Parmenides

Thereupon we started, and we found Antiphon at home, giving a smith an order to make a bridle. When he had got rid of the smith and his brother told him what we were there for, he remembered me from my former visit and greeted me cordially, and when we asked him to repeat the conversation, he was at first unwilling—for he said it was a good deal of trouble—but afterwards he did so. Antiphon, then, said that Pythodorus told him that Zeno and Parmenides once came to the Great Panathenaea; that Parmenides was already quite elderly, about sixty-five years old, very white-haired, and of handsome and noble countenance; Zeno was at that time about forty years of age; he was tall and good-looking, and there was a story that Parmenides had been in love with him. He said that they lodged with Pythodorus outside of the wall, in Cerameicus, and that Socrates and many others with him went there because they wanted to hear Zeno’s writings, which had been brought to Athens for the first time by them. Socrates was then very young. So Zeno himself read aloud to them, and Parmenides was not in the house. Pythodorus said the reading of the treatises was nearly finished when he came in himself with Parmenides and Aristoteles (the one who was afterwards one of the thirty), so they heard only a little that remained of the written works. He himself, however, had heard Zeno read them before. Socrates listened to the end, and then asked that the first thesis of the first treatise be read again. When this had been done, he said: Zeno, what do you mean by this? That if existences are many, they must be both like and unlike, which is impossible; for the unlike cannot be like, nor the like unlike? Is not that your meaning?Yes, said Zeno. Then if it is impossible for the unlike to be like and the like unlike, it is impossible for existences to be many; for if they were to be many, they would experience the impossible. Is that the purpose of your treatises, to maintain against all arguments that existences are not many? And you think each of your treatises is a proof of this very thing, and therefore you believe that the proofs you offer that existences are not many are as many as the treatises you have written? Is that your meaning, or have I misunderstood?

Ceph. No, said Zeno, you have grasped perfectly the general intent of the work. I see, Parmenides, said Socrates, that Zeno here wishes to be very close to you not only in his friendship, but also in his writing. For he has written much the same thing as you, but by reversing the process he tries to cheat us into the belief that he is saying something new. For you, in your poems, say that the all is one, and you furnish proofs of this in fine and excellent fashion; and he, on the other hand, says it is not many, and he also furnishes very numerous and weighty proofs. That one of you says it is one, and the other that it is not many, and that each of you expresses himself so that although you say much the same you seem not to have said the same things at all, appears to the rest of us a feat of expression quite beyond our power. Yes, Socrates, said Zeno, but you have not perceived all aspects of the truth about my writings. You follow the arguments with a scent as keen as a Laconian hound’s, but you do not observe that my treatise is not by any means so pretentious that it could have been written with the intention you ascribe to it, of disguising itself as a great performance in the eyes of men. What you mentioned is a mere accident, but in truth these writings are meant to support the argument of Parmenides against those who attempt to jeer at him and assert that if the all is one many absurd results follow which contradict his theory. Now this treatise opposes the advocates of the many and gives them back their ridicule with interest, for its purpose is to show that their hypothesis that existences are many, if properly followed up, leads to still more absurd results than the hypothesis that they are one. It was in such a spirit of controversy that I wrote it when I was young, and when it was written some one stole it, so that I could not even consider whether it should be published or not. So, Socrates, you are not aware of this and you think that the cause of its composition was not the controversial spirit of a young man, but the ambition of an old one. In other respects, as I said, you guessed its meaning pretty well.

Ceph. I see, said Socrates, and I accept your explanation. But tell me, do you not believe there is an idea of likeness in the abstract, and another idea of unlikeness, the opposite of the first, and that you and I and all things which we call many partake of these two? And that those which partake of likeness become like, and those which partake of unlikeness become unlike, and those which partake of both become both like and unlike, all in the manner and degree of their participation? And even if all things partake of both opposites, and are enabled by their participation to be both like and unlike themselves, what is there wonderful about that? For if anyone showed that the absolute like becomes unlike, or the unlike like, that would, in my opinion, be a wonder; but if he shows that things which partake of both become both like and unlike, that seems to me, Zeno, not at all strange, not even if he shows that all things are one by participation in unity and that the same are also many by participation in multitude; but if he shows that absolute unity is also many and the absolute many again are one, then I shall be amazed. The same applies to all other things. If he shows that the kinds and ideas in and by themselves possess these opposite qualities, it is marvellous but if he shows that I am both one and many, what marvel is there in that? He will say, when he wishes to show that I am many, that there are my right parts and my left parts, my front parts and my back parts, likewise upper and lower, all different; for I do, I suppose, partake of multitude; and when he wishes to show that I am one, he will say that we here are seven persons, of whom I am one, a man, partaking also of unity and so he shows that both assertions are true. If anyone then undertakes to show that the same things are both many and one—I mean such things as stones, sticks, and the like—we shall say that he shows that they are many and one, but not that the one is many or the many one; he says nothing wonderful, but only what we should all accept. If, however, as I was saying just now, he first distinguishes the abstract ideas, such as likeness and unlikeness, multitude and unity, rest and motion, and the like, and then shows that they can be mingled and separated, I should, said he, be filled with amazement, Zeno.

Ceph.Now I think this has been very manfully discussed by you; but I should, as I say, be more amazed if anyone could show in the abstract ideas, which are intellectual conceptions, this same multifarious and perplexing entanglement which you described in visible objects. Pythodorus said that he thought at every word, while Socrates was saying this, Parmenides and Zeno would be angry, but they paid close attention to him and frequently looked at each other and smiled, as if in admiration of Socrates, and when he stopped speaking Parmenides expressed their approval. Socrates, he said, what an admirable talent for argument you have! Tell me, did you invent this distinction yourself, which separates abstract ideas from the things which partake of them? And do you think there is such a thing as abstract likeness apart from the likeness which we possess, and abstract one and many, and the other abstractions of which you heard Zeno speaking just now? Yes, I do, said Socrates. And also, said Parmenides, abstract ideas of the just, the beautiful, the good, and all such conceptions? Yes, he replied. And is there an abstract idea of man, apart from us and all others such as we are, or of fire or water? I have often, he replied, been very much troubled, Parmenides, to decide whether there are ideas of such things, or not. And are you undecided about certain other things, which you might think rather ridiculous, such as hair, mud, dirt, or anything else particularly vile and worthless? Would you say that there is an idea of each of these distinct and different from the things with which we have to do, or not? By no means, said Socrates. No, I think these things are such as they appear to us, and it would be quite absurd to believe that there is an idea of them; and yet I am sometimes disturbed by the thought that perhaps what is true of one thing is true of all. Then when I have taken up this position, I run away for fear of falling into some abyss of nonsense and perishing; so when I come to those things which we were just saying do have ideas, I stay and busy myself with them. Yes, for you are still young, said Parmenides, and philosophy has not yet taken hold upon you, Socrates, as I think it will later. Then you will not despise them; but now you still consider people’s opinions, on account of your youth. Well, tell me do you think that, as you say, there are ideas, and that these other things which partake of them are named from them, as, for instance, those that partake of likeness become like, those that partake of greatness great, those that partake of beauty and justice just and beautiful?

Ceph. Certainly, said Socrates. Well then, does each participant object partake of the whole idea, or of a part of it? Or could there be some other third kind of participation? How could there be? said he. Do you think the whole idea, being one, is in each of the many participants, or what? Yes, for what prevents it from being in them, Parmenides? said Socrates. Then while it is one and the same, the whole of it would be in many separate individuals at once, and thus it would itself be separate from itself. No, he replied, for it might be like day, which is one and the same, is in many places at once, and yet is not separated from itself; so each idea, though one and the same, might be in all its participants at once. That, said he, is very neat, Socrates you make one to be in many places at once, just as if you should spread a sail over many persons and then should say it was one and all of it was over many. Is not that about what you mean? Perhaps it is, said Socrates. Would the whole sail be over each person, or a particular part over each? A part over each. Then, said he, the ideas themselves, Socrates, are divisible into parts, and the objects which partake of them would partake of a part, and in each of them there would be not the whole, but only a part of each idea. So it appears. Are you, then, Socrates, willing to assert that the one idea is really divided and will still be one? By no means, he replied. No, said Parmenides, for if you divide absolute greatness, and each of the many great things is great by a part of greatness smaller than absolute greatness, is not that unreasonable? Certainly, he said. Or again, will anything by taking away a particular small part of equality possess something by means of which, when it is less than absolute equality, its possessor will be equal to anything else? That is impossible. Or let one of us have a part of the small; the small will be greater than this, since this is a part of it, and therefore the absolute small will be greater; but that to which the part of the small is added will be smaller, not greater, than before. That, said he, is impossible. How, then, Socrates, will other things partake of those ideas of yours, if they cannot partake of them either as parts or as wholes? By Zeus, he replied, I think that is a very hard question to determine. Well, what do you think of this? Of what?

Ceph.I fancy your reason for believing that each idea is one is something like this; when there is a number of things which seem to you to be great, you may think, as you look at them all, that there is one and the same idea in them, and hence you think the great is one. That is true, he said. But if with your mind’s eye you regard the absolute great and these many great things in the same way, will not another great appear beyond, by which all these must appear to be great? So it seems. That is, another idea of greatness will appear, in addition to absolute greatness and the objects which partake of it; and another again in addition to these, by reason of which they are all great; and each of your ideas will no longer be one, but their number will be infinite. But, Parmenides, said Socrates, each of these ideas may be only a thought, which can exist only in our minds then each might be one, without being exposed to the consequences you have just mentioned. But, he said, is each thought one, but a thought of nothing? That is impossible, he replied. But of something? Yes. Of something that is, or that is not? Of something that is. A thought of some single element which that thought thinks of as appertaining to all and as being one idea? Yes. Then will not this single element, which is thought of as one and as always the same in all, be an idea? That, again, seems inevitable. Well then, said Parmenides, does not the necessity which compels you to say that all other things partake of ideas, oblige you also to believe either that everything is made of thoughts, and all things think, or that, being thoughts, they are without thought? That is quite unreasonable, too, he said, but Parmenides, I think the most likely view is, that these ideas exist in nature as patterns, and the other things resemble them and are imitations of them; their participation in ideas is assimilation to them, that and nothing else. Then if anything, he said, resembles the idea, can that idea avoid being like the thing which resembles it, in so far as the thing has been made to resemble it; or is there any possibility that the like be unlike its like? No, there is none. And must not necessarily the like partake of the same idea as its like? It must. That by participation in which like things are made like, will be the absolute idea, will it not? Certainly.

Ceph. Then it is impossible that anything be like the idea, or the idea like anything; for if they are alike, some further idea, in addition to the first, will always appear, and if that is like anything, still another, and a new idea will always be arising, if the idea is like that which partakes of it. Very true. Then it is not by likeness that other things partake of ideas we must seek some other method of participation. So it seems. Do you see, then, Socrates, how great the difficulty is, if we maintain that ideas are separate, independent entities? Yes, certainly. You may be sure, he said, that you do not yet, if I may say so, grasp the greatness of the difficulty involved in your assumption that each idea is one and is something distinct from concrete things. How is that? said he. There are many reasons, he said, but the greatest is this; if anyone should say that the ideas cannot even be known if they are such as we say they must be, no one could prove to him that he was wrong, unless he who argued that they could be known were a man of wide education and ability and were willing to follow the proof through many long and elaborate details; he who maintains that they cannot be known would be unconvinced. Why is that, Parmenides? said Socrates. Because, Socrates, I think that you or anyone else who claims that there is an absolute idea of each thing would agree in the first place that none of them exists in us. No, for if it did, it would no longer be absolute, said Socrates. You are right, he said. Then those absolute ideas which are relative to one another have their own nature in relation to themselves, and not in relation to the likenesses, or whatever we choose to call them, which are amongst us, and from which we receive certain names as we participate in them. And these concrete things, which have the same names with the ideas, are likewise relative only to themselves, not to the ideas, and, belong to themselves, not to the like-named ideas. What do you mean? said Socrates. For instance, said Parmenides, if one of us is master or slave of anyone, he is not the slave of master in the abstract, nor is the master the master of slave in the abstract; each is a man and is master or slave of a man but mastership in the abstract is mastership of slavery in the abstract, and likewise slavery in the abstract is slavery to mastership in the abstract, but our slaves and masters are not relative to them, nor they to us; they, as I say, belong to themselves and are relative to themselves and likewise our slaves and masters are relative to themselves.

Ceph.You understand what I mean, do you not? Certainly, said Socrates, I understand. Then knowledge also, if abstract or absolute, would be knowledge of abstract or absolute truth? Certainly. And likewise each kind of absolute knowledge would be knowledge of each kind of absolute being, would it not? Yes. And would not the knowledge that exists among us be the knowledge of the truth that exists among us, and each kind of our knowledge be the knowledge of each kind of truth that exists among us? Yes, that is inevitable. But the ideas themselves, as you, agree, we have not, neither can they be among us. No, they cannot. And the various classes of ideas are known by the absolute idea of knowledge? Yes. Which we do not possess. No, we do not. Then none of the ideas is known by us, since we do not partake of absolute knowledge. Apparently not. Then the absolute good and the beautiful and all which we conceive to be absolute ideas are unknown to us. I am afraid they are. Now we come to a still more fearful consequence. What is it? You would say, no doubt, that if there is an absolute kind of knowledge, it is far more accurate than our knowledge, and the same of beauty and all the rest? Yes. And if anything partakes of absolute knowledge, you would say that there is no one more likely than God to possess this most accurate knowledge? Of course. Then will it be possible for God to know human things, if he has absolute knowledge? Why not? Because, said Parmenides, we have agreed that those ideas are not relative to our world, nor our world to them, but each only to themselves. Yes, we have agreed to that. Then if this most perfect mastership and this most accurate knowledge are with God, his mastership can never rule us, nor his knowledge know us or anything of our world; we do not rule the gods with our authority, nor do we know anything of the divine with our knowledge, and by the same reasoning, they likewise, being gods, are not our masters and have no knowledge of human affairs. But surely this, said he, is a most amazing argument, if it makes us deprive God of knowledge.

Ceph. And yet, Socrates, said Parmenides, these difficulties and many more besides are inseparable from the ideas, if these ideas of things exist and we declare that each of them is an absolute idea. Therefore he who hears such assertions is confused in his mind and argues that the ideas do not exist, and even if they do exist cannot by any possibility be known by man; and he thinks that what he says is reasonable, and, as I was saying just now, he is amazingly hard to convince. Only a man of very great natural gifts will be able to understand that everything has a class and absolute essence, and only a still more wonderful man can find out all these facts and teach anyone else to analyze them properly and understand them. I agree with you, Parmenides, said Socrates, for what you say is very much to my mind. But on the other hand, said Parmenides, if anyone, with his mind fixed on all these objections and others like them, denies the existence of ideas of things, and does not assume an idea under which each individual thing is classed, he will be quite at a loss, since he denies that the idea of each thing is always the same, and in this way he will utterly destroy the power of carrying on discussion. You seem to have been well aware of this. Quite true, he said. Then what will become of philosophy? To what can you turn, if these things are unknown? I do not see at all, at least not at present. No, Socrates, he said, for you try too soon, before you are properly trained, to define the beautiful, the just, the good, and all the other ideas. You see I noticed it when I heard you talking yesterday with Aristoteles here. Your impulse towards dialectic is noble and divine, you may be assured of that; but exercise and train yourself while you are still young in an art which seems to be useless and is called by most people mere loquacity; otherwise the truth will escape you. What, then, Parmenides, he said, is the method of training? That which you heard Zeno practising, said he. However, even when you were speaking to him I was pleased with you, because you would not discuss the doubtful question in terms of visible objects or in relation to them, but only with reference to what we conceive most entirely by the intellect and may call ideas. Yes, he said, that is because I think that in that way it is quite easy to show that things experience likeness or unlikeness or anything else.

Ceph. Quite right, said he, but if you wish to get better training, you must do something more than that; you must consider not only what happens if a particular hypothesis is true, but also what happens if it is not true. What do you mean? he said. Take, for instance, he replied, that hypothesis of Zeno’s if the many exist, you should inquire what will happen to the many themselves in relation to themselves and to the one, and to the one in relation to itself and to the many, and also what will happen to the one and the many in relation to themselves and to each other, if the many do not exist. And likewise if you suppose the existence or non-existence of likeness, what will happen to the things supposed and to other things in relation to themselves and to each other under each of the two hypotheses. The same applies to unlikeness and to motion and rest, creation and destruction, and even to being and not being. In brief, whatever the subject of your hypothesis, if you suppose that it is or is not, or that it experiences any other affection, you must consider what happens to it and to any other particular things you may choose, and to a greater number and to all in the same way; and you must consider other things in relation to themselves and to anything else you may choose in any instance, whether you suppose that the subject of your hypothesis exists or does not exist, if you are to train yourself completely to see the truth perfectly. Parmenides, he said, it is a stupendous amount of study which you propose, and I do not understand very well. Why do you not yourself frame an hypothesis and discuss it, to make me understand better? That is a great task, Socrates, he said, to impose upon a man of my age. But you, Zeno, said Socrates, why do not you do it for us? Pythodorus said that Zeno answered with a smile: Let us ask it of Parmenides himself, Socrates; for there is a great deal in what he says, and perhaps you do not see how heavy a task you are imposing upon him. If there were more of us, it would not be fair to ask it of him; for it is not suitable for him to speak on such subjects before many, especially at his age; for the many do not know that except by this devious passage through all things the mind cannot attain to the truth. So I, Parmenides, join Socrates in his request, that I myself may hear the method, which I have not heard for a long time. Antiphon said that Pythodorus told him that when Zeno said this he himself and Antisthenes and the rest begged Parmenides to show his meaning by an example and not to refuse. And Parmenides said: I must perforce do as you ask.

Ceph. And yet I feel very much like the horse in the poem of Ibycus —an old race-horse who was entered for a chariot race and was trembling with fear of what was before him, because he knew it by experience. Ibycus says he is compelled to fall in love against his will in his old age, and compares himself to the horse. So I am filled with terror when I remember through what a fearful ocean of words I must swim, old man that I am. However, I will do it, for I must be obliging, especially since we are, as Zeno says, alone. Well, how shall we begin? What shall be our first hypothesis? Or, since you are determined that I must engage in a laborious pastime, shall I begin with myself, taking my own hypothesis and discussing the consequences of the supposition that the one exists or that it does not exist? By all means, said Zeno. Who then, said he, to answer my questions? Shall we say the youngest? He would be least likely to be over-curious and most likely to say what he thinks and moreover his replies would give me a chance to rest. I am ready, Parmenides, to do that, said Aristoteles, for I am the youngest, so you mean me. Ask your questions and I will answer. Well then, said he, if the one exists, the one cannot be many, can it? No, of course not. Then there can be no parts of it, nor can it be a whole. How is that? The part surely is part of a whole. Yes. And what is the whole? Is not a whole that of which no part is wanting? Certainly. Then in both cases the one would consist of parts, being a whole and having parts. Inevitably. Then in both cases the one would be many, not one. True. Yet it must be not many, but one. Yes. Then the one, if it is to be one, will not be a whole and will not have parts. No. And if it has no parts, it can have no beginning, or middle, or end, for those would be parts of it? Quite right. Beginning and end are, however, the limits of everything. Of course. Then the one, if it has neither beginning nor end, is unlimited. Yes, it is unlimited. And it is without form, for it partakes neither of the round nor of the straight. How so? The round, of course, is that of which the extremes are everywhere equally distant from the center. Yes. And the straight, again, is that of which the middle is in the nearest line between the two extremes. It is. Then the one would have parts and would be many, whether it partook of straight or of round form. Certainly. Then it is neither straight nor round, since it has no parts. Right.