The problem of whole and parts as a problem of human mediation is posed abruptly in the discussion with which the Meno commences. Meno asks how virtue is acquired, whether by teaching, by practice, by nature, or by some other means. Socrates ironically praises Meno’s countrymen, contrasting the situation in Thessaly with the dearth of wisdom in Athens, and then responds to Meno’s question by calling it into question. Socrates’ response is cast in terms of the problem of whole and parts, specifically, in [66] terms of the relation between a property and that to which it pertains:
I share the poverty of my fellow countrymen in this respect and confess to my shame that I have no knowledge about virtue at all. And how can I know a property of something when I do not even know what it is? […] Do you suppose that somebody entirely ignorant who Meno is could say whether he is handsome and rich and wellborn or the reverse? Is that possible, do you think? (71 b).
Meno’s answer is an unqualified negative, which serves to exhibit how meager Meno’s grasp of the question really is.1 Clearly, this answer, suggested already in Socrates’ way of posing the question, is by no means so self-evident as Meno takes it to be, for one could, in some sense, know—for instance, by way of a report—that there is a Thessalian named Meno who is handsome, rich, and wellborn without knowing who Meno is either in the sense of being able to recognize this man Meno by his appearance or in the sense of knowing some basic feature definitive of who he is.2 In fact, the entire dialogue constitutes a testimony against the apparent self-evidence of Meno’s answer by showing that Meno himself, though, indeed, all too aware of being handsome, rich, and wellborn, does not know who he is. This is the question especially of the first half of the dialogue in the dimension of ergon, and we see how at the very beginning this question, “Who is Meno?,” not only is posed but also is more or less explicitly linked to the problem of whole and parts in such a way as to suggest that Meno is one who is oblivious to this issue.
This suggestion is intensified and specified in two additional terms of the dialogue introduced in the opening exchange. When Meno expresses surprise over Socrates’ admission that he does not know what virtue is, Socrates insists that he has, to the best of his belief, “never yet met anyone who did know” (71 c) and hints that Meno, in particular, does not know. With this remark Socrates anticipates the answer which the dialogue will give to the question as to who Meno is: What basically characterizes Meno is ignorance and, most of all, an ignorance of his ignorance.3 Meno, as one who is ignorant, does not know who Meno is—though, indeed, he knows that he is handsome, rich, and wellborn. Meno, as one who is ignorant of self, who is ignorant of his ignorance, does not even know what question is to be posed.
The second additional term is introduced when Meno, expressing his surprise at Socrates’ admission of ignorance regarding what virtue is, asks him whether he did not have occasion to meet Gorgias when the latter paid his visit to Athens and whether he did not think that Gorgias knew what virtue is. Socrates replies:
I have not a good memory, Meno, and I cannot say just now what I thought at the time. Probably he did know, and I expect you know what he used to say about it. So remind me what it was, or tell me yourself if you will. No doubt you agree with him (71c-d).
What is significant in this answer is the contrast which Socrates draws between his own memory and that of Meno. Meno is one who remembers what is said, what Gorgias said; he is one who remembers words, and his opinion is a function of this remembering. Socrates, on the other hand, is prone to forget the words he has heard.4 The distinction between Socrates and Meno (the [68] ignorant one) is, thus, posed as a radical difference between their memories, and it is suggested that Meno’s ignorance is somehow linked to his peculiar kind of memory. The irony inherent in Socrates’ posing the difference in a form which makes Meno appear superior is readily evident, for that forgetting of words, which is characteristic of Socrates, is by no means necessarily negative but is, on the contrary, equally capable of being a forgetting exercised precisely in the interest of a recalling of what is spoken about in the words.5 Compared to the latter, Meno’s memory, a memory which clings to words, appears as constituting a defect and a source of ignorance.6
Thus, in the opening exchange three terms are introduced that bear upon the question as to who Meno is. These terms are: ignorance (self-ignorance), memory (of words), and the problem of whole and parts (as a problem of mediation). It remains to be seen how the dialogue collects these terms into a whole.
This same priority of the question “What is virtue?” over the question “How is virtue acquired?” is stated, though more tentatively, by Socrates in the Protagoras (361 a-c). This statement occurs, however, not at the beginning (as in the Meno) but only at the very end of the dialogue where it serves to thematize something brought to light by the actual course of the dialogue itself culminating in the curious exchange of positions by Socrates and Protagoras. ↩
Cf. Walter Bröcker, Platos Gespräche (Frankfort a.M.: Vittorio Klostermann, 1967), pp. 110-111. ↩
That what is distinctive about Meno’s ignorance lies in the face that it incorporates an ignorance of his ignorance is suggested by a comment which Socrates addresses to Meno: Gorgias, Socrates says, “got you into the habit of answering any question you might be asked with the confidence and dignity appropriate to those who know the answers” (70 c). In the Sophist (229 c) the Stranger refers to such ignorance as “supposing [δοκεῖν] that one knows a thing when one does not know it”; he adds: “Through this, I believe, all the errors of thought are caused in all of us.” Cf. Laws 863 c, 731 e – 732 b. ↩
See Socrates’ remark in the Protagoras (334 c-d) about his being forgetful; also Alcibiades’ comment at 336 d. It must be noted, however, that the relation between Socrates and Protagoras is by no means one involving such sheer opposition as we find in the Meno. This is especially apparent at the end of the Protagoras (361 a-b). ↩
Cf. esp. Crat. 439 a-b. Almost all of Part Two bears on this issue. ↩
Klein has pointed out (Commentary, pp. 43-46) the appropriateness of the name “Meno,” which means literally “stay as before” or “stay put.” In the course of the dialogue Meno proves to be one who does just this, who stays put in his ignorance, who is incapable of learning. Klein discusses also the significance of Socrates statement, “I have not a good memory, Meno,…,” pointing to the fact that the words “μνημών, ὦ Μένων” form a kind of jingle which highlights the fact that Meno’s name (Μένων) is a deranged form of the word “remembering” (μνημών), which stems from the word “memory” (μνήμη). This is taken to suggest a derangement of Meno’s memory. ↩