Euthydemus - Platonic Foundation

Euthydemus

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narrator: SOCRATES of Alopece, son of Sophroniscus

persons in the dialogue: CRITO a friend and contemporary of Socrates

CLINIAS of Scambonidae, son of Axiochus

EUTHYDEMUS of Chios and Thurii, sophist

DIONYSODORUS brother of Euthydemus

CTESIPPUS of Paeania, cousin of Menexenus

scene: the Lyceum

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CRITO: Who was it, Socrates, you were conversing with in the Lyceum yesterday? There was such

a large crowd gathered around you that even though I wanted to listen I was not able to

hear anything clearly when I got close. Yet when I popped my head up I got a look, and

you seemed to be in conversation with a stranger. Who was he?

SOCRATES: Which of them are you asking about, Crito? For there were two men, not one.

CRITO: I am referring to the man seated two places to your right. Axiochus’ boy

was between the

two of you, and he seemed to me to have really grown up, Socrates, and to be much the

same age as our own Critobolus, who is a slender youth, while that boy looks older than

his years and is noble and good in aspect.

SOCRATES: Euthydemus is the man you are asking about, Crito. And the person seated on my left

was his brother, Dionysodorus. He gets involved in the discussions too.

CRITO: I don’t know either of them, Socrates. They are, it seems, more sophists, a new kind. Where

are they from, and what is their wisdom?

SOCRATES: Although the family is, I believe, from this part of the world, from Chios, these men went

to Thurii as colonists. But after being exiled from there, they have already spent several years

in these regions. As for your question about their wisdom, it is astounding, Crito. These two

are almost totally wise. I never knew before what total athletes are. Yes, they really are a pair

of total combatants, not like the two total athletes, the two brothers from Acharnania. For

those two are able to fight with the body alone, while these two are firstly physically formi-

dable, and able to defeat anyone in combat, for they are both extremely wise in armour-fight-

ing. And they are able to make anyone else wise too, anyone who pays them a fee. Secondly,

they are supreme in courtroom combat, both in fighting a case, and in teaching someone else

to deliver and to compose the kind of speeches appropriate for the law courts. Now, previously

they were formidable only in these areas, but of late they have brought perfection to their skill

as total athletes. They have now perfected an aspect of combat they had neglected previously,

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EUTHYDEMUS – 271a–272a | 557

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This is a reference to Clinias, who becomes involved later in the dialogue.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

and so there isn’t a single person who can stand up to them, so formidable have they become

in verbal combat and in refuting whatever anyone says, whether it be true or false. So I am

thinking of placing myself in their hands, Crito, since they also claim that they can, in a short

time, make anyone else formidable in these same skills.

CRITO: What’s this, Socrates? Aren’t you afraid, at your age, that you may already be too old?

SOCRATES: Not in the least, Crito. I have enough evidence, and encouragement, not to be afraid.

For these two were almost old men when they embarked in this disputatious wisdom which

I am so keen on. Last year or the year before, they were not yet wise. No, there is only one

thing I am afraid of – that I might draw criticism upon the two strangers, just as I did to the

harpist Connus, the son of Metrobius, who still, even now, is teaching me to play the harp.

Now, when the boys, my fellow pupils, see this, they laugh at me and they call Connus an

‘old man’s teacher’. So I’m afraid someone may criticise the two strangers in the very same

way. And perhaps, fearing this very outcome, they may be unwilling to accept me. Yet,

Crito, I have persuaded other old men to attend the class as fellow pupils of mine, and in

this case too I shall attempt to persuade some others. Yes, why don’t you attend along with

me? And we will bring your sons as bait. Since they will want the boys as pupils, I know

that they will educate us too.

CRITO: There’s no reason not to, Socrates, if that’s what you think. But first explain to me what

the wisdom of the two men is so that I may know what we are going to learn.

SOCRATES: You shall hear straightaway, as I can’t claim that I didn’t pay attention to them. No, I

attended fully, and I remember, and I shall try to recount everything to you from the begin-

ning. Indeed, by some divine providence I happened to be sitting there, just where you saw

me, alone in the dressing room, and I was already thinking of getting up to leave. But as

soon as I stood up, the familiar divine sign came. So I sat down again, and a little later these

two men entered, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, and others too, pupils of theirs, I think.

There were a lot of them. And once they arrived they walked about in the roofed portico.

They had barely completed two or three circuits when Clinias came in, and what you say

is true. He really has grown up. Behind him was a whole host of admirers, and among them

was Ctesippus, a young man from the deme of Paeania, noble and good by nature, except

for some arrogance born of youth. Now, when Clinias saw me from the entrance, seated on

my own, he came straight over and sat down on my right, just as you say. On seeing him,

Dionysodorus and Euthydemus first stood talking to one another, glancing over at us from

time to time. Yes, I paid close attention to them. Then one of them, Euthydemus, went and

sat beside the young man, while the other one sat next to me on my left, and the others sat

where they could.

Well, I greeted them both warmly as it was some time since I had seen them, and then I said this

to Clinias: “Clinias, these two men, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, are wise, not in trivial matters

but in matters of importance. For they know everything there is to know about warfare, whatever

anyone who is to be a good general needs to know, the disposition and leadership of armies, and

how to fight in armour. And they are also able to make him capable of coming to his own aid in

court, should someone do him an injustice.” Now, when I said this they were contemptuous. So

they laughed, exchanged glances, and Euthydemus said,

“We no longer take these matters seriously, Socrates. No, we treat them as diversions.”

I was amazed and I said, “Your work must surely be noble if such weighty concerns as these are

mere diversions for you. By god, tell me what this noble concern is.”

“Excellence, Socrates,” he replied, “is what we believe we are able to impart better and

more quickly than anyone else.”

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“By Zeus,” I said, “you are making quite a declaration. Where did you discover this godsend? I

still thought of you both, as I said just now, as being formidable for the most part in armour-fight-

ing, so that’s what I said about you. For when you visited our city previously, I remember you

both proclaiming this. And now, if you truly possess this knowledge, please be gracious, for I am

addressing you sincerely as if you were two gods, and I am begging you to pardon me for what I

said earlier. But, Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, make sure you are speaking the truth. For when

you are making such an enormous proclamation, don’t be surprised if it is disbelieved.”

“Well, Socrates, you may rest assured that this is how matters stand.”

“Then I account you far more blessed for this possession than the Great King for his empire.

But

tell me this. Are you thinking of giving a demonstration of this wisdom, or what do you intend?”

“That’s the very reason we are here, Socrates, to give a demonstration and to teach, if anyone

wishes to learn.”

“But I do assure you that all those who do not possess this will be willing, beginning with myself,

then Clinias here, and besides us there is Ctesippus and these others,” I said, pointing to Clinias’

admirers, who happened to be standing around us already. For Ctesippus, as it happened, had been

sitting some distance from Clinias, and as Euthydemus was conversing with me he leaned forward

and seemed to be blocking Ctesippus’ view of Clinias, who was seated between us. And so,

Ctesippus, wanting to have sight of his favourite, and also being keen to listen to us, was first to

jump up and stand in front of us. And when the others saw him do so, they too stood around us,

and so did Clinias’ admirers, and the companions of Euthydemus and Dionysodorus too. It was to

these I pointed when I said to Euthydemus that they were all ready to learn. So Ctesippus agreed

very eagerly, as did the others, and together they all called upon both men to demonstrate the power

of their wisdom.

“So,” I said, “Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, you really should, by all means, gratify these

people and give the demonstration. It is for my sake too. Now, it is obviously no small task to give

a comprehensive demonstration, but you should tell me whether it is only a man who is already

convinced that he needs to learn from you two that you are capable of making good. Or can you

also do this for the person who is not yet convinced, because he does not really believe that the

subject, excellence, can be learned, or whether you two are teachers of it? Come now, is it the

work of the same skill or of another one to persuade the person with such a viewpoint both that

excellence can be taught, and that you two are the people from whom he would best learn it?”

“Yes, it is the work of the very same skill, Socrates,” said Dionysodorus.

“So, Dionysodorus,” I replied, “would you two be better than any man alive at turning him to phi-

losophy and concern for excellence?”

“Well, we think so anyway, Socrates.”

“Then defer your demonstration of everything else to another occasion,” I said, “and demonstrate

just this. Convince this young man here that he should practise philosophy and concern himself

with excellence, and you will gratify me and all these people too. For the boy’s situation is some-

what as follows. Myself and everyone here are keen that he turn out as good as possible. He is the

son of Axiochus, who is son of the elder Alcibiades, and first cousin of the present Alcibiades. His

name is Clinias. But he is young, so we are afraid for his sake that, as it is likely in the case of the

young, someone may get there before us, turn his mind to some other pursuit, and bring him to

ruin. So you two have arrived at just the right time. And if it’s all the same to you, please test the

lad out and engage him in discourse in our presence.”

Now, once I had said almost exactly this, Euthydemus responded in a manner both coura-

geous and confident.

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EUTHYDEMUS – 273e–275b | 559

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A reference to the King of the Persian (Achaemenid) Empire.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

“That makes no difference, Socrates,” he said, “as long as the young man is willing to

answer.”

“Well,” I replied, “he certainly is well accustomed to this, for these people here are constantly

coming to him, asking him lots of questions and engaging him in discourse, and so he is quite

courageous at answering.” Well, Crito, how may I satisfactorily expound to you what happened

next? Indeed, to be able to repeat so much boundless wisdom in detail is no small task, and so I

should begin my exposition just as the poets do, by calling upon the Muses and upon Memory.

So Euthydemus, as I recall, began somewhat as follows.

“Clinias, who are the people who learn? Are they the wise or the unlearned?”

And the young man, faced with such a significant question, blushed and looked at me in perplexity.

And once I realised that he had been upset, I said, “Take heart, Clinias. Answer courageously, giv-

ing whatever answer seems right to you, for this may well confer an enormous benefit upon you.”

At this, Dionysodorus leaned forward, and with a big smile on his face he whispered in my ear.

“In fact, Socrates,” he said, “I predict that whatever answer the young man gives, he will be

refuted.” And as he was saying this, Clinias gave his answer, and so I had no opportunity to warn

the lad to be careful, and he answered that those who learn are the wise.

Then Euthydemus said, “There are people you refer to as teachers, aren’t there?”

He agreed.

“Aren’t the teachers, teachers of those who learn, just as the harpist and grammarian were

presumably teachers of yourself and the other boys, and you were pupils?”

He concurred.

“And yet, when you were learning, you did not yet know the things you were learning,

did you?”

“No,” he said.

“Well, were you wise when you did not know these things?”

“Of course not,” he replied.

“So, if you weren’t wise, were you unlearned?”

“Very much so.”

“Then whilst you were learning what you did not know, you were learning whilst being

unlearned.” The young man nodded his head. “Then it is the unlearned who learn, Clinias,

and not, as you believe, the wise.”

Now, once he had said all this, followers, those accompanying Dionysodorus and Euthydemus,

laughed and cheered like a chorus at a signal from their teacher. And before the youth had well

and truly recovered, Dionysodorus took over.

“What about this, Clinias?” he said. “Whenever the grammarian gave dictation to you,

which boys learned the dictation, the wise or the unlearned?”

“The wise,” replied Clinias.

“So it is the wise who learn, not the unlearned, and you didn’t answer Euthydemus properly

just now.”

With this, the admirers of the two men laughed and cheered loudly in delight at their wisdom, while

the rest of us were stunned and fell silent. And Euthydemus, realising that we were stunned, and in

order to astound us even more, did not let the young man off. Instead he questioned him, and like

one of those good dancers, he gave a double twist to his questions on the same topic and asked,

“Now, do those who learn, learn what they know or what they do not know?”

And Dionysodorus gave me another little whisper.

“And this, Socrates,” he said, “will be another one, similar to the previous one.”

“By Zeus,” said I, “the previous question definitely turned out well for you too.”

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“All the questions we ask are like this, Socrates,” he replied. “They allow no escape.”

“I think that’s why you are so highly regarded by your pupils,” I said. With that Clinias replied to

Euthydemus that those who learn, would learn what they do not know, and he subjected him to

the same series of questions as before.

“What about this,” he said, “you do know your letters, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“All of them?”

He agreed.

“Now, when anyone dictates anything at all, doesn’t he dictate letters?”

He agreed.

“Doesn’t he dictate something you know, if in fact you know them all?”

He also agreed with this.

“Well then,” he said, “in that case, are you learning whatever someone dictates, or is it the

person who does not know letters who learns?”

“No,” he replied, “I am learning.”

“Therefore you are learning what you know,” he said, “if in fact you know all the letters.”

He agreed.

“So you did not answer correctly,” he said.

Euthydemus had barely said all this when Dionysodorus took up the argument again as though it

were a ball, aimed it at the young man, and said,

“Euthydemus is deceiving you, Clinias. Yes, tell me, isn’t learning the acquisition of knowl-

edge of whatever one is learning?”

Clinias agreed.

“And what is knowing,” he asked, “except having knowledge already?”

He concurred.

“So is ‘not knowing’ not yet having knowledge?”

He agreed with him.

“Now, who are those who acquire anything whatsoever, those who already have it or those

who do not have it?”

“Those who do not.”

“Haven’t you agreed that those who do not know are included among those who do not have?”

He nodded.

“So are those who learn included among those who acquire, not among those who have?”

He said, “Yes.”

“Then,” said Dionysodorus, “it is those who do not know who learn, Clinias, and not those

who know.”

Well, Euthydemus was rushing in to give the lad a fall for the third time when I realised the young

man was going under. Wanting to give him some respite in case he might turn coward on us, I

said, by way of encouragement,

“Clinias, do not be surprised if these arguments appear unfamiliar to you. Indeed, you are

probably unaware of what the two strangers are doing to you. They are doing the same thing as

those who are involved in Corybantic initiation

whenever they conduct the enthronement of some-

one they are about to initiate. If you have been initiated, you know that there is some dancing and

some playfulness there too. And these two are now really just dancing around you and having fun

with these dance moves. After this they will initiate you. So, presume for the moment that you are

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The Corybantes were armed, crested male dancers who worshipped the goddess Cybele. They also conducted a male

coming-of-age ritual connected with the victory of a warrior in battle.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

hearing the preliminaries to the sacred mysteries of the wise. For as Prodicus says, it is first nec-

essary to learn the correctness of words. This is what the two strangers are demonstrating to you,

that you did not know that although people use the word ‘learning’ in a situation where someone

initially has no knowledge of some matter at all, but subsequently acquires some knowledge of it,

they also use the same word whenever someone who already has the knowledge investigates this

same matter, in word or in deed, by means of this knowledge. Although they refer to this as under-

standing more so than learning, they do on occasion call it learning. And these men are demon-

strating that this fact has escaped your notice, that the same word is applied to people in opposite

circumstances, to those who know and to those who do not know. The content of their second

question was much the same as this, when they asked you whether people learn what they know,

or what they don’t know.

“Well, this is the playfulness of their instructions, and that’s why I say they are playing with

you. And I call this child’s play, because even if someone were to learn many or indeed all such

devices as these, although he would be no more knowledgeable as to how the matters stand, he

would still be able to play games with people, because of differences between the words, tripping

people up and upending them, just like those who pull away stools from under those who are about

to sit down, and laugh with delight when they see someone sprawling on his back.

“So, you should regard all of this as child’s play on their part, after which they will of course

demonstrate their serious work to you. Indeed, they said they would demonstrate their wisdom in

exhortation, but it now seems to me they thought it necessary to play games with you first. So let

that be the end of your game playing, Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, and that is probably enough.

And so, after this you should give a demonstration in which you exhort the youth to devote himself

to wisdom and excellence. But first I shall demonstrate to you both how I understand this, and the

sort of thing I am eager to hear. Now, if you think I’m doing this without expertise in a comical

manner, do not laugh at me, for it is only my eagerness to hear your wisdom that makes me so

bold as to extemporise, impromptu, in front of you two. So you yourselves and your disciples

should show restraint, and listen without laughing, and you, son of Axiochus, should answer me.

“Does every one of us wish to do well? Or is this question one of those that will provoke

the laughter I was afraid of a moment ago? Yes, it is surely ridiculous even to ask such questions,

for what man is there who does not wish to do well?”

“There is no one who doesn’t want that,” said Clinias.

“So be it,” said I. “The next question is, since we wish to do well, how may we do well? Would it

be by possessing much that is good? Or is this question even more simple-minded than the other

one? For I presume it is obvious that this too is the case.”

He concurred.

“Come then, all things considered, what sort of things are good for us? Or is this not a difficult

question either? It does not really take some highly august person to provide an answer, for anyone

would tell us that being wealthy is good. Is this so?”

“Very much so,” he replied.

“And being healthy too, and being handsome and endowed, well and truly, with the other bodily

features?”

He thought so too.

“Then again, noble birth, power and esteem in your own city are obviously good.”

He agreed.

“Well,” said I, “what goods are still left? What about being sound-minded and just and courageous?

By Zeus, Clinias, what do you think? If we were to rank them as good, would we be ranking

them

correctly, or should we rank then as not good? Indeed, someone might well dispute the matter

with us. How does it seem to you?”

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“They are good,” said Clinias.

“So be it,” said I. “And where in the troop shall we situate wisdom? With the good? What do

you say?”

“With the good.”

“Take care now lest we leave out anything good that is worth mentioning.”

“I can’t think of anything,” said Clinias.

But I thought about it again, and I said, “Yes, by Zeus, we are in danger of omitting the most impor-

tant good of all.”

“What is it?” said he.

“Good fortune, Clinias, which, according to everyone, even very ordinary folk, is the most impor-

tant good of all.”

“That’s true,” said he.

But I changed my mind again, and said, “You and I are on the point of becoming ridiculous in the

eyes of our visitors, dear son of Axiochus.”

“Why is that?” he asked.

“Because having included good fortune in our previous rankings, we were talking about the same

thing all over again just a moment ago.”

“What do you mean by this?”

“Surely it is ridiculous to propose what has been in front of us for some time, and speak of the

same thing twice.”

“In what sense?” he asked.

“Surely wisdom is good fortune,” I said. “Yes, a child would realise this.” But he is still so young

and simple-minded, that he was astonished. And when I realised that he was astonished, I said,

“Clinias, don’t you know that when it comes to doing well at flute music, the flute players

are the most fortunate?”

He concurred.

“And when it comes to the reading and writing of letters,” said I, “won’t it be the writing teachers?”

“Entirely so.”

“What about this? Faced with the perils of the sea, surely you don’t believe, on the whole, that

anyone is more fortunate than a wise pilot?”

“Of course not.”

“What if you were on a military campaign? With whom would you prefer to share the peril and

the fortune, with a wise general or with an ignorant one?”

“With a wise one.”

“What if you were ill? Would you prefer to face the danger in the company of a wise doctor or an

ignorant one?”

“A wise one.”

“And is this because you think you would proceed with more good fortune in the company of the

wise than you would in the company of the ignorant?”

He concurred.

“So, in every case, wisdom brings good fortune to people, for wisdom would not ever fall into

error. Rather, it must act aright and succeed, or else no longer be wisdom.”

In the end we both agreed, I know not how, that the matter may be summarised as follows:

once wisdom is present, he to whom it is present needs no additional good fortune. Once we had

agreed this, I questioned him once again on the status of what we had agreed previously.

“Now, we agreed”, said I, “that if much good was present to us we would be happy, and

would do well.”

He concurred.

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Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

“Now, would we be happy because of whatever good is present if it were of no benefit to us, or if

it benefited us?”

“If it benefited us,” he said.

“And would something be beneficial if we merely had it and did not use it? For instance if we had

a lot of food but did not eat, or plenty to drink but did not drink, would we be benefited?”

“Of course not,” he replied.

“And what if each of the craftsmen had all the equipment appropriate to his own work but did not

make use of it, would they do well because of the acquisition, because everything the craftsman

needed to acquire had been acquired? For instance, if a carpenter were to be provided with all the

tools and enough wood but did not engage in carpentry, would he be benefited by what he had

acquired?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“What if someone were to acquire wealth, and all the goods we mentioned just now, but made no

use of them? Would he be happy due to the acquisition of these goods?”

“Of course not, Socrates.”

“So,” said I, “it seems that someone who is going to be happy must not merely acquire such goods

as these, but must also make use of them, or else no benefit arises from their acquisition.”

“That’s true.”

“Well, Clinias, is this sufficient now to make someone happy, to have acquired the goods and be

making use of them?”

“I think so.”

“If he uses them correctly or if he does not?”

“If he uses them correctly.”

“Well said,” I retorted. “Yes, I presume it makes a big difference whether someone uses anything

incorrectly or leaves it alone. The former situation is bad, while the latter is neither good nor bad.

Isn’t this what we maintain?”

He concurred.

“What then? In working and using the wood, is there anything else that brings about correct usage

except knowledge of carpentry?”

“Of course not,” he replied.

“Then again, in working with what is provided, presumably knowledge is what brings about the

correctness.”

He concurred.

“Now,” said I, “in the usage of the goods we first mentioned – wealth, health and beauty – was it

knowledge that guided the right usage of everything like this, and corrected the activity, or was it

something else?”

“It was knowledge,” said he.

“So, in the case of any acquisition or any activity, knowledge, it seems, not only provides people

with good fortune, but also it ensures they do well.”

He agreed.

“Well, by heaven,” said I, “is there any benefit in the other acquisitions in the absence of under-

standing and wisdom? And would a person derive more benefit if he acquired a lot and did a lot

without possessing intelligence, or if he acquired little and did little, while possessing intelligence?

Think about it. If he did less, wouldn’t he make fewer errors, and in making fewer errors, wouldn’t

he do less badly, and in doing less badly, wouldn’t he be less wretched?”

“Entirely so,” he replied.

“Now, who is inclined to do less, someone rich or someone poor?”

“Someone poor,” he said.

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564 | EUTHYDEMUS – 280c–281c

“Someone weak or someone strong?”

“Someone weak.”

“Someone who is respected or someone who is not?”

“Someone who is not.”

“Would someone who is courageous and sound-minded do less, or would a coward do less?”

“A coward.”

“And a lazy person rather than an active person?”

He agreed.

“And someone slow, rather than someone fast, and someone dull of sight and hearing, rather than

someone keen?”

We agreed with one another on all such examples. And then I said, “To sum up, Clinias, in

the case of everything we initially declared to be good, the argument apparently is not about how

they are naturally good just by themselves. No, it seems that the situation is as follows. If ignorance

rules, then they are more bad than their opposites, to the extent that they are more able to serve

their bad ruler; but if understanding and wisdom rule, they are more good, yet just by themselves

neither of them is of any value.”

“Apparently,” said he, “the situation seems to be just as you describe it.”

“So what conclusions may we draw from what has been said? Is it simply that none of the others

is either good or bad, and of these two, wisdom is good and ignorance is bad?”

He agreed.

“Well,” said I, “let’s consider what’s left. Since we are all eager to be happy, and since it turns out

that we become like this through using things, and using them correctly, and since knowledge pro-

vides the correctness and good fortune, then every man should, it seems, contrive by every possible

means to become as wise as possible. Isn’t this so?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“And surely if someone believes he should acquire this – rather than any amount of money – from

his father, from his guardians too, and from his other friends, and from those citizens or strangers

who claim to be his lovers, begging and imploring them to grant him wisdom is no disgrace,

Clinias. Nor is there cause for indignation in being a servant or slave to a lover or any person for

the sake of this, in being willing to render any noble services out of his eagerness to become wise.

Or do you think otherwise?” I said.

“I really think you have spoken rather well,” said he.

“Yes, Clinias,” said I, “if wisdom can be taught and does not come to people of its own accord.

For this is a question we have not yet considered and agreed upon.”

“Well, Socrates,” he replied, “I think it can be taught.”

I was delighted, and I said, “Best of men, it is good that you say so, and you have done well, by

saving me from a lengthy consideration of this very question, whether wisdom can or cannot be

taught. So now, since you think both that it can be taught, and that it is the only thing there is that

makes a person happy and fortunate, would you say anything else is needed, apart from the practice

of philosophy? And is this what you yourself intend to do?”

“Yes certainly, Socrates,” he replied, “to the best of my ability.”

I was pleased to hear this, and I said, “Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, this is my own example –

perhaps amateurish, laborious and a bit too long – of what I want an exhortatory argument to be

like. Now, one of you, whoever wishes, should give a demonstration of the same thing, done skil-

fully. But if you don’t want to do that, take up where I left off and demonstrate the next issue to

the boy – whether he should acquire all knowledge, or whether there is some single knowledge

which he should obtain in order to be happy and be a good man too, and what that knowledge is.

For as I said at the outset, it is of great importance to us that this youth become wise and good.”

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Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

Now, Crito, that is what I said, and I paid very close attention to what was to happen next.

And I was taking note of the manner in which they would handle the argument and where they

might begin the process of encouraging the youth to practise wisdom and excellence.

Dionysodorus, the elder of the two, was first to set about the argument, and we all looked at him

expecting, there and then, to hear some wondrous discourse. And that is exactly what happened to

us. Yes, Crito, the man commenced a somewhat wondrous speech which is worth your hearing, as

it was such an encouragement towards excellence.

“Tell me, Socrates,” said he, “and you others who say you want this youth to become wise.

Are you joking when you say this, or are you serious, and do you truly want this?”

It occurred to me that they must have thought we were joking earlier on when we asked them to

engage the young man in discourse, and that was why they had fun and were not serious. So, with

this in mind, I emphasised, even more, that we were extremely serious. And Dionysodorus said,

“Well, think about this, Socrates, in case you end up denying what you are now saying.”

“I have thought about it,” said I, “and I shall never end up denying it.”

“Well then,” said he, “are you saying that you want him to become wise?”

“Yes, we certainly are.”

“And at the moment, is Clinias wise or not?”

“He is not boastful,” said I, “and he does not yet make this claim.”

“But,” said he, “you want him to become wise and not be ignorant?”

We agreed.

“So you want him to become what he is not, and no longer be what he now is.”

When I heard this I was confused, and he seized upon my confused state and said,

“Since you want him no longer to be what he now is, it seems you just want him to be dead.

Yes, friends and lovers like these would be worth a lot, friends who would do anything to

destroy their favourite.”

When Ctesippus heard this, he was angry on behalf of his favourite. “Stranger from Thurii,” he

said, “if it were not such a crude expression, I would say ‘be it on your head’ for presuming to

hold such a false notion of myself and the others, and one which in my view it is most unholy to

express, that I would like this fellow to be utterly destroyed.”

“What’s this, Ctesippus?” said Euthydemus. “Do you think it is possible to speak falsely?”

“Yes, by Zeus,” he replied. “I would be mad not to.”

“When one is speaking of the matter under discussion, or when one is not?”

“When speaking,” he said.

“Well, if he speaks of it, he does not speak of anything else there is, except that of which

he is speaking, does he?”

“Of course,” replied Ctesippus.

“And what he speaks of is one of the things that are, distinct from the others.”

“Entirely so.”

“Doesn’t he who speaks of this, speak of what is?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“But whoever is speaking of what is, and of things that are, is speaking the truth. So if

Dionysodorus is actually speaking of things that are, he is speaking the truth and is saying

nothing false about you.”

“Yes,” said Ctesippus, “but he who says such things, Euthydemus, is not speaking things that are.”

And Euthydemus said, “Things that are not simply do not exist, do they?”

“They do not exist.”

“And there is simply nowhere that things that are not, are?”

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“Nowhere.”

“Is it possible for someone to do anything in relation to these things that are not, so that

anyone at all might make these things that are not anywhere?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Ctesippus.

“Well now, whenever the orators speak in the Assembly, are they doing nothing?”

“They are doing something,” he said.

“And if they are actually doing, are they also making?”

“Yes.”

“So speaking is doing and making?”

He agreed.

“So no one speaks of things that are not,” he said, “for he would then be making something,

and you have agreed that no one is able to make what is not. And so based on your account

no one speaks falsely, and since Dionysodorus is speaking, he is speaking the truth and

speaking of things that are.”

“Yes, by Zeus, Euthydemus,” said Ctesippus. “In a way he is speaking of things that are, but not

as they actually are.”

“What do you mean, Ctesippus?” said Dionysodorus. “Are there some people who speak

of things as they are?”

“There are, indeed,” he replied, “the noble and good, and those who speak the truth.”

“What about this?” said he. “What’s good is well disposed, and what’s bad badly so. Is this

the case?”

He concurred.

“And you agree that the noble and good people speak of things as they are.”

“I agree.”

“So good people speak badly of anything bad, Ctesippus,” he said, “if they actually speak

of it as it is?”

“Yes, by Zeus,” said he, “very much so, especially when speaking of bad people. So I advise you,

take care not to be included among their number lest the good people speak badly of you. For mark

my words, the good people speak badly of those who are bad.”

“And do they speak greatly of those who are great, and warmly of those who are warm?”

said Euthydemus.

“Certainly,” said Ctesippus. “In any case, they speak coldly of those who are cold, and declare

that they converse in a cold manner.”

“Ctesippus, you are being abusive,” said Dionysodorus. “Abusive.”

“By Zeus, Dionysodorus, I am not, since I like you,” said he. “Yet I am warning you as a friend,

and I am trying to persuade you, never, in my presence, to state in this crude manner that I want

people whom I hold in high regard to be utterly destroyed.”

Now, since I thought they were being aggressive towards one another, I made light of it with

Ctesippus, and said, “Ctesippus, if they are prepared to be generous, I think we should accept any-

thing the strangers say, and not quarrel over a word. For if they know how to destroy people in

such a way as to make worthy and intelligent folk out of those who are degenerate and stupid, and

if they have either discovered this for themselves or learned from someone else, a kind of ruin and

destruction, whereby having done away with someone degenerate they bring him forth again, a

worthy person, yes, if they know this – as they obviously do, since they claimed that their newly

discovered skill lies in making good people out of bad ones – then let us make this concession to

them. Let them destroy the lad for us and make him intelligent, and all the rest of us too. But if

you younger folk are afraid, then let the danger fall upon me, as if they were practising on some

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Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

slave. Since I am quite old, I am willing to run the risk and give myself over to Dionysodorus here

as if he were Medea of Colchis. Let him destroy me, and if he wants to, let him boil me or do

whatever he wants. Just let him bring me forth a worthy man.”

And Ctesippus said, “I too am ready, Socrates, to offer myself to the strangers. And if they

wish, they may flog me even more than they are flogging me now, provided my hide ends

up not as a wine-skin, like Marsyas’,

but as excellence. And yet Dionysodorus here believes

I am angry with him. But I am not angry, I am just contradicting what he said to me, because

I thought it improper. But, noble Dionysodorus, do not refer to contradiction as abuse. Abuse

is something different.”

And Dionysodorus replied, “You are making these points, Ctesippus, as if there is

such a thing as contradiction.”

“Of course I am,” he replied, “emphatically so. Do you think there is not, Dionysodorus?”

“Well, at any rate,” he said, “you could not prove that you have ever heard one person

contradicting another.”

“Is that true?” he asked. “But I am proving it to you. I am hearing myself, Ctesippus, con-

tradicting Dionysodorus right now.”

“But would you undertake an argument for this?”

“Of course,” said he.

“What about this?” he said. “Are there accounts of each of the things that are?”

“Certainly.”

“Giving an account of each as it is, or as it is not?”

“As it is.”

“Indeed, Ctesippus,” he said. “If you remember, we proved earlier that no one speaks

of something as it is not, for it turned out that no one speaks of what is not.”

“What of it?” said Ctesippus. “Are you and I engaging in contradiction any less?”

“Well,” said he, “would we be engaging in contradiction if we were both giving an

account of the same thing? Or surely in that case we would be saying the same things?”

He agreed.

“But,” said he, “whenever neither of us gives an account of the thing, would we then

be engaging in contradiction? Or in that case would neither of us be making mention

of the thing at all?”

He agreed with this too.

“But whenever I give an account of the thing, and you deliver another account of

something else, are we engaging in contradiction then? Or am I speaking of the thing,

while you are not speaking of it at all? But how could someone who does not speak

of it contradict someone who does?”

Ctesippus fell silent, while I was amazed at the argument and asked, “Dionysodorus, what do you

mean? In fact, I have heard this argument from lots of people, and as often as I hear it I am always

amazed. Indeed, Protagoras’ associates make much use of it, as did their predecessors. But to me

it always seems to be something amazing, that overturns the other arguments, and itself too. Yet I

think I shall best learn the truth of it from you. It simply says that there is no false speaking. That’s

the point of the argument, isn’t it? So a speaker must either be speaking the truth or else not be

speaking at all?”

He concurred.

“Now, although there is no false speaking, is there false thinking, nevertheless?”

“There is no false thinking either,” he replied.

“So,” said I, “there is no false opinion at all.”

“There is not,” he replied.

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“So there is no ignorance either, nor any ignorant people. Or if there was any ignorance, wouldn’t

it be just this falsification of things?”

“Entirely so,” he replied.

“But this does not exist,” said I.

“It does not,” said he.

“Dionysodorus, are you presenting this argument for the sake of discussion, in order to say some-

thing unusual, or do you think in truth that there is no such thing as an ignorant person?”

“You should try to refute me,” he said.

“And based upon your argument, is there refutation when no one speaks falsely?”

“There is not,” said Euthydemus.

“Then Dionysodorus did not encourage me to refute him just now?” said I.

“Indeed, how could someone encourage what is not? Could you encourage that?”

“I say this,” said I, “because I do not fully understand these wise formulations and clever devices,

but I do have a rough sense of them. So I shall perhaps ask a rather crude question, but forgive

me. You see if it is indeed impossible either to speak falsely or to think falsely or to be ignorant,

is it simply impossible for someone to be in error whenever he does anything? For when he acts

it is impossible for him to err in that action. Isn’t this what you are saying?”

“Entirely so,” said he.

“Now, here is my crude question,” I said. “If indeed we do not err either when acting, speaking or

thinking, then, by Zeus, if this is how matters stand, what have the two of you come here to teach?

Or did you not claim earlier that you are the best people to impart excellence to someone who

wishes to learn it?”

Dionysodorus interrupted saying, “Are you such an old Cronus,

Socrates, that you are now

reminding me of what I first said. And if I said something last year, would you remind me about

it now, and yet be unable to deal with what is being said at the moment?”

“The fact is,” said I, “these are extremely challenging statements, as you would expect when

they are spoken by wise men, and the last thing you said is an absolute challenge. Yes,

Dionysodorus, what do you mean by I am ‘unable to deal with’? Or does it obviously mean that I

am unable to refute the argument? Tell me then, what other sense this phrase, ‘I am unable to deal

with the arguments’, has?”

“But at any rate,” said he, “it is not a great challenge to deal with what you said. Now,

answer.”

“Before you respond to me, Dionysodorus?” I asked.

“Won’t you answer?” he replied.

“Is it right to do so?”

“Quite right,” said he.

“According to what argument?” I asked. “Or is it obviously on the basis that you are someone

totally wise in relation to discourses, who has now arrived among us, and you know when one

should give an answer and when one should not? And will you not give an answer at all now, since

you realise that you need not?”

“You are blabbering,” said he, “and neglecting to give an answer. But, good man, you should

heed me, and give an answer, since you accept that I am wise.”

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–––––

According to legend, Medea had the power to reanimate dismembered bodies and rejuvenate the elderly. Having seen

her reconstitute a ram that had been cut up and put into a stew, and desirous that their father should be returned to his

youth, the daughters of King Pelias cut him up and put him in a pot, but Medea never performed the ceremony.

Marsyas was a Satyr who, according to legend, challenged Apollo to a music contest and lost. As punishment, he chose

to have his hide used as a wine-skin.

Cronus, the father of Zeus, who was overthrown by his son, represents things that are past their time.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

“Well then, I should heed you,” I said, “and it seems that I need to, for you are in control.

Just ask.”

“Very well. Do things that have sense have soul, or do soulless things have sense too?”

“Only those who have soul.”

“Do you know any phrase that has soul?” he asked.

“By Zeus, I do not.”

“Then why did you just ask what sense this phrase of mine has?”

“I simply made a mistake due to my stupidity,” said I. “Or else I made no mistake and I was

right to say that phrases have sense. Are you saying that I made a mistake or not? For if I did not

make a mistake, you will not refute me, in spite of your wisdom, nor are you able to deal with

the argument. And if I did make a mistake, then you are not right when you say that it is impos-

sible to be mistaken. And I am not referring to statements you made last year. No. It seems,”

said I, “Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, that this argument remains in the same predicament,

and still has the old problem. It falls over whilst overthrowing others. And this skill of yours

has not yet found out how to prevent this from happening, in spite of its amazing precision with

arguments.”

And Ctesippus said, “Men of Thurii or Chios, or wherever you are from, and however you

like to be named, your utterances are amazing, so unconcerned are you about talking non-

sense.”

I was afraid the exchange might get abusive, so appeasing Ctesippus once more I said, “Ctesippus,

I am saying to you the very same things I said to Clinias just now. You do not realise how wonderful

the wisdom of these strangers is. But they are unwilling to give us a serious demonstration. Instead,

they imitate the Egyptian sophist Proteus, and they are beguiling us. So we should imitate Menelaus

and not let these two men go until they reveal what they are serious about.

Indeed, I believe some-

thing extremely beautiful in them will manifest once they begin to be serious. So, we should beg,

implore, and pray to them to reveal it. Now, I think I myself should give guidance, once again, as

to the sort of persons I pray they will show themselves to be. Indeed, I shall try, as best I can, to

continue the previous argument from where I left it earlier, so that I may somehow draw them out.

And being merciful, and sympathetic towards my efforts and my seriousness, they may also be

serious themselves.

“But Clinias,” said I, “you should remind me where we left off. As I recall it was around

the stage where we agreed, in the end, that one should practise philosophy. Is this so?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“And philosophy is the acquisition of knowledge. Isn’t this the case?” I asked.

“Yes,” said he.

“Now, what knowledge would we acquire if we were to acquire it in the right way? Or is this quite

straightforward? Is it the knowledge that will benefit us?”

“Entirely so,” he replied.

“Now, would it be of any benefit to us if, as we went about, we knew how to recognise where

most gold is buried beneath the earth?”

“Probably,” he replied.

“But we refuted this suggestion earlier,” said I, “because we would be no better off even if all the

earth’s gold were to be ours without any trouble, or any need to dig. And so even if we knew how

to turn stones into gold, the knowledge would be of no value. For if we did not also know how to

use the gold, there turned out to be no benefit in it. Don’t you remember?” I asked.

“Entirely so,” he replied. “I remember.”

“Nor, it seems, does benefit come from any other knowledge, neither from money-making nor

medicine, nor from any of the others at all that know how to produce something without knowing

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how to use what they make. Isn’t this so?”

He agreed.

“Even if there is some knowledge of how to make people immortal, without knowing how to use

the immortality, it seems there is no benefit in this knowledge either, if we are to conclude anything

from what we accepted previously.”

We agreed on all this.

“So what is needed is knowledge of this kind, my handsome boy,” said I, “one in which the pro-

duction, and knowing how to use what is produced, reside together.”

“Apparently,” said he.

“Then it seems that we really do not need to be lyre makers, or to attain any knowledge of that

sort. For in that case, the productive skill is one thing, while the user’s skill is another. They are

distinct, although they are concerned with the same thing. For lyre-making and lyre-playing differ

enormously from one another. Isn’t this so?”

He concurred.

“Nor, of course, is flute-making the knowledge we need, since it is another knowledge of this

kind.”

He agreed.

“Well, by the gods,” said I, “what if we were to learn the speechwriter's skill? Is this the one we

need to acquire if we are to be blessed?”

“I don’t think so,” Clinias objected.

“On what evidence?” I asked.

“I notice,” said he, “that some speechwriters do not know how to deliver their own speeches,

the ones they have composed, just as the lyre makers are unable to play the lyres. And in

this case, too, others are able to deliver speeches that the speech-makers have composed,

yet the speech-makers themselves are unable to do so. For it is clear that the skill of pro-

ducing speeches is distinct from the skill of using them.”

“I think that you are giving sufficient evidence,” said I, “that the skill of the speech-makers is not

the one whose acquisition would result in happiness. And yet I thought that the very knowledge

we have been seeking all along was somehow going to make an appearance at this stage. The fact

is that whenever I associate with these men who compose speeches, Clinias, they seem extremely

wise to me, and this skill of theirs seems superhuman and sublime. And, indeed, this is no surprise,

for it is a portion of the enchanters’ skill, but a little inferior thereto. For the skill of the enchanters

consists in charming snakes, spiders and scorpions, wild creatures in general, and diseases too,

while the speech-makers’ skill involves charming and persuading jurors, assembly members, and

large gatherings in general. Or do you think otherwise?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. “The situation, as I see it, is just as you are describing it.”

“So where may we turn now?” I asked. “To what sort of skill?”

“I do not have a suggestion,” he replied.

“Well,” said I, “I think I have found it.”

“What is it?” asked Clinias.

“It seems to me that the skill of the general,” I said, “more than any other, is the one whose acqui-

sition would result in happiness.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“This is, in a sense, a skill in hunting down human beings.”

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Meneleus forced Proteus to reveal which of the gods he had offended so that he could make amends and find his way

home. Odyssey iv.456 ff.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

“Well, what of it?” I asked.

“Nothing in the actual skill of hunting goes any further than hunting down and subduing,”

he said, “and whenever hunters subdue whatever they are hunting, they are not able to make

use of it. Instead the hunters and the anglers hand it over to the cooks. The same goes for

geometers, astronomers and calculators, since they too are hunters. For in each of these

cases they do not produce their own diagrams; instead, they make discoveries. And since

they themselves do not know how to make use of them, but only how to hunt them down,

they hand over, of course, to the dialecticians to make use of the discoveries, those among

them at any rate who are not utterly stupid.”

“So be it, my handsome and wise Clinias,” said I. “Is this how matters stand?”

“Yes certainly,” said he. “And the same goes for the generals. Whenever they capture some

city or army, they hand it over to the statesmen, since they themselves do not know how to

use what they have hunted down, just as I believe quail-hunters hand the birds over to the

quail-keepers. So,”

he continued, “if we need a particular skill which also knows how to make

use of that which it acquires, either through making or hunting down, the sort of skill that

will also make us blessed, then we must search for something else,” said he, “rather than the

skill of the general.”

CRITO: What are you saying, Socrates? Did that young man make a pronouncement of that sort?

SOCRATES: Don’t you believe it, Crito?

CRITO: By Zeus, I don’t. In fact, if he said all that, I think he needs neither Euthydemus nor anyone

else to educate him.

SOCRATES: Well then, by heaven, perhaps it was Ctesippus who said all this and I am being forget-

ful?

CRITO: Is Ctesippus like that?

SOCRATES: In any case, I know quite well that it was neither Euthydemus nor Dionysodorus who

said all this. But, blessed Crito, was it perhaps one of the superior beings in the vicinity

who made the pronouncement? For I know that I did hear all this.

CRITO: Yes by Zeus, Socrates, I think it was indeed one of the superior beings, very much so. But

after that, did you continue searching for some sort of skill? Did you or did you not find

the skill you were searching for?

SOCRATES: Did we find it? Heavens, no. But we were quite comical fellows, just like children chas-

ing after larks, constantly believing we were just on the point of capturing each of the kinds

of knowledge, while they kept on escaping us. So why would I tell you all the details? Yet

once we had arrived at the art of kingship, and we were considering it closely in case it

might be the one that provides happiness and brings it about, we ended up at that stage in

a sort of labyrinth. Thinking we were already at the end, having turned another corner, we

appeared to be back at the beginning of the search once more, and just as badly off as we

were at the outset.

CRITO: How did that happen to you, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I’ll tell you. The fact is, we had presumed that the skill of statesmanship and the skill

of kingship were the same.

CRITO: Well, what then?

SOCRATES: The skill of generalship and the others hand over to this skill to take charge of the works

of which they themselves are the artificers, since it alone knows how to make use of them.

So it seemed evident to us that this was what we were seeking, and was the cause of right

action in the city, and was simply, as the line from Aeschylus says, seated alone at the helm

of the city, governing all, in charge of all, making everything useful.

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CRITO: Well, was your understanding unsound, Socrates?

SOCRATES: You will decide, Crito, if you are willing to hear what happened to us after this. Indeed,

we reconsidered the matter anew, somewhat as follows. Come on, when it is in charge of

all, does the skill of kingship bring about any outcome for us, or is there none? Of course,

entirely so. That’s what we said to one another. Is this what you would say too, Crito?

CRITO: I would.

SOCRATES: So, what would you say its outcome is? It’s as if I asked you what outcome is provided

by medical skill when it is in charge of all it takes charge of? Wouldn’t you say that it is

health?

CRITO: I would.

SOCRATES: What about your own skill of agriculture? When it is in charge of all that it takes charge

of, what outcome does it produce? Wouldn’t you say that it provides us with food from the

earth?

CRITO: I would.

SOCRATES: And what about the skill of kingship? When it is in charge of all that it takes charge of,

what does it produce? Perhaps you are not quite so forthcoming in this case.

CRITO: No, by Zeus, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Nor were we, Crito. But you do know this much at any rate. If this really is the skill we

are seeking, it must be beneficial.

CRITO: Entirely so.

SOCRATES: So shouldn’t it confer some good upon us?

CRITO: Necessarily, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Ye s , but Clinias and I agreed with one another, that good is presumably nothing but

knowledge of some sort.

CRITO: Yes, that’s what you said.

SOCRATES: Now, the various outcomes which might be ascribed to the skill of statesmanship –

ensuring the wealth, freedom and stability of the citizens, for instance – these would pre-

sumably be quite numerous, yet none of them turned out to be either good or bad.Yet this

skill had to make the citizens wise, and confer knowledge, if it was really going to be the

one that benefits them and makes them happy.

CRITO: That’s it. So, based upon your report of the discussion, this was presumably agreed by your-

selves at that stage.

SOCRATES: Well then, does the skill of kingship make the people wise and good?

CRITO: Is there any reason why not, Socrates?

SOCRATES: But does it make everyone good at everything? And is this the skill that confers all

knowledge – shoe-making, carpentry, and all the others?

CRITO: No, Socrates, I don’t think so.

SOCRATES: Well, what knowledge does it confer? What use shall we make of it? Now, it should

not be the artificer of any of the outcomes that are neither good nor bad, yet it should confer

no knowledge apart from itself. Well then, should we state what precisely it is, and what

use we shall make of it? Is it acceptable if we say that it is that by which we shall make oth-

ers good?

CRITO: Entirely so.

SOCRATES: In what respect will they be good and useful for us? Or would we continue to say that

they will make others so, and those others will do this too? But it is not at all evident to us

in what exact respect they are good, especially since we have discredited the outcomes

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–––––

The quote is likely to be from Seven Against Thebes.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

ascribed to statesmanship. No, it is simply a case of the proverb, ‘Corinthos, son of Zeus’,

and as I said, we were just as badly off, or even worse off, when it came to knowing what

the knowledge that will make us happy actually is.

CRITO: By Zeus, Socrates, it seems you ended up in considerable difficulty.

SOCRATES: Now, I myself, Crito, since I had landed in this difficulty, began to exclaim at the top

of my voice, as if I was calling upon the Heavenly Twins,

begging the two strangers to

rescue us, myself and the young man, from the third wave of the argument, to be serious in

every way, and reveal to us, in all seriousness, what precisely is the knowledge which we

should obtain if we are to live out the rest of our lives beautifully.

CRITO: Well then, was Euthydemus prepared to reveal anything to you?

SOCRATES: Of course, and he began his account, my friend, in a very high-minded manner, as

follows.

“Well, Socrates, this knowledge that has perplexed you for so long, shall I teach it to you,

or show you that you possess it?”

“Blessed man,” said I, “is it within your power to do this?”

“It certainly is,” he replied.

“Then show me that I possess it, by Zeus, since for a man of my age that will be much easier than

learning it.”

“Come on,” said he, “answer me. Is there anything that you know?”

“Certainly,” I replied. “There are lots of little things, at any rate.”

“That’s enough,” said he. “Now, do you think it is possible for anything at all not to be just

what it happens to be?”

“By Zeus, I do not.”

“And you do know something?” he asked.

“I do.”

“In that case you are knowledgeable, if you actually know.”

“Certainly, in relation to that ‘something’.”

“That makes no difference. Isn’t it necessary that you know everything since you are knowl-

edgeable?”

“Heavens,” said I, “even when there is so much else that I do not know?”

“Well then, if there is something you do not know, you are not knowledgeable.”

“Not in relation to that matter at any rate, my friend,” said I.

“Are you any less not knowledgeable on that account?” he asked. “You just said that you

are knowledgeable, and accordingly you happen to be the very person you are. And then

again, at the same time, based on the same criteria, you are not that person.”

“So be it, Euthydemus,” said I. “Yes, ‘well struck’, as the saying goes. So how do I know this

knowledge we have been seeking? Since it is impossible to be the same and not to be the same, if

I actually know one thing I know all things for I could not be knowledgeable and not knowledge-

able at the same time. But since I know everything, then I also possess that knowledge. Is this

what you mean and is this the wisdom?”

“In any case, Socrates, you yourself are refuting yourself,” he said.

“But Euthydemus,” said I, “are you not in the same predicament? For I would not be at all troubled

at being in this predicament, or any other, in the company of yourself and Dionysodorus here, our

dear friend. Tell me this. Don’t you both know some things, while there are others you do not know?”

“Not in the least, Socrates,” replied Dionysodorus.

“What are you saying?” I asked. “Do you know nothing then?”

“Quite the contrary,” said he.

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“So you know everything,” said I, “since you know at least something?”

“Everything,” he replied, “and the same goes for you. If you actually know even one thing,

you know everything.”

“By Zeus,” said I, “what a wonder you are describing. Great good has come to light. But surely

all the rest of the people don’t know either everything or nothing?”

“Well, presumably,” said he, “it is not the case that they know some things while not know-

ing others, and are knowledgeable and not knowledgeable at the same time.”

“What then?” I asked.

“Everyone knows everything,” said he, “if they actually know even one thing.”

“By the gods, Dionysodorus,” said I, “it is evident to me at this stage that you are both being seri-

ous, in response to my repeated exhortation to be so. Do both of you really know everything?

Carpentry and shoe-making, for example?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

“And are you both able to sew?”

“Yes, and to mend shoes too, by heaven,” he replied.

“Do you also know, for instance, how many stars there are, and how much sand there is?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “Do you think we would say no to that?”

Then Ctesippus interrupted.

“By Zeus, Dionysodorus,” said he, “you should present me with some sort of proof

of this so that I may know that you are speaking the truth.”

“What shall I present?” he asked.

“Do you know how many teeth Euthydemus has, and does he know how many you

have?”

“Is it not enough for you to be told that we know everything?” he replied.

“Not at all,” said he. “You should tell us this one additional thing, and prove that

you are speaking the truth. And if you both state how many teeth you each have, and

if we count them and it turns out that you do know, then we will believe you in every-

thing else too.”

Now, because they thought they were being mocked, they were not prepared to do this, but under

questioning by Ctesippus they did accept that they knew everything, case by case. For in the end

there was nothing that Ctesippus did not ask them, quite unashamedly, if they knew, no matter

how base it was. Yet the two men met his questions most valiantly, just like boars that are driven

towards an onslaught. As a result, I myself, Crito, was compelled in the end to ask, incredulously,

if Dionysodorus knew how to dance, and he replied,

“Certainly.”

“I do not suppose,” said I, “that at your age, you have attained such advanced wisdom that you

can also somersault over swords, and be spun about on a wheel, have you?”

“There is nothing I cannot do,” he replied.

“And is it only now that you know everything,” I asked, “or has this always been the case?”

“Always,” he replied.

“And when you were children, even at the moment you were born, did you know everything?”

They both said yes, simultaneously. Now, this proposition seemed unbelievable to us, and

Euthydemus asked,

“Do you not believe us, Socrates?”

“I wouldn’t believe you, were it not for the likelihood that you are both wise.”

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–––––

This proverb involves needless repetition because Corinthos was the son of Zeus.

Castor and Pollux, known as the dioscuri, were protectors of seafarers.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

“Well,” said he, “if you will consent to answer my questions, I will prove that you accept

these amazing propositions too.”

“Very well,” said I. “On these matters I would very gladly accept refutation. For if I have over-

looked the fact that I myself am wise, and you are going to prove that I know everything, and that

I always have, what greater boon could I encounter in my whole life than this?”

“Then, answer me,” he said.

“Ask. I am ready to answer.”

“Now, Socrates,” said he, “are you knowledgeable in relation to something or are you not?”

“I am.”

“And do you know by means of that whereby you are knowledgeable, or by means of some-

thing else?”

“By means of that whereby I am knowledgeable, for I presume you are referring to the soul. Or

are you not referring to this?”

“Socrates,” said he, “are you not ashamed at asking a further question when you are being

questioned?”

“So be it,” said I. “But what am I to do? I shall do this in whatever manner you tell me to do it.

Whenever I do not know what you are asking, are you telling me to answer nevertheless, and not

to ask a further question?”

“Well, I presume you understand something of what I am saying?” he asked.

“I do,” said I.

“Then answer in relation to what you understand.”

“Well,” I said, “what if you ask a question with one thing in mind, but I understand it with some-

thing different in mind, and I then answer in relation to that? Will it be enough for you if I do not

answer in relation to the point?”

“Yes,” he replied. “That will be enough for me, but not I presume for you.”

“Then I shan’t answer, by Zeus,” said I, “until I have first understood the question.”

“You won’t answer in relation to what you understand all the while,” he said, “because you

persist in talking nonsense, and you are senile before your time.”

Now, I realised that he was angry with me for expanding upon the various statements, when he

wanted to hunt me down and encircle me with words. In fact, I was reminded of Connus, because

he too is often angry with me whenever I do not give in to him. He then pays me less attention

because I am an ignoramus. But since I also had it in mind to be a pupil of this man, I thought I

should give in to him in case he might regard me as awkward and not accept me as his pupil. So I

said, “Well, Euthydemus, if you think this is the way to proceed, so we should proceed. For pre-

sumably you know how to engage in discourse far better than I do, I who possess only the skill of

an ordinary person. So question me once more from the beginning.”

“Then answer me once more,” said he. “Do you know what you know by means of some-

thing? Or is this not the case?”

“I do,” said I, “by the soul.”

“This man”, he said, “keeps on giving answers beyond what he is asked. I am asking if you

know by means of something. I am not asking by means of what.”

“I answered more than I should, once again, on account of my uneducated condition. Please forgive

me, and I shall now answer, simply, that I know what I know by means of something.”

“Do you always know by this same means?” he asked. “Or do you sometimes know by

means of this, and at other times by means of something else?”

“Whenever I know,” said I, “I always know by means of this.”

“Won’t you stop constantly being over-elaborate?” he asked.

“But it is only for fear that this word ‘always’ may trip us up.”

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576 | EUTHYDEMUS – 295b–296a

“It won’t do that to us,” said he, “only to you, if to anyone. Just answer. Do you always

know by means of this?”

“Always,” said I, “since I have to withdraw the word ‘whenever’.”

“So you always know by means of this. And since you always know, do you know some

things by means of this and others by means of something else, or do you know all things

by this?”

“I know all things by this,” I replied, “whatever I know at any rate.”

“There it is,” said he. “The same over-elaboration turns up.”

“Then, I withdraw the phrase ‘whatever I know at any rate’.”

“No,” said he, “don’t withdraw a single word, for I am asking nothing of you. Just answer

me. Would you be able to know all things if you did not know everything?”

“Well that would be bizarre,” I replied.

“Well then,” he said, “add on whatever you like at this stage, for you accept that you know

all things.”

“It seems that I do,” said I, “particularly since my phrase ‘whatever I know’ has no force and I do

know everything.”

“Now, you have also accepted that you always know by means of that whereby you know

– whether you add ‘whenever you know’, or whatever else you add – for you have accepted

that you always know, and that you know everything at the same time. So it is obvious that

you knew as a child, even when you were being born, and even when you were being con-

ceived. Even before you yourself were born, even before heaven and earth came into being,

you knew all things, since you always know. And indeed, by Zeus,” said he, “you yourself

always will know, and will know all things, if it so pleases me.”

“Well, I pray that it may please you, most revered Euthydemus,” said I, “if you really are speaking

the truth. But I am not entirely convinced that you are up to the task, unless your brother,

Dionysodorus here, gives his advice. In that case, you probably will be up to it.

“But tell me,” said I, “for in general I do not know how to argue with people of such prodi-

gious wisdom as you, and make the case that I do not know everything, when you both say that I

do. But tell me how I may say that I know such things, Euthydemus, as that good men are unjust?

Come then, tell me. Do I know this or do I not know this?”

“You know, indeed,” he replied.

“What?” said I.

“That good men are not unjust.”

“Yes, I’ve always known that,” said I. “But that’s not what I am asking. I am asking where did I

learn that the good people are unjust?”

“Nowhere,” replied Dionysodorus.

“Then I do not know this,” said I.

“You are ruining the argument,” said Euthydemus to Dionysodorus, “and this fellow will

turn out not to have known this, and to be knowledgeable and not knowledgeable at the

same time.” Dionysodorus blushed.

“But what are you saying, Euthydemus?” I asked. “Do you think your brother, who knows every-

thing, is not speaking aright?”

Dionysodorus interrupted immediately and asked, “Am I a brother of Euthydemus?”

And I said, “Let that question alone, good man, until Euthydemus teaches me how I know that

good men are unjust. Do not begrudge me that lesson.”

“Socrates, you are running away,” said Dionysodorus, “and you are refusing to answer me.”

“Quite reasonably,” said I, “for I am a lesser man than either of you, and so I have no hesitation

in running away from the two of you. Indeed, I am certainly inferior to Heracles, who was not

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EUTHYDEMUS – 296b–297c | 577

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

able to do battle with the hydra, a sophistical creature so clever that if someone cut off one head

of the argument, she sent forth many more in its place. He could not do battle with her and with

some other sophistical crab recently emerged from the sea and, I believe, come ashore, who so

pained Heracles by talking and biting from his left-hand side that he called for the help of his

nephew, Iolaus, who gave him ample assistance. But if my Iolaus were to arrive, he would just

make matters worse.”

“When you have finished this hymn of yours, please answer me this. Was Iolaus any more

the nephew of Heracles than yours?”

“Well, Dionysodorus,” said I, “it is best that I answer you. Indeed, I am well-nigh convinced that

you won’t desist from asking questions out of ill-will and obstructiveness so that Euthydemus may

not impart that piece of wisdom to me.”

“Then answer,” said he.

“Then my answer is”, said I, “that Iolaus was Heracles’ nephew, but in no way whatsoever, in my

opinion, was he mine. For his father was not Patrocles, my own brother, although Heracles’ brother,

Iphicles, had a name that sounded quite similar.”

“And is Patrocles your brother?” he asked.

“Certainly,” I replied, “we have the same mother, at any rate. Not the same father though.”

“So he is your brother, and not your brother.”

“Not by the same father at any rate, best of men,” said I. “His father was Chaeredemus, while mine

was Sophroniscus.”

“Then,” said he, “Sophroniscus was a father, and so was Chaeredemus.”

“Certainly,” I replied. “One was mine and the other was his.”

“In that case,” said he, “was Chaeredemus other than a father?”

“Other than mine anyway,” said I.

“So was he a father whilst being other than a father? Or are you the same as a stone?”

“My fear”, said I, “is that you are going to show that I am the same, even though I think otherwise.”

“Aren’t you other than a stone?” he asked.

“Yes, other.”

“Now, being other than stone,” he said, “you are not stone, and being other than gold, you

are not gold?”

“This is the case.”

“Then Chaeredemus, being other than a father, is not a father,” said he.

“It seems he is not a father,” said I.

“And presumably,” interjected Euthydemus, “if Chaeredemus is a father, then Sophroniscus,

for his part, being other than a father, is not a father. And so you, Socrates, are fatherless.”

Then Ctesippus took up the argument and said, “And isn’t your father also in the same predica-

ment? Is he other than my father?”

“Far from it,” replied Euthydemus.

“What?” said he. “Is he the same?”

“The same, indeed.”

“I wouldn’t agree with you there. But, Euthydemus, is he my father only, or is he the father of

everyone else too?”

“Of everyone else too,” he replied. “Or do you think the same man, being a father, is not a

father?”

“Yes, I did think so,” replied Ctesippus.

“What about this?” he asked. “Do you think the same thing, being gold, is not gold, or being

a person, is not a person?”

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578 | EUTHYDEMUS – 297d–298c

“Euthydemus,” said Ctesippus, “could it be, as the saying goes, that you are not combining flax

with flax, for you are describing an astounding prospect, if your father is the father of all.”

“But he is,” said he.

“Of all humans?” said Ctesippus. “Or of horses and all other living creatures too?”

“Of all,” he replied.

“And is your mother their mother?”

“Yes, their mother too.”

“So,” said he, “is your mother also the mother of sea urchins?”

“Yes, and so is yours,” he replied.

“Then you are brother to gudgeons, puppies and piglets.”

“And so are you,” he retorted.

“Then you have a boar and a dog as your father.”

“And so do you,” he retorted.

“And yet,” said Dionysodorus, “you will accept all this quite readily, Ctesippus, if you will

answer my questions. So tell me, do you have a dog?”

“Yes, a very nasty one,” replied Ctesippus.

“Now, does he have puppies?”

“Yes, and they are very like himself,” he replied.

“So the dog is their father?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I saw him covering the bitch myself.”

“Well now, isn’t the dog yours?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

“In that case, he is a father and he is yours, and so he turns out to be your father, and you

turn out to be the brother of puppies.”

And Dionysodorus quickly interrupted once again in case Ctesippus might get a word in first.

“Answer this little question for me,” said he. “Do you beat this dog?”

And Ctesippus laughed and said, “Yes, by the gods, since I can’t do it to you.”

“Aren’t you beating your own father then?” he asked.

“Yet I would be far more justified in beating your father”, said he, “for having the wit to beget

sons who are so wise. But I presume, Euthydemus, that your father, who is also the father of the

puppies, derived numerous benefits from this wisdom of yours.”

“But he has no need of numerous benefits, Ctesippus, neither he nor you.”

“Nor you yourself, Euthydemus?” he asked.

“No, nor has any other person either. Indeed, tell me, Ctesippus, whether you regard it as a

benefit for a sick person to drink medicine when he needs to, or do you think it is not a ben-

efit? When he goes to war, is it better to go wearing armour or without armour?”

“I think these are benefits,” said he, “yet I expect you are about to utter one of your beauties.”

“You will know full well,” said he, “if you answer me. Indeed, since you accept that it is a

benefit for a man to drink medicine when necessary, shouldn’t he simply drink this benefi-

cial substance as much as possible? And in that case, would it be an advantage if someone

were to grind and blend a wagon-load of hellebore

for him?”

And Ctesippus replied, “Very much so, Euthydemus, particularly if the man who drinks it is the

size of the big statue at Delphi.”

“Well,” he said, “in battle, since it is a benefit to wear armour, should we carry as many

spears and shields as possible, since it is actually a benefit?”

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EUTHYDEMUS – 298d–299c | 579

–––––

Hellebore is a plant now known to be toxic but which was used in ancient medicine to treat various conditions, including

mental disorders.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

“Yes, of course,” replied Ctesippus. “But do you think otherwise, Euthydemus, that we should

have one shield and one spear?”

“I do.”

“And would you also arm Geryon and Briareus

in this way?” he asked. “I thought you were clev-

erer than that, since yourself and your companion here are both armour-fighters.”

At this, Euthydemus was silent and Dionysodorus questioned Ctesippus in relation to his

initial answers. “Don’t you also think it a benefit,” he said, “to possess gold?”

“Certainly,” replied Ctesippus, “and a lot of it too.”

“What about this? Don’t you think we should have benefits at all times and in all places?”

“Emphatically so,” he replied.

“Don’t you also accept that gold is a benefit?”

“Yes, I have accepted that,” he replied.

“So, shouldn’t we have it at all times and in all places, and especially in ourselves? And

would a person be supremely blessed if he were to have three talents of gold in his stomach,

a talent in his skull, and a stater of gold in each eye?”

“Well, at any rate, Euthydemus,” said Ctesippus, “they say that the most blessed of the Scythians,

and their very best men, are the ones who have a lot of gold in their own skulls,

in the same sense

that you stated just now that my father is a dog. And what is still more wonderful is that they drink

from their own gilded skulls, and peer into them, holding their own head in their hands.”

“But”, said Euthydemus, “do the Scythians, and other people too, see what is capable of

vision,

or what is not capable?”

“What is capable, I presume.”

“And so do you?” he said.

“Me too.”

“Now, do you see our cloaks?”

“Yes.”

“So these are capable of vision.”

“Emphatically so,” said Ctesippus.

“Of what?” he asked.

“Of nothing. But perhaps you think they do not have vision, so sweet and innocent are you. But to

me, Euthydemus, you seem to have fallen asleep, without being asleep, and if it is possible to

speak yet say nothing, that is just what you are doing.”

“Well,” said Dionysodorus, “is it not possible that there be a speaking of what is silent?”

“Not at all,” said Ctesippus.

“So there isn’t a silence of speaking either?”

“Even less so,” he replied.

“Now, whenever you speak of stones or wood or iron, don’t you speak of what is silent?”

“Well, not if I pass by a blacksmith’s premises,” he said. “There the iron exclaims and cries aloud,

they say, if anyone touches it. And so, in this case, on account of your wisdom, you were unwit-

tingly saying nothing. But you should still explain the other point to me: how, on the other hand,

there may be a silence of speaking.”

I thought that Ctesippus was making an extra effort because his favourite was present.

“When you are silent,” said Euthydemus, “are you silent in relation to all things?”

“I am,” he replied.

“Aren’t you also silent in relation to whatever speaks, if this is included in all things?”

“What?” said Ctesippus. “Are all things not silent?”

“Of course not,” said Euthydemus.

“So in that case, best of men, do all things speak?”

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“Yes, those that do speak at any rate.”

“But,” said he, “that is not what I asked you. Are all things silent or do they speak?”

Dionysodorus jumped in and said, “Neither and both. Yes, I know quite well that you will

not be able to deal with this answer.”

And Ctesippus, in his usual way, broke into very loud laughter and said, “Euthydemus, your brother

has led the argument into a contradiction, and he has perished and been defeated.”

Now, Clinias was extremely pleased, and he laughed, with the result that Ctesippus grew in stature

tenfold, or even more. But since Ctesippus is a rogue, I think he had overheard these very argu-

ments from the men themselves, for there is no wisdom of this sort in evidence these days amongst

any other people.

And I said, “Clinias, why are you laughing at matters that are so serious and beautiful?”

“Well, Socrates,” said Dionysodorus, “have you ever yet seen a beautiful matter?”

“Yes, I have, Dionysodorus, lots of them,” I replied.

“So are they different from the beautiful, or the same as the beautiful?”

And I became utterly perplexed, but I thought my predicament was well deserved because I had

opened my mouth. Nevertheless, I said they were different from the beautiful, although some

beauty is present with each of them.

“So, if an ox is present with you, you are an ox, and because I am present with you now,

you are Dionysodorus?”

“What a thing to say,” said I.

“But what way”, said he, “could the different be different, just because difference is present

with difference?”

“So, are you perplexed over this?” I asked. At that stage I was so eager for the wisdom of these

two men that I was imitating it.

“Well,” said he, “how could I help being perplexed, either myself or anyone else, over that

which is not?”

“What are you saying, Dionysodorus?” said I. “Is the beautiful not beautiful, or the base not base?”

“If it seems so to me,” said he.

“Well, does it seem so?”

“Entirely so,” he replied.

“And isn’t the same the same, and the different different? For the different is surely not the same.

No, I did not imagine that even a child would be perplexed by this question of whether the different

is different. But, Dionysodorus, you must have passed over this point deliberately, since, in general,

the two of you seem to me to bring the process of dialectic to fruition, just like craftsmen who

bring their appropriate work to fruition.”

“Well,” said he, “do you know what is appropriate to each of the craftsmen? Firstly, to

whom is brass-working appropriate? Do you know?”

“I do. To the brass-workers.”

“What about making pots?”

“To the potters.”

“What about slaughtering and skinning, and then boiling or roasting the portions of meat

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EUTHYDEMUS – 300d–301c | 581

–––––

Geryon and Briareus were two fearsome mythological creatures. The first was a giant with multiple heads and multiple

bodies; the second was a giant with one hundred arms.

Herodotus, iv.65, describes the Scythians as gilding the skulls of their enemies and drinking from them.

The Greek phrase translated ‘capable of vision’ is ambiguous between ‘capable of seeing’ and ‘capable of being seen’.

The Greek phrases translated ‘a speaking of what is silent’ and ‘a silence of speaking’ are ambiguous between ‘a speak-

ing by a thing that is silent’ and ‘a speaking about a thing that is silent’.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

once they have been cut up?”

“That is appropriate to the cook,” I replied.

“Now, if someone enacts what is appropriate, isn’t he acting aright?”

“Certainly.”

“And yet you say that cutting up and skinning is appropriate to the cook?

Have you agreed

with this or not?”

“I agreed,” said I, “but please judge me kindly.”

“Then presumably,” said he, “if someone slaughters the cook, cuts him up and boils and

roasts him, he will be acting aright? And if someone processes the brass-worker like brass,

or turns the potter into a pot, he too will be behaving appropriately?”

“By Poseidon,” said I, “at this stage you are putting the finishing touches to your wisdom. I wonder,

will it ever be mine, and become my own?”

“Socrates,” he asked, “would you recognise it once it had become your own?”

“Of course,” I replied, “if it were your will, at any rate.”

“What’s this?” said he. “Do you think you recognise what is your own?”

“Unless you say otherwise, for you must be my source of wisdom, and Euthydemus here its cul-

mination.”

“Well now,” said he, “do you think that things you control, and are allowed to use as you

wish, are yours – an ox or a sheep, for instance? Do you think they are yours when you can

sell them or give them away or sacrifice them to any of the gods you please? And are those

that are not in this situation not yours?”

Because I knew that something worthwhile would emerge from their questioning, and because I

also wished to hear it as quickly as possible, I just said, “Yes certainly, this is the case. Only such

things as these are mine.”

“What about this?” said he. “Do you refer to things that possess soul as living creatures?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“So, do you agree that the only living creatures that are yours are the ones you are allowed

to use in the manner I just described?”

“I agree.” Then he made a great pretence of pausing, as though considering something important,

and he said,

“Tell me, Socrates, do you have an ancestral Zeus?”

Now, suspecting that the argument was going to end up where it did, and in an effort to escape,

like a man trapped in a net, I tried a despairing twist. I said, “No, Dionysodorus, I do not.”

“Then you are a wretched person and no Athenian, possessing neither ancestral gods nor

shrines, nor anything else that is noble and good.”

“Enough,” said I. “Show some respect, Dionysodorus, and do not set about instructing me in such

a harsh manner. For I do indeed have altars, shrines too, both domestic and ancestral, and anything

else of that sort that other Athenians possess.”

“In that case,” said he, “do the other Athenians not possess an ancestral Zeus?”

“That is not his title”, I replied, “among any of the Ionian peoples, neither among those who have

emigrated from this city nor among ourselves. But we have an ancestral Apollo because of Ion’s

birth from him.

And we do not refer to Zeus as ancestral, but as domestic or tribal, and we have

a tribal Athena.”

“Well, that is sufficient, at any rate,” said Dionysodorus, “for you have, it seems, an Apollo,

a Zeus and an Athena.”

“Certainly,” I replied.

“So these gods would be yours, wouldn’t they?” he said.

“Yes,” said I, “they are my ancestors and my masters.”

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582 | EUTHYDEMUS – 301d–302d

“But they are yours in any case,” said he. “Or have you not accepted that they are yours?”

“I have accepted that,” said I. “What will befall me now?’

“Well,” said he, “aren’t these gods also living creatures? Indeed, you have agreed that what-

ever possesses soul is a living creature. Or do these gods not possess soul?”

“They possess it,” said I.

“In that case, aren’t they also living creatures?”

“Yes, living creatures,” I replied.

“And you have agreed that whatever living creatures you are allowed to give away, sell or

sacrifice to any god you please, are yours.”

“I have agreed,” said I. “There is no going back now, Euthydemus.”

“Come on, then,” said he, “tell me here and now. Since you have agreed that Zeus and the

other gods are yours, are you allowed to sell them, or give them away, or treat them as you

wish, just like any other living creatures?”

Well, Crito, while I lay there speechless, as though I had been felled by the argument, Ctesippus

came to my aid saying, “Bravo Heracles, what a good argument.” And Dionysodorus asked, “Is

Heracles a bravo, or a bravo Heracles?” And Ctesippus responded, “By Poseidon, what formidable

arguments. I give up. The two men are invincible.”

With that, dear Crito, I must say that there was no one present who did not heap praises

upon the two men and their argument. Indeed, they almost died laughing, clapping and rejoicing.

Now, each and every one of the previous arguments had been applauded well and truly, but only

by Euthydemus’ admirers, whereas now even the very columns of the Lyceum came close to

applause and delight at these two men. As for myself, I was reduced to admitting that no one had

ever before beheld any people who were as wise as they were, and being utterly captivated by the

wisdom of the pair, I took to praising and eulogising them both, saying, “You are two blessed men,

possessed of a wondrous nature, who have perfected such a subject so readily in such a short period

of time. Now, although these arguments of yours, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, possess various

fine features aplenty, the most exalted of them is that you have no concern for most of humanity,

nor indeed for important people or those with a reputation, but only for those who are similar to

yourselves. For I know quite well that there are very few people similar to yourselves who would

be content with these arguments, while everyone else is so unappreciative of them that I’m con-

vinced they would be more ashamed to refute others by such arguments than to be refuted them-

selves. What’s more, there is also an appealing and kindly aspect to your arguments. Whenever

you declare that there is nothing beautiful, nothing good or white, and so on, and that nothing is

at all different from anything else, you simply stitch up people’s mouths well and truly, as you say

yourselves. Yet, because you don’t just do this to others but you seem also to do it to your own

mouths, this is entirely delightful and it takes away the offensive aspect of the arguments. And

yet, what is most significant is that you have arranged matters and contrived them so skilfully that

anyone at all can learn this in a short period of time. I realised this myself by paying attention to

Ctesippus, and how quickly he was able to imitate you without any preparation. Now, the fact that

this business of yours is readily imparted is all very well, but it is not appropriate for discussion

before a general audience, and if you take my advice you will be careful not to speak before

crowds in case they learn quickly from you but give you no thanks. It is best, rather, that the two

of you conduct your discussions only with one another. Failing that, if you are in front of someone

else, it should be someone who is paying you a fee. And if you are sensible, you will also give the

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EUTHYDEMUS – 302e–304b | 583

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The Greek phrase translated here is ambiguous between ‘it is appropriate for the cook that the cook engages in cutting

and skinning’ and ‘it is appropriate for the cook that one engages in the cutting and skinning of the cook’.

According to legend, Ion was the son of Apollo and Creusa. Euripides, Ion 61-75.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

selfsame advice to your pupils: never to conduct a discussion with anyone else apart from your-

selves and themselves. For whatever is scarce is valuable, Euthydemus, while water is cheapest,

although it is the best, as Pindar says.

But come on,” said I, “see if you can accept myself and

Clinias here as your pupils.”

Having discussed all this, Crito, and some other issues that took less time, we departed.

Now, you should consider how you are going to join us as a pupil of these two men who claim to

be able to teach anyone who is willing to pay them, and who say that neither a person’s nature nor

his age prevents anyone at all from easily acquiring their wisdom. And it is most important for

you to hear that, according to them, this wisdom is not an impediment to making money.

CRITO: Well, Socrates, although I myself love listening to discussions, and would be pleased to

learn something, I fear that I too am one of those people who are not similar to Euthydemus,

but one of the people you mentioned who would prefer being refuted by such arguments as

these, rather than refuting someone else. Now, although it seems ridiculous to be giving

you a warning, I want to report what I heard nevertheless.

The fact is that one of the people coming from your gathering approached me as I

was out and about, a man who regards himself as extremely wise, a formidable figure when

it comes to writing speeches for use in law courts.

“Crito,” said he, “are you taking no lessons from these wise men?”

“No, by Zeus,” I replied, “for when I was standing near them I was unable to hear

clearly because of the crowd.”

“And yet,” said he, “it was worth hearing, at any rate.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“You would have heard the discourses of men who are nowadays the wisest men of

all when it comes to discussions of this sort.”

“What was your overall impression?” I asked.

“It was just the sort of thing you always hear from people like this, babbling and

making a useless fuss about nothing of any consequence. This is more or less how he

spoke.”

And I said, “But surely philosophy is something graceful?”

“Graceful in what way, blessed man?” he asked. “It is of no value at all. And had

you actually been there, I think you would have been utterly ashamed on behalf of your

own friend, so strangely did he behave, willing to surrender himself to men who care not

what they say, and fasten upon every word that is spoken. And these fellows, as I just said,

are counted among the most influential people of this day and age. But the fact is, Crito,

that the subject itself, and the people who devote their time to the subject, are worthless

and ridiculous.”

Now, Socrates, it did not seem right to me for him or anyone else to criticise the sub-

ject. However, it did seem right to apportion blame for your willingness to engage in dis-

course with such people as these, in front of a large audience.

SOCRATES: Crito, men like these are marvels. However, I do not yet know what I am to say to you.

What sort of person was he who approached you and apportioned blame to philosophy?

Was he one of the formidable combatants from the law courts, a rhetorician? Or was he one

of the people who sends them into battle, a composer of speeches with which the rhetori-

cians engage in combat?

CRITO: By Zeus, he is not a rhetorician at all, nor do I think he has ever appeared in court. Yet they

say he understands the business, yes by heaven, and that he is formidable, and composes

formidable speeches.

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584 | EUTHYDEMUS – 304c–305c

SOCRATES: Now I understand. I was just about to speak about these people myself. For although

they are, according to Prodicus, on the boundary between the philosopher and the states-

man, they think that they are the wisest men of all. And as well as being so, they believe

they are also regarded as such by a vast number of people, and that the only thing prevent-

ing them from being well regarded by everyone are people who engage in philosophy. So

they believe that if they reduce the reputation of these people, and make them seem worth-

less, the victory prize will indisputably be theirs immediately, a reputation for wisdom in

the eyes of all.

So they maintain that they are in truth the wisest, and whenever they get tangled up

in arguments of a private nature, that they are being worsted by Euthydemus and his fol-

lowers. Yet they believe quite plausibly that they are extremely wise for they possess a

measure of philosophy and a measure of statesmanship, according to the very plausible

argument that they partake of both, to the extent that is necessary. So, remaining aloof from

danger and conflict, they reap the harvest of wisdom.

CRITO: What of it, Socrates? Do you think they have a point since their argument does have a cer-

tain neatness at least?

SOCRATES: Yes, indeed, Crito, it does indeed possess neatness rather than truth. For it is not easy

to persuade them that a person, or anything else that is in between two things and partakes

of both, becomes worse than one and better than the other, if it comes from good and bad.

Any that come from two that are good, but not in the same respect, are worse than both

components with respect to the purpose they each serve, while any that are constituted from

two that are bad, but not in the same respect, are in between the two, and these alone are

better than either of the two things they partake of.

Now, if philosophy is good, and so too is the activity of the statesman, each in a dif-

ferent respect, and these fellows are in between those two since they partake of both, then

they do not have a point since they are inferior with respect to both. And if one is good and

the other bad, then they are better with respect to one group and worse with respect to the

other. But if both are bad, in that case and in no other, they would be speaking the truth to

an extent.

Now, I do not think they would agree that both of these are bad, or that one is bad

while the other is good. But the fact of the matter is that these fellows, although they partake

of both, are inferior with respect to both, with respect to what is of value in statesmanship

and what is of value in philosophy, and despite being, in truth, in third place, they are ambi-

tious to be regarded as first. So we should forgive this ambition of theirs and not be troubled,

yet still recognise that they are the sort of people they are. For we ought to admire any man

whatsoever who says anything that conforms to good sense and takes the trouble to pursue

it courageously.

CRITO: Yes, indeed, Socrates, and I myself, as I am always telling you, am perplexed over my sons

and how I should deal with them. Now, one of them is still young and little, but Critobulus

is now at an age where he needs someone who will do something for him. Now, whenever

I am in your company, you always have the same effect. I think that it is madness to have

taken such trouble in so many different ways for the sake of my children – trouble in relation

to marriage to ensure noble birth on their mother’s side, and trouble over making money so

that they would be as wealthy as possible – whilst I neglected their education. Yet, whenever

I look at any of those people who profess to educate humanity, I am shocked, and each one

of them seems to me, on reflection, to be utterly outlandish, to tell you the truth between

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EUTHYDEMUS – 305d–307a | 585

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Olympian i.1.

Euthydemus, David Horan translation, 9 Nov 25

ourselves. And so I do not know how I am to turn the young man towards philosophy.

SOCRATES: Crito, my friend, don’t you realise that in every activity the inferior practitioners are

numerous and of no value, while the serious ones are few, and valuable beyond measure?

And don’t you think that gymnastics is a worthy activity, money-making too, and rhetoric

and generalship?

CRITO: Entirely so, of course I do.

SOCRATES: Well then, in each of those cases, don’t you know that most people are comical expo-

nents of the particular role?

CRITO: Yes, by Zeus, that is certainly true.

SOCRATES: So, will you yourself shun all of these activities on account of this, and refuse to direct

your son towards them?

CRITO: That wouldn’t be right, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then do not do what you should not do, Crito. Rather, bid farewell to the exponents of

philosophy, whether they be worthy or base, and having tested the subject itself well and

truly, turn not just your sons but every man away from it if it proves in your eyes to be

unworthy. However, if it proves to be as I think it is, then pursue it and practise it with all

your heart, both you and yours, as the saying goes.

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586 | EUTHYDEMUS – 307b–307c