148
SOC. Well then—for you pointed out the way admirably just now—take your answer about the roots as a model, and just as you embraced them all in one class, though they were many, try to designate the many forms of knowledge by one definition.
148
THEAET. But I assure you, Socrates, I have often tried to work that out, when I heard reports of the questions that you asked, but I can neither persuade myself that I have any satisfactory answer, nor can I find anyone else who gives the kind of answer you insist upon; and yet, on the other hand, I cannot get rid of a feeling of concern about the matter.
148
SOC. Yes, you are suffering the pangs of labor, Theaetetus, because you are not empty, but pregnant.
148
THEAET. I do not know, Socrates; I merely tell you what I feel.
149
SOC. Have you then not heard, you absurd boy, that I am the son of a noble and burly midwife, Phaenarete?
149
THEAET. Yes, I have heard that.
149
SOC. And have you also heard that I practise the same art?
149
THEAET. No, never.
149
SOC. But I assure you it is true; only do not tell on me to the others; for it is not known that I possess this art. But other people, since they do not know it, do not say this of me, but say that I am a most eccentric person and drive men to distraction. Have you heard that also?
149
THEAET. Yes, I have.
149
SOC. Shall I tell you the reason then?
149
THEAET. Oh yes, do.
149
SOC. Just take into consideration the whole business of the midwives, and you will understand more easily what I mean. For you know, I suppose, that no one of them attends other women while she is still capable of conceiving and bearing but only those do so who have become too old to bear.
149
THEAET. Yes, certainly.