Meno

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The Meno

The fundamental question of the dialogue is a highly practical one: whether virtue can be taught. Socrates quickly points out that it is impossible to answer this question without knowing what virtue is. (71a-b)
Meno first attempts to define virtue by specifying its different types–that of a man, a wife, and so on. Socrates replies that merely specifying these different types does not tell us what virtue itself is. (71e-72c) (Note: despite its failure as a definition, what Meno says is an excellent illustration of the core meaning of virtue [arete] as “functional excellence.”)
To illustrate the kind of definition he is seeking, Socrates discusses the analogies of shape and color. He first proposes that shape is “the only thing which always resembles color” (75b). Meno observes that this requires us to know what color is. Socrates then proposes a second definition, that shape is “the limit of a solid” (76a). Note that this definition is no less relative than the first, since it requires us to know what solids are!
Next Socrates proposes a definition of color as a kind of effluence from bodies (76c-e). He says that this definition is unsatisfactory, but does not explain why. Here’s a guess: it describes the physical basis of color without explaining how that process gives rise to the sensation of color.
So far, then, we have a number of lessons relating to the pitfalls and limitations of definition. Perhaps Plato intends this as a warning not to expect an easy answer to the Socratic “what is x”-type question.
Meno again attempts to define virtue, this time as “desiring fine things and being able to acquire them” (77b). Socrates argues that no one desires what is not good, and that therefore the definition reduces to “the power of acquiring good things” (78c). But of course the good things must be acquired justly, and justice is a “part” of virtue, so the definition is circular (79d).
Is Socrates’ technique here a parody of the Sophists? Note the obvious fallacy at 77c-d.
The failure of these attempts to define virtue leads Meno to pose the “Meno paradox”: “how will you look for something when you don’t in the least know what it is?” (80d). Note that this is a question about the possibility of directed inquiry, not about that of learning in general.
Consider the following common-sense reply to Meno: you start with a partial or vague description of the item you are looking for, then make it more precise upon discovery. That is what we do, for example, when searching for a lost ring. The problem is that searching for a definition is different. You cannot make the definition more precise after you have discovered it; to discover it just is to state it precisely.
A better analogy would be a chemist’s search for the chemical formula of some unknown compound. The problem with that analogy, however, is that we usually regard such a discovery as defeasible (i.e., subject to correction or revision). Plato would say that a belief that is held subject to revision is not truly knowledge. The point of the Meno paradox is to ask how we can know when a correct definition has been proposed.
Socrates proposes to resolve the dilemma by appealing to religious authorities who teach immortality and reincarnation. (Belief in reincarnation was never part of Greek religion, so Plato may actually have in mind the Pythagoreans and Empedocles.) According to Socrates, since the soul “has seen all things both here and in the other world” it “has learned everything that is” (81c). Hence what appears to be learning in this present life is actually recollection.
One might ask whether this solution of the paradox is circular. If learning in general is impossible, how is the soul able to learn anything in its previous lives? Remember, however, that the Meno paradox does not pose a problem for learning in general, but only for directed inquiry.
Socrates demonstrates by interrogating a slave boy. The fact that the boy is ultimately able to give the correct answer shows that he had the correct opinion “somewhere in him” (85c). The process of interrogation merely brought it to the fore.
Note, however, that even now the boy does not actually have knowledge. To convert his correct opinion to knowledge would require further questioning on many different occasions and in different ways. (85c-d)
They return to the issue of whether virtue can be taught (86c). Without a definition of virtue no definitive answer can be given. Their tentative answer is no, for there do not seem to be any people who actually do teach virtue. The Sophists claim to do so, but they are charlatans. Even the most virtuous men of Athens have not succeeded in passing on their virtue, as is evident if one looks at their sons!
Note the irony of the scene in which Anytus leaves in anger (94e-95a). Anytus was one of Socrates’ accusers at his trial.
Meno asks: if virtue cannot be taught, how can there be good men at all? (96d). Socrates replies that, even assuming virtue to be a kind of knowledge or wisdom (as suggested at 88d), the fact that it cannot be taught does not mean that people cannot act rightly. True opinion is enough to guide action, as is illustrated by the analogy of merely knowing the way to Larissa without having been there. (97a-b)
Why then is knowledge more valuable than true opinion? Because true opinions tend to “run away” like one of Daedalus’ statues. Knowledge (episteme) differs from opinion or belief (doxa) in that it has been “tethered down” by “working out the reason.” This process is “recollection.” (98a)
Note that the demonstration with the slave boy was therefore not a demonstration of recollection. At most it was a demonstration of how recollection might begin.
Conclusion: since virtue cannot be taught, it must not be knowledge. Great statesmen act under divine inspiration, like prophets and poets (cf. the Ion)—unless there is one actually capable of teaching others (99a-100a). Here Plato may be looking ahead to the philosopher-kings of the Republic.