Meno Summary & Analysis

When Meno—a political figure visiting Athens from Thessaly—asks Socrates to tell him whether or not virtue can be taught, Socrates characteristically scrutinizes the very process of answering such a question. Rather than jumping directly into a consideration of virtue, he takes a moment to evaluate the process of inquiry that Meno is most likely looking for. Socrates knows that Meno is used to rhetorically clever answers because he has studied with Gorgias, a Sophist known for teaching his students how to speak persuasively on any matter at all. However, Socrates knows that true wisdom means recognizing one’s own ignorance, and so he begins by destabilizing the very idea that he—or, for that matter, anyone—knows what virtue is in the first place. In this way, he begins the dialogue by urging Meno to let go of his unexamined confidence in his own knowledge.

Before answering whether or not virtue can be taught, Socrates wants to investigate what virtue actually is. This, he points out, will be an important part of any discussion regarding virtue’s teachability, since it’s impossible to “know what qualities” something possesses without fully understanding what it is. To further illustrate his point, he tries to destabilize Meno’s belief that everyone knows the meaning of virtue. Indeed, whereas Meno takes it for granted that he and Gorgias understand the meaning of virtue, Socrates wants to scrutinize the matter. He knows that it’s important to straightforwardly define a concept before venturing into philosophical discussions about its related ideas.

In keeping with his belief that one must solidly define an idea before investigating its philosophical implications, Socrates urges Meno to articulate what, exactly, he thinks virtue is. In turn, Meno sets forth an interpretation of virtue that is highly variable. Indeed, Meno believes that virtue changes depending on context. Although this satisfies Meno himself, it seems obvious that Socrates will take issue with this definition because it leaves so much room for interpretation and thus lacks true clarity.

In this moment, Socrates is trying to get Meno to see that a definition must be all-encompassing, something that applies to all parts of a given category regardless of minor nuances or fluctuations. For example, bees differ from one another, but not “insofar as they are bees.” In other words, two bees might be different sizes, but they are still both bees. As such, any definition of what it means to be a bee must apply to all bees. This, of course, is not the kind of definition Meno has offered of virtue, since he has defined virtuousness in multiple different ways.

Simply put, Socrates wants to show Meno that the only useful kind of definition is one that is universally applicable. Indeed, “health” isn’t contingent upon a person’s gender—a human is simply healthy or unhealthy. As such, it would be logically unsound to provide a definition of healthiness that changes according to whether a person is a man or a woman (of course, there might be different indicators of healthiness in men and women, but the concept of overall wellness remains the same). Once again, then, Socrates stresses the importance of employing accurate and all-encompassing definitions. In doing so, he encourages Meno to examine his understanding of virtue more carefully, thereby laying the groundwork for a more thoughtful and precise conversation.

Socrates makes an important rhetorical move when he points out that, although Meno suggests that there’s a difference between the ways in which men and women are virtuous, this difference simply consists of two manifestations of the same qualities: “justice and moderation.” As such, men and women actually are virtuous in the same ways, thereby proving that Meno’s fluctuating definition of virtue is inadequate and poorly considered.

Having finally accepted that “the virtue of all is the same,” Meno struggles to pinpoint an all-encompassing definition of virtue. However, he does so by pointing not to a definition of virtue as a concept, but to an example of the concept. In the same way that “roundness” is a shape but doesn’t define the idea of shape itself, “justice” is only one manifestation of virtue, not the meaning of virtue as a whole. By pointing this out, Socrates challenges Meno to speak more precisely.

Having emphasized the importance of finding a definition of virtue that “covers all” manifestations of goodness, Socrates brings Meno into a state of confusion. Indeed, Meno expresses his perplexity—an important point to note, considering that Meno was originally so surprised when Socrates suggested he didn’t know the meaning of virtue. Though this state of confusion might seem counterproductive to Meno and Socrates’s desire to have an insightful conversation about the nature of virtue and its teachability, Socrates clearly believes that this perplexity is a good thing, since he’s “eager” to “make progress” by forging onward in the dialogue. In turn, readers see that Socrates isn’t discouraged by his own ignorance. He’s actually motivated by the gaps in his knowledge, ultimately framing the process of intellectual inquiry as something that is inherently worthwhile even in the face of possibly unanswerable questions.

Again, Socrates expresses his desire to find a logically sound and linguistically precise definition of virtue, this time urging Meno to speak accurately about shape as a way of illustrating the fact that they must “seek” all-encompassing descriptions rather than ones that are variable and context-dependent.

When Socrates says that there is “such a thing as a limit or a boundary,” he encourages Meno to consider the fact that all objects have edges and boundaries. To be even more specific, he references the geometrical concept of “solid[s]” and “plane[s],” further reducing his description to the simplest, most straightforward elements. By doing this, he removes any ambiguity that might get in the way of complete comprehension and clarity. In the end, he manages to provide a definition of shape that is highly specific but also quite general, one that applies to circles, squares, triangles, and any other conceivable form. This, he intimates, is the kind of definition that he and Meno are seeking for virtue.

Socrates uses the word “effluvia” to refer to the idea that color emits a flow that is visible to the eye. Although this concept is somewhat abstract to contemporary readers, Meno would have been familiar with the idea, which was set forth by the ancient philosopher Empedocles. As such, Socrates’s definition of color is—like his definition of shape—effective because it breaks the concept down into precise and simple ideas (according to Meno, that is). At the same time, though, Socrates pokes fun of Meno for liking this answer so much, since he knows that he has pandered to Meno’s affinity for “theatrical answers,” which he no doubt inherited from the rhetorically clever Sophists.

At this point in the dialogue, Socrates proceeds with an extended cross-examination of Meno’s theory that virtue is the ability to “desire” and “acquire” beautiful things. Although he doesn’t yet draw any conclusions about this idea, his questions follow his characteristic style of interrogating his conversational partners—a rhetorical technique that is present throughout Plato’s dialogues, in which Socrates frequently confuses his interlocutors simply by encouraging them to carefully investigate their own claims.

Socrates’s cross-examination is somewhat difficult to follow in this moment, since he asks Meno to answer many questions without revealing yet what, exactly, he’s getting at. To boil down his argument, though, Socrates is simply pointing out that acquiring money isn’t always virtuous. In fact, he says, sometimes it’s more virtuous to refrain from acquiring “gold and silver.” This is because a person must behave “justly and piously,” and it’s not always just or pious to “secure” money. In this way, Socrates shows Meno that his definition of virtue is faulty, for it doesn’t apply to all situations. It’s also worth paying attention to the fact that Socrates asks Meno to articulate what it means to “desire” something, once again underlining the importance of providing clear definitions—definitions that will ultimately enable the two men to engage in a more thoughtful and philosophically complex dialogue.

Once again, Socrates shows Meno the flaws in this thinking. This time, he treats Meno’s assertion that “justice” is virtue with the same kind of intellectual scrutiny he applied to his investigation of the definition of shape. In the same way that a circle is a shape but doesn’t define the concept of shape itself, justice is a virtue but doesn’t articulate what virtue is as a broader idea.

Again, Socrates stresses the importance of language. If he and Meno were able to linguistically ground themselves by providing a simple and incontrovertible definition of virtue, they would certainly be able to speak more easily and productively about the entire matter. Unfortunately, though, Meno has failed multiple times to hit upon a working definition of the concept, instead investing himself in examples that don’t actually reveal the overall nature of virtue.

Socrates is well-known for confusing people by encouraging them to question their unexamined beliefs. Unsurprisingly, this has earned him an unfavorable reputation throughout Athens. In fact, this is the exact reason that he stands accused of impiety and slander in Apology. Simply put, people resent him for throwing them into utter “perplexity.” However, Socrates doesn’t confuse his interlocutors out of a sense of maliciousness, but because he knows that the only way to embark on valuable intellectual inquiries is to first admit one’s own ignorance. This, it seems, is why he has destabilized Meno’s superficial understanding of virtue.

In Apology, Socrates upholds that the only valuable kind of human wisdom comes from embracing one’s own ignorance. In keeping with this, he happily accepts the fact that he himself is just as “numb” as the people he speaks to, since he has no problem admitting his own intellectual shortcomings. However, this doesn’t discourage him from engaging in thoughtful debate. In fact, he believes in the process of intellectual discovery so much that he wants to “examine and seek” the nature of virtue with Meno. This is a testament to how much he invests himself in the pursuit of philosophical discovery.

The dilemma Meno outlines in this moment is now commonly known as Meno’s Paradox. According to this idea, it is impossible for anyone to learn anything, since—under this interpretation—a person won’t be able to find the knowledge they are “search[ing] for” because they don’t know what, exactly, they’re looking for in the first place. Needless to say, this is a very pessimistic way to view the process of critical inquiry and education, since it ultimately discourages people from trying to make any intellectual discoveries at all.

In contrast to Meno’s pessimistic ideas regarding education, Socrates remains optimistic about the process of intellectual inquiry. Rather than accepting the fact that it’s futile to search for knowledge, he uses his spiritual and religious beliefs to help him remain motivated to continue making intellectual discoveries. However, it’s worth noting that he does agree with Meno that it is impossible to learn, at least in the conventional sense of the word. Indeed, Socrates thinks the soul has already gathered all the knowledge there is to gather, meaning that a person merely needs to “recollect” what they want to know. Though this aligns with Meno’s notion that it’s impossible to acquire new information, at least this viewpoint gives people an incentive to engage in intellectual pursuits. Socrates even believes that the only thing limiting a person’s ability to “recollect” knowledge is laziness, which is why he thinks people should be “brave” and resist the temptation to “tire of the search” for information.

When Socrates talks about “that debater’s argument,” he is referring to Meno’s Paradox that Meno has set forth. Whereas this viewpoint makes people “idle” and disincentivizes them from engaging in thoughtful inquiry, Socrates’s concept of learning as “recollection” makes people “energetic and keen” to pursue knowledge. In keeping with this, Socrates expresses his desire to “inquire” into “the nature of virtue” alongside Meno, ultimately believing that they might be able to help each other “recollect” knowledge that their souls have already acquired.

To illustrate the fact that people have the ability to “recollect” information stored in their souls, Socrates demonstrates that an effective teacher doesn’t tell a person information, but instead guides them through it in a way that makes sense, ultimately allowing the student to draw their own conclusions. Although Meno’s slave has never been taught geometry, he is perfectly capable of using common sense to answer Socrates’s questions, especially since Socrates has drawn squares on the ground, making it easier for the slave to conceptualize the geometrical concepts in a tangible way. In turn, Socrates showcases the fact that teaching often means little more than encouraging a student to find knowledge within themselves.

It's worth remembering that before this dialogue, Meno was confident that he knew the meaning of virtue. After trying to answer Socrates’s questions, though, he realized that he doesn’t actually have a solid understanding of the concept. Similarly, Meno’s slave confidently answers Socrates’s questions at the beginning of the geometry lesson, but he soon reaches a point of confusion. However, he never would have been able to even reach this point of confusion before he engaged in this process of intellectual inquiry. And although this confusion might seem counterproductive, Socrates argues that it is actually a necessary part of the educational process. After all, Socrates knows that one must acknowledge one’s own ignorance before engaging in genuine critical inquiry. By showing Meno’s slave the gaps in his own knowledge, then, Socrates gives him a chance to identify his intellectual shortcomings, so that he can go forth and address them.

When Socrates says, “These opinions have now just been stirred up like a dream,” he does more than simply demonstrate the power of “recollection”—he also shows the importance of guided instruction. Although he believes that it’s impossible to acquire completely new information, he believes that teachers play a significant role in the process of “recollection.” While they can’t simply impart knowledge to students, teachers can help guide them through the process of intellectual inquiry, ultimately helping “stir up” knowledge from the students’ past lives.

Once again, Socrates outlines the reason he’s so uncomfortable with Meno’s Paradox, which he believes will keep people from even trying to “look for” knowledge. Rather than succumbing to the pessimistic viewpoint that it’s futile to try to learn, Socrates simply reframes the educational process by casting it as an act of “recollection” instead of brand-new discovery.

In Plato’s dialogues, Socrates cross-examines his interlocutors by asking them question after question in order to reveal the weak spots in their logic. In this moment, though, Socrates changes his rhetorical technique by deciding to interrogate his own hypotheses. Rather than going back and forth with Meno, he investigates his own statements. This is most likely because Meno has already been convinced that he doesn’t understand the nature of virtue. Since Socrates is equally ignorant when it comes to knowing what virtue is, he wants to explore the matter alongside Meno, thus engaging in a joint philosophical inquiry instead of a cross-examination.

To grasp what Socrates is saying, it will be helpful to understand the first rhetorical move he makes regarding virtue, goodness, and knowledge. To begin, Socrates says that virtue is “itself something good.” Therefore, virtue is goodness. Next, he turns his attention to the original hypothesis, which asserts that virtue is knowledge. As such, if virtue is goodness and virtue is knowledge, then goodness must also be knowledge, and vice versa. Having established this, Socrates simply restates the previous idea that a definition must apply in all scenarios, meaning that if goodness is knowledge, then everything that is good must be a form of knowledge, and all forms of knowledge must be good. At this point, Socrates points out that certain things that are normally good (or “beneficial”) can also be “harmful” if they’re done without “understanding” or “wisdom.” Knowledge, then, is what determines whether something is good or not in the first place.

The line of thinking that Socrates sets forth in this portion of the dialogue is often multi-layered, making it hard to remember his original point, which is actually rather simple: virtue is that which benefits the soul, and knowledge benefits the soul, so virtue must be “a kind of knowledge.” This, at least, aligns with Socrates’s original hypothesis, though it seems likely that he’ll soon identify a weakness in this argument.

Socrates makes an important point when he says that people aren’t good “by nature.” If this were the case, it would most likely be difficult to teach virtue, since it’s quite a challenge to show people how to acquire an inborn trait. Meno agrees with this interpretation, suddenly throwing his faith into the teachability of virtue, though it seems increasingly likely that Socrates will soon reveal a flaw in the argument that virtue is knowledge.

Although Socrates has already poked fun of Meno’s sophistic tendency to boisterously answer any question he encounters, in this moment he suggests that the Sophists are perhaps the only teachers of virtue. However, he seemingly does this to simply agitate Anytus, one of the men who ends up sentencing him to death in Apology. By playing devil’s advocate and arguing that the Sophists are the only teachers of virtue, Socrates cleverly invites Anytus to refute this point, thereby helping him prove that there are, in fact, no teachers of virtue anywhere in Athens. In turn, he successfully challenges the idea that virtue is a “kind of knowledge,” for if this were the case, surely there would be teachers of virtue, since knowledge is teachable.

Socrates’s primary goal in this part of the dialogue is to prove that there are no teachers of virtue, thereby disproving the hypothesis that virtue is knowledge. However, he also takes this opportunity to demonstrate the importance of experience when it comes to knowledge. Indeed, he believes that people are capable of gaining knowledge from their souls because their souls have already experienced everything a person might ever wish to know. As such, experience becomes an important part of the overall quest for knowledge, which is why Socrates underhandedly ridicules Anytus for condemning the Sophists without ever having met one. This is the opposite of embracing one’s own ignorance, since Anytus invests himself wholeheartedly in a completely uninformed opinion and treats that opinion like an incontrovertible fact.

Since Anytus doesn’t think the Sophists teach virtue, he posits that Athenians have learned how to be virtuous from their fathers and elders. However, Socrates easily refutes this point by reminding Anytus of a number of morally lacking young men whose fathers are quite virtuous. As such, it seems that no one in Athens teaches virtue. In turn, it becomes evident that virtue must not be a “kind of knowledge.” On another note, it’s worth paying attention to Anytus’s anger in this moment, considering that he is one of the men who eventually accuse Socrates of corrupting the youth of Athens, acting impiously, and slandering respected figures.

Having disproved their original hypothesis, Socrates and Meno begin a renewed investigation into the nature of virtue. This time, Socrates decides they shouldn’t assume that a person needs to possess “knowledge” to “give correct direction” to a student or peer, ultimately hinting at the notion that acting “beneficently” (and, thus, virtuously) has little to do with whether or not a person understands what they are doing. What’s more, it’s worth noting that this outlook allows for an interpretation in which Socrates and Meno can be seen as virtuous even if they haven’t figured out what virtue is.

The idea of “correct opinion” is rather strange, since Socrates suggests that it functions like knowledge even though it isn’t supported by the same kind of wisdom or understanding. Indeed, “correct opinion” is—as a concept—similar to good intuition. If a person directs someone else to a certain location based on a hunch, and that hunch ends up being right, then there is no functional difference between that “correct opinion” and an informed piece of advice.

When Socrates speaks about tying down statues, he references the Greek sculptor Daedalus and his statues, which were apparently so realistic that they were rumored to be capable of running away. By speaking in these terms, Socrates demonstrates the value of “correct opinion” without discounting the value of knowledge. He also embraces his own ignorance once more, this time suggesting that he has “correct opinion” about the very idea of “correct opinion”—a fact that demonstrates his faith in the idea while simultaneously admitting his lack of concrete knowledge.

This is an important moment in the dialogue, since Socrates states that virtuous people are still virtuous even if they can’t define virtue itself. At this point, he takes a rather large rhetorical step by suggesting that this is because all virtuous people are “under the gods’ influence.” This divine influence, he argues, is how people manage to embody virtue. In turn, it becomes rather obvious why it’s seemingly impossible to teach virtue, since only the gods would be capable of doing so.

It's often easy to forget that, despite his intense devotion to philosophy and logic, Socrates is quite pious. Of course, some readers interpret his words in this moment as facetious, but there is reason to believe that Socrates truly believes virtue is granted by the gods without “understanding.” After all, this acceptance of ignorance perfectly aligns with his belief that true wisdom means recognizing one’s own intellectual shortcomings. What’s more, he doesn’t let this lack of “understanding” deter him from going through the process of intellectual inquiry. In turn, he demonstrates his belief that engaging in the life of the mind is worthwhile even when it’s impossible to draw definitive conclusions.