But I think that I do, I replied.
And what is your notion? asked Cleinias.
I think that the art of the general is above all others the one of which
the possession is most likely to make a man happy.
I do not think so, he said.
Why not? I said.
The art of the general is surely an art of hunting mankind.
What of that? I said.
Why, he said, no art of hunting extends beyond hunting and capturing; and
when the prey is taken the huntsman or fisherman cannot use it; but they
hand it over to the cook, and the geometricians and astronomers and
calculators (who all belong to the hunting class, for they do not make
their diagrams, but only find out that which was previously contained in
them)--they, I say, not being able to use but only to catch their prey,
hand over their inventions to the dialectician to be applied by him, if
they have any sense in them.
Good, I said, fairest and wisest Cleinias. And is this true?
Certainly, he said; just as a general when he takes a city or a camp hands
over his new acquisition to the statesman, for he does not know how to use
them himself; or as the quail-taker transfers the quails to the keeper of
them. If we are looking for the art which is to make us blessed, and which
is able to use that which it makes or takes, the art of the general is not
the one, and some other must be found.
CRITO: And do you mean, Socrates, that the youngster said all this?
SOCRATES: Are you incredulous, Crito?
CRITO: Indeed, I am; for if he did say so, then in my opinion he needs
neither Euthydemus nor any one else to be his instructor.
SOCRATES: Perhaps I may have forgotten, and Ctesippus was the real
answerer.
CRITO: Ctesippus! nonsense.
SOCRATES: All I know is that I heard these words, and that they were not
spoken either by Euthydemus or Dionysodorus. I dare say, my good Crito,
that they may have been spoken by some superior person: that I heard them
I am certain.
CRITO: Yes, indeed, Socrates, by some one a good deal superior, as I
should be disposed to think. But did you carry the search any further, and
did you find the art which you were seeking?
SOCRATES: Find! my dear sir, no indeed. And we cut a poor figure; we were
like children after larks, always on the point of catching the art, which
was always getting away from us. But why should I repeat the whole story?
At last we came to the kingly art, and enquired whether that gave and
caused happiness, and then we got into a labyrinth, and when we thought we
were at the end, came out again at the beginning, having still to seek as
much as ever.
CRITO: How did that happen, Socrates?
SOCRATES: I will tell you; the kingly art was identified by us with the
political.
CRITO: Well, and what came of that?
SOCRATES: To this royal or political art all the arts, including the art
of the general, seemed to render up the supremacy, that being the only one
which knew how to use what they produce. Here obviously was the very art
which we were seeking--the art which is the source of good government, and
which may be described, in the language of Aeschylus, as alone sitting at
the helm of the vessel of state, piloting and governing all things, and
utilizing them.
CRITO: And were you not right, Socrates?
SOCRATES: You shall judge, Crito, if you are willing to hear what
followed; for we resumed the enquiry, and a question of this sort was
asked: Does the kingly art, having this supreme authority, do anything for
us? To be sure, was the answer. And would not you, Crito, say the same?
CRITO: Yes, I should.
SOCRATES: And what would you say that the kingly art does? If medicine
were supposed to have supreme authority over the subordinate arts, and I
were to ask you a similar question about that, you would say--it produces
health?
CRITO: I should.
SOCRATES: And what of your own art of husbandry, supposing that to have
supreme authority over the subject arts--what does that do? Does it not
supply us with the fruits of the earth?
CRITO: Yes.
SOCRATES: And what does the kingly art do when invested with supreme
power? Perhaps you may not be ready with an answer?
CRITO: Indeed I am not, Socrates.
SOCRATES: No more were we, Crito. But at any rate you know that if this
is the art which we were seeking, it ought to be useful.
CRITO: Certainly.
SOCRATES: And surely it ought to do us some good?
CRITO: Certainly, Socrates.
SOCRATES: And Cleinias and I had arrived at the conclusion that knowledge
of some kind is the only good.
CRITO: Yes, that was what you were saying.
SOCRATES: All the other results of politics, and they are many, as for
example, wealth, freedom, tranquillity, were neither good nor evil in
themselves; but the political science ought to make us wise, and impart
knowledge to us, if that is the science which is likely to do us good, and
make us happy.
CRITO: Yes; that was the conclusion at which you had arrived, according to
your report of the conversation.
SOCRATES: And does the kingly art make men wise and good?
CRITO: Why not, Socrates?
SOCRATES: What, all men, and in every respect? and teach them all the
arts,--carpentering, and cobbling, and the rest of them?
CRITO: I think not, Socrates.
SOCRATES: But then what is this knowledge, and what are we to do with it?
For it is not the source of any works which are neither good nor evil, and
gives no knowledge, but the knowledge of itself; what then can it be, and
what are we to do with it? Shall we say, Crito, that it is the knowledge
by which we are to make other men good?
CRITO: By all means.
SOCRATES: And in what will they be good and useful? Shall we repeat that
they will make others good, and that these others will make others again,
without ever determining in what they are to be good; for we have put aside
the results of politics, as they are called. This is the old, old song
over again; and we are just as far as ever, if not farther, from the
knowledge of the art or science of happiness.
CRITO: Indeed, Socrates, you do appear to have got into a great
perplexity.
SOCRATES: Thereupon, Crito, seeing that I was on the point of shipwreck, I
lifted up my voice, and earnestly entreated and called upon the strangers
to save me and the youth from the whirlpool of the argument; they were our
Castor and Pollux, I said, and they should be serious, and show us in sober
earnest what that knowledge was which would enable us to pass the rest of
our lives in happiness.
CRITO: And did Euthydemus show you this knowledge?
SOCRATES: Yes, indeed; he proceeded in a lofty strain to the following
effect: Would you rather, Socrates, said he, that I should show you this
knowledge about which you have been doubting, or shall I prove that you
already have it?
What, I said, are you blessed with such a power as this?
Indeed I am.
Then I would much rather that you should prove me to have such a knowledge;
at my time of life that will be more agreeable than having to learn.
Then tell me, he said, do you know anything?
Yes, I said, I know many things, but not anything of much importance.
That will do, he said: And would you admit that anything is what it is,
and at the same time is not what it is?
Certainly not.
And did you not say that you knew something?
I did.
If you know, you are knowing.
Certainly, of the knowledge which I have.
That makes no difference;--and must you not, if you are knowing, know all
things?
Certainly not, I said, for there are many other things which I do not know.
And if you do not know, you are not knowing.
Yes, friend, of that which I do not know.
Still you are not knowing, and you said just now that you were knowing; and
therefore you are and are not at the same time, and in reference to the
same things.
A pretty clatter, as men say, Euthydemus, this of yours! and will you
explain how I possess that knowledge for which we were seeking? Do you
mean to say that the same thing cannot be and also not be; and therefore,
since I know one thing, that I know all, for I cannot be knowing and not
knowing at the same time, and if I know all things, then I must have the
knowledge for which we are seeking--May I assume this to be your ingenious
notion?
Out of your own mouth, Socrates, you are convicted, he said.
Well, but, Euthydemus, I said, has that never happened to you? for if I am
only in the same case with you and our beloved Dionysodorus, I cannot
complain. Tell me, then, you two, do you not know some things, and not
know others?
Certainly not, Socrates, said Dionysodorus.
What do you mean, I said; do you know nothing?
Nay, he replied, we do know something.
Then, I said, you know all things, if you know anything?
Yes, all things, he said; and that is as true of you as of us.
O, indeed, I said, what a wonderful thing, and what a great blessing! And
do all other men know all things or nothing?
Certainly, he replied; they cannot know some things, and not know others,
and be at the same time knowing and not knowing.
Then what is the inference? I said.
They all know all things, he replied, if they know one thing.
O heavens, Dionysodorus, I said, I see now that you are in earnest; hardly
have I got you to that point. And do you really and truly know all things,
including carpentering and leather-cutting?
Certainly, he said.
And do you know stitching?
Yes, by the gods, we do, and cobbling, too.
And do you know things such as the numbers of the stars and of the sand?
Certainly; did you think we should say No to that?
By Zeus, said Ctesippus, interrupting, I only wish that you would give me
some proof which would enable me to know whether you speak truly.
What proof shall I give you? he said.
Will you tell me how many teeth Euthydemus has? and Euthydemus shall tell
how many teeth you have.
Will you not take our word that we know all things?
Certainly not, said Ctesippus: you must further tell us this one thing,
and then we shall know that you are speak the truth; if you tell us the
number, and we count them, and you are found to be right, we will believe
the rest. They fancied that Ctesippus was making game of them, and they
refused, and they would only say in answer to each of his questions, that
they knew all things. For at last Ctesippus began to throw off all
restraint; no question in fact was too bad for him; he would ask them if
they knew the foulest things, and they, like wild boars, came rushing on
his blows, and fearlessly replied that they did. At last, Crito, I too was
carried away by my incredulity, and asked Euthydemus whether Dionysodorus
could dance.
Certainly, he replied.
And can he vault among swords, and turn upon a wheel, at his age? has he
got to such a height of skill as that?
He can do anything, he said.
And did you always know this?
Always, he said.
When you were children, and at your birth?
They both said that they did.
This we could not believe. And Euthydemus said: You are incredulous,
Socrates.
Yes, I said, and I might well be incredulous, if I did not know you to be
wise men.
But if you will answer, he said, I will make you confess to similar
marvels.
Well, I said, there is nothing that I should like better than to be self-
convicted of this, for if I am really a wise man, which I never knew
before, and you will prove to me that I know and have always known all
things, nothing in life would be a greater gain to me.
Answer then, he said.
Ask, I said, and I will answer.
Do you know something, Socrates, or nothing?
Something, I said.
And do you know with what you know, or with something else?
With what I know; and I suppose that you mean with my soul?
Are you not ashamed, Socrates, of asking a question when you are asked one?
Well, I said; but then what am I to do? for I will do whatever you bid;
when I do not know what you are asking, you tell me to answer nevertheless,
and not to ask again.
Why, you surely have some notion of my meaning, he said.
Yes, I replied.
Well, then, answer according to your notion of my meaning.
Yes, I said; but if the question which you ask in one sense is understood
and answered by me in another, will that please you--if I answer what is
not to the point?
That will please me very well; but will not please you equally well, as I
imagine.
I certainly will not answer unless I understand you, I said.
You will not answer, he said, according to your view of the meaning,
because you will be prating, and are an ancient.
Now I saw that he was getting angry with me for drawing distinctions, when
he wanted to catch me in his springes of words. And I remembered that
Connus was always angry with me when I opposed him, and then he neglected
me, because he thought that I was stupid; and as I was intending to go to
Euthydemus as a pupil, I reflected that I had better let him have his way,
as he might think me a blockhead, and refuse to take me. So I said: You
are a far better dialectician than myself, Euthydemus, for I have never
made a profession of the art, and therefore do as you say; ask your
questions once more, and I will answer.
Answer then, he said, again, whether you know what you know with something,
or with nothing.
Yes, I said; I know with my soul.
The man will answer more than the question; for I did not ask you, he said,
with what you know, but whether you know with something.
Again I replied, Through ignorance I have answered too much, but I hope
that you will forgive me. And now I will answer simply that I always know
what I know with something.
And is that something, he rejoined, always the same, or sometimes one
thing, and sometimes another thing?
Always, I replied, when I know, I know with this.
Will you not cease adding to your answers?
My fear is that this word 'always' may get us into trouble.
You, perhaps, but certainly not us. And now answer: Do you always know
with this?
Always; since I am required to withdraw the words 'when I know.'
You always know with this, or, always knowing, do you know some things with
