Is it possible then, Lysis, for a man to think highly of himself on those matters on which he does not yet think aright? Lysis. — How can it be possible? Sokr. — If you stand in need of a teacher, you do not yet think aright? Lysis. — True. Sokr. — Accordingly, you are not presumptuous on the score of intelligence, since you are still without intelligence. Lysis. — By Zeus, Sokrates, I think not.6

Lysis is humiliated. Distress of Hippothalês.

When I heard Lysis speak thus (continues Sokrates, who is here the narrator), I looked towards Hippothalês and I was on the point of committing a blunder: for it occurred to me to say, That is the way, Hippothalês, to address a youth whom you love: you ought to check and humble him, not puff him up and spoil him, as you have hitherto done. But when I saw him agitated and distressed by what had been said, I called to mind that, though standing close by, he wished not to be seen by Lysis. Accordingly, I restrained myself and said nothing of the kind.7

Lysis entreats Sokrates to talk in the like strain to Menexenus.

Lysis accepts this as a friendly lesson, inculcating humility: and seeing Menexenus just then coming back, he says aside to Sokrates, Talk to Menexenus, as you have been talking to me. You can tell him yourself (replies Sokrates) what you have heard from me: you listened very attentively. Most certainly I shall tell him (says Lysis): but meanwhile pray address to him yourself some other questions, for me to hear. You must engage to help me if I require it (answers Sokrates): for Menexenus is a formidable disputant, scholar of our friend Ktesippus, who is here ready to assist him. I know he is (rejoined Lysis), and it is for that very reason that I want you to talk to him — that you may chasten and punish him.8

Value of the first conversation between Sokrates and Lysis, as an illustration of the Platonico-Sokratic manner.

I have given at length, and almost literally (with some few abbreviations), this first conversation between Sokrates and Lysis, because it is a very characteristic passage, exhibiting conspicuously several peculiar features of the Platonico-Sokratic interrogation. Facts common and familiar are placed in a novel point of view, ingeniously contrasted, and introduced as stepping-stones to a very wide generality. Wisdom or knowledge is exalted into the ruling force with liberty of action not admissible except under its guidance: the questions are put in an inverted half-ironical tone (not uncommon with the historical Sokrates9), as if an affirmative answer were expected as a matter of course, while in truth the answer is sure to be negative: lastly, the purpose of checking undue self-esteem is proclaimed. The rest of the dialogue, which contains the main substantive question investigated, I can report only in brief abridgment, with a few remarks following.

Sokrates begins to examine Menexenus respecting friendship. Who is to be called a friend? Halt in the dialogue.

Sokrates begins, as Lysis requests, to interrogate Menexenus — first premising — Different men have different tastes: some love horses and dogs, others wealth or honours. For my part, I care little about all such acquisitions: but I ardently desire to possess friends, and I would rather have a good friend than all the treasures of Persia. You two, Menexenus and Lysis, are much to be envied, because at your early age, each of you has made an attached friend of the other. But I am so far from any such good fortune, that I do not even know how any man becomes the friend of another. This is what I want to ask from you, Menexenus, as one who must know,10 having acquired such a friend already.

When one man loves another, which becomes the friend of which? Does he who loves, become the friend of him whom he loves, whether the latter returns the affection or not? Or is the person loved, whatever be his own dispositions, the friend of the person who loves him? Or is reciprocity of affection necessary, in order that either shall be the friend of the other?

The speakers cannot satisfy themselves that the title of friend fits either of the three cases;11 so that this line of interrogating comes to a dead lock. Menexenus avows his embarrassment, while Lysis expresses himself more hopefully.

Questions addressed to Lysis. Appeal to the maxims of the poets. Like is the friend of like. Canvassed and rejected.

Sokrates now takes up a different aspect of the question, and turns to Lysis, inviting him to consider what has been laid down by the poets, “our fathers and guides in respect of wisdom”.12 Homer says that the Gods originate friendship, by bringing the like man to his like: Empedokles and other physical philosophers have also asserted, that like must always and of necessity be the friend of like. These wise teachers cannot mean (continues Sokrates) that bad men are friends of each other. The bad man can be no one’s friend. He is not even like himself, but ever wayward and insane:— much less can he be like to any one else, even to another bad man. They mean that the good alone are like to each other, and friends to each other.13 But is this true? What good, or what harm, can like do to like, which it does not also do to itself? How can there be reciprocal love between parties who render to each other no reciprocal aid? Is not the good man, so far forth as good, sufficient to himself, — standing in need of no one — and therefore loving no one? How can good men care much for each other, seeing that they thus neither regret each other when absent, nor have need of each other when present?14

Other poets declare that likeness is a cause of aversion; unlikeness, of friendship. Reasons pro and con. Rejected.

It appears, therefore, Lysis (continues Sokrates), that we are travelling in the wrong road, and must try another direction. I now remember to have recently heard some one affirming — contrary to what we have just said — that likeness is a cause of aversion, and unlikeness a cause of friendship. He too produced evidence from the poets: for Hesiod tells us, that “potter is jealous of potter, and bard of bard”. Things most alike are most full of envy, jealousy and hatred to each other: things most unlike, are most full of friendship. Thus the poor man is of necessity a friend to the rich, the weak man to the strong, for the sake of protection: the sick man, for similar reason, to the physician. In general, every ignorant man loves, and is a friend to, the man of knowledge. Nay, there are also physical philosophers, who assert that this principle pervades all nature; that dry is the friend of moist, cold of hot, and so forth: that all contraries serve as nourishment to their contraries. These are ingenious teachers: but if we follow them, we shall have the cleverest disputants attacking us immediately, and asking — What! is the opposite essentially a friend to its opposite? Do you mean that unjust is essentially the friend of just — temperate of intemperate — good of evil? Impossible: the doctrine cannot be maintained.15

Confusion of Sokrates. He suggests, That the Indifferent (neither good nor evil) is friend to the Good.

My head turns (continues Sokrates) with this confusion and puzzle — since neither like is the friend of like, nor contrary of contrary. But I will now hazard a different guess of my own.16 There are three genera in all: the good — the evil — and that which is neither good nor evil, the indifferent. Now we have found that good is not a friend to good — nor evil to evil — nor good to evil — nor evil to good. If therefore there exist any friendship at all, it must be the indifferent that is friend, either to its like, or to the good: for nothing whatever can be a friend to evil. But if the indifferent be a friend at all, it cannot be a friend to its own like; since we have already shown that like generally is not friend to like. It remains therefore, that the indifferent, in itself neither good nor evil, is friend to the good.17

Suggestion canvassed. If the Indifferent is friend to the Good, it is determined to become so by the contact of felt evil, from which it is anxious to escape.

Yet hold! Are we on the right scent? What reason is there to determine, on the part of the indifferent, attachment to the good? It will only have such attachment under certain given circumstances: when, though neither good nor evil in itself, it has nevertheless evil associated with it, of which it desires to be rid. Thus the body in itself is neither good nor evil: but when diseased, it has evil clinging to it, and becomes in consequence of this evil, friendly to the medical art as a remedy. But this is true only so long as the evil is only apparent, and not real: so long as it is a mere superficial appendage, and has not become incorporated with the essential nature of the body. When evil has become engrained, the body ceases to be indifferent (i.e., neither good nor evil), and loses all its attachment to good. Thus that which determines the indifferent to become friend of the good, is, the contact and pressure of accessory evil not in harmony with its own nature, accompanied by a desire for the cure of such evil.18

Principle illustrated by the philosopher. His intermediate condition — not wise, yet painfully feeling his own ignorance.

Under this head comes the explanation of the philosopher — the friend or lover of wisdom. The man already wise is not a lover of wisdom: nor the man thoroughly bad and stupid, with whose nature ignorance is engrained. Like does not love like, nor does contrary love contrary. The philosopher is intermediate between the two: he is not wise, but neither has he yet become radically stupid and unteachable. He has ignorance cleaving to him as an evil, but he knows his own ignorance, and yearns for wisdom as a cure for it.19

Sokrates dissatisfied. He originates a new suggestion. The Primum Amabile, or object originally dear to us, per se: by relation or resemblance to which other objects become dear.

The two young collocutors with Sokrates welcome this explanation heartily, and Sokrates himself appears for the moment satisfied with it. But he presently bethinks himself, and exclaims, Ah! Lysis and Menexenus, our wealth is all a dream! we have been yielding again to delusions! Let us once more examine. You will admit that all friendship is on account of something and for the sake of something: it is relative both to some producing cause, and to some prospective end. Thus the body, which is in itself neither good nor evil, becomes when sick a friend to the medical art: on account of sickness, which is an evil — and for the sake of health, which is a good. The medical art is dear to us, because health is dear: but is there any thing behind, for the sake of which health also is dear? It is plain that we cannot push the series of references onward for ever, and that we must come ultimately to something which is dear per se, not from reference to any ulterior aliud. We must come to some primum amabile, dear by its own nature, to which all other dear things refer, and from which they are derivatives.20 It is this primum amabile which is the primitive, essential, and constant, object of our affections: we love other things only from their being associated with it. Thus suppose a father tenderly attached to his son, and that the son has drunk hemlock, for which wine is an antidote; the father will come by association to prize highly, not merely the wine which saves his son’s life, but even the cup in which the wine is contained. Yet it would be wrong to say that he prizes the wine or the cup as much as his son: for the truth is, that all his solicitude is really on behalf of his son, and extends only in a derivative and secondary way to the wine and the cup. So about gold and silver: we talk of prizing highly gold and silver — but this is incorrect, for what we really prize is not gold, but the ulterior something, whatever it be, for the attainment of which gold and other instrumental means are accumulated. In general terms — when we say that B is dear on account of A, we are really speaking of A under the name of B. What is really dear, is that primitive object of love, primum amabile, towards which all the affections which we bear to other things, refer and tend.21

The cause of love is desire. We desire that which is akin to us or our own.

Is it then true (continues Sokrates) that good is our primum amabile, and dear to us in itself? If so, is it dear to us on account of evil? that is, only as a remedy for evil; so that if evil were totally banished, good would cease to be prized? Is it true that evil is the cause why any thing is dear to us?22 This cannot be: because even if all evil were banished, the appetites and desires, such of them as were neither good nor evil, would still remain: and the things which gratify those appetites will be dear to us. It is not therefore true that evil is the cause of things being dear to us. We have just found out another cause for loving and being loved — desire. He who desires, loves what he desires and as long as he desires: he desires moreover that of which he is in want, and he is in want of that which has been taken away from him — of his own.23 It is therefore this own which is the appropriate object of desire, friendship, and love. If you two, Lysis and Menexenus, love each other, it is because you are somehow of kindred nature with each other. The lover would not become a lover, unless there were, between him and his beloved, a certain kinship or affinity in mind, disposition, tastes, or form. We love, by necessary law, that which has a natural affinity to us; so that the real and genuine lover may be certain of a return of affection from his beloved.24

Good is of a nature akin to every one, evil is alien to every one. Inconsistency with what has been previously laid down.

But is there any real difference between what is akin and what is like? We must assume that there is: for we showed before, that like was useless to like, and therefore not dear to like. Shall we say that good is of a nature akin to every one, and evil of a nature foreign to every one? If so, then there can be no friendship except between one good man and another good man. But this too has been proved to be impossible. All our tentatives have been alike unsuccessful.

Failure of the enquiry. Close of the dialogue.

In this dilemma (continues Sokrates, the narrator) I was about to ask assistance from some of the older men around. But the tutors of Menexenus and Lysis came up to us and insisted on conveying their pupils home — the hour being late. As the youths were departing I said to them — Well, we must close our dialogue with the confession, that we have all three made a ridiculous figure in it: I, an old man, as well as you two youths. Our hearers will go away declaring, that we fancy ourselves to be friends each to the other two; but that we have not yet been able to find out what a friend is.25

Remarks. No positive result. Sokratic purpose in analysing the familiar words — to expose the false persuasion of knowledge.

Thus ends the main discussion of the Lysis: not only without any positive result, but with speakers and hearers more puzzled than they were at the beginning: having been made to feel a great many difficulties which they never felt before. Nor can I perceive any general purpose running through the dialogue, except that truly Sokratic and Platonic purpose — To show, by cross-examination on the commonest words that what every one appears to know, and talks about most confidently, no one really knows or can distinctly explain.26 This is the meaning of the final declaration put into the mouth of Sokrates. “We believe ourselves to be each other’s friends, yet we none of us know what a friend is.” The question is one, which no one had ever troubled himself to investigate, or thought it requisite to ask from others. Every one supposed himself to know, and every one had in his memory an aggregate of conceptions and beliefs which he accounted tantamount to knowledge: an aggregate generated by the unconscious addition of a thousand facts and associations, each separately unimportant and often inconsistent with the remainder: while no rational analysis had ever been applied to verify the consistency of this spontaneous product, or to define the familiar words in which it is expressed. The reader is here involved in a cloud of confusion respecting Friendship. No way out of it is shown, and how is he to find one? He must take the matter into his own active and studious meditation: which he has never yet done, though the word is always in his mouth, and though the topic is among the most common and familiar, upon which “the swain treads daily with his clouted shoon“.

Subject of Lysis. Suited for a Dialogue of Search. Manner of Sokrates, multiplying defective explanations, and showing reasons why each is defective.

This was a proper subject for a dialogue of Search. In the dialogue Lysis, Plato describes Sokrates as engaged in one of these searches, handling, testing, and dropping, one point of view after another, respecting the idea and foundation of friendship. He speaks, professedly, as a diviner or guesser; following out obscure promptings which he does not yet understand himself.27 In this character, he suggests several different explanations, not only distinct but inconsistent with each other; each of them true to a certain extent, under certain conditions and circumstances: but each of them untrue, when we travel beyond those limits: other contradictory considerations then interfering. To multiply defective explanations, and to indicate why each is defective, is the whole business of the dialogue.

The process of trial and error is better illustrated by a search without result than with result. Usefulness of the dialogue for self-working minds.

Schleiermacher discovers in this dialogue indications of a positive result not plainly enunciated: but he admits that Aristotle did not discover them — nor can I believe them to have been intended by the author.28 But most critics speak slightingly of it, as alike sceptical and sophistical: and some even deny its authenticity on these grounds. Plato might have replied by saying that he intended it as a specimen illustrating the process of search for an unknown quæsitum; and as an exposition of what can be said for, as well as against, many different points of view. The process of trial and error, the most general fact of human intelligence, is even better illustrated when the search is unsuccessful: because when a result is once obtained, most persons care for nothing else and forget the antecedent blunders. To those indeed, who ask only to hear the result as soon as it is found, and who wait for others to look for it — such a dialogue as the Lysis will appear of little value. But to any one who intends to search for it himself, or to study the same problem for himself, the report thus presented of a previous unsuccessful search, is useful both as guidance and warning. Every one of the tentative solutions indicated in the Lysis has something in its favour, yet is nevertheless inadmissible. To learn the grounds which ultimately compel us to reject what at first appears admissible, is instruction not to be despised; at the very least, it helps to preserve us from mistake, and to state the problem in the manner most suitable for obtaining a solution.

Subject of friendship, handled both by the Xenophontic Sokrates, and by Aristotle.

In truth, no one general solution is attainable, such as Plato here professes to search for.29 In one of the three Xenophontic dialogues wherein the subject of friendship is discussed we find the real Sokrates presenting it with a juster view of its real complications.30 The same remark may be made upon Aristotle’s manner of handling friendship in the Ethics. He seems plainly to allude to the Lysis (though not mentioning it by name); and to profit by it at least in what he puts out of consideration, if not in what he brings forward.31 He discards the physical and cosmical analogies, which Plato borrows from Empedokles and Herakleitus, as too remote and inapplicable: he considers that the question must be determined by facts and principles relating to human dispositions and conduct. In other ways, he circumscribes the problem, by setting aside (what Plato includes) all objects of attachment which are not capable of reciprocating attachment.32 The problem, as set forth here by Plato, is conceived in great generality. In what manner does one man become the friend of another?33 How does a man become the object of friendship or love from another? What is that object towards which our love or friendship is determined? These terms are so large, that they include everything belonging to the Tender Emotion generally.34