Euthydemus

SOCRATES: ‘But indeed,’ Euthydemus said, ‘do the Scythians and other humans see things that are capable of seeing, or things that are incapable?’ ‘—Things capable, surely.’ ‘—Therefore you also see?’ he said. ‘—I too.’ ‘—Do you see our cloaks?’ ‘—Yes.’ ‘—Are these, then, capable of seeing?’ ‘—Wonderfully so,’ said Ctesippus. ‘—What then do they see?’ he said. ‘—Nothing. But perhaps you don’t think they see; so sweet you are. But you seem to me, O Euthydemus, not sleeping but having fallen asleep, and, if it is possible speaking to say nothing, you also do this.’ ’For indeed is it not possible,’ Dionysodorus said, ‘for a silent person to speak?’ ‘—Not in any way,’ said Ctesippus. ‘—Nor for a speaking person to keep silent?’ ‘—Still less,’ he said. ‘—When then you speak of stones and woods and irons, do you not speak of silent things?’ ‘—Not indeed if I,’ he said, ‘pass by the blacksmiths’ shops, but the irons are said to speak and cry out very loudly if someone touches them; so you have failed to say anything by your wisdom. But show me the other thing, how again it is possible for a speaking person to keep silent.’ And Ctesippus seemed to me to be extremely anxious on account of his beloved. ‘When you are silent,’ said Euthydemus, ‘do you not keep silent about all things?’ ‘—I indeed do,’ he said. ‘—Therefore you also keep silent about the speaking things, if indeed they are among all things.’ ‘—What?’ said Ctesippus, ‘do not all things keep silent?’ ‘—Surely not,’ said Euthydemus. ‘—But then, my good man, do all things speak?’ ‘—The speaking things, surely.’ ‘—But,’ he said, ‘I don’t ask this, but do all things keep silent or speak?’ ’Neither and both,’ said Dionysodorus, snatching the word; ‘for I well know that you will not know what to do with the answer.’ And Ctesippus, as was his custom, laughing out very loud, said, ‘O Euthydemus, your brother has made the argument go both ways, and he is ruined and defeated.’ And Cleinias was very pleased and laughed, so that Ctesippus became ten times larger. But Ctesippus, as it seems to me, being a rogue, had overheard these very things from these very men; for there is no other such wisdom among men of today. And I said: ‘Why do you laugh, O Cleinias, at such serious and beautiful things?’ ‘Have you ever seen any beautiful thing, O Socrates?’ said Dionysodorus. ‘—I indeed have, and many indeed, O Dionysodorus,’ I said.

’Are they other than the beautiful,’ he said, ‘or the same as the beautiful?’ And I was in every way in difficulty under my perplexity, and I thought I had suffered justly because I had grunted, but nevertheless I said they were other than the beautiful itself, but nevertheless there is present to each of them some beauty. ‘If then,’ he said, ‘an ox is present to you, are you an ox? And because I am now present to you, are you Dionysodorus?’ ‘Keep quiet about this, at least!’ I said. ‘But in what way,’ he said, ‘when one thing is present to another, would the other be other?’ ’Are you in doubt about this?’ I said. And already I was attempting to imitate the wisdom of the two men, since I desired it. ‘How indeed should I not be in doubt,’ he said, ‘and I and all other humans, about what is not?’ ‘What do you say, O Dionysodorus? Is not the beautiful beautiful, and the ugly ugly?’ ‘—If indeed it seems so to me,’ he said. ‘—And does it not seem so?’ ‘—Very much so,’ he said. ‘—Therefore is not the same same, and the other other? For surely the other is not the same; but I indeed would not have thought even a child would doubt this, that the other is other. But, O Dionysodorus, you have let this pass willingly, since in other things you seem to me, like the craftsmen to whom it belongs to work out each thing, you also work out discussing beautifully.’ ‘Do you know then,’ he said, ‘what belongs to each of the craftsmen? First, to whom does it belong to work in bronze, do you know?’ ‘—I do; to a blacksmith.’ ‘—And what of making pottery?’ ‘—To a potter.’ ‘—And what of slaughtering, skinning, and hacking the small pieces of meat to boil and roast them?’ ’To a cook,’ I said. ‘—Therefore, if someone,’ he said, ‘does what is fitting, will he do rightly?’ ‘—Most certainly.’ ‘—And is it fitting, as you say, for the cook to hack and skin? Did you agree to this or not?’ ‘—I agreed,’ I said, ‘but have mercy on me.’ ‘—It is clear then,’ he said, ‘that if someone slaughters the cook and hacks him, and boils and roasts him, he will do what is fitting; and if someone hammers the blacksmith himself and pots the potter, he also will do what is fitting.’ ’O Poseidon,’ I said, ‘now you put the finishing stroke on your wisdom. Will this ever be present to me so as to become my own?’ ‘Would you recognize it, O Socrates,’ he said, ‘when it has become your own?’ ‘—If you indeed wish it,’ I said, ‘clearly yes.’ ‘—And what?’ he said, ‘do you think you know your own things?’ ‘—Unless you say something else; for one must begin from you, and end in Euthydemus here.’