Complete Works

by Plato, Cooper, John M. , Hutchinson, D. S.

  Oh yes, you know it, he said.

  Know what? said I.

  That the good are not unjust.

  Yes, I’ve always known that, I said. But this isn’t my question—what [297] I’m asking is, where did I learn that the good are unjust?

  Nowhere, said Dionysodorus.

  Then this is something I do not know, I said.

  You are ruining the argument, said Euthydemus to Dionysodorus, and this fellow here will turn out to be not knowing, and then he will be knowing and not knowing at the same time. And Dionysodorus blushed.

  But you, I said, what do you say, Euthydemus? Your all-knowing brother [b] doesn’t appear to be making a mistake, does he?

  Am I a brother of Euthydemus? said Dionysodorus, interrupting quickly.

  And I said, Let that pass, my good friend, until Euthydemus instructs me as to how I know that good men are unjust, and don’t begrudge me this piece of information.

  You are running away, Socrates, said Dionysodorus, and refusing to answer.

  And with good reason, said I, because I am weaker than either of you, so that I do not hesitate to run away from you both together. I am much [c] more worthless than Heracles, who was unable to fight it out with both the Hydra, a kind of lady-sophist who was so clever that if anyone cut off one of her heads of argument, she put forth many more in its place, and with another sort of sophist, a crab arrived on shore from the sea—rather recently, I think. And when Heracles was in distress because this creature was chattering and biting on his left, he called for his nephew Iolaus to come and help him, which Iolaus successfully did. But if my [d] Iolaus should come, he would do more harm than good.

  And when you have finished this song and story, said Dionysodorus, will you tell me whether Iolaus is any more Heracles’ nephew than yours?

  Well, I suppose it will be best for me if I answer you, Dionysodorus, I said, because you will not stop asking questions—I am quite convinced of that—out of an envious desire to prevent Euthydemus from teaching me that piece of wisdom.

  Then answer, he said.

  Well, I said, my answer is that Iolaus was the nephew of Heracles, but [e] as for being mine, I don’t see that he is, in any way whatsoever. Because my brother, Patrocles, was not his father, although Heracles’ brother, Iphicles, does have a name which is somewhat similar.

  And Patrocles, he said, is your brother?

  Yes indeed, said I—we have the same mother, though not the same father.

  Then he both is and is not your brother.

  Not by the same father, my good friend, I said, because his father was Chaeredemus and mine was Sophroniscus.

  But Sophroniscus and Chaeredemus were both fathers? he asked.

  Certainly, I said—the former was mine and the latter his. [298]

  Then was Chaeredemus other than a father? he said.

  Other than mine at any rate, said I.

  Then he was a father while he was other than a father? Or are you the same as a stone?

  I’m afraid you will show that I am, I said, although I don’t feel like one.

  Then are you other than a stone? he said.

  Yes, quite other.

  Then isn’t it the case that if you are other than a stone, you are not a stone, he said, and if you are other than gold, you are not gold?

  That’s true.

  Then Chaeredemus is not a father if he is other than a father, he said.

  So it seems that he is not a father, said I.

  [b] Because if Chaeredemus is a father, said Euthydemus, interrupting, then, on the other hand, Sophroniscus, being other than a father, is not a father, so that you, Socrates, are without a father.

  Here Ctesippus took up the argument, saying, Well, isn’t your father in just the same situation? Isn’t he other than my father?

  Far from it, said Euthydemus.

  What! Is he the same? he asked.

  The same, certainly.

  [c] I should not agree with that. But tell me, Euthydemus, is he just my father, or the father of everyone else as well?

  Of everyone else as well, he replied. Or do you think the same man is both a father and not a father?

  I was certainly of that opinion, said Ctesippus.

  What, he said—do you think that a thing can be both gold and not gold? Or both a man and not a man?

  But perhaps, Euthydemus, said Ctesippus, you are not uniting flax with flax, as the proverb has it. Because you are making an alarming statement if you say your father is the father of all.

  But he is, he replied.

  Just of men, said Ctesippus, or of horses and all the other animals?

  [d] All of them, he said.

  And is your mother their mother?

  Yes, she is.

  And is your mother the mother of sea urchins?

  Yes, and so is yours, he said.

  So you are the brother of gudgeons and puppies and piglets.

  Yes, and so are you, he said.

  And your father turns out to be a boar and a dog.

  And so does yours, he said.

  You will admit all this in a moment, Ctesippus, if you answer my questions, said Dionysodorus. Tell me, have you got a dog?

  Yes, and a brute of a one too, said Ctesippus.

  [e] And has he got puppies?

  Yes indeed, and they are just like him.

  And so the dog is their father?

  Yes, I saw him mounting the bitch myself, he said.

  Well then: isn’t the dog yours?

  Certainly, he said.

  Then since he is a father and is yours, the dog turns out to be your father, and you are the brother of puppies, aren’t you?

  And again Dionysodorus cut in quickly to keep Ctesippus from making some reply first and said, Just answer me one more small question: Do you beat this dog of yours?

  And Ctesippus laughed and said, Heavens yes, since I can’t beat you!

  Then do you beat your own father? he asked.

  There would certainly be much more reason for me to beat yours, he [299] said, for taking it into his head to beget such clever sons. But I suppose, Euthydemus, that the father of you and the puppies has benefited greatly from this wisdom of yours!

  But he has no need of a lot of good things, Ctesippus—he does not, and neither do you.

  Nor you either, Euthydemus? he asked.

  Nor any other man. Tell me, Ctesippus, do you think it a good thing [b] for a sick man to drink medicine whenever he needs it, or does it seem to you not a good thing? And do you think it good for a man to be armed when he goes to war rather than to go unarmed?

  It seems good to me, he said. And yet I think you are about to play one of your charming tricks.

  The best way to find out is to go ahead and answer, he said. Since you admit that it is a good thing for a man to drink medicine whenever he needs it, then oughtn’t he to drink as much as possible? And won’t it be fine if someone pounds up and mixes him a wagon load of hellebore?21

  And Ctesippus said, Very true indeed, Euthydemus, if the man drinking [c] is as big as the statue at Delphi!

  It also follows, he said, that since it is a good thing to be armed in war, a man ought to have as many spears and shields as possible, if it really is a good thing?

  It really does seem to be so, said Ctesippus. But surely you don’t believe this yourself, Euthydemus? Wouldn’t you prefer one shield and one spear?

  Yes, I would.

  And would you also arm Geryon and Briareus22 in this fashion? he asked. I thought you and your companion here were cleverer than that, considering that you both fight in armor.

  [d] Euthydemus was silent, but Dionysodorus went back to the answers Ctesippus had given earlier and asked, And what about gold, then? In your opinion is it a good thing to have?

  Yes indeed, and, in this case, lots of it, said Ctesippus.

  Well then, oughtn’t one to have good things always and everywhere?

  Very much so, he said.

  And you adm
it that gold is also one of the good things?

  Yes, I have admitted that already, he said.

  Then one should have it always and everywhere, and especially in [e] oneself? And wouldn’t a man be happiest of all if he had three talents of gold in his stomach, and a talent in his skull, and a stater of gold in each eye?

  Well, they do say, Euthydemus, said Ctesippus, that among the Scythians the happiest and best are the men who have a lot of gold in their own skulls (the same way that you were talking a moment ago about the dog being my father); and, what is still more remarkable, the story is that they also drink out of their own gilded skulls and gaze at the insides of them, having their own heads in their hands!23

  [300] Tell me, said Euthydemus, do the Scythians and the rest of mankind see things capable of sight or incapable?24

  Capable, I suppose.

  And do you do so too? he asked.

  Yes, so do I.

  And do you see our cloaks?

  Yes.

  Then these same cloaks are capable of sight.

  Remarkably so, said Ctesippus.

  Well, what do they see? he said.

  Nothing at all. And you, perhaps, don’t suppose you see them,25 you are such a sweet innocent. But you strike me, Euthydemus, as having fallen asleep with your eyes open; and if it is possible to speak and say nothing, you are doing exactly that.

  [b] But surely it is not possible for there to be a speaking of the silent, said Dionysodorus.26

  Entirely impossible, said Ctesippus.

  Then neither is there a silence of the speaking?

  Still less so, he answered.

  But whenever you mention stones and wood and pieces of iron, are you not speaking of the silent?

  Not if I go by the blacksmiths’ shops, he said, because there the pieces of iron are said to speak out and cry aloud if anyone handles them. So here, thanks to your wisdom, you were talking nonsense without being aware of it. But prove me the other point, how there can be a silence of the speaking.

  (I had the notion that Ctesippus was very much keyed up on account [c] of his favorite being there.)

  Whenever you are silent, said Euthydemus, are you not silent with respect to all things?

  Yes, I am, he said.

  Therefore, you are also silent with respect to the speaking, if “the speaking” is included in all things.

  What, said Ctesippus, all things are not silent, are they?

  I imagine not, said Euthydemus.

  Well then, my good friend, do all things speak?

  All the speaking ones, I suppose.

  But, he said, this is not my question—I want to know, are all things silent, or do they speak?

  Neither and both, said Dionysodorus, breaking in, and I’m convinced [d] you will be helpless in dealing with that answer.

  Ctesippus gave one of his tremendous laughs and said, Euthydemus, your brother has made the argument sit on both sides of the fence and it is ruined and done for! Clinias was very pleased and laughed too, which made Ctesippus swell to ten times his normal size. It is my opinion that Ctesippus, who is a bit of a rogue, had picked up these very things by overhearing these very men, because there is no wisdom of a comparable sort among any other person of the present day.

  And I said, Clinias, why are you laughing at such serious and beautiful [e] things?

  Why Socrates, have you ever yet seen a beautiful thing? asked Dionysodorus. Yes indeed, Dionysodorus, I said, and many of them.

  And were they different from the beautiful, he asked, or were they the [301] same as the beautiful?

  This put me in a terrible fix, which I thought I deserved for my grumbling. All the same I answered that they were different from the beautiful itself, but at the same time there was some beauty present with each of them.

  Then if an ox is present with you, you are an ox? And because I am present with you now, you are Dionysodorus?

  Heaven forbid, said I.

  But in what way, he said, can the different be different just because the different is present with the different?

  Are you in difficulties there? I said. (I was so eager to have the wisdom [b] of the pair that I was already trying to copy it.)

  How can I not be in difficulties? he said. Not only I but everyone else must be, when a thing is impossible.

  What are you saying, Dionysodorus? I said. Isn’t the beautiful beautiful and the ugly ugly?

  Yes, if I like, he said.

  And do you like?

  Certainly, he said.

  Then isn’t it also the case that the same is the same and the different [c] different? Because I don’t imagine that the different is the same, but I thought even a child would hardly doubt that the different is different. But you must have neglected this point deliberately, Dionysodorus, since in every other respect you and your brother strike me as bringing the art of argument to a fine pitch of excellence, like craftsmen who bring to completion whatever work constitutes their proper business.

  You know then, he said, what the proper business of each craftsman is? For instance, you know whose business it is to work metal?

  Yes, I do—the blacksmith’s.

  Well then, what about making pots?

  The potter’s.

  And again, to slaughter and skin, and to boil and roast the pieces after cutting them up?

  [d] The cook’s, I said.

  Now if a man does the proper business, he said, he will do rightly?

  Very much so.

  And the proper business in the case of the cook is, as you say, to cut up and skin?27 You did agree to that didn’t you?

  Yes, I did, I said, but forgive me.

  Then it is clear, he said, that if someone kills the cook and cuts him up, and then boils him and roasts him, he will be doing the proper business. And if anyone hammers the blacksmith himself, and puts the potter on [e] the wheel, he will also be doing the proper business.

  By Posidon, I exclaimed, you are putting the finishing touches on your wisdom! And do you think that such skill will ever be mine?

  And would you recognize it, Socrates, he asked, if it did become yours?

  If only you are willing, I said, I clearly would.

  What’s that, said he—do you think you know your own possessions?

  Yes, unless you forbid it—for all my hopes must begin with you and end with Euthydemus here.

  And do you consider those things to be yours over which you have [302] control and which you are allowed to treat as you please? For instance, an ox or a sheep: do you regard these as yours because you are free to sell them or give them away or sacrifice them to any god you please? And if you could not treat them in this fashion, then they would not be yours?

  And because I knew that some fine thing would emerge from their questions, and, at the same time, because I wanted to hear it as quickly as possible, I said, This is exactly the case—it is only things like these which are mine.

  Very well, he said. You give the name of living beings to all things that have a soul, don’t you?

  Yes, I said.

  And you admit that only those living beings are yours over which you [b] have power to do all these things I mentioned just now?

  I admit it.

  And he pretended to pause as though he were contemplating some weighty matter, and then said, Tell me, Socrates, do you have an ancestral Zeus?28

  I had a suspicion (a correct one as it turned out) of the way in which the argument would end, and I began to make a desperate effort to escape, twisting about as though I were already caught in the net.

  No, I have not, Dionysodorus, I said.

  Then you are a miserable sort of fellow, and not even an Athenian, if [c] you have no ancestral gods nor shrines, nor any of the other things of this sort which befit a gentleman.

  Enough of that, Dionysodorus—mind your tongue and don’t give me a lecture which is prematurely harsh. I certainly do have altars; and I have shrines, both domestic and ancestral, and everything else
of the kind, just like the other Athenians.

  Well, what about the other Athenians? he said. Doesn’t each of them have an ancestral Zeus?

  None of the Ionians use that expression, I said, neither those who are colonists from the city nor we ourselves. We do have an ancestral Apollo because of Ion’s parentage,29 but Zeus is not given the name of “ancestral” [d] by us. Rather we call him “defender of the house” or “of the tribe,” and we also have an Athena “of the tribe.”

  Oh, that will do, said Dionysodorus, since you do appear to have an Apollo and a Zeus and an Athena.

  Certainly, said I.

  Then these would be your gods? he said.

  My ancestors, I said, and my masters.

  But at any rate they are yours, he said. Or didn’t you admit that they were?

  Yes, I admitted it, I said. What is going to happen to me?

  [e] Then these gods, he said, are also living beings? Because you have admitted that everything which has a soul is a living being. Or don’t these gods have a soul?

  Oh yes, they do, I said.

  Then they are living beings?

  Yes, living beings, I said.

  And you have agreed that those living beings are yours which you have a right to give away and to sell and to sacrifice to any god you please.

  Yes, I agreed to that, I said—there is no retreat for me, Euthydemus.

  [303] Then come tell me straightway, he said: since you admit that Zeus and the other gods are yours, then do you have the right to sell them or give them away or treat them in any way you like, as you do with the other living creatures?

  Then I, Crito, lay speechless, just as if the argument had struck me a blow. But Ctesippus ran to my aid, saying, Bravo, Heracles, what a fine argument! And Dionysodorus said, Is Heracles a bravo, or is a bravo Heracles? And Ctesippus said, By Posidon, what marvelous arguments! I give up—the pair are unbeatable.

  [b] Whereupon, my dear Crito, there was no one there who did not praise to the skies the argument and the two men, laughing and applauding and exulting until they were nearly exhausted. In the case of each and every one of the previous arguments, it was only the admirers of Euthydemus who made such an enthusiastic uproar; but now it almost seemed as if the pillars of the Lyceum applauded the pair and took pleasure in their [c] success. Even I myself was so affected by it as to declare that I had never in my life seen such wise men; and I was so absolutely captivated by their wisdom that I began to praise and extol them and said, O happy pair, what miraculous endowment you possess to have brought such a thing to perfection in so short a time! Among the many other fine things which belong to your arguments, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, there is one which is the most magnificent of all, that you care nothing for the many, [d] or in fact, for men of consequence or reputation, but only for persons of your own sort. And I am convinced that there are very few men like you who would appreciate these arguments, but that the majority understand them so little that I feel sure they would be more ashamed to refute others with arguments of this sort than to be refuted by them. And then there is this other public-spirited and kindly aspect of your performance; whenever you deny that there is anything beautiful or good or white, and that the [e] different is in any way different, you do in fact completely stitch up men’s mouths, as you say. But since you would appear to stitch up your own as well, you are behaving in a charming fashion and the harshness of your words is quite removed. But the greatest thing of all is that your skill is such, and is so skillfully contrived, that anyone can master it in a very short time. I myself found this out by watching Ctesippus and seeing how quickly he was able to imitate you on the spur of the moment. This ability [304] of your technique to be picked up rapidly is a fine thing,30 but not something which lends itself well to public performance. If you will take my advice, be careful not to talk in front of a large group; the listeners are likely to master it right away and give you no credit. Better just talk to each other in private, or, if you must have an audience, then let no one come unless he gives you money. And if you are sensible you will give your disciples [b] the same advice, never to argue with anyone but yourselves and each other. For it is the rare thing, Euthydemus, which is the precious one, and water is cheapest, even though, as Pindar said, it is the best.31 But come, said I, and see to admitting Clinias and me to your classes.