PLATO

Theaetetus

Translated with Notes by JOHN McDOWELL

CLARENDON PRESS · OXFORD

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OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

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PREFACE

THE main aim of this volume is to provide for the needs of Greekless readers who wish to make a philosophical study of the Theaetetus. I have used John Burnet's Oxford Classical Text (hereafter 'OCT'). Departures from that text, and places where the translation seems to me to be more than usually disputable, are marked by an asterisk in the translation, and discussed in the Notes on the Text and Translation. The line numbers printed in the margin of the translation and in the notes are those of the OCT. Differences between Greek and English word order mean that the marginal indications sometimes correspond only approximately with those in the Greek text.

In the translation I have tried to combine faithfulness with a modicum of conversational verisimilitude. The second aim accounts for my use of colloquial contractions; for my omission of those apostrophes which are conventionally translated by phrases like 'my dear fellow'; and for the absence from the translation of the conjunction 'for', and the presence instead (which will, I am afraid, be rebarbative to some readers) of 'because' at the beginnings of sentences. The first aim has sometimes seemed to me to require the abandonment of the second: conspicuously in my painfully literal renderings of many of Plato's uses of his equivalent for the verb 'to be'. I have not hesitated to adopt ideas from previous translators: in particular, I have been greatly helped by the excellent version of M. J. Levett.

The Notes are intended as an aid to the understanding of the translation. I have tried to direct the reader's attention to what seem to me to be the main questions of interpretation, and to sketch answers to some of them. A proper commentary would require much more discussion of the philosophical issues than I have had space for. It would also require much

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more notice of the existing literature: I have seldom so much as mentioned my agreements or disagreements with other writers. I hereby record my gratitude, with apologies for the inadequacy of this blanket acknowledgement, to those whose views I have silently appropriated, and no less to those whose views have stimulated me to disagreement.

It is a pleasure to acknowledge my debt to the editor of this series, Mr. M. J. Woods, both for suggesting the project and for a great deal of help in the execution of it. I am most grateful to Mr. C. A. Kirwan, who read an earlier draft and made a large number of extremely useful comments; and to Professor Gilbert Ryle, who let me see a copy of his famous, but, alas, unpublished paper on Socrates' Dream, and some of his lecture notes. The work was considerably forwarded during a term which I spent at Harvard as James C. Loeb Fellow in Classical Philosophy: I thank the President and Fellows of Harvard College for appointing me to that post, and the Master and Fellows of University College for granting me leave of absence to take it up. My debts to Professor G. E. L. Owen for his kindness at that time, and for much else, are incalculable.

I am very grateful to Mrs. E. Hinkes for her skilful and patient typing.

J. H. McD.

Oxford July 1973

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CONTENTS

TRANSLATION 1

NOTES ON THE TEXT AND TRANSLATION 110

NOTES 113

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY 260

INDEX 262

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THEAETETUS

EUCLEIDES TERPSION

142

EUCLEIDES. Hello, Terpsion. Just in from the country, or a

some time ago?

TERPSION. A fair while ago. Actually, it was you I was looking for in the market-place, and I was surprised that I couldn't find you.

EUCLEIDES. Well, you see, I wasn't in town.

TERPSION. Where were you, then? 5

EUCLEIDES. I'd set out to go down to the harbour, but on my way I ran into Theaetetus, who was being taken to Athens from the army at Corinth.

TERPSION. Alive or dead?

EUCLEIDES. Alive, but only just. It's partly that he's b

suffering from some wounds, but he's getting more trouble from the disease that's broken out in the army.

TERPSION. Dysentery?

EUCLEIDES. Yes. 5

TERPSION. That means he's in danger. What a man for this to happen to!

EUCLEIDES. Yes, Terpsion, a fine person. Actually, I've just been listening to some people waxing positively lyrical about what he did in the battle.

TERPSION. Yes, that's not at all out of the way; it would

have been far more surprising if he hadn't been like that. But c

how was it that he didn't stay here in Megara?

EUCLEIDES. He was in a hurry to get home; in fact I begged him and advised him to stay, but he wouldn't. So I went with him some of the way; and then, as I was coming

back, I recollected with admiration how prophetically 5

Socrates had spoken about him--as of course he did on other subjects too. It was shortly before his death, I think, that

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Socrates came across him, when Theaetetus was a boy. He met him and had a discussion with him, and he was extremely impressed by Theaetetus' natural gifts. When I went to Athens,

he repeated to me what they'd said in their discussion, which d

was well worth hearing; and he said that Theaetetus was absolutely bound to become famous, if he lived to be grown up.

TERPSION. Well, that seems to have been true. But how

did the discussion go? Could you repeat it? 5

EUCLEIDES. Good heavens, no--anyway, not just out of

my head. But I made notes on that occasion, as soon as I got 143

home, and later, when I had time, I used to recollect it and write it down. And whenever I went to Athens, I used to ask Socrates again about what I didn't remember, and make cor

rections when I came back here. So I've got just about all of 5

what they said written down.

TERPSION. That's true; I've heard you mention it before. Actually, I've always been meaning to ask you to show it to me, but I've put it off up to this moment. But what's to stop us going over it now? I certainly need a rest after my journey from the country.

EUCLEIDES. Well, I went all the way to Erineum with b

Theaetetus, so I wouldn't mind a rest myself. Let's go along, and my servant will read to us while we're resting.

TERPSION. All right.

EUCLEIDES. Here's the book, Terpsion. Look how I 5

wrote down what they said: I portrayed Socrates, not repeating it to me in the way he did, but carrying on the discussion with the people he said he'd had it with--he said they were THEODORUS., the geometrician, and Theaetetus. It was so

as not to have the written account made tedious by the bits of c

narration between the speeches--something about himself, like 'And I said' or 'And I remarked', whenever Socrates was speaking, or, again, something about the person who was giving the answers: 'He concurred', or 'He didn't agree'-

that was why I cut out that kind of thing, and portrayed 5

Socrates as himself carrying on the discussion with them.

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143c

TERPSION. Nothing wrong with that, Eucleides.

EUCLEIDES. Come on, boy, take the book and read it.

SOCRATES THEODORUS THEAETETUS

SOCRATES. If I cared more about the people [*] in Cyrene, d

Theodorus, I'd be asking you about its affairs and its people--whether any of the young men there are taking an interest in geometry or any other way of cultivating wisdom.

But as things are, I'm less fond of them than I am of the 5

Athenians, and so I'm keener to know which of our young men are thought likely to turn out well. So I keep a look-out for that myself, as far as I can, and I ask other people about it too--anyone with whom I see that the young men like to associate. Now you have quite large numbers who come to

you, and justly so, because you deserve it for several reasons, e

and in particular for your geometry. So if you've come across anyone worth talking about, I'd be glad to hear it.

THEODORUS. Yes, Socrates, there is a boy I've come

across among your compatriots: it'll be well worth my saying, 5

and your hearing, what he's like. If he'd been handsome, I'd have been afraid to speak with emphasis,* in case anyone thought I was in love with him. But as things are--you mustn't mind my saying this--he isn't handsome, but resembles you in the snubness of his nose and the prominence of his eyes; though he has those features to a less pronounced

extent than you. So I can speak fearlessly. You can be sure 144

that of all the people I've come across so far--and I've met a good many--I've never yet seen anyone with such extraordinary natural gifts. That someone should be quick to learn, to a degree that would be difficult for anyone else, more than usually good-tempered as well, and, on top of that,

courageous beyond equal, is something that I wouldn't have 5

thought could happen, and I haven't seen it happening in other cases. On the contrary, it's usual for those who are sharp and quick-witted, and have good memories, like this

____________________

* Passages marked thus are discussed in the Notes on the Text and Translation.

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boy, to combine that with being easily overbalanced into

losing their tempers; they skitter about like unballasted boats, b

and their nature is excitable rather than courageous. And, on the other hand, those who are more weighty are sluggish, somehow, at confronting their lessons, and burdened with forgetfulness. But this boy approaches his lessons and in

quiries so smoothly, sure-footedly, and successfully, and with 5

such good humour--like a stream of oil flowing along without a sound--that one is astonished at his managing them so well at his age.

SOCRATES. That's good news. And whose son is he?

THEODORUS. I've heard the name, but I don't remember

it. But he's the middle one of those boys who are coming c

towards us now. Just now he and those friends of his were rubbing themselves with oil in the track outside, but now I think they've finished doing that and they're coming here. Look and see if you know him.

SOCRATES. Yes, I do: he's the son of Euphronius of 5

Sounium, a man very much of the sort you describe this boy as being. He was well thought of in general, and what's more, he also left quite substantial property. But I don't know the boy's name.

THEODORUS. His name is Theaetetus, Socrates; but his d

substance has, I think, been squandered by some trustees. All the same, generosity with his money is another of the things he's remarkable for, Socrates.

SOCRATES. You make him sound an excellent person. Do 5

ask him to come and sit here with me.

THEODORUS. All right.

Theaetetus! Come over here to Socrates. Socrates. Yes, do, Theaetetus, so that I, too, can look and see what sort of face I've got; because Theodorus says

I've got one like yours. Still, if each of us had a lyre, and he'd e

said they were tuned alike, would we have believed him straight away, or would we have investigated whether he was speaking as an expert in music?

THEAETETUS. We'd have investigated.

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144e

SOCRATES. And if we'd found he was that sort of person, 5

we'd have been convinced, but if we'd found he was unmusical, we'd have disbelieved him?

THEAETETUS. That's true.

SOCRATES. And as things are, if we're at all interested in

this likeness of our faces, I imagine we'd better look into 145

whether he's speaking as an expert in drawing or not.

THEAETETUS. Yes, I think so.

SOCRATES. Well, then, is Theodorus an expert in portraitdrawing?

THEAETETUS. Not so far as I know.

SOCRATES. What about geometry? Isn't he an expert in 5

that either?

THEAETETUS. No, of course he is, Socrates.

SOCRATES. And also in astronomy, calculation, music, and everything connected with education?

THEAETETUS. Well, I certainly think he is.

SOCRATES. So if he says we're alike in some part of our 10

bodies, whether praising us for it in some way or criticizing us, it isn't really worth paying attention to him.

THEAETETUS. I suppose not.

SOCRATES. But what if he praised the mind of either of us b

for virtue and wisdom? Wouldn't it be worth while for one of us, when he heard that, to do his best to inspect the one who'd been praised, and for the other to do his best to show himself off?

THEAETETUS. Definitely, Socrates. 5

SOCRATES. Well then, Theaetetus, now is the time for you to show yourself off, and for me to look on; because you can be sure that, though Theodorus has praised a great many people to me, foreigners as well as Athenians, he has never yet praised anyone as he did you just now.

THEAETETUS. That would be good, Socrates; but are you 10

sure he wasn't joking?

SOCRATES. No, that isn't the way Theodorus behaves. c

Come on, don't try to wriggle out of what you've agreed on the pretext that he was joking--you don't want to have him

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actually forced to testify on oath, and certainly nobody is

going to bring a charge against him. No, don't lose heart; 5

stick to your agreement. THEAETETUS. Well, I'll have to, if that's what you think fit.

SOCRATES. Tell me, then: you learn some geometry from Theodorus?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And some astronomy, harmonics, and d

calculation?

THEAETETUS. Well, I do my best to, at any rate.

SOCRATES. Yes, so do I--from him and from anyone else 5

whom I take to have some grasp of those subjects. All the same, although I do reasonably well with them in general, there's a small point that I have difficulty with, which you and our friends here must help me to look into. Tell me: learning is becoming wiser about what one's learning, isn't it?

THEAETETUS. Of course. 10

SOCRATES. And it's by virtue of wisdom, I imagine, that wise people are wise.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Now, is that at all different from knowledge? e

THEAETETUS. Is what? SOCRATES. Wisdom. Isn't it the case that people are wise in precisely those respects in which they're knowledgeable?

THEAETETUS. Of course. 5

SOCRATES. So knowledge and wisdom are the same?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well now, the point that I have difficulty with, and can't find an adequate grasp of in myself, is just this:

what, exactly, knowledge really is. So can we put it into 146

words? What do you all say? Which of us is going to be first to speak? If he goes wrong, and if anyone goes wrong when it's his turn, he'll sit down and be donkey, as the children say in their ball game; but if anyone survives without going

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wrong, he'll be our king, and set us to answer any question he 5

likes.

Why don't any of you say anything? Theodorus, I hope my love of argument isn't making me behave rudely? I'm only doing my best to make us start a discussion, and get to be on friendly and sociable terms with one another.

THEODORUS. No, Socrates, that sort of thing isn't rude in b

the least. But you must ask one of the boys to give you your answers, because I'm not used to this kind of discussion, and I'm not the right age to get used to it either. It would be quite

suitable for these boys, and they'd make much more 5

progress; because the fact is that youth is capable of progress in anything. You must go on as you. began: don't let Theaetetus off, but put questions to him. Socrates. Well, Theaetetus, you hear what Theodorus

says. I imagine you won't want to disobey him; and it c

wouldn't be right for a wise man's instructions about this kind of thing to be disobeyed by someone younger than he is. Come on, be generous and tell me: what do you think knowledge is?

THEAETETUS. I'll have to, Socrates, since you and

Theodorus tell me to. In any case, if I go wrong at all, you'll 5

put me right.

SOCRATES. Certainly, if we can.

THEAETETUS. Very well then: it seems to me that the things one might learn from Theodorus--geometry, and the

subjects you listed just now--are kinds of knowledge; and d

also that the arts of the shoemaker and the other craftsmen, all together and each individual one of them, are knowledge and nothing else.

SOCRATES. How generous and open-handed of you! You were asked for one thing, but you're offering several, and a variety instead of something simple.

THEAETETUS. How do you mean, Socrates? 5

SOCRATES. Perhaps there's nothing in it, but I'll tell you what I think. When you mention the art of the shoemaker,

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you mean nothing but knowledge of the making of shoes, don't you?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And what about when you mention the art of e

the carpenter? You mean nothing but knowledge of the making of wooden objects, don't you?

THEAETETUS. Yes, again.

SOCRATES. In both cases, then, you put into your definition that which each of them is knowledge of?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. But that wasn't what you were asked for, Theaetetus. You weren't asked which things knowledge is of, nor how many kinds of knowledge there are. We put the question, not because we wanted to count them, but because we

wanted to know what, exactly, knowledge itself is. Or isn't 10

there anything in what I'm saying?

THEAETETUS. Yes, you're quite right.

SOCRATES. Here's another case for you to think about. 147

Suppose someone asked us about some commonplace, everyday thing, for instance, clay, what, exactly, it is. If we answered 'Potter's clay, and oven-maker's clay, and brickmaker's clay', wouldn't we be absurd?

THEAETETUS. I suppose so. 5

SOCRATES. In the first place, we'd be absurd, surely, in supposing that the questioner understands anything from our

answer, when we say 'clay'--whether we add 'doll-maker's' b

or the name of* any other craftsmen whatever. Or do you suppose anyone has any understanding of the name of something, if he doesn't know what that thing is?

THEAETETUS. Certainly not.

SOCRATES. So someone who doesn't know knowledge doesn't understand knowledge of shoes?

THEAETETUS. No. 5

SOCRATES. So if anyone is ignorant of knowledge, then he doesn't understand the art of the shoemaker, or any other art.

THEAETETUS. That's right.

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1147b

SOCRATES. So if one has been asked what knowledge is, 10

it's absurd to answer by giving the name of some art. In that

case one is answering by mentioning knowledge of something c

or other, and that isn't what one was asked for.

THEAETETUS. So it seems.

SOCRATES. In the second place, one is going an interminably long way round, when it's possible to give a short and commonplace answer. For instance, in the case of

the question about clay, the commonplace and simple thing, 5

surely, would be to say that clay is earth mixed with water, and not to bother about whose it is.

THEAETETUS. It looks easy now, Socrates, when you put

it like that. There's a point that came up in a discussion I was d

having recently with your namesake, Socrates here; it rather seems that what you're asking for is something of the same sort.

SOCRATES. What sort of point was it, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS. Theodorus here was drawing diagrams to show us something about powers--namely that a square of three square feet and one of five square feet aren't commen

surable, in respect of length of side, with a square of one 5

square foot; and so on, selecting each case individually, up to seventeen square feet. At that point he somehow got tied up. Well, since the powers seemed to be unlimited in number, it occurred to us to do something on these lines: to try to collect

the powers under one term by which we could refer to them e

all.

SOCRATES. And did you find something like that?

THEAETETUS. I think so; but you must look into it too.

SOCRATES. Tell me about it.

THEAETETUS. We divided all the numbers into two sorts. 5

If a number can be obtained by multiplying some number by itself, we compared it to what's square in shape, and called it square and equal-sided.

SOCRATES. Good.

THEAETETUS. But if a number comes in between--these

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148a

include three and five, and in fact any number which can't be 148

obtained by multiplying a number by itself, but is obtained by multiplying a larger number by a smaller or a smaller by a larger, so that the sides containing it are always longer and shorter--we compared it to an oblong shape, and called it an oblong number.

SOCRATES. Splendid. But what next? 5

THEAETETUS. We defined all the lines that square off equal-sided numbers on plane surfaces as lengths, and all the

lines that square off oblong numbers as powers, since they b

aren't commensurable with the first sort in length, but only in respect of the plane figures which they have the power to form. And there's another point like this one in the case of solids.

SOCRATES. That's absolutely excellent, boys. I don't think Theodorus is going to be up on a charge of perjury.

THEAETETUS. Still, Socrates, I wouldn't be able to 5

answer your question about knowledge in the way we managed with lengths and powers. But it seems to me to be something of that sort that you're looking for. So Theodorus does, after all, turn out to have said something false.

SOCRATES. But look here, suppose he'd praised you for c

running, and said he'd never come across a young man who was so good at it; and then you'd run a race and been beaten by the fastest starter, a man in his prime. Do you think his praise would have been any less true?

THEAETETUS. No. 5

SOCRATES. And what about knowledge? Do you think it's a small matter to seek it out, as I was saying just now--not one of those tasks which are arduous* in every way?

THEAETETUS. Good heavens, no: I think it's really one of the most arduous of tasks.

SOCRATES. Well then, don't lose heart about yourself,

and accept that there was something in what Theodorus said. d

Always do your best in every way; and as for knowledge, do

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148d

your best to get hold of an account of what, exactly, it really is.

THEAETETUS. If doing my best can make it happen, Socrates, it will come clear.

SOCRATES. Come on, then--because you've just

sketched out the way beautifully--try to imitate your answer 5

about the powers. Just as you collected them, many as they are, in one class, try, in the same way, to find one account by whih to speak of the many kinds of knowledge.

THEAETETUS. But I assure you, Socrates, I've often set e

myself to think about it, when I've heard reports of your questions. But I can't convince myself that I have anything adequate to say on my own account; and I haven't been able

to hear anyone else saying the sort of thing you're asking for. 5

On the other hand, I can't stop worrying about it either.

SOCRATES. Yes, you're suffering the pains of labour, Theaetetus; it's because you're not barren but pregnant.

THEAETETUS. I don't know, Socrates; I'm only telling you what I've experienced.

SOCRATES. Do you mean to tell me you haven't heard 149

that I'm the son of a fine strapping midwife called Phaenarete?

THEAETETUS. Yes, I'd heard that.

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

THEAETETUS. No, I certainly haven't. 5

SOCRATES. Well, you can be sure I do. But you mustn't give me away to everybody else. You see, I've kept it secret that I have this art. It's one thing people don't say about me, because they don't know it. What they do say is that I'm very

odd, and that I make people feel difficulties. Have you heard 10

that too?

THEAETETUS. Yes. b

SOCRATES. Shall I tell you the reason?

THEAETETUS. Yes, please.

SOCRATES. Well, call to mind how things are in general

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with midwives, and you'll find it easier to understand what I 5

mean. No doubt you know that none of them attends other women while she's still conceiving and bearing children herself. It's those who are past being able to give birth who do it.

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. They say it's Artemis who's responsible for

that, because, being childless herself, she's the patron of child- 10

birth. She didn't grant the gift of midwifery to barren women, c

because human nature is too weak to acquire skill in matters of which it has no experience. But she did assign it to those who are unable to bear children because of their age, in honour of their likeness to herself.

THEAETETUS. That's plausible.

SOCRATES. And isn't it both plausible and inevitable that 5

midwives should be better than everyone else at recognizing women who are pregnant and women who aren't?

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. Moreover, by giving drugs and singing d

incantations, midwives can bring on the pains of labour, and make them milder if they want to? And they can make women who are having a difficult labour give birth? And if they see fit to cause a miscarriage when the embryo is young,* they do so?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And have you also observed this 5

characteristic of theirs: they're the cleverest of match-makers, in that there are no gaps in their wisdom as regards knowing which sort of woman should consort with which sort of man in order to produce the best possible children?

THEAETETUS. No, I didn't know that at all.

SOCRATES. Well, you can be sure that they pride 10

themselves more on that than on cutting the umbilical cord. e

After all, consider the art which has to do with the care and harvesting of the fruits of the earth, and the one which has to do with knowing which sort of plant and seed should be put into which sort of earth. Do you think they're the same or different?

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THEAETATUS. The same. 5

SOCRATES. And with a woman, do you think there's one art for this latter sort of thing and another for the harvest?

THEAETATUS. No, that isn't plausible.

SOCRATES. No. But because of the wrong and unskilled 150

way of bringing a man and a woman together which has the name of procuring, midwives, concerned as they are about their dignity, avoid even match-making, since they're afraid that because of the latter activity they may fall foul of the

former charge. Whereas in fact it's surely real midwives, and 5

they alone, who are the appropriate people to make matches correctly.

THEAETATUS. Evidently.

SOCRATES. Well now, that's the extent of the part midwives play; but it's smaller than mine. Because it isn't the

habit of women to give birth sometimes to imitations and b

sometimes to genuine children, with the difference not easy to detect. If it were, the greatest and most admirable task of midwives would be to distinguish what's true and what isn't: don't you think so?

THEAETATUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. Well, my art of midwifery has, in general, the same characteristics as theirs, but it's different in that I attend men, not women, and in that I watch over minds in childbirth,

not bodies. And the greatest thing in my art is this: to be able c

to test, by every means, whether it's an imitation and a falsehood that the young man's intellect is giving birth to, or something genuine and true. Because I have, in common with midwives, the following characteristic: I'm unproductive of wisdom, and there's truth in the criticism which many people

have made of me before now, to the effect that I question 5

others but don't make any pronouncements about anything myself, because I have no wisdom in me. The reason for it is this: God compels me to be a midwife, but has prevented me

from giving birth. So I'm not at all wise myself, and there d

hasn't been any discovery of that kind born to me as the offspring of my mind. But not so with those who associate

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with me. At first some of them seem quite incapable of learning; but, as our association advances, all those to whom

God grants it make progress to an extraordinary extent--so it 5

seems not only to them but to everyone else as well. And it's clear that they do so, not because they have ever learnt anything from me, but because they have themselves discovered many admirable things in themselves, and given birth to them.

Still, for the delivery it's God, and I myself, who are e responsible. That's clear from the following point. There have been many people before now who didn't know all this, and held themselves responsible while thinking nothing of me; and, either of their own accord or because they have been persuaded by others, they have gone away sooner than they should have. And once they have gone away, they have mis

carried the rest of their offspring because of the bad company 5

they kept; and they have lost the ones which had been delivered by me, through rearing them badly, having set more store by falsehoods and imitations than by what's true. In the end they have come to seem incapable of learning, both to

themselves and to everybody else. One of them was 151

Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus, and there have been a good many others. When they come back, begging for association with me and going to extraordinary lengths to get it, the supernatural sign that comes to me stops me

associating with some of them, but with others it lets me, and 5

those ones make progress again.

There's another experience which the people who associate with me have in common with women in childbirth: they feel pain, and they're full of difficulties, night and day--far more

so than the women. And my art can bring on that pain, and b

end it.

Well then, that's how it is with them. But there are some people, Theaetatus, who somehow don't seem to me to be pregnant. Once I know that they have no need of me, I'm kind enough to arrange matches for them, and, with God's

help, I guess quite adequately whose intercourse they'd 5

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benefit from. I've given away several of them to Prodicus, and 0 several to other wise and gifted gentlemen.

Now here's why I've told you all this at such length: I suspect you're suffering pain--as indeed you think yourself--because you're pregnant with something inside you. So put yourself in my hands, bearing in mind that I'm a c midwife's son and an expert in midwifery myself, and do your best to answer whatever I ask you as well as you can. And if, when I inspect the things you say, I take one of them to be an imitation, not something true, and so ease it out and throw it

away, you mustn't be angry with me, as women in their first 5

childbirth would be about their children. There have been many people before now who have been so disposed towards me as to be ready literally to bite me, when I was taking some piece of silliness away from them. They don't realize that I do

it out of goodwill; they're a long way from knowing that no d

god bears ill will to men, and that I don't do anything of that kind out of ill will: it simply isn't right for me to acquiesce in a falsehood and obscure a truth.

So start again from the beginning, Theaetatus, and try to

say what, exactly, knowledge is. Don't ever say you can't; 5

because if God is willing, and you keep your courage up, you'll be able.

THEAETATUS. Well, Socrates, with you encouraging one like that, it would be disgraceful not to do one's best, in every

way, to say what one can. Very well, then: it seems to me that e

a person who knows something is perceiving the thing he knows. The way it looks to me at the moment is that knowledge is nothing but perception.

SOCRATES. Well done: you're right to come out with it 5

like that. But now let's look into it together, to see if it really is genuine or the result of a false pregnancy. You say knowledge is perception?

THEAETATUS. Yes.

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SOCRATES. Well, it looks as though what you've said

about knowledge is no ordinary theory, but the one that 152

Protagoras, too, used to state. But he put that same point in a different way. Because he says, you remember, that a man is the measure of all things: of those which are, that they are, and of those which are not, that they are not. You've read that, I take it?

THEAETATUS. Yes, often. 5

SOCRATES. And he means* something on these lines: everything is, for me, the way it appears to me, and is, for you, the way it appears to you; and you and I are, each of us, a man?

THEAETATUS. Yes, that's what he means.

SOCRATES. Well, it's plausible that a wise man wouldn't b

be saying something silly; so let's follow him up. It sometimes happens, doesn't it, that when the same wind is blowing one of us feels cold and the other not? Or that one feels slightly cold and the other very?

THEAETATUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. Now on those occasions, shall we say that the 5

wind itself, taken by itself, is cold or not cold? Or shall we accept it from Protagoras that it's cold for the one who feels cold, and not for the one who doesn't?

THEAETATUS. That seems plausible.

SOCRATES. Now it appears that way to each of us?

THEAETATUS. Yes. 10

SOCRATES. And this 'appears' is perceiving?

THEAETATUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So appearing and perception are the same, in c

the case of that which is hot and everything of that sort. So* it looks as though things are, for each person, the way he perceives them.

THEAETATUS. That seems plausible.

SOCRATES. So perception is always of what is, and free 5

from falsehood, as if it's knowledge.

THEAETATUS. Apparently.

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SOCRATES. Now look here, what about this? Was Protagoras a man with no gaps in his wisdom, who issued

that hint to us nondescript masses, while he told the truth to 10

his disciples in secret?

THEAETATUS. What do you mean by that, Socrates? d

SOCRATES. I'll tell you. It's certainly no ordinary theory: it's to the effect that nothing is one thing just by itself, and that you can't correctly speak of anything either as some thing or as qualified in some way. If you speak of something

as big, it will also appear small; if you speak of it as heavy, it 5

will also appear light; and similarly with everything, since nothing is one--either one thing or qualified in one way. The fact is that, as a result of movement, change, and mixture with one another, all the things which we say are--which is not the right way to speak of them--are* coming to be; because nothing ever is, but things are always coming e to be.

About this theory, we can assume the agreement of the whole succession of wise men, apart from Parmenides--not only Protagoras, but Heracleitus and Empedocles as well; and we can also assume the agreement of the best poets in

each genre-- Epicharmus in comedy and Homer in tragedy. 5

When Homer spoke of 'Oceanus, origin of gods, and mother Tethys', he meant that everything is the offspring of flux and change: or don't you think that's what he's saying?

THEAETATUS. Yes, I do. 10

SOCRATES. Well then, who could dispute against so big 153

an army, with Homer as its commander, what's more, without making a fool of himself?

THEAETATUS. It wouldn't be easy, Socrates.

SOCRATES. No, Theaetatus. Because actually the 5

following points are satisfactory indications in favour of the theory: coming to be, and what passes for being, are produced by change, while not being and ceasing to be are produced by inactivity.* For instance, the hot, or fire, which we're told actually generates and governs everything else, is itself generated by means of movement and friction; and

-17-

they're changes. Isn't it true that those are the ways in which 10

fire comes into being?

THEAETATUS. Yes. b

SOCRATES. Moreover, the class of living things is produced by means of those same processes.

THEAETATUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. Another point: the condition of the body is 5

destroyed, isn't it, by inactivity and idleness, but to a great extent preserved by exercises and change?

THEAETATUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And what about the condition of the mind?

Isn't it the case that it learns lessons, and is preserved, and 10

becomes better, by way of learning and practice, which are changes; whereas by way of inactivity--that is, the absence

of practice and learning--it not only doesn't learn anything, c

but actually forgets whatever it has learnt?

THEAETATUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. So what's good is change, in both mind and body, and what's bad is the opposite?

THEAETATUS. Apparently. 5

SOCRATES. Well, need I say more? I could go on about absence of wind, still water, and all that kind of thing--about how states of inactivity rot things and destroy them, whereas states of activity preserve them. And on top of that, I might

cap everything by producing Homer's golden chain. I could d

suggest that he means nothing but the sun; and that what he's indicating is that, as long as the heavenly cycle and the sun are in motion, everything is and is preserved, in the realms of both gods and men; whereas if that motion were tied down, so to speak, and brought to a standstill, everything would be

destroyed, and, as they say, the whole world would be turned 5

upside down.

THEAETATUS. Yes, SOCRATES. I think what he's indicating is precisely what you say.

SOCRATES. Well then, you must think like this. In the case of the eyes, first, you mustn't think of what you call

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white colour as being some distinct thing outside your eyes, 10

or in your eyes either--in fact you mustn't assign any place e

to it; because in that case it would, surely, be at its assigned place and in a state of rest, rather than coming to be.

THEAETATUS. Well, how can I think of it?

SOCRATES. Let's follow what we said just now, and lay it

down that nothing is one thing just by itself. On those lines, 5

we'll find that black, white, or any other colour will turn out to have come into being, from the collision of the eyes with

the appropriate motion. What we say a given colour is will be 154

neither the thing which collides, nor the thing it collides with, but something which has come into being between them; something peculiar to each one. Or would you be prepared to insist that every colour appears to a dog, or any other living thing, just the way it appears to you?

THEAETATUS. Certainly not. 5

SOCRATES. And what about another man? Is the way anything appears to him like the way it appears to you? Can you insist on that? Or wouldn't you much rather say that it doesn't appear the same even to yourself, because you're never in a similar condition to yourself?

THEAETATUS. Yes, I think that's nearer the truth than the first alternative.

SOCRATES. Well now, if what we measure ourselves b

against or touch had been large, white, or hot, it would never have become different by bumping into a different person, at any rate not if it didn't undergo any change itself. And on the other hand, if what does the measuring or touching had been

any of those things, then again, it wouldn't have become 5

different when another thing came up against it, or the thing which came up against it had something happen to it: not if it hadn't, itself, had anything happen to it. As things are, though, we carelessly get ourselves committed to saying things which are extraordinary and absurd: so Protagoras, and anyone who sets out to state the same doctrines as he does, would say.

-19-

THEAETATUS. How do you mean? What sort of thing?

SOCRATES. I'll give you a small example, and you'll know c

all the ones I mean. Take six dice. If you put four beside them, we say they're more than the four, in fact one and a half times as many; and if you put twelve beside them, we say they're fewer, in fact half as many. And we can't allow the

case to be differently described; or will you allow it? 5

THEAETATUS. No.

SOCRATES. Well now, suppose that Protagoras, or anyone else, asks you this: ' Theaetatus, is there any way in which something can become larger or more numerous, other than by undergoing increase?' What will you answer?

THEAETATUS. If I answer by saying what I think with a 10

view to this present question, SOCRATES, I'll say that there isn't. d

But if I answer with a view to the one before, I'll be on my guard against contradicting myself and say that there is.

SOCRATES. Splendid! Well done! Still, if you answer that there is, it looks as if it'll turn out like that tag from Euripides:

we'll find that your tongue is irrefutable, but not your heart. 5

THEAETATUS. That's true.

SOCRATES. Well now, if you and I were clever and wise men, and had searched into all the contents of our hearts, e we'd spend the rest of our time from now on, since we'd have no more pressing business, in trying each other out; in the manner of sophists, we'd engage in their sort of battle, and bash argument against argument with each other. But since, as things are, we're ordinary people, we'll want first of all to inspect our thoughts themselves, in relation to one another, to

see what, exactly, they are, and whether we find they har- 5

monize with one another or absolutely fail to do so.

THEAETATUS. Yes, that's certainly what I'd want.

SOCRATES. So would I. And since that's so, we ought, oughtn't we, to look again into the question what, exactly, these appearings in us are? We should do it in a leisurely way,

because we've got plenty of time; and we mustn't get an- 155

noyed, but must really search into ourselves.

Now when we look at the first of them, we'll say, I imagine,

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that nothing could ever become larger or smaller, either in

size or in number, as long as it was equal to itself. Isn't that 5

so?

THEAETATUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And, second, that a thing to which nothing is added and from which nothing is taken away undergoes neither increase nor diminution, but is always equal.

THEAETATUS. Definitely. 10

SOCRATES. Moreover, third, that it's impossible that a b thing should be, later on, what it was not before, without having come to be and coming to be?

THEAETATUS. That certainly seems to be so.

SOCRATES. Well now, I think these three agreed

statements conflict with one another in our minds when we 5

say what we do about the dice, or when we say this about me: while being just this size, without growing or undergoing the opposite, I can within the space of a year be both larger than a young man like you, now, and smaller, later on--not because I've lost any of my size but because you've grown. c Because that means I am, later on, what I wasn't before, though I haven't come to be it; because without coming to be it's impossible to have come to be, and since I haven't lost any of my size, I couldn't ever have been coming to be smaller.

There are thousands more cases of the same sort, if we're 5

going to accept these ones. No doubt you follow, Theaetatus; at any rate, I should think you've had some experience of this kind of thing.

THEAETATUS. I certainly have, Socrates, and it's quite extraordinary what wonder I feel at the question what, exact

ly, is true about them. Sometimes I get really dizzy looking at 10

them.

SOCRATES. Yes, Theodorus seems to have made not at all d a bad guess about your natural gifts. Because that experience, the feeling of wonder, is very characteristic of a philosopher: philosophy has no other starting-point, and the man who said

Iris was the daughter of Thaumas seems to have been doing 5

his genealogy not at all badly.

-21-

But do you understand by now why, according to the doctrines we're ascribing to Protagoras, those cases are the way they are? Or don't you understand yet?

THEAETATUS. No, I don't think I do.

SOCRATES. So you'll be grateful to me if I help you to dig

out the truth that is hidden in the thoughts of a distinguished 10

man--or rather, distinguished men?

THEAETATUS. Of course, very grateful. e

SOCRATES. Look around, then, and make sure none of the uninitiates is listening. They're the people who don't think

there is anything other than what they can grasp firmly in 5

their hands: they don't admit doings, comings to be, or anything invisible, as sharing in being.

THEAETATUS. You make them sound hard and repellent 156

people, Socrates.

SOCRATES. Yes, they're quite uncultured. But the others, whose secrets I'm going to tell you, are much more subtle. Their starting-point, on which everything we've just been

saying depends, too, is this: the universe is change and 5

nothing else. There are two kinds of change, each unlimited in number, the one having the power of acting and the other the power of being acted on. From their intercourse, and their friction against one another, there come to be offspring, un

limited in number but coming in pairs of twins, of which one b

is a perceived thing and the other a perception, which is on every occasion generated and brought to birth together with the perceived thing. Now we have names for the perceptions, of the following sort: seeings, hearings, smellings, feelings of

cold, feelings of heat; also what are called pleasures, pains, 5

desires, fears, and others. The nameless ones are unlimited in number, but those which have been given names are extremely numerous. On the other side, the appropriate class of perceived things shares a common origin with each set of

perceptions: colours of every kind with seeings of every kind, c

sounds with hearings in the same way, and the other perceived things with the other perceptions, coming into being from the same origin.

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156c

Well now, Theaetetus, what does this story mean to convey to us? What is its bearing on what came before? Do you see?

THEAETETUS. Not at all,* Socrates. 5

SOCRATES. Well, have a look at it, and see if we can get it finished off somehow. What it means to say is this. All those things are involved in change, as we were saying; but there's quickness or slowness in their changing. Now anything that is slow keeps its changing in the same place, and in relation to

the things which approach it, and that's how it generates. But d

the things which are generated are quicker;* because they move, and their changing naturally consists in motion.

When an eye, then, and something else, one of the things commensurable with it, approach one another and generate

the whiteness they do, and a perception cognate with 5

it--things which would never have come into being if either of the former pair had come up against something

different--then at that moment, when the seeing, from the e

eyes, and the whiteness, from the thing which joins in giving birth to the colour, are moving in between, the eye has come to be full of seeing; it sees at that moment, and has come to be, not by any means seeing, but an eye that sees. And the thing which joined in generating the colour has been filled all

round with whiteness; it has come to be, again, not whiteness, 5

but white--a white piece of wood, or stone, or whatever it is that happens to have that sort of colour.

We must think of the other cases, too, in the same way: we must take it that nothing is hard, hot, or anything, just by

itself--we were actually saying that some time ago--but that 157

in their intercourse with one another things come to be all things and qualified in all ways, as a result of their change. Because even in the case of those of them which act and those which are acted on, it isn't possible to arrive at a firm conception, as they say, of either of them, taken singly, as being

anything. It isn't true that something is a thing which acts 5

before it comes into contact with the thing which is acted on by it; nor that something is a thing which is acted on before it comes into contact with the thing which acts on it. And what

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157a

acts when it comes into contact with one thing can turn out a thing which is acted on when it bumps into something else.

The upshot of all this is that, as we've been saying since the

beginning, nothing is one thing just by itself, but things are b

always coming to be for someone. We should exclude 'be' from everywhere; not that we haven't been forced to use it many times, even recently, by habit and lack of knowledge. But we oughtn't to, according to what these wise people say;

nor ought we to admit 'something', 'someone's', 'my', 'this', 5

'that', or any other word that brings things to a standstill. We ought, rather, to use expressions that conform to the nature of things, and speak of them as coming to be, undergoing production, ceasing to be, and altering; because if anyone brings things to a standstill by what he says, he'll be easy to refute in doing that. And we ought to speak that way both in individual cases and about numbers of things taken together

in collections, to which people apply the name of man, stone, c

or any animal or kind of thing.

Well, Theaetetus, does that seem attractive to you? Would you like a taste of it--do you think it would satisfy you?

THEAETETUS. I don't know myself, Socrates; and I can't 5

make out the truth about you either--whether you're saying it as something you think, or just trying me out.

SOCRATES. You're forgetting that I neither know nor claim as my own anything of that kind, but, on the contrary, I'm incapable of giving birth to them. I'm practising midwifery on you, and that's why I'm singing incantations,

and offering you bits to taste from the products of each group d

of wise men, until I can help to bring what you think out to light. Once it has been brought out, that will be the time for me to look and see if it turns out to be the result of a false pregnancy or genuine. Come on, persevere and don't lose heart; answer like a good brave man, and tell me what you

think about whatever I ask about. 5

THEAETETUS. Ask away, then.

SOCRATES. Once again, then, tell me if you're satisfied

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157d

with this: nothing is good, beautiful, or any of the things we were going through just now, but things always come to be so?

THEAETETUS. Well, as far as I'm concerned, when I hear

you expounding it the way you have, it seems to me to be 10

extraordinarily reasonable; something which ought to be accepted just as you've set it out.

SOCRATES. Well then, let's not leave out what's missing e

from it. It's still deficient on the question of dreams and diseases, including madness, and all the cases in which one is said to mis-hear or mis-see or mis-perceive in some other way. Because you know, no doubt, that in all those cases the

theory we've just been expounding is by common consent 5

thought to be refuted, on the ground that we certainly do get 158

false perceptions occurring then, and, so far from its being the case that the things which appear to anyone actually are, it's quite the contrary: of the things which appear, not one of them is.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's quite true, Socrates.

SOCRATES. Then what is there still left for one to say, if 5

one lays it down that perception is knowledge, and that the things which appear to anyone actually are for the person to whom they appear?

THEAETETUS. I hesitate to tell you I've got nothing to say, Socrates, because when I said that just now you told me

off for it. Still, I really wouldn't be able to object that people b

who are mad or dreaming don't make false judgements, when one lot of them imagine they're gods, and the others imagine they've got wings, and think of themselves, in their sleep, as flying.

SOCRATES. Well, there is one dispute about them, 5

especially about sleeping and waking, which you can surely call to mind, can't you?

THEAETETUS. What sort of dispute?

SOCRATES. Something I imagine you've often heard

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158b

people asking: what evidence one would be able to point to, if

someone asked at this very moment whether we're asleep and 10

dreaming everything that we have in mind, or awake and having a waking discussion with each other. c

THEAETETUS. Yes, Socrates, it certainly is difficult to see what evidence one should use to prove it; because all the features of the two states correspond exactly, like counterparts. The discussion we've just had could equally well have

been one that we seemed, in our sleep, to be having with each 5

other; and when, in a dream, we seem to be telling dreams, the similarity between the two sets of occurrences is extraordinary.

SOCRATES. Well then, you see that it isn't hard to get a

dispute going, since there are disputes even about whether d

we're awake or asleep. What's more, the time we're asleep is equal to the time we're awake, and during each period our minds contend that what seems to be the case at the moment is certainly true; so we spend equal periods of time saying

that each of the two sets of things are things which are, with 5

similar insistence in each case.

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. And the same argument applies in the case of diseases and madness, except that the time isn't equal?

THEAETETUS. That's right. 10

SOCRATES. Well, is what's true to be determined by the length or shortness of a period of time?

THEAETETUS. No, that would be absurd in several ways. e

SOCRATES. But have you any other clear way of showing which of those judgements are true?

THEAETETUS. I don't think so.

SOCRATES. Listen, then, and I'll tell you what sort of 5

thing would be said about them by those who postulate that what seems to anyone on any occasion is true for the person who thinks so. They'd ask this question, I imagine: ' Theaetetus, suppose one thing is entirely different from another: could it have any power the same as the other thing?

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158e

We're to understand our question as being, not about

something that's the same in one respect and different in 10

another, but about something wholly different.'

THEAETETUS. Well, it's impossible that it should have 159

anything the same, in respect of power or anything else, if it's completely different.

SOCRATES. So we have to admit that such a thing is unlike, too, don't we?

THEAETETUS. Yes, I think so. 5

SOCRATES. So if it happens that something becomes like or unlike something, either itself or something else, we'll say that if it's made like, it becomes the same, and if it's made unlike, it becomes different?

THEAETETUS. Yes, we must.

SOCRATES. Now we were saying earlier that the things 10

which act are many, in fact unlimited in number, and the same with those which are acted on?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And also that if something has intercourse with each of two different other things, it will generate not the same but different things?

THEAETETUS. Certainly. b

SOCRATES. Well now, let's talk about you and me and everything else, from now on, in terms of that same theory. Take Socrates healthy and, on the other hand, Socrates ill. Shall we say the one is like or unlike the other?

THEAETETUS. You mean, is the one whole, Socrates ill, 5

like or unlike the other whole, Socrates healthy?

SOCRATES. You've got it perfectly; that's exactly what I mean.

THEAETETUS. Unlike, surely.

SOCRATES. So it's different, too, just as it's unlike? 10

THEAETETUS. Yes, it must be.

SOCRATES. And you'll say the same about Socrates c

asleep, and all the conditions we went through just now?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well now, take any one of the things whose

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159c

nature it is to act on something. Isn't it the case that when it

gets hold of Socrates healthy, it will deal with me as one thing, 5

and when it gets hold of Socrates ill, it will deal with me as another thing?

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. So the pair of us--I, who am acted on, and it, which acts--will generate different things in each case?

THEAETETUS. Of course. 10

SOCRATES. Now whenever I drink wine when I'm healthy, it appears pleasant and sweet to me?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. That's because, in accordance with what we

agreed before, the thing which acts and the thing which is d

acted on have generated a sweetness and a perception, both of which are moving simultaneously; and the perception, from the thing which is acted on, has turned the tongue into a perceiving thing, while the sweetness, from the wine, moving

round about it, has made the wine both be and appear sweet 5

to the healthy tongue.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's certainly what we agreed before.

SOCRATES. But when it gets hold of Socrates ill, then, in the first place, it hasn't, in strict truth, got hold of the same person, has it? Because it has come up against something unlike.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So that pair--Socrates qualified in that way e

and the drink of wine--have generated different products: a perception of bitterness around the tongue, and a bitterness which comes into being and moves around the wine. These products have made the wine, not bitterness, but bitter, and

me, not perception, but a perceiving thing. Is that right? 5

THEAETETUS. Absolutely.

SOCRATES. So, for my part, I'll never come to be perceiving any other thing in just that way; because there's another perception for the other thing, and it makes* the

perceiver otherwise qualified and another thing. And, for its 160

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160a

part, the thing which acts on me will never, by coming into contact with another person, generate the same product and come to be qualified in just that way; because from another person it will generate another product and come to be otherwise qualified.

THEAETETUS. That's right.

SOCRATES. Moreover, I shan't come to be qualified in 5

that way for myself, and it won't come to be qualified in that way for itself.

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. On the contrary, whenever I come to be perceiving, I necessarily come to be perceiving something; because it's impossible to come to be perceiving, but not

perceiving anything. And whenever it comes to be sweet, b

bitter, or anything of that kind, it necessarily comes to be so for someone; because it's impossible to come to be sweet, but not sweet for anyone.

THEAETETUS. That's quite so.

SOCRATES. Then what we're left with, I think, is that it's 5

for each other that we are, if we are, or come to be, if we come to be, since necessity ties our being together, but doesn't tie it to anything else, or indeed to ourselves. So what we're left with is that we're tied to each other. It follows that, whether one uses 'be' or 'come to be' of something, one should speak of it as being, or coming to be, for someone or

of something or in relation to something. As for speaking of a 10

thing as being or coming to be anything just by itself, one

shouldn't do that oneself, and one shouldn't accept it from c

anyone else either. That's what's indicated by the argument we've been setting out.

THEAETETUS. That's quite so, Socrates.

SOCRATES. Now since what acts on me is for me and not

someone else, it's also the case that I, and not someone else, 5

perceive it?

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. So my perception is true for me--because it's always of the being that's mine--and, as Protagoras said, it's

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160c

for me to decide, of the things which are for me, that they are, and of the things which are not, that they are not.

THEAETETUS: Apparently. 10

SOCRATES. Well then, if I'm free from falsehood, and d

don't trip up in my thinking about the things which are, or come to be, how could I fail to have knowledge of the things I'm a perceiver of?

THEAETETUS. You couldn't.

SOCRATES. So you were quite right to say that knowledge 5

is nothing but perception. The three theories have turned out to coincide: that all things change, like streams, as Homer and Heracleitus and all that lot say; that a man is the measure

of all things, as Protagoras, the wisest of men, says; and that, e

since that's so, knowledge proves to be perception, as Theaetetus says. Is that right, Theaetetus? Shall we say that's your new-born child, so to speak, and the product of my midwifery? What do you say?

THEAETETUS. I'm obliged to agree, Socrates.

SOCRATES. So this is what we've produced at long last, 5

whatever exactly it turns out to be. And now that the birth is over, we must hold its inspection ceremony, literally circling all round it in our argument, and looking to see that if what we've produced isn't worth bringing up, but a falsehood, the

result of a false pregnancy, the fact doesn't escape us. Or do 161

you think you ought, whatever happens, to bring up your offspring and not do away with it? Will you be able to bear seeing it refuted, and not be very angry if someone takes it away from you, when this was your first childbirth?

THEODORUS. Theaetetus will bear it, Socrates; because 5

he isn't at all ill-tempered. But do please tell us, where does it go wrong?

SOCRATES. How fond of arguments you are, Theodorus! It's splendid in you, the way you think I'm a sort of bag of b arguments, and will easily pick one out and say how that theory goes wrong. You aren't bearing in mind what's happening. None of the arguments ever comes from me; they

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always come from the person who is having the discussion with me. I know no more than he does, apart from a tiny bit, enough to be able to get an argument from someone else,

who's wise, and to accept it in proportion to its merits. That's 5

what I'm going to do now: I'm going to try to get an argument from Theaetetus, not to say anything myself.

THEODORUS. You put it better than I did, Socrates. Do that.

SOCRATES. Well, Theodorus, do you know what I find surprising in your friend Protagoras?

THEODORUS. What? c

SOCRATES. I was quite pleased with most of what he said, about how what seems to anyone actually is; but I found the beginning of his treatise surprising--the fact that he didn't

begin his Truth by saying that the measure of all things is a 5

pig, or a baboon, or some other creature that has perception, still more out of the way than those. That would have been to begin what he said to us with something haughty and utterly contemptuous, proving that while we admired him like a god

for his wisdom, he was actually no better in point of in- d

telligence than a tadpole, let alone another human being.

What else can we say, Theodorus? We're asked to suppose that whatever anyone judges by means of perception is true for him; that no one is better at discriminating someone else's

experience than he is, or more authoritative in investigating 5

whether someone else's judgement is correct or false; that, on the contrary, as we've said several times, each person is himself the only one who can judge the things he does judge, and they're all correct and true. But if all that's to be so, then how on earth can it be the case that Protagoras is wise, so

that he can justly think himself fit to be a teacher of others at e

high fees, whereas we're more ignorant, and have to go to his lessons, though each of us is himself the measure of his own wisdom? How can we avoid concluding that Protagoras is playing to the crowd when he says that? I say nothing about

my own case, and how much ridicule I'm bound to incur for 5

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my art of midwifery; and I suppose the same goes for the whole business of dialectic. It must be (mustn't it?) a long and protracted bit of foolery to set about inspecting and testing one another's appearings and judgements, if everyone's are

correct; as they are, if Protagoras' Truth is true, and it wasn't 162

as a joke that it issued its oracular sayings from the book's inner sanctum.

THEODORUS. Protagoras was a friend of mine, Socrates,

as you said just now. So I wouldn't want him to be refuted by 5

way of my making admissions. On the other hand, I wouldn't want to oppose you against my judgement. So get hold of Theaetetus again. He certainly seemed to be following you very well just now.

SOCRATES. And if you went to the wrestling-rings in b

Sparta, Theodorus, would you think it proper to watch other people who were stripped, some of them with rather inferior physiques, and not take your own clothes off and show your figure?

THEODORUS. Why do you think not, if they'd give in to

me and accept my persuasion? Just so, I think I'm going to 5

persuade you now to let me watch, and not drag me into the ring. now that I'm stiff, but have a bout with the partner who's younger and more supple.

SOCRATES. Well, if that's what you'd like, Theodorus,

you wishes are my own, as they say. So I must go back to the c

wise Theaetetus.

First of all, then, Theaetetus, tell me about the point we've just set out. Aren't you surprised if you're going to turn out, all of a sudden, to be no worse in point of wisdom than

anyone whatever, man or even god? Or do you think the 5

Protagorean measure isn't meant to be applied to gods as much as to men?

THEAETETUS. No, I don't. And, to answer your question, yes, I'm very surprised. When we were going over the way d they'd argue that what seems to anyone actually is for the

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person who thinks so, it looked to me like a very good theory; but now it has suddenly been overturned, and it looks quite the reverse.

SOCRATES. Yes, that's because you're young; so you listen carefully to debating-points and let them convince you. Protagoras, or someone else on his behalf, will reply to those arguments like this:

'Gentlemen, young and old, you're sitting about together 5

making debating-points. You trot out the gods, whom I e

exclude from my speaking and writing, not discussing whether there are any or not; and you say things that the masses would accept if they heard them, for instance that it's strange if no man is to be any better in point of wisdom than any farmyard animal whatever. But there's absolutely no

proof or necessity in what you say; on the contrary, you're 5

relying on plausibility. If Theodorus, or any other geometrician, were prepared to rely on plausibility when he was doing geometry, he'd be worth absolutely nothing.'

So you and Theodorus must consider whether, about matters as important as these, you're going to accept arguments depending on persuasiveness and plausibility.

THEAETETUS. You wouldn't say it was fair to do so, 163

SOCRATES, and neither would we.

SOCRATES. So we must find a different way to carry on

our investigation; that's what you and Theodorus say. 5

THEAETETUS. Yes, a quite different way.

SOCRATES. Well, here's a way for us to consider whether knowledge and perception are the same or different. After all, that's surely what our whole argument has been aimed at, and it was for the sake of that question that we got this great

number of strange doctrines going. Isn't that so? 10

THEAETETUS. Absolutely.

SOCRATES. Well now, take the things we perceive by b

seeing or hearing them; shall we agree that, at the same time, we also know them all? For instance, before we've learnt the language of foreigners, shall we say that when they speak, we

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don't hear; or that we do both hear and know what they're 5

saying? And again, if we don't know letters, shall we insist that when we look at them, we don't see them; or that, since we do see them, we do know them?

THEAETETUS. We'll say, SOCRATES, that we know precisely that in them which we see and hear. We both see

and know the shape and colour of the one lot, and we both 10

hear and, at the same time, know the high or low pitch of the c

others. But we don't perceive by seeing or hearing, and we don't know either, what writing instructors and linguists teach about them.

SOCRATES. Excellent, Theaetetus. It will be worth while

not to dispute that answer of yours, so that you can go on 5

developing.

But look, here's another objection coming up. See how we can fend it off.

THEAETETUS. What sort of objection?

SOCRATES. It goes like this. Suppose someone asked: d

'If someone has come to have knowledge of something at some time, and he still has, and preserves, a memory of that very thing, is it possible that, at the very time when he remembers it, he might fail to know the very thing which he remembers?' I seem to be taking a long time to say it; what I mean to ask is

whether someone who has come to know something and remembers it might not know it. 5

THEAETETUS. How could he, SOCRATES? What you're describing would be monstrous.

SOCRATES. So perhaps I'm talking nonsense? But look here: you say that seeing is perceiving and sight is perception, don't you?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So someone who has seen something has e

come to have knowledge of the thing he has seen, according to the theory we stated just now?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

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SOCRATES. What about this: you say there's such a thing as memory, don't you?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. Of nothing, or of something?

THEAETETUS. Of something, naturally.

SOCRATES. Of things one has come to know and things one has perceived--that sort of thing?

THEAETETUS. Of course.

SOCRATES. Then one sometimes remembers something 10

one has seen?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Even when one has shut one's eyes? Or does one forget when one does that?

THEAETETUS. It would be strange to say that, SOCRATES.

SOCRATES. Yes, but we have to, if we're going to save 164

what we said before; otherwise it goes by the board.

THEAETETUS. I must say I'm suspicious, too, but I don't understand properly. Tell me how.

SOCRATES. Like this. We say that someone who sees has 5

come to have knowledge of the thing he sees; because we agreed that sight, or perception, and knowledge are the same thing.

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. And if someone sees something and has come

to have knowledge of the thing he has seen, and then he shuts 10

his eyes, he remembers it but doesn't see it. Isn't that so?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And this 'doesn't see' is 'doesn't know', since b

'sees' is 'knows'.

THEAETETUS. That's true.

SOCRATES. So it turns out that one can fail to know something of which one has come to have knowledge, while

one still remembers it--because one doesn't see it. And that's 5

what we said would be monstrous if it happened.

THEAETETUS. That's quite true.

SOCRATES. So it looks as if one gets an impossible result if one says knowledge and perception are the same.

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164b

THEAETETUS. Apparently. 10

SOCRATES. So we must say knowledge is one thing and perception another.

THEAETETUS. It looks as if we must.

SOCRATES. Then what can knowledge be? It seems that c

we'll have to start all over again from the beginning.

Oh, but what on earth are we thinking of doing, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS. About what?

SOCRATES. It looks to me as if, like an ill-bred fighting

cock, we've jumped off the theory and started crowing before 5

we've beaten it.

THEAETETUS. How do you mean?

SOCRATES. It seems we're satisfied to have reached agreement in a logic-chopping way, with a view to verbal consistency, and to have got the better of the theory by that sort of method. We profess to be, not controversialists, but

philosophers; but we haven't noticed that we're doing the d

same as those clever gentlemen.

THEAETETUS. I still don't understand what you mean.

SOCRATES. Well, I'll try to make clear what I have in

mind about it. We asked whether someone who has come to 5

know something, and remembers it, can fail to know it. By showing that someone who has seen something and shut his eyes remembers it but doesn't see it, we showed that he doesn't know it, even though he does, at the same time, remember it; and that, we said, is impossible. That's how the Protagorean story came to grief, and yours, too, at the same

time--the one about knowledge and perception being the 10

same.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that seems to be so. e

SOCRATES. But I don't think that would have happened if the first story's father had been alive; he'd have done a great deal to defend it. As things are, it's an orphan, and we're

trampling it into the mud. Not even the trustees Protagoras 5

left--Theodorus here is one of them--are prepared to come

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to its support. It looks as if you and I will have to come to its support ourselves, to see that justice is done.

THEODORUS. Yes, SOCRATES, because it's not I but rather

Callias, the son of Hipponicus, who's the trustee in charge of 165

Protagoras' things. I turned away a bit too soon from bare argument to geometry. Still, I'll be grateful to you if you do come to his support.

SOCRATES. Good, THEAETETUS. Well, have a look at the

support I offer. The point is, one would have to make even 5

stranger admissions than the ones we've just had, if one didn't pay attention to expressions: as we usually don't, in our assertions and denials. Shall I explain how that's so to you or to Theaetetus?

THEODORUS. To all of us; but it had better be the

younger one who gives the answers, because it won't be so b

unseemly if he trips up.

SOCRATES. Well then, let me state the most formidable question of all. It's something like this, I think: 'Is it possible that the same person should both know something and not know the thing he knows?'

THEODORUS. What are we going to answer, Theaetetus? 5

THEAETETUS. I think it's impossible.

SOCRATES. Not if you're going to lay it down that seeing is knowing. Because suppose you're caught in a trap, as they say, and a man who can't be deflected asks you a question you can't escape; he covers one of your eyes with his hand,

and asks if you see his coat with the one that's covered. How c

will you deal with the question?

THEAETETUS. I think I'll say: not with that one, but with the other one.

SOCRATES. So you both see and don't see the same thing at the same time?

THEAETETUS. Yes, in the sort of way I said, anyway. 5

SOCRATES. 'But that's not at all the question I'm setting you,' he'll say. 'What I asked wasn't in what way you can fail to know something which you also know, but whether it can happen at all. In this present case, it's clear that you see

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165c

something which you don't see. And you have in fact agreed

that seeing is knowing and not seeing is not knowing. So work 10

out what your conclusion is from those premisses.'

THEAETETUS. By my reckoning, the opposite of what I put forward. d

SOCRATES. Yes, and you might well have had more of the same sort of thing happen to you. Someone might have gone on to ask you if it's possible to know clearly and possible to know dimly; or if it's possible to know from near by and not

from far away; or if it's possible to know the same thing in- 5

tensely and mildly; or thousands of other questions which a mercenary soldier in arguments--an expert at cut and thrust--might lie in ambush to put to you, once you've laid it down that knowledge and perception are the same thing. He'd launch an attack on hearing and smelling and other percep

tions of that kind, and he'd keep on refuting you, without let- e

ting go, until you were full of admiration for his enviable wisdom and he'd got you all tangled up. Then he'd take you prisoner and tie you up, and from then on hold you for ransom, at whatever price you and he agreed.

Well now, no doubt you'd like to ask what argument

Protagoras will state: what reinforcements he'll bring up for 5

his troops. Shall we try to say?

THEAETETUS. Yes, do let's.

SOCRATES. Well, he'll say all these things we've been

saying in his defence; and he'll also come to close quarters, I 166

think, showing contempt for us and saying:

'Good old SOCRATES! He frightened a child by asking him if it's possible that the same person should, at the same time, remember and not know the same thing; and when the child,

in his fright, said it wasn't, because of not being able to see 5

ahead, SOCRATES purported to have shown that the laugh in the argument was on me. You're very idle, SOCRATES! The fact of the matter is this: when it's something of mine that you're investigating by putting questions, I'm refuted if the person who had the question put to him trips up because of giving the sort

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166b

of answer I'd give; if he has given a different sort of answer, b

he's the one who is refuted--the person who had the question put to him. Because--to begin with--do you think anyone is going to concede to you that when one is no longer experiencing something, one can have present in one a memory of that thing which is itself an experience of the same sort as the original one? Far from it. Or again, do you think anyone is

going to hesitate to admit that it's possible for the same person 5

both to know and not to know the same thing? Or, supposing someone is afraid to say that, do you think anyone is ever going to grant that a person who is altering is the same person as he was before the altering began? Or rather, that one is a person at all, and not people, coming into being in unlimited numbers,

too, as long as alteration goes on? Not if we're going to have to c

be on our guard against one another's attempts to chase after words.

'Come on,' he'll say, 'behave a bit more like a gentleman. Attack what I actually say, and refute it, if you can, by showing that perceptions don't come into being peculiar to

each of us, or that, even if they do, it doesn't follow that what 5

appears comes to be, or, if we must use the word, is, only for the person to whom it appears. When you talk about pigs and baboons, you're not only acting like a pig yourself but also

persuading your hearers to treat my writings in that way; and d

that's a dishonourable thing to do.

'Because I do say that the truth is as I've written: each of us is the measure of the things which are and the things which are not. Nevertheless, there's an immense difference between one man and another in just this respect: the things which are and appear to one man are different from those which are and

appear to another. As for wisdom or a wise man, I'm 5

nowhere near saying there's no such thing; on the contrary, I do apply the word "wise", to precisely this sort of person: anyone who can effect a change in one of us, to whom bad things appear and are, and make good things both appear and be for him. Here again, don't chase after what I've said on the

basis of how it's expressed; but let me tell you still more clear- e

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ly what I mean. Remember the sort of thing you were saying before: to a sick man what he eats appears, and is, bitter, whereas to a healthy man it is, and appears, the opposite. Now what must be done isn't to make either of them wiser,

because that isn't even possible; nor is it to accuse the sick 167

one of being ignorant because he makes the sort of judgements he does, and call the healthy one wise because he makes judgements of a different sort. What must be done is to effect a change in one direction; because one of the two conditions is

better. In education, too, in the same way, a change must be 5

effected from one of two conditions to the better one; but whereas a doctor makes the change with drugs, a sophist does it with things he says.

'It's not that anyone ever makes someone whose judgements are false come, later on, to judge what's true: after all, it isn't possible to have in one's judgements the things which are not, or anything other than what one's

experiencing, which is always true. What does happen, I b

think, is this: when, because of a harmful condition* in his mind, someone has in his judgements things which are akin to that condition, then by means of a beneficial condition* one makes him have in his judgements things of that same sort--appearances which some people, because of ignorance, call true; but I call them better than the first sort, but not at all truer.

'And as for the wise, SOCRATES, I'm nowhere near calling 5

them frogs. On the contrary, where bodies are concerned, I say it's doctors who are the wise, and where plants are con

cerned, gardeners--because I claim that they, too, whenever c

any of their plants are sick, instil perceptions that are beneficial and healthy, and true too,* into them, instead of harmful ones. My claim is, too, that wise and good politicians make beneficial things, instead of harmful ones, seem to their states to be just. If any sort of thing seems just and admirable

to any state, then it actually is just and admirable for it, as 5

long as that state accepts it; but a wise man makes beneficial things be and seem just and admirable to them, instead of any

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harmful things which used to be so for them. And according to the same principle the sophist is wise, too, in that he can

educate his pupils in that way; and he deserves a lot of money d

from those he has educated.

'Thus it's true, both that some people are wiser than others, and that no one judges what's false; and you have to put up with being a measure whether you like it or not, because that doctrine of mine is saved on these grounds.

'If you can go back to the beginning and dispute it, do so. 5

Set out your objections in a speech; or, if you like, do it by asking questions, because there's no need to avoid that method either: in fact, if one has any intelligence, one ought

to pursue it more than any other. But whatever you do, don't e

be unjust in your questioning. It's quite unreasonable that someone who professes to be concerned about virtue should spend his time doing nothing but behaving unjustly in arguments. Behaving unjustly, in this sort of pursuit, is what one is doing when one fails to keep separate the time one

spends in controversy and the time one spends in dialectic. In 5

controversy one may joke, and trip people up as much as one can; but in dialectic one should be serious, and help up the

person one is talking to, showing up to him only those of his 168

mistakes where his tripping up was his own fault or due to the company he used to keep. If you behave like that, the people who spend their time with you will blame themselves, not you, for their confusion and difficulties; they'll run after you and like you, but they'll hate themselves and seek refuge from 5 themselves in philosophy, so as to become different people and get rid of those they used to be. But if you do the opposite, like most people, you'll find the opposite will happen, and instead of making philosophers of those who associate

with you, you'll make them turn out to hate the whole b

business of philosophy when they get older.

'So if you'll listen to me, then, as was said earlier, you'll sit down with me, not in a spirit of ill will or contentiousness, but with a friendly attitude, and genuinely look into what we

mean when we declare that everything changes, and that what 15

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168b

seems to any private person or state actually is for that person or state. And you'll go on from there to investigate whether knowledge and perception are the same or different;

but not as you did just now, arguing from the habitual use of c

expressions and words, which most people exploit by dragging them around just anyhow, so as to cause one another all sorts of difficulties.'

Well, Theodorus, that's the beginnings of an attempt to support your friend. It's the best I can do--a feeble effort

from my feeble resources. If he'd been alive himself, he'd have 5

supported his own doctrines on a much grander scale.

THEODORUS. You're joking, SOCRATES. You've supported him very powerfully.

SOCRATES. It's good of you to say so.

Now tell me: I take it you noticed how, when Protagoras

was speaking just now, he told us off for addressing our d

arguments to a child, and arguing like controversialists against what he said, on the basis of the boy's fear? He labelled that a sort of frivolity: and he spoke solemnly about his measure of all things, and told us to be serious about his theory.

THEODORUS. Yes, of course I noticed, SOCRATES. 5

SOCRATES. And you say we must do as he tells us?

THEODORUS. Definitely.

SOCRATES. Well, you see that all the people here are children, apart from you. So if we're to do as Protagoras tells

us, it's you and I who must give his theory serious treatment e

by questioning and answering each other about it. That way, at least he won't have this charge to bring against us: that we examined his theory by way of a childish diversion with some boys.

THEODORUS. But look here, wouldn't Theaetetus be 5

better at following an inquiry into a theory than a good many men with long beards?

SOCRATES. But no better than you, THEAETETUS. So stop

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thinking I'm under every obligation to defend your dead

friend, whereas you're not under any. Come on: come with 169

me a little way: just until we know whether it's you who ought to be the measure about diagrams, or whether everyone is as self-sufficient as you are in astronomy and the other subjects

you have a reputation for excelling in. 5

THEODORUS. It isn't easy to avoid saying something when one's sitting with you, Socrates. I was talking nonsense just now, when I claimed that you'd let me keep my clothes on and not make me take them off, like the Spartans. You

seem to me to incline more in the direction of Sciron. The b

Spartans tell one either to take one's clothes off or to go away, but you seem to me to act a part more like that of Antaeus: you don't let go of anyone who comes up to you until you've forced him to take his clothes off and wrestle with you in an argument.

SOCRATES. You've found an excellent comparison for 5

what's wrong with me, Theodorus. But I've got more endurance than Sciron or Antaeus. Countless times already a Heracles or a Theseus, dauntless in arguing, has met me and given me a good thrashing, but that doesn't make me give up:

such a terrible passion for exercise about these matters has in- c

fected me. So you, too, mustn't grudge me the chance of benefiting both of us, if you have a bout with me.

THEODORUS. I won't protest any longer: lead on,

wherever you like. Whatever happens, one has to endure the 5

thread of destiny which, about these matters, you spin for one, and submit to being tested. But I shan't be able to put myself at your disposal any further than the point which you proposed.

SOCRATES. Well, even that far will do. And please watch out that we don't produce some childishly frivolous form of

argument without noticing it, and have someone telling us off d

for that again.

THEODORUS. I'll try as hard as I can.

SOCRATES. Very well then, let's take up the argument at

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169d

the same point as before. Let's see if we were right or wrong

to be dissatisfied, when we criticized the theory on the ground 5

that it made everyone self-sufficient in point of wisdom. We had Protagoras concede that some people are superior to others on the question of what's better or worse, and that it's those people who are wise. Isn't that so?*

THEODORUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Now if he'd been here and made the 10

admission himself, instead of our conceding it on his behalf in e

the course of supporting him, there wouldn't have been any need to take it up again and put it on a firm footing. But as things are, someone might perhaps rule that we haven't the authority to make admissions on his behalf. So it would be better to come to a clearer agreement about precisely that

point; because it makes a great deal of difference whether it's 5

so or not.

THEODORUS. That's true.

SOCRATES. Well then, let's get that agreement in the quickest possible way, not through others but from Protagoras' own words.

THEODORUS. How? 170

SOCRATES. Like this. He says, doesn't he, that what seems to anyone actually is for the person to whom it seems?

THEODORUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. Well now, Protagoras, we, too, are talking about the judgements of a man, or rather of all men, when we say that there isn't anyone who doesn't believe that he's wiser than others in some respects, whereas others are wiser than

him in other respects. In the greatest of dangers, when people 10

are in trouble on campaigns, or in diseases, or at sea, they treat the leading men in each sphere like gods, expecting them

to be their saviours, because they're superior precisely in b

respect of knowledge. The whole of human life is surely full of people looking for teachers and leaders for themselves and other living things, and for what they do; and on the other hand, of people who think themselves capable of teaching and

capable of leading. Now what can we say, in all these cases, 5

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170b

except that men themselves believe that there is wisdom and ignorance in them?

THEODORUS. Nothing else.

SOCRATES. And they believe that wisdom is true thinking and that ignorance is false judgement?

THEODORUS. Of course. c

SOCRATES. Well then, how are we to deal with your theory, Protagoras? Should we say that people always judge things which are true? Or that they sometimes judge things which are true and sometimes things which are false? Because from both alternatives it follows, I think, that they don't

always judge things which are true, but judge both truths and 5

falsehoods. Ask yourself, Theodorus, whether you, or any of Protagoras' followers, would be willing to contend that no one person ever believes of another that he's stupid and makes false judgements.

THEODORUS. No, that's incredible, Socrates.

SOCRATES. Still, that's what the theory that a man is the d

measure of all things is inevitably driven to.

THEODORUS. How?

SOCRATES. When you've decided something by yourself,

and express a judgement about it to me, let's grant that, as 5

Protagoras' theory has it, that's true for you. But what about the rest of us? Is it impossible for us to get to make decisions about your decision? Or do we always decide that your judgements are true? Isn't it rather the case that on every occasion there are countless people who make judgements opposed to yours and contend against you, in the belief that what you decide and think is false?

THEODORUS. Good heavens, yes, Socrates, countless e

thousands, as Homer puts it; they give me all the trouble in the world.

SOCRATES. Well now, do you want us to say that what

you judge on those occasions is true for you but false for 5

those countless people?

THEODORUS. It looks as if we must, at any rate as far as the theory is concerned.

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170e

SOCRATES. And what about Protagoras himself? Isn't it necessarily the case that, if he didn't himself think a man is the measure, and if the masses don't either, as in fact they don't, then that Truth which he wrote wasn't the truth for

anyone? Whereas if he did think so himself, but the masses 171

don't share his view, then, in the first place, it's more the case that it isn't the truth than that it is: more in the proportion by which those to whom it doesn't seem to be outnumber those to whom it does.

THEODORUS. Yes, that must be so, if it's to depend on

each individual judgement whether it is or isn't. 5

SOCRATES. And, secondly, it involves this very subtle implication. PROTAGORAS agrees that everyone has in his judgements the things which are. In doing that, he's surely conceding that the opinion of those who make opposing judgements about his own opinion--that is, their opinion that what he thinks is false--is true.

THEODORUS. Certainly. 10

SOCRATES. So if he admits that their opinion is b

true--that is, the opinion of those who believe that what he thinks is false--he would seem to be conceding that his own opinion is false?

THEODORUS. He must be.

SOCRATES. But the others don't concede that what they think is false?*

THEODORUS. No. 5

SOCRATES. And Protagoras, again, admits that that judgement of theirs is true, too, according to what he has written.

THEODORUS. Evidently.

SOCRATES. So his theory will be disputed by everyone,

beginning with Protagoras himself; or rather, Protagoras 10

himself will agree that it's wrong. When he concedes that

someone who contradicts him is making a true judgement, he c

will himself be conceding that a dog, or an ordinary man, isn't the measure of so much as one thing that he hasn't come to know. Isn't that so?

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171c

THEODORUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well then, since it's disputed by everyone, it 5

would seem that Protagoras' Truth isn't true for anyone: not for anyone else, and not for Protagoras himself.

THEODORUS. We're running my friend too hard, Socrates.

SOCRATES. But it isn't clear that we're running past

where we ought. Of course he's older than we are, so it's like- 10

ly that he's wiser. If he suddenly popped up out of the ground d

here, from the neck up, he'd very probably convict me of talking a great deal of nonsense, and you of agreeing to it, and then he'd duck down again and rush off. But we have to make

do with ourselves as we are, I think, and always say what 5

seems to us to be the case. Let's do that now. Shouldn't we say that anyone whatever will admit at least this: some people are wiser than others, some more ignorant?

THEODORUS. Yes, I think we should.

SOCRATES. And also that the theory stands up best in the

version in which we sketched it while we were supporting e

Protagoras? It goes like this. Most things actually are, for each person, the way they seem to him, for instance hot, dry, sweet, or anything of that sort. But if there are any questions on which it will concede that one person is superior to

another, it will be about what's healthy and unhealthy. It 5

would be prepared to say that not every creature--woman, child, or indeed animal--knows what's healthy for itself and is capable of curing itself. On the contrary, here, if anywhere, one person is superior to another. Is that right?

THEODORUS. Yes, I think so.

SOCRATES. And about matters that concern the state, 172

too--things which are admirable or dishonourable, just or unjust, in conformity with religion or not--it will hold that whatever sort of thing any state thinks to be, and lays down as, lawful for itself actually is, in strict truth, lawful for it, and

that on those questions no individual is at all wiser than any 5

other, and no state is at all wiser than any other. But again,

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172a

when it's a matter of a state's laying down what's advantageous or disadvantageous for it, it will admit that here, if anywhere, one adviser is superior to another, and the judgement of one state is superior in point of truth to the different

judgement of another. It wouldn't have the face to say that b

whatever a state thinks to be, and lays down as, advantageous to itself will, whatever happens, actually be advantageous to it. But in that other sphere I was speaking of--in the case of what's just or unjust, in conformity with religion or not--they're prepared to insist that none of them has by nature

a being of its own; on the contrary, what seems to a community 5

is in fact true at the time when it seems so and for as long as it seems so. At any rate those who don't altogether assert Protagoras' theory carry on their philosophy on some such lines as these.

But we're being overtaken by a new argument, Theodorus, a bigger one than the last.

THEODORUS. Well, we've got plenty of time, haven't we, c

Socrates?

SOCRATES. Yes, we seem to have.

It strikes me now--I've often thought of it before,

too--how natural it is that people who have spent a lot of 5

time in philosophical pursuits should look ridiculous when they go into the lawcourts to make speeches.

THEODORUS. How do you mean?

SOCRATES. If you compare people who have been knocking about in lawcourts and such places since they were young with people who have been brought up in philosophy

and other such pursuits, it's as if you were comparing the up- d

bringing of slaves with that of free men.

THEODORUS. In what way?

SOCRATES. In that the philosophers always have what

you mentioned, plenty of time; they carry on their discussions 5

in peace and with time to spare. For instance, look at us now, taking up one argument after another: we're already on our third. That's what they'll do, too, if the next argument to

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172d

come up attracts them more than the one in front of them, which is what happened to us. It doesn't matter at all whether they talk for a long time or a short one, provided only that they hit on that which is.

The others, on the contrary, are always short of time when e

they speak, because they're hurried on by the clock; and they aren't allowed to make speeches about anything they please, but the opposing counsel stands over them, equipped with compulsion in the shape of a document specifying the points outside which they may not speak, which gets read out while

they're speaking. Their speeches are always about a fellow 5

slave, and addressed to a master, who sits there with some suit or other in his hand. And their contests are never for some indifferent prize, but always for one that concerns

themselves; often they're running a race for life itself. Because 173

of all that, they become tense and sharp, knowing how to flatter their master with words and fawn on him with deeds, but small and crooked in their minds. The reason is that they have been deprived of growth, straightness, and freedom, by

the slavery they have suffered since they were young. It forces 5

them to do crooked things, and imposes great dangers and fears on their minds while they're still soft; and because they're unable to withstand them with the help of justice and truthfulness, they turn at once to falsehood, and to retaliating

against injustice with injustice, and they get twisted and b

stunted in many ways. The result is that they finally come from youth to manhood with nothing healthy in their intellects; though what they think is that they have become clever and wise.

So that's what those people are like, Theodorus. But what

about the members of our own chorus? Would you like us to 5

describe them, or shall we leave them and go back to our argument? We don't want to go too far in exploiting that freedom to take up one argument after another which we were talking about just now.

THEODORUS. No, Socrates, let's describe them first. You

were quite right when you said that in this sort of discussion it c

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173c

isn't a matter of our dancing attendance on the arguments; on the contrary, the arguments are, so to speak, slaves to us, and each of them has to wait about, to get finished off when it suits us. We don't have a judge, or, like dramatists, a spec

tator, presiding over us to issue criticisms and commands. 5

SOCRATES. Well then, let's talk about them, since that's what you think fit. And let's talk about the leaders of the chorus, because there's no reason to talk about those who practise philosophy in a commonplace way. Now since their

youth, to begin with, they haven't known the way to the d

market place, or where to find a lawcourt or council chamber or any other public meeting-place of the state. They don't hear laws or decrees being pronounced, or see them written down. As for cliques, exerting themselves to win office,

gatherings, dinners, banquets complete with flute-girls--even 5

in dreams it doesn't occur to them to take part. Such a person is quite oblivious of whether someone in the state is well or ill born, or whether he has had some evil handed down to him from his ancestors, male or female--more oblivious than he

is of the proverbial number of drops in the sea. And with all e

those things, he doesn't even know that he doesn't know them. Because it isn't for the sake of a good reputation that he keeps away from them. On the contrary, the fact is that it's only his body that's in the state, here on a visit, whereas his intellect has come to regard all those things as of little or no

account, and to despise them; it flies about everywhere, as 5

Pindar says, 'in the depths of the earth' and on the surfaces when it does geometry, and 'above the heavens' when it does

astronomy, searching in every way into the total nature of 174

each of the things which are, taken as a whole, but never settling on any of the things near it.

THEODORUS. How do you mean that, Socrates?

SOCRATES. In the sense of the story they tell about Thales, THEODORUS. The story is that he was doing astronomy

and looking upwards, when he fell into a pit; and a Thracian 5

servant, a girl of some wit and humour, made fun of him, because, as she said, he was eager to know the contents of

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heaven, but didn't notice what was in front of him, under his

feet. That same gibe will do for everyone who spends his life b

in philosophy. Because such a person really does fail to notice his next-door neighbour: he's oblivious not only of what he's doing, but almost of whether he's a man or some other creature. But as for the question what, exactly, a man is, and

what it's distinctively characteristic of such a nature to do or 5

undergo, that's something he does ask and take pains to inquire into. You do understand, don't you, Theodorus?

THEODORUS. Yes, and you're quite right.

SOCRATES. Hence what happens when a man of that sort

comes into contact with anyone else, either privately or in c

public. As I was saying when I began, whenever he's forced to engage in a discussion about what's at his feet and before his eyes, in a lawcourt or anywhere else, he raises a laugh, not just among Thracian girls but among the rabble in general,

because his inexperience makes him fall into pits and into 5

every possible difficulty. His gracelessness is terrible, giving him a reputation for stupidity. When it's a matter of discrediting people, he has nothing specific to say to anyone's discredit, because, as a result of not having practised it, he knows no evil of anyone; so he finds himself in difficulties,

and looks ridiculous. And when it's a matter of praise and the d

boasting of others, he makes himself conspicuous by laughing, not affectedly but genuinely, and is thought to be silly. Because if he hears a dictator or a king being eulogized, he thinks he's hearing some livestock-keeper, for instance a

pigman or shepherd or cowherd of some sort, being con- 5

gratulated on having got a high yield; except that he believes the animal which they tend and milk is more ill-tempered and prone to scheming than those which ordinary herdsmen deal with, and that lack of leisure is bound to make a man of that

kind no less boorish and uneducated than herdsmen, penned e

in, as he is, by fortifications, like the herdsman's fold in the mountains. When he hears of someone who owns ten thousand acres of land, or still more, as if that's a marvellously large estate, he thinks he's hearing of quite a tiny amount of

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174e

land, accustomed as he is to looking at the earth as a whole.

And when people wax lyrical about families, and talk about 5

how noble someone is if he can point to seven rich forebears in a row, he believes that the praise is coming from people

whose vision is entirely dim and short-sighted, unable, 175

because of their lack of education, to look always at the whole, and work it out that everyone has had countless forebears and ancestors, including thousands and thousands of rich men and beggars, kings and slaves, foreigners and

Greeks, in every case. When people give themselves airs over 5

a list of twenty-five ancestors, and trace their descent back to Heracles, the son of Amphitryon, it seems extraordinary pet

tiness to him; he laughs at their inability to get rid of the b

vacancy of an unintelligent mind, and work it out that it was just a matter of chance what sort of person the twenty-fifth back from Amphitryon was, and what sort of person the fiftieth back from him was. In all those situations, then, a man

of that kind gets laughed at by the masses, partly because he 5

seems to be arrogant, and partly because he's ignorant of what's at his feet, and gets into difficulties in every one of those situations.

THEODORUS. 'Yes, that's exactly what happens, Socrates.

SOCRATES. But things are different when he drags

someone upwards: when he finds someone prepared to give c

up asking 'What injustice am I doing to you, or you to me?', in favour of the investigation of justice and injustice themselves--what each of them is, and in what respect they differ from each other and from everything else; or when he finds someone prepared to give up asking 'Is a king happy?',

or again 'Is a man with money happy?', in favour of an in- 5

vestigation about kingship, and human happiness and unhappiness in general--what sort of thing each of the two is, and in what way it's fitting for human nature to obtain the one

and avoid the other. When it's all those things that that man d

with the small, sharp, litigious mind has to give an account of, the tables are turned. He gets dizzy, suspended from a height and looking down from high up; because of his unfamiliarity

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175d

with the situation, he feels dismay and difficulty, and with his

stammering, he raises a laugh, not among Thracian girls or 5

any other uneducated people, because they can't see him, but among people whose upbringing has been the opposite to that of slaves.

Well then, Theodorus, that's what each of them is like. The

one, whom you call a philosopher, has really been brought up e

in freedom and leisure, and it's excusable if he seems simpleminded and worthless when he gets involved in slave-like tasks: for instance, when he doesn't know how to make up a

roll of bedding, or how to sweeten a dish or an obsequious 5

speech. The other can perform any task of that kind smartly and quickly, but he doesn't know how to wear his coat like a

gentleman, or how to take up the harmony of discourse and 176

rightly hymn the life of gods and happy men.

THEODORUS. Socrates, if you convinced everyone of what you're saying, the way you've convinced me, there'd be more peace and fewer evils among men.

SOCRATES. But, Theodorus, it isn't possible that evils 5

should be destroyed; because there must always be something opposite to the good. And it isn't possible for them to become established among the gods; of necessity, they haunt our mortal nature, and this region here. That's why one ought to try

to escape from here to there as quickly as one can. Now the b

way to escape is to become as nearly as possible like a god; and to become like a god is to become just and religious, with intelligence. But it's not at all easy to persuade people that it's not for the reasons which the masses give that one ought to

avoid wickedness and pursue virtue. The masses say that it's 5

in order not to seem to be bad and in order to seem to be good that one should practise one and not the other. Now in my view that's what they call an old wives' tale, and we can

state the truth like this. A god is by no means and in no way c

unjust, but as just as it's possible to be, and there's nothing more like a god than one of us who has become as just as possible. It's in relation to this point that we find a man's true cleverness, or else his worthlessness and unmanliness.

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176c

Because knowledge of this point is true wisdom and virtue, 5

whereas ignorance of it is patent stupidity and vice. Anything else that passes for cleverness and wisdom is cheap, if it occurs in the exercise of political power, or mechanical, if it oc

curs in the exercise of skills. So if someone behaves unjustly, d

and says or does things not in conformity with religion, it's far and away the best course not to concede to him that his sticking at nothing makes him clever. People take pride in that reproach, and think they're being told that they're not silly fools, useless burdens on the earth, but real men, the sort

one needs to be if one's to survive in a state. So we should tell 5

them the truth: they're just the sort of people they don't think they are, and all the more for not thinking so; because they're ignorant of the penalty for injustice, which is the last thing one should be ignorant of. It isn't what they think, beatings and executions: people sometimes behave unjustly and suffer

none of those penalties. No, it's a penalty which it's impossi- e

ble to escape.

THEODORUS. What penalty do you mean?

SOCRATES. There are patterns set up in that which is, one of them divine and supremely happy, the other with nothing

divine in it and supremely unhappy. Now, not seeing that 5

that's so, they fail to notice, because of their foolishness and

utter lack of intelligence, that through their unjust actions 177

they're becoming like one of the patterns and unlike the other. For that they pay the penalty of living the life which resembles the one they become like. Now suppose we tell

them that if they don't get rid of their 'cleverness', that region 5

untainted by evils will not receive them even when they die, but here on earth they'll for ever lead a life resembling themselves, evil men associated with evils. If we do, they'll simply take it as a speech addressed to men who are clever and stick at nothing, by some people devoid of intelligence.

THEODORUS. That's quite true, Socrates.

SOCRATES. I know it is. But there's one thing that does b

happen with them. When they have to exchange arguments in private about the things they find fault with, and when they're

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177b

willing to endure it for some time, like men, instead of

showing unmanliness by running away, it's strange how, in 5

the end, they find themselves unsatisfactory on the subjects they're talking about; that oratory of theirs dries up somehow, so that they seem no better than children.

But let's stop talking about all this, since it's all really a digression anyway. If we don't, we'll find that the further

points that keep flowing up will swamp our original argument. c

Let's go back to what we were saying before, if you agree.

THEODORUS. I don't at all mind listening to this kind of thing, Socrates: it's easier for me to follow at my age. Still, let's go back to the argument, if that's what you think fit.

SOCRATES. Very well then. We'd reached roughly this 5

point in our argument: we were saying that those who speak of being as moving, and who say that what seems to anyone at any time actually is for the person to whom it seems, are prepared to insist on that doctrine in most cases, and in par

ticular on the question of what's just: whatever things a state d

decides to be, and lays down as, just, in fact are just, whatever happens, for the state which lays them down, so long as they remain laid down. But on the question of what's good, no one would be brave enough to have the face to contend that whatever a state thinks to be, and lays down as,

useful for itself actually is useful so long as it's laid down: not 5

unless he's talking about the word. But that would surely be to make fun of what we're saying, wouldn't it?

THEODORUS. Yes, it certainly would.

SOCRATES. Well, let's suppose he's not talking about the e

word, but thinking of the thing to which it's applied.

THEODORUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. But whatever word it applies to it, that's

surely what a state aims at when it legislates, and it lays down 5

all its laws, to the best of its ability and judgement, as being most useful for itself. Or does a state have something else in view when it legislates?

THEODORUS. Certainly not. 178

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178a

SOCRATES. Now does each one always hit the target, or do they also miss on many occasions?

THEODORUS. I think they also miss.

SOCRATES. Well now, we'd be still more likely to get 5

everyone to agree to that same point, if we began by asking about the whole class in which what's useful belongs. What's useful is surely something to do with the future. Because when we legislate, we lay down the laws for the time to come, in the

belief that they're going to be useful; and we may rightly call 10

that 'future'.

THEODORUS. Certainly. b

SOCRATES. Come on, then, let's put this question to Protagoras, or anyone else who says the same as he does. Protagoras, you and your followers say that a man is the

measure of all things which are white, heavy, light, or 5

anything of that sort; because he has in himself the authority for deciding about them, and when he thinks they're the way he experiences them, he thinks things which are true for him and things which are for him. Isn't that so?

THEODORUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. But, Protagoras (we'll say), what about the

things which are going to be, in the future? Does he have in c

himself the authority for deciding about them, too? If someone thinks there's going to be a thing of some kind, does that thing actually come into being for the person who thought so? Take heat, for instance. Suppose a layman thinks he's going to catch a fever and there's going to be that degree

of heat, whereas someone else, a doctor, thinks not. Which 5

one's judgement should we say the future will turn out to accord with? Or should we say it will be in accordance with the judgements of both: for the doctor he'll come to be neither hot nor feverish, whereas for himself he'll come to be both?

THEODORUS. No, that would be absurd.

SOCRATES. And when it's a question of the future dryness

or sweetness of wine, I should think it's the judgement of a d

vine-grower, not that of a musician, that's authoritative.

THEODORUS. Of course.

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178d

SOCRATES. Again, suppose it's a question of what's going

to be in tune or out of tune. An athletic trainer's judgement 5

wouldn't be better than a musician's about what's going to seem, later on, to be in tune, even to the trainer himself.

THEODORUS. Certainly not.

SOCRATES. And if someone who has no skill at cooking is going to be given a dinner, then while the banquet is being prepared, his verdict about the pleasure there's going to be is

less authoritative than the chef's. Let's not make any conten- 10

tions, at this stage in the argument, about what already is, or e

has come to be, sweet for anyone. But about what's going to seem, and be, for anyone in the future, is everyone best at deciding for himself? Or would you, Protagoras, be a better

judge than any ordinary person, at any rate in anticipating 5

what's going to be convincing to any of us in speeches meant for lawcourts?

THEODORUS. Yes, Socrates, that was certainly a point on which he used to give firm assurances that he was better than anyone else.

SOCRATES. Good heavens, yes. Otherwise nobody would

have paid a great deal of money to have discussions with him: 179

not if he'd persuaded those who associated with him that about the future, too, there's no prophet or anyone else who can decide better than one can for oneself.*

THEODORUS. That's quite true.

SOCRATES. Well now, legislation, too, and what's useful, 5

have to do with the future, and everyone would agree that when a state legislates, it's inevitable that it should often fail to hit on what's most useful?

THEODORUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. So we'll be giving fair measure if we tell your 10

teacher he's bound to admit that one person is wiser than b

another, and that it's that sort of person who's a measure; whereas someone with no knowledge, like me, is in no way bound to be a measure, though our argument just now, on

Protagoras' behalf, was trying to force me to be such a thing 5

whether I liked it or not.

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179b

THEODORUS. Yes, Socrates, that seems to me to be the point by which the theory is most decisively refuted; and it's refuted also by the argument that it makes other people's judgements authoritative, and it turned out that those judgements involve believing that what Protagoras said isn't true at all.

SOCRATES. Yes, Theodorus, and there are several other c

ways in which one could refute something of that sort, and show that not every judgement of every person is true. But when it's a question of each person's present experience, from which there come to be his perceptions and the judgements which conform to them--well, it's harder to refute these latter

and show they're not true. And perhaps I'm talking nonsense 5

when I say that. Because it may be that they're impossible to refute. Perhaps the people who claim that they're quite clear, and that they're instances of knowledge, are saying things which are: and perhaps Theaetetus here wasn't far off the

mark when he laid it down that perception and knowledge are d

the same thing.

So we must go in closer, as we were told to by our argument on behalf of Protagoras, and look into that being which is in motion, striking it to see whether it rings sound or flawed. Certainly there has been a battle about it of no small propor

tions, with quite a number involved. 5

THEODORUS. Yes, far from small; on the contrary, in Ionia it's actually increasing to an enormous extent, because the followers of Heracleitus put a great deal of energy into whipping up support for that theory.

SOCRATES. Well, that's all the more reason to investigate

it, Theodorus; and from its starting-point, too, the way they e

put it forward themselves.

THEODORUS. Yes, indeed. Actually, Socrates, you couldn't get a discussion about those doctrines--whether they're Heracleitean or, as you say, Homeric, or even

earlier--with the people around Ephesus, who profess to be 5

familiar with them, any more than you could with a maniac.

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179e

Because, in literal conformity with their texts, they keep moving; as for stopping at an argument or a question and,

without moving, giving an answer and asking a question in 180

turn, there's less than none of that in them--or rather, 'not even none' is an exaggeration, in view of the fact that there isn't even a tiny bit of inactivity in those gentlemen. If you ask one of them a question, they draw out enigmatic little

expressions from their quiver, so to speak, and shoot one off; 5

and if you try to get hold of an account of what that one meant, you're transfixed by another novel set of metaphors. You'll never get anywhere with any of them. In fact they don't even get anywhere with one another, but take great care

not to allow anything to be stable, either in what they say or b

in their own minds. I suppose they believe that that would be stationary; and they're totally at war with what's stationary, and, to the best of their ability, expel it from everywhere. Socrates. Perhaps you've only seen them in battle,

Theodorus, and not come into contact with them when 5

they're at peace: after all, they're no friends of yours. I dare say that when they're at leisure they impart that sort of doctrine to their pupils: those whom they want to make like themselves.

THEODORUS. Pupils? What pupils? No, you don't find

people of that sort becoming one another's pupils. They c

sprout up of their own accord, wherever each one happens to draw his inspiration from, and each of them regards all the rest as knowing nothing. As I was beginning to say, you'll never get an account of them from themselves, either with or

without their consent. We must take over the doctrine 5

ourselves, and investigate it as if it were a geometrical problem.

SOCRATES. Yes, that's reasonable. Well then, what about this problem? We've had it handed down to us from the ancients, haven't we? They concealed their meaning from the

masses with the help of poetry, and said that the origin of d

everything else is Oceanus and Tethys, which are streams, and that nothing is at rest. And we've also had it from the

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180d

moderns, who, since they're wiser, reveal their meaning open

ly, so that even shoemakers can listen to and learn their 5

wisdom, and stop foolishly thinking that some of the things which are are at rest and some involved in change, but learn that everything changes, and honour them. Isn't that right?

But I was almost forgetting that there are others, too, Theodorus, who have pronounced the opposite doctrines to

those ones: for instance, '"Unchanging" is by nature such as e

to be a name for the whole',* and all the other things which people like Melissus and Parmenides insist on, in opposition to all those others; to the effect that everything is one, and it's at rest in itself, not having a space in which to move.

Well then, how shall we deal with all these people? We've 5

come forward little by little, and, without noticing it, got ourselves into the space between the two sides: and if we

don't manage to defend ourselves and escape between them, 181

we'll pay the penalty, like people playing the game with the line in the wrestling-rings, when they get caught by both sides and pulled in opposite directions. Now it seems to me that we'd better start by looking into those whom we first set out

to investigate, the flowing people. If there seems to be 5

something in what they say, we'll help them pull us over to their side, and try to escape the others. But if there seems to be more truth in what's said by the partisans of the whole,

we'll escape from those who try to change what's unchanging, b

and run away to them. And if neither side seems to be saying anything reasonable, it will be absurd for us to think that inferior people like us can say anything useful, after we've disqualified men of their great antiquity and consummate wisdom.

So ask yourself, Theodorus, if it's worth going forward into 5

so great a danger.

THEODORUS. Yes, Socrates: it would be quite intolerable not to investigate what each side says.

SOCRATES. Well, we'd better look into it, if you're so eager.

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181c

Well then, it seems to me that a starting-point for our in- c

vestigation about change is this question: what sort of thing, exactly, are they talking about when they say that everything changes? What I mean is something like this: are they talking about one kind of change, or, as I think, two? But I mustn't

be the only one who thinks so; you must share my opinion, so 5

that whatever has to happen to us can happen to us together. Tell me: do you call it changing when something moves from place to place or revolves in the same place?

THEODORUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So let's take it that that's one kind of change.

And when something is in the same place, but grows old, or d

becomes black instead of white or hard instead of soft, or undergoes any other alteration, isn't it proper to say that that's another kind of change?

THEODORUS. Yes, one has to say so.

SOCRATES. So I say that there are these two kinds of 5

change: alteration and movement.

THEODORUS. You're right.

SOCRATES. Well then, now that we've made that distinction, let's start a discussion with the people who claim that everything changes, and ask them this: 'Do you say that

everything changes in both ways, both moving and un- e

dergoing alteration? or that some things change in both ways, and some in one way but not the other?'

THEODORUS. Good heavens, I can't say; but I think they'd say 'In both ways'.

SOCRATES. Yes: otherwise they'll find that things turnout 5

to be both changing and at rest, and it will be no more correct to say that everything changes than to say that everything is at rest.

THEODORUS. That's quite true.

SOCRATES. So since things must be changing, and there

mustn't be any absence of change in anything, everything 182

must be always changing with every kind of change. THEODORUS. Yes, necessarily. SOCRATES. Well now, consider this point of theirs. In the

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182a

case of hotness, whiteness, or anything of that kind, we said (didn't we?) that they speak of their coming into being on

these lines: each of them moves, simultaneously with a 5

perception, between the thing which acts and the thing which is acted on; and the thing which is acted on comes to be perceptive, not a perception, whereas the thing which acts comes to be qualified in a certain way, not a quality. Now perhaps 'quality' strikes you as a strange word, and you don't

understand it as a general expression; so let me tell you some b

particular cases. The thing which acts comes to be, not hotness or whiteness, but hot or white, and similarly with the rest. Because you remember, I take it, that we were stating the position like this in our earlier discussion: nothing is one thing just by itself, not even the thing which acts or the thing which

is acted on; but as a result of their both coming into contact 5

with each other, they give birth to perceptions and perceived things, and one lot come to be qualified in certain ways while the others come to be perceiving.

THEODORUS. Yes, of course I remember.

SOCRATES. Well then, let's not bother about whether c

everything else is as they say or different. Let's concentrate our attention solely on the point we're aiming at in our discussion, and ask them this: you say that all things change and flow, don't you?

THEODORUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. With both the kinds of change we distinguished; both moving and altering?

THEODORUS. Yes, certainly; they must be, if they're to be completely changing.

SOCRATES. Well now, if things were only moving, and not

undergoing alteration, we'd be able to say, surely, that the 10

moving things flow qualified in such-and-such ways. Isn't that right?

THEODORUS. Yes.

Socrates d

. Whereas since not even this stays constant, that the flowing thing flows white, but it changes, so that there's flux of that very thing, whiteness, and change to

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another colour, in order not to be convicted of staying constant in that respect--since that's so, can it ever be possible

to refer to any colour in such a way as to be speaking of it 5

rightly?

THEODORUS. How could it be, Socrates? Indeed, how could it be possible to do so with any other thing of that kind, if it's always slipping away while one is speaking; as it must be, given that it's in flux?

SOCRATES. And what shall we say about a perception of

any given kind, for instance that of seeing or hearing? Shall e

we say it ever stays constant in just that guise, namely, seeing or hearing?

THEODORUS. No, we mustn't, if everything changes.

SOCRATES. So we shouldn't speak of anything as a case of seeing, any more than as not a case of seeing, or as any other perception any more than as not that perception; at any

rate, we shouldn't do so if everything is changing in every 5

way.

THEODORUS. No.

SOCRATES. But Theaetetus and I were saying that perception is knowledge.

THEODORUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So when we were asked what knowledge is, 10

we gave as our answer something which is no more knowledge than not knowledge.

THEODORUS. Apparently. 183

SOCRATES. Well, our attempt at perfecting our original answer seems to have turned out admirably! We were eager to show that all things change, so that it might become clear that that answer was correct. But what has in fact become

clear is, apparently, that if all things do change, then every 5

answer, whatever it's about, is equally correct: both that things are so and that they're not so, or if you like, both that things come to be so and that they come to be not so, so as not to bring those people to a standstill by what we say.

THEODORUS. You're right.

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SOCRATES. Yes, Theodorus, except that I said 'so' and

'not so'. One oughtn't even to use this word 'so', because 10

what's so wouldn't any longer be changing; and, again, one b

oughtn't to use 'not so', because that isn't a change either. No, those who state that theory must establish some other language, because as things are they haven't got expressions

for their hypothesis: unless, perhaps, 'not even so',* said in an 5

indefinite sense, might suit them best.

THEODORUS. Yes, that would certainly be a most appropriate idiom for them.

SOCRATES. Well then, Theodorus, we've got rid of your friend, and we're not yet prepared to concede to him that

every man is the measure of all things, if he isn't an intelligent c

person. Moreover, we aren't going to concede that knowledge is perception, at any rate not according to the line of argument that all things change; that is, unless Theaetetus here has anything else to say.

THEODORUS. That's excellent, Socrates; because 5

according to our agreement, I was to be released from answering you once we'd done with those subjects--that is, when our discussion of Protagoras' theory had come to an end.

THEAETETUS. No, Theodorus: not until you and

Socrates have also discussed those who claim that the uni- d

verse is at rest, as you proposed to do just now.

THEODORUS. What, Theaetetus? Are you teaching your elders, at your age, to act unjustly and go back on their

agreements? No, you must get ready to answer Socrates' 5

questions about the points that still need discussing.

THEAETETUS. All right, if he wants me to. But still, about the subject I mentioned I'd have very much preferred to listen.

THEODORUS. You're challenging cavalry to fight on level ground if you challenge Socrates to say something! Just ask a question, and you'll have something to listen to.

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SOCRATES. No, Theodorus, I think I won't do as 10

Theaetetus asks--not about the subject he mentioned.

THEODORUS. Why not? e

SOCRATES. I respect those who say that the universe is one and at rest, so that I wouldn't want to investigate them in a superficial way--and still more than Melissus and the rest, I

respect one being, Parmenides. Parmenides seems to me to 5

be, as Homer puts it, venerable and awesome. I met the great

man when I was quite young and he was very old, and he 184

seemed to me to have a sort of depth which was altogether noble. So I'm afraid, not only that we'll fail to understand what he said, and get still more left behind on the question of what he had in mind when he said it; but also--this is my

greatest fear--that the theories that keep jostling in on us 5

will, if we listen to them, make us lose sight of what our discussion has been aimed at, the question what, exactly, knowledge is. In particular, the theory we're bringing up now is unmanageably large in scope. If one examines it in a digression, it won't get the treatment it deserves; but if one gives it adequate consideration, it will be at great length, so that one will blot out the question about knowledge. We mustn't do

either. What we must do is to try, by means of my midwifery, b

to deliver Theaetetus of what he has conceived on the subject of knowledge.

THEODORUS. Well, if that's what you think, we'd better do that.

SOCRATES. Well then, Theaetetus, take your

consideration of what has been said a bit further. You 5

answered that knowledge is perception, didn't you?

THEAETETUS Yes.

SOCRATES. Now suppose someone put this question to you: 'With what does a man see things which are white and black, and with what does he hear things which are high and

low in pitch?' I suppose you'd say 'With eyes and ears'. 10

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. It isn't usually a sign of ill breeding to be c

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easy-going with words and expressions, and not subject them to a strict scrutiny: in fact it's the opposite of that, rather, that's ungentlemanly. But sometimes it's necessary: as, for instance, now, it's necessary for me to take exception to a point

in your answer on which it isn't correct. Because look here, 5

which answer is more correct: that eyes are what we see with, or what we see by means of? and that ears are what we hear with, or what we hear by means of?

THEAETETUS. It seems to me, Socrates, that they're what we perceive each set of things by means of, rather than what we perceive them with.

SOCRATES. Yes, because it would surely be strange if we d

had several senses sitting in us, as if in wooden horses, and it wasn't the case that all those things converged on some one kind of thing, a mind or whatever one ought to call it: something with which we perceive all the perceived things by means of the senses, as if by means of instruments.

THEAETETUS. Yes, I think the second alternative is better 5

than the first.

SOCRATES. Well now, here's why I'm subjecting you to such strictness about it: I want to know if there's something in us with which we get at not only white and black things, by

means of the eyes, but also other things, by means of the e

other sense organs--doing it with the same thing in each case. If the question is put to you, will you be able to refer everything of that sort to the body? But perhaps it would be better that you should state the point by answering questions, rather than that I should interfere on your behalf. Tell me this.

Take the things by means of which you perceive things which 5

are hot, hard, light, and sweet. You classify each of them as belonging to the body, don't you? Or do you think they belong to something else?

THEAETETUS. No, they belong to the body.

SOCRATES. And will you also be willing to agree that if

you perceive something by means of one power, it's impossi- 185

ble to perceive that same thing by means of another? For instance, you can't perceive by means of sight what you

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185a

perceive by means of hearing, or perceive by means of hearing what you perceive by means of sight?

THEAETETUS. Of course.

SOCRATES. So if there's something which you think about

both of them, it can't be something which you're perceiving 5

about both, either by means of one of the two instruments or by means of the other.

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. Now take a sound and a colour.* First of all, you think just this about them: that they both are?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 10

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

THEAETETUS. Of course. b

SOCRATES. And that both together are two and each is one? THEAETETUS. Yes, that too. SOCRATES. And you're able to raise the question whether they're like or unlike each other?

THEAETETUS. I suppose so. 5

SOCRATES. Well now, by means of what do you think all those things about them? Because it's impossible to get hold of what they have in common either by means of hearing or by means of sight. Besides, here's another proof of the point

we're talking about. If it were possible to raise the question 10

whether both are salty or not, of course you'll be able to say c

what you'd investigate it with: it would clearly be neither sight nor hearing, but something else.

THEAETETUS. Yes, of course: the power that's exercised by means of the tongue.

SOCRATES. Good. But what about the power which

makes clear to you that which is common to everything, in- 5

cluding these things: that to which you apply the words 'is', 'is not', and the others we used in our questions about them just now? What is that power exercised by means of? What sort of instruments are you going to assign to all those things, by means of which the perceiving element in us perceives each of them?

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THEAETETUS. You mean being and not being, likeness

and unlikeness, the same and different, and also one and any 10

other number applied to them. And it's clear that your ques- d

tion is also about odd and even, and everything else that goes with those. What you're asking is by means of what part of the body we perceive them with our minds.

SOCRATES. You follow me perfectly, THEAETETUS. That's 5

exactly what I'm asking.

THEAETETUS. Well, good heavens, Socrates, I couldn't say; except that I think there simply isn't any instrument of that kind peculiar to those things, as there is in the case of

those others. On the contrary, it seems to me that the mind e

itself, by means of itself, considers the things which apply in common to everything.

SOCRATES. Theaetetus, you're handsome, not ugly, as Theodorus was saying; because someone who speaks hand

somely is handsome, and a fine person too. And besides being 5

handsome, you've done me a favour: you've let me off a very long argument, if you think there are some things which the mind itself considers, by means of itself, and some which it considers by means of the capacities of the body. That was what I thought myself, but I wanted you to think so too.

THEAETETUS. Well, I do think so. 186

SOCRATES. Well now, in which class do you put being? Because that's pre-eminently something that goes with everything.

THEAETETUS. I put it in the class of things which the mind itself tries to get hold of, by means of itself.

SOCRATES. And similarly with like and unlike, the same 5

and different?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. What about beautiful and ugly, good and bad?

THEAETETUS. They, too, seem to me to be pre-eminently

things whose being the mind considers in relation to one 10

another, calculating in itself things past and present in relation b

to things in the future.

SOCRATES. Hold on. It'll perceive the hardness of what's

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hard by means of touch, won't it, and the softness of what's soft in the same way?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. But their being, and what* they both are, and their oppositeness to each other, and the being, in its turn, of this oppositeness, are things which the mind itself tries to decide for us, by reviewing them and comparing them with one another.

THEAETETUS. That's quite right. 10

SOCRATES. So there are some things which both men and

animals are able by nature to perceive from the moment c

they're born: namely, all the things which direct experiences to the mind by means of the body.* But as for calculations about those things, with respect to being and usefulness, they're acquired, by those who do acquire them, with difficulty and over a long time, by means of a great deal of troublesome education.

THEAETETUS. Definitely. 5

SOCRATES. Well now, is it possible that someone should attain truth if he doesn't even attain being?

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. And will someone ever have knowledge of something whose truth he doesn't attain?

THEAETETUS. Of course not, Socrates. d

SOCRATES. So knowledge is located, not in our experiences, but in our reasoning about those things we mentioned; because it's possible, apparently, to grasp being and truth in the latter, but impossible in the former.

THEAETETUS. Evidently. 5

SOCRATES. Well now, are you going to call them by the same name, when they have such great differences?

THEAETETUS. No, that wouldn't be right.

SOCRATES. Then what name do you give the first: seeing, 10

hearing, smelling, feeling cold, feeling hot?

THEAETETUS. Perceiving, of course. e

SOCRATES. So you call all of that, taken together, perception?

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186e

THEAETETUS. Yes, one must.

SOCRATES. And we say it has no share in the grasping of

truth; because it has no share in the grasping of being either. 5

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. So it has no share of knowledge, either?

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. So knowledge and perception could never be the same thing, THEAETETUS.

THEAETETUS. Evidently not, Socrates. It has now 10

become absolutely clear that knowledge is something other than perception.

SOCRATES. But our aim in starting this discussion was to 187

find out what knowledge is, not what it isn't. All the same, we've made enough progress to stop looking for it in percep

tion altogether, and look for it in whatever one calls what the 5

mind is doing when it's busying itself, by itself, about the things which are.

THEAETETUS. I think that's called judging, Socrates.

SOCRATES. Yes, you're right.

So start again from the beginning: wipe out everything that b

has gone before, and see if you can get a better view, now that you've come on this far. Tell me, once again, what, exactly, knowledge is.

THEAETETUS. I can't say it's judgement in general,

Socrates, because there's false judgement as well; but perhaps 5

true judgement is knowledge. Let that be my answer. If it turns out, as we go along, that it isn't as good as it seems now, we'll try to find something else to say.

SOCRATES. You're right to speak willingly like that, Theaetetus, rather than hesitate to answer, as you did at first.

If we go on like this, one of two things will happen: either c

we'll find what we're after, or we'll be less inclined to think we know what we don't in fact know at all; and such a reward

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wouldn't be anything to complain about. Well, what is it that you're saying now? Is it that, whereas there are two kinds of

judgement, one true and the other false, you're defining 5

knowledge as the true kind of judgement?

THEAETETUS. Yes; because that's how I see things at the moment.

SOCRATES. Well now, I wonder if it's still worth raising, once again, a point about judgement . . .

THEAETETUS. What point do you mean?

SOCRATES. It's rather bothering me now, and it often has d

before, so that I've got into great difficulties, by myself and with others. I can't say what, exactly, this experience is with us, and how it comes into being in us.

THEAETETUS. What experience? 5

SOCRATES. Judging something false. I'm still in two minds, now, as to whether we should let it pass, or investigate it in a different way from the one we took a short while ago.

THEAETETUS. Why not, Socrates, if it's at all apparent 10

that we should? When you and Theodorus were talking about leisure just now, you said that there's nothing to hurry us on in discussions like these, and you were quite right.

SOCRATES. You're right to remind me. Perhaps this isn't e

a bad moment to retrace our steps, as it were. Because it's better, surely, to do a small thing well than a big one inadequately.

THEAETETUS. Of course.

SOCRATES. Well then, how shall we set about it? What is 5

it, in fact, that we say? Do we say that there is, on every occasion, a false judgement, and that one of us judges what's true and the other what's false: this being naturally the case?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well now, aren't there just these possibilities 188

for us, in the case of everything and with each individual thing: either to know it or not to know it? Because at the mo-

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ment I'm leaving out learning and forgetting, as being in between those two: at this stage they aren't at all relevant to the argument.

THEAETETUS. Well, Socrates, there's no other 5

alternative, in the case of each thing, besides knowing it or not knowing it.

SOCRATES. Now it follows immediately that if someone makes a judgement, he has in his judgement either one of the things he knows or one of the things he doesn't know?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And it's impossible for someone who knows 10

something not to know that same thing, or for someone who doesn't know something to know that same thing.

THEAETETUS. Of course. b

SOCRATES. Well now, take someone who judges what's false. Is he thinking that things he knows are not those things but other things he knows? Is it that he knows both sets of

things but on the other hand is ignorant of both sets of 5

things?

THEAETETUS. No, that's impossible, Socrates.

SOCRATES. Well, is it that he believes that things he doesn't know are other things he doesn't know? Is this possible: that someone who knows neither Theaetetus nor Socrates should get it into his thoughts that Socrates is

Theaetetus or that Theaetetus is Socrates? 10

THEAETETUS. Of course not. c

SOCRATES. But surely it isn't that he thinks that things he knows are things he doesn't know, or that things he doesn't know are things he knows.

THEAETETUS. No, that would be monstrous.

SOCRATES. Well then, how can it still be possible to make 5

a false judgement? Because outside these situations it's surely impossible to make judgements, since, in the case of everything, we either know it or don't know it. But it doesn't seem to be possible to make a false judgement anywhere within these situations.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's quite true.

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SOCRATES. Well then, ought we to consider what we're investigating in a different way, proceeding, not by way of knowing and not knowing, but by way of being and not d being?

THEAETETUS. How do you mean?

SOCRATES. Mayn't it simply be the case that if someone has in his judgement about anything the things which are not,

he'll inevitably be making a false judgement, whatever else is 5

true about his thoughts?

THEAETETUS. Well, that again is plausible, Socrates.

SOCRATES. And suppose someone asks us, 'Is what you've described possible for anyone? Is there anyone who could have in his judgement that which is not, either about one of the things which are or just by itself?' What will we

say, Theaetetus? It looks as if our answer to that will be 'Yes, 10

when he thinks something, and what he thinks isn't true'. e Won't it?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well now, is there this sort of thing in any other case?

THEAETETUS. What sort of thing?

SOCRATES. That someone sees something, but there's no 5

one thing which he sees.

THEAETETUS. Of course not.

SOCRATES. But if someone sees some one thing, then he sees one of the things which are. Or do you think the one is ever to be found among the things which are not?

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. So if someone sees some one thing, he sees 10

something which is.

THEAETETUS. Evidently.

SOCRATES. And if someone hears something, he hears 189

some one thing, and a thing which is.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And if someone touches something, he touches some one thing, and a thing which is, since it's one?

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's right too. 5

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189a

SOCRATES. Well now, what if someone judges? Doesn't he have in his judgement some one thing?

THEAETETUS. Necessarily.

SOCRATES. And if one has in one's judgement some one thing, isn't it the case that one has in one's judgement a thing which is?

THEAETETUS. Yes, I grant that.

SOCRATES. So if someone has what is not figuring in his 10

judgement, he has no one thing in his judgement.

THEAETETUS. Evidently not.

SOCRATES. But if one has nothing in one's judgement, one isn't judging at all.

THEAETETUS. That seems clear.

b SOCRATES. So it's impossible to have in one's judgement that which is not, either about the things which are or just by itself.

THEAETETUS. Evidently not.

SOCRATES. So making a false judgement is something other than having in one's judgement the things which are not.

THEAETETUS. Yes, it seems to be. 5

SOCRATES. So neither on these lines, nor on those we were considering a little while ago, is it established that there is false judgement in us.

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. Well, is what we call false judgement 10

something that comes into being like this?

THEAETETUS. How?

SOCRATES. We say that there is such a thing as a false

judgement, which is a sort of other-judging; it occurs when c

someone makes an interchange in his thinking and affirms that one of the things which are is another of the things which are. Because that way what he has in his judgement is always a thing which is, but he has one thing in his judgement instead of another, and, in that he misses what he was aiming at, he can properly be said to be making a false judgement.

THEAETETUS. Yes, now you seem to me to have 5

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189a

described it absolutely correctly. Because whenever someone has in his judgement ugly instead of beautiful, or beautiful instead of ugly, on those occasions he's making a truly false judgement.

SOCRATES. You obviously don't think much of me, Theaetetus; you're not afraid of me.

THEAETETUS. Why? 10

SOCRATES. I suppose you think I won't take exception to your 'truly false', and ask you if it's possible to become slowly d quick, or heavily light, or any other opposite in the manner of its opposite, not itself--that is, oppositely to itself. Well, I'll let it pass, so that your confidence shan't have been in vain.

Now you say you're satisfied with the view that judging 5

what's false is other-judging?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So according to your judgement it's possible* to put something in one's thoughts as being something else, not the thing it is?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Now when someone's thought does that, isn't e it necessary that it should be thinking either both the things or one of them?

THEAETETUS. Yes, either both at once or in succession.

SOCRATES. Excellent. And do you apply the word 'thinking' to the same thing as I do?

THEAETETUS. What do you apply it to? 5

SOCRATES. Speech which the mind itself goes through with itself about whatever it's considering. Mind you, I don't claim to know the truth of what I'm telling you. It looks to me as if, when the mind is thinking, it's simply carrying on a dis

cussion, asking itself questions and answering them, and 190

making assertions and denials. And when it has come to a decision, either slowly or in a sudden rush, and it's no longer divided, but says one single thing, we call that its judgement.

So what I call 'judging' is speaking, and what I call 'judge- 5

ment' is speech; but speech spoken, not aloud to someone else, but silently to oneself. What do you think?

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THEAETETUS. I agree.

SOCRATES. So whenever someone judges that one of two things is the other, he's actually saying to himself, apparently, that the one is the other.

THEAETETUS. Certainly. b

SOCRATES. Well now, try to remember if you've ever said to yourself that beautiful is certainly ugly, or that unjust is just. Or, to put it generally, ask yourself whether you've ever

set out to persuade yourself that one of two things is certainly 5

the other, or--quite the contrary--you've never, even in your sleep, had the face to say to yourself that odd is in fact even, or anything else of that kind.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's true.

c SOCRATES. And do you think anyone else, sane or mad, has had the face to say to himself in all seriousness, trying to persuade himself of it, that ox is necessarily horse, or two one?

THEAETETUS. Good heavens, no.

SOCRATES. Well then, if speaking to oneself is judging, 5

then no one who has both things in what he says and judges, and has a grasp of both in his mind, would say and judge that what's different is different. This time it's you who must let the d expression pass. I mean it like this: no one judges that ugly is beautiful, or anything else of that kind.

THEAETETUS. I'll let it pass, Socrates. And I think it's as you say.

SOCRATES. So if one has both things in one's judgement,

it's impossible that one should judge that one of them is the 5

other.

THEAETETUS. Apparently.

SOCRATES. But if one has only one of the two in one's judgement, and the other one not at all, one will never judge that one of them is the other.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's true; because one would

otherwise be obliged to have a grasp of something which one 10

didn't even have in one's judgement.

SOCRATES. So there's no room for other-judging, whether

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one has both things in one's judgement or only one of them. It e

follows that if one were to define false judgement as being different-judging, one would be talking nonsense; because it isn't made clear that there is false judgement in us if we take this line, any more than it was on the lines we followed before.

THEAETETUS. Evidently not.

SOCRATES. And yet, Theaetetus, if it isn't made clear that 5 there is such a thing, we'll be forced to make many strange admissions.

THEAETETUS. What sort of admissions?

SOCRATES. I shan't tell you until I've tried looking at it from every angle. Because I'd be ashamed of us if we were

forced to make the sort of admissions I'm talking about while 191

we were in difficulties. But if we find what we're after and free ourselves, that will be the time for us to talk about how others suffer that fate--when our own standpoint is free of absurdity. If we can't find any way out of our difficulty, then I suppose we'll be humbled, and submit to the argument like sea

sick passengers, letting it trample on us and treat us as it likes. 5

Well now, let me tell you where I can still see a way out for our inquiry.

THEAETETUS. Yes, do.

SOCRATES. I'll say we were wrong when we agreed that it's impossible to get into falsehood by judging that things one knows are things one doesn't know. On the contrary, there's a b way in which it's possible.

THEAETETUS. Do you mean the point I was suspicious about, too, when we were saying that that's impossible? The point I mean is that sometimes I, who know Socrates, see someone else whom I don't know, some distance away, and

think he's Socrates, whom I know; because the sort of thing 5

you mentioned does happen in a case of that kind.

SOCRATES. And we kept off it because it made us not know things we know, even though we know them?

THEAETETUS. Exactly.

SOCRATES. Well, let's put it, not like that, but in the 10

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following way. Perhaps the difficulty will give way to us at c

some point, and perhaps it'll hold out; but we're in such trouble that we must turn every argument over and test it. Well now, look and see if there's anything in this. Is it possible for someone who didn't know something earlier to come to know it later?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. And another thing, and yet another?

THEAETETUS. Of course.

SOCRATES. Well then, let me ask you to suppose, for the sake of argument, that there's an imprint-receiving piece of 10 wax in our minds: bigger in some, smaller in others; of d cleaner wax in some, of dirtier in others; of harder wax in some, of softer in others, but in some made of wax of a proper consistency.

THEAETETUS. All right.

SOCRATES. And let's say it's the gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses; and that if there's anything we want to

remember, among the things we see, hear, or ourselves con- 5

ceive, we hold it under the perceptions and conceptions and imprint them on it, as if we were taking the impressions of signet rings. Whatever is imprinted, we remember and know, as long as its image is present; but whatever is smudged out e or proves unable to be imprinted, we've forgotten and don't know.

THEAETETUS. Very well, let's assume that's so.

SOCRATES. Well now, suppose someone knows those things and is thinking about one of the things he sees or hears. See if he might possibly make a false judgement in some such way as this.

5 THEAETETUS. What?

SOCRATES. On some occasions by thinking that things he knows are things he knows, and on some occasions by thinking they're things he doesn't know. Because when we agreed, in our earlier discussion, that these cases were impossible, we were wrong.

THEAETETUS. And what do you say now?

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192a

SOCRATES. What ought to be said about them is as 192

follows. We should begin by making distinctions. It's impossible to think that something one knows, having a memorytrace of it in one's mind, but doesn't perceive, is something else which one knows, having a trace of it, too, but not

perceiving it; or again, that something one knows is 5

something one doesn't know and doesn't have an imprint of; or that something one doesn't know is something else one doesn't know; or that something one doesn't know is something one knows; or, with something one perceives, to think that it's something else one perceives; or that something one perceives is something one doesn't perceive; or that b something one doesn't perceive is something else one doesn't perceive; or that something one doesn't perceive is something one perceives. Moreover, to think that something one knows and perceives, having the imprint matched to the perception, is something else one knows and perceives, having the imprint

of it, again, matched to the perception, is still more impossible 5

than those former cases, if that's possible. It's impossible, too, to think that something one knows and perceives, having the memory-trace in correct order, is something one knows; or that something one knows and perceives, having the memorytrace in order, as before, is something one perceives; or that c something one doesn't know and doesn't perceive is something one doesn't know and doesn't perceive; or that something one doesn't know and doesn't perceive is something one doesn't know; or that something one doesn't know and doesn't perceive is something one doesn't perceive.

It's utterly impossible that anyone should judge something 5

false in any of these cases. So we're left with the following cases in which that sort of thing happens, if it happens anywhere at all.

THEAETETUS. What cases? Perhaps I'll understand a bit more from them; because at the moment I don't follow.

SOCRATES. In the case of things one knows, one can

think that they're other things which one knows and 10

perceives, or that they're things one doesn't know, but

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192d

perceives; or one can think that things one knows and d

perceives are other things one knows and perceives.

THEAETETUS. Now I'm much further behind than I was before.

SOCRATES. Well then, listen, and I'll explain again. I know Theodorus, and remember, in myself, what he's like,

and similarly with Theaetetus. Now sometimes I see you, 5

sometimes not; sometimes I touch you, sometimes not; sometimes I hear you, or perceive you in some other way, and sometimes I have no perception relating to you. But none the less I remember you and know you in myself, don't I?

e THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. Well now, you must understand that this is the first point I want to make clear to you: it's possible not to perceive things one knows, and it's possible to perceive them.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's true.

SOCRATES. And things one doesn't know, too: it's 5

possible that on some occasions one doesn't perceive them either, and that on some occasions one does perceive them, but only that?

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's true too.

SOCRATES. Well then, see if you follow a bit better now. 193 Suppose Socrates knows Theodorus and Theaetetus, but sees neither, and has no other perception relating to them. In that case, he couldn't ever judge, in himself, that Theaetetus is THEODORUS. Is there anything in what I'm saying?

THEAETETUS. Yes, it's true. 5

SOCRATES. Well, that was the first of those cases I was describing.

THEAETETUS. Yes, it was.

SOCRATES. And the second was that if I know one of you but don't know the other, and perceive neither, then, again, I

couldn't ever think that the one I know is the one I don't know. 10

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's right.

SOCRATES. And the third was that if I know neither and b

perceive neither, I couldn't think that one, whom I don't

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193b

know, is another, whom I don't know. And imagine you've heard, all over again, the whole series of cases I described before, in which I'll never judge what's false about you and

Theodorus, whether I know both, or am ignorant of both, or 5

know one but not the other; and correspondingly with perceptions, if you follow.

THEAETETUS. Yes, I do.

SOCRATES. Well then, we're left with the possibility of

judging what's false in the following case. I know you and 10

Theodorus, and have imprints of the two of you on that piece of wax, like those of signet rings. I see you both, some way off c and not properly, and I'm eager to assign the imprint which belongs to each to the seeing which belongs to each, and to insert and fit the seeing into its own trace, so that recognition

may take place. But, missing that aim, and making a 5

transposition, I attach the seeing of each one to the imprint which belongs to the other, like people who put their shoes on the wrong feet; or alternatively my going wrong is because the same sort of thing happens to me as happens to sight in mirrors, when it flows in such a way as to transpose left and d right. It's then that different-judging and the making of false judgements occur.

THEAETETUS. Yes, Socrates, that seems plausible. You've given an extraordinarily good account of what happens to judgement.

SOCRATES. And besides, it also happens when I know 5

both, and perceive one as well as knowing him, but not the other, but I don't have my knowledge of the first one matched to my perception. I put it like that in my earlier exposition, and you didn't understand me then.

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. What I was saying was that if one knows and 10

perceives one of them, and has one's knowledge of him e matched to one's perception, one will never think he's another person whom one knows and perceives, having one's knowledge of the second person, too, matched to one's perception of him. Wasn't that it?

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193e

THEAETETUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. And that left, I think, the case I've just described, in which we say that false judgement does take

place: the case in which one knows both, and sees both or has 194

some other perception of both, but doesn't have each imprint matched to its own perception; on the contrary, like a bad archer, one shoots wide of the mark and misses--an expression which is, in fact, applied to falsehood.

THEAETETUS. Yes, and it's a natural one. 5

SOCRATES. Also, when there's a perception present for one of the imprints but not the other, and one's thought fits to the present perception the imprint which belongs to the absent one--in all those cases it gets into falsehood. To sum up: about things one doesn't know and has never

perceived, there isn't, apparently, any possibility of getting b

into falsehood, or of false judgement--not if there's anything sound in what we're saying now. It's precisely in the case of things we both know and perceive that judgement is twisted and turned about, coming to be false as well as true: true

when it brings together the correct stamps and imprints, 5

directly and in straight lines, and false when it brings them together obliquely and crosswise.

THEAETETUS. Well, isn't that an admirable account, Socrates?

SOCRATES. You'll be even more inclined to say so when c

you've heard what I'm going to say next. To make a true judgement is an admirable thing, and to get into falsehood is dishonourable.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well now, they say that those things come

into being as follows. When the wax in someone's mind is 5

thick, copious, smooth, and worked to a proper consistency, then, when the things which come through the senses are imprinted on that tablet of the heart,* as Homer calls it, in an obscure allusion to its similarity to wax, the imprints which come into being in those people and under those conditions

are clean, and adequately deep, and they last a long time. To d

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begin with, people of that sort are good learners; secondly, they have good memories; and third, they don't transpose their imprints with respect to their perceptions, but make true judgements. Because, since their imprints are clear and well 5 spaced, they're quick to allot each set of things to the imprints that belong to them; these are called things which are,* and those people are called wise. Don't you think that's right?

THEAETETUS. Absolutely.

SOCRATES. But what about when someone's heart is e shaggy--a thing which the poet, in his great wisdom, saw fit to praise--or when it's dirty and made of wax that isn't pure, or excessively fluid or hard? Well, those in whom it's fluid prove good learners, but forgetful, and those in whom it's

hard, the opposite. Those who have one that's shaggy and 5

rough, a stony thing, full of earth or dirt mixed into it, have their imprints unclear. And they're unclear in those who have hard ones, too; because there's no depth in them. They're un

clear in those who have fluid ones, too; because, as a result of 195

running together, they soon become blurred. And if, besides all that, the imprints have fallen on top of one another because of lack of space--if someone has a tiny little mind--then they're still more unclear than in those others. So

all those people are of the right kind to make false 5

judgements. Because when they see, hear, or conceive something, they're unable to allot each set quickly to their imprints; they're slow, and by allotting things where they don't belong, they mis-see, mis-hear, and misconceive most things. Those people, for their part, are said to have got into a state of falsehood about the things which are, and they're called stupid.

THEAETETUS. You're absolutely right, Socrates. b

SOCRATES. So we should say, should we, that there are such things as false judgements in us?

THEAETETUS. Definitely.

SOCRATES. And true ones, too?

THEAETETUS. Yes, true ones, too. 5

SOCRATES. Well then, do we think we've now reached a

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satisfactory agreement that there certainly are both these kinds of judgement?

THEAETETUS. Absolutely.

SOCRATES. Theaetetus, what a really terrible, unpleasant

thing a garrulous man does seem to be! 10

THEAETETUS. What? What are you getting at?

SOCRATES. I'm annoyed at my own stupidity and c

garrulousness: that's really what it is. After all, what other word could one use, when someone keeps dragging arguments up and down, because his dullness makes him unable to be convinced--when it's hard to get him to drop any argument?

THEAETETUS. But what is it that you're annoyed with? 5

SOCRATES. I'm not only annoyed; I'm afraid about what I'll answer if someone puts this question to me: 'So you've discovered false judgement, Socrates? You've found that it's located, not in our perceptions in relation to one another, and d not in our thoughts in relation to one another, but in the connecting of a perception with a thought?' I suppose I'll say 'Yes', and give myself airs, as if we've discovered something admirable.

THEAETETUS. Well, Socrates, there doesn't seem to

me to be anything dishonourable about what you've just 5

shown.

SOCRATES. 'And you say', he'll go on, 'that we couldn't ever think that man--something we only have in our thoughts, but don't see--is horse, which, again, we don't see or touch, but only have in our thoughts, and don't have any

other perception relating to it?' I suppose I'll say I do. 10

THEAETETUS. Yes, and quite rightly.

SOCRATES. 'Well now,' he'll say, 'doesn't it follow from e

what you've said that one couldn't ever think that eleven, which one only has in one's thoughts, is twelve, which, again, one only has in one's thoughts?' Come on, you answer.

THEAETETUS. Well, I'll answer that if one saw or 5

touched them, one might think eleven things were twelve, but

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one couldn't ever make that judgement about those which one has in one's thoughts.

SOCRATES. But look here, don't you think anyone has

ever set five and seven before himself for consideration? I 196

mean, not five men and seven men, or anything like that, but five and seven themselves, which we say are memory traces on the imprint-receiving tablet, and among which we say it isn't possible to make false judgements. What I'm asking is

whether anyone has ever investigated just those things, 5

talking to himself and asking himself how many, exactly, they are; and whether it has ever happened that one person thought and said that they're eleven and another that they're twelve. Or does everybody say and think that they're twelve?

THEAETETUS. Good heavens, no; there are plenty of b people who say they're eleven. And if one considers a problem involving a larger number, one will find there's more slipping up. I assume you're talking about numbers in general.

SOCRATES. Yes, you're right. Now ask yourself this: isn't

what happens on those occasions precisely that one thinks 5

twelve itself--the one on the imprint-receiving tablet--is eleven?

THEAETETUS. Apparently.

SOCRATES. Well then, have we come back to our first argument again? Because someone to whom that happens

thinks something he knows is something else he knows. We 10

said that that's impossible; and it was precisely on that ground that we forced through the conclusion that there's no such thing as false judgement, in order not to have the same c man forced both to know and not to know the same things at the same time.

THEAETETUS. That's quite true.

SOCRATES. Then we must represent the making of false

judgements as something other than the transposing of 5

thought in relation to perception. Because if it were that, then we couldn't ever get into falsehood in the case of the things we have in our thoughts, themselves.

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And as things are, either there's no such thing as false judgement, or it's possible not to know things one knows. Which of those do you choose?

THEAETETUS. It's an impossible choice that you're posing, Socrates.

SOCRATES. But it looks as if the argument won't let both d

be dropped. All the same, we must stick at nothing. What about trying some unscrupulous behaviour?

THEAETETUS. How?

5

SOCRATES. By being prepared to say what knowing is like.

THEAETETUS. What's unscrupulous about that?

SOCRATES. You seem not to be bearing in mind that our whole discussion, from the beginning, has been a search after knowledge, on the assumption that we don't know what it is.

THEAETETUS. No, I'm bearing it in mind.

10

SOCRATES. In that case, doesn't it seem shameless to make pronouncements about what knowing is like, when we e don't know knowledge? But in fact, Theaetetus, we've been infected, for a long time, with an impure way of carrying on our discussion. Countless times we've said 'we know', 'we don't know', 'we have knowledge', 'we don't have knowledge', as if we could understand each other at all, while we're still ig

norant of knowledge. Even at this very moment, if you don't 5

mind, we've used 'be ignorant' and 'understand' again, as if it were proper for us to use them when we're bereft of knowledge.

THEAETETUS. But, Socrates, how are you going to carry on the discussion, if you keep off those words?

197

SOCRATES. Since I'm what I am, I'm not going to, though I would if I were a logic-chopper. If a gentleman of that kind were here now, he'd have professed to keep off those words, and he'd tell us off emphatically for what I'm saying. Well now, since we're not clever people, would you like me to over

come my scruples and say what knowing is like? Because it seems to me that it might prove helpful. 5

THEAETETUS. Yes, please do. And if you don't keep off those words, it won't be held against you at all.

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SOCRATES. Well then, have you heard what people nowadays say knowing is?

THEAETETUS. I may have, but at the moment I don't remember.

SOCRATES. They say it's the having of knowledge, I b think.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's true.

SOCRATES. Well now, let's make a small alteration and say possession of knowledge.

THEAETETUS. How are you going to say the two differ? 5

SOCRATES. Perhaps not at all; but listen to what I think, and help me test it.

THEAETETUS. All right, if I can.

SOCRATES. Well, having doesn't seem to me to be the same as possessing. For instance, if someone has bought a coat, and owns it, but isn't wearing it, we'd say he doesn't 10 have it but does possess it.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that would be right.

SOCRATES. Well now, ask yourself whether knowledge, c too, is something which it's possible, in that way, to possess but not have; just as, if someone has caught some wild birds, pigeons or some other kind, and constructed an aviary at his house, where he looks after them, we'd say that in one sense

he has them all the time, because he possesses them--isn't 5

that right?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. But that in another sense he doesn't have any of them, but what he has acquired, with respect to them, now that he has made them subject to him in an enclosure of his own, is power: power to get hold of them and have them whenever he likes, by catching whichever one he wants, and d to let them go again; and it's open to him to do that as often as he thinks fit.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well, just as, previously, we constructed a sort of moulded lump of wax in our minds, let's now make, in 5 every mind, a sort of aviary for birds of every kind: some in

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flocks, apart from the others, some in groups of a few, and some alone, flying about just anywhere among them all.

e

THEAETETUS. All right. But what next?

SOCRATES. We must say that when we're children this receptacle is empty, and in place of the birds, we must think of pieces of knowledge. Whatever piece of knowledge someone comes to possess and shuts up in his enclosure, we

must say he has come to know or discovered the thing of 5

which that's the knowledge; and that that's what knowing is.

THEAETETUS. All right, let's assume that that's so.

SOCRATES. Well now, ask yourself what names are 198

needed for catching, again, any piece of knowledge one wants, and having it once one has got hold of it, and letting it go again: the same names as for when one first came to possess them, or different ones? You'll understand what I

mean more clearly if I start from this point. You say there's 5

such a thing as an art of arithmetic?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well, you must think of it as a hunt for pieces of knowledge of everything odd and even.

THEAETETUS. Very well.

SOCRATES. It's by this art, I imagine, that one has subject 10

b to oneself pieces of knowledge of the numbers, and that those who pass them on to others do so.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. If someone passes them on, we call it

teaching, and if someone receives them, we call it learning. 5

And if someone has them, by possessing them in that aviary, we call it knowing.

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. Pay attention, now, to this next point. If someone is completely versed in arithmetic, he knows all

numbers, doesn't he? Because there are pieces of knowledge 10

of all numbers in his mind.

THEAETETUS. Of course.

c SOCRATES. Well now, a person of that kind might sometimes do some counting: either numbers themselves, to

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himself, or something else, some external thing that has a number?

THEAETETUS. Of course.

SOCRATES. And we'll take counting to be nothing but

investigating how large some number is. 5

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So it's evident that he's investigating something he knows as if he didn't know it, this man who, we've agreed, knows every number. I dare say you sometimes hear puzzles on those lines.

THEAETETUS. Yes. 10

SOCRATES. Well, we'll use our comparison with d possessing and catching pigeons, and say that there are two kinds of catching: one before one has come to possess a thing, in order to get possession of it, and the other when one possesses it, in order to get hold of what one has possessed for some time and have it in one's hands. On those lines, even

if one came to know things some time ago, and since then 5

there have been pieces of knowledge of them in one and one has known them, it's still possible that one should come to know those same things again, by once more getting hold of and having the knowledge of each, which one has possessed for some time but not had readily available to one's thoughts. Is that right?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well now, what I was asking just now was e how we ought to use our words in order to talk about those cases in which an arithmetician sets out to count or a literate person sets out to read something. Should we say that in a case of that sort someone who knows things sets out to learn

again, from himself, the things he knows? 5

THEAETETUS. No, that would be an odd thing to say, Socrates.

SOCRATES. Well should we say he's going to read, or

count, things he doesn't know, when we've granted that he 199

does know all the letters, or every number?

THEAETETUS. No, that would be unreasonable too.

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SOCRATES. Well then, would you like us to say this? As

far as the words are concerned, we don't mind at all about 5

how anyone may enjoy dragging 'know' and 'learn' about. But now that we've distinguished possessing knowledge as one thing and having it as another, we say that it's impossible not to possess what one possesses, so that it never turns out that someone doesn't know what he knows; but that all the same it is possible to get hold of a false judgement about it.

b

Because it's possible not to have one's knowledge of that thing, but to have some other piece of knowledge instead of it. That happens when, in trying to catch some piece of knowledge or other, among those that are flying about, one misses, and gets hold of the one instead of the other. It's then that one thinks eleven is twelve, having got hold of the knowledge of eleven that's in one, instead of the knowledge of

twelve, as one might get hold of a dove instead of a pigeon. 5

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's reasonable.

SOCRATES. But when one gets hold of the piece of knowledge one is trying to get hold of, on those occasions one is free from falsehood and has in one's judgements the things

which are. On these lines, there are both true and false c

judgements, and none of the things we were finding annoying before gets in our way. Perhaps you'll agree with me, or won't you?

THEAETETUS. Yes, I agree.

SOCRATES. Yes, because we've got rid of people's failing 5

to know what they know; because in no case, now, does it turn out that we don't possess what we possess, whether we're involved in falsehood about something or not. But it seems to me that another, even stranger occurrence is coming into view.

THEAETETUS. What?

SOCRATES. That an interchange of pieces of knowledge 10

should ever turn out to be a false judgement.

THEAETETUS. How do you mean?

SOCRATES. First of all, that someone who has knowledge d

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of something should be ignorant of that very thing, not through ignorance but because of his own knowledge; and second, that he should judge that thing to be something else, and the something else to be that thing--surely it's very unreasonable? That, when knowledge has come to be present in it, the mind should know nothing, and be ignorant of 5 everything? Because according to that argument, there's nothing to stop even ignorance making one know something, or blindness making one see, if even knowledge can sometimes make one ignorant.

THEAETETUS. Yes, Socrates, perhaps we were wrong to e make our birds pieces of knowledge only; perhaps we ought to have also imagined pieces of unknowing flying about in the mind with them. When one tries to catch them, one sometimes gets hold of a piece of knowledge and sometimes of a piece of unknowing about the same thing; and one makes 5 a false judgement because of the piece of unknowing, and a true one because of the piece of knowledge.

SOCRATES. It isn't easy to avoid praising you, Theaetetus; but think again about what you've said. Let's assume it's as you say. Then someone who has got hold of the 200 piece of unknowing will, you say, make a false judgement. Is that right?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. But of course he won't actually believe he's making a false judgement.

THEAETETUS. Of course not.

SOCRATES. On the contrary, he'll believe he's making a 5

true judgement. His attitude, with regard to the things he has got into falsehood about, will be the same as if he knew them.

THEAETETUS. Of course.

SOCRATES. So he'll think that what he has caught, and has, is a piece of knowledge, not a piece of unknowing.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's clear. 10

SOCRATES. Well then, we've come along way round, and now we're back at our first difficulty again. Because that

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expert in refutation will laugh, and say: b 'You excellent people! Is it that someone knows both a piece of knowledge and a piece of unknowing, and thinks something he knows is another of the things he knows? Or that he knows neither, and judges that something he doesn't know is another of the things he doesn't know? Or that he knows one and not the other, and judges that something he

knows is something he doesn't know, or believes that 5

something he doesn't know is something he knows? Or are you going to start all over again and tell me that there are yet more pieces of knowledge of those pieces of knowledge and unknowing, which their possessor has shut up in yet more

ridiculous aviaries or moulded lumps of wax, and which he c

knows as long as he possesses them, even if he doesn't have them readily available in his mind? Are you going to let yourselves be forced, in that way, to keep coming round, time after time, to the same point, without making any progress?' How shall we answer that, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS. Good heavens, Socrates, I don't know 5

what we should say.

SOCRATES. Well then, is the argument right to tell us off, and does it show that we were wrong to leave knowledge on

one side and look for false judgement first? The fact is that d

it's impossible to get to know it until one has acquired an adequate grasp of what, exactly, knowledge is.

THEAETETUS. Yes, Socrates, as things are, I'm obliged to think it's as you say.

SOCRATES. Well then, let's start again from the 5

beginning: what should one say knowledge is? Because we're presumably not going to give up yet.

THEAETETUS. No, not unless you do.

SOCRATES. Tell me, then, what can we say it is with the least risk of contradicting ourselves?

e

THEAETETUS. What we were trying before, Socrates; because I haven't got anything else to suggest.

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SOCRATES. And what was that?

THEAETETUS. That true judgement is knowledge. Making a true judgement is, at any rate, something free of

mistakes, and everything that results from it is admirable and 5

good.

SOCRATES. Well, Theaetetus, the man who was leading the way across the river said, apparently, 'It will show for itself'. The same goes for this: if we go on and search into it,

perhaps the very thing we're looking for will come to light at 201

our feet, but if we stay put, nothing will come clear to us.

THEAETETUS. Yes, you're right; let's go on and look into it.

SOCRATES. Well, this point doesn't take much looking:

because there's a whole art which shows you that that isn't 5 5

what knowledge is.

THEAETETUS. How do you mean? What art?

SOCRATES. The art of those who are greatest of all in point of wisdom: people call them speech-makers and litigants. Because those people, you see, persuade others by means of their art, not teaching them, but making them judge

whatever they want them to judge. Or do you think there are 10

people who are so clever as teachers that, in the short time b

allowed by the clock, they can teach the truth, about what happened, to people who weren't there when some others were being robbed of money or otherwise violently treated?*

THEAETETUS. No, I don't think so at all. What they can do is persuade.

SOCRATES. And you say persuading is making someone 5

judge something?

THEAETETUS. Of course.

SOCRATES. So when jurymen have been persuaded, in accordance with justice, about things which it's possible to know only if one has seen them and not otherwise, then, in

deciding those matters by hearsay, and getting hold of a true c

judgement, they have decided without knowledge; though what they have been persuaded of is correct, given that they have reached a good verdict. Is that right?

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THEAETETUS. Absolutely.

SOCRATES. But if true judgement* and knowledge were

the same thing, then even the best of jurymen would never 5

make correct judgements without knowledge; and, as things are, it seems that the two are different.

THEAETETUS. Yes, Socrates, there's something I once heard someone saying, which I'd forgotten, but it's coming back to me now. He said that true judgement with an account

is knowledge, and the kind without an account falls outside d

the sphere of knowledge. Things of which there's no account are not knowable, he said--he actually called them that--whereas things which have an account are knowable.

SOCRATES. Good. But tell me how he made that distinction between things which are knowable and things

which aren't: let's see if what you've heard matches what I 5

have.

THEAETETUS. I don't know if I'll be able to work it out; but I think I'd follow if someone else stated it.

SOCRATES. Listen, then: here's my dream in return for

yours. In my dream, I seemed to hear some people saying e

that the primary elements, as it were, of which we and everything else are composed, have no account. Each of them itself, by itself, can only be named, and one can't go on to say anything else, neither that it is nor that it isn't; because in that

case, one would be attaching being or not being to it, whereas 202

one oughtn't to add anything if one is going to express in an account that thing, itself, alone. In fact one shouldn't even add itself, or that, or each, or alone, or this, or any of several

other things of that kind; because those things run about and 5

get added to everything, being different from the things they're attached to, whereas if the thing itself could be expressed in an account and had an account proper to itself, it would have to be expressed apart from everything else. As

things are, it's impossible that any of the primary things b

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should be expressed in an account; because the only thing that's possible for it is to be named, because a name is the only thing it has. But as for the things composed of them, just as the things themselves are woven together, so their names, woven together, come to be an account; because a weaving

together of names is the being of an account. In that way, the 5

elements have no account and are unknowable, but they're perceivable; and the complexes are knowable and expressible in an account and judgeable in a true judgement. Now when someone gets hold of the true judgement of something

without an account, his mind is in a state of truth about it but c

doesn't know it; because someone who can't give and receive an account of something isn't knowledgeable about that thing. But if he gets hold of an account as well, then it's possible not only for all that to happen, but also for him to be in a perfect condition in respect of knowledge.

Is that the way you heard the dream, or was yours 5

different?

THEAETETUS. No, it was exactly like that.

SOCRATES. And are you satisfied with it? Are you prepared to lay it down, on those lines, that true judgement with an account is knowledge?

THEAETETUS. Yes, definitely.

SOCRATES. Can it be, Theaetetus, that just like that, in d

this one day, we've got hold of something which many wise men have been looking for for a long time, and grown old before they found it?

THEAETETUS. Well, Socrates, it certainly seems to me that the account we've just given is an admirable one.

SOCRATES. Yes, actually it does seem plausible that the 5

definition itself is correct: because what knowledge could there be without an account and a correct judgement?

However, there's one thing in what we've said which I find unsatisfactory.

THEAETETUS. What's that?

SOCRATES. What actually seems to be its most subtle 10

-95-

point, namely that the elements are unknowable but the class e

of complexes knowable.

THEAETETUS. Isn't that right?

SOCRATES. We must find out; because we have, as hostages for the theory, so to speak, the models which it used in saying all those things.

THEAETETUS. What are they? 5

SOCRATES. Elements and complexes of letters. Or do you think the person who made the statements we're talking about had something else in view when he made them?

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. Well then, let's take them up and put them to 203

the test, or rather, let's put ourselves to the test, to see if we learnt letters in that way or not. Tell me, first of all: is it the case that syllables have an account but letters don't?

THEAETETUS. I suppose it may be. 5

SOCRATES. Yes, that's exactly what I think, too. Because suppose someone put this question, about the first syllable of ' Socrates': 'Tell me, Theaetetus, what is "SO"?' What will you answer?

THEAETETUS. That it's 'S' and 'O'.

SOCRATES. And there you have an account of the 10

syllable?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Go on, then, tell me the account of 'S', in the b

same way.

THEAETETUS. But how could one express in an account the elements of an element? In fact, Socrates, 'S' is one of the unvoiced consonants, only a noise, which occurs when the

tongue hisses, as it were. 'B', moreover, has neither voice nor 5

noise, and neither do most of the letters. So it's quite right to say that they have no accounts, when the very clearest of them, the seven vowels themselves, have only voice, but no account whatever.

SOCRATES. So this point in our treatment of knowledge is one that we've correctly established.

THEAETETUS. Evidently. 10

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SOCRATES. But have we shown that a letter isn't c

knowable but a syllable is?

THEAETETUS. Well, it seems plausible.

SOCRATES. Well now, look here: do we say that a syllable

is both its letters, or all of them if there are more than two? Or 5

that it's some one kind of thing which has come into being when they're put together?

THEAETETUS. All the letters, I should think.

SOCRATES. Well now, consider a case where there are two, 'S' and 'O'. The two of them are the first syllable of my

name. If someone knows it, he knows the two of them, 10

doesn't he?

THEAETETUS. Of course. d

SOCRATES. So he knows 'S' and 'O'.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. But can it be that he's ignorant of each one, and knows the two of them without knowing either?

THEAETETUS. No, that would be strange and 5

unreasonable, Socrates.

SOCRATES. But if it's necessary to know each one in order to know the two of them, then it's absolutely necessary that anyone who is ever going to know a syllable should first

know its letters. And on those lines, our admirable theory will 10

take to its heels and disappear.

THEAETETUS. That's very sudden. e

SOCRATES. Yes, it's because we aren't keeping a proper watch on it. Perhaps we ought to have laid it down that a syllable is, not the letters, but some one kind of thing which has come into being out of them: something which has one

form of its own, and is different from the letters. 5

THEAETETUS. Yes, indeed: perhaps that's nearer the truth than the first alternative.

SOCRATES. We'd better look into it, and not betray a great and imposing theory in that unmanly way.

THEAETETUS. No. 10

SOCRATES. Well then, let's suppose it's as we're saying 204

now: a complex is one kind of thing which comes into being

-97-

out of each set of elements that fit together, and that goes for letters and everything else alike.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. In that case, it mustn't have parts. 5

THEAETETUS. Why not?

SOCRATES. Because with anything which has parts, it's necessarily the case that the whole is all the parts. Or do you say that a whole, too, is some one kind of thing which has come into being out of the parts and is different from all the parts?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 10

SOCRATES. Well then, do you call a sum and a whole the

same thing, or two different things? b

THEAETETUS. I'm not at all clear, but because you keep telling me to answer readily, I'll take a risk and say they're different.

SOCRATES. Your readiness is correct, Theaetetus; but we

must look and see if your answer is. 5

THEAETETUS. Yes, we must.

SOCRATES. Well now, according to what you've just said, a whole would be different from a sum?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And what about this: is a sum at all different 10

from all the things? For instance, when we say 'one, two

three, four, five, six', or 'twice three', or 'three times two', or c

'four plus two', or 'three plus two plus one', are we talking about the same thing in all these cases, or something different?

THEAETETUS. The same thing.

SOCRATES. Namely six?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 5

SOCRATES. Now in each utterance we've spoken of six in all?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And is there no sum that we speak of when we speak of all of them?

THEAETETUS. There must be one.

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SOCRATES. Namely the six? 10

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So in the case of anything which consists of a d

number of things, it's the same thing that we're referring to when we speak of the sum and when we speak of all the things?

THEAETETUS. Evidently.

SOCRATES. So let's speak about them in the following

way. The number in an acre and the acre are the same thing, 5

aren't they?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And similarly with the number in a mile.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And the same goes for the number in an army

and the army, and everything of that kind? Because in each 10

case the number, in sum, is what the thing, in sum, is.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. But the number of things, in each case, is e

nothing but parts?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So anything that has parts would seem to consist of parts?

THEAETETUS. Evidently.

SOCRATES. And we've agreed that all the parts are the 5

sum, given that the number, in sum, is to be the sum.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So the whole doesn't consist of parts. Because if it were all the parts, it would be the sum.

THEAETETUS. Apparently. 10

SOCRATES. But is there anything else that a part is a part of, other than a whole?

THEAETETUS. Yes, a sum.

SOCRATES. You're putting up a brave fight, Theaetetus. 205

But isn't a sum precisely what you have when there's nothing missing?

THEAETETUS. Yes, that must be so.

SOCRATES. And won't a whole be that same thing: that

-99-

from which nothing at all is missing? If a thing has something 5

missing from it, it's neither a whole nor a sum. Losing something makes it move, at the same time, from one and the same initial state to one and the same resulting state.

THEAETETUS. It seems to me now that there's no difference between a sum and a whole.

SOCRATES. And we've been saying that if something has parts, the whole, and the sum, will be all the parts?

THEAETETUS. Yes. 10

SOCRATES. Well then, let's go back to what I was trying

to say just now. If it's not the case that a complex is its b

elements, then isn't it necessarily the case that it doesn't have the elements as parts: alternatively, if it's the same as them, then it's no more or less knowable than they are?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And it was in order to avoid this latter 5

situation that we laid it down that it's different from them?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. But if it's not the elements that are parts of a complex, can you tell us any other things which are parts of a

complex, but not elements of it? 10

THEAETETUS. Certainly not. If I conceded that it had any parts, Socrates, it would surely be absurd to leave its elements on one side and resort to something else.

SOCRATES. So according to what you're saying now, c

Theaetetus, a complex would be some absolutely single kind of thing, not divisible into parts.

THEAETETUS. Apparently.

SOCRATES. Now you remember that a short time ago we 5

were accepting something which we thought was a good thing to say: namely that there is no account of the primary things of which everything else is composed, because each of them itself, by itself, is, as we said, incomposite, and it isn't correct to add to it, not even by saying 'is' about it, or 'this', since that would be to mention things different from it and not proper to it; and it's that reason, we said, that makes it lack

an account and be unknowable. Do you remember? 10

-100-

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And wasn't the reason precisely its being d

single in form and not divisible into parts?* Because I can't see any other.

THEAETETUS. No, there doesn't seem to be any other.

SOCRATES. And now the complex has fallen into the

same class as the element, given that it doesn't have parts and 5

is a single kind of thing?

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's quite true.

SOCRATES. So if, on the one hand, the complex is a d

plurality of elements and a whole, with them as its parts, then complexes and elements are knowable and expressible in accounts to just the same extent, since it has turned out that all

the parts are the same thing as the whole. 10

THEAETETUS. Certainly. e

SOCRATES. And if, on the other hand, it's a single thing without parts, then a complex and an element lack an account and are unknowable to just the same extent; because the same reason will make them so.

THEAETETUS. Yes, I can't deny it. 5

SOCRATES. So if anyone says that a complex is knowable and expressible in an account, and an element the opposite, let's not accept it.

THEAETETUS. No, not if we're convinced by this argument.

SOCRATES. Moreover, wouldn't you be more inclined to 206

accept a statement of the opposite position, because of what you noticed in yourself, in the course of your learning of your letters?

THEAETETUS. What sort of thing?

SOCRATES. That when you were learning, you spent your 5

time doing nothing but trying to tell the letters apart, each one just by itself, both when it was a matter of seeing them and when it was a matter of hearing them, in order that you wouldn't be confused by their being put into arrangements, whether spoken or written.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's quite true.

-101-

SOCRATES. And at the music teacher's, to have learnt 10

perfectly was nothing but being able to follow each note and b

say which sort of string it belonged to; and everyone would agree that notes are the elements of music?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So if we may argue from the elements and 5

complexes that we're familiar with ourselves to the rest, we'll say that the class of elements admits of knowledge that is far clearer, and more important for the perfect grasp of every branch of learning, than the complex; and if anyone says that

it's in the nature of a complex to be knowable and of an ele- 10

ment to be unknowable, we'll take him to be making a joke, whether on purpose or not.

THEAETETUS. Definitely.

SOCRATES. What's more, I think other proofs of that c

point might well come to light.

But let's not, on their account, forget to look into the question before us: what, exactly, is meant by saying that an account, if added to a true judgement, becomes the most perfect of knowledge.

THEAETETUS. No, we must look into it. 5

SOCRATES. Well now, tell me, what, exactly, are we intended to take 'account' as signifying? It seems to me that it means one of three things.

THEAETETUS. What?

SOCRATES. The first would be making one's thought plain d

by means of speech, with expressions and names: reflecting it in what flows through one's mouth, as if in a mirror or water.

Or don't you think that sort of thing is an account? 5

THEAETETUS. No, I do. At any rate, we do say that someone who does that is giving an account of something.

SOCRATES. But on the other hand, that's something which anyone can do more or less quickly--I mean, indicating what he thinks about something--if he isn't deaf or dumb from birth. On those lines all those who make some

correct judgement will turn out to have it with an account, e

-102-

and there will no longer be any room for correct judgement to occur apart from knowledge.

THEAETETUS. That's true.

SOCRATES. But let's not lightly condemn him of talking

nonsense--I mean the person who brought out the definition 5

of knowledge that we're looking into now. Perhaps he didn't mean that; perhaps what he meant was being able, when one is asked what anything is, to provide the questioner with an answer in terms of its elements.

THEAETETUS. What sort of thing do you mean,

207

Socrates?

SOCRATES. Well, Hesiod, for example, says, about a wagon, 'A hundred are a wagon's timbers'. Now I wouldn't

be able to put them in an account, and I don't suppose you 5

would either. If we were asked what a wagon is, we'd be quite content if we could say 'Wheels, axle, body, rails, yoke'.

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. Our man, though, might well think us absurd,

just as if we'd been asked about your name and answered by 10

syllables: we'd be correct in judging and saying what we did,

b

but we'd be absurd if we thought that we were experts in letters and that we had and were stating the account of Theaetetus' name in the manner of experts in letters. The fact is that it's impossible, he'd think, to give an account of

anything in a knowledgeable way until, as well as one's true 5

judgement, one can go through each thing element by element. That's something that was actually said earlier in our discussion.

THEAETETUS. Yes, it was.

SOCRATES. Well now, in the same way, he'd think we have a correct judgement about a wagon, too; whereas someone who can go through its being by way of those hun

dred timbers has, in getting hold of that, got hold of an ac- c

count in addition to his true judgement, and, instead of possessing judgement, has come to possess expertise and knowledge about a wagon's being, having gone through the

-103-

whole thing element by element.

THEAETETUS. And don't you think that's a good 5

suggestion, Socrates?

SOCRATES. Tell me if you do, and if you accept that to go through anything element by element is to give an account of it, whereas to go through it complex by complex or in some

d

still larger units leaves it without an account. Then we can look into it.

THEAETETUS. Well, I do accept it.

SOCRATES. And do you do so in the belief that anyone has knowledge of anything when the same thing seems to him

sometimes to belong to one thing and sometimes to belong to 5

another, or when he judges that the same thing sometimes has one thing belonging to it and sometimes another?

THEAETETUS. No, certainly not.

SOCRATES. Well, have you forgotten that in the course of your learning of your letters, at first, you and everyone else did just that?

THEAETETUS. You mean we believed that the same 10

e

syllable sometimes had one letter belonging to it and sometimes another, and we put the same letter sometimes in the appropriate syllable and sometimes in another?

SOCRATES. Yes.

THEAETETUS. Well, I certainly haven't forgotten; and I 5

don't think people in that condition have knowledge yet.

SOCRATES. Well now, when someone at that sort of stage is writing 'Theaetetus', and thinks he ought to write 'T', 'H',

208

'E', and does so; and then again, when setting out to write 'Theodorus', he thinks he ought to write 'T', 'E', and does so; shall we say he knows the first syllable of your names?

THEAETETUS. No, we've just agreed that someone in that

condition doesn't have knowledge yet. 5

SOCRATES. And is there anything to stop the same person being in that condition with respect to the second syllable, too; and the third, and the fourth?

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. Well then, whenever, in those circumstances,

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he writes down 'Theaetetus', putting the letters in order, he'll be writing it in a condition in which he has the way to go through it element by element, together with a correct judgement?

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's clear. 10

SOCRATES. But in a condition in which he still doesn't

b

have knowledge, though what he judges is correct: that's what we're saying?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And in a condition in which he does have an

account as well as a correct judgement. Because he was 5

writing in a condition in which he has the way to go through it element by element, and we agreed that that's an account.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's true.

SOCRATES. So there's such a thing as correct judgement with an account which oughtn't yet to be called knowledge.

THEAETETUS. It looks as if there is. 10

SOCRATES. Then our wealth was apparently only a dream, when we thought we had the truest possible account of knowledge.

Or shouldn't we make that accusation yet? We said that

c

there were three kinds of thing, one of which would be what our man meant by 'account'--I mean, the man who defines knowledge as being correct judgement with an account. Now perhaps someone will define it, not in the way we've just discussed, but as the last of the three.

THEAETETUS. You're right to remind us, because there's

still one left. One was a sort of image of thought in speech, 5

and one, which we've just discussed, was the way to go through the thing, element by element, till one has gone through the whole. Now what do you say the third is?

SOCRATES. What most people would say: being able to state some mark by which the thing one is asked for differs from everything else.

THEAETETUS. Can you give me an account of something as an example?

-105-

d

SOCRATES. Well, about the sun, if you like to take that as an example, I imagine you'll accept as adequate that it's the brightest of the heavenly bodies that go round the earth.

THEAETETUS. Certainly.

SOCRATES. Well, let me tell you why I said that. It was to 5

bring out what we were saying just now: that if you get hold of the differentiation of anything, by which it differs from everything else, then some people say you'll have got hold of an account; whereas as long as you grasp something common, your account will be about those things to which the common quality belongs.

e

THEAETETUS. I understand; and it seems to me that it's right to call something of that sort an account.

SOCRATES. And anyone who, along with a correct judgement about any of the things which are, gets hold of its differentiation from everything else as well, will have come to

have knowledge of that thing, of which he previously had a 5

judgement.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's what we're saying.

SOCRATES. But now that I've got close to what we're saying, Theaetetus, as if it were a picture with shading, I simply can't understand it, not even a little; whereas, as long as I was standing some distance away, it seemed to me that there was something in it.

THEAETETUS. How do you mean? 10

209

SOCRATES. I'll tell you, if I can. Suppose I have a correct judgement about you; then if I get hold of your account as well, I know you, and if not, I merely have you in my judgement.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. And an account was to be what gives 5

expression to your differentness.

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. Well then, when I was merely judging, wasn't it the case that I had no grasp in my thought of any of the things by which you're different from everything else?

THEAETETUS. Apparently not.

-106-

SOCRATES. So I had in my thought one of the common 10

things, none of which you have to any greater extent than anyone else does.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that must be so.

b

SOCRATES. But, for heaven's sake, in such conditions how on earth could it be you that I had in my judgement any more than anyone else? Suppose my thought was that

Theaetetus is the one who is a man, and has a nose, eyes, a 5

mouth, and so on with each part of the body. Now, could that thought make it Theaetetus that I have in my thought, any more than Theodorus, or, as one might say, the remotest peasant in Asia?*

THEAETETUS. No, how could it?

SOCRATES. And if I have in my thought not merely the 10

one who has a nose and eyes, but the one with a snub nose

c

and prominent eyes, it still won't be you that I have in my judgement any more than myself or anyone else who is like that, will it?

THEAETETUS. No.

SOCRATES. In fact it won't, I think, be Theaetetus who

figures in a judgement in me until precisely that snubness has 5

imprinted and deposited in me a memory trace different from those of the other snubnesses I've seen, and similarly with the other things you're composed of. Then if I meet you tomorrow, that snubness will remind me and make me judge correctly about you.

THEAETETUS. Yes, that's quite true. 10

SOCRATES. So correct judgement about anything, too,

d

would seem to be about its differentness.

THEAETETUS. Evidently.

SOCRATES. Well then, what about getting hold of an account in addition to one's correct judgement: what's left for

it to be? Because if, on the one hand, it means adding a judge- 5

ment as to how the thing differs from everything else, the instructions turn out to be quite absurd.

THEAETETUS. In what way?

SOCRATES. When we already have a correct judgement

-107-

as to how something differs from everything else, those instructions tell us to add a correct judgement as to how that

same thing differs from everything else. On those lines, 'the 10

e

turning of a treadmill'* would be nowhere near right as a description of them; they might more justly be called a case of a blind man telling one the way. Because telling us to add something we already have in order to get to know what we have in our judgements looks like the behaviour of someone who is well and truly in darkness.

THEAETETUS. And if, on the other hand . . . ? You put 5

forward a hypothesis just now as if you were going to state another: what was it going to be?*

SOCRATES. If, when it tells us to add an account, it's telling us to get to know, rather than judge, the differentness, then we'll have an amusing thing in this most admirable of

210

our accounts of knowledge. Because to get to know is surely to get hold of knowledge, isn't it?

THEAETETUS. Yes.

SOCRATES. So when it's asked what knowledge is, this account will apparently answer that it's correct judgement

together with knowledge of differentness. Because that's what 5

adding an account would be, according to it.

THEAETETUS. Apparently.

SOCRATES. And when we're investigating knowledge, it's absolutely silly to say it's correct judgement together with knowledge, whether of differentness or of anything else.

So it would seem, Theaetetus, that knowledge is neither

b

perception, nor true judgement, nor an account added to true judgement.

THEAETETUS. Apparently not.

SOCRATES. Well now, are we still pregnant and in labour

with anything about knowledge, or have we given birth to 5

everything?

-108-

THEAETETUS. Yes, indeed, Socrates; actually you've got me to say more than I had in me.

SOCRATES. And my art of midwifery tells us that they're all the results of false pregnancies and not worth bringing up?

THEAETETUS. Yes, definitely. 10

SOCRATES. Well then, if you try, later on, to conceive anything else, and do so, what you're pregnant with will be

c

the better for our present investigation. And if you stay barren, you'll be less burdensome to those who associate with you, and gentler, because you'll have the sense not to think you know things which in fact you don't know. That much

my art can do, but no more, and I don't know any of the 5

things which others know, all the great and admirable men there are and have been; but this gift of midwifery my mother and I received from God, she with women, and I with young

d

and noble men and all who are beautiful.

Well, now I must go to the King's Porch to face the charge Meletus has brought against me. But let's meet here again, Theodorus, in the morning.

-109-

NOTES ON THE TEXT AND TRANSLATION

143d1: I understand τω + ̂ν to be masculine rather than neuter; on this view it is taken up by ε + ̓ϰείνων at 143d2.

143e6: alternatively, perhaps, 'I'd have been very much afraid to speak'.

147b1: 'the name' is added in the translation. Plato slides from the quoted expression 'doll-maker's' to, here, a compendious allusion to a range of such expressions. Such slides are natural in view of the absence of quotation marks from Greek as Plato wrote it.

148c7: taking ἄϰρων to be neuter. If it is masculine, the meaning is 'a task for people who are excellent in every way'; similarly in Theaetetus' reply.

149d3: νέον ὄν is intelligible if some suitable noun ('embryo' in the translation) is understood: see Campbell's note.

152a6: alternatively 'says': see note (1) on 152a6-8.

152c2: reading γ + ̕ἂρ + ̕ for γὰρ, with Badham: cf. the divergence of the MSS. at 171c10. See note on 152b1-c7.

152d8: Greek does not, like English, use the verb 'be', as here, in forming the continuous present tense. Hence the Greek does not so obviously suggest the objection that claims like that made here are selfundermining.

153a5-7: taking ὄτι . . . ἡσυχία to explain τάδε. On an alternative interpretation, ὄτι . . . ἡσυχία explains τω + ̂ + ̦ λόγω + ̦, and we should translate 'the theory that coming to be . . . inactivity': in that case the remark about fire is the first of 'the following points'.

156c5: alternatively, perhaps, 'Not quite, Socrates'.

156d1-2: omitting the second ου + ̔ + ́τω δὴ.

160a1: translating ποιει + ̂ as 'makes' rather than 'acts on': see note on 159e7-160a3.

-110-

167b1-3: reading πονηρα + ̂ + ̩ (Aldine) at 167b1, and χρηστῃ + ̑ (W) at 167b2. On the construction, see Cornford, p. 71, n.2: but I see no reason to follow him (and Diels) in omitting τὰ Φαντάσματα at 167b3.

167c2: retaining τε ϰαὶ α + ̓ληθει + ̂ς: see the end of the note on 166d1-167d4.

169d3-8: the structure of this speech is not quite clear. On another possible interpretation, instead of 'in point of wisdom. We had Protagoras concede', we should translate 'in point of wisdom, and when we had Protagoras concede'. The concluding question must then be understood to mean, not 'Isn't that so?', but something like 'Shouldn't we do that?'.

171b4: reading ἑαυτοὺς (W) for ἑαυτοι + ̂ς.

179a1-3: reading δὴ (Campbell) for μὴ at 179a1, and retaining αὑτω + ̑ + ̩ at 179a3. This has the advantage, over the OCT reading, of giving some point to ϰαὶ at 179a1.

180e1: the text is doubtful. I have retained the words printed in the OCT, but taken οἱ + ̂ον as Plato's introduction to the quotation, not part of the quotation itself. The line bears a dim resemblance to Parmenides, B8, 1.38.

183b4: retaining οὐδ + ̕ οὕτως (W and OCT): see note on 182c9-183b6.

185a8: alternatively 'sound and colour'.

186b6: 'what' represents the OCT ὅτι, often translated 'that'. Older editions, however, have ὅτι (interrogative pronoun), and Burnet may not have meant to diverge from them other than orthographically, since he standardly writes the interrogative pronoun ὅτι rather than ὅτι.

186c1-2: taking ὅσα as subject, τείνει as transitive, παθήματα as object. A common interpretation of this sentence takes παθήματα with ο + ̒ + ́σα, and τείνει as intransitive: but that commits Socrates to the odd view that we perceive our experiences.

For consistency, we should understand ε + ̓ϰείνων at 186d3 to have a different reference from τοι + ̂ς παθήμασιν at 186d2: it refers to the things we perceive, rather than our experiences. In fact ε + ̓ϰείνων does, in any case, seem excessively weighty to refer back only one line: I have tried to capture this by rendering it 'those things we mentioned'.

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189d7: translating Ἕρτιν as 'it's possible'. On another possible interpretation, the sentence has the understood subject 'judging what's false' (from Socrates' last speech): the meaning is: 'So according to your judgement it, sc. judging what's false, is putting something . . .'.

194c7: this is not really a translation. Plato alludes to the similarity between Homer's word ϰέαρ ('heart') and the word ϰηρός ('wax').

194d4-6: the construction is very obscure. I have taken σαϕη + ̂ . . . ὅντα to agree, loosely, with τὰαὑτω + ̂ν . . . ε + ̓ϰμαγει + ̂α, and ἕϰαστα to be the object of διανέμουσιν. I take the antecedent of ἂ . . . ϰαλει + ̂ται to be ε + ̓ϰμαγει + ̂α rather than έ + ̒ϰαστα. But it is impossible to be confident about this.

201b1-2: reading α + ̓ποστερούμενοι (Y) at 201b1, and βιαζόμενοι (Diès) at 201b2.

201c5: omitting ϰαὶ διϰαστήρια.

205d1: reading τὸ for του + ̂, with Bonitz.

209b7-8: not really a translation. Socrates says 'the meanest of the Mysians', citing a proverbial instance of remoteness.

209d10-e1: again, not really a translation. Socrates says 'the revolving of a scytale or a pestle'. The scytale was a rod on which a tape was wound and then written on, in such a way that the writing could not be read unless the tape was again wound on a rod of the same size. We are told that Socrates' expression was proverbial for doing something over and over again without getting anywhere.

209e5: reading εἰ δέ γε . . . τί νυνδὴ ὡς ε + ̓ρω + ̂ν ὑπέθου;. One MS. has εἰ δέ, and ὑπέθου is due to Badham: see Campbell's note.

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NOTES

01. INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE

(142a-151d)

142a-143c Prefatory dialogue.

Many of Plato's works consist of a main dialogue embedded in a prefatory dialogue, but the Theaetetus is unique in that the embedded main dialogue is in dramatic, not narrative, form. The comment on this at 143b5-c5 is sometimes taken to show that the Theaetetus was written later than any work with an embedded dialogue in narrative form: in particular, later than the Parmenides. But this argument is not decisive. In the first place, the comment could be an ad hoc excuse for the unprecedented form of the Theaetetus; it need not be taken as expressing a commitment never again to use the form here criticized. Second, even if we discount the first point, there are other ways of accounting for the comment: e.g. it is conceivable that the prefatory dialogue was added to the Theaetetus after the Parmenides was written, although the main dialogue was composed earlier.

On the relative dates of the Theaetetus and the Parmenides, see, further, the following notes: 176b7-177a8, 183e7-184a1, 203e2-205c3.

143c-145c Introduction of the characters.

144c7, d2 'substantial property . . . substance'. Plato may intend a philosophical pun. The noun used in both places (ousia) means 'being' (my translation elsewhere), and, in an extended use, 'property'. Plato commonly pairs names with the being (or 'substance') of their bearers: see, e.g., Cratylus 388b13-c1, 423e1-424b3, Laws 895d 4-5.

145c-146c Statement of the question.

145c7-146a1. By proceeding in the way he does towards posing the question 'What is knowledge?', Socrates implicitly secures Theaetetus' prior agreement that there is such a thing as knowledge. Cf. Aristotle, Posterior Analytics 89b34: 'When we know that something is, we inquire what it is.' The line of thought is as follows. Theaetetus wants to talk about learning, i.e. about people's becoming (or coming to be) wise. That commits him to talking about wisdom (145d11), and so, by implication, to conceding that there is such a thing. And wisdom is the same thing as knowledge. For the line of thought, cf. Hippias Major 287c1-d2, Sophist 247a2-7.

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146c-147c First answer.

Theaetetus' answer (146c7-d2) is a list of what he takes to be instances or kinds of knowledge. Socrates' criticism of the answer makes two main points:

(1) The answer is tantamount to something of the form 'knowledge of x, knowledge of y. . .'. But each item on such a list could be understood only by someone who already knew what knowledge was. So the list cannot, without circularity, answer the question 'What is knowledge?'.

(2) The question 'What is knowledge?', like the question 'What is clay?', calls for a single formula.

Some comments:

(i) Under (1), Socrates suggests that the list (if it were complete, presumably) could answer the questions 'What are the objects of knowledge?' and 'How many kinds of knowledge are there?' (146e7-10). The implication is that an answer to the question 'What are the objects of knowledge?' is not an answer to the question 'What is knowledge?'. This raises a difficulty for Cornford's thesis that the unstated moral of the Theaetetus, whose concern is with the second question, is an answer to the first, viz. that the objects of knowledge are the Forms. On Cornford's thesis, see, further, the following notes: 201a4-c7, 210b1; cf. also the other notes cited at the end of the note on 210b1.

(ii) It seems plausible that one cannot understand a phrase of the form 'knowledge of x' without in some sense knowing what knowledge is; for one must in some sense know what knowledge is in order to understand the word 'knowledge'. But in the argument of (1), Plato extends this principle to include expressions which are said to be equivalent to phrases of the form 'knowledge of x', but which do not themselves contain the word 'knowledge' (e.g. 'the art of the shoemaker'); and this extended application is much less plausible.

(iii) Further, even if we discount (ii), it is not plausible to suppose that one needs articulate knowledge of what knowledge is, in order to understand expressions equivalent to phrases containing the word 'knowledge'. But to convict Theaetetus' answer of circularity, as it purports to do, the argument of (1) requires the principle that in order to understand such expressions one must already be able to give a satisfactory answer to Socrates' question 'What is knowledge?'.

(iv) In any case, Socrates has not shown that a list of instances or kinds of knowledge cannot be of any use in answering the question 'What is knowledge?'. On the other side, it might be objected that if we were sure of the correctness of the list, it would be a useful check on suggested answers to the question--a source of counter-instances. It would be in the spirit of (1) to reply that we could not be sure of the correctness of the list unless we already knew what knowledge was. But again, it is not plausible to suppose that the knowledge thus required need be articulate; whereas if

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the reply is to be damaging, the knowledge required must amount to possession of a satisfactory answer to Socrates' question.

(v) Socrates' remarks under (2) are reminiscent of a number of passages where he similarly rebukes interlocutors who answer questions of the 'Socratic' form, 'What is X?', with enumerations of instances or kinds of X: see, e.g., Euthyphro 5d7-6e2, Meno 71e1-77b1. The rebuke prompts the following objection. It cannot be assumed that in all cases there will be an answer to the question 'What do instances or kinds of X have in common?' which is more informative than, simply, 'They are all instances or kinds of X'. Where there is not, the question 'What is X?' cannot be answered by a single formula of the sort Socrates requires; and it would seem that an understanding of what X is should be approached (if at all) precisely via instances or kinds of X. Now Socrates has not shown that the concept of knowledge is not a concept of this sort. Indeed, under (2) he seems not to envisage the possibility of such concepts. (Cf. Wittgenstein, The Blue Book, pp. 17-20. Later Plato allows, in some cases at least, a connection between an account of what X is and an account of the instances or kinds of X: see Philebus 12c1-18d2.)

147b4-5 'know knowledge'. It is clear from the context that Plato treats this phrase as equivalent to 'know what knowledge is' (cf. also 196d8-10). This fact can be explained in terms of Greek idiom. A standard way of saying, in Greek, 'I know what knowledge is' could be literally translated 'I know knowledge what it is'. (This idiom figures in the present passage, at 146e9-10--literally 'to know knowledge itself just what it is'; and at 147b2--literally 'a name of something which he doesn't know what it is'.) In this idiomatic form, the word for 'knowledge' is in the accusative case, standing as the direct object of the verb; and 'what it is' is apparently an adverbial clause, of a sort which one might expect to suffer ellipsis readily. The ellipsis contracts 'I know knowledge what it is' into 'I know knowledge'.

All this is dangerous for Plato. For in order to understand properly what it is to know what knowledge (or anything) is, one would need to see that the words 'what knowledge is', in the context 'know what knowledge is', constitute an indirect question, so that 'know' needs to be taken in the sense in which we talk about knowing that something is the case (French savoir). In a phrase like 'know knowledge', on the other hand, it would be natural to take 'know' in the sense in which we talk about knowing objects (French connaître). Now Plato takes 'know what knowledge is' and 'know knowledge' to be equivalent. His idiom would thus naturally incline him to understand knowing what, say, knowledge is as a matter of acquaintance with an object, designated indifferently by the phrase 'what knowledge is' or the word 'knowledge'. (Such a view is characteristic of the Theory of Forms: these considerations about Greek idiom afford a tempting

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explanation of some features of that theory.) More generally, Plato's idiom would be an obstacle in the way of his achieving clarity about the distinction between knowing objects and knowing that something is the case.Cf. further the following notes: 148c6-7, 163b1-7, 186c7-e12, 187e-188c, 195b-196c, 197a8-e7, 201d8-202b7, 206e4-207d2.

147c-148b Powers.

It is not suggested that Theodorus, on the occasion Theaetetus mentions (147d3-6), was offering an answer to the question 'What is a power?'. But if he had been, his procedure would have been analogous to Theaetetus' enumeration of instances or kinds of knowledge. And the definition of powers arrived at by Theaetetus and the young Socrates is parallel to the sort of definition of knowledge that Socrates is asking for. Theodorus' examples illustrated the following point, though he seems not to have stated it generally: the square root of n, where n is a nonsquare integer, cannot be represented as a ratio between two integers; or, in geometrical terms, the length in, say, feet of a side of a square with an area of n square feet, where n is a non-square integer, is not commensurable with a one-foot length. The definition of powers arrived at by Theaetetus and the young Socrates is, in effect, 'A power is the square root of a non-square integer'. Note that 'number', throughout this passage, applies to positive integers only. The lines that 'square off' a number (148a6-b2) are the lines forming the sides of a square whose area is that number of square units.

148b-e Interlude.

148c6-7 'seek it out'. This translation smooths over an oddity present in the Greek: literally, Socrates describes Theaetetus' task as being 'to find out knowledge'. It looks as if Plato regards 'find out knowledge' as equivalent to 'find out what knowledge is'; and takes Theaetetus' task as being to search for an object, designated indifferently by 'knowledge' or 'what knowledge is'. Cf. note on 147b4-5.

148e-151d Socrates as midwife.

The most important points in the description of Socrates as midwife are these:

(1) He produces no philosophical theses himself.

(2) He can elicit such theses from others.

(3) He can test such theses for correctness.

Some commentators connect this passage with the Theory of Recollection, i.e. the theory that so-called learning is really the recollecting of knowledge acquired before birth. (See Meno 80d1-86c3, Phaedo

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72e3-77a9. In the Phaedo knowledge is knowledge of Forms.) But the connection is disputable. The description of Socratic midwifery is a metaphorical description of a method. The method corresponds fairly well with Socrates' professions and practice in the early dialogues and the Apology, and it is possible that the historical Socrates used the metaphor himself (see Aristophanes, Clouds 137). The Theory of Recollection, on the other hand, is a doctrine; and one, moreover, which would now be generally agreed to be Platonic rather than Socratic. Of course Plato may have meant to work a doctrine of his own into an account of the method of Socrates. But there are at least two reasons for doubting that the Theory of Recollection is alluded to here. First, the 'offspring' delivered by Socrates are just as likely to be incorrect as correct (Theaetetus' suggestions in this dialogue are all discarded); and it is not clear how this is supposed to fit the Theory of Recollection. Second, the Theory of Recollection contains nothing corresponding to the barrenness of Socrates himself; and this is one of the most strongly emphasized elements in the description of Socrates as midwife.On the Theory of Recollection, see, further, the following notes: 195b-196c, 199a4-c7.151b5. Prodicus was a sophist, i.e. itinerant teacher. (Readers who want more information than this about him might consult, e.g., The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Similarly with other incidentally mentioned figures.)

1. PERCEPTION

(151d-187a)

1.1. Statement and elaboration of the definition (151d-160e)

151d-e Statement of the definition.

Two points about the words translated 'perceive', 'perception':

1. These translations are sometimes queried, on the ground that perception is a relation between a person and public external objects, whereas Plato, it is argued, has in mind something more like the relation between a person and his sense-data, as conceived in the British empiricist tradition. On these grounds some such translations as 'sense' and 'sensing' might be preferred. I believe, however, that one should regard with suspicion the attribution to Plato of anything like the concept of a sense-datum. Plato's account of what my translation makes him call 'perception' differs, no doubt, from the account we might give of what we call 'perception'; but that does not show that the translation is incorrect, rather than, perhaps, that Plato makes philosophical moves which we might not be inclined to

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make. See, further, the following notes: 152b2, 156b2-7, 156e1-2, 157b8-c2.

2. We ordinarily speak both of perceiving objects and of perceiving that something is the case. (Cf. the parallel distinction between constructions with 'know': see note on 147b4-5.) Further, when we credit a person with perceiving an object, we are also, at least sometimes, prepared to credit him with perceiving that something is the case: e.g. that what he sees is white, or is Theaetetus. That is, we are prepared to regard perception as, at least sometimes, including the recognition and classification of what is perceived. Now it emerges, I think, from the final refutation of this definition of knowledge (184b-187a) that Plato's official view of perception would confine strict uses of the verb 'perceive' to the first of the two constructions (perceiving objects). According to this view, perception does not attain truth (186c9-d5); i.e., as we might put it, it has no propositional content. This implies a distinction between, on the one hand, perception strictly so called, and, on the other, what Plato would evidently refuse to call 'perceiving that something is the case' and call, rather, something like 'making judgements on the basis of perception' (cf. 179c3-4). For the moment, however, Plato's project is to make the definition of knowledge as perception seem as plausible as possible. Initially, therefore, he keeps the official view back, suggesting that perception can be thought of as attaining truth (152c5, 160c7-9), and thereby blurring his distinction between perception and judgements based on perception. See, further, notes on 163b1-7, 163b8-c3, 186c7-e12.

151e-152c Protagoras.

152a2-4. Some comments on Protagoras' formula:

1. 'A man'. A more traditional translation is 'Man . . .': Greek has no indefinite article. But the traditional translation misleadingly suggests some notion like that of the collective wisdom of the human race; whereas it is clear that the formula applies, at least as Plato understands it, to any member of the human race (e.g. 'you and I': 152a8).

2. 'Those which are', etc. Four occurrences of the verb 'to be' in an incomplete use, i.e. a use in which a subject-expression and the appropriate form of the verb require a complement in order to constitute a complete sentence; though in an elliptical sentence the complement may be omitted, as here. The effect, in this case, of omitting complements seems to be to give the formula the force of a generalization over some set of appropriate complements, thus: a man is the measure of things which are f, that they are f, and of things which are not f, that they are not f; where 'f' may be replaced by any member of the set of appropriate complements. On the question which complements are appropriate, see note (3) on 152a6-8.

3. The construction with 'measure' is similar to the construction with 'know' discussed in the note on 147b4-5. In the light of 'I know x what it

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is', it is easy to understand 'I know x that it is f'; similarly 'I am a measure of x that it is f'. This last form obviously amounts to something like 'My judgement that x is f is authoritative' (cf. 178b5-7).

152a6-8. Some comments:

1. 'Means'. Alternatively, perhaps, 'says': it is not clear whether these lines offer an explanation of what Protagoras means by the formula of 152a2-4, or a further quotation. The latter is, perhaps, favoured by the similar wording at Cratylus 386a1-3.

2. 'For me . . . for you'. It thus emerges that the original formula should have said that a man is the measure of the things which are for him and the things which are not for him. For the moment at least, Plato is taking it that, according to Protagoras, two people may both pronounce on the same object, e.g. the same wind (152b2). Now an authoritative claim on my part that the wind is, without qualification, cold, would cast doubt on the authoritativeness of a claim on your part that the same wind is, without qualification, hot. Inserting the qualifying phrases 'for me' and 'for you' into the statements of the two claims allows Protagoras to go on insisting that they are both authoritative; since they need not, now, be taken to conflict.

In the case described, the wind is cold for me and hot for you. Commentators have speculated about what sort of conception of the wind in itself this involves: e.g. whether Protagoras holds that both hotness and coldness, or neither, inhere in the wind as it really is. But such speculation seems pointless. It seems obvious that, at least as Plato interprets him, Protagoras refuses to make sense of questions about what the wind is like in itself, as distinct from questions about what it is like for one person or another (152b5-7).

3. 'Appears'. This verb can be used either in what might be called 'directly perceptual' statements (e.g. 'It appears red to me') or, more generally, in statements of what one is inclined to think (e.g. 'He appears an honest man to me'). Hence we can distinguish two possible interpretations of Protagoras' thesis as Socrates states it here:

A. Each thing is, for any person, the way he perceives it as being.

B. Each thing is, for any person, the way he is inclined to think it is.

The distinction can be made in terms of two different specifications of the set of appropriate substitutions for 'f', in the formula 'A man is the measure of things which are f, that they are f, and of things which are not f, that they are not f': cf. note (2) on 152a2-4. For interpretation (a), we require a restricted set of appropriate substitutions, viz. the set of what we may call 'perceptual predicates'. Plato seems to allude to some such restricted set of predicates at 152c1-2 ('that which is hot and everything of that sort'); he would perhaps try to delimit the set in question in terms of his notion of the special objects of the senses (184e8-185a3). For inter-

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pretation (b), on the other hand, any predicate would be an appropriate substitution.Obviously the primary concern of the present passage is with interpretation (a) (see 152b11-c7). But interpretation (b), or something like it, figures in the subsequent discussion of Protagoras (see 157d7-8 for a hint of it; and 160e-179b, passim). It is arguable that, by alluding at 152c1-2 to the necessity, for present purposes, of a restricted range of predicates, Plato brings before the reader's mind the possibility of an unrestricted version of the thesis, i.e. interpretation (b). A remark at 167a8 suggests that Plato envisages Protagoras as denying the possibility of non-perceptual judgements: this would imply a denial of the existence of non-perceptual predicates, and hence a denial of the possibility of distinguishing (b) from (a). But the two are effectively distinguished by the argument of 177c-179b, which refutes (b) without damaging (a).152b1-c7. I take the argument of this passage to be as follows. Generalizing what Protagoras says about the case of the wind, we obtain the following principle (not explicitly stated):

1. If something appears f to someone, then it is f for him (for appropriate substitutions for 'f'). Now in the case of predicates of the appropriate sort:

2. Something's appearing f to someone is the same thing as his perceiving that thing as being f. (2) is argued at 152b9-c2. From (1) and (2) we infer:

3. If someone perceives something as being f, then it is f for him. (3) is, in my view, inferred at 152c2-3. Taking it as an inference requires an emendation: the received text would give 'Because . . .' instead of 'So . . .', but that seems to me to make the argument unintelligible. (See Notes on the Text and Translation.)

The final conclusion (152c5-6) calls for some interpretation:

A. 'Perception is always of what is'. This restates (3). The second 'is' is incomplete, but with complement omitted (see note (2) on 152a2-4): we should supply some such complement as 'the way one perceives it as being'. Thus the clause amounts to 'What one perceives (what one's perception is a perception of) always is the one way one perceives it as being'; i.e., for appropriate substitutions for 'f', 'If one perceives something as being f, then it is f'. If we add 'for one' at the end (Plato is not always strict about these qualifying phrases), this last formulation is straightforwardly equivalent to (3). It is obvious that (3) amounts to the claim that perception is veridical (for the perceiver), so that 'and free from falsehood' adds nothing.

B. The words translated 'as if it's knowledge' might be translated 'as being knowledge'. But that would suggest, I think inappropriately, that 'Perception isd knowledge' is being treated as an assumption, from which the veridicality of perception is derived as a consequence. It seems better

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to understand the force of the words as something like 'This is what one would expect, if it were correct that perception is knowledge'. In that case the point being made is that the veridicality of perception, derived not from the equation of knowledge with perception but from Protagoras' thesis, affords an argument in favour of the equation of knowledge with perception. Socrates' original claim was that Protagoras' thesis and Theaetetus' definition of knowledge as perception were the same (151e8-152a2; cf. 160d5-e2). This claim of identity requires at least that each of the two theses should imply the other. In one direction, the required implication seems obvious: if perception is knowledge, then Protagoras' thesis (on interpretation (a): note (3) on 152a6-8) is true. But the converse implication is more doubtful. The most we have, in this direction, is the following: if Protagoras' thesis (on interpretation (a)) is true, then perception is always veridical, which is something we should expect if perception were knowledge. Now:

(i) This might seem to amount to no more than the following: if Protagoras' thesis is true, then perception satisfies a necessary condition for being knowledge. It could then be objected that the claim of identity requires the following: if Protagoras' thesis is true, then perception satisfies a sufficient condition for being knowledge. However, it is not clear that we do not in fact have this latter implication. That perception is always, and hence reliably, veridical would constitute a quite plausible argument that all cases of perception are cases of knowledge.

(ii) But even so, the claim of identity breaks down if there are nonperceptual predicates whose true applicability may be known. For if that is so, then not all cases of knowledge are cases of perception, so that the equation of knowledge with perception is false; whereas Protagoras' thesis, on either interpretation, could still be true.

152b2 'the same wind'. See note (1) on 151d-e. It is obvious that, here at least, the reason mentioned there for objecting to the translations 'perceive' and 'perception' does not apply. Indeed, Protagoras' position is remote from that of the most characteristic of sense-datum theorists. For they start from the idea that, since things sometimes are not as they seem, one's claims about how things are are less certain than one's claims about how things seem; whereas Protagoras rejects the distinction, fundamental to this line of thought, between how things are and how things seem.

152c-153d The 'secret doctrine'.

152c8-10. The suggestion that Protagoras secretly taught the doctrine which follows is almost certainly not meant to be taken seriously. Still, the suggestion is presumably made for a reason. The simplest account of the

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reason is that Plato takes the secret doctrine to be an implication of Protagoras' explicit doctrine, so that Protagoras ought, in view of his explicit doctrine, to have taught the secret doctrine.152d2-e1. Three preliminary points:

(1) 'Nothing is one thing just by itself' (152d2-3; cf. 153e4-5, 156e8-157a1, 157a8). There are two possible interpretations of these words:

(a) Nothing is one thing without also being something else. If we take 'something else' as tantamount to 'something incompatible with the first thing', this proposition fits the examples Socrates goes on to give: 152d4-6 implies, e.g., that nothing is big without also being small. For a similar thought, see Timaeus 49b2-5, c7-d3.

(b) Nothing is, on its own, any one thing--heavy, say--as opposed to being, e.g., heavy in relation to something else (in this case a perceiver). For this idea, cf. 157a8-b1, 160a5-c3, and, perhaps, 'mixture with one another' at 152d7.

(2) 'Some thing . . . qualified in some way' (152d3-4; cf. 152d6, 157a2). A distinction between two kinds of statement one might make about an object: for similar wording, cf. Cratylus 439d8-440a5. The distinction can be explained in terms of the distinction between two kinds of question. Thus:

(a) To say of an object that it is some (specified) thing is to answer the question 'What is it?'. ( Cratylus 423c9-424b3 suggests that this is done by giving a name of the object. In general, the Cratylus seems to treat proper names and kind names on the same footing. This seems to be true of the Sophist, too: compare 261c6-262e2, especially 262c9, with the examples in 263a. Perhaps, then, we may conjecture that saying of an object that it is, say, Theaetetus, and saying of it that it is a man, would both equally count as saying that it is some thing.)

(b) To say of an object that it is qualified in some (specified) way is to answer some such question as 'What is it like?'. (It is evidently this kind of statement that is illustrated by the examples in 152d4-5: saying of an object that it is, say, heavy would count as saying that it is qualified in some way.)

(3) 'Come to be' (152d8). The Greek verb so translated (gignesthai) has no etymological connection with the word for 'be'. Its use is often incomplete, with complement expressed or understood (cf. note (2) on 152a2-4). This seems to be the case here: the suggestion is that we ought not to say of anything that it is some thing or that it is qualified in some way, and that we ought to substitute 'comes to be' for 'is' in such remarks. For this incomplete use 'become' would be a suitable translation, with the advantage that it does not misleadingly suggest that the Greek is a phrase containing the word for 'be'. However, the Greek verb, unlike 'become',

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also has a complete use, in which it is the opposite of words meaning 'be destroyed' or 'cease to exist'. In such uses it is best rendered by 'come into being' or by forms like 'there comes to be . . .'. And Plato sometimes suggests that the secret doctrine has consequences involving this complete use of the verb: see, e.g., 153e7, 154a2. (It seems likely that he did not clearly distinguish the two uses.) Accordingly, in general statements of the secret doctrine I have used the translation 'come to be', which adequately corresponds to the incomplete use (equivalent to 'become'), and can without too much strain be made to correspond to the complete use (equivalent to 'come into being').

What is the point of the secret doctrine?

(a) One possible view is that the doctrine is a way of stressing the claim that qualities should be ascribed to things, not absolutely, but in relation to perceivers. In the accounts of perception given later (153d-154a, 155d-157c) this claim is at least part of what is conveyed by saying that qualities should be thought of as joint products of objects and perceivers. This latter point is naturally made by saying that qualities come into being as a result of the interaction of objects and perceivers: and it might be suggested that it is no more than a simple transformation of this last statement to say that objects come to be qualified by qualities as a result of their interaction with perceivers. On these lines, then, it might be suggested that the reason for the secret doctrine's rejection of the verb 'be' is that to say that something is, say, white is to suggest that whiteness inheres in the thing itself, and so may be ascribed to it absolutely; and that the reason for the secret doctrine's substitution of the verb 'come to be' is that to say that something comes to be, say, white, considered, as above, as a transformation of the statement that whiteness comes into being as a result of the thing's interaction with something else, is coherent with the required denial that whiteness inheres in the thing itself. On this view, then, the secret doctrine's primary concern is the doctrine that perceptual qualities should be treated as relational; and the rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' is simply a way of expressing that primary concern.

Against this view:

(i) It ignores the fact that the secret doctrine's rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' applies not only to statements purporting to say how things are qualified but also to statements purporting to say what things are: see preliminary point (2) above.

(ii) As so far stated, at any rate, it leaves unexplained the fact that the secret doctrine is taken to imply radical instability in the perceptual world. For there is no obvious reason why interactions between objects and perceivers should not be fairly stable.

(iii) It is not really convincing in its suggestion that, in advance of the detailed descriptions of perception, the recommendation in the present

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passage that we should substitute 'come to be' for 'be' would most naturally be taken to convey the point that qualities do not inhere in objects, considered on their own. In advance of those detailed descriptions, the substitution of 'come to be' for 'be' would just as naturally be taken to convey, e.g., that although qualities are not inherent in objects, they come to be inherent in them. Apart from this disputable point about the verbs, the idea that qualities should be ascribed only relationally is not prominent in the present passage: what might be taken to express it can also be interpreted another way (see preliminary point (1) above).

(iv) This view seems to me to pay too little attention to a striking parallelism between, on the one hand, the rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' which is recommended by the secret doctrine; and on the other, a strange doctrine found most explicitly in the Timaeus, but hinted at elsewhere, which can be summarized as follows: there are two sorts of subject matter, one consisting of unchanging things, which can appropriately be spoken of using the verb 'be', and the other consisting of unstable perceptible things, of which the verb 'be' should not be used (except in past and future tenses), but which can appropriately be spoken of using the verb 'come to be' ( Timaeus 27d5-28a4, 37e5-38b5). If, as seems reasonable, we restrict the scope of the secret doctrine to perceptible things, it corresponds exactly to the second half of this doctrine of the Timaeus. Such a correspondence is unlikely to be accidental. And the explanation sketched above of the secret doctrine's recommendation concerning 'be' and 'come to be' does not, I think, happily apply to the doctrine of the Timaeus.

(b) I prefer, therefore, to adopt a different view--one which centres on the rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be', rather than on the relational nature of perceptual qualities--on the following lines.

152d4-6 ('If you speak . . . similarly with everything') is reminiscent of a number of passages in earlier dialogues, where Plato makes Socrates say similar things in the course of disparaging objects other than the Forms. One of these passages, Republic 478e7-480a13, contains the outline of an argument for a conclusion quite like the secret doctrine. Socrates is there concerned with what he calls 'the many beautifuls'. Presumably each of these is, at least provisionally, to be regarded as being beautiful. But (479a5-b2) each will also appear ugly. Socrates infers that each no more is than it is not what one says it is, i.e. beautiful (479b9-10). He goes on to describe 'the many beautifuls' as (i) 'rolling about between what is not and what purely is' (479b-5), which can be read as implying that strictly speaking ('purely') the verb 'be' ought not to be used of them; and (ii) 'wandering under coming to be and ceasing to be' (485b2-3), which implies that the verb 'come to be' can appropriately be used of them.

Filling in some intervening steps and changing the example to suit our passage, we get the following sketch of an argument, purporting to show

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that Protagoras' position ought to have led him to the rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' (see note on 152c8-10). Suppose that someone says, of an object x:

(1) x is big. Now x 'will also appear small' (152d5: cf. Republic 479a5-b2). That is, we shall also have:

(2) x appears small. (This calls for two comments: see below.) Now it seems reasonable to substitute 'not big' for 'small'. Further, according to Protagoras, things are as they appear. Hence:

(3) x is not big. Combining (1) and (3), we now have:

(4) x is and is not big. (Cf. Republic 479b9-10.) Now (4) looks like a contradiction. If it is a contradiction, its derivation can be taken as a reductio ad absurdum of one of the premisses from which it was derived: in particular, of (1). Moreover, we shall get the same trouble with any statement of the same kind as (1) (see 152d5-6: 'similarly with everything'); so the argument can be generalized. The suggested conclusion is that, in speaking of things of the sort which we ordinarily speak of with statements like (1), we ought not to use the verb 'be' (cf. Republic 479d3-5); the appropriate verb for such subject matter is 'come to be' (cf. Republic 485b2-3).

Here are the two comments on proposition (2):

(a) I take it that the point of 'will also appear small' is that the thing will appear small to a different observer (cf. 152b5-7). This ought to make us suspicious about the omission, in (2) and (3), of qualifying phrases of the form 'for so-and-so' (see note (2) on 152a6-8). If we rectify the omission, (4) will read something like 'x is big for me and not big for you'; and that does not look much like a contradiction. See, further, below.

(b) I state (2) in the present tense, in spite of the future tense of 'will also appear small': I have relegated the future tense to the preamble 'we shall also have'. In my view, the future tense is not meant to indicate that the time at which x appears small is later than the time at which x is said to be big. There is support for this view in the Republic, where, in spite of a similar occurrence of the future tense (479a5-b2), Plato apparently takes the argument to show that each of 'the many beautifuls' is and is not simultaneously (478d5).

Two obvious questions arise about how such an argument as that sketched above might be thought to work. First, we have just seen that the appearance of contradiction in (4) can be disarmed, with apparent ease, by adding qualifying phrases of the form 'for so-and-so'; so we need to ask how, in spite of that, Plato might have taken (4) to be some kind of contradiction. Second, we need to ask why, supposing (4) was thought to be a genuine contradiction, the right response might have seemed to be the

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rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be'. Any answers must be speculative: my guess is that both questions should be answered in terms of the plausible hypothesis that, before the Sophist, Plato accepted a certain version of the logic of Parmenides.

Parmenides' position can be summarized, and no doubt over-simplified, as follows. His fundamental principles were:

(A) In the case of that which in any way is not, it is not the case that it in any way is; and

(B) Only that which is can be significantly spoken of or thought of. From these principles he argued that nothing could be significantly said in any way not to be. This enabled him to deny the significance of (a) negative statements in general, since they could all be represented as saying that something in some way is not; and (b) statements using the verb 'come to be', since what comes to be must first not be and then be, and the initial situation thus required cannot be significantly described.

We can now turn to our two questions about the argument I am ascribing to Plato.

(i) Plato had already tacitly rejected Parmenides' principle (A). For he needed to reserve the right to make negative statements about the Forms (e.g. each Form is not any other Form, and is not liable to destruction; hence, in the terminology of my summary of Parmenides, there are some ways in which each Form is not). But he also wanted to call the Forms, with complete propriety, 'things which are'. Principle (A) would not let him retain both these desiderata. However, it seems plausible that Plato accepted a modified principle, on these lines:

(A′) In the case of that which in any way is not f, it is not the case, strictly speaking, that it in any way is f

for a range of substitutions for 'f' including 'big' (for our Theaetetus passage) and 'beautiful' (for our Republic passage). Given such a principle, (4) would be a contradiction even if we added qualifying phrases of the form 'for so-and-so'. For if a thing is not big, say, for you, then there is some way in which it is not big; and it follows, according to (A′), that it cannot be strictly accurate to say that it is big in any way, e.g. for me. (Of course, it does not really follow that this cannot be accurate: acceptance of (A′) for such a range of substitutions indicates lack of enlightenment about the logic of what may be called 'incomplete predicates'.)

(ii) Parmenides' conclusions implied the doctrine that discourse about the ordinary world is not significant: for the subject matter of such discourse is numerically and qualitatively differentiated, and at least sometimes changes, all of which convicts it of not being. Even with the modification of (A) to (A′), such a doctrine might still seem to be implied. For it might seem possible to argue thus. In the case of any thing x belonging to the subject matter of ordinary discourse, whatever one is in-

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clined to substitute for 'f' in a statement of the form 'x is f', there will always be some way in which x is not f. Hence whatever one substitutes for 'f', it is not the case that x is f (by (A′)). Hence it is not the case that x is a thing which is. ( Plato seems to be prepared to make Socrates argue thus in our passage, generalizing from the two substitutions for 'f'--'big' and 'heavy'--which he mentions.) According to principle (B), it would follow that x cannot be significantly spoken of. Now this conclusion is obviously unpalatable; and I think it is instructive to imagine Plato searching for a way to avoid it. An obvious move might be to begin by modifying principle (B) so as to allow that we can speak of some things other than things which are. But the question would then arise how we are to manage to speak of the extra subject matter we thus allow ourselves. For we are debarred from using, about it, the verb 'be'. But it seems plausible that any statement about anything involves saying that it is . . ., where the gap is filled according to what the statement is. We need, then, a verb to do, for the extra subject matter, the work done by 'is' in the above general account of what any statement involves. At this point, reflection on Parmenides' argument that what is cannot come to be (and conversely) might well suggest the idea of distinguishing two sorts of subject matter: (a) that which is, statements about which can be generally described as above, using 'is'; and (b) that which comes to be, for which 'comes to be' might be pressed into the same service. The identification of (b) with the subject matter of discourse about the ordinary world might seem to be reinforced by the common-sense fact that the verb 'come to be', in a quite ordinary sense, does sometimes apply to the latter. In our passage of the Theaetetus, of course, it is exclusively (b) and not (a) that is at issue: indeed, the secret doctrine is so stated as to imply that (a) is empty (152e1 'nothing ever is'). But that need not, I think, damage the above account of how the secret doctrine is arrived at.

I shall end this note with a problem about the generalization involved in the argument I have been discussing. I left the generalization vague, above, by representing the generalizing move as based on the claim that 'we shall get the same trouble with any statement of the same kind as (1)'. But what, precisely, is the same kind as (1)? It is perhaps not too implausible that for every qualitative appearance which a thing presents, it will be possible to find a conflicting appearance (cf. 152d4-6). This would yield a reductio ad absurdum, parallel to that of (1), for any statement purporting to say that a thing is qualified in some way. (Strictly, perhaps, we ought to restrict this conclusion to one about perceptual qualifications; but Plato makes Socrates state it generally.) However, the secret doctrine involves the rejection of the verb 'be', not only in statements purporting to say how things are qualified, but also in statements of the other kind distinguished in this passage: i.e. if the interpretation of the distinction which I put forward above is correct, in statements purporting to say what a thing is.

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And the generalization of the argument sketched above, in order to yield this second part of the secret doctrine, is more problematic. For (i) the variability of appearance does not in any obvious way support a reductio ad absurdum, parallel to that of (1), in the case of statements purporting to say what a thing is. Indeed (ii) a parallel argument for statements of this kind would evidently be incoherent. For it would involve the principle that if one aims to say what a thing is, it will also appear not to be, and hence by the Protagorean premiss of the argument not be, that (cf. 152d4-6); and this principle seems itself to deprive us of the possibility of understanding its own use of the pronoun 'it'.

Two remarks about this problem:

(a) Perhaps it need not greatly concern us at this point. For it seems clear that Plato's main interest in the secret doctrine to begin with (in spite of his general way of stating it) is in its implications about the possession of perceptual qualities. In that case he may not have thought out fully the more general argument which this passage seems to promise.

(b) In any case, it is arguable that the simplest route available to Plato, in order to arrive at the problematic second part of the secret doctrine, is not a generalization of the reductio ad absurdum of (1). The rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' in the case of statements purporting to say what things are is, arguably, taken as a way of denying that things persist through time. Now such a denial could be derived from (i) the thesis that things are qualitatively unstable, which Plato apparently takes to be a consequence of the rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' in the case of statements purporting to say how things are qualified (see note on 152d7); and (ii) the thesis that things do not preserve their identity through qualitative change (for which cf. 159a6-8).

On the secret doctrine and related matters, see, further, the following notes: 152d7, 153e5-154a2, 157a7-b8, 157b8-c2, 182c9-183b6.

152d7 'movement, change'. The first indication that the secret doctrine is thought to imply radical instability. We may divide the thesis of instability into (1) a thesis of qualitative instability, corresponding to the secret doctrine as applied to statements purporting to say how things are qualified: and (2) the thesis that things do not persist through time, corresponding to the secret doctrine as applied to statements purporting to say what things are.

To begin with (1): it is comparatively easy to form conjectures about why the secret doctrine should be thought to imply qualitative instability. Consider the forms 'x is f' and 'x is coming to be f', where to say that x is f would be to say that x is qualified in some way. According to the secret doctrine, we are confined to statements of the latter form. Now there are two ways in which this can be taken to imply instability, corresponding to two interpretations of the form in question.

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a. 'x is coming to be f' might mean that x is engaged in a process of change which, normally, would terminate in x's being f. (In fact the secret doctrine debars the things we are concerned with from ever reaching the end-states of such processes; cf. Timaeus 38a1, where Plato allows us to use 'will be', but never 'is', of the things whose appropriate verb is 'come to be'.)

b. 'x is coming to be f' might also be used at the (instantaneous) terminus of the process described under (a) (cf. 'Eclipse is now passing the winning-post'). If we are confined to statements of this kind, then, although we can ascribe instantaneous arrivals at f-ness to things, we have no language for ascribing stretches of f-ness to things, or indeed for talking about stretches of time at all. This leads to a different sort of instability from that which we might envisage under (a). According to (a) things are engaged in continuous change, whereas according to (b) the history of the world would divide up into a discontinuous series of instants.

In the case of (2), the situation is less straightforward. It is somewhat obscure how the rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be', in statements purporting to say what things are, might seem to be a good way of denying that things persist through time. For a conjecture about how Plato might have arrived at this part of the thesis of instability, see the end of the note on 152d2-e1. See, also, note on 157a7-b8.Note that neither part of the secret doctrine yields any obvious justification of the introduction of the notion of (spatial) movement. One might try to bring it under (1) by including statements as to where a thing is under the head of statements as to how a thing is qualified; but the distinction, at 181d5-6, between movement and qualitative change tells against such a proposal. Presumably Plato's reason for introducing the notion is that he is going to need it in his account of perception: see 153d-154a, 155d-157c; and see note on 153e5-154a2 for the relation between the account of perception and the secret doctrine.It would be difficult to reconcile the existence of movement with (2). ((1) is easier to reconcile with (2), by thinking of qualitative instability as involving a constant flux of qualities without persisting things to underlie it.) But it would probably be unfair to press the difficulty, since (2) is not at all prominent in this passage.152e2-9. Cf. note on 151b5. Two of the people mentioned here call for some special comment:

1. Parmenides: see note on 152d2-e1. If the view taken there is correct, there is a certain irony in his being specially cited (quite rightly) as an opponent of the secret doctrine.

2. Heracleitus: the thesis of instability which the secret doctrine is taken to involve leads many commentators to accept Plato's attribution of

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it to Heracleitus at face value. Apart from the fact that Heracleitus was known for the doctrine that everything is in flux, there seems to be no good reason for this. The passage about fire (153a7-10) is perhaps Heracleitean; but Plato gives us no reason to attach more weight to it than, e.g., to the Homeric 'argument' at 153c8-d5 . I suspect that in fact the whole of 152e2-153d5 is not intended very seriously; the basic case for the secret doctrine having already been made at 152d2-e1. It should be clear from my note on the latter passage that I take the argument for the secret doctrine to be a Platonic argument. The conclusion of the argument has implications which resemble Heracleitus' famous doctrine, and it is characteristic of Plato that he should use this as a pretext for ascribing the conclusion to Heracleitus. To take this as a reason for labelling the secret doctrine 'Heracleiteanism', suggesting thereby that its origin is extraneous, seems to me to be mistaken. Cf., further, note on 179d1-180d7.

153d-154a Preliminary account of perception.

153d8-e1. The rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' in statements about white colour--i.e. presumably what is called 'whiteness' at 156d4 and thereafter--is certainly implied by the quite general formulations of the secret doctrine so far given (152d2-3, e1; cf. 153e4-5), which require the rejection of 'be' in statements about anything. However, the argument for the secret doctrine, in terms of the variability of perceptual appearances, would most naturally be taken to apply to ordinary particular things; with the introduction of white colour or whiteness, we now seem to be dealing with items of a quite different type. Further, it seems doubtful whether the argument for the secret doctrine could succeed in ruling out the use of 'be' in a statement identifying an instance of whiteness as being just that; for it is doubtful whether a plausible case could be made for the truth of a corresponding negative statement with the same subject.Cf. notes on 182c9-183b6, 185a8-b9, 186b2-10.153e4-5. See preliminary point (1) in the note on 152d2-e1. Interpretation (b) fits the present context well.153e5-154a2. An outline of how perception works. This passage does not correspond in detail with the fuller account of perception at 155d-157c. For instance:

1. Nothing in the later passage can be happily identified with 'the appropriate motion' with which the eyes are said, in the present passage, to collide. For it would be odd to use the word 'motion' for one of the 'slow changes' of the later passage (156c6-d3). And the only 'quick change' with which, according to the later passage, the eyes might naturally be

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said to collide is the whiteness mentioned at 156d4; but that would contradict the denial, in the present passage, that white colour is what the eyes collide with.

2. In the present passage the organ of perception seems to be the active partner in a perceptual transaction--the eyes do the colliding. Later it seems to be the object of perception that is active: see 159c8-9.

It seems pointless to try to produce a consistent interpretation of the two passages together. Rather, we should take it that Plato's intention in the present passage is to introduce, in a preliminary way, the fundamental idea that perceptual qualities are to be thought of as joint products of sense organs and objects; without, at this stage, much concern for the details of the theory.

What is the purpose of constructing these detailed accounts of perception? Obviously, one point which they enable Plato to stress is that perceptual qualities should be ascribed to things, not absolutely, but relatively to perceivers: for what is achieved by this, see note (2) on 152a6-8. But if I am right that the strictly relational nature of ascriptions of perceptual qualities is not the whole point of the secret doctrine (see note on 152d2-e1), then to say no more than this would be to leave in some obscurity the connection which Plato sees between the secret doctrine and the accounts of perception. That connection is explained if we understand Plato's purpose on the following lines. His aim is to construct a plausible description of the mechanics of perception, designed so as to have, at the level of statements ascribing perceptual qualities to things, consequences conforming to two requirements: first, as above, the requirement that perceptual qualities are properly ascribed to things only in relation to perceivers; and second, the requirement, imposed by the implications of the secret doctrine, that perceptual qualifications are radically unstable. Note that this would afford Plato a justification for introducing the notion of movement at 152d7 (see note on that passage), as follows: that notion is employed in the most plausible descriptions of the mechanics of perception which Plato can devise, within the limitations imposed by the two requirements just mentioned.

154a2 'peculiar to each one': peculiar, that is, to each of the pair just mentioned--'the thing which collides and the thing it collides with'; i.e. the sense organ, or more generally the perceiver, and the object. At 154a2-8 Socrates elaborates the claim that the perceived colour is peculiar to the perceiver; for the other claim, that it is peculiar to the object, see, e.g., 160a1-3. Some argument in favour of these claims is to be found in the course of 158e-160e.

154b-155d Some puzzles.

154b1-6. A pair of arguments, evidently meant to be parallel, against

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(a) saying that objects are, e.g., white; and (b) saying that perceivers are, e.g., seeing white. (This interpretation of (b) is open to dispute: see below.) Both arguments use a principle to the following effect:

(P) If something is f and does not itself change, then it does not come to be other than f

for substitutions for 'f' including the complements discussed in these arguments. The arguments are as follows.

a. By (P), if something is white and does not itself change, it does not come to be other than white. But (Socrates implies) anything of which one might be inclined to say that it is white does, without itself changing, come to be other than white, by coming into contact with a different person. (Cf. 152d4-6, and the use made of the generalization suggested there in the argument which I reconstruct in my note on 152d2-e1.) Therefore it cannot be true of any such thing that it is white.

b. Similarly, by (P), if a perceiver is seeing white and does not himself change, he does not come to be other than seeing white. But any perceiver of whom one might be inclined to say that he is seeing white does, without himself changing, come to be other than seeing white, either by coming to perceive a different object or because of a change in the original object. Therefore it cannot be true of any such perceiver that he is seeing white.

Note:

i. 'Measure ourselves against' (154b1, cf. 1504) might be taken literally, as applying to the case of perceiving that an object is large. But it may be intended as a figurative equivalent for 'perceive', to be explained in the light of Protagoras' formula (152a2-4). Cf. 156d3-4 and note.

ii. 'Any of those things' (154b4). To get the above interpretation of argument (b), I understand 'those things' as taking up 'measuring or touching' (sc. 'measuring or touching in some particular way': in my example 'seeing white'). A common different view is that 'those things' takes up 'large, white, or hot'. On this view, argument (b) applies to sense organs rather than perceivers: it debars us from saying, e.g., that an eye is white. But it is not clear what the point of this might be, since it is obscure why anyone might be thought to want to say (except for obviously irrelevant reasons) that an eye is white; this does not seem to be quite the same as locating the white colour which one sees in the eyes, which we are told not to do at 153d8-e2.

What does Plato intend us to understand as the moral of these arguments?

1. According to one view, we are to take it that the forms of statement to which the arguments object are objectionable because they are not, as they ought to be, relational. Thus, according to (a), we ought not to say that objects are, e.g., white, simpliciter; and according to (b), we ought not to say that perceivers are, e.g., perceiving white, simpliciter. But this view seems to me not to be wholly satisfactory. The idea that such statements

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ought to be relational certainly occurs in the dialogue (see, e.g., 159e7-160c2). But if it were the idea that Plato wishes to put before us here, we should expect the non-relational nature of the rejected statements to be stressed; e.g. we should expect argument (a) to begin somewhat as follows: 'if what we measure ourselves against or touch had been on its own large, white, or hot . . .'. In fact the non-relational nature of the rejected statements is not brought out at all.

2. An alternative view would be that Plato's present objection to the forms of statement rejected by these arguments is not, primarily at least, that they are not relational; but rather that, contrary to the secret doctrine, they use the verb 'be'. (A different point, if I am right that the secret doctrine's rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' is not simply a way of recommending relational as against non-relational forms of speech: see note on 152d2-e1.) According to this view, the beginning of argument (a) should be read with the following stress: 'if what we measure ourselves against or touch had been large, white, or hot . . .'; and similarly with argument (b).

Cf., further, note on 154b6-155c7.

154b6-155c7. The opening of this passage makes it clear that the puzzles which it sets out are intended to reveal difficulties which we get into if we follow our present practice ('as things are', 154b6). The relation of this passage to 154b1-6 indicates that the present practice in question is what the arguments of 154b1-6 are directed against. Thus, corresponding to the two views about the moral of 154b1-6 distinguished in my note on that passage, we can distinguish two possible views as to the identity of the present practice which is said to lead to the puzzles. According to one view, it is the practice of using non-relational forms of statement where we ought to be using relational forms. According to the other, it is the practice of using 'be', contrary to the secret doctrine. It will be clear from the note on 154b1-6 that I take the second view to start with an advantage over the first, since it seems to fit that passage better.The puzzles arise from the attempt to apply, jointly, the three principles stated at 155a2-b2:

1. As long as something is equal to itself, it does not come to be greater or smaller (in size or number).

2. If something has nothing added to it or subtracted from it, it is equal (sc. 'to itself', as in (1)).

3. Nothing is what it previously was not, without having come to be (sc. 'that', i.e. 'what it previously was not').

Presumably the point of calling these principles 'appearings' (155a2) is that each states something which appears to us to be the case.The puzzles seem to be generated on the following lines:

a. The easiest case to understand is that of 155b6-c4. Socrates was

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not smaller, and now is; so, by (3), he has come to be smaller. On the other hand, nothing has been subtracted from him; so, by (1) and (2), he has not engaged in coming to be smaller. And one cannot have come to be anything without engaging in coming to be it (155c2-3); so he has not come to be smaller, which looks as if it contradicts our original conclusion that he has come to be smaller.

b. Socrates implies at 155b5-6 that the remarks at 154c1-5 yield similar difficulties. Presumably these difficulties are exposed by Theaetetus' apparently contradictory inclinations at 154c10-d2. Note that principles (1) and (2) would account for the first part of his answer: presumably his inclination to answer the other way is to be explained by an application of principle (3) to what is said at 154c1-5. How this works in detail is not made explicit; but we get a neat parallelism with the case described under (a) if we take it that 154c1-5 is meant to yield two puzzles, thus:

i. The six dice were not more numerous (than the four), but now are; so, by (3), they have come to be more numerous. On the other hand, nothing has been added to them; so, by (1) and (2), they have not come to be more numerous.

ii. The six dice were not less numerous (than the twelve), but now are; so, by (3), they have come to be less numerous. On the other hand, nothing has been subtracted from them; so, by (1) and (2), they have not come to be less numerous.

Note the curious assumptions required for these arguments: for (i), that putting the four dice next to the six makes it newly the case that the six are more numerous; and for (ii), similarly, that putting the twelve dice next to the six makes it newly the case that the six are less numerous. (Even if it is wrong to suppose that Plato has precisely (i) and (ii) in mind, some similarly curious assumption would be needed in order to account for the second part of Theaetetus' answer at 154c10-d2.) Perhaps the idea is that--to take the case of (i)--it is the putting of the four dice next to the six, possibly in some standard arrangement, that constitutes them into an identifiable object which we may refer to as 'those four dice': previously there was no such object. Given such an idea, the putting of the four dice next to the six would make it newly the case that the six were more numerous than those four dice. Similarly with the twelve dice, in (ii).

In fact these puzzles are not very puzzling. In (a), we show, by (3), that Socrates has come to be smaller than Theaetetus, and, by (1) and (2), that he has not come to be smaller than he was (or in Greek idiom 'than himself': cf. 'equal to itself' in (1)). Similarly, in (b)(i), we show that the six dice have come to be more numerous than the four, and that they have not come to be more numerous than they were. And in (b)(ii), we show that the six dice have come to be less numerous than the twelve, and that they have not come to be less numerous than they were. In each case, if

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we take care to insert the appropriate 'than' phrases, the results no longer look (to us) like contradictions.This simple (and correct) way of dealing with the puzzles is, according to the first of the two views about this passage distinguished above, precisely the one which Plato intends his readers to adopt. According to this view, the puzzles are meant to illustrate the difficulties which one gets into if one uses apparently non-relational forms of speech where one ought to use relational forms. Thus Plato, on this view, intends us to blame the apparent contradictions on tolerance of forms like ' Socrates has come to be smaller', unsupplemented by the necessary 'than' phrases. Note that at 155d5-e1 Socrates promises that the theory of perception he is about to expound will contain the solution to the puzzles. The exposition of the theory of perception contains disparagement of non-relational forms of speech in favour of relational forms (157a8-b1); and according to the first view of our present passage, it is this that Socrates alludes to at 155d5-e1.This view may be correct. There are, however, reasons for dissatisfaction with it.

i. It is not quite as neat as the above outline makes it appear. In the theory of perception, non-relational forms of speech are disparaged in order to recommend the doctrine that perceptual qualities should be ascribed to things only in relation to perceivers, together with a parallel doctrine about the ascription of perceptual conditions to perceivers. These doctrines are not, and are really only remotely similar to, the point needed for the above way of dealing with the puzzles: viz. that comparative adjectives should be applied to things only in relation to objects of comparison. That, say, 'white' is strictly a relational predicate does not show that, say, 'larger' is.

ii. The puzzles seem to be intended to make the same point as the arguments of 154b1-6, and it is difficult to read that passage as a warning about the dangers of non-relational forms of speech: see note on 154b1-6.

According to the second view distinguished above, both the puzzles and the arguments of 154b1-6 are intended by Plato to illustrate the dangers of using 'be', contrary to the secret doctrine. The best way to understand the passages on the lines of this second view is to take them as directed against an imaginary opponent of the secret doctrine, who follows common sense in claiming (in fact quite rightly) that it is perfectly in order to combine the use of 'be' and 'come to be' as we ordinarily do. Plato's strategy against such an opponent is to suggest that such a combined use of the two verbs would have to be governed by a certain set of logical principles; and then to argue that there are situations to which these principles cannot be consistently applied. The principles are:

(1′) As long as something is f, it does not come to be other than f.

(2′) If something is f and does not itself change, then it (still) is f.

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(3′) Nothing is what it previously was not without having come to be that.

Note that (1′) and (2′) together amount to the principle (P) which figures in the arguments of 154b1-6; and (1) and (2) above can be seen as instances of them (substituting 'equal' for 'f', and assuming an equivalence between 'other than equal' and 'greater or smaller'). (3′) is the same as (3) above. I give the principles in this general form, in order to bring out how the puzzles can be understood as parallel to the arguments of 154b1-6. In both cases the application of the three principles ((3′) only implicitly in 154b1-6) leads, allegedly, to contradiction. According to the second view of the passages, Plato takes this to show that the common sense position imagined above is wrong: the secret doctrine is right to prohibit the use of 'be'.This second view avoids the two difficulties with the first view noted above. But there is a price to pay if we adopt it: viz. that, whereas on the first view Plato sees through the apparent contradictions of the puzzles, on the second view we have to suppose that he takes the contradictions to be genuine. Is the price too high? Here are two considerations suggesting that it may not be.

i. One thing which might make one fail to see that the contradictions are spurious would be a failure to realize that, e.g., 'smaller' and 'not smaller' are not contradictory unless each is completed with the same 'than' phrase. Such a failure would indicate lack of enlightenment about the logic of what may be called 'incomplete predicates'. And I have already suggested that such lack of enlightenment (admittedly involving a different sort of incompleteness) may underlie some of the argument of 152d2-e1: see note on that passage.

ii. A quite different reason for failing to see through the contradictions is suggested by the occurrence, at 154b1-6, of the notion of a change in a thing itself (cf. my wording of (2′) above). (3) gives a criterion for what might be called ' Cambridge coming to be', after Peter Geach's phrase ' Cambridge change' (see God and the Soul, pp. 71-72). Something undergoes a Cambridge change when a statement becomes true of it which was not true of it before. But not all Cambridge changes are naturally thought of as real changes, or changes in the thing itself. For instance, in puzzle case (a) above, Socrates has undergone a Cambridge change when it becomes newly true of him that he is smaller than Theaetetus; but there has been no change in Socrates himself. Now one might naturally be inclined to reserve 'come to be' for cases of real change, or change in a thing itself: e.g. in the same example, one might refuse to say that Socrates has come to be smaller than Theaetetus--while conceding, perhaps, that it has come to be the case that Socrates is smaller than Theaetetus. This use of 'come to be', restricted to what might be called 'real coming to be', would conform to principles (1) and (2) above; construed, now, so as to

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show, in the case in question, not merely that Socrates has not come to be smaller than he was, but that Socrates has not come to be smaller than Theaetetus. We thus have, by (1) and (2), that Socrates has not come to be smaller than Theaetetus, and, by (3), that Socrates has come to be smaller than Theaetetus; and we can no longer dispel the appearance of contradiction by care over 'than' phrases. Of course this contradiction is not genuine either: its appearance simply reflects the difference between Cambridge coming to be and real coming to be. But it is quite plausible that this difference was not, at least not yet, clear to Plato. (It is arguable that the difference emerges in the discussion at Sophist 248a4-249d5).154d4. Euripides, Hippolytus612: 'My tongue has sworn, but my heart is unsworn.'155d4. Iris represents philosophy, probably because of the etymologies of Cratylus 408b4-5 and 398d5-8. Thaumas (a Titan) represents wonder, because of the derivation of his name.

155d-157c The theory of perception.

155e3-6. Cf. Sophist 245e6-248a3.156a3-b2. According to this passage, an occurrence of perception involves interaction between two parents:

i. one which acts (e.g. a stick or stone: 156e6), and

ii. one which is acted on (e.g. an eye);

to produce two offspring:

i. a perception (e.g. a case of seeing), and

ii. a perceived thing (e.g. an instance of a colour).

Note:

1. We are instructed in this passage to think of the world as made up of changes. The point of talking about changes, rather, than, say, changing things, is probably that the latter would imply, contrary to the secret doctrine's implication of radical instability, that there are persisting things which undergo changes. Cf. notes on 152d7, 157a7-b8.

2. The term 'perceived thing' (156b1), which might quite naturally be applied to the active parent, is in fact applied to one of the offspring. We should take it, then, that in Plato's view what is e.g. seen is, primarily, colours or instances of colours, rather than coloured objects; and similarly with the other senses.

156b2-7. Note how much Socrates is made to include under the term translated 'perception'. This might be thought to cast doubt on the translation (cf. note (1) on 151d-e). But it need not do so; it is possible that Plato

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conceives of the surprising items in his list (pleasure, pain, desire, and fear) in such a way that 'perception', in a quite natural sense, can properly apply to them. There are two possibilities:

1. He may think of pleasure, pain, desire, and fear as involving perception, by an inner sense, of one's own inner states. For the case of pleasure, cf. perhaps Philebus 43a10-c7.

2. Alternatively, he may think of them as modes of perception of outer objects. Thus, just as to see an object is, strictly speaking, to see, e.g., its whiteness (see note (2) on 156a3-b2), so to fear an object is somehow to perceive its fearfulness. This conception is perhaps the easier of the two to combine with the theory of perception.

156c6-d3. Here Socrates indicates two differences between the parents and offspring distinguished at 156a3-b2.

1. Parents are slow, offspring quick.

2. There is a difference between them in respect of kind of change. Socrates says that the parents change in the same place, and one might at first sight take him to mean that they never move. But this can hardly be right: he goes on immediately (156d4) to speak of them as approaching one another. His remark about the offspring is a remark about the sort of change that is natural to them, and this suggests that we should understand the remark about the parents in the same way. In that case the point is this. The sort of change that is natural to the offspring is motion; the sort of change that is natural to the parents is some sort of change other than motion--from 181d5-6 we may guess that it is alteration.

I have just suggested that the fact that the sort of change that is natural to parents is, if the above guess is right, alteration leaves it open to them to engage in motion. It is tempting to ask whether, similarly, the fact that the sort of change that is natural to offspring is motion leaves it open to them to engage in alteration. Nothing is said about this here; but see note on 182c9-183b6.

156d3-4 'commensurable with it'. This amounts to 'perceptible by it': there is perhaps an allusion to Protagoras' formula at 152a2-4.

156d4 'the whiteness they do'. The Greek might be translated 'whiteness', i.e. as a reference to whiteness in general. But Socrates goes on to say that neither of the offspring produced in the particular perceptual transaction he is describing could have been produced by any other parents. Thus the alternative translation would commit him to claiming, surely incredibly, that whiteness can be seen only once. The words must, then, be taken to refer to a particular instance of whiteness.

For the thesis that the offspring are peculiar to their parents, see 154a2-8, 159a13-14, 159c4-10.

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156e1-2 'from the eyes . . . from the thing which joins in giving birth to the colour'. This suggests that seeing and whiteness are thought of as effluxes from the eyes and the object. Now effluxes figure in an account of sight given in the Timaeus (45b2-46c6, 67c4-68d7), and commentators sometimes try to assimilate the two accounts.The account of sight in the Timaeus is as follows. There is a sort of fire in us which, when there is daylight outside, issues from our eyes and coalesces with the daylight to form a 'body' stretching away from the eyes: this efflux of fire from us is called 'the flow of seeing', or simply 'seeing'. Visible objects, on the other hand, emit flames made up of various kinds of particles: these effluxes are identified with the different colours. The particles emitted by objects cause disturbances in the 'body' stretching away from the eyes; this has an effect on the eyes, and thereby, ultimately, on the mind.To make this account of sight match in detail the account in our passage, we should have to identify the two kinds of efflux, in the Timaeus, with the two kinds of offspring, in the Theaetetus. But the identification seems doubtful. According to the Timaeus, the fact that the colour emitted by a given object is, say, white is determined by the shape and size of the particles which it gives off; the idea being, apparently, that it gives off particles of just that shape and size, and hence gives off whiteness, continuously. According to the Theaetetus, on the other hand, an efflux of whiteness from an object is initiated only by an eye's coming within range of it; and that it is an efflux of whiteness and not some other colour is determined partly by its having that eye as its joint parent. Moreover, though Plato may have particles in mind in connection with the account of sight in the Theaetetus, he does not explicitly mention them; in the absence of such explicit mention, we ought to be hesitant about reading them into the passage.The expressions cited at the beginning of this note raise the following prima facie difficulties. If the seeing travels from the eye, it seems strange that it is the eye which is said to become filled with seeing. Similarly, if the whiteness travels from the object, it seems strange that it is the object which is said to become filled all round with whiteness. These difficulties might be thought to indicate that we ought not, after all, to construe the account of sight in terms of effluxes, whether on the lines of the Timaeus or not. It might perhaps be suggested that we ought, instead, to understand the talk about the motion of the offspring, and its direction, as a metaphorical way of emphasizing the 'directions' of the relations expressed in the following sentences: 'The eye sees an appearance of whiteness presented by the object', 'The object presents an appearance of whiteness to the seeing eye'. But against this:

1. A metaphorical interpretation of the talk about motion would be unsatisfactory, in view of the use which is made, at 181b-183b, of the dis-

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tinction between motion and alteration. The argument of that passage is clearly meant to be relevant to the theory of perception, which is restated at 182a3-b7, with stress on the motion of the offspring. In the context of the distinction between motion and alteration, such talk about motion surely has to be taken literally. It must therefore presumably be taken literally in the present passage too.

2. In fact the prima facie difficulties mentioned above are not insuperable. If seeing is thought of as an efflux originating at the back of the eyeball, there need be nothing strange about saying that when seeing travels from the eye, the eye is full of seeing. And if whiteness is thought of as an efflux of colour from the object, there need be nothing strange about saying that when whiteness travels from the object, the object is filled all round with whiteness. I take the point of 'filled all round' to be that it is the space around the object, from its surface outwards, which becomes filled with whiteness. The idea that 'colours' are seen as emissions saturating the space around objects tallies well with the common suggestion that the Greek words which we conventionally translate with colour words had more connection with lustre or brilliance, and less connection with hue, than our colour words. (Cf. perhaps Timaeus 67e6-68b1.)

156e3-7 'not . . . seeing, but an eye that sees . . . not whiteness, but white'. A pair of distinctions: (i) between seeing (here translating a Greek noun) and things which see; and (ii) between whiteness and white things. These distinctions are obviously at least similar to (a) the distinction drawn in the standard Theory of Forms between a Form and the things which participate in it (see, e.g., Phaedo 74c4-5); and (b) the Sophist's distinction (256a10-b4) between being a certain Kind and partaking in it.156e7-157a3. See note on 152d2-e1: preliminary point (1), for 'by itself', and preliminary point (2), for 'all things . . . qualified in all ways'.157a3-7. We have just been told to use 'come to be' rather than 'be'; and (probably) to use relational rather than non-relational forms of statement ('in their intercourse with one another' as opposed to 'by itself': but the point is clearer at 157a7-b1). Now it might seem that we ought to make an exception to this, at least in the case of the active and passive elements mentioned in the theory of perception. For about, e.g., one of the active elements, it might seem that we could say that it is a thing which acts; and it might seem that this statement does not need a relational qualification. Similarly with one of the passive elements.The present passage can be read as arguing against making such an exception. Consider the case of one of the active elements:

i. It is not true that such a thing is a thing which acts unless it is

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engaged in acting on something. So in describing it as 'a thing which acts' we ought, strictly, to add a relational qualification.

II. Further, in relation to something else, it may play a passive role, i.e. not be a thing which acts. In that case it cannot be strictly correct to say that it is a thing which acts: cf. principle (A'), in the note on 152d2-e1. (I here supplement Socrates' remark at 156a6-7.)

Similarly in the case of the passive elements.157a7-b8. The beginning of this passage echoes 152d2-e1: with the addition, in 'for someone', of explicit stress on the desirability of relational forms of statement. On 'by itself', see preliminary point (1) in the note on 152d2-e1: interpretation (b) seems best here (taking 'by itself' to contrast with 'for someone').What is new in this passage is the exclusion of 'something', 'someone's', 'my', 'this', and 'that'. This exclusion can be understood in connection with that part of the secret doctrine which involves a prohibition on saying, of anything, that it is some thing. We may start by recalling the suggestion made above (notes on 152d2-e1, 152d7) that this part of the secret doctrine is taken as a denial that things persist through time. If we concentrate, now, on the exclusion of 'this' and 'that' as words which 'bring things to a standstill', we can relate the present passage to a pair of passages elsewhere ( Timaeus 49d4-e4, Cratylus 439d8-11) in which Plato sketches arguments against the attempt to apply demonstratives to certain kinds of subject matter, apparently on the ground that demonstratives cannot be used for successful reference to items which do not persist through time. This suggests that the exclusion of 'this' and 'that' can be taken as warranted, in Plato's view, by an argument on the following lines. First, the relevant part of the secret doctrine gives us:

1. Things do not persist through time. Second, demonstratives are words which 'bring things to a standstill'; and the passages cited above suggest that this is a picturesque way of saying something like:

2. Demonstratives cannot be used for successful reference to things which do not persist through time. Hence we infer:

3. We have no use for demonstratives.

It is not obvious that (2) is true. Some features in the passages cited above suggest the conjecture that Plato's reason for accepting it is the following rather primitive line of thought. Since the act of referring to a thing takes time, an attempted reference cannot succeed if, by the time it is completed, the object to which one was attempting to refer is no longer there.

As well as being connected, as above, with the denial that things persist through time, the exclusion of demonstratives can also be more directly

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connected with the rejection of 'be' in statements purporting to say, of anything, that it is some thing. As a preliminary step, it seems reasonable to take the exclusion of demonstratives as carrying with it the exclusion of referring expressions generally. Now the exclusion of referring expressions can be argued both (i) to imply and (ii) to be implied by the rejection of 'be' in statements of the kind in question.

i. If we can correctly say of anything that it is some (specific) thing, then it must be possible to refer to it as that thing. Consequently, if referring is excluded, we cannot correctly say of anything that it is some (specific) thing.

ii. Conversely, if we can correctly refer to something, then it must be true of that thing that it is what we can correctly refer to it as, and hence that it is some (specific) thing. Consequently, if it is not true of anything that it is some (specific) thing, we cannot correctly refer to anything.

I suggested above (see the end of the note on 152d2-e1) that, in view of the difficulty of generalizing the argument of 152d2-e1 so as to yield the part of the secret doctrine which we are here concerned with, we might fall back on the availability to Plato of a different argument: viz. one moving from the doctrine of qualitative instability associated with the other part of the secret doctrine, via a principle that things do not persist through qualitative change, to the conclusion that things do not persist through time at all. But the connection between this last conclusion and the rejection of 'be' in favour of 'come to be' in statements of the kind in question, which is the explicit form of the secret doctrine, has so far been left obscure (see note on 152d7). We can now partly dispel this obscurity. From the conclusion that things do not persist through time Plato could infer, by the argument sketched above, that we cannot refer to anything. And, by implications (i) and (ii), this is equivalent to the rejection of 'be' in statements of the kind in question. (The substitution of 'come to be' remains somewhat obscure.)

So much for the exclusion of 'this' and 'that'. The exclusion of 'something', 'someone's', and 'my' can be understood as consequences of the prohibition on saying, of anything, that it is some (specific) thing. For, first, it seems reasonable to argue that anything to which the word 'something' could correctly be applied would have to be some specific thing. And, second, what is someone's, or mine, would have to be something.

Note, finally, a difficulty which the present passage raises for the theory of perception. The exclusion of 'something', 'this', and 'that' seems to imply a denial that, if we take a strictly accurate view, there are any individual things at all; such a denial is related in an obvious way to the general exclusion of referring expressions postulated above. Yet, on the face of it, the theory of perception requires us to talk, at least in a general way, about individual things of each of the four kinds distinguished at

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156a3-b2. Further, one might suppose that if the theory of perception were correct, then it ought to be possible to describe particular perceptual transactions by saying such things as 'That stick and this eye, by coming within range of each other, have generated that instance of whiteness and this instance of seeing'. But such statements are ruled out by the present passage.See, further, note on 157b8-c2.157b8-c2. The word translated 'kind of thing' (eidos) can mean something like 'class' (so, e.g., at 148d6). This would suggest that the collections mentioned here are collections of men, stones, etc. The same word is one of Plato's standard terms for the Forms; and in the context of at least some expositions of the Theory of Forms, a collective name like 'man' would be held to apply primarily and strictly to the appropriate Form, and derivatively to the members of the appropriate collection. The Forms are held to be stable, and pre-eminently suited for the application of the verb 'be'. On these lines, it might be suggested that the point of this passage is to bring out a contrast between the secret doctrine, pressed to extremes as it is here, and the Theory of Forms.According to an alternative interpretation, the remark claims that what we think of as a man, or a stone, or a thing of any other kind, is in fact a collection. In this case the collections are presumably collections of the 'perceived things' introduced at 156a3-b2, i.e. such things as colours; at 182a3-b7 the things in question are called 'qualities'. On this interpretation, then, the passage puts forward the view that what we think of as, say, a man is in fact a collection of (perceived) qualities: cf. 209c4-9.Note:

1. Perceived qualities could naturally be called 'phenomena', which warrants calling this view 'phenomenalism'. But the warrant should be exercised with care. The theory put forward in the present passage, according to this second interpretation, is not very like theories of phenomenalism in the tradition stemming from Berkeley. In particular, the perceived qualities which figure in the theory of perception are not much like sense-data, as they have been most characteristically described in that tradition. They are admittedly private to their perceivers (see, e.g., 154a3-9). But their privacy is not that which, in much post-Cartesian philosophy, is thought to characterize the mental; it is more like the privacy one might claim by saying 'No other man could have my children'. Seen colours, e.g., are not thought of as being, in any sense, in the mind; on the contrary, they are thought of as travelling in space between the object and the eyes. Indeed, the mind has so far been, if anything, conspicuous by its absence from the account of perception. The simplest way to bring it in would be to construe the offspring as physical processes whose causal consequences ultimately penetrate to the mind (cf.

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184b8-d6): not, therefore, as sense-data of the most characteristic kind. Note, finally, that there are two different kinds of offspring in the account of perception: to identify either with sense-data, as they occur in some later theories, would leave difficulties about the other.

Cf. note (1) on 151d-e.

2. On this second interpretation, the present passage can be taken to imply a denial that there is, strictly speaking, any such thing as, say, a stone, as we ordinarily think of stones. When we think we are confronted with a stone, on this view, we are really confronted with nothing but perceptual qualities. On these lines we might conjecture that some, at least, of the point of the passage is to adumbrate a partial answer to the difficulty noted above (note on 157a7-b8) about reconciling the theory of perception with the exclusion of 'something', 'this', and 'that'. The exclusions made it difficult to see how we could talk about, inter alia, ordinary perceptible objects, e.g. stones. The answer might be that since, strictly speaking, there is no such thing as a stone, we do not, strictly speaking, talk about such things at all: what appears to be talk about such things should be construed as being really about the perceptual qualities which make up the relevant collections.

Obviously this would not be a complete answer to the difficulty. For one thing, it deals directly only with one of the two sorts of parent, and with neither of the two sorts of offspring, distinguished in the theory of perception. We might hope to deal in a parallel way with the other sort of parent, by means of an analogous theory that what we think of as sense organs are really collections of perceptions. Thus, just as what appears to be talk about ordinary perceptible objects is really talk about perceptual qualities, so what appears to be talk about sense organs is really talk about perceptions. But even so, we are still committed to talking about qualities and perceptions, the constituents of the two kinds of collection; and it is not obvious that that can be reconciled with the exclusion of 'something', 'this', and 'that' (see below, however, for the suggestion that Plato has in mind a feature-placing language, which might afford a way of getting round this difficulty). Further, if we do abolish ordinary perceptible objects (and perhaps sense organs) as here suggested, we create difficulties over some elements in the theory of perception: e.g. it is hard to understand the claim that a stone, say, is partly responsible for the appearance of whiteness it presents to someone, if the stone is in fact nothing but a collection of appearances, including the whiteness.

Note that if there is really no such thing as, say, a man, then the qualities which, on this view, constitute what we ordinarily think of as some particular man cannot be properties, in the sense in which the notion of a property is correlative with that of a bearer. In that case the present passage can be taken to have implications about the appropriate logical form for statements describing what we perceive. A typical statement of

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that kind cannot involve reference to an ordinary perceptible object, of which one goes on to predicate some perceptual property. We might conjecture that the approved form, for statements of that kind, would involve, rather, the identification of a perceptual quality, construed not as a property but as a bearerless feature, which one goes on, perhaps, to locate in some region of space. (See P. F. Strawson, Individuals, pp. 202-25, for the contrast between feature-placing languages and languages which involve predicating properties of objects.) A sufficiently large number of such statements might do the work of one of our ordinary subject-predicate statements: thus, instead of predicating, say, whiteness of, say, a stick, we might perhaps locate (an occurrence of) the feature, whiteness, in some region where we also locate the other perceptual features (or a sufficiency of them) which constitute what we ordinarily think of as the stick.The above conjecture takes further some remarks in the note on 152d2-e1, where it was suggested that part, at least, of Plato's aim in constructing the secret doctrine was to devise forms of speech, for describing the ordinary world, which would not be liable to what he took to be logical objections to ordinary forms of speech. On the details of the conjecture, cf. Timaeus 48e2-52d1. The interpretation of that passage is disputed; but I think its main point is that, though we cannot refer to ordinary particular things (cf. 157a7-b8) we can, nevertheless, refer to recurrent features and locate them in regions of space.Cf., further, note on 182c9-183b6.

157c-d Interlude.

157d7-8. It would be odd to regard 'good' and 'beautiful' as perceptual predicates. See note (3) on 152a6-8.

157e-158b Objection: dreams, delusions, illusions.

157e1-158a3. The objection lumps together two rather different cases:

1. Some diseases yield cases of illusion. The sick man who tastes sweet wine as bitter (cf. 159d7-e5) does indeed perceive the wine, but he perceives it wrong. So this case poses an obvious threat to the equation of perceiving with knowing.

2. A dreamer or subject of hallucinations, on the other hand, does not, according to common sense, perceive anything. He does not, then, misperceive anything either; and on the face of it, this case does not pose a threat to the equation of perceiving with knowing.

We can perhaps explain the assimilation of (2) to (1) in the light of the argument of 158b-e. The idea is that the dreamer, say, takes himself to be perceiving something; and that unless we can provide him with a test which he could use to show himself that he is wrong--which we cannot do--we have to concede that he is perceiving something. But on the face

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of it, his perception does not correspond to any reality; so this case becomes a potential threat to the equation of perceiving with knowing, of the same sort as the case of the sick man.

157e5 'the theory we've just been expounding': i.e., presumably, the theory of perception. What the objection of this passage most obviously threatens is the equation of knowledge with perception, or (alluded to at 158a2-3) the doctrine of Protagoras. The theory of perception has been ascribed to Protagoras at 155d5-7, presumably on the strength of the ascription to him of the secret doctrine (152c8-10). The equation of knowledge and perception is identified with the doctrine of Protagoras at 151e8-152a1. Cf. also 160d5-e2.

158a2-3 'appear. . . . are'. For the thesis said to be put in doubt by the objection, cf. 152a6-8. It is here stated with incomplete uses of the two verbs, complements being omitted: see note (2) on 152a2-4. Its force, then, is something like this:

(P) If anything appears f to anyone, then it is f (for him: not explicit here)

for suitable substitutions for 'f'.

We can distinguish two different ways of applying principle (P) to the subject matter dealt with in the theory of perception, depending on whether 'anything' is taken to range over active parents or over generated qualities. The first alternative would yield substitution-instances like:

(1) If anyone's food appears pleasant to him, then it is pleasant for him.

In the same case, the second alternative would yield the following:

(2) If a pleasant taste appears to anyone (to be) what his food has, then it is, for him, what his food has.

Clearly (1) and (2) amount to the same thing. But the availability of these two different ways of applying principle (P) will be important later: see note on 166d1-167d4.

158b-e First answer to the objection.

158b8-c7. In this passage it is claimed that dreaming is very like having waking experiences, which is open to dispute: see, e.g., J. L. Austin , Sense and Sensibilia, p. 42. But the fundamental point of the passage is perhaps one which does not depend on that disputable claim. For what Socrates asks for is evidence which one could use to settle for oneself the question whether one is awake or dreaming; and even if we grant that dreaming is in fact unlike having waking experiences, it remains plausible that no such evidence could be given. Such evidence would have to consist of some feature whose presence is held to characterize our waking experience. And whatever is suggested, to play the role of such a

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feature (a common suggestion is coherence), it will always be an intelligible supposition that one may dream that it is present. Thus one cannot conclusively settle the question 'Am I awake or asleep?' by citing some apparent feature of one's present experiences. (For this point, cf. Norman Malcolm , Dreaming, p. 108.)This point has commonly led to one of two responses:

1. The sceptical response: we never know whether we are awake or asleep, and consequently we can never be justifiably certain whether our apparent perceptions are veridical or not.

2. The response of common sense: we do sometimes know that we are awake, but not because we have applied, or could apply, a test which settles that this is so; the demand for such a test is misplaced.

Socrates implies that we should adopt a response different from either of these, as follows. In point of veridicality, there is no difference between what we think of as dreaming and what we think of as waking experience, since there is no evidence which we would use to discredit one in favour of the other. Thus a person who, in what we think of as a dream, takes himself to be perceiving is actually perceiving. And if it can be maintained that all perceiving is veridical (see 158e-160e), then dreaming poses no threat to the equation of perceiving with knowing, since, on this view, 'perceiving' in what we think of as dreams is veridical perceiving.Perhaps this odd suggestion need not be taken very seriously. For:

a. It is extremely uncharacteristic of Plato to suggest that what we think of as dreams might be veridical. For his more usual attitude to dreams, see, e.g., Republic 476c2-d4.

b. Plato's present concern is to make the equation of knowing with perceiving seem as plausible as possible. Obviously he need not be committed to every detail of what he makes Socrates say or imply in pursuing that concern. After all, he is going to reject the equation in the end (184b-187a).

c. In fact, this odd suggestion about dreams is not needed in order to meet any real threat to the equation of knowing with perceiving. Since dreaming that one perceives something is not actually perceiving anything, the fact that dream 'perceptions' do not correspond to reality is no objection to the equation of knowing with perceiving. Cf. note on 157e1-158a3.

158c8-d6. There are two strange claims here: (1) that we are awake and asleep for equal periods; and (2) (by implication) that our minds are making contentions all the time, which implies that we dream all the while we are asleep. Both claims may perhaps be explained in the light of the suggestion that there is no justification for our usual distinction between a waking state, when we perceive things as they are, and a sleeping state, when we do not. Thus, we usually suppose the contradictory of (1)

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because we trust the clocks, etc., which we observe in what we think of as our waking state. And we usually suppose the contradictory of (2) because we trust the memories we have in what we think of as our waking state. If there is no justification for thus distinguishing our waking state from our sleeping state, these reasons lapse; and in that case it might seem that there is no reason against (1) and (2).Of course the lack of any reason against a proposition is not a reason for actually asserting it. Perhaps these claims are not meant to be taken very seriously: see note on 158b8-c7.

158e-160e Second answer to the objection: conclusion.

158e5-6 'seems . . . is true'. Cf. 152a6-8, 158a2-3; for 'true' cf. 152c5-6. The wording is most simply understood by taking 'seems' to amount to 'seems to be the case' (as in 'It seems to me that . . .'). Cf., however, note on 178a5-179a9.158e6-159a9. This difficult passage ostensibly argues for the following conclusions, stated at 159a6-8:

(C1) If something becomes like itself, it becomes the same.

(C2) If something becomes like something else, it becomes the same.

(C3) If something becomes unlike itself, it becomes different.

(C4) If something becomes unlike something else, it becomes different.

However, (C3) is the only one of these four conclusions which is employed in the subsequent argument (159b2-c3). Taking 'itself' to mean 'its former self', (C3) is a not strictly coherent way of stating the thesis that things do not persist through qualitative change: not coherent because what something has come to be different from cannot strictly be that thing's former self.

The argument leading to these conclusions moves as follows. First, a proposition suggested by the question at 158e7-10:

(1) If something is wholly different from something else, it cannot have a power in common with it.

Second, Theaetetus' answer to the question, at 159a1-2:

(2) If something is (wholly) different from something else, it cannot have anything in common with it.

(2) entails (1), so, by giving it in answer to the question, Theaetetus has committed himself to both. For present purposes, however, we can confine our attention to the stronger proposition (2). ((1) is perhaps introduced because of its relevance to a principle used in the subsequent argument: see 159a13-14.) From (2), Socrates moves, at 159a3-4, to:

(3) If something is (wholly) different from something else, it is unlike it.

In formulating (3) like this, I am taking it that 'such a thing', at 159a3, amounts to 'something which is (wholly) different'; and that the force of

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'too' is 'as well as (wholly) different'. (3) looks like a restatement of (2): this would warrant the inferential particles translated 'So'.If we minimize the complication, in accordance with points made above, what we have to deal with here is an argument which moves from the assertion of (2), or its apparent equivalent (3), as premiss, to (C3) as conclusion. Now there are difficulties about how such an argument might be thought to work.

a. One difficulty concerns the sense of 'different'. In (C3) 'different' means 'numerically different'. (2) and (3), on the other hand, though acceptable if 'different' means 'qualitatively different', are, on the face of it, simply false if 'different' means 'numerically different'. But presumably the premiss and conclusion of the argument should use the word in the same sense.

This difficulty can be removed by giving special interpretations to the notions of not having anything in common, in (2), and being unlike, in (3), in the light of a conjecture about the use, at 159e7-160a3, of the term translated 'otherwise qualified'. According to that passage, two objects come to be 'otherwise qualified', if, in conjunction with appropriate sense organs, they produce numerically different quality-instances. Unless the passage is to imply the incredible claim that, e.g., whiteness can be seen only once, this must hold even if the numerically different qualityinstances are instances of the same quality. Thus, if two objects produce different instances of, say, whiteness, they nevertheless come to be 'otherwise qualified' in respect of colour. Now it is reasonable to suppose that no two objects can, in conjunction with perceivers, produce one and the same quality-instance. In that case, any two objects must be 'otherwise qualified' in all relevant respects. If we use 'unlike' so as to correspond to this use of 'otherwise qualified', we can conclude that any two objects must be unlike; which gives us (3) with 'different' meaning, after all, 'numerically different'. To match this interpretation of (3), (2) should be understood as denying that any two objects have any quality-instance in common. (Similarly, presumably, (1) should be taken to deny that any two objects have in common the power to produce some one qualityinstance.)

b. It is still not clear how, exactly, (C3) is supposed to follow from (2) or (3). We may conjecture, perhaps, that the line of thought is as follows. From (3) we are to infer:

(3') If something is unlike something, then it is different from it. And from (3') we are to infer (C3).

Both steps of such an argument call for some comment.

i. The inference from (3) to (3') would be fallacious; but that might be missed because of the independent plausibility of (3'). Whether 'unlike' is understood in the ordinary way or in the special way suggested above, (3') would be warranted by the principle nowadays known as Leibniz's Law,

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which may be stated as follows: if something is true of a thing x but not of a thing y, then x is not identical with y.

ii. (C3) might seem an obvious consequence of (3'), obtained by substituting 'an object after coming to be unlike its (so-called) former self' and 'that object's (so-called) former self' for the two occurrences of 'something' in (3'). But such a line of thought, leading as it does to a denial that one and the same object can persist through a change, is suspect. If we are to preserve the notion of persistence through change, we must disallow such inferences, by making suitable stipulations about the treatment of time-indications in the application of principles like (3'), or Leibniz's Law. What Leibniz's Law requires is that whatever is true of a thing x at any given time must be true at that time of anything identical with x. But one and the same thing can have different things true of it at different times. We must always, in applying Leibniz's Law, take time-indications with predicate-expressions (i.e. those expressions which convey what is being said to be true of something); that is, we must disallow their use in constructing apparent subject-expressions like 'an object after coming to be unlike its (so-called) former self' and 'that object's (so-called) former self', as above. Such apparent subject-expressions, containing timeindications, must not be allowed as suitable substitutions for 'x' and 'y', in the formulation of Leibniz's Law given above; nor for the two occurrences of 'something', in (3'). In that case we cannot obtain (C3) from (3') in the manner suggested above.

Finally, what about the conclusions (C1), (C2), and (C4)? Each of them is problematic in some way. (C1) and (C4) seem to be pointless: for surely anything already is the same as itself and different from anything else; there is no room for it to become so. (C2) claims that two different things can become one and the same, which would involve difficulties arising out of the transitivity of identity. It is hard enough to reconstruct, from this passage, a colourable argument for (C3), without attempting to do the same for the other three conclusions; and there is less need to embark on the latter task in view of the point mentioned above, that only (C3) is put to work in the subsequent argument. Moreover, it seems possible that the other three conclusions appear simply because of a liking on Plato's part for symmetry, without careful thinking out of what they might mean and how one might argue for them. I shall therefore not add to the already speculative account of the passage given above.

159a10-11. The reference is to 156a6-7.

159a13-14. The reference is to 156d5-6; cf. also 154a2-8. The principle stated here could be represented as a consequence of that suggested by the question at 158e7-10 (proposition (1), in the note on 158e6-159a9).

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159b2-c3. The result of 158e6-159a9 here yields the conclusion that, e.g., Socrates healthy is different from Socrates ill. Theaetetus' question, at 159b6-7, has the effect of stressing that this conclusion should be stated as follows: Socrates healthy and Socrates ill are two different wholes. Now two different wholes need not be wholly different. And although the qualification 'wholly' does not appear at 159a13-14, some such qualification would seem to be necessary if the principle stated there is to be plausible. For suppose, e.g., that the onset of Socrates' illness makes no difference to his eyes, and that he is looking at something when the illness begins. It is not, in that case, obvious that the interaction between Socrates and the object cannot continue to produce the same offspring after the onset of the illness as before it: even though what we have here, according to the present passage, is a pair of interactions between the object and each of two different wholes. If this is right, then the argument of 159c4-10 is going to require, if it is to be plausible, not merely that Socrates healthy and Socrates ill are two different wholes, but the evidently stronger, and implausible, proposition that Socrates healthy and Socrates ill are wholly different. Theaetetus' question at 159b6-7 may be a signal from Plato that there is something wrong.159c4-10. This passage applies the principle of 159a13-14 to the conclusion of 159b2-c3, to yield the following: the interaction of any perceptible object with Socrates healthy will generate numerically different products from the interaction of that object with Socrates ill. Cf. note on 159b2-c3 for the doubtfulness of this conclusion.159c11-e6. Detailed description of a case illustrating the conclusion of 159c4-10. In the case chosen, the conclusion is not implausible: if we think of suitable kinds of illness, it is reasonable to expect that the interaction of the same wine with, on the one hand, Socrates healthy and, on the other, Socrates ill will generate not merely numerically different qualityinstances but actually instances of different qualities (e.g. sweetness and bitterness). But it is obvious that this is plausible, not because it is an application of the conclusion of 159c4-10, but because of special features of the particular case.The passage harks back to the account of perception at 155d-157c. Some specific references may be helpful.

1. 'A sweetness. . . . a perception' (159d1; cf. 159e2-4): see note on 156d4.

2. 'From the thing which is acted on . . . from the wine' (159d2-4): see note on 156e1-2.

3. 'Not bitterness, but bitter . . . not perception, but a perceiving thing' (159e4-5): see note on 156e3-7.

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159e7-160a3. If my translation is right, this passage states a pair of parallel arguments, employing the following principles:

(P1) If a perceiver, after generating one perception (in conjunction with a perceptible object), comes to generate another, then he comes to be perceiving in a different way (i.e. to be, in the relevant respect, 'otherwise qualified');

(P2) If an object, after generating (in conjunction with a perceiver) one 'perceived thing', in the sense of 156a3-b2, comes to generate another, then it comes to be 'otherwise qualified'.

The arguments are as follows:

1. Socrates will never come to be perceiving any other object in precisely the way in which he perceives the wine, in the case described at 159e1-5. For, by the principle of 159a13-14, his interaction with a different object will involve his generating a different perception. Hence, by (P1), he will come to be perceiving in a different way: the new perception will make him (in the relevant respect) 'otherwise qualified'.

2. Similarly, the wine will not come to be qualified in precisely the same way, in relation to any other perceiver, as it does in relation to Socrates. For, by the principle of 159a13-14, its interaction with a different perceiver will involve its generating a different 'perceived thing'. Hence, by (P2), it will come to be 'otherwise qualified'.

Socrates adds to the argument summarized in (1) above that the new perception, in making him 'otherwise qualified', will make him another thing. This addition would be warranted by the principle (C3) (see note on 158e6-159a9). But it is perhaps only an afterthought, not to be given much weight. For:

A. No corresponding addition is made to the argument summarized under (2) above.

B. It is in any case clear that the main conclusion which Plato wants from argument (1) is that which he makes Socrates announce at the beginning of it, i.e. that which figures in the above summary; not the point about the new perception making Socrates another thing.

C. The arguments are stated in such a way as to suggest that the implications of adding 'and another thing' to (1) are not prominently in Plato's mind. For (1), as it is stated, suggests that Socrates can perceive other objects, only not in the way that he perceives the present object. And (2), as it is stated, suggests that the present object can be perceived by other perceivers, only not in the way Socrates perceives it. But strictly speaking the addition of 'and another thing' to (1), and a parallel addition which might be supplied for (2), would be inconsistent with these suggestions. They would imply that Socrates cannot perceive any other object, since what perceives another object will be another thing, and hence not Socrates; and, similarly, that the present object cannot be perceived by any other person, since what another person perceives will

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be another thing, and hence not the object now perceived by Socrates.Even if we do not attach much weight to the addition of 'and another thing', the arguments still seem highly paradoxical. Given that Socrates now perceives the wine as bitter, or, equivalently, that the wine now comes to be bitter in relation to Socrates, (1) would, on the most natural interpretation, show that Socrates can never perceive anything else as bitter; and (2) would, on the most natural interpretation, show that the wine can never come to be bitter in relation to anything else. Further, an obvious extension of these arguments would show that no other perceiver can ever come to be perceiving anything in precisely the way in which Socrates now perceives the wine, and that no other object can ever come to be qualified, in relation to any perceiver, in precisely the way in which the wine now comes to be qualified in relation to Socrates; and, on the most natural interpretation, this would imply that bitterness can be perceived only once.We can take the arguments not to have these implications if we give special interpretations to the notions of perceiving in a different way and being otherwise qualified, on the following lines (cf. note on 158e6159a9):

i. For two perceivers to be perceiving in different ways, it is sufficient that, in conjunction with appropriate objects, they generate numerically different perceptions, even if the different perceptions are both instances of some one kind of perception (e.g. the kind that might be called 'perceiving something as bitter'). Similarly in the case of one perceiver perceiving in different ways at different times.

ii. For two objects to be otherwise qualified, it is sufficient that, in conjunction with appropriate perceivers, they generate numerically different 'perceived things', even if the different 'perceived things' are both instances of some one quality (e.g. bitterness). Similarly, again, in the case of one object at different times. In the same sort of way, two perceivers are otherwise qualified if they generate numerically different perceptions, even if the perceptions are both of the same kind; and similarly, again, in the case of one perceiver at different times.

This would remove one set of strange implications, but substitute another: e.g. that any two bitter objects are, simply because the instances of bitterness which qualify them are numerically different, otherwise qualified. To say that two objects are otherwise qualified would normally be to say that they are dissimilar: so we now seem to have the implication that qualification by numerically different quality-instances, even if they are instances of the same quality, entails dissimilarity. But it is perhaps conceivable that this implication, and a parallel implication on the side of perceivers, might have seemed acceptable to Plato, by way of a confusion between what it is to distinguish quality-instances and what it is to distinguish varieties of a quality (e.g. shades of a colour); together with a

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similar confusion in the case of perceptions. Cf. 209c4-9, where Plato apparently assumes that any two instances of snubness will be distinguishable independently of distinguishing their possessors: i.e., perhaps, that they will be qualitatively distinguishable.Finally, the disputed translation. The verb which I translate 'makes', in the first argument ('it makes the perceiver otherwise qualified'), is the same as the verb which I translate 'acts on', in the second ('the thing which acts on me'). There is some awkwardness about supposing it to change its sense within a few words. Consequently Cornford argues (p. 56, n. 1) that it should be translated 'acts on' in the first argument too. This would give some such translation as this: 'there's another perception for the other thing, and it (sc. the other thing) acts on its perceiver as on something otherwise qualified, and another thing'; implying that the other thing finds (not, as in the above interpretation, makes) its perceiver otherwise qualified and another thing. But, against this:

a. The same verb has to be rendered 'make' at 159d5 ('has made the wine both be and appear sweet'); so there is no possibility of imposing a consistent translation throughout the context. Further, it is arguable that the awkwardness which my translation seems to involve is due to the merely accidental lack in English of a precise equivalent for the Greek verb. To act on something is to make it f, for some suitable substitution for 'f': perhaps the Greek verb is like 'make' except in that it allows a construction omitting the complement, in which case the move from one construction to another might seem perfectly natural.

b. It is an advantage of my translation that it makes the two arguments of the passage neatly parallel; the alternative translation would leave the relation between them somewhat obscure.

160a5-c3. This passage elaborates the point (for which cf. 157a7-b1) that states of perceiving and perceptual qualities ought to be ascribed to perceivers and objects, not absolutely, but in relation to objects and perceivers. There are two distinguishable versions of the point.

1. According to the first version, a state of perceiving ought to be ascribed to a perceiver only in relation to some object or other, and, similarly, a quality ought to be ascribed to an object only in relation to some perceiver or other: these propositions not being taken to exclude the same state's being truly ascribed to the perceiver in relation to more than one object, and the same quality's being truly ascribed to the object in relation to more than one perceiver. This version of the point is suggested, for qualities and objects at any rate, by 160b1-3: 'whenever it comes to be sweet . . . it necessarily comes to be so for someone'.

2. According to the second version, a particular state of perceiving can be truly ascribed to a perceiver only in relation to one particular object, and, similarly, a particular quality can be truly ascribed to an

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object only in relation to one particular perceiver. This version of the point is suggested by 160b6-7: 'necessity ties our being together, but doesn't tie it to anything else'; also by 160c4-5: 'and not someone else'.

The difference between these two versions of the point would correspond to a difference between two conceptions of what, precisely, is ascribed to perceivers and objects by statements of the favoured relational form. The first version would go with the idea that what is ascribed by such statements is generic (repeatable) states of perception and qualities. The second version would go with the idea that what is ascribed by such statements is individual perception-instances and individual qualityinstances: cf. the interpretation of 'perceiving . . . in just that way' and 'qualified in just that way', at 159e7-160a3, suggested in the note on that passage.The two versions are not explicitly, and perhaps not at all, distinguished by Plato.The wording of 160b5-c2 requires some interpretation:

i. 'It's for each other . . . if we come to be' (160b5-6). Incomplete uses of the verbs 'be' and 'come to be' (cf. note (2) on 152a2-4). The point is this: we (i.e. the object and I) are, or come to be, whatever we are, or come to be--e.g. tasting bitter, and bitter--not absolutely but in relation to each other.

ii. 'Necessity ties our being . . . tied to each other' (160b6-8). Here 'being' is a nominalized form of the same incomplete use of 'be'. The point is this: it is necessarily the case that we are whatever we are only in relation to each other; not in relation to anything other than each other, and not absolutely, i.e. on our own.

160c4-5. Again, the wording requires some interpretation:

1. 'What acts on me is for me and not someone else.' Obviously this takes up 160b5-c2, so the use of 'be' is again incomplete. The point is this: what acts on me is whatever it is for me and not someone else. The addition of 'and not someone else' indicates that Plato is here working with the second version of the point elaborated at 160a5-c3 (see note on that passage). Presumably, then, he has in mind some such case as this: what acts on me is qualified by just this instance of bitterness only in relation to me.

2. 'I, and not someone else, perceive it.' Strictly, this claims that the object which I now perceive is private to me. An argument for such a conclusion could easily be constructed using materials which Plato provides in the present section of the dialogue: see, in particular, 159e7-160a3, where an addition to the second argument, parallel to 'and another thing' in the first, would yield the required conclusion (see note on that passage). On the other hand:

a. Obviously such a conclusion would be extremely strange.

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It would be difficult to reconcile such a conclusion with the theory of perception expounded at 155d-157c. On the face of it, that theory involved a conception of objects as public, in the sense of being capable of interacting with different sense organs. (Cf., however, note on 157a7-b8 for another difficulty about taking the theory of perception at face value.)

c. Plato's argument does not essentially require the privacy of objects of perception. His purpose at the moment would be equally well served if the present passage read somewhat as follows: 'Since what acts on me is what it (relevantly) is for me and not someone else, it is I, and not someone else, who perceive its being so.' This would imply what Plato requires, viz. that my perceptions cannot be ruled non-veridical on the strength of an apparent conflict with the perceptions of someone else; and it would do so without implying that the object of my perception is private to me. I suspect that Plato may mean Socrates to say no more than this: the further implication which the words, strictly taken, carry may be unintended.

Cf., further, note on 160c7-d4.160c7-d4. The main problem here is the interpretation of the clause 'because it's always of the being that's mine', at 160c7-8. There are two ways of understanding this clause, depending on whether we take the stress to be on 'mine' or on 'being':

1. What I perceive always is whatever it is for me, rather than for someone else.

2. What I perceive always is, for me, the way I perceive it, rather than not being that way.

Now the position of the clause in the present passage seems to require that it be a premiss obtained in the preceding argument. This indicates interpretation (1), in which the clause is equivalent to 'What acts on me is for me and not someone else' at 160c4-5. But the clause also has to be a reason for concluding that 'my perception is true for me', which indicates interpretation (2). And (1) and (2) are not equivalent: for (2) does not, on any plausible view, imply (1). An argument can, however, be devised to show that (1) implies (2), on the following lines. Given (1), nobody else's perception could cast doubt on whether things are, for me, the way I perceive them; nothing else could cast doubt on that; so things are, for me, the way I perceive them, i.e. (2) is true. Granting, on these lines, that (1) implies (2), the argument from 160c4-5 to the conclusion of the present passage would go through. But its reliance on the double use of our clause, and its consequent omission of any argument for the above implication, are defects in its exposition.

For the argument from (2) to the claim that 'my perception is true for me', and hence to the claim that perceiving is knowing, cf. 152b1-c7 and the note on that passage.

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Plato has now concluded the defence of the equation of perception with knowledge against the objection based on the alleged occurrence of misperception (see 157e-158b). The details of the defence, even if we attempt to interpret it as charitably as possible, include a great deal that is extremely odd. (See notes on the following passages: 158b8-c7, 158c8-d6, 158e6-159a9, 159b2-c3, 159e7-160a3, 160c4-5.) However, he comes close (e.g. at 160c4-5 and in the present passage) to suggesting the following much less peculiar argument. According to the theory of perception (155d-157c), perceptual qualities do not belong to objects on their own, but are produced by the interaction of objects with perceivers. In that case no sense can be attached to, e.g., questions about what colour an object has in itself; we have to confine ourselves to, e.g., questions about what colour an object has in relation to me. Now there can be no distinction between the colour which an object has in relation to me, i.e. the colour which it produces by interacting with me, and the colour which I perceive it as having. Consequently, generalizing, my perception is authoritative about how things are in relation to me. Similarly, your perception is authoritative about how things are in relation to you. Since there is no one question to which both my perception and your perception purport to yield answers, neither can cast doubt on the other. Hence there is no reason to regard so-called cases of illusory perception as other than veridical.Of course such a conclusion would be strange too. But an argument on these lines would enable Plato to avoid most of the oddity mentioned above. Dreams and hallucinations could in any case be dealt with separately. (See note on 158b8-c7.) And a defence of the equation on the above lines would not require any of the argumentation (which accounts for most, at any rate, of the strangeness in the section 158e-160e) designed to establish the conclusion that what I perceive is what it is for me alone: strictly, that is, for my present self alone, as opposed not only to other people but, e.g., to myself when ill. For a defence on the above lines would not be at all damaged by the concession that an object may appear the same way to you as it does to me, or that an object may appear the same way to Socrates healthy as it does to Socrates ill.It is worth recalling two relevant points mentioned earlier.

i. There is at least one possible indication, in the section 158e-160e, that Plato is not confident that its argumentation is wholly valid: see note on 159b2-c3.

ii. The subsequent course of the dialogue makes it clear that Plato is not necessarily committed to everything which he makes Socrates say, in the course of defending the equation of knowledge with perception: see note on 158b8-c7.

Note, finally, how, though Plato nods in the direction of the secret doctrine at 160b5-c2, and again, in the present passage, at 160d2, he

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nevertheless allows himself to use 'be' quite freely in this concluding argument. He is perhaps prompted to do so by the neatness with which he is thus enabled to echo the argument of 151e-152c.160d5-e2. See note on 157e5.

1.2. Preliminary discussion (160e-168c)

160e-161b Interlude.

160e5-161a4. The allusion is to a ceremony which took place shortly after birth. According to the scholiast, the child was carried round the hearth, named, and given gifts. The ceremony probably marked acceptance into the family: hence the remarks about deciding whether to bring up Theaetetus' offspring. The name of the ceremony ('Amphidromia') means, literally, 'running around', and Plato plays on this ('circling all round it').

161b-162a First criticism: wisdom.

The criticism may be divided into two parts:

1. Protagoras' reasoning does not justify giving special treatment to men: any perception should be regarded as equally infallible. But that leads to awkward consequences about pigs, etc.

2. Even if we limit our attention to men, Protagoras' doctrine is incompatible with his claiming superior wisdom for himself, as he does in setting himself up as a teacher.

Cf. Cratylus 386c2-d2, where it is argued that Protagoras' doctrine is incompatible with the truth of the proposition 'Some people are intelligent, some unintelligent'.Note:

i. 'Seems . . . is' (161c2-3). See note on 158a2-3.

ii. 'Judges by way of perception' (161d3). See note (2) on 151d-e.

iii. 'Playing to the crowd' (161e4). There are two possible ways of taking this. According to the first, Protagoras is insincere in claiming superior wisdom, but does so in order to get popular attention. According to the second, he is insincere in claiming that 'each of us is himself the measure of his own wisdom', but does so in order to flatter people. Either way, the point is to suggest (cf. (2) above) that Protagoras' claim of superior wisdom for himself is incompatible with his own doctrine.

iv. 'Appearings' (161e8). Cf. 155a2, and the explanation in the note on 154b6-155c7.

See, further, notes on 162d3-163a1, 166d1-167d4.

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162a-c Interlude.

162b1-7. Taken up at 169a6-c3, where the Spartan custom here alluded to is more fully explained.

162c-163a Preliminary answer to first criticism.

162c8-d1 'seems . . . is'. See note on 158a2-3.

162d3-163a1. Protagoras is here made to answer point (1), in the note on 161b-162a, as follows. The criticism consists merely in ascribing to him a commitment to some statements which ordinary people would find odd. Now (i) in the case of some of these statements, viz. those about the gods, this is unfair, since Protagoras carefully avoids any commitment either to their truth or to their falsehood. And (ii) the fact that ordinary people would find a statement odd is no proof that it is false.

(ii) suggests that Protagoras would deal with point (1) by conceding it: that is, by moving to the claim 'A perceiver is the measure of all things', and accepting its implications about, e.g., pigs. For more about point (2), see note on 166d1-167d4.

163a-c Second criticism: letters and foreign languages.

163a7-8. For the identification of Protagoras' doctrine (which has just been discussed) with the thesis that knowledge is perception (which is about to be discussed), see 151e8-152a1, 160d5-e2: cf. note on 157e5.

163b1-7. The criticism exploits a certain sense in which one may be said to know a letter or a word. Someone who knows the alphabet will know, say, an 'A' when he sees one. That is, he will recognize it as (an instance of) that letter. He will know it, in the sense of knowing what--specifically, what letter--it is. Similarly, someone who knows, say, English will know, say, an occurrence of the word 'bathroom' when he hears one. That is, he will recognize it as (an occurrence of) that word. He will know it, in the sense of knowing what--specifically, what word--it is. (For the identification of knowing a thing with knowing what it is, see 147b4-5 and note.)

Now it is possible to see letters and hear words, i.e. to perceive them, without knowing them in the above sense. The suggestion must be that this shows that the knowledge which one lacks, if one is in such a situation, cannot be identified with perception.

Note that this argument requires the assumption that the only kind of perception which is available, so to speak, in order to be identified with knowledge of the kind described above, is the kind of perception which it is possible to have while lacking that knowledge; i.e. the kind of perception which is ascribed in statements like 'He sees that letter'. If we were

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prepared to countenance a kind of perception which could be, with strict accuracy, ascribed by using a propositional construction with perceptual verbs, as in 'He sees what letter that is', we could evade the argument as follows. The knowledge lacked by someone in the situation described can indeed not be identified with the perception which such a person possesses. But what is true of such a person is that, while he, say, sees the letter in front of him, he does not see what letter it is. And the knowledge which he lacks can be identified with this latter perception, which he also lacks.

Cf. note (2) on 151d-e, and note on 163b8-c3.

163b8-c3. Given the underlying assumption that the only kind of perception available is the kind of perception which is ascribed in statements like 'He sees that letter', Theaetetus' reply does not meet the criticism. For it is open to the following objection. The fact that people in the situation described know what they perceive, and do not perceive what they do not know, does nothing to show that the knowledge which they fail to have can be identified with some perception which they fail to have. For, given the assumption, there is no relevant perception which they fail to have, since they see the letters and hear the words. Hence we still have, untouched by Theaetetus' reply, our argument that the knowledge which such people lack cannot be identified with perception.

It is conceivable that the last sentence of Theaetetus' reply might be taken as an attempt to query the underlying assumption, by suggesting, implicitly, that people who have learnt the lessons of writing instructors or linguists thereafter know what letters or words they are confronted with by perceiving what letters or words they are confronted with. But the point is certainly not clearly made. Moreover, it would be incompatible with what I believe to be the official view of perception in this dialogue, which involves acceptance of the underlying assumption. See note (2) on 151d-e, and note on 186c7-e12.

Given the official view of perception, Theaetetus' reply is also objectionable in that it takes for granted that someone who, e.g., sees a certain colour thereby knows it, presumably in the sense explained above (see note on 163b1-7); so that at any rate the knowledge of a colour, in that sense, can be identified with the perception of it. According to the official view of perception, knowing what colour it is that one sees is something other than simply seeing it. Cf. note on 186c7-e12.

163c4-6. There seems to be a hint here that Theaetetus' reply is not satisfactory: see note on 163b8-c3.

163c-164c Third criticism: memory.

The criticism rests on the incompatibility of the following three propositions:

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1. If one remembers something, then one knows it (163d1-6).

2. One can remember something without seeing it (163e10-13).

3. If one does not see something, one does not know it (164b1-2).

4. is alleged to be a consequence of the equation of knowledge with perception (164a5-7, 164b1-2). But it is obviously no such thing. It would be a consequence of an equation of knowledge with seeing: it may be significant that 163d7-8 appears to identify seeing with perceiving.

If (3) were a consequence of the equation of knowledge with perception, there would be various ways of saving that equation from refutation by the present argument.

i. We could deny (1). This would be monstrous, according to 163d6, 164b4-6.

ii. We could deny (2). This would be strange, according to 163e13. Nevertheless, according to 164a1-2, we have to deny (2) if we are to 'save what we said before', i.e. presumably the equation of knowledge with perception, and perhaps (1) as well.

iii. We could deny the incompatibility of (1), (2), and (3), by allowing the possibility of both knowing and not knowing the same thing. This option is not recognized in the present passage: see (ii) above for the denial of (2) as the only option, given that we must accept (1). But it figures later: see notes on 165a4-d1, 166b1-c2.

Plato could have constructed a much less implausible argument than the one outlined above, by substituting the following propositions for (2) and (3):

(2′) One can remember something without perceiving it in any way.

(3′) If one does not in any way perceive something, one does not know it.

(3′) would genuinely be a consequence of the equation of knowledge with perception. Such an argument may be in Plato's mind at 166b1-4: see note on 166b1-c2.

On Plato's attitude to the criticism in this passage, see note on 165a4-d1.

164c-165e Defence of Protagoras: first part.

164d4-10. Socrates here gives a neat summary of the third criticism (163c-164c). It seems reasonable to conclude that his accusation of logicchopping (164c7-d2) is directed at that criticism, and that his subsequent remarks will be aimed at defending Protagoras against it. There is no reason to suppose that the accusation of logic-chopping is directed at the other criticisms as well.

165a4-d1. Having promised a defence of Protagoras, Socrates produces what is apparently another argument against him (strictly, against the thesis that knowledge is perception: but cf. note on 163a7-8).

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His point is, presumably, that the third criticism (163c-164c) resembles the new argument in depending on failure to 'pay attention to expressions'; and that the obvious way in which this feature vitiates the new argument casts light on what is wrong with the third criticism.The way in which the new argument depends on failure to 'pay attention to expressions' is brought out at 165c5-10. Theaetetus' 'in the sort of way I said', at 165c5, expresses his unhappiness about the bald statement that, in the circumstances described, he both sees and does not see the same thing. He wants to retain the qualifications 'with one eye . . . with the other'. But Socrates' imaginary logic-chopper insists that the qualifications are irrelevant, and thus holds Theaetetus to the thesis:

(4) In the circumstances described, one both sees and does not see the same thing.

He also represents Theaetetus as committed, by his equation of knowledge with perception, to the following:

(5) Seeing is knowing and not seeing is not knowing. With (5), cf. (3) in the note on 163c-164c (my numbers here are chosen to allow reference to that note without confusion). By (4) and (5), he represents Theaetetus as committed to the following:

(6) In the circumstances described, one both knows and does not know the same thing.

And this contradicts Theaetetus' original answer to the 'formidable question' at 165b2-4.The trick of insistence of dropping qualifying phrases, in order to trap one's interlocutors in apparent contradictions, is reminiscent of those logic-choppers par excellence, Euthydemus and Dionysiodorus, in the Euthydemus: see, e.g., 293b7-d1. Cf. also Republic436b8-437a3, on the importance of qualifying phrases for disarming bogus contradictions.What are we meant to learn from the argument of this passage?

A. This argument and that of 163c-164c are alike in assuming that the equation of knowledge with perception licenses an inference from 'does not see' to 'does not know' ((3) in the note on 163c-164c, (5) in the present note). This assumption seems unwarranted in view of the existence of kinds of perception other than seeing. It might be suggested, then, that the moral of this passage is that 'does not know' cannot be inferred from 'does not see'; and, consequently, that it is by making that point that we are meant to undermine the third criticism.

B. However, the above view does not do justice to the strong suggestion, in the present passage, that the failure to 'pay attention to expressions' on which its argument depends consists in permitting qualifying phrases to be dropped, thereby allowing the construction of spurious contradictions. This fault is shown in the insistence on (4), i.e. before the inference from 'does not see' to 'does not know' has even come into play. Giving consideration to this point, we may guess that we are meant to arrive at some such conclusions as the following.

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(i) In the case of the argument of 163c-164c: it is not wholly wrong to infer 'does not know' from 'does not see', but the inferred proposition containing 'does not know' should be equipped with the appropriate qualifying phrase, i.e. presumably 'by seeing'. Thus for strict accuracy, (3), which licenses the inference from 'does not see' to 'does not know', should be rewritten thus:

(3*) If one does not see something, then one does not know it by seeing.

Analogously, (1) should be rewritten thus:

(1*) If one remembers something, then one knows it by remembering. Now the states of affairs exploited in the argument of 163c-164c are states of affairs in which someone both knows, by remembering, and does not know, by seeing, the same thing. But this is innocuous: it can be made to seem a contradiction only by the logic-chopping device of 165c5-10. Note that the equation of knowing and perceiving can be saved from the third criticism on these lines only if remembering can be taken as a kind of perceiving: cf., perhaps, 166b1-4.

(ii) In the case of the argument of the present passage: again, it is not wholly wrong to infer 'does not know' from 'does not see', and again, the inferred proposition containing 'does not know' should be equipped with an appropriate qualifying phrase; this time, something more complex than 'by seeing'. First of all, before the inference comes into play at all, we must correct (4) to something like this:

(4*) In the circumstances described, one both sees, with one eye, and does not see, with the other, the same thing.

And (5) must be corrected in such a way as to yield, from (4*), the following substitute for (6):

(6*) In the circumstances described, one both knows, by seeing with one eye, and does not know, by seeing with the other, the same thing.

Here again, both (4*) and (6*) are innocuous: they can be made to seem contradictory only by the logic-chopping device of 165c5-10.

Note that both (i) and (ii) involve suggesting that, with suitable qualifications, there is nothing wrong with saying that someone both knows and does not know the same thing. Cf. option (iii), in the note on 163c-164c. See also 166b4-5; and 188a1-6.

165d2-e4. It is sometimes thought that Socrates alludes here to a range of arguments of which the following is typical: it makes sense to say that one perceives something dimly, but not to say that one knows something dimly; therefore, knowledge cannot be perception.

But this seems unlikely. Such rather powerful arguments ought not to figure in what Socrates has announced as a defence of Protagoras. Both from their introduction as 'more of the same sort of thing' and from the

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ironic description of their perpetrator, the 'mercenary soldier in arguments', we should expect the arguments of the present passage to be transparently sophistical.If we take 'more of the same sort of thing' seriously, it seems plausible that the point is this: just like 'with my right eye' and 'with my left eye', the adverbial modifications which Socrates lists in this passage yield opportunities for the use of the logic-chopping device of 165c5-10 in order to derive spurious contradictions. For instance, one of the arguments alluded to might go as follows. Someone who sees something clearly does not see it dimly. Hence, dropping the adverbs, he both sees and does not see the same thing. And hence, as in 165a4-d1, he both knows and does not know the same thing.

165e-168c Defence of Protagoras: second part.

166a2-6. See 163c-164c: in particular, 163d1-6.

166b1-c2. Protagoras is here represented as making three remarks:

1. 166b1-4: nobody will concede what appears to be a contradiction, viz. that when one is no longer experiencing something (in a certain way), one can nevertheless still be experiencing it in the same way, by remembering it. The point of this is perhaps to suggest that remembering something is a way of experiencing it, but not the same as the original way of experiencing it. On these lines one could defend, against the third criticism (163c-164c), the thesis that knowing is experiencing (taken to include remembering). What the argument of 163c-164c shows is that one can both know, by remembering, and fail to know, by seeing, the same thing; and only the logic-chopping device of 165c5-10 could make that seem contradictory. For this reply to the third criticism, see note on 165a4-d1. To defend, on these lines, the equation of knowledge with perception, one needs to treat remembering something as a way of perceiving it, and hence to deny proposition (2′), in the note on 163c-164c.

2. 166b4-5: nobody will hesitate to say that one can both know and not know the same thing. One needs to say just this, with the qualifications which make it innocuous, in order to make the reply to the third criticism suggested above. Cf. also notes on 163c-164c, 165a4-d1.

3. 166b5-c2: after an alteration, one is a new person. Here Protagoras is alluding to 158e6-159a9, and its application at 159b2-c3. His remark implies that, in the case described in the third criticism, the person who saw and thereby came to know the object is not the same person as the one who now fails to see it. This suggests that the point of the remark is to undermine the third criticism by undermining the ascription of memory to the present person, as follows. He cannot be remembering an object which he formerly saw; for the person who formerly saw the

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object was not he. If this suggestion is right, it is perhaps surprising that so curious an argument should be represented as a less bold course than the claim that one can both know and not know the same thing. There are other oddities in this speech; it is possible that they are deliberately introduced by Plato in an oblique expression of irony at Protagoras' expense. See note on 166d1-167d4; cf. note on 171d-172b.

I assume that all three remarks in the present passage are meant to be directed against the third criticism (163c-164c), alluded to at 166a2-6. On its own, (2) could be taken to be directed against the argument of 165a4-d1, and it is sometimes so taken. But the context shows that this would be wrong. For (3) is offered as an alternative for those who are too timid for (2); and (3), with its appeal to the idea that one is a new person after an alteration, is plainly irrelevant to the argument of 165a4-d1, which exploits a case in which one simultaneously sees and does not see the same thing. Hence (3) cannot be directed against the argument of 165a4-d1; nor, therefore, can (2). In fact there is no reason to expect this speech to contain an answer to the argument of 165a4-d1: see the account of the point of the argument, given in the note on that passage.166c3 'attack what I actually say'. This is sometimes taken as evidence that the doctrines in this speech were actually espoused by the historical Protagoras, unlike some of the doctrines so far ascribed to him (see note on 152c8-10). Cf., however, 168b4-5: 'we declare that everything changes'. And see notes on 169d10-170a1, 171d-172b.166c5-6 'appears . . . comes to be . . . is'. See note on 158a2-3.166d1-167d4. This passage contains an attempt to answer the first criticism (161b-162a: in particular, point (2) in the note on that passage) by arguing that the following propositions are, in spite of first appearances, compatible:

1. All judgements are true for those who make them.

2. Some people are wiser than others.

Abstracting from a good deal of detail, we can put the argument like this. People differ in respect of how things appear to them. These differences in appearances are not differences in respect of truth or falsehood, since, by (1), all appearances are true. They are, rather, differences in respect of goodness or badness. The superior wisdom of the wise man, required by (2), consists in his ability to substitute good or beneficial appearances for bad or harmful ones: we preserve conformity with (1) by denying that it is an ability to substitute true appearances for false ones.

When we revert to less abstract formulations, we see that there are two different ways in which the above skeleton can be filled out. These two

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different ways correspond to the two different conceptions of the things which appear to someone, and therefore are for him, distinguished in the note on 158a2-3. According to Protagoras, wisdom consists in the ability to substitute one set of things which appear for another; so, corresponding to the two different conceptions of the things which appear, we find two different accounts of the kind of substitution performed by the wise man.

i. One kind of substitution is credited to the doctor, at 166e1-4. When one is sick, what one eats appears bitter to one, and therefore is bitter, and hence presumably unpleasant, for one. When one is healthy, on the other hand, what one eats appears sweet to one, and therefore is sweet, and hence presumably pleasant, for one. What the doctor does is to change one from the first state to the second. Now if we are to make this fit the general description of the wise man as substituting one set of things which appear for another, then we cannot identify the appearing things in question with items referred to by the subjects of 'appears' in the above accounts of sickness and health, i.e. with 'what one eats'. For the point is surely not that the doctor changes one's diet, but rather that he brings it about that a diet which used to appear unpleasant appears pleasant instead. Hence we should, rather, identify the appearing things, one set of which the doctor substitutes for another, with items introduced by the complements of 'appears' in the above accounts of sickness and health. Thus: when one is sick, unpleasant tastes appear to one to be, and therefore are for one, what one's food has; the doctor brings it about that pleasant tastes appear to one to be, and therefore are for one, what one's food has. For this conception of the things which appear, see (2) in the note on 158a2-3.

ii. A different kind of substitution is credited to the politician, at 167c2-7. When a community is unregenerate, harmful things appear just to it, and therefore are just for it; after improvement by the wise man, beneficial things appear just to it, and therefore are just for it. Here we can identify the appearing things, one set of which the wise man substitutes for another, with items referred to by the subjects of 'appear' in the above formulations: the appearing things in question are the harmful or beneficial things which appear and are just. For this conception of the things which appear, see (1) in the note on 158a2-3.

Note that one could construct an account of the wisdom of the doctor different from that in (i), but parallel to the account of the wisdom of the politician in (ii). In this different account, the idea would be that sickness is a worse state than health, not because it involves unpleasant tastes, which is presumably the point in (i), but rather because it makes harmful food seem to one to be pleasant, and therefore tempt one to eat it. What the doctor does, in this different account of his wisdom, is to alter one's state so that, instead of harmful food appearing pleasant to one, and therefore being pleasant for one, beneficial food appears pleasant to one, and

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therefore is pleasant for one. Some such account of the wisdom of the doctor may be in Plato's mind at 171e3-8.There may be more ways than one in which the account of wisdom ascribed to Protagoras in this passage does not succeed in its declared aim of being compatible with the thesis that all judgements are true for those who make them. There is certainly at least one way which is relevant to some later passages: it emerges from the detailed account of the wisdom of the politician ((ii) above). That account clearly presupposes that the question whether a certain policy or piece of legislation is beneficial to a community is a question to which there is a single right answer. The right answer does not depend on what the community thinks, since it may be an unregenerate community: what such a community declares to be just, and so, by the principle of 177e4-178a1, thinks beneficial to itself, will not in fact be beneficial to it. Thus the account of the wisdom of the politician presupposes that not every judgement of every community about what is beneficial to itself is true.It would, of course, be dramatically inconsistent to have Protagoras draw attention to this presupposition, so it is not explicitly brought out in this speech. But Plato makes it clear, in later passages, that he is aware of it: see 169d6-8 in its context, and 171d-172b. Cf. also 177c-179b.Some points of detail in the present passage:

a. 'The sort of thing you were saying before' (166e1-2). The reference is presumably to 159c11-e6.

b. 'What must be done isn't to make either of them wiser' (166e4-167a1). This is somewhat obscure. The word translated 'make' might be translated 'represent . . . as', but that would have the drawback of making what follows ('nor is it . . . a different sort') merely repetitious. And with either translation, Protagoras' remark seems questionable. There is no obvious reason why a sick, or healthy, man should not also be ignorant in Protagoras' sense, i.e. incapable of making the changes which the wise man can make. In that case there is nothing wrong with representing one or other of the two as wiser. And if wisdom, in Protagoras' sense, can be acquired at all, there is no obvious reason why it should be impossible to make either or both of the two wiser. It seems clear, then, that we must take Protagoras to mean something different from what, on the face of it, he says, on the following lines. The change from sickness to health is not eo ipso a change in the direction of being wiser; and further, making someone wiser 'isn't even possible', if making someone wiser is taken to be changing him from a state in which he makes false judgements to a state in which he makes true judgements. If this interpretation is right, Protagoras is made to express his meaning ineptly; this may be deliberate on Plato's part.

c. 'It isn't possible to have in one's judgements the things which are not' (167a7-8). This is a way of saying that it is impossible to make false

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judgements: with an allusion to a family of arguments purporting to prove that conclusion. Cf. 188c-189b and notes.

d. 'Or anything other than what one's experiencing' (167a8). This suggests a line of thought according to which the thesis that all judgements are true for those who make them is not distinguishable from the original formulation of Protagoras' doctrine as claiming that every perception (or, here, experience) is veridical. Cf. note (3) on 152a6-8, and note on 152b1-c7.

e. 'Akin to it . . . of that same sort' (167b2): i.e., respectively, harmful and beneficial.

f. 'Appearances which some people, because of ignorance, call true' (167b2-3). This implies that it would be wrong to say that these appearances are true; which cannot be what Protagoras means, since he holds that all appearances are true. The point must be, rather, that it would be wrong to distinguish these substituted appearances from those which they replace by saying that the former are true and the latter false: this point is more effectively put by the contrast between 'better' and 'truer' at 167b4. Here again, then, Protagoras is made to express his meaning ineptly.

g. 'And true too' (167c2). The words so translated are sometimes excised, because, in Protagoras' view, truth is not peculiar to beneficial and healthy perceptions, so the addition seems pointless. However, even if the words are pointless, that does not show that they do not belong in the speech, which seems to contain a certain amount of ineptness of expression. And perhaps the words do have some point, as follows. It is odd to ascribe perception to plants at all; Protagoras, realizing this, defiantly refuses to shrink from the implications which make it odd.

168b5 'seems . . . is'. See note on 158a2-3.

1.3. Discussion of Protagoras (168c-179d)

168c-169d Interlude.

169a2-3 'whether it's you who ought to be the measure': as opposed to Protagoras' doctrine, which would require that any man should be equally authoritative.

169a6-c3. Theodorus refers back to 162b1-7. Sciron made passers-by wash his feet, and kicked them over a cliff; he was killed by Theseus. Antaeus made passers-by wrestle with him, and killed them; he was killed by Heracles.

169d-171d First criticism: self-refutation.

169d3-8. For the criticism of the theory on the ground that it makes

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everyone self-sufficient in point of wisdom, see 161b-162a. For Protagoras' concession that some are superior to others on the question of what is better or worse, see 166d1-167d4.169d10-170a1. Socrates here promises an argument to show that it was right to represent Protagoras as making the concession just mentioned, since he is committed to it by something he himself said.Note:

1. It is perhaps significant that such an argument is taken to be necessary. This seems to tell against the view that the speech ascribed to Protagoras in the section 165e-168c is a repository of authentic Protagorean doctrines. See note on 166c3: cf. also note on 171d-172b.

2. The concession mentioned at 169d3-8 is this:

(C1) Some people are superior to others on the question of what is better or worse.

The argument which Socrates is about to produce (170a3-171c7) in fact purports to commit Protagoras to the following different concession:

(C2) Some judgements are false.

(C1) implies (C2): see note on 166d1-167d4. However, contrary to what one might expect from the present introductory passage, the argument of 170a3-171c7 purports to commit Protagoras to (C2) directly: that is, without exploiting the fact that (C1) implies (C2), and indeed without discussing whether Protagoras is committed to the more specific concession (C1). On (C1), see 171d-172b, 177c-179b.170a3-171c7. An argument purporting to show that Protagoras' own doctrine commits him to the falsehood of some judgements, and so to its own denial. I shall summarize the argument in five parts.

170a3-4 states the doctrine of Protagoras which, according to the argument, implies its own denial: for the wording, see note on 158a2-3. The doctrine amounts to the following proposition:

(P) All judgements are true for those who make them.

The equivalence between the formulation containing 'seems' and the formulation in terms of judgements is brought out at the beginning of Socrates' next speech: note 'we, too, are talking about . . . judgements' at 170a6-7. Socrates here exploits the fact that the noun which I translate 'judgement' (doxa) is cognate with the verb which I translate 'seem' (dokein): cf. 'appearings' at 155a2, 161e8.

170a6-c1 claims to establish the following proposition:

(Q) All men believe that some judgements are false.

We may shelve for the moment the question whether 'all men' should be taken to include Protagoras or not: see (5) below.

3. 170c2-d2 outlines the argument, as follows. There are two possible views with respect to (P): either (i) that it is true, or (ii) that it is false.

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Either way, (P) is false. This is obvious in the case of (ii); and according to the argument, it holds in the case of (i) as well, given (Q). That is, the claim is that (P) and (Q) together imply the falsehood of (P): hence the only way to maintain (P) is to deny (Q) (170c5-d2).

4. 170d3-e6: in response to Theodorus' request for explanation, the first step is to derive from (P) the implication that any disputed proposition is true for those who judge it to be true and false for those who judge it to be false.

5. 170e7-171c7. This implication of (P) is now applied to (P) itself, maintaining the assumption of (Q): first on the hypothesis that 'all men', in (Q), includes Protagoras, and second on the hypothesis that it does not.

i. Suppose that (Q) is true, with 'all men' including Protagoras. In that case there is no one for whom (P) is true.

ii. Suppose, on the other hand, that (Q) is true with 'all men' taken to mean 'all men other than Protagoras'. In that case two conclusions are said to follow about (P). First, since more people believe that (P) is false than believe that it is true, it is more the case that it is not the truth than that it is. Second, applying the implication of (4) above to (P) itself, Protagoras must concede that (P) is false (for those who judge it to be false: but this qualification is omitted at 171b1-2). Moving to higher-order judgements, he must concede that his opponents' judgement, to the effect that their judgement that (P) is false is true, is true (for them: again, this qualification is omitted at 171b6-7). This is represented as the abandonment of (P) by Protagoras himself. Hence, again, there is no one for whom (P) is true.

Two points about wording:

a. 'That Truth which he wrote wasn't the truth . . . it isn't the truth' (170e9-171a3). In both places I have supplied the complement 'the truth', in the light of the subject (an allusion to the title of Protagoras' work).

b. 'Has in his judgements the things which are' (171a9): i.e. makes true judgements. Cf. 167a7-8; and see 188c-189b and notes.

The first of the two conclusions under (5) (ii) above is clearly incidental. Its derivation is suspect. For, though Protagoras can reasonably be credited with the thesis that it depends on each individual judgement whether any proposition is the truth or not (cf. 171a4-5), this must be taken to mean that it depends on any given person's judgement whether any proposition is the truth for him or not; not that every person's judgement must be given weight in deciding, by a count of heads, to what extent any proposition is true simpliciter.

The main conclusion of the argument is clearly that which figures under both (5) (i) and (5) (ii) above, viz. that there is no one for whom (P) is true. Since this conclusion is derived from (P) itself, the argument can reasonably be said to involve the self-refutation of (P). Note, however, that Plato makes it clear that the further premiss (Q) is required. There is

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no suggestion that the falsehood of (P) can be derived from (P) by rules of logic alone.This main conclusion is suspect too, because of the omission of qualifying phrases in the argument summarized under (5) (ii) above. The omission makes the argument liable to the following objection. What Protagoras is committed to is that (P) is false for his opponents; that their judgement, to the effect that their judgement that (P) is false is true, is true for them; that it is true for him that that judgement of theirs is true for them; etc. None of this shows that (P) is false for Protagoras, in the absence of the following principle: if it is true for a person x that a given proposition is false for a person y, then that proposition is false for x. And it is surely unfair to treat Protagoras as being committed to that principle.This objection does, I think, formally undermine the argument of the present passage. But it still leaves Protagoras in a vulnerable position.

a. If all that Protagoras can say to us is '(P) is true for me; it may or may not be true for you', we are justified in wondering why we should find what he says interesting. It seemed to be interesting originally because he seemed to be asserting the truth, simpliciter, not just the truth for himself, of (P). ( Theodorus' geometrical assertions have their status rendered similarly problematic by the implication derived from (P) in (4) above; hence, no doubt, his evidently reluctant answer at 170e6.)

b. It is, arguably, in the spirit of (P) to assume that people are authoritative, not just about the truth of their own judgements, but about what judgements they are. Now Protagoras' opponents would claim that their judgement about (P) is not that (P) is false for them, but that (P) is false simpliciter. Thus, given the above assumption, Protagoras is committed to conceding that it is true for his opponents that (P) is false (not true) simpliciter. Hence he is not exempted from making sense of the concept of truth simpliciter, as opposed to his favoured concept of truth for a person. Protagoras could evade this argument by denying the assumption on which it rests. But that would perhaps be awkward. And in any case it could be argued, less directly but on similar lines, that our apparent ability to understand clauses of the form 'that p', in sentences of 'Protagorean' forms like 'It is true for me that p, but false for you that p', depends on our covertly importing the notion of the conditions under which it would be true, simpliciter, that p. Otherwise it is not clear how we could explain the implication that it is the same thing which, according to a sentence of the above form, is true for me and false for you. Without the concept of truth simpliciter, Protagoras would find it difficult to justify his assumption that he and his opponents speak the same language, or at any rate understand each other.

171c8-d3. Possibly an indication that Plato is not content with the argument of 170a3-171c7.

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171d5-7. This can be taken to state a version of the main conclusion of 170a3-171c7: taking 'wiser' and 'more ignorant' in the light of 170b8-9.

171d1-172b A modified Protagorean doctrine.

In this section, Socrates sets out a variant of Protagoras' doctrine, modified in such a way as to conform to the result of the section 169d-171d. See note on 169d10-170a1: the modified doctrine conforms to (C2) by conforming to (C1). The modification is made by distinguishing two sets of predicates. An unrestricted version of Protagoras' doctrine could be stated as follows:

(D) If something seems f to someone, then it is f for him, whatever predicate is substituted for 'f'.

According to the modified doctrine, a formula like (D) is true for a range of substitutions for 'f' including the following: 'hot', 'dry', 'sweet', 'admirable', 'just', 'in conformity with religion', 'lawful'. But it is false for a range of substitutions for 'f' including 'healthy' and 'advantageous': for on the question whether something is healthy or advantageous, the judgement of the wise man is superior, in point of truth, to some other judgements. Cf. 'better or worse', in (C1) (note on 169d10-170a1).At 171d9-e1, Socrates identifies the modified doctrine with that stated in the course of his defence of Protagoras, i.e. presumably with that to be found in the speech ascribed to Protagoras in the section 165e-168c. With two minor reservations, the identification is acceptable.

1. One reservation is that the remarks, at 171e3-8, about wisdom on the question of what is healthy or unhealthy do not correspond very well with the account of the wisdom of the doctor given at 166e1-4. They do, however, correspond quite well with an account of the wisdom of the doctor parallel to the account of the wisdom of the politician given at 167c2-7. See note on 166d1-167d4.

2. The second reservation is that the present passage makes it explicit, as the earlier passage, for obvious dramatic reasons, could not, that the doctrine which it states is a modified doctrine: note, in particular, 'those who don't altogether assert Protagoras' theory', at 172b6-7.

This identification, together with 172b6-7, has historical and dramatic implications concerning the speech ascribed to Protagoras in the section 165e-168c.

i. The historical implication relates to the view that the speech can be treated as a source of authentic Protagorean doctrine: see notes on 166c3, 169d10-170a1. That view cannot survive the implication of the present passage that the doctrine set out in the speech is a doctrine espoused by 'those who don't altogether assert Protagoras' theory'. The words 'attack what I actually say', at 166c3, must, then, be taken with Protagoras' protest against Socrates' procedure in the previous discussion (cf.

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166a6-b1), not as a promise that everything in the speech will be historically authentic. It is perhaps significant that when the objection which the speech purports to answer is stated in the Cratylus (386c2-d2), there is no indication that the historical Protagoras had attempted to answer it.

ii. The dramatic implication arises from the fact that Protagoras is represented as making the speech without being aware that it requires a modification of his doctrine; whereas the present passage shows that Plato is clear on the point. There may be intentional irony in this, at the expense of the fictional Protagoras who makes the speech: cf. notes on 166b1-c2, 166d1-167d4.

In the above note, I have assumed that this passage should be taken as a unit, stating a single doctrine. For a different view, see Cornford, pp. 81-3. Cornford divides the passage at 172b2 ('But in that other sphere . . .'). Up to that point, in his view, Socrates has been restating the position set out in the speech of 165e-168c. But the next sentence, he says, introduces a new position, whose adherents go further than Protagoras.Against this:

a. Cornford attaches some weight to the change of grammatical subject after 172b2, from 'the theory' to an at first unspecified 'they'. But the change seems quite natural on the view that the same doctrine is being stated both before and after it.

b. It is difficult to understand 'those who don't altogether assert Protagoras' theory' as mentioning people who go further than Protagoras, rather than, as my account of the passage suggests, people who stop short of his position. This point does not depend on my translation: Cornford's is 'those who do not argue altogether as Protagoras does'.

c. The main point is that 172b2-6 is most naturally taken to express the same position as 172a1-5. The only element in 172b2-6 which might seem to be an addition, and hence to favour Cornford's view, is the statement, at 172b4-5, that, e.g., what is just does not have by nature a being of its own. But this amounts to no more than the claim that there is no objectively correct account of what justice is, i.e. no objectively correct account of the being or nature of justice. And the existence of such objectively correct accounts must obviously be denied, if one is to maintain that whatever seems just to any individual or community is just for that individual or community; i.e. if one is to maintain the position expressed at 172a1-5.

172b-177c Digression.

172b8-c1. Taken up at 172d5-6. It is not clear how we are intended to divide up the preceding argumentation.

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172c2-6. The opening of this section certainly makes it look like no more than the digression which, at 177b7-8, it is said to be. Theodorus' remark about 'plenty of time' leads Socrates into a discourse, on the face of it quite irrelevant to the dialogue, about the difference between the philosopher and the litigious man.

However, the section is not wholly irrelevant. The modification to Protagoras' doctrine, set out in the section 171d-172b, does not affect the doctrine's application in the case of a range of predicates including 'admirable', 'just', and 'in conformity with religion'. Now on the surface, the modified Protagorean doctrine is allowed to stand: the rest of the discussion of Protagoras adds no more than an argument to show that the modification was necessary (177c-179b). But the idea that, e.g., whatever seems just to anyone is just for him was certainly never acceptable to Plato. To argue explicitly against it would perhaps take him too far from the original topic of perception. Instead, he inserts this section, which contains allusions to such arguments in other works of his. Viewed in this light, the digression can be seen to serve a purpose which, in a modern book, might be served by footnotes or an appendix: of course the dialogue form precludes explicit reference to other works of Plato's.

A question which will arise at various places in the notes which follow is the question whether the digression introduces the Theory of Forms. The answer which I shall suggest is that we cannot exclude the possibility that Plato has the Theory of Forms in mind in this section; but that he does not say that he has, and we do not need to suppose that he has. Cf., further, notes on 146c-147c, 210b1, and the other notes cited in the latter.

172d9 'hit on that which is': i.e. find out the truth: see 188c-189b and notes. In contexts where the Theory of Forms is being expounded, phrases like 'that which is' might be taken to designate the realm of Forms: see, e.g., Republic 597d1-3. But obviously the phrase need not be so taken here. See note on 173e1-174a2.

173e1-174a2. For the detachment of the philosopher's intellect or mind from his body, see, e.g., Phaedo 64c4-69e5. The idea is there associated with the view that the philosopher's concern is the Forms, with which his mind has a kind of contact unmediated by any of the bodily senses. Moreover, 'the things which are', at 174a1, could be taken as a reference to the Forms: see note on 172d9. But it is somewhat difficult to read the Theory of Forms into the present passage, where the interests ascribed to the philosopher, in the quotation from Pindar, do not seem to be transcendental in any way. The phrase 'things which are' may mean no more than 'things'.

The contrast at 174a1-2 is explained at 174b1-6: see note on the latter passage.

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174b1-6. The philosopher is not concerned with questions about particular men; his concern is the question what a man is. In the context of the Theory of Forms, an interest in what a man is would be identified with an interest in the Form of Man: indeed, one of the titles of the Form of Man would be 'what a man is' (see, e.g., Republic 597a2, c3). But it is obviously possible to assert what is expressed in the first sentence of this note without making that identification.

175b9-d7. The topics mentioned in this passage--justice and injustice, kingship, or, more generally, ruling, and happiness--are the topics of the Republic. And the metaphor of a higher realm, in which discussion of such questions as 'What is justice?' takes place, and where lack of familiarity produces confusion and incompetence, is reminiscent of the Republic's allegory of the Cave (see, e.g., 515c4-516a5). In the context of the Theory of Forms, the questions which the present passage locates in the higher realm would be identified with questions about Forms. But it is obviously possible to distinguish the kinds of question here distinguished without appealing to the Theory of Forms: cf. note on 174b1-6. Nor does the metaphor of the higher realm depend on the Theory of Forms for its appropriateness. (Such metaphors are perennial in Plato: see, e.g., Sophist 254a8-b1.)

176a5-b3. For the idea that it is desirable to escape from our present world, see Phaedo 64c4-69e5. For the idea of coming to resemble a god by becoming virtuous, see Republic 613a7-b3. The phrase 'with intelligence' hints at the doctrine that virtue is knowledge: see note on 176b7-177a8.

176b3-7. Cf. Republic 357a1-367e5.

176b7-177a8. In opposition to the popular view that the only reason for just behaviour is the benefits derived from a good reputation, Socrates here claims that the best reason for just behaviour is that the unjust man (i) comes to resemble a supremely unhappy pattern, and so leads an unhappy life (176e3-177a3); and (ii) is not accepted after death into the 'region untained by evils' where the gods live (177a3-7, referring back to 176a6-7). With (ii), cf. the myths of the after-life at Phaedo 107c1-115a3 (especially 114b6-c6), and Republic 614b2-621d3. But it is (i) which is more prominent in the present passage: note, in particular, 176b8-d1, where it is claimed that genuine virtue is constituted by knowledge of a point which is at least closely related to (i), viz. that the way to come to resemble a god is to become just (cf. 176e3-4 for the divineness of the supremely happy pattern).

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The thesis that genuine justice consists in knowing that a just life is a happy one is a version of the doctrine, associated with Socrates and discussed in several earlier dialogues, that virtue is knowledge. Part at least of what is meant here can be gathered from the Republic, which, like the present passage, is concerned with the motivation for just behaviour. According to the Republic, justice consists in a certain orderly and cooperative functioning of the different elements in the mind or soul (433a1-e2, with 441d8-e2). Thus justice is to the mind what health is to the body (444c1-e6). It is not an open question whether health is a good thing to have; similarly, once one knows what justice is, one will not regard it as an open question whether justice is a good thing to have (444e7-445b4). In an appendix to this argument constituted by Books VIII and IX (see 445b5-e4, with 543c4-544b8), it is argued, largely by way of describing various kinds of political organization together with the parallel kinds of organization of the elements in the mind, that the just man is as happy and the unjust man as unhappy as it is possible to be. All of this points to the thesis that to know what justice is is eo ipso to know that a just life is a happy one; and since this knowledge involves insight into the right reason for just behaviour, it is at least an important element in genuine possession of the virtue.It seems reasonable to conjecture that the present passage alludes to the argument of the Republic summarized above, or at least to some similar argument. The importance of this, so far as the relation between the digression and the rest of the dialogue is concerned, is that any such argument requires that there is an objectively correct account of what justice is; which contradicts the doctrine of 171d-172b.Does this passage introduce the Theory of Forms? Of course the Republic does. But the Theory of Forms is not a prerequisite for stating the argument summarized above; this should be obvious from the summary. The 'patterns set up in that which is', mentioned at 176e3, might be taken to be Forms: for 'that which is' as a designation of the realm of Forms, see notes on 172d9, 173e1-174a2, and for Forms as patterns, see, e.g., Timaeus 27d5-29d3. But the patterns may not be Forms. Note:

1. There is a difficulty for the view that the patterns are Forms, in the fact that one of them is said to be supremely unhappy and to lack all divinity. Admittedly Plato sometimes seems to envisage Forms corresponding to bad things (e.g. Republic 476a4-5). But in contexts where he talks about the after-life, he usually treats the Forms as splendid objects of beatific contemplation (see, e.g., Phaedo 64c4-69e5.) The supremely unhappy pattern would not be an appropriate inhabitant of the 'region untainted by evils' which, according to the present passage, receives the virtuous man after death (176a6-7, 177a3-5).

2. Not every use by Plato of the concept of a pattern or model involves the Theory of Forms: for one which clearly does not, see

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202d8-203a2. The argument of the Republic, summarized above, suggests a possible alternative identification of the two patterns mentioned here. The argument of Books VIII and IX of the Republic depends largely on comparisons between the just man and an idealized monarchical or aristocratic state, and between the unjust man and an idealized tyrannical state. No actual states are described in these comparisons; but the idealized states described are surely not Forms either. Conceivably, the 'patterns set up in that which is' are such idealized states. (For a similar idea, see Republic 592a10-b6.)

Note that the Parmenides (in particular, 132c12-133a10) casts doubt on the version of the Theory of Forms according to which Forms are patterns or exemplars for ordinary things. Hence if we do take the patterns of 176e3 to be Forms, we raise a difficulty for the common view that the Parmenides is earlier than the Theaetetus. But the common view is in any case disputable: see notes on 142a-143c, 183e7-184a1, 203e2-205c3.Finally, a general remark about the view that the digression introduces the Theory of Forms. The view cannot, I think, be refuted. But it should be emphasized that the only purpose which there is any reason to suppose that the Forms might serve in the digression is that of enabling Plato to make the following point: contrary to the doctrine of 171d-172b, there are objectively correct accounts of, e.g., what justice is. There is no sign, then, that the Forms are present in their role as the sole objects of knowledge, strictly so called; and hence no reason to suppose that the digression is meant to hint at an answer, in terms of the Theory of Forms, to the dialogue's question 'What is knowledge?'. Cf. notes on 146c-147c, 210b1, and the other notes cited in the latter.

177c-179b Second criticism: the modification justified.

177c6-e3. This passage sets out again the modified Protagorean doctrine stated at 171d-172b. It adds, at 177d5-e3, the rejection of a possible but frivolous defence of the unmodified doctrine, on the ground that one can apply the word 'useful' to anything one likes. The word 'useful' can be truly applied only to what actually is useful: so we ought to consider the question of what is useful, not the question of what can, without regard for truth, be called 'useful'.Note:

1. 'Those who speak of being as moving' (177c7). For the identification of these people with the adherents of Protagoras, see 160d5-e2. The noun 'being' in this use amounts to 'things which are'. Its presence makes this a distinctly unhappy way of alluding to the secret doctrine. Cf., further, 180d5-7, and note on 179d1-180d7.

2. 'Seems . . . is . . . seems' (177c7-8). See note on 158a2-3.

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3. 'Nobody' (177d3): i.e., presumably, nobody who has understood what is involved; from 171d-172b it appears that this qualification would exclude Protagoras.

177e4-178a4. An argument to show that an unmodified Protagorean thesis breaks down over predicates like 'advantageous', and hence that the modification of 171d-172b was necessary. The argument is as follows. All states legislate with a view to their own advantage; i.e. what they enforce by law is what seems advantageous to them. But not everything which is enforced by law actually is advantageous to the state which enforces it. Consequently, it cannot be maintained that everything which seems advantageous to a given state actually is advantageous to it.

178a5-179a9. Here Socrates points out that the argument of 177e4-178a4 is a special case of a more general argument relating to judgements about the future. The judgement that something is advantageous is, covertly, a judgement about what is going to happen. And it is not necessarily the case that what someone thinks is going to happen is in fact going to happen: only the expert in a given field is authoritative on the question of what is going to happen. Note how Socrates brings out the point that this holds even if, when the time comes, the question of what is happening is settled by how things seem to the non-expert (178d4-6).

On 'things which are true for him and things which are for him', at 178b6-7, see notes on 158a2-3 and 158e5-6. It would be simplest to supply 'the case' as complement for 'are', as suggested in the note on 158e5-6; and this may be the correct way to construe the passage. But it has the drawback that 'are' (sc. 'the case') is then a rather feeble repetition of 'are true'. Perhaps we should adopt a more complicated interpretation, on the following lines. Someone who thinks, e.g., that such-and-such food is pleasant might be said, in a characteristically Platonic idiom, to think pleasantness about such-and-such food. That is, pleasantness can be regarded as what he thinks. Now if such-and-such food is in fact pleasant for him, then pleasantness is, for him, what he thinks it is, viz. what suchand-such food has. (Cf. (2), in the note on 158a2-3). Further, pleasantness is true, for him, of what he thinks it is true of, viz. such-andsuch food. If all his thoughts of the appropriate kind are true, then we can generalize these remarks; and, with a great deal of ellipsis, they clearly yield the thesis that what he thinks are 'things which are true for him and things which are for him'. Cf., further, 188c-189b and notes.

179a10-b5. Conclusion of this section. Note how it coincides with the conclusion stated at 171d5-7: see note on 169d10-170a1. 'Giving fair measure' is probably an allusion to Protagoras' formula (152a2-4, echoed here).

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179b-d Conclusion.

179b6-9. Theodorus brings together the two serious criticisms of Protagoras, viz. that of 169d-171d and that of 177c-179b.

179c2-d1. If we allow the existence of knowledge about questions of advantage, or, more generally, about the future, then the equation of knowledge with perception clearly cannot be maintained. The idea of such knowledge is certainly near the surface at 178a5-179a9, with its enumeration of various kinds of expertise: note that 'someone with no knowledge, like me', at 179b2-3, suggests that what distinguishes the experts is their possession of knowledge. On these lines it seems that Theaetetus has already been shown not to have been precisely on the mark when he equated knowledge with perception. However, Socrates here suggests that the argument so far has left untouched the possibility that every case of perception is a case of knowledge, even if the converse does not hold; and if that possibility were realized, perhaps Theaetetus would not have been far off the mark. In any case, the above refutation of the thesis that knowledge is perception is not spelled out explicitly; and later, at 184b5-7, Socrates talks as if the whole thesis is still a candidate for serious discussion.

On the contrast between perceptions and judgements which conform to them, see note (2) on 151d-e. On 'saying things which are' (179c7), meaning 'speaking the truth', see notes on 188c-189b.

1.4. Discussion of the doctrine of instability (179d-184b)

179d-181b Introduction.

179d1-180d7. This passage introduces the doctrine of instability which is about to be discussed as being that which has already figured in the dialogue, i.e. that associated with the secret doctrine and involved in the theory of percepion. However, in the first place, the identification is made largely by way of allusion to what, if I am right, is the less serious part of the passage introducing the secret doctrine, viz. the talk about Heracleitus and Homer at 152e2-153d5: cf. note on 152e2-9. And, secondly, the wording at 179d3 and 180d5-7 implies that the doctrine which is about to be discussed can be stated as follows: everything which is is involved in change. But that formulation is, strictly, inconsistent with the secret doctrine. These points may be significant. I believe that the argument of 181b-183b in effect distinguishes the doctrine of total instability introduced in the present passage from a less radical doctrine which turns out to be that involved in the theory of perception: see note on 182c9-183b6.

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181b-183b Argument against the doctrine of total insta-

bility.

181b8-d7. For the two kinds of change here distinguished, cf. Parmenides 138b8-c1, 162d8-e1. The word translated 'alteration' is cognate with that translated 'otherwise qualified' at, e.g., 159e8: it might be rendered 'change of quality'.181d8-182a2. The distinction between two kinds of change is here used to make it clear that the doctrine which is about to be discussed is that everything is always engaged in both kinds of change. Socrates' argument for this, at 181e5-7, should not be taken to be that the adherents of the doctrine in question must state it in this form on pain of contradiction; for such a contradiction would be obviously spurious. His point is, rather, that the people he is talking about do not countenance any stability at all: cf., e.g., 180b2-3.182a3-b8. Here Socrates recapitulates the theory of perception expounded at 155d-157c.Note:

1. 'Each of them moves' (182a5): cf. 156c6-d3 and note.

2. 'Perceptive, not a perception . . . qualified in a certain way, nor a quality' (182a6-8): cf. 156e3-7 and note. The word translated 'quality' is formed from an interrogative meaning 'how qualified' and the suffix which turns, e.g., the word for 'white' into the word for 'whiteness'. This may be its earliest occurrence: note how Plato feels called upon to explain it.

3. 'Not even the thing which acts or the thing which is acted on' (182b4): cf. 157a3-7 and note.

182c1-8. A restatement of the thesis which is about to be discussed: cf. 181d8-182a2.182c9-183b6. This passage states an argument purporting to derive, from the doctrine of total instability, the following conclusions:

1. The equation of knowledge with perception is no more worthy of acceptance than its negation (182e10-11).

2. No statement as to how things are, or come to be, is any more worthy of acceptance than its negation (183a4-b6).

Two points seem reasonably obvious to begin with:

i. The derivation of (2) must be meant to count as a reductio ad absurdum of the doctrine of total instability. Hence the derivation of (1) is taken, not as a refutation of the equation of knowledge with perception, but simply as a proof that the equation cannot be supported by asserting the doctrine of total instability: see 183c1-4.

ii. Plato's response to the reductio ad absurdum is surely not to sup-

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pose that, though the doctrine of total instability and its consequence (2) are true about the world of ordinary things, we are not thereby condemned to speechlessness, since there is another world, viz. that of Forms, about which the doctrine of total instability and its consequence (2) are not true, and about which we can, therefore, sensibly speak. It seems incredible that Plato might have been thus prepared utterly to abandon the possibility of significant discourse about the world of ordinary things.How, exactly, are (1) and (2) meant to follow from the doctrine of total instability? The neatest way of interpreting the argument of this passage is, I think, to regard it as answering a question which might be expected to have occurred to the reader about the change which is engaged in by the offspring mentioned in the theory of perception, i.e. by qualities and kinds of perception. We know that the offspring move: note how this is brought out at 182a3-b8. But do they also alter? This question was, arguably, left open in the original exposition of the theory of perception: see 156c6-d3 and note. The doctrine of total instability would require an affirmative answer. According to the account of the present passage which I wish to recommend, Plato means it to show that, contrary to this implication of the doctrine of total instability, the offspring cannot, on pain of absurdity, be supposed to alter.In more detail, the argument goes as follows. It begins, at 182c9-12, with the point that if, contrary to the doctrine of total instability, we suppose that a thing is moving but not altering, there is no difficulty about the possibility of describing it as qualified in some way. This is then contrasted with the situation we are in if we suppose that total instability, i.e. alteration as well as motion, affects the offspring mentioned in the theory of perception. Socrates takes each of the two kinds of offspring, viz. qualities and perceptions, in turn, as follows:

a. A representative example of a quality is whiteness or white colour. Suppose, then, that this not only moves, as we know it does, but alters too. This is to suppose that it does not continue to be the case that this 'flowing thing' flows white. But in that case the thing in question can no longer be identified as that colour, i.e. as whiteness. Generalizing the supposition, we deprive ourselves of the possibility of identifying any colour: the supposition that colours change colour renders senseless our purported identifications of colours. Generalizing still further, we deprive ourselves of the possibility of identifying anything 'of that kind', i.e. any quality. This summarizes 182d1-7.

b. A representative example of a kind of perception is seeing. As above, the supposition that this not only moves but also alters deprives us of the possibility of identifying the thing in question as that kind of perception, i.e. as seeing. Generalizing as before, we deprive ourselves of the possibility of identifying any kind of perception. This summarizes 182d8-e6.

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Conclusions (1) and (2) are now derived, as follows:

1. If we cannot identify kinds of perception ((b) above), then we cannot identify perception either. Whatever we point to, so to speak, purporting to identify it as perception, it will in fact be no more correct to call that 'perception' than it is to call it 'not perception'. Now in saying that knowledge is perception, we purport to identify something by the word 'perception', in order to equate it with knowledge. If we assume the correctness of the equation, we may substitute 'knowledge' for 'perception' in the last sentence but one. This yields the following: what we purport to identify by the word 'perception', and hence what, in asserting the equation, we equate with knowledge, is something which it is no more correct to call 'knowledge' than it is to call it 'not knowledge'. The above paraphrases and supplements the argument of 182e7-183a1.

2. It is plausible to suppose that if statements as to how things are in the world of perceptible objects are to have definite sense, then perceptual qualities must be definitely identifiable; and, similarly, that if statements as to how things are with perceivers are to have definite sense, then kinds of perception must be definitely identifiable. But given the doctrine of total instability, neither qualities nor kinds of perception are identifiable. Consequently, statements as to how things are, at any rate those of the kinds just mentioned, do not have definite sense: it is no more acceptable to say that things are so than to say that they are not so. And it would not help to substitute 'come to be' for 'are': the trouble lies, rather, with 'so'. The above paraphrases and supplements the argument of 183a2-8.

Socrates' first attempt at stating conclusion (2), at 183a4-6, is that it is equally right to say either that things are so or that they are not. But at 183a9-b5 he corrects himself: it is equally wrong to say either, because, given the doctrine of total instability, any such use of 'so' is objectionable. Presumably 'so' is a dummy or variable expression, affording a way of alluding compendiously to all specific statements as to how things are.

There is a difficulty about Socrates' suggestion, at 183b4-5, of terminology which might be appropriate for adherents of the doctrine of total instability. One manuscript reading might be taken to mean something like 'nohow at all'; but against this, see Cornford, p. 100. The other, adopted in the OCT and translated here as 'not even so', has been found difficult because of the suggestion, immediately above, that 'not so' will not do. But 'unless, perhaps . . .' may be meant to indicate that Socrates is changing his mind. The words 'said in an indefinite sense' indicate that the point is this. To say how things are not is not to say anything definite as to how things are; consequently one can concede the possibility of saying how things are not without conceding the possibility of saying how things are.

It is obviously crucial to the above interpretation of the argument that it should be correct to take the 'flowing thing' of 182d1 to be whiteness or

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white colour, rather than, say, a white stick or stone; and consequently to take 'any other thing of that kind', at 182d6-7, as tantamount to 'any other quality'. On this view, although Socrates opens the argument, at 182c9-12, with a point of quite unrestricted scope, viz. that anything which is moving but not altering can be described as qualified in a certain way, he does not consider what follows generally from the contrasting supposition that things both move and alter: he considers the consequences of the latter supposition only as applied to the offspring mentioned in the theory of perception. Hence we cannot find him, in the present passage, so much as raising the question of what would follow from the supposition that, e.g., sticks or stones were both moving and altering. (Cf. the different accounts of the passage given by Owen, pp. 85-6, and Crombie, pp. 27-33.)The following points tell in favour of taking the 'flowing thing' of 182d1 to be whiteness:

i. This interpretation involves a satisfactory symmetry between 182d1-7 ((a) above) and 182d8-e6 ((b) above). It is unquestionable that 182d8-e6 deals with kinds of perception: for parallelism, we should expect 182d1-7 to deal with the other kind of offspring mentioned in the theory of perception.

ii. This interpretation gives a neat point to the recapitulation of the theory of perception at 182a3-b8. For on this view the argument can be taken to settle a question left open in the original exposition of the theory: see above.

It might be thought to tell against this interpretation that it implies that whiteness can correctly be said to flow white: whereas, it might be argued, whiteness is not the right sort of thing to be said to be white, and Plato should be supposed, at least by this stage, to be clear about this. In fact, however, it is not at all obvious that whiteness, as conceived in this dialogue, cannot correctly be said to be white. This is certainly not entailed by the repeated insistence, e.g. at 156c6-d3, that, say, sticks come to be not whiteness but white. In the theory of perception, whiteness is spoken of as something like an efflux of colour streaming off objects: it would seem quite natural to say that such an efflux is white. This is clearly not the highly abstract conception of whiteness which would make it odd to say that whiteness is white.What difference does the argument of this passage make to the secret doctrine and the theory of perception? On the interpretation here recommended, it affects them in at least the following two ways:

i. It settles a question left open in the original exposition of the theory of perception: see above.

ii. It shows, by implication, that the original formulation of the secret doctrine as claiming that nothing ever is anything is excessively general. For if, as the passage implies, we can identify, e.g., whiteness and seeing,

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then it must be possible to say of each that it is just that; and similarly with all qualities and kinds of perception. Cf. note on 153d8-e1, and note that hereafter Plato takes himself to be entitled to use 'be' of perceived qualities: see 185a8-9, 186b2-10.

But it is arguable that the secret doctrine and the theory of perception are substantially undamaged. The present passage does nothing to suggest that the argument of 152d2-e1 would not go through if restricted to the parents mentioned in the theory of perception. The implication of instability generated by such a restricted argument could still lead, in the manner suggested in the note on 153e5-154a2, to the construction of the theory of perception set out at 155d-157c. So far as the present passage goes, it could be the case that, say, whiteness presents only momentary appearances: according to the present passage, we would not thereby be prevented from identifying the colour which presented such momentary appearances, since that colour does not change colour.

Note that the argument of this passage, on the interpretation here recommended, is of special interest in the light of the suggestion, made in the note on 157b8-c2, that Plato may have in mind the view that statements as to how things are, in what we think of as the world of perceptible objects, ought to take the form of identifying and locating perceptual qualities; together with, perhaps, a parallel view about statements as to how things are with perceivers, according to which such statements ought to take the form of identifying and locating kinds of perception.

For arguments akin to that of the present passage, see Cratylus 439c6-440c1, and parts of Timaeus 48e2-52d1. Both these latter passages have to do with the Forms. But there is nothing to suggest that the qualities and kinds of perception dealt with in the present passage are meant to be Forms; indeed, it is difficult to see how they could be taken to be Forms, in view of the fact that they are said to move.

183b-c Conclusion.

Socrates here states, first, the result of the discussion of Protagoras at 168c-179d; and, second, the conclusion, so far as the equation of knowledge with perception is concerned, of the argument of 181b-183b: viz. that the equation cannot be supported by asserting the doctrine of total instability, presumably because the latter doctrine has been refuted: see note on 182c9-183b6.

183c-184b Interlude.

183c5-d2. Theodorus appeals to 169a1-5, 169c6-8. Theaetetus appeals to 181b4-7.

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183d10-e1. Discussion of the philosophy of Parmenides and his school is postponed until the Sophist. This passage does not, however, foreshadow the Sophist in any detail. What Socrates refuses to do here is to discuss Parmenides' argument against the possibility of change; whereas the Sophist concentrates, not on that, but on his more fundamental argument against the possibility of not being.

183e7-184a1. A meeting between Socrates and Parmenides is described in the Parmenides. This passage is sometimes taken, consequently, to allude to that dialogue, and hence to show that the Theaetetus is the later of the two. But the argument is inconclusive. In the first place, it is possible, though there is some difficulty about the date, that Socrates did actually meet Parmenides. This passage makes no reference to the topics of the fictitious conversation reported in the Parmenides: so it can be taken to refer, not to the dialogue, but to the historical meeting. In the second place, even if the passage does allude to the Parmenides, the allusion could be to a dialogue projected, not necessarily in detail, but as yet unwritten by the time of the Theaetetus.

Cf., further, notes on 142a-143c, 176b7-177a8, 203e2-205c3.

1.5. Refutation of the thesis that knowledge is perception (184b-187a)

184b-186e Argument against the thesis.

184b5-7. Socrates talks as if the equation of knowledge with perception is still a candidate for serious consideration, although he has already, implicitly, shown that the most that can be maintained is the weaker thesis that every case of perception is a case of knowledge, but not the converse: see note on 179c2-d1. The argument which follows in fact purports to refute the stronger thesis by refuting the weaker.

184b8-d6. Up to this point, the mind has not figured in any account of perception given in the dialogue. Socrates now suggests that it should be introduced, by way of the distinction between what we perceive by means of, viz. the senses, and what we perceive with, viz. the mind. The distinction can be understood in the light of the assumption that Plato thinks of what we perceive with as being, so to speak, what actually does our perceiving: for the mind as what perceives, see 186b2-4. If we say, as Socrates misleadingly suggests at 184b8-10, that we see with our eyes, hear with our ears, and so on, then we are saying, according to the above assumption, that our eyes see, our ears hear, and so on: for this sort of statement, see, e.g., Republic 523e4, 524c3. But if we say that it is our eyes which see and our ears which hear, we seem to preclude ourselves

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from saying that there is some one thing which both sees and hears: something which, as it were, collates the information yielded by the exercise of the different senses. And, as Socrates says, it would be strange to be precluded from saying that. Clearly this involves tacit criticism of such earlier passages as those cited above from the Republic.

184d7-e4. So far, Socrates has only pointed out that it would be strange if it were not the case that some one thing in each of us gets at the objects of all our senses; he has not proved that it is the case. He now introduces an argument which, from the present passage, we should expect to be mainly directed at establishing that conclusion. In fact that conclusion is one of the points conceded by Theaetetus at 185e5-186a1, when he agrees that the mind (presumably one thing) considers some things, sc. the objects of the senses, by means of the body's capacities. But by then the interest of the argument has shifted to his other concession, viz. that there are some things which the mind considers on its own, without the mediation of the senses.

At 184e2, 'everything of that sort' presumably means all cases of our getting at white or black things by means of the eyes (cf. 184d7-e1), and all cases of our getting at objects of other senses by means of other sense organs.

184e4-7. Theaetetus agrees to locate the instruments of perception, i.e. the sense organs, in the body.

184e8-185a3. He agrees, next, that each sense has its own proper objects, inaccessible to any other sense. (This thesis is perennially tempting, though it involves some difficulties, e.g. about the perception of such qualities as shape. It is plausible for such qualities as colours and tastes, and it seems to be these which Plato has in mind here.)

Note that if it is to be plausible that one cannot, e.g., see what one hears, what is seen must be taken to be colours rather than coloured objects, and similarly with the other senses: cf. note (2) on 156a3-b2. Elsewhere, e.g. at 184b8-10, 184d7-e1, the idea seems to be that it is coloured objects which are seen, and similarly with the other senses. But it is quite natural for someone who holds that it is, strictly speaking, colours which are seen to countenance occasional suggestions to the effect that one sees coloured objects.

185a4-7. It follows from the principle of 184e8-185a3, together with an implicit assumption about the unity of the act of thinking, that if one thinks the same thing about two items, each of which is a proper object of a different sense, then the thinking of that thing, about anything, cannot be an exercise of either of the two senses in question.

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185a8-b9. This passage illustrates the point made at 185a4-7. Take a sound and a colour, or, possibly, sound and colour generically: the translation is uncertain. Call them 'S' and 'C'. Now there are various thoughts which one can think about both. Let us represent one such thought as the thought that each is f. Since one can think both that S is f and that C is f, it follows that to think that something is f cannot be an exercise of sight: for if it were, one would not be able to think that S is f. Nor can it be an exercise of hearing: for if it were, one would not be able to think that C is f.The thought that S and C together are two cannot be represented, as above, as a thought about each. But obviously such thoughts about the pair yield an argument similar to that sketched above, for the same conclusion.At 185a9, 'that they both are' is somewhat obscure. The words read oddly in English: we naturally ask 'Are what?'. I suspect the Greek verb may be elliptical, so that the question is not improper. There are at least two possible answers to it, and hence at least two views as to what the thought 'that they both are' is meant to be:

1. One possibility is that the thought meant is that each of the two things is something or other (as opposed to nothing): i.e., in effect, that there is such a thing as each.

2. Another possibility is that the thought meant is that each of the two things is what it is: so that Socrates is alluding to such a pair of thoughts as that a certain sound is middle C and that a certain colour is white. Cf., perhaps, 186b2-10: see note on that passage.

Note how Plato here takes himself to be entitled to use the verb 'be' of objects of perception, in the sense of perceptual qualities (sounds and colours, or sound and colour). See note on 182c9-183b6.

185b9-c3. At 185b7 Socrates has, naturally enough, raised the question by means of what one thinks, about the two items discussed at 185a8-b9, those things which one can think about both of them. But he now interrupts himself, not waiting for an answer, to produce a mysterious argument which purports to be 'another proof of the point we're talking about'. Presumably 'the point we're talking about' is the answer which Socrates wants Theaetetus to give to the question, i.e. that it is the mind on its own which thinks the things in question, not by means of any sense. It has already been shown, at 185a8-b9, that it is not by means of the senses of sight and hearing that one thinks the things in question. The present passage may be intended to forestall, in an indirect way, the suggestion that one thinks them by means of some other sense, e.g. taste. Clearly the principle of 184e8-185a3 would yield an argument, similar to that of 185a8-b9, against this suggestion. It may be that Plato intends the

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patent impossibility of comparing the taste of a sound and a colour (or sound and colour) to bring this to the reader's mind.185c4-186a1. It is by now obvious that, given the principles with which Socrates is working here, the thinking of something about both a sound and a colour, or, more generally, the thinking, about something, of those things which one can think about anything, cannot be an exercise of any sense, i.e. cannot be a matter of perceiving the things in question. In some of the formulations of his question Socrates implies, misleadingly, that this possibility is nevertheless still open: e.g. 185c7-8, taken up by Theaetetus at 185d3-4. But if we discount this misleading implication, what Socrates asks in the present passage is this: what is the thinking of those things which one can think about anything an exercise of? Theaetetus' answer is that it is the mind on its own which thinks the things in question, not by means of any sense. 'By means of itself', at 185e1 and 185e6, should not be taken to imply that the mind's relation to the things in question is similar to the relation between a sense, by means of which one perceives its proper objects, and those objects. The phrase is intended simply to exclude 'by means of one of the senses': this is clear at 185e6-7.At 185a8-b9, the things which can be thought about the proper objects of more than one sense were evidently appropriately represented by 'that' clauses. The present passage suggests a different sort of formulation: the things which can be thought about anything are represented, not by phrases of the form 'that it is f', but by expressions of one of the following forms:

1. 'f-ness', or similarly abstract noun forms, e.g. 'being';

2. 'the f': the Greek rendered 'not being' means, literally, 'the not tobe', and the Greek rendered 'the same' means, literally, 'the the-same';

3. simply 'f', e.g. 'different'.

There is no difficulty about combining the two sorts of formulation. Plato is, I believe, inclined towards a view of judgement according to which the mind, in judging, touches on or handles, as it were, the terms (in a reasonably natural sense) of the judgement it makes. Thus for the mind to judge, e.g., that two sounds are unlike is for it to touch on or handle, as it were, the terms of that judgement, viz. the two sounds, being, and unlikeness. It would make no difference if we called the last term just mentioned 'the unlike' or simply 'unlike'. Now given such a view of judgement, the following two statements, for instance, would be taken to be equivalent:

i. The mind's thinking, about anything, that it is cannot be an exercise of any sense.

ii. The mind's considering being about anything cannot be an exercise of any sense.

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Of these statements, (i) contains the sort of formulation found at 185a8-b9, whereas (ii) fits the present passage.In the light of such a view of judgement, we can give a simple explanation of how the argument of this passage tells in favour of the conclusion suggested at 184b8-d6 and, in effect, promised at 184d7-e4. About any of the objects of the senses, we can judge that it is, on either of the two interpretations distinguished in the note on 185a8-b9. Given a plausible assumption about the unity of the act of judgement, this implies, in the light of the view of judgement just described, that some one thing in us touches on or handles, as it were, both the objects of the senses and being. According to Theaetetus' answer at 185d7-e2, what deals with being is the mind. It follows that the mind must get at the objects of the senses.The view of judgement here being ascribed to Plato is similar, at least in some respects, to one held by Russell: see, e.g., The Problems of Philosophy, Chapter XII. For more about Plato's view of judgement, see notes on 187e-188c, 188c9-d6, 189b10-c7, 190d11-e4.The formulations favoured in the present passage make its main conclusion take the form of a distinction between two kinds of thing: the objects of the senses on the one hand, and things which the mind deals with without the mediation of the senses on the other. It is natural that this should remind commentators of the distinction embodied in the Theory of Forms between perceptible objects, on the one hand, and Forms, the object of an unmediated intuition on the part of the mind, on the other: cf., e.g., Phaedo 65a9-66a10, Republic 507b2-11. But, though Plato may have the Forms in mind here, we are not compelled to suppose that he does. Against this supposition:

1. The feature which, in the present passage, picks out those objects with which the mind deals without the mediation of the senses is their capacity to figure in judgements about the objects of more than one sense. Now in the first place, this feature seems not to pick out everything that would be recognized as a Form in the middle dialogues. For instance, Republic 523e3-524a10, with its context, suggests that there are Forms of hardness and softness: whereas in the present passage these would fall on the other side of the distinction. Secondly, it is not clear that everything which this feature picks out would be recognized as a Form in the middle dialogues: specifically, it may be doubted whether the standard Theory of Forms recognizes a Form of being.

2. In expositions of the Theory of Forms Plato's aim is often to make an unfavourable contrast between a concern with objects of perception and a non-discursive contemplation of the Forms. In the present passage, on the other hand, his aim is clearly to discuss what is involved in discursive thinking: thinking, moreover, which is about objects of perception.

Socrates' remark, at 185e5-6, that Theaetetus has let him off a very long argument might be taken as an allusion to some argument in favour

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of the Theory of Forms. But it need not be so taken. The argument up to this point precludes Theaetetus from answering that the thinking, about something, of those things which can be thought about anything is an exercise of any sense. But it does not compel him to ascribe such thinking to the mind on its own; so far as the argument has shown, such thinking could still be an exercise of some bodily capacity other than those of the senses, e.g. some capacity of the brain or the heart. Socrates' remark could conceivably be an allusion to some such gap in the argument. And it need not be taken to indicate that Plato has in mind some specific way of filling the gap.186a2-7. This passage recapitulates some concessions made by Theaetetus in the course of 185c4-186a1: see his list at 185c9-d4.186a8-b1. Socrates now adds some new items to the list of things which the mind considers on its own without the mediation of the senses. Theaetetus' reply, with its mention of past, present, and future, presumably alludes to the connection made in the argument of 177c-179b between questions about advantage and disadvantage (or good and bad) and questions about the future. The reply is not obviously appropriate, however, in connection with beauty and ugliness; though it is plausible that these qualify as things of the kind in question by virtue of being thinkable about the objects of more than one sense.With 'things whose being the mind considers', at 186a10, cf. 186b6-9: see note on 186b2-10.186b2-10. Socrates' 'Hold on' may be intended to indicate that Theaetetus, in recalling the argument of 177c-179b, is in danger of missing the point of the present section. The argument of 177c-179b showed that there are some questions, viz. those about advantage and disadvantage, or, more generally, about the future, as to which knowledge cannot be equated with perception, but it left still open the possibility that present perceptions constitute knowledge: see note on 179c2-d1. By assimilating the present passage to that one, Theaetetus risks taking the present passage as merely adding some further questions, e.g. those about being, as to which knowledge cannot be equated with perception; but still, perhaps, leaving open the possibility that present perceptions constitute knowledge. What Socrates is about to argue, however, is that the exclusion of being from the purview of perception entails that present perceptions cannot constitute knowledge even of their objects.'Their being and what they both are', at 186b6, calls for some comments:

1. I take it that 'their' refers back to 'hardness' and 'softness' rather than to 'what's hard' and 'what's soft'. It is perceived qualities, rather than

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what we think of as their possessors, of which Plato has shown himself to be entitled to use the verb 'be': see note on 182c9-183b6. Moreover, it is the qualities rather than their possessors which are naturally spoken of as opposite to each other.

2. I take 'and' to amount to something like 'i.e.': such a use is not uncommon in Greek. Phrases of the form 'the being of x' are often equivalent to the corresponding phrases of the form 'what x is': see, e.g., 202b5. The translation 'what they both are' is disputable, but such an interpretation of 'their being' does not turn on accepting it; for even if we adopt the translation 'that they both are', this can be understood with some such supplementation as 'whatever they are', so as to fit the interpretation of 'their being' as equivalent to 'what they are': see note on 185a8-b9.

If the words are interpreted on the above lines, the idea here expressed is that the identification of a quality which one perceives as the quality it is cannot be an exercise of perception, since it involves a thought dealing with the being of the quality. Though some non-perceptual objects of thought other than being are mentioned in this passage, it is the above idea which plays the fundamental part in the final argument, at 186c7-e12, against equating knowledge and perception.186b11-c6. This passage in effect restates the conclusion of 185c4-186a1, with the following additions:

1. Usefulness is added to the things which the mind does not get at by means of the senses: this is warranted by 186a8-b1.

2. This passage adds the point that one can perceive the objects of the senses from birth, whereas the mind's dealings with the things which it thinks, without the mediation of the senses, about the objects of the senses need to be learnt.

The reference to a long and arduous education is at first sight hard to reconcile with the interpretation of the mind's dealings with being suggested in the note on 186b2-10. For it is implausible that one needs a great deal of learning in order to be able to identify a quality which one perceives as, say, hardness. Here are two possible ways of effecting a reconciliation:

i. The remark here does not necessarily commit Plato to the view that no calculation about anything, with respect to being or usefulness, is possible until one has completed the long and arduous education which he mentions. He may mean to say no more than that one cannot manage every calculation with respect to being and usefulness until one has completed such an education; which is quite plausible if we suppose that some calculations of that sort are highly complicated. If this is all he means, he is not committed to saying that the identification of a quality such as

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hardness requires a great deal of learning; even though such identification does involve a thought concerning being.

ii. It may be that Plato is here tacitly confining his attention to knowledgeable calculations with respect to being, taking some such restricted view of these as the following: one does not really know what quality one is perceiving, even if one can say, correctly, that it is, say, hardness, unless one has a proper knowledge of what hardness is, involving, perhaps, the ability to locate it correctly in an articulate and systematic classification of qualities. Cf., perhaps, the mention of the oppositeness of hardness and softness at 186b6-9. If what is at issue is not simply the identification of qualities like hardness, but rather knowledgeable identification of them, understood in some such way as the above, it is not implausible to suppose that a long and arduous education might be required.

The long and arduous education is sometimes taken to be the progress towards knowledge of the Forms described, e.g., in Books V-VII of the Republic. This may be what is meant, but obviously it need not be. On the question whether Plato has the Forms in mind in this passage, see note on 185c4-186a1.

186c7-e12. This passage applies the results of the preceding argument in order to refute the equation of knowledge with perception. The argument is easiest to understand in the light of the hypothesis that Plato thinks of knowledge of a thing as being identical with knowledge of what that thing is: see note on 147b4-5. If perception is knowledge, then in perceiving what one perceives, one eo ipso knows it, i.e., according to the above identity, knows what it is. But to know what a thing is requires a thought dealing with being, and it has been argued that such a thought cannot be an exercise of perception. Consequently knowledge of what one perceives, in the sense of knowledge as to what it is, cannot be constituted by the perceiving of it.

It is plausible that any proposition can be stated in such a form as to indicate that thinking it would require dealing with being. This point is made, in effect, by the connection between getting at truth and getting at being which is asserted at 186c7. It is clear, then, that according to the principles on which the argument of this section rests, the verb 'perceive' should not, in strict propriety, be used with a propositional construction. Cf. note (2) on 152d-e, and notes on 163b1-7, 163b8-c3.

By insisting that knowledge requires a grasp of truth, Socrates comes near to making the claim that the verb 'know' requires a propositional construction; which would involve confining his attention to that use of the verb in which its French equivalent is savoir as opposed to connaître. This point and that made in the last paragraph indicate that the argument of this passage against equating knowledge and perception is, in effect,

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that 'know' takes propositional constructions, whereas 'perceive' does not. But we should be cautious about ascribing to Plato any clarity about the importance of such a grammatical formulation of the distinction. For although he is concerned with knowledge in the sense in which it involves a grasp of truth, he evidently continues to think of his topic as being, equally, knowledge of things. Thus he still accepts, apparently, the dangerous equivalence between, on the one hand, knowledge of what a thing is, and, on the other, knowledge of a thing, which it would be tempting to think of as a kind of acquaintance: see note on 147b4-5. There is no real evidence in the present passage that Plato is clear about the difference between acquaintance with objects and knowledge that something is the case.

The notion of a thing's truth, which figures at 186c9, should presumably be understood as equivalent to the notion of the truth as to 0what that thing is.

Note that in this passage Plato clearly envisages the possibility of knowledge of what one perceives. This is not easy to square with the view that he has the Theory of Forms in mind. For in typical expositions of the Theory of Forms he seems to want to reserve the title 'knowledge' for non-discursive contemplation of the Forms. Cf., further, note on 185c4-186a1.

187a Conclusion.

This passage neatly makes the transition to the next part of the dialogue, by introducing the notion of judging.

On 'the things which are', see note on 173e1-174a2.

2. TRUE JUDGEMENT (187a-201c)

187a-c Statement of the definition.

187b1. The injunction to 'wipe out everything that has gone before' should not be taken to imply a complete lack of connection between the discussion of perception and the rest of the dialogue. The point is simply that Theaetetus is to produce a new definition.

187b4-7. I have used the translation 'judgement', suggesting an act, rather than 'belief' or 'opinion', suggesting a state, because it seems to be required at 189e4-190a7. However, the Greek word (doxa) could equally well mean either; and in fact belief or opinion would be a better candidate to appear in a definition of knowledge than judgement. Plato shows no sign of having explicitly distinguished the act from the state.

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187c-e False judgement: (i) introduction.

The discussion of false judgement is here introduced as something of a digression: note Theaetetus' allusion, at 187d10-11, to the avowed digression of 172b-177c. But the discussion of false judgement is in fact highly relevant to the dialogue's main concern. For, first, the main difficulty about false judgement discussed in what follows is raised by an argument, set out at 187e-188c, one of whose key notions is that of knowledge; and the dialogue's main concern is the notion of knowledge. And, second, it is plausible that in order to be able to understand Theaetetus' new account of knowledge as being true judgement, we must be able to make sense of the notion of false judgement as well; and the discussion which follows deals with difficulties in making sense of the notion of false judgement.At 187c7 ('once again') and 187d7-8 ('in a different way from the one we took a short while ago'), Socrates is presumably alluding to the discussion of Protagoras: see 167a6-b1 for a denial of the possibility of false judgement, in the speech which Protagoras is imagined as making in his own defence.

187e-188c False judgement: (ii) a difficulty.

The argument of this passage may be summarized as follows:

1. In the case of any given thing, e.g. Theaetetus or Socrates, either one knows it or one does not: not both.

2. This applies, in particular, to things which one has in one's judgements.

3. It follows that someone who judges that one thing is another must be in one of the following four situations:

a. he knows both;

b. he knows neither;

c. he knows the first but not the second;

d. he knows the second but not the first.

4. But whichever of these situations one is in, with respect to any two things, it is impossible to judge that one of them is the other. Hence it is impossible to judge that one thing is another. And Socrates implies, at 188c5, that it follows that one cannot make any false judgements at all; which is, obviously, paradoxical.

In (2) above, the phrase 'has in one's judgements' (cf. 188a7-8) calls for some comment. The Greek verb which this represents (doxazein) can often be translated, simply, 'judge'. But Plato uses the verb, not only with propositional constructions, but also with a direct object designating a term of the judgement made: there are particularly clear instances of this second use at 190d7-8 and 209c4-5. The English word 'judge' would be odd in renderings of the second use. And it is obvious that it is the second use which figures in the present argument: the point of (2) is that if someone judges, say, that Socrates is Theaetetus, then, by (1), he must

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either know or not know Socrates, and either know or not know Theaetetus. Note that this use of the verb goes well with the view that judgement involves a relation between the judger and the terms of his judgement: cf. note on 185c4-186a1.It is clear that the only false judgements considered in (3) are judgements identifying two things. This raises the question why Socrates should suggest that if no judgements of the kind considered in (3) are possible, then no false judgements are possible at all; for, on the face of it, this implication fails, in view of the existence of judgements other than those of identification. Arguably, 189b10-c7 indicates an inclination, on Plato's part, to suppose that the maker of any false judgement, even if the judgement is not itself explicitly a judgement of identification, must be making a judgement identifying two things: see note on that passage. And here are two further points which may help to explain the concentration, in the present passage, on judgements of identification:

i. Plato thinks of the dialogue's topic as knowledge of things, in a sense in which 'knowledge of x' is interchangeable with 'knowledge as to what x is': see note on 186c7-e12. The sort of judgements in terms of which one might hope that such knowledge could be defined would obviously be judgements as to what things are, i.e., on the face of it, judgements of identification.

ii. It was suggested, in the note on 157b8-c2, that Plato may have in mind a view to the effect that the correct form for statements describing the world about us involves the identification of perceptual qualities. Cf. also note on 182c9-183b6, and recall the concern with the identification of qualities which appears in the final discussion of the equation of knowledge with perception: see notes on 186b2-10, 186c7-e12. In the present passage, Plato's examples are judgements identifying persons rather than qualities, but that need not make the above suggestion irrelevant. For, first, the examples in the present passage are such as one might naturally cite to illustrate judgements of identification in general, even if one's original and primary concern was with the identification of qualities rather than objects. And, second, it is possible that Plato has in mind the idea that the identification of objects, including persons, should in the end be analysed in terms of multiple identifications of qualities: see, perhaps, 209c4-10.

Even if we ignore the suggestion that, if false identifying judgements are impossible, then no false judgements are possible, there is clearly still something wrong with the argument of this passage. For even without that suggestion, the argument still purports to prove that it is impossible to judge that one thing is another: and that conclusion is plainly false. Of course it is not Plato's aim to suggest, contrary to common sense, that the argument is flawless and the conclusion true. His point must be, rather, that the plausibility of the argument poses a problem to those who want to

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go on holding the common-sense belief that its conclusion is false: viz. the problem of seeing what is the matter with the argument.

How, exactly, is the argument meant to work? It seems to depend on some such principle as the following:

(P) If one is to have something in one's judgement, then one must know that thing.

Such a principle is implied at 188b8-c1; and cf. 190d7-10. Principle (P) would obviously exclude judging that one thing is another in any of the situations (b), (c), or (d), under (3) above. To exclude making such a judgement in situation (a), Socrates suggests, at 188b3-6, that from the hypothesis that someone judges that one of two things is the other, it follows that he does not know the two things. But by (P) it follows from the same hypothesis that he does know the two things; that is, (a) is the only situation which (P) allows. At 188a10-b1 Socrates claims that one cannot both know and not know the same thing: cf. the 'formidable question' at 165b2-4. Given that claim, the hypothesis cannot be true, since it entails an impossibility. Thus all four of the situations listed under (3) above are ruled out.

To understand what is wrong with this argument, we should scrutinize principle (P). If 'know' in this principle is interpreted in terms of acquaintance, the principle amounts to one accepted by Russell and stated by him as follows: 'Whenever a relation of judging or supposing occurs, the terms to which the supposing or judging mind is related by the relation of supposing or judging must be terms with which the mind in question is acquainted' ('Knowledge by Acquaintance and Knowledge by Description', reprinted in Mysticism and Logic, at pp. 220-1). But if it is interpreted in this way, the principle is counter-intuitive, as Russell's discussion of it makes clear: e.g. it rules out our making judgements about Julius Caesar.

Russell regards his principle as nevertheless unquestionable, on the ground that it is the same as the following prima facie acceptable principle:

(Pʹ) If one is to make a judgement about something, then one must know what it is that one's judgement is about.

However, (Pʹ), understood in the way that makes it plausible, has nothing to do with acquaintance. In (Pʹ) 'know' is used with a propositional construction, and the French equivalent would be savoir; whereas in the idioms according to which knowledge is a matter of acquaintance, the verb takes a different kind of object, and the French equivalent would be connaître.

It seems plausible that, like Russell, Plato would see no difference between (P), understood as involving some sort of acquaintance, and the plausible principle (Pʹ): cf. note on 147b4-5.

The knowledge as to what it is that one's judgement is about which, ac-

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cording to (Pʹ), is required for a thing to figure in one's judgement need not involve knowledge of every true statement as to what the thing in question is. One might make a judgement about a certain person, conforming to (Pʹ) by knowing, say, that it is the person in the corner of the room that one's judgement is about, without knowing, say, that the person in question is Theaetetus. Conformity to (Pʹ) is here secured by a single bit of identifying knowledge. True judgements of identification involve finding out, or guessing, that two such bits of identifying knowledge in fact identify only one thing; and such finding out, or guessing, can obviously be done wrong. A failure to know, say, that the person in the corner of the room is Theaetetus, manifested by one's falsely judging him to be, say, Socrates, does not show that one lacks the knowledge with respect to the person in question which is required, according to (Pʹ), for him to figure in one's judgement at all: cf. 188b3-6. So (Pʹ) does not lend itself to the argument sketched above.

Contrast the position as it would seem to someone who supposes that (P) and (Pʹ) are equivalent. In (P) knowledge is most naturally taken to be acquaintance; and it seems plausible that acquaintance is a relation of the ordinary sort, such that between any person and any object it simply either holds or fails to hold. Thus there would seem to be nothing between blank ignorance of an object, which would disqualify it from figuring in one's judgements at all, and the unqualified or complete obtaining of the relation of knowledge between the person and the object; so that the latter would seem to be a minimum requirement for the person to make judgements about the object. But the supposition that (P) and (Pʹ) are equivalent reflects an assumption of equivalence between 'knowledge of x' and 'knowledge of what x is': see note on 147b4-5. Hence the minimum requirement, viz. complete knowledge of the object, would seem to be, equivalently, a minimum requirement of complete knowledge as to what the object is. Hence any failure to know some true statement as to what the object is, manifested, e.g., in one's falsely judging that it is something which it is not, would seem to show that one does not know the object, in the sense in which (P) imposes this on one as a minimum requirement for it to figure in one's judgement at all: cf. 188b3-6. On these lines, the argument sketched above would seem to go through.

To sum up, the argument's fundamental flaw can be traced back to the assumption of equivalence between 'knowledge of x' and 'knowledge of what x is', ascribed to Plato in the note on 147b4-5. That assumption leads Plato to regard the knowledge which is required for a thing to figure in one's judgement as an all-or-nothing matter. One's making a mistaken judgement as to what the thing is shows that the knowledge is not all there. If the knowledge in question is an all-or-nothing matter, it follows that it is not there at all. But then it is a mystery how the mistaken judgement could have been about the thing at all.

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Cf., further, notes on 195b-196c, 199c-d.

The mention of learning and forgetting, at 188a2-3, anticipates the later sections 191a-195b and 196c-199c. But the readmission of these topics does not, in those sections, enable Plato to give a satisfactory account of false judgement, and there is no reason to suppose that his mentioning them here constitutes an allusion to some solution of his difficulties about false judgement which he chooses not to state in this dialogue. In fact it seems plausible that Plato regards the difficulty of this passage as being due not, as such a supposition would imply, to the assumption that knowing and not knowing are exhaustive alternatives with no middle ground, but rather to the assumption that they are mutually exclusive. See note on 199e7-200c7.

188c-189b False judgement: (iii) being and not being.

188c9-d6. Socrates here suggests that the difficulty of 187e-188c can be bypassed by means of a description of false judgement as the having in one's judgement, about something, of the things which are not. From the succeeding discussion, it emerges that the plural, in this original formulation, is not important.

On the translation 'has in his judgement' as opposed to 'judges', see note on 187e-188c. With the translation 'judges', Socrates' suggestion in this passage would naturally be understood on the following lines: someone who judges falsely, say, that Theaetetus is handsome is judging that which is not about Theaetetus, in the sense that the state of affairs described by the clause which gives the content of his judgement, viz. 'that Theaetetus is handsome', does not obtain, i.e. is not anything at all. However, Socrates goes on to argue against the suggestion of this passage by recommending the principle that someone who makes a judgement must judge, or have in his judgement (to be neutral, for the moment, about the translation) that which is: see 189a6-b3. And it becomes clear from 189b10-c7 that conformity to this principle is secured by ensuring that the terms of any judgement are things which are, rather than by ensuring that the state of affairs judged to obtain is a thing which is. Unless the use of this principle against the suggestion of the present passage involves a gross confusion, the suggestion of the present passage must therefore be taken to be, similarly, concerned with terms of judgements rather than states of affairs; and this requires, for clarity, the translation 'has in his judgement'.

The suggestion can be understood on the hypothesis that its use of the verb 'be' is incomplete, in the sense explained in note (2) on 152a2-4. Someone who judges, say, that Theaetetus is handsome has in his judgement handsomeness about Theaetetus: for conceptions like this, see 185c4-186a1. Now, to say that what such a person has in his judgement about Theaetetus, viz. handsomeness, is not seems to Socrates to be a

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good way of saying that the judgement is false. This can be understood by supplying any of several suitable complements with 'is not': e.g. the idea might be that handsomeness is not a quality which Theaetetus has, or that handsomeness is not what would figure, in that position, in a true judgement about Theaetetus.

At 188c9-d1, Socrates seems to imply that the suggestion of this passage is a genuine alternative to becoming entangled in the difficulty of 187e-188c. But such an implication would be unacceptable. The difficulty of 187e-188c cannot be made to disappear simply by avoiding the notion of knowledge in constructing a description of false judgement. In fact the implication need not be taken too seriously; for Socrates reverts later to the difficulty of 187e-188c. Cf. note on 189b4-9.

188d7-e2. This passage serves as an introduction to Socrates' argument against the suggestion of 188c9-d6. The distinction between having something in one's judgement 'about one of the things which are' and having something in one's judgement 'just by itself' can perhaps be understood by supposing that the vague phrase 'just by itself' acquires a precise sense by contrast with 'about one of the things which are', and hence amounts to 'not about anything else'. Thus, taking again the case of someone who judges that Theaetetus is handsome: such a person has handsomeness in his judgement about one of the things which are, viz. Theaetetus, and has Theaetetus in his judgement not about anything else and hence 'just by himself'. If this is right, the force of the question which Socrates here imagines someone asking can be taken to be, in effect, 'Can any term of a judgement be a thing which is not?'. Socrates is about to produce an argument purporting to show that the answer to this question ought to be 'No'.

188e3-189a5. The first stage of Socrates' argument against the suggestion of 188c9-d6. In this first stage, Socrates argues for the conclusion that anyone who does any seeing, hearing, or touching at all must be seeing, hearing, or touching a thing which is. The argument exploits the fact that the standard Greek words for 'nothing' are formed from negative particles prefixed to the word for 'one': at 188e5 ('there's no one thing which he sees') I have translated so as to bring this out. Thus the argument runs as follows. If someone, say, sees something, then it is not the case that there is nothing which he sees. Equivalently, it is not the case that there is no one thing which he sees. Hence he sees some one thing. But unity or singleness is not found among things which are not: 188e7-8, cf. Sophist 238a5-b5. Hence what he sees is, not a thing which is not, but a thing which is. Similarly with hearing and touching.

These uses of the verb 'be' without complements are odd in English. They can be understood as incomplete but elliptical: cf. note (2) on

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152a2-4, and note on 185a8-b9. Thus the requirement that what someone, e.g., sees must be a thing which is can be understood as the requirement that it must be a thing which is something or other, or a thing of which some statement of the form 'It is . . .' is true. In order, then, to make good sense of the assumption, evidently present at 188e7-9, that being a thing which is excludes being a thing which is not, we should have to suppose that a thing which is not, if there were such a thing, would be a thing which is not anything, or a thing of which no statement of the form 'It is . . .' is true. On such a conception of that which is not, see Sophist 237b7-239c8: cf., further, note on 189a6-b3.

189a6-b3. Here Socrates suggests that the verb 'have in one's judgement' should be treated in a way parallel to the treatment of the verbs 'see', 'hear', and 'touch' at 188e3-189a5. For a justification of the translation 'have in one's judgement' rather than 'judge', see note on 188c9-d6.

In outline, the argument of the passage is this. The parallel with 'see', 'hear', and 'touch' yields the conclusion that anyone who makes any judgement at all must have in his judgement a thing which is. As before, Socrates seems to assume that being a thing which is excludes being a thing which is not. Given that assumption, it follows that to have in one's judgement a thing which is not (hence, not a thing which is) would actually not be to make any judgement at all. Hence the description suggested at 198c9-d6 does not describe any possible judgement.

'No one thing', at 189a10, and 'nothing', at 189a12, represent what is, apart from a distinction between negative particles which is, for our present purposes, irrelevant, the same Greek word: see note on 188e3-189a5.

The analogy between having things in one's judgements and perceiving them is not very convincing. But the principle that what one has in one's judgements must be things which are, in the sense suggested in the note on 188e3-189a5, viz. that each must be a thing of which some statement of the form 'It is . . .' is true, can be supported by logical considerations independent of the analogy. If one makes, say, a subject-predicate judgement of definite content, it must be possible to say what it is that the judgement is about, and what it is that is judged, in the judgement, about that thing. Hence each of the judgement's terms, thus alluded to, must be what, according to the last sentence, it is possible to say that it is; which yields a statement of the form 'It is . . .', true of each.

An ancestor of the principle that what one has in one's judgements must be things which are appears, I believe, at Republic 478b6-c6, in the form of an argument that what one has in one's judgement must not be things which are not. A similar principle, concerning the terms of statements, seems to figure in the Sophist: see 263b4-13.

I remarked, in the note on 188e3-189a5, that in order to make good

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sense of the assumption that being a thing which is excludes being a thing which is not, we should have to suppose that a thing which is not would be a thing of which no statement of the form 'It is . . .' is true. Now that assumption is required for the most straightforward interpretation of the argument of this passage as well. The principle, implied at 188e7-8, that unity or singleness is to be found only among things which are is presumably what warrants the agreement, at 189a8-9, that someone who has in his judgement some one thing has in his judgement a thing which is. Socrates' next remark, at 189a10, is marked by 'so' as an inference from the last. The inference is most simply understood as mediated by the assumption that being a thing which is excludes being a thing which is not; given that assumption, it would indeed follow, as Socrates, on the most straightforward interpretation, goes on to say, that someone who has in his judgement a thing which is not has no one thing in his judgement.If the argument of this passage relies on the assumption just mentioned, it follows that it would tell against the suggestion of 188c9-d6, as it purports to do, only if that suggestion could correctly be taken to imply that someone who makes a false judgement has in his judgement a thing which is not, in the sense of a thing about which no statement of the form 'It is . . .' is true. But, as it was explained in the note on 188c9-d6, the suggestion had no such implication: it was, rather, that someone who makes a false judgement has in his judgement a thing which is not, in the sense of a thing about which some specific statement of the form 'It is not . . .' is true. Now in the Sophist Plato castigates the mistake of supposing that something of which 'is not' is true would have to be something of which 'is' is not true. He points out, at 237b7-239c8, the incoherence of the resulting conception of that which is not; and substitutes, at 255e8-259d8, an account of negation according to which being a thing which is not, in the only coherent interpretation which that description can be given, is compatible with, and indeed requires, being a thing which is. The mistake thus exposed in the Sophist is precisely the mistake required in order to suppose that the argument of the present passage tells against the suggestion of 188c9-d6. One of the objects of Plato's criticism in the Sophist, is, I believe, Plato himself, in such passages as the present one.At 189a10 I have added the word 'figuring', and inverted the wordorder, in an attempt to capture a syntactic ambiguity in the Greek which may have helped prompt Plato to let Socrates argue in the manner just discussed. The negative particle can be taken either with the word translated 'has . . . (figuring) in his judgement' or with the word translated 'is'. This gives two possible interpretations of the 'if' clause, as follows:

1. Someone has not got, figuring in his judgement, that which is.

2. Someone has, figuring in his judgement, that which is not. From what is agreed at 189a8-9 it obviously follows, by contraposition, that if (1) is true then the person in question has no one thing in his judge-

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ment. A slide between the two interpretations could make it seem that what follows is, rather, that if (2) is true then the person in question has no one thing in his judgement. It is this latter implication, rather than the one involving (1), which is needed in order to lead to the conclusion stated at 189b1-2.

189b4-9. Socrates concludes that the suggestion of 188c9-d6 will not do. This conclusion is presumably taken to be established by the following argument. The description suggested at 188c9-d6 describes no possible judgement: this is agreed at 189b1-3. We are to supply, tacitly, the common-sense premiss that false judgement is possible. It follows, obviously, that false judgement is not described by the description suggested at 188c9-d6.

It is clear, then, that the argument of this section is not explicitly put forward as constituting a further argument, like that of 187e-188c, purporting to show that false judgement is impossible. Obviously, however, such an argument could be constructed from the materials in this section: instead of using the premiss that false judgement is not impossible, in order to argue that false judgement cannot be described as involving having in one's judgement that which is not, we could use the premiss that false judgement can be so described, or could be so described if there were such a thing, in order to argue that false judgement is impossible. For arguments of this latter sort, see Euthydemus 283e7-284c8, Cratylus 429d4-6, Sophist 236e1-237a9, 240c7-241b4: it is presumably such an argument which is alluded to above, at 167a7-8.

The explicit conclusion of this section, viz. that the suggested description of false judgement in terms of not being ought to be abandoned, would be an embarrassing conclusion for Plato actually to endorse; for such descriptions of false judgements and statements are quite ordinary, idiomatic Greek. This suggests that the possibility of turning the section into an argument which insists on the retention of such descriptions, and poses another difficulty about how there can be such a thing as false judgement, is likely to have been prominently in Plato's mind. However, it is a virtue in the discussion of false judgement as a whole that this second difficulty is not explicitly posed as such. If it had been explicitly posed, the discussion ought to have contained, somewhere, an attempt to deal with it; but Plato does not attempt to deal with it until the Sophist. The position with respect to the difficulty which is explicitly posed in the Theaetetus, viz. that of 187e-188c, is quite different: Plato does attempt to undermine it, with the theories of 191a-195b and 196c-199c.

189b-191a False judgement: (iv) other-judging.

189b10-c7. Socrates here offers another suggestion as to how false judgement ought to be described. As at 188c9-d6 (see note on that

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passage), this is merely to postpone facing the difficulty posed by 187e-188c; and in fact something very similar to that difficulty crops up in the discussion of this suggestion.The word translated 'other-judging' was probably coined by Plato for this passage. It is clear, from the explanation of the suggestion, that the element corresponding to 'other' in the translation 'other-judging' is an essential part of the term: a translation like 'misjudging' is insufficiently precise.The suggestion is that someone who makes a false judgement has in his judgement something other than what he would have had in it if the judgement had been true: e.g. beautiful instead of ugly, or vice versa. Here 'beautiful' and 'ugly' are clearly designations of possible terms of judgements: for other such designations, of the same grammatical form. see 185c4-186a1 and note. For 'has in his judgement' see note on 187e-188c. It is apparently assumed that the above description of the maker of a false judgement implies that he judges that one of the two things in question is the other: see below. And it is emphasized that each of the two things in question is a thing which is: this ensures that the suggestion conforms to the principle, argued for at 189a6-b3, that anything which one has in one's judgements must be a thing which is.The suggestion in this passage bears a strong resemblance to the account of false statements given at Sophist 263b7-13. That account includes, in effect, the thesis that a false statement states, about a thing, something other than what a true statement would state about it; which is precisely parallel to what seems to be the essential element of the suggestion about false judgements in the present passage. However, there are at least two important differences between the Sophist's account of false statements and the present passage's account of false judgements:

1. The notion of being other than something is central to the Sophist's account of a coherent notion of that which is not: 255e8-259d8. The Sophist's account of false statements, in terms of the notion of being other than something, is consequently employed to show that a description of false statements in terms of the notion of that which is not does not have the paradoxical implication that false statements are impossible, in spite of arguments like that of 189a6-b3. The notion of being other than something is put to no such use in the Theaetetus, in which the argument of 189a6-b3 is, to all intents, allowed to stand.

2. Nothing in the Sophist's account of false statements corresponds to the implication, in Socrates' exposition of the suggestion made in this passage, that to have, say, beautiful in one's judgement instead of ugly involves judging that beautiful is ugly. It is this implication which leads to the rejection of the suggestion: see 190d11-e4.

Why should such an implication have seemed to hold? One possible answer is as follows. If someone has, say, beautiful in his judgement in-

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stead of ugly, e.g. perhaps in judging falsely that Theaetetus is beautiful. then ugly is the term which ought to figure in his judgement where beautiful does. In judging what he does, however, he judges that beautiful is the term which ought to figure in his judgement where beautiful does. It might seem to follow, by a quite straightforward substitution warranted by the fact that ugly is the term which ought to figure in his judgement where beautiful does, that he judges that beautiful is ugly. In fact such a substitution, inside a clause giving the content of what is judged, is not straightforward at all; but this point is somewhat abstruse, and the above argument could seem quite compelling. See, further, notes on 189e1-3, 190d11-e4.

It seems quite plausible that all false judgements can be represented, on the lines of the suggestion made here, as involving the substitution of at least one wrong term for a right one in what would otherwise have been a true judgement. For a parallel idea about statements, see, perhaps, Cratylus 432d11-433a2, in its context: cf. note on 201d8-202b7. Given this idea, one could use a generalization of the above reasoning in order to argue that all false judgements involve judging that the substituted term is the term for which it is substituted. On these lines it would appear that anyone who makes a false judgement is thereby involved in judging that one of two things is the other, even if the original false judgement was not itself. on the face of it, a judgement of identification. It is possible, then, that an inclination towards some such reasoning as the above explains Plato's concentration on judgements of identification at 187e-188c: see note on that passage.

189d4-9. Note how, in this recapitulation of the suggestion made at 189b10-c7, Socrates brings out the assumption that substituting one term for another in one's judgement involves thinking that the one is the other.

189e1-3. Socrates' words 'either both the things or one of them' are odd. If one really does think that one of the two things in question is the other, it follows, according to a principle which pervades the whole discussion of judgement, that both must be present in one's thoughts, i.e. 'one must be thinking . . . both the things'. For the principle, see 190d7-10: cf. 187e-188c. On these lines the addition of 'or one of them' would seem to be obviously wrong.

The fact that Plato has Socrates make this addition, in spite of the above point, may reflect an attempt to capture some such point as the following. Certainly, someone who makes a judgement containing, say, beautiful, where it ought to contain ugly, thereby judges that the term which his judgement ought to contain in that position is beautiful; whereas the term which his judgement ought to contain in that position is ugly. Nevertheless, his judgement that the term which his judgement ought to

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contain in that position is beautiful, i.e. his judgement about the term which his judgement ought to contain in that position, is not a judgement about ugly. Of the two terms, the only one which figures in any judgement which he makes is beautiful. Hence, in the terminology of this passage, he is thinking only one of the two things in question.

We cannot assume that Plato is clear about any such point as the above. If he had been clear about such points, he would have been equipped to reject the argument which undermines the suggestion of 189b10-c7. In fact he makes nothing of the addition of 'or one of them', and indeed argues, implicitly, against it, at 190d7-10. But we can, perhaps, credit Plato with a justified feeling of discomfort about the assumption emphasized at 189d4-9. See, further, note on 190d11-e4.

189e4-190a7. As a preliminary to his argument against the suggestion of 189b10-c7, Socrates here introduces the idea that judging should be conceived of as the making of inner assertions. Since the making of an assertion is an act rather than a state, this passage indicates the translation 'judgement' rather than 'belief' or 'opinion': see note on 187b4-7.

A point which the metaphor of inner assertion helps to bring out is that the logical properties of reports of judgements correspond, at least in many respects, to the logical properties of reports of assertions. This point is exploited when a similar idea is introduced at Sophist 263e3-264a3. For another purpose which the present passage may be intended to achieve, see note on 190d11-e4.

190a8-d10. Here Socrates argues that it is impossible to do what, according to the assumption emphasized at 189d4-9, the maker of a false judgement would have to do, viz. to identify the substituted term in his judgement with the term for which it is substituted. At first Socrates suggests that this conclusion can be established simply by an appeal to experience; but he goes on to hint at an argument for the conclusion, reminiscent of the argument of 187e-188c, and running as follows. If one is to identify the two terms, one must have a grasp of both in one's mind: this principle is implied at 190c5-8, and something similar is implied at 190d7-10. Socrates suggests that this grasp of each of the two terms precludes one's supposing that one of them is the other: cf. the argument of 187e-188c.

The present argument is alluded to, at 190c5-8, in such a way as to suggest that, like that of 187e-188c, it purports to apply quite generally, so as to rule out any judgement identifying two things. But the examples cited involve identifications not of ordinary things like persons but of terms of possible judgements related as the terms ugly and beautiful are related: see below. And the connection made at 189e4-190a7 between

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judgement and assertion means that we can take the argument's conclusion to be tacitly restricted, so as to rule out, not any judgement which might be described as involving mistaking one such term for another, but only judgements which would be expressed by saying, explicitly, that the one is the other: e.g. a judgement which would be expressed by saying, in so many words, 'Ugly is beautiful'. Tacitly restricted in this way, the argument's conclusion is quite plausible. If someone said 'Ugly is beautiful', that would naturally be taken to show, not that he explicitly identified the terms ugly and beautiful, but perhaps that he did not understand one or other, or both, of the words, and hence, in the terminology of the present passage, that he did not have a grasp of one or other, or both, of the terms ugly and beautiful in his mind.At 190b3, I have translated 'that beautiful is . . . ugly', where a more literal rendering would be 'that the beautiful is . . . ugly'. Similarly literal translations would be, at 190b3-4, 'that the unjust is just'; at 190b7-8, 'that the odd is . . . even'; at 190c2-3, 'that the ox is . . . horse or the two one'; at 190d1, 'that the ugly is beautiful'. These more literal translations would be, I believe, potentially misleading in at least some cases. To judge, e.g., that the beautiful is ugly might naturally be understood as being to judge that some particular thing, which is in fact beautiful, is ugly. But the argument of this passage is not directly aimed at showing that such judgements as this are impossible. For:

1. The impossibility of such judgements could hardly be held to be obvious out of hand. But Socrates suggests that the impossibility of the judgements which he is here concerned with is obvious out of hand: the argument implied at 190c5-8 comes in as a sort of afterthought.

2. It is clear, from 190c5-d10, that the judgements with which Socrates is concerned in this passage are judgements which themselves explicitly identify two things. This is not true of the judgement that some particular thing, which is in fact beautiful, is ugly.

3. The relation between the argument of this passage and the suggestion of 189b10-c7, which is brought out at 190d11-e4, requires that the judgements which this passage argues to be impossible are judgements which are ascribed to the makers of false judgements by the suggestion of 189b10-c7. The only way of meeting this requirement is to take it that the judgements with which the present passage is concerned are those explicit identifications of terms in possible judgements which are involved in the account of the passage given above. Note that 190b3 and 190d1 clearly take up Theaetetus' examples at 189c5-7: for 'the beautiful' and 'beautiful' as interchangeable designations of the same term in possible judgements, see 185c4-186a1 and note.

From some viewpoints, the pairs of terms listed in this passage would seem to be of disparate types. But it is easy to see how, from the point of view adopted in the passage, the situation would seem parallel with all the

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pairs of terms mentioned. The initial examples, at 189c5-7, included the case of having in one's judgement beautiful instead of ugly, presumably in judging, say, that Theaetetus is beautiful. By the assumption emphasized at 189d4-9, this involves judging that beautiful is ugly; which, according to the present passage, is impossible. Parallel arguments would seem to apply to the case of having in one's judgement odd instead of even, presumably in judging, say, that six is an odd number; to the case of having in one's judgement ox instead of horse, presumably in judging, say, that a certain animal which one sees (in fact a horse) is an ox; and to the case of having in one's judgement two instead of one, presumably in judging, say, that 7 - (4 + 2) = 2.Two points about the wording at 190c5-8:

i. 'Has . . . in what he says' represents the verb (legein) elsewhere translated simply 'say' or 'speak'. Its use here is parallel to the use, in the sense of 'have in one's judgement' (here 'has . . . in what he . . . judges'), of the verb elsewhere translated 'judge': see note on 187e-188c.

ii. 'That what's different is different' is a literal rendering of a Greek idiom which means, in more perspicuous English, 'that one of two things is the other': I have translated it in this latter way at 190b5-6. The literal rendering is needed here, in order to make sense of Socrates' request to Theaetetus not to cavil at his wording. Socrates' point is that, since the Greek expression involves a repeated occurrence of the same word, it might seem to be obviously true 'that what's different is different'; whereas Socrates intends to specify a range of judgements, viz. judgements that one of two things is the other, which are obviously false. Socrates' allusion, with the words 'This time it's you who must let the expression pass', is to his own forbearance at 189c8-d4.

With 190d7-10, cf. 189e1-3 and note.

190d11-e4. Socrates concludes that the suggestion of 189b10-c7 must be rejected. The argument implied is presumably parallel to the argument implied at 189b4-9 against the suggestion of 188c9-d6; in which case it runs as follows. The suggestion of 189b10-c7 implies that the maker of a false judgement must do something which is shown, at 190a8-d10, to be impossible. But false judgement is not impossible. Therefore the suggestion of 189b10-c7 does not give a correct account of false judgement.

This conclusion is disappointing. For the idea that false judgements involve substituting one term for another is quite promising: on the recurrence of a similar idea in the Sophist, see note on 189b10-c7. But in the present section that idea is not given the consideration which it deserves. It is ruled out by an argument which exploits the assumption that to substitute, in one's judgement, one term for another is to make a judgement explicitly identifying the two terms, in the sense of a judgement which would be expressed by saying, in so many words, something like

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'Ugly is beautiful'. It seems clear that it is this assumption which is at fault, rather than the original idea that to make a false judgement is to substitute one term for another. Yet Plato does not, explicitly, criticize the assumption; rather, he allows it to be exploited in an argument leading to the rejection of the original idea.Perhaps, however, we can mitigate our disappointment about this by noting what may be indications that Plato is not happy about the assumption.

1. One possible indication has already been mentioned in the note on 189e1-3.

2. Another possible indication is the role played, in the argument against the suggestion of 189b10-c7, by the connection, introduced at 189e4-190a7, between judgement and assertion. That connection enables Plato to emphasize that what is argued, plausibly enough, to be impossible at 190a8-4 10 is, e.g., a judgement which would be expressed by saying, in so many words, 'Ugly is beautiful'. Such emphasis could be intended to prompt the reader to some such thought as the following. It is perhaps plausible that to substitute the term beautiful for the term ugly in a judgement, e.g. in judging that Theaetetus is beautiful, involves, in some sense, mistaking the term ugly for the term beautiful, and hence, perhaps, judging that what is, in fact, the term ugly is the term beautiful. But it is not even remotely plausible that it involves making a judgement which would be expressed by saying, in so many words, 'Ugly is beautiful'. Hence if the assumption that substituting one term for another involves mistaking the one for the other is taken in a sense in which it has this latter implication, then the assumption ought to be rejected.

Such a line of thought as the above might be the beginning of a series of reflections leading towards greater clarity about the logical behaviour of clauses giving the content of what is said or judged. More specifically, it might be a step on the way towards greater clarity about the logical behaviour of those expressions, within such clauses, which might naturally be said to designate terms of the statements or judgements in question. On these lines one might arrive, e.g., at a distinction between different ways in which the term ugly might be said to figure, introduced, in each case, by the italicized words, in the judgements reported in the following sentences:

a. Socrates judges that the term which ought to figure, in a judgement about Theaetetus designed to answer the question 'Is he beautiful or ugly?', is ugly.

b. Socrates judges that the term which ought to figure in such a judgement (which is, in fact, the term ugly) is beautiful.

Such a distinction might undermine the argument, sketched in the note on 189b10-c7, for the suspect assumption which is exploited, in the present passage, to rule out the suggestion of 189b10-c7. Of course the present passage does not warrant the ascription to Plato of any clear appreciation

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of such distinctions. But it is perhaps sufficiently creditable that he should feel discomfort in, so to speak, the right place.

191a-195b False judgement: (v) the wax tablet.

191a5-b9. The new suggestion about false judgement is introduced as involving an attack on the argument of 187e-188c: for the agreement that one cannot judge that things which one knows are things which one does not know, here revoked by Socrates, see 188c2-4. In fact the new suggestion goes further than this in its attack on the argument of 187e-188c: at 191e6-8 Socrates proposes also to revoke the agreement, made at 188b3-6, that one cannot judge that things which one knows are other things which one knows.

The reason for the agreement that one cannot judge that things which one knows are things which one does not know was, according to 191b7-9, that the description of such a judgement would imply that its maker both knows and does not know the same thing. The point is, presumably, that the conception of knowledge which is exploited at 187e-188c would warrant the following argument. Suppose someone judges that something he knows is something he does not know. Ex hypothesi, then, he knows the first thing. But the fact that he takes that thing to be something which it is not implies, according to the conception of knowledge in question, that he does not know it: see note on 187e-188c. Hence he both knows and does not know the same thing.

At 191b10, with the words 'Let's put it, not like that, but . . .', Socrates indicates that the way in which the new suggestion makes room for such false judgements is going to allow him to avoid concluding that the maker of such a judgement both knows and does not know the same thing. This implies that the new suggestion is going to involve some alteration to the fundamental conception of 187e-188c, which is exploited in the argument outlined above. See, further, note on 193b9-194b6.

191b10-e2. The notions of coming to know, or learning, and forgetting were excluded from consideration at 188a2-4. Socrates now readmits the notion of coming to know and that of remembering, i.e. not forgetting. The image of a wax tablet in the mind is offered as a metaphorical account of remembering; and we are instructed to understand knowing a thing, henceforth, as remembering it, i.e. having an imprint of it in one's mind.

The idea of the mind as an imprint-receiving substance has had a natural attraction for empiricists: passages reminiscent of this one can be found, e.g., in Hume. But this fact is not of great importance in understanding Plato's use of the idea in the present section. Plato's concern is not, as in the case of the empiricists, with the justification of beliefs, but rather with the undermining of the logical difficulty about the notion of false

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judgement raised by the argument of 187e-188c. See notes on 193b9-194b6, 195b-196c.On the impressions of 'things . . . we ourselves conceive' (191d5), see note on 194b7-195b1.191e3-8. In contrast with the argument of 187e-188c, the new suggestion is going to leave room for false judgements involving

1. thinking that things which one knows are (other) things which one knows: cf. 188b3-6; and

2. thinking that things which one knows are things which one does not know: cf. 188c2-4 and 191a5-b9.

For elaboration of this, see 192c9-d1; for explanation, see 193b9-194b6. Cf. notes on 191e9-192d2, 193b9-194b6.191e9-192d2. Here Socrates lists, without explanation, cases in which false judgement is still impossible, according to the new suggestion, and cases in which the new suggestion is said to leave room for false judgement.It may be helpful to have the cases schematically set out here. Throughout, we are concerned with the possibility of judging that one thing (call it 'a') is another (call it 'b'). The listed cases are as follows:

1. Cases in which false judgement is impossible (192a1-c5)

a. Cases in which knowing only is involved (192a1-7)

i. a known, b known

ii. a known, b unknown

iii. a unknown, b unknown

iv. a unknown, b known

b. Cases in which perceiving only is involved (192a7-b2)

i. a perceived, b perceived

ii. a perceived, b unperceived

iii. a unperceived, b unperceived

iv. a unperceived, b perceived

c. Cases in which both knowing and perceiving may be involved (192b2-c5)

i. a known and perceived (perception matched with imprint), b likewise

ii. a known and perceived (perception matched with imprint), b known

iii. a known and perceived (perception matched with imprint), b perceived

iv. a unknown and unperceived, b likewise

v. a unknown and unperceived, b unknown

vi. a unknown and unperceived, b unperceived

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1. Cases in which false judgement is possible (192c9-d1)

i. a known, b known and perceived

ii. a known, b unknown but perceived

iii. a known and perceived, b likewise

It is sometimes thought that this list is intended to represent the result of a mechanical computation of the combinations possible when one has two things, each of which may be either known or unknown and either perceived or unperceived. Detailed scrutiny of the list shows that it certainly does not achieve such an intention. I believe that the view just mentioned misrepresents the purpose of this passage. It emerges, from 193b9-194b6, that the fundamental point of the new suggestion is that false judgement takes place when a perception is mismatched with an imprint. In the light of this point, we should take it that the purpose of the present passage is to bring out the distinction between cases in which such mismatching is possible and cases in which it is not. Now this purpose would not necessitate an enumeration of possible combinations, of the sort envisaged above. Nor would such an enumeration help to achieve this purpose: the required distinction lies, not merely in differences between various combinations of knowledge or its absence and perception or its absence, but also, as is made clear under (1)(c) above, in different relations between imprints and perceptions in some of the cases in which these are present.

In the above summary, I have supplied the description of the cases listed under (1)(a) as cases in which knowing only is involved, and the description of the cases listed under (1)(b) as cases in which perceiving only is involved. The warrant for assuming that this is what is meant in each case is that, without these assumptions, some of the cases listed would not, on the principles of the new suggestion, exclude false judgement, since they would leave room for mismatching of perceptions with imprints.

In some of the cases listed under (1)(c) and (2), where, in general, both perceiving and knowing are involved, it is left unspecified whether one of the two things is perceived, or whether one of the two things is known. In some cases we can supply a specific answer to the question which is thus left open, from the fact that, if the question is not settled in the appropriate way, the lists include pointless repetitions. Thus, in (1)(c)(v) we should take it that b is perceived, and in (1)(c)(vi) we should take it that b is known, since otherwise these cases would not differ from (1)(c)(iv); and in (2)(i) we should take it that a is not perceived, since otherwise this case would not differ from (2)(iii). In other cases, however, no specific answer is required. Thus, in (1)(c)(ii), false judgement is, according to the new suggestion, ruled out simply by the fact that the imprint of a is already matched with the perception of a, and it makes no difference whether b is perceived or not; if b is perceived, it does not follow that the case

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duplicates (1)(c)(i), since in (1)(c)(ii) the perception of b need not be matched with its imprint. Similarly, in (1)(c)(iii), it makes no difference whether b is known or not; and, in (2)(ii), it makes no difference whether a is perceived or not. Note that in (2)(i) and (2)(iii) we should take it that the perceptions and imprints of b and a respectively are not matched; this is what differentiates these cases from (1)(c)(i) and (1)(c)(ii).192d3-e7. So far, the exposition of the new suggestion has, understandably, baffled Theaetetus, and Socrates now embarks on an explanation. The first step is to point out, in this passage, that the question whether one knows something or not is independent of the question whether one perceives it or not. This passage is sometimes taken to support the view that the list at 191e9-192d2 is intended to represent the result of computing the possible combinations, with two objects, of knowledge or its absence and perception or its absence. The independence of knowledge and perception would certainly be a relevant point in such a computation. But the point is equally relevant, without that view being taken of the list at 191e9-192d2, to the account of false judgement in terms of the mismatching of perceptions with imprints.192e8-193b8. In this passage Socrates gives more detailed accounts of the first three cases from the list at 191e9-192d2 (cases (1)(a)(i)-(iii)); whereupon Theaetetus claims to be able to understand, without further help, the rest of the list of cases in which false judgement is excluded. See, further, note on 193b9-194b6.193b9-194b6. This passage explains, finally, the fundamental idea of the new suggestion. The structure of the passage is as follows:

1. 193b9-d7: a detailed account of two of the cases, from the list at 191e9-192d2, in which false judgement is possible: viz. (2)(i) and (2)(iii). The detailed account brings forward the fundamental notion of mismatching a perception with an imprint. Plato illustrates this notion by comparisons with putting, say, a left shoe on one's right foot, and with seeing things in mirrors: for the optical theory underlying this second comparison, see Timaeus 46a2-c6, Sophist 266c1-4.

2. 193d7-e5: the emphasis on the notion of mismatching, and hence on the notion of matching, leads Socrates to revert to, and explain more fully, the first occurrence of that notion in the list at 191e9-192d2 (case (1)(c)(i)).

3. 193e6-194a8: this passage in effect repeats 193b9-d7.

4. 194a8-b6: this passage summarizes the new suggestion about false judgement.

The new suggestion involves the following departures from the conceptions of 187e-188c:

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i. There is a tacit weakening of the principle that one must know a thing if it is to figure in one's judgement. The allowing of case (2)(ii), in the list at 191e9-192d2, implies that perceiving a thing, without knowing it, is sufficient for it to figure in one's judgement. This suggests that the principle should be as follows: if a thing is to figure in one's judgement, then one must have some mental hold on it, either by knowing it or by perceiving it. Note, however, that case (2)(ii) does not recur in the more detailed exposition of the suggestion given in the present passage. This may be an oversight, or due to a conviction on Plato's part that the point of the suggestion is, by now, sufficiently clear without the need of repeating the description of this case: cf. 192e8-193b8, where he does not bother to repeat all the cases in which false judgement is excluded. But the absence of case (2)(ii) from the present passage may indicate that Plato has not noticed the tacit weakening of the original principle which is implied by the presence of this case in the list at 191e9-192d2; and that hence, when he comes to detailed exposition of the suggestion, he takes himself to be still committed to the principle that, if a thing is to figure in one's judgement, one must know it.

ii. In any case, a far more important departure from the conceptions of 187e-188c lies in the fact that, with the new suggestion's interpretation of knowing a thing as remembering it, i.e. having an imprint of it, Plato is freed from the need to assume that, if a thing qualifies to figure in one's judgement by virtue of one's knowing it, one is thereby precluded from supposing that thing to be something other than what it is. According to the new suggestion, one can suppose a thing which one knows, i.e. a thing of which one has an imprint, to be something other than what it is by mismatching one's imprint of it with a perception of something else. Such a mistake about a thing which one knows need no longer be taken to have the implication that one both knows and does not know the same thing: see 191a5-b9 and note. For, in terms of the new suggestion, that implication would be construed as the implication that one both has and fails to have an imprint of the same thing. And there is no plausibility in the idea that the making of such a mistake shows that one does not have an imprint of the thing in question.

The new suggestion is suspect in at least the following ways:

a. It allows the possibility of false judgements only in cases where an imprint is mismatched with a perception; that is, it excludes the possibility of mismatching imprints with imprints or perceptions with perceptions. This exclusion no doubt underlies the assumption that if an imprint is already correctly matched with a perception, then there is no possibility of mismatching it with another perception. Such a mismatching would perhaps count as a mismatching between the two perceptions; and mismatching between perceptions is excluded. Now the exclusion of mismatching between perceptions, or between imprints, is suspect, since there

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is no obvious reason why we should not construct cases of such mismatching, quite similar, on the face of it, to the sort of case admitted by the new suggestion. For a case of mismatching between imprints, imagine that someone perceives, at different times, what are in fact two different things of the same kind, and retains impressions corresponding to these two perceptions; then at some later time he decides, wrongly, that the two retained impressions are impressions of one and the same thing. A plausible case of mismatching between perceptions might be constructed by exploiting the fact that we perceive things with different senses: such a case might be, e.g., the misidentification, among the things one sees, of something which one is also hearing.

b. The exposition of the new suggestion implies that knowing Socrates, in the sense of having an imprint of him in one's mind, is sufficient for one to be able to make judgements about him, in the sense of judgements which might be expressed by such sentences as 'That man over there is Socrates' (cf. 191b2-6). But it is clear that the ability to make judgements about Socrates whose expression would involve mentioning him by name requires more than simply having perceived Socrates on some occasion, and thereafter retaining an impression corresponding to that perception. It seems that the new suggestion still involves an extremely unsubtle conception of how things figure in judgements, and of what is required for them to be able to do so.

For deficiencies in the new suggestion, see, further, notes on 194b7-195b1, 195b-196c.

194b7-195b1. In this passage, Socrates elaborates the image of the wax tablet, apparently for its own sake: he does not here add anything to the explanation already given of how the conceptions involved leave room for false judgement.

At 194d4-6 ('Because, since their imprints . . . are called wise'), the construction and meaning are extremely obscure. With the translation I have adopted, the passage can perhaps be understood on the following lines. Let a typical judgement about something which one perceives be represented as the judgement that it is f. According to the theory which Socrates is elaborating, to make such a judgement involves matching one's perception with one's imprint, f. If the judgement that what one perceives is f is true, then the complement term of that judgement, f, may be called 'a thing which is'. This phrase is to be understood by supplying some suitable complement for 'is', e.g., perhaps 'what ought to figure, in that position, in the judgement': cf. note on 188c9-d6. But 'f' was also used, above, as a designation of the relevant imprint. Hence the imprint may be called 'a thing which is'; and, generalizing, the imprints of those who make true judgements may be called 'things which are'. For the use, as designations of imprints, of expressions which would equally well serve

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as designations of the associated terms of judgements, suggesting that no distinction is drawn between them, see 196a2-3.

Note that in the reasoning reconstructed above, possession of an imprint would most naturally be taken to stand for something like possession of a concept, rather than, as in previous applications of the image of the wax tablet, memory of an individual, e.g. a person. This application of the image is important in the section 195b-196c: see note on that section.

Possession of the concept of f-ness could hardly be merely a matter of having once perceived an instance of f-ness, and thereafter retaining an impression corresponding to that perception; though this seems a reasonable interpretation of what possession of an imprint might amount to. For a similar deficiency in the new suggestion's account of knowledge of, e.g., Socrates, see note on 193b9-194b6.

At 195a5-6, 8 ('conceive', 'misconceive'), Socrates harks back to something which was suggested in the original introduction of the image of the wax tablet at 191b10-e2, but of which nothing has so far been made in connection with false judgement: viz. the idea that, just as one may retain the impression of, and so remember, something one has perceived, so one may retain the impression of, and so remember, something which one has conceived. Conceiving is evidently intended to be a relation like perceiving, but with objects which are abstract, e.g. perhaps numbers. In the present passage Socrates suggests that this further relation leaves room for another kind of false judgement over and above those already considered: viz. misconceiving, to be understood, presumably, as involving the mismatching of a conception with an imprint. However, though it is quite plausible that one can perceive an object without eo ipso knowing it, in the sense of knowing what it is, and hence that one can mismatch a perception with an imprint, it is not equally plausible that one can conceive an object without eo ipso knowing it, in the sense of knowing what it is, and hence, as Socrates suggests here, that one can mismatch a conception with an imprint. In the section 195b-196c it is suggested that mistakes about abstract objects, e.g. numbers, would involve, not mismatching of conceptions with imprints, but, rather, mismatching of imprints with imprints, and would hence be excluded by the account of false judgement afforded by the image of the wax tablet.

195b-196c False judgement: (vi) criticism of the wax tablet

theory.

In this section Socrates states an argument against the account of false judgement afforded by the image of the wax tablet, which is based on the fact that the account does not allow mismatching of imprints with imprints: see note on 193b9-194b6. The argument exploits an application of the image according to which having an imprint stands for something like

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possession of a concept: see note on 194b7-195b1. Note, in this connection, how the imprints are spoken of, e.g. at 195c6-e7, as things which we have in our thoughts, or simply as thoughts: the Greek words are related to the words translated 'conceive' at 191d5, 195a5-6. This application of the image is such that, in excluding the possibility of mismatching between imprints, the theory of 191a-195b is taken to exclude the possibility of mistaking one abstract object for another. Hence:

1. The theory excludes supposing that man is horse: 195d6-11. A literal rendering would be 'that the man . . . is horse': on the translation I have adopted, and the sort of thought which is meant, see note on 190a8-d10. The point that the theory excludes this sort of thought need not be taken as part of the criticism of it: it is quite plausible that this sort of thought, understood as at 190a8-d10, ought to be excluded.

2. The theory also excludes supposing that the number 12 is the number 11: 195e1-7. Theaetetus' point at 195e5-7 is that the theory can allow the thought that eleven concrete objects which one perceives are twelve, which it construes as the mismatching of one's perception with the imprint corresponding to the number 12; but it excludes the thought that one number, abstractly conceived, is the other. Socrates goes on to suggest that this is to exclude the possibility of getting an abstract calculation wrong and deciding, say, that 7 + 5 = 11. Obviously it is possible to get calculations wrong; hence the account of false judgements under consideration, since it excludes that possibility, ought to be rejected.

This argument involves assuming that to suppose that 7 + 5 = 11 is to suppose that 12 = 11. The idea is, presumably, that if someone supposes that 7 + 5 = 11, then it follows, by a straightforward substitution licensed by the fact that 7 + 5 = 12, that he supposes that 12 = 11. In fact such a substitution is not straightforward, and to suppose that 7 + 5 = 11 is not to suppose, in any ordinary sense, that 12 = 11: see note on 189b10-c7. However, this point need not completely undermine the argument. The fact remains that it is possible to get abstract calculations wrong and hence arrive at such thoughts as the thought that 7 + 5 = 11; and these mistakes are not of the kind allowed by the theory of 191a-195b, viz. mismatchings of imprints with perceptions.

In the theory of 191a-195b, Plato has come quite close to a satisfactory way of dealing with the difficulty raised by the argument of 187e-188c, without, apparently, quite grasping the essential point. The difficulty can be undermined by the point that a thing can be qualified to figure in one's judgement by virtue of one's having some quite tenuous knowledge of it, in the sense of knowledge as to what it is. To put the point with an intentional crudity, a thing can figure in one's judgement by virtue of one's command of just one of the possible lines on to it. In a true judgement of identification, one commands two different lines on to what is in fact only one thing. The fact that the two lines are different, even when the

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judgement is true, leaves open the possibility that, in a case in which one has two lines on to what are in fact two different things, one may without obvious absurdity suppose that one is in the other sort of situation, i.e. that one's two lines are lines on to what is in fact only one thing.The above remarks are intended to bring out how close Plato has come to solving the problem posed by the argument of 187e-188c. For they can be read either as a crude formulation of a fundamentally satisfactory solution to the problem, or, differently, as an account of the attempted solution involved in the theory of 191a-195b.

i. On the first interpretation, command of different lines on to a thing stands for possession of different bits of identifying knowledge concerning the thing. Suppose, e.g., that one judges truly that Theaetetus is the person in the corner of the room. The person in question can figure in one's judgement twice over, so to speak, by virtue of one's knowledge that it is Theaetetus that one's judgement is about, and by virtue of one's knowledge that it is the person in the corner of the room that one's judgement is about. These two bits of knowledge do not, so to speak, carry on their faces the fact that they are concerned with the same person. Hence, in a different case, one might without obvious absurdity suppose, wrongly this time, that two such bits of knowledge, similarly not carrying any mutual connection on their faces, are concerned with the same person. This collection of metaphors is of course far from being a finally adequate solution to the problem, but I believe it is on the right track.

ii. On the second interpretation, by contrast, command of different lines on to a thing stands for possession of different kinds of contact with it: specifically, in the theory of 191a-195b, knowledge and perception. An analogue to the above reasoning might now seem to show that a thing can figure in one's judgement twice over, so to speak, in a true judgement of identification, only by virtue of one's possession of two different kinds of contact with it: again, specifically, knowledge and perception. As before, this leaves room for supposing wrongly, without obvious absurdity, that two lines are lines on to what is in fact only one thing; but again, only in cases where the two lines involve different kinds of contact, one by way of knowledge and the other by way of perception. Hence the theory of 191a-195b allows mismatching only between knowledge and perception, not between knowledge and knowledge or between perception and perception.

An explanation, on these lines, of the fact that the theory of 191a-195b excludes mismatching between imprints might make it seem that the theory ought to have been able to countenance mismatching between perceptions by different senses, and consequently mismatching between some imprints, viz. those involving retention of impressions received through different senses. For, e.g., seeing a thing and hearing it might seem to be, in the required sort of way, different kinds of contact with the

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thing. On the suspectness of the theory's exclusion of these mismatchings, see note on 193b9-194b6. Perhaps we ought to suppose that Plato is not fully clear about how the theory works for those cases of false judgement which it does allow; if he had been, the possibility of allowing these further mismatchings, without departing fundamentally from the theory, might have occurred to him. It is, in any case, obvious that he is less interested in the theory's exclusion of mismatching between perceptions, or between imprints of things perceived in the past, than he is in its exclusion of mismatching between imprints of abstract objects, which is what the argument of the present passage exploits in order to refute the theory.

To undermine the puzzle of 187e-188c, in the way sketched under (i) above, requires realizing that the knowledge as to what a thing is which is needed for it to figure in one's judgement is not an all-or-nothing matter. In the theory of 191a-195b, on the other hand, it seems plausible that Plato has not moved beyond the idea that the sort of knowledge with which he is concerned is some sort of acquaintance; hence, a relation of the ordinary kind, which, between any person and any thing, either simply holds or simply fails to hold; and hence an all-or-nothing matter. This emerges from the way in which, at 196b8-c2, Socrates associates the argument of the present passage with that of 187e-188c. Socrates' remark suggests that the difficulty about the thought that the number 12 is the number 11 is that the description of such a thought implies that the person who thinks it both knows and fails to know the same thing. This suggestion indicates that the conception of knowledge with which Plato is working at this point is still one according to which taking a thing to be something other than what it is implies that one does not know it: cf. note on 191a5-b9. The departure from such a conception implicit in the theory of 191a-195b, which is mentioned under (ii) in the note on 193b9-194b6, seems thus to have been an accidental rather than a conscious departure. The retention of such a conception is most simply explained on the hypothesis that Plato continues to think of the sort of knowledge which he is concerned with as some sort of acquaintance and hence as an all-ornothing matter: cf. note on 187e-188c.

The application of the image of the wax tablet according to which having an imprint stands for something like possession of a concept makes the theory of 191a-195b appear parallel, in certain formal or structural respects, to the way in which the same subject matter would be dealt with by the Theory of Forms and the Theory of Recollection. As before, let a typical judgement about something which one perceives be represented as the judgement that it is f. According to the theory of 191a-195b, this judgement involves matching one's perception with an imprint, i.e. a memory, standing for one's possession of the concept of fness. From such passages as Phaedo 74a9-77a5, we can construct a parallel theory to the effect that the judgement involves matching one's

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perception with one's memory of the Form of f-ness, encountered before birth. There is no warrant for reading the details of the Theory of Forms and the Theory of Recollection into the theory of 191a-195b; but the formal parallelism brought out above is quite striking. This suggests that the criticism, in the present passage, of the theory of 191a-195b can be read as an implicit criticism of the Theory of Forms and the Theory of Recollection.

Note that the explicit conclusion of this passage, at 196c4-6, is not that the theory of 191a-195b is only partially successful, but that it will not do at all. This implies that it does not give a correct account even of those cases of false judgement which it does allow. It is not clear how seriously this point should be taken. At 209c4-9 Plato apparently harks back to the theory; and there is something similar at Philebus 38b6-e8. However, it is arguable that complete rejection of the theory is, for Plato's present purposes, the correct course. The argument of 187e-188c must contain a fundamental mistake: Plato's aim is to produce an account of false judgements which avoids that mistake, and hence leaves no difficulty about their possibility. It ought to be possible to do away with the mistake at one blow. In that case making room for false judgements in a piecemeal way is not what is required. The conceptions involved in an account which makes room for some, but not all, false judgements must still be, at least partially, faulty.

196c-199c False judgement: (vii) the aviary.

196c7-d2. The theory of 191a-195b was introduced as an attempt to account for false judgements while avoiding the implication that a person can both know and fail to know the same thing: see note on 191a5-b9. Socrates here suggests that the failure of that theory shows that the implication cannot be avoided. The new theory which he is about to expound is one which involves, in a way, accepting the implication. But it avoids the appearance of contradiction, by means of the distinction between having and possessing knowledge: the implication is that a person can both possess knowledge of, and fail to have knowledge of, the same thing.

It is in fact very nearly correct that, in order to make room for false judgement in face of the argument of 187e-188c, one would have to embrace the implication that a person can both know and fail to know the same thing. Correctly put, the implication is that a person can both know what a thing is, as is required for it to figure in his judgement, and also fail to know some truth concerning what it is, viz. that it is not some other thing which he takes it to be. See note on 187e-188c.

196d2-197a7. Socrates proposes to make some remarks about what knowing is like, even though this is improper, coming from someone who

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does not know what knowing is. The word translated 'what . . . like' at 196d5 and 196d11 is related, e.g., to the word translated 'quality' at 182a8: it might be rendered 'how qualified'. Thus Socrates is here appealing to the distinction between statements as to what a thing is and statements as to how a thing is qualified: see preliminary point (2), in the note on 152d2-e1. For the purposes of this passage, the category of statements as to how things are qualified is evidently very broad: what Socrates proposes to say about knowledge is simply that it may be had or possessed.

For the idea that one ought not to talk about something unless one knows what it is, cf., e.g., Meno 71b3-8. Republic 354c1-3. The point is, presumably, that unless one knows what the thing is, one cannot know what one is saying when one talks about it. Cf. Parmenides 160c5-d2: see also, in the Theaetetus, 146c-147c and note.

At 196d10, 'know knowledge' is clearly equivalent to 'know what knowledge is': see note on 147b4-5.

197a8-e7. In this passage Socrates suggests that a distinction analogous to that between possessing and having, say, a coat, explained at 197b9-10, can be drawn in the case of pieces of knowledge. The image of the aviary affords a new metaphorical description of the mind, taking account of this distinction. A bird's presence in one's aviary stands for one's possession of a piece of knowledge: having the piece of knowledge is represented by having the bird in hand. According to 197e6, knowing a thing is to be understood as possessing the appropriate piece of knowledge. At, e.g., 197e3, 'pieces of knowledge' represents simply the plural of a word for 'knowledge'.

Presumably knowledge of a thing, e.g. a number, is, here as elsewhere, thought of as amounting to knowledge of what that thing is. But coming to possess such knowledge is still, evidently, thought of as the discovery of a thing, rather than as the finding out of a truth. Cf. notes on 147b4-5, 148c6-7.

The distinction between possessing and having, as applied to knowledge, is taken up by Aristotle at de Anima 417a21-b2.

At 197d7-8 Socrates alludes to some distinctions among the pieces of knowledge in a person's mind. It is impossible to be sure exactly what is meant. The single birds which fly among all the rest may perhaps be identified with something like the all-pervasive Greatest Kinds introduced at Sophist 254b7-d2; cf. also the category of things which may be thought about anything, mentioned at 185c4-186a1. The flocks of birds apart from the others are possibly to be associated with the collections mentioned at 157b8-c2; or, alternatively, a typical flock might be the knowledge of all the numbers, possessed by a person who is versed in arithmetic. The groups of a few birds may represent knowledge of species

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grouped under genera. But no weight should be attached to any such conjectures. Plato makes no use, in what follows, of the distinctions alluded to here.

198a1-4. According to 197e3-6, we are to understand knowing a thing as possessing the appropriate piece of knowledge, and coming to know a thing as coming to possess the appropriate piece of knowledge. Uses have thus been pre-empted for 'know' and 'come to know', and the question arises how, since we are debarred from using those expressions, we are to speak of having knowledge and coming to have knowledge. The question is raised in this passage, but not answered. It is raised again at 198e1-199a3, and answered at 199a4-c7.

198a4-c10. In this passage Socrates sets out a puzzle about the enterprise of trying to find out how large some number is, either in counting a set of concrete objects or in working out some abstract calculation. It is clear that the enterprise might equally well be described as that of trying to find out what some number is. This enterprise is engaged in by someone who is fully versed in arithmetic, i.e. by someone who knows each number, in the sense of possessing the appropriate piece of knowledge. The puzzle is that this description of the person in question makes it look as if his undertaking is the evidently pointless one of trying to discover something which he already knows.

At 198c8-10 it is suggested that the puzzle is a familiar one. It is, in fact, reminiscent of an argument, at Meno 80d1-e5, which purports to show that there is no sense in setting out to discover, e.g., what virtue is. Someone who already knows what virtue is has no need to embark on the inquiry; and someone who does not know what virtue is will not be equipped to tell when his inquiry has reached a successful conclusion. Cf., further, notes on 199a4-c7, 199c-d.

198d1-9. This passage adumbrates a solution to the puzzle of 198a4-c10, afforded by the distinction between possessing and having knowledge. The sense in which the person who is fully versed in arithmetic knows each number is that he possesses knowledge of each. When he tries to find out what some number is, he is trying to come to have his knowledge of one of the numbers. This removes the appearance of pointlessness: it no longer seems that he is trying to get to be in a situation which he is already in.

198e1-199a3. Here Socrates restates the question of nomenclature first raised at 198a1-4. The question is now put in the context of the enterprise of trying to find out what some number is. Socrates adds, here, a similar enterprise, viz. that of reading. Just as the person versed in arithmetic

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knows each number, so the literate person knows each letter. When he reads, he sets out to find out what some letter on the page before him is; as at 198a4-c10, this could be misrepresented as trying to discover something which he already knows.Reading, so understood, is evidently parallel to the counting of sets of concrete objects, rather than to the working out of abstract calculations, which is also, rather oddly, called 'counting' at 198c1-2. The idea is that just as, in counting concrete objects, one asks oneself 'What is this number which I see?', so, in reading, one asks oneself 'What is this letter which I see?'.This account of reading is not very plausible as a description of the ordinary reading of words. The passage is more convincing if we think in terms of the spelling out of words letter by letter, or perhaps the reading of an oculist's test card.199a4-c7. Socrates' answer to the question of nomenclature, raised at 198a1-4 and 198e1-199a3, is that it does not matter what we say, as long as we hold fast to the distinction between possessing knowledge and having it. That distinction yields two results:

1. It enables us to solve the puzzle of 198a4-c10, on the lines of 198d1-9.

2. It enables us to give an account of those false judgements which the theory of 191a-195b could not countenance. Socrates reverts to the example which was used, at 195b-196c, to refute the theory of 191a-195b, viz. the judgement that 7 + 5 = 11. Such a judgement can be made by someone who knows both 11 and 12, in the sense of possessing knowledge of each. When he tries to calculate the sum of 7 and 5, he is trying to come to have one of those two pieces of knowledge, viz. that of 12; but by mistake he comes to have the knowledge of 11 instead. His making the false judgement does, in a sense, imply that he both knows and fails to know the same thing, viz. 12; but the threat of contradiction is removed by the fact that, more strictly put, the implication is simply that he both possesses and fails to have the knowledge of 12. Cf. note on 196c7-d2.

In the Meno, at 81a1-86c7, it is suggested that the puzzle of 80d1-e5 can be solved by means of the Theory of Recollection. Someone who sets out to find out what virtue is does, in a sense, already know what virtue is, since the knowledge has been in his mind from before his birth. But in another sense he does not know what virtue is, since his memory of what virtue is is not, at the moment, readily available to him. His inquiry is an attempt to recollect the knowledge of what virtue is: to raise it, so to speak, from one level to another. Now the puzzle of Meno 80d1-e5 is similar to the puzzle of Theaetetus 198a4-c10: see note on that passage. And there is an obvious structural or formal parallelism between the solu-

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tion to the Meno's puzzle afforded, on the above lines, by the Theory of Recollection, and the solution to the puzzle of 198a4-c10 afforded, according to 198d1-9 and the present passage, by the distinction between possessing knowledge and having it. This structural or formal parallelism is not damaged by the difference which emerges when, at 197e2-3, it is said that the mental aviary is stocked only after birth. The parallelism suggests that the criticism, at 199c-d, of the theory of 196c-199c can be taken as implicit criticism of the use of the Theory of Recollection to solve the puzzle of Meno 80d1-e5. Cf. note on 195b-196c for a similar conjecture.

At 199b8, Plato allows Socrates to represent true judgements as those in which one has in one's judgements the things which are. This might be taken to suggest that false judgements may be represented as those in which one has in one's judgements the things which are not: cf. 188c9-d6 and note. Strictly, Plato ought not, at this stage, to allow this suggestion, in view of the conclusion at 189b4-9. But it is plausible that he is, rightly, not content with that conclusion: see note on that passage.

199c-d False judgement: (viii) criticism of the aviary

theory.

The point of the criticism is, I believe, as follows. The distinction between possessing knowledge and having it seems to allow room for someone's judging that 7 + 5 = 11, which is represented, at 199b3-4, as his thinking that 11 is 12, only as long as we concentrate on the person's knowledge of 12. The threat of contradiction concerning that knowledge is removed by the point that the person possesses it, on the one hand, and fails, on the other, not to possess it, but to have it: see note on 199a4-c7. Nevertheless, it becomes clear that the fundamental difficulty has not been solved when we consider the person's knowledge of 11. He not only possesses this piece of knowledge but also, according to the account of his mistake given at 199a4-c7, has it. However, he takes the number 11 to be something which it is not, viz. the sum of 7 and 5, or, according to 199b3-4, the number 12. With the conception of knowledge which pervades the discussion of false judgement, this would imply that he is, after all, ignorant of the number 11, i.e., presumably, that he does not have knowledge of it: for this implication, see notes on 187e-188c, 191a5-b9, 195b-196c. The distinction between possessing knowledge and having it has done nothing to undermine this pervading conception of knowledge. Hence the description of the judgement that 7 + 5 = 11 still has the apparently contradictory consequence that the person who makes it both has a piece of knowledge, viz. that of 11, and, by the above implication, fails to have it. To compound the absurdity, the theory of 196c-199c purports to explain the person's taking 11 to be something other than what it

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is, which implies his failure to have knowledge of it, precisely in terms of his coming to have knowledge of it.

This argument makes no attack on the assumption, expressed at 199b3-4, that the mistake with which it is concerned, viz. that of supposing that 7 + 5 = 11, is the mistake of taking 11 to be 12. For the assumption, see notes on 189b10-c7, 195b-196c. It is clear, however, that an uncritical attitude to this assumption is not a fundamental weakness in the argument. The argument requires only an unspecific description of the mistake concerned as one of taking the number 11 to be something other than what it is.

The theory of 196c-199c can be seen as an attempt to exploit something similar to that feature of the theory of 191a-195b which led to its partial success. We can explain in the following way why the new theory might have seemed promising. Someone who judges that 7 + 5 = 12 has the number 12 figuring in his judgement twice over, so to speak, by virtue of his knowledge that it is the sum of 7 and 5 (which is, in fact, 12) that his judgement is about, and by virtue of his knowledge that it is the number 12 that his judgement is about. To echo the note on 195b-196c, we can put this point by saying that the person commands two different lines on to what is, in fact, the number 12. The two different bits of knowledge do not carry on their faces, so to speak, the fact that they are concerned with the same number. Hence in a different case a person might wrongly suppose, without obvious absurdity, that two such bits of knowledge are concerned with the same number, in deciding, e.g., that 7 + 5 = 11. Now in the theory of 191a-195b, Plato comes close to dealing with the difficulty of 187e-188c in something like the above way. The drawback is that, in that theory, the idea that a judgement of identification involves connecting two different lines on to what is, if the judgement is true, one and the same thing comes out as the idea that a judgement of identification involves matching two different kinds of contact with what is, if the judgement is true, one and the same thing. Consequently the theory fails with mistakes of identification in which one's contact with the two things identified is of the same kind. In the theory of 196c-199c Plato tries, again, to exploit the idea that a judgement of identification involves connecting two different lines on to what is, if the judgement is true, one and the same thing. Because of the failure of the theory of 191a-195b, he has to concede that the two different lines can involve contacts of what would seem, from the viewpoint of that theory, to be the same kind. However, he hopes that a difference between the two lines, of a sort similar to that which led to the partial success of the theory of 191a-195b, can be secured by locating them, so to speak, on different levels.

From the failure of the new theory, it is evident that Plato has not arrived at a proper understanding of the idea that a judgement of iden-

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tification involves connecting two different lines on to what is, if the judgement is true, one and the same thing. A proper understanding of that idea would require the rejection, at least with regard to the question of what qualifies terms to figure in judgements, of the conception of knowledge which is exploited in the argument of 187e-188c, and which recurs, not essentially modified, in the argument of the present section. See notes on 187e-188c, 195b-196c.

199e-200c False judgement: (ix) modification of the aviary

theory.

199e1-6. Theaetetus suggests that the mental aviary should have been thought of as containing not only pieces of knowledge but also pieces of unknowing. Here 'pieces of unknowing' represents the plural of a noun formed by adding a negative prefix to a word for 'knowledge'.The suggestion is obscure. Here are two interpretations which have been proposed:

1. Pieces of unknowing are false beliefs: e.g. a piece of unknowing of the number 11 might be the belief that 11 = 7 + 5. On this interpretation, however, the suggestion is obviously unhelpful. The difficulty about how it can be possible to judge that 11 = 7 + 5 would be, equally, a difficulty about how it can be possible to believe that 11 = 7 + 5; and on this interpretation, the suggestion involves simply assuming that there are such beliefs, without confronting the difficulty.

2. Pieces of unknowing are confused concepts: e.g. if we make the image more complex by supposing that a pigeon labelled 'pigeon' stands for one's knowledge of 12 and a dove labelled 'dove' stands for one's knowledge of 11, then a piece of unknowing might be represented by a pigeon labelled 'dove'. Trying to work out the sum of 7 and 5 is, in the image, trying to catch one's pigeon; if one caught the mislabelled pigeon, one might, so to speak, read off the result of one's calculation as being 11. This interpretation of the suggestion perhaps makes it more interesting, but it is still not satisfactory; for it is not the case, as the suggestion, on this interpretation, would imply, that one can make mistakes about numbers only by having confused concepts of the sort metaphorically described above.

199e7-200c7. The criticism of Theaetetus' suggestion is as follows. A person who makes a false judgement takes his judgement to be true. Hence to make a false judgement, in the manner suggested by Theaetetus, would involve taking a piece of unknowing to be a piece of knowledge, i.e. to be something other than what it is. But the possibility of taking anything to be something other than what it is is in doubt. For the argument of 187e-188c, which purports to exclude that possibility, has not yet been satisfactorily undermined.

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At 200 a 12, 'that expert in refutation' is an allusion to the logicchopping opponent envisaged at 197a1. Plato probably means to express some dissatisfaction with the argument ascribed here to this person. It would be disappointing if his intention were to indicate a belief that Theaetetus' suggestion, at 199e1-6, is, after all, satisfactory: unless he has in mind some interpretation of the suggestion other than either of those mentioned in the note on 199e1-6. The hint of dissatisfaction need not be taken to indicate such a belief: the object of the dissatisfaction could be, not specifically the use of the argument to refute Theaetetus' suggestion, but more generally the fact that the argument of 187e-188c has still not been properly undermined.

The immediate relevance of the allusion is perhaps as follows. At 196d2-197a7 the logic-chopper was envisaged as objecting to Socrates' proposal to talk about knowledge without knowing what knowledge is; and Socrates is about to concede that it was a mistake to try to give an account of false judgement, which evidently requires talking about knowledge, without knowing what knowledge is: see 200c-d.

Plato may also intend the reader to recall the logic-chopping arguments of 163c-164c and 164c-165e. Like the argument of 187e-188c, those arguments derived, from apparently innocent premisses, the seemingly contradictory consequence that someone both knows and does not know the same thing. In the case of the earlier arguments, the appearance of contradiction turned out to be spurious. An allusion to them at this point would appropriately express the conviction that the similar appearance of contradiction which has bedevilled Plato's attempts to make sense of false judgement is equally spurious.

200c-d False judgement: (x) conclusion.

Socrates here suggests that it was a mistake to embark on the discussion of false judgement before arriving at an answer to the dialogue's main question, viz. 'What is knowledge?'. This is an apt conclusion to the main part of the discussion of false judgement, discounting what can be taken as a digression, viz. the section 188c-189b and the opening of the section 189b-191a: see notes on 188c9-d6, 189b10-c7. Apart from those passages, the discussion has been concerned with the difficulty raised by the argument of 187e-188c. That difficulty depends on exploiting a certain conception of knowledge, and to solve it would require a clear understanding of the kind of knowledge which qualifies terms to figure in judgements.

Plato reconsiders the topics raised at 188c9-d6 and 189b10-c7, with greater success, in the Sophist: see note on 189b10-c7. But so far as I know, he nowhere comes closer to dealing satisfactorily with the main concern of the present discussion than he does here.

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200d-201c Refutation of the thesis that knowledge is true

judgement.

200d5-e6. Theaetetus here restates his suggestion that knowledge can be defined as true judgement. He offers two reasons:

1. True judgement is free of mistakes. For the argument implied, cf. 152c5-6 and note on 152b1-c7.

2. What results from true judgement is admirable and good. This is best understood in the light of Meno 96d5-97c11, where Socrates points out that an action based on true judgement will be the same as an action based on knowledge. The idea is, then, that actions resulting from true judgement will be admirable and good in the same way as actions resulting from knowledge. Such actions will be well suited to their circumstances; and, more impressively, they will be right actions, in view of the association between virtue, and hence right action, and knowledge: cf. note on 176b7-177a8.

201a4-c7. The argument against the thesis that knowledge is true judgement is as follows. Teaching, which results in knowledge, is distinct from persuading, which results in mere judgement, or, perhaps better, belief: see note on 187b4-7. A skilled advocate can persuade someone of whatever he likes, whether it is true or not. A conviction thus arrived at, even if it is true, cannot rank as a case of knowledge. Hence there can be true judgements, or beliefs, which do not amount to knowledge; and this refutes the thesis that knowledge is true judgement.

The distinction between teaching and persuading appears also at Timaeus 51e2-3, in the course of an argument which uses a distinction between true judgement and intelligent intuition (nous) in order to show that there is a difference between perceptible things, the objects of true judgement, and Forms, the objects of intelligent intuition. But it is obvious that the distinction between teaching and persuading is intelligible outside the context of the Theory of Forms. And the argument of the present passage clearly does not require the Theory of Forms in order to be understood.

Note, further, that it is implied, at 201b-8, that an eyewitness can know the truth about, say, a robbery. On the face of it, this contradicts the most characteristic expositions of the Theory of Forms, which indicate that the title 'knowledge' should be reserved for a relation between the mind and the Forms untainted by any reliance on perception.

Perhaps we should not make too much of this point. It may be that to concentrate excessively on the passages in which Plato disparages perception is to take an unfair view of his intentions in constructing the Theory of Forms. For it is arguable that one of his intentions in constructing that Theory was precisely to give an account of what we might call knowledge

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about the perceptible world, on the following lines. Such knowledge requires identification of the qualities which one perceives. This identification is explained in terms of the comparing of perceptions with memories of the appropriate Forms. Cf. note on 195b-196c.

The fact remains, however, that the official doctrine of the Theory of Forms is, evidently, that this sort of thing ought not, strictly, to be called 'knowledge'. It seems reasonable to take the implied departure from this official doctrine in the present passage, written after the standard expositions of the Theory of Forms, to be more significant than the similar suggestion at Meno 97a9-11, probably written before those expositions, that someone with the appropriate first-hand experience can have knowledge of the road to Larissa.

It may seem excessively restrictive to suggest that it is only eyewitnesses who can know the truth about a robbery: perhaps one ought to admit the possibility of knowledge by hearsay. But it is clear that this point does not affect the argument against the thesis that knowledge is true judgement. The argument requires only the production of a case of true judgement, or belief, which is clearly not a case of knowledge; and even if we admit the possibility of knowledge by hearsay, a case of the sort which Socrates describes in this passage would not count, on any reasonable view, as a case of such knowledge.

The argument of this passage prompts this thought: the reason why a true judgement, or belief, of the sort described here does not count as a case of knowledge is that it is arrived at, not because the facts are what they are, but because of the advocate's decision, which was independent of the facts. This suggests that the next step ought to be to elaborate the idea that what is required of a judgement, or belief, besides truth, if it is to count as a case of knowledge, is that it is arrived at because the facts are such as to make it true. Such an idea might explain the implied exclusion of knowledge by hearsay: the connection between the facts and a true judgement or belief formed on the basis of testimony might seem too remote for the case to conform to the above suggestion about what is required for knowledge. Unfortunately, though, this promising idea, though it is near the surface here, does not recur in what follows.

3. TRUE JUDGEMENT WITH AN ACCOUNT

(201c-210a)

201c-d Statement of the definition.

The argument of 200d-201c suggests that the correct position may be as follows: some true judgements, or, perhaps better, beliefs, count as cases of knowledge and some do not. Truth in a judgement or belief, then, is at most a necessary condition for knowledge; and it is natural that the

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next step should be to put forward a further necessary condition, in the hope that the two together will constitute a sufficient condition.

In this passage Theaetetus makes the following two suggestions:

(1) Possession, by the maker of the judgement or belief, of an account is the further necessary condition required for knowledge, as indicated above.

(2) There is no account of some things. This obviously implies, in the light of (1), that such things cannot be known.

(2) is not implied by (1). Hence its rejection, by the argument of 202d-206c, leaves the new definition of knowledge which (1) amounts to still in need of discussion: see 206c2-6.

Suggestion (1) is reminiscent of several earlier passages in which Plato associates knowledge of something with the ability to give an account of it. See, e.g., Symposium202a5-9, Phaedo76b5-6; in this connection Timaeus51b6-e6 should also be mentioned, though the date of the Timaeus is a matter of controversy.

There are two possible interpretations of this earlier association between knowledge and the ability to give an account of something; it seems likely that the association is best understood by combining the two.

(i) On one interpretation, the point is that knowledge is articulate. If one knows something, or, by the equivalence discussed in the note on 147b4-5, knows what something is, then one must be able to give an account of it, in the sense of a form of words, utterance of which constitutes saying what it is.

(ii) On the other interpretation, an account is an explanation, i.e. an answer to the question 'Why?'. Thus the point is that if one knows something, then one must be able to say why it is what it is.

We can find, in the description of dialectic in Books VI and VII of the Republic, a conception of knowledge of the sort which a combination of these two interpretations would lead us to expect. At 534b3-7, it is said to be a mark of the dialectician that he can give the account of the being of each thing. Part, at least, of what this conveys is that the dialectician can say what each thing is. But giving an account of something evidently involves not only saying what it is, but also displaying its relation to some first principle, in something like the way in which a mathematician displays the relation of a theorem to the axioms of his system: this emerges on the complaint, at 510c2-d3 and 533b6-c5, that mathematicians do not give an account of their starting-points. The dialectician is said to be able to display the relation of what he knows to a first principle, viz. the unhypothesized first principle of everything, mentioned, e.g., at 511b6-7. In view of 505a2 and 506d8-509c4, it seems reasonable to identify this first principle with the Form of Good. To display the relation of something to the Form of Good, considered as the first principle of everything, would be to explain why the thing is what it is in terms of its being good that it

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should be so: for Plato's preference for this sort of answer to the question 'Why?', see Phaedo 97b8-98b6. The dialectician's knowledge of a thing, then, seems to involve the ability (i) to say what that thing is and (ii) to explain, in terms of the notion of goodness, why that is so.The difference between true judgement and knowledge is discussed at Meno97d4-98a9. Socrates is there made to suggest that the difference lies in the instability of true judgement; but that true judgement can be turned into knowledge, the method being to bind it fast by reasoning as to the 'Why?' of it. This is associated, by way of 98a4-5, with the illustration of the Theory of Recollection at 82a8-86c7: the point of 85c9-d2, then, is presumably that if the slave is repeatedly taken through the same series of questions, he will come to see why the proposition which he has been led to enunciate is true. Thus, if we could understand the notion of an account, in the present passage of the Theaetetus, as the notion of an answer to the question 'Why?', then the suggestion made in this passage about the difference between true judgement and knowledge would correspond neatly with the suggestion made at Meno97d4-98a9.In view of the above points, it is surprising that the notion of an answer to the question 'Why?' makes no explicit appearance in the subsequent discussion of the new definition of knowledge. Of the three interpretations of 'account' which Socrates considers, the first, discussed at 206c-e, according to which an account is an expression of a thought in words, is neutral as to what sort of thought an account expresses; and the other two, discussed at 206e-208b and 208b-210a, are variations on the idea that an account is a form of words, utterance of which constitutes saying what something is. See, further, note on 210b1.None of the three interpretations of 'account' subsequently considered yields anything like a plausible view as to the necessary condition for knowledge which is missing in the case of the true judgement, or belief, of the jurymen, discussed at 201a4-c7. Nor, apparently, would the interpretation according to which an account is an answer to the question 'Why?', if it had been considered, have yielded a satisfactory view as to the missing necessary condition: see the end of the note on 201a4-c7. The relation between the new definition of knowledge and the argument of 200d-201c, which ostensibly prompts it, is in fact somewhat obscure.At 201c9, and throughout this part of the dialogue, 'account' represents the Greek noun logos. The English word adequately fits either or both of the notions which figure in the passages echoed by the new definition: see above. There are two points not captured by this translation which are relevant to the interpretation of this part of the dialogue:

a. One of the senses of the cognate verb legein is 'enumerate'. This is particularly important at 206e-208b.

b. The most common sense of the cognate verb is 'say': in its associated sense, the noun applies to the form of words which one utters

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when one says something. I have, however, avoided the translation 'statement', partly because it would obscure the echoes of earlier passages mentioned above, and partly because it would imply the ascription to Plato of a clarity about what it is to say something which, in this part of the dialogue, he seems to be working towards rather than already to possess.

201d-202d Socrates' dream.

201d4-5. This passage indicates that the theory of the dream is primarily concerned with the distinction between things which can and things which cannot be known. Its connection with the new definition of knowledge, which is brought in at 202b8-c5, is simply that the new definition is required in order to derive, from the thesis that there are things which have no accounts, the implication that there are things which cannot be known. The criticism of the theory is taken to leave the new definition of knowledge unaffected: see 206c2-6. Cf. note on 201c-d.201d8-202b7. The significance, if any, of the dream image is not clear. Cf. Charmides 173a7, Republic 443b7-c2, Cratylus 439c6-7, Philebus 20b3-9.The theory of Socrates' dream is, essentially, as follows. An account differs from a name in that it consists of a multiplicity of names woven together. An account of a thing must mention nothing which is other than that thing. Consequently, since an account consists of several names, there can be accounts only of complex things. It seems to be tacitly assumed that complex things are composed of non-complex things; cf. Russell's remark, 'I confess it seems obvious to me (as it did to Leibniz) that what is complex must be composed of simples' ('Logical Atomism', reprinted in Logic and Knowledge, edited by Robert C. Marsh, at p. 337). Hence, although it is not explicitly ruled out that there might be an account composed of names of complex parts of a thing, the theory concentrates implicitly on the notion of what might be called the fully analysed account of a thing, viz. an account composed of names of the thing's noncomplex parts, woven together just as the parts are woven together to compose the thing.From the new definition of knowledge it follows, given this view of accounts, that it is only complex things that can be known. At 202b5-7 it is implied that, similarly, it is only complex things that can be judged in a true judgement. There are two ways in which this implication might be taken:

1. The point might be that complex things are the only things which can be judged, where the judging in question is of the sort which can be assessed for truth (or falsehood). On this interpretation the passage need not rule out altogether the judging, in a sense, of simple things; but such

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judging would have to be of a sort which cannot be assessed for truth. Judging of this sort is ascribed by those uses of the verb in question which are elsewhere translated 'have in one's judgement': see note on 187e-188c.

Alternatively, it is possible that the use of the verb to mean 'have in one's judgement' is here ignored. The point might be that complex things are the only things which can be judged at all: 'in a true judgement' being added simply because true judgements are, for obvious reasons, the ones with which Plato is especially concerned at this point, rather than with some intention of restricting or qualifying the implied denial that noncomplex things are judgeable.

On either interpretation, the implication discussed above, together with the fact that one fundamental sense of the word translated 'account' is such that it serves naturally to designate what is uttered when one says something, suggests that the theory of Socrates' dream is an attempt to capture some such point as the following. The sort of thing which can be known, and the sort of thing which can be judged, where the verb 'judge' is used in such a way as to contrast with 'have in one's judgement', are the same as the sort of thing which can be said; and the sort of thing in question has a complexity which is mirrored by the complexity which a form of words must, normally, have, if uttering it is to constitute saying something. This approximates to a formulation of the point that the verbs 'know' (in one of its uses), 'judge', and 'say' have the same grammar, in that each takes a propositional construction; together with the idea that to a propositional construction there corresponds a non-linguistic entity with a complexity which is mirrored by the complexity of the construction.

We should, however, be cautious about ascribing to the author of the dream theory a high degree of clarity about this point, for at least two reasons.

(i) Clarity about the point would require a clear understanding of that use of 'know' in which it takes a propositional construction, i.e. the use in which its French equivalent is savoir. We should thus expect a proper appreciation of the point to lead to the marking off of this use from the use in which the French equivalent is connaître. But the dream theory disappoints this expectation. For although, on the above view of it, the theory ought to be concerned with the use of 'know' in which it takes a propositional construction, the only specific examples mentioned, in order to illustrate the sort of complex thing which, according to the theory, can be known, are persons ('we and everything else' at 201e2). And, obviously, knowing a person affords a very unpromising illustration of the use of 'know' in which it takes a propositional construction.

(ii) Clarity about the point would require, also, a clear understanding of the sort of complexity which a form of words must have in order to express a proposition. Now the dream theory, on the above view of it,

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shows awareness of the point that mentioning an individual thing does not constitute saying anything: cf. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, §49. But its author seems to regard the difference between an account and a name as lying fundamentally in the fact that an account consists of several names. Hence we can object as follows. If mentioning an individual thing does not constitute saying anything, mentioning several things, successively, does not constitute saying anything either. That performance might, perhaps, amount to mentioning a single complex thing; but saying something is not the same as mentioning a single complex thing.

At Sophist 261c6-262e2 Plato in effect distinguishes saying from mentioning, by the thesis that the verbal expression of a certain simple kind of statement is compounded out of one of each of two different kinds of constituent: roughly, a noun and a verb, or, more accurately, a constituent whose function is to indicate what the statement is about and a constituent whose function is to indicate what is being said about it. The dream theory, in contrast with this, makes no distinctions among the constituents which, according to it, constitute accounts, viz. names. Plato may intend to bring out this contrast, in the Sophist, by the fact that he there reemploys, to express the contrasting theory, the dream theory's terminology of 'weaving together'.

In order to distinguish saying from mentioning, it is not essential that one should, as in the Sophist, distinguish different kinds of constituent in the verbal expression of a proposition. This emerges from a consideration of Wittgenstein's Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. The accounts described in the dream theory resemble, in some ways, the elementary propositions of the Tractatus: for the comparison, cf. Philosophical Investigations, §46. Note, in particular, the following remarks from the Tractatus:

4. 22. An elementary proposition consists of names. It is a nexus, a concatenation of names.

3.221. Objects can only be named. Signs are their representatives. I can only speak about them: I cannot put them into words. . .

But although the elementary propositions of the Tractatus, like the accounts described in the dream theory, consist of names, which for present purposes we may regard as undifferentiated, it is nevertheless not possible to make, against the theory of the Tractatus, the accusation made above against the theory of the dream, viz. that it obscures the distinction between saying and mentioning. For the significance of an elementary proposition in the Tractatus is not, as it seems reasonable to suppose that the significance of an account in the dream theory is, exhausted by the

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significance of its names. An elementary proposition says some definite thing, partly because the names which it consists of stand for some definite objects, but also because the fact that the names are concatenated in the way they are says that the objects are concatenated in a certain definite way: see 2.01, 2.0272-2.032, 3.14-3.144. This involves an important use of the notion of concatenation. Now the notion of weaving together, in the dream theory, is, on the face of it, quite similar to the notion of concatenation in the Tractatus; but there is no sign of its being put to work in anything like the above way. In any case, it is plausible that for the purpose of clarifying a distinction between saying and mentioning which is to be applicable to the language which we actually speak, the line to follow is that of the Sophist rather than that of the Tractatus. It seems unlikely that Plato ever contemplated the possibility of drawing the distinction in the manner of the Tractatus, by exploiting the dream theory's notion of weaving together in the way in which the Tractatus exploits the notion of concatenation, without differentiating kinds of constituents of statements. If this is right, then the resemblances between the dream theory and the Tractatus, though superficially quite striking, are not, ultimately, very important.

So far I have spoken non-committally of 'the author of the dream theory'. Various identifications of this person have been proposed: the most frequent candidate is Antisthenes, on whom see below. I believe, however, that there is no need to speculate about an extraneous, i.e. nonPlatonic, origin for the theory. In discussing its authorship, we can conveniently divide it into two components.

(a) The theory is largely stated in an abstract and formal way. But Socrates also says two specific things about the nature of the complex and non-complex things with which it deals: viz. that persons are complexes of the appropriate kind (201e2), and that the non-complex things which the theory considers are perceivable (202b6). The word here translated 'perceivable' is that which, at, e.g., 156b1, is translated 'perceived'. These two remarks make it extremely tempting to associate this part of the theory with the suggestion made at 157b8-c2, on one of the interpretations mentioned in the note on that passage, viz. that what we think of as, e.g., a man is really nothing but a collection of the 'perceived things' introduced at 156a3-b2, i.e. perceived qualities. Some such theory is implied also at 209c4-9. It is not questioned in this dialogue; and there is no reason to suppose that Plato is not putting it forward as something which he himself believes worthy of serious consideration.

(b) The other component in the dream theory is the abstract and formal theory which is left when one subtracts the points just mentioned. The essence of this abstract theory is a view about informative discourse, i.e. what we think of as the making of statements, to the following effect: the minimal unit, so to speak, in such discourse, i.e. what we think of as the

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making of a single statement, is the putting into words of some complex thing, by successively naming its non-complex parts. Now the view that the unit of informative discourse is the putting into words of a thing lies at the root of some puzzles which troubled Plato in earlier dialogues. His earlier difficulty with seeing his way through these puzzles can reasonably be taken to indicate that such a view is one which he himself had found, at least, a natural view to accept, whether from someone else or not. If this is right, it need not greatly matter whether the ultimate origin of the view is extraneous or not.The puzzles are as follows:

I. It is impossible for two people to contradict each other. For suppose I put something into words and you try to contradict me. Clearly you must utter a different form of words from mine. Now in uttering my form of words, I was putting a certain thing into words. Hence in uttering your different form of words, either you put a different thing into words, in which case you do not contradict me but merely change the subject; or you fail to put anything into words, which would seem to imply, according to the view of saying which we are considering, that you have not said anything at all. Either way, you have not contradicted me. For this argument, see Euthydemus 285d7-286b6.

II. It is impossible to assert a falsehood. For that would be to contradict someone who asserted the truth, which is, according to (i) above, impossible. The argument of (i) could also be adapted so as to rule out the possibility of false assertions more directly. For elements of such an argument, see Euthydemus 283e7-284c6; it may be alluded to also at Cratylus 429d4-6.

These puzzles arise because of a lack of clarity about how a piece of informative discourse manages to be about something. The puzzles would be correctly undermined by the point that it is only part of the form of words which one utters, in making a statement about something, that has the function of indicating what the statement is about. This leaves room for the rest of the statement to be wrong, without jeopardizing the fulfilment of that function; hence the statement can be false, and contradict a true one, without thereby ceasing to be about the thing in question. In contrast, the view that the unit of informative discourse is the putting of a thing into words ascribes the function of indicating what the performance is about, which comes out on this view as the function of indicating which thing is put into words by the performance, to the whole of the form of words which one utters in the performance. Hence any wrongness in the form of words threatens the performance's claim to be about the appropriate thing; and the best we can do, when we try to describe a case of contradicting somebody, is to describe a case of changing the subject. The essential move in thus undermining the puzzles, viz. the ascription of the subject-indicating function to part, only, of the form of words uttered in

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making a statement, is made at Sophist 261c6-262e2: see above.

In expounding the theory of the dream, Plato does not mention these puzzles: why not? I suspect the answer is that, as a result of the discussion in the Cratylus, he believes that the conception of the unit of informative discourse as the putting of a thing into words need not lead to these puzzles after all.

The Cratylus contains, e.g. at 431b5-c2, the Greek terminology which is used, in the Sophist, to distinguish the two kinds of constituents of statements. But on its own the terminology cannot be taken to show a grasp of the Sophist's point. A more striking approximation to the Sophist's point occurs when, in trying to make room for the possibility of false speaking, Plato suggests, at 430a6-431c3, that ascribing a name to someone should be regarded as parallel to assigning a picture to him, accompanied by approaching him with the words 'This is your picture'. This makes room for what Plato calls false naming, in something like the way in which the Sophist's distinction of functions makes room for false statements: it involves tacitly distinguishing the function of indicating what one is talking about, which is credited to the act of approaching a person with the words 'This is your name', from the function of indicating what one is saying about him, viz. that his name is, e.g., 'Cratylus', which is credited to the act of uttering the name after the preamble just mentioned. Nevertheless, it becomes clear that Plato has not yet mastered the Sophist's distinction when he goes on to suggest, at 431b2-c3, that falsehood in accounts can be allowed for in exactly the same way. For this shows that he means to allow for falsehood in accounts by thinking in terms of approaching, say, a person, with the words 'This is your account', followed by uttering a form of words which is not the account of the person in question. Thus the function of indicating what is being talked about is not credited to a constituent in the account. It is credited, rather, to the preamble, viz. approaching the person with the words 'This is your account'. The preamble is obviously not part of the account: hence it is presumably not thought of as part of the form of words whose utterance constitutes the saying that is achieved by the performance described. Evidently, then, Plato has not yet freed himself from the crude conception of saying as the putting of a thing into words.

This makes it unsurprising to find that, in the obscure passage 432d11-433a2, he seems to suggest a solution to the difficulty about false speaking which contains nothing that resembles the Sophist's distinction of functions, but goes as follows. A thing can be said, i.e. put into words, by an account which has some wrong names substituted for right ones, i.e., I take it, a false account, provided that there are not too many substitutions, so that the account still captures the 'general shape' of the thing in question. This makes room for a false account to be an account of the relevant thing, even though it is false; and hence allows Plato to avoid the

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puzzles discussed above without departing from the conception of saying as the putting of a thing into words. Note that a parallel way of making room for false judgements would involve the notion of substituting wrong terms for right ones in judgements: see note on 189b10-c7.

The puzzles discussed above, or at any rate some extremely similar puzzles, are ascribed by Aristotle to Antisthenes, at Metaphysics 1024b26-1025a1. Aristotle represents them as derived from a version of the crude conception of saying discussed above, which he ascribes to Antisthenes in the form of the thesis that each thing can be said only by its own account. Here 'be said' represents an occurrence of the verb (legein) cognate with the noun (logos + ̍) translated 'account'; and 'its own account' represents the same Greek phrase as that translated 'an account proper to itself' at Theaetetus202a7. The correspondence between this Antisthenic thesis and a fundamental conception of the dream theory, as interpreted above, is quite striking. However, as I suggested above, the occurrence of the dream theory's fundamental conception elsewhere in Plato's works indicates that there is no real need to think of it as a foreign importation. The conception of saying common to the dream theory and Aristotle's account of Antisthenes may have been quite widely held, without any one person having a particular responsibility for it. Against crediting the dream theory to Antisthenes, there is, moreover, the difficulty of reconciling its details with some other remarks made by Aristotle about Antisthenes, at Metaphysics1043b23-32.

It may be helpful to give a brief sketch of the history, in Plato's works, of the 'Antisthenic' thesis that a thing can be said, or put into words, only by its own account. We can distinguish three stages. In the first stage, on an interpretation according to which an account can be an account of a thing only if it correctly puts that thing into words, the thesis generates the puzzles discussed above: this stage is represented by the Euthydemus. In the second stage, it is conceded that an account can succeed in putting a thing into words even if it is not at all points a correct account of that thing, provided that it does not go wrong at too many points: this stage is represented by the Cratylus, and, perhaps, by the dream theory. The third stage is what I take to be a final echo of the thesis in the Sophist (see 263a5, 9-10, in context). The nearest approximation to the thesis which we can find in the Sophist might be put like this: a thing can be talked about only by an account, or, to use a translation which is no longer potentially misleading, a statement, which contains a constituent indicating that that thing is what it is about. But the Sophist uses some rather curious terminology which makes the above thesis come out as follows: a thing can be talked about only by a statement, or an account, of its own. This terminology makes the thesis a striking verbal echo of the 'Antisthenic' thesis which it has replaced.

Three less central points about the present passage:

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(i) The question arises whether, according to the dream theory, being is one of the elements whose names go to make up accounts. On its own, 201e4-202a2 would allow such an interpretation. On the other hand, the elements are perceivable, according to 202b6: there is no indication that this is not intended to apply to all the elements. And being is not perceivable: this is argued at 185c4-186a1. If being is not an element recognized by the dream theory, then presumably the verb 'be' does not occur in the accounts which the theory deals with. In a way, this would not be surprising, given the association of the theory with the view that, e.g., a person consists of a number of perceived qualities. For that indicates that an account of, say, a person would be a list of perceived qualities, i.e. something like this: 'snub-nosed, curly-haired, pale . . .'. But the theory is also, on the interpretation suggested above, an attempt to capture the complexity involved in saying something, i.e. in what we should call making a statement. And from this point of view, it would be extremely surprising if the theory could not countenance the occurrence of the verb 'be' in the forms of words with which it deals. The dream theory is thus, in effect, confronted with a choice between unpalatable alternatives: either being is, after all, perceivable, or the verb 'be' ought not to figure in a form of words whose utterance constitutes saying something. It seems likely that Plato intends the reader's suspicions to be aroused.

(ii) At 202a2-6 Socrates is implicitly retracting his remark, at 201e2-3, that 'each of them (the elements) itself, by itself, can only be named', and his implied claim, at 202a1-2, that an element 'itself, alone' can only be named. These initial formulations imply that what is named by the name, say 'n', of an element is n itself, by itself; or n itself, alone; or that thing, itself, alone; and that what is named by the names of a number of elements is each of them itself, by itself. The formulations are intended to express the claim that elements can be put into words only by means of their names, without added words. But the formulations defeat that intention, by themselves purporting to put into words what they claim can only be named, using expressions containing more than just the appropriate names. At 202a2-6 Socrates suggests that what these complex expressions in fact put into words is not what they were originally intended to put into words, viz. the elements, but, rather, various complex things, e.g. a complex consisting of n plus an item called 'itself' plus an item called 'alone'. (The OCT has inverted commas round the words translated 'itself', 'that', 'each', 'alone', and 'this', but that is evidently wrong: the point is not that these words are different from an element which they are applied to, which would be equally true of the name of the element.) This suggestion is extremely curious: it implies that, as ordinarily used, a word like 'itself' is, so to speak, self-defeating. Ordinarily the point of adding a word like 'itself' to a name, say 'n', is to bring out that it is n and nothing else that one is talking about; but according to Socrates'

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suggestion here, the addition could not achieve that purpose. It is tempting to suppose that the curiousness of the suggestion, is, again, intended to arouse the reader's suspicions.(iii) The question arises whether the items listed at 202a2-6 are intended to be elements countenanced by the dream theory. Supposing one could make sense of the idea that there is, e.g., an item, itself, named by 'itself', it would be difficult to believe that such an item was perceivable. This would indicate that these items are not meant to be elements countenanced by the dream theory. In the light of (i) above, the conclusion is perhaps also favoured by the association between 'be' and 'this' at 205c9. If these items are not among the dream theory's elements, then the words which are evidently construed as their names cannot appear in the dream theory's accounts. This would not be as surprising, perhaps, as the exclusion of the verb 'be', considered under (i) above; but it would be strange.Finally, four points about wording:

a. 'Primary' (201e1): literally, 'first'.

b. 'Elements' (201e1). The literal sense of the word is probably something like 'members of a series'. In this sense it was applied (like 'elements' in a use which is now obsolete) to letters of the alphabet: see 202e3-7, where Socrates assumes that the author of the dream theory had letters and syllables in mind. Plato is said to have been the first to use the word in the sense of 'ultimate constituents'.

c. 'The being of an account' (202b5). The phrase is equivalent to 'what an account is'.

d. 'Complexes' (202b7). The primary meaning of the Greek word (syllabē) is 'complex', but it is standardly applied to syllables: cf. 202e3-7 and (b) above.

202b8-c5. Here Socrates restates, in the context of the dream theory, the new definition of knowledge. Some commentators have raised unnecessary difficulties about the relation of this passage to 201d8-202b7. If we bear in mind that it is an object's possession of an account which, according to the dream theory, is required for it to be knowable, and a person's possession of an account which, according to the new definition of knowledge, is required for him to know something, we can see that there is no formal incompatibility between the dream theory and the thesis, implied by the present passage, that a person may fail to know, but have 'the true judgement of', an object of which there is an account. See notes on 201c-d, 201d4-5.

There is a question about what having 'the true judgement of something without an account' is meant to be. Perhaps we should think of the true judgement of something as being the true judgement as to what it is: cf. note on 147b4-5 for a similar equivalence involving knowledge. In that

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case the true judgement of, say, a person might be manifested by the ability to recognize him. Obviously one can have the ability to recognize a person without being able to produce the sort of account of him that is described in the dream theory.

202d6 'the definition itself': as opposed, presumably, to the dream theory, which Socrates is about to criticize. See notes on 201c-d, 201d4-5.

202d-206c Criticism of the dream theory.

202d8-e1. The point on which Socrates intends to attack the dream theory is its claim that complexes and elements are distinguishable in respect of knowability.

202e3-203a2. Socrates proposes to discuss the dream theory in terms of letters and syllables. On the face of it, his claim, at 202e3-4, that letters and syllables are models which the theory used could be taken to mean that they are something other than the elements and complexes with which the theory is concerned, but nevertheless something about which analogous things can be said. It seems, however, from 202e6-7 and the succeeding discussion, that Socrates means, rather, that letters and syllables are paradigmatic instances of the sort of elements and complexes with which the theory is concerned. This may appear strange, in view of my suggestion that the dream theory is an attempt to capture the complexity involved in propositional constructions. Note, though, that the only other specific instances which we are given of the appropriate kind of complexes are persons. The complexity of a person and the complexity of a syllable are perhaps equally unpromising as instances of the sort of complexity that is involved in what can be said. Cf. note on 201d8-202b7.

On 'elements and complexes of letters', at 202e6, see the remarks on the words translated 'elements' and 'complexes', at the end of the note on 201d8-202b7. On the strength of this line, I have sometimes, in subsequent passages, used 'letters' and 'syllables' for the words here translated 'elements' and 'complexes'.

203a2-b10. In this passage Socrates secures Theaetetus' agreement, evidently tentative to some extent, that syllables have an account and letters do not.

Even accepting the dream theory's conception of an account, it is possible to dispute the claim that letters do not have an account. In this passage at least, it is clear that the 'letters' being discussed are not written letters but phonemes; and phonetics affords a way of giving an account of a phoneme which might reasonably be held to conform to the dream theory's conception of an account. According to the dream theory, an ac-

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count of, say, a person lists the qualities of which he consists: see note on 201d8-202b7. Similarly it might be suggested that an account of a phoneme lists qualities of which, analogously, it might be thought to consist, on the following lines: 'bilabial, voiced . . .'.But this objection does not fundamentally damage the argument which Socrates is about to construct. The dream theory implicitly assumes that analysis of complexes must, ultimately, reach constituents which are not further analysable. That assumption is not refuted by disputing any particular identification of the unanalysable constituents of a given kind of complex, e.g. by disputing, as above, the thesis that the unanalysable constituents of syllables are letters. Socrates' argument against the dream theory does not depend essentially on the claim that the alleged elements in terms of which the argument is, largely, stated, viz. letters, are in fact elements as envisaged by the dream theory: the argument can easily be stated abstractly, without any particular instances of complexes and elements being cited.Theaetetus' reply at 203a9 need not, in spite of an appearance which the translation unavoidably gives, be taken to indicate that the account which he is offering for the syllable 'SO' is 'It is "S" and "O"' or '"SO" is "S" and "O"'. The word 'is' does not appear in the Greek. I think the account which Theaetetus is offering is simply '"S" and "O"': an account of a syllable is thought of as an enumeration of its constituent letters.Note that an acceptable account of a syllable could not be merely an enumeration of its constituent letters. At least two further conditions are required:

1. The order of the letters needs to be specified, since, e.g., the syllable 'OS' differs from the syllable 'SO'. This condition can perhaps be taken to be met, in the specimen account given here, by the order in which the letters are named. But the point is, at most, implicit, and it seems to be missed in the argument which follows.

2. It needs to be specified that the letters (phonemes) are concatenated, since, e.g., the syllable 'SO' differs from the occurrence of the same phonemes in the German phrase das Obst. There is nothing to suggest that this point is even implicit here: and it, too, is apparently missed in the argument which follows.

203c1-6. Socrates now embarks on an argument, extending to 205e8, against the dream theory's claim that complexes and elements can be distinguished in respect of knowability. In outline, the argument is as follows. Either a complex is identical with all its elements or it is not. If it is, then, if the complex is, as the dream theory claims, knowable, so are the elements. If it is not, then, if the elements are, as the dream theory claims, unknowable, so is the complex. Either way, the distinction between complexes and elements in point of knowability cannot be maintained.

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The present passage mentions the thesis which the argument is intended to refute, and introduces the dilemma on which the argument is founded.203c7-e1. In this passage Socrates considers the consequences of taking the first horn of the dilemma, viz. that a complex is identical with all its elements. According to this passage:

1. The first horn implies that if the complex is knowable, then all its elements, or, if there are two, both its elements, are knowable.

2. If all the elements, or both the elements, are knowable, then, contrary to the dream theory, each element is knowable.

]Each of (1) and (2) has some plausibility. The plausibility of (1) can be accounted for by viewing it as an application of the following principle: if a subject of predication x is identical with a subject of predication y, then whatever is true of x is true of y, and vice versa. This is a version of the principle nowadays known as Leibniz's Law: cf. note on 158e6-159a9. The plausibility of (2) can be accounted for by viewing it as an application of the following principle: if something is true of all the fs, or both fs, then it is true of each f.

However, by choosing suitable alternative predicates and exploiting the two principles just cited, we can construct arguments, parallel to that of the present passage, leading to conclusions which are obviously absurd. For instance: if a complex is identical with all its elements, or both its elements, then, if a particular complex consists of two unanalysable elements, then both its elements consist of two unanalysable elements. Consequently each of the, ex hypothesi, unanalysable elements consists of two unanalysable elements; which is absurd.

This parallel argument constitutes a reductio ad absurdum of the thesis that a complex is identical with all its elements, construed as Socrates construes it here. We could rescue that thesis by giving 'all its elements' a special interpretation, such that the phrase is not governed by the principle cited above as accounting for the plausibility of (2): taking the thesis, perhaps, as claiming that a complex is identical with all its elements taken together. But with such an interpretation of the first horn of the dilemma, the argument of this passage would obviously be invalid.

Note that the above reductio ad absurdum of the thesis that a complex is identical with all its elements, construed as Socrates construes it here, does not depend on the fact that the complexes with which the argument is especially concerned, viz. syllables, are arrangements of their elements in a special order. The above reductio would tell equally against the thesis that, e.g., a set of chessmen is identical with all the chessmen in it.

Complexes whose identity depends partly on the arrangement of their elements, like syllables, present further, special difficulties for the thesis that a complex is identical with all its elements: e.g. that, on the face of it, the thesis would imply that, since their elements are the same, the syllable

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'SO' is identical with the syllable 'OS'. Cf. note on 203a2-b10; see also Aristotle, Metaphysics 1041b11-33.203e2-205c3. In this passage Socrates argues that if one takes the second horn of the dilemma, viz. that a complex is not identical with all its elements, one is committed to the thesis that a syllable has no parts. In outline, the argument is as follows. At 204a7-8, Socrates asserts

1. Anything which has parts, i.e. is a whole, is identical with all the parts. At 205b8-13 it is agreed that

2. If a syllable has parts, the parts are the letters. From (1) and (2), it follows that

3. If a syllable has parts, then it is identical with its letters. But the consequent of (3) states, for the case of syllables and letters, the first horn of the dilemma. Hence in order to take the second horn we must deny the antecedent of (3), i.e. assert

4. A syllable has no parts.

The logic of the argument outlined above is impeccable. Its defect is that (1), with 'all the parts' construed as it must be if the argument is to work, is false. This can be shown by an adaptation of an argument set out in the note on 203c7-e1, thus. Consider a whole which consists of, say, two unanalysable parts. If a whole is identical with its parts, then both these unanalysable parts consist of two unanalysable parts; hence each of them does, which is absurd.

Note that this reductio ad absurdum of (1) applies to wholes of any kind, not only to those which, like syllables, are arrangements of their parts in a special order. See note on 203c7-e1.

Assent to (1) indicates an unsatisfactory conception of the relation between a whole and its parts. Now at Parmenides 157c4-e2 Plato sets out an argument, exploiting the same principles as the above reductio ad absurdum, in order to show that what a part is a part of, i.e. a whole, is not an entity designated by the standard use of the expression 'all the parts'; this contradicts (1). He concludes that what a part is a part of is 'a one consisting of many', 'some one kind of thing and some one thing which we call a whole, a complete thing which has come into being out of all'. These expressions correspond closely with some terminology in our passage of the Theaetetus, e.g. at 203e3-5, 204a1-2, 204a8-9: cf. also, from an earlier passage, 203c5-6. It is tempting to suppose that this verbal correspondence is not accidental. If we take the Parmenides to be earlier than the Theaetetus, then we might conceivably take our passage of the Theaetetus as a correction of the Parmenides passage. But that would be an unattractive view, partly because the Theaetetus is wrong where the Parmenides is right, and partly because it is plausible that Theaetetus' resistance to (1), beginning at 204a8-10, is an indication that

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Plato is not content with (1). On this view about the relative dates, then, a more attractive inference from the verbal correspondence is that in our passage Plato deliberately, and pointedly, uses against the dream theory a premiss which he knows to be false. If, on the other hand, we take the Parmenides to be later than the Theaetetus, then we can easily understand the Parmenides passage as a correction of our passage of the Theaetetus: the result, perhaps, of further reflection, prompted by the discontent with (1) at which Plato hints. Cf. notes on 142a-143c, 176b7-177a8, 183e7-184a1.If it is correct that Plato is, at least, not content with (1), then it may seem that there is some unfairness in his allowing it to be used in the refutation of the dream theory. But perhaps that is not so. It seems reasonable to say that the dream theory, like the argument against it, envisages no possibility other than, on the one hand, being simple, and hence having no parts, and, on the other hand, being identical with a number of parts. In that case any discontent with (1), whose effect is to exclude possibilities other than those just mentioned, is a discontent with the dream theory itself; and there is no unfairness in using, against the dream theory, its own defective conception of the complexity involved in being a whole. Theaetetus' resistance to (1) requires that the fundamentally simple argument so far discussed be supplemented with a further argument, set out at 204a11-205a10, to induce him to accept (1). The supplementary argument goes as follows. It is agreed, at 204b10-d11, that

5. The sum of a plurality is identical with all its members. It is further agreed, at 204e1-2, that

6. The members of a plurality are parts. At 204e3, Socrates infers, obscurely (see below), that

7. Whatever has parts consists of parts. From (5) and (6) there follows a proposition asserted at 204e5-6, viz.

8. The sum is identical with all the parts. Now Theaetetus has claimed, at 204a11-b3, 204b7-9, that

9. The sum is not identical with the whole. From (8) and (9) there follows, obviously,

10. The whole is not identical with all the parts. At 204e8-9, Socrates evidently assumes that to be identical with all the parts and to consist of them are one and the same: for what he concludes from (8) and (9) is not (10), but

11. The whole does not consist of parts. (7) and (11) entail a proposition implied by Socrates' question at 204e11-12, viz.

12. The whole is not what has the parts. Socrates evidently regards the derivation of (12) as a reductio ad absurdum of (9). His next step, at 205a1-7, is to produce a separate argument

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against (9), as follows. If there is something missing from it, then what one is dealing with is neither a whole nor a sum; so if there is nothing missing from it, then what one is dealing with is both a whole and a sum. Hence, according to the argument, a whole and a sum are the same thing. At this point Theaetetus abandons (9). And the negation of (9), together with (8), entails (1): 205a8-10.This supplementary argument requires some comments:

I. As noted above, the move, at 204e3, to (7) is obscure. Perhaps the idea is as follows. The agreement, in (6), that the members of pluralities are parts indicates that it is reasonable to regard the pluralities specifically considered at 204d4-11 as typical instances of things which have parts. (5) is taken to amount to the thesis that such a plurality is identical with all its members, and hence, by (6), with all its parts. Generalizing, in the light of the assumption that the instances are typical, we obtain

(7)ʹ Whatever has parts is identical with its parts. And, in the light of the assumption that to be identical with a number of parts and to consist of them are one and the same, (7)ʹ is equivalent to (7). Note that this conjectural route to (7) could not be set out explicitly without rendering a great deal of the supplementary argument superfluous: for (7)ʹ is tantamount to (1), the supplementary argument's conclusion.

II. The assumption that to consist of a number of parts is to be identical with them, which figures both in the above conjectural route to (7) and, apparently, in the move from (8) and (9) to (11), reflects the mistaken view about the relation between a whole and its parts which is attacked at Parmenides 157c4-e2: see above.

III. The separate argument against (9), stated at 205a1-7, is easily shown to be fallacious by the citing of a counter-instance: one can have all the parts of a car, i.e. the sum of the plurality in question, without thereby having a whole car. The argument commits a version of the fallacy of denying the antecedent. From a statement of the form 'If not-P, then notQ', one cannot validly infer the corresponding statement of the form 'If P, then Q'.

Finally, some points of detail:

I. 'A sum' (204a11 and passim): literally, 'an all'.

II. 204b10-c11. This passage is easiest for us to follow if we take it that Socrates has in mind, e.g., a squad of six men. But it is possible that he is talking about the number 6. In that case the passage can be understood on the hypothesis that numbers are thought of as consisting of abstract countable units. (This hypothesis goes well with the description of abstract calculation as 'counting', at 198c1-2.)

III. 'The number in an acre', 'the number in a mile', 'the number in an army' (204d4-11). These expressions are obviously tantamount to 'the number of (say) square feet in an acre', 'the number of (say) feet in a mile',

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'the number of men in an army'; and, equally, to 'all the (say) square feet in an acre', etc.

CI. 'The whole, and the sum' (205a8-9): here 'and' could evidently be replaced by 'i.e.'.

205c4-d6. At 203e2-205c3, Socrates has argued that the second horn of the dilemma implies that a complex has no parts. It was the elements' lack of parts which, according to the dream theory, implied that they had no accounts and were unknowable. It has now emerged that, according to the second horn of the dilemma, complexes are in exactly the same situation. Socrates does not actually draw the obvious conclusion until the recapitulation of the whole argument at 205d7-e8.The terminology which is used, at 205c1-2 and in this passage, to describe the simplicity which, according to the second horn of the dilemma, complexes share with elements is reminiscent of terminology used elsewhere of the Forms. Some passages for comparison:

1. 'Not divisible into parts' (205c2, 205d2): cf. Timaeus 35a1, and the similar idea conveyed by 'indissoluble' at Phaedo 80b2.

2. 'Incomposite' (205c7): cf. Phaedo 78c6-d9.

3. 'Single in form' (205d1): cf. Phaedo 78d5, 80b2, Symposium 211b1, 211e4. (This last correspondence may be merely verbal: it is arguable that in the passages just cited the word has a different sense from that which it has in our passage of the Theaetetus.)

Some, at least, of these echoes may be deliberate on Plato's part. It is in fact possible to construct a theory not unlike that of the dream, according to which the names which make up accounts of, say, persons are names of Forms. Consider the model of letters and syllables. If one spells out a written word, saying, e.g., '"C", "A", "T"', it is plausible to suppose that one's utterance consists of names, not of the individual letter-tokens on the page before one, but of the appropriate letter-types. By analogy, if one perceives a person and, as it were, spells out the qualities of which he consists, saying, e.g., 'snub-nosed, curly-haired, pale . . .', it might be plausible to suppose that one's utterance consists of names, not of the individual quality-instances before one, but of entities related to the quality-instances as letter-types are to letter-tokens, and hence (in the context of the Theory of Forms) of Forms. On these fines, it is possible to identify the noncomplex elements of a theory which is at least similar to that of the dream with the Forms.This prompts the conjecture that the reader is intended to note the incompatibility of the following three theses:

1. The thesis that Forms are incomposite, etc.: see the passages cited above.

2. The thesis that it is possible to give an account of Forms: see, e.g., Republic 534b3-7.

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III. The thesis that the dream theory's conception of an account of something is correct.

Note that a similar clash between (i) and the conceptions which figure in the exposition of the dream theory results from Socrates' suggestion, at 202a2-6, that certain complex expressions can put into words only complex things: cf. also 205c7-9. For Plato had, earlier, combined adherence to (i) with speaking of Forms by means of phrases like 'beautiful itself' (e.g. Republic 507b5) and 'the being of each thing' (e.g. Republic 534b3-4).

In later dialogues Plato seems no longer to want to insist on nonmultiplicity for the Forms or Kinds: see, e.g., Philebus 16c5-17a5. But it is unlikely that this later development should be seen as a response to the above difficulties. The above difficulties depend on crude conceptions of what it is to give an account of something, and of the complexity involved, e.g., in the notion of a thing's possessing being, which seem to have been superseded by the time the later development appears: see the concluding note in this section. The later development should be seen, rather, as a response to the difficulties, discussed especially in the Parmenides, about the relation between a Form, considered as absolutely non-complex, and its multiple instances.

205d7-e8. This passage restates and completes the argument on which Socrates has been engaged since 203c1. For a summary of the argument, see note on 203c1-6.

It was argued, at 203c7-e1, that the first horn implies that if complexes are knowable, then elements are knowable too. In the recapitulation in this passage, Socrates adds, at 205d9, 'and expressible in accounts'. The definition of knowledge under consideration warrants the addition, since it implies that anything which is knowable is expressible in an account. But of course no argument has been offered to show that elements are expressible in accounts of the sort countenanced by the dream theory. Socrates' addition thus comes close to making the following point. If the first horn is the correct one (cf. 206a1-c2), and if the definition of knowledge in terms of accounts is to be maintained, then the dream theory's conception of accounts must be rejected.

206a1-c2. Socrates here reinforces the argument of 203c1-205e8 with what he represents as an appeal to common experience, in favour of the conclusion that letters and musical notes are knowable; and indeed that the knowledge of these elements is in some sense more fundamental than the knowledge of complexes composed of them.

There is, arguably, a logical point here, as well as an empirical point, which can be brought out, in terms of the examples of letters and syllables, as follows. It is plausible that knowledge of a letter or syllable should be

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thought of as knowledge of what it is: see note on 147b4-5. Now this might suggest that one shows knowledge of a syllable by one's ability to recognize it: which could prompt an objection to the claim that knowledge of letters is more fundamental, on the score that it is possible to teach, e.g., young children to recognize syllables or words as wholes, i.e. without being able to recognize the letters of which they are composed. This is sometimes called 'teaching children to read'. However, it is natural to object that what such children do is not really reading. One's recognition of a syllable can count as reading it only if one has at least the ability to work out what syllable it is on the basis of one's recognition of its constituent letters and one's knowledge of the orthographic principles according to which they are combined. (This is not to say, implausibly, that reading always actually involves such working out.) If we take it that what Plato means by 'knowledge of syllables' is, not merely the ability to recognize syllables, but knowledge of them of a sort requiring the ability to read them, with reading understood on the above lines, then we equip Plato with a convincing argument for the claim that knowledge of letters is logically prior to knowledge of syllables.

This ties in neatly with the thesis that the dream theory is an attempt to capture the complexity of propositional constructions. For there is a suggestive analogy, which Plato may have in mind here, between, on the one hand, understanding a grammatical sentence, on the basis of knowing the meanings of its constituent expressions and the syntactic principles on which they are combined; and, on the other hand, reading a syllable, on the basis of recognizing its constituent letters and knowing the orthographic principles on which they are combined. Cf. Sophist 261d1-2, in context.

The above argument in favour of the claim that knowledge of elements is more fundamental than knowledge of complexes applies quite straightforwardly, as above, to the case of written letters and syllables. There is also a plausible application to the case of musical notes, in the light of a natural conception of knowledge of a chord as involving the ability to, so to speak, spell it out into its constituent notes. But the application is not so plausible in the case of spoken letters and syllables, since the required conception of knowledge of a spoken syllable is artificial, in a way in which the parallel conceptions of knowledge of a written syllable, or knowledge of a chord, are not. We learn to speak, and to understand spoken language, without learning phonetics: we do not need the ability to, so to speak, phonetically read the words we hear.

With a view to an appreciation of the place occupied by the dream theory, and the discussion of it here, in the evolution of Plato's thought, it may help to bring together some subsequent developments which seem likely to have been prompted, at least in part, by this section of the

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dialogue. This is not to suggest that Plato had these subsequent developments in mind, even in a rudimentary form, when writing the Theaetetus. This section of the dialogue contains few theses which can be unhesitatingly ascribed to Plato: to reconstruct his intentions we have to resort to, e.g., hints of discomfort. It seems sensible not to suppose that he has a set of detailed morals which he wishes us to derive from these passages. But the following points suggest morals which he may have himself derived, at least partly, from reflecting on them.

(1) The conception of the whole-part relation which is involved in the refutation of the dream theory at 203c1-205e8, and, arguably, in the dream theory itself, is suspect, and Plato hints that he is aware of this: see note on 203e2-205c3. It was suggested in that note that the Parmenides can be taken to show a new clarity on the subject. Apart from this improved conception of the whole-part relation in general, moreover, Plato shows, e.g. in the Sophist, more insight into two special kinds of whole which are important in the Theaetetus: viz. syllables (see (2) below) and sentences (see (3) below).

(2) At 206a1-c2, it is argued that, e.g., letters are knowable. This cannot be reconciled with both (i) the idea that knowing something requires the ability to give an account of it and (ii) the dream theory's conception of accounts: cf. note on 205d7-e8. We might expect this to prompt Plato to look for a new conception of accounts according to which it is possible to give an account of, e.g., letters. Now in later dialogues we find a position on the following lines. Knowledge of letters involves not only the ability to recognize them on their own, but also knowledge of how they combine to constitute syllables. The knowledge of how letters combine is connected with the ability to classify them into different types, by way of such principles as that a syllable must contain at least one vowel. This fits in with Plato's general interest, in later dialogues, in the Method of Division, which affords a way of exhibiting the relations between the different types to be found in a given unified subject matter: in the present case, letters. Knowledge of letters, then, involves knowledge of a body of theory about how letters of different types can combine. To state such a theory might reasonably be called 'giving an account of letters'. Note that the Theaetetus contains, at 204a1-3, the point that not just any batch of letters will combine to constitute a syllable; but nothing is made of it. For the later position sketched above, see, e.g., Sophist 252e9-253a12, Philebus 17a8-18d2: the Philebus goes to the extreme length of denying that one can know any letter until one knows all letters.

(3) An analogue to the point that a syllable consists of letters of different types, combined according to rules, is the point that a sentence consists of constituent expressions of different types, combined according to rules: see note on 206a1-c2. At Sophist 261c6-262e2, this second point is central in an account of saying which is an advance on the crude

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conception involved in the dream theory, and which was perhaps partly prompted by reflection on the inadequacies of the dream theory: see note on 201d8-202b7.

(4) One of the inadequacies of the dream theory is the way in which it deals, or, perhaps, fails to deal, with the verb 'be': see note on 201d8-202b7. This topic is more subtly handled in the Parmenides and the Sophist. Note, in particular, the argument of Parmenides 137c4-142a8, which shows, in effect, that the notion of a thing from which being can be, as it were, stripped off is incoherent. This can be taken to show that the notion of a thing which possesses being is not, as is implied at 201e4-202a2, the notion of a complex consisting of that thing plus a further item, viz. being.

(5) Plato evidently uses the ability to spell out words as a model for the ability to, so to speak, spell out the collection of qualities with which one is confronted when one perceives, say, a person. See note on 201d8-202b7. Such a use of the model is suggested, also, by the relation between the arguments of 163a-c and 184b-187a. Cf., further, Republic 402a7-c9 for the analogy between recognizing letters and recognizing qualities, though here not perceived qualities. Now the identification of qualities is a concern of the Theory of Forms: see note on 195b-196c. Hence knowledge of letters would be of interest to Plato, not just in its own right, but also as a model for knowledge of Forms: cf. note on 205c4-d6. In later dialogues, now, Plato continues to use knowledge of letters as a model for knowledge of Forms or Kinds. Like the subject matter of the man who knows letters, the subject matter of the dialectician, viz. Forms or Kinds, can be exhibited in a systematic body of theory. And it is an essential part of his knowledge that he knows which Kinds can and which cannot combine: see, e.g., Sophist 253b8-e3. This later view may be partly concerned, like the earlier Theory of Forms, with the identification of qualities; but Plato's main interest, in the later theory, is, rather, in a set of pervasive, 'vowellike' Kinds, among which being is central: see Sophist 254b7-d2. This means that the continued use, in the later theory, of knowledge of letters as a model for knowledge of Forms or Kinds ties in with at least two of the points already made. First, it ties in with Plato's clearer view of the peculiar sort of complexity involved in the notion of a thing's possession of being: (4) above. Second, since the interest in the 'vowel-like' Kinds is, at least in part, an interest in the nature of significant discourse, the continued use of the model of knowledge of letters ties in with Plato's clearer view of the nature of those forms of words whose utterance constitutes saying something: (3) above.

206c-e 'Account': (i) verbal expression of thought.

206c2-6. The refutation of the dream theory leaves the new definition of knowledge still needing to be discussed: see notes on 201c-d, 201d4-5.

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206d1-6. On the first interpretation, giving an account is giving verbal expression to what one thinks, or, more simply, saying what one thinks: 'giving an account of something' at 206d6 represents an occurrence of the verb (legein) commonly translated 'say'. On the sense of the verb and its cognate noun, see note on 201c-d.

The words translated 'expressions' and 'names', at 206d2, are those which are used, at Sophist 261c6-262e2, in order to mark the distinction, within a form of words whose utterance constitutes saying something, between a constituent with the function of indicating what is being spoken about (an onoma or name), and a constituent with the function of indicating what is being said about it (a rhēma or, in the most suitable translation for the Sophist, verb: here, 'expression'). On its own the terminology cannot be taken to show a grasp of the Sophist's point: the word 'rhēma' has a range of possible meanings other than 'verb'. The terminology occurs, evidently not making the Sophist's point, at Cratylus 431b5-c2: see note on 201d8-202b7. In the absence of any other indication, in the Theaetetus, of a grasp of the Sophist's point, I have preferred to suppose that the word 'rhēma' does not here mean 'verb', and chosen a non-committal translation. The word 'rhēma' is cognate with a family of verb-forms which are treated as forms of legein: in the light of the use of legein to mean 'put into words', this suggests that, in the context of a theory like that of the dream, a rhēma might perhaps be a part of an account which puts into words a complex part of a thing.

206d7-e3. Socrates' objection is that anyone who can speak can express his judgements in words. Hence the ability to give an account, in this sense, cannot be what distinguishes mere true judgement from knowledge.

The words 'more or less quickly', at 206d7-8, indicate that one may have to search for the words with which to express a thought. It follows that there is no warrant, in this passage, for ascribing to Plato the view that anyone who knows a language actually thinks in words. It might be supposed that such a view can be ascribed to him on the strength of 189e4-190a7; but it seems better to interpret his use of the concept of assertion, in the description of thinking which he gives in that passage, as metaphorical or analogical.

Socrates evidently assumes that any thought can be expressed in words. Some people may wish to maintain, against this, the possibility of inexpressible thoughts. But it is clear that this would not fundamentally weaken the case against the first interpretation of 'account'. The distinction between knowledge and mere true judgements cannot be made by distinguishing expressible from inexpressible thoughts; for it is possible to make true judgements, without possessing knowledge, in cases where one can express the judgements in words.

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206e-208b 'Account': (ii) enumeration of elements.

206e4-207d2. The second interpretation of 'account' is a version of the idea that to give an account of something is to say, in some favoured way, what it is. The favoured way, according to this interpretation, is to go through the thing element by element.

The ability to go through a thing element by element is contrasted with the ability to go through it in terms of some larger constituents, e.g., in the case of a word, syllables; according to this passage, the latter ability would be characteristic of mere true judgement not amounting to knowledge. This feature of the passage makes it a neat response to the failure of the first interpretation of 'account'. The conclusion of 206c-e is that knowledge cannot be distinguished from true judgement by the suggestion that knowledge can be articulated, whereas true judgement cannot: the suggestion of the present passage is that knowledge involves an ability to articulate, as it were, more finely.

Note how far Plato is from showing insight into the notion of knowledge, in general, that something is the case. His concern in this passage is still, evidently, with what he thinks of, interchangeably, as knowledge of a thing or knowledge of what a thing is: see note on 147b4-5. The suggestion that mere true judgement is marked by the ability to articulate less finely would have no obvious attractiveness if the enterprise were to distinguish mere true judgement, in general, that something is the case from knowledge that that same thing is the case.

The specific instance of knowledge considered in this passage is more easily understood as being knowledge of what a wagon, in general, is, or, equivalently, of what wagons are, rather than knowledge of what some particular wagon is. Contrast the third interpretation of 'account', discussed at 208b-210a: there it is clear that what is under consideration is knowledge of some particular thing, e.g. the sun, or Theaetetus. The difference may not have seemed significant to Plato: it seems plausible that he would have accepted, as an equally good application of the present suggestion, the thesis that knowing, say, Theaetetus requires the ability to enumerate his simple constituents.

Particularly if the above suggestion is correct, the view of what it is to give an account of something which is considered in this passage seems, at least, closely similar to that of the dream theory. Indeed, Plato may intend to bring this out by the reference back at 207b6, which is most naturally taken to allude to the dream theory. And even if the suggestion of this passage differs in detail from that of the dream theory, it shares with the dream theory the following feature: if the definition of knowledge under consideration is correct, then it follows that only what is complex can be known. But the view that only what is complex can be known has already been attacked, at 206a1-c2. Hence the question arises why the second interpretation of 'account' should be thought worth discussing at this point.

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Here are two possible answers:

1. Conceivably, Plato is beginning to envisage the possibility of defining knowledge in a piecemeal way, contrary to an assumption made at 146c-147c. His hope may be that a definition which does not fit knowledge of what is not complex will nevertheless prove adequate for knowledge of what is complex.

2. It is possible to generalize the point which Plato is about to make against the present suggestion, in such a way as to raise a prima facie difficulty for the third definition of knowledge, on any natural interpretation of 'account': see note on 207d3-208b12. The reason for discussing the present suggestion may be that it seems to Plato to enable him to make the point especially neatly.

207d3-208b12. The criticism of the second interpretation of 'account' is as follows. When one is learning to spell, one may get a syllable right in some places but wrong in others, which indicates that one does not know the syllable. Now it is possible to produce what is, according to this interpretation, the account of a name, i.e. a correct enumeration of its letters, when one is in the condition just described, i.e. when one does not know the syllables of the name and hence does not know the name. Hence it is possible to have a true judgement, or belief, concerning the name, together with the ability to produce the correct account of it, without knowing it: which refutes the definition of knowledge, on the present interpretation.

It is open to dispute how, exactly, the mistake about the first syllable of 'Theodorus', described at 207e7-208a3, is intended to be an indication that the person in question does not know the first syllable of 'Theaetetus'. The passage might seem to permit the view that Plato is working with an excessively strict conception of knowledge according to which knowing a syllable excludes ever mis-spelling it, even by a slip of tongue or pen. But I suspect it would be wrong to ascribe so strict a conception to Plato. He makes it clear that he is concerned with someone who is still learning how to spell; and he implies, e.g. at 207e7, that we know that the person is still learning in advance of his mistake about the spelling of 'Theodorus'. This suggests that the mis-spelling of 'Theodorus' is not taken to be, on its own, sufficient evidence for his not knowing the first syllable of 'Theaetetus'; on its own, such a mis-spelling could be an isolated slip on the part of someone who does know the syllable. Rather, the evidence for the person's not knowing the first syllable of 'Theaetetus' is his mis-spelling of 'Theodorus', together with the other evidence which goes to show that he is still learning his letters, i.e. presumably a sufficiency of other mistakes of the same kind.

This still leaves two ways in which the person's mis-spelling of 'Theodorus' may be intended to tell in favour of the conclusion that he does not know the first syllable of 'Theaetetus':

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1. The idea may be that it is an indication that his getting 'Theaetetus' right was a mere fluke. He might just as well have written 'Teaetetus', and is quite likely to do so on other occasions.

2. Alternatively, the idea may be that, though his getting 'Theaetetus' right was not a mere fluke, and there is no risk of his getting it wrong on other occasions, it was nevertheless not a manifestation of knowledge, since it was the result of learning merely to produce the right shapes on paper, without understanding how the letters combine to form the name. His inability to write the same syllables correctly in other words is an indication, on this view, that his getting them right in this name is not a manifestation of ability to spell them; given the conception of knowledge of a syllable discussed in the note on 206a1-c2, this shows that he does not know the syllables.

Whatever an account is, it will presumably be some favoured form of words. If the ability to produce some favoured form of words is to count as a mark of knowledge, then situations analogous to those described under (1) and (2) above must be ruled out. Thus, we must not allow that the ability is manifested by a performance which is a mere fluke: cf. (1) above. And we must not allow that the ability is manifested by a performance which results from learning the form of words by rote, without understanding why it is the correct form of words to produce: cf. (2) above. Now it is tempting to express these two restrictions by saying that the required ability is shown only by performances which manifest knowledge that, and why, that particular form of words is the correct one to produce. But this way of expressing the restrictions obviously raises a difficulty for the definition of knowledge under consideration. For if we express the restrictions in this way, the definition now amounts to this: knowledge is true judgement together with the ability to produce an account, in the knowledge that, and why, that is the correct account to produce. And this definition is either circular, if it is taken to apply to all occurrences of 'know'; or incomplete, if it is assumed that a different definition is needed for the occurrence of 'knowledge' in the definiens. It is conceivable that Plato means to bring some such point as this before the reader's mind.

A difficulty like that sketched above would evidently affect any attempt to say what knowledge, in general, is by claiming that a particular piece of knowledge, e.g. knowledge of a particular syllable, ranks as knowledge because of its relation to the grasp of some systematic body of theory. In the case of a syllable, this claim takes the form of representing knowledge of the syllable as something manifested by, e.g., writing it correctly, against the background of a general ability to spell. The difficulty is that the general ability to spell is itself a case of knowledge, viz. knowledge of the rules which govern the combining of letters. And a definition of knowledge like the one which Plato is considering, which is designed to apply, e.g., to knowledge of a particular syllable, does not straight-

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forwardly apply to knowledge of the rules of spelling. Some such difficulty as this may be at least partly responsible for the inconclusive ending of the dialogue.

208b-210a 'Account': (iii) distinguishing formula.

208b12-e6. The third interpretation of 'account' is another version of the idea that to give an account of something is to say, in some favoured way, what it is. The favoured way, according to this interpretation, is to produce a form of words which distinguishes the thing from everything else.208e7-209d3. In the course of this first phase of his criticism, Socrates expresses, at 209c4-9, a peculiar view about what is required in order that a judgement should be about Theaetetus: viz. that the maker of the judgement should have an imprinted memory trace of Theaetetus' distinctive snubness of nose, and similarly with the other things of which Theaetetus consists. The passage evidently echoes the wax tablet passage, 191a-195b; and it assumes the view that a person is a collection of qualities, for which see 157b8-c2, 201d8-202b7, and notes.Socrates seems to assume that Theaetetus' snubness of nose is distinguishable from other instances of that quality, independently of other ways of distinguishing the possessors of the instances: i.e., presumably, that the instances are qualitatively distinguishable. There are two lines on which we might account for an inclination on Plato's part to take such a view:

1. He may be prone to a confusion between what it is to distinguish quality-instances and what it is to distinguish varieties of a quality: see note on 159e7-160a3. This would lead to a general thesis to the effect that Theaetetus' particular instance of each of the qualities of which he is composed is qualitatively distinguishable from all other instances of that quality: this affords, perhaps, the most natural interpretation of the words 'and similarly with the other things you're composed of' at 209c7.

2. Plato may also be inclined to suppose that some such thesis is required if Theaetetus is to be, as he evidently is, distinguishable from other people. Such a supposition would involve missing the importance of the kind of distinguishing account of which Plato gives an example at 208d1-3. Note also that it would not require the general thesis mentioned above: it would suffice, for Theaetetus to be distinguishable from other people, if one of his quality-instances was qualitatively distinctive.

In fact the argument of this passage does not turn essentially on the peculiar view just discussed. The argument can be paraphrased as follows. The suggestion of 208b12-e6 implies that a true judgement concerning Theaetetus which does not amount to knowledge is one whose maker cannot produce a form of words which distinguishes Theaetetus from

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everything else. But a person of whom that is true cannot make a judgement which concerns Theaetetus in particular. A true judgement, or indeed, one might add, any judgement, concerning a particular thing requires that its maker have a thought, and hence the ability to produce a form of words, which distinguish that thing from everything else. Hence the implied conception of true judgement concerning a particular thing which does not amount to knowledge is incoherent.

It seems obvious that if a judgement is to be about one thing in particular, then its maker must, in some sense, distinguish that thing from everything else. It is not, however, obviously correct that, as is assumed in the argument summarized above, what is required is that the maker of the judgement should have a thought expressible by saying something like 'What my judgement is about is . . .', followed by a form of words which uniquely applies to the thing in question. This doubt does not turn on the expressibility of the thought in words: it would apply equally if the assumption was weakened to allow, say, pictures in the expression of a thought, representing images in the thinking of it. The matter is difficult, and would need more discussion than I can give it here. A view which contradicts the assumption just mentioned is suggested by Wittgenstein's remark, at Philosophical Investigations, II, p. 217: 'If God had looked into our minds, he would not have been able to see there whom we were speaking of'. See Peter Geach, Mental Acts, §16.

209d4-210a9. The second phase of the criticism is as follows. According to the first phase, the maker of a true judgement concerning a thing must already have the ability to produce a distinguishing account of the thing. Presumably, in order to attempt to leave room for true judgement not amounting to knowledge, we ought to regard that ability as manifesting, not knowledge, but a judgement which distinguishes the thing from everything else. Now, to the question 'How can true judgement be converted into knowledge?', the suggested reply is 'By adding the ability to produce a form of words which distinguishes the thing from everything else'. The added form of words will be an expression either of judgement or of knowledge. If it is an expression of judgement, the reply is absurd: for it instructs one to add what, by the result of the first phase, one already has. If it is an expression of knowledge, the reply, construed as a partial statement of a definition of knowledge, is circular.

It might be thought that this argument is vitiated by the assumption that there is only one form of words which, in the favoured way, distinguishes any given thing from everything else. Such an assumption would be warranted by the view expressed at 209c4-9. It certainly accentuates the absurdity involved in taking the first horn of the dilemma on which the argument is founded; for it implies that we are instructed to

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convert true judgement into knowledge by adding the very judgement which, according to the first phase of the criticism, we already have.

It is arguable, however, that some absurdity would remain even without the assumption that there is only one form of words of the appropriate kind for each thing. Abandoning that assumption, the result of the first phase of the criticism is that someone who makes a true judgement concerning a thing can already produce, to express a judgement of his, one of possibly many forms of words which distinguish the thing from everything else. He is instructed to convert his true judgement into knowledge by adding a judgement, possibly a different one, of the same type. And it is surely absurd to suppose that if one distinguishing judgement does not constitute knowledge of a thing, two such judgements do. Why should mere weight of numbers have that sort of effect?

Note that the argument of this passage might well prompt the following throught: true judgement concerning a thing, and knowledge as to what it is, are not related in such a way that an addition to the first can convert it into the second. This suggests the idea that true judgement concerning a thing already implies knowledge as to what it is. For the view that true, or indeed any, judgement concerning a thing implies knowledge of it, see 187e-188c and note.

02. CONCLUSION

(210a-d)

210b1. It seems over-hasty to conclude that knowledge is not true judgement together with an account. To derive that conclusion from the results of the discussion at 201c-210a, Socrates would need the premiss that all possible interpretations of the final definition of knowledge were considered in that discussion. In fact, at least one interpretation of 'account' has not been considered, viz. that according to which an account is an answer to the question 'Why?': see note on 201c-d.

It is Cornford's thesis that this interpretation of 'account', and with it a conception of dialectical knowledge like that of the Republic, are meant to be conspicuous by their absence from the Theaetetus. According to Cornford, the implicit moral of the dialogue is as follows: 'True knowledge has for its object things of a different order--not sensible things, but intelligible Forms and truths about them' (p. 162).

Cornford does not explain in detail how, exactly, a restatement of the Republic's conception of dialectical knowledge would have satisfactorily rounded off the Theaetetus. In the second half of the dialogue (from 187a onwards) Plato has, in effect, drawn up a list of philosophical difficulties. They include, at least, the following:

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1. the possibility of mistaken identifications;

2. the significance of the Greek idiomatic description of falsehood in terms of not being;

3. the relation of wholes to their parts;

4. what is involved in knowing letters, or, more generally, noncomplex things.

Further, though Plato does not explicitly indicate dissatisfaction with the dream theory's conception of what it is to say something, the conception is inadequate in a way which Plato later corrects. So we can perhaps add, as a difficulty which the Theaetetus does not state but brings to mind,

5. (5) the problem of finding an adequate account of what it is to say something.

Now it is hard to see how Plato could have supposed, as Cornford's thesis would imply, that a restatement of the Theory of Forms would solve all these problems at a stroke. The mere stipulation that the verb 'know' is to take only Forms as objects seems to be simply irrelevant to the solution of these problems. The difficulty about misidentification, for instance, and the (partly similar) puzzling conclusion of 209d4-210a9, are set out in terms which imply that ordinary individual things can be known. But absolutely no difference would be made by moving to examples involving Forms: it is not the case that the difficulties have their source in the assumption that things other than Forms can be known.

As for the reason why the missing interpretation of 'account' is missing, conjectures other than Cornford's are possible: e.g. that by the end of the Theaetetus Plato has lost interest in the definitional task on which he embarked in beginning it, and, as later dialogues suggest, transferred his attention to the list of problems mentioned above.

It is worth noting that although the concept of a teleological answer to the question 'Why?' is wholly absent from the discussion of the third definition of knowledge, it does not follow that all concepts of explanation are wholly absent. It seems plausible that one reason why Plato found it attractive, in the passages mentioned in the note on 201c-d, to think of knowledge in terms of the ability to produce an explanation was that it enabled him to represent pieces of knowledge as fitting into a systematic whole. This feature of his view survives in the account of dialectical knowledge given in, e.g., the Sophist; and it is arguable that its survival can be captured by continuing to employ a concept of explanation, though no longer, apparently, specifically teleological explanation, in the description of dialectical knowledge. In the case of letters and syllables, knowledge of a given syllable requires understanding of the principles according to which its letters combine to constitute it, and hence, arguably, the ability to explain why it is spelt in just the way it is. Knowledge of letters and syllables is a model for dialectical knowledge, so that one might expect this occurrence of the concept of explanation to be matched in a

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description of dialectical knowledge. Now a conception of dialectical knowledge like that of the Sophist, though of course it is not explicitly set out in the Theaetetus, is not far beneath its surface. If we think of the Theaetetus as a stage in the progression from the Republic to the Sophist, nearer to the Sophist than to the Republic, it need not be surprising that, with the Sophist's view of dialectic close under the surface, the Theaetetus does not consider the Republic's view of dialectic.

On the relevance of the Theory of Forms to the Theaetetus, see, further, the notes on the following passages: 146c-147c, 172b-177c (passim), 182c9-183b6, 185c4-186a1, 186b11-c6, 186c7-e12, 195b-196c, 199a4-c7, 201a4-c7.

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SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

TRANSLATIONS

F. M. Cornford, Plato's Theory of Knowledge, London, 1935.

M. J. Levett, The Theaetetus, Glasgow, 1928.

EDITIONS, COMMENTARIES, ETC.

Lewis Campbell, The Theaetetus of Plato, Oxford, 1861.

F. M. Cornford, op. cit.

OTHER BOOKS

I. M. Crombie, An Examination of Plato's Doctrines, Volume II, London, 1963, pp. 3-33, 105-22, 489-92.

Gerold Prauss, Platon und der logische Eleatismus, Berlin, 1966.

W. G. Runciman, Plato's Later Epistemology, Cambridge, 1962.

ARTICLES ETC.

John Ackrill, "Plato on False Belief: Theaetetus 187-200", Monist, 50 ( 1966), 383-402.

* R. S. Bluck, "Logos and Forms in Plato: A Reply to Professor Cross", Mind, N.S. 65 ( 1956), 522-9.

------ "Knowledge by Acquaintance" in Plato's Theaetetus', Mind, N.S. 72 ( 1963), 259-63.

M. F. Burnyeat, "The Material and Sources of Plato's Dream", Phronesis, 15 ( 1970), 101-22.

J. M. Cooper, "Plato on Sense Perception and Knowledge: Theaetetus 184 to 186", Phronesis, 15 ( 1970), 123-46.

* R. C. Cross, "Logos and Forms in Plato", Mind, N.S. 63 ( 1954), 433-50.

D. Gallop, "Plato and the Alphabet", Philosophical Review, 72 ( 1963), 364-76.

D. W. Hamlyn, "Forms and Knowledge in Plato's Theaetetus: A Reply to Mr. Bluck", Mind, N.S. 66 ( 1957), 547.

* Winifred F. Hicken, "Knowledge and Forms in Plato's Theaetetus", Journal of Hellenic Studies, 77, Part I ( 1957), 48-53.

------ "The Character and Provenance of Socrates" "Dream" in the Theaetetus', Phronesis, 3 ( 1958), 126-45.

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A. J. Holland, "An Argument in Plato's Theaetetus: 184-6", Philosophical Quarterly 23 ( 1973), 97-116.

G. B. Kerferd, "Plato's Account of the Relativism of Protagoras", Durham University Journal, 42 (N.S. 11) ( 1949-50), 20-6.

J. H. Lesher, "Γνω + ̑σις and 'Επιστήμη in Socrates' Dream in the Theaetetus", Journal of Hellenic Studies, 89 ( 1969), 72-8.

John McDowell, "Identity Mistakes: Plato and the Logical Atomists", Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, N.S. 70 ( 1969-70), 181-96.

George Nakhnikian, "'Plato's Theory of Sensation", Review of Metaphysics, 9 ( 1955-6), 129-48, 306-27.

* G. E. L. Owen, "The Place of the Timaeus in Plato's Dialogues" Classical Quarterly, N.S. 3 ( 1953), 79-95.

Richard Robinson, "Forms and Error in Plato's Theaetetus", Philosophical Review, 59 ( 1950), 3-30.

Gilbert Ryle, "Letters and Syllables in Plato", Philosophical Review, 69 ( 1960), 431-51.

Gregory Vlastos, Introduction, Part One, to Plato, Protagoras, Indianapolis and New York, 1956, pp. vii-xxiv.

C. J. F. Williams, "Referential Opacity and False Belief in the Theaetetus", Philosophical Quarterly 22 ( 1972), 289-302.

John W. Yolton, "The Ontological Status of Sense-Data in Plato's Theory of Perception", Review of Metaphysics, 3 ( 1949-50), 21-58.

* Reprinted in R. E. Allen, ed., Studies in Plato's Metaphysics, London, 1965.

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INDEX

The figures in bold type refer to the text

account, 201c-210a passim, 228 - 257 passim.

advantage, 166d1-167d4, 169d6-8, 171d-172b, 177c-179b, 165 -7. 172 -3, 177 -8 (see alsofuture, wisdom).

Antisthenes, 234 -7.

appearing, 151e-152c, 152d5, 154a2-8, 158a2-3, 158e5-6, 161b-162a, 162c8-d1, 166c5-6, 166d1-167d4, 168b5, 170a3-4, 177c6-e3, 119-20, 125, 146, 165 -7.

'appearings' for beliefs, 155a2, 161e8, 133, 169.

Aristotle, 113, 220, 237, 243.

Austin, J. L., 146.

being, 127, 187 - 193 passim, 238, 247, 250.

'the being of . . .' (what . . . is), 202b5, 207c1-3, 113, 239.

being and coming to be, 152c-153d, 153d8-e1, 154b-155d, 156e7-157a3, 157a3-7, 157a7-b3, 160a5-c3, 121 -30, 130, 131 -7, 140 -3, 157 -8 (see alsoflux, Heracleitus, Protagoras).

being and truth, 152c5, 158d5, 160c7-d4, 167a7-8, 171a9, 172d9, 178b6-7, 179c7, 186c7, 188c-189b passim, 199b8, 120, 156, 174, 178, 192 -3, 198 - 202 passim.

uses of 'be' without complement. 152a2-4, 152c5, 152d8-e1, 158a2-3, 158d5, 160b5-d4, 166c5-6, 166d1-167d4 passim, 168b5, 170a3-4, 171a9, 172d9, 174a1, 176e3, 177c7-8, 178b7, 178b9, 178e2, 179c7, 185a9, 186b6, 188c-189b passim, 189c1-2, 194d6, 199b8, 201e4, 118, 120, 122 -3, 146, 155, 156, 174, 178, 187, 190 -1, 198 - 202 passim, 214 -5.

belief, 193 (see alsojudgement).

Charmides, 231.

collections, 157b8-c3, 159b6-7, 201d8-202b7, 209c4-9, 143 -5, 151, 234, 240 -1, 246, 250, 255 (see alsoelements, qualities).

connaître and savoir, 115 -6, 159 -60, 192 -3, 194 -8 passim, 215 -9 passim, 220, 223 -5 passim, 232, 252.

Cornford, F. M., 114, 154, 173, 182, 257 -9.

Cratylus, 113, 119, 122, 137, 141, 158, 173, 184, 202, 204, 231, 235, 236 -7, 251.

Crombie, I. M., 183.

dialectic, 161e6, 167e3-168b2, 229 -30, 250, 257 -9.

dramatic style, 143b5-c5, 113.

dreams, 157e-158b, 158b-e, 145 -8 passim.

elements, 201c-210a passim, 228 - 257 passim.

enumerative definition, 146c-147c, 114 -5.

Euthydemus, 162, 202, 235, 237.

flux, 152c-153d, 156a3-b2, 157a3, 157b3-8, 158e-160e, 166b5166c2, 177c7, 179d1-180d7,

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181b-183b, 121 -30, 130, 131, 137, 138, 141 -5, 148 -58 passim, 164 -5, 179, 180 -4 (see alsobeing and coming to be, Heracleitus, Protagoras).

forgetting, seememory.

Forms, 114, 117, 126, 140, 143, 174 -7 passim, 180 -1, 184, 189 -90, 192, 218 -9, 227 -8, 246 -7, 250, 257 -9.

future, 177c-179b, 178 (see alsoadvantage).

Geach, P. T., 136, 256.

having and possessing, 196c-200c passim, especially 197a8-e7, 219 - 226 passim.

Heracleitus, 152e3, 179d7, 179e3, 129 -30 (see alsobeing and coming to be, flux, Protagoras).

Hippias Major, 113.

identification, 115 -6, 122, 127 -8, 141 -3, 143 -5, 159 -60, 180 -4, 187, 191, 191 -2, 192 -3, 194 -8 passim, 202 -26 passim, 239 -40. 247 -8, 249, 250, 255 -6.

incommensurables, 147c-148b, 116.

judgement, 187a-201c passim, 201c-210a passim, especially 201d8-202c5, 186 -93 passim, 193 - 228 passim, 231 -7.

learning, seememory.

Leibniz's Law, 150, 242.

letters and syllables, 163a-c, 198e1-199a3, 202d-206c, 206e-208b, 159 -60, 221 -2, 239, 240 -50.

logic-chopping, 164c-165e, 197a1-3, 200a12, 161 -4, 226.

Malcolm, N., 147.

memory, 163c-164c, 166b1-c2, 191a-200c passim, 160 -1, 164 -5, 198, 209 -26 passim.

Meno, 115, 116 -7, 220, 221, 222 -3, 227, 228, 230.

midwifery, 148e-151d, 157c7-d3, 160e5-161a4, 161e5, 184b1, 210a-d, 116 -7 (see alsoRecollection).

mind, 184b-186e, 143 -4, 185 -93.

names, 201c-202d, 206d1-6, 231 -9, 251.

name and substance, 144c7, d2, 113.

numbers, 195b-200c passim, 204b10-e1, 215 -26 passim, 245.

Owen, G. E. L., 183.

Parmenides, 152e2, 180e2, 183e3-184a3, 125 -7, 129, 185.

Parmenides, 113, 177, 180, 185, 220, 243 -5, 247, 249 -50.

parts, seeelements.

perception, 151d-187a passim, especially 153d-154a, 155d-157c, 184b-187a, 117 -8, 130 -1, 137 -45, 159 -60, 180 -4, 185 -93.

proper objects of the senses, 184e8-185a3, 119 -20, 137, 186.

sense-data, 117 -8, 121, 143 -4.

persuading and teaching, 201a7-c7, 227.

Phaedo, 116 -7, 140, 174, 175, 176, 189, 218 -9, 229 -30, 246.

Philebus, 115, 138, 219, 231, 247, 249.

possessing, seehaving.

Protagoras, 151e-152c, 161b-162a, 162c-163a, 165e-168c, 169d-171d, 171d-172b, 177c-179b, 179b-d, 118 -21, 158 -9, 164 -8, 168 -72, 172 -3, 177 -8.

'secret doctrine', 152c-153d, 121 -2 (see alsobeing and coming to be, flux, Heracleitus).

qualities, 182a8, 130 -1, 137 -45 passim, 149, 152 -5, 180, 180 -4, 190 -2, 195, 234, 240 -1, 246, 250, 255 (see alsocollections).

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Recollection, 116 -7, 218 -9, 222 -3, 230.

relational propositions, 119, 123 -4, 131, 132 -3, 134 -5, 154 -5.

Republic, 124 -5, 147, 162, 174 -7, 185, 189, 192, 200, 220, 229 -30, 231, 246 -7, 250, 257 -9.

Russell, B., 189, 196, 231.

savoir, see connaître.

self-refutation, 169d-171d, 169 -71.

Sophist, 113, 122, 137, 140, 185, 200 -9 passim, 212, 220 -1, 226, 233 -7, 248, 249 -50, 251, 258 -9.

Strawson, P. F., 145.

sums, seeelements.

Symposium, 229 -30, 246.

teaching, seepersuading.

thought, seejudgement.

Timaeus, 122, 124 -7, 129, 139 -40, 141, 145, 176, 184, 212, 227, 229 -30, 246.

wholes, seeelements.

wisdom, 161b-162a, 162b-163a, 166d1-167d4, 169d-171b, 177c-179b, 158, 159, 165 -7, 172 -3, 177 -8 (see alsoadvantage, future).

Vittgenstein, L., 115, 233 -4, 256.

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Table of Contents

PLATO

Theaetetus

PREFACE

CONTENTS

THEAETETUS

EUCLEIDES TERPSION

SOCRATES THEODORUS THEAETETUS

NOTES ON THE TEXT AND TRANSLATION

NOTES

01. INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE (142a-151d)

142a-143c Prefatory dialogue.

143c-145c Introduction of the characters.

145c-146c Statement of the question.

146c-147c First answer.

147c-148b Powers.

148b-e Interlude.

148e-151d Socrates as midwife.

1. PERCEPTION (151d-187a)

1.1. Statement and elaboration of the definition (151d-160e)

152c-153d The 'secret doctrine'.

153d-154a Preliminary account of perception.

154b-155d Some puzzles.

155d-157c The theory of perception.

157c-d Interlude.

157e-158b Objection: dreams, delusions, illusions.

158b-e First answer to the objection.

158e-160e Second answer to the objection: conclusion.

159a10-11. The reference is to 156a6-7.

1.2. Preliminary discussion (160e-168c)

160e-161b Interlude.

161b-162a First criticism: wisdom.

162a-c Interlude.

162c-163a Preliminary answer to first criticism.

163a-c Second criticism: letters and foreign languages.

163c-164c Third criticism: memory.

164c-165e Defence of Protagoras: first part.

165e-168c Defence of Protagoras: second part.

166a2-6. See 163c-164c: in particular, 163d1-6.

1.3. Discussion of Protagoras (168c-179d)

168c-169d Interlude.

169d-171d First criticism: self-refutation.

171d1-172b A modified Protagorean doctrine.

172b-177c Digression.

177c-179b Second criticism: the modification justified.

179b-d Conclusion.

1.4. Discussion of the doctrine of instability (179d-184b)

179d-181b Introduction.

181b-183b Argument against the doctrine of total insta- bility.

183b-c Conclusion.

183c-184b Interlude.

1.5. Refutation of the thesis that knowledge is perception (184b-187a)

184b-186e Argument against the thesis.

187a Conclusion.

2. TRUE JUDGEMENT (187a-201c)

187a-c Statement of the definition.

187c-e False judgement: (i) introduction.

187e-188c False judgement: (ii) a difficulty.

188c-189b False judgement: (iii) being and not being.

189b-191a False judgement: (iv) other-judging.

191a-195b False judgement: (v) the wax tablet.

195b-196c False judgement: (vi) criticism of the wax tablet theory.

196c-199c False judgement: (vii) the aviary.

199c-d False judgement: (viii) criticism of the aviary theory.

199e-200c False judgement: (ix) modification of the aviary theory.

200c-d False judgement: (x) conclusion.

200d-201c Refutation of the thesis that knowledge is true judgement.

3. TRUE JUDGEMENT WITH AN ACCOUNT (201c-210a)

201c-d Statement of the definition.

201d-202d Socrates' dream.

202d-206c Criticism of the dream theory.

206c-e 'Account': (i) verbal expression of thought.

206e-208b 'Account': (ii) enumeration of elements.

208b-210a 'Account': (iii) distinguishing formula.

02. CONCLUSION (210a-d)

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

TRANSLATIONS

EDITIONS, COMMENTARIES, ETC.

OTHER BOOKS

ARTICLES ETC.

INDEX

The figures in bold type refer to the text