Theaetetus

SOCRATES: Yes, we must indeed, if we are going to save the former argument; but if not, it is gone. THEAETETUS: And I too, by Zeus, suspect so; however, I do not understand it sufficiently. But tell me how. SOCRATES: In this way: the one who sees, we say, has become a knower of that very thing which he sees; for sight, perception, and knowledge have been agreed to be the same. THEAETETUS: Certainly. SOCRATES: But the one who sees and has become a knower of what he saw, if he should close his eyes, remembers indeed, but does not see it. Is that not so? THEAETETUS: Yes. SOCRATES: But “does not see” is “does not know,” if indeed “sees” is also “knows.” THEAETETUS: True. SOCRATES: It follows, then, that one who became a knower of something, while still remembering it, does not know it, since he does not see it; which we said would be a monstrosity if it should happen. THEAETETUS: You speak most truly. SOCRATES: Some impossibility, then, clearly follows if one says that knowledge and perception are the same. THEAETETUS: It seems so. SOCRATES: Therefore, we must say that they are different. THEAETETUS: It is likely. SOCRATES: What, then, could knowledge be? We must speak again from the beginning, as it seems. And yet, what in the world are we going to do, Theaetetus? THEAETETUS: About what? SOCRATES: We seem to me, like a low-bred cock, to be jumping away from the argument and crowing before we have won the victory. THEAETETUS: How so? SOCRATES: We seem to have come to an agreement based on the mere agreement of names in a disputatious manner, and having got the better of the argument by such a thing, we are content; and while we claim to be not disputants but philosophers, we are unconsciously doing the very same things as those clever men. THEAETETUS: I do not yet understand how you mean. SOCRATES: Well, I shall try to make clear what I mean about them. For we asked whether one who has learned and remembers something does not know it, and by showing that the one who saw and has closed his eyes remembers indeed but does not see, we showed that he does not know and at the same time remembers; but this is impossible. And so the Protagorean tale has perished, and yours too at the same time, that knowledge and perception are the same. THEAETETUS: So it seems. SOCRATES: Not at all, I think, my friend, if the father of the other tale were alive, but he would have defended it in many ways; but now, we are treating it like an orphan and abusing it. For not even the guardians whom Protagoras left behind are willing to help, of whom Theodorus here is one. So we ourselves shall probably have to help it for the sake of justice.

​THEODORUS: For it is not I, Socrates, but rather Callias the son of Hipponicus who is the guardian of his affairs; as for us, we turned away rather too quickly from mere words to geometry. However, we shall be grateful to you if you help him. SOCRATES: Well said, Theodorus. Consider, then, my assistance. For one might agree to things even more terrible than those just now, if he does not pay attention to the words, in the way we are mostly accustomed to affirm and deny. Shall I tell you how, or to Theaetetus? THEODORUS: To both of us in common, indeed, but let the younger one answer; for if he trips, he will disgrace himself less. SOCRATES: I speak, then, of the most terrible question, and it is, I think, something like this: “Is it possible for the same person, knowing something, not to know this very thing which he knows?” THEODORUS: What then shall we answer, Theaetetus? THEAETETUS: Impossible, I suppose, I think. SOCRATES: Not so, if indeed you will pose that seeing is knowing. For what will you do with an inescapable question, being trapped “in a well,” as the saying goes, when an undaunted man asks, covering one of your eyes with his hand, whether you see the cloak with the covered eye? THEAETETUS: I shall say no, I suppose, with this one, but yes indeed with the other. SOCRATES: Therefore, do you both see and not see the same thing at the same time? THEAETETUS: Something like that. SOCRATES: “I am not prescribing or asking anything about that ‘how’,” he will say, “but whether that which you know, you also do not know. But now you turn out to be seeing what you do not see. And you happen to have agreed that seeing is knowing and not seeing is not knowing. Calculate, then, from these what follows for you.” THEAETETUS: Why, I calculate that it is the opposite of my hypotheses. SOCRATES: Perhaps, my wonderful friend, you would have suffered more such things if someone had asked you further whether it is possible to know sharply and to know dimly, and to know from near but not from far, and both intensely and mildly the same thing, and myriad other questions, which a mercenary light-armed soldier in arguments, lying in wait, would ask you when you posited that knowledge and perception are the same; and making an assault upon hearing and smelling and such-like perceptions, he would refute you, holding on and not letting go until, having wondered at his much-coveted wisdom, you were entangled by him; where indeed, having mastered and bound you, he would then ransom you for as much money as seemed good to you and to him. What argument, then, you might perhaps say, will Protagoras say in aid of his own? Shall we try to say something else? THEAETETUS: By all means, indeed.