Socrates. But surely it is a shame if someone should listen to you speaking and advising about foods, saying that this is better than that, both now and in this quantity, and then were to ask: "What do you mean by 'better', Alcibiades?", and concerning these things you would be able to say that it means the more healthy, although you do not pretend to be a physician; but concerning a subject in which you pretend to be knowledgeable and will stand up to advise as one who knows, if you are asked about this and are unable to say, will you not be ashamed, as it seems you are? Or will it not appear shameful?

Alcibiades. Very much so.

Socrates. Consider then and be eager to say: to what does the "better" tend, in being at peace and in making war with those with whom one ought?

Alcibiades. But though I consider it, I cannot conceive of it.

Socrates. And you don't even know, when we wage war, what complaint we make against each other when we enter into war, and what we name the thing we enter into it for?

Alcibiades. I do; we say that we have been deceived in some way, or forced, or robbed.

Socrates. Hold on: how do we suffer each of these things? Try to say what difference there is between suffering them in this way or in that way.

Alcibiades. Do you mean by "this way", Socrates, justly or unjustly?

Socrates. Exactly that.

Alcibiades. But surely this differs in the whole and entirely.

Socrates. What then? To which sort of people will you advise the Athenians to make war, to those who act unjustly or to those who do what is just?

Alcibiades. You ask a terrible question; for even if someone were to intend that one must make war against those who do what is just, he would never admit it.

Socrates. For that is not lawful, as it seems.

Alcibiades. No, indeed; nor does it seem to be noble.

Socrates. Therefore you too will make your speeches directed toward justice?

Alcibiades. Necessarily.

Socrates. Does it not happen then that the "better" about which I just asked—whether to make war or not, and with whom one ought and with whom not, and when and when not—happens to be the more just? Or is it not so?

Alcibiades. It appears so.

Socrates. How then, dear Alcibiades? Have you escaped your own notice not knowing this, or have you escaped my notice learning it and attending the school of a teacher who taught you to distinguish the more just and the more unjust? And who is he? Tell me too, so that you may introduce me to him as a pupil.

Alcibiades. You are joking, Socrates.

Socrates. No, by the god of friendship, yours and mine, whom I would least of all swear by falsely! But if you have one, tell me who he is.

Alcibiades. And what if I don't? Would you not think that I could otherwise know about what is just and unjust?

Socrates. Yes, if you discovered it.

Alcibiades. But do you not think I could discover it?

Socrates. Very much so, if you searched.

Alcibiades. Then do you not think I would search?

Socrates. I do, if you thought you did not know.

Alcibiades. And was there not a time when I was in that state?