Sophist
do you mean at all by an image?'--and I should like to know, Theaetetus,
how we can possibly answer the younker's question?
THEAETETUS: We shall doubtless tell him of the images which are
reflected in water or in mirrors; also of sculptures, pictures, and
other duplicates.
STRANGER: I see, Theaetetus, that you have never made the acquaintance
of the Sophist.
THEAETETUS: Why do you think so?
STRANGER: He will make believe to have his eyes shut, or to have none.
THEAETETUS: What do you mean?
STRANGER: When you tell him of something existing in a mirror, or in
sculpture, and address him as though he had eyes, he will laugh you to
scorn, and will pretend that he knows nothing of mirrors and streams, or
of sight at all; he will say that he is asking about an idea.
THEAETETUS: What can he mean?
STRANGER: The common notion pervading all these objects, which you speak
of as many, and yet call by the single name of image, as though it were
the unity under which they were all included. How will you maintain your
ground against him?
THEAETETUS: How, Stranger, can I describe an image except as something
fashioned in the likeness of the true?
STRANGER: And do you mean this something to be some other true thing, or
what do you mean?
THEAETETUS: Certainly not another true thing, but only a resemblance.
STRANGER: And you mean by true that which really is?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
STRANGER: And the not true is that which is the opposite of the true?
THEAETETUS: Exactly.
STRANGER: A resemblance, then, is not really real, if, as you say, not
true?
THEAETETUS: Nay, but it is in a certain sense.
STRANGER: You mean to say, not in a true sense?
THEAETETUS: Yes; it is in reality only an image.
STRANGER: Then what we call an image is in reality really unreal.
THEAETETUS: In what a strange complication of being and not-being we are
involved!
STRANGER: Strange! I should think so. See how, by his reciprocation of
opposites, the many-headed Sophist has compelled us, quite against our
will, to admit the existence of not-being.
THEAETETUS: Yes, indeed, I see.
STRANGER: The difficulty is how to define his art without falling into a
contradiction.
THEAETETUS: How do you mean? And where does the danger lie?
STRANGER: When we say that he deceives us with an illusion, and that
his art is illusory, do we mean that our soul is led by his art to think
falsely, or what do we mean?
THEAETETUS: There is nothing else to be said.
STRANGER: Again, false opinion is that form of opinion which thinks the
opposite of the truth:--You would assent?
THEAETETUS: Certainly.
STRANGER: You mean to say that false opinion thinks what is not?
THEAETETUS: Of course.
STRANGER: Does false opinion think that things which are not are not, or
that in a certain sense they are?
THEAETETUS: Things that are not must be imagined to exist in a certain
sense, if any degree of falsehood is to be possible.
STRANGER: And does not false opinion also think that things which most
certainly exist do not exist at all?
THEAETETUS: Yes.
STRANGER: And here, again, is falsehood?
THEAETETUS: Falsehood--yes.
STRANGER: And in like manner, a false proposition will be deemed to
be one which asserts the non-existence of things which are, and the
existence of things which are not.
THEAETETUS: There is no other way in which a false proposition can
arise.
STRANGER: There is not; but the Sophist will deny these statements.
And indeed how can any rational man assent to them, when the very
expressions which we have just used were before acknowledged by us to
be unutterable, unspeakable, indescribable, unthinkable? Do you see his
point, Theaetetus?
THEAETETUS: Of course he will say that we are contradicting ourselves
when we hazard the assertion, that falsehood exists in opinion and in
words; for in maintaining this, we are compelled over and over again
to assert being of not-being, which we admitted just now to be an utter
impossibility.
STRANGER: How well you remember! And now it is high time to hold a
consultation as to what we ought to do about the Sophist; for if we
persist in looking for him in the class of false workers and magicians,
you see that the handles for objection and the difficulties which will
arise are very numerous and obvious.
THEAETETUS: They are indeed.
STRANGER: We have gone through but a very small portion of them, and
they are really infinite.
THEAETETUS: If that is the case, we cannot possibly catch the Sophist.
STRANGER: Shall we then be so faint-hearted as to give him up?
THEAETETUS: Certainly not, I should say, if we can get the slightest
hold upon him.
STRANGER: Will you then forgive me, and, as your words imply, not be
altogether displeased if I flinch a little from the grasp of such a
sturdy argument?
THEAETETUS: To be sure I will.
STRANGER: I have a yet more urgent request to make.
THEAETETUS: Which is--?
STRANGER: That you will promise not to regard me as a parricide.
THEAETETUS: And why?
STRANGER: Because, in self-defence, I must test the philosophy of my
father Parmenides, and try to prove by main force that in a certain
sense not-being is, and that being, on the other hand, is not.
THEAETETUS: Some attempt of the kind is clearly needed.
STRANGER: Yes, a blind man, as they say, might see that, and, unless
these questions are decided in one way or another, no one when he speaks
of false words, or false opinion, or idols, or images, or imitations, or
appearances, or about the arts which are concerned with them; can avoid
falling into ridiculous contradictions.
THEAETETUS: Most true.
STRANGER: And therefore I must venture to lay hands on my father's
argument; for if I am to be over-scrupulous, I shall have to give the
matter up.
THEAETETUS: Nothing in the world should ever induce us to do so.
STRANGER: I have a third little request which I wish to make.
THEAETETUS: What is it?
STRANGER: You heard me say what I have always felt and still feel--that
I have no heart for this argument?
THEAETETUS: I did.
STRANGER: I tremble at the thought of what I have said, and expect that
you will deem me mad, when you hear of my sudden changes and shiftings;
let me therefore observe, that I am examining the question entirely out
of regard for you.
THEAETETUS: There is no reason for you to fear that I shall impute
any impropriety to you, if you attempt this refutation and proof; take
heart, therefore, and proceed.
STRANGER: And where shall I begin the perilous enterprise? I think that
the road which I must take is--
THEAETETUS: Which?--Let me hear.
STRANGER: I think that we had better, first of all, consider the points
which at present are regarded as self-evident, lest we may have fallen
into some confusion, and be too ready to assent to one another, fancying
that we are quite clear about them.
THEAETETUS: Say more distinctly what you mean.
STRANGER: I think that Parmenides, and all ever yet undertook to
determine the number and nature of existences, talked to us in rather a
light and easy strain.
THEAETETUS: How?
STRANGER: As if we had been children, to whom they repeated each his own
mythus or story;--one said that there were three principles, and that at
one time there was war between certain of them; and then again there was
peace, and they were married and begat children, and brought them up;
and another spoke of two principles,--a moist and a dry, or a hot and
a cold, and made them marry and cohabit. The Eleatics, however, in our
part of the world, say that all things are many in name, but in nature
one; this is their mythus, which goes back to Xenophanes, and is even
older. Then there are Ionian, and in more recent times Sicilian muses,
who have arrived at the conclusion that to unite the two principles is
safer, and to say that being is one and many, and that these are held
together by enmity and friendship, ever parting, ever meeting, as
the severer Muses assert, while the gentler ones do not insist on the
perpetual strife and peace, but admit a relaxation and alternation of
them; peace and unity sometimes prevailing under the sway of Aphrodite,
and then again plurality and war, by reason of a principle of strife.
Whether any of them spoke the truth in all this is hard to determine;
besides, antiquity and famous men should have reverence, and not be
liable to accusations so serious. Yet one thing may be said of them
without offence--
THEAETETUS: What thing?
STRANGER: That they went on their several ways disdaining to notice
people like ourselves; they did not care whether they took us with them,
or left us behind them.
THEAETETUS: How do you mean?
STRANGER: I mean to say, that when they talk of one, two, or more
elements, which are or have become or are becoming, or again of
heat mingling with cold, assuming in some other part of their works
separations and mixtures,--tell me, Theaetetus, do you understand what
they mean by these expressions? When I was a younger man, I used
to fancy that I understood quite well what was meant by the term
'not-being,' which is our present subject of dispute; and now you see in
what a fix we are about it.
THEAETETUS: I see.
STRANGER: And very likely we have been getting into the same perplexity
about 'being,' and yet may fancy that when anybody utters the word, we
understand him quite easily, although we do not know about not-being.
But we may be; equally ignorant of both.
THEAETETUS: I dare say.
STRANGER: And the same may be said of all the terms just mentioned.
THEAETETUS: True.
STRANGER: The consideration of most of them may be deferred; but we had
better now discuss the chief captain and leader of them.
THEAETETUS: Of what are you speaking? You clearly think that we must
first investigate what people mean by the word 'being.'
STRANGER: You follow close at my heels, Theaetetus. For the right
method, I conceive, will be to call into our presence the dualistic
philosophers and to interrogate them. 'Come,' we will say, 'Ye, who
affirm that hot and cold or any other two principles are the universe,
what is this term which you apply to both of them, and what do you mean
when you say that both and each of them "are"? How are we to understand
the word "are"? Upon your view, are we to suppose that there is a third
principle over and above the other two,--three in all, and not two? For
clearly you cannot say that one of the two principles is being, and yet
attribute being equally to both of them; for, if you did, whichever of
the two is identified with being, will comprehend the other; and so they
will be one and not two.'
THEAETETUS: Very true.
STRANGER: But perhaps you mean to give the name of 'being' to both of
them together?
THEAETETUS: Quite likely.
STRANGER: 'Then, friends,' we shall reply to them, 'the answer is
plainly that the two will still be resolved into one.'
THEAETETUS: Most true.
STRANGER: 'Since, then, we are in a difficulty, please to tell us what
you mean, when you speak of being; for there can be no doubt that you
always from the first understood your own meaning, whereas we once
thought that we understood you, but now we are in a great strait. Please
to begin by explaining this matter to us, and let us no longer fancy
that we understand you, when we entirely misunderstand you.' There will
be no impropriety in our demanding an answer to this question, either of
the dualists or of the pluralists?
THEAETETUS: Certainly not.
STRANGER: And what about the assertors of the oneness of the all--must
we not endeavour to ascertain from them what they mean by 'being'?
THEAETETUS: By all means.
STRANGER: Then let them answer this question: One, you say, alone is?
'Yes,' they will reply.
THEAETETUS: True.