Plato
EAETETUS
translated
by Benjamin Jowett
Persons of the
Dialogue :
SOCRATES ; THEODORUS ;
THEAETETUS.
Scene : Euclid and
Terpsion meet in front of Euclid’s house in Megara ; they enter the house,
and the dialogue is read to them by a servant.
Euclid. Have you only just
arrived from the country, Terpsion ?
Terpsion. No, I came some
time ago : and I have been in the Agora looking for you, and wondering that
I could not find you.
Euc. But I was not in
the city.
Terp. Where
then ?
Euc. As I was going
down to the harbour, I met Theaetetus — he was being carried up to Athens from
the army at Corinth.
Terp. Was he alive or
dead ?
Euc. He was scarcely
alive, for he has been badly wounded ; but he was suffering even more from
the sickness which has broken out in the army.
Terp. The dysentery, you
mean ?
Euc.
Yes.
Terp. Alas ! what a
loss he will be !
Euc. Yes, Terpsion, he
is a noble fellow ; only to-day I heard some people highly praising his
behaviour in this very battle.
Terp. No wonder ; I
should rather be surprised at hearing anything else of him. But why did he go
on, instead of stopping at Megara ?
Euc. He wanted to get
home : although I entreated and advised him to remain he would not listen
to me ; so I set him on his way, and turned back, and then I remembered
what Socrates had said of him, and thought how remarkably this, like all his
predictions, had been fulfilled. I believe that he had seen him a little before
his own death, when Theaetetus was a youth, and he had a memorable conversation
with him, which he repeated to me when I came to Athens ; he was full of
admiration of his genius, and said that he would most certainly be a great man,
if he lived.
Terp. The prophecy has
certainly been fulfilled ; but what was the conversation ? can you
tell me ?
Euc. No, indeed, not
offhand ; but I took notes of it as soon as I got home ; these I
filled up from memory, writing them out at leisure ; and whenever I went to
Athens, I asked Socrates about any point which I had forgotten, and on my return
I made corrections ; thus I have nearly the whole conversation written
down.
Terp. I remember — you
told me ; and I have always been intending to ask you to show me the
writing, but have put off doing so ; and now, why should we not read it
through ? — having just come from the country, I should greatly like to
rest.
Euc. I too shall be
very glad of a rest, for I went with Theaetetus as far as Erineum. Let us go in,
then, and, while we are reposing, the servant shall read to
us.
Terp. Very
good.
Euc. Here is the roll,
Terpsion ; I may observe that I have introduced Socrates, not as narrating
to me, but as actually conversing with the persons whom he mentioned — these
were, Theodorus the geometrician (of Cyrene), and Theaetetus. I have omitted,
for the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words “I said,” “I remarked,”
which he used when he spoke of himself, and again, “he agreed,” or “disagreed,”
in the answer, lest the repetition of them should be
troublesome.
Terp. Quite right,
Euclid.
Euc. And now, boy, you
may take the roll and read.
Euclid’s servant
reads.
Socrates. If I cared enough
about the Cyrenians, Theodorus, I would ask you whether there are any rising
geometricians or philosophers in that part of the world. But I am more
interested in our own Athenian youth, and I would rather know who among them are
likely to do well. I observe them as far as I can myself, and I enquire of any
one whom they follow, and I see that a great many of them follow you, in which
they are quite right, considering your eminence in geometry and in other ways.
Tell me then, if you have met with any one who is good for
anything.
Theodorus. Yes, Socrates, I
have become acquainted with one very remarkable Athenian youth, whom I commend
to you as well worthy of your attention. If he had been a beauty I should have
been afraid to praise him, lest you should suppose that I was in love with
him ; but he is no beauty, and you must not be offended if I say that he is
very like you ; for he has a snub nose and projecting eyes, although these
features are less marked in him than in you. Seeing, then, that he has no
personal attractions, I may freely say, that in all my acquaintance, which is
very large, I never knew anyone who was his equal in natural gifts : for he
has a quickness of apprehension which is almost unrivalled, and he is
exceedingly gentle, and also the most courageous of men ; there is a union
of qualities in him such as I have never seen in any other, and should scarcely
have thought possible ; for those who, like him, have quick and ready and
retentive wits, have generally also quick tempers ; they are ships without
ballast, and go darting about, and are mad rather than courageous ; and the
steadier sort, when they have to face study, prove stupid and cannot remember.
Whereas he moves surely and smoothly and successfully in the path of knowledge
and enquiry ; and he is full of gentleness, flowing on silently like a
river of oil ; at his age, it is wonderful.
Soc. That is good
news ; whose son is he ?
Theod. The name of his
father I have forgotten, but the youth himself is the middle one of those who
are approaching us ; he and his companions have been anointing themselves
in the outer court, and now they seem to have finished, and are towards us. Look
and see whether you know him.
Soc. I know the youth,
but I do not know his name ; he is the son of Euphronius the Sunian, who
was himself an eminent man, and such another as his son is, according to your
account of him ; I believe that he left a considerable
fortune.
Theod. Theaetetus,
Socrates, is his name ; but I rather think that the property disappeared in
the hands of trustees ; notwithstanding which he is wonderfully
liberal.
Soc. He must be a fine
fellow ; tell him to come and sit by me.
Theod. I will. Come
hither, Theaetetus, and sit by Socrates.
Soc. By all means,
Theaetetus, in order that I may see the reflection of myself in your face, for
Theodorus says that we are alike ; and yet if each of us held in his hands
a lyre, and he said that they were, tuned alike, should we at once take his
word, or should we ask whether he who said so was or was not a
musician ?
Theaetetus. We should
ask.
Soc. And if we found
that he was, we should take his word ; and if not,
not ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And if this
supposed, likeness of our faces is a matter of any interest to us we should
enquire whether he who says that we are alike is a painter or
not ?
Theaet. Certainly we
should.
Soc. And is Theodorus a
painter ?
Theaet. I never heard that
he was.
Soc. Is he a
geometrician ?
Theaet. Of course he is,
Socrates.
Soc. And is he an
astronomer and calculator and musician, and in general an educated
man ?
Theaet. I think
so.
Soc. If, then, he
remarks on a similarity in our persons, either by way of praise or blame, there
is no particular reason why we should attend to him.
Theaet. I should say
not.
Soc. But if he praises
the virtue or wisdom which are the mental endowments of either of us, then he
who hears the praises will naturally desire to examine him who is praised :
and he again should be willing to exhibit himself.
Theaet. Very true,
Socrates.
Soc. Then now is the
time, my dear Theaetetus, for me to examine, and for you to exhibit ; since
although Theodorus has praised many a citizen and stranger in my hearing, never
did I hear him praise any one as he has been praising you.
Theaet. I am glad to hear
it, Socrates ; but what if he was only in jest ?
Soc. Nay, Theodorus is
not given to jesting ; and I cannot allow you to retract your consent on
any such pretence as that. If you do, he will have to swear to his words ;
and we are perfectly sure that no one will be found to impugn him. Do not be shy
then, but stand to your word.
Theaet. I suppose I must,
if you wish it.
Soc. In the first
place, I should like to ask what you learn of Theodorus : something of
geometry, perhaps ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And astronomy and
harmony and calculation ?
Theaet. I do my
best.
Soc. Yes, my boy, and
so do I : and my desire is to learn of him, or of anybody who seems to
understand these things. And I get on pretty well in general ; but there is
a little difficulty which I want you and the company to aid me in investigating.
Will you answer me a question : “Is not learning growing wiser about that
which you learn ?”
Theaet. Of
course.
Soc. And by wisdom the
wise are wise ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And is that
different in any way from knowledge ?
Theaet.
What ?
Soc. Wisdom ; are
not men wise in that which they know ?
Theaet. Certainly they
are.
Soc. Then wisdom and
knowledge are the same ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Herein lies the
difficulty which I can never solve to my satisfaction — What is knowledge ?
Can we answer that question ? What say you ? which of us will speak
first ? whoever misses shall sit down, as at a game of ball, and shall be
donkey, as the boys say ; he who lasts out his competitors in the game
without missing, shall be our king, and shall have the right of putting to us
any questions which he pleases. .. Why is there no reply ? I hope,
Theodorus, that I am not betrayed into rudeness by my love of
conversation ? I only want to make us talk and be friendly and
sociable.
Theod. The reverse of
rudeness, Socrates : but I would rather that you would ask one of the young
fellows ; for the truth is, that I am unused to your game of question and
answer, and I am too old to learn ; the young will be more suitable, and
they will improve more than I shall, for youth is always able to improve. And so
having made a beginning with Theaetetus, I would advise you to go on with him
and not let him off.
Soc. Do you hear,
Theaetetus, what Theodorus says ? The philosopher, whom you would not like
to disobey, and whose word ought to be a command to a young man, bids me
interrogate you. Take courage, then, and nobly say what you think that knowledge
is.
Theaet. Well, Socrates, I
will answer as you and he bid me ; and if make a mistake, you will
doubtless correct me.
Soc. We will, if we
can.
Theaet. Then, I think that
the sciences which I learn from Theodorus — geometry, and those which you just
now mentioned — are knowledge ; and I would include the art of the cobbler
and other craftsmen ; these, each and all of, them, are
knowledge.
Soc. Too much,
Theaetetus, too much ; the nobility and liberality of your nature make you
give many and diverse things, when I am asking for one simple
thing.
Theaet. What do you mean,
Socrates ?
Soc. Perhaps nothing. I
will endeavour, however, to explain what I believe to be my meaning : When
you speak of cobbling, you mean the art or science of making
shoes ?
Theaet. Just
so.
Soc. And when you speak
of carpentering, you mean the art of making wooden
implements ?
Theaet. I
do.
Soc. In both cases you
define the subject matter of each of the two arts ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. But that,
Theaetetus, was not the point of my question : we wanted to know not the
subjects, nor yet the number of the arts or sciences, for we were not going to
count them, but we wanted to know the nature of knowledge in the abstract. Am I
not right ?
Theaet. Perfectly
right.
Soc. Let me offer an
illustration : Suppose that a person were to ask about some very trivial
and obvious thing — for example, What is clay ? and we were to reply, that
there is a clay of potters, there is a clay of oven-makers, there is a clay of
brick-makers ; would not the answer be
ridiculous ?
Theaet.
Truly.
Soc. In the first
place, there would be an absurdity in assuming that he who asked the question
would understand from our answer the nature of “clay,” merely because we added
“of the image-makers,” or of any other workers. How can a man understand the
name of anything, when he does not know the nature of
it ?
Theaet. He
cannot.
Soc. Then he who does
not know what science or knowledge is, has no knowledge of the art or science of
making shoes ?
Theaet.
None.
Soc. Nor of any other
science ?
Theaet.
No.
Soc. And when a man is
asked what science or knowledge is, to give in answer the name of some art or
science is ridiculous ; for the question is, “What is knowledge ?” and
he replies, “A knowledge of this or that.”
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Moreover, he might
answer shortly and simply, but he makes an enormous circuit. For example, when
asked about the day, he might have said simply, that clay is moistened earth —
what sort of clay is not to the point.
Theaet. Yes, Socrates,
there is no difficulty as you put the question. You mean, if I am not mistaken,
something like what occurred to me and to my friend here, your namesake
Socrates, in a recent discussion.
Soc. What was that,
Theaetetus ?
Theaet. Theodorus was
writing out for us something about roots, such as the roots of three or five,
showing that they are incommensurable by the unit : he selected other
examples up to seventeen — there he stopped. Now as there are innumerable roots,
the notion occurred to us of attempting to include them all under one name or
class.
Soc. And did you find
such a class ?
Theaet. I think that we
did ; but I should like to have your opinion.
Soc. Let me
hear.
Theaet. We divided all
numbers into two classes : those which are made up of equal factors
multiplying into one another, which we compared to square figures and called
square or equilateral numbers ; — that was one class.
Soc. Very
good.
Theaet. The intermediate
numbers, such as three and five, and every other number which is made up of
unequal factors, either of a greater multiplied by a less, or of a less
multiplied by a greater, and when regarded as a figure, is contained in unequal
sides ; — all these we compared to oblong figures, and called them oblong
numbers.
Soc. Capital ; and
what followed ?
Theaet. The lines, or
sides, which have for their squares the equilateral plane numbers, were called
by us lengths or magnitudes ; and the lines which are the roots of (or
whose squares are equal to) the oblong numbers, were called powers or
roots ; the reason of this latter name being, that they are commensurable
with the former [i.e., with the so-called lengths or magnitudes] not in linear
measurement, but in the value of the superficial content of their squares ;
and the same about solids.
Soc. Excellent, my
boys ; I think that you fully justify the praises of Theodorus, and that he
will not be found guilty of false witness.
Theaet. But I am unable,
Socrates, to give you a similar answer about knowledge, which is what you appear
to want ; and therefore Theodorus is a deceiver after
all.
Soc. Well, but if some
one were to praise you for running, and to say that he never met your equal
among boys, and afterwards you were beaten in a race by a grown-up man, who was
a great runner — would the praise be any the less
true ?
Theaet. Certainly
not.
Soc. And is the
discovery of the nature of knowledge so small a matter, as just now said ?
Is it not one which would task the powers of men perfect in every
way ?
Theaet. By heaven, they
should be the top of all perfection !
Soc. Well, then, be of
good cheer ; do not say that Theodorus was mistaken about you, but do your
best to ascertain the true nature of knowledge, as well as of other
things.
Theaet. I am eager enough,
Socrates, if that would bring to light the truth.
Soc. Come, you made a
good beginning just now ; let your own answer about roots be your model,
and as you comprehended them all in one class, try and bring the many sorts of
knowledge under one definition.
Theaet. I can assure you,
Socrates, that I have tried very often, when the report of questions asked by
you was brought to me ; but I can neither persuade myself that I have a
satisfactory answer to give, nor hear of any one who answers as you would have
him ; and I cannot shake off a feeling of anxiety.
Soc. These are the
pangs of labour, my dear Theaetetus ; you have something within you which
you are bringing to the birth.
Theaet. I do not know,
Socrates ; I only say what I feel.
Soc. And have you never
heard, simpleton, that I am the son of a midwife, brave and burly, whose name
was Phaenarete ?
Theaet. Yes, I
have.
Soc. And that I myself
practise midwifery ?
Theaet. No,
never.
Soc. Let me tell you
that I do though, my friend : but you must not reveal the secret, as the
world in general have not found me out ; and therefore they only say of me,
that I am the strangest of mortals and drive men to their wits’ end. Did you
ever hear that too ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Shall I tell you
the reason ?
Theaet. By all
means.
Soc. Bear in mind the
whole business of the mid-wives, and then you will see my meaning better :
— No woman, as you are probably aware, who is still able to conceive and bear,
attends other women, but only those who are past bearing.
Theaet. Yes ; I
know.
Soc. The reason of this
is said to be that Artemis — the goddess of childbirth — is not a mother, and
she honours those who are like herself ; but she could not allow the barren
to be mid-wives, because human nature cannot know the mystery of an art without
experience ; and therefore she assigned this office to those who are too
old to bear.
Theaet. I dare
say.
Soc. And I dare say
too, or rather I am absolutely certain, that the mid-wives know better than
others who is pregnant and who is not ?
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. And by the use of
potions and incantations they are able to arouse the pangs and to soothe them at
will ; they can make those bear who have a difficulty in bearing, and if
they think fit they can smother the embryo in the womb.
Theaet. They
can.
Soc. Did you ever
remark that they are also most cunning matchmakers, and have a thorough
knowledge of what unions are likely to produce a brave
brood ?
Theaet. No,
never.
Soc. Then let me tell
you that this is their greatest pride, more than cutting the umbilical cord. And
if you reflect, you will see that the same art which cultivates and gathers in
the fruits of the earth, will be most likely to know in what soils the several
plants or seeds should be deposited.
Theaet. Yes, the same
art.
Soc. And do you suppose
that with women the case is otherwise ?
Theaet. I should think
not.
Soc. Certainly
not ; but mid-wives are respectable women who have a character to lose, and
they avoid this department of their profession, because they are afraid of being
called procuresses, which is a name given to those who join together man and
woman in an unlawful and unscientific way ; and yet the true midwife is
also the true and only matchmaker.
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. Such are the
mid-wives, whose task is a very important one but not so important as
mine ; for women do not bring into the world at one time real children, and
at another time counterfeits which are with difficulty distinguished from
them ; if they did, then the, discernment of the true and false birth would
be the crowning achievement of the art of midwifery — you would think
so ?
Theaet. Indeed I
should.
Soc. Well, my art of
midwifery is in most respects like theirs ; but differs, in that I attend
men and not women ; and look after their souls when they are in labour, and
not after their bodies : and the triumph of my art is in thoroughly
examining whether the thought which the mind of the young man brings forth is a
false idol or a noble and true birth. And like the mid-wives, I am barren, and
the reproach which is often made against me, that I ask questions of others and
have not the wit to answer them myself, is very just — the reason is, that the
god compels me to be a midwife, but does not allow me to bring forth. And
therefore I am not myself at all wise, nor have I anything to show which is the
invention or birth of my own soul, but those who converse with me profit. Some
of them appear dull enough at first, but afterwards, as our acquaintance ripens,
if the god is gracious to them, they all make astonishing progress ; and
this in the opinion of others as well as in their own. It is quite dear that
they never learned anything from me ; the many fine discoveries to which
they cling are of their own making. But to me and the god they owe their
delivery. And the proof of my words is, that many of them in their ignorance,
either in their self-conceit despising me, or falling under the influence of
others, have gone away too soon ; and have not only lost the children of
whom I had previously delivered them by an ill bringing up, but have stifled
whatever else they had in them by evil communications, being fonder of lies and
shams than of the truth ; and they have at last ended by seeing themselves,
as others see them, to be great fools. Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus, is one
of them, and there are many others. The truants often return to me, and beg that
I would consort with them again — they are ready to go to me on their knees and
then, if my familiar allows, which is not always the case, I receive them, and
they begin to grow again. Dire are the pangs which my art is able to arouse and
to allay in those who consort with me, just like the pangs of women in
childbirth ; night and day they are full of perplexity and travail which is
even worse than that of the women. So much for them. And there are others,
Theaetetus, who come to me apparently having nothing in them ; and as I
know that they have no need of my art, I coax them into marrying some one, and
by the grace of God I can generally tell who is likely to do them good. Many of
them I have given away to Prodicus, and many to other inspired sages. I tell you
this long story, friend Theaetetus, because I suspect, as indeed you seem to
think yourself, that you are in labour — great with some conception. Come then
to me, who am a midwife’s son and myself a midwife, and do your best to answer
the questions which I will ask you. And if I abstract and expose your
first-born, because I discover upon inspection that the conception which you
have formed is a vain shadow, do not quarrel with me on that account, as the
manner of women is when their first children are taken from them. For I have
actually known some who were ready to bite me when I deprived them of a darling
folly ; they did not perceive that I acted from good will, not knowing that
no god is the enemy of man — that was not within the range of their ideas ;
neither am I their enemy in all this, but it would be wrong for me to admit
falsehood, or to stifle the truth. Once more, then, Theaetetus, I repeat my old
question, “What is knowledge ?” — and do not say that you cannot
tell ; but quit yourself like a man, and by the help of God you will be
able to tell.
Theaet. At any rate,
Socrates, after such an exhortation I should be ashamed of not trying to do my
best. Now he who knows perceives what he knows, and, as far as I can see at
present, knowledge is perception.
Soc. Bravely said,
boy ; that is the way in which you should express your opinion. And now,
let us examine together this conception of yours, and see whether it is a true
birth or a mere, wind-egg : — You say that knowledge is
perception ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Well, you have
delivered yourself of a very important doctrine about knowledge ; it is
indeed the opinion of Protagoras, who has another way of expressing it, Man, he
says, is the measure of all things, of the existence of things that are, and of
the non-existence of things that are not : — You have read
him ?
Theaet. O yes, again and
again.
Soc. Does he not say
that things are to you such as they appear to you, and to me such as they appear
to me, and that you and I are men ?
Theaet. Yes, he says
so.
Soc. A wise man is not
likely to talk nonsense. Let us try to understand him : the same wind is
blowing, and yet one of us may be cold and the other not, or one may be slightly
and the other very cold ?
Theaet. Quite
true.
Soc. Now is the wind,
regarded not in relation to us but absolutely, cold or not ; or are we to
say, with Protagoras, that the wind is cold to him who is cold, and not to him
who is not ?
Theaet. I suppose the
last.
Soc. Then it must
appear so to each of them ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And “appears to
him” means the same as “he perceives.”
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Then appearing and
perceiving coincide in the case of hot and cold, and in similar instances ;
for things appear, or may be supposed to be, to each one such as he perceives
them ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Then perception is
always of existence, and being the same as knowledge is
unerring ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. In the name of the
Graces, what an almighty wise man Protagoras must have been ! He spoke
these things in a parable to the common herd, like you and me, but told the
truth, his Truth, in secret to his own disciples.
Theaet. What do you mean,
Socrates ?
Soc. I am about to
speak of a high argument, in which all things are said to be relative ; you
cannot rightly call anything by any name, such as great or small, heavy or
light, for the great will be small and the heavy light — there is no single
thing or quality, but out of motion and change and admixture all things are
becoming relatively to one another, which “becoming” is by us incorrectly called
being, but is really becoming, for nothing ever is, but all things are becoming.
Summon all philosophers — Protagoras, Heracleitus, Empedocles, and the rest of
them, one after another, and with the exception of Parmenides they will agree
with you in this. Summon the great masters of either kind of poetry —
Epicharmus, the prince of Comedy, and Homer of Tragedy ; when the latter
sings of
Ocean whence sprang the gods, and
mother Tethys,
does he not mean
that all things are the offspring, of flux and
motion ?
Theaet. I think
so.
Soc. And who could take
up arms against such a great army having Homer for its general, and not appear
ridiculous ?
Theaet. Who indeed,
Socrates ?
Soc. Yes,
Theaetetus ; and there are plenty of other proofs which will show that
motion is the source of what is called being and becoming, and inactivity of
not-being and destruction ; for fire and warmth, which are supposed to be
the parent and guardian of all other things, are born of movement and friction,
which is a kind of motion ; — is not this the origin of
fire ?
Theaet. It
is.
Soc. And the race of
animals is generated in the same way ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And is not the
bodily habit spoiled by rest and idleness, but preserved for a long time by
motion and exercise ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And what of the
mental habit ? Is not the soul informed, and improved, and preserved by
study and attention, which are motions ; but when at rest, which in the
soul only means want of attention and study, is uninformed, and speedily forgets
whatever she has learned ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Then motion is a
good, and rest an evil, to the soul as well as to the
body ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. I may add, that
breathless calm, stillness and the like waste and impair, while wind and storm
preserve ; and the palmary argument of all, which I strongly urge, is the
golden chain in Homer, by which he means the sun, thereby indicating that so
long as the sun and the heavens go round in their orbits, all things human and
divine are and are preserved, but if they were chained up and their motions
ceased, then all things would be destroyed, and, as the saying is, turned upside
down.
Theaet. I believe,
Socrates, that you have truly explained his meaning.
Soc. Then now apply his
doctrine to perception, my good friend, and first of all to vision ; that
which you call white colour is not in your eyes, and is not a distinct thing
which exists out of them. And you must not assign any place to it : for if
it had position it would be, and be at rest, and there would be no process of
becoming.
Theaet. Then what is
colour ?
Soc. Let us carry the
principle which has just been affirmed, that nothing is self-existent, and then
we shall see that white, black, and every other colour, arises out of the eye
meeting the appropriate motion, and that what we call a colour is in each case
neither the active nor the passive element, but something which passes between
them, and is peculiar to each percipient ; are you quite certain that the
several colours appear to a dog or to any animal whatever as they appear to
you ?
Theaet. Far from
it.
Soc. Or that anything
appears the same to you as to another man ? Are you so profoundly convinced
of this ? Rather would it not be true that it never appears exactly the
same to you, because you are never exactly the same ?
Theaet. The
latter.
Soc. And if that with
which I compare myself in size, or which I apprehend by touch, were great or
white or hot, it could not become different by mere contact with another unless
it actually changed ; nor again, if the comparing or apprehending subject
were great or white or hot, could this, when unchanged from within become
changed by any approximation or affection of any other thing. The fact is that
in our ordinary way of speaking we allow ourselves to be driven into most
ridiculous and wonderful contradictions, as Protagoras and all who take his line
of argument would remark.
Theaet. How ? and of
what sort do you mean ?
Soc. A little instance
will sufficiently explain my meaning : Here are six dice, which are more by
a half when compared with four, and fewer by a half than twelve — they are more
and also fewer. How can you or any one maintain the
contrary ?
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. Well, then,
suppose that Protagoras or some one asks whether anything can become greater or
more if not by increasing, how would you answer him,
Theaetetus ?
Theaet. I should say “No,”
Socrates, if I were to speak my mind in reference to this last question, and if
I were not afraid of contradicting my former answer.
Soc. Capital
excellent ! spoken like an oracle, my boy ! And if you reply “Yes,”
there will be a case for Euripides ; for our tongue will be unconvinced,
but not our mind.
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. The thoroughbred
Sophists, who know all that can be known about the mind, and argue only out of
the superfluity of their wits, would have had a regular sparring-match over
this, and would — have knocked their arguments together finely. But you and I,
who have no professional aims, only desire to see what is the mutual relation of
these principles — whether they are consistent with each or
not.
Theaet. Yes, that would be
my desire.
Soc. And mine too. But
since this is our feeling, and there is plenty of time, why should we not calmly
and patiently review our own thoughts, and thoroughly examine and see what these
appearances in us really are ? If I am not mistaken, they will be described
by us as follows : — first, that nothing can become greater or less, either
in number or magnitude, while remaining equal to itself — you would
agree ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Secondly, that
without addition or subtraction there is no increase or diminution of anything,
but only equality.
Theaet. Quite
true.
Soc. Thirdly, that what
was not before cannot be afterwards, without becoming and having
become.
Theaet. Yes,
truly.
Soc. These three
axioms, if I am not mistaken, are fighting with one another in our minds in the
case of the dice, or, again, in such a case as this — if I were to say that I,
who am of a certain height and taller than you, may within a year, without
gaining or losing in height, be not so tall — not that I should have lost, but
that you would have increased. In such a case, I am afterwards what I once was
not, and yet I have not become ; for I could not have become without
becoming, neither could I have become less without losing somewhat of my
height ; and I could give you ten thousand examples of similar
contradictions, if we admit them at all. I believe that you follow me,
Theaetetus ; for I suspect that you have thought of these questions before
now.
Theaet. Yes, Socrates, and
I am amazed when I think of them ; by the Gods I am ! and I want to
know what on earth they mean ; and there are times when my head quite swims
with the contemplation of them.
Soc. I see, my dear
Theaetetus, that Theodorus had a true insight into your nature when he said that
you were a philosopher, for wonder is the feeling of a philosopher, and
philosophy begins in wonder. He was not a bad genealogist who said that Iris
(the messenger of heaven) is the child of Thaumas (wonder). But do you begin to
see what is the explanation of this perplexity on the hypothesis which we
attribute to Protagoras ?
Theaet. Not as
yet.
Soc. Then you will be
obliged to me if I help you to unearth the hidden “truth” of a famous man or
school.
Theaet. To be sure, I
shall be very much obliged.
Soc. Take a look round,
then, and see that none of the uninitiated are listening. Now by the uninitiated
I mean : the people who believe in nothing but what they can grasp in their
hands, and who will not allow that action or generation or anything invisible
can have real existence.
Theaet. Yes, indeed,
Socrates, they are very hard and impenetrable mortals.
Soc. Yes, my boy, outer
barbarians. Far more ingenious are the brethren whose mysteries I am about to
reveal to you. Their first principle is, that all is motion, and upon this all
the affections of which we were just now speaking, are supposed to depend :
there is nothing but motion, which has two forms, one active and the other
passive, both in endless number ; and out of the union and friction of them
there is generated a progeny endless in number, having two forms, sense and the
object of sense, which are ever breaking forth and coming to the birth at the
same moment. The senses are variously named hearing, seeing, smelling ;
there is the sense of heat, cold, pleasure, pain, desire, fear, and many more
which have names, as well as innumerable others which are without them ;
each has its kindred object each variety of colour has a corresponding variety
of sight, and so with sound and hearing, and with the rest of the senses and the
objects akin to them. Do you see, Theaetetus, the bearings of this tale on the
preceding argument ?
Theaet. Indeed I do
not.
Soc. Then attend, and I
will try to finish the story. The purport is that all these things are in
motion, as I was saying, and that this motion is of two kinds, a slower and a
quicker ; and the slower elements have their motions in the same place and
with reference to things near them, and so they beget ; but what is
begotten is swifter, for it is carried to fro, and moves from place to place.
Apply this to sense : — When the eye and the appropriate object meet
together and give birth to whiteness and the sensation connatural with it, which
could not have been given by either of them going elsewhere, then, while the
sight : is flowing from the eye, whiteness proceeds from the object which
combines in producing the colour ; and so the eye is fulfilled with sight,
and really sees, and becomes, not sight, but a seeing eye ; and the object
which combined to form the colour is fulfilled with whiteness, and becomes not
whiteness but a white thing, whether wood or stone or whatever the object may be
which happens to be colour,ed white. And this is true of all sensible objects,
hard, warm, and the like, which are similarly to be regarded, as I was saying
before, not as having any absolute existence, but as being all of them of
whatever kind. generated by motion in their intercourse with one another ;
for of the agent and patient, as existing in separation, no trustworthy
conception, as they say, can be formed, for the agent has no existence until
united ; with the patient, and the patient has no existence until united
with the agent ; and that which by uniting with something becomes an agent,
by meeting with some other thing is converted into a patient. And from all these
considerations, as I said at first, there arises a general reflection, that
there is no one self-existent thing, but everything is becoming and in
relation ; and being must be altogether abolished, although from habit and
ignorance we are compelled even in this discussion to retain the use of the
term. But great philosophers tell us that we are not to allow either the word
“something,” or “belonging to something,” or “to me,” or “this,” or “that,” or
any other detaining name to be used, in the language of nature all things are
being created and destroyed, coming into being and passing into new forms ;
nor can any name fix or detain them ; he who attempts to fix them is easily
refuted. And this should be the way of speaking, not only of particulars but of
aggregates such aggregates as are expressed in the word “man,” or “stone,” or
any name of animal or of a class. O Theaetetus, are not these speculations sweet
as honey ? And do you not like the taste of them in the
mouth ?
Theaet. I do not know what
to say, Socrates, for, indeed, I cannot make out whether you are giving your own
opinion or only wanting to draw me out.
Soc. You forget, my
friend, that I neither know, nor profess to know, anything of ! these
matters ; you are the person who is in labour, I am the barren
midwife ; and this is why I soothe you, and offer you one good thing after
another, that you may taste them. And I hope that I may at last help to bring
your own opinion into the light of day : when this has been accomplished,
then we will determine whether what you have brought forth is only a wind-egg or
a real and genuine birth. Therefore, keep up your spirits, and answer like a man
what you think.
Theaet. Ask
me.
Soc. Then once
more : Is it your opinion that nothing is but what becomes ? the good
and the noble, as well ; as all the other things which we were just now
mentioning ?
Theaet. When I hear you
discoursing in this style, I think that there is a great deal in what you say,
and I am very ready to assent. Soc. Let us not leave the argument
unfinished, then ; for there still remains to be considered an objection
which may be raised about dreams and diseases, in particular about madness, and
the various illusions of hearing and sight, or of other senses. For you know
that in all these cases the esse-percipi theory appears to be unmistakably
refuted, since in dreams and illusions we certainly have false
perceptions ; and far from saying that everything is which appears, we
should rather say that nothing is which appears.
Theaet. Very true,
Socrates.
Soc. But then, my boy,
how can any one contend that knowledge is perception, or that to every man what
appears is ?
Theaet. I am afraid to
say, Socrates, that I have nothing to answer, because you rebuked me just now
for making this excuse ; but I certainly cannot undertake to argue that
madmen or dreamers think truly, when they imagine, some of them that they are
gods, and others that they can fly, and are flying in their
sleep.
Soc. Do you see another
question which can be raised about these phenomena, notably about dreaming and
waking ?
Theaet. What
question ?
Soc. A question which I
think that you must often have heard persons ask : — How can you determine
whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream ;
or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking
state ?
Theaet. Indeed, Socrates,
I do not know how to prove the one any more than the other, for in both cases
the facts precisely correspond ; — and there is no difficulty in supposing
that during all this discussion we have been talking to one another in a
dream ; and when in a dream we seem to be narrating dreams, the resemblance
of the two states is quite astonishing.
Soc. You see, then,
that a doubt about the reality of sense is easily raised, since there may even
be a doubt whether we are awake or in a dream. And as our time is equally
divided between sleeping and waking, in either sphere of existence the soul
contends that the thoughts which are present to our minds at the time are
true ; and during one half of our lives we affirm the truth of the one,
and, during the other half, of the other ; and are equally confident of
both.
Theaet. Most
true.
Soc. And may not the
same be said of madness and other disorders ? the difference is only that
the times are not equal.
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And is truth or
falsehood to be determined by duration of time ?
Theaet. That would be in
many ways ridiculous.
Soc. But can you
certainly determine : by any other means which of these opinions is
true ?
Theaet. I do not think
that I can.
Soc. Listen, then to a
statement of the other side of the argument, which is made by the champions of
appearance. They would say, as I imagine — can that which is wholly other than
something, have the same quality as that from which it differs ? and
observe, — Theaetetus, that the word “other” means not “partially,” but “wholly
other.”
Theaet. Certainly, putting
the question as you do, that which is wholly other cannot either potentially or
in any other way be the same.
Soc. And must therefore
be admitted to be unlike ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. If, then, anything
happens to become like or unlike itself or another, when it becomes like we call
it the same — when unlike, other ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Were we not saying
that there. are agents many and infinite, and patients many and
infinite ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And also that
different combinations will produce results which are not the same, but
different ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Let us take you
and me, or anything as an example : — There is Socrates in health, and
Socrates sick — Are they like or unlike ?
Theaet. You mean to,
compare Socrates in health as a whole, and Socrates in sickness as a
whole ?
Soc. Exactly ;
that is my meaning.
Theaet. I answer, they are
unlike.
Soc. And if unlike,
they are other ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And would you not
say the same of Socrates sleeping and waking, or in any of the states which we
were mentioning ?
Theaet. I
should.
Soc. All agents have a
different patient in Socrates, accordingly as he is well or
ill.
Theaet. Of
course.
Soc. And I who am the
patient, and that which is the agent, will produce something different in each
of the two cases ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. The wine which I
drink when I am in health, appears sweet and pleasant to
me ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. For, as has been
already acknowledged, the patient and agent meet together and produce sweetness
and a perception of sweetness, which are in simultaneous motion, and the
perception which comes from the patient makes the tongue percipient, and the
quality of sweetness which arises out of and is moving about the wine, makes the
wine, both to be and to appear sweet to the healthy
tongue.
Theaet. Certainly ;
that has been already acknowledged.
Soc. But when I am
sick, the wine really acts upon another and a different
person ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. The combination of
the draught of wine, and the Socrates who is sick, produces quite another
result ; which is the sensation of bitterness in the tongue, and the,
motion and creation of bitterness in and about the wine, which becomes not
bitterness but something bitter ; as I myself become not but
percipient ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. There is no, other
object of which I shall ever have the same perception, for another object would
give another perception, and would make the perception other and
different ; nor can that object which affects me, meeting another, subject,
produce, the same, or become similar, for that too would produce another result
from another subject, and become different.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Neither can by
myself, have this sensation, nor the object by itself, this
quality.
Theaet. Certainly
not.
Soc. When I perceive I
must become percipient of something — there can be no such thing as perceiving
and perceiving nothing ; the object, whether it become sweet, bitter, or of
any other quality, must have relation to a percipient ; nothing can become
sweet which is sweet to no one.
Theaet. Certainly
not.
Soc. Then the inference
is, that we [the agent and patient] are or become in relation to one
another ; there is a law which binds us one to the other, but not to any
other existence, nor each of us to himself ; and therefore we can only be
bound to one another ; so that whether a person says that a thing is or
becomes, he must say that it is or becomes to or of or in relation to something
else ; but he must not say or allow any one else to say that anything is or
becomes absolutely : — such is our conclusion.
Theaet. Very true,
Socrates.
Soc. Then, if that
which acts upon me has relation to me and to no other, I and no other am the
percipient of it ?
Theaet. Of
course.
Soc. Then my perception
is true to me, being inseparable from my own being ; and, as Protagoras
says, to myself I am judge of what is and what is not to
me.
Theaet. I suppose
so.
Soc. How then, if I
never err, and if my mind never trips in the conception of being or becoming,
can I fail of knowing that which I perceive ?
Theaet. You
cannot.
Soc. Then you were
quite right in affirming that knowledge is only perception ; and the
meaning turns out to be the same, whether with Homer and Heracleitus, and all
that company, you say that all is motion and flux, or with the great sage
Protagoras, that man is the measure of all things ; or with Theaetetus,
that, given these premises, perception is knowledge. Am I not right, Theaetetus,
and is not this your newborn child, of which I have delivered you ? What
say you ?
Theaet. I cannot but
agree, Socrates.
Soc. Then this is the
child, however he may turn out, which you and I have with difficulty brought
into the world. And now that he is born, we must run round the hearth with him,
and see whether he is worth rearing, or is only a wind-egg and a sham. Is he to
be reared in any case, and not exposed ? or will you bear to see him
rejected, and not get into a passion if I take away your
first-born ?
Theod. Theaetetus will
not be angry, for he is very good-natured. But tell me, Socrates, in heaven’s
name, is this, after all, not the truth ?
Soc. You, Theodorus,
are a lover of theories, and now you innocently fancy that I am a bag full of
them, and can easily pull one out which will overthrow its predecessor. But you
do not see that in reality none of these theories come from me ; they all
come from him who talks with me. I only know just enough to extract them from
the wisdom of another, and to receive them in a spirit of fairness. And now I
shall say nothing myself, but shall endeavour to elicit something from our young
friend.
Theod. Do as you say,
Socrates ; you are quite right.
Soc. Shall I tell you,
Theodorus, what amazes me in your acquaintance
Protagoras ?
Theod. What is
it ?
Soc. I am charmed with
his doctrine, that what appears is to each one, but I wonder that he did not
begin his book on Truth with a declaration that a pig or a dog-faced baboon, or
some other yet stranger monster which has sensation, is the measure of all
things ; then he might have shown a magnificent contempt for our opinion of
him by informing us at the outset that while we were reverencing him like a God
for his wisdom he was no better than a tadpole, not to speak of his fellow-men —
would not this have produced an over-powering effect ? For if truth is only
sensation, and no man can discern another’s feelings better than he, or has any
superior right to determine whether his opinion is true or false, but each, as
we have several times repeated, is to himself the sole judge, and everything
that he judges is true and right, why, my friend, should Protagoras be preferred
to the place of wisdom and instruction, and deserve to be well paid, and we poor
ignoramuses have to go to him, if each one is the measure of his own
wisdom ? Must he not be talking ad captandum in all this ? I say
nothing of the ridiculous predicament in which my own midwifery and the whole
art of dialectic is placed ; for the attempt to supervise or refute the
notions or opinions of others would be a tedious and enormous piece of folly, if
to each man his own are right ; and this must be the case if Protagoras
Truth is the real truth, and the philosopher is not merely amusing himself by
giving oracles out of the shrine of his book.
Theod. He was a friend of
mine, Socrates, as you were saying, and therefore I cannot have him refuted by
my lips, nor can I oppose you when I agree with you ; please, then, to take
Theaetetus again ; he seemed to answer very nicely.
Soc. If you were to go
into a Lacedaemonian palestra, Theodorus, would you have a right to look on at
the naked wrestlers, some of them making a poor figure, if you did not strip and
give them an opportunity of judging of your own
person ?
Theod. Why not, Socrates,
if they would allow me, as I think you will in consideration of my age and
stiffness ; let some more supple youth try a fall with you, and do not drag
me into the gymnasium.
Soc. Your will is my
will, Theodorus, as the proverbial philosophers say, and therefore I will return
to the sage Theaetetus : Tell me, Theaetetus, in reference to what I was
saying, are you not lost in wonder, like myself, when you find that all of a
sudden you are raised to the level of the wisest of men, or indeed of the
gods ? — for you would assume the measure of Protagoras to apply to the
gods as well as men ?
Theaet. Certainly I
should, and I confess to you that I am lost in wonder. At first hearing, I was
quite satisfied with the doctrine, that whatever appears is to each one, but now
the face of things has changed.
Soc. Why, my dear boy,
you are young, and therefore your ear is quickly caught and your mind influenced
by popular arguments. Protagoras, or some one speaking on his behalf, will
doubtless say in reply, good people, young and old, you meet and harangue, and
bring in the gods, whose existence of non-existence I banish from writing and
speech, or you talk about the reason of man being degraded to the level of the
brutes, which is a telling argument with the multitude, but not one word of
proof or demonstration do you offer. All is probability with you, and yet surely
you and Theodorus had better reflect whether you are disposed to admit of
probability and figures of speech in matters of such importance. He or any other
mathematician who argued from probabilities and likelihoods in geometry, would
not be worth an ace.
Theaet. But neither you
nor we, Socrates, would be satisfied with such arguments.
Soc. Then you and
Theodorus mean to say that we must look at the matter in some other
way ?
Theaet. Yes, in quite
another way.
Soc. And the way will
be to ask whether perception is or is not the same as knowledge ; for this
was the real point of our argument, and with a view to this we raised (did we
not ?) those many strange questions.
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Shall we say that
we know every thing which we see and hear ? for example, shall we say that
not having learned, we do not hear the language of foreigners when they speak to
us ? or shall we say that we not only hear, but know what they are
saying ? Or again, if we see letters which we do not understand, shall we
say that we do not see them ? or shall we aver that, seeing them, we must
know them ?
Theaet. We shall say,
Socrates, that we know what we actually see and hear of them — that is to say,
we see and know the figure and colour of the letters, and we hear and know the
elevation or depression of the sound of them ; but we do not perceive by
sight and hearing, or know, that which grammarians and interpreters teach about
them.
Soc. Capital,
Theaetetus ; and about this there shall be no dispute, because I want you
to grow ; but there is another difficulty coming, which you will also have
to repulse.
Theaet. What is
it ?
Soc. Some one will say,
Can a man who has ever known anything, and still has and preserves a memory of
that which he knows, not know that which he remembers at the time when he
remembers ? I have, I fear, a tedious way of putting a simple question,
which is only, whether a man who has learned, and remembers, can fail to
know ?
Theaet. Impossible,
Socrates ; the supposition is monstrous.
Soc. Am I talking
nonsense, then ? Think : is not seeing perceiving, and is not sight
perception ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And if our recent
definition holds, every man knows that which he has
seen ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And you would
admit that there is such a thing as memory ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And is memory of
something or of nothing ?
Theaet. Of something,
surely.
Soc. Of things learned
and perceived, that is ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Often a man
remembers that which he has seen ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And if he closed
his eyes, would he forget ?
Theaet. Who, Socrates,
would dare to say so ?
Soc. But we must say
so, if the previous argument is to be maintained.
Theaet. What do you
mean ? I am not quite sure that I understand you, though I have a strong
suspicion that you are right.
Soc. As thus : he
who sees knows, as we say, that which he sees ; for perception and sight
and knowledge are admitted to be the same.
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. But he who saw,
and has knowledge of that which he saw, remembers, when he closes his eyes, that
which he no longer sees.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And seeing is
knowing, and therefore not-seeing is not-knowing ?
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. Then the inference
is, that a man may have attained the knowledge, of something, which he may
remember and yet not know, because he does not see ; and this has been
affirmed by us to be a monstrous supposition.
Theaet. Most
true.
Soc. Thus, then, the
assertion that knowledge and perception are one, involves a manifest
impossibility ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Then they must be
distinguished ?
Theaet. I suppose that
they must.
Soc. Once more we shall
have to begin, and ask “What is knowledge ?” and yet, Theaetetus, what are
we going to do ?
Theaet. About
what ?
Soc. Like a
good-for-nothing cock, without having won the victory, we walk away from the
argument and crow.
Theaet. How do you
mean ?
Soc. After the manner
of disputers, we were satisfied with mere verbal consistency, and were well
pleased if in this way we could gain an advantage. Although professing not to be
mere Eristics, but philosophers, I suspect that we have unconsciously fallen
into the error of that ingenious class of persons.
Theaet. I do not as yet
understand you.
Soc. Then I will try to
explain myself : just now we asked the question, whether a man who had
learned and remembered could fail to know, and we showed that a person who had
seen might remember when he had his eyes shut and could not see, and then he
would at the same time remember and not know. But this was an impossibility. And
so the Protagorean fable came to nought, and yours also, who maintained that
knowledge is the same as perception.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And yet, my
friend, I rather suspect that the result would have been different if
Protagoras, who was the father of the first of the two-brats, had been
alive ; he would have had a great deal to say on their behalf. But he is
dead, and we insult over his orphan child ; and even the guardians whom he
left, and of whom our friend Theodorus is one, are unwilling to give any help,
and therefore I suppose that must take up his cause myself, and see justice
done ?
Theod. Not I, Socrates,
but rather Callias, the son of Hipponicus, is guardian of his orphans. I was too
soon diverted from the abstractions of dialectic to geometry. Nevertheless, I
shall be grateful to you if you assist him.
Soc. Very good,
Theodorus ; you shall see how I will come to the rescue. If a person does
not attend to the meaning of terms as they are commonly used in argument, he may
be involved even in greater paradoxes than these. Shall I explain this matter to
you or to Theaetetus ?
Theod. To both of us, and
let the younger answer ; he will incur less disgrace if he is
discomfited.
Soc. Then now let me
ask the awful question, which is this : — Can a man know and also not know
that which he knows ?
Theod. How shall we
answer, Theaetetus ?
Theaet. He cannot, I
should say.
Soc. He can, if you
maintain that seeing is knowing. When you are imprisoned in a well, as the
saying is, and the self-assured adversary closes one of your eyes with his hand,
and asks whether you can see his cloak with the eye which he has closed, how
will you answer the inevitable man ?
Theaet. I should answer,
“Not with that eye but with the other.”
Soc. Then you see and
do not see the same thing at the same time.
Theaet. Yes, in a certain
sense.
Soc. None of that, he
will reply ; I do not ask or bid you answer in what sense you know, but
only whether you know that which you do not know. You have been proved to see
that which you do not see ; and you have already admitted that seeing is
knowing, and that not-seeing is not-knowing : I leave you to draw the
inference.
Theaet. Yes, the inference
is the contradictory of my assertion.
Soc. Yes, my marvel,
and there might have been yet worse things in store for you, if an opponent had
gone on to ask whether you can have a sharp and also a dull knowledge, and
whether you can know near, but not at a distance, or know the same thing with
more or less intensity, and so on without end. Such questions might have been
put to you by a light-armed mercenary, who argued for pay. He would have lain in
wait for you, and when you took up the position, that sense is knowledge, he
would have made an assault upon hearing, smelling, and the other senses ; —
he would have shown you no mercy ; and while you were lost in envy and
admiration of his wisdom, he would have got you into his net, out of which you
would not have escaped until you had come to an understanding about the sum to
be paid for your release. Well, you ask, and how will Protagoras reinforce his
position ? Shall I answer for him ?
Theaet. By all
means.
Soc. He will repeat all
those things which we have been urging on his behalf, and then he will close
with us in disdain, and say : — The worthy Socrates asked a little boy,
whether the same man could remember and not know the same thing, and the boy
said No, because he was frightened, and could not see what was coming, and then
Socrates made fun of poor me. The truth is, O slatternly Socrates, that when you
ask questions about any assertion of mine, and the person asked is found
tripping, if he has answered as I should have answered, then I am refuted, but
if he answers something else, then he is refuted and not I. For do you really
suppose that any one would admit the memory which a man has of an impression
which has passed away to be the same with that which he experienced at the
time ? Assuredly not. Or would he hesitate to acknowledge that the same man
may know and not know the same thing ? Or, if he is afraid of making this
admission, would he ever grant that one who has become unlike is the same as
before he became unlike ? Or would he admit that a man is one at all, and
not rather many and infinite as the changes which take place in him ? I
speak by the card in order to avoid entanglements of words. But, O my good sir,
he would say, come to the argument in a more generous spirit ; and either
show, if you can, that our sensations are not relative and individual, or, if
you admit them to be so, prove that this does not involve the consequence that
the appearance becomes, or, if you will have the word, is, to the individual
only. As to your talk about pigs and baboons, you are yourself behaving like a
pig, and you teach your hearers to make sport of my writings in the same
ignorant manner ; but this is not to your credit. For I declare that the
truth is as I have written, and that each of us is a measure of existence and of
non-existence. Yet one man may be a thousand times better than another in
proportion as different things are and appear to him.
And I am far from
saying that wisdom and the wise man have no existence ; but I say that the
wise man is he who makes the evils which appear and are to a man, into goods
which are and appear to him. And I would beg you not to my words in the letter,
but to take the meaning of them as I will explain them. Remember what has been
already said, — that to the sick man his food appears to be and is bitter, and
to the man in health the opposite of bitter. Now I cannot conceive that one of
these men can be or ought to be made wiser than the other : nor can you
assert that the sick man because he has one impression is foolish, and the
healthy man because he has another is wise ; but the one state requires to
be changed into the other, the worse into the better. As in education, a change
of state has to be effected, and the sophist accomplishes by words the change
which the physician works by the aid of drugs. Not that any one ever made
another think truly, who previously thought falsely. For no one can think what
is not, or think anything different from that which he feels ; and this is
always true. But as the inferior habit of mind has thoughts of kindred nature,
so I conceive that a good mind causes men to have good thoughts ; and these
which the inexperienced call true, I maintain to be only better, and not truer
than others. And, O my dear Socrates, I do not call wise men tadpoles : far
from it ; I say that they are the physicians of the human body, and the
husbandmen of plants — for the husbandmen also take away the evil and disordered
sensations of plants, and infuse into them good and healthy sensations — aye and
true ones ; and the wise and good rhetoricians make the good instead of the
evil to seem just to states ; for whatever appears to a state to be just
and fair, so long as it is regarded as such, is just and fair to it ; but
the teacher of wisdom causes the good to take the place of the evil, both in
appearance and in reality. And in like manner the Sophist who is able to train
his pupils in this spirit is a wise man, and deserves to be well paid by them.
And so one man is wiser than another ; and no one thinks falsely, and you,
whether you will or not, must endure to be a measure. On these foundations the
argument stands firm, which you, Socrates, may, if you please, overthrow by an
opposite argument, or if you like you may put questions to me — a method to
which no intelligent person will object, quite the reverse. But I must beg you
to put fair questions : for there is great inconsistency in saying that you
have a zeal for virtue, and then always behaving unfairly in argument. The
unfairness of which I complain is that you do not distinguish between mere
disputation and dialectic : the disputer may trip up his opponent as often
as he likes, and make fun ; but the dialectician will be in earnest, and
only correct his adversary when necessary, telling him the errors into which he
has fallen through his own fault, or that of the company which he has previously
kept. If you do so, your adversary will lay the blame of his own confusion and
perplexity on himself, and not on you ; will follow and love you, and will
hate himself, and escape from himself into philosophy, in order that he may
become different from what he was. But the other mode of arguing, which is
practised by the many, will have just the opposite effect upon him ; and as
he grows older, instead of turning philosopher, he will come to hate philosophy.
I would recommend you, therefore, as I said before, not to encourage yourself in
this polemical and controversial temper, but to find out, in a friendly and
congenial spirit, what we really mean when we say that all things are in motion,
and that to every individual and state what appears, is. In this manner you will
consider whether knowledge and sensation are the same or different, but you will
not argue, as you were just now doing, from the customary use of names and
words, which the vulgar pervert in all sorts of ways, causing infinite
perplexity to one another.
Such, Theodorus, is
the very slight help which I am able to offer to your old friend ; had he
been living, he would have helped himself in a far more gloriose
style.
Theod. You are jesting,
Socrates ; indeed, your defence of him has been most
valorous.
Soc. Thank you,
friend ; and I hope that you observed Protagoras bidding us be serious, as
the text, “Man is the measure of all things,” was a solemn one ; and he
reproached us with making a boy the medium of discourse, and said that the boy’s
timidity was made to tell against his argument ; he also declared that we
made a joke of him.
Theod. How could I fail
to observe all that, Socrates ?
Soc. Well, and shall we
do as he says ?
Theod. By all
means.
Soc. But if his wishes
are to be regarded, you and I must take up the argument, and in all seriousness,
and ask and answer one another, for you see that the rest of us are nothing but
boys. In no other way can we escape the imputation, that in our fresh analysis
of his thesis we are making fun with boys.
Theod. Well, but is not
Theaetetus better able to follow a philosophical enquiry than a great many men
who have long beards ?
Soc. Yes, Theodorus,
but not better than you ; and therefore please not to imagine that I am to
defend by every means in my power your departed friend ; and that you are
to defend nothing and nobody. At any rate, my good man, do not sheer off until
we know whether you are a true measure of diagrams, or whether all men are
equally measures and sufficient for themselves in astronomy and geometry, and
the other branches of knowledge in which you are supposed to excel
them.
Theod. He who is sitting
by you, Socrates, will not easily avoid being drawn into an argument ; and
when I said just now that you would excuse me, and not, like the Lacedaemonians,
compel me to strip and fight, I was talking nonsense — I should rather compare
you to Scirrhon, who threw travellers from the rocks ; for the
Lacedaemonian rule is “strip or depart,” but you seem to go about your work more
after the fashion of Antaeus : you will not allow any one who approaches
you to depart until you have stripped him, and he has been compelled to try a
fall with you in argument.
Soc. There, Theodorus,
you have hit off precisely the nature of my complaint ; but I am even more
pugnacious than the giants of old, for I have met with no end of heroes ;
many a Heracles, many a Theseus, mighty in words, has broken my head ;
nevertheless I am always at this rough exercise, which inspires me like a
passion. Please, then, to try a fall with me, whereby you will do yourself good
as well as me.
Theod. I consent ;
lead me whither you will, for I know that you are like destiny ; no man can
escape from any argument which you may weave for him. But I am not disposed to
go further than you suggest.
Soc. Once will be
enough ; and now take particular care that we do not again unwittingly
expose ourselves to the reproach of talking childishly.
Theod. I will do my best
to avoid that error.
Soc. In the first
place, let us return to our old objection, and see whether we were right in
blaming and taking offence at Protagoras on the ground that he assumed all to be
equal and sufficient in wisdom ; although he admitted that there was a
better and worse, and that in respect of this, some who as he said were the wise
excelled others.
Theod. Very
true.
Soc. Had Protagoras
been living and answered for himself, instead of our answering for him, there
would have been no need of our reviewing or reinforcing the argument. But as he
is not here, and some one may accuse us of speaking without authority on his
behalf, had we not better come to a clearer agreement about his meaning, for a
great deal may be at stake ?
Theod.
True.
Soc. Then let us
obtain, not through any third person, but from his own statement and in the
fewest words possible, the basis of agreement.
Theod. In what
way ?
Soc. In this way :
— His words are, “What seems to a man, is to him.”
Theod. Yes, so he
says.
Soc. And are not we,
Protagoras, uttering the opinion of man, or rather of all mankind, when we say
that every one thinks himself wiser than other men in some things, and their
inferior in others ? In the hour of danger, when they are in perils of war,
or of the sea, or of sickness, do they not look up to their commanders as if
they were gods, and expect salvation from them, only because they excel them in
knowledge ? Is not the world full of men in their several employments, who
are looking for teachers and rulers of themselves and of the animals ? and
there are plenty who think that they are able to teach and able to rule. Now, in
all this is implied that ignorance and wisdom exist among them, least in their
own opinion.
Theod.
Certainly.
Soc. And wisdom is
assumed by them to be true thought, and ignorance to be false
opinion.
Theod.
Exactly.
Soc. How then,
Protagoras, would you have us treat the argument ? Shall we say that the
opinions of men are always true, or sometimes true and sometimes false ? In
either case, the result is the same, and their opinions are not always true, but
sometimes true and sometimes false. For tell me, Theodorus, do you suppose that
you yourself, or any other follower of Protagoras, would contend that no one
deems another ignorant or mistaken in his opinion ?
Theod. The thing is
incredible, Socrates.
Soc. And yet that
absurdity is necessarily involved in the thesis which declares man to be the
measure of all things.
Theod. How
so ?
Soc. Why, suppose that
you determine in your own mind something to be true, and declare your opinion to
me ; let us assume, as he argues, that this is true to you. Now, if so, you
must either say that the rest of us are not the judges of this opinion or
judgment of yours, or that we judge you always to have a true opinion : But
are there not thousands upon thousands who, whenever you form a judgment, take
up arms against you and are of an opposite judgment and opinion, deeming that
you judge falsely ?
Theod. Yes, indeed,
Socrates, thousands and tens of thousands, as Homer says, who give me a world of
trouble.
Soc. Well, but are we
to assert that what you think is true to you and false to the ten thousand
others ?
Theod. No other inference
seems to be possible.
Soc. And how about
Protagoras himself ? If neither he nor the multitude thought, as indeed
they do not think, that man is the measure of all things, must it not follow
that the truth of which Protagoras wrote would be true to no one ? But if
you suppose that he himself thought this, and that the multitude does not agree
with him, you must begin by allowing that in whatever proportion the many are
more than one, in that proportion his truth is more untrue than
true.
Theod. That would follow
if the truth is supposed to vary with individual opinion.
Soc. And the best of
the joke is, that he acknowledges the truth of their opinion who believe his own
opinion to be false ; for he admits that the opinions of all men are
true.
Theod.
Certainly.
Soc. And does he not
allow that his own opinion is false, if he admits that the opinion of those who
think him false is true ?
Theod. Of
course.
Soc. Whereas the other
side do not admit that they speak falsely ?
Theod. They do
not.
Soc. And he, as may be
inferred from his writings, agrees that this opinion is also
true.
Theod.
Clearly.
Soc. Then all mankind,
beginning with Protagoras, will contend, or rather, I should say that he will
allow, when he concedes that his adversary has a true opinion — Protagoras, I
say, will himself allow that neither a dog nor any ordinary man is the measure
of anything which he has not learned — am I not
right ?
Theod.
Yes.
Soc. And the truth of
Protagoras being doubted by all, will be true neither to himself to any one
else ?
Theod. I think, Socrates,
that we are running my old friend too hard.
Soc. But do not know
that we are going beyond the truth. Doubtless, as he is older, he may be
expected to be wiser than we are. And if he could only just get his head out of
the world below, he would have overthrown both of us again and again, me for
talking nonsense and you for assenting to me, and have been off and underground
in a trice. But as he is not within call, we must make the best use of our own
faculties, such as they are, and speak out what appears to us to be true. And
one thing which no one will deny is, that there are great differences in the
understandings of men.
Theod. In that opinion I
quite agree.
Soc. And is there not
most likely to be firm ground in the distinction which we were indicating on
behalf of Protagoras, viz., that most things, and all immediate sensations, such
as hot, dry, sweet, are only such as they appear ; if however difference of
opinion is to be allowed at all, surely we must allow it in respect of health or
disease ? for every woman, child, or living creature has not such a
knowledge of what conduces to health as to enable them to cure
themselves.
Theod. I quite
agree.
Soc. Or again, in
politics, while affirming that just and unjust, honourable and disgraceful, holy
and unholy, are in reality to each state such as the state thinks and makes
lawful, and that in determining these matters no individual or state is wiser
than another, still the followers of Protagoras will not deny that in
determining what is or is not expedient for the community one state is wiser and
one counsellor better that another — they will scarcely venture to maintain,
that what a city enacts in the belief that it is expedient will always be really
expedient. But in the other case, I mean when they speak of justice and
injustice, piety and impiety, they are confident that in nature these have no
existence or essence of their own — the truth is that which is agreed on at the
time of the agreement, and as long as the agreement lasts ; and this is the
philosophy of many who do not altogether go along with Protagoras. Here arises a
new question, Theodorus, which threatens to be more serious than the
last.
Theod. Well, Socrates, we
have plenty of leisure.
Soc. That is true, and
your remark recalls to my mind an observation which I have often made, that
those who have passed their days in the pursuit of philosophy are ridiculously
at fault when they have to appear and speak in court. How natural is
this !
Theod. What do you
mean ?
Soc. I mean to say,
that those who have been trained in philosophy and liberal pursuits are as
unlike those who from their youth upwards have been knocking about in the courts
and such places, as a freeman is in breeding unlike a
slave.
Theod. In what is the
difference seen ?
Soc. In the leisure
spoken of by you, which a freeman can always command : he has his talk, out
in peace, and, like ourselves, he wanders at will from one subject to another,
and from a second to a third, — if the fancy takes him he begins again, as we
are doing now, caring not whether his words are many or few ; his only aim
is to attain the truth. But the lawyer is always in a hurry ; there is the
water of the clepsydra driving him on, and not allowing him to expatiate at
will : and there is his adversary standing over him, enforcing his
rights ; the indictment, which in their phraseology is termed the
affidavit, is recited at the time : and from this he must not deviate. He
is a servant, and is continually disputing about a fellow servant before his
master, who is seated, and has the cause in his hands ; the trial is never
about some indifferent matter, but always concerns himself ; and often the
race is for his life. The consequence has been, that he has become keen and
shrewd ; he has learned how to flatter his master in word and indulge him
in deed ; but his soul is small and unrighteous. His condition, which has
been that of a slave from his youth upwards, has deprived him of growth and
uprightness and independence ; dangers and fears, which were too much for
his truth and honesty, came upon him in early years, when the tenderness of
youth was unequal to them, and he has been driven into crooked ways ; from
the first he has practised deception and retaliation, and has become stunted and
warped. And so he has passed out of youth into manhood, having no soundness in
him ; and is now, as he thinks, a master in wisdom. Such is the lawyer,
Theodorus. Will you have the companion picture of the philosopher, who is of our
brotherhood ; or shall we return to the argument ? Do not let us abuse
the freedom of digression which we claim.
Theod. Nay, Socrates, not
until we have finished what we are about ; for you truly said that we
belong to a brotherhood which is free, and are not the servants of the
argument ; but the argument is our servant, and must wait our leisure. Who
is our judge ? Or where is the spectator having any right to censure or
control us, as he might the poets ?
Soc. Then, as this is
your wish, I will describe the leaders ; for there is no use in talking
about the inferior sort. In the first place, the lords of philosophy have never,
from their youth upwards, known their way to the Agora, or the dicastery, or the
council, or any other political assembly ; they neither see nor hear the
laws or decrees, as they are called, of the state written or recited ; the
eagerness of political societies in the attainment of office-clubs, and
banquets, and revels, and singing-maidens, — do not enter even into their
dreams. Whether any event has turned out well or ill in the city, what disgrace
may have descended to any one from his ancestors, male or female, are matters of
which the philosopher no more knows than he can tell, as they say, how many
pints are contained in the ocean. Neither is he conscious of his ignorance. For
he does not hold aloof in order ; that he may gain a reputation ; but
the truth is, that the outer form of him only is in the city : his mind,
disdaining the littlenesses and nothingnesses of human things, is “flying all
abroad” as Pindar says, measuring earth and heaven and the things which are
under and on the earth and above the heaven, interrogating the whole nature of
each and all in their entirety, but not condescending to anything which is
within reach.
Theod. What do you mean,
Socrates ?
Soc. I will illustrate
my meaning, Theodorus, by the jest which the clever witty Thracian handmaid is
said to have made about Thales, when he fell into a well as he was looking up at
the stars. She said, that he was so eager to know what was going on in heaven,
that he could not see what was before his feet. This is a jest which is equally
applicable to all philosophers. For the philosopher is wholly unacquainted with
his next-door neighbour ; he is ignorant, not only of what he is doing, but
he hardly knows whether he is a man or an animal ; he is searching into the
essence of man, and busy in enquiring what belongs to such a nature to do or
suffer different from any other ; — I think that you understand me,
Theodorus ?
Theod. I do, and what you
say is true.
Soc. And thus, my
friend, on every occasion, private as well as public, as I said at first, when
he appears in a law-court, or in any place in which he has to speak of things
which are at his feet and before his eyes, he is the jest, not only of Thracian
handmaids but of the general herd, tumbling into wells and every sort of
disaster through his inexperience. His awkwardness is fearful, and gives the
impression of imbecility. When he is reviled, he has nothing personal to say in
answer to the civilities of his adversaries, for he knows no scandals of any
one, and they do not interest him ; and therefore he is laughed at for his
sheepishness ; and when others are being praised and glorified, in the
simplicity of his heart he cannot help going into fits of laughter, so that he
seems to be a downright idiot. When he hears a tyrant or king eulogized, he
fancies that he is listening to the praises of some keeper of cattle — a
swineherd, or shepherd, or perhaps a cowherd, who is congratulated on the
quantity of milk which he squeezes from them ; and he remarks that the
creature whom they tend, and out of whom they squeeze the wealth, is of a less
traitable and more insidious nature. Then, again, he observes that the great man
is of necessity as ill-mannered and uneducated as any shepherd — for he has no
leisure, and he is surrounded by a wall, which is his mountain-pen. Hearing of
enormous landed proprietors of ten thousand acres and more, our philosopher
deems this to be a trifle, because he has been accustomed to think of the whole
earth ; and when they sing the, praises of family, and say that someone is
a gentleman because he can show seven generations of wealthy ancestors, he
thinks that their sentiments only betray a dull and narrow vision in those who
utter them, and who are not educated enough to look at the whole, nor to
consider that every man has had thousands and ten thousands of progenitors, and
among them have been rich and poor, kings and slaves, Hellenes and barbarians,
innumerable. And when people pride themselves on having a pedigree of
twenty-five ancestors, which goes back to Heracles, the son of Amphitryon, he
cannot understand their poverty of ideas. Why are they unable to calculate that
Amphitryon had a twenty-fifth ancestor, who might have been anybody, and was
such as fortune made him and he had a fiftieth, and so on ? He amuses
himself with the notion that they cannot count, and thinks that a little
arithmetic would have got rid of their senseless vanity. Now, in all these cases
our philosopher is derided by the vulgar, partly because he is thought to
despise them, and also because he is ignorant of what is before him, and always
at a loss.
Theod. That is very true,
Socrates.
Soc. But, O my friend,
when he draws the other into upper air, and gets him out of his pleas and
rejoinders into the contemplation of justice and injustice in their own nature
and in their difference from one another and from all other things ; or
from the commonplaces about the happiness of a king or of a rich man to the
consideration of government, and of human happiness and misery in general — what
they are, and how a man is to attain the one and avoid the other — when that
narrow, keen, little legal mind is called to account about all this, he gives
the philosopher his revenge ; for dizzied by the height at which he is
hanging, whence he looks down into space, which is a strange experience to him,
he being dismayed, and lost, and stammering broken words, is laughed at, not by
Thracian handmaidens or any other uneducated persons, for they have no eye for
the situation, but by every man who has not been brought up a slave. Such are
the two characters, Theodorus : the one of the freeman, who has becomes
trained in liberty and leisure, whom you call the philosopher — him we cannot
blame because he appears simple and of no account when he has to perform some
menial task, such as packing up bed-clothes, or flavouring a sauce or fawning
speech ; the other character is that of the man who is able to do all this
kind of service smartly and neatly, but knows not how to wear his cloak like a
gentleman ; still less with the music of discourse can he hymn the true
life aright which is lived by immortals or men blessed of
heaven.
Theod. If you could only
persuade everybody, Socrates, as you do me, of the truth of your words, there
would be more peace and fewer evils among men.
Soc. Evils, Theodorus,
can never pass away ; for there must always remain something which is
antagonistic to good. Having no place among the gods in heaven, of necessity
they hover around the mortal nature, and this earthly sphere. Wherefore we ought
to fly away from earth to heaven as quickly as we can ; and to fly away is
to become like God, as far as this is possible ; and to become like him, is
to become holy, just, and wise. But, O my friend, you cannot easily convince
mankind that they should pursue virtue or avoid vice, not merely in order that a
man may seem to be good, which is the reason given by the world, and in my
judgment is only a repetition of an old wives fable. Whereas, the truth is that
God is never in any way unrighteous — he is perfect righteousness ; and he
of us who is the most righteous is most like him. Herein is seen the true
cleverness of a man, and also his nothingness and want of manhood. For to know
this is true wisdom and virtue, and ignorance of this is manifest folly and
vice. All other kinds of wisdom or cleverness, which seem only, such as the
wisdom of politicians, or the wisdom of the arts, are coarse and vulgar. The
unrighteous man, or the sayer and doer of unholy things, had far better not be
encouraged in the illusion that his roguery is clever ; for men glory in
their shame — they fancy that they hear others saying of them, “These are not
mere good-for-nothing persons, mere burdens of the earth, but such as men should
be who mean to dwell safely in a state.” Let us tell them that they are all the
more truly what they do not think they are because they do not know it ;
for they do not know the penalty of injustice, which above all things they ought
to know — not stripes and death, as they suppose, which evil-doers often escape,
but a penalty which cannot be escaped.
Theod. What is
that ?
Soc. There are two
patterns eternally set before them ; the one blessed and divine, the other
godless and wretched : but they do not see them, or perceive that in their
utter folly and infatuation they are growing like the one and unlike the other,
by reason of their evil deeds ; and the penalty is, that they lead a life
answering to the pattern which they are growing like. And if we tell them, that
unless they depart from their cunning, the place of innocence will not receive
them after death ; and that here on earth, they will live ever in the
likeness of their own evil selves, and with evil friends — when they hear this
they in their superior cunning will seem to be listening to the talk of
idiots.
Theod. Very true,
Socrates.
Soc. Too true, my
friend, as I well know ; there is, however, one peculiarity in their
case : when they begin to reason in private about their dislike of
philosophy, if they have the courage to hear the argument out and do not run
away, they grow at last strangely discontented with themselves ; their
rhetoric fades away, and they become helpless as children. These however are
digressions from which we must now desist, or they will overflow, and drown the
original argument ; to which, if you please, we will now
return.
Theod. For my part,
Socrates, I would rather have the digressions, for at my age I find them easier
to follow ; but if you wish, let us go back to the
argument.
Soc. Had we not reached
the point at which the partisans of the perpetual flux, who say that things are
as they seem to each one, were confidently maintaining that the ordinances which
the state commanded 2nd thought just, were just to the state which imposed them,
while they were in force ; this was especially asserted of justice ;
but as to the good, no one had any longer the hardihood to contend of any
ordinances which the state thought and enacted to be good that these, while they
were in force, were really good ; — he who said so would be playing with
the name “good,” and would, not touch the real question — it would be a mockery,
would it not ?
Theod. Certainly it
would.
Soc. He ought not to
speak of the name, but of the thing which is contemplated under the
name.
Theod.
Right.
Soc. Whatever be the
term used, the good or expedient is the aim of legislation, and as far as she
has an opinion, the state imposes all laws with a view to the greatest
expediency ; can legislation have any other
aim ?
Theod. Certainly
not.
Soc. But is the aim
attained always ? do not mistakes often happen ?
Theod. Yes, I think that
there are mistakes.
Soc. The possibility of
error will be more distinctly recognized, if we put the question in reference to
the whole class under which the good or expedient fall That whole class has to
do with the future, and laws are passed under the idea that they will be useful
in after-time ; which, in other words, is the future.
Theod. Very
true.
Soc. Suppose now, that
we ask Protagoras, or one of his disciples, a question : — O, Protagoras,
we will say to him, Man is, as you declare, the measure of all things — white,
heavy, light : of all such things he is the judge ; for he has the
criterion of them in himself, and when he thinks that things are such as he
experiences them to be, he thinks what is and is true to himself. Is it not
so ?
Theod.
Yes.
Soc. And do you extend
your doctrine, Protagoras (as we shall further say), to the future as well as to
the present ; and has he the criterion not only of what in his opinion is
but of what will be, and do things always happen to him as he expected ?
For example, take the case of heat : — When an ordinary man thinks that he
is going to have a fever, and that this kind of heat is coming on, and another
person, who is a physician, thinks the contrary, whose opinion is likely to
prove right ? Or are they both right ? — he will have a heat and fever
in his own judgment, and not have a fever in the physician’s
judgment ?
Theod. How
ludicrous !
Soc. And the
vinegrower, if I am not mistaken, is a better judge of the sweetness or dryness
of the vintage which is not yet gathered than the
harp-player ?
Theod.
Certainly.
Soc. And in musical
composition — the musician will know better than the training master what the
training master himself will hereafter think harmonious or the
reverse ?
Theod. Of
course.
Soc. And the cook will
be a better judge than the guest, who is not a cook, of the pleasure to be
derived from the dinner which is in preparation ; for of present or past
pleasure we are not as yet arguing ; but can we say that every one will be
to himself the best judge of the pleasure which will seem to be and will be to
him in the future ? — nay, would not you, Protagoras, better guess which
arguments in a court would convince any one of us than the ordinary
man ?
Theod. Certainly,
Socrates, he used to profess in the strongest manner that he was the superior of
all men in this respect.
Soc. To be sure,
friend : who would have paid a large sum for the privilege of talking to
him, if he had really persuaded his visitors that neither a prophet nor any
other man was better able to judge what will be and seem to be in the future
than every one could for himself ?
Theod. Who
indeed ?
Soc. And legislation
and expediency are all concerned with the future ; and every one will admit
that states, in passing laws, must often fail of their highest
interests ?
Theod. Quite
true.
Soc. Then we may fairly
argue against your master, that he must admit one man to be wiser than another,
and that the wiser is a measure : but I, who know nothing, am not at all
obliged to accept the honour which the advocate of Protagoras was just now
forcing upon me, whether I would or not, of being a measure of
anything.
Theod. That is the best
refutation of him, Socrates ; although he is also caught when he ascribes
truth to the opinions of others, who give the lie direct to his own
opinion.
Soc. There are many
ways, Theodorus, in which the doctrine that every opinion of : every man is
true may be refuted ; but there is more difficulty, in proving that states
of feeling, which are present to a man, and out of which arise sensations and
opinions in accordance with them, are also untrue. And very likely I have been
talking nonsense about them ; for they may be unassailable, and those who
say that there is clear evidence of them, and that they are matters of
knowledge, may probably be right ; in which case our friend Theaetetus was
not so far from the mark when he identified perception and knowledge. And
therefore let us draw nearer, as the advocate of Protagoras desires ; and
the truth of the universal flux a ring : is the theory sound or not ?
at any rate, no small war is raging about it, and there are combination not a
few.
Theod. No small, war,
indeed, for in most the sect makes rapid strides, the disciples of Heracleitus
are most energetic. upholders of the doctrine.
Soc. Then we are the
more bound, my dear Theodorus, to examine the question from the foundation as it
is set forth by themselves.
Theod. Certainly we are.
About these speculations of Heracleitus, which, as you say, are as old as Homer,
or even older still, the Ephesians themselves, who profess to know them, are
downright mad, and you cannot talk with them on the subject. For, in accordance
with their text-books, they are always in motion ; but as for dwelling upon
an argument or a question, and quietly asking and answering in turn, they can no
more do so than they can fly ; or rather, the determination of these
fellows not to have a particle of rest in them is more than the utmost powers of
negation can express. If you ask any of them a question, he will produce, as
from a quiver, sayings brief and dark, and shoot them at you ; and if you
inquire the reason of what he has said, you will be hit by some other newfangled
word, and will make no way with any of them, nor they with one another ;
their great care is, not to allow of any settled principle either in their
arguments or in their minds, conceiving, as I imagine, that any such principle
would be stationary ; for they are at war with the stationary, and do what
they can to drive it out everywhere.
Soc. I suppose,
Theodorus, that you have only seen them when they were fighting, and have never
stayed with them in time of peace, for they are no friends of yours ; and
their peace doctrines are only communicated by them at leisure, as I imagine, to
those disciples of theirs whom they want to make like
themselves.
Theod. Disciples !
my good sir, they have none ; men of their sort are not one another’s
disciples, but they grow up at their own sweet will, and get their inspiration
anywhere, each of them saying of his neighbour that he knows nothing. Fro these
men, then, as I was going to remark, you will never get a reason, whether with
their will or without their will ; we must take the question out of their
hands, and make the analysis ourselves, as if we were doing geometrical
problem.
Soc. Quite right
too ; but as touching the aforesaid problem, have we not heard from the
ancients, who concealed their wisdom from the many in poetical figures, that
Oceanus and Tethys, the origin of all things, are streams, and that nothing is
at rest ? And now the moderns, in their superior wisdom, have declared the
same openly, that the cobbler too may hear and learn of them, and no longer
foolishly imagine that some things are at rest and others in motion — having
learned that all is motion, he will duly honour his teachers. I had almost
forgotten the opposite doctrine, Theodorus,
Alone Being remains unmoved, which
is the name for the all.
This is the
language of Parmenides, Melissus, and their followers, who stoutly maintain that
all being is one and self-contained, and has no place which to move. What shall
we do, friend, with all these people ; for, advancing step by step, we have
imperceptibly got between the combatants, and, unless we can protect our
retreat, we shall pay the penalty of our rashness — like the players in the
palaestra who are caught upon the line, and are dragged different ways by the
two parties. Therefore I think that we had better begin by considering those
whom we first accosted, “the river-gods,” and, if we find any truth in them, we
will help them to pull us over, and try to get away from the others. But if the
partisans of “the whole” appear to speak more truly, we will fly off from the
party which would move the immovable, to them. And if I find that neither of
them have anything reasonable to say, we shall be in a ridiculous position,
having so great a conceit of our own poor opinion and rejecting that of ancient
and famous men. O Theodorus, do you think that there is any use in proceeding
when the danger is so great ?
Theod. Nay, Socrates, not
to examine thoroughly what the two parties have to say would be quite
intolerable.
Soc. Then examine we
must, since you, who were so reluctant. to begin, are so eager to proceed. The
nature of motion appears to be the question with which we begin. What do they
mean when they say that all things are in motion ? Is there only one kind
of motion, or, as I rather incline to think, two ? should like to have your
opinion upon this point in addition to my own, that I may err, if I must err, in
your company ; tell me, then, when a thing changes from one place to
another, or goes round in the same place, is not that what is called
motion ?
Theod.
Yes.
Soc. Here then we have
one kind of motion. But when a thing, remaining on the same spot, grows old, or
becomes black from being white, or hard from being soft, or undergoes any other
change, may not this be properly called motion of another
kind ?
Theod. I think
so.
Soc. Say rather that it
must be so. Of motion then there are these two kinds, “change,” and “motion in
place.”
Theod. You are
right.
Soc. And now, having
made this distinction, let us address ourselves to those who say that all is
motion, and ask them whether all things according to them have the two kinds of
motion, and are changed as well as move in place, or is one thing moved in both
ways, and another in one only ?
Theod. Indeed, I do not
know what to answer ; but I think they would say that all things are moved
in both ways.
Soc. Yes,
comrade ; for, if not, they would have to say that the same things are in
motion and at rest, and there would be no more truth in saying that all things
are in motion, than that all things are at rest.
Theod. To be
sure.
Soc. And if they are to
be in motion, and nothing is to be devoid of motion, all things must always have
every sort of motion ?
Theod. Most
true.
Soc. Consider a further
point : did we not understand them to explain the generation of heat,
whiteness, or anything else, in some such manner as the following : — were
they not saying that each of them is moving between the agent and the patient,
together with a perception, and that the patient ceases to be a perceiving power
and becomes a percipient, and the agent a quale instead of a quality ? I
suspect that quality may appear a strange and uncouth term to you, and that you
do not understand the abstract expression. Then I will take concrete
instances : I mean to say that the producing power or agent becomes neither
heat nor whiteness but hot and white, and the like of other things. For I must
repeat what I said before, that neither the agent nor patient have any absolute
existence, but when they come together and generate sensations and their
objects, the one becomes a thing a certain quality, and the other a percipient.
You remember ?
Theod. Of
course.
Soc. We may leave the
details of their theory unexamined, but we must not forget to ask them the only
question with which we are concerned : Are all things in motion and
flux ?
Theod. Yes, they will
reply.
Soc. And they are moved
in both those ways which we distinguished, that is to Way, they move in place
and are also changed ?
Theod. Of course, if the
motion is to be perfect.
Soc. If they only moved
in place and were not changed, we should be able to say what is the nature of
the things which are in motion and flux.
Theod.
Exactly.
Soc. But now, since not
even white continues to flow white, and whiteness itself is a flux or change
which is passing into another colour, and is never to be caught standing still,
can the name of any colour be rightly used at all ?
Theod. How is that
possible, Socrates, either in the case of this or of any other quality — if
while we are using the word the object is escaping in the
flux ?
Soc. And what would you
say of perceptions, such as sight and hearing, or any other kind of
perception ? Is there any stopping in the act of seeing and
hearing ?
Theod. Certainly not, if
all things are in motion.
Soc. Then we must not
speak of seeing any more than of not-seeing, nor of any other perception more
than of any non-perception, if all things partake of every kind of
motion ?
Theod. Certainly
not.
Soc. Yet perception is
knowledge : so at least Theaetetus and I were saying.
Theod. Very
true.
Soc. Then when we were
asked what is knowledge, we no more answered what is knowledge than what is not
knowledge ?
Theod. I suppose
not.
Soc. Here, then, is a
fine result : we corrected our first answer in our eagerness to prove that
nothing is at rest. But if nothing is at rest, every answer upon whatever
subject is equally right : you may say that a thing is or is not
thus ; or, if you prefer, “becomes” thus ; and if we say “becomes,” we
shall not then hamper them with words expressive of rest.
Theod. Quite
true.
Soc. Yes, Theodorus,
except in saying “thus” and “not thus.” But you ought not to use the word
“thus,” for there is no motion in “thus” or in “not thus.” The maintainers of
the doctrine have as yet no words in which to express themselves, and must get a
new language. I know of no word that will suit them, except perhaps “no how,”
which is perfectly indefinite.
Theod. Yes, that is a
manner of speaking in which they will be quite at home.
Soc. And so, Theodorus,
we have got rid of your friend without assenting to his doctrine, that every man
is the measure of all things — a wise man only is a measure ; neither can
we allow that knowledge is perception, certainly not on the hypothesis of a
perpetual flux, unless perchance our friend Theaetetus is able to convince us
that it is.
Theod. Very good,
Socrates ; and now that the argument about the doctrine of Protagoras has
been completed, I am absolved from answering ; for this was the
agreement.
Theaet. Not, Theodorus,
until you and Socrates have discussed the doctrine of those who say that all
things are at rest, as you were proposing.
Theod. You, Theaetetus,
who are a young rogue, must not instigate your elders to a breach of faith, but
should prepare to answer Socrates in the remainder of the
argument.
Theaet. Yes, if he
wishes ; but I would rather have heard about the doctrine of
rest.
Theod. Invite Socrates to
an argument — invite horsemen to the open plain ; do but ask him, and he
will answer.
Soc. Nevertheless,
Theodorus, I am afraid that I shall not be able to comply with the request of
Theaetetus.
Theod. Not comply !
for what reason ?
Soc. My reason is that
I have a kind of reverence ; not so much for Melissus and the others, who
say that “All is one and at rest,” as for the great leader himself, Parmenides,
venerable and awful, as in Homeric language he may be called ; — him I
should be ashamed to approach in a spirit unworthy of him. I met him when he was
an old man, and I was a mere youth, and he appeared to me to have a glorious
depth of mind. And I am afraid that we may not understand his words, and may be
still further from understanding his meaning ; above all I fear that the
nature of knowledge, which is the main subject of our discussion, may be thrust
out of sight by the unbidden guests who will come pouring in upon our feast of
discourse, if we let them in — besides, the question which is now stirring is of
immense extent, and will be treated unfairly if only considered by the
way ; or if treated adequately and at length, will put into the shade the
other question of knowledge. Neither the one nor the other can be allowed ;
but I must try by my art of midwifery to deliver Theaetetus of his conceptions
about knowledge.
Theaet. Very well ;
do so if you will.
Soc. Then now,
Theaetetus, take another view of the subject : you answered that knowledge
is perception ?
Theaet. I
did.
Soc. And if any one
were to ask you : With what does a man see black and white colours ?
and with what does he hear high and low sounds ? — you would say, if I am
not mistaken, “With the eyes and with the ears.”
Theaet. I
should.
Soc. The free use of
words and phrases, rather than minute precision, is generally characteristic of
a liberal education, and the opposite is pedantic ; but sometimes
precision. is necessary, and I believe that the answer which you have just given
is open to the charge of incorrectness ; for which is more correct, to say
that we see or hear with the eyes and with the ears, or through the eyes and
through the ears.
Theaet. I should say
“through,” Socrates, rather than “with.”
Soc. Yes, my boy, for
no one can suppose that in each of us, as in a sort of Trojan horse, there are
perched a number of unconnected senses, which do not all meet in some one
nature, the mind, or whatever we please to call it, of which they are the
instruments, and with which through them we perceive objects of
sense.
Theaet. I agree with you
in that opinion.
Soc. The reason why I
am thus precise is, because I want to know whether, when we perceive black and
white through the eyes, and again, other qualities through other organs, we do
not perceive them with one and the same part of ourselves, and, if you were
asked, you might refer all such perceptions to the body. Perhaps, however, I had
better allow you to answer for yourself and not interfere ; Tell me, then,
are not the organs through which you perceive warm and hard and light and sweet,
organs of the body ?
Theaet. Of the body,
certainly.
Soc. And you would
admit that what you perceive through one faculty you cannot perceive through
another ; the objects of hearing, for example, cannot be perceived through
sight, or the objects of sight through hearing ?
Theaet. Of course
not.
Soc. If you have any
thought about both of them, this common perception cannot come to you, either
through the one or the other organ ?
Theaet. It
cannot.
Soc. How about sounds
and colours : in the first place you would admit that they both
exist ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And that either of
them is different from the other, and the same with
itself ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And that both are
two and each of them one ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. You can further
observe whether they are like or unlike one another ?
Theaet. I dare
say.
Soc. But through what
do you perceive all this about them ? for neither through hearing nor yet
through seeing can you apprehend that which they have in common. Let me give you
an illustration of the point at issue : — If there were any meaning in
asking whether sounds and colours are saline or not, you would be able to tell
me what faculty would consider the question. It would not be sight or hearing,
but some other.
Theaet. Certainly ;
the faculty of taste.
Soc. Very good ;
and now tell me what is the power which discerns, not only in sensible objects,
but in all things, universal notions, such as those which are called being and
not-being, and those others about which we were just asking — what organs will
you assign for the perception of these notions ?
Theaet. You are thinking
of being and not being, likeness and unlikeness, sameness and difference, and
also of unity and other numbers which are applied to objects of sense ; and
you mean to ask, through what bodily organ the soul perceives odd and even
numbers and other arithmetical conceptions.
Soc. You follow me
excellently, Theaetetus ; that is precisely what I am
asking.
Theaet. Indeed, Socrates,
I cannot answer ; my only notion is, that these, unlike objects of sense,
have no separate organ, but that the mind, by a power of her own, contemplates
the universals in all things.
Soc. You are a beauty,
Theaetetus, and not ugly, as Theodorus was saying ; for he who utters the
beautiful is himself beautiful and good. And besides being beautiful, you have
done me a kindness in releasing me from a very long discussion, if you are clear
that the soul views some things by herself and others through the bodily organs.
For that was my own opinion, and I wanted you to agree with
me.
Theaet. I am quite
clear.
Soc. And to which class
would you refer being or essence ; for this, of all our notions, is the
most universal ?
Theaet. I should say, to
that class which the soul aspires to know of herself.
Soc. And would you say
this also of like and unlike, same and other ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And would you say
the same of the noble and base, and of good and
evil ?
Theaet. These I conceive
to be notions which are essentially relative, and which the soul also perceives
by comparing in herself things past and present with the
future.
Soc. And does she not
perceive the hardness of that which is hard by the touch, and the softness of
that which is soft equally by the touch ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. But their essence
and what they are, and their opposition to one another, and the essential nature
of this opposition, the soul herself endeavours to decide for us by the review
and comparison of them ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. The simple
sensations which reach the soul through the body are given at birth to men and
animals by nature, but their reflections on the being and use of them are slowly
and hardly gained, if they are ever gained, by education and long
experience.
Theaet.
Assuredly.
Soc. And can a man
attain truth who fails of attaining being ?
Theaet.
Impossible.
Soc. And can he who
misses the truth of anything, have a knowledge of that
thing ?
Theaet. He
cannot.
Soc. Then knowledge
does not consist in impressions of sense, but in reasoning about them ; in
that only, and not in the mere impression, truth and being can be
attained ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. And would you call
the two processes by the same name, when there is so great difference between
them ?
Theaet. That would
certainly not be right.
Soc. And what name
would you give to seeing, hearing, smelling, being cold and being
hot ?
Theaet. I should call all
of them perceiving — what other name could be given to
them ?
Soc. Perception would
be the collective name of them ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Which, as we say,
has no part in the attainment of truth any more of
being ?
Theaet. Certainly
not.
Soc. And therefore not
in. science or knowledge ?
Theaet.
No.
Soc. Then perception,
Theaetetus, can never be the same as knowledge or
science ?
Theaet. Clearly not,
Socrates ; and knowledge has now been most distinctly proved to be
different from perception.
Soc. But the original
aim of our discussion was to find out rather what knowledge is than what it is
not ; at the same time we have made some progress, for we no longer seek
for knowledge, in perception at all, but in that other process, however called,
in which the mind is alone and engaged with being.
Theaet. You mean,
Socrates, if I am not mistaken, what is called thinking or
opining.
Soc. You conceive
truly. And now, my friend, Please to begin again at this point ; and having
wiped out of your memory all that has preceded, see if you have arrived at any
clearer view, and once more say what is knowledge.
Theaet. I cannot say,
Socrates, that all opinion is knowledge, because there may be a false
opinion ; but I will venture to assert, that knowledge is true
opinion : let this then be my reply ; and if this is hereafter
disproved, I must try to find another.
Soc. That is the way in
which you ought to answer, Theaetetus, and not in your former hesitating strain,
for if we are bold we shall gain one of two advantages ; either we shall
find what we seek, or we shall be less likely to think that we know what we do
not know — in either case we shall be richly rewarded. And now, what are you
saying ? — Are there two sorts of opinion, one true and the other
false ; and do you define knowledge to be the
true ?
Theaet. Yes, according to
my present view.
Soc. Is it still worth
our while to resume the discussion touching opinion ?
Theaet. To what are you
alluding ?
Soc. There is a point
which often troubles me, and is a great perplexity to me, both in regard to
myself and others. I cannot make out the nature or origin of the mental
experience to which I refer.
Theaet. Pray what is
it ?
Soc. How there can be —
false opinion — that difficulty still troubles the eye of my mind ; and I
am uncertain whether I shall leave the question, or over again in a new
way.
Theaet. Begin again,
Socrates, — at least if you think that there is the slightest necessity for
doing so. Were not you and Theodorus just now remarking very truly, that in
discussions of this kind we may take our own time ?
Soc. You are quite
right, and perhaps there will be no harm in retracing our steps and beginning
again. Better a little which is well done, than a great deal
imperfectly.
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Well, and what is
the difficulty ? Do we not speak of false opinion, and say that one man
holds a false and another a true opinion, as though there were some natural
distinction between them ?
Theaet. We certainly say
so.
Soc. All things and
everything are either known or not known. I leave out of view the intermediate
conceptions of learning and forgetting, because they have nothing to do with our
present question.
Theaet. There can be no
doubt, Socrates, if you exclude these, that there is no other alternative but
knowing or not knowing a thing.
Soc. That point being
now determined, must we not say that he who has an opinion, must have an opinion
about something which he knows or does not know ?
Theaet. He
must.
Soc. He who knows,
cannot but know ; and he who does not know, cannot
know ?
Theaet. Of
course.
Soc. What shall we say
then ? When a man has a false opinion does he think that which he knows to
be some other thing which he knows, and knowing both, is he at the same time
ignorant of both ?
Theaet. That, Socrates, is
impossible.
Soc. But perhaps he
thinks of something which he does not know as some other thing which he does not
know ; for example, he knows neither Theaetetus nor Socrates, and yet he
fancies that Theaetetus is Socrates, or Socrates
Theaetetus ?
Theaet. How can
he ?
Soc. But surely he
cannot suppose what he knows to be what he does not know, or what he does not
know to be what he knows ?
Theaet. That would be
monstrous.
Soc. Where, then, is
false opinion ? For if all things are either known or unknown, there can be
no opinion which is not comprehended under this alternative, and so false
opinion is excluded.
Theaes. Most
true.
Soc. Suppose that we
remove the question out of the sphere of knowing or not knowing, into that of
being and not-being.
Theaet. What do you
mean ?
Soc. May we not suspect
the simple truth to be that he who thinks about anything, that which. is not,
will necessarily think what is false, whatever in other respects may be the
state of his mind ?
Theaet. That, again, is
not unlikely, Socrates.
Soc. Then suppose some
one to say to us, Theaetetus : — Is it possible for any man to think that
which is not, either as a self-existent substance or as a predicate of something
else ? And suppose that we answer, “Yes, he can, when he thinks what is not
true.” — That will be our answer ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. But is there any
parallel to this ?
Theaet. What do you
mean ?
Soc. Can a man see
something and yet see nothing ?
Theaet.
Impossible.
Soc. But if he sees any
one thing, he sees something that exists. Do you suppose that what is one is
ever to be found among nonexisting things ?
Theaet. I do
not.
Soc. He then who sees
some one thing, sees something which is ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. And he who hears
anything, hears some one thing, and hears that which
is ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And he who touches
anything, touches something which is one and therefore
is ?
Theaet. That again is
true.
Soc. And does not he
who thinks, think some one thing ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And does not he
who thinks some one thing, think something which is ?
Theaet. I
agree.
Soc. Then he who thinks
of that which is not, thinks of nothing ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. And he who thinks
of nothing, does not think at all ?
Theaet.
Obviously.
Soc. Then no one can
think that which is not, either as a self-existent substance or as a predicate
of something else ?
Theaet. Clearly
not.
Soc. Then to think
falsely is different from thinking that which is
not ?
Theaet. It would seem
so.
Soc. Then false opinion
has no existence in us, either in the sphere of being or of
knowledge ?
Theaet. Certainly
not.
Soc. But may not the
following be the description of what we express by this
name ?
Theaet.
What ?
Soc. May we not suppose
that false opinion or thought is a sort of heterodoxy ; a person may make
an exchange in his mind, and say that one real object is another real object.
For thus he always thinks that which is, but he puts one thing in place of
another ; and missing the aim of his thoughts, he may be truly said to have
false opinion.
Theaet. Now you appear to
me to have spoken the exact truth : when a man puts the base in the place
of the noble, or the noble in the place of the base, then he has truly false
opinion.
Soc. I see, Theaetetus,
that your fear has disappeared, and that you are beginning to despise
me.
Theaet. What makes you say
so ?
Soc. You think, if I am
not mistaken, that your “truly false” is safe from censure, and that I shall
never ask whether there can be a swift which is slow, or a heavy which is light,
or any other self-contradictory thing, which works, not according to its own
nature, but according to that of its opposite. But I will not insist upon this,
for I do not wish needlessly to discourage you. And so you are satisfied that
false opinion is heterodoxy, or the thought of something
else ?
Theaet. I
am.
Soc. It is possible
then upon your view for the mind to conceive of one thing as
another ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. But must not the
mind, or thinking power, which misplaces them, have a conception either of both
objects or of one of them ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Either together or
in succession ?
Theaet. Very
good.
Soc. And do you mean by
conceiving, the same which I mean ?
Theaet. What is
that ?
Soc. I mean the
conversation which the soul holds with herself in considering of anything. I
speak of what I scarcely understand ; but the soul when thinking appears to
me to be just talking — asking questions of herself and answering them,
affirming and denying. And when she has arrived at a decision, either gradually
or by a sudden impulse, and has at last agreed, and does not doubt, this is
called her opinion. I say, then, that to form an opinion is to speak, and
opinion is a word spoken, — I mean, to oneself and in silence, not aloud or to
another : What think you ?
Theaet. I
agree.
Soc. Then when any one
thinks of one thing as another, he is saying to himself that one thing is
another ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. But do you ever
remember saying to yourself that the noble is certainly base, or the unjust
just ; or, best of all — have you ever attempted to convince yourself that
one thing is another ? Nay, not even in sleep, did you ever venture to say
to yourself that odd is even, or anything of the
kind ?
Theaet.
Never.
Soc. And do you suppose
that any other man, either in his senses or out of them, ever seriously tried to
persuade himself that an ox is a horse, or that two are
one ?
Theaet. Certainly
not.
Soc. But if thinking is
talking to oneself, no one speaking and thinking of two objects, and
apprehending them both in his soul, will say and think that the one is the other
of them, and I must add, that even you, lover of dispute as you are, had better
let the word “other” alone [i.e., not insist that “one” and “other” are the
same]. I mean to say, that no one thinks the noble to be base, or anything of
the kind.
Theaet. I will give up the
word “other,” Socrates ; and I agree to what you say.
Soc. If a man has both
of them in his thoughts, he cannot think that the one of them is the
other ?
Theat.
True.
Soc. Neither, if he has
one of them only in his mind and not the other, can he think that one is the
other ?
Theaet. True ; for we
should have to suppose that he apprehends that which is not in his thoughts at
all.
Soc. Then no one who
has either both or only one of the two objects in his mind can think that the
one is the other. And therefore, he who maintains that false opinion is
heterodoxy is talking nonsense ; for neither in this, any more than in the
previous way, can false opinion exist in us.
Theaet.
No.
Soc. But if,
Theaetetus, this is not admitted, we shall be driven into many
absurdities.
Theaet. What are
they ?
Soc. I will not tell
you until I have endeavoured to consider the matter from every point of view.
For I should be ashamed of us if we were driven in our perplexity to admit the
absurd consequences of which I speak. But if we find the solution, and get away
from them, we may regard them only as the difficulties of others, and the
ridicule will not attach to us. On the other hand, if we utterly fail, I suppose
that we must be humble, and allow the argument to trample us under foot, as the
sea-sick passenger is trampled upon by the sailor, and to do anything to us.
Listen, then, while I tell you how I hope to find a way out of our
difficulty.
Theaet. Let me
hear.
Soc. I think that we
were wrong in denying that a man could think what he knew to be what he did not
know ; and that there is a way in which such a deception is
possible.
Theaet. You mean to say,
as I suspected at the time, that I may know Socrates, and at a distance see some
one who is unknown to me, and whom I mistake for him — them the deception will
occur ?
Soc. But has not that
position been relinquished by us, because involving the absurdity that we should
know and not know the things which we know ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Let us make the
assertion in another form, which may or may not have a favourable issue ;
but as we are in a great strait, every argument should be turned over and
tested. Tell me, then, whether I am right in saying that you may learn a thing
which at one time you did not know ?
Theaet. Certainly you
may.
Soc. And another and
another ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. I would have you
imagine, then, that there exists in the mind of man a block of wax, which is of
different sizes in different men ; harder, moister, and having more or less
of purity in one than another, and in some of an intermediate
quality.
Theaet. I
see.
Soc. Let us say that
this tablet is a gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses ; and that when we
wish to remember anything which we have seen, or heard, or thought in our own
minds, we hold the wax to the perceptions and thoughts, and in that material
receive the impression of them as from the seal of a ring ; and that we
remember and know what is imprinted as long as the image lasts ; but when
the image is effaced, or cannot be taken, then we forget and do not
know.
Theaet. Very
good.
Soc. Now, when a person
has this knowledge, and is considering something which he sees or hears, may not
false opinion arise in the following manner ?
Theaet. In what
manner ?
Soc. When he thinks
what he knows, sometimes to be what he knows, and sometimes to be what he does
not know. We were wrong before in denying the possibility of
this.
Theaet. And how would you
amend the former statement ?
Soc. I should begin by
making a list of the impossible cases which must be excluded. (1) No one can
think one thing to be another when he does not perceive either of them, but has
the memorial or seal of both of them in his mind ; nor can any mistaking of
one thing for another occur, when he only knows one, and does not know, and has
no impression of the other ; nor can he think that one thing which he does
not know is another thing which he does not know, or that what he does not know
is what he knows ; nor (2) that one thing which he perceives is another
thing which he perceives, or that something which he perceives is something
which he does not perceive ; or that something which he does not perceive
is something else which he does not perceive ; or that something which he
does not perceive is something which he perceives ; nor again (3) can he
think that something which he knows and perceives, and of which he has the
impression coinciding with sense, is something else which he knows and
perceives, and of which he has the impression coinciding with sense ; —
this last case, if possible, is still more inconceivable than the others ;
nor (4) can he think that something which he knows and perceives, and of which
he has the memorial coinciding with sense, is something else which he
knows ; nor so long as these agree, can he think that a thing which he
knows and perceives is another thing which he perceives ; or that a thing
which he does not know and does not perceive, is the same as another thing which
he does not know and does not perceive ; — nor again, can he suppose that a
thing which he does not know and does not perceive is the same as another thing
which he does not know ; or that a thing which he does not know and does
not perceive is another thing which he does not perceive : — All these
utterly and absolutely exclude the possibility of false opinion. The only cases,
if any, which remain, are the following.
Theaet. What are
they ? If you tell me, I may perhaps understand you better ; but at
present I am unable to follow you.
Soc. A person may think
that some things which he knows, or which he perceives and does not know, are
some other things which he knows and perceives ; or that some things which
he knows and perceives, are other things which he knows and
perceives.
Theaet. I understand you
less than ever now.
Soc. Hear me once more,
then : — I, knowing Theodorus, and remembering in my own mind what sort of
person he is, and also what sort of person Theaetetus is, at one time see them,
and at another time do not see them, and sometimes I touch them, and at another
time not, or at one time I may hear them or perceive them in some other way, and
at another time not perceive them, but still I remember them, and know them in
my own mind.
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. Then, first of
all, I want you to understand that a man may or may not perceive sensibly that
which he knows.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And that which he
does not know will sometimes not be perceived by him and sometimes will be
perceived and only perceived ?
Theaet. That is also
true.
Soc. See whether you
can follow me better now : Socrates can recognize Theodorus and Theaetetus,
but he sees neither of them, nor does he perceive them in any other way ;
he cannot then by any possibility imagine in his own mind that Theaetetus is
Theodorus. Am I not right ?
Theaet. You are quite
right.
Soc. Then that was the
first case of which I spoke.
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. The second case
was, that I, knowing one of you and not knowing the other, and perceiving
neither, can never think him whom I know to be him whom I do not
know.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. In the third case,
not knowing and not perceiving either of you, I cannot think that one of you
whom I do not know is the other whom I do not know. I need not again go over the
catalogue of excluded cases, in which I cannot form a false opinion about you
and Theodorus, either when I know both or when I am in ignorance of both, or
when I know one and not the other. And the same of perceiving : do you
understand me ?
Theaet. I
do.
Soc. The only
possibility of erroneous opinion is, when knowing you and Theodorus, and having
on the waxen block the impression of both of you given as by a seal, but seeing
you imperfectly and at a distance, I try to assign the right impression of
memory to the right visual impression, and to fit this into its own print :
if I succeed, recognition will take place ; but if I fad and transpose
them, putting the foot into the wrong shoe — that is to say, putting the vision
of either of you on to the wrong impression, or if my mind, like the sight in a
mirror, which is transferred from right to left, err by reason of some similar
affection, then “heterodoxy” and false opinion ensues.
Theaet. Yes, Socrates, you
have described the nature of opinion with wonderful
exactness.
Soc. Or again, when I
know both of you, and perceive as well as know one of you, but not the other,
and my knowledge of him does not accord with perception — that was the case put
by me just now which you did not understand
Theaet. No, I did
not.
Soc. I meant to say,
that when a person knows and perceives one of you, his knowledge coincides with
his perception, he will never think him to be some other person, whom he knows
and perceives, and the knowledge of whom coincides with his perception — for
that also was a case supposed.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. But there was an
omission of the further case, in which, as we now say, false opinion may arise,
when knowing both, and seeing, or having some other sensible perception of both,
I fail in holding the seal over against the corresponding sensation ; like
a bad archer, I miss and fall wide of the mark — and this is called
falsehood.
Theaet. Yes ; it is
rightly so called.
Soc. When, therefore,
perception is present to one of the seals or impressions but not to the other,
and the mind fits the seal of the absent perception on the one which is present,
in any case of this sort the mind is deceived ; in a word, if our view is
sound, there can be no error or deception about things which a man does not know
and has never perceived, but only in things which are known and perceived ;
in these alone opinion turns and twists about, and becomes alternately true and
false ; — true when the seals and impressions of sense meet straight and
opposite — false when they go awry and crooked.
Theaet. And is not that,
Socrates, nobly said ?
Soc. Nobly !
yes ; but wait a little and hear the explanation, and then you will say so
with more reason ; for to think truly is noble and to be deceived is
base.
Theaet.
Undoubtedly.
Soc. And the origin of
truth and error is as follows : — When the wax in the soul of any one is
deep and abundant, and smooth and perfectly tempered, then the impressions which
pass through the senses and sink into the heart of the soul, as Homer says in a
parable, meaning to indicate the likeness of the soul to wax (Kerh
Kerhos) ; these, I say, being pure and clear, and having a sufficient depth
of wax, are also lasting, and minds, such as these, easily learn and easily
retain, and are not liable to confusion, but have true thoughts, for they have
plenty of room, and having clear impressions of things, as we term them, quickly
distribute them into their proper places on the block. And such men are called
wise. Do you agree ?
Theaet.
Entirely.
Soc. But when the heart
of any one is shaggy — a quality which the all-wise poet commends, or muddy and
of impure wax, or very soft, or very hard, then there is a corresponding defect
in the mind — the soft are good at learning, but apt to forget ; and the
hard are the reverse ; the shaggy and rugged and gritty, or those who have
an admixture of earth or dung in their composition, have the impressions
indistinct, as also the hard, for there is no depth in them ; and the soft
too are indistinct, for their impressions are easily confused and effaced. Yet
greater is the indistinctness when they are all jostled together in a little
soul, which has no room. These are the natures which have false opinion ;
for when they see or hear or think of anything, they are slow in assigning the
right objects to the right impressions — in their stupidity they confuse them,
and are apt to see and hear and think amiss — and such men are said to be
deceived in their knowledge of objects, and ignorant.
Theaet. No man, Socrates,
can say anything truer than that.
Soc. Then now we may
admit the existence of false opinion in us ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And of true
opinion also ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. We have at length
satisfactorily proven beyond a doubt there are these two sorts of
opinion ?
Theaet.
Undoubtedly.
Soc. Alas, Theaetetus,
what a tiresome creature is a man who is fond of
talking !
Theaet. What makes you say
so ?
Soc. Because I am
disheartened at my own stupidity and tiresome garrulity ; for what other
term will describe the habit of a man who is always arguing on all sides of a
question ; whose dulness cannot be convinced, and who will never leave
off ?
Theaet. But what puts you
out of heart ?
Soc. I am not only out
of heart, but in positive despair ; for I do not know what to answer if any
one were to ask me : — O Socrates, have you indeed discovered that false
opinion arises neither in the comparison of perceptions with one another nor yet
in thought, but in union of thought and perception ? Yes, I shall say, with
the complacence of one who thinks that he has made a noble
discovery.
Theaet. I see no reason
why we should be ashamed of our demonstration, Socrates.
Soc. He will say :
You mean to argue that the man whom we only think of and do not see, cannot be
confused with the horse which we do not see or touch, but only think of and do
not perceive ? That I believe to be my meaning, I shall
reply.
Theaet. Quite
right.
Soc. Well, then, he
will say, according to that argument, the number eleven, which is only thought,
never be mistaken for twelve, which is only thought : How would you answer
him ?
Theaet. I should say that
a mistake may very likely arise between the eleven or twelve which are seen or
handled, but that no similar mistake can arise between the eleven and twelve
which are in the mind.
Soc. Well, but do you
think that no one ever put before his own mind five and seven, — I do not mean
five or seven men or horses, but five or seven in the abstract, which, as we
say, are recorded on the waxen block, and in which false opinion is held to be
impossible ; did no man ever ask himself how many these numbers make when
added together, and answer that they are eleven, while another thinks that they
are twelve, or would all agree in thinking and saying that they are
twelve ?
Theaet. Certainly
not ; many would think that they are eleven, and in the higher numbers the
chance of error is greater still ; for I assume you to be speaking of
numbers in general.
Soc. Exactly ; and
I want you to consider whether this does not imply that the twelve in the waxen
block are supposed to be eleven ?
Theaet. Yes, that seems to
be the case.
Soc. Then do we not
come back to the old difficulty ? For he who makes such a mistake does
think one thing which he knows to be another thing which he knows ; but
this, as we said, was impossible, and afforded an irresistible proof of the
non-existence of false opinion, because otherwise the same person would
inevitably know and not know the same thing at the same
time.
Theaet. Most
true.
Soc. Then false opinion
cannot be explained as a confusion of thought and sense, for in that case we
could not have been mistaken about pure conceptions of thought ; and thus
we are obliged to say, either that false opinion does not exist, or that a man
may not know that which he knows ; — which alternative do you
prefer ?
Theaet. It is hard to
determine, Socrates.
Soc. And yet the
argument will scarcely admit of both. But, as we are at our wits’ end, suppose
that we do a shameless thing ?
Theaet. What is
it ?
Soc. Let us attempt to
explain the verb “to know.”
Theaet. And why should
that be shameless ?
Soc. You seem not to be
aware that the whole of our discussion from the very beginning has been a search
after knowledge, of which we are assumed not to know the
nature.
Theaet. Nay, but I am well
aware.
Soc. And is it not
shameless when we do not know what knowledge is, to be explaining the verb “to
know” ? The truth is, Theaetetus, that we have long been infected with
logical impurity. Thousands of times have we repeated the words “we know,” and
“do not know,” and “we have or have not science or knowledge,” as if we could
understand what we are saying to one another, so long as we remain ignorant
about knowledge ; and at this moment we are using the words “we
understand,” “we are ignorant,” as though we could still employ them when
deprived of knowledge or science.
Theaet. But if you avoid
these expressions, Socrates, how will you ever argue at
all ?
Soc. I could not, being
the man I am. The case would be different if I were a true hero of
dialectic : and O that such an one were present ! for he would have
told us to avoid the use of these terms ; at the same time he would not
have spared in you and me the faults which I have noted. But, seeing that we are
no great wits, shall I venture to say what knowing is ? for I think that
the attempt may be worth making.
Theaet. Then by all means
venture, and no one shall find fault with you for using the forbidden
terms.
Soc. You have heard the
common explanation of the verb “to know” ?
Theaet. I think so, but I
do not remember it at the moment.
Soc. They explain the
word “to know” as meaning “to have knowledge.”
Theaet.
True.
Soc. I should like to
make a slight change, and say “to possess” knowledge.
Theaet. How do the two
expressions differ ?
Soc. Perhaps there may
be no difference ; but still I should like you to hear my view, that you
may help me to test it.
Theaet. I will, if I
can.
Soc. I should
distinguish “having” from “possessing” : for example, a man may buy and
keep under his control a garment which he does not wear ; and then we
should say, not that he has, but that he possesses the
garment.
Theaet. It would be the
correct expression.
Soc. Well, may not a
man “possess” and yet not “have” knowledge in the sense of which I am
speaking ? As you may suppose a man to have caught wild birds — doves or
any other birds — and to be keeping them in an aviary which he has constructed
at home ; we might say of him in one sense, that he always has them because
he possesses them, might we not ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And yet, in
another sense, he has none of them ; but they are in his power, and he has
got them under his hand in an enclosure of his own, and can take and have them
whenever he likes ; — he can catch any which he likes, and let the bird go
again, and he may do so as often as he pleases.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Once more, then,
as in what preceded we made a sort of waxen figment in the mind, so let us now
suppose that in the mind of each man there is an aviary of all sorts of birds —
some flocking together apart from the rest, others in small groups, others
solitary, flying anywhere and everywhere.
Theaet. Let us imagine
such an aviary — and what is to follow ?
Soc. We may suppose
that the birds are kinds of knowledge, and that when we were children, this
receptacle was empty ; whenever a man has gotten and detained in the
enclosure a kind of knowledge, he may be said to have learned or discovered the
thing which is the subject of the knowledge : and this is to
know.
Theaet.
Granted.
Soc. And further, when
any one wishes to catch any of these knowledges or sciences, and having taken,
to hold it, and again to let them go, how will he express himself ? — will
he describe the “catching” of them and the original “possession” in the same
words ? I will make my meaning clearer by an example : — You admit
that there is an art of arithmetic ?
Theaet. To be
sure.
Soc. Conceive this
under the form of a hunt after the science of odd and even in
general.
Theaet. I
follow.
Soc. Having the use of
the art, the arithmetician, if I am not mistaken, has the conceptions of number
under his hand, and can transmit them to another.
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And when
transmitting them he may be said to teach them, and when receiving to learn
them, and when receiving to learn them, and when having them in possession in
the aforesaid aviary he may be said to know them.
Theaet.
Exactly.
Soc. Attend to what
follows : must not the perfect arithmetician know all numbers, for he has
the science of all numbers in his mind ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And he can reckon
abstract numbers in his head, or things about him which are
numerable ?
Theaet. Of course he
can.
Soc. And to reckon is
simply to consider how much such and such a number amounts
to ?
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. And so he appears
to be searching into something which he knows, as if he did not know it, for we
have already admitted that he knows all numbers ; — you have heard these
perplexing questions raised ?
Theaet. I
have.
Soc. May we not pursue
the image of the doves, and say that the chase after knowledge is of two
kinds ? one kind is prior to possession and for the sake of possession, and
the other for the sake of taking and holding in the hands that which is
possessed already. And thus, when a man has learned and known something long
ago, he may resume and get hold of the knowledge which he has long possessed,
but has not at hand in his mind.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. That was my reason
for asking how we ought to speak when an arithmetician sets about numbering, or
a grammarian about reading ? Shall we say, that although he knows, he comes
back to himself to learn what he already knows ?
Theaet. It would be too
absurd, Socrates.
Soc. Shall we say then
that he is going to read or number what he does not know, although we have
admitted that he knows all letters and all numbers ?
Theaet. That, again, would
be an absurdity.
Soc. Then shall we say
that about names we care nothing ? — any one may twist and turn the words
“knowing” and “learning” in any way which he likes, but since we have determined
that the possession of knowledge is not the having or using it, we do assert
that a man cannot not possess that which he possesses ; and, therefore, in
no case can a man not know that which he knows, but he may get a false opinion
about it ; for he may have the knowledge, not of this particular thing, but
of some other ; — when the various numbers and forms of knowledge are
flying about in the aviary, and wishing to capture a certain sort of knowledge
out of the general store, he takes the wrong one by mistake, that is to say,
when he thought eleven to be twelve, he got hold of the ringdove which he had in
his mind, when he wanted the pigeon.
Theaet. A very rational
explanation.
Soc. But when he
catches the one which he wants, then he is not deceived, and has an opinion of
what is, and thus false and true opinion may exist, and the difficulties which
were previously raised disappear. I dare say that you agree with me, do you
not ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And so we are rid
of the difficulty of a man’s not knowing what he knows, for we are not driven to
the inference that he does not possess what he possesses, whether he be or be
not deceived. And yet I fear that a greater difficulty is looking in at the
window.
Theaet. What is
it ?
Soc. How can the
exchange of one knowledge for another ever become false
opinion ?
Theaet. What do you
mean ?
Soc. In the first
place, how can a man who has the knowledge of anything be ignorant of that which
he knows, not by reason of ignorance, but by reason of his own knowledge ?
And, again, is it not an extreme absurdity that he should suppose another thing
to be this, and this to be another thing ; — that, having knowledge present
with him in his mind, he should still know nothing and be ignorant of all
things ? — you might as well argue that ignorance may make a man know, and
blindness make him see, as that knowledge can make him
ignorant.
Theaet. Perhaps, Socrates,
we may have been wrong in making only forms of knowledge our birds :
whereas there ought to have been forms of ignorance as well, flying about
together in the mind, and then he who sought to take one of them might sometimes
catch a form of knowledge, and sometimes a form of ignorance ; and thus he
would have a false opinion from ignorance, but a true one from knowledge, about
the same thing.
Soc. I cannot help
praising you, Theaetetus, and yet I must beg you to reconsider your words. Let
us grant what you say — then, according to you, he who takes ignorance will have
a false opinion — am I right ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. He will certainly
not think that he has a false opinion ?
Theaet. Of course
not.
Soc. He will think that
his opinion is true, and he will fancy that he knows the things about which he
has been deceived ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Then he will think
that he has captured knowledge and not ignorance ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. And thus, after
going a long way round, we are once more face to face with our original
difficulty. The hero of dialectic will retort upon us : — “O my excellent
friends, he will say, laughing, if a man knows the form of ignorance and the
form of knowledge, can he think that one of them which he knows is the other
which he knows ? or, if he knows neither of them, can he think that the one
which he knows not is another which he knows not ? or, if he knows one and
not the other, can he think the one which he knows to be the one which he does
not know ? or the one which he does not know to be the one which he
knows ? or will you tell me that there are other forms of knowledge which
distinguish the right and wrong birds, and which the owner keeps in some other
aviaries or graven on waxen blocks according to your foolish images, and which
he may be said to know while he possesses them, even though he have them not at
hand in his mind ? And thus, in a perpetual circle, you will be compelled
to go round and round, and you will make no progress.” What are we to say in
reply, Theaetetus ?
Theaet. Indeed, Socrates,
I do not know what we are to say.
Soc. Are not his
reproaches just, and does not the argument truly show that we are wrong in
seeking for false opinion until we know what knowledge is ; that must be
first ascertained ; then, the nature of false
opinion ?
Theaet. I cannot but agree
with you, Socrates, so far as we have yet gone.
Soc. Then, once more,
what shall we say that knowledge is ? — for we are not going to lose heart
as yet.
Theaet. Certainly, I shall
not lose heart, if you do not.
Soc. What definition
will be most consistent with our former views ?
Theaet. I cannot think of
any but our old one, Socrates.
Soc. What was
it ?
Theaet. Knowledge was said
by us to be true opinion ; and true opinion is surely unerring, and the
results which follow from it are all noble and good.
Soc. He who led the way
into the river, Theaetetus, said “The experiment will show” ; and perhaps
if we go forward in the search, we may stumble upon the thing which we are
looking for ; but if we stay where we are, nothing will come to
light.
Theaet. Very true ;
let us go forward and try.
Soc. The trail soon
comes to an end, for a whole profession is against us.
Theaet. How is that, and
what profession do you mean ?
Soc. The profession of
the great wise ones who are called orators and lawyers ; for these persuade
men by their art and make them think whatever they like, but they do not teach
them. Do you imagine that there are any teachers in the world so clever as to be
able to convince others of the truth about acts of robbery or violence, of which
they were not eyewitnesses, while a little water is flowing in the
clepsydra ?
Theaet. Certainly not,
they can only persuade them.
Soc. And would you not
say that persuading them is making them have an
opinion ?
Theaet. To be
sure.
Soc. When, therefore,
judges are justly persuaded about matters which you can know only by seeing
them, and not in any other way, and when thus judging of them from report they
attain a true opinion about them, they judge without knowledge and yet are
rightly persuaded, if they have judged well.
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And yet, O my
friend, if true opinion in law courts and knowledge are the same, the perfect
judge could not have judged rightly without knowledge ; and therefore I
must infer that they are not the same.
Theaet. That is a
distinction, Socrates, which I have heard made by some one else, but I had
forgotten it. He said that true opinion, combined with reason, was knowledge,
but that the opinion which had no reason was out of the sphere of
knowledge ; and that things of which there is no rational account are not
knowable — such was the singular expression which he used — and that things
which have a reason or explanation are knowable.
Soc. Excellent ;
but then, how did he distinguish between things which are and are not
“knowable” ? I wish that you would repeat to me what he said, and then I
shall know whether you and I have heard the same tale.
Theaet. I do not know
whether I can recall it ; but if another person would tell me, I think that
I could follow him.
Soc. Let me give you,
then, a dream in return for a dream : — Methought that I too had a dream,
and I heard in my dream that the primeval letters or elements out of which you
and I and all other things are compounded, have no reason or explanation ;
you can only name them, but no predicate can be either affirmed or denied of
them, for in the one case existence, in the other non-existence is already
implied, neither of which must be added, if you mean to speak of this or that
thing by itself alone. It should not be called itself, or that, or each, or
alone, or this, or the like ; for these go about everywhere and are applied
to all things, but are distinct from them ; whereas, if the first elements
could be described, and had a definition of their own, they would be spoken of
apart from all else. But none of these primeval elements can be defined ;
they can only be named, for they have nothing but a name, and the things which
are compounded of them, as they are complex, are expressed by a combination of
names, for the combination of names is the essence of a definition. Thus, then,
the elements or letters are only objects of perception, and cannot be defined or
known ; but the syllables or combinations of them are known and expressed,
and are apprehended by true opinion. When, therefore, any one forms the true
opinion of anything without rational explanation, you may say that his mind is
truly exercised, but has no knowledge ; for he who cannot give and receive
a reason for a thing, has no knowledge of that thing ; but when he adds
rational explanation, then, he is perfected in knowledge and may be all that I
have been denying of him. Was that the form in which the dream appeared to
you ?
Theaet.
Precisely.
Soc. And you allow and
maintain that true opinion, combined with definition or rational explanation, is
knowledge ?
Theaet.
Exactly.
Soc. Then may we
assume, Theaetetus, that to-day, and in this casual manner, we have found a
truth which in former times many wise men have grown old and have not
found ?
Theaet. At any rate,
Socrates, I am satisfied with the present statement.
Soc. Which is probably
correct — for how can there be knowledge apart from definition and true
opinion ? And yet there is one point in what has been said which does not
quite satisfy me.
Theaet. What was
it ?
Soc. What might seem to
be the most ingenious notion of all : — That the elements or letters are
unknown, but the combination or syllables known.
Theaet. And was that
wrong ?
Soc. We shall soon
know ; for we have as hostages the instances which the author of the
argument himself used.
Theaet. What
hostages ?
Soc. The letters, which
are the clements ; and the syllables, which are the combinations ; —
he reasoned, did he not, from the letters of the
alphabet ?
Theaet. Yes ; he
did.
Soc. Let us take them
and put them to the test, or rather, test ourselves : — What was the way in
which we learned letters ? and, first of all, are we right in saying that
syllables have a definition, but that letters have no
definition ?
Theaet. I think
so.
Soc. I think so
too ; for, suppose that some one asks you to spell the first syllable of my
name : — Theaetetus, he says, what is SO ?
Theaet. I should reply S
and O.
Soc. That is the
definition which you would give of the syllable ?
Theaet. I
should.
Soc. I wish that you
would give me a similar definition of the S.
Theaet. But how can any
one, Socrates, tell the elements of an element ? I can only reply, that S
is a consonant, a mere noise, as of the tongue hissing ; B, and most other
letters, again, are neither vowel-sounds nor noises. Thus letters may be most
truly said to be undefined ; for even the most distinct of them, which are
the seven vowels, have a sound only, but no definition at
all.
Soc. Then, I suppose,
my friend, that we have been so far right in our idea about
knowledge ?
Theaet. Yes ; I think
that we have.
Soc. Well, but have we
been right in maintaining that the syllables can be known, but not the
letters ?
Theaet. I think
so.
Soc. And do we mean by
a syllable two letters, or if there are more, all of them, or a single idea
which arises out of the combination of them ?
Theaet. I should say that
we mean all the letters.
Soc. Take the case of
the two letters S and O, which form the first syllable of my own name ;
must not he who knows the syllable, know both of
them ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. He knows, that is,
the S and O ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. But can he be
ignorant of either singly and yet know both
together ?
Theaet. Such a
supposition, Socrates, is monstrous and unmeaning.
Soc. But if he cannot
know both without knowing each, then if he is ever to know the syllable, he must
know the letters first ; and thus the fine theory has again taken wings and
departed.
Theaet. Yes, with
wonderful celerity.
Soc. Yes, we did not
keep watch properly. Perhaps we ought to have maintained that a syllable is not
the letters, but rather one single idea framed out of them, having a separate
form distinct from them.
Theaet. Very true ;
and a more likely notion than the other.
Soc. Take care ;
let us not be cowards and betray a great and imposing
theory.
Theaet. No,
indeed.
Soc. Let us assume
then, as we now say, that the syllable is a simple form arising out of the
several combinations of harmonious elements — of letters or of any other
elements.
Theaet. Very
good.
Soc. And it must have
no parts.
Theaet.
Why ?
Soc. Because that which
has parts must be a whole of all the parts. Or would you say that a whole,
although formed out of the parts, is a single notion different from all the
parts ?
Theaet. I
should.
Soc. And would you say
that all and the whole are the same, or different ?
Theaet. I am not
certain ; but, as you like me to answer at once, I shall hazard the reply,
that they are different.
Soc. I approve of your
readiness, Theaetetus, but I must take time to think whether I equally approve
of your answer.
Theaet. Yes ; the
answer is the point.
Soc. According to this
new view, the whole is supposed to differ from all ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Well, but is there
any difference between all [in the plural] and the all [in the singular] ?
Take the case of number : — When we say one, two, three, four, five,
six ; or when we say twice three, or three times two, or four and two, or
three and two and one, are we speaking of the same or of different
numbers ?
Theaet. Of the
same.
Soc. That is of
six ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And in each form
of expression we spoke of all the six ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Again, in speaking
of all [in the plural] is there not one thing which we
express ?
Theaet. Of course there
is.
Soc. And that is
six ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. Then in
predicating the word “all” of things measured by number, we predicate at the
same time a singular and a plural ?
Theaet. Clearly we
do.
Soc. Again, the number
of the acre and the acre are the same ; are they
not ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And the number of
the stadium in like manner is the stadium ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And the army is
the number of the army ; and in all similar cases, the entire number of
anything is the entire thing ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And the number of
each is the parts of each ?
Theaet.
Exactly.
Soc. Then as many
things as have parts are made up of parts ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. But all the parts
are admitted to be the all, if the entire number is the
all ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Then the whole is
not made up of parts, for it would be the all, if consisting of all the
parts ?
Theaet. That is the
inference.
Soc. But is a part a
part of anything but the whole ?
Theaet. Yes, of the
all.
Soc. You make a valiant
defence, Theaetetus. And yet is not the all that of which nothing is
wanting ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And is not a whole
likewise that from which nothing is absent ? but that from which anything
is absent is neither a whole nor all ; — if wanting in anything, both
equally lose their entirety of nature.
Theaet. I now think that
there is no difference between a whole and all.
Soc. But were we not
saying that when a thing has parts, all the parts will be a whole and
all ?
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Then, as I was
saying before, must not the alternative be that either the syllable is not the
letters, and then the letters are not parts of the syllable, or that the
syllable will be the same with the letters, and will therefore be equally known
with them ?
Theaet. You are
right.
Soc. And, in order to
avoid this, we suppose it to be different from them ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. But if letters are
not parts of syllables, can you tell me of any other parts of syllables, which
are not letters ?
Theaet. No, indeed,
Socrates ; for if I admit the existence of parts in a syllable, it would be
ridiculous in me to give up letters and seek for other
parts.
Soc. Quite true,
Theaetetus, and therefore, according to our present view, a syllable must surely
be some indivisible form ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. But do you
remember, my friend, that only a little while ago we admitted and approved the
statement, that of the first elements out of which all other things are
compounded there could be no definition, because each of them when taken by
itself is uncompounded ; nor can one rightly attribute to them the words
“being” or “this,” because they are alien and inappropriate words, and for this
reason the letters or clements were indefinable and
unknown ?
Theaet. I
remember.
Soc. And is not this
also the reason why they are simple and indivisible ? I can see no
other.
Theaet. No other reason
can be given.
Soc. Then is not the
syllable in the same case as the elements or letters, if it has no parts and is
one form ?
Theaet. To be
sure.
Soc. If, then, a
syllable is a whole, and has many parts or letters, the letters as well as the
syllable must be intelligible and expressible, since all the parts are
acknowledged to be the same as the whole ?
Theaet.
True.
Soc. But if it be one
and indivisible, then the syllables and the letters are alike undefined and
unknown, and for the same reason ?
Theaet. I cannot deny
that.
Soc. We cannot,
therefore, agree in the opinion of him who says that the syllable can be known
and expressed, but not the letters.
Theaet. Certainly
not ; if we may trust the argument.
Soc. Well, but will you
not be equally inclined to, disagree with him, when you remember your own
experience in learning to read ?
Theaet. What
experience ?
Soc. Why, that in
learning you were kept trying to distinguish the separate letters both by the
eye and by the car, in order that, when you heard them spoken or saw them
written, you might not be confused by their position.
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. And is the
education of the harp-player complete unless he can tell what string answers to
a particular note ; the notes, as every one would allow, are the elements
or letters of music ?
Theaet.
Exactly.
Soc. Then, if we argue
from the letters and syllables which we know to other simples and compounds, we
shall say that the letters or simple clements as a class are much more certainly
known than the syllables, and much more indispensable to a perfect knowledge of
any subject ; and if some one says that the syllable is known and the
letter unknown, we shall consider that either intentionally or unintentionally
he is talking nonsense ?
Theaet.
Exactly.
Soc. And there might be
given other proofs of this belief, if I am not mistaken. But do not let us in
looking for them lose sight of the question before us, which is the meaning of
the statement, that right opinion with rational definition or explanation is the
most perfect form of knowledge.
Theaet. We must
not.
Soc. Well, and what is
the meaning of the term “explanation” ? I think that we have a choice of
three meanings.
Theaet. What are
they ?
Soc. In the first
place, the meaning may be, manifesting one’s thought by the voice with verbs and
nouns, imaging an opinion in the stream which flows from the lips, as in a
mirror or water. Does not explanation appear to be of this
nature ?
Theaet. Certainly ;
he who so manifests his thought, is said to explain
himself.
Soc. And every one who
is not born deaf or dumb is able sooner or later to manifest what he thinks of
anything ; and if so, all those who have a right opinion about anything
will also have right explanation ; nor will right opinion be anywhere found
to exist apart from knowledge.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Let us not,
therefore, hastily charge him who gave this account of knowledge with uttering
an unmeaning word ; for perhaps he only intended to say, that when a person
was asked what was the nature of anything, he should be able to answer his
questioner by giving the clements of the thing.
Theaet. As for example,
Socrates... ?
Soc. As, for example,
when Hesiod says that a waggon is made up of a hundred planks. Now, neither you
nor I could describe all of them individually ; but if any one asked what
is a waggon, we should be content to answer, that a waggon consists of wheels,
axle, body, rims, yoke.
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. And our opponent
will probably laugh at us, just as he would if we professed to be grammarians
and to give a grammatical account of the name of Theaetetus, and yet could only
tell the syllables and not the letters of your name — that would be true
opinion, and not knowledge ; for knowledge, as has been already remarked,
is not attained until, combined with true opinion, there is an enumeration of
the elements out of which is composed.
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. In the same
general way, we might also have true opinion about a waggon ; but he who
can describe its essence by an enumeration of the hundred planks, adds rational
explanation to true opinion, and instead of opinion has art and knowledge of the
nature of a waggon, in that he attains to the whole through the
elements.
Theaet. And do. you not
agree in that view, Socrates ?
Soc. If you do, my
friend ; but I want to know first, whether you admit the resolution of all
things into their elements to be a rational explanation of them, and the
consideration of them in syllables or larger combinations of them to be
irrational — is this your view ?
Theaet.
Precisely.
Soc. Well, and do you
conceive that a man has knowledge of any element who at one time affirms and at
another time denies that clement of something, or thinks that. the same thing is
composed of different elements at different times ?
Theaet. Assuredly
not.
Soc. And do you not
remember that in your case and in of others this often occurred in the process
of learning to read ?
Theaet. You mean that I
mistook the letters and misspelt the syllables ?
Soc.
Yes.
Theaet. To be sure ;
I perfectly remember, and I am very far from supposing that they who are in this
condition, have knowledge.
Soc. When a person, at
the time of learning writes the name of Theaetetus, and thinks that he ought to
write and does write Th and e ; but, again meaning to write the name of
Theododorus, thinks that he ought to write and does write T and e — can we
suppose that he knows the first syllables of your two
names ?
Theaet. We have already
admitted that such a one has not yet attained knowledge.
Soc. And in like manner
be may enumerate without knowing them the second and third and fourth syllables
of your name ?
Theaet. He
may.
Soc. And in that case,
when he knows the order of the letters and can write them out correctly, he has
right opinion ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. But although we
admit that he has right opinion, he will still be without
knowledge ?
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. And yet he will
have explanations, as well as right opinion, for he knew the order of the
letters when he wrote ; and this we admit be
explanation.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Then, my friend,
there is such a thing as right opinion united with definition or explanation,
which does not as yet attain to the exactness of
knowledge.
Theaet. It would seem
so.
Soc. And what we
fancied to be a perfect definition of knowledge is a dream only. But perhaps we
had better not say so as yet, for were there not three explanations of
knowledge, one of which must, as we said, be adopted by him who maintains
knowledge to be true opinion combined with rational explanation ? And very
likely there may be found some one who will not prefer this but the
third.
Theaet. You are quite
right ; there is still one remaining. The first was the image or expression
of the mind in speech ; the second, which has just been mentioned, is a way
of reaching the whole by an enumeration of the elements. But what is ; the
third definition ?
Soc. There is, further,
the popular notion of telling the mark or sign of difference which distinguishes
the thing in question from all others.
Theaet. Can you give me
any example of such a definition ?
Soc. As, for example,
in the case of the sun, I think that you would be contented with the statement
that the sun is, the brightest of the heavenly bodies which revolve about the
earth.
Theaet.
Certainly.
Soc. Understand
why : — the reason is, as I was just now saying, that if you get at the
difference and distinguishing characteristic of each thing, then, as many
persons affirm, you will get at the definition or explanation of it ; but
while you lay hold only of the common and not of the characteristic notion, you
will only have the definition of those things to which this common quality
belongs.
Theaet. I understand you,
and your account of definition is in my judgment correct.
Soc. But he, who having
right opinion about anything, can find out the difference which distinguishes it
from other things will know that of which before he had only an
opinion.
Theaet. Yes ; that is
what we are maintaining.
Soc. Nevertheless,
Theaetetus, on a nearer view, I find myself quite disappointed ; the
picture, which at a distance was not so bad, has now become altogether
unintelligible.
Theaet. What do you
mean ?
Soc. I will endeavour
to explain : I will suppose myself to have true opinion of you, and if to
this I add your definition, then I have knowledge, but if not, opinion
only.
Theaet.
Yes.
Soc. The definition was
assumed to be the interpretation of your difference.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. But when I had
only opinion, I had no conception of your distinguishing
characteristics.
Theaet. I suppose
not.
Soc. Then I must have
conceived of some general or common nature which no more belonged to you than to
another.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. Tell me, now — How
in that case could I have formed a judgment of you any more than of any one
else ? Suppose that I imagine Theaetetus to be a man who has nose, eyes,
and mouth, and every other member complete ; how would that enable me to
distinguish Theaetetus from Theodorus, or from some outer
barbarian ?
Theaet. How could
it ?
Soc. Or if I had
further conceived of you, not only as having nose and eyes, but as having a snub
nose and prominent eyes, should I have any more notion of you than of myself and
others who resemble me ?
Theaet. Certainly
not.
Soc. Surely I can have
no conception of Theaetetus until your snub-nosedness has left an impression on
my mind different from the snub-nosedness of all others whom I have ever seen,
and until your other peculiarities have a like distinctness ; and so when I
meet you tomorrow the right opinion will be
re-called ?
Theaet. Most
true.
Soc. Then right opinion
implies the perception of differences ?
Theaet.
Clearly.
Soc. What, then, shall
we say of adding reason or explanation to right opinion ? If the meaning
is, that we should form an opinion of the way in which something differs from
another thing, the proposal is ridiculous.
Theaet. How
so ?
Soc. We are supposed to
acquire a right opinion of the differences which distinguish one thing from
another when we have already a right opinion of them, and so we go round and
round : — the revolution of the scytal, or pestle, or any other rotatory
machine, in the same circles, is as nothing compared with such a
requirement ; and we may be truly described as the blind directing the
blind ; for to add those things which we already have, in order that we may
learn what we already think, is like a soul utterly
benighted.
Theaet. Tell me ;
what were you going to say just now, when you asked the
question ?
Soc. If, my boy, the
argument, in speaking of adding the definition, had used the word to “know,” and
not merely “have an opinion” of the difference, this which is the most promising
of all the definitions of knowledge would have come to a pretty end, for to know
is surely to acquire knowledge.
Theaet.
True.
Soc. And so, when the
question is asked, What is knowledge ? this fair argument will answer
“Right opinion with knowledge,” — knowledge, that is, of difference, for this,
as the said argument maintains, is adding the definition.
Theaet. That seems to be
true.
Soc. But how utterly
foolish, when we are asking what is knowledge, that the reply should only be,
right opinion with knowledge of difference or of anything ! And so,
Theaetetus, knowledge is neither sensation nor true opinion, nor yet definition
and explanation accompanying and added to true
opinion ?
Theaet. I suppose
not.
Soc. And are you still
in labour and travail, my dear friend, or have you brought all that you have to
say about knowledge to the birth ?
Theaet. I am sure,
Socrates, that you have elicited from me a good deal more than ever was in
me.
Soc. And does not my
art show that you have brought forth wind, and that the offspring of your brain
are not worth bringing up ?
Theaet. Very
true.
Soc. But if,
Theaetetus, you should ever conceive afresh, you will be all the better for the
present investigation, and if not, you will be soberer and humbler and gentler
to other men, and will be too modest to fancy that you know what you do not
know. These are the limits of my art ; I can no further go, nor do I know
aught of the things which great and famous men know or have known in this or
former ages. The office of a midwife I, like my mother, have received from
God ; she delivered women, I deliver men ; but they must be young and
noble and fair.
And now I have to
go to the porch of the King Archon, where I am to meet Meletus and his
indictment. To-morrow morning, Theodorus, I shall hope to see you again at this
place.