Complete Works
Page 30
SOCRATES: No, it doesn’t. But there is also an unlawful and unscientific [150] practice of bringing men and women together, which we call procuring; and because of that the midwives—a most august body of women—are very reluctant to undertake even lawful matchmaking. They are afraid that if they practice this, they may be suspected of the other. And yet, I suppose, reliable matchmaking is a matter for no one but the true midwife.
THEAETETUS: Apparently.
SOCRATES: So the work of the midwives is a highly important one; but it is not so important as my own performance. And for this reason, that there is not in midwifery the further complication, that the patients are [b] sometimes delivered of phantoms and sometimes of realities, and that the two are hard to distinguish. If there were, then the midwife’s greatest and noblest function would be to distinguish the true from the false offspring—don’t you agree?
THEAETETUS: Yes, I do.
SOCRATES: Now my art of midwifery is just like theirs in most respects. The difference is that I attend men and not women, and that I watch over the labor of their souls, not of their bodies. And the most important thing [c] about my art is the ability to apply all possible tests to the offspring, to determine whether the young mind is being delivered of a phantom, that is, an error, or a fertile truth. For one thing which I have in common with the ordinary midwives is that I myself am barren of wisdom. The common reproach against me is that I am always asking questions of other people but never express my own views about anything, because there is no wisdom in me; and that is true enough. And the reason of it is this, that God compels me to attend the travail of others, but has forbidden me to procreate. So that I am not in any sense a wise man; I cannot claim as the [d] child of my own soul any discovery worth the name of wisdom. But with those who associate with me it is different. At first some of them may give the impression of being ignorant and stupid; but as time goes on and our association continues, all whom God permits are seen to make progress—a progress which is amazing both to other people and to themselves. And yet it is clear that this is not due to anything they have learned from me; it is that they discover within themselves a multitude of beautiful things, which they bring forth into the light. But it is I, with God’s help, who deliver them of this offspring. And a proof of this may be seen in the [e] many cases where people who did not realize this fact took all the credit to themselves and thought that I was no good. They have then proceeded to leave me sooner than they should, either of their own accord or through the influence of others. And after they have gone away from me they have resorted to harmful company, with the result that what remained within them has miscarried; while they have neglected the children I helped them to bring forth, and lost them, because they set more value upon lies and phantoms than upon the truth; finally they have been set down for ignorant fools, both by themselves and by everybody else. One of these people was [151] Aristides the son of Lysimachus;4 and there have been very many others. Sometimes they come back, wanting my company again, and ready to move heaven and earth to get it. When that happens, in some cases the divine sign that visits me forbids me to associate with them; in others, it permits me, and then they begin again to make progress.
There is another point also in which those who associate with me are like women in child-birth. They suffer the pains of labor, and are filled day and night with distress; indeed they suffer far more than women. And this pain my art is able to bring on, and also to allay.
[b] Well, that’s what happens to them; but at times, Theaetetus, I come across people who do not seem to me somehow to be pregnant. Then I realize that they have no need of me, and with the best will in the world I undertake the business of match-making; and I think I am good enough—God willing—at guessing with whom they might profitably keep company. Many of them I have given away to Prodicus;5 and a great number also to other wise and inspired persons.
Well, my dear lad, this has been a long yarn; but the reason was that I have a suspicion that you (as you think yourself) are pregnant and in [c] labor. So I want you to come to me as to one who is both the son of a midwife and himself skilled in the art; and try to answer the questions I shall ask you as well as you can. And when I examine what you say, I may perhaps think it is a phantom and not truth, and proceed to take it quietly from you and abandon it. Now if this happens, you mustn’t get savage with me, like a mother over her first-born child. Do you know, people have often before now got into such a state with me as to be literally ready to bite when I take away some nonsense or other from them. They never believe that I am doing this in all goodwill; they are so far from [d] realizing that no God can wish evil to man, and that even I don’t do this kind of thing out of malice, but because it is not permitted to me to accept a lie and put away truth.
So begin again, Theaetetus, and try to say what knowledge is. And don’t on any account tell me that you can’t. For if God is willing, and you play the man, you can.
THEAETETUS: Well, Socrates, after such encouragement from you, it would [e] hardly be decent for anyone not to try his hardest to say what he has in him. Very well then. It seems to me that a man who knows something perceives what he knows, and the way it appears at present, at any rate, is that knowledge is simply perception.
SOCRATES: There’s a good frank answer, my son. That’s the way to speak one’s mind. But come now, let us look at this thing together, and see whether what we have here is really fertile or a mere wind-egg. You hold that knowledge is perception?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
SOCRATES: But look here, this is no ordinary account of knowledge you’ve come out with: it’s what Protagoras used to maintain. He said the very [152] same thing, only he put it in rather a different way. For he says, you know, that ‘Man is the measure of all things: of the things which are, that they are, and of the things which are not, that they are not.’ You have read this, of course?
THEAETETUS: Yes, often.
SOCRATES: Then you know that he puts it something like this, that as each thing appears to me, so it is for me, and as it appears to you, so it is for you—you and I each being a man?
THEAETETUS: Yes, that is what he says.
SOCRATES: Well, it is not likely that a wise man would talk nonsense. So [b] let us follow him up. Now doesn’t it sometimes happen that when the same wind is blowing, one of us feels cold and the other not? Or that one of us feels rather cold and the other very cold?
THEAETETUS: That certainly does happen.
SOCRATES: Well then, in that case are we going to say that the wind itself, by itself, is cold or not cold? Or shall we listen to Protagoras, and say it is cold for the one who feels cold, and for the other, not cold?
THEAETETUS: It looks as if we must say that.
SOCRATES: And this is how it appears to each of us?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
SOCRATES: But this expression ‘it appears’ means ‘he perceives it’?
THEAETETUS: Yes, it does.
SOCRATES: The appearing of things, then, is the same as perception, in [c] the case of hot and things like that. So it results, apparently, that things are for the individual such as he perceives them.
THEAETETUS: Yes, that seems all right.
SOCRATES: Perception, then, is always of what is, and unerring—as befits knowledge.
THEAETETUS: So it appears.
SOCRATES: But, I say, look here. Was Protagoras one of those omniscient people? Did he perhaps put this out as a riddle for the common crowd of us, while he revealed the Truth6 as a secret doctrine to his own pupils?
THEAETETUS: What do you mean by that, Socrates? [d]
SOCRATES: I’ll tell you; and this, now, is certainly no ordinary theory—I mean the theory that there is nothing which in itself is just one thing: nothing which you could rightly call anything or any kind of thing. If you call a thing large, it will reveal itself as small, and if you call it heavy, it is liable to appear as light, and so on with everything, because nothing is one or anything or any kind
of thing. What is really true, is this: the things of which we naturally say that they ‘are’, are in process of coming to be, [e] as the result of movement and change and blending with one another. We are wrong when we say they ‘are’, since nothing ever is, but everything is coming to be.
And as regards this point of view, let us take it as a fact that all the wise men of the past, with the exception of Parmenides, stand together. Let us take it that we find on this side Protagoras and Heraclitus and Empedocles; and also the masters of the two kinds of poetry, Epicharmus in comedy and Homer in tragedy.7 For when Homer talked about ‘Ocean, begetter of gods, and Tethys their mother’, he made all things the offspring of flux and motion.8—Or don’t you think he meant that?
THEAETETUS: Oh, I think he did.
[153] SOCRATES: And if anyone proceeded to dispute the field with an army like that—an army led by Homer—he could hardly help making a fool of himself, could he?
THEAETETUS: It would not be an easy matter, Socrates.
SOCRATES: It would not, Theaetetus. You see, there is good enough evidence for this theory that being (what passes for such) and becoming are a product of motion, while not-being and passing-away result from a state of rest. There is evidence for it in the fact that heat or fire, which presumably generates and controls everything else, is itself generated out of movement and friction—these being motions.—Or am I wrong in saying these are the original sources of fire?
[b] THEAETETUS: Oh no, they certainly are.
SOCRATES: Moreover, the growth of living creatures depends upon these same sources?
THEAETETUS: Yes, certainly.
SOCRATES: And isn’t it also true that bodily condition deteriorates with rest and idleness? While by exertion and motion it can be preserved for a long time?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
SOCRATES: And what about the condition of the soul? Isn’t it by learning and study, which are motions, that the soul gains knowledge and is preserved9 [c] and becomes a better thing? Whereas in a state of rest, that is, when it will not study or learn, it not only fails to acquire knowledge but forgets what it has already learned?
THEAETETUS: That certainly is so.
SOCRATES: And so we may say that the one thing, that is, motion, is beneficial to both body and soul, while the other has the opposite effect?
THEAETETUS: Yes, that’s what it looks like.
SOCRATES: Yes, and I might go on to point out to you the effect of such conditions as still weather on land and calms on the sea. I might show you how these conditions rot and destroy things, while the opposite conditions make for preservation. And finally, to put the crown on my argument, I might bring in Homer’s golden cord,10 and maintain that he means by this simply the sun; and is here explaining that so long as the revolution [d] continues and the sun is in motion, all things are and are preserved, both in heaven and in earth, but that if all this should be ‘bound fast’, as it were, and come to a standstill, all things would be destroyed and, as the saying goes, the world would be turned upside down. Do you agree with this?
THEAETETUS: Yes, Socrates, I think that is the meaning of the passage.
SOCRATES: Then, my friend, you must understand our theory in this way. In the sphere of vision, to begin with, what you would naturally call a white color is not itself a distinct entity, either outside your eyes or in [e] your eyes. You must not assign it any particular place; for then, of course it would be standing at its post; it wouldn’t be in process of becoming.
THEAETETUS: But what do you mean?
SOCRATES: Let us follow what we stated a moment ago, and posit that there is nothing which is, in itself, one thing. According to this theory, black or white or any other color will turn out to have come into being through the impact of the eye upon the appropriate motion; and what we naturally call a particular color is neither that which impinges nor that [154] which is impinged upon, but something which has come into being between the two, and which is private to the individual percipient.—Or would you be prepared to insist that every color appears to a dog, or to any other animal, the same as it appears to you?
THEAETETUS: No, I most certainly shouldn’t.
SOCRATES: Well, and do you even feel sure that anything appears to another human being like it appears to you? Wouldn’t you be much more disposed to hold that it doesn’t appear the same even to yourself because you never remain like yourself?
THEAETETUS: Yes, that seems to me nearer the truth than the other.
SOCRATES: Well now, supposing such things as size or warmth or whiteness [b] really belonged to the object we measure ourselves against or touch, it would never be found that this object had become different simply by coming into contact with another thing and without any change in itself. On the other hand, if you suppose them to belong to what is measuring or touching, this again could never become different simply because something else had come into its neighborhood, or because something had happened to the first thing—nothing having happened to itself. As it is, you see, we may easily find ourselves forced into saying the most astonishing and ridiculous things, as Protagoras would point out or anyone who undertook to expound the same views.
THEAETETUS: What do you mean? What sort of ridiculous things?
[c] SOCRATES: Let me give you a simple example of what I mean, and you will see the rest for yourself. Here are six dice. Put four beside them, and they are more, we say, than the four, that is, half as many again; but put twelve beside them, and we say they are less, that is, half the number. And there is no getting out of that—or do you think there is?
THEAETETUS: No, I don’t.
SOCRATES: Well now, supposing Protagoras or anyone else were to ask you this question: ‘Is it possible, Theaetetus, for any thing to become bigger [d] or more in number in any other way than by being increased?’ What is your answer to that?
THEAETETUS: Well, Socrates, if I answer what seems true in relation to the present question, I shall say ‘No, it is not possible’; but if I consider it in relation to the question that went before, then in order to avoid contradicting myself, I say ‘Yes, it is.’
SOCRATES: That’s a good answer, my friend, by Jove it is; you are inspired. But, I think, if you answer ‘Yes’, it will be like that episode in Euripides—the tongue will be safe from refutation but the mind will not.11
THEAETETUS: That’s true.
SOCRATES: Now if you and I were professional savants, who had already analyzed all the contents of our minds, we should now spend our superfluous [e] time trying each other out; we should start a regular Sophists’ set-to, with a great clashing of argument on argument. But, as it is, we are only plain men; and so our first aim will be to look at our thoughts themselves in relation to themselves, and see what they are—whether, in our opinion, they agree with one another or are entirely at variance.
THEAETETUS: That would certainly be my aim, anyway.
SOCRATES: And mine. That being so, as we are not in any way pressed [155] for time, don’t you think the thing to do is to reconsider this matter quietly and patiently, in all seriousness ‘analyzing’ ourselves, and asking what are these apparitions within us?—And when we come to review them, I suppose we may begin with the statement that nothing can possibly have become either greater or less, in bulk or in number, so long as it is equal to itself. Isn’t that so?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
SOCRATES: Secondly, we should say that a thing to which nothing is added and from which nothing is taken away neither increases nor diminishes but remains equal.
THEAETETUS: Yes, certainly.
SOCRATES: Thirdly, that it is impossible that a thing should ever be [b] what it was not before without having become and without any process of becoming?
THEAETETUS: Yes, I think so.
SOCRATES: Now it seems to me that these three statements that we have admitted are fighting one another in our souls when we speak of the example of the dice; or when we say that, within the space of a year, I (a full-grown man) witho
ut having been either increased or diminished, am now bigger than you (who are only a boy) and, later on, smaller—though I have lost nothing and it is only that you have grown. For this means [c] that I am, at a later stage, what I was not before, and that, too, without having become—for without becoming it is not possible to have become, and without suffering any loss in size I could never become less. And there are innumerable other examples of the same thing if once we admit these. You follow me, I take it, Theaetetus—I think you must be familiar with this kind of puzzle.
THEAETETUS: Oh yes, indeed, Socrates, I often wonder like mad what these things can mean; sometimes when I’m looking at them I begin to feel quite giddy.
SOCRATES: I dare say you do, my dear boy. It seems that Theodorus was [d] not far from the truth when he guessed what kind of person you are. For this is an experience which is characteristic of a philosopher, this wondering: this is where philosophy begins and nowhere else. And the man who made Iris the child of Thaumas was perhaps no bad genealogist.12—But aren’t you beginning to see now what is the explanation of these puzzles, according to the theory which we are attributing to Protagoras?
THEAETETUS: I don’t think I am, yet.
SOCRATES: Then I dare say you will be grateful to me if I help you to [e] discover the veiled truth in the thought of a great man—or perhaps I should say, of great men?
THEAETETUS: Of course I shall be, Socrates, very grateful.
SOCRATES: Then you have a look round, and see that none of the uninitiated are listening to us—I mean the people who think that nothing exists but what they can grasp with both hands; people who refuse to admit that actions and processes and the invisible world in general have any place in reality.
THEAETETUS: They must be tough, hard fellows, Socrates. [156]
SOCRATES: They are, my son—very crude people. But these others, whose mysteries I am going to tell you, are a much more subtle type. These mysteries begin from the principle on which all that we have just been saying also depends, namely, that everything is really motion, and there is nothing but motion. Motion has two forms, each an infinite multitude, but distinguished by their powers, the one being active and the other passive. And through the intercourse and mutual friction of these two [b] there comes to be an offspring infinite in multitude but always twin births, on the one hand what is perceived, on the other, the perception of it, the perception in every case being generated together with what is perceived and emerging along with it. For the perceptions we have such names as sight, hearing, smelling, feeling cold and feeling hot; also what are called pleasures and pains, desires and fears; and there are others besides, a great number which have names, an infinite number which have not. And on the other side there is the race of things perceived, for each of these [c] perceptions perceived things born of the same parentage, for all kinds of visions all kinds of colors, for all kinds of hearings all kinds of sounds; and so on, for the other perceptions the other things perceived, that come to be in kinship with them.