Sophist (236-240)

Str. Not those who produce some large work of sculpture or painting. For if they reproduced the true proportions of beautiful forms, the upper parts, you know, would seem smaller and the lower parts larger than they ought, because we see the former from a distance, the latter from near at hand.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. So the artists abandon the truth and give their figures not the actual proportions but those which seem to be beautiful, do they not?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. That, then, which is other, but like, we may fairly call a likeness, may we not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And the part of imitation which is concerned with such things, is to be called, as we called it before, likeness-making?

Theaet. It is to be so called.

Str. Now then, what shall we call that which appears, because it is seen from an unfavorable position, to be like the beautiful, but which would not even be likely to resemble that which it claims to be like, if a person were able to see such large works adequately? Shall we not call it, since it appears, but is not like, an appearance?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And this is very common in painting and in all imitation?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And to the art which produces appearance, but not likeness, the most correct name we could give would be fantastic art, would it not?

Theaet. By all means.

Str. These, then, are the two forms of the image-making art that I meant, the likeness-making and the fantastic.

Theaet. You are right.

Str. But I was uncertain before in which of the two the sophist should be placed, and even now I cannot see clearly. The fellow is really wonderful and very difficult to keep in sight, for once more, in the very cleverest manner he has withdrawn into a baffling classification where it is hard to track him.

Theaet. So it seems.

Str. Do you assent because you recognize the fact, or did the force of habit hurry you along to a speedy assent?

Theaet. What do you mean, and why did you say that?

Str. We are really, my dear friend, engaged in a very difficult investigation; for the matter of appearing and seeming, but not being, and of saying things, but not true ones—all this is now and always has been very perplexing. You see, Theaetetus, it is extremely difficult to understand how a man is to say or think that falsehood really exists and in saying this not be involved in contradiction.

Theaet. Why?

Str. This statement involves the bold assumption that not-being exists, for otherwise falsehood could not come into existence. But the great Parmenides, my boy, from the time when we were children to the end of his life, always protested against this and constantly repeated both in prose and in verse:

Never let this thought prevail, saith he, that not-being is;

But keep your mind from this way of investigation.

Parmenides Fr. 7 So that is his testimony, and a reasonable examination of the statement itself would make it most absolutely clear. Let us then consider this matter first, if it’s all the same to you.

Theaet. Assume my consent to anything you wish. Consider only the argument, how it may best be pursued; follow your own course, and take me along with you.

Str. Very well, then. Now tell me; do we venture to use the phrase absolute not-being?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. If, then, not merely for the sake of discussion or as a joke, but seriously, one of his pupils were asked to consider and answer the question To what is the designation not-being to be applied? how do we think he would reply to his questioner, and how would he apply the term, for what purpose, and to what object?

Theaet. That is a difficult question; I may say that for a fellow like me it is unanswerable.

Str. But this is clear, anyhow, that the term not-being cannot be applied to any being.

Theaet. Of course not.

Str. And if not to being, then it could not properly be applied to something, either.

Theaet. How could it?

Str. And this is plain to us, that we always use the word something of some being, for to speak of something in the abstract, naked, as it were, and disconnected from all beings is impossible, is it not?

Theaet. Yes, it is.

Str. You assent because you recognize that he who says something must say some one thing?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And you will agree that something or some in the singular is the sign of one, in the dual of two, and in the plural of many.

Theaet. Of course.

Str. And he who says not something, must quite necessarily say absolutely nothing.

Theaet. Quite necessarily.

Str. Then we cannot even concede that such a person speaks, but says nothing? We must even declare that he who undertakes to say not-being does not speak at all?

Theaet. The argument could go no further in perplexity.

Str. Boast not too soon! For there still remains, my friend, the first and greatest of perplexities. It affects the very beginning of the matter.

Theaet. What do you mean? Do not hesitate to speak.

Str. To that which is may be added or attributed some other thing which is?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. But shall we assert that to that which is not anything which is can be attributed?

Theaet. Certainly not.

Str. Now we assume that all number is among the things which are.

Theaet. Yes, if anything can be assumed to be.

Str. Then let us not even undertake to attribute either the singular or the plural of number to not-being.

Theaet. We should, apparently, not be right in undertaking that, as our argument shows.

Str. How then could a man either utter in speech or even so much as conceive in his mind things which are not, or not-being, apart from number?

Theaet. Tell me how number is involved in such conceptions.

Str. When we say things which are not, do we not attribute plurality to them?

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. And in saying a thing which is not, do we not equally attribute the singular number?

Theaet. Obviously.

Str. And yet we assert that it is neither right nor fair to undertake to attribute being to not-being.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Do you see, then, that it is impossible rightly to utter or to say or to think of not-being without any attribute, but it is a thing inconceivable, inexpressible, unspeakable, irrational?

Theaet. Absolutely.

Str. Then was I mistaken just now in saying that the difficulty I was going to speak of was the greatest in our subject.

Theaet. But is there a still greater one that we can mention?

Str. Why, my dear fellow, don’t you see, by the very arguments we have used, that not-being reduces him who would refute it to such difficulties that when he attempts to refute it he is forced to contradict himself?

Theaet. What do you mean? Speak still more clearly.

Str. You must not look for more clearness in me; for although I maintained that not-being could have nothing to do with either the singular or the plural number, I spoke of it just now, and am still speaking of it, as one; for I say that which is not. You understand surely?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And again a little while ago I said it was inexpressible, unspeakable, irrational. Do you follow me?

Theaet. Yes, of course.

Str. Then when I undertook to attach the verb to be to not-being I was contradicting what I said before.

Theaet. Evidently.

Str. Well, then; when I attached this verb to it, did I not address it in the singular?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And when I called it irrational, inexpressible, and unspeakable, I addressed my speech to it as singular.

Theaet. Of course you did.

Str. But we say that, if one is to speak correctly, one must not define it as either singular or plural, and must not even call it it at all; for even by this manner of referring to it one would be giving it the form of the singular.

Theaet. Certainly.

Str. But poor me, what can anyone say of me any longer? For you would find me now, as always before, defeated in the refutation of not-being. So, as I said before, we must not look to me for correctness of speech about not-being. But come now, let us look to you for it.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. Come, I beg of you, make a sturdy effort, young man as you are, and try with might and main to say something correctly about not-being, without attributing to it either existence or unity or plurality.

Theaet. But I should be possessed of great and absurd eagerness for the attempt, if I were to undertake it with your experience before my eyes.

Str. Well, if you like, let us say no more of you and me; but until we find someone who can accomplish this, let us confess that the sophist has in most rascally fashion hidden himself in a place we cannot explore.

Theaet. That seems to be decidedly the case.

Str. And so, if we say he has an art, as it were, of making appearances, he will easily take advantage of our poverty of terms to make a counter attack, twisting our words to the opposite meaning; when we call him an image-maker, he will ask us what we mean by image, exactly. So, Theaetetus, we must see what reply is to be made to the young man’s question.

Theaet. Obviously we shall reply that we mean the images in water and in mirrors, and those in paintings, too, and sculptures, and all the other things of the same sort.

Str. It is evident, Theaetetus, that you never saw a sophist.

Theaet. Why?

Str. He will make you think his eyes are shut or he has none at all.

Theaet. How so?

Str. When you give this answer, if you speak of something in mirrors or works of art, he will laugh at your words, when you talk to him as if he could see. He will feign ignorance of mirrors and water and of sight altogether, and will question you only about that which is deduced from your words.

Theaet. What is that?

Str. That which exists throughout all these things which you say are many but which you saw fit to call by one name, when you said image of them all, as if they were all one thing. So speak and defend yourself. Do not give way to the man at all.

Theaet. Why, Stranger, what can we say an image is, except another such thing fashioned in the likeness of the true one?

Str. Do you mean another such true one, or in what sense did you say such?

Theaet. Not a true one by any means, but only one like the true.

Str. And by the true you mean that which really is?

Theaet. Exactly.

Str. And the not true is the opposite of the true?

Theaet. Of course.

Str. That which is like, then, you say does not really exist, if you say it is not true.

Theaet. But it does exist, in a way.

Str. But not truly, you mean.

Theaet. No, except that it is really a likeness.

Str. Then what we call a likeness, though not really existing, really does exist?

Theaet. Not-being does seem to have got into some such entanglement with being, and it is very absurd.

Str. Of course it is absurd. You see, at any rate, how by this interchange of words the many-headed sophist has once more forced us against our will to admit that not-being exists in a way.

Theaet. Yes, I see that very well.

Str. Well then, how can we define his art without contradicting ourselves?

Theaet. Why do you say that? What are you afraid of?

Str. When, in talking about appearance, we say that he deceives and that his art is an art of deception, shall we say that our mind is misled by his art to hold a false opinion, or what shall we say?

Theaet. We shall say that. What else could we say?

Str. But, again, false opinion will be that which thinks the opposite of reality, will it not?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. You mean, then, that false opinion thinks things which are not?

Theaet. Necessarily.

Str. Does it think that things which are not, are not, or that things which are not at all, in some sense are?

Theaet. It must think that things which are not in some sense are—that is, if anyone is ever to think falsely at all, even in a slight degree.

Str. And does it not also think that things which certainly are, are not at all?

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And this too is falsehood?

Theaet. Yes, it is.