seems, would always conceive God to be less just than God 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 unassisted 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 superstitious 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 passions 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 assist 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 Gods being required for his chastisement?”

“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 noble 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 assert 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.”

S.  “My fine fellow, and wherefore?  I have heard of a nation among the Indians who hold it a sacred duty to murder every one not of their own tribe, whom they can waylay: and when they are taken and punished by the rulers of that country, die joyfully under the greatest torments, believing themselves certain of an entrance into the Elysian fields, in proportion to the number of murders which they have committed.”

A.  “They must be impious wretches.”

S.  “Be it so.  But believing themselves to be right, they commit murder by the spirit of truth.”

A.  “It seems to follow from the argument.”

S.  “Then it is indifferent to the spirit of truth whether the action which it prompts be right or wrong?”

A.  “It must be confessed.”

S.  “It is therefore not a moral faculty, this spirit of truth.  Let us see now whether it be an intellectual one.  How are intellectual things defined, Phaethon?  Tell me, for you are cunning in such matters.”

P.  “Those things which have to do with processes of the mind.”

S.  “With right processes, or with wrong?”

P.  “With right, of course.”

S.  “And processes for what purpose?”

P.  “For the discovery of facts.”

S.  “Of facts as they are, or as they are not?”

P.  “As they are.”

S.  “And he who discovers facts as they are, discovers truth; while he who discovers facts as they are not, discovers falsehood?”

P.  “He discovers nothing, Socrates.”

S.  “True; but it has been agreed already that the spirit of truth is indifferent to the question whether facts be true or false, but only concerns itself with the sincere affirmation of them, whatsoever they may be.  Much more then must it be indifferent to those processes by which they are discovered.”

P.  “How so?”

S.  “Because it only concerns itself with affirmation concerning facts; but these processes are anterior to that affirmation.”

P.  “I comprehend.”

S.  “And much more is it indifferent to whether those are right processes or not.”

P.  “Much more so.”

S.  “It is therefore not intellectual.  It remains, therefore, that it must be some merely physical faculty, like that of fearing, hungering, or enjoying the sexual appetite.”

A.  “Absurd, Socrates!”

S.  “That is the argument’s concern, not ours: let us follow manfully whithersoever it may lead us.”

A.  “Lead on, thou sophist!”

S.  “It was agreed, then, that he who does what he thinks right, does so by