But what of falsehoods about these same things? And please answer this with the same splendid frankness as my previous questions, Hippias. If some one were to ask you how much three times seven hundred is, would you have the most power to tell falsehoods and always uniformly to say false things about these matters, if you wished to tell falsehoods and never to reply truly; or would he who is ignorant of calculations have more power to tell falsehoods than you, if you wished to do so? Or would the ignorant man often, when he wished to tell falsehoods, involuntarily tell the truth, if it so happened, because he did not know, whereas you, the wise man, if you wished to tell falsehoods, would tell them always and uniformly?

Yes, it is as you say.

Is the false man, then, false about other things, but not about number, and would he not tell falsehoods when dealing with number?

He is false about number also, by Zeus.

Shall we, then, assume this also, that there is such a person as a man who is false about calculation and number?

Yes.

Now who would that man be? Must he not, as you just now agreed, have power to tell falsehoods, if he is to be false? For it was said by you, if you recollect, that he who has not the power to tell falsehoods would never be false.

Yes, I recollect, that was said.

And just now you were found to have most power to tell falsehoods about calculations, were you not?

Yes, that also was said.

Let us, then, investigate also the third man, the astronomer, whose art you think you know even better than those of the previous ones; do you not, Hippias?

Yes.

Are not the same things true in astronomy also?

Probably, Socrates.

Then in astronomy also, if anyone is false, the good astronomer will be false, he who has power to speak falsehood. For he who has not power will not for he is ignorant.

So it appears.

The same man, then, in astronomy will be true and false.

So it seems.

Come now, Hippias, consider generally in this way concerning all the sciences, whether this is the case, or not. Certainly you are the wisest of men in the greatest number of arts, as I once heard you boast, recounting your great and enviable wisdom in the market-place at the tables of the moneychangers. You said that once, when you went to Olympia, everything you had on your person was your own work; first the ring—for you began with that— which you had was your own work, showing that you knew how to engrave rings, and another seal was your work, and a strigil and an oil-flask were your works; then you said that you yourself had made the sandals you had on, and had woven your cloak and tunic; and, what seemed to every one most unusual and proof of the most wisdom, was when you said that the girdle you wore about your tunic was like the Persian girdles of the costliest kind, and that you had made it yourself. And in addition you said that you brought with you poems, both epics and tragedies and dithyrambs, and many writings of all sorts composed in prose; and that you were there excelling all others in knowledge of the arts of which I was speaking just now, and of the correctness of rhythms and harmonies and letters, and many other things besides, as I seem to remember; and yet I forgot your art of memory, as it seems, in which you think you are most brilliant; and I fancy I have forgotten a great many other things. But, as I say, look both at your own arts—and there are plenty of them—and at those of others, and tell me if you find, in accordance with the agreements you and I have reached, any point where one man is true and another false, where they are separate and not the same. Look for this in any branch whatsoever of wisdom or shrewdness or whatever you choose to call it; but you will not find it, my friend, for it does not exist; just tell me.