“Which is?”
“Good.”
“You believe beauty encouwages virtue?” said Alcibiades incredulously.
“Yes! A soul that doesn’t fit its body is as uncomfortable as a foot that doesn’t fit its shoe.”
“And ugliness?” said Alcibiades, staring at the hairy face with the broken nose.
“Ugliness encourages virtue even more. If we don’t cultivate our virtues nobody will talk to us. . will they?”
Alcibiades smiled and relaxed a little. Socrates raised a forefinger saying, “Listen! Beautiful people envy your beauty, brave men admire your courage, clever folk respect your intelligence. This city dotes on you. Everything you do has become fashionable, from lisping to horse racing. And if you thought you would be like this for the rest of your life you’d kill yourself.”
“Yes. I want to be… grrreat!”
“I’m glad. But there are many false kinds of greatness. You must learn to discard those.”
“What do they look like?”
“I don’t know,” said Socrates, smiling and shaking his head. “I’m ignorant, I’m no expert. But you want to enter politics in a big way?”
“Yes.”
“And become a statesman like Pericles?”
“Not like Pewicles. You know how he wants us to win this war. ‘Fight the Spartans when we have to,’ he says, ‘but do it as seldom as possible. We’re wicher than them, so if the war lasts long enough they’ll go bankwupt first.’ How vewy wise! How abominably mean!”
In another corner of the room three of Athens’ richest men were gathered, each having discovered that Pericles would not speak to them. One was Theramines, nicknamed The Golden Mean, being a moderate politician who kept changing his political allegiances on grounds of political principle. Nicius, nicknamed High Anxiety, dealt largely in slaves. He was a cautious, successful general and diplomat whose wealth and political success had not incurred the envy of The Many, who regarded him with genial condescension because he was as full of superstitious fear as an ignorant peasant. Critias, a younger man, had inherited a big estate and was not yet eminent enough to have a nickname. He said, “Think of it! A stinking skin-merchant like Cleon leading the Athenian empire! It could happen.”
“He’s a free citizen like you and me,” said the Golden Mean mildly. “If he won’t see reason we should bribe him.”
“Bribing a demagogue is like pouring sacks of salt into the sea,” said High Anxiety glumly. “Twenty-five years ago The Few could get rid of Cleon through a quiet little street accident —” (he made an upwards stabbing gesture) “— The same thing today would start a revolt. Nobody’s property would be safe.” “We’re more civilized nowadays,” said the Golden Mean cheerfully.
“The Many are like spoilt children!” said Critias fiercely. “Pericles has given them far too much — full employment! Disabled workmen’s compensation! Pensions for widows and public sanatoriums. Nowadays you can’t even tell a slave from a freeman by the clothes they wear.”
“Sports festivals,” said High Anxiety, sighing, “religious festivals with drama and music. I’ve paid for a lot of that. Prominent men aren’t safe if they don’t make themselves popular.”
“Most social welfare is paid for out of the United Greek Defence Treasury — not from our pockets,” the Golden Mean pointed out. They brooded on that for a moment then High Anxiety said, “The refugee camp — have you heard the news from there?”
They had not. He told them that two days before some refugees had died of black putrescent swellings in the armpits and groin; Dr Archileos had attended them and had died that morning of the same illness.
“A plague,” said the Golden Mean slowly, “could compel us to negotiate peace with Sparta. I doubt if Pericles could survive that. He acts like a god but he’s not immortal.”
“The fates are tired of him,” said High Anxiety, “A sheep on his farm near Megera has given birth to a unicorn — a black ram with a single horn here —” (he touched the centre of his brow) “— instead of two. It was born blind in the early hours of the morning and died six hours later at the height of noon. You see what that means?”
The others smiled and shook their heads.
“It means Athens will be destroyed if it continues to be governed by one man. A well balanced state needs two leaders, one for The Many, another for The Few. Well, The Many have their Cleon. If you speak out for The Few, Theramines, you will get my vote.”
“And mine,” said Critias.
“You are more suited to that job,” the Golden Mean told High Anxiety, “since you read the omen that way. Has Heavenly Reason said anything about the unicorn?”
“Yes. He opened the skull and found the brain was distorted. Instead of two lobes like a walnut it had one that came to a point, like an egg. He said it was one of those freak births by which Nature sometimes produces new species. Most distortions are unhealthy so the brute dies, but when a new shape is useful to a beast it lives and gives birth to more with that shape. It’s useless arguing with Heavenly Reason of course. He may be absolutely right, scientifically speaking, but I believe Nature is governed by Fate so is full of warnings for us. The unicorn was born on Pericles’ farm so is obviously a warning to him.”
“What are you plotting, my fellow citizens?” asked Aristophanes, joining them.
“Do you think we’ll tell a popular political satirist that? Think again,” said the Golden Mean, smiling.
“Behold!” cried the dramatist, pointing to the couple at the wine table. “Our Darling is adding philosophy to his empire.” “I hope Socrates doesn’t suffer by it,” said Critias. “Nobody is better company — he’s amusing as well as wise.”
“Socrates suffer?” said the comedian chuckling, “He’s incapable of suffering. His demon protects him against attackers from every quarter of the compass.”
Socrates was saying, “So you feel able to advize the Athenian state?”
“Yes.”
“On shipbuilding? Or where to dig a new harbour?”
“Of course not. Shipwrights and surveyors know about those things. I would advize on the largest political matters — war and peace.”
“So you know the right times to go to war.”
“Yes.”
“And the right people to fight.”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean by ‘right’?”
“I mean — ” said Alcibiades, paused, then sat down, pressing a finger to his lower lip.
“That’s not a hard question,” said Socrates helpfully, “What reasons do we give when we go to war?”
“We say we’re wesisting a wicked thweat, or haven’t been paid what we’re owed.”
“So when you advize people to make war you’re talking about justice? A war is right when it is just?”
“Not…always. Though when it is not just we have to pwetend it is.”
“Then you might advize the Athenian people to fight an unjust war?”
“Yes,” said Alcibiades boldly, “Because I love my land and her laws and any action which incweases her safety or power will seem wight to me!”
“Well said. And if a friend meant to increase his safety or wealth by killing or robbing a neighbour, what would you say if he asked for advice on the right time to do it?”
“You know what I would say,” said Alcibiades groaning. “But one citizen is not an entire state. What is bad for the first can be good for the second.”
“Hum. Tell me, which people do you admire most: those who risk their lives fighting injustice or those who increase their power by unjust fighting?”
“You know what I would admire most. Usually. Under normal circumstances.”
“But there are political circumstances when you would urge the people you love most to do the thing you admire least?”