Thomas is in a sulk. He’s just been told off for scribbling on his notebook. Some of the
children get more pocket money than him. Samantha says he’s not pretty enough to go
out with her. James is better at football than him. And (whisper it) ‘Brains’ is better at
maths. That’s so unfair – it’s not even Brains’ favourite subject!
Then there are events. He’s just not lucky any more. Sometimes, he writes in his diary,
it seems as if there is a curse attached to him. Like when his remote control boat
malfunctioned and got run over. And then at school he is told that he must do what is
‘right’. Well, why should he? The world’s not right, and he’s got to live in it! he explains
earnestly to Mrs Heffalump, his class teacher.
Mrs Heffalump takes the recalcitrant to the school library and pulls out a well-thumbed copy
of Plato’s Meno from out of the blue bookcase. Mrs Heffalump explains that in the dialogue
Socrates asks Meno to describe to him the nature of ‘virtue’, that desirable and
‘advantageous’ characteristic which ‘makes us good’. And Socrates obtains this confident
response from his friend. Clearing her throat slightly self-consciously she reads aloud:
There is no difficulty about it. First of all, if it’s a manly kind of virtue you are after, it is
easy to see that the virtue consists in managing the city’s affairs competently, and
so that a man helps his friends and injures his enemies, all whilst of course ensuring
no disadvantage to himself. Or, if you want to know what is virtuous for a woman,
that too is easily described. She must be a good housewife, careful with her
housekeeping, and obedient to her husband . . . For every act, and every time of life,
for every function, there is a virtue for each one, as well as, I should say, a vice.
‘No, no, no!’ exclaims Thomas. ‘Mrs Heffalump, this is a rubbish theory!’