Alcibiades. You seem to me, Socrates, much more strange now that you have begun to speak than when you followed me in silence, although even then you looked strange enough. So, whether I have these things in mind or not, you have evidently made up your mind, and if I deny it, it will be to no advantage in persuading you. Very well then: if I indeed intend these things most of all, how will they come about through you, and why without you could they not happen? Can you explain?

Socrates. Are you asking if I have some long speech to give, the sort you are accustomed to hearing? For my way is not like that: but I think I could show you that these things are so, if you are willing to do me just one small service.

Alcibiades. Well, if the service you speak of is not a difficult one, I am willing.

Socrates. Does it seem difficult to answer questions?

Alcibiades. Not difficult.

Socrates. Then answer.

Alcibiades. Ask.

Socrates. Then I ask you under the assumption that you intend the things I say you intend?

Alcibiades. Let it be so, if you wish, so that I may know what you will say.

Socrates. Come then: you intend, as I say, to step forward to advise the Athenians within a short time. If, therefore, as you were about to step onto the platform, I should grab hold of you and ask: "Alcibiades, since the Athenians are planning to deliberate, what is the subject about which you stand up to advise? Is it about things which you know better than they do?" What would you answer?

Alcibiades. I would say, I suppose, about things which I know better than they do.

Socrates. Then concerning the things you happen to know, you are a good advisor.

Alcibiades. How could I not be?

Socrates. Do you know anything except what you have learned from others or found out yourself?

Alcibiades. What else could there be?

Socrates. Is there any way you could have ever learned or found out anything without being willing either to learn it or to seek it out yourself?

Alcibiades. There is not.

Socrates. What then? Would you have been willing to seek out or learn what you thought you already knew?

Alcibiades. No, indeed.

Socrates. So for the things you now happen to know, was there a time when you did not think you knew them?

Alcibiades. Necessarily.

Socrates. But I know pretty much what you have learned. If something has escaped my notice, tell me. For as far as my memory goes, you learned your letters, how to play the lyre, and how to wrestle; you did not wish to learn to play the flute. These are the things you know, unless perhaps you have learned something without my noticing—which I suppose you have not, since you have gone neither out by night nor by day from your house.

Alcibiades. But I have not attended any other classes than these.