Soc. Well then, proceeded the other, each thing that is has its own description? 

 Certainly. 

 Then do you mean, 

 as each is, or as it is not? 

 As it is. 

 Yes, he said, for if you recollect, Ctesippus, we showed just now that no one speaks of a thing as it is not; since we saw that no one speaks what is not.
 
 Well, what of that? asked Ctesippus: are you and I contradicting any the less? 

 Now tell me, he said, could we contradict if we both spoke the description of the same thing? In this case should we not surely speak the same words? 

 He agreed.

 But when neither of us speaks the description of the thing, he asked, then we should contradict? Or in this case shall we say that neither of us touched on the matter at all? 

 This also he admitted.

 Well now, when I for my part speak the description of the thing, while you give another of another thing, do we contradict then? Or do I describe the thing, while you do not describe it at all? How can he who does not describe contradict him who does? The argument is that, if we cannot speak what is not, or falsely, of a thing (this assumption being based on the old confusion of being with existence), there can be only one description of a thing in any given relation, and so there is no room for contradiction. This argument is commonly ascribed to Anthisthenes, the founder of the Cynic sect and opponent of Plato. It is not clear who exactly are meant by the followers of Protagoras or the others before his time. 

 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 ?

 No, it is the same with thinking, he said.

 So neither is there any false opinion, I said, at all.

 No, he said.

 Nor ignorance, nor ignorant men; or must not ignorance occur, if it ever can, when we put things falsely?

 Certainly, he said.

 But there is no such thing as this, I said.

 No, 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? 
						
 But you, he replied, are to refute me. 

 Well, does your argument allow of such a thing as refutation, if there is nobody to speak false?

 There is no such thing, said Euthydemus.

 So neither did Dionysodorus just now bid me refute him? I asked.

 No, for how can one bid something that is not? Do you bid such a thing? 

 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?

 Certainly, 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?

						 Now really, Socrates, interposed Dionysodorus, are you such an old dotard as to recollect now what we said at first, and will you now recollect what I may have said last year, and yet be at a loss how to deal with the arguments urged at the moment? 

 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 .

 But it is not so very hard to deal with that phrase i.e. νοεῖ , intend. of yours, he said. Just answer me. 

 Before you answer me, Dionysodorus? I protested.

 You refuse to answer? he said.

 Is it fair?

 Oh yes, it is fair enough, 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.

 What nonsense you talk, he said, instead of answering as you should. Come, good sir, do as I bid you and answer, since you confess to my wisdom. 

 Well then, I must obey, I said, and of necessity, it seems; for you are the master here. Now for your question.

 Then tell me, do things that intend have life when they intend, or do lifeless things do it too? 

 Only those that have life.

 Now do you know any phrase that has life? 

 Upon my soul, I do not. 
						
 Why then did you ask just now what my phrase intended? 

 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: Yes, your way of discussion is marvellous, you men of Thurii or Chios Cf. above, Plat. Euthyd. 271c . or wherever or however it is you are pleased to get your names; for you have no scruple about babbling like fools. 

 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 Cf. Hom. Od. 4.385 ff . Proteus was an ancient seer of the sea who, if one could catch him as he slept on the shore and hold him fast while he transformed himself into a variety of creatures, would tell one the intentions of the gods, the fate of absent friends, etc. the Egyptian adept. So let us take our cue from Menelaus, Cf. Hom. Od. 4.456 . 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? Cf. Plat. Euthyd. 282d . 

 Yes, he said.

 And this pursuit—called philosophy—is an acquiring of knowledge. Is it not so? I asked.

 Yes, 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?

 Certainly, 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?

 Perhaps, 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.

 Certainly I do, 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.

 Apparently, 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?

 I for one think not, said Cleinias, interposing. 
						
 On what proof do you rely? I asked.

 I see, he said, certain speech-writers who do not know how to use the special arguments composed by themselves, just as lyre-makers in regard to their lyres: in the former case also there are other persons able to use what the makers produced, while being themselves unable to make the written speech. Hence it is clear that in speech likewise there are two distinct arts, one of making and one of using. 

 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.

 No, it appears to me, he replied, to be as you say. 

 Which way then, said I, shall we turn now? What kind of art shall we try?

 For my part, he said, I have no suggestion. 

 Why, I think I have found it myself, I said.

 What is it? said Cleinias. 
						
 Generalship, I replied, strikes me as the art whose acquisition above all others would make one happy.

 I do not think so. 

 Why not? I asked.

 In a sense, this is an art of hunting men. 

 What then? I said.

 No part of actual hunting, he replied, covers more than the province of chasing and overcoming; and when they have overcome the creature they are chasing, they are unable to use it: the huntsmen or the fishermen hand it over to the caterers, and so it is too with the geometers, astronomers, and calculators— for these also are hunters in their way, since they are not in each case diagram-makers, but discover the realities of things i.e. geometers etc. are not to be regarded as mere makers of diagrams, these being only the necessary and common machinery for their real business, the discovery of mathematical and other abstract truths. —and so, not knowing how to use their prey, but only how to hunt, I take it they hand over their discoveries to the dialecticians to use properly, those of them, at least, who are not utter blockheads. 

 Very good, I said, most handsome and ingenious Cleinias; and is this really so?

 To be sure it is; and so, in the same way, with the generals. When they have hunted either a city or an army, they hand it over to the politicians—since they themselves do not know how to use what they have hunted—just as quail-hunters, I suppose, hand over their birds to the quail-keepers. If, therefore, he went on, we are looking for that art which itself shall know how to use what it has acquired either in making or chasing, and if this is the sort that will make us blest, we must reject generalship, he said, and seek out some other. 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.