True.

And what is that with which we have to bore?

A borer.

And that with which we weave?

A shuttle.

And that with which we must name?

A name.

Right. A name also, then, is a kind of instrument.

Certainly.

Then if I were to ask What instrument is the shuttle? Is it not that with which we weave?

Yes.

And what do we do when we weave? Do we not separate the mingled threads of warp and woof?

Yes.

And you could give a similar answer about the borer and the rest, could you not?

Certainly.

And can you say something of the same kind about a name? The name being an instrument, what do we do with it when we name?

I cannot tell.

Do we not teach one another something, and separate things according to their natures?

Certainly.

A name is, then, an instrument of teaching and of separating reality, as a shuttle is an instrument of separating the web?

Yes.

But the shuttle is an instrument of weaving?

Of course.

The weaver, then, will use the shuttle well, and well means like a weaver; and a teacher will use a name well, and well means like a teacher.

Yes.

Whose work will the weaver use well when he uses the shuttle?

The carpenter’s.

Is every one a carpenter, or he who has the skill?

He who has the skill.

And whose work will the hole-maker use when he uses the borer?

The smith’s.

And is every one a smith, or he who has the skill?

He who has the skill.

And whose work will the teacher use when he uses the name?

I cannot tell that, either.

And can you not tell this, either, who gives us the names we use?

No.

Do you not think it is the law that gives them to us?

Very likely.

Then the teacher, when he uses a name, will be using the work of a lawgiver?

I think so.

Do you think every man is a lawgiver, or only he who has the skill?

He who has the skill.

Then it is not for every man, Hermogenes, to give names, but for him who may be called the name-maker; and he, it appears, is the lawgiver, who is of all the artisans among men the rarest.

So it appears.

See now what the lawgiver has in view in giving names. Look at it in the light of what has gone before. What has the carpenter in view when he makes a shuttle? Is it not something the nature of which is to weave?

Certainly.

Well, then, if the shuttle breaks while he making it, will he make another with his mind fixed on that which is broken, or on that form with reference to which he was making the one which he broke?

On that form, in my opinion.

Then we should very properly call that the absolute or real shuttle?

Yes, I think so.

Then whenever he has to make a shuttle for a light or a thick garment, or for one of linen or of wool or of any kind whatsoever, all of them must contain the form or ideal of shuttle, and in each of his products he must embody the nature which is naturally best for each?

Yes.

And the same applies to all other instruments. The artisan must discover the instrument naturally fitted for each purpose and must embody that in the material of which he makes the instrument, not in accordance with his own will, but in accordance with its nature. He must, it appears, know how to embody in the iron the borer fitted by nature for each special use.

Certainly.

And he must embody in the wood the shuttle fitted by nature for each kind of weaving.

True.

For each kind of shuttle is, it appears, fitted by nature for its particular kind of weaving, and the like is true of other instruments.

Yes.

Then, my dear friend, must not the law-giver also know how to embody in the sounds and syllables that name which is fitted by nature for each object? Must he not make and give all his names with his eye fixed upon the absolute or ideal name, if he is to be an authoritative giver of names? And if different lawgivers do not embody it in the same syllables, we must not forget this ideal name on that account; for different smiths do not embody the form in the same iron, though making the same instrument for the same purpose, but so long as they reproduce the same ideal, though it be in different iron, still the instrument is as it should be, whether it be made here or in foreign lands, is it not?

Certainly.

On this basis, then, you will judge the law-giver, whether he be here or in a foreign land, so long as he gives to each thing the proper form of the name, in whatsoever syllables, to be no worse lawgiver, whether here or anywhere else, will you not?

Certainly.

Now who is likely to know whether the proper form of shuttle is embodied in any piece of wood? The carpenter who made it, or the weaver who is to use it ?

Probably the one who is to use it, Socrates.

Then who is to use the work of the lyre-maker? Is not he the man who would know best how to superintend the making of the lyre and would also know whether it is well made or not when it is finished?

Certainly.

Who is he?

The lyre-player.

And who would know best about the work of the ship-builder?

The navigator.

And who can best superintend the work of the lawgiver and judge of it when it is finished, both here and in foreign countries? The user, is it not?

Yes.

And is not this he who knows how to ask questions?

Certainly.

And the same one knows also how to make replies?

Yes.

And the man who knows how to ask and answer questions you call a dialectician?

Yes, that is what I call him.

The work of the carpenter, then, is to make a rudder under the supervision of the steersman, if he rudder is to be a good one.

Evidently.

And the work of the lawgiver, as it seems, is to make a name, with the dialectician as his supervisor, if names are to be well given.

True.

Then, Hermogenes, the giving of names can hardly be, as you imagine, a trifling matter, or a task for trifling or casual persons: and Cratylus is right in saying that names belong to things by nature and that not every one is an artisan of names, but only he who keeps in view the name which belongs by nature to each particular thing and is able to embody its form in the letters and syllables.

I do not know how to answer you, Socrates; nevertheless it is not easy to change my conviction suddenly. I think you would be more likely to convince me, if you were to show me just what it is that you say is the natural correctness of names.

I, my dear Hermogenes, do not say that there is any. You forget what I said a while ago, that I did not know, but would join you in looking for the truth. And now, as we are looking, you and I, we already see one thing we did not know before, that names do possess a certain natural correctness, and that not every man knows how to give a name well to anything whatsoever. Is not that true?

Certainly.

Then our next task is to try to find out, if you care to know about it, what kind of correctness that is which belongs to names.

To be sure I care to know.

Then investigate.

How shall I investigate?

The best way to investigate, my friend, is with the help of those who know; and you make sure of their favour by paying them money. They are the sophists, Truth was the title of a book written by Protagoras. of Protagoras altogether, should desire what is said in such a Truth, as if it were of any value.

Then if you do not like that, you ought to learn from Homer and the other poets.

Why, Socrates, what does Homer say about names, and where?

In many passages; but chiefly and most admirably in those in which he distinguishes between the names by which gods and men call the same things. Do you not think he gives in those passages great and wonderful information about the correctness of names? For clearly the gods call things by the names that are naturally right. Do you not think so?

Of course I know that if they call things, they call them rightly. But what are these instances to which you refer?

Do you not know that he says about the river in Troy which had the single combat with Hephaestus,Hom. Il. 21.342-380whom the gods call Xanthus, but men call ScamanderHom. Il. 20.74?

Oh yes.

Well, do you not think this is a grand thing to know, that the name of that river is rightly Xanthus, rather than Scamander? Or, if you like, do you think it is a slight thing to learn about the bird which he says gods call chalcis, but men call cymindis,Hom. Il. 14.291 that it is much more correct for the same bird to be called chalcis than cymindis? Or to learn that the hill men call Batieia is called by the gods Myrina’s tomb,Hom. Il. 2.813 f and many other such statements by Homer and other poets? But perhaps these matters are too high for us to understand; it is, I think, more within human power to investigate the names Scamandrius and Astyanax, and understand what kind of correctness he ascribes to these, which he says are the names of Hector’s son. You recall, of course: the lines which contain the words to which I refer.

Certainly.

Which of the names of the boy do you imagine Homer thought was more correct, Astyanax or Scamandrius?

I cannot say.

Look at it in this way: suppose you were asked, Do the wise or the unwise give names more correctly?

The wise, obviously, I should say.

And do you think the women or the men of a city, regarded as a class in general, are the wiser?

The men.

And do you not know that Homer says the child of Hector was called Astyanax by the men of Troy;Hom. Il. 22.506 so he must have been called Scamandrius by the women, since the men called him Astyanax?

Yes, probably.

And Homer too thought the Trojan men were wiser than the women?

I suppose he did.

Then he thought Astyanax was more rightly the boy’s name than Scamandrius?

So it appears.

Let us, then, consider the reason for this. Does he not himself indicate the reason most admirably? For he says— He alone defended their city and long walls.Hom. Il. 22.507But the verb is in the second person, addressed by Hecuba to Hector after his death. Therefore, as it seems, it is right to call the son of the defender Astyanax (Lord of the city), ruler of that which his father, as Homer says, defended.

That is clear to me.

Indeed? I do not yet understand about it myself, Hermogenes. Do you?

No, by Zeus, I do not.