mistaken about you, but do your best to ascertain the true nature of
knowledge, as well as of other things.

  Theaet. I am eager enough, Socrates, if that would bring to light
the truth.

  Soc. Come, you made a good beginning just now; let your own answer
about roots be your model, and as you comprehended them all in one
class, try and bring the many sorts of knowledge under one definition.

  Theaet. I can assure you, Socrates, that I have tried very often,
when the report of questions asked by you was brought to me; but I can
neither persuade myself that I have a satisfactory answer to give, nor
hear of any one who answers as you would have him; and I cannot
shake off a feeling of anxiety.

  Soc. These are the pangs of labour, my dear Theaetetus; you have
something within you which you are bringing to the birth.

  Theaet. I do not know, Socrates; I only say what I feel.

  Soc. And have you never heard, simpleton, that I am the son of a
midwife, brave and burly, whose name was Phaenarete?

  Theaet. Yes, I have.

  Soc. And that I myself practise midwifery?

  Theaet. No, never.

  Soc. Let me tell you that I do though, my friend: but you must not
reveal the secret, as the world in general have not found me out;
and therefore they only say of me, that I am the strangest of
mortals and drive men to their wits' end. Did you ever hear that too?

  Theaet. Yes.

  Soc. Shall I tell you the reason?

  Theaet. By all means.

  Soc. Bear in mind the whole business of the mid-wives, and then
you will see my meaning better:-No woman, as you are probably aware,
who is still able to conceive and bear, attends other women, but
only those who are past bearing.

  Theaet. Yes; I know.

  Soc. The reason of this is said to be that Artemis-the goddess of
childbirth-is not a mother, and she honours those who are like