Your belief is correct, Socrates, and your supposition just.

Come now, and do your part in finishing off the answer to my question. Since rhetoric is in fact one of these arts which depend mainly on speech, and there are likewise other arts of the same nature, try if you can tell me with what this rhetoric, which has its effect in speech, is concerned. For instance, suppose some one asked me about one or other of the arts which I was mentioning just now: Socrates, what is the art of numeration? I should tell him, 451b as you did me a moment ago, that it is one of those which have their effect through speech. And suppose he went on to ask: With what is its speech concerned? I should say: With the odd and even numbers, and the question of how many units there are in each. And if he asked again: What art is it that you call calculation? I should say that this also is one of those which achieve their whole effect by speech. And if he proceeded to ask: With what is it concerned? I should say— 451c in the manner of those who draft amendments in the Assembly—that in most respects calculation is in the same case as numeration, for both are concerned with the same thing, the odd and the even; but that they differ to this extent, that calculation considers the numerical values of odd and even numbers not merely in themselves but in relation to each other. And suppose, on my saying that astronomy also achieves its whole effect by speech, he were to ask me: And the speech of astronomy, with what is it concerned? I should say: With the courses of the stars and sun and moon, and their relative speeds.

And you would be right, Socrates.

Come then and do your part, Gorgias: rhetoric is one of those arts, is it not, which carry out their work and achieve their effect by speech.

That is so.

Then tell me what they deal with: what subject is it, of all in the world, that is dealt with by this speech employed by rhetoric?

The greatest of human affairs, Socrates, and the best.

But that also, Gorgias, is ambiguous, 451eand still by no means clear. I expect you have heard people singing over their cups the old catch, in which the singers enumerate the best things in life,—first health, then beauty, and thirdly, as the maker of the catch puts it, wealth got without guile.¹

Yes, I have heard it; but what is the point of your quotation?

I mean that, supposing the producers of those blessings which the maker of the catch commends—namely, the doctor, the trainer, and the money-getter—were to stand before you this moment, and the doctor first should say: “Gorgias is deceiving you, Socrates for it is not his art, but mine, that deals with man’s greatest good.” Then supposing I were to ask him: “And who are you, to say so?” He would probably reply: “A doctor.” “Well, what do you mean? That the work of your art is the greatest good?” “What else, Socrates,” I expect he would reply, “is health? What greater good 452b is there for men than health?” And supposing the trainer came next and said: “I also should be surprised indeed, Socrates, if Gorgias could show you a greater good in his art than I can in mine.” Again I should say to him in his turn: “And who are you, sir? What is your work?” “A trainer,” he would reply, “and my work is making men’s bodies beautiful and strong.” After the trainer would come the money-getter, saying— 452c with, I fancy, a fine contempt for every one: “Pray consider, Socrates, if you can find a good that is greater than wealth, either in Gorgias’ view or in that of anyone else at all.” “Why then,” we should say to him, “are you a producer of that?” “Yes,” he would say. “And who are you?” “A money-getter.” “Well then,” we shall say to him, “do you judge wealth to be the greatest good for men?” “Of course,” he will reply. “But look here,” we should say; “our friend Gorgias contends that his own art is a cause of greater good than yours.” Then doubtless his next question would be: 452d “And what is that good? Let Gorgias answer.” Now come, Gorgias; imagine yourself being questioned by those persons and by me, and tell us what is this thing that you say is the greatest good for men, and that you claim to produce.

A thing, Socrates, which in truth is the greatest good, and a cause not merely of freedom to mankind at large, but also of dominion to single persons in their several cities.

Well, and what do you call it?

I call it the ability to persuade with speeches either judges in the law courts or statesmen in the council-chamber or the commons in the Assembly or an audience at any other meeting that may be held on public affairs. And I tell you that by virtue of this power you will have the doctor as your slave, and the trainer as your slave; your money-getter will turn out to be making money not for himself, but for another,—in fact for you, who are able to speak and persuade the multitude.

I think now, Gorgias, you have come very near to showing us 453athe art of rhetoric as you conceive it, and if I at all take your meaning, you say that rhetoric is a producer of persuasion, and has therein its whole business and main consummation. Or can you tell us of any other function it can have beyond that of effecting persuasion in the minds of an audience?

None at all, Socrates; your definition seems to me satisfactory; that is the main substance of the art.

Then listen, Gorgias: I, let me assure you, 453b for so I persuade myself—if ever there was a man who debated with another from a desire of knowing the truth of the subject discussed, I am such a man; and so, I trust, are you.

Well, what then, Socrates?

I will now tell you. What the real nature of the persuasion is that you speak of as resulting from rhetoric, and what the matters are with which persuasion deals, I assure you I do not clearly understand; though I may have my suspicions as to what I suppose you to mean by it, and with what things you think it deals. But nevertheless I will ask you what you do mean by the persuasion that results from rhetoric, 453c and with what matters you think it deals. Now why is it that, having a suspicion of my own, I am going to ask you this, instead of stating it myself? It is not on your account, but with a view to the argument, and to such a progress in it as may best reveal to us the point we are discussing. Just see if you do not think it fair of me to press you with my question: suppose I happened to ask you what Zeuxis was among painters, and you said “a figure painter,” would it not be fair of me to ask you what sort of figures he painted, and where?

Certainly.

Would this be the reason—that there are also other painters who depict a variety of other figures?

Yes.

But if no one besides Zeuxis were a painter, your answer would have been right?

Yes, of course.

Come then, tell me now about rhetoric: do you think rhetoric alone effects persuasion, or can other arts do it as well? I mean, for example, when a man teaches anything, does he persuade in his teaching? Or do you think not?

No, to be sure, Socrates, I think he most certainly does persuade.

Then let us repeat our question with reference to the same arts that we spoke of just now: does not numeration, or the person skilled in numeration, teach us all that pertains to number?

Certainly.

And persuades also?

Yes.

So that numeration also is a producer of persuasion?

Apparently.

Then if we are asked what kind of persuasion, and dealing with what, we shall reply, I suppose: The instructive kind, which deals with the amount of an odd or an even number; 454aand we shall be able to demonstrate that all the other arts which we mentioned just now are producers of persuasion, and what kind it is, and what it deals with, shall we not?

Yes.

Hence rhetoric is not the only producer of persuasion.

You are right.

Since then it is not the only one that achieves this effect, but others can also, we should be justified in putting this further question to the speaker, as we did concerning the painter: Then of what kind of persuasion, and of persuasion dealing with what, is rhetoric the art? 454b Or do you not consider that such a further question would be justified?

Yes, I do.

Then answer me, Gorgias, since you agree with me on that.

Well then, I mean that kind of persuasion, Socrates, which you find in the law-courts and in any public gatherings, as in fact I said just now; and it deals with what is just and unjust.

I, too, I may tell you, had a suspicion that it was this persuasion that you meant, and as dealing with those things, Gorgias; but you must not be surprised if I ask you by-and-by some such question as may seem to be obvious, though I persist in it; 454c for, as I say, I ask my questions with a view to an orderly completion of our argument—I am not aiming at you, but only anxious that we do not fall into a habit of snatching at each other’s words with a hasty guess, and that you may complete your own statement in your own way, as the premises may allow.

And I think you are quite right in doing so, Socrates.

Come then, let us consider another point. Is there something that you call “having learnt.”

There is.

And again, “having believed”?

Yes.

Then do you think that having learnt and having believed, or learning and belief, are the same thing, or different?

In my opinion, Socrates, they are different.

And your opinion is right, as you can prove in this way: if some one asked you—Is there, Gorgias, a false and a true belief?—you would say, Yes, I imagine.

I should.

But now, is there a false and a true knowledge?

Surely not.

So it is evident again that they² are not the same.

You are right.

But yet those who have learnt have been persuaded, as well as those who have believed.

That is so.

Then would you have us assume two forms of persuasion—one providing belief without knowledge, and the other sure knowledge?

Certainly.

Now which kind of persuasion is it that rhetoric creates in law courts or any public meeting on matters of right and wrong? The kind from which we get belief without knowledge, or that from which we get knowledge?

Obviously, I presume, Socrates, that from which we get belief.