Persons of the Dialogue
SOCRATES
THEODORUS
THEAETETUS
Scene
Euclid and Terpsion meet in front of Euclid's house in Megara; they
enter the house, and the dialogue is read to them by a servant
Euclid. Have you only just
arrived from the country, Terpsion?
Terpsion. No, I came some time ago: and I
have been in the Agora looking for you, and
wondering that I could not find you.
Euc. But I was not in the city.
Terp. Where then?
Euc. As I was going down to the harbour, I
met Theaetetus-he was being carried up to Athens
from the army at Corinth.
Terp. Was he alive or dead?
Euc. He was scarcely alive, for he has been
badly wounded; but he was suffering even more from
the sickness which has broken out in the army.
Terp. The dysentery, you mean?
Euc. Yes.
Terp. Alas! what a loss he will be!
Euc. Yes, Terpsion, he is a noble fellow;
only to-day I heard some people highly praising his
behaviour in this very battle.
Terp. No wonder; I should rather be surprised
at hearing anything else of him. But why did he go
on, instead of stopping at Megara?
Euc. He wanted to get home: although I
entreated and advised him to remain he would not
listen to me; so I set him on his way, and turned
back, and then I remembered what Socrates had said
of him, and thought how remarkably this, like all
his predictions, had been fulfilled. I believe that
he had seen him a little before his own death, when
Theaetetus was a youth, and he had a memorable
conversation with him, which he repeated to me when
I came to Athens; he was full of admiration of his
genius, and said that he would most certainly be a
great man, if he lived.
Terp. The prophecy has certainly been
fulfilled; but what was the conversation? can you
tell me?
Euc. No, indeed, not offhand; but I took
notes of it as soon as I got home; these I filled up
from memory, writing them out at leisure; and
whenever I went to Athens, I asked Socrates about
any point which I had forgotten, and on my return I
made corrections; thus I have nearly the whole
conversation written down.
Terp. I remember-you told me; and I have
always been intending to ask you to show me the
writing, but have put off doing so; and now, why
should we not read it through?-having just come from
the country, I should greatly like to rest.
Euc. I too shall be very glad of a rest, for
I went with Theaetetus as far as Erineum. Let us go
in, then, and, while we are reposing, the servant
shall read to us.
Terp. Very good.
Euc. Here is the roll, Terpsion; I may
observe that I have introduced Socrates, not as
narrating to me, but as actually conversing with the
persons whom he mentioned-these were, Theodorus the
geometrician (of Cyrene), and Theaetetus. I have
omitted, for the sake of convenience, the
interlocutory words "I said," "I remarked," which he
used when he spoke of himself, and again, "he
agreed," or "disagreed," in the answer, lest the
repetition of them should be troublesome.
Terp. Quite right, Euclid.
Euc. And now, boy, you may take the roll and
read.
Euclid's servant reads.
Socrates. If I cared enough about the
Cyrenians, Theodorus, I would ask you whether there
are any rising geometricians or philosophers in that
part of the world. But I am more interested in our
own Athenian youth, and I would rather know who
among them are likely to do well. I observe them as
far as I can myself, and I enquire of any one whom
they follow, and I see that a great many of them
follow you, in which they are quite right,
considering your eminence in geometry and in other
ways. Tell me then, if you have met with any one who
is good for anything.
Theodorus. Yes, Socrates, I have become
acquainted with one very remarkable Athenian youth,
whom I commend to you as well worthy of your
attention. If he had been a beauty I should have
been afraid to praise him, lest you should suppose
that I was in love with him; but he is no beauty,
and you must not be offended if I say that he is
very like you; for he has a snub nose and projecting
eyes, although these features are less marked in him
than in you. Seeing, then, that he has no personal
attractions, I may freely say, that in all my
acquaintance, which is very large, I never knew
anyone who was his equal in natural gifts: for he
has a quickness of apprehension which is almost
unrivalled, and he is exceedingly gentle, and also
the most courageous of men; there is a union of
qualities in him such as I have never seen in any
other, and should scarcely have thought possible;
for those who, like him, have quick and ready and
retentive wits, have generally also quick tempers;
they are ships without ballast, and go darting
about, and are mad rather than courageous; and the
steadier sort, when they have to face study, prove
stupid and cannot remember. Whereas he moves surely
and smoothly and successfully in the path of
knowledge and enquiry; and he is full of gentleness,
flowing on silently like a river of oil; at his age,
it is wonderful.
Soc. That is good news; whose son is he?
Theod. The name of his father I have
forgotten, but the youth himself is the middle one
of those who are approaching us; he and his
companions have been anointing themselves in the
outer court, and now they seem to have finished, and
are towards us. Look and see whether you know him.
Soc. I know the youth, but I do not know his
name; he is the son of Euphronius the Sunian, who
was himself an eminent man, and such another as his
son is, according to your account of him; I believe
that he left a considerable fortune.
Theod. Theaetetus, Socrates, is his name; but
I rather think that the property disappeared in the
hands of trustees; notwithstanding which he is
wonderfully liberal.
Soc. He must be a fine fellow; tell him to
come and sit by me.
Theod. I will. Come hither, Theaetetus, and
sit by Socrates.
Soc. By all means, Theaetetus, in order that
I may see the reflection of myself in your face, for
Theodorus says that we are alike; and yet if each of
us held in his hands a lyre, and he said that they
were, tuned alike, should we at once take his word,
or should we ask whether he who said so was or was
not a musician?
Theaetetus. We should ask.
Soc. And if we found that he was, we should
take his word; and if not, not?
Theaet. True.
Soc. And if this supposed, likeness of our
faces is a matter of any interest to us we should
enquire whether he who says that we are alike is a
painter or not?
Theaet. Certainly we should.
Soc. And is Theodorus a painter?
Theaet. I never heard that he was.
Soc. Is he a geometrician?
Theaet. Of course he is, Socrates.
Soc. And is he an astronomer and calculator
and musician, and in general an educated man?
Theaet. I think so.
Soc. If, then, he remarks on a similarity in
our persons, either by way of praise or blame, there
is no particular reason why we should attend to him.
Theaet. I should say not.
Soc. But if he praises the virtue or wisdom
which are the mental endowments of either of us,
then he who hears the praises will naturally desire
to examine him who is praised: and he again should
be willing to exhibit himself.
Theaet. Very true, Socrates.
Soc. Then now is the time, my dear
Theaetetus, for me to examine, and for you to
exhibit; since although Theodorus has praised many a
citizen and stranger in my hearing, never did I hear
him praise any one as he has been praising you.
Theaet. I am glad to hear it, Socrates; but
what if he was only in jest?
Soc. Nay, Theodorus is not given to jesting;
and I cannot allow you to retract your consent on
any such pretence as that. If you do, he will have
to swear to his words; and we are perfectly sure
that no one will be found to impugn him. Do not be
shy then, but stand to your word.
Theaet. I suppose I must, if you wish it.
Soc. In the first place, I should like to ask
what you learn of Theodorus: something of geometry,
perhaps?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. And astronomy and harmony and
calculation?
Theaet. I do my best.
Soc. Yes, my boy, and so do I: and my desire
is to learn of him, or of anybody who seems to
understand these things. And I get on pretty well in
general; but there is a little difficulty which I
want you and the company to aid me in investigating.
Will you answer me a question: "Is not learning
growing wiser about that which you learn?"
Theaet. Of course.
Soc. And by wisdom the wise are wise?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. And is that different in any way from
knowledge?
Theaet. What?
Soc. Wisdom; are not men wise in that which
they know?
Theaet. Certainly they are.
Soc. Then wisdom and knowledge are the same?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. Herein lies the difficulty which I can
never solve to my satisfaction-What is knowledge?
Can we answer that question? What say you? which of
us will speak first? whoever misses shall sit down,
as at a game of ball, and shall be donkey, as the
boys say; he who lasts out his competitors in the
game without missing, shall be our king, and shall
have the right of putting to us any questions which
he pleases. .. Why is there no reply? I hope,
Theodorus, that I am not betrayed into rudeness by
my love of conversation? I only want to make us talk
and be friendly and sociable.
Theod. The reverse of rudeness, Socrates: but
I would rather that you would ask one of the young
fellows; for the truth is, that I am unused to your
game of question and answer, and I am too old to
learn; the young will be more suitable, and they
will improve more than I shall, for youth is always
able to improve. And so having made a beginning with
Theaetetus, I would advise you to go on with him and
not let him off.
Soc. Do you hear, Theaetetus, what Theodorus
says? The philosopher, whom you would not like to
disobey, and whose word ought to be a command to a
young man, bids me interrogate you. Take courage,
then, and nobly say what you think that knowledge
is.
Theaet. Well, Socrates, I will answer as you
and he bid me; and if make a mistake, you will
doubtless correct me.
Soc. We will, if we can.
Theaet. Then, I think that the sciences which
I learn from Theodorus-geometry, and those which you
just now mentioned-are knowledge; and I would
include the art of the cobbler and other craftsmen;
these, each and all of, them, are knowledge.
Soc. Too much, Theaetetus, too much; the
nobility and liberality of your nature make you give
many and diverse things, when I am asking for one
simple thing.
Theaet. What do you mean, Socrates?
Soc. Perhaps nothing. I will endeavour,
however, to explain what I believe to be my meaning:
When you speak of cobbling, you mean the art or
science of making shoes?
Theaet. Just so.
Soc. And when you speak of carpentering, you
mean the art of making wooden implements?
Theaet. I do.
Soc. In both cases you define the subject
matter of each of the two arts?
Theaet. True.
Soc. But that, Theaetetus, was not the point
of my question: we wanted to know not the subjects,
nor yet the number of the arts or sciences, for we
were not going to count them, but we wanted to know
the nature of knowledge in the abstract. Am I not
right?
Theaet. Perfectly right.
Soc. Let me offer an illustration: Suppose
that a person were to ask about some very trivial
and obvious thing-for example, What is clay? and we
were to reply, that there is a clay of potters,
there is a clay of oven-makers, there is a clay of
brick-makers; would not the answer be ridiculous?
Theaet. Truly.
Soc. In the first place, there would be an
absurdity in assuming that he who asked the question
would understand from our answer the nature of
"clay," merely because we added "of the
image-makers," or of any other workers. How can a
man understand the name of anything, when he does
not know the nature of it?
Theaet. He cannot.
Soc. Then he who does not know what science
or knowledge is, has no knowledge of the art or
science of making shoes?
Theaet. None.
Soc. Nor of any other science?
Theaet. No.
Soc. And when a man is asked what science or
knowledge is, to give in answer the name of some art
or science is ridiculous; for the -question is,
"What is knowledge?" and he replies, "A knowledge of
this or that."
Theaet. True.
Soc. Moreover, he might answer shortly and
simply, but he makes an enormous circuit. For
example, when asked about the day, he might have
said simply, that clay is moistened earth-what sort
of clay is not to the point.
Theaet. Yes, Socrates, there is no difficulty
as you put the question. You mean, if I am not
mistaken, something like what occurred to me and to
my friend here, your namesake Socrates, in a recent
discussion.
Soc. What was that, Theaetetus?
Theaet. Theodorus was writing out for us
something about roots, such as the roots of three or
five, showing that they are incommensurable by the
unit: he selected other examples up to
seventeen-there he stopped. Now as there are
innumerable roots, the notion occurred to us of
attempting to include them all under one name or
class.
Soc. And did you find such a class?
Theaet. I think that we did; but I should
like to have your opinion.
Soc. Let me hear.
Theaet. We divided all numbers into two
classes: those which are made up of equal factors
multiplying into one another, which we compared to
square figures and called square or equilateral
numbers;-that was one class.
Soc. Very good.
Theaet. The intermediate numbers, such as
three and five, and every other number which is made
up of unequal factors, either of a greater
multiplied by a less, or of a less multiplied by a
greater, and when regarded as a figure, is contained
in unequal sides;-all these we compared to oblong
figures, and called them oblong numbers.
Soc. Capital; and what followed?
Theaet. The lines, or sides, which have for
their squares the equilateral plane numbers, were
called by us lengths or magnitudes; and the lines
which are the roots of (or whose squares are equal
to) the oblong numbers, were called powers or roots;
the reason of this latter name being, that they are
commensurable with the former
i.e., with the so-called lengths or magnitudes
not in linearmeasurement, 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. Certain |