Euthydemus
Plato
Plato in Twelve Volumes, Vol. 2 translated by W.R.M. Lamb. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press; London, William Heinemann Ltd. 1924.
Meanwhile Cleinias answered Euthydemus, that learners learnt what they did not know; so he had to meet the same course of questions as before: Well then, asked the other, do you not know your letters?Yes, he said. All of them? He admitted it. Now when anyone dictates some piece or other, does he not dictate letters? He admitted it. And he dictates things of which you know something, since you know all of them? He admitted this too. Well now, said the other, surely you do not learn whatever such a person dictates; it is rather he who does not know his letters that learns? No, he replied; I learn. Then you learn what you know, since you know all your letters. He agreed. So your answer was not correct, he said. The last word was hardly out of Euthydemus’ mouth when Dionysodorus caught, as it were, the ball of the argument and, aiming at the boy again, said: Euthydemus is deceiving you, Cleinias. Tell me, is not learning the reception of knowledge of that which one learns? Cleinias agreed. And is not knowing, he went on, just having knowledge at the time? He assented. So that not knowing is not yet having knowledge? He agreed with him. Then are those who receive anything those who have it already, or those who have it not? Those who have it not. And you have admitted that those who do not know belong also to this class of those who have it not? He nodded assent. And the learners belong to the class of the receiving and not to that of the having? He agreed. Hence it is those who do not know that learn, Cleinias, and not those who know. Euthydemus was proceeding to press the youth for the third fall, when I, perceiving the lad was going under, and wishing to give him some breathing-space lest he should shame us by losing heart, encouraged him with these words: Cleinias, do not be surprised that these arguments seem strange to you; for perhaps you do not discern what our two visitors are doing to you. They are acting just like the celebrants of the Corybantic rites, when they perform the enthronement of the person whom they are about to initiate. There, as you know, if you have been through it, they have dancing and merrymaking: so here these two are merely dancing about you and performing their sportive gambols with a view to your subsequent initiation. You must now, accordingly, suppose you are listening to the first part of the professorial mysteries.
First of all, as Prodicus says, you have to learn about the correct use of words—the very point that our two visitors are making plain to you, namely, that you were unaware that learning is the name which people apply on the one hand to the case of a man who, having originally no knowledge about some matter, in course of time receives such knowledge; and on the other hand the same word is applied when, having the knowledge already, he uses that knowledge for the investigation of the same matter whether occurring in action or in speech. It is true that they tend rather to call it understanding than learning, but occasionally they call it learning too; and this point, as our friends are demonstrating, has escaped your notice—how the same word is used for people who are in the opposite conditions of knowing and not knowing. A similar point underlay the second question, where they asked you whether people learn what they know, or what they do not. Such things are the sport of the sciences—and that is why I tell you these men are making game of you; I call it sport because, although one were to learn many or even all of such tricks, one would be not a whit the wiser as to the true state of the matters in hand, but only able to make game of people, thanks to the difference in the sense of the words, by tripping them up and overturning them; just as those who slyly pull stools away from persons who are about to sit down make merry and laugh when they see one sprawling on one’s back. So far, then, you are to regard these gentlemen’s treatment of you as mere play: but after this they will doubtless display to you their own serious object, while I shall keep them on the track and see that they fulfil the promise they gave me. They said they would exhibit their skill in exhortation; but instead, I conceive, they thought fit to make sport with you first. So now, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, let us have done with your sport: I daresay you have had as much as you want. What you have next to do is to give us a display of exhorting this youth as to how he should devote himself to wisdom and virtue. But first I shall explain to you how I regard this matter and how I desire to hear it dealt with. If I strike you as treating it in a crude and ridiculous manner, do not laugh me to scorn; for in my eagerness to listen to your wisdom I shall venture to improvise in your presence. So both you and your disciples must restrain yourselves and listen without laughing; and you, son of Axiochus, answer me this: Do all we human beings wish to prosper? Or is this question one of the absurdities I was afraid of just now? For I suppose it is stupid merely to ask such things, since every man must wish to prosper.
Everyone in the world, said Cleinias.Well then, I asked, as to the next step, since we wish to prosper, how can we prosper? Will it be if we have many good things? Or is this an even sillier question than the other? For surely this too must obviously be so. He agreed. Come now, of things that are, what sort do we hold to be really good? Or does it appear to be no difficult matter, and no problem for an important person, to find here too a ready answer? Anyone will tell us that to be rich is good, surely? Quite true, he said. Then it is the same with being healthy and handsome, and having the other bodily endowments in plenty? He agreed. Again, it is surely clear that good birth and talents and distinctions in one’s own country are good things. He admitted it. Then what have we still remaining, I asked, in the class of goods? What of being temperate, and just, and brave? I bay you tell me, Cleinias, do you think we shall be right in ranking these as goods, or in rejecting them? For it may be that someone will dispute it. How does it strike you? They are goods, said Cleinias. Very well, I went on, and where in the troupe shall we station wisdom? Among the goods, or how? Among the goods. Then take heed that we do not pass over any of the goods that may deserve mention. I do not think we are leaving any out, said Cleinias. Hereupon I recollected one and said: Yes, by Heaven, we are on the verge of omitting the greatest of the goods. What is that? he asked. Good fortune, Cleinias: a thing which all men, even the worst fools, refer to as the greatest of goods. You are right, he said. Once again I reconsidered and said: We have almost made ourselves laughing-stocks, you and I, son of Axiochus, for our visitors. What is wrong now? he asked. Why, after putting good fortune in our former list, we have just been discussing the same thing again. What is the point? Surely it is ridiculous, when a thing has been before us all the time, to set it forth again and go over the same ground twice. To what are you referring? he asked. Wisdom, I replied, is presumably good fortune: even a child could see that. He wondered at this—he is still so young and simple-minded: then I, perceiving his surprise, went on: Can you be unaware, Cleinias, that for success in flute-music it is the flute-players that have the best fortune? He agreed to this. Then in writing and reading letters it will be the schoolmasters.[*](γραμματισταί were the schoolmasters who taught reading and writing and explained the difficulties of Homer in primary education.) Certainly. Well now, for the dangers of a sea-voyage, do you consider any pilots to he more fortunate, as a general rule, than the wise ones? No, to be sure.