦ αὐτοῦ φαίνεται πολλούς τε καὶ
114d5 ἕνα πείθειν, ἐν ἐμοὶ ἐμμελέτησον καὶ ἐπιχείρησον ἐπιδεῖξαι
ὡς τὸ δίκαιον ἐνίοτε οὐ συμφέρει.

{ΑΛ.} Ὑβριστὴς εἶ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Νῦν γοῦν ὑφ’ ὕβρεως μέλλω σε πείθειν τἀναντία
οἷς σὺ ἐμὲ οὐκ ἐθέλεις.

{ΑΛ.} Λέγε δή.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀποκρίνου μόνον τὰ ἐρωτώμενα.

{ΑΛ.} Μή, ἀλλὰ σὺ αὐτὸς λέγε.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’; οὐχ ὅτι μάλιστα βούλει πεισθῆναι;

{ΑΛ.} Πάντως δήπου.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν εἰ λέγεις ὅτι ταῦθ’ οὕτως ἔχει, μάλιστ’ ἂν
114e5 εἴης πεπεισμένος;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀποκρίνου δή· καὶ ἐὰν μὴ αὐτὸς σὺ σαυτοῦ ἀκούσῃς
ὅτι τὰ δίκαια καὶ συμφέροντά ἐστιν, ἄλλῳ γε λέγοντι μὴ
πιστεύσῃς.

{ΑΛ.} Οὔτοι, ἀλλ’ ἀποκριτέον· καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲν οἴομαι
βλαβήσεσθαι.

{ΣΩ.} Μαντικὸς γὰρ εἶ. καί μοι λέγε· τῶν δικαίων φῂς
ἔνια μὲν συμφέρειν, ἔνια δ’ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; τὰ μὲν καλὰ αὐτῶν εἶναι, τὰ δ’ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς τοῦτο ἐρωτᾷς;

{ΣΩ.} Εἴ τις ἤδη σοι ἔδοξεν αἰσχρὰ μέν, δίκαια δὲ
πράττειν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ πάντα τὰ δίκαια καὶ καλά;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’ αὖ τὰ καλά; πότερον πάντα ἀγαθά, ἢ τὰ μέν,
τὰ δ’ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Οἴομαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔνια τῶν καλῶν κακὰ
εἶναι.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ καὶ αἰσχρὰ ἀγαθά;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρα λέγεις τὰ τοιάδε, οἷον πολλοὶ ἐν πολέμῳ
βοηθήσαντες ἑταίρῳ ἢ οἰκείῳ τραύματα ἔλαβον καὶ ἀπέθανον,
οἱ δ’ οὐ βοηθήσαντες, δέον, ὑγιεῖς ἀπῆλθον;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τὴν τοιαύτην βοήθειαν καλὴν μὲν λέγεις
κατὰ τὴν ἐπιχείρησιν τοῦ σῶσαι οὓς ἔδει, τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν
ἀνδρεία· ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Κακὴν δέ γε κατὰ τοὺς θανάτους τε καὶ ἕλκη· ἦ γάρ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν οὐκ ἄλλο μὲν ἡ ἀνδρεία, ἄλλο δὲ ὁ θάνατος;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα κατὰ ταὐτόν γ’ ἐστι καλὸν καὶ κακὸν τὸ
τοῖς φίλοις βοηθεῖν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅρα τοίνυν εἰ, ᾗ γε καλόν, καὶ ἀγαθόν, ὥσπερ καὶ
ἐνταῦθα. κατὰ τὴν ἀνδρείαν γὰρ ὡμολόγεις καλὸν εἶναι τὴν
βοήθειαν· τοῦτ’ οὖν αὐτὸ σκόπει, τὴν ἀνδρείαν, ἀγαθὸν ἢ
κακόν; ὧδε δὲ σκόπει· σὺ πότερ’ ἂν δέξαιό σοι εἶναι,
115c10 ἀγαθὰ ἢ κακά;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀγαθά.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τὰ μέγιστα μάλιστα.

<{ΑΛ.} Ναί.>

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ ἥκιστα τῶν τοιούτων δέξαιο ἂν στέρεσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Πῶς οὖν λέγεις περὶ ἀνδρείας; ἐπὶ πόσῳ ἂν αὐτοῦ
δέξαιο στέρεσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐδὲ ζῆν ἂν ἐγὼ δεξαίμην δειλὸς ὤν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔσχατον ἄρα κακῶν εἶναί σοι δοκεῖ ἡ δειλία.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐξ ἴσου τῷ τεθνάναι, ὡς ἔοικε.

{ΑΛ.} Φημί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν θανάτῳ τε καὶ δειλίᾳ ἐναντιώτατον ζωὴ καὶ
ἀνδρεία;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ τὰ μὲν μάλιστ’ ἂν εἶναι βούλοιό σοι, τὰ δὲ
ἥκιστα;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἄριστα ἡγῇ, τὰ δὲ κάκιστα;

<{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.
{ΣΩ.} Ἐν τοῖς ἀρίστοις ἄρα σὺ ἡγῇ ἀνδρείαν εἶναι κἀν
τοῖς κακίστοις θάνατον.>

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ ἄρα βοηθεῖν ἐν πολέμῳ τοῖς φίλοις, ᾗ μὲν
115e10 καλόν, κατ’ ἀγαθοῦ πρᾶξιν τὴν τῆς ἀνδρείας, καλὸν αὐτὸ
προσεῖπας;

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνομαί γε.

{ΣΩ.} Κατὰ δέ γε κακοῦ πρᾶξιν τὴν τοῦ θανάτου κακόν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὧδε δίκαιον προσαγορεύειν ἑκάστην τῶν
πράξεων· εἴπερ ᾗ κακὸν ἀπεργάζεται κακὴν καλεῖς, καὶ ᾗ
116a1 ἀγαθὸν ἀγαθὴν κλητέον.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ ᾗ ἀγαθόν, καλόν· ᾗ δὲ κακόν,
αἰσχρόν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τὴν ἄρ’ ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ τοῖς φίλοις βοήθειαν λέγων
καλὴν μὲν εἶναι, κακὴν δέ, οὐδὲν διαφερόντως λέγεις ἢ εἰ
προσεῖπες αὐτὴν ἀγαθὴν μέν, κακὴν δέ.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδὲν ἄρα τῶν καλῶν, καθ’ ὅσον καλόν, κακόν,
οὐδὲ τῶν αἰσχρῶν, καθ’ ὅσον αἰσχρόν, ἀγαθόν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ ὧδε σκέψαι. ὅστις καλῶς πράττει,
οὐχὶ καὶ εὖ πράττει;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οἱ δ’ εὖ πράττοντες οὐκ εὐδαίμονες;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν εὐδαίμονες δι’ ἀγαθῶν κτῆσιν;

{ΑΛ.} Μάλιστα.

{ΣΩ.} Κτῶνται δὲ ταῦτα τῷ εὖ καὶ καλῶς πράττειν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ εὖ ἄρα πράττειν ἀγαθόν;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καλὸν ἡ εὐπραγία;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ταὐτὸν ἄρα ἐφάνη ἡμῖν πάλιν αὖ καλόν τε καὶ
ἀγαθόν.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅτι ἂν ἄρα εὕρωμεν καλόν, καὶ ἀγαθὸν εὑρήσομεν
116c5 ἔκ γε τούτου τοῦ λόγου.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; τὰ ἀγαθὰ συμφέρει ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Συμφέρει.

{ΣΩ.} Μνημονεύεις οὖν περὶ τῶν δικαίων πῶς ὡμολογή-
116c10 σαμεν;

{ΑΛ.} Οἶμαί γε τοὺς τὰ δίκαια πράττοντας ἀναγκαῖον
εἶναι καλὰ πράττειν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ τοὺς τὰ καλὰ ἀγαθά;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τὰ δὲ ἀγαθὰ συμφέρειν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τὰ δίκαια ἄρα, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, συμφέροντά ἐστιν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔοικεν.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; ταῦτα οὐ σὺ ὁ λέγων, ἐγὼ δὲ ὁ ἐρωτῶν;

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνομαι, ὡς ἔοικα.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ οὖν τις ἀνίσταται συμβουλεύσων εἴτε Ἀθηναίοις
εἴτε Πεπαρηθίοις, οἰόμενος γιγνώσκειν τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ
ἄδικα, φήσει δ’ εἶναι τὰ δίκαια κακὰ ἐνίοτε, ἄλλο τι ἢ
116d10 καταγελῴης ἂν αὐτοῦ, ἐπειδήπερ τυγχάνεις καὶ σὺ λέγων
116e1 ὅτι ταὐτά ἐστι δίκαιά τε καὶ συμφέροντα;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ μὰ τοὺς θεούς, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ οἶδ’ ἔγωγε
οὐδ’ ὅτι λέγω, ἀλλ’ ἀτεχνῶς ἔοικα ἀτόπως ἔχοντι· τοτὲ
μὲν γάρ μοι ἕτερα δοκεῖ σοῦ ἐρωτῶντος, τοτὲ δ’ ἄλλα.

{ΣΩ.} Εἶτα τοῦτο, ὦ φίλε, ἀγνοεῖς τὸ πάθημα τί ἐστιν;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οἴει ἂν οὖν, εἴ τις ἐρωτῴη σε δύο ὀφθαλμοὺς ἢ
τρεῖς ἔχεις, καὶ δύο χεῖρας ἢ τέτταρας, ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν
τοιούτων, τοτὲ μὲν ἕτερα ἂν ἀποκρίνασθαι, τοτὲ δὲ ἄλλα, ἢ
116e10 ἀεὶ τὰ αὐτά;

{ΑΛ.} Δέδοικα μὲν ἔγωγε ἤδη περὶ ἐμαυτοῦ, οἶμαι μέντοι
τὰ αὐτά.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὅτι οἶσθα; τοῦτ’ αἴτιον;

{ΑΛ.} Οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Περὶ ὧν ἄρα ἄκων τἀναντία ἀποκρίνῃ, δῆλον ὅτι
περὶ τούτων οὐκ οἶσθα.

{ΑΛ.} Εἰκός γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων καὶ καλῶν
καὶ αἰσχρῶν καὶ κακῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ συμφερόντων καὶ
117a10 μὴ ἀποκρινόμενος φῂς πλανᾶσθαι; εἶτα οὐ δῆλον ὅτι διὰ
τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι περὶ αὐτῶν, διὰ ταῦτα πλανᾷ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν οὕτω καὶ ἔχει· ἐπειδάν τίς τι μὴ εἰδῇ,
ἀναγκαῖον περὶ τούτου πλανᾶσθαι τὴν ψυχήν;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; οἶσθα ὅντινα τρόπον ἀναβήσῃ εἰς τὸν οὐρανόν;

{ΑΛ.} Μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ καὶ πλανᾶταί σου ἡ δόξα περὶ ταῦτα;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ δ’ αἴτιον οἶσθα ἢ ἐγὼ φράσω;

{ΑΛ.} Φράσον.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅτι, ὦ φίλε, οὐκ οἴει αὐτὸ ἐπίστασθαι οὐκ ἐπι-
στάμενος.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς αὖ τοῦτο λέγεις;

{ΣΩ.} Ὅρα καὶ σὺ κοινῇ. ἃ μὴ ἐπίστασαι, γιγνώσκεις δὲ
ὅτι οὐκ ἐπίστασαι, πλανᾷ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα; ὥσπερ περὶ
ὄψου σκευασίας οἶσθα δήπου ὅτι οὐκ οἶσθα;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Πότερον οὖν αὐτὸς περὶ ταῦτα δοξάζεις ὅπως χρὴ
σκευάζειν καὶ πλανᾷ, ἢ τῷ ἐπισταμένῳ ἐπιτρέπεις;

{ΑΛ.} Οὕτως.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’ εἰ ἐν νηῒ πλέοις, ἆρα δοξάζοις ἂν πότερον
117d1 χρὴ τὸν οἴακα εἴσω ἄγειν ἢ ἔξω, καὶ ἅτε οὐκ εἰδὼς πλανῷο
ἄν, ἢ τῷ κυβερνήτῃ ἐπιτρέψας ἂν ἡσυχίαν ἄγοις;

{ΑΛ.} Τῷ κυβερνήτῃ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα περὶ ἃ μὴ οἶσθα πλανᾷ, ἄνπερ εἰδῇς ὅτι
117d5 οὐκ οἶσθα;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔοικα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐννοεῖς οὖν ὅτι καὶ τὰ ἁμαρτήματα ἐν τῇ πράξει
διὰ ταύτην τὴν ἄγνοιάν ἐστι, τὴν τοῦ μὴ εἰδότα οἴεσθαι
εἰδέναι;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς αὖ λέγεις τοῦτο;

{ΣΩ.} Τότε που ἐπιχειροῦμεν πράττειν, ὅταν οἰώμεθα
εἰδέναι ὅτι πράττομεν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅταν δέ γέ πού τινες μὴ οἴωνται εἰδέναι, ἄλλοις
παραδιδόασι;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν οἱ τοιοῦτοι τῶν μὴ εἰδότων ἀναμάρτητοι
117e5 ζῶσι διὰ τὸ ἄλλοις περὶ αὐτῶν ἐπιτρέπειν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τίνες οὖν οἱ ἁμαρτάνοντες; οὐ γάρ που οἵ γε εἰδότες.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐπειδὴ δ’ οὔθ’ οἱ εἰδότες οὔθ’ οἱ τῶν μὴ εἰδότων
118a1 εἰδότες ὅτι οὐκ ἴσασιν, ἦ ἄλλοι λείπονται ἢ οἱ μὴ εἰδότες,
οἰόμενοι δ’ εἰδέναι;

{ΑΛ.} Οὔκ, ἀλλ’ οὗτοι.

{ΣΩ.} Αὕτη ἄρα ἡ ἄγνοια τῶν κακῶν αἰτία καὶ ἡ ἐπονεί-
118a5 διστος ἀμαθία;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὅταν ᾖ περὶ τὰ μέγιστα, τότε κακουργοτάτη
καὶ αἰσχίστη;

{ΑΛ.} Πολύ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; ἔχεις μείζω εἰπεῖν δικαίων τε καὶ καλῶν
καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ συμφερόντων;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν περὶ ταῦτα σὺ φῂς πλανᾶσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ δὲ πλανᾷ, ἆρ’ οὐ δῆλον ἐκ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ὅτι
118b1 οὐ μόνον ἀγνοεῖς τὰ μέγιστα, ἀλλὰ καὶ οὐκ εἰδὼς οἴει αὐτὰ
εἰδέναι;

{ΑΛ.} Κινδυνεύω.

{ΣΩ.} Βαβαῖ ἄρα, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, οἷον πάθος πέπονθας·
118b5 ὃ ἐγὼ ὀνομάζειν μὲν ὀκνῶ, ὅμως δέ, ἐπειδὴ μόνω ἐσμέν,
ῥητέον. ἀμαθίᾳ γὰρ συνοικεῖς, ὦ βέλτιστε, τῇ ἐσχάτῃ, ὡς
ὁ λόγος σου κατηγορεῖ καὶ σὺ σαυτοῦ· διὸ καὶ ᾄττεις ἄρα
πρὸς τὰ πολιτικὰ πρὶν παιδευθῆναι. πέπονθας δὲ τοῦτο
οὐ σὺ μόνος, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν πραττόντων τὰ τῆσδε
118c1 τῆς πόλεως, πλὴν ὀλίγων γε καὶ ἴσως τοῦ σοῦ ἐπιτρόπου
Περικλέους.

{ΑΛ.} Λέγεταί γέ τοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου
σοφὸς γεγονέναι, ἀλλὰ πολλοῖς καὶ σοφοῖς συγγεγονέναι,
118c5 καὶ Πυθοκλείδῃ καὶ Ἀναξαγόρᾳ· καὶ νῦν ἔτι τηλικοῦτος
ὢν Δάμωνι σύνεστιν αὐτοῦ τούτου ἕνεκα.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; ἤδη τιν’ εἶδες σοφὸν ὁτιοῦν ἀδυνατοῦντα
ποιῆσαι ἄλλον σοφὸν ἅπερ αὐτός; ὥσπερ ὅς σε ἐδίδαξεν
γράμματα, αὐτός τ’ ἦν σοφὸς καὶ σὲ ἐποίησε τῶν τε ἄλλων
118c10 ὅντιν’ ἐβούλετο· ἦ γάρ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ σὺ ὁ παρ’ ἐκείνου μαθὼν ἄλλον οἷός
τε ἔσῃ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ ὁ κιθαριστὴς δὲ καὶ ὁ παιδοτρίβης ὡσαύτως;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Καλὸν γὰρ δήπου τεκμήριον τοῦτο τῶν ἐπισταμένων
ὁτιοῦν ὅτι ἐπίστανται, ἐπειδὰν καὶ ἄλλον οἷοί τ’ ὦσιν
ἀποδεῖξαι ἐπιστάμενον.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν; ἔχεις εἰπεῖν Περικλῆς τίνα ἐποίησεν σοφόν,
ἀπὸ τῶν ὑέων ἀρξάμενος;

{ΑΛ.} Τί δ’ εἰ τὼ Περικλέους ὑεῖ ἠλιθίω ἐγενέσθην, ὦ
Σώκρατες;

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ Κλεινίαν τὸν σὸν ἀδελφόν.

{ΑΛ.} Τί δ’ ἂν αὖ Κλεινίαν λέγοις, μαινόμενον ἄνθρωπον;

{ΣΩ.} Ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν Κλεινίας μὲν μαίνεται, τὼ δὲ Περι-
κλέους ὑεῖ ἠλιθίω ἐγενέσθην, σοὶ τίνα αἰτίαν ἀναθῶμεν, δι’
ὅτι σε οὕτως ἔχοντα περιορᾷ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐγὼ οἶμαι αἴτιος οὐ προσέχων τὸν νοῦν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ τῶν ἄλλων Ἀθηναίων ἢ τῶν ξένων δοῦλον
ἢ ἐλεύθερον εἰπὲ ὅστις αἰτίαν ἔχει διὰ τὴν Περικλέους
συνουσίαν σοφώτερος γεγονέναι, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ ἔχω σοι εἰπεῖν
διὰ τὴν Ζήνωνος Πυθόδωρον τὸν Ἰσολόχου καὶ Καλλίαν
119a5 τὸν Καλλιάδου, ὧν ἑκάτερος Ζήνωνι ἑκατὸν μνᾶς τελέσας
σοφός τε καὶ ἐλλόγιμος γέγονεν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔχω.

{ΣΩ.} Εἶεν· τί οὖν διανοῇ περὶ σαυτοῦ; πότερον ἐᾶν ὡς
νῦν ἔχεις, ἢ ἐπιμέλειάν τινα ποιεῖσθαι;

{ΑΛ.} Κοινὴ βουλή, ὦ Σώκρατες. καίτοι ἐννοῶ σου
εἰπόντος καὶ συγχωρῶ· δοκοῦσι γάρ μοι οἱ τὰ τῆς πόλεως
πράττοντες ἐκτὸς ὀλίγων ἀπαίδευτοι εἶναι.

{ΣΩ.} Εἶτα τί δὴ τοῦτο;

{ΑΛ.} Εἰ μέν που ἦσαν πεπαιδευμένοι, ἔδει ἂν τὸν ἐπι-
χειροῦντα αὐτοῖς ἀνταγωνίζεσθαι μαθόντα καὶ ἀσκήσαντα
ἰέναι ὡς ἐπ’ ἀθλητάς· νῦν δ’ ἐπειδὴ καὶ οὗτοι ἰδιωτικῶς
ἔχοντες ἐληλύθασιν ἐπὶ τὰ τῆς πόλεως, τί δεῖ ἀσκεῖν καὶ
μανθάνοντα πράγματα ἔχειν; ἐγὼ γὰρ εὖ οἶδ’ ὅτι τούτων
119c1 τῇ γε φύσει πάνυ πολὺ περιέσομαι.

{ΣΩ.} Βαβαῖ, οἷον, ὦ ἄριστε, τοῦτ’ εἴρηκας· ὡς ἀνάξιον
τῆς ἰδέας καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν σοι ὑπαρχόντων.

{ΑΛ.} Τί μάλιστα καὶ πρὸς τί τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

{ΣΩ.} Ἀγανακτῶ ὑπέρ τε σοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἐμαυτοῦ ἔρωτος.

{ΑΛ.} Τί δή;

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ ἠξίωσας τὸν ἀγῶνά σοι εἶναι πρὸς τοὺς ἐνθάδε
ἀνθρώπους.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ πρὸς τίνας μήν;

{ΣΩ.} Ἄξιον τοῦτό γε καὶ ἐρέσθαι ἄνδρα οἰόμενον μεγα-
λόφρονα εἶναι.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς λέγεις; οὐ πρὸς τούτους μοι ὁ ἀγών;

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ κἂν εἰ τριήρη διενοοῦ κυβερνᾶν μέλλουσαν
119d5 ναυμαχεῖν, ἤρκει ἄν σοι τῶν συνναυτῶν βελτίστῳ εἶναι τὰ
κυβερνητικά, ἢ ταῦτα μὲν ᾤου ἂν δεῖν ὑπάρχειν, ἀπέβλεπες
δ’ ἂν εἰς τοὺς ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀνταγωνιστάς, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὡς νῦν εἰς
τοὺς συναγωνιστάς; ὧν δήπου περιγενέσθαι σε δεῖ τοσοῦτον
119e1 ὥστε μὴ ἀξιοῦν ἀνταγωνίζεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καταφρονηθέντας συν-
αγωνίζεσθαί σοι πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους, εἰ δὴ τῷ ὄντι γε καλόν τι
ἔργον ἀποδείξασθαι διανοῇ καὶ ἄξιον σαυτοῦ τε καὶ τῆς πόλεως.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ διανοοῦμαί γε.

{ΣΩ.} Πάνυ σοι ἄρα ἄξιον ἀγαπᾶν εἰ τῶν στρατιωτῶν
βελτίων εἶ, ἀλλ’ οὐ πρὸς τοὺς τῶν ἀντιπάλων ἡγεμόνας
ἀποβλέπειν εἴ ποτε ἐκείνων βελτίων γέγονας, σκοποῦντα
καὶ ἀσκοῦντα πρὸς ἐκείνους.

{ΑΛ.} Λέγεις δὲ τίνας τούτους, ὦ Σώκρατες;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ οἶσθα ἡμῶν τὴν πόλιν Λακεδαιμονίοις τε καὶ
τῷ μεγάλῳ βασιλεῖ πολεμοῦσαν ἑκάστοτε;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἡγεμὼν εἶναι τῆσδε τῆς
πόλεως, πρὸς τοὺς Λακεδαιμονίων βασιλέας καὶ τοὺς
Περσῶν τὸν ἀγῶνα ἡγούμενός σοι εἶναι ὀρθῶς ἂν ἡγοῖο;

{ΑΛ.} Κινδυνεύεις ἀληθῆ λέγειν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὔκ, ὠγαθέ, ἀλλὰ πρὸς Μειδίαν σε δεῖ τὸν ὀρτυγο-
120b1 κόπον ἀποβλέπειν καὶ ἄλλους τοιούτους – οἳ τὰ τῆς πόλεως
πράττειν ἐπιχειροῦσιν, ἔτι τὴν ἀνδραποδώδη, φαῖεν ἂν
αἱ γυναῖκες, τρίχα ἔχοντες ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ὑπ’ ἀμουσίας καὶ
οὔπω ἀποβεβληκότες, ἔτι δὲ βαρβαρίζοντες ἐληλύθασι
120b5 κολακεύσοντες τὴν πόλιν ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἄρξοντες – πρὸς τού-
τους σε δεῖ, οὕσπερ λέγω, βλέποντα σαυτοῦ δὴ ἀμελεῖν,
καὶ μήτε μανθάνειν ὅσα μαθήσεως ἔχεται, μέλλοντα τοσοῦ-
τον ἀγῶνα ἀγωνίζεσθαι, μήτε ἀσκεῖν ὅσα δεῖται ἀσκήσεως,
120c1 καὶ πᾶσαν παρασκευὴν παρεσκευασμένον οὕτως ἰέναι ἐπὶ
τὰ τῆς πόλεως.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλ’, ὦ Σώκρατες, δοκεῖς μέν μοι ἀληθῆ λέγειν,
οἶμαι μέντοι τούς τε Λακεδαιμονίων στρατηγοὺς καὶ τὸν
120c5 Περσῶν βασιλέα οὐδὲν διαφέρειν τῶν ἄλλων.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’, ὦ ἄριστε, τὴν οἴησιν ταύτην σκόπει οἵαν
ἔχεις.

{ΑΛ.} Τοῦ πέρι;

{ΣΩ.} Πρῶτον μὲν ποτέρως ἂν οἴει σαυτοῦ μᾶλλον ἐπι-
120d1 μεληθῆναι, φοβούμενός τε καὶ οἰόμενος δεινοὺς αὐτοὺς
εἶναι, ἢ μή;

{ΑΛ.} Δῆλον ὅτι εἰ δεινοὺς οἰοίμην.

{ΣΩ.} Μῶν οὖν οἴει τι βλαβήσεσθαι ἐπιμεληθεὶς σαυτοῦ;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλὰ καὶ μεγάλα ὀνήσεσθαι.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἓν μὲν τοῦτο τοσοῦτον κακὸν ἔχει ἡ οἴησις
αὕτη.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ δεύτερον τοίνυν, ὅτι καὶ ψευδής ἐστιν, ἐκ τῶν
120d10 εἰκότων σκέψαι.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δή;

{ΣΩ.} Πότερον εἰκὸς ἀμείνους γίγνεσθαι φύσεις ἐν γεν-
120e1 ναίοις γένεσιν ἢ μή;
{ΑΛ.} Δῆλον ὅτι ἐν τοῖς γενναίοις.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τοὺς εὖ φύντας, ἐὰν καὶ εὖ τραφῶσιν, οὕτω
τελέους γίγνεσθαι πρὸς ἀρετήν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη.

{ΣΩ.} Σκεψώμεθα δή, τοῖς ἐκείνων τὰ ἡμέτερα ἀντιτι-
θέντες, πρῶτον μὲν εἰ δοκοῦσι φαυλοτέρων γενῶν εἶναι οἱ
Λακεδαιμονίων καὶ Περσῶν βασιλῆς. ἢ οὐκ ἴσμεν ὡς οἱ μὲν
Ἡρακλέους, οἱ δὲ Ἀχαιμένους ἔκγονοι, τὸ δ’ Ἡρακλέους τε
120e10 γένος καὶ τὸ Ἀχαιμένους εἰς Περσέα τὸν Διὸς ἀναφέρεται;

{ΑΛ.} Καὶ γὰρ τὸ ἡμέτερον, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰς Εὐρυσάκη,
τὸ δ’ Εὐρυσάκους εἰς Δία.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ γὰρ τὸ ἡμέτερον, ὦ γενναῖε Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἰς
Δαίδαλον, ὁ δὲ Δαίδαλος εἰς Ἥφαιστον τὸν Διός. ἀλλὰ
121a5 τὰ μὲν τούτων ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἀρξάμενα βασιλῆς εἰσιν ἐκ βα-
σιλέων μέχρι Διός, οἱ μὲν Ἄργους τε καὶ Λακεδαίμονος,
οἱ δὲ τῆς Περσίδος τὸ ἀεί, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ τῆς Ἀσίας,
ὥσπερ καὶ νῦν· ἡμεῖς δὲ αὐτοί τε ἰδιῶται καὶ οἱ πατέρες.
121b1 εἰ δὲ καὶ τοὺς προγόνους σε δέοι καὶ τὴν πατρίδα Εὐρυσά-
κους ἐπιδεῖξαι Σαλαμῖνα ἢ τὴν Αἰακοῦ τοῦ ἔτι προτέρου
Αἴγιναν Ἀρτοξέρξῃ τῷ Ξέρξου, πόσον ἂν οἴει γέλωτα
ὀφλεῖν; ἀλλ’ ὅρα μὴ τοῦ τε γένους ὄγκῳ ἐλαττώμεθα τῶν
121b5 ἀνδρῶν καὶ τῇ ἄλλῃ τροφῇ. ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι τοῖς τε Λακε-
δαιμονίων βασιλεῦσιν ὡς μεγάλα τὰ ὑπάρχοντα, ὧν αἱ
γυναῖκες δημοσίᾳ φυλάττονται ὑπὸ τῶν ἐφόρων, ὅπως εἰς
δύναμιν μὴ λάθῃ ἐξ ἄλλου γενόμενος ὁ βασιλεὺς ἢ ἐξ
121c1 Ἡρακλειδῶν; ὁ δὲ Περσῶν τοσοῦτον ὑπερβάλλει, ὥστ’
οὐδεὶς ὑποψίαν ἔχει ὡς ἐξ ἄλλου ἂν βασιλεὺς γένοιτο ἢ ἐξ
αὐτοῦ· διὸ οὐ φρουρεῖται ἡ βασιλέως γυνὴ ἀλλ’ ἢ ὑπὸ
φόβου. ἐπειδὰν δὲ γένηται ὁ παῖς ὁ πρεσβύτατος, οὗπερ
121c5 ἡ ἀρχή, πρῶτον μὲν ἑορτάζουσι πάντες οἱ ἐν τῇ βασιλέως,
ὧν ἂν ἄρχῃ, εἶτα εἰς τὸν ἄλλον χρόνον ταύτῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ
βασιλέως γενέθλια πᾶσα θύει καὶ ἑορτάζει ἡ Ἀσία· ἡμῶν
121d1 δὲ γενομένων, τὸ τοῦ κωμῳδοποιοῦ, οὐδ’ οἱ γείτονες σφόδρα
τι αἰσθάνονται, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη. μετὰ τοῦτο τρέφεται ὁ
παῖς, οὐχ ὑπὸ γυναικὸς τροφοῦ ὀλίγου ἀξίας, ἀλλ’ ὑπ’
εὐνούχων οἳ ἂν δοκῶσιν τῶν περὶ βασιλέα ἄριστοι εἶναι·
121d5 οἷς τά τε ἄλλα προστέτακται ἐπιμέλεσθαι τοῦ γενομένου,
καὶ ὅπως ὅτι κάλλιστος ἔσται μηχανᾶσθαι, ἀναπλάττοντας
τὰ μέλη τοῦ παιδὸς καὶ κατορθοῦντας· καὶ ταῦτα δρῶντες
121e1 ἐν μεγάλῃ τιμῇ εἰσιν. ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἑπτέτεις γένωνται οἱ
παῖδες, ἐπὶ τοὺς ἵππους καὶ ἐπὶ τοὺς τούτων διδασκάλους
φοιτῶσιν, καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς θήρας ἄρχονται ἰέναι. δὶς ἑπτὰ δὲ
γενόμενον ἐτῶν τὸν παῖδα παραλαμβάνουσιν οὓς ἐκεῖνοι
121e5 βασιλείους παιδαγωγοὺς ὀνομάζουσιν· εἰσὶ δὲ ἐξειλεγμένοι
Περσῶν οἱ ἄριστοι δόξαντες ἐν ἡλικίᾳ τέτταρες, ὅ τε σο-
φώτατος καὶ ὁ δικαιότατος καὶ ὁ σωφρονέστατος καὶ ὁ
122a1 ἀνδρειότατος. ὧν ὁ μὲν μαγείαν τε διδάσκει τὴν Ζωρο-
άστρου τοῦ Ὡρομάζου – ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο θεῶν θεραπεία –
διδάσκει δὲ καὶ τὰ βασιλικά, ὁ δὲ δικαιότατος ἀληθεύειν
διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου, ὁ δὲ σωφρονέστατος μηδ’ ὑπὸ μιᾶς
122a5 ἄρχεσθαι τῶν ἡδονῶν, ἵνα ἐλεύθερος εἶναι ἐθίζηται καὶ
ὄντως βασιλεύς, ἄρχων πρῶτον τῶν ἐν αὑτῷ ἀλλὰ μὴ
δουλεύων, ὁ δὲ ἀνδρειότατος ἄφοβον καὶ ἀδεᾶ παρασκευά-
ζων, ὡς ὅταν δείσῃ δοῦλον ὄντα· σοὶ δ’, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη,
122b1 Περικλῆς ἐπέστησε παιδαγωγὸν τῶν οἰκετῶν τὸν ἀχρειό-
τατον ὑπὸ γήρως, Ζώπυρον τὸν Θρᾷκα. διῆλθον δὲ καὶ
τὴν ἄλλην ἄν σοι τῶν ἀνταγωνιστῶν τροφήν τε καὶ παι-
δείαν, εἰ μὴ πολὺ ἔργον ἦν καὶ ἅμα ταῦθ’ ἱκανὰ δηλῶσαι
122b5 καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα τούτοις ἀκόλουθα· τῆς δὲ σῆς γενέσεως,
ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, καὶ τροφῆς καὶ παιδείας, ἢ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν
Ἀθηναίων, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδενὶ μέλει, εἰ μὴ εἴ τις
ἐραστής σου τυγχάνει ὤν. εἰ δ’ αὖ ἐθέλεις εἰς πλούτους
122c1 ἀποβλέψαι καὶ τρυφὰς καὶ ἐσθῆτας ἱματίων θ’ ἕλξεις καὶ
μύρων ἀλοιφὰς καὶ θεραπόντων πλήθους ἀκολουθίας τήν
τε ἄλλην ἁβρότητα τὴν Περσῶν, αἰσχυνθείης ἂν ἐπὶ σεαυτῷ,
αἰσθόμενος ὅσον αὐτῶν ἐλλείπεις. εἰ δ’ αὖ ἐθελήσεις εἰς
122c5 σωφροσύνην τε καὶ κοσμιότητα ἀποβλέψαι καὶ εὐχέρειαν
καὶ εὐκολίαν καὶ μεγαλοφροσύνην καὶ εὐταξίαν καὶ ἀνδρείαν
καὶ καρτερίαν καὶ φιλοπονίαν καὶ φιλονικίαν καὶ φιλοτιμίας
τὰς Λακεδαιμονίων, παῖδ’ ἂν ἡγήσαιο σαυτὸν πᾶσι τοῖς
122d1 τοιούτοις. εἰ δ’ αὖ τι καὶ πλούτῳ προσέχεις καὶ κατὰ
τοῦτο οἴει τι εἶναι, μηδὲ τοῦθ’ ἡμῖν ἄρρητον ἔστω, ἐάν πως
αἴσθῃ οὗ εἶ. τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ εἰ ἐθέλεις <εἰς> τοὺς Λακε-
δαιμονίων πλούτους ἰδεῖν, γνώσῃ ὅτι πολὺ τἀνθάδε τῶν
122d5 ἐκεῖ ἐλλείπει· γῆν μὲν γὰρ ὅσην ἔχουσιν τῆς θ’ ἑαυτῶν
καὶ Μεσσήνης, οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς ἀμφισβητήσειε τῶν τῇδε πλήθει
οὐδ’ ἀρετῇ, οὐδ’ αὖ ἀνδραπόδων κτήσει τῶν τε ἄλλων καὶ
τῶν εἱλωτικῶν, οὐδὲ μὴν ἵππων γε, οὐδ’ ὅσα ἄλλα βοσκή-
122e1 ματα κατὰ Μεσσήνην νέμεται. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν πάντα ἐῶ
χαίρειν, χρυσίον δὲ καὶ ἀργύριον οὐκ ἔστιν ἐν πᾶσιν Ἕλ-
λησιν ὅσον ἐν Λακεδαίμονι ἰδίᾳ· πολλὰς γὰρ ἤδη γενεὰς
εἰσέρχεται μὲν αὐτόσε ἐξ ἁπάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων, πολ-
122e5 λάκις δὲ καὶ ἐκ τῶν βαρβάρων, ἐξέρχεται δὲ οὐδαμόσε,
123a1 ἀλλ’ ἀτεχνῶς κατὰ τὸν Αἰσώπου μῦθον ὃν ἡ ἀλώπηξ πρὸς
τὸν λέοντα εἶπεν, καὶ τοῦ εἰς Λακεδαίμονα νομίσματος εἰς-
ιόντος μὲν τὰ ἴχνη τὰ ἐκεῖσε τετραμμένα δῆλα, ἐξιόντος
δὲ οὐδαμῇ ἄν τις ἴδοι. ὥστε εὖ χρὴ εἰδέναι ὅτι καὶ χρυσῷ
123a5 καὶ ἀργύρῳ οἱ ἐκεῖ πλουσιώτατοί εἰσιν τῶν Ἑλλήνων, καὶ
αὐτῶν ἐκείνων ὁ βασιλεύς· ἔκ τε γὰρ τῶν τοιούτων μέγισται
λήψεις καὶ πλεῖσταί εἰσι τοῖς βασιλεῦσιν, ἔτι δὲ καὶ ὁ
βασιλικὸς φόρος οὐκ ὀλίγος γίγνεται, ὃν τελοῦσιν οἱ Λακε-
123b1 δαιμόνιοι τοῖς βασιλεῦσιν. καὶ τὰ μὲν Λακεδαιμονίων ὡς
πρὸς Ἑλληνικοὺς μὲν πλούτους μεγάλα, ὡς δὲ πρὸς τοὺς
Περσικοὺς καὶ τοῦ ἐκείνων βασιλέως οὐδέν. ἐπεί ποτ’
ἐγὼ ἤκουσα ἀνδρὸς ἀξιοπίστου τῶν ἀναβεβηκότων παρὰ
123b5 βασιλέα, ὃς ἔφη παρελθεῖν χώραν πάνυ πολλὴν καὶ ἀγαθήν,
ἐγγὺς ἡμερησίαν ὁδόν, ἣν καλεῖν τοὺς ἐπιχωρίους ζώνην
τῆς βασιλέως γυναικός· εἶναι δὲ καὶ ἄλλην ἣν αὖ καλεῖσθαι
123c1 καλύπτραν, καὶ ἄλλους πολλοὺς τόπους καλοὺς καὶ ἀγαθοὺς
εἰς τὸν κόσμον ἐξῃρημένους τὸν τῆς γυναικός, καὶ ὀνόματα
ἔχειν ἑκάστους τῶν τόπων ἀπὸ ἑκάστου τῶν κόσμων. ὥστ’
οἶμαι ἐγώ, εἴ τις εἴποι τῇ βασιλέως μητρί, Ξέρξου δὲ
123c5 γυναικί, Ἀμήστριδι, ὅτι ἐν νῷ ἔχει σοῦ τῷ ὑεῖ ἀντιτάτ-
τεσθαι ὁ Δεινομάχης ὑός, ᾗ ἔστι κόσμος ἴσως ἄξιος μνῶν
πεντήκοντα εἰ πάνυ πολλοῦ, τῷ δ’ ὑεῖ αὐτῆς γῆς πλέθρα
Ἐρχίασιν οὐδὲ τριακόσια, θαυμάσαι ἂν ὅτῳ ποτὲ πιστεύων
123d1 ἐν νῷ ἔχει οὗτος ὁ Ἀλκιβιάδης τῷ Ἀρτοξέρξῃ διαγωνί-
ζεσθαι, καὶ οἶμαι ἂν αὐτὴν εἰπεῖν ὅτι οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὅτῳ ἄλλῳ
πιστεύων οὗτος ἀνὴρ ἐπιχειρεῖ πλὴν ἐπιμελείᾳ τε καὶ
σοφίᾳ· ταῦτα γὰρ μόνα ἄξια λόγου ἐν Ἕλλησιν. ἐπεὶ εἴ
123d5 γε πύθοιτο ὅτι Ἀλκιβιάδης οὗτος νῦν ἐπιχειρεῖ πρῶτον
μὲν ἔτη οὐδέπω γεγονὼς σφόδρα εἴκοσιν, ἔπειτα παντά-
πασιν ἀπαίδευτος, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις, τοῦ ἐραστοῦ αὐτῷ
λέγοντος ὅτι χρὴ πρῶτον μαθόντα καὶ ἐπιμεληθέντα αὑτοῦ
123e1 καὶ ἀσκήσαντα οὕτως ἰέναι διαγωνιούμενον βασιλεῖ, οὐκ
ἐθέλει, ἀλλά φησιν ἐξαρκεῖν καὶ ὡς ἔχει, οἶμαι ἂν αὐτὴν
θαυμάσαι τε καὶ ἐρέσθαι· “Τί οὖν ποτ’ ἔστιν ὅτῳ πιστεύει
τὸ μειράκιον;” εἰ οὖν λέγοιμεν ὅτι κάλλει τε καὶ μεγέθει
123e5 καὶ γένει καὶ πλούτῳ καὶ φύσει τῆς ψυχῆς, ἡγήσαιτ’ ἂν
ἡμᾶς, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, μαίνεσθαι πρὸς τὰ παρὰ σφίσιν ἀπο-
βλέψασα πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα. οἶμαι δὲ κἂν Λαμπιδώ, τὴν
124a1 Λεωτυχίδου μὲν θυγατέρα, Ἀρχιδάμου δὲ γυναῖκα, Ἄγιδος
δὲ μητέρα, οἳ πάντες βασιλῆς γεγόνασιν, θαυμάσαι ἂν καὶ
ταύτην εἰς τὰ παρὰ σφίσιν ὑπάρχοντα ἀποβλέψασαν, εἰ σὺ
ἐν νῷ ἔχεις τῷ ὑεῖ αὐτῆς διαγωνίζεσθαι οὕτω κακῶς ἠγμένος.
124a5 καίτοι οὐκ αἰσχρὸν δοκεῖ εἶναι, εἰ αἱ τῶν πολεμίων γυναῖκες
βέλτιον περὶ ἡμῶν διανοοῦνται, οἵους χρὴ ὄντας σφίσιν
ἐπιχειρεῖν, ἢ ἡμεῖς περὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν; ἀλλ’, ὦ μακάριε,
πειθόμενος ἐμοί τε καὶ τῷ ἐν Δελφοῖς γράμματι, γνῶθι
124b1 σαυτόν, ὅτι οὗτοι ἡμῖν εἰσιν ἀντίπαλοι, ἀλλ’ οὐχ οὓς σὺ
οἴει· ὧν ἄλλῳ μὲν οὐδ’ ἂν ἑνὶ περιγενοίμεθα, εἰ μή περ
ἐπιμελείᾳ γε ἂν καὶ τέχνῃ. ὧν σὺ εἰ ἀπολειφθήσῃ,
καὶ τοῦ ὀνομαστὸς γενέσθαι ἀπολειφθήσῃ ἐν Ἕλλησί
124b5 τε καὶ βαρβάροις, οὗ μοι δοκεῖς ἐρᾶν ὡς οὐδεὶς ἄλλος
ἄλλου.

{ΑΛ.} Τίνα οὖν χρὴ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ποι-
εῖσθαι; ἔχεις ἐξηγήσασθαι; παντὸς γὰρ μᾶλλον ἔοικας
ἀληθῆ εἰρηκότι.

{ΣΩ.} Ναί· ἀλλὰ γὰρ κοινὴ βουλὴ ᾧτινι τρόπῳ ἂν ὅτι
124c1 βέλτιστοι γενοίμεθα. ἐγὼ γάρ τοι οὐ περὶ μὲν σοῦ λέγω ὡς
χρὴ παιδευθῆναι, περὶ ἐμοῦ δὲ οὔ· οὐ γὰρ ἔσθ’ ὅτῳ σου
διαφέρω πλήν γ’ ἑνί.

{ΑΛ.} Τίνι;

{ΣΩ.} Ὁ ἐπίτροπος ὁ ἐμὸς βελτίων ἐστὶ καὶ σοφώτερος
ἢ Περικλῆς ὁ σός.

{ΑΛ.} Τίς οὗτος, ὦ Σώκρατες;

{ΣΩ.} Θεός, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ὅσπερ σοί με οὐκ εἴα πρὸ
τῆσδε τῆς ἡμέρας διαλεχθῆναι· ᾧ καὶ πιστεύων λέγω ὅτι ἡ
124c10 ἐπιφάνεια δι’ οὐδενὸς ἄλλου σοι ἔσται ἢ δι’ ἐμοῦ.

{ΑΛ.} Παίζεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Ἴσως· λέγω μέντοι ἀληθῆ, ὅτι ἐπιμελείας δεόμεθα,
μᾶλλον μὲν πάντες ἄνθρωποι, ἀτὰρ νώ γε καὶ μάλα σφόδρα.

{ΑΛ.} Ὅτι μὲν ἐγώ, οὐ ψεύδῃ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδὲ μὴν ὅτι γε ἐγώ.

{ΑΛ.} Τί οὖν ἂν ποιοῖμεν;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἀπορρητέον οὐδὲ μαλθακιστέον, ὦ ἑταῖρε.

{ΑΛ.} Οὔτοι δὴ πρέπει γ’, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ γάρ, ἀλλὰ σκεπτέον κοινῇ. καί μοι λέγε·
124e1 φαμὲν γὰρ δὴ ὡς ἄριστοι βούλεσθαι γενέσθαι. ἦ γάρ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τίνα ἀρετήν;

{ΑΛ.} Δῆλον ὅτι ἥνπερ οἱ ἄνδρες οἱ ἀγαθοί.

{ΣΩ.} Οἱ τί ἀγαθοί;

{ΑΛ.} Δῆλον ὅτι οἱ πράττειν τὰ πράγματα.

{ΣΩ.} Ποῖα; ἆρα τὰ ἱππικά;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Παρὰ τοὺς ἱππικοὺς γὰρ ἂν ᾖμεν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ τὰ ναυτικὰ λέγεις;

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ.

{ΣΩ.} Παρὰ τοὺς ναυτικοὺς γὰρ ἂν ᾖμεν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ ποῖα; ἃ τίνες πράττουσιν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἅπερ Ἀθηναίων οἱ καλοὶ κἀγαθοί.

{ΣΩ.} Καλοὺς δὲ κἀγαθοὺς λέγεις τοὺς φρονίμους ἢ τοὺς
ἄφρονας;

{ΑΛ.} Τοὺς φρονίμους.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὃ ἕκαστος φρόνιμος, τοῦτ’ ἀγαθός;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ὃ δὲ ἄφρων, πονηρός;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν ὁ σκυτοτόμος φρόνιμος εἰς ὑποδημάτων
ἐργασίαν;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀγαθὸς ἄρ’ εἰς αὐτά;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀγαθός.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’; εἰς ἱματίων ἐργασίαν οὐκ ἄφρων ὁ σκυ-
τοτόμος;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Κακὸς ἄρα εἰς τοῦτο;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ὁ αὐτὸς ἄρα τούτῳ γε τῷ λόγῳ κακός τε καὶ
ἀγαθός.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ οὖν λέγεις τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας εἶναι καὶ κακούς;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ τίνας ποτὲ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς λέγεις;

{ΑΛ.} Τοὺς δυναμένους ἔγωγε ἄρχειν ἐν τῇ πόλει.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ δήπου ἵππων γε;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ ἀνθρώπων;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρα καμνόντων;

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ πλεόντων;

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ φημι.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ θεριζόντων;

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν ποιούντων ἤ τι ποιούντων;

{ΑΛ.} Ποιούντων λέγω.

{ΣΩ.} Τί; πειρῶ καὶ ἐμοὶ δηλῶσαι.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκοῦν τῶν καὶ συμβαλλόντων ἑαυτοῖς καὶ χρω-
125c5 μένων ἀλλήλοις, ὥσπερ ἡμεῖς ζῶμεν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἀνθρώπων λέγεις ἄρχειν ἀνθρώποις χρω-
μένων;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρα κελευστῶν χρωμένων ἐρέταις;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Κυβερνητικὴ γὰρ αὕτη γε ἀρετή;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ ἀνθρώπων λέγεις ἄρχειν αὐλητῶν, ἀνθρώποις
125d1 ἡγουμένων ᾠδῆς καὶ χρωμένων χορευταῖς;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Χοροδιδασκαλικὴ γὰρ αὕτη γ’ αὖ;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ τί ποτε λέγεις χρωμένων ἀνθρώπων ἀνθρώ-
ποις οἷόν τ’ εἶναι ἄρχειν;

{ΑΛ.} Κοινωνούντων ἔγωγε λέγω πολιτείας καὶ συμ-
βαλλόντων πρὸς ἀλλήλους, τούτων ἄρχειν τῶν ἐν τῇ
πόλει.

{ΣΩ.} Τίς οὖν αὕτη ἡ τέχνη; ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ σε ἐροίμην
πάλιν τὰ νυνδή, κοινωνούντων ναυτιλίας ἐπίστασθαι ἄρχειν
τίς ποιεῖ τέχνη;

{ΑΛ.} Κυβερνητική.

{ΣΩ.} Κοινωνούντων δ’ ᾠδῆς, ὡς νυνδὴ ἐλέγετο, τις ἐπι-
στήμη ποιεῖ ἄρχειν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἥνπερ σὺ ἄρτι ἔλεγες, ἡ χοροδιδασκαλία.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; πολιτείας κοινωνούντων τίνα καλεῖς ἐπι-
125e5 στήμην;

{ΑΛ.} Εὐβουλίαν ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; μῶν ἀβουλία δοκεῖ εἶναι ἡ τῶν κυβερνητῶν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ εὐβουλία;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, εἴς γε τὸ σῴζεσθαι πλέοντας.

{ΣΩ.} Καλῶς λέγεις. τί δέ; ἣν σὺ λέγεις εὐβουλίαν,
εἰς τί ἐστιν;

{ΑΛ.} Εἰς τὸ ἄμεινον τὴν πόλιν διοικεῖν καὶ σῴζεσθαι.

{ΣΩ.} Ἄμεινον δὲ διοικεῖται καὶ σῴζεται τίνος παρα-
γιγνομένου ἢ ἀπογιγνομένου; ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ σύ με ἔροιο·
“Ἄμεινον διοικεῖται σῶμα καὶ σῴζεται τίνος παραγιγνομένου
ἢ ἀπογιγνομένου;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι ὑγιείας μὲν παραγιγνο-
μένης, νόσου δὲ ἀπογιγνομένης. οὐ καὶ σὺ οἴει οὕτως;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ εἴ μ’ αὖ ἔροιο· “Τίνος δὲ παραγιγνομένου
ἄμεινον ὄμματα;” ὡσαύτως εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι ὄψεως μὲν παρα-
γιγνομένης, τυφλότητος δὲ ἀπογιγνομένης. καὶ ὦτα δὲ
126b5 κωφότητος μὲν ἀπογιγνομένης, ἀκοῆς δὲ ἐγγιγνομένης
βελτίω τε γίγνεται καὶ ἄμεινον θεραπεύεται.

{ΑΛ.} Ὀρθῶς.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δὲ δή; πόλις τίνος παραγιγνομένου καὶ ἀπο-
γιγνομένου βελτίων τε γίγνεται καὶ ἄμεινον θεραπεύεται
126b10 καὶ διοικεῖται;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅταν φιλία μὲν
αὐτοῖς γίγνηται πρὸς ἀλλήλους, τὸ μισεῖν δὲ καὶ στασιάζειν
ἀπογίγνηται.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν φιλίαν λέγεις ὁμόνοιαν ἢ διχόνοιαν;

{ΑΛ.} Ὁμόνοιαν.

{ΣΩ.} Διὰ τίν’ οὖν τέχνην ὁμονοοῦσιν αἱ πόλεις περὶ
ἀριθμούς;

{ΑΛ.} Διὰ τὴν ἀριθμητικήν.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δὲ οἱ ἰδιῶται; οὐ διὰ τὴν αὐτήν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ἕκαστος;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Διὰ τίνα δὲ τέχνην ἕκαστος αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ὁμονοεῖ
126d1 περὶ σπιθαμῆς καὶ πήχεος ὁπότερον μεῖζον; οὐ διὰ τὴν
μετρητικήν;

{ΑΛ.} Τί μήν;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ ἰδιῶται ἀλλήλοις καὶ αἱ πόλεις;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; περὶ σταθμοῦ οὐχ ὡσαύτως;

{ΑΛ.} Φημί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἣν δὲ δὴ σὺ λέγεις ὁμόνοιαν, τίς ἐστι καὶ περὶ
τοῦ, καὶ τίς αὐτὴν τέχνη παρασκευάζει; καὶ ἆρα ἥπερ πόλει,
126d10 αὑτὴ καὶ ἰδιώτῃ, αὐτῷ τε πρὸς αὑτὸν καὶ πρὸς ἄλλον;

{ΑΛ.} Εἰκός γέ τοι.

{ΣΩ.} Τίς οὖν ἔστι; μὴ κάμῃς ἀποκρινόμενος, ἀλλὰ
126e1 προθυμοῦ εἰπεῖν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι φιλίαν τε λέγειν καὶ ὁμόνοιαν,
ἥνπερ πατήρ τε ὑὸν φιλῶν ὁμονοεῖ καὶ μήτηρ, καὶ ἀδελφὸς
ἀδελφῷ καὶ γυνὴ ἀνδρί.

{ΣΩ.} Οἴει ἂν οὖν, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ἄνδρα γυναικὶ περὶ
ταλασιουργίας δύνασθαι ὁμονοεῖν, τὸν μὴ ἐπιστάμενον τῇ
ἐπισταμένῃ;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδέ γε δεῖ οὐδέν· γυναικεῖον γὰρ τοῦτό γε μάθημα.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; γυνὴ ἀνδρὶ περὶ ὁπλιτικῆς δύναιτ’ ἂν
ὁμονοεῖν μὴ μαθοῦσα;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀνδρεῖον γὰρ τοῦτό γε ἴσως αὖ φαίης ἂν εἶναι.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔστιν ἄρα τὰ μὲν γυναικεῖα, τὰ δὲ ἀνδρεῖα μαθή-
ματα κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα ἔν γε τούτοις ἐστὶν ὁμόνοια γυναιξὶ πρὸς
127a10 ἄνδρας.

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδ’ ἄρα φιλία, εἴπερ ἡ φιλία ὁμόνοια ἦν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ἧι ἄρα αἱ γυναῖκες τὰ αὑτῶν πράττουσιν, οὐ
127a15 φιλοῦνται ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνδρῶν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔοικεν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδ’ ἄρα οἱ ἄνδρες ὑπὸ τῶν γυναικῶν ᾗ τὰ
αὑτῶν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδ’ εὖ ἄρα ταύτῃ οἰκοῦνται αἱ πόλεις, ὅταν τὰ
αὑτῶν ἕκαστοι πράττωσιν;

{ΑΛ.} Οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Πῶς λέγεις, φιλίας μὴ παρούσης, ἧς ἔφαμεν ἐγ-
γιγνομένης εὖ οἰκεῖσθαι τὰς πόλεις, ἄλλως δ’ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖ καὶ κατὰ τοῦτ’ αὐτοῖς φιλία
ἐγγίγνεσθαι, ὅτι τὰ αὑτῶν ἑκάτεροι πράττουσιν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρτι γε· νῦν δὲ πῶς αὖ λέγεις; ὁμονοίας μὴ
ἐγγιγνομένης φιλία ἐγγίγνεται; ἢ οἷόν θ’ ὁμόνοιαν ἐγγί-
γνεσθαι [περὶ τούτων] ὧν οἱ μὲν ἴσασι περὶ τούτων, οἱ δ’ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀδύνατον.

{ΣΩ.} Δίκαια δὲ πράττουσιν ἢ ἄδικα, ὅταν τὰ αὑτῶν
ἕκαστοι πράττωσιν;

{ΑΛ.} Δίκαια· πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Τὰ δίκαια οὖν πραττόντων ἐν τῇ πόλει τῶν πολιτῶν
φιλία οὐκ ἐγγίγνεται πρὸς ἀλλήλους;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη αὖ μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Τίνα οὖν ποτε λέγεις τὴν φιλίαν ἢ ὁμόνοιαν περὶ
ἧς δεῖ ἡμᾶς σοφούς τε εἶναι καὶ εὐβούλους, ἵνα ἀγαθοὶ
ἄνδρες ὦμεν; οὐ γὰρ δύναμαι μαθεῖν οὔθ’ ἥτις οὔτ’ ἐν
οἷστισιν· τοτὲ μὲν γὰρ ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς φαίνεται ἐνοῦσα, τοτὲ
127d5 δ’ οὔ, ὡς ἐκ τοῦ σοῦ λόγου.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ μὰ τοὺς θεούς, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδ’ αὐτὸς οἶδ’
ὅτι λέγω, κινδυνεύω δὲ καὶ πάλαι λεληθέναι ἐμαυτὸν
αἴσχιστα ἔχων.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ χρὴ θαρρεῖν. εἰ μὲν γὰρ αὐτὸ ᾔσθου πεπονθὼς
127e1 πεντηκονταετής, χαλεπὸν ἂν ἦν σοι ἐπιμεληθῆναι σαυ-
τοῦ· νῦν δ’ ἣν ἔχεις ἡλικίαν, αὕτη ἐστὶν ἐν ᾗ δεῖ αὐτὸ
αἰσθέσθαι.

{ΑΛ.} Τί οὖν τὸν αἰσθανόμενον χρὴ ποιεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

{ΣΩ.} Ἀποκρίνεσθαι τὰ ἐρωτώμενα, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη· καὶ
ἐὰν τοῦτο ποιῇς, ἂν θεὸς θέλῃ, εἴ τι δεῖ καὶ τῇ ἐμῇ μαντείᾳ
πιστεύειν, σύ τε κἀγὼ βέλτιον σχήσομεν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔσται ταῦτα ἕνεκά γε τοῦ ἐμὲ ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

{ΣΩ.} Φέρε δή, τί ἐστιν τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι – μὴ πολ-
128a1 λάκις λάθωμεν οὐχ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιμελούμενοι, οἰόμενοι δέ
– καὶ πότ’ ἄρα αὐτὸ ποιεῖ ἅνθρωπος; ἆρ’ ὅταν τῶν αὑτοῦ
ἐπιμελῆται, τότε καὶ αὑτοῦ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; ποδῶν ἅνθρωπος ποτε ἐπιμελεῖται; ἆρ’
ὅταν ἐκείνων ἐπιμελῆται ἅ ἐστι τῶν ποδῶν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ μανθάνω.

{ΣΩ.} Καλεῖς δέ τι χειρός; οἷον δακτύλιον ἔστιν ὅτου ἂν
ἄλλου τῶν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου φαίης ἢ δακτύλου;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ ποδὸς ὑπόδημα τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

<{ΣΩ.} Καὶ ἱμάτια καὶ στρώματα τοῦ ἄλλου σώματος
ὁμοίως;
128b1 {ΑΛ.} Ναί.>

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν ὅταν ὑποδημάτων ἐπιμελώμεθα, τότε ποδῶν
ἐπιμελούμεθα;

ΑΛ.} Οὐ πάνυ μανθάνω, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη; ὀρθῶς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καλεῖς τι
ὁτουοῦν πράγματος;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν ὅταν τίς τι βέλτιον ποιῇ, τότε ὀρθὴν
λέγεις ἐπιμέλειαν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τίς οὖν τέχνη ὑποδήματα βελτίω ποιεῖ;

{ΑΛ.} Σκυτική.

{ΣΩ.} Σκυτικῇ ἄρα ὑποδημάτων ἐπιμελούμεθα;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ καὶ ποδὸς σκυτικῇ; ἢ ἐκείνῃ ᾗ πόδας βελτίους
ποιοῦμεν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐκείνῃ.

{ΣΩ.} Βελτίους δὲ πόδας οὐχ ᾗπερ καὶ τὸ ἄλλο σῶμα;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Αὕτη δ’ οὐ γυμναστική;

{ΑΛ.} Μάλιστα.

{ΣΩ.} Γυμναστικῇ μὲν ἄρα ποδὸς ἐπιμελούμεθα, σκυτικῇ
128c10 δὲ τῶν τοῦ ποδός;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ γυμναστικῇ μὲν χειρῶν, δακτυλιογλυφίᾳ δὲ τῶν
τῆς χειρός;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ γυμναστικῇ μὲν σώματος, ὑφαντικῇ δὲ καὶ ταῖς
128d1 ἄλλαις τῶν τοῦ σώματος;

{ΑΛ.} Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἄλλῃ μὲν ἄρα τέχνῃ αὐτοῦ ἑκάστου ἐπιμελούμεθα,
ἄλλῃ δὲ τῶν αὐτοῦ.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα ὅταν τῶν σαυτοῦ ἐπιμελῇ, σαυτοῦ ἐπιμελῇ.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐδαμῶς.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ γὰρ ἡ αὐτὴ τέχνη, ὡς ἔοικεν, ᾗ τις ἂν αὑτοῦ τε
ἐπιμελοῖτο καὶ τῶν αὑτοῦ.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Φέρε δή, ποίᾳ ποτ’ ἂν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιμεληθείημεν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ τοσόνδε γε ὡμολόγηται, ὅτι οὐχ ᾗ ἂν τῶν
ἡμετέρων καὶ ὁτιοῦν βέλτιον ποιοῖμεν, ἀλλ’ ᾗ ἡμᾶς αὐτούς;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ οὖν ἔγνωμεν ἄν ποτε τίς τέχνη ὑπόδημα βέλτιον
128e5 ποιεῖ, μὴ εἰδότες ὑπόδημα;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀδύνατον.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδέ γε τίς τέχνη δακτυλίους βελτίους ποιεῖ,
ἀγνοοῦντες δακτύλιον.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δέ; τίς τέχνη βελτίω ποιεῖ αὐτόν, ἆρ’ ἄν ποτε
γνοῖμεν ἀγνοοῦντες τί ποτ’ ἐσμὲν αὐτοί;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀδύνατον.

{ΣΩ.} Πότερον οὖν δὴ ῥᾴδιον τυγχάνει τὸ γνῶναι ἑαυτόν,
καί τις ἦν φαῦλος ὁ τοῦτο ἀναθεὶς εἰς τὸν ἐν Πυθοῖ νεών, ἢ
χαλεπόν τι καὶ οὐχὶ παντός;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐμοὶ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, πολλάκις μὲν ἔδοξε παντὸς
εἶναι, πολλάκις δὲ παγχάλεπον.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἴτε ῥᾴδιον εἴτε μή ἐστιν, ὅμως
γε ἡμῖν ὧδ’ ἔχει· γνόντες μὲν αὐτὸ τάχ’ ἂν γνοῖμεν τὴν
ἐπιμέλειαν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν, ἀγνοοῦντες δὲ οὐκ ἄν ποτε.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔστι ταῦτα.

{ΣΩ.} Φέρε δή, τίν’ ἂν τρόπον εὑρεθείη αὐτὸ ταὐτό; οὕτω
μὲν γὰρ ἂν τάχ’ εὕροιμεν τί ποτ’ ἐσμὲν αὐτοί, τούτου δ’ ἔτι
ὄντες ἐν ἀγνοίᾳ ἀδύνατοί που.

{ΑΛ.} Ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔχε οὖν πρὸς Διός. τῷ διαλέγῃ σὺ νῦν; ἄλλο τι
ἢ ἐμοί;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐγὼ σοί;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Σωκράτης ἄρ’ ἐστὶν ὁ διαλεγόμενος;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλκιβιάδης δ’ ὁ ἀκούων;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν λόγῳ διαλέγεται ὁ Σωκράτης;

{ΑΛ.} Τί μήν;

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ δὲ διαλέγεσθαι καὶ τὸ λόγῳ χρῆσθαι ταὐτόν που
καλεῖς.

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ὁ δὲ χρώμενος καὶ ᾧ χρῆται οὐκ ἄλλο;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς λέγεις;

{ΣΩ.} Ὥσπερ σκυτοτόμος τέμνει που τομεῖ καὶ σμίλῃ καὶ
ἄλλοις ὀργάνοις.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἄλλο μὲν ὁ τέμνων καὶ χρώμενος, ἄλλο δὲ
οἷς τέμνων χρῆται;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν οὕτως καὶ οἷς ὁ κιθαριστὴς κιθαρίζει καὶ
αὐτὸς ὁ κιθαριστὴς ἄλλο ἂν εἴη;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τοῦτο τοίνυν ἀρτίως ἠρώτων, εἰ ὁ χρώμενος καὶ ᾧ
χρῆται ἀεὶ δοκεῖ ἕτερον εἶναι.

{ΑΛ.} Δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Τί οὖν φῶμεν τὸν σκυτοτόμον; τέμνειν ὀργάνοις
129d5 μόνον ἢ καὶ χερσίν;

{ΑΛ.} Καὶ χερσίν.

{ΣΩ.} Χρῆται ἄρα καὶ ταύταις;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ καὶ τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς χρώμενος σκυτοτομεῖ;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸν δὲ χρώμενον καὶ οἷς χρῆται ἕτερα ὁμολογοῦμεν;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἕτερον ἄρα σκυτοτόμος καὶ κιθαριστὴς χειρῶν καὶ
129e1 ὀφθαλμῶν οἷς ἐργάζονται;

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καὶ παντὶ τῷ σώματι χρῆται ἅνθρωπος;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἕτερον δ’ ἦν τό τε χρώμενον καὶ ᾧ χρῆται;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἕτερον ἄρα ἅνθρωπός ἐστι τοῦ σώματος τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔοικεν.

{ΣΩ.} Τί ποτ’ οὖν ὁ ἄνθρωπος;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔχεις μὲν οὖν, ὅτι γε τὸ τῷ σώματι χρώμενον.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἦ οὖν ἄλλο τι χρῆται αὐτῷ ἢ ψυχή;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἄλλο.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἄρχουσα;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ μὴν τόδε γ’ οἶμαι οὐδένα ἂν ἄλλως οἰηθῆναι.

{ΑΛ.} Τὸ ποῖον;

{ΣΩ.} Μὴ οὐ τριῶν ἕν γέ τι εἶναι τὸν ἄνθρωπον.

{ΑΛ.} Τίνων;

{ΣΩ.} Ψυχὴν ἢ σῶμα ἢ συναμφότερον, τὸ ὅλον τοῦτο.

{ΑΛ.} Τί μήν;

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν αὐτό γε τὸ τοῦ σώματος ἄρχον ὡμο-
λογήσαμεν ἄνθρωπον εἶναι;

{ΑΛ.} Ὡμολογήσαμεν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν σῶμα αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ἄρχει;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐδαμῶς.

{ΣΩ.} Ἄρχεσθαι γὰρ αὐτὸ εἴπομεν.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἂν δὴ τοῦτό γε εἴη ὃ ζητοῦμεν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔοικεν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλ’ ἄρα τὸ συναμφότερον τοῦ σώματος ἄρχει, καὶ
ἔστι δὴ τοῦτο ἄνθρωπος;

{ΑΛ.} Ἴσως δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Πάντων γε ἥκιστα· μὴ γὰρ συνάρχοντος τοῦ ἑτέρου
οὐδεμία που μηχανὴ τὸ συναμφότερον ἄρχειν.

{ΑΛ.} Ὀρθῶς.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐπειδὴ δ’ οὔτε σῶμα οὔτε τὸ συναμφότερόν ἐστιν
ἄνθρωπος, λείπεται οἶμαι ἢ μηδὲν αὔτ’ εἶναι, ἢ εἴπερ τί ἐστι,
μηδὲν ἄλλο τὸν ἄνθρωπον συμβαίνειν ἢ ψυχήν.

{ΑΛ.} Κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔτι οὖν τι σαφέστερον δεῖ ἀποδειχθῆναί σοι ὅτι ἡ
ψυχή ἐστιν ἄνθρωπος;

{ΑΛ.} Μὰ Δία, ἀλλ’ ἱκανῶς μοι δοκεῖ ἔχειν.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ δέ γε μὴ ἀκριβῶς ἀλλὰ καὶ μετρίως, ἐξαρκεῖ
ἡμῖν· ἀκριβῶς μὲν γὰρ τότε εἰσόμεθα, ὅταν εὕρωμεν ὃ νυνδὴ
130d1 παρήλθομεν διὰ τὸ πολλῆς εἶναι σκέψεως.

{ΑΛ.} Τί τοῦτο;

{ΣΩ.} Ὃ ἄρτι οὕτω πως ἐρρήθη, ὅτι πρῶτον σκεπτέον εἴη
αὐτὸ τὸ αὐτό· νῦν δὲ ἀντὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ αὐτὸν ἕκαστον ἐσκέμμεθα
130d5 ὅτι ἐστί. καὶ ἴσως ἐξαρκέσει· οὐ γάρ που κυριώτερόν γε
οὐδὲν ἂν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν φήσαιμεν ἢ τὴν ψυχήν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν καλῶς ἔχει οὕτω νομίζειν, ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ προς-
ομιλεῖν ἀλλήλοις τοῖς λόγοις χρωμένους τῇ ψυχῇ πρὸς τὴν
130d10 ψυχήν;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

{ΣΩ.} Τοῦτ’ ἄρα ἦν ὃ καὶ ὀλίγῳ ἔμπροσθεν εἴπομεν,
ὅτι Σωκράτης Ἀλκιβιάδῃ διαλέγεται λόγῳ χρώμενος, οὐ
πρὸς τὸ σὸν πρόσωπον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸν
130e5 Ἀλκιβιάδην ποιούμενος τοὺς λόγους· τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν ἡ
ψυχή.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Ψυχὴν ἄρα ἡμᾶς κελεύει γνωρίσαι ὁ ἐπιτάττων
γνῶναι ἑαυτόν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔοικεν.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅστις ἄρα τῶν τοῦ σώματός τι γιγνώσκει, τὰ αὑτοῦ
ἀλλ’ οὐχ αὑτὸν ἔγνωκεν.

{ΑΛ.} Οὕτως.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδεὶς ἄρα τῶν ἰατρῶν ἑαυτὸν γιγνώσκει, καθ’
ὅσον ἰατρός, οὐδὲ τῶν παιδοτριβῶν, καθ’ ὅσον παιδο-
τρίβης.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔοικεν.

{ΣΩ.} Πολλοῦ ἄρα δέουσιν οἱ γεωργοὶ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι δη-
131a10 μιουργοὶ γιγνώσκειν ἑαυτούς. οὐδὲ γὰρ τὰ ἑαυτῶν οὗτοί γε,
ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀλλ’ ἔτι πορρωτέρω τῶν ἑαυτῶν κατά γε τὰς
131b1 τέχνας ἃς ἔχουσιν· τὰ γὰρ τοῦ σώματος γιγνώσκουσιν, οἷς
τοῦτο θεραπεύεται.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ ἄρα σωφροσύνη ἐστὶ τὸ ἑαυτὸν γιγνώσκειν,
131b5 οὐδεὶς τούτων σώφρων κατὰ τὴν τέχνην.

{ΑΛ.} Οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Διὰ ταῦτα δὴ καὶ βάναυσοι αὗται αἱ τέχναι δοκοῦσιν
εἶναι καὶ οὐκ ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ μαθήματα.

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν πάλιν ὅστις αὖ σῶμα θεραπεύει, τὰ ἑαυτοῦ
ἀλλ’ οὐχ αὑτὸν θεραπεύει;

{ΑΛ.} Κινδυνεύει.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅστις δέ γε τὰ χρήματα, οὔθ’ ἑαυτὸν οὔτε τὰ
131c1 ἑαυτοῦ, ἀλλ’ ἔτι πορρωτέρω τῶν ἑαυτοῦ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ τὰ αὑτοῦ ἄρα ἔτι πράττει ὁ χρηματιστής.

{ΑΛ.} Ὀρθῶς.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ ἄρα τις γέγονεν ἐραστὴς τοῦ Ἀλκιβιάδου
σώματος, οὐκ Ἀλκιβιάδου ἄρα ἠράσθη ἀλλά τινος τῶν
Ἀλκιβιάδου.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅστις δέ σου τῆς ψυχῆς ἐρᾷ;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη φαίνεται ἐκ τοῦ λόγου.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὁ μὲν τοῦ σώματός σου ἐρῶν, ἐπειδὴ λήγει
ἀνθοῦν, ἀπιὼν οἴχεται;

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ὁ δέ γε τῆς ψυχῆς ἐρῶν οὐκ ἄπεισιν, ἕως ἂν ἐπὶ τὸ
βέλτιον ἴῃ;

{ΑΛ.} Εἰκός γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ οὐκ ἀπιὼν ἀλλὰ παραμένων
131d5 λήγοντος τοῦ σώματος, τῶν ἄλλων ἀπεληλυθότων.

{ΑΛ.} Εὖ γε ποιῶν, ὦ Σώκρατες· καὶ μηδὲ ἀπέλθοις.

{ΣΩ.} Προθυμοῦ τοίνυν ὅτι κάλλιστος εἶναι.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ προθυμήσομαι.

{ΣΩ.} Ὡς οὕτω γέ σοι ἔχει· οὔτ’ ἐγένεθ’, ὡς ἔοικεν,
Ἀλκιβιάδῃ τῷ Κλεινίου ἐραστὴς οὔτ’ ἔστιν ἀλλ’ ἢ εἷς
μόνος, καὶ οὗτος ἀγαπητός, Σωκράτης ὁ Σωφρονίσκου καὶ
Φαιναρέτης.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ἔφησθα σμικρὸν φθῆναί με προσελθόντα σοι,
ἐπεὶ πρότερος ἄν μοι προσελθεῖν, βουλόμενος πυθέσθαι δι’
ὅτι μόνος οὐκ ἀπέρχομαι;

{ΑΛ.} Ἦν γὰρ οὕτω.

{ΣΩ.} Τοῦτο τοίνυν αἴτιον, ὅτι μόνος ἐραστὴς ἦν σός, οἱ
δ’ ἄλλοι τῶν σῶν· τὰ δὲ σὰ λήγει ὥρας, σὺ δ’ ἄρχῃ ἀνθεῖν.
132a1 καὶ νῦν γε ἂν μὴ διαφθαρῇς ὑπὸ τοῦ Ἀθηναίων δήμου καὶ
αἰσχίων γένῃ, οὐ μή σε ἀπολίπω. τοῦτο γὰρ δὴ μάλιστα
ἐγὼ φοβοῦμαι, μὴ δημεραστὴς ἡμῖν γενόμενος διαφθαρῇς·
πολλοὶ γὰρ ἤδη καὶ ἀγαθοὶ αὐτὸ πεπόνθασιν Ἀθηναίων.
132a5 εὐπρόσωπος γὰρ <ὁ τοῦ μεγαλήτορος δῆμος Ἐρεχθέως>·
ἀλλ’ ἀποδύντα χρὴ αὐτὸν θεάσασθαι. εὐλαβοῦ οὖν τὴν
εὐλάβειαν ἣν ἐγὼ λέγω.

{ΑΛ.} Τίνα;

{ΣΩ.} Γύμνασαι πρῶτον, ὦ μακάριε, καὶ μάθε ἃ δεῖ μαθόντα
ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὰ τῆς πόλεως, πρότερον δὲ μή, ἵν’ ἀλεξιφάρμακα
ἔχων ἴῃς καὶ μηδὲν πάθῃς δεινόν.

{ΑΛ.} Εὖ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες· ἀλλὰ πειρῶ
132b5 ἐξηγεῖσθαι ὅντιν’ ἂν τρόπον ἐπιμεληθεῖμεν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τοσοῦτον μὲν ἡμῖν εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν πεπέρανται
– ὃ γὰρ ἐσμέν, ἐπιεικῶς ὡμολόγηται – ἐφοβούμεθα δὲ μὴ
τούτου σφαλέντες λάθωμεν ἑτέρου τινὸς ἐπιμελόμενοι ἀλλ’
οὐχ ἡμῶν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔστι ταῦτα.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο δὴ ὅτι ψυχῆς ἐπιμελητέον καὶ εἰς
τοῦτο βλεπτέον.

{ΑΛ.} Δῆλον.

{ΣΩ.} Σωμάτων δὲ καὶ χρημάτων τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἑτέροις
132c5 παραδοτέον.

{ΑΛ.} Τί μήν;

{ΣΩ.} Τίν’ οὖν ἂν τρόπον γνοῖμεν αὐτὰ ἐναργέστατα;
ἐπειδὴ τοῦτο γνόντες, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς γνω-
σόμεθα. ἆρα πρὸς θεῶν εὖ λέγοντος οὗ νυνδὴ ἐμνήσθημεν
132c10 τοῦ Δελφικοῦ γράμματος οὐ συνίεμεν;

{ΑΛ.} Τὸ ποῖόν τι διανοούμενος λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

{ΣΩ.} Ἐγώ σοι φράσω, ὅ γε ὑποπτεύω λέγειν καὶ συμβου-
λεύειν ἡμῖν τοῦτο τὸ γράμμα. κινδυνεύει γὰρ οὐδὲ πολλαχοῦ
εἶναι παράδειγμα αὐτοῦ, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν ὄψιν μόνον.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις;

{ΣΩ.} Σκόπει καὶ σύ. εἰ ἡμῶν τῷ ὄμματι ὥσπερ ἀνθρώπῳ
συμβουλεῦον εἶπεν “ἰδὲ σαυτόν,” πῶς ἂν ὑπελάβομεν τί
παραινεῖν; ἆρα οὐχὶ εἰς τοῦτο βλέπειν, εἰς ὃ βλέπων ὁ
ὀφθαλμὸς ἔμελλεν αὑτὸν ἰδεῖν;

{ΑΛ.} Δῆλον.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐννοῶμεν δὴ εἰς τί βλέποντες τῶν ὄντων ἐκεῖνό
132e1 τε ὁρῷμεν ἅμα ἂν καὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτούς;

{ΑΛ.} Δῆλον δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι εἰς κάτοπτρά τε καὶ τὰ
τοιαῦτα.

{ΣΩ.} Ὀρθῶς λέγεις. οὐκοῦν καὶ τῷ ὀφθαλμῷ ᾧ ὁρῶμεν
132e5 ἔνεστί <τι> τῶν τοιούτων;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐννενόηκας οὖν ὅτι τοῦ ἐμβλέποντος εἰς τὸν
133a1 ὀφθαλμὸν τὸ πρόσωπον ἐμφαίνεται ἐν τῇ τοῦ καταντικρὺ
ὄψει ὥσπερ ἐν κατόπτρῳ, ὃ δὴ καὶ κόρην καλοῦμεν, εἴδωλον
ὄν τι τοῦ ἐμβλέποντος;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Ὀφθαλμὸς ἄρα ὀφθαλμὸν θεώμενος, καὶ ἐμβλέπων
εἰς τοῦτο ὅπερ βέλτιστον αὐτοῦ καὶ ᾧ ὁρᾷ, οὕτως ἂν αὑτὸν
ἴδοι.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ δέ γ’ εἰς ἄλλο τῶν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου βλέποι ἤ τι
133a10 τῶν ὄντων, πλὴν εἰς ἐκεῖνο ᾧ τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὅμοιον, οὐκ
ὄψεται ἑαυτόν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Ὀφθαλμὸς ἄρ’ εἰ μέλλει ἰδεῖν αὑτόν, εἰς ὀφθαλ-
μὸν αὐτῷ βλεπτέον, καὶ τοῦ ὄμματος εἰς ἐκεῖνον τὸν τόπον
ἐν ᾧ τυγχάνει ἡ ὀφθαλμοῦ ἀρετὴ ἐγγιγνομένη· ἔστι δὲ
133b5 τοῦτό που ὄψις;

{ΑΛ.} Οὕτως.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν, ὦ φίλε Ἀλκιβιάδη, καὶ ψυχὴ εἰ μέλλει
γνώσεσθαι αὑτήν, εἰς ψυχὴν αὐτῇ βλεπτέον, καὶ μάλιστ’
εἰς τοῦτον αὐτῆς τὸν τόπον ἐν ᾧ ἐγγίγνεται ἡ ψυχῆς ἀρετή,
133b10 σοφία, καὶ εἰς ἄλλο ᾧ τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὅμοιον ὄν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Ἔχομεν οὖν εἰπεῖν ὅτι ἐστὶ τῆς ψυχῆς θειότερον
ἢ τοῦτο, περὶ ὃ τὸ εἰδέναι τε καὶ φρονεῖν ἐστιν;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐκ ἔχομεν.

{ΣΩ.} Τῷ θεῷ ἄρα τοῦτ’ ἔοικεν αὐτῆς, καί τις εἰς τοῦτο
133c5 βλέπων καὶ πᾶν τὸ θεῖον γνούς, θεόν τε καὶ φρόνησιν,
οὕτω καὶ ἑαυτὸν ἂν γνοίη μάλιστα.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

<{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν, ὅθ’ ὥσπερ κάτοπτρά ἐστι σαφέστερα τοῦ
ἐν τῷ ὀφθαλμῷ ἐνόπτρου καὶ καθαρώτερα καὶ λαμπρότερα,
133c10 οὕτω καὶ ὁ θεὸς τοῦ ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ ψυχῇ βελτίστου καθα-
ρώτερόν τε καὶ λαμπρότερον τυγχάνει ὄν;
{ΑΛ.} Ἔοικέ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.
{ΣΩ.} Εἰς τὸν θεὸν ἄρα βλέποντες ἐκείνῳ καλλίστῳ
ἐνόπτρῳ χρῴμεθ’ ἂν καὶ τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων εἰς τὴν ψυχῆς
133c15 ἀρετήν, καὶ οὕτως ἂν μάλιστα ὁρῷμεν καὶ γιγνώσκοιμεν
ἡμᾶς αὐτούς.
{ΑΛ.} Ναί.>

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ δὲ γιγνώσκειν αὑτὸν ὡμολογοῦμεν σωφροσύνην
εἶναι;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἆρ’ οὖν μὴ γιγνώσκοντες ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς μηδὲ σώ-
φρονες ὄντες δυναίμεθ’ ἂν εἰδέναι τὰ ἡμέτερα αὐτῶν κακά
τε καὶ ἀγαθά;

{ΑΛ.} Καὶ πῶς ἂν τοῦτο γένοιτο, ὦ Σώκρατες;

{ΣΩ.} Ἀδύνατον γὰρ ἴσως σοι φαίνεται μὴ γιγνώσκοντα
Ἀλκιβιάδην τὰ Ἀλκιβιάδου γιγνώσκειν ὅτι Ἀλκιβιάδου
ἐστίν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀδύνατον μέντοι νὴ Δία.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδ’ ἄρα τὰ ἡμέτερα ὅτι ἡμέτερα, εἰ μηδ’ ἡμᾶς
αὐτούς;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γάρ;

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ δ’ ἄρα μηδὲ τὰ ἡμέτερα, οὐδὲ τὰ τῶν ἡμετέρων;

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα πάνυ τι ὀρθῶς ὡμολογοῦμεν ὁμολογοῦντες
ἄρτι εἶναί τινας οἳ ἑαυτοὺς μὲν οὐ γιγνώσκουσιν, τὰ δ’ αὑτῶν,
ἄλλους δὲ τὰ τῶν ἑαυτῶν. ἔοικε γὰρ πάντα ταῦτα εἶναι
133e1 κατιδεῖν ἑνός τε καὶ μιᾶς τέχνης, αὑτόν, τὰ αὑτοῦ, τὰ τῶν
ἑαυτοῦ.

{ΑΛ.} Κινδυνεύει.

{ΣΩ.} Ὅστις δὲ τὰ αὑτοῦ ἀγνοεῖ, καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων που
133e5 ἂν ἀγνοοῖ κατὰ ταὐτά.

{ΑΛ.} Τί μήν;

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν εἰ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ τὰ τῶν πόλεων ἀγνοήσει.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρ’ ἂν γένοιτο ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀνὴρ πολιτικός.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ μὴν οὐδ’ οἰκονομικός γε.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ δῆτα.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐδέ γε εἴσεται ὅτι πράττει.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

{ΣΩ.} Ὁ δὲ μὴ εἰδὼς οὐχ ἁμαρτήσεται;

{ΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐξαμαρτάνων δὲ οὐ κακῶς πράξει ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ
δημοσίᾳ;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Κακῶς δὲ πράττων οὐκ ἄθλιος;

{ΑΛ.} Σφόδρα γε.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’ οἷς οὗτος πράττει;

{ΑΛ.} Καὶ οὗτοι.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα οἷόν τε, ἐὰν μή τις σώφρων καὶ ἀγαθὸς ᾖ,
εὐδαίμονα εἶναι.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐχ οἷόν τε.

{ΣΩ.} Οἱ ἄρα κακοὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἄθλιοι.

{ΑΛ.} Σφόδρα γε.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα οὐδ’ ὁ πλουτήσας ἀθλιότητος ἀπαλλάττεται,
134b5 ἀλλ’ ὁ σωφρονήσας.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα τειχῶν οὐδὲ τριήρων οὐδὲ νεωρίων δέονται
αἱ πόλεις, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἰ μέλλουσιν εὐδαιμονήσειν, οὐδὲ
πλήθους οὐδὲ μεγέθους ἄνευ ἀρετῆς.

{ΑΛ.} Οὐ μέντοι.

{ΣΩ.} Εἰ δὴ μέλλεις τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράξειν ὀρθῶς καὶ
134c1 καλῶς, ἀρετῆς σοι μεταδοτέον τοῖς πολίταις.

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Δύναιτο δ’ ἄν τις μεταδιδόναι ὃ μὴ ἔχοι;

{ΑΛ.} Καὶ πῶς;

{ΣΩ.} Αὐτῷ ἄρα σοὶ πρῶτον κτητέον ἀρετήν, καὶ ἄλλῳ ὃς
μέλλει μὴ ἰδίᾳ μόνον αὑτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν αὑτοῦ ἄρξειν καὶ
ἐπιμελήσεσθαι, ἀλλὰ πόλεως καὶ τῶν τῆς πόλεως.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα ἐξουσίαν σοι οὐδ’ ἀρχὴν παρασκευαστέον
134c10 σαυτῷ ποιεῖν ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ, οὐδὲ τῇ πόλει, ἀλλὰ δικαιοσύνην
καὶ σωφροσύνην.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Δικαίως μὲν γὰρ πράττοντες καὶ σωφρόνως σύ τε
καὶ ἡ πόλις θεοφιλῶς πράξετε.

{ΑΛ.} Εἰκός γε.

{ΣΩ.} Καὶ ὅπερ γε ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν, εἰς τὸ
134d5 θεῖον καὶ λαμπρὸν ὁρῶντες πράξετε.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν ἐνταῦθά γε βλέποντες ὑμᾶς τε αὐτοὺς
καὶ τὰ ὑμέτερα ἀγαθὰ κατόψεσθε καὶ γνώσεσθε.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς τε καὶ εὖ πράξετε;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀλλὰ μὴν οὕτω γε πράττοντας ὑμᾶς ἐθέλω ἐγ-
γυήσασθαι ἦ μὴν εὐδαιμονήσειν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀσφαλὴς γὰρ εἶ ἐγγυητής.

{ΣΩ.} Ἀδίκως δέ γε πράττοντες, εἰς τὸ ἄθεον καὶ σκοτεινὸν
134e5 βλέποντες, ὡς τὰ εἰκότα, ὅμοια τούτοις πράξετε ἀγνοοῦντες
ὑμᾶς αὐτούς.

{ΑΛ.} Ἔοικεν.

{ΣΩ.} Ὧι γὰρ <ἄν>, ὦ φίλε Ἀλκιβιάδη, ἐξουσία μὲν ᾖ
ποιεῖν ὃ βούλεται, νοῦν δὲ μὴ ἔχῃ, τί τὸ εἰκὸς συμβαίνειν,
134e10 ἰδιώτῃ ἢ καὶ πόλει; οἷον νοσοῦντι ἐξουσίας οὔσης δρᾶν ὃ
135a1 βούλεται, νοῦν ἰατρικὸν μὴ ἔχοντι, τυραννοῦντι δὲ ὡς μηδὲν
ἐπιπλήττοι τις αὐτῷ, τί τὸ συμβησόμενον; ἆρ’ οὐχ, ὡς τὸ
εἰκός, διαφθαρῆναι τὸ σῶμα;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Τί δ’ ἐν νηί, εἴ τῳ ἐξουσία εἴη ποιεῖν ὃ δοκεῖ, νοῦ
τε καὶ ἀρετῆς κυβερνητικῆς ἐστερημένῳ, καθορᾷς ἃ ἂν
συμβαίη αὐτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς συνναύταις;

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε, ὅτι γε ἀπόλοιντο πάντες ἄν.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν ὡσαύτως ἐν πόλει τε καὶ πάσαις ἀρχαῖς καὶ
135b1 ἐξουσίαις ἀπολειπομέναις ἀρετῆς ἕπεται τὸ κακῶς πράττειν;

{ΑΛ.} Ἀνάγκη.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκ ἄρα τυραννίδα χρή, ὦ ἄριστε Ἀλκιβιάδη, παρα-
σκευάζεσθαι οὔθ’ αὑτῷ οὔτε τῇ πόλει, εἰ μέλλετε εὐδαιμονεῖν,
135b5 ἀλλ’ ἀρετήν.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

{ΣΩ.} Πρὶν δέ γε ἀρετὴν ἔχειν, τὸ ἄρχεσθαι ἄμεινον ὑπὸ
τοῦ βελτίονος ἢ τὸ ἄρχειν ἀνδρί, οὐ μόνον παιδί.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν τό γ’ ἄμεινον καὶ κάλλιον;

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Τὸ δὲ κάλλιον πρεπωδέστερον;

{ΑΛ.} Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

{ΣΩ.} Πρέπει ἄρα τῷ κακῷ δουλεύειν· ἄμεινον γάρ.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Δουλοπρεπὲς ἄρ’ ἡ κακία.

{ΑΛ.} Φαίνεται.

{ΣΩ.} Ἐλευθεροπρεπὲς δὲ ἡ ἀρετή.

{ΑΛ.} Ναί.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐκοῦν φεύγειν χρή, ὦ ἑταῖρε, τὴν δουλοπρέπειαν;

{ΑΛ.} Μάλιστά γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Αἰσθάνῃ δὲ νῦν πῶς ἔχεις; ἐλευθεροπρεπῶς ἢ οὔ;

{ΑΛ.} Δοκῶ μοι καὶ μάλα σφόδρα αἰσθάνεσθαι.

{ΣΩ.} Οἶσθ’ οὖν πῶς ἀποφεύξῃ τοῦτο τὸ περὶ σὲ νῦν;
ἵνα μὴ ὀνομάζωμεν αὐτὸ ἐπὶ καλῷ ἀνδρί,

{ΑΛ.} Ἔγωγε.

{ΣΩ.} Πῶς;

{ΑΛ.} Ἐὰν βούλῃ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

{ΣΩ.} Οὐ καλῶς λέγεις, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ πῶς χρὴ λέγειν;

{ΣΩ.} Ὅτι ἐὰν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ.

{ΑΛ.} Λέγω δή. καὶ πρὸς τούτοις μέντοι τόδε λέγω, ὅτι
κινδυνεύσομεν μεταβαλεῖν τὸ σχῆμα, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ μὲν
σὸν ἐγώ, σὺ δὲ τοὐμόν· οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ὅπως οὐ παιδαγωγήσω
135d10 σε ἀπὸ τῆσδε τῆς ἡμέρας, σὺ δ’ ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ παιδαγωγήσῃ.

{ΣΩ.} Ὦ γενναῖε, πελαργοῦ ἄρα ὁ ἐμὸς ἔρως οὐδὲν
διοίσει, εἰ παρὰ σοὶ ἐννεοττεύσας ἔρωτα ὑπόπτερον ὑπὸ
τούτου πάλιν θεραπεύσεται.

{ΑΛ.} Ἀλλὰ οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἄρξομαί γε ἐντεῦθεν τῆς
135e5 δικαιοσύνης ἐπιμέλεσθαι.

{ΣΩ.} Βουλοίμην ἄν σε καὶ διατελέσαι· ὀρρωδῶ δέ, οὔ τι
τῇ σῇ φύσει ἀπιστῶν, ἀλλὰ τὴν τῆς πόλεως ὁρῶν ῥώμην,
μὴ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ κρατήσῃ.

English text

103a S[ocrates]: Child of Kleinias, I suppose you are wondering why, though I was the first to fall in love with you, I am now the only one not to abandon you, when all the others have stopped; and also why the others mobbed you with their conversation, but all these years I’ve never even spoken to you. The cause of this hasn’t been human, but rather a kind of divine impediment—the power of which you will find out about later on. But now, 103b since it is no longer impeding me, I’ve come to you, and I am optimistic that it also won’t impede me from here on in. Anyway, all this time I’ve been studying you, and now I’ve got a pretty good notion of how you relate to your lovers: while there were lots of them and they thought very highly of themselves, there was none who was not driven away by you, outdone by your pride. 104a I want to describe the reason why you’ve been so extremely proud of yourself. You claim that you don’t need any person for anything; your possessions, from your body right through to your soul, are so great that you don’t need anyone. First of all, you think that you are extremely beautiful and tall, and it’s clear to everyone that you aren’t wrong about that. Next, you belong to the most vigorous family in your own city, which is itself the greatest city in Greece. 104b Here in Athens, you have very many high-ranking friends and relatives on your father’s side who would come to your aid if you needed it; and on your mother’s side they are not any fewer or worse off. You think that you have in Pericles, son of Xanthippus—the one whom your father left as a guardian for you and your brother—a power that is greater than that of everyone I’ve mentioned: he can do whatever he wants, not just here in this city but in all of Greece and among many great foreign peoples. I will also add that you are one of the 104c wealthy class, but this seems to be least among your sources of pride. For all these reasons, then, you have lorded it over your lovers and outdone them, and they have been outdone because in these ways they really are inferior. And you are quite aware of the situation. That’s why I know well you are wondering what I can possibly have in mind in not abandoning my love for you, and what expectation I can have that keeps me persisting when the others have fled.

A[lcibiades]: Maybe, Socrates, you aren’t aware that you’ve beaten me to the punch, just by a little. 104d I did intend to approach you first and ask exactly those things—what on earth do you want, and with what expectation in view are you pestering me, always being very careful to be wherever I am; really, I wonder what your deal is, and I’d love to know.

S: You will listen to me eagerly, then, as would make sense, if indeed, as you say, you really desire to know what I have in mind, and I’ll tell you, assuming you listen and stick around.

A: Of course I will. Just tell me.

104e S: Look out, though. It wouldn’t be surprising if, just as I started with difficulty, so too I should stop only with difficulty.

A: My good friend, just tell me! I’ll listen.

S: In that case, I’d better tell you. Certainly, it’s hard for a lover to approach a man who does not yield to lovers, but still I have to have the courage to explain what I have in mind. Alcibiades, if I saw that you prized the things I listed just now and that you thought that you should live out your life amidst those resources, I would have abandoned my love for you long ago—at least, so 105a I persuade myself. But now I’m going to accuse you to your face of having other plans in mind for yourself, and through this you’ll recognize that I have been paying close attention to you all the way along. For here’s what I think. If some god were to say to you, “Alcibiades, do you want to go through life with what you now have or would you want to die on the spot if it weren’t possible for you to acquire greater things?”, I think you would choose death. But as it is, what the expectation is that you live for, I’ll tell you. You believe that as soon as you come before the Athenian 105b people (and this will be within just a few days) you’ll come forward and show them that you are worthy of being honored in a way neither Pericles nor anyone else who has ever existed has been honored; and that when you’ve shown them that, you will have the greatest power in the city; and that if you are greatest here you will also be so among all the other Greeks, and not only among Greeks but also among all the foreigners who dwell on the same continent as us. And further, if this same god were to say to you that you must hold power here in Europe 105c but that you won’t be able to cross into Asia and get involved with affairs over there, I don’t think you’d be willing to live on these terms if you couldn’t fill practically everyone with your reputation and power. And I think that—except Cyrus and Xerxes—you believe that no one has ever been worthy of mention. That this is your expectation I know well; it is not just guesswork. So, perhaps you’d say, knowing that I’m right about this, “OK Socrates, but how do you think this is relevant to 105d the discussion? You said you would tell me why you haven’t abandoned me.” Well, I’ll tell you, dear child of Kleinias and Deinomache. It is impossible for you to achieve all these plans you have in mind without my help. That’s how much power I think I have over your affairs, and indeed over you, which I think is exactly why the god—I was waiting for him, for the time when he’d permit it—hasn’t been allowing me to converse with you for so long. For just as you have expectations in the city to show that 105e you have supreme worth for it and that, once you’ve shown them, straightaway there will be nothing that you are not able to do; well, in the same way I expect to have the greatest power over you once I’ve shown that I have supreme worth for you and that neither your guardian nor your family connections, nor anyone else but me (with the god’s help, of course), is competent to give you the power you desire. I think it’s because you were younger and not yet filled with such expectations that the god wasn’t permitting me to converse with you, so that I would not be engaging in pointless conversation. 106a But now he has given me clearance, because now you might listen to me.

A: You seem to me to be stranger still, Socrates, now that you’ve started talking—and by quite a bit—than when you were following me in silence; and you were indeed quite a sight to see even then. Whether or not I have these things in mind, it seems, you’ve already decided, and if I say I don’t, I’ll have no further recourse with regard to persuading you. All right, then. Even if I’ve really had these things in mind, how is it that I’ll have them through you, but without you they couldn’t come about? Are you able to say?

106b S: Are you asking whether I am able to make some long speech, the sort you are used to hearing? Because that’s not my way. But I would be able to show you that things are in fact this way, if you are willing to do me only one small favor.

A: As long as the favor you mention isn’t anything difficult, I’m willing.

S: Does answering what is asked seem difficult?

A: Not difficult.

S: Then answer.

A: Ask.

S: So am I to ask you on the assumption that you have in mind what I say you 106c have in mind?

A: Sure, if you want, so that I can also know what you are in fact going to say.

S: Come then: you have it in mind, as I say, to show up to advise the Athenians in not very long. So if I should get hold of you as you’re about to take the podium and ask: “Alcibiades, when the Athenians have it in mind to deliberate, about what will you be stepping up to advise them? Is it when it’s about things that you understand better than these people?” What would you answer?

106d A: Clearly I would say that it’s about things which I know better than these people.

S: Then you’re a good advisor about things that you really do know.

A: Of course.

S: And you know only the following: what you learned from others or discovered yourself?

A: What else could there be?

S: And is there any way that you would ever learn or discover something while neither wanting to learn nor to inquire on your own?

A: There isn’t.

S: What then? Would you have wanted to inquire for or learn what you thought you understood?

A: Clearly not.

106e S: So there was a time when you thought you didn’t know what you now really do understand?

A: There must have been.

S: Well, I more or less know what you’ve learned; tell me if something has gotten past me. As I remember it, you learned your letters and kithara playing and wrestling—you didn’t want to learn aulos playing. These are the things that you understand, unless you somehow got some learning past me. But I don’t think you have, neither at night nor during the day, while going out from home.

A: No, I haven’t studied anything other than these.

107a S: Then will you step up to advise them when the Athenians are deliberating about how they might correctly write letters?

A: By Zeus, I wouldn’t!

S: Instead, when deliberating about notes on the lyre?

A: No way.

S: And they are definitely not accustomed to deliberating about wrestling in the assembly.

A: Indeed they are not.

S: So, when they are deliberating about what? Surely not when they are deliberating about building.

A: Clearly not.

S: Since at least on these matters a builder will give better advice than you.

107b A: Yes.

S: Nor when they deliberate about divination.

A: No.

S: Since, again, a diviner will give better advice than you.

A: Yes.

S: Whether he’s short or tall, beautiful or ugly, or even well-born or low-born.

A: Of course.

S: For, in each case, I think that advice belongs to someone who knows, not someone who is wealthy.

A: Of course.

S: And whether the counselor is rich or poor, it will make no difference to the Athenians when they are deliberating about the people in the city, 107c how they might be in good health, but they’ll search for an advisor who is a doctor.

A: That’s very likely.

S: So what will they be considering, when you step up to advise—and are right to step up?

A: They will be considering their own affairs, Socrates.

S: Do you mean their shipbuilding affairs? What sorts of ships they should build?

A: No, I don’t, Socrates.

S: For, I suppose, you don’t understand how to build ships. Is this the reason, or is it something else?

A: No, that’s it.

107d S: But about what sort of their own affairs do you say they deliberate?

A: When they deliberate about war, Socrates, or about peace or some other of the affairs of the city.

S: Do you mean when they are deliberating about whom they ought to make peace with, and whom they ought to make war with, and in what way?

A: Yes.

107e S: But oughtn’t they do these things with whom it’s better?

A: Yes.

S: And at the time when it’s better?

A: Definitely.

S: And for however much time is better?

A: Yes.

S: So if the Athenians were to be deliberating about whom they ought to wrestle with, and whom to spar with, and when and in what way, would you or the physical trainer advise them better?

A: The physical trainer, I assume.

S: Then are you able to say what the physical trainer will look into when advising them about who they should and should not wrestle with, and when and in what way? And I mean the following sort of thing: one should wrestle with those with whom it’s better to do so, right?

A: Yes.

108a S: And as much as it’s better?

A: As much.

S: So also when it’s better?

A: Of course.

S: And, moreover, a singer should sometimes play the kithara to the song and keep step?

A: Yes, they should.

S: So when it’s better?

A: Yes.

S: And as much as it’s better?

A: Yes.

S: What, then? Since you mention a “better” in both cases, 108b in playing the kithara to the song and in wrestling, what do you call the better in playing the kithara, just as I call the one in wrestling athletic; what do you call the other one?

A: I don’t understand.

S: But try to imitate me. For I, perhaps, answered that it is what is correct in every way, and correct is doubtless what comes to be in accord with the craft; or isn’t it?

A: Yes.

S: And wasn’t the craft athletics?

A: How wouldn’t it be?

108c S: And I said that the better in wrestling is athletic.

A: Yes, you did.

S: So didn’t I say it well?

A: So it seems to me.

S: Then you too have a go at it, for conversing well would, perhaps, also be fitting for you. Say first to what craft playing the kithara and singing and dancing correctly belong? What is the whole of it called? Are you not yet able to say?

A: Plainly not.

S: But try in the following way; what are the goddesses to which the craft belongs?

A: Do you mean the Muses, Socrates?

108d S: I do. So look: what name derived from them does the craft get?

A: It seems to me that you mean “music.”

S: I do mean that. So what is what happens correctly in accord with this? Just as when I said what happens correctly in accord with the craft, i.e., athletics, do you too, then, speak in this way in this case? How do you say it happens?

A: Musically, it seems to me.

S: You speak well. Go on, then, when it comes to the better in making war and in being at peace, what do you name this better? 108e Just as you said before, for each of the crafts, that the better is more musical, and in the other case, that it is more athletic, try then here too to say what the better is.

A: But I really can’t.

S: But surely it is shameful—if someone, while you were speaking and giving advice about food, that this is better than that, and better now, and better in such an amount, were to ask you “What do you say the better is, then, Alcibiades?”—that about these things you can say that it is the healthier, though you do not even present yourself as a doctor; whereas about that which you 109a do present yourself as understanding, and about which you will stand up and give advice as one who knows—about that, as you seem, if you are asked and cannot say, won’t you be ashamed? Won’t that look shameful?

A: Very.

S: Consider it, then, and do your best to tell me: to what does one refer when deciding what is better in the case of keeping peace and waging war against those whom one ought.

A: But even when I consider it, I’m not able to understand.

S: Don’t you know, whenever we wage war, what injury we accuse each other of when we enter into war, and what we call it when we do so?

109b A: I sure do; we allege that we are being tricked in some way or coerced or robbed.

S: Hold on; in what way do we suffer each of these things? Try to tell me how one way differs from another.

A: By “way” do you mean, Socrates, “justly” or “unjustly”?

S: That’s it.

A: But surely this makes a whole world of difference.

S: What then? Against which people will you advise the Athenians to wage war, against people who are acting unjustly, or against people who are doing just things?

109c A: That’s a dangerous question you’re asking me; for even if someone had it in mind that they must wage war against those who are doing just things, they would never admit it.

S: For that wouldn’t be lawful, it seems.

A: Not at all; at any rate, it wouldn’t seem admirable.

S: And so presumably you, likewise, will make your speeches with these considerations in mind.

A: I would have to.

S: Well, isn’t it the case that the better I was asking about just now, in relation to waging war or not, and with whom one should and with whom not, and when and when not, has this turned out to be the more just? Or no?

A: It appears so anyway.

109d S: How, my dear Alcibiades? Have you overlooked that this is something you don’t understand? Or am I the one who overlooked you learning about it and studying with a teacher who taught you to discern “more just and more unjust”? And who is this guy? Tell me, too, so that you can introduce me to him too as a student.

A: You’re mocking me, Socrates.

S: Not at all, I swear by Friendship, my own and yours as well, by whom I would least swear falsely. But if you are able, tell me who he is.

109e A: And what if I can’t? Don’t you think I might know about just and unjust things by some other means?

S: Yes—but if you discovered it yourself.

A: But don’t you believe I might have discovered it?

S: I do indeed—if you inquired into it.

A: And don’t you think I might have inquired into it?

S: I sure do, but if you thought you didn’t know it.

A: Well then, wasn’t there ever a time when I was in such a state?

S: Well said. In that case, can you tell me what that time was 110a when you thought you didn’t know just and unjust things? Come on, was it last year that you were inquiring and thought you didn’t know? Or did you think you knew? Answer me truthfully, so that our conversations are not pointless.

A: I did think I knew.

S: What about two years ago, or three, or four—didn’t you think the same?

A: I did.

S: Yes, but before that you were a child, right?

A: Yes.

S: I know well that at that time you thought you knew.

A: How is it that you know it well?

110b S: I often heard you when you were a child, at your teachers’ and elsewhere, and whenever you played dice or some other children’s game, you would say very loudly and confidently—not like someone who was confused about just and unjust things—about whichever of the children you happened to be playing with, that he was bad, and a cheater, and that he was cheating. Or am I not telling the truth?

A: Well, what was I supposed to do, Socrates, when someone was in fact cheating me?

S: If you happen to be ignorant at the time about whether you are being cheated or not, you mean, what you ought to do?

110c A: But, by Zeus, I wasn’t at all ignorant—I recognized very well that I was being cheated.

S: In that case, you thought you understood, even when you were a child, it seems, about just and unjust things.

A: I thought so, and I really did understand.

S: At what time did you discover these things? For surely it wasn’t when you thought you knew them.

A: Certainly not.

S: When did you believe you were ignorant, then? Consider it; for you’re not going to discover such a time.

A: By Zeus, Socrates, I can’t say.

110d S: Then you don’t know these things because you discovered them.

A: I certainly don’t seem to.

S: But you said just now that it wasn’t by learning that you know them; but if you neither discovered them nor learned them, how do you know about them and from what source?

A: But perhaps I didn’t give this answer to you correctly, saying that I know, by having found out myself.

S: Then how did it happen?

A: I think I also learned it the same way as other people.

S: We’ve come back again to the same argument. From whom? Tell me.

110e A: From the many.

S: By relying on the many, you are appealing to teachers who are not serious.

A: What? Aren’t they competent to teach?

S: Certainly not the moves that are skilled and not skilled in petteia. And yet these things are, I think, more trivial than just things. Or what? Don’t you think so?

A: Yes.

S: And so they are not able to teach the more trivial things, but rather the more serious matters?

A: Well, I think so. At any rate they are able to teach many other things that are more serious than playing petteia.

S: What kinds of things are these?

111a A: For instance, I learned to speak Greek from them, and I wouldn’t be able to say who my teacher was—rather, I rely on the same people who you say are not serious teachers.

S: But, noble friend, of this the many are good teachers, and they might be justly praised for teaching these things.

A: Indeed why?

S: Because, where these matters are concerned, they have what good teachers ought to have.

A: What do you mean by that?

S: Don’t you know that those who are going to teach anything at all ought 111b first themselves know? Or not?

A: Of course.

S: So the ones who know agree with one another and don’t disagree?

A: Yes.

S: But in cases where they disagree, will you say they know those things?

A: Of course not.

S: Then how could they be teachers of these things?

A: In no way.

S: What then? Do the many seem to you to disagree about what sorts of things are sticks and stones? And if you ask one of them, don’t they 111c agree on the same things, and go after the same things when they want to get a stone or a stick? And it’s the same for all matters like this. I’m getting a pretty good idea of what you mean by “understanding Greek,” right?

A: Yes.

S: Then they agree with one another and with themselves on these points in private, as we said, and in public, cities don’t argue with one another, some cities asserting these things and others asserting other things?

A: Yeah, no.

S: So they would likely also be good teachers, of these things at any rate.

111d A: Yes.

S: Then if we wanted to make it that someone knows about them, would we be correct to send him to the school of these people, the many?

A: Certainly.

S: But what if we wanted to know, not only what sort of things are people or what sort of things are horses, but also which among them are good at running and which are not, would the many still be competent to teach this?

A: Of course not.

S: And since they don’t agree with themselves about them at all, is it a sufficient proof for you that they neither understand nor 111e are sterling teachers of these things?

A: For my part, yes.

S: And what if we wanted to know, not only what sorts of things are people, but what sorts are healthy people or sick people, would the many be competent teachers for us?

A: Certainly not.

S: And would it be a proof for you that they are awful teachers of these things, if you saw them disagreeing?

A: It would be for me, at any rate.

S: What then? Now concerning just and unjust people 112a and affairs, do the many seem to you to agree with themselves and with one another?

A: By god, least of all, Socrates.

S: What? Do they most of all disagree about these things?

A: Very much so.

S: For, surely, I don’t think you have ever seen or heard people disagreeing so strongly about things that are healthy and things that aren’t, so that because of these things they fight and kill one another.

A: Certainly not.

S: But concerning just things and unjust things, I know that, 112b even if you haven’t seen people disagreeing you have at any rate heard of it from many others and from Homer: for you have heard both the Odyssey and the Iliad.

A: Assuredly, Socrates.

S: For surely these are poems about disagreements concerning both just and unjust things?

A: Yes.

S: Not only battles but also deaths came to be for the Achaeans and for the Trojans besides because of this disagreement, and for the suitors of Penelope, and for Odysseus.

112c A: True.

S: And also, I think, for the Athenians and Spartans and Boeotians who died at Tanagra, and those who died later at Coronea, among whom also your father Kleinias died: the disagreement about not a single thing other than the just and unjust caused the deaths and the battles. Right?

A: True.

S: So should we say that these people understand the things about which they 112d disagree so strongly that, arguing with one another, they do themselves the ultimate harm?

A: It appears not.

S: But then don’t you rely on these sorts of teachers, whom you yourself agree do not know?

A: So it seems.

S: So how likely are you to know just and unjust things, when you waver about them like this and appear to have neither learned from anyone nor discovered them yourself?

A: Not likely, from the things you say.

112e S: Do you see that you’ve once again not spoken well about these things, Alcibiades?

A: What sort of things?

S: That you claim I say these things.

A: But what? Don’t you say that I understand nothing about just and unjust things?

S: Not at all.

A: But I say this?

S: Yes.

A: How so?

S: You will see it this way. If I asked you which of the one or the two is more, will you claim that it’s the two?

A: I will.

S: By how much?

A: By one.

S: So which of us is the one saying that the two is more, by one, than the one?

A: I am.

S: So, was I asking questions, while you were answering?

A: Yes.

113a S: Now, surely it is not I, the one asking questions, who is evidently saying these things, rather than you, the one answering?

A: No, it’s me.

S: And what if I ask how to spell “Socrates,” and you speak, which one of us is the one saying this?

A: Me.

S: Come on, then, tell me in a word: whenever both questioning and answering occur, which of the two is the one saying these things, the one asking questions, or the one answering?

A: The one answering, it seems to me, Socrates.

113b S: And just now, throughout, wasn’t I the one asking questions?

A: Yes.

S: And you were the one answering?

A: Certainly.

S: What then? Which one of the two of us had said the things that were said?

A: It appears, Socrates, from what has been agreed, that it was I.

S: And it was said about just and unjust things, then, that beautiful Alcibiades, the son of Kleinias, does not understand them, but thinks he does, and, heading to the assembly, he is ready to advise the Athenians about things he does not know. Wasn’t that it?

113c A: It appears so.

S: So, Alcibiades, as in Euripides’ words, it follows that you pretty much “have heard this from yourself, not from me.” I am not the one who is saying these things, but you, and you accuse me falsely. And yet, you also speak well. For this project you intend to attempt is mad, my dear friend: to teach things you don’t know, having not cared for learning them.

113d A: I think that the Athenians—and the other Greeks—rarely deliberate about whether things are more just or more unjust. They believe that such things are clear, so they pass over this question and consider only which things will be advantageous to those who have done them. I do not think that just things are the same as advantageous things, but instead that great acts of injustice profited many people who acted unjustly, while just things, I think, were not advantageous to others who did them.

S: What then? Even if just things 113e and advantageous ones are in fact completely different, I don’t suppose, once again, that you think you know those things that are advantageous for people, and why?

A: What prevents it, Socrates? Unless you are once again going to ask me from whom I learned it or how I discovered it myself.

S: What a thing you’re doing. If you say something incorrectly, and it is in fact possible to prove it through an argument we also gave before, you think you must hear some new, different proofs, as though the previous ones were worn out pieces of clothing and you would no longer wear them—if someone will not bring you a pure 114a and untouched proof. But I, having passed over your argumentative sallies, will ask nothing less than the following: having learned them from where do you understand advantageous things, and who is your teacher? And I will ask you in one asking all those things I did before. But really it is clear that you will come to the same point and you will not be able to prove that you know advantageous things, neither by having discovered them nor by having learned them. But since you are dainty and would no longer taste the same argument with pleasure, I pass over the following: whether or not you know the things that are advantageous for the Athenians. 114b But why don’t you prove whether the same things are just and advantageous? If you want, do it by asking me, just as I asked you, or, if not, go through it by yourself in an argument.

A: I don’t know if I would be capable of going through it in front of you.

S: Well, my good friend, imagine that I am the assembly and its people. There too, no doubt, you are going to need to persuade each one, aren’t you?

A: Yes.

S: Well then, doesn’t it belong to the same individual to be able 114c to persuade one-on-one and collectively about what he knows, just as the schoolteacher can persuade both one and many students about letters?

A: Yes.

S: So, the same individual will persuade both one and many about numbers?

A: Yes.

S: And this will be the individual with knowledge, namely the mathematician?

A: Of course.

S: Well, then, can’t you also persuade one individual about the very things you can persuade many?

A: Probably.

S: And clearly those are the things that you know.

A: Yes.

S: So, is it the case that an orator speaking in this sort of conversation differs from an orator speaking 114d in public just to this extent: that the one persuades crowds while the other persuades individually?

A: I guess so.

S: Come then, since persuading crowds and individuals seems to belong to the same individual, practice on me and try to prove to me that justice is sometimes not advantageous.

A: You are overbearing, Socrates.

S: Well, since I am overbearing, I am now going to persuade you of the opposite of what you refuse to persuade me of.

A: Then say it.

S: Just answer my questions.

114e A: No, you do the talking on your own.

S: What? Don’t you want, as much as possible, to be persuaded?

A: Of course, by all means.

S: If you say that these things are the case, would you be extremely persuaded?

A: It seems so to me.

S: So then, you answer, and if you don’t hear yourself saying that just things are also advantageous, don’t trust anyone else who says so.

A: I will not. Then I must answer, and I don’t think any harm will come of it.

115a S: You are prophetic. So tell me, do you claim that some just things are advantageous and some are not?

A: Yes.

S: And again, some of them are beautiful and others are not?

A: What are you asking?

S: Whether anyone ever seemed to you to do ugly things that were also just?

A: No.

S: Rather, all just things are also beautiful?

A: Yes.

S: And what, moreover, about beautiful things? Are they all good, or are some good and some not?

A: I think, Socrates, that some beautiful things are bad.

S: And some ugly things are good?

A: Yes.

115b S: Do you mean the following sorts of things: for instance, many people, in war, while coming to the aid of a companion or relative, receive wounds and die, while others, not coming to their aid, as they should, depart safe and sound?

A: Precisely.

S: And such aid you would call beautiful in respect of the attempt to save those whom one ought, and this is courage? Right?

A: Yes, I do.

S: And you call it bad in respect of the deaths and wounds, right?

A: Yes.

115c S: Now, isn’t courage one thing and death another?

A: Of course.

S: It is not in respect of the same thing, then, that it is beautiful and bad to come to the aid of friends?

A: No, it does not seem to be.

S: Then see if, insofar as it’s beautiful, it’s also good, as in the present case. For in respect of courage you agree that aid is beautiful: consider this itself, then, courage, is it good or bad? Consider the following: which would you rather accept, good things or bad things?

A: Good things.

115d S: The greatest goods most of all?

A: Yes.

S: And you would least accept being deprived of things of this sort?

A: Of course.

S: And what do you say about courage? At what price would you accept being deprived of it?

A: I would not accept living if I were a coward.

S: So you think that cowardice is the worst evil.

A: I do.

S: As bad as death, it seems.

A: I would say so.

S: So then, life and courage are most opposed to death and cowardice?

A: Yes.

115e S: And you would most of all want to have the former, and least of all the latter?

A: Yes.

S: Because you believe the former best and the latter worst?

[A: Of course.
S: Then you believe courage to be among the best things and death among the worst?]

A: I do.

S: So then, aiding friends in battle—insofar as it is beautiful—you called beautiful in respect of being the act realizing the good that is courage?

A: It would seem so.

S: But in respect of being the act realizing the bad that is death, it’s bad?

A: Yes.

S: Well then, it is only just to characterize each of the acts as follows: if you call it bad insofar as it accomplishes something bad, then you should also 116a call it good insofar as it accomplishes something good.

A: I think so, yes.

S: Then, insofar as it is good, it is beautiful, and insofar as it is bad, it is ugly?

A: Yes.

S: So when you say that aiding friends in battle is beautiful, but also bad, you say nothing different than if you’d said that it is good, but also bad.

A: I think what you say is true, Socrates.

S: So, nothing beautiful, to the extent that it’s beautiful, is bad, and nothing ugly, to the extent that it’s ugly, is good.

116b A: Seems not.

S: Consider this point as well: whoever acts beautifully, surely also does well?

A: Yes.

S: And aren’t those who do well happy?

A: Of course.

S: Then they are happy through the acquisition of good things?

A: Absolutely.

S: Do they acquire these things by acting well and beautifully?

A: Yes.

S: Then, acting well is good?

A: Of course.

S: And aren’t good deeds beautiful?

A: Yes.

116c S: Therefore, once again the same thing turned out to be both beautiful and good?

A: It seems so.

S: Therefore, whatever we discover to be beautiful we will also discover to be good, at least, from this argument?

A: Necessarily.

S: Well then, are good things advantageous or not?

A: They are advantageous.

S: Do you remember, then, what we agreed concerning just things?

A: I think it was that those doing just things were necessarily doing beautiful things.

S: And therefore also that those doing beautiful things do good things?

A: Yes.

116d S: And that good things are advantageous?

A: Yes.

S: Therefore, Alcibiades, are just things advantageous?

A: It would seem so.

S: What then, are you not the one saying these things, while I am asking the questions?

A: It appears that I am.

S: If then, someone were to step in to advise either the Athenians or the Peparethians, thinking that he recognizes what is just and unjust, and he claims that just things are sometimes bad, wouldn’t you simply laugh at him, since you yourself say that 116e the same things that are just are also advantageous?

A: By the gods, Socrates, I don’t know what I am saying. But it looks like I am simply in a strange condition. When you ask me a question, at one time one thing seems right to me, and at another time a different one does.

S: And, my friend, are you ignorant of what this state is?

A: Very much so!

S: All right; do you think, if someone were to ask you, do you have two eyes or three, and two hands or four, or some other such thing, you would at one time answer one way and at another time another way, or always in the same way?

117a A: As for me, at this point I am worried about myself, but I think I would answer in the same way.

S: Because you know it, right? Isn’t this the reason?

A: I think so.

S: So it’s clear that you don’t know about the things about which you answer in contrary ways without wanting to.

A: That seems right.

S: And you claim, don’t you, that in answering questions about just and unjust things, beautiful and ugly things, good and bad things, and advantageous and non-advantageous things you waver? Isn’t it clear then that it is because you don’t know about them that you waver?

117b A: To me, at least.

S: Do things in fact stand as follows: whenever someone does not know something, it’s necessary that their soul wavers about this?

A: Of course!

S: Really? Do you know in what way you will go up to the sky?

A: By God I don’t.

S: And does your opinion waver about these things?

A: In fact, no.

S: And do you know the reason, or shall I tell you?

A: Tell me.

S: Because, my friend, you think that you don’t understand it, while not understanding it.

117c A: And what do you mean by that now?

S: Look at it jointly with me. Things that you don’t understand, but that you recognize you don’t understand—do you waver about such things? For example, about the preparation of a fine meal, you know, don’t you, that you don’t know?

A: Totally.

S: Do you yourself have an opinion about these things, how one ought to prepare it, and you waver, or do you turn to the one who understands?

A: The latter.

S: What, then, if you were sailing in a ship: would you have an opinion about whether 117d the steering-oar ought to be brought in or out, and would you waver because you don’t know, or would you turn to the navigator and keep quiet?

A: I would entrust it to the navigator.

S: So you do not waver about the things that you don’t know, provided that you know that you don’t know.

A: Apparently not.

S: Do you realize, then, that also mistakes in action come about because of this kind of ignorance, the kind which consists in someone who does not know thinking that they know?

A: And what do you mean by this again?

S: We attempt to act on those occasions, I think, when we think we know what we are doing.

A: Yes.

117e S: And I suppose that whenever people think they don’t know, they hand things over to others?

A: Of course.

S: So such people among those who don’t know live their lives free of mistakes, because they turn to others for these things?

A: Yes.

S: Then who are the people who make mistakes? For I suppose they are not the people who know.

A: Of course not.

S: So given that they are not the people who know nor of those who don’t know 118a the ones who know that they don’t know, are there any other ones left than those who don’t know but think they know?

A: No, only those.

S: So it’s this kind of ignorance that is the cause of bad things and that is the much-blamed foolishness?

A: Yes.

S: And whenever it concerns the greatest things, then it is most harmful and most ugly, right?

A: Exactly.

S: What then? Can you name greater things than those that are just, beautiful, good, and advantageous?

A: No way.

S: And you yourself claim that you waver about them?

A: Yes.

S: And if you waver, isn’t it clear from what we have just said that 118b not only are you ignorant of the greatest things, but also, while not knowing them, you think that you know them?

A: I am afraid so.

S: My goodness, then, Alcibiades—what a state you have gotten yourself into! I myself hesitate to name it, but nonetheless, since we are alone, it should be named. For it is foolishness—the most extreme kind—that you are in bed with, my excellent friend, as your account charges and as you charge yourself. And this is also why you rush into politics before having been educated. And you are not alone in this condition, but it also is that of most of those who run the affairs 118c of this city, except for a few people and, perhaps, your guardian, Pericles.

A: You know, Socrates, it is said that he did not become wise all by himself, but that he associated with many wise people, both with Pythoklides and with Anaxagoras. And even now, still at his advanced age, he spends time with Damon for this same purpose.

S: Alright then, have you ever seen someone wise at anything who was unable to make someone else wise at the things he himself is wise at? Just as the one who taught you how to read and write, he himself was wise and he made you wise and anyone else he wanted to. Correct?

A: Yes.

118d S: And you, too, who learned this from that man, will be able to make someone else wise?

A: Yes.

S: And likewise the lyre-player and the physical trainer?

A: Exactly.

S: So in fact this is a beautiful proof of people who understand something—that they understand it—whenever they are also able to make another individual someone who understands.

A: That seems right to me.

S: Okay then, can you say that Pericles made someone wise, starting from his sons?

118e A: Why so, if both of Pericles’ sons turned out to be idiots, Socrates?

S: But Clinias, your brother…

A: And why would you mention Clinias now, an insane person?

S: So given that Clinias is insane, and both sons of Pericles turned out to be idiots, what reason shall we give in your case, for why he allows you to be in the state you’re in?

A: I’m the one responsible, I think: I don’t pay attention.

119a S: But tell me who among the other Athenians or among non-Athenians, enslaved or free, has a reputation for having become wiser because they were with Pericles, just as I can say Pythodorus, son of Isolochus, and Callias, son of Calliades became wiser because they were with Zeno: they each paid Zeno a hundred minas and became wise and distinguished.

A: But by God, I can’t do it.

S: Alright. What, then, do you have in mind for yourself? To let yourself be in the state you’re now in, or to engage in some kind of self-care?

119b A: Let us deliberate in common, Socrates. I do understand what you are saying, and I agree. For those who run the affairs of the city, apart from a few, seem to me to be uneducated.

S: Why are you saying this?

A: If they were educated people, I suppose, then anyone attempting to compete with them should learn and practice before going at them as if they were athletes. But as things are, since they too have come to the affairs of the city as amateurs, why should one practice and go to the trouble of learning? For I know well that 119c I will be far superior to them in my nature.

S: Wow! Most excellent friend, what a thing you have said—how unworthy of your looks and your other possessions!

A: What? Why do you say that, Socrates? What are you getting at?

S: I’m infuriated—over you and my love for you!

A: Why?

S: Because you thought the competition to be with the people here.

A: Well, with whom is it then?

119d S: Such a worthy thing to ask, this, for a man who thinks himself proud.

A: What do you mean? Isn’t the competition with those people?

S: But even if you were intending to navigate a trireme that was about to enter a sea battle, would it be enough for you to be the best navigator among your fellow shipmates, or would you think you needed that as a given, but keep your eye on your true enemies, and not on your fellow combatants, as you do now? Surely you should be so far superior to them that they 119e would deem it appropriate not to compete with you, but to serve as your lowly fellow combatants against the enemies, if in fact you do, at any rate, have in mind to prove yourself with an admirable action worthy of yourself and the city.

A: At any rate, that is what I have in mind to do.

S: Then how very appropriate is it for you to be delighted if you are better than the fellow soldiers, but not to keep your eye on the leaders of the enemy camp—when you have become better than them, by investigating and practicing with them in mind!

120a A: And who do you say those are, Socrates?

S: You know, don’t you, that our city is from time to time at war with the Spartans and with the Great King?

A: That’s right.

S: Then, given that you intend to be a leader of this city, wouldn’t you believe, correctly, that your competition is with the kings of the Spartans and the Persians?

A: You’re probably right.

S: No, my good friend, you should 120b keep your eye on Meidias, the quail-poker, and on people like him, who attempt to run the affairs of the city while they still sport the slavish haircut in their soul, as women would say, from a boorishness which they have not yet shed. And still speaking like barbarians, they have come to flatter the city but not to rule it. You should look to those people, and not care for yourself, and neither learn the things that can be learned, for someone about to embark on such a competition, nor practice the things that require practice, 120c and having completed all of your preparation, you should enter into the affairs of the city.

A: But Socrates, I think you are right. However, I suppose the generals of the Spartans and the king of the Persians are not different from anybody else.

S: But, most excellent friend, consider what sort of notion this is that you have.

A: About what?

S: First, do you think you would take better care of yourself 120d if you feared them and thought they were terrifying, or not?

A: Clearly, if I thought they were terrifying.

S: You don’t think, do you, that in taking care of yourself you’d harm yourself in any way?

A: Not at all. On the contrary, I would actually profit greatly.

S: So this notion of yours has that one big flaw.

A: True.

S: Well, then, second, because it is also false, to consider it on the basis of likelihoods.

A: How so?

S: Is it likely that better natures are born in noble 120e lineages or not?
A: Clearly in noble ones.

S: Don’t those good by nature, if they also get brought up well, become perfect in regard to excellence?

A: Necessarily.

S: Let’s consider it, then, by contrasting our affairs with theirs: first, do the kings of the Spartans and Persians seem to be of humbler lineages than ours? Or don’t we know that the kings of the Spartans are offspring of Heracles, while those of the Persians are offspring of Achaemenes, and both the lineage of Heracles and that of Achaemenes trace back to Perseus, son of Zeus?

121a A: Mine too, Socrates, traces back to Eurysaces, and that of Eurysaces to Zeus.

S: Mine too, noble Alcibiades, back to Daedalus, and Daedalus to Hephaestus, son of Zeus. But the lineages of those starting from them are kings from kings back to Zeus—those of both Argos and Sparta, and also without exception those of Persia, and often also of Asia, just as even now. We ourselves and our forefathers, on the other hand, are private individuals. 121b But if you had to display the ancestors and Salamis, fatherland of Eurysaces, or Aegina, fatherland of the still earlier Aeacus, to Artoxerxes, son of Xerxes, how much laughter do you think you’d bring on yourself? But watch out lest we be inferior to the men in the dignity of our family, as well as in our upbringing. Or haven’t you noticed how great the possessions are of the Spartan kings, whose wives are guarded at public expense by the ephors, so that, as far as possible, the king is not secretly born from some man rather than a Heraclid?121c The king of the Persians is so far superior that no one has a suspicion that a king might be born from someone other than him; hence the queen is not guarded by anything other than fear. When the oldest boy, heir to the throne, is born, first, all his subjects celebrate in the king’s realm; then, when he’s ruler, all Asia sacrifices and feasts on the king’s birthday for the rest of time. But when we 121d were born, Alcibiades, as the comic poet says, “not even the neighbors took much notice.” After that the boy is brought up, not by a woman nurse of little worth, but by eunuchs, deemed the best of those around the king. These are commanded both to care for everything else for the newborn and to contrive to make him as beautiful as possible, by remodeling the infant’s limbs and straightening them. And 121e they are greatly esteemed for doing these things. When the boys reach seven years old, they spend their time with horses and riding teachers, and they start to go on hunting expeditions. When the boy reaches twice that age, people they call royal tutors take over; four in their prime deemed the best of the Persians are selected, the wisest, the most just, the most disciplined, and the 122a most courageous. One of them teaches the magian arts of Zoroaster, son of Horomazes—that is the worship of the gods—and teaches also kingly affairs; the most just teaches him to be truthful his whole life; the most disciplined teaches him not to be ruled by even one of the pleasures, so that he become accustomed to being free and truly king, first ruling impulses in himself rather than being enslaved to them; and the most courageous teaches him by making him fearless and without dread, on the ground that when he fears he is a slave. But for you, Alcibiades, 122b Pericles brought in a tutor, the most useless of the household slaves because of age, Zopyrus the Thracian. I could go through the rest of the upbringing and education of your enemies, except it would be a lot of work, and at the same time these things are enough to make clear, also, the other things that follow them; about your birth, Alcibiades, and upbringing and education, or that of any other Athenian, practically no one cares, unless he happens to be your lover. If in turn you want to 122c look towards wealth and luxuries and clothes and trailing cloaks and anointings with myrrh and multitudes of servants attending them and all the splendor of the Persians, you’d be ashamed at your own situation, noticing how far you fall short to them. If in turn you wanted to look towards the discipline and propriety and tolerance and good temper and pride and orderliness and courage and confidence and love of hardship, victory, and honor of the Spartans, you’d believe yourself a child in all those respects. 122d If in turn you pay some attention even to their wealth, and think that you are something in this respect—let’s not leave this unsaid in the hope that you notice where you stand. For in this case, if you want to look at the wealth of the Spartans, you will recognize that wealth here falls far short of that there; for they have so much land, both of their own and of Messene, and no one at all would take issue about those in extent or excellence, or in turn about the possession of slaves, especially helots, or even of horses, or all the cattle that 122e graze across Messene. But I set all that aside, and there is not gold and silver in all Greece to compare with that held in private in Sparta. For many generations now it has been coming into that place from all the Greeks, and often from barbarians too, while none goes out anywhere. It’s just 123a like the vixen says to the lion in Aesop’s fable, “the tracks of the money that comes into Sparta are clear when directed towards it, but nowhere does anyone see the tracks of money going out.” Therefore one should know well that the people there are the wealthiest among the Greeks in both gold and silver. And their king is the wealthiest of them all, for the kings have the greatest and largest income from such sources, and also the royal tribute, which the Spartans pay 123b their king, and which is not small. But Spartan fortunes, though great when compared to the wealth of the Greeks, are nothing when compared to the fortunes of the Persians and that of their king. I once heard a trustworthy man among those who had gone up to the king, who said he had passed through very vast, good land, nearly a day’s journey, which the locals call the “girdle of the king’s wife;” and there is another which is called in turn 123c “veil,” and many other beautiful, good places set aside to pay for the adornment of his wife, with the name of each place coming from each of her ornaments. So suppose someone said to the mother of the king, the wife of Xerxes, Amestris: “the son of Deinomache intends to challenge your son. She has an ornament worth perhaps fifty minae at most, and her son has less than three hundred plethra of land at Erchia.” I think she’d wonder at what it was that made 123d this guy, Alcibiades, feel confident enough to intend to contend with Artoxerxes. And I think she’d say that nothing could make this man confident enough to attempt this except self-care and wisdom—for those alone are worthy of note in Greece. Still, if she learned that this Alcibiades now makes the attempt, first, having not yet reached quite twenty years old, then being completely uneducated, and on top of all that, when his lover tells him that, it is necessary first to have learned, to have cared for himself, 123e and to have practiced so as to be able to go to contend with the king, he doesn’t want to, but says he’s content as he is—having learned all that I suppose she’d be surprised and ask: “Then what on earth is this young man putting his trust in?” So if we were to say that in his beauty and height and family and wealth and the nature of his soul, she would think we are mad, Alcibiades, gazing at all the things around them. I suppose that Lampido, the 124a daughter of Leotychides, and wife of Archidamus, and mother of Agis, all of whom became kings, would be surprised too—she looking at all their possessions—if you with your bad upbringing intend to contend with her son. And yet doesn’t it seem shameful, if the wives of our enemies have a better conception of us in mind, what we should be like to make an attempt against them, than we do ourselves? But, blessed one, be persuaded by me and the inscription in Delphi, “Know yourself,” 124b that these are our rivals, and not the ones you think; we would not get the better of even one of them, except by caring for ourselves and using craft. If you are left behind in those areas, you will be left behind in becoming renowned among both Greeks and foreigners—and you seem to me to be passionate for that as no one else is for anything.

A: What, then, is the self-care we should engage in, Socrates? Are you able to explain? For more than anyone you seem to be telling the truth.

S: Yes: but in common deliberation about the way 124c we might become the best possible. For, you know, I am not saying just about you, that you need to be educated, and not about myself. For there is no difference between us but one.

A: What difference is that?

S: My guardian is better and wiser than your Pericles.

A: Who’s that, Socrates?

S: The god, Alcibiades, who until this very day forbade me to have a conversation with you. Trusting in whom, I say that your epiphany will come about through no one but me.

124d A: You are kidding, Socrates.

S: Perhaps. But I am telling the truth, that we need to care for ourselves; everyone needs it very much, but we two very much so indeed.

A: For my case, you are not lying.

S: Nor for mine indeed.

A: What, then, are we to do?

S: There must be no hesitating nor getting soft, my companion.

A: That would not be appropriate, Socrates.

S: Not at all—instead, there must be considering in common. 124e For we say that we want to become the best possible, don’t we? Tell me.

A: Yes.

S: Relating to what excellence?

A: It is clear that it’s the excellence that good men relate to.

S: The ones good at what?

A: It is clear that it’s the ones good at doing things.

S: What sort of things? Equestrian things?

A: No, indeed.

S: For then we should go to the equestrians?

A: Yes.

S: But perhaps you are talking about nautical things?

A: No.

S: For then we would go to those who are nautical?

A: Yes.

S: So then things of what kind? And who does them?

A: Those which the great and the good among the Athenians do.

125a S: When you speak of the great and the good, do you mean the sensible or the foolish?

A: The sensible.

S: So what each individual is sensible about they are good at?

A: Yes.

S: And what they are not sensible about, they are lousy at?

A: Of course.

S: Then is the shoemaker sensible when it comes to the working of shoes?

A: Certainly.

S: Therefore he’s good when it comes to them.

A: He is good.

S: What then? Isn’t the shoemaker foolish when it comes to the working of clothes?

A: Yes.

125b S: So he is bad when it comes to that?

A: Yes.

S: So on this account, at least, the same individual is both good and bad?

A: It seems so.

S: So are you saying that good people are also bad?

A: Not at all.

S: But whoever is it that you are saying are the good?

A: I say that it is those who are able to rule in the city.

S: Not, I suppose, ruling over horses?

A: Not at all.

S: But ruling over people?

A: Yes.

S: Is that over those who are sick?

A: No.

S: Or over those who are sailing?

A: I say not.

S: Or over those who are harvesting?

A: No.

125c S: Over those who are making nothing, or those who are making something?

A: I say over those who are making.

S: What? Try to make it clear to me too.

A: So, the ones both negotiating with themselves and having dealings with each other, in just the way that we live in cities.

S: So you mean ruling over people having dealings with people?

A: Yes.

S: Do you mean over coxswains dealing with rowers?

A: Not at all.

S: For that is the navigational excellence?

A: Yes.

S: Or do you mean ruling over people who are playing the flute, 125d themselves leading people in song and dealing with the dancers?

A: Not at all.

S: That, at any rate, is the excellence of the chorusmaster.

A: Certainly.

S: So then what do you mean when you say that they are able to rule over people dealing with people?

A: I mean over those who are taking part in the state and joining with each other: over these in the city they rule.

S: What is that craft? What if I were to ask you again, as I did just now: what craft makes someone understand how to rule over those who take part in seafaring?

A: Navigation.

125e S: Over those who taking part in song, as was mentioned just now, what understanding makes someone rule?

A: The one you mentioned just now, chorusmastership.

S: Well now: what would you call the understanding that makes someone rule over those who are taking part in a state?

A: I would call it good judgment, Socrates.

S: Well then, do you think that the understanding of navigators is a lack of judgment?

A: Not at all.

S: But it is good judgment?

126a A: I think so, yes—directed, indeed, at saving those at sea.

S: Well said. Well now, the thing you call good judgment—at what is it directed?

A: At managing the state better and keeping it safe.

S: For it to be better managed and kept safe, what needs to be present or absent? Suppose you asked me: “what is needed to be present or absent for the body to be better managed and kept safe?” I would answer that it is when health is present and disease absent. Don’t you agree?

126b A: Yes.

S: And if you were to ask me, again, “what is needed to be present for the eyes to be better?” in the same manner I would say that it is when sight is present and blindness absent. And for ears, when deafness is absent and hearing is present they are improved and better cared for.

A: Right.

S: What then? For the city, what is needed to be present or absent for it to be improved, and better cared for and managed?

126c A: I think, Socrates, that it’s when they have friendship themselves towards each other, and when hatred and conflict are absent.

S: By friendship do you mean agreement or disagreement?

A: Agreement.

S: By what craft do cities agree about numbers?

A: By arithmetic.

S: What about private individuals? By the same thing?

A: Yes.

S: And so also each individual with themselves?

A: Yes.

S: And by what craft does each individual agree with themselves 126d about which of the handspan and cubit is greater? By measurement?

A: Naturally.

S: And the same for private individuals agreeing with each other, and for cities?

A: Yes.

S: And the same goes for weight?

A: I would say so.

S: So what you call agreement, what is it and what is it about? And what craft provides it? And is it the same for a city and a private individual, and the same when agreeing with oneself and with another?

A: Probably.

S: Well, what is it? Don’t get tired of answering—really 126e try to give me an answer.

A: I think I mean friendship and agreement—the one in which a loving father or mother agrees with their son, or a brother with a brother, or a wife with a husband.

S: So do you think, Alcibiades, that a man can agree with his wife about wool-working, when he doesn’t understand it but she does?

A: Not at all.

S: At any rate, there is no need since this is just what women learn.

A: Yes.

127a S: What then: Can a woman agree with a man about heavy fighting, when she has not learned it?

A: No, indeed.

S: For perhaps you would say that this is just a masculine thing.

A: I would.

S: So, according to your account, there are feminine and masculine things to learn.

A: How could this not be so?

S: So, in such matters there will not be agreement between women and men.

A: No.

S: So neither will there be friendship, since friendship is agreement.

A: It appears not.

S: So, insofar as women are doing their own thing, they will not be befriended by men.

127b A: It does not look like it.

S: And nor will men be befriended by women insofar as they do their own thing.

A: No.

S: So, cities are not well managed whenever each does their own?

A: But I think they are, Socrates.

S: How can you say that when friendship is absent, in whose presence we say cities come to be well organized, and otherwise not?

A: But it seems to me that friendship comes about in relation to this, i.e., that each does their own.

127c S: That’s not what you thought just now. But now what do you mean? That when agreement does not come about, friendship comes about? Can agreement come to be about those things which are such that some know them but others do not?

A: Impossible.

S: Do they act justly or unjustly when each does their own?

A: Justly, how would they not?

S: Then, when the citizens act justly in the city does not friendship come about between them?

A: I think now that must be so, Socrates.

127d S: Then, what on earth do you say is friendship or agreement about which it is necessary for us to be wise and also judicious, so that we are good men? For I am not able to follow either what it is, or who has it. For sometimes it appears to exist in the same people and sometimes not, as it follows from your account.

A: But by the Gods, Socrates, nor do I myself know what I’m saying, and I probably—and for a long time—have failed to realize that I am in a most ugly state.

S: You must take heart! For if you were noticing that you have suffered it 127e at fifty years old, it would be difficult for you to care for yourself; but now, this age you are at is the one in which you must notice it.

A: So what ought the one noticing this do, Socrates?

S: To answer the things which are asked, Alcibiades; and if you do this, if god is willing, if it is at all necessary to trust my divination as well, then you and I will be in a better state.

A: These things will be, on account of my answering at least.

S: Come then, what is it to care for oneself—I fear that, as may well 128a happen, we may fail to realize that we’re not caring for ourselves when we think we are—and next, when does a person do this? Is it that whenever they care for what belongs to themselves, they then also care for themselves?

A: It seems so to me at least.

S: But what about this? Does a person ever care for their feet? Do they do so when they care for those things which belong to the feet?

A: I don’t follow.

S: Do you call something “belonging to the hand”? For example, does a finger ring belong to any other part of a person, would you say, than the finger?

A: Clearly not.

S: So doesn’t the shoe also belong to the foot in the same way?

128b A: Yes.

S: And cloaks and bedclothes similarly belong to the rest of the body?
A: Yes.

S: So then whenever we care for the shoes, do we then care for the feet?

A: I don’t really follow, Socrates.

S: What about this, Alcibiades: is there something you call “to care correctly” for any thing whatsoever?

A: I do.

S: So then is it the case that whenever someone makes something better, then you say care is correct?

A: Yes.

S: So what craft makes shoes better?

A: Shoemaking.

S: By shoemaking, then, do we care for shoes?

128c A: Yes.

S: So is it by shoemaking that we also care for the foot? Or by that craft by which we make feet better?

A: By that craft.

S: But don’t we make feet better by that very craft by which we also make the rest of the body better?

A: It seems to me at least.

S: And is this not athletics?

A: Very much so.

S: So then by athletics we care for the foot, while by shoemaking we care for the things belonging to the foot.

A: Definitely.

S: And by athletics we care for the hands, while by ring-making we care for the things belonging to the hand.

A: Yes.

S: And by athletics we care for the body, while by weaving and the 128d rest we care for the things belonging to the body.

A: Absolutely.

S: So then by one craft we care for each thing itself, while by another we care for the things belonging to it.

A: Apparently.

S: And so it’s not when you care for the things belonging to yourself that you care for yourself.

A: Not at all.

S: For it’s not the same craft, as it seems, by which one would care for themselves and the things belonging to them.

A: Apparently not.

S: Come then, by whatever sort of craft would we care for our very selves?

A: I’m not able to say.

128e S: But so much at least was agreed: that it is not by the one by which we would make any one of our things better, but by the one by which we might make our very selves better.

A: True.

S: So would we ever have recognized what craft makes the shoe better, not knowing the shoe?

A: Impossible.

S: Nor indeed what craft makes rings better, being ignorant of a ring.

A: True.

S: But what about this? Would we ever have recognized what craft makes us better, while being ignorant of what in the world we ourselves are?

129a A: Impossible.

S: Well, then, is it in fact easy “to know yourself,” and is the one who had this inscribed on the Pythian temple some ordinary guy, or is it something difficult and not for just anyone?

A: To me, Socrates, often it seems that it’s for anyone, but often that it’s extraordinarily difficult.

S: But, Alcibiades—whether or not it is easy—nevertheless this is our situation: knowing it, we would perhaps know the care of ourselves, but being ignorant, we never would.

A: That is the case.

129b S: Come, then, in what way might the self itself be discovered? That way we might perhaps discover what we ourselves are; but as long as we are in ignorance of it, we are incapable, I gather.

A: You are right.

S: Hold it, by Zeus. With whom are you speaking right now? Surely it is with me?

A: Yes.

S: So also I, with you?

A: Yes.

S: So it is Socrates who is the one speaking.

A: Indeed.

S: And Alcibiades who is the one listening?

A: Yes.

S: Now Socrates speaks by means of speech?

129c A: Naturally.

S: And you call, I gather, speaking and using speech the same thing?

A: Naturally.

S: But aren’t the one using and what they use different things?

A: What do you mean?

S: Just like a shoemaker cuts, I gather, by means of a blade and a knife and other tools.

A: Yes.

S: So, the one who cuts and uses is one thing, and the things they use in cutting are another.

A: Of course.

S: And in this way, the things by which the kitharist plays the kithara, and the kitharist themselves, would be different?

A: Yes.

129d S: This is what I was just asking you: whether it seems the one who uses and what they use are always different.

A: It seems they are.

S: So what shall we say about the shoemaker: do they cut only with tools, or also with their hands?

A: With their hands as well.

S: So they also use their hands?

A: Yes.

S: And do they also use their eyes when they cut?

A: Yes.

S: And we agree that the user and the things they use are different?

A: Yes.

S: So a shoemaker and a kitharist are not the same as the hands and 129e eyes by which they carry out their work.

A: Apparently.

S: And surely a person uses their whole body?

A: Yes indeed.

S: And the user and what they use are different things?

A: Yes.

S: So a person is not the same as their body?

A: It seems so.

S: What, then, is the person?

A: I am unable to say.

S: Well you can say at least this, that it is what uses the body?

A: Yes.

130a S: Is what uses the body anything other than the soul?

A: Nothing other.

S: By ruling it?

A: Yes.

S: And here’s another thing about which I think no one would think differently.

A: What’s that?

S: That, in any case, the person is one of three things.

A: What things?

S: Either a soul, or a body, or a compound of both, that is this whole thing.

A: Naturally.

S: And we agreed that the very thing that rules the body is a person?

130b A: We did.

S: Now, does the body itself rule itself?

A: Not at all.

S: In fact, we said that it is ruled.

A: Yes.

S: So it, at any rate, couldn’t be what we are inquiring after.

A: It doesn’t look like it.

S: Is it instead the compound that rules the body and that is a person?

A: Perhaps it is indeed.

S: That can hardly be the case, since if one of the components does not join in ruling, there is no way, I gather, for the compound to be ruling.

A: Correct.

130c S: Since neither the body nor the compound is the person, what remains, I believe, is that either nothing is it, or if in fact something is, the person turns out to be nothing other than their soul.

A: That’s exactly right.

S: Do you need to have it proved any more clearly that the soul is the person?

A: No by Zeus! It seems clear enough to me.

S: Well, our demonstration wasn’t precise, but if it was suitable, it will be enough for our purposes. We will know precisely once we discover the thing that 130d we just skipped over because of the lengthy investigation it would entail.

A: What’s that?

S: The remark we just made, to the effect that the first thing to investigate would be the self itself. But instead of the self we investigated what each person is. And perhaps that will suffice, since we presumably couldn’t point to anything of ours that is more in control than our soul.

A: No indeed, we couldn’t.

S: And so do we do well when thinking this: you and I are engaging with each other using words by the soul to the soul?

130e A: Very much so.

S: And isn’t that what we said a little earlier, namely that Socrates speaks to Alcibiades using speech, not addressing his face, evidently, but addressing his words to Alcibiades, and that is his soul?

A: I think so.

S: So, whoever issues the command to “know yourself” is ordering us to know our soul.

131a A: It seems so.

S: So, whoever knows something about their body knows what is theirs, but not themselves.

A: That’s right.

S: So no doctor knows themselves, insofar as they are a doctor, nor does any physical trainer, insofar as they are a physical trainer.

A: It doesn’t seem so.

S: So farmers and other craftspeople are far from knowing themselves. For they don’t even know what belongs to them, it seems, but only know things that are still more distant from themselves, at least in terms of the 131b crafts they have a hold on. For they know what belongs to the body, and tend to it by means of these things.

A: True.

S: So if discipline is knowing yourself, none of these people is disciplined because of their craft.

A: I don’t think so.

S: That is in fact why these kinds of craft are thought lowbrow, not things learned by a good man.

A: Absolutely.

S: Now back to the individual who tends to their body: they tend to what belongs to them, but not to themselves, right?

A: Most likely.

S: And whoever tends to their money doesn’t tend to themselves or even to what 131c belongs to them, but to what is still more distant from themselves.

A: I think so, yes.

S: So even the money maker is not managing what belongs to them.

A: Right.

S: So any lover there might be of Alcibiades’ body has not fallen in love with Alcibiades, but with something that belongs to him?

A: True.

S: But someone who’s in love with you is in love with your soul?

A: That appears to be necessary, given the argument.

S: And if someone is in love with your body, don’t they abandon you when you are past your bloom?

A: It appears so.

131d S: But someone in love with your soul will never leave you, as long as the soul continues to improve?

A: Seems right.

S: Then, I am the one who will not leave you, but remains as your body is losing its bloom and everyone else has gone away.

A: This is fortunate, Socrates. May you never leave.

S: Well, then, try to be as beautiful as possible.

A: I will try.

131e S: So this is how things are for you: Alcibiades son of Kleinias neither had a lover, it seems, nor has one, except for one alone—and that is his beloved Socrates, son of Sophroniscus and Phainerete.

A: True.

S: Weren’t you saying that I beat you to the punch when I approached you, since you would have approached me before wanting to find out why I alone haven’t abandoned you?

A: That is what happened.

S: Well, this is the reason: that I am your only lover, while others are lovers of what is yours, and what is yours is past its prime, but you are starting to bloom. 132a Now, as long as the Athenian people does not make you corrupt and ugly, I shall not abandon you. For this is, in fact, what I fear most: that by being friendly to the people you might become corrupted, since many good people among the Athenians have already suffered this. While the people of great hearted Erechtheus has a fair countenance, you must look at them without clothes. So be careful to take the precaution I advise.

A: What is that?

132b S: Strip first, you blessed creature, and learn those things which someone should have learned to embark upon the affairs of the city, and do not do so before, so that you have protection as you embark and suffer no great danger.

A: You seem to me to speak well, Socrates; but try to explain the way in which we might care for ourselves.

S: Well, this much at least has been accomplished by us previously—for what we are has been pretty much agreed—but we were fearful that, having gotten tripped up by this, we’d fail to notice we were taking care of something else, rather than ourselves.

A: That’s right.

132c S: And after this it was agreed by us that we should care for the soul and look into this.

A: That’s clear.

S: But we should hand over the care of bodies and property to others.

A: Naturally.

S: Well then, in what way might we know them most clearly? For by knowing this it’s likely we’ll also come to know ourselves. By the gods, do we not comprehend the well-put saying of the Delphic inscription we recalled just now?

A: What sort of thing do you have in mind in saying this, Socrates?

132d S: I’ll tell you what I suspect this inscription is saying to us and advising. For there is a good chance that there are not many cases of an analogue of this, but only one, corresponding with sight.

A: How do you mean?

S: You consider this as well: if the thing advising our eye—just like a person—told it: “see yourself” how would we interpret what it recommends? Wouldn’t it be to look into this: into that which, by looking, the eye could see itself?

A: Clearly.

S: Then let’s consider: by looking into which, among the things that are, 132e can we see both it and also ourselves at the same time?

A: Clearly, Socrates, by looking into mirrors and other such things.

S: That’s right. And is there something of this sort existing in the eye with which we see?

A: Certainly.

S: And have you ever noticed that 133a the face of the person looking at the eye of another appears in the sight organ of the one opposite, as in a mirror—what we call a “figurine,” being a kind of image of the one looking.

A: That’s true.

S: So when an eye observes an eye, and looks at the best place in it—the place where it sees—it can see itself.

A: Apparently.

S: But an eye won’t see itself if it looks at another part of a person, or at anything else, unless it’s something that happens to be like it.

133b A: That’s true.

S: So if an eye is going to see itself, it should look into an eye, and into that place in it where the excellence of the eye arises. And isn’t this sight?

A: Yes.

S: Well then, dear Alcibiades, if the soul is going to know itself, should it not look into a soul and most of all into that place in the soul where wisdom, the excellence of the soul, arises, as well as into anything else that is like it?

A: It seems so to me, Socrates.

133c S: Then can we say that there is anything belonging to the soul that is more divine than this, that is, that which concerns knowing and understanding?

A: No, we cannot.

S: So this thing of the soul is like the god, and anyone looking into this and coming to know all that is divine, both god and also intelligence, would thereby come to know themselves most of all.

A: Apparently.

S: Then, is it the case that, just as mirrors are clearer than the reflective surface in the eye, and purer and brighter, so the god too is in fact purer and brighter than the best thing in our soul?
A: It’s certainly likely, Socrates.
S: So, in looking into the god we would use that most beautiful reflecting surface, and for human matters, in looking into the excellence of the soul, in this way too we would most of all see and know ourselves.
A: Yes.

S: Did we agree that to know oneself is discipline?

A: Certainly.

S: Then, not knowing ourselves and not being disciplined, would we be able to know our own things, bads and goods amongst them?

A: How could that be, Socrates?

133d S: It presumably seems to you impossible that one who does not know Alcibiades should know that the things belonging to Alcibiades belong to Alcibiades.

A: Of course it’s impossible, for god’s sake!

S: Nor, then, to know that the things that are ours are ours, if not even knowing ourselves?

A: That’s right.

S: Then, if not the things that are ours, not the things that belong to the things that are ours?

A: Evidently not.

S: Then we weren’t entirely right to agree, when we agreed just recently, that there are some people who do not know themselves, but know their own things, and others who know the things that belong to their own things. For it seems 133e to belong to a single individual and a single craft to discern all these: himself, his own things and the things that belong to his own things.

A: Likely so.

S: But whoever is ignorant of his own things, would, I suppose, also be ignorant of the things belonging to others on these same grounds.

A: Naturally.

S: Then if he is ignorant of the things belonging to others, he will also be ignorant of the things belonging to cities.

A: Necessarily.

S: Then such a man couldn’t ever become an expert in statesmanship.

A: No indeed.

S: Nor indeed even in estate management.

134a A: No indeed.

S: Nor will he know what he’s doing.

A: He won’t.

S: Will not the one who does not know make mistakes?

A: Certainly.

S: But, in making mistakes, will he not act badly in both the private and public sphere?

A: Of course.

S: Acting badly, won’t he be unsuccessful?

A: Very much so.

S: What of people for whom this man acts?

A: They too.

S: So, unless one is disciplined and good, one cannot be happy.

134b A: One cannot.

S: So, the bad amongst people are unsuccessful.

A: Very much so.

S: Then not even the man who has become wealthy escapes failure, but the one who has become disciplined does.

A: Evidently.

S: Then, Alcibiades, if cities are to be happy, it’s not walls, triremes, and dockyards they need, nor quantity nor stature, absent excellence.

A: Indeed not.

S: Then if indeed you are going to manage the city’s affairs correctly and 134c beautifully, you must convey a share of excellence to your fellow citizens.

A: Of course.

S: But would anyone be able to convey a share of what they do not have?

A: How could they?

S: Then you yourself ought first to acquire excellence—and so ought anyone else who is to rule and care for not only himself and his own things privately, but also the city and the city’s things.

A: True.

S: Then it isn’t authority or political office to do whatever you want that you ought to provide yourself, nor the city, but justice and discipline.

A: Apparently.

134d S: In acting justly and with discipline, both you and the city will act in a manner beloved by the gods.

A: Probably.

S: And, exactly as we were saying previously, it’s looking into what is divine and bright that you will act.

A: Apparently.

S: Further, in looking there you will see distinctly and know both yourselves and your own goods.

A: Yes.

S: Then you will act rightly and well?

A: Yes.

134e S: Further, if you are acting in this way, I am willing to guarantee that you will be happy.

A: And you are a trustworthy guarantor.

S: If, on the contrary, you act unjustly, looking into what is ungodly and dark, then, in all likelihood, you, being ignorant of yourselves, will perform actions similar to these.

A: That is likely.

S: Because, dear Alcibiades, what do you think is likely to occur for one who has the authority to do whatever he wants, but does not have good sense, be it a private individual or indeed a city? For example, if a sick individual has the authority to do whatever 135a he wants, but does not have medical good sense, insisting tyrannically that he not be reproved at all by anyone, what will happen? Won’t his body, in all likelihood, be ruined?

A: You’re right.

S: And what about in a ship, if someone should have the authority to do what he thinks best, lacking the excellent sense of the expert navigator, do you see what would happen to him and his fellow shipmates?

A: I do indeed; they would certainly all perish.

S: Then, in the same way, in a city, in all its political offices and 135b positions of authority, if they are in want of excellence, is acting badly the consequence?

A: Necessarily.

S: Then it’s not tyranny, most excellent Alcibiades, you must provide for yourself or the city, if you are going to be happy, but excellence.

A: True.

S: But until one has excellence, at least, it is better to be ruled by someone better than to rule—for a man, not just for a child.

A: Apparently.

S: Isn’t what is better also more beautiful?

A: Yes.

S: And what is more beautiful, more fitting?

135c A: Of course.

S: So it is fitting for the bad man to be enslaved, since it is better.

A: Yes.

S: Then badness is befitting of a slave.

A: Apparently.

S: Whereas excellence is befitting of the free.

A: Yes.

S: And isn’t it necessary to escape slavishness, my companion?

A: Very much so, Socrates.

S: But are you noticing your present state? Are you in the state be fitting a free man or not?

A: I think I’m very much noticing indeed.

S: Then do you know how to escape your present situation? Let’s avoid applying this name to a fine man.

135d A: I do indeed.

S: How?

A: As you want to, Socrates.

S: You do not speak well, Alcibiades.

A: But how should it be said?

S: That it’s as the god wills.

A: I’ll say that, then. In addition, however, I’ll also say this, that we shall run the risk of swapping roles, Socrates, I adopting yours, and you mine. For, from this day forward, there’s no way I shall not attend upon you, but you will be attended upon by me.

135e S: Then, my noble friend, my love will differ not at all from a stork if, having incubated a winged love at your side, my love shall be tended in turn by this one.

A: But this is how it is, and I will start from now on to care for justice.

S: And I would want you to persevere. But I am gripped by fear, not through any distrust of your nature, but seeing the strength of the city, lest it should overpower me and you both.

English first-read text

S[ocrates]: 103a You’re probably wondering why I’m still following you around, son of Clinias, when the rest have given up. I was the first to fall in love with you but I haven’t even said hello in all these years, unlike the others, who kept pestering you to talk to them. The reason for this was nothing human: what prevented me was a kind of divine opposition. You’ll hear more about that later. But now it’s stopped preventing me, so I’ve come to talk to you. 103b And I’m optimistic that it won’t prevent me in future.
Anyway, I’ve been observing you all this time and gotten a pretty good idea of how you treat men who are in love with you. There have been a lot of them, with a high opinion of themselves, but every single one has retreated. They’re put off by your high-and-mighty attitude. 104a I’d like to explain the reasoning behind that attitude. In your opinion you don’t need anyone for anything; you’ve got so much going for you, body and soul, that you think you don’t need anybody else. First off, you think of yourself as very tall and good-looking—and you’re clearly right about that. You also belong to the most enterprising family in Athens—the greatest city in Greece—104band have a huge number of distinguished friends and relatives on your father’s side, to help you out if you need anything, and just as many on your mother’s. Most powerful of all, you think, is Pericles, son of Xanthippus, whom your father named as your and your brother’s legal guardian. He is so powerful that he can do anything he wants, not just here in Athens but everywhere in Greece, and in many major non-Greek regions as well. 104c I’ll also add that you’re wealthy (though I don’t think you pride yourself much on that). It’s because you feel superior in all these ways that you’ve defeated your suitors, who gave up because they just weren’t in your league—as you’re well aware. That’s why I’m certain that you’re wondering what on earth I can be thinking. Why haven’t I given up on my passion for you? What gives me enough hope to stay put when the rest have all retreated?

A[lcibiades]: 104d You may not realize this, Socrates, but you just beat me to it. I was meaning to approach you myself to ask these very questions. What on earth do you want? And what gives you enough hope to keep on pestering me, going to so much trouble to show up wherever I happen to be? I’m genuinely wondering what you’re up to, and I’d love to hear you explain.

S: If you’re really eager to know what I’m thinking, as you claim, will you listen eagerly as well? Can I be sure that I’m talking to someone who’ll stay around to hear me?

A: Absolutely! Go ahead and talk.

S: 104e Watch out then! Don’t be surprised if it’s as hard for me to stop talking to you as it was to get started in the first place.

A: Go ahead and talk, please. I will listen.

S: Then I guess I’ll have to talk. It’s difficult, as someone in love, to approach a man who doesn’t give in to those who are in love with him, but I’ll have to get up the nerve to tell you what I think. I’d have given up on my passion a long time ago—or so I’ve convinced myself—if I saw you living contentedly with the advantages I just mentioned, and thinking you should spend the rest of your life that way. 105a But it’s my belief that you have other things in mind. Let me explain to you in person. This will also prove that I really have been thinking about you all this time.
Here’s what I think. Suppose some god asked you, “Alcibiades, would you rather live with all the advantages you have now, or drop dead if you can’t obtain even greater ones?” I think you’d choose death. What hope is keeping you alive, then? I’ll tell you. You think that as soon as you’re old enough to address the Athenian public—in just a few days—105byou’ll demonstrate to the Athenians that you deserve greater honors than Pericles or anyone else who ever existed; that this will make you the most powerful man in Athens; and that if you’re the greatest here you’ll also be the greatest in the whole of Greece, and not only in Greece, but among all the non-Greeks living on our continent. And if that same god informed you that you must limit your power to Europe, 105c and won’t be allowed to go to Asia or get involved in things over there, I don’t think you’d be willing to live under such restrictions; you’d rather die than not spread your name and power among practically all the human race. And I think you believe no one in history has ever been really significant except Cyrus and Xerxes. I’m not just speculating: I know for sure that these are your hopes.
Since you know I’m speaking the truth, your response might be, “How is this relevant, Socrates?” 105d I’ll tell you, my dear son of Clinias and Deinomache. It’s impossible for you to accomplish all these plans without my help. That’s how much power I think I have over you and your doings. I think this is why the god wouldn’t let me talk to you for so long, so I waited until he would let me. You’re hoping to demonstrate to Athens that you deserve everything it has to offer, 105e which will instantly give you total power, or so you hope; in the same way, I’m hoping to gain the greatest possible power over you by demonstrating that I deserve everything you have to offer, and that no guardian or relative, or anyone else except me, can give you the power you crave (god willing, of course). I believe the reason the god prevented me from talking to you when you were younger, before you were filled with such hope, was so that our conversation wouldn’t be a waste of time. 106a He’s unleashed me now because at this point you may actually listen.

A: Socrates, now that you’ve started talking you appear even weirder than you did when you were just silently following me around—and you looked pretty weird even then! But regardless of whether you’re right about what I’m thinking, you appear to have made up your mind, and I won’t get anywhere trying to convince you otherwise, even if I deny it. Okay then. Let’s say you’re absolutely right about what I’m thinking. How is it that I’m going to get all this with your help, and can’t get it without you? Can you tell me?

S: 106b Are you asking if I can make a long speech, like the ones you’re used to hearing? That’s not my way. But I think I may be able to demonstrate that I’m right, provided you’re willing to do me just one little favor.

A: Sure, as long as it’s not anything difficult.

S: Do you think answering questions is difficult?

A: No.

S: Then please answer me.

A: Go ahead and ask.

S: Is it okay if I question you on the assumption that I’m right about what you have in mind? 106c

A: Sure, if you want. That way I’ll find out what you have to say.

S: All right then. As I said, you’re intending to address the Assembly soon, to give them your advice. Suppose I cornered you on your way up to the podium and asked, “Alcibiades, what subject is up for deliberation? What are you going to advise the Athenians about? Is it something you know better than they do?” What would your answer be?

A: 106d I’d say, of course, that it’s something I know better than they do.

S: So you’re a good advisor about things you actually know.

A: Of course.

S: And everything you know you either learned from other people or found out by yourself?

A: Sure. How else could I know anything?

S: Is there any way you could ever have learned something from someone else, or found it out, without wanting either to learn about it or to look into it by yourself?

A: No.

S: And would you have wanted to learn or look into something you thought you already knew?

A: Of course not.

S: 106e So for the things you know now, was there once a time when you thought you didn’t know them?

A: There must have been.

S: Well I have a pretty good idea of what you’ve learned. Tell me if I leave anything out. If I remember rightly, you learned your letters, and to play the lyre and to wrestle. (You didn’t want to learn to play the pipe.) Those are the things you know about—unless of course you learned something else without my knowledge. But as far as I’m aware you’ve never left the house, day or night, to pursue any other studies.

A: No, I haven’t been seeing a teacher for anything else.

S: 107a So when the Athenians are deliberating about letters, i.e. how to write correctly, will you stand up to give them your advice?

A: Certainly not, by Zeus!

S: Or how to play the lyre?

A: No way!

S: And wrestling is surely not something they are in the habit of deliberating in the Assembly.

A: No.

S: On what subject will you advise them then, when they’re deliberating? Not construction, presumably.

A: Of course not.

S: Because a builder will give them better advice about that than you.

A: Yes. 107b

S: And not prophecy?

A: No.

S: Because a prophet could advise them on that better than you.

A: Yes.

S: And he could be tall or short, good-looking or disgraceful-looking, noble or low-born?

A: Of course.

S: In each case, I think, they take advice from someone who knows about the subject at hand, not someone who’s rich.

A: Of course.

S: And when someone advises the Athenians about public health, they don’t care whether he’s rich or poor. They just look for someone who’s a doctor. 107c

A: That makes sense.

S: When would it be correct, then, for you to get up and advise them? On what subject of inquiry?

A: When they’re discussing their own business.

S: Do you mean the business of ship-building, such as what kind of ships they should get built?

A: No I don’t, Socrates.

S: Because you don’t know how to build ships. Is that why, or is there some other reason?

A: That’s the reason.

S: 107d Then what kind of business are you talking about?

A: When they’re deliberating about war or peace, Socrates, or any other aspect of the city’s business.

S: Do you mean deliberating about who to make peace or go to war with, and how to do it?

A: Yes.

S: Shouldn’t they make war or peace with those with whom it is better to do so?

A: Yes.

S: And when it’s better? 107e

A: Of course.

S: And for as long as it’s better?

A: Yes.

S: Okay. If the Athenians were deliberating about who to wrestle with, and who to just spar with, and how to do it, would you or a trainer give better advice?

A: A trainer, of course.

S: Can you tell me what the trainer would focus on when advising them to wrestle with some people but not others, and when and how to do so? For example, they should wrestle with those with whom it is better to do so, right?

A: Yes.

S: And to the extent that it is better? 108a

A: Yes.

S: And when it is better?

A: Absolutely.

S: What about the lyre? A singer has to play notes and take steps in time to the music, right?

A: Yes, he does.

S: At the moment when it is better?

A: Yes.

S: And to the extent that it is better?

A: I agree.

S: All right then. Since you used the word “better” for both skills—wrestling and singing to the lyre—108b what do you call “better” in the case of lyre playing? In the case of wrestling, I call it “athletic.” What do you call it, along the same lines, for the lyre?

A: Nothing comes to mind.

S: Just try to follow my example. My answer was that in every case “better” means “correct.” And “correct” presumably means “done with the relevant skill,” right?

A: Yes.

S: And wasn’t the skill in question athletics?

A: Of course.

S: 108c And I used the word “athletic” for what is better in wrestling.

A: That’s what you said.

S: Wasn’t it well said?

A: I think so.

S: Come on, now it’s your turn. After all, speaking well is presumably appropriate for you too. First, tell me what skill includes playing the lyre, singing, and moving correctly to the music. What’s this called as a whole? Can you still not say?

A: No, I can’t.

S: Try it this way. What goddesses are the patrons of this skill?

A: Do you mean the Muses, Socrates?

S: 108d Yes. Think, then: what word derived from the Muses do we use for this skill?

A: I think you mean “music.”

S: I do. What does it mean, then, to use this skill “correctly”? Answer the way I did before, when I talked about using the skill of athletics correctly. What do you say in this case? How is it done correctly?

A: When it’s done musically, I think.

S: Well said! All right then, when it comes to doing better in matters of war and peace, what do you mean by “better”? 108e In our previous examples you said that “better” means, in the one case, “more musical,” and in the other, “more athletic.” Try to say, in the same way, what it means in this further case.

A: I really can’t.

S: Suppose you were giving advice about food (saying this is better than that, and it’s better to eat it at a specific time and in a specific quantity), and someone asked, “What do you mean by ‘better,’ Alcibiades?” Surely it would be disgraceful if in that case you could answer that what is better is healthier, 109a even though you make no claim to be a doctor, but when it comes to something on which you do claim to be knowledgeable, about which you’re going to stand up to advise the Assembly as an expert—won’t you feel disgraced if, when asked about that, you have nothing to say, as seems likely? Won’t that appear disgraceful?

A: Absolutely.

S: Think about it then, and do your best to tell me. By what criterion do we decide what is better when it comes to making peace and waging war on the people that we should?

A: I am thinking, but I can’t figure it out.

S: Don’t you know the kind of injury we accuse each other of when we go to war, and what we say to justify taking such a step?

A: 109b Sure. We say we’ve been injured by deception, or violence, or theft.

S: Hold on! Injured how by these behaviors? Try to explain the different ways of being injured.

A: By “different ways” do you mean “rightly or wrongly,” Socrates?

S: Exactly!

A: Well that makes all the difference in the world.

S: Okay then. Which group will you advise the Athenians to make war on, wrong-doers or those who are behaving rightly?

A: 109c That’s a challenging question. Even if someone did intend to make war on people behaving rightly, he wouldn’t admit it.

S: Presumably because that’s not lawful.

A: It certainly isn’t. And I don’t think it’s admirable either.

S: So you too will appeal to these principles in your speech?

A: I’ll have to.

S: So here’s the answer to the question I was asking just now: what does “better” mean when deciding whether to go to war or not, and against whom to do so or not, and when to do so or not. It turns out that “better” actually means “more rightly.”

A: That’s what it looks like.

S: 109d What, my dear Alcibiades? Don’t you realize that this is something you don’t know? Or did I not realize that you learned about it after all, by seeing a teacher who taught you to tell the difference between right and wrong? Well, who is he? Do tell me! That way you can recommend me to him as a student.

A: You’re joking, Socrates.

S: No I’m not. I swear by the sacred bond of our friendship, which I would never, ever betray. Just tell me who he is, if you can.

A: 109e What if I can’t? Don’t you think I could know some other way about what’s right and wrong?

S: Yes, if you found out by yourself.

A: Well, don’t you believe I could have done that?

S: Certainly, if you looked into it.

A: So you don’t think I could have looked into it?

S: Sure I do, if you thought you didn’t already know.

A: So wasn’t there ever a time when I thought that?

S: 110a Well said! In that case, can you tell me just when it was that you thought you didn’t know about right and wrong? Come on! Were you looking into it last year, thinking you didn’t know? Or did you think at that time that you did know? Tell me the truth, or our conversation will be a waste of time.

A: I thought I did know, of course.

S: And the same goes for two years ago, or three, or four?

A: Yes.

S: But before that you were just a child, right?

A: Yes.

S: And I’m certain that back then you did think you knew.

A: What do you mean, you’re “certain”?

S: 110b When you were a child I often used to overhear you, at school and other places, playing dice or some other game. You certainly didn’t sound like someone who was confused about right and wrong. On the contrary, I’d hear you loudly and indignantly accusing some other child of wrongdoing, calling him a dirty rotten cheat. Isn’t this true?

A: But Socrates, what else was I going to do when someone wronged me?

S: You mean, what should you have done, if you didn’t actually know at the time whether you were being wronged or not?

A: 110c But I did know, by Zeus! It was perfectly clear to me that I was being wronged.

S: So even as a child, it looks like you thought you knew about right and wrong.

A: Yes. And I did know, too!

S: After finding out when, exactly? Presumably not during the time when you already thought you knew.

A: Of course not.

S: So when did you not believe that you knew? If you think about it, you’ll find there was no such time.

A: By Zeus, Socrates, I’ve nothing to say to that.

S: 110d So you don’t know about these things from finding them out by yourself.

A: It really doesn’t look like it.

S: But just now you also said that you knew without ever having learned them. If you didn’t learn them from anyone else, or find out by yourself, then how do you know them? Where did your knowledge come from?

A: Maybe I answered incorrectly, when I said I knew from finding them out by myself.

S: Then what did happen?

A: I learned just like anyone else, I think.

S: We’ve come round in a circle. Who did you learn from? Do tell me!

A: 110e People in general.

S: If you give the credit to people in general then you’re not relying on serious teachers.

A: Why not? Aren’t they capable of teaching?

S: They couldn’t even teach someone to make a good or bad move in checkers, and I think that’s less important than what is right. What? Don’t you agree?

A: Yes.

S: And if they can’t teach a less important subject, can they really teach a more important one?

A: Yes, I think they can. They can teach a lot of things more important than checkers, anyway.

S: Such as?

A: 111a Well, for example, I learned to speak Greek from people in general. I couldn’t name any particular teacher, but I credit those people that you don’t consider serious teachers.

S: Yes, my noble friend! People in general are good at teaching Greek. You’d be right to turn to them for this kind of instruction.

A: Why’s that?

S: Because on that subject they have something all good teachers need.

A: Which is?

S: You know that people who are going to teach anything at all must first know it themselves, right? 111b

A: Of course.

S: And if they really know something they must agree on it, not disagree?

A: Yes.

S: If there’s something they don’t agree on, would you say they know it?

A: Of course not.

S: Then how could they teach that subject?

A: There’s no way they could.

S: Well then. Do you think people in general disagree on what a stick or a stone is? 111c If you ask someone, they all agree on the answer, right? And when they want a stick or stone they all reach for the same thing? The same applies to anything of that kind. That’s more or less what I take you to mean by knowing or not knowing Greek. Right?

A: Yes.

S: So on this sort of thing they agree, as we said, both with each other and in their own minds. And our cities, as civic entities, don’t get into disputes with each other because they have different opinions on such matters?

A: No, they don’t.

S: So it makes sense that for these things people in general would make good teachers.

A: 111d Yes.

S: And if we wanted to make someone knowledgeable about this, we’d be right to send him to people in general for instruction?

A: Absolutely.

S: What if we wanted to know not just what a human being is, or a horse, but which ones would be good or bad at running? Would people in general be capable of teaching that?

A: Certainly not.

S: 111e And the fact that they completely disagree is sufficient evidence for you that they don’t really know about it and aren’t qualified to teach it?

A: It is.

S: What if we wanted to know not just what human beings are, but which ones are healthy or diseased? Would people in general be capable of teaching us that?

A: Certainly not.

S: And if you saw them disagreeing on the subject, that would be evidence that they were bad teachers?

A: Yes, it would.

S: Well then, when it comes to people or actions that are right or wrong, 112a do you think people in general agree, either with themselves or with each other?

A: Far from it Socrates, by Zeus!

S: In fact, don’t you think these are the things they agree on least of all?

A: Very much so.

S: I doubt you’ve ever seen or heard people disagreeing so fiercely about what is or isn’t healthy that they came to blows over it and killed each other.

A: Certainly not.

S: But when it’s a question of what’s right or wrong, I know you’ve heard of this happening112b—even if you haven’t seen it—from many sources, including Homer. You’ve listened to both the Iliad and the Odyssey, right?

A: Of course I have, Socrates.

S: Both poems are about a disagreement over whether something is right or wrong, aren’t they?

A: Yes.

S: And this disagreement brought fighting and death to the Greeks and, on the other side, to the Trojans, and also to Penelope’s suitors and Odysseus.

A: 112c True.

S: And when Athenians and Spartans and Boeotians died at Tanagra, and later at Coronea—where your own father met his end—the fighting and death were caused, I think, by a disagreement about precisely this, i.e. about right and wrong. Am I mistaken?

A: No, that’s true.

S: 112d Are we to say, then, that these people actually know about the things they disagree on, which they dispute so vehemently that they make each other pay the ultimate price?

A: Apparently not.

S: Isn’t this the kind of teacher you’re giving credit to, then? People who lack knowledge, as you yourself agree?

A: It looks like it.

S: How likely is it, then, that you know what’s right and wrong, when you vacillate like this on the subject, and obviously haven’t learned it from anyone or found it out by yourself?

A: Not likely, based on what you’re saying.

S: 112e You shouldn’t have said that, Alcibiades. Can you see why?

A: Said what?

S: You said I was making those statements.

A: Well, aren’t you saying I know nothing about right and wrong?

S: No, I’m not.

A: Oh, you mean I said it?

S: Yes.

A: How so?

S: Let me explain it this way: if I asked you which is more, one or two, you’d say two?

A: I would.

S: By how much?

A: By one.

S: So which of us is saying two is one more than one?

A: I am.

S: I asked the questions, and you answered, right?

A: Yes.

S: In this case is it obviously me, the questioner, who’s saying something, or you, the answerer? 113a

A: It’s me.

S: What if I ask you how to spell the name “Socrates,” and you tell me? Which of us is saying something?

A: I am.

S: Okay, now tell me in general terms. If two people converse using question and answer, which of them is saying something, the questioner or the answerer?

A: The answerer, Socrates, I think.

S: 113b And wasn’t I asking the questions all the way through our discussion?

A: Yes.

S: And you were answering them?

A: Absolutely.

S: So which of us was saying things?

A: It looks like I was, Socrates, based on what we just agreed.

S: On the subject of right and wrong, then, here’s what was said: Alcibiades, good-looking son of Clinias, doesn’t know about these things but thinks that he does, and is about to go to the Assembly to advise the Athenians on things he knows nothing about. Wasn’t that it?

A: 113c Apparently so.

S: So, Alcibiades, it follows that, in Euripides’ words, you probably “heard this from yourself, not me.” I’m not the person who said these things: you are. You can’t hold me responsible. But that doesn’t mean you misspoke: the project you have in mind is a crazy one, my excellent friend: undertaking to teach something you don’t know without bothering to learn it yourself.

A: 113d But Socrates, I think it’s rare for the Athenians and the rest of the Greeks to deliberate whether something is right or wrong. They think this kind of thing is clear, so they set it aside and consider, instead, what will benefit them in practice. Because I don’t think what’s right is the same as what’s beneficial. A lot of people have benefited from committing terrible wrongs, and others, I think, have done the right thing without benefitting personally.

S: 113e So? Let’s say that what’s right and what’s beneficial are as different as they could be. Surely you don’t think you know what is beneficial for human beings, and for what reason?

A: Yes I do, Socrates. Why shouldn’t I? Unless you’re going to ask me all over again who I learned from or how I found out by myself.

S: What a way to talk! If you say something incorrect, and this can actually be demonstrated using the same reasoning as before, you think you should hear something new and different. You demand another set of proofs, as if the earlier ones were worn-out old clothes and you won’t get dressed again unless someone brings you fresh, unsoiled evidence. 114a Shall I overlook your derailing of the argument and ask you, all the same, how you learned what’s beneficial and who your teacher was, in other words ask you all the same things as before, bundled into a single question? But if I do the outcome will clearly be the same. You won’t be able to demonstrate that you know what’s beneficial either because you learned it from someone or because you found out by yourself. But since you’re too pampered to enjoy the taste of the same old argument, I’ll set aside the question of whether you know or don’t know what benefits the Athenians. 114b Instead, why don’t you demonstrate to me whether what is right is the same as what is beneficial, or different? If you want, you can do it by questioning me, like I did you, or just talk through it on your own.

A: I don’t know if I’m capable of going through it in front of you.

S: Please, my friend, just think of me as the Athenian public in the Assembly. When you’re there you’ll have to convince each individual, right?

A: Yes.

S: 114c And if someone can convince people one by one, can’t he also convince them collectively, provided he knows what he’s talking about? A schoolteacher, for example, can presumably convince either an individual or a large group on the subject of letters?

A: Yes.

S: With numbers, too, won’t the same person be able to convince one student or a large group?

A: Yes.

S: And that person will be someone who knows the subject, i.e. an expert in arithmetic?

A: Absolutely.

S: Doesn’t this apply to you as well? If you’re able to convince a large group, won’t you also be able to convince just one person on the same subject?

A: I guess so.

S: And that subject will clearly be something you know about.

A: Yes.

S: 114d Then the only difference between an orator addressing the Assembly and one conversing the way we are now is that the first convinces people collectively, while the second does so individually?

A: Probably.

S: Okay then. Since it looks like anyone that can convince a large group can also convince an individual, why don’t you practice on me now? Try to demonstrate that what’s right is not always beneficial.

A: You’re a bully, Socrates!

S: Maybe, but my bullying is going to convince you of the opposite of what you were unwilling to convince me of.

A: Go ahead and talk, then.

S: Just keep on answering my questions.

A: 114e No! You do the talking.

S: What? Don’t you want to be well and truly convinced?

A: Of course I do.

S: And if you yourself say that something’s the case, won’t that mean you have been well and truly convinced?

A: I think so, yes.

S: Keep on answering then. And if you don’t hear from your own lips that what’s right is also beneficial, then don’t take it on faith from anyone else.

A: I won’t. In that case I’ll have to answer. But I don’t suppose it’ll do me any harm.

S: 115a You have prophetic powers! Now, tell me, are you saying some right actions are beneficial and some are not?

A: Yes.

S: Well then, are some of them admirable, and some not?

A: What do you mean?

S: I’m asking if you ever thought anyone behaved in a way that was disgraceful but also right.

A: No.

S: Rather, everything that’s right is also admirable?

A: Yes.

S: What about admirable things, then? Are they all good, or are some of them good, but not others?

A: In my opinion, Socrates, some admirable things are bad.

S: And some disgraceful things are good?

A: Yes.

S: 115b Is this the kind of thing you mean? Many people are wounded or killed in battle when going to the aid of a comrade or relative, while others, who don’t bring such aid when they should, get away unhurt.

A: Absolutely.

S: And you’d call this kind of assistance admirable, in that they tried to help those they should, which is courage. Right?

A: Yes.

S: But you’d also call it bad, right, in that they were wounded or killed?

A: Yes.

S: 115c Aren’t death and courage different things?

A: Absolutely.

S: So aiding one’s friends is both admirable and bad, but not in the same respect?

A: Apparently so.

S: Next, consider whether this kind of assistance is also good, at least in so far as it’s admirable, as in the example I used. After all, you agreed that it’s admirable in that it’s courageous. Look at courage itself, then: is it good or bad? Look at it this way: which would you rather have, good things or bad?

A: Good ones.

S: 115d And the greatest goods most of all?

A: Yes.

S: And this is the kind of thing you’d be least willing to be deprived of?

A: Of course.

S: What about courage, then? How much would you accept to be deprived of that?

A: I’d rather die than be a coward!

S: So you think cowardice is the ultimate evil.

A: I do.

S: As bad as death, apparently.

A: I agree.

S: Aren’t life and courage the polar opposites of death and cowardice?

A: Yes.

S: 115e And you’d want to have the first two most of all, and the second two least?

A: Yes.

S: Because you think the first two are best and the second two are worst?

A: Absolutely.

S: So you believe courage is one of the best things, and death one of the worst?

A: I do.

S: In so far as aiding your friends in battle is admirable, then, that’s because it involves something good, i.e. courage, which is why you called it admirable?

A: It looks like it.

S: But you also called it bad, because it involves something bad, i.e. death?

A: Yes.

S: Then this is the right way to talk about each outcome: if you call it bad in so far as it produces something bad, you must also call it good in so far as it produces something good. 116a

A: I think so, yes.

S: And in so far as it’s good, it’s admirable, but in so far as it’s bad, it’s disgraceful?

A: Yes.

S: So when you say aiding friends in battle is admirable but bad, that’s no different from calling it good but bad.

A: I think that’s true, Socrates.

S: So nothing admirable, in so far as it is admirable, is bad, and nothing disgraceful, in so far as it’s disgraceful, is good.

A: 116b Apparently not.

S: Here’s another way of looking at it. A person who’s doing admirably is also doing well, right?

A: Yes.

S: And those who do well thrive?

A: Of course.

S: And they thrive because they’ve got good things?

A: Absolutely.

S: And they obtain good things by doing well and admirably?

A: Yes.

S: So doing well is good?

A: Of course.

S: Isn’t good behavior admirable?

A: Yes.

S: 116c So once again the same thing has turned out to be both good and admirable?

A: It looks like it.

S: So if we find something admirable we’ll also find it good—based on this argument, at least,

A: Yes, we’ll have to.

S: Well then, are good things beneficial or not?

A: They are.

S: Do you remember what we agreed when we were talking about right and wrong?

A: I think it was that people who are behaving rightly must also be behaving admirably.

S: And vice versa?

A: Yes.

S: 116d And that good things must be beneficial?

A: Yes.

S: So, Alcibiades, what’s right is beneficial.

A: It looks like it.

S: What? Aren’t you the one who’s saying this, while I just ask questions?

A: It looks like I am, apparently.

S: Then if someone stands up to advise the Athenians, or even the Peparethians, thinking he understands what’s right and wrong, and states that what’s right is sometimes bad, wouldn’t you just laugh at him? 116e After all, you’re the one saying that what’s right and what’s beneficial are the same.

A: By the gods, Socrates, I don’t even know myself what I am saying! I feel weirdly disoriented. What I think changes from one moment to the next when you’re questioning me.

S: Don’t you know what’s wrong with you, my friend?

A: No, I don’t.

S: If someone asked, “Do you have two eyes or three?” or “two hands or four?” or anything else like that, do you think you’d answer differently from one moment to the next? Or would your answer always be the same?

A: 117a At this point I’m afraid of what I may be getting into, but I think it would be the same.

S: And isn’t that because you know the answers?

A: I think so, yes.

S: So if you give opposite answers about something, without meaning to, you clearly do not know about that subject.

A: I guess not.

S: You say you vacillate on the subject of what’s right or wrong, admirable or disgraceful, beneficial or not. Isn’t it clear that the reason you’re vacillating is that you don’t know about these things?

A: 117b Yes, it is.

S: Is this true in general, then: when someone doesn’t know something, his soul necessarily vacillates on that subject?

A: Of course.

S: Really? Do you know how to fly?

A: No I don’t, by Zeus!

S: Does your opinion on that also vacillate?

A: No.

S: Do you know the reason, or shall I tell you?

A: Tell me.

S: It’s because, my friend, you don’t think you do know how to do it, when you don’t.

A: 117c Again, what do you mean?

S: Look at it with me, as my partner. If you don’t know something, and realize you don’t know it, do you vacillate on that subject? I assume you know, for example, that you don’t know how to cook a meal.

A: Certainly not!

S: Do you have opinions about cooking, which vacillate, or do you just leave that to someone who knows how to do it?

A: I leave it to them.

S: 117d What if you were traveling by ship? Would you have opinions about whether to steer to port or starboard—opinions that vacillate because you don’t really know—or would you keep quiet and leave it to the pilot?

A: I’d leave it to the pilot.

S: So you don’t vacillate about things you don’t know, as long as you know you don’t know them?

A: I guess I don’t.

S: Are you aware that mistakes in behavior are caused by the same kind of ignorance, i.e. by thinking we know things when we don’t?

A: Again, what do you mean?

S: If we undertake an action, we do so, presumably, at a time when we think we know what we’re doing?

A: Yes.

S: 117e And when people don’t think they know how to do something, they hand it over to someone else?

A: Of course.

S: Such people lack knowledge but still live their life without mistakes, because they leave these things to others?

A: Yes.

S: Who makes mistakes, then? Presumably not people with knowledge.

A: 118a Certainly not.

S: If it’s not people with knowledge, and not those without it who know that they don’t know, who does that leave but people who don’t know but think that they do?

A: Nobody. Those are the ones.

S: So this is the ignorance that causes bad things, and this lack of knowledge is reprehensible?

A: Yes.

S: And when it concerns the most important things, that’s when it does the most harm and is most disgraceful, right?

A: Very much so.

S: Well, can you name anything more important than what is right and admirable and good and beneficial?

A: I certainly can’t.

S: And aren’t these the subjects on which you say you vacillate?

A: Yes.

S: 118b But if you’re vacillating, isn’t it clear, from what’s been said, that you are not only ignorant of the most important things but also think that you know them, even though you don’t?

A: Probably.

S: Wow, Alcibiades, you’re in a really bad way! I hesitate to spell it out, but since it’s just the two of us I have to say something. You’re wedded to the ultimate ignorance, my excellent friend—a crime of which you stand accused both by your own argument and from your own lips. That’s why you’re rushing into politics without getting a proper education. But you’re not the only one in such a state. The same applies to most people conducting this city’s business, except for a few—possibly including your guardian, Pericles. 118c

A: You know, Socrates, people say he didn’t become wise of his own accord, but by associating with a lot of wise people, including Pythoclides and Anaxagoras. Even now, at his advanced age, he spends time with Damon for the same reason.

S: Well, have you ever seen someone wise who was incapable of transmitting his wisdom to others? Take the person who taught you your letters, for example. He was both wise on that subject and able to make you that way, plus anyone else that he wanted to, right?

A: Yes.

S: 118d And you too, having learned from him, will be able to teach someone else?

A: Yes.

S: And the same goes for the lyre player and athletic trainer?

A: Absolutely.

S: Because if a knowledgeable person can demonstrate that he’s passed on his knowledge to someone else that’s good evidence, presumably, that he really is knowledgeable?

A: I think so, yes.

S: Well then, can you tell me who Pericles made wise? Let’s start with his sons.

A: But Socrates, both his sons turned out to be idiots.

S: Then what about your brother, Clinias?

A: Why bring up Clinias? He’s crazy!

S: Okay, if Clinias is crazy, and Pericles’ sons are idiots, what excuse shall we give him for letting you remain in such a state?

A: It’s my own responsibility, I think, for not giving it any thought.

S: 119a Well then, tell me anyone at all—Athenian or foreigner, free or enslaved—who is reported to have become wiser by spending time with Pericles. After all, I can tell you about Pythodorus, son of Isolochus, and Callias, son of Calliades, who spent time with Zeno: they each paid him 100 minae and have become famous for their wisdom.

A: I really can’t, by Zeus.

S: All right. Then what ado you intend to do about yourself? Remain in your current state, or take steps to improve yourself?

A: 119b Let’s consider that as partners, Socrates. But I do understand what you’re saying, and I agree. I don’t think the people conducting the city’s business, with a few exceptions, have had a real education.

S: Why do you say that?

A: If they had been educated, then anyone trying to compete with them would have to learn things and get into training before going up against them, as he would for an athletic contest. But since they’ve entered public life as ordinary citizens, why should I go to the trouble of training or learning? I’m certain that I’ll do far better than them, thanks to my natural ability.119c

S: Wow! What a thing to say, my excellent friend! How unworthy of your good looks and everything else you have going for you.

A: Why do you say that, Socrates? What’s your point?

S: You’re infuriating! And so is my passion for you!

A: Why’s that?

S: Because you think those people are your competition.

A: Who is, then?

S: 119d What a great question, for a man who thinks so highly of himself!

A: What do you mean? Are they not my competitors?

S: If you were intending to pilot a warship, on the brink of battle, would it be enough for you to be the most skillful pilot among your sailors? You’d assume that was necessary, of course, but wouldn’t you focus on your real competitors—the enemy—not on your fellow soldiers, the way you’re doing now? You’d have to be so much better than your own men that they wouldn’t even think of competing against you, 119e but would stand at your side—even though you look down on them—to compete together with you against the enemy. That’s if you really do intend to carry out some admirable exploit for everyone to see—something worthy of yourself and Athens.

A: That certainly is what I intend!

S: How worthy of you, then, to be content with surpassing your own men, instead of training to become better than the ordinary soldiers and then focussing on the leaders of your adversaries.

A: 120a Who are you talking about, Socrates?

S: Don’t you know that our city is constantly at war with Sparta or the Great King of Persia?

A: True.

S: If you intend to govern Athens, then, wouldn’t it be correct to think of yourself as competing against the kings of Sparta and Persia?

A: That’s probably true.

S: But oh no, my friend! You should definitely focus on Meidias the quail-fighter and people like that 120b—people who take on the city’s business even though they’re so uncultured that they haven’t rid their souls of the cropped hair of slavery—what women call a servile haircut—and still can’t speak proper Greek. They’re here to suck up to the city, not rule it. And these are the people you have to focus on, instead of improving yourself! Really? On the brink of such a serious contest shouldn’t you learn everything that can be learned, and train in the skills that require training 120c, and not enter public life until you are prepared in every possible way?

A: I do think what you say is true, Socrates. But I also think that the Spartan generals and the Persian king are no better than anyone else.

S: Take a closer look at your thinking, my excellent friend.

A: What about?

S: 120d First, do you think you would or would not make more of an effort to improve yourself if you were afraid of them and thought them intimidating?

A: Clearly I would, if that’s what I thought of them.

S: I assume you that don’t think improving yourself would do you any harm?

A: Far from it. I think it would do me a lot of good.

S: So that’s the first flaw in your thinking, and it’s a big one.

A: True.

S: The second is that it’s false. Look at it in terms of likelihood.

A: How do you mean?

S: 120e Are naturally gifted people more likely to be born in noble families, or ordinary ones?

A: In noble families, clearly.

S: Isn’t it likely that the naturally gifted, if they’re also brought up well, will grow up to be completely good?

A: They would have to, yes.

S: Then let’s compare our own situation with the kings of Sparta and Persia. First, do you think they come from humbler families? Don’t we know, in fact, that the Spartan kings are descended from Heracles and the Persian king from Achaemenes, both of whom trace their line back to Perseus, son of Zeus?

A: 121a Yes, Socrates. And my line goes back to Eurysaces, and his to Zeus.

S: Yes, noble Alcibiades. And my line goes back to Daedalus, and his to Hephaestus, son of Zeus. But their royal lineages, from the present all the way back to Zeus, consist exclusively of kings born from kings, some of them kings of Argos or Sparta, others of Persia and often of Asia too (as they are at the moment). But you and I are ordinary citizens, and so were our fathers. 121b If you had to make a speech to Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes, glorifying your ancestors and Salamis, the home of Eurysaces, or Aegina, the home of Aeacus even earlier, can you imagine how much laughter you would bring down on yourself?
Here’s another thing to consider. Those men don’t just have a loftier lineage than we do, but also a better upbringing. Or haven’t you heard what great advantages the Spartan kings enjoy? Their wives are guarded by the ephors at public expense, so that, as far as possible, no king can be secretly sired by anyone who is not of Heracles’ line. 121c The king of Persia is even more powerful, so much so that no one even suspects an heir could be sired by anyone but him. That’s why there’s nothing guarding the king’s wife, except fear. And when the eldest son, the heir to the throne, is born, first there’s a festival for all the king’s subjects, then every year, forever after, the whole of Asia celebrates his birthday with sacrifices and festivals. 121d But when we are born, Alcibiades, to quote the comic poet, “even the neighbors don’t hear a thing about it.”
Next, the royal heir is raised, not by a paltry female nurse but by the eunuchs considered the very best in the king’s household. They are tasked with improving the newborn. Among other things, they contrive to make the child grow up as good-looking as possible, by shaping and straightening his limbs. 121e And they’re honored highly for this work.
When the boys turn seven they are sent to learn horsemanship from the proper teachers and start hunting wild animals. When the heir turns fourteen he’s put into the care of people called the royal tutors. These are Persian men of mature age, selected because they’re thought to be the very best. There are four of them: the most wise, the most righteous, the most self-disciplined, and the most courageous. 122a The wisest teaches the boy the magic of Zoroaster, son of Horomazus (a form of religious worship); he also teaches him what a king needs to know. The most righteous teaches him to be truthful throughout his life. The most self-disciplined teaches him not to be governed by any pleasure whatsoever, so that he gets used to being a free man and a true king: one who in the first instance governs his own impulses rather than being enslaved to them. The most courageous trains him to be brave and fearless, in the belief that fear makes someone a slave.122b
Contrast your own situation, Alcibiades. The person Pericles put in charge of you, to be your tutor, was Zopyrus the Thracian, whose extreme age made him the least useful slave in the whole household. I could go on to describe the rest of your competitors’ upbringing and education, but it would be a big job, and in any case I’ve said enough to make the rest clear. But as for your birth, upbringing, and education, Alcibiades, and that of any other Athenian, virtually no one takes any care over it, unless someone happens to be in love with you.
Here’s another thing: if you want to look at the Persians’ wealth, their luxury, apparel, 122c flowing garments, exotic perfumes, vast retinues, and all the rest of their pampered decadence, you’d feel disgrace at your own situation, realizing just how far you fall short. On the other hand, if you want to look at the Spartans’ self-discipline and decorum, their fortitude, composure, high opinion of themselves, orderliness, courage, endurance, and love of hard work, victory and honor, you’d think yourself no better than a child in any of these respects.122d
Let’s not leave out your wealth either, in case you pay any attention to that, thinking it makes you something special. Perhaps this will make you realize where you stand. If you want to look at the Spartans’ wealth, you’ll realize that ours falls far short. As for all the land they own, in both Sparta and Messene, there’s not a single person in Athens who would dispute its abundance and richness or its wealth of slaves, especially the Helots, or indeed of horses, or the other herds pastured in Messene. 122e But even if we set all that aside, there’s more gold and silver in Sparta alone than the rest of Greece put together. It’s been flowing in over many generations, from all the Greeks and often from non-Greeks as well 123a, but it never flows out again. It’s just like what the vixen said to the lion in Aesop’s fable: the tracks of the money heading into Sparta are clearly visible, but no one can see them coming out. You can know for sure, then, that the Spartans are the wealthiest of the Greeks in gold and silver. And their king is the wealthiest of all, since such riches accrue to the kings most often and most abundantly. Added to that, the Spartans pay their kings a considerable sum in tribute.123b
Even though the Spartans’ wealth is vast compared to the rest of Greece, however, it’s nothing compared to that of the Persians and their king. I once met a trustworthy man who had traveled inland to the king’s court, and he told me he’d passed a very large, rich piece of land, nearly a day’s journey across, which the locals call “the queen’s belt.” 123c He told me there’s another place called “the queen’s veil,” and many other beautiful, rich areas, each named for a specific piece of raiment, which have been set aside to finance the adornment of the queen. So imagine if someone said to Amestris, mother of the king and wife of Xerxes, “Dinomache’s son intends to pit himself against your son. Her adornments are worth 50 minae at the very most, and he has less than 300 acres of land in Erchia.” 123d She would wonder, I think, what gives this Alcibiades person the confidence to compete with Artoxerxes. I think she’d say the only thing that can be making this man so confident is wisdom and self-improvement, since the Greeks have nothing else worth mentioning. But if she heard that this Alcibiades was behaving in such a way, first, before he’s even turned twenty, and second, without a real education; not only that, but, when the man who’s in love with him tells him he has to learn, and improve himself, 123e and go into training before trying to compete with the king, he doesn’t want to, and says he’s fine as he is—if she heard all that, I think she’d be surprised and ask, “Then what on earth gives this teenager his confidence?” And if we replied that it comes from being tall and good-looking, and from his noble birth, wealth, and natural gifts, she’d think we were crazy, Alcibiades, when she considered how much they have of everything like that. 124a I think Lampido, the daughter of Leotychides, wife of Archidamus, and mother of Agis—who were all Spartan kings—would be surprised too, considering all they’ve got going for them, if you intend to compete with her son after being brought up so badly. And yet, don’t you think it’s disgraceful if our enemies’ women understand better than we do ourselves what kind of people we need to be if we’re to take them on?
No, my carefree friend, put your trust in me and the Delphic inscription, and “know thyself.” 124b By which I mean, know that these are the people we are competing against, not the ones you had in mind. And the only way we’ll surpass them in any respect is by self-improvement and skill. If you come up short in these respects, you’ll also fall short of winning fame among Greeks and non-Greeks alike, and I think you’re more passionate about that than anyone ever was about anything.

A: Then how exactly should I improve myself, Socrates? Can you explain? Because it looks like what you said is absolutely true.

S: 124c Yes, I can. But let’s consider as partners how both of us can become as good as possible. Because I’m not saying that you need educating and I don’t. I’m no better than you, except in one way.

A: What’s that?

S: My guardian is better and wiser than your Pericles.

A: Who are you talking about, Socrates?

S: A god, Alcibiades, the one who wouldn’t let me talk to you until today. He’s what makes me confident that it is through me and no one else that your revelation will be made manifest.

A: 124d You’re kidding, Socrates.

S: Maybe. But I’m speaking the truth when I say that we need to improve ourselves. This applies to everyone, of course, but most especially to the two of us.

A: You’re not wrong, in my case.

S: Or in my own.

A: What should we do, then?

S: We must not hesitate or weaken, my comrade!

A: No, Socrates, that wouldn’t be appropriate.

S: 124e No it wouldn’t. So we must inquire together as partners. Tell me this: we say we want to become as good as possible, right?

A: Yes.

S: With what kind of goodness?

A: Clearly the kind that makes men good.

S: Men good at what?

A: Clearly at getting things done.

S: What kind of things? Do you mean horsemanship?

A: Certainly not.

S: Because for that we’d go to horsemanship experts?

A: Yes.

S: Do you mean seafaring, then?

A: No.

S: Because for that we’d go to seafaring experts?

A: Yes.

S: What kind of thing, then? Whose activities must we be good at?

A: Those of the Athenian elite.

S: 125a By “elite” do you mean people with or without understanding?

A: With understanding.

S: Isn’t each person good at what he understands?

A: Yes.

S: And if he doesn’t understand something, he’s useless at it?

A: Of course.

S: A cobbler understands about making shoes, doesn’t he?

A: Absolutely.

S: So he’s good at that?

A: Yes, he is.

S: But he lacks understanding about making clothes, right?

A: Yes.

S: 125b So he’s bad at that.

A: Yes.

S: So the same person is both good and bad, at least according to this argument.

A: It looks like it.

S: Are you saying good men can also be bad?

A: Certainly not.

S: Then who do you mean by “good men”?

A: I’d say those capable of governing in the city.

S: Not, presumably, governing horses?

A: Certainly not.

S: But rather, human beings?

A: Yes.

S: When they’re ill?

A: No.

S: Or sailing?

A: No.

S: Or harvesting?

A: No.

S: 125c When they’re doing nothing, or something?

A: Doing something.

S: Doing what? Try and make it clear to me too.

A: Living together, collaborating, and managing each other, as we do when we live in cities.

S: So you’re saying they govern people who manage other people?

A: Yes.

S: You don’t mean they govern the timekeepers who manage rowers?

A: Certainly not.

S: Because it’s pilots who are good at that?

A: Yes.

S: Then are you saying they govern pipe players, who head up a chorus and manage the dancers? 125d

A: Certainly not.

S: Because it’s chorus masters who are good at that?

A: Absolutely.

S: Then what do you mean, when you say they’re able to govern people who manage other people?

A: I’m talking about people who are involved in civic society and collaborate with each other. Those are the people in the city whom they govern.

S: What’s their skill, then? Suppose I asked you again, as I did just now, what skill gives someone the knowledge to govern people involved in seafaring?

A: The skill of a pilot.

S: 125e And what knowledge enables someone to govern people involved in choral song?

A: The knowledge you mentioned just now, that of a chorus master.

S: Well then, what do you call the knowledge that enables someone to govern people involved in civic society?

A: I’d call it the ability to give sound advice, Socrates.

S: Well then, do you think a pilot gives bad advice?

A: Certainly not.

S: In fact, his advice is sound?

A: 126a I think so, at least if the goal is to keep people safe during a voyage.

S: Well said! Okay then, this ability to give sound advice that you mentioned, what is its goal?

A: To regulate the city better and keep it safe.

S: And what needs to be present or absent for it to be better regulated and kept safe? For example, if you asked me “What needs to be present or absent for the body to be better regulated and kept safe?” I’d reply that health must be present and disease must be absent. Wouldn’t you agree?

A: Yes. 126b

S: And if you asked me next, “What needs to be present for eyes to be better?” I’d reply, along the same lines, that sight needs to be present, and blindness absent. Ears too: they’re improved and better cared for if deafness is absent and hearing is present.

A: Correct.

S: What about a city, then? What needs to be present or absent for it to be improved and better cared for and regulated?

A: 126c In my opinion, Socrates, this happens when there is mutual friendship among its members and an absence of hatred and discord.

S: By “friendship” do you mean agreement or disagreement?

A: Agreement.

S: What skill allows cities to agree about numbers?

A: Arithmetic.

S: Isn’t that also the case for ordinary citizens?

A: Yes.

S: And that’s also what allows each person to agree with himself?

A: Yes.

S: 126d What skill allows each person to agree with himself about whether a cubit is longer or shorter than a hands-width? Isn’t it measurement?

A: Of course.

S: And that’s also how cities and ordinary citizens reach agreement?

A: Yes.

S: And isn’t it the same with weight?

A: I’d say so.

S: Then this “agreement” you’re talking about, what is it? What’s it about, and what skill produces it? And is it the same thing in a city and an ordinary citizen, both internally and in regard to others?

A: I guess so.

S: 126e What is it then? Don’t get tired of answering. Do your best to tell me.

A: I think I mean the friendship and agreement between a loving father and mother and their son, or two brothers, or a husband and wife.

S: Do you think a husband and wife can agree about wool working, which is something she knows about but he doesn’t?

A: Certainly not.

S: And he doesn’t need to either: that’s a woman’s area of expertise.

A: Yes.

S: 127a Okay then, could a woman agree with a man about armed combat, even though she’s doesn’t know anything about it?

A: Certainly not.

S: You’d probably say that’s a man’s area.

A: I would.

S: So according to your argument, men and women have distinct areas of expertise?

A: Of course.

S: So there can’t be agreement between men and women, at least in these areas?

A: No.

S: So there can’t be friendship between them either, if friendship really is agreement.

A: Apparently not.

S: In so far as women operate in their own sphere, then, men can’t be friends with them?

A: 127b It doesn’t look like it.

S: And the same applies to men who operate in their sphere: women can’t be their friends.

A: No.

S: So when each group operates in its own sphere, cities are not well regulated?

A: No, Socrates, I think they are.

S: What? Even though they lack friendship? Didn’t we say that cities are well regulated if friendship is present and not otherwise?

A: But Socrates, I think this is exactly what gives rise to mutual friendship: the fact that each group operates in its own sphere.

S: 127c That’s not what you said before. So now what are you saying? Can there be friendship without agreement? Or can there be agreement on things that one group knows about and the other doesn’t?

A: No. That would be impossible.

S: And when each group operates in its own sphere, are they doing what is right or wrong?

A: What is right, of course.

S: When citizens in a city are doing what is right, then, doesn’t that produce mutual friendship?

A: Yes, Socrates, I think it must.

S: 127d Then what are you saying about friendship and agreement? You said that if we’re to be good men, friendship is a subject on which we must be wise and able to give sound advice. But I can’t figure out either what it is or who has it. Based on your argument, the same group of people clearly has it at some times but not at others.

A: By the gods, Socrates, I don’t even know what I’m saying myself! I’ve probably been in a thoroughly disgraceful state for ages, without realizing it.

S: Cheer up! If you didn’t come to this realization until you were fifty it would be difficult for you to improve yourself. 127e As it is, though, you’ve reached it at exactly the right age.

A: And now that I have, Socrates, what should I do next?

S: Just answer my questions, Alcibiades. If you do that, then, god willing—and if we should have any confidence in my prophecy—both you and I will attain a better state.

A: That will happen, if all I have to do on my end is keep answering.

S: All right then, what is self-improvement? After all, we often think we’re improving ourselves without realizing that in fact we’re not. 128a And when does someone do it? When he improves what belongs to him, is he also improving himself?

A: I think so, yes.

S: Okay then, when does someone improve his feet? Is it when he’s improving what belongs to his feet?

A: I don’t understand.

S: Would you ever say something “belongs” to a hand? For example, does a finger ring belong to any other part of a person than the finger?

A: Of course not.

S: And along the same lines, doesn’t a shoe belong to a foot?

A: Yes.

S: And clothes and bedding belong, similarly, to the body as a whole?

A: Yes. 128b

S: When we improve our shoes, then, are we improving our feet?

A: I don’t really understand, Socrates.

S: Okay then, Alcibiades. Would you say there’s a correct way to improve anything, no matter what?

A: I would.

S: When someone makes something better, wouldn’t you call that the correct way to improve it?

A: Yes.

S: What skill makes shoes better, then?

A: Cobbling.

S: So we use cobbling to improve our shoes?

A: Yes. 128c

S: And do we also use cobbling to improve our feet? Or do we use the skill that makes feet better?

A: The latter.

S: And that’s the same skill that improves the rest of the body, right?

A: I think so, yes.

S: And that skill is athletics?

A: Absolutely.

S: So we use athletics to improve our feet, but cobbling to improve what belongs to our feet?

A: Sure.

S: And athletics to improve our hands, but ring making to improve what belongs to our hands?

A: Yes.

S: And athletics to improve our bodies, but weaving and so on to improve what belongs to the body? 128d

A: Absolutely.

S: So in each case, the skill we use to improve something is different from the one we use to improve what belongs to it.

A: It looks like it.

S: So it’s not true that when you improve what belongs to you, you’re improving yourself.

A: Not at all.

S: Because it looks like we don’t use the same skill to improve both ourselves and our belongings.

A: Apparently not.

S: Okay then, what kind of skill would we use to improve ourselves?

A: I can’t say.

S: 128e Well, are we agreed on this much: it’s not the same skill that we would use to make anything belonging to us better, but one that makes us better ourselves?

A: True.

S: If we didn’t already know what a shoe was, could we know what skill makes shoes better?

A: That would be impossible.

S: Or what skill makes rings better, if we didn’t know what a ring was?

A: True.

S: Okay then. If we don’t know what we ourselves are, could we ever know what skill makes a person better?

A: That would be impossible. 129a

S: Is “knowing thyself” actually easy, then? Was it some nobody who had that inscribed on the temple at Delphi? Or is it difficult, and not for everyone?

A: I’ve often thought anyone can do it, Socrates, and often that it’s extremely difficult.

S: Well, Alcibiades, whether it’s easy or not, this is the state we’re in: if we know ourselves we may, perhaps, come to know how to improve ourselves, but if we don’t know that, then we never can.

A: That’s true.

S: 129b All right then, how can we go about discovering what “self” means? If we do that we may perhaps find out what we ourselves are, which is surely impossible as long as we don’t know the meaning of “self.”

A: Correct.

S: Hold on, by Zeus! Who are you having this conversation with? With me, right?

A: Yes.

S: And I’m conversing with you?

A: Yes.

S: So Socrates is doing the talking.

A: Absolutely.

S: And Alcibiades is doing the listening?

A: Yes.

S: And isn’t Socrates using words to talk?

A: Of course. 129c

S: I assume you’d say talking and using words are the same thing?

A: Absolutely.

S: But isn’t the user different from what he uses?

A: What do you mean?

S: For example, a cobbler presumably uses knives and other tools to cut leather.

A: Yes.

S: Isn’t the person using the tools to do the cutting different from the tools he uses to cut with?

A: Of course.

S: And isn’t the lyre player, in the same way, different from the instruments he uses for playing?

A: Yes.

S: 129d That’s what I meant just now, when I asked whether you think the user is always different from what he uses.

A: I think so, yes.

S: Going back to the cobbler, then, should we say he cuts leather only with his tools, or also with his hands?

A: Also with his hands.

S: So that’s something else he uses?

A: Yes.

S: And does he use his eyes, too, when he’s making shoes?

A: Yes.

S: But we agreed that the user is different from what he uses?

A: Yes.

S: 129e So are the cobbler and the lyre-player different from the hands and eyes that they use to do their work?

A: Apparently.

S: In fact, doesn’t a person use his whole body?

A: Absolutely.

S: But we established that the user is different from what he uses?

A: Yes.

S: So a human being is different from his body.

A: It looks like it.

S: What is a human being, then?

A: I can’t say.

S: Well you can say this much: it’s what uses the body.

A: Yes.

S: Is there anything that does that apart from the soul?130a

A: No.

S: And it does so by governing the body, right?

A: Yes.

S: And here’s another thing that I think anyone would accept.

A: What’s that?

S: That a human being is one of three things.

A: What things?

S: Soul, body, or the two combined into a whole.

A: Of course.

S: Well, didn’t we agree that the thing governing the body is the human being?

A: We did. 130b

S: And does the body govern itself?

A: No way.

S: Because we said that it “is governed.”

A: Yes.

S: So that can’t be what we’re looking for.

A: It doesn’t look like it.

S: So does the soul-body combination govern the body? Is that what a human being is?

A: Certainly—perhaps.

S: No, that’s the least likely candidate. Because there’s no way the combination could govern unless both its elements participate in governing.

A: Correct.

S: 130c So neither the body nor the soul-body combination is what a human being is. What’s left, I think, is that either it’s nothing at all, or else, if it is something, that something turns out to be nothing other than the soul.

A: I completely agree.

S: Do you need any clearer demonstration, then, that the soul is the human being?

A: No, by Zeus. I think this is sufficient.

S: It’s not very precise, but it’s good enough. 130d We’ll know about it more precisely when we discover something that we skipped over earlier because it required so much investigation.

A: What’s that?

S: What we said just now: that first we have to examine the meaning of “self.” Instead, we’ve examined each self individually. But perhaps that may be adequate. After all, I don’t suppose we’d call any aspect of ourselves more authoritative than the soul?

A: Certainly not.

S: Is this a good way to think about it, then: when you and I are talking to each other, one soul is using words to address another soul?

A: Absolutely. 130e

S: So this is what we were actually saying just now: Socrates is conversing with you, Alcibiades, using words that are addressed, apparently, not to your face but to Alcibiades himself, that is, to your soul.

A: That’s what I think.

S: So the person who commanded us to “know thyself” is really telling us to know our souls?

A: 131a It looks like it.

S: So someone who knows about an aspect of the body knows about things that belong to him, but doesn’t know himself?

A: Correct.

S: So no doctor knows himself, in so far as he’s a doctor; and no trainer, in so far as he’s a trainer?

A: It doesn’t look like it.

S: So farmers and other craftsmen are a long way from knowing themselves. Apparently their skills don’t even enable them to know about things that belong to them, only things that are even more distant. 131b Because they only know about things belonging to the body, which are used to care for it.

A: True.

S: So if knowing oneself is self-discipline, none of these people has become self-disciplined as a result of his skill.

A: I don’t think so, no.

S: That’s presumably why these skills are thought of as lower-class, not suitable to be learned by an elite man.

A: Absolutely.

S: Again, someone who cares for his body isn’t caring for himself, only for something that belongs to him?

A: Probably.

S: 131c But someone who cares for money is not caring for himself or what belongs to him, but for something even more distant?

A: I think so, yes.

S: So the money maker is no longer really operating in his own sphere?

A: Correct.

S: So if someone falls in love with Alcibiades’ body, he’s not really in love with Alcibiades, only with something that belongs to Alcibiades?

A: True.

S: But the person who’s in love with your soul is in love with you.

A: Based on the argument, it looks like that must be the case.

S: If someone’s in love with your body, won’t he vanish as soon as the flower of beauty starts to fade?

A: Obviously.

S: 131dBut someone who’s in love with your soul won’t give up, as long as you continue to improve?

A: I guess so.

S: That’s me! I’m the lover who won’t give up on you, but will stay at your side when your body starts to go downhill, after everyone else has left.

A: And a good thing too, Socrates. Don’t ever leave me!

S: Then do your best to be as admirable as possible.

A: I certainly will.

S: 131e Here’s the situation, then. It looks like there is not, and never has been, more than one man—one precious individual—who’s in love with Alcibiades, son of Clinias. That man is Socrates, son of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete.

A: True.

S: When I approached you earlier, didn’t you say I’d just beaten you to it? You’d been meaning to approach me first, because you wanted to find out why I was the only one who hadn’t given up on you?

A: That’s what I said, yes.

S: Well this is the reason: I was the only one in love with you. The rest were only in love with things belonging to you. Those things are passing their prime, but you are just coming into flower. 132a And now I’m never going to leave you, as long as you don’t get ruined by the Athenian public and disgrace yourself. This is my greatest fear: that you’ll be ruined by falling in love with the public. This has already happened to a lot of good Athenians. The progeny of “great-hearted Erechtheus”—I mean the Athenian public—has a pretty face, but you need to look at him without his clothes. So I suggest you take this precaution.

A: What precaution?

S: 132b Strip and get into training first yourself, my carefree friend. Go into public life only after learning what needs to be learned ahead of time, and not before. That way you’ll have an antidote, to prevent anything terrible from happening to you.

A: I think what you’re saying is right, Socrates. But please try and explain how we can improve ourselves.

S: We’ve already made this much progress: we’ve reached agreement—more or less—about what we are. We were afraid that if we got that wrong we’d be improving something else, without realizing it, instead of ourselves.

A: That’s true.

S: 132c Next we agreed we should improve our souls—that this should be our focus.

A: Clearly.

S: And we should give other people the job of improving our bodies and property.

A: Of course.

S: How, then, can we come to know the soul most clearly? Because it looks like if we know this, we’ll also know ourselves. But wait! By the gods, are we misunderstanding that eloquent Delphic inscription, which we mentioned just now?

A: Why do you say that, Socrates? What are you thinking?

S: 132d I’ll tell you what I suspect the inscription is saying and advising us to do. There’s probably only one good model for this, and that’s sight.

A: How do you mean?

S: You think about it too. Suppose the inscription spoke to one of our eyes, as if it were a human being, and said “see yourself.” What advice would we take it to be giving? That the eye should look at the thing in which it’s going to see itself, right?

A: Yes, clearly.

S: 132e Is there anything we can think of that we can look at if we want to see both it and ourselves at the same time?

A: Clearly you mean mirrors, Socrates, and things like that.

S: Correct. And isn’t there something of the same kind in the eye with which we see?

A: Absolutely.

S: 133a Have you ever noticed that when you look at someone’s eye your own face appears in the reflective surface of that eye, as if in a mirror? We call that the pupil or “doll,” since it’s a miniature likeness of the person who’s looking.

A: True.

S: So by gazing at another eye, and looking into the best part of it—the part it sees with—an eye can see itself?

A: Apparently so.

S: But it won’t see itself if it looks at any other part of a human being or at anything else, except something that resembles the eye.

A: 133b True.

S: So if an eye’s going to see itself it must look at another eye, specifically at the region where an eye’s goodness is located. And that, presumably, is sight?

A: Yes.

S: Along the same lines, then, my dear Alcibiades, if the soul’s going to know itself, it must look at a soul, and especially at the region where a soul’s goodness—i.e. wisdom—is located, or at something else that resembles the soul.

A: I think so, Socrates.

S: 133c Is there any aspect of the soul that we could call more godlike than its concern with knowledge and understanding?

A: No.

S: So this aspect of the soul is like a god, and anyone who looks at it and comes to know the godlike as a whole—both god and understanding—will also attain the best knowledge of himself?

A: Apparently so.

S: So then, just as a mirror is clearer than the reflector in the eye, and purer and brighter, in the same way the god is actually purer and brighter than the best aspect of our soul?

A: So it appears, Socrates.

S: By looking at the god, then, we would be using that most beautiful of mirrors, and in the human realm we’d do the same by looking at the goodness of the soul, and that’s how we would most successfully see and know ourselves?

A: Yes.

S: But we agreed that self-knowledge is the same as self-discipline?

A: Absolutely.

S: If we don’t know ourselves, then, and aren’t self-disciplined, could we ever know what belongs to us, whether good or bad?

A: That would be impossible, Socrates.

S: 133d Perhaps that’s because, in your view, it would be impossible for anyone who doesn’t know Alcibiades to know that what belongs to Alcibiades is his.

A: Utterly impossible, by Zeus!

S: So if we don’t know ourselves, we can’t know that what belongs to us is ours, either?

A: How could we?

S: But if we don’t even know what’s ours, then we also can’t know what belongs to the things that are ours?

A: Apparently not.

S: So we weren’t entirely correct when we agreed just now that some people know themselves without knowing what is theirs, and others know what belongs to the things that are theirs. It looks like all these things fall under the purview of a single person and a single skill: 133e oneself, what is ours, and what belongs to the things that are ours.

A: Probably.

S: And, on the same principle, presumably someone who doesn’t know what’s his won’t know what belongs to other people?

A: Of course not.

S: And if he doesn’t know what belongs to other people, he won’t know what belongs to cities either?

A: He couldn’t.

S: So a man like that can’t become expert at politics?

A: Certainly not.

S: Or at managing a household?

A: Certainly not. 134a

S: And he won’t know what he’s doing, either?

A: No, he won’t.

S: And won’t someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing make mistakes?

A: Absolutely.

S: And because he makes mistakes, he’ll do badly in both private and public life, won’t he?

A: Of course.

S: And if he does badly won’t he be miserable?

A: Very much so.

S: What about the people he has dealings with?

A: Them too.

S: So it’s impossible for anyone to thrive without being self-disciplined and good.

A: 134b Impossible.

S: So bad people are miserable.

A: Very much so.

S: So it’s not by getting rich that a person avoids misery, but by practicing self-discipline.

A: It looks like it.

S: So, Alcibiades, cities don’t need walls, or triremes, or dockyards if they’re to thrive, or numbers or magnitude, unless they have goodness.

A: They certainly don’t.

S: 134cSo if you’re really going to conduct the city’s business correctly and admirably, you must distribute goodness among the citizens.

A: Of course.

S: Can anyone distribute something he doesn’t have?

A: How could he?

S: So you must first obtain goodness yourself, and so must anyone else who’s going to govern and improve not just himself and his private life but the city and public life.

A: True.

S: So what you must obtain, for yourself and the city, is not the power to use governing to do whatever you want, but righteousness and self-discipline.

A: Apparently so.

S: 134d Because if you and the city do what is right and self-disciplined, you will both be pleasing the gods.

A: I guess so.

S: And as we said earlier, you’ll be acting with your eyes turned towards what is radiant and divine.

A: Apparently so.

S: Very well then, if you look in that direction you will attain vision and knowledge, both of yourselves and of what is good for you.

A: Yes.

S: And won’t you then behave correctly and well?

A: Yes.

S: 134e Very well then, if you behave like that you have my personal guarantee that you will thrive.

A: That’s a guarantee I can rely on!

S: But if you do what is wrong, looking towards what is dark and godless, your behavior will most likely be dark and godless too, because you will lack self-knowledge.

A: It looks like it, yes.

S: Because, my dear Alcibiades, if someone has the power to do whatever he wants, in private or public life, but lacks understanding, what’s likely to happen? 135a For example, if a sick man has the power to do whatever he wants but doesn’t understand medicine, and is so tyrannical that no one can criticize him, what’s going to happen? Isn’t it likely that his health will be completely ruined?

A: True.

S: Or on a ship, if someone had the power to do what he thought best, but lacked a good pilot’s understanding, can you see what would happen to him and his fellow sailors?

A: I certainly can. Everyone would die.

S: Doesn’t the same apply to a city, and any situation that involves governing and power? Without goodness, bad behavior will result.135b

A: Yes, it has to.

S: If you’re going to thrive, then, my excellent Alcibiades, you must obtain goodness, not tyranny, for both yourself and the city.

A: True.

S: And until he has goodness, it’s better for a man—not just a child—to be governed by someone better than himself, rather than governing others.

A: Apparently so.

S: And isn’t what’s better also more admirable?

A: Yes.

S: And what’s more admirable is more appropriate?

A: 135c Of course.

S: So it’s appropriate for a bad person to be enslaved, because it’s better that way.

A: Yes.

S: So badness is appropriate to the enslaved.

A: Apparently.

S: And goodness to the free.

A: Yes.

S: Shouldn’t we run, my comrade, from anything appropriate to slaves?

A: Absolutely, Socrates.

S: Are you aware of the state you’re in now? Is it appropriate to a free man, or not?

A: I think I’m very well aware of it.

S: Then do you know how to escape your current predicament? (I won’t embarrass a good-looking man like you by naming it.)

A: 135d I do.

S: How?

A: I can do it if you want, Socrates.

S: Don’t say that, Alcibiades.

A: What should I say, then?

S: That you can do it if god wills it.

A: That’s what I’m saying, then. But I’ll add this: the two of us will probably be switching roles, Socrates, with me taking your place and you mine. There’s no way I won’t be following you around from this day forward; you will be the one to have me as your constant attendant.

S: 135e So my passion for you will be like a stork, my noble friend: after hatching a winged passion in you, it will be cared in turn for by its offspring.

A: It certainly will! I’m going to improve my understanding of right and wrong, starting today.

S: I do want you to achieve that, but I’m very much afraid that you won’t. It’s not that I lack confidence in your natural gifts; but I can see how strong the city is. In the end, it may defeat both me and you.

Commentary

#cultural #philosophical Below, beginning at 104a6, we find Socrates emphasizing Alcibiades’ familial advantages. Addressing him here—in the very first words of the dialogue—as “child of Kleinias” (rather than using the standard patronymic) may be a way of bringing out Alcibiades’ apparent reliance on his family as a basis for his political ambitions.

#translation #philosophical “Wonder” here translates θαυμάζειν, a word that also appears later in Socrates’ opening speech (104c4). The word frequently also has the sense of “marvel.” There may then be a question as to whether Socrates is suggesting that Alcibiades is admiring—marveling at—Socrates’ behavior or puzzled about it. The 104c4 usage—wondering about what Socrates might have in mind—suggests at least some puzzlement is involved.

#translation #philosophical Alternatively, we might translate: “a human—but rather a certain divine—impediment,” taking both “human” and “divine” with “impediment.” In the background is a question about whether Socrates is suggesting that the candidate causes are all of the impediment sort—that impediments are the sorts of causes that best explain the behavior he has been describing so far. The implication would be that it is not some other kind of cause—thinking it best, having one’s attention somewhere else, being appalled by Alcibiades—that explains why Socrates has kept away. The only thing that could keep him away is some sort of impediment—and the question is just whether it is human or divine.

#translation #philosophical The word we here translate “optimistic,” εὔελπις, is related to the word ἐλπίς, which occurs seven more times in the next two Stephanus pages. ἐλπίς is often translated “hope” or “expectation,” while εὔελπις is often translated “hopeful,” “confident,” or (our choice) “optimistic.”
What is at stake here? We might wonder whether Socrates is making a definite prediction that the god will continue to allow him to speak with Alcibiades, or whether Socrates is expressing a mere hope that the god will do so. Socrates, at 105e, gives a theory for why the god had previously prevented him from speaking to Alcibiades, and why the god was no longer preventing him: it is only once Alcibiades’ political ambitions have grown in strength that Socrates’ conversations with Alcibiades will not be “pointless.” If Socrates’ aim in speaking with Alcibiades is to convert him to a life of virtue (as is suggested by 134b7–135c9), Socrates may only be in a position to be confident about what the god will allow in the future if he is in a position to be confident that Alcibiades will continue to be in a state where attempts to convert him to a life of virtue have some chance of success. The closing lines of the dialogue may undermine this expectation: after Alcibiades announces his intent to care for justice from here on out, Socrates says that he is “gripped by fear” not because he does not trust Alcibiades’ character, but because he fears that the strength of the city will be too much for Alcibiades to resist. Socrates thus envisions a possible future where Alcibiades is seriously corrupted.

#philosophical In what follows, Socrates goes on to enumerate various “possessions” that Alcibiades is proud about. Different readings of that list are available: Alcibiades might well hear it as praising him for his many advantages, but the audience may hear it in a more negative way, especially if they think that the advantages Alcibiades is so proud of are not the most important ones. On this point, it is interesting to note that in the next sentence Socrates describes Alcibiades as taking himself to have advantages of both body and soul—but then describes Alcibiades as beautiful, tall, well-connected, and rich, none of which obviously have to do with his character, intellect, or any other psychological traits.

#translation Here and throughout, “person” translates ἄνθρωπος, which can be used both in the sense of “human” and in the sense of “person” or “individual,” which is often the more straightforward rendering in this dialogue (see further the note on ψυχή, 104a4). Note however the ἀνθρώπειον at 103a5, and the contrast between the human and divine in that passage—which might suggest here that Alcibiades may welcome divine help even if we humans have nothing to offer him. (Welcoming divine help would not imply subservience to the gods: at 105c, Alcibiades is portrayed as rejecting any divine constraint on his power.)

#otherPlato It is interesting to compare this list with the one at the start of Republic 6, starting at 485a, of the qualities that belong to philosophic natures and suit them for rule in the city. That list—unlike this one—includes traits such as good memory and quickness of learning.

#translation “Soul” here translates ψυχή—a root that also appears in the English “psychological.” Other possible translations thus might include “your possessions, from your body right through to your mind” or “your possessions, from the bodily ones to the psychological ones.” A. A. Long has also argued that “Plato in his ‘psychology’ [...] was strongly motivated by a wish to establish the credentials of a concept that we can liken to the concept of a person” (‘Platonic Souls as Persons,’ in Selfhood and Rationality in Ancient Greek Philosophy: From Heraclitus to Plotinus, 145.) Long particularly emphasizes “the distance of the Platonic psychê from a biological principle, the constant focus on its normative activity, and the standard identification of psychê with the way human beings use their lives” (158). For a general discussion of ancient theories of ψυχή, see Hendrik Lorenz’s ‘Ancient Theories of Soul’ in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.) As Lorenz notes, “From Homer to the end of the fifth century, the word ‘soul’ undergoes remarkable semantic expansion, in the course of which it comes to be natural not only to speak of soul as what distinguishes the living from the dead and (not the same distinction) the animate from the inanimate, but also to attribute to the soul a wide variety of activities and responses, cognitive as well as emotional, and to think of it as the bearer of such virtues as courage, temperance and justice.” As this passage—and the rest of the dialogue suggests—the crucial contrast is often between a human being’s body and their ψυχή.

#translation Here “beautiful and tall” translates κάλλιστός τε καὶ μέγιστος. κάλλιστός is the superlative form of καλός (translated “beautiful” or “admirable” below); μέγιστος is the superlative form of μέγας (translated in most other instances, including in this opening passage, as “great”). As Denyer notes, the emphasis here seems to be on Alcibiades’ attractive appearance—a context in which “[s]ize no less than shapeliness was regarded as an important aspect of an attractive physique” (86).

#translation The Greek word here is νεανικότατος. Its most basic meaning is “most youthful.” As a result, it can have both positive connotations (“most healthy,” “most powerful”) and negative ones (“most forceful,” “brashest”).

#translation #cultural The Greek word here, μέγιστος, can also be read more neutrally as “biggest.” Athens was indeed among the largest Greek city-states during Alcibiades’ time. See the Oxford Classical Dictionary entry on ‘population, Greek’ for more information on the demography of ancient Greece.

#cultural Pericles (c. 495–429 BCE) was the leading Athenian statesman of the 5th century BCE, dominating Athenian politics for roughly three decades during the period often called the Golden Age of Athens. He championed democracy, expanded the powers of ordinary citizens through institutions like the juried courts, and oversaw the program that produced the Parthenon and other monuments on the Acropolis, largely funded through the treasury of the Delian League. He was also the architect of Athens’ strategy at the outset of the Peloponnesian War against Sparta, though he died of the plague that swept through the city in 429 BCE, early in that conflict.
Pericles had two legitimate sons with his first wife (a relative whose name isn’t recorded): Xanthippus and Paralus. Both died in the plague that eventually killed their father, a loss Plutarch describes as devastating to Pericles, reportedly breaking down in grief even as he tried to maintain public composure. He also had a third son, Pericles the Younger, with his longtime companion Aspasia of Miletus. Because Pericles himself had sponsored a citizenship law in 451 BCE restricting Athenian citizenship to those with two Athenian parents, this son was technically ineligible for citizenship; the Athenian assembly later granted a special exemption legitimizing him, reportedly out of sympathy after Pericles lost his other sons.
Plutarch says that Xanthippus, Pericles’ elder legitimate son, was a source of trouble for Pericles. He is described as extravagant and resentful of his father’s control over the family’s finances, quarreling with him over money and borrowing under false pretenses to cover his debts. When Pericles refused to indulge this behavior, Xanthippus retaliated by publicly mocking him and spreading gossips about his household. Pericles the Younger, in turn, served as one of the Athenian generals at the Battle of Arginusae in 406 BCE, and was among those condemned and executed by the assembly for failing to recover shipwrecked sailors and the dead after a storm, in an episode seen already in antiquity as a miscarriage of justice driven by public anger.

#translation The Greek word here is γένος. It is the same word translated above as “family.” As the Oxford Classical Dictionary entry puts it, “the word genos was widely and variously used in Greek of all periods to denote ‘species’, ‘genus’, ‘sort’, ‘category’, ‘birth’, ‘kin’, ‘race’, ‘lineage’, ‘family’, ‘generation’, ‘posterity’, etc.” For more on γένος and its relation to the modern concept of race, see Kamtekar (2002) and Lape (2010).

#translation Here, talk of having something among one’s sources of pride translates μέγα φρονεῖν, which can mean to “take pride in” or “be presumptuous.” The expression, which is common, incorporates the word μέγα, which occurs frequently in this passage and is generally translated as “great.”

#translation #philosophical The sort of love Socrates is talking about here is ἔρως—passionate or erotic love. In Plato’s time the term often denotes romantic love and sexual attraction, but Plato himself has Socrates use it much more broadly, in ways that are meant to question accepted views about its nature, its objects, and its role in our lives. The sort of love ἔρως reflects is to be distinguished from the sort of love picked out by φιλία (often rendered “friendship”) which is a kind of affection or good will that might be displayed by citizens of some city, family members, or any two individuals who care for each other in some way (φιλία will be characterized as a kind of agreement or like-mindedness below, 127a12).
Socrates’ ἔρως for Alcibiades is on display at key junctures in the dialogue—for instance at 119c5, when Socrates claims to be infuriated with his love for Alcibiades, and at 131d1, when it is revealed that true love for Alcibiades must be directed at his soul rather than his body or other possessions, and that its being directed at his soul explains the persistence of Socrates’ interest in Alcibiades, which is being characterized as puzzling in this opening exchange.
Plutarch reports (Life of Alcibiades ch.16) that Alcibiades had a golden shield depicting Eros holding a thunderbolt in place of any hereditary mark—and that this was thought to capture his indecent, tyrannical character.
For more on ἔρως and its role in Plato, see for instance Kraut (2019), Obdrzalek (2022), or Sheffield (2006).

#translation #philosophical The word we here translate “expectation,” ἐλπίς, can also be translated “hope” (as it is in the first read translation). It occurs seven times in the next two Stephanus pages, to describe Socrates’ ἐλπίς with respect to his relationship with Alcibiades and Alcibiades’ ἐλπίς with respect to his political career, and then entirely drops out of the dialogue. (See also the note on the related term, εὔελπις, at 103b1) Early uses of ἐλπίς in this portion of the dialogue are not easily pinned down: we can hear Socrates either as asking what hope he could have that keeps him persisting or what expectation he could have that keeps him persisting. However, Socrates also here describes himself as having intentions with respect to Alcibiades, something that seems hard to understand if Socrates merely has hopes but does not assess himself as having any meaningful prospects for success. Furthermore, by the time we get to the discussion of Alcibiades’ political ἐλπίς in 105d–e, we seem to be describing an Alcibiades who is brimming with ambitions that he takes himself to be en route to achieving—not merely an Alcibiades who has certain wishes or hopes. We have translated “expectation” throughout because it captures that latter range of cases better—but see the note on ἐλπίζω at 105e2, which is a difficult case for “expectation” and may support “hope” throughout.

#translation Here “very careful” translates ἐπιμελέστατα, a superlative related to ἐπιμέλεια, which can mean “diligence,” “attention,” “self-cultivation,” or “(self-)care,” and is a central theme in the dialogue. For more on the term and its importance, see the note at 119a9. Throughout our translation, we render these and related terms as “care” or “self-care” (and variants).

#translation The Greek term here is πρᾶγμα, which can mean “things,” “dealings,” “business,” and “affairs.” Below this term will be translated into English with the terms “affair” or “thing” to fit the context.

#translation The sense of “must” (δεῖ) here is “it is necessary that,” rather than “you are obligated to.” It indicates that Alcibiades will go on to rule in Europe (but not Asia) of necessity.

#Greektext This text is bracketed in the OCT and Denyer. Including it seems to make little difference to the meaning here.

#cultural This is a rare double parental reference. It may be related to the enumeration of benefits coming from both families earlier. Socrates refers to himself this way later, in 131e.

#Greektext Bracketing the extraneous ὅτι, as does the OCT text (the ὅτι does not appear in Proclus).

#translation #philosophical There are some difficulties with our translation of ἐλπίζω as “expect” here (see our note on 104c for a justification of that translation choice). At the end of the dialogue, Alcibiades pledges to follow Socrates and to begin to care for justice—and Socrates says he is gripped by fear that the city will overpower Alcibiades and stop him from doing so (135d). That is to say, Socrates there expresses a fear that the city, not Socrates, will have the greatest power over Alcibiades—somewhat difficult to understand if Socrates expects to have the greatest power over Alcibiades.
What can we say about this? One option might be to translate with “hope” rather than “expect,” though that would require either translating with “hope” just above at 105d7 as well or to take it to change its meaning in a short span of text. Another option is to take Socrates to discover something about Alcibiades in the course of the dialogue that undermines his expectation to be able to acquire the greatest power over him. It is worth noting, however, that at 135d Socrates says that he is not afraid because of any distrust of Alcibiades’ nature, but simply because of the great power of the city.

#philosophical Socrates earlier described Alcibiades as claiming that he didn’t need any person for anything (104a); if that is right, Socrates is planning to radically shift Alcibiades’ orientation to the world by making Alcibiades reliant on him. However, that same passage went on to list Alcibiades’ family connections as some of his most important advantages, suggesting that Alcibiades may in fact already need to rely on others for the power he seeks.

#philosophical Socrates here tells us that the god is now allowing him to speak with Alcibiades precisely because Alcibiades is now so ambitious that he might listen to Socrates. This raises two questions. First, why do Alcibiades’ ambitions mean he might start listening to Socrates? Second, why would the god stop Socrates from speaking with Alcibiades if Alcibiades were not ambitious?
Here are three possibilities for answering the first question. First, we might think that Alcibiades’ ambitions are so extreme that he will easily be brought to see that he needs Socrates’ help. (Though it is worth noting that Alcibiades seems to think he doesn’t need anyone else’s help.) Second, we might think that Alcibiades’ ambitions are so extraordinary that they will be hard for others to predict; the fact that Socrates recognizes them is surprising and compelling to Alcibiades, which makes him interested in speaking more with Socrates. Third, Socrates generally converses with people who think they know what they don’t (see Apology 20d–23b for a description of this as a service to the god). In Alcibiades’ case, his belief that he knows what he does not in fact know may be connected to his ambition. For example, Alcibiades’ ambition to gain power in the city may make him believe he is in a good position to advise the city and thus that knows what is best for the city, even though he does not know this.
Here are two possibilities for answering the second question. Socrates here suggests that the god doesn’t permit him to speak with Alcibiades for fear that the conversation will be pointless. Perhaps Alcibiades is so proud that he would reject Socrates as a suitor or a teacher—as, indeed, he has done with all his other suitors—without some extremely strong reason to engage with him, a strong reason which his ambition provides. (See the note on 119b7–c1 where Alcibiades is unmotivated to address his ignorance until Socrates points out how well-educated the leaders of Sparta and Persia are.)
One puzzling feature about the explanation given in the text is that Socrates speaks with people who are not as ambitious as Alcibiades in other dialogues—and, indeed, seems to somewhat regularly have pointless conversations, at least in the sense that Socrates seems not to have made progress in understanding the topic under discussion and that his interlocutors seem to have no interest in acquiring the knowledge they have been shown to lack. (See, e.g., the end of the Euthyphro, where Euthyphro tells Socrates he’ll tell him what piety is some other time, but has somewhere else to be just now (15d).) Is there any reason why the god might allow Socrates to have pointless conversations with others, but not with Alcibiades? One possibility is that there are specific dangers for Socrates in speaking with Alcibiades that are not present in Socrates’ other conversations, perhaps because of Socrates’ love of Alcibiades. Here it is worth noting that the dialogue concludes with a fear that the city will overpower “you and me both;” if Socrates’ love for Alcibiades is part of his reason for fearing that the city will overpower him as well, this may give the god reason to stop Socrates from speaking to Alcibiades unless there is reason to think Socrates could reach Alcibiades.

#philosophical #otherPlato Socrates’ first move here—asking Alcibiades whether Alcibiades is asking whether Socrates can make a long speech—might come as a bit of a surprise. Why does Socrates start in this way? What role does it play in the conversation that follows? One answer might be that it encourages reflection on the roles—including those of teacher and student—that Socrates and Alcibiades are going to play, and what those roles are like. (Do teachers make long speeches?) Another might be that it establishes a kind of rapport or relationship between Socrates and Alcibiades: Socrates already knows what Alcibiades is used to hearing. But even if we accept these answers, there is still a puzzle here: Socrates has just made two very long speeches (103a1–104c6 and 104e4–106a1)—a fact that this remark seems calculated to draw attention to. In other dialogues, Socrates famously denies that he can make long speeches—and then sometimes goes on to give them (see e.g. Protagoras 335c and following).
Denyer (99) notes that the phrase λόγος μακρός “was used in particular for the shifty ramblings of a slave” (Eur. IA 313, Arist. Met. 1091a7–9; cf. Simonides fr. 653 PMG).

#philosophical This likely refers back to the claim, at 106a, that Alcibiades needs Socrates for his plans.

#translation The contrast here is with long speeches. As Denyer notes: βραχύς has a particular use for the short answers that Socrates likes to receive (Prt. 334d, 334e 335a, 336a; Grg. 449a, 449b–c; Minos 321c).

#philosophical Here too Socrates may be establishing a kind of relationship between himself and Alcibiades, with Alcibiades in the subordinate role.

#philosophical Alcibiades insists here that the favor not be difficult to grant. This is especially striking given that Alcibiades ought to want to know the answer to the question of how Socrates can help him achieve his ambitions.

#philosophical Why might it be so important for Socrates to ask this question—checking whether he can make this assumption before proceeding? Olympiodorus offers several intriguing answers about why, more generally, Socrates “makes the second of [the requests] that we pointed out – I mean, that [Alcibiades] answer his questions” (56, trans. Michael Griffin). One is that “Socrates did not want to draw dead and unbreathing words from him, but (so to speak) active and living [words], suitable to people engaged in dialectic” (56). Another is that “Socrates, being a lover, wants to embrace his beloved; and the dialogue form is similar to an embrace” (56). Another is “that, as he says in the Phaedrus, ‘it is necessary for the speech (logos) to resemble a living being (zôiôn)’; and it follows that the best-constructed speech must resemble the best of living beings.” Yet another is that “the form of question and answer is stimulating and tends to revert [the soul back upon itself]”—“So Socrates, who wants to revert Alcibiades [to attend to his own soul], asks him to answer his questions” (56–7).

#philosophical For Alcibiades to be a legitimate advisor, there should be some domain or subject matter about which he offers advice, and he must understand this domain or subject matter better than those he advises. In Republic 4.428b7–d3 as well, Socrates indicates that judiciousness (εὐβουλία) or making good judgments (εὖ βουλεύεσθαι) requires understanding (ἐπιστήμη) about the relevant domain or subject matter. Alcibiades’ claim to knowledge sets the stage for the discussion to follow.

#philosophical #translation Plato’s knowledge vocabulary can be flexible. Plato switches from ἐπίστασθαι above (“to understand,” 106c8) to εἰδέναι here (“to know”). This need not indicate a change in the cognitive state or activity.

#philosophical This premise seems problematic: it does seem possible to stumble across a discovery or lesson (without wanting to learn about it and without inquiring into it): you might unintentionally discover it is raining by going outside, say. This may be more plausible if we assume that the learning in question is the acquisition of understanding or expertise (ἐπιστήμη). It does at least seem harder to imagine cases of our understanding something by stumbling upon it: you might unintentionally discover it is raining by going outside, but you would not thereby understand why it is raining (or what rain is).

#translation “When you thought you didn’t know” rather than “when you didn’t think you knew.” This must be an adherescent οὐ (Smyth 2691–2) to make any sense, for it must be that Alcibiades recognized his lack of knowledge. See also the note on 117b11, where a similar construction is used.

#otherPlato Olympiodorus suggests that these three studies train the three parts of the soul as described in Plato’s Republic: letters train the rational part, kithara playing trains the spirited part, and wrestling trains the appetitive part (66).

#translation The Greek word here is φοιτάω. Its basic meaning is go “back and forth” and is standardly used for a pupil attending lessons. It also can mean “have sexual relations with.”

#philosophical #otherPlato This list picks up on the three most important sources of Alcibiades’ pride listed beginning at 104a4: his height, his beauty, and his family and family connections. Wealth—identified at 104c1–2 as “least among your sources of pride”—is not on this list. Socrates is pointing out to Alcibiades that the advantages he is so proud of cannot replace knowledge. Socrates makes a similar point at Protagoras 319c, saying that the Assembly will not listen to someone who is not regarded as a craftsman when they are trying to make decisions about building projects—not even if he is handsome, rich, and well-born. Here Socrates mentions wealth rather than size on the list of advantages.

#translation The term translated as “beautiful” is καλός, which will appear a number of times throughout the dialogue. The term is both aesthetic and ethical. It is used to refer to physical appearance, as it does here, but also to character and actions. The dialogue will cover the semantic field of this term, going from the mere physical to the clearly psychological and moral. Indeed, Socrates will try to move Alcibiades to shift his ideal of beauty from mere appearances to the beauty of the soul. We have opted to translate this term and its cognates, whenever possible, by the English “beautiful,” like its contrast term “ugly” (αἰσχρός). In doing so, we aim to make evident the semantic connections exploited by Socrates in his attempts to convince Alcibiades to care for his soul, rather than (just) for his body and possessions. Other common translations are “admirable,” “noble,” and “fine.”

#translation The Greek term αἰσχρός can mean ugly in an aesthetic sense, but it can also indicate a negative ethical quality or trait. Thus, the term is often translated as “shameful” or “dishonorable.” The contrast term is καλός, which is similarly ambiguous (see corresponding note). This ambiguity is exploited throughout the dialogue. Indeed, Socrates will argue that true ugliness is not a condition of the body but of the soul, and that ugly deeds and characters are shameful ones. We have, when possible, opted to translate the term with the English “ugly” for consistency, to make evident the semantic connections throughout the dialogue, and to emphasize the contrast with beauty.

#philosophical #translation #Greektext The mention of wealth may seem to come out of the blue here, as it was not on Socrates’ list of features that are irrelevant to advice-giving just above (107b6–7). Apelt moves the lines from b8–10 (“Of course / For, in each case, I think that advice belongs to someone who knows, not someone who is wealthy”) after c2, in which case these lines immediately follow “And whether the counselor is rich or poor, it will make no difference to the Athenians when they are deliberating about the people in the city, how they might be in good health, but they’ll search for an advisor who is a doctor.” This change makes the text flow more smoothly: the b12 “whether the counselor is rich or poor” simply adds one more advantage to the list of advantages canvassed in 107b6–7, and the claim “For, in each case, I think that advice belongs to someone who knows, not someone who is wealthy” simply takes wealth to stand in for the whole list of advantages mentioned earlier. However, this change has no manuscript authority, which argues against it.

#translation #characterization Alcibiades here answers εἰκότως γε, which can be translated “that’s very likely” or “that’s at least likely” depending on whether we take the γε to be emphatic or limitative. On the former translation, there is very little difference between Alcibiades’ answer to this question and his answers to the preceding questions (“of course,” translating πῶς γὰρ οὔ;): Alcibiades may, for example, simply be responding to the fact that he doesn’t know for sure how the Athenians will choose to seek advice, even if he can be totally confident about how they ought to seek advice. On the latter translation, we might think Alcibiades is beginning to hesitate: perhaps Socrates’ mention of the city is making Alcibiades realize where Socrates’ line of questioning is leading (i.e. to the conclusion that he, Alcibiades, is not equipped to advise the city on anything), and Alcibiades tempers his assent accordingly. Alcibiades, however, seems very confident in the next line that he is prepared to advise the Athenians about “their own business,” which may count against the reading on which Alcibiades hesitates because he sees that this argument may have the upshot that he is not in a position to advise the Athenians.

#philosophical This foreshadows the later discussion of the self, its relationship to what is “one’s own,” and how to care for ourselves and our things or affairs (starting around 128a, and note the occurrence of πρᾶγμα at 128b5).

#translation The Greek term here is καλῶς, which means “well” but also means “beautifully.” Presumably, Socrates is being playful with the meaning of this term, given Alcibiades’ alleged beauty. Here and throughout we translated this construction as “well said” or “well spoken.”

#translation Here “conversing” translates διαλέγεσθαι. This is the verb that our word for “dialogue” comes from; the kind of conversing Socrates has in mind here is what one does in dialogue—when speaking with someone else. It’s also the kind of conversing Socrates claims many others rushed to attempt with Alcibiades, while he alone waited for the god’s permission—a permission he takes as a sign their conversation may not be pointless (103a4, 105d6, e7, 106a1). The term can also mean “speaking” in a more generic sense, which seems to be at play at 129b5 and c2.

#translation #philosophical This sentence is remarkably complex (as the comparatively literal translation offered here reveals); while it is basically structured around a contrast (signaled by the contrastive particles μέν and δέ) between two cases in which Alcibiades might be asked to answer questions, Socrates’ account of the first soon embeds further remarks on the content of the advice Alcibiades would be giving and exactly what he might be asked—and the grammar of the second case does not quite match that of the first. It may be that this difficult syntax reveals something about Socrates’ emotional state at this particular moment in the conversation. Denyer suggests, more specifically, that “it is as if Socrates himself has been sympathetically afflicted by the embarrassed incoherence that he sees in store for Alcibiades” (111).

#cultural #philosophical Shame—and reflections on what is shameful, what looks shameful, and when one will be ashamed—is clearly an important aspect of Socrates’ strategy in this passage. It is also a notion with cultural and political resonance, and one that Plato investigates in several places. For a brief taste of the literature, one might look at Cairns (1993), Jimenez (2020), Konstan (2003), Moss (2005), or Tarnopolsky (2010). Tarnopolsky, for instance, writes of Socrates’ shame-based refutations in the Gorgias that “shame points simultaneously inwards to what the individual desires and believes, and outward to the world of other individuals and groups, as well as to the laws and practices within which he moves and lives” (60) and that “understanding how a shame refutation works requires taking into account the two moments of any shame situation: the moment of recognition and the moment of reaction,” the moment of recognition consisting in “the painful but potentially beneficial recognition of the gaze of an other that reveals a certain inadequacy in the self,” and the moment of reaction “the kinds of reaction that the self makes to what is revealed in the shaming situation, and the mode of comportment by the other doing the shaming (and these two things are often, though not necessarily, related to one another)” (17–8).
Moss writes that “Socrates uses shame in the Gorgias particularly as a force against the lure of pleasure”—for “appeals to a person’s feelings of shame and admiration may be able to succeed, when rational arguments have failed, in bringing him to see that a harmful pleasure is to be avoided, or that a beneficial pain is to be pursued” (140). The reason is that “feelings of shame can separate a person’s judgements about what is pleasant from his judgements about what is good” (140).

#translation Interpreting ἔπειτα as part of the hypothetical question, as printed in Denyer. Denyer notes “It is idiomatic to use ἔπειτα to introduce belligerent questions” (112).

#translation Here “present yourself as” translates προσποιῇ. It might also be translated as “claim to be” or “pretend to be.”

#Greektext This translation adopts a text suggested by Denyer, reading αἰσχυνῇ (future: won’t you be ashamed) in place of αἰσχύνῃ (present: aren’t you ashamed); this (as Denyer argues) is the more usual construction. For details, see Denyer (113).

#translation #philosophical There is a question about how to translate this clause: αἰσχρὸν φανεῖται might mean “(merely) appear to be shameful” or “show up as shameful” or “manifestly be shameful.” More generally, there is an interesting progression of thought in this passage from what would be shameful (αἰσχρόν) to being ashamed (αἰσχύνῃ) to (if we adopt the second reading above) looking shameful (αἰσχρὸν φανεῖται)—where the latter is just the sort of thing a character like Alcibiades might care about.

#translation Here “refer” translates τείνει. The word can sometimes express the idea of being directed towards a goal (as at Phaedrus 271a, see LSJ I.4) or some other target (as at Phaedo 63a). It can also express what a thing “tends” to do (as at Crito 47c, see LSJ III.2). Here, the idea of a goal or standard seems appropriate, picking up various references to that to which a craftsperson looks, presumably as a kind of goal or standard (e.g. 107e, 104d).

#philosophical It is a notable feature of Alcibiades as an interlocutor that he is willing to admit (see also above, 108b4) when he does not understand something.

#Greektext Reading τί following B and Olympiodorus; T and Proclus have ὅτι. τί is also printed in Buttmannus. Reading ὅτι preserves a parallel with the ὅτι clause that follows, but the interrogative makes the rest of the sentence more natural.

#philosophical Here we translate πάθημα as “injury,” which clearly fits the context and its role as an object of ἐγκαλοῦντες. πάθημα does have a broader meaning, however, and can be used to pick out any incident, condition, or affection, whether or not these good or bad, or just or unjust. This broader sense might help us make sense of Socrates’ subsequent questions. For it might seem odd to ask whether one can suffer an injury justly or unjustly—the idea that an injury is unjust (or at least seems unjust to the one suffering it) seems built into what an injury is. But the question raised about justice and injustice might not be settled by our calling something a πάθημα, broadly understood.
Alcibiades, always quick to identify injustices (especially those he takes himself to have incurred, cf. 110b1–6), labels these injuries as cases of being “tricked,” “coerced,” or “robbed,” terms which again connote injustice. We can understand Socrates’ follow-up as being about the sort of standard one would have to appeal to in order to justify, say, one’s claim to having been robbed—by arguing one’s property was taken unjustly, say.

#philosophical It is worth noticing how many of Socrates’ questions focus (as this one does, but see also his questions on what the craft named for the Muses is called) on the names for this. It is worth asking what sort of strategy might be behind this choice. One possibility is that it helps Alcibiades to realize that he does know something about these things—or, at least, the language we use to talk about them. Another is that this tactic keeps Alcibiades answering, even when he thinks the answers are trivial. Another might be that it helps Socrates avoid the charge that he is just leading Alcibiades on, since these linguistic facts should be available to all. More generally, Socrates will soon consider what it is to know Greek and who can teach it (see 111)—and these questions bring out the significance of that later discussion.

#translation The Greek word here is δεινός. The word can mean “frightening” or “terrible” on the one hand and “tricky” on the other. As a result, Alcibiades could be referring to the high stakes involved in such a question or to the idea that it is a trick question with no easy, unproblematic response.

#otherPlato Cf. Protagoras 323b–c, where Protagoras claims it would be madness for anyone to admit that he was unjust.

#translation Here we translate καλóν as “admirable” rather than “beautiful” (as in the rest of the text, with the exception of 119e2) to fit the context adequately.
There is a further question about whether the phrase here should be taken as part of Alcibiades’ remark or Socrates’ response to it (so that Socrates’ response would read “At any rate, it wouldn’t seem admirable, and so presumably...”).
In favor of ascribing it to Socrates, we might note that so far in the dialogue he is the only one to have used the term καλóν, and that Alcibiades has not really made any positive contribution to the conversation. In favor of ascribing it to Alcibiades, we might find it fitting that he would care about things seeming admirable or beautiful. (It is also noteworthy that inferences introduced with ἄρα are almost always at the very start of Socrates’ responses.)
Either decision will both depend on and affect our understanding of the dynamic between Socrates and Alcibiades. Maybe, given that Alcibiades has not been making substantive additions, this point is more naturally read as one Plato would have Socrates make. But maybe Alcibiades is in fact gaining a little confidence, making some progress, and picking up on the suggestions about what would look good or bad, or admirable or not.

#Greektext Bracketing the τὸ δίκαιον here as in the OCT text.

#translation This translates σκώπτεις, which could also be translated more softly (e.g. “teasing”). “Teasing” may have more flirtatious undertones and may thus be a good fit for the context of courtship; perhaps Socrates’ desire to see this hypothetical teacher of Alcibiades has even made Alcibiades jealous. However, the fact that Socrates immediately assures Alcibiades that he is doing no such thing may speak in favor of “mocking”: Socrates’ response suggests that he fears Alcibiades’ feelings have been genuinely hurt here.

#philosophical Socrates here swears on both his and Alcibiades’ friendship—an interesting contrast to the more asymmetrical relationships of lover/beloved and teacher/student the dialogue has focused on so far. It’s also worth noting that Alcibiades becomes more active in the conversation that immediately follows, suggesting that he might know about justice and injustice through some other means than having had a teacher.

#cultural Denyer notes that this was a standard way of lending an oath extra solemnity, a device attested from Iliad XV.40 onwards.

#translation This translates ἀποροῦντος. Other common translations of the verb ἀπορέω include “to be at a loss,” “to be at an impasse,” or “to be puzzled.” One characteristic feature of Socratic dialogues is their ending with puzzlement, or ἀπορία. For examples of Socrates’ professions of being at a loss, see, for instance, Apology 21b7, Charmides 155c5, 156b2, 167b7.

#translation ἄδικος and ἀδικοῖ, here translated as “a cheater” and “cheating” (given the association with children’s games), could also have been translated as “unjust” and “doing injustice.”

#Greektext Denyer adopts the imperfect: “τί σ’ ἐχρῆν ποιεῖν” based on indirect textual evidence (the imperfect is not in any manuscript tradition). The translation would then be “what you ought to have done.” We retain the manuscript reading along with Burnet.

#philosophical #cultural #otherPlato Wilburn (2015) argues that the influence of the many on Alcibiades is a central part of Plato’s explanation for how Alcibiades was corrupted.

#cultural The Greek term here (τὰ πεττευτικά) picks out those skilled at πεττεία, a term usually rendered “draughts” or “checkers.” But there is little evidence for any close relation to draughts/checkers as we know the game today—and so we simply use its transliteration here.
It does seem petteia was a board game (played with pebbles or stones, πεττά) which was cognitively demanding and strategic, and thus not merely a children’s game, but a game at which one might develop genuine skill. In the Phaedrus, for instance, Socrates says: “I heard, then, that at Naucratis, in Egypt, was one of the ancient gods of that country, the one whose sacred bird is called the ibis, and the name of the god himself was Theuth. He it was who invented numbers and arithmetic and geometry and astronomy, also draughts and dice, and, most important of all, letters” (274c–d, trans. Fowler). In Republic 6, Adeimantus says: “No one would be able to contradict the things you’ve said, Socrates, but on each occasion that you say them, your hearers are affected in some such way as this. They think that, because they’re inexperienced in asking and answering questions, they’re led astray a little bit by the argument at every question and that, when these little bits are added together at the end of the discussion, great is their fall, as the opposite of what they said at the outset comes to light. Just as inexperienced checkers players are trapped by the experts in the end and can’t make a move, so they too are trapped in the end and have nothing to say in this different kind of checkers, which is played not with disks but with words” (487a–c, trans. Grube/Reeve). And in the Statesman, the Stranger says: “Now if these regulations which I speak of were to be applied to these sciences, Socrates, and to strategy and every part of the entire art of hunting and to painting or every kind of imitation and to carpentry including every kind of utensil-making, or even to husbandry and all the art that is concerned with plants, or if we were to see an art of horse-breeding conducted by written rules, or herdsmanship in general or prophecy or everything that is included in the art of serving, or draught-playing or the whole science of number, whether arithmetic or plane geometry or solid geometry or problems of motion—what would you think of carrying on all these in such a way, by written rules and not by knowledge?” (299d–e, trans. Fowler).

#philosophical #otherPlato A similar idea that the many teach virtue on analogy to their teaching Greek can be found in Protagoras’ great speech in Plato’s Protagoras (327e1–328a1, see also the anonymous Dissoi Logoi (6.12)).
Here we see Alcibiades come into his own as an interlocutor. First, he is able to identify a previous answer of his that he wants to revise. Second, he is able to resist Socrates’ suggestion that the many cannot teach anything with a seriousness equal to or greater than that of petteia with his example of learning Greek. It is not clear, however, whether Alcibiades has a sense of how to use this to defend the idea that he has some special knowledge that others lack to make him an effective advisor to the Athenian assembly. After all, if his knowledge of justice is derived from the many, won’t others be equally qualified to advise on the topic?
Alcibiades is thus being portrayed as at least somewhat clever—even if unoriginal—in the local context without thereby also having a firm grip on the bigger picture.

#translation #cultural “Noble friend” translates ὦ γενναῖε. This form of address will appear (perhaps significantly) again at 121a3, where Socrates teases Alcibiades about his family history. Dickey (1996), citing Dover (1974, 95), says that by Plato’s time γενναῖε “had lost most of its reference to lineage and become a general complimentary term” (140).

#Greektext #translation There is a textual issue here; the translation reflects Burnet’s Oxford Classical Text. That text prints B and T’s ἐπαινοῖντ’ ἂν αὐτῶν εἰς διδασκαλίαν. Another option is due to Proclus (who was [probably] working with a manuscript variant he endorsed): ἐπαινοῖτ’ ἂν [αὐτῶν] ἡ διδασκαλία, in which αὐτῶν was secluded as a conjecture by Stallbaum. This might be translated with a similar meaning: “their teaching might justly be praised” or “the teaching of these things might justly be praised” (depending on whether we accept the seclusion). More recently, Denyer (122) has suggested that the text originally read ἐπανίοις ἂν αὐτῶν εἰς διδασκαλίαν and was then corrupted; he suggests translating “you would be right to resort to their instruction.” A further translation issue concerns αὐτῶν, which might be taken to refer either to the teachers (“their teaching”) or what they teach (“these things”), as in the main translation.

#translation #philosophical Denyer (123) suggests translating “which things are sticks or stones,” noting that ποῖόν (“what sort”) might be used in place of τι (“what”) to avoid confusion with the famous Socratic “what is it?” questions, which seek a definition. However, ποῖόν often asks after a thing’s qualities, and so the translation aims to preserve this possibility. At the same time, it does not demand it, insofar as “what sorts of things” might also be asking for an identification of some things and not an account of their qualities.

#translation Socrates here uses μανθάνω (literally “learn,” here translated more colloquially “get a good idea of”) to express his apparently growing comprehension of Alcibiades’ suggestion.

#cultural #otherPlato Something that would require expertise (in horse breeding or horsemanship), and about which Socrates suggests there are in fact experts (see Euthyphro 13a, Apology 25b, Meno 93d, Hippias Major 284a, and others—note also Alcibiades 121e, 124e).

#translation The word here is ἱκανός, rendered “competent” when it applies to teachers above and below.

#translation #cultural The Greek here, κρήγυοι, is a rare, poetic word. It may be an allusion to a specific poem or poet now lost to us. Denyer offers some reason to think that the poet was Hipponax.

#cultural The Iliad and Odyssey are epic poems in what would have already been considered the ancient past in Plato’s time—poems composed either by Homer himself or from various oral tales rhapsodes might have amalgamated. They were standard reading for the education of Athenian elites and were commonly recited in public, including at the Panathenaic festival.

#cultural This is one of several terms that Homer uses to refer to the Greeks. The Iliad portrays part of the action of the famous Trojan War that took place when the Greeks banded together to seize the city of Troy.

#Greektext #translation Kleinias, bracketed in the OCT, is found in both B and T, but is omitted in Proclus, so presumably not in the variant he has.

#translation Here we have ἐτελεύτησεν where for the others we have ἀποθανοῦσι. To say that Kleinias ἐτελεύτησεν is to say that his life came to an end, or that he “met his end.”

#philosophical Socrates frequently cites examples throughout the Alcibiades. Sometimes those examples are used to clarify a general point that has already been agreed to. We see two cases of this in the preceding argument.
(1) In the immediately preceding discussion, Alcibiades readily admits that the many disagree about just and unjust people and affairs. Socrates follows up with the examples of the Iliad and Odyssey as well as the battles of Tanagra and Coronea that fit with this general claim.
(2) Before that, Alcibiades agrees that those who teach ought to know, and those who know don’t disagree with one another. Socrates then gives one positive example where the many agree and do know, then two negative examples where they disagree and do not know (and therefore must not be competent teachers).

#translation Socrates would only be claiming here that Alcibiades doesn’t have high-grade knowledge (understanding) of just and unjust things, not that he doesn’t have any, even rudimentary knowledge about them.

#translation #philosophical Here “the one” and “the two” are meant to be counts of things. Socrates is, in effect, asking which is more—two things, or one.

#philosophical Here, rather than use examples to simply clarify a claim that has already been accepted, Socrates uses two examples to secure Alcibiades’ agreement to a disputed, general claim.
But is the general claim, that whenever questioning and answering occur the one answering is the person “saying these things,” true? What about the options that both questioner and answerer are doing the saying, or neither? Alternatively, could the saying come in degrees, with different levels of commitment?

#philosophical Alcibiades’ reply here is noncommittal. While he does give up on this line of argument and try a new tack in what follows, Socrates appears sensitive to his interlocutor’s hesitation. Socrates goes on to press another argument to a very similar conclusion, that Alcibiades does not understand what is just (or advantageous) but thinks that he does.
This noncommittal answer also complicates the above claim that the answerer is always doing the saying.

#cultural Socrates is referring to Euripides’ Hippolytus 352: “You hear this from yourself, and not from me,” which is said to someone who guessed a secret after getting clues. This tragedy was produced in 428, which is years after the dramatic date of the Alciabides, as we learn in 123d6.

#philosophical As Denyer notes, Socrates considers those who think they know things they do not know to be mad, as attested in Xenophon’s Memorabilia 3.9.6. Cf. also the accusations of madness at 118e4 and 123e6–7.

#translation #philosophical Plato uses a comparative adjective form here: more just or more unjust. Sometimes, such forms can be translated as “intensive” or as not so different from the positive, e.g. “rather just” or just “just” (Smyth 1067, 1083). If the true comparative meaning is intended, this may pick up the earlier discussion of what is “better”—which turned out to be “more just” (109c–d).

#philosophical Earlier, Socrates and Alcibiades observed that “the many” “most of all disagree about” justice and injustice—but here, it appears, the Athenians still think that there is something “clear” about them. And so there may be a puzzle about how to fit these claims together. One possibility is that the Athenians err insofar as they believe that these things are clear—despite their disagreement.

#translation #cultural This is military terminology, suggesting “running forward: sally, sudden attack” (LSJ).

# translation #cultural The Greek term here is τρυφή. A frequent translation of this term is “luxury,” as in Aristotle’s Pol. 1259b17. However, a survey of uses of this term in Classical philosophical, literary, historical, and medical texts reveals that it overwhelmingly refers to a personality trait or character disposition to be soft, delicate, dainty, and even feminine. Luxury, power, and wealth were seen as leading to τρυφή—the idea being that privilege leads to entitlement, indolence, impassivity, and laziness. See, e.g., Euripides, Bacchae 968–9 for a use of this term to describe someone being carried rather than going somewhere by foot. The word has strong gendered connotation, and is associated with feminine traits.

#philosophical #forwardreference Socrates shifts to a new tack to show that Alcibiades does not know about justice (and advantage): he will show that Alcibiades contradicts himself on questions about the relationship between the two.

#translation #cultural The Greek here literally says “the assembly and the people.” The assembly was one of the main official bodies of the Athenian government and included all adult male citizens. The word for “people” here, δῆμος, can be more inclusive, though also can implicitly refer to adult male citizens (for example, Athens considered itself a “democracy” even though the relevant δῆμος or “people” who held power were only the adult male citizens). Why, then, does Socrates add “and the people” here? It could be to broaden Alcibiades’ imaginative scope beyond those who participated in the assembly. It could also simply be to emphasize the plurality of people involved in the assembly (as contrasted with a single individual).

#otherPlato Denyer notes that Socrates assures his interlocutors that answering will do them no harm at Gorgias 475d, Meno 84b, and Hippias Minor 373a. It is thus striking to see Alcibiades coming to this conclusion himself. Denyer suggests this is “some sign that he is making intellectual progress;” we might also take it as a sign that he is genuinely bought in to the investigation he is engaged in with Socrates.

#translation In these lines, the meaning of the term καλόν as “noble” or “admirable” comes to focus (see note on καλόν, 107b6). However, we stick to the term “beautiful” for consistency and to make salient the semantic connections in the different parts of the dialogue.

#translation In these lines, the meaning of the term αἰσχρός as “shameful” comes to focus (see note on αἰσχρός, 107b7). However, we stick to the term “ugly” for consistency and to make salient the semantic connections in the different parts of the dialogue.

#translation This response is bracketed in the OCT text.

#translation These lines are bracketed in the OCT text, and seem to be found only in Stobaeus. They are not recorded in any ms. For what it’s worth, Buttmannus tells us there’s no reason to doubt these lines are genuine, because it’s not clear how they might have made their way into Stobaeus, and also because he thinks they play a role in the argument, since Socrates will go on to focus only on death and courage (leaving aside life and cowardice). He also thinks the Ἔγωγε at e8 (“I do”) answers the question in the bracketed lines (“Then you believe...”) more naturally than it would the question at e4 (“Because you believe...”). These considerations seem insufficient to warrant their inclusion, given the lack of manuscript evidence.

#translation “Being” here and in 115e13 below does not translate any word in the Greek; the construction (“in respect of x”) is the same as found above, at 115b6, b9, and c2. The relationships between aiding friends in battle and courage and death (on the one hand) and an act (on the other) are plausibly different, which may encourage us to supply “being;” still, this is an interpretative decision.

#translation There are some interesting uses of πρᾶξις + genitive here that are very difficult to capture in English. Socrates is suggesting, on the one hand, that aiding friends in battle is beautiful in relation to (or “in respect of”) ἀγαθοῦ πρᾶξιν τὴν τῆς ἀνδρείας (at e10), and, on the other, that it is bad in relation to κακοῦ πρᾶξιν τὴν τοῦ θανάτου. His first point might be taken to mean that aiding friends is beautiful in relation to its being (or involving?) the act of something good, namely, courage: its being an act of courage characterizes the sort of act it is, and makes it a good act. But this does not fit well with the second point: death does not characterize the sort of act aiding friends is. A more natural thing to say might be that aiding friends in battle is bad in relation to its being the cause or production of something bad, namely, the cause of death: its leading to death is what makes it the doing or producing of something bad (for an example of πρᾶξις being used in this way, see Charmides 163e1–2). But this does not fit well with his first point: aiding our friends is courageous, but courage is not the outcome or product of aiding friends. The translation suggested here aims to be as neutral as possible on the relationship between the good/bad in question and the act under consideration—since Plato’s interlocutors should presumably not yet be taken to rely on an overly specific conception of πρᾶξις. Thus it might make sense (in a clunky sort of way) to speak of our aiding friends as an act realizing something good and something bad: it realizes courage by being an instance of it, and it realizes death by leading to it.

#translation The Greek expression translated as “doing well” is εὖ πράττει.

#translation The Greek here is κτῆσιν, which can also mean possession.

#philosophical #characterization It does not follow from this short argument that what is just is never disadvantageous (rather, it follows that what is just is always advantageous). The resources developed in the course of the previous argument (ending at 116b1) shows that things can be just (in one respect) and bad (in another respect). Socrates’ point, however, is not to establish that just things are never bad. Rather his point is to show that Alcibiades is confused about justice and advantage.
One might still worry about Socrates’ tactics here.

#philosophical οὐκ οἶδ’ ἔγωγε οὐδ’ ὅτι λέγω is the standard confession of Socrates’ interlocutors, when they are moving towards the Socratic wisdom. Cf. 127d6–7, Polemarchus in Republic 334b, Agathon in Symposium 201b, and Euthydemus 103a1.

#philosophical #characterization This moment marks a shift in Alcibiades’ tone. This line of argument seems to get to Alcibiades more than the arguments about the source of Alcibiades’ alleged knowledge.

#philosophical It may be significant that Socrates here addresses Alcibiades as his “friend” (cf. 109d), instead of using the language of lovers and beloveds he began with (103–4). Perhaps Socrates is presenting their relationship in a more collaborative and equal way.

#translation “State” here translates πάθημα. It might also be translated as “feeling,” “injury,” and “suffering.” These sets of semantic associations might suggest that Socrates’ interest here is primarily in Alcibiades emotional response—how he feels about what has happened. By contrast, ‘condition’ picks up the fact that Socrates seems to be interested in Alcibiades’ ignorance: his epistemic condition—which is something he might feel, but also might be unaware of. Other possible translations might be “what’s happened” or “experience.” This language may also have a medical resonance, suggesting that Socrates is playing the role of a doctor who is diagnosing Alcibiades’ condition. Below we find several related terms (see especially 118b); these have been translated accordingly.

#philosophical #translation Here Alcibiades uses the reflexive pronoun ἐμαυτοῦ, drawing attention to him-self. This may prefigure the discussion of caring for oneself that appears below.

#philosophical #translation Here it is interesting to contrast Alcibiades’ “I think” (οἶμαι) with the other epistemic verbs in the passage (see the next few notes). What precisely is the status of Alcibiades’ thinking?

#philosophical Socrates will need the converse of this conditional for the argument that follows.

#philosophical #translation There is a question here about why it is Alcibiades’ opinion—as opposed to Alcibiades himself—that wavers. Is opinion what is responsible for making him waver, by being a power that issues in different opinions at different times?
Other possible translations for “waver” here include “flip flop” and “go back and forth.” These may help to capture the case of someone who knows that they don’t know and yet do something we might describe as “wavering” while trying to figure it out.

#translation This translates οὐκ οἴει αὐτὸ ἐπίστασθαι. Another possible translation is “you don’t think that you understand it.” What lies behind this difference is a question about whether the οὐκ (the negation) here is an “adherescent” οὐ, common with verbs of thinking (Smyth 2691–2). What is at stake here is what categories of people Socrates is interested in: is he only considering the case where someone has entertained the question of whether they know something or not, or is he also allowing for something more tacit? And is it significant that the Greek is ambiguous in this way?

#philosophical This emphasis on joint endeavour may pick up Socrates’ reference to Alcibiades as a “friend” (116e). See also below, 119b.

#translation #philosophical “Mistakes” translates ἁμαρτήματα. The context suggests a strong normative element, so “offense” might also be apt. Socrates’ point seems to be that people who do not know about some domain can avoid major mistakes in that domain by calling upon or deferring to experts. Those who make major, morally significant errors are the ones who think they know about some domain about which they are in fact ignorant.

#philosophical At issue here is not whether someone is aware of what they are doing (as, for example, someone sleepwalking may not be), but rather whether they have the relevant knowledge that governs the relevant domain of action (for example, knowledge of cooking or sailing in the examples just mentioned by Socrates).

#translation This translates μὴ οἴωνται εἰδέναι. As above (see the note on 117b11), another possible translation is “don’t think they know.”

#philosophical This line of thought is most plausible in high stakes situations in which it is possible to seek out an expert. But this seems to be exactly the sort of case relevant to Alcibiades’ ambitions.
Even in those cases, how plausible is it that a non-expert will be so good at identifying experts that they can live their life free of mistakes?

#philosophical #otherPlato The line of thought leading up to this conclusion works as follows. After establishing that (1) if one wavers about something, then one does not know it (117a5–6), and (2) Alcibiades wavers about justice, goodness, beauty and advantageousness (117a8–10), they ask whether Alcibiades wavers about these matters because he does not know about them. (The point is to identify the underlying cognitive condition (πάθημα) that accounts for his behavior (116e5).)
They show that (3) one does not waver about something because one does not know about it, by pointing out that some people who do not know about a subject matter do not waver concerning it (but rather defer to experts). Instead, they agree that (4) if one wavers about something, then one wavers about it because one does not know it and thinks one does know it. (4) is further supported by pointing out that thinking one knows what one does not know is also the cause of major practical mistakes.
This echoes a recurrent idea in Socratic philosophy. Socrates thinks that believing you know something when you don’t know it is more dangerous than plain, first-order ignorance of some subject matter. This double-layered ignorance—not knowing x, and not knowing that you do not know x—is what Socrates repeatedly targets as the deepest obstacle to wisdom and living well, and the source of any important mistakes we make in our lives.
The same idea is central to the Apology, where Socrates recounts the story of the Delphic oracle declaring him the wisest of men. Socrates says he set out to disprove the oracle’s saying by finding someone wiser, since he was aware of knowing nothing of importance. But what he discovered by examining politicians, poets, and craftsmen was that, though they might possess genuine skill or knowledge in some area, they also believed themselves wise about far greater and more important matters—matters they in fact knew nothing about. Socrates concludes that his own advantage lies precisely in this: he does not think he knows what he does not know. Thus, the oracle was correct in saying he was the wisest among mortals.
The Apology goes on to declare it Socrates’ mission to reveal the ignorance of those who think they know when they do not, as a service to Athens. We can see the conversation in the Alcibiades as part of this project: Alcibiades wants to advise the Athenian assembly on justice and the advantageous, but he has never examined whether he actually understands these things. Socrates shows to him that his confidence was misplaced, and that he is in fact ignorant about justice and advantage.

#translation The Greek here is κινδυνεύω, which can also mean “to take a risk” or “to be in danger.” Alcibiades has just admitted that, in addition to being ignorant of the greatest things, he thinks he knows them—quite plausibly a dangerous state to be in!

#translation Here we translate σοφός as “wise”—a word that could also be translated “skilled” or “expert.” The latter translation fits better with the example that comes next—that of the person who taught you to read and write, who in English is more readily described as “expert” than as “wise.” But “wise” seems to fit better with the discussion of Pericles. The condition Pericles is said to (possibly) avoid is that of being ignorant of the greatest things, but thinking you know them; this means that Pericles either knows the greatest things, or at least doesn’t think he knows them when he doesn’t. Either of these conditions seems fittingly described as wisdom: indeed, the second condition is described by Socrates as “human wisdom” in the Apology (20d8). The people Pericles associates with in order to become σοφός may also support understanding his desired state as wisdom. See Stadter (1991) for information about who these people were, our evidence for Plato’s connection to them, and other Platonic texts that mention them.

#translation #philosophical It’s ambiguous here whether Alcibiades is admitting that he lacks the attention span necessary to avoid his bad state, or rather announcing a kind of willful disregard for what he is told—or perhaps, more specifically, what Pericles is telling him. Either way, he’d be differentiating his condition from the conditions of idiots and the insane. It’s left open whether he does this to boast, to cover for Pericles, his guardian, or as an admission of some failure on his part.

#translation #philosophical The term translated as “self-care” here is ἐπιμέλεια. This term means care bestowed upon a thing, attention paid to it, diligence, or self-cultivation. The terms is key in the Socratic dialogues, where Socrates often urges his interlocutors to care for their selves by looking after the condition of their souls (e.g. Apology 29e–30b; Laches 185e). Such a care is described as involving the cultivation of one’s rational and intellectual capabilities, the development of virtue, living an examined life, knowing one’s own self, and the pursuit of wisdom. Care of the self is, for Socrates, essential for living a happy, well-lived life.
Foucault analyzed this concept in his lectures at the Collège de France during 1981–1982, later published under the title Hermeneutics of the Subject. There, he defines ἐπιμέλεια as care of the self, and offers the following characterization: “Epimeleia, care of the self, is not an individualistic attitude, nor is it a mere attempt to protect oneself from the vicissitudes of life, but a form of self-cultivation, a work of self-transformation in relation to the ethical principles that regulate the conduct of one’s life” (75).
What kind of self-care does Socrates have in mind here? This very question is raised by Alcibiades at 124b7—a crucial juncture in the dialogue.

#translation #Greektext Reading the dative as in the MSS.

#philosophical At 105e, Socrates tells us that the reason the god is now allowing him to talk to Alcibiades is that Alcibiades is so ambitious he might listen to Socrates. Here we see that Alcibiades’ recognition of his own ignorance is not sufficient to motivate him to become wise—he also has to have such lofty ambitions that he will see his real competition as the leaders of Sparta and Persia, not merely other ambitious Athenians.

#philosophical Possessions we remember from 104a2–4.

#philosophical Here the more passionate aspect of ἔρως is clearly in play.

#philosophical Socrates’ description of Alcibiades (and his looks and possessions, 119c3) echoes the opening lines of the dialogue, where Alcibiades’ pride is said to have driven away even the proudest of his suitors (103b4–4a1), and where his possessions are identified as source of this pride (104c1). The suggestion here is that the pride is misplaced, because Alcibiades is not comparing his possessions with those of any worthy competitor. Later in the dialogue, the idea that his possessions would themselves be a source of pride will also be put into question (129b–134c).

#cultural A trireme was the standard warship of ancient Greece from the 5th century BCE onward. The name comes from the Greek τριήρης, meaning “three-rower,” a reference to its three tiers of oarsmen. Each ship carried roughly 170 rowers stacked in three rows, along with about 30 additional crew members such as officers, sailors, and marines, bringing the total to around 200 men.
Triremes were long and narrow, typically around 35 to 37 meters in length, built for speed and maneuverability rather than cargo capacity. Under oar power, they could reach speeds of 7 to 9 knots. Their main weapon was a bronze-plated ram fixed to the bow, since naval battles were fought primarily by ramming enemy ships rather than boarding them. The hulls were lightweight wooden constructions, built for speed at the expense of durability, and were often hauled ashore at night because the ships weren’t well suited to extended time at sea.
Triremes played a central role in Greek naval power, most famously at the Battle of Salamis in 480 BCE, where the Athenian fleet defeated the Persians and helped secure Greek independence and Athens’ rise as a naval power. Athens built its 5th-century dominance around its trireme fleet, funded partly by the wealth of its silver mines and maintained through the trierarchy, a civic duty in which wealthy citizens financed individual ships.

#translation #Greektext We are following the MSS here, which read ὁπότε instead of Burnet’s εἴ ποτε.

#cultural An Athenian politician about whom we know very little. Aristophanes made fun of him for being working class, loving quail-poking, and being dishonest (see Birds 1297).

#cultural ὀρτυγοκοπία, literally “quail-poking,” was a gambling game popular in Classical Athens which continued to be practiced into Roman imperial times. The rules, as described in Pollux’s Onomasticon (2nd c. CE), are the following: one player puts his quail down on a board or within a marked circle, and the opponent flicks or taps the bird on the head. If the quail moves or is knocked out of its spot, the tapper wins; if the quail holds its ground, its owner wins. People bet money on the outcome.
In Aristophanes’ Birds (1297–99), a number of citizens have adopted bird nicknames, and we are told that Meidias is called “the quail,” “for indeed he looks like a quail that has been hit hard on the head.” Plutarch (Alcibiades 10.1 2), in turn, says that right before his first appearance at the Athenian Assembly, Alcibiades was caught carrying a quail in his cloak, which escaped, and generated chaos. It is possible, then, that Socrates’ mocking portrayal of Meidias as a quail-poker is especially tailored to embarrass an Alcibiades known for his affection for the very same game. (See Denyer 168 for further details about this story.)

#cultural ἀνδραποδώδη means “slavish.” The term ἀνδράποδον, literally “man-footed” thing is the ordinary Greek word for “slave” built on the model of τετράποδον (“four-footed thing”) to refer to livestock. It is a pejorative, dehumanizing term used to refer to enslaved persons.
Athenian slaves wore their hair short because long hair could conceal the tattoo often made on their foreheads and “because it is not easy to do menial work with long hair” (Aristotle, Rhetoric 1367a31–2). The metaphor is striking. Socrates is saying Meidias and others like him, though nominally free citizens, still carry a “slavish haircut” in their soul, that is, in their character. The implication is that they lack proper μουσική (culture; education), so they are ἄμουσοι (uncultured; boorish).

#cultural Socrates is presumably speaking about people who are not native speakers of Greek. In 4th century Athens, most enslaved people would have been non-Greeks, so there would have been an association in the readers’ minds between being enslaved or a resident alien (metic) and not speaking Greek perfectly or speaking it with a foreign accent. The idea is that Meidias and men like him sound uneducated because they speak a mangled or accented Greek, a class marker that reinforces the broader insinuation that despite being a citizen, Meidias has a low or servile origin, and does not speak the polished Attic of a well-born Athenian.

#translation ἀγῶνα ἀγωνίζεσθαι is a classic Greek cognate accusative (also called a “figura etymologica”), consisting of a verb paired with a noun from the same root as its direct object, for emphasis. Literally, the phrase means “to contend a contest,” “to struggle a struggle” or “to compete a competition.” The construction intensifies the noun. This is Socrates’ way of underlining how high-stakes this “competition” (Alcibiades’ entry into political life and rivalry for leadership) is, right before delivering the sarcastic jab that Alcibiades is preparing for it by doing nothing at all.

#cultural This section—in which Socrates uses tales of the Persians and Spartans to persuade Alcibiades to care for himself—contains a number of interesting forms of address. They include “most excellent friend” (ὦ ἄριστε, literally just “most excellent one,” also found at 119c2 and 135b3), but also terms making fun of Alcibiades and insults. There’s a question here about how exactly to understand the force of “most excellent friend” and related forms of address (especially those that appeal to friendship in explicit terms, like ὦ φίλε, found at 109d1, 116e5, 107b11, 133b7, and 134e8). They might reflect Socrates’ condescension (see Eleanor Dickey, Greek Forms of Address [Oxford, 1996], 106–27 on Socrates and Plato), or make a criticism easier to take (see Denyer on 119c2), or (as Halliwell (1995) suggests) “intimate, by deliberate yet unobtrusive deployment of a simple variety of linguistic expression, that Socratic ‘friendship’—in idealised aspiration, if not always in achieved actuality—is something offered not on the basis of social relationships or other extrinsic factors, but as a meeting of minds in the personal pursuit of truth” (93). At least some uses of ὠγαθέ (“my good friend!”) above seem sarcastic (e.g. 120a8).

#philosophical The notion in question is likely the idea that Spartan generals and Persian kings are much like everyone else (120c3–5).

#philosophical Alcibiades might be here asking what the notion is about (though see the note above for a likely candidate), or about how to consider it. In the first case, he will be confused about its content; in the second, he will be asking how best to inquire into it (as Socrates has just suggested that he do).

#philosophical See 114e10–11, for a similar claim.

#philosophical #otherPlato Below, Socrates will distinguish the flaw he identifies here from a “second” point: that the notion is false. This encourages us to ask what precisely the first point comes to, if it’s not a matter of having a false notion. A likely candidate has to do with Alcibiades’ motivations to care for himself: his current notion makes him less likely to do this. Elsewhere, Socrates also reflects on what beliefs might make us eager to inquire. In the Meno, for instance, he remarks: “We must, therefore, not believe that debater’s argument, for it would make us idle, and fainthearted men like to hear it, whereas my argument makes them energetic and keen on the search” (81d–e, trans. Grube). And: “I do not insist that my argument is right in all other respects, but I would contend at all costs both in word and deed as far as I could that we will be better men, braver and less idle, if we believe that one must search for the things one does not know, rather than if we believe that it is not possible to find out what we do not know and that we must not look for it” (86b–c).

#otherPlato Here it’s worth contrasting a passage from the Theatetus: “And when people sing the praises of lineage (γένη) and say someone is of noble birth (γενναῖός), because he can show seven wealthy ancestors, he [the philosopher] thinks that such praises betray an altogether dull and narrow vision on the part of those who utter them” (174e, trans. Fowler).

#philosophical Below, Socrates will go on to argue that if we do not know what we are, we won’t be able to take care of ourselves. This passage may prefigure this idea: we need to think about the relationship between our “natures” and what it is to perfect them.

#translation #philosophical We translate ἀρετή “excellence” throughout (it seems a more natural translation later on, around 124e, when there is a question raised about which kind of excellence we want to achieve, and how it might relate to the excellence found in various crafts; and also around 133b, when the excellence of the eye is compared to that of the soul).

#translation This is the same term that Socrates used back at 110e, 111a, and 112d, to capture the idea of what one takes as an authority for one’s knowledge; there it was translated as “rely on.”

#philosophical Here we see a shift from short question and answer to Socrates giving a long speech, the very format Socrates had refused to use back at 106b. Part of the explanation may be that Socrates no longer needs to confirm Alcibiades’ commitment to what is being said because he has already agreed to having the great ambition that Socrates ascribes to him. It may also be that this format is particularly familiar to Alcibiades and so tailored to speak to him more directly. Compare the speech that Thucydides has Alcibiades give in support of the Sicilian expedition, which touches on similar themes of personal prestige (History of the Peloponnesian War 6.16–18).

#cultural On γενναῖε, see the note about its occurrence at 111a5.

#philosophical Socrates here juxtaposes the possessions (τὰ ὑπάρχοντα) of Alcibiades’ true rivals with those Socrates mentioned at the beginning of the dialogue as inspiring Alcibiades’ great self-confidence and ambition. The previous argument has shown that Alcibiades does not possess the right kind of knowledge for advising the Athenian assembly. Yet this was not sufficient to motivate Alcibiades to shift his emphasis to self-cultivation. Now Socrates appeals more directly to Alcibiades’ competitive nature by pointing out how formidable his competition is.

#otherPlato There is a tension between the positive presentation of the education of the Persian king here and a negative depiction of the same royal line in Laws III, 694a–698a. Here Socrates presents Persian royal splendor as something dazzling and enviable, a scale of wealth and magnificence Alcibiades cannot hope to rival. The rhetorical effect is to humble Alcibiades by the sheer grandeur of the Persian court. But in the Laws, this exact same luxury is diagnosed as a cause of corruption that produced flawed, soft kings like Cambyses and, especially, Xerxes.
Even though the targets in the two passages are not exactly the same—the Laws passage targets Cyrus, Cambyses, Darius, and Xerxes, while the Royal Tale praises the education of Artaxerxes, Xerxes’ son—the contrasts are striking. Some authors have suggested the discrepancy is explained by the fact that in the Alcibiades, Socrates does not endorse the splendor or goodness of the Persians and Spartans and their education, but is trying to put Alcibiades in his place and move him towards self-care and education, by pointing to goods that he, by his own light, values and cares about. On this point see, e.g., Gordon (2003).

#translation #otherPlato The Greek word here derives from σωφροσύνη, often translated as “moderation,” “temperance,” or “self-control.” This virtue is the subject of Plato’s Charmides; here we adopt the translation used by Moore and Raymond in their edition of the Charmides. Moore and Raymond offer a helpful discussion of the virtue starting on p. xxviii of their introduction.

#translation #cultural Tutors (παιδαγωγοί) were often enslaved men whose job was to escort and supervise a boy rather than to teach formally.

#cultural Zopyrus is mentioned in chapter 3 of Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades as the enslaved tutor (παιδαγωγός) assigned to the young Alcibiades after the boy came under the guardianship of Pericles, following the death of his father Cleinias at the Battle of Coronea in 447 BCE. Plutarch notes that Zopyrus was Thracian by origin, a common source of enslaved people in the Greek world. Plutarch also claims that Pericles said that Zopyrus was old and not very useful, and that he could do little to control the stubborn young Alcibiades.

#philosophical #otherPlato We might think Socrates is here claiming to care about Alcibiades’ birth, upbringing and education because of his particular connection to Alcibiades as Alcibiades’ lover. But there is another possibility. Socrates here says that no one other than Alcibiades’ lover cares for “your birth, Alcibiades, and upbringing and education, or that of any other Athenian.” Does Socrates here suggest that he also cares about the birth, upbringing and education of the other Athenians? This is consistent with the picture of Socrates we get in the the Apology, where Socrates presents himself as constantly exhorting his fellow Athenians to care for the state of their souls more than for external goods like wealth (see e.g. 29e). If so, Socrates may care about Alcibiades’ birth, upbringing and education not (exclusively) in his role as Alcibiades’ lover, but also because of his general concern for the education and virtue of the Athenians.

#translation #philosophical Another possible translation of the Greek καὶ is “also.” We translate “even” because Alcibiades was earlier (104c) said to be wealthy, but not to rate that highly when considering his own advantages. There Alcibiades was said to pride himself on a set of advantages of “body and soul” (104a) that he thought were so significant that he didn’t need anyone else for anything; here, Socrates seems to show Alcibiades that the Persians have more bodily advantages than he does and that the Spartans have more psychic advantages than he does.

#cultural Helots (Εἵλωτες) were the enslaved population that formed the economic foundation of the Spartan state. Unlike chattel slaves elsewhere in Greece, who were typically owned as individual private property and often came from diverse foreign origins, helots were a subjugated ethnic population, mainly Messenians and some Laconians, conquered by Sparta, most notably during the Messenian Wars of the 8th and 7th centuries BCE. They were bound collectively to the Spartan state and worked the land as agricultural serfs, tied to specific plots (κλῆροι) assigned to individual Spartan citizens, to whom they were obligated to deliver a fixed portion of their produce.
This arrangement freed Spartan male citizens from labor, allowing them to dedicate their lives to military training. But it also meant the Spartiates were a small ruling minority sitting atop a vastly larger subject population that deeply resented its condition. The helots likely outnumbered full Spartan citizens by a significant margin, some ancient estimates suggesting seven to one or more. This demographic imbalance produced a state of near-permanent anxiety and institutionalized repression. According to several ancient sources including Plutarch and Thucydides, Spartans ritually declared war on the helots each year, technically permitting any Spartan to kill a helot without incurring religious or legal blame. The krypteia, a covert operation involving young Spartan men, is described in some accounts as a mechanism for surveilling, terrorizing, and sometimes killing helots believed to be troublesome or dangerous, functioning as a form of state terror to prevent revolt.
Despite this control, helot uprisings did occur, most famously the Third Messenian War in the mid-5th century BCE, and helots remained a persistent internal threat that shaped Spartan foreign and military policy throughout the classical period. Messenian helots eventually gained freedom after the Battle of Leuctra in 371 BCE, when Theban intervention broke Spartan dominance and allowed the reestablishment of an independent Messenian state.

#cultural Xerxes I (c. 518–465 BCE) was the King of Persia from 486 BCE until his assassination in 465 BCE. He was the son and successor of Darius I. He is known in the Greek historical tradition for leading the Persian invasion of Greece in 480 BCE, assembling an enormous land and naval force that crossed the Hellespont, fighting the Spartans and their allies at Thermopylae, burning Athens, and being ultimately defeated in the Greek naval victory at Salamis and the land battle of Plataea in 479 BCE. This campaign, narrated by Herodotus in the Histories cemented Xerxes’ image in the Greek imagination as an example of overreaching royal power. After the invasion failed, Xerxes returned to Persia and withdrew from further military campaigns in Greece, focusing instead on building projects at Persepolis, before being assassinated in a palace conspiracy.
Amestris was Xerxes’ queen and mother of Artaxerxes. Herodotus presents her as a formidable and often ruthless figure within the Persian court. Amestris outlived Xerxes and appears in later sources as continuing to wield influence during the reign of her son, Artaxerxes I.

#translation #philosophical See the note on ἐπιμέλεια at 119a9.

#cultural Until he reached the age of twenty, a citizen could not exercise his right to address the Assembly (Arist. Ath. 42.5). This sets the dramatic date of the dialogue at about 433, just before the start of the Peloponnesian War. Alcibiades was on the Potidaea campaign (Smp. 219e), probably in 432 (Smp. 220d–e says that he fought in a battle there, presumably the battle described in Th. 1.62 3; Isoc. 16.29 says he went out with Phormio, which, according to Th. 1.64.2, would not have been until after that battle). At the time of his service in Potidaea, Alcibiades would not have been less than twenty (youths between eighteen and twenty did garrison duty in Attica: Arist. Ath. 42.3 5).

#cultural Lampido was daughter of Leotychidas by his second wife, and was married to Archidamus, the son of the son of Leotychidas by his first wife (Hdt. 6.71).

#cultural Denyer notes “an anachronism. It was not in fact until 427 that Agis succeeded his father Archidamus as king of Sparta (Th. 3.1.1, 3.89.1); yet the other indications set the dramatic date of the dialogue at about 433.”

#philosophical Socrates may be emphasizing that the wives have a better understanding of Alcibiades than he does because women are traditionally in charge of upbringing, and Socrates has been emphasizing that Alcibiades’ real competitors have had a better upbringing than him.

#philosophical #otherPlato At Apology 29e–31c Socrates presents himself as having tried to persuade people to care about virtue, and to care about bettering themselves rather than just looking after their bodies or possessions—and as understanding this to be what the Delphic oracle ordered him to do, and the way in which he is benefiting his fellow Athenians, or anyone else he might engage with. As he puts it later on, he tried to benefit anyone he met by “trying to persuade them to not care for their belongings before taking care that they themselves be as good and as wise as possible” (Ap. 36c5–7; ἐπιχειρῶν ἕκαστον ὑμῶν πείθειν μὴ πρότερον μήτε τῶν ἑαυτοῦ μηδενὸς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι πρὶν ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιμεληθείη ὅπως ὡς βέλτιστος καὶ φρονιμώτατος ἔσοιτο). For other explicit mentions of self-care and Socratic persuasion, see 29e2, 31b5, and 41e5.

#cultural This was a maxim carved on the front of the temple of Apollo at Delphi. Its date is disputed. The maxim is often linked to the idea that we must know our limits and display humility (Aesch. Pr. 309). It was said that this maxim prompted Socrates on his philosophical explorations (Arist. Phil. fr. 1). Both in Plato and Xenophon’s dialogues, Socrates often interprets the maxim as exhorting someone to know the limits of their own knowledge and not to think they knows when they are in fact ignorant (e.g. Xen. Mem. 3.9.6).

#philosophical #otherPlato Socrates ends his long speech with an exhortation to self-knowledge, setting up the main theme for the remainder of the dialogue. This is in keeping with how Socrates portrays himself in Plato’s Apology, where he says he is on a divinely sanctioned mission to persuade others to care about virtue (31b, on which see the note on 124a8).
Stump (2020) argues that Socrates’ strategy here is typical of Socratic exhortation in Plato’s dialogues. Socrates identifies his interlocutors’ greatest desire (in this case, Alcibiades’ political ambitions) and shows that wisdom is a necessary means towards that end. Ultimately, Socrates encourages his interlocutor to value wisdom for its own sake.

#philosophical These lines echo 119a8–b3, where Socrates asks Alcibiades if he will engage in self-care, and Alcibiades suggests joint deliberation. Here, however, the speakers have reversed: Alcibiades asks about self-care, and Socrates proposes a joint deliberation.
Alcibiades will return to this question about self-care towards the end of the dialogue, at 132b4–5.
The first occurrence of (a cognate of) “self-care” was in the opening of the dialogue, at 104d3, where Alcibiades describes the very careful way Socrates has been following him.

#Greektext Here we are departing from Burnet’s text in translating the dative κοινῇ βουλῇ found in BT: “in common deliberation.” Burnet’s nominative κοινὴ βουλὴ might be translated as “it is a matter of common deliberation.”

#translation Here “about the way” translates ᾧτινι τρόπῳ. It might also be translated as “by virtue of which,” picking up “common deliberation”: the shared deliberation by virtue of which they might become the best possible.

#philosophical The dialogue opens with a relationship of dependency between Alcibiades and Socrates (105d–e). There, Socrates claims Alcibiades can only achieve his goals through Socrates. In the course of the dialogue, Socrates and Alcibiades move toward a more collaborative model. 124c marks the joint effort involved in inquiry.

#philosophical The god was also mentioned back at 105d and 105e.

#translation #philosophical “Your epiphany” translates ἡ ἐπιφάνεια ... σοι. This might either mean (as Denyer also notes) Alcibiades’ appearing to the world, or something else’s (perhaps: the gods’) appearing to Alcibiades. Depending on which option we select, Socrates will be making a very different promise.
This is the only occurrence of ἐπιφάνεια in Plato.

#otherPlato A similar idea is voiced at Symposium 219b1–2, where Alcibiades relates Socrates’ claim that deliberating together would allow them to do what’s best for them both.

#translation “The great and the good” (here and a few lines below) translates οἱ καλοὶ κἀγαθοί; notably, “great” does not translate μέγας as above. We have opted for “the great and the good” to capture the sense that this is a set phrase, and a way to refer to the Athenian elite (who would count as elite because deemed superior, not merely in virtue of being part of some social class—cf. Denyer 194).

#translation The Greek word here, φρόνιμος, is often translated in philosophical contexts as “practically wise.” Denyer explains that it would have sounded odd, though typical of Socrates, to use this word to refer to everyday crafts like shoemaking as Socrates goes on to do (195).

#Greektext #translation Denyer (196) conjectures that there is an error here in the text. He points out several oddities with the grammar and posits that the text we have, Οὐκοῦν τῶν (“so, the ones”), is a corruption of an original text that instead read συνόντων (“being together”). The translation on Denyer’s reading would be: “being together and negotiating with themselves and...”. We are printing and translating the original manuscript reading on the understanding that, while unusual, the grammar is not impossible.

#cultural The role of the coxswain was to give time to the rowers. Socrates is here thinking of navigating and traversing the sea in wartime, hence his next inference “for that is navigational excellence.”

#translation ἐπίστασθαι followed by an infinitive conveys knowing how to perform the action denoted by the infinitive. Hence ἐπίστασθαι ἄρχειν: knowing or understanding how to rule.

#philosophical Notice that in this conversation within the broader conversation, Socrates and Alcibiades reverse roles, so that Alcibiades is the questioner.

#translation Literally, “like-mindedness or difference of mind” (ὁμόνοια ἢ διχόνοια).

#philosophical Socrates moves here from the city to relationships among members of the polity and, finally, to individuals with themselves.

#translation The Greek terms for “husband” and “wife” are also the words for “man” and “woman.” The latter sense will be more relevant in the following discussion, even though the friendship at play in a husband-wife relationship is what Alcibiades seems to invoke here.

#Greektext Bracketing the extraneous περὶ τούτων, as does the OCT text.

#otherPlato See Rep. 433b3–4, where Socrates claims that “doing one’s own, if it comes about in a certain way, is justice.” See also Tim. 72a, Xen. Mem. 2.9.1, Lys. 26.3, noted in Denyer.

#philosophical This is Alcibiades’ most significant admission of ignorance yet. He appears to have no clear path forward in mind and admits that he has been in this state for a long time, even if he is only realizing it now. Socrates’ encouraging response will pick up on the rather disheartened tone Alcibiades seems to be striking here.

#philosophical Alcibiades finally calls his condition “most ugly” (αἴσχιστα, which might also be translated “most shameful,” on which see the note on αἰσχρός at 107b7) and not just something he’s “worried” about (cf. 117a). We might therefore ask what, if anything, is different about him or his condition. Why is he only ashamed now? Has Alcibiades’ view of the badness of his condition changed? Or is he only now realizing what his state is (and is ashamed for that reason)?
One possible answer might appeal to the fact that Socrates’ appeal to the Persians and Spartans has now made it impossible for Alcibiades, when faced with evidence that he does not know, to fall back on his own raw talent. This is the first formal aporia since the appeal to the Persians and Spartans, so it might make sense for his shame to first show up here.
A related answer might appeal to the fact that Alcibiades in fact had a few real flashes of insight in the argument just above—but did not exploit them. This, too, would be further evidence that raw talent (and the insights it might offer) is not enough.

#philosophical Here “if you were noticing” translates εἰ... ᾔσθου, which is more literally rendered “if you were perceiving” (similarly for “notice” and “the one noticing” in the next few lines).
Socrates is therefore using the language of perception here. What might be the significance of this choice? Does it matter, for instance, that Alcibiades has “perceived” that he failed to notice his condition, rather than noticing it in some other way? Here, at least, it’s just introduced as a contrast to “escaping notice”—but it may be of greater significance later on, given the emphasis on visual analogues to self-knowledge starting around 132d and the similar point made, using similar language, at 135c10–11.

#philosophical #cultural Why might this be difficult to do at the age of fifty, but not so bad right now? Denyer notes that “Socrates is relying on the traditional view that fifty is the age at which a man enters, or should enter, his intellectual prime” (citing Aristotle’s Politics 1335b32–3, as well as passages from Plato’s Republic and Laws). Still, there is a further question about why one’s intellectual prime is too late an age to cultivate oneself.
One possibility is that the work of self-shaping, if it began then, would not have enough time to be successful—and is generally harder to do as you get older. Another is that if fifty really is our peak, we simply could not go up from there. Yet another is that Socrates is only aiming to draw a contrast with Alcibiades’ age right now, as he is about to enter politics—the specific age of fifty being of no particular significance.
Some relevant passages to consider here include Republic 539, where where Socrates claims that guardians should not be allowed to study dialectic until age 30, and Gorgias 485, where Callicles thinks philosophy is only appropriate for the very young. It’s worth keeping in mind that Alcibiades (c.450–404 BCE) will not make it to fifty.

#philosophical The “things which are asked” might look either backwards (to the specific questions raised at 127d, say) or forwards (to the questions to come) or even pick out a general practice that Alcibiades ought to engage in (where answering questions is what the practice of self-care consists in). Importantly, Socrates has already recommended to Alcibiades that he answer questions (see 106b). Now, it appears, the emphasis is on answering questions once you’ve realized that you are in a particular state.

#translation The Greek word here translated as “do” is ποιεῖν. The word can also mean “make” or “produce.” The above discussion of doing ones own uses a different Greek word, πράττειν. The switch to a different word here might be to prepare for the emphasis on the specific action of making something better starting at 128b (where “make” translates the same word ποιεῖν).

#philosophical It is not entirely clear how we should understand the content of Socratic divination here. Someone with the art of divination would see past, present, and future, and so should not only be thought of as offering prophesies about what will come about.
Socrates might thus be alluding to his understanding of his philosophical mission, as he has practiced and continues to practice it. Or he might, more specifically, be alluding to his understanding of what the god does or does not permit him to do, in particular about whom he should approach, and when (cf. 103a5–6 and 105e6–7). In favor of this last line of interpretation one might mention the beginning of the Theaetetus, where Socrates is said to be remarkably good at divining how Theatetus would turn out (142c4–5).

#philosophical Why does Socrates also think he (not just Alcibiades) will be in a better state? One answer might appeal to the divine sign—which is primarily looking out for Socrates, not Alcibiades. If it has stopped preventing Socrates from engaging with Alcibiades, that may be a sign that there is something good for Socrates in this exchange too.

#philosophical Socrates lists three conditions here: (1) Alcibiades must do this, i.e. answer what is asked, (2) god must be willing, and (3) Socrates’ divination must be trusted.
How are all these conditions related? One possibility is that they are all of the same order: it is by satisfying all of them that they will end up in a better state. If this is right, Socrates’ emphasis may be on the difficulty of the task—and this emphasis may presage the pessimistic note on which the dialogue ends.
Another possibility is that there is additional structure here: that the three conditions fall into two kinds. On this reading, (2) and (3) might be conditions for things turning out well, whereas (1) picks out the condition under which (2) and (3) will matter at all. That is, Alcibiades must answer, and only then does it make sense to ask whether or not this leads to some kind of improvement—improvement which will still depend on whether (2) and (3) obtain (where (3) may perhaps be superfluous, as Socrates’ phrasing suggests, because it is a part or consequence of (2) that Socrates’ divination be trustworthy).

#philosophical The question “What is X?” is sometimes referred to as the “Socratic Question,” and closely associated with the historical Socrates. Aristotle tells us Socrates was the first to focus explicitly on answering questions of this sort (Met A6 987b2–4), which Plato has Socrates put to his interlocutors in a number of dialogues (“What is piety?” in the Euthyphro, “What is virtue?” in the Meno, and so on).
The question asks for a certain kind of definition of the object under investigation—in this case, a definition that would tell us what it is to care for oneself, or what self-care essentially is. Socrates expects a definition which would, among other things, explain the central features of self-care, and in particular what the object of self-care is.

#translation Here and in the following discussion “belongs to” does not correspond to any individual word or phrase in the Greek. The Greek simply uses the genitive: one could also translate the construction here as “what is of themselves” or “what is theirs” rather than “what belongs to themselves.”
The relation captured by this genitive is a broad one, covering cases which we would think of as possession as well as adornment, protection or covering, and functional service more generally—as the examples here illustrate well. One feature these examples might share is that the nature of the thing that belongs to something would have to make reference to the thing to which it belongs—e.g. the nature of the finger ring makes reference to the finger, the nature of the shoe to the foot, and so on.

#Greektext Burnet prints these lines in brackets, and we translate them here. In favor of including them despite their absence from the manuscripts, Denyer points to the reference to weaving at 128c15.

#cultural #otherPlato The Greek verb “care for” (ἐπιμελέομαι) is more commonly used of people or animate objects. Talk of caring for inanimate objects is less common, though not unprecedented (see e.g. Statesman 279e6).

#philosophical There is an ambiguity in this question. It could be asking (1) whether there is a single way of caring correctly for all things or (2) whether, for any object, there is some way of caring for that object.
Because no master caring craft is identified or even considered in what follows, the latter appears to be what is intended.

#philosophical #otherPlato It might seem like a jump to assume that there is some craft involved with caring for shoes from the existence of a correct way of caring for them. Could there not be some standard according to which we can rightly speak of caring for shoes correctly or incorrectly even absent some craft that concerns itself with shoes?
Socrates and Alcibiades plainly assume not in this passage, but the question is given more attention in the Gorgias, where things like pastry baking, cosmetics, and rhetoric are dismissed as knacks or routines (matters of ἐμπειρία καὶ τριβή, 463b4) rather than crafts, and said to “wear the mask” of certain actual crafts whose products or effects they appear to replicate (463b–465e, where the crafts in question are, respectively, medicine, athletics, and the craft concerned with justice). In Met A1, Aristotle also allows that certain practices might prove successful even when they do not involve the kind of reasoning distinctive of a craft.
A close association between craft and correctness can also be found in other texts, for instance the Hippocratic De Arte 5. For more on Hippocratic conceptions of craft, see also Schiefsky (2005).

#cultural A common example in Plato, which he often has Socrates put forward as a paradigmatic case of craft knowledge, and compare favorably to alleged expertise in domains his audience would have held in higher esteem.
Xenophon reports that Socrates, before he was old enough to enter the agora, spent time in the shops of leather workers nearby (Memorabilia 4.2.1), and Diogenes Laërtius tells us that a shoemaker, Simon, was in fact the first to record his conversations with Socrates in dialogue form (Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers II.122–124).
Socrates is famously portrayed by Plato as always being shoeless (cf. Phaedrus 229a; Symposium 203d, 220b).

#cultural Podiatry was not a recognized specialty in ancient Greece as it is today. As the interlocutors go on to suggest, athletic trainers looked after the whole body, and so it would have been natural to think of them as caring, in particular, for the feet.

#philosophical Need Alcibiades concede this point? Making shoes is plausibly one way of taking care of the foot—not just things that belong to the foot. In the Republic it is explicitly allowed that the user of an artifact might advise the maker of that artifact (601c–e), and so it seems intuitive, in this case, to think the shoe wearer might advise the shoe maker, and in doing so mention certain relevant features of their feet. Why not, then, think that both athletics and shoemaking are involved in caring for our feet?
The point still remains that the craft of caring for the foot is not the same as the craft of caring for shoes, even if the latter (or some part of it) may be involved in or subordinate to the former.

#philosophical This is a crucial joint in the argument, supported by the preceding examples where there are different crafts that care for the body and various bodily accessories.
The case is strongest when the accessory in question is a purely decorative adornment, as with finger rings—for we are not tempted to think that caring for finger rings is a way to care for our fingers or hands. But even if proper shoes and clothing can be seen as contributing to our bodily care, Socrates will insist that the craft that cares for those things is not identical to the craft (athletics) that cares for the body. Alcibiades’ responses here, “apparently,” and “apparently not” below signal some hesitation on his part, but he has officially reversed his initial answer given at 128a4.

#philosophical What is it to fail to know the shoe? There are stronger or weaker ways to understand the sort of ignorance at play here. Of course someone who has no idea at all what shoes are (could not pick them out as something to put on their feet, say) would also fail to recognize the craft of shoemaking, insofar as they would fail to recognize its products. But even someone who can identify shoes might fail to know them in a deeper way—in the way someone must to be able to produce good shoes, say—and this deeper knowledge might be thought necessary to recognize the craft of shoemaking for what it is, and to appreciate, say, what makes someone a better or worse shoemaker.
Alcibiades seems to express some ambivalence about whether or not knowing oneself would be difficult at 129a5–6, when he claims it sometimes seems to him very easy, and sometimes extremely difficult. That remark can be understood as a reflection of the two sorts of ignorance at play: on the one hand, it is very easy for Alcibiades to not be utterly ignorant about who he is, and on the other, he might not be utterly ignorant about who he is and yet fail to have the kind of deeper knowledge of the self necessary to properly understand what self-care is, and what it requires.

#translation #Greektext We are translating αὑτόν (us, ourselves) where the manuscripts have αὐτόν. It is hard to see what αὐτόν would refer to here—and difficult to make sense of the passage if it is picking out the ring or shoe. Denyer suggests it could be an abbreviated ἄνθρωπον—but the self is not the same as the ἄνθρωπον, and so again it is hard to make sense of the subsequent clause.

#philosophical Notice that by this point in the argument we see two shifts in emphasis. Before the emphasis was on others: the members of the Athenian assembly and Athens’ relationship to other political bodies. Accordingly, many of the examples had to do with war and competition. Here the examples focus on the domestic sphere and the emphasis is on caring for the individual. Likewise there is a shift from talk of managing others to caring for oneself.

#translation “It” is somewhat obscure. It may pick out what is known when one knows oneself. It may also pick up “to know oneself,” so that they are asking about knowing the meaning of the inscription.

#philosophical Is Socrates suggesting merely that if we know ourselves then we will know what it takes to care for ourselves, or does he mean to suggest that once we know ourselves we will, thereby, know how to care for ourselves? In short, is knowledge of oneself sufficient for being able to care for oneself?

#translation #philosophical “The self itself” translates the Greek expression “αὐτὸ ταὐτό” (cf. 130d4), which might be given several possible interpretations.
(1) It might refer to the care of ourselves (or it might refer to the antecedent of “it” in 129a8), in which case it should be glossed “it, the same thing.” This reading relies on the idea that knowledge of oneself is required for knowledge of care of oneself, so that inquiry into the former counts as inquiry into the latter. However, the apparently parallel expression at 130d4 does not seem to fit with this interpretation.
(2) The article “τὸ” in “ταὐτό” might used quotationally, to refer to the word (or, perhaps, more precisely, the concept communicated by the word) “it” or “self” (αὐτό), in which case it could be translated with “‘self’ itself.” On this interpretation, Socrates is proposing to investigate the word “self” or concept of self-hood.
(3) The phrase “αὐτὸ ταὐτό” might have the force of similar Platonic expressions like “the beautiful itself,” which refers to the Form of Beauty. On this interpretation, Socrates is referring to a Form in virtue of which things are said to be selves or themselves, in which case the expression here could be glossed with “the Self itself.”
(4) The expression may be similar to the Platonic idiom for Forms, insofar as it picks out for discussion a feature or property, but without the full force of the theory of Forms. On this interpretation, our expression might be glossed with “the property of being a self.” (This should not be taken to suggest that Socrates has in view a modern notion of selfhood as the subject of conscious experience.)
(5) The expression may be used to refer to the expression “-self” in the Delphic inscription. On this interpretation, as on interpretation (2), αὐτό is the intensive and the article (τὸ) is functioning quotationally, but perhaps the text should have the reflexive pronoun “αὑτό” after the article. On this interpretation, Socrates is initiating an inquiry into the meaning of the Delphic oracle’s pronouncement and its use of “self” in particular.

#translation Here and below, “speak” translates forms of the verb διαλέγεσθαι, on which see the note on 108c6. While διαλέγεσθαι often picks out a specific kind of conversational speaking, in the next few lines it seems to be used broadly, and identified with the use of speech (τὸ λόγῳ χρῆσθαι).

#philosophical This is a crucial premise in the argument: if we do not grant it, then we might hold that we use our body but still deny that we are distinct from it.
Yet the evidence presented so far in support of this premise might seem a bit thin. For it might seem that the relationship we bear to our body is rather different from the relationship the shoemaker or kitharist bears to the tools they use. For one thing, we have much more direct control over our body than we do our tools, and can exert this control in ways that might shape our body over time—while the kitharist (e.g.) must for the most part make do with the kithara at their disposal. Another concern is that the tools in question are designed with a specific use in mind—to produce a certain kind of sound, to punch certain sorts of holes in leather, and so on—while something like our hands or eyes are put to use in a variety of different ways, and required for just about any productive craft. Finally, it seems natural to think that we ourselves are harmed or benefited when our bodies are, while this is plainly false in the case of tools. So is it right to assimilate the use of our bodies to the use a craftsperson makes of their tools?
The subsequent discussion about the soul ruling the body might aim to alleviate some of these concerns, insofar as it dismisses the possibility of a person being a compound of body and soul, and specifies the relevant sort of use of the body as a form of rule. Still, it might seem a bit premature to conclude that we are not our body given what has been said so far, and even after these additional moves, Socrates makes it clear he takes the argument to be imprecise, though suitable for present purposes (130c8–9).

#philosophical This is the end of the first phase of argument. After agreeing that the person is not the body, Alcibiades needs some help to make positive progress in the next phase of argument.

#philosophical Of these three possibilities, one was already rejected in 129e, namely, that the person is the body—but see the note to 129d1–2 for some questions about this initial argument.

#philosophical #otherPlato See Gorgias 491d and Republic 430e–b.
There seem to be two options here: (1) Socrates and Alcibiades are thinking that (i) if x rules y then x uses y and so, since (ii) nothing uses itself, it follows that (iii) nothing—including the body—rules itself. (2) this point—that the body does not rule itself—is independent of the discussion of use above: it is obvious from experience that a body does not rule itself, but requires external guidance and rule.
For the idea that the soul would naturally rule the body, and the body naturally be rules by the soul, see also Phaedo 80a.

#philosophical The emphasis on both components having a part to play in the ruling (on their being joint rulers) is significant here. For one might well think that the body is involved in the soul’s rule over the body, so that the compound would rule in virtue of just one of its parts but nonetheless require the other to realize what the ruling part commands.
The claim Socrates articulates here implies that if a soul-body compound counts as a ruler, then it cannot be the case that the body does not play any role as a ruler, presumably because that would simply make the soul the actual ruler, rather than the compound. This is compatible with the body playing a critical role in realizing what the soul commands—what matters is only that the body itself does not act as a (joint) ruler, a claim already endorsed at 130b3.
One might, to return to an earlier analogy, think of a musician’s instrument as necessary for and centrally involved in the playing of some music, but still credit the musician for any musical performance. (See however the note to 129d1–2 for some potential concerns with such analogies.)

#philosophical See the note to 129b1 for some possible ways of understanding the object of the more lengthy investigation alluded to here.

#Greektext #philosophical Reading αὐτὸν, with manuscripts BT and Denyer, instead of αὐτὸ, as printed in the OCT.
The contrast here makes it clear that Socrates does not think the preceding investigation has appropriately explained what the self itself is. What has been established (at least in some imprecise way, cf. 130c8) is that each person is their soul. But this was a conclusion reached by elimination (cf. 130a9), and, as it is put in the next few lines, shows only that Socrates and Alcibiades could not identify anything more “authoritative” or “in control” (κυριώτερόν) than the soul.
Thus while it might be for Alcibiades to appreciate that he is not his body or what belongs to him, we do not so far have an account of the self that would explain in general why a person is their soul, or, more broadly, what the connection is between the self and whatever is “in control” (on which point see for instance Rep IV 431a–d, 444d, IX 579c)

#philosophical #otherPlato See also Charmides 164d–165b, where discipline is also associated with the Delphic inscription.
This is the first mention of discipline (σωφροσύνη) in the dialogue outside its being listed as one of the impressive attributes of Alcibiades’ true rivals (121e7, 122a4, 122c5). Though the claim is presented as part of a conditional here, it is taken as agreed later on that discipline is indeed self-knowledge (133c18).
Alcibiades has thus agreed at this point that he should seek to know himself, and that this means knowing his soul, something none of the crafts concerned with the body or its improvement or upkeep would help with. It is worth recalling that in the opening of the dialogue Socrates’ praise of Alcibiades focused exclusively on attributes which were not attributes of his soul (his looks, money, lineage, and political connections). The implicit suggestion may be that Alcibiades needs Socrates’ help to become disciplined.

#cultural #translation Here “money” is translating τὰ χρήματα, to be consistent with our rendering of χρηματιστής in the following lines. τὰ χρήματα is however broader than “money,” and can pick out any sort of property, or, even more broadly, mean something like “things” or “affairs.”

#cultural #translation The “money maker” (χρηματιστής) here is someone who knows how to acquire and manage wealth. In the Politics, Aristotle presents money making as the kind of wealth acquisition that is not governed by a concern other than making money, and thus different from forms of wealth acquisition instrumental to managing a household—in particular because it seeks to acquire riches and property without limit (I.9 1256b41–57a1).

#philosophical Socrates is claiming that he will stick around as long as Alcibiades’ soul continues to improve. This suggests he does take Alcibiades to be making some progress. But it also suggests that his help is conditional on this progress: Socrates might leave were Alcibiades to cease focusing on his soul (or not put in the effort to make himself—that is, his soul—“as beautiful as possible,” as he puts it at 131d7).
The pessimistic note on which the dialogue ends might be taken to indicate that this is not an idle possibility, and that even Alcibiades’ and Socrates’ best efforts might not suffice (see also 132a1–7, just below).

#philosophical A striking reversal for Alcibiades, who starts off complaining that Socrates is always pestering him (104d3), and that he finds him and his behavior very strange (106a2).

#cultural Socrates’ mother and father are mentioned here, Denyer suggests, to contrast with the mother and father of Alcibiades also invoked in this passage, and compare Alcibiades’ aristocratic lineage with Socrates’ more humble origins.

#philosophical Answering the question which opens the dialogue, and which Alcibiades echoes in his own voice at 104d4. Recall that the timing of Socrates’ engagement with Alcibiades was a source of puzzlement early on (see in particular 104c7–d5 and 105e6–7).

#philosophical #otherPlato A fear reiterated in the closing lines of the dialogue, and which echoes the description of Callicles as a lover of the Athenian people, and thus incapable of being persuaded by Socrates, at Gorgias 513a–c (cf. also 481d–e).
A more detailed account of the corruption of those with a philosophical nature can also be found at Republic VI, starting around 490e (with some allusions to the concerns raised here about Alcibiades at 494c–495b).

#cultural An epithet for the people of Athens in Homer, Iliad II.547.

#translation #philosophical #otherPlato The Greek word here (γύμνασαι) can mean “practice” or “train,” as one might in some athletic discipline—and so also, as we render it here, “strip” as in preparation for such training (Greek athletes competed naked). See also the myth at the end of the Gorgias (523ff), where nakedness is said to offer a clear view of something—and in particular a clear view of souls stripped of their bodily features—together with Charmides 155c–d, where Socrates is portrayed as seeing under Charmides’ cloak, on which see further McCabe (2007).

#translation This translates ἀλεξιφάρμακα, which can pick out antidotes or remedies generally, but can also have magical connotations (as at Statesman 280d), and refer specifically to something that might immunize us against some ill effect (on which see Denyer’s note on this passage).

#philosophical Alcibiades asked Socrates to explain what kind of self-care to embark on at 124b. Is Alcibiades simply repeating the same question here, or asking a new one? If Alcibiades is simply repeating his earlier question, this might suggest that he has not really followed the intervening discussion. But perhaps Alcibiades is asking a subtly different question: perhaps earlier Alcibiades was asking what the relevant self-care was, while he now wants to know how to pursue self-care. If so, this line might indicate that Alcibiades is becoming more seriously invested in the project of caring for himself in the way Socrates has described.
It’s also worth noting that Alcibiades here asks Socrates to explain the nature of self-care, especially given that Socrates responded to Alcibiades’ 124b question by emphasizing the need for joint investigation (124c, 124e). Does Alcibiades’ request demonstrate a problematic unwillingness to contribute to the investigation or a praiseworthy recognition that he has much to learn from Socrates?
Whatever we take Alcibiades’ request to show about his attitude or progress, it is significant that it is couched in terms of a demand for exegesis (ἐξηγεῖσθαι), presumably still of the Delphic inscription (cf. 132c9–10). One way to understand the request is to think of the focus being shifted from here on to the part of the inscription which has not yet been investigated: to the “know” (γνῶθι) rather than the “yourself” (σαυτόν) in “know yourself.” This makes this final part of the dialogue a natural continuation of the joint investigation undertaken at 124c.

#Greektext Here we follow Denyer in sticking with the manuscripts (BT), which print ὅντινα. Burnet, following Bekker, emends to ὅντιν᾽ ἂν, presumably because the following verb is in the optative mood (the mood picked up by the “might” in “we might care”), which in such situations is standardly found with the particle ἂν. Denyer, however, cites several parallels to the present sentence (227–8).

#philosophical #translation “Look into this” translates εἰς τοῦτο βλεπτέον. This expression raises two puzzles of translation (and interpretation).
First, it is not entirely clear what “this” (τοῦτο) refers to. Part of the difficulty here is that τοῦτο is neuter. In context, the most obvious thing for it to pick up is the soul (ψυχῆς) just mentioned. “Soul” (ψυχή), however, is a feminine noun, and so we might expect a demonstrative (“this”) picking it up to be feminine too. However, it does sometimes happen that a neutral demonstrative picks up a non-neuter noun, especially when the speaker wants to point back that noun in a more abstract way: abstracting from its particular quality. What this means here is that “this” might be either (1) the soul, thought of in some more abstract way, or (2) something else—where it is not quite clear what this might be, but where the later eye analogy might be meant to provide an answer (so that the τοῦτο would also refer, abstractly, to “the way in which we might care for ourselves” from 132b5).
Second, “look into” (εἰς ... βλεπτέον) might be translated either as “look toward” or “look into” or “look to” or “look at.” Some of these translations (especially “look into” and “look at”) might capture an epistemic point: that the soul is what we need to be investigating or focusing on (respectively). One such idea might be that to care for the soul, we need to pay attention to it, tracking its condition (to see how well we are doing); this might then anticipating the sort of “looking at” that we find later in the eye analogy. By contrast, some others of these translations (especially “look toward”) might capture the idea of looking towards some standard for guidance—perhaps picking up an idea from 104d or 107e (though with a different preposition).

#philosophical #translation Here it seems important to have the broader sense of χρήματα in mind (cf. 131b13).

#philosophical #translation The idea here is not obvious. By knowing what will we also come to know ourselves? And why will knowing that thing help us come to know ourselves?
One option is that we will know ourselves by knowing the three things just mentioned: our soul, body, and property. This is, however, puzzling for two reasons. First, we have just argued that our bodies and our property are distinct from ourselves. Why then would we need to know them in order to know ourselves? Second, we have just argued that we are our souls. This does make it easy to explain how knowing our souls is a way to know ourselves. But perhaps it makes it too easy: the text says that “by knowing this it’s likely we’ll also come to know ourselves,” suggesting that there is some gap between the “this” that we know and knowing ourselves.
Another option is to take the “this” that we know as the way that we might know our soul, body, and property most clearly. Here the thought might be that knowing the way to know our soul, body, and property will give us knowledge of ourselves. How would this work? If it is simply that learning the method to know (say) our soul will give us knowledge of ourselves, then we are left with the same problem as above: that there is no gap between knowing ourselves and knowing our soul. But if there is more to the thought, it is not clear yet; perhaps the discussion of the Delphic inscription and the eye analogy will help.
One translation issue is relevant here. We translate “in what way might we know αὐτὰ most clearly” as “in what way might we know them most clearly,” with αὐτὰ construed as a neuter plural that refers back to the soul, body, and property taken together (Burnet’s text has αὐτὸ here, but this is not attested in any manuscript). It can also be understood as a feminine singular, in which case it would refer only to soul. If αὐτὰ refers only to souls, the way that we are enjoined to seek might be very specific; if it refers to all three, it might be more general.
Note also that while we just agreed that the care of ourselves and of our belongings were distinct, 133d will go on to say that the same person will know both themselves and what belongs to them; considering that passage may help to determine whether there is a way of knowing that applies to all three cases or not.

#philosophical #translation We render παράδειγμα “analogue” here. A παράδειγμα is something one might look at to get a sense of something else, and which is taken to illustrate or otherwise convey some essential features of that thing. It is more than a merely suggestive example, in that it aims to convey the essential features of the thing of which it is a παράδειγμα, but, in this context at least, it need not be a perfect model of that thing: not all of the features of a παράδειγμα need to capture something essential about the thing of which it is a παράδειγμα.
A helpful parallel can be found in the Sophist, where, around 218d–e, the angler is introduced as a παράδειγμα for the sophist—that is, as something less controversial and easier to understand than the sophist, but which might nonetheless capture some of his essential features. From 221c onwards we find an investigation into the angler, and this investigation shapes the investigation into the sophist, with analogous questions being raised about both.
In our case, Socrates seems to think of the advice “see yourself” (or the method of seeing yourself) as a παράδειγμα for the advice “know yourself” (or the method of knowing yourself). A natural question is what exactly the essential aspects of self-knowledge are which he takes to be captured by the case of seeing yourself.

#translation That is, the eye—picking up ὄμμα at 132d5.

#philosophical One might wonder at this point why Socrates doesn’t rest content with Alcibiades’ example of a mirror, but instead introduces the more complicated eye example. One possibility is that our looking into a mirror cannot serve as a παράδειγμα of looking into our souls—while an eye seeing itself in the eye of another can serve this role.
On a more practical note, ancient mirrors were made of polished metal rather than glass, and were often rather imperfect reflecting surfaces.

#translation #philosophical This sentence could be translated many different ways. First, its beginning could just as easily be rendered “And have you considered that when looking at one’s face in the eye of another, it appears...” (taking τοῦ ἐμβλέποντος as a genitive absolute rather than an objective genitive). Such a translation might bring out the importance of the fact that a person is looking in Socrates’ example, and also potentially convey in a more direct way some of the erotic undertones associated with someone staring into the eyes of another.
There are also some difficulties in rendering the many different sight-related words here. The word rendered “sight organ” (ὄψις) can just refer to the eye (and so just be a different word for ὀφθαλμός). But it can mean the power of sight, or its activity (so that it could simply be rendered “sight”), or the part of the eye associated with this power—and therefore it could mean something like “pupil,” if that is what we take the relevant organ to be. For the purposes of the analogy, it seems Socrates wishes to emphasize that this would be the best part of the eye—the part ultimately responsible for sight, rather than its other components.
Any decision here has to take into account the term that shows up later, and which is rendered “figurine” here (κόρη). κόρη can itself denote the pupil, though it doesn’t appear in this sense anywhere in Plato. Originally, it means something like “girl,” but also “puppet” or “doll” (of a girl), and then “pupil” in a sense derived from the idea of an image of ourselves appearing in a pupil in just the way Socrates explains here.
To rely on this last derived sense seems inapt, since the term is being used to convey the image motivating the derivation. Thus we take the ὃ in the relative ὃ δὴ καὶ κόρην καλοῦμεν clause to pick up τὸ πρόσωπον, with the idea being that the face of the person gazing in the eye (and reflected in the sight organ, understood either as the eye or the pupil) is what we call a figurine, because it is an image of the person looking.

#translation The Greek term translated as “sight” here is ὄψις, on which see the note to 132e7–133a3. We took the same word to refer to the sight organ at 133a2—that might also be relevant here, but we are reading it as specifying the excellence of the eye rather than the place where the excellence arises.

#philosophical This appears to (begin to) spell out what it would take to know ourselves, addressing the question set up at 132c. Does it support the idea that we know ourselves by knowing our soul in addition to our body and property (because we are our souls)? Or is it easier to understand as articulating the way we know ourselves?
It’s significant that the conclusion here is not just that we should look into the soul in order to know ourselves, but that we should look into the part of the soul where wisdom arises—the best part of the soul. This certainly does not yet yield a full method for coming to know ourselves, but it does specify what we should focus on in attempting to do so, and so might reasonably be taken to spell out a bit more clearly how we might come to know ourselves once we accept we are our souls.

#philosophical For this method to allow us to know ourselves “most of all” might mean that it allows us to successfully and completely know ourselves. But it might also mean that it allows us to know ourselves as well as possible—but perhaps still with some significant limitations.

#Greektext #translation #philosophical These lines are present only in the indirect evidence for the text, and are omitted from B and T. Some, like Denyer, argue for excluding them; others, like Buttmannus, argue for including them. Denyer argues (236–7) that the passage contains features not seen elsewhere in Plato or that depart from usage earlier in this dialogue, e.g. ὅθ’ as an elision for ὅτι (both meaning “that”) and ἔνοπτρον for κάτοπτρον (“mirror”). It may also be helpful to know that the wider context has also been subject to textual meddling since antiquity (e.g. 133c4–5). In favor of including the passage, we might note that 134d5’s “bright” (λαμπρὸν) is more easily understood if this passage has come before (still, its use here is somewhat surprising, given that mirrors were not especially bright around Plato’s time).
If we do include the passage, we might then ask about what its point would be, in context. One possibility might be that it is meant to affirm that the part of the soul that is in contact with the divine is still human, and part of human wisdom is understanding this (as we might take the Delphic injunction to remind us). Another would be that it draws out the normative aspects of self-knowledge (it results in us knowing the best part of ourselves, etc), which makes it easier to see that self-knowledge is related to knowing what a good person is. This doesn’t explicitly make the point that knowing what a good person is is required for knowing what belongs to a person, but it at least starts to set it up.
The passage is also difficult to translate. “For human matters” translates τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων at 133c14, but the force of this bare genitive is rather hard to understand. Another option is to take it with “the excellence of the soul” later in the sentence, so that Socrates talks of looking towards the excellence of the soul for human matters. Alternatively, we might take it with the earlier reference to the “most beautiful reflective surface,” so that Socrates is talking about the “most beautiful reflective surface of human matters too.”
Questions about how to translate this genitive expression interact with other questions about the difficult grammar of the sentence. The translation offered in the main text supplies “in looking,” based on an apparent parallel between the two “towards” expressions. Alternatively, following a suggestion by Denyer (237), we might instead take the second “towards” expression not as specifying the direction of looking, in a second case (as above), but instead as specifying the goal of the looking (towards the god) described earlier in the sentence. Denyer thus translates this expression as “in order to make our souls virtuous.”

#philosophical Back at 131b, this was introduced as a hypothesis: “So if discipline is knowing yourself, none of these people is disciplined because of their craft.” But at this point in the discussion Alcibiades doesn’t hesitate to accept it.

#philosophical There is a question as to what counts as one’s “own.” Useful clues might be found earlier in the dialogue, especially in the talk of “belonging” we find at 127e and following. Some options include: (1) what belongs to X is what X can or ought to influence or control; (2) what belongs to X is what is defined at least in part with reference to X.
Why might it be the case that not knowing ourselves, and not being disciplined, would stop us from knowing our own things? One possibility is that to fully know the things that belong to us, we need to know if they are good or bad for us; and to know if they are good or bad for us, we need to know ourselves.
Recall also that Socrates and Alcibiades identified “that which concerns knowing and understanding” as the part of the soul that is most divine (133c1–2), and agreed that it is by knowing this part that we would most of all know ourselves. So knowing ourselves, it seems, entails knowing that by which we know. You might also think that we would have to know that by which we know to truly know anything. If so, self-knowledge would be required for knowing what belongs to ourselves.

#philosophical What does Socrates mean here, and how does Alcibiades interpret him? One thing Socrates might mean is that someone who does not know who Alcibiades is also does not know that (say) this is Alcibiades’ house. If we interpret the claim this way, it is clearly true—but is it enough to justify the philosophical consequences Socrates draws from it? For example, does the 133e claim that someone who is ignorant of his own things is ignorant of the things of others follow from this? It is not obvious that it does: my ignorance of (say) which house is my own does not seem to show that I cannot know which house belongs to Socrates.
A more robust reading of Socrates’ claim is possible, as noted above (133c21–23): Socrates might mean that someone who does not know who Alcibiades is also does not know what is good or bad for him, and for this reason fails to (fully) understand what belongs to him. That might help us understand the 133e claim, since the kind of knowledge that allows someone to understand what is good or bad for Alcibiades might also allow them to understand what is good or bad for others.
Alcibiades’ emphatic response, however, might suggest that he has the more mundane interpretation of Socrates’ claim in mind—in which case we might wonder how well he is tracking the conversation that follows.

#translation On the translation of this construction, which just reflects a possessive genitive, see the note on 128a2.

#philosophical Earlier, at 128d, Socrates seemed to allow that you might “care for the things belonging to yourself” without caring for yourself, and that these tasks make use of different crafts (athletics might be used to care for our body, shoemaking our shoes, and so on). But now Socrates says that we were not “entirely” right to agree to this.
One possible way to understand this qualification, picking up on some points in the notes to 133c21–23 and 133d1, is to think that we can of course take care of our shoes without caring for ourselves in some sense—we can make sure their leather is well kept, their soles sturdy, and so on, just as a shoemaker might. But to really care for our shoes is to care them insofar as they would be good for us—to make sure we make them the sorts of shoes that will benefit us. And to do that will require an understanding of what it is to care for ourselves, so that caring for our shoes is, after all, part of our self-care broadly understood. Thus while it is true that different crafts can be used to care for our things, it is only

#philosophical Here and in the next question Socrates raises, there is a move from the individual to the human being, and so from the personal to the political. The idea may be that, just as knowledge of what is good or bad for Alcibiades requires knowing Alcibiades, so too does knowledge of what is good or bad for human beings in general require knowing what a human being is.
Absent such knowledge, there is a sense in which even an expert would fail to fully understand what they are doing: they would understand their craft, but not how its products might be good or bad for humans—something also suggested by the portrayal of craftspersons and their knowledge at Apology 22d–e.

#philosophical Recall that at 117c–118b mistakes were attributed to our failing to know what we don’t know—since when we do know what we don’t know we can avoid mistakes by consulting and deferring to those with the knowledge we lack.
The line of thought here seems to set aside those who, lacking knowledge, would nonetheless avoid mistakes through such self-knowledge and deference: the “one who does not know” here must be one who does not know and also does not know that he does not know, and thus acts in ignorant, harmful ways, not knowing what he is doing, but thinking he does know.

#philosophical The thought being that the person who is excellent here is the person who is disciplined, and so has the knowledge necessary to actually benefit the city.

#philosophical #translation To “convey” something here is to pass it on without ourselves losing what it is we are passing on—and so it is a form of transmission that does not have any of the competitive aspects Alcibiades was concerned about earlier in the dialogue.
The idea that one must have a share of something to convey it to others might be read back into 105e4–5, where Socrates claims only he will be able to convey to Alcibiades the power he seeks (the verb there is παραδοῦναι—closely related to μεταδιδόναι here, though not an exact match). If this is right, it suggests Socrates has some degree of self-knowledge—or some measure of understanding of what self-care is and what it requires—that he would be able to pass on to Alcibiades.

#translation The word we translate “political office” (ἀρχή) can also mean “power;” it is related to the verb ἄρχειν, which can mean “rule” or “govern.”

#translation Here the Greek is φαίνεται. With an infinitive complement, “φαίνεται x” means “it appears (but may not be true) that x.” With a participle complement, “φαίνεται x” means “x is plainly true” (Smyth 2143). Here we have no complement and thus grammar cannot help us choose between those interpretations.
The many other instances of “φαίνεται” that follow have the same feature. This leaves Alcibiades’ attitude towards Socrates’ claims ambiguous; Alcibiades could be saying he thinks Socrates’ claims are plainly true, or he could be indicating some amount of hesitation.

#Greektext Some scholars excise lines 134d1–e7. They argue that they are a later interpolation since they contain the term λαμπρός at d5, which would link them to the rejected lines at 133c8–18. See, for example, Carlini (1963) 169–174, and Hutchinson.
Yet the lines are present in all the manuscripts and discussed by the Neoplatonic commentators. The mere presence of the term λαμπρός, even if there is no other occurrence in the dialogue of this term, is not sufficient reason for excising a section of the text that is well attested in the manuscript tradition.

#translation This is ὁρῶντες, rather than βλέποντες, which is the term translated as “looking” throughout this passage.

#translation The Greek makes it clear that this “you,” as well as those in Socrates’ next four lines, is plural.

#otherPlato One of the few things Socrates takes himself to know (cf. Apology 29b).

#philosophical A concern for what’s fitting for Alcibiades is expressed early on, at 108c6, where Socrates suggests conversing well (καλῶς διαλέγεσθαι; speaking well in the ways that would make one a good partner in a dialogue or conversation) might be fitting for him. See also 129b5, where διαλέγεσθαι is assimilated to the use of speech, to introduce the idea of the person using the body.

#philosophical This relies on an assumed equivalence either between being governed and being enslaved or between being governed by one’s better and being enslaved. It is presumably intended to sting in application to the proud Alcibiades.

#philosophical A rather overemphatic response, which might be heard in a few different (potentially related) ways. First, as an expression of Alcibiades’ unrelenting competitive nature—he not only recognizes his state, but takes himself to recognize it better or more vividly than others might, in a way that might reflect his superior natural talents (such as he sees them, cf. 119c). Second, as a response to Socrates’ apparent doubts about the extent to which he will remain aware of his lack of knowledge and authority—the persistent questions about his state foreshadowing some of the concerns raised at the very end of the dialogue (on which cf. also 127d6–8).

#philosophical #cultural In Aristophanes’ Birds, Pisthetaerus mentions an ancient law “written in the tablets of the storks” according to which “when the stork father tending to the young storks has gotten them fit to fly, the young must in turn tend to their father” (1353–7).

#otherPlato See Republic VI for a description of the different forms this power might take, and its many corruptive effects.

First-read commentary

The dialogue begins with a confession of love: “I was the first man to fall in love with you,” Socrates says to Alcibiades. That is the sort of thing that you say when you want something. What is it that Socrates wants from Alcibiades?
Socrates is perhaps familiar to you. He is often the main character of Plato’s dialogues, and his typical behavior is to ask people questions until it is shown that they are ignorant about what they thought they knew. He rids people of intellectual arrogance. He tries to motivate them to think about things fresh.
Who, though, is Alcibiades? We get many details about him in this opening. He is a young man (not yet 20 years old: see 123d). He is tall. He is extraordinarily handsome. He comes from a rich and powerful family. His guardian, or official mentor, is the most influential politician in all of Athens. In short, he has almost every advantage that a young person could hope for. He is in every way set up for success.
This seems to be the very first conversation between Socrates and Alcibiades (though Socrates pursued him for many years, he never spoke to him). What is it that Socrates wants?

Alcibiades is from a rich and powerful family. He could spend his life in leisure, like children from exceptionally wealthy families have always done. However, he is not that sort of person. He was born with many advantages—but he wants even more. He wants to be the most famous and powerful person in the world. He is full of ambition.
It’s worth pausing to check in with yourself. What do you think of this ambition? Do you admire Alcibiades for it? Or do you think that it is suspicious?
Socrates tells us what he wants from Alcibiades. He thinks that Alcibiades will not be able to fulfill his ambitions without him. He wants to convince Alcibiades of that, so that Alcibiades will be dependent on him. He wants Alcibiades to need him—to believe that, without Socrates’ help, he will not be successful.
What could Alcibiades possibly need Socrates for? Socrates is not a politician. He is not a businessman. He is poor, notoriously ugly, and known for going barefoot in public spaces. What does Socrates have to offer someone like Alcibiades?

The Assembly was one of the main governing bodies of Athens. It was open to all adult male Athenians. It was a forum of direct democracy. Anyone could speak up and debate the meeting’s proposals, which included things like going to war, making new laws, and electing officials. A vote would be taken, and the majority’s decision would be sovereign.

Socrates is nudging Alcibiades to think that his advantages in life (such as his wealth) are irrelevant to whether or not his fellow citizens will listen to him in the Assembly. They don’t listen to the richest person whenever they need advice. They listen to the expert—to the doctor, for example, whenever they need advice about public health.

A bit vague, isn’t it? Perhaps Alcibiades doesn’t really know what he has in mind.

This discussion might be a bit confusing. Think about it like this.
Suppose someone tells you to do an activity better. What exactly should you do?
Well, that depends on the activity.
Are you playing a sport? Then for you to be better you need to be more athletic.
In contrast, are you playing a musical instrument? Then for you to be better you need to be more musical.
The basic point is that each activity has a unique standard of goodness. What it is to be good when playing a sport is different from what it is to be good when playing a musical instrument. We use the same word—good (or “more good,” i.e., better)—but the standard is different.

Why did Plato write dialogues?
There are many possible answers. You might notice, though, how the conversation is affecting you.
Socrates asks a question, and Alcibiades says that he doesn’t know. That makes space for you to think about what the answer might be.
Give it some thought. By what criterion do we decide what is better when it comes to making peace and going to war?
In other words, what is the standard of goodness with such activities? What is it that makes going to war done well? Fill in the blank: going to war is done well when it is done _______.

What’s going on? Let’s go back a few steps. Socrates got Alcibiades to admit that he intends to give advice in the Assembly about when it is right or wrong to undertake military action. He now wants to know whether Alcibiades has knowledge of what is right and what is wrong—or, more specifically, about justice and injustice. That’s what Alcibiades is going to speak about. So, will he know what he’s talking about?
Where does knowledge come from? It must come from somewhere... but where?
The assumption in the conversation is that you gain knowledge either by learning it from someone else or thinking carefully and discovering it for yourself.
Alcibiades, though, says that he never learned from someone else what is right and what is wrong, and he seems not to have ever given it careful thought on his own.
Is it likely, then that he has knowledge of it?
As always with Plato, the questions that Socrates asks to the interlocutor are useful to ask yourself.
You probably call some things right and other things wrong. You might even do that feeling certain that you are correct.
Who, though, did you learn about the nature of the right and the wrong from? Are you confident that they were a good instructor? (You might have liked them, they might have been nice to you, but that is a different matter.)
Or was there a time when you thought carefully and discovered on your own the nature of what is right and what is wrong? (You probably have thought about it before, but have you thought about it rigorously enough to be certain that you are correct?)
Socrates implies at 110b that Alcibiades would be mistaken to call something wrong without being certain that he has knowledge of what it is for something to be wrong. Do you think he is right about that?
Suppose you think that he is right about it (after all, how could you know that something in particular is wrong if you didn’t know what it is for something to be wrong in the first place?). What does it imply for how we should behave in calling things right and other things wrong? Should we abandon that altogether if we do not have knowledge of such things? Should we proceed with more caution?

It’s useful when reading Plato to keep in mind what Socrates is trying to do. At this point, he is trying to convince Alcibiades that he could not have learned the nature of what is right and wrong from people in general. He could not have learned it in the same way that he learned how to speak Greek. He could not have learned it simply by absorbing it from his environment.
Why not?
Here is the argument in valid premise-conclusion form:
(i) If someone can teach something, then they must know it for themselves (111a).
(ii) If people in general disagree about something, then they do not all have knowledge about that thing (111b).
(iii) People in general disagree about the nature of right and wrong (111b).
(iv) So, people in general do not all have knowledge of the nature of right and wrong. This follows from (ii) and (iii).
(v) So, people in general cannot teach the nature of right and wrong. This follows from (i) and (iv).
What do you think of the argument?
Look at premises (ii) and (iii). Are they true?
People do disagree about what is right and wrong. So, they cannot all have knowledge of it, else they would not disagree about it (compare: most English speakers know how to spell “grass,” and that’s why they do not disagree about it).
On the other hand, you might think that we can disagree about particular cases without disagreeing about the nature of the thing we are disagreeing about. Could we not agree, say, about what makes a good friend, but disagree about whether or not this person is indeed a good friend?
You might also call to mind that you sometimes disagree with yourself about the nature of right and wrong, perhaps changing your mind from day to day. Does this also show that you do not have knowledge of it?
As for premise (i), it’s worth considering what conception of teaching Socrates must have in mind. What is the sort of teaching that requires knowledge to be able to do? Is there a different sort of teaching that doesn’t require knowledge?

There is a popular culture at each time and place in history. In Plato’s time, that popular culture included Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. These epic poems were well known throughout Greece. They were in the air of the place—literally in the air, since their most common way of being transmitted was through public recitations with simple musical accompaniment. You listened to Homer being recited in a way not too dissimilar to how today you might go to a concert to hear a recitation of certain popular songs.

This is the upshot of the first stretch of Socrates’ argument (106c–113c).
Alcibiades’ strategy for winning fame and power is to speak up in the Assembly to give advice about when it is just and unjust to engage in military action.
Socrates has shown, though, that Alcibiades does not have knowledge of the nature of justice and injustice.
That isn’t something that Alcibiades seemed to be aware of before the conversation. So, he has now been brought to recognize that he is ignorant about something that he believed himself to know (or, at least, he has enough to draw that conclusion when he is ready to admit it to himself).
Alcibiades’ strategy, then, has been exposed to be one of undertaking to teach something that he doesn’t know—a risky strategy, one that is potentially disastrous for acquiring the social status that he desires.

In other words, Alcibiades is saying that people tend to think it’s obvious what is right and wrong. They don’t deliberate about that in public forums. What they deliberate about instead is what will benefit them.
Notice that Alcibiades’ point implies that what is right for a person to do can be different from what benefits a person. An action can be right for you to do even though it is not the action that would benefit you in the situation. For example, maybe telling the truth is right for you to do, even though it would come at the cost of the other person’s no longer liking you or inviting you to their events.
What do you think? Is it possible for an action to be the right thing to do even though it does not benefit you?
Or, in contrast, does doing what is right also always benefit you?
These questions are relevant to the ensuing discussion, where Socrates will argue that what’s right and what’s beneficial are not separate. They do not come apart.

Think about this question for a moment. What’s the right answer?
Suppose you can convince a large group to believe something. Does that mean that you will also be able to convince one person to believe it?
No, right? There are many rhetorical techniques that are effective on large crowds that are not effective when talking only to one person. People think differently whenever they are in large groups. In a one-on-one conversation, there is often a greater ability to think carefully and rigorously.
Look back to the dialogue. Socrates asks this question, Alcibiades agrees, and then Socrates continues. Alcibiades agrees, even though the correct answer is fairly obviously the opposite of what he says.
Does Socrates not realize that? Why is he leading Alcibiades to admit something that is false?
Always keep in mind what Socrates is trying to accomplish. He wants Alcibiades to realize that he is incapable of speaking effectively in the Assembly. He wants him to realize that his own natural talents and advantages are insufficient for him to be successful. He wants him to realize that he needs more education—in particular, that he needs help from Socrates to have a chance of satisfying his ambitions.
Alcibiades answers yes to Socrates’ question. He thus affirms that the following claim is true:
If you can convince a large group, then you can convince one person.
Now suppose that Alcibiades cannot convince one person. Suppose that he cannot convince Socrates that what is right and what is beneficial are separate matters. It would thus follow (according to the claim above) that he could not convince a large group (since, if he could convince a large group, he would be able to convince one person).
Why does that matter? It matters because it would mean that Alcibiades needs more education. It would mean that his current strategy for satisfying his ambitions is doomed to fail. And so it opens the door for him to need Socrates’ help.

That’s a whirlwind of an argument. What happened?
Here is one way to understand it.
(i) If you behave rightly, then you behave admirably.
(ii) If you behave admirably, then you are doing well, i.e., you are experiencing something good.
(iii) To experience something good is to be benefitted.
(iv) So, if you behave admirably, then you are benefited. This follows from (ii) and (iii).
(v) So, if you behave rightly, then you are benefited. This follows from (i) and (iv).
It follows that it is impossible to do what is right without its benefiting you. If you do what is right, then you will be benefited. Your life will be improved. That is what the conclusion says.
Give some thought to each premise. Is each premise plausible?

Hm. Is that what Socrates’ argument showed?
It did show that acting rightly always results in experiencing benefit.
However, Socrates and Alcibiades agreed that sometimes acting rightly results also in experiencing harm. It sometimes results in experiencing something bad. You did the courageous action, and in some way it did benefit you (perhaps it benefited your character), but it also harmed you. It caused you to lose money, for example, or it even resulted in your death (see 115e–116a).
It can seem, then, as if Socrates is concluding here more than he has actually shown. He and Alcibiades agreed that what’s right really is sometimes bad (to a certain extent or in a certain way). It might also be good, but it can be both good and bad: good insofar as it’s courageous, but bad insofar as it results in death.
What does that imply for whether what’s right and what’s beneficial are the same?

Why do people make mistakes? What explains it? Why do people do things that end up harming them?
Socrates outlines three options:
(a) People make mistakes when they know how to do something.
(b) People make mistakes when they recognize that they do not know how to do something.
(c) People make mistakes when they wrongly think that they know how to do something (but in fact they are ignorant about it).
He reasons that (a) cannot be right, since, if you know how to do something, you will not make a mistake. For example, you likely know how to tie your shoe. You likely know how to light a match. In these cases, you do not make mistakes (setting aside rare exceptions).
He reasons also that (b) cannot be right. If you recognize that you do not know how to do something, then you will not try to do it. You will entrust it to an expert. For example, you likely recognize that you do not know how to fly a plane or craft a lens that fixes your vision. You do not make mistakes trying to do them, because you do not try to do them. You entrust them to experts—to the pilot or the lenscrafter.
What about (c)? Has it ever happened that you thought you knew how to do something but actually you were wrong? Has it ever happened that you were wrong about what you thought that you knew?
Of course. And notice that it is here that you make mistakes. Your belief that you know how to do it gives you the confidence to try it out, but that belief is false—you do not know how to do it—and so you do something that is incorrect or ends up harming you.
For example, perhaps you think that you know how to provide emotional comfort to your friend, so you try it out, but you got it all wrong. Or perhaps you think that you know how to do the action that is courageous in this circumstance, but you are wrong about what courage is, and you do something that ends up being harmful. Or perhaps, like Alcibiades, you think that you know how to make an impressive speech in a public forum, but it turns out that you have no idea what you are talking about, and you end up spreading false information or embarrassing yourself.
In all of these cases, what is responsible for the mistake is your thinking that you know what you do not actually know.
Wouldn’t it be great to stop making mistakes—to stop doing things that end up being harmful?
If Socrates is right, there is one simple solution for that: stop believing that you know what you do not know. Get rid of your false belief in your own competence or knowledge. Stop being so intellectually arrogant. Acquire intellectual humility, such that you do not believe that you know anything that you actually do not know. You might then still do the actions of providing emotional comfort to a friend, standing up for yourself, or giving a public speech, but you will do so with an appropriate level of cautiousness and self-awareness.
Look around you. How widespread is intellectual humility? How often do you hear someone saying sincerely, without hesitation, this phrase: “I don’t know”?
Why isn’t intellectual humility more widespread?
Why do people so often think that they have more knowledge than they actually do?

A mina is a unit of currency in the ancient Greek world.
One mina is equivalent to 100 drachmae, and one drachma is the amount that a physical laborer would make for one day of work.
In the United States, an entry-level construction worker makes about $200 per day. That’s roughly equivalent, then, to one drachma in the ancient world.
So, one mina would be roughly equivalent to $20,000, and 100 minae would be roughly equivalent to $2,000,000.
Socrates is saying, then, that Pythodorus and Callias paid the teacher Zeno roughly two million dollars each for their education.
That is expensive tuition!

Socrates and Alcibiades are recognizing that often the children of wealthy and powerful people turn out to be incompetent—“crazy” and “idiots,” Alcibiades calls them. Why is that?
Socrates says that, if a person is wise, then he can transmit his wisdom to someone else. He can make other people wise, too.
Are these wealthy and powerful people not actually wise, then? Perhaps they acquired their status in society by some means other than having extraordinary knowledge.
Another option is that they do not care enough about their own children to educate them properly.
Alternatively, maybe Socrates and Alcibiades are wrong to think that, if a person is wise, then he can transmit his wisdom to someone else. Maybe these two things are separate matters: being wise, and being able to teach someone else in a way that makes them also wise.
It is worth considering whether things change depending on the domain. Maybe, for example, wisdom about spelling implies that you can teach others how to spell, but wisdom about virtue does not imply that you can teach others how to be virtuous. If there is this difference, though, we’d want some explanation for it. What do you think?

Suppose that you want to compete against the athletes of a professional sports league. You would need decades of practice that includes training from the best coaches.
In contrast, suppose that you want to compete against professional politicians—to run against them for public office, for example.
Why is it that, in this case, you might win against them even without significant practice and training?
Alcibiades thinks that it is because the politicians lack specialized education. There isn’t any special training that they have received to hold public office. So, anyone stands a chance when competing against them—no specialzied training required.
Maybe that is so. It is worth wondering, though, whether, in an ideal society, the politicians would be required to gain an education before holding public office—a specialized education, one that prepares them to do their job well.
What would that education look like?
What would it teach them?
What would it look like to be a top student in that sort of education?

Notice what Socrates is doing here. He is stoking Alcibiades’ ambition. He wants Alcibiades to desire not only to be superior to all of the men in Athens but to be superior also to all of the men in all of Greece (and beyond).
Why is Socrates doing that?
It helps to remember Socrates’ goal in this conversation with Alcibiades. He announced that goal earlier in the text: “I’m hoping to gain the greatest possible power over you by demonstrating that I deserve everything you have to offer, and that no guardian or relative, or anyone else except me, can give you the power you crave” (105e).
Socrates wants Alcibidades to need him. Alcibiades is convinced that he can become superior in Athens merely by the use of his natural advantages. He doesn’t need Socrates for that (so he thinks). Perhaps, though, he would need Socrates’ help to become superior in all of the Greek world. Socrates wants him to want that so that Alcibiades might come to depend on him.

Sparta, like Athens, was a polis (city-state) in the ancient Greek world. It was much smaller than Athens, but it was Athens’ main rival—and a serious one at that, due to the discipline and toughness that it instilled in its citizens. Athens (and its allies) fought against Sparta (and its allies) in the Peloponnesian War.

And who is in love with Alcibiades...
Socrates. See again his confession of love in the opening line of the dialogue. Here he is hinting to Alcibiades, then, that he is one of the only people who will care enough about him to give him a proper education.

This is the main detail in the text for Alcibiades’ age. He is younger than 20 years old.

What was the status of women in ancient Athens?
In short, women were oppressed. It was illegal for women to participate politically. They could not be present in the Assembly. They did not have voting power. They had limited rights to own private property. Women from wealthy families would not appear in public without a chaperone (women from less wealthy families would be seen in public running daily errands like going to the market). Women’s responsibilities were confined to managing the household and raising children.
In all of Plato’s dialogues, the conversation is between men (Socrates reports a conversation with the female priest Diotima in Plato’s Symposium, but it is still Socrates speaking). Why is that? Is it because Plato thought that women were incapable of philosophical discussion?
No. There is strong evidence that Plato thought women were capable of doing philosophy. In the Republic, Plato depicts Socrates making the argument that women just as much as men should be rulers of society. There are philosopher kings in Plato’s ideal society, and there are also philosopher queens. Socrates argues in the Republic that the souls of men and women have the same nature. He does add that, while “[w]omen share by nature in every way of life just as men do... in all of them women are weaker than men” (455d), but this line needs to be read in the context of his claiming also that “many women are better than many men in many things” (455d).

This is a big moment. It seems like Alcibiades is now receptive to Socrates’ advice. (Finally, you can imagine Socrates saying to himself.)

It’s notable that Socrates takes himself to be in a similar position to Alcibiades. He also needs education. He also needs self-improvement. He seems to be genuinely humble in this respect, not overestimating his own abilities, and likewise not thinking that he knows something that he doesn’t actually know.
Wait a moment, though. Wasn’t Socrates saying that he was the only one who could give Alcibiades a proper education? How can he help Alcibiades fulfill his ambitions if he too needs to improve himself?
It must be that Socrates thinks that he can give Alcibiades something other than some substantial wisdom that he has himself.
What could that be?

There are multiple parts to a city. Likewise, there are perhaps multiple parts to a person. You can thus think of a city agreeing with itself (all of its parts agreeing), and you can think too of a person agreeing with themself (all of their parts agreeing). So far, so good. It’s a bit surprising, though, that Socrates implies that it’s “the same thing” that produces agreement in a city and agreement within a person (such that, for example, all of the parts of you are in agreement with each other).
What would that thing be? What skill would bring about agreement in both of these cases?

Often, when reading the history of philosophy, the text says something that is surprising—perhaps even something that at first seems obviously wrong.
Look again at this bit of text. Isn’t it obviously wrong that there cannot be agreement between someone who knows something and another person who does not know something?
Imagine, for example, that you know the components of a biological cell or the capital of Thailand. Suppose that I do not. You tell me, and I agree with you. That is very much possible!
What is happening in the text, then? Are Socrates and Alcibiades really agreeing to something that is so obviously false?
That would be surprising. Think back to the dialogue so far. Socrates and Alcibiades are not dumb. You might disagree with them, but they are discussing things at a high level—with care, precision, and thoughtfulness.
It would be surprising, then, if they were making so blatant of a mistake here. It must be then that Socrates and Alcibiades mean something different than the way that I interpreted them above. It must be that they are making some other point.
Scholars of philosophy (especially the history of philosophy) often use the principle of charity when interpreting texts. The principle says that we should be charitable when interpreting what a text means.
What does that look like in practice? It looks like assuming that, whatever the text is saying, it is not saying something that is obviously false (or dumb). There are exceptions, of course, but we should not think that something is an exception until we have tried to interpret it differently—until we have tried to interpret it in a way where it is not obviously false.
Is there a way, then, to interpret what Socrates and Alcibiades are saying here so that it actually make makes some sense?

How do you improve yourself? Many answers are likely to come to mind. There are whole industries dedicated to self-care and self-improvement.
Socrates is arguing, though, that improving yourself is more complicated than you might first think. You must be sure that the activity that you are doing is really improving yourself (instead of merely something that belongs to you).
So, a prior step to improving yourself is knowing yourself—knowing who you really are. Without that, you might think that you are improving yourself when actiually you are improving something that is not really you.
Know thyself. This maxim was famously inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. You are likely to have heard it before. What does it take to know yourself? Is it easy, or is it difficult?
What does it even mean to know yourself? One way to think about this question is to ask what sort of things exactly you would know if you really did know yourself. What is the content of self-knowledge?

Notice that this alone is a complete argument:
(i) The human being (the self) is what uses the body.
(ii) Nothing uses the body other than the soul.
(iii) So, the human being (the self) is the soul.

Here again is the conclusion of the argument. Who are you? The argument says that you are your soul.
What is the soul?
To the ancient Greeks, all living things had souls, including plants, animals, and people. Plato thought the human soul was (a) the source of life (death is the soul’s leaving the body); (b) the location of what today we could call mental activity (thinking happens in the soul); and (c) the location of your character (you can have a good soul or a bad soul).
So, the ancient Greek conception of the soul is not far off from the modern conception of the mind. We tend to think that some activity of the mind is necessary to be alive, that mental activity happens in the mind, and that a person can have a good mind or a bad mind (can be mentally healthy or mentally unwell).
The argument says, then, that who you are is your soul (or your mind). The main contrast is with your body. You are not your body, according to the argument. You are your soul (or your mind).
Think about this argument a bit more. Let’s push it past the point where it stops in the text.
The argument relies on the premise that the user of something is different from the thing that is used. Now think about the components of your soul or your mental life. Do you use any of them?
Of course, right? You use your thoughts to solve problems. You use your memory to recall things from the past. You use your imagination to see things in the future. You use your desires to motivate you, your beliefs to categorize the world, and your emotions to connect with others.
The user is different from the thing that is used. If that premise is true, and if you really do use these components of your mental life, then it follows that you are not those components. In some sense, you are your soul (or your mind). However, you are not your thoughts, memories, imaginations, desires, beliefs, or emotions. You use those things, so you cannot be them.
What is left? Is there a part of your soul or mental life that you do not use? Is there a part that only over does the using but is never used itself?
It might help to think about a slightly different premise.
The argument relies on the premise that the user is different from the thing that is used.
A similar premise is that the observer is different from the thing that is observed.
You observe your thoughts, memories, imaginations, desires, beliefs, and emotions. You observe other components of your mental life, too. So, you cannot be identical to them. You are not them.
Is there, though, a component of your mental that you do not observe—a part that is the observer?
If so, then the logic of the argument would imply that that part is who you really are.
Socrates does not push the argument to this point. However, we arrive at this point by using the exact logic that is in the argument.

This is a common trope: someone who loves you only for your body, or only for how you look, doesn’t really love you.
The person who really loves you loves you for who you really are—for your soul, according to Socrates’ previous argument.
Socrates says that someone who loves you for your body will stop loving you when the beauty of your body begins to fade.
He says also that someone who loves you for your soul will continue to love you—so long as you continue to improve your soul.
That leaves open the possibility that someone who loves you for your soul will stop loving you if the beauty of your soul begins to fade—just like someone who loves you for your body will stop loving you if its beauty begins to fade.
Are the two cases really so different, then? In both cases, it seems that the love fades once the beauty of the object of love fades.
There is perhaps this difference. Perhaps the beauty of the body fades inevitably. Time takes it away.
In contrast, perhaps the beauty of the soul does not fade inevitably. Time does not inevitably take it away. Time passes, but one can use that time (always?) to improve one’s soul.
In any case, notice that nowhere in the text is it implied that there is a sort of love for a person that will remain no matter what. In both the case of the body and the soul, the love stays only if the body or soul stay in a good condition (or even only if the condition continues to improve).

In other words, Socrates is afraid that Alcibiades will care too much about social status and popularity, and that will lead to the corruption of his soul.

Why does Socrates think that Alcibiades needs to get a proper education before entering public life?
So far, the reason has been that, without that education, Alcibiades will not be able to fulfill his ambition. His speeches in the Assembly will not be impressive (109a, 116d).
Here, though, is a new reason. It is that, without that education, Alcibiades will be harmed by entering public life. It might cause him to become a worse person or experience harmful consequences.

Catch your breath. That was a whirlwind of an argument. What happened?
You want to know yourself—to gain knowledge of your soul. How can you do that?
The main claim is that you can do that by looking at another soul.
That is confusing. Why would I look at another soul if I want to know my own soul?
My eye is able to see itself in another eye because the other eye is reflective. I look closely into the other eye, and I see a little reflection of my own eye. The other eye functions as a mirror.
One thought, then, is that another person’s soul is reflective in a similar way. I can interact with another person’s soul in a way that reflects myself back to myself. I can talk with another person, say, perhaps discuss philosophy together, and thereby come to know who I really am.
Is that the best interpretation of the text?
Maybe. Notice, though, that there is no mention of reflection when Socrates talks about looking at another soul. Perhaps, then, I come to know myself by looking at another soul not by seeing my own soul reflected somehow but rather by seeing the thing in the other person that also is me. Perhaps who I really am is the same as who the other person really is. I look at their soul to see the part of them that is in some sense identical to the part of me that is who I really am.
These are only two options for interpreting the text. There are other options, too.
In the text, who I really am gets called “the soul’s goodness,” “wisdom,” the soul’s “concern with knowledge and understanding,” and “the godlike.”
What exactly is that? It isn’t obvious. It also isn’t explained further. It is up for interpretation.
The passage, then, leaves us with some big questions. How is it that by looking at another soul I come to know myself? What exactly is the part of myself that I come to know when I see who I really am? Is that part in me the same as that part in someone else, or are the two of them substantially different? What exactly is the content of self-knowledge?

It’s worth recalling what Alcibiades cared about at the start of the conversation. His ambition was to become the most famous and powerful person in Athens and even all of Greece. He seems at this point to care about more than that—about conducting the city’s business in a way that is genuinely beneficial for its citizens.
Did the conversation with Socrates cause that change? Or did he care about that even at the start of the conversation? Does he really care about that at this point, or is he merely temporarily under the spell of Socrates’ words?

You might have thought that you could improve someone even if you haven’t yet taken the time to improve yourself.
How could you, though? To improve the other person is to impart goodness to them—and how could you impart that to them if you do not have it yourself? To give them some water, you would first need to have some water yourself. Why would it be any different with goodness?

What is the primary ethical action? Suppose you want to be a good person. What is the primary thing that you should do?
Interestingly, both here and above at 133d, Socrates emphasizes orientation. The primary ethical action is to be oriented in the right direction—to make sure that you are paying attention to the right things, e.g., to what is “radiant and divine.”

It is sometimes thought that having power is good—that it makes your life go better.
However, Socrates points out that having power in the sense of being able to do whatever you want when you do not also have knowledge of what is beneficial for you is highly dangerous. You are empowered to act, but you have no guarantee that your actions will benefit you.
If that is right, then it provides strong motivation first to gain knowledge of what is actually beneficial for you before you set about gaining power in the world.