Since I am now illustrating the character of Socrates with regard to justice, I will, at the same time, relate a conversation I remember he had with Hippias of Elis on that subject.
It was a long while that Hippias had not been at Athens; and being arrived there, he happened to come to a place where Socrates was discoursing with some persons, and telling them that if any one had a mind to learn a trade, there wanted not masters to teach him; nay, that if one would have a horse trained up there were persons enough to undertake it; but that if one desired to learn to be a good man, or to have his son, or any of his family taught to be so, it would be difficult to know to whom to apply himself. Hippias rallying him, said:—“What! Socrates, you are still repeating the same things I heard you say so long ago.” “Nay, more,” replied Socrates, “and always upon the same subject; but you, perhaps, being learned as you are, do not always say the same thing upon the same subject.” “Indeed,” said Hippias, “I always endeavour to say something new.” “Is it possible,” replied Socrates? “Pray tell me if you were asked how many letters there are in my name, and which they are, would you answer sometimes in one manner and sometimes in another? Or if you were asked whether twice five be not ten, would you not always say the same thing?” “In subjects like those,” said Hippias, “I should be obliged to say the same thing as well as you; but since we are upon the theme of justice, I believe I can now say some things of it, against which, neither you nor any man else can make any objection.” “Good God!” cried Socrates, “what a mighty boast is here! Upon my word, Hippias, you have made an admirable discovery! and you have reason to value yourself upon it; for, let me tell you, if you can establish one single opinion of justice, the judges will be no longer divided in their sentiments, there will be no more quarrels, no more suits at law, no more seditions among citizens, no more wars between republics. Indeed, it much troubles me to leave you before you have taught me this secret, which you say you have discovered.” “I give you my word,” answered Hippias, “that I will tell you nothing of it, till you have first declared your own opinion concerning justice; for it is your old way to interrogate others, and then to laugh at them by refuting what they have said; but you never make known your own opinions, that you may not be obliged to give a reason for them.” “Why do you lay this to my charge,” said Socrates, “since I am continually showing to all the world what are the things I believe to be just?” “How do you show it?” said Hippias. “If I explain it not by my words,” answered Socrates, “my actions speak it sufficiently; and do you think that actions deserve not rather to be believed than words?” “Much rather,” said Hippias, “because many may say one thing, and do another; nay, we see that, in fact, many who preach up justice to others are very unjust themselves; but this cannot be said of a man whose every action is good, and that never in his life did an unjust thing.” “Have you known, then,” said Socrates, “that I have accused any man out of malice, that I have sown dissension among friends, that I have raised seditions in the Republic; in short, that I have committed any other sort of injustice?” “Not in the least,” said he. “Well, then,” added Socrates, “do you not take him to be just who commits no manner of injustice?” “It is plain, now,’” said Hippias, “that you intend to get loose, and that you will not speak your mind freely, nor give us an exact definition of justice. For all this while you have only shown what just men do not, but not what they do.” “I should have thought,” said Socrates, “I had given at once a good definition, and a clear instance of justice, when I called it an aversion from doing injustice. But since you will not allow it to be so, see whether this will satisfy you: I say, then, that justice ‘is nothing but the observance of the laws.’” “You mean,” said Hippias, “that to observe the laws is to be just?” “Yes,” answered Socrates. “I cannot comprehend your thought,” said Hippias. “Do you not know,” pursued Socrates, “what the laws in a State are?” “The laws,” answered Hippias, “are what the citizens have ordained by an universal consent.” “Then,” inferred Socrates, “he who lives conformably to those ordinances observes the laws; and he who acts contrary to them is a transgressor of the laws.” “You say true.” “Is it not likewise true,” continued Socrates, “that he who obeys these ordinances does justly, and that he obeys them not does unjustly?” “Yes.” “But,” said Socrates, “he who acts justly is just, and he who acts unjustly is unjust?” “Without doubt.” “Therefore,” said Socrates, “whosoever observes the laws is just, and whosoever observes them not is unjust.” “But how can it be imagined,” objected Hippias, “that the laws are a good thing, and that it is good to obey them, since even they that made them mend, alter, and repeal them so often?” To this Socrates answered, “When you blame those who obey the laws, because they are subject to be abrogated, you do the same thing as if you laughed at your enemies for keeping themselves in a good posture of defence during the war, because you might tell them that the peace will one day be made: and thus you would condemn those who generously expose their lives for the service of their country. Do you know,” added he, “that Lycurgus could never have rendered the Republic of Sparta more excellent than other States if he had not made it his chief care to incline the citizens most exactly to observe the laws? This, too, is what all good magistrates aim at, because a Republic that is obedient to the laws is happy in peace, and invincible in war. Moreover, you know that concord is a great happiness in a State. It is daily recommended to the people; and it is an established custom all over Greece to make the citizens swear to live in good understanding with one another, and each of them takes an oath to do so. Now, I do not believe that this unity is exacted of them, only that they might choose the same company of comedians, or of musicians, nor that they might give their approbation to the same poets, or all take delight in the same diversions, but that they may all unanimously obey the laws, because that obedience is the security and the happiness of the State. Concord, therefore, is so necessary, that without it good polity and authority cannot subsist in any State, nor good economy and order in any family.
“In our private capacity, likewise, how advantageous is it to obey the laws? By what means can we more certainly avoid punishments, and deserve rewards? What more prudent conduct can we observe, always to gain our suits at law, and never to be cast! To whom should we with greater confidence trust our estates or our children, than to him who makes a conscience of observing the laws? Who can deserve more of his country? whom can she more safely entrust with public posts, and on whom can she more justly bestow the highest honours, than on the good and honest man? Who will discharge himself better of his duty towards his father or his mother, towards his relations or his domestics, towards his friends, his fellow-citizens, or his guests? To whom will the enemy rather trust for the observing of a truce, or for the performance of a treaty of peace? With whom would we rather choose to make an alliance? To whom will the allies more readily give the command of their armies, or the government of their towns? From whom can we rather hope for a grateful return of a kindness than from a man who strictly obeys the laws? and, by consequence, to whom will men be more ready to do good turns, than to him of whose gratitude they are certain? With whom will men be better pleased to contract a friendship, and, consequently, against whom will men be less inclined to commit acts of hostility, than against that person who has everybody for his well-wisher and friend, and few or none for his ill-wishers or enemies? These, Hippias, are the advantages of observing the laws. And now, having shown you that the observance of the laws is the same thing with justice, if you are of another opinion, pray let me know it.” “Indeed, Socrates,” answered Hippias, “what you have said of justice agrees exactly with my sentiments of it.” “Have you never heard,” continued Socrates, “of certain laws that are not written?” “You mean the laws,” answered Hippias, “which are received all over the earth.” “Do you think, then,” added Socrates, “that it was all mankind that made them?” “That is impossible,” said Hippias, “because all men cannot be assembled in the same place, and they speak not all of them the same language.” “Who, then, do you think gave us these laws?” “The gods,” answered Hippias; “for the first command to all men is to adore the gods.” “And is it not likewise commanded everywhere to honour one’s father and mother?” “Yes, certainly,” said Hippias. Socrates went on:—“And that fathers and mothers should not marry with their own children, is not that too a general command?” “No,” answered Hippias, “this last law is not a Divine law, because I see some persons transgress it.” “They observe not the others better,” said Socrates; “but take notice, that no man violates with impunity a law established by the gods. There are unavoidable punishments annexed to this crime; but we easily secure ourselves from the rigour of human laws, after we have transgressed them, either by keeping ourselves hid, or defending ourselves by open force.” “And what is this punishment,” said Hippias, “which it is impossible for fathers, who marry with their own children, to avoid?” “It is very great,” said Socrates; “for what can be more afflicting to men, who desire to have children than to have very bad ones?” “And how do you know,” pursued Hippias, “that they will have bad children? What shall hinder them, if they are virtuous themselves, from having children that are so likewise?” “It is not enough,” answered Socrates, “that the father and the mother be virtuous: they must, besides, be both of them in the vigour and perfection of their age. Now, do you believe, that the seed of persons who are too young, or who are already in their declining age, is equal to that of persons who are in their full strength?” “It is not likely that it is,” said Hippias. “And which is the best?” pursued Socrates. “Without doubt,” said Hippias, “that of a man in his strength.” “It follows, then,” continued Socrates, “that the seed of persons who are not yet come to their full strength, or who are past it, is not good.” “In all appearance it is not.” “In those ages, then, we ought not to get children?” said Socrates. “I think so.” “Such, therefore, as indulge their lust in such untimely fruition will have very weakly children?” “I grant they will.” “And are not weakly children bad ones?” “They are,” said Hippias.
“Tell me, further,” said Socrates, “is it not an universal law to do good to those who have done good to us?” “Yes,” said Hippias, “but many offend against this law.” “And they are punished for it,” replied Socrates, “seeing their best friends abandon them, and that they are obliged to follow those who have an aversion for them. For are not they the best friends who do kindnesses whenever they are desired? And if he who has received a favour neglect to acknowledge it, or return it ill, does he not incur their hate by his ingratitude? And yet, finding his advantage in preserving their goodwill, is it not to them that he makes his court with most assiduity?” “It is evident,” said Hippias, “that it is the gods who have ordered these things; for, when I consider that each law carries with it the punishment of the transgressor, I confess it to be the work of a more excellent legislator than man.” “And do you think,” said Socrates, “that the gods make laws that are unjust?” “On the contrary,” answered Hippias, “it is very difficult for any but the gods to make laws that are just.” “Therefore, Hippias,” said Socrates, “according to the gods themselves ‘to obey the laws is to be just.’”
This is what Socrates said on the subject of justice, and his actions being conformable to his words, he from day to day created a greater love of justice in the minds of those who frequented him.
CHAPTER V. OF THE MISCHIEFS OF INTEMPERANCE, AND THE ADVANTAGES OF SOBRIETY.
I will now set down the arguments that Socrates used to bring his friends to the practice of good actions, for being of opinion that temperance is a great advantage to such as desire to do anything that is excellent, he first showed them, by his way of living, that no man was more advanced than himself in the exercise of that virtue; and in his conferences he exhorted his hearers above all things to the practice of it, and his thoughts being continually employed in the means of arriving to be virtuous, he made it likewise the subject of all his discourses.
I remember that talking once with Euthydemus concerning temperance he delivered himself to this effect:—“In your opinion, Euthydemus, is liberty a very valuable thing?” “To be valued above all things,” answered Euthydemus. “Do you believe that a man who is a slave to sensual pleasures, and finds himself incapable of doing good, enjoys his liberty?” “Not in the least.” “You allow, then, that to do good is to be free, and that to be prevented from doing it, by any obstacle whatever, is not to be free?” “I think so,” said Euthydemus. “You believe, then,” said Socrates, “that debauched persons are not free?” “I do.” “Do you believe likewise,” continued Socrates, “that debauchery does not only hinder from doing good, but compels to do ill?” “I think it does.” “What would you say, then, of a master who should hinder you from applying yourself to what is honest, and force you to undertake some infamous occupation?” “I would say he was a very wicked master,” answered Euthydemus. “And which is the worst of all slaveries?” added Socrates. “To serve ill masters,” said Euthydemus. “Therefore,” inferred Socrates, “the debauched are in a miserable slavery.” “No doubt of it.” “Is it not debauchery, likewise,” said Socrates, “that deprives men of their wisdom, the noblest gift of the gods, and drives them into ignorance and stupidity, and all manner of disorders? It robs them of leisure to apply themselves to things profitable, while it drowns them in sensual pleasures; and it seizes their minds to that degree that, though they often know which is the best way, they are miserably engaged in the worst.” “They are so.” “Nor can we expect to find temperance nor modesty in a debauched person, since the actions of temperance and debauchery are entirely opposite.” “There is no doubt of it,” said Euthydemus. “I do not think neither,” added Socrates, “that it is possible to imagine anything that makes men neglect their duty more than debauchery.” “You say true.” “Is there anything more pernicious to man,” said Socrates, “than that which robs him of his judgment, makes him embrace and cherish things that are hurtful, avoid and neglect what is profitable, and lead a life contrary to that of good men?” “There is nothing,” said Euthydemus. Socrates went on:—“And may we not ascribe the contrary effects to temperance?” “Without doubt.” “And is it not likely to be true that the cause of the contrary effects is good?” “Most certainly.” “It follows, then, my dear Euthydemus,” said Socrates, “that temperance is a very good thing?” “Undoubtedly it is.” “But have you reflected,” pursued Socrates, “that debauchery, which pretends to lead men to pleasures, cannot conduct them thither, but deceives them, leaving them in disappointment, satiety, and disgust? and have you considered that temperance and sobriety alone give us the true taste of pleasures? For it is the nature of debauchery not to endure hunger nor thirst, nor the fatigue of being long awake, nor the vehement desires of love, which, nevertheless, are the true dispositions to eat and drink with delight, and to find an exquisite pleasure in the soft approaches of sleep, and in the enjoyments of love. This is the reason that the intemperate find less satisfaction in these actions, which are necessary and frequently done. But temperance, which accustoms us to wait for the necessity, is the only thing that makes us feel an extreme pleasure in these occasions.” “You are in the right,” said Euthydemus. “It is this virtue, too,” said Socrates, “that puts men in a condition of bringing to a state of perfection both the mind and the body, of rendering themselves capable of well governing their families, of being serviceable to their friends and their country, and of overcoming their enemies, which is not only very agreeable on account of the advantages, but very desirable likewise for the satisfaction that attends it. But the debauched know none of this, for what share can they pretend to in virtuous actions, they whose minds are wholly taken up in the pursuit of present pleasures?” “According to what you say,” replied Euthydemus, “a man given to voluptuousness is unfit for any virtue.” “And what difference is there,” said Socrates, “between an irrational animal and a voluptuous man, who has no regard to what is best, but blindly pursues what is most delightful? It belongs to the temperate only to inquire what things are best and what not, and then, after having found out the difference by experience and reasoning, to embrace the good and avoid the bad, which renders them at once most happy, most virtuous, and most prudent.”
This was the sum of this conference with Euthydemus. Now Socrates said that conferences were so called because the custom was to meet and confer together, in order to distinguish things according to their different species, and he advised the frequent holding of these conferences, because it is an exercise that improves and makes men truly great, teaches them to become excellent politicians, and ripens the judgment and understanding.