Sophist

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.

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.

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.

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, [*](Cf. Plat. Theaet. 232d.) 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.

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 [*](Apparently a reference to a proverbial expression. Cf. Hes. WD 216 ἔγνω παθών; Herodotus, 1.207 τὰ παθήματα μαθήματα.) 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.

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?

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.

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:

1. Never let this thought prevail, saith he, that not-being is;
2. But keep your mind from this way of investigation.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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. [*](This refers apparently to Pherecydes and the early lonians.) 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 [*](Heracleitus and his followers.) and later some Sicilian [*](Empedocles and his disciples.) 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.