THEAETETUS

                                 360 BC

                               THEAETETUS

                                by Plato

                     translated by Benjamin Jowett

THEAETETUS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: SOCRATES; THEODORUS; THEAETETUS

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.

                         -THE END-

.