Chapter 6
In the first place, I think, Socrates, that you, or any one who maintains the existence of absolute essences, will admit that they cannot exist in us.
No, said Socrates; for then they would be no longer absolute.
True, he said; and therefore when ideas are what they are in relation to one another, their essence is determined by a relation among themselves, and has nothing to do with the resemblances, or whatever they are to be termed, which are in our sphere, and from which we receive this or that name when we partake of them. And the things which are within our sphere and have the same names with them, are likewise only relative to one another, and not to the ideas which have the same names with them, but belong to themselves and not to them.
What do you mean? said Socrates.
I may illustrate my meaning in this way, said Parmenides:--A master has a slave; now there is nothing absolute in the relation between them, which is simply a relation of one man to another. But there is also an idea of mastership in the abstract, which is relative to the idea of slavery in the abstract. These natures have nothing to do with us, nor we with them; they are concerned with themselves only, and we with ourselves. Do you see my meaning?
Yes, said Socrates, I quite see your meaning.
And will not knowledge--I mean absolute knowledge--answer to absolute truth?
Certainly.
And each kind of absolute knowledge will answer to each kind of absolute being?
Yes.
But the knowledge which we have, will answer to the truth which we have; and again, each kind of knowledge which we have, will be a knowledge of each kind of being which we have?
Certainly.
But the ideas themselves, as you admit, we have not, and cannot have?
No, we cannot.
And the absolute natures or kinds are known severally by the absolute idea of knowledge?
Yes.
And we have not got the idea of knowledge?
No.
Then none of the ideas are known to us, because we have no share in absolute knowledge?
I suppose not.
Then the nature of the beautiful in itself, and of the good in itself, and all other ideas which we suppose to exist absolutely, are unknown to us?
It would seem so.
I think that there is a stranger consequence still.
What is it?
Would you, or would you not say, that absolute knowledge, if there is such a thing, must be a far more exact knowledge than our knowledge; and the same of beauty and of the rest?
Yes.
And if there be such a thing as participation in absolute knowledge, no one is more likely than God to have this most exact knowledge?
Certainly.
But then, will God, having absolute knowledge, have a knowledge of human things?
Why not?
Because, Socrates, said Parmenides, we have admitted that the ideas are not valid in relation to human things; nor human things in relation to them; the relations of either are limited to their respective spheres.
Yes, that has been admitted.
And if God has this perfect authority, and perfect knowledge, his authority cannot rule us, nor his knowledge know us, or any human thing; just as our authority does not extend to the gods, nor our knowledge know anything which is divine, so by parity of reason they, being gods, are not our masters, neither do they know the things of men.
Yet, surely, said Socrates, to deprive God of knowledge is monstrous.
These, Socrates, said Parmenides, are a few, and only a few of the difficulties in which we are involved if ideas really are and we determine each one of them to be an absolute unity. He who hears what may be said against them will deny the very existence of them--and even if they do exist, he will say that they must of necessity be unknown to man; and he will seem to have reason on his side, and as we were remarking just now, will be very difficult to convince; a man must be gifted with very considerable ability before he can learn that everything has a class and an absolute essence; and still more remarkable will he be who discovers all these things for himself, and having thoroughly investigated them is able to teach them to others.
I agree with you, Parmenides, said Socrates; and what you say is very much to my mind.
And yet, Socrates, said Parmenides, if a man, fixing his attention on these and the like difficulties, does away with ideas of things and will not admit that every individual thing has its own determinate idea which is always one and the same, he will have nothing on which his mind can rest; and so he will utterly destroy the power of reasoning, as you seem to me to have particularly noted.
Very true, he said.
But, then, what is to become of philosophy? Whither shall we turn, if the ideas are unknown?
I certainly do not see my way at present.
Yes, said Parmenides; and I think that this arises, Socrates, out of your attempting to define the beautiful, the just, the good, and the ideas generally, without sufficient previous training. I noticed your deficiency, when I heard you talking here with your friend Aristoteles, the day before yesterday. The impulse that carries you towards philosophy is assuredly noble and divine; but there is an art which is called by the vulgar idle talking, and which is often imagined to be useless; in that you must train and exercise yourself, now that you are young, or truth will elude your grasp.
And what is the nature of this exercise, Parmenides, which you would recommend?
That which you heard Zeno practising; at the same time, I give you credit for saying to him that you did not care to examine the perplexity in reference to visible things, or to consider the question that way; but only in reference to objects of thought, and to what may be called ideas.
Why, yes, he said, there appears to me to be no difficulty in showing by this method that visible things are like and unlike and may experience anything.
Quite true, said Parmenides; but I think that you should go a step further, and consider not only the consequences which flow from a given hypothesis, but also the consequences which flow from denying the hypothesis; and that will be still better training for you.
What do you mean? he said.
I mean, for example, that in the case of this very hypothesis of Zeno's about the many, you should inquire not only what will be the consequences to the many in relation to themselves and to the one, and to the one in relation to itself and the many, on the hypothesis of the being of the many, but also what will be the consequences to the one and the many in their relation to themselves and to each other, on the opposite hypothesis. Or, again, if likeness is or is not, what will be the consequences in either of these cases to the subjects of the hypothesis, and to other things, in relation both to themselves and to one another, and so of unlikeness; and the same holds good of motion and rest, of generation and destruction, and even of being and not-being. In a word, when you suppose anything to be or not to be, or to be in any way affected, you must look at the consequences in relation to the thing itself, and to any other things which you choose,--to each of them singly, to more than one, and to all; and so of other things, you must look at them in relation to themselves and to anything else which you suppose either to be or not to be, if you would train yourself perfectly and see the real truth.
That, Parmenides, is a tremendous business of which you speak, and I do not quite understand you; will you take some hypothesis and go through the steps?--then I shall apprehend you better.
That, Socrates, is a serious task to impose on a man of my years.
Then will you, Zeno? said Socrates.
Zeno answered with a smile:--Let us make our petition to Parmenides himself, who is quite right in saying that you are hardly aware of the extent of the task which you are imposing on him; and if there were more of us I should not ask him, for these are not subjects which any one, especially at his age, can well speak of before a large audience; most people are not aware that this roundabout progress through all things is the only way in which the mind can attain truth and wisdom. And therefore, Parmenides, I join in the request of Socrates, that I may hear the process again which I have not heard for a long time.
When Zeno had thus spoken, Pythodorus, according to Antiphon's report of him, said, that he himself and Aristoteles and the whole company entreated Parmenides to give an example of the process. I cannot refuse, said Parmenides; and yet I feel rather like Ibycus, who, when in his old age, against his will, he fell in love, compared himself to an old racehorse, who was about to run in a chariot race, shaking with fear at the course he knew so well--this was his simile of himself. And I also experience a trembling when I remember through what an ocean of words I have to wade at my time of life. But I must indulge you, as Zeno says that I ought, and we are alone. Where shall I begin? And what shall be our first hypothesis, if I am to attempt this laborious pastime? Shall I begin with myself, and take my own hypothesis the one? and consider the consequences which follow on the supposition either of the being or of the not-being of one?
By all means, said Zeno.
And who will answer me? he said. Shall I propose the youngest? He will not make difficulties and will be the most likely to say what he thinks; and his answers will give me time to breathe.
I am the one whom you mean, Parmenides, said Aristoteles; for I am the youngest and at your service. Ask, and I will answer.
Parmenides proceeded: 1.a. If one is, he said, the one cannot be many?
Impossible.
Then the one cannot have parts, and cannot be a whole?
Why not?
Because every part is part of a whole; is it not?
Yes.
And what is a whole? would not that of which no part is wanting be a whole?
Certainly.
Then, in either case, the one would be made up of parts; both as being a whole, and also as having parts?
To be sure.
And in either case, the one would be many, and not one?
True.
But, surely, it ought to be one and not many?
It ought.
Then, if the one is to remain one, it will not be a whole, and will not have parts?
No.
But if it has no parts, it will have neither beginning, middle, nor end; for these would of course be parts of it.
Right.
But then, again, a beginning and an end are the limits of everything?
Certainly.
Then the one, having neither beginning nor end, is unlimited?
Yes, unlimited.
And therefore formless; for it cannot partake either of round or straight.
But why?
Why, because the round is that of which all the extreme points are equidistant from the centre?
Yes.
And the straight is that of which the centre intercepts the view of the extremes?
True.
Then the one would have parts and would be many, if it partook either of a straight or of a circular form?
Assuredly.
But having no parts, it will be neither straight nor round?
Right.
And, being of such a nature, it cannot be in any place, for it cannot be either in another or in itself.
How so?
Because if it were in another, it would be encircled by that in which it was, and would touch it at many places and with many parts; but that which is one and indivisible, and does not partake of a circular nature, cannot be touched all round in many places.
Certainly not.
But if, on the other hand, one were in itself, it would also be contained by nothing else but itself; that is to say, if it were really in itself; for nothing can be in anything which does not contain it.
Impossible.
But then, that which contains must be other than that which is contained? for the same whole cannot do and suffer both at once; and if so, one will be no longer one, but two?
True.
Then one cannot be anywhere, either in itself or in another?
No.
Further consider, whether that which is of such a nature can have either rest or motion.
Why not?
Why, because the one, if it were moved, would be either moved in place or changed in nature; for these are the only kinds of motion.
Yes.
And the one, when it changes and ceases to be itself, cannot be any longer one.
It cannot.
It cannot therefore experience the sort of motion which is change of nature?
Clearly not.
Then can the motion of the one be in place?
Perhaps.
But if the one moved in place, must it not either move round and round in the same place, or from one place to another?
It must.
And that which moves in a circle must rest upon a centre; and that which goes round upon a centre must have parts which are different from the centre; but that which has no centre and no parts cannot possibly be carried round upon a centre?
Impossible.
But perhaps the motion of the one consists in change of place?
Perhaps so, if it moves at all.
And have we not already shown that it cannot be in anything?
Yes.
Then its coming into being in anything is still more impossible; is it not?
I do not see why.
Why, because anything which comes into being in anything, can neither as yet be in that other thing while still coming into being, nor be altogether out of it, if already coming into being in it.
Certainly not.
And therefore whatever comes into being in another must have parts, and then one part may be in, and another part out of that other; but that which has no parts can never be at one and the same time neither wholly within nor wholly without anything.
True.
And is there not a still greater impossibility in that which has no parts, and is not a whole, coming into being anywhere, since it cannot come into being either as a part or as a whole?
Clearly.
Then it does not change place by revolving in the same spot, nor by going somewhere and coming into being in something; nor again, by change in itself?
Very true.
Then in respect of any kind of motion the one is immoveable?
Immoveable.
But neither can the one be in anything, as we affirm?
Yes, we said so.
Then it is never in the same?
Why not?
Because if it were in the same it would be in something.
Certainly.
And we said that it could not be in itself, and could not be in other?
True.
Then one is never in the same place?
It would seem not.
But that which is never in the same place is never quiet or at rest?
Never.
One then, as would seem, is neither at rest nor in motion?
It certainly appears so.
Neither will it be the same with itself or other; nor again, other than itself or other.
How is that?
If other than itself it would be other than one, and would not be one.
True.
And if the same with other, it would be that other, and not itself; so that upon this supposition too, it would not have the nature of one, but would be other than one?
It would.
Then it will not be the same with other, or other than itself?
It will not.
Neither will it be other than other, while it remains one; for not one, but only other, can be other than other, and nothing else.
True.
Then not by virtue of being one will it be other?
Certainly not.
But if not by virtue of being one, not by virtue of itself; and if not by virtue of itself, not itself, and itself not being other at all, will not be other than anything?
Right.
Neither will one be the same with itself.
How not?
Surely the nature of the one is not the nature of the same.
Why not?
It is not when anything becomes the same with anything that it becomes one.
What of that?
Anything which becomes the same with the many, necessarily becomes many and not one.
True.
But, if there were no difference between the one and the same, when a thing became the same, it would always become one; and when it became one, the same?
Certainly.
And, therefore, if one be the same with itself, it is not one with itself, and will therefore be one and also not one.
Surely that is impossible.
And therefore the one can neither be other than other, nor the same with itself.
Impossible.
And thus the one can neither be the same, nor other, either in relation to itself or other?
No.
Neither will the one be like anything or unlike itself or other.
Why not?
Because likeness is sameness of affections.
Yes.
And sameness has been shown to be of a nature distinct from oneness?
That has been shown.
But if the one had any other affection than that of being one, it would be affected in such a way as to be more than one; which is impossible.
True.
Then the one can never be so affected as to be the same either with another or with itself?
Clearly not.
Then it cannot be like another, or like itself?
No.
Nor can it be affected so as to be other, for then it would be affected in such a way as to be more than one.
It would.
That which is affected otherwise than itself or another, will be unlike itself or another, for sameness of affections is likeness.
True.
But the one, as appears, never being affected otherwise, is never unlike itself or other?
Never.
Then the one will never be either like or unlike itself or other?
Plainly not.
Again, being of this nature, it can neither be equal nor unequal either to itself or to other.
How is that?
Why, because the one if equal must be of the same measures as that to which it is equal.
True.
And if greater or less than things which are commensurable with it, the one will have more measures than that which is less, and fewer than that which is greater?
Yes.
And so of things which are not commensurate with it, the one will have greater measures than that which is less and smaller than that which is greater.
Certainly.
But how can that which does not partake of sameness, have either the same measures or have anything else the same?
Impossible.
And not having the same measures, the one cannot be equal either with itself or with another?
It appears so.
But again, whether it have fewer or more measures, it will have as many parts as it has measures; and thus again the one will be no longer one but will have as many parts as measures.
Right.
And if it were of one measure, it would be equal to that measure; yet it has been shown to be incapable of equality.
It has.
Then it will neither partake of one measure, nor of many, nor of few, nor of the same at all, nor be equal to itself or another; nor be greater or less than itself, or other?
Certainly.
Well, and do we suppose that one can be older, or younger than anything, or of the same age with it?
Why not?
Why, because that which is of the same age with itself or other, must partake of equality or likeness of time; and we said that the one did not partake either of equality or of likeness?
We did say so.
And we also said, that it did not partake of inequality or unlikeness.
Very true.
How then can one, being of this nature, be either older or younger than anything, or have the same age with it?
In no way.
Then one cannot be older or younger, or of the same age, either with itself or with another?
Clearly not.
Then the one, being of this nature, cannot be in time at all; for must not that which is in time, be always growing older than itself?
Certainly.
And that which is older, must always be older than something which is younger?
True.
Then, that which becomes older than itself, also becomes at the same time younger than itself, if it is to have something to become older than.
What do you mean?
I mean this:--A thing does not need to become different from another thing which is already different; it IS different, and if its different has become, it has become different; if its different will be, it will be different; but of that which is becoming different, there cannot have been, or be about to be, or yet be, a different--the only different possible is one which is becoming.
That is inevitable.
But, surely, the elder is a difference relative to the younger, and to nothing else.
True.
Then that which becomes older than itself must also, at the same time, become younger than itself?
Yes.
But again, it is true that it cannot become for a longer or for a shorter time than itself, but it must become, and be, and have become, and be about to be, for the same time with itself?
That again is inevitable.
Then things which are in time, and partake of time, must in every case, I suppose, be of the same age with themselves; and must also become at once older and younger than themselves?
Yes.
But the one did not partake of those affections?
Not at all.
Then it does not partake of time, and is not in any time?
So the argument shows.
Well, but do not the expressions 'was,' and 'has become,' and 'was becoming,' signify a participation of past time?
Certainly.
And do not 'will be,' 'will become,' 'will have become,' signify a participation of future time?
Yes.
And 'is,' or 'becomes,' signifies a participation of present time?
Certainly.
And if the one is absolutely without participation in time, it never had become, or was becoming, or was at any time, or is now become or is becoming, or is, or will become, or will have become, or will be, hereafter.
Most true.
But are there any modes of partaking of being other than these?
There are none.
Then the one cannot possibly partake of being?
That is the inference.
Then the one is not at all?
Clearly not.
Then the one does not exist in such way as to be one; for if it were and partook of being, it would already be; but if the argument is to be trusted, the one neither is nor is one?
True.
But that which is not admits of no attribute or relation?
Of course not.
Then there is no name, nor expression, nor perception, nor opinion, nor knowledge of it?
Clearly not.
Then it is neither named, nor expressed, nor opined, nor known, nor does anything that is perceive it.
So we must infer.
But can all this be true about the one?
I think not.
1.b. Suppose, now, that we return once more to the original hypothesis; let us see whether, on a further review, any new aspect of the question appears.
I shall be very happy to do so.
We say that we have to work out together all the consequences, whatever they may be, which follow, if the one is?
Yes.
Then we will begin at the beginning:--If one is, can one be, and not partake of being?
Impossible.
Then the one will have being, but its being will not be the same with the one; for if the same, it would not be the being of the one; nor would the one have participated in being, for the proposition that one is would have been identical with the proposition that one is one; but our hypothesis is not if one is one, what will follow, but if one is:--am I not right?
Quite right.
We mean to say, that being has not the same significance as one?
Of course.
And when we put them together shortly, and say 'One is,' that is equivalent to saying, 'partakes of being'?
Quite true.
Once more then let us ask, if one is what will follow. Does not this hypothesis necessarily imply that one is of such a nature as to have parts?
How so?
In this way:--If being is predicated of the one, if the one is, and one of being, if being is one; and if being and one are not the same; and since the one, which we have assumed, is, must not the whole, if it is one, itself be, and have for its parts, one and being?
Certainly.
And is each of these parts--one and being--to be simply called a part, or must the word 'part' be relative to the word 'whole'?
The latter.
Then that which is one is both a whole and has a part?
Certainly.
Again, of the parts of the one, if it is--I mean being and one--does either fail to imply the other? is the one wanting to being, or being to the one?
Impossible.
Thus, each of the parts also has in turn both one and being, and is at the least made up of two parts; and the same principle goes on for ever, and every part whatever has always these two parts; for being always involves one, and one being; so that one is always disappearing, and becoming two.
Certainly.
And so the one, if it is, must be infinite in multiplicity?
Clearly.
Let us take another direction.
What direction?
We say that the one partakes of being and therefore it is?
Yes.