Part 176

“If, then, you become wise, my boy, all men will be your friends, and all men will be attached to you, for you will be useful and good. But if not, neither will any one else, nor your father be a friend to you, nor your mother, nor any of your kindred. Is it possible, then, Lysis, that any one can deem himself wise in those things of which as yet he has no knowledge at all?”

“How can he?” said he.

“If, then, you require a teacher, you are not yet wise?”

18. “True.”

“Neither, then, are you very wise, if you are still unwise?”

“By Jupiter,” said he, “Socrates, I do not think that I can be.”

Then I, upon hearing this, looked at Hippothales, and almost committed a blunder, for it occurred to me to say, “Thus, Hippothales, we ought to converse with favourites, humbling and checking them, and not, as you do, puffing them up and filling them with vanity.” However, perceiving him anxious and disturbed at what was said, I recollected that, although he was standing near, he wished to escape the observation of Lysis; I therefore recovered myself, and restrained my speech.

At this moment Menexenus came again, and sat down by Lysis, whence he had risen before. Lysis, then, in a very boyish and affectionate manner, unobserved by Menexenus, talking to me a little while, said, “Socrates, say over again to Menexenus what you have been saying to me.”

And I replied, “Do you tell it him, Lysis, for you paid very great attention.”

“I certainly did,” he replied.

“Endeavour, then,” said I, “to remember it as well as you can, that you may tell him all clearly; but if you forget any thing, ask me again the first time you meet me.”

19. “I will most certainly do so, Socrates,” said he, “be well assured. But say something else to him, that I too may hear, until it is time for me to go home.”

“I must do so,” said I, “since you bid me; but take care that you assist me, if Menexenus should attempt to confute me. Do you not know that he is fond of disputing?”

“By Jupiter,” said he, “very much so; and for this reason I wish you to converse with him.”

“That I may make myself ridiculous?” said I.

“No, by Jupiter,” said he, “but that you may punish him.”

“How so,” said I, “that’s not an easy matter, for the man is clever, a disciple of Ctesippus. And besides, he is here in person, do not you see Ctesippus?”

“Don’t concern yourself about that, Socrates,” said he, “but come, converse with him.”

“We must converse, then,” I replied.

While we were speaking thus to each other, Ctesippus said, “What are you two feasting on by yourselves, without letting us share in the conversation?”

“But indeed,” said I, “you shall have a share, for Lysis here does not understand something that I have said, but says he thinks Menexenus knows it, and bids me ask him.”

20. “Why then,” said he, “do you not ask him?”

“But I will ask him,” I replied. “Answer me, then, Menexenus, what I shall ask you; for from my childhood I happen to have had a desire for a certain thing, as another person may have of something else: for one desires to possess horses, another dogs, another gold, and another honours; but I, for my part, am indifferent about these things, but have a fond desire for the possession of friends, and I had rather have a good friend than the best quail or cock in the world; and, by Jupiter, than the best horse or dog, and I think, by the dog, that I should much rather prefer the possession of an intimate, than the gold of Darius, or even than Darius himself, so fond am I of intimate friends. Seeing you, therefore, and Lysis, I was amazed, and pronounced you happy, because, young as you are, you have been able so quickly and easily to acquire this possession, and you have so quickly and sincerely acquired him for your friend, and again he you. But I am so far from making this acquisition, that I do not even know in what way one man becomes the friend of another; but I wish to ask this very thing of you, as being an experienced person. 21. Tell me, then, when any one loves another, which of the two becomes a friend, the lover of the beloved, or the beloved of the lover? or is there no difference?”

“It appears to me,” said he, “that there is no difference.”

“How say you?” I replied, “Do both then become friends of each other, if one alone loves the other?”

“To me it appears so,” said he.

“But what? Is it not possible for one who loves not to be loved in turn by the object of his love?”

“It is.”