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Overview
The Theaetetus is a seminal text in the philosophy of knowledge, and is acknowledged as one of Plato's finest works. Cast as a conversation between Socrates and a clever but modest student, Theaetetus, it explores one of the key issues in philosophy: what is knowledge? Though no definite answer is reached, the discussion is penetrating and wide-ranging, covering the claims of perception to be knowledge, the theory that all is in motion, and the perennially tempting idea that knowledge and truth are relative to different individuals or states. The inquirers go on to explore the connection between knowledge and true judgement, and the famous threefold definition of knowledge as justified true belief. Packed with subtle arguments, the dialogue is also a work of literary genius, with an unforgettable portrait of Socrates as a midwife of wisdom.
This new edition uses the acclaimed translation by John McDowell. It includes a valuable introduction that locates the work in Plato's oeuvre, and explains some of the competing interpretations of its overall meaning. The notes elucidate Plato's arguments and draw connections within the work and with other philosophical discussions.
About the Series: For over 100 years Oxford World's Classics has made available the broadest spectrum of literature from around the globe. Each affordable volume reflects Oxford's commitment to scholarship, providing the most accurate text plus a wealth of other valuable features, including expert introductions by leading authorities, voluminous notes to clarify the text, up-to-date bibliographies for further study, and much more.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780199646166 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Oxford University Press |
| Publication date: | 04/01/2014 |
| Series: | Oxford World's Classics Series |
| Pages: | 208 |
| Sales rank: | 596,288 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 7.60(h) x 0.60(d) |
| Lexile: | 1060L (what's this?) |
About the Author
Lesley Brown was Centenary Fellow and Tutor in Philosophy at Somerville College, and a University Lecturer in the Faculty of Philosophy, University of Oxford; she is now an emeritus fellow. She has published widely on Plato's dialogues, notably the Theaetetus and Sophist, as well as on Aristotle. She wrote the Introduction and Notes for the new edition of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics in OWC (2009).
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
THEAETETUS
142A-143C. The Introductory Dialogue
The main dialogue is prefaced by an introductory conversation between Eucleides and Terpsion of Megara, friends of Socrates who were present at his death. Plato evidently wished to record his affection for Theaetetus, a member of the Academy credited with important discoveries in mathematics. Eucleides' account of how he came to write the main dialogue is obviously fictitious. No such conversation could have taken place in Socrates' lifetime.
The anonymous commentary on the Theaetetus, believed to date from the first or second century of our era, records the existence of a second 'rather frigid' introductory dialogue of about the same number of lines, beginning, 'Boy, are you bringing the dialogue about Theaetetus?' It has been argued that this lost introduction was probably written by Plato — for why should anyone forge such a document? — and that the obvious occasion for substituting the existing one would be the death of Theaetetus. The conclusion would then be that the main dialogue was at least partly written before that event. But it is not likely that the long and flattering description in the main dialogue of Theaetetus as a youth was written in his lifetime; and if it was not, the lost introduction may be assumed to have been merely a rejected draft which happened to be preserved. The whole dialogue — introduction and all — may, then, be dated after the fighting near Corinth in 369 B.C. Theaetetus would then be a little under 50, if he was a lad of 15 or 16 in the year of Socrates' death, the imaginary date of the main dialogue.
Eucleides. Terpsion
Eucleides. Have you only just come to town, Terpsion?
Terpsion. NO, some time ago. What is more, I was looking for you in the market-place and surprised that I could not find you.
Eucl. I was not in the city.
Terps. Where were you, then?
Eucl. On my way down to the harbour I met them carrying Theaetetus to Athens from the camp at Corinth.
Terps. Alive or dead?
Eucl. Only just alive. He is suffering from severe wounds, and still more from having caught the sickness that has broken out in the army.
Terps. The dysentery?
Eucl. Yes.
Terps. HOW sad that such a man should be so near death!
Eucl. An admirable man, Terpsion, and a brave one. Indeed, only just now I was hearing warm praise of his conduct in the battle.
Terps. There is nothing strange in that; it would have been much more surprising if he had behaved otherwise.
But why did he not stay here at Megara?
Eucl. He was eager to get home. I begged him to stay, but he would not listen to my advice. I went some way with him, and then, as I was coming back, I recalled what Socrates had said about him, and was filled with wonder at this signal instance of his prophetic insight. Socrates must have met him shortly before his own death, when Theaetetus was little more than a boy. They had some talk together, and Socrates was delighted with the promise he showed. When I visited Athens he repeated to me their conversation, which was well worth the hearing; and he added that Theaetetus could not fail to become a remarkable man if he lived.
Terps. And apparently he was right. But what was this conversation? Could you repeat it?
Eucl. Certainly not, just from memory. But I made some notes at the time, as soon as I got home, and later on I wrote out what I could recall at my leisure. Then, every time I went to Athens, I questioned Socrates upon any point where my memory had failed and made corrections on my return. In this way I have pretty well the whole conversation written down.
Terps. True; I have heard you mention it before, and indeed I have always meant to ask you to show it to me; only I have let the matter slip till this moment. Why should we not go through it now? In any case I am in need of a rest after my walk to town.
Eucl. For that matter, I should be glad of a rest myself; for I went as far as Erineon with Theaetetus. Let us go indoors, and, while we are resting, my servant shall read to us.
Terps. Very well.
Eucl. This is the book, Terpsion. You see how I wrote the conversation — not in narrative form, as I heard it from Socrates, but as a dialogue between him and the other persons he told me had taken part. These were Theodorus the geometer and Theaetetus. I wanted to avoid in the written account the tiresome effect of bits of narrative interrupting the dialogue, such as 'and I said' or 'and I remarked' wherever Socrates was speaking of himself, and 'he assented' or 'he did not agree', where he reported the answer. So I left out everything of that sort, and wrote it as a direct conversation between the actual speakers.
Terps. That was quite a good notion, Eucleides.
Eucl. Well, boy, take the book and read.
The Main Dialogue
The main dialogue is an imaginary conversation, supposed to have taken place shortly before the trial and death of Socrates, a date at which Theaetetus would be just old enough to take part. He is introduced to Socrates by Theodorus of Cyrene, a distinguished mathematician who has been lecturing on geometry at Athens.
143D-151D. Introductory Conversation
The opening section characterises the speakers and introduces the subject of discussion: the definition of knowledge. For the rest, it is concerned with method. Socrates, as in several earlier dialogues, dwells on the distinction (which must, it seems, have been difficult for the ordinary reader to grasp) between giving a number of instances of knowledge and defining the meaning of the name 'knowledge' which applies to them all. He ends by describing his own technique. Like the midwife who is past childbearing, Socrates' function is not to produce his own ideas and impart them to others, but to deliver their minds of thoughts with which they are in labour, and then to test whether these thoughts are genuine children or mere phantoms.
Socrates. Theodorus. Theaetetus
Socrates. If I took more interest in the affairs of Cyrene, Theodorus, I should ask you for the news from those parts and whether any of the young men there are devoting themselves to geometry or to any other sort of liberal study. But really I care more for our young men here and I am anxious rather to know which of them are thought likely to distinguish themselves. That is what I am always on the look-out for myself, to the best of my powers, and I make inquiries of anyone whose society I see the young men ready to seek. Now you attract a large following, as you deserve for your skill in geometry, not to mention your other merits. So, if you have met with anyone worthy of mention, I should be glad to hear of it.
Theodorus. Yes, Socrates, I have met with a youth of this city who certainly deserves mention, and you will find it worth while to hear me describe him. If he were handsome, I should be afraid to use strong terms, lest I should be suspected of being in love with him. However, he is not handsome, but — forgive my saying so — he resembles you in being snub-nosed and having prominent eyes, though these features are less marked in him. So I can speak without fear. I assure you that, among all the young men I have met with — and I have had to do with a good many — I have never found such admirable gifts. The combination of a rare quickness of intelligence with exceptional gentleness and of an incomparably virile spirit with both, is a thing that I should hardly have believed could exist, and I have never seen it before. In general, people who have such keen and ready wits and such good memories as he, are also quick-tempered and passionate; they dart about like ships without ballast, and their temperament is rather enthusiastic than strong; whereas the steadier sort are somewhat dull when they come to face study, and they forget everything. But his approach to learning and inquiry, with the perfect quietness of its smooth and sure progress, is like the noiseless flow of a stream of oil. It is wonderful how he achieves all this at his age.
Socr. That is good news. Who is his father?
Theod. I have heard the name, but I do not remember it. However, there he is, the middle one of those three who are coming towards us. He and these friends of his have been rubbing themselves with oil in the portico outside, and, now they have finished, they seem to be coming this way. See if you recognise him.
Socr. Yes, I do; his father was Euphronius of Sunium, just such another as his son is by your account. He was a man of good standing, and I believe he left a considerable fortune. But I don't know the lad's name.
Theod. His name is Theaetetus, Socrates; but I fancy the property has been squandered by trustees. None the less, liberality with his money is another of his admirable traits.
Socr. YOU give him a noble character. Please ask him to come and sit down with us.
Theod. I will. Theaetetus, come this way and sit by Socrates.
Socr. Yes, do, Theaetetus, so that I may study the character of my own countenance; for Theodorus tells me it is like yours. Now, suppose we each had a lyre, and Theodorus said they were both timed to the same pitch, should we take his word at once, or should we try to find out whether he was a musician?
Theaet. We should try to find that out.
Socr. And believe him, if we discovered that he was musical, but not otherwise?
Theaet. True.
Socr. And now, if this alleged likeness of our faces is a matter of any interest to us, we must ask whether it is a 145. skilled draughtsman who informs us of it.
Theaet. I agree.
Socr. Well, is Theodorus a painter?
Theaet. Not so far as I know.
Socr. Nor an expert in geometry either?
Theaet. Of course he is, Socrates; very much so.
Socr. And also in astronomy and calculation and music and in all the liberal arts?
Theaet. I am sure he is.
Socr. Then, if, in the way of compliment or otherwise, he tells us of some physical likeness between us, there is no special reason why we should attend to him.
Theaet. Possibly not.
Socr. But suppose he should praise the mind of either of us for its virtue and intelligence. Would there not be good reason why the one who heard the other praised should be eager to examine him, and he should be equally eager to show his quality?
Theaet. Certainly, Socrates.
Socr. Now is the time, then, my dear Theaetetus, for you to show your qualities and for me to examine them. I can assure you that, often as Theodorus has spoken to me in praise of citizen or stranger, he has never praised anyone as he was praising you just now.
Theaet. That is good hearing, Socrates. But perhaps he was not speaking seriously.
Socr. NO, that would not be like Theodorus. Do not try to slip out of your bargain on the pretext that he was not serious. We don't want him to have to give evidence on oath. In any case no one is going to indict him for perjury; so do not be afraid to abide by your agreement.
Theaet. Well, so it shall be, if you wish it.
Socr. Tell me, then: you are learning some geometry from Theodorus?
Theaet. Yes.
Socr. And astronomy and harmonics and arithmetic?
Theaet. I certainly do my best to learn.
Socr. So do I, from him and from anyone else who seems to understand these things. I do moderately well in general; but all the same I am puzzled about one small matter which you and our friends must help me to think out. Tell me: is it not true that learning about something means becoming wiser in that matter?
Theaet. Of course.
Socr. And what makes people wise is wisdom, I suppose.
Theaet. Yes.
Socr. And is that in any way different from knowledge?
Theaet. IS what different?
Socr. Wisdom. Are not people wise in the things of which they have knowledge?
Theaet. Certainly.
Socr. Then knowledge and wisdom are the same thing?
Theaet. Yes.
Socr. Well, that is precisely what I am puzzled about: I cannot make out to my own satisfaction what knowledge is. Can we answer that question? What do you all say? Which of us will speak first? Everyone who misses shall 'sit down and be donkey', as children say when they are playing at ball; anyone who gets through without missing shall be king and have the right to make us answer any question he likes. Why are you all silent? I hope, Theodorus, that my passion for argument is not making me ill-mannered, in my eagerness to start a conversation and set us all at ease with one another like friends?
Theod. Not at all, Socrates; there is nothing ill-mannered in that. But please ask one of these young people to answer your questions; I am not at home in an abstract discussion of this sort, nor likely to become so at my age. But it is just the thing for them, and they have a far better prospect of improvement; youth, indeed, is capable of improving at anything. So do not let Theaetetus off; go on putting your questions to him.
Socr. You hear what Theodorus says, Theaetetus. I do not think you will want to disobey him; and it would be wrong for you not to do what an older and wiser man bids you. So tell me, in a generous spirit, what you think knowledge is.
Theaet. Well, Socrates, I cannot refuse, since you and Theodorus ask me. Anyhow, if I do make a mistake, you will set me right.
Socr. By all means, if we can.
Theaet. Then I think the things one can learn from Theodorus are knowledge — geometry and all the sciences you mentioned just now; and then there are the crafts of d. the cobbler and other workmen. Each and all of these are knowledge and nothing else.
Socr. you are generous indeed, my dear Theaetetus — so open-handed that, when you are asked for one simple thing, you offer a whole variety.
Theaet. What do you mean, Socrates?
Socr. There may be nothing in it, but I will explain what my notion is. When you speak of cobbling, you mean by that word precisely a knowledge of shoe-making?
Theaet. Precisely.
Socr. And when you speak of carpentry, you mean just a knowledge of how to make wooden furniture?
Theaet. Yes.
Socr. In both cases, then, you are defining what the craft is a knowledge of?
Theaet. Yes.
Socr. But the question you were asked, Theaetetus, was not, what are the objects of knowledge, nor yet how many sorts of knowledge there are. We did not want to count them, but to find out what the thing itself — knowledge — is. Is there nothing in that?
Theaet. NO, you are quite right.
Socr. Take another example. Suppose we were asked about some obvious common thing, for instance, what clay is; it would be absurd to answer: potters' clay, and oven-makers' clay, and brick-makers' clay.
Theaet. No doubt.
Socr. To begin with, it is absurd to imagine that our answer conveys any meaning to the questioner, when we use the word 'clay', no matter whose clay we call it — the doll-maker's or any other craftsman's. You do not suppose a man can understand the name of a thing, when he does not know what the thing is?
Theaet. Certainly not.
Socr. Then, if he has no idea of knowledge, 'knowledge about shoes' conveys nothing to him?
Theaet. No.
Socr. 'Cobblery', in fact, or the name of any other art has no meaning for anyone who has no conception of knowledge.
Theaet. That is so.
Socr. Then, when we are asked what knowledge is, it is absurd to reply by giving the name of some art. The answer is: 'knowledge of so-and-so'; but that was not what the question called for.
Theaet. SO it seems.
Socr. And besides, we are going an interminable way round, when our answer might be quite short and simple. In this question about clay, for instance, the simple and ordinary thing to say is that clay is earth mixed with moisture, never mind whose clay it may be.
Theaet. It appears easy now, Socrates, when you put it like that. The meaning of your question seems to be the same sort of thing as a point that came up when your d. namesake, Socrates here, and I were talking not long ago.
Socr. What was that, Theaetetus?
Theaet. Theodorus here was proving to us something about square roots, namely, that the sides (or roots) of squares representing three square feet and five square feet are not commensurable in length with the line represents one foot; and he went on in this way, taking all the separate cases up to the root of seventeen square feet; There for some reason he stopped. The idea occurred to us, seeing that these square roots were evidently infinite in number, to try to arrive at a single collective term by which we could designate all these roots.
(Continues…)
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Table of Contents
Introduction 1
The Theaetetus
142A-143C The Introductory Dialogue 15
The Main Dialogue 17
143D-151D Introductory Conversation 17
I The Claim of Perception to be Knowledge 29
151D-E Theaetetus identifies knowledge with perception 29
151E-152C Dialectical combination of Theaetetus' position with Protagoras' doctrine 30
152C-153D Dialectical combination with the Heracleitean doctrine of Flux 36
153D-154B Preliminary account of the nature of sense-objects and percipients 39
154B-155D Some puzzles concerning size and number 41
155D-157C Theory of the nature of sense-perception 45
157C-D Theaetetus accepts the theory of perception 51
157E-160E The claim of perception, so denned, to be infallible 52
160E-161B Interlude. Criticism begins 58
161B-163A Some objections against Protagoras 60
163A-164B Objections to a simple identification of perceiving and knowing 62
164C-165E Socrates undertakes to defend Protagoras 65
165E-168C The Defence of Protagoras 68
168C-169D Interlude 75
169D-171D Criticism of Protagoras' doctrine as extended to all judgments 76
171D-172B Restatement of the question: Wherein lies the superiority of the wise? 80
172B-177C Digression. The contrast of Philosophy and Rhetoric 81
177C-179C Refutation of the Defence of Protagoras 89
179C-181B The extreme Heracleitean position, contrasted with Pannenides' denial of all motion, and change 92
181B-183C Criticism of extreme Heracleiteanism 95
183C-184B Interlude. Socrates declines to criticise Parmenides 101
184B-186E 'Perception is Knowledge' finally disproved 102
II The Claim of True Judgment to be Knowledge 109
187A-C Theaetetus states the claim of true judgment 109
187C-E How is false judgment possible? 110
187E-188C False judgment as thinking that one thing (known or unknown) is another thing (known or unknown) 111
188C-189B False judgment as thinking the thing that is not 114
189B-190E The apparent impossibility of false judgment as mistaking one thing for another 116
190E-195B One class of mistakes can be explained by taking into account memory. The Wax Tablet 120
195B-196C False judgment in general cannot, however, be defined as the misfitting of perception to thought 127
196D-199C Memory compared to an Aviary, to provide for mistaken judgments not involving perception 130
199C-200D Rejection of 'interchange of pieces of knowledge' as an account of false judgment 136
200D-201C Conclusion: Knowledge cannot be defined as true belief 140
III The Claim of True Belief accompanied by an account or explanation to be Knowledge 142
201C-202C Socrates states this theory as he has heard it 142
202C-206C The theory criticised for making elements unknowable 146
206C-E Three possible meanings of 'account': (1) Expression of thought in speech (irrelevant) 150
206E-208B (2) Enumeration of elementary parts. This will not convert a true notion into knowledge 155
208B-210B (3) The statement of a distinguishing mark. This will not convert a true notion into knowledge 158
210B-D Epilogue. All these attempts to define knowledge have failed 163