tell a lie?
Yes, said Ctesippus; I should be mad to say anything else.
And in telling a lie, do you tell the thing of which you speak or not?
You tell the thing of which you speak.
And he who tells, tells that thing which he tells, and no other?
Yes, said Ctesippus.
And that is a distinct thing apart from other things?
Certainly.
And he who says that thing says that which is?
Yes.
And he who says that which is, says the truth. And therefore Dionysodorus,
if he says that which is, says the truth of you and no lie.
Yes, Euthydemus, said Ctesippus; but in saying this, he says what is not.
Euthydemus answered: And that which is not is not?
True.
And that which is not is nowhere?
Nowhere.
And can any one do anything about that which has no existence, or do to
Cleinias that which is not and is nowhere?
I think not, said Ctesippus.
Well, but do rhetoricians, when they speak in the assembly, do nothing?
Nay, he said, they do something.
And doing is making?
Yes.
And speaking is doing and making?
He agreed.
Then no one says that which is not, for in saying what is not he would be
doing something; and you have already acknowledged that no one can do what
is not. And therefore, upon your own showing, no one says what is false;
but if Dionysodorus says anything, he says what is true and what is.
Yes, Euthydemus, said Ctesippus; but he speaks of things in a certain way
and manner, and not as they really are.
Why, Ctesippus, said Dionysodorus, do you mean to say that any one speaks
of things as they are?
Yes, he said--all gentlemen and truth-speaking persons.
And are not good things good, and evil things evil?
He assented.
And you say that gentlemen speak of things as they are?
Yes.
Then the good speak evil of evil things, if they speak of them as they are?
Yes, indeed, he said; and they speak evil of evil men. And if I may give
you a piece of advice, you had better take care that they do not speak evil
of you, since I can tell you that the good speak evil of the evil.
And do they speak great things of the great, rejoined Euthydemus, and warm
things of the warm?
To be sure they do, said Ctesippus; and they speak coldly of the insipid
and cold dialectician.
You are abusive, Ctesippus, said Dionysodorus, you are abusive!
Indeed, I am not, Dionysodorus, he replied; for I love you and am giving
you friendly advice, and, if I could, would persuade you not like a boor to
say in my presence that I desire my beloved, whom I value above all men, to
perish.
I saw that they were getting exasperated with one another, so I made a joke
with him and said: O Ctesippus, I think that we must allow the strangers
to use language in their own way, and not quarrel with them about words,
but be thankful for what they give us. If they know how to destroy men in
such a way as to make good and sensible men out of bad and foolish ones--
whether this is a discovery of their own, or whether they have learned from
some one else this new sort of death and destruction which enables them to
get rid of a bad man and turn him into a good one--if they know this (and
they do know this--at any rate they said just now that this was the secret
of their newly-discovered art)--let them, in their phraseology, destroy the
youth and make him wise, and all of us with him. But if you young men do
not like to trust yourselves with them, then fiat experimentum in corpore
senis; I will be the Carian on whom they shall operate. And here I offer
my old person to Dionysodorus; he may put me into the pot, like Medea the
Colchian, kill me, boil me, if he will only make me good.
Ctesippus said: And I, Socrates, am ready to commit myself to the
strangers; they may skin me alive, if they please (and I am pretty well
skinned by them already), if only my skin is made at last, not like that of
Marsyas, into a leathern bottle, but into a piece of virtue. And here is
Dionysodorus fancying that I am angry with him, when really I am not angry
at all; I do but contradict him when I think that he is speaking improperly
to me: and you must not confound abuse and contradiction, O illustrious
Dionysodorus; for they are quite different things.
Contradiction! said Dionysodorus; why, there never was such a thing.
Certainly there is, he replied; there can be no question of that. Do you,
Dionysodorus, maintain that there is not?
You will never prove to me, he said, that you have heard any one
contradicting any one else.
Indeed, said Ctesippus; then now you may hear me contradicting
Dionysodorus.
Are you prepared to make that good?
Certainly, he said.
Well, have not all things words expressive of them?
Yes.
Of their existence or of their non-existence?
Of their existence.
Yes, Ctesippus, and we just now proved, as you may remember, that no man
could affirm a negative; for no one could affirm that which is not.
And what does that signify? said Ctesippus; you and I may contradict all
the same for that.
But can we contradict one another, said Dionysodorus, when both of us are
describing the same thing? Then we must surely be speaking the same thing?
He assented.
Or when neither of us is speaking of the same thing? For then neither of
us says a word about the thing at all?
He granted that proposition also.
But when I describe something and you describe another thing, or I say
something and you say nothing--is there any contradiction? How can he who
speaks contradict him who speaks not?
Here Ctesippus was silent; and I in my astonishment said: What do you
mean, Dionysodorus? I have often heard, and have been amazed to hear, this
thesis of yours, which is maintained and employed by the disciples of
Protagoras, and others before them, and which to me appears to be quite
wonderful, and suicidal as well as destructive, and I think that I am most
likely to hear the truth about it from you. The dictum is that there is no
such thing as falsehood; a man must either say what is true or say nothing.
Is not that your position?
He assented.
But if he cannot speak falsely, may he not think falsely?
No, he cannot, he said.
Then there is no such thing as false opinion?
No, he said.
Then there is no such thing as ignorance, or men who are ignorant; for is
not ignorance, if there be such a thing, a mistake of fact?
Certainly, he said.
And that is impossible?
Impossible, he replied.
Are you saying this as a paradox, Dionysodorus; or do you seriously
maintain no man to be ignorant?
Refute me, he said.
But how can I refute you, if, as you say, to tell a falsehood is
impossible?
Very true, said Euthydemus.
Neither did I tell you just now to refute me, said Dionysodorus; for how
can I tell you to do that which is not?
O Euthydemus, I said, I have but a dull conception of these subtleties and
excellent devices of wisdom; I am afraid that I hardly understand them, and
you must forgive me therefore if I ask a very stupid question: if there be
no falsehood or false opinion or ignorance, there can be no such thing as
erroneous action, for a man cannot fail of acting as he is acting--that is
what you mean?
Yes, he replied.
And now, I said, I will ask my stupid question: If there is no such thing
as error in deed, word, or thought, then what, in the name of goodness, do
you come hither to teach? And were you not just now saying that you could
teach virtue best of all men, to any one who was willing to learn?
And are you such an old fool, Socrates, rejoined Dionysodorus, that you
bring up now what I said at first--and if I had said anything last year, I
suppose that you would bring that up too--but are non-plussed at the words
which I have just uttered?
Why, I said, they are not easy to answer; for they are the words of wise
men: and indeed I know not what to make of this word 'nonplussed,' which
you used last: what do you mean by it, Dionysodorus? You must mean that I
cannot refute your argument. Tell me if the words have any other sense.
No, he replied, they mean what you say. And now answer.
What, before you, Dionysodorus? I said.
Answer, said he.
And is that fair?
Yes, quite fair, he said.
Upon what principle? I said. I can only suppose that you are a very wise
man who comes to us in the character of a great logician, and who knows
when to answer and when not to answer--and now you will not open your mouth
at all, because you know that you ought not.
You prate, he said, instead of answering. But if, my good sir, you admit
that I am wise, answer as I tell you.
I suppose that I must obey, for you are master. Put the question.
Are the things which have sense alive or lifeless?
They are alive.
And do you know of any word which is alive?
I cannot say that I do.
Then why did you ask me what sense my words had?
Why, because I was stupid and made a mistake. And yet, perhaps, I was
right after all in saying that words have a sense;--what do you say, wise
man? If I was not in error, even you will not refute me, and all your
wisdom will be non-plussed; but if I did fall into error, then again you
are wrong in saying that there is no error,--and this remark was made by
you not quite a year ago. I am inclined to think, however, Dionysodorus
and Euthydemus, that this argument lies where it was and is not very likely
to advance: even your skill in the subtleties of logic, which is really
amazing, has not found out the way of throwing another and not falling
yourself, now any more than of old.
Ctesippus said: Men of Chios, Thurii, or however and whatever you call
yourselves, I wonder at you, for you seem to have no objection to talking
nonsense.
Fearing that there would be high words, I again endeavoured to soothe
Ctesippus, and said to him: To you, Ctesippus, I must repeat what I said
before to Cleinias--that you do not understand the ways of these
philosophers from abroad. They are not serious, but, like the Egyptian
wizard, Proteus, they take different forms and deceive us by their
enchantments: and let us, like Menelaus, refuse to let them go until they
show themselves to us in earnest. When they begin to be in earnest their
full beauty will appear: let us then beg and entreat and beseech them to
shine forth. And I think that I had better once more exhibit the form in
which I pray to behold them; it might be a guide to them. I will go on
therefore where I left off, as well as I can, in the hope that I may touch
their hearts and move them to pity, and that when they see me deeply
serious and interested, they also may be serious. You, Cleinias, I said,
shall remind me at what point we left off. Did we not agree that
philosophy should be studied? and was not that our conclusion?
Yes, he replied.
And philosophy is the acquisition of knowledge?
Yes, he said.
And what knowledge ought we to acquire? May we not answer with absolute
truth--A knowledge which will do us good?
Certainly, he said.
And should we be any the better if we went about having a knowledge of the
places where most gold was hidden in the earth?
Perhaps we should, he said.
But have we not already proved, I said, that we should be none the better
off, even if without trouble and digging all the gold which there is in the
earth were ours? And if we knew how to convert stones into gold, the
knowledge would be of no value to us, unless we also knew how to use the
gold? Do you not remember? I said.
I quite remember, he said.
Nor would any other knowledge, whether of money-making, or of medicine, or
of any other art which knows only how to make a thing, and not to use it
when made, be of any good to us. Am I not right?
He agreed.
And if there were a knowledge which was able to make men immortal, without
giving them the knowledge of the way to use the immortality, neither would
there be any use in that, if we may argue from the analogy of the previous
instances?
To all this he agreed.
Then, my dear boy, I said, the knowledge which we want is one that uses as
well as makes?
True, he said.
And our desire is not to be skilful lyre-makers, or artists of that sort--
far otherwise; for with them the art which makes is one, and the art which
uses is another. Although they have to do with the same, they are divided:
for the art which makes and the art which plays on the lyre differ widely
from one another. Am I not right?
He agreed.
And clearly we do not want the art of the flute-maker; this is only another
of the same sort?
He assented.
But suppose, I said, that we were to learn the art of making speeches--
would that be the art which would make us happy?
I should say, no, rejoined Cleinias.
And why should you say so? I asked.
I see, he replied, that there are some composers of speeches who do not
know how to use the speeches which they make, just as the makers of lyres
do not know how to use the lyres; and also some who are of themselves
unable to compose speeches, but are able to use the speeches which the
others make for them; and this proves that the art of making speeches is
not the same as the art of using them.
Yes, I said; and I take your words to be a sufficient proof that the art of
making speeches is not one which will make a man happy. And yet I did
think that the art which we have so long been seeking might be discovered
in that direction; for the composers of speeches, whenever I meet them,
always appear to me to be very extraordinary men, Cleinias, and their art
is lofty and divine, and no wonder. For their art is a part of the great
art of enchantment, and hardly, if at all, inferior to it: and whereas the
art of the enchanter is a mode of charming snakes and spiders and
scorpions, and other monsters and pests, this art of their's acts upon
dicasts and ecclesiasts and bodies of men, for the charming and pacifying
of them. Do you agree with me?
Yes, he said, I think that you are quite right.
Whither then shall we go, I said, and to what art shall we have recourse?
I do not see my way, he said.
