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 ChiosCf. 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 ProteusCf. 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.

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.