Book 2, Chapter 2

At another time, he had noticed the angry temper shown by Lamprocles, the elder of his sons, towards their mother, and thus addressed himself to the lad.

Another time, he noticed that Lamprocles, his older son, was angry with his mother. So he spoke to the boy.

Soc. Pray, my son, did you ever hear of certain people being called ungrateful?

Soc. Tell me, my son, have you ever heard of people being called ungrateful?

That I have (replied the young man).

I have, the young man replied.

Soc. And have you understood what it is they do to get that bad name?

Soc. And do you understand what they do to earn that bad reputation?

Lamp. Yes, I have: when any one has been kindly treated, and has it in his power to requite the kindness but neglects to do so, men call him ungrateful.

Lamp. Yes, I have. When someone has been treated kindly and can return the kindness but does not, people call him ungrateful.

Soc. And you admit that people reckon the ungrateful among wrongdoers?

Soc. And you agree that people consider ungrateful people wrongdoers?

Lamp. I do.

Lamp. I do.

Soc. And has it ever struck you to inquire whether, as regards the right or wrong of it, ingratitude may not perhaps resemble some such conduct as the enslavement, say, of prisoners, which is accounted wrong towards friends but justifiable towards enemies?

Soc. And have you ever considered whether ingratitude might be like enslaving prisoners? Enslaving prisoners is considered wrong when they are friends, but justified when they are enemies.

Lamp. Yes, I have put that question to myself. In my opinion, no matter who confers the kindness, friend or foe, the recipient should endeavour to requite it, failing which he is a wrongdoer.

Lamp. Yes, I have asked myself that question. In my opinion, anyone who receives a kindness should try to repay it, whether it comes from a friend or an enemy. If they do not, they are doing wrong.

Soc. Then if that is how the matter stands, ingratitude would be an instance of pure unadulterate wrongdoing?

Soc. Then, if that is the case, would ingratitude be an example of pure wrongdoing?

Lamprocles assented to the proposition.

Lamprocles agreed with the proposal.

Soc. It follows, then, that in proportion to the greatness of the benefit conferred, the greater his misdoing who fails to requite the kindness?

Soc. So, the greater the kindness, the greater the wrong of failing to repay it?

Lamprocles again assented.

Lamprocles agreed again.

Socrates continued: And where can we hope to find greater benefits than those which children derive from their parents—their father and mother who brought them out of nothingness into being, who granted them to look upon all these fair sights, and to partake of all those blessings which the gods bestow on man, things so priceless in our eyes that one and all we shudder at the thought of leaving them, and states have made death the penalty for the greatest crimes, because there is no greater evil through fear of which to stay iniquity.

Socrates continued: Where can we hope to find greater benefits than those children receive from their parents? Their father and mother brought them out of nothingness into being. They gave them the chance to see all these beautiful sights and share in all the blessings the gods give humanity. We all consider these things so priceless that we shudder at the thought of leaving them. States have made death the penalty for the greatest crimes because there is no greater evil to fear that could prevent wrongdoing.

You do not suppose that human beings produce children for the sake of carnal pleasure ¹ merely; were this the motive, street and bordell are full of means to quit them of that thrall; whereas nothing is plainer than the pains we take to seek out wives who shall bear us the finest children. ² With these we wed, and carry on the race. The man has a twofold duty to perform: partly in cherishing her who is to raise up children along with him, and partly towards the children yet unborn in providing them with things that he thinks will contribute to their well-being—and of these as large a store as possible. The woman, conceiving, bears her precious burthen with travail and pain, and at the risk of life itself—sharing with that within her womb the food on which she herself is fed. And when with much labour she has borne to the end and brought forth her offspring, she feeds it and watches over it with tender care—not in return for any good thing previously received, for indeed the babe itself is little conscious of its benefactor and cannot even signify its wants; only she, the mother, making conjecture of what is good for it, and what will please it, essays to satisfy it; ³ and for many months she feeds it night and day, enduring the toil nor recking what return she shall receive for all her trouble. Nor does the care and kindness of parents end with nurture; but when the children seem of an age to learn, they teach them themselves whatever cunning they possess, as a guide to life, or where they feel that another is more competent, to him they send them to be taught at their expense. Thus they watch over their children, doing all in their power to enable them to grow up to be as good as possible.

You do not suppose that people have children merely for sexual pleasure. ¹ If pleasure were their motive, the streets and brothels offer plenty of ways to satisfy that desire. Yet nothing is clearer than the care we take to find wives who will bear us the finest children. ² We marry these women and continue the human race. The man has two duties. He must care for the woman who will raise children with him. He must also provide for their unborn children, gathering as much as possible of whatever he thinks will contribute to their well-being. The woman conceives and carries her precious burden through hardship and pain, risking her own life. She shares her food with the child in her womb. After carrying the child to term with great effort and giving birth, she feeds and watches over it with tender care. She does this without receiving anything good in return for her earlier efforts. The baby is hardly even aware of the person caring for it and cannot communicate its needs. The mother can only guess what is good for the baby and what will please it, and try to provide it. ³ For many months, she feeds the baby night and day, enduring the labor without knowing what return she will receive for all her trouble. Parents do not stop caring for and showing kindness to their children once they have raised them. When the children seem old enough to learn, the parents teach them whatever skills they have to guide them through life. If they think someone else is better qualified, they send their children to that person for instruction at their own expense. In this way, they watch over their children, doing everything they can to help them grow up to be as good as possible.

So be it (the youth answered); but even if she have done all that, and twenty times as much, no soul on earth could endure my mother's cross-grained temper.

“All right,” the young man replied. “But even if she has done all that and twenty times more, no one on earth could endure my mother's bad temper.”

Then Socrates: Which, think you, would be harder to bear—a wild beast's savagery or a mother's?

Then Socrates asked: Which do you think would be harder to bear, the savagery of a wild beast or that of a mother?

Lamp. To my mind, a mother's—at least if she be such as mine.

Lamp. In my opinion, a mother's, at least if she is like mine.

Soc. Dear me! And has this mother ever done you any injury—such as people frequently receive from beasts, by bite or kick?

Soc. Good heavens! Has your mother ever hurt you, as animals often hurt people by biting or kicking them?

Lamp. If she has not done quite that, she uses words which any one would sooner sell his life than listen to.

Lamp. If she hasn't done quite that, she says things anyone would rather die than listen to.

Soc. And how many annoyances have you caused your mother, do you suppose, by fretfulness and peevishness in word and deed, night and day, since you were a little boy? How much sorrow and pain, when you were ill?

Soc. How much trouble do you think you have caused your mother since you were a little boy? You have been fussy and irritable in what you said and did, day and night. How much sorrow and pain did you cause her when you were ill?

Lamp. Well, I never said or did anything to bring a blush to her cheeks.

Lamp. Well, I never said or did anything to make her blush.

Soc. No, come now! Do you suppose it is harder for you to listen to your mother's speeches than for actor to listen to actor on the tragic stage, ⁴ when the floodgates of abuse are opened?

Soc. Oh, come now! Do you think listening to your mother is harder than listening to another actor on the tragic stage, ⁴ when they let loose a flood of abuse?

Lamp. Yes; for the simple reason that they know it is all talk on their parts. The inquisitor may cross-question, but he will not inflict a fine; the threatener may hurl his menaces, but he will do no mischief—that is why they take it all so easily.

Lamp. Yes, simply because they know the questioner and the person making threats are all talk. The questioner may press them with questions, but he will not fine them. The person making threats may threaten them, but he will do no harm. That is why they take the questions and threats so lightly.

Soc. Then ought you to fly into a passion, who know well enough that, whatever your mother says, she is so far from meaning you mischief that she is actually wishing blessings to descend upon you beyond all others? Or do you believe that your mother is really ill disposed towards you?

Soc. Then should you lose your temper? You know that whatever your mother says, she does not mean you any harm. In fact, she wishes more blessings on you than on anyone else. Or do you really believe your mother wishes you harm?

Lamp. No, I do not think that.

Lamp. No, I don't think so.

Soc. Then this mother, who is kindly disposed to you, and takes such tender care of you when you are ill to make you well again, and to see that you want for nothing which may help you; and, more than all, who is perpetually pleading for blessings in your behalf and offering her vows to Heaven ⁵—can you say of her that she is cross-grained and harsh? For my part, I think, if you cannot away with such a mother, you cannot away with such blessings either.

Soc. Then can you say that your mother is disagreeable and harsh? She is kind to you and cares for you tenderly when you are ill, helping you recover. She makes sure you lack nothing that might help you. Above all, she constantly prays for blessings for you and makes vows to Heaven ⁵. For my part, I think that if you cannot put up with such a mother, you cannot put up with such blessings either.

But tell me (he proceeded), do you owe service to any living being, think you? or are you prepared to stand alone? Prepared not to please or try to please a single soul? to follow none? To obey neither general nor ruler of any sort? Is that your attitude, or do you admit that you owe allegiance to somebody?

“But tell me,” he continued, “do you think you owe service to any living being, or are you prepared to stand alone? Are you prepared not to please or try to please anyone? To follow no one? To obey no general or any other ruler? Is that your position, or do you admit that you owe allegiance to someone?”

Lamp. Yes; certainly I owe allegiance.

Lamp. Yes, I certainly owe loyalty.

Soc. May I take it that you are willing to please at any rate your neighbour, so that he may kindle a fire for you in your need, may prove himself a ready helpmate in good fortune, or if you chance on evil and are stumbling, may friendlily stand by your side to aid?

Soc. May I assume that you are willing to please your neighbor, at least? Then he may light a fire for you when you need one. He may readily help you in good times. And if you face hardship and stumble, he may stand by you as a friend and help you.

Lamp. I am willing.

Lamp. I'm willing.

Soc. Well, and what of that other chance companion—your fellow-traveller by land or sea? what of any others, you may light upon? is it indifferent to you whether these be friends or not, or do you admit that the goodwill of these is worth securing by some pains on your part?

Soc. Well, what about another chance companion, someone you travel with by land or sea? What about anyone else you may meet? Does it make no difference to you whether they are friends? Or do you admit that their goodwill is worth some effort to secure?

Lamp. I do.

Lamp. I do.

Soc. It stands thus then: you are prepared to pay attention to this, that, and the other stranger, but to your mother who loves you more than all else, you are bound to render no service, no allegiance? Do you not know that whilst the state does not concern itself with ordinary ingratitude or pass judicial sentence on it; whilst it overlooks the thanklessness of those who fail to make return for kindly treatment, it reserves its pains and penalties for the special case? If a man render not the service and allegiance due to his parents, on him the finger of the law is laid; his name is struck off the roll; he is forbidden to hold the archonship—which is as much as to say, "Sacrifices in behalf of the state offered by such a man would be no offerings, being tainted with impiety; nor could aught else be 'well and justly' performed of which he is the doer." Heaven help us! If a man fail to adorn the sepulchre of his dead parents the state takes cognisance of the matter, and inquisition is made in the scrutiny of the magistrates. ⁶ And as for you, my son, if you are in your sober senses, you will earnestly entreat your mother, lest the very gods take you to be an ungrateful being, and on their side also refuse to do you good; and you will beware of men also, lest they should perceive your neglect of your parents, and with one consent hold you in dishonour; ⁷ and so you find yourself in a desert devoid of friends. For if once the notion be entertained that here is a man ungrateful to his parents, no one will believe that any kindness shown you would be other than thrown away.

Soc. So this is how matters stand: you are willing to pay attention to one stranger after another. Yet you owe no service or loyalty to your mother, who loves you more than anyone else? Surely you know that the state does not concern itself with ordinary ingratitude or punish it in court. It overlooks the ingratitude of those who fail to repay kindness, but it punishes one special case. If a man fails to serve and honor his parents, the law takes action against him. His name is struck off the list, and he is forbidden to hold the office of archon. That is like saying, "Sacrifices offered for the state by such a man would not count as offerings. They would be tainted by impiety. Nor could anything else he did be done 'well and justly.'" Heaven help us! If a man fails to care for his dead parents’ tomb, the state takes notice. The matter is investigated when magistrates are examined for office. ⁶ And you, my son, if you are in your right mind, will earnestly seek your mother’s favor. Otherwise, the gods themselves may regard you as ungrateful and refuse to do you good. You will also watch out for other people. If they see you neglecting your parents, they may all hold you in dishonor, ⁷ and leave you without a single friend. For once people think a man is ungrateful to his parents, no one will believe that kindness shown to him would be anything but wasted.