Plato — Dialogues I

Contents — 69 sections

1. Section 142
2. Section 143
3. Section 144
4. Section 145
5. Section 146
6. Section 147
7. Section 148
8. Section 149
9. Section 150
10. Section 151
11. Section 152
12. Section 153
13. Section 154
14. Section 155
15. Section 156
16. Section 157
17. Section 158
18. Section 159
19. Section 160
20. Section 161
21. Section 162
22. Section 163
23. Section 164
24. Section 165
25. Section 166
26. Section 167
27. Section 168
28. Section 169
29. Section 170
30. Section 171
31. Section 172
32. Section 173
33. Section 174
34. Section 175
35. Section 176
36. Section 177
37. Section 178
38. Section 179
39. Section 180
40. Section 181
41. Section 182
42. Section 183
43. Section 184
44. Section 185
45. Section 186
46. Section 187
47. Section 188
48. Section 189
49. Section 190
50. Section 191
51. Section 192
52. Section 193
53. Section 194
54. Section 195
55. Section 196
56. Section 197
57. Section 198
58. Section 199
59. Section 200
60. Section 201
61. Section 202
62. Section 203
63. Section 204
64. Section 205
65. Section 206
66. Section 207
67. Section 208
68. Section 209
69. Section 210

Section 142

EU. Just in from the country, Terpsion, or did you come some time ago?

TERP. Quite a while ago; and I was looking for you in the market-place and wondering that I could not find you.

EU. Well, you see, I was not in the city.

TERP. Where then?

EU. As I was going down to the harbor I met Theaetetus being carried to Athens from the camp at Corinth.

TERP. Alive or dead?

EU. Just barely alive; for he is suffering severely from wounds, and, worse than that, he has been taken with the sickness that has broken out in the army.

TERP. You mean the dysentery?

EU. Yes.

TERP. What a man he is who you say is in danger!

EU. A noble man, Terpsion, and indeed just now I heard some people praising him highly for his conduct in the battle.

TERP. That is not at all strange; it would have been much more remarkable if he had not so conducted himself. But why did he not stop here in Megara?

EU. He was in a hurry to get home; for I begged and advised him to stop, but he would not. So I went along with him, and as I was coming back I thought of Socrates and wondered at his prophetic gift, especially in what he said about him. For I think he met him a little before his own death, when Theaetetus was a mere boy, and as a result of acquaintance and conversation with him, he greatly admired his qualities. When I went to Athens he related to me the conversation he had with him, which was well worth hearing, and he said he would surely become a notable man if he lived.

TERP. And he was right, apparently. But what was the talk? Could you relate it?

Section 143

EU. No, by Zeus, at least not offhand. But I made notes at the time as soon as I reached home, then afterwards at my leisure, as I recalled things, I wrote them down, and whenever I went to Athens I used to ask Socrates about what I could not remember, and then I came here and made corrections; so that I have pretty much the whole talk written down.

TERP. That is true. I heard you say so before; and really I have been waiting about here all along intending to ask you to show it to me. What hinders us from reading it now? Certainly I need to rest, since I have come from the country.

EU. And I myself went with Theaetetus as far as Erineum, so I also should not be sorry to take a rest. Come, let us go, and while we are resting, the boy shall read to us.

TERP. Very well.

EU. Here is the book, Terpsion. Now this is the way I wrote the conversation: I did not represent Socrates relating it to me, as he did, but conversing with those with whom he told me he conversed. And he told me they were the geometrician Theodorus and Theaetetus. Now in order that the explanatory words between the speeches might not be annoying in the written account, such as and I said or and I remarked, whenever Socrates spoke, or he agreed or he did not agree, in the case of the interlocutor, I omitted all that sort of thing and represented Socrates himself as talking with them.

TERP. That is quite fitting, Eucleides.

EU. Come, boy, take the book and read.

SOC. If I cared more for Cyrene and its affairs, Theodorus, I should ask you about things there and about the people, whether any of the young men there are devoting themselves to geometry or any other form of philosophy; but as it is, since I care less for those people than for the people here, I am more eager to know which of our own young men are likely to gain reputation. These are the things I myself investigate, so far as I can, and about which I question those others with whom I see that the young men like to associate. Now a great many of them come to you, and rightly, for you deserve it on account of your geometry, not to speak of other reasons. So if you have met with any young man who is worth mentioning, I should like to hear about him.

Section 144

THEO. Truly, Socrates, it is well worth while for me to talk and for you to hear about a splendid young fellow, one of your fellow-citizens, whom I have met. Now if he were handsome, I should be very much afraid to speak, lest someone should think I was in love with him. But the fact is—now don’t be angry with me—he is not handsome, but is like you in his snub nose and protruding eyes, only those features are less marked in him than in you. You see I speak fearlessly. But I assure you that among all the young men I have ever met—and I have had to do with a great many—I never yet found one of such marvelously fine qualities. He is quick to learn, beyond almost anyone else, yet exceptionally gentle, and moreover brave beyond any other; I should not have supposed such a combination existed, and I do not see it elsewhere. On the contrary, those who, like him, have quick, sharp minds and good memories, have usually also quick tempers; they dart off and are swept away, like ships without ballast; they are excitable rather than courageous; those, on the other hand, who are steadier are somewhat dull when brought face to face with learning, and are very forgetful. But this boy advances toward learning and investigation smoothly and surely and successfully, with perfect gentleness, like a stream of oil that flows without a sound, so that one marvels how he accomplishes all this at his age.

SOC. That is good news; but which of our citizens is his father?

THEO. I have heard the name, but do not remember it. However, it does not matter, for the youth is the middle one of those who are now coming toward us. He and those friends of his were anointing themselves in the outer course, and now they seem to have finished and to be coming here. See if you recognize him.

SOC. Yes, I do. He is the son of Euphronius of Sunium, who is a man of just the sort you describe, and of good repute in other respects; moreover he left a very large property. But the youth’s name I do not know.

THEO. Theaetetus is his name, Socrates; but I believe the property was squandered by trustees. Nevertheless, Socrates, he is remarkably liberal with his money, too.

SOC. It is a noble man that you describe. Now please tell him to come here and sit by us.

THEO. I will. Theaetetus, come here to Socrates.

SOC. Yes, do so, Theaetetus, that I may look at myself and see what sort of a face I have; for Theodorus says it is like yours. Now if we each had a lyre, and he said we had tuned them to the same key, should we take his word for it without more ado, or should we inquire first whether he who said it was a musician?

THEAET. We should inquire.

SOC. Then if we found that he was a musician, we should believe him, but if not, we should refuse to take his word?

THEAET. Yes.

Section 145

SOC. But now, if we are concerned about the likeness of our faces, we must consider whether he who speaks is a painter, or not.

THEAET. I think we must.

SOC. Well, is Theodorus a painter?

THEAET. Not so far as I know.

SOC. Nor a geometrician, either?

THEAET. Oh yes, decidedly, Socrates.

SOC. And an astronomer, and an arithmetician, and a musician, and in general an educated man?

THEAET. I think so.

SOC. Well then, if he says, either in praise or blame, that we have some physical resemblance, it is not especially worth while to pay attention to him.

THEAET. Perhaps not.

SOC. But what if he should praise the soul of one of us for virtue and wisdom? Is it not worth while for the one who hears to examine eagerly the one who is praised, and for that one to exhibit his qualities with eagerness?

THEAET. Certainly, Socrates.

SOC. Then, my dear Theaetetus, this is just the time for you to exhibit your qualities and for me to examine them; for I assure you that Theodorus, though he has praised many foreigners and citizens to me, never praised anyone as he praised you just now.

THEAET. A good idea, Socrates; but make sure that he was not speaking in jest.

SOC. That is not Theodorus’s way. But do not seek to draw back from your agreement on the pretext that he is jesting, or he will be forced to testify under oath; for certainly no one will accuse him of perjury. Come, be courageous and hold to the agreement.

THEAET. I suppose I must, if you say so.

SOC. Now tell me; I suppose you learn some geometry from Theodorus?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And astronomy and harmony and arithmetic?

THEAET. I try hard to do so.

SOC. And so do I, my boy, from him and from any others who I think know anything about these things. But nevertheless, although in other respects I get on fairly well in them, yet I am in doubt about one little matter, which should be investigated with your help and that of these others. Tell me, is not learning growing wiser about that which one learns?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. And the wise, I suppose, are wise by wisdom.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And does this differ at all from knowledge?

THEAET. Does what differ?

SOC. Wisdom. Or are not people wise in that of which they have knowledge?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. Then knowledge and wisdom are the same thing?

THEAET. Yes.

Section 146

SOC. Well, it is just this that I am in doubt about and cannot fully grasp by my own efforts—what knowledge really is. Can we tell that? What do you say? Who of us will speak first? And he who fails, and whoever fails in turn, shall go and sit down and be donkey, as the children say when they play ball; and whoever gets through without failing shall be our king and shall order us to answer any questions he pleases. Why are you silent? I hope, Theodorus, I am not rude, through my love of discussion and my eagerness to make us converse and show ourselves friends and ready to talk to one another.

THEO. That sort of thing would not be at all rude, Socrates; but tell one of the youths to answer your questions; for I am unused to such conversation and, moreover, I am not of an age to accustom myself to it. But that would be fitting for these young men, and they would improve much more than I; for the fact is, youth admits of improvement in every way. Come, question Theaetetus as you began to do, and do not let him off.

SOC. Well, Theaetetus, you hear what Theodorus says, and I think you will not wish to disobey him, nor is it right for a young person to disobey a wise man when he gives instructions about such matters. Come, speak up well and nobly. What do you think knowledge is?

THEAET. Well, Socrates, I must, since you bid me. For, if I make a mistake, you are sure to set me right.

SOC. Certainly, if we can.

THEAET. Well then, I think the things one might learn from Theodorus are knowledge—geometry and all the things you spoke of just now—and also cobblery and the other craftsmen’s arts; each and all of these are nothing else but knowledge.

SOC. You are noble and generous, my friend, for when you are asked for one thing you give many, and a variety of things instead of a simple answer.

THEAET. What do you mean by that, Socrates?

SOC. Nothing, perhaps; but I will tell you what I think I mean. When you say cobblery you speak of nothing else than the art of making shoes, do you?

THEAET. Nothing else.

SOC. And when you say carpentry? Do you mean anything else than the art of making wooden furnishings?

THEAET. Nothing else by that, either.

SOC. Then in both cases you define that to which each form of knowledge belongs?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. But the question, Theaetetus, was not to what knowledge belongs, nor how many the forms of knowledge are; for we did not wish to number them, but to find out what knowledge itself really is. Or is there nothing in what I say?

THEAET. Nay, you are quite right.

Section 147

SOC. Take this example. If anyone should ask us about some common everyday thing, for instance, what clay is, and we should reply that it is the potters’ clay and the oven makers’ clay and the brickmakers’ clay, should we not be ridiculous?

THEAET. Perhaps.

SOC. Yes in the first place for assuming that the questioner can understand from our answer what clay is, when we say clay, no matter whether we add the image-makers’ or any other craftsmen’s. Or does anyone, do you think, understand the name of anything when he does not know what the thing is?

THEAET. By no means.

SOC. Then he does not understand knowledge of shoes if he does not know knowledge.

THEAET. No.

SOC. Then he who is ignorant of knowledge does not understand cobblery or any other art.

THEAET. That is true.

SOC. Then it is a ridiculous answer to the question what is knowledge? when we give the name of some art; for we give in our answer something that knowledge belongs to, when that was not what we were asked.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. Secondly, when we might have given a short, everyday answer, we go an interminable distance round; for instance, in the question about clay, the everyday, simple thing would be to say clay is earth mixed with moisture without regard to whose clay it is.

THEAET. It seems easy just now, Socrates, as you put it; but you are probably asking the kind of thing that came up among us lately when your namesake, Socrates here, and I were talking together.

SOC. What kind of thing was that, Theaetetus?

THEAET. Theodorus here was drawing some figures for us in illustration of roots, showing that squares containing three square feet and five square feet are not commensurable in length with the unit of the foot, and so, selecting each one in its turn up to the square containing seventeen square feet and at that he stopped. Now it occurred to us, since the number of roots appeared to be infinite, to try to collect them under one name, by which we could henceforth call all the roots.

SOC. And did you find such a name?

THEAET. I think we did. But see if you agree.

SOC. Speak on.

THEAET. We divided all number into two classes. The one, the numbers which can be formed by multiplying equal factors, we represented by the shape of the square and called square or equilateral numbers.

SOC. Well done!

Section 148

THEAET. The numbers between these, such as three and five and all numbers which cannot be formed by multiplying equal factors, but only by multiplying a greater by a less or a less by a greater, and are therefore always contained in unequal sides, we represented by the shape of the oblong rectangle and called oblong numbers.

SOC. Very good; and what next?

THEAET. All the lines which form the four sides of the equilateral or square numbers we called lengths, and those which form the oblong numbers we called surds, because they are not commensurable with the others in length, but only in the areas of the planes which they have the power to form. And similarly in the case of solids.

SOC. Most excellent, my boys! I think Theodorus will not be found liable to an action for false witness.

THEAET. But really, Socrates, I cannot answer that question of yours about knowledge, as we answered the question about length and square roots. And yet you seem to me to want something of that kind. So Theodorus appears to be a false witness after all.

SOC. Nonsense! If he were praising your running and said he had never met any young man who was so good a runner, and then you were beaten in a race by a full grown man who held the record, do you think his praise would be any less truthful?

THEAET. Why, no.

SOC. And do you think that the discovery of knowledge, as I was just now saying, is a small matter and not a task for the very ablest men?

THEAET. By Zeus, I think it is a task for the very ablest.

SOC. Then you must have confidence in yourself, and believe that Theodorus is right, and try earnestly in every way to gain an understanding of the nature of knowledge as well as of other things.

THEAET. If it is a question of earnestness, Socrates, the truth will come to light.

SOC. Well then—for you pointed out the way admirably just now—take your answer about the roots as a model, and just as you embraced them all in one class, though they were many, try to designate the many forms of knowledge by one definition.

THEAET. But I assure you, Socrates, I have often tried to work that out, when I heard reports of the questions that you asked, but I can neither persuade myself that I have any satisfactory answer, nor can I find anyone else who gives the kind of answer you insist upon; and yet, on the other hand, I cannot get rid of a feeling of concern about the matter.

SOC. Yes, you are suffering the pangs of labor, Theaetetus, because you are not empty, but pregnant.

THEAET. I do not know, Socrates; I merely tell you what I feel.

Section 149

SOC. Have you then not heard, you absurd boy, that I am the son of a noble and burly midwife, Phaenarete?

THEAET. Yes, I have heard that.

SOC. And have you also heard that I practise the same art?

THEAET. No, never.

SOC. But I assure you it is true; only do not tell on me to the others; for it is not known that I possess this art. But other people, since they do not know it, do not say this of me, but say that I am a most eccentric person and drive men to distraction. Have you heard that also?

THEAET. Yes, I have.

SOC. Shall I tell you the reason then?

THEAET. Oh yes, do.

SOC. Just take into consideration the whole business of the midwives, and you will understand more easily what I mean. For you know, I suppose, that no one of them attends other women while she is still capable of conceiving and bearing but only those do so who have become too old to bear.

THEAET. Yes, certainly.

SOC. They say the cause of this is Artemis, because she, a childless goddess, has had childbirth allotted to her as her special province. Now it would seem she did not allow barren women to be midwives, because human nature is too weak to acquire an art which deals with matters of which it has no experience, but she gave the office to those who on account of age were not bearing children, honoring them for their likeness to herself.

THEAET. Very likely.

SOC. Is it not, then, also likely and even necessary, that midwives should know better than anyone else who are pregnant and who are not?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. And furthermore, the midwives, by means of drugs and incantations, are able to arouse the pangs of labor and, if they wish, to make them milder, and to cause those to bear who have difficulty in bearing; and they cause miscarriages if they think them desirable.

THEAET. That is true.

SOC. Well, have you noticed this also about them, that they are the most skillful of matchmakers, since they are very wise in knowing what union of man and woman will produce the best possible children?

THEAET. I do not know that at all.

SOC. But be assured that they are prouder of this than of their skill in cutting the umbilical cord. Just consider. Do you think the knowledge of what soil is best for each plant or seed belongs to the same art as the tending and harvesting of the fruits of the earth, or to another?

THEAET. To the same art.

SOC. And in the case of a woman, do you think, my friend, that there is one art for the sowing and another for the harvesting?

THEAET. It is not likely.

Section 150

SOC. No; but because there is a wrongful and unscientific way of bringing men and women together, which is called pandering, the midwives, since they are women of dignity and worth, avoid matchmaking, through fear of falling under the charge of pandering. And yet the true midwife is the only proper match-maker.

THEAET. It seems so.

SOC. So great, then, is the importance of midwives; but their function is less important than mine. For women do not, like my patients, bring forth at one time real children and at another mere images which it is difficult to distinguish from the real. For if they did, the greatest and noblest part of the work of the midwives would be in distinguishing between the real and the false. Do you not think so?

THEAET. Yes, I do.

SOC. All that is true of their art of midwifery is true also of mine, but mine differs from theirs in being practised upon men, not women, and in tending their souls in labor, not their bodies. But the greatest thing about my art is this, that it can test in every way whether the mind of the young man is bringing forth a mere image, an imposture, or a real and genuine offspring. For I have this in common with the midwives: I am sterile in point of wisdom, and the reproach which has often been brought against me, that I question others but make no reply myself about anything, because I have no wisdom in me, is a true reproach; and the reason of it is this: the god compels me to act as midwife, but has never allowed me to bring forth. I am, then, not at all a wise person myself, nor have I any wise invention, the offspring born of my own soul; but those who associate with me, although at first some of them seem very ignorant, yet, as our acquaintance advances, all of them to whom the god is gracious make wonderful progress, not only in their own opinion, but in that of others as well. And it is clear that they do this, not because they have ever learned anything from me, but because they have found in themselves many fair things and have brought them forth. But the delivery is due to the god and me. And the proof of it is this: many before now, being ignorant of this fact and thinking that they were themselves the cause of their success, but despising me, have gone away from me sooner than they ought, whether of their own accord or because others persuaded them to do so. Then, after they have gone away, they have miscarried thenceforth on account of evil companionship, and the offspring which they had brought forth through my assistance they have reared so badly that they have lost it; they have considered impostures and images of more importance than the truth, and at last it was evident to themselves, as well as to others, that they were ignorant.

Section 151

SOC. One of these was Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus, and there are very many more. When such men come back and beg me, as they do, with wonderful eagerness to let them join me again, the spiritual monitor that comes to me forbids me to associate with some of them, but allows me to converse with others, and these again make progress. Now those who associate with me are in this matter also like women in childbirth; they are in pain and are full of trouble night and day, much more than are the women; and my art can arouse this pain and cause it to cease. Well, that is what happens to them. But in some cases, Theaetetus, when they do not seem to me to be exactly pregnant, since I see that they have no need of me, I act with perfect goodwill as match-maker and, under God, I guess very successfully with whom they can associate profitably, and I have handed over many of them to Prodicus, and many to other wise and inspired men. Now I have said all this to you at such length, my dear boy, because I suspect that you, as you yourself believe, are in pain because you are pregnant with something within you. Apply, then, to me, remembering that I am the son of a midwife and have myself a midwife’s gifts, and do your best to answer the questions I ask as I ask them. And if, when I have examined any of the things you say, it should prove that I think it is a mere image and not real, and therefore quietly take it from you and throw it away, do not be angry as women are when they are deprived of their first offspring. For many, my dear friend, before this have got into such a state of mind towards me that they are actually ready to bite me, if I take some foolish notion away from them, and they do not believe that I do this in kindness, since they are far from knowing that no god is unkind to mortals, and that I do nothing of this sort from unkindness, either, and that it is quite out of the question for me to allow an imposture or to destroy the true. And so, Theaetetus, begin again and try to tell us what knowledge is. And never say that you are unable to do so; for if God wills it and gives you courage, you will be able.

THEAET. Well then, Socrates, since you are so urgent it would be disgraceful for anyone not to exert himself in every way to say what he can. I think, then, that he who knows anything perceives that which he knows, and, as it appears at present, knowledge is nothing else than perception.

SOC. Good! Excellent, my boy! That is the way one ought to speak out. But come now, let us examine your utterance together, and see whether it is a real offspring or a mere wind-egg. Perception, you say, is knowledge?

THEAET. Yes.

Section 152

SOC. And, indeed, if I may venture to say so, it is not a bad description of knowledge that you have given, but one which Protagoras also used to give. Only, he has said the same thing in a different way. For he says somewhere that man is the measure of all things, of the existence of the things that are and the non-existence of the things that are not. You have read that, I suppose?

THEAET. Yes, I have read it often.

SOC. Well, is not this about what he means, that individual things are for me such as they appear to me, and for you in turn such as they appear to you —you and I being man?

THEAET. Yes, that is what he says.

SOC. It is likely that a wise man is not talking nonsense; so let us follow after him. Is it not true that sometimes, when the same wind blows, one of us feels cold, and the other does not? or one feels slightly and the other exceedingly cold?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Then in that case, shall we say that the wind is in itself cold or not cold or shall we accept Protagoras’s saying that it is cold for him who feels cold and not for him who does not?

THEAET. Apparently we shall accept that.

SOC. Then it also seems cold, or not, to each of the two?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. But seems denotes perceiving?

THEAET. It does.

SOC. Then seeming and perception are the same thing in matters of warmth and everything of that sort. For as each person perceives things, such they are to each person.

THEAET. Apparently.

SOC. Perception, then, is always of that which exists and, since it is knowledge, cannot be false.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. By the Graces! I wonder if Protagoras, who was a very wise man, did not utter this dark saying to the common herd like ourselves, and tell the truth in secret to his pupils.

THEAET. Why, Socrates, what do you mean by that?

SOC. I will tell you and it is not a bad description, either, that nothing is one and invariable, and you could not rightly ascribe any quality whatsoever to anything, but if you call it large it will also appear to be small, and light if you call it heavy, and everything else in the same way, since nothing whatever is one, either a particular thing or of a particular quality; but it is out of movement and motion and mixture with one another that all those things become which we wrongly say are—wrongly, because nothing ever is, but is always becoming. And on this subject all the philosophers, except Parmenides, may be marshalled in one line—Protagoras and Heracleitus and Empedocles—and the chief poets in the two kinds of poetry, Epicharmus, in comedy, and in tragedy, Homer, who, in the line0ceanus the origin of the gods, and Tethys their mother,has said that all things are the offspring of flow and motion; or don’t you think he means that?

THEAET. I think he does.

Section 153

SOC. Then who could still contend with such a great host, led by Homer as general, and not make himself ridiculous?

THEAET. It is not easy, Socrates.

SOC. No, Theaetetus, it is not. For the doctrine is amply proved by this, namely, that motion is the cause of that which passes for existence, that is, of becoming, whereas rest is the cause of non-existence and destruction; for warmth or fire, which, you know, is the parent and preserver of all other things, is itself the offspring of movement and friction, and these two are forms of motion. Or are not these the source of fire?

THEAET. Yes, they are.

SOC. And furthermore, the animal kingdom is sprung from these same sources.

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. Well, then, is not the bodily habit destroyed by rest and idleness, and preserved, generally speaking, by gymnastic exercises and motions?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And what of the habit of the soul? Does not the soul acquire information and is it not preserved and made better through learning and practice, which are motions, whereas through rest, which is want of practice and of study, it learns nothing and forgets what it has learned?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Then the good, both for the soul and for the body, is motion, and rest is the opposite?

THEAET. Apparently.

SOC. Now shall I go on and mention to you also windless air, calm sea, and all that sort of thing, and say that stillness causes decay and destruction and that the opposite brings preservation? And shall I add to this the all-compelling and crowning argument that Homer by the golden chain refers to nothing else than the sun, and means that so long as the heavens and the sun go round everything exists and is preserved, among both gods and men, but if the motion should stop, as if bound fast, everything would be destroyed and would, as the saying is, be turned upside down?

THEAET. Yes, Socrates, I think he means what you say he does.

SOC. Then, my friend, you must apply the doctrine in this way: first as concerns vision, the color that you call white is not to be taken as something separate outside of your eyes, nor yet as something inside of them; and you must not assign any place to it, for then it would at once be in a definite position and stationary and would have no part in the process of becoming.

THEAET. But what do you mean?

Section 154

SOC. Let us stick close to the statement we made a moment ago, and assume that nothing exists by itself as invariably one: then it will be apparent that black or white or any other color whatsoever is the result of the impact of the eye upon the appropriate motion, and therefore that which we call color will be in each instance neither that which impinges nor that which is impinged upon, but something between, which has occurred, peculiar to each individual. Or would you maintain that each color appears to a dog, or any other animal you please, just as it does to you?

THEAET. No, by Zeus, I wouldn’t.

SOC. Well, does anything whatsoever appear the same to any other man as to you? Are you sure of this? Or are you not much more convinced that nothing appears the same even to you, because you yourself are never exactly the same?

THEAET. Yes, I am much more convinced of the last.

SOC. Then, if that with which I compare myself in size, or which I touch, were really large or white or hot, it would never have become different by coming in contact with something different, without itself changing; and if, on the other hand, that which did the comparing or the touching were really large or white or hot, it would not have become different when something different approached it or was affected in some way by it, without being affected in some way itself. For nowadays, my friend, we find ourselves rather easily forced to make extraordinary and absurd statements, as Protagoras and everyone who undertakes to agree with him would say.

THEAET. What do you mean? What statements?

SOC. Take a little example and you will know all I have in mind. Given six dice, for instance, if you compare four with them, we say that they are more than the four, half as many again, but if you compare twelve with them, we say they are less, half as many; and any other statement would be inadmissible; or would you admit any other?

THEAET. Not I.

SOC. Well then, if Protagoras, or anyone else, ask you, Theaetetus, can anything become greater or more in any other way than by being increased? what reply will you make?

THEAET. If I am to say what I think, Socrates, with reference to the present question, I should say no, but if I consider the earlier question, I should say yes, for fear of contradicting myself.

SOC. Good, by Hera! Excellent, my friend! But apparently, if you answer yes it will be in the Euripidean spirit; for our tongue will be unconvinced, but not our mind.

THEAET. True.

SOC. Well, if you and I were clever and wise and had found out everything about the mind, we should henceforth spend the rest of our time testing each other out of the fulness of our wisdom, rushing together like sophists in a sophistical combat, battering each other’s arguments with counter arguments. But, as it is, since we are ordinary people, we shall wish in the first place to look into the real essence of our thoughts and see whether they harmonize with one another or not at all.

THEAET. Certainly that is what I should like.

Section 155

SOC. And so should I. But since this is the case, and we have plenty of time, shall we not quietly, without any impatience, but truly examining ourselves, consider again the nature of these appearances within us? And as we consider them, I shall say, I think, first, that nothing can ever become more or less in size or number, so long as it remains equal to itself. Is it not so?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And secondly, that anything to which nothing is added and from which nothing is subtracted, is neither increased nor diminished, but is always equal.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. And should we not say thirdly, that what was not previously could not afterwards be without becoming and having become?

THEAET. Yes, I agree.

SOC. These three assumptions contend with one another in our minds when we talk about the dice, or when we say that I, who do not, at my age, either increase in size or diminish, am in the course of a year first larger than you, who are young, and afterwards smaller, when nothing has been taken from my size, but you have grown. For I am, it seems, afterwards what I was not before, and I have not become so; for it is impossible to have become without becoming, and without losing anything of my size I could not become smaller. And there are countless myriads of such contradictions, if we are to accept these that I have mentioned. You follow me, I take it, Theaetetus, for I think you are not new at such things.

THEAET. By the gods, Socrates, I am lost in wonder when I think of all these things, and sometimes when I regard them it really makes my head swim.

SOC. Theodorus seems to be a pretty good guesser about your nature. For this feeling of wonder shows that you are a philosopher, since wonder is the only beginning of philosophy, and he who said that Iris was the child of Thaumas made a good genealogy. But do you begin to understand why these things are so, according to the doctrine we attribute to Protagoras, or do you not as yet?

THEAET. Not yet, I think.

SOC. And will you be grateful to me if I help you to search out the hidden truth of the thought of a famous man or, I should say, of famous men?

THEAET. Of course I shall be grateful, very grateful.

SOC. Look round and see that none of the uninitiated is listening. The uninitiated are those who think nothing is except what they can grasp firmly with their hands, and who deny the existence of actions and generation and all that is invisible.

Section 156

THEAET. Truly, Socrates, those you speak of are very stubborn and perverse mortals.

SOC. So they are, my boy, quite without culture. But others are more clever, whose secret doctrines I am going to disclose to you. For them the beginning, upon which all the things we were just now speaking of depend, is the assumption that everything is real motion and that there is nothing besides this, but that there are two kinds of motion, each infinite in the number of its manifestations, and of these kinds one has an active, the other a passive force. From the union and friction of these two are born offspring, infinite in number, but always twins, the object of sense and the sense which is always born and brought forth together with the object of sense. Now we give the senses names like these: sight and hearing and smell, and the sense of cold and of heat, and pleasures and pains and desires and fears and so forth. Those that have names are very numerous, and those that are unnamed are innumerable. Now the class of objects of sense is akin to each of these; all sorts of colors are akin to all sorts of acts of vision, and in the same way sounds to acts of hearing, and the other objects of sense spring forth akin to the other senses. What does this tale mean for us, Theaetetus, with reference to what was said before? Do you see?

THEAET. Not quite, Socrates.

SOC. Just listen; perhaps we can finish the tale. It means, of course, that all these things are, as we were saying, in motion, and their motion has in it either swiftness or slowness. Now the slow element keeps its motion in the same place and directed towards such things as draw near it, and indeed it is in this way that it begets. But the things begotten in this way are quicker; for they move from one place to another, and their motion is naturally from one place to another. Now when the eye and some appropriate object which approaches beget whiteness and the corresponding perception—which could never have been produced by either of them going to anything else—then, while sight from the eye and whiteness from that which helps to produce the color are moving from one to the other, the eye becomes full of sight and so begins at that moment to see, and becomes, certainly not sight, but a seeing eye, and the object which joined in begetting the color is filled with whiteness and becomes in its turn, not whiteness, but white, whether it be a stick or a stone, or whatever it be the hue of which is so colored.

Section 157

SOC. And all the rest—hard and hot and so forth—must be regarded in the same way: we must assume, we said before, that nothing exists in itself, but all things of all sorts arise out of motion by intercourse with each other; for it is, as they say, impossible to form a firm conception of the active or the passive element as being anything separately; for there is no active element until there is a union with the passive element, nor is there a passive element until there is a union with the active; and that which unites with one thing is active and appears again as passive when it comes in contact with something else. And so it results from all this, as we said in the beginning, that nothing exists as invariably one, itself by itself, but everything is always becoming in relation to something, and being should be altogether abolished, though we have often—and even just now—been compelled by custom and ignorance to use the word. But we ought not, the wise men say, to permit the use of something or somebody’s or mine or this or that or any other word that implies making things stand still, but in accordance with nature we should speak of things as becoming and being made and being destroyed and changing; for anyone who by his mode of speech makes things stand still is easily refuted. And we must use such expressions in relation both to particular objects and collective designations, among which are mankind and stone and the names of every animal and class. Do these doctrines seem pleasant to you, Theaetetus, and do you find their taste agreeable?

THEAET. I don’t know, Socrates; besides, I can’t tell about you, either, whether you are preaching them because you believe them or to test me.

SOC. You forget, my friend, that I myself know nothing about such things, and claim none of them as mine, but am incapable of bearing them and am merely acting as a midwife to you, and for that reason am uttering incantations and giving you a taste of each of the philosophical theories, until I may help to bring your own opinion to light. And when it is brought to light, I will examine it and see whether it is a mere wind-egg or a real offspring. So be brave and patient, and in good and manly fashion tell what you think in reply to my questions.

THEAET. Very well; ask them.

SOC. Then say once more whether the doctrine pleases you that nothing is, but is always becoming—good or beautiful or any of the other qualities we were just enumerating.

THEAET. Why, when I hear you telling about it as you did, it seems to me that it is wonderfully reasonable and ought to be accepted as you have presented it.

SOC. Let us, then, not neglect a point in which it is defective. The defect is found in connection with dreams and diseases, including insanity, and everything else that is said to cause illusions of sight and hearing and the other senses. For of course you know that in all these the doctrine we were just presenting seems admittedly to be refuted, because in them we certainly have false perceptions, and it is by no means true that everything is to each man which appears to him; on the contrary, nothing is which appears.

Section 158

THEAET. What you say is very true, Socrates.

SOC. What argument is left, then, my boy, for the man who says that perception is knowledge and that in each case the things which appear are to the one to whom they appear?

THEAET. I hesitate to say, Socrates, that I have no reply to make, because you scolded me just now when I said that. But really I cannot dispute that those who are insane or dreaming have false opinions, when some of them think they are gods and others fancy in their sleep that they have wings and are flying.

SOC. Don’t you remember, either, the similar dispute about these errors, especially about sleeping and waking?

THEAET. What dispute?

SOC. One which I fancy you have often heard. The question is asked, what proof you could give if anyone should ask us now, at the present moment, whether we are asleep and our thoughts are a dream, or whether we are awake and talking with each other in a waking condition.

THEAET. Really, Socrates, I don’t see what proof can be given; for there is an exact correspondence in all particulars, as between the strophe and antistrophe of a choral song. Take, for instance, the conversation we have just had: there is nothing to prevent us from imagining in our sleep also that we are carrying on this conversation with each other, and when in a dream we imagine that we are relating dreams, the likeness between the one talk and the other is remarkable.

SOC. So you see it is not hard to dispute the point, since it is even open to dispute whether we are awake or in a dream. Now since the time during which we are asleep is equal to that during which we are awake, in each state our spirit contends that the semblances that appear to it at any time are certainly true, so that for half the time we say that this is true, and for half the time the other, and we maintain each with equal confidence.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. And may not, then, the same be said about insanity and the other diseases, except that the time is not equal?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Well, then, shall truth be determined by the length or shortness of time?

THEAET. That would be absurd in many ways.

SOC. But can you show clearly in any other way which of the two sets of opinions is true?

THEAET. I do not think I can.

SOC. Listen, then, while I tell you what would be said about them by those who maintain that what appears at any time is true for him to whom it appears. They begin, I imagine, by asking this question: Theaetetus, can that which is wholly other have in any way the same quality as its alternative? And we must not assume that the thing in question is partially the same and partially other, but wholly other.

Section 159

THEAET. It is impossible for it to be the same in anything, either in quality or in any other respect whatsoever, when it is wholly other.

SOC. Must we not, then, necessarily agree that such a thing is also unlike?

THEAET. It seems so to me.

SOC. Then if anything happens to become like or unlike anything—either itself or anything else—we shall say that when it becomes like it becomes the same, and when it becomes unlike it becomes other?

THEAET. We must.

SOC. Well, we said before, did we not, that the active elements were many—infinite in fact—and likewise the passive elements?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And furthermore, that any given element, by uniting at different times with different partners, will beget, not the same, but other results?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Well, then, let us take me, or you, or anything else at hand, and apply the same principle—say Socrates in health and Socrates in illness. Shall we say the one is like the other, or unlike?

THEAET. When you say Socrates in illness do you mean to compare that Socrates as a whole with Socrates in health as a whole?

SOC. You understand perfectly; that is just what I mean.

THEAET. Unlike, I imagine.

SOC. And therefore other, inasmuch as unlike?

THEAET. Necessarily.

SOC. And you would say the same of Socrates asleep or in any of the other states we enumerated just now?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Then each of those elements which by the law of their nature act upon something else, will, when it gets hold of Socrates in health, find me one object to act upon, and when it gets hold of me in illness, another?

THEAET. How can it help it?

SOC. And so, in the two cases, that active element and I, who am the passive element, shall each produce a different object?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. So, then, when I am in health and drink wine, it seems pleasant and sweet to me?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. The reason is, in fact, that according to the principles we accepted a while ago, the active and passive elements produce sweetness and perception, both of which are simultaneously moving from one place to another, and the perception, which comes from the passive element, makes the tongue perceptive, and the sweetness, which comes from the wine and pervades it, passes over and makes the wine both to be and to seem sweet to the tongue that is in health.

THEAET. Certainly, such are the principles we accepted a while ago.

SOC. But when it gets hold of me in illness, in the first place, it really doesn’t get hold of the same man, does it? For he to whom it comes is certainly unlike.

THEAET. True.

SOC. Therefore the union of the Socrates who is ill and the draught of wine produces other results: in the tongue the sensation or perception of bitterness, and in the wine—a bitterness which is engendered there and passes over into the other; the wine is made, not bitterness, but bitter, and I am made, not perception, but perceptive.

THEAET. Certainly.

Section 160

SOC. Then I shall never have this perception of any other thing; for a perception of another thing is another perception, and makes the percipient different and other: nor can that which acts on me ever by union with another produce the same result or become the same in kind; for by producing another result from another passive element it will become different in kind.

THEAET. That is true.

SOC. And neither shall I, furthermore, ever again become the same as I am, nor will that ever become the same as it is.

THEAET. No.

SOC. And yet, when I become percipient, I must necessarily become percipient of something, for it is impossible to become percipient and perceive nothing; and that which is perceived must become so to someone, when it becomes sweet or bitter or the like; for to become sweet, but sweet to no one, is impossible.

THEAET. Perfectly true.

SOC. The result, then, I think, is that we (the active and the passive elements) are or become, whichever is the case, in relation to one another, since we are bound to one another by the inevitable law of our being, but to nothing else, not even to ourselves. The result, then, is that we are bound to one another; and so if a man says anything is, he must say it is to or of or in relation to something, and similarly if he says it becomes; but he must not say it is or becomes absolutely, nor can he accept such a statement from anyone else. That is the meaning of the doctrine we have been describing.

THEAET. Yes, quite so, Socrates.

SOC. Then, since that which acts on me is to me and to me only, it is also the case that I perceive it, and I only?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. Then to me my perception is true; for in each case it is always part of my being; and I am, as Protagoras says, the judge of the existence of the things that are to me and of the non-existence of those that are not to me.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. How, then, if I am an infallible judge and my mind never stumbles in regard to the things that are or that become, can I fail to know that which I perceive?

THEAET. You cannot possibly fail.

SOC. Therefore you were quite right in saying that knowledge is nothing else than perception, and there is complete identity between the doctrine of Homer and Heracleitus and all their followers—that all things are in motion, like streams—the doctrine of the great philosopher Protagoras that man is the measure of all things—and the doctrine of Theaetetus that, since these things are true, perception is knowledge. Eh, Theaetetus? Shall we say that this is, so to speak, your new-born child and the result of my midwifery? Or what shall we say?

THEAET. We must say that, Socrates.

Section 161

SOC. Well, we have at last managed to bring this forth, whatever it turns out to be; and now that it is born, we must in very truth perform the rite of running round with it in a circle— the circle of our argument—and see whether it may not turn out to be after all not worth rearing, but only a wind-egg, an imposture. But, perhaps, you think that any offspring of yours ought to be cared for and not put away; or will you bear to see it examined and not get angry if it is taken away from you, though it is your first-born?

THEO. Theaetetus will bear it, Socrates, for he is not at all ill-tempered. But for heaven’s sake, Socrates, tell me, is all this wrong after all?

SOC. You are truly fond of argument, Theodorus, and a very good fellow to think that I am a sort of bag full of arguments and can easily pull one out and say that after all the other one was wrong; but you do not understand what is going on: none of the arguments comes from me, but always from him who is talking with me. I myself know nothing, except just a little, enough to extract an argument from another man who is wise and to receive it fairly. And now I will try to extract this thought from Theaetetus, but not to say anything myself.

THEO. That is the better way, Socrates; do as you say.

SOC. Do you know, then, Theodorus, what amazes me in your friend Protagoras?

THEO. What is it?

SOC. In general I like his doctrine that what appears to each one is to him, but I am amazed by the beginning of his book. I don’t see why he does not say in the beginning of his Truth that a pig or a dog-faced baboon or some still stranger creature of those that have sensations is the measure of all things. Then he might have begun to speak to us very imposingly and condescendingly, showing that while we were honoring him like a god for his wisdom, he was after all no better in intellect than any other man, or, for that matter, than a tadpole. What alternative is there, Theodorus? For if that opinion is true to each person which he acquires through sensation, and no one man can discern another’s condition better than he himself, and one man has no better right to investigate whether another’s opinion is true or false than he himself, but, as we have said several times, each man is to form his own opinions by himself, and these opinions are always right and true, why in the world, my friend, was Protagoras wise, so that he could rightly be thought worthy to be the teacher of other men and to be well paid, and why were we ignorant creatures and obliged to go to school to him, if each person is the measure of his own wisdom? Must we not believe that Protagoras was playing to the gallery in saying this? I say nothing of the ridicule that I and my science of midwifery deserve in that case,—and, I should say, the whole practice of dialectics, too. For would not the investigation of one another’s fancies and opinions, and the attempt to refute them, when each man’s must be right, be tedious and blatant folly, if the Truth of Protagoras is true and he was not jesting when he uttered his oracles from the shrine of his book?

Section 162

THEO. Socrates, the man was my friend, as you just remarked. So I should hate to bring about the refutation of Protagoras by agreeing with you, and I should hate also to oppose you contrary to my real convictions. So take Theaetetus again; especially as he seemed just now to follow your suggestions very carefully.

SOC. If you went to Sparta, Theodorus, and visited the wrestling-schools, would you think it fair to look on at other people naked, some of whom were of poor physique, without stripping and showing your own form, too?

THEO. Why not, if I could persuade them to allow me to do so? So now I think I shall persuade you to let me be a spectator, and not to drag me into the ring, since I am old and stiff, but to take the younger and nimbler man as your antagonist.

SOC. Well, Theodorus, if that pleases you, it does not displease me, as the saying is. So I must attack the wise Theaetetus again. Tell me, Theaetetus, referring to the doctrine we have just expounded, do you not share my amazement at being suddenly exalted to an equality with the wisest man, or even god? Or do you think Protagoras’s measure applies any less to gods than to men?

THEAET. By no means; and I am amazed that you ask such a question at all; for when we were discussing the meaning of the doctrine that whatever appears to each one really is to him, I thought it was good; but now it has suddenly changed to the opposite.

SOC. You are young, my dear boy; so you are quickly moved and swayed by popular oratory. For in reply to what I have said, Protagoras, or someone speaking for him, will say, Excellent boys and old men, there you sit together declaiming to the people, and you bring in the gods, the question of whose existence or non-existence I exclude from oral and written discussion, and you say the sort of thing that the crowd would readily accept—that it is a terrible thing if every man is to be no better than any beast in point of wisdom; but you do not advance any cogent proof whatsoever; you base your statements on probability. If Theodorus, or any other geometrician, should base his geometry on probability, he would be of no account at all. So you and Theodorus had better consider whether you will accept arguments founded on plausibility and probabilities in such important matters.

Section 163

THEAET. That would not be right, Socrates; neither you nor we would think so.

SOC. Apparently, then, you and Theodorus mean we must look at the matter in a different way.

THEAET. Yes, certainly in a different way.

SOC. Well, then, let us look at it in this way, raising the question whether knowledge is after all the same as perception, or different. For that is the object of all our discussion, and it was to answer that question than we stirred up all these strange doctrines, was it not?

THEAET. Most assuredly.

SOC. Shall we then agree that all that we perceive by sight or hearing we know? For instance, shall we say that before having learned the language of foreigners we do not hear them when they speak, or that we both hear and know what they say? And again, if we do not know the letters, shall we maintain that we do not see them when we look at them or that if we really see them we know them?

THEAET. We shall say, Socrates, that we know just so much of them as we hear or see: in the case of the letters, we both see and know the form and color, and in the spoken language we both hear and at the same time know the higher and lower notes of the voice; but we do not perceive through sight or hearing, and we do not know, what the grammarians and interpreters teach about them.

SOC. First-rate, Theaetetus! and it is a pity to dispute that, for I want you to grow. But look out for another trouble that is yonder coming towards us, and see how we can repel it.

THEAET. What is it?

SOC. It is like this: If anyone should ask, Is it possible, if a man has ever known a thing and still has and preserves a memory of that thing, that he does not, at the time when he remembers, know that very thing which he remembers? I seem to be pretty long winded; but I merely want to ask if a man who has learned a thing does not know it when he remembers it.

THEAET. Of course he does, Socrates; for what you suggest would be monstrous.

SOC. Am I crazy, then? Look here. Do you not say that seeing is perceiving and that sight is perception?

THEAET. I do.

SOC. Then, according to what we have just said, the man who has seen a thing has acquired knowledge of that which he has seen?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Well, then, do you not admit that there is such a thing as memory?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Memory of nothing or of something?

THEAET. Of something, surely.

SOC. Of things he has learned and perceived—that sort of things?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. A man sometimes remembers what he has seen, does he not?

THEAET. He does.

SOC. Even when he shuts his eyes, or does he forget if he does that?

THEAET. It would be absurd to say that, Socrates.

Section 164

SOC. We must, though, if we are to maintain our previous argument; otherwise, it is all up with it.

THEAET. I too, by Zeus, have my suspicions, but I don’t fully understand you. Tell me how it is.

SOC. This is how it is: he who sees has acquired knowledge, we say, of that which he has seen; for it is agreed that sight and perception and knowledge are all the same.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. But he who has seen and has acquired knowledge of what he saw, if he shuts his eyes, remembers it, but does not see it. Is that right?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. But does not see is the same as does not know, if it is true that seeing is knowing.

THEAET. True.

SOC. Then this is our result. When a man has acquired knowledge of a thing and still remembers it, he does not know it, since he does not see it; but we said that would be a monstrous conclusion.

THEAET. Very true.

SOC. So, evidently, we reach an impossible result if we say that knowledge and perception are the same.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. Then we must say they are different.

THEAET. I suppose so.

SOC. Then what can knowledge be? We must, apparently, begin our discussion all over again. And yet, Theaetetus, what are we on the point of doing?

THEAET. About what?

SOC. It seems to me that we are behaving like a worthless game-cock; before winning the victory we have leapt away from our argument and begun to crow.

THEAET. How so?

SOC. We seem to be acting like professional debaters; we have based our agreements on the mere similarity of words and are satisfied to have got the better of the argument in such a way, and we do not see that we, who claim to be, not contestants for a prize, but lovers of wisdom, are doing just what those ingenious persons do.

THEAET. I do not yet understand what you mean.

SOC. Well, I will try to make my thought clear. We asked, you recollect, whether a man who has learned something and remembers it does not know it. We showed first that the one who has seen and then shuts his eyes remembers, although he does not see, and then we showed that he does not know, although at the same time he remembers; but this, we said, was impossible. And so the Protagorean tale was brought to naught, and yours also about the identity of knowledge and perception.

THEAET. Evidently.

SOC. It would not be so, I fancy, my friend, if the father of the first of the two tales were alive; he would have had a good deal to say in its defence. But he is dead, and we are abusing the orphan. Why, even the guardians whom Protagoras left—one of whom is Theodorus here—are unwilling to come to the child’s assistance. So it seems that we shall have to do it ourselves, assisting him in the name of justice.

Section 165

THEO. Do so, for it is not I, Socrates, but rather Callias the son of Hipponicus, who is the guardian of his children. As for me, I turned rather too soon from abstract speculations to geometry. However, I shall be grateful to you if you come to his assistance.

SOC. Good, Theodorus! Now see how I shall help him; for a man might find himself involved in still worse inconsistencies than those in which we found ourselves just now, if he did not pay attention to the terms which we generally use in assent and denial. Shall I explain this to you, or only to Theaetetus?

THEO. To both of us, but let the younger answer; for he will be less disgraced if he is discomfited.

SOC. Very well; now I am going to ask the most frightfully difficult question of all. It runs, I believe, something like this: Is it possible for a person, if he knows a thing, at the same time not to know that which he knows?

THEO. Now, then, what shall we answer, Theaetetus?

THEAET. It is impossible, I should think.

SOC. Not if you make seeing and knowing identical. For what will you do with a question from which there is no escape, by which you are, as the saying is, caught in a pit, when your adversary, unabashed, puts his hand over one of your eyes and asks if you see his cloak with the eye that is covered?

THEAET. I shall say, I think, Not with that eye, but with the other.

SOC. Then you see and do not see the same thing at the same time?

THEAET. After a fashion.

SOC. That, he will reply, is not at all what I want, and I did not ask about the fashion, but whether you both know and do not know the same thing. Now manifestly you see that which you do not see. But you have agreed that seeing is knowing and not seeing is not knowing. Very well; from all this, reckon out what the result is.

THEAET. Well, I reckon out that the result is the contrary of my hypothesis.

SOC. And perhaps, my fine fellow, more troubles of the same sort might have come upon you, if anyone asked you further questions—whether it is possible to know the same thing both sharply and dully, to know close at hand but not at a distance, to know both violently and gently, and countless other questions, such as a nimble fighter, fighting for pay in the war of words, might have lain in wait and asked you, when you said that knowledge and perception were the same thing; he would have charged down upon hearing and smelling and such senses, and would have argued persistently and unceasingly until you were filled with admiration of his greatly desired wisdom and were taken in his toils, and then, after subduing and binding you he would at once proceed to bargain with you for such ransom as might be agreed upon between you. What argument, then, you might ask, will Protagoras produce to strengthen his forces? Shall we try to carry on the discussion?

THEAET. By all means.

Section 166

SOC. He will, I fancy, say all that we have said in his defence and then will close with us, saying contemptuously, Our estimable Socrates here frightened a little boy by asking if it was possible for one and the same person to remember and at the same time not to know one and the same thing, and when the child in his fright said no, because he could not foresee what would result, Socrates made poor me a laughing-stock in his talk. But, you slovenly Socrates, the facts stand thus: when you examine any doctrine of mine by the method of questioning, if the person who is questioned makes such replies as I should make and comes to grief, then I am refuted, but if his replies are quite different, then the person questioned is refuted, not I. Take this example. Do you suppose you could get anybody to admit that the memory a man has of a past feeling he no longer feels is anything like the feeling at the time when he was feeling it? Far from it. Or that he would refuse to admit that it is possible for one and the same person to know and not to know one and the same thing? Or if he were afraid to admit this, would he ever admit that a person who has become unlike is the same as before he became unlike? In fact, if we are to be on our guard against such verbal entanglements, would he admit that a person is one at all, and not many, who become infinite in number, if the process of becoming different continues? But, my dear fellow, he will say, attack my real doctrines in a more generous manner, and prove, if you can, that perceptions, when they come, or become, to each of us, are not individual, or that, if they are individual, what appears to each one would not, for all that, become to that one alone—or, if you prefer to say be, would not be—to whom it appears. But when you talk of pigs and dog-faced baboons, you not only act like a pig yourself, but you persuade your hearers to act so toward my writings, and that is not right. For I maintain that the truth is as I have written; each one of us is the measure of the things that are and those that are not; but each person differs immeasurably from every other in just this, that to one person some things appear and are, and to another person other things. And I do not by any means say that wisdom and the wise man do not exist; on the contrary, I say that if bad things appear and are to any one of us, precisely that man is wise who causes a change and makes good things appear and be to him. And, moreover, do not lay too much stress upon the words of my argument, but get a clearer understanding of my meaning from what I am going to say. Recall to your mind what was said before, that his food appears and is bitter to the sick man, but appears and is the opposite of bitter to the man in health.

Section 167

SOC. Now neither of these two is to be made wiser than he is—that is not possible— nor should the claim be made that the sick man is ignorant because his opinions are ignorant, or the healthy man wise because his are different; but a change must be made from the one condition to the other, for the other is better. So, too, in education a change has to be made from a worse to a better condition; but the physician causes the change by means of drugs, and the teacher of wisdom by means of words. And yet, in fact, no one ever made anyone think truly who previously thought falsely, since it is impossible to think that which is not or to think any other things than those which one feels; and these are always true. But I believe that a man who, on account of a bad condition of soul, thinks thoughts akin to that condition, is made by a good condition of soul to think correspondingly good thoughts; and some men, through inexperience, call these appearances true, whereas I call them better than the others, but in no wise truer. And the wise, my dear Socrates, I do not by any means call tadpoles when they have to do with the human body, I call them physicians, and when they have to do with plants, husbandmen; for I assert that these latter, when plants are sickly, instil into them good and healthy sensations, and true ones instead of bad sensations, and that the wise and good orators make the good, instead of the evil, seem to be right to their states. For I claim that whatever seems right and honorable to a state is really right and honorable to it, so long as it believes it to be so; but the wise man causes the good, instead of that which is evil to them in each instance, to be and seem right and honorable. And on the same principle the teacher who is able to train his pupils in this manner is not only wise but is also entitled to receive high pay from them when their education is finished. And in this sense it is true that some men are wiser than others, and that no one thinks falsely, and that you, whether you will or no, must endure to be a measure. Upon these positions my doctrine stands firm; and if you can dispute it in principle, dispute it by bringing an opposing doctrine against it; or if you prefer the method of questions, ask questions; for an intelligent person ought not to reject this method, on the contrary, he should choose it before all others. However, let me make a suggestion: do not be unfair in your questioning; it is very inconsistent for a man who asserts that he cares for virtue to be constantly unfair in discussion; and it is unfair in discussion when a man makes no distinction between merely trying to make points and carrying on a real argument.

Section 168

SOC. In the former he may jest and try to trip up his opponent as much as he can, but in real argument he must be in earnest and must set his interlocutor on his feet, pointing out to him those slips only which are due to himself and his previous associations. For if you act in this way, those who debate with you will cast the blame for their confusion and perplexity upon themselves, not upon you; they will run after you and love you, and they will hate themselves and run away from themselves, taking refuge in philosophy, that they may escape from their former selves by becoming different. But if you act in the opposite way, as most teachers do, you will produce the opposite result, and instead of making your young associates philosophers, you will make them hate philosophy when they grow older. If therefore, you will accept the suggestion which I made before, you will avoid a hostile and combative attitude and in a gracious spirit will enter the lists with me and inquire what we really mean when we declare that all things are in motion and that whatever seems is to each individual, whether man or state. And on the basis of that you will consider the question whether knowledge and perception are the same or different, instead of doing as you did a while ago, using as your basis the ordinary meaning of names and words, which most people pervert in haphazard ways and thereby cause all sorts of perplexity in one another. Such, Theodorus, is the help I have furnished your friend to the best of my ability—not much, for my resources are small; but if he were living himself he would have helped his offspring in a fashion more magnificent.

THEO. You are joking, Socrates, for you have come to the man’s assistance with all the valor of youth.

SOC. Thank you, my friend. Tell me, did you observe just now that Protagoras reproached us for addressing our words to a boy, and said that we made the boy’s timidity aid us in our argument against his doctrine, and that he called our procedure a mere display of wit, solemnly insisting upon the importance of the measure of all things, and urging us to treat his doctrine seriously?

THEO. Of course I observed it, Socrates.

SOC. Well then, shall we do as he says?

THEO. By all means.

SOC. Now you see that all those present, except you and myself are boys. So if we are to do as the man asks, you and I must question each other and make reply in order to show our serious attitude towards his doctrine; then he cannot, at any rate, find fault with us on the ground that we examined his doctrine in a spirit of levity with mere boys.

THEO. Why is this? Would not Theaetetus follow an investigation better than many a man with a long beard?

Section 169

SOC. Yes, but not better than you, Theodorus. So you must not imagine that I have to defend your deceased friend by any and every means, while you do nothing at all; but come, my good man, follow the discussion a little way, just until we can see whether, after all, you must be a measure in respect to diagrams, or whether all men are as sufficient unto themselves as you are in astronomy and the other sciences in which you are alleged to be superior.

THEO. It is not easy, Socrates, for anyone to sit beside you and not be forced to give an account of himself and it was foolish of me just now to say you would excuse me and would not oblige me, as the Lacedaemonians do, to strip; you seem to me to take rather after Sciron. For the Lacedaemonians tell people to go away or else strip, but you seem to me to play rather the role of Antaeus; for you do not let anyone go who approaches you until you have forced him to strip and wrestle with you in argument.

SOC. Your comparison with Sciron and Antaeus pictures my complaint admirably; only I am a more stubborn combatant than they; for many a Heracles and many a Theseus, strong men of words, have fallen in with me and belabored me mightily, but still I do not desist, such a terrible love of this kind of exercise has taken hold on me. So, now that it is your turn, do not refuse to try a bout with me; it will be good for both of us.

THEO. I say no more. Lead on as you like. Most assuredly I must endure whatsoever fate you spin for me, and submit to interrogation. However, I shall not be able to leave myself in your hands beyond the point you propose.

SOC. Even that is enough. And please be especially careful that we do not inadvertently give a playful turn to our argument and somebody reproach us again for it.

THEO. Rest assured that I will try so far as in me lies.

SOC. Let us, therefore, first take up the same question as before, and let us see whether we were right or wrong in being displeased and finding fault with the doctrine because it made each individual self-sufficient in wisdom. Protagoras granted that some persons excelled others in respect to the better and the worse, and these he said were wise, did he not?

THEO. Yes.

SOC. Now if he himself were present and could agree to this, instead of our making the concession for him in our effort to help him, there would be no need of taking up the question again or of reinforcing his argument. But, as it is, perhaps it might be said that we have no authority to make the agreement for him; therefore it is better to make the agreement still clearer on this particular point; for it makes a good deal of difference whether it is so or not.

THEO. That is true.

Section 170

SOC. Let us then get the agreement in as concise a form as possible, not through others, but from his own statement.

THEO. How?

SOC. In this way: He says, does he not? that which appears to each person really is to him to whom it appears.

THEO. Yes, that is what he says.

SOC. Well then, Protagoras, we also utter the opinions of a man, or rather, of all men, and we say that there is no one who does not think himself wiser than others in some respects and others wiser than himself in other respects; for instance, in times of greatest danger, when people are distressed in war or by diseases or at sea, they regard their commanders as gods and expect them to be their saviors, though they excel them in nothing except knowledge. And all the world of men is, I dare say, full of people seeking teachers and rulers for themselves and the animals and for human activities, and, on the other hand, of people who consider themselves qualified to teach and qualified to rule. And in all these instances we must say that men themselves believe that wisdom and ignorance exist in the world of men, must we not?

THEO. Yes, we must.

SOC. And therefore they think that wisdom is true thinking and ignorance false opinion, do they not?

THEO. Of course.

SOC. Well then, Protagoras, what shall we do about the doctrine? Shall we say that the opinions which men have are always true, or sometimes true and sometimes false? For the result of either statement is that their opinions are not always true, but may be either true or false. Just think, Theodorus, would any follower of Protagoras, or you yourself care to contend that no person thinks that another is ignorant and has false opinions?

THEO. No, that is incredible, Socrates.

SOC. And yet this is the predicament to which the doctrine that man is the measure of all things inevitably leads.

THEO. How so?

SOC. When you have come to a decision in your own mind about something, and declare your opinion to me, this opinion is, according to his doctrine, true to you; let us grant that; but may not the rest of us sit in judgement on your decision, or do we always judge that your opinion is true? Do not myriads of men on each occasion oppose their opinions to yours, believing that your judgement and belief are false?

THEO. Yes, by Zeus, Socrates, countless myriads in truth, as Homer says, and they give me all the trouble in the world.

SOC. Well then, shall we say that in such a case your opinion is true to you but false to the myriads?

THEO. That seems to be the inevitable deduction.

Section 171

SOC. And what of Protagoras himself? If neither he himself thought, nor people in general think, as indeed they do not, that man is the measure of all things, is it not inevitable that the truth which he wrote is true to no one? But if he himself thought it was true, and people in general do not agree with him, in the first place you know that it is just so much more false than true as the number of those who do not believe it is greater than the number of those who do.

THEO. Necessarily, if it is to be true or false according to each individual opinion.

SOC. Secondly, it involves this, which is a very pretty result; he concedes about his own opinion the truth of the opinion of those who disagree with him and think that his opinion is false, since he grants that the opinions of all men are true.

THEO. Certainly.

SOC. Then would he not be conceding that his own opinion is false, if he grants that the opinion of those who think he is in error is true?

THEO. Necessarily.

SOC. But the others do not concede that they are in error, do they?

THEO. No, they do not.

SOC. And he, in turn, according to his writings, grants that this opinion also is true.

THEO. Evidently.

SOC. Then all men, beginning with Protagoras, will dispute—or rather, he will grant, after he once concedes that the opinion of the man who holds the opposite view is true—even Protagoras himself, I say, will concede that neither a dog nor any casual man is a measure of anything whatsoever that he has not learned. Is not that the case?

THEO. Yes.

SOC. Then since the truth of Protagoras is disputed by all, it would be true to nobody, neither to anyone else nor to him.

THEO. I think, Socrates, we are running my friend too hard.

SOC. But, my dear man, I do not see that we are running beyond what is right. Most likely, though, he, being older, is wiser than we, and if, for example, he should emerge from the ground, here at our feet, if only as far as the neck, he would prove abundantly that I was making a fool of myself by my talk, in all probability, and you by agreeing with me; then he would sink down and be off at a run. But we, I suppose, must depend on ourselves, such as we are, and must say just what we think. And so now must we not say that everybody would agree that some men are wiser and some more ignorant than others?

THEO. Yes, I think at least we must.

SOC. And do you think his doctrine might stand most firmly in the form in which we sketched it when defending Protagoras, that most things—hot, dry, sweet, and everything of that sort—are to each person as they appear to him, and if Protagoras is to concede that there are cases in which one person excels another, he might be willing to say that in matters of health and disease not every woman or child—or beast, for that matter—knows what is wholesome for it and is able to cure itself, but in this point, if in any, one person excels another?

THEO. Yes, I think that is correct.

Section 172

SOC. And likewise in affairs of state, the honorable and disgraceful, the just and unjust, the pious and its opposite, are in truth to each state such as it thinks they are and as it enacts into law for itself, and in these matters no citizen and no state is wiser than another; but in making laws that are advantageous to the state, or the reverse, Protagoras again will agree that one counsellor is better than another, and the opinion of one state better than that of another as regards the truth, and he would by no means dare to affirm that whatsoever laws a state makes in the belief that they will be advantageous to itself are perfectly sure to prove advantageous. But in the other class of things—I mean just and unjust, pious and impious—they are willing to say with confidence that no one of them possesses by nature an existence of its own; on the contrary, that the common opinion becomes true at the time when it is adopted and remains true as long as it is held; this is substantially the theory of those who do not altogether affirm the doctrine of Protagoras. But, Theodorus, argument after argument, a greater one after a lesser, is overtaking us.

THEO. Well, Socrates, we have plenty of leisure, have we not?

SOC. Apparently we have. And that makes me think, my friend, as I have often done before, how natural it is that those who have spent a long time in the study of philosophy appear ridiculous when they enter the courts of law as speakers.

THEO. What do you mean?

SOC. Those who have knocked about in courts and the like from their youth up seem to me, when compared with those who have been brought up in philosophy and similar pursuits, to be as slaves in breeding compared with freemen.

THEO. In what way is this the case?

SOC. In this way: the latter always have that which you just spoke of, leisure, and they talk at their leisure in peace; just as we are now taking up argument after argument, already beginning a third, so can they, if as in our case, the new one pleases them better than that in which they are engaged; and they do not care at all whether their talk is long or short, if only they attain the truth. But the men of the other sort are always in a hurry—for the water flowing through the water-clock urges them on— and the other party in the suit does not permit them to talk about anything they please, but stands over them exercising the law’s compulsion by reading the brief, from which no deviation is allowed (this is called the affidavit); and their discourse is always about a fellow slave and is addressed to a master who sits there holding some case or other in his hands; and the contests never run an indefinite course, but are always directed to the point at issue, and often the race is for the defendant’s life. As a result of all this, the speakers become tense and shrewd; they know how to wheedle their master with words and gain his favor by acts; but in their souls they become small and warped.

Section 173

SOC. For they have been deprived of growth and straightforwardness and independence by the slavery they have endured from their youth up, for this forces them to do crooked acts by putting a great burden of fears and dangers upon their souls while these are still tender; and since they cannot bear this burden with uprightness and truth, they turn forthwith to deceit and to requiting wrong with wrong, so that they become greatly bent and stunted. Consequently they pass from youth to manhood with no soundness of mind in them, but they think they have become clever and wise. So much for them, Theodorus. Shall we describe those who belong to our band, or shall we let that go and return to the argument, in order to avoid abuse of that freedom and variety of discourse, of which we were speaking just now?

THEO. By all means, Socrates, describe them; for I like your saying that we who belong to this band are not the servants of our arguments, but the arguments are, as it were, our servants, and each of them must await our pleasure to be finished; for we have neither judge, nor, as the poets have, any spectator set over us to censure and rule us.

SOC. Very well, that is quite appropriate, since it is your wish; and let us speak of the leaders; for why should anyone talk about the inferior philosophers? The leaders, in the first place, from their youth up, remain ignorant of the way to the agora, do not even know where the court-room is, or the senate-house, or any other public place of assembly; as for laws and decrees, they neither hear the debates upon them nor see them when they are published; and the strivings of political clubs after public offices, and meetings, and banquets, and revellings with chorus girls—it never occurs to them even in their dreams to indulge in such things. And whether anyone in the city is of high or low birth, or what evil has been inherited by anyone from his ancestors, male or female, are matters to which they pay no more attention than to the number of pints in the sea, as the saying is. And all these things the philosopher does not even know that he does not know; for he does not keep aloof from them for the sake of gaining reputation, but really it is only his body that has its place and home in the city; his mind, considering all these things petty and of no account, disdains them and is borne in all directions, as Pindar says, both below the earth, and measuring the surface of the earth, and above the sky, studying the stars, and investigating the universal nature of every thing that is, each in its entirety, never lowering itself to anything close at hand.

Section 174

THEO. What do you mean by this, Socrates?

SOC. Why, take the case of Thales, Theodorus. While he was studying the stars and looking upwards, he fell into a pit, and a neat, witty Thracian servant girl jeered at him, they say, because he was so eager to know the things in the sky that he could not see what was there before him at his very feet. The same jest applies to all who pass their lives in philosophy. For really such a man pays no attention to his next door neighbor; he is not only ignorant of what he is doing, but he hardly knows whether he is a human being or some other kind of a creature; but what a human being is and what is proper for such a nature to do or bear different from any other, this he inquires and exerts himself to find out. Do you understand, Theodorus, or not?

THEO. Yes, I do; you are right.

SOC. Hence it is, my friend, such a man, both in private, when he meets with individuals, and in public, as I said in the beginning, when he is obliged to speak in court or elsewhere about the things at his feet and before his eyes, is a laughing-stock not only to Thracian girls but to the multitude in general, for he falls into pits and all sorts of perplexities through inexperience, and his awkwardness is terrible, making him seem a fool; for when it comes to abusing people he has no personal abuse to offer against anyone, because he knows no evil of any man, never having cared for such things; so his perplexity makes him appear ridiculous; and as to laudatory speeches and the boastings of others, it becomes manifest that he is laughing at them—not pretending to laugh, but really laughing—and so he is thought to be a fool. When he hears a panegyric of a despot or a king he fancies he is listening to the praises of some herdsman—a swineherd, a shepherd, or a neatherd, for instance—who gets much milk from his beasts; but he thinks that the ruler tends and milks a more perverse and treacherous creature than the herdsmen, and that he must grow coarse and uncivilized, no less than they, for he has no leisure and lives surrounded by a wall, as the herdsmen live in their mountain pens. And when he hears that someone is amazingly rich, because he owns ten thousand acres of land or more, to him, accustomed as he is to think of the whole earth, this seems very little.

Section 175

SO. And when people sing the praises of lineage and say someone is of noble birth, because he can show seven wealthy ancestors, he thinks that such praises betray an altogether dull and narrow vision on the part of those who utter them; because of lack of education they cannot keep their eyes fixed upon the whole and are unable to calculate that every man has had countless thousands of ancestors and progenitors, among whom have been in any instance rich and poor, kings and slaves, barbarians and Greeks. And when people pride themselves on a list of twenty-five ancestors and trace their pedigree back to Heracles, the son of Amphitryon, the pettiness of their ideas seems absurd to him; he laughs at them because they cannot free their silly minds of vanity by calculating that Amphitryon’s twenty-fifth ancestor was such as fortune happened to make him, and the fiftieth for that matter. In all these cases the philosopher is derided by the common herd, partly because he seems to be contemptuous, partly because he is ignorant of common things and is always in perplexity.

THEO. That all happens just as you say, Socrates.

SOC. But when, my friend, he draws a man upwards and the other is willing to rise with him above the level of What wrong have I done you or you me? to the investigation of abstract right and wrong, to inquire what each of them is and wherein they differ from each other and from all other things, or above the level of Is a king happy? or, on the other hand, Has he great wealth? to the investigation of royalty and of human happiness and wretchedness in general, to see what the nature of each is and in what way man is naturally fitted to gain the one and escape the other— when that man of small and sharp and pettifogging mind is compelled in his turn to give an account of all these things, then the tables are turned; dizzied by the new experience of hanging at such a height, he gazes downward from the air in dismay and perplexity; he stammers and becomes ridiculous, not in the eyes of Thracian girls or other uneducated persons, for they have no perception of it, but in those of all men who have been brought up as free men, not as slaves. Such is the character of each of the two classes, Theodorus, of the man who has truly been brought up in freedom and leisure, whom you call a philosopher—who may without censure appear foolish and good for nothing when he is involved in menial services, if, for instance, he does not know how to pack up his bedding, much less to put the proper sweetening into a sauce or a fawning speech—and of the other, who can perform all such services smartly and quickly, but does not know how to wear his cloak as a freeman should, properly draped, still less to acquire the true harmony of speech and hymn aright the praises of the true life of gods and blessed men.

Section 176

THEO. If, Socrates, you could persuade all men of the truth of what you say as you do me, there would be more peace and fewer evils among mankind.

SOC. But it is impossible that evils should be done away with, Theodorus, for there must always be something opposed to the good; and they cannot have their place among the gods, but must inevitably hover about mortal nature and this earth. Therefore we ought to try to escape from earth to the dwelling of the gods as quickly as we can; and to escape is to become like God, so far as this is possible; and to become like God is to become righteous and holy and wise. But, indeed, my good friend, it is not at all easy to persuade people that the reason generally advanced for the pursuit of virtue and the avoidance of vice—namely, in order that a man may not seem bad and may seem good—is not the reason why the one should be practiced and the other not; that, I think, is merely old wives’ chatter, as the saying is. Let us give the true reason. God is in no wise and in no manner unrighteous, but utterly and perfectly righteous, and there is nothing so like him as that one of us who in turn becomes most nearly perfect in righteousness. It is herein that the true cleverness of a man is found and also his worthlessness and cowardice; for the knowledge of this is wisdom or true virtue, and ignorance of it is folly or manifest wickedness; and all the other kinds of seeming cleverness and wisdom are paltry when they appear in public affairs and vulgar in the arts. Therefore by far the best thing for the unrighteous man and the man whose words or deeds are impious is not to grant that he is clever through knavery; for such men glory in that reproach, and think it means that they are not triflers, useless burdens upon the earth, but such as men should be who are to live safely in a state. So we must tell them the truth—that just because they do not think they are such as they are, they are so all the more truly; for they do not know the penalty of unrighteousness, which is the thing they most ought to know. For it is not what they think it is—scourgings and death, which they sometimes escape entirely when they have done wrong—but a penalty which it is impossible to escape.

THEO. What penalty do you mean?

Section 177

SOC. Two patterns, my friend, are set up in the world, the divine, which is most blessed, and the godless, which is most wretched. But these men do not see that this is the case, and their silliness and extreme foolishness blind them to the fact that through their unrighteous acts they are made like the one and unlike the other. They therefore pay the penalty for this by living a life that conforms to the pattern they resemble; and if we tell them that, unless they depart from their cleverness, the blessed place that is pure of all things evil will not receive them after death, and here on earth they will always live the life like themselves—evil men associating with evil—when they hear this, they will be so confident in their unscrupulous cleverness that they will think our words the talk of fools.

THEO. Very true, Socrates.

SOC. Yes, my friend, I know. However, there is one thing that has happened to them: whenever they have to carry on a personal argument about the doctrines to which they object, if they are willing to stand their ground for a while like men and do not run away like cowards, then, my friend, they at last become strangely dissatisfied with themselves and their arguments; their brilliant rhetoric withers away, so that they seem no better than children. But this is a digression. Let us turn away from these matters—if we do not, they will come on like an ever-rising flood and bury in silt our original argument—and let us, if you please, proceed.

THEO. To me, Socrates, such digressions are quite as agreeable as the argument; for they are easier for a man of my age to follow. However, if you prefer, let us return to our argument.

SOC. Very well. We were at about the point in our argument where we said that those who declare that only motion is reality, and that whatever seems to each man really is to him to whom it seems, are willing to maintain their position in regard to other matters and to maintain especially in regard to justice that whatever laws a state makes, because they seem to it just, are just to the state that made them, as long as they remain in force; but as regards the good, that nobody has the courage to go on and contend that whatever laws a state passes thinking them advantageous to it are really advantageous as long as they remain in force, unless what he means is merely the name advantageous ; and that would be making a joke of our argument. Am I right?

THEO. Certainly.

SOC. Yes; for he must not mean merely the name, but the thing named must be the object of his attention.

THEO. True.

SOC. But the state, in making laws, aims, of course, at advantage, whatever the name it gives it, and makes all its laws as advantageous as possible to itself, to the extent of its belief and ability; or has it in making laws anything else in view?

Section 178

THEO. Certainly not.

SOC. And does it always hit the mark, or does every state often miss it?

THEO. I should say they do often miss it!

SOC. Continuing, then, and proceeding from this point, every one would more readily agree to this assertion, if the question were asked concerning the whole class to which the advantageous belongs; and that whole class, it would seem, pertains to the future. For when we make laws, we make them with the idea that they will be advantageous in after time; and this is rightly called the future.

THEO. Certainly.

SOC. Come then, on this assumption, let us question Protagoras or someone of those who agree with him. Man is the measure of all things, as your school says, Protagoras, of the white, the heavy, the light, everything of that sort without exception; for he possesses within himself the standard by which to judge them, and when his thoughts about them coincide with his sensations, he thinks what to him is true and really is. Is not that what they say?

THEO. Yes.

SOC. Does he, then, also, Protagoras, we shall say, possess within himself the standard by which to judge of the things which are yet to be, and do those things which he thinks will be actually come to pass for him who thought them? Take, for instance, heat; if some ordinary man thinks he is going to take a fever, that is to say, that this particular heat will be, and some other man, who is a physician, thinks the contrary, whose opinion shall we expect the future to prove right? Or perhaps the opinion of both, and the man will become, not hot or feverish to the physician, but to himself both?

THEO. No, that would be ridiculous.

SOC. But, I imagine, in regard to the sweetness or dryness which will be in a wine, the opinion of the husbandman, not that of the lyre-player, will be valid.

THEO. Of course.

SOC. And again, in a matter of discord or tunefulness in music that has never been played, a gymnastic teacher could not judge better than a musician what will, when performed, seem tuneful even to a gymnastic teacher himself.

THEO. Certainly not.

SOC. Then, too, when a banquet is in preparation the opinion of him who is to be a guest, unless he has training in cookery, is of less value concerning the pleasure that will be derived from the viands than that of the cook. For we need not yet argue about that which already is or has been pleasant to each one but concerning that which will in the future seem and be pleasant to each one, is he himself the best judge for himself, or would you, Protagoras—at least as regards the arguments which will be persuasive in court to each of us—be able to give an opinion beforehand better than anyone whatsoever who has no especial training?

THEO. Certainly, Socrates, in this, at any rate, he used to declare emphatically that he himself excelled everyone.

Section 179

SOC. Yes, my friend, he certainly did; otherwise nobody would have paid him a high fee for his conversations, if he had not made his pupils believe that neither a prophet nor anyone else could judge better than himself what was in the future to be and seem.

THEO. Very true.

SOC. Both lawmaking, then, and the advantageous are concerned with the future, and everyone would agree that a state in making laws must often fail to attain the greatest advantage?

THEO. Assuredly.

SOC. Then it will be a fair answer if we say to your master that he is obliged to agree that one man is wiser than another, and that such a wise man is a measure, but that I, who am without knowledge, am not in the least obliged to become a measure, as the argument in his behalf just now tried to oblige me to be, whether I would or no.

THEO. In that respect, Socrates, I think that the argument is most clearly proved to be wrong, and it is proved wrong in this also, in that it declares the opinions of others to be valid, whereas it was shown that they do not consider his arguments true at all.

SOC. In many other respects, Theodorus, it could be proved that not every opinion of every person is true, at any rate in matters of that kind; but it is more difficult to prove that opinions are not true in regard to the momentary states of feeling of each person, from which our perceptions and the opinions concerning them arise. But perhaps I am quite wrong; for it may be impossible to prove that they are not true, and those who say that they are manifest and are forms of knowledge may perhaps be right, and Theaetetus here was not far from the mark in saying that perception and knowledge are identical. So we must, as the argument in behalf of Protagoras enjoined upon us, come up closer and examine this doctrine of motion as the fundamental essence, rapping on it to see whether it rings sound or unsound. As you know, a strife has arisen about it, no mean one, either, and waged by not a few combatants.

THEO. Yes, far from mean, and it is spreading far and wide all over Ionia; for the disciples of Heracleitus are supporting this doctrine very vigorously.

SOC. Therefore, my dear Theodorus, we must all the more examine it from the beginning as they themselves present it.

Section 180

THEO. Certainly we must. For it is no more possible, Socrates, to discuss these doctrines of Heracleitus (or, as you say, of Homer or even earlier sages) with the Ephesians themselves—those, at least, who profess to be familiar with them—than with madmen. For they are, quite in accordance with their text-books, in perpetual motion; but as for keeping to an argument or a question and quietly answering and asking in turn, their power of doing that is less than nothing; or rather the words nothing at all fail to express the absence from these fellows of even the slightest particle of rest. But if you ask one of them a question, he pulls out puzzling little phrases, like arrows from a quiver, and shoots them off; and if you try to get hold of an explanation of what he has said, you will be struck with another phrase of novel and distorted wording, and you never make any progress whatsoever with any of them, nor do they themselves with one another, for that matter, but they take very good care to allow nothing to be settled either in an argument or in their own minds, thinking, I suppose, that this is being stationary; but they wage bitter war against the stationary, and, so far as they can, they banish it altogether.

SOC. Perhaps, Theodorus, you have seen the men when they are fighting, but have not been with them when they are at peace; for they are no friends of yours; but I fancy they utter such peaceful doctrines at leisure to those pupils whom they wish to make like themselves.

THEO. What pupils, my good man? Such people do not become pupils of one another, but they grow up of themselves, each one getting his inspiration from any chance source, and each thinks the other knows nothing. From these people, then, as I was going to say, you would never get an argument either with their will or against it; but we must ourselves take over the question and investigate it as if it were a problem of mathematics.

SOC. Yes, what you say is reasonable. Now as for the problem, have we not heard from the ancients, who concealed their meaning from the multitude by their poetry, that the origin of all things is Oceanus and Tethys, flowing streams, and that nothing is at rest and likewise from the modern, who, since they are wiser, declare their meaning openly, in order that even cobblers may hear and know their wisdom and may cease from the silly belief that some things are at rest and others in motion, and, after learning that everything is in motion, may honor their teachers? But, Theodorus, I almost forgot that others teach the opposite of this, So that it is motionless, the name of which is the All, and all the other doctrines maintained by Melissus and Parmenides and the rest, in opposition to all these they maintain that everything is one and is stationary within itself, having no place in which to move.

Section 181

SO.What shall we do with all these people, my friend? For, advancing little by little, we have unwittingly fallen between the two parties, and, unless we protect ourselves and escape somehow, we shall pay the penalty, like those in the palaestra, who in playing on the line are caught by both sides and dragged in opposite directions. I think, then, we had better examine first the one party, those whom we originally set out to join, the flowing ones, and if we find their arguments sound, we will help them to pull us over, trying thus to escape the others; but if we find that the partisans of the whole seem to have truer doctrines, we will take refuge with them from those who would move what is motionless. But if we find that neither party has anything reasonable to say, we shall be ridiculous if we think that we, who are of no account, can say anything worth while after having rejected the doctrines of very ancient and very wise men. Therefore, Theodorus, see whether it is desirable to go forward into so great a danger.

THEO. Oh, it would be unendurable, Socrates, not to examine thoroughly the doctrines of both parties.

SOC. Then they must be examined, since you are so urgent. Now I think the starting-point of our examination of the doctrine of motion is this: Exactly what do they mean, after all, when they say that all things are in motion? What I wish to ask is this: Do they mean to say that there is only one kind of motion or, as I believe, two? But it must not be my belief alone; you must share it also, that if anything happens to us we may suffer it in common. Tell me, do you call it motion when a thing changes its place or turns round in the same place?

THEO. Yes.

SOC. Let this, then, be one kind of motion. Now when a thing remains in the same place, but grows old, or becomes black instead of white, or hard instead of soft, or undergoes any other kind of alteration, is it not proper to say that this is another kind of motion?

THEO. I think so.

SOC. Nay, it must be true. So I say that there are these two kinds of motion: alteration, and motion in space.

THEO. And you are right.

SOC. Now that we have made this distinction, let us at once converse with those who say that all things are in motion, and let us ask them, Do you mean that everything moves in both ways, moving in space and undergoing alteration, or one thing in both ways and another in one of the two ways only?

THEO. By Zeus, I cannot tell! But I think they would say that everything moves in both ways.

SOC. Yes; otherwise, my friend, they will find that things in motion are also things at rest, and it will be no more correct to say that all things are in motion than that all things are at rest.

THEO. What you say is very true.

Section 182

SOC. Then since they must be in motion, and since absence of motion must be impossible for anything, all things are always in all kinds of motion.

THEO. Necessarily.

SOC. Then just examine this point of their doctrine. Did we not find that they say that heat or whiteness or anything you please arises in some such way as this, namely that each of these moves simultaneously with perception between the active and the passive element, and the passive becomes percipient, but not perception, and the active becomes, not a quality, but endowed with a quality? Now perhaps quality seems an extraordinary word, and you do not understand it when used with general application, so let me give particular examples. For the active element becomes neither heat nor whiteness, but hot or white, and other things in the same way; you probably remember that this was what we said earlier in our discourse, that nothing is in itself unvaryingly one, neither the active nor the passive, but from the union of the two with one another the perceptions and the perceived give birth and the latter become things endowed with some quality while the former become percipient.

THEO. I remember, of course.

SOC. Let us then pay no attention to other matters, whether they teach one thing or another; but let us attend strictly to this only, which is the object of our discussion. Let us ask them, Are all things, according to your doctrine, in motion and flux? Is that so?

THEO. Yes.

SOC. Have they then both kinds of motion which we distinguished? Are they moving in space and also undergoing alteration?

THEO. Of course; that is, if they are to be in perfect motion.

SOC. Then if they moved only in space, but did not undergo alteration, we could perhaps say what qualities belong to those moving things which are in flux, could we not?

THEO. That is right.

SOC. But since not even this remains fixed—that the thing in flux flows white, but changes, so that there is a flux of the very whiteness, and a change of color, that it may not in that way be convicted of remaining fixed, is it possible to give any name to a color, and yet to speak accurately?

THEO. How can it be possible, Socrates, or to give a name to anything else of this sort, if while we are speaking it always evades us, being, as it is, in flux?

SOC. But what shall we say of any of the perceptions, such as seeing or hearing? Does it perhaps remain fixed in the condition of seeing or hearing?

THEO. It must be impossible, if all things are in motion.

SOC. Then we must not speak of seeing more than not seeing, or of any other perception more than of non-perception, if all things are in all kinds of motion.

THEO. No, we must not.

SOC. And yet perception is knowledge, as Theaetetus and I said.

THEO. Yes, you did say that.

SOC. Then when we were asked what is knowledge? we answered no more what knowledge is than what not-knowledge is.

Section 183

THEO. So it seems.

SOC. This would be a fine result of the correction of our answer, when we were so eager to show that all things are in motion, just for the purpose of making that answer prove to be correct. But this, I think, did prove to be true, that if all things are in motion, every answer to any question whatsoever is equally correct, and we may say it is thus or not thus—or, if you prefer, becomes thus, to avoid giving them fixity by using the word is.

THEO. You are right.

SOC. Except, Theodorus, that I said thus, and not thus; but we ought not even to say thus; for thus would no longer be in motion; nor, again, not thus. For there is no motion in this either; but some other expression must be supplied for those who maintain this doctrine, since now they have, according to their own hypothesis, no words, unless it be perhaps the word nohow. That might be most fitting for them, since it is indefinite.

THEO. At any rate that is the most appropriate form of speech for them.

SOC. So, Theodorus, we have got rid of your friend, and we do not yet concede to him that every man is a measure of all things, unless he be a sensible man; and we are not going to concede that knowledge is perception, at least not by the theory of universal motion, unless Theaetetus here has something different to say.

THEO. An excellent idea, Socrates; for now that this matter is settled, I too should be rid of the duty of answering your questions according to our agreement, since the argument about Protagoras is ended.

THEAET. No, Theodorus, not until you and Socrates have discussed those who say all things are at rest, as you proposed just now.

THEO. A young man like you, Theaetetus, teaching your elders to do wrong by breaking their agreements! No; prepare to answer Socrates yourself for the rest of the argument.

THEAET. I will if he wishes it. But I should have liked best to hear about the doctrine I mentioned.

THEO. Calling Socrates to an argument is calling cavalry into an open plain. Just ask him a question and you shall hear.

SOC. Still I think, Theodorus, I shall not comply with the request of Theaetetus.

THEO. Why will you not comply with it?

Section 184

SOC. Because I have a reverential fear of examining in a flippant manner Melissus and the others who teach that the universe is one and motionless, and because I reverence still more one man, Parmenides. Parmenides seems to me to be, in Homer’s words, one to be venerated and also awful. For I met him when I was very young and he was very old, and he appeared to me to possess an absolutely noble depth of mind. So I am afraid we may not understand his words and may be still farther from understanding what he meant by them; but my chief fear is that the question with which we started, about the nature of knowledge, may fail to be investigated, because of the disorderly crowd of arguments which will burst in upon us if we let them in; especially as the argument we are now proposing is of vast extent, and would not receive its deserts if we treated it as a side issue, and if we treat it as it deserves, it will take so long as to do away with the discussion about knowledge. Neither of these things ought to happen, but we ought to try by the science of midwifery to deliver Theaetetus of the thoughts about knowledge with which he is pregnant.

THEO. Yes, if that is your opinion, we ought to do so.

SOC. Consider, then, Theaetetus, this further point about what has been said. Now you answered that perception is knowledge, did you not?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. If, then, anyone should ask you, By what does a man see white and black colors and by what does he hear high and low tones? you would, I fancy, say, By his eyes and ears.

THEAET. Yes, I should.

SOC. The easy use of words and phrases and the avoidance of strict precision is in general a sign of good breeding; indeed, the opposite is hardly worthy of a gentleman, but sometimes it is necessary, as now it is necessary to object to your answer, in so far as it is incorrect. Just consider; which answer is more correct, that our eyes are that by which we see or that through which we see, and our ears that by which or that through which we hear?

THEAET. I think, Socrates, we perceive through, rather than by them, in each case.

SOC. Yes, for it would be strange indeed, my boy, if there are many senses ensconced within us, as if we were so many wooden horses of Troy, and they do not all unite in one power, whether we should call it soul or something else, by which we perceive through these as instruments the objects of perception.

THEAET. I think what you suggest is more likely than the other way.

SOC. Now the reason why I am so precise about the matter is this: I want to know whether there is some one and the same power within ourselves by which we perceive black and white through the eyes, and again other qualities through the other organs, and whether you will be able, if asked, to refer all such activities to the body. But perhaps it is better that you make the statement in answer to a question than that I should take all the trouble for you. So tell me: do you not think that all the organs through which you perceive hot and hard and light and sweet are parts of the body? Or are they parts of something else?

THEAET. Of nothing else.

Section 185

SOC. And will you also be ready to agree that it is impossible to perceive through one sense what you perceive through another; for instance, to perceive through sight what you perceive through hearing, or through hearing what you perceive through sight?

THEAET. Of course I shall.

SOC. Then if you have any thought about both of these together, you would not have perception about both together either through one organ or through the other.

THEAET. No.

SOC. Now in regard to sound and color, you have, in the first place, this thought about both of them, that they both exist?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. And that each is different from the other and the same as itself?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. And that both together are two and each separately is one?

THEAET. Yes, that also.

SOC. And are you able also to observe whether they are like or unlike each other?

THEAET. May be.

SOC. Now through what organ do you think all this about them? For it is impossible to grasp that which is common to them both either through hearing or through sight. Here is further evidence for the point I am trying to make: if it were possible to investigate the question whether the two, sound and color, are bitter or not, you know that you will be able to tell by what faculty you will investigate it, and that is clearly neither hearing nor sight, but something else.

THEAET. Of course it is,—the faculty exerted through the tongue.

SOC. Very good. But through what organ is the faculty exerted which makes known to you that which is common to all things, as well as to these of which we are speaking—that which you call being and not-being, and the other attributes of things, about which we were asking just now? What organs will you assign for all these, through which that part of us which perceives gains perception of each and all of them?

THEAET. You mean being and not-being, and likeness and unlikeness, and identity and difference, and also unity and plurality as applied to them. And you are evidently asking also through what bodily organs we perceive by our soul the odd and the even and everything else that is in the same category.

SOC. Bravo, Theaetetus! you follow me exactly; that is just what I mean by my question.

THEAET. By Zeus, Socrates, I cannot answer, except that I think there is no special organ at all for these notions, as there are for those others; but it appears to me that the soul views by itself directly what all things have in common.

SOC. Why, you are beautiful, Theaetetus, and not, as Theodorus said, ugly; for he who speaks beautifully is beautiful and good. But besides being beautiful, you have done me a favor by relieving me from a long discussion, if you think that the soul views some things by itself directly and others through the bodily faculties; for that was my own opinion, and I wanted you to agree.

Section 186

THEAET. Well, I do think so.

SOC. To which class, then, do you assign being; for this, more than anything else, belongs to all things?

THEAET. I assign them to the class of notions which the soul grasps by itself directly.

SOC. And also likeness and unlikeness and identity and difference?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And how about beautiful and ugly, and good and bad?

THEAET. I think that these also are among the things the essence of which the soul most certainly views in their relations to one another, reflecting within itself upon the past and present in relation to the future.

SOC. Stop there. Does it not perceive the hardness of the hard through touch, and likewise the softness of the soft?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. But their essential nature and the fact that they exist, and their opposition to one another, and, in turn, the essential nature of this opposition, the soul itself tries to determine for us by reverting to them and comparing them with one another.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Is it not true, then, that all sensations which reach the soul through the body, can be perceived by human beings, and also by animals, from the moment of birth; whereas reflections about these, with reference to their being and usefulness, are acquired, if at all, with difficulty and slowly, through many troubles, in other words, through education?

THEAET. Assuredly.

SOC. Is it, then, possible for one to attain truth who cannot even get as far as being?

THEAET. No.

SOC. And will a man ever have knowledge of anything the truth of which he fails to attain?

THEAET. How can he, Socrates?

SOC. Then knowledge is not in the sensations, but in the process of reasoning about them; for it is possible, apparently, to apprehend being and truth by reasoning, but not by sensation.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. Then will you call the two by the same name, when there are so great differences between them?

THEAET. No, that would certainly not be right.

SOC. What name will you give, then, to the one which includes seeing, hearing, smelling, being cold, and being hot?

THEAET. Perceiving. What other name can I give it?

SOC. Collectively you call it, then, perception?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. By which, we say, we are quite unable to apprehend truth, since we cannot apprehend being, either.

THEAET. No; certainly not.

SOC. Nor knowledge either, then.

THEAET. No.

SOC. Then, Theaetetus, perception and knowledge could never be the same.

THEAET. Evidently not, Socrates; and indeed now at last it has been made perfectly clear that knowledge is something different from perception.

Section 187

SOC. But surely we did not begin our conversation in order to find out what knowledge is not, but what it is. However, we have progressed so far, at least, as not to seek for knowledge in perception at all, but in some function of the soul, whatever name is given to it when it alone and by itself is engaged directly with realities.

THEAET. That, Socrates, is, I suppose, called having opinion.

SOC. You suppose rightly, my friend. Now begin again at the beginning. Wipe out all we said before, and see if you have any clearer vision, now that you have advanced to this point. Say once more what knowledge is.

THEAET. To say that all opinion is knowledge is impossible, Socrates, for there is also false opinion; but true opinion probably is knowledge. Let that be my answer. For if it is proved to be wrong as we proceed, I will try to give another, just as I have given this.

SOC. That is the right way, Theaetetus. It is better to speak up boldly than to hesitate about answering, as you did at first. For if we act in this way, one of two things will happen: either we shall find what we are after, or we shall be less inclined to think we know what we do not know at all; and surely even that would be a recompense not to be despised. Well, then, what do you say now? Assuming that there are two kinds of opinion, one true and the other false, do you define knowledge as the true opinion?

THEAET. Yes. That now seems to me to be correct.

SOC. Is it, then, still worth while, in regard to opinion, to take up again—?

THEAET. What point do you refer to?

SOC. Somehow I am troubled now and have often been troubled before, so that I have been much perplexed in my own reflections and in talking with others, because I cannot tell what this experience is which we human beings have, and how it comes about.

THEAET. What experience?

SOC. That anyone has false opinions. And so I am considering and am still in doubt whether we had better let it go or examine it by another method than the one we followed a while ago.

THEAET. Why not, Socrates, if there seems to be the least need of it? For just now, in talking about leisure, you and Theodorus said very truly that there is no hurry in discussions of this sort.

SOC. You are right in reminding me. For perhaps this is a good time to retrace our steps. For it is better to finish a little task well than a great deal imperfectly.

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. How, then, shall we set about it? What is it that we do say? Do we say that in every case of opinion there is a false opinion, and one of us has a false, and another a true opinion, because, as we believe, it is in the nature of things that this should be so?

THEAET. Yes, we do.

Section 188

SOC. Then this, at any rate, is possible for us, is it not, regarding all things collectively and each thing separately, either to know or not to know them? For learning and forgetting, as intermediate stages, I leave out of account for the present, for just now they have no bearing upon our argument.

THEAET. Certainly, Socrates, nothing is left in any particular case except knowing or not knowing it.

SOC. Then he who forms opinion must form opinion either about what he knows or about what he does not know?

THEAET. Necessarily.

SOC. And it is surely impossible that one who knows a thing does not know it, or that one who does not know it knows it.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Then does he who forms false opinions think that the things which he knows are not these things, but some others of the things he knows, and so, knowing both, is he ignorant of both?

THEAET. That is impossible, Socrates.

SOC. Well then, does he think that the things he does not know are other things which he does not know—which is as if a man who knows neither Theaetetus nor Socrates should conceive the idea that Socrates is Theaetetus or Theaetetus Socrates?

THEAET. That is impossible.

SOC. But surely a man does not think that the things he knows are the things he does not know, or again that the things he does not know are the things he knows.

THEAET. That would be a monstrous absurdity.

SOC. Then how could he still form false opinions? For inasmuch as all things are either known or unknown to us, it is impossible, I imagine, to form opinions outside of these alternatives, and within them it is clear that there is no place for fake opinion.

THEAET. Very true.

SOC. Had we, then, better look for what we are seeking, not by this method of knowing and not knowing, but by that of being and not being?

THEAET. What do you mean?

SOC. We may simply assert that he who on any subject holds opinions which are not, will certainly think falsely, no matter what the condition of his mind may be in other respects.

THEAET. That, again, is likely, Socrates.

SOC. Well then, what shall we say, Theaetetus, if anyone asks us, Is that which is assumed in common speech possible at all, and can any human being hold an opinion which is not, whether it be concerned with any of the things which are, or be entirely independent of them? We, I fancy, shall reply, Yes, when, in thinking, he thinks what is not true, shall we not?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And is the same sort of thing possible in any other field?

THEAET. What sort of thing?

SOC. For instance, that a man sees something, but sees nothing.

THEAET. How can he?

SOC. Yet surely if a man sees any one thing, he sees something that is. Or do you, perhaps, think one is among the things that are not?

THEAET. No, I do not.

SOC. Then he who sees any one thing, sees something that is.

THEAET. That is clear.

Section 189

SOC. And therefore he who hears anything, hears some one thing and therefore hears what is.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And he who touches anything, touches some one thing, which is, since it is one?

THEAET. That also is true.

SOC. So, then, does not he who holds an opinion hold an opinion of some one thing?

THEAET. He must do so.

SOC. And does not he who holds an opinion of some one thing hold an opinion of something that is?

THEAET. I agree.

SOC. Then he who holds an opinion of what is not holds an opinion of nothing.

THEAET. Evidently.

SOC. Well then, he who holds an opinion of nothing, holds no opinion at all.

THEAET. That is plain, apparently.

SOC. Then it is impossible to hold an opinion of that which is not, either in relation to things that are, or independently of them.

THEAET. Evidently.

SOC. Then holding false opinion is something different from holding an opinion of that which is not?

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. Then false opinion is not found to exist in us either by this method or by that which we followed a little while ago.

THEAET. No, it certainly is not.

SOC. But does not that which we call by that name arise after the following manner?

THEAET. After what manner?

SOC. We say that false opinion is a kind of interchanged opinion, when a person makes an exchange in his mind and says that one thing which exists is another thing which exists. For in this way he always holds an opinion of what exists, but of one thing instead of another; so he misses the object he was aiming at in his thought and might fairly be said to hold a false opinion.

THEAET. Now you seem to me to have said what is perfectly right. For when a man, in forming an opinion, puts ugly instead of beautiful, or beautiful instead of ugly, he does truly hold a false opinion.

SOC. Evidently, Theaetetus, you feel contempt of me, and not fear.

THEAET. Why in the world do you say that?

SOC. You think, I fancy, that I would not attack your truly false by asking whether it is possible for a thing to become slowly quick or heavily light, or any other opposite, by a process opposite to itself, in accordance, not with its own nature, but with that of its opposite. But I let this pass, that your courage may not fail. You are satisfied, you say, that false opinion is interchanged opinion?

THEAET. I am.

SOC. It is, then, in your opinion, possible for the mind to regard one thing as another and not as what it is.

THEAET. Yes, it is.

SOC. Now when one’s mind does this, does it not necessarily have a thought either of both things together or of one or the other of them?

THEAET. Yes, it must; either of both at the same time or in succession.

SOC. Excellent. And do you define thought as I do?

THEAET. How do you define it?

Section 190

SOC. As the talk which the soul has with itself about any subjects which it considers. You must not suppose that I know this that I am declaring to you. But the soul, as the image presents itself to me, when it thinks, is merely conversing with itself, asking itself questions and answering, affirming and denying. When it has arrived at a decision, whether slowly or with a sudden bound, and is at last agreed, and is not in doubt, we call that its opinion; and so I define forming opinion as talking and opinion as talk which has been held, not with someone else, nor yet aloud, but in silence with oneself. How do you define it?

THEAET. In the same way.

SOC. Then whenever a man has an opinion that one thing is another, he says to himself, we believe, that the one thing is the other.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Now call to mind whether you have ever said to yourself that the beautiful is most assuredly ugly, or the wrong right, or—and this is the sum of the whole matter—consider whether you have ever tried to persuade yourself that one thing is most assuredly another, or whether quite the contrary is the case, and you have never ventured, even in sleep, to say to yourself that the odd is, after all, certainly even, or anything of that sort.

THEAET. You are right.

SOC. Do you imagine that anyone else, sane or insane, ever ventured to say to himself seriously and try to persuade himself that the ox must necessarily be a horse, or two one?

THEAET. No, by Zeus, I do not.

SOC. Then if forming opinion is talking to oneself, no one who talks and forms opinion of two objects and apprehends them both with his soul, could say and have the opinion that one is the other. But you will also have to give up the expression one and other. This is what I mean, that nobody holds the opinion that the ugly is beautiful, or anything of that sort.

THEAET. Well, Socrates, I do give it up; and I agree with you in what you say.

SOC. You agree, therefore, that he who holds an opinion of both things cannot hold the opinion that one is the other.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. But surely he who holds an opinion of one only, and not of the other at all, will never hold the opinion that one is the other.

THEAET. You are right; for he would be forced to apprehend also that of which he holds no opinion.

SOC. Then neither he who holds opinion of both nor he who holds it of one can hold the opinion that a thing is something else. And so anyone who sets out to define false opinion as interchanged opinion would be talking nonsense. Then neither by this method nor by our previous methods is false opinion found to exist in us.

THEAET. Apparently not.

SOC. But yet, Theaetetus, if this is found not to exist, we shall be forced to admit many absurdities.

THEAET. What absurdities?

Section 191

SOC. I will not tell you until I have tried to consider the matter in every way. For I should be ashamed of us, if, in our perplexity, we were forced to make such admissions as those to which I refer. But if we find the object of our quest, and are set free from perplexity, then, and not before, we will speak of others as involved in those absurdities, and we ourselves shall stand free from ridicule. But if we find no escape from our perplexity, we shall, I fancy, become low-spirited, like seasick people, and shall allow the argument to trample on us and do to us anything it pleases. Hear, then, by what means I still see a prospect of success for our quest.

THEAET. Do speak.

SOC. I shall deny that we were right when we agreed that it is impossible for a man to have opinion that the things he does not know are the things which he knows, and thus to be deceived. But there is a way in which it is possible.

THEAET. Do you mean what I myself suspected when we made the statement to which you refer, that sometimes I, though I know Socrates, saw at a distance someone whom I did not know, and thought it was Socrates whom I do know? In such a case false opinion does arise.

SOC. But did not we reject that, because it resulted in our knowing and not knowing the things which we know?

THEAET. Certainly we did.

SOC. Let us, then, not make that assumption, but another; perhaps it will turn out well for us, perhaps the opposite. But we are in such straits that we must turn every argument round and test it from all sides. Now see if this is sensible: Can a man who did not know a thing at one time learn it later?

THEAET. To be sure he can.

SOC. Again, then, can he learn one thing after another?

THEAET. Why not?

SOC. Please assume, then, for the sake of argument, that there is in our souls a block of wax, in one case larger, in another smaller, in one case the wax is purer, in another more impure and harder, in some cases softer, and in some of proper quality.

THEAET. I assume all that.

SOC. Let us, then, say that this is the gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses, and that whenever we wish to remember anything we see or hear or think of in our own minds, we hold this wax under the perceptions and thoughts and imprint them upon it, just as we make impressions from seal rings; and whatever is imprinted we remember and know as long as its image lasts, but whatever is rubbed out or cannot be imprinted we forget and do not know.

THEAET. Let us assume that.

SOC. Now take a man who knows the things which he sees and hears, and is considering some one of them; observe whether he may not gain a false opinion in the following manner.

THEAET. In what manner?

SOC. By thinking that the things which he knows are sometimes things which he knows and sometimes things which he does not know. For we were wrong before in agreeing that this is impossible.

THEAET. What do you say about it now?

Section 192

SOC. We must begin our discussion of the matter by making the following distinctions: It is impossible for anyone to think that one thing which he knows and of which he has received a memorial imprint in his soul, but which he does not perceive, is another thing which he knows and of which also he has an imprint, and which he does not perceive. And, again, he cannot think that what he knows is that which he does not know and of which he has no seal; nor that what he does not know is another thing which he does not know; nor that what he does not know is what he knows; nor can he think that what he perceives is something else which he perceives; nor that what he perceives is something which he does not perceive; nor that what he does not perceive is something else which he does not perceive; nor that what he does not perceive is something which he perceives. And, again, it is still more impossible, if that can be, to think that a thing which he knows and perceives and of which he has an imprint which accords with the perception is another thing which he knows and perceives and of which he has an imprint which accords with the perception. And he cannot think that what he knows and perceives and of which he has a correct memorial imprint is another thing which he knows; nor that a thing which he knows and perceives and of which he has such an imprint is another thing which he perceives; nor again that a thing which he neither knows nor perceives is another thing which he neither knows nor perceives; nor that a thing which he neither knows nor perceives is another thing which he does not know; nor that a thing which he neither knows nor perceives is another thing which he does not perceive. In all these cases it is impossible beyond everything for false opinion to arise in the mind of anyone. The possibility that it may arise remains, if anywhere, in the following cases.

THEAET. What cases are they? I hope they may help me to understand better; for now I cannot follow you.

SOC. The cases in which he may think that things which he knows are some other things which he knows and perceives; or which he does not know, but perceives; or that things which he knows and perceives are other things which he knows and perceives.

THEAET. Now I am even more out of the running than before.

SOC. Then let me repeat it in a different way. I know Theodorus and remember within myself what sort of a person he is, and just so I know Theaetetus, but sometimes I see them, and sometimes I do not, sometimes I touch them, sometimes not, sometimes I hear them or perceive them through some other sense, and sometimes I have no perception of you at all, but I remember you none the less and know you in my own mind. Is it not so?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. This, then, is the first of the points which I wish to make clear. Note that one may perceive or not perceive that which one knows.

THEAET. That is true.

SOC. So, too, with that which he does not know—he may often not even perceive it, and often he may merely perceive it?

THEAET. That too is possible.

Section 193

SOC. See if you follow me better now. If Socrates knows Theodorus and Theaetetus, but sees neither of them and has no other perception of them, he never could have the opinion within himself that Theaetetus is Theodorus. Am I right or wrong?

THEAET. You are right.

SOC. Now that was the first of the cases of which I spoke.

THEAET. Yes, it was.

SOC. The second is this: knowing one of you and not knowing the other, and not perceiving either of you, I never could think that the one whom I know is the one whom I do not know.

THEAET. Right.

SOC. And this is the third case: not knowing and not perceiving either of you, I could not think that he whom I do not know is someone else whom I do not know. And imagine that you have heard all the other cases again in succession, in which I could never form false opinions about you and Theodorus, either when I know or do not know both of you, or when I know one and not the other; and the same is true if we say perceive instead of know. Do you follow me?

THEAET. I follow you.

SOC. Then the possibility of forming false opinion remains in the following case: when, for example, knowing you and Theodorus, and having on that block of wax the imprint of both of you, as if you were signet-rings, but seeing you both at a distance and indistinctly, I hasten to assign the proper imprint of each of you to the proper vision, and to make it fit, as it were, its own footprint, with the purpose of causing recognition; but I may fail in this by interchanging them, and put the vision of one upon the imprint of the other, as people put a shoe on the wrong foot; or, again, I may be affected as the sight is affected when we use a mirror and the sight as it flows makes a change from right to left, and thus make a mistake; it is in such cases, then, that interchanged opinion occurs and the forming of false opinion arises.

THEAET. I think it does, Socrates. You describe what happens to opinion marvelously well.

SOC. There is still the further case, when, knowing both of you, I perceive one in addition to knowing him, but do not perceive the other, and the knowledge which I have of that other is not in accord with my perception. This is the case I described in this way before, and at that time you did not understand me.

THEAET. No, I did not.

SOC. This is what I meant, that if anyone knows and perceives one of you, and has knowledge of him which accords with the perception, he will never think that he is someone else whom he knows and perceives and his knowledge of whom accords with the perception. That was the case, was it not?

THEAET. Yes.

Section 194

SOC. But we omitted, I believe, the case of which I am speaking now—the case in which we say the false opinion arises: when a man knows both and sees both (or has some other perception of them), but fails to hold the two imprints each under its proper perception; like a bad archer he shoots beside the mark and misses it; and it is just this which is called error or deception.

THEAET. And properly so.

SOC. Now when perception is present to one of the imprints but not to the other, and the mind applies the imprint of the absent perception to the perception which is present, the mind is deceived in every such instance. In a word, if our present view is sound, false opinion or deception seems to be impossible in relation to things which one does not know and has never perceived; but it is precisely in relation to things which we know and perceive that opinion turns and twists, becoming false and true—true when it puts the proper imprints and seals fairly and squarely upon one another, and false when it applies them sideways and aslant.

THEAET. Well, then, Socrates, is that view not a good one?

SOC. After you have heard the rest, you will be still more inclined to say so. For to hold a true opinion is a good thing, but to be deceived is a disgrace.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. They say the cause of these variations is as follows: When the wax in the soul of a man is deep and abundant and smooth and properly kneaded, the images that come through the perceptions are imprinted upon this heart of the soul—as Homer calls it in allusion to its similarity to wax —; when this is the case, and in such men, the imprints, being clear and of sufficient depth, are also lasting. And men of this kind are in the first place quick to learn, and secondly they have retentive memories, and moreover they do not interchange the imprints of their perceptions, but they have true opinions. For the imprints are clear and have plenty of room, so that such men quickly assign them to their several moulds, which are called realities; and these men, then, are called wise. Or do you not agree?

THEAET. Most emphatically.

SOC. Now when the heart of anyone is shaggy (a condition which the all-wise poet commends), or when it is unclean or of impure wax, or very soft or hard, those whose wax is soft are quick to learn, but forgetful, and those in whom it is hard are the reverse. But those in whom it is shaggy and rough and stony, infected with earth or dung which is mixed in it, receive indistinct imprints from the moulds.

Section 195

SO.So also do those whose wax is hard; for the imprints lack depth. And imprints in soft wax are also indistinct, because they melt together and quickly become blurred; but if besides all this they are crowded upon one another through lack of room, in some mean little soul, they are still more indistinct. So all these men are likely to have false opinions. For when they see or hear or think of anything, they cannot quickly assign things to the right imprints, but are slow about it, and because they assign them wrongly they usually see and hear and think amiss. These men, in turn, are accordingly said to be deceived about realities and ignorant.

THEAET. You are right as right could be, Socrates.

SOC. Shall we, then, say that false opinions exist in us?

THEAET. Assuredly.

SOC. And true opinions, no doubt?

THEAET. And true ones also.

SOC. Then now at last we think we have reached a valid agreement, that these two kinds of opinion incontestably exist?

THEAET. Most emphatically.

SOC. Truly, Theaetetus, a garrulous man is a strange and unpleasant creature!

THEAET. Eh? What makes you say that?

SOC. Vexation at my own stupidity and genuine garrulity. For what else could you call it when a man drags his arguments up and down because he is so stupid that he cannot be convinced, and is hardly to be induced to give up any one of them?

THEAET. But you, why are you vexed?

SOC. I am not merely vexed, I am actually afraid; for I do not know what answer to make if anyone asks me: Socrates, have you found out, I wonder, that false opinion exists neither in the relations of the perceptions to one another nor in the thoughts, but in the combination of perception with thought? I shall say yes, I suppose, and put on airs, as if we had made a fine discovery.

THEAET. It seems to me, Socrates, that the result we have now brought out is not half bad.

SOC. Do you go on and assert, then, he will say, that we never could imagine that the man whom we merely think of, but do not see, is a horse which also we do not see or touch or perceive by any other sense, but merely think of? I suppose I shall say that I do make that assertion.

THEAET. Yes, and you will be right.

SOC. Then, he will say, according to that, could we ever imagine that the number eleven which is merely thought of, is the number twelve which also is merely thought of? Come now, it is for you to answer.

THEAET. Well, my answer will be that a man might imagine the eleven that he sees or touches to be twelve, but that he could never have that opinion concerning the eleven that he has in his mind.

Section 196

SOC. Well, then, do you think that anyone ever considered in his own mind five and seven,— I do not mean by setting before his eyes seven men and five men and considering them, or anything of that sort, but seven and five in the abstract, which we say are imprints in the block of wax, and in regard to which we deny the possibility of forming false opinions—taking these by themselves, do you imagine that anybody in the world has ever considered them, talking to himself and asking himself what their sum is, and that one person has said and thought eleven, and another twelve, or do all say and think that it is twelve?

THEAET. No, by Zeus; many say eleven, and if you take a larger number for consideration, there is greater likelihood of error. For I suppose you are speaking of any number rather than of these only.

SOC. You are right in supposing so; and consider whether in that instance the abstract twelve in the block of wax is not itself imagined to be eleven.

THEAET. It seems so.

SOC. Have we not, then, come back again to the beginning of our talk? For the man who is affected in this way imagines that one thing which he knows is another thing which he knows. This we said was impossible, and by this very argument we were forcing false opinion out of existence, that the same man might not be forced to know and not know the same things at the same time.

THEAET. Very true.

SOC. Then we must show that forming false opinion is something or other different from the interchange of thought and perception. For if it were that, we should never be deceived in abstract thoughts. But as the case now stands, either there is no false opinion or it is possible for a man not to know that which he knows. Which alternative will you choose?

THEAET. There is no possible choice, Socrates.

SOC. And yet the argument is not likely to admit both. But still, since we must not shrink from any risk, what if we should try to do a shameless deed?

THEAET. What is it?

SOC. To undertake to tell what it really is to know.

THEAET. And why is that shameless?

SOC. You seem not to remember that our whole talk from the beginning has been a search for knowledge, because we did not know what it is.

THEAET. Oh yes, I remember.

SOC. Then is it not shameless to proclaim what it is to know, when we are ignorant of knowledge? But really, Theaetetus, our talk has been badly tainted with unclearness all along; for we have said over and over again we know and we do not know and we have knowledge and we have no knowledge, as if we could understand each other, while we were still ignorant of knowledge; and at this very moment, if you please, we have again used the terms be ignorant and understand, as though we had any right to use them if we are deprived of knowledge.

THEAET. But how will you converse, Socrates, if you refrain from these words?

Section 197

SOC. Not at all, being the man I am; but I might if I were a real reasoner; if such a man were present at this moment he would tell us to refrain from these terms, and would criticize my talk scathingly. But since we are poor creatures, shall I venture to say what the nature of knowing is? For it seems to me that would be of some advantage.

THEAET. Venture it then, by Zeus. You shall have full pardon for not refraining from those terms.

SOC. Have you heard what they say nowadays that knowing is?

THEAET. Perhaps; however, I don’t remember just at this moment.

SOC. They say it is having knowledge.

THEAET. True.

SOC. Let us make a slight change and say possessing knowledge.

THEAET. Why, how will you claim that the one differs from the other?

SOC. Perhaps it doesn’t; but first hear how it seems to me to differ, and then help me to test my view.

THEAET. I will if I can.

SOC. Well, then, having does not seem to me the same as possessing. For instance, if a man bought a cloak and had it under his control, but did not wear it, we should certainly say, not that he had it, but that he possessed it.

THEAET. And rightly.

SOC. Now see whether it is possible in the same way for one who possesses knowledge not to have it, as, for instance, if a man should catch wild birds—pigeons or the like—and should arrange an aviary at home and keep them in it, we might in a way assert that he always has them because he possesses them, might we not?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And yet in another way that he has none of them, but that he has acquired power over them, since he has brought them under his control in his own enclosure, to take them and hold them whenever he likes, by catching whichever bird he pleases, and to let them go again; and he can do this as often as be sees fit.

THEAET. That is true.

SOC. Once more, then, just as a while ago we contrived some sort of a waxen figment in the soul, so now let us make in each soul an aviary stocked with all sorts of birds, some in flocks apart from the rest, others in small groups, and some solitary, flying hither and thither among them all.

THEAET. Consider it done. What next?

SOC. We must assume that while we are children this receptacle is empty, and we must understand that the birds represent the varieties of knowledge. And whatsoever kind of knowledge a person acquires and shuts up in the enclosure, we must say that he has learned or discovered the thing of which this is the knowledge, and that just this is knowing.

THEAET. So be it.

Section 198

SOC. Consider then what expressions are needed for the process of recapturing and taking and holding and letting go again whichever he please of the kinds of knowledge, whether they are the same expressions as those needed for the original acquisition, or others. But you will understand better by an illustration. You admit that there is an art of arithmetic?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Now suppose this to be a hunt after the kinds of knowledge, or sciences, of all odd and even numbers.

THEAET. I do so.

SOC. Now it is by this art, I imagine, that a man has the sciences of numbers under his own control and also that any man who transmits them to another does this.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And we say that when anyone transmits them he teaches, and when anyone receives them he learns, and when anyone, by having acquired them, has them in that aviary of ours, he knows them.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Now pay attention to what follows from this. Does not the perfect arithmetician understand all numbers; for he has the sciences of all numbers in his mind?

THEAET. To be sure.

SOC. Then would such a man ever count anything—either any abstract numbers in his head, or any such external objects as possess number?

THEAET. Of course,

SOC. But we shall affirm that counting is the same thing as considering how great any number in question is.

THEAET. We shall.

SOC. Then he who by our previous admission knows all number is found to be considering that which he knows as if he did not know it. You have doubtless heard of such ambiguities.

THEAET. Yes, I have.

SOC. Continuing, then, our comparison with the acquisition and hunting of the pigeons, we shall say that the hunting is of two kinds, one before the acquisition for the sake of possessing, the other carried on by the possessor for the sake of taking and holding in his hands what he had acquired long before. And just so when a man long since by learning came to possess knowledge of certain things, and knew them, he may have these very things afresh by taking up again the knowledge of each of them separately and holding it—the knowledge which he had acquired long before, but had not at hand in his mind?

THEAET. That is true.

SOC. This, then, was my question just now: How should we express ourselves in speaking about them when an arithmetician undertakes to count or a man of letters to read something? In such a case shall we say that although he knows he sets himself to learn again from himself that which he knows?

THEAET. But that is extraordinary, Socrates.

Section 199

SOC. But shall we say that he is going to read or count that which he does not know, when we have granted that he knows all letters and all numbers?

THEAET. But that too is absurd.

SOC. Shall we then say that words are nothing to us, if it amuses anyone to drag the expressions know and learn one way and another, but since we set up the distinction that it is one thing to possess knowledge and another thing to have it, we affirm that it is impossible not to possess what one possesses, so that it never happens that a man does not know that which he knows, but that it is possible to conceive a false opinion about it? For it is possible to have not the knowledge of this thing, but some other knowledge instead, when in hunting for some one kind of knowledge, as the various kinds fly about, he makes a mistake and catches one instead of another; so in one example he thought eleven was twelve, because he caught the knowledge of twelve, which was within him, instead of that of eleven, caught a ringdove, as it were, instead of a pigeon.

THEAET. Yes, that is reasonable.

SOC. But when he catches the knowledge he intends to catch, he is not deceived and has true opinion, and so true and false opinion exist and none of the things which formerly annoyed us interferes? Perhaps you will agree to this; or what will you do?

THEAET. I will agree.

SOC. Yes, for we have got rid of our difficulty about men not knowing that which they know; for we no longer find ourselves not possessing that which we possess, whether we are deceived about anything or not. However, another more dreadful disaster seems to be coming in sight.

THEAET. What disaster?

SOC. If the interchange of kinds of knowledge should ever turn out to be false opinion.

THEAET. How so?

SOC. Is it not the height of absurdity, in the first place for one who has knowledge of something to be ignorant of this very thing, not through ignorance but through his knowledge; secondly, for him to be of opinion that this thing is something else and something else is this thing—for the soul, when knowledge has come to it, to know nothing and be ignorant of all things? For by this argument there is nothing to prevent ignorance from coming to us and making us know something and blindness from making us see, if knowledge is ever to make us ignorant.

THEAET. Perhaps, Socrates, we were not right in making the birds represent kinds of knowledge only, but we ought to have imagined kinds of ignorance also flying about in the soul with the others; then the hunter would catch sometimes knowledge and sometimes ignorance of the same thing, and through the ignorance he would have false, but through the knowledge true opinion.

Section 200

SOC. It is not easy, Theaetetus, to refrain from praising you. However, examine your suggestion once more. Let it be as you say: the man who catches the ignorance will, you say, have false opinion. Is that it?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. But surely he will not also think that he has false opinion.

THEAET. Certainly not.

SOC. No, but true opinion, and will have the attitude of knowing that about which he is deceived.

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. Hence he will fancy that he has caught, and has, knowledge, not ignorance.

THEAET. Evidently.

SOC. Then, after our long wanderings, we have come round again to our first difficulty. For the real reasoner will laugh and say, Most excellent Sirs, does a man who knows both knowledge and ignorance think that one of them, which he knows, is another thing which he knows; or, knowing neither of them, is he of opinion that one, which he does not know, is another thing which he does not know; or, knowing one and not the other, does he think that the one he does not know is the one he knows; or that the one he knows is the one he does not know? Or will you go on and tell me that there are kinds of knowledge of the kinds of knowledge and of ignorance, and that he who possesses these kinds of knowledge and has enclosed them in some sort of other ridiculous aviaries or waxen figments, knows them, so long as he possesses them, even if he has them not at hand in his soul? And in this fashion are you going to be compelled to trot about endlessly in the same circle without making any progress? What shall we reply to this, Theaetetus?

THEAET. By Zeus, Socrates, I don’t know what to say.

SOC. Then, my boy, is the argument right in rebuking us and in pointing out that we were wrong to abandon knowledge and seek first for false opinion? It is impossible to know the latter until we have adequately comprehended the nature of knowledge.

THEAET. As the case now stands, Socrates, we cannot help thinking as you say.

SOC. To begin, then, at the beginning once more, what shall we say knowledge is? For surely we are not going to give it up yet, are we?

THEAET. Not by any means, unless, that is, you give it up.

SOC. Tell us, then, what definition will make us contradict ourselves least.

THEAET. The one we tried before, Socrates; at any rate, I have nothing else to offer.

SOC. What one?

THEAET. That knowledge is true opinion; for true opinion is surely free from error and all its results are fine and good.

Section 201

SOC. The man who was leading the way through the river, Theaetetus, said: The result itself will show; and so in this matter, if we go on with our search, perhaps the thing will turn up in our path and of itself reveal the object of our search; but if we stay still, we shall discover nothing.

THEAET. You are right; let us go on with our investigation.

SOC. Well, then, this at least calls for slight investigation; for you have a whole profession which declares that true opinion is not knowledge.

THEAET. How so? What profession is it?

SOC. The profession of those who are greatest in wisdom, who are called orators and lawyers; for they persuade men by the art which they possess, not teaching them, but making them have whatever opinion they like. Or do you think there are any teachers so clever as to be able, in the short time allowed by the water-clock, satisfactorily to teach the judges the truth about what happened to people who have been robbed of their money or have suffered other acts of violence, when there were no eyewitnesses?

THEAET. I certainly do not think so; but I think they can persuade them.

SOC. And persuading them is making them have an opinion, is it not?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. Then when judges are justly persuaded about matters which one can know only by having seen them and in no other way, in such a case, judging of them from hearsay, having acquired a true opinion of them, they have judged without knowledge, though they are rightly persuaded, if the judgement they have passed is correct, have they not?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. But, my friend, if true opinion and knowledge were the same thing in law courts, the best of judges could never have true opinion without knowledge; in fact, however, it appears that the two are different.

THEAET. Oh yes, I remember now, Socrates, having heard someone make the distinction, but I had forgotten it. He said that knowledge was true opinion accompanied by reason, but that unreasoning true opinion was outside of the sphere of knowledge; and matters of which there is not a rational explanation are unknowable—yes, that is what he called them—and those of which there is are knowable.

SOC. I am glad you mentioned that. But tell us how he distinguished between the knowable and the unknowable, that we may see whether the accounts that you and I have heard agree.

THEAET. But I do not know whether I can think it out; but if someone else were to make the statement of it, I think I could follow.

SOC. Listen then, while I relate it to you—a dream for a dream. I in turn used to imagine that I heard certain persons say that the primary elements of which we and all else are composed admit of no rational explanation;

Section 202

SO. for each alone by itself can only be named, and no qualification can be added, neither that it is nor that it is not, for that would at once be adding to it existence or non-existence, whereas we must add nothing to it, if we are to speak of that itself alone. Indeed, not even itself or that or each or alone or this or anything else of the sort, of which there are many, must be added; for these are prevalent terms which are added to all things indiscriminately and are different from the things to which they are added; but if it were possible to explain an element, and it admitted of a rational explanation of its own, it would have to be explained apart from everything else. But in fact none of the primal elements can be expressed by reason; they can only be named, for they have only a name; but the things composed of these are themselves complex, and so their names are complex and form a rational explanation; for the combination of names is the essence of reasoning. Thus the elements are not objects of reason or of knowledge, but only of perception, whereas the combinations of them are objects of knowledge and expression and true opinion. When therefore a man acquires without reasoning the true opinion about anything, his mind has the truth about it, but has no knowledge; for he who cannot give and receive a rational explanation of a thing is without knowledge of it; but when he has acquired also a rational explanation he may possibly have become all that I have said and may now be perfect in knowledge. Is that the version of the dream you have heard, or is it different?

THEAET. That was it exactly.

SOC. Are you satisfied, then, and do you state it in this way, that true opinion accompanied by reason is knowledge?

THEAET. Precisely.

SOC. Can it be, Theaetetus, that we now, in this casual manner, have found out on this day what many wise men have long been seeking and have grown grey in the search?

THEAET. I, at any rate, Socrates, think our present statement is good.

SOC. Probably this particular statement is so; for what knowledge could there still be apart from reason and right opinion? One point, however, in what has been said is unsatisfactory to me.

THEAET. What point?

SOC. Just that which seems to be the cleverest; the assertion that the elements are unknowable and the class of combinations is knowable.

THEAET. Is that not right?

SOC. We are sure to find out, for we have as hostages the examples which he who said all this used in his argument.

THEAET. What examples?

SOC. The elements in writing, the letters of the alphabet, and their combinations, the syllables ; or do you think the author of the statements we are discussing had something else in view?

THEAET. No; those are what he had in view.

Section 203

SOC. Let us, then, take them up and examine them, or rather, let us examine ourselves and see whether it was in accordance with this theory, or not, that we learned letters. First then, the syllables have a rational explanation, but the letters have not?

THEAET. I suppose so.

SOC. I think so, too, decidedly. Now if anyone should ask about the first syllable of Socrates; Theaetetus, tell me, what is SO? What would you reply?

THEAET. I should say S and O.

SOC. This, then, is your explanation of the syllable?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Come now, in the same manner give me the explanation of the S.

THEAET. How can one give any elements of an element? For really, Socrates, the S is a voiceless letter, a mere noise, as of the tongue hissing; B again has neither voice nor noise, nor have most of the other letters; and so it is quite right to say that they have no explanation, seeing that the most distinct of them, the seven vowels, have only voice, but no explanation whatsoever.

SOC. In this point, then, my friend, it would seem that we have reached a right conclusion about knowledge.

THEAET. I think we have.

SOC. But have we been right in laying down the principle that whereas the letter is unknowable, yet the syllable is knowable?

THEAET. Probably.

SOC. Well then, shall we say that the syllable is the two letters, or, if there be more than two, all of them, or is it a single concept that has arisen from their combination?

THEAET. I think we mean all the letters it contains.

SOC. Now take the case of two, S and O. The two together are the first syllable of my name. He who knows it knows the two letters, does he not?

THEAET. Of course.

SOC. He knows, that is, the S and the O.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. How is that? He is ignorant of each, and knowing neither of them he knows them both?

THEAET. That is monstrous and absurd, Socrates.

SOC. And yet if a knowledge of each letter is necessary before one can know both, he who is ever to know a syllable must certainly know the letters first, and so our fine theory will have run away and vanished!

THEAET. And very suddenly, too.

SOC. Yes, for we are not watching it carefully. Perhaps we ought to have said that the syllable is not the letters, but a single concept that has arisen from them, having a single form of its own, different from the letters.

THEAET. Certainly; and perhaps that will be better than the other way.

SOC. Let us look into that; we must not give up in such unmanly fashion a great and impressive theory.

THEAET. No, we must not.

Section 204

SOC. Let it be, then, as we say now, that the syllable or combination is a single form arising out of the several conjoined elements, and that it is the same in words and in all other things.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Therefore there must be no parts of it.

THEAET. How so?

SOC. Because if there are parts of anything, the whole must inevitably be all the parts; or do you assert also that the whole that has arisen out of the parts is a single concept different from all the parts?

THEAET. Yes, I do.

SOC. Do you then say that all and the whole are the same, or that each of the two is different from the other?

THEAET. I am not sure; but you tell me to answer boldly, so I take the risk and say that they are different.

SOC. Your boldness, Theaetetus, is right; but whether your answer is so remains to be seen.

THEAET. Yes, certainly, we must see about that.

SOC. The whole, then, according to our present view, would differ from all?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. How about this? Is there any difference between all in the plural and all in the singular? For instance, if we say one, two, three, four, five, six, or twice three, or three times two, or four and two, or three and two and one, are we in all these forms speaking of the same or of different numbers?

THEAET. Of the same.

SOC. That is, of six?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Then in each form of speech we have spoken of all the six?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And again do we not speak of one thing when we speak of them all?

THEAET. Assuredly.

SOC. That is, of six?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Then in all things that are made up of number, we apply the same term to all in the plural and all in the singular?

THEAET. Apparently.

SOC. Here is another way of approaching the matter. The number of the fathom and the fathom are the same, are they not?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And of the furlong likewise.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And the number of the army is the same as the army, and all such cases are alike? In each of them all the number is all the thing.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. And is the number of each anything but the parts of each?

THEAET. No.

SOC. Everything that has parts, accordingly, consists of parts, does it not?

THEAET. Evidently.

SOC. But we are agreed that the all must be all the parts if all the number is to be the all.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Then the whole does not consist of parts, for if it consisted of all the parts it would be the all.

THEAET. That seems to be true.

SOC. But is a part a part of anything in the world but the whole?

THEAET. Yes, of the all.

Section 205

SOC. You are putting up a brave fight, Theaetetus. But is not the all precisely that of which nothing is wanting?

THEAET. Necessarily.

SOC. And is not just this same thing, from which nothing whatsoever is lacking, a whole? For that from which anything is lacking is neither a whole nor all, which have become identical simultaneously and for the same reason.

THEAET. I think now that there is no difference between all and whole.

SOC. We were saying, were we not, that if there are parts of anything, the whole and all of it will be all the parts?

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Once more, then, as I was trying to say just now, if the syllable is not the letters, does it not follow necessarily that it contains the letters, not as parts of it, or else that being the same as the letters, it is equally knowable with them?

THEAET. It does.

SOC. And it was in order to avoid this that we assumed that it was different from them?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Well then, if the letters are not parts of the syllable, can you mention any other things which are parts of it, but are not the letters of it?

THEAET. Certainly not. For if I grant that there are parts of the syllable, it would be ridiculous to give up the letters and look for other things as parts.

SOC. Without question, then, Theaetetus, the syllable would be, according to our present view, some indivisible concept.

THEAET. I agree.

SOC. Do you remember, then, my friend, that we admitted a little while ago, on what we considered good grounds, that there can be no rational explanation of the primary elements of which other things are composed, because each of them, when taken by itself, is not composite, and we could not properly apply to such an element even the expression be or this, because these terms are different and alien, and for this reason it is irrational and unknowable?

THEAET. I remember.

SOC. And is not this the sole reason why it is single in form and indivisible? I can see no other.

THEAET. There is no other to be seen.

SOC. Then the syllable falls into the same class with the letter, if it has no parts and is a single form?

THEAET. Yes, unquestionably.

SOC. If, then, the syllable is a plurality of letters and is a whole of which the letters are parts, the syllables and the letters are equally knowable and expressible, if all the parts were found to be the same as the whole.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. But if one and indivisible, then syllable and likewise letter are equally irrational and unknowable; for the same cause will make them so.

THEAET. I cannot dispute it.

SOC. Then we must not accept the statement of any one who says that the syllable is knowable and expressible, but the letter is not.

THEAET. No, not if we are convinced by our argument.

Section 206

SOC. But would you not rather accept the opposite belief, judging by your own experience when you were learning to read?

THEAET. What experience?

SOC. In learning, you were merely constantly trying to distinguish between the letters both by sight and by hearing, keeping each of them distinct from the rest, that you might not be disturbed by their sequence when they were spoken or written.

THEAET. That is very true.

SOC. And in the music school was not perfect attainment the ability to follow each note and tell which string produced it; and everyone would agree that the notes are the elements of music?

THEAET. Yes, that is all true.

SOC. Then if we are to argue from the elements and combinations in which we ourselves have experience to other things in general, we shall say that the elements as a class admit of a much clearer knowledge than the compounds and of a knowledge that is much more important for the complete attainment of each branch of learning, and if anyone says that the compound is by its nature knowable and the element unknowable, we shall consider that he is, intentionally or unintentionally, joking.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Still other proofs of this might be brought out, I think; but let us not on that account lose sight of the question before us, which is: What is meant by the doctrine that the most perfect knowledge arises from the addition of rational explanation to true opinion?

THEAET. No, we must not.

SOC. Now what are we intended to understand by rational explanation? I think it means one of three things.

THEAET. What are they?

SOC. The first would be making one’s own thought clear through speech by means of verbs and nouns, imaging the opinion in the stream that flows through the lips, as in a mirror or water. Do you not think the rational explanation is something of that sort?

THEAET. Yes, I do. At any rate, we say that he who does that speaks or explains.

SOC. Well, that is a thing that anyone can do sooner or later; he can show what he thinks about anything, unless he is deaf or dumb from the first; and so all who have any right opinion will be found to have it with the addition of rational explanation, and there will henceforth be no possibility of right opinion apart from knowledge.

THEAET. True.

Section 207

SOC. Let us not, therefore, carelessly accuse him of talking nonsense who gave the definition of knowledge which we are now considering; for perhaps that is not what he meant. He may have meant that each person if asked about anything must be able in reply to give his questioner an account of it in terms of its elements.

THEAET. As for example, Socrates?

SOC. As, for example, Hesiod, speaking of a wagon, says, a hundred pieces of wood in a wagon. Now I could not name the pieces, nor, I fancy, could you; but if we were asked what a wagon is, we should be satisfied if we could say wheels, axle, body, rims, yoke.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. But he, perhaps, would think we were ridiculous, just as he would if, on being asked about your name, we should reply by telling the syllables, holding a right opinion and expressing correctly what we have to say, but should think we were grammarians and as such both possessed and were expressing as grammarians would the rational explanation of the name Theaetetus. He would say that it is impossible for anyone to give a rational explanation of anything with knowledge, until he gives a complete enumeration of the elements, combined with true opinion. That, I believe, is what was said before.

THEAET. Yes, it was.

SOC. So, too, he would say that we have right opinion about a wagon, but that he who can give an account of its essential nature in terms of those one hundred parts has by this addition added rational explanation to true opinion and has acquired technical knowledge of the essential nature of a wagon, in place of mere opinion, by describing the whole in terms of its elements.

THEAET. Do you agree to that, Socrates?

SOC. If you, my friend, agree to it and accept the view that orderly description in terms of its elements is a rational account of anything, but that description in terms of syllables or still larger units is irrational, tell me so, that we may examine the question.

THEAET. Certainly I accept it.

SOC. Do you accept it in the belief that anyone has knowledge of anything when he thinks that the same element is a part sometimes of one thing and sometimes of another or when he is of opinion that the same thing has as a part of it sometimes one thing and sometimes another?

THEAET. Not at all, by Zeus.

SOC. Then do you forget that when you began to learn to read you and the others did just that?

THEAET. Do you mean when we thought that sometimes one letter and sometimes another belonged to the same syllable, and when we put the same letter sometimes into the proper syllable and sometimes into another?

SOC. That is what I mean.

THEAET. By Zeus, I do not forget, nor do I think that those have knowledge who are in that condition.

Section 208

SOC. Take an example: When at such a stage in his progress a person in writing Theaetetus thinks he ought to write, and actually does write, TH and E, and again in trying to write Theodorus thinks he ought to write, and does write, T and E, shall we say that he knows the first syllable of your names?

THEAET. No, we just now agreed that a person in such a condition has not yet gained knowledge.

SOC. Then there is nothing to prevent the same person from being in that condition with respect to the second and third and fourth syllables?

THEAET. No, nothing.

SOC. Then, in that case, he has in mind the orderly description in terms of letters, and will write Theaetetus with right opinion, when he writes the letters in order?

THEAET. Evidently.

SOC. But he is still, as we say, without knowledge, though he has right opinion?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Yes, but with his opinion he has rational explanation; for he wrote with the method in terms of letters in his mind, and we agreed that that was rational explanation.

THEAET. True.

SOC. There is, then, my friend, a combination of right opinion with rational explanation, which cannot as yet properly be called knowledge?

THEAET. There is not much doubt about it.

SOC. So it seems that the perfectly true definition of knowledge, which we thought we had, was but a golden dream. Or shall we wait a bit before we condemn it? Perhaps the definition to be adopted is not this, but the remaining one of the three possibilities one of which we said must be affirmed by anyone who asserts that knowledge is right opinion combined with rational explanation.

THEAET. I am glad you called that to mind. For there is still one left. The first was a kind of vocal image of the thought, the second the orderly approach to the whole through the elements, which we have just been discussing, and what is the third?

SOC. It is just the definition which most people would give, that knowledge is the ability to tell some characteristic by which the object in question differs from all others.

THEAET. As an example of the method, what explanation can you give me, and of what thing?

SOC. As an example, if you like, take the sun: I think it is enough for you to be told that it is the brightest of the heavenly bodies that revolve about the earth.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOC. Understand why I say this. It is because, as we were just saying, if you get hold of the distinguishing characteristic by which a given thing differs from the rest, you will, as some say, get hold of the definition or explanation of it; but so long as you cling to some common quality, your explanation will pertain to all those objects to which the common quality belongs.

THEAET. I understand; and it seems to me that it is quite right to call that kind a rational explanation or definition.

SOC. Then he who possesses right opinion about anything and adds thereto a comprehension of the difference which distinguishes it from other things will have acquired knowledge of that thing of which he previously had only opinion.

THEAET. That is what we affirm.

SOC. Theaetetus, now that I have come closer to our statement, I do not understand it at all. It is like coming close to a scene-painting. While I stood off at a distance, I thought there was something in it.

THEAET. What do you mean?

Section 209

SOC. I will tell you if I can. Assume that I have right opinion about you; if I add the explanation or definition of you, then I have knowledge of you, otherwise I have merely opinion.

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. But explanation was, we agreed, the interpretation of your difference.

THEAET. It was.

SOC. Then so long as I had merely opinion, I did not grasp in my thought any of the points in which you differ from others?

THEAET. Apparently not.

SOC. Therefore I was thinking of some one of the common traits which you possess no more than other men.

THEAET. You must have been.

SOC. For heaven’s sake! How in the world could I in that case have any opinion about you more than about anyone else? Suppose that I thought That is Theaetetus which is a man and has nose and eyes and mouth and so forth, mentioning all the parts. Can this thought make me think of Theaetetus any more than of Theodorus or of the meanest of the Mysians, as the saying is?

THEAET. Of course not.

SOC. But if I think not only of a man with nose and eyes, but of one with snub nose and protruding eyes, shall I then have an opinion of you any more than of myself and all others like me?

THEAET. Not at all.

SOC. No; I fancy Theaetetus will not be the object of opinion in me until this snubnosedness of yours has stamped and deposited in my mind a memorial different from those of the other examples of snubnosedness that I have seen, and the other traits that make up your personality have done the like. Then that memorial, if I meet you again tomorrow, will awaken my memory and make me have right opinion about you.

THEAET. Very true.

SOC. Then right opinion also would have to do with differences in any given instance?

THEAET. At any rate, it seems so.

SOC. Then what becomes of the addition of reason or explanation to right opinion? For if it is defined as the addition of an opinion of the way in which a given thing differs from the rest, it is an utterly absurd injunction.

THEAET. How so?

SOC. When we have a right opinion of the way in which certain things differ from other things, we are told to acquire a right opinion of the way in which those same things differ from other things! On this plan the twirling of a scytale or a pestle or anything of the sort would be as nothing compared with this injunction. It might more justly be called a blind man’s giving directions; for to command us to acquire that which we already have, in order to learn that of which we already have opinion, is very like a man whose sight is mightily darkened.

THEAET. Tell me now, what did you intend to say when you asked the question a while ago?

Section 210

SOC. If, my boy, the command to add reason or explanation means learning to know and not merely getting an opinion about the difference, our splendid definition of knowledge would be a fine affair! For learning to know is acquiring knowledge, is it not?

THEAET. Yes.

SOC. Then, it seems, if asked, What is knowledge? our leader will reply that it is right opinion with the addition of a knowledge of difference; for that would, according to him, be the addition of reason or explanation.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOC. And it is utterly silly, when we are looking for a definition of knowledge, to say that it is right opinion with knowledge, whether of difference or of anything else whatsoever. So neither perception, Theaetetus, nor true opinion, nor reason or explanation combined with true opinion could be knowledge.

THEAET. Apparently not.

SOC. Are we then, my friend, still pregnant and in travail with knowledge, or have we brought forth everything?

THEAET. Yes, we have, and, by Zeus, Socrates, with your help I have already said more than there was in me.

SOC. Then does our art of midwifery declare to us that all the offspring that have been born are mere wind-eggs and not worth rearing?

THEAET. It does, decidedly.

SOC. If after this you ever undertake to conceive other thoughts, Theaetetus, and do conceive, you will be pregnant with better thoughts than these by reason of the present search, and if you remain barren, you will be less harsh and gentler to your associates, for you will have the wisdom not to think you know that which you do not know. So much and no more my art can accomplish; nor do I know aught of the things that are known by others, the great and wonderful men who are today and have been in the past. This art, however, both my mother and I received from God, she for women and I for young and noble men and for all who are fair. And now I must go to the Porch of the King, to answer to the suit which Meletus has brought against me. But in the morning, Theodorus, let us meet here again.

Contents — 53 sections

1. Section 216
2. Section 217
3. Section 218
4. Section 219
5. Section 220
6. Section 221
7. Section 222
8. Section 223
9. Section 224
10. Section 225
11. Section 226
12. Section 227
13. Section 228
14. Section 229
15. Section 230
16. Section 231
17. Section 232
18. Section 233
19. Section 234
20. Section 235
21. Section 236
22. Section 237
23. Section 238
24. Section 239
25. Section 240
26. Section 241
27. Section 242
28. Section 243
29. Section 244
30. Section 245
31. Section 246
32. Section 247
33. Section 248
34. Section 249
35. Section 250
36. Section 251
37. Section 252
38. Section 253
39. Section 254
40. Section 255
41. Section 256
42. Section 257
43. Section 258
44. Section 259
45. Section 260
46. Section 261
47. Section 262
48. Section 263
49. Section 264
50. Section 265
51. Section 266
52. Section 267
53. Section 268

Section 216

Theo. According to our yesterday’s agreement, Socrates, we have come ourselves, as we were bound to do, and we bring also this man with us; he is a stranger from Elea, one of the followers of Parmenides and Zeno, and a real philosopher.

Soc. Are you not unwittingly bringing, as Homer says, some god, and no mere stranger, Theodorus? He says that the gods, and especially the god of strangers, enter into companionship with men who have a share of due reverence and that they behold the deeds, both violent and righteous, of mankind. So perhaps this companion of yours may be one of the higher powers, who comes to watch over and refute us because we are worthless in argument—a kind of god of refutation.

Theo. No, Socrates, that is not the stranger’s character; he is more reasonable than those who devote themselves to disputation. And though I do not think he is a god at all, I certainly do think he is divine, for I give that epithet to all philosophers.

Soc. And rightly, my friend. However, I fancy it is not much easier, if I may say so, to recognize this class, than that of the gods. For these men—I mean those who are not feignedly but really philosophers—appear disguised in all sorts of shapes, thanks to the ignorance of the rest of mankind, and visit the cities, beholding from above the life of those below, and they seem to some to be of no worth and to others to be worth everything. And sometimes they appear disguised as statesmen and sometimes as sophists, and sometimes they may give some people the impression that they are altogether mad. But I should like to ask our stranger here, if agreeable to him, what people in his country thought about these matters, and what names they used.

Section 217

Theo. What matters do you mean?

Soc. Sophist, statesman, philosopher.

Theo. What particular difficulty and what kind of difficulty in regard to them is it about which you had in mind to ask?

Soc. It is this: Did they consider all these one, or two, or, as there are three names, did they divide them into three classes and ascribe to each a class, corresponding to a single name?

Theo. I think he has no objection to talking about them. What do you say, stranger?

Str. Just what you did, Theodorus; for I have no objection, and it is not difficult to say that they considered them three. But it is no small or easy task to define clearly the nature of each.

Theo. The fact is, Socrates, that by chance you have hit upon a question very like what we happened to be asking him before we came here; and he made excuses to us then, as he does now to you; though he admits that he has heard it thoroughly discussed and remembers what he heard.

Soc. In that case, stranger, do not refuse us the first favor we have asked; but just tell us this: Do you generally prefer to expound in a long uninterrupted speech of your own whatever you wish to explain to anyone, or do you prefer the method of questions? I was present once when Parmenides employed the latter method and carried on a splendid discussion. I was a young man then, and he was very old.

Str. The method of dialogue, Socrates, is easier with an interlocutor who is tractable and gives no trouble; but otherwise I prefer the continuous speech by one person.

Soc. Well, you may choose whomever you please of those present; they will all respond pleasantly to you; but if you take my advice you will choose one of the young fellows, Theaetetus here, or any of the others who suits you.

Str. Socrates, this is the first time I have come among you, and I am somewhat ashamed, instead of carrying on the discussion by merely giving brief replies to your questions, to deliver an extended, long drawn out speech, either as an address of my own or in reply to another, as if I were giving an exhibition; but I must, for really the present subject is not what one might expect from the form of the question, but is a matter for very long speech. On the other hand it seems unfriendly and discourteous to refuse a favor to you and these gentlemen, especially when you have spoken as you did. As for Theaetetus I accept him most willingly as interlocutor in view of my previous conversation with him and of your present recommendation.

Section 218

Theaet. But, stranger, by taking this course and following Socrates’s suggestion will you please the others too?

Str. I am afraid there is nothing more to be said about that, Theaetetus; but from now on, my talk will, I fancy, be addressed to you. And if you get tired and are bored by the length of the talk, do not blame me, but these friends of yours.

Theaet. Oh, no, I do not think I shall get tired of it so easily, but if such a thing does happen, we will call in this Socrates, the namesake of the other Socrates; he is of my own age and my companion in the gymnasium, and is in the habit of working with me in almost everything.

Str. Very well; you will follow your own devices about that as the discussion proceeds; but now you and I must investigate in common, beginning first, as it seems to me, with the sophist, and must search out and make plain by argument what he is. For as yet you and I have nothing in common about him but the name; but as to the thing to which we give the name, we may perhaps each have a conception of it in our own minds; however, we ought always in every instance to come to agreement about the thing itself by argument rather than about the mere name without argument. But the tribe which we now intend to search for, the sophist, is not the easiest thing in the world to catch and define, and everyone has agreed long ago that if investigations of great matters are to be properly worked out we ought to practice them on small and easier matters before attacking the very greatest. So now, Theaetetus, this is my advice to ourselves, since we think the family of sophists is troublesome and hard to catch, that we first practise the method of hunting in something easier, unless you perhaps have some simpler way to suggest.

Theaet. I have not.

Str. Then shall we take some lesser thing and try to use it as a pattern for the greater?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Well, then, what example can we set before us which is well known and small, but no less capable of definition than any of the greater things? Say an angler; is he not known to all and unworthy of any great interest?

Section 219

Theaet. Yes.

Str. But I hope he offers us a method and is capable of a definition not unsuitable to our purpose.

Theaet. That would be good.

Str. Come now; let us begin with him in this way: Tell me, shall we say that he is a man with an art, or one without an art, but having some other power?

Theaet. Certainly not one without an art.

Str. But of all arts there are, speaking generally, two kinds?

Theaet. How so?

Str. Agriculture and all kinds of care of any living beings, and that which has to do with things which are put together or molded (utensils we call them), and the art of imitation—all these might properly be called by one name.

Theaet. How so, and what is the name?

Str. When anyone brings into being something which did not previously exist, we say that he who brings it into being produces it and that which is brought into being is produced.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Now all the arts which we have just mentioned direct their energy to production.

Theaet. Yes, they do.

Str. Let us, then, call these collectively the productive art.

Theaet. Agreed.

Str. And after this comes the whole class of learning and that of acquiring knowledge, and money making, and fighting, and hunting. None of these is creative, but they are all engaged in coercing, by deeds or words, things which already exist and have been produced, or in preventing others from coercing them; therefore all these divisions together might very properly be called acquisitive art.

Theaet. Yes, that would be proper.

Str. Then since acquisitive and productive art comprise all the arts, in which, Theaetetus, shall we place the art of angling?

Theaet. In acquisitive art, clearly.

Str. And are there not two classes of acquisitive art—one the class of exchange between voluntary agents by means of gifts and wages and purchases, and the other, which comprises all the rest of acquisitive art, and, since it coerces either by word or deed, might be called coercive?

Theaet. It appears so, at any rate, from what you have said.

Str. Well then, shall we not divide coercive art into two parts?

Theaet. In what way?

Str. By calling all the open part of it fighting and all the secret part hunting.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. But it would be unreasonable not to divide hunting into two parts.

Theaet. Say how it can be done.

Str. By dividing it into the hunting of the lifeless and of the living.

Theaet. Certainly, if both exist.

Section 220

Str. Of course they exist. And we must pass over the hunting of lifeless things, which has no name, with the exception of some kinds of diving and the like, which are of little importance; but the hunting of living things we will call animal-hunting.

Theaet. Very well.

Str. And two classes of animal-hunting might properly be made, one (and this is divided under many classes and names) the hunting of creatures that go on their feet, land-animal hunting, and the other that of swimming creatures, to be called, as a whole, water-animal hunting?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And of swimming creatures we see that one tribe is winged and the other is in the water?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And the hunting of winged creatures is called, as a whole, fowling.

Theaet. It is.

Str. And the hunting of water creatures goes by the general name of fishing.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And might I not divide this kind of hunting into two principal divisions?

Theaet. What divisions?

Str. The one carries on the hunt by means of enclosures merely, the other by a blow.

Theaet. What do you mean, and how do you distinguish the two?

Str. As regards the first, because whatever surrounds anything and encloses it so as to constrain it is properly called an enclosure.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. May not, then, wicker baskets and seines and snares and nets and the like be called enclosures?

Theaet. Assuredly.

Str. Then we will call this division hunting by enclosures, or something of that sort.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And the other, which is done with a blow, by means of hooks and three pronged spears, we must now—to name it with a single word— call striking; or could a better name be found, Theaetetus?

Theaet. Never mind the name; that will do well enough.

Str. Then the kind of striking which takes place at night by the light of a fire is, I suppose, called by the hunters themselves fire-hunting.

Theaet. To be sure.

Str. And that which belongs to the daytime is, as a whole, barb-hunting, since the spears, as well as the hooks, are tipped with barbs.

Theaet. Yes, it is so called.

Str. Then of striking which belongs to barb-hunting, that part which proceeds downward from above, is called, because tridents are chiefly used in it, tridentry, I suppose.

Theaet. Yes, some people, at any rate, call it so.

Str. Then there still remains, I may say, only one further kind.

Theaet. What is that?

Section 221

Str. The kind that is characterized by the opposite sort of blow, which is practised with a hook and strikes, not any chance part of the body of the fishes, as tridents do, but only the head and mouth of the fish caught, and proceeds from below upwards, being pulled up by twigs and rods. By what name, Theaetetus, shall we say this ought to be called?

Theaet. I think our search is now ended and we have found the very thing we set before us a while ago as necessary to find.

Str. Now, then, you and I are not only agreed about the name of angling, but we have acquired also a satisfactory definition of the thing itself. For of art as a whole, half was acquisitive, and of the acquisitive, half was coercive, and of the coercive, half was hunting, and of hunting, half was animal hunting, and of animal hunting, half was water hunting, and, taken as a whole, of water hunting the lower part was fishing, and of fishing, half was striking, and of striking, half was barb-hunting, and of this the part in which the blow is pulled from below upwards at an angle has a name in the very likeness of the act and is called angling, which was the object of our present search.

Theaet. That at all events has been made perfectly clear.

Str. Come, then, let us use this as a pattern and try to find out what a sophist is.

Theaet. By all means.

Str. Well, then, the first question we asked was whether we must assume that the angler was just a man or was a man with an art.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Now take this man of ours, Theaetetus. Shall we assume that he is just a man, or by all means really a man of wisdom?

Theaet. Certainly not just a man; for I catch your meaning that he is very far from being wise, although his name implies wisdom.

Str. But we must, it seems, assume that he has an art of some kind.

Theaet. Well, then, what in the world is this art that he has?

Str. Good gracious! Have we failed to notice that the man is akin to the other man?

Theaet. Who is akin to whom?

Str. The angler to the sophist.

Theaet. How so?

Str. They both seem clearly to me to be a sort of hunters.

Theaet. What is the hunting of the second? We have spoken about the first.

Str. We just now divided hunting as a whole into two classes, and made one division that of swimming creatures and the other that of land-hunting.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And the one we discussed, so far as the swimming creatures that live in the water are concerned; but we left the land-hunting undivided, merely remarking that it has many forms.

Section 222

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Now up to that point the sophist and the angler proceed together from the starting-point of acquisitive art.

Theaet. I think they do.

Str. But they separate at the point of animal-hunting, where the one turns to the sea and rivers and lakes to hunt the animals in those.

Theaet. To be sure.

Str. But the other turns toward the land and to rivers of a different kind—rivers of wealth and youth, bounteous meadows, as it were—and he intends to coerce the creatures in them.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. Of land-hunting there are two chief divisions.

Theaet. What are they?

Str. One is the hunting of tame, the other of wild creatures.

Theaet. Is there, then, a hunting of tame creatures?

Str. Yes, If man is a tame animal; but make any assumption you like, that there is no tame animal, or that some other tame animal exists but man is a wild one or that man is tame but there is no hunting of man. For the purpose of our definition choose whichever of these statements you think is satisfactory to you.

Theaet. Why, Stranger, I think we are a tame animal, and I agree that there is a hunting of man.

Str. Let us, then, say that the hunting of tame animals is also of two kinds.

Theaet. How do we justify that assertion?

Str. By defining piracy, man-stealing, tyranny, and the whole art of war all collectively as hunting by force.

Theaet. Excellent.

Str. And by giving the art of the law courts, of the public platform, and of conversation also a single name and calling them all collectively an art of persuasion.

Theaet. Correct.

Str. Now let us say that there are two kinds of persuasion.

Theaet. What kinds?

Str. The one has to do with private persons, the other with the community.

Theaet. Granted; each of them does form a class.

Str. Then again of the hunting of private persons one kind receives pay, and the other brings gifts, does it not?

Theaet. I do not understand.

Str. Apparently you have never yet paid attention to the lovers’ method of hunting.

Theaet. In what respect?

Str. That in addition to their other efforts they give presents to those whom they hunt.

Theaet. You are quite right.

Str. Let us, then, call this the amatory art.

Theaet. Agreed.

Section 223

Str. But that part of the paid kind which converses to furnish gratification and makes pleasure exclusively its bait and demands as its pay only maintenance, we might all agree, if I am not mistaken, to call the art of flattery or of making things pleasant.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. But the class which proposes to carry on its conversations for the sake of virtue and demands its pay in cash—does not this deserve to be called by another name?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And what is that name? Try to tell.

Theaet. It is obvious; for I think we have discovered the sophist. And therefore by uttering that word I think I should give him the right name.

Str. Then, as it seems, according to our present reasoning, Theaetetus, the part of appropriative, coercive, hunting art which hunts animals, land animals, tame animals, man, privately, for pay, is paid in cash, claims to give education, and is a hunt after rich and promising youths, must—so our present argument concludes—be called sophistry.

Theaet. Most assuredly.

Str. But let us look at it in still another way; for the class we are now examining partakes of no mean art, but of a very many-sided one. And we must indeed do so, for in our previous talk it presents an appearance of being, not what we now say it is, but another class.

Theaet. How so?

Str. The acquisitive art was of two sorts, the one the division of hunting, the other that of exchange.

Theaet. Yes, it was.

Str. Now shall we say that there are two sorts of exchange, the one by gift, the other by sale?

Theaet. So be it.

Str. And we shall say further that exchange by sale is divided into two parts.

Theaet. How so?

Str. We make this distinction—calling the part which sells a man’s own productions the selling of one’s own, and the other, which exchanges the works of others, exchange.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Well, then, that part of exchange which is carried on in the city, amounting to about half of it, is called retailing, is it not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And that which exchanges goods from city to city by purchase and sale is called merchandising?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And have we not observed that one part of merchandising sells and exchanges for cash whatever serves the body for its support and needs, and the other whatever serves the soul?

Theaet. What do you mean by that?

Str. Perhaps we do not know about the part that has to do with the soul; though I fancy we do understand the other division.

Theaet. Yes.

Section 224

Str. Take, therefore, the liberal arts in general that constantly go about from city to city, bought in one place and carried to another and sold—painting, and conjuring, and the many other things that affect the soul, which are imported and sold partly for its entertainment and partly for its serious needs; we cannot deny that he who carries these about and sells them constitutes a merchant properly so called, no less than he whose business is the sale of food and drink.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Then will you give the same name to him who buys up knowledge and goes about from city to city exchanging his wares for money?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. One part of this soul-merchandising might very properly be called the art of display, might it not? But since the other part, though no less ridiculous than the first, is nevertheless a traffic in knowledge, must we not call it by some name akin to its business?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Now of this merchandising in knowledge the part which has to do with the knowledge of the other arts should be called by one name, and that which has to do with virtue by another.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. The name of art-merchant would fit the one who trades in the other arts, and now do you be so good as to tell the name of him who trades in virtue.

Theaet. And what other name could one give, without making a mistake, than that which is the object of our present investigation—the sophist?

Str. No other. Come then, let us now summarize the matter by saying that sophistry has appeared a second time as that part of acquisitive art, art of exchange, of trafficking, of merchandising, of soul-merchandising which deals in words and knowledge, and trades in virtue.

Theaet. Very well.

Str. But there is a third case: If a man settled down here in town and proposed to make his living by selling these same wares of knowledge, buying some of them and making others himself, you would, I fancy, not call him by any other name than that which you used a moment ago.

Theaet. Certainly not.

Str. Then also that part of acquisitive art which proceeds by exchange, and by sale, whether as mere retail trade or the sale of one’s own productions, no matter which, so long as it is of the class of merchandising in knowledge, you will always, apparently, call sophistry.

Theaet. I must do so, for I have to follow where the argument leads.

Str. Let us examine further and see if the class we are now pursuing has still another aspect, of similar nature.

Section 225

Theaet. Of what nature?

Str. We agreed that fighting was a division of acquisitive art.

Theaet. Yes, we did.

Str. Then it is quite fitting to divide it into two parts.

Theaet. Tell what the parts are.

Str. Let us call one part of it the competitive and the other the pugnacious.

Theaet. Agreed.

Str. Then it is reasonable and fitting to give to that part of the pugnacious which consists of bodily contests some such name as violent.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And what other name than controversy shall we give to the contests of words?

Theaet. No other.

Str. But controversy must be divided into two kinds.

Theaet. How?

Str. Whenever long speeches are opposed by long speeches on questions of justice and injustice in public, that is forensic controversy.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. But that which is carried on among private persons and is cut up into little bits by means of questions and their answers, we are accustomed to call argumentation, are we not?

Theaet. We are.

Str. And that part of argumentation which deals with business contracts, in which there is controversy, to be sure, but it is carried on informally and without rules of art—all that must be considered a distinct class, now that our argument has recognized it as different from the rest, but it received no name from our predecessors, nor does it now deserve to receive one from us.

Theaet. True; for the divisions into which it falls are too small and too miscellaneous.

Str. But that which possesses rules of art and carries on controversy about abstract justice and injustice and the rest in general terms, we are accustomed to call disputation, are we not?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Well, of disputation, one sort wastes money, the other makes money.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Then let us try to tell the name by which we must call each of these.

Theaet. Yes, we must do so.

Str. Presumably the kind which causes a man to neglect his own affairs for the pleasure of engaging in it, but the style of which causes no pleasure to most of his hearers, is, in my opinion, called by no other name than garrulity.

Theaet. Yes, that is about what it is called.

Str. Then the opposite of this, the kind which makes money from private disputes—try now, for it is your turn, to give its name.

Theaet. What other answer could one give without making a mistake, than that now again for the fourth time that wonderful being whom we have so long been pursuing has turned up—the sophist!

Section 226

Str. Yes, and the sophist is nothing else, apparently, than the money-making class of the disputatious, argumentative, controversial, pugnacious, combative, acquisitive art, as our argument has now again stated.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Do you see the truth of the statement that this creature is many-sided and, as the saying is, not to be caught with one hand?

Theaet. Then we must catch him with both.

Str. Yes, we must, and must go at it with all our might, by following another track of his—in this way. Tell me; of the expressions connected with menial occupations some are in common use, are they not?

Theaet. Yes, many. But to which of the many does your question refer?

Str. To such as these: we say sift and strain and winnow and separate.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And besides these there are card and comb and beat the web and countless other technical terms which we know. Is it not so?

Theaet. Why do you use these as examples and ask about them all? What do you wish to show in regard to them?

Str. All those that I have mentioned imply a notion of division.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Then since there is, accorling to my reckoning, one art involved in all of these operations, let us give it one name.

Theaet. What shall we call it?

Str. The art of discrimination.

Theaet. Very well.

Str. Now see if we can discover two divisions of this.

Theaet. You demand quick thinking, for a boy like me.

Str. And yet, in the instance of discrimination just mentioned there was, first, the separation of worse from better, and, secondly, of like from like.

Theaet. Yes, as you now express it, that is pretty clear.

Str. Now I know no common name for the second kind of discrimination; but I do know the name of the kind which retains the better and throws away the worse.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. Every such discrimination, as I think, is universally called a sort of purification.

Theaet. Yes, so it is.

Str. And could not anyone see that purification is of two kinds?

Theaet. Yes, perhaps, in time; but still I do not see it now.

Str. Still there are many kinds of purifications of bodies, and they may all properly be included under one name.

Theaet. What are they and what is the name?

Section 227

Str. The purification of living creatures, having to do with impurities within the body, such as are successfully discriminated by gymnastics and medicine, and with those outside of the body, not nice to speak of, such as are attended to by the bath-keeper’s art; and the purification of inanimate bodies, which is the special care of the fuller’s art and in general of the art of exterior decoration; this, with its petty subdivisions, has taken on many names which seem ridiculous.

Theaet. Very.

Str. Certainly they do, Theaetetus. However, the method of argument is neither more nor less concerned with the art of medicine than with that of sponging, but is indifferent if the one benefits us little, the other greatly by its purifying. It endeavors to understand what is related and what is not related in all arts, for the purpose of acquiring intelligence; and therefore it honors them all equally and does not in making comparisons think one more ridiculous than another, and does not consider him who employs, as his example of hunting, the art of generalship, any more dignified than him who employs the art of louse-catching, but only, for the most part, as more pretentious. And now as to your question, what name we shall give to all the activities whose function it is to purify the body, whether animate or inanimate, it will not matter at all to our method what name sounds finest; it cares only to unite under one name all purifications of everything else and to keep them separate from the purification of the soul. For it has in our present discussion been trying to separate this purification definitely from the rest, if we understand its desire.

Theaet. But I do understand and I agree that there are two kinds of purification and that one kind is the purification of the soul, which is separate from that of the body.

Str. Most excellent. Now pay attention to the next point and try again to divide the term.

Theaet. In whatever way you suggest, I will try to help you in making the division.

Str. Do we say that wickedness is distinct from virtue in the soul?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And purification was retaining the one and throwing out whatever is bad anywhere?

Theaet. Yes, it was.

Str. Hence whenever we find any removal of evil from the soul, we shall be speaking properly if we call that a purification.

Theaet. Very properly.

Str. We must say that there are two kinds of evil in the soul.

Theaet. What kinds?

Section 228

Str. The one is comparable to a disease in the body, the other to a deformity.

Theaet. I do not understand.

Str. Perhaps you have not considered that disease and discord are the same thing?

Theaet. I do not know what reply I ought to make to this, either.

Str. Is that because you think discord is anything else than the disagreement of the naturally related, brought about by some corruption?

Theaet. No; I think it is nothing else.

Str. But is deformity anything else than the presence of the quality of disproportion, which is always ugly?

Theaet. Nothing else at all.

Str. Well then; do we not see that in the souls of worthless men opinions are opposed to desires, anger to pleasures, reason to pain, and all such things to one another?

Theaet. Yes, they are, decidedly.

Str. Yet they must all be naturally related.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. Then we shall be right if we say that wickedness is a discord and disease of the soul.

Theaet. Yes, quite right.

Str. But if things which partake of motion and aim at some particular mark pass beside the mark and miss it on every occasion when they try to hit it, shall we say that this happens to them through right proportion to one another or, on the contrary, through disproportion?

Theaet. Evidently through disproportion.

Str. But yet we know that every soul, if ignorant of anything, is ignorant against its will.

Theaet. Very much so.

Str. Now being ignorant is nothing else than the aberration of a soul that aims at truth, when the understanding passes beside the mark.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Then we must regard a foolish soul as deformed and ill-proportioned.

Theaet. So it seems.

Str. Then there are, it appears, these two kinds of evils in the soul, one, which people call wickedness, which is very clearly a disease.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And the other they call ignorance, but they are not willing to acknowledge that it is vice, when it arises only in the soul.

Theaet. It must certainly be admitted, though I disputed it when you said it just now, that there are two kinds of vice in the soul, and that cowardice, intemperance, and injustice must all alike be considered a disease in us, and the widespread and various condition of ignorance must be regarded as a deformity.

Str. In the case of the body there are two arts which have to do with these two evil conditions, are there not?

Theaet. What are they?

Section 229

Str. For deformity there is gymnastics, and for disease medicine.

Theaet. That is clear.

Str. Hence for insolence and injustice and cowardice is not the corrective art the one of all arts most closely related to Justice?

Theaet. Probably it is, at least according to the judgement of mankind.

Str. And for all sorts of ignorance is there any art it would be more correct to suggest than that of instruction?

Theaet. No, none.

Str. Come now, think. Shall we say that there is only one kind of instruction, or that there are more and that two are the most important?

Theaet. I am thinking.

Str. I think we can find out most quickly in this way.

Theaet. In what way?

Str. By seeing whether ignorance admits of being cut in two in the middle; for if ignorance turns out to be twofold, it is clear that instruction must also consist of two parts, one for each part of ignorance.

Theaet. Well, can you see what you are now looking for?

Str. I at any rate think I do see one large and grievous kind of ignorance, separate from the rest, and as weighty as all the other parts put together.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. Thinking that one knows a thing when one does not know it. Through this, I believe, all the mistakes of the mind are caused in all of us.

Theaet. True.

Str. And furthermore to this kind of ignorance alone the name of stupidity is given.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Now what name is to be given to that part of instruction which gets rid of this?

Theaet. I think, Stranger, that the other part is called instruction in handicraft, and that this part is here at Athens through our influence called education.

Str. And so it is, Theaetetus, among nearly all the Hellenes. But we must examine further and see whether it is one and indivisible or still admits of division important enough to have a name.

Theaet. Yes, we must see about that.

Str. I think there is still a way in which this also may be divided.

Theaet. On what principle?

Str. Of instruction in arguments one method seems to be rougher, and the other section smoother.

Theaet. What shall we call each of these?

Section 230

Str. The venerable method of our fathers, which they generally employed towards their sons, and which many still employ, of sometimes showing anger at their errors and sometimes more gently exhorting them—that would most properly be called as a whole admonition.

Theaet. That is true.

Str. On the other hand, some appear to have convinced themselves that all ignorance is involuntary, and that he who thinks himself wise would never be willing to learn any of those things in which he believes he is clever, and that the admonitory kind of education takes a deal of trouble and accomplishes little.

Theaet. They are quite right.

Str. So they set themselves to cast out the conceit of cleverness in another way.

Theaet. In what way?

Str. They question a man about the things about which he thinks he is talking sense when he is talking nonsense; then they easily discover that his opinions are like those of men who wander, and in their discussions they collect those opinions and compare them with one another, and by the comparison they show that they contradict one another about the same things, in relation to the same things and in respect to the same things. But those who see this grow angry with themselves and gentle towards others, and this is the way in which they are freed from their high and obstinate opinions about themselves. The process of freeing them, moreover, affords the greatest pleasure to the listeners and the most lasting benefit to him who is subjected to it. For just as physicians who care for the body believe that the body cannot get benefit from any food offered to it until all obstructions are removed, so, my boy, those who purge the soul believe that the soul can receive no benefit from any teachings offered to it until someone by cross-questioning reduces him who is cross-questioned to an attitude of modesty, by removing the opinions that obstruct the teachings, and thus purges him and makes him think that he knows only what he knows, and no more.

Theaet. That is surely the best and most reasonable state of mind.

Str. For all these reasons, Theaetetus, we must assert that cross-questioning is the greatest and most efficacious of all purifications, and that he who is not cross-questioned, even though he be the Great King, has not been purified of the greatest taints, and is therefore uneducated and deformed in those things in which he who is to be truly happy ought to be most pure and beautiful.

Theaet. Perfectly true.

Section 231

Str. Well then, who are those who practise this art? I am afraid to say the sophists.

Theaet. Why so?

Str. Lest we grant them too high a meed of honor.

Theaet. But the description you have just given is very like someone of that sort.

Str. Yes, and a wolf is very like a dog, the wildest like the tamest of animals. But the cautious man must be especially on his guard in the matter of resemblances, for they are very slippery things. However, let us agree that they are the sophists; for I think the strife will not be about petty discriminations when people are sufficiently on their guard.

Theaet. No, probably not.

Str. Then let it be agreed that part of the discriminating art is purification, and as part of purification let that which is concerned with the soul be separated off, and as part of this, instruction, and as part of instruction, education; and let us agree that the cross-questioning of empty conceit of wisdom, which has come to light in our present discussion, is nothing else than the true-born art of sophistry.

Theaet. Let us agree to all that; but the sophist has by this time appeared to be so many things that I am at a loss to know what in the world to say he really is, with any assurance that I am speaking the truth.

Str. No wonder you are at a loss. But it is fair to suppose that by this time he is still more at a loss to know how he can any longer elude our argument; for the proverb is right which says it is not easy to escape all the wrestler’s grips. So now we must attack him with redoubled vigor.

Theaet. You are right.

Str. First, then, let us stop to take breath and while we are resting let us count up the number of forms in which the sophist has appeared to us. First, I believe, he was found to be a paid hunter after the young and wealthy.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And secondly a kind of merchant in articles of knowledge for the soul.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And thirdly did he not turn up as a retailer of these same articles of knowledge?

Theaet. Yes, and fourthly we found he was a seller of his own productions of knowledge.

Str. Your memory is good; but I will try to recall the fifth case myself. He was an athlete in contests of words, who had taken for his own the art of disputation.

Theaet. Yes, he was.

Str. The sixth case was doubtful, but nevertheless we agreed to consider him a purger of souls, who removes opinions that obstruct learning.

Theaet. Very true.

Section 232

Str. Then do you see that when a man appears to know many things, but is called by the name of a single art, there is something wrong about this impression, and that, in fact, the person who labors under this impression in connexion with any art is clearly unable to see the common principle of the art, to which all these kinds of knowledge pertain, so that he calls him who possesses them by many names instead of one?

Theaet. Something like that is very likely to be the case.

Str. We must not let that happen to us in our search through lack of diligence. So let us first take up again one of our statements about the sophist. For there is one of them which seemed to me to designate him most plainly.

Theaet. Which was it?

Str. I think we said he was a disputer.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And did we not also say that he taught this same art of disputing to others?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Now let us examine and see what the subjects are about which such men say they make their pupils able to dispute. Let us begin our examination at the beginning with this question: Is it about divine things which are invisible to others that they make people able to dispute?

Theaet. That is their reputation, at any rate.

Str. And how about the visible things of earth and heaven and the like?

Theaet. Those are included, of course.

Str. And furthermore in private conversations, when the talk is about generation and being in general, we know (do we not?) that they are clever disputants themselves and impart equal ability to others.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And how about laws and public affairs in general? Do they not promise to make men able to argue about those?

Theaet. Yes, for nobody, to speak broadly, would attend their classes if they did not make that promise.

Str. However in all arts jointly and severally what the professional ought to answer to every opponent is written down somewhere and published that he who will may learn.

Theaet. You seem to refer to the text-books of Protagoras on wrestling and the other arts.

Str. Yes, my friend, and to those of many other authors. But is not the art of disputation, in a word, a trained ability for arguing about all things?

Theaet. Well, at any rate, it does not seem to leave much out.

Str. For heaven’s sake, my boy, do you think that is possible? For perhaps you young people may look at the matter with sharper vision than our duller sight.

Section 233

Theaet. What do you mean and just what do you refer to? I do not yet understand your question.

Str. I ask whether it is possible for a man to know all things.

Theaet. If that were possible, Stranger, ours would indeed be a blessed race.

Str. How, then, can one who is himself ignorant say anything worth while in arguing with one who knows?

Theaet. He cannot at all.

Str. Then what in the world can the magical power of the sophistical art be?

Theaet. Magical power in what respect?

Str. In the way in which they are able to make young men think that they themselves are in all matters the wisest of men. For it is clear that if they neither disputed correctly nor seemed to the young men to do so, or again if they did seem to dispute rightly but were not considered wiser on that account, nobody, to quote from you, would care to pay them money to become their pupil in these subjects.

Theaet. Certainly not.

Str. But now people do care to do so?

Theaet. Very much.

Str. Yes, for they are supposed, I fancy, to have knowledge themselves of the things about which they dispute.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And they do that about all things, do they not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Then they appear to their pupils to be wise in all things.

Theaet. To be sure.

Str. Though they are not; for that was shown to be impossible.

Theaet. Of course it is impossible.

Str. Then it is a sort of knowledge based upon mere opinion that the sophist has been shown to possess about all things, not true knowledge.

Theaet. Certainly; and I shouldn’t be surprised if that were the most accurate statement we have made about him so far.

Str. Let us then take a clearer example to explain this.

Theaet. What sort of an example?

Str. This one; and try to pay attention and to give a very careful answer to my question.

Theaet. What is the question?

Str. If anyone should say that by virtue of a single art he knew how, not to assert or dispute, but to do and make all things—

Theaet. What do you mean by all things?

Str. You fail to grasp the very beginning of what I said; for apparently you do not understand the word all.

Theaet. No, I do not.

Str. I mean you and me among the all, and the other animals besides, and the trees.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. If one should say that he would make you and me and all other created beings.

Section 234

Theaet. What would he mean by making? Evidently you will not say that he means a husbandman; for you said he was a maker of animals also.

Str. Yes, and of sea and earth and heaven and gods and everything else besides; and, moreover, he makes them all quickly and sells them for very little.

Theaet. This is some joke of yours.

Str. Yes? And when a man says that he knows all things and can teach them to another for a small price in a little time, must we not consider that a joke?

Theaet. Surely we must.

Str. And is there any more artistic or charming kind of joke than the imitative kind?

Theaet. Certainly not; for it is of very frequent occurrence and, if I may say so, most diverse. Your expression is very comprehensive.

Str. And so we recognize that he who professes to be able by virtue of a single art to make all things will be able by virtue of the painter’s art, to make imitations which have the same names as the real things, and by showing the pictures at a distance will be able to deceive the duller ones among young children into the belief that he is perfectly able to accomplish in fact whatever he wishes to do.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Well then, may we not expect to find that there is another art which has to do with words, by virtue of which it is possible to bewitch the young through their ears with words while they are still standing at a distance from the realities of truth, by exhibiting to them spoken images of all things, so as to make it seem that they are true and that the speaker is the wisest of all men in all things?

Theaet. Why should there not be such another art?

Str. Now most of the hearers, Theaetetus, when they have lived longer and grown older, will perforce come closer to realities and will be forced by sad experience openly to lay hold on realities; they will have to change the opinions which they had at first accepted, so that what was great will appear small and what was easy, difficult, and all the apparent truths in arguments will be turned topsy-turvy by the facts that have come upon them in real life. Is not this true?

Theaet. Yes, at least so far as one of my age can judge. But I imagine I am one of those who are still standing at a distance.

Section 235

Str. Therefore all of us elders here will try, and are now trying, to bring you as near as possible without the sad experience. So answer this question about the sophist: Is this now clear, that he is a kind of a juggler, an imitator of realities, or are we still uncertain whether he may not truly possess the knowledge of all the things about which he seems to be able to argue?

Theaet. How could that be, my dear sir? Surely it is pretty clear by this time from what has been said that he is one of those whose business is entertainment.

Str. That is to say, he must be classed as a juggler and imitator.

Theaet. Of course he must.

Str. Look sharp, then; it is now our business not to let the beast get away again, for we have almost got him into a kind of encircling net of the devices we employ in arguments about such subjects, so that he will not now escape the next thing.

Theaet. What next thing?

Str. The conclusion that he belongs to the class of conjurers.

Theaet. I agree to that opinion of him, too.

Str. It is decided, then, that we will as quickly as possible divide the image-making art and go down into it, and if the sophist stands his ground against us at first, we will seize him by the orders of reason, our king, then deliver him up to the king and display his capture. But if he tries to take cover in any of the various sections of the imitative art, we must follow him, always dividing the section into which he has retreated, until he is caught. For assuredly neither he nor any other creature will ever boast of having escaped from pursuers who are able to follow up the pursuit in detail and everywhere in this methodical way.

Theaet. You are right. That is what we must do.

Str. To return, then, to our previous method of division, I think I see this time also two classes of imitation, but I do not yet seem to be able to make out in which of them the form we are seeking is to be found.

Theaet. Please first make the division and tell us what two classes you mean.

Str. I see the likeness-making art as one part of imitation. This is met with, as a rule, whenever anyone produces the imitation by following the proportions of the original in length, breadth, and depth, and giving, besides, the appropriate colors to each part.

Theaet. Yes, but do not all imitators try to do this?

Section 236

Str. Not those who produce some large work of sculpture or painting. For if they reproduced the true proportions of beautiful forms, the upper parts, you know, would seem smaller and the lower parts larger than they ought, because we see the former from a distance, the latter from near at hand.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. So the artists abandon the truth and give their figures not the actual proportions but those which seem to be beautiful, do they not?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. That, then, which is other, but like, we may fairly call a likeness, may we not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And the part of imitation which is concerned with such things, is to be called, as we called it before, likeness-making?

Theaet. It is to be so called.

Str. Now then, what shall we call that which appears, because it is seen from an unfavorable position, to be like the beautiful, but which would not even be likely to resemble that which it claims to be like, if a person were able to see such large works adequately? Shall we not call it, since it appears, but is not like, an appearance?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And this is very common in painting and in all imitation?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And to the art which produces appearance, but not likeness, the most correct name we could give would be fantastic art, would it not?

Theaet. By all means.

Str. These, then, are the two forms of the image-making art that I meant, the likeness-making and the fantastic.

Theaet. You are right.

Str. But I was uncertain before in which of the two the sophist should be placed, and even now I cannot see clearly. The fellow is really wonderful and very difficult to keep in sight, for once more, in the very cleverest manner he has withdrawn into a baffling classification where it is hard to track him.

Theaet. So it seems.

Str. Do you assent because you recognize the fact, or did the force of habit hurry you along to a speedy assent?

Theaet. What do you mean, and why did you say that?

Str. We are really, my dear friend, engaged in a very difficult investigation; for the matter of appearing and seeming, but not being, and of saying things, but not true ones—all this is now and always has been very perplexing. You see, Theaetetus, it is extremely difficult to understand how a man is to say or think that falsehood really exists and in saying this not be involved in contradiction.

Section 237

Theaet. Why?

Str. This statement involves the bold assumption that not-being exists, for otherwise falsehood could not come into existence. But the great Parmenides, my boy, from the time when we were children to the end of his life, always protested against this and constantly repeated both in prose and in verse:Never let this thought prevail, saith he, that not-being is;But keep your mind from this way of investigation. So that is his testimony, and a reasonable examination of the statement itself would make it most absolutely clear. Let us then consider this matter first, if it’s all the same to you.

Theaet. Assume my consent to anything you wish. Consider only the argument, how it may best be pursued; follow your own course, and take me along with you.

Str. Very well, then. Now tell me; do we venture to use the phrase absolute not-being?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. If, then, not merely for the sake of discussion or as a joke, but seriously, one of his pupils were asked to consider and answer the question To what is the designation not-being to be applied? how do we think he would reply to his questioner, and how would he apply the term, for what purpose, and to what object?

Theaet. That is a difficult question; I may say that for a fellow like me it is unanswerable.

Str. But this is clear, anyhow, that the term not-being cannot be applied to any being.

Theaet. Of course not.

Str. And if not to being, then it could not properly be applied to something, either.

Theaet. How could it?

Str. And this is plain to us, that we always use the word something of some being, for to speak of something in the abstract, naked, as it were, and disconnected from all beings is impossible, is it not?

Theaet. Yes, it is.

Str. You assent because you recognize that he who says something must say some one thing?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And you will agree that something or some in the singular is the sign of one, in the dual of two, and in the plural of many.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And he who says not something, must quite necessarily say absolutely nothing.

Theaet. Quite necessarily.

Str. Then we cannot even concede that such a person speaks, but says nothing? We must even declare that he who undertakes to say not-being does not speak at all?

Theaet. The argument could go no further in perplexity.

Section 238

Str. Boast not too soon! For there still remains, my friend, the first and greatest of perplexities. It affects the very beginning of the matter.

Theaet. What do you mean? Do not hesitate to speak.

Str. To that which is may be added or attributed some other thing which is?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. But shall we assert that to that which is not anything which is can be attributed?

Theaet. Certainly not.

Str. Now we assume that all number is among the things which are.

Theaet. Yes, if anything can be assumed to be.

Str. Then let us not even undertake to attribute either the singular or the plural of number to not-being.

Theaet. We should, apparently, not be right in undertaking that, as our argument shows.

Str. How then could a man either utter in speech or even so much as conceive in his mind things which are not, or not-being, apart from number?

Theaet. Tell me how number is involved in such conceptions.

Str. When we say things which are not, do we not attribute plurality to them?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And in saying a thing which is not, do we not equally attribute the singular number?

Theaet. Obviously.

Str. And yet we assert that it is neither right nor fair to undertake to attribute being to not-being.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Do you see, then, that it is impossible rightly to utter or to say or to think of not-being without any attribute, but it is a thing inconceivable, inexpressible, unspeakable, irrational?

Theaet. Absolutely.

Str. Then was I mistaken just now in saying that the difficulty I was going to speak of was the greatest in our subject.

Theaet. But is there a still greater one that we can mention?

Str. Why, my dear fellow, don’t you see, by the very arguments we have used, that not-being reduces him who would refute it to such difficulties that when he attempts to refute it he is forced to contradict himself?

Theaet. What do you mean? Speak still more clearly.

Str. You must not look for more clearness in me; for although I maintained that not-being could have nothing to do with either the singular or the plural number, I spoke of it just now, and am still speaking of it, as one; for I say that which is not. You understand surely?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And again a little while ago I said it was inexpressible, unspeakable, irrational. Do you follow me?

Theaet. Yes, of course.

Section 239

Str. Then when I undertook to attach the verb to be to not-being I was contradicting what I said before.

Theaet. Evidently.

Str. Well, then; when I attached this verb to it, did I not address it in the singular?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And when I called it irrational, inexpressible, and unspeakable, I addressed my speech to it as singular.

Theaet. Of course you did.

Str. But we say that, if one is to speak correctly, one must not define it as either singular or plural, and must not even call it it at all; for even by this manner of referring to it one would be giving it the form of the singular.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. But poor me, what can anyone say of me any longer? For you would find me now, as always before, defeated in the refutation of not-being. So, as I said before, we must not look to me for correctness of speech about not-being. But come now, let us look to you for it.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. Come, I beg of you, make a sturdy effort, young man as you are, and try with might and main to say something correctly about not-being, without attributing to it either existence or unity or plurality.

Theaet. But I should be possessed of great and absurd eagerness for the attempt, if I were to undertake it with your experience before my eyes.

Str. Well, if you like, let us say no more of you and me; but until we find someone who can accomplish this, let us confess that the sophist has in most rascally fashion hidden himself in a place we cannot explore.

Theaet. That seems to be decidedly the case.

Str. And so, if we say he has an art, as it were, of making appearances, he will easily take advantage of our poverty of terms to make a counter attack, twisting our words to the opposite meaning; when we call him an image-maker, he will ask us what we mean by image, exactly. So, Theaetetus, we must see what reply is to be made to the young man’s question.

Theaet. Obviously we shall reply that we mean the images in water and in mirrors, and those in paintings, too, and sculptures, and all the other things of the same sort.

Str. It is evident, Theaetetus, that you never saw a sophist.

Theaet. Why?

Str. He will make you think his eyes are shut or he has none at all.

Theaet. How so?

Section 240

Str. When you give this answer, if you speak of something in mirrors or works of art, he will laugh at your words, when you talk to him as if he could see. He will feign ignorance of mirrors and water and of sight altogether, and will question you only about that which is deduced from your words.

Theaet. What is that?

Str. That which exists throughout all these things which you say are many but which you saw fit to call by one name, when you said image of them all, as if they were all one thing. So speak and defend yourself. Do not give way to the man at all.

Theaet. Why, Stranger, what can we say an image is, except another such thing fashioned in the likeness of the true one?

Str. Do you mean another such true one, or in what sense did you say such?

Theaet. Not a true one by any means, but only one like the true.

Str. And by the true you mean that which really is?

Theaet. Exactly.

Str. And the not true is the opposite of the true?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. That which is like, then, you say does not really exist, if you say it is not true.

Theaet. But it does exist, in a way.

Str. But not truly, you mean.

Theaet. No, except that it is really a likeness.

Str. Then what we call a likeness, though not really existing, really does exist?

Theaet. Not-being does seem to have got into some such entanglement with being, and it is very absurd.

Str. Of course it is absurd. You see, at any rate, how by this interchange of words the many-headed sophist has once more forced us against our will to admit that not-being exists in a way.

Theaet. Yes, I see that very well.

Str. Well then, how can we define his art without contradicting ourselves?

Theaet. Why do you say that? What are you afraid of?

Str. When, in talking about appearance, we say that he deceives and that his art is an art of deception, shall we say that our mind is misled by his art to hold a false opinion, or what shall we say?

Theaet. We shall say that. What else could we say?

Str. But, again, false opinion will be that which thinks the opposite of reality, will it not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. You mean, then, that false opinion thinks things which are not?

Theaet. Necessarily.

Str. Does it think that things which are not, are not, or that things which are not at all, in some sense are?

Theaet. It must think that things which are not in some sense are—that is, if anyone is ever to think falsely at all, even in a slight degree.

Str. And does it not also think that things which certainly are, are not at all?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And this too is falsehood?

Theaet. Yes, it is.

Section 241

Str. And therefore a statement will likewise be considered false, if it declares that things which are, are not, or that things which are not, are.

Theaet. In what other way could a statement be made false?

Str. Virtually in no other way; but the sophist will not assent to this. Or how can any reasonable man assent to it, when the expressions we just agreed upon were previously agreed to be inexpressible, unspeakable, irrational, and inconceivable? Do we understand his meaning, Theaetetus?

Theaet. Of course we understand that he will say we are contradicting our recent statements, since we dare to say that falsehood exists in opinions and words; for he will say that we are thus forced repeatedly to attribute being to not-being, although we agreed a while ago that nothing could be more impossible than that.

Str. You are quite right to remind me. But I think it is high time to consider what ought to be done about the sophist; for you see how easily and repeatedly he can raise objections and difficulties, if we conduct our search by putting him in the guild of false-workers and jugglers.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Yes, we have gone through only a small part of them, and they are, if I may say so, infinite.

Theaet. It would, apparently, be impossible to catch the sophist, if that is the case.

Str. Well, then, shall we weaken and give up the struggle now?

Theaet. No, I say; we must not do that, if we can in any way get the slightest hold of the fellow.

Str. Will you then pardon me, and, as your words imply, be content if I somehow withdraw just for a short distance from this strong argument of his?

Theaet. Of course I will.

Str. I have another still more urgent request to make of you.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. Do not assume that I am becoming a sort of parricide.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. In defending myself I shall have to test the theory of my father Parmenides, and contend forcibly that after a fashion not-being is and on the other hand in a sense being is not.

Theaet. It is plain that some such contention is necessary.

Str. Yes, plain even to a blind man, as they say; for unless these statements are either disproved or accepted, no one who speaks about false words, or false opinion—whether images or likenesses or imitations or appearances—about the arts which have to do with them, can ever help being forced to contradict himself and make himself ridiculous.

Theaet. Very true.

Section 242

Str. And so we must take courage and attack our father’s theory here and now, or else, if any scruples prevent us from doing this, we must give the whole thing up.

Theaet. But nothing in the world must prevent us.

Str. Then I have a third little request to make of you.

Theaet. You have only to utter it.

Str. I said a while ago that I always have been too faint-hearted for the refutation of this theory, and so I am now.

Theaet. Yes, so you did.

Str. I am afraid that on account of what I have said you will think I am mad because I have at once reversed my position. You see it is for your sake that I am going to undertake the refutation, if I succeed in it.

Theaet. I certainly shall not think you are doing anything improper if you proceed to your refutation and proof; so go ahead boldly, so far as that is concerned.

Str. Well, what would be a good beginning of a perilous argument? Ah, my boy, I believe the way we certainly must take is this.

Theaet. What way?

Str. We must first examine the points which now seem clear, lest we may have fallen into some confusion about them and may therefore carelessly agree with one another, thinking that we are judging correctly.

Theaet. Express your meaning more clearly.

Str. It seems to me that Parmenides and all who ever undertook a critical definition of the number and nature of realities have talked to us rather carelessly.

Theaet. How so?

Str. Every one of them seems to tell us a story, as if we were children. One says there are three principles, that some of them are sometimes waging a sort of war with each other, and sometimes become friends and marry and have children and bring them up; and another says there are two, wet and dry or hot and cold, which he settles together and unites in marriage. And the Eleatic sect in our region, beginning with Xenophanes and even earlier, have their story that all things, as they are called, are really one. Then some Ionian and later some Sicilian Muses reflected that it was safest to combine the two tales and to say that being is many and one, and is (or are) held together by enmity and friendship.

Section 243

Str. For the more strenuous Muses say it is always simultaneously coming together and separating; but the gentler ones relaxed the strictness of the doctrine of perpetual strife; they say that the all is sometimes one and friendly, under the influence of Aphrodite, and sometimes many and at variance with itself by reason of some sort of strife. Now whether any of them spoke the truth in all this, or not, it is harsh and improper to impute to famous men of old such a great wrong as falsehood. But one assertion can be made without offence.

Theaet. What is that?

Str. That they paid too little attention and consideration to the mass of people like ourselves. For they go on to the end, each in his own way, without caring whether their arguments carry us along with them, or whether we are left behind.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. When one of them says in his talk that many, or one, or two are, or have become, or are becoming, and again speaks of hot mingling with cold, and in some other part of his discourse suggests separations and combinations, for heaven’s sake, Theaetetus, do you ever understand what they mean by any of these things? I used to think, when I was younger, that I understood perfectly whenever anyone used this term not-being, which now perplexes us. But you see what a slough of perplexity we are in about it now.

Theaet. Yes, I see.

Str. And perhaps our minds are in this same condition as regards being also; we may think that it is plain sailing and that we understand when the word is used, though we are in difficulties about not-being, whereas really we understand equally little of both.

Theaet. Perhaps.

Str. And we may say the same of all the subjects about which we have been speaking.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. We will consider most of them later, if you please, but now the greatest and foremost chief of them must be considered.

Theaet. What do you mean? Or, obviously, do you mean that we must first investigate the term being, and see what those who use it think it signifies?

Str. You have caught my meaning at once, Theaetetus. For I certainly do mean that this is the best method for us to use, by questioning them directly, as if they were present in person; so here goes: Come now, all you who say that hot and cold or any two such principles are the universe, what is this that you attribute to both of them when you say that both and each are? What are we to understand by this being (or are) of yours? Is this a third principle besides those two others, and shall we suppose that the universe is three, and not two any longer, according to your doctrine? For surely when you call one only of the two being you do not mean that both of them equally are; for in both cases they would pretty certainly be one and not two.

Theaet. True.

Str. Well, then, do you wish to call both of them together being?

Theaet. Perhaps.

Section 244

Str. But, friends, we will say, even in that way you would very clearly be saying that the two are one.

Theaet. You are perfectly right.

Str. Then since we are in perplexity, do you tell us plainly what you wish to designate when you say being. For it is clear that you have known this all along, whereas we formerly thought we knew, but are now perplexed. So first give us this information, that we may not think we understand what you say, when the exact opposite is the case.— If we speak in this way and make this request of them and of all who say that the universe is more than one, shall we, my boy, be doing anything improper?

Theaet. Not in the least.

Str. Well then, must we not, so far as we can, try to learn from those who say that the universe is one what they mean when they say being?

Theaet. Of course we must.

Str. Then let them answer this question: Do you say that one only is? We do, they will say; will they not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Well then, do you give the name of being to anything?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Is it what you call one, using two names for the same thing, or how is this?

Theaet. What is their next answer, Stranger?

Str. It is plain, Theaetetus, that he who maintains their theory will not find it the easiest thing in the world to reply to our present question or to any other.

Theaet. Why not?

Str. It is rather ridiculous to assert that two names exist when you assert that nothing exists but unity.

Theaet. Of course it is.

Str. And in general there would be no sense in accepting the statement that a name has any existence.

Theaet. Why?

Str. Because he who asserts that the name is other than the thing, says that there are two entities.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And further, if he asserts that the name is the same as the thing, he will be obliged to say that it is the name of nothing, or if he says it is the name of something, the name will turn out to be the name of a name merely and of nothing else.

Theaet. True.

Str. And the one will turn out to be the name of one and also the one of the name.

Theaet. Necessarily.

Str. And will they say that the whole is other than the one which exists or the same with it?

Theaet. Of course they will and do say it is the same.

Str. If then the whole is, as Parmenides says,On all sides like the mass of a well-rounded sphere, equally weighted in every direction from the middle; for neither greater nor less must needs be on this or that,then being, being such as he describes it, has a center and extremes, and, having these, must certainly have parts, must it not?

Theaet. Certainly.

Section 245

Str. But yet nothing hinders that which has parts from possessing the attribute of unity in all its parts and being in this way one, since it is all and whole.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. But is it not impossible for that which is in this condition to be itself absolute unity?

Theaet. Why?

Str. Why surely that which is really one must, according to right reason, be affirmed to be absolutely without parts.

Theaet. Yes, it must.

Str. But such a unity consisting of many parts will not harmonize with reason.

Theaet. I understand.

Str. Then shall we agree that being is one and a whole because it has the attribute of unity, or shall we deny that being is a whole at all?

Theaet. It is a hard choice that you offer me.

Str. That is very true; for being, having in a way had unity imposed upon it, will evidently not be the same as unity, and the all will be more than one.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And further, if being is not a whole through having had the attribute of unity imposed upon it, and the absolute whole exists, then it turns out that being lacks something of being.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And so, by this reasoning, since being is deprived of being, it will be not-being.

Theaet. So it will.

Str. And again the all becomes more than the one, since being and the whole have acquired each its own nature.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. But if the whole does not exist at all, being is involved in the same difficulties as before, and besides not existing it could not even have ever come into existence

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. That which comes into existence always comes into existence as a whole. Therefore no one who does not reckon the whole among things that are can speak of existence or generation as being.

Theaet. That certainly seems to be true.

Str. And moreover, that which is not a whole cannot have any quantity at all; for if it has any quantity, whatever that quantity may be, it must necessarily be of that quantity as a whole.

Theaet. Precisely.

Str. And so countless other problems, each one involving infinite difficulties, will confront him who says that being is, whether it be two or only one.

Theaet. The problems now in sight make that pretty clear; for each leads up to another which brings greater and more grievous wandering in connection with whatever has previously been said.

Section 246

Str. Now we have not discussed all those who treat accurately of being and not-being ; however, let this suffice. But we must turn our eyes to those whose doctrines are less precise, that we may know from all sources that it is no easier to define the nature of being than that of not-being.

Theaet. Very well, then, we must proceed towards those others also.

Str. And indeed there seems to be a battle like that of the gods and the giants going on among them, because of their disagreement about existence.

Theaet. How so?

Str. Some of them drag down everything from heaven and the invisible to earth, actually grasping rocks and trees with their hands; for they lay their hands on all such things and maintain stoutly that that alone exists which can be touched and handled; for they define existence and body, or matter, as identical, and if anyone says that anything else, which has no body, exists, they despise him utterly, and will not listen to any other theory than their own.

Theaet. Terrible men they are of whom you speak. I myself have met with many of them.

Str. Therefore those who contend against them defend themselves very cautiously with weapons derived from the invisible world above, maintaining forcibly that real existence consists of certain ideas which are only conceived by the mind and have no body. But the bodies of their opponents, and that which is called by them truth, they break up into small fragments in their arguments, calling them, not existence, but a kind of generation combined with motion. There is always, Theaetetus, a tremendous battle being fought about these questions between the two parties.

Theaet. True.

Str. Let us, therefore, get from each party in turn a statement in defence of that which they regard as being.

Theaet. How shall we get it?

Str. It is comparatively easy to get it from those who say that it consists in ideas, for they are peaceful folk; but from those who violently drag down everything into matter, it is more difficult, perhaps even almost impossible, to get it. However, this is the way I think we must deal with them.

Theaet. What way?

Str. Our first duty would be to make them really better, if it were in any way possible; but if this cannot be done, let us pretend that they are better, by assuming that they would be willing to answer more in accordance with the rules of dialectic than they actually are. For the acknowledgement of anything by better men is more valid than if made by worse men. But it is not these men that we care about; we merely seek the truth.

Theaet. Quite right.

Str. Now tell them, assuming that they have become better, to answer you, and do you interpret what they say.

Theaet. I will do so.

Str. Let them tell whether they say there is such a thing as a mortal animal.

Theaet. Of course they do.

Str. And they agree that this is a body with a soul in it, do they not?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Giving to soul a place among things which exist?

Section 247

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Well then, do they not say that one soul is just and another unjust, one wise and another foolish?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And do they not say that each soul becomes just by the possession and presence of justice, and the opposite by the possession and presence of the opposite?

Theaet. Yes, they agree to this also.

Str. But surely they will say that that which is capable of becoming present or absent exists.

Theaet. Yes, they say that.

Str. Granting, then, that justice and wisdom and virtue in general and their opposites exist, and also, of course, the soul in which they become present, do they say that any of these is visible and tangible, or that they are all invisible?

Theaet. That none of them is visible, or pretty nearly that.

Str. Now here are some other questions. Do they say they possess any body?

Theaet. They no longer answer the whole of that question in the same way. They say they believe the soul itself has a sort of body, but as to wisdom and the other several qualities about which you ask, they have not the face either to confess that they have no existence or to assert that they are all bodies.

Str. It is clear, Theaetetus, that our men have grown better; for the aboriginal sons of the dragon’s teeth among them would not shrink from any such utterance; they would maintain that nothing which they cannot squeeze with their hands has any existence at all.

Theaet. That is pretty nearly what they believe.

Str. Then let us question them further; for if they are willing to admit that any existence, no matter how small, is incorporeal, that is enough. They will then have to tell what is which is inherent in the incorporeal and the corporeal alike, and which they have in mind when they say that both exit. Perhaps they would be at a loss for an answer; and if they are in that condition, consider whether they might not accept a suggestion if we offered it, and might not agree that the nature of being is as follows.

Theaet. What is it? Speak, and we shall soon know.

Str. I suggest that everything which possesses any power of any kind, either to produce a change in anything of any nature or to be affected even in the least degree by the slightest cause, though it be only on one occasion, has real existence. For I set up as a definition which defines being, that it is nothing else but power.

Theaet. Well, since they have at the moment nothing better of their own to offer, they accept this.

Section 248

Str. Good; for perhaps later something else may occur to them and to us. As between them and us, then, let us asume that this is for the present agreed upon and settled.

Theaet. It is settled.

Str. Then let us go to the others, the friends of ideas; and do you interpret for us their doctrines also.

Theaet. I will.

Str. You distinguish in your speech between generation and being, do you not?

Theaet. Yes, we do.

Str. And you say that with the body, by means of perception, we participate in generation, and with the soul, by means of thought, we participate in real being, which last is always unchanged and the same, whereas generation is different at different times.

Theaet. Yes, that is what we say.

Str. But, most excellent men, how shall we define this participation which you attribute to both? Is it not that of which we were just speaking?

Theaet. What is that?

Str. A passive or active condition arising out of some power which is derived from a combination of elements. Possibly, Theaetetus, you do not hear their reply to this, but I hear it, perhaps, because I am used to them.

Theaet. What is it, then, that they say?

Str. They do not concede to us what we said just now to the aboriginal giants about being.

Theaet. What was it?

Str. We set up as a satisfactory sort of definition of being, the presence of the power to act or be acted upon in even the slightest degree.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. It is in reply to this that they say generation participates in the power of acting and of being acted upon, but that neither power is connected with being.

Theaet. And is there not something in that?

Str. Yes, something to which we must reply that we still need to learn more clearly from them whether they agree that the soul knows and that being is known.

Theaet. They certainly assent to that.

Str. Well then, do you say that knowing or being known is an active or passive condition, or both? Or that one is passive and the other active? Or that neither has any share at all in either of the two?

Theaet. Clearly they would say that neither has any share in either; for otherwise they would be contradicting themselves.

Str. I understand; this at least is true, that if to know is active, to be known must in turn be passive. Now being, since it is, according to this theory, known by the intelligence, in so far as it is known, is moved, since it is acted upon, which we say cannot be the case with that which is in a state of rest.

Theaet. Right.

Section 249

Str. But for heaven’s sake, shall we let ourselves easily be persuaded that motion and life and soul and mind are really not present to absolute being, that it neither lives nor thinks, but awful and holy, devoid of mind, is fixed and immovable?

Theaet. That would be a shocking admission to make, Stranger.

Str. But shall we say that it has mind, but not life?

Theaet. How can we?

Str. But do we say that both of these exist in it, and yet go on to say that it does not possess them in a soul?

Theaet. But how else can it possess them?

Str. Then shall we say that it has mind and life and soul, but, although endowed with soul, is absolutely immovable?

Theaet. All those things seem to me absurd.

Str. And it must be conceded that motion and that which is moved exist.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. Then the result is, Theaetetus, that if there is no motion, there is no mind in anyone about anything anywhere.

Theaet. Exactly.

Str. And on the other hand, if we admit that all things are in flux and motion, we shall remove mind itself from the number of existing things by this theory also.

Theaet. How so?

Str. Do you think that sameness of quality or nature or relations could ever come into existence without the state of rest?

Theaet. Not at all.

Str. What then? Without these can you see how mind could exist or come into existence anywhere?

Theaet. By no means.

Str. And yet we certainly must contend by every argument against him who does away with knowledge or reason or mind and then makes any dogmatic assertion about anything.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Then the philosopher, who pays the highest honor to these things, must necessarily, as it seems, because of them refuse to accept the theory of those who say the universe is at rest, whether as a unity or in many forms, and must also refuse utterly to listen to those who say that being is universal motion; he must quote the children’s prayer, all things immovable and in motion, and must say that being and the universe consist of both.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Do we not, then, seem to have attained at last a pretty good definition of being?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. But dear me, Theaetetus! I think we are now going to discover the difficulty of the inquiry about being.

Theaet. What is this again? What do you mean?

Str. My dear fellow, don’t you see that we are now densely ignorant about it, but think that we are saying something worth while?

Theaet. I think so, at any rate, and I do not at all understand what hidden error we have fallen into.

Section 250

Str. Then watch more closely and see whether, if we make these admissions, we may not justly be asked the same questions we asked a while ago of those who said the universe was hot and cold.

Theaet. What questions? Remind me.

Str. Certainly; and I will try to do this by questioning you, as we questioned them at the time. I hope we shall at the same time make a little progress.

Theaet. That is right.

Str. Very well, then; you say that motion and rest are most directly opposed to each other, do you not?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And yet you say that both and each of them equally exist?

Theaet. Yes, I do.

Str. And in granting that they exist, do you mean to say that both and each are in motion?

Theaet. By no means.

Str. But do you mean that they are at rest, when you say that both exist?

Theaet. Of course not.

Str. Being, then, you consider to be something else in the soul, a third in addition to these two, inasmuch as you think rest and motion are embraced by it; and since you comprehend and observe that they participate in existence, you therefore said that they are. Eh?

Theaet. We really do seem to have a vague vision of being as some third thing, when we say that motion and rest are.

Str. Then being is not motion and rest in combination, but something else, different from them.

Theaet. Apparently.

Str. According to its own nature, then, being is neither at rest nor in motion.

Theaet. You are about right.

Str. What is there left, then, to which a man can still turn his mind who wishes to establish within himself any clear conception of being?

Theaet. What indeed?

Str. There is nothing left, I think, to which he can turn easily. For if a thing is not in motion, it must surely be at rest; and again, what is not at rest, must surely be in motion. But now we find that being has emerged outside of both these classes. Is that possible, then?

Theaet. No, nothing could be more impossible.

Str. Then there is this further thing which we ought to remember.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. That when we were asked to what the appellation of not-being should be applied, we were in the greatest perplexity. Do you remember?

Theaet. Of course I do.

Str. Well, then, are we now in any less perplexity about being?

Theaet. It seems to me, stranger, that we are, if possible, in even greater.

Section 251

Str. This point, then, let us put down definitely as one of complete perplexity. But since being and not-being participate equally in the perplexity, there is now at last some hope that as either of them emerges more dimly or more clearly, so also will the other emerge. If, however, we are able to see neither of them, we will at any rate push our discussion through between both of them at once as creditably as we can.

Theaet. Good.

Str. Let us, then, explain how we come to be constantly calling this same thing by many names.

Theaet. What, for instance? Please give an example.

Str. We speak of man, you know, and give him many additional designations; we attribute to him colors and forms and sizes and vices and virtues, and in all these cases and countless others we say not only that he is man, but we say he is good and numberless other things. So in the same way every single thing which we supposed to be one, we treat as many and call by many names.

Theaet. True.

Str. And it is in this way, I fancy, that we have provided a fine feast for youngsters and for old men whose learning has come to them late in life; for example, it is easy enough for anyone to grasp the notion that the many cannot possibly be one, nor the one many, and so, apparently, they take pleasure in saying that we must not call a man good, but must call the good good, and a man man. I fancy, Theaetetus, you often run across people who take such matters seriously; sometimes they are elderly men whose poverty of intellect makes them admire such quibbles, and who think this is a perfect mine of wisdom they have discovered.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Then, to include in our discussion all those who have ever engaged in any talk whatsoever about being, let us address our present arguments to these men as well as to all those with whom we were conversing before, and let us employ the form of questions.

Theaet. What are the arguments?

Str. Shall we attribute neither being to rest and motion, nor any attribute to anything, but shall we in our discussions assume that they do not mingle and cannot participate in one another? Or shall we gather all things together, believing that they are capable of combining with one another? Or are some capable of it and others not? Which of these alternatives, Theaetetus, should we say is their choice?

Theaet. I cannot answer these questions for them.

Str. Then why did you not answer each separately and see what the result was in each case?

Theaet. A good suggestion.

Str. And let us, if you please, assume that they say first that nothing has any power to combine with anything else. Then motion and rest will have no share in being, will they?

Section 252

Theaet. No.

Str. Well, then, will either of them be, if it has no share in being?

Theaet. It will not.

Str. See how by this admission everything is overturned at once, as it seems—the doctrine of those who advocate universal motion, that of the partisans of unity and rest, and that of the men who teach that all existing things are distributed into invariable and everlasting kinds. For all of these make use of being as an attribute. One party says that the universe is in motion, another that it is at rest.

Theaet. Exactly.

Str. And further, all who teach that things combine at one time and separate at another, whether infinite elements combine in unity and are derived from unity or finite elements separate and then unite, regardless of whether they say that these changes take place successively or without interruption, would be talking nonsense in all these doctrines, if there is no intermingling.

Theaet. Quite right.

Str. Then, too, the very men who forbid us to call anything by another name because it participates in the effect produced by another, would be made most especially ridiculous by this doctrine.

Theaet. How so?

Str. Because they are obliged in speaking of anything to use the expressions to be, apart, from the rest, by itself, and countless others; they are powerless to keep away from them or avoid working them into their discourse; and therefore there is no need of others to refute them, but, as the saying goes, their enemy and future opponent is of their own household whom they always carry about with them as they go, giving forth speech from within them, like the wonderful Eurycles.

Theaet. That is a remarkably accurate illustration

Str. But what if we ascribe to all things the power of participation in one another?

Theaet. Even I can dispose of that assumption.

Str. How?

Theaet. Because motion itself would be wholly at rest, and rest in turn would itself be in motion, if these two could be joined with one another.

Str. But surely this at least is most absolutely impossible, that motion be at rest and rest be in motion?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. Then only the third possibility is left.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And certainly one of these three must be true; either all things will mingle with one another, or none will do so, or some will and others will not.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And certainly the first two were found to be impossible.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Then everybody who wishes to answer correctly will adopt the remaining one of the three possibilities.

Theaet. Precisely.

Section 253

Str. Now since some things will commingle and others will not, they are in much the same condition as the letters of the alphabet; for some of these do not fit each other, and others do.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And the vowels, to a greater degree than the others, run through them all as a bond, so that without one of the vowels the other letters cannot be joined one to another.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Now does everybody know which letters can join with which others? Or does he who is to join them properly have need of art?

Theaet. He has need of art.

Str. What art?

Theaet. The art of grammar.

Str. And is not the same true in connection with high and low sounds? Is not he who has the art to know the sounds which mingle and those which do not, musical, and he who does not know unmusical?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And we shall find similar conditions, then, in all the other arts and processes which are devoid of art?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. Now since we have agreed that the classes or genera also commingle with one another, or do not commingle, in the same way, must not he possess some science and proceed by the processes of reason who is to show correctly which of the classes harmonize with which, and which reject one another, and also if he is to show whether there are some elements extending through all and holding them together so that they can mingle, and again, when they separate, whether there are other universal causes of separation?

Theaet. Certainly he needs science, and perhaps even the greatest of sciences.

Str. Then, Theaetetus, what name shall we give to this science? Or, by Zeus, have we unwittingly stumbled upon the science that belongs to free men and perhaps found the philosopher while we were looking for the sophist?

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. Shall we not say that the division of things by classes and the avoidance of the belief that the same class is another, or another the same, belongs to the science of dialectic?

Theaet. Yes, we shall.

Str. Then he who is able to do this has a clear perception of one form or idea extending entirely through many individuals each of which lies apart, and of many forms differing from one another but included in one greater form, and again of one form evolved by the union of many wholes, and of many forms entirely apart and separate. This is the knowledge and ability to distinguish by classes how individual things can or cannot be associated with one another.

Theaet. Certainly it is.

Str. But you surely, I suppose, will not grant the art of dialectic to any but the man who pursues philosophy in purity and righteousness.

Theaet. How could it be granted to anyone else?

Section 254

Str. Then it is in some region like this that we shall always, both now and hereafter, discover the philosopher, if we look for him; he also is hard to see clearly, but the difficulty is not the same in his case and that of the sophist.

Theaet. How do they differ?

Str. The sophist runs away into the darkness of not-being, feeling his way in it by practice, and is hard to discern on account of the darkness of the place. Don’t you think so?

Theaet. It seems likely.

Str. But the philosopher, always devoting himself through reason to the idea of being, is also very difficult to see on account of the brilliant light of the place; for the eyes of the soul of the multitude are not strong enough to endure the sight of the divine.

Theaet. This also seems no less true than what you said about the sophist.

Str. Now we will make more accurate investigations about the philosopher hereafter, if we still care to do so; but as to the sophist, it is clear that we must not relax our efforts until we have a satisfactory view of him.

Theaet. You are right.

Str. Since, therefore, we are agreed that some of the classes will mingle with one another, and others will not, and some will mingle with few and others with many, and that there is nothing to hinder some from mingling universally with all, let us next proceed with our discussion by investigating, not all the forms or ideas, lest we become confused among so many, but some only, selecting them from those that are considered the most important; let us first consider their several natures, then what their power of mingling with one another is, and so, if we cannot grasp being and not-being with perfect clearness, we shall at any rate not fail to reason fully about them, so far as the method of our present inquiry permits. Let us in this way see whether it is, after all, permitted us to say that not-being really is, although not being, and yet come off unscathed.

Theaet. Yes; that is the proper thing for us to do.

Str. The most important, surely, of the classes or genera are those which we just mentioned; being itself and rest and motion.

Theaet. Yes, by far.

Str. And further, two of them, we say, cannot mingle with each other.

Theaet. Decidedly not.

Str. But being can mingle with both of them, for they both are.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. Then these prove to be three.

Theaet. To be sure.

Str. Each of them is, then, other than the remaining two, but the same as itself.

Theaet. Yes.

Section 255

Str. But what do we mean by these words, the same and other, which we have just used? Are they two new classes, different from the other three, but always of necessity mingled with them, and must we conduct our inquiry on the assumption that there are five classes, not three, or are we unconsciously speaking of one of those three when we say the same or other?

Theaet. Perhaps.

Str. But certainly motion and rest are neither other nor the same.

Theaet. How so?

Str. Whatever term we apply to rest and motion in common cannot be either of those two.

Theaet. Why not?

Str. Because motion would be at rest and rest would be in motion; in respect of both, for whichever of the two became other would force the other to change its nature into that of its opposite, since it would participate in its opposite.

Theaet. Exactly so.

Str. Both certainly partake of the same and the other.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Then we must not say that motion, or rest either, is the same or other.

Theaet. No.

Str. But should we conceive of being and the same as one?

Theaet. Perhaps.

Str. But if being and the same have no difference of meaning, then when we go on and say that both rest and motion are, we shall be saying that they are both the same, since they are.

Theaet. But surely that is impossible.

Str. Then it is impossible for being and the same to be one.

Theaet. Pretty nearly.

Str. So we shall consider the same a fourth class in addition to the other three?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Then shall we call the other a fifth class? Or must we conceive of this and being as two names for one class?

Theaet. May be.

Str. But I fancy you admit that among the entities some are always conceived as absolute, and some as relative.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And other is always relative to other, is it not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. It would not be so, if being and the other were not utterly different. If the other, like being, partook of both absolute and relative existence, there would be also among the others that exist another not in relation to any other; but as it is, we find that whatever is other is just what it is through compulsion of some other.

Theaet. The facts are as you say.

Str. Then we must place the nature of the other as a fifth among the classes in which we select our examples.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And we shall say that it permeates them all; for each of them is other than the rest, not by reason of its own nature, but because it partakes of the idea of the other.

Theaet. Exactly.

Str. Let us now state our conclusions, taking up the five classes one at a time.

Theaet. How?

Str. Take motion first; we say that it is entirely other than rest, do we not?

Theaet. We do.

Str. Then it is not rest.

Theaet. Not at all.

Section 256

Str. But it exists, by reason of its participation in being.

Theaet. Yes, it exists.

Str. Now motion again is other than the same.

Theaet. You’re about right.

Str. Therefore it is not the same.

Theaet. No, it is not.

Str. But yet we found it was the same, because all things partake of the same.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Then we must admit that motion is the same and is not the same, and we must not be disturbed thereby; for when we say it is the same and not the same, we do not use the words alike. When we call it the same, we do so because it partakes of the same in relation to itself, and when we call it not the same, we do so on account of its participation in the other, by which it is separated from the same and becomes not that but other, so that it is correctly spoken of in turn as not the same.

Theaet. Yes, certainly.

Str. Then even if absolute motion partook in any way of rest, it would not be absurd to say it was at rest?

Theaet. It would be perfectly right, if we are to admit that some of the classes will mingle with one another, and others will not.

Str. And surely we demonstrated that before we took up our present points; we proved that it was according to nature.

Theaet. Yes, of course.

Str. Then let us recapitulate: Motion is other than the other, just as we found it to be other than the same and than rest. Is that true?

Theaet. Inevitably.

Str. Then it is in a sense not other and also other, according to our present reasoning.

Theaet. True.

Str. Now how about the next point? Shall we say next that motion is other than the three, but not other than the fourth,—that is, if we have agreed that the classes about which and within which we undertook to carry on our inquiry are five in number?

Theaet. How can we say that? For we cannot admit that the number is less than was shown just now.

Str. Then we may fearlessly persist in contending that motion is other than being?

Theaet. Yes, most fearlessly.

Str. It is clear, then, that motion really is not, and also that it is, since it partakes of being?

Theaet. That is perfectly clear.

Str. In relation to motion, then, not-being is. That is inevitable. And this extends to all the classes; for in all of them the nature of other so operates as to make each one other than being, and therefore not-being. So we may, from this point of view, rightly say of all of them alike that they are not; and again, since they partake of being, that they are and have being.

Theaet. Yes, I suppose so.

Str. And so, in relation to each of the classes, being is many, and not-being is infinite in number.

Theaet. So it seems.

Section 257

Str. Then being itself must also be said to be other than all other things.

Theaet. Yes, it must.

Str. And we conclude that whatever the number of other things is, just that is the number of the things in relation to which being is not; for not being those things, it is itself one, and again, those other things are not unlimited in number.

Theaet. That is not far from the truth.

Str. Then we must not be disturbed by this either, since by their nature the classes have participation in one another. But if anyone refuses to accept our present results, let him reckon with our previous arguments and then proceed to reckon with the next step.

Theaet. That is very fair.

Str. Then here is a point to consider.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. When we say not-being, we speak, I think, not of something that is the opposite of being, but only of something different.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. For instance, when we speak of a thing as not great, do we seem to you to mean by the expression what is small any more than what is of middle size?

Theaet. No, of course not.

Str. Then when we are told that the negative signifies the opposite, we shall not admit it; we shall admit only that the particle not indicates something different from the words to which it is prefixed, or rather from the things denoted by the words that follow the negative.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Let us consider another point and see if you agree with me.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. It seems to me that the nature of the other is all cut up into little bits, like knowledge.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. Knowledge, like other, is one, but each separate part of it which applies to some particular subject has a name of its own; hence there are many arts, as they are called, and kinds of knowledge, or sciences.

Theaet. Yes, certainly.

Str. And the same is true, by their nature, of the parts of the other, though it also is one concept.

Theaet. Perhaps; but let us discuss the matter and see how it comes about.

Str. Is there a part of the other which is opposed to the beautiful?

Theaet. There is.

Str. Shall we say that this is nameless or that it has a name?

Theaet. That it has one; for that which in each case we call not-beautiful is surely the other of the nature of the beautiful and of nothing else.

Str. Now, then, tell me something more.

Theaet. What?

Str. Does it not result from this that the not-beautiful is a distinct part of some one class of being and also, again, opposed to some class of being?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Then, apparently, it follows that the not-beautiful is a contrast of being with being.

Theaet. Quite right.

Str. Can we, then, in that case, say that the beautiful is more and the not-beautiful less a part of being?

Theaet. Not at all.

Section 258

Str. Hence the not-great must be said to be no less truly than the great?

Theaet. No less truly.

Str. And so we must recognize the same relation between the just and the not-just, in so far as neither has any more being than the other?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And we shall, then, say the same of other things, since the nature of the other is proved to possess real being; and if it has being, we must necessarily ascribe being in no less degree to its parts also.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. Then, as it seems, the opposition of the nature of a part of the other, and of the nature of being, when they are opposed to one another, is no less truly existence than is being itself, if it is not wrong for me to say so, for it signifies not the opposite of being, but only the other of being, and nothing more.

Theaet. That is perfectly clear.

Str. Then what shall we call this?

Theaet. Evidently this is precisely not-being, which we were looking for because of the sophist.

Str. And is this, as you were saying, as fully endowed with being as anything else, and shall we henceforth say with confidence that not-being has an assured existence and a nature of its own? Just as we found that the great was great and the beautiful was beautiful, the not-great was not-great and the not-beautiful was not-beautiful, shall we in the same way say that not-being was and is not-being, to be counted as one class among the many classes of being? Or have we, Theaetetus, any remaining distrust about the matter?

Theaet. None whatever.

Str. Do you observe, then, that we have gone farther in our distrust of Parmenides than the limit set by his prohibition?

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. We have proceeded farther in our investigation and have shown him more than that which he forbade us to examine.

Theaet. How so?

Str. Because he says somewhere:Never shall this thought prevail, that not-being is;Nay, keep your mind from this path of investigation,

Theaet. Yes, that is what he says.

Str. But we have not only pointed out that things which are not exist, but we have even shown what the form or class of not-being is; for we have pointed out that the nature of the other exists and is distributed in small bits throughout all existing things in their relations to one another, and we have ventured to say that each part of the other which is contrasted with being, really is exactly not-being.

Theaet. And certainly, Stranger, I think that what we have said is perfectly true.

Section 259

Str. Then let not anyone assert that we declare that not-being is the opposite of being, and hence are so rash as to say that not-being exists. For we long ago gave up speaking of any opposite of being, whether it exists or not and is capable or totally incapable of definition. But as for our present definition of not-being, a man must either refute us and show that we are wrong, or, so long as he cannot do that, he too must say, as we do, that the classes mingle with one another, and being and the other permeate all things, including each other, and the other, since it participates in being, is, by reason of this participation, yet is not that in which it participates, but other, and since it is other than being, must inevitably be not-being. But being, in turn, participates in the other and is therefore other than the rest of the classes, and since it is other than all of them, it is not each one of them or all the rest, but only itself; there is therefore no doubt that there are thousands and thousands of things which being is not, and just so all other things, both individually and collectively, in many relations are, and in many are not.

Theaet. True.

Str. And if any man has doubts about these oppositions, he must make investigations and advance better doctrines than these of ours; or if he finds pleasure in dragging words about and applying them to different things at different times, with the notion that he has invented something difficult to explain, our present argument asserts that he has taken up seriously matters which are not worth serious attention; for this process is neither clever nor difficult, whereas here now is something both difficult and beautiful.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. What I have spoken of before—the ability to let those quibbles go as of no account and to follow and refute in detail the arguments of a man who says that other is in a sense the same, or that the same is other, and to do this from that point of view and with regard for those relations which he presupposes for either of these conditions. But to show that in some sort of fashion the same is the other, and the other the same, and the great small, and the like unlike, and to take pleasure in thus always bringing forward opposites in the argument,—all that is no true refutation, but is plainly the newborn offspring of some brain that has just begun to lay hold upon the problem of realities.

Theaet. Exactly so.

Str. For certainly, my friend, the attempt to separate everything from everything else is not only not in good taste but also shows that a man is utterly uncultivated and unphilosophical.

Theaet. Why so?

Str. The complete separation of each thing from all is the utterly final obliteration of all discourse. For our power of discourse is derived from the interweaving of the classes or ideas with one another.

Theaet. True.

Section 260

Str. Observe, then, that we have now been just in time in carrying our point against the supporters of such doctrine, and in forcing them to admit that one thing mingles with another.

Theaet. What was our object?

Str. Our object was to establish discourse as one of our classes of being. For if we were deprived of this, we should be deprived of philosophy, which would be the greatest calamity; moreover, we must at the present moment come to an agreement about the nature of discourse, and if we were robbed of it by its absolute non-existence, we could no longer discourse; and we should be robbed of it if we agreed that there is no mixture of anything with anything.

Theaet. That is true enough; but I do not understand why we must come to an agreement about discourse just now.

Str. Perhaps the easiest way for you to understand is by following this line of argument.

Theaet. What line?

Str. We found that not-being was one of the classes of being, permeating all being.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. So the next thing is to inquire whether it mingles with opinion and speech.

Theaet. Why?

Str. If it does not mingle with them, the necessary result is that all things are true, but if it does, then false opinion and false discourse come into being; for to think or say what is not—that is, I suppose, falsehood arising in mind or in words.

Theaet. So it is.

Str. But if falsehood exists, deceit exists.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And if deceit exists, all things must be henceforth full of images and likenesses and fancies.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. But we said that the sophist had taken refuge in this region and had absolutely denied the existence of falsehood: for he said that not-being could be neither conceived nor uttered, since not-being did not in any way participate in being.

Theaet. Yes, so it was.

Str. But now not-being has been found to partake of being, and so, perhaps, he would no longer keep up the fight in this direction; but he might say that some ideas partake of not-being and some do not, and that speech and opinion are among those which do not; and he would therefore again contend that the image-making and fantastic art, in which we placed him, has absolutely no existence, since opinion and speech have no participation in not-being; for falsehood cannot possibly exist unless such participation takes place.

Section 261

Str. For this reason we must first inquire into the nature of speech and opinion and fancy, in order that when they are made clear we may perceive that they participate in not-being, and when we have perceived that, may prove the existence of falsehood, and after proving that, may imprison the sophist therein, if he can be held on that charge, and if not, may set him free and seek him in another class.

Theaet. It certainly seems, Stranger, that what you said at first about the sophist—that he was a hard kind of creature to catch—is true; for he seems to have no end of defences, and when he throws one of them up, his opponent has first to fight through it before he can reach the man himself; for now, you see, we have barely passed through the non-existence of being, which was his first prepared line of defence, when we find another line ready; and so we must prove that falsehood exists in relation to opinion and to speech; and after this, perhaps, there will be another line, and still another after that; and it seems no end will ever appear.

Str. No one should be discouraged, Theaetetus, who can make constant progress, even though it be slow. For if a man is discouraged under these conditions, what would he do under others—if he did not get ahead at all or were even pressed back? It would be a long time, as the saying is, before such a man would ever take a city. But now, my friend, since we have passed the line you speak of, the main defences would surely be in our hands, and the rest will now be smaller and easier to take.

Theaet. Good.

Str. First, then, let us take up speech and opinion, as I said just now, in order to come to a clearer understanding whether not-being touches them, or they are both entirely true, and neither is ever false.

Theaet. Very well.

Str. Then let us now investigate names, just a we spoke a while ago about ideas and letters; for in that direction the object of our present search is coming in sight.

Theaet. What do we need to understand about names?

Str. Whether they all unite with one another, or none of them, or some will and some will not.

Theaet. Evidently the last; some will and some will not.

Str. This, perhaps, is what you mean, that those which are spoken in order and mean something do unite, but those that mean nothing in their sequence do not unite.

Theaet. How so, and what do you mean by that?

Str. What I supposed you had in mind when you assented; for we have two kinds of vocal indications of being.

Theaet. How so?

Section 262

Str. One called nouns, the other verbs.

Theaet. Define each of them.

Str. The indication which relates to action we may call a verb.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And the vocal sign applied to those who perform the actions in question we call a noun.

Theaet. Exactly.

Str. Hence discourse is never composed of nouns alone spoken in succession, nor of verbs spoken without nouns.

Theaet. I do not understand that.

Str. I see; you evidently had something else in mind when you assented just now; for what I wished to say was just this, that verbs and nouns do not make discourse if spoken successively in this way.

Theaet. In what way?

Str. For instance, walks, runs, sleeps and the other verbs which denote actions, even if you utter all there are of them in succession, do not make discourse for all that.

Theaet. No, of course not.

Str. And again, when lion, stag, horse, and all other names of those who perform these actions are uttered, such a succession of words does not yet make discourse; for in neither case do the words uttered indicate action or inaction or existence of anything that exists or does not exist, until the verbs are mingled with the nouns; then the words fit, and their first combination is a sentence, about the first and shortest form of discourse.

Theaet. What do you mean by that?

Str. When one says a man learns, you agree that this is the least and first of sentences, do you not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. For when he says that, he makes a statement about that which is or is becoming or has become or is to be; he does not merely give names, but he reaches a conclusion by combining verbs with nouns. That is why we said that he discourses and does not merely give names, and therefore we gave to this combination the name of discourse.

Theaet. That was right.

Str. So, then, just as of things some fit each other and some do not, so too some vocal signs do not fit, but some of them do fit and form discourse.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Now there is another little point.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. A sentence, if it is to be a sentence, must have a subject; without a subject it is impossible.

Theaet. True.

Str. And it must also be of some quality, must it not?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. Now let us pay attention to each other.

Theaet. Yes, at any rate we ought to do so.

Str. Now, then, I will speak a sentence to you in which a action and the result of action are combined by means of a noun and a verb, and whatever the subject of the sentence is do you tell me.

Section 263

Theaet. I will, to the best of my ability.

Str. Theaetetus sits. It isn’t a long sentence, is it?

Theaet. No, it is fairly short.

Str. Now it is for you to say what it is about and what its subject is.

Theaet. Clearly it is about me, and I am its subject.

Str. And how about this sentence?

Theaet. What one?

Str. Theaetetus, with whom I am now talking, flies.

Theaet. Every one would agree that this also is about me and I am its subject.

Str. But we agree that every sentence must have some quality.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Now what quality shall be ascribed to each of these sentences?

Theaet. One is false, I suppose, the other true.

Str. The true one states facts as they are about you.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And the false one states things that are other than the facts.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. In other words, it speaks of things that are not as if they were.

Theaet. Yes, that is pretty much what it does.

Str. And states with reference to you that things are which are other than things which actually are; for we said, you know, that in respect to everything there are many things that are and many that are not.

Theaet. To be sure.

Str. Now the second of my sentences about you is in the first place by sheer necessity one of the shortest which conform to our definition of sentence.

Theaet. At any rate we just now agreed on that point.

Str. And secondly it has a subject.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And if you are not the subject, there is none.

Theaet. Certainly not.

Str. And if there is no subject, it would not be a sentence at all; for we showed that a sentence without a subject is impossible.

Theaet. Quite right.

Str. Now when things are said about you, but things other are said as the same and things that are not as things that are, it appears that when such a combination is formed of verbs and nouns we have really and truly false discourse.

Theaet. Yes, very truly.

Str. Is it, then, not already plain that the three classes, thought, opinion, and fancy, all arise in our minds as both false and true?

Theaet. How is it plain?

Str. You will understand more easily if you first grap their natures and the several differences between them.

Theaet. Give me an opportunity.

Str. Well, then, thought and speech are the same; only the former, which is a silent inner conversation of the soul with itself, has been given the special name of thought. Is not that true?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. But the stream that flows from the soul in vocal utterance through the mouth has the name of speech?

Theaet. True.

Str. And in speech we know there is just—

Theaet. What?

Str. Affirmation and negation

Theaet. Yes, we know that.

Section 264

Str. Now when this arises in the soul silently by way of thought, can you give it any other name than opinion?

Theaet. Certainly not.

Str. And when such a condition is brought about in anyone, not independently, but through sensation, can it properly be called anything but seeming, or fancy?

Theaet. No.

Str. Then since speech, as we found, is true and false, and we saw that thought is conversation of the soul with itself, and opinion is the final result of thought, and what we mean when we say it seems is a mixture of sensation and opinion, it is inevitable that, since these are all akin to speech, some of them must sometimes be false.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. Do you see, then, that false opinion and false discourse were found sooner than we expected when we feared a few moments ago that in looking for them we were undertaking an endless task?

Theaet. Yes, I see.

Str. Then let us not be discouraged about the rest of our search, either; for now that these points are settled, we have only to revert to our previous divisions into classes.

Theaet. What divisions?

Str. We made two classes of image-making, the likeness-making and the fantastic.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And we said that we did not know to which of the two the sophist should be assigned.

Theaet. You are right.

Str. And in the midst of our perplexity about that, we were overwhelmed by a still greater dizziness when the doctrine appeared which challenges everybody and asserts that neither likeness nor image nor appearance exists at all, because falsehood never exists anywhere in any way.

Theaet. True.

Str. But now, since the existence of false speech and false opinion has been proved, it is possible for imitations of realities to exist and for an art of deception to arise from this condition of mind.

Theaet. Yes, it is possible.

Str. And we decided some time ago that the sophist was in one of those two divisions of the image-making class.

Theaet. Yes.

Section 265

Str. Then let us try again; let us divide in two the class we have taken up for discussion, and proceed always by way of the right-hand part of the thing divided, clinging close to the company to which the sophist belongs, until, having stripped him of all common properties and left him only his own peculiar nature, we shall show him plainly first to ourselves and secondly to those who are most closely akin to the dialectic method.

Theaet. Right.

Str. We began by making two divisions of art, the productive and the acquisitive, did we not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And the sophist showed himself to us in the arts of hunting, contests, commerce, and the like, which were subdivisions of acquisitive art?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. But now, since imitative art has taken him over, it is clear that our first step must be the division of productive art into two parts; for imitative art is a kind of production—of images, however, we say, not of real things in each case. Do you agree?

Theaet. By all means.

Str. Then let us first assume two parts of productive art.

Theaet. What are they?

Str. The divine and the human.

Theaet. I don’t yet understand.

Str. We said, if we remember the beginning of our conversation, that every power is productive which causes things to come into being which did not exist before.

Theaet. Yes, we remember.

Str. There are all the animals, and all the plants that grow out of the earth from seeds and roots, and all the lifeless substances, fusible and infusible, that are formed within the earth. Shall we say that they came into being, not having been before, in any other way than through God’s workmanship? Or, accepting the commonly expressed belief—

Theaet. What belief?

Str. That nature brings them forth from some self-acting cause, without creative intelligence. Or shall we say that they are created by reason and by divine knowledge that comes from God?

Theaet. I, perhaps because I am young, often change from one opinion to the other; but now, looking at you and considering that you think they are created by God, I also adopt that view.

Str. Well said, Theaetetus; and if I thought you were one of those who would think differently by and by, I should try now, by argument and urgent persuasion, to make you agree with my opinion; but since I understand your nature and see that it of itself inclines, without any words of mine, towards that to which you say you are at present attracted, I will let that go; for it would be a waste of time. But I will assume that things which people call natural are made by divine art, and things put together by man out of those as materials are made by human art, and that there are accordingly two kinds of art, the one human and the other divine.

Theaet. Quite right.

Str. Now that there are two, divide each of them again.

Theaet. How?

Section 266

Str. You divided all productive art widthwise, as it were, before; now divide it lengthwise.

Theaet. Assume that it is done.

Str. In that way we now get four parts in all; two belong to us and are human, and two belong to the gods and are divine.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And again, when the section is made the other way, one part of each half has to do with the making of real things, and the two remaining parts may very well be called image-making; and so productive art is again divided into two parts.

Theaet. Tell me again how each part is distinguished.

Str. We know that we and all the other animals, and fire, water, and their kindred elements, out of which natural objects are formed, are one and all the very offspring and creations of God, do we not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And corresponding to each and all of these there are images, not the things themselves, which are also made by superhuman skill.

Theaet. What are they?

Str. The appearances in dreams, and those that arise by day and are said to be spontaneous—a shadow when a dark object interrupts the firelight, or when twofold light, from the objects themselves and from outside, meets on smooth and bright surfaces and causes upon our senses an effect the reverse of our ordinary sight, thus producing an image.

Theaet. Yes, these are two works of divine creation, the thing itself and the corresponding image in each case.

Str. And how about our own art? Shall we not say that we make a house by the art of building, and by the art of painting make another house, a sort of man-made dream produced for those who are awake?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And in the same way, we say, all the other works of our creative activity also are twofold and go in pairs—the thing itself, produced by the art that creates real things, and the image, produced by the image-making art.

Theaet. I understand better now; and I agree that there are two kinds of production, each of them twofold—the divine and the human by one method of bisection, and by the other real things and the product that consists of a sort of likenesses.

Str. We must remember that there were to be two parts of the image-making class, the likeness-making and the fantastic, if we should find that falsehood really existed and was in the class of real being.

Theaet. Yes, there were.

Str. But we found that falsehood does exist, and therefore we shall now, without any doubts, number the kinds of image-making art as two, shall we not?

Theaet. Yes.

Section 267

Str. Let us, then, again bisect the fantastic art.

Theaet. How?

Str. One kind is that produced by instruments, the other that in which the producer of the appearance offers himself as the instrument.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. When anyone, by employing his own person as his instrument, makes his own figure or voice seem similar to yours, that kind of fantastic art is called mimetic.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Let us, then, classify this part under the name of mimetic art; but as for all the rest, let us be so self-indulgent as to let it go and leave it for someone else to unify and name appropriately.

Theaet. Very well, let us adopt that classification and let the other part go.

Str. But it is surely worth while to consider, Theaetetus, that the mimetic art also has two parts; and I will tell you why.

Theaet. Please do.

Str. Some who imitate do so with knowledge of that which they imitate, and others without such knowledge. And yet what division can we imagine more complete than that which separates knowledge and ignorance?

Theaet. None.

Str. The example I just gave was of imitation by those who know, was it not? For a man who imitates you would know you and your figure.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. But what of the figure of justice and, in a word, of virtue in general? Are there not many who have no knowledge of it, but only a sort of opinion, and who try with the greatest eagerness to make this which they themselves think is virtue seem to exist within them, by imitating it in acts and words to the best of their ability?

Theaet. Yes, there are very many such people.

Str. Do all of them, then, fail in the attempt to seem to be just when they are not so at all? Or is quite the opposite the case?

Theaet. Quite the opposite.

Str. Then I think we must say that such an imitator is quite distinct from the other, the one who does not know from the one who knows.

Theaet. Yes.

Str. Where, then, can the fitting name for each of the two be found? Clearly it is not an easy task, because there was, it seems, among the earlier thinkers a long established and careless indolence in respect to the division of classes or genera into forms or species, so that nobody even tried to make such divisions; therefore there cannot be a great abundance of names. However, even though the innovation in language be a trifle bold, let us, for the sake of making a distinction, call the imitation which is based on opinion, opinion-imitation, and that which is founded on knowledge, a sort of scientific imitation.

Theaet. Agreed.

Str. We mat therefore apply ourselves to the former, for we found that the sophist was among those who imitate but was not among those who know.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Then let us examine the opinion-imitator as if he were a piece of iron, and see whether he is sound or there is still some seam in him.

Theaet. Let us do so.

Section 268

Str. Well, there is a very marked seam. For some of these imitators are simple-minded and think they know that about which they have only opinion, but the other kind because of their experience in the rough and tumble of arguments, strongly suspect and fear that they are ignorant of the things which they pretend before the public to know.

Theaet. Certainly the two classes you mention both exist.

Str. Then shall we call one the simple imitator and the other the dissembling imitator?

Theaet. That is reaonable, at any rate.

Str. And shall we say that the latter forms one class or two again?

Theaet. That is your affair.

Str. I am considering, and I think I can see two classes I see one who can dissemble in long speeches in public before a multitude, and the other who does it in private in short speeches and forces the person who converses with him to contradict himself.

Theaet. You are quite right.

Str. And what name shall we give to him who makes the longer speeches? Statesman or popular orator?

Theaet. Popular orator.

Str. And what shall we call the other? Philosopher or sophist?

Theaet. We cannot very well call him philosopher, since by our hypothesis he is ignorant; but since he is all imitator of the philosopher, he will evidently have a name derived from his, and I think I am sure at last that we must truly call him the absolutely real and actual sophist.

Str. Shall we then bind up his name as we did before, winding it up from the end to the beginning?

Theaet. By all means.

Str. The imitative kind of the dissembling part of the art of opinion which is part of the art of contradiction and belongs to the fantastic class of the image-making art, and is not divine, but human, and has been defined in arguments as the juggling part of productive activity—he who says that the true sophist is of this descent and blood will, in my opinion, speak the exact truth.

Theaet. Yes, he certainly will.

Contents — 55 sections

1. Section 257
2. Section 258
3. Section 259
4. Section 260
5. Section 261
6. Section 262
7. Section 263
8. Section 264
9. Section 265
10. Section 266
11. Section 267
12. Section 268
13. Section 269
14. Section 270
15. Section 271
16. Section 272
17. Section 273
18. Section 274
19. Section 275
20. Section 276
21. Section 277
22. Section 278
23. Section 279
24. Section 280
25. Section 281
26. Section 282
27. Section 283
28. Section 284
29. Section 285
30. Section 286
31. Section 287
32. Section 288
33. Section 289
34. Section 290
35. Section 291
36. Section 292
37. Section 293
38. Section 294
39. Section 295
40. Section 296
41. Section 297
42. Section 298
43. Section 299
44. Section 300
45. Section 301
46. Section 302
47. Section 303
48. Section 304
49. Section 305
50. Section 306
51. Section 307
52. Section 308
53. Section 309
54. Section 310
55. Section 311

Section 257

Soc. Really I am greatly indebted to you, Theodorus, for my acquaintance with Theaetetus and with the Stranger, too.

Theo. Presently, Socrates, you will be three times as much indebted, when they have worked out the statesman and the philosopher for you.

Soc. Indeed! My dear Theodorus, can I believe my ears? Were those really the words of the great calculator and geometrician?

Theo. Why, what do you mean, Socrates?

Soc. When you rated sophist, statesman, and philosopher at the same value, though they are farther apart in worth than your mathematical proportion can express.

Theo. By Ammon, our special divinity, that is a good hit, Socrates; evidently you haven’t forgotten your mathematics, and you are quite right in, finding fault with my bad arithmetic. I will get even with you at some other time; but now, Stranger, I turn to you. Do not grow tired of being kind to us, but go on and tell us about the statesman or the philosopher, whichever you prefer to take first.

Str. That is the thing to do, Theodorus, since we have once begun, and we must not stop until we have finished with them. But what shall I do about Theaetetus here?

Theo. In what respect?

Str. Shall we give him a rest and take his schoolmate here, the young Socrates, in his place? What is your advice?

Theo. Make the change as you suggest. They are young, and if they have a chance to rest by turns, they will bear any labor better.

Soc. And besides, Stranger, it seems to me that they are both related to me after a fashion;

Section 258

Soc. one of them anyhow, as you say, looks like me in his cast of countenance, and the other has the same name and appellation, which implies some sort of kinship. Of course we ought always to be eager to get acquainted with our relatives by debating with them. Now I myself had an argument with Theaetetus yesterday and have been listening to his answers just now, but I do not know Socrates in either way and must examine him, too. But let him reply to you now; my turn will come by and by.

Str. Very well; Socrates, do you hear what Socrates says?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And do you agree?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. There seems to be no objection on your part, and I suppose there should be still less on mine. Well, then, after the sophist, I think it is our next duty to seek for the statesman; so please tell me: should we rank him also among those who have a science, or not?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Must the sciences, then, be divided as when we were examining the sophist?

Y. Soc. Perhaps.

Str. In that case, Socrates, I think the division will not be along the same lines.

Y. Soc. How will it be?

Str. Along other lines.

Y. Soc. Very likely.

Str. Where, then, shall we find the statesman’s path? For we must find it, separate it from the rest, and imprint upon it the seal of a single class; then we must set the mark of another single class upon all the other paths that lead away from this, and make our soul conceive of all sciences as of two classes.

Y. Soc. This, Stranger, is now your affair, I think, not mine.

Str. And yet, Socrates, it must be your affair, too, when we have found the path.

Y. Soc. Quite true.

Str. Are not arithmetic and certain other kindred arts pure sciences, without regard to practical application, which merely furnish knowledge?

Y. Soc. Yes, they are.

Str. But the science possessed by the arts relating to carpentering and to handicraft in general is inherent in their application, and with its aid they create objects which did not previously exist.

Y. Soc. To be sure.

Str. In this way, then, divide all science into two arts, calling the one practical, and the other purely intellectual.

Y. Soc. Let us assume that all science is one and that these are its two forms.

Str. Shall we then assume that the statesman, king, master, and householder too, for that matter, are all one, to be grouped under one title, or shall we say that there are as many arts as names? But let me rather help you to understand in this way.

Y. Soc. In what way?

Section 259

Str. By this example: If anyone, though himself in private station, is able to advise one of the public physicians, must not his art be called by the same name as that of the man whom he advises?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Well, then, if a man who is himself in private station is wise enough to advise him who is king of a country, shall we not say that he has the science which the ruler himself ought to possess?

Y. Soc. We shall.

Str. But certainly the science of a true king is kingly science?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And will not he who possesses this science, whether he happen to be a ruler or a private citizen, rightly be called kingly, when considered purely with reference to his art?

Y. Soc. At least he has a right to be.

Str. And surely the householder and the master of a family are the same.

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Str. Well, so far as government is concerned, is there any difference between the grandeur of a large house and the majesty of a small state?

Y. Soc. No.

Str. Then as for the point we were just discussing, it is clear that all these are the objects of one science, and whether a man calls this the art of kingship or statesmanship or householding, let us not quarrel with him.

Y. Soc. By no means.

Str. But this is plain, that any king can do little with his hands or his whole body toward holding his position, compared with what he can do with the sagacity and strength of his soul.

Y. Soc. Yes, that is plain.

Str. Shall we say, then, that the king is more akin to the intellectual than to the manual or the practical in general?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Shall we, therefore, put all these together as one—the political art and the statesman, the royal art and the king?

Y. Soc. Obviously.

Str. Then we should be proceeding in due order if we should next divide intellectual science?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Now pay attention to see if we can perceive any natural line of cleavage in it.

Y. Soc. Tell us of what sort it is.

Str. Of this sort. We recognized a sort of art of calculation.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. It is, I suppose, most certainly one of the intellectual arts.

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. And shall we grant to the art of calculation, when it has found out the difference between numbers, any further function than that of passing judgement on them when found out?

Y. Soc. No, certainly not.

Str. Every architect, too, is a ruler of workmen, not a workman himself.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. As supplying knowledge, not manual labor.

Y. Soc. True.

Section 260

Str. So he may fairly be said to participate in intellectual science.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. But it is his business, I suppose, not to pass judgement and be done with it and go away, as the calculator did, but to give each of the workmen the proper orders, until they have finished their appointed task.

Y. Soc. You are right.

Str. Then all such sciences, and all those that are in the class with calculating, are alike intellectual sciences, but these two classes differ from one another in the matter of judging and commanding. Am I right?

Y. Soc. I think so.

Str. Then if we bisected intellectual science as a whole and called one part the commanding and the other the judging part, might we say we had made fitting division?

Y. Soc. Yes, in my opinion.

Str. And surely when men are doing anything in common it is pleasant for them to agree.

Y. Soc. Of course it is.

Str. On this point, then, so long as we ourselves are in agreement, we need not bother about the opinions of others.

Y. Soc. Of course not.

Str. Now to which of these two classes is the kingly man to be assigned? Shall we assign him to the art of judging, as a kind of spectator, or rather to the art of commanding, inasmuch as he is a ruler?

Y. Soc. Rather to the latter, of course.

Str. Then once more we must see whether the art of command falls into two divisions. It seems to me that it does, and I think there is much the same distinction between the kingly class and the class of heralds as between the art of men who sell what they themselves produce and that of retail dealers.

Y. Soc. How so?

Str. Retail dealers receive and sell over again the productions of others, which have generally been sold before.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. And in like manner heralds receive the purposes of others in the form of orders, and then give the orders a second time to others.

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. Shall we, then, join the art of the king in the same class with the art of the interpreter, the boatswain, the prophet, the herald, and many other kindred arts, all of which involve giving orders? Or, as we just now made a comparison of functions, shall we now by comparison make a name also—since the class of those who issue orders of their own is virtually nameless—and assign kings to the science of giving orders of one’s own, disregarding all the rest and leaving to someone else the task of naming them? For the object of our present quest is the ruler, not his opposite.

Section 261

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. Then since a reasonable distinction between this class and the rest has been made, by distinguishing the commands given as one’s own or another’s, shall we again divide this class, if there is in it any further line of section?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. I think there is one; please help me in making the section.

Y. Soc. On what line?

Str. Take the case of all those whom we conceive of as rulers who give commands: shall we not find that they all issue commands for the sake of producing something?

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. Furthermore it is not at all difficult to divide all that is produced into two classes.

Y. Soc. How?

Str. Of the whole class, some have life and others have no life.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And on these same lines we may, if we like, make a division of the part of intellectual science which commands.

Y. Soc. In what way?

Str. By assigning one part of it to the production of lifeless, the other to that of living objects; and in this way the whole will be divided into two parts.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Let us then leave one half and take up the other, and then let us divide that entire half into two parts.

Y. Soc. Which half shall we take up?

Str. That which issues commands relating to living objects, assuredly. For certainly the science of the king is not, like that of the architect, one which supervises lifeless objects; it is a nobler science, since it exercises its power among living beings and in relation to them alone.

Y. Soc. True.

Str. Now you may notice that the breeding and nurture of living beings is sometimes the nurture of a single animal and sometimes the common care of creatures in droves.

Y. Soc. True.

Str. But we shall find that the statesman is not one who tends a single creature, like the driver of a single ox or the groom who tends a horse; he has more resemblance to a man who tends a herd of cattle or a drove of horses.

Y. Soc. That seems to be true, now that you mention it.

Str. Shall we call the art of caring for many living creatures the art of tending a herd or something like community management?

Y. Soc. Whichever we happen to say.

Section 262

Str. Good, Socrates! If you preserve this attitude of indifference to mere names, you will turn out richer in wisdom when you are old. But now we will, as you suggest, not trouble ourselves about the name; but do you see a way in which a man may show that the art of herding is twofold, and may thereby cause that which is now sought among a double number of things to be sought among half as many?

Y. Soc. I am quite willing to try. I think one kind is the care of men, the other that of beasts.

Str. You made the division with perfect willingness and courage. However, let us do our best not to fall again into your error.

Y. Soc. What error?

Str. We must not take a single small part, and set it off against many large ones, nor disregard species in making our division. On the contrary, the part must be also a species. It is a very fine thing to separate the object of our search at once from everything else, if the separation can be made correctly, and so, just now, you thought you had the right division and you hurried our discussion along, because you saw that it was leading towards man. But, my friend, it is not safe to whittle off shavings; it is safer to proceed by cutting through the middle, and in that way one is more likely to find classes. This makes all the difference in the conduct of research.

Y. Soc. What do you mean by that, Stranger?

Str. I must try to speak still more clearly, Socrates, out of regard for your capacity. Just at present it is impossible to make the matter entirely plain, but I will try to lay it before you a little more fully for the sake of clearness.

Y. Soc. What is it, then, that you say we did wrongly in making our division just now?

Str. It was very much as if, in undertaking to divide the human race into two parts, one should make the division as most people in this country do; they separate the Hellenic race from all the rest as one, and to all the other races, which are countless in number and have no relation in blood or language to one another, they give the single name barbarian; then, because of this single name, they think it is a single species. Or it was as if a man should think he was dividing number into two classes by cutting off a myriad from all the other numbers, with the notion that he was making one separate class, and then should give one name to all the rest, and because of that name should think that this also formed one class distinct from the other. A better division, more truly classified and more equal, would be made by dividing number into odd and even, and the human race into male and female; as for the Lydians and Phrygians and various others they could be opposed to the rest and split off from them when it was impossible to find and separate two parts, each of which formed a class.

Section 263

Y. Soc. Very true; but that’s just the trouble, Stranger: how can we get a clearer knowledge of class and part, and see that they are not the same thing, but different?

Str. Socrates, you most excellent young man, it is no small task you impose upon me. We have already strayed away from our subject more than we ought, and you wish us to wander still farther afield. So for the present let us return to our subject, as is proper; then we will go on the trail of this other matter by and by, when we have time. Only take very good care not to imagine that you ever heard me declare flatly—

Y. Soc. What?

Str. That class and part are separate from one another.

Y. Soc. But what did you say?

Str. That when there is a class of anything, it must necessarily be a part of the thing of which it is said to be a class; but there is no necessity that a part be also a class. Please always give this, rather than the other, as my doctrine.

Y. Soc. I will do so.

Str. Then please go on to the next point.

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. That from which our present digression started. For I think it started when you were asked how the art of herding should be divided and said with great readiness that there were two kinds of living beings, the human race and a second one, a single class, comprising all the beasts.

Y. Soc. True.

Str. And it was clear to me at the time that you removed a part and then thought that the remainder was one class because you were able to call them all by the same name of beasts.

Y. Soc. That is true, too.

Str. But indeed, my most courageous young friend, perhaps, if there is any other animal capable of thought, such as the crane appears to be, or any other like creature, and it perchance gives names, just as you do, it might in its pride of self oppose cranes to all other animals, and group the rest, men included, under one head, calling them by one name, which might very well be that of beasts. Now let us try to be on our guard against all that sort of thing.

Y. Soc. How can we guard against it?

Str. By not dividing the whole class of living beings, that so we may avoid such errors.

Y. Soc. Well, there is no need of dividing the whole.

Str. No, certainly not, for it was in that way that we fell into our former error.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. That part of intellectual science which involves giving commands was a part of our animal-tending class, with especial reference to animals in herds, was it not?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Section 264

Str. Well, even at that stage of our discussion all animals had already been divided into tame and wild. For if their nature admits of domestication they are called tame; if it does not, they are called wild.

Y. Soc. Excellent.

Str. But the science we are hunting for was, and is, to be sought among tame creatures, more specifically creatures in herds.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Let us, then, not make our division as we did before, with a view to all, nor in a hurry, with the idea that we may thus reach political science quickly, for that has already brought upon us the proverbial penalty.

Y. Soc. What penalty?

Str. The penalty of having made less speed, because we made too much haste and did not make our division right.

Y. Soc. And it was a good thing for us, Stranger

Str. I do not deny it. So let us begin again and try to divide the art of tending animals in common; for perhaps the information you desire so much will come to you in the ordinary course of our conversation better than by other means. Tell me—

Y. Soc. What?

Str. Whether, as I suppose, you have often heard people speak of this,— for I know you never actually saw the preserves of fish in the Nile and in the ponds of the Persian king. But perhaps you have noticed the like in fountain-pools.

Y. Soc. Yes, I have often seen the fish in fountain-pools and have heard many tales of those foreign preserves.

Str. And surely, even if you have not wandered over the plains of Thessaly, you have heard of goose-farms and crane-farms there and you believe that they exist.

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Str. The reason why I asked you all these questions is that the rearing of flocks is in part aquatic and in part an affair of the dry land.

Y. Soc. Yes, that is true.

Str. Then do you agree that we ought to divide the art of tending animals in common into corresponding parts, assigning one part of it to each of these two, and calling one the art of aquatic-herding and the other the art of land-herding?

Y. Soc. Yes, I agree.

Str. And surely we shall not have to ask to which of these two arts kingship belongs, for that is clear to everyone.

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. Anybody could doubtless make a division of the art of tending herds on land.

Y. Soc. What would the division be?

Str. Into the tending of flying and walking animals.

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. And statesmanship is to be sought in connection with walking animals, is it not? Any fool, so to speak, would believe that, don’t you think?

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. And the art of tending animals that walk must, like an even number, be divided in half.

Y. Soc. Evidently.

Section 265

Str. And now I think I see two paths leading in that direction in which our argument has started: the quicker way, by separating a relatively small part and a larger, and the other way, which is more in accord with what we said a while ago about the need of making the division as nearly in the middle as we can, but is longer. So we can proceed by whichever of the two we wish.

Y. Soc. Can we not go by both?

Str. Not by both at once, silly boy; but obviously we can take them in turn.

Y. Soc. Then I choose both in turn.

Str. That is easy enough, since we have but a short distance to go. At the beginning, certainly, or middle of our journey it would have been hard to comply with your demand. But now, since this is your wish, let us go first by the longer way, for we are fresher now and shall get along on it more easily. So attend to the division.

Y. Soc. Go on.

Str. The tame walking animals which live in herds are divided by nature into two classes.

Y. Soc. How by nature?

Str. Because one class is naturally without horns, and the other has horns.

Y. Soc. That is obvious.

Str. Now divide the art of tending herds of walking animals into two parts, assigning one to each class of animals; and define the parts, for if you try to give them names, the matter will become needlessly complicated.

Y. Soc. How shall I speak of them then?

Str. In this way: say that the science which tends herds of walking animals is divided into two parts, one of which is assigned to the horned portion of the herd, the other to the hornless portion.

Y. Soc. Assume that I have said that; for you have made it perfectly clear.

Str. And furthermore our king is very clearly the herdsman of a herd devoid of horns.

Y. Soc. Of course; that is evident.

Str. Let us then try to break up this herd and give the king the part that belongs to him.

Y. Soc. Very well.

Str. Shall we make our division on the basis of having or not having cloven hoofs, or on that of mixing or not mixing the breed? You know what I mean.

Y. Soc. No. What is it?

Str. Why, I mean that horses and asses can breed from each other.

Y. Soc. Oh yes.

Str. But the rest of the herd of hornless tame animals cannot cross the breed.

Y. Soc. That is true, of course.

Str. Well then, does the statesman appear to have charge of a kind that mixes or of one that does not mix the breed?

Y. Soc. Evidently of one that is unmixed.

Str. So I suppose we must proceed as we have done heretofore and divide this into two parts.

Y. Soc. Yes, we must.

Section 266

Str. And yet tame gregarious animals have all, with the exception of about two species, been already divided; for dogs are not properly to be counted among gregarious creatures.

Y. Soc. No, they are not. But how shall we divide the two species?

Str. As you and Theaetetus ought by rights to divide them, since you are interested in geometry.

Y. Soc. How do you mean?

Str. By the diameter, of course, and again by the diameter of the square of the diameter.

Y. Soc. What do you mean by that?

Str. Is the nature which our human race possesses related to walking in any other way than as the diameter which is the square root of two feet?

Y. Soc. No.

Str. And the nature of the remaining species, again, considered from the point of view of the square root, is the diameter of the square of our root, if it is the nature of twice two feet.

Y. Soc. Of course; and now I think I almost understand what you wish to make plain.

Str. Socrates, do we see that besides this something else has turned up in these divisions of ours which would be a famous joke?

Y. Soc. No. What is it?

Str. Our human race shares the same lot and runs in the same heat as the most excellent and at the same time most easy-going race of creatures.

Y. Soc. Yes, I see that; it is a very queer result.

Str. Indeed? But is it not reasonable that they arrive last, who are the slowest?

Y. Soc. Yes, that is true.

Str. And do we fail to notice this further point, that the king appears in a still more ridiculous light, running along with the herd and paired in the race with the man of all others who is most in training for a life of careless ease?

Y. Soc. Certainly he does.

Str. For now, Socrates, we have shown more clearly the truth of that which we said yesterday in our search for the sophist.

Y. Soc. What was it?

Str. That this method of argument pays no more heed to the noble than to the ignoble, and no less honor to the small than to the great, but always goes on its own way to the most perfect truth.

Y. Soc. So it seems.

Str. Then shall I now, without waiting for you to ask me, guide you of my own accord along that shorter way referred to a moment ago that leads to the definition of the king?

Y. Soc. By all means.

Str. I say, then, that we ought at that time to have divided walking animals immediately into biped and quadruped, then seeing that the human race falls into the same division with the feathered creatures and no others, we must again divide the biped class into featherless and feathered, and when that division is made and the art of herding human beings is made plain, we ought to take the statesmanlike and kingly man and place him as a sort of charioteer therein, handing over to him the reins of the state, because that is his own proper science.

Section 267

Y. Soc. You have cleared up the argument finely, and as if it were a debt you were paying, you threw in the digression as interest and for good measure.

Str. Now let us go back to the beginning and join together the definition of the name of the statesman’s art link by link to the end.

Y. Soc. By all means.

Str. In the first place we said that intellectual science had a part that gives commands; and a portion of this was called by a comparison the part that gives its own commands; and again the art of rearing living beings was singled out, which is by no means the smallest part of the art which gives its own commands; and a class of rearing living beings was herd-tending, and a part of this again the herding of walking animals; and from the herding of walking animals the art of rearing those without horns was divided. And of this in turn one part will have to be treated as no less than threefold, if it is to be called by one comprehensive name, and it will be called (1) the science (2) of tending herds (3) which do not cross breeds. But the only possible further subdivision of this is the art of herding human beings, and this is at last what we are looking for, the single art called both kingly and statesmanlike.

Y. Soc. That is perfectly true.

Str. And yet, Socrates, have we truly accomplished this, exactly as you have said?

Y. Soc. Accomplished what?

Str. The perfectly satisfactory discussion of our subject. Or is our investigation incomplete in just this detail, that we have given a definition after a fashion, but have not perfectly completed it?

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. I will try to make still plainer to us both the thought which I now have in mind.

Y. Soc. Please do so.

Str. We found just now that there were many arts of herding, and one of them was the art of statesmanship, which was the care of one particular kind of herd, did we not?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And our argument defined this, not as the tending of horses or other beasts, but as the science of tending men in common.

Y. Soc. Yes, it did.

Str. Let us, then, observe the point of difference between kings and all other herdsmen.

Y. Soc. What point of difference?

Str. Let us see whether anyone who is designated by the name of another art says and claims that he is fellow manager of the herd in common with any of the other kinds of herdsmen.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Section 268

Str. For instance, merchants, husbandmen, and all who prepare grain for use, and also gymnastic trainers and physicians would certainly all dispute with the herdsmen of humanity, whom we have called statesmen, and would assert that they themselves take care of the tending of humanity, and not the tending of the common herd only, but even that of the rulers themselves, would they not?

Y. Soc. And would they be right?

Str. Perhaps. We will examine that matter; but this we know, that no one will ever raise such a contention against any neatherd, but the herdsman himself tends the herd, he is their physician, he is their matchmaker, and he alone knows the midwife’s science of aiding at the birth of their offspring. Moreover, so far as the nature of the creatures allows them to enjoy sport or music, no one can enliven or soothe them better than he; whether with instruments or merely with his voice he performs the music best suited to his own herd; and the same applies to the other herdsmen. Is not that the case?

Y. Soc. You are quite right.

Str. Then how can our discourse about the king be right and free from error, when we pick him out alone as herdsman and tender of the human herd, while countless others dispute his claim?

Y. Soc. It cannot possibly be right.

Str. We suspected a little while ago that although we might be outlining a sort of kingly shape we had not yet perfected an accurate portrait of the statesman, and could not do so until, by removing those who crowd about him and contend with him for a share in his herdsmanship, we separated him from them and made him stand forth alone and uncontaminated. Was our fear justified?

Y. Soc. It certainly was.

Str. Then we must attend to that, Socrates, if we are not to end our argument in disgrace.

Y. Soc. But we certainly must not do that.

Str. Then we must begin again from a new sarting-point and travel by a different road.

Y. Soc. By what road?

Str. By one which offers us some amusement; for there is a famous story a great part of which it is really our duty to insert into our discussion; and then after that we can proceed as before, by eliminating part after part, and in that way reach the ultimate object of our search. Shall we do that?

Y. Soc. By all means.

Str. Then please pay careful attention to my story, just as if you were a child; and anyway you are not much too old for children’s tales.

Y. Soc. Please tell the story.

Str. Of the portents recorded in ancient tales many did happen and will happen again. Such an one is the portent connected with the tale of the quarrel between Atreus and Thyestes. You have doubtless heard of it and remember what is said to have taken place.

Y. Soc. You refer, I suppose, to the token of the golden lamb.

Section 269

Str. Oh no; I mean the change in the rising and setting of the sun and the other heavenly bodies, how in those times they used to set in the quarter where they now rise, and used to rise where they now set, but the god at the time of the quarrel, you recall, changed all that to the present system as a testimony in favor of Atreus.

Y. Soc. Yes, I’ve heard that, too.

Str. And again we have often heard the tale of the reign of Cronus.

Y. Soc. Yes, very often.

Str. And how about the story that the ancient folk were earthborn and not begotten of one another?

Y. Soc. That is one of the old tales, too.

Str. Well, all these stories and others still more remarkable have their source in one and the same event, but in the lapse of ages some of them have been lost and others are told in fragmentary and disconnected fashion. But no one has told the event which is the cause of them all, and so I must tell it now; for that will help us to make clear the nature of the king.

Y. Soc. Very good; just tell your tale and omit nothing.

Str. Listen then. During a certain period God himself goes with the universe as guide in its revolving course, but at another epoch, when the cycles have at length reached the measure of his allotted time, he lets it go, and of its own accord it turns backward in the opposite direction, since it is a living creature and is endowed with intelligence by him who fashioned it in the beginning. Now this reversal of its motion is an inevitable part of its nature for the following reason.

Y. Soc. What reason?

Str. Absolute and perpetual immutability is a property of only the most divine things of all, and body does not belong to this class. Now that which we call heaven and the universe has received from its creator many blessed qualities, but then, too, it partakes also of a bodily nature; therefore it is impossible for it to be entirely free from change; it moves, however, so far as it is able to do so, with a single motion in the same place and the same manner, and therefore it has acquired the reverse motion in a circle, because that involves the least deviation from its own motion. But to turn itself for ever is hardly possible except for the power that guides all moving things; and that this should turn now in one direction and now in the opposite direction is contrary to divine law.

Section 270

Str. As the result of all this, we must not say either that the universe turns itself always, or that it is always turned by God in two opposite courses, or again that two divinities opposed to one another turn it. The only remaining alternative is what I suggested a little while ago, that the universe is guided at one time by an extrinsic divine cause, acquiring the power of living again and receiving renewed immortality from the Creator, and at another time it is left to itself and then moves by its own motion, being left to itself at such a moment that it moves backwards through countless ages, because it is immensely large and most evenly balanced, and turns upon the smallest pivot.

Y. Soc. All that account of yours appears, at any rate, very reasonable.

Str. Then, in the light of what has been said, let us consider and gain understanding of the event which we said was the cause of all those wonderful portents; for it is really just this.

Y. Soc. Just what?

Str. The fact that at certain periods the universe has its present circular motion, and at other periods it revolves in the reverse direction.

Y. Soc. How was this the cause?

Str. We cannot help believing that of all the changes which take place in the heavens this reversal is the greatest and most complete.

Y. Soc. It certainly seems to be so.

Str. Therefore we must also believe that at the same time the greatest changes come upon us who dwell within the heavens.

Y. Soc. That is likely too.

Str. And animals cannot well endure many great and various changes at once. That is a familiar fact, is it not?

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. Inevitably, then, there is at that time great destruction of animals in general, and only a small part of the human race survives; and the survivors have many experiences wonderful and strange, the greatest of which, a consequence of the reversal of everything at the time when the world begins to turn in the direction opposed to that of its present revolution, is this.

Y. Soc. What is that experience?

Str. First the age of all animals, whatever it was at the moment, stood still, and every mortal creature stopped growing older in appearance and then reversed its growth and became, as it were, younger and more tender; the hoary locks of the old men grew dark, and bearded cheeks grew smooth again as their possessors reverted to their earlier ages, and the bodies of young men grew smoother and smaller day by day and night by night, until they became as new-born babes, to which they were likened in mind and body; and then at last they wasted away entirely and wholly disappeared. And the bodies of those who died by violence in those times quickly underwent the same changes, were destroyed, and disappeared in a few days.

Section 271

Y. Soc. But then, Stranger, how did animals come into existence in those days? How were they begotten of one another?

Str. It is clear, Socrates, that being begotten of one another was no part of the natural order of that time, but the earth-born race which, according to tradition, once existed, was the race which returned at that time out of the earth; and the memory of it was preserved by our earliest ancestors, who were born in the beginning of our period and therefore were next neighbors to the end of the previous period of the world’s revolution, with no interval between. For they were to us the heralds of these stories which are nowadays unduly disbelieved by many people. For you must, I think, consider what would result. It is a natural consequence of the return of the old to childhood that those who are dead and lying in the earth take shape and come to life again, since the process of birth is reversed along with the reversal of the world’s revolution; for this reason they are inevitably earth-born, and hence arises their name and the tradition about them, except those of them whom God removed to some other fate.

Y. Soc. Certainly that follows from what preceded. But was the life in the reign of Cronus, which you mentioned, in that previous period of revolution or in ours? For evidently the change in the course of the stars and the sun takes place in both periods.

Str. You have followed my account very well. No, the life about which you ask, when all the fruits of the earth sprang up of their own accord for men, did not belong at all to the present period of revolution, but this also belonged to the previous one. For then, in the beginning, God ruled and supervised the whole revolution, and so again, in the same way, all the parts of the universe were divided by regions among gods who ruled them, and, moreover, the animals were distributed by species and flocks among inferior deities as divine shepherds, each of whom was in all respects the independent guardian of the creatures under his own care, so that no creature was wild, nor did they eat one another, and there was no war among them, nor any strife whatsoever. To tell all the other consequences of such an order of the world would be an endless task. But the reason for the story of the spontaneous life of mankind is as follows:

Section 272

Str. God himself was their shepherd, watching over them, just as man, being an animal of different and more divine nature than the rest, now tends the lower species of animals. And under his care there were no states, nor did men possess wives or children; for they all came to life again out of the earth, with no recollection of their former lives. So there were no states or families, but they had fruits in plenty from the trees and other plants, which the earth furnished them of its own accord, without help from agriculture. And they lived for the most part in the open air, without clothing or bedding; for the climate was tempered for their comfort, and the abundant grass that grew up out of the earth furnished them soft couches. That, Socrates, was the life of men in the reign of Cronus; but the life of the present age, which is said to be the age of Zeus, you know by your own experience. Would you be able and willing to decide which of them is the more blessed?

Y. Soc. Certainly not.

Str. Shall I, then, make some sort of a judgement for you?

Y. Soc. Do so, by all means.

Str. Well, then, if the foster children of Cronus, having all this leisure and the ability to converse not only with human beings but also with beasts, made full use of all these opportunities with a view to philosophy, talking with the animals and with one another and learning from every creature that, through possession of some peculiar power he may have had in any respect beyond his fellows perceptions tending towards an increase of wisdom, it would be easy to decide that the people of those old times were immeasurably happier than those of our epoch. Or if they merely ate and drank till they were full and gossiped with each other and the animals, telling such stories as are even now told about them, in that case, too, it would, in my opinion, be very easy to reach a decision. However, let us pass those matters by, so long as there is no one capable of reporting to us what the desires of the people in those days were in regard to knowledge and the employment of speech. The reason why we revived this legend must be told, in order that we may get ahead afterwards. For when the time of all those conditions was accomplished and the change was to take place and all the earth-born race had at length been used up, since every soul had fulfilled all its births by falling into the earth as seed its prescribed number of times, then the helmsman of the universe dropped the tiller and withdrew to his place of outlook, and fate and innate desire made the earth turn backwards.

Section 273

Str. So, too, all the gods who share, each in his own sphere, the rule of the Supreme Spirit, promptly perceiving what was taking place, let go the parts of the world which were under their care. And as the universe was turned back and there came the shock of collision, as the beginning and the end rushed in opposite directions, it produced a great earthquake within itself and caused a new destruction of all sorts of living creatures. But after that, when a sufficient time had elapsed, there was rest now from disturbance and confusion, calm followed the earthquakes, and the world went on its own accustomed course in orderly fashion, exercising care and rule over itself and all within itself, and remembering and practising the teachings of the Creator and Father to the extent of its power, at first more accurately and at last more carelessly; and the reason for this was the material element in its composition, because this element, which was inherent in the primeval nature, was infected with great disorder before the attainment of the existing orderly universe. For from its Composer the universe has received only good things; but from its previous condition it retains in itself and creates in the animals all the elements of harshness and injustice which have their origin in the heavens. Now as long as the world was nurturing the animals within itself under the guidance of the Pilot, it produced little evil and great good; but in becoming separated from him it always got on most excellently during the time immediately after it was let go, but as time went on and it grew forgetful, the ancient condition of disorder prevailed more and more and towards the end of the time reached its height, and the universe, mingling but little good with much of the opposite sort, was in danger of destruction for itself and those within it. Therefore at that moment God, who made the order of the universe, perceived that it was in dire trouble, and fearing that it might founder in the tempest of confusion and sink in the boundless sea of diversity, he took again his place as its helmsman, reversed whatever had become unsound and unsettled in the previous period when the world was left to itself, set the world in order, restored it and made it immortal and ageless. So now the whole tale is told; but for our purpose of exhibiting the nature of the king it will be enough to revert to the earlier part of the story. For when the universe was turned again into the present path of generation, the age of individuals came again to a stop, and that led to new processes, the reverse of those which had gone before. For the animals which had grown so small as almost to disappear grew larger, and those newly born from the earth with hoary hair died and passed below the earth again.

Section 274

Str. And all other things changed, imitating the condition of the universe and conforming to it, and so too pregnancy and birth and nurture necessarily imitated and conformed to the rest; for no living creature could any longer come into being by the union of other elements, but just as the universe was ordered to be the ruler of its own course, so in the same way the parts were ordered, so far as they could, to grow and beget and give nourishment of themselves under the same guidance. And now we have come at last to the point for the sake of which this whole discourse was begun. For much might be said, and at great length, about the other animals, their previous forms and the causes of their several changes; but about mankind there is less to say and it is more to our purpose. For men, deprived of the care of the deity who had possessed and tended us, since most of the beasts who were by nature unfriendly had grown fierce, and they themselves were feeble and unprotected, were ravaged by the beasts and were in the first ages still without resources or skill; the food which had formerly offered itself freely had failed them, and they did not yet know how to provide for themselves, because no necessity had hitherto compelled them. On all these accounts they were in great straits; and that is the reason why the gifts of the gods that are told of in the old traditions were given us with the needful information and instruction,—fire by Prometheus, the arts by Hephaestus and the goddess who is his fellow-artisan, seeds and plants by other deities. And from these has arisen all that constitutes human life, since, as I said a moment ago, the care of the gods had failed men and they had to direct their own lives and take care of themselves, like the whole universe, which we imitate and follow through all time, being born and living now in our present manner and in that other epoch in the other manner. So, then, let our tale be finished; but we will turn it to account for opening our eyes to the great error we made in the exposition of the king and the statesman in our earlier discussion.

Y. Soc. How, then, did we err, and what is the great error you say we have committed?

Str. In one way we made a comparatively slight error, in another a very important one, much greater and more far-reaching than the first.

Y. Soc. How did we do that?

Section 275

Str. When we were asked about the king and the statesman of the present movement of the world and mode of generation, we told of the shepherd of the human flock in the time of the reverse movement, and he was a god, not a man, besides. That was a very great error. Then when we declared that he was ruler of the whole state, but did not fully tell in what manner he ruled, what we said was true, though it was not complete nor clear, and therefore our error was less in this case than in the other.

Y. Soc. True.

Str. Apparently, then, we must expect a complete description of the statesman only when we have defined the manner of his rule over the state.

Y. Soc. Very good.

Str. And this is why I introduced the myth, not only in order to show that all men compete for the care of the flock with him whom we are now seeking, but also that we may more clearly see him who alone ought to have the care of human beings as shepherds and neatherds care for their flocks and herds, and therefore alone deserves to be honored with that appellation.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. I think, Socrates, that the form of the divine shepherd is greater than that of the king, whereas the statesmen who now exist here are by nature much more like their subjects, with whom they share much more nearly the same breeding and education.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. And yet they would have to be investigated with precisely the same care, whether their nature be like that of their subjects or like that of the divine shepherd.

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. Then let us go back to this point: the art which we said gave its own orders and had to do with living beings, but had charge of them not singly but in common, and which we at once called the art of the herdsman,—do you remember?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Well, it was in connection with that, somewhere, that we made our mistake; for we never included or named the statesman; unobserved by us he slipped out of our nomenclature.

Y. Soc. How so?

Str. All the other herdsmen have this in common that they feed their respective herds; but the statesman does not, yet we gave him the name of herdsman, when we ought to have given him one which is common to them all.

Y. Soc. True, if there were such a name.

Str. Is not caring for herds common to them all, with no especial mention of feeding or any other activity? If we called it an art of tending herds or caring for them or managing them, as all herdsmen do, we could wrap up the statesman with the rest, since the argument showed that we ought to do so.

Section 276

Y. Soc. Quite right; but how would the next division be made?

Str. Just as we divided the art of feeding herds before by distinguishing between those that go on foot and the winged, and the unmixed breeds and the hornless, we might divide the art of tending herds by these same distinctions, embracing in the word both the kingship of the present time and that of the time of Cronus.

Y. Soc. Evidently; but again I wonder what the next step is.

Str. It Is clear that if we had used the word tending herds, we should never have met with the contention that there is no caring for them at all in statesmanship, though the earlier contention was justified that there is no art in the case of human beings that deserves the name of feeding, and if there be such an art, it belongs much more to many others than to the king.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. But no other art would advance a stronger claim than that of kingship to be the art of caring for the whole human community and ruling all mankind.

Y. Soc. You are right.

Str. And after all this, Socrates, do we see that another great error was committed at the very end?

Y. Soc. What was it?

Str. Why, it was this: No matter how strong our belief that there was an art of feeding the biped herd, we ought not to have called it kingship and statecraft on the spot, as if it were all quite settled.

Y. Soc. What ought we to have done, then?

Str. In the first place, as we said, we ought to have remodelled the name, making it denote care, rather than feeding, and then we ought to have divided the art, for it may still admit of not unimportant divisions.

Y. Soc. What are they?

Str. There is one by which we might have divided the divine shepherd from the human caretaker.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. And again it was essential that the art of caretaking thus isolated and assigned to man be divided into two parts.

Y. Soc. On what line of division?

Str. On that of compulsory and voluntary.

Y. Soc. Why is that?

Str. Because this was about the point at which we made our mistake before; we were more simple-minded than we should have been, and we put the king and the tyrant together, whereas they and their respective modes of ruling are quite unlike.

Y. Soc. True.

Str. But now shall we, as I said, correct ourselves and divide the care of humanity into two parts, by the criterion of the compulsory and the voluntary?

Y. Soc. By all means.

Str. And if we call the art of those who use compulsion tyrannical or something of the sort and the voluntary care of voluntary bipeds political, may we not declare that he who possesses this latter art of caretaking is really the true king and statesman?

Section 277

Y. Soc. Well, Stranger, it looks as though our account of the statesman were complete now.

Str. That would be a fine thing for us, Socrates. But not you alone must think so; I must think so, too, in agreement with you. As a matter of fact, however, in my opinion our figure of the king is not yet perfect, but like statue-makers who sometimes in their misapplied enthusiasm make too numerous and too large additions and thus delay the completion of their several works, we too, at this time, wishing to make quick progress, and also to make clear in a grand style the error of our previous course, and, moreover, fancying that the use of great illustrations was proper in the case of a king, have taken up a marvellous mass of myth and have consequently been obliged to use a greater part of it than we should. So we have made our discourse too long and after all have never made an end of the tale, but our talk, just like a picture of a living creature, seems to have a good enough outline, but not yet to have received the clearness that comes from pigments and the blending of colors. And yet it is more fitting to portray any living being by speech and argument than by painting or any handicraft whatsoever to persons who are able to follow argument; but to others it is better to do it by means of works of craftsmanship.

Y. Soc. That is true; but explain wherein you think our exposition is still deficient.

Str. It is difficult, my dear fellow, to set forth any of the greater ideas, except by the use of examples; for it would seem that each of us knows everything that he knows as if in a dream and then again, when he is as it were awake, knows nothing of it all.

Y. Soc. What do you mean by that?

Str. I seem at present in absurd fashion to have touched upon our experience in regard to knowledge.

Y. Soc. In what respect?

Str. Why, my friend, the very example I employ requires another example.

Y. Soc. Indeed? What is it? Don’t hesitate to tell on my account.

Str. I will tell, since you on your part are prepared to listen. We know that children, when they are just getting some knowledge of letters—

Y. Soc. Well?

Str. Recognize the several letters well enough in the short and easy syllables, and can make correct statements about them.

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Section 278

Str. And then again in other syllables they are in doubt about those same letters, and err in opinion and speech about them.

Y. Soc. Yes, certainly.

Str. Would not the easiest and best way to lead them to the letters which they do not yet know be this?

Y. Soc. What?

Str. To lead them first to those cases in which they had correct opinions about these same letters and then to lead them and set them beside the groups which they did not yet recognize and by comparing them to show that their nature is the same in both combinations alike, and to continue until the letters about which their opinions are correct have been shown in juxtaposition with all those of which they are ignorant. Being shown in this way they become examples and bring it about that every letter is in all syllables always called by the same name, either by differentiation from the other letters, in case it is different, or because it is the same.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Is this, then, a satisfactory definition, that an example is formed when that which is the same in some second unconnected thing is rightly conceived and compared with the first, so that the two together form one true idea?

Y. Soc. Evidently.

Str. Can we wonder, then, that our soul, whose nature involves it in the same uncertainty about the letters or elements of all things, is sometimes in some cases firmly grounded in the truth about every detail, and again in other cases is all at sea about everything, and somehow or other has correct opinions about some combinations, and then again is ignorant of the same things when they are transferred to the long and difficult syllables of life?

Y. Soc. Surely we need not wonder at that.

Str. No; for could anyone, my friend, who begins with false opinion, ever attain to even a small part of truth and acquire wisdom?

Y. Soc. No; it is hardly possible.

Str. Then if this is the case, would it be a bad thing if you and I first tried to see in another small and partial example the nature of example in general, with the intention of transferring afterwards the same figurative method from lesser things to the most exalted eminence of the king, and trying by means of an example to become acquainted in a scientific way with the management of states, in order that this may be waking knowledge for us, not dream knowledge?

Y. Soc. That is a very good idea.

Section 279

Str. Then we must take up our former argument again, and since there are countless others who contend that they, rather than the royal class, have the care of states, we must accordingly remove all these and isolate the king; and, as we said, to accomplish this we need an example.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. What example could we apply which is very small, but has the same kind of activity as statesmanship and would enable us satisfactorily to discover that which we seek? What do you say, Socrates, if we have nothing else at hand, to taking at random the art of weaving, and, if you please, not the whole of that? For I fancy the art of weaving wool will be enough; if we choose that part only it will probably furnish us with the illustration we desire.

Y. Soc. Agreed.

Str. Then just as we divided each subject before by cutting off parts from parts, why not now apply the same process to the art of weaving and, by going through all the steps as briefly as we possibly can, arrive quickly at that which serves our present purpose?

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. I will answer you by actually going through the process.

Y. Soc. Excellent

Str. Well, then, all things which we make or acquire are for the sake of doing something or else they are for defence against suffering; and of the defensive class some are spells and antidotes, both divine and human, and some are material defences; and of the material defences some are equipment for war and some are protections; and of protections some are screens and some are defences against heat and cold; and such defences are either shelters or coverings; and coverings are either rugs to spread under us or wrappings to wrap round us; and wrappings are either all of one piece or composed of several pieces; and of the composite garments some are stitched and others put together without stitching; and of the unstitched some are made of the fibres of plants and some are of hair; and of those made with hair some are stuck together with liquids and cement and others are fastened without any such extraneous matter. Now to these protective coverings made of materials fastened without extraneous matter we give the name of clothes; and just as we called the art statecraft which was concerned with the state, so we shall call the art concerned with clothes, from the nature of its activity, clothes-making, shall we not? And may we say further that weaving, in so far as the greatest part of it is, as we saw, concerned with the making of clothes, differs in name only from this art of clothes-making, just as in the other case the royal art differed from statecraft?

Section 280

Y. Soc. That is perfectly correct.

Str. Let us next reflect that a person might think that this description of the art of weaving was satisfactory, because he cannot understand that it has not yet been distinguished from the closely co-operative arts, though it has been separated from many other kindred arts.

Y. Soc. What kindred arts?

Str. You do not seem to have followed what I have been saying; so I think I had better go back again and begin at the end. For if you understand what I mean by kinship, we distinguished from clothing something akin to it a moment ago when we separated rugs from it by the distinction between spreading under and wrapping round.

Y. Soc. I understand.

Str. And we removed the entire manufacture of cloth made from flax and broom-cords and all that we just now called vegetable fibres; and then, too, we separated off the process of felting and the kind of joining that employs piercing and sewing, most important of which is the shoemaker’s art.

Y. Soc. Yes, to be sure.

Str. And we separated off the art of making coverings of leather in single pieces and all the arts of making shelters, which we find in house-building and carpentering in general and in other methods of protection against water, and all the arts which furnish protection against theft and acts of violence, the arts, that is to say, of making lids and constructing doors, which are regarded as parts of the joiner’s art; and we cut off the armorer’s art, which is a section of the great and various function of making defences; and at the very beginning we cut off the whole art of magic which is concerned with antidotes and spells, and we have left, as it would seem, just the art we were seeking, which furnishes protection from the weather, manufactures a defence of wool, and is called the art of weaving.

Y. Soc. That seems to be the case.

Section 281

Str. But, my boy, this is not yet completely stated; for the man who is engaged in the first part of the making of clothes appears to do something the opposite of weaving.

Y. Soc. How so?

Str. The process of weaving is, I take it, a kind of joining together.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. But the first part I refer to is a separation of what is combined and matted together.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. The work of the carder’s art. Or shall we have the face to say that carding is weaving and the carder is a weaver?

Y. Soc. No, certainly not.

Str. And surely if we say the art of making the warp or the woof is the art of weaving, we are employing an irrational and false designation.

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. Well then, shall we say that the whole arts of fulling and mending are no part of the care and treatment of clothes, or shall we declare that these also are entirely included in the art of weaving?

Y. Soc. By no means.

Str. But surely all these will contest the claim of the art of weaving in the matter of the treatment and the production of clothes; they will grant that the part of weaving is the most important, but will claim that their own parts are of some importance, too.

Y. Soc. Yes, certainly.

Str. Then we must believe that besides these the arts which produce the tools by means of which the works of weaving are accomplished will claim to be collaborators in every work of weaving.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. Will our definition of the art of weaving (I mean the part of it we selected) be satisfactory if we say that of all the activities connected with woollen clothing it is the noblest and the greatest? Or would that, although it contains some truth, yet lack clearness and completeness until we separate from weaving all these other arts?

Y. Soc. You are right.

Str. Then shall our next move be to do this, that our discussion may proceed in due order?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. First, then, let us observe that there are two arts involved in all production.

Y. Soc. What are they?

Str. The one is a contingent cause, the other is the actual cause.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. Those arts which do not produce the actual thing in question, but which supply to the arts which do produce it the tools without which no art could ever perform its prescribed work, may be called contingent causes, and those which produce the actual thing are causes.

Y. Soc. At any rate, that is reasonable.

Str. Next, then, shall we designate all the arts which produce spindles, shuttles, and the various other tools that partake in the production of clothing as contingent causes, and those which treat and manufacture the clothing itself as causes?

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Section 282

Str. And among the causal arts we may properly include washing and mending and all the care of clothing in such ways; and, since the art of adornment is a wide one, we may classify them as a part of it under the name of fulling.

Y. Soc. Good.

Str. And, again, carding and spinning and all the processes concerned with the actual fabrication of the clothing under consideration, form collectively one art familiar to every one—the art of wool-working.

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. And wool-working comprises two divisions, and each of these is a part of two arts at once.

Y. Soc. How is that?

Str. Carding, and one half of the use of the weaver’s rod, and the other crafts which separate things that are joined—all this collectively is a part of the art of wool-working; and in all things we found two great arts, that of composition and that of division.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Now carding and all the other processes just mentioned are parts of the art of division; for the art of division in wool and threads, exercised in one way with the rod and in another with the hands, has all the names just mentioned.

Y. Soc. Yes, certainly.

Str. Then let us again take up something which is at once a part of the arts of composition and of wool-working. Let us put aside all that belongs to division, making two parts of wool-working, by applying the principles of division and of composition.

Y. Soc. Let us make that distinction.

Str. The part which belongs at once to composition and to wool-working, Socrates, you must allow us to divide again, if we are to get a satisfactory concept of the aforesaid art of weaving.

Y. Soc. Then we must divide it.

Str. Yes, we must; and let us call one part of it the art of twisting threads, and the other the art of intertwining them.

Y. Soc. I am not sure I understand. By the art of twisting I think you mean the making of the warp.

Str. Not that only, but also the making of the woof. We shall not find that the woof is made without twisting, shall we?

Y. Soc. No, of course not.

Str. Well, just define warp and woof; perhaps the definition would serve you well at this junction.

Y. Soc. How shall I do it?

Str. In this way: A piece of carded wool, which is lengthened out and is wide, is said to be a lap of wool, is it not?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And if any such lap of wool is twisted with a spindle and made into a hard thread, we call the thread warp, and the art which governs this process is the art of spinning the warp.

Y. Soc. Right.

Section 283

Str. And the threads, in turn, which are more loosely twisted and have in respect to the force used in the carding a softness adapted to the interweaving with the warp we will call the woof, and the art devoted to these we will call the art of preparing the woof.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. So now the part of the art of weaving which we chose for our discussion is clear to pretty much every understanding; for when that part of the art of composition which is included in the art of weaving forms a web by the right intertwining of woof and warp, we call the entire web a woollen garment, and the art which directs this process we call weaving.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. Very good. Then why in the world did we not say at once that weaving is the intertwining of woof and warp? Why did we beat about the bush and make a host of futile distinctions?

Y. Soc. For my part, I thought nothing that was said was futile, Stranger.

Str. And no wonder; but perhaps you might change your mind. Now to avoid any such malady, in case it should, as is not unlikely, attack you frequently hereafter, I will propose a principle of procedure which is applicable to all cases of this sort.

Y. Soc. Do so.

Str. First, then, let us scrutinize the general nature of excess and deficiency, for the sake of obtaining a rational basis for any praise or blame we may bestow upon excessive length or brevity in discussions of this kind.

Y. Soc. Yes, that is a good thing to do.

Str. Then the proper subjects for our consideration would, I fancy, be these.

Y. Soc. What?

Str. Length and shortness and excess and deficiency in general; for all of them may be regarded as the subjects of the art of measurement.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Let us, then, divide that art into two parts; that is essential for our present purpose.

Y. Soc. Please tell how to make the division.

Str. In this way: one part is concerned with relative greatness or smallness, the other with the something without which production would not be possible.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. Do you not think that, by the nature of the case, we must say that the greater is greater than the less and than nothing else, and that the less is less than the greater and than nothing else?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. But must we not also assert the real existence of excess beyond the standard of the mean, and of inferiority to the mean, whether in words or deeds, and is not the chief difference between good men and bad found in such excess or deficiency?

Y. Soc. That is clear.

Str. Then we must assume that there are these two kinds of great and small, and these two ways of distinguishing between them; we must not, as we did a little while ago, say that they are relative to one another only, but rather, as we have just said, that one kind is relative in that way, and the other is relative to the standard of the mean. Should we care to learn the reason for this?

Y. Soc. Of course.

Section 284

Str. If we assert that the greater has no relation to anything except the less, it will never have any relation to the standard of the mean, will it?

Y. Soc. No.

Str. Will not this doctrine destroy the arts and their works one and all, and do away also with statesmanship, which we are now trying to define, and with weaving, which we did define? For all these are doubtless careful about excess and deficiency in relation to the standard of the mean; they regard them not as non-existent, but as real difficulties in actual practice, and it is in this way, when they preserve the standard of the mean, that all their works are good and beautiful.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. And if we do away with the art of statesmanship, our subsequent search for the kingly art will be hopeless, will it not?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Then just as in the case of the sophist we forced the conclusion that not-being exists, since that was the point at which we had lost our hold of the argument, so now we must force this second conclusion, that the greater and the less are to be measured in relation, not only to one another, but also to the establishment of the standard of the mean, must we not? For if this is not admitted, neither the statesman nor any other man who has knowledge of practical affairs can be said without any doubt to exist.

Y. Soc. Then we must by all means do now the same that we did then.

Str. This, Socrates, is a still greater task than that was; and yet we remember how long that took us; but it is perfectly fair to make about them some such assumption as this.

Y. Soc. As what?

Str. That sometime we shall need this principle of the mean for the demonstration of absolute precise truth. But our belief that the demonstration is for our present purpose good and sufficient is, in my opinion, magnificently supported by this argument—that we must believe that all the arts alike exist and that the greater and the less are measured in relation not only to one another but also to the establishment of the standard of the mean. For if this exists, they exist also, and if they exist, it exists also, but neither can ever exist if the other does not.

Y. Soc. That is quite right. But what comes next?

Str. We should evidently divide the science of measurement into two parts in accordance with what has been said. One part comprises all the arts which measure number, length, depth, breadth, and thickness in relation to their opposites; the other comprises those which measure them in relation to the moderate, the fitting, the opportune, the needful, and all the other standards that are situated in the mean between the extremes.

Y. Soc. Both of your divisions are extensive, and there is a great difference between them.

Section 285

Str. Yes, for what many clever persons occasionally say, Socrates, fancying that it is a wise remark, namely, that the science of measurement has to do with everything, is precisely the same as what we have just said. For in a certain way all things which are in the province of art do partake of measurement; but because people are not in the habit of considering things by dividing them into classes, they hastily put these widely different relations into the same category, thinking they are alike; and again they do the opposite of this when they fail to divide other things into parts. What they ought to do is this: when a person at first sees only the unity or common quality of many things, he must not give up until he sees all the differences in them, so far as they exist in classes; and conversely, when all sorts of dissimilarities are seen in a large number of objects he must find it impossible to be discouraged or to stop until has gathered into one circle of similarity all the things which are related to each other and has included them in some sort of class on the basis of their essential nature. No more need be said, then, about this or about deficiency and excess; let us only bear carefully in mind that two kinds of measurement which apply to them have been found, and let us remember what those kinds are.

Y. Soc. We will remember.

Str. Now that we have finished this discussion, let us take up another which concerns the actual objects of our inquiry and the conduct of such discussions in general.

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. Suppose we were asked the following question about a group of pupils learning their letters: When a pupil is asked of what letters some word or other composed, is the question asked for the sake of the one particular word before him or rather to make him more learned about all words in the lesson?

Y. Soc. Clearly to make him more learned about them all.

Str. And how about our own investigation of the statesman? Has it been undertaken for the sake of his particular subject or rather to make us better thinkers about all subjects?

Y. Soc. Clearly this also is done with a view to them all.

Str. Of course no man of sense would wish to pursue the discussion of weaving for its own sake; but most people, it seems to me, fail to notice that some things have sensible resemblances which are easily perceived; and it is not at all difficult to show them when anyone wishes, in response to a request for an explanation of some one of them, to exhibit them easily without trouble and really without explanation. But, on the other hand, the greatest and noblest conceptions have no image wrought plainly for human vision, which he who wishes to satisfy the mind of the inquirer can apply to some one of his senses and by mere exhibition satisfy the mind.

Section 286

Str. We must therefore endeavor by practice to acquire the power of giving and understanding a rational definition of each one of them; for immaterial things, which are the noblest and greatest, can be exhibited by reason only, and it is for their sake that all we are saying is said. But it is always easier to practise in small matters than in greater ones.

Y. Soc. Excellent.

Str. Let us, then, remember the reason for all that we have said about these matters.

Y. Soc. What is the reason?

Str. The reason is chiefly just that irritating impatience which we exhibited in relation to the long talk about weaving and the revolution of the universe and the sophist’s long talk about the existence of not-being. We felt that they were too long, and we reproached ourselves for all of them, fearing that our talk was not only long, but irrelevant. Consider, therefore, that the reason for what has just been said is my wish to avoid any such impatience in the future.

Y. Soc. Very well. Please go on with what you have to say.

Str. What I have to say, then, is that you and I, remembering what has just been said, must praise or blame the brevity or length of our several discussions, not by comparing their various lengths with one another, but with reference to that part of the science of measurement which we said before must be borne in mind; I mean the standard of fitness.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Section 287

Str. But we must not always judge of length by fitness, either. For we shall not in the least want a length that is fitted to give pleasure, except, perhaps, as a secondary consideration; and again reason counsels us to accept fitness for the easiest and quickest completion of the inquiry in which we are engaged, not as the first, but as the second thing to be desired. By far our first and most important object should be to exalt the method itself of ability to divide by classes, and therefore, if a discourse, even though it be very long, makes the hearer better able to discover the truth, we should accept it eagerly and should not be offended by its length, or if it is short, we should judge it in the same way. And, moreover, anyone who finds fault with the length of discourses in our discussions, or objects to roundabout methods, must not merely find fault with the speeches for their length and then pass them quickly and hastily by, but he must also show that there is ground for the belief that if they had been briefer they would have made their hearers better dialecticians and quicker to discover through reason the truth of realities. About other people and the praise or blame they direct towards other qualities in discourse, we need not be concerned; we need not even appear to hear them. But enough of this, if you feel about it as I do; so let us go back to the statesman and apply to him the example of weaving that we spoke of a while ago.

Y. Soc. Very well; let us do so.

Str. The art of the king, then, has been separated from most of the kindred arts, or rather from all the arts that have to do with herds. There remain, however, the arts that have to do with the state itself. These are both causes and contingent causes, and our first duty is to separate them from one another.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. It is not easy to divide them into halves, you know. But I think the reason will nevertheless be clear as we go on.

Y. Soc. Then we had better divide in another way.

Str. Let us divide them, then, like an animal that is sacrificed, by joints, since we cannot bisect them; for we must always divide into a number of parts as near two as possible.

Y. Soc. How shall we do it in the present instance?

Str. Just as in the previous case, you know, we classed all the arts which furnished tools for weaving as contingent causes.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. So now we must do the same thing, but it is even more imperative. For all the arts which furnish any implement, great or small, for the state, must be classed as contingent causes; for without them neither state nor statesmanship could ever exist, and yet I do not suppose we shall reckon any of them as the work of the kingly art.

Y. Soc. No.

Str. We shall certainly be undertaking a hard task in separating this class from the rest; for it might be said that everything that exists is the instrument of something or other, and the statement seems plausible. But there are possessions of another kind in the state, about which I wish to say something.

Y. Soc. What do you wish to say?

Str. That they do not possess this instrumental function. For they are not, like tools or instruments, made for the purpose of being causes of production, but exist for the preservation of that which has been produced.

Y. Soc. What is this class of possessions?

Section 288

Str. That very various class which is made with dry and wet materials and such as are wrought by fire and without fire; it is called collectively the class of receptacles; it is a very large class and has, so far as I can see, nothing at all to do with the art we are studying.

Y. Soc. No, of course not.

Str. And there is a third very large class of possessions to be noticed, differing from these; it is found on land and on water, it wanders about and is stationary, it is honorable and without honor, but it has one name, because the whole class is always a seat for some one and exists to be sat upon.

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. We call it a vehicle, and it certainly is not at all the work of statesmanship, but much rather that of the arts of carpentry, pottery and bronze-working.

Y. Soc. I understand.

Str. And is there a fourth class? Shall we say that there is one, differing from those three, one to which most of the things we have mentioned belong—all clothing, most arms, all circuit walls of earth or of stone, and countless other things? And since they are all made for defence, they may most rightly be called by the collective name of defence, and this may much more properly be considered for the most part the work of the art of building or of weaving than of statesmanship.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. And should we care to make a fifth class, of ornamentation and painting and all the imitations created by the use of painting and music solely for our pleasure and properly included under one name?

Y. Soc. What is its name?

Str. It is called by some such name as plaything.

Y. Soc. To be sure.

Str. So this one name will properly be applied to all the members of this class; for none of them is practised for any serious purpose, but all of them merely for play.

Y. Soc. I understand that pretty well, too.

Str. And shall we not make a sixth class of that which furnishes to all these the materials of which and in which all the arts we have mentioned fashion their works, a very various class, the offspring of many other arts?

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. Gold and silver and all the products of the mines and all the materials which tree-felling and wood-cutting in general cut and provide for carpentry and basket-weaving; and then, too, the art of stripping the bark from plants and the leather-worker’s art which takes off the skins of animals, and all the other arts which have to do with such matters, and those that make corks and paper and cords and enable us to manufacture composite classes of things from kinds that are not composite. We call all this, as one class, the primary and simple possession of man, and it is in no way the work of the kingly science.

Y. Soc. Good.

Section 289

Str. And property in food and all the things which, mingling parts of themselves with parts of the body, have any function of keeping it in health, we may say is the seventh class, and we will call it collectively our nourishment, unless we have some better name to give it. All this we can assign to the arts of husbandry, hunting, gymnastics, medicine, and cooking more properly than to that of statesmanship.

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. Now I think I have in these seven classes mentioned nearly all kinds of property except tame animals. See: there was the primary possession, which ought in justice to have been placed first, and after this the instrument, receptacle, vehicle, defence, plaything, nourishment. Whatever we have omitted, unless some important thing has been overlooked, can find its place in one of those classes; for instance, the group of coins, seals, and stamps, for there is not among these any kinship such as to form a large class, but some of them can be made to fit into the class of ornaments, others into that of instruments, though the classification is somewhat forced. All property in tame animals, except slaves, is included in the art of herding, which has already been divided into parts.

Y. Soc. Yes quite true.

Str. There remains the class of slaves and servants in general, and here I prophesy that we shall find those who set up claims against the king for the very fabric of his art, just as the spinners and carders and the rest of whom we spoke advanced claims against the weavers a while ago. All the others, whom we called contingent causes, have been removed along with the works we just mentioned and have been separated from the activity of the king and the statesman.

Y. Soc. That seems to be the case, at least.

Str. Come then, let us step up and look from close at hand at those who are left, that so we may know them more surely.

Y. Soc. Yes, that is what we should do.

Str. We shall find, then, that the greatest servants, when seen from near at hand, are in conduct and condition the opposite of that which we suspected.

Y. Soc. Who are they?

Str. The bought servants, acquired by purchase, whom we can without question call slaves. They make no claim to any share in the kingly art.

Y. Soc. Certainly not.

Section 290

Str. How about those free men who put themselves voluntarily in the position of servants of those whom we mentioned before? I mean the men who carry about and distribute among one another the productions of husbandry and the other arts, whether in the domestic marketplaces or by travelling from city to city by land or sea, exchanging money for wares or money for money, the men whom we call brokers, merchants, shipmasters, and peddlers; do they lay any claim to statesmanship?

Y. Soc. Possibly to commercial statesmanship

Str. But certainly we shall never find laborers, whom we see only too glad to serve anybody for hire, claiming a share in the kingly art.

Y. Soc. Certainly not.

Str. But there are people who perform services of another kind. How about them?

Y. Soc. What services and what men do you mean?

Str. The class of heralds and those who become by long practice skilled as clerks and other clever men who perform various services in connection with public offices. What shall we call them?

Y. Soc. What you called the others, servants; they are not themselves rulers in the states.

Str. But surely it was no dream that made me say we should find somewhere in this region those who more than others lay claim to the art of statesmanship; and yet it would be utterly absurd to look for them in any servile position.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. But let us draw a little closer still to those whom we have not yet examined. There are men who have to do with divination and possess a portion of a certain menial science; for they are supposed to be interpreters of the gods to men.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And then, too, the priests, according to law and custom, know how to give the gods, by means of sacrifices, the gifts that please them from us and by prayers to ask for us the gain of good things from them; now these are both part of a servant’s art.

Y. Soc. At least they seem to be so.

Str. At last, then, I think we are, as it were, on the track of our quarry. For the bearing of the priests and prophets is indeed full of pride, and they win high esteem because of the magnitude of their undertakings. In Egypt, for example, no king can rule without being a priest, and if he happens to have forced his way to the throne from some other class, he must enroll himself in the class of priests afterwards; and among the Greeks, too, you would find that in many states the performance of the greatest public sacrifices is a duty imposed upon the highest officials. Yes, among you Athenians this is very plain, for they say the holiest and most national of the ancient sacrifices are performed by the man whom the lot has chosen to be the King.

Y. Soc. Yes, certainly.

Section 291

Str. We must, then, examine these elected kings and priests and their assistants, and also another very large crowd of people which has just come in sight now that the others are out of the way.

Y. Soc. Who are these people?

Str. A very queer lot.

Y. Soc. How so?

Str. They are of very mixed race at least they seem so now, when I can just see them. For many of them are like lions and centaurs and other fierce creatures, and very many are like satyrs and the weak and cunning beasts; and they make quick exchanges of forms and qualities with one another. Ah, but now, Socrates, I think I have just made out who they are.

Y. Soc. Tell me; for you seem to have caught sight of something strange.

Str. Yes, for ignorance makes things seem strange to everybody. That was what happened to me just now; when I suddenly caught sight of them I did not recognize the troop of those who busy themselves with the affairs of the state.

Y. Soc. What troop?

Str. That which of all the sophists is the greatest charlatan and most practised in charlatanry. This, although it is a hard thing to do, must be separated from the band of really statesmanlike and kingly men, if we are to get a clear view of the object of our search.

Y. Soc. But we certainly cannot give that up.

Str. No, of course not. I agree to that. And now please answer a question.

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. We agree that monarchy is one of the forms of government, do we not?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And after monarchy one might, I should say, mention the rule of the few.

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Str. And a third form of government is the rule of the multitude, called democracy, is it not?

Y. Soc. Yes, certainly.

Str. Do not these three become after a fashion five, producing out of themselves two additional names?

Y. Soc. What names?

Str. People nowadays are likely to take into consideration enforced subjection and voluntary obedience, poverty and wealth, law and lawlessness as they occur in governments, and so they divide two of the forms we mentioned, giving to the two aspects of monarchy the two names tyranny and royalty.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. And the state that is ruled by the few is called, as the case may be, aristocracy or oligarchy.

Y. Soc. To be sure.

Section 292

Str. In the case of democracy, however, whether the multitude rule those who have property by violence or with their willing consent, and whether the laws are carefully observed or not, no one ever habitually changes the name.

Y. Soc. True.

Str. Now then, do we believe that any of these forms of government which are defined by the distinctions between the one, the few, and the many, or wealth and poverty, or violence and willingness, or written constitution and absence of laws, is a right one?

Y. Soc. I don’t see why not.

Str. Look a bit more closely along the line I am going to point out.

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. Shall we abide by what we said in the beginning, or dissent from it?

Y. Soc. To what do you refer?

Str. We said, I believe, that royal power was one of the sciences.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And not only a science, but we selected it from the rest as a science of judgement and command.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And from the science of command we distinguished one part which rules inanimate works, and one which rules living beings; and so we have gone on dividing in this manner to the present moment, never forgetting that it is a science, but as yet unable to state with sufficient accuracy what science it is.

Y. Soc. You are right.

Str. Then is this our understanding, that the distinction between forms of government ought not to be found in the words few or many, or voluntary or unwilling, or wealth or poverty, but some science must be the distinguishing feature, if we are to be consistent with our previous statement?

Y. Soc. Yes, indeed; it cannot be otherwise.

Str. Necessarily, then, our present duty is to inquire in which, if any, of these forms of government is engendered the science of ruling men, which is about the greatest of sciences and the most difficult to acquire. We must discover that in order to see what men are to be distinguished from the wise king—men, I mean, who pretend to be, and make many believe that they are, statesmen, but are really not such at all.

Y. Soc. Yes, we must do this; that is implied in what was said before.

Str. Does it seem at all possible that a multitude in a state could acquire this science?

Y. Soc. By no means.

Str. But in a state of one thousand men could perhaps a hundred or as many as fifty acquire it adequately?

Section 293

Y. Soc. No, in that case this would be the easiest of all the arts; for we know that a city of a thousand men could never produce that number of finished draught-players in comparison with those in other Greek cities, still less so many kings. For the man who possesses the kingly science, whether he rule or not, must be called kingly, as our previous argument showed.

Str. You did well to remind me. And in agreement with this, we must, I suppose, look for the right kind of rule in one or two or very few men, whenever such right rule occurs.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. And these men, whether they rule over willing or unwilling subjects, with or without written laws, and whether they are rich or poor, must, according to our present opinion, be supposed to exercise their rule in accordance with some art or science. And physicians offer a particularly good example of this point of view. Whether they cure us against our will or with our will, by cutting us or burning us or causing us pain in any other way, and whether they do it by written rules or without them, and whether they are rich or poor, we call them physicians just the same, so long as they exercise authority by art or science, purging us or reducing us in some other way, or even adding to our weight, provided only that they who treat their patients treat them for the benefit of their health and preserve them by making them better than they were. In this way and no other, in my opinion, shall we determine this to be the only right definition of the rule of the physician or of any other rule whatsoever.

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. It is, then, a necessary consequence that among forms of government that one is preeminently right and is the only real government, in which the rulers are found to be truly possessed of science, not merely to seem to possess it, whether they rule by law or without law, whether their subjects are willing or unwilling, and whether they themselves are rich or poor—none of these things can be at all taken into account on any right method.

Y. Soc. Excellent.

Str. And whether they purge the state for its good by killing or banishing some of the citizens, or make it smaller by sending out colonies somewhere, as bees swarm from the hive, or bring in citizens from elsewhere to make it larger, so long as they act in accordance with science and justice and preserve and benefit it by making it better than it was, so far as is possible, that must at that time and by such characteristics be declared to be the only right form of government. All other forms must be considered not as legitimate or really existent, but as imitating this; those states which are said to be well governed imitate it better, and the others worse.

Y. Soc. Everything else that you have said seems reasonable; but that government should be carried on without laws is a hard saying.

Section 294

Str. You got ahead of me a little with your question, Socrates; for I was just going to ask whether you accepted all I have said, or were displeased with anything. But now it is clear that we shall have to discuss the question of the propriety of government without laws.

Y. Soc. Of course we shall.

Str. In a sense, however, it is clear that law-making belongs to the science of kingship; but the best thing is not that the laws be in power, but that the man who is wise and of kingly nature be ruler. Do you see why?

Y. Soc. Why is it?

Str. Because law could never, by determining exactly what is noblest and must just for one and all, enjoin upon them that which is best; for the differences of men and of actions and the fact that nothing, I may say, in human life is ever at rest, forbid any science whatsoever to promulgate any simple rule for everything and for all time. We agree to that, I suppose?

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Str. But we see that law aims at pretty nearly this very thing, like a stubborn and ignorant man who allows no one to do anything contrary to his command, or even to ask a question, not even if something new occurs to some one, which is better than the rule he has himself ordained.

Y. Soc. True; the law treats each and all of us exactly as you describe.

Str. So that which is persistently simple is inapplicable to things which are never simple?

Y. Soc. I suppose so.

Str. Why in the world, then, is it necessary to make laws, since law is not the most perfect right? We must ask the reason for this.

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Str. Well, there are here at Athens, as in other cities, classes for practice in athletics to prepare for contests in running or the like, are there not?

Y. Soc. Yes, a great many of them.

Str. Now let us recall to mind the orders given by the professional trainers when they are in charge of such classes.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. They think they cannot go into details in individual cases and order what is best for each person’s physique; they think they must employ a rougher method and give a general rule which will be good for the physique of the majority.

Y. Soc. Good.

Str. And therefore they nowadays assign equal exercise to whole classes; they make them begin at the same time and stop at the same time, whether they run or wrestle or practise any other kind of bodily exercise.

Y. Soc. That is true.

Section 295

Str. And so we must believe that the law-maker who is to watch over the herds and maintain justice and the obligation of contracts, will never be able by making laws for all collectively, to provide exactly that which is proper for each individual.

Y. Soc. Probably not, at any rate.

Str. But he will, I fancy, legislate for the majority and in a general way only roughly for individuals, whether he issues written laws or his enactments follow the unwritten traditional customs.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. Yes, quite right. For how could anyone, Socrates, sit beside each person all his life and tell him exactly what is proper for him to do? Certainly anyone who really possessed the kingly science, if he were able to do this, would hardly, I imagine, ever put obstacles in his own way by writing what we call laws.

Y. Soc. No, at least not according to what has just been said.

Str. Or rather, my friend, not according to what is going to be said.

Y. Soc. What is that?

Str. Something of this sort: Let us suppose that a physician or a gymnastic trainer is going away and expects to be a long time absent from his patients or pupils; if he thinks they will not remember his instructions, he would want to write them down, would he not?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. What if he should come back again after a briefer absence than he expected? Would he not venture to substitute other rules for those written instructions if others happened to be better for his patients, because the winds or something else had, by act of God, changed unexpectedly from their usual course? Would he persist in the opinion that no one must transgress the old laws, neither he himself by enacting new ones nor his patient by venturing to do anything contrary to the written rules, under the conviction that these laws were medicinal and healthful and anything else was unhealthful and unscientific? If anything of that sort occurred in the realm of science and true art, would not any such regulations on any subject assuredly arouse the greatest ridicule?

Y. Soc. Most assuredly.

Section 296

Str. But he who has made written or unwritten laws about the just and unjust, the honorable and disgraceful, the good and the bad for the herds of men that are tended in their several cities in accordance with the laws of the law-makers, is not to be permitted to give other laws contrary to those, if the scientific law-maker, or another like him, should come! Would not such a prohibition appear in truth as ridiculous as the other?

Y. Soc. It certainly would.

Str. Do you know what people in general say about such a case?

Y. Soc. I don’t recall it just now off-hand.

Str. Yes, it is very plausible; for they say that if anyone has anything better than the old laws to offer, he must first persuade the state, and then he may make his laws, but not otherwise.

Y. Soc. And is that not right?

Str. Perhaps. But suppose a man does not use persuasion, but makes an improvement by force. What is this force to be called? Answer me—or, no, not yet; first answer in reference to what we were talking of before.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. Suppose a physician who has right knowledge of his profession does not persuade, but forces, his patient, whether man, woman, or child, to do the better thing, though it be contrary to the written precepts, what will such violence be called? The last name in the world to call it would be unscientific and baneful error, as the phrase is, would it not? And the patient so forced might rightly say anything else rather than that he had been treated in a baneful or unscientific way by the physicians who used force upon him.

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. But what can we call the unscientific error in the field of statesmanship? Is it not baseness and evil and injustice?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Now if people are forced, contrary to the written laws and inherited traditions, to do what is juster and nobler and better than what they did before, tell me, will not anyone who blames such use of force, unless he is to be most utterly ridiculous, always say anything or everything rather than that those who have been so forced have suffered base and unjust and evil treatment at the hands of those who forced them?

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. But would the violence be just if he who uses it is rich, and unjust if he is poor? Or if a man, whether rich or poor, by persuasion or by other means, in accordance with written laws or contrary to them, does what is for the good of the people, must not this be the truest criterion of right government, in accordance with which the wise and good man will govern the affairs of his subjects?

Section 297

Str. Just as the captain of a ship keeps watch for what is at any moment for the good of the vessel and the sailors, not by writing rules, but by making his science his law, and thus preserves his fellow voyagers, so may not a right government be established in the same way by men who could rule by this principle, making science more powerful than the laws? And whatever the wise rulers do, they can commit no error, so long as they maintain one great principle and by always dispensing absolute justice to them with wisdom and science are able to preserve the citizens and make them better than they were, so far as that is possible. Is not this true?

Y. Soc. There is no denying the truth of what you have just said.

Str. And those other statements cannot be denied, either.

Y. Soc. What statements?

Str. That no great number of men, whoever they may be, could ever acquire political science and be able to administer a state with wisdom, but our one right form of government must be sought in some small number or one person, and all other forms are merely, as we said before, more or less successful imitations of that.

Y. Soc. What do you mean by that? I did not understand about the imitations a little while ago, either.

Str. And yet it is quite a serious matter if after stirring up this question we drop it and do not go on and show the error which is committed in relation to it nowadays.

Y. Soc. What is the error?

Str. I will tell you what we must investigate; it is not at all familiar or easy to see, but let us try to grasp it nevertheless. Tell me this: Assuming that the form of government we have described is the only right form, don’t you see that the other forms must employ its written laws if they are to be preserved by doing that which is approved of nowadays, although it is not perfectly right?

Y. Soc. What is not perfectly right?

Str. That no citizen shall dare to do anything contrary to the laws, and that he who does shall be punished by death and the most extreme penalties. And this is perfectly right and good as a second choice, as soon as you depart from the first form of which we were just speaking. Now let us tell in some detail how this which we called the second choice comes about. Shall we do so?

Y. Soc. By all means.

Str. Let us return once more to the images which we always have to use in portraying kingly rulers.

Y. Soc. What images?

Str. The noble captain of a ship and the physician who is worth as much as many others. Let us make a simile of them and use it to help us to discover something.

Y. Soc. What is your simile?

Section 298

Str. Something of this sort: Imagine that we all thought in regard to captains and physicians: We are most abominably treated by them. For whomsoever of us either of them wishes to save, he saves, one of them just like the other, and whomsoever he wishes to maltreat, he maltreats. They cut us up and burn us and order us to bring them payments of money, as if they were exacting tribute, of which they spend little or nothing for their patients; they themselves and their servants use the rest. And finally they are bribed by the patient’s relatives or enemies and actually bring about his death. And as for the captains, they commit countless other misdeeds they make plots and leave us deserted ashore when they put out to sea, they bring on mishaps at sea and so cast us into the water, and are guilty of other wrong-doings. Now suppose, with these thoughts in mind, we deliberated about them and decided that we would no longer allow either of these arts to rule without control over slaves or free men, but that we would call an assembly either of all the people or of the rich only, and that anyone, whether he were engaged in some other form of skilled labor or were without any special qualifications, should be free to offer an opinion about navigation and diseases, how drugs and surgical or medical instruments should be applied to the patients, and how ships and nautical instruments should be used for navigation and in meeting dangers, not only those of winds and sea that affect the voyage itself, but also those met in encounters with pirates, and if battles have to be fought between ships of war; and that whatever the majority decided about these matters, whether any physicians or ship captains or merely unskilled persons took part in the deliberations, should be inscribed upon tablets and slabs or in some instances should be adopted as unwritten ancestral customs, and that henceforth forever navigation and the care of the sick should be conducted in accordance with these provisions.

Y. Soc. That is a most absurd state of things that you have described.

Str. And suppose that rulers of the people are set up annually, whether from the rich or from the whole people, on the principle that whoever is chosen by lot should rule, and that these rulers exercise their authority in commanding the ships or treating the sick in accordance with the written rules.

Y. Soc. That is still harder to imagine.

Section 299

Str. Now consider what comes next. When the year of office has passed for each set of rulers, there will have to be sessions of courts in which the judges are chosen by lot either from a selected list of the rich or from the whole people, and the rulers will have to be brought before these courts and examined as to their conduct in office, and anyone who pleases can bring against the captains an accusation for failure to command the ships during the year in accordance with the written laws or the ancestral customs, and similarly against the physicians for their treatment of the sick; and if any of them is found guilty, the court shall decide what his punishment or his fine shall be.

Y. Soc. Surely anyone who consents voluntarily to hold office under such conditions would richly deserve any penalty or fine that might be imposed.

Str. And then, in addition to all this, there will have to be a law that if anyone is found to be investigating the art of pilotage or navigation or the subject of health and true medical doctrine about winds and things hot and cold, contrary to the written rules, or to be indulging in any speculation whatsoever on such matters, he shall in the first place not be called a physician or a ship captain, but a star-gazer, a kind of loquacious sophist, and secondly anyone who is properly qualified may bring an accusation against him and hale him into court for corrupting the young and persuading them to attack the arts of navigation and medicine in opposition to the laws and to govern the ships and the sick according to their own will; and if he is found to be so persuading either young or old contrary to the laws and written rules, he shall suffer the most extreme penalties. Nothing, they say, ought to be wiser than the laws; for no one is ignorant of medicine and the laws of health or of the pilot’s art and navigation, since anyone who pleases can learn the existing written rules and ancestral customs. Now if these regulations which I speak of were to be applied to these sciences, Socrates, and to strategy and every part of the entire art of hunting and to painting or every kind of imitation and to carpentry including every kind of utensil-making, or even to husbandry and all the art that is concerned with plants, or if we were to see an art of horse-breeding conducted by written rules, or herdsmanship in general or prophecy or everything that is included in the art of serving, or draught-playing or the whole science of number, whether arithmetic or plane geometry or solid geometry or problems of motion—what would you think of carrying on all these in such a way, by written rules and not by knowledge?

Y. Soc. Clearly all the arts would be utterly ruined, nor could they ever rise again, through the operation of the law prohibiting investigation; and so life, which is hard enough now, would then become absolutely unendurable.

Section 300

Str. Here is a further point. If we ordained that each of the aforesaid arts must be carried on by written rules and that the observance of our written rules be under the charge of the man who is elected or chosen by lot, but he should disregard the written rules and for the sake of some gain or to do a favor to some one should try to act contrary to them, without possessing any knowledge, would not this be a greater evil than the former?

Y. Soc. Most assuredly.

Str. Since the laws are made after long experience and after commissioners of some kind have carefully considered each detail with delicate skill and have persuaded the people to pass them, anyone, I fancy, who ventured to violate them would be involved in error many times greater than the first, and would cause even greater ruin than the written laws to all kinds of transactions.

Y. Soc. Of course he would.

Str. Therefore the next best course for those who make laws or written rules about anything whatsoever is to prohibit any violation of them whatsoever, either by one person or by a greater number.

Y. Soc. Right.

Str. These laws, then, written by men who know in so far as knowledge is possible, are imitations in each instance of some part of truth?

Y. Soc. Of course.

Str. And yet we said, if we remember, that the man of knowledge, the real statesman, would by his art make many changes in his practice without regard to his writings, when he thought another course was better though it violated the rules he had written and sent to his absent subjects.

Y. Soc. Yes, we did say that.

Str. But is it not true that any man or any number of men whatsoever who have written laws, if they undertake to make any change in those laws, thinking it is all improvement, are doing, to the best of their ability, the same thing which our true statesman does?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. If, then, they were to do this without science, however, imitate badly in every case; but if they were scientific, then it would no longer be imitation, but the actual perfect reality of which we spoke?

Y. Soc. Yes, assuredly.

Str. And yet we agreed definitely a while ago that no multitude is able to acquire any art whatsoever.

Y. Soc. Yes, that is definitely agreed.

Str. Then if there is a kingly art, neither the collective body of the wealthy nor the whole people could ever acquire this science of statesmanship.

Y. Soc. No; certainly not.

Section 301

Str. Such states, then, it seems, if they are to imitate well, so far as possible, that true form of government— by a single ruler who rules with science—must never do anything in contravention of their existing written laws and ancestral customs.

Y. Soc. You are quite right.

Str. Then whenever the rich imitate this government, we call such a state an aristocracy; and when they disregard the laws, we call it an oligarchy.

Y. Soc. Yes, I think we do.

Str. And again, when one man rules according to laws and imitates the scientific ruler, we call him a king, making no distinction in name between the single ruler who rules by science and him who rules by opinion if they both rule in accordance with laws.

Y. Soc. Yes, I think we do.

Str. Accordingly, if one man who is really scientific rules, he will assuredly be called by the same name, king, and by no other; and so the five names of what are now called the forms of government have become only one.

Y. Soc. So it seems, at least.

Str. But when a single ruler acts in accordance with neither laws nor customs, but claims, in imitation of the scientific ruler, that whatever is best must be done, even though it be contrary to the written laws, and this imitation is inspired by desire and ignorance, is not such a ruler to be called in every instance a tyrant?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Thus, we say, the tyrant has arisen, and the king and oligarchy and aristocracy and democracy, because men are not contented with that one perfect ruler, and do not believe that there could ever be any one worthy of such power or willing and able by ruling with virtue and knowledge to dispense justice and equity rightly to all, but that he will harm and kill and injure any one of us whom he chooses on any occasion, since they admit that if such a man as we describe should really arise, he would be welcomed and would continue to dwell among them, directing to their weal as sole ruler a perfectly right form of government.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. But, as the case now stands, since, as we claim, no king is produced in our states who is, like the ruler of the bees in their hives, by birth pre-eminently fitted from the beginning in body and mind, we are obliged, as it seems, to follow in the track of the perfect and true form of government by coming together and making written laws.

Y. Soc. Yes, I suppose we are.

Section 302

Str. Can we wonder, then, Socrates, at all the evils that arise and are destined to arise in such kinds of government, when they are based upon such a foundation, and must conduct their affairs in accordance with written laws and with customs, without knowledge? For every one can see that any other art built upon such a foundation would ruin all its works that are so produced. Ought we not rather to wonder at the stability that inheres in the state? For states have labored under such conditions for countless ages, nevertheless some of them are lasting and are not overthrown. Many, to be sure, like ships that founder at sea, are destroyed, have been destroyed, and will be destroyed hereafter, through the worthlessness of their captains and crews who have the greatest ignorance of the greatest things, men who have no knowledge of statesmanship, but think they have in every respect most perfect knowledge of this above all other sciences.

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. Is it, then, our duty to see which of these not right forms of government is the least difficult to live with, though all are difficult, and which is the most oppressive, although this is somewhat aside from the subject we had proposed for ourselves? On the whole, however, perhaps all of us have some such motive in mind in all that we are doing.

Y. Soc. Yes, it is our duty, of course.

Str. Well then, you may say that of the three forms, the same is both the hardest and the easiest.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. Just this: I mean that there are three forms of government, as we said at the beginning of the discussion which has now flowed in upon us—monarchy, the rule of the few, and the rule of the many.

Y. Soc. Yes, there were those three.

Str. Let us, then, by dividing each of these into two parts, make six, and by distinguishing the right government from these, a seventh.

Y. Soc. How shall we make the division?

Str. We said that monarchy comprised royalty and tyranny, and the rule of the few comprised aristocracy, which has a name of good omen, and oligarchy; but to the rule of the many we gave then only a single name, democracy; now, however, that also must be divided.

Y. Soc. How? On what principle shall we divide that?

Str. On the same that we used for the others, though the name of this form is already twofold in meaning. At any rate, the distinction between ruling according to law and without law applies alike to this and the rest.

Y. Soc. Yes, it does.

Str. Before, when we were in search of the right government, this division was of no use, as we showed at the time but now that we have set that apart and have decided that the others are the only available forms of government, the principle of lawfulness and lawlessness bisects each of them.

Y. Soc. So it seems, from what has been said.

Str. Monarchy, then, when bound by good written rules, which we call laws, is the best of all the six; but without law it is hard and most oppressive to live with.

Section 303

Y. Soc. I fancy it is.

Str. But just as few is intermediate between one and a multitude, so the government of the few must be considered intermediate, both in good and in evil. But the government of the multitude is weak in all respects and able to do nothing great, either good or bad, when compared with the other forms of government, because in this the powers of government are distributed in small shares among many men; therefore of all these governments when they are lawful, this is the worst, and when they are all lawless it is the best; and if they are all without restraint, life is most desirable in a democracy, but if they are orderly, that is the worst to live in; but life in the first kind of state is by far the first and best, with the exception of the seventh, for that must be set apart from all the others, as God is set apart from men.

Y. Soc. That statement appears to be true to the facts, and we must do as you say.

Str. Then those who participate in all those governments with the exception of the scientific one—are to be eliminated as not being statesmen, but partisans and since they preside over the greatest counterfeits, they are themselves counterfeits, and since they are the greatest of imitators and cheats, they are the greatest of all sophists.

Y. Soc. This term sophist seems to have come round quite rightly to the so-called statesmen.

Str. Well, this part has been exactly like a play. Just as we remarked a moment ago, a festive troop of centaurs or satyrs was coming into view, which we had to separate from the art of statesmanship; and now we have succeeded in doing this, though it has been very difficult.

Y. Soc. So it seems.

Str. But another group remains, which is still more difficult to separate, because it is more closely akin to the kingly class and is also harder to recognize. I think we are in somewhat the same position as refiners of gold.

Y. Soc. How so?

Str. Why, the refiners first remove earth and stones and all that sort of thing; and after that there remain the precious substances which are mixed with the gold and akin to it and can be removed only by fire—copper and silver and sometimes adamant. These are removed by the difficult processes of smelting and tests, leaving before our eyes what is called unalloyed gold in all its purity.

Y. Soc. Yes, that is said, at least, to be the process.

Section 304

Str. By the same method I think all that is different and alien and incompatible has now been eliminated by us from the science of statesmanship, and what is precious and akin to it is left. Herein are included the arts of the general and of the judge and that kind of oratory which partakes of the kingly art because it persuades men to justice and thereby helps to steer the ship of state. Now in what way shall we most easily eliminate these and show him whom we seek alone by himself and undisguised?

Y. Soc. Clearly we must do this somehow.

Str. Then if it is a question of trying, he will be shown. But I think we had better try to disclose him by means of music. Please answer my question.

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. Shall we agree that there is such a thing as learning music and the sciences of handicraft in general?

Y. Soc. There is.

Str. And how about this? Shall we say that there is another science connected with those, which tells whether we ought or ought not to learn any one of then?

Y. Soc. Yes, we shall say that there is.

Str. And shall we agree that this is different from those?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And shall we say that none of them ought to have control of any other, or that those sciences should control this one, or that this should control and rule all the others?

Y. Soc. This should control those others.

Str. You mean that the science which decides whether we ought to learn or not should control the science which is learnt or teaches?

Y. Soc. Emphatically.

Str. And the science which decides whether to persuade or not should control that which can persuade?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Well, then, to what science shall we assign the power of persuading a multitude or a mob by telling edifying stories, not by teaching?

Y. Soc. It is, I think, clear that this must be added to rhetoric.

Str. But the power of deciding whether some action, no matter what, should be taken, either by persuasion or by some exercise of force, in relation to any person, or whether to take no action at all—to what science is that to be assigned?

Y. Soc. To the science which controls the sciences of persuasion and speech.

Str. And that would, I think, be no other than the function of the statesman.

Y. Soc. A most excellent conclusion.

Str. So rhetoric also seems to have been quickly separated from statesmanship as a different species, subservient to the other.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Here is another function or power; what are we to think about it?

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. The power of determining how war shall be waged against those upon whom we have declared war, whether we are to call this a science or not a science?

Y. Soc. How could we think it is not a science, when generalship and all military activity practise it?

Str. And the power which is able and knows how to deliberate and decide whether to make war or peace, shall we assume that it is the same as this or different?

Y. Soc. If we are consistent, we must assume that it is different.

Section 305

Str. Shall we, then, assume that it controls the other, if we are to agree with our views in the former examples?

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. And what other art shall we make bold to declare is mistress of that great and terrible art, the art of war as a whole, except the truly kingly art?

Y. Soc. No other.

Str. We shall, then, not call the art of the generals statesmanship, since it is subservient.

Y. Soc. No; that would not be reasonable.

Str. Now let us examine the function of the righteous judges.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Has it any power beyond that of judging men’s contracts with one another, pronouncing them right or wrong by the standard of the existing laws which it has received from the king and law-giver; showing its own peculiar virtue in that it is not so perverted by any bribes, or fears, or pity, or enmity, or friendship, as ever to consent to decide the lawsuits of men with each other contrary to the enactments of the lawgiver?

Y. Soc. No; the business of this power is about as you have described it.

Str. Then we find that the strength of judges is not kingly, but is guardian of laws and a servant of the kingly power.

Y. Soc. So it appears.

Str. The consideration of all these arts which have been mentioned leads to the conclusion that none of them is the art of the statesman. For the art that is truly kingly ought not to act itself, but should rule over the arts that have the power of action; it should decide upon the right or wrong time for the initiation of the most important measures in the state, and the other arts should perform its behests.

Y. Soc. Right.

Str. Therefore those arts which we have just described, as they control neither one another nor themselves, but have each its own peculiar sphere of action, are quite properly called by special names corresponding to those special actions.

Y. Soc. That appears, at least, to be the case.

Str. But the art which holds sway over them all and watches over the laws and all things in the state, weaving them all most perfectly together, we may, I think, by giving to its function a designation which indicates its power over the community, with full propriety call statecraft.

Y. Soc. Most assuredly.

Str. Shall we then proceed to discuss it after the model supplied by weaving, now that all the classes in the state have been made plain to us?

Y. Soc. By all means.

Section 306

Str. Then the kingly process of weaving must be described, its nature, the manner in which it combines the threads, and the kind of web it produces.

Y. Soc. Evidently.

Str. It has, apparently, become necessary, after all, to explain a difficult matter.

Y. Soc. But certainly the explanation must be made.

Str. It is difficult, for the assertion that one part of virtue is in a way at variance with another sort of virtue may very easily be assailed by those who appeal to popular opinion in contentious arguments.

Y. Soc. I do not understand.

Str. I will say it again in another way. I suppose you believe that courage is one part of virtue.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. And, of course, that self-restraint is different from courage, but is also a part of virtue of which courage is a part.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Now I must venture to utter a strange doctrine about them.

Y. Soc. What is it?

Str. That, in a way, they are in a condition of great hostility and opposition to each other in many beings.

Y. Soc. What do you mean?

Str. Something quite unusual; for, you know, all the parts of virtue are usually said to be friendly to one another.

Y. Soc. Yes.

Str. Now shall we pay careful attention and see whether this is so simple, or, quite the contrary, there is in some respects a variance between them and their kin?

Y. Soc. Yes; please tell how we shall investigate the question.

Str. Among all the parts we must look for those which we call excellent but place in two opposite classes.

Y. Soc. Say more clearly what you mean.

Str. Acuteness and quickness, whether in body or soul or vocal utterance, whether they are real or exist in such likenesses as music and graphic art produce in imitation of them—have you never yourself praised one of them or heard them praised by others?

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Str. And do you remember in what way they praise them as occasion offers?

Y. Soc. Not in the least.

Str. I wonder if I can express to you in words what I have in mind.

Y. Soc. Why not?

Str. You seem to think that is an easy thing to do. However, let us consider the matter as it appears in the opposite classes. For example, when we admire, as we frequently do in many actions, quickness and energy and acuteness of mind or body or even of voice, we express our praise of them by one word, courage.

Y. Soc. How so?

Str. We say acute and courageous in the first instance, also quick and courageous, and energetic and courageous; and when we apply this word as a common term applicable to all persons and actions of this class, we praise them.

Y. Soc. Yes, we do.

Section 307

Str. But do we not also praise the gentle type of movement in many actions?

Y. Soc. We do, decidedly.

Str. And in doing so, do we not say the opposite of what we said about the other class?

Y. Soc. How is that?

Str. We are always saying How quiet! and How restrained! when we are admiring the workings of the mind, and again we speak of actions as slow and gentle, of the voice as smooth and deep, and of every rhythmic motion and of music in general as having appropriate slowness; and we apply to them all the term which signifies, not courage, but decorum.

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. And again, on the other hand, when these two classes seem to us out of place, we change our attitude and blame them each in turn; then we use the terms in the opposite sense.

Y. Soc. How is that?

Str. Why, whatsoever is sharper than the occasion warrants, or seems to be too quick or too hard, is called violent or mad, and whatever is too heavy or slow or gentle, is called cowardly and sluggish; and almost always we find that the restraint of one class of qualities and the courage of the opposite class, like two parties arrayed in hostility to each other, do not mix with each other in the actions that are concerned with such qualities. Moreover, if we pursue the inquiry, we shall see that the men who have these qualities in their souls are at variance with one another.

Y. Soc. In what do you mean that they are at variance?

Str. In all those points which we just mentioned, and probably in many others. For men who are akin to each class, I imagine, praise some qualities as their own and find fault with those of their opposites as alien to themselves, and thus great enmity arises between them on many grounds.

Y. Soc. Yes, that is likely to be the case.

Str. Now this opposition of these two classes is mere child’s play but when it affects the most important matters it becomes a most detestable disease in the state.

Y. Soc. What matters does it affect?

Str. The whole course of life, in all probability. For those who are especially decorous are ready to live always a quiet and retired life and to mind their own business; this is the manner of their intercourse with every one at home, and they are equally ready at all times to keep peace in some way or other with foreign states. And because of this desire of theirs, which is often inopportune and excessive, when they have their own way they quite unconsciously become unwarlike, and they make the young men unwarlike also; they are at the mercy of aggressors; and thus in a few years they and their children and the whole state often pass by imperceptible degrees from freedom to slavery.

Section 308

Y. Soc. That is a hard and terrible experience.

Str. But how about those who incline towards courage? Do they not constantly urge their countries to war, because of their excessive desire for a warlike life? Do they not involve them in hostilities with many powerful opponents and either utterly destroy their native lands or enslave and subject them to their foes?

Y. Soc. Yes, that is true, too.

Str. Then in these examples how can we deny that these two classes are always filled with the greatest hostility and opposition to one another?

Y. Soc. We certainly cannot deny it.

Str. Have we not, then, found just what we had in view in the beginning, that important parts of virtue are by nature at variance with one another and also that the persons who possess them exhibit the same opposition?

Y. Soc. Yes, I suppose that is true.

Str. Let us then take up another question.

Y. Soc. What question?

Str. Whether any constructive science voluntarily composes any, even the most worthless, of its works out of good and bad materials, or every science invariably rejects the bad, so far as possible, taking only the materials which are good and fitting, out of which, whether they be like or unlike, it gathers all elements together and produces one form or value.

Y. Soc. The latter, of course.

Str. Then neither will the true natural art of statecraft ever voluntarily compose a state of good and bad men; but obviously it will first test them in play, and after the test will entrust them in turn to those who are able to teach and help them to attain the end in view; it will itself give orders and exercise supervision, just as the art of weaving constantly commands and supervises the carders and others who prepare the materials for its web, directing each person to do the tasks which it thinks are requisite for its fabric.

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Section 309

Str. In the same way I think the kingly art, keeping for itself the function of supervision, will not allow the duly appointed teachers and foster fathers to give any training, unless they can thereby produce characters suitable to the constitution it is creating, but in these things only it exhorts them to give instruction. And those men who have no capacity for courage and self-restraint and the other qualities which tend towards virtue, but by the force of an evil nature are carried away into godlessness, violence, and injustice, it removes by inflicting upon them the punishments of death and exile and deprivation of the most important civic rights.

Y. Soc. That is about what people say, at any rate.

Str. And those in turn who wallow in ignorance and craven humility it places under the yoke of slavery.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. As for the rest of the people, those whose natures are capable, if they get education, of being made into something fine and noble and of uniting with each other as art requires, the kingly art takes those natures which tend more towards courage, considering that their character is sturdier, like the warp in weaving, and those which incline towards decorum, for these, to continue the simile, are spun thick and soft like the threads of the woof, and tries to combine these natures of opposite tendencies and weave them together in the following manner.

Y. Soc. In what manner?

Str. First it binds the eternal part of their souls with a divine bond, to which that part is akin, and after the divine it binds the animal part of them with human bonds.

Y. Soc. Again I ask What do you mean?

Str. I mean that really true and assured opinion about honor, justice, goodness and their opposites is divine, and when it arises in men’s souls, it arises in a godlike race.

Y. Soc. That would be fitting, at any rate.

Str. Do we not know, then, that the statesman and good lawgiver is the only one to whom the power properly belongs, by the inspiration of the kingly art, to implant this true opinion in those who have rightly received education, those of whom we were just now speaking?

Y. Soc. Well, probably.

Str. And let us never, Socrates, call him who has not such power by the names we are now examining.

Y. Soc. Quite right.

Str. Now is not a courageous soul, when it lays hold upon such truth, made gentle, and would it not then be most ready to partake of justice? And without it, does it not incline more towards brutality?

Y. Soc. Yes, of course.

Str. And again if the decorous nature partakes of these opinions, does it not become truly self-restrained and wise, so far as the state is concerned, and if it lacks participation in such qualities, does it not very justly receive the shameful epithet of simpleton?

Y. Soc. Certainly.

Str. Then can we say that such interweaving and binding together of the bad with the bad or of the good with the bad ever becomes enduring, or that any science would ever seriously make use of it in uniting such persons?

Y. Soc. Of course not.

Section 310

Str. But we may say that in those only who were of noble nature from their birth and have been nurtured as befits such natures it is implanted by the laws, and for them this is the medicine prescribed by science, and, as we said before, this bond which unites unlike and divergent parts of virtue is more divine.

Y. Soc. Very true.

Str. The remaining bonds, moreover, being human, are not very difficult to devise or, after one has devised them, to create, when once this divine bond exists.

Y. Soc. How so? And what are the bonds?

Str. Those made between states concerning intermarriages and the sharing of children by adoption, and those relating to portionings and marriages within the state. For most people make such bonds without proper regard to the procreation of children.

Y. Soc. How is that?

Str. The pursuit of wealth or power in connection with matrimony—but why should anyone ever take the trouble to blame it, as though it were worth arguing about?

Y. Soc. There is no reason for doing so.

Str. We have better cause, however, to speak our minds about those whose chief care is the family, in case their conduct is not what it should be.

Y. Soc. Yes; very likely.

Str. The fact is, they act on no right theory at all; they seek their ease for the moment; welcoming gladly those who are like themselves, and finding those who are unlike them unendurable, they give the greatest weight to their feeling of dislike.

Y. Soc. How so?

Str. The decorous people seek for characters like their own; so far as they can they marry wives of that sort and in turn give their daughters in marriage to men of that sort; and the courageous do the same, eagerly seeking natures of their own kind, whereas both classes ought to do quite the opposite.

Y. Soc. How so, and why?

Str. Because in the nature of things courage, if propagated through many generations with no admixture of a self-restrained nature, though at first it is strong and flourishing, in the end blossoms forth in utter madness.

Y. Soc. That is likely.

Str. But the soul, on the other hand, that is too full of modesty and contains no alloy of courage or boldness, after many generations of the same kind becomes too sluggish and finally is utterly crippled.

Y. Soc. That also is likely to happen.

Section 311

Str. It was these bonds, then, that I said there was no difficulty in creating, provided that both classes have one and the same opinion about the honorable and the good. For indeed the whole business of the kingly weaving is comprised in this and this alone,—in never allowing the self-restrained characters to be separated from the courageous, but in weaving them together by common beliefs and honors and dishonors and opinions and interchanges of pledges, thus making of them a smooth and, as we say, well-woven fabric, and then entrusting to them in common for ever the offices of the state.

Y. Soc. How is that to be done?

Str. When one official is needed, by choosing a president who possesses both qualities; and when a hoard is desired, by combining men of each class. For the characters of self-restrained officials are exceedingly careful and just and conservative, but they lack keenness and a certain quick and active boldness.

Y. Soc. That also seems, at least, to be true.

Str. The courageous natures, on the other hand, are deficient in justice and caution in comparison with the former, but excel in boldness of action; and unless both these qualities are present it is impossible for a state to be entirely prosperous in public and private matters.

Y. Soc. Yes, certainly.

Str. This, then, is the end, let us declare, of the web of the statesman’s activity, the direct interweaving of the characters of restrained and courageous men, when the kingly science has drawn them together by friendship and community of sentiment into a common life, and having perfected the most glorious and the best of all textures, clothes with it all the inhabitants of the state, both slaves and freemen, holds them together by this fabric, and omitting nothing which ought to belong to a happy state, rules and watches over them.

Y. Soc. You have given us, Stranger, a most complete and admirable treatment of the king and the statesman.

Contents — 76 sections

1. Section 17
2. Section 18
3. Section 19
4. Section 20
5. Section 21
6. Section 22
7. Section 23
8. Section 24
9. Section 25
10. Section 26
11. Section 27
12. Section 28
13. Section 29
14. Section 30
15. Section 31
16. Section 32
17. Section 33
18. Section 34
19. Section 35
20. Section 36
21. Section 37
22. Section 38
23. Section 39
24. Section 40
25. Section 41
26. Section 42
27. Section 43
28. Section 44
29. Section 45
30. Section 46
31. Section 47
32. Section 48
33. Section 49
34. Section 50
35. Section 51
36. Section 52
37. Section 53
38. Section 54
39. Section 55
40. Section 56
41. Section 57
42. Section 58
43. Section 59
44. Section 60
45. Section 61
46. Section 62
47. Section 63
48. Section 64
49. Section 65
50. Section 66
51. Section 67
52. Section 68
53. Section 69
54. Section 70
55. Section 71
56. Section 72
57. Section 73
58. Section 74
59. Section 75
60. Section 76
61. Section 77
62. Section 78
63. Section 79
64. Section 80
65. Section 81
66. Section 82
67. Section 83
68. Section 84
69. Section 85
70. Section 86
71. Section 87
72. Section 88
73. Section 89
74. Section 90
75. Section 91
76. Section 92

Section 17

One, two, three,—but where, my dear Timaeus, is the fourth of our guests of yesterday, our hosts of today?

Some sickness has befallen him, Socrates; for he would never have stayed away from our gathering of his own free will.

Then the task of filling the place of the absent one falls upon you and our friends here, does it not?

Undoubtedly, and we shall do our best not to come short; for indeed it would not be at all right, after the splendid hospitality we received from you yesterday, if we—that is, those who are left of us—failed to entertain you cordially in return.

Well, then, do you remember the extent and character of the subjects which I proposed for your discussion?

In part we do remember them; and of what we have forgotten you are present to remind us. Or rather, if it is not a trouble, recount them again briefly from the beginning, so as to fix them more firmly in our minds.

It shall be done. The main part of the discourse I delivered yesterday was concerned with the kind of constitution which seemed to me likely to prove the best, and the character of its citizens.

And in truth, Socrates, the polity you described was highly approved by us all.

Did we not begin by dividing off the class of land-workers in it, and all other crafts, from the class of its defenders?

Yes.

And when, in accordance with Nature, we had assigned to each citizen his one proper and peculiar occupation, we declared that those whose duty it is to fight in defence of all must act solely as guardians of the State, in case anyone from without or any of those within should go about to molest it; and that they should judge leniently such as are under their authority and their natural friends, but show themselves stern in battle towards all the enemies they encounter.

Section 18

Very true.

For we said, as I think, that the soul of the Guardians ought to be of a nature at once spirited and philosophic in a superlative degree, so that they might be able to treat their friends rightly with leniency and their foes with sternness.

Yes.

And what of their training? Did we not say that they were trained in gymnastic, in music, and in all the studies proper for such men?

Certainly.

And it was said, I believe, that the men thus trained should never regard silver or gold or anything else as their own private property; but as auxiliaries, who in return for their guard-work receive from those whom they protect such a moderate wage as suffices temperate men, they should spend their wage in common and live together in fellowship one with another, devoting themselves unceasingly to virtue, but keeping free from all other pursuits.

That too was stated as you say.

Moreover, we went on to say about women that their natures must be attuned into accord with the men, and that the occupations assigned to them, both in war and in all other activities of life, should in every case be the same for all alike.

This matter also was stated exactly so.

And what about the matter of child-production? Or was this a thing easy to recollect because of the strangeness of our proposals? For we ordained that as regards marriages and children all should have all in common, so that no one should ever recognize his own particular offspring, but all should regard all as their actual kinsmen—as brothers and sisters, if of a suitable age; as parents and grandparents, if more advanced in age; and as children and children’s children, if junior in age.

Yes, this also, as you say, is easy to recollect.

And in order that, to the best of our power, they might at once become as good as possible in their natural characters, do we not recollect how we said that the rulers, male and female, in dealing with marriage-unions must contrive to secure, by some secret method of allotment, that the two classes of bad men and good shall each be mated by lot with women of a like nature, and that no enmity shall occur amongst them because of this, seeing that they will ascribe the allotment to chance?

We recollect.

Section 19

And do you recollect further how we said that the offspring of the good were to be reared, but those of the bad were to be sent privily to various other parts of the State; and as these grew up the rulers should keep constantly on the watch for the deserving amongst them and bring them back again, and into the place of those thus restored transplant the undeserving among themselves?

So we said.

May we say then that we have now gone through our discourse of yesterday, so far as is requisite in a summary review; or is there any point omitted, my dear, which we should like to see added?

Certainly not: this is precisely what was said, Socrates.

And now, in the next place, listen to what my feeling is with regard to the polity we have described. I may compare my feeling to something of this kind: suppose, for instance, that on seeing beautiful creatures, whether works of art or actually alive but in repose, a man should be moved with desire to behold them in motion and vigorously engaged in some such exercise as seemed suitable to their physique; well, that is the very feeling I have regarding the State we have described. Gladly would I listen to anyone who should depict in words our State contending against others in those struggles which States wage; in how proper a spirit it enters upon war, and how in its warring it exhibits qualities such as befit its education and training in its dealings with each several State whether in respect of military actions or in respect of verbal negotiations. And herein, Critias and Hermocrates, I am conscious of my own inability ever to magnify sufficiently our citizens and our State. Now in this inability of mine there is nothing surprising; but I have formed the same opinion about the poets also, those of the present as well as those of the past; not that I disparage in any way the poetic clan, but it is plain to all that the imitative tribe will imitate with most ease and success the things amidst which it has been reared, whereas it is hard for any man to imitate well in action what lies outside the range of his rearing, and still harder in speech. Again, as to the class of Sophists, although I esteem them highly versed in many fine discourses of other kinds, yet I fear lest haply, seeing they are a class which roams from city to city and has no settled habitations of its own, they may go wide of the mark in regard to men who are at once philosophers and statesmen, and what they would be likely to do and say, in their several dealings with foemen in war and battle, both by word and deed.

Section 20

Thus there remains only that class which is of your complexion— a class which, alike by nature and nurture, shares the qualities of both the others. For our friend is a native of a most well-governed State, Italian Locris, and inferior to none of its citizens either in property or in rank; and not only has he occupied the highest offices and posts of honor in his State, but he has also attained, in my opinion, the very summit of eminence in all branches of philosophy. As to Critias, all of us here know that he is no novice in any of the subjects we are discussing. As regards Hermocrates, we must believe the many witnesses who assert that both by nature and by nurture he is competent for all these inquiries. So, with this in my mind, when you requested me yesterday to expound my views of the polity I gratified you most willingly, since I knew that none could deal more adequately than you (if you were willing) with the next subject of discourse; for you alone, of men now living, could show our State engaged in a suitable war and exhibiting all the qualities which belong to it. Accordingly, when I had spoken upon my prescribed theme, I in turn prescribed for you this theme which I am now explaining. And you, after consulting together among yourselves, agreed to pay me back today with a feast of words; so here I am, ready for that feast in festal garb, and eager above all men to begin.

Of a truth, Socrates, as our friend has said, we will show no lack of zeal, nor have we any excuse for refusing to do as you say. Yesterday, in fact, immediately after our return from you to the guest-chamber at Critias where we are lodging—aye, and earlier still, on our way there—we were considering these very subjects. Critias here mentioned to us a story derived from ancient tradition; and now, Critias, pray tell it again to our friend here, so that he may help us to decide whether or not it is pertinent to our prescribed theme.

That I must certainly do, if our third partner, also approves.

Assuredly I approve.

Listen then, Socrates, to a tale which, though passing strange, is yet wholly true, as Solon, the wisest of the Seven, once upon a time declared. Now Solon—as indeed he often says himself in his poems—was a relative and very dear friend of our great-grandfather Dropides;

Section 21

and Dropides told our grandfather Critias as the old man himself, in turn, related to us—that the exploits of this city in olden days, the record of which had perished through time and the destruction of its inhabitants, were great and marvellous, the greatest of all being one which it would be proper for us now to relate both as a payment of our debt of thanks to you and also as a tribute of praise, chanted as it were duly and truly, in honor of the Goddess on this her day of Festival.

Excellent! But come now, what was this exploit described by Critias, following Solons report, as a thing not verbally recorded, although actually performed by this city long ago?

I will tell you: it is an old tale, and I heard it from a man not young. For indeed at that time, as he said himself, Critias was already close upon ninety years of age, while I was somewhere about ten; and it chanced to be that day of the Apaturia which is called Cureotis. The ceremony for boys which was always customary at the feast was held also on that occasion, our fathers arranging contests in recitation. So while many poems of many poets were declaimed, since the poems of Solon were at that time new, many of us children chanted them. And one of our fellow tribesmen—whether he really thought so at the time or whether he was paying a compliment to Critias—declared that in his opinion Solon was not only the wisest of men in all else, but in poetry also he was of all poets the noblest. Whereat the old man (I remember the scene well) was highly pleased and said with a smile, If only, Amynander, he had not taken up poetry as a by-play but had worked hard at it like others, and if he had completed the story he brought here from Egypt, instead of being forced to lay it aside owing to the seditions and all the other evils he found here on his return,— why then, I say, neither Hesiod nor Homer nor any other poet would ever have proved more famous than he. And what was the story, Critias? said the other. Its subject, replied Critias, was a very great exploit, worthy indeed to be accounted the most notable of all exploits, which was performed by this city, although the record of it has not endured until now owing to lapse of time and the destruction of those who wrought it. Tell us from the beginning, said Amynander, what Solon related and how, and who were the informants who vouched for its truth. In the Delta of Egypt, said Critias, where, at its head, the stream of the Nile parts in two, there is a certain district called the Saitic. The chief city in this district is Sais—the home of King Amasis,—the founder of which, they say, is a goddess whose Egyptian name is Neith, and in Greek, as they assert, Athena. These people profess to be great lovers of Athens and in a measure akin to our people here.

Section 22

And Solon said that when he travelled there he was held in great esteem amongst them; moreover, when he was questioning such of their priests as were most versed in ancient lore about their early history, he discovered that neither he himself nor any other Greek knew anything at all, one might say, about such matters. And on one occasion, when he wished to draw them on to discourse on ancient history, he attempted to tell them the most ancient of our traditions, concerning Phoroneus, who was said to be the first man, and Niobe; and he went on to tell the legend about Deucalion and Pyrrha after the Flood, and how they survived it, and to give the geneology of their descendants; and by recounting the number of years occupied by the events mentioned he tried to calculate the periods of time. Whereupon one of the priests, a prodigiously old man, said, O Solon, Solon, you Greeks are always children: there is not such a thing as an old Greek. And on hearing this he asked, What mean you by this saying? And the priest replied, You are young in soul, every one of you. For therein you possess not a single belief that is ancient and derived from old tradition, nor yet one science that is hoary with age. And this is the cause thereof: There have been and there will be many and divers destructions of mankind, of which the greatest are by fire and water, and lesser ones by countless other means. For in truth the story that is told in your country as well as ours, how once upon a time Phaethon, son of Helios, yoked his father’s chariot, and, because he was unable to drive it along the course taken by his father, burnt up all that was upon the earth and himself perished by a thunderbolt,—that story, as it is told, has the fashion of a legend, but the truth of it lies in the occurrence of a shifting of the bodies in the heavens which move round the earth, and a destruction of the things on the earth by fierce fire, which recurs at long intervals. At such times all they that dwell on the mountains and in high and dry places suffer destruction more than those who dwell near to rivers or the sea; and in our case the Nile, our Saviour in other ways, saves us also at such times from this calamity by rising high. And when, on the other hand, the Gods purge the earth with a flood of waters, all the herdsmen and shepherds that are in the mountains are saved, but those in the cities of your land are swept into the sea by the streams; whereas In our country neither then nor at any other time does the water pour down over our fields from above, on the contrary it all tends naturally to well up from below.

Section 23

Hence it is, for these reasons, that what is here preserved is reckoned to be most ancient; the truth being that in every place where there is no excessive heat or cold to prevent it there always exists some human stock, now more, now less in number. And if any event has occurred that is noble or great or in any way conspicuous, whether it be in your country or in ours or in some other place of which we know by report, all such events are recorded from of old and preserved here in our temples; whereas your people and the others are but newly equipped, every time, with letters and all such arts as civilized States require and when, after the usual interval of years, like a plague, the flood from heaven comes sweeping down afresh upon your people, it leaves none of you but the unlettered and uncultured, so that you become young as ever, with no knowledge of all that happened in old times in this land or in your own. Certainly the genealogies which you related just now, Solon, concerning the people of your country, are little better than children’s tales; for, in the first place, you remember but one deluge, though many had occurred previously; and next, you are ignorant of the fact that the noblest and most perfect race amongst men were born in the land where you now dwell, and from them both you yourself are sprung and the whole of your existing city, out of some little seed that chanced to be left over; but this has escaped your notice because for many generations the survivors died with no power to express themselves in writing. For verily at one time, Solon, before the greatest destruction by water, what is now the Athenian State was the bravest in war and supremely well organized also in all other respects. It is said that it possessed the most splendid works of art and the noblest polity of any nation under heaven of which we have heard tell. Upon hearing this, Solon said that he marvelled, and with the utmost eagerness requested the priest to recount for him in order and exactly all the facts about those citizens of old. The priest then said: I begrudge you not the story, Solon; nay, I will tell it, both for your own sake and that of your city, and most of all for the sake of the Goddess who has adopted for her own both your land and this of ours, and has nurtured and trained them,—yours first by the space of a thousand years, when she had received the seed of you from Ge and Hephaestus, and after that ours. And the duration of our civilization as set down in our sacred writings is 8000 years. Of the citizens, then, who lived 9000 years ago, I will declare to you briefly certain of their laws and the noblest of the deeds they performed:

Section 24

the full account in precise order and detail we shall go through later at our leisure, taking the actual writings. To get a view of their laws, look at the laws here; for you will find existing here at the present time many examples of the laws which then existed in your city. You see, first, how the priestly class is separated off from the rest; next, the class of craftsmen, of which each sort works by itself without mixing with any other; then the classes of shepherds, hunters, and farmers, each distinct and separate. Moreover, the military class here, as no doubt you have noticed, is kept apart from all the other classes, being enjoined by the law to devote itself solely to the work of training for war. A further feature is the character of their equipment with shields and spears; for we were the first of the peoples of Asia to adopt these weapons, it being the Goddess who instructed us, even as she instructed you first of all the dwellers in yonder lands. Again, with regard to wisdom, you perceive, no doubt, the law here—how much attention it has devoted from the very beginning to the Cosmic Order, by discovering all the effects which the divine causes produce upon human life, down to divination and the art of medicine which aims at health, and by its mastery also of all the other subsidiary studies. So when, at that time, the Goddess had furnished you, before all others, with all this orderly and regular system, she established your State, choosing the spot wherein you were born since she perceived therein a climate duly blended, and how that it would bring forth men of supreme wisdom. So it was that the Goddess, being herself both a lover of war and a lover of wisdom, chose the spot which was likely to bring forth men most like unto herself, and this first she established. Wherefore you lived under the rule of such laws as these,—yea, and laws still better,—and you surpassed all men in every virtue, as became those who were the offspring and nurslings of gods. Many, in truth, and great are the achievements of your State, which are a marvel to men as they are here recorded; but there is one which stands out above all both for magnitude and for nobleness. For it is related in our records how once upon a time your State stayed the course of a mighty host, which, starting from a distant point in the Atlantic ocean, was insolently advancing to attack the whole of Europe, and Asia to boot.

Section 25

For the ocean there was at that time navigable; for in front of the mouth which you Greeks call, as you say, ’the pillars of Heracles,’ there lay an island which was larger than Libya and Asia together; and it was possible for the travellers of that time to cross from it to the other islands, and from the islands to the whole of the continent over against them which encompasses that veritable ocean. For all that we have here, lying within the mouth of which we speak, is evidently a haven having a narrow entrance; but that yonder is a real ocean, and the land surrounding it may most rightly be called, in the fullest and truest sense, a continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there existed a confederation of kings, of great and marvellous power, which held sway over all the island, and over many other islands also and parts of the continent; and, moreover, of the lands here within the Straits they ruled over Libya as far as Egypt, and over Europe as far as Tuscany. So this host, being all gathered together, made an attempt one time to enslave by one single onslaught both your country and ours and the whole of the territory within the Straits. And then it was, Solon, that the manhood of your State showed itself conspicuous for valor and might in the sight of all the world. For it stood pre-eminent above all in gallantry and all warlike arts, and acting partly as leader of the Greeks, and partly standing alone by itself when deserted by all others, after encountering the deadliest perils, it defeated the invaders and reared a trophy; whereby it saved from slavery such as were not as yet enslaved, and all the rest of us who dwell within the bounds of Heracles it ungrudgingly set free. But at a later time there occurred portentous earthquakes and floods, and one grievous day and night befell them, when the whole body of your warriors was swallowed up by the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner was swallowed up by the sea and vanished; wherefore also the ocean at that spot has now become impassable and unsearchable, being blocked up by the shoal mud which the island created as it settled down. You have now heard, Socrates, in brief outline, the account given by the elder Critias of what he heard from Solon; and when you were speaking yesterday about the State and the citizens you were describing, I marvelled as I called to mind the facts I am now relating, reflecting what a strange piece of fortune it was that your description coincided so exactly for the most part with Solon’s account.

Section 26

I was loth, however, to speak on the instant; for owing to lapse of time my recollection of his account was not sufficiently clear. So I decided that I ought not to relate it until I had first gone over it all carefully in my own mind. Consequently, I readily consented to the theme you proposed yesterday, since I thought that we should be reasonably well provided for the task of furnishing a satisfactory discourse—which in all such cases is the greatest task. So it was that, as Hermocrates has said, the moment I left your place yesterday I began to relate to them the story as I recollected it, and after I parted from them I pondered it over during the night and recovered, as I may say, the whole story. Marvellous, indeed, is the way in which the lessons of one’s childhood grip the mind, as the saying is. For myself, I know not whether I could recall to mind all that I heard yesterday; but as to the account I heard such a great time ago, I should be immensely surprised if a single detail of it has escaped me. I had then the greatest pleasure and amusement in hearing it, and the old man was eager to tell me, since I kept questioning him repeatedly, so that the story is stamped firmly on my mind like the encaustic designs of an indelible painting. Moreover, immediately after daybreak I related this same story to our friends here, so that they might share in my rich provision of discourse. Now, therefore,—and this is the purpose of all that I have been saying,—I am ready to tell my tale, not in summary outline only but in full detail just as I heard it. And the city with its citizens which you described to us yesterday, as it were in a fable, we will now transport hither into the realm of fact; for we will assume that the city is that ancient city of ours, and declare that the citizens you conceived are in truth those actual progenitors of ours, of whom the priest told. In all ways they will correspond, nor shall we be out of tune if we affirm that those citizens of yours are the very men who lived in that age. Thus, with united effort, each taking his part, we will endeavor to the best of our powers to do justice to the theme you have prescribed. Wherefore, Socrates, we must consider whether this story is to our mind, or we have still to look for some other to take its place.

Section 27

What story should we adopt, Critias, in preference to this? For this story will be admirably suited to the festival of the Goddess which is now being held, because of its connection with her; and the fact that it is no invented fable but genuine history is all-important. How, indeed, and where shall we discover other stories if we let these slip? Nay, it is impossible. You, therefore, must now deliver your discourse (and may Good Fortune attend you!), while I, in requital for my speech of yesterday, must now keep silence in my turn and hearken.

Consider now, Socrates, the order of the feast as we have arranged it. Seeing that Timaeus is our best astronomer and has made it his special task to learn about the nature of the Universe, it seemed good to us that he should speak first, beginning with the origin of the Cosmos and ending with the generation of mankind. After him I am to follow, taking over from him mankind, already as it were created by his speech, and taking over from you a select number of men superlatively well trained. Then, in accordance with the word and law of Solon, I am to bring these before ourselves, as before a court of judges, and make them citizens of this State of ours, regarding them as Athenians of that bygone age whose existence, so long forgotten, has been revealed to us by the record of the sacred writings; and thenceforward I am to proceed with my discourse as if I were speaking of men who already are citizens and men of Athens.

Bounteous and magnificent, methinks, is the feast of speech with which I am to be requited. So then, it will be your task, it seems, to speak next, when you have duly invoked the gods.

Nay, as to that, Socrates, all men who possess even a small share of good sense call upon God always at the outset of every undertaking, be it small or great; we therefore who are purposing to deliver a discourse concerning the Universe, how it was created or haply is uncreate, must needs invoke Gods and Goddesses (if so be that we are not utterly demented), praying that all we say may be approved by them in the first place, and secondly by ourselves. Grant, then, that we have thus duly invoked the deities; >ourselves we must also invoke so to proceed, that you may most easily learn and I may most clearly expound my views regarding the subject before us.

Section 28

Now first of all we must, in my judgement, make the following distinction. What is that which is Existent always and has no Becoming? And what is that which is Becoming always and never is Existent? Now the one of these is apprehensible by thought with the aid of reasoning, since it is ever uniformly existent; whereas the other is an object of opinion with the aid of unreasoning sensation, since it becomes and perishes and is never really existent. Again, everything which becomes must of necessity become owing to some Cause; for without a cause it is impossible for anything to attain becoming. But when the artificer of any object, in forming its shape and quality, keeps his gaze fixed on that which is uniform, using a model of this kind, that object, executed in this way, must of necessity be beautiful; but whenever he gazes at that which has come into existence and uses a created model, the object thus executed is not beautiful. Now the whole Heaven, or Cosmos, or if there is any other name which it specially prefers, by that let us call it,—so, be its name what it may, we must first investigate concerning it that primary question which has to be investigated at the outset in every case,—namely, whether it has existed always, having no beginning of generation, or whether it has come into existence, having begun from some beginning. It has come into existence; for it is visible and tangible and possessed of a body; and all such things are sensible and things sensible, being apprehensible by opinion with the aid of sensation, come into existence, as we saw, and are generated. And that which has come into existence must necessarily, as we say, have come into existence by reason of some Cause.

Section 29

Now to discover the Maker and Father of this Universe were a task indeed; and having discovered Him, to declare Him unto all men were a thing impossible. However, let us return and inquire further concerning the Cosmos,—after which of the Models did its Architect construct it? Was it after that which is self-identical and uniform, or after that which has come into existence; Now if so be that this Cosmos is beautiful and its Constructor good, it is plain that he fixed his gaze on the Eternal; but if otherwise (which is an impious supposition), his gaze was on that which has come into existence. But it is clear to everyone that his gaze was on the Eternal; for the Cosmos is the fairest of all that has come into existence, and He the best of all the Causes. So having in this wise come into existence, it has been constructed after the pattern of that which is apprehensible by reason and thought and is self-identical. Again, if these premisses be granted, it is wholly necessary that this Cosmos should be a Copy of something. Now in regard to every matter it is most important to begin at the natural beginning. Accordingly, in dealing with a copy and its model, we must affirm that the accounts given will themselves be akin to the diverse objects which they serve to explain; those which deal with what is abiding and firm and discernible by the aid of thought will be abiding and unshakable; and in so far as it is possible and fitting for statements to be irrefutable and invincible, they must in no wise fall short thereof; whereas the accounts of that which is copied after the likeness of that Model, and is itself a likeness, will be analogous thereto and possess likelihood; for I as Being is to Becoming, so is Truth to Belief. Wherefore, Socrates, if in our treatment of a great host of matters regarding the Gods and the generation of the Universe we prove unable to give accounts that are always in all respects self-consistent and perfectly exact, be not thou surprised; rather we should be content if we can furnish accounts that are inferior to none in likelihood, remembering that both I who speak and you who judge are but human creatures, so that it becomes us to accept the likely account of these matters and forbear to search beyond it.

Excellent, Timaeus! We must by all means accept it, as you suggest; and certainly we have most cordially accepted your prelude; so now, we beg of you, proceed straight on with the main theme.

Let us now state the Cause wherefore He that constructed it constructed Becoming and the All. He was good, and in him that is good no envy ariseth ever concerning anything; and being devoid of envy He desired that all should be, so far as possible, like unto Himself.

Section 30

This principle, then, we shall be wholly right in accepting from men of wisdom as being above all the supreme originating principle of Becoming and the Cosmos. For God desired that, so far as possible, all things should be good and nothing evil; wherefore, when He took over all that was visible, seeing that it was not in a state of rest but in a state of discordant and disorderly motion, He brought it into order out of disorder, deeming that the former state is in all ways better than the latter. For Him who is most good it neither was nor is permissible to perform any action save what is most fair. As He reflected, therefore, He perceived that of such creatures as are by nature visible, none that is irrational will be fairer, comparing wholes with wholes, than the rational; and further, that reason cannot possibly belong to any apart from Soul. So because of this reflection He constructed reason within soul and soul within body as He fashioned the All, that so the work He was executing might be of its nature most fair and most good. Thus, then, in accordance with the likely account, we must declare that this Cosmos has verily come into existence as a Living Creature endowed with soul and reason owing to the providence of God. This being established, we must declare that which comes next in order. In the semblance of which of the living Creatures did the Constructor of the cosmos construct it? We shall not deign to accept any of those which belong by nature to the category of parts; for nothing that resembles the imperfect would ever become fair. But we shall affirm that the Cosmos, more than aught else, resembles most closely that Living Creature of which all other living creatures, severally and generically, are portions. For that Living Creature embraces and contains within itself all the intelligible Living Creatures, just as this Universe contains us and all the other visible living creatures that have been fashioned.

Section 31

For since God desired to make it resemble most closely that intelligible Creature which is fairest of all and in all ways most perfect, He constructed it as a Living Creature, one and visible, containing within itself all the living creatures which are by nature akin to itself. Are we right, then, in describing the Heaven as one, or would it be more correct to speak of heavens as many or infinite in number? One it must be termed, if it is to be framed after its Pattern. For that which embraces all intelligible Living Creatures could never be second, with another beside it; for if so, there must needs exist yet another Living Creature, which should embrace them both, and of which they two would each be a part; in which case this Universe could no longer be rightly described as modelled on these two, but rather on that third Creature which contains them both. Wherefore, in order that this Creature might resemble the all perfect Living Creature in respect of its uniqueness, for this reason its Maker made neither two Universes nor an infinite number, but there is and will continue to be this one generated Heaven, unique of its kind. Now that which has come into existence must needs be of bodily form, visible and tangible; yet without fire nothing could ever become visible, nor tangible without some solidity, nor solid without earth. Hence, in beginning to construct the body of the All, God was making it of fire and earth. But it is not possible that two things alone should be conjoined without a third; for there must needs be some intermediary bond to connect the two. And the fairest of bonds is that which most perfectly unites into one both itself and the things which it binds together; and to effect this in the fairest manner is the natural property of proportion.

Section 32

For whenever the middle term of any three numbers, cubic or square, is such that as the first term is to it, so is it to the last term, and again, conversely, as the last term is to the middle, so is the middle to the first,—then the middle term becomes in turn the first and the last, while the first and last become in turn middle terms, and the necessary consequence will be that all the terms are interchangeable, and being interchangeable they all form a unity. Now if the body of the All had had to come into existence as a plane surface, having no depth, one middle term would have sufficed to bind together both itself and its fellow-terms; but now it is otherwise: for it behoved it to be solid of shape, and what brings solids into unison is never one middle term alone but always two. Thus it was that in the midst between fire and earth God set water and air, and having bestowed upon them so far as possible a like ratio one towards another—air being to water as fire to air, and water being to earth as air to water, —he joined together and constructed a Heaven visible and tangible. For these reasons and out of these materials, such in kind and four in number, the body of the Cosmos was harmonized by proportion and brought into existence. These conditions secured for it Amity, so that being united in identity with itself it became indissoluble by any agent other than Him who had bound it together. Now of the four elements the construction of the Cosmos had taken up the whole of every one. For its Constructor had constructed it of all the fire and water and air and earth that existed, leaving over, outside it, no single particle or potency of any one of these elements. And these were his intentions: first, that it might be, so far as possible, a Living Creature, perfect and whole, with all its parts perfect;

Section 33

and next, that it might be One, inasmuch as there was nothing left over out of which another like Creature might come into existence; and further, that it might be secure from age and ailment, since He perceived that when heat and cold, and all things which have violent potencies, surround a composite body from without and collide with it they dissolve it unduly and make it to waste away by bringing upon it ailments and age. Wherefore, because of this reasoning, He fashioned it to be One single Whole, compounded of all wholes, perfect and ageless and unailing. And he bestowed on it the shape which was befitting and akin. Now for that Living Creature which is designed to embrace within itself all living creatures the fitting shape will be that which comprises within itself all the shapes there are; wherefore He wrought it into a round, in the shape of a sphere, equidistant in all directions from the center to the extremities, which of all shapes is the most perfect and the most self-similar, since He deemed that the similar is infinitely fairer than the dissimilar. And on the outside round about, it was all made smooth with great exactness, and that for many reasons. For of eyes it had no need, since outside of it there was nothing visible left over; nor yet of hearing, since neither was there anything audible; nor was there any air surrounding it which called for respiration; nor, again, did it need any organ whereby it might receive the food that entered and evacuate what remained undigested. For nothing went out from it or came into it from any side, since nothing existed; for it was so designed as to supply its own wastage as food for itself, and to experience by its own agency and within itself all actions and passions, since He that had constructed it deemed that it would be better if it were self-sufficing rather than in need of other things. Hands, too, He thought He ought not to attach unto it uselessly, seeing they were not required either for grasping or for repelling anyone; nor yet feet, nor any instruments of locomotion whatsoever.

Section 34

For movement He assigned unto it that which is proper to its body, namely, that one of the seven motions which specially belongs to reason and intelligence; wherefore He spun it round uniformly in the same spot and within itself and made it move revolving in a circle; and all the other six motions He took away and fashioned it free from their aberrations. And seeing that for this revolving motion it had no need of feet, He begat it legless and footless. Such, then, was the sum of the reasoning of the ever-existing God concerning the god which was one day to be existent, whereby He made it smooth and even and equal on all sides from the center, a whole and perfect body compounded of perfect bodies, And in the midst thereof He set Soul, which He stretched throughout the whole of it, and therewith He enveloped also the exterior of its body; and as a Circle revolving in a circle He established one sole and solitary Heaven, able of itself because of its excellence to company with itself and needing none other beside, sufficing unto itself as acquaintance and friend. And because of all this He generated it to be a blessed God. Now as regards the Soul, although we are essaying to describe it after the body, God did not likewise plan it to be younger than the body; for, when uniting them, He would not have permitted the elder to be ruled by the younger; but as for us men, even as we ourselves partake largely of the accidental and casual, so also do our words. God, however, constructed Soul to be older than Body and prior in birth and excellence, since she was to be the mistress and ruler and it the ruled; and, He made her of the materials and in the fashion which I shall now describe.

Section 35

Midway between the Being which is indivisible and remains always the same and the Being which is transient and divisible in bodies, He blended a third form of Being compounded out of the twain, that is to say, out of the Same and the Other; and in like manner He compounded it midway between that one of them which is indivisible and that one which is divisible in bodies. And He took the three of them, and blent them all together into one form, by forcing the Other into union with the Same, in spite of its being naturally difficult to mix. And when with the aid of Being He had mixed them, and had made of them one out of three, straightway He began to distribute the whole thereof into so many portions as was meet; and each portion was a mixture of the Same, of the Other, and of Being. And He began making the division thus: First He took one portion from the whole; then He took a portion double of this; then a third portion, half as much again as the second portion, that is, three times as much as the first; he fourth portion He took was twice as much as the second; the fifth three times as much as the third; the sixth eight times as much as the first; and the seventh twenty-seven times as much as the first.

Section 36

After that He went on to fill up the intervals in the series of the powers of 2 and the intervals in the series of powers of 3 in the following manner: He cut off yet further portions from the original mixture, and set them in between the portions above rehearsed, so as to place two Means in each interval, —one a Mean which exceeded its Extremes and was by them exceeded by the same proportional part or fraction of each of the Extremes respectively; the other a Mean which exceeded one Extreme by the same number or integer as it was exceeded by its other Extreme. And whereas the insertion of these links formed fresh intervals in the former intervals, that is to say, intervals of 3:2 and 4:3 and 9:8, He went on to fill up the 4:3 intervals with 9:8 intervals. This still left over in each case a fraction, which is represented by the terms of the numerical ratio 256:243. And thus the mixture, from which He had been cutting these portions off, was now all spent. Next, He split all this that He had put together into two parts lengthwise; and then He laid the twain one against the other, the middle of one to the middle of the other, like a great cross; and bent either of them into a circle, and join them, each to itself and also to the other, at a point opposite to where they had first been laid together. And He compassed them about with the motion that revolves in the same spot continually, and He made the one circle outer and the other inner. And the outer motion He ordained to be the Motion of the Same, and the inner motion the Motion of the Other. And He made the Motion of the Same to be toward the right along the side, and the Motion of the Other to be toward the left along the diagonal; and He gave the sovranty to the Revolution of the Same and of the Uniform. For this alone He suffered to remain uncloven, whereas He split the inner Revolution in six places into seven unequal circles, according to each of the intervals of the double and triple intervals, three double and three triple. These two circles then He appointed to go in contrary directions; and of the seven circles into which He split the inner circle, He appointed three to revolve at an equal speed, the other four to go at speeds equal neither with each other nor with the speed of the aforesaid three, yet moving at speeds the ratios of which one to another are those of natural integers. And when the construction of the Soul had all been completed to the satisfaction of its Constructor, then He fabricated within it all the Corporeal, and uniting them center to center He made them fit together. And the Soul, being woven throughout the Heaven every way from the center to the extremity, and enveloping it in a circle from without, and herself revolving within herself, began a divine beginning of unceasing and intelligent life lasting throughout all time.

Section 37

And whereas the body of the Heaven is visible, the Soul is herself invisible but partakes in reasoning and in harmony, having come into existence by the agency of the best of things intelligible and ever-existing as the best of things generated. Inasmuch, then, as she is a compound, blended of the natures of the Same and the Other and Being, these three portions, and is proportionately divided and bound together, and revolves back upon herself, whenever she touches anything which has its substance dispersed or anything which has its substance undivided she is moved throughout her whole being and announces what the object is identical with and from what it is different, and in what relation, where and how and when, it comes about that each thing exists and is acted upon by others both in the sphere of the Becoming and in that of the ever-uniform. And her announcement, being identically true concerning both the Other and the Same, is borne through the self-moved without speech or sound; and whenever it is concerned with the sensible, and the circle of the Other moving in straight course proclaims it to the whole of its Soul, opinions and beliefs arise which are firm and true; and again, when it is concerned with the rational, and the circle of the Same, spinning truly, declares the facts, reason and knowledge of necessity result. But should anyone assert that the substance in which these two states arise is something other than Soul, his assertion will be anything rather than the truth. And when the Father that engendered it perceived it in motion and alive, a thing of joy to the eternal gods, He too rejoiced; and being well-pleased He designed to make it resemble its Model still more closely. Accordingly, seeing that that Model is an eternal Living Creature, He set about making this Universe, so far as He could, of a like kind. But inasmuch as the nature of the Living Creature was eternal, this quality it was impossible to attach in its entirety to what is generated; wherefore He planned to make a movable image of Eternity, and, as He set in order the Heaven, of that Eternity which abides in unity He made an eternal image, moving according to number, even that which we have named Time. For simultaneously with the construction of the Heaven He contrived the production of days and nights and months and years, which existed not before the Heaven came into being. And these are all portions of Time; even as Was and Shall be are generated forms of Time, although we apply them wrongly, without noticing, to Eternal Being.

Section 38

For we say that it is or was or will be, whereas, in truth of speech, is alone is the appropriate term; was and will be, on the other hand, are terms properly applicable to the Becoming which proceeds in Time, since both of these are motions; but it belongs not to that which is ever changeless in its uniformity to become either older or younger through time, nor ever to have become so, nor to be so now, nor to be about to be so hereafter, nor in general to be subject to any of the conditions which Becoming has attached to the things which move in the world of Sense, these being generated forms of Time, which imitates Eternity and circles round according to number. And besides these we make use of the following expressions,— that what is become is become, and what is becoming is becoming, and what is about to become is about to become, and what is non-existent is non-existent; but none of these expressions is accurate. But the present is not, perhaps, a fitting occasion for an exact discussion of these matters. Time, then, came into existence along with the Heaven, to the end that having been generated together they might also be dissolved together, if ever a dissolution of them should take place; and it was made after the pattern of the Eternal Nature, to the end that it might be as like thereto as possible; for whereas the pattern is existent through all eternity, the copy, on the other hand, is through all time, continually having existed, existing, and being about to exist. Wherefore, as a consequence of this reasoning and design on the part of God, with a view to the generation of Time, the sun and moon and five other stars, which bear the appellation of planets, came into existence for the determining and preserving of the numbers of Time. And when God had made the bodies of each of them He placed them in the orbits along which the revolution of the Other was moving, seven orbits for the seven bodies.. The Moon He placed in the first circle around the Earth, the Sun in the second above the Earth; and the Morning Star and the Star called Sacred to Hermes He placed in those circles which move in an orbit equal to the Sun in velocity, but endowed with a power contrary thereto; whence it is that the Sun and the Star of Hermes and the Morning Star regularly overtake and are overtaken by one another. As to the rest of the stars, were one to describe in detail the positions in which He set them, and all the reasons therefor, the description, though but subsidiary, would prove a heavier task than the main argument which it subserves. Later on, perhaps, at our leisure these points may receive the attention they merit.

Section 39

So when each of the bodies whose co-operation was required for the making of Time had arrived in its proper orbit; and when they had been generated as living creatures, having their bodies bound with living bonds, and had learnt their appointed duties; then they kept revolving around the circuit of the Other, which is transverse and passes through the circuit of the Same and is dominated thereby; and part of them moved in a greater, part in a smaller circle, those in the smaller moving more quickly and those in the greater more slowly. And because of the motion of the Same, the stars which revolved most quickly appeared to be overtaken by those which moved most slowly, although in truth they overtook them; for, because of their simultaneous progress in two opposite directions, the motion of the Same, which is the swiftest of all motions, twisted all their circles into spirals and thus caused the body which moves away from it most slowly to appear the nearest. And in order that there might be a clear measure of the relative speeds, slow and quick, with which they travelled round their eight orbits, in that circle which is second from the earth God kindled a light which now we call the Sun, to the end that it might shine, so far as possible, throughout the whole Heaven, and that all the living creatures entitled thereto might participate in number, learning it from the revolution of the Same and Similar. In this wise and for these reasons were generated Night and Day, which are the revolution of the one and most intelligent circuit; and Month, every time that the Moon having completed her own orbit overtakes the Sun; and Year, as often as the Sun has completed his own orbit. Of the other stars the revolutions have not been discovered by men (save for a few out of the many); wherefore they have no names for them, nor do they compute and compare their relative measurements, so that they are not aware, as a rule, that the wanderings of these bodies, which are hard to calculate and of wondrous complexity, constitute Time. Nevertheless, it is still quite possible to perceive that the complete number of Time fulfils the Complete Year when all the eight circuits, with their relative speeds, finish together and come to a head, when measured by the revolution of the Same and Similarly-moving. In this wise and for these reasons were generated all those stars which turn themselves about as they travel through Heaven, to the end that this Universe might be as similar as possible to the perfect and intelligible Living Creature in respect of its imitation of the Eternal Nature thereof. Now in all other respects this World had already, with the birth of Time, been wrought in the similitude of that whereunto it was being likened, but inasmuch as it did not as yet contain generated within it the whole range of living creatures, therein it was still dissimilar. So this part of the work which was still undone He completed by molding it after the nature of the Model. According, then, as Reason perceives Forms existing in the Absolute Living Creature, such and so many as exist therein did He deem that this World also should possess.

Section 40

And these Forms are four,—one the heavenly kind of gods; another the winged kind which traverses the air; thirdly, the class which inhabits the waters; and fourthly, that which goes on foot on dry land. The form of the divine class He wrought for the most part out of fire, that this kind might be as bright as possible to behold and as fair; and likening it to the All He made it truly spherical; and He placed it in the intelligence of the Supreme to follow therewith, distributing it round about over all the Heaven, to be unto it a veritable adornment cunningly traced over the whole. And each member of this class He endowed with two motions, whereof the one is uniform motion in the same spot, whereby it conceives always identical thoughts about the same objects, and the other is a forward motion due to its being dominated by the revolution of the Same and Similar; but in respect of the other five motions they are at rest and move not, so that each of them may attain the greatest possible perfection. From this cause, then, came into existence all those unwandering stars which are living creatures divine and eternal and abide for ever revolving uniformly in the same spot; and those which keep swerving and wandering have been generated in the fashion previously described. And Earth, our nurse, which is globed around the pole that stretches through all, He framed to be the wardress and fashioner of night and day, she being the first and eldest of all the gods which have come into existence within the Heaven. But the choric dances of these same stars and their crossings one of another, and the relative reversals and progressions of their orbits, and which of the gods meet in their conjunctions, and how many are in opposition, and behind which and at what times they severally pass before one another and are hidden from our view, and again re-appearing send upon men unable to calculate alarming portents of the things which shall come to pass hereafter,—to describe all this without an inspection of models of these movements would be labor in vain. Wherefore, let this account suffice us, and let our discourse concerning the nature of the visible and generated gods have an end. Concerning the other divinities, to discover and declare their origin is too great a task for us, and we must trust to those who have declared it aforetime, they being, as they affirmed, descendants of gods and knowing well, no doubt, their own forefathers. It is, as I say, impossible to disbelieve the children of gods, even though their statements lack either probable or necessary demonstration; and inasmuch as they profess to speak of family matters, we must follow custom and believe them.

Section 41

Therefore let the generation of these gods be stated by us, following their account, in this wise: Of Ge and Uranus were born the children Oceanus and Tethys; and of these, Phorkys, Cronos, Rhea, and all that go with them; and of Cronos and Rhea were born Zeus and Hera and all those who are, as we know, called their brethren; and of these again, other descendants. Now when all the gods, both those who revolve manifestly and those who manifest themselves so far as they choose, had come to birth, He that generated this All addressed them thus: Gods of gods, those works whereof I am framer and father are indissoluble save by my will. For though all that is bound may be dissolved, yet to will to dissolve that which is fairly joined together and in good case were the deed of a wicked one. Wherefore ye also, seeing that ye were generated, are not wholly immortal or indissoluble, yet in no wise shall ye be dissolved nor incur the doom of death, seeing that in my will ye possess a bond greater and more sovereign than the bonds wherewith, at your birth, ye were bound together. Now, therefore, what I manifest and declare unto you do ye learn. Three mortal kinds still remain ungenerated; but if these come not into being the Heaven will be imperfect; for it will not contain within itself the whole sum of the hinds of living creatures, yet contain them it must if it is to be fully perfect. But if by my doing these creatures came into existence and partook of life, they would be made equal unto gods; in order, therefore, that they may be mortal and that this World-all may be truly All, do ye turn yourselves, as Nature directs, to the work of fashioning these living creatures, imitating the power showed by me in my generating of you. Now so much of them as it is proper to designate ’immortal,’ the part we call divine which rules supreme in those who are fain to follow justice always and yourselves, that part I will deliver unto you when I have sown it and given it origin. For the rest, do ye weave together the mortal with the immortal, and thereby fashion and generate living creatures, and give them food that they may grow, and when they waste away receive them to yourselves again. Thus He spake, and once more into the former bowl, wherein He had blended and mixed the Soul of the Universe, He poured the residue of the previous material, mixing it in somewhat the same manner, yet no longer with a uniform and invariable purity, but second and third in degree of purity. And when He had compounded the whole He divided it into souls equal in number to the stars, and each several soul He assigned to one star, and setting them each as it were in a chariot He showed them the nature of the Universe, and declared unto them the laws of destiny,—namely, how that the first birth should be one and the same ordained for all, in order that none might be slighted by Him; and how it was needful that they, when sown each into his own proper organ of time, should grow into the most god-fearing of living creatures; and that, since human nature is two-fold, the superior sex is that which hereafter should be designated man.

Section 42

And when, by virtue of Necessity, they should be implanted in bodies, and their bodies are subject to influx and efflux, these results would necessarily follow,—firstly, sensation that is innate and common to all proceeding from violent affections; secondly, desire mingled with pleasure and pain; and besides these, fear and anger and all such emotions as are naturally allied thereto, and all such as are of a different and opposite character. And if they shall master these they will live justly, but if they are mastered, unjustly. And he that has lived his appointed time well shall return again to his abode in his native star, and shall gain a life that is blessed and congenial but whoso has failed therein shall be changed into woman’s nature at the second birth; and if, in that shape, he still refraineth not from wickedness he shall be changed every time, according to the nature of his wickedness, into some bestial form after the similitude of his own nature; nor in his changings shall he cease from woes until he yields himself to the revolution of the Same and Similar that is within him, and dominating by force of reason that burdensome mass which afterwards adhered to him of fire and water and earth and air, a mass tumultuous and irrational, returns again to the semblance of his first and best state. When He had fully declared unto them all these ordinances, to the end that He might be blameless in respect of the future wickedness of any one of them, He proceeded to sow them, some in the Earth, some in the Moon, others in the rest of the organs of Time. Following upon this sowing, He delivered over to the young gods the task of molding mortal bodies, and of framing and controlling all the rest of the human soul which it was still necessary to add, together with all that belonged thereto, and of governing this mortal creature in the fairest and best way possible, to the utmost of their power, except in so far as it might itself become the cause of its own evils. So He, then, having given all these commands, was abiding in His own proper and wonted state.

Section 43

And as He thus abode, His children gave heed to their Father’s command and obeyed it. They took the immortal principle of the mortal living creature, and imitating their own Maker, they borrowed from the Cosmos portions of fire and earth and water and air, as if meaning to pay them back, and the portions so taken they cemented together; but it was not with those indissoluble bonds wherewith they themselves were joined that they fastened together the portions but with numerous pegs, invisible for smallness; and thus they constructed out of them all each several body, and within bodies subject to inflow and outflow they bound the revolutions of the immortal Soul. The souls, then, being thus bound within a mighty river neither mastered it nor were mastered, but with violence they rolled along and were rolled along themselves, so that the whole of the living creature was moved, but in such a random way that its progress was disorderly and irrational, since it partook of all the six motions: for it progressed forwards and backwards, and again to right and to left, and upwards and downwards, wandering every way in all the six directions. For while the flood which foamed in and streamed out, as it supplied the food, was immense, still greater was the tumult produced within each creature as a result of the colliding bodies, when the body of a creature happened to meet and collide with alien fire from without, or with a solid lump of earth or liquid glidings of waters, or when it was overtaken by a tempest of winds driven by air, and when the motions due to all these causes rushing through the body impinged upon the Soul. And for these reasons all such motions were then termed Sensations, and are still so termed today. Moreover, since at that time they were causing, for the moment, constant and widespread motion, joining with the perpetually flowing stream in moving and violently shaking the revolutions of the Soul, they totally blocked the course of the Same by flowing contrary thereto, and hindered it thereby in its ruling and its going; while, on the other hand, they so shook up the course of the Other that in the three several intervals of the double and the triple, and in the mean terms and binding links of the 3/2, 4/3 and 9/8,—these being not wholly dissoluble save by Him who had bound them together,—they produced all manner of twistings, and caused in their circles fractures and disruptions of every possible kind, with the result that, as they barely held together one with another, they moved indeed but moved irrationally, being at one time reversed, at another oblique, and again upside down. Suppose, for example, that a man is in an upside down position, with his head resting on the earth and his feet touching something above, then, in this position of the man relative to that of the onlookers, his right will appear left to them, and his left right, and so will theirs to him.

Section 44

This, and such like, are just what the revolutions of the Soul experience with intensity; and every time they happen upon any external object, whether it be of the class of the Same or of the Other, they proclaim it to be the same as something or other than something contrary to the truth, and thereby prove themselves false and foolish, and devoid, at such times, of any revolution that rules and guides. And whenever external sensations in their movement collide with these revolutions and sweep along with them also the whole vessel of the Soul, then the revolutions, though actually mastered, appear to have the mastery. Hence it comes about that, because of all these affections, now as in the beginning, so often as the Soul is bound within a mortal body it becomes at the first irrational. But as soon as the stream of increase and nutriment enters in less volume, and the revolutions calm down and pursue their own path, becoming more stable as time proceeds, then at length, as the several circles move each according to its natural track, their revolutions are straightened out and they announce the Same and the Other aright, and thereby they render their possessor intelligent. And if so be that this state of his soul be reinforced by right educational training, the man becomes wholly sound and faultless, having escaped the worst of maladies; but if he has been wholly negligent therein, after passing a lame existence in life he returns again unperfected and unreasoning to Hades. These results, however, come about at a later time. Regarding the subjects now before us, we must give a more exact exposition; and also regarding the subjects anterior to these, namely, the generation of bodies in their several parts, and the causes and divine counsels whereby the Soul has come into existence, we must hold fast to the most probable account, and proceed accordingly, in the exposition now to be given. The divine revolutions, which are two, they bound within a sphere-shaped body, in imitation of the spherical form of the All, which body we now call the head, it being the most divine part and reigning over all the parts within us. To it the gods delivered over the whole of the body they had assembled to be its servant, having formed the notion that it should partake in all the motions which were to be. In order, then, that it should not go rolling upon the earth, which has all manner of heights and hollows, and be at a loss how to climb over the one and climb out of the other, they bestowed upon it the body as a vehicle and means of transport.

Section 45

And for this reason the body acquired length, and, by God’s contriving, shot forth four limbs, extensible and flexible, to serve as instruments of transport, so that grasping with these and’ supported thereon it was enabled to travel through all places, bearing aloft the chamber of our most divine and holy part. In this wise and for these reasons were legs and hands attached to all men; and inasmuch as they demand the forepart superior to the hinder part in honor and dignity, the Gods gave us the most part of our going in this direction. Thus it was necessary that man should have the forepart of his body distinct and dissimilar. Wherefore, dealing first with the vessel of the head, they set the face in the front thereof and bound within it organs for all the forethought of the Soul; and they ordained that this, which is the natural front, should be the leading part. And of the organs they constructed first light-bearing eyes, and these they fixed in the face for the reason following. They contrived that all such fire as had the property not of burning but of giving a mild light should form a body akin to the light of every day. For they caused the pure fire within us, which is akin to that of day, to flow through the eyes in a smooth and dense stream; and they compressed the whole substance, and especially the center, of the eyes, so that they occluded all other fire that was coarser and allowed only this pure kind of fire to filter through. So whenever the stream of vision is surrounded by midday light, it flows out like unto like, and coalescing therewith it forms one kindred substance along the path of the eyes’ vision, wheresoever the fire which streams from within collides with an obstructing object without. And this substance, having all become similar in its properties because of its similar nature, distributes the motions of every object it touches, or whereby it is touched, throughout all the body even unto the Soul, and brings about that sensation which we now term seeing. But when the kindred fire vanishes into night, the inner fire is cut off; for when it issues forth into what is dissimilar it becomes altered in itself and is quenched, seeing that it is no longer of like nature with the adjoining air, since that air is devoid of fire. Wherefore it leaves off seeing, and becomes also an inducement to sleep. For the eyelids —whose structure the Gods devised as a safeguard for the vision,—when they are shut close, curb the power of the inner fire; which power dissipates and allays the inward motions, and upon their allaying quiet ensues; and when this quiet has become intense there falls upon us a sleep that is well-nigh dreamless;

Section 46

but when some greater motions are still left behind, according to their nature and the positions they occupy such and so great are the images they produce, which images are copied within and are remembered by the sleepers when they awake out of the dream. And it is no longer difficult to perceive the truth about the formation of images in mirrors and in bright and smooth surfaces of every kind. It is from the combination with each other of the inner and the outer fires, every time that they unite on the smooth surface and are variously deflected, that all such reflections necessarily result, owing to the fire of the reflected face coalescing with the fire of the vision on the smooth and bright surface. And left appears as right, because contact takes place between opposite portions of the visual stream and opposite portions of the object, contrary to the regular mode of collision. Contrariwise, right appears as right and left as left whenever the fire changes sides on coalescing with the object wherewith it coalesces; and this occurs whenever the smooth surface of the mirrors, being elevated on this side and on that, repels the right portion of the visual stream to the left and the left to the right. And when this same mirror is turned lengthwise to the face it makes the whole face appear upside down, since it repels the bottom of the ray to the top, and conversely the top to the bottom. Now all these are among the auxiliary Causes which God employs as his ministers in perfecting, so far as possible, the Form of the Most Good; but by the most of men they are supposed to be not auxiliary but primary causes of all things—cooling and heating, solidifying and dissolving, and producing all such effects. Yet they are incapable of possessing reason and thought for any purpose. For, as we must affirm, the one and only existing thing which has the property of acquiring thought is Soul; and Soul is invisible, whereas fire and water and earth and air are all visible bodies; and the lover of thought and knowledge must needs pursue first the causes which belong to the Intelligent Nature, and put second all such as are of the class of things which are moved by others, and themselves, in turn, move others because they cannot help it. And we also must act likewise. We must declare both kinds of Causes, but keep distinct those which, with the aid of thought, are artificers of things fair and good, and all those which are devoid of intelligence and produce always accidental and irregular effects.

Section 47

Now regarding the auxiliary causes which have helped the eyes to acquire the power which they now possess, let this statement suffice. Next we must declare the most important benefit effected by them, for the sake of which God bestowed them upon us. Vision, in my view, is the cause of the greatest benefit to us, inasmuch as none of the accounts now given concerning the Universe would ever have been given if men had not seen the stars or the sun or the heaven. But as it is, the vision of day and night and of months and circling years has created the art of number and has given us not only the notion of Time but also means of research into the nature of the Universe. From these we have procured Philosophy in all its range, than which no greater boon ever has come or will come, by divine bestowal, unto the race of mortals. This I affirm to be the greatest good of eyesight. As for all the lesser goods, why should we celebrate them? He that is no philosopher when deprived of the sight thereof may utter vain lamentations! But the cause and purpose of that best good, as we must maintain, is this,—that God devised and bestowed upon us vision to the end that we might behold the revolutions of Reason in the Heaven and use them for the revolvings of the reasoning that is within us, these being akin to those, the perturbable to the imperturbable; and that, through learning and sharing in calculations which are correct by their nature, by imitation of the absolutely unvarying revolutions of the God we might stabilize the variable revolutions within ourselves. Concerning sound also and hearing, once more we make the same declaration, that they were bestowed by the Gods with the same object and for the same reasons; for it was for these same purposes that speech was ordained, and it makes the greatest contribution thereto; music too, in so far as it uses audible sound, was bestowed for the sake of harmony. And harmony, which has motions akin to the revolutions of the Soul within us, was given by the Muses to him who makes intelligent use of the Muses, not as an aid to irrational pleasure, as is now supposed, but as an auxiliary to the inner revolution of the Soul, when it has lost its harmony, to assist in restoring it to order and concord with itself. And because of the unmodulated condition, deficient in grace, which exists in most of us, Rhythm also was bestowed upon us to be our helper by the same deities and for the same ends. The foregoing part of our discourse, save for a small portion, has been an exposition of the operations of Reason; but we must also furnish an account of what comes into existence through Necessity.

Section 48

For, in truth, this Cosmos in its origin was generated as a compound, from the combination of Necessity and Reason. And inasmuch as Reason was controlling Necessity by persuading her to conduct to the best end the most part of the things coming into existence, thus and thereby it came about, through Necessity yielding to intelligent persuasion, that this Universe of ours was being in this wise constructed at the beginning. Wherefore if one is to declare how it actually came into being on this wise, he must include also the form of the Errant Cause, in the way that it really acts. To this point, therefore, we must return, and taking once again a fresh starting point suitable to the matter we must make a fresh start in dealing therewith, just as we did with our previous subjects. We must gain a view of the real nature of fire and water, air and earth, as it was before the birth of Heaven, and the properties they had before that time; for at present no one has as yet declared their generation, but we assume that men know what fire is, and each of these things, and we call them principles and presume that they are elements of the Universe, although in truth they do not so much as deserve to be likened with any likelihood, by the man who has even a grain of sense, to the class of syllables. For the present, however, let our procedure be as follows. We shall not now expound the principle of all things—or their principles, or whatever term we use concerning them; and that solely for this reason, that it is difficult for us to explain our views while keeping to our present method of exposition. You, therefore, ought not to suppose that I should expound them, while as for me—I should never be able to convince myself that I should be right in attempting to undertake so great a task. Strictly adhering, then, to what we previously affirmed, the import of the likely account, I will essay (as I did before) to give as likely an exposition as any other (nay, more so), regarding both particular things and the totality of things from the very beginning. And as before, so now, at the commencement of our account, we must call upon God the Saviour to bring us safe through a novel and unwonted exposition to a conclusion based on likelihood, and thus begin our account once more. We must, however, in beginning our fresh account of the Universe make more distinctions than we did before; for whereas then we distinguished two Forms, we must now declare another third kind.

Section 49

For our former exposition those two were sufficient, one of them being assumed as a Model Form, intelligible and ever uniformly existent, and the second as the model’s Copy, subject to becoming and visible. A third kind we did not at that time distinguish, considering that those two were sufficient; but now the argument seems to compel us to try to reveal by words a Form that is baffling and obscure. What essential property, then, are we to conceive it to possess? This in particular,—that it should be the receptacle, and as it were the nurse, of all Becoming. Yet true though this statement is, we must needs describe it more plainly. That, however, is a difficult task, especially because it is necessary, for its sake, to discuss first the problem of fire and its fellow elements. For in regard to these it is hard to say which particular element we ought really to term water rather than fire, and which we ought to term any one element rather than each and all of them, while still employing a terminology that is reliable and stable. How, then, shall we handle this problem, and what likely solution can we offer? First of all, we see that which we now call water becoming by condensation, as we believe, stones and earth; and again, this same substance, by dissolving and dilating, becoming breath and air; and air through combustion becoming fire; and conversely, fire when contracted and quenched returning back to the form of air and air once more uniting and condensing into cloud and mist; and issuing from these, when still further compressed, flowing water; and from water earth and stones again: thus we see the elements passing on to one another, as it would seem, in an unbroken circle the gift of birth. Accordingly, since no one of these ever remains identical in appearance, which of them shall a man definitely affirm to be any one particular element and no other without incurring ridicule? None such exists. On the contrary, by far the safest plan in treating of these elements is to proceed thus: Whatsoever object we perceive to be constantly changing from one state to another, like fire, that object, be it fire, we must never describe as this but as suchlike, nor should we ever call water this but suchlike nor should we describe any other element, as though it possessed stability, of all those which we indicate by using the terms this and that and suppose ourselves to refer to a definite object. For such an object shuns and eludes the names this and that and every name which indicates that they are stable. Thus we must not call the several elements these, but in regard to each of them and all together we must apply the term suchlike to represent what is always circling round: thus we shall call that which is constantly suchlike by the name of fire, and so with everything else that is generated.

Section 50

But that wherein they are always, in appearance, coming severally into existence, and wherefrom in turn they perish, in describing that and that alone should we employ the terms this and that; whereas, in describing what is suchlike—hot, for instance, or white, or any of the opposite qualities, or any compounds thereof—we ought never to apply to it any of these terms. But we must bestir ourselves to explain this matter again yet more clearly. Now imagine that a man were to model all possible figures out of gold, and were then to proceed without cessation to remodel each of these into every other, then, if someone were to point to one of the figures and ask what it is, by far the safest reply, in point of truth, would be that it is gold; but as for the triangle and all the other figures which were formed in it, one should never describe them as being seeing that they change even while one is mentioning them; rather one should be content if the figure admits of even the title suchlike being applied to it with any safety. And of the substance which receives all bodies the same account must be given. It must be called always by the same name; for from its own proper quality it never departs at all for while it is always receiving all things, nowhere and in no wise does it assume any shape similar to any of the things that enter into it. For it is laid down by nature as a molding-stuff for everything, being moved and marked by the entering figures, and because of them it appears different at different times. And the figures that enter and depart are copies of those that are always existent, being stamped from them in a fashion marvellous and hard to describe, which we shall investigate hereafter. For the present, then, we must conceive of three kinds,—the Becoming, that Wherein it becomes, and the source Wherefrom the Becoming is copied and produced. Moreover, it is proper to liken the Recipient to the Mother, the Source to the Father, and what is engendered between these two to the Offspring; and also to perceive that, if the stamped copy is to assume diverse appearances of all sorts, that substance wherein it is set and stamped could not possibly be suited to its purpose unless it were itself devoid of all those forms which it is about to receive from any quarter. For were it similar to any of the entering forms, on receiving forms of an opposite or wholly different kind, as they arrived, it would copy them badly, through obtruding its own visible shape. Wherefore it is right that the substance which is to receive within itself all the kinds should be void of all forms; just as with all fragrant ointments, men bring about this condition by artistic contrivance and make the liquids which are to receive the odors as odorless as possible; and all who essay to mold figures in any soft material utterly refuse to allow any previous figure to remain visible therein, and begin by making it even and as smooth as possible before they execute the work.

Section 51

So likewise it is right that the substance which is to be fitted to receive frequently over its whole extent the copies of all things intelligible and eternal should itself, of its own nature, be void of all the forms. Wherefore, let us not speak of her that is the Mother and Receptacle of this generated world, which is perceptible by sight and all the senses, by the name of earth or air or fire or water, or any aggregates or constituents thereof: rather, if we describe her as a Kind invisible and unshaped, all-receptive, and in some most perplexing and most baffling way partaking of the intelligible, we shall describe her truly. In so far as it is possible to arrive at the nature of this kind from the foregoing account, one may state it most correctly in this way. That part of it which is made fiery appears each time as fire, that which has been liquefied as water; and it appears as earth and air in so far as it receives copies of these. But let us investigate the matter by more exact reasoning, and consider this question. Does there exist any self-subsisting fire or any of those other objects which we likewise term self-subsisting realities? Or is it only these things which we see, or otherwise perceive by means of bodily senses, that exist, possessed of sensible reality; beside which no other things exist anywhere or anyhow, and it is merely an idle assertion of ours that there always exists an intelligible Form of every object, whereas it is really nothing more than a verbal phrase? Now, on the one hand, it would be improper to dismiss the question before us without a trial and a verdict, and simply to asseverate that the fact is so; while, on the other hand, we ought not to burden a lengthy discourse with another subsidiary argument. If, however, it were possible to disclose briefly some main determining principle, that would best serve our purpose. This, then, is the view for which I, for my part, cast my vote. If Reason and True Opinion are two distinct Kinds, most certainly these self-subsisting Forms do exist, imperceptible by our senses, and objects of Reason only; whereas if, as appears to some, True Opinion differs in naught from Reason, then, on the contrary, all the things which we perceive by our bodily senses must be judged to be most stable. Now these two Kinds must be declared to be two, because they have come into existence separately and are unlike in condition. For the one of them arises in us by teaching, the other by persuasion; and the one is always in company with true reasoning, whereas the other is irrational; and the one is immovable by persuasion, whereas the other is alterable by persuasion; and of the one we must assert that every man partakes, but of Reason only the gods and but a small class of men.

Section 52

This being so, we must agree that One Kind is the self-identical Form, ungenerated and indestructible, neither receiving into itself any other from any quarter nor itself passing anywhither into another, invisible and in all ways imperceptible by sense, it being the object which it is the province of Reason to contemplate; and a second Kind is that which is named after the former and similar thereto, an object perceptible by sense, generated, ever carried about, becoming in a place and out of it again perishing, apprehensible by Opinion with the aid of Sensation; and a third Kind is ever-existing Place, which admits not of destruction, and provides room for all things that have birth, itself being apprehensible by a kind of bastard reasoning by the aid of non-sensation, barely an object of belief; for when we regard this we dimly dream and affirm that it is somehow necessary that all that exists should exist in some spot and occupying some place, and that that which is neither on earth nor anywhere in the Heaven is nothing. So because of all these and other kindred notions, we are unable also on waking up to distinguish clearly the unsleeping and truly subsisting substance, owing to our dreamy condition, or to state the truth—how that it belongs to a copy—seeing that it has not for its own even that substance for which it came into being, but fleets ever as a phantom of something else—to come into existence in some other thing, clinging to existence as best it may, on pain of being nothing at all; whereas to the aid of the really existent there comes the accurately true argument, that so long as one thing is one thing, and another something different, neither of the two will ever come to exist in the other so that the same thing becomes simultaneously both one and two. Let this, then, be, according to my verdict, a reasoned account of the matter summarily stated,—that Being and Place and Becoming were existing, three distinct things, even before the Heaven came into existence; and that the Nurse of Becoming, being liquefied and ignified and receiving also the forms of earth and of air, and submitting to all the other affections which accompany these, exhibits every variety of appearance; but owing to being filled with potencies that are neither similar nor balanced, in no part of herself is she equally balanced, but sways unevenly in every part, and is herself shaken by these forms and shakes them in turn as she is moved.

Section 53

And the forms, as they are moved, fly continually in various directions and are dissipated; just as the particles that are shaken and winnowed by the sieves and other instruments used for the cleansing of corn fall in one place if they are solid and heavy, but fly off and settle elsewhere if they are spongy and light. So it was also with the Four Kinds when shaken by the Recipient: her motion, like an instrument which causes shaking, was separating farthest from one another the dissimilar, and pushing most closely together the similar; wherefore also these Kinds occupied different places even before that the Universe was organized and generated out of them. Before that time, in truth, all these things were in a state devoid of reason or measure, but when the work of setting in order this Universe was being undertaken, fire and water and earth and air, although possessing some traces of their own nature, were yet so disposed as everything is likely to be in the absence of God; and inasmuch as this was then their natural condition, God began by first marking them out into shapes by means of forms and numbers. And that God constructed them, so far as He could, to be as fair and good as possible, whereas they had been otherwise,—this above all else must always be postulated in our account. Now, however, it is the disposition and origin of each of these Kinds which I must endeavor to explain to you in an exposition of an unusual type; yet, inasmuch as you have some acquaintance with the technical method which I must necessarily employ in my exposition, you will follow me. In the first place, then, it is plain I presume to everyone that fire and earth and water and air are solid bodies; and the form of a body, in every case, possesses depth also. Further, it is absolutely necessary that depth should be bounded by a plane surface; and the rectilinear plane is composed of triangles. Now all triangles derive their origin from two triangles, each having one angle right and the others acute; and the one of these triangles has on each side half a right angle marked off by equal sides, while the other has the right angle divided into unequal parts by unequal sides. These we lay down as the principles of fire and all the other bodies, proceeding according to a method in which the probable is combined with the necessary; but the principles which are still higher than these are known only to God and the man who is dear to God. We must now declare what will be the four fairest bodies, dissimilar to one another, but capable in part of being produced out of one another by means of dissolution; for if we succeed herein we shall grasp the truth concerning the generation of earth and fire and the mean proportionals. For to no one will we concede that fairer bodies than these, each distinct of its kind, are anywhere to be seen. Wherefore we must earnestly endeavor to frame together these four kinds of bodies which excel in beauty, and to maintain that we have apprehended their nature adequately.

Section 54

Now of the two triangles, the isosceles possesses one single nature, but the scalene an infinite number; and of these infinite natures we must select the fairest, if we mean to make a suitable beginning. If, then, anyone can claim that he has chosen one that is fairer for the construction of these bodies, he, as friend rather than foe, is the victor. We, however, shall pass over all the rest and postulate as the fairest of the triangles that triangle out of which, when two are conjoined, the equilateral triangle is constructed as a third. The reason why is a longer story; but should anyone refute us and discover that it is not so, we begrudge him not the prize. Accordingly, let these two triangles be selected as those wherefrom are contrived the bodies of fire and of the other elements,— one being the isosceles, and the other that which always has the square on its greater side three times the square on the lesser side. Moreover, a point about which our previous statement was obscure must now be defined more clearly. It appeared as if the four Kinds, in being generated, all passed through one another into one another, but this appearance was deceptive. For out of the triangles which we have selected four Kinds are generated, three of them out of that one triangle which has its sides unequal, and the fourth Kind alone composed of the isosceles triangle. Consequently, they are not all capable of being dissolved into one another so as to form a few large bodies composed of many small ones, or the converse; but three of them do admit of this process. For these three are all naturally compounded of one triangle, so that when the larger bodies are dissolved many small ones will form themselves from these same bodies, receiving the shapes that befit them; and conversely, when many small bodies are resolved into their triangles they will produce, when unified, one single large mass of another Kind. So let thus much be declared concerning their generation into one another. In the next place we have to explain the form in which each Kind has come to exist and the numbers from which it is compounded. First will come that form which is primary and has the smallest components, and the element thereof is that triangle which has its hypotenuse twice as long as its lesser side. And when a pair of such triangles are joined along the line of the hypotenuse, and this is done thrice, by drawing the hypotenuses and the short sides together as to a center, there is produced from those triangles, six in number, one equilateral triangle.

Section 55

And when four equilateral triangles are combined so that three plane angles meet in a point, they form one solid angle, which comes next in order to the most obtuse of the plane angles. And when four such angles are produced, the first solid figure is constructed, which divides the whole of the circumscribed sphere into equal and similar parts. And the second solid is formed from the same triangles, but constructed out of eight equilateral triangles, which produce one solid angle out of four planes; and when six such solid angles have been formed, the second body in turn is completed. And the third solid is composed of twice sixty of the elemental triangles conjoined, and of twelve solid angles, each contained by five plane equilateral triangles, and it has, by its production, twenty equilateral triangular bases. Now the first of the elemental triangles ceased acting when it had generated these three solids, the substance of the fourth Kind being generated by the isosceles triangle. Four of these combined, with their right angles drawn together to the center, produced one equilateral quadrangle; and six such quadrangles, when joined together, formed eight solid angles, each composed of three plane right angles; and the shape of the body thus constructed was cubic, having six plane equilateral quadrangular bases. And seeing that there still remained one other compound figure, the fifth, God used it up for the Universe in his decoration thereof. Now in reasoning about all these things, a man might question whether he ought to affirm the existence of an infinite diversity of Universes or a limited number; and if he questioned aright he would conclude that the doctrine of an infinite diversity is that of a man unversed in matters wherein he ought to be versed; but the question whether they ought really to be described as one Universe or five is one which might with more reason give us pause. Now our view declares the Universe to be essentially one, in accordance with the probable account; but another man, considering other facts, will hold a different opinion. Him, however, we must let pass. But as for the Kinds which have now been generated by our argument, let us assign them severally to fire and earth and water and air. To earth let us give the cubic form; for of the four Kinds earth is the most immobile and the most plastic body, and of necessity the body which has the most stable bases must be pre-eminently of this character. Now of the triangles we originally assumed, the basis formed by equal sides is of its nature more stable than that formed by unequal sides; and of the plane surfaces which are compounded of these several triangles, the equilateral quadrangle, both in its parts and as a whole, has a more stable base than the equilateral triangle.

Section 56

Wherefore, we are preserving the probable account when we assign this figure to earth, and of the remaining figures the least mobile to water, and the most mobile to fire, and the intermediate figure to air; and, further, when we assign the smallest body to fire, and the greatest to water, and the intermediate to air; and again, the first in point of sharpness to fire, the second to air, and the third to water. As regards all these forms, that which has the fewest bases must necessarily be the most mobile, since it is in all ways the sharpest and most acute of all; and it must also be the lightest, since it is composed of the fewest identical parts; and the second comes second in point of these same qualities, and the third third. Thus, in accordance with the right account and the probable, that solid which has taken the form of a pyramid shall be the element and seed of fire; the second in order of generation we shall affirm to be air, and the third water. Now one must conceive all these to be so small that none of them, when taken singly each in its several kind, is seen by us, but when many are collected together their masses are seen. And, moreover, as regards the numerical proportions which govern their masses and motions and their other qualities, we must conceive that God realized these everywhere with exactness, in so far as the nature of Necessity submitted voluntarily or under persuasion, and thus ordered all in harmonious proportion. From all that we have hitherto said about these Kinds, they will, in all likelihood, behave themselves as follows. Earth will keep moving when it happens to meet with fire and has been dissolved by its acuteness, whether this dissolution takes place in pure fire or in a mass of air or of water; and this motion will continue until the particles of earth happen to meet together somewhere and reunite one with another, when they become earth again; for assuredly earth will never change into another form. But water, when broken up by fire or even by air, is capable of becoming a compound of one corpuscle of fire with two of air; and the fractions of air which come from the dissolving of one particle will form two corpuscles of fire. And again, when a small quantity of fire is enclosed by a large quantity of air and water, or of earth, and moves within them as they rush along, and is defeated in its struggle and broken up, then two corpuscles of fire unite to make one form of air. And when air is defeated and disintegrated, from two whole forms of air and a half, one whole form of water will be compounded.

Section 57

Once again let us reason out their character in this way. Whenever any of the other Kinds is caught within fire it is cut up thereby, owing to the acuteness of its angles and of the line of its sides, but when it has been re-composed into the substance of fire it ceases to be cut; for the Kind that is similar and uniform is in no case able either to cause any change in, or to suffer any affection from, a Kind which is in a uniform and similar state; but so long as, in the course of its passage into another form, it is a weaker body fighting against a stronger, it is continually being dissolved. And again, whenever a few of the smaller corpuscles, being caught within a great number of larger corpuscles, are broken up and quenched, then, if they consent to be re-compounded into the shape of the victorious Kind, they cease to be quenched, and air is produced out of fire, and out of air water; but if they fight against combining with these or with any of the other Kinds, they do not cease from dissolution until either they are driven out to their own kindred, by means of this impact and dissolution, or else they are defeated and, instead of many forms, assume one form similar to the victorious Kind, and continue dwelling therewith as a united family. Moreover, it is owing to these affections that they all interchange their places; for while the bulk of each Kind keeps apart in a region of its own because of the motion of the Recipient, yet those corpuscles which from time to time become dissimilar to themselves and similar to others are carried, because of the shaking, towards the region which belongs to those corpuscles whereto they have been assimilated. Such are the causes which account for the generation of all the unmixed and primary bodies. But within these four Kinds other classes exist, whereof the cause must be sought in the construction of each of the two elemental triangles, each such construction having originally produced not merely a triangle of one definite size, but larger and smaller triangles of sizes as numerous as are the classes within the Kinds. Consequently, when these are combined amongst themselves and with one another they are infinite in their variety; and this variety must be kept in view by those who purpose to employ probable reasoning concerning Nature. Now, unless we can arrive at some agreed conclusion concerning Motion and Rest, as to how and under what conditions they come about, our subsequent argument will be greatly hampered. The facts about them have already been stated in part; but in addition thereto we must state further that motion never consents to exist within uniformity. For it is difficult, or rather impossible, for that which is to be moved to exist without that which is to move, or that which is to move without that which is to be moved; but in the absence of these there is no motion, and that these should ever be uniform is a thing impossible.

Section 58

Accordingly, we must always place rest in uniformity, and motion in non-uniformity; and the cause of the non-uniform nature lies in inequality. Now we have explained the origin of inequality; but we have not declared how it is that these bodies are not separated according to their several Kinds, and cease not from their motion and passage one through another. Wherefore, we shall once more expound the matter as follows. The revolution of the All, since it comprehends the Kinds, compresses them all, seeing that it is circular and tends naturally to come together to itself; and thus it suffers no void place to be left. Wherefore, fire most of all has permeated all things, and in a second degree air, as it is by nature second in fineness; and so with the rest; for those that have the largest constituent parts have the largest void left in their construction, and those that have the smallest the least. Thus the tightening of the compression forces together the small bodies into the void intervals of the large. Therefore, when small bodies are placed beside large, and the smaller disintegrate the larger while the larger unite the smaller, they all shift up and down towards their own proper regions; for the change in their several sizes causes their position in space also to change. And since in this way and for these reasons the production of non-uniformity is perpetually maintained, it brings about unceasingly, both now and for the future, the perpetual motion of these bodies. In the next place, we must observe that there are many kinds of fire: for example, there is flame; and the kind issuing from flame, which does not burn but supplies light to the eyes; and the kind which, when the flame is quenched, is left behind among the embers. So likewise of air, there is the most translucent kind which is called by the name of aether, and the most opaque which is mist and darkness, and other species without a name, which are produced by reason of the inequality of the triangles. The kinds of water are, primarily, two, the one being the liquid, the other the fusible kind. Now the liquid kind, inasmuch as it partakes of those small particles of water which are unequal, is mobile both in itself and by external force owing to its non-uniformity and the shape of its figure. But the other kind, which is composed of large and uniform particles, is more stable than the first and is heavy, being solidified by its uniformity; but when fire enters and dissolves it, this causes it to abandon its uniformity, and this being lost it partakes more largely in motion; and when it has become mobile it is pushed by the adjacent air and extended upon the earth; and for each of these modifications it has received a descriptive name—melting for the disintegration of its masses, and for its extension over the earth fluidity.

Section 59

Again, since the fire on issuing from the water does not pass into a void but presses on the adjacent air, this in turn compresses the liquid mass which is still mobile into the abodes of the fire and combines it with itself; and the mass, being this, is compressed and recovering again its uniformity, because of the departure of the fire, the author of its non-uniformity, returns to its state of self-identity. And this cessation of the fire is termed cooling, and the combination which follows on its departure solidification. Of all the kinds of water which we have termed fusible, the densest is produced from the finest and most uniform particles: this is a kind of unique form, tinged with a glittering and yellow hue, even that most precious of possessions, gold, which has been strained through stones and solidified. And the off-shoot of gold, which is very hard because of its density and black in color, is called adamant. And the kind which closely resembles gold in its particles but has more forms than one, and in density is more dense than gold, and partakes of small and fine portions of earth so that it is harder, while it is also lighter owing to its having large interstices within it,—this particular kind of the bright and solid waters, being compounded thus, is termed bronze. And the portion of earth that is mixed therewith becomes distinct by itself, when both grow old and separate again-each from the other; and then it is named rust. And the rest of such phenomena it is no longer difficult to explain in full, if one aims at framing a description that is probable. For as regards this, whenever for the sake of recreation a man lays aside arguments concerning eternal Realities and considers probable accounts of Becoming, gaining thereby a pleasure not to be repented of, he provides for his life a pastime that is both moderate and sensible. To this pastime let us now give free play, and proceed to expound in order the subsequent probabilities concerning these same phenomena in the following way. The water that is mixed with fire, which is fine and fluid, is termed fluid, owing to its motion and the way it rolls over the earth. Also it is soft owing to the fact that its bases, being less stable than those of earth, give way. When this kind is separated off from fire and air and isolated it becomes more uniform, but because of their outflow it is compressed upon itself; and when it is thus solidified, the part of it above the earth which is most affected by this process is termed hail, and the part upon the earth ice and the part which is less affected and is still only half-solid is called snow when it is above the earth, but when it is upon the earth and solidified out of dew it is called hoar-frost.

Section 60

Now as regards most forms of water that are intermingled one with another, the kind as a whole, consisting of water that has been strained through earth-grown plants, is called sap; but inasmuch as the several sorts have become dissimilar owing to intermixture, most of the kinds thus produced are unnamed. Four of these kinds, however, being fiery and specially conspicuous, have received names. Of these, that which is heating to the soul as well as the body is called wine; that which is smooth and divisive of the vision, and therefore bright to look upon and gleaming and glistening in appearance, is the species oil, including pitch and castor oil and olive oil itself and all the others that are of the same character; and all that kind which tends to expand the contracted parts of the mouth, so far as their nature allows, and by this property produces sweetness, has received as a general designation the name of honey; and the foamy kind, which tends to dissolve the flesh by burning, and is secreted from all the saps, is named verjuice. Of the species of earth, that which is strained through water becomes a stony substance in the following way. When the water commingled therewith is divided in the process of mingling, it changes into the form of air; and when it has become air it rushes up to its own region; but because there was no void space above them, therefore it pressed against the adjacent air; and it, being heavy, when pressed and poured round the mass of earth, crushed it forcibly and compressed it into the spaces from which the new air was ascending. But when earth is thus compressed by the air so as to be indissoluble by water it forms stone; of which the fairer sort is that composed of equal and uniform parts and transparent, and the coarser sort the opposite. That kind from which all the moisture has been carried off by the rapidity of fire, and which is more brittle in its composition than the first kind, is the kind to which we have given the name of earthenware. But sometimes, when moisture is still left in the earth and it has been fused by fire and has cooled again, it forms the species which is black in hue. On the other hand there are two kinds, which, in exactly the same manner, are isolated after the mixture from much of their water, but are composed of finer parts of earth, and are saline: when these have become semi-solid and soluble again by water, one of them is purgative of oil and earth and forms the species called lye; and the other, which blends well with the combinations which affect the sensation of the mouth, is that substance which is customarily termed beloved of the gods, namely salt. As regards the kinds which are a blend of these two, and are dissoluble by fire and not by water, their composition is due to the following cause. Fire and air do not melt masses of earth; for, inasmuch as their particles are smaller then the interstices of its structure, they have room to pass through without forcible effort and leave the earth undissolved, with the result that it remains unmelted; whereas the particles of water, being larger, must use force to make their way out, and consequently dissolve and melt the earth.

Section 61

Thus earth when it is not forcibly condensed is dissolved only by water; and when it is condensed it is dissolved by fire only, since no entrance is left for anything save fire. Water, again, when most forcibly massed together is dissolved by fire only, but when massed less forcibly both by fire and air, the latter acting by way of the interstices, and the former by way of the triangles; but air when forcibly condensed is dissolved by nothing save by way of its elemental triangles, and when unforced it is melted down by fire only. As regards the classes of bodies which are compounds of earth and water, so long as the water occupies the interspaces of earth which are forcibly contracted, the portions of water which approach from without find no entrance, but flow round the whole mass and leave it undissolved. But when portions of fire enter into the interspaces of the water they produce the same effects on water as water does on earth; consequently, they are the sole causes why the compound substance is dissolved and flows. And of these substances those which contain less water than earth form the whole kind known as glass, and all the species of stone called fusible; while those which contain more water include all the solidified substances of the type of wax and frankincense. And now we have explained with some fullness the Four Kinds, which are thus variegated in their shapes and combinations and permutations; but we have still to try to elucidate the Causes which account for their affective qualities. Now, first of all, the quality of sense-perceptibility must always belong to the objects under discussion; but we have not as yet described the generation of flesh and the appurtenances of flesh, nor of that portion of Soul which is mortal. But, in truth, these last cannot be adequately explained apart from the subject of the sensible affections, nor the latter without the former; while to explain both simultaneously is hardly possible. Therefore, we must assume one of the two, to begin with, and return later to discuss our assumptions. In order, then, that the affective properties may be treated next after the kinds, let us presuppose the facts about body and soul. Firstly, then, let us consider how it is that we call fire hot by noticing the way it acts upon our bodies by dividing and cutting. That its property is one of sharpness we all, I suppose, perceive;

Section 62

but as regards the thinness of its sides and the acuteness of its angles and the smallness of its particles and the rapidity of its motion—owing to all which properties fire is intense and keen and sharply cuts whatever it encounters,—these properties we must explain by recalling the origin of its form, how that it above all others is the one substance which so divides our bodies and minces them up as to produce naturally both that affection which we call heat and its very name. The opposite affection is evident, but none the less it must not lack description. When liquids with larger particles, which surround the body, enter into it they drive out the smaller particles; but as they cannot pass into their room they compress the moisture within us, so that in place of non-uniformity and motion they produce immobility and density, as a result of the uniformity and compression. But that which is being contracted contrary to nature fights, and, in accordance with its nature, thrusts itself away in the contrary direction. And to this fighting and shaking we give the names of trembling and shivering; while this affection as a whole, as well as the cause thereof, is termed cold. By the term hard we indicate all the things to which our flesh gives way; and by the term soft all those which give way to our flesh; and these terms are similarly used relatively to each other. Now a substance gives way when it has its base small; but when it is constructed of quadrangular bases, being very firmly based, it is a most inelastic form; and so too is everything which is of very dense composition and most rigid. The nature of heavy and light would be shown most clearly if, along with them, we examined also the nature of above and below, as they are called. That there really exist two distinct and totally opposite regions, each of which occupies one-half of the Universe—the one termed below, towards which move all things possessing any bodily mass, and the other above, towards which everything goes against its will,— this is a wholly erroneous supposition For inasmuch as the whole Heaven is spherical, all its outermost parts, being equally distant from the center, must really be outermost in a similar degree; and one must conceive of the center, which is distant from all the outermost parts by the same measures, as being opposite to them all. Seeing, then, that the Cosmos is actually of this nature, which of the bodies mentioned can one set above or below without incurring justly the charge of applying a wholly unsuitable name? For its central region cannot rightly be termed either above or below, but just central; while its circumference neither is central nor has it any one part more divergent than another from the center or any of its opposite parts. But to that which is in all ways uniform, what opposite names can we suppose are rightly applicable, or in what sense?

Section 63

For suppose there were a solid body evenly-balanced at the center of the universe, it would never be carried away to the extremities because of their uniformity in all respects; nay, even were a man to travel round it in a circle he would often call the same part of it both above and below, according as he stood now at one pole, now at the opposite. For seeing that the Whole is, as we said just now, spherical, the assertion that it has one region above and one below does not become a man of sense. Now the origin of these names and their true meaning which accounts for our habit of making these verbal distinctions even about the whole Heaven, we must determine on the basis of the following principles. Suppose that a man were to take his stand in that region of the Universe in which the substance of fire has its special abode, and where also that substance to which it flies is collected in largest bulk; and suppose that, having the power to do so, he were to separate portions of the fire and weigh them, putting them on scales and lifting the balance and pulling the fire by force into the dissimilar air, it is obvious that he will force the smaller mass more easily than the larger. For if two masses are lifted up simultaneously by a single effort, the smaller will necessarily yield more and the larger less, owing to its resistance, to the force exerted; and the large mass will be said to be heavy and moving down, the small light and moving up. Now this is just what we ought to detect ourselves doing in our region here. Standing on the earth and detaching various earthy substances, and sometimes pure earth, we pull them into the dissimilar air by force and against nature, since both these kinds cleave to their own kindred; and the smaller mass yields more easily, and follows first, as we force it into the dissimilar kind; wherefore we name it light, and the region to which we force it above; and the conditions opposite thereto we name heavy and below. Thus, these must necessarily differ in their mutual relations, because the main masses of the Kinds occupy regions opposite to one another; for when we compare what is light in one region with what is light in the opposite region, and the heavy with the heavy, the below with the below, and the” above with the above, we shall discover that these all become and are opposite and oblique and in every way different in their mutual relations. There is, however, this one fact to be noticed about them all, that it is the passage of each kind to its kindred mass which makes the moving body heavy, and the region to which such a body moves below; while the opposite conditions produce the contrary results. Let this, then, stand as our account of the causes of these conditions.

Section 64

Of smoothness and roughness anyone might be able to discern the causes and explain them also to others. For the cause of the latter is hardness combined with irregularity, and of the former regularity combined with density. In respect of the affections common to the whole body a very important point, which still remains, is the cause of the pleasures and pains attaching to the sense-affections we have been discussing; and the cause also of those affections which have become perceptible by means of the bodily parts and involve in themselves concomitant pains and pleasures. Let us, then, try to grasp the causes in connection with every perceptible and imperceptible affection in the following way, bearing in mind the distinction we previously drew between mobile and immobile substances; for it is in this way that we must track down all those facts that we intend to grasp. Whenever what is naturally mobile is impressed by even a small affection, it transmits it in a circle, the particles passing on to one another this identical impression until they reach the organ of intelligence and announce the quality of the agent. But a substance of the opposite kind, being stable and having no circular movement, is only affected in itself and does not move any other adjacent particle; consequently, since the particles do not transmit to one another the original affection, it fails to act upon the living creature as a whole, and the result is that the affected body is non-percipient. This is the case with the bones and the hair and all our other parts that are mainly earthy whereas the former character belongs especially to the organs of sight and of hearing, owing to the fact that they contain a very large quantity of fire and air. Now the nature of pleasure and pain we must conceive of in this way. When an affection which is against nature and violent occurs within us with intensity it is painful, whereas the return back to the natural condition, when intense, is pleasant; and an affection which is mild and gradual is imperceptible, while the converse is of a contrary character. And the affection which, in its entirety, takes place with ease is eminently perceptible, but it does not involve pain or pleasure; such, for example, are the affections of the visual stream itself, which, as we said before, becomes in the daylight a body substantially one with our own. For no pains are produced therein by cuttings or burnings or any other affections, nor does its reversion to its original form produce pleasures; but it has most intense and clear perceptions concerning every object that affects it, and every object also which it strikes against or touches; for force is wholly absent both from its dilation and from its contraction.

Section 65

But those bodies which are composed of larger particles, since they yield with difficulty to the agent and transmit their motions to the whole, feel pleasures and pains— pains when they suffer alteration, and pleasures when they are restored to their original state. And all those bodies which undergo losses of substance and emptyings that are gradual, but replenishings that are intense and abundant, become insensitive to the emptyings but sensitive to the replenishings; consequently, they furnish no pains to the mortal part of the soul, but the greatest pleasures—a result which is obvious in the case of perfumes. But all those parts which undergo violent alterations, and are restored gradually and with difficulty to their original condition, produce results the opposite of those last mentioned; and it is evident that this is what occurs in the case of burnings and cuttings of the body. And now we have given a fairly complete statement of the affections which are common to the body as a whole, and of all the names which belong to the agents which produce them. Next we must try, if haply we are able, to describe what takes place in the several parts of our bodies, both the affections themselves and the agents to which they are ascribed. Firstly, then, we must endeavor to elucidate so far as possible those affections which we omitted in our previous account of the flavors, they being affections peculiar to the tongue. It is evident that these also, like most others, are brought about by means of certain contractions and dilations; and, more than other affections, they involve also conditions of roughness and smoothness. For all the earthy particles which enter in by the small veins—which, extending as far as to the heart, serve as it were for testing-instruments of the tongue,—when they strike upon the moist and soft parts of the flesh and are melted down, contract the small veins and dry them up; and these particles when more rough appear to be astringent, when less rough harsh. And such as act on these veins as detergents and wash out all the surface of the tongue, when they do this excessively and lay such hold on the tongue as to dissolve part of its substance—and such, for example, is the property of alkalies,— are all termed bitter; while those which have a property less strong than the alkaline, being detergent in a moderate degree, seem to us to be saline, and more agreeable, as being devoid of the rough bitterness.

Section 66

And those which share in the heat of the mouth and are made smooth thereby, when they are fully inflamed and are themselves in turn burning the part which heated them, fly upwards because of their lightness towards the senses of the head and cut all the parts on which they impinge; and because of these properties all such are called pungent. Again, when particles already refined by putrefaction, entering into the narrow veins, are symmetrical with the particles of earth and air contained therein, so that they cause them to circulate round one another and ferment, then, in thus fermenting they change round and pass into fresh places, and thereby create fresh hollows which envelop the entering particles. By this means, the air being veiled in a moist film, sometimes of earth, sometimes of pure moisture, moist and hollow and globular vessels of air are formed; and those formed of pure moisture are the transparent globules called by the name of bubbles, while those of the earthy formation which moves throughout its mass and seethes are designated boiling and fermenting; and the cause of these processes is termed acid. An affection which is the opposite of all those last described results from an opposite condition. Whenever the composition of the particles which enter into the moist parts is naturally akin to the state of the tongue, they oil its roughened parts and smooth it, contracting the parts that are unnaturally dilated or dilating those that are contracted, and thus settling them all, so far as possible, in their natural condition; and every such remedy of the forcible affections, being pleasant and welcome to everyone, is called sweet. For this subject, then, let this account suffice. Next, as regards the property of the nostrils, it does not contain fixed kinds. For the whole range of smells is a half-formed class, and no kind possesses the symmetry requisite for containing any smell; for our veins in these organs are of too narrow a construction for the kinds of earth and of water and too wide for those of fire and air, so that no one has ever yet perceived any smell from any of these, but only from substances which are in process of being moistened or putrefied or melted or vaporized. For smells arise in the intermediate state, when water is changing into air or air into water, and they are all smoke or mist; and of these, the passage from air to water is mist, and the passage from water to air is smoke whence it is that all the smells are thinner than water and thicker than air.

Section 67

Their nature is made clear whenever there is some block in the respiration and a man draws in his breath forcibly; for then no accompanying smell is strained through, but the breath passes in alone by itself isolated from the smells. So for these reasons the varieties of these smells have no name, not being derived either from many or from simple forms, but are indicated by two distinctive terms only, pleasant and painful of which the one kind roughens and violently affects the whole of our bodily cavity which lies between the head and the navel, whereas the other mollifies this same region and restores it agreeably to its natural condition. The third organ of perception within us which we have to describe in our survey is that of hearing, and the causes whereby its affections are produced. In general, then, let us lay it down that sound is a stroke transmitted through the ears, by the action of the air upon the brain and the blood, and reaching to the soul; and that the motion caused thereby, which begins in the head and ends about the seat of the liver, is hearing; and that every rapid motion produces a shrill sound, and every slower motion a more deep sound; and that uniform motion produces an even and smooth sound and the opposite kind of motion a harsh sound; and that large motion produces loud sound, and motion of the opposite kind soft sound. The subject of concords of sounds must necessarily be treated in a later part of our exposition. We have still remaining a fourth kind of sensation, which we must divide up seeing that it embraces numerous varieties, which, as a whole, we call colors. This consists of a flame which issues from the several bodies, and possesses particles so proportioned to the visual stream as to produce sensation; and as regards the visual stream, we have already stated merely the causes which produced it. Concerning colors, then, the following explanation will be the most probable and worthy of a judicious account. Of the particles which fly off from the rest and strike into the visual stream some are smaller, some larger, and some equal to the particles of the stream itself; those, then, that are equal are imperceptible, and we term them transparent; while the larger and smaller particles—of which the one kind contracts, the other dilates the visual stream—are akin to the particles of heat and cold which affect the flesh, and to the astringent particles which affect the tongue, and to all the heating particles which we call bitter with these white and black are really identical affections, occurring in a separate class of sensation, although they appear different for the causes stated.

Section 68

These, therefore, are the names we must assign to them: that which dilates the visual stream is white and the opposite thereof black; and the more rapid motion, being that of a different species of fire, which strikes upon the visual stream and dilates it as far as to the eyes, and penetrating and dissolving the very passages of the eyes causes a volume of fire and water to pour from them, which we call tears. And this moving body, being itself fire, meets fire from the opposite direction; and as the one firestream is leaping out like a flash, and the other passing in and being quenched in the moisture, in the resultant mixture colors of all kinds are produced. This sensation we term dazzling and the object which causes it bright or brilliant. Again, when the kind of fire which is midway between these reaches to the liquid of the eyes and is mingled therewith, it is not brilliant but, owing to the blending of the fire’s ray through the moisture, it gives off a sanguine color, and we give it the name of red. And bright color when blended with red and white becomes yellow. But in what proportions the colors are blended it were foolish to declare, even if one knew, seeing that in such matters one could not properly adduce any necessary ground or probable reason. Red blended with black and white makes purple; but when these colors are mixed and more completely burned, and black is blended therewith, the result is violet. Chestnut comes from the blending of yellow and grey; and grey from white and black; and ochre from white mixed with yellow. And when white is combined with bright and is steeped in deep black it turns into a dark blue color; and dark blue mixed with white becomes light blue; and chestnut with black becomes green. As to the rest, it is fairly clear from these examples what are the mixtures with which we ought to identify them if we would preserve probability in our account. But should any inquirer make an experimental test of these facts, he would evince his ignorance of the difference between man’s nature and Gods—how that, whereas God is sufficiently wise and powerful to blend the many into one and to dissolve again the one into many, there exists not now, nor ever will exist hereafter, a child of man sufficient for either of these tasks. Such, then, being the necessary nature of all these things, the Artificer of the most fair and good took them over at that time amongst things generated when He was engendering the self-sufficing and most perfect God; and their inherent properties he used as subservient causes, but Himself designed the Good in all that was being generated.

Section 69

Wherefore one ought to distinguish two kinds of causes, the necessary and the divine, and in all things to seek after the divine for the sake of gaining a life of blessedness, so far as our nature admits thereof, and to seek the necessary for the sake of the divine, reckoning that without the former it is impossible to discern by themselves alone the divine objects after which we strive, or to apprehend them or in any way partake thereof. Seeing, then, that we have now lying before us and thoroughly sifted—like wood ready for the joiner, —the various kinds of causes, out of which the rest of our account must be woven together, let us once more for a moment revert to our starting-point, and thence proceed rapidly to the point from which we arrived hither. In this way we shall endeavor now to supplement our story with a conclusion and a crown in harmony with what has gone before. As we stated at the commencement, all these things were in a state of disorder, when God implanted in them proportions both severally in relation to themselves and in their relations to one another, so far as it was in any way possible for them to be in harmony and proportion. For at that time nothing partook thereof, save by accident, nor was it possible to name anything worth mentioning which bore the names we now give them, such as fire and water, or any of the other elements; but He, in the first place, set all these in order, and then out of these He constructed this present Universe, one single Living Creature containing within itself all living creatures both mortal and immortal. And He Himself acts as the Constructor of things divine, but the structure of the mortal things He commanded His own engendered sons to execute. And they, imitating Him, on receiving the immortal principle of soul, framed around it a mortal body, and gave it all the body to be its vehicle, and housed therein besides another form of soul, even the mortal form, which has within it passions both fearful and unavoidable—firstly, pleasure, a most mighty lure to evil; next, pains, which put good to rout; and besides these, rashness and fear, foolish counsellors both and anger, hard to dissuade; and hope, ready to seduce. And blending these with irrational sensation and with all-daring lust, they thus compounded in necessary fashion the mortal kind of soul. Wherefore, since they scrupled to pollute the divine, unless through absolute necessity, they planted the mortal kind apart therefrom in another chamber of the body, building an isthmus and boundary for the head and chest by setting between them the neck, to the end that they might remain apart. And within the chest—or thorax, as it is called—they fastened the mortal kind of soul.

Section 70

And inasmuch as one part thereof is better, and one worse, they built a division within the cavity of the thorax— as if to fence off two separate chambers, for men and for women—by placing the midriff between them as a screen. That part of the soul, then, which partakes of courage and spirit, since it is a lover of victory, they planted more near to the head, between the midriff and the neck, in order that it might hearken to the reason, and, in conjunction therewith, might forcibly subdue the tribe of the desires whensoever they should utterly refuse to yield willing obedience to the word of command from the citadel of reason. And the heart, which is the junction of the veins and the fount of the blood which circulates vigorously through all the limbs, they appointed to be the chamber of the bodyguard, to the end that when the heat of the passion boils up, as soon as reason passes the word round that some unjust action is being done which affects them, either from without or possibly even from the interior desires, every organ of sense in the body might quickly perceive through all the channels both the injunctions and the threats and in all ways obey and follow them, thus allowing their best part to be the leader of them all. And as a means of relief for the leaping of the heart, in times when dangers are expected and passion is excited—since they knew that all such swelling of the passionate parts would arise from the action of fire,—they contrived and implanted the form of the lungs. This is, in the first place, soft and bloodless; and, moreover, it contains within it perforated cavities like those of a sponge, so that, when it receives the breath and the drink, it might have a cooling effect and furnish relief and comfort in the burning heat. To this end they drew the channels of the windpipe to the lungs, and placed the lungs as a kind of padding round the heart, in order that, when the passion therein should be at its height, by leaping upon a yielding substance and becoming cool, the heart might suffer less and thereby be enabled the more to be subservient to the reason in time of passion. And all that part of the Soul which is subject to appetites for foods and drinks, and all the other wants that are due to the nature of the body, they planted in the parts midway between the midriff and the boundary at the navel, fashioning as it were a manger in all this region for the feeding of the body; and there they tied up this part of the Soul, as though it were a creature which, though savage, they must necessarily keep joined to the rest and feed, if the mortal stock were to exist at all.

Section 71

In order, then, that this part, feeding thus at its manger and housed as far away as possible from the counselling part, and creating the least possible turmoil and din, should allow the Supreme part to take counsel in peace concerning what benefits all, both individually and in the mass,—for these reasons they stationed it in that position. And inasmuch as they knew that it would not understand reason, and that, even if it did have some share in the perception of reasons, it would have no natural instinct to pay heed to any of them but would be bewitched for the most part both day and night by images and phantasms,—to guard against this God devised and constructed the form of the liver and placed it in that part’s abode; and He fashioned it dense and smooth and bright and sweet, yet containing bitterness, that the power of thoughts which proceed from the mind, moving in the liver as in a mirror which receives impressions and provides visible images, should frighten this part of the soul; for when the mental power bears down upon it with stern threats, it uses a kindred portion of the liver’s bitterness and makes it swiftly suffuse the whole liver, so that it exhibits bilious colors, and by contraction makes it all wrinkled and rough; moreover, as regards the lobe and passages and gates of the liver, the first of these it bends back from the straight and compresses, while it blocks the others and closes them up, and thus it produces pains and nausea. On the other hand, when a breath of mildless from the intellect paints on the liver appearances of the opposite kind, and calms down its bitterness by refusing to move or touch the nature opposite to itself, and using upon the liver the sweetness inherent therein rectifies all its parts so as to make them straight and smooth and free, it causes the part of the soul planted round the liver to be cheerful and serene, so that in the night it passes its time sensibly, being occupied in its slumbers with divination, seeing that in reason and intelligence it has no share. For they who constructed us, remembering the injunction of their Father, when He enjoined upon them to make the mortal kind as good as they possibly could, rectified the vile part of us by thus establishing therein the organ of divination, that it might in some degree lay hold on truth. And that God gave unto man’s foolishness the gift of divination a sufficient token is this: no man achieves true and inspired divination when in his rational mind, but only when the power of his intelligence is fettered in sleep or when it is distraught by disease or by reason of some divine inspiration.

Section 72

But it belongs to a man when in his right mind to recollect and ponder both the things spoken in dream or waking vision by the divining and inspired nature, and all the visionary forms that were seen, and by means of reasoning to discern about them all wherein they are significant and for whom they portend evil or good in the future, the past, or the present. But it is not the task of him who has been in a state of frenzy, and still continues therein, to judge the apparitions and voices seen or uttered by himself; for it was well said of old that to do and to know one’s own and oneself belongs only to him who is sound of mind. Wherefore also it is customary to set the tribe of prophets to pass judgement upon these inspired divinations; and they, indeed, themselves are named diviners by certain who are wholly ignorant of the truth that they are not diviners but interpreters of the mysterious voice and apparition, for whom the most fitting name would be prophets of things divined. For these reasons, then, the nature of the liver is such as we have stated and situated in the region we have described, for the sake of divination. Moreover, when the individual creature is alive this organ affords signs that are fairly manifest, but when deprived of life it becomes blind and the divinations it presents are too much obscured to have any clear significance. The structure of the organ which adjoins it, with its seat on the left, is for the sake of the liver, to keep it always bright and clean, as a wiper that is laid beside a mirror always prepared and ready to hand. Wherefore also, whenever any impurities due to ailments of the body occur round about the liver, the loose texture of the spleen cleanses and absorbs them all, seeing that it is woven of a stuff that is porous and bloodless: hence, when it is filled with the offscourings, the spleen grows to be large and festered; and conversely, when the body is cleansed, it is reduced and shrinks back to its primal state. Concerning the soul, then, what part of it is mortal, what part immortal, and where and with what companions and for what reasons these have been housed apart, only if God concurred could we dare to affirm that our account is true; but that our account is probable we must dare to affirm now, and to affirm still more positively as our inquiry proceeds: affirmed, therefore, let it be. The subject which comes next to this we must investigate on the same lines; and that subject is the way in which the remainder of the body has been generated. Its construction would most fittingly be ascribed to reasoning such as this.

Section 73

Those who were constructing our kind were aware of the incontinence that would reside in us in respect of drinks and meats, and how that because of our greed we would consume far more than what was moderate and necessary; wherefore, lest owing to maladies swift destruction should overtake them, and the mortal kind, while still incomplete, come straightway to a complete end,—foreseeing this, the Gods set the abdomen, as it is called, to serve as a receptacle for the holding of the superfluous meat and drink; and round about therein they coiled the structure of the entrails, to prevent the food from passing through quickly and thereby compelling the body to require more food quickly, and causing insatiate appetite, whereby the whole kind by reason of its gluttony would be rendered devoid of philosophy and of culture, and disobedient to the most divine part we possess. As regards the bones and the flesh and all such substances the position was this. All these had their origin in the generation of the marrow. For it was in this that the bonds of life by which the Soul is bound to the body were fastened, and implanted the roots of the mortal kind; but the marrow itself was generated out of other elements. Taking all these primary triangles which, being unwarped and smooth, were best able to produce with exactness fire and water and air and earth, God separated them, each apart from his own kind, and mixing them one with another in due proportion, He fashioned therefrom the marrow, devising it as a universal seed-stuff for every mortal kind. Next, He engendered therein the various kinds of Soul and bound them down; and He straightway divided the marrow itself, in His original division, into shapes corresponding in their number and their nature to the number and the nature of the shapes which should belong to the several kinds of Soul. And that portion of the marrow which was intended to receive within itself, as it were into a field, the divine seed He molded in the shape of a perfect globe and bestowed on it the name of brain, purposing that, when each living creature should be completed, the vessel surrounding this should be called the head. But that portion which was to contain the other and mortal part of the Soul He divided into shapes that were at once rounded and elongated, and all these He designated marrow; and from these, as from anchors, He cast out bands of the Whole Soul, and around this He finally wrought the whole of this body of ours, when He had first built round about it for a shelter a framework all of bone. And bone He compounded in this wise. Having sifted earth till it was pure and smooth, He kneaded it and moistened it with marrow; then He placed it in fire, and after that dipped it in water, and from this back to fire, and once again in water; and by thus transferring it many times from the one element to the other He made it so that it was soluble by neither.

Section 74

This, then, He used, and fashioned thereof, by turning, a bony sphere round about the brain; and therein he left a narrow opening; and around the marrow of both neck and back He molded vertebrae of bone, and set them, like pivots, in a vertical row, throughout all the trunk, beginning from the head. And thus for preserving the whole seed He closed it in with a ring-fence of stony substance; and therein He made joints, using as an aid the power of the Other as an intermediary between them, for the sake of movement and bending. And inasmuch as He deemed that the texture of the bony substance was too hard and inflexible, and that if it were fired and cooled again it would decay and speedily destroy the seed within it, for these reasons He contrived the species known as sinew and flesh. He designed to bind all the limbs together by means of the former, which tightens and relaxes itself around the pivots, and thus cause the body to bend and stretch itself. And the flesh He designed to be a shield against the heat and a shelter against the cold; and, moreover, that in case of falls it should yield to the body softly and gently, like padded garments; and, inasmuch as it contains within it warm moisture, that it should supply in summer, by its perspiration and dampness, a congenial coolness over the exterior of the whole body, and contrariwise in winter defend the body sufficiently, by means of its fire, from the frost which attacks and surrounds it from without. Wherefore, with this intent, our Modeller mixed and blended together water and fire and earth, and compounding a ferment of acid and salt mixed it in therewith, and thus molded flesh full of sap and soft. And the substance of the sinews He compounded of a mixture of bone and unfermented flesh, forming a single substance blended of both and intermediate in quality, and he used yellow also for its coloring. Hence it is that the sinews have acquired a quality that is firmer and more rigid than flesh, but softer and more elastic than bone. With these, then, God enclosed the bones and marrow, first binding them one to another with the sinews, and then shrouding them all over with flesh. All the bones, then, that possessed most soul He enclosed in least flesh, but the bones which contained least soul with most and most dense flesh; moreover, at the junctions of the bones, except where reason revealed some necessity for its existence, He made but little flesh to grow, lest by hindering the flexions it should make the bodies unwieldy, because stiff in movement, or else through its size and density, when thickly massed together, it should produce insensitiveness, owing to its rigidity, and thereby cause the intellectual parts to be more forgetful and more obtuse.

Section 75

Wherefore the thighs and the shins and the region of the loins and the bones of the upper and lower arm, and all our other parts which are jointless, and all those bones which are void of intelligence within, owing to the small quantity of soul in the marrow—all these are abundantly supplied with flesh; but those parts which are intelligent are supplied less abundantly—except possibly where He so fashioned the flesh that it can of itself convey sensations, as is the case with the tongue; but most of these parts He made in the way described above. For the substance which is generated by necessity and grows up with us in no wise admits of quick perception coexisting with dense bone and abundant flesh. For if these characteristics were willing to consort together, then the structure of the head would have acquired them most of all, and mankind, crowned with a head that was fleshy and sinewy and strong, would have enjoyed a life that was twice (nay, many times) as long as our present life, and healthier, to boot, and more free from pain. But as it is, when the Constructors of our being were cogitating whether they should make a kind that was more long-lived and worse or more short-lived and better, they agreed that the shorter and superior life should by all means be chosen by all rather than the longer and inferior. Wherefore they covered the head closely with thin bone, but not with flesh and sinews, since it was also without flexions. For all these reasons, then, the head that was joined to the body in every man was more perceptive and more intelligent but less strong. It was on these grounds and in this way that God set the sinews at the bottom of the head round about the neck and glued them there symmetrically; and with these He fastened the extremities of the jaws below the substance of the face; and the rest of the sinews He distributed amongst all the limbs, attaching joint to joint. And those who fashioned the features of our mouth fashioned it with teeth and tongue and lips, even as it is fashioned now, for ends both necessary and most good, contriving it as an entrance with a view to necessary ends, and as an outlet with a view to the ends most good. For all that enters in and supplies food to the body is necessary; while the stream of speech which flows out and ministers to intelligence is of all streams the fairest and most good.

Section 76

Moreover, it was not possible to leave the head to consist of bare bone only, because of the excessive variations of temperature in either direction, due to the seasons; nor yet was it possible to allow it to be shrouded up, and to become, in consequence, stupid and insensitive owing to its burdensome mass of flesh. Accordingly, of the fleshy substance which was not being fully dried up a larger enveloping film was separated off, forming what is now called skin. And this, having united with itself because of the moisture round the brain and spreading, formed a vesture round about the head; and this was damped by the moisture ascending under the seams and closed down over the crown, being drawn together as it were in a knot; and the seams had all kinds of shapes owing to the force of the soul’s revolutions and of her food, being more in number when these are more in conflict with one another, and less when they are less in conflict. And the Deity kept puncturing all this skin round about with fire; and when the skin was pierced and the moisture flew out through it, all the liquid and heat that was pure went away, but such as was mixed with the substance whereof the skin also was composed was lifted up by the motion and extended far beyond the skin, being of a fineness to match the puncture; but since it was thrust back, because of its slowness, by the external air that surrounded it, it coiled itself round inside and rooted itself under the skin. Such, then, were the processes by which hair grew in the skin, it being a cord-like species akin to the skin but harder and denser owing to the constriction of the cold, whereby each hair as it separated off from the skin was chilled and constricted. Making use, then, of the causes mentioned our Maker fashioned the head shaggy with hair, purposing that, in place of flesh, the hair should serve as a light roofing for the part about the brain for safety’s sake, providing a sufficient shade and screen alike in summer and in winter, while proving no obstacle in the way of easy perception. And at the place in the fingers where sinew and skin and bone were interlaced there was formed a material blended of these three; and this when it was dried off became a single hard skin compounded of them all and whereas these were the auxiliary causes whereby it was fashioned, it was wrought by the greatest of causes, divine Purpose, for the sake of what should come to pass hereafter. For those who were constructing us knew that out of men women should one day spring and all other animals; and they understood, moreover, that many of these creatures would need for many purposes the help of nails; wherefore they impressed upon men at their very birth the rudimentary structure of finger-nails. Upon this account and with these designs they caused skin to grow into hair and nails upon the extremities of the limbs.

Section 77

And when all the limbs and parts of the mortal living creature had been naturally joined together, it was so that of necessity its life consisted in fire and air; and because of this it wasted away when dissolved by these elements or left empty thereby; wherefore the Gods contrived succour for the creature. Blending it with other shapes and senses they engendered a substance akin to that of man, so as to form another living creature: such are the cultivated trees and plants and seeds which have been trained by husbandry and are now domesticated amongst us; but formerly the wild kinds only existed, these being older than the cultivated kinds. For everything, in fact, which partakes of life may justly and with perfect truth be termed a living creature. Certainly that creature which we are now describing partakes of the third kind of soul, which is seated, as we affirm, between the midriff and the navel, and which shares not at all in opinion and reasoning and mind but in sensation, pleasant and painful, together with desires. For inasmuch as it continues wholly passive and does not turn within itself around itself, repelling motion from without and using its own native motion, it is not endowed by its original constitution with a natural capacity for discerning or reflecting upon any of its own experiences. Wherefore it lives indeed and is not other than a living creature, but it remains stationary and rooted down owing to its being deprived of the power of self-movement. And when our Superiors had generated all these kinds as nutriment for us inferior beings, they channelled out our body itself, like as if they were cutting channels in gardens, to the end that it might be irrigated as it were by an inflowing stream. And firstly, beneath the junction of the skin and flesh they cut for hidden channels two veins along the back, seeing that the body was in fact double, with right side and left; and these they drew down along by the spine, keeping between them the spermatic marrow, in order that this might thrive as much as possible, and that the stream of moisture from there, being in a downward course, might flow easily to the other parts and cause the irrigation to be uniform. After this they clave the veins round the head and interlaced them, and drew them opposite ways, bending those from the right of the head to the left and those from the left to the right, in order that they, together with the skin, might serve as a bond between the head and the body, seeing that the head was not encircled by sinews at the crown; and in order, also, that the sense-impressions derived from the parts on either side might be manifest to the whole body.

Section 78

Thereupon they arranged the irrigation on some such plan as this—a plan which we shall perceive more easily when we have first agreed upon the following postulates. All bodies composed of smaller particles shut in the larger, but those composed of larger particles cannot shut in the smaller; and fire, because of all the elements it has the smallest particles, passes through water and earth and air and all things composed thereof, and nothing can shut it in. We must conceive that the same law holds good of the action of our belly. Whenever foods and drinks flow into it it shuts them in, but air and fire, being of smaller particles than its own structure, it cannot shut in. These elements, therefore, God employed to provide irrigation from the belly to the veins, weaving out of air and fire a veil of mesh-work like unto a fish-weel, having two innerweels at its entrance; and one of these inner-weels He wove over again so as to make it bifurcated; and from the inner-weels He stretched as it were ropes all over it in a circle up to the extremities of the veil. Now the inward parts of the veil He constructed wholly of fire, but the inner-weels and the envelope of air; and taking this He placed it round about the living creature that was molded in the following manner. The part consisting of the inner-weels He let down into the mouth; and since this part was twofold, He let down one inner-weel by way of the windpipe into the lungs, and the other into the belly alongside the windpipe. And cleaving the former of these weels in two He gave to both sections a common outlet by way of the channels of the nose, so that when the first conduit by way of the mouth failed to act, its streams as well should be plenished from this. The rest of the enveloping mesh-work He made to grow round all the hollow part of our body; and He caused all this at one time to flow gently into the inner-weels, seeing they were of air, and at another time the weels to flow back into it. And inasmuch as the body was porous, He caused the veil to pass in through it and out again; and the inner rays of fire that were enclosed within it He made to follow the air as it moved in either direction; whence it comes that, so long as the mortal living creature preserves its structure, this process goes on unceasingly. And to this kind of process the Giver of Titles gave, as we say, the names of inspiration and expiration. And the whole of this mechanism and its effects have been created in order to secure nourishment and life for our body, by means of moistening and cooling.

Section 79

For as the respiration goes in and out the inward fire attached thereto follows it; and whenever in its constant oscillations this fire enters in through the belly and lays hold on the meats and drinks, it dissolves them, and dividing them into small particles it disperses them through the outlets by which it passes and draws them off to the veins, like water drawn into channels from a spring; and thus it causes the streams of the veins to flow through the body as through a pipe. Once again let us consider the process of respiration, and the causes in virtue of which it has come to be such as it now is. This, then, is the way of it. Inasmuch as no void exists into which any of the moving bodies could enter, while the breath from us moves outwards, what follows is plain to everyone— namely, that the breath does not enter a void but pushes the adjacent body from its seat; and the body thus displaced drives out in turn the next; and by this law of necessity every such body is driven round towards the seat from which the breath went out and enters therein, filling it up and following the breath; and all this takes place as one simultaneous process, like a revolving wheel, because that no void exists. Wherefore the region of the chest and that of the lungs when they let out the breath become filled again by the air surrounding the body, which filters in through the porous flesh and circulates round. And again, when the air is repelled and passes out through the body it pushes the inspired air round and in by way of the passages of the mouth and of the nostrils. The originating cause of these processes we must assume to be this. Every living creature has its inward parts round the blood and the veins extremely hot, as it were a fount of fire residing within it; and this region we have, in fact, likened to the envelope of the fish-weel, saying that all that was extended at its middle was woven of fire, whereas all the other and outward parts were of air. Now we must agree that heat, by Nature’s law, goes out into its own region to its kindred substance; and inasmuch as there are two outlets, the one out by way of the body, the other by way of the mouth and the nose, whenever the fire rushes in one direction it propels the air round to the other, and the air which is thus propelled round becomes heated by streaming into the fire, whereas the air which passes out becomes cooled. And as the heat changes its situation and the particles about the other outlet become hotter, the hotter body in its turn tends in that direction, and moving towards its own substance propels round the air which is at the former outlet; and thus the air, by continually undergoing and transmitting the same affections, causes inspiration and expiration to come about as a result of this double process, as it were a wheel that oscillates backwards and forwards.

Section 80

Moreover, we must trace out in this way the causes of the phenomena connected with medical cupping-glasses, and the causes of deglutition, and of projectiles, whether discharged aloft or flying over the surface of the earth; and the causes also of all the sounds which because of their quickness or slowness seem shrill or deep, and the movement of which is at one time discordant because of the irregularity of the motion they cause within us, and at another time concordant because of its regularity. For the slower sounds overtake the motions of the earlier and quicker sounds when the latter begin to stop and have already fallen to a speed similar to that with which the slower sounds collide with them afterwards and move them; and when the slower overtake the quicker sounds they do not perturb them by imposing upon them a different motion, but they attach to them the beginning of a slower motion in accord with that which was quicker but is tending to cease; and thus from shrill and deep they blend one single sensation, furnishing pleasure thereby to the unintelligent, and to the intelligent that intellectual delight which is caused by the imitation of the divine harmony manifested in mortal motions. Furthermore, as regards all flowings of waters, and fallings of thunderbolts, and the marvels concerning the attraction of electron and of the Heraclean stone—not one of all these ever possesses any real power of attraction; but the fact that there is no void, and that these bodies propel themselves round one into another, and that according as they separate or unite they all exchange places and proceed severally each to its own region,—it is by means of these complex and reciprocal processes that such marvels are wrought, as will be evident to him who investigates them properly. Moreover, the process of respiration—with which our account commenced—came about, as we previously stated, in this manner and by these means. The fire divides the foods, and rises through the body following after the breath; and as it rises, with the breath it fills the veins from the belly by drawing into them from thence the divided particles. And it is owing to this that in all living creatures the streams of nutriment course in this way through the whole body. And inasmuch as these nutritive particles are freshly divided and derived from kindred substances,—some from fruits, and some from cereals, which God planted for us for the express purpose of serving as food,—they get all varieties of colors because of their commingling, but red is the color that runs through them most of all, it being a natural product of the action of the fire in dividing the liquid food and imprinting itself thereon.

Section 81

Wherefore the color of the stream which flows through the body acquired an appearance such as we have described; and this stream we call blood, which is the nutriment of the flesh and of the whole body, each part drawing therefrom supplies of fluid and filling up the room of the evacuated matter. And the processes of filling and evacuating take place just as the motion of everything in the Universe takes place, namely, according to the law that every kindred substance moves towards its kind. For the bodies which surround us without are always dissolving us and sending off and distributing to each species of substance what is akin thereto; while the blood-particles, again, being minced up within us and surrounded by the structure of each creature as by a Heaven, are compelled to copy the motion of the whole; hence, when each of the particles that are divided up inside moves towards its kin, it fills up again the emptied place. And when what passes out is more than the inflow every creature decays, but when less, it increases. Now when the structure of the whole creature is new, inasmuch as the triangles which form its elements are still fresh, and as it were straight from the stocks, it keeps them firmly interlocked one with another, and the whole mass of it is of a soft composition, seeing that it is newly produced from marrow and nourished on milk; and as the triangles contained therein, which have invaded it from without and go to form the meats and drinks, are older and weaker than its own, it divides and overcomes them with its own new triangles, and thus renders the creature large by feeding it on many similar substances. But when the root of the triangles grows slack owing to their having fought many fights during long periods, they are no longer able to divide the entering triangles of the food and assimilate them to themselves, but are themselves easily divided by those which enter from without; and in this condition every animal is overpowered and decays; and this process is named old age. And finally, when the bonds of the triangles in the marrow which have been fitly framed together no longer resist the strain but fall asunder, they let slip in turn the bonds of the soul, and it, when thus naturally set loose, flies out gladly; for whereas every process which is contrary to nature is painful, that which takes place naturally is pleasurable. So too, in like manner, the death which occurs in consequence of disease or by wounds is painful and violent, but that which follows on old age and constitutes a natural end is the least grievous of deaths and is accompanied by more of pleasure than of pain.

Section 82

The origin of disease is plain, of course, to everybody. For seeing that there are four elements of which the body is compacted,—earth, fire, water and air,—when, contrary to nature, there occurs either an excess or a deficiency of these elements, or a transference thereof from their native region to an alien region; or again, seeing that fire and the rest have each more than one variety, every time that the body admits an inappropriate variety, then these and all similar occurrences bring about internal disorders and disease. For when any one element suffers a change of condition that is contrary to nature, all its particles that formerly were being cooled become heated, and the dry presently become moist, and the light heavy, and they undergo every variety of change in every respect. For, as we maintain, it is only the addition or subtraction of the same substance from the same substance in the same order and in the same manner and in due proportion which will allow the latter to remain safe and sound in its sameness with itself. But whatsoever oversteps any of these conditions in its going out or its coming in will produce alterations of every variety and countless diseases and corruptions. Again, in the structures which are naturally secondary in order of construction, there is a second class of diseases to be noted by him who has a mind to take cognizance of them. For inasmuch as marrow and bone and flesh and sinew are compacted from the elements,—and blood also is formed from the same constituents, although in a different way,— most of the other maladies come about like those previously described, but the most severe of them have dangerous results for the reason following: whenever the production of these secondary substances proceeds in the reverse direction, then they are corrupted. For in the order of nature flesh and sinews arise from blood, the sinew from the fibrine because of its kindred quality, and flesh from the coagulated substance which coagulates on its separation from the fibrine; and further, the substance which is derived from the sinews and flesh, being viscid and oily, not only glues the flesh to the substance of the bones but also feeds and increases the bone itself which encloses the marrow, while that which is formed of the purest kind of triangles, very smooth and very oily, filters through the density of the bones, and, as it oozes and drips from the bones, moistens the marrow. Now when each of these substances is produced in this order, health as a rule results; but if in the reverse order, disease. For whenever the flesh is decomposed and sends its decomposed matter back again into the veins, then, uniting with the air, the blood in the veins, which is large in volume and of every variety, is diversified by colors and bitter flavors, as well as by sharp and saline properties, and contains bile and serum and phlegm of every sort.

Section 83

For when all the substances become reversed and corrupted, they begin by destroying the blood itself, and then they themselves cease to supply any nourishment to the body; for they move through the veins in all directions and no longer preserve the order of their natural revolutions, being at enmity with themselves because they have no enjoyment of themselves, and being at war also with the established and regular constitution of the body, which they corrupt and dissolve. Therefore all the oldest part of the flesh that is decomposed becomes tough and is blackened by the continued combustion; and because it is eaten away on every side it is bitter, and therefore dangerous in its attack on any part of the body that is not as yet corrupted. And at one time the black matter acquires a sharpness in place of its bitterness, when the bitter substance becomes more diluted; and at another time the bitter substance acquires a redder color through being dipped in blood, while if the black matter is blended with this it turns greenish; and again, whenever new flesh also is decomposed by the fire of the inflammation, a yellow matter is commingled with the bitter substance. To all these humors the general designation bile has been given, either by certain physicians or by someone who was capable of surveying a number of dissimilar cases and discerning amongst them one single type worthy to give its name to them all. All the rest that are counted as species of bile have gained their special descriptions in each case from their colors. Serum is of two kinds: one is the mild whey of the blood; the other, being derived from black and acid bile, is malignant whenever it is imbued with a saline quality through the action of heat; and this kind is termed acid phlegm. Another kind involves air and is produced by dissolution from new and tender flesh. And when this is inflated and enclosed by a fluid, and when as a result of this process bubbles are formed which individually are invisible because of their small size but in the aggregate form a mass which is visible, and which possess a color which appears white owing to the foam created,—then we describe all this decomposition of tender flesh intermixed with air as white phlegm. And the whey of phlegm that is newly formed is sweat and tears, and all other such humors as pour forth in the daily purgings of the body. And all these are factors in disease, whenever the blood is not replenished naturally from meats and drinks but receives its mass from opposite substances contrary to Nature’s laws.

Section 84

Now, when the flesh in any part is being decomposed by disease, but the bases thereof still remain firm, the force of the attack is reduced by half, for it still admits of easy recovery; but whenever the substance which binds the flesh to the bones becomes diseased and no longer separates itself at once from them and from the sinews, so as to provide food for the bone and to serve as a bond between flesh and bone, but becomes rough and saline instead of being oily and smooth and viscid, owing to its being starved by a bad regimen,—then, every such substance, as it undergoes these affections, molders away beneath the flesh and the sinews and withdraws from the bones; while the flesh falls away with it from the roots and leaves the sinews bare and full of saline matter, and by falling back itself into the stream of the blood it augments the maladies previously described. But although these bodily ailments are severe, still more grave are those which precede them, whenever the bone by reason of the density of the flesh fails to receive sufficient inspiration, and becoming heated because of its moldiness decays and does not admit its nutriment, but, on the contrary, falls back itself, as it crumbles, into its nutriment which then passes into flesh, and this flesh falling into, the blood causes all such maladies to be more violent than those previously described. And the most extreme case of all occurs whenever the substance of the marrow becomes diseased either from deficiency or from excess; for this results in the gravest of diseases and the most potent in causing death, inasmuch as the whole substance of the body, by the force of necessity, streams in the reverse direction. A third class of diseases takes place, as we must conceive, in three ways, being due partly to air, partly to phlegm, and partly to bile. Whenever the lungs, which are the dispensers of air to the body, fail to keep their outlets clean through being blocked up with rheums, then the air, being unable to pass one way while entering by another way in more than its proper volume, causes the parts deprived of respiration to rot, but forces and distorts the vessels of the veins, and as it thus dissolves the body it is itself shut off within the center thereof which contains the midriff; and as a result of this countless diseases of a painful kind are produced, accompanied by much sweating. And often, when the flesh is disintegrated, air which is enclosed in the body and is unable to pass out brings about the same pangs as those caused by the air that enters from without; and these pangs are most severe when the air surrounds the sinews and the adjacent veins and by its swelling up strains backwards the tendons and the sinews attached to them; hence it is actually from this process of intense strain that these maladies have derived their names of tetanus and opisthotonus.

Section 85

Of these maladies the cure also is severe for what does most to relieve them is, in fact, an attack of fever. White phlegm, also, is dangerous when it is blocked inside because of the air in its bubbles; but when it has air-vents outside the body it is milder, although it marks the body with spots by breeding white scabs and tetters and the maladies akin thereto. And when this phlegm is blended with black bile and spreads over the revolutions of the head, which are the most divine, and perturbs them, its action is more gentle during sleep, but when it attacks persons who are awake it is harder to shake off; and because it is a disease of the sacred substance it is most justly termed the sacred disease. Phlegm that is sharp and saline is the fount of all the maladies which are of the nature of catarrhs; and these have received all kinds of names because the regions into which they flow are of all varieties. All those diseases which are called inflammations, owing to the burning and inflaming of the body which they involve, are caused by bile. This, when it gains an external outlet, boils and sends up all kinds of eruptions; but when it is confined inside it produces many burning diseases; and of these the gravest occurs when the bile, being mixed with pure blood, displaces the matter of the fibrine from its proper position. For this fibrine is dispersed through the blood in order that the blood may have a due proportion of both rarity and density, and may neither flow out from the porous body through being liquefied by heat, nor yet prove immobile through its density and circulate with difficulty in the veins. Of these qualities the fibrine preserves the due amount owing to the nature of its formation. Even when anyone collects together the fibrine of blood that is dead and in process of cooling, all the rest of the blood turns liquid; but if the fibrine is left alone as it is, it acts in combination with the surrounding cold and rapidly congeals the blood. As the fibrine, then, has this property, bile, which is naturally formed of old blood and dissolved again into blood from flesh, penetrates the blood gradually at first, while it is hot and moist, and is congealed by this property of the fibrine; and as it becomes congealed and forcibly chilled it causes internal cold and shivering.

Section 86

But when the bile flows in with more volume, it overpowers the fibrine by the heat it contains, and shakes it into disorder by its boiling up; and should it be capable of thus overpowering the fibrine continuously, it penetrates to the substance of the marrow and loosens from thence, by burning, the mooring-ropes of the soul, as it were of a ship, and sets it free. But when the bile is in smaller quantity and the body resists dissolution, then the bile itself is overpowered, and either it is ejected over the whole surface of the body, or else it is forced through the veins into the lower or the upper belly, being ejected from the body like fugitives from a city in revolt; and it produces diarrhoea and dysentery and all suchlike maladies. When a body has become diseased mainly from an excess of fire, it produces constant inflammations and fevers; when from air, quotidian fevers; when from water, tertian fevers, because that element is more sluggish than air or fire; and when from earth, which is the fourth and most sluggish of the elements and is purged in four-fold periods of time, it causes quartan fevers and is cured with difficulty. Such is the manner in which diseases of the body come about; and those of the soul which are due to the condition of the body arise in the following way. We must agree that folly is a disease of the soul; and of folly there are two kinds, the one of which is madness, the other ignorance. Whatever affection a man suffers from, if it involves either of these conditions it must be termed disease; and we must maintain that pleasures and pains in excess are the greatest of the soul’s diseases. For when a man is overjoyed or contrariwise suffering excessively from pain, being in haste to seize on the one and avoid the other beyond measure, he is unable either to see or to hear anything correctly, and he is at such a time distraught and wholly incapable of exercising reason. And whenever a man’s seed grows to abundant volume in his marrow, as it were a tree that is overladen beyond measure with fruit, he brings on himself time after time many pangs and many pleasures owing to his desires and the issue thereof, and comes to be in a state of madness for the most part of his life because of those greatest of pleasures and pains, and keeps his soul diseased and senseless by reason of the action of his body. Yet such a man is reputed to be voluntarily wicked and not diseased; although, in truth, this sexual incontinence, which is due for the most part to the abundance and fluidity of one substance because of the porosity of the bones, constitutes a disease of the soul. And indeed almost all those affections which are called by way of reproach incontinence in pleasure, as though the wicked acted voluntarily, are wrongly so reproached; for no one is voluntarily wicked, but the wicked man becomes wicked by reason of some evil condition of body and unskilled nurture, and these are experiences which are hateful to everyone and involuntary. And again, in respect of pains likewise the soul acquires much evil because of the body.

Section 87

For whenever the humors which arise from acid and saline phlegms, and all humors that are bitter and bilious wander through the body and find no external vent but are confined within, and mingle their vapor with the movement of the soul and are blended therewith, they implant diseases of the soul of all kinds, varying in intensity and in extent; and as these humors penetrate to the three regions of the Soul, according to the region which they severally attack, they give rise to all varieties of bad temper and bad spirits, and they give rise to all manner of rashness and cowardice, and of forgetfulness also, as well as of stupidity. Furthermore, when, with men in such an evil condition, the political administration also is evil, and the speech in the cities, both public and private, is evil; and when, moreover, no lessons that would cure these evils are anywhere learnt from childhood,—thus it comes to pass that all of us who are wicked become wicked owing to two quite involuntary causes. And for these we must always blame the begetters more than the begotten, and the nurses more than the nurslings; yet each man must endeavor, as best he can, by means of nurture and by his pursuits and studies to flee the evil and to pursue the good. This, however, forms a separate subject of discussion. Again, it is reasonable and proper to set forth in turn the subject complementary to the foregoing, namely the remedial treatment of body and mind, and the causes which conserve this. For what is good merits description more than what is evil. All that is good is fair, and the fair is not void of due measure; wherefore also the living creature that is to be fair must be symmetrical. Of symmetries we distinguish and reason about such as are small, but of the most important and the greatest we have no rational comprehension. For with respect to health and disease, virtue and vice, there is no symmetry or want of symmetry greater than that which exists between the soul itself and the body itself. But as regards these, we wholly fail to perceive or reflect that, whenever a weaker and inferior type of body is the vehicle of a soul that is strong and in all ways great,—or conversely, when each of these two is of the opposite kind,—then the creature as a whole is not fair, seeing that it is unsymmetrical in respect of the greatest of symmetries; whereas a creature in the opposite condition is of all sights, for him who has eyes to see, the fairest and most admirable. A body, for example, which is too long in the legs, or otherwise disproportioned owing to some excess, is not only ugly, but, when joint effort is required, it is also the source of much fatigue and many sprains and falls by reason of its clumsy motion, whereby it causes itself countless evils.

Section 88

So likewise we must conceive of that compound of soul and body which we call the living creature. Whenever the soul within it is stronger than the body and is in a very passionate state, it shakes up the whole body from within and fills it with maladies; and whenever the soul ardently pursues some study or investigation, it wastes the body; and again, when the soul engages, in public or in private, in teachings and battles of words carried on with controversy and contention, it makes the body inflamed and shakes it to pieces, and induces catarrhs; and thereby it deceives the majority of so-called physicians and makes them ascribe the malady to the wrong cause. And, on the other hand, when a large and overbearing body is united to a small and weak intellect, inasmuch as two desires naturally exist amongst men, —the desire of food for the body’s sake, and the desire of wisdom for the sake of the most divine part we have,—the motions of the stronger part prevail and augment their own power, but they make that of the soul obtuse and dull of wit and forgetful, and thereby they produce within it that greatest of diseases, ignorance. From both these evils the one means of salvation is this—neither to exercise the soul without the body nor the body without the soul, so that they may be evenly matched and sound of health. Thus the student of mathematics, or of any other subject, who works very hard with his intellect must also provide his body with exercise by practising gymnastics; while he who is diligent in molding his body must, in turn, provide his soul with motion by cultivating music and philosophy in general, if either is to deserve to be called truly both fair and good. The various parts, likewise, must be treated in the same manner, in imitation of the form of the Universe. For as the body is inflamed or chilled within by the particles that enter it, and again is dried or moistened by those without, and suffers the affections consequent on both these motions, whenever a man delivers his body, in a state of rest, to these motions, it is overpowered and utterly perishes; whereas if a man imitates that which we have called the nurturer and nurse of the Universe, and never, if possible, allows the body to be at rest but keeps it moving, and by continually producing internal vibrations defends it in nature’s way against the inward and outward motions, and by means of moderate vibrations arranges the affections and particles which stray about in the body in their due reciprocal order, according to their affinities,—as described in the previous account which we have given of the Universe—then he will not suffer foe set beside foe to breed war in the body and disease, but he will cause friend to be set beside friend so as to produce sound health.

Section 89

Further, as concerns the motions, the best motion of a body is that caused by itself in itself; for this is most nearly akin to the motion of intelligence and the motion of the Universe. Motion due to the agency of another is less good; and the least good motion is that which is imparted to a body lying in a state of rest and which moves it piecemeal and by means of others. Wherefore the motion that is best for purgings and renovations of the body consists in gymnastic exercises; and second-best is the motion provided by swaying vehicles, such as boats or any conveyances that produce no fatigue; while the third kind of motion, although useful for one who is absolutely driven to it, is by no means acceptable, under any other conditions, to a man of sense, it being the medical kind of purging by means of drugs. For no diseases which do not involve great danger ought to be irritated by drugging. For in its structure every disease resembles in some sort the nature of the living creature. For, in truth, the constitution of these creatures has prescribed periods of life for the species as a whole, and each individual creature likewise has a naturally predestined term of life, apart from the accidents due to necessity. For from the very beginning the triangles of each creature are constructed with a capacity for lasting until a certain time, beyond which no one could ever continue to live. With respect to the structure of diseases also the same rule holds good: whenever anyone does violence thereto by drugging, in despite of the predestined period of time, diseases many and grave, in place of few and slight, are wont to occur. Wherefore one ought to control all such diseases, so far as one has the time to spare, by means of dieting rather than irritate a fractious evil by drugging. Concerning both the composite living creature and the bodily part of it, how a man should both guide and be guided by himself so as to live a most rational life, let our statement stand thus. But first and with special care we must make ready the part which is to be the guide to the best of our power, so that it may be as fair and good as possible for the work of guidance. Now to expound this subject alone in accurate detail would in itself be a sufficient task. But treating it merely as a side-issue, if we follow on the lines of our previous exposition, we may consider the matter and state our conclusions not inaptly in the following terms.

Section 90

We have frequently asserted that there are housed within us in three regions three kinds of soul, and that each of these has its own motions; so now likewise we must repeat, as briefly as possible, that the kind which remains in idleness and stays with its own motions; in repose necessarily becomes weakest, whereas the kind which exercises itself becomes strongest; wherefore care must be taken that they have their motions relatively to one another in due proportion. And as regards the most lordly kind of our soul, we must conceive of it in this wise: we declare that God has given to each of us, as his daemon, that kind of soul which is housed in the top of our body and which raises us—seeing that we are not an earthly but a heavenly plant up from earth towards our kindred in the heaven. And herein we speak most truly; for it is by suspending our head and root from that region whence the substance of our soul first came that the Divine Power keeps upright our whole body. Whoso, then, indulges in lusts or in contentions and devotes himself overmuch thereto must of necessity be filled with opinions that are wholly mortal, and altogether, so far as it is possible to become mortal, fall not short of this in even a small degree, inasmuch as he has made great his mortal part. But he who has seriously devoted himself to learning and to true thoughts, and has exercised these qualities above all his others, must necessarily and inevitably think thoughts that are immortal and divine, if so be that he lays hold on truth, and in so far as it is possible for human nature to partake of immortality, he must fall short thereof in no degree; and inasmuch as he is for ever tending his divine part and duly magnifying that daemon who dwells along with him, he must be supremely blessed. And the way of tendance of every part by every man is one—namely, to supply each with its own congenial food and motion; and for the divine part within us the congenial motions are the intellections and revolutions of the Universe. These each one of us should follow, rectifying the revolutions within our head, which were distorted at our birth, by learning the harmonies and revolutions of the Universe, and thereby making the part that thinks like unto the object of its thought, in accordance with its original nature, and having achieved this likeness attain finally to that goal of life which is set before men by the gods as the most good both for the present and for the time to come. And now the task prescribed for us at the beginning to give a description of the Universe up to the production of mankind, would appear to be wellnigh completed. For as regards the mode in which the rest of living creatures have been produced we must make but a brief statement, seeing that there is no need to speak at length; for by such brevity we will feel ourselves to be preserving a right proportion in our handling of these subjects. Wherefore let this matter be treated as follows.

Section 91

According to the probable account, all those creatures generated as men who proved themselves cowardly and spent their lives in wrong-doing were transformed, at their second incarnation, into women. And it was for this reason that the gods at that time contrived the love of sexual intercourse by constructing an animate creature of one kind in us men, and of another kind in women; and they made these severally in the following fashion. From the passage of egress for the drink, where it receives and joins in discharging the fluid which has come through the lungs beneath the kidneys into the bladder and has been compressed by the air, they bored a hole into the condensed marrow which comes from the head down by the neck and along the spine which marrow, in our previous account, we termed seed. And the marrow, inasmuch as it is animate and has been granted an outlet, has endowed the part where its outlet lies with a love for generating by implanting therein a lively desire for emission. Wherefore in men the nature of the genital organs is disobedient and self-willed, like a creature that is deaf to reason, and it attempts to dominate all because of its frenzied lusts. And in women again, owing to the same causes, whenever the matrix or womb, as it is called,—which is an indwelling creature desirous of child-bearing,—remains without fruit long beyond the due season, it is vexed and takes it ill; and by straying all ways through the body and blocking up the passages of the breath and preventing respiration it casts the body into the uttermost distress, and causes, moreover, all kinds of maladies; until the desire and love of the two sexes unite them. Then, culling as it were the fruit from trees, they sow upon the womb, as upon ploughed soil, animalcules that are invisible for smallness and unshapen; and these, again, they mold into shape and nourish to a great size within the body; after which they bring them forth into the light and thus complete the generation of the living creature. In this fashion, then, women and the whole female sex have come into existence. And the tribe of birds are derived by transformation, growing feathers in place of hair, from men who are harmless but light-minded—men, too, who, being students of the worlds above, suppose in their simplicity that the most solid proofs about such matters are obtained by the sense of sight. And the wild species of animal that goes on foot is derived from those men who have paid no attention at all to philosophy nor studied at all the nature of the heavens, because they ceased to make use of the revolutions within the head and followed the lead of those parts of the soul which are in the breast.

Section 92

Owing to these practices they have dragged their front limbs and their head down to the earth, and there planted them, because of their kinship therewith; and they have acquired elongated heads of every shape, according as their several revolutions have been distorted by disuse. On this account also their race was made four-footed and many-footed, since God set more supports under the more foolish ones, so that they might be dragged down still more to the earth. And inasmuch as there was no longer any need of feet for the most foolish of these same creatures, which stretched with their whole body along the earth, the gods generated these footless and wriggling upon the earth. And the fourth kind, which lives in the water, came from the most utterly thoughtless and stupid of men, whom those that remolded them deemed no longer worthy even of pure respiration, seeing that they were unclean of soul through utter wickedness; wherefore in place of air, for refined and pure respiring, they thrust them into water, there to respire its turbid depths. Thence have come into being the tribe of fishes and of shellfish and all creatures of the waters, which have for their portion the extremest of all abodes in requital for the extremity of their witlessness. Thus, both then and now, living creatures keep passing into one another in all these ways, as they undergo transformation by the loss or by the gain of reason and unreason. And now at length we may say that our discourse concerning the Universe has reached its termination. For this our Cosmos has received the living creatures both mortal and immortal and been thereby fulfilled; it being itself a visible Living Creature embracing the visible creatures, a perceptible God made in the image of the Intelligible, most great and good and fair and perfect in its generation—even this one Heaven sole of its kind.