Cleinias, and their art is lofty and divine, and no wonder. For their
art is a part of the great art of enchantment, and hardly, if at all,
inferior to it: and whereas the art of the enchanter is a mode of
charming snakes and spiders and scorpions, and other monsters and
pests, this art of theirs acts upon dicasts and ecclesiasts and bodies
of men, for the charming and pacifying of them. Do you agree with me?
Yes, he said, I think that you are quite right.
Whither then shall we go, I said, and to what art shall we have
recourse?
I do not see my way, he said.
But I think that I do, I replied.
And what is your notion? asked Cleinias.
I think that the art of the general is above all others the one of
which the possession is most likely to make a man happy.
I do not think so, he said.
Why not? I said.
The art of the general is surely an art of hunting mankind.
What of that? I said.
Why, he said, no art of hunting extends beyond hunting and capturing;
and when the prey is taken the huntsman or fisherman cannot use it;
but they hand it over to the cook, and the geometricians and
astronomers and calculators (who all belong to the hunting class, for
they do not make their diagrams, but only find out that which was
previously contained in them)-they, I say, not being able to use but
only to catch their prey, hand over their inventions to the
dialectician to be applied by him, if they have any sense in them.
Good, I said, fairest and wisest Cleinias. And is this true?
Certainly, he said; just as a general when he takes a city or a camp
hands over his new acquisition to the statesman, for he does not know
how to use them himself; or as the quail-taker transfers the quails to
the keeper of them. If we are looking for the art which is to make us
blessed, and which is able to use that which it makes or takes, the
art of the general is not the one, and some other must be found.
Cri. And do you mean, Socrates, that the youngster said all this?
Soc. Are you incredulous, Crito?
Cri. Indeed, I am; for if he did say so, then in my opinion he needs
neither Euthydemus nor any one else to be his instructor.
Soc. Perhaps I may have forgotten, and Ctesippus was the real
answerer.
Cri. Ctesippus! nonsense.
Soc. All I know is that I heard these words, and that they were not
spoken either by Euthydemus or Dionysodorus. I dare say, my good
Crito, that they may have been spoken by some superior person: that I
heard them I am certain.
Cri. Yes, indeed, Socrates, by some one a good deal superior, as I
should be disposed to think. But did you carry the search any further,
and did you find the art which you were seeking?
Soc. Find! my dear sir, no indeed. And we cut a poor figure; we were
like children after larks, always on the point of catching the art,
which was always getting away from us. But why should I repeat the
whole story? At last we came to the kingly art, and enquired whether
that gave and caused happiness, and then we got into a labyrinth, and
when we thought we were at the end, came out again at the beginning,
having still to seek as much as ever.
Cri. How did that happen, Socrates?
Soc. I will tell you; the kingly art was identified by us with the
political.
Cri. Well, and what came of that?
Soc. To this royal or political art all the arts, including the art of
the general, seemed to render up the supremacy, that being the only
one which knew how to use what they produce. Here obviously was the
very art which we were seeking-the art which is the source of good
government, and which may be described, in the language of Aeschylus,
as alone sitting at the helm of the vessel of state, piloting and