Meno
Persons of the dialogue: Socrates; Meno; Anytus; Boy, Meno’s unnamed enslaved boy.
Meno: Can you tell me, Socrates, whether virtue is learned through teaching or practice? Or, if it comes through neither teaching nor practice, does it come to human beings by nature, or in some other way?
Socrates: Meno, there was a time when the Thessalians were famous among the other Greeks only for their wealth and horsemanship. But now, unless I am mistaken, they are equally famous for their wisdom, especially at Larisa, the native city of your friend Aristippus. This is Gorgias’s doing. When he went there, the finest of the Aleuadae, including your admirer Aristippus, and the other Thessalian leaders fell in love with his wisdom. He has taught you to answer questions in the grand and confident style appropriate to those who know, the style in which he himself answers anyone who approaches him. Any Greek who wishes may ask him anything.
How different our situation is, my dear Meno! Here in Athens there is a shortage of that commodity, and all wisdom seems to have emigrated from us to you. I am certain that if you asked any Athenian whether virtue comes by nature or is acquired, he would laugh in your face and say, “Stranger, you think far too highly of me if you imagine I can answer your question. I do not even know what virtue is, much less whether it is acquired through teaching.” And I myself, Meno, living in this impoverished region, am as poor as everyone else. I confess with shame that I know absolutely nothing about virtue. When I do not know what something is, how can I know what it is like? If I knew nothing at all about Meno, how could I tell whether he was handsome or unattractive, rich and noble or the opposite? Do you think I could?
Meno: Certainly not. But are you serious, Socrates, when you say that you do not know what virtue is? Am I to take that report about you back to Thessaly?
Socrates: Not only that, my dear boy. You may also say that, in my judgment, I have never known anyone else who did know.
Meno: Then you never met Gorgias when he was in Athens?
Socrates: Yes, I did.
Meno: And did you not think he knew?
Socrates: My memory is not good, Meno, so I cannot now tell you what I thought of him at the time. Perhaps he did know, and you know what he said. Please remind me, then, of what he said. Or, if you prefer, tell me your own view, since I suspect that you and he think much alike.
Meno: That is true.
Socrates: Since he is not here, let us leave him aside, and you tell me. By the gods, Meno, be generous and tell me what you say virtue is. I shall be truly delighted to discover that I have been mistaken and that you and Gorgias really do possess this knowledge, although I have just said that I have never found anyone who did.
Meno: There will be no difficulty in answering your question, Socrates. First, consider a man’s virtue. He should know how to govern the state, benefiting his friends and harming his enemies as he does so, while taking care not to suffer harm himself. A woman’s virtue, if you wish to know about that, can also be easily described. Her duty is to manage her household, safeguard what is inside it, and obey her husband. Every age and every condition of life, young or old, male or female, enslaved or free, has a different virtue. There are countless virtues, and no shortage of definitions of them, because virtue is relative to the actions and ages of each of us in everything we do. The same may be said of vice, Socrates.
Socrates: How fortunate I am, Meno! When I ask you for one virtue, you present me with a whole swarm of virtues under your care. Suppose I continue with this image of the swarm and ask you, “What is the nature of a bee?” If you answer that there are many kinds of bees, I might reply, “Do bees differ from one another insofar as they are bees simply because there are many different kinds? Or are they distinguished by some other quality, such as beauty, size, or shape?” How would you answer me?
Meno: I would answer that bees do not differ from one another insofar as they are bees.
Socrates: And if I continued, “That is what I want to know, Meno. Tell me what quality they share, in which they do not differ but are all alike,” would you be able to answer?
Meno: I would.
Socrates: The same applies to the virtues. However many and different they may be, they all have one common nature that makes them virtues. Anyone answering the question “What is virtue?” should keep that common nature in view. Do you understand?
Meno: I am beginning to understand, but I do not yet grasp the question as well as I would like.
Socrates: When you say, Meno, that there is one virtue for a man, another for a woman, another for a child, and so on, does this apply only to virtue? Or would you say the same about health, size, and strength? Is the nature of health always the same, whether it is found in a man or a woman?
Meno: I would say that health is the same in both a man and a woman.
Socrates: And is that not also true of size and strength? If a woman is strong, she will be strong because the same form and the same strength exist in her as in a man. What I mean is that strength as strength is the same, whether it belongs to a man or a woman. Is there any difference?
Meno: I think not.
Socrates: And will virtue as virtue not be the same, whether it is found in a child or an adult, a woman or a man?
Meno: I cannot help feeling, Socrates, that this case is different from the others.
Socrates: But why? Did you not say that a man’s virtue was to manage a state and a woman’s virtue to manage a household?
Meno: I did.
Socrates: And can a household, a state, or anything else be well managed without temperance and justice?
Meno: Certainly not.
Socrates: Then those who manage a state or a household temperately and justly manage it with temperance and justice?
Meno: Certainly.
Socrates: Then both men and women, if they are to be good men and women, must possess the same virtues of temperance and justice?
Meno: True.
Socrates: And can either a young person or an older one be good if they are intemperate and unjust?
Meno: They cannot.
Socrates: They must be temperate and just?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: Then all people are good in the same way, by participating in the same virtues?
Meno: That is the conclusion.
Socrates: And surely they would not have been good in the same way unless their virtue had been the same?
Meno: They would not.
Socrates: Now that the sameness of all virtue has been established, try to remember what you and Gorgias say virtue is.
Meno: Do you want one definition covering them all?
Socrates: That is what I am seeking.
Meno: If you want one definition covering them all, I do not know what else to say except that virtue is the power to govern people.
Socrates: And does this definition of virtue include every virtue? Is virtue the same in a child and in an enslaved person, Meno? Can the child govern his father, or the enslaved person his master? And would someone who governed still be enslaved?
Meno: I think not, Socrates.
Socrates: No, indeed. That would make little sense. But once more, my good friend: according to you, virtue is “the power to govern.” Should you not add “justly rather than unjustly”?
Meno: Yes, Socrates, I agree, because justice is virtue.
Socrates: Would you say “virtue,” Meno, or “a virtue”?
Meno: What do you mean?
Socrates: I mean what I might say about anything else. Roundness, for example, is “a figure,” not simply “figure.” I would speak this way because there are other figures.
Meno: Quite right. That is exactly what I am saying about virtue: there are other virtues besides justice.
Socrates: What are they? Tell me their names, just as I would tell you the names of the other figures if you asked me.
Meno: Courage, temperance, wisdom, and magnanimity are virtues, and there are many others.
Socrates: Yes, Meno, and once again we are in the same situation. While searching for one virtue, we have found many, though not in the same way as before. But we have been unable to find the common virtue that runs through them all.
Meno: Why, Socrates, even now I cannot follow your attempt to identify one common nature of virtue, as you can with other things.
Socrates: No wonder. But I will try to come closer, if I can, since you know that all things of a kind have a common nature. Suppose someone asked you the question I posed before. “Meno,” he might say, “what is figure?” If you answered “roundness,” he would respond, as I did, by asking whether you meant that roundness was “figure” or “a figure.” You would answer, “A figure.”
Meno: Certainly.
Socrates: And you would answer that way because there are other figures?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: And if he went on to ask what other figures there were, you would tell him.
Meno: I would.
Socrates: Similarly, if he asked what color is and you answered “whiteness,” and the questioner replied, “Would you say that whiteness is color or a color?” you would answer, “A color,” because there are other colors as well.
Meno: I would.
Socrates: And if he said, “Tell me what they are,” you would name other colors that are just as much colors as whiteness is.
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: Suppose he pursued the matter in my way. He would say, “Again and again we end up with particular examples, but that is not what I want. Since you call them by one common name and say they are all figures, even when they are opposed to one another, tell me what common nature you call figure. It includes both straight and round figures and is no more one than the other.” Is that how you would speak?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: And when you speak this way, you do not mean that the round is any more round than the straight, or that the straight is any more straight than the round?
Meno: Certainly not.
Socrates: You mean only that a round figure is no more a figure than a straight one, and a straight figure no more a figure than a round one?
Meno: Quite true.
Socrates: Then what do we call figure? Try to answer. Suppose that when someone asked you this question about either figure or color, you replied, “My good man, I do not understand what you want or know what you mean.” He would look rather astonished and say, “Do you not understand that I am looking for the same element in all of them?” Then he might put the question another way: “Meno, what is this same element in all of them that you call figure, which includes not only round and straight figures but every figure?” Could you not answer that question, Meno? I wish you would try. The attempt will be good practice for answering the question about virtue.
Meno: I would rather have you answer, Socrates.
Socrates: Shall I indulge you?
Meno: By all means.
Socrates: And then you will tell me about virtue?
Meno: I will.
Socrates: Then I must do my best, because there is a prize to be won.
Meno: Certainly.
Socrates: Well, I will try to explain what figure is. What do you think of this answer? Figure is the only thing that always accompanies color. Will that satisfy you? I am sure I would be satisfied if you gave me a similar definition of virtue.
Meno: But Socrates, that is such a simple answer.
Socrates: Why is it simple?
Meno: Because, according to you, figure is what always accompanies color.
Socrates: Granted.
Meno: But suppose someone said that he knows no more about color than he does about figure. What kind of answer would you give him?
Socrates: I would tell him the truth. If he were a philosopher of the contentious and combative sort, I would say, “You have my answer. If I am wrong, it is your task to take up the argument and refute me.” But if we were friends talking together, as you and I are now, I would reply more gently and in a more dialectical manner. That is, I would not only speak the truth but would use premises that the person being questioned was willing to accept. That is how I shall try to approach you.
You will agree, will you not, that there is such a thing as an end, a termination, or an extremity? I use all these words in the same sense, although I know that Prodicus might distinguish among them. Still, I am sure that you would speak of a thing as ended or terminated. That is all I mean, nothing very difficult.
Meno: Yes, I would, and I believe I understand your meaning.
Socrates: And you would speak of a surface and also of a solid, as we do in geometry, for example.
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: Well then, you are now in a position to understand my definition of figure. I define figure as that in which a solid ends, or, more concisely, as the limit of a solid.
Meno: And now, Socrates, what is color?
Socrates: You are outrageous, Meno, tormenting a poor old man for an answer when you will not take the trouble to remember Gorgias’s definition of virtue.
Meno: When you have told me what I ask, I will tell you, Socrates.
Socrates: A blindfolded man would need only to hear you speak to know that you are handsome and still have many lovers.
Meno: Why do you think so?
Socrates: Because you always give orders. Like all handsome men in their prime, you are tyrannical. Besides, I suspect you have discovered my weakness for handsome people, so I must humor you and answer.
Meno: Please do.
Socrates: Would you like me to answer in the manner of Gorgias, which is familiar to you?
Meno: I would like nothing better.
Socrates: Do Gorgias, Empedocles, and you not say that there are certain effluences from things?
Meno: Certainly.
Socrates: And passages into and through which the effluences pass?
Meno: Exactly.
Socrates: And some of the effluences fit the passages, while others are too small or too large?
Meno: True.
Socrates: And there is such a thing as sight?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: And now, as Pindar says, “Understand what I mean”: color is an effluence of a figure, proportioned to sight and perceptible to the senses.
Meno: That seems to me an admirable answer, Socrates.
Socrates: Yes, because it happens to be the kind of answer you are accustomed to hearing. And I suspect your intelligence will have discovered that you can explain the nature of sound and smell, and many other similar phenomena, in the same way.
Meno: Quite true.
Socrates: The answer, Meno, was given in the solemn, orthodox style, and so it was more acceptable to you than the other answer about figure.
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: And yet, son of Alexidemus, I cannot help thinking that the other answer was better. I am sure you would agree if only you would stay and be initiated, instead of being compelled, as you said yesterday, to leave before the mysteries.
Meno: But I will stay, Socrates, if you will give me many answers like that one.
Socrates: Well then, for my sake as well as yours, I will do my very best, though I am afraid I will not be able to give you very many answers as good as that. Now, in your turn, fulfill your promise and tell me what virtue is as a whole. Do not turn a singular into a plural, as people jokingly say of those who break something. Give virtue to me whole and sound, not broken into numerous pieces. I have given you the model.
Meno: Well then, Socrates, as I understand it, virtue is when someone who desires honorable things is able to obtain them for himself. As the poet says, and as I also say:
“Virtue is the desire for honorable things and the power to attain them.”
Socrates: And does someone who desires honorable things also desire good things?
Meno: Certainly.
Socrates: Then do some people desire evil while others desire good? Don’t all people, my dear sir, desire good?
Meno: I don’t think so.
Socrates: Some people desire evil?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: Do you mean that they think the evils they desire are good, or that they know they are evil and desire them anyway?
Meno: Both, I think.
Socrates: Do you really imagine, Meno, that someone can know evils to be evil and still desire them?
Meno: I certainly do.
Socrates: And is desire a desire to possess?
Meno: Yes, to possess.
Socrates: Does such a person think that the evils will benefit whoever possesses them, or does he know that they will harm him?
Meno: Some people think that evils will benefit them, while others know that they will harm them.
Socrates: In your opinion, do those who think evils will benefit them know that they are evil?
Meno: Certainly not.
Socrates: Isn’t it obvious that people who are ignorant of their nature do not desire evils? They desire what they suppose to be good, although it is really evil. If they are mistaken and suppose evils to be good, then what they actually desire is good.
Meno: Yes, in that case.
Socrates: Well, what about those who, as you say, desire evils and believe that evils are harmful to whoever possesses them? Do they know that they will be harmed by them?
Meno: They must know it.
Socrates: And mustn’t they suppose that those who are harmed are miserable in proportion to the harm inflicted on them?
Meno: How could it be otherwise?
Socrates: But aren’t miserable people ill-fated?
Meno: Yes, indeed.
Socrates: Does anyone desire to be miserable and ill-fated?
Meno: I would say not, Socrates.
Socrates: But if no one desires to be miserable, then no one desires evil, Meno. For what is misery but the desire for and possession of evil?
Meno: That appears to be true, Socrates, and I admit that nobody desires evil.
Socrates: And yet, weren’t you saying just now that virtue is the desire for good and the power to attain it?
Meno: Yes, that is what I said.
Socrates: But if we affirm this, then the desire for good is common to everyone, and one person is no better than another in that respect?
Meno: True.
Socrates: And if one person is no better than another in desiring good, he must be better in his power to attain it?
Meno: Exactly.
Socrates: Then, according to your definition, virtue would appear to be the power to attain good?
Meno: I entirely approve, Socrates, of the way you now view the matter.
Socrates: Then let us consider from another point of view whether what you say is true, for you may very well be right. You say that virtue is the power to attain good things?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: And by good things you mean health and wealth, the possession of gold and silver, and holding office and honor in the state? Are those what you would call good things?
Meno: Yes, I would include all of them.
Socrates: Then, according to Meno, the hereditary friend of the Great King, virtue is the power to obtain silver and gold. Would you add that they must be acquired piously and justly, or do you consider that unimportant? Is every means of acquiring them, even if unjust or dishonest, equally to be considered virtue?
Meno: Not virtue, Socrates, but vice.
Socrates: Then justice, temperance, holiness, or some other part of virtue must apparently accompany the acquisition. Without these, the mere acquisition of good things will not be virtue.
Meno: Why, how could there be virtue without them?
Socrates: And refraining from acquiring gold and silver dishonestly, whether for oneself or another, and so going without them, may equally be virtue?
Meno: True.
Socrates: Then acquiring such goods is no more virtue than not acquiring or lacking them. Whatever is accompanied by justice or honesty is virtue, and whatever lacks justice is vice.
Meno: It cannot be otherwise, in my judgment.
Socrates: And weren’t we saying just now that justice, temperance, and the like were each parts of virtue?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: And so, Meno, this is how you mock me.
Meno: Why do you say that, Socrates?
Socrates: Because I asked you to deliver virtue into my hands whole and unbroken, and I gave you a pattern for framing your answer. But you have already forgotten. You tell me that virtue is the power to attain good justly, or with justice, while acknowledging that justice is a part of virtue.
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: Then it follows from your own admissions that virtue is doing whatever you do with a part of virtue, since you say that justice and similar qualities are parts of virtue.
Meno: What of it?
Socrates: What of it! Didn’t I ask you to tell me the nature of virtue as a whole? You are very far from telling me that. Instead, you declare that every action performed with a part of virtue is virtue, as though you had already told me what virtue as a whole is and I must know it, even when it has been broken into little pieces. Therefore, my dear Meno, I fear I must begin again and repeat the same question: What is virtue? Otherwise, I can say only that every action performed with a part of virtue is virtue. What else can it mean to say that every action performed with justice is virtue? Shouldn’t I ask the question again? Can anyone who does not know virtue know a part of virtue?
Meno: No, I don’t say that he can.
Socrates: Do you remember how, in the example of figure, we rejected any answer stated in terms that had not yet been explained or accepted?
Meno: Yes, Socrates, and we were quite right to do so.
Socrates: Then, my friend, don’t suppose that we can explain the nature of virtue as a whole through some unexplained part of virtue, or through anything else of that kind. We would only have to ask the old question again: What is virtue? Am I not right?
Meno: I believe you are.
Socrates: Then begin again and answer me: According to you and your friend Gorgias, what is the definition of virtue?
Meno: Socrates, before I knew you, I used to hear that you were always doubting yourself and making others doubt. Now you are casting spells over me, bewitching and enchanting me, and I am completely at my wits’ end. If I may venture to joke about you, you seem to me, both in your appearance and in your power over others, very much like the flat torpedo fish, which numbs anyone who comes near and touches it. I think you have numbed me in just that way. My soul and my tongue are truly numb, and I don’t know how to answer you. Before now, I have delivered an infinite variety of speeches about virtue to many people, and very good speeches they were, or so I thought. Yet at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is. I think you are very wise not to sail away from home, for if you behaved elsewhere as you do in Athens, you would be thrown into prison as a magician.
Socrates: You are a rogue, Meno, and you almost caught me.
Meno: What do you mean, Socrates?
Socrates: I can tell why you compared me to something.
Meno: Why?
Socrates: So that I might make a comparison about you in return. I know that all handsome young gentlemen like to have flattering comparisons made about them, as well they might, but I will not return the compliment. As for my being a torpedo fish, if the fish is numb itself as well as causing numbness in others, then I am indeed like it, but not otherwise. I perplex others not because I myself am clear, but because I am utterly perplexed. I do not know what virtue is, and you now seem to be in the same condition, although perhaps you knew before you touched me. Still, I have no objection to joining you in the inquiry.
Meno: But how will you inquire, Socrates, into something you do not know? What will you put forward as the subject of inquiry? And if you find what you are looking for, how will you ever know that it is the thing you did not know?
Socrates: I know what you mean, Meno, but see what a troublesome argument you are introducing. You argue that a person cannot inquire either into what he knows or into what he does not know. If he knows, he has no need to inquire; and if he does not know, he cannot inquire, because he does not know the very subject he is to inquire about.
Meno: Well, Socrates, isn’t the argument sound?
Socrates: I don’t think so.
Meno: Why not?
Socrates: I will tell you why. I have heard certain wise men and women speak about divine matters.
Meno: What did they say?
Socrates: They spoke of a glorious truth, as I understand it.
Meno: What was it, and who were they?
Socrates: Some were priests and priestesses who had studied how to explain their calling. There have also been poets who spoke of these things through inspiration, such as Pindar and many others who were inspired. This is what they say. Pay attention now and consider whether their words are true. They say that the human soul is immortal. At one time it dies, as we call it, and at another it is born again, but it is never destroyed. The conclusion is that a person ought always to live in perfect holiness. “For in the ninth year, Persephone sends the souls of those from whom she has received the penalty for an ancient crime back again from beneath the earth into the light of the sun above. From them come noble kings, mighty men, and those great in wisdom, who in later ages are called holy heroes.” The soul, then, is immortal, has been born again many times, and has seen all things that exist, both in this world and in the world below. It has knowledge of them all. Therefore, it is no wonder that the soul should be able to recall everything it once knew about virtue and everything else. Because all nature is related, and the soul has learned all things, nothing prevents someone from recovering all the rest from a single recollection, or, as people say, learning it, provided that he strives and does not give up. For all inquiry and all learning are recollection. Therefore, we ought not to listen to this sophistical argument about the impossibility of inquiry. It will make us idle and appeals only to the lazy, while the other account will make us active and eager to inquire. Trusting in it, I will gladly inquire with you into the nature of virtue.
Meno: Yes, Socrates, but what do you mean by saying that we do not learn and that what we call learning is only a process of recollection? Can you teach me how this is so?
Socrates: I told you just now, Meno, that you were a rogue. Now you ask whether I can teach you when I am saying that there is no teaching, but only recollection. In this way you expect to involve me in a contradiction.
Meno: Indeed, Socrates, I assure you that I had no such intention. I asked only out of habit. But if you can prove to me that what you say is true, I wish you would.
Socrates: It will not be easy, but I will try as hard as I can to please you. Call one of your many attendants so that I can demonstrate the point with him.
Meno: Certainly. Come here, boy.
Socrates: He is Greek and speaks Greek, doesn’t he?
Meno: Yes, indeed. He was born in the house.
Socrates: Pay attention to the questions I ask him, and observe whether he learns from me or only remembers.
Meno: I will.
Socrates: Tell me, boy, do you know that a figure like this is a square?
Boy: I do.
Socrates: And you know that a square has these four lines equal?
Boy: Certainly.
Socrates: And these lines I have drawn through the middle of the square are also equal?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: A square may be any size?
Boy: Certainly.
Socrates: If one side of the figure is two feet and the other side is two feet, what will the total area be? Let me explain. If the space were two feet in one direction and one foot in the other, the whole would be two square feet, since two is taken once?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: But since this side is also two feet, there are twice two square feet?
Boy: There are.
Socrates: Then the square contains twice two square feet?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: And how many are twice two? Count and tell me.
Boy: Four, Socrates.
Socrates: Couldn’t there be another square twice as large as this one, also having all its lines equal?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: And how many square feet would it contain?
Boy: Eight square feet.
Socrates: Now try to tell me the length of the line that forms the side of that double square. This one is two feet. What will the other be?
Boy: Clearly, Socrates, it will be twice as long.
Socrates: Do you observe, Meno, that I am not teaching the boy anything, but only asking him questions? He now imagines that he knows the length of the line needed to produce a figure of eight square feet, doesn’t he?
Meno: Yes.
Socrates: And does he really know?
Meno: Certainly not.
Socrates: He only guesses that because the square is double, the line must be double.
Meno: True.
Socrates: Observe him as he recalls the steps in their proper order. (To the Boy.) Tell me, boy, do you maintain that a double space comes from a double line? Remember that I am not speaking of an oblong, but of a figure equal in every direction and twice the size of this one, that is, a figure of eight square feet. I want to know whether you still say that a double square comes from a double line.
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: But doesn’t this line become twice as long if we add another equal line here?
Boy: Certainly.
Socrates: And four such lines will make a space containing eight square feet?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: Let us draw such a figure. Wouldn’t you say that this is the figure of eight square feet?
Boy: Yes.
The square used in Socrates’ demonstration.
Socrates: And aren’t there four divisions in the figure, each equal to the figure of four square feet?
Boy: True.
Socrates: And isn’t that four times four?
Boy: Certainly.
Socrates: And four times as much is not twice as much?
Boy: No, indeed.
Socrates: Then how much is it?
Boy: Four times as much.
Socrates: Therefore, boy, the double line has produced a space not twice as large, but four times as large.
Boy: True.
Socrates: Four times four is sixteen, isn’t it?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: What line would produce a space of eight square feet, as this one produces a space of sixteen square feet? Do you see?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: And the space of four square feet is produced from this line, which is half as long?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: Good. And isn’t a space of eight square feet twice the size of this one and half the size of the other?
Boy: Certainly.
Socrates: Such a space, then, will be produced from a line longer than this one and shorter than that one?
Boy: Yes, I think so.
Socrates: Very good. I like to hear you say what you think. Now tell me, isn’t this line two feet long and that one four feet long?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: Then the line that forms the side of the eight-square-foot figure ought to be longer than this line of two feet and shorter than the other line of four feet?
Boy: It ought.
Socrates: Try to see if you can tell me how long it will be.
Boy: Three feet.
Socrates: Then if we add half of this two-foot line to it, that will make the three-foot line. Here are two feet, and there is one more. On the other side, here are two feet and one more. Does that make the figure you mean?
Boy: Yes.
Socrates: But if there are three feet in this direction and three feet in that direction, the whole space will be three times three square feet?
Boy: That is evident.
Socrates: And how much is three times three?
