meno   

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 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?

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?

Soc. I know, Meno, what you mean; but just see what a tiresome

dispute you are introducing. You argue that man cannot enquire

either about that which he knows, or about that which he does not

know; for if he knows, he has no need to enquire; and if not, he