I daresay it may be something of this sort that you would suggest as the effect produced by philosophy on those who make it their pursuit: they yield to those who are first-rate in an understanding of the arts, but in taking the second place they surpass the rest; and in this way the man who has studied philosophy comes just next to the top in everything. That is the kind of person whom you appear to me to indicate. You are quite right, it seems to me, Socrates, he said, in your conception of the philosopher’s position, with your comparison of him to the all-round athlete. For it is precisely his nature not to be enslaved to any business, or to work out anything exactly, so as to let his application to that one matter make him deficient in the rest, as the craftsmen do, but to have a moderate contact with all of them. Well, after this answer I was eager to know clearly what he meant, so I inquired of him whether he conceived of good men as useful or useless. Useful, I should say, Socrates, he replied. Then if good men are useful, are wicked men useless? He agreed that they were. Again, do you consider that philosophers are useful persons or not? He agreed that they were useful; nay, more, that he considered they were most useful of all. Come now, let us make out, if what you say is true, where these second-best men are also useful to us: for clearly the philosopher is inferior to any particular adept in the arts. He agreed. Well now, I went on, if you yourself, or one of your friends for whom you feel great concern, should have fallen sick, would you fetch that second-best man into the house with a view to obtaining health, or would you summon a doctor? For my part, I should have both, he replied. Please do not say both, I said, but which of the two you would prefer and also summon first. No one, he replied,would make any question but that the doctor should be preferred and also summoned first. And again, if you were in a ship that was making rough weather, to which would you rather entrust yourself and yours, the pilot or the philosopher? I should choose the pilot. And so it will be in everything else: so long as there is some craftsman, the philosopher will not be useful? Apparently, he replied. So now we find that the philosopher is a useless person? For I suppose we always have craftsmen; and we have agreed that good men are useful, and bad ones useless. He was obliged to agree to this. Then what follows? Am I to ask you, or will it be too ill-mannered? Ask whatever you please. Well, my aim, I said, is merely to recall our agreements upon what has been stated. The matter stands somewhat like this. We agreed that philosophy is an honorable thing, and that philosophers are good; and that good men are useful, and wicked men useless: but then again we agreed that philosophers, so long as we have craftsmen, are useless, and that we always do have craftsmen. Has not all this been agreed? Yes, to be sure, he replied. Then we agreed, it seems, by your account—if philosophizing means having knowledge of the arts in the way you describe—that philosophers are wicked and useless so long as there are arts among mankind. But I expect they are not so really, my friend, and that philosophizing is not just having a concernment in the arts or spending one’s life in meddlesome stooping and prying and accumulation of learning, but something else; because I imagined that this life was actually a disgrace, and that people who concerned themselves with the arts were called sordid. βάναυσος expresses the peculiar contempt felt by Greek gentlemen for the work of artisans and even artists. Manual labor was the business of slaves and persons who were unfit for military and political life. But we shall know more definitely whether this statement of mine is true, if you will answer me this: What men know how to punish horses rightly? 
 Is it those who make them into the best horses, or some other men? Those who make them into the best horses. Or again, is it not the men who know how to make dogs into the best dogs that know also how to punish them rightly? Yes. Then it is the same art that makes them into the best dogs and punishes them rightly? It appears so to me, he replied. Again, is the art that makes them into the best ones and punishes them rightly the same as that which knows the good and the bad ones, or is it some other? The same, he said. Then in the case of men also will you be prepared to agree that the art which makes them into the best men is that which punishes them rightly and distinguishes the good and the bad ones? Certainly, he said. And that which does this to one, does it also to many, and that which does it to many, does it also to one? Yes. And so it is also with horses and everything else? I agree. Then what is the knowledge which rightly punishes the licentious and law-breaking people in our cities? Is it not judicature? Yes. And is it any other art than this that you call justice? No, only this. And that whereby they punish rightly is that whereby they know the good and bad people? It is. And whoever knows one will know many also? Yes. And whoever does not know many will not know one? I agree. Then if one were a horse, and did not know the good and wicked horses, would one not know which sort one was oneself? I think not. And if one were an ox and did not know the wicked and good oxen, would one not know which sort one was oneself? That is so, he said. And so it would be, if one were a dog? He agreed.