Euthydemus (286-290)

Soc.

proceeded the other, he said, asked Ctesippus: he said, He agreed. he asked, This also he admitted. [*] At this Ctesippus was silent; but I, wondering at the argument, said: How do you mean, Dionysodorus? For, to be plain with you, this argument, though I have heard it from many people on various occasions, never fails to set me wondering—you know the followers of Protagoras made great use of it, as did others even before his time, but to me it always seems to have a wonderful way of upsetting not merely other views but itself also—and I believe I shall learn the truth of it from you far better than from anyone else. There is no such thing as speaking false—that is the substance of your statement, is it not? Either one must speak and speak the truth, or else not speak? He agreed. Then shall we say that speaking false is not, but thinking false is? he said. So neither is there any false opinion, I said, at all. he said. Nor ignorance, nor ignorant men; or must not ignorance occur, if it ever can, when we put things falsely? he said. But there is no such thing as this, I said. he said. Is it merely to save your statement, Dionysodorus, that you state it so—just to say something startling—or is it really and truly your view that there is no such thing as an ignorant man? he replied, Well, does your argument allow of such a thing as refutation, if there is nobody to speak false? said Euthydemus. So neither did Dionysodorus just now bid me refute him? I asked. Well, Euthydemus, I said, it is because I do not at all understand these clever devices and palpable hits: I am only a dull sort of thinker. And so I may perhaps be going to say something rather clownish; but you must forgive me.

Soc.

Here it is:

if there is no such thing as speaking false or thinking false or being stupid, surely there can be no making a mistake either, when one does something. For in doing it there is no mistaking the thing that is done. You will state it so, will you not? he said. My clownish question, I went on, is now already before you. If we make no mistake either in doing or saying or intending, I ask you what in Heaven’s name, on that assumption, is the subject you two set up to teach. Or did you not say just now that your speciality was to put any man who wished in the way of learning virtue? interposed Dionysodorus, Well, you see, I replied, they are so very hard, and naturally so; for they fall from the lips of wise men; and this is further shown by the extreme difficulty of dealing with this last one you put forward. For what on earth do you mean, Dionysodorus, by saying I am at a loss how to deal with it? Or is it clear that you mean I am at a loss how to refute it? You must tell me what else your phrase can intend, at a loss how to deal with the arguments. he said. Before you answer me, Dionysodorus? I protested. he said. Is it fair? he replied On what principle? I asked: or is it plainly on this one—that you present yourself to us at this moment as universally skilled in discussion, and thus can tell when an answer is to be given, and when not? So now you will not answer a word, because you discern that you ought not to. Well then, I must obey, I said, and of necessity, it seems; for you are the master here. Now for your question. Only those that have life. Upon my soul, I do not. Of course I made a great mistake, I said: I am such a dullard. Or perhaps it was not a mistake, and I was right in saying what I did, that phrases intend. Do you say I was mistaken or not?

Soc.

If I was not, then you will not refute me, with all your skill, and you are at a loss how to deal with the argument; while if I was mistaken, you are in the wrong there, too,

for you assert that there is no such thing as making a mistake; and what I say is not aimed at what you said last year. But it seems, I went on, Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, that our argument remains just where it was, and still suffers from the old trouble of knocking others down and then falling itself, and even your art has not yet discovered a way of avoiding this failure—in spite, too, of the wonderful show it makes of accurate reasoning. Here Ctesippus exclaimed: At this I was afraid we might hear some abuse, so I soothed Ctesippus down once more, saying: Ctesippus, I repeat to you what I said to Cleinias just now, that you do not perceive the wonderful nature of our visitors’ skill. Only they are unwilling to give us a display of it in real earnest, but treat us to jugglers’ tricks in the style of Proteus[*] the Egyptian adept. So let us take our cue from Menelaus,[*] and not leave hold of these gentlemen till they give us a sight of their own serious business. I believe something very fine will be found in them as soon as they begin to be serious. Come, let us beg and exhort and beseech them to let their light shine. For my part, then, I am minded to take the lead once more in showing what sort of persons I pray may be revealed in them: starting from where I left off before, I shall try, as best I can, to describe what follows on from that, to see if I can rouse them to action and make them, in merciful commensuration of my earnest endeavor, be earnest themselves. Will you, Cleinias, I asked, please remind me of the point at which we left off? Now, as far as I can tell, it was something like this: we ended by agreeing that one ought to pursue wisdom, did we not?[*] he said. And this pursuit—called philosophy—is an acquiring of knowledge. Is it not so? I asked. he said. Then what knowledge should we acquire if we acquired it rightly? Is it not absolutely clear that it must be that knowledge which will profit us? he said. Now will it profit us at all, if we know how to tell, as we go about, where the earth has most gold buried in it? he said.

Soc.

But yet, I went on, we refuted that former proposition, agreeing that even if without any trouble or digging the earth we got all the gold in the world, we should gain nothing, so that not if we knew how to turn the rocks into gold would our knowledge be of any worth. For unless we know how to use the gold, we found no advantage in it. Do you not remember? I asked. he said. Nor, it seems, do we get any advantage from all other knowledge, whether of money-making or medicine or any other that knows how to make things, without knowing how to use the thing made. Is it not so? He agreed. Nor again, if there is a knowledge enabling one to make men immortal, does this, if we lack the knowledge how to use immortality, seem to bring any advantage either, if we are to infer anything from our previous admissions. On all these points we agreed. Then the sort of knowledge we require, fair youth, I said, is that in which there happens to be a union of making and knowing how to use the thing made. he said. So we ought, it seems, to aim at something far other than being lyre-makers or possessing that kind of knowledge. For in this case the art that makes and the art that uses are quite distinct, dealing in separation with the same thing; since there is a wide difference between the art of making lyres and that of harp-playing. Is it not so? He agreed. Nor again, obviously, do we require an art of flute-making; for this is another of the same kind. He assented. Now in good earnest, I asked, if we were to learn the art of speech-making, can that be the art we should acquire if we would be happy? said Cleinias, interposing. On what proof do you rely? I asked. he said, I think you give sufficient proof, I said, that this art of the speech-writers cannot be that whose acquisition would make one happy. And yet I fancied that somewhere about this point would appear the knowledge which we have been seeking all this while. For not only do these speech-writers themselves, when I am in their company, impress me as prodigiously clever, Cleinias, but their art itself seems so exalted as to be almost inspired. However, this is not surprising; for it is a part of the sorcerer’s art, and only slightly inferior to that.

Soc.

The sorcerer’s art is the charming of snakes and tarantulas and scorpions and other beasts and diseases, while the other is just the charming and soothing of juries, assemblies, crowds, and so forth. Or does it strike you differently? I asked.

he replied, Which way then, said I, shall we turn now? What kind of art shall we try? he said, Why, I think I have found it myself, I said. said Cleinias. Generalship, I replied, strikes me as the art whose acquisition above all others would make one happy. Why not? I asked. What then? I said. he replied, Very good, I said, most handsome and ingenious Cleinias; and is this really so? he went on,

Cri.

What is this, Socrates? Such a pronouncement from that stripling!

Soc.

You do not believe it is his, Crito?

Cri.

I should rather think not. For I am sure, if he spoke thus, he has no need of education from Euthydemus or anyone else.

Soc.

But then, Heaven help me! I wonder if it was Ctesippus who said it, and my memory fails me.