THE DIALOGUES OF PLATO JOWETT VOL. IV. Bonbon HENRY FROWDE Oxford University Press Warehouse Amen Corner, E.C. 112 Fourth Avenue THE DIALOGUES OF PLATO TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH WITH ANALYSES AND INTRODUCTIONS BY B. JOWETT, M.A. MASTER OF BALLIOL COLLEGE REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD DOCTOR IN THEOLOGY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF LEYDEN IN FIVE VOLUMES VOL. IV ■ THIRD EDITION REVISED AND CORRECTED THROUGHOUT, WITH MARGINAL ANALYSES AND AN INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND PROPER NAMES AT THE CLARENDON PRESS M DCCC XCII £>?fotb PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS BY HORACE HART. PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY CONTENTS PAGE PARMENIDES 1 THEAETETUS io7 SOPHIST 281 STATESMAN 4°9 PHILEBUS " 5X9 PARMENIDES. VOL. IV. INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS. The awe with which Plato regarded the character of ' the great' Parmenides has extended to the dialogue which he calls by his name. None of the writings of Plato have been more copiously illustrated, both in ancient and modern times, and in none of them have the interpreters been more at variance with one another. Nor is this surprising. For the Parmenides is more fragmentary and isolated than any other dialogue, and the design of the writer is not expressly stated. The date is uncertain ; the relation to the other writings of Plato is also un- certain ; the connexion between the two parts is at first sight extremely obscure ; and in the latter of the two we are left in doubt as to whether Plato is speaking his own sentiments by the lips of Parmenides, and overthrowing him out of his own mouth, or whether he is propounding consequences which would have been admitted by Zeno and Parmenides themselves. The con- tradictions which follow from the hypotheses of the one and many have been regarded by some as transcendental mysteries ; by others as a mere illustration, taken at random, of a new method. They seem to have been inspired by a sort of dialectical frenzy, such as may be supposed to have prevailed in the Megarian School (cp. Cratylus 346, 407 E, etc.). The criticism on his own doctrine of Ideas has also been considered, not as a real criticism, but as an exuberance of the metaphysical imagin- ation which enabled Plato to go beyond himself. To the latter part of the dialogue we may certainly apply the words in which he himself describes the earlier philosophers in the Sophist (243 A) : ' They went on their way rather regardless of whether we understood them or not.' The Parmenides in point of style is one of the best of the Platonic writings ; the first portion of the dialogue is in no way defective in ease and grace and dramatic interest; nor in the B 2 Par- menides. Introduc- tion. Par- menides. Introduc- tion. The dramatic opening, second part, where there was no room for such qualities, is there any want of clearness or precision. The latter half is an ex- quisite mosaic, of which the small pieces are with the utmost fineness and regularity adapted to one another. Like the Pro- tagoras, Phaedo, and others, the whole is a narrated dialogue, combining with the mere recital of the words spoken, the observations of the reciter on the effect produced by them. Thus we are informed by him that Zeno and Parmenides were not altogether pleased at the request of Socrates that they would examine into the nature of the one and many in the sphere of Ideas, although they received his suggestion with approving smiles. And we are glad to be told that Parmenides was ' aged but well-favoured,' and that Zeno was ' very good-looking ' ; also that Parmenides affected to decline the great argument, on which, as Zeno knew from experience, he was not unwilling to enter. The character of Antiphon, the half-brother of Plato, who had once been inclined to philosophy, but has now shown the hereditary disposition for horses, is very naturally described. He is the sole depositary of the famous dialogue ; but, although he receives the strangers like a courteous gentleman, he is im- patient of the trouble of reciting it. As they enter, he has been giving orders to a bridle-maker; by this slight touch Plato verifies the previous description of him. After a little per- suasion he is induced to favour the Clazomenians, who come from a distance, with a rehearsal. Respecting the visit of Zeno and Parmenides to Athens, we may observe-first, that such a visit is consistent with dates, and may possibly have occurred ; secondly, that Plato is very likely to have invented the meeting ('You, Socrates, can easily invent Egyptian tales or anything else,' Phaedrus 275 B); thirdly, that no reliance can be placed on the circumstance as determining the date of Parmenides and Zeno ; fourthly, that the same occasion appears to be referred to by Plato in two otner places (Theaet. 183 E, Soph. 217 C). Many interpreters have regarded the Parmenides as a ' reductio ad absurdum' of the Eleatic philosophy. But would Plato have been likely to place this in the mouth of the great Parmenides himself, who appeared to him, in Homeric language, to be < venerable and awful,' and to have .a 'glorious depth of mind'? (Theaet. 183 E). It may be admitted that he has ascribed to an The object of the Parmenides. Eleatic stranger in the Sophist opinions which went beyond the doctrines of the Eleatics. But the Eleatic stranger expressly criticises the doctrines in which he had been brought up; he admits that he is going to 'lay hands on his father Parmenides.' Nothing of this kind is said of Zeno and Parmenides. How then, without a word of explanation, could Plato assign to them the refutation of their own tenets ? The conclusion at which we must arrive is that the Parmenides is not a refutation of the Eleatic philosophy. Nor would such an explanation afford any satisfactory connexion of the first and second parts of the dialogue. And it is quite inconsistent with Plato's own relation to the Eleatics. For of all the pre-Socratic philosophers, he speaks of them with the greatest respect. But he could hardly have passed upon them a more unmeaning slight than to ascribe to their great master tenets the reverse of those which he actually held. Two preliminary remarks may be made. First, that whatever latitude we may allow to Plato in bringing together by a ' tour de force,' as in the Phaedrus, dissimilar themes, yet he always in some way seeks to find a connexion for them. Many threads join together in one the love and dialectic of the Phaedrus. We cannot conceive that the great artist would place in juxtaposition two absolutely divided and incoherent subjects. And hence we are led to make a second remark : viz. that no explanation of the Parmenides can be satisfactory which does not indicate the con- nexion of the first and second parts. To suppose that Plato would first go out of his way to make Parmenides attack the Platonic Ideas, and then proceed to a similar but more fatal assault on his own doctrine of Being, appears to be the height of absurdity. Perhaps there is no passage in Plato showing greater meta- physical power than that in which he assails his own theory of Ideas. The arguments are nearly, if not quite, those of Aristotle ; they are the objections which naturally occur to a modern student of philosophy. Many persons will be surprised to find Plato criticizing the very conceptions which have been supposed in after ages to be peculiarly characteristic of him. How can he have placed himself so completely without them? How can he have ever persisted in them after seeing the fatal objections Par- menides'. Introduc- tion. 6 'Jlic genuineness of tlic Parmenides. Par- menides. 1 NTRODUC- TION. which might be urged against them ? The consideration of this difficulty has led a recent critic (Ueberweg), who in general accepts the authorized canon of the Platonic writings, to condemn the Parmenides as spurious. The accidental want of external evidence, at first sight, seems to favour this opinion. In answer, it might be sufficient to say, that no ancient writing of equal length and excellence is known to be spurious. Nor is the silence of Aristotle to be hastily assumed ; there is at least a doubt whether his use of the same arguments does not involve the inference that he knew the work. And, if the Parmenides is spurious, like Ueberweg, we are led on further than we originally intended, to pass a similar condemnation on the Theaetetus and Sophist, and therefore on the Politicus (cp. Theaet. 183 E, Soph. 217). But the objection is in reality fanciful, and rests on the assumption that the doctrine of the Ideas was held by Plato throughout his life in the same form. For the truth is, that the Platonic Ideas were in constant process of growth and trans- mutation ; sometimes veiled in poetry and mythology, then again emerging as fixed Ideas, in some passages regarded as absolute and eternal, and in others as relative to the human mind, existing in and derived from external objects as well as transcending them. The anamnesis of the Ideas is chiefly insisted upon in the mythical portions of the dialogues, and really occupies a very small space in the entire works of Plato. Their transcendental existence is not asserted, and is therefore implicitly denied in the Philebus ; different forms are ascribed to them in the Republic, and they are mentioned in the Theaetetus, the Sophist, the Politicus, and the Laws, much as Universals would be spoken of in modern books. Indeed, there are very faint traces of the transcendental doctrine of Ideas, that is, of their existence apart from the mind, in any of Plato's writings, with the exception of the Meno, the Phaedrus, the Phaedo, and in portions of the Republic. The stereotyped form which Aristotle has given to them is not found in Plato (cp. Essay on the Platonic Ideas in the Introduction to the Meno). The full discussion of this subject involves a comprehensive survey of the philosophy of Plato, which would be out of place here. But, without digressing further from the immediate subject of the Parmenides, we may remark that Plato is quite serious in his objections to his own doctrines : nor docs Socrates attempt to Analysis 126-127. oft'er any answer to them. The perplexities which surround the one and many in the sphere of the Ideas are also alluded to in the Philebus, and no answer is given to them. Nor have they ever been answered, nor can they be answered by any one else who separates the phenomenal from the real. To suppose that Plato, at a later period of his life, reached a point of view from which he was able to answer them, is a groundless assumption. The real progress of Plato's own mind has been partly concealed from us by the dogmatic statements of Aristotle, and also by the de- generacy of his own followers, with whom a doctrine of numbers quickly superseded Ideas. As a preparation for answering some of the difficulties which have been suggested, we may begin by sketching the first portion of the dialogue : — Par- menides. Introduc- tion. 126 Cephalus, of Clazomenae in Ionia, the birthplace of Anaxa- goras, a citizen of no mean city in the history of philosophy, who is the narrator of the dialogue, describes himself as meeting Adeimantus and Glaucon in the Agora at Athens. 'Welcome, Cephalus : can we do anything for you in Athens ? ' ' Why, yes : I came to ask a favour of you. First, tell me your half-brother's name, which I have forgotten — he was a mere child when I was last here ; — I know his father's, which is Pyrilampes.' 'Yes, and the name of our brother is Antiphon. But why do you ask ? ' ' Let me introduce to you some countrymen of mine, who are lovers of philosophy ; they have heard that Antiphon remembers a con- versation of Socrates with Parmenides and Zeno, of which the report came to him from Pythodorus, Zeno's friend.' 'That is quite true.' ' And can they hear the dialogue ? ' ' Nothing easier ; in the days of his youth he made a careful study of the piece ; at present, his thoughts have another direction : he takes after his grandfather, and has given up philosophy for horses.' 127 'We went to look for him, and found him giving instructions to a worker in brass about a bridle. When he had done with him, and had learned from his brothers the purpose of our visit, he saluted me as an old acquaintance, and we asked him to repeat the dialogue. At first, he complained of the trouble, but he soon consented. He told us that Pythodorus had described to him the appearance of Parmenides and Zeno ; they had come to Athens Analysis. 8 Par- menides. Analysis. A naly sis 127-129. at the great Panathenaea, the former being at the time about sixty- five years old, aged but well-favoured— Zeno, who was said to have been beloved of Parmenides in the days of his youth, about forty, and very good-looking :— that they lodged with Pythodorus at the Ceramicus outside the wall, whither Socrates, then a very young man, came to see them : Zeno was reading one of his theses, which he had nearly finished, when Pythodorus entered with Parmenides and Aristoteles, who was afterwards one of the Thirty. When the recitation was completed, Socrates requested that the first thesis of the treatise might be read again.' ' You mean, Zeno,' said Socrates, ' to argue that being, if it is many, must be both like and unlike, which is a contradiction ; and each division of your argument is intended to elicit a similar absurdity, which may be supposed to follow from the assumption that being is many.' 'Such is my meaning.' 'I see,' said 128 Socrates, turning to Parmenides, ' that Zeno is your second self in his writings too ; you prove admirably that the all is one : he gives proofs no less convincing that the many are nought. To deceive the world by saying the same thing in entirely different forms, is a strain of art beyond most of us.' ' Yes, Socrates,' said Zeno ; ' but though you are as keen as a Spartan hound, you do not quite catch the motive of the piece, which was only intended to protect Parmenides against ridicule by showing that the hypothesis of the existence of the many involved greater ab- surdities than the hypothesis of the one. The book was a youthful composition of mine, which was stolen from me, and therefore I had no choice about the publication.' ' I quite believe you,' said Socrates ; ' but will you answer me a question ? I should like to know, whether you would assume an idea of like- 1 2 1 • 1 • 1 , r . a , ~ Adeiman- anything which we can do for you in Athens ? tus. Yes ; that is why I am here ; I wish to ask a favour of you. Preface. What may that be ? he said. I want you to tell me the name of your half-brother, which The re- I have forgotten ; he was a mere child when I last came hither ^ueSQ°f from Clazomenae, but that was a long time ago ; his father's menians. name, if I remember rightly, was Pyrilampes ? Yes, he said, and the name of our brother, Antiphon ; but why do you ask ? Let me introduce some countrymen of mine, I said.; they are lovers of philosophy, and have heard that Antiphon was intimate with a certain Pythodorus, a friend of Zeno, and remembers a conversation which took place between Socrates, Zeno, and Parmenides many years ago, Pythodorus having often recited it to him. Quite true. And could we hear it? I asked. 'Reductio ad impossible' of the 'plurality of being! Nothing easier, he replied ; when he was a youth he made a careful study of the piece ; at present his thoughts run in another direction ; like his grandfather Antiphon he is devoted to horses. But, if that is what you want, let us go and look for him ; he dwells at Melita, which is quite near, and he has only just left us to go home. Accordingly we went to look for him ; he was at home, and I in the act of giving a bridle to a smith to be fitted. When he had done with the smith, his brothers told him the purpose of our visit ; and he saluted me as an acquaintance whom he re- membered from my former visit, and we asked him to repeat the dialogue. At first he was not very willing, and complained of the trouble, but at length he consented. He told us that Pythodorus had described to him the appearance of Par- menides and Zeno ; they came to Athens, as he said, at the great Panathenaea; the former Was, at the time of his visit, about 65 years old, very white with age, but well favoured. Zeno was nearly 40 years of age, tall and fair to look upon ; in the days of his youth he was reported to have been beloved by Parmenides. He said that they lodged with Pythodorus in the Ceramicus, outside the wall, whither Socrates, then a very young man, came to see them, and many others with him ; they wanted to hear the writings of Zeno, which had been brought to Athens for the first time on the occasion of their visit. These Zeno himself read to them in the absence of Parmenides, and had very nearly finished when Pytho- dorus entered, and with him Parmenides and Aristoteles who was afterwards one of the Thirty, and heard the little that remained of the dialogue. Pythodorus had heard Zeno repeat them before. When the recitation was completed, Socrates requested that the first thesis of the first argument might be read over again, _ and this having been done, he said : What is your meaning, Zeno ? Do you maintain that if being is many, it must be both like and unlike, and that this is impossible, for neither can the like be unlike, nor the unlike like — is that your position ? Just so, said Zeno. And if the unlike cannot be like, or the like unlike, then according to you, being could not be many; for this would Zeno the 1 alter ego ' of Parmenides. 47 involve an impossibility. In all that you say have you any Par- other purpose except to disprove the being of the many ? and is not each division of your treatise intended to furnish a separate proof of this, there being in all as many proofs of ^ ^ the not-being of the many as you have composed arguments? the same Is that your meaning, or have I misunderstood you ? f™1 N^ich 12S No, said Zeno ; you have correctly understood my general sible. purpose. I see, Parmenides, said Socrates, that Zeno would like to 'The many be not only one with you in friendship but your second self o^yn°n_ 1S in his writings too ; he puts what you say in another way, other way and would fain make believe that he is telling us some- °nfg6theeSS" thing which is new. For you, in your poems, say The thesis of All is one, and of this you adduce excellent proofs ; and he [j*™ ^lnT on the other hand says There is no many ; and on behalf one: of this he offers overwhelming evidence. You affirm unity, he denies plurality. And so you deceive the world into believing that you are saying different things when really you are saying much the same. This is a strain of art beyond the reach of most of us. Yes, Socrates, said Zeno. But although you are as keen A mis- as a Spartan hound in pursuing the track, you do not fully "j"^^ apprehend the true motive of the composition, which is not really such an artificial work as you imagine ; for what you speak of was an accident ; there was no pretence of a great purpose ; nor any serious intention of deceiving the world. The truth is, that these writings of mine were meant to protect the arguments of Parmenides against those who make fun of him and seek to show the many ridiculous and contradictory results which they suppose to follow from the affirmation of the one. My answer is addressed to the partisans of the many, whose attack I return with interest by retorting upon them that their hypothesis of the being of many, if carried out, appears to be still more ridiculous than the hypothesis of the being of one. Zeal for my master led me to write the book in the days of my youth, but some one stole the copy ; and therefore I had no choice whether it should be published or not; the motive, however, of writing, was not the ambition of an elder man, but the pugnacity of a young one. This you do not seem to see, 48 Par- menides. Socrates, Zeno. Differences between absolute ideas or natures, and the things which partake of them. The perplexity in visible objects Socrates; though in other respects, as I was saying, your notion is a very just one. I understand, said Socrates, and quite accept your account. But tell me, Zeno, do you not further think that there is an idea of likeness in itself, and another idea of unlikeness, 129 which is the opposite of likeness, and that in these two, you and I and all other things to which we apply the term many, participate — things which participate in likeness become in that degree and manner like ; and so far as they participate in unlikeness become in that degree unlike, or both like and unlike in the degree in which they participate in both? And may not all things partake of both opposites, and be both like and unlike, by reason of this participation ? — Where is the wonder ? Now if a person could prove the absolute like to become unlike, or the absolute unlike to become like, that, in my opinion, would indeed be a wonder ; but there is nothing extraordinary, Zeno, in showing that the things which only partake of likeness and unlikeness experience both. Nor, again, if a person were to show that all is one by partaking of one, and at the same time many by partaking of many, would that be very astonishing. But if he were to show me that the absolute one was many, or the absolute many one, I should be truly amazed. And so of all the rest : I should be surprised to hear that the natures or ideas themselves had these opposite qualities; but not if a person wanted to prove of me that I was many and also one. When he wanted to show that I was many he would say that I have a right and a left side, and a front and a back, and an upper and a lower half, for I cannot deny that I partake of multitude ; when, on the other hand, he wants to prove that I am one, he will say, that we who are here assembled are seven, and that I am one and partake of the one. In both instances he proves his case. So again, if a person shows that such things as wood, stones, and the like, being many are also one, we admit that he shows the coexist- ence of the one and many, but he does not show that the many are one or the one many; he is uttering not a paradox but a truism. If however, as I just now suggested, some one were to abstract simple notions of like, unlike, one, many, rest, motion, and similar ideas, and then to show that does not extend to the ideas. 49 these admit of admixture and separation in themselves, I P«r- should be very much astonished. This part of the argument mm es' appears to be treated by you, Zeno, in a very spirited manner ; p°^A£TN"' but, as I was saying, I should be far more amazed if any one 130 found in the ideas themselves which are apprehended by reason, the same puzzle and entanglement which you have shown to exist in visible objects. While Socrates was speaking, Pythodorus thought that Parmenides and Zeno were not altogether pleased at the successive steps of the argument ; but still they gave the closest attention, and often looked at one another, and smiled as if in admiration of him. When he had finished, Parmenides expressed their feelings in the following words : — Socrates, he said, I admire the bent of your mind towards philosophy; tell me now, was this your own distinction between ideas in themselves and the things which partake of them ? and do you think that there is an idea of likeness apart from the likeness which we possess, and of the one and many, and of the other things which Zeno mentioned ? I think that there are such ideas, said Socrates. Parmenides proceeded : And would you also make absolute Parmenides ideas of the just and the beautiful and the good, and of all fks , ° ' Socrates that Class? whether he Yes, he said, I should. would make a j 1 j 1 • 1 r ideas of all And would you make an idea of man apart from us and things, from all other human creatures, or of fire and water ? I am often undecided, Parmenides, as to whether I ought to include them or not. And would you feel equally undecided, Socrates, about things of which the mention may provoke a smile ?— I mean such things as hair, mud, dirt, or anything else which is vile and paltry; would you suppose that each of these has an idea distinct from the actual objects with which we come into contact, or not ? Certainly not, said Socrates ; visible things like these are Socrates such as they appear to us, and I am afraid that there would fears l° • , ,. . extend his be an absurdity in assuming any idea of them, although I idealism to sometimes get disturbed, and begin to think that there is mud> dirt- nothing without an idea; but then again, when I have taken vol.. IV. k 5° Relation of the ideas to phenomena. Par- vienides. Socrates, Parmenides. and is re- buked by Parmenides for exhibit- ing an un- philosophic temper. The whole idea cannot exist in different objects at the same time : up this position, I run away, because I am afraid that I may fall into a bottomless pit of nonsense, and perish ; and so I return to the ideas of which I was just now speaking, and occupy myself with them. Yes, Socrates, said Parmenides ; that is because you are still young ; the time will come, if I am not mistaken, when philosophy will have a firmer grasp of you, and then you will not despise even the meanest things ; at your age, you are too much disposed to regard the opinions of men. But I should like to know whether you mean that there are certain ideas of which all other things partake, and from which they derive their names; that similars, for example, I31 become similar, because they partake of similarity ; and great things become great, because they partake of great- ness ; and that just and beautiful things become just and beautiful, because they partake of justice and beauty? Yes, certainly, said Socrates, that is my meaning. Then each individual partakes either of the whole of the idea or else of a part of the idea ? Can there be any other mode of participation ? There cannot be, he said. Then do you think that the whole idea is one, and yet, being one, is in each one of the many ? Why not, Parmenides ? said Socrates. Because one and the same thing will exist as a whole at the same time in many separate individuals, and will therefore be in a state of separation from itself. Nay, but the idea may be like the day which is one and the same in many places at once, and yet continuous with itself ; in this way each idea may be one and the same in all at the same time. I like your way, Socrates, of making one in many places at once. You mean to say, that if I were to spread out a sail and cover a number of men, there would be one whole including many— is not that your meaning? I think so. And would you say that the whole sail includes each man, or a part of it only, and different parts different men? The latter. Then, Socrates, the ideas themselves will be divisible, and The origin and nature of ideas. 5i things which participate in them will have a part of them i'ar- only and not the whole idea existing in each of them ? mentdes. That seems to follow. Sockates, Parmenides. Then would you like to say, Socrates, that the one idea is really divisible and yet remains one ? Certainly not, he said. Suppose that you divide absolute greatness, and that of nor can the many great things, each one is great in virtue of a ot>jec's J 0 0 ' 0 contain portion of greatness less than absolute greatness — is that only parts conceivable? of ideas, for this -So- would Or will each equal thing, if possessing some small portion etlually of equality less than absolute equality, be equal to Some Other absurdity, thing by virtue of that portion only ? Things Impossible. ,cannot r become Or suppose one of us to have a portion of smallness ; this great or is but a part of the small, and therefore the absolutely small ™ is greater ; if the absolutely small be greater, that to which addition of the part of the small is added will be smaller and not greater a part of , 0 greatness than before. or equality How absurd ! or small- Then in what way, Socrates, will all things participate in the ideas, if they are unable to participate in them either as parts or wholes ? Indeed, he said, you have asked a question which is not easily answered. Well, said Parmenides, and what do you say of another question ? What question ? I imagine that the way in which you are led to assume one ideas are idea of each kind is as follows :— You see a number of great given by objects, and when you look at them there seems to you to be Son." one and the same idea (or nature) in them all ; hence you conceive of greatness as one. Very true, said Socrates. And if you go on and allow your mind in like manner to But the embrace in one view the idea of greatness and of great g^^4 things which are not the idea, and to compare them, will not licuiars another greatness arise, which will appear to be the source l°gether of all these? form a new idea ; F. 2 52 Various explanations of the ideas. Par- rn enides. Socrates, Parmenides. the new idea and its particulars another ; and so ad infinitum. It is suggested that the ideas are thoughts only. — This solution is rejected. A fresh attempt. The ideas are patterns, and other things will be like them. But then there will be like- ness of the like to the like, and a common idea in- cluding both ; and so on ad infinitum. It would seem so. Then another idea of greatness now comes into view over and above absolute greatness, and the individuals which par- take of it ; and then another, over and above all these, by virtue of which they will all be great, and so each idea instead of being one will be infinitely multiplied. But may not the ideas, asked Socrates, be thoughts only, and have no proper existence except in our minds, Parmen- ides ? For in that case each idea may still be one, and not experience this infinite multiplication. And can there be individual thoughts which are thoughts of nothing? Impossible, he said. The thought must be of something ? Yes. Of something which is or which is not ? Of something which is. Must it not be of a single something, which the thought recognizes as attaching to all, being a single form or nature? Yes. And will not the something which is apprehended as one and the same in all, be an idea? From that, again, there is no escape. Then, said Parmenides, if you say that everything else par- ticipates in the ideas, must you not say either that everything is made up of thoughts, and that all things think ; or that they are thoughts but have no thought ? The latter view, Parmenides, is no more rational than the previous one. In my opinion, the ideas are, as it were, patterns fixed in nature, and other things are like them, and resemblances of them— what is meant by the participation of other things in the ideas, is really assimilation to them. But if, said he, the individual is like the idea, must not the idea also be like the individual, in so far as the individual is a resemblance of the idea? That which is like, cannot be conceived of as other than the like of like. Impossible. And when two things are alike, must they not partake of the same idea ? Thev must. Impossibility of their separate or absolute existence. 53 And will not that of which the two partake, and which Par- makes them alike, be the idea itself? /— • i Socrates, Certainly. parmemdks. Then the idea cannot be like the individual, or the indi- vidual like the idea ; for if they are alike, some further idea 133 of likeness will always be coming to light, and if that be like anything else, another ; and new ideas will be always arising, if the idea resembles that which partakes of it ? Quite true. The theory, then, that other things participate in the ideas Resem- by resemblance, has to be given up, and some other mode ^t°^e of participation devised ? given up. It would seem so. Do you see then, Socrates, how great is the difficulty of affirming the ideas to be absolute ? Yes, indeed. And, further, let me say that as yet you only understand a small part of the difficulty which is involved if you make of each thing a single idea, parting it off from other things. What difficulty ? he said. There are many, but the greatest of all is this : — If an opponent argues that these ideas, being such as we say they ought to be, must remain unknown, no one can prove to him that he is wrong, unless he who denies their existence be a man of great ability and knowledge, and is willing to follow a long and laborious demonstration ; he will remain uncon- vinced, and still insist that they cannot be known. What do you mean, Parmenides ? said Socrates. In the first place, I think, Socrates, that you, or any one Ideas who maintains the existence of absolute essences, will admit *o longer that they cannot exist in us. absolute, if No, said Socrates; for then they would be no longer ^inXuSst>ed absolute. And if True, he said : and therefore when ideas are what they are withoutus' . ' J then they in relation to one another, their essence is determined by a and their relation among themselves, and has nothing to do with the resem" . u i i . , , . i blances in resemblances, or whatever they are to be termed, which are 0ur sphere in our sphere, and from which we receive this or that name arc rclated when we partake of them. And the things which are within themselves our sphere and have the same names with them, are likewise only and 54 A strange consequence which follows. Par- mcnu/cs. Socrates, Parmenidks. not to one another. For ex- ample, we must dis- tinguish the indi- vidual slave and master in the con- crete from the ideas of mastership and slavery in the abstract. The truth which we have will correspond to the knowledge which we have ; and we have no knowledge of the absolute or of the ideas. 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 ab- stract. These natures have nothing to do with us, nor we i 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. A consequence still more strange. 55 What is it ? Am* Would you, or would you not say, that absolute know- "" "" ef- ledge, if there is such a thing, must be a far more exact JjJSJS^ knowledge than our knowledge ; and the same of beauty and ther of the rest? objection. Yes <~'oc' a'30ve , . , . . . I,. has abso- And if there be such a thing as participation in absolute lute know. knowledge, no one is more likely than God to have this most ledge. But , , i n if so, he exact knowledge ? cannot Certainly. have a But then, will God, having absolute knowledge, have a ^"°^ff knowledge of human things ? things, be- ttti ,o cause they Why not? arein Because, Socrates, said Parmenides, we have admitted that another the ideas are not valid in relation to human things ; nor human sPhere- 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 know- ledge, 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 any- thing 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 abso- lute 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 con- vince ; 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. 56 The double method of consequences Par- menides. Socrates, Parmenides. Parmenides has ob- served Socrates to be untried in dialectic. He suggests that the conse- quences of the not being, as well as of the being of anything, should be considered. 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 pre- vious 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 in 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 con- sequences which flow from denying the hypothesis ; and that will be still better training for you. What do you mean ? he said. 1 mean, for example, that in the case of this very hypothesis applied to the one and many. 57 of Zeno's about the many, you should inquire not only Par- what will be the consequences to the many in relation to mmt s- 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, Zeno. 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 sub- jects 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 them- selves 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 Socrates speak, and I do not quite understand you ; will you take ^ ^m to some hypothesis and go through the steps ? — then I shall example of apprehend you better. thisprocess. That, Socrates, is a serious task to impose on a man of my Parmenides is at first years. disinclined Then will you, Zeno ? said Socrates. to engage Zeno answered with a smile : — Let us make our petition j"^^^ to Parmenides himself, who is quite right in saying that you pastime ; are hardly aware of the extent of the task which you are but at th(l J J request ot imposing on him ; and if there were more of us I should not the com- ask him, for these are not subjects which any one, especially Pany he 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 Aristo- 5» If one is, what are the consequences ? Par- menides. Parmf.nides, Zeno, Aristo- TELES. i.a. If the one is, it cannot be many, and there- fore cannot have parts, or be a whole, because a whole is made up of parts ; teles and the whole company entreated Parmenides to give an example of the process. I cannot refuse, said Par- menides ; and yet I feel rather like Ibycus, who, when in his 137 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 hypo- th esis of 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 Aristo- teles ; for I am the youngest and at your service. Ask, and I will answer. Parmenides proceeded: i.a. If one is, he said, the one cannot be many ? Impossible. Then the one cannot have parts, and cannot be a whole ? Whynot? 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. If one has parts, ichat are the consequences ? 59 Then if the one is to remain one, it will not be a whole, Par~ ' memdes. and will not have parts f Parmenides, JNO. Aristo- But if it has no parts, it will have neither beginning, teles. middle, nor end ; for these would of course be parts of it. and having no parts it Right, cannot have But then, again, a beginning and an end are the limits of abeginning, middle, and everything ? end . Certainly. nor any Then the one, having neither beginning nor end, is un- J™^ or limited ? 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 it is neither . , . , , r .1 o circular nor points are equidistant from the centre t straight ; Yes. And the straight is that of which the centre intercepts the view of the extremes ? True. 13S 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 does not 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 docs not contain it. 1 Omitting fV. exist in any place ; 6o Pa>- menides. Parmeniues Aristo- TELKS. it has neither rest nor motion. Two forms of motion — (1) change of nature ; (2) loco- motion. Two forms of loco- motion— (a) in a place ; (i) from one place to another. The one does not admit of change of nature, nor of either form of lo- comotion ; The one admits neither of motion, 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 any- thing ? Yes. Then its coming into being in anything is still more impos- sible ; is it not ? I do not see why. nor yet of rest. Why, because anything which comes into being in any- thing, 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, 139 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 im- moveable ? 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. 61 Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TRLES". Again, the one is never in the same any more than in the other, and is therefore in no place and there- fore in- capable of rest. 62 The one is neither other than itself, far- How is that ? memdes. ir l i 11 other than itself it would be other than one, and would Parmenides, not be one. Aristo- teles. True. Neither And if the same with other, it would be that other, and n™- not itself' so that uPon this supposition too, it would not ness can be have the nature of one, but would be other than one ? attributed ]t would. to the one, in reference I hen it will not be the same with other, or other than to itself or itself? other; T ... 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, neces- sarily 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. nor the same with itself. 63 Impossible. vunides And thus the one can neither be the same, nor other, either mem "' in relation to itself or other { Awsto- TEI.1SS. No. Neither will the one be like anything or unlike itself or other, nor yet likeness, Why not? which is Because likeness is sameness of affections. sameness ofaffec- * es* , , tions ; nor And sameness has been shown to be of a nature distinct unlikeness, from oneness ? That has been shown. 140 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 nor unequal either to itself or to other. equality, ~ nor in- flow is that? equality Why, because the one if equal must be of the same ofsize; measures as that to which it is equal. True. And if greater or less than things which are commensurable 64 The contradiction involved in ascribing nunides. W'th the one wiU have more measures than that which is less, and fewer than that which is greater ? Parmf.nides, y 0 Aristo- 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. nor equality Well, and do we suppose that one can be older, or equality of vounger than anything, or of the same age with it? age ; 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. u 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. any relation to unity leads to the denial of it. 65 Then one cannot be older or younger, or of the same age, Par- either with itself or with another ? Clearly not. Then the one, being of this nature, cannot be in time at teles. all ; for must not that which is in time, be always growing nor time, older than itself? Certainly. And that which is older, must always be older than some- thing 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 nothng 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 them- selves ; and must also become at once older and younger than themselves? Yes. But the one did not partake of those affections? Not at all. vol. iv. e 66 The original hypothesis. Par- menides. Par.menidbs, Akisto- TELES. nor modes of time. But these are the only modes of partaking of being, and if they are all denied of it, then the one is not, and has therefore no attribute or relation, etc. The con- clusion is unsatisfac- tory. i. b. If one 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. i. b. Suppose, now, that we return once more to the The infinite multiplicity of the one which is. 67 original hypothesis ; let us see whether, on a further review, Par- any new aspect of the question appears. vumdes. I Shall be Very happy to do SO. Parmenides, •> rsrj Aristo- We say that we have to work out together all the con- teles. sequences, whatever the}' may be, which follow, if the is, what one is? will follow? 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 The one same with the one ; for if the same, it would not be the wf?!ch 1S , being of the one; nor would the one have participated in of being, being, for the proposition that one is would have been a^d ^n identical with the proposition that one is one ; but our imVe parts, hypothesis is not if one is one, what will follow, but if one one and is : — am I not right ? bei"s ' 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, and each Does not this hypothesis necessarily imply that one is of Parthaf , J r J one and such a nature as to have parts ? being for How SO ? the parts of In this way :— If being is predicated of the one, if the one UJdso on is, and one of being, if being is one ; and if being and one ad ?*" are not the same ; and since the one, which we have Jimtv'"- 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. f 2 68 One apart from being, still implies plurality. Par- menidts. Parmenides, Aristo- tri.es. Another argument . When one is ab- stracted from being, they are a pair of differents. 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. 143 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. And in this way, the one, if it has being, has turned out to be many? True. But now, let us abstract the one which, as we say, partakes of being, and try to imagine it apart from that of which, as we say, it partakes— will this abstract one be one only or many ? One, I think. Let us see :— Must not the being of one be other than one ? for the one is not being, but, considered as one, only partook of being ? Certainly. If being and the one be two different things, it is not because the one is one that it is other than being; nor because being is being that it is other than the one ; but they differ from one another in virtue of otherness and difference. Certainly. So that the other is not the same— either with the one or with being? Certainly not. And therefore whether we take being and the other, or being and the one, or the one and the other, in every Construction of numbers. 69 such case we take two things, which may be rightly called JjjjjJ^ both. Parmenides, How SO. Aristo- ln this way— you may speak of being? Yes. And also of one ? Yes. Then now we have spoken of either of them ? Yes. Well, and when I speak of being and one, I speak of them Transition , , ~ from one both • to two, Certainly. And if I speak of being and the other, or of the one and the other, — in any such case do I not speak of both ? Yes. And must not that which is correctly called both, be also two ? Undoubtedly. And of two things how can either by any possibility not be one ? It cannot. Then, if the individuals of the pair are together two, they from odd must be severally one ? ^beenrs> Clearly. And if each of them is one, then by the addition of any one to any pair, the whole becomes three ? Yes. And three are odd, and two are even ? Of course. And if there are two there must also be twice, and if there from ad- are three there must be thrice : that is, if twice one makes dltl,on \? ' ' multiph- two, and thrice one three ? cation. Certainly. There are two, and twice, and therefore there must be twice two ; and there are three, and there is thrice, and therefore there must be thrice three? Of course. If there are three and twice, there is twice three ; and if there are two and thrice, there is thrice two ? Undoubtedly. 70 Par- mtnides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELBS. Out of the one that is, has come differ- ence, and from difference number of every sort, and number is co- extensive with being ; for every single part of being, however small, is one. The infinite divisibility of being and of one. Here, then, we have even taken even times, and odd taken 144 odd times, and even taken odd times, and odd taken even times. True. And if this is so, does any number remain which has no necessity to be ? None whatever. Then if one is, number must also be ? It must. But if there is number, there must also be many, and infinite multiplicity of being ; for number is infinite in multi- plicity, and partakes also of being : am I not right ? Certainly. And if all number participates in being, every part of number will also participate ? Yes. Then being is distributed over the whole multitude of things, and nothing that is, however small or however great, is devoid of it? And, indeed, the very supposition of this is absurd, for how can that which is, be devoid of being ? In no way. And it is divided into the greatest and into the smallest, and into being of all sizes, and is broken up more than all things ; the divisions of it have no limit. True. Then it has the greatest number of parts? Yes, the greatest number. Is there any of these which is a part of being, and yet no part ? Impossible. But if it is at all and so long as it is, it must be one, and cannot be none ? Certainly. Then the one attaches to every single part of being, and does not fail in any part, whether great or small, or whatever may be the size of it ? True. But reflect Can one, in its entirety, be in many places at the same time ? No ; I see the impossibility of that. Contradictory aspects of the One. 7i And if not in its entirety, then it is divided ; for it cannot be present with all the parts of being, unless divided. True. And that. which has parts will be as many as the parts are? Certainly. Then we were wrong in saying just now, that being was distributed into the greatest number of parts. For it is not distributed into parts more than the one, but into parts equal to the one; the one is never wanting to being, or being to the one, . but being two they are co-equal and co-ex- tensive. Certainly that is true. The one itself, then, having been broken up into parts by being, is many and infinite ? True. Then not only the one which has being is many, but the one itself distributed by being, must also be many ? Certainly. Further, inasmuch as the parts are parts of a whole, the 145 one, as a whole, will be limited; for are not the parts con- tained by the whole? Certainly. And that which contains, is a limit ? Of course. Then the one if it has being is one and many, whole and parts, having limits and yet unlimited in number ? Clearly. And because having limits, also having extremes ? Certainly. And if a whole, having beginning and middle and end. For can anything be a whole without these three ? And if any one of them is wanting to anything, will that any longer be a whole ? No. Then the one, as appears, will have beginning, middle, and end. It will. But, again, the middle will be equidistant from the ex- tremes; or it would not be in the middle? Yes. Par- menidcs. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. Again, one is in as many places as being, and must there- fore be divided into as many parts. The ab- stract one, as well as the one which is, is both one and many, finite and infinite. The one, as being a whole and also finite, has a be- ginning, middle ami end, and 72 // is in itself, yet in other; Far- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. so partakes of figure. Regarded as the sum of its parts, it is in itself; regarded as a whole, it is in other, because it is not in the parts, neither in one, nor more than one, nor in all. Then the one will partake of figure, either rectilinear or round, or a union of the two ? True. And if this is the case, it will be both in itself and in another too. How? Every part is in the whole, and none is outside the whole. True. And all the parts are contained by the whole ? Yes. And the one is all its parts, and neither more nor less than all ? No. And the one is the whole ? Of course. But if all the parts are in the whole, and the one is all of them and the whole, and they are all contained by the whole, the one will be contained by the one ; and thus the one will be in itself. That is true. But then, again, the whole is not in the parts— neither in all the parts, nor in some one of them. For if it is in all, it must be in one ; for if there were any one in which it was not, it could not be in all the parts ; for the part in which it is wanting is one of all, and if the whole is not in this, how can it be in them all ? It cannot. Nor can the whole be in some of the parts ; for if the whole were in some of the parts, the greater would be in the less, which is impossible. Yes, impossible. But if the whole is neither in one, nor in more than one, nor in all of the parts, it must be in something else, or cease to be anywhere at all ? Certainly. If it were nowhere, it would be nothing ; but being a whole, and not being in itself, it must be in another. Very true. The one then, regarded as a whole, is in another, but at rest, yet in motion. 73 regarded as being all its parts, is in itself; and therefore the Par- one must be itself in itself and also in another. Certainly. Bwnmw* J _ Aristo- The one then, being of this nature, is of necessity both at teles. rest and in motion ? The one H„„, o therefore is both at The one is at rest since it is in itself, for being in one, and rest and in 146 not passing out of this, it is in the same, which is itself. motion : at _ 0 ' rest, if in True. itself; in And that which is ever in the same, must be ever at motion, if . ~ in another. rest r Certainly. Well, and must not that, on the contrary, which is ever in other, never be in the same ; and if never in the same, never at rest, and if not at rest, in motion ? True. Then the one being always itself in itself and other, must always be both at rest and in motion ? Clearly. And must be the same with itself, and other than itself; and also the same with the others, and other than the others; this follows from its previous affections. How so ? Everything in relation to every other thing, is either the Fourpos- same or other ; or if neither the same nor other, then in the ^nrse"of relation of a part to a whole, or of a whole to a part. two things : Clearly. (1) same- And is the one a part of itself? othemess, Certainly not. (3) part Since it is not a part in relation to itself it cannot be related JJ^hof' to itself as whole to part ? and part. It cannot. But is the one other than one ? No. And therefore not other than itself? Certainly not. If then it be neither other, nor a whole, nor a part in Theone relation to itself, must it not be the same with itself? Sfin° Certainly. the relation But then, again, a thing which is in another place from 74 One and not-one are other, Par- 'itself,' if this 'itself remains in the same place with itself, ' ' must be other than 'itself,' for it will be in another place? Parmenides, True Aristo- teles. Then the one has been shown to be at once in itself and in another? Yes. but, as Thus, then, as appears, the one will be other than itself? existing in True, another place than Well, then, if anything be other than anything, will it not itself, of be 0ther than that which is other ? otherness. _ , , Certainly. The one is And will not all things that are not one, be other than the be°also l° °ne' and the °ne 0ther than the not-°ne ? other than Of course. the not-one Then the one will be other than the others ? and so other than True. other- But, consider : — Are not the absolute same, and the abso- lute other, opposites to one another ? Of course. Yet from Then will the same ever be in the other, or the other in another .t,„ g . . , the same r v point of view neither They will not. the one nor jf tnen tne other is never in the same, there is nothing in the not-one . . " can partake which the other is during any space of time ; tor during that of other- space of time, however small, the other would be in the ness, and „ therefore same. Is not that true i cannot Yes. Uian'one And since the otner is never in the same, it can never be another. Jn anything that is. True. , Then the other will never be either in the not-one, or in the one ? Certainly not. Then not by reason of otherness is the one other than the not-one, or the not-one other than the one. No. Nor by reason of themselves will they be other than one another, if not partaking of the other. > 147 How can they be ? But if they are not other, either by reason of themselves yet the same; or of the other, will they not altogether escape being other than one another? They will. Again, the not-one cannot partake of the one ; otherwise it would not have been not-one, but would have been in some way one. True. Nor can the not-one be number ; for having number, it would not have been not-one at all. It would not. Again, is the not-one part of the one ; or rather, would it not in that case partake of the one ? It would. If then, in every point of view, the one and the not-one are distinct, then neither is the one part or whole of the not-one, nor is the not-one part or whole of the one ? No. But we said that things which are neither parts nor wholes of one another, nor other than one another, will be the same with one another : — so we said ? Yes. Then shall we say that the one, being in this relation to the not-one, is the same with it ? Let us say so. Then it is the same with itself and the others, and also other than itself and the others. That appears to be the inference. And it will also be like and unlike itself and the others ? Perhaps. Since the one was shown to be other than the others, the others will also be other than the one. Yes. And the one is other than the others in the same degree that the others are other than it, and neither more nor less ? True. And if neither more nor less, then in a like degree ? Yes. In virtue of the affection by which the one is other than others and others in like manner other than it, the one will be affected like the others and the others like the one. 75 Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. Again, the not-one cannot par- take of the one ; and therefore it cannot be number ; and it cannot be part or whole of the one ; and there- fore, ac- cording to our former table of relations, the one is the same with the not-one, the same with and also other than itself and others. It is like and unlike itself and other ; for one and other are other than one an- other, yet other in the same degree. And there- fore they are affected in the same manner. 76 like, yet unlike ; Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. For when we apply the same name, we imply the presence of the same nature. One, in that it is other than the others, is shown to be like ; and therefore, in that it is the same with the others, to be unlike. How do you mean ? I may take as an illustration the case of names : You give a name to a thing ? Yes. And you may say the name once or ol'tener? Yes. And when you say it once, you mention that of which it is the name ? and when more than once, is it something else which you mention ? or must it always be the same thing of which you speak, whether you utter the name once or more than once ? Of course it is the same. And is not ■ other ' a name given to a thing ? Certainly. Whenever, then, you use the word 'other,' whether once or oftener, you name that of which it is the name, and to no other do you give the name ? True. Then when we say that the others are other than the one, and the one other than the others, in repeating the word ' other ' we speak of that nature to which the name is applied, and of no other? Quite true. Then the one which is other than others, and the other which is other than the one, in that the word 'other' is i applied to both, will be in the same condition ; and that which is in the same condition is like? Yes. Then in virtue of the affection by which the one is other than the others, every thing will be like every thing, for every thing is other than every thing. True. Again, the like is opposed to the unlike ? Yes. And the other to the same ? True again. And the one was also shown to be the same with the others? Yes. And to be the same with the others is the opposite of being other than the others? in contact, yet not in contact ; 77 Certainly. ^r- And in that it was other it was shown to be like ? mtmdu. ■y PARMENIDES, Aristo- But in that it was the same it will be unlike by virtue of teles. the opposite affection to that which made it like ; and this was the affection of otherness. Yes. The same then will make it unlike ; otherwise it will not be the opposite of the other. . True. Then the one will be both like and unlike the others ; like in so far as it is other, and unlike in so far as it is the same. Yes, that argument may be used. And there is another argument. What? In so far as it is affected in the same way it is not affected From otherwise, and not being affected otherwise is not unlike, and p™*^- not being unlike, is like ; but in so far as it is affected by view the other it is otherwise, and being otherwise affected is unlike. °^°es'te True. quences Then because the one is the same with the others and follow- other than the others, on either of these two grounds, or on both of them, it will be both like and unlike the others? Certainly. And in the same way as being other than itself and the same with itself, on either of these two grounds and on both of them, it will be like and unlike itself? Of course. Again, how far can the one touch or not touch itself and Again, the others?— consider. one will and will not I am considering. touch both The one was shown to be in itself which was a whole? itself and others. rrue. „ . . . , Being in And also in other things ? both, it will Yes. touch both. In so far as it is in other things it would touch other things, but in so far as it is in itself it would be debarred from touching them, and would touch itself only. Clearly. Then the inference is that it would touch both ? 78 The nature of contact. Par- tnenides, Parmenides, Aristo- TELRS. But if con- tact implies at least two separate things, one cannot touch itself, — for it cannot be two : or other, — for ' other ' cannot be ' one ' thing. It would. But what do you say to a new point of view? Must not that which is to touch another be next to that which it is to touch, and occupy the place nearest to that in which what it touches is situated ? True. Then the one, if it is to touch itself, ought to be situated next to itself, and occupy the place next to that in which itself is ? It ought. And that would require that the one should be two, and be in two places at once, and this, while it is one, will i never happen. No. Then the one cannot touch itself any more than it can be two ? It cannot. Neither can it touch others. Why not ? The reason is, that whatever is to touch another must be in separation from, and next to, that which it is to touch, and no third thing can be between them. True. Two things, then, at the least are necessary to make con- tact possible ? They are. And if to the two a third be added in due order, the number of terms will be three, and the contacts two ? Yes. And every additional term makes one additional contact, whence it follows that the contacts are one less in number than the terms ; the first two terms exceeded the number of contacts by one, and the whole number of terms exceeds the whole number of contacts by one in like manner ; and for every one which is afterwards added to the number of terms, one contact is added to the contacts. True. Whatever is the whole number of things, the contacts will be always one less. True. The one equal to itself, 79 But if* there be only one, and not two, there will be no Par- menides. contact ? . i_ o Parmenides, How can there be r aristo- I EI.ES. And do we not say that the others being other than the one are not one and have no part in the one ? True. Then they have no number, if they have no one in them ? Of course not. Then the others are neither one nor two, nor are they called by the name of any number? No. One, then, alone is one, and two do not exist ? Clearly not. And if there are not two, there is no contact ? There is not. Then neither does the one touch the others, nor the others the one, if there is no contact ? Certainly not. For all which reasons the one touches and does not touch itself and the others ? True. Further — is the one equal and unequal to itself and others ? The one is How do you mean ? eciual a"d J unequal to It the one were greater or less than the others, or the itself and others greater or less than the one, they would not be greater others : or less than each other in virtue of their being the one and the others ; but, if in addition to their being what they are they had equality, they would be equal to one another, or if the one had smallness and the others greatness, or the one had greatness and the others smallness — whichever kind had greatness would be greater, and whichever had smallness would be smaller ? Certainly. Then there are two such ideas as greatness and smallness ; for if they were not they could not be opposed to each other and be present in that which is. How could they? 150 If, then, smallness is present in the one it will be present either in the whole or in a part of the whole ? Certainly. 8o and to other ; Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. equal, be- cause, not partaking of greatness and small- ness, it must par- take of equality to itself and others : Suppose the first ; it will be either co-equal and co-extensive with the whole one, or will contain the one ? Clearly. If it be co-extensive with the one it will be co-equal with the one, or if containing the one it will be greater than the one ? Of course. But can smallness be equal to anything or greater than anything, and have the functions of greatness and equality and not its own functions ? Impossible. Then smallness cannot be in the whole of one, but, if at all, in a part only ? Yes. And surely not in all of a part, for then the difficulty of the whole will recur ; it will be equal to or greater than any part in which it is. Certainty. Then smallness will not be in anything, whether in a whole or in a part ; nor will there be anything small but actual smallness. True. Neither will greatness be in the one, for if greatness be in anything there will be something greater other and besides greatness itself, namely, that in which greatness is ; and this too when the small itself is not there, which the one, if it is great, must exceed ; this, however, is impossible, seeing that smallness is wholly absent. True. But absolute greatness is only greater than absolute smallness, and smallness is only smaller than absolute greatness. Very true. Then other things are not greater or less than the one, if they have neither greatness nor smallness ; nor have great- ness or smallness any power of exceeding or being exceeded in relation to the one, but only in relation to one another ; nor will the one be greater or less than them or others, if it has neither greatness nor smallness. Clearly not. and also unequal to itself and to others. 81 Then if the one is neither greater nor less than the others, Par> it cannot either exceed or be exceeded by them ? , . , Parmenides, Certainly not. Aristo. And that which neither exceeds nor is exceeded, must be TELES- on an equality; and being on an equality, must be equal. Of course. And this will be true also of the relation of the one to itself; having neither greatness nor smallness in itself, it will neither exceed nor be exceeded by itself, but will be on an equality with and equal to itself. Certainly. Then the one will be equal both to itself and the others ? Clearly so. And yet the one, being itself in itself, will also surround Unequal to and be without itself ; and, as containing itself, will be greater ltseIf'— be- '• ' & - » to cause lt 151 than itself; and, as contained in itself, will be less ; and will contains thus be greater and less than itself. and is con- T ... tainerl in lt: Wlil- itself, and Now there cannot possibly be anything which is not in- is therefore eluded in the one and the others ? ksTthan "d Of course not. itself. But, surely, that which is must always be somewhere ? Yes. But that which is in anything will be less, and that in which it is will be greater; in no otherway canone thing be in another. True. And since there is nothing other or besides the one and Unequal to the others, and they must be in something, must they not be °thers — • * , , DGC3.USG it in one another, the one in the others and the others in the contains one, if they are to be anywhere ? and is con~ *~r^i , . , , tained in That is clear. them> and But inasmuch as the one is in the others, the others will be is therefore greater than the one, because they contain the one, which will tesTthan™1 be less than the others, because it is contained in them ; and them, inasmuch as the others are in the one, the one on the same principle will be greater than the others, and the others less than the one. True. The one, then, will be equal to and greater and less than itself and the others ? VOL. IV. G 82 Consequences which follow Par- nienides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. That which is equal and unequal to itself and others, must be of a number of divisions or parts equal and unequal to itself and others. Clearly. And if it be greater and less and equal, it will be of equal and more and less measures or divisions than itself and the others, and if of measures, also of parts ? Of course. And if of equal and more and less measures or divisions, it will be in number more or less than itself and the others, and likewise equal in number to itself and to the others? How is that? It will be of more measures than those things which it exceeds, and of as many parts as measures ; and so with that to which it is equal, and that than which it is less. True. And being greater and less than itself, and equal to itself, it will be of equal measures with itself and of more and fewer measures than itself ; and if of measures then also of parts ? It will. And being of equal parts with itself, it will be numerically equal to itself ; and being of more parts, more, and being of less, less than itself? Certainly. And the same will hold of its relation to other things ; in- asmuch as it is greater than them, it will be more in number than them ; and inasmuch as it is smaller, it will be less in number ; and inasmuch as it is equal in size to other things, it will be equal to them in number. Certainly. Once more, then, as would appear, the one will be in number both equal to and more and less than both itself and all other things. It will. Does one partake of time and become older and younger, and neither older nor younger than itself and others? Does the one also partake of time ? And is it and does it become older and younger than itself and others, and again, neither younger nor older than itself and others, by virtue of participation in time ? How do you mean ? If one is, being must be predicated of it? Yes. if one partakes of time. 83 But to be (e'«u) is only participation of being in present 152 time, and to have been is the participation of being at a past time, and to be about to be is the participation of being at a future time ? Very true. Then the one, since it partakes of being, partakes of time ? Certainly. And is not time always moving forward ? Yes. Then the one is always becoming older than itself, since it moves forward in time ? Certainly. And do you remember that the older becomes older than that which becomes younger? I remember. Then since the one becomes older than itself, it becomes younger at the same time ? Certainly. Thus, then, the one becomes older as well as younger than itself? Yes. And it is older (is it not ?) when in becoming, it gets to the point of time between 'was' and 'will be,' which is 'now': for surely in going from the past to the future, it cannot skip the present ? No. And when it arrives at the present it stops from becoming older, and no longer becomes, but is older, for if it went on it would never be reached by the present, for it is the nature of that which goes on, to touch both the present and the future, letting go the present and seizing the future, while in process of becoming between them. True. But that which is becoming cannot skip the present ; when it reaches the present it ceases to become, and is then what- ever it may happen to be becoming. Clearly. And so the one, when in becoming older it reaches the present, ceases to become, and is then older. Certainly. Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. The one is, and there- fore par- takes of time ; and since time is always moving forward, it becomes older than itself. But older and younger are relative terms, and therefore that which becomes older than itself must become also younger than itself. One becomes older until it reaches the now or present ; then it ceases to become and is older : r, 2 84 The relation of the one to itself, Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TF.LES. and also younger. It always is and becomes older and younger than itself ; and since it is and be- comes during the same time with itself is of the same age, and therefore neither older nor younger than itself. Is the one younger or older than other things ? The less comes into being before the greater : the one is less than the many or others, and there- fore comes into being before them and is older than they. And it is older than that than which it was becoming older, and it was becoming older than itself. Yes. And that which is older is older than that which is younger ? True. Then the one is younger than itself, when in becoming older it reaches the present ? Certainly. But the present is always present with the one during all its being ; for whenever it is it is always now. Certainly. Then the one always both is and becomes older and younger than itself? Truly. And is it or does it become a longer time than itself or an equal time with itself? An equal time. But if it becomes or is for an equal time with itself, it is of the same age with itself? Of course. And that which is of the same age, is neither older nor younger ? No. The one, then, becoming and being the same time with itself, neither is nor becomes older or younger than itself? i I should say not. And what are its relations to other things ? Is it or does it become older or younger than they ? I cannot tell you. You can at least tell me that others than the one are more than the one— other would have been one, but the others have multitude, and are more than one ? They will have multitude. And a multitude implies a number larger than one ? Of course. And shall we say that the lesser or the greater is the first to come or to have come into existence ? The lesser. Then the least is the first ? And that is the one ? and to others. 85 Yes Pa'" . , . . ., c memdes. Then the one of all things that have number is the first to come into being ; but all other things have also number, being ^™™IDESl plural and not singular. TELES' They have. And since it came into being first it must be supposed to have come into being prior to the others, and the others later; and the things which came into being later, are younger than that which preceded them ? And so the other things will be younger than the one, and the one older than other things? True. What would you say of another question ? Can the one have come into being contrary to its own nature, or is that impossible ? Impossible. And yet, surely, the one was shown to have parts ; and The one if parts, then a beginning, middle and end? and comes Yes. into being And a beginning, both of the one itself and of all other things, comes into being first of all ; and after the beginning, them : the others follow, until you reach the end ? Certainly. And all these others we shall affirm to be parts of the whole and of the one, which, as soon as the end is reached, has become whole and one ? Yes ; that is what we shall say. But the end comes last, and the one is of such a nature as and there- to come into being with the last ; and, since the one cannot y°r^nggr come into being except in accordance with its own nature, than the its nature will require that it should come into being after gyte"gain the others, simultaneously with' the end. each pan Clearly. Then the one is younger than the others and the others older than the one. That also is clear in my judgment. Well, and must not a beginning or any other part of the one or of anything, if it be a part and not parts, being a part, be also of necessity one ? Certainly. is one, 86 New perplexities. Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- tei.es. and one conies into being together with each part, and so the one is neither older nor younger than the others but coeval. Again, no- thing can become older or younger than it was at first in relation to something else, if an equal amount of time be added to both. This is true of the one and the other. And will not the one come into being together with each part— together with the first part when that comes into being, and together with the second part and with all the rest, and will not be wanting to any part, which is added to any other part until it has reached the last and become one whole ; it will be wanting neither to the middle, nor to the first, nor to the last, nor to any of them, while the process of becoming is going on ? True. Then the one is of the same age with all the others, so that if the one itself does not contradict its own nature, it will be neither prior nor posterior to the others, but simultaneous ; and according to this argument the one will be neither older i nor younger than the others, nor the others than the one, but according to the previous argument the one will be older and younger than the others and the others than the one. Certainly. After this manner then the one is and has become. But as to its becoming older and younger than the others, and the others than the one, and neither older nor younger, what shall we say ? Shall we say as of being so also of becoming, or otherwise ? I cannot answer. But I can venture to say, that even if one thing were older or younger than another, it could not become older or younger in a greater degree than it was at first ; for equals added to unequals, whether to periods of time or to anything else, leave the difference between them the same as at first. Of course. Then that which is, cannot become older or younger than that which is, since the difference of age is always the same ; the one is and has become older and the other younger ; but they are no longer becoming so. True. And the one which is does not therefore become either older or younger than the others which are. No. But consider whether they may not become older and younger in another way. In what way ? Perplexities on perplexities. 87 Just as the one was proven to be older than the others Par- and the others than the one. Parmenides, And what 01 that ? amsto- It" the one is older than the others, it has come into being TELES- a longer time than the others. Yes. But consider again; if we add equal time to a greater and But if an a less time, will the greater differ from the less time by an beTddeT equal or by a smaller portion than before ? to a greater _, 11 • and less' By a smaller portion. the reiative Then the difference between the age of the one and the difference age of the others will not be afterwards so great as at first, ^*een but if an equal time be added to both of them they will differ diminishes ; less and less in age? »*J Yes. is older, And that which differs in age from some other less than will by such ° , ... addition formerly, from being older will become younger in relation become to that other than which it was older ? younger than the Yes, younger. others, And if the one becomes younger the others aforesaid will and they become older than they were before, in relation to the one. dder™ Certainly. than it. Then that which had become younger becomes older rela- tively to that which previously had become and was older ; 155 it never really is older, but is always becoming, for the one is always growing on the side of youth and the other on the side of age. And in like manner the older is always in process of becoming younger than the younger ; for as they are always going in opposite directions they become in ways the opposite to one another, the younger older than the older, and the older younger than the younger. They cannot, however, have become ; for if they had already become they would be and not merely become. But that is impossible ; for they are always becoming both older and younger than one another : the one becomes younger than the others because it was seen to be older and prior, and the others become older than the one because they came into being later ; and in the same way the others are in the same relation to the one, because they were seen to be older and prior to the one. 88 Summary of contradictions. Par- That is clear. menides. T , , inasmuch then, as one thing does not become older or Parmen.des, younger than anotherj in that they always differ from each teles. other by an equal number, the one cannot become older or younger than the others, nor the others than the one ; but inasmuch as that which came into being earlier and that which came into being later must continually differ from each other by a different portion— in this point of view the others must become older and younger than the one, and the one than the others. Certainly. For all these reasons, then, the one is and becomes older and younger than itself and the others, and neither is nor becomes older or younger than itself or the others. Certainly. But since the one partakes of time, and partakes of becoming older and younger, must it not also partake of the past, the present, and the future ? Of course it must. Then the one was and is and will be, and was becoming and is becoming and will become ? Certainly. And there is and was and will be something which is in relation to it and belongs to it ? True. And since we have at this moment opinion and knowledge and perception of the one, there is opinion and knowledge and perception of it ? Quite right. Then there is name and expression for it, and it is named and expressed, and everything of this kind which appertains to other things appertains to the one. Certainly, that is true. Opposites Yet once more and for the third time, let us consider : If dedicated tne one ^s "30t^1 one anc* many> as we nave described, and is of the same neither one nor many, and participates in time, must it not, in thing at the as far as jt js Q at tjmes partake of being, and in as far as same time. ' r ' . it is not one, at times not partake of being? Certainly. The nature of change. 89 take place ? But can it partake of being when not partaking of being, or par- not partake of being when partaking of being ? memdes. Impossible. parmf.n.des, . Aristo- Then the one partakes and does not partake of being at teles. different times, for that is the only way in which it can The one partake and not partake of the same. must there" r r fore par- True, take of 1 c6 And is there not also a time at which it assumes being and bein£ and r • 1 iii not-being relinquishes being — for how can it have and not have the and assume same thing unless it receives and also gives it up at some and relin_ quish them time ? at different Impossible. times- And the assuming of being is what you would call becoming ? I should. And the relinquishing of being you would call destruction ? How does I should. *e»c^ The one then, as would appear, becomes and is destroyed by taking and giving up being. Certainly. And being one and many and in process of becoming and being destroyed, when it becomes one it ceases to be many, and when many, it ceases to be one ? Certainly. And as it becomes one and many, must it not inevitably experience separation and aggregation ? Inevitably. And whenever it becomes like and unlike it must be assimi- lated and dissimilated ? Yes. And when it becomes greater or less or equal it must grow or diminish or be equalized ? True. And when being in motion it rests, and when being at rest it changes to motion, it can surely be in no time at all ? How can it? But that a thing which is previously at rest should be afterwards in motion, or previously in motion and afterwards at rest, without experiencing change, is impossible. Impossible. The Mo7nent. Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. As the one is always partaking of one of two oppo- sites, the transition takes place in a mo- ment. Nature of the moment. And surely there cannot be a time in which a thing can be at once neither in motion nor at rest? There cannot. But neither can it change without changing. True. When then does it change ; for it cannot change either when at rest, or when in motion, or when in time ? It cannot. And does this strange thing in which it is at the time of changing really exist ? What thing ? The moment. For the moment seems to imply a some- thing out of which change takes place into either of two states ; for the change is not from the state of rest as such, nor from the state of motion as such ; but there is this curious nature which we call the moment lying between rest and motion, not being in any time ; and into this and out of this what is in motion changes into rest, and what is at rest into motion. So it appears. And the one then, since it is at rest and also in motion, will change to either, for only in this way can it be in both. And in changing it changes in a moment, and when it is changing it will be in no time, and will not then be either in motion or at rest. It will not. And it will be in the same case in relation to the other i changes, when it passes from being into cessation of being, or from not-being into becoming — then it passes between certain states of motion and rest, and neither is nor is not, nor becomes nor is destroyed. Very true. And on the same principle, in the passage from one to many and from many to one, the one is neither one nor many, neither separated nor aggregated ; and in the passage from like to unlike, and from unlike to like, it is neither like nor unlike, neither in a state of assimilation nor of dis- similation ; and in the passage from small to great and equal and back again, it will be neither small nor great, nor equal, nor in a state of increase, or diminution, or equalization. If one is, how will the others be affected? 9i True. All these, then, are the affections of the one, if the one has mem ' , . Parmenides, being. Aristo- Of course. TELES- i. aa. But if one is, what will happen to the others — is not The that also to be considered ? affections of the Yes. others, if Let us show then, if one is, what will be the affections of the one is- the others than the one. Let us do so. Inasmuch as there are things other than the one, the Things others are not the one : for if they were they could not be other than one are other than the one. not the one, Very true. and vet Nor are the others altogether without the one, but in a [j^pa^in certain way they participate in the one. the one ; T , ~ for the In What way? others are Because the others are other than the one inasmuch as parts of a they have parts ; for if they had no parts they would be w^°c^ is simply one. one. Right. And parts, as we affirm, have relation to a whole ? So we say. And a whole must necessarily be one made up of many ; and the parts will be parts of the one, for each of the parts is not a part of many, but of a whole. How do you mean ? If anything were a part of many, being itself one of them, it will surely be a part of itself, which is impossible, and it will be a part of each one of the other parts, if of all; for if not a part of some one, it will be a part of all the others but this one, and thus will not be a part of each one ; and if not a part of each one, it will not be a part of any one of the many; and not being a part of any one, it cannot be a part or anything else of all those things of none of which it is anything. Clearly not. Then the part is not a part of the many, nor of all, but is of a certain single form, which we call a whole, being one 92 The others than the one are infinite in number. Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. Again, each part is not only a part but also a perfect whole in itself. The whole and the part are both one, and there- fore they must par- ticipate in the one and be other than the one, and more than one and infinite in number. perfect unity framed out of all— of this the part will be a part. Certainly. If, then, the others have parts, they will participate in the whole and in the one. True. Then the others than the one must be one perfect whole, having parts. Certainly. And the same argument holds of each part, for the part must participate in the one; for if each of the parts is a part, 158 this means, I suppose, that it is one separate from the rest and self-related ; otherwise it is not each. True. But when we speak of the part participating in the one, it must clearly be other than one ; for if not, it would not merely have participated, but would have been one; whereas only the one itself can be one. Very true. Both the whole and the part must participate in the one ; for the whole will be one whole, of which the parts will be parts ; and each part will be one part of the whole which is the whole of the part. True. And will not the things which participate in the one, be other than it ? Of course. And the things which are other than the one will be many; for if the things which are other than the one were neither one nor more than one, they would be nothing. True. But, seeing that the things which participate in the one as a part, and in the one as a whole, are more than one, must not those very things which participate in the one be infinite in number? How so ? Let us look at the matter thus : — Is it not a fact that in partaking of the one they are not one, and do not par- take of the one at the very time when they are partaking of it? Contradictory aspects of the others. 93 their nature, Clearly. Par- They do so then as multitudes in which the one is not men es- present ? ParmknxdeS| Very true. teles. And if we were to abstract from them in idea the very smallest fraction, must not that least fraction, if it does not partake of the one, be a multitude and not one? It must. And if we continue to look at the other side of their nature, The others regarded simply, and in itself, will not they, as far as we see ™^™j"od them, be unlimited in number ? limited in Certainly. And yet, when each several part becomes a part, then the parts have a limit in relation to the whole and to each other, and the whole in relation to the parts. Just so. The result to the others than the one is that the union of themselves and the one appears to create a new element in them which gives to them limitation in relation to one another ; whereas in their own nature they have no limit. That is clear. Then the others than the one, both as whole and parts, both as are infinite, and also partake of limit. Certainly. Then they are both like and unlike one another and Wherefore themselves. also they are like How is that? and unlike. Inasmuch as they are unlimited in their own nature, they are all affected in the same way. True. And inasmuch as they all partake of limit, they are all affected in the same way. Of course. But inasmuch as their state is both limited and unlimited, they are affected in opposite ways. Yes. '59 And opposites are the most unlike of things. Certainly. Considered, then, in regard to either one of their affections, they will be like themselves and one another; considered in whole and parts. 94 An opposite set of consequences. Par- menides. reference to both of them together, most opposed and most unlike. Parmenides, aristo- -1 nat appears to be true. THI.ES. Then the others are both like and unlike themselves and one another? True. And they are the same and also different from one another, and in motion and at rest, and experience every sort of opposite affection, as may be proved without difficulty of them, since they have been shown to have experienced the affections aforesaid ? True. A reversal of former conclu- sions. One and the others are never in the same, for there is nothing outside them in which they can jointly partake, and there- fore they must be always distinct. i. bb. Suppose, now, that we leave the further discussion of these matters as evident, and consider again upon the hypothesis that the one is, whether the opposite of all this is or is not equally true of the others. By all means. Then let us begin again, and ask, If one is, what must be the affections of the others ? » Let us ask that question. Must not the one be distinct from the others, and the others from the one? Why so ? Why, because there is nothing else beside them which is distinct from both of them ; for the expression ' one and the others' includes all things. Yes, all things. Then we cannot suppose that there is anything different from them in which both the one and the others might exist ? There is nothing. Then the one and the others are never in the same ? True. Then they are separated from each other ? Yes. And we surely cannot say that what is truly one has parts ? Impossible. Then the one will not be in the others as a whole, nor as part, if it be separated from the others, and has no parts ? Impossible. The one all t '/lings, and also nothing. 95 Then there is no way in which the others can partake of /fer- tile one, if they do not partake either in whole or in part ? T , , Parmenides, It would seem not. aristo- Then there is no way in which the others are one, or have TELES- in themselves any unity ? There is not. Nor are the others many ; for if they were many, each part And the of them would be a part of the whole ; but now the others, not partaking in any way of the one, are neither one nor separated many, nor whole, nor part. from the , -" ' r one cannot True. be either Then the others neither are nor contain two or three, if one or i many. entirely deprived of the one ? True. Then the others are neither like nor unlike the one, nor is Nor can likeness and unlikeness in them : for if they were like and they be opposites ; unlike, or had in them likeness and unlikeness, they would for they have two natures in them opposite to one another. cannot . . partake of 1 hat is clear. tw0 things if But for that which partakes of nothing to partake of two they cannot things was held by us to be impossible ? of one6 Impossible. 160 Then the others are neither like nor unlike nor both, for if The others they were like or unlike they would partake of one of those on*^UQthe two natures, which would be one thing, and if they were both they would partake of opposites which would be two things, and this has been shown to be impossible. True. Therefore they are neither the same, nor other, nor in motion, nor at rest, nor in a state of becoming, nor of being destroyed, nor greater, nor less, nor equal, nor have they experienced anything else of the sort ; for, if they are capable of experiencing any such affection, they will partici- pate in one and two and three, and odd and even, and in these, as has been proved, they do not participate, seeing that they are altogether and in every way devoid of the one. Very true. The one is J all things ; Therefore if one is, the one is all things, and also nothing, but also both in relation to itself and to other things. nothing r. . • , ° (141 E, Certainly. ,42) 96 The one which is not differs from all other things. Par- menides. par.menides, Aristo- TKLES. If the one is not, what then? What is the meaning of 1 the one which is not'? It some- times means other than or different from other things ; and there- fore has difference, etc. ii. a. Well, and ought we not to consider next what will be the consequence if the one is not? Yes ; we ought. What is the meaning of the hypothesis — If the one is not ; is there any difference between this and the hypothesis — If the not one is not? There is a difference, certainly. Is there a difference only, or rather are not the two expressions— if the one is not, and if the not one is not, entirely opposed ? They are entirely opposed. And suppose a person to say : — If greatness is not, if smallness is not, or anything of that sort, does he not mean, whenever he uses such an expression, that ' what is not ' is other than other things ? To be sure. And so when he says ' If one is not' he clearly means, that what ' is not ' is other than all others ; we know what he means — do we not ? Yes, we do. When he says 'one,' he says something which is known ; and secondly something which is other than all other things ; it makes no difference whether he predicate of one being or not-being, for that which is said ' not to be ' is known to be something all the same, and is distinguished from other things. Certainly. Then I will begin again, and ask : If one is not, what are the consequences? In the first place, as would appear, there is a knowledge of it, or the very meaning of the words, ' if one is not,' would not be known. True. Secondly, the others differ from it, or it could not be described as different from the others ? Certainly. Difference, then, belongs to it as well as knowledge ; for in speaking of the one as different from the others, we do not speak of a difference in the others, but in the one. Clearly so. Moreover, the one that is not is something and partakes of relation to ' that,' and ' this,' and ' these,' and the like, and is an The one which is not, is both tike and unlike. 97 attribute of 'this'; for the one, or the others than the one, Par- could not have been spoken of, nor could any attribute or menides- relative of the one that is not have been or been spoken Parmemdes, of, nor could it have been said to be anything, if it did teles." not partake of 'some,' or of the other relations just now mentioned. True. Being, then, cannot be ascribed to the one, since it is not ; 161 but the one that is not may or rather must participate in many things, if it and nothing else is not; if, however, neither the one nor the one that is not is supposed not to be, and we are speaking of something of a different nature, we can predicate nothing of it. But supposing that the one that is not and nothing else is not, then it must participate in the predicate ' that,' and in many others. Certainly. And it will have unlikeness in relation to the others, for the it is unlike others being different from the one will be of a different kind the others> Certainly. ' f.nd ™ust J therefore And are not things of a different kind also other in kind ? have like" Of course. nessJ° itself. And are not things other in kind unlike ? They are unlike. And if they are unlike the one, that which they are unlike will clearly be unlike them ? Clearly so. Then the one will have unlikeness in respect of which the others are unlike it ? That would seem to be true. And if unlikeness to other things is attributed to it, it must have likeness to itself. How so ? If the one have unlikeness to one, something else must be meant; nor will the hypothesis relate to one; but it will relate to something other than one? Quite so. But that cannot be. No. Then the one must have likeness to itself? It must, vol.. iv. 98 is unequal; and also equal. Par- men ides. Parmenidf.s, Aristo- tei.es. The one which is not is unequal to the others and the others to it. But partak- ing of in- equality, it partakes also of greatness and small- ness, and therefore of equality which lies between them ; it must surely par- take of being in a sense ; Again, it is not equal to the others ; for if it were equal, then it would at once be and be like them in virtue of the equality; but if one has no being, then it can neither be nor be like? It cannot. But since it is not equal to the others, neither can the others be equal to it ? Certainly not. And things that are not equal are unequal ? True. And they are unequal to an unequal ? Of course. Then the one partakes of inequality, and in respect of this the others are unequal to it ? Very true. And inequality implies greatness and smallness? Yes. Then the one, if of such a nature, has greatness and smallness ? That appears to be true. And greatness and smallness always stand apart ? True. Then there is always something between them ? There is. And can you think of anything else which is between them other than equality? No, it is equality which lies between them. Then that which has greatness and smallness also has equality, which lies between them ? That is clear. Then the one, which is not, partakes, as would appear, of greatness and smallness and equality? Clearly. Further, it must surely in a sort partake of being ? How so ? It must be so, for if not, then we should not speak the truth in saying that the one is not. But if we speak the truth, clearly we must say what is. Am I not right ? Yes. 1 62 And since we affirm that we speak truly, we must also affirm that we say what is ? The one which is not also is. 99 Certainly. Par- Then, as would appear, the one, when it is not, is; for if memdes- it were not to be when it is not, but1 were to relinquish Parmenides, something of being, so as to become not-being, it would at teles. once be. for not- Quite true. beins im- . i • i • • r • • ... plies being 1 hen the one which is not, if it is to maintain itself, must and being have the being of not-being as the bond of not-being, just as im.Plies not- being must have as a bond the not-being of not-being in bemg" order to perfect its own being ; for the truest assertion of the being of being and of the not-being of not-being is when being partakes of the being of being, and not of the being of not-being— that is, the perfection of being ; and when not- being does not partake of the not-being of not-being but of the being of not-being— that is the perfection of not-being. Most true. Since then what is partakes of not-being, and what is not of being, must not the one also partake of being in order not to be ? Certainly. Then the one, if it is not, clearly has being? Clearfy And has not-being also, if it is not ? Of course. But can anything which is in a certain state not be in that But to be state without changing ? both, it Impossible. Tst change Then everything which is and is not in a certain state, fromone implies change ? ' t0 the ~ • , 0*er, and Certainly. therefore be And change is motion— we may say that ? in motion- Yes, motion. And the one has been proved both to be and not to be ? Yes. And therefore is and is not in the same state ? Yes. Thus the one that is not has been shown to have motion also, because it changes from being to not-being ? Or, 'to remit something of existence in relation to not-being.' I! 2 roo It is both in motion and at rest. Par- menides. Parmenides, Arjsto- tei.es. How can it change? Not (a) by change of place, nor (b) by re- volving in the same place. nor (c) by change of nature. It is there- fore un- moved : and being unmoved, it must be at rest. But motion implies alteration. That appears to be true. But surely if it is nowhere among what is, as is the fact, since it is not, it cannot change from one place to another? Impossible. Then it cannot move by changing place ? No. Nor can it turn on the same spot, for it nowhere touches the same, for the same is, and that which is not cannot be reckoned among things that are ? It cannot. Then the one, if it is not, cannot turn in that in which it is not? No. Neither can the one, whether it is or is not, be altered into other than itself, for if it altered and became different from itself, then we could not be still speaking of the one, but of something else ? True. But if the one neither suffers alteration, nor turns round in the same place, nor changes place, can it still be capable of motion ? Impossible. Now that which is unmoved must surely be at rest, and that which is at rest must stand still ? Certainly. Then the one that is not, stands still, and is also in motion ? That seems to be true. But if it be in motion it must necessarily undergo altera- tion, for anything which is moved, in so far as it is moved, is i no longer in the same state, but in another ? Yes. Then the one, being moved, is altered ? Yes. And, further, if not moved in any way, it will not be altered in any way ? No. Then, in so far as the one that is not is moved, it is altered, but in so far as it is not moved, it is not altered ? Right. Then the one that is not is altered and is not altered ? If the one is not, it is nothing and nozvhere. ioi That is clear. And must not that which is altered become other than it previously was, and lose its former state and be destroyed ; but that which is not altered can neither come into being nor be destroyed ? Very true. And the one that is not, being altered, becomes and is destroyed ; and not being altered, neither becomes nor is destroyed ; and so the one that is not becomes and is destroyed, and neither becomes nor is destroyed ? True. Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. The one that is not becomes and is destroyed, and neither becomes nor is destroyed. ii. b. And now, let us go back once more to the beginning, and see whether these or some other consequences will follow. Let us do as you say. If one is not, we ask what will happen in respect of one ? That is the question. Yes. Do not the words ' is not ' signify absence of being in that to which we apply them ? Just so. And when we say that a thing is not, do we mean that it is not in one way but is in another ? or do we mean, absolutely, that what is not has in no sort or way or kind participation of being ? Quite absolutely. Then, that which is not cannot be, or in any way partici- pate in being ? It cannot. And did we not mean by becoming, and being destroyed, the assumption of being and the loss of being ? Nothing else. And can that which has no participation in being, either assume or lose being ? Impossible. The one then, since it in no way is, cannot have or lose or assume being in any way ? True. Then the one that is not, since it in no way partakes of being, neither perishes nor becomes? If one is not, what then? ' Is not ' implies absence of being in the most abso- lute sense. The one which is not cannot either have or lose or assume being, 102 Nothing can be predicated of it. Par- menides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. nor be altered nor be in motion, nor yet at rest. It has no attributes and no conditions of any kind. No. Then it is not altered at all ; for if it were it would become and be destroyed ? True. But if it be not altered it cannot be moved ? Certainly not. Nor can we say that it stands, if it is nowhere ; for that which stands must always be in one and the same spot ? Of course. Then we must say that the one which is not never stands still and never moves ? Neither. Nor is there any existing thing which can be attributed to it ; for if there had been, it would partake of being? That is clear. And therefore neither smallness, nor greatness, nor equality, can be attributed to it ? No. Nor yet likeness nor difference, either in relation to itself or to others ? Clearly not. Well, and if nothing should be attributed to it, can other things be attributed to it ? Certainly not. And therefore other things can neither be like or unlike, the same, or different in relation to it ? They cannot. Nor can what is not, be an3'thing, or be this thing, or be related to or the attribute of this or that or other, or be past, present, or future. Nor can knowledge, or opinion, or per- ception, or expression, or name, or any other thing that is, have any concern with it? No. Then the one that is not has no condition of any kind ? Such appears to be the conclusion. 164 Again, If one is not, what happens to the others ? ii. aa. Yet once more ; if one is not, what becomes of the others ? Let us determine that. Yes ; let us determine that. The spectre of 'one' still haunts us. 103 The others must surely be ; for if they, like the one, were Par- not, we could not be now speaking of them. Parmenidks, t rue. Aristo- But to speak of the others implies difference— the terms , teles. ' other ' and ' different ' are synonymous ? True. Other means other than other, and different, different from Other implies the different ? difference ; Yes it cannot Then, if there are to be others, there is something than ™*nt^her which they will be other ? one ; and „ .. t therefore Certainly. the others And what can that be ?— for if the one is not, they will not are other be other than the one. *f each other, They will not. Then they will be other than each other; for the only remaining alternative is that they are other than nothing. True. And they are each other than one another, as being plural and each and not singular ; for if one is not, they cannot be singular, but every particle of them is infinite in number ; and even if devoid of a person takes that which appears to be the smallest fraction, *he this, which seemed one, in a moment evanesces into many, be one. as in a dream, and from being the smallest becomes very great, in comparison with the fractions into which it is split up ? Very true. And in such particles the others will be other than one another, if others are, and the one is not ? Exactly. And will there not be many particles, each appearing to be one, but not being one, if one is not ? True. And it would seem that number can be predicated of them if each of them appears to be one, though it is really many? It can. And there will seem to be odd and even among them, which will also have no reality, if one is not? Yes. And there will appear to be a least among them ; and even Conception of a particle without unity. Par- menides. Par.menides, Aristo- TELES. When seen at a distance the others appear to be one ; when near, many and infinite. this will seem large and manifold in comparison with the i many small fractions which are contained in it? Certainly. And each particle will be imagined to be equal to the many and little ; for it could not have appeared to pass from the greater to the less without having appeared to arrive at the middle ; and thus would arise the appearance of equality. Yes. And having neither beginning, middle, nor end, each separate particle yet appears to have a limit in relation to itself and other. How so ? Because, when a person conceives of any one of these as such, prior to the beginning another beginning appears, and there is another end, remaining after the end, and in the middle truer middles within but smaller, because no unity can be conceived of any of them, since the one is not. Very true. And so all being, whatever we think of, must be broken up into fractions, for a particle will have to be conceived of without unity ? Certainly. And such being when seen indistinctly and at a distance, appears to be one ; but when seen near and with keen intel- lect, every single thing appears to be infinite, since it is deprived of the one, which is not? Nothing more certain. Then each of the others must appear to be infinite and finite, and one and many, if others than the one exist and not the one. They must. Then will they not appear to be like and unlike ? In what way? Just as in a picture things appear to be all one to a person standing at a distance, and to be in the same state and alike ? True. But when you approach them, they appear to be many and different ; and because of the appearance of the differ- ence, different in kind from, and unlike, themselves ? True. If the one is not, the others are neither one nor many. And so must the particles appear to be like and unlike themselves and each other. Certainly. And must they not be the same and yet different from one another, and in contact with themselves, although they are separated, and having every sort of motion, and every sort of rest, and becoming and being destroyed, and in neither state, and the like, all which things may be easily enumerated, if the one is not and the many are ? Most true. Par- tnenides. Parmenides, Aristo- TELES. ii. bb. Once more, let us go back to the beginning, and ask if the one is not, and the others of the one are, what will follow. Let us ask that question. In the first place, the others will not be one ? Impossible. Nor will they be many ; for if they were many one would be contained in them. But if no one of them is one, all of them are nought, and therefore they will not be many. True. If there be no one in the others, the others are neither many nor one. 166 They are not. Nor do they appear either as one or many. Why not ? Because the others have no sort or manner or way of com- munion with any sort of not-being, nor can anything which is not, be connected with any of the others ; for that which is not has no parts. True. Nor is there an opinion or any appearance of not-being in connexion with the others, nor is not-being ever in any way attributed to the others. No. Then if one is not, there is no conception of any of the others either as one or many; for you cannot conceive the many without the one. You cannot. If one is not and the others are, what then? The others are not one and there- fore not many. Again, if the others appear to be one or many they must in some sense partake of not-being ; but this is not the case. Io6 Tte conclusion of the whole matter. Je 'nides J^en if one is not» the others neither are, nor can be con- " ' ceived to be either one or many ? P AMI SNIDES, Jt wouM seem Aristo- teles. Nor as like or unlike ? No. the* Sk N°r aS SamC °r different' nor in contact or separation, w unite, nor in any of those states which we enumerated as appearing the same 01 to be ;— the others neither are nor appear to be any of these different. if one is not ? True. Then may we not sum up the argument in a word and say truly : If one is not, then nothing is ? Certainly. Let thus much be said ; and further let us affirm what seems to be the truth, that, whether one is or is not, one and the others in relation to themselves and one another, all of them, in every way, are and are not, and appear to be and appear not to be. Most true. THEAETETUS. s INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS. Some dialogues of Plato are of so various a character that their Thcaetetus. relation to the other dialogues cannot be determined with any Introduc- degree of certainty. The Theaetetus, like the Parmenides, has points of similarity both with his earlier and his later writings. The perfection of style, the humour, the dramatic interest, the com- plexity of structure, the fertility of illustration, the shifting of the points of view, are characteristic of his best period of authorship. The vain search, the negative conclusion, the figure of the mid- wives, the constant profession of ignorance on the part of Socrates, also bear the stamp of the early dialogues, in which the original Socrates is not yet Platonized. Had we no other indications, we should be disposed to range the Theaetetus with the Apology and the Phaedrus, and perhaps even with the Protagoras and the Laches. But when we pass from the style to an examination of the subject, we trace a connexion with the later rather than with the earlier dialogues. In the first place there is the connexion, indi- cated by Plato himself at the end of the dialogue, with the Sophist, to which in many respects the Theaetetus is so little akin, (i) The same persons reappear, including the, younger Socrates, whose name is just mentioned in the Theaetetus (147 C) ; (2) the theory of rest, which at p. 133 D Socrates has declined to consider, is resumed by the Eleatic Stranger ; (3) there is a similar allusion in both dia- logues to the meeting of Parmenides and Socrates (Theaet. 183 E, Soph. 217) ; and (4) the inquiry into not-being in the Sophist supplements the question of false opinion which is raised in the Theaetetus. (Compare also Theaet. 168 A, 210, and Soph. 230 B ; Theaet. 174 D, E, and Soph. 227 A; Theaet. 188 E, and Soph. 237 D ; Theaet. 179 A, and Soph. 233 B ; Theaet. 172 D, Soph. 253 C, for parallel turns of thought.) Secondly, the later date of the 110 Date of the Dialogue uncertain. Theaetetus. dialogue is confirmed by the absence of the doctrine of recollection In"on.uc' and °f any doctrine of ideas except that which derives them from generalization and from reflection of the mind upon itself. The general character of the Theaetetus is dialectical, and there are traces of the same Megarian influences which appear in the Parmenides, and which later writers, in their matter of fact way, have explained by the residence of Plato at Megara. Socrates disclaims the character of a professional eristic (164 C), and also, with a sort of ironical admiration, expresses his inability to attain the Megarian precision in the use of terms (197 A). Yet he too employs a similar sophistical skill in overturning every conceiv- able theory of knowledge. The direct indications of a date amount to no more than this : the conversation is said to have taken place when Theaetetus was a youth, and shortly before the death of Socrates. At the time of his own death he is supposed to be a full-grown man. Allowing nine or ten years for the interval between youth and manhood, the dialogue could not have been written earlier than 390, when Plato was about thirty-nine years of age. No more definite date is indi- cated by the engagement in which Theaetetus is said to have fallen or to have been wounded, and which may have taken place any time during the Corinthian war, between the years 390-387. The later date which has been suggested, 369, when the Athenians and Lacedaemonians disputed the Isthmus with Epaminondas, would make the age of Theaetetus at his death forty-five or forty-six. This a little impairs the beauty of Socrates' remark, that ' he would be a great man if he lived.' In this uncertainty about the place of the Theaetetus, it seemed better, as in the case of the Republic, Timaeus, Critias, to retain the order in which Plato himself has arranged this and the two companion dialogues. We cannot exclude the possibility which has been already noticed in reference to other works of'Plato, that the Theaetetus may not have been all written continuously ; or the probability that the Sophist and Politicus, which differ greatly in style, were only appended after a long interval of time. The allusion to Parmenides at 183, compared with Sophist 217, would probably imply that the dialogue which is called by his name was already in existence ; unless, indeed, we suppose the passage in which the allusion occurs to have been inserted afterwards. Better retained where Plato placed it. 1 1 i Again, the Theaetetus may be connected with the Gorgias, either Theaetetus. dialogue from different points of view containing an analysis of the introduc- , TION. real and apparent (Schleiermacher) ; and both may be brought into relation with the Apology as illustrating the personal life of Socrates. The Philebus, too, may with equal reason be placed either after or before what, in the language of Thrasyllus, may be called the Second Platonic Trilogy. Both the Parmenides and the Sophist, and still more the Theaetetus, have points of affinity with the Cratylus, in which the principles of rest and motion are again contrasted, and the Sophistical or Protagorean theory of language is opposed to that which is attributed to the disciple of Heracleitus, not to speak of lesser resemblances in thought and language. The Parmenides, again, has been thought by some to hold an inter- mediate position between the Theaetetus and the Sophist ; upon this view, Soph. 250 foil, may be regarded as the answer to the problems about One and Being which have been raised in the Parmenides. Any of these arrangements may suggest new views to the student of Plato ; none of them can lay claim to an exclusive probability in its favour. The Theaetetus is one of the narrated dialogues of Plato, and is the only one which is supposed to have been written down. In a short introductory scene, Euclides and Terpsion are described as meeting before the door of Euclides' house in Megara. This may have been a spot familiar to Plato (for Megara was within a walk of Athens), but no importance can be attached to the accidental introduction of the founder of the Megarian philosophy. The real intention of the preface is to create an interest about the person of Theaetetus, who has just been carried up from the army at Corinth in a dying state. The expectation of his death recalls the promise of his youth, and especially the famous conversation which Socrates had with him when he was quite young, a few days before his own trial and death, as we are once more reminded at the end of the dialogue. Yet we may observe that Plato has himself forgotten this, when he represents Euclides as from time to time coming to Athens and correcting the copy from Socrates' own mouth. The narrative, having introduced Theaetetus, and having guaranteed the authenticity of the dialogue (cp. Symposium, Phaedo, Par- menides), is then dropped. No further use is made of the device. As Plato himself remarks, who in this as in some other minute 112 Theaetetus a real person : Theodorus. Theaetetus. points is imitated by Cicero (De Amicitia, c. i), the interlocutory Introduc- words are omitted. TION. Theaetetus, the hero of the battle of Corinth and of the dialogue, is a disciple of Theodorus, the great geometrician, whose science is thus indicated to be the propaedeutic to philosophy. An interest has been already excited about him by his approaching death, and now he is introduced to us anew by the praises of his master Theodorus. He is a youthful Socrates, and exhibits the same contrast of the fair soul and the ungainly face and frame, the Silenus mask and the god within, which are described in the Sym- posium. The picture which Theodorus gives of his courage and patience and intelligence and modesty is verified in the course of the dialogue. His courage is shown by his behaviour in the battle, and his other qualities shine forth as the argument proceeds. Socrates takes an evident delight in 1 the wise Theaetetus,' who has more in him than ' many bearded men ' ; he is quite inspired by his answers. At first the youth is lost in wonder, and is almost too modest to speak (151 E), but, encouraged by Socrates, he rises to the occasion, and grows full of interest and enthusiasm about the great question. Like a youth (162 D), he has not finally made up his mind, and is very ready to follow the lead of Socrates, and to enter into each successive phase of the discussion which turns up. His great dialectical talent is shown in his power of drawing distinctions (163 E),and of foreseeing the consequences of his own answers (154 D). The enquiry about the nature of knowledge is not new to him ; long ago he has felt the ' pang of philosophy,' and has experienced the youthful intoxication which is depicted in the Philebus (p. 15). But he has hitherto been unable to make the transition from mathematics to metaphysics. He can form a general conception of square and oblong numbers (p. 148), but he is unable to attain a similar expression of knowledge in the abstract. Yet at length (p. 185) he begins to recognize that there are universal conceptions of being, likeness, sameness, number, which the mind contemplates in herself, and with the help of Socrates is conducted from a theory of sense to a theory of ideas. There is no reason to doubt that Theaetetus was a real person, whose name survived in the next generation. But neither can any importance be attached to the notices of him in Suidas and Proclus, which are probably based on the mention of him in Plato. Theodorus : Socrates, the man-midwife. ii3 According to a confused statement in Suidas, who mentions him Theaetetus. twice over, first, as a pupil of Socrates, and then of Plato, he is said Introduc. to have written the first work on the Five Solids. But no early authority cites the work, the invention of which may have been easily suggested by the division of roots, which Plato attributes to him, and the allusion to the backward state of solid geometry in the Republic (vii. 528 B). At any rate, there is no occasion to recall him to life again after the battle of Corinth, in order that we may allow time for the completion of such a work (Muller). We may also remark that such a supposition entirely destroys the pathetic interest of the introduction. Theodorus, the geometrician, had once been the friend and disciple of Protagoras, but he is very reluctant to leave his retire- ment and defend his old master. He is too old to learn Socrates' game of question and answer, and prefers the digressions to the main argument, because he finds them easier to follow. The mathematician, as Socrates says in the Republic, is not capable of giving a reason in the same manner as the dialectician (vii. 531 D, E), and Theodorus could not therefore have been appropriately introduced as the chief respondent. But he may be fairly appealed to, when the honour of his master is at stake. He is the 'guardian of his orphans,' although this is a responsibility which he wishes to throw upon Callias, the friend and patron of all Sophists, declaring that he himself had early ' run away ' from philosophy, and was absorbed in mathematics. His extreme dislike to the Heraclitean fanatics, which may be compared with the dislike of Theaetetus (J55 EJ t0 the materialists, and his ready acceptance of the noble words of Socrates (175, 176), are noticeable traits of character. The Socrates of the Theaetetus is the same as the Socrates of the earlier dialogues. He is the invincible disputant, now ad- vanced in years, of the Protagoras and Symposium ; he is still pursuing his divine mission, his ' Herculean labours,' of which he has described the origin in the Apology ; and he still hears the voice of his oracle, bidding him receive or not receive the truant souls. There he is supposed to have a mission to convict men of self-conceit ; in the Theaetetus he has assigned to him by God the functions of a man-midwife, who delivers men of their thoughts, and under this character he is present throughout the dialogue. He is the true prophet who has an insight into the natures of men, VOL. iv. 1 ii4 The two digressions. TION. Theactetus. and can divine their future (142 C) ; and he knows that sympathy Introduc- is the secret power which unlocks their thoughts. The hit at Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, who was specially committed to his charge in the Laches, may be remarked by the way. The attempt to discover the definition of knowledge is in accordance with the character of Socrates as he is described in the Memora- bilia, asking What is justice ? what is temperance ? and the like. But there is no reason to suppose that he would have analyzed the nature of perception, or traced the connexion of Protagoras and Heracleitus, or have raised the difficulty respecting false opinion. The humorous illustrations, as well as the serious thoughts, run through the dialogue. The snubnosedness of Theaetetus, a characteristic which he shares with Socrates, and the man-midwifery of Socrates, are not forgotten in the closing words. At the end of the dialogue, as in the Euthyphro, he is expecting to meet Meletus at the porch of the king Archon ; but with the same indifference to the result which is everywhere displayed by him, he proposes that they shall reassemble on the following day at the same spot. The day comes, and in the Sophist the three friends again meet, but no further allusion is made to the trial, and the principal share in the argument is assigned, not to Socrates, but to an Eleatic stranger ; the youthful Theaetetus also plays a different and less independent part. And there is no allusion in the Introduction to the second and third dialogues, which are afterwards appended. There seems, there- fore, reason to think that there is a real change, both in the characters and in the design. The dialogue is an enquiry into the nature of knowledge, which is interrupted by two digressions. The first is the digression about the midwives, which is also a leading thought or continuous image, like the wave in the Republic, appearing and reappearing at intervals. Again and again we are reminded that the successive conceptions of knowledge are extracted from Theaetetus, who in his turn truly declares that Socrates has got a great deal more out of him than ever was in him. Socrates is never weary of working out the image in humorous details— discerning the symptoms of labour, carrying the child round the hearth, fearing that Theae- tetus will bite him, comparing his conceptions to wind-eggs, asserting an hereditary right to the occupation. There is also a The three definitions: Knowledge is (i) Sensation; 115 serious side to the image, which is an apt similitude of the Socratic Theaetetus. theory of education (cp. Repub. vii. 518 D, Sophist 230), and accords iNTroduc. with the ironical spirit in which the wisest of men delights to speak of himself. The other digression is the famous contrast of the lawyer and philosopher. This is a sort of landing-place or break in the middle of the dialogue. At the commencement of a great discussion, the reflection naturally arises, How happy are they who, like the philosopher, have time for such discussions (cp. Rep. v. 450) ! There is no reason for the introduction of such a digression ; nor is a reason always needed, any more than for the introduction of an episode in a poem, or of a topic in conversation. That which is given by Socrates is quite sufficient, viz. that the philosopher may talk and write as he pleases. But though not very closely connected, neither is the digression out of keeping with the rest of the dialogue. The philosopher naturally desires to pour forth the thoughts which are always present to him, and to discourse of the higher life. The idea of knowledge, although hard to be defined, is realised in the life of philosophy. And the contrast is the favourite antithesis between the world, in the various characters of sophist, lawyer, statesman, speaker, and the philosopher,— between opinion and knowledge,— between the conventional and the true. The greater part of the dialogue is devoted to setting up and throwing down definitions of science and knowledge. Proceeding from the lower to the higher by three stages, in which perception, opinion, reasoning are successively examined, we first get rid of the confusion of the idea of knowledge and specific kinds of knowledge,— a confusion which has been already noticed in the Lysis, Laches, Meno, and other dialogues. In the infancy of logic, a form of thought has to be invented before the content can be filled up. We cannot define knowledge until the nature of definition has been ascertained. Having succeeded in making his meaning plain, Socrates proceeds to analyze (1) the first defi- nition which Theaetetus proposes: 'Knowledge is sensible per- ception.* This is speedily identified with the Protagorean saying, ' Man is the measure of all things ; ' and of this again the founda- tion-is discovered in the perpetual flux of Heracleitus. The relativeness of sensation is then developed at length, and for a 1 2 n6 (2) true opinion; (3) true opinion with a reason. Theaetetus. moment the definition appears to be accepted. But soon the Introduc- Protagorean thesis is pronounced to be suicidal ; for the adver- TION" saries of Protagoras are as good a measure as he is, and they deny his doctrine. He is then supposed to reply that the per- ception may be true at any given instant. But the reply is in the end shown to be inconsistent with the Heraclitean foundation, on which the doctrine has been affirmed to rest. For if the Hera- clitean flux is extended to every sort of change in every instant of time, how can any thought or word be detained even for an instant ? Sensible perception, like everything else, is tumbling to pieces. Nor can Protagoras himself maintain that one man is as good as another in his knowledge of the future ; and ' the expedient,' if not ' the just and true,' belongs to the sphere of the future. And so we must ask again, What is knowledge? The com- parison of sensations with one another implies a principle which is above sensation, and which resides in the mind itself. We are thus led to look for knowledge in a higher sphere, and accordingly Theaetetus, when again interrogated, replies (2) that ' knowledge is true opinion.' But how is false opinion possible ? The Megarian or Eristic spirit within us revives the question, which has been already asked and indirectly answered in the Meno : ' How can a man be ignorant of that which he knows ? ' No answer is given to this not unanswerable question. The comparison of the mind to a block of wax, or to a decoy of birds, is found wanting. But are we not inverting the natural order in looking for opinion before we have found knowledge? And knowledge is not true opinion ; for the Athenian dicasts have true opinion but not knowledge. What then is knowledge ? We answer (3), « True opinion, with definition or explanation.' But all the different ways in which this statement may be understood are set aside, like the definitions of courage in the Laches, or of friendship in the Lysis, or of temperance in the Charmides. At length we arrive at the conclusion, in which nothing is concluded. There are two special difficulties which beset the student of the Theaetetus: (1) he is uncertain how far he can trust Plato's account of the theory of Protagoras ; and he is also uncertain (2) how far, and in what parts of the dialogue, Plato is expressing his own opinion. The dramatic character of the work renders the answer to both these questions difficult. Does Plato misrepresent Protagoras ? 117 1. In reply to the first, we have only probabilities to offer. Theactetus. Three main points have to be decided : (a) Would Prota- Introduc- goras have identified his own thesis, ' Man is the measure of all things,' with the other, ' All knowledge is sensible perception ' ? (b) Would he have based the relativity of knowledge on the Hera- clitean flux? (c) Would he have asserted the absoluteness of sensation at each instant ? Of the work of Protagoras on ' Truth ' we know nothing, with the exception of the two famous frag- ments, which are cited in this dialogue, ' Man is the measure of all things,' and, 'Whether there are gods or not, I cannot tell.' Nor have we any other trustworthy evidence of the tenets of Protagoras, or of the sense in which his words are used. For later writers, including Aristotle in his Metaphysics, have mixed up the Protagoras of Plato, as they have the Socrates of Plato, with the real person. Returning then to the Theaetetus, as the only possible source from which an answer to these questions can be obtained, we may remark, that Plato had ' The Truth ' of Protagoras before him, and frequently refers to the book. He seems to say ex- pressly, that in this work the doctrine of the Heraclitean flux was not to be found (p. 152) ; ' he told the real truth ' (not in the book, which is so entitled, but) 'privately to his disciples,' — words which imply that the connexion between the doctrines of Pro- tagoras and Heracleitus was not generally recognized in Greece, but was really discovered or invented by Plato. On the other hand, the doctrine that ' Man is the measure of all things,' is ex- pressly identified by Socrates with the other statement, that ' What appears to each man is to him ; ' and a reference is made to the books in which the statement occurs ;— this Theaetetus, who has ' often read the books,' is supposed to acknowledge (152 A : so Cratylus 385 E). And Protagoras, in the speech attributed to him, never says that he has been misunderstood : at p. 166 C he rather seems to imply that the absoluteness of sensation at each instant was to be found in his words (cp. 158 E). He is only indignant at the ' reductio ad absurdum ' devised by Socrates for his ' homo mensura,' which Theodorus also considers to be 'really too bad.' The question may be raised, how far Plato in the Theaetetus could have misrepresented Protagoras without violating the laws 1 1 8 Plato should be read as a dramatic writer, Thtaetetus. 0f dramatic probability. Could he have pretended to cite from Introduc a well-known writing what was not to be found there? But such TION. a shadowy enquiry is not worth pursuing further. We need only remember that in the criticism which follows of the thesis of Protagoras, we are criticizing the Protagoras of Plato, and not attempting to draw a precise line between his real sentiments and those which Plato has attributed to him. 2. The other difficulty is a more subtle, and also a more im- portant one, because bearing on the general character of the Platonic dialogues. On a first reading of them, we are apt to imagine that the truth is only spoken by Socrates, who is never guilty of a fallacy himself, and is the great detector of the errors and fallacies of others. But this natural presumption is disturbed by the discovery that the Sophists are sometimes in the right and Socrates in the wrong. Like the hero of a novel, he is not to be supposed always to represent the sentiments of the author. There are few modern readers who do not side with Protagoras, rather than with Socrates, in the dialogue which is called by his name. The Cratylus presents a similar difficulty : in his etymologies, as in the number of the State, we cannot tell how far Socrates is serious ; for the Socratic irony will not allow him to distinguish between his real and his assumed wisdom. No one is the superior of the invincible Socrates in argument (except in the first part of the Parmenides, where he is introduced as a youth) ; but he is by no means supposed to be in possession of the whole truth. Arguments are often put into his mouth (cp. Introduction to the Gorgias) which must have seemed quite as untenable to Plato as to a modern writer. In this dialogue a great part of the answer of Protagoras is just and sound ; remarks are made by him on verbal criticism, and on the importance of understanding an opponent's meaning, which are conceived in the true spirit of philosophy. And the distinction which he is supposed to draw between Eristic and Dialectic (167, 168), is really a criticism of Plato on himself and his own criticism of Protagoras. The difficulty seems to arise from not attending to the dramatic character of the writings of Plato. There are two, or more, sides to questions ; and these are parted among the different speakers. Sometimes one view or aspect of a question is made to pre- dominate over the rest, as in the Gorgias or Sophist ; but in other and in the spirit of his age. 119 dialogues truth is divided, as in the Laches and Protagoras, and Theaetetus. the interest of the piece consists in the contrast of opinions. The Introduc- confusion caused by the irony of Socrates, who, if he is true to his character, cannot say anything of his own knowledge, is increased by the circumstance that in the Theaetetus and some other dialogues he is occasionally playing both parts himself, and even charging his own arguments with unfairness. In the Theaetetus he is designedly held back from arriving at a con- clusion. For we cannot suppose that Plato conceived a definition of knowledge to be impossible. But this is his manner of ap- proaching and surrounding a question. The lights which he throws on his subject are indirect, but they are not the less real for that. He has no intention of proving a thesis by a cut-and- dried argument ; nor does he imagine that a great philosophical problem can be tied up within the limits of a definition. If he has analyzed a proposition or notion, even with the severity of an impossible logic, if half-truths have been compared by him with other half-truths, if he has cleared up or advanced popular ideas, or illustrated a new method, his aim has been sufficiently accomplished. The writings of Plato belong to an age in which the power of analysis had outrun the means of knowledge ; and through a spurious use of dialectic, the distinctions which had been already 'won from the void and formless infinite,' seemed to be rapidly returning to their original chaos. The two great speculative philosophies, which a century earlier had so deeply impressed the mind of Hellas, were now degenerating into Eristic. The contemporaries of Plato and Socrates were vainly trying to find new combinations of them, or to transfer them from the object to the subject. The Megarians, in their first attempts to attain a severer logic, were making knowledge impossible (cp. Theaet. 202). They were asserting 'the one good under many names,' and, like the Cynics, seem to have denied predication, while the Cynics themselves were depriving virtue of all which made virtue desirable in the eyes of Socrates and Plato. And besides these, we find mention in the later writings of Plato, especially in the Theaetetus, Sophist, and Laws, of certain impenetrable godless persons, who will not believe what they 'cannot hold in their hands'; and cannot be approached in argument, because they 1 20 Conflict of abstractions. Theaetetus. cannot argue (Theaet. 155 E ; Soph. 246 A). No school of Greek Introduc- philosophers exactly answers to these persons, in whom Plato may perhaps have blended some features of the Atomists with the vulgar materialistic tendencies of mankind in general fcp. Intro- duction to the Sophist). And not only was there a conflict of opinions, but the stage which the mind had reached presented other difficulties hardly intelligible to us, who live in a different cycle of human thought. All times of mental progress are times of confusion ; we only see, or rather seem to see things clearly, when they have been long fixed and defined. In the age of Plato, the limits of the world of imagination and of pure abstraction, of the old world and the new, were not yet fixed. The Greeks, in the fourth century before Christ, had no words for 'subject' and 'object,' and no distinct conception of them ; yet they were always hovering about the question involved in them. The analysis of sense, and the analysis of thought, were equally difficult to them ; and hope- lessly confused by the attempt to solve them, not through an appeal to facts, but by the help of general theories respecting the nature of the universe. Plato, in his Theaetetus, gathers up the sceptical tendencies of his age, and compares them. But he does not seek to reconstruct out of them a theory of knowledge. The time at which such a theory could be framed had not yet arrived. For there was no measure of experience with which the ideas swarming in men's minds could be compared ; the meaning of the word ' science ' could scarcely be explained to them, except from the mathe- matical sciences, which alone offered the type of universality and certainty. Philosophy was becoming more and more vacant and abstract, and not only the Platonic Ideas and the Eleatic Being, but all abstractions seemed to be at variance with sense and at war with one another. The want of the Greek mind in the fourth century before Christ was not another theory of rest or motion, or Being or atoms, but rather a philosophy which could free the mind from the power of abstractions and alternatives, and show how far rest and how far motion, how far the universal principle of Being and the mul- titudinous principle of atoms, entered into the composition of the world; which could distinguish between the true and false Analysis 142, 143. 121 analogy, and allow the negative as well as the positive a place in Theaetetus. human thought. To such a philosophy Plato, in the Theaetetus, Introduc- offers many contributions. He has followed philosophy into the region of mythology, and pointed out the similarities of opposing phases of thought. He has also shown that extreme abstractions are self-destructive, and, indeed, hardly distinguishable from one another. But his intention is not to unravel the whole subject of knowledge, if this had been possible ; and several times in the course of the dialogue he rejects explanations of knowledge which have germs of truth in them ; as, for example, ' the resolution of the compound into the simple ; ' or ' right opinion with a mark of difference.' v.teph. Terpsion, who has come to Megara from the country, is de- Analysis. 114'' . . T-. . ' scribed as having looked in vain for Euchdes in the Agora ; the latter explains that he has been down to the harbour, and on his way thither had met Theaetetus, who was being carried up from the army to Athens. He was scarcely alive, for he had been badly wounded at the battle of Corinth, and had taken the dysen- tery' which prevailed in the camp. The mention of his condition suggests the reflection, ' What a loss he will be ! ' ' Yes, indeed,' replies Euclid ; ' only just now I was hearing of his noble conduct in the battle.' ' That I should expect ; but why did he not remain at Megara?' 'I wanted him to remain, but he would not; so I went with him as far as Erineum ; and as I parted from him, I remembered that Socrates had seen him when he was a youth, and had a remarkable conversation with him, not long before his own death ; and he then prophesied of him that he would be a great man if he lived.' ' How true that has been ; how like all that Socrates said ! And could you repeat the conversation ? ' 143 'Not from memory; but I took notes when I returned home, which I afterwards filled up at leisure, and got Socrates to correct them from time to time, when I came to Athens.' . . . Terpsion had long intended to ask for a sight of this writing, of which he had already heard. They are both tired, and agree to rest and have the conversation read to them by a servant. . . . ' Here is the roll, Terpsion j I need only observe that I have omitted, for the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words, "said I," "said I 22 Analysis 143-145. Theaetctus. he " ; and that Theaetetus, and Theodorus, the geometrician of Analysis. Cyrene, are the persons with whom Socrates is conversing.' Socrates begins by asking Theodorus whether, in his visit to Athens, he has found any Athenian youth likely to attain dis- tinction in science. ' Yes, Socrates, there is one very remarkable youth, with whom I have become acquainted. He is no beauty, and therefore you need not imagine that I am in love with him ; and, to say the truth, he is very like you, for he has a snub nose, and projecting eyes, although these features are not so marked in him as in you. He combines the most various qualities, quickness, 144 patience, courage ; and he is gentle as well as wise, always silently flowing on, like a river of oil. Look ! he is the middle one of those who are entering the palaestra.' Socrates, who does not know his name, recognizes him as the son of Euphronius, who was himself a good man and a rich. He is informed by Theodorus that the youth is named Theaetetus, but the property of his father has disappeared in the hands of trustees ; this does not, however, prevent him from adding liberality to his other virtues. At the desire of Socrates he invites Theaetetus to sit by them. ' Yes,' says Socrates, 1 that I may see in you, Theaetetus, the image of my ugly self, as Theodorus declares. Not that his remark is of any importance; for though he is a philosopher, he is not a painter, and therefore he is no judge of our faces ; 145 but, as he is a man of science, he may be a judge of our intel- lects. And if he were to praise the mental endowments of either of us, in that case the hearer of the eulogy ought to examine into what he says, and the subject should not refuse to be ex- amined.' Theaetetus consents, and is caught in a trap (cp. the similar trap which is laid for Theodorus, at p. 166, 168 D). ' Then, Theaetetus, you will have to be examined, for Theodorus has been praising you in a style of which I never heard the like.' ' He was only jesting.' 'Nay, that is not his way; and I cannot allow you, on that pretence, to retract the assent which you have already given, or I shall make Theodorus repeat your praises, and swear to them.' Theaetetus, in reply, professes that he is willing to be examined, and Socrates begins by asking him what he learns of Theodorus. He is himself anxious to learn anything A Italy sis 145-150. 123 of anybody ; and now he has a little question to which he wants Theactclus. Theaetetus or Theodorus (or whichever of the company would Analysis. not be ' donkey ' to the rest) to find an answer. Without further preface, but at the same time apologizing for his eagerness, he 146 asks, 'What is knowledge?' Theodorus is too old to answer questions, and begs him to interrogate Theaetetus, who has the advantage of youth. Theaetetus replies, that knowledge is what he learns of Theo- dorus, i.e. geometry and arithmetic; and that there are other kinds of knowledge— shoemaking, carpentering, and the like. But Socrates rejoins, that this answer contains too much and also too little. For although Theaetetus has enumerated several kinds of knowledge, he has not explained the common nature 147 of them ; as if he had been asked, 'What is clay ? ' and instead of saying, ' Clay is moistened earth,' he had answered, 'There is one clay of image-makers, another of potters, another of oven-makers.' Theaetetus at once divines that Socrates means him to extend to all kinds of knowledge the same process of generalization which he has already learned to apply to arithmetic. For he has discovered a division of numbers into square numbers, 4, 9, 16, &c, which are composed of equal factors, and represent 148 figures which have equal sides, and oblong numbers, 3, 5, 6, 7, &c, which are composed of unequal factors, and represent figures which have unequal sides. But he has never succeeded in at- taining a similar conception of knowledge, though he has often tried ; and, when this and similar questions were brought to him from Socrates, has been sorely distressed by them. Socrates 149 explains to him that he is in labour. For men as well as women have pangs of labour; and both at times require the assistance of midwives. And he, Socrates, is a midwife, although this is a secret ; he has inherited the art from his mother bold and bluff, and he ushers into light, not children, but the thoughts of men. Like the midwives, who are ' past bearing children,' he too can have no offspring— the God will not allow him to bring anything into the world of his own. He also reminds Theaetetus that the midwives are or ought to be the only matchmakers (this is the preparation for a biting jest, 151 B) ; for those who reap the fruit 150 are most likely to know on what soil the plants will grow. But respectable midwives avoid this department of practice— they Analysis 150-152. Thcartetus. do not want to be called procuresses. There are some other Analysis, differences between the two sorts of pregnancy. For women do not bring into the world at one time real children and at another time idols which are with difficulty distinguished from them. ' At first,' says Socrates in his character of the man -midwife, 'my patients are barren and stolid, but after a while they "round apace," if the gods are propitious to them ; and this is due not to me but to themselves ; I and the god only assist in bringing their ideas to the birth. Many of them have left me too soon, and the result has been that they have produced abortions ; or when I have delivered them of children they have lost them by an ill bringing up, and have ended by seeing themselves, as others see them, to be great fools. Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, is one of these, and there have been others. The truants often return to 1 5 me and beg to be taken back ; and then, if my familiar allows me, which is not always the case, I receive them, and they begin to grow again. There come to me also those who have nothing in them, and have no need of my art ; and I am their matchmaker (see above), and marry them to Prodicus or some other inspired sage who is likely to suit them. I tell you this long story because I suspect that you are in labour. Come then to me, who am a midwife, and the son of a midwife, and I will deliver you. And do not bite me, as the women do, if I abstract your first-born ; for I am acting out of good-will towards you ; the God who is within me is the friend of man, though he will not allow me to dissemble the truth. Once more then, Theaetetus, I repeat my old question— " What is knowledge ? " Take courage, and by the help of God you will discover an answer.' ' My answer is, that knowledge is perception.' 'That is the theory of Protagoras, who has another 15 way of expressing the same thing when he says, " Man is the measure of all things." He was a very wise man, and we should try to understand him. In order to illustrate his meaning let me suppose that there is the same wind blowing in our faces, and one of us may be hot and the other cold. How is this ? Protagoras will reply that the wind is hot to him who is cold, cold to him who is hot. And " is " means " appears," and when you say " appears to him," that means " he feels." Thus feeling, appearance, per- ception, coincide with being. I suspect, however, that this was only a " facon de parler," by which he imposed on the common herd Analysis 152-155. 125 like you and me ; he told " the truth " [in allusion to the title of his Theaetetus. book, which was called "The Truth"] in secret to his disciples. Analyse For he was really a votary of that famous philosophy in which all things are said to be relative ; nothing is great or small, or heavy or light, or one, but all is in motion and mixture and transition and flux and generation, not " being," as we ignorantly affirm, but " becoming." This has been the doctrine, not of Protagoras only, but of all philosophers, with the single exception of Parmenides ; Empedocles, Heracleitus, and others, and all the poets, with Epicharmus, the king of Comedy, and Homer, the king of Tragedy, at their head, have said the same ; the latter has these words — " Ocean, whence the gods sprang, and mother Tethys." 53 And many arguments are used to show, that motion is the source of life, and rest of death : fire and warmth are produced by friction, and living creatures owe their origin to a similar cause ; the bodily frame is preserved by exercise and destroyed by in- dolence ; and if the sun ceased to move, " chaos would come again." Now apply this doctrine of " All is motion " to the senses, and first of all to the sense of sight. The colour of white, or any other colour, is neither in the eyes nor out of them, but ever in motion 54 between the object and the eye, and varying in the case of every percipient. All is relative, and, as the followers of Protagoras remark, endless contradictions arise when we deny this ; e.g. here are six dice ; they are more than four and less than twelve ; " more and also less," would you not say?' ' Yes.' ' But Protagoras will retort : " Can anything be more or less without addition or subtraction ? " ' ' I should say " No " if I were not afraid of contradicting my former answer.' ' And if you say " Yes," the tongue will escape conviction but not the mind, as Euripides would say ? ' 'True.' ' The thoroughbred Sophists, who know all that can be known, would have a sparring match over this, but you and I, who have no professional pride, 55 want only to discover whether our ideas are clear and consistent. And we cannot be wrong in saying, first, that nothing can be greater or less while remaining equal ; secondly, that there can be no becoming greater or less without addition or subtraction ; thirdly, 126 Thcaetctus. Analysis. Analysis 155-157. that what is and was not, cannot be without having become. But then how is this reconcileable with the case of the dice, and with similar examples ?— that is the question.' ' I am often perplexed and amazed, Socrates, by these difficulties.' 1 That is because you are a philosopher, for philosophy begins in wonder, and Iris is the child of Thaumas. Do you know the original principle on which the doctrine of Protagoras is based ? ' ' No.' ' Then I will tell you ; but we must not let the uninitiated hear, and by the uninitiated I mean the obstinate people who believe in nothing which they cannot hold in their hands. The brethren whose mysteries I am 156 about to unfold to you are far more ingenious. They maintain that all is motion ; and that motion has two forms, action and passion, out of which endless phenomena are created, also in two forms — sense and the object of sense— which come to the birth together. There are two kinds of motions, a slow and a fast ; the motions of the agent and the patient are slower, because they move and create in and about themselves, but the things which are born of them have a swifter motion, and pass rapidly from place to place. The eye and the appropriate object come together, and give birth to wrhiteness and the sensation of whiteness; the eye is filled with seeing, and becomes not sight but a seeing eye, and the object is filled with whiteness, and becomes not whiteness but white ; and no other compound of either with another would have pro- duced the same effect. All sensation is to be resolved into a 157 similar combination of an agent and patient. Of either, taken separately, no idea can be formed ; and the agent may become a patient, and the patient an agent. Hence there arises a general reflection that nothing is, but all things become ; no name can detain or fix them. Are not these speculations charming, Theae- tetus, and very good for a person in your interesting situation ? I am offering you specimens of other men's wisdom, because I have no wisdom of my own, and I want to deliver you of something; and presently we will see whether you have brought forth wind or not. Tell me, then, what do you think of the notion that " All things are becoming " ? ' 'When I hear your arguments, I am marvellously ready to assent' ' But I ought not to conceal from you that there is a serious objection which may be urged against this doctrine of Protagoras. Analysis 158 161. 127 158 For there are states, such as madness and dreaming, in which Theaetetus. perception is false ; and half our life is spent in dreaming ; and Analysis. who can say that at this instant we are not dreaming ? Even the fancies of madmen are real at the time. But if knowledge is perception, how can we distinguish between the true and the false in such cases? Having stated the objection, I will now state the answer. Protagoras would deny the continuity of phenomena ; 1 59 he would say that what is different is entirely different, and whether active or passive has a different power. There are infinite agents and patients in the world, and these produce in every combination of them a different perception. Take myself as an instance :— Socrates may be ill or he may be well,— and remember that Socrates, with all his accidents, is spoken of. The wine which I drink when I am well is pleasant to me, but the same wine is unpleasant to me when I am ill. And there is 160 nothing else from which I can receive the same impression, nor can another receive the same impression from the wine. Neither can I and the object of sense become separately what we become together. For the one in becoming is relative to the other, but they have no other relation ; and the combination of them is absolute at each moment. [In modern language, the act of sen- sation is really indivisible, though capable of a mental analysis into subject and object.] My sensation alone is true, and true to me only. And therefore, as Protagoras says, " To myself I am the judge of what is and what is not." Thus the flux of Homer and Heracleitus, the great Protagorean saying that " Man is the measure of all things," the doctrine of Theaetetus that "Knowledge is perception," have all the same meaning. And this is thy new-born child, which by my art I have brought to light ; and 161 you must not be angry if instead of rearing your infant we expose him.' ' Theaetetus will not be angry,' says Theodorus ; ' he is very good-natured. But I should like to know, Socrates, whether you mean to say that all this is untrue ? ' ' First reminding you that I am not the bag which contains the arguments, but that I extract them from Theaetetus, shall I tell you what amazes me in your friend Protagoras ? ' ' What may that be ? ' ' I like his doctrine that what appears is ; but I wonder that he 128 Analysis 1 61-164. Theaetctus. did not begin his great work on Truth with a declaration that a pig, Analysis, or a dog- faced baboon, or any other monster which has sensation, is a measure of all things ; then, while we were reverencing him as a god, he might have produced a magnificent effect by ex- pounding to us that he was no wiser than a tadpole. For if sen- sations are always true, and one man's discernment is as good as another's, and every man is his own judge, and everything that he judges is right and true, then what need of Protagoras to be our instructor at a high figure ; and why should we be less knowing than he is, or have to go to him, if every man is the measure of all things? My own art of midwifery, and all dialectic, is an enormous folly, if Protagoras' "Truth" be indeed truth, and the philosopher is not merely amusing himself by giving oracles out of his book.' Theodorus thinks that Socrates is unjust to his master, Prota- 162 goras ; but he is too old and stiff to try a fall with him, and there- fore refers him to Theaetetus, who is already driven out of his former opinion by the arguments of Socrates. Socrates then takes up the defence of Protagoras, who is sup- posed to reply in his own person — ' Good people, you sit and declaim about the gods, of whose existence or non-existence I have nothing to say, or you discourse about man being reduced to the level of the brutes ; but what proof have you of your statements ? And yet surely you and Theodorus had better reflect whether probability is a safe guide. Theodorus would be a bad geo- 163 metrician if he had nothing better to offer.' . . . Theaetetus is affected by the appeal to geometry, and Socrates is induced by him to put the question in a new form. He proceeds as follows : — ' Should we say that we know what we see and hear,— e. g. the sound of words or the sight of letters in a foreign tongue ? ' ' We should say that the figures of the letters, and the pitch of the voice in uttering them, were known to us, but not the meaning of them.' ' Excellent ; I want you to grow, and therefore I will leave that answer and ask another question: Is not seeing perceiving?' ' Very true.' ' And he who sees knows ? ' ' Yes.' ' And he who remembers, remembers that which he sees and knows ? ' ' Very true.' ' But if he closes his eyes, does he not remember V 'He 164 does.' ' Then he may remember and not see ; and if seeing is Analysis 164-166. knowing, he may remember and not know. Is not this a " reductio Theaetctus. ad absurdnm " of the hypothesis that knowledge is sensible percep- Analysis. tion ? Yet perhaps we are crowing too soon ; and if Protagoras, '• the father of the myth," had been alive, the result might have been very different. But he is dead, and Theodorus, whom he left guardian of his " orphan," has not been very zealous in defending him.' 165 Theodorus objects that Callias is the true guardian, but he hopes that Socrates will come to the rescue. Socrates prefaces his defence by resuming the attack. He asks whether a man can know and not know at the same time ? ' Impossible.' Quite possible, if you maintain that seeing is knowing. The confident adversary, suiting the action to the word, shuts one of your eyes ; and now, says he, you see and do not see, but do you know and not know ? And a fresh opponent darts from his ambush, and transfers to knowledge the terms which are commonly applied to sight. He asks whether you can know near and not at a distance ; whether you can have a sharp and also a dull knowledge. While you are wondering at his incomparable wisdom, he gets you into his power, and you will not escape until you have come to an understanding with him about the money which is to be paid for your release. But Protagoras has not yet made his defence ; and already he 166 may be heard contemptuously replying that he is not responsible for the admissions which were made by a boy, who could not fore- see the coming move, and therefore had answered in a manner which enabled Socrates to raise a laugh against himself. 'But I cannot be fairly charged,' he will say, 'with an answer which I should not have given ; for I never maintained that the memory of a feeling is the same as a feeling, or denied that a man might know and not know the same thing at the same time. Or, if you will have extreme precision, I say that man in different relations is many or rather infinite in number. And I challenge you, either to show that his perceptions are not individual, or that if they are, what appears to him is not what is. As to your pigs and baboons, you are yourself a pig, and you make my writings a sport of other swine. But I still affirm that man is the measure of all things, although I admit that one man may be a thousand times better than another, in proportion as he has better impressions. Neither vol. rv. K 130 Analysis 166-168. Theaetctus. do I deny the existence of wisdom or of the wise man. But I main- Analvsis. tain that wisdom is a practical remedial power of turning evil into good, the bitterness of disease into the sweetness of health, and does not consist in any greater truth or superior knowledge. For the impressions of the sick are as true as the impressions of the healthy ; and the sick are as wise as the healthy. Nor 167 can any man be cured of a false opinion, for there is no such thing; but he may be cured of the evil habit which generates in him an evil opinion. This is effected in the body by the drugs of the physician, and in the soul by the words of the Sophist ; and the new state or opinion is not truer, but only better than the old. And philosophers are not tadpoles, but physicians and husbandmen, who till the soil and infuse health into animals and plants, and make the good take the place of the evil, both in individuals and states. Wise and good rhetoricians make the good to appear just in states (for that is just which appears just to a state), and in return, they deserve to be well paid. And you, Socrates, whether you please or not, must continue to be a measure. This is my defence, and I must request you to meet me fairly. We are professing to reason, and not merely to dis- pute ; and there is a great difference between reasoning and disputation. For the disputer is always seeking to trip up his opponent 5 and this is a mode of argument which disgusts men with philosophy as they grow older. But the reasoner is trying to understand him and to point out his errors to him, whether arising from his own or from his companions' fault; he does not 168 argue from the customary use of names, which the vulgar pervert in all manner of ways. If you are gentle to an adversary he will follow and love you ; and if defeated he will lay the blame on himself, and seek to escape from his own prejudices into philo- sophy. 1 would recommend you, Socrates, to adopt this humaner method, and to avoid captious and verbal criticisms.' Such, Theodoras, is the very slight help which I am able to afford to your friend ; had he been alive, he would have helped himself in far better style. ' You have made a most valorous defence.' Yes ; but did you observe that Protagoras bade me be serious, and complained of our getting up a laugh against him with the aid of a boy ? He meant to intimate that you must take the place A naiysis 168-171. r $ r of Theaetetus, who maybe wiser than many bearded men, but not Theaeietus. wiser than you, Theodorus. . •* ■ Analysis. 169 'The rule of the Spartan Palaestra is, Strip or depart ; but you are like the giant Antaeus, and will not let me depart unless I try a fall with you.' Yes, that is the nature of my complaint. And many a Hercules, many a Theseus mighty in deeds and words has broken my head ; but I am always at this rough game. Please, then, to favour me. ' On the condition of not exceeding a single fall, I consent.' 170 Socrates now resumes the argument. As he is very desirous of doing justice to Protagoras, he insists on citing his own words,— ' What appears to each man is to him.' And how, asks Socrates, are these words reconcileable with the fact that all mankind are agreed in thinking themselves wiser than others in some respects, and inferior to them in others? In the hour of danger they are ready to fall down and worship any one who is their superior in wisdom as if he were a god. And the world is full of men who are asking to be taught and willing to be ruled, and of other men who are willing to rule and teach them. All which implies that men do judge of one another's impressions, and think some wise and others foolish. How will Protagoras answer this argument ? For he cannot say that no one deems another ignorant or mis- taken. If you form a judgment, thousands and tens of thousands are ready to maintain the opposite. The multitude may not and do not agree in Protagoras' own thesis that ' Man is the measure 171 of all things ;' and then who is to decide ? Upon his own showing must not his ' truth ' depend on the number of suffrages, and be more or less true in proportion as he has more or fewer of them ? And he must acknowledge further, that they speak truly who deny him to speak truly, which is a famous jest. And if he admits that they speak truly who deny him to speak truly, he must admit that he himself does not speak truly. But his opponents will refuse to admit this of themselves, and he must allow that they are right in their refusal. The conclusion is, that all mankind including Protagoras himself, will deny that he speaks truly and his truth will be true neither to himself nor to anybody else' Theodorus is inclined to think that this is going too far. Socrates iromcally replies, that he is not going beyond the truth. But if the old Protagoras could only pop his head out of the world below, he K 2 1 - 2 Analysis i 71 -1 73 Theactetus. would doubtless give them both a sound castigation and be off to Analysis, the shades in an instant. Seeing that he is not within call, we must examine the question for ourselves. It is clear that there are great differences in the understandings of men. Admitting, with Protagoras, that immediate sensations of hot, cold, and the like, are to each one such as they appear, yet this hypothesis cannot be extended to judgments or opinions. And even if we were to admit 172 further,— and this is the view of some who are not thorough-going followers of Protagoras,— that right and wrong, holy and unholy, are to each state or individual such as they appear, still Protagoras will not venture to maintain that every man is equally the measure of expediency, or that the thing which seems is expedient to every one. But this begins a new question. ' Well, Socrates, we have plenty of leisure.' Yes, we have, and, after the manner of philo- sophers, we are digressing ; I have often observed how ridiculous this habit of theirs makes them when they appear in court. ' What do you mean ? ' I mean to say that a philosopher is a gentleman, but a lawyer is a servant. The one can have his talk out, and wander at will from one subject to another, as the fancy takes him ; like ourselves, he may be long or short, as he pleases. But the lawyer is always in a hurry ; there is the clepsydra limiting his time, and the brief limiting his topics, and his adversary is standing over him and exacting his rights. He is a servant dis- puting about a fellow-servant before his master, who holds the cause in his hands ; the path never diverges, and often the race is 173 for his life. Such experiences render him keen and shrewd ; he learns the arts of flattery, and is perfect in the practice of crooked ways ; dangers have come upon him too soon, when the tender- ness of youth was unable to meet them with truth and honesty, and he has resorted to counter-acts of dishonesty and falsehood, and become warped and distorted ; without any health or freedom or sincerity in him he has grown up to manhood, and is or esteems himself to be a master of cunning. Such are the lawyers ; will you have the companion picture of philosophers ? or will this be too much of a digression ? ' Nay. Socrates, the argument is our servant, and not our master. Who is the judge or where is the spectator, having a right to control us ? ' I will describe the leaders, then ; for the inferior sort are not Analysis 173-175. worth the trouble. The lords of philosophy have not learned the 'J'hcaeietus. way to the dicastery or ecclesia ; they neither see nor hear the Analysis. laws and votes of the state, written or recited ; societies, whether political or festive, clubs, and singing maidens do not enter even into their dreams. And the scandals of persons or their ancestors, male and female, they know no more than they can tell the num- ber of pints in the ocean. Neither are they conscious of their own ignorance ; for they do not practise singularity in order to gain reputation, but the truth is, that the outer form of them only is residing in the city ; the inner man, as Pindar says, is going on a voyage of discovery, measuring as with line and rule the things 174 which are under and in the earth, interrogating the whole of nature, only not condescending to notice what is near them. ■ What do you mean, Socrates ? ' I will illustrate my meaning by the jest of the witty maid- servant, who saw Thales tumbling into a well, and said of him, that he was so eager to know what was going on in heaven, that he could not see what was before his feet. This is applicable to all philosophers. The philosopher is unacquainted with the world ; he hardly knows whether his neighbour is a man or an animal. For he is always searching into the essence of man, and enquiring what such a nature ought to do or suffer different from any other. Hence, on every occasion in private life and public, as I was saying, when he appears in a law-court or anywhere, he is the joke, not only of maid-servants, but of the general herd, falling into wells and every sort of disaster ; he looks such an awkward, inexperienced creature, unable to say anything personal, when he is abused, in answer to his adversaries (for he knows no evil of any one) ; and when he hears the praises of others, he cannot help laughing from the bottom of his soul at their pretensions ; and this also gives him a ridiculous appearance. A king or tyrant appears to him to be a kind of swine-herd or cow- herd, milking away at an animal who is much more troublesome and dangerous than cows or sheep ; like the cow-herd, he has no time to be educated, and the pen in which he keeps his flock in the moun- tains is surrounded by a wall. When he hears of large landed properties often thousand acres or more, he thinks of the whole 175 earth ; or if he is told of the antiquity of a family, he remembers that every one has had myriads of progenitors, rich and poor, 134 Analysis 175, 176. Theaetetus. Greeks and barbarians, kings and slaves. And he who boasts of Analysis, his descent from Amphitryon in the twenty-fifth generation, may, if he pleases, add as many more, and double that again, and our philosopher only laughs at his inability to do a larger sum. Such is the man at whom the vulgar scoff ; he seems to them as if he could not mind his feet. ' That is very true, Socrates.' But when he tries to draw the quick-witted lawyer out of his pleas and rejoinders to the contemplation of absolute justice or injustice in their own nature, or from the popular praises of wealthy kings to the view of happiness and misery in themselves, or to the reasons why a man should seek after the one and avoid the other, then the situation is reversed ; the little wretch turns giddy, and is ready to fall over the precipice ; his utterance becomes thick, and he makes himself ridiculous, not to servant-maids, but to every man of liberal education. Such are the two pictures : the one of the philosopher and gentleman, who may be excused for not having learned how to make a bed, or cook up flatteries ; the other, a serviceable knave, who hardly knows how to wear his cloak, — 176 still less can he awaken harmonious thoughts or hymn virtue's praises. 1 If the world, Socrates, were as ready to receive your words as I am, there would be greater peace and less evil among mankind.' Evil, Theodorus, must ever remain in this world to be the antagonist of good, out of the way of the gods in heaven. Wherefore also we should fly away from ourselves to them ; and to fly to them is to become like them ; and to become like them is to become holy, just and true. But many live in the old wives' fable of appearances; they think that you should follow virtue in order that you may seem to be good. And yet the truth is, that God is righteous ; and of men, he is most like him who is most righteous. To know this is wisdom ; and in comparison of this the wisdom of the arts or the seeming wisdom of politicians is mean and common. The unrighteous man is apt to pride him- self on his cunning ; when others call him rogue, he says to himself : ' They only mean that I am one who deserves to live, and not a mere burden of the earth.' But he should reflect that his ignorance makes his condition worse than if he knew. For the penalty of injustice is not death or stripes, but the fatal necessity Analysis 176-180. 135 of becoming more and more unjust. Two patterns of life are set Theacictus. before him ; the one blessed and divine, the other godless and Analysis. wretched ; and he is growing more and more like the one and 177 unlike the other. He does not see that if he continues in his cunning, the place of innocence will not receive him after death. And yet if such a man has the courage to hear the argument out, he often becomes dissatisfied with himself, and has no more strength in him than a child. — But we have digressed enough. ' For my part, Socrates, I like the digressions better than the argument, because I understand them better.' To return. When we left off, the Protagoreans and Hera- cliteans were maintaining that the ordinances of the State were 17S just, while they lasted. But no one would maintain that the laws of the State were always good or expedient, although this may be the intention of them. For the expedient has to do with the future, about which we are liable to mistake. Now, would Pro- tagoras maintain that man is the measure not only of the present and past, but of the future ; and that there is no difference in the judgments of men about the future ? Would an untrained man, for example, be as likely to know when he is going to have a fever, as the physician who attended him ? And if they differ in opinion, which of them is likely to be right ; or are they both right ? Is not a vine-grower a better judge of a vintage which is not yet gathered, or a cook of a dinner which is in preparation, or Pro- tagoras of the probable effect of a speech than an ordinary person ? 179 The last example speaks 'ad hominem.' For Protagoras would never have amassed a fortune if every man could judge of the future for himself. He is, therefore, compelled to admit that he is a measure ; but I, who know nothing, am not equally convinced that I am. This is one way of refuting him ; and he is refuted also by the authority which he attributes to the opinions of others, who deny his opinions. I am not equally sure that we can dis- prove the truth of immediate states of feeling. But this leads us to the doctrine of the universal flux, about which a battle-royal is always going on in the cities of Ionia. ' Yes ; the Ephesians are downright mad about the flux ; they cannot stop to argue with you, but are in perpetual motion, obedient to their text-books. Their restlessness is beyond expression, and if you ask any of l£othcm a question, they will not answer, but dart at you sonic 1 |6 Analysis 180-18; 1'heaetetus. unintelligible saying, and another and another, making no way Analysis, either with themselves or with others ; for nothing is fixed in them or their ideas, — they are at war with fixed principles.' I suppose, Theodorus, that you have never seen them in time of peace, when they discourse at leisure to their disciples ? ' Dis- ciples ! they have none ; they are a set of uneducated fanatics, and each of them says of the other that they have no knowledge. We must trust to ourselves, and not to them for the solution of the problem.' Well, the doctrine is old, being derived from the poets, who speak in a figure of Oceanus and Tethys ; the truth was once concealed, but is now revealed by the superior wisdom of a later generation, and made intelligible to the cobbler, who, on hearing that all is in motion, and not some things only, as he ignorantly fancied, may be expected to fall down and worship his teachers. And the opposite doctrine must not be forgotten : — ' Alone being remains unmoved which is the name for all," as Parmenides affirms. Thus we are in the midst of the fray ; both parties are dragging us to their side ; and we are not certain 181 which of them are in the right ; and if neither, then we shall be in a ridiculous position, having to set up our own opinion against ancient and famous men. Let us first approach the river-gods, or patrons of the flux. When they speak of motion, must they not include two kinds of motion, change of place and change of nature ? — And all things must be supposed to have both kinds of motion ; for if not, the same things would be at rest and in motion, which is contrary 182 to their theory. And did we not say, that all sensations arise thus : they move about between the agent and patient together with a perception, and the patient ceases to be a perceiving power and becomes a percipient, and the agent a quale instead of a quality; but neither has any absolute existence? But now we make the further discovery, that neither white or whiteness, nor any sense or sensation, can be predicated of anything, for they are in a perpetual flux. And therefore we must modify the doc- trine of Theaetetus and Protagoras, by asserting further that knowledge is and is not sensation ; and of everything we must 183 say equally, that this is and is not, or becomes or becomes not. Analysis 183-187. 137 And still the word 'this' is not quite correct, for language fails in 'J'hcactetus. the attempt to express their meaning. Analysis. At the close of the discussion, Theodorus claims to be released from the argument, according to his agreement. But Theaetetus insists that they shall proceed to consider the doctrine of rest. 184 This is declined by Socrates, who has too much reverence for the great Parmenides lightly to attack him. [We shall find that he returns to the doctrine of rest in the Sophist ; but at present he does not wish to be diverted from his main purpose, which is, to deliver Theaetetus of his conception of knowledge.] He pro- ceeds to interrogate him further. When he says that 'knowledge is perception,' with what does he perceive ? The first answer is, that he perceives sights with the eye, and sounds with the ear. This leads Socrates to make the reflection that nice distinctions of words are sometimes pedantic, but sometimes necessary ; and he proposes in this case to substitute the word ' through ' for ' with.' For the senses are not like the Trojan warriors in the horse, but 85 have a common centre of perception, in which they all meet. This common principle is able to compare them with one another, and must therefore be distinct from them (cp. Rep. vii. 523, 524). And as there are facts of sense which are perceived through the organs of the body, there are also mathematical and other abstrac- tions, such as sameness and difference, likeness and unlikeness, 86 which the soul perceives by herself. Being is the most universal of th ese abstractions. The good and the beautiful are abstractions of another kind, which exist in relation and which above all others the mind perceives in herself, comparing within her past, present, and future. For example ; we know a thing to be hard or soft by the touch, of which the perception is given at birth to men and animals. But the essence of hardness or softness, or the fact that this hardness is, and is the opposite of softness, is slowly learned by reflection and experience. Mere perception does not reach being, and therefore fails of truth ; and therefore has no share in knowledge. But if so, knowledge is not perception. 87 What then is knowledge? The mind, when occupied by herself with being, is said to have opinion— shall we say that 'Knowledge is true opinion'? But still an old difficulty recurs; we ask our- selves, 'How is false opinion possible?' This difficulty may be stated as follows : — Analysis \ 88-191. Theaetetus. Either we know or do not know a thing (for the intermediate 188 Analysis, processes of learning and forgetting need not at present be con- sidered) ; and in thinking or having an opinion, we must either know or not know that which we think, and we cannot know and be ignorant at the same time ; we cannot confuse one thing which we do not know, with another thing which we do not know ; nor can we think that which we do not know to be that which we know, or that which we know to be that which we do not know. And what other case is conceivable, upon the supposition that we either know or do not know all things? Let us try another answer in the sphere of being: 'When a man thinks, and thinks that which is not.' But would this hold in any parallel case? Can a man see and see nothing? or hear and hear nothing? or 189 touch and touch nothing ? Must he not see, hear, or touch some one existing thing? For if he thinks about nothing he does not think, and not thinking he cannot think falsely. And so the path of being is closed against us, as well as the path of knowledge. But may there not be ' heterodoxy,' or transference of opinion ;— I mean, may not one thing be supposed to be another ? Theae- tetus is confident that this must be 'the true falsehood,' when a man puts good for evil or evil for good. Socrates will not discourage him by attacking the ' paradoxical expression ' true falsehood,' but passes on. The new notion involves a process of thinking about two things, either together or alternately. And thinking is the conversing of the mind with herself, which is 19° carried on in question and answer, until she no longer doubts, but determines and forms an opinion. And false opinion consists in saying to yourself, that one thing is another. But did you ever say to yourself, that good is evil, or evil good ? Even in sleep, did you ever imagine that odd was even ? Or did any man in his senses ever fancy that an ox was a horse, or that two are one ? So that we can never think one thing to be another; for you must not meet me with the verbal quibble that one— htpov— is other— ere/jof [both 'one' and 'other' in Greek are called 'other'— tTtpov\ He who has both the two things in his mind, cannot mis- place them; and he who has only one of them in his mind, cannot misplace them— on either supposition transplacement is inconceivable. But perhaps there may still be a sense in which we can think 191 A nalysis 191-1 94. that which we do not know to be that which we know : e. g. Theaetetus, Theaetetus may know Socrates, but at a distance he may mistake Analysis. another person for him. This process may be conceived by the help of an image. Let us suppose that every man has in his mind a block of wax of various qualities, the gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses ; and on this he receives the seal or stamp of those sensations and perceptions which he wishes to remember. That which he succeeds in stamping is remembered and known by him as long as the impression lasts ; but that, of which the impression is rubbed out or imperfectly made, is forgotten, and 192 not known. No one can think one thing to be another, when he has the memorial or seal of both of these in his soul, and a sensible impression of neither ; or when he knows one and does not know the other, and has no memorial or seal of the other ; or when he knows neither ; or when he perceives both, or one and not the other, or neither ; or when he perceives and knows both, and identifies what he perceives with what he knows (this is still more impossible) ; or when he does not know one, and does not know and does not perceive the other ; or does not perceive one, and does not know and does not perceive the other ; or has no perception or knowledge of either— all these cases must be ex- cluded. But he may err when he confuses what he knows or perceives, or what he perceives and does not know, with what he knows, or what he knows and perceives with what he knows and perceives. Theaetetus is unable to follow these distinctions ; which Socrates proceeds to illustrate by examples, first of all remarking, that knowledge may exist without perception, and perception without 193 knowledge. I may know Theodorus and Theaetetus and not see them ; I may see them, and not know them. < That I under- stand.' But I could not mistake one for the other if I knew you both, and had no perception of either ; or if I knew one only, and perceived neither ; or if I knew and perceived neither, or in any other of the excluded cases. The only possibility of error is : 1st, when knowing you and Theodorus, and having the impres- sion of both of you on the waxen block, I, seeing you both imper- fectly and at a distance, put the foot in the wrong shoe -that is to •94 say, put the seal or stamp on the wrong object: or 2ndly, when knowing both of you I only sec one ; or when, seeing and J4-Q Analysis 194-197. Theaete/us. knowing you both, I fail to identify the impression and the object. Analysis. But there could be no error when perception and knowledge correspond. The waxen block in the heart of a man's soul, as I may say in the words of Homer, who played upon the words nrjp and nrjpos, may be smooth and deep, and large enough, and then the signs are clearly marked and lasting, and do not get confused. But in the 'hairy heart,' as the all-wise poet sings, when the wax is muddy or hard or moist, there is a corresponding confusion and want of reten- tiveness ; in the muddy and impure there is indistinctness, and 195 still more in the hard, for there the impressions have no depth of wax, and in the moist they are too soon effaced. Yet greater is the indistinctness when they are all jolted together in a little soul, which is narrow and has no room. These are the sort of natures which have false opinion ; from stupidity they see and hear and think amiss ; and this is falsehood and ignorance. Error, then, is a confusion of thought and sense. Theaetetus is delighted with this explanation. But Socrates has no sooner found the new solution than he sinks into a fit of despondency. For an objection occurs to him :— May there not be errors where there is no confusion of mind and sense ? e. g. in numbers. No one can confuse the man whom he has in his 196 thoughts with the horse which he has in his thoughts, but he may err in the addition of five and seven. And observe that these are purely mental conceptions. Thus we are involved once more in the dilemma of saying, either that there is no such thing as false opinion, or that a man knows what he does not know. We are at our wit's end, and may therefore be excused for making a bold diversion. All this time we have been repeating the words 'know,' 'understand,' yet we do not know what know- ledge is. ' Why, Socrates, how can you argue at all without using them ? ' Nay, but the true hero of dialectic would have forbidden 197 me to use them until I had explained them. And I must explain them now. The verb 'to know' has two senses, to have and to possess knowledge, and I distinguish 'having' from 'possessing.' A man may possess a garment which he does not wear ; or he may have wild birds in an aviary; these in one sense he pos- sesses, and in another he has none of them. Let this aviary be an image of the mind, as the waxen block was; when we are Analysis 197-203. 141 young, the aviary is empty ; after a time the birds are put in ; for Theaetelus. under this figure we may describe different forms of know- Analysis. ledge ; — there are some of them in groups, and some single, 19S which are flying about everywhere; and let us suppose a hunt after the science of odd and even, or some other science. The possession of the birds is clearly not the same as the having them in the hand. And the original chase of them is not the same as taking them in the hand when they are already caged. 199 This distinction between use and possession saves us from the absurdity of supposing that we do not know what we know, because we may know in one sense, i. e. possess, what we do not know in another, i. e. use. But have we not escaped one difficulty only to encounter a greater ? For how can the exchange of two kinds of knowledge ever become false opinion ? As well might we suppose that ignorance could make a man know, or that blindness could make him see. Theaetetus suggests that in the aviary there may be flying about mock birds, or forms of ignorance, and we put forth our hands and grasp ignorance, when we are intending 200 to grasp knowledge. But how can he who knows the forms of knowledge and the forms of ignorance imagine one to be the other ? Is there some other form of knowledge which distin- guishes them ? and another, and another ? Thus we go round and round in a circle and make no progress. All this confusion arises out of our attempt to explain false opinion without having explained knowledge. What then is knowledge? Theaetetus repeats that knowledge is true opinion. 201 But this seems to be refuted by the instance of orators and judges. For surely the orator cannot convey a true knowledge of crimes at which the judges were not present ; he can only persuade them, and the judge may form a true opinion and truly judge. But if true opinion were knowledge they could not have judged without knowledge. Once more. Theaetetus offers a definition which he has heard : Knowledge is true opinion accompanied by definition or expla- nation. • Socrates has had a similar dream, and has further heard 202 that the first elements are names only, and that definition or explanation begins when they are combined ; the letters are 203 unknown, the syllables or combinations are known. But this new hypothesis when tested by the letters of the alphabet is 142 Analysis 203-209. Theaetetus. found to break down. The first syllable of Socrates' name is SO. Analysis. But what is SO ? Two letters, S and O, a sibilant and a vowel, of which no further explanation can be given. And how can any one be ignorant of either of them, and yet know both of them ? There is, however, another alternative : — We may suppose that the syllable has a separate form or idea distinct from the letters or parts. The all of the parts may not be the whole. Theaetetus is very much inclined to adopt this suggestion, but when interro- 204 gated by Socrates he is unable to draw any distinction between the whole and all the parts. And if the syllables have no parts, 205 then they are those original elements of which there is no ex- planation. But how can the syllable be known if the letter remains unknown ? In learning to read as children, we are first 206 taught the letters and then the syllables. And in music, the notes, which are the letters, have a much more distinct meaning to us than the combination of them. Once more, then, we must ask the meaning of the statement, that ' Knowledge is right opinion, accompanied by explanation or definition.' Explanation may mean, (1) the reflection or expres- sion of a man's thoughts — but every man who is not deaf and dumb is able to express his thoughts— or (2) the enumeration of the elements of which anything is composed. A man may have 207 a true opinion about a waggon, but then, and then only, has he knowledge of a waggon when he is able to enumerate the hundred planks of Hesiod. Or he may know the syllables of the name Theaetetus, but not the letters ; yet not until he knows both can he be said to have knowledge as well as opinion. But on the other hand he may know the syllable ' The ' in the name Theaete- tus, yet he may be mistaken about the same syllable in the name 208 Theodorus, and in learning to read we often make such mistakes. And even if he could write out all the letters and syllables of your name in order, still he would only have right opinion. Yet there may be a third meaning of the definition, besides the image or expression of the mind, and the enumeration of the elements, viz. (3) perception of difference. For example, I may see a man who has eyes, nose, and mouth ; 209 —that will not distinguish him from any other man. Or he may have a snub-nose and prominent eyes ;— that will not distinguish him from myself and you and others who are like me. But Analysis 209, 210. 143 when I see a certain kind of snnb-nosedness, then I recognize Theaetelus. Theaetetus. And having this sign of difference, I have knowledge. Analysis. But have I knowledge or opinion of this difference ? If I have only opinion I have not knowledge ; if I have knowledge we assume 210 a disputed term; for knowledge will have to be defined as right opinion with knowledge of difference. And so, Theaetetus, knowledge is neither perception nor true opinion, nor yet definition accompanying true opinion. And I have shown that the children of your brain are not worth rearing. Are you still in labour, or have you brought all you have to say about knowledge to the birth ? If you have any more thoughts, you will be the better for having got rid of these ; or if you have none, you will be the better for not fancying that you know what you do not know. Observe the limits of my art, which, like my mother's, is an art of midwifery ; I do not pretend to compare with the good and wise of this and other ages. And now I go to meet Meletus at the porch of the King Archon ; but to-morrow I shall hope to see you again, Theodorus, at this place. I. The saying of Theaetetus, that 1 Knowledge is sensible per- Introduc- tion. ception,' may be assumed to be a current philosophical opinion of the age. ' The ancients,' as Aristotle (De Anim. iii. 3) says, citing a verse of Empedocles, 'affirmed knowledge to be the same as perception.' We may now examine these words, first, with reference to their place in the history of philosophy, and secondly, in relation to modern speculations. - In the age of Socrates the mind was passing from the object to the subject. The same impulse which a century before had led men to form conceptions of the world, now led them to frame general notions of the human faculties and feelings, such as memory, opinion, and the like. The simplest of these is sensa- tion, or sensible perception, by which Plato seems to mean the generalized notion of feelings and impressions of sense, without determining whether they are conscious or not. The theory that ' Knowledge is sensible perception ' is the antithesis of that which derives knowledge from the mind (Theaet. 144 'J~he theory that Knowledge is Perception. Tluactetus. 185), or which assumes the existence of ideas independent of the Introduc- mind (Parm. 134). Yet from their extreme abstraction these theories do not represent the opposite poles of thought in the same way that the corresponding differences would in modern philosophy. The most ideal and the most sensational have a tendency to pass into one another; Heracleitus, like his great successor Hegel, has both aspects. The Eleatic isolation of Being and the Megarian or Cynic isolation of individuals are placed in the same class by Plato (Soph. 251 C, D) ; and the same principle which is the symbol of motion to one mind is the symbol of rest to another. The Atomists, who are sometimes regarded as the Materialists of Plato, denied the reality of sensation. And in the ancient as well as the modern world there were reactions from theory to experience, from ideas to sense. This is a point of view from which the philosophy of sensation presented great attraction to the ancient thinker. Amid the conflict of ideas and the variety of opinions, the impression of sense remained certain and uniform. Hardness, softness, cold, heat, &c. are not abso- lutely the same to different persons (cp. 171 D), but the art of measuring could at any rate reduce them all to definite natures (Rep. x. 602 D). Thus the doctrine that knowledge is perception supplies or seems to supply a firm standing ground. Like the other notions of the earlier Greek philosophy, it was held in a very simple way, without much basis of reasoning, and without suggesting the questions which naturally arise in our own minds on the same subject. (/3) The fixedness of impressions of sense furnishes a link of connection between ancient and modern philosophy. The modern thinker often repeats the parallel axiom, 'All knowledge is ex- perience.' He means to say that the outward and not the inward is both the original source and the final criterion of truth, because the outward can be observed and analyzed ; the inward is only known by external results, and is dimly perceived by each man for himself. In what does this differ from the saying of Theae- tetus? Chiefly in this— that the modern term 'experience,' while implying a point of departure in sense and a return to sense, also includes all the processes of reasoning and imagination which have intervened. The necessary connexion between them by no means affords a measure of the relative degree of importance TION. Relativity of knowledge not the same with uncertainty. 145 which is to be ascribed to either element. For the inductive Theaetetus. portion of any science may be small, as in mathematics or ethics, iNTroduc- compared with that which the mind has attained by reasoning and reflection on a very few facts. II. The saying that 'All knowledge is sensation ' is identified by Plato with the Protagorean thesis that ' Man is the measure of all things.' The interpretation which Protagoras himself is supposed to give of these latter words is : ' Things are to me as they appear to me, and to you as they appear to you.' But there remains still an ambiguity both in the text and in the explanation, which has to be cleared up. Did Protagoras merely mean to assert the relativity of knowledge to the human mind ? or did he mean to deny that there is an objective standard of truth ? These two questions have not been always clearly distinguished; the relativity of knowledge has been sometimes confounded with uncertainty. The untutored mind is apt to suppose that objects exist independently of the human faculties, because they really exist independently of the faculties of any individual. In the same way, knowledge appears to be a body of truths stored up in books, which when once ascertained are independent of the discoverer. Further consideration shows us that these truths are not really independent of the mind ; there is an adaptation of one to the other, of the eye to the object of sense, of the mind to the conception. There would be no world, if there neither were nor ever had been any one to perceive the world. A slight effort of reflection enables us to understand this; but no effort of reflection will enable us to pass beyond the limits of our own faculties, or to imagine the relation or adaptation of objects to the mind to be different from that of which we have experience. There are certain laws of language and logic to which we are compelled to conform, and to which our ideas naturally adapt themselves ; and we can no more get rid of them than we can cease to be ourselves. The absolute and infinite, whether ex- plained as self-existence, or as the totality of human thought, or as the Divine nature, if known to us at all, cannot escape from the category of relation. But because knowledge is subjective or relative to the mind, we are not to suppose that we are therefore deprived of any of the VOL. IV. L 146 Relativity of knowledge a dogma of Protagoras. Theaetetus. tests or criteria of truth. One man still remains wiser than Introduc- another, a more accurate observer and relater of facts, a truer measure of the proportions of knowledge. The nature of testi- mony is not altered, nor the verification of causes by prescribed methods less certain. Again, the truth must often come to a man through others, according to the measure of his capacity and education. But neither does this affect the testimony, whether written or oral, which he knows by experience to be trustworthy. He cannot escape from the laws of his own mind ; and he cannot escape from the further accident of being dependent for his knowledge on others. But still this is no reason why he should always be in doubt ; of many personal, of many historical and scientific facts he may be absolutely assured. And having such a mass of acknowledged truth in the mathematical and physical, not to speak of the moral sciences, the moderns have certainly no reason to acquiesce in the statement that truth is appearance only, or that there is no difference between appearance and truth. The relativity of knowledge is a truism to us, but was a great psychological discovery in the fifth century before Christ. Of this discovery, the first distinct assertion is contained in the thesis of Protagoras. Probably he had no intention either of denying or affirming an objective standard of truth. He did not consider whether man in the higher or man in the lower sense was a ' measure of all things.' Like other great thinkers, he was absorbed with one idea, and that idea was the absoluteness of perception. Like Socrates, he seemed to see that philosophy must be brought back from ' nature ' to ' truth,' from the world to man. But he did not stop to analyze whether he meant 1 man ' in the concrete or man in the abstract, any man or some men, ' quod semper quod ubique ' or individual private judgment. Such an analysis lay beyond his sphere of thought ; the age before Socrates had not arrived at these distinctions. Like the Cynics, again, he discarded knowledge in any higher sense than per- ception. For 'truer' or ' wiser' he substituted the word ' better,' and is not unwilling to admit that both states and individuals are capable of practical improvement. But this improvement does not arise from intellectual enlightenment, nor yet from the exertion of the will, but from a change of circumstances and Connexion of Protagoras and Heracleitus, H7 impressions ; and he who can effect this change in himself or Thcaetetus. others may be deemed a philosopher. In the mode of effecting it, Introduc- while agreeing with Socrates and the Cynics in the importance which he attaches to practical life, he is at variance with both of them. To suppose that practice can be divorced from specu- lation, or that we may do good without caring about truth, is by no means singular, either in philosophy or life. The singu- larity of this, as of some other (so-called) sophistical doctrines, is the frankness with which they are avowed, instead of being veiled, as in modern times, under ambiguous and convenient phrases. Plato appears to treat Protagoras much as he himself is treated by Aristotle; that is to say, he does not attempt to understand him from his own point of view. But he entangles him in the meshes of a more advanced logic. To which Protagoras is sup- posed to reply by Megarian quibbles, which destroy logic, ' Not only man, but each man, and each man at each moment.' In the arguments about sight and memory there is a palpable unfairness which is worthy of the great 'brainless brothers,' Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, and may be compared with the iyKtKaXvfifievos (' obvelatus ') of Eubulides. For he who sees with one eye only cannot be truly said both to see and not to see; nor is memory, which is liable to forget, the immediate knowledge to which Protagoras applies the term. Theodorus justly charges Socrates with going beyond the truth ; and Protagoras has equally right on his side when he protests against Socrates arguing from the common use of words, which 'the vulgar pervert in all manner of ways.' III. The theory of Protagoras is connected by Aristotle as well as Plato with the flux of Heracleitus. But Aristotle is only following Plato, and Plato, as we have already seen, did not mean to imply that such a connexion was admitted by Protagoras himself. His metaphysical genius saw or seemed to see a common tendency in them, just as the modern historian of ancient phi- losophy might perceive a parallelism between two thinkers of which they were probably unconscious themselves. We must remember throughout that Plato is not speaking of Heracleitus, but of the Heracliteans, who succeeded him ; nor of the great original ideas of the master, but of the Eristic into which they had L 2 148 Heracleitus misimderstood by his followers. Theaetetm. degenerated a hundred years later. There is nothing in the Introduc- • fragments of Heracleitus which at all justifies Plato's account of him. His philosophy may be resolved into two elements- first, change, secondly, law or measure pervading the change : these he saw everywhere, and often expressed in strange mytho- logical symbols. But he has no analysis of sensible perception such as Plato attributes to him ; nor is there any reason to suppose that he pushed his philosophy into that absolute negation in which Heracliteanism was sunk in the age of Plato. He never said that ' change means every sort of change ; ' and he expressly distinguished between ' the general and particular understanding.' Like a poet, he surveyed the elements of mythology, nature, thought, which lay before him, and sometimes by the light of genius he saw or seemed to see a mysterious principle working behind them. But as has been the case with other great philo- sophers, and with Plato and Aristotle themselves, what was really permanent and original could not .be understood by the next generation, while a perverted logic carried out his chance ex- pressions with an illogical consistency. His simple and noble thoughts, like those of the great Eleatic, soon degenerated into a mere strife of words. And when thus reduced to mere words, they seem to have exercised a far wider influence in the cities of Ionia (where the people ' were mad about them ') than in the life-time of Heracleitus— a phenomenon which, though at first sight singular, is not without a parallel in the history of philosophy and theology. It is this perverted form of the Heraclitean philosophy which is supposed to effect the final overthrow of Protagorean sensa- tionalism. For if all things are changing at every moment, in all sorts of ways, then there is nothing fixed or defined at all, and therefore no sensible perception, nor any true word by which that or anything else can be described. Of course Protagoras would not have admitted the justice of this argument any more than Heracleitus would have acknowledged the 'uneducated fanatics' who appealed to his writings. He might have said, 'The excellent Socrates has first confused me with Heracleitus, and Heracleitus with his Ephesian successors, and has then disproved the existence both of knowledge and sensation. But I am not responsible for what I never said, nor will I admit Knowledge more than sensible perception. 149 that my common-sense account of knowledge can be overthrown Theaetetus. bv unintelligible Heraclitean paradoxes.' . Intboduc- J ° , TION. IV. Still at the bottom of the arguments there remains a truth, that knowledge is something more than sensible perception ;— this alone would not distinguish man from a tadpole. The absoluteness of sensations at each moment destroys the very consciousness of sensations (cp. Phileb. 21 D), or the power of comparing them. The senses are not mere holes in a ' Trojan horse,' but the organs of a presiding nature, in which they meet. A great advance has been made in psychology when the senses are recognized as organs of sense, and we are admitted to see or feel ' through them ' and not £ by them,' a distinction of words which, as Socrates observes, is by no means pedantic. A still further step has been made when the most abstract notions, such as Being and Not-being, sameness and difference, unity and plurality, are acknowledged to be the creations of the mind herself, working upon the feelings or impressions of sense. In this manner Plato describes the process of acquiring them, in the words (186 D) ' Knowledge consists not in the feelings or affections (Tradrjixaai), but in the process of reasoning about them (crv\\oylCTfla)., Here, as in the Parmenides (132 A), he means something not really different from generalization. As in the Sophist, he is laying the foundation of a rational psychology, which is to supersede the Platonic reminiscence of Ideas as well as the Eleatic Being and the individualism of Megarians and Cynics. V. Having rejected the doctrine that ' Knowledge is perception,' we now proceed to look for a definition of knowledge in the sphere of opinion. But here we are met by a singular difficulty : How is false opinion possible ? For we must either know or not know that which is presented to the mind or to sense. We of course should answer at once : ' No ; the alternative is not necessary, for there may be degrees of knowledge ; and we may know and have forgotten, or we may be learning, or we may have a general but not a particular knowledge, or we may know but not be able to explain;' and many other ways may be imagined in which we know and do not know at the same time. But these answers belong to a later stage of metaphysical discussion ; whereas the difficulty in question naturally arises owing to the childhood of 1 50 Knowing, not knowing, and the intermediate sphere. Theaetetus. the human mind, like the parallel difficulty respecting Not-being. Introduc- Men had only recently arrived at the notion of opinion; thev TION. . , , _ r J could not at once define the true and pass beyond into the false. The very word fio£a was full of ambiguity, being sometimes, as in the Eleatic philosophy, applied to the sensible world, and again used in the more ordinary sense of opinion. There is no con- nexion between sensible appearance and probability, and yet both of them met in the word So£a, and could hardly be disengaged from one another in the mind of the Greek living in the fifth or fourth century b. c. To this was often added, as at the end of the fifth book of the Republic, the idea of relation, which is equally dis- tinct from either of them ; also a fourth notion, the conclusion of the dialectical process, the making up of the mind after she has been 'talking to herself (Theat. 190). We are not then surprised that the sphere of opinion and of Not-being should be a dusky, half-lighted place (Rep. v. p. 478), belonging neither to the old world of sense and imagination, nor to the new world of reflection and reason. Plato attempts to clear up this darkness. In his accustomed manner he passes from the lower to the higher, without omitting the intermediate stages. This appears to be the reason why he seeks for the definition of knowledge first in the sphere of opinion. Hereafter we shall find that something more than opinion is required. False opinion is explained by Plato at first as a confusion of mind and sense, which arises when the impression on the mind does not correspond to the impression made on the senses. It is obvious that this explanation (supposing the distinction between impressions on the mind and impressions on the senses to be admitted) does not account for all forms of error ; and Plato has excluded himself from the consideration of the greater number, by designedly omitting the intermediate processes of learning and forgetting ; nor does he include fallacies in the use of language or erroneous inferences. But he is struck by one possibility of error, which is not covered by his theory, viz. errors in arithmetic. For in numbers and calculation there is no combination of thought and sense, and yet errors may often happen. Hence he is led to discard the explanation which might nevertheless have been sup- posed to hold good (for anything which he says to the contrary) as a rationale of error, in the case of facts derived from sense. Unsatisfactory attempts to explain false opinion. 151 Another attempt is made to explain false opinion by assigning Theaetetus. to error a sort of positive existence. But error or ignorance is Intt™°l'° essentially negative— a not-knowing ; if we knew an error, we should be no longer in error. We may veil our difficulty under figures of speech, but these, although telling arguments with the multitude, can never be the real foundation of a system of psy- chology. Only they lead us to dwell upon mental phenomena w hich if expressed in an abstract form would not be realized by us at all. The figure of the mind receiving impressions is one of those images which have rooted themselves for ever in language. It may or may not be a ' gracious aid ' to thought ; but it cannot be got rid of. The other figure of the enclosure is also remarkable as affording the first hint of universal all-pervading ideas,— a notion further carried out in the Sophist. This is implied in the birds, some in flocks, some solitary, which fly about anywhere and everywhere. Plato discards both figures, as not really solving the question which to us appears so simple : ' How do we make mistakes ? ' The failure of the enquiry seems to show that we should return to knowledge, and begin with that ; and we may afterwards proceed, with a better hope of success, to the examina- tion of opinion. But is true opinion really distinct from knowledge ? The differ- ence between these he seeks to establish by an argument, which to us appears singular and unsatisfactory. The existence of true opinion is proved by the rhetoric of the law courts, which cannot give knowledge, but may give true opinion. The rhetorician cannot put the judge or juror in possession of all the facts which prove an act of violence, but he may truly persuade them of the commis- sion of such an act. Here the idea of true opinion seems to be a right conclusion from imperfect knowledge. But the correctness of such an opinion will be purely accidental ; and is really the effect of one man, who has the means of knowing, persuading another who has not. Plato would have done better if he had said that true opinion was a contradiction in terms. Assuming the distinction between knowledge and opinion, Theaetetus, in answer to Socrates, proceeds to define knowledge as true opinion, with definite or rational explanation. This Socrates identifies with another and different theory, of those who assert that knowledge first begins with a proposition. *52 We must begin by explaining knowledge. Theaetetus. The elements may be perceived by sense, but they are names, I*t«od«j& and cannot be defined. When we assign to them some predicate, they first begin to have a meaning (ovoixdrav a-vfinXoKfi \6yov oiaia). This seems equivalent to saying, that the individuals of sense become the subject of knowledge when they are regarded as they are in nature in relation to other individuals. Yet we feel a difficulty in following this new hypothesis. For must not opinion be equally expressed in a proposition ? The difference between true and false opinion is not the difference between the particular and the universal, but between the true universal and the false. Thought may be as much at fault as sight. When we place individuals under a class, or assign to them attributes, this is not knowledge, but a very rudimentary process of thought ; the first generalization of all, without which language would be impossible. And has Plato kept altogether clear of a confusion, which the analogous word Xdyor tends to create, of a proposition and a definition? And is not the con- fusion increased by the use of the analogous term 1 elements,' or ' letters ' ? For there is no real resemblance between the relation of letters to a syllable, and of the terms to a proposition. Plato, in the spirit of the Megarian philosophy, soon discovers a flaw in the explanation. For how can we know a compound of which the simple elements are unknown to us? Can two un- knowns make a known ? Can a whole be something different from the parts ? The answer of experience is that they can ; for we may know a compound, which we are unable to analyze into its elements ; and all the parts, when united, may be more than all the parts separated : e.g. the number four, or any other num- ber, is more than the units which are contained in it ; any chemical compound is more than and different from the simple elements. But ancient philosophy in this, as in many other instances, pro- ceeding by the path of mental analysis, was perplexed by doubts which warred against the plainest facts. Three attempts to explain the new definition of knowledge still remain to be considered. They all of them turn on the explana- tion of \6yos. The first account of the meaning of the word is the reflection of thought in speech — a sort of nominalism : ' La science est une langue bien faite.' But anybody who is not dumb can say what he thinks ; therefore mere speech cannot be knowledge. The three explanations of knozvledge. 153 And yet we may observe, that there is in this explanation an Theaetetus. element of truth which is not recognized by Plato; viz. that truth Introduc- and thought are inseparable from language, although mere expres- sion in words is not truth. The second explanation of \6yos is the enumeration of the elementary parts of the complex whole. But this is only definition accompanied with right opinion, and does not yet attain to the certainty of knowledge. Plato does not men- tion the greater objection, which is, that the enumeration of particulars is endless ; such a definition would be based on no principle, and would not help us at all in gaining a common idea. The third is the best explanation,— the possession of a character- istic mark, which seems to answer to the logical definition by genus and difference. But this, again, is equally necessary for right opinion ; and we have already determined, although not on very satisfactory grounds, that knowledge must be distinguished from opinion. A better distinction is drawn between them in the Timaeus (p. 51 E). They might be opposed as philosophy and rhetoric, and as conversant respectively with necessary and con- tingent matter. But no true idea of the nature of either of them, or of their relation to one another, could be framed until science obtained a content. The ancient philosophers in the age of Plato thought of science only as pure abstraction, and to this opinion stood in no relation. Like Theaetetus, we have attained to no definite result. But an interesting phase of ancient philosophy has passed before us. And the negative result is not to be despised. For on certain subjects, and in certain states of knowledge, the work of negation or clearing the ground must go on, perhaps for a generation, before the new structure can begin to rise. Plato saw the neces- sity of combating the illogical logic of the Megarians and Eristics. For the completion of the edifice, he makes preparation in the Theaetetus, and crowns the work in the Sophist. Many (1) fine expressions, and (2) remarks full of wisdom, (3) also germs of a metaphysic of the future, are scattered up and down in the dialogue. Such, for example, as (1) the comparison of Theaetetus' progress in learning to the 'noiseless flow of a river of oil ' ; the satirical touch, ' flavouring a sauce or fawning speech ' ; or the remarkable expression, ' full of impure dialectic ' ; or the lively images under which the argument is described,— ' the flood i54 Striking images and forms of expression. Theaetetus. of arguments pouring in,' the fresh discussions ' bursting in like a Introduc- band of revellers.' (2) As illustrations of the second head, may be TION. cited the remark of Socrates, that ' distinctions of words, although sometimes pedantic, are also necessary '; or the fine touch in the character of the lawyer, that ' dangers came upon him when the tenderness of youth was unequal to them ' ; or the description of the manner in which the spirit is broken in a wicked man who listens to reproof until he becomes like a child ; or the punishment of the wicked, which is not physical suffering, but the perpetual com- panionship of evil (cp. Gorgias) ; or the saying, often repeated by Aristotle and others, that ' philosophy begins in wonder, for Iris is the child of Thaumas ' ; or the superb contempt with which the philosopher takes down the pride of wealthy landed proprietors by comparison of the whole earth. (3) Important metaphysical ideas are : a. the conception of thought, as the mind talking to herself; b. the notion of a common sense, developed further by Aristotle, and the explicit declaration, that the mind gains her conceptions of Being, sameness, number, and the like, from reflection on her- self ; c. the excellent distinction of Theaetetus (which Socrates, speaking with emphasis, 'leaves to grow') between seeing the forms or hearing the sounds of words in a foreign language, and understanding the meaning of them ; and d. the distinction of Socrates himself between ' having ' and ' possessing ' knowledge, in which the answer to the whole discussion appears to be con- tained. There is a difference between ancient and modern psychology, and we have a difficulty in explaining one in the terms of the other. To us the inward and outward sense and the inward and outward worlds of which they are the organs are parted by a wall, and appear as if they could never be confounded. The mind is endued with faculties, habits, instincts, and a personality or con- sciousness in which they are bound together. Over against these are placed forms, colours, external bodies coming into contact with our own body. We speak of a subject which is ourselves, of an object which is all the rest. These are separable in thought, but united in any act of sensation, reflection, or volition. As there are various degrees in which the mind may enter into or be abstracted from the operations of sense, so there are various points at which Modern psychology ; influence of language. *55 this separation or union may be supposed to occur. And within Theaetelus. the sphere of mind the analogy of sense reappears ; and we dis- introduc- tinguish not only external objects, but objects of will and of knowledge which we contrast with them. These again are com- prehended in a higher object, which reunites with the subject. A multitude of abstractions are created by the efforts of successive thinkers which become logical determinations ; and they have to be arranged in order, before the scheme of thought is complete. The framework of the human intellect is not the peculium of an individual, but the joint work of many who are of all ages and countries. What we are in mind is due, not merely to our physical, but to our mental antecedents which we trace in history, and more especially in the history of philosophy. Nor can mental phenomena be truly explained either by physiology or by the observation of consciousness apart from their history. They have a growth of their own, like the growth of a flower, a tree, a human being. They may be conceived as of themselves constituting a common mind, and having a sort of personal identity in which the}- coexist. So comprehensive is modern psychology, seeming to aim at constructing anew the entire world of thought. And prior to or simultaneously with this construction a negative process has to be carried on, a clearing away of useless abstractions which we have inherited from the past. Many erroneous conceptions of the mind derived from former philosophies have found their way into lan- guage, and we with difficulty disengage ourselves from them. Mere figures of speech have unconsciously influenced the minds of great thinkers. Also there are some distinctions, as, for ex- ample, that of the will and of the reason, and of the moral and intellectual faculties, which are carried further than is justified by experience. Any separation of things which we cannot see or exactly define, though it may be necessary, is a fertile source of error. The division of the mind into faculties or powers or virtues is too deeply rooted in language to be got rid of, but it gives a false impression. For if we reflect on ourselves we see that all our faculties easily pass into one another, and are bound together in a single mind or consciousness ; but this mental unity is apt to be concealed from us by the distinctions of language. A profusion of words and ideas has obscured rather than 156 Figures of speech dangerous. T/ieaetetus. enlightened mental science. It is hard to say how many fallacies Introduc- have arisen from the representation of the mind as a box, as a TION. 'tabula rasa,' a book, a mirror, and the like. It is remarkable how Plato in the Theaetetus, after having indulged in the figure of the waxen tablet and the decoy, afterwards discards them. The mind is also represented by another class of images, as the spring of a watch, a motive power, a breath, a stream, a succes- sion of points or moments. As Plato remarks in the Cratylus, words expressive of motion as well as of rest are employed to describe the faculties and operations of the mind ; and in these there is contained another store of fallacies. Some shadow or reflection of the body seems always to adhere to our thoughts about ourselves, and mental processes are hardly distinguished in language from bodily ones. To see or perceive are used in- differently of both ; the words intuition, moral sense, common sense, the mind's eye, are figures of speech transferred from one to the other. And many other words used in early poetry or in sacred writings to express the works of mind have a material- istic sound ; for old mythology was allied to sense, and the distinction of matter and mind had not as yet arisen. Thus materialism receives an illusive aid from language ; and both in philosophy and religion the imaginary figure or association easily takes the place of real knowledge. Again, there is the illusion of looking into our own minds as if our thoughts or feelings were written down in a book. This is another figure of speech, which might be appropriately termed 'the fallacy of the looking-glass.' We cannot look at the mind unless we have the eye which sees, and we can only look, not into, but out of the mind at the thoughts, words, actions of our- selves and others. What we dimly recognize within us is not experience, but rather the suggestion of an experience, which we may gather, if we will, from the observation of the world. The memory has but a feeble recollection of what we were saying or doing a few weeks or a few months ago, and still less of what we were thinking or feeling. This is one among many reasons why there is so little self-knowledge among mankind; they do not carry with them the thought of what they are or have been. The so-called ' facts of consciousness ' are equally evanescent ; they are facts which nobody ever saw, and which can neither be Growth of mental analysis. 157 defined nor described. Of the three laws of thought the first (All Theaetetus. A=A) is an identical proposition — that is to say, a mere word or inthoduc , . TION. symbol claiming to be a proposition : the two others (Nothing can be A and not A, and Everything is either A or not A) are untrue, because they exclude degrees and also the mixed modes and double aspects under which truth is so often presented to us. To assert that man is man is unmeaning ; to say that he is free or necessary and cannot be both is a half truth only. These are a few of the entanglements which impede the natural course of human thought. Lastly, there is the fallacy which lies still deeper, of regarding the individual mind apart from the universal, or either, as a self-existent entity apart from the ideas which are contained in them. In ancient philosophies the analysis of the mind is still rudi- mentary and imperfect. It naturally began with an effort to disengage the universal from sense — this was the first lifting up of the mist. It wavered between object and subject, passing imperceptibly from one or Being to mind and thought. Appear- ance in the outward object was for a time indistinguishable from opinion in the subject. At length mankind spoke of knowing as well as of opining or perceiving. But when the word ' knowledge' was found how was it to be explained or defined ? It was not an error, it was a step in the right direction, when Protagoras said that ' Man is the measure of all things,' and that ' All knowledge is perception.' This was the subjective which corresponded to the objective 'All is flux.' But the thoughts of men deepened, and soon they began to be aware that knowledge was neither sense, nor yet opinion — with or without explanation ; nor the expression of thought, nor the enumeration of parts, nor the addition of characteristic marks. Motion and rest were equally ill adapted to express its nature, although both must in some sense be attributed to it ; it might be described more truly as the mind conversing with herself ; the discourse of reason ; the hymn of dialectic, the science of relations, of ideas, of the so-called arts and sciences, of the one, of the good, of the all : — this is the way along which Plato is leading us in his later dialogues. In its higher signification it was the knowledge, not of men, but of gods, perfect and all sufficing: — like other ideals always passing out of sight, and nevertheless present to the mind of Aristotle as well as Plato, and l5% Temporary returns to sensationalism. Theaetttus. the reality to which they were both tending. For Aristotle as Introduc- well as Plato would in modern phraseology have been termed TION. . °J a mystic ; and like him would have defined the higher philosophy to be ' Knowledge of being or essence,' — words to which in our own day we have a difficulty in attaching a meaning. Yet, in spite of Plato and his followers, mankind have again and again returned to a sensational philosophy. As to some of the early thinkers, amid the fleetings of sensible objects, ideas alone seemed to be fixed, so to a later generation amid the fluctuation of philosophical opinions the only fixed points appeared to be out- ward objects. Any pretence of knowledge which went beyond them implied logical processes, of the correctness of which they had no assurance and which at best were only probable. The mind, tired of wandering, sought to rest on firm ground ; when the idols of philosophy and language were stripped off, the perception of outward objects alone remained. The ancient Epi- cureans never asked whether the comparison of these with one another did not involve principles of another kind which were above and beyond them. In like manner the modern inductive philosophy forgot to enquire into the meaning of experience, and did not attempt to form a conception of outward objects apart from the mind, or of the mind apart from them. Soon objects of sense were merged in sensations and feelings, but feelings and sensations were still unanalyzed. At last we return to the doctrine attributed by Plato to Protagoras, that the mind is only a succession of momentary perceptions. At this point the modern philosophy of experience forms an alliance with ancient scepticism. The higher truths of philosophy and religion are very far removed from sense. Admitting that, like all other knowledge, they are derived from experience, and that experience is ulti- mately resolvable into facts which come to us through the eye and ear, still their origin is a mere accident which has nothing to do with their true nature. They are universal and unseen ; they belong to all times— past, present, and future. Any worthy notion of mind or reason includes them. The proof of them is, ist, their comprehensiveness and consistencj' with one another; 2ndly, their agreement with history and experience. But sensation is of the present only, is isolated, is and is not in successive moments. The relation of physiology to psychology. 159 It takes the passing hour as it comes, following the lead of the eye Thcaetetus. or ear instead of the command of reason. It is a faculty which iNTroduc- man has in common with the animals, and in which he is inferior to many of them. The importance of the senses in us is that they are the apertures of the mind, doors and windows through which we take in and make our own the materials of knowledge. Regarded in any other point of view sensation is of all mental acts the most trivial and superficial. Hence the term 'sensa- tional ' is rightly used to express what is shallow in thought and feeling. We propose in what follows, first of all, like Plato in the Theaetetus, to analyse sensation, and secondly to trace the connexion between theories of sensation and a sensational or Epicurean philosophy. § I. We, as well as the ancients, speak of the five senses, and of a sense, or common sense, which is the abstraction of them. The term ' sense ' is also used metaphorically, both in ancient and modern philosophy, to express the operations of the mind which are immediate or intuitive. Of the five senses, two— the sight and the hearing— are of a more subtle and complex nature, while two others— the smell and the taste— seem to be only more refined varieties of touch. All of them are passive, and by this are distinguished from the active faculty of speech : they receive impressions, but do not produce them, except in so far as they are objects of sense themselves. Physiology speaks to us of the wonderful apparatus of nerves, muscles, tissues, by which the senses are enabled to fulfil their functions. It traces the connexion, though imperfectly, of the bodily organs with the operations of the mind. Of these latter, it seems rather to know the conditions than the causes. It can prove to us that without the brain we cannot think, and that without the eye we cannot see: and yet there is far more in thinking and seeing than is given by the brain and the eye. It observes the 'concomitant variations' of body and mind. Psy- chology, on the other hand, treats of the same subject regarded from another point of view. It speaks of the relation of the senses to one another; it shows how they meet the mind; it analyzes the transition from sense to thought. The one describes their !6o Characteristics of space. Theaetetus. nature as apparent to the outward eye ; by the other they are INt"onUC" reSarded only as the instruments of the mind. It is in this latter point of view that we propose to consider them. The simplest sensation involves an unconscious or nascent operation of the mind ; it implies objects of sense, and objects of sense have differences of form, number, colour. But the con- ception of an object without us, or the power of discriminating numbers, forms, colours, is not given by the sense, but by the mind. A mere sensation does not attain to distinctness: it is a confused impression, i the nature and limits of PsyeJiology. 181 to the mind in thought, and greatly enlarged and more accurately Theaetetus, defined man's knowledge of himself and of the world. The Introduc- majority of them have been accepted by Christian and Western nations. Yet in modern times we have also drifted so far away from Aristotle, that if we were to frame a system on his lines we should be at war with ordinary language and untrue to our own consciousness. And there have been a few both in mediaeval times and since the Reformation who have rebelled against the Aristotelian point of view. Of these eccentric thinkers there have been various types, but they have all a family likeness. Accord- ing to them, there has been too much analysis and too little synthesis, too much division of the mind into parts and too little conception of it as a whole or in its relation to God and the laws of the universe. They have thought that the elements of plurality and unity have not been duly adjusted. The tendency of such writers has been to allow the personality of man to be absorbed in the universal, or in the divine nature, and to deny the distinc- tion between matter and mind, or to substitute one for the other. They have broken some of the idols of Psychology : they have challenged the received meaning of words : they have regarded the mind under many points of view. But though they may have shaken the old, they have not established the new ; their views of philosophy, which seem like the echo of some voice from the East, have been alien to the mind of Europe. fi. The Psychology which is found in common language is in some degree verified by experience, but not in such a manner as to give it the character of an exact science. We cannot say that words always correspond to facts. Common language repre- sents the mind from different and even opposite points of view, which cannot be all of them equally true (cp. Cratylus 436-7). Yet from diversity of statements and opinions may be obtained a nearer approach to the truth than is to be gained from any one of them. It also tends to correct itself, because it is gra- dually brought nearer to the common sense of mankind. There are some leading categories or classifications of thought, which, though unverified, must always remain the elements from which the science or study of the mind proceeds. For example, we must assume ideas before we can analyze them, and also a con- tinuing mind to which they belong; the resolution of it into 182 On the nature and limits of Psychology. Theaetetus. successive moments, which would say, with Protagoras, that the Introduc- man is not the same person which he was a minute ago, is, as Plato implies in the Theaetetus (166 B), an absurdity. f. The growth of the mind, which may be traced in the his- tories of religions and philosophies and in the thoughts of nations, is one of the deepest and noblest modes of studying it. Here we are dealing with the reality, with the greater and, as it may be termed, the most sacred part of history. We study the mind of man as it begins to be inspired by a human or divine reason, as it is modified by circumstances, as it is distributed in nations, as it is renovated by great movements, which go beyond the limits of nations and affect human society on a scale still greater, as it is created or renewed by great minds, who, looking down from above, have a wider and more comprehensive vision. This is an ambitious study, of which most of us rather 1 entertain con- jecture ' than arrive at any detailed or accurate knowledge. Later arises the reflection how these great ideas or movements of the world have been appropriated by the multitude and found a way to the minds of individuals. The real Psychology is that which shows how the increasing knowledge of nature and the increas- ing experience of life have always been slowly transforming the mind, how religions too have been modified in the course of ages ' that God may be all and in all.' TH noWair'kdaiov, eo}i>, to epyov fj &>s VVV £t)TCITCII TTpCHTTCLTTeiS. C Lastly, though we speak of the study of mind in a special sense, it may also be said that there is no science which does not contribute to our knowledge of it. The methods of science and their analogies are new faculties, discovered by the few and imparted to the many. They are to the mind, what the senses are to the body ; or better, they may be compared to instru- ments such as the telescope or microscope by which the discrim- inating power of the senses, or to other mechanical inventions, by which the strength and skill of the human body is so immea- surably increased. II. The new Psychology, whatever may be its claim to the authority of a science, has called attention to many facts and corrected many errors, which without it would have been unex- amined. Yet it is also itself very liable to illusion. The evidence On tfe fiat ure and limits of Psychology. 183 on which it rests is vague and indefinite. The field of conscious- Thcaeldus. ness is never seen by us as a whole, but only at particular points, iNTroduc- which are always changing. The veil of language intercepts facts. Hence it is desirable that in making an approach to the study we should consider at the outset what are the kinds of error which most easily affect it, and note the differences which separate it from other branches of knowledge. a. First, we observe the mind by the mind. It would seem therefore that we are always in danger of leaving out the half of that which is the subject of our enquiry. We come at once upon the difficulty of what is the meaning of the word. Does it differ as subject and object in the same manner? Can we suppose one set of feelings or one part of the mind to interpret another ? Is the introspecting thought the same with the thought which is introspected? Has the mind the power of surveying its whole domain at one and the same time? — No more than the, eye can take in the whole human body at a glance. Yet there may be a glimpse round the corner, or a thought transferred in a moment from one point of view to another, which enables us to see nearly the whole, if not at once, at any rate in succession. Such glimpses will hardly enable us to contemplate from within the mind in its true proportions. Hence the firmer ground of Psychology is not the consciousness of inward feelings but the observation of external actions, being the actions not only of our- selves, but of the innumerable persons whom we come across in life. j3. The error of supposing partial or occasional explanation of mental phenomena to be the only or complete ones. For ex- ample, we are disinclined to admit of the spontaneity or discon- tinuity of the mind — it seems to us like an effect without a cause, and therefore we suppose the train of our thoughts to be always called up by association. Yet it is probable, or indeed certain, that of many mental phenomena there are no mental antecedents, but only bodily ones. 7. The false influence of language. We are apt to suppose that when there are two or more words describing faculties or processes of the mind, there are real differences corresponding to them. But this is not the case. Nor can we determine how far they do or do not exist, or by what degree or kind of difference On the nature and limits of Psychology. Theaeletus. they are distinguished. The same remark may be made about Introduc- figures of speech. They fill up the vacancy of knowledge ; they are to the mind what too much colour is to the eye ; but the truth is rather concealed than revealed by them. d. The uncertain meaning of terms, such as Consciousness, Con- science, Will, Law, Knowledge, Internal and External Sense ; these, in the language of Plato, ' we shamelessly use, without ever having taken the pains to analyze them.' «. A science such as Psychology is not merely an hypothesis, but an hypothesis which, unlike the hypotheses of Physics, can never be verified. It rests only on the general impressions of mankind, and there is little or no hope of adding in any consider- able degree to our stock of mental facts. (. The parallelism of the Physical Sciences, which leads us to analyze the mind on the analogy of the body, and so to reduce mental operations to the level of bodily ones, or to confound one with the other. t). That the progress of Physiology may throw a new light on Psychology is a dream in which scientific men are always tempted to indulge. But however certain we may be of the connexion between mind and body, the explanation of the one by the other is a hidden place of nature which has hitherto been investigated with little or no success. 6. The impossibility of distinguishing between mind and body. Neither in thought nor in experience can we separate them. They seem to act together ; yet we feel that we are sometimes under the dominion of the one, sometimes of the other, and some- times, both in the common use of language and in fact, they transform themselves, the one into the good principle, the other into the evil principle ; and then again the « P comes in and mediates between them. It is also difficult to distinguish outward facts from the ideas of them in the mind, or to separate the external stimulus to a sensation from the activity of the organ, or this from the invisible agencies by which it reaches the mind, or any process of sense from its mental antecedent, or any mental energy from its nervous expression. i. The fact that mental divisions tend to run into one another, and that in speaking of the mind we cannot always distinguish differences of kind from differences of degree ; nor have we On the nature and limits of Psychology. 185 any measure of the strength and intensity of our ideas or .Thcaetetus. feelings. Introduc- *. Although heredity has been always known to the ancients as well as ourselves to exercise a considerable influence on human character, yet we are unable to calculate what proportion this birth-influence bears to nurture and education. But this is the real question. We cannot pursue the mind into embryology: we can only trace how, after birth, it begins to grow. But how much is due to the soil, how much to the original latent seed, it is impossible to distinguish. And because we are certain that heredity exercises a considerable, but undefined influence, we must not increase the wonder by exaggerating it. X. The love of system is always tending to prevail over the historical investigation of the mind, which is our chief means of knowing it. It equally tends to hinder the other great source of our knowledge of the mind, the observation of its workings and processes which we can make for ourselves. fM. The mind, when studied through the individual, is apt to be isolated— this is due to the very form of the enquiry ; whereas, in truth, it is indistinguishable from circumstances, the very language which it uses being the result of the instincts of long-forgotten generations, and every word which a man utters being the answer to some other word spoken or suggested by somebody else. III. The tendency of the preceding remarks has been to show that Psychology is necessarily a fragment, and is not and cannot be a connected system. We cannot define or limit the mind, but we can describe it. We can collect information about it ; we can enumerate the principal subjects which are included in the study of it. Thus we are able to rehabilitate Psychology to some extent, not as a branch of science, but as a collection of facts bearing on human life, as a part of the history of philosophy, as an aspect of Mctaphysic. It is a fragment of a science only, which in all probability can never make any great progress or attain to much clearness or exactness. It is however a kind of knowledge which has a great interest for us and is always present to us, and of which we carry about the materials in our own bosoms. We can observe our minds and we can experiment upon them, and the 1 86 On the nature and limits of Psychology. Theaetetus.. knowledge thus acquired is not easily forgotten, and is a help to us Imtroduc- in study as well as in conduct. The principal subjects of Psychology may be summed up as follows : — a. The relation of man to the world around him,- in what sense and within what limits can he withdraw from its laws or assert himself against them (Freedom and Necessity), and what is that which we suppose to be thus independent and which we call our- selves ? How does the inward differ from the outward and what is the relation between them, and where do we draw the line by which we separate mind from matter, the soul from the body? Is the mind active or passive, or partly both ? Are its movements identical with those of the body, or only preconcerted and coincident with them, or is one simply an aspect of the other? /3. What are we to think of time and space ? Time seems to have a nearer connexion with the mind, space with the body ; yet time, as well as space, is necessary to our idea of either. We see also that they have an analogy with one another, and that in Mathematics they often interpenetrate. Space or place has been said by Kant to be the form of the outward, time of the inward sense. He regards them as parts or forms of the mind. But this is an unfortunate and inexpressive way of describing their relation to us. For of all the phenomena present to the human mind they seem to have most the character of objective existence. There is no use in asking what is beyond or behind them ; we cannot get rid of them. And to throw the laws of external nature which to us are the type of the immutable into the subjective side of the antithesis seems to be equally inappropriate. y. When in imagination we enter into the closet of the mind and withdraw ourselves from the external world, we seem to find there more or less distinct processes which may be described by the words, ' I perceive,' ' I feel,' ' I think,' ' I want,' ' I wish,' I I like,' ' I dislike,' I fear,' ' I know,' ' I remember,' ' I imagine,' * I dream,' ' 1 act,' ' I endeavour,' ' I hope.' These processes would seem to have the same notions attached to them in the minds of all educated persons. They are distinguished from one another in thought, but they intermingle. It is possible to reflect upon them or to become conscious of them in a greater or less degree, or with a greater or less continuity or attention, and thus arise the On the nature and limits of Psychology. 187 intermittent phenomena of consciousness or self-consciousness. Theaetetus. The use of all of them is possible to us at all times ; and therefore iNTroduc in any operation of the mind the whole are latent. But we are able to characterise them sufficiently by that part of the complex action which is the most prominent. We have no difficulty in distinguishing an act of sight or an act of will from an act of thought, although thought is present in both of them. Hence the conception of different faculties or different virtues is precarious, because each of them is passing into the other, and they are all one in the mind itself; they appear and reappear, and may all be regarded as the ever-varying phases or aspects or differences of the same mind or person. 8. Nearest the sense in the scale of the intellectual faculties is memory, which is a mode rather than a faculty of the mind, and accompanies all mental operations. There are two principal kinds of it, recollection and recognition,— recollection in which forgotten things are recalled or return to the mind, recognition in which the mind finds itself again among things once familiar. The simplest way in which we can represent the former to ourselves is by shutting our eyes and trying to recall in what we term the mind's eye the picture of the surrounding scene, or by laying down the book which we are reading and recapitulating what we can remember of it. But many times more powerful than recollection is recognition, perhaps because it is more assisted by association. We have known and forgotten, and after a long interval the thing which we have seen once is seen again by us, but with a different feeling, and comes back to us, not as new knowledge, but as a thing to which we ourselves impart a notion already present to us ; in Plato's words, we set the stamp upon the wax. Every one is aware of the difference between the first and second sight of a place, between a scene clothed with associa- tions or bare and divested of them. We say to ourselves on revisiting a spot after a long interval : How many things have happened since I last saw this ! There is probably no impression ever received by us of which we can venture to say that the vestiges are altogether lost, or that we might not, under some circumstances, recover it. A long-forgotten knowledge may be easily renewed and therefore is very different from ignorance. Of the language learnt in childhood not a word may be remem- i88 Theaetetus. Introduc- • TION. On the nature and limits of Psychology. bered, and yet, when a new beginning is made, the old habit soon returns, the neglected organs come back into use, and the river of speech finds out the dried-up channel. «. ' Consciousness ' is the most treacherous word which is employed in the study of the mind, for it is used in many senses, and has rarely, if ever, been minutely analyzed. Like memory, it accompanies all mental operations, but not always continuously, and it exists in various degrees. It may be imperceptible or hardly perceptible : it may be the living sense that our thoughts, actions, sufferings, are our own. It is a kind of attention which we pay to ourselves, and is intermittent rather than continuous. Its sphere has been exaggerated. It is sometimes said to assure us of our freedom ; but this is an illusion : as there may be a real freedom without consciousness of it, so there may be a conscious- ness of freedom without the reality. It may be regarded as a higher degree of knowledge when we not only know but know that we know. Consciousness is opposed to habit, inattention, sleep, death. It may be illustrated by its derivative conscience, which speaks to men, not only of right and wrong in the abstract, but of right and wrong actions in reference to themselves and their circumstances. f. Association is another of the ever-present phenomena of the human mind. We speak of the laws of association, but this is an expression which is confusing, for the phenomenon itself is of the most capricious and uncertain sort. It may be briefly described as follows. The simplest case of association is that of sense. When we see or hear separately one of two things, which we have previously seen or heard together, the occurrence of the one has a tendency to suggest the other. So the sight or name of a house may recall to our minds the memory of those who once lived there. Like may recall like and everything its opposite. The parts of a whole, the terms of a series, objects lying near, words having a cus- tomary order stick together in the mind. A word may bring back a passage of poetry or a whole system of philosophy ; from one end of the world or from one pole of knowledge we may travel to the other in an indivisible instant. The long train of association by which we pass from one point to the other, involving every sort of complex relation, so sudden, so accidental, is one of the greatest wonders of mind. . . . This process however is not always con- On the nature and limits of Psychology. tinuous, but often intermittent : we can think of things in isolation Theaetetus. as well as in association ; we do not mean that they must all hang -introduc from one another. We can begin again after an interval of rest or vacancy, as a new train of thought suddenly arises, as, for example, when we wake of a morning or after violent exercise. Time, place, the same colour or sound or smell or taste, will often call up some thought or recollection either accidentally or naturally associated with them. But it is equally noticeable that the new thought may occur to us, we cannot tell how or why, by the spon- taneous action of the mind itself or by the latent influence of the body. Both science and poetry are made up of associations or recollections, but we must observe also that the mind is not wholly dependent on them, having also the power of origination. There are other processes of the mind which it is good for us to study when we are at home and by ourselves,— the manner in which thought passes into act, the conflict of passion and reason in many stages, the transition from sensuality to love or sentiment and from earthly love to heavenly, the slow and silent influence of habit, which little by little changes the nature of men, the sudden change of the old nature of man into a new one, wrought by shame or by some other overwhelming impulse. These are the greater phenomena of mind, and he who has thought of them for himself wall live and move in a better-ordered world, and will himself be a better-ordered man. At the other end of the ' globus intellectualis,' nearest, not to earth and sense, but to heaven and God, is the personality of man, by which he holds communion with the unseen world. Somehow, he knows not how, somewhere, he knows not where, under this higher aspect of his being he grasps the ideas of God, freedom and immortality; he sees the forms of truth, holiness and love, and is satisfied with them. No account of the mind can be complete which does not admit the reality or the possibility of another life. Whether regarded as an ideal or as a fact, the highest part of man's nature and that in which it seems most nearly to approach the divine, is a phenomenon which exists, and must therefore be included within the domain of Psychology. IV. We admit that there is no perfect or ideal Psychology. It is not a whole in the same sense in which Chemistry, Physiology, 9° On the nature and limits of Psychology. lieaetetus. 0r Mathematics are wholes : that is to say, it is not a connected N™°°uc~ unity of knowledge. Compared with the wealth of other sciences, it rests upon a small number of facts ; and when we go beyond these, we fall into conjectures and verbal discussions. The facts themselves are disjointed ; the causes of them run up into other sciences, and we have no means of tracing them from one to the other. Yet it may be true of this, as of other beginnings of know- ledge, that the attempt to put them together has tested the truth of them, and given a stimulus to the enquiry into them. Psychology should be natural, not technical. It should take the form which is the most intelligible to the common understanding, because it has to do with common things, which are familiar to us all. It should aim at no more than every reflecting man knows or can easily verify for himself. When simple and unpretentious, it is least obscured by words, least liable to fall under the influence of Physiology or Metaphysic. It should argue, not from excep- tional, but from ordinary phenomena. It should be careful to distinguish the higher and the lower elements of human nature, and not allow one to be veiled in the disguise of the other, lest through the slippery nature of language we should pass imper- ceptibly from good to evil, from nature in the higher to nature in the neutral or lower sense. It should assert consistently the unity of the human faculties, the unity of knowledge, the unity of God and law. The difference between the will and the affections and between the reason and the passions should also be recognized by it. Its sphere is supposed to be narrowed to the individual soul ; but it cannot be thus separated in fact. It goes back to the beginnings of things, to the first growth of language and philosophy, and to the whole science of man. There can be no truth or com- pleteness in any study of the mindwhich is confined to the individual. The nature of language, though not the whole, is perhaps at present the most important element in our knowledge of it. It is not impossible that some numerical laws may be found to have a place in the relations of mind and matter, as in the rest of nature. The old Pythagorean fancy that the soul ' is or has in it harmony ' may in some degree be realized. But the indications of such numerical harmonies are faint; either the secret of them lies deeper than we can discover, or nature may have rebelled against C )n the nature and limits of Psychology. the use of them in the composition of men and animals. It is with Theaetetus. qualitative rather than with quantitative differences that we are Introduc* concerned in Psychology. The facts relating to the mind which we obtain from Physiology are negative rather than positive. They show us, not the processes of mental action, but the conditions of " which when deprived the mind ceases to act. It would seem as if the time had not yet arrived when we can hope to add anything of much importance to our knowledge of the mind from the investigations of the microscope. The elements of Psychology can still only be learnt from reflections on ourselves, which inter- pret and are also interpreted by our experience of others. The history of language, of philosophy, and religion, the great thoughts or inventions or discoveries which move mankind, furnish the larger moulds or outlines in which the human mind has been cast. From these the individual derives so much as he is able to comprehend or has the opportunity of learning. THEAETETUS. PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE. Socrates. Thf.odorus. Theaetetus. Euclid and Terpsion meet in front of Euclid's house in Megara ; they enter the house, and the dialogue is read to them by a servant. sstepn. Euclid. Have you only just arrived from the country, Theaetetus. 142 Terpsion? EucLIDi Terpsion. No, I came some time ago : and I have been in Terpsion- the Agora looking for you, and wondering that I could not The find you. Preface- Euc. But I was not in the city. Euclid and Terp. Where then ? meet in Euc. As I was going down to the harbour, I met Theae- front .°f tetus— he was being carried up to Athens from the army at house in Corinth. Megara; Terp. Was he alive or dead ? versVabout Euc. He was scarcely alive, for he has been badly the danger- wounded ; but he was suffering even more from the sickness Son°ofndl" which has broken out in the army. Theaetetus, Terp. The dysentery, you mean ? "'ho had J been car- L.UC. Yes. ried away Terp. Alas ! what a loss he will be ! dying from r, . _ . . the camp £.uc. Yes, lerpsion, he is a noble fellow; only to-day I at Corinth heard some people highly praising his behaviour in this very battle. Terp. No wonder ; I should rather be surprised at hearing vol. iv. o 194 The Preface. Theaetetus. Euclid, Terpsion. Euclid calls to mind the great things which So- crates had early pro- phesied of him : and he has pre- served the report of a conversa- tion of Theaetetus with Socrates which took place just before the latter's death. They enter the house, and Euclid produces the roll, which his servant reads to them. anything else of him. But why did he go on, instead of stop- ping at Megara ? Euc. He wanted to get home : although I entreated and advised him to remain, he would not listen to me ; so I set him on his way, and turned back, and then I remembered what Socrates had said of him, and thought how remarkably this, like all his predictions, had been fulfilled. I believe that he had seen him a little before his own death, when Theaetetus was a youth, and he had a memorable conversa- tion with him, which he repeated to me when I came to Athens ; he was full of admiration of his genius, and said that he would most certainly be a great man, if he lived. Terp. The prophecy has certainly been fulfilled ; but what was the conversation ? can you tell me ? Euc. No, indeed, not offhand ; but I took notes of it as 143 soon as I got home ; these I filled up from memory, writing them out at leisure ; and whenever I went to Athens, I asked Socrates about any point which I had forgotten, and on my return I made corrections ; thus I have nearly the whole conversation written down. Terp. I remember — you told me ; and I have always been intending to ask you to show me the writing, but have put off doing so ; and now, why should we not read it through ? — having just come from the country, I should greatly like to rest. Euc. I too shall be very glad of a rest, for I went with Theaetetus as far as Erineum. Let us go in, then, and, while we are reposing, the servant shall read to us. Terp. Very good. Euc. Here is the roll, Terpsion ; I may observe that I have introduced Socrates, not as narrating to me, but as actually conversing with the persons whom he mentioned —these were, Theodorus the geometrician (of Cyrene), and Theaetetus. I have omitted, for the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words 'I said,' 'I remarked/ which he used when he spoke of himself, and again, ' he agreed,' or ' dis- agreed,' in the answer, lest the repetition of them should be troublesome. Terp. Quite right, Euclid. Euc. And now, boy, you may take the roll and read. Theaetetus, the youthful mathematician. 195 Euclid's servant reads. Theaetetus. Socrates. If I cared enough about the Cyrenians, Theo- dorus, I would ask you whether there are any rising geo- metricians or philosophers in that part of the world. But I am more interested in our own Athenian youth, and I would rather know who among them are likely to do well. I observe them as far as I can myself, and I enquire of any one whom they follow, and I see that a great many of them follow you, in which they are quite right, considering your eminence in geometry and in other ways. Tell me then, if you have met with any one who is good for anything. Theodorus. Yes, Socrates, I have become acquainted with one very remarkable Athenian youth, whom I commend to you as well worthy of your attention. If he had been a beauty I should have been afraid to praise him, lest you should suppose that I was in love with him ; but he is no beauty, and you must not be offended if I say that he is very like you ; for he has a snub nose and projecting eyes, although these features are less marked in him than in you. 144 Seeing, then, that he has no personal attractions, I may freely say, that in all my acquaintance, which is very large, I never knew any one who was his equal in natural gifts : for he has a quickness of apprehension which is almost unrivalled, and he is exceedingly gentle, and also the most courageous of men ; there is a union of qualities in him such as I have never seen in any other, and should scarcely have thought possible ; for those who, like him, have quick and ready and retentive wits, have generally also quick tempers ; they are ships without ballast, and go darting about, and are mad rather than courageous; and the steadier sort, when they have to face study, prove stupid and cannot remember. Whereas he moves surely and smoothly and successfully in the path of knowledge and enquiry ; and he is full of gentle- ness, flowing on silently like a river of oil ; at his age, it is wonderful. Soc. That is good news ; whose son is he ? Theod. The name of his father I have forgotten, but the youth himself is the middle one of those who are approach- ing us; he and his companions have been anointing them- o 2 Socrates, Theodorus. The Diatogtte. Socrates, meeting Theodorus of Cyrene in an Athenian palaestra, asks what youths of promise he has dis- covered at Athens. Theodorus in answer expatiates on the merits of Theaetetus, who is however no beauty, but ugly, like Socrates. The youth, who is the son of Eu- phronius, 196 Socrates begins to argue with Theaetetus. Theaetetus. sockates, Theodorus, Theaetetus. the Sunian, here enters, and he and Socrates converse. Theodorus says that Socrates and Theae- tetus are alike. But he is a geometri- cian and philoso- pher, not a painter, and therefore he need not be believed. selves in the outer court, and now they seem to have finished, and are coming towards us. Look and see whether you know him. Soc. I know the youth, but I do not know his name ; he is the son of Euphronius the Sunian, who was himself an eminent man, and such another as his son is, according to your account of him ; I believe that he left a considerable fortune. Theod. Theaetetus, Socrates, is his name; but I rather think that the property disappeared in the hands of trustees ; notwithstanding which he is wonderfully liberal. Soc. He must be a fine fellow; tell him to come and sit by me. Theod. I will. Come hither, Theaetetus, and sit by So- crates. Soc. By all means, Theaetetus, in order that I may see the reflection of myself in your face, for Theodorus says that we are alike ; and yet if each of us held in his hands a lyre, and he said that they were tuned alike, should we at once take his word, or should we ask whether he who said so was or was not a musician ? Theaetetus. We should ask. Soc. And if we found that he was, we should take his word ; and if not, not ? Theaet. True. Soc. And if this supposed likeness of our faces is a matter of any interest to us, we should enquire whether he who says that we are alike is a painter or not ? Theaet. Certainly we should. Soc. And is Theodorus a painter ? Theaet. I never heard that he was. Soc. Is he a geometrician ? Theaet. Of course he is, Socrates. Soc. And is he an astronomer and calculator and musician, and in general an educated man ? Theaet. I think so. Soc. If, then, he remarks on a similarity in our persons, either by way of praise or blame, there is no particular reason why we should attend to him. Theaet. I should say not. What is knowledge ? 197 Soc. But if he praises the virtue or wisdom which are the mental endowments of either of us, then he who hears the praises will naturally desire to examine him who is praised : and he again should be willing to exhibit himself. Theaet. Very true, Socrates. Soc. Then now is the time, my dear Theaetetus, for me to examine, and for you to exhibit ; since although Theodorus has praised many a citizen and stranger in my hearing, never did I hear him praise any one as he has been praising you. Theaet. I am glad to hear it, Socrates ; but what if he was only in jest ? Soc. Nay, Theodorus is not given to jesting ; and I cannot allow you to retract your consent on any such pretence as that. If you do, he will have to swear to his words ; and we are perfectly sure that no one will be found to impugn him. Do not be shy then, but stand to your word. Theaet. I suppose I must, if you wish it. Soc. In the first place, I should like to ask what you learn of Theodorus : something of geometry, perhaps ? Theaet. Yes. Soc. And astronomy and harmony and calculation ? Theaet. I do my best. Soc. Yes, my boy, and so do I ; and my desire is to learn of him, or of anybody who seems to understand these things. And I get on pretty well in general ; but there is a little difficulty which I want you and the company to aid me in investigating. Will you answer me a question : ' Is not learning growing wiser about that which you learn ? ' Theaet. Of course. Soc. And by wisdom the wise are wise ? Theaet. Yes. Soc. And is that different in any way from knowledge ? Theaet. What? Soc. Wisdom ; are not men wise in that which they know ? Theaet. Certainly they are. Soc. Then wisdom and knowledge are the same ? Theaet. Yes. 146 Soc. Herein lies the difficulty which I can never solve to my satisfaction — What is knowledge ? Can we answer that question? What say you? which of us will speak first? Theaetetus. Socrates, Theaetetus. He also praised Theaetetus' intellect and disposi- tion; and so Theaetetus must be examined, that Theo- dorus' praises may be shown to be well-de- served or not. Socrates' difficulty. What is knowledge? It is wis- dom. Socrates proposes a discussion on the sub- ject. 198 Theaetetus is compelled to answer. Theaetetus. Socrates, Theodorus, Theaetetus. Who will answer? — A pause. At the sug- gestion of Theodorus Theaetetus is invited to reply and consents. In his answer, instead of giving a general de- finition of knowledge, he enume- rates its parts. whoever misses shall sit down, as at a game of ball, and shall be donkey, as the boys say; he who lasts out his com- petitors in the game without missing, shall be our king, and shall have the right of putting to us any questions which he pleases . . . Why is there no reply ? I hope, Theodorus, that I am not betrayed into rudeness by my love of con- versation ? I only want to make us talk and be friendly and sociable. Theod. The reverse of rudeness, Socrates : but I would rather that you would ask one of the young fellows ; for the truth is, that I am unused to your game of question and answer, and I am too old to learn ; the young will be more suitable, and they will improve more than I shall, for youth is always able to improve. And so having made a beginning with Theaetetus, I would advise you to go on with him and not let him off. Soc. Do you hear, Theaetetus, what Theodorus says ? The philosopher, whom you would not like to disobey, and whose word ought to be a command to a young man, bids me inter- rogate you. Take courage, then, and nobly say what you think that knowledge is. Theaet. Well, Socrates, I will answer as you and he bid me ; and if I make a mistake, you will doubtless correct me. Soc. We will, if we can. Theaet. Then, I think that the sciences which I learn from Theodorus — geometry, and those which you just now men- tioned— are knowledge ; and I would include the art of the cobbler and other craftsmen ; these, each and all of them, are knowledge. Soc. Too much, Theaetetus, too much ; the nobility and liberality of your nature make you give many and diverse things, when I am asking for one simple thing. Theaet. What do you mean, Socrates ? Soc. Perhaps nothing. I will endeavour, however, to ex- plain what I believe to be my meaning : When you speak of cobbling, you mean the art or science of making shoes ? Theaet. Just so. Soc. And when you speak of carpentering, you mean the art of making wooden implements ? Theaet. I do. How to get a general notion. 199 Soc. In both cases you define the subject-matter of each TheaeteUis. of the tWO arts? Socrates, . rr* Theaetetus. Theaet 1 rue. Soc. But that, Theaetetus, was not the point of my question: Such enu: ' i_ r meration is we wanted to know not the subjects, nor yet the number ot not defini- the arts or sciences, for we were not going to count them, but tion. we wanted to know the nature of knowledge in the abstract. Am I not right ? Tlicaet. Perfectly right. 147 Soc. Let me offer an illustration: Suppose that a person Socrates were to ask about some very trivial and obvious thing— ind|catesby J an lllustra- for example, What is clay? and we were to reply, that tion the sort there is a clay of potters, there is a clay of oven-makers, of answer _ , . , , 111 i_ required. there is a clay of brick-makers; would not the answer be ridiculous ? Theaet. Truly. Soc. In the first place, there would be an absurdity in assuming that he who asked the question would understand from our answer the nature of ' clay,' merely because we added 'of the image-makers,' or of any other workers. How can a man understand the name of anything, when be does not know the nature of it ? Theaet. He cannot. Soc. Then he who does not know what science or know- ledge is, has no knowledge of the art or science of making shoes ? Theaet. None. Soc. Nor of any other science ? Theaet. No. Soc. And when a man is asked what science or knowledge is, to give in answer the name of some art or science is ridiculous ; for the question is, ' What is knowledge ? ' and he replies, ' A knowledge of this or that.' Theaet. True. Soc. Moreover, he might answer shortly and simply, but he makes an enormous circuit. For example, when asked about the clay, he might have said simply, that clay is moistened earth— what sort of clay is not to the point. Theaet. Yes, Socrates, there is no difficulty as you put the question. You mean, if I am not mistaken, something like 200 Illustration taken from mathematics. Theaetetus. what occurred to me and to my friend here, your namesake Socrates, Socrates, in a recent discussion. Theaetetus. Sqc What w&s that> TheaetetUS ? Theaetetus Thead. Theodorus was writing out for us something about crates' drift, roots> such as the roots of three or five, showing that they and tells are incommensurable by the unit : he selected other ex- invented amples up to seventeen — there he stopped. Now as there general are innumerable roots, the notion occurred to us of attempting the^wo^ to include them all under one name or class, kinds of Soc. And did you find such a class ? roots Theaet. I think that we did : but I should like to have your lengths and . . ' J powers. Opinion. Soc. Let me hear. Theaet. We divided all numbers into two classes : those which are made up of equal factors multiplying into one another, which we compared to square figures and called square or equilateral numbers ; — that was one class. Soc. Very good. Theaet. The intermediate numbers, such as three and five, and every other number which is made up of unequal factors, 148 either of a greater multiplied by a less, or of a less multiplied by a greater, and when regarded as a figure, is contained in unequal sides ; — all these we compared to oblong figures, and called them oblong numbers. Soc. Capital ; and what followed ? Theaet. The lines, or sides, which have for their squares the equilateral plane numbers, were called by us lengths or magnitudes ; and the lines which are the roots of (or whose squares are equal to) the oblong numbers, were called powers or roots ; the reason of this latter name being, that they are commensurable with the former [i. e. with the so- called lengths or magnitudes] not in linear measurement, but in the value of the superficial content of their squares ; and the same about solids. Soc. Excellent, my boys; I think that you fully justify the praises of Theodorus, and that he will not be found guilty of false witness. But he can- Theaet. But I am unable, Socrates, to give you a similar definitlonof answer ab°ut knowledge, which is what you appear to want ; knowledge, and therefore Theodorus is a deceiver after all. The pangs of conception. 201 Soc. Well, but if some one were to praise you for running, Theaetetus. and to say that he never met your equal among boys, and Socrates, afterwards you were beaten in a race by a grown-up man, Xhbabtbtus. who was a great runner— would the praise be any the less true ? Theaet. Certainly not. Soc. And is the discovery of the nature of knowledge so small a matter, as I just now said ? Is it not one which would task the powers of men perfect in every way? Theaet. By heaven, they should be the top of all per- fection ! Soc. Well, then, be of good cheer ; do not say that Theodorus was 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 compre- hended 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 satis- factory 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 ; Socrates you have something within you which you are bringing to cognises the birth. onabour! Theaet. I do not know, Socrates ; I only say what I feel. 9 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 Socrates a must not reveal the secret, as the world in general have not ,™dw1ifL\ tound me out ; and therefore they only say of me, that I am a secret. 202 Socrates and the midwives. Socrates, Theaetetus, Like the midwives, he is past bearing. Theaetetus. the strangest of mortals and drive men to their wits' end. Did you ever hear that too ? Theact. Yes. Soc. Shall I tell you the reason ? Theaet. By all means. Soc. Bear in mind the whole business of the midwives, 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. Theact. 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 herself; but she could not allow the barren to be midwives, because human nature cannot know the mystery of an art without experience ; and therefore she assigned this office to those who are too old to bear. Theaet. I dare say. Soc. And I dare say too, or rather I am absolutely certain, that the midwives know better than others who is pregnant and who is not ? Theaet. Very true. Soc. And by the use of potions and incantations they are able to arouse the pangs and to soothe them at will ; they can make those bear who have a difficulty in bearing, and if they think fit they can smother the embryo in the womb. Theaet. They can. Soc. Did you ever remark that they are also most cunning matchmakers, and have a thorough knowledge of what unions are likely to produce a brave brood ? Theaet. No, never. Soc. Then let me tell you that this is their greatest pride, more than cutting the umbilical cord. And if you reflect, you will see that the same art which cultivates and gathers in the fruits of the earth, will be most likely to know in what soils the several plants or seeds should be deposited. Theaet. Yes, the same art. Soc. And do you suppose that with women the case is otherwise ? Theaet. I should think not. 15° He is the true midwife. 203 Soc. Certainly not ; but midvvives are respectable women Theaetttus. who have a character to lose, and they avoid this department SOCRATES, of their profession, because they are afraid of being called Theae™tus. procuresses, which is a name given to those who join to- gether man and woman in an unlawful and unscientific way ; and yet the true midwife is also the true and only match- maker. Theaet. Clearly. Soc. Such are the midwives, whose task is a very im- His tmsi- portant one, but not so important as mine ; for women do nessismore . , . . important not bring into the world at one time real children, and at than theirs, another time counterfeits which are with difficulty distin- vet gener- guished from them ; if they did, then the discernment of the He' attends' true and false birth would be the crowning achievement of men- thev the art of midwifery — you would think so ? he takes' Theaet. Indeed I should. care of the Soc. Well, my art of midwifery is in most respects like o^Jht'body theirs ; but differs, in that I attend men and not women, But, unlike and I look after their souls when they are in labour, and not the mi(?" . . J wives, he after their bodies : and the triumph of my art is in thoroughly distin- examining whether the thought which the mind of the young guishes the , • c • r 1 • , , , , , . true birth man brings forth is a false idol or a noble and true birth, from the And like the midwives, I am barren, and the reproach which counterfeit. 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 clear 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 The be- their ignorance, either in their self-conceit despising me, haviourof or falling under the influence of others1, have gone away hlspat,ents' 1 Reading with the Bodleian MS. $ avrol vw' &\Kwv 7rei