Meno.
Socrates, Meno.
Meno compares Socrates to a torpedo whose touch has taken away his sense and speech.
Men. I believe that you are.
Soc. Then begin again, and answer me, What, according to you and your friend Gorgias, is the definition of virtue?
Men. O Socrates, I used to be told, before I knew you, that 80you were always doubting yourself and making others doubt; and now you are casting your spells over me, and I am simply getting bewitched and enchanted, and am at my wits' end. And if I may venture to make a jest upon you, you seem to me both in your appearance and in your power over others to be very like the flat torpedo fish, who torpifies those who come near him and touch him, as you have now torpified me, I think. For my soul and my tongue are really torpid, and I do not know how to answer you; and though I have been delivered of an infinite variety of speeches about virtue before now, and to many persons—and very good ones they were, as I thought—at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is. And I think that you are very wise in not voyaging and going away from home, for if you did in other places as you do in Athens, you would be cast into prison as a magician.
Soc. You are a rogue, Meno, and had all but caught me.
Men. What do you mean, Socrates?
Soc. I can tell why you made a simile about me.
Men. Why?
Socrates is the cause of dulness in others because he is himself dull. Soc. In order that I might make another simile about you. For I know that all pretty young gentlemen like to have pretty similes made about them—as well they may—but I shall not return the compliment. As to my being a torpedo, if the torpedo is torpid as well as the cause of torpidity in others, then indeed I am a torpedo, but not otherwise; for I perplex others, not because I am clear, but because I am utterly perplexed myself And now I know not what virtue is, and you seem to be in the same case, although you did once perhaps know before you touched me. However, I have no objection to join with you in the enquiry. Men. And how will you enquire, Socrates, into that which you do not know? What will you put forth as the subject of enquiry? And if you find what you want, how will you ever know that this is the thing which you did not know?
How can you enquire about what
Soc. I know, Meno, what you mean; but just see what a tiresome dispute you are introducing. You argue that