S. "Suppose, then, that he conceived of one of his own properties, such as his justice; how large would that perfect conception of his be?"
A. "But how can I tell, Socrates?"
S. "My good friend, would it not be exactly commensurate with that justice of his?"
A. "How then?"
S. "Wherein consists the perfection of any conception, save in this, that it be the exact copy of that whereof it is conceived, and neither greater nor less?"
A. "I see now."
S. "Without the Pythia"s help, I should say. But, tell me-We agree that Zeus"s conception of his own justice will be exactly commensurate with his justice?"
A. "We do."
S. "But man"s conception thereof, it has been agreed, would be certainly less perfect than Zeus"s?"
A. "It would."
S. "Man, then, it seems, would always conceive G.o.d to be less just than G.o.d conceives himself to be?"
A. "He would."
S. "And therefore to be less just, according to the argument, than he really is?"
A. "True."
S. "And therefore his error concerning Zeus, would be in this case an error of defect?"
A. "It would."
S. "And so on of each of his other properties?"
A. "The same argument would likewise, as far as I can see, apply to them."
S. "So that, on the whole, man, by the una.s.sisted power of his own faculty, will always conceive Zeus to be less just, wise, good, and beautiful than he is?"
A. "It seems probable."
S. "But does not that seem to you hurtful?"
A. "Why so?"
S. "As if, for instance, a man believing that Zeus loves him less than he really does, should become superst.i.tious and self- tormenting. Or, believing that Zeus will guide him less than he really will, he should go his own way through life without looking for that guidance: or if, believing that Zeus cares about his conquering his pa.s.sions less than he really does, he should become careless and despairing in the struggle: or if, believing that Zeus is less interested in the welfare of mankind than he really is, he should himself neglect to a.s.sist them, and so lose the glory of being called a benefactor of his country: would not all these mistakes be hurtful ones?"
"Certainly," said I: but Alcibiades was silent.
S. "And would not these mistakes, by the hypothesis, themselves punish him who made them, without any resentment whatsoever, or Nemesis of the G.o.ds being required for his chastis.e.m.e.nt?"
"It seems so," said I.
S. "But can we say of such mistakes, and of the harm which may accrue from them, anything but that they must both be infinite; seeing that they are mistakes concerning an infinite Being, and his infinite properties, on every one of which, and on all together, our daily existence depends?"
P. "It seems so."
S. "So that, until such a man"s error concerning Zeus, the source of all things, is cleared up, either in this life or in some future one, we cannot but fear for him infinite confusion, misery, and harm, in all matters which he may take in hand?"
Then Alcibiades, angrily: "What ugly mask is this you have put on, Socrates? You speak rather like a priest trying to frighten rustics into paying their first-fruits, than a philosopher inquiring after that which is beautiful. But you shall never terrify me into believing that it is not a n.o.ble thing to speak out whatsoever a man believes, and to go forward boldly in the spirit of truth."
S. "Feeling first, I hope, with your staff, as would be but reasonable in the case of the bridge, whether your belief was objectively or only subjectively true, lest you should fall through your subjective bridge into objective water. Nevertheless, leaving the bridge and the water, let us examine a little what this said spirit of truth may be. How do you define it?"
A. "I a.s.sert that whosoever says honestly what he believes, does so by the spirit of truth."
S. "Then if Lyce, patting those soft cheeks of yours, were to say: "Alcibiades, thou art the fairest youth in Athens," she would speak by the spirit of truth?"
A. "They say so."
S. "And they say rightly. But if Lyce, as is her custom, wished, by so saying, to cheat you into believing that she loved you, and thereby to wheedle you out of a new shawl, she would still speak by the spirit of truth?"
A. "I suppose so."
S. "But if, again, she said the same thing to Phaethon, she would still speak by the spirit of truth?"
"By no means, Socrates," said I, laughing.
S. "Be silent, fair boy; you are out of court as an interested party. Alcibiades shall answer. If Lyce, being really mad with love, like Sappho, were to believe Phaethon to be fairer than you, and say so, she would still speak by the spirit of truth?"
A. "I suppose so."
S. "Do not frown; your beauty is in no question. Only she would then be saying what is not true?"
"I must answer for him after all," said I.
S. "Then it seems, from what has been agreed, that it is indifferent to the spirit of truth, whether it speak truth or not.
The spirit seems to be of an enviable serenity. But suppose again, that I believed that Alcibiades had an ulcer on his leg, and were to proclaim the same now to the people, when they come into the Pnyx, should I not be speaking by the spirit of truth?"
A. "But that would be a shameful and blackguardly action."
S. "Be it so. It seems, therefore, that it is indifferent to the spirit of truth whether that which it affirms be honourable or blackguardly. Is it not so?"
A. "It seems so, most certainly, in that case at least."
S. "And in others, as I think. But tell me-Is not the man who does what he believes, as much moved by this your spirit of truth as he who says what he believes?"
A. "Certainly he is."
S. "Then if I believed it right to lie or steal, I, in lying or stealing, should lie or steal by the spirit of truth?"
A. "Certainly: but that is impossible."