achievement of the art of midwifery-you would think so?

  Theaet. Indeed I should.

  Soc. Well, my art of midwifery is in most respects like theirs;
but differs, in that I attend men and not women; and look after
their souls when they are in labour, and not after their bodies: and
the triumph of my art is in thoroughly examining whether the thought
which the mind of the young man brings forth is a false idol or a
noble and true birth. And like the mid-wives, I am barren, and the
reproach which is often made against me, that I ask questions of
others and have not the wit to answer them myself, is very just-the
reason is, that the god compels-me to be a midwife, but does not allow
me to bring forth. And therefore I am not myself at all wise, nor have
I anything to show which is the invention or birth of my own soul, but
those who converse with me profit. Some of them appear dull enough
at first, but afterwards, as our acquaintance ripens, if the god is
gracious to them, they all make astonishing progress; and this in
the opinion of others as well as in their own. It is quite dear that
they never learned anything from me; the many fine discoveries to
which they cling are of their own making. But to me and the god they
owe their delivery. And the proof of my words is, that many of them in
their ignorance, either in their self-conceit despising me, or falling
under the influence of others, have gone away too soon; and have not
only lost the children of whom I had previously delivered them by an
ill bringing up, but have stifled whatever else they had in them by
evil communications, being fonder of lies and shams than of the truth;
and they have at last ended by seeing themselves, as others see
them, to be great fools. Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus, is one
of them, and there are many others. The truants often return to me,
and beg that I would consort with them again-they are ready to go to
me on their knees and then, if my familiar allows, which is not always
the case, I receive them, and they begin to grow again. Dire are the
pangs which my art is able to arouse and to allay in those who consort
with me, just like the pangs of women in childbirth; night and day
they are full of perplexity and travail which is even worse than
that of the women. So much for them. And there are -others,
Theaetetus, who come to me apparently having nothing in them; and as I
know that they have no need of my art, I coax them into marrying
some one, and by the grace of God I can generally tell who is likely
to do them good. Many of them I have given away to Prodicus, and
many to other inspired sages. I tell you this long story, friend
Theaetetus, because I suspect, as indeed you seem to think yourself,
that you are in labour-great with some conception. Come then to me,
who am a midwife's son and myself a midwife, and do your best to
answer the questions which I will ask you. And if I abstract and
expose your first-born, because I discover upon inspection that the
conception which you have formed is a vain shadow, do not quarrel with
me on that account, as the manner of women is when their first
children are taken from them. For I have actually known some who