Sophist
the truth of facts, by exhibiting to them fictitious arguments, and
making them think that they are true, and that the speaker is the wisest
of men in all things?
THEAETETUS: Yes; why should there not be another such art?
STRANGER: But as time goes on, and their hearers advance in years,
and come into closer contact with realities, and have learnt by sad
experience to see and feel the truth of things, are not the greater
part of them compelled to change many opinions which they formerly
entertained, so that the great appears small to them, and the easy
difficult, and all their dreamy speculations are overturned by the facts
of life?
THEAETETUS: That is my view, as far as I can judge, although, at my age,
I may be one of those who see things at a distance only.
STRANGER: And the wish of all of us, who are your friends, is and always
will be to bring you as near to the truth as we can without the sad
reality. And now I should like you to tell me, whether the Sophist
is not visibly a magician and imitator of true being; or are we still
disposed to think that he may have a true knowledge of the various
matters about which he disputes?
THEAETETUS: But how can he, Stranger? Is there any doubt, after what
has been said, that he is to be located in one of the divisions of
children's play?
STRANGER: Then we must place him in the class of magicians and mimics.
THEAETETUS: Certainly we must.
STRANGER: And now our business is not to let the animal out, for we have
got him in a sort of dialectical net, and there is one thing which he
decidedly will not escape.
THEAETETUS: What is that?
STRANGER: The inference that he is a juggler.
THEAETETUS: Precisely my own opinion of him.
STRANGER: Then, clearly, we ought as soon as possible to divide the
image-making art, and go down into the net, and, if the Sophist does not
run away from us, to seize him according to orders and deliver him over
to reason, who is the lord of the hunt, and proclaim the capture of him;
and if he creeps into the recesses of the imitative art, and secretes
himself in one of them, to divide again and follow him up until in some
sub-section of imitation he is caught. For our method of tackling each
and all is one which neither he nor any other creature will ever escape
in triumph.
THEAETETUS: Well said; and let us do as you propose.
STRANGER: Well, then, pursuing the same analytic method as before, I
think that I can discern two divisions of the imitative art, but I am
not as yet able to see in which of them the desired form is to be found.
THEAETETUS: Will you tell me first what are the two divisions of which
you are speaking?
STRANGER: One is the art of likeness-making;--generally a likeness of
anything is made by producing a copy which is executed according to the
proportions of the original, similar in length and breadth and depth,
each thing receiving also its appropriate colour.
THEAETETUS: Is not this always the aim of imitation?
STRANGER: Not always; in works either of sculpture or of painting,
which are of any magnitude, there is a certain degree of deception; for
artists were to give the true proportions of their fair works, the upper
part, which is farther off, would appear to be out of proportion in
comparison with the lower, which is nearer; and so they give up the
truth in their images and make only the proportions which appear to be
beautiful, disregarding the real ones.
THEAETETUS: Quite true.
STRANGER: And that which being other is also like, may we not fairly
call a likeness or image?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
STRANGER: And may we not, as I did just now, call that part of the
imitative art which is concerned with making such images the art of
likeness-making?
THEAETETUS: Let that be the name.
STRANGER: And what shall we call those resemblances of the beautiful,
which appear such owing to the unfavourable position of the spectator,
whereas if a person had the power of getting a correct view of works
of such magnitude, they would appear not even like that to which they
profess to be like? May we not call these 'appearances,' since they
appear only and are not really like?
THEAETETUS: Certainly.
STRANGER: There is a great deal of this kind of thing in painting, and
in all imitation.
THEAETETUS: Of course.
STRANGER: And may we not fairly call the sort of art, which produces an
appearance and not an image, phantastic art?
THEAETETUS: Most fairly.
STRANGER: These then are the two kinds of image-making--the art of
making likenesses, and phantastic or the art of making appearances?
THEAETETUS: True.
STRANGER: I was doubtful before in which of them I should place the
Sophist, nor am I even now able to see clearly; verily he is a wonderful
and inscrutable creature. And now in the cleverest manner he has got
into an impossible place.
THEAETETUS: Yes, he has.
STRANGER: Do you speak advisedly, or are you carried away at the moment
by the habit of assenting into giving a hasty answer?
THEAETETUS: May I ask to what you are referring?
STRANGER: My dear friend, we are engaged in a very difficult
speculation--there can be no doubt of that; for how a thing can appear
and seem, and not be, or how a man can say a thing which is not true,
has always been and still remains a very perplexing question. Can any
one say or think that falsehood really exists, and avoid being caught in
a contradiction? Indeed, Theaetetus, the task is a difficult one.
THEAETETUS: Why?
STRANGER: He who says that falsehood exists has the audacity to assert
the being of not-being; for this is implied in the possibility of
falsehood. But, my boy, in the days when I was a boy, the great
Parmenides protested against this doctrine, and to the end of his life
he continued to inculcate the same lesson--always repeating both in
verse and out of verse:
'Keep your mind from this way of enquiry, for never will you show that
not-being is.'
Such is his testimony, which is confirmed by the very expression when
sifted a little. Would you object to begin with the consideration of the
words themselves?
THEAETETUS: Never mind about me; I am only desirous that you should
carry on the argument in the best way, and that you should take me with
you.
STRANGER: Very good; and now say, do we venture to utter the forbidden
word 'not-being'?
THEAETETUS: Certainly we do.
STRANGER: Let us be serious then, and consider the question neither
in strife nor play: suppose that one of the hearers of Parmenides was
asked, 'To what is the term "not-being" to be applied?'--do you know
what sort of object he would single out in reply, and what answer he
would make to the enquirer?
THEAETETUS: That is a difficult question, and one not to be answered at
all by a person like myself.
STRANGER: There is at any rate no difficulty in seeing that the
predicate 'not-being' is not applicable to any being.
THEAETETUS: None, certainly.
STRANGER: And if not to being, then not to something.
THEAETETUS: Of course not.
STRANGER: It is also plain, that in speaking of something we speak of
being, for to speak of an abstract something naked and isolated from all
being is impossible.
THEAETETUS: Impossible.
STRANGER: You mean by assenting to imply that he who says something must
say some one thing?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
STRANGER: Some in the singular (ti) you would say is the sign of one,
some in the dual (tine) of two, some in the plural (tines) of many?
THEAETETUS: Exactly.
STRANGER: Then he who says 'not something' must say absolutely nothing.
THEAETETUS: Most assuredly.
STRANGER: And as we cannot admit that a man speaks and says nothing, he
who says 'not-being' does not speak at all.
THEAETETUS: The difficulty of the argument can no further go.
STRANGER: Not yet, my friend, is the time for such a word; for there
still remains of all perplexities the first and greatest, touching the
very foundation of the matter.
THEAETETUS: What do you mean? Do not be afraid to speak.
STRANGER: To that which is, may be attributed some other thing which is?
THEAETETUS: Certainly.
STRANGER: But can anything which is, be attributed to that which is not?
THEAETETUS: Impossible.
STRANGER: And all number is to be reckoned among things which are?
THEAETETUS: Yes, surely number, if anything, has a real existence.
STRANGER: Then we must not attempt to attribute to not-being number
either in the singular or plural?
THEAETETUS: The argument implies that we should be wrong in doing so.
STRANGER: But how can a man either express in words or even conceive in
thought things which are not or a thing which is not without number?
THEAETETUS: How indeed?
STRANGER: When we speak of things which are not, are we not attributing
plurality to not-being?
THEAETETUS: Certainly.
STRANGER: But, on the other hand, when we say 'what is not,' do we not
attribute unity?
THEAETETUS: Manifestly.
STRANGER: Nevertheless, we maintain that you may not and ought not to
attribute being to not-being?
THEAETETUS: Most true.
STRANGER: Do you see, then, that not-being in itself can neither be
spoken, uttered, or thought, but that it is unthinkable, unutterable,
unspeakable, indescribable?
THEAETETUS: Quite true.
STRANGER: But, if so, I was wrong in telling you just now that the
difficulty which was coming is the greatest of all.
THEAETETUS: What! is there a greater still behind?
STRANGER: Well, I am surprised, after what has been said already, that
you do not see the difficulty in which he who would refute the notion of
not-being is involved. For he is compelled to contradict himself as soon
as he makes the attempt.
THEAETETUS: What do you mean? Speak more clearly.
STRANGER: Do not expect clearness from me. For I, who maintain that
not-being has no part either in the one or many, just now spoke and
am still speaking of not-being as one; for I say 'not-being.' Do you
understand?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
STRANGER: And a little while ago I said that not-being is unutterable,
unspeakable, indescribable: do you follow?
THEAETETUS: I do after a fashion.
STRANGER: When I introduced the word 'is,' did I not contradict what I
said before?
THEAETETUS: Clearly.
STRANGER: And in using the singular verb, did I not speak of not-being
as one?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
STRANGER: And when I spoke of not-being as indescribable and unspeakable
and unutterable, in using each of these words in the singular, did I not
refer to not-being as one?
THEAETETUS: Certainly.
STRANGER: And yet we say that, strictly speaking, it should not be
defined as one or many, and should not even be called 'it,' for the use
of the word 'it' would imply a form of unity.
THEAETETUS: Quite true.
STRANGER: How, then, can any one put any faith in me? For now, as
always, I am unequal to the refutation of not-being. And therefore, as
I was saying, do not look to me for the right way of speaking about
not-being; but come, let us try the experiment with you.
THEAETETUS: What do you mean?
STRANGER: Make a noble effort, as becomes youth, and endeavour with all
your might to speak of not-being in a right manner, without introducing
into it either existence or unity or plurality.
THEAETETUS: It would be a strange boldness in me which would attempt the
task when I see you thus discomfited.
STRANGER: Say no more of ourselves; but until we find some one or other
who can speak of not-being without number, we must acknowledge that the
Sophist is a clever rogue who will not be got out of his hole.
THEAETETUS: Most true.
STRANGER: And if we say to him that he professes an art of making
appearances, he will grapple with us and retort our argument upon
ourselves; and when we call him an image-maker he will say, 'Pray what