But it exists, by reason of its participation in being.
Yes, it exists.
Now motion again is other than the same.
You’re about right.
Therefore it is not the same.
No, it is not.
But yet we found it was the same, because all things partake of the same.
Certainly.
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.
Yes, certainly.
Then even if absolute motion partook in any way of rest, it would not be absurd to say it was at rest?
It would be perfectly right, if we are to admit that some of the classes will mingle with one another, and others will not.
And surely we demonstrated that before we took up our present points; we proved that it was according to nature. See Plat. Theaet. 251e ff
Yes, of course.
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?
Inevitably.
Then it is in a sense not other and also other, according to our present reasoning.
True.
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?
How can we say that? For we cannot admit that the number is less than was shown just now.
Then we may fearlessly persist in contending that motion is other than being?
Yes, most fearlessly.
It is clear, then, that motion really is not, and also that it is, since it partakes of being?
That is perfectly clear.
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.
Yes, I suppose so.
And so, in relation to each of the classes, being is many, and not-being is infinite in number. Being is many, for each and every thing in all the classes is; but not-being is infinite, for not only is it true that everything in each of the classes is not, but not-being extends also to all conceptions which do not and cannot have any reality.
So it seems.
Then being itself must also be said to be other than all other things.
Yes, it must.
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.
That is not far from the truth.
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. i.e., if he will not accept our proof that being is not, etc., he must disprove our arguuents respecting the participation of idea in one another, and then proceed to draw his inference.
That is very fair.
Then here is a point to consider.
What is it?
When we say not-being, we speak, I think, not of something that is the opposite of being, but only of something different.
What do you mean?
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?
No, of course not.
Then when we are told that the negative signifies the opposite, we shall not admit it; we shall admit only that the particle notThe two particles οὐ and μή in Greek. indicates something different
from the words to which it is prefixed, or rather from the things denoted by the words that follow the negative.
Certainly.
Let us consider another point and see if you agree with me.
What is it?
It seems to me that the nature of the other is all cut up into little bits, like knowledge.
What do you mean?
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.
Yes, certainly.
And the same is true, by their nature, of the parts of the other, though it also is one concept.
Perhaps; but let us discuss the matter and see how it comes about.
Is there a part of the other which is opposed to the beautiful?
There is.
Shall we say that this is nameless or that it has a name?
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.
Now, then, tell me something more.
What?
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?
Yes.
Then, apparently, it follows that the not-beautiful is a contrast of being with being.
Quite right.
Can we, then, in that case, say that the beautiful is more and the not-beautiful less a part of being?
Not at all.
Hence the not-great must be said to be no less truly than the great?
No less truly.
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?
Of course.
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.
Of course.
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.
That is perfectly clear.
Then what shall we call this?
Evidently this is precisely not-being, which we were looking for because of the sophist.
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?
None whatever.
Do you observe, then, that we have gone farther in our distrust of Parmenides than the limit set by his prohibition?
What do you mean?
We have proceeded farther in our investigation and have shown him more than that which he forbade us to examine.
How so?
Because he says somewhere:Never shall this thought prevail, that not-being is;Nay, keep your mind from this path of investigation,Parmenides Fr. 7.1
Yes, that is what he says.
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.
And certainly, Stranger, I think that what we have said is perfectly true.
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.
True.
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.
What is it?
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.
Exactly so.
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.
Why so?
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. The denial, that is to say, of all the interrelations of ideas leads to purely negative results. Examples of this are the exclusive antithesis of being and not-being and the mutual exclusion of rest and motion. The difficulty is solved at once when we recognize that positive and negative are necessarily interwoven in the nature of things, that the negative has only a relative existence and is not the opposite of the positive, but only different from it.
True.
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.
What was our object?
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.
That is true enough; but I do not understand why we must come to an agreement about discourse just now.
Perhaps the easiest way for you to understand is by following this line of argument.
What line?
We found that not-being was one of the classes of being, permeating all being.
Yes.
So the next thing is to inquire whether it mingles with opinion and speech.
Why?
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.
So it is.
But if falsehood exists, deceit exists.
Yes.
And if deceit exists, all things must be henceforth full of images and likenesses and fancies.
Of course.
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.
Yes, so it was.
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.
For this reason we must first inquire into the nature of speech and opinion and fancy, The English word fancy, though etymologically identical with the Greek φαντασία, has lost the close connection with seeming (φαίνεσθαι) which the Greek retains. The Greek word is therefore more comprehensive than the English, denoting that which appears to be, whether as the result of imagination or of sensation. Cf. 235 D ff. 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.
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, Perhaps a sort of pun is intended, for πρόβλημα was already beginning to have the meaning of problem. 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.
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.
Good.
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.
Very well.
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.
What do we need to understand about names?
Whether they all unite with one another, or none of them, or some will and some will not.
Evidently the last; some will and some will not.
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.
How so, and what do you mean by that?
What I supposed you had in mind when you assented; for we have two kinds of vocal indications of being.
How so?
One called nouns, the other verbs. The science of language, in all its branches, was young in the time of Plato. Words of general meaning were necessarily used in a technical sense. So here ὄνομα and ῥῆμα are used as parts of grammatical terminology in the sense of verb and noun, though Plato elsewhere employs them with their ordinary meanings. Similarly the distinction between vowels and consonants (Plat. Theaet. 203; cf. Plat. Soph. 253) was at least relatively new, as was that between the active and the passive voice. How important Plato’s part was in the development of linguistic study can no longer be accurately determined.
Define each of them.
The indication which relates to action we may call a verb.
Yes.
And the vocal sign applied to those who perform the actions in question we call a noun.
Exactly.
Hence discourse is never composed of nouns alone spoken in succession, nor of verbs spoken without nouns.
I do not understand that.
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.
In what way?
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.
No, of course not.
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.
What do you mean by that?
When one says a man learns, you agree that this is the least and first of sentences, do you not?
Yes.
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.
That was right.
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.
Certainly.
Now there is another little point.
What is it?
A sentence, if it is to be a sentence, must have a subject; without a subject it is impossible.
True.
And it must also be of some quality, must it not?
Of course.
Now let us pay attention to each other.
Yes, at any rate we ought to do so.
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.
I will, to the best of my ability.
Theaetetus sits. It isn’t a long sentence, is it?
No, it is fairly short.
Now it is for you to say what it is about and what its subject is.
Clearly it is about me, and I am its subject.
And how about this sentence?
What one?
Theaetetus, with whom I am now talking, flies.
Every one would agree that this also is about me and I am its subject.
But we agree that every sentence must have some quality.
Yes.
Now what quality shall be ascribed to each of these sentences?
One is false, I suppose, the other true.
The true one states facts as they are about you.
Certainly.
And the false one states things that are other than the facts.
Yes.
In other words, it speaks of things that are not as if they were.
Yes, that is pretty much what it does.
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.
To be sure.
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.
At any rate we just now agreed on that point.
And secondly it has a subject.
Yes.
And if you are not the subject, there is none.
Certainly not.
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.
Quite right.
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.
Yes, very truly.
Is it, then, not already plain that the three classes, thought, opinion, and fancy, all arise in our minds as both false and true?
How is it plain?
You will understand more easily if you first grap their natures
and the several differences between them.
Give me an opportunity.
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?
Certainly.
But the stream that flows from the soul in vocal utterance through the mouth has the name of speech?
True.
And in speech we know there is just—
What?
Affirmation and negation
Yes, we know that.
Now when this arises in the soul silently by way of thought, can you give it any other name than opinion?
Certainly not.
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?
No.
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.
Certainly.
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?
Yes, I see.
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.
What divisions?
We made two classes of image-making, the likeness-making and the fantastic. See Plat. Theaet. 235d ff
Yes.
And we said that we did not know to which of the two the sophist should be assigned.
You are right.
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.
True.
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.
Yes, it is possible.
And we decided some time ago that the sophist was in one of those two divisions of the image-making class.
Yes.
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.
Right.
We began by making two divisions of art, the productive and the acquisitive, did we not? See Plat. Theaet. 219
Yes.
And the sophist showed himself to us in the arts of hunting, contests, commerce, and the like, which were subdivisions of acquisitive art?
Certainly.
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?
By all means.
Then let us first assume two parts of productive art.
What are they?
The divine and the human.
I don’t yet understand.
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.
Yes, we remember.
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—
What belief?
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?
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.
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.
Quite right.
Now that there are two, divide each of them again.
How?
You divided all productive art widthwise, as it were, before; now divide it lengthwise.
Assume that it is done.
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.
Yes.
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.
Tell me again how each part is distinguished.
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?
Yes.
And corresponding to each and all of these there are images, not the things themselves, which are also made by superhuman skill.
What are they?
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. This was the current explanation of reflection. Mirrors and smooth objects were supposed to contain a luminous principle which met on the smooth surface with the light coming from the object reflected. So in the act of vision the fire within the eye united with the external fire (Plat. Tim. 46a). The words τῆς ἔμπροσθεν . . . ἐναντίαν αἴσθησιν refer to the transposition of right and left in the reflection (cf. Plat. Theaet. 193c).
Yes, these are two works of divine creation, the thing itself and the corresponding image in each case.
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?
Certainly.
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.
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.
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.
Yes, there were.
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?
Yes.
Let us, then, again bisect the fantastic art.
How?
One kind is that produced by instruments, the other that in which the producer of the appearance offers himself as the instrument.
What do you mean?
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.
Yes.
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.
Very well, let us adopt that classification and let the other part go.
But it is surely worth while to consider, Theaetetus, that the mimetic art also has two parts; and I will tell you why.
Please do.
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?
None.
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.
Of course.
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?
Yes, there are very many such people.
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?
Quite the opposite.
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.
Yes.
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.
Agreed.
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.
Very true.
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.
Let us do so.
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.
Certainly the two classes you mention both exist.
Then shall we call one the simple imitator and the other the dissembling imitator?
That is reaonable, at any rate.
And shall we say that the latter forms one class or two again?
That is your affair.
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.
You are quite right.
And what name shall we give to him who makes the longer speeches? Statesman or popular orator?
Popular orator.
And what shall we call the other? Philosopher or sophist?
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.
Shall we then bind up his name as we did before, winding it up from the end to the beginning?
By all means.
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.