“Absolutely,” they said together.
[222] “And if one person desires another, my boys, or loves him passionately, he would not desire him or love him passionately or as a friend unless he somehow belonged to his beloved either in his soul or in some characteristic, habit, or aspect of his soul.”
“Certainly,” said Menexenus, but Lysis was silent.
“All right,” I said, “what belongs to us by nature has shown itself to us as something we must love.”
“It looks like it,” he said.
[b] “Then the genuine and not the pretended lover must be befriended by his boy.”
Lysis and Menexenus just managed a nod of assent, but Hippothales beamed every color in the rainbow in his delight.
Wanting to review the argument, I said, “It seems to me, Lysis and Menexenus, that if there is some difference between belonging and being like, then we might have something to say about what a friend is. But if belonging and being like turn out to be the same thing, it won’t be easy to toss out our former argument that like is useless to like insofar as they [c] are alike. And to admit that the useless is a friend would strike a sour note. So if it’s all right with you, I said, since we are a little groggy from this discussion, why don’t we agree to say that what belongs is something different from what is like?”
“Certainly.”
“And shall we suppose that the good belongs to everyone, while the bad is alien? Or does the bad belong to the bad, the good to the good, and what is neither good nor bad to what is neither good nor bad?”
They both said they liked this latter correlation.
“Well, here we are again, boys,” I said. “We have fallen into the same [d] arguments about friendship that we rejected at first. For the unjust will be no less a friend to the unjust, and the bad to the bad, as the good will be to the good.”
“So it seems,” he said.
“Then what? If we say that the good is the same as belonging, is there any alternative to the good being a friend only to the good?”
“No.”
“But we thought we had refuted ourselves on this point. Or don’t you remember?”
“We remember.”
“So what can we still do with our argument? Or is it clear that there is [e] nothing left? I do ask, like the able speakers in the law courts, that you think over everything that has been said. If neither the loved nor the loving, nor the like nor the unlike, nor the good, nor the belonging, nor any of the others we have gone through—well, there have been so many I certainly don’t remember them all any more, but if none of these is a friend, then I have nothing left to say.”
Having said that, I had a mind to get something going with one of the [223] older men there. But just then, like some kind of divine intermediaries, the guardians of Menexenus and Lysis were on the scene. They had the boys’ brothers with them and called out to them that it was time to go home. It actually was late by now. At first our group tried to drive them off, but they didn’t pay any attention to us and just got riled up and went on calling in their foreign accents. We thought they had been drinking too [b] much at the Hermaea and might be difficult to handle, so we capitulated and broke up our party. But just as they were leaving I said, “Now we’ve done it, Lysis and Menexenus—made fools of ourselves, I, an old man, and you as well. These people here will go away saying that we are friends of one another—for I count myself in with you—but what a friend is we have not yet been able to find out.”
1. Solon frg. 23 Edmonds.
2. Odyssey xvii.218.
3. Hesiod, Works and Days 25–26.
4. I.e., “philosophize,” “engage in philosophy.”
EUTHYDEMUS
Translated by Rosamond Kent Sprague.
Socrates meets his good friend Crito, recounts and discusses with him a public encounter he had the previous day with a pair of sophists, and urges him to join him in enrolling—old men though they are!—as the sophists’ pupils. That is a bare summary of this exquisitely accomplished dialogue. Euthydemus and his older brother Dionysodorus (real people, though hardly known except here) have been in Athens previously. But now they have abandoned their former teaching of lawyer’s oratory and military science for instruction in a different sort of combat: the combat of words in question-and-answer discussion of the basic type to which Socrates himself is devoted, and of which we get especially well defined instances in Protagoras. They promise to ‘refute whatever may be said, no matter whether it is true or false’; by teaching the same ‘eristic’ wisdom to their pupils (it doesn’t take long, they say), they will make them paragons of human virtue. Socrates forestalls the formal sophistic ‘exhibition’ of their skill that they have brought with them (as he similarly avoids or silently endures Gorgias’ and Hippias’ exhibitions in the dialogues named after them), and gets them instead to converse with the young boy Clinias, to persuade him to devote himself to ‘philosophy and the practice of virtue’—under their tutelage, it goes without saying. Though it is not their prepared exhibition, their questioning of Clinias (and, later on, Ctesippus and Socrates himself) does give a clear demonstration of their methods. Thus readers, together with Crito, can form their own opinion of the value of this new brand of the sophist’s art, so different from that of Protagoras, or Prodicus, or Hippias. Socrates twice interposes extended question-and-answer conversations of his own with Clinias, offering a very different picture of how one might draw a young boy on to devote himself to philosophy and the practice of virtue.
Crito is not nearly so enthusiastic as Socrates himself claims to be about these new sophists’ ‘wisdom’, and hesitates to accept his invitation to join him in enrolling as their students. As emerges at the very end of the dialogue, he had got an earlier report on yesterday’s proceedings from an unnamed acquaintance, which was much less laudatory than Socrates’. Plato makes it plain to his contemporary readers that this person is the orator and teacher of ‘philosophy’ Isocrates, head of a very successful school at Athens in the decades after Socrates’ death, rival to Plato’s own Academy. (Plato has Socrates compliment him by name in carefully qualified ways toward the end of Phaedrus.) Accepting Crito’s description of the sophists’ activities as ‘philosophy’, this person denounces it as ‘of no value whatsoever’, as ‘worthless’ and ‘ridiculous’. Do Socrates, and Plato, agree? It seems not—that at least is the implication of Socrates’ praise, no doubt ironically overdrawn, and of his refusal to join in the denunciation. True philosophy, and real devotion to it, require an interest in logic and argument for its own sake, whether or not it is used correctly or yields valid support for true conclusions. Even the misuse of reason has its gripping appeal to one who would model his life on the proper use of it. Socrates is himself no ‘eristic’—his approach to Clinias is fostering, not refutatory, and his firm interest throughout is in the truth, not mere verbal victory. But he (or Plato) refuses to reject, dismiss, and denounce the arguments of the eristics, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, as ‘of no value whatsoever’, as ‘worthless’ and ‘ridiculous’. They have their own power, as all uses of reason do, and must be respectfully examined and analyzed—even while one does not accept their conclusions.
J.M.C.
CRITO: Who was it, Socrates, you were talking to in the Lyceum yesterday? [271] There was such a crowd standing around you that when I came up and wanted to listen, I couldn’t hear anything distinctly. But by craning my neck I did get a look, and I thought it was some stranger you were talking to. Who was it?
SOCRATES: Which one are you asking about, Crito? There was not just one, but two.
CRITO: The person I mean was sitting next but one to you on your [b] right—between you was Axiochus’ young son.1 He seemed to me, Socrates, to have grown tremendously, and to be almost of a size with our Critobulus. But Critobulus is thin, whereas this boy has come on splendidly and is extremely good-looking.
SOCRATES: Euthydemus is the man you mean, Crito, and the one sitting next to me on m
y left was his brother, Dionysodorus—he, too, takes part in the discussions.
CRITO: I don’t know either of them, Socrates. They are another new kind of sophist, I suppose. Where do they come from, and what is their [c] particular wisdom?
SOCRATES: By birth, I think, they are from this side, from Chios. They went out as colonists to Thurii but were exiled from there and have already spent a good many years in this region. As to your question about the wisdom of the pair, it is marvelous, Crito! The two are absolutely omniscient, so much so that I never knew before what pancratiasts really were. They are both absolutely all-round fighters, not like the two battling brothers from Acarnania who could only fight with their bodies.2 These two [d] are first of all completely skilled in body, being highly adept at fighting [272] in armor and able to teach this skill to anyone else who pays them a fee; and then they are the ones best able to fight the battle of the law court and to teach other people both how to deliver and how to compose the sort of speeches suitable for the courts. Previously these were their only skills, but now they have put the finishing touch to pancratistic art. They have now mastered the one form of fighting they had previously left untried; as a result, not a single man can stand up to them, they have [b] become so skilled in fighting in arguments and in refuting whatever may be said, no matter whether it is true or false. So that I, Crito, have a mind to hand myself over to these men, since they say that they can make any other person clever at the same things in a short time.
CRITO: What’s that, Socrates? Aren’t you afraid that, at your age, you are already too old?
SOCRATES: Far from it, Crito—I have enough example and encouragement to keep me from being afraid. The two men themselves were pretty well advanced in years when they made a start on this wisdom I want to get; I mean the eristic sort. Last year or the year before they were not yet wise. [c] My only anxiety is that I may disgrace the two strangers just as I have already disgraced Connus the harpist, Metrobius’ son, who is still trying to teach me to play. The boys who take lessons with me laugh at the sight and call Connus the “Old Man’s Master.” So I am afraid that someone may reproach the strangers on the same score; perhaps they may be unwilling to take me as a pupil for fear that this should happen. So, Crito, I have persuaded some other old men to go along with me as fellow pupils to [d] the harp lessons, and I shall attempt to persuade some others for this project. Why don’t you come along yourself? We will take your sons as bait to catch them—I feel sure that their desire to get the boys will make them give us lessons too.
CRITO: I have no objection, Socrates, if you really think well of the plan. But first explain to me what the wisdom of the two men is, to give me some idea of what we are going to learn.
SOCRATES: You shall hear at once, since I can’t pretend that I paid no attention to the pair. As a matter of fact, I did just that and remember [e] what was said and will try to recount the whole thing from the beginning. As good luck would have it, I was sitting by myself in the undressing-room just where you saw me and was already thinking of leaving. But when I got up, my customary divine sign put in an appearance. So I [273] sat down again, and in a moment the two of them, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, came in, and some others with them, disciples of theirs, who seemed to me pretty numerous. When the pair came in, they walked around the cloister, and they had not yet made more than two or three turns when in came Clinias, who, as you rightly say, has grown a lot. Following him were a good many others, lovers of his, and among them Ctesippus, a young man from Paeania—he’s a well-bred fellow except for [b] a certain youthful brashness. From the doorway Clinias caught sight of me sitting alone and came straight up and sat down on my right, just as you describe it. When Dionysodorus and Euthydemus saw him, at first they stood talking to each other and glancing at us every so often (I was keeping a good eye on them) but after a while they came over and one of them, Euthydemus, sat down next to the boy, and his brother next to me on my left, and the rest found places where they could. Since I hadn’t [c] seen the two for quite a time, I gave them a good welcome, and then I said to Clinias, You know, Clinias, that the wisdom of these two men, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, has to do with important matters and not mere trivia. They know all about war, that is, the things a man ought to know who means to be a good general, such as the formations of troops and their command and how to fight in armor; and besides this, they can make a man capable of looking out for himself in court if anyone should do him an injury.
They obviously thought little of me for saying this, because they both [d] laughed and glanced at each other, and Euthydemus said, We are not any longer in earnest about these things, Socrates—we treat them as diversions.
I was astonished and said, Your serious occupation must certainly be splendid if you have important things like these for your diversions! For heaven’s sake, tell me what this splendid occupation is!
Virtue, Socrates, is what it is, he said, and we think we can teach it better than anyone else and more quickly.
Good heavens, I said, what a claim you make! Wherever did you find [e] this godsend? I was still thinking of you, as I just said, as men particularly skilled in fighting in armor, and so I spoke of you in this way. When you visited us before, I remember that this was what you claimed to be. But now if you really have this other wisdom, be propitious—you see, I am addressing you exactly as though you were gods because I want you to forgive me for what I said earlier. But make sure, Euthydemus and [274] Dionysodorus, that you are telling the truth—the magnitude of your claim certainly gives me some cause for disbelief.
Rest assured, Socrates, that things are as we say.
Then I count you much happier in your possession of this wisdom than the Great King in that of his empire! But tell me just this: do you plan to give a demonstration of this wisdom, or what do you mean to do?
We are here for that very purpose, Socrates: to give a demonstration, [b] and to teach, if anyone wants to learn.
I give you my word that everyone who does not have this wisdom will wish to have it: first myself, then Clinias here, and, in addition to us, this fellow Ctesippus and these others, I said, pointing to the lovers of Clinias who were already grouped around us. This had come about because Ctesippus had taken a seat a long way from Clinias, and when Euthydemus leaned forward in talking to me, he apparently obscured Ctesippus’ view [c] of Clinias, who was sitting between us. So Ctesippus, who wanted to look at his darling, as well as being interested in the discussion, sprang up first and stationed himself right in front of us. When the others saw him doing this, they gathered around too, not only Clinias’ lovers but the followers [d] of Euthydemus and Dionysodorus as well. These were the ones I pointed to when I told Euthydemus that everyone was ready to learn. Then Ctesippus agreed very eagerly and so did all the rest, and all together they besought the pair to demonstrate the power of their wisdom.
So I said, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, do your absolute best to gratify these people and give a demonstration—and do it for my sake too. To give a complete one would obviously be a lengthy business; but tell [e] me just this: are you able to make only that man good who is already persuaded that he ought to take lessons from you, or can you also make the man good who is not yet persuaded on this point, either because he believes that this thing, virtue, cannot be taught at all, or because he thinks that you two are not its teachers? Come tell me, does the task of persuading a man in this frame of mind both that virtue can be taught, and that you are the ones from whom he could learn it best, belong to this same art or to some other one?
It belongs to this same art, Socrates, said Dionysodorus.
[275] Then, Dionysodorus, I said, you and your brother are the men of the present day best able to exhort a man to philosophy and the practice of virtue?
This is exactly what we think, Socrates.
Then put off the rest of your display to another time and give us a demonstration of this one thing: persuade this young man here that he ought to love wisdom and
have a care for virtue, and you will oblige both me and all the present company. The boy’s situation is this: both I and all these people want him to become as good as possible. He is the son of [b] Axiochus (son of the old Alcibiades) and is cousin to the present Alcibiades—his name is Clinias. He is young, and we are anxious about him, as one naturally is about a boy of his age, for fear that somebody might get in ahead of us and turn his mind to some other interest and ruin him. So you two have arrived at the best possible moment. If you have no objection, make trial of the boy and converse with him in our presence.
When I had spoken, in almost these exact words, Euthydemus answered, [c] with a mixture of bravery and confidence. It makes no difference to us, Socrates, so long as the young man is willing to answer.
As a matter of fact, he is quite used to that, I said, since these people here are always coming to ask him all sorts of questions and to converse with him. So he is pretty brave at answering.
As to what happened next, Crito, how shall I give you an adequate description of it? It is no small task to be able to recall such wisdom in [d] detail, it was so great. So I ought to begin my account as the poets do, by invoking the Muses and Memory. Well, Euthydemus, as I remember, began something like this: Clinias, which are the men who learn, the wise or the ignorant?
Being confronted with this weighty question, the boy blushed and looked at me in doubt. And I, seeing that he was troubled, said, Cheer up, Clinias, and choose bravely whichever seems to you to be the right answer—he [e] may be doing you a very great service.
Just at this moment Dionysodorus leaned a little toward me and, smiling all over his face, whispered in my ear and said, I may tell you beforehand, Socrates, that whichever way the boy answers he will be refuted.
While he was saying this, Clinias gave his answer, so that I had no [276] chance to advise the boy to be careful; and he answered that the wise were the learners.
Complete Works Page 110
