Sophist (239-241)

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

Theaet. Evidently.

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

Theaet. Yes.

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

Theaet. Of course you did.

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

Theaet. Certainly.

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

Theaet. What do you mean?

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

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

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

Theaet. That seems to be decidedly the case.

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

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

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

Theaet. Why?

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

Theaet. How so?

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

Theaet. What is that?

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

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

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

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

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

Theaet. Exactly.

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

Theaet. Of course.

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

Theaet. But it does exist, in a way.

Str. But not truly, you mean.

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

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

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

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

Theaet. Yes, I see that very well.

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

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

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

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

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

Theaet. Yes.

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

Theaet. Necessarily.

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

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

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

Theaet. Yes.

Str. And this too is falsehood?

Theaet. Yes, it is.

Str. And therefore a statement will likewise be considered false, if it declares that things which are, are not, or that things which are not, are.

Theaet. In what other way could a statement be made false?

Str. Virtually in no other way; but the sophist will not assent to this. Or how can any reasonable man assent to it, when the expressions we just agreed upon were previously agreed to be inexpressible, unspeakable, irrational, and inconceivable? Do we understand his meaning, Theaetetus?

Theaet. Of course we understand that he will say we are contradicting our recent statements, since we dare to say that falsehood exists in opinions and words; for he will say that we are thus forced repeatedly to attribute being to not-being, although we agreed a while ago that nothing could be more impossible than that.

Str. You are quite right to remind me. But I think it is high time to consider what ought to be done about the sophist; for you see how easily and repeatedly he can raise objections and difficulties, if we conduct our search by putting him in the guild of false-workers and jugglers.

Theaet. Very true.

Str. Yes, we have gone through only a small part of them, and they are, if I may say so, infinite.

Theaet. It would, apparently, be impossible to catch the sophist, if that is the case.

Str. Well, then, shall we weaken and give up the struggle now?

Theaet. No, I say; we must not do that, if we can in any way get the slightest hold of the fellow.

Str. Will you then pardon me, and, as your words imply, be content if I somehow withdraw just for a short distance from this strong argument of his?

Theaet. Of course I will.

Str. I have another still more urgent request to make of you.

Theaet. What is it?

Str. Do not assume that I am becoming a sort of parricide.

Theaet. What do you mean?

Str. In defending myself I shall have to test the theory of my father Parmenides, and contend forcibly that after a fashion not-being is and on the other hand in a sense being is not.

Theaet. It is plain that some such contention is necessary.

Str. Yes, plain even to a blind man, as they say; for unless these statements are either disproved or accepted, no one who speaks about false words, or false opinion—whether images or likenesses or imitations or appearances—about the arts which have to do with them, can ever help being forced to contradict himself and make himself ridiculous.

Theaet. Very true.