eryxias by a platonic imitator (see appendix ii) translated by benjamin jowett appendix ii. the two dialogues which are translated in the second appendix are not mentioned by aristotle, or by any early authority, and have no claim to be ascribed to plato. they are examples of platonic dialogues to be assigned probably to the second or third generation after plato, when his writings were well known at athens and alexandria. they exhibit considerable originality, and are remarkable for containing several thoughts of the sort which we suppose to be modern rather than ancient, and which therefore have a peculiar interest for us. the second alcibiades shows that the difficulties about prayer which have perplexed christian theologians were not unknown among the followers of plato. the eryxias was doubted by the ancients themselves: yet it may claim the distinction of being, among all greek or roman writings, the one which anticipates in the most striking manner the modern science of political economy and gives an abstract form to some of its principal doctrines. for the translation of these two dialogues i am indebted to my friend and secretary, mr. knight. that the dialogue which goes by the name of the second alcibiades is a genuine writing of plato will not be maintained by any modern critic, and was hardly believed by the ancients themselves. the dialectic is poor and weak. there is no power over language, or beauty of style; and there is a certain abruptness and agroikia in the conversation, which is very un-platonic. the best passage is probably that about the poets:--the remark that the poet, who is of a reserved disposition, is uncommonly difficult to understand, and the ridiculous interpretation of homer, are entirely in the spirit of plato (compare protag; ion; apol.). the characters are ill-drawn. socrates assumes the 'superior person' and preaches too much, while alcibiades is stupid and heavy-in-hand. there are traces of stoic influence in the general tone and phraseology of the dialogue (compare opos melesei tis...kaka: oti pas aphron mainetai): and the writer seems to have been acquainted with the 'laws' of plato (compare laws). an incident from the symposium is rather clumsily introduced, and two somewhat hackneyed quotations (symp., gorg.) recur. the reference to the death of archelaus as having occurred 'quite lately' is only a fiction, probably suggested by the gorgias, where the story of archelaus is told, and a similar phrase occurs;--ta gar echthes kai proen gegonota tauta, k.t.l. there are several passages which are either corrupt or extremely ill-expressed. but there is a modern interest in the subject of the dialogue; and it is a good example of a short spurious work, which may be attributed to the second or third century before christ. introduction. much cannot be said in praise of the style or conception of the eryxias. it is frequently obscure; like the exercise of a student, it is full of small imitations of plato:--phaeax returning from an expedition to sicily (compare socrates in the charmides from the army at potidaea), the figure of the game at draughts, borrowed from the republic, etc. it has also in many passages the ring of sophistry. on the other hand, the rather unhandsome treatment which is exhibited towards prodicus is quite unlike the urbanity of plato. yet there are some points in the argument which are deserving of attention. (1) that wealth depends upon the need of it or demand for it, is the first anticipation in an abstract form of one of the great principles of modern political economy, and the nearest approach to it to be found in an ancient writer. (2) the resolution of wealth into its simplest implements going on to infinity is a subtle and refined thought. (3) that wealth is relative to circumstances is a sound conception. (4) that the arts and sciences which receive payment are likewise to be comprehended under the notion of wealth, also touches a question of modern political economy. (5) the distinction of post hoc and propter hoc, often lost sight of in modern as well as in ancient times. these metaphysical conceptions and distinctions show considerable power of thought in the writer, whatever we may think of his merits as an imitator of plato. eryxias persons of the dialogue: socrates, eryxias, erasistratus, critias. scene: the portico of a temple of zeus. it happened by chance that eryxias the steirian was walking with me in the portico of zeus the deliverer, when there came up to us critias and erasistratus, the latter the son of phaeax, who was the nephew of erasistratus. now erasistratus had just arrived from sicily and that part of the world. as they approached, he said, hail, socrates! socrates: the same to you, i said; have you any good news from sicily to tell us? erasistratus: most excellent. but, if you please, let us first sit down; for i am tired with my yesterday's journey from megara. socrates: gladly, if that is your desire. erasistratus: what would you wish to hear first? he said. what the sicilians are doing, or how they are disposed towards our city? to my mind, they are very like wasps: so long as you only cause them a little annoyance they are quite unmanageable; you must destroy their nests if you wish to get the better of them. and in a similar way, the syracusans, unless we set to work in earnest, and go against them with a great expedition, will never submit to our rule. the petty injuries which we at present inflict merely irritate them enough to make them utterly intractable. and now they have sent ambassadors to athens, and intend, i suspect, to play us some trick.--while we were talking, the syracusan envoys chanced to go by, and erasistratus, pointing to one of them, said to me, that, socrates, is the richest man in all italy and sicily. for who has larger estates or more land at his disposal to cultivate if he please? and they are of a quality, too, finer than any other land in hellas. moreover, he has all the things which go to make up wealth, slaves and horses innumerable, gold and silver without end. i saw that he was inclined to expatiate on the riches of the man; so i asked him, well, erasistratus, and what sort of character does he bear in sicily? erasistratus: he is esteemed to be, and really is, the wickedest of all the sicilians and italians, and even more wicked than he is rich; indeed, if you were to ask any sicilian whom he thought to be the worst and the richest of mankind, you would never hear any one else named. i reflected that we were speaking, not of trivial matters, but about wealth and virtue, which are deemed to be of the greatest moment, and i asked erasistratus whom he considered the wealthier,--he who was the possessor of a talent of silver or he who had a field worth two talents? erasistratus: the owner of the field. socrates: and on the same principle he who had robes and bedding and such things which are of greater value to him than to a stranger would be richer than the stranger? erasistratus: true. socrates: and if any one gave you a choice, which of these would you prefer? erasistratus: that which was most valuable. socrates: in which way do you think you would be the richer? erasistratus: by choosing as i said. socrates: and he appears to you to be the richest who has goods of the greatest value? erasistratus: he does. socrates: and are not the healthy richer than the sick, since health is a possession more valuable than riches to the sick? surely there is no one who would not prefer to be poor and well, rather than to have all the king of persia's wealth and to be ill. and this proves that men set health above wealth, else they would never choose the one in preference to the other. erasistratus: true. socrates: and if anything appeared to be more valuable than health, he would be the richest who possessed it? erasistratus: he would. socrates: suppose that some one came to us at this moment and were to ask, well, socrates and eryxias and erasistratus, can you tell me what is of the greatest value to men? is it not that of which the possession will best enable a man to advise how his own and his friend's affairs should be administered?--what will be our reply? erasistratus: i should say, socrates, that happiness was the most precious of human possessions. socrates: not a bad answer. but do we not deem those men who are most prosperous to be the happiest? erasistratus: that is my opinion. socrates: and are they not most prosperous who commit the fewest errors in respect either of themselves or of other men? erasistratus: certainly. socrates: and they who know what is evil and what is good; what should be done and what should be left undone;--these behave the most wisely and make the fewest mistakes? erasistratus agreed to this. socrates: then the wisest and those who do best and the most fortunate and the richest would appear to be all one and the same, if wisdom is really the most valuable of our possessions? yes, said eryxias, interposing, but what use would it be if a man had the wisdom of nestor and wanted the necessaries of life, food and drink and clothes and the like? where would be the advantage of wisdom then? or how could he be the richest of men who might even have to go begging, because he had not wherewithal to live? i thought that what eryxias was saying had some weight, and i replied, would the wise man really suffer in this way, if he were so ill-provided; whereas if he had the house of polytion, and the house were full of gold and silver, he would lack nothing? eryxias: yes; for then he might dispose of his property and obtain in exchange what he needed, or he might sell it for money with which he could supply his wants and in a moment procure abundance of everything. socrates: true, if he could find some one who preferred such a house to the wisdom of nestor. but if there are persons who set great store by wisdom like nestor's and the advantages accruing from it, to sell these, if he were so disposed, would be easier still. or is a house a most useful and necessary possession, and does it make a great difference in the comfort of life to have a mansion like polytion's instead of living in a shabby little cottage, whereas wisdom is of small use and it is of no importance whether a man is wise or ignorant about the highest matters? or is wisdom despised of men and can find no buyers, although cypress wood and marble of pentelicus are eagerly bought by numerous purchasers? surely the prudent pilot or the skilful physician, or the artist of any kind who is proficient in his art, is more worth than the things which are especially reckoned among riches; and he who can advise well and prudently for himself and others is able also to sell the product of his art, if he so desire. eryxias looked askance, as if he had received some unfair treatment, and said, i believe, socrates, that if you were forced to speak the truth, you would declare that you were richer than callias the son of hipponicus. and yet, although you claimed to be wiser about things of real importance, you would not any the more be richer than he. i dare say, eryxias, i said, that you may regard these arguments of ours as a kind of game; you think that they have no relation to facts, but are like the pieces in the game of draughts which the player can move in such a way that his opponents are unable to make any countermove. (compare republic.) and perhaps, too, as regards riches you are of opinion that while facts remain the same, there are arguments, no matter whether true or false, which enable the user of them to prove that the wisest and the richest are one and the same, although he is in the wrong and his opponents are in the right. there would be nothing strange in this; it would be as if two persons were to dispute about letters, one declaring that the word socrates began with an s, the other that it began with an a, and the latter could gain the victory over the former. eryxias glanced at the audience, laughing and blushing at once, as if he had had nothing to do with what had just been said, and replied,--no, indeed, socrates, i never supposed that our arguments should be of a kind which would never convince any one of those here present or be of advantage to them. for what man of sense could ever be persuaded that the wisest and the richest are the same? the truth is that we are discussing the subject of riches, and my notion is that we should argue respecting the honest and dishonest means of acquiring them, and, generally, whether they are a good thing or a bad. very good, i said, and i am obliged to you for the hint: in future we will be more careful. but why do not you yourself, as you introduced the argument, and do not think that the former discussion touched the point at issue, tell us whether you consider riches to be a good or an evil? i am of opinion, he said, that they are a good. he was about to add something more, when critias interrupted him:--do you really suppose so, eryxias? certainly, replied eryxias; i should be mad if i did not: and i do not fancy that you would find any one else of a contrary opinion. and i, retorted critias, should say that there is no one whom i could not compel to admit that riches are bad for some men. but surely, if they were a good, they could not appear bad for any one? here i interposed and said to them: if you two were having an argument about equitation and what was the best way of riding, supposing that i knew the art myself, i should try to bring you to an agreement. for i should be ashamed if i were present and did not do what i could to prevent your difference. and i should do the same if you were quarrelling about any other art and were likely, unless you agreed on the point in dispute, to part as enemies instead of as friends. but now, when we are contending about a thing of which the usefulness continues during the whole of life, and it makes an enormous difference whether we are to regard it as beneficial or not,--a thing, too, which is esteemed of the highest importance by the hellenes:--(for parents, as soon as their children are, as they think, come to years of discretion, urge them to consider how wealth may be acquired, since by riches the value of a man is judged):--when, i say, we are thus in earnest, and you, who agree in other respects, fall to disputing about a matter of such moment, that is, about wealth, and not merely whether it is black or white, light or heavy, but whether it is a good or an evil, whereby, although you are now the dearest of friends and kinsmen, the most bitter hatred may arise betwixt you, i must hinder your dissension to the best of my power. if i could, i would tell you the truth, and so put an end to the dispute; but as i cannot do this, and each of you supposes that you can bring the other to an agreement, i am prepared, as far as my capacity admits, to help you in solving the question. please, therefore, critias, try to make us accept the doctrines which you yourself entertain. critias: i should like to follow up the argument, and will ask eryxias whether he thinks that there are just and unjust men? eryxias: most decidedly. critias: and does injustice seem to you an evil or a good? eryxias: an evil. critias: do you consider that he who bribes his neighbour's wife and commits adultery with her, acts justly or unjustly, and this although both the state and the laws forbid? eryxias: unjustly. critias: and if the wicked man has wealth and is willing to spend it, he will carry out his evil purposes? whereas he who is short of means cannot do what he fain would, and therefore does not sin? in such a case, surely, it is better that a person should not be wealthy, if his poverty prevents the accomplishment of his desires, and his desires are evil? or, again, should you call sickness a good or an evil? eryxias: an evil. critias: well, and do you think that some men are intemperate? eryxias: yes. critias: then, if it is better for his health that the intemperate man should refrain from meat and drink and other pleasant things, but he cannot owing to his intemperance, will it not also be better that he should be too poor to gratify his lust rather than that he should have a superabundance of means? for thus he will not be able to sin, although he desire never so much. critias appeared to be arguing so admirably that eryxias, if he had not been ashamed of the bystanders, would probably have got up and struck him. for he thought that he had been robbed of a great possession when it became obvious to him that he had been wrong in his former opinion about wealth. i observed his vexation, and feared that they would proceed to abuse and quarrelling: so i said,--i heard that very argument used in the lyceum yesterday by a wise man, prodicus of ceos; but the audience thought that he was talking mere nonsense, and no one could be persuaded that he was speaking the truth. and when at last a certain talkative young gentleman came in, and, taking his seat, began to laugh and jeer at prodicus, tormenting him and demanding an explanation of his argument, he gained the ear of the audience far more than prodicus. can you repeat the discourse to us? said erasistratus. socrates: if i can only remember it, i will. the youth began by asking prodicus, in what way did he think that riches were a good and in what an evil? prodicus answered, as you did just now, that they were a good to good men and to those who knew in what way they should be employed, while to the bad and the ignorant they were an evil. the same is true, he went on to say, of all other things; men make them to be what they are themselves. the saying of archilochus is true:-'men's thoughts correspond to the things which they meet with.' well, then, replied the youth, if any one makes me wise in that wisdom whereby good men become wise, he must also make everything else good to me. not that he concerns himself at all with these other things, but he has converted my ignorance into wisdom. if, for example, a person teach me grammar or music, he will at the same time teach me all that relates to grammar or music, and so when he makes me good, he makes things good to me. prodicus did not altogether agree: still he consented to what was said. and do you think, said the youth, that doing good things is like building a house,--the work of human agency; or do things remain what they were at first, good or bad, for all time? prodicus began to suspect, i fancy, the direction which the argument was likely to take, and did not wish to be put down by a mere stripling before all those present:--(if they two had been alone, he would not have minded):--so he answered, cleverly enough: i think that doing good things is a work of human agency. and is virtue in your opinion, prodicus, innate or acquired by instruction? the latter, said prodicus. then you would consider him a simpleton who supposed that he could obtain by praying to the gods the knowledge of grammar or music or any other art, which he must either learn from another or find out for himself? prodicus agreed to this also. and when you pray to the gods that you may do well and receive good, you mean by your prayer nothing else than that you desire to become good and wise:--if, at least, things are good to the good and wise and evil to the evil. but in that case, if virtue is acquired by instruction, it would appear that you only pray to be taught what you do not know. hereupon i said to prodicus that it was no misfortune to him if he had been proved to be in error in supposing that the gods immediately granted to us whatever we asked:--if, i added, whenever you go up to the acropolis you earnestly entreat the gods to grant you good things, although you know not whether they can yield your request, it is as though you went to the doors of the grammarian and begged him, although you had never made a study of the art, to give you a knowledge of grammar which would enable you forthwith to do the business of a grammarian. while i was speaking, prodicus was preparing to retaliate upon his youthful assailant, intending to employ the argument of which you have just made use; for he was annoyed to have it supposed that he offered a vain prayer to the gods. but the master of the gymnasium came to him and begged him to leave because he was teaching the youths doctrines which were unsuited to them, and therefore bad for them. i have told you this because i want you to understand how men are circumstanced in regard to philosophy. had prodicus been present and said what you have said, the audience would have thought him raving, and he would have been ejected from the gymnasium. but you have argued so excellently well that you have not only persuaded your hearers, but have brought your opponent to an agreement. for just as in the law courts, if two witnesses testify to the same fact, one of whom seems to be an honest fellow and the other a rogue, the testimony of the rogue often has the contrary effect on the judges' minds to what he intended, while the same evidence if given by the honest man at once strikes them as perfectly true. and probably the audience have something of the same feeling about yourself and prodicus; they think him a sophist and a braggart, and regard you as a gentleman of courtesy and worth. for they do not pay attention to the argument so much as to the character of the speaker. but truly, socrates, said erasistratus, though you may be joking, critias does seem to me to be saying something which is of weight. socrates: i am in profound earnest, i assure you. but why, as you have begun your argument so prettily, do you not go on with the rest? there is still something lacking, now you have agreed that (wealth) is a good to some and an evil to others. it remains to enquire what constitutes wealth; for unless you know this, you cannot possibly come to an understanding as to whether it is a good or an evil. i am ready to assist you in the enquiry to the utmost of my power: but first let him who affirms that riches are a good, tell us what, in his opinion, is wealth. erasistratus: indeed, socrates, i have no notion about wealth beyond that which men commonly have. i suppose that wealth is a quantity of money (compare arist. pol.); and this, i imagine, would also be critias' definition. socrates: then now we have to consider, what is money? or else later on we shall be found to differ about the question. for instance, the carthaginians use money of this sort. something which is about the size of a stater is tied up in a small piece of leather: what it is, no one knows but the makers. a seal is next set upon the leather, which then passes into circulation, and he who has the largest number of such pieces is esteemed the richest and best off. and yet if any one among us had a mass of such coins he would be no wealthier than if he had so many pebbles from the mountain. at lacedaemon, again, they use iron by weight which has been rendered useless: and he who has the greatest mass of such iron is thought to be the richest, although elsewhere it has no value. in ethiopia engraved stones are employed, of which a lacedaemonian could make no use. once more, among the nomad scythians a man who owned the house of polytion would not be thought richer than one who possessed mount lycabettus among ourselves. and clearly those things cannot all be regarded as possessions; for in some cases the possessors would appear none the richer thereby: but, as i was saying, some one of them is thought in one place to be money, and the possessors of it are the wealthy, whereas in some other place it is not money, and the ownership of it does not confer wealth; just as the standard of morals varies, and what is honourable to some men is dishonourable to others. and if we wish to enquire why a house is valuable to us but not to the scythians, or why the carthaginians value leather which is worthless to us, or the lacedaemonians find wealth in iron and we do not, can we not get an answer in some such way as this: would an athenian, who had a thousand talents weight of the stones which lie about in the agora and which we do not employ for any purpose, be thought to be any the richer? erasistratus: he certainly would not appear so to me. socrates: but if he possessed a thousand talents weight of some precious stone, we should say that he was very rich? erasistratus: of course. socrates: the reason is that the one is useless and the other useful? erasistratus: yes. socrates: and in the same way among the scythians a house has no value because they have no use for a house, nor would a scythian set so much store on the finest house in the world as on a leather coat, because he could use the one and not the other. or again, the carthaginian coinage is not wealth in our eyes, for we could not employ it, as we can silver, to procure what we need, and therefore it is of no use to us. erasistratus: true. socrates: what is useful to us, then, is wealth, and what is useless to us is not wealth? but how do you mean, socrates? said eryxias, interrupting. do we not employ in our intercourse with one another speech and violence (?) and various other things? these are useful and yet they are not wealth. socrates: clearly we have not yet answered the question, what is wealth? that wealth must be useful, to be wealth at all,--thus much is acknowledged by every one. but what particular thing is wealth, if not all things? let us pursue the argument in another way; and then we may perhaps find what we are seeking. what is the use of wealth, and for what purpose has the possession of riches been invented,--in the sense, i mean, in which drugs have been discovered for the cure of disease? perhaps in this way we may throw some light on the question. it appears to be clear that whatever constitutes wealth must be useful, and that wealth is one class of useful things; and now we have to enquire, what is the use of those useful things which constitute wealth? for all things probably may be said to be useful which we use in production, just as all things which have life are animals, but there is a special kind of animal which we call 'man.' now if any one were to ask us, what is that of which, if we were rid, we should not want medicine and the instruments of medicine, we might reply that this would be the case if disease were absent from our bodies and either never came to them at all or went away again as soon as it appeared; and we may therefore conclude that medicine is the science which is useful for getting rid of disease. but if we are further asked, what is that from which, if we were free, we should have no need of wealth? can we give an answer? if we have none, suppose that we restate the question thus:--if a man could live without food or drink, and yet suffer neither hunger nor thirst, would he want either money or anything else in order to supply his needs? eryxias: he would not. socrates: and does not this apply in other cases? if we did not want for the service of the body the things of which we now stand in need, and heat and cold and the other bodily sensations were unperceived by us, there would be no use in this so-called wealth, if no one, that is, had any necessity for those things which now make us wish for wealth in order that we may satisfy the desires and needs of the body in respect of our various wants. and therefore if the possession of wealth is useful in ministering to our bodily wants, and bodily wants were unknown to us, we should not need wealth, and possibly there would be no such thing as wealth. eryxias: clearly not. socrates: then our conclusion is, as would appear, that wealth is what is useful to this end? eryxias once more gave his assent, but the small argument considerably troubled him. socrates: and what is your opinion about another question:--would you say that the same thing can be at one time useful and at another useless for the production of the same result? eryxias: i cannot say more than that if we require the same thing to produce the same result, then it seems to me to be useful; if not, not. socrates: then if without the aid of fire we could make a brazen statue, we should not want fire for that purpose; and if we did not want it, it would be useless to us? and the argument applies equally in other cases. eryxias: clearly. socrates: and therefore conditions which are not required for the existence of a thing are not useful for the production of it? eryxias: of course not. socrates: and if without gold or silver or anything else which we do not use directly for the body in the way that we do food and drink and bedding and houses,--if without these we could satisfy the wants of the body, they would be of no use to us for that purpose? eryxias: they would not. socrates: they would no longer be regarded as wealth, because they are useless, whereas that would be wealth which enabled us to obtain what was useful to us? eryxias: o socrates, you will never be able to persuade me that gold and silver and similar things are not wealth. but i am very strongly of opinion that things which are useless to us are not wealth, and that the money which is useful for this purpose is of the greatest use; not that these things are not useful towards life, if by them we can procure wealth. socrates: and how would you answer another question? there are persons, are there not, who teach music and grammar and other arts for pay, and thus procure those things of which they stand in need? eryxias: there are. socrates: and these men by the arts which they profess, and in exchange for them, obtain the necessities of life just as we do by means of gold and silver? eryxias: true. socrates: then if they procure by this means what they want for the purposes of life, that art will be useful towards life? for do we not say that silver is useful because it enables us to supply our bodily needs? eryxias: we do. socrates: then if these arts are reckoned among things useful, the arts are wealth for the same reason as gold and silver are, for, clearly, the possession of them gives wealth. yet a little while ago we found it difficult to accept the argument which proved that the wisest are the wealthiest. but now there seems no escape from this conclusion. suppose that we are asked, 'is a horse useful to everybody?' will not our reply be, 'no, but only to those who know how to use a horse?' eryxias: certainly. socrates: and so, too, physic is not useful to every one, but only to him who knows how to use it? eryxias: true. socrates: and the same is the case with everything else? eryxias: yes. socrates: then gold and silver and all the other elements which are supposed to make up wealth are only useful to the person who knows how to use them? eryxias: exactly. socrates: and were we not saying before that it was the business of a good man and a gentleman to know where and how anything should be used? eryxias: yes. socrates: the good and gentle, therefore will alone have profit from these things, supposing at least that they know how to use them. but if so, to them only will they seem to be wealth. it appears, however, that where a person is ignorant of riding, and has horses which are useless to him, if some one teaches him that art, he makes him also richer, for what was before useless has now become useful to him, and in giving him knowledge he has also conferred riches upon him. eryxias: that is the case. socrates: yet i dare be sworn that critias will not be moved a whit by the argument. critias: no, by heaven, i should be a madman if i were. but why do you not finish the argument which proves that gold and silver and other things which seem to be wealth are not real wealth? for i have been exceedingly delighted to hear the discourses which you have just been holding. socrates: my argument, critias (i said), appears to have given you the same kind of pleasure which you might have derived from some rhapsode's recitation of homer; for you do not believe a word of what has been said. but come now, give me an answer to this question. are not certain things useful to the builder when he is building a house? critias: they are. socrates: and would you say that those things are useful which are employed in house building,--stones and bricks and beams and the like, and also the instruments with which the builder built the house, the beams and stones which they provided, and again the instruments by which these were obtained? critias: it seems to me that they are all useful for building. socrates: and is it not true of every art, that not only the materials but the instruments by which we procure them and without which the work could not go on, are useful for that art? critias: certainly. socrates: and further, the instruments by which the instruments are procured, and so on, going back from stage to stage ad infinitum,--are not all these, in your opinion, necessary in order to carry out the work? critias: we may fairly suppose such to be the case. socrates: and if a man has food and drink and clothes and the other things which are useful to the body, would he need gold or silver or any other means by which he could procure that which he now has? critias: i do not think so. socrates: then you consider that a man never wants any of these things for the use of the body? critias: certainly not. socrates: and if they appear useless to this end, ought they not always to appear useless? for we have already laid down the principle that things cannot be at one time useful and at another time not, in the same process. critias: but in that respect your argument and mine are the same. for you maintain if they are useful to a certain end, they can never become useless; whereas i say that in order to accomplish some results bad things are needed, and good for others. socrates: but can a bad thing be used to carry out a good purpose? critias: i should say not. socrates: and we call those actions good which a man does for the sake of virtue? critias: yes. socrates: but can a man learn any kind of knowledge which is imparted by word of mouth if he is wholly deprived of the sense of hearing? critias: certainly not, i think. socrates: and will not hearing be useful for virtue, if virtue is taught by hearing and we use the sense of hearing in giving instruction? critias: yes. socrates: and since medicine frees the sick man from his disease, that art too may sometimes appear useful in the acquisition of virtue, e.g. when hearing is procured by the aid of medicine. critias: very likely. socrates: but if, again, we obtain by wealth the aid of medicine, shall we not regard wealth as useful for virtue? critias: true. socrates: and also the instruments by which wealth is procured? critias: certainly. socrates: then you think that a man may gain wealth by bad and disgraceful means, and, having obtained the aid of medicine which enables him to acquire the power of hearing, may use that very faculty for the acquisition of virtue? critias: yes, i do. socrates: but can that which is evil be useful for virtue? critias: no. socrates: it is not therefore necessary that the means by which we obtain what is useful for a certain object should always be useful for the same object: for it seems that bad actions may sometimes serve good purposes? the matter will be still plainer if we look at it in this way:--if things are useful towards the several ends for which they exist, which ends would not come into existence without them, how would you regard them? can ignorance, for instance, be useful for knowledge, or disease for health, or vice for virtue? critias: never. socrates: and yet we have already agreed--have we not?--that there can be no knowledge where there has not previously been ignorance, nor health where there has not been disease, nor virtue where there has not been vice? critias: i think that we have. socrates: but then it would seem that the antecedents without which a thing cannot exist are not necessarily useful to it. otherwise ignorance would appear useful for knowledge, disease for health, and vice for virtue. critias still showed great reluctance to accept any argument which went to prove that all these things were useless. i saw that it was as difficult to persuade him as (according to the proverb) it is to boil a stone, so i said: let us bid 'good-bye' to the discussion, since we cannot agree whether these things are useful and a part of wealth or not. but what shall we say to another question: which is the happier and better man,--he who requires the greatest quantity of necessaries for body and diet, or he who requires only the fewest and least? the answer will perhaps become more obvious if we suppose some one, comparing the man himself at different times, to consider whether his condition is better when he is sick or when he is well? critias: that is not a question which needs much consideration. socrates: probably, i said, every one can understand that health is a better condition than disease. but when have we the greatest and the most various needs, when we are sick or when we are well? critias: when we are sick. socrates: and when we are in the worst state we have the greatest and most especial need and desire of bodily pleasures? critias: true. socrates: and seeing that a man is best off when he is least in need of such things, does not the same reasoning apply to the case of any two persons, of whom one has many and great wants and desires, and the other few and moderate? for instance, some men are gamblers, some drunkards, and some gluttons: and gambling and the love of drink and greediness are all desires? critias: certainly. socrates: but desires are only the lack of something: and those who have the greatest desires are in a worse condition than those who have none or very slight ones? critias: certainly i consider that those who have such wants are bad, and that the greater their wants the worse they are. socrates: and do we think it possible that a thing should be useful for a purpose unless we have need of it for that purpose? critias: no. socrates: then if these things are useful for supplying the needs of the body, we must want them for that purpose? critias: that is my opinion. socrates: and he to whom the greatest number of things are useful for his purpose, will also want the greatest number of means of accomplishing it, supposing that we necessarily feel the want of all useful things? critias: it seems so. socrates: the argument proves then that he who has great riches has likewise need of many things for the supply of the wants of the body; for wealth appears useful towards that end. and the richest must be in the worst condition, since they seem to be most in want of such things. euthyphro by plato translated by benjamin jowett introduction. in the meno, anytus had parted from socrates with the significant words: 'that in any city, and particularly in the city of athens, it is easier to do men harm than to do them good;' and socrates was anticipating another opportunity of talking with him. in the euthyphro, socrates is awaiting his trial for impiety. but before the trial begins, plato would like to put the world on their trial, and convince them of ignorance in that very matter touching which socrates is accused. an incident which may perhaps really have occurred in the family of euthyphro, a learned athenian diviner and soothsayer, furnishes the occasion of the discussion. this euthyphro and socrates are represented as meeting in the porch of the king archon. (compare theaet.) both have legal business in hand. socrates is defendant in a suit for impiety which meletus has brought against him (it is remarked by the way that he is not a likely man himself to have brought a suit against another); and euthyphro too is plaintiff in an action for murder, which he has brought against his own father. the latter has originated in the following manner:--a poor dependant of the family had slain one of their domestic slaves in naxos. the guilty person was bound and thrown into a ditch by the command of euthyphro's father, who sent to the interpreters of religion at athens to ask what should be done with him. before the messenger came back the criminal had died from hunger and exposure. this is the origin of the charge of murder which euthyphro brings against his father. socrates is confident that before he could have undertaken the responsibility of such a prosecution, he must have been perfectly informed of the nature of piety and impiety; and as he is going to be tried for impiety himself, he thinks that he cannot do better than learn of euthyphro (who will be admitted by everybody, including the judges, to be an unimpeachable authority) what piety is, and what is impiety. what then is piety? euthyphro, who, in the abundance of his knowledge, is very willing to undertake all the responsibility, replies: that piety is doing as i do, prosecuting your father (if he is guilty) on a charge of murder; doing as the gods do--as zeus did to cronos, and cronos to uranus. socrates has a dislike to these tales of mythology, and he fancies that this dislike of his may be the reason why he is charged with impiety. 'are they really true?' 'yes, they are;' and euthyphro will gladly tell socrates some more of them. but socrates would like first of all to have a more satisfactory answer to the question, 'what is piety?' 'doing as i do, charging a father with murder,' may be a single instance of piety, but can hardly be regarded as a general definition. euthyphro replies, that 'piety is what is dear to the gods, and impiety is what is not dear to them.' but may there not be differences of opinion, as among men, so also among the gods? especially, about good and evil, which have no fixed rule; and these are precisely the sort of differences which give rise to quarrels. and therefore what may be dear to one god may not be dear to another, and the same action may be both pious and impious; e.g. your chastisement of your father, euthyphro, may be dear or pleasing to zeus (who inflicted a similar chastisement on his own father), but not equally pleasing to cronos or uranus (who suffered at the hands of their sons). euthyphro answers that there is no difference of opinion, either among gods or men, as to the propriety of punishing a murderer. yes, rejoins socrates, when they know him to be a murderer; but you are assuming the point at issue. if all the circumstances of the case are considered, are you able to show that your father was guilty of murder, or that all the gods are agreed in approving of our prosecution of him? and must you not allow that what is hated by one god may be liked by another? waiving this last, however, socrates proposes to amend the definition, and say that 'what all the gods love is pious, and what they all hate is impious.' to this euthyphro agrees. socrates proceeds to analyze the new form of the definition. he shows that in other cases the act precedes the state; e.g. the act of being carried, loved, etc. precedes the state of being carried, loved, etc., and therefore that which is dear to the gods is dear to the gods because it is first loved of them, not loved of them because it is dear to them. but the pious or holy is loved by the gods because it is pious or holy, which is equivalent to saying, that it is loved by them because it is dear to them. here then appears to be a contradiction,--euthyphro has been giving an attribute or accident of piety only, and not the essence. euthyphro acknowledges himself that his explanations seem to walk away or go round in a circle, like the moving figures of daedalus, the ancestor of socrates, who has communicated his art to his descendants. socrates, who is desirous of stimulating the indolent intelligence of euthyphro, raises the question in another manner: 'is all the pious just?' 'yes.' 'is all the just pious?' 'no.' 'then what part of justice is piety?' euthyphro replies that piety is that part of justice which 'attends' to the gods, as there is another part of justice which 'attends' to men. but what is the meaning of 'attending' to the gods? the word 'attending,' when applied to dogs, horses, and men, implies that in some way they are made better. but how do pious or holy acts make the gods any better? euthyphro explains that he means by pious acts, acts of service or ministration. yes; but the ministrations of the husbandman, the physician, and the builder have an end. to what end do we serve the gods, and what do we help them to accomplish? euthyphro replies, that all these difficult questions cannot be resolved in a short time; and he would rather say simply that piety is knowing how to please the gods in word and deed, by prayers and sacrifices. in other words, says socrates, piety is 'a science of asking and giving'--asking what we want and giving what they want; in short, a mode of doing business between gods and men. but although they are the givers of all good, how can we give them any good in return? 'nay, but we give them honour.' then we give them not what is beneficial, but what is pleasing or dear to them; and this is the point which has been already disproved. socrates, although weary of the subterfuges and evasions of euthyphro, remains unshaken in his conviction that he must know the nature of piety, or he would never have prosecuted his old father. he is still hoping that he will condescend to instruct him. but euthyphro is in a hurry and cannot stay. and socrates' last hope of knowing the nature of piety before he is prosecuted for impiety has disappeared. as in the euthydemus the irony is carried on to the end. the euthyphro is manifestly designed to contrast the real nature of piety and impiety with the popular conceptions of them. but when the popular conceptions of them have been overthrown, socrates does not offer any definition of his own: as in the laches and lysis, he prepares the way for an answer to the question which he has raised; but true to his own character, refuses to answer himself. euthyphro is a religionist, and is elsewhere spoken of, if he be the same person, as the author of a philosophy of names, by whose 'prancing steeds' socrates in the cratylus is carried away. he has the conceit and self-confidence of a sophist; no doubt that he is right in prosecuting his father has ever entered into his mind. like a sophist too, he is incapable either of framing a general definition or of following the course of an argument. his wrong-headedness, one-sidedness, narrowness, positiveness, are characteristic of his priestly office. his failure to apprehend an argument may be compared to a similar defect which is observable in the rhapsode ion. but he is not a bad man, and he is friendly to socrates, whose familiar sign he recognizes with interest. though unable to follow him he is very willing to be led by him, and eagerly catches at any suggestion which saves him from the trouble of thinking. moreover he is the enemy of meletus, who, as he says, is availing himself of the popular dislike to innovations in religion in order to injure socrates; at the same time he is amusingly confident that he has weapons in his own armoury which would be more than a match for him. he is quite sincere in his prosecution of his father, who has accidentally been guilty of homicide, and is not wholly free from blame. to purge away the crime appears to him in the light of a duty, whoever may be the criminal. thus begins the contrast between the religion of the letter, or of the narrow and unenlightened conscience, and the higher notion of religion which socrates vainly endeavours to elicit from him. 'piety is doing as i do' is the idea of religion which first occurs to him, and to many others who do not say what they think with equal frankness. for men are not easily persuaded that any other religion is better than their own; or that other nations, e.g. the greeks in the time of socrates, were equally serious in their religious beliefs and difficulties. the chief difference between us and them is, that they were slowly learning what we are in process of forgetting. greek mythology hardly admitted of the distinction between accidental homicide and murder: that the pollution of blood was the same in both cases is also the feeling of the athenian diviner. he had not as yet learned the lesson, which philosophy was teaching, that homer and hesiod, if not banished from the state, or whipped out of the assembly, as heracleitus more rudely proposed, at any rate were not to be appealed to as authorities in religion; and he is ready to defend his conduct by the examples of the gods. these are the very tales which socrates cannot abide; and his dislike of them, as he suspects, has branded him with the reputation of impiety. here is one answer to the question, 'why socrates was put to death,' suggested by the way. another is conveyed in the words, 'the athenians do not care about any man being thought wise until he begins to make other men wise; and then for some reason or other they are angry:' which may be said to be the rule of popular toleration in most other countries, and not at athens only. in the course of the argument socrates remarks that the controversial nature of morals and religion arises out of the difficulty of verifying them. there is no measure or standard to which they can be referred. the next definition, 'piety is that which is loved of the gods,' is shipwrecked on a refined distinction between the state and the act, corresponding respectively to the adjective (philon) and the participle (philoumenon), or rather perhaps to the participle and the verb (philoumenon and phileitai). the act is prior to the state (as in aristotle the energeia precedes the dunamis); and the state of being loved is preceded by the act of being loved. but piety or holiness is preceded by the act of being pious, not by the act of being loved; and therefore piety and the state of being loved are different. through such subtleties of dialectic socrates is working his way into a deeper region of thought and feeling. he means to say that the words 'loved of the gods' express an attribute only, and not the essence of piety. then follows the third and last definition, 'piety is a part of justice.' thus far socrates has proceeded in placing religion on a moral foundation. he is seeking to realize the harmony of religion and morality, which the great poets aeschylus, sophocles, and pindar had unconsciously anticipated, and which is the universal want of all men. to this the soothsayer adds the ceremonial element, 'attending upon the gods.' when further interrogated by socrates as to the nature of this 'attention to the gods,' he replies, that piety is an affair of business, a science of giving and asking, and the like. socrates points out the anthropomorphism of these notions, (compare symp.; republic; politicus.) but when we expect him to go on and show that the true service of the gods is the service of the spirit and the co-operation with them in all things true and good, he stops short; this was a lesson which the soothsayer could not have been made to understand, and which every one must learn for himself. there seem to be altogether three aims or interests in this little dialogue: (1) the dialectical development of the idea of piety; (2) the antithesis of true and false religion, which is carried to a certain extent only; (3) the defence of socrates. the subtle connection with the apology and the crito; the holding back of the conclusion, as in the charmides, lysis, laches, protagoras, and other dialogues; the deep insight into the religious world; the dramatic power and play of the two characters; the inimitable irony, are reasons for believing that the euthyphro is a genuine platonic writing. the spirit in which the popular representations of mythology are denounced recalls republic ii. the virtue of piety has been already mentioned as one of five in the protagoras, but is not reckoned among the four cardinal virtues of republic iv. the figure of daedalus has occurred in the meno; that of proteus in the euthydemus and io. the kingly science has already appeared in the euthydemus, and will reappear in the republic and statesman. but neither from these nor any other indications of similarity or difference, and still less from arguments respecting the suitableness of this little work to aid socrates at the time of his trial or the reverse, can any evidence of the date be obtained. euthyphro persons of the dialogue: socrates, euthyphro. scene: the porch of the king archon. euthyphro: why have you left the lyceum, socrates? and what are you doing in the porch of the king archon? surely you cannot be concerned in a suit before the king, like myself? socrates: not in a suit, euthyphro; impeachment is the word which the athenians use. euthyphro: what! i suppose that some one has been prosecuting you, for i cannot believe that you are the prosecutor of another. socrates: certainly not. euthyphro: then some one else has been prosecuting you? socrates: yes. euthyphro: and who is he? socrates: a young man who is little known, euthyphro; and i hardly know him: his name is meletus, and he is of the deme of pitthis. perhaps you may remember his appearance; he has a beak, and long straight hair, and a beard which is ill grown. euthyphro: no, i do not remember him, socrates. but what is the charge which he brings against you? socrates: what is the charge? well, a very serious charge, which shows a good deal of character in the young man, and for which he is certainly not to be despised. he says he knows how the youth are corrupted and who are their corruptors. i fancy that he must be a wise man, and seeing that i am the reverse of a wise man, he has found me out, and is going to accuse me of corrupting his young friends. and of this our mother the state is to be the judge. of all our political men he is the only one who seems to me to begin in the right way, with the cultivation of virtue in youth; like a good husbandman, he makes the young shoots his first care, and clears away us who are the destroyers of them. this is only the first step; he will afterwards attend to the elder branches; and if he goes on as he has begun, he will be a very great public benefactor. euthyphro: i hope that he may; but i rather fear, socrates, that the opposite will turn out to be the truth. my opinion is that in attacking you he is simply aiming a blow at the foundation of the state. but in what way does he say that you corrupt the young? socrates: he brings a wonderful accusation against me, which at first hearing excites surprise: he says that i am a poet or maker of gods, and that i invent new gods and deny the existence of old ones; this is the ground of his indictment. euthyphro: i understand, socrates; he means to attack you about the familiar sign which occasionally, as you say, comes to you. he thinks that you are a neologian, and he is going to have you up before the court for this. he knows that such a charge is readily received by the world, as i myself know too well; for when i speak in the assembly about divine things, and foretell the future to them, they laugh at me and think me a madman. yet every word that i say is true. but they are jealous of us all; and we must be brave and go at them. socrates: their laughter, friend euthyphro, is not a matter of much consequence. for a man may be thought wise; but the athenians, i suspect, do not much trouble themselves about him until he begins to impart his wisdom to others, and then for some reason or other, perhaps, as you say, from jealousy, they are angry. euthyphro: i am never likely to try their temper in this way. socrates: i dare say not, for you are reserved in your behaviour, and seldom impart your wisdom. but i have a benevolent habit of pouring out myself to everybody, and would even pay for a listener, and i am afraid that the athenians may think me too talkative. now if, as i was saying, they would only laugh at me, as you say that they laugh at you, the time might pass gaily enough in the court; but perhaps they may be in earnest, and then what the end will be you soothsayers only can predict. euthyphro: i dare say that the affair will end in nothing, socrates, and that you will win your cause; and i think that i shall win my own. socrates: and what is your suit, euthyphro? are you the pursuer or the defendant? euthyphro: i am the pursuer. socrates: of whom? euthyphro: you will think me mad when i tell you. socrates: why, has the fugitive wings? euthyphro: nay, he is not very volatile at his time of life. socrates: who is he? euthyphro: my father. socrates: your father! my good man? euthyphro: yes. socrates: and of what is he accused? euthyphro: of murder, socrates. socrates: by the powers, euthyphro! how little does the common herd know of the nature of right and truth. a man must be an extraordinary man, and have made great strides in wisdom, before he could have seen his way to bring such an action. euthyphro: indeed, socrates, he must. socrates: i suppose that the man whom your father murdered was one of your relatives--clearly he was; for if he had been a stranger you would never have thought of prosecuting him. euthyphro: i am amused, socrates, at your making a distinction between one who is a relation and one who is not a relation; for surely the pollution is the same in either case, if you knowingly associate with the murderer when you ought to clear yourself and him by proceeding against him. the real question is whether the murdered man has been justly slain. if justly, then your duty is to let the matter alone; but if unjustly, then even if the murderer lives under the same roof with you and eats at the same table, proceed against him. now the man who is dead was a poor dependant of mine who worked for us as a field labourer on our farm in naxos, and one day in a fit of drunken passion he got into a quarrel with one of our domestic servants and slew him. my father bound him hand and foot and threw him into a ditch, and then sent to athens to ask of a diviner what he should do with him. meanwhile he never attended to him and took no care about him, for he regarded him as a murderer; and thought that no great harm would be done even if he did die. now this was just what happened. for such was the effect of cold and hunger and chains upon him, that before the messenger returned from the diviner, he was dead. and my father and family are angry with me for taking the part of the murderer and prosecuting my father. they say that he did not kill him, and that if he did, the dead man was but a murderer, and i ought not to take any notice, for that a son is impious who prosecutes a father. which shows, socrates, how little they know what the gods think about piety and impiety. socrates: good heavens, euthyphro! and is your knowledge of religion and of things pious and impious so very exact, that, supposing the circumstances to be as you state them, you are not afraid lest you too may be doing an impious thing in bringing an action against your father? euthyphro: the best of euthyphro, and that which distinguishes him, socrates, from other men, is his exact knowledge of all such matters. what should i be good for without it? socrates: rare friend! i think that i cannot do better than be your disciple. then before the trial with meletus comes on i shall challenge him, and say that i have always had a great interest in religious questions, and now, as he charges me with rash imaginations and innovations in religion, i have become your disciple. you, meletus, as i shall say to him, acknowledge euthyphro to be a great theologian, and sound in his opinions; and if you approve of him you ought to approve of me, and not have me into court; but if you disapprove, you should begin by indicting him who is my teacher, and who will be the ruin, not of the young, but of the old; that is to say, of myself whom he instructs, and of his old father whom he admonishes and chastises. and if meletus refuses to listen to me, but will go on, and will not shift the indictment from me to you, i cannot do better than repeat this challenge in the court. euthyphro: yes, indeed, socrates; and if he attempts to indict me i am mistaken if i do not find a flaw in him; the court shall have a great deal more to say to him than to me. socrates: and i, my dear friend, knowing this, am desirous of becoming your disciple. for i observe that no one appears to notice you--not even this meletus; but his sharp eyes have found me out at once, and he has indicted me for impiety. and therefore, i adjure you to tell me the nature of piety and impiety, which you said that you knew so well, and of murder, and of other offences against the gods. what are they? is not piety in every action always the same? and impiety, again--is it not always the opposite of piety, and also the same with itself, having, as impiety, one notion which includes whatever is impious? euthyphro: to be sure, socrates. socrates: and what is piety, and what is impiety? euthyphro: piety is doing as i am doing; that is to say, prosecuting any one who is guilty of murder, sacrilege, or of any similar crime--whether he be your father or mother, or whoever he may be--that makes no difference; and not to prosecute them is impiety. and please to consider, socrates, what a notable proof i will give you of the truth of my words, a proof which i have already given to others:--of the principle, i mean, that the impious, whoever he may be, ought not to go unpunished. for do not men regard zeus as the best and most righteous of the gods?--and yet they admit that he bound his father (cronos) because he wickedly devoured his sons, and that he too had punished his own father (uranus) for a similar reason, in a nameless manner. and yet when i proceed against my father, they are angry with me. so inconsistent are they in their way of talking when the gods are concerned, and when i am concerned. socrates: may not this be the reason, euthyphro, why i am charged with impiety--that i cannot away with these stories about the gods? and therefore i suppose that people think me wrong. but, as you who are well informed about them approve of them, i cannot do better than assent to your superior wisdom. what else can i say, confessing as i do, that i know nothing about them? tell me, for the love of zeus, whether you really believe that they are true. euthyphro: yes, socrates; and things more wonderful still, of which the world is in ignorance. socrates: and do you really believe that the gods fought with one another, and had dire quarrels, battles, and the like, as the poets say, and as you may see represented in the works of great artists? the temples are full of them; and notably the robe of athene, which is carried up to the acropolis at the great panathenaea, is embroidered with them. are all these tales of the gods true, euthyphro? euthyphro: yes, socrates; and, as i was saying, i can tell you, if you would like to hear them, many other things about the gods which would quite amaze you. socrates: i dare say; and you shall tell me them at some other time when i have leisure. but just at present i would rather hear from you a more precise answer, which you have not as yet given, my friend, to the question, what is 'piety'? when asked, you only replied, doing as you do, charging your father with murder. euthyphro: and what i said was true, socrates. socrates: no doubt, euthyphro; but you would admit that there are many other pious acts? euthyphro: there are. socrates: remember that i did not ask you to give me two or three examples of piety, but to explain the general idea which makes all pious things to be pious. do you not recollect that there was one idea which made the impious impious, and the pious pious? euthyphro: i remember. socrates: tell me what is the nature of this idea, and then i shall have a standard to which i may look, and by which i may measure actions, whether yours or those of any one else, and then i shall be able to say that such and such an action is pious, such another impious. euthyphro: i will tell you, if you like. socrates: i should very much like. euthyphro: piety, then, is that which is dear to the gods, and impiety is that which is not dear to them. socrates: very good, euthyphro; you have now given me the sort of answer which i wanted. but whether what you say is true or not i cannot as yet tell, although i make no doubt that you will prove the truth of your words. euthyphro: of course. socrates: come, then, and let us examine what we are saying. that thing or person which is dear to the gods is pious, and that thing or person which is hateful to the gods is impious, these two being the extreme opposites of one another. was not that said? euthyphro: it was. socrates: and well said? euthyphro: yes, socrates, i thought so; it was certainly said. socrates: and further, euthyphro, the gods were admitted to have enmities and hatreds and differences? euthyphro: yes, that was also said. socrates: and what sort of difference creates enmity and anger? suppose for example that you and i, my good friend, differ about a number; do differences of this sort make us enemies and set us at variance with one another? do we not go at once to arithmetic, and put an end to them by a sum? euthyphro: true. socrates: or suppose that we differ about magnitudes, do we not quickly end the differences by measuring? euthyphro: very true. socrates: and we end a controversy about heavy and light by resorting to a weighing machine? euthyphro: to be sure. socrates: but what differences are there which cannot be thus decided, and which therefore make us angry and set us at enmity with one another? i dare say the answer does not occur to you at the moment, and therefore i will suggest that these enmities arise when the matters of difference are the just and unjust, good and evil, honourable and dishonourable. are not these the points about which men differ, and about which when we are unable satisfactorily to decide our differences, you and i and all of us quarrel, when we do quarrel? (compare alcib.) euthyphro: yes, socrates, the nature of the differences about which we quarrel is such as you describe. socrates: and the quarrels of the gods, noble euthyphro, when they occur, are of a like nature? euthyphro: certainly they are. socrates: they have differences of opinion, as you say, about good and evil, just and unjust, honourable and dishonourable: there would have been no quarrels among them, if there had been no such differences--would there now? euthyphro: you are quite right. socrates: does not every man love that which he deems noble and just and good, and hate the opposite of them? euthyphro: very true. socrates: but, as you say, people regard the same things, some as just and others as unjust,--about these they dispute; and so there arise wars and fightings among them. euthyphro: very true. socrates: then the same things are hated by the gods and loved by the gods, and are both hateful and dear to them? euthyphro: true. socrates: and upon this view the same things, euthyphro, will be pious and also impious? euthyphro: so i should suppose. socrates: then, my friend, i remark with surprise that you have not answered the question which i asked. for i certainly did not ask you to tell me what action is both pious and impious: but now it would seem that what is loved by the gods is also hated by them. and therefore, euthyphro, in thus chastising your father you may very likely be doing what is agreeable to zeus but disagreeable to cronos or uranus, and what is acceptable to hephaestus but unacceptable to here, and there may be other gods who have similar differences of opinion. euthyphro: but i believe, socrates, that all the gods would be agreed as to the propriety of punishing a murderer: there would be no difference of opinion about that. socrates: well, but speaking of men, euthyphro, did you ever hear any one arguing that a murderer or any sort of evil-doer ought to be let off? euthyphro: i should rather say that these are the questions which they are always arguing, especially in courts of law: they commit all sorts of crimes, and there is nothing which they will not do or say in their own defence. socrates: but do they admit their guilt, euthyphro, and yet say that they ought not to be punished? euthyphro: no; they do not. socrates: then there are some things which they do not venture to say and do: for they do not venture to argue that the guilty are to be unpunished, but they deny their guilt, do they not? euthyphro: yes. socrates: then they do not argue that the evil-doer should not be punished, but they argue about the fact of who the evil-doer is, and what he did and when? euthyphro: true. socrates: and the gods are in the same case, if as you assert they quarrel about just and unjust, and some of them say while others deny that injustice is done among them. for surely neither god nor man will ever venture to say that the doer of injustice is not to be punished? euthyphro: that is true, socrates, in the main. socrates: but they join issue about the particulars--gods and men alike; and, if they dispute at all, they dispute about some act which is called in question, and which by some is affirmed to be just, by others to be unjust. is not that true? euthyphro: quite true. socrates: well then, my dear friend euthyphro, do tell me, for my better instruction and information, what proof have you that in the opinion of all the gods a servant who is guilty of murder, and is put in chains by the master of the dead man, and dies because he is put in chains before he who bound him can learn from the interpreters of the gods what he ought to do with him, dies unjustly; and that on behalf of such an one a son ought to proceed against his father and accuse him of murder. how would you show that all the gods absolutely agree in approving of his act? prove to me that they do, and i will applaud your wisdom as long as i live. euthyphro: it will be a difficult task; but i could make the matter very clear indeed to you. socrates: i understand; you mean to say that i am not so quick of apprehension as the judges: for to them you will be sure to prove that the act is unjust, and hateful to the gods. euthyphro: yes indeed, socrates; at least if they will listen to me. socrates: but they will be sure to listen if they find that you are a good speaker. there was a notion that came into my mind while you were speaking; i said to myself: 'well, and what if euthyphro does prove to me that all the gods regarded the death of the serf as unjust, how do i know anything more of the nature of piety and impiety? for granting that this action may be hateful to the gods, still piety and impiety are not adequately defined by these distinctions, for that which is hateful to the gods has been shown to be also pleasing and dear to them.' and therefore, euthyphro, i do not ask you to prove this; i will suppose, if you like, that all the gods condemn and abominate such an action. but i will amend the definition so far as to say that what all the gods hate is impious, and what they love pious or holy; and what some of them love and others hate is both or neither. shall this be our definition of piety and impiety? euthyphro: why not, socrates? socrates: why not! certainly, as far as i am concerned, euthyphro, there is no reason why not. but whether this admission will greatly assist you in the task of instructing me as you promised, is a matter for you to consider. euthyphro: yes, i should say that what all the gods love is pious and holy, and the opposite which they all hate, impious. socrates: ought we to enquire into the truth of this, euthyphro, or simply to accept the mere statement on our own authority and that of others? what do you say? euthyphro: we should enquire; and i believe that the statement will stand the test of enquiry. socrates: we shall know better, my good friend, in a little while. the point which i should first wish to understand is whether the pious or holy is beloved by the gods because it is holy, or holy because it is beloved of the gods. euthyphro: i do not understand your meaning, socrates. socrates: i will endeavour to explain: we, speak of carrying and we speak of being carried, of leading and being led, seeing and being seen. you know that in all such cases there is a difference, and you know also in what the difference lies? euthyphro: i think that i understand. socrates: and is not that which is beloved distinct from that which loves? euthyphro: certainly. socrates: well; and now tell me, is that which is carried in this state of carrying because it is carried, or for some other reason? euthyphro: no; that is the reason. socrates: and the same is true of what is led and of what is seen? euthyphro: true. socrates: and a thing is not seen because it is visible, but conversely, visible because it is seen; nor is a thing led because it is in the state of being led, or carried because it is in the state of being carried, but the converse of this. and now i think, euthyphro, that my meaning will be intelligible; and my meaning is, that any state of action or passion implies previous action or passion. it does not become because it is becoming, but it is in a state of becoming because it becomes; neither does it suffer because it is in a state of suffering, but it is in a state of suffering because it suffers. do you not agree? euthyphro: yes. socrates: is not that which is loved in some state either of becoming or suffering? euthyphro: yes. socrates: and the same holds as in the previous instances; the state of being loved follows the act of being loved, and not the act the state. euthyphro: certainly. socrates: and what do you say of piety, euthyphro: is not piety, according to your definition, loved by all the gods? euthyphro: yes. socrates: because it is pious or holy, or for some other reason? euthyphro: no, that is the reason. socrates: it is loved because it is holy, not holy because it is loved? euthyphro: yes. socrates: and that which is dear to the gods is loved by them, and is in a state to be loved of them because it is loved of them? euthyphro: certainly. socrates: then that which is dear to the gods, euthyphro, is not holy, nor is that which is holy loved of god, as you affirm; but they are two different things. euthyphro: how do you mean, socrates? socrates: i mean to say that the holy has been acknowledged by us to be loved of god because it is holy, not to be holy because it is loved. euthyphro: yes. socrates: but that which is dear to the gods is dear to them because it is loved by them, not loved by them because it is dear to them. euthyphro: true. socrates: but, friend euthyphro, if that which is holy is the same with that which is dear to god, and is loved because it is holy, then that which is dear to god would have been loved as being dear to god; but if that which is dear to god is dear to him because loved by him, then that which is holy would have been holy because loved by him. but now you see that the reverse is the case, and that they are quite different from one another. for one (theophiles) is of a kind to be loved cause it is loved, and the other (osion) is loved because it is of a kind to be loved. thus you appear to me, euthyphro, when i ask you what is the essence of holiness, to offer an attribute only, and not the essence--the attribute of being loved by all the gods. but you still refuse to explain to me the nature of holiness. and therefore, if you please, i will ask you not to hide your treasure, but to tell me once more what holiness or piety really is, whether dear to the gods or not (for that is a matter about which we will not quarrel); and what is impiety? euthyphro: i really do not know, socrates, how to express what i mean. for somehow or other our arguments, on whatever ground we rest them, seem to turn round and walk away from us. socrates: your words, euthyphro, are like the handiwork of my ancestor daedalus; and if i were the sayer or propounder of them, you might say that my arguments walk away and will not remain fixed where they are placed because i am a descendant of his. but now, since these notions are your own, you must find some other gibe, for they certainly, as you yourself allow, show an inclination to be on the move. euthyphro: nay, socrates, i shall still say that you are the daedalus who sets arguments in motion; not i, certainly, but you make them move or go round, for they would never have stirred, as far as i am concerned. socrates: then i must be a greater than daedalus: for whereas he only made his own inventions to move, i move those of other people as well. and the beauty of it is, that i would rather not. for i would give the wisdom of daedalus, and the wealth of tantalus, to be able to detain them and keep them fixed. but enough of this. as i perceive that you are lazy, i will myself endeavour to show you how you might instruct me in the nature of piety; and i hope that you will not grudge your labour. tell me, then--is not that which is pious necessarily just? euthyphro: yes. socrates: and is, then, all which is just pious? or, is that which is pious all just, but that which is just, only in part and not all, pious? euthyphro: i do not understand you, socrates. socrates: and yet i know that you are as much wiser than i am, as you are younger. but, as i was saying, revered friend, the abundance of your wisdom makes you lazy. please to exert yourself, for there is no real difficulty in understanding me. what i mean i may explain by an illustration of what i do not mean. the poet (stasinus) sings-'of zeus, the author and creator of all these things, you will not tell: for where there is fear there is also reverence.' now i disagree with this poet. shall i tell you in what respect? euthyphro: by all means. socrates: i should not say that where there is fear there is also reverence; for i am sure that many persons fear poverty and disease, and the like evils, but i do not perceive that they reverence the objects of their fear. euthyphro: very true. socrates: but where reverence is, there is fear; for he who has a feeling of reverence and shame about the commission of any action, fears and is afraid of an ill reputation. euthyphro: no doubt. socrates: then we are wrong in saying that where there is fear there is also reverence; and we should say, where there is reverence there is also fear. but there is not always reverence where there is fear; for fear is a more extended notion, and reverence is a part of fear, just as the odd is a part of number, and number is a more extended notion than the odd. i suppose that you follow me now? euthyphro: quite well. socrates: that was the sort of question which i meant to raise when i asked whether the just is always the pious, or the pious always the just; and whether there may not be justice where there is not piety; for justice is the more extended notion of which piety is only a part. do you dissent? euthyphro: no, i think that you are quite right. socrates: then, if piety is a part of justice, i suppose that we should enquire what part? if you had pursued the enquiry in the previous cases; for instance, if you had asked me what is an even number, and what part of number the even is, i should have had no difficulty in replying, a number which represents a figure having two equal sides. do you not agree? euthyphro: yes, i quite agree. socrates: in like manner, i want you to tell me what part of justice is piety or holiness, that i may be able to tell meletus not to do me injustice, or indict me for impiety, as i am now adequately instructed by you in the nature of piety or holiness, and their opposites. euthyphro: piety or holiness, socrates, appears to me to be that part of justice which attends to the gods, as there is the other part of justice which attends to men. socrates: that is good, euthyphro; yet still there is a little point about which i should like to have further information, what is the meaning of 'attention'? for attention can hardly be used in the same sense when applied to the gods as when applied to other things. for instance, horses are said to require attention, and not every person is able to attend to them, but only a person skilled in horsemanship. is it not so? euthyphro: certainly. socrates: i should suppose that the art of horsemanship is the art of attending to horses? euthyphro: yes. socrates: nor is every one qualified to attend to dogs, but only the huntsman? euthyphro: true. socrates: and i should also conceive that the art of the huntsman is the art of attending to dogs? euthyphro: yes. socrates: as the art of the oxherd is the art of attending to oxen? euthyphro: very true. socrates: in like manner holiness or piety is the art of attending to the gods?--that would be your meaning, euthyphro? euthyphro: yes. socrates: and is not attention always designed for the good or benefit of that to which the attention is given? as in the case of horses, you may observe that when attended to by the horseman's art they are benefited and improved, are they not? euthyphro: true. socrates: as the dogs are benefited by the huntsman's art, and the oxen by the art of the oxherd, and all other things are tended or attended for their good and not for their hurt? euthyphro: certainly, not for their hurt. socrates: but for their good? euthyphro: of course. socrates: and does piety or holiness, which has been defined to be the art of attending to the gods, benefit or improve them? would you say that when you do a holy act you make any of the gods better? euthyphro: no, no; that was certainly not what i meant. socrates: and i, euthyphro, never supposed that you did. i asked you the question about the nature of the attention, because i thought that you did not. euthyphro: you do me justice, socrates; that is not the sort of attention which i mean. socrates: good: but i must still ask what is this attention to the gods which is called piety? euthyphro: it is such, socrates, as servants show to their masters. socrates: i understand--a sort of ministration to the gods. euthyphro: exactly. socrates: medicine is also a sort of ministration or service, having in view the attainment of some object--would you not say of health? euthyphro: i should. socrates: again, there is an art which ministers to the ship-builder with a view to the attainment of some result? euthyphro: yes, socrates, with a view to the building of a ship. socrates: as there is an art which ministers to the house-builder with a view to the building of a house? euthyphro: yes. socrates: and now tell me, my good friend, about the art which ministers to the gods: what work does that help to accomplish? for you must surely know if, as you say, you are of all men living the one who is best instructed in religion. euthyphro: and i speak the truth, socrates. socrates: tell me then, oh tell me--what is that fair work which the gods do by the help of our ministrations? euthyphro: many and fair, socrates, are the works which they do. socrates: why, my friend, and so are those of a general. but the chief of them is easily told. would you not say that victory in war is the chief of them? euthyphro: certainly. socrates: many and fair, too, are the works of the husbandman, if i am not mistaken; but his chief work is the production of food from the earth? euthyphro: exactly. socrates: and of the many and fair things done by the gods, which is the chief or principal one? euthyphro: i have told you already, socrates, that to learn all these things accurately will be very tiresome. let me simply say that piety or holiness is learning how to please the gods in word and deed, by prayers and sacrifices. such piety is the salvation of families and states, just as the impious, which is unpleasing to the gods, is their ruin and destruction. socrates: i think that you could have answered in much fewer words the chief question which i asked, euthyphro, if you had chosen. but i see plainly that you are not disposed to instruct me--clearly not: else why, when we reached the point, did you turn aside? had you only answered me i should have truly learned of you by this time the nature of piety. now, as the asker of a question is necessarily dependent on the answerer, whither he leads i must follow; and can only ask again, what is the pious, and what is piety? do you mean that they are a sort of science of praying and sacrificing? euthyphro: yes, i do. socrates: and sacrificing is giving to the gods, and prayer is asking of the gods? euthyphro: yes, socrates. socrates: upon this view, then, piety is a science of asking and giving? euthyphro: you understand me capitally, socrates. socrates: yes, my friend; the reason is that i am a votary of your science, and give my mind to it, and therefore nothing which you say will be thrown away upon me. please then to tell me, what is the nature of this service to the gods? do you mean that we prefer requests and give gifts to them? euthyphro: yes, i do. socrates: is not the right way of asking to ask of them what we want? euthyphro: certainly. socrates: and the right way of giving is to give to them in return what they want of us. there would be no meaning in an art which gives to any one that which he does not want. euthyphro: very true, socrates. socrates: then piety, euthyphro, is an art which gods and men have of doing business with one another? euthyphro: that is an expression which you may use, if you like. socrates: but i have no particular liking for anything but the truth. i wish, however, that you would tell me what benefit accrues to the gods from our gifts. there is no doubt about what they give to us; for there is no good thing which they do not give; but how we can give any good thing to them in return is far from being equally clear. if they give everything and we give nothing, that must be an affair of business in which we have very greatly the advantage of them. euthyphro: and do you imagine, socrates, that any benefit accrues to the gods from our gifts? socrates: but if not, euthyphro, what is the meaning of gifts which are conferred by us upon the gods? euthyphro: what else, but tributes of honour; and, as i was just now saying, what pleases them? socrates: piety, then, is pleasing to the gods, but not beneficial or dear to them? euthyphro: i should say that nothing could be dearer. socrates: then once more the assertion is repeated that piety is dear to the gods? euthyphro: certainly. socrates: and when you say this, can you wonder at your words not standing firm, but walking away? will you accuse me of being the daedalus who makes them walk away, not perceiving that there is another and far greater artist than daedalus who makes them go round in a circle, and he is yourself; for the argument, as you will perceive, comes round to the same point. were we not saying that the holy or pious was not the same with that which is loved of the gods? have you forgotten? euthyphro: i quite remember. socrates: and are you not saying that what is loved of the gods is holy; and is not this the same as what is dear to them--do you see? euthyphro: true. socrates: then either we were wrong in our former assertion; or, if we were right then, we are wrong now. euthyphro: one of the two must be true. socrates: then we must begin again and ask, what is piety? that is an enquiry which i shall never be weary of pursuing as far as in me lies; and i entreat you not to scorn me, but to apply your mind to the utmost, and tell me the truth. for, if any man knows, you are he; and therefore i must detain you, like proteus, until you tell. if you had not certainly known the nature of piety and impiety, i am confident that you would never, on behalf of a serf, have charged your aged father with murder. you would not have run such a risk of doing wrong in the sight of the gods, and you would have had too much respect for the opinions of men. i am sure, therefore, that you know the nature of piety and impiety. speak out then, my dear euthyphro, and do not hide your knowledge. euthyphro: another time, socrates; for i am in a hurry, and must go now. socrates: alas! my companion, and will you leave me in despair? i was hoping that you would instruct me in the nature of piety and impiety; and then i might have cleared myself of meletus and his indictment. i would have told him that i had been enlightened by euthyphro, and had given up rash innovations and speculations, in which i indulged only through ignorance, and that now i am about to lead a better life. lesser hippias by plato (see appendix i) translated by benjamin jowett appendix i. it seems impossible to separate by any exact line the genuine writings of plato from the spurious. the only external evidence to them which is of much value is that of aristotle; for the alexandrian catalogues of a century later include manifest forgeries. even the value of the aristotelian authority is a good deal impaired by the uncertainty concerning the date and authorship of the writings which are ascribed to him. and several of the citations of aristotle omit the name of plato, and some of them omit the name of the dialogue from which they are taken. prior, however, to the enquiry about the writings of a particular author, general considerations which equally affect all evidence to the genuineness of ancient writings are the following: shorter works are more likely to have been forged, or to have received an erroneous designation, than longer ones; and some kinds of composition, such as epistles or panegyrical orations, are more liable to suspicion than others; those, again, which have a taste of sophistry in them, or the ring of a later age, or the slighter character of a rhetorical exercise, or in which a motive or some affinity to spurious writings can be detected, or which seem to have originated in a name or statement really occurring in some classical author, are also of doubtful credit; while there is no instance of any ancient writing proved to be a forgery, which combines excellence with length. a really great and original writer would have no object in fathering his works on plato; and to the forger or imitator, the 'literary hack' of alexandria and athens, the gods did not grant originality or genius. further, in attempting to balance the evidence for and against a platonic dialogue, we must not forget that the form of the platonic writing was common to several of his contemporaries. aeschines, euclid, phaedo, antisthenes, and in the next generation aristotle, are all said to have composed dialogues; and mistakes of names are very likely to have occurred. greek literature in the third century before christ was almost as voluminous as our own, and without the safeguards of regular publication, or printing, or binding, or even of distinct titles. an unknown writing was naturally attributed to a known writer whose works bore the same character; and the name once appended easily obtained authority. a tendency may also be observed to blend the works and opinions of the master with those of his scholars. to a later platonist, the difference between plato and his imitators was not so perceptible as to ourselves. the memorabilia of xenophon and the dialogues of plato are but a part of a considerable socratic literature which has passed away. and we must consider how we should regard the question of the genuineness of a particular writing, if this lost literature had been preserved to us. these considerations lead us to adopt the following criteria of genuineness: (1) that is most certainly plato's which aristotle attributes to him by name, which (2) is of considerable length, of (3) great excellence, and also (4) in harmony with the general spirit of the platonic writings. but the testimony of aristotle cannot always be distinguished from that of a later age (see above); and has various degrees of importance. those writings which he cites without mentioning plato, under their own names, e.g. the hippias, the funeral oration, the phaedo, etc., have an inferior degree of evidence in their favour. they may have been supposed by him to be the writings of another, although in the case of really great works, e.g. the phaedo, this is not credible; those again which are quoted but not named, are still more defective in their external credentials. there may be also a possibility that aristotle was mistaken, or may have confused the master and his scholars in the case of a short writing; but this is inconceivable about a more important work, e.g. the laws, especially when we remember that he was living at athens, and a frequenter of the groves of the academy, during the last twenty years of plato's life. nor must we forget that in all his numerous citations from the platonic writings he never attributes any passage found in the extant dialogues to any one but plato. and lastly, we may remark that one or two great writings, such as the parmenides and the politicus, which are wholly devoid of aristotelian (1) credentials may be fairly attributed to plato, on the ground of (2) length, (3) excellence, and (4) accordance with the general spirit of his writings. indeed the greater part of the evidence for the genuineness of ancient greek authors may be summed up under two heads only: (1) excellence; and (2) uniformity of tradition--a kind of evidence, which though in many cases sufficient, is of inferior value. proceeding upon these principles we appear to arrive at the conclusion that nineteen-twentieths of all the writings which have ever been ascribed to plato, are undoubtedly genuine. there is another portion of them, including the epistles, the epinomis, the dialogues rejected by the ancients themselves, namely, the axiochus, de justo, de virtute, demodocus, sisyphus, eryxias, which on grounds, both of internal and external evidence, we are able with equal certainty to reject. but there still remains a small portion of which we are unable to affirm either that they are genuine or spurious. they may have been written in youth, or possibly like the works of some painters, may be partly or wholly the compositions of pupils; or they may have been the writings of some contemporary transferred by accident to the more celebrated name of plato, or of some platonist in the next generation who aspired to imitate his master. not that on grounds either of language or philosophy we should lightly reject them. some difference of style, or inferiority of execution, or inconsistency of thought, can hardly be considered decisive of their spurious character. for who always does justice to himself, or who writes with equal care at all times? certainly not plato, who exhibits the greatest differences in dramatic power, in the formation of sentences, and in the use of words, if his earlier writings are compared with his later ones, say the protagoras or phaedrus with the laws. or who can be expected to think in the same manner during a period of authorship extending over above fifty years, in an age of great intellectual activity, as well as of political and literary transition? certainly not plato, whose earlier writings are separated from his later ones by as wide an interval of philosophical speculation as that which separates his later writings from aristotle. the dialogues which have been translated in the first appendix, and which appear to have the next claim to genuineness among the platonic writings, are the lesser hippias, the menexenus or funeral oration, the first alcibiades. of these, the lesser hippias and the funeral oration are cited by aristotle; the first in the metaphysics, the latter in the rhetoric. neither of them are expressly attributed to plato, but in his citation of both of them he seems to be referring to passages in the extant dialogues. from the mention of 'hippias' in the singular by aristotle, we may perhaps infer that he was unacquainted with a second dialogue bearing the same name. moreover, the mere existence of a greater and lesser hippias, and of a first and second alcibiades, does to a certain extent throw a doubt upon both of them. though a very clever and ingenious work, the lesser hippias does not appear to contain anything beyond the power of an imitator, who was also a careful student of the earlier platonic writings, to invent. the motive or leading thought of the dialogue may be detected in xen. mem., and there is no similar instance of a 'motive' which is taken from xenophon in an undoubted dialogue of plato. on the other hand, the upholders of the genuineness of the dialogue will find in the hippias a true socratic spirit; they will compare the ion as being akin both in subject and treatment; they will urge the authority of aristotle; and they will detect in the treatment of the sophist, in the satirical reasoning upon homer, in the reductio ad absurdum of the doctrine that vice is ignorance, traces of a platonic authorship. in reference to the last point we are doubtful, as in some of the other dialogues, whether the author is asserting or overthrowing the paradox of socrates, or merely following the argument 'whither the wind blows.' that no conclusion is arrived at is also in accordance with the character of the earlier dialogues. the resemblances or imitations of the gorgias, protagoras, and euthydemus, which have been observed in the hippias, cannot with certainty be adduced on either side of the argument. on the whole, more may be said in favour of the genuineness of the hippias than against it. the menexenus or funeral oration is cited by aristotle, and is interesting as supplying an example of the manner in which the orators praised 'the athenians among the athenians,' falsifying persons and dates, and casting a veil over the gloomier events of athenian history. it exhibits an acquaintance with the funeral oration of thucydides, and was, perhaps, intended to rival that great work. if genuine, the proper place of the menexenus would be at the end of the phaedrus. the satirical opening and the concluding words bear a great resemblance to the earlier dialogues; the oration itself is professedly a mimetic work, like the speeches in the phaedrus, and cannot therefore be tested by a comparison of the other writings of plato. the funeral oration of pericles is expressly mentioned in the phaedrus, and this may have suggested the subject, in the same manner that the cleitophon appears to be suggested by the slight mention of cleitophon and his attachment to thrasymachus in the republic; and the theages by the mention of theages in the apology and republic; or as the second alcibiades seems to be founded upon the text of xenophon, mem. a similar taste for parody appears not only in the phaedrus, but in the protagoras, in the symposium, and to a certain extent in the parmenides. to these two doubtful writings of plato i have added the first alcibiades, which, of all the disputed dialogues of plato, has the greatest merit, and is somewhat longer than any of them, though not verified by the testimony of aristotle, and in many respects at variance with the symposium in the description of the relations of socrates and alcibiades. like the lesser hippias and the menexenus, it is to be compared to the earlier writings of plato. the motive of the piece may, perhaps, be found in that passage of the symposium in which alcibiades describes himself as self-convicted by the words of socrates. for the disparaging manner in which schleiermacher has spoken of this dialogue there seems to be no sufficient foundation. at the same time, the lesson imparted is simple, and the irony more transparent than in the undoubted dialogues of plato. we know, too, that alcibiades was a favourite thesis, and that at least five or six dialogues bearing this name passed current in antiquity, and are attributed to contemporaries of socrates and plato. (1) in the entire absence of real external evidence (for the catalogues of the alexandrian librarians cannot be regarded as trustworthy); and (2) in the absence of the highest marks either of poetical or philosophical excellence; and (3) considering that we have express testimony to the existence of contemporary writings bearing the name of alcibiades, we are compelled to suspend our judgment on the genuineness of the extant dialogue. neither at this point, nor at any other, do we propose to draw an absolute line of demarcation between genuine and spurious writings of plato. they fade off imperceptibly from one class to another. there may have been degrees of genuineness in the dialogues themselves, as there are certainly degrees of evidence by which they are supported. the traditions of the oral discourses both of socrates and plato may have formed the basis of semi-platonic writings; some of them may be of the same mixed character which is apparent in aristotle and hippocrates, although the form of them is different. but the writings of plato, unlike the writings of aristotle, seem never to have been confused with the writings of his disciples: this was probably due to their definite form, and to their inimitable excellence. the three dialogues which we have offered in the appendix to the criticism of the reader may be partly spurious and partly genuine; they may be altogether spurious;--that is an alternative which must be frankly admitted. nor can we maintain of some other dialogues, such as the parmenides, and the sophist, and politicus, that no considerable objection can be urged against them, though greatly overbalanced by the weight (chiefly) of internal evidence in their favour. nor, on the other hand, can we exclude a bare possibility that some dialogues which are usually rejected, such as the greater hippias and the cleitophon, may be genuine. the nature and object of these semi-platonic writings require more careful study and more comparison of them with one another, and with forged writings in general, than they have yet received, before we can finally decide on their character. we do not consider them all as genuine until they can be proved to be spurious, as is often maintained and still more often implied in this and similar discussions; but should say of some of them, that their genuineness is neither proven nor disproven until further evidence about them can be adduced. and we are as confident that the epistles are spurious, as that the republic, the timaeus, and the laws are genuine. on the whole, not a twentieth part of the writings which pass under the name of plato, if we exclude the works rejected by the ancients themselves and two or three other plausible inventions, can be fairly doubted by those who are willing to allow that a considerable change and growth may have taken place in his philosophy (see above). that twentieth debatable portion scarcely in any degree affects our judgment of plato, either as a thinker or a writer, and though suggesting some interesting questions to the scholar and critic, is of little importance to the general reader. lesser hippias introduction. the lesser hippias may be compared with the earlier dialogues of plato, in which the contrast of socrates and the sophists is most strongly exhibited. hippias, like protagoras and gorgias, though civil, is vain and boastful: he knows all things; he can make anything, including his own clothes; he is a manufacturer of poems and declamations, and also of seal-rings, shoes, strigils; his girdle, which he has woven himself, is of a finer than persian quality. he is a vainer, lighter nature than the two great sophists (compare protag.), but of the same character with them, and equally impatient of the short cut-and-thrust method of socrates, whom he endeavours to draw into a long oration. at last, he gets tired of being defeated at every point by socrates, and is with difficulty induced to proceed (compare thrasymachus, protagoras, callicles, and others, to whom the same reluctance is ascribed). hippias like protagoras has common sense on his side, when he argues, citing passages of the iliad in support of his view, that homer intended achilles to be the bravest, odysseus the wisest of the greeks. but he is easily overthrown by the superior dialectics of socrates, who pretends to show that achilles is not true to his word, and that no similar inconsistency is to be found in odysseus. hippias replies that achilles unintentionally, but odysseus intentionally, speaks falsehood. but is it better to do wrong intentionally or unintentionally? socrates, relying on the analogy of the arts, maintains the former, hippias the latter of the two alternatives...all this is quite conceived in the spirit of plato, who is very far from making socrates always argue on the side of truth. the over-reasoning on homer, which is of course satirical, is also in the spirit of plato. poetry turned logic is even more ridiculous than 'rhetoric turned logic,' and equally fallacious. there were reasoners in ancient as well as in modern times, who could never receive the natural impression of homer, or of any other book which they read. the argument of socrates, in which he picks out the apparent inconsistencies and discrepancies in the speech and actions of achilles, and the final paradox, 'that he who is true is also false,' remind us of the interpretation by socrates of simonides in the protagoras, and of similar reasonings in the first book of the republic. the discrepancies which socrates discovers in the words of achilles are perhaps as great as those discovered by some of the modern separatists of the homeric poems... at last, socrates having caught hippias in the toils of the voluntary and involuntary, is obliged to confess that he is wandering about in the same labyrinth; he makes the reflection on himself which others would make upon him (compare protagoras). he does not wonder that he should be in a difficulty, but he wonders at hippias, and he becomes sensible of the gravity of the situation, when ordinary men like himself can no longer go to the wise and be taught by them. it may be remarked as bearing on the genuineness of this dialogue: (1) that the manners of the speakers are less subtle and refined than in the other dialogues of plato; (2) that the sophistry of socrates is more palpable and unblushing, and also more unmeaning; (3) that many turns of thought and style are found in it which appear also in the other dialogues:--whether resemblances of this kind tell in favour of or against the genuineness of an ancient writing, is an important question which will have to be answered differently in different cases. for that a writer may repeat himself is as true as that a forger may imitate; and plato elsewhere, either of set purpose or from forgetfulness, is full of repetitions. the parallelisms of the lesser hippias, as already remarked, are not of the kind which necessarily imply that the dialogue is the work of a forger. the parallelisms of the greater hippias with the other dialogues, and the allusion to the lesser (where hippias sketches the programme of his next lecture, and invites socrates to attend and bring any friends with him who may be competent judges), are more than suspicious:--they are of a very poor sort, such as we cannot suppose to have been due to plato himself. the greater hippias more resembles the euthydemus than any other dialogue; but is immeasurably inferior to it. the lesser hippias seems to have more merit than the greater, and to be more platonic in spirit. the character of hippias is the same in both dialogues, but his vanity and boasting are even more exaggerated in the greater hippias. his art of memory is specially mentioned in both. he is an inferior type of the same species as hippodamus of miletus (arist. pol.). some passages in which the lesser hippias may be advantageously compared with the undoubtedly genuine dialogues of plato are the following:--less. hipp.: compare republic (socrates' cunning in argument): compare laches (socrates' feeling about arguments): compare republic (socrates not unthankful): compare republic (socrates dishonest in argument). the lesser hippias, though inferior to the other dialogues, may be reasonably believed to have been written by plato, on the ground (1) of considerable excellence; (2) of uniform tradition beginning with aristotle and his school. that the dialogue falls below the standard of plato's other works, or that he has attributed to socrates an unmeaning paradox (perhaps with the view of showing that he could beat the sophists at their own weapons; or that he could 'make the worse appear the better cause'; or merely as a dialectical experiment)--are not sufficient reasons for doubting the genuineness of the work. persons of the dialogue: eudicus, socrates, hippias. eudicus: why are you silent, socrates, after the magnificent display which hippias has been making? why do you not either refute his words, if he seems to you to have been wrong in any point, or join with us in commending him? there is the more reason why you should speak, because we are now alone, and the audience is confined to those who may fairly claim to take part in a philosophical discussion. socrates: i should greatly like, eudicus, to ask hippias the meaning of what he was saying just now about homer. i have heard your father, apemantus, declare that the iliad of homer is a finer poem than the odyssey in the same degree that achilles was a better man than odysseus; odysseus, he would say, is the central figure of the one poem and achilles of the other. now, i should like to know, if hippias has no objection to tell me, what he thinks about these two heroes, and which of them he maintains to be the better; he has already told us in the course of his exhibition many things of various kinds about homer and divers other poets. eudicus: i am sure that hippias will be delighted to answer anything which you would like to ask; tell me, hippias, if socrates asks you a question, will you answer him? hippias: indeed, eudicus, i should be strangely inconsistent if i refused to answer socrates, when at each olympic festival, as i went up from my house at elis to the temple of olympia, where all the hellenes were assembled, i continually professed my willingness to perform any of the exhibitions which i had prepared, and to answer any questions which any one had to ask. socrates: truly, hippias, you are to be congratulated, if at every olympic festival you have such an encouraging opinion of your own wisdom when you go up to the temple. i doubt whether any muscular hero would be so fearless and confident in offering his body to the combat at olympia, as you are in offering your mind. hippias: and with good reason, socrates; for since the day when i first entered the lists at olympia i have never found any man who was my superior in anything. (compare gorgias.) socrates: what an ornament, hippias, will the reputation of your wisdom be to the city of elis and to your parents! but to return: what say you of odysseus and achilles? which is the better of the two? and in what particular does either surpass the other? for when you were exhibiting and there was company in the room, though i could not follow you, i did not like to ask what you meant, because a crowd of people were present, and i was afraid that the question might interrupt your exhibition. but now that there are not so many of us, and my friend eudicus bids me ask, i wish you would tell me what you were saying about these two heroes, so that i may clearly understand; how did you distinguish them? hippias: i shall have much pleasure, socrates, in explaining to you more clearly than i could in public my views about these and also about other heroes. i say that homer intended achilles to be the bravest of the men who went to troy, nestor the wisest, and odysseus the wiliest. socrates: o rare hippias, will you be so good as not to laugh, if i find a difficulty in following you, and repeat my questions several times over? please to answer me kindly and gently. hippias: i should be greatly ashamed of myself, socrates, if i, who teach others and take money of them, could not, when i was asked by you, answer in a civil and agreeable manner. socrates: thank you: the fact is, that i seemed to understand what you meant when you said that the poet intended achilles to be the bravest of men, and also that he intended nestor to be the wisest; but when you said that he meant odysseus to be the wiliest, i must confess that i could not understand what you were saying. will you tell me, and then i shall perhaps understand you better; has not homer made achilles wily? hippias: certainly not, socrates; he is the most straight-forward of mankind, and when homer introduces them talking with one another in the passage called the prayers, achilles is supposed by the poet to say to odysseus:-'son of laertes, sprung from heaven, crafty odysseus, i will speak out plainly the word which i intend to carry out in act, and which will, i believe, be accomplished. for i hate him like the gates of death who thinks one thing and says another. but i will speak that which shall be accomplished.' now, in these verses he clearly indicates the character of the two men; he shows achilles to be true and simple, and odysseus to be wily and false; for he supposes achilles to be addressing odysseus in these lines. socrates: now, hippias, i think that i understand your meaning; when you say that odysseus is wily, you clearly mean that he is false? hippias: exactly so, socrates; it is the character of odysseus, as he is represented by homer in many passages both of the iliad and odyssey. socrates: and homer must be presumed to have meant that the true man is not the same as the false? hippias: of course, socrates. socrates: and is that your own opinion, hippias? hippias: certainly; how can i have any other? socrates: well, then, as there is no possibility of asking homer what he meant in these verses of his, let us leave him; but as you show a willingness to take up his cause, and your opinion agrees with what you declare to be his, will you answer on behalf of yourself and him? hippias: i will; ask shortly anything which you like. socrates: do you say that the false, like the sick, have no power to do things, or that they have the power to do things? hippias: i should say that they have power to do many things, and in particular to deceive mankind. socrates: then, according to you, they are both powerful and wily, are they not? hippias: yes. socrates: and are they wily, and do they deceive by reason of their simplicity and folly, or by reason of their cunning and a certain sort of prudence? hippias: by reason of their cunning and prudence, most certainly. socrates: then they are prudent, i suppose? hippias: so they are--very. socrates: and if they are prudent, do they know or do they not know what they do? hippias: of course, they know very well; and that is why they do mischief to others. socrates: and having this knowledge, are they ignorant, or are they wise? hippias: wise, certainly; at least, in so far as they can deceive. socrates: stop, and let us recall to mind what you are saying; are you not saying that the false are powerful and prudent and knowing and wise in those things about which they are false? hippias: to be sure. socrates: and the true differ from the false--the true and the false are the very opposite of each other? hippias: that is my view. socrates: then, according to your view, it would seem that the false are to be ranked in the class of the powerful and wise? hippias: assuredly. socrates: and when you say that the false are powerful and wise in so far as they are false, do you mean that they have or have not the power of uttering their falsehoods if they like? hippias: i mean to say that they have the power. socrates: in a word, then, the false are they who are wise and have the power to speak falsely? hippias: yes. socrates: then a man who has not the power of speaking falsely and is ignorant cannot be false? hippias: you are right. socrates: and every man has power who does that which he wishes at the time when he wishes. i am not speaking of any special case in which he is prevented by disease or something of that sort, but i am speaking generally, as i might say of you, that you are able to write my name when you like. would you not call a man able who could do that? hippias: yes. socrates: and tell me, hippias, are you not a skilful calculator and arithmetician? hippias: yes, socrates, assuredly i am. socrates: and if some one were to ask you what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700, you would tell him the true answer in a moment, if you pleased? hippias: certainly i should. socrates: is not that because you are the wisest and ablest of men in these matters? hippias: yes. socrates: and being as you are the wisest and ablest of men in these matters of calculation, are you not also the best? hippias: to be sure, socrates, i am the best. socrates: and therefore you would be the most able to tell the truth about these matters, would you not? hippias: yes, i should. socrates: and could you speak falsehoods about them equally well? i must beg, hippias, that you will answer me with the same frankness and magnanimity which has hitherto characterized you. if a person were to ask you what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700, would not you be the best and most consistent teller of a falsehood, having always the power of speaking falsely as you have of speaking truly, about these same matters, if you wanted to tell a falsehood, and not to answer truly? would the ignorant man be better able to tell a falsehood in matters of calculation than you would be, if you chose? might he not sometimes stumble upon the truth, when he wanted to tell a lie, because he did not know, whereas you who are the wise man, if you wanted to tell a lie would always and consistently lie? hippias: yes, there you are quite right. socrates: does the false man tell lies about other things, but not about number, or when he is making a calculation? hippias: to be sure; he would tell as many lies about number as about other things. socrates: then may we further assume, hippias, that there are men who are false about calculation and number? hippias: yes. socrates: who can they be? for you have already admitted that he who is false must have the ability to be false: you said, as you will remember, that he who is unable to be false will not be false? hippias: yes, i remember; it was so said. socrates: and were you not yourself just now shown to be best able to speak falsely about calculation? hippias: yes; that was another thing which was said. socrates: and are you not likewise said to speak truly about calculation? hippias: certainly. socrates: then the same person is able to speak both falsely and truly about calculation? and that person is he who is good at calculation--the arithmetician? hippias: yes. socrates: who, then, hippias, is discovered to be false at calculation? is he not the good man? for the good man is the able man, and he is the true man. hippias: that is evident. socrates: do you not see, then, that the same man is false and also true about the same matters? and the true man is not a whit better than the false; for indeed he is the same with him and not the very opposite, as you were just now imagining. hippias: not in that instance, clearly. socrates: shall we examine other instances? hippias: certainly, if you are disposed. socrates: are you not also skilled in geometry? hippias: i am. socrates: well, and does not the same hold in that science also? is not the same person best able to speak falsely or to speak truly about diagrams; and he is--the geometrician? hippias: yes. socrates: he and no one else is good at it? hippias: yes, he and no one else. socrates: then the good and wise geometer has this double power in the highest degree; and if there be a man who is false about diagrams the good man will be he, for he is able to be false; whereas the bad is unable, and for this reason is not false, as has been admitted. hippias: true. socrates: once more--let us examine a third case; that of the astronomer, in whose art, again, you, hippias, profess to be a still greater proficient than in the preceding--do you not? hippias: yes, i am. socrates: and does not the same hold of astronomy? hippias: true, socrates. socrates: and in astronomy, too, if any man be able to speak falsely he will be the good astronomer, but he who is not able will not speak falsely, for he has no knowledge. hippias: clearly not. socrates: then in astronomy also, the same man will be true and false? hippias: it would seem so. socrates: and now, hippias, consider the question at large about all the sciences, and see whether the same principle does not always hold. i know that in most arts you are the wisest of men, as i have heard you boasting in the agora at the tables of the money-changers, when you were setting forth the great and enviable stores of your wisdom; and you said that upon one occasion, when you went to the olympic games, all that you had on your person was made by yourself. you began with your ring, which was of your own workmanship, and you said that you could engrave rings; and you had another seal which was also of your own workmanship, and a strigil and an oil flask, which you had made yourself; you said also that you had made the shoes which you had on your feet, and the cloak and the short tunic; but what appeared to us all most extraordinary and a proof of singular art, was the girdle of your tunic, which, you said, was as fine as the most costly persian fabric, and of your own weaving; moreover, you told us that you had brought with you poems, epic, tragic, and dithyrambic, as well as prose writings of the most various kinds; and you said that your skill was also pre-eminent in the arts which i was just now mentioning, and in the true principles of rhythm and harmony and of orthography; and if i remember rightly, there were a great many other accomplishments in which you excelled. i have forgotten to mention your art of memory, which you regard as your special glory, and i dare say that i have forgotten many other things; but, as i was saying, only look to your own arts--and there are plenty of them--and to those of others; and tell me, having regard to the admissions which you and i have made, whether you discover any department of art or any description of wisdom or cunning, whichever name you use, in which the true and false are different and not the same: tell me, if you can, of any. but you cannot. hippias: not without consideration, socrates. socrates: nor will consideration help you, hippias, as i believe; but then if i am right, remember what the consequence will be. hippias: i do not know what you mean, socrates. socrates: i suppose that you are not using your art of memory, doubtless because you think that such an accomplishment is not needed on the present occasion. i will therefore remind you of what you were saying: were you not saying that achilles was a true man, and odysseus false and wily? hippias: i was. socrates: and now do you perceive that the same person has turned out to be false as well as true? if odysseus is false he is also true, and if achilles is true he is also false, and so the two men are not opposed to one another, but they are alike. hippias: o socrates, you are always weaving the meshes of an argument, selecting the most difficult point, and fastening upon details instead of grappling with the matter in hand as a whole. come now, and i will demonstrate to you, if you will allow me, by many satisfactory proofs, that homer has made achilles a better man than odysseus, and a truthful man too; and that he has made the other crafty, and a teller of many untruths, and inferior to achilles. and then, if you please, you shall make a speech on the other side, in order to prove that odysseus is the better man; and this may be compared to mine, and then the company will know which of us is the better speaker. socrates: o hippias, i do not doubt that you are wiser than i am. but i have a way, when anybody else says anything, of giving close attention to him, especially if the speaker appears to me to be a wise man. having a desire to understand, i question him, and i examine and analyse and put together what he says, in order that i may understand; but if the speaker appears to me to be a poor hand, i do not interrogate him, or trouble myself about him, and you may know by this who they are whom i deem to be wise men, for you will see that when i am talking with a wise man, i am very attentive to what he says; and i ask questions of him, in order that i may learn, and be improved by him. and i could not help remarking while you were speaking, that when you recited the verses in which achilles, as you argued, attacks odysseus as a deceiver, that you must be strangely mistaken, because odysseus, the man of wiles, is never found to tell a lie; but achilles is found to be wily on your own showing. at any rate he speaks falsely; for first he utters these words, which you just now repeated,-'he is hateful to me even as the gates of death who thinks one thing and says another:'-and then he says, a little while afterwards, he will not be persuaded by odysseus and agamemnon, neither will he remain at troy; but, says he,-'to-morrow, when i have offered sacrifices to zeus and all the gods, having loaded my ships well, i will drag them down into the deep; and then you shall see, if you have a mind, and if such things are a care to you, early in the morning my ships sailing over the fishy hellespont, and my men eagerly plying the oar; and, if the illustrious shaker of the earth gives me a good voyage, on the third day i shall reach the fertile phthia.' and before that, when he was reviling agamemnon, he said,-'and now to phthia i will go, since to return home in the beaked ships is far better, nor am i inclined to stay here in dishonour and amass wealth and riches for you.' but although on that occasion, in the presence of the whole army, he spoke after this fashion, and on the other occasion to his companions, he appears never to have made any preparation or attempt to draw down the ships, as if he had the least intention of sailing home; so nobly regardless was he of the truth. now i, hippias, originally asked you the question, because i was in doubt as to which of the two heroes was intended by the poet to be the best, and because i thought that both of them were the best, and that it would be difficult to decide which was the better of them, not only in respect of truth and falsehood, but of virtue generally, for even in this matter of speaking the truth they are much upon a par. hippias: there you are wrong, socrates; for in so far as achilles speaks falsely, the falsehood is obviously unintentional. he is compelled against his will to remain and rescue the army in their misfortune. but when odysseus speaks falsely he is voluntarily and intentionally false. socrates: you, sweet hippias, like odysseus, are a deceiver yourself. hippias: certainly not, socrates; what makes you say so? socrates: because you say that achilles does not speak falsely from design, when he is not only a deceiver, but besides being a braggart, in homer's description of him is so cunning, and so far superior to odysseus in lying and pretending, that he dares to contradict himself, and odysseus does not find him out; at any rate he does not appear to say anything to him which would imply that he perceived his falsehood. hippias: what do you mean, socrates? socrates: did you not observe that afterwards, when he is speaking to odysseus, he says that he will sail away with the early dawn; but to ajax he tells quite a different story? hippias: where is that? socrates: where he says,-'i will not think about bloody war until the son of warlike priam, illustrious hector, comes to the tents and ships of the myrmidons, slaughtering the argives, and burning the ships with fire; and about my tent and dark ship, i suspect that hector, although eager for the battle, will nevertheless stay his hand.' now, do you really think, hippias, that the son of thetis, who had been the pupil of the sage cheiron, had such a bad memory, or would have carried the art of lying to such an extent (when he had been assailing liars in the most violent terms only the instant before) as to say to odysseus that he would sail away, and to ajax that he would remain, and that he was not rather practising upon the simplicity of odysseus, whom he regarded as an ancient, and thinking that he would get the better of him by his own cunning and falsehood? hippias: no, i do not agree with you, socrates; but i believe that achilles is induced to say one thing to ajax, and another to odysseus in the innocence of his heart, whereas odysseus, whether he speaks falsely or truly, speaks always with a purpose. socrates: then odysseus would appear after all to be better than achilles? hippias: certainly not, socrates. socrates: why, were not the voluntary liars only just now shown to be better than the involuntary? hippias: and how, socrates, can those who intentionally err, and voluntarily and designedly commit iniquities, be better than those who err and do wrong involuntarily? surely there is a great excuse to be made for a man telling a falsehood, or doing an injury or any sort of harm to another in ignorance. and the laws are obviously far more severe on those who lie or do evil, voluntarily, than on those who do evil involuntarily. socrates: you see, hippias, as i have already told you, how pertinacious i am in asking questions of wise men. and i think that this is the only good point about me, for i am full of defects, and always getting wrong in some way or other. my deficiency is proved to me by the fact that when i meet one of you who are famous for wisdom, and to whose wisdom all the hellenes are witnesses, i am found out to know nothing. for speaking generally, i hardly ever have the same opinion about anything which you have, and what proof of ignorance can be greater than to differ from wise men? but i have one singular good quality, which is my salvation; i am not ashamed to learn, and i ask and enquire, and am very grateful to those who answer me, and never fail to give them my grateful thanks; and when i learn a thing i never deny my teacher, or pretend that the lesson is a discovery of my own; but i praise his wisdom, and proclaim what i have learned from him. and now i cannot agree in what you are saying, but i strongly disagree. well, i know that this is my own fault, and is a defect in my character, but i will not pretend to be more than i am; and my opinion, hippias, is the very contrary of what you are saying. for i maintain that those who hurt or injure mankind, and speak falsely and deceive, and err voluntarily, are better far than those who do wrong involuntarily. sometimes, however, i am of the opposite opinion; for i am all abroad in my ideas about this matter, a condition obviously occasioned by ignorance. and just now i happen to be in a crisis of my disorder at which those who err voluntarily appear to me better than those who err involuntarily. my present state of mind is due to our previous argument, which inclines me to believe that in general those who do wrong involuntarily are worse than those who do wrong voluntarily, and therefore i hope that you will be good to me, and not refuse to heal me; for you will do me a much greater benefit if you cure my soul of ignorance, than you would if you were to cure my body of disease. i must, however, tell you beforehand, that if you make a long oration to me you will not cure me, for i shall not be able to follow you; but if you will answer me, as you did just now, you will do me a great deal of good, and i do not think that you will be any the worse yourself. and i have some claim upon you also, o son of apemantus, for you incited me to converse with hippias; and now, if hippias will not answer me, you must entreat him on my behalf. eudicus: but i do not think, socrates, that hippias will require any entreaty of mine; for he has already said that he will refuse to answer no man.--did you not say so, hippias? hippias: yes, i did; but then, eudicus, socrates is always troublesome in an argument, and appears to be dishonest. (compare gorgias; republic.) socrates: excellent hippias, i do not do so intentionally (if i did, it would show me to be a wise man and a master of wiles, as you would argue), but unintentionally, and therefore you must pardon me; for, as you say, he who is unintentionally dishonest should be pardoned. eudicus: yes, hippias, do as he says; and for our sake, and also that you may not belie your profession, answer whatever socrates asks you. hippias: i will answer, as you request me; and do you ask whatever you like. socrates: i am very desirous, hippias, of examining this question, as to which are the better--those who err voluntarily or involuntarily? and if you will answer me, i think that i can put you in the way of approaching the subject: you would admit, would you not, that there are good runners? hippias: yes. socrates: and there are bad runners? hippias: yes. socrates: and he who runs well is a good runner, and he who runs ill is a bad runner? hippias: very true. socrates: and he who runs slowly runs ill, and he who runs quickly runs well? hippias: yes. socrates: then in a race, and in running, swiftness is a good, and slowness is an evil quality? hippias: to be sure. socrates: which of the two then is a better runner? he who runs slowly voluntarily, or he who runs slowly involuntarily? hippias: he who runs slowly voluntarily. socrates: and is not running a species of doing? hippias: certainly. socrates: and if a species of doing, a species of action? hippias: yes. socrates: then he who runs badly does a bad and dishonourable action in a race? hippias: yes; a bad action, certainly. socrates: and he who runs slowly runs badly? hippias: yes. socrates: then the good runner does this bad and disgraceful action voluntarily, and the bad involuntarily? hippias: that is to be inferred. socrates: then he who involuntarily does evil actions, is worse in a race than he who does them voluntarily? hippias: yes, in a race. socrates: well, but at a wrestling match--which is the better wrestler, he who falls voluntarily or involuntarily? hippias: he who falls voluntarily, doubtless. socrates: and is it worse or more dishonourable at a wrestling match, to fall, or to throw another? hippias: to fall. socrates: then, at a wrestling match, he who voluntarily does base and dishonourable actions is a better wrestler than he who does them involuntarily? hippias: that appears to be the truth. socrates: and what would you say of any other bodily exercise--is not he who is better made able to do both that which is strong and that which is weak--that which is fair and that which is foul?--so that when he does bad actions with the body, he who is better made does them voluntarily, and he who is worse made does them involuntarily. hippias: yes, that appears to be true about strength. socrates: and what do you say about grace, hippias? is not he who is better made able to assume evil and disgraceful figures and postures voluntarily, as he who is worse made assumes them involuntarily? hippias: true. socrates: then voluntary ungracefulness comes from excellence of the bodily frame, and involuntary from the defect of the bodily frame? hippias: true. socrates: and what would you say of an unmusical voice; would you prefer the voice which is voluntarily or involuntarily out of tune? hippias: that which is voluntarily out of tune. socrates: the involuntary is the worse of the two? hippias: yes. socrates: and would you choose to possess goods or evils? hippias: goods. socrates: and would you rather have feet which are voluntarily or involuntarily lame? hippias: feet which are voluntarily lame. socrates: but is not lameness a defect or deformity? hippias: yes. socrates: and is not blinking a defect in the eyes? hippias: yes. socrates: and would you rather always have eyes with which you might voluntarily blink and not see, or with which you might involuntarily blink? hippias: i would rather have eyes which voluntarily blink. socrates: then in your own case you deem that which voluntarily acts ill, better than that which involuntarily acts ill? hippias: yes, certainly, in cases such as you mention. socrates: and does not the same hold of ears, nostrils, mouth, and of all the senses--those which involuntarily act ill are not to be desired, as being defective; and those which voluntarily act ill are to be desired as being good? hippias: i agree. socrates: and what would you say of instruments;--which are the better sort of instruments to have to do with?--those with which a man acts ill voluntarily or involuntarily? for example, had a man better have a rudder with which he will steer ill, voluntarily or involuntarily? hippias: he had better have a rudder with which he will steer ill voluntarily. socrates: and does not the same hold of the bow and the lyre, the flute and all other things? hippias: very true. socrates: and would you rather have a horse of such a temper that you may ride him ill voluntarily or involuntarily? hippias: i would rather have a horse which i could ride ill voluntarily. socrates: that would be the better horse? hippias: yes. socrates: then with a horse of better temper, vicious actions would be produced voluntarily; and with a horse of bad temper involuntarily? hippias: certainly. socrates: and that would be true of a dog, or of any other animal? hippias: yes. socrates: and is it better to possess the mind of an archer who voluntarily or involuntarily misses the mark? hippias: of him who voluntarily misses. socrates: this would be the better mind for the purposes of archery? hippias: yes. socrates: then the mind which involuntarily errs is worse than the mind which errs voluntarily? hippias: yes, certainly, in the use of the bow. socrates: and what would you say of the art of medicine;--has not the mind which voluntarily works harm to the body, more of the healing art? hippias: yes. socrates: then in the art of medicine the voluntary is better than the involuntary? hippias: yes. socrates: well, and in lute-playing and in flute-playing, and in all arts and sciences, is not that mind the better which voluntarily does what is evil and dishonourable, and goes wrong, and is not the worse that which does so involuntarily? hippias: that is evident. socrates: and what would you say of the characters of slaves? should we not prefer to have those who voluntarily do wrong and make mistakes, and are they not better in their mistakes than those who commit them involuntarily? hippias: yes. socrates: and should we not desire to have our own minds in the best state possible? hippias: yes. socrates: and will our minds be better if they do wrong and make mistakes voluntarily or involuntarily? hippias: o, socrates, it would be a monstrous thing to say that those who do wrong voluntarily are better than those who do wrong involuntarily! socrates: and yet that appears to be the only inference. hippias: i do not think so. socrates: but i imagined, hippias, that you did. please to answer once more: is not justice a power, or knowledge, or both? must not justice, at all events, be one of these? hippias: yes. socrates: but if justice is a power of the soul, then the soul which has the greater power is also the more just; for that which has the greater power, my good friend, has been proved by us to be the better. hippias: yes, that has been proved. socrates: and if justice is knowledge, then the wiser will be the juster soul, and the more ignorant the more unjust? hippias: yes. socrates: but if justice be power as well as knowledge--then will not the soul which has both knowledge and power be the more just, and that which is the more ignorant be the more unjust? must it not be so? hippias: clearly. socrates: and is not the soul which has the greater power and wisdom also better, and better able to do both good and evil in every action? hippias: certainly. socrates: the soul, then, which acts ill, acts voluntarily by power and art--and these either one or both of them are elements of justice? hippias: that seems to be true. socrates: and to do injustice is to do ill, and not to do injustice is to do well? hippias: yes. socrates: and will not the better and abler soul when it does wrong, do wrong voluntarily, and the bad soul involuntarily? hippias: clearly. socrates: and the good man is he who has the good soul, and the bad man is he who has the bad? hippias: yes. socrates: then the good man will voluntarily do wrong, and the bad man involuntarily, if the good man is he who has the good soul? hippias: which he certainly has. socrates: then, hippias, he who voluntarily does wrong and disgraceful things, if there be such a man, will be the good man? hippias: there i cannot agree with you. socrates: nor can i agree with myself, hippias; and yet that seems to be the conclusion which, as far as we can see at present, must follow from our argument. as i was saying before, i am all abroad, and being in perplexity am always changing my opinion. now, that i or any ordinary man should wander in perplexity is not surprising; but if you wise men also wander, and we cannot come to you and rest from our wandering, the matter begins to be serious both to us and to you. the categories by aristotle translated by e. m. edghill section 1 part 1 things are said to be named 'equivocally' when, though they have a common name, the definition corresponding with the name differs for each. thus, a real man and a figure in a picture can both lay claim to the name 'animal'; yet these are equivocally so named, for, though they have a common name, the definition corresponding with the name differs for each. for should any one define in what sense each is an animal, his definition in the one case will be appropriate to that case only. on the other hand, things are said to be named 'univocally' which have both the name and the definition answering to the name in common. a man and an ox are both 'animal', and these are univocally so named, inasmuch as not only the name, but also the definition, is the same in both cases: for if a man should state in what sense each is an animal, the statement in the one case would be identical with that in the other. things are said to be named 'derivatively', which derive their name from some other name, but differ from it in termination. thus the grammarian derives his name from the word 'grammar', and the courageous man from the word 'courage'. part 2 forms of speech are either simple or composite. examples of the latter are such expressions as 'the man runs', 'the man wins'; of the former 'man', 'ox', 'runs', 'wins'. of things themselves some are predicable of a subject, and are never present in a subject. thus 'man' is predicable of the individual man, and is never present in a subject. by being 'present in a subject' i do not mean present as parts are present in a whole, but being incapable of existence apart from the said subject. some things, again, are present in a subject, but are never predicable of a subject. for instance, a certain point of grammatical knowledge is present in the mind, but is not predicable of any subject; or again, a certain whiteness may be present in the body (for colour requires a material basis), yet it is never predicable of anything. other things, again, are both predicable of a subject and present in a subject. thus while knowledge is present in the human mind, it is predicable of grammar. there is, lastly, a class of things which are neither present in a subject nor predicable of a subject, such as the individual man or the individual horse. but, to speak more generally, that which is individual and has the character of a unit is never predicable of a subject. yet in some cases there is nothing to prevent such being present in a subject. thus a certain point of grammatical knowledge is present in a subject. part 3 when one thing is predicated of another, all that which is predicable of the predicate will be predicable also of the subject. thus, 'man' is predicated of the individual man; but 'animal' is predicated of 'man'; it will, therefore, be predicable of the individual man also: for the individual man is both 'man' and 'animal'. if genera are different and co-ordinate, their differentiae are themselves different in kind. take as an instance the genus 'animal' and the genus 'knowledge'. 'with feet', 'two-footed', 'winged', 'aquatic', are differentiae of 'animal'; the species of knowledge are not distinguished by the same differentiae. one species of knowledge does not differ from another in being 'two-footed'. but where one genus is subordinate to another, there is nothing to prevent their having the same differentiae: for the greater class is predicated of the lesser, so that all the differentiae of the predicate will be differentiae also of the subject. part 4 expressions which are in no way composite signify substance, quantity, quality, relation, place, time, position, state, action, or affection. to sketch my meaning roughly, examples of substance are 'man' or 'the horse', of quantity, such terms as 'two cubits long' or 'three cubits long', of quality, such attributes as 'white', 'grammatical'. 'double', 'half', 'greater', fall under the category of relation; 'in the market place', 'in the lyceum', under that of place; 'yesterday', 'last year', under that of time. 'lying', 'sitting', are terms indicating position, 'shod', 'armed', state; 'to lance', 'to cauterize', action; 'to be lanced', 'to be cauterized', affection. no one of these terms, in and by itself, involves an affirmation; it is by the combination of such terms that positive or negative statements arise. for every assertion must, as is admitted, be either true or false, whereas expressions which are not in any way composite such as 'man', 'white', 'runs', 'wins', cannot be either true or false. part 5 substance, in the truest and primary and most definite sense of the word, is that which is neither predicable of a subject nor present in a subject; for instance, the individual man or horse. but in a secondary sense those things are called substances within which, as species, the primary substances are included; also those which, as genera, include the species. for instance, the individual man is included in the species 'man', and the genus to which the species belongs is 'animal'; these, therefore--that is to say, the species 'man' and the genus 'animal,-are termed secondary substances. it is plain from what has been said that both the name and the definition of the predicate must be predicable of the subject. for instance, 'man' is predicated of the individual man. now in this case the name of the species 'man' is applied to the individual, for we use the term 'man' in describing the individual; and the definition of 'man' will also be predicated of the individual man, for the individual man is both man and animal. thus, both the name and the definition of the species are predicable of the individual. with regard, on the other hand, to those things which are present in a subject, it is generally the case that neither their name nor their definition is predicable of that in which they are present. though, however, the definition is never predicable, there is nothing in certain cases to prevent the name being used. for instance, 'white' being present in a body is predicated of that in which it is present, for a body is called white: the definition, however, of the colour 'white' is never predicable of the body. everything except primary substances is either predicable of a primary substance or present in a primary substance. this becomes evident by reference to particular instances which occur. 'animal' is predicated of the species 'man', therefore of the individual man, for if there were no individual man of whom it could be predicated, it could not be predicated of the species 'man' at all. again, colour is present in body, therefore in individual bodies, for if there were no individual body in which it was present, it could not be present in body at all. thus everything except primary substances is either predicated of primary substances, or is present in them, and if these last did not exist, it would be impossible for anything else to exist. of secondary substances, the species is more truly substance than the genus, being more nearly related to primary substance. for if any one should render an account of what a primary substance is, he would render a more instructive account, and one more proper to the subject, by stating the species than by stating the genus. thus, he would give a more instructive account of an individual man by stating that he was man than by stating that he was animal, for the former description is peculiar to the individual in a greater degree, while the latter is too general. again, the man who gives an account of the nature of an individual tree will give a more instructive account by mentioning the species 'tree' than by mentioning the genus 'plant'. moreover, primary substances are most properly called substances in virtue of the fact that they are the entities which underlie everything else, and that everything else is either predicated of them or present in them. now the same relation which subsists between primary substance and everything else subsists also between the species and the genus: for the species is to the genus as subject is to predicate, since the genus is predicated of the species, whereas the species cannot be predicated of the genus. thus we have a second ground for asserting that the species is more truly substance than the genus. of species themselves, except in the case of such as are genera, no one is more truly substance than another. we should not give a more appropriate account of the individual man by stating the species to which he belonged, than we should of an individual horse by adopting the same method of definition. in the same way, of primary substances, no one is more truly substance than another; an individual man is not more truly substance than an individual ox. it is, then, with good reason that of all that remains, when we exclude primary substances, we concede to species and genera alone the name 'secondary substance', for these alone of all the predicates convey a knowledge of primary substance. for it is by stating the species or the genus that we appropriately define any individual man; and we shall make our definition more exact by stating the former than by stating the latter. all other things that we state, such as that he is white, that he runs, and so on, are irrelevant to the definition. thus it is just that these alone, apart from primary substances, should be called substances. further, primary substances are most properly so called, because they underlie and are the subjects of everything else. now the same relation that subsists between primary substance and everything else subsists also between the species and the genus to which the primary substance belongs, on the one hand, and every attribute which is not included within these, on the other. for these are the subjects of all such. if we call an individual man 'skilled in grammar', the predicate is applicable also to the species and to the genus to which he belongs. this law holds good in all cases. it is a common characteristic of all substance that it is never present in a subject. for primary substance is neither present in a subject nor predicated of a subject; while, with regard to secondary substances, it is clear from the following arguments (apart from others) that they are not present in a subject. for 'man' is predicated of the individual man, but is not present in any subject: for manhood is not present in the individual man. in the same way, 'animal' is also predicated of the individual man, but is not present in him. again, when a thing is present in a subject, though the name may quite well be applied to that in which it is present, the definition cannot be applied. yet of secondary substances, not only the name, but also the definition, applies to the subject: we should use both the definition of the species and that of the genus with reference to the individual man. thus substance cannot be present in a subject. yet this is not peculiar to substance, for it is also the case that differentiae cannot be present in subjects. the characteristics 'terrestrial' and 'two-footed' are predicated of the species 'man', but not present in it. for they are not in man. moreover, the definition of the differentia may be predicated of that of which the differentia itself is predicated. for instance, if the characteristic 'terrestrial' is predicated of the species 'man', the definition also of that characteristic may be used to form the predicate of the species 'man': for 'man' is terrestrial. the fact that the parts of substances appear to be present in the whole, as in a subject, should not make us apprehensive lest we should have to admit that such parts are not substances: for in explaining the phrase 'being present in a subject', we stated' that we meant 'otherwise than as parts in a whole'. it is the mark of substances and of differentiae that, in all propositions of which they form the predicate, they are predicated univocally. for all such propositions have for their subject either the individual or the species. it is true that, inasmuch as primary substance is not predicable of anything, it can never form the predicate of any proposition. but of secondary substances, the species is predicated of the individual, the genus both of the species and of the individual. similarly the differentiae are predicated of the species and of the individuals. moreover, the definition of the species and that of the genus are applicable to the primary substance, and that of the genus to the species. for all that is predicated of the predicate will be predicated also of the subject. similarly, the definition of the differentiae will be applicable to the species and to the individuals. but it was stated above that the word 'univocal' was applied to those things which had both name and definition in common. it is, therefore, established that in every proposition, of which either substance or a differentia forms the predicate, these are predicated univocally. all substance appears to signify that which is individual. in the case of primary substance this is indisputably true, for the thing is a unit. in the case of secondary substances, when we speak, for instance, of 'man' or 'animal', our form of speech gives the impression that we are here also indicating that which is individual, but the impression is not strictly true; for a secondary substance is not an individual, but a class with a certain qualification; for it is not one and single as a primary substance is; the words 'man', 'animal', are predicable of more than one subject. yet species and genus do not merely indicate quality, like the term 'white'; 'white' indicates quality and nothing further, but species and genus determine the quality with reference to a substance: they signify substance qualitatively differentiated. the determinate qualification covers a larger field in the case of the genus that in that of the species: he who uses the word 'animal' is herein using a word of wider extension than he who uses the word 'man'. another mark of substance is that it has no contrary. what could be the contrary of any primary substance, such as the individual man or animal? it has none. nor can the species or the genus have a contrary. yet this characteristic is not peculiar to substance, but is true of many other things, such as quantity. there is nothing that forms the contrary of 'two cubits long' or of 'three cubits long', or of 'ten', or of any such term. a man may contend that 'much' is the contrary of 'little', or 'great' of 'small', but of definite quantitative terms no contrary exists. substance, again, does not appear to admit of variation of degree. i do not mean by this that one substance cannot be more or less truly substance than another, for it has already been stated that this is the case; but that no single substance admits of varying degrees within itself. for instance, one particular substance, 'man', cannot be more or less man either than himself at some other time or than some other man. one man cannot be more man than another, as that which is white may be more or less white than some other white object, or as that which is beautiful may be more or less beautiful than some other beautiful object. the same quality, moreover, is said to subsist in a thing in varying degrees at different times. a body, being white, is said to be whiter at one time than it was before, or, being warm, is said to be warmer or less warm than at some other time. but substance is not said to be more or less that which it is: a man is not more truly a man at one time than he was before, nor is anything, if it is substance, more or less what it is. substance, then, does not admit of variation of degree. the most distinctive mark of substance appears to be that, while remaining numerically one and the same, it is capable of admitting contrary qualities. from among things other than substance, we should find ourselves unable to bring forward any which possessed this mark. thus, one and the same colour cannot be white and black. nor can the same one action be good and bad: this law holds good with everything that is not substance. but one and the selfsame substance, while retaining its identity, is yet capable of admitting contrary qualities. the same individual person is at one time white, at another black, at one time warm, at another cold, at one time good, at another bad. this capacity is found nowhere else, though it might be maintained that a statement or opinion was an exception to the rule. the same statement, it is agreed, can be both true and false. for if the statement 'he is sitting' is true, yet, when the person in question has risen, the same statement will be false. the same applies to opinions. for if any one thinks truly that a person is sitting, yet, when that person has risen, this same opinion, if still held, will be false. yet although this exception may be allowed, there is, nevertheless, a difference in the manner in which the thing takes place. it is by themselves changing that substances admit contrary qualities. it is thus that that which was hot becomes cold, for it has entered into a different state. similarly that which was white becomes black, and that which was bad good, by a process of change; and in the same way in all other cases it is by changing that substances are capable of admitting contrary qualities. but statements and opinions themselves remain unaltered in all respects: it is by the alteration in the facts of the case that the contrary quality comes to be theirs. the statement 'he is sitting' remains unaltered, but it is at one time true, at another false, according to circumstances. what has been said of statements applies also to opinions. thus, in respect of the manner in which the thing takes place, it is the peculiar mark of substance that it should be capable of admitting contrary qualities; for it is by itself changing that it does so. if, then, a man should make this exception and contend that statements and opinions are capable of admitting contrary qualities, his contention is unsound. for statements and opinions are said to have this capacity, not because they themselves undergo modification, but because this modification occurs in the case of something else. the truth or falsity of a statement depends on facts, and not on any power on the part of the statement itself of admitting contrary qualities. in short, there is nothing which can alter the nature of statements and opinions. as, then, no change takes place in themselves, these cannot be said to be capable of admitting contrary qualities. but it is by reason of the modification which takes place within the substance itself that a substance is said to be capable of admitting contrary qualities; for a substance admits within itself either disease or health, whiteness or blackness. it is in this sense that it is said to be capable of admitting contrary qualities. to sum up, it is a distinctive mark of substance, that, while remaining numerically one and the same, it is capable of admitting contrary qualities, the modification taking place through a change in the substance itself. let these remarks suffice on the subject of substance. part 6 quantity is either discrete or continuous. moreover, some quantities are such that each part of the whole has a relative position to the other parts: others have within them no such relation of part to part. instances of discrete quantities are number and speech; of continuous, lines, surfaces, solids, and, besides these, time and place. in the case of the parts of a number, there is no common boundary at which they join. for example: two fives make ten, but the two fives have no common boundary, but are separate; the parts three and seven also do not join at any boundary. nor, to generalize, would it ever be possible in the case of number that there should be a common boundary among the parts; they are always separate. number, therefore, is a discrete quantity. the same is true of speech. that speech is a quantity is evident: for it is measured in long and short syllables. i mean here that speech which is vocal. moreover, it is a discrete quantity for its parts have no common boundary. there is no common boundary at which the syllables join, but each is separate and distinct from the rest. a line, on the other hand, is a continuous quantity, for it is possible to find a common boundary at which its parts join. in the case of the line, this common boundary is the point; in the case of the plane, it is the line: for the parts of the plane have also a common boundary. similarly you can find a common boundary in the case of the parts of a solid, namely either a line or a plane. space and time also belong to this class of quantities. time, past, present, and future, forms a continuous whole. space, likewise, is a continuous quantity; for the parts of a solid occupy a certain space, and these have a common boundary; it follows that the parts of space also, which are occupied by the parts of the solid, have the same common boundary as the parts of the solid. thus, not only time, but space also, is a continuous quantity, for its parts have a common boundary. quantities consist either of parts which bear a relative position each to each, or of parts which do not. the parts of a line bear a relative position to each other, for each lies somewhere, and it would be possible to distinguish each, and to state the position of each on the plane and to explain to what sort of part among the rest each was contiguous. similarly the parts of a plane have position, for it could similarly be stated what was the position of each and what sort of parts were contiguous. the same is true with regard to the solid and to space. but it would be impossible to show that the parts of a number had a relative position each to each, or a particular position, or to state what parts were contiguous. nor could this be done in the case of time, for none of the parts of time has an abiding existence, and that which does not abide can hardly have position. it would be better to say that such parts had a relative order, in virtue of one being prior to another. similarly with number: in counting, 'one' is prior to 'two', and 'two' to 'three', and thus the parts of number may be said to possess a relative order, though it would be impossible to discover any distinct position for each. this holds good also in the case of speech. none of its parts has an abiding existence: when once a syllable is pronounced, it is not possible to retain it, so that, naturally, as the parts do not abide, they cannot have position. thus, some quantities consist of parts which have position, and some of those which have not. strictly speaking, only the things which i have mentioned belong to the category of quantity: everything else that is called quantitative is a quantity in a secondary sense. it is because we have in mind some one of these quantities, properly so called, that we apply quantitative terms to other things. we speak of what is white as large, because the surface over which the white extends is large; we speak of an action or a process as lengthy, because the time covered is long; these things cannot in their own right claim the quantitative epithet. for instance, should any one explain how long an action was, his statement would be made in terms of the time taken, to the effect that it lasted a year, or something of that sort. in the same way, he would explain the size of a white object in terms of surface, for he would state the area which it covered. thus the things already mentioned, and these alone, are in their intrinsic nature quantities; nothing else can claim the name in its own right, but, if at all, only in a secondary sense. quantities have no contraries. in the case of definite quantities this is obvious; thus, there is nothing that is the contrary of 'two cubits long' or of 'three cubits long', or of a surface, or of any such quantities. a man might, indeed, argue that 'much' was the contrary of 'little', and 'great' of 'small'. but these are not quantitative, but relative; things are not great or small absolutely, they are so called rather as the result of an act of comparison. for instance, a mountain is called small, a grain large, in virtue of the fact that the latter is greater than others of its kind, the former less. thus there is a reference here to an external standard, for if the terms 'great' and 'small' were used absolutely, a mountain would never be called small or a grain large. again, we say that there are many people in a village, and few in athens, although those in the city are many times as numerous as those in the village: or we say that a house has many in it, and a theatre few, though those in the theatre far outnumber those in the house. the terms 'two cubits long', 'three cubits long', and so on indicate quantity, the terms 'great' and 'small' indicate relation, for they have reference to an external standard. it is, therefore, plain that these are to be classed as relative. again, whether we define them as quantitative or not, they have no contraries: for how can there be a contrary of an attribute which is not to be apprehended in or by itself, but only by reference to something external? again, if 'great' and 'small' are contraries, it will come about that the same subject can admit contrary qualities at one and the same time, and that things will themselves be contrary to themselves. for it happens at times that the same thing is both small and great. for the same thing may be small in comparison with one thing, and great in comparison with another, so that the same thing comes to be both small and great at one and the same time, and is of such a nature as to admit contrary qualities at one and the same moment. yet it was agreed, when substance was being discussed, that nothing admits contrary qualities at one and the same moment. for though substance is capable of admitting contrary qualities, yet no one is at the same time both sick and healthy, nothing is at the same time both white and black. nor is there anything which is qualified in contrary ways at one and the same time. moreover, if these were contraries, they would themselves be contrary to themselves. for if 'great' is the contrary of 'small', and the same thing is both great and small at the same time, then 'small' or 'great' is the contrary of itself. but this is impossible. the term 'great', therefore, is not the contrary of the term 'small', nor 'much' of 'little'. and even though a man should call these terms not relative but quantitative, they would not have contraries. it is in the case of space that quantity most plausibly appears to admit of a contrary. for men define the term 'above' as the contrary of 'below', when it is the region at the centre they mean by 'below'; and this is so, because nothing is farther from the extremities of the universe than the region at the centre. indeed, it seems that in defining contraries of every kind men have recourse to a spatial metaphor, for they say that those things are contraries which, within the same class, are separated by the greatest possible distance. quantity does not, it appears, admit of variation of degree. one thing cannot be two cubits long in a greater degree than another. similarly with regard to number: what is 'three' is not more truly three than what is 'five' is five; nor is one set of three more truly three than another set. again, one period of time is not said to be more truly time than another. nor is there any other kind of quantity, of all that have been mentioned, with regard to which variation of degree can be predicated. the category of quantity, therefore, does not admit of variation of degree. the most distinctive mark of quantity is that equality and inequality are predicated of it. each of the aforesaid quantities is said to be equal or unequal. for instance, one solid is said to be equal or unequal to another; number, too, and time can have these terms applied to them, indeed can all those kinds of quantity that have been mentioned. that which is not a quantity can by no means, it would seem, be termed equal or unequal to anything else. one particular disposition or one particular quality, such as whiteness, is by no means compared with another in terms of equality and inequality but rather in terms of similarity. thus it is the distinctive mark of quantity that it can be called equal and unequal. section 2 part 7 those things are called relative, which, being either said to be of something else or related to something else, are explained by reference to that other thing. for instance, the word 'superior' is explained by reference to something else, for it is superiority over something else that is meant. similarly, the expression 'double' has this external reference, for it is the double of something else that is meant. so it is with everything else of this kind. there are, moreover, other relatives, e.g. habit, disposition, perception, knowledge, and attitude. the significance of all these is explained by a reference to something else and in no other way. thus, a habit is a habit of something, knowledge is knowledge of something, attitude is the attitude of something. so it is with all other relatives that have been mentioned. those terms, then, are called relative, the nature of which is explained by reference to something else, the preposition 'of' or some other preposition being used to indicate the relation. thus, one mountain is called great in comparison with another; for the mountain claims this attribute by comparison with something. again, that which is called similar must be similar to something else, and all other such attributes have this external reference. it is to be noted that lying and standing and sitting are particular attitudes, but attitude is itself a relative term. to lie, to stand, to be seated, are not themselves attitudes, but take their name from the aforesaid attitudes. it is possible for relatives to have contraries. thus virtue has a contrary, vice, these both being relatives; knowledge, too, has a contrary, ignorance. but this is not the mark of all relatives; 'double' and 'triple' have no contrary, nor indeed has any such term. it also appears that relatives can admit of variation of degree. for 'like' and 'unlike', 'equal' and 'unequal', have the modifications 'more' and 'less' applied to them, and each of these is relative in character: for the terms 'like' and 'unequal' bear a reference to something external. yet, again, it is not every relative term that admits of variation of degree. no term such as 'double' admits of this modification. all relatives have correlatives: by the term 'slave' we mean the slave of a master, by the term 'master', the master of a slave; by 'double', the double of its half; by 'half', the half of its double; by 'greater', greater than that which is less; by 'less', less than that which is greater. so it is with every other relative term; but the case we use to express the correlation differs in some instances. thus, by knowledge we mean knowledge of the knowable; by the knowable, that which is to be apprehended by knowledge; by perception, perception of the perceptible; by the perceptible, that which is apprehended by perception. sometimes, however, reciprocity of correlation does not appear to exist. this comes about when a blunder is made, and that to which the relative is related is not accurately stated. if a man states that a wing is necessarily relative to a bird, the connexion between these two will not be reciprocal, for it will not be possible to say that a bird is a bird by reason of its wings. the reason is that the original statement was inaccurate, for the wing is not said to be relative to the bird qua bird, since many creatures besides birds have wings, but qua winged creature. if, then, the statement is made accurate, the connexion will be reciprocal, for we can speak of a wing, having reference necessarily to a winged creature, and of a winged creature as being such because of its wings. occasionally, perhaps, it is necessary to coin words, if no word exists by which a correlation can adequately be explained. if we define a rudder as necessarily having reference to a boat, our definition will not be appropriate, for the rudder does not have this reference to a boat qua boat, as there are boats which have no rudders. thus we cannot use the terms reciprocally, for the word 'boat' cannot be said to find its explanation in the word 'rudder'. as there is no existing word, our definition would perhaps be more accurate if we coined some word like 'ruddered' as the correlative of 'rudder'. if we express ourselves thus accurately, at any rate the terms are reciprocally connected, for the 'ruddered' thing is 'ruddered' in virtue of its rudder. so it is in all other cases. a head will be more accurately defined as the correlative of that which is 'headed', than as that of an animal, for the animal does not have a head qua animal, since many animals have no head. thus we may perhaps most easily comprehend that to which a thing is related, when a name does not exist, if, from that which has a name, we derive a new name, and apply it to that with which the first is reciprocally connected, as in the aforesaid instances, when we derived the word 'winged' from 'wing' and from 'rudder'. all relatives, then, if properly defined, have a correlative. i add this condition because, if that to which they are related is stated as haphazard and not accurately, the two are not found to be interdependent. let me state what i mean more clearly. even in the case of acknowledged correlatives, and where names exist for each, there will be no interdependence if one of the two is denoted, not by that name which expresses the correlative notion, but by one of irrelevant significance. the term 'slave', if defined as related, not to a master, but to a man, or a biped, or anything of that sort, is not reciprocally connected with that in relation to which it is defined, for the statement is not exact. further, if one thing is said to be correlative with another, and the terminology used is correct, then, though all irrelevant attributes should be removed, and only that one attribute left in virtue of which it was correctly stated to be correlative with that other, the stated correlation will still exist. if the correlative of 'the slave' is said to be 'the master', then, though all irrelevant attributes of the said 'master', such as 'biped', 'receptive of knowledge', 'human', should be removed, and the attribute 'master' alone left, the stated correlation existing between him and the slave will remain the same, for it is of a master that a slave is said to be the slave. on the other hand, if, of two correlatives, one is not correctly termed, then, when all other attributes are removed and that alone is left in virtue of which it was stated to be correlative, the stated correlation will be found to have disappeared. for suppose the correlative of 'the slave' should be said to be 'the man', or the correlative of 'the wing' is 'the bird'; if the attribute 'master' be withdrawn from 'the man', the correlation between 'the man' and 'the slave' will cease to exist, for if the man is not a master, the slave is not a slave. similarly, if the attribute 'winged' be withdrawn from 'the bird', 'the wing' will no longer be relative; for if the so-called correlative is not winged, it follows that 'the wing' has no correlative. thus it is essential that the correlated terms should be exactly designated; if there is a name existing, the statement will be easy; if not, it is doubtless our duty to construct names. when the terminology is thus correct, it is evident that all correlatives are interdependent. correlatives are thought to come into existence simultaneously. this is for the most part true, as in the case of the double and the half. the existence of the half necessitates the existence of that of which it is a half. similarly the existence of a master necessitates the existence of a slave, and that of a slave implies that of a master; these are merely instances of a general rule. moreover, they cancel one another; for if there is no double it follows that there is no half, and vice versa; this rule also applies to all such correlatives. yet it does not appear to be true in all cases that correlatives come into existence simultaneously. the object of knowledge would appear to exist before knowledge itself, for it is usually the case that we acquire knowledge of objects already existing; it would be difficult, if not impossible, to find a branch of knowledge the beginning of the existence of which was contemporaneous with that of its object. again, while the object of knowledge, if it ceases to exist, cancels at the same time the knowledge which was its correlative, the converse of this is not true. it is true that if the object of knowledge does not exist there can be no knowledge: for there will no longer be anything to know. yet it is equally true that, if knowledge of a certain object does not exist, the object may nevertheless quite well exist. thus, in the case of the squaring of the circle, if indeed that process is an object of knowledge, though it itself exists as an object of knowledge, yet the knowledge of it has not yet come into existence. again, if all animals ceased to exist, there would be no knowledge, but there might yet be many objects of knowledge. this is likewise the case with regard to perception: for the object of perception is, it appears, prior to the act of perception. if the perceptible is annihilated, perception also will cease to exist; but the annihilation of perception does not cancel the existence of the perceptible. for perception implies a body perceived and a body in which perception takes place. now if that which is perceptible is annihilated, it follows that the body is annihilated, for the body is a perceptible thing; and if the body does not exist, it follows that perception also ceases to exist. thus the annihilation of the perceptible involves that of perception. but the annihilation of perception does not involve that of the perceptible. for if the animal is annihilated, it follows that perception also is annihilated, but perceptibles such as body, heat, sweetness, bitterness, and so on, will remain. again, perception is generated at the same time as the perceiving subject, for it comes into existence at the same time as the animal. but the perceptible surely exists before perception; for fire and water and such elements, out of which the animal is itself composed, exist before the animal is an animal at all, and before perception. thus it would seem that the perceptible exists before perception. it may be questioned whether it is true that no substance is relative, as seems to be the case, or whether exception is to be made in the case of certain secondary substances. with regard to primary substances, it is quite true that there is no such possibility, for neither wholes nor parts of primary substances are relative. the individual man or ox is not defined with reference to something external. similarly with the parts: a particular hand or head is not defined as a particular hand or head of a particular person, but as the hand or head of a particular person. it is true also, for the most part at least, in the case of secondary substances; the species 'man' and the species 'ox' are not defined with reference to anything outside themselves. wood, again, is only relative in so far as it is some one's property, not in so far as it is wood. it is plain, then, that in the cases mentioned substance is not relative. but with regard to some secondary substances there is a difference of opinion; thus, such terms as 'head' and 'hand' are defined with reference to that of which the things indicated are a part, and so it comes about that these appear to have a relative character. indeed, if our definition of that which is relative was complete, it is very difficult, if not impossible, to prove that no substance is relative. if, however, our definition was not complete, if those things only are properly called relative in the case of which relation to an external object is a necessary condition of existence, perhaps some explanation of the dilemma may be found. the former definition does indeed apply to all relatives, but the fact that a thing is explained with reference to something else does not make it essentially relative. from this it is plain that, if a man definitely apprehends a relative thing, he will also definitely apprehend that to which it is relative. indeed this is self-evident: for if a man knows that some particular thing is relative, assuming that we call that a relative in the case of which relation to something is a necessary condition of existence, he knows that also to which it is related. for if he does not know at all that to which it is related, he will not know whether or not it is relative. this is clear, moreover, in particular instances. if a man knows definitely that such and such a thing is 'double', he will also forthwith know definitely that of which it is the double. for if there is nothing definite of which he knows it to be the double, he does not know at all that it is double. again, if he knows that a thing is more beautiful, it follows necessarily that he will forthwith definitely know that also than which it is more beautiful. he will not merely know indefinitely that it is more beautiful than something which is less beautiful, for this would be supposition, not knowledge. for if he does not know definitely that than which it is more beautiful, he can no longer claim to know definitely that it is more beautiful than something else which is less beautiful: for it might be that nothing was less beautiful. it is, therefore, evident that if a man apprehends some relative thing definitely, he necessarily knows that also definitely to which it is related. now the head, the hand, and such things are substances, and it is possible to know their essential character definitely, but it does not necessarily follow that we should know that to which they are related. it is not possible to know forthwith whose head or hand is meant. thus these are not relatives, and, this being the case, it would be true to say that no substance is relative in character. it is perhaps a difficult matter, in such cases, to make a positive statement without more exhaustive examination, but to have raised questions with regard to details is not without advantage. part 8 by 'quality' i mean that in virtue of which people are said to be such and such. quality is a term that is used in many senses. one sort of quality let us call 'habit' or 'disposition'. habit differs from disposition in being more lasting and more firmly established. the various kinds of knowledge and of virtue are habits, for knowledge, even when acquired only in a moderate degree, is, it is agreed, abiding in its character and difficult to displace, unless some great mental upheaval takes place, through disease or any such cause. the virtues, also, such as justice, self-restraint, and so on, are not easily dislodged or dismissed, so as to give place to vice. by a disposition, on the other hand, we mean a condition that is easily changed and quickly gives place to its opposite. thus, heat, cold, disease, health, and so on are dispositions. for a man is disposed in one way or another with reference to these, but quickly changes, becoming cold instead of warm, ill instead of well. so it is with all other dispositions also, unless through lapse of time a disposition has itself become inveterate and almost impossible to dislodge: in which case we should perhaps go so far as to call it a habit. it is evident that men incline to call those conditions habits which are of a more or less permanent type and difficult to displace; for those who are not retentive of knowledge, but volatile, are not said to have such and such a 'habit' as regards knowledge, yet they are disposed, we may say, either better or worse, towards knowledge. thus habit differs from disposition in this, that while the latter in ephemeral, the former is permanent and difficult to alter. habits are at the same time dispositions, but dispositions are not necessarily habits. for those who have some specific habit may be said also, in virtue of that habit, to be thus or thus disposed; but those who are disposed in some specific way have not in all cases the corresponding habit. another sort of quality is that in virtue of which, for example, we call men good boxers or runners, or healthy or sickly: in fact it includes all those terms which refer to inborn capacity or incapacity. such things are not predicated of a person in virtue of his disposition, but in virtue of his inborn capacity or incapacity to do something with ease or to avoid defeat of any kind. persons are called good boxers or good runners, not in virtue of such and such a disposition, but in virtue of an inborn capacity to accomplish something with ease. men are called healthy in virtue of the inborn capacity of easy resistance to those unhealthy influences that may ordinarily arise; unhealthy, in virtue of the lack of this capacity. similarly with regard to softness and hardness. hardness is predicated of a thing because it has that capacity of resistance which enables it to withstand disintegration; softness, again, is predicated of a thing by reason of the lack of that capacity. a third class within this category is that of affective qualities and affections. sweetness, bitterness, sourness, are examples of this sort of quality, together with all that is akin to these; heat, moreover, and cold, whiteness, and blackness are affective qualities. it is evident that these are qualities, for those things that possess them are themselves said to be such and such by reason of their presence. honey is called sweet because it contains sweetness; the body is called white because it contains whiteness; and so in all other cases. the term 'affective quality' is not used as indicating that those things which admit these qualities are affected in any way. honey is not called sweet because it is affected in a specific way, nor is this what is meant in any other instance. similarly heat and cold are called affective qualities, not because those things which admit them are affected. what is meant is that these said qualities are capable of producing an 'affection' in the way of perception. for sweetness has the power of affecting the sense of taste; heat, that of touch; and so it is with the rest of these qualities. whiteness and blackness, however, and the other colours, are not said to be affective qualities in this sense, but because they themselves are the results of an affection. it is plain that many changes of colour take place because of affections. when a man is ashamed, he blushes; when he is afraid, he becomes pale, and so on. so true is this, that when a man is by nature liable to such affections, arising from some concomitance of elements in his constitution, it is a probable inference that he has the corresponding complexion of skin. for the same disposition of bodily elements, which in the former instance was momentarily present in the case of an access of shame, might be a result of a man's natural temperament, so as to produce the corresponding colouring also as a natural characteristic. all conditions, therefore, of this kind, if caused by certain permanent and lasting affections, are called affective qualities. for pallor and duskiness of complexion are called qualities, inasmuch as we are said to be such and such in virtue of them, not only if they originate in natural constitution, but also if they come about through long disease or sunburn, and are difficult to remove, or indeed remain throughout life. for in the same way we are said to be such and such because of these. those conditions, however, which arise from causes which may easily be rendered ineffective or speedily removed, are called, not qualities, but affections: for we are not said to be such in virtue of them. the man who blushes through shame is not said to be a constitutional blusher, nor is the man who becomes pale through fear said to be constitutionally pale. he is said rather to have been affected. thus such conditions are called affections, not qualities. in like manner there are affective qualities and affections of the soul. that temper with which a man is born and which has its origin in certain deep-seated affections is called a quality. i mean such conditions as insanity, irascibility, and so on: for people are said to be mad or irascible in virtue of these. similarly those abnormal psychic states which are not inborn, but arise from the concomitance of certain other elements, and are difficult to remove, or altogether permanent, are called qualities, for in virtue of them men are said to be such and such. those, however, which arise from causes easily rendered ineffective are called affections, not qualities. suppose that a man is irritable when vexed: he is not even spoken of as a bad-tempered man, when in such circumstances he loses his temper somewhat, but rather is said to be affected. such conditions are therefore termed, not qualities, but affections. the fourth sort of quality is figure and the shape that belongs to a thing; and besides this, straightness and curvedness and any other qualities of this type; each of these defines a thing as being such and such. because it is triangular or quadrangular a thing is said to have a specific character, or again because it is straight or curved; in fact a thing's shape in every case gives rise to a qualification of it. rarity and density, roughness and smoothness, seem to be terms indicating quality: yet these, it would appear, really belong to a class different from that of quality. for it is rather a certain relative position of the parts composing the thing thus qualified which, it appears, is indicated by each of these terms. a thing is dense, owing to the fact that its parts are closely combined with one another; rare, because there are interstices between the parts; smooth, because its parts lie, so to speak, evenly; rough, because some parts project beyond others. there may be other sorts of quality, but those that are most properly so called have, we may safely say, been enumerated. these, then, are qualities, and the things that take their name from them as derivatives, or are in some other way dependent on them, are said to be qualified in some specific way. in most, indeed in almost all cases, the name of that which is qualified is derived from that of the quality. thus the terms 'whiteness', 'grammar', 'justice', give us the adjectives 'white', 'grammatical', 'just', and so on. there are some cases, however, in which, as the quality under consideration has no name, it is impossible that those possessed of it should have a name that is derivative. for instance, the name given to the runner or boxer, who is so called in virtue of an inborn capacity, is not derived from that of any quality; for both those capacities have no name assigned to them. in this, the inborn capacity is distinct from the science, with reference to which men are called, e.g. boxers or wrestlers. such a science is classed as a disposition; it has a name, and is called 'boxing' or 'wrestling' as the case may be, and the name given to those disposed in this way is derived from that of the science. sometimes, even though a name exists for the quality, that which takes its character from the quality has a name that is not a derivative. for instance, the upright man takes his character from the possession of the quality of integrity, but the name given him is not derived from the word 'integrity'. yet this does not occur often. we may therefore state that those things are said to be possessed of some specific quality which have a name derived from that of the aforesaid quality, or which are in some other way dependent on it. one quality may be the contrary of another; thus justice is the contrary of injustice, whiteness of blackness, and so on. the things, also, which are said to be such and such in virtue of these qualities, may be contrary the one to the other; for that which is unjust is contrary to that which is just, that which is white to that which is black. this, however, is not always the case. red, yellow, and such colours, though qualities, have no contraries. if one of two contraries is a quality, the other will also be a quality. this will be evident from particular instances, if we apply the names used to denote the other categories; for instance, granted that justice is the contrary of injustice and justice is a quality, injustice will also be a quality: neither quantity, nor relation, nor place, nor indeed any other category but that of quality, will be applicable properly to injustice. so it is with all other contraries falling under the category of quality. qualities admit of variation of degree. whiteness is predicated of one thing in a greater or less degree than of another. this is also the case with reference to justice. moreover, one and the same thing may exhibit a quality in a greater degree than it did before: if a thing is white, it may become whiter. though this is generally the case, there are exceptions. for if we should say that justice admitted of variation of degree, difficulties might ensue, and this is true with regard to all those qualities which are dispositions. there are some, indeed, who dispute the possibility of variation here. they maintain that justice and health cannot very well admit of variation of degree themselves, but that people vary in the degree in which they possess these qualities, and that this is the case with grammatical learning and all those qualities which are classed as dispositions. however that may be, it is an incontrovertible fact that the things which in virtue of these qualities are said to be what they are vary in the degree in which they possess them; for one man is said to be better versed in grammar, or more healthy or just, than another, and so on. the qualities expressed by the terms 'triangular' and 'quadrangular' do not appear to admit of variation of degree, nor indeed do any that have to do with figure. for those things to which the definition of the triangle or circle is applicable are all equally triangular or circular. those, on the other hand, to which the same definition is not applicable, cannot be said to differ from one another in degree; the square is no more a circle than the rectangle, for to neither is the definition of the circle appropriate. in short, if the definition of the term proposed is not applicable to both objects, they cannot be compared. thus it is not all qualities which admit of variation of degree. whereas none of the characteristics i have mentioned are peculiar to quality, the fact that likeness and unlikeness can be predicated with reference to quality only, gives to that category its distinctive feature. one thing is like another only with reference to that in virtue of which it is such and such; thus this forms the peculiar mark of quality. we must not be disturbed because it may be argued that, though proposing to discuss the category of quality, we have included in it many relative terms. we did say that habits and dispositions were relative. in practically all such cases the genus is relative, the individual not. thus knowledge, as a genus, is explained by reference to something else, for we mean a knowledge of something. but particular branches of knowledge are not thus explained. the knowledge of grammar is not relative to anything external, nor is the knowledge of music, but these, if relative at all, are relative only in virtue of their genera; thus grammar is said be the knowledge of something, not the grammar of something; similarly music is the knowledge of something, not the music of something. thus individual branches of knowledge are not relative. and it is because we possess these individual branches of knowledge that we are said to be such and such. it is these that we actually possess: we are called experts because we possess knowledge in some particular branch. those particular branches, therefore, of knowledge, in virtue of which we are sometimes said to be such and such, are themselves qualities, and are not relative. further, if anything should happen to fall within both the category of quality and that of relation, there would be nothing extraordinary in classing it under both these heads. section 3 part 9 action and affection both admit of contraries and also of variation of degree. heating is the contrary of cooling, being heated of being cooled, being glad of being vexed. thus they admit of contraries. they also admit of variation of degree: for it is possible to heat in a greater or less degree; also to be heated in a greater or less degree. thus action and affection also admit of variation of degree. so much, then, is stated with regard to these categories. we spoke, moreover, of the category of position when we were dealing with that of relation, and stated that such terms derived their names from those of the corresponding attitudes. as for the rest, time, place, state, since they are easily intelligible, i say no more about them than was said at the beginning, that in the category of state are included such states as 'shod', 'armed', in that of place 'in the lyceum' and so on, as was explained before. part 10 the proposed categories have, then, been adequately dealt with. we must next explain the various senses in which the term 'opposite' is used. things are said to be opposed in four senses: (i) as correlatives to one another, (ii) as contraries to one another, (iii) as privatives to positives, (iv) as affirmatives to negatives. let me sketch my meaning in outline. an instance of the use of the word 'opposite' with reference to correlatives is afforded by the expressions 'double' and 'half'; with reference to contraries by 'bad' and 'good'. opposites in the sense of 'privatives' and 'positives' are 'blindness' and 'sight'; in the sense of affirmatives and negatives, the propositions 'he sits', 'he does not sit'. (i) pairs of opposites which fall under the category of relation are explained by a reference of the one to the other, the reference being indicated by the preposition 'of' or by some other preposition. thus, double is a relative term, for that which is double is explained as the double of something. knowledge, again, is the opposite of the thing known, in the same sense; and the thing known also is explained by its relation to its opposite, knowledge. for the thing known is explained as that which is known by something, that is, by knowledge. such things, then, as are opposite the one to the other in the sense of being correlatives are explained by a reference of the one to the other. (ii) pairs of opposites which are contraries are not in any way interdependent, but are contrary the one to the other. the good is not spoken of as the good of the bad, but as the contrary of the bad, nor is white spoken of as the white of the black, but as the contrary of the black. these two types of opposition are therefore distinct. those contraries which are such that the subjects in which they are naturally present, or of which they are predicated, must necessarily contain either the one or the other of them, have no intermediate, but those in the case of which no such necessity obtains, always have an intermediate. thus disease and health are naturally present in the body of an animal, and it is necessary that either the one or the other should be present in the body of an animal. odd and even, again, are predicated of number, and it is necessary that the one or the other should be present in numbers. now there is no intermediate between the terms of either of these two pairs. on the other hand, in those contraries with regard to which no such necessity obtains, we find an intermediate. blackness and whiteness are naturally present in the body, but it is not necessary that either the one or the other should be present in the body, inasmuch as it is not true to say that everybody must be white or black. badness and goodness, again, are predicated of man, and of many other things, but it is not necessary that either the one quality or the other should be present in that of which they are predicated: it is not true to say that everything that may be good or bad must be either good or bad. these pairs of contraries have intermediates: the intermediates between white and black are grey, sallow, and all the other colours that come between; the intermediate between good and bad is that which is neither the one nor the other. some intermediate qualities have names, such as grey and sallow and all the other colours that come between white and black; in other cases, however, it is not easy to name the intermediate, but we must define it as that which is not either extreme, as in the case of that which is neither good nor bad, neither just nor unjust. (iii) 'privatives' and 'positives' have reference to the same subject. thus, sight and blindness have reference to the eye. it is a universal rule that each of a pair of opposites of this type has reference to that to which the particular 'positive' is natural. we say that that is capable of some particular faculty or possession has suffered privation when the faculty or possession in question is in no way present in that in which, and at the time at which, it should naturally be present. we do not call that toothless which has not teeth, or that blind which has not sight, but rather that which has not teeth or sight at the time when by nature it should. for there are some creatures which from birth are without sight, or without teeth, but these are not called toothless or blind. to be without some faculty or to possess it is not the same as the corresponding 'privative' or 'positive'. 'sight' is a 'positive', 'blindness' a 'privative', but 'to possess sight' is not equivalent to 'sight', 'to be blind' is not equivalent to 'blindness'. blindness is a 'privative', to be blind is to be in a state of privation, but is not a 'privative'. moreover, if 'blindness' were equivalent to 'being blind', both would be predicated of the same subject; but though a man is said to be blind, he is by no means said to be blindness. to be in a state of 'possession' is, it appears, the opposite of being in a state of 'privation', just as 'positives' and 'privatives' themselves are opposite. there is the same type of antithesis in both cases; for just as blindness is opposed to sight, so is being blind opposed to having sight. that which is affirmed or denied is not itself affirmation or denial. by 'affirmation' we mean an affirmative proposition, by 'denial' a negative. now, those facts which form the matter of the affirmation or denial are not propositions; yet these two are said to be opposed in the same sense as the affirmation and denial, for in this case also the type of antithesis is the same. for as the affirmation is opposed to the denial, as in the two propositions 'he sits', 'he does not sit', so also the fact which constitutes the matter of the proposition in one case is opposed to that in the other, his sitting, that is to say, to his not sitting. it is evident that 'positives' and 'privatives' are not opposed each to each in the same sense as relatives. the one is not explained by reference to the other; sight is not sight of blindness, nor is any other preposition used to indicate the relation. similarly blindness is not said to be blindness of sight, but rather, privation of sight. relatives, moreover, reciprocate; if blindness, therefore, were a relative, there would be a reciprocity of relation between it and that with which it was correlative. but this is not the case. sight is not called the sight of blindness. that those terms which fall under the heads of 'positives' and 'privatives' are not opposed each to each as contraries, either, is plain from the following facts: of a pair of contraries such that they have no intermediate, one or the other must needs be present in the subject in which they naturally subsist, or of which they are predicated; for it is those, as we proved, in the case of which this necessity obtains, that have no intermediate. moreover, we cited health and disease, odd and even, as instances. but those contraries which have an intermediate are not subject to any such necessity. it is not necessary that every substance, receptive of such qualities, should be either black or white, cold or hot, for something intermediate between these contraries may very well be present in the subject. we proved, moreover, that those contraries have an intermediate in the case of which the said necessity does not obtain. yet when one of the two contraries is a constitutive property of the subject, as it is a constitutive property of fire to be hot, of snow to be white, it is necessary determinately that one of the two contraries, not one or the other, should be present in the subject; for fire cannot be cold, or snow black. thus, it is not the case here that one of the two must needs be present in every subject receptive of these qualities, but only in that subject of which the one forms a constitutive property. moreover, in such cases it is one member of the pair determinately, and not either the one or the other, which must be present. in the case of 'positives' and 'privatives', on the other hand, neither of the aforesaid statements holds good. for it is not necessary that a subject receptive of the qualities should always have either the one or the other; that which has not yet advanced to the state when sight is natural is not said either to be blind or to see. thus 'positives' and 'privatives' do not belong to that class of contraries which consists of those which have no intermediate. on the other hand, they do not belong either to that class which consists of contraries which have an intermediate. for under certain conditions it is necessary that either the one or the other should form part of the constitution of every appropriate subject. for when a thing has reached the stage when it is by nature capable of sight, it will be said either to see or to be blind, and that in an indeterminate sense, signifying that the capacity may be either present or absent; for it is not necessary either that it should see or that it should be blind, but that it should be either in the one state or in the other. yet in the case of those contraries which have an intermediate we found that it was never necessary that either the one or the other should be present in every appropriate subject, but only that in certain subjects one of the pair should be present, and that in a determinate sense. it is, therefore, plain that 'positives' and 'privatives' are not opposed each to each in either of the senses in which contraries are opposed. again, in the case of contraries, it is possible that there should be changes from either into the other, while the subject retains its identity, unless indeed one of the contraries is a constitutive property of that subject, as heat is of fire. for it is possible that that that which is healthy should become diseased, that which is white, black, that which is cold, hot, that which is good, bad, that which is bad, good. the bad man, if he is being brought into a better way of life and thought, may make some advance, however slight, and if he should once improve, even ever so little, it is plain that he might change completely, or at any rate make very great progress; for a man becomes more and more easily moved to virtue, however small the improvement was at first. it is, therefore, natural to suppose that he will make yet greater progress than he has made in the past; and as this process goes on, it will change him completely and establish him in the contrary state, provided he is not hindered by lack of time. in the case of 'positives' and 'privatives', however, change in both directions is impossible. there may be a change from possession to privation, but not from privation to possession. the man who has become blind does not regain his sight; the man who has become bald does not regain his hair; the man who has lost his teeth does not grow a new set. (iv) statements opposed as affirmation and negation belong manifestly to a class which is distinct, for in this case, and in this case only, it is necessary for the one opposite to be true and the other false. neither in the case of contraries, nor in the case of correlatives, nor in the case of 'positives' and 'privatives', is it necessary for one to be true and the other false. health and disease are contraries: neither of them is true or false. 'double' and 'half' are opposed to each other as correlatives: neither of them is true or false. the case is the same, of course, with regard to 'positives' and 'privatives' such as 'sight' and 'blindness'. in short, where there is no sort of combination of words, truth and falsity have no place, and all the opposites we have mentioned so far consist of simple words. at the same time, when the words which enter into opposed statements are contraries, these, more than any other set of opposites, would seem to claim this characteristic. 'socrates is ill' is the contrary of 'socrates is well', but not even of such composite expressions is it true to say that one of the pair must always be true and the other false. for if socrates exists, one will be true and the other false, but if he does not exist, both will be false; for neither 'socrates is ill' nor 'socrates is well' is true, if socrates does not exist at all. in the case of 'positives' and 'privatives', if the subject does not exist at all, neither proposition is true, but even if the subject exists, it is not always the fact that one is true and the other false. for 'socrates has sight' is the opposite of 'socrates is blind' in the sense of the word 'opposite' which applies to possession and privation. now if socrates exists, it is not necessary that one should be true and the other false, for when he is not yet able to acquire the power of vision, both are false, as also if socrates is altogether non-existent. but in the case of affirmation and negation, whether the subject exists or not, one is always false and the other true. for manifestly, if socrates exists, one of the two propositions 'socrates is ill', 'socrates is not ill', is true, and the other false. this is likewise the case if he does not exist; for if he does not exist, to say that he is ill is false, to say that he is not ill is true. thus it is in the case of those opposites only, which are opposite in the sense in which the term is used with reference to affirmation and negation, that the rule holds good, that one of the pair must be true and the other false. part 11 that the contrary of a good is an evil is shown by induction: the contrary of health is disease, of courage, cowardice, and so on. but the contrary of an evil is sometimes a good, sometimes an evil. for defect, which is an evil, has excess for its contrary, this also being an evil, and the mean, which is a good, is equally the contrary of the one and of the other. it is only in a few cases, however, that we see instances of this: in most, the contrary of an evil is a good. in the case of contraries, it is not always necessary that if one exists the other should also exist: for if all become healthy there will be health and no disease, and again, if everything turns white, there will be white, but no black. again, since the fact that socrates is ill is the contrary of the fact that socrates is well, and two contrary conditions cannot both obtain in one and the same individual at the same time, both these contraries could not exist at once: for if that socrates was well was a fact, then that socrates was ill could not possibly be one. it is plain that contrary attributes must needs be present in subjects which belong to the same species or genus. disease and health require as their subject the body of an animal; white and black require a body, without further qualification; justice and injustice require as their subject the human soul. moreover, it is necessary that pairs of contraries should in all cases either belong to the same genus or belong to contrary genera or be themselves genera. white and black belong to the same genus, colour; justice and injustice, to contrary genera, virtue and vice; while good and evil do not belong to genera, but are themselves actual genera, with terms under them. part 12 there are four senses in which one thing can be said to be 'prior' to another. primarily and most properly the term has reference to time: in this sense the word is used to indicate that one thing is older or more ancient than another, for the expressions 'older' and 'more ancient' imply greater length of time. secondly, one thing is said to be 'prior' to another when the sequence of their being cannot be reversed. in this sense 'one' is 'prior' to 'two'. for if 'two' exists, it follows directly that 'one' must exist, but if 'one' exists, it does not follow necessarily that 'two' exists: thus the sequence subsisting cannot be reversed. it is agreed, then, that when the sequence of two things cannot be reversed, then that one on which the other depends is called 'prior' to that other. in the third place, the term 'prior' is used with reference to any order, as in the case of science and of oratory. for in sciences which use demonstration there is that which is prior and that which is posterior in order; in geometry, the elements are prior to the propositions; in reading and writing, the letters of the alphabet are prior to the syllables. similarly, in the case of speeches, the exordium is prior in order to the narrative. besides these senses of the word, there is a fourth. that which is better and more honourable is said to have a natural priority. in common parlance men speak of those whom they honour and love as 'coming first' with them. this sense of the word is perhaps the most far-fetched. such, then, are the different senses in which the term 'prior' is used. yet it would seem that besides those mentioned there is yet another. for in those things, the being of each of which implies that of the other, that which is in any way the cause may reasonably be said to be by nature 'prior' to the effect. it is plain that there are instances of this. the fact of the being of a man carries with it the truth of the proposition that he is, and the implication is reciprocal: for if a man is, the proposition wherein we allege that he is true, and conversely, if the proposition wherein we allege that he is true, then he is. the true proposition, however, is in no way the cause of the being of the man, but the fact of the man's being does seem somehow to be the cause of the truth of the proposition, for the truth or falsity of the proposition depends on the fact of the man's being or not being. thus the word 'prior' may be used in five senses. part 13 the term 'simultaneous' is primarily and most appropriately applied to those things the genesis of the one of which is simultaneous with that of the other; for in such cases neither is prior or posterior to the other. such things are said to be simultaneous in point of time. those things, again, are 'simultaneous' in point of nature, the being of each of which involves that of the other, while at the same time neither is the cause of the other's being. this is the case with regard to the double and the half, for these are reciprocally dependent, since, if there is a double, there is also a half, and if there is a half, there is also a double, while at the same time neither is the cause of the being of the other. again, those species which are distinguished one from another and opposed one to another within the same genus are said to be 'simultaneous' in nature. i mean those species which are distinguished each from each by one and the same method of division. thus the 'winged' species is simultaneous with the 'terrestrial' and the 'water' species. these are distinguished within the same genus, and are opposed each to each, for the genus 'animal' has the 'winged', the 'terrestrial', and the 'water' species, and no one of these is prior or posterior to another; on the contrary, all such things appear to be 'simultaneous' in nature. each of these also, the terrestrial, the winged, and the water species, can be divided again into subspecies. those species, then, also will be 'simultaneous' in point of nature, which, belonging to the same genus, are distinguished each from each by one and the same method of differentiation. but genera are prior to species, for the sequence of their being cannot be reversed. if there is the species 'water-animal', there will be the genus 'animal', but granted the being of the genus 'animal', it does not follow necessarily that there will be the species 'water-animal'. those things, therefore, are said to be 'simultaneous' in nature, the being of each of which involves that of the other, while at the same time neither is in any way the cause of the other's being; those species, also, which are distinguished each from each and opposed within the same genus. those things, moreover, are 'simultaneous' in the unqualified sense of the word which come into being at the same time. part 14 there are six sorts of movement: generation, destruction, increase, diminution, alteration, and change of place. it is evident in all but one case that all these sorts of movement are distinct each from each. generation is distinct from destruction, increase and change of place from diminution, and so on. but in the case of alteration it may be argued that the process necessarily implies one or other of the other five sorts of motion. this is not true, for we may say that all affections, or nearly all, produce in us an alteration which is distinct from all other sorts of motion, for that which is affected need not suffer either increase or diminution or any of the other sorts of motion. thus alteration is a distinct sort of motion; for, if it were not, the thing altered would not only be altered, but would forthwith necessarily suffer increase or diminution or some one of the other sorts of motion in addition; which as a matter of fact is not the case. similarly that which was undergoing the process of increase or was subject to some other sort of motion would, if alteration were not a distinct form of motion, necessarily be subject to alteration also. but there are some things which undergo increase but yet not alteration. the square, for instance, if a gnomon is applied to it, undergoes increase but not alteration, and so it is with all other figures of this sort. alteration and increase, therefore, are distinct. speaking generally, rest is the contrary of motion. but the different forms of motion have their own contraries in other forms; thus destruction is the contrary of generation, diminution of increase, rest in a place, of change of place. as for this last, change in the reverse direction would seem to be most truly its contrary; thus motion upwards is the contrary of motion downwards and vice versa. in the case of that sort of motion which yet remains, of those that have been enumerated, it is not easy to state what is its contrary. it appears to have no contrary, unless one should define the contrary here also either as 'rest in its quality' or as 'change in the direction of the contrary quality', just as we defined the contrary of change of place either as rest in a place or as change in the reverse direction. for a thing is altered when change of quality takes place; therefore either rest in its quality or change in the direction of the contrary may be called the contrary of this qualitative form of motion. in this way becoming white is the contrary of becoming black; there is alteration in the contrary direction, since a change of a qualitative nature takes place. part 15 the term 'to have' is used in various senses. in the first place it is used with reference to habit or disposition or any other quality, for we are said to 'have' a piece of knowledge or a virtue. then, again, it has reference to quantity, as, for instance, in the case of a man's height; for he is said to 'have' a height of three or four cubits. it is used, moreover, with regard to apparel, a man being said to 'have' a coat or tunic; or in respect of something which we have on a part of ourselves, as a ring on the hand: or in respect of something which is a part of us, as hand or foot. the term refers also to content, as in the case of a vessel and wheat, or of a jar and wine; a jar is said to 'have' wine, and a corn-measure wheat. the expression in such cases has reference to content. or it refers to that which has been acquired; we are said to 'have' a house or a field. a man is also said to 'have' a wife, and a wife a husband, and this appears to be the most remote meaning of the term, for by the use of it we mean simply that the husband lives with the wife. other senses of the word might perhaps be found, but the most ordinary ones have all been enumerated. euthydemus by plato translated by benjamin jowett introduction. the euthydemus, though apt to be regarded by us only as an elaborate jest, has also a very serious purpose. it may fairly claim to be the oldest treatise on logic; for that science originates in the misunderstandings which necessarily accompany the first efforts of speculation. several of the fallacies which are satirized in it reappear in the sophistici elenchi of aristotle and are retained at the end of our manuals of logic. but if the order of history were followed, they should be placed not at the end but at the beginning of them; for they belong to the age in which the human mind was first making the attempt to distinguish thought from sense, and to separate the universal from the particular or individual. how to put together words or ideas, how to escape ambiguities in the meaning of terms or in the structure of propositions, how to resist the fixed impression of an 'eternal being' or 'perpetual flux,' how to distinguish between words and things--these were problems not easy of solution in the infancy of philosophy. they presented the same kind of difficulty to the half-educated man which spelling or arithmetic do to the mind of a child. it was long before the new world of ideas which had been sought after with such passionate yearning was set in order and made ready for use. to us the fallacies which arise in the pre-socratic philosophy are trivial and obsolete because we are no longer liable to fall into the errors which are expressed by them. the intellectual world has become better assured to us, and we are less likely to be imposed upon by illusions of words. the logic of aristotle is for the most part latent in the dialogues of plato. the nature of definition is explained not by rules but by examples in the charmides, lysis, laches, protagoras, meno, euthyphro, theaetetus, gorgias, republic; the nature of division is likewise illustrated by examples in the sophist and statesman; a scheme of categories is found in the philebus; the true doctrine of contradiction is taught, and the fallacy of arguing in a circle is exposed in the republic; the nature of synthesis and analysis is graphically described in the phaedrus; the nature of words is analysed in the cratylus; the form of the syllogism is indicated in the genealogical trees of the sophist and statesman; a true doctrine of predication and an analysis of the sentence are given in the sophist; the different meanings of one and being are worked out in the parmenides. here we have most of the important elements of logic, not yet systematized or reduced to an art or science, but scattered up and down as they would naturally occur in ordinary discourse. they are of little or no use or significance to us; but because we have grown out of the need of them we should not therefore despise them. they are still interesting and instructive for the light which they shed on the history of the human mind. there are indeed many old fallacies which linger among us, and new ones are constantly springing up. but they are not of the kind to which ancient logic can be usefully applied. the weapons of common sense, not the analytics of aristotle, are needed for their overthrow. nor is the use of the aristotelian logic any longer natural to us. we no longer put arguments into the form of syllogisms like the schoolmen; the simple use of language has been, happily, restored to us. neither do we discuss the nature of the proposition, nor extract hidden truths from the copula, nor dispute any longer about nominalism and realism. we do not confuse the form with the matter of knowledge, or invent laws of thought, or imagine that any single science furnishes a principle of reasoning to all the rest. neither do we require categories or heads of argument to be invented for our use. those who have no knowledge of logic, like some of our great physical philosophers, seem to be quite as good reasoners as those who have. most of the ancient puzzles have been settled on the basis of usage and common sense; there is no need to reopen them. no science should raise problems or invent forms of thought which add nothing to knowledge and are of no use in assisting the acquisition of it. this seems to be the natural limit of logic and metaphysics; if they give us a more comprehensive or a more definite view of the different spheres of knowledge they are to be studied; if not, not. the better part of ancient logic appears hardly in our own day to have a separate existence; it is absorbed in two other sciences: (1) rhetoric, if indeed this ancient art be not also fading away into literary criticism; (2) the science of language, under which all questions relating to words and propositions and the combinations of them may properly be included. to continue dead or imaginary sciences, which make no signs of progress and have no definite sphere, tends to interfere with the prosecution of living ones. the study of them is apt to blind the judgment and to render men incapable of seeing the value of evidence, and even of appreciating the nature of truth. nor should we allow the living science to become confused with the dead by an ambiguity of language. the term logic has two different meanings, an ancient and a modern one, and we vainly try to bridge the gulf between them. many perplexities are avoided by keeping them apart. there might certainly be a new science of logic; it would not however be built up out of the fragments of the old, but would be distinct from them--relative to the state of knowledge which exists at the present time, and based chiefly on the methods of modern inductive philosophy. such a science might have two legitimate fields: first, the refutation and explanation of false philosophies still hovering in the air as they appear from the point of view of later experience or are comprehended in the history of the human mind, as in a larger horizon: secondly, it might furnish new forms of thought more adequate to the expression of all the diversities and oppositions of knowledge which have grown up in these latter days; it might also suggest new methods of enquiry derived from the comparison of the sciences. few will deny that the introduction of the words 'subject' and 'object' and the hegelian reconciliation of opposites have been 'most gracious aids' to psychology, or that the methods of bacon and mill have shed a light far and wide on the realms of knowledge. these two great studies, the one destructive and corrective of error, the other conservative and constructive of truth, might be a first and second part of logic. ancient logic would be the propaedeutic or gate of approach to logical science,--nothing more. but to pursue such speculations further, though not irrelevant, might lead us too far away from the argument of the dialogue. the euthydemus is, of all the dialogues of plato, that in which he approaches most nearly to the comic poet. the mirth is broader, the irony more sustained, the contrast between socrates and the two sophists, although veiled, penetrates deeper than in any other of his writings. even thrasymachus, in the republic, is at last pacified, and becomes a friendly and interested auditor of the great discourse. but in the euthydemus the mask is never dropped; the accustomed irony of socrates continues to the end... socrates narrates to crito a remarkable scene in which he has himself taken part, and in which the two brothers, dionysodorus and euthydemus, are the chief performers. they are natives of chios, who had settled at thurii, but were driven out, and in former days had been known at athens as professors of rhetoric and of the art of fighting in armour. to this they have now added a new accomplishment--the art of eristic, or fighting with words, which they are likewise willing to teach 'for a consideration.' but they can also teach virtue in a very short time and in the very best manner. socrates, who is always on the look-out for teachers of virtue, is interested in the youth cleinias, the grandson of the great alcibiades, and is desirous that he should have the benefit of their instructions. he is ready to fall down and worship them; although the greatness of their professions does arouse in his mind a temporary incredulity. a circle gathers round them, in the midst of which are socrates, the two brothers, the youth cleinias, who is watched by the eager eyes of his lover ctesippus, and others. the performance begins; and such a performance as might well seem to require an invocation of memory and the muses. it is agreed that the brothers shall question cleinias. 'cleinias,' says euthydemus, 'who learn, the wise or the unwise?' 'the wise,' is the reply; given with blushing and hesitation. 'and yet when you learned you did not know and were not wise.' then dionysodorus takes up the ball: 'who are they who learn dictation of the grammar-master; the wise or the foolish boys?' 'the wise.' 'then, after all, the wise learn.' 'and do they learn,' said euthydemus, 'what they know or what they do not know?' 'the latter.' 'and dictation is a dictation of letters?' 'yes.' 'and you know letters?' 'yes.' 'then you learn what you know.' 'but,' retorts dionysodorus, 'is not learning acquiring knowledge?' 'yes.' 'and you acquire that which you have not got already?' 'yes.' 'then you learn that which you do not know.' socrates is afraid that the youth cleinias may be discouraged at these repeated overthrows. he therefore explains to him the nature of the process to which he is being subjected. the two strangers are not serious; there are jests at the mysteries which precede the enthronement, and he is being initiated into the mysteries of the sophistical ritual. this is all a sort of horse-play, which is now ended. the exhortation to virtue will follow, and socrates himself (if the wise men will not laugh at him) is desirous of showing the way in which such an exhortation should be carried on, according to his own poor notion. he proceeds to question cleinias. the result of the investigation may be summed up as follows:-all men desire good; and good means the possession of goods, such as wealth, health, beauty, birth, power, honour; not forgetting the virtues and wisdom. and yet in this enumeration the greatest good of all is omitted. what is that? good fortune. but what need is there of good fortune when we have wisdom already:--in every art and business are not the wise also the fortunate? this is admitted. and again, the possession of goods is not enough; there must also be a right use of them which can only be given by knowledge: in themselves they are neither good nor evil--knowledge and wisdom are the only good, and ignorance and folly the only evil. the conclusion is that we must get 'wisdom.' but can wisdom be taught? 'yes,' says cleinias. the ingenuousness of the youth delights socrates, who is at once relieved from the necessity of discussing one of his great puzzles. 'since wisdom is the only good, he must become a philosopher, or lover of wisdom.' 'that i will,' says cleinias. after socrates has given this specimen of his own mode of instruction, the two brothers recommence their exhortation to virtue, which is of quite another sort. 'you want cleinias to be wise?' 'yes.' 'and he is not wise yet?' 'no.' 'then you want him to be what he is not, and not to be what he is?--not to be--that is, to perish. pretty lovers and friends you must all be!' here ctesippus, the lover of cleinias, interposes in great excitement, thinking that he will teach the two sophists a lesson of good manners. but he is quickly entangled in the meshes of their sophistry; and as a storm seems to be gathering socrates pacifies him with a joke, and ctesippus then says that he is not reviling the two sophists, he is only contradicting them. 'but,' says dionysodorus, 'there is no such thing as contradiction. when you and i describe the same thing, or you describe one thing and i describe another, how can there be a contradiction?' ctesippus is unable to reply. socrates has already heard of the denial of contradiction, and would like to be informed by the great master of the art, 'what is the meaning of this paradox? is there no such thing as error, ignorance, falsehood? then what are they professing to teach?' the two sophists complain that socrates is ready to answer what they said a year ago, but is 'non-plussed' at what they are saying now. 'what does the word "non-plussed" mean?' socrates is informed, in reply, that words are lifeless things, and lifeless things have no sense or meaning. ctesippus again breaks out, and again has to be pacified by socrates, who renews the conversation with cleinias. the two sophists are like proteus in the variety of their transformations, and he, like menelaus in the odyssey, hopes to restore them to their natural form. he had arrived at the conclusion that cleinias must become a philosopher. and philosophy is the possession of knowledge; and knowledge must be of a kind which is profitable and may be used. what knowledge is there which has such a nature? not the knowledge which is required in any particular art; nor again the art of the composer of speeches, who knows how to write them, but cannot speak them, although he too must be admitted to be a kind of enchanter of wild animals. neither is the knowledge which we are seeking the knowledge of the general. for the general makes over his prey to the statesman, as the huntsman does to the cook, or the taker of quails to the keeper of quails; he has not the use of that which he acquires. the two enquirers, cleinias and socrates, are described as wandering about in a wilderness, vainly searching after the art of life and happiness. at last they fix upon the kingly art, as having the desired sort of knowledge. but the kingly art only gives men those goods which are neither good nor evil: and if we say further that it makes us wise, in what does it make us wise? not in special arts, such as cobbling or carpentering, but only in itself: or say again that it makes us good, there is no answer to the question, 'good in what?' at length in despair cleinias and socrates turn to the 'dioscuri' and request their aid. euthydemus argues that socrates knows something; and as he cannot know and not know, he cannot know some things and not know others, and therefore he knows all things: he and dionysodorus and all other men know all things. 'do they know shoemaking, etc?' 'yes.' the sceptical ctesippus would like to have some evidence of this extraordinary statement: he will believe if euthydemus will tell him how many teeth dionysodorus has, and if dionysodorus will give him a like piece of information about euthydemus. even socrates is incredulous, and indulges in a little raillery at the expense of the brothers. but he restrains himself, remembering that if the men who are to be his teachers think him stupid they will take no pains with him. another fallacy is produced which turns on the absoluteness of the verb 'to know.' and here dionysodorus is caught 'napping,' and is induced by socrates to confess that 'he does not know the good to be unjust.' socrates appeals to his brother euthydemus; at the same time he acknowledges that he cannot, like heracles, fight against a hydra, and even heracles, on the approach of a second monster, called upon his nephew iolaus to help. dionysodorus rejoins that iolaus was no more the nephew of heracles than of socrates. for a nephew is a nephew, and a brother is a brother, and a father is a father, not of one man only, but of all; nor of men only, but of dogs and sea-monsters. ctesippus makes merry with the consequences which follow: 'much good has your father got out of the wisdom of his puppies.' 'but,' says euthydemus, unabashed, 'nobody wants much good.' medicine is a good, arms are a good, money is a good, and yet there may be too much of them in wrong places. 'no,' says ctesippus, 'there cannot be too much gold.' and would you be happy if you had three talents of gold in your belly, a talent in your pate, and a stater in either eye?' ctesippus, imitating the new wisdom, replies, 'and do not the scythians reckon those to be the happiest of men who have their skulls gilded and see the inside of them?' 'do you see,' retorts euthydemus, 'what has the quality of vision or what has not the quality of vision?' 'what has the quality of vision.' 'and you see our garments?' 'yes.' 'then our garments have the quality of vision.' a similar play of words follows, which is successfully retorted by ctesippus, to the great delight of cleinias, who is rebuked by socrates for laughing at such solemn and beautiful things. 'but are there any beautiful things? and if there are such, are they the same or not the same as absolute beauty?' socrates replies that they are not the same, but each of them has some beauty present with it. 'and are you an ox because you have an ox present with you?' after a few more amphiboliae, in which socrates, like ctesippus, in self-defence borrows the weapons of the brothers, they both confess that the two heroes are invincible; and the scene concludes with a grand chorus of shouting and laughing, and a panegyrical oration from socrates:-first, he praises the indifference of dionysodorus and euthydemus to public opinion; for most persons would rather be refuted by such arguments than use them in the refutation of others. secondly, he remarks upon their impartiality; for they stop their own mouths, as well as those of other people. thirdly, he notes their liberality, which makes them give away their secret to all the world: they should be more reserved, and let no one be present at this exhibition who does not pay them a handsome fee; or better still they might practise on one another only. he concludes with a respectful request that they will receive him and cleinias among their disciples. crito tells socrates that he has heard one of the audience criticise severely this wisdom,--not sparing socrates himself for countenancing such an exhibition. socrates asks what manner of man was this censorious critic. 'not an orator, but a great composer of speeches.' socrates understands that he is an amphibious animal, half philosopher, half politician; one of a class who have the highest opinion of themselves and a spite against philosophers, whom they imagine to be their rivals. they are a class who are very likely to get mauled by euthydemus and his friends, and have a great notion of their own wisdom; for they imagine themselves to have all the advantages and none of the drawbacks both of politics and of philosophy. they do not understand the principles of combination, and hence are ignorant that the union of two good things which have different ends produces a compound inferior to either of them taken separately. crito is anxious about the education of his children, one of whom is growing up. the description of dionysodorus and euthydemus suggests to him the reflection that the professors of education are strange beings. socrates consoles him with the remark that the good in all professions are few, and recommends that 'he and his house' should continue to serve philosophy, and not mind about its professors. ... there is a stage in the history of philosophy in which the old is dying out, and the new has not yet come into full life. great philosophies like the eleatic or heraclitean, which have enlarged the boundaries of the human mind, begin to pass away in words. they subsist only as forms which have rooted themselves in language--as troublesome elements of thought which cannot be either used or explained away. the same absoluteness which was once attributed to abstractions is now attached to the words which are the signs of them. the philosophy which in the first and second generation was a great and inspiring effort of reflection, in the third becomes sophistical, verbal, eristic. it is this stage of philosophy which plato satirises in the euthydemus. the fallacies which are noted by him appear trifling to us now, but they were not trifling in the age before logic, in the decline of the earlier greek philosophies, at a time when language was first beginning to perplex human thought. besides he is caricaturing them; they probably received more subtle forms at the hands of those who seriously maintained them. they are patent to us in plato, and we are inclined to wonder how any one could ever have been deceived by them; but we must remember also that there was a time when the human mind was only with great difficulty disentangled from such fallacies. to appreciate fully the drift of the euthydemus, we should imagine a mental state in which not individuals only, but whole schools during more than one generation, were animated by the desire to exclude the conception of rest, and therefore the very word 'this' (theaet.) from language; in which the ideas of space, time, matter, motion, were proved to be contradictory and imaginary; in which the nature of qualitative change was a puzzle, and even differences of degree, when applied to abstract notions, were not understood; in which there was no analysis of grammar, and mere puns or plays of words received serious attention; in which contradiction itself was denied, and, on the one hand, every predicate was affirmed to be true of every subject, and on the other, it was held that no predicate was true of any subject, and that nothing was, or was known, or could be spoken. let us imagine disputes carried on with religious earnestness and more than scholastic subtlety, in which the catchwords of philosophy are completely detached from their context. (compare theaet.) to such disputes the humour, whether of plato in the ancient, or of pope and swift in the modern world, is the natural enemy. nor must we forget that in modern times also there is no fallacy so gross, no trick of language so transparent, no abstraction so barren and unmeaning, no form of thought so contradictory to experience, which has not been found to satisfy the minds of philosophical enquirers at a certain stage, or when regarded from a certain point of view only. the peculiarity of the fallacies of our own age is that we live within them, and are therefore generally unconscious of them. aristotle has analysed several of the same fallacies in his book 'de sophisticis elenchis,' which plato, with equal command of their true nature, has preferred to bring to the test of ridicule. at first we are only struck with the broad humour of this 'reductio ad absurdum:' gradually we perceive that some important questions begin to emerge. here, as everywhere else, plato is making war against the philosophers who put words in the place of things, who tear arguments to tatters, who deny predication, and thus make knowledge impossible, to whom ideas and objects of sense have no fixedness, but are in a state of perpetual oscillation and transition. two great truths seem to be indirectly taught through these fallacies: (1) the uncertainty of language, which allows the same words to be used in different meanings, or with different degrees of meaning: (2) the necessary limitation or relative nature of all phenomena. plato is aware that his own doctrine of ideas, as well as the eleatic being and not-being, alike admit of being regarded as verbal fallacies. the sophism advanced in the meno, 'that you cannot enquire either into what you know or do not know,' is lightly touched upon at the commencement of the dialogue; the thesis of protagoras, that everything is true to him to whom it seems to be true, is satirized. in contrast with these fallacies is maintained the socratic doctrine that happiness is gained by knowledge. the grammatical puzzles with which the dialogue concludes probably contain allusions to tricks of language which may have been practised by the disciples of prodicus or antisthenes. they would have had more point, if we were acquainted with the writings against which plato's humour is directed. most of the jests appear to have a serious meaning; but we have lost the clue to some of them, and cannot determine whether, as in the cratylus, plato has or has not mixed up purely unmeaning fun with his satire. the two discourses of socrates may be contrasted in several respects with the exhibition of the sophists: (1) in their perfect relevancy to the subject of discussion, whereas the sophistical discourses are wholly irrelevant: (2) in their enquiring sympathetic tone, which encourages the youth, instead of 'knocking him down,' after the manner of the two sophists: (3) in the absence of any definite conclusion--for while socrates and the youth are agreed that philosophy is to be studied, they are not able to arrive at any certain result about the art which is to teach it. this is a question which will hereafter be answered in the republic; as the conception of the kingly art is more fully developed in the politicus, and the caricature of rhetoric in the gorgias. the characters of the dialogue are easily intelligible. there is socrates once more in the character of an old man; and his equal in years, crito, the father of critobulus, like lysimachus in the laches, his fellow demesman (apol.), to whom the scene is narrated, and who once or twice interrupts with a remark after the manner of the interlocutor in the phaedo, and adds his commentary at the end; socrates makes a playful allusion to his money-getting habits. there is the youth cleinias, the grandson of alcibiades, who may be compared with lysis, charmides, menexenus, and other ingenuous youths out of whose mouths socrates draws his own lessons, and to whom he always seems to stand in a kindly and sympathetic relation. crito will not believe that socrates has not improved or perhaps invented the answers of cleinias (compare phaedrus). the name of the grandson of alcibiades, who is described as long dead, (greek), and who died at the age of forty-four, in the year 404 b.c., suggests not only that the intended scene of the euthydemus could not have been earlier than 404, but that as a fact this dialogue could not have been composed before 390 at the soonest. ctesippus, who is the lover of cleinias, has been already introduced to us in the lysis, and seems there too to deserve the character which is here given him, of a somewhat uproarious young man. but the chief study of all is the picture of the two brothers, who are unapproachable in their effrontery, equally careless of what they say to others and of what is said to them, and never at a loss. they are 'arcades ambo et cantare pares et respondere parati.' some superior degree of wit or subtlety is attributed to euthydemus, who sees the trap in which socrates catches dionysodorus. the epilogue or conclusion of the dialogue has been criticised as inconsistent with the general scheme. such a criticism is like similar criticisms on shakespeare, and proceeds upon a narrow notion of the variety which the dialogue, like the drama, seems to admit. plato in the abundance of his dramatic power has chosen to write a play upon a play, just as he often gives us an argument within an argument. at the same time he takes the opportunity of assailing another class of persons who are as alien from the spirit of philosophy as euthydemus and dionysodorus. the eclectic, the syncretist, the doctrinaire, have been apt to have a bad name both in ancient and modern times. the persons whom plato ridicules in the epilogue to the euthydemus are of this class. they occupy a border-ground between philosophy and politics; they keep out of the dangers of politics, and at the same time use philosophy as a means of serving their own interests. plato quaintly describes them as making two good things, philosophy and politics, a little worse by perverting the objects of both. men like antiphon or lysias would be types of the class. out of a regard to the respectabilities of life, they are disposed to censure the interest which socrates takes in the exhibition of the two brothers. they do not understand, any more than crito, that he is pursuing his vocation of detecting the follies of mankind, which he finds 'not unpleasant.' (compare apol.) education is the common subject of all plato's earlier dialogues. the concluding remark of crito, that he has a difficulty in educating his two sons, and the advice of socrates to him that he should not give up philosophy because he has no faith in philosophers, seems to be a preparation for the more peremptory declaration of the meno that 'virtue cannot be taught because there are no teachers.' the reasons for placing the euthydemus early in the series are: (1) the similarity in plan and style to the protagoras, charmides, and lysis;--the relation of socrates to the sophists is still that of humorous antagonism, not, as in the later dialogues of plato, of embittered hatred; and the places and persons have a considerable family likeness; (2) the euthydemus belongs to the socratic period in which socrates is represented as willing to learn, but unable to teach; and in the spirit of xenophon's memorabilia, philosophy is defined as 'the knowledge which will make us happy;' (3) we seem to have passed the stage arrived at in the protagoras, for socrates is no longer discussing whether virtue can be taught--from this question he is relieved by the ingenuous declaration of the youth cleinias; and (4) not yet to have reached the point at which he asserts 'that there are no teachers.' such grounds are precarious, as arguments from style and plan are apt to be (greek). but no arguments equally strong can be urged in favour of assigning to the euthydemus any other position in the series. euthydemus persons of the dialogue: socrates, who is the narrator of the dialogue. crito, cleinias, euthydemus, dionysodorus, ctesippus. scene: the lyceum. crito: who was the person, socrates, with whom you were talking yesterday at the lyceum? there was such a crowd around you that i could not get within hearing, but i caught a sight of him over their heads, and i made out, as i thought, that he was a stranger with whom you were talking: who was he? socrates: there were two, crito; which of them do you mean? crito: the one whom i mean was seated second from you on the right-hand side. in the middle was cleinias the young son of axiochus, who has wonderfully grown; he is only about the age of my own critobulus, but he is much forwarder and very good-looking: the other is thin and looks younger than he is. socrates: he whom you mean, crito, is euthydemus; and on my left hand there was his brother dionysodorus, who also took part in the conversation. crito: neither of them are known to me, socrates; they are a new importation of sophists, as i should imagine. of what country are they, and what is their line of wisdom? socrates: as to their origin, i believe that they are natives of this part of the world, and have migrated from chios to thurii; they were driven out of thurii, and have been living for many years past in these regions. as to their wisdom, about which you ask, crito, they are wonderful--consummate! i never knew what the true pancratiast was before; they are simply made up of fighting, not like the two acarnanian brothers who fight with their bodies only, but this pair of heroes, besides being perfect in the use of their bodies, are invincible in every sort of warfare; for they are capital at fighting in armour, and will teach the art to any one who pays them; and also they are most skilful in legal warfare; they will plead themselves and teach others to speak and to compose speeches which will have an effect upon the courts. and this was only the beginning of their wisdom, but they have at last carried out the pancratiastic art to the very end, and have mastered the only mode of fighting which had been hitherto neglected by them; and now no one dares even to stand up against them: such is their skill in the war of words, that they can refute any proposition whether true or false. now i am thinking, crito, of placing myself in their hands; for they say that in a short time they can impart their skill to any one. crito: but, socrates, are you not too old? there may be reason to fear that. socrates: certainly not, crito; as i will prove to you, for i have the consolation of knowing that they began this art of disputation which i covet, quite, as i may say, in old age; last year, or the year before, they had none of their new wisdom. i am only apprehensive that i may bring the two strangers into disrepute, as i have done connus the son of metrobius, the harp-player, who is still my music-master; for when the boys who go to him see me going with them, they laugh at me and call him grandpapa's master. now i should not like the strangers to experience similar treatment; the fear of ridicule may make them unwilling to receive me; and therefore, crito, i shall try and persuade some old men to accompany me to them, as i persuaded them to go with me to connus, and i hope that you will make one: and perhaps we had better take your sons as a bait; they will want to have them as pupils, and for the sake of them willing to receive us. crito: i see no objection, socrates, if you like; but first i wish that you would give me a description of their wisdom, that i may know beforehand what we are going to learn. socrates: in less than no time you shall hear; for i cannot say that i did not attend--i paid great attention to them, and i remember and will endeavour to repeat the whole story. providentially i was sitting alone in the dressing-room of the lyceum where you saw me, and was about to depart; when i was getting up i recognized the familiar divine sign: so i sat down again, and in a little while the two brothers euthydemus and dionysodorus came in, and several others with them, whom i believe to be their disciples, and they walked about in the covered court; they had not taken more than two or three turns when cleinias entered, who, as you truly say, is very much improved: he was followed by a host of lovers, one of whom was ctesippus the paeanian, a well-bred youth, but also having the wildness of youth. cleinias saw me from the entrance as i was sitting alone, and at once came and sat down on the right hand of me, as you describe; and dionysodorus and euthydemus, when they saw him, at first stopped and talked with one another, now and then glancing at us, for i particularly watched them; and then euthydemus came and sat down by the youth, and the other by me on the left hand; the rest anywhere. i saluted the brothers, whom i had not seen for a long time; and then i said to cleinias: here are two wise men, euthydemus and dionysodorus, cleinias, wise not in a small but in a large way of wisdom, for they know all about war,--all that a good general ought to know about the array and command of an army, and the whole art of fighting in armour: and they know about law too, and can teach a man how to use the weapons of the courts when he is injured. they heard me say this, but only despised me. i observed that they looked at one another, and both of them laughed; and then euthydemus said: those, socrates, are matters which we no longer pursue seriously; to us they are secondary occupations. indeed, i said, if such occupations are regarded by you as secondary, what must the principal one be; tell me, i beseech you, what that noble study is? the teaching of virtue, socrates, he replied, is our principal occupation; and we believe that we can impart it better and quicker than any man. my god! i said, and where did you learn that? i always thought, as i was saying just now, that your chief accomplishment was the art of fighting in armour; and i used to say as much of you, for i remember that you professed this when you were here before. but now if you really have the other knowledge, o forgive me: i address you as i would superior beings, and ask you to pardon the impiety of my former expressions. but are you quite sure about this, dionysodorus and euthydemus? the promise is so vast, that a feeling of incredulity steals over me. you may take our word, socrates, for the fact. then i think you happier in having such a treasure than the great king is in the possession of his kingdom. and please to tell me whether you intend to exhibit your wisdom; or what will you do? that is why we have come hither, socrates; and our purpose is not only to exhibit, but also to teach any one who likes to learn. but i can promise you, i said, that every unvirtuous person will want to learn. i shall be the first; and there is the youth cleinias, and ctesippus: and here are several others, i said, pointing to the lovers of cleinias, who were beginning to gather round us. now ctesippus was sitting at some distance from cleinias; and when euthydemus leaned forward in talking with me, he was prevented from seeing cleinias, who was between us; and so, partly because he wanted to look at his love, and also because he was interested, he jumped up and stood opposite to us: and all the other admirers of cleinias, as well as the disciples of euthydemus and dionysodorus, followed his example. and these were the persons whom i showed to euthydemus, telling him that they were all eager to learn: to which ctesippus and all of them with one voice vehemently assented, and bid him exhibit the power of his wisdom. then i said: o euthydemus and dionysodorus, i earnestly request you to do myself and the company the favour to exhibit. there may be some trouble in giving the whole exhibition; but tell me one thing,--can you make a good man of him only who is already convinced that he ought to learn of you, or of him also who is not convinced, either because he imagines that virtue is a thing which cannot be taught at all, or that you are not the teachers of it? has your art power to persuade him, who is of the latter temper of mind, that virtue can be taught; and that you are the men from whom he will best learn it? certainly, socrates, said dionysodorus; our art will do both. and you and your brother, dionysodorus, i said, of all men who are now living are the most likely to stimulate him to philosophy and to the study of virtue? yes, socrates, i rather think that we are. then i wish that you would be so good as to defer the other part of the exhibition, and only try to persuade the youth whom you see here that he ought to be a philosopher and study virtue. exhibit that, and you will confer a great favour on me and on every one present; for the fact is i and all of us are extremely anxious that he should become truly good. his name is cleinias, and he is the son of axiochus, and grandson of the old alcibiades, cousin of the alcibiades that now is. he is quite young, and we are naturally afraid that some one may get the start of us, and turn his mind in a wrong direction, and he may be ruined. your visit, therefore, is most happily timed; and i hope that you will make a trial of the young man, and converse with him in our presence, if you have no objection. these were pretty nearly the expressions which i used; and euthydemus, in a manly and at the same time encouraging tone, replied: there can be no objection, socrates, if the young man is only willing to answer questions. he is quite accustomed to do so, i replied; for his friends often come and ask him questions and argue with him; and therefore he is quite at home in answering. what followed, crito, how can i rightly narrate? for not slight is the task of rehearsing infinite wisdom, and therefore, like the poets, i ought to commence my relation with an invocation to memory and the muses. now euthydemus, if i remember rightly, began nearly as follows: o cleinias, are those who learn the wise or the ignorant? the youth, overpowered by the question blushed, and in his perplexity looked at me for help; and i, knowing that he was disconcerted, said: take courage, cleinias, and answer like a man whichever you think; for my belief is that you will derive the greatest benefit from their questions. whichever he answers, said dionysodorus, leaning forward so as to catch my ear, his face beaming with laughter, i prophesy that he will be refuted, socrates. while he was speaking to me, cleinias gave his answer: and therefore i had no time to warn him of the predicament in which he was placed, and he answered that those who learned were the wise. euthydemus proceeded: there are some whom you would call teachers, are there not? the boy assented. and they are the teachers of those who learn--the grammar-master and the lyre-master used to teach you and other boys; and you were the learners? yes. and when you were learners you did not as yet know the things which you were learning? no, he said. and were you wise then? no, indeed, he said. but if you were not wise you were unlearned? certainly. you then, learning what you did not know, were unlearned when you were learning? the youth nodded assent. then the unlearned learn, and not the wise, cleinias, as you imagine. at these words the followers of euthydemus, of whom i spoke, like a chorus at the bidding of their director, laughed and cheered. then, before the youth had time to recover his breath, dionysodorus cleverly took him in hand, and said: yes, cleinias; and when the grammar-master dictated anything to you, were they the wise boys or the unlearned who learned the dictation? the wise, replied cleinias. then after all the wise are the learners and not the unlearned; and your last answer to euthydemus was wrong. then once more the admirers of the two heroes, in an ecstasy at their wisdom, gave vent to another peal of laughter, while the rest of us were silent and amazed. euthydemus, observing this, determined to persevere with the youth; and in order to heighten the effect went on asking another similar question, which might be compared to the double turn of an expert dancer. do those, said he, who learn, learn what they know, or what they do not know? again dionysodorus whispered to me: that, socrates, is just another of the same sort. good heavens, i said; and your last question was so good! like all our other questions, socrates, he replied--inevitable. i see the reason, i said, why you are in such reputation among your disciples. meanwhile cleinias had answered euthydemus that those who learned learn what they do not know; and he put him through a series of questions the same as before. do you not know letters? he assented. all letters? yes. but when the teacher dictates to you, does he not dictate letters? to this also he assented. then if you know all letters, he dictates that which you know? this again was admitted by him. then, said the other, you do not learn that which he dictates; but he only who does not know letters learns? nay, said cleinias; but i do learn. then, said he, you learn what you know, if you know all the letters? he admitted that. then, he said, you were wrong in your answer. the word was hardly out of his mouth when dionysodorus took up the argument, like a ball which he caught, and had another throw at the youth. cleinias, he said, euthydemus is deceiving you. for tell me now, is not learning acquiring knowledge of that which one learns? cleinias assented. and knowing is having knowledge at the time? he agreed. and not knowing is not having knowledge at the time? he admitted that. and are those who acquire those who have or have not a thing? those who have not. and have you not admitted that those who do not know are of the number of those who have not? he nodded assent. then those who learn are of the class of those who acquire, and not of those who have? he agreed. then, cleinias, he said, those who do not know learn, and not those who know. euthydemus was proceeding to give the youth a third fall; but i knew that he was in deep water, and therefore, as i wanted to give him a respite lest he should be disheartened, i said to him consolingly: you must not be surprised, cleinias, at the singularity of their mode of speech: this i say because you may not understand what the two strangers are doing with you; they are only initiating you after the manner of the corybantes in the mysteries; and this answers to the enthronement, which, if you have ever been initiated, is, as you will know, accompanied by dancing and sport; and now they are just prancing and dancing about you, and will next proceed to initiate you; imagine then that you have gone through the first part of the sophistical ritual, which, as prodicus says, begins with initiation into the correct use of terms. the two foreign gentlemen, perceiving that you did not know, wanted to explain to you that the word 'to learn' has two meanings, and is used, first, in the sense of acquiring knowledge of some matter of which you previously have no knowledge, and also, when you have the knowledge, in the sense of reviewing this matter, whether something done or spoken by the light of this newly-acquired knowledge; the latter is generally called 'knowing' rather than 'learning,' but the word 'learning' is also used; and you did not see, as they explained to you, that the term is employed of two opposite sorts of men, of those who know, and of those who do not know. there was a similar trick in the second question, when they asked you whether men learn what they know or what they do not know. these parts of learning are not serious, and therefore i say that the gentlemen are not serious, but are only playing with you. for if a man had all that sort of knowledge that ever was, he would not be at all the wiser; he would only be able to play with men, tripping them up and oversetting them with distinctions of words. he would be like a person who pulls away a stool from some one when he is about to sit down, and then laughs and makes merry at the sight of his friend overturned and laid on his back. and you must regard all that has hitherto passed between you and them as merely play. but in what is to follow i am certain that they will exhibit to you their serious purpose, and keep their promise (i will show them how); for they promised to give me a sample of the hortatory philosophy, but i suppose that they wanted to have a game with you first. and now, euthydemus and dionysodorus, i think that we have had enough of this. will you let me see you explaining to the young man how he is to apply himself to the study of virtue and wisdom? and i will first show you what i conceive to be the nature of the task, and what sort of a discourse i desire to hear; and if i do this in a very inartistic and ridiculous manner, do not laugh at me, for i only venture to improvise before you because i am eager to hear your wisdom: and i must therefore ask you and your disciples to refrain from laughing. and now, o son of axiochus, let me put a question to you: do not all men desire happiness? and yet, perhaps, this is one of those ridiculous questions which i am afraid to ask, and which ought not to be asked by a sensible man: for what human being is there who does not desire happiness? there is no one, said cleinias, who does not. well, then, i said, since we all of us desire happiness, how can we be happy?--that is the next question. shall we not be happy if we have many good things? and this, perhaps, is even a more simple question than the first, for there can be no doubt of the answer. he assented. and what things do we esteem good? no solemn sage is required to tell us this, which may be easily answered; for every one will say that wealth is a good. certainly, he said. and are not health and beauty goods, and other personal gifts? he agreed. can there be any doubt that good birth, and power, and honours in one's own land, are goods? he assented. and what other goods are there? i said. what do you say of temperance, justice, courage: do you not verily and indeed think, cleinias, that we shall be more right in ranking them as goods than in not ranking them as goods? for a dispute might possibly arise about this. what then do you say? they are goods, said cleinias. very well, i said; and where in the company shall we find a place for wisdom--among the goods or not? among the goods. and now, i said, think whether we have left out any considerable goods. i do not think that we have, said cleinias. upon recollection, i said, indeed i am afraid that we have left out the greatest of them all. what is that? he asked. fortune, cleinias, i replied; which all, even the most foolish, admit to be the greatest of goods. true, he said. on second thoughts, i added, how narrowly, o son of axiochus, have you and i escaped making a laughing-stock of ourselves to the strangers. why do you say so? why, because we have already spoken of good-fortune, and are but repeating ourselves. what do you mean? i mean that there is something ridiculous in again putting forward good-fortune, which has a place in the list already, and saying the same thing twice over. he asked what was the meaning of this, and i replied: surely wisdom is good-fortune; even a child may know that. the simple-minded youth was amazed; and, observing his surprise, i said to him: do you not know, cleinias, that flute-players are most fortunate and successful in performing on the flute? he assented. and are not the scribes most fortunate in writing and reading letters? certainly. amid the dangers of the sea, again, are any more fortunate on the whole than wise pilots? none, certainly. and if you were engaged in war, in whose company would you rather take the risk--in company with a wise general, or with a foolish one? with a wise one. and if you were ill, whom would you rather have as a companion in a dangerous illness--a wise physician, or an ignorant one? a wise one. you think, i said, that to act with a wise man is more fortunate than to act with an ignorant one? he assented. then wisdom always makes men fortunate: for by wisdom no man would ever err, and therefore he must act rightly and succeed, or his wisdom would be wisdom no longer. we contrived at last, somehow or other, to agree in a general conclusion, that he who had wisdom had no need of fortune. i then recalled to his mind the previous state of the question. you remember, i said, our making the admission that we should be happy and fortunate if many good things were present with us? he assented. and should we be happy by reason of the presence of good things, if they profited us not, or if they profited us? if they profited us, he said. and would they profit us, if we only had them and did not use them? for example, if we had a great deal of food and did not eat, or a great deal of drink and did not drink, should we be profited? certainly not, he said. or would an artisan, who had all the implements necessary for his work, and did not use them, be any the better for the possession of them? for example, would a carpenter be any the better for having all his tools and plenty of wood, if he never worked? certainly not, he said. and if a person had wealth and all the goods of which we were just now speaking, and did not use them, would he be happy because he possessed them? no indeed, socrates. then, i said, a man who would be happy must not only have the good things, but he must also use them; there is no advantage in merely having them? true. well, cleinias, but if you have the use as well as the possession of good things, is that sufficient to confer happiness? yes, in my opinion. and may a person use them either rightly or wrongly? he must use them rightly. that is quite true, i said. and the wrong use of a thing is far worse than the non-use; for the one is an evil, and the other is neither a good nor an evil. you admit that? he assented. now in the working and use of wood, is not that which gives the right use simply the knowledge of the carpenter? nothing else, he said. and surely, in the manufacture of vessels, knowledge is that which gives the right way of making them? he agreed. and in the use of the goods of which we spoke at first--wealth and health and beauty, is not knowledge that which directs us to the right use of them, and regulates our practice about them? he assented. then in every possession and every use of a thing, knowledge is that which gives a man not only good-fortune but success? he again assented. and tell me, i said, o tell me, what do possessions profit a man, if he have neither good sense nor wisdom? would a man be better off, having and doing many things without wisdom, or a few things with wisdom? look at the matter thus: if he did fewer things would he not make fewer mistakes? if he made fewer mistakes would he not have fewer misfortunes? and if he had fewer misfortunes would he not be less miserable? certainly, he said. and who would do least--a poor man or a rich man? a poor man. a weak man or a strong man? a weak man. a noble man or a mean man? a mean man. and a coward would do less than a courageous and temperate man? yes. and an indolent man less than an active man? he assented. and a slow man less than a quick; and one who had dull perceptions of seeing and hearing less than one who had keen ones? all this was mutually allowed by us. then, i said, cleinias, the sum of the matter appears to be that the goods of which we spoke before are not to be regarded as goods in themselves, but the degree of good and evil in them depends on whether they are or are not under the guidance of knowledge: under the guidance of ignorance, they are greater evils than their opposites, inasmuch as they are more able to minister to the evil principle which rules them; and when under the guidance of wisdom and prudence, they are greater goods: but in themselves they are nothing? that, he replied, is obvious. what then is the result of what has been said? is not this the result--that other things are indifferent, and that wisdom is the only good, and ignorance the only evil? he assented. let us consider a further point, i said: seeing that all men desire happiness, and happiness, as has been shown, is gained by a use, and a right use, of the things of life, and the right use of them, and good-fortune in the use of them, is given by knowledge,--the inference is that everybody ought by all means to try and make himself as wise as he can? yes, he said. and when a man thinks that he ought to obtain this treasure, far more than money, from a father or a guardian or a friend or a suitor, whether citizen or stranger--the eager desire and prayer to them that they would impart wisdom to you, is not at all dishonourable, cleinias; nor is any one to be blamed for doing any honourable service or ministration to any man, whether a lover or not, if his aim is to get wisdom. do you agree? i said. yes, he said, i quite agree, and think that you are right. yes, i said, cleinias, if only wisdom can be taught, and does not come to man spontaneously; for this is a point which has still to be considered, and is not yet agreed upon by you and me-but i think, socrates, that wisdom can be taught, he said. best of men, i said, i am delighted to hear you say so; and i am also grateful to you for having saved me from a long and tiresome investigation as to whether wisdom can be taught or not. but now, as you think that wisdom can be taught, and that wisdom only can make a man happy and fortunate, will you not acknowledge that all of us ought to love wisdom, and you individually will try to love her? certainly, socrates, he said; i will do my best. i was pleased at hearing this; and i turned to dionysodorus and euthydemus and said: that is an example, clumsy and tedious i admit, of the sort of exhortations which i would have you give; and i hope that one of you will set forth what i have been saying in a more artistic style: or at least take up the enquiry where i left off, and proceed to show the youth whether he should have all knowledge; or whether there is one sort of knowledge only which will make him good and happy, and what that is. for, as i was saying at first, the improvement of this young man in virtue and wisdom is a matter which we have very much at heart. thus i spoke, crito, and was all attention to what was coming. i wanted to see how they would approach the question, and where they would start in their exhortation to the young man that he should practise wisdom and virtue. dionysodorus, who was the elder, spoke first. everybody's eyes were directed towards him, perceiving that something wonderful might shortly be expected. and certainly they were not far wrong; for the man, crito, began a remarkable discourse well worth hearing, and wonderfully persuasive regarded as an exhortation to virtue. tell me, he said, socrates and the rest of you who say that you want this young man to become wise, are you in jest or in real earnest? i was led by this to imagine that they fancied us to have been jesting when we asked them to converse with the youth, and that this made them jest and play, and being under this impression, i was the more decided in saying that we were in profound earnest. dionysodorus said: reflect, socrates; you may have to deny your words. i have reflected, i said; and i shall never deny my words. well, said he, and so you say that you wish cleinias to become wise? undoubtedly. and he is not wise as yet? at least his modesty will not allow him to say that he is. you wish him, he said, to become wise and not, to be ignorant? that we do. you wish him to be what he is not, and no longer to be what he is? i was thrown into consternation at this. taking advantage of my consternation he added: you wish him no longer to be what he is, which can only mean that you wish him to perish. pretty lovers and friends they must be who want their favourite not to be, or to perish! when ctesippus heard this he got very angry (as a lover well might) and said: stranger of thurii--if politeness would allow me i should say, a plague upon you! what can make you tell such a lie about me and the others, which i hardly like to repeat, as that i wish cleinias to perish? euthydemus replied: and do you think, ctesippus, that it is possible to tell a lie? yes, said ctesippus; i should be mad to say anything else. and in telling a lie, do you tell the thing of which you speak or not? you tell the thing of which you speak. and he who tells, tells that thing which he tells, and no other? yes, said ctesippus. and that is a distinct thing apart from other things? certainly. and he who says that thing says that which is? yes. and he who says that which is, says the truth. and therefore dionysodorus, if he says that which is, says the truth of you and no lie. yes, euthydemus, said ctesippus; but in saying this, he says what is not. euthydemus answered: and that which is not is not? true. and that which is not is nowhere? nowhere. and can any one do anything about that which has no existence, or do to cleinias that which is not and is nowhere? i think not, said ctesippus. well, but do rhetoricians, when they speak in the assembly, do nothing? nay, he said, they do something. and doing is making? yes. and speaking is doing and making? he agreed. then no one says that which is not, for in saying what is not he would be doing something; and you have already acknowledged that no one can do what is not. and therefore, upon your own showing, no one says what is false; but if dionysodorus says anything, he says what is true and what is. yes, euthydemus, said ctesippus; but he speaks of things in a certain way and manner, and not as they really are. why, ctesippus, said dionysodorus, do you mean to say that any one speaks of things as they are? yes, he said--all gentlemen and truth-speaking persons. and are not good things good, and evil things evil? he assented. and you say that gentlemen speak of things as they are? yes. then the good speak evil of evil things, if they speak of them as they are? yes, indeed, he said; and they speak evil of evil men. and if i may give you a piece of advice, you had better take care that they do not speak evil of you, since i can tell you that the good speak evil of the evil. and do they speak great things of the great, rejoined euthydemus, and warm things of the warm? to be sure they do, said ctesippus; and they speak coldly of the insipid and cold dialectician. you are abusive, ctesippus, said dionysodorus, you are abusive! indeed, i am not, dionysodorus, he replied; for i love you and am giving you friendly advice, and, if i could, would persuade you not like a boor to say in my presence that i desire my beloved, whom i value above all men, to perish. i saw that they were getting exasperated with one another, so i made a joke with him and said: o ctesippus, i think that we must allow the strangers to use language in their own way, and not quarrel with them about words, but be thankful for what they give us. if they know how to destroy men in such a way as to make good and sensible men out of bad and foolish ones--whether this is a discovery of their own, or whether they have learned from some one else this new sort of death and destruction which enables them to get rid of a bad man and turn him into a good one--if they know this (and they do know this--at any rate they said just now that this was the secret of their newly-discovered art)--let them, in their phraseology, destroy the youth and make him wise, and all of us with him. but if you young men do not like to trust yourselves with them, then fiat experimentum in corpore senis; i will be the carian on whom they shall operate. and here i offer my old person to dionysodorus; he may put me into the pot, like medea the colchian, kill me, boil me, if he will only make me good. ctesippus said: and i, socrates, am ready to commit myself to the strangers; they may skin me alive, if they please (and i am pretty well skinned by them already), if only my skin is made at last, not like that of marsyas, into a leathern bottle, but into a piece of virtue. and here is dionysodorus fancying that i am angry with him, when really i am not angry at all; i do but contradict him when i think that he is speaking improperly to me: and you must not confound abuse and contradiction, o illustrious dionysodorus; for they are quite different things. contradiction! said dionysodorus; why, there never was such a thing. certainly there is, he replied; there can be no question of that. do you, dionysodorus, maintain that there is not? you will never prove to me, he said, that you have heard any one contradicting any one else. indeed, said ctesippus; then now you may hear me contradicting dionysodorus. are you prepared to make that good? certainly, he said. well, have not all things words expressive of them? yes. of their existence or of their non-existence? of their existence. yes, ctesippus, and we just now proved, as you may remember, that no man could affirm a negative; for no one could affirm that which is not. and what does that signify? said ctesippus; you and i may contradict all the same for that. but can we contradict one another, said dionysodorus, when both of us are describing the same thing? then we must surely be speaking the same thing? he assented. or when neither of us is speaking of the same thing? for then neither of us says a word about the thing at all? he granted that proposition also. but when i describe something and you describe another thing, or i say something and you say nothing--is there any contradiction? how can he who speaks contradict him who speaks not? here ctesippus was silent; and i in my astonishment said: what do you mean, dionysodorus? i have often heard, and have been amazed to hear, this thesis of yours, which is maintained and employed by the disciples of protagoras, and others before them, and which to me appears to be quite wonderful, and suicidal as well as destructive, and i think that i am most likely to hear the truth about it from you. the dictum is that there is no such thing as falsehood; a man must either say what is true or say nothing. is not that your position? he assented. but if he cannot speak falsely, may he not think falsely? no, he cannot, he said. then there is no such thing as false opinion? no, he said. then there is no such thing as ignorance, or men who are ignorant; for is not ignorance, if there be such a thing, a mistake of fact? certainly, he said. and that is impossible? impossible, he replied. are you saying this as a paradox, dionysodorus; or do you seriously maintain no man to be ignorant? refute me, he said. but how can i refute you, if, as you say, to tell a falsehood is impossible? very true, said euthydemus. neither did i tell you just now to refute me, said dionysodorus; for how can i tell you to do that which is not? o euthydemus, i said, i have but a dull conception of these subtleties and excellent devices of wisdom; i am afraid that i hardly understand them, and you must forgive me therefore if i ask a very stupid question: if there be no falsehood or false opinion or ignorance, there can be no such thing as erroneous action, for a man cannot fail of acting as he is acting--that is what you mean? yes, he replied. and now, i said, i will ask my stupid question: if there is no such thing as error in deed, word, or thought, then what, in the name of goodness, do you come hither to teach? and were you not just now saying that you could teach virtue best of all men, to any one who was willing to learn? and are you such an old fool, socrates, rejoined dionysodorus, that you bring up now what i said at first--and if i had said anything last year, i suppose that you would bring that up too--but are non-plussed at the words which i have just uttered? why, i said, they are not easy to answer; for they are the words of wise men: and indeed i know not what to make of this word 'nonplussed,' which you used last: what do you mean by it, dionysodorus? you must mean that i cannot refute your argument. tell me if the words have any other sense. no, he replied, they mean what you say. and now answer. what, before you, dionysodorus? i said. answer, said he. and is that fair? yes, quite fair, he said. upon what principle? i said. i can only suppose that you are a very wise man who comes to us in the character of a great logician, and who knows when to answer and when not to answer--and now you will not open your mouth at all, because you know that you ought not. you prate, he said, instead of answering. but if, my good sir, you admit that i am wise, answer as i tell you. i suppose that i must obey, for you are master. put the question. are the things which have sense alive or lifeless? they are alive. and do you know of any word which is alive? i cannot say that i do. then why did you ask me what sense my words had? why, because i was stupid and made a mistake. and yet, perhaps, i was right after all in saying that words have a sense;--what do you say, wise man? if i was not in error, even you will not refute me, and all your wisdom will be non-plussed; but if i did fall into error, then again you are wrong in saying that there is no error,--and this remark was made by you not quite a year ago. i am inclined to think, however, dionysodorus and euthydemus, that this argument lies where it was and is not very likely to advance: even your skill in the subtleties of logic, which is really amazing, has not found out the way of throwing another and not falling yourself, now any more than of old. ctesippus said: men of chios, thurii, or however and whatever you call yourselves, i wonder at you, for you seem to have no objection to talking nonsense. fearing that there would be high words, i again endeavoured to soothe ctesippus, and said to him: to you, ctesippus, i must repeat what i said before to cleinias--that you do not understand the ways of these philosophers from abroad. they are not serious, but, like the egyptian wizard, proteus, they take different forms and deceive us by their enchantments: and let us, like menelaus, refuse to let them go until they show themselves to us in earnest. when they begin to be in earnest their full beauty will appear: let us then beg and entreat and beseech them to shine forth. and i think that i had better once more exhibit the form in which i pray to behold them; it might be a guide to them. i will go on therefore where i left off, as well as i can, in the hope that i may touch their hearts and move them to pity, and that when they see me deeply serious and interested, they also may be serious. you, cleinias, i said, shall remind me at what point we left off. did we not agree that philosophy should be studied? and was not that our conclusion? yes, he replied. and philosophy is the acquisition of knowledge? yes, he said. and what knowledge ought we to acquire? may we not answer with absolute truth--a knowledge which will do us good? certainly, he said. and should we be any the better if we went about having a knowledge of the places where most gold was hidden in the earth? perhaps we should, he said. but have we not already proved, i said, that we should be none the better off, even if without trouble and digging all the gold which there is in the earth were ours? and if we knew how to convert stones into gold, the knowledge would be of no value to us, unless we also knew how to use the gold? do you not remember? i said. i quite remember, he said. nor would any other knowledge, whether of money-making, or of medicine, or of any other art which knows only how to make a thing, and not to use it when made, be of any good to us. am i not right? he agreed. and if there were a knowledge which was able to make men immortal, without giving them the knowledge of the way to use the immortality, neither would there be any use in that, if we may argue from the analogy of the previous instances? to all this he agreed. then, my dear boy, i said, the knowledge which we want is one that uses as well as makes? true, he said. and our desire is not to be skilful lyre-makers, or artists of that sort--far otherwise; for with them the art which makes is one, and the art which uses is another. although they have to do with the same, they are divided: for the art which makes and the art which plays on the lyre differ widely from one another. am i not right? he agreed. and clearly we do not want the art of the flute-maker; this is only another of the same sort? he assented. but suppose, i said, that we were to learn the art of making speeches--would that be the art which would make us happy? i should say, no, rejoined cleinias. and why should you say so? i asked. i see, he replied, that there are some composers of speeches who do not know how to use the speeches which they make, just as the makers of lyres do not know how to use the lyres; and also some who are of themselves unable to compose speeches, but are able to use the speeches which the others make for them; and this proves that the art of making speeches is not the same as the art of using them. yes, i said; and i take your words to be a sufficient proof that the art of making speeches is not one which will make a man happy. and yet i did think that the art which we have so long been seeking might be discovered in that direction; for the composers of speeches, whenever i meet them, always appear to me to be very extraordinary men, cleinias, and their art is lofty and divine, and no wonder. for their art is a part of the great art of enchantment, and hardly, if at all, inferior to it: and whereas the art of the enchanter is a mode of charming snakes and spiders and scorpions, and other monsters and pests, this art of their's acts upon dicasts and ecclesiasts and bodies of men, for the charming and pacifying of them. do you agree with me? yes, he said, i think that you are quite right. whither then shall we go, i said, and to what art shall we have recourse? i do not see my way, he said. but i think that i do, i replied. and what is your notion? asked cleinias. i think that the art of the general is above all others the one of which the possession is most likely to make a man happy. i do not think so, he said. why not? i said. the art of the general is surely an art of hunting mankind. what of that? i said. why, he said, no art of hunting extends beyond hunting and capturing; and when the prey is taken the huntsman or fisherman cannot use it; but they hand it over to the cook, and the geometricians and astronomers and calculators (who all belong to the hunting class, for they do not make their diagrams, but only find out that which was previously contained in them)--they, i say, not being able to use but only to catch their prey, hand over their inventions to the dialectician to be applied by him, if they have any sense in them. good, i said, fairest and wisest cleinias. and is this true? certainly, he said; just as a general when he takes a city or a camp hands over his new acquisition to the statesman, for he does not know how to use them himself; or as the quail-taker transfers the quails to the keeper of them. if we are looking for the art which is to make us blessed, and which is able to use that which it makes or takes, the art of the general is not the one, and some other must be found. crito: and do you mean, socrates, that the youngster said all this? socrates: are you incredulous, crito? crito: indeed, i am; for if he did say so, then in my opinion he needs neither euthydemus nor any one else to be his instructor. socrates: perhaps i may have forgotten, and ctesippus was the real answerer. crito: ctesippus! nonsense. socrates: all i know is that i heard these words, and that they were not spoken either by euthydemus or dionysodorus. i dare say, my good crito, that they may have been spoken by some superior person: that i heard them i am certain. crito: yes, indeed, socrates, by some one a good deal superior, as i should be disposed to think. but did you carry the search any further, and did you find the art which you were seeking? socrates: find! my dear sir, no indeed. and we cut a poor figure; we were like children after larks, always on the point of catching the art, which was always getting away from us. but why should i repeat the whole story? at last we came to the kingly art, and enquired whether that gave and caused happiness, and then we got into a labyrinth, and when we thought we were at the end, came out again at the beginning, having still to seek as much as ever. crito: how did that happen, socrates? socrates: i will tell you; the kingly art was identified by us with the political. crito: well, and what came of that? socrates: to this royal or political art all the arts, including the art of the general, seemed to render up the supremacy, that being the only one which knew how to use what they produce. here obviously was the very art which we were seeking--the art which is the source of good government, and which may be described, in the language of aeschylus, as alone sitting at the helm of the vessel of state, piloting and governing all things, and utilizing them. crito: and were you not right, socrates? socrates: you shall judge, crito, if you are willing to hear what followed; for we resumed the enquiry, and a question of this sort was asked: does the kingly art, having this supreme authority, do anything for us? to be sure, was the answer. and would not you, crito, say the same? crito: yes, i should. socrates: and what would you say that the kingly art does? if medicine were supposed to have supreme authority over the subordinate arts, and i were to ask you a similar question about that, you would say--it produces health? crito: i should. socrates: and what of your own art of husbandry, supposing that to have supreme authority over the subject arts--what does that do? does it not supply us with the fruits of the earth? crito: yes. socrates: and what does the kingly art do when invested with supreme power? perhaps you may not be ready with an answer? crito: indeed i am not, socrates. socrates: no more were we, crito. but at any rate you know that if this is the art which we were seeking, it ought to be useful. crito: certainly. socrates: and surely it ought to do us some good? crito: certainly, socrates. socrates: and cleinias and i had arrived at the conclusion that knowledge of some kind is the only good. crito: yes, that was what you were saying. socrates: all the other results of politics, and they are many, as for example, wealth, freedom, tranquillity, were neither good nor evil in themselves; but the political science ought to make us wise, and impart knowledge to us, if that is the science which is likely to do us good, and make us happy. crito: yes; that was the conclusion at which you had arrived, according to your report of the conversation. socrates: and does the kingly art make men wise and good? crito: why not, socrates? socrates: what, all men, and in every respect? and teach them all the arts,--carpentering, and cobbling, and the rest of them? crito: i think not, socrates. socrates: but then what is this knowledge, and what are we to do with it? for it is not the source of any works which are neither good nor evil, and gives no knowledge, but the knowledge of itself; what then can it be, and what are we to do with it? shall we say, crito, that it is the knowledge by which we are to make other men good? crito: by all means. socrates: and in what will they be good and useful? shall we repeat that they will make others good, and that these others will make others again, without ever determining in what they are to be good; for we have put aside the results of politics, as they are called. this is the old, old song over again; and we are just as far as ever, if not farther, from the knowledge of the art or science of happiness. crito: indeed, socrates, you do appear to have got into a great perplexity. socrates: thereupon, crito, seeing that i was on the point of shipwreck, i lifted up my voice, and earnestly entreated and called upon the strangers to save me and the youth from the whirlpool of the argument; they were our castor and pollux, i said, and they should be serious, and show us in sober earnest what that knowledge was which would enable us to pass the rest of our lives in happiness. crito: and did euthydemus show you this knowledge? socrates: yes, indeed; he proceeded in a lofty strain to the following effect: would you rather, socrates, said he, that i should show you this knowledge about which you have been doubting, or shall i prove that you already have it? what, i said, are you blessed with such a power as this? indeed i am. then i would much rather that you should prove me to have such a knowledge; at my time of life that will be more agreeable than having to learn. then tell me, he said, do you know anything? yes, i said, i know many things, but not anything of much importance. that will do, he said: and would you admit that anything is what it is, and at the same time is not what it is? certainly not. and did you not say that you knew something? i did. if you know, you are knowing. certainly, of the knowledge which i have. that makes no difference;--and must you not, if you are knowing, know all things? certainly not, i said, for there are many other things which i do not know. and if you do not know, you are not knowing. yes, friend, of that which i do not know. still you are not knowing, and you said just now that you were knowing; and therefore you are and are not at the same time, and in reference to the same things. a pretty clatter, as men say, euthydemus, this of yours! and will you explain how i possess that knowledge for which we were seeking? do you mean to say that the same thing cannot be and also not be; and therefore, since i know one thing, that i know all, for i cannot be knowing and not knowing at the same time, and if i know all things, then i must have the knowledge for which we are seeking--may i assume this to be your ingenious notion? out of your own mouth, socrates, you are convicted, he said. well, but, euthydemus, i said, has that never happened to you? for if i am only in the same case with you and our beloved dionysodorus, i cannot complain. tell me, then, you two, do you not know some things, and not know others? certainly not, socrates, said dionysodorus. what do you mean, i said; do you know nothing? nay, he replied, we do know something. then, i said, you know all things, if you know anything? yes, all things, he said; and that is as true of you as of us. o, indeed, i said, what a wonderful thing, and what a great blessing! and do all other men know all things or nothing? certainly, he replied; they cannot know some things, and not know others, and be at the same time knowing and not knowing. then what is the inference? i said. they all know all things, he replied, if they know one thing. o heavens, dionysodorus, i said, i see now that you are in earnest; hardly have i got you to that point. and do you really and truly know all things, including carpentering and leather-cutting? certainly, he said. and do you know stitching? yes, by the gods, we do, and cobbling, too. and do you know things such as the numbers of the stars and of the sand? certainly; did you think we should say no to that? by zeus, said ctesippus, interrupting, i only wish that you would give me some proof which would enable me to know whether you speak truly. what proof shall i give you? he said. will you tell me how many teeth euthydemus has? and euthydemus shall tell how many teeth you have. will you not take our word that we know all things? certainly not, said ctesippus: you must further tell us this one thing, and then we shall know that you are speak the truth; if you tell us the number, and we count them, and you are found to be right, we will believe the rest. they fancied that ctesippus was making game of them, and they refused, and they would only say in answer to each of his questions, that they knew all things. for at last ctesippus began to throw off all restraint; no question in fact was too bad for him; he would ask them if they knew the foulest things, and they, like wild boars, came rushing on his blows, and fearlessly replied that they did. at last, crito, i too was carried away by my incredulity, and asked euthydemus whether dionysodorus could dance. certainly, he replied. and can he vault among swords, and turn upon a wheel, at his age? has he got to such a height of skill as that? he can do anything, he said. and did you always know this? always, he said. when you were children, and at your birth? they both said that they did. this we could not believe. and euthydemus said: you are incredulous, socrates. yes, i said, and i might well be incredulous, if i did not know you to be wise men. but if you will answer, he said, i will make you confess to similar marvels. well, i said, there is nothing that i should like better than to be self-convicted of this, for if i am really a wise man, which i never knew before, and you will prove to me that i know and have always known all things, nothing in life would be a greater gain to me. answer then, he said. ask, i said, and i will answer. do you know something, socrates, or nothing? something, i said. and do you know with what you know, or with something else? with what i know; and i suppose that you mean with my soul? are you not ashamed, socrates, of asking a question when you are asked one? well, i said; but then what am i to do? for i will do whatever you bid; when i do not know what you are asking, you tell me to answer nevertheless, and not to ask again. why, you surely have some notion of my meaning, he said. yes, i replied. well, then, answer according to your notion of my meaning. yes, i said; but if the question which you ask in one sense is understood and answered by me in another, will that please you--if i answer what is not to the point? that will please me very well; but will not please you equally well, as i imagine. i certainly will not answer unless i understand you, i said. you will not answer, he said, according to your view of the meaning, because you will be prating, and are an ancient. now i saw that he was getting angry with me for drawing distinctions, when he wanted to catch me in his springes of words. and i remembered that connus was always angry with me when i opposed him, and then he neglected me, because he thought that i was stupid; and as i was intending to go to euthydemus as a pupil, i reflected that i had better let him have his way, as he might think me a blockhead, and refuse to take me. so i said: you are a far better dialectician than myself, euthydemus, for i have never made a profession of the art, and therefore do as you say; ask your questions once more, and i will answer. answer then, he said, again, whether you know what you know with something, or with nothing. yes, i said; i know with my soul. the man will answer more than the question; for i did not ask you, he said, with what you know, but whether you know with something. again i replied, through ignorance i have answered too much, but i hope that you will forgive me. and now i will answer simply that i always know what i know with something. and is that something, he rejoined, always the same, or sometimes one thing, and sometimes another thing? always, i replied, when i know, i know with this. will you not cease adding to your answers? my fear is that this word 'always' may get us into trouble. you, perhaps, but certainly not us. and now answer: do you always know with this? always; since i am required to withdraw the words 'when i know.' you always know with this, or, always knowing, do you know some things with this, and some things with something else, or do you know all things with this? all that i know, i replied, i know with this. there again, socrates, he said, the addition is superfluous. well, then, i said, i will take away the words 'that i know.' nay, take nothing away; i desire no favours of you; but let me ask: would you be able to know all things, if you did not know all things? quite impossible. and now, he said, you may add on whatever you like, for you confess that you know all things. i suppose that is true, i said, if my qualification implied in the words 'that i know' is not allowed to stand; and so i do know all things. and have you not admitted that you always know all things with that which you know, whether you make the addition of 'when you know them' or not? for you have acknowledged that you have always and at once known all things, that is to say, when you were a child, and at your birth, and when you were growing up, and before you were born, and before the heaven and earth existed, you knew all things, if you always know them; and i swear that you shall always continue to know all things, if i am of the mind to make you. but i hope that you will be of that mind, reverend euthydemus, i said, if you are really speaking the truth, and yet i a little doubt your power to make good your words unless you have the help of your brother dionysodorus; then you may do it. tell me now, both of you, for although in the main i cannot doubt that i really do know all things, when i am told so by men of your prodigious wisdom--how can i say that i know such things, euthydemus, as that the good are unjust; come, do i know that or not? certainly, you know that. what do i know? that the good are not unjust. quite true, i said; and that i have always known; but the question is, where did i learn that the good are unjust? nowhere, said dionysodorus. then, i said, i do not know this. you are ruining the argument, said euthydemus to dionysodorus; he will be proved not to know, and then after all he will be knowing and not knowing at the same time. dionysodorus blushed. i turned to the other, and said, what do you think, euthydemus? does not your omniscient brother appear to you to have made a mistake? what, replied dionysodorus in a moment; am i the brother of euthydemus? thereupon i said, please not to interrupt, my good friend, or prevent euthydemus from proving to me that i know the good to be unjust; such a lesson you might at least allow me to learn. you are running away, socrates, said dionysodorus, and refusing to answer. no wonder, i said, for i am not a match for one of you, and a fortiori i must run away from two. i am no heracles; and even heracles could not fight against the hydra, who was a she-sophist, and had the wit to shoot up many new heads when one of them was cut off; especially when he saw a second monster of a sea-crab, who was also a sophist, and appeared to have newly arrived from a sea-voyage, bearing down upon him from the left, opening his mouth and biting. when the monster was growing troublesome he called iolaus, his nephew, to his help, who ably succoured him; but if my iolaus, who is my brother patrocles (the statuary), were to come, he would only make a bad business worse. and now that you have delivered yourself of this strain, said dionysodorus, will you inform me whether iolaus was the nephew of heracles any more than he is yours? i suppose that i had best answer you, dionysodorus, i said, for you will insist on asking--that i pretty well know--out of envy, in order to prevent me from learning the wisdom of euthydemus. then answer me, he said. well then, i said, i can only reply that iolaus was not my nephew at all, but the nephew of heracles; and his father was not my brother patrocles, but iphicles, who has a name rather like his, and was the brother of heracles. and is patrocles, he said, your brother? yes, i said, he is my half-brother, the son of my mother, but not of my father. then he is and is not your brother. not by the same father, my good man, i said, for chaeredemus was his father, and mine was sophroniscus. and was sophroniscus a father, and chaeredemus also? yes, i said; the former was my father, and the latter his. then, he said, chaeredemus is not a father. he is not my father, i said. but can a father be other than a father? or are you the same as a stone? i certainly do not think that i am a stone, i said, though i am afraid that you may prove me to be one. are you not other than a stone? i am. and being other than a stone, you are not a stone; and being other than gold, you are not gold? very true. and so chaeredemus, he said, being other than a father, is not a father? i suppose that he is not a father, i replied. for if, said euthydemus, taking up the argument, chaeredemus is a father, then sophroniscus, being other than a father, is not a father; and you, socrates, are without a father. ctesippus, here taking up the argument, said: and is not your father in the same case, for he is other than my father? assuredly not, said euthydemus. then he is the same? he is the same. i cannot say that i like the connection; but is he only my father, euthydemus, or is he the father of all other men? of all other men, he replied. do you suppose the same person to be a father and not a father? certainly, i did so imagine, said ctesippus. and do you suppose that gold is not gold, or that a man is not a man? they are not 'in pari materia,' euthydemus, said ctesippus, and you had better take care, for it is monstrous to suppose that your father is the father of all. but he is, he replied. what, of men only, said ctesippus, or of horses and of all other animals? of all, he said. and your mother, too, is the mother of all? yes, our mother too. yes; and your mother has a progeny of sea-urchins then? yes; and yours, he said. and gudgeons and puppies and pigs are your brothers? and yours too. and your papa is a dog? and so is yours, he said. if you will answer my questions, said dionysodorus, i will soon extract the same admissions from you, ctesippus. you say that you have a dog. yes, a villain of a one, said ctesippus. and he has puppies? yes, and they are very like himself. and the dog is the father of them? yes, he said, i certainly saw him and the mother of the puppies come together. and is he not yours? to be sure he is. then he is a father, and he is yours; ergo, he is your father, and the puppies are your brothers. let me ask you one little question more, said dionysodorus, quickly interposing, in order that ctesippus might not get in his word: you beat this dog? ctesippus said, laughing, indeed i do; and i only wish that i could beat you instead of him. then you beat your father, he said. i should have far more reason to beat yours, said ctesippus; what could he have been thinking of when he begat such wise sons? much good has this father of you and your brethren the puppies got out of this wisdom of yours. but neither he nor you, ctesippus, have any need of much good. and have you no need, euthydemus? he said. neither i nor any other man; for tell me now, ctesippus, if you think it good or evil for a man who is sick to drink medicine when he wants it; or to go to war armed rather than unarmed. good, i say. and yet i know that i am going to be caught in one of your charming puzzles. that, he replied, you will discover, if you answer; since you admit medicine to be good for a man to drink, when wanted, must it not be good for him to drink as much as possible; when he takes his medicine, a cartload of hellebore will not be too much for him? ctesippus said: quite so, euthydemus, that is to say, if he who drinks is as big as the statue of delphi. and seeing that in war to have arms is a good thing, he ought to have as many spears and shields as possible? very true, said ctesippus; and do you think, euthydemus, that he ought to have one shield only, and one spear? i do. and would you arm geryon and briareus in that way? considering that you and your companion fight in armour, i thought that you would have known better...here euthydemus held his peace, but dionysodorus returned to the previous answer of ctesippus and said:-do you not think that the possession of gold is a good thing? yes, said ctesippus, and the more the better. and to have money everywhere and always is a good? certainly, a great good, he said. and you admit gold to be a good? certainly, he replied. and ought not a man then to have gold everywhere and always, and as much as possible in himself, and may he not be deemed the happiest of men who has three talents of gold in his belly, and a talent in his pate, and a stater of gold in either eye? yes, euthydemus, said ctesippus; and the scythians reckon those who have gold in their own skulls to be the happiest and bravest of men (that is only another instance of your manner of speaking about the dog and father), and what is still more extraordinary, they drink out of their own skulls gilt, and see the inside of them, and hold their own head in their hands. and do the scythians and others see that which has the quality of vision, or that which has not? said euthydemus. that which has the quality of vision clearly. and you also see that which has the quality of vision? he said. [note: the ambiguity of (greek), 'things visible and able to see,' (greek), 'the speaking of the silent,' the silent denoting either the speaker or the subject of the speech, cannot be perfectly rendered in english.] compare aristot. soph. elenchi (poste's translation):-'of ambiguous propositions the following are instances:-'i hope that you the enemy may slay. 'whom one knows, he knows. either the person knowing or the person known is here affirmed to know. 'what one sees, that one sees: one sees a pillar: ergo, that one pillar sees. 'what you are holding, that you are: you are holding a stone: ergo, a stone you are. 'is a speaking of the silent possible? "the silent" denotes either the speaker are the subject of speech. 'there are three kinds of ambiguity of term or proposition. the first is when there is an equal linguistic propriety in several interpretations; the second when one is improper but customary; the third when the ambiguity arises in the combination of elements that are in themselves unambiguous, as in "knowing letters." "knowing" and "letters" are perhaps separately unambiguous, but in combination may imply either that the letters are known, or that they themselves have knowledge. such are the modes in which propositions and terms may be ambiguous.' yes, i do. then do you see our garments? yes. then our garments have the quality of vision. they can see to any extent, said ctesippus. what can they see? nothing; but you, my sweet man, may perhaps imagine that they do not see; and certainly, euthydemus, you do seem to me to have been caught napping when you were not asleep, and that if it be possible to speak and say nothing--you are doing so. and may there not be a silence of the speaker? said dionysodorus. impossible, said ctesippus. or a speaking of the silent? that is still more impossible, he said. but when you speak of stones, wood, iron bars, do you not speak of the silent? not when i pass a smithy; for then the iron bars make a tremendous noise and outcry if they are touched: so that here your wisdom is strangely mistaken; please, however, to tell me how you can be silent when speaking (i thought that ctesippus was put upon his mettle because cleinias was present). when you are silent, said euthydemus, is there not a silence of all things? yes, he said. but if speaking things are included in all things, then the speaking are silent. what, said ctesippus; then all things are not silent? certainly not, said euthydemus. then, my good friend, do they all speak? yes; those which speak. nay, said ctesippus, but the question which i ask is whether all things are silent or speak? neither and both, said dionysodorus, quickly interposing; i am sure that you will be 'non-plussed' at that answer. here ctesippus, as his manner was, burst into a roar of laughter; he said, that brother of yours, euthydemus, has got into a dilemma; all is over with him. this delighted cleinias, whose laughter made ctesippus ten times as uproarious; but i cannot help thinking that the rogue must have picked up this answer from them; for there has been no wisdom like theirs in our time. why do you laugh, cleinias, i said, at such solemn and beautiful things? why, socrates, said dionysodorus, did you ever see a beautiful thing? yes, dionysodorus, i replied, i have seen many. were they other than the beautiful, or the same as the beautiful? now i was in a great quandary at having to answer this question, and i thought that i was rightly served for having opened my mouth at all: i said however, they are not the same as absolute beauty, but they have beauty present with each of them. and are you an ox because an ox is present with you, or are you dionysodorus, because dionysodorus is present with you? god forbid, i replied. but how, he said, by reason of one thing being present with another, will one thing be another? is that your difficulty? i said. for i was beginning to imitate their skill, on which my heart was set. of course, he replied, i and all the world are in a difficulty about the non-existent. what do you mean, dionysodorus? i said. is not the honourable honourable and the base base? that, he said, is as i please. and do you please? yes, he said. and you will admit that the same is the same, and the other other; for surely the other is not the same; i should imagine that even a child will hardly deny the other to be other. but i think, dionysodorus, that you must have intentionally missed the last question; for in general you and your brother seem to me to be good workmen in your own department, and to do the dialectician's business excellently well. what, said he, is the business of a good workman? tell me, in the first place, whose business is hammering? the smith's. and whose the making of pots? the potter's. and who has to kill and skin and mince and boil and roast? the cook, i said. and if a man does his business he does rightly? certainly. and the business of the cook is to cut up and skin; you have admitted that? yes, i have admitted that, but you must not be too hard upon me. then if some one were to kill, mince, boil, roast the cook, he would do his business, and if he were to hammer the smith, and make a pot of the potter, he would do their business. poseidon, i said, this is the crown of wisdom; can i ever hope to have such wisdom of my own? and would you be able, socrates, to recognize this wisdom when it has become your own? certainly, i said, if you will allow me. what, he said, do you think that you know what is your own? yes, i do, subject to your correction; for you are the bottom, and euthydemus is the top, of all my wisdom. is not that which you would deem your own, he said, that which you have in your own power, and which you are able to use as you would desire, for example, an ox or a sheep--would you not think that which you could sell and give and sacrifice to any god whom you pleased, to be your own, and that which you could not give or sell or sacrifice you would think not to be in your own power? yes, i said (for i was certain that something good would come out of the questions, which i was impatient to hear); yes, such things, and such things only are mine. yes, he said, and you would mean by animals living beings? yes, i said. you agree then, that those animals only are yours with which you have the power to do all these things which i was just naming? i agree. then, after a pause, in which he seemed to be lost in the contemplation of something great, he said: tell me, socrates, have you an ancestral zeus? here, anticipating the final move, like a person caught in a net, who gives a desperate twist that he may get away, i said: no, dionysodorus, i have not. what a miserable man you must be then, he said; you are not an athenian at all if you have no ancestral gods or temples, or any other mark of gentility. nay, dionysodorus, i said, do not be rough; good words, if you please; in the way of religion i have altars and temples, domestic and ancestral, and all that other athenians have. and have not other athenians, he said, an ancestral zeus? that name, i said, is not to be found among the ionians, whether colonists or citizens of athens; an ancestral apollo there is, who is the father of ion, and a family zeus, and a zeus guardian of the phratry, and an athene guardian of the phratry. but the name of ancestral zeus is unknown to us. no matter, said dionysodorus, for you admit that you have apollo, zeus, and athene. certainly, i said. and they are your gods, he said. yes, i said, my lords and ancestors. at any rate they are yours, he said, did you not admit that? i did, i said; what is going to happen to me? and are not these gods animals? for you admit that all things which have life are animals; and have not these gods life? they have life, i said. then are they not animals? they are animals, i said. and you admitted that of animals those are yours which you could give away or sell or offer in sacrifice, as you pleased? i did admit that, euthydemus, and i have no way of escape. well then, said he, if you admit that zeus and the other gods are yours, can you sell them or give them away or do what you will with them, as you would with other animals? at this i was quite struck dumb, crito, and lay prostrate. ctesippus came to the rescue. bravo, heracles, brave words, said he. bravo heracles, or is heracles a bravo? said dionysodorus. poseidon, said ctesippus, what awful distinctions. i will have no more of them; the pair are invincible. then, my dear crito, there was universal applause of the speakers and their words, and what with laughing and clapping of hands and rejoicings the two men were quite overpowered; for hitherto their partisans only had cheered at each successive hit, but now the whole company shouted with delight until the columns of the lyceum returned the sound, seeming to sympathize in their joy. to such a pitch was i affected myself, that i made a speech, in which i acknowledged that i had never seen the like of their wisdom; i was their devoted servant, and fell to praising and admiring of them. what marvellous dexterity of wit, i said, enabled you to acquire this great perfection in such a short time? there is much, indeed, to admire in your words, euthydemus and dionysodorus, but there is nothing that i admire more than your magnanimous disregard of any opinion--whether of the many, or of the grave and reverend seigniors--you regard only those who are like yourselves. and i do verily believe that there are few who are like you, and who would approve of such arguments; the majority of mankind are so ignorant of their value, that they would be more ashamed of employing them in the refutation of others than of being refuted by them. i must further express my approval of your kind and public-spirited denial of all differences, whether of good and evil, white or black, or any other; the result of which is that, as you say, every mouth is sewn up, not excepting your own, which graciously follows the example of others; and thus all ground of offence is taken away. but what appears to me to be more than all is, that this art and invention of yours has been so admirably contrived by you, that in a very short time it can be imparted to any one. i observed that ctesippus learned to imitate you in no time. now this quickness of attainment is an excellent thing; but at the same time i would advise you not to have any more public entertainments; there is a danger that men may undervalue an art which they have so easy an opportunity of acquiring; the exhibition would be best of all, if the discussion were confined to your two selves; but if there must be an audience, let him only be present who is willing to pay a handsome fee;--you should be careful of this;--and if you are wise, you will also bid your disciples discourse with no man but you and themselves. for only what is rare is valuable; and 'water,' which, as pindar says, is the 'best of all things,' is also the cheapest. and now i have only to request that you will receive cleinias and me among your pupils. such was the discussion, crito; and after a few more words had passed between us we went away. i hope that you will come to them with me, since they say that they are able to teach any one who will give them money; no age or want of capacity is an impediment. and i must repeat one thing which they said, for your especial benefit,--that the learning of their art did not at all interfere with the business of money-making. crito: truly, socrates, though i am curious and ready to learn, yet i fear that i am not like-minded with euthydemus, but one of the other sort, who, as you were saying, would rather be refuted by such arguments than use them in refutation of others. and though i may appear ridiculous in venturing to advise you, i think that you may as well hear what was said to me by a man of very considerable pretensions--he was a professor of legal oratory--who came away from you while i was walking up and down. 'crito,' said he to me, 'are you giving no attention to these wise men?' 'no, indeed,' i said to him; 'i could not get within hearing of them--there was such a crowd.' 'you would have heard something worth hearing if you had.' 'what was that?' i said. 'you would have heard the greatest masters of the art of rhetoric discoursing.' 'and what did you think of them?' i said. 'what did i think of them?' he said:--'theirs was the sort of discourse which anybody might hear from men who were playing the fool, and making much ado about nothing.' that was the expression which he used. 'surely,' i said, 'philosophy is a charming thing.' 'charming!' he said; 'what simplicity! philosophy is nought; and i think that if you had been present you would have been ashamed of your friend--his conduct was so very strange in placing himself at the mercy of men who care not what they say, and fasten upon every word. and these, as i was telling you, are supposed to be the most eminent professors of their time. but the truth is, crito, that the study itself and the men themselves are utterly mean and ridiculous.' now censure of the pursuit, socrates, whether coming from him or from others, appears to me to be undeserved; but as to the impropriety of holding a public discussion with such men, there, i confess that, in my opinion, he was in the right. socrates: o crito, they are marvellous men; but what was i going to say? first of all let me know;--what manner of man was he who came up to you and censured philosophy; was he an orator who himself practises in the courts, or an instructor of orators, who makes the speeches with which they do battle? crito: he was certainly not an orator, and i doubt whether he had ever been into court; but they say that he knows the business, and is a clever man, and composes wonderful speeches. socrates: now i understand, crito; he is one of an amphibious class, whom i was on the point of mentioning--one of those whom prodicus describes as on the border-ground between philosophers and statesmen--they think that they are the wisest of all men, and that they are generally esteemed the wisest; nothing but the rivalry of the philosophers stands in their way; and they are of the opinion that if they can prove the philosophers to be good for nothing, no one will dispute their title to the palm of wisdom, for that they are themselves really the wisest, although they are apt to be mauled by euthydemus and his friends, when they get hold of them in conversation. this opinion which they entertain of their own wisdom is very natural; for they have a certain amount of philosophy, and a certain amount of political wisdom; there is reason in what they say, for they argue that they have just enough of both, and so they keep out of the way of all risks and conflicts and reap the fruits of their wisdom. crito: what do you say of them, socrates? there is certainly something specious in that notion of theirs. socrates: yes, crito, there is more speciousness than truth; they cannot be made to understand the nature of intermediates. for all persons or things, which are intermediate between two other things, and participate in both of them--if one of these two things is good and the other evil, are better than the one and worse than the other; but if they are in a mean between two good things which do not tend to the same end, they fall short of either of their component elements in the attainment of their ends. only in the case when the two component elements which do not tend to the same end are evil is the participant better than either. now, if philosophy and political action are both good, but tend to different ends, and they participate in both, and are in a mean between them, then they are talking nonsense, for they are worse than either; or, if the one be good and the other evil, they are better than the one and worse than the other; only on the supposition that they are both evil could there be any truth in what they say. i do not think that they will admit that their two pursuits are either wholly or partly evil; but the truth is, that these philosopher-politicians who aim at both fall short of both in the attainment of their respective ends, and are really third, although they would like to stand first. there is no need, however, to be angry at this ambition of theirs--which may be forgiven; for every man ought to be loved who says and manfully pursues and works out anything which is at all like wisdom: at the same time we shall do well to see them as they really are. crito: i have often told you, socrates, that i am in a constant difficulty about my two sons. what am i to do with them? there is no hurry about the younger one, who is only a child; but the other, critobulus, is getting on, and needs some one who will improve him. i cannot help thinking, when i hear you talk, that there is a sort of madness in many of our anxieties about our children:--in the first place, about marrying a wife of good family to be the mother of them, and then about heaping up money for them--and yet taking no care about their education. but then again, when i contemplate any of those who pretend to educate others, i am amazed. to me, if i am to confess the truth, they all seem to be such outrageous beings: so that i do not know how i can advise the youth to study philosophy. socrates: dear crito, do you not know that in every profession the inferior sort are numerous and good for nothing, and the good are few and beyond all price: for example, are not gymnastic and rhetoric and money-making and the art of the general, noble arts? crito: certainly they are, in my judgment. socrates: well, and do you not see that in each of these arts the many are ridiculous performers? crito: yes, indeed, that is very true. socrates: and will you on this account shun all these pursuits yourself and refuse to allow them to your son? crito: that would not be reasonable, socrates. socrates: do you then be reasonable, crito, and do not mind whether the teachers of philosophy are good or bad, but think only of philosophy herself. try and examine her well and truly, and if she be evil seek to turn away all men from her, and not your sons only; but if she be what i believe that she is, then follow her and serve her, you and your house, as the saying is, and be of good cheer. the symposium by xenophon translation by h. g. dakyns xenophon the athenian was born 431 b.c. he was a pupil of socrates. he marched with the spartans, and was exiled from athens. sparta gave him land and property in scillus, where he lived for many years before having to move once more, to settle in corinth. he died in 354 b.c. the symposium records the discussion of socrates and company at a dinner given by callias for the youth autolycus. dakyns believed that plato knew of this work, and that it influenced him to some degree when he wrote his own "symposium." preparer's note this was typed from dakyns' series, "the works of xenophon," a four-volume set. the complete list of xenophon's works (though there is doubt about some of these) is: work number of books the anabasis 7 the hellenica 7 the cyropaedia 8 the memorabilia 4 the symposium 1 the economist 1 on horsemanship 1 the sportsman 1 the cavalry general 1 the apology 1 on revenues 1 the hiero 1 the agesilaus 1 the polity of the athenians and the lacedaemonians 2 text in brackets "{}" is my transliteration of greek text into english using an oxford english dictionary alphabet table. the diacritical marks have been lost. the symposium or the banquet i for myself, (1) i hold to the opinion that not alone are the serious transactions of "good and noble men" (2) most memorable, but that words and deeds distinctive of their lighter moods may claim some record. (3) in proof of which contention, i will here describe a set of incidents within the scope of my experience. (4) (1) see aristid. ii. foll. (2) or, "nature's noblemen." (3) cf. plut. "ages." 29 (clough, iv. 35): "and indeed if, as xenophon says, in conversation good men, even in their sports and at their wine, let fall many sayings that are worth preserving." see grote, "plato," ii. 228 foll. as to the sportive character of the work. (4) or, "let me describe a scene which i was witness of." see hug. "plat. symp." p. xv. foll. the occasion was a horse-race (5) at the great panathenaic festival. (6) callias, (7) the son of hipponicus, being a friend and lover of the boy autolycus, (8) had brought the lad, himself the winner of the pankration, (9) to see the spectacle. (5) see "hipparch," ii. 1. (6) "held towards the end of july (hecatombaeon) every year, and with greater pomp every four years (the third of each olympiad)."--gow, 84, 129, n. (7) callias. cobet, "pros. x." p. 67 foll.; boeckh, "p. e. a." p. 481. (8) see cobet, op. cit. p. 54; plut. "lysand." 15 (clough, iii. 120); grote, "h. g." ix. 261. (9) 420 b.c., al. 421. the date is fixed by the "autolycus" of eupolis. see athen. v. 216. for the pankration, which comprised wrestling and boxing, see aristot. "rhet." i. s. 14. as soon as the horse race was over, (10) callias proceeded to escort autolycus and his father, lycon, to his house in the piraeus, being attended also by niceratus. (11) but catching sight of socrates along with certain others (critobulus, (12) hermogenes, antisthenes, and charmides), he bade an attendant conduct the party with autolycus, whilst he himself approached the group, exclaiming: (10) see a. martin, op. cit. p. 265. (11) niceratus. see cobet, op. cit. 71; boeckh, "p. e. a." 480; plat. "lach." 200 c; "hell." ii. iii. 39; lys. xviii.; diod. xiv. 5. (12) critobulus, hermogenes, antisthenes, charmides. see "mem." a happy chance brings me across your path, just when i am about to entertain autolycus and his father at a feast. the splendour of the entertainment shall be much enhanced, i need not tell you, if my hall (13) should happily be graced by worthies like yourselves, who have attained to purity of soul, (14) rather than by generals and cavalry commanders (15) and a crowd of place-hunters. (16) (13) or, "dining-room." see becker, "charicles," 265. (14) see grote, "h. g." viii. 619 foll. cf. plat. "rep." 527 d; "soph." 230 e. (15) lit. strategoi, hipparchs. (16) or, "petitioners for offices of state." reading {spoudarkhiais}. whereat socrates: when will you have done with your gibes, callias? why, because you have yourself spent sums of money on protagoras, (17) and gorgias, and prodicus, and a host of others, to learn wisdom, must you pour contempt on us poor fellows, who are but self-taught tinkers (18) in philosophy compared with you? (17) as to protagoras of abdera, gorgias of leontini, prodicus of ceos, see plat. "prot." 314 c, "rep." x. 600 c, "apol." 19 e; "anab." ii. vi. 17; "mem." ii. i. 21; "encyc. brit." "sophists," h. jackson. (18) or, "hand-to-mouth cultivators of philosophy," "roturiers." cf. plat. "rep." 565 a: "a third class who work for themselves"; thuc. i. 141: "the peloponnesians cultivate their own soil, and they have no wealth either public or private." cf. "econ." v. 4. hitherto, no doubt (retorted callias), although i had plenty of wise things to say, i have kept my wisdom to myself; but if only you will honour me with your company to-day, i promise to present myself in quite another light; you will see i am a person of no mean consideration after all. (19) (19) or, "i will prove to you that i am worthy of infinite respect." socrates and the others, while thanking callias politely for the invitation, were not disposed at first to join the dinner party; but the annoyance of the other so to be put off was so obvious that in the end the party were persuaded to accompany their host. after an interval devoted to gymnastic exercise (and subsequent anointing of the limbs) by some, whilst others of them took a bath, the guests were severally presented to the master of the house. autolycus was seated next his father, as was natural, (20) while the rest reclined on couches. noting the scene presented, the first idea to strike the mind of any one must certainly have been that beauty has by nature something regal in it; and the more so, if it chance to be combined (as now in the person of autolycus) with modesty and self-respect. even as when a splendid object blazes forth at night, the eyes of men are riveted, (21) so now the beauty of autolycus drew on him the gaze of all; nor was there one of those onlookers but was stirred to his soul's depth by him who sat there. (22) some fell into unwonted silence, while the gestures of the rest were equally significant. (20) al. "autolycus found a seat beside his father, while the rest reclined on couches in the usual fashion." see schneider's note. (21) passage imitated by max. tyr. "or." xxiv. 4. (22) cf. plat. "charm." 154. it seems the look betokening divine possession, no matter who the god, must ever be remarkable. only, whilst the subject of each commoner emotion passion-whirled may be distinguished by flashings of the eye, by terror-striking tones of voice, and by the vehement fervour of the man's whole being, so he who is inspired by temperate and harmonious love (23) will wear a look of kindlier welcome in his eyes; the words he utters fall from his lips with softer intonation; and every gesture of his bodily frame conform to what is truly frank and liberal. such, at any rate, the strange effects now wrought on callias by love. he was like one transformed, the cynosure of all initiated in the mysteries of this divinity. (24) (23) cf. plat. "rep." iii. 403 a: "whereas true love is a love of beauty and order, temperate and harmonious." (24) cf. "econ." xxi. 12. so they supped in silence, the whole company, as if an injunction had been laid upon them by some superior power. but presently there came a knocking on the door! philippus the jester bade the doorkeeper (25) announce him, with apologies for seeking a night's lodging: (26) he had come, he said, provided with all necessaries for dining, at a friend's expense: his attendant was much galled with carrying, nothing but an empty bread-basket. (27) to this announcement callias, appealing to his guests, replied: "it would never do to begrudge the shelter of one's roof: (28) let him come in." and as he spoke, he glanced across to where autolycus was seated, as if to say: "i wonder how you take the jest." (25) lit. "him who answers the knock," "the concierge" or hall-porter. cf. theophr. "char." xiv. 7; aristot. "oec." i. 6. (26) lit. "and why he wished to put up." (27) lit. "and being breakfastless"; cf. theocr. i. 51. the jester's humour resembles pistol's ("merry wives," i. 3. 23) "o base hungarian wight!" (28) or, "how say you, my friends, it would hardly do, methinks, to shut the door upon him." see becker, "charicles," p. 92. meanwhile the jester, standing at the door of the apartment where the feast was spread, addressed the company: i believe you know, sirs, that being a jester by profession, it is my business to make jokes. i am all the readier, therefore, to present myself, feeling convinced it is a better joke to come to dinner thus unbidden than by solemn invitation. be seated, (29) then (replied the host). the company are fully fed on serious thoughts, you see, if somewhat starved of food for laughter. (29) lit. "pray, find a couch then." the feast proceeded; and, if only to discharge the duty laid upon him at a dinner-party, philippus must try at once to perpetrate a jest. failing to stir a smile, poor fellow, he made no secret of his perturbation. presently he tried again; and for the second time the joke fell flat. whereat he paused abruptly in the middle of the course, and muffling up his face, fell prostrate on the couch. then callias: what ails you, sirrah? have you the cramp? the toothache? what? to which the other heaving a deep groan: yes, callias, an atrocious ache; since laughter has died out among mankind, my whole estate is bankrupt. (30) in old days i would be asked to dinner to amuse the company with jests. (31) now all is changed, and who will be at pains to ask me out to dinner any more? i might as well pretend to be immortal as to be serious. nor will any one invite me in hopes of reclining at my board in his turn. everyone knows so serious a thing as dinner in my house was never heard of; it's against the rules--the more's the pity. (30) cf. "cyrop." vi. i. 3; plat. "laws," 677 c. (31) lit. "by the laughter which i stirred in them." and as he spoke he blew his nose and snuffled, uttering the while so truly dolorous a moan (32) that everybody fell to soothing him. "they would all laugh again another day," they said, and so implored him to have done and eat his dinner; till critobulus could not stand his lamentation longer, but broke into a peal of laughter. the welcome sound sufficed. the sufferer unveiled his face, and thus addressed his inner self: (33) "be of good cheer, my soul, there are many battles (34) yet in store for us," and so he fell to discussing the viands once again. (32) philippus would seem to have anticipated mr. woodward; see prologue to "she stoops to conquer": pray, would you know the reason i'm crying? the comic muse long sick is now a-dying! and if she goes... (33) cf. "cyrop." i. iv. 13; eur. "med." 1056, 1242; aristoph. "ach." 357, 480. (34) or add, "ere we have expended our last shot." philippus puns on the double sense of {sumbolai}. cf. aristoph. "ach." 1210, where lamachus groans {talas ego xumboles bareias}, and dicaeopolis replies {tois khousi gar tis xumbolas epratteto}. lam. 'twas at the final charge; i'd paid before a number of the rogues; at least a score. dic. it was a most expensive charge you bore: poor lamachus! he was forced to pay the score. h. frere. ii now the tables were removed, and in due order they had poured out the libation, and had sung the hymn. (1) to promote the revelry, there entered now a syracusan, with a trio of assistants: the first, a flute-girl, perfect in her art; and next, a dancing-girl, skilled to perform all kinds of wonders; lastly, in the bloom of beauty, a boy, who played the harp and danced with infinite grace. this syracusan went about exhibiting his troupe, whose wonderful performance was a source of income to him. (1) see plat. "symp." 176 a; athen. ix. 408. after the girl had played to them upon the flute, and then the boy in turn upon the harp, and both performers, as it would appear, had set the hearts of every one rejoicing, socrates turned to callias: a feast, upon my word, o princeliest entertainer! (2) was it not enough to set before your guests a faultless dinner, but you must feast our eyes and ears on sights and sounds the most delicious? (2) lit. "in consummate style." to which the host: and that reminds me, a supply of unguents might not be amiss; (3) what say you? shall we feast on perfumes also? (4) (3) lit. "suppose i tell the servant to bring in some perfumes, so that we may further feast on fragrance..." cf. theophr. "char." vii. 6 (jebb ad loc.) (4) see athen. xv. 686. no, i protest (the other answered). scents resemble clothes. one dress is beautiful on man and one on woman; and so with fragrance: what becomes the woman, ill becomes the man. did ever man anoint himself with oil of myrrh to please his fellow? women, and especially young women (like our two friends' brides, niceratus' and critobulus'), need no perfume, being but compounds themselves of fragrance. (5) no, sweeter than any perfume else to women is good olive-oil, suggestive of the training-school: (6) sweet if present, and when absent longed for. and why? distinctions vanish with the use of perfumes. the freeman and the slave have forthwith both alike one odour. but the scents derived from toils--those toils which every free man loves (7)--need customary habit first, and time's distillery, if they are to be sweet with freedom's breath, at last. (8) (5) cf. solomon's song, iv. 10: "how fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all spices!" (6) lit. "the gymnasium." (7) cf. aristoph. "clouds," 1002 foll. see j. a. symonds, "the greek poets," 1st s., p. 281. (8) see "mem." iii. x. 5; "cyrop." viii. i. 43. here lycon interposed: that may be well enough for youths, but what shall we do whose gymnastic days are over? what fragrance is left for us? soc. why, that of true nobility, of course. lyc. and whence shall a man obtain this chrism? soc. not from those that sell perfumes and unguents, in good sooth. lyc. but whence, then? soc. theognis has told us: from the good thou shalt learn good things, but if with the evil thou holdest converse, thou shalt lose the wit that is in thee. (9) (9) theog. 35 foll. see "mem." i. ii. 20; plat. "men." 95 d. lyc. (turning to his son). do you hear that, my son? that he does (socrates answered for the boy), and he puts the precept into practice also; to judge, at any rate, from his behaviour. when he had set his heart on carrying off the palm of victory in the pankration, he took you into his counsel; (10) and will again take counsel to discover the fittest friend to aid him in his high endeavour, (11) and with this friend associate. (10) it looks as if something had been lost intimating that autolycus would have need of some one to instruct him in spiritual things. for attempts to fill up the lacuna see schenkl. (11) or, "these high pursuits." thereupon several of the company exclaimed at once. "where will he find a teacher to instruct him in that wisdom?" one inquired. "why, it is not to be taught!" exclaimed another; to which a third rejoined: "why should it not be learnt as well as other things?" (12) (12) cf. for the question {ei arete didakton}, "mem." i. ii. 19; iv. i; "cyrop." iii. i. 17; iii. iii. 53. then socrates: the question would seem at any rate to be debatable. suppose we defer it till another time, and for the present not interrupt the programme of proceedings. i see, the dancing-girl is standing ready; they are handing her some hoops. and at the instant her fellow with the flute commenced a tune to keep her company, whilst some one posted at her side kept handing her the hoops till she had twelve in all. with these in her hands she fell to dancing, and the while she danced she flung the hoops into the air--overhead she sent them twirling--judging the height they must be thrown to catch them, as they fell, in perfect time. (13) (13) "in time with the music and the measure of the dance." then socrates: the girl's performance is one proof among a host of others, sirs, that woman's nature is nowise inferior to man's. all she wants is strength and judgment; (14) and that should be an encouragement to those of you who have wives, to teach them whatever you would have them know as your associates. (15) (14) reading, as vulg. {gnomes de kai iskhuos deitai}; al. continuing {ouden} from the first half of the sentence, transl. "she has no lack of either judgment or physical strength." lange conj. {romes} for {gnomes}, "all she needs is force and strength of body." see newman, op. cit. i. 419. (15) lit. "so that, if any of you has a wife, he may well take heart and teach her whatever he would wish her to know in dealing with her." cf. "n. a." i. 17. antisthenes rejoined: if that is your conclusion, socrates, why do you not tutor your own wife, xanthippe, (16) instead of letting her (17) remain, of all the wives that are, indeed that ever will be, i imagine, the most shrewish? (16) see cobet, "pros. xen." p. 56; "mem." ii. ii. 1; aul. gell. "n. a." i. 17. (17) lit. "dealing with her," "finding in her"; {khro} corresponding to {khresthai} in socrates' remarks. well now, i will tell you (he answered). i follow the example of the rider who wishes to become an expert horseman: "none of your soft-mouthed, docile animals for me," he says; "the horse for me to own must show some spirit": (18) in the belief, no doubt, if he can manage such an animal, it will be easy enough to deal with every other horse besides. and that is just my case. i wish to deal with human beings, to associate with man in general; hence my choice of wife. (19) i know full well, if i can tolerate her spirit, i can with ease attach myself to every human being else. (18) lit. "because i see the man who aims at skill in horsemanship does not care to own a soft-mouthed, docile animal, but some restive, fiery creature." (19) lit. "being anxious to have intercourse with all mankind, to deal with every sort of human being, i possess my wife." a well-aimed argument, not wide of the mark by any means! (20) the company were thinking. (20) cf. plat. "theaet." 179 c. hereupon a large hoop studded with a bristling row of upright swords (21) was introduced; and into the centre of this ring of knives and out of it again the girl threw somersaults backwards, forwards, several times, till the spectators were in terror of some accident; but with the utmost coolness and without mishap the girl completed her performance. (21) see becker, "char." p. 101. cf. plat. "symp." 190; "euthyd." 294. here socrates, appealing to antisthenes: none of the present company, i take it, who have watched this spectacle will ever again deny that courage can be taught, (22) when the girl there, woman should she be, rushes so boldly into the midst of swords. (22) cf. "mem." iii. ix. 1. he, thus challenged, answered: no; and what our friend, the syracusan here, should do is to exhibit his dancing-girl to the state. (23) let him tell the authorities he is prepared, for a consideration, to give the whole athenian people courage to face the hostile lances at close quarters. (23) or, "to the city," i.e. of athens. whereat the jester: an excellent idea, upon my word; and when it happens, may i be there to see that mighty orator (24) peisander learning to throw somersaults (25) into swords; since incapacity to look a row of lances in the face at present makes him shy of military service. (26) (24) or, "tribune of the people." cf. plat. "gorg." 520 b; "laws," 908 d. (25) or, "learning to go head over heels into swords." (26) for peisander see cobet, "pros. xen." p. 46 foll. a thoroughgoing oligarch (thuc. viii. 90), he was the occasion of much mirth to the comic writers (so grote, "h. g." viii. 12). see re his "want of spirit" aristoph. "birds," 1556: {entha kai peisandros elthe deomenos psukhen idein, e zont ekeinon proulipe, k.t.l.} where the poet has a fling at socrates also: socrates beside the brink, summons from the murky sink many a disembodied ghost; and peisander reached the coast to raise the spirit that he lost; with conviction strange and new, a gawky camel which he slew, like ulysses.--whereupon, etc. h. frere cf. "peace," 395; "lysistr." 490. at this stage of the proceedings the boy danced. the dance being over, socrates exclaimed: pray, did you notice how the beauty of the child, so lovely in repose, became enhanced with every movement of his supple body? to which charmides replied: how like a flatterer you are! one would think you had set yourself to puff the dancing-master. (27) (27) see "the critic," i. ii. to be sure (he answered solemnly); and there's another point i could not help observing: how while he danced no portion of his body remained idle; neck and legs and hands together, one and all were exercised. (28) that is how a man should dance, who wants to keep his body light and healthy. (29) (then turning to the syracusan, he added): i cannot say how much obliged i should be to you, o man of syracuse, for lessons in deportment. pray teach me my steps. (30) (28) cf. "pol. lac." v. 9. (29) cf. aristot. "h. a." vi. 21. 4. (30) "gestures," "postures," "figures." see eur. "cycl." 221; aristoph. "peace," 323; isocr. "antid." 183. and what use will you make of them? (the other asked). god bless me! i shall dance, of course (he answered). the remark was greeted with a peal of merriment. then socrates, with a most serious expression of countenance: (31) you are pleased to laugh at me. pray, do you find it so ridiculous my wishing to improve my health by exercise? or to enjoy my victuals better? to sleep better? or is it the sort of exercise i set my heart on? not like those runners of the long race, (32) to have my legs grow muscular and my shoulders leaner in proportion; nor like a boxer, thickening chest and shoulders at expense of legs; but by distribution of the toil throughout my limbs (33) i seek to give an even balance to my body. or are you laughing to think that i shall not in future have to seek a partner in the training school, (34) whereby it will not be necessary for an old man like myself to strip in public? (35) all i shall need will be a seven-sofa'd chamber, (36) where i can warm to work, (37) just like the lad here who has found this room quite ample for the purpose. and in winter i shall do gymnastics (38) under cover, or when the weather is broiling under shade.... but what is it you keep on laughing at--the wish on my part to reduce to moderate size a paunch a trifle too rotund? is that the source of merriment? (39) perhaps you are not aware, my friends, that charmides--yes! he there--caught me only the other morning in the act of dancing? (31) "bearing a weighty and serious brow." (32) "like your runner of the mile race." cf. plat. "prot." 335 e. (33) or, "resolute exercise of the whole body." see aristot. "pol." viii. 4. 9; "rhet." i. 5. 14. (34) or, "be dependent on a fellow-gymnast." "pol. lac." ix. 5; plat. "soph." 218 b; "laws," 830 b; "symp." 217 b, c. (35) or, "to strip in public when my hair turns gray." socrates was (421 b.c.) about 50, but is pictured, i think, as an oldish man. (36) see aristot. "h. a." ix. 45. 1; "econ." viii. 13. (37) passage referred to by diog. laert. ii. 5. 15; lucian, "de salt." 25; plut. "praec. san." 496. (38) "take my exercise." (39) zeune cf. max. tyr. "diss." vii. 9; xxxix. 5. yes, that i will swear to (the other answered), and at first i stood aghast, i feared me you had parted with your senses; but when i heard your explanation, pretty much what you have just now told us, i went home and--i will not say, began to dance myself (it is an accomplishment i have not been taught as yet), but i fell to sparring, (40) an art of which i have a very pretty knowledge. (40) "sparring," etc., an art which quintil. "inst. or." i. 11, 17, attributes to socrates. cf. herod. vi. 129 concerning hippocleides; and rich, "dict. of antiq." s.v. "chironomia." that's true, upon my life! (exclaimed the jester). one needs but look at you to see there's not a dram of difference between legs and shoulders. (41) i'll be bound, if both were weighed in the scales apart, like "tops and bottoms," the clerks of the market (42) would let you off scot-free. (41) lit. "your legs are equal in weight with your shoulders." cf. "od." xviii. 373, {elikes... isophoroi boes}, "of equal age and force to bear the yoke."--butcher and lang. (42) see boeckh, "public economy of athens," p. 48; aristoph. "acharn." 723; lys. 165, 34. then callias: o socrates, do please invite me when you begin your dancing lessons. i will be your vis-a-vis, (43) and take lessons with you. (43) cf. "anab." v. iv. 12. come on (the jester shouted), give us a tune upon the pipe, and let me show you how to dance. so saying up he got, and mimicked the dances of the boy and girl in burlesque fashion, and inasmuch as the spectators had been pleased to think the natural beauty of the boy enhanced by every gesture of his body in the dance, so the jester must give a counter-representation, (44) in which each twist and movement of his body was a comical exaggeration of nature. (44) reading {antepedeizen}. cf. plat. "theaet." 162 b; "ages." i. 12; if vulg. {antapedeizen}, transl. "would prove per contra each bend," etc. cf. aristot. "rhet." ii. 26. 3. and since the girl had bent herself backwards and backwards, till she was nearly doubled into the form of a hoop, so he must try to imitate a hoop by stooping forwards and ducking down his head. and as finally, the boy had won a round of plaudits for the manner in which he kept each muscle of the body in full exercise whilst dancing, so now the jester, bidding the flute-girl quicken the time (presto! presto! prestissimo!), fell to capering madly, tossing legs and arms and head together, until he was fairly tired out, and threw himself dead beat upon the sofa, gasping: there, that's a proof that my jigs too are splendid exercise; at any rate, i am dying of thirst; let the attendant kindly fill me the mighty goblet. (45) (45) cf. plat. "symp." 223 c. quite right (said callias), and we will pledge you. our throats are parched with laughing at you. at this point socrates: nay, gentlemen, if drinking is the order of the day, i heartily approve. wine it is in very truth that moistens the soul of man, (46) that lulls at once all cares to sleep, even as mandragora (47) drugs our human senses, and at the same time kindles light-hearted thoughts, (48) as oil a flame. yet it fares with the banquets of men, (49) if i mistake not, precisely as with plants that spring and shoot on earth. when god gives these vegetable growths too full a draught of rain, they cannot lift their heads nor feel the light air breathe through them; but if they drink in only the glad supply they need, they stand erect, they shoot apace, and reach maturity of fruitage. so we, too, if we drench our throats with over-copious draughts, (50) ere long may find our legs begin to reel and our thoughts begin to falter; (51) we shall scarce be able to draw breath, much less to speak a word in season. but if (to borrow language from the mint of gorgias (52)), if only the attendants will bedew us with a frequent mizzle (53) of small glasses, we shall not be violently driven on by wine to drunkenness, but with sweet seduction reach the goal of sportive levity. (46) cf. plat. "laws," 649; aristoph. "knights," 96: come, quick now, bring me a lusty stoup of wine, to moisten my understanding and inspire me (h. frere). (47) cf. plat. "rep." vi. 488 c; dem. "phil." iv. 133. 1; lucian v., "tim." 2; lxxiii., "dem. enc." 36. see "othello," iii. 3. 330: not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the world; "antony and cl." i. 5, 4. (48) cf. 1 esdras iii. 20: "it turneth also every thought into jollity and mirth," {eis euokhian kai euphrosunen}. the whole passage is quoted by athen. 504. stob. "fl." lvi. 17. (49) reading {sumposia}, cf. theog. 298, 496; or if after athen. {somata} transl. "persons." (50) or, "if we swallow at a gulp the liquor." cf. plat. "sym." 176 d. (51) see "cyrop." i. iii. 10, viii. viii. 10; aristoph. "wasps," 1324; "pol. lac." v. 7. (52) for phrases filed by gorgias, see aristot. "rhet." iii. 3; "faults of taste in the use of metaphors," longin. "de subl." 3. see also plat. "symp." 198 c. (53) cf. aristoph. "peace," 1141; theophr. "lap." 13; lucian, xvii., "de merc. cond." 27; cic. "cat. m." 14, transl. "pocula... minuta atque rorantia." the proposition was unanimously carried, with a rider appended by philippus: the cup-bearers should imitate good charioteers, and push the cups round, quickening the pace each circuit. (54) (54) or, "at something faster than a hand-gallop each round." see the drinking song in "antony and cl." i. 7. 120. iii during this interval, whilst the cup-bearers carried out their duties, the boy played on the lyre tuned to accompany the flute, and sang. (1) (1) cf. plat. "laws," 812 c; aristot. "poet." i. 4. the performance won the plaudits of the company, and drew from charmides a speech as follows: sirs, what socrates was claiming in behalf of wine applies in my opinion no less aptly to the present composition. so rare a blending of boyish and of girlish beauty, and of voice with instrument, is potent to lull sorrow to sleep, and to kindle aphrodite's flame. then socrates, reverting in a manner to the charge: the young people have fully proved their power to give us pleasure. yet, charming as they are, we still regard ourselves, no doubt, as much their betters. what a shame to think that we should here be met together, and yet make no effort ourselves to heighten the festivity! (2) (2) see plat. "prot." 347 d; "a company like this of ours, and men such as we profess to be, do not require the help of another's voice," etc.--jowett. cf. id. "symp." 176: "to-day let us have conversation instead; and if you will allow me, i will tell you what sort of conversation." several of the company exclaimed at once: be our director then yourself. explain what style of talk we should engage in to achieve that object. (3) (3) {exegou}. "prescribe the form of words we must lay hold of to achieve the object, and we will set to work, arch-casuist." nothing (he replied) would please me better than to demand of callias a prompt performance of his promise. he told us, you recollect, if we would dine with him, he would give us an exhibition of his wisdom. to which challenge callias: that i will readily, but you on your side, one and all, must propound some virtue of which you claim to have the knowledge. socrates replied: at any rate, not one of us will have the least objection to declaring what particular thing he claims to know as best worth having. agreed (proceeded callias); and for my part i proclaim at once what i am proudest of. my firm belief is, i have got the gift to make my fellow-mortals better. make men better! (cried antisthenes); and pray how? by teaching them some base mechanic art? or teaching them nobility of soul? (4) (4) or, "beauty and nobility of soul" ({kalokagathia}). see "mem." i. vi. 14. the latter (he replied), if justice (5) be synonymous with that high type of virtue. (5) i.e. "social uprightness." of course it is (rejoined antisthenes) the most indisputable specimen. since, look you, courage and wisdom may at times be found calamitous to friends or country, (6) but justice has no single point in common with injustice, right and wrong cannot commingle. (7) (6) see "mem." iv. ii. 33. (7) i.e. "the one excludes the other." well then (proceeded callias), as soon (8) as every one has stated his peculiar merit, (9) i will make no bones of letting you into my secret. you shall learn the art by which i consummate my noble end. (10) so now, niceratus, suppose you tell us on what knowledge you most pride yourself. (8) reading {emon}. al. {umon}, "when you others." (9) lit. "what he has for which to claim utility." (10) or, "give the work completeness." cf. plat. "charm." 173 a; "gorg." 454 a. he answered: my father, (11) in his pains to make me a good man, compelled me to learn the whole of homer's poems, and it so happens that even now i can repeat the "iliad" and the "odyssey" by heart. (12) (11) nicias. (12) of, "off-hand." see "mem." iii. vi. 9; plat. "theaet." 142 d. you have not forgotten (interposed antisthenes), perhaps, that besides yourself there is not a rhapsodist who does not know these epics? forgotten! is it likely (he replied), considering i had to listen to them almost daily? ant. and did you ever come across a sillier tribe of people than these same rhapsodists? (13) (13) cf. "mem." iv. ii. 10. nic. not i, indeed. don't ask me to defend their wits. it is plain (suggested socrates), they do not know the underlying meaning. (14) but you, niceratus, have paid large sums of money to anaximander, and stesimbrotus, and many others, (15) so that no single point in all that costly lore is lost upon you. (16) but what (he added, turning to critobulus) do you most pride yourself upon? (14) i.e. "they haven't the key (of knowledge) to the allegorical or spiritual meaning of the sacred text." cf. plat. "crat." 407; "ion," 534; "rep." 378, 387; "theaet." 180; "prot." 316. see grote, "h. g." i. 564. (15) see aristot. "rhet." iii. 11, 13. "or we may describe niceratus (not improbably our friend) as a 'philoctetes stung by pratys,' using the simile of thrasymachus when he saw niceratus after his defeat by pratys in the rhapsody with his hair still dishevelled and his face unwashed."--welldon. as to stesimbrotus, see plat. "ion," 530: "ion. very true, socrates; interpretation has certainly been the most laborious part of my art; and i believe myself able to speak about homer better than any man; and that neither metrodorus of lampsacus, nor stesimbrotus of thasos, nor glaucon, nor any one else who ever was, had as good ideas about homer, or as many of them, as i have."--jowett. anaximander, probably of lampsacus, the author of a {'erologia}; see cobet, "pros. xen." p. 8. (16) or, "you will not have forgotten one point of all that precious teaching." like sir john falstaff's page (2 "henry iv." ii. 2. 100), niceratus, no doubt, has got many "a crown's worth of good interpretations." on beauty (answered critobulus). what (socrates rejoined), shall you be able to maintain that by your beauty you can make us better? crit. that will i, or prove myself a shabby sort of person. soc. well, and what is it you pride yourself upon, antisthenes? on wealth (he answered). whereupon hermogenes inquired: had he then a large amount of money? (17) (17) i.e. "out at interest," or, "in the funds," as we should say. not one sixpence: (18) that i swear to you (he answered). (18) lit. "not an obol" = "a threepenny bit," circa. herm. then you possess large property in land? ant. enough, i daresay, for the youngster there, autolycus, to dust himself withal. (19) (19) i.e. "to sprinkle himself with sand, after anointing." cf. lucian, xxxviii., "amor." 45. well, we will lend you our ears, when your turn comes (exclaimed the others). soc. and do you now tell us, charmides, on what you pride yourself. oh, i, for my part, pride myself on poverty (he answered). upon my word, a charming business! (exclaimed socrates). poverty! of all things the least liable to envy; seldom, if ever, an object of contention; (20) never guarded, yet always safe; the more you starve it, the stronger it grows. (20) cf. plat. "rep." 521 a; "laws," 678 c. and you, socrates, yourself (their host demanded), what is it you pride yourself upon? then he, with knitted brows, quite solemnly: on pandering. (21) and when they laughed to hear him say this, (22) he continued: laugh to your hearts content, my friends; but i am certain i could make a fortune, if i chose to practise this same art. (21) or, more politely, "on playing the go-between." see grote, "h. g." viii. 457, on the "extremely aristophanic" character of the "symposium" of xenophon. (22) "him, the master, thus declare himself." at this point lycon, turning to philippus: we need not ask you what you take the chiefest pride in. what can it be, you laughter-making man, except to set folk laughing? yes (he answered), and with better right, i fancy, than callippides, (23) the actor, who struts and gives himself such pompous airs, to think that he alone can set the crowds a-weeping in the theatre. (24) (23) for illustrative tales about him see plut. "ages." xxi.; "alcib." xxxii.; polyaen. vi. 10. cf. "hell." iv. viii. 16. (24) or, "set for their sins a-weeping." and now you, lycon, tell us, won't you (asked antisthenes), what it is you take the greatest pride in? you all of you, i fancy, know already what that is (the father answered); it is in my son here. and the lad himself (some one suggested) doubtless prides himself, beyond all else, on having won the prize of victory. at that autolycus (and as he spoke he blushed) answered for himself: (25) no indeed, not i. (25) cf. plat. "charm." 158 c. the company were charmed to hear him speak, and turned and looked; and some one asked: on what is it then, autolycus? to which he answered: on my father (and leaned closer towards him). at which sight callias, turning to the father: do you know you are the richest man in the whole world, lycon? to which lycon: really, i was not aware of that before. then callias: why then, it has escaped you that you would refuse the whole of persia's wealth, (26) in exchange for your own son. (26) lit. "of the great king." cf. "cyrop." viii. iii. 26. most true (he answered), i plead guilty; here and now i am convicted (27) of being the wealthiest man in all the world! (27) "caught flagrante delicto. i do admit i do out-croesus croesus." and you, hermogenes, on what do you plume yourself most highly? (asked niceratus). on the virtue and the power of my friends (he answered), and that being what they are, they care for me. at this remark they turned their eyes upon the speaker, and several spoke together, asking: will you make them known to us? i shall be very happy (he replied). iv at this point, socrates took up the conversation: it now devolves on us to prove in turn that what we each have undertaken to defend is really valuable. then callias: be pleased to listen to me first: my case is this, that while the rest of you go on debating what justice and uprightness are, (1) i spend my time in making men more just and upright. (1) {to to dikaion}; cf. "mem." iv. iv. soc. and how do you do that, good sir? call. by giving money, to be sure. antisthenes sprang to his feet at once, and with the manner of a cross-examiner demanded: do human beings seem to you to harbour justice in their souls, or in their purses, (2) callias? (2) or, "pockets." call. in their souls. ant. and do you pretend to make their souls more righteous by putting money in their pockets? call. undoubtedly. ant. pray how? call. in this way. when they know that they are furnished with the means, that is to say, my money, to buy necessaries, they would rather not incur the risk of evil-doing, and why should they? ant. and pray, do they repay you these same moneys? call. i cannot say they do. ant. well then, do they requite your gifts of gold with gratitude? call. no, not so much as a bare "thank you." in fact, some of them are even worse disposed towards me when they have got my money than before. now, here's a marvel! (exclaimed antisthenes, and as he spoke he eyed the witness with an air of triumph). you can render people just to all the world, but towards yourself you cannot? pray, where's the wonder? (asked the other). do you not see what scores of carpenters and house-builders there are who spend their time in building houses for half the world; but for themselves they simply cannot do it, and are forced to live in lodgings. and so admit that home-thrust, master sophist; (3) and confess yourself confuted. (3) "professor of wisdom." upon my soul, he had best accept his fate (4) (said socrates). why, after all, you are only like those prophets who proverbially foretell the future for mankind, but cannot foresee what is coming upon themselves. (4) or, "the coup de grace." and so the first discussion ended. (5) (5) or, "so ended fytte the first of the word-controversy." thereupon niceratus: lend me your ears, and i will tell you in what respects you shall be better for consorting with myself. i presume, without my telling you, you know that homer, being the wisest of mankind, has touched upon nearly every human topic in his poems. (6) whosoever among you, therefore, would fain be skilled in economy, or oratory, or strategy; whose ambition it is to be like achilles, or ajax, nestor, or odysseus--one and all pay court to me, for i have all this knowledge at my fingers' ends. (6) or, "his creations are all but coextensive with every mortal thing." pray (interposed antisthenes), (7) do you also know the way to be a king? (8) since homer praises agamemnon, you are well aware, as being a goodly king and eke a spearman bold. (9) (7) some modern critics (e.g. f. dummler, "antisthenica," p. 29 foll.) maintain plausibly that the author is here glancing (as also plato in the "ion") at antisthenes' own treatises against the rhapsodists and on a more correct interpretation of homer, {peri exegeton} and {peri 'omerou}. (8) or, "have you the knowledge also how to play the king?" (9) "il." iii. 179. see "mem." iii. ii. 2. nic. full well i know it, and full well i know the duty of a skilful charioteer; how he who holds the ribbons must turn his chariot nigh the pillar's edge (10) himself inclined upon the polished chariot-board a little to the left of the twin pair: the right hand horse touch with the prick, and shout a cheery shout, and give him rein. (11) i know another thing besides, and you may put it to the test this instant, if you like. homer somewhere has said: (12) and at his side an onion, which to drink gives relish. so if some one will but bring an onion, you shall reap the benefit of my sage lore (13) in less than no time, and your wine will taste the sweeter. (10) "il." xxiii. 335; plat. "ion," 537. (11) lit. "yield him the reins with his hands." (12) "il." xi.630: "and set out a leek savourer of drink" (purves). plat. "ion," 538 c. (13) "my culinary skill." here charmides exclaimed: good sirs, let me explain. niceratus is anxious to go home, redolent of onions, so that his fair lady may persuade herself, it never entered into anybody's head to kiss her lord. (14) (14) see shakesp. "much ado," v. 2. 51 foll.; "mids. n. d." iv. 2. bless me, that isn't all (continued socrates); if we do not take care, we shall win ourselves a comic reputation. (15) a relish must it be, in very truth, that can sweeten cup as well as platter, this same onion; and if we are to take to munching onions for desert, see if somebody does not say of us, "they went to dine with callias, and got more than their deserts, the epicures." (16) (15) lit. "i warrant you! (quoth socrates) and there's another funny notion we have every chance of getting fathered on us." (16) or, "and had a most hilarious and herbaceous time." no fear of that (rejoined niceratus). always take a bite of onion before speeding forth to battle, just as your patrons of the cock-pit give their birds a feed of garlic (17) before they put them for the fight. but for ourselves our thoughts are less intent perhaps on dealing blows than blowing kisses. (18) (17) cf. aristoph. "knights," 494: chorus. and here's the garlic. swallow it down! sausage seller.... what for? chorus. it will prime you up and make you fight the better. h. frere. (18) "we are concerned less with the lists of battle than of love"; "we meditate no furious close of battle but of lips." lit. "how we shall kiss some one rather than do battle with." after such sort the theme of their discourse reached its conclusion. then critobulus spoke: it is now my turn, i think, to state to you the grounds on which i pride myself on beauty. (19) (19) see "hellenica essays," p. 353. a chorus of voices rejoined: say on. crit. to begin with, if i am not beautiful, as methinks i be, you will bring on your own heads the penalty of perjury; for, without waiting to have the oath administered, you are always taking the gods to witness that you find me beautiful. and i must needs believe you, for are you not all honourable men? (20) if i then be so beautiful and affect you, even as i also am affected by him whose fair face here attracts me, (21) i swear by all the company of heaven i would not choose the great king's empire in exchange for what i am--the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals. (22) and at this instant i feast my eyes on cleinias (23) gladlier than on all other sights which men deem fair. joyfully will i welcome blindness to all else, if but these eyes may still behold him and him only. with sleep and night i am sore vexed, which rob me of his sight; but to daylight and the sun i owe eternal thanks, for they restore him to me, my heart's joy, cleinias. (24) (20) or, "beautiful and good." (21) or, "whose fair face draws me." was cleinias there as a "muta persona"? hardly, in spite of {nun}. it is the image of him which is present to the mind's eye. (22) lit. "being beautiful"; but there is a touch of bombast infused into the speech by the artist. cf. the speech of callias ("hell." vi. iii. 3) and, for the humour, "cyrop." passim. (23) see cobet, "pros. xen." p. 59. cf. "mem." i. iii. 8. (24) or, "for that they reveal his splendour to me." yes, and herein also have we, the beautiful, (25) just claim to boast. the strong man may by dint of toil obtain good things; the brave, by danger boldly faced, and the wise by eloquence of speech; but to the beautiful alone it is given to achieve all ends in absolute quiescence. to take myself as an example. i know that riches are a sweet possession, yet sweeter far to me to give all that i have to cleinias than to receive a fortune from another. gladly would i become a slave--ay, forfeit freedom--if cleinias would deign to be my lord. toil in his service were easier for me than rest from labour: danger incurred in his behalf far sweeter than security of days. so that if you, callias, may boast of making men more just and upright, to me belongs by juster right than yours to train mankind to every excellence. we are the true inspirers (26) who infuse some subtle fire into amorous souls, we beauties, and thereby raise them to new heights of being; we render them more liberal in the pursuit of wealth; we give them a zest for toil that mocks at danger, and enables them where honour the fair vision leads, to follow. (27) we fill their souls with deeper modesty, a self-constraint more staunch; about the things they care for most, there floats a halo of protecting awe. (28) fools and unwise are they who choose not beauteous men to be their generals. how merrily would i, at any rate, march through fire by the side of cleinias; (29) and so would all of you, i know full well, in company of him who now addresses you. (25) "we beauties." (26) the {eispnelas} in relation to the {aitas}, the inspirer to the hearer. cf. theocr. xii. 13; ael. "v. h." iii. 12. see muller, "dorians," ii. 300 foll. (27) {philokaloterous}. cf. plat. "phaedr." 248 d; "criti." 111 e; aristot. "eth. n." iv. 4. 4; x. 9. 3. (28) lit. "they feel most awe of what they most desire." (29) cf. "mem." i. iii. 9. cease, therefore, your perplexity, o socrates, abandon fears and doubts, believe and know that this thing of which i make great boast, my beauty, has power to confer some benefit on humankind. once more, let no man dare dishonour beauty, merely because the flower of it soon fades, since even as a child has growth in beauty, so is it with the stripling, the grown man, the reverend senior. (30) and this the proof of my contention. whom do we choose to bear the sacred olive-shoot (31) in honour of athena?--whom else save beautiful old men? witnessing thereby (32) that beauty walks hand in hand as a companion with every age of life, from infancy to eld. (30) cf. ib. iii. iii. 12. (31) cf. aristoph. "wasps," 544. (32) or, "beauty steps in attendance lovingly hand in hand at every season of the life of man." so walt whitman, passim. or again, if it be sweet to win from willing hearts the things we seek for, i am persuaded that, by the eloquence of silence, i could win a kiss from yonder girl or boy more speedily than ever you could, o sage! by help of half a hundred subtle arguments. eh, bless my ears, what's that? (socrates broke in upon this final flourish of the speaker). so beautiful you claim to rival me, you boaster? crit. why, yes indeed, i hope so, or else i should be uglier than all the silenuses in the satyric drama. (33) (33) the mss. add ("to whom, be it noted, socrates indeed bore a marked resemblance"). obviously a gloss. cf. aristoph. "clouds," 224; plat. "symp." 215 b. good! (socrates rejoined); the moment the programme of discussion is concluded, (34) please remember, we must obtain a verdict on the point of beauty. judgment shall be given--not at the bar of alexander, son of priam--but of these (35) who, as you flatter yourself, have such a hankering to kiss you. (34) lit. "the arguments proposed have gone the round." (35) i.e. "the boy and girl." al. "the present company, who are so eager to bestow on you their kisses." oh, socrates (he answered, deprecatingly), will you not leave it to the arbitrament of cleinias? then socrates: will you never tire of repeating that one name? it is cleinias here, there, and everywhere with you. crit. and if his name died on my lips, think you my mind would less recall his memory? know you not, i bear so clear an image of him in my soul, that had i the sculptor's or the limner's skill, i might portray his features as exactly from this image of the mind as from contemplation of his actual self. but socrates broke in: pray, why then, if you bear about this lively image, why do you give me so much trouble, dragging me to this and that place, where you hope to see him? crit. for this good reason, socrates, the sight of him inspires gladness, whilst his phantom brings not joy so much as it engenders longing. at this point hermogenes protested: i find it most unlike you, socrates, to treat thus negligently one so passion-crazed as critobulus. socrates replied: do you suppose the sad condition of the patient dates from the moment only of our intimacy? herm. since when, then? soc. since when? why, look at him: the down begins to mantle on his cheeks, (36) and on the nape (37) of cleinias' neck already mounts. the fact is, when they fared to the same school together, he caught the fever. this his father was aware of, and consigned him to me, hoping i might be able to do something for him. ay, and his plight is not so sorry now. once he would stand agape at him like one whose gaze is fixed upon the gorgons, (38) his eyes one stony stare, and like a stone himself turn heavily away. but nowadays i have seen the statue actually blink. (39) and yet, may heaven help me! my good sirs, i think, between ourselves, the culprit must have bestowed a kiss on cleinias, than which love's flame asks no fiercer fuel. (40) so insatiable a thing it is and so suggestive of mad fantasy. (and for this reason held perhaps in higher honour, because of all external acts the close of lip with lip bears the same name as that of soul with soul in love.) (41) wherefore, say i, let every one who wishes to be master of himself and sound of soul abstain from kisses imprinted on fair lips. (42) (36) lit. "creeping down beside his ears." cf. "od." xi. 319: {prin sphoin upo krotaphoisin ioulous anthesai pukasai te genus euanthei lakhne.} "(zeus destroyed the twain) ere the curls had bloomed beneath their temples, and darked their chins with the blossom of youth." --butcher and lang. cf. theocr. xv. 85: {praton ioulon apo krotaphon kataballon}, "with the first down upon his cheeks" (lang); aesch. "theb." 534. (37) {pros to opisthen}, perhaps = "ad posteriorem capitis partem," which would be more applicable to critobulus, whose whiskers were just beginning to grow, than to callias. possibly we should read (after pollux, ii. 10) {peri ten upenen}, "on the upper lip." see plat. "protag." 309 b; "il." xxiv. 348; "od." x. 279. (38) cf. pind. "pyth." x. 75. (39) see "cyrop." i. iv. 28; shakesp. "ven. and ad." 89: "but when her lips were ready for his pay, he winks, and turns his lips another way." (40) or, "a kiss which is to passion as dry combustious matter is to fire," shakesp. ib. 1162. (41) or, "is namesake of the love within the soul of lovers." the whole passage, involving a play on the words {philein phileisthai}, "where kisses rain without, love reigns within," is probably to be regarded as a gloss. cf. "mem." i. iii. 13. (42) cf. "mem." i. iii. 8-14. then charmides: oh! socrates, why will you scare your friends with these hobgoblin terrors, (43) bidding us all beware of handsome faces, whilst you yourself--yes, by apollo, i will swear i saw you at the schoolmaster's (44) that time when both of you were poring over one book, in which you searched for something, you and critobulus, head to head, shoulder to shoulder bare, as if incorporate? (45) (43) cf. plat. "crit." 46 d; "hell." iv. iv. 17; arist. "birds," 1245. (44) "grammarian's." plat. "protag." 312 b; 326 d; dem. 315. 8. (45) like hermia and helena, "mids. n. d." iii. 2. 208. as yes, alack the day! (he answered); and that is why, no doubt, my shoulder ached for more than five days afterwards, as if i had been bitten by some fell beast, and methought i felt a sort of scraping at the heart. (46) now therefore, in the presence of these witnesses, i warn you, critobulus, never again to touch me till you wear as thick a crop of hair (47) upon your chin as on your head. (46) reading {knisma}, "scratching." plat. "hipp. maj." 304 a. al. {knesma}. (47) see jebb, "theophr. ch." xxiv. 16. so pell-mell they went at it, half jest half earnest, and so the medley ended. callias here called on charmides. call. now, charmides, it lies with you to tell us why you pride yourself on poverty. (48) (48) zeune, cf. "cyrop." viii. iii. 35-50. charmides responded: on all hands it is admitted, i believe, that confidence is better than alarm; better to be a freeman than a slave; better to be worshipped than pay court to others; better to be trusted than to be suspected by one's country. well now, i will tell you how it fared with me in this same city when i was wealthy. first, i lived in daily terror lest some burglar should break into my house and steal my goods and do myself some injury. i cringed before informers. (49) i was obliged to pay these people court, because i knew that i could injure them far less than they could injure me. never-ending the claims upon my pocket which the state enforced upon me; and as to setting foot abroad, that was beyond the range of possibility. but now that i have lost my property across the frontier, (50) and derive no income from my lands in attica itself; now that my very household goods have been sold up, i stretch my legs at ease, i get a good night's rest. the distrust of my fellow-citizens has vanished; instead of trembling at threats, it is now my turn to threaten; at last i feel myself a freeman, with liberty to go abroad or stay at home as suits my fancy. the tables now are turned. it is the rich who rise to give me their seats, who stand aside and make way for me as i meet them in the streets. to-day i am like a despot, yesterday i was literally a slave; formerly it was i who had to pay my tribute (51) to the sovereign people, now it is i who am supported by the state by means of general taxation. (52) (49) "and police agents." (50) cf. "mem." ii. viii. 1. (51) {phoros}, tributum. al. "property-tax." cf. "econ." ii. 6. (52) {telos}, vectigal. sturz, "lex. xen." s.v. cf. "pol. ath." i. 3. and there is another thing. so long as i was rich, they threw in my teeth as a reproach that i was friends with socrates, but now that i am become a beggar no one troubles his head two straws about the matter. once more, the while i rolled in plenty i had everything to lose, and, as a rule, i lost it; what the state did not exact, some mischance stole from me. but now that is over. i lose nothing, having nought to lose; but, on the contrary, i have everything to gain, and live in hope of some day getting something. (53) (53) "i feed on the pleasures of hope, and fortune in the future." call. and so, of course, your one prayer is that you may never more be rich, and if you are visited by a dream of luck your one thought is to offer sacrifice to heaven to avert misfortune. (54) (54) or, "you wake up in a fright, and offer sacrifice to the 'averters.'" for {tois apotropaiois} see aristoph. "plutus," 359; plat. "laws," 854 b; "hell." iii. iii. 4. char. no, that i do not. on the contrary, i run my head into each danger most adventurously. i endure, if haply i may see a chance of getting something from some quarter of the sky some day. come now (socrates exclaimed), it lies with you, sir, you, antisthenes, to explain to us, how it is that you, with means so scanty, make so loud a boast of wealth. because (he answered) i hold to the belief, sirs, that wealth and poverty do not lie in a man's estate, but in men's souls. even in private life how many scores of people have i seen, who, although they roll in wealth, yet deem themselves so poor, there is nothing they will shrink from, neither toil nor danger, in order to add a little to their store. (55) i have known two brothers, (56) heirs to equal fortunes, one of whom has enough, more than enough, to cover his expenditure; the other is in absolute indigence. and so to monarchs, there are not a few, i perceive, so ravenous of wealth that they will outdo the veriest vagrants in atrocity. want (57) prompts a thousand crimes, you must admit. why do men steal? why break burglariously into houses? why hale men and women captive and make slaves of them? is it not from want? nay, there are monarchs who at one fell swoop destroy whole houses, make wholesale massacre, and oftentimes reduce entire states to slavery, and all for the sake of wealth. these i must needs pity for the cruel malady which plagues them. their condition, to my mind, resembles that poor creature's who, in spite of all he has (58) and all he eats, can never stay the wolf that gnaws his vitals. (55) cf. "cyrop." viii. ii. 21; hor. "epist." i. 2. 26, "semper avarus eget." (56) is antisthenes thinking of callias and hermogenes? (presuming these are sons of hipponicus and brothers). cf. "mem." ii. x. 3. (57) or, "'tis want that does it." see "pol. ath." i. 5; "rev," i. 1. (58) reading {ekhon}, or if {pinon}, transl. "who eats and drinks, but never sates himself." but as to me, my riches are so plentiful i cannot lay my hands on them myself; (59) yet for all that i have enough to eat till my hunger is stayed, to drink till my thirst is sated; (60) to clothe myself withal; and out of doors not callias there, with all his riches, is more safe than i from shivering; and when i find myself indoors, what warmer shirting (61) do i need than my bare walls? what ampler greatcoat than the tiles above my head? these seem to suit me well enough; and as to bedclothes, i am not so ill supplied but it is a business to arouse me in the morning. (59) "that i can scarce discover any portion of it." zeune cf. "econ." viii. 2. (60) so "the master" himself. see "mem." i. ii. 1, vi. 5. (61) cf. aristot. "pol." ii. 8. 1, of hippodamus. and as to sexual desire, my body's need is satisfied by what comes first to hand. indeed, there is no lack of warmth in the caress which greets me, just because it is unsought by others. (62) (62) cf. "mem." i. iii. 14, the germ of cynicism and stoicism, the socratic {xs} form of "better to marry than to burn." well then, these several pleasures i enjoy so fully that i am much more apt to pray for less than more of them, so strongly do i feel that some of them are sweeter than what is good for one or profitable. but of all the precious things in my possession, i reckon this the choicest, that were i robbed of my whole present stock, there is no work so mean, but it would amply serve me to furnish me with sustenance. why, look you, whenever i desire to fare delicately, i have not to purchase precious viands in the market, which becomes expensive, but i open the storehouse of my soul, and dole them out. (63) indeed, as far as pleasure goes, i find it better to await desire before i suffer meat or drink to pass my lips, than to have recourse to any of your costly viands, as, for instance, now, when i have chanced on this fine thasian wine, (64) and sip it without thirst. but indeed, the man who makes frugality, not wealth of worldly goods, his aim, is on the face of it a much more upright person. and why?--the man who is content with what he has will least of all be prone to clutch at what is his neighbour's. (63) or, "turn to the storehouse of a healthy appetite." see "apol." 18, the same sentiment "ex ore socratis." (64) see athen. "deipnos." i. 28. and here's a point worth noting. wealth of my sort will make you liberal of soul. look at socrates; from him it was i got these riches. he did not supply me with it by weight or by measure, but just as much as i could carry, he with bounteous hand consigned to me. and i, too, grudge it to no man now. to all my friends without distinction i am ready to display my opulence: come one, come all; and whosoever likes to take a share is welcome to the wealth that lies within my soul. yes, and moreover, that most luxurious of possessions, (65) unbroken leisure, you can see, is mine, which leaves me free to contemplate things worthy of contemplation, (66) and to drink in with my ears all charming sounds. and what i value most, freedom to spend whole days in pure scholastic intercourse (67) with socrates, to whom i am devoted. (68) and he, on his side, is not the person to admire those whose tale of gold and silver happens to be the largest, but those who are well-pleasing to him he chooses for companions, and will consort with to the end. (65) see eur. "ion," 601. lit. "at every moment i command it." (66) "to gaze upon all fairest shows (like a spectator in the theatre), and to drink in sounds most delectable." so walt whitman. (67) aristot. "rhet." ii. 4. 12; "eth. n." ix. 4. 9. (68) see "mem." iii. xi. 17. with these words the speaker ended, and callias exclaimed: by hera, i envy you your wealth, antisthenes, firstly, because the state does not lay burthens on you and treat you like a slave; and secondly, people do not fall into a rage with you when you refuse to be their creditor. you may stay your envy (interposed niceratus), i shall presently present myself to borrow of him this same key of his to independence. (69) trained as i am to cast up figures by my master homer- seven tripods, which ne'er felt the fire, and of gold ten talents and burnished braziers twenty, and horses twelve-(70) by weight and measure duly reckoned, (71) i cannot stay my craving for enormous wealth. and that's the reason certain people, i daresay, imagine i am inordinately fond of riches. (69) or, "his want-for-nothing," or, "supply-all." (70) niceratus quotes "il." ix. 122, 123, 263, 264. (71) or, "by number and by measure," "so much apiece, so much a pound," in reference to antisthenes' remark that socrates does not stint his "good things." the remark drew forth a peal of laughter from the company, who thought the speaker hit the truth exactly. then some one: it lies with you, hermogenes, to tell us who your friends are; and next, to demonstrate the greatness of their power and their care for you, if you would prove to us your right to pride yoruself on them. herm. that the gods know all things, that the present and the future lie before their eyes, are tenets held by hellenes and barbarians alike. this is obvious; or else, why do states and nations, one and all, inquire of the gods by divination what they ought to do and what they ought not? this also is apparent, that we believe them able to do us good and to do us harm; or why do all men pray to heaven to avert the evil and bestow the good? well then, my boast is that these gods, who know and can do all things, (72) deign to be my friends; so that, by reason of their care for me, i can never escape from their sight, (73) neither by night nor by day, whithersoever i essay to go, whatsoever i take in hand to do. (74) but because they know beforehand the end and issue of each event, they give me signals, sending messengers, be it some voice, (75) or vision of the night, with omens of the solitary bird, which tell me what i should and what i should not do. when i listen to their warnings all goes well with me, i have no reason to repent; but if, as ere now has been the case, i have been disobedient, chastisement has overtaken me. (72) cf. "mem." i. i. 19; i. iv. 18. (73) schneid. cf. hom. "il." x. 279, {oude se letho kinomenos}, "nor doth any motion of mine escape thee" (a. lang); and see arrian, "epictet." i. 12. 3. (74) cf. ps. cxxxix. "domine probasti." (75) see "mem." i. i. 3; "apol." xii. 13; "cyrop." viii. vii. 3. then socrates: all this i well believe, (76) but there is one thing i would gladly learn of you: what service do you pay the gods, so to secure their friendship? (76) lit. "nay, nought of the things you tell us is incredible, but..." truly it is not a ruinous service, socrates (he answered)--far from it. i give them thanks, which is not costly. i make return to them of all they give to me from time to time. i speak well of them, with all the strength i have. and whenever i take their sacred names to witness, i do not wittingly falsify my word. then god be praised (said socrates), if being what you are, you have such friends; the gods themselves, it would appear, delight in nobleness of soul. (77) (77) {kalokagathia}, "beautiful and gentle manhood." thus, in solemn sort, the theme was handled, thus gravely ended. but now it was the jester's turn, and so they fell to asking him: (78) what could he see to pride himself upon so vastly in the art of making people laugh? (78) lit. "now that they had come to philippus (in the 'period' of discussion), they..." or read, after hartman, "an. xen." p. 242, {eken} (sc. {o logos}). surely i have good reason (he replied). the whole world knows my business is to set them laughing, so when they are in luck's way, they eagerly invite me to a share of it; but if ill betide them, helter-skelter off they go, and never once turn back, (79) so fearful are they i may set them laughing will he nill he. (79) plat. "rep." 620 e; "laws," 854 c. nic. heavens! you have good reason to be proud; with me it is just the opposite. when any of my friends are doing well, they take good care to turn their backs on me, (80) but if ever it goes ill with them, they claim relationship by birth, (81) and will not let their long-lost cousin out of sight. (80) or, "they take good care to get out of my way," "they hold aloof from me entirely." (81) or, "produce the family-pedigree and claim me for a cousin." cf. lucian v., "tim." 49; ter. "phorm." ii. 33, 45. charm. well, well! and you, sir (turning to the syracusan), what do you pride yourself upon? no doubt, upon the boy? the syr. not i, indeed; i am terribly afraid concerning him. it is plain enough to me that certain people are contriving for his ruin. (82) (82) {diaphtheirai} = (1) to destroy, make away with; (2) to ruin and corrupt, seduce by bribes or otherwise. good gracious! (83) (socrates exclaimed, when he heard that), what crime can they conceive your boy is guilty of that they should wish to make an end of him? (83) lit. "heracles!" "zounds!" the syr. i do not say they want to murder him, but wheedle him away with bribes to pass his nights with them. soc. and if that happened, you on your side, it appears, believe the boy will be corrupted? the syr. beyond all shadow of a doubt, most villainously. soc. and you, of course, you never dream of such a thing. you don't spend nights with him? the syr. of course i do, all night and every night. soc. by hera, what a mighty piece of luck (84) for you--to be so happily compounded, of such flesh and blood. you alone can't injure those who sleep beside you. you have every right, it seems, to boast of your own flesh, if nothing else. (84) cf. plat. "symp." 217 a. the syr. nay, in sooth, it is not on that i pride myself. soc. well, on what then? the syr. why, on the silly fools who come and see my puppet show. (85) i live on them. (85) "my marionettes." cf. herod. ii. 48; lucian lxxii., "de syr. d." 16; aristot. "de mund." 6. phil. ah yes! and that explains how the other day i heard you praying to the gods to grant you, wheresoe'er you chance to be, great store of corn and wine, but dearth of wits. (86) (86) or, "of fruits abundance, but of wits a famine." cf. plat. "rep." 546 a. his prayer resembles that of the thievish trader in ovid, "fast." v. 675 foll., "grant me to-day my daily... fraud!" but in spite of himself (like dogberry), he seems to pray to the gods to "write him down an ass"! pass on (said callias); now it is your turn, socrates. what have you to say to justify your choice? how can you boast of so discredited an art? (87) (87) sc. "the hold-door trade." he answered: let us first decide (88) what are the duties of the good go-between; (89) and please to answer every question without hesitating; let us know the points to which we mutually assent. (90) are you agreed to that? (88) or, "define in common." cf. "mem." iv. vi. 15. (89) or, "man-praiser." cf. "the manx witch," p. 47 (t. e. brown), "and harry, more like a dooiney-molla for jack, lak helpin him to woo." see, too, mr. hall caine's "manxman," p. 73. (90) see plat. "rep." 342 d, for a specimen of socratic procedure, "from one point of agreement to another." the company, in chorus. without a doubt (they answered, and the formula, once started, was every time repeated by the company, full chorus). soc. are you agreed it is the business of a good go-between to make him (or her) on whom he plies his art agreeable to those with them? (91) (91) al. "their followers." see "mem." ii. vi. 36. omnes. without a doubt. soc. and, further, that towards agreeableness, one step at any rate consists in wearing a becoming fashion of the hair and dress? (92) are you agreed to that? (92) see becker, "char." exc. iii. to sc. xi. omnes. without a doubt. soc. and we know for certain, that with the same eyes a man may dart a look of love or else of hate (93) on those he sees. are you agreed? (93) see "mem." iii. x. 5. omnes. without a doubt. soc. well! and with the same tongue and lips and voice may speak with modesty or boastfulnes? omnes. without a doubt. soc. and there are words that bear the stamp of hate, and words that tend to friendliness? (94) (94) cf. ep. st. james iii. 10, "out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing." omnes. without a doubt. soc. the good go-between will therefore make his choice between them, and teach only what conduces to agreeableness? omnes. without a doubt. soc. and is he the better go-between who can make his clients pleasing to one person only, or can make them pleasing to a number? (95) (95) or, "to the many." the question is ambiguous. {e} = "an" or "quam." the company was here divided; the one half answered, "yes, of course, the largest number," whilst the others still maintained, "without a doubt." and socrates, remarking, "that proposition is agreed to also," thus proceeded: and if further he were able to make them pleasing to the whole community, should we not have found in this accomplished person an arch-go-between? clearly so (they answered with one voice). soc. if then a man had power to make his clients altogether pleasing; that man, i say, might justly pride himself upon his art, and should by rights receive a large reward? (96) (96) or, "he deserves to do a rattling business," "to take handsome fees." cf. sheridan's mrs. coupler, in "a trip to scarborough." and when these propositions were agreed to also, he turned about and said: just such a man, i take it, is before you in the person of antisthenes! (97) (97) see diog. laert. "antisth." vi. i. 8; plut. "symp." ii. 1. 503. whereupon antisthenes exclaimed: what! are you going to pass on the business? will you devolve this art of yours on me as your successor, socrates? (98) (98) or, "going to give up business, and hand on the trade to me as your successor?" i will, upon my word, i will (he answered): since i see that you have practised to some purpose, nay elaborated, an art which is the handmaid to this other. and what may that be? asked antisthenes. soc. the art of the procurer. (99) (99) cf. plat. "theaet." 150 a; aristot. "eth. n." v. 2, 13; aeschin. 3, 7; plut. "solon," 23. the other (in a tone of deep vexation): pray, what thing of the sort are you aware i ever perpetrated? soc. i am aware that it was you who introduced our host here, callias, to that wise man prodicus; (100) they were a match, you saw, the one enamoured of philosophy, and the other in need of money. it was you again, i am well enough aware, who introduced him once again to hippias (101) of elis, from whom he learnt his "art of memory"; (102) since which time he has become a very ardent lover, (103) from inability to forget each lovely thing he sets his eyes on. and quite lately, if i am not mistaken, it was you who sounded in my ears such praise of our visitor from heraclea, (104) that first you made me thirst for his society, and then united us. (105) for which indeed i am your debtor, since i find him a fine handsome fellow and true gentleman. (106) and did you not, moreover, sing the praises of aeschylus of phlius (107) in my ears and mine in his?--in fact, affected us so much by what you said, we fell in love and took to coursing wildly in pursuit of one another like two dogs upon a trail. (108) (100) or, "the sage," "the sophist." see "mem." i. vi. 13; ii. i. 21. (101) see "mem." iv. iv. 5; and for his art of memory cf. plat. "hipp. min." 368 d; "hipp. maj." 285 e. (102) the "memoria technica" (see aristot. "de an." iii. 3, 6), said to have been invented by simonides of ceos. cic. "de or." ii. 86; "de fin." ii. 32; quinct. xi. 2. 559. (103) or, "has grown amorous to a degree" (al. "an adept in love's lore himself." cf. plat. "rep." 474 d, "an authority in love."- jowett) "for the simple reason he can't forget each lovely thing he once has seen." through the "ars memoriae" of hippias, it becomes an "idee fixe" of the mind. (104) perhaps zeuxippus. see plat. "prot." 318 b. al. zeuxis, also a native of heraclea. see "mem." i. iv. 3; "econ." x. 1. (105) or, "introduced him to me." cf. "econ." iii. 14; plat. "lach." 200 d. (106) "an out-and-out {kalos te kagathos}." (107) who this phliasian is, no one knows. (108) al. "like two hounds chevying after one another." with such examples of your wonder-working skill before my eyes, i must suppose you are a first-rate matchmaker. for consider, a man with insight to discern two natures made to be of service to each other, and with power to make these same two people mutually enamoured! that is the sort of man, i take it, who should weld together states in friendship; cement alliances with gain to the contracting parties; (109) and, in general, be found an acquisition to those several states; to friends and intimates, and partisans in war, a treasure worth possessing. (110) but you, my friend, you got quite angry. one would suppose i had given you an evil name in calling you a first-rate matchmaker. (109) al. "and cement desirable matrimonial connections." cf. aristot. "pol." iii. 9, 13. 1280 b; v. 4, 5-8. 1303 b. (110) see the conversation with critobulus, so often referred to, {peri philias}, in "mem." ii. vi. yes (he answered meekly), but now i am calm. it is clear enough, if i possess these powers i shall find myself surcharged with spiritual riches. in this fashion the cycle of the speeches was completed. (111) (111) see hug, "einleitung," xxxi. "quellen des platonischen symposion." v then callias: our eyes are on you, critobulus. yours to enter the lists (1) against the champion socrates, who claims the prize of beauty. do you hesitate? (1) soph. "fr." 234; thuc. i. 93. soc. likely enough he does, for possibly he sees sir pandarus stands high in their esteem who are the judges of the contest. in spite of which (retorted critobulus), i am not for drawing back. (2) i am ready; so come on, and if you have any subtle argument to prove that you are handsomer than i am, now's your time, instruct us. but just stop one minute; have the goodness, please, to bring the lamp a little closer. (2) or, "i do; but all the same, i am not for shirking." cf. aristoph. "frogs," 860, {etiomos eum egoge, kouk anaduomai, daknein}: "i'm up to it; i am resolved" (frere); dem. "de f. leg." 406 20: "his resolution never reached that point, but shrank back, for his conscience checked it" (kennedy). soc. well then, i call upon you first of all, as party to this suit, to undergo the preliminary examination. (3) attend to what i say, and please be good enough to answer. (3) the {anakrisis}, or "previous inquiry" (before one of the archons) of parties concerned in a suit, to see whether the action lay. cf. plat. "charm." 176 c. see gow, "companion," xiv. 74. crit. do you be good enough yourself to put your questions. soc. do you consider that the quality of beauty is confined to man, or is it to be found in other objects also? what is your belief on this point? crit. for my part, i consider it belongs alike to animals--the horse, the ox--and to many things inanimate: that is to say, a shield, a sword, a spear are often beautiful. soc. how is it possible that things, in no respect resembling one another, should each and all be beautiful? (4) (4) see "mem." iii. viii. 5, quoted by galen, "de usu part." i. 370. crit. of course it is, god bless me! if well constructed by the hand of man to suit the sort of work for which we got them, or if naturally adapted to satisfy some want, the things in either case are beautiful. soc. can you tell me, then, what need is satisfied by our eyes? crit. clearly, the need of vision. soc. if so, my eyes are proved at once to be more beautiful than yours. crit. how so? soc. because yours can only see just straight in front of them, whereas mine are prominent and so projecting, they can see aslant. (5) (5) or, "squint sideways and command the flanks." crit. and amongst all animals, you will tell us that the crab has loveliest eyes? (6) is that your statement? (6) or, "is best provided in respect of eyeballs." soc. decidedly, the creature has. and all the more so, since for strength and toughness its eyes by nature are the best constructed. crit. well, let that pass. to come to our two noses, which is the more handsome, yours or mine? soc. mine, i imagine, if, that is, the gods presented us with noses for the sake of smelling. your nostrils point to earth; but mine are spread out wide and flat, as if to welcome scents from every quarter. crit. but consider, a snubness of the nose, how is that more beautiful than straightness? (7) (7) or, "your straight nose." cf. plat. "theaet." 209 c: soc. "or, if i had further known you not only as having nose and eyes, but as having a snub nose and prominent eyes, should i have any more notion of you than myself and others who resemble me?" cf. also aristot. "pol." v. 9, 7: "a nose which varies from the ideal of straightness to a hook or snub may still be a good shape and agreeable to the eye; but if the excess be very great, all symmetry is lost, and the nose at last ceases to be a nose at all on account of some excess in one direction or defect in the other; and this is true of every other part of the human body. the same law of proportion holds in states."--jowett. soc. for this good reason, that a snub nose does not discharge the office of a barrier; (8) it allows the orbs of sight free range of vision: whilst your towering nose looks like an insulting wall of partition to shut off the two eyes. (9) (8) or, "the humble snub is not a screen or barricade." (9) cf. "love's labour lost," v. 2. 568: boyet. "your nose says no, you are not, for it stands too right"; also "the song of solomon," vii. 4: "thy nose is the tower of lebanon, which looketh toward damascus." as to the mouth (proceeded critobulus), i give in at once; for, given mouths are made for purposes of biting, you could doubtless bite off a much larger mouthful with your mouth than i with mine. soc. yes, and you will admit, perhaps, that i can give a softer kiss than you can, thanks to my thick lips. crit. it seems i have an uglier mouth than any ass. soc. and here is a fact which you will have to reckon with, if further evidence be needed to prove that i am handsomer than you. the naiads, nymphs, divine, have as their progeny sileni, who are much more like myself, i take it, than like you. is that conclusive? nay, i give it up (cried critobulus), i have not a word to say in answer. i am silenced. let them record the votes. i fain would know at once what i must suffer or must pay. (10) only (he added) let them vote in secret. (11) i am afraid your wealth and his (antisthenes') combined may overpower me. (10) for this formula see "dict. ant." {timema}. cf. "econ." xi. 25; plat. "apol." 36 b; "statesm." 299 a; "laws," freq.; dem. 529. 23; 533. 2. (11) and not as in the case described (thuc. iv. 74), where the people (at megara) were compelled to give sentence on the political opponents of the oligarchs by an open vote. cf. lysias, 133, 12, {ten de psephon ouk eis kadiskous, alla phaneran epi tas trapezas tautas dei tithenai}. accordingly the boy and girl began to register the votes in secret, while socrates directed the proceedings. he would have the lamp-stand (12) this time brought close up to critobulus; the judges must on no account be taken in; the victor in the suit would get from the two judges, not a wreath of ribands (13) for a chaplet, but some kisses. (12) {ton lukhnon} here, above, s. 2, {ton lamptera}. both, i take it, are oil-lamps, and differ merely as "light" and "lamp." (13) cf. plat. "symp." 213; "hell." v. i. 3. when the urns were emptied, it was found that every vote, without exception, had been cast for critobulus. (14) (14) lit. "when the pebbles were turned out and proved to be with critobulus, socrates remarked, 'papae!'" which is as much to say, "od's pity!" whereat socrates: bless me! you don't say so? the coin you deal in, critobulus, is not at all like that of callias. his makes people just; whilst yours, like other filthy lucre, can corrupt both judge and jury. (15) (15) {kai dikastas kai kritas}, "both jury and presiding judges," i.e. the company and the boy and girl. vi thereupon some members of the party called on critobulus to accept the meed of victory in kisses (due from boy and girl); others urged him first to bribe their master; whilst others bandied other jests. amidst the general hilarity hermogenes alone kept silence. whereat socrates turned to the silent man, and thus accosted him: hermogenes, what is a drunken brawl? can you explain to us? he answered: if you ask me what it is, i do not know, but i can tell you what it seems to me to be. soc. that seems as good. what does it seem? her. a drunken brawl, in my poor judgment, is annoyance caused to people over wine. soc. are you aware that you at present are annoying us by silence? her. what, whilst you are talking? soc. no, when we pause a while. her. then you have not observed that, as to any interval between your talk, a man would find it hard to insert a hair, much more one grain of sense. then socrates: o callias, to the rescue! help a man severely handled by his cross-examiner. call. with all my heart (and as he spoke he faced hermogenes). why, when the flute is talking, we are as silent as the grave. her. what, would you have me imitate nicostratus (1) the actor, reciting his tetrameters (2) to the music of the fife? must i discourse to you in answer to the flute? (1) see cobet, "pros. xen." p. 53; and cf. diog. laert. iv. 3, 4; polyaen. vi. 10; "hell." iv. viii. 18. (2) see aristoph. "clouds," where socrates is giving strepsiades a lesson in "measures," 639-646: {poteron to trimetron e to tetrametron}. then socrates: by all that's holy, i wish you would, hermogenes. how delightful it would be. just as a song sounds sweeter in concert with the flute, so would your talk be more mellifluous attuned to its soft pipings; and particularly if you would use gesticulation like the flute-girl, to suit the tenor of your speech. here callias demanded: and when our friend (antisthenes) essays to cross-examine people (3) at a banquet, what kind of piping (4) should he have? (3) or, "a poor body," in reference to the elentic onslaught made on himself by antisthenes above. (4) {to aulema}, a composition for reed instruments, "music for the flute." cf. aristoph. "frogs," 1302. ant. the person in the witness-box would best be suited with a serpent-hissing theme. (5) (5) or, "motif on a scrannel pipe." see l. & s. s.v. {puthaules}. cf. poll. iv. 81, {puthikon aulema}, an air ({nomos}) played on the {puthois aulos}, expressing the battle between apollo and the python, the hiss of which was imitated. thus the stream of talk flowed on; until the syracusan, who was painfully aware that while the company amused themselves, his "exhibition" was neglected, turned, in a fit of jealous spleen, at last on socrates. (6) (6) "the syracusan is 'civil as an orange, and of that jealous complexion.'" the syr. they call you socrates. are you that person commonly nicknamed the thinker? (7) (7) apparently he has been to see the "clouds" (exhibited first in 423 b.c.), and has conceived certain ideas concerning socrates, "a wise man, who speculated about the heaven above, and searched into the earth beneath, and made the worse appear the better cause." plat. "apol." 18 b, 19 c. "clouds," 101, 360, {khair o presbuta ... ton nun meteorosophiston... ta te meteora phrontistes}. soc. which surely is a better fate than to be called a thoughtless person? the syr. perhaps, if you were not thought to split your brains on things above us--transcendental stuff. (8) (8) or, "if only you were held to be less 'meteoric,' less head-in airy in your speculations." soc. and is there anything more transcendental than the gods? the syr. by heaven! no, it is not the gods above us whom you care for, but for matters void of use and valueless. (9) (9) it is impossible to give the play on words. the syr. {anophelestaton}. soc. {ano... ophelousin}. schenkl after madvig emend.: {ton ano en nephelais onton} = "but for things in the clouds above." soc. it seems, then, by your showing i do care for them. how value less the gods, not more, if being above us they make the void of use to send us rain, and cause their light to shine on us? and now, sir, if you do not like this frigid (10) argument, why do you cause me trouble? the fault is yours. (11) (10) cf. "cyrop." viii. iv. 22, 23. (11) {pho parekhousin... pragmata moi parekhon}. lit. "cause light ... causing me trouble." well, let that be (the other answered); answer me one question: how many fleas' feet distance is it, pray, from you to me? (12) they say you measure them by geometric scale. (12) see aristoph. "clouds," 144 foll.: {aneret' arti khairephonta sokrates psullan oposous alloito tous autes podas dakousa gar...} cf. lucian, ii. "prom. in verb. 6," and "hudibras, the second part of," canto iii.: how many scores a flea will jump of his own length from head to rump which socrates and chaerephon in vain essayed so long agon. but here antisthenes, appealing to philippus, interposed: you are a man full of comparisons. (13) does not this worthy person strike you as somewhat like a bully seeking to pick a quarrel? (14) (13) like biron, "l. l. l." v. 2. 854. or, "you are a clever caricaturist." see plat. "symp." 215 a; hug, "enleitung," xiv.; aristoph. "birds," 804 (frere, p. 173); "wasps," 1309. (14) aristoph. "frogs," 857, "for it ill beseems illustrious bards to scold like market-women." (frere, p. 269); "knights," 1410, "to bully"; "eccles." 142: {kai loidorountai g' osper empepokotes, kai ton paroinount' ekpherous' oi toxotai.} yes (replied the jester), he has a striking likeness to that person and a heap of others. he bristles with metaphors. soc. for all that, do not you be too eager to draw comparisons at his expense, or you will find yourself the image of a scold and brawler. (15) (15) or, "a striking person." phil. but what if i compare him to all the primest creatures of the world, to beauty's nonpareils, (16) to nature's best--i might be justly likened to a flatterer but not a brawler. (17) (16) lit. "compare him to those in all things beauteous and the best." with {tois pasi kalois kai tois beltistois} cf. thuc. v. 28, {oi 'argeioi arista eskhon tois pasi}, "the argives were in excellent condition in all respects." as to philippus's back-handed compliment to the showman, it reminds one of peter quince's commendation of bottom: "yea and the best person too; and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice." (17) it is not easy to keep pace with the merryman's jests; but if i follow his humour, he says to socrates: "if the cap is to fit, you must liken me to one who quits 'assault and battery' for 'compliments (sotto voce, "lies") and flattery.'" soc. why now, you are like a person apt to pick a quarrel, since you imply they are all his betters. (18) (18) when socrates says {ei pant' autou beltio phes einai, k.t.l.}, the sense seems to be: "no, if you say that all these prime creatures are better than he is, you are an abusive person still." phil. what, would you have me then compare him to worse villains? soc. no, not even to worse villains. phil. what, then, to nothing, and to nobody? soc. to nought in aught. let him remain his simple self-phil. incomparable. but if my tongue is not to wag, whatever shall i do to earn my dinner? soc. why, that you shall quite easily, if with your wagging tongue you do not try to utter things unutterable. here was a pretty quarrel over wine soon kindled and soon burnt. vii but on the instant those who had not assisted in the fray gave tongue, the one part urging the jester to proceed with his comparisons, and the other part dissuading. the voice of socrates was heard above the tumult: since we are all so eager to be heard at once, what fitter time than now to sing a song, in chorus. and suiting the action to the words, he commenced a stave. the song was barely finished, when a potter's wheel was brought in, on which the dancing-girl was to perform more wonders. at this point socrates addressed the man of syracuse: it seems i am likely to deserve the title which you gave me of a thinker in good earnest. just now i am speculating by what means your boy and girl may pass a happy time, and we spectators still derive the greatest pleasure from beholding them; and this, i take it, is precisely what you would yourself most wish. now i maintain, that throwing somersaults in and out of swords is a display of danger uncongenial to a banquet. and as for writing and reading on a wheel that all the while keeps whirling, i do not deny the wonder of it, but what pleasure such a marvel can present, i cannot for the life of me discover. nor do i see how it is a whit more charming to watch these fair young people twisting about their bodies and imitating wheels than to behold them peacefully reposing. we need not fare far afield to light on marvels, if that is our object. all about us here is full of marvel; we can begin at once by wondering, why it is the candle gives a light by dint of its bright flame, while side by side with it the bright bronze vessel gives no light, but shows within itself those other objects mirrored. (1) or, how is it that oil, being moist and liquid, keeps that flame ablaze, but water, just because it is liquid, quenches fire. but no more do these same marvels tend to promote the object of the wine-cup. (2) (1) cf. "mem." iv. vii. 7. socrates' criticism of anaxagoras' theory with regard to the sun. (2) lit. "work to the same end as wine." but now, supposing your young people yonder were to tread a measure to the flute, some pantomime in dance, like those which the graces and the hours with the nymphs are made to tread in pictures, (3) i think they would spend a far more happy time themselves, and our banquet would at once assume a grace and charm unlooked for. (3) cf. plat. "laws," vii. 815 c; hor. "carm." i. 4. 6: iunctaeque nymphis gratiae decentes alterno terram quatiunt pede. the graces and the nymphs, together knit, with rhythmic feet the meadow beat (conington). ib. iv. 7. 5. the syracusan caught the notion readily. by all that's holy, socrates (he cried), a capital suggestion, and for my part, i warrant you, i will put a piece upon the stage, which will delight you, one and all. viii with these words the syracusan made his exit, bent on organising his performance. (1) as soon as he was gone, socrates once more essayed a novel argument. (2) he thus addressed them: (1) {sunekroteito}, "on the composition of his piece." al. "amidst a round of plaudits." (2) "struck the keynote of a novel theme." cf. plat. "symp." 177 e. it were but reasonable, sirs, on our part not to ignore the mighty power here present, (3) a divinity in point of age coequal with the everlasting gods, yet in outward form the youngest, (4) who in magnitude embraces all things, and yet his shrine is planted in the soul of man. love (5) is his name! and least of all should we forget him who are one and all votaries of this god. (6) for myself i cannot name the time at which i have not been in love with some one. (7) and charmides here has, to my knowledge, captivated many a lover, while his own soul has gone out in longing for the love of not a few himself. (8) so it is with critobulus also; the beloved of yesterday is become the lover of to-day. ay, and niceratus, as i am told, adores his wife, and is by her adored. (9) as to hermogenes, which of us needs to be told (10) that the soul of this fond lover is consumed with passion for a fair ideal--call it by what name you will--the spirit blent of nobleness and beauty. (11) see you not what chaste severity dwells on his brow; (12) how tranquil his gaze; (13) how moderate his words; how gentle his intonation; now radiant his whole character. and if he enjoys the friendship of the most holy gods, he keeps a place in his regard for us poor mortals. but how is it that you alone, antisthenes, you misanthrope, love nobody? (3) cf. shelley, "hymn to intellectual beauty": the awful shadow of some unseen power floats, though unseen, among us.... (4) reading with l. d. after blomfield (aesch. "ag." p. 304), {idrumenou}, or if as vulg. {isoumenou}, transl. "but in soul is fashioned like to mortal man." (5) "eros." (6) or, "who are each and all of us members of his band." for {thiasotai} cf. aristot. "eth. n." viii. 9. 5; aristoph. "frogs," 327. (7) cf. plat. "symp." 177 d: "no one will vote against you, erysimachus, said socrates; on the only subject ({ta erotika}) of which i profess to have any knowledge, i certainly cannot refuse to speak, nor, i presume, agathon and pasuanias; and there can be no doubt of arisophanes, who is the constant servant of dionysus and aphrodite; nor will any one disagree of those i see around me" (jowett). (8) or, "has had many a passionate admirer, and been enamoured of more than one true love himself." see plat. "charm.," ad in. (9) for love and love-for-love, {eros} and {anteros}, see plat. "phaedr." 255 d. cf. aristot. "eth. n." ix. 1. (10) lit. "which of us but knows his soul is melting away with passion." cf. theocr. xiv. 26. (11) lit. "beautiful and gentle manhood." (12) lit. "how serious are his brows." (13) the phrases somehow remind one of sappho's famous ode: {phainetai moi kenos isos theoisin emmen oner, ostis enantios toi izanei, kai plasion adu phoneusas upakouei kai gelosas imeroen}. but there we must stop. hermogenes is a sort of sir percivale, "such a courtesy spake thro' the limbs and in the voice." nay, so help me heaven! (he replied), but i do love most desperately yourself, o socrates! whereat socrates, still carrying on the jest, with a coy, coquettish air, (14) replied: yes; only please do not bother me at present. i have other things to do, you see. (14) al. "like a true coquet." cf. plat. "phaedr." 228 c. antisthenes replied: how absolutely true to your own character, arch go-between! (15) it is always either your familiar oracle won't suffer you, that's your pretext, and so you can't converse with me; or you are bent upon something or somebody else. (15) see "mem." iii. xi. 14. then socrates: for heaven's sake, don't carbonado (16) me, antisthenes, that's all. any other savagery on your part i can stand, and will stand, as a lover should. however (he added), the less we say about your love the better, since it is clearly an attachment not to my soul, but to my lovely person. (16) or, "tear and scratch me." and then, turning to callias: and that you, callias, do love autolycus, this whole city knows and half the world besides, (17) if i am not mistaken; and the reason is that you are both sons of famous fathers, and yourselves illustrious. for my part i have ever admired your nature, but now much more so, when i see that you are in love with one who does not wanton in luxury or languish in effeminacy, (18) but who displays to all his strength, his hardihood, his courage, and sobriety of soul. to be enamoured of such qualities as these is a proof itself of a true lover's nature. (17) lit. "many a foreign visitor likewise." (18) see the attic type of character, as drawn by pericles, thuc. ii. 40. whether indeed aphrodite be one or twain (19) in personality, the heavenly and the earthly, i cannot tell, for zeus, who is one and indivisible, bears many titles. (20) but this thing i know, that these twain have separate altars, shrines, and sacrifices, (21) as befits their nature--she that is earthly, of a lighter and a laxer sort; she that is heavenly, purer and holier in type. and you may well conjecture, it is the earthly goddess, the common aphrodite, who sends forth the bodily loves; while from her that is named of heaven, ourania, proceed those loves which feed upon the soul, on friendship and on noble deeds. it is by this latter, callias, that you are held in bonds, if i mistake not, love divine. (22) this i infer as well from the fair and noble character of your friend, as from the fact that you invite his father to share your life and intercourse. (23) since no part of these is hidden from the father by the fair and noble lover. (19) for aphrodite ourania and pandemos see plat. "symp." 180. (20) lit. "that is believed to be the same." see cic. "de n. d." iii. 16. cf. aesch. "prom." 210 (of themis and gaia), {pollon onomaton morphe mia}. (21) e.g. to aphrodite pandemos a white goat, {mekas leuke}, but to aphrodite ourania a heifer, and {thusiai nephaliai}, offerings without wine, i.e. of water, milk, and honey. schol. to soph. "oed. col." 100; lucian, lxvii. "dial. mer." 7. 1. (22) lit. "by eros." (23) cf. plat. "prot." 318 a; aristoph. "thesmoph." 21, "learned conversazioni." hermogenes broke in: by hera, socrates, i much admire you for many things, and now to see how in the act of gratifying callias you are training him in duty and true excellence. (24) (24) lit. "teaching him what sort of man he ought to be." this, as we know, is the very heart and essence of the socratic (= {xs}) method. see "mem." i. ii. 3. why, yes (he said), if only that his cup of happiness may overflow, i wish to testify to him how far the love of soul is better than the love of body. without friendship, (25) as we full well know, there is no society of any worth. and this friendship, what is it? on the part of those whose admiration (26) is bestowed upon the inner disposition, it is well named a sweet and voluntary compulsion. but among those whose desire (26) is for the body, there are not a few who blame, nay hate, the ways of their beloved ones. and even where attachment (26) clings to both, (27) even so the bloom of beauty after all does quickly reach its prime; the flower withers, and when that fails, the affection which was based upon it must also wither up and perish. but the soul, with every step she makes in her onward course towards deeper wisdom, grows ever worthier of love. (25) lit. "that without love no intercourse is worth regarding, we all know." (26) n.b.--{agamenon, epithumounton, sterxosi}. here, as often, the author seems to have studied the {orthoepeia} of prodicus. see "mem." ii. i. 24. (27) i.e. "body and character." ay, and in the enjoyment of external beauty a sort of surfeit is engendered. just as the eater's appetite palls through repletion with regard to meats, (28) so will the feelings of a lover towards his idol. but the soul's attachment, owing to its purity, knows no satiety. (29) yet not therefore, as a man might fondly deem, has it less of the character of loveliness. (30) but very clearly herein is our prayer fulfilled, in which we beg the goddess to grant us words and deeds that bear the impress of her own true loveliness. (31) (28) cf. "mem." iii. xi. 13. (29) lit. "is more insatiate." cf. charles wesley's hymn: o love divine, how sweet thou art! when shall i find my willing heart all taken up by thee? (30) lit. "is she, the soul, more separate from aphrodite." (31) or, "stamped with the image of aphrodite." zeune cf. lucr. i. 24, addressing venus, "te sociam studeo scribendis versibus esse," "i would have thee for a helpmate in writing the verses..."; and below, 28, "quo magis aeternum da dictis, diva, leporem," "wherefore all the more, o lady, lend my lays an ever-living charm" (h. a. j. munro). that a soul whose bloom is visible alike in beauty of external form, free and unfettered, and an inner disposition, bashful, generous; a spirit (32) at once imperial and affable, (33) born to rule among its fellows--that such a being will, of course, admire and fondly cling to his beloved, is a thesis which needs no further argument on my part. rather i will essay to teach you, how it is natural that this same type of lover should in turn be loved by his soul's idol. (34) (32) cf. plat. "phaedr." 252 e. (33) the epithet {philophron} occurs "mem." iii. i. 6, of a general; ib. iii. v. 3 (according to the vulg. reading), of the athenians. (34) or, "the boy whom he cherishes." how, in the first place, is it possible for him to hate a lover who, he knows, regards him as both beautiful and good? (35) and, in the next place, one who, it is clear, is far more anxious to promote the fair estate of him he loves (36) than to indulge his selfish joys? and above all, when he has faith and trust that neither dereliction, (37) nor loss of beauty through sickness, nor aught else, will diminish their affection. (35) or, "perfection." (36) lit. "the boy." (37) reading {en para ti poiese}. al. "come what come may," lit. "no alteration"; or if reading {parebese} transl. "although his may of youth should pass, and sickness should mar his features, the tie of friendship will not be weakened." if, then, they own a mutual devotion, (38) how can it but be, they will take delight in gazing each into the other's eyes, hold kindly converse, trust and be trusted, have forethought for each other, in success rejoice together, in misfortune share their troubles; and so long as health endures make merry cheer, day in day out; or if either of them should fall on sickness, then will their intercourse be yet more constant; and if they cared for one another face to face, much more will they care when parted. (39) are not all these the outward tokens of true loveliness? (40) in the exercise of such sweet offices, at any rate, they show their passion for holy friendship's state, and prove its bliss, continuously pacing life's path from youth to eld. (38) for beauty of style (in the original) zeune cf. "mem." ii. vi. 28 foll.; iii. xi. 10. (39) "albeit absent from one another in the body, they are more present in the soul." cf. virg. "aen." iv. 83, "illum absens absentem auditque videtque." (40) or, "bear the stamp of aphrodite." but the lover who depends upon the body, (41) what of him? first, why should love-for-love be given to such a lover? because, forsooth, he bestows upon himself what he desires, and upon his minion things of dire reproach? or that what he hastens to exact, infallibly must separate that other from his nearest friends? (41) or, "is wholly taken up with." cf. plat. "laws," 831 c. if it be pleaded that persuasion is his instrument, not violence; is that no reason rather for a deeper loathing? since he who uses violence (42) at any rate declares himself in his true colours as a villain, while the tempter corrupts the soul of him who yields to his persuasions. (42) cf. "hiero," iii. 3; "cyrop." iii. i. 39. ay, and how should he who traffics with his beauty love the purchaser, any more than he who keeps a stall in the market-place and vends to the highest bidder? love springs not up, i trow, because the one is in his prime, and the other's bloom is withered, because fair is mated with what is not fair, and hot lips are pressed to cold. between man and woman it is different. there the wife at any rate shares with her husband in their nuptial joys; but here conversely, the one is sober and with unimpassioned eye regards his fellow, who is drunken with the wine of passion. (43) (43) lit. "by aphrodite." cf. plat. "phaedr." 240, "but the lover ... when he is drunk" (jowett); "symp." 214 c. wherefore it is no marvel if, beholding, there springs up in his breast the bitterest contempt and scorn for such a lover. search and you shall find that nothing harsh was ever yet engendered by attachment based on moral qualities; whilst shameless intercourse, time out of mind, has been the source of countless hateful and unhallowed deeds. (44) (44) zeune cf. ael. "v. h." viii. 9, re archelaus king of macedon, concerning whom aristotle, "pol." v. 10. 1311 b: "many conspiracies have originated in shameful attempts made by sovereigns on the persons of their subjects. such was the attack of crataeus upon archelaus," etc. (jowett). i have next to show that the society of him whose love is of the body, not the soul, is in itself illiberal. the true educator who trains another in the path of virtue, who will teach us excellence, whether of speech or conduct, (45) may well be honoured, even as cheiron and phoenix (46) were honoured by achilles. but what can he expect, who stretches forth an eager hand to clutch the body, save to be treated (47) as a beggar? that is his character; for ever cringing and petitioning a kiss, or some other soft caress, (48) this sorry suitor dogs his victims. (45) phoenix addresses achilles, "il." ix. 443: {muthon te reter' emenai, prektera te ergon} therefore sent he (peleus) me to thee to teach thee all things, to be both a speaker of words and a doer of deeds (w. leaf). (46) see "il." xi. 831; "hunting," ch. i., as to cheiron and his scholars, the last of whom is achilles. (47) {an periepoito}. "he will be scurvily treated." cf. "hell." iii. i. 19. (48) cf. "mem." i. ii. 29. if my language has a touch of turbulence, (49) do not marvel: partly the wine exalts me; partly that love which ever dwells within my heart of hearts now pricks me forward to use great boldness of speech (50) against his base antagonist. why, yes indeed, it seems to me that he who fixes his mind on outward beauty is like a man who has taken a farm on a short lease. he shows no anxiety to improve its value; his sole object being to take off it the largest crops he can himself. but he whose heart is set on loyal friendship resembles rather a man who has a farmstead of his own. at any rate, he scours the wide world to find what may enhance the value of his soul's delight. (51) (49) or, "wantonness"; and for the apology see plat. "phaedr." 238: "i appear to be in a divine fury, for already i am getting into dithyrambics" (jowett). (50) lit. "to speak openly against that other sort of love which is its rival." (51) cf. michelet, i think, as to the french peasant-farmer regarding his property as "sa femme." again, let us consider the effect upon the object of attachment. let him but know his beauty is a bond sufficient to enthrall his lover, (52) and what wonder if he be careless of all else and play the wanton. let him discover, on the contrary, that if he would retain his dear affection he must himself be truly good and beautiful, and it is only natural he should become more studious of virtue. but the greatest blessing which descends on one beset with eager longing to convert the idol of his soul into a good man and true friend is this: necessity is laid upon himself to practise virtue; since how can he hope to make his comrade good, if he himself works wickedness? is it conceivable that the example he himself presents of what is shameless and incontinent, (53) will serve to make the beloved one temperate and modest? (52) or, "that by largess of beauty he can enthrall his lover." (53) see plat. "symp." 182 a, 192 a. i have a longing, callias, by mythic argument (54) to show you that not men only, but gods and heroes, set greater store by friendship of the soul than bodily enjoyment. thus those fair women (55) whom zeus, enamoured of their outward beauty, wedded, he permitted mortal to remain; but those heroes whose souls he held in admiration, these he raised to immortality. of whom are heracles and the dioscuri, and there are others also named. (56) as i maintain, it was not for his body's sake, but for his soul's, that ganymede (57) was translated to olympus, as the story goes, by zeus. and to this his very name bears witness, for is it not written in homer? and he gladdens ({ganutai}) to hear his voice. (58) this the poet says, meaning "he is pleased to listen to his words." (54) or, "i have a desire to romance a little," "for your benefit to explain by legendary lore." cf. isocr. 120 c; plat. "rep." 392 b. (55) e.g. leda, danae, europa, alcmena, electra, latona, laodamia (zeune). (56) see "hunting," i.; "hell." vi. iii. 6. (57) see plat. "phaedr." 255 c; cic. "tusc." i. 26, "nec homerum audio ... divina mallem ad nos," a protest against anthropomorphism in religion. (58) not in "our" version of homer, but cf. "il." xx. 405, {ganutai de te tois 'enosikhthon}; "il." xiii. 493, {ganutai d' ara te phrena poimen}. and again, in another passage he says: knowing deep devices ({medea}) in his mind, (59) which is as much as to say, "knowing wise counsels in his mind." ganymede, therefore, bears a name compounded of the two words, "joy" and "counsel," and is honoured among the gods, not as one "whose body," but "whose mind" "gives pleasure." (59) partly "il." xxiv. 674, {pukina phresi mede' ekhontes}; and "il." xxiv. 424, {phila phresi medea eidos}. cf. "od." vi. 192; xviii. 67, 87; xxii. 476. furthermore (i appeal to you, niceratus), (60) homer makes achilles avenge patroclus in that brilliant fashion, not as his favourite, but as his comrade. (61) yes, and orestes and pylades, (62) theseus and peirithous, (63) with many another noble pair of demigods, are celebrated as having wrought in common great and noble deeds, not because they lay inarmed, but because of the admiration they felt for one another. (60) as an authority on homer. (61) cf. plat. "symp." 179 e: "the notion that patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into which aeschylus has fallen," etc. (in his "myrmidons"). see j. a. symonds, "the greek poets," 2nd series, "achilles," p. 66 foll. (62) concerning whom ovid ("pont." iii. 2. 70) says, "nomina fama tenet." (63) see plut. "thes." 30 foll. (clough, i. p. 30 foll.); cf. lucian, xli. "toxaris," 10. nay, take the fair deeds of to-day: and you shall find them wrought rather for the sake of praise by volunteers in toil and peril, than by men accustomed to choose pleasure in place of honour. and yet pausanias, (64) the lover of the poet agathon, (65) making a defence in behalf (66) of some who wallow in incontinence, has stated that an army composed of lovers and beloved would be invincible. (67) these, in his opinion, would, from awe of one another, have the greatest horror of destruction. a truly marvellous argument, if he means that men accustomed to turn deaf ears to censure and to behave to one another shamelessly, are more likely to feel ashamed of doing a shameful deed. he adduced as evidence the fact that the thebans and the eleians (68) recognise the very principle, and added: though they sleep inarmed, they do not scruple to range the lover side by side with the beloved one in the field of battle. an instance which i take to be no instance, or at any rate one-sided, (69) seeing that what they look upon as lawful with us is scandalous. (70) indeed, it strikes me that this vaunted battle-order would seem to argue some mistrust on their part who adopt it--a suspicion that their bosom friends, once separated from them, may forget to behave as brave men should. but the men of lacedaemon, holding that "if a man but lay his hand upon the body and for lustful purpose, he shall thereby forfeit claim to what is beautiful and noble"--do, in the spirit of their creed, contrive to mould and fashion their "beloved ones" to such height of virtue, (71) that should these find themselves drawn up with foreigners, albeit no longer side by side with their own lovers, (72) conscience will make desertion of their present friends impossible. self-respect constrains them: since the goddess whom the men of lacedaemon worship is not "shamelessness," but "reverence." (73) (64) see cobet, "pros. xen." p. 15; plat. "protag." 315 d; ael. "v. h." ii. 21. (65) ib.; aristot. "poet." ix. (66) or, "in his 'apology' for." (67) plat. "symp." 179 e, puts the sentiment into the mouth of phaedrus: "and if there were only some way of contriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and their loves, they would be the very best governors of their own city, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one another in honour; and when fighting at one another's side, although not a mere handful, they would overcome the world. for what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? he would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. or would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger? the veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at such a time; love would inspire him. that courage which, as homer says, the god breathes into the soul of heroes, love of his own nature infuses into the lover" (jowett). cf. "hunting," xii. 20; "anab." vii. iv. 7; "cyrop." vii. i. 30. (68) sc. in their institutions. cf. plat. "symp." 182, "in elis and boeotia"; "pol. lac." ii. 13; ael. "v. h." iii. 12, xiii. 5; athen. xiii. 2. for the theban sacred band see plut. "pelop." 18, 19 (clough, ii. 218). (69) or, "not in pari materia, so to speak." (70) is not xenophon imputing himself to socrates? henkel cf. plat. "crito," 52 e. see newman, op. cit. i. 396. (71) or, "shape to so fine a manhood that..." (72) reading {en te aute taxei}. al. {... polei}, transl. "nor indeed in the same city." cf. "hell." v. iv. 33, re death of cleonymus at leuctra. (73) lit. "aidos not anaideia." see paus. "lac." xx. 10; "attica," xvii. 1; cic. "de leg." ii. 11, a reference which i owe to m. eugene talbot, "xen." i. 236. i fancy we should all agree with one another on the point in question, if we thus approached it. ask yourself to which type of the two must he (74) accord, to whom you would entrust a sum of money, make him the guardian of your children, look to find in him a safe and sure depositary of any favour? (75) for my part, i am certain that the very lover addicted to external beauty would himself far sooner have his precious things entrusted to the keeping of one who has the inward beauty of the soul. (76) (74) he (the master-mistress of my passion). (75) {kharitas} = "kindly offices," beneficia. cf. "ages." iv. 4; "mem." iv. iv. 17. al. = delicias, "to deposit some darling object." (76) or, "some one truly lovable in soul and heart." ah, yes! and you, my friend (he turned to callias), you have good reason to be thankful to the gods who of their grace inspired you with love for your autolycus. covetous of honour, (77) beyond all controversy, must he be, who could endure so many toils and pains to hear his name proclaimed (78) victor in the "pankration." (77) see "mem." ii. iii. 16; "isocr." 189 c, {ph. kai megalopsukhoi}. (78) i.e. "by the public herald." but what if the thought arose within him: (79) his it is not merely to add lustre to himself and to his father, but that he has ability, through help of manly virtue, to benefit his friends and to exalt his fatherland, by trophies which he will set up against our enemies in war, (80) whereby he will himself become the admired of all observers, nay, a name to be remembered among hellenes and barbarians. (81) would he not in that case, think you, make much of (82) one whom he regarded as his bravest fellow-worker, laying at his feet the greatest honours? (79) cf. theogn. 947: {patrida kosmeso, liparen polin, out' epi demo trepsas out' adikois andrasi peithomenos}. (80) who in 421 b.c. were of course the lacedaemonians and the allies. autolycus was killed eventually by the thirty to please the lacedaemonian harmost. see plut. "lysand." 15 (clough, iii. 120); paus. i. 18. 3; ix. 32. 8. cf. "hell." ii. iii. 14. (81) cf. "anab." iv. i. 20; "mem." iii. vi. 2. (82) {periepein}. cf. "cyrop." iv. iv. 12; "mem." ii. ix. 5. if, then, you wish to be well-pleasing in his eyes, you had best inquire by what knowledge themistocles (83) was able to set hellas free. you should ask yourself, what keen wit belonged to pericles (83) that he was held to be the best adviser of his fatherland. you should scan (84) the field of history to learn by what sage wisdom solon (85) established for our city her consummate laws. i would have you find the clue to that peculiar training by which the men of lacedaemon have come to be regarded as the best of leaders. (86) is it not at your house that their noblest citizens are lodged as representatives of a foreign state? (87) (83) see "mem." ii. vi. 13; iii. vi. 2; iv. ii. 2. (84) for the diction, {skepteon, skepteon, aphreteon, ereuneteon, epistamenos, eidos, philosopheras}, xenophon's rhetorical style imitates the {orthoepeia} of prodicus. (85) see "econ." xiv. 4. (86) or, "won for themselves at all hands the reputation of noblest generalship." cf. "ages." i. 3; "pol. lac." xiv. 3. (87) reading as vulg. {proxenoi d' ei...} or if with schenkl, {proxenos d' ei...} transl. "you are their consul-general; at your house their noblest citizens are lodged from time to time." as to the office, cf. dem. 475. 10; 1237. 17; thuc. ii. 29; boeckh, "p. e. a." 50. callias appears as the lac. {proxenos} ("hell." v. iv. 22) 378 b.c., and at sparta, 371 b.c., as the peace commissioner ("hell." vi. iii. 3). be sure that our state of athens would speedily entrust herself to your direction were you willing. (88) everything is in your favour. you are of noble family, "eupatrid" by descent, a priest of the divinities, (89) and of erechtheus' famous line, (90) which with iacchus marched to encounter the barbarian. (91) and still, at the sacred festival to-day, it is agreed that no one among your ancestors has ever been more fitted to discharge the priestly office than yourself; yours a person the goodliest to behold in all our city, and a frame adapted to undergo great toils. (88) cf. "mem." iii. vii. (89) i.e. demeter and core. callias (see "hell." vi. l.c.) was dadouchos (or torch-holder) in the mysteries. (90) or, "whose rites date back to erechtheus." cf. plat. "theag." 122. (91) at salamis. the tale is told by herod. viii. 65, and plut. "themist." 15; cf. polyaen. "strat." iii. 11. 2. just as themistocles had won the battle of salamis by help of iacchus on the 16th boedromion, the first day of the mysteries, so chabrias won the sea-fight of naxos by help of the day itself, {to 'alade mustai}, 376 b.c. but if i seem to any of you to indulge a vein more serious than befits the wine-cup, marvel not. it has long been my wont to share our city's passion for noble-natured souls, alert and emulous in pursuit of virtue. he ended, and, while the others continued to discuss the theme of his discourse, autolycus sat regarding callias. that other, glancing the while at the beloved one, turned to socrates. call. then, socrates, be pleased, as go-between, (92) to introduce me to the state, that i may employ myself in state affairs and never lapse from her good graces. (93) (92) lit. "as pander." (93) so critobulus in the conversation so often referred to. "mem." ii. vi. never fear (he answered), if only people see your loyalty to virtue is genuine, (94) not of mere repute. a false renown indeed is quickly seen for what it is worth, being tested; but true courage (95) (save only what some god hinder) perpetually amidst the storm and stress of circumstance (96) pours forth a brighter glory. (94) see "mem." i. vii. 1, passim; ii. vi. 39; "econ." x. 9. (95) cf. thuc. ii. 42, {andragathia}, "true courage in the public service covers a multitude of private shortcomings." (96) {en tais praxesi}. cf. plat. "phaedr." 271 d, "in actual life." ix on such a note he ended his discourse. at that, autolycus, whose hour for walking exercise had now come, arose. his father, lycon, was about to leave the room along with him, but before so doing, turned to socrates, remarking: by hera, socrates, if ever any one deserved the appellation "beautiful and good," (1) you are that man! (1) for {kalos ge kalathos} see "econ." vii. 2 and passim. so the pair departed. after they were gone, a sort of throne was first erected in the inner room abutting on the supper chamber. then the syracusan entered, with a speech: with your good pleasure, sirs, ariadne is about to enter the bridal chamber set apart for her and dionysus. anon dionysus will appear, fresh from the table of the gods, wine-flushed, and enter to his bride. in the last scene the two will play (2) with one another. (2) {paixountai}. the syracusan naturally uses the doric form. see cobet, "pros. xen." p. 16, note 23. rutherford, "n. phrynicus," p. 91. he had scarce concluded, when ariadne entered, attired like a bride. she crossed the stage and sate herself upon the throne. meanwhile, before the god himself appeared a sound of flutes was heard; the cadence of the bacchic air proclaimed his coming. at this point the company broke forth in admiration of the ballet-master. for no sooner did the sound of music strike upon the ear of ariadne than something in her action revealed to all the pleasure which it caused her. she did not step forward to meet her lover, she did not rise even from her seat; but the flutter of her unrest was plain to see. (3) (3) lit. "the difficulty she had to keep so still was evident." when dionysus presently caught sight of her he loved, lightly he danced towards her, and with show of tenderest passion gently reclined upon her knees; his arms entwined about her lovingly, and upon her lips he sealed a kiss; (4)--she the while with most sweet bashfulness was fain to wind responsive arms about her lover; till the banqueters, the while they gazed all eyes, clapped hands and cried "encore!" but when dionysus rose upon his feet, and rising lifted ariadne to her full height, the action of those lovers as they kissed and fondled one another was a thing to contemplate. (5) as to the spectators, they could see that dionysus was indeed most beautiful, and ariadne like some lovely blossom; nor were those mocking gestures, but real kisses sealed on loving lips; and so, (6) with hearts aflame, they gazed expectantly. they could hear the question asked by dionysus, did she love him? and her answer, as prettily she swore she did. and withal so earnestly, not dionysus only, but all present, had sworn an oath in common: the boy and girl were verily and indeed a pair of happy lovers. so much less did they resemble actors, trained to certain gestures, than two beings bent on doing what for many a long day they had set their hearts on. (4) or, "and encircling his arms about her impressed upon her lips a kiss." (5) or, "then was it possible to see the more than mimic gestures." (6) or, "on the tiptoe of excitement." cf. "hell." iii. i. 14, iv. 2. at last when these two lovers, caught in each other's arms, were seen to be retiring to the nuptial couch, the members of the supper party turned to withdraw themselves; and whilst those of them who were unmarried swore that they would wed, those who were wedded mounted their horses and galloped off to join their wives, in quest of married joys. only socrates, and of the rest the few who still remained behind, anon set off with callias, to see out lycon and his son, and share the walk. and so this supper party, assembled in honour of autolycus, broke up. symposium by plato translated by benjamin jowett introduction. of all the works of plato the symposium is the most perfect in form, and may be truly thought to contain more than any commentator has ever dreamed of; or, as goethe said of one of his own writings, more than the author himself knew. for in philosophy as in prophecy glimpses of the future may often be conveyed in words which could hardly have been understood or interpreted at the time when they were uttered (compare symp.)--which were wiser than the writer of them meant, and could not have been expressed by him if he had been interrogated about them. yet plato was not a mystic, nor in any degree affected by the eastern influences which afterwards overspread the alexandrian world. he was not an enthusiast or a sentimentalist, but one who aspired only to see reasoned truth, and whose thoughts are clearly explained in his language. there is no foreign element either of egypt or of asia to be found in his writings. and more than any other platonic work the symposium is greek both in style and subject, having a beauty 'as of a statue,' while the companion dialogue of the phaedrus is marked by a sort of gothic irregularity. more too than in any other of his dialogues, plato is emancipated from former philosophies. the genius of greek art seems to triumph over the traditions of pythagorean, eleatic, or megarian systems, and 'the old quarrel of poetry and philosophy' has at least a superficial reconcilement. (rep.) an unknown person who had heard of the discourses in praise of love spoken by socrates and others at the banquet of agathon is desirous of having an authentic account of them, which he thinks that he can obtain from apollodorus, the same excitable, or rather 'mad' friend of socrates, who is afterwards introduced in the phaedo. he had imagined that the discourses were recent. there he is mistaken: but they are still fresh in the memory of his informant, who had just been repeating them to glaucon, and is quite prepared to have another rehearsal of them in a walk from the piraeus to athens. although he had not been present himself, he had heard them from the best authority. aristodemus, who is described as having been in past times a humble but inseparable attendant of socrates, had reported them to him (compare xen. mem.). the narrative which he had heard was as follows:-aristodemus meeting socrates in holiday attire, is invited by him to a banquet at the house of agathon, who had been sacrificing in thanksgiving for his tragic victory on the day previous. but no sooner has he entered the house than he finds that he is alone; socrates has stayed behind in a fit of abstraction, and does not appear until the banquet is half over. on his appearing he and the host jest a little; the question is then asked by pausanias, one of the guests, 'what shall they do about drinking? as they had been all well drunk on the day before, and drinking on two successive days is such a bad thing.' this is confirmed by the authority of eryximachus the physician, who further proposes that instead of listening to the flute-girl and her 'noise' they shall make speeches in honour of love, one after another, going from left to right in the order in which they are reclining at the table. all of them agree to this proposal, and phaedrus, who is the 'father' of the idea, which he has previously communicated to eryximachus, begins as follows:-he descants first of all upon the antiquity of love, which is proved by the authority of the poets; secondly upon the benefits which love gives to man. the greatest of these is the sense of honour and dishonour. the lover is ashamed to be seen by the beloved doing or suffering any cowardly or mean act. and a state or army which was made up only of lovers and their loves would be invincible. for love will convert the veriest coward into an inspired hero. and there have been true loves not only of men but of women also. such was the love of alcestis, who dared to die for her husband, and in recompense of her virtue was allowed to come again from the dead. but orpheus, the miserable harper, who went down to hades alive, that he might bring back his wife, was mocked with an apparition only, and the gods afterwards contrived his death as the punishment of his cowardliness. the love of achilles, like that of alcestis, was courageous and true; for he was willing to avenge his lover patroclus, although he knew that his own death would immediately follow: and the gods, who honour the love of the beloved above that of the lover, rewarded him, and sent him to the islands of the blest. pausanias, who was sitting next, then takes up the tale:--he says that phaedrus should have distinguished the heavenly love from the earthly, before he praised either. for there are two loves, as there are two aphrodites--one the daughter of uranus, who has no mother and is the elder and wiser goddess, and the other, the daughter of zeus and dione, who is popular and common. the first of the two loves has a noble purpose, and delights only in the intelligent nature of man, and is faithful to the end, and has no shadow of wantonness or lust. the second is the coarser kind of love, which is a love of the body rather than of the soul, and is of women and boys as well as of men. now the actions of lovers vary, like every other sort of action, according to the manner of their performance. and in different countries there is a difference of opinion about male loves. some, like the boeotians, approve of them; others, like the ionians, and most of the barbarians, disapprove of them; partly because they are aware of the political dangers which ensue from them, as may be seen in the instance of harmodius and aristogeiton. at athens and sparta there is an apparent contradiction about them. for at times they are encouraged, and then the lover is allowed to play all sorts of fantastic tricks; he may swear and forswear himself (and 'at lovers' perjuries they say jove laughs'); he may be a servant, and lie on a mat at the door of his love, without any loss of character; but there are also times when elders look grave and guard their young relations, and personal remarks are made. the truth is that some of these loves are disgraceful and others honourable. the vulgar love of the body which takes wing and flies away when the bloom of youth is over, is disgraceful, and so is the interested love of power or wealth; but the love of the noble mind is lasting. the lover should be tested, and the beloved should not be too ready to yield. the rule in our country is that the beloved may do the same service to the lover in the way of virtue which the lover may do to him. a voluntary service to be rendered for the sake of virtue and wisdom is permitted among us; and when these two customs--one the love of youth, the other the practice of virtue and philosophy--meet in one, then the lovers may lawfully unite. nor is there any disgrace to a disinterested lover in being deceived: but the interested lover is doubly disgraced, for if he loses his love he loses his character; whereas the noble love of the other remains the same, although the object of his love is unworthy: for nothing can be nobler than love for the sake of virtue. this is that love of the heavenly goddess which is of great price to individuals and cities, making them work together for their improvement. the turn of aristophanes comes next; but he has the hiccough, and therefore proposes that eryximachus the physician shall cure him or speak in his turn. eryximachus is ready to do both, and after prescribing for the hiccough, speaks as follows:-he agrees with pausanias in maintaining that there are two kinds of love; but his art has led him to the further conclusion that the empire of this double love extends over all things, and is to be found in animals and plants as well as in man. in the human body also there are two loves; and the art of medicine shows which is the good and which is the bad love, and persuades the body to accept the good and reject the bad, and reconciles conflicting elements and makes them friends. every art, gymnastic and husbandry as well as medicine, is the reconciliation of opposites; and this is what heracleitus meant, when he spoke of a harmony of opposites: but in strictness he should rather have spoken of a harmony which succeeds opposites, for an agreement of disagreements there cannot be. music too is concerned with the principles of love in their application to harmony and rhythm. in the abstract, all is simple, and we are not troubled with the twofold love; but when they are applied in education with their accompaniments of song and metre, then the discord begins. then the old tale has to be repeated of fair urania and the coarse polyhymnia, who must be indulged sparingly, just as in my own art of medicine care must be taken that the taste of the epicure be gratified without inflicting upon him the attendant penalty of disease. there is a similar harmony or disagreement in the course of the seasons and in the relations of moist and dry, hot and cold, hoar frost and blight; and diseases of all sorts spring from the excesses or disorders of the element of love. the knowledge of these elements of love and discord in the heavenly bodies is termed astronomy, in the relations of men towards gods and parents is called divination. for divination is the peacemaker of gods and men, and works by a knowledge of the tendencies of merely human loves to piety and impiety. such is the power of love; and that love which is just and temperate has the greatest power, and is the source of all our happiness and friendship with the gods and with one another. i dare say that i have omitted to mention many things which you, aristophanes, may supply, as i perceive that you are cured of the hiccough. aristophanes is the next speaker:-he professes to open a new vein of discourse, in which he begins by treating of the origin of human nature. the sexes were originally three, men, women, and the union of the two; and they were made round--having four hands, four feet, two faces on a round neck, and the rest to correspond. terrible was their strength and swiftness; and they were essaying to scale heaven and attack the gods. doubt reigned in the celestial councils; the gods were divided between the desire of quelling the pride of man and the fear of losing the sacrifices. at last zeus hit upon an expedient. let us cut them in two, he said; then they will only have half their strength, and we shall have twice as many sacrifices. he spake, and split them as you might split an egg with an hair; and when this was done, he told apollo to give their faces a twist and re-arrange their persons, taking out the wrinkles and tying the skin in a knot about the navel. the two halves went about looking for one another, and were ready to die of hunger in one another's arms. then zeus invented an adjustment of the sexes, which enabled them to marry and go their way to the business of life. now the characters of men differ accordingly as they are derived from the original man or the original woman, or the original man-woman. those who come from the man-woman are lascivious and adulterous; those who come from the woman form female attachments; those who are a section of the male follow the male and embrace him, and in him all their desires centre. the pair are inseparable and live together in pure and manly affection; yet they cannot tell what they want of one another. but if hephaestus were to come to them with his instruments and propose that they should be melted into one and remain one here and hereafter, they would acknowledge that this was the very expression of their want. for love is the desire of the whole, and the pursuit of the whole is called love. there was a time when the two sexes were only one, but now god has halved them,--much as the lacedaemonians have cut up the arcadians,--and if they do not behave themselves he will divide them again, and they will hop about with half a nose and face in basso relievo. wherefore let us exhort all men to piety, that we may obtain the goods of which love is the author, and be reconciled to god, and find our own true loves, which rarely happens in this world. and now i must beg you not to suppose that i am alluding to pausanias and agathon (compare protag.), for my words refer to all mankind everywhere. some raillery ensues first between aristophanes and eryximachus, and then between agathon, who fears a few select friends more than any number of spectators at the theatre, and socrates, who is disposed to begin an argument. this is speedily repressed by phaedrus, who reminds the disputants of their tribute to the god. agathon's speech follows:-he will speak of the god first and then of his gifts: he is the fairest and blessedest and best of the gods, and also the youngest, having had no existence in the old days of iapetus and cronos when the gods were at war. the things that were done then were done of necessity and not of love. for love is young and dwells in soft places,--not like ate in homer, walking on the skulls of men, but in their hearts and souls, which are soft enough. he is all flexibility and grace, and his habitation is among the flowers, and he cannot do or suffer wrong; for all men serve and obey him of their own free will, and where there is love there is obedience, and where obedience, there is justice; for none can be wronged of his own free will. and he is temperate as well as just, for he is the ruler of the desires, and if he rules them he must be temperate. also he is courageous, for he is the conqueror of the lord of war. and he is wise too; for he is a poet, and the author of poesy in others. he created the animals; he is the inventor of the arts; all the gods are his subjects; he is the fairest and best himself, and the cause of what is fairest and best in others; he makes men to be of one mind at a banquet, filling them with affection and emptying them of disaffection; the pilot, helper, defender, saviour of men, in whose footsteps let every man follow, chanting a strain of love. such is the discourse, half playful, half serious, which i dedicate to the god. the turn of socrates comes next. he begins by remarking satirically that he has not understood the terms of the original agreement, for he fancied that they meant to speak the true praises of love, but now he finds that they only say what is good of him, whether true or false. he begs to be absolved from speaking falsely, but he is willing to speak the truth, and proposes to begin by questioning agathon. the result of his questions may be summed up as follows:-love is of something, and that which love desires is not that which love is or has; for no man desires that which he is or has. and love is of the beautiful, and therefore has not the beautiful. and the beautiful is the good, and therefore, in wanting and desiring the beautiful, love also wants and desires the good. socrates professes to have asked the same questions and to have obtained the same answers from diotima, a wise woman of mantinea, who, like agathon, had spoken first of love and then of his works. socrates, like agathon, had told her that love is a mighty god and also fair, and she had shown him in return that love was neither, but in a mean between fair and foul, good and evil, and not a god at all, but only a great demon or intermediate power (compare the speech of eryximachus) who conveys to the gods the prayers of men, and to men the commands of the gods. socrates asks: who are his father and mother? to this diotima replies that he is the son of plenty and poverty, and partakes of the nature of both, and is full and starved by turns. like his mother he is poor and squalid, lying on mats at doors (compare the speech of pausanias); like his father he is bold and strong, and full of arts and resources. further, he is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge:--in this he resembles the philosopher who is also in a mean between the wise and the ignorant. such is the nature of love, who is not to be confused with the beloved. but love desires the beautiful; and then arises the question, what does he desire of the beautiful? he desires, of course, the possession of the beautiful;--but what is given by that? for the beautiful let us substitute the good, and we have no difficulty in seeing the possession of the good to be happiness, and love to be the desire of happiness, although the meaning of the word has been too often confined to one kind of love. and love desires not only the good, but the everlasting possession of the good. why then is there all this flutter and excitement about love? because all men and women at a certain age are desirous of bringing to the birth. and love is not of beauty only, but of birth in beauty; this is the principle of immortality in a mortal creature. when beauty approaches, then the conceiving power is benign and diffuse; when foulness, she is averted and morose. but why again does this extend not only to men but also to animals? because they too have an instinct of immortality. even in the same individual there is a perpetual succession as well of the parts of the material body as of the thoughts and desires of the mind; nay, even knowledge comes and goes. there is no sameness of existence, but the new mortality is always taking the place of the old. this is the reason why parents love their children--for the sake of immortality; and this is why men love the immortality of fame. for the creative soul creates not children, but conceptions of wisdom and virtue, such as poets and other creators have invented. and the noblest creations of all are those of legislators, in honour of whom temples have been raised. who would not sooner have these children of the mind than the ordinary human ones? (compare bacon's essays, 8:--'certainly the best works and of greatest merit for the public have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men; which both in affection and means have married and endowed the public.') i will now initiate you, she said, into the greater mysteries; for he who would proceed in due course should love first one fair form, and then many, and learn the connexion of them; and from beautiful bodies he should proceed to beautiful minds, and the beauty of laws and institutions, until he perceives that all beauty is of one kindred; and from institutions he should go on to the sciences, until at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science of universal beauty, and then he will behold the everlasting nature which is the cause of all, and will be near the end. in the contemplation of that supreme being of love he will be purified of earthly leaven, and will behold beauty, not with the bodily eye, but with the eye of the mind, and will bring forth true creations of virtue and wisdom, and be the friend of god and heir of immortality. such, phaedrus, is the tale which i heard from the stranger of mantinea, and which you may call the encomium of love, or what you please. the company applaud the speech of socrates, and aristophanes is about to say something, when suddenly a band of revellers breaks into the court, and the voice of alcibiades is heard asking for agathon. he is led in drunk, and welcomed by agathon, whom he has come to crown with a garland. he is placed on a couch at his side, but suddenly, on recognizing socrates, he starts up, and a sort of conflict is carried on between them, which agathon is requested to appease. alcibiades then insists that they shall drink, and has a large wine-cooler filled, which he first empties himself, and then fills again and passes on to socrates. he is informed of the nature of the entertainment; and is ready to join, if only in the character of a drunken and disappointed lover he may be allowed to sing the praises of socrates:-he begins by comparing socrates first to the busts of silenus, which have images of the gods inside them; and, secondly, to marsyas the flute-player. for socrates produces the same effect with the voice which marsyas did with the flute. he is the great speaker and enchanter who ravishes the souls of men; the convincer of hearts too, as he has convinced alcibiades, and made him ashamed of his mean and miserable life. socrates at one time seemed about to fall in love with him; and he thought that he would thereby gain a wonderful opportunity of receiving lessons of wisdom. he narrates the failure of his design. he has suffered agonies from him, and is at his wit's end. he then proceeds to mention some other particulars of the life of socrates; how they were at potidaea together, where socrates showed his superior powers of enduring cold and fatigue; how on one occasion he had stood for an entire day and night absorbed in reflection amid the wonder of the spectators; how on another occasion he had saved alcibiades' life; how at the battle of delium, after the defeat, he might be seen stalking about like a pelican, rolling his eyes as aristophanes had described him in the clouds. he is the most wonderful of human beings, and absolutely unlike anyone but a satyr. like the satyr in his language too; for he uses the commonest words as the outward mask of the divinest truths. when alcibiades has done speaking, a dispute begins between him and agathon and socrates. socrates piques alcibiades by a pretended affection for agathon. presently a band of revellers appears, who introduce disorder into the feast; the sober part of the company, eryximachus, phaedrus, and others, withdraw; and aristodemus, the follower of socrates, sleeps during the whole of a long winter's night. when he wakes at cockcrow the revellers are nearly all asleep. only socrates, aristophanes, and agathon hold out; they are drinking from a large goblet, which they pass round, and socrates is explaining to the two others, who are half-asleep, that the genius of tragedy is the same as that of comedy, and that the writer of tragedy ought to be a writer of comedy also. and first aristophanes drops, and then, as the day is dawning, agathon. socrates, having laid them to rest, takes a bath and goes to his daily avocations until the evening. aristodemus follows. ... if it be true that there are more things in the symposium of plato than any commentator has dreamed of, it is also true that many things have been imagined which are not really to be found there. some writings hardly admit of a more distinct interpretation than a musical composition; and every reader may form his own accompaniment of thought or feeling to the strain which he hears. the symposium of plato is a work of this character, and can with difficulty be rendered in any words but the writer's own. there are so many half-lights and cross-lights, so much of the colour of mythology, and of the manner of sophistry adhering--rhetoric and poetry, the playful and the serious, are so subtly intermingled in it, and vestiges of old philosophy so curiously blend with germs of future knowledge, that agreement among interpreters is not to be expected. the expression 'poema magis putandum quam comicorum poetarum,' which has been applied to all the writings of plato, is especially applicable to the symposium. the power of love is represented in the symposium as running through all nature and all being: at one end descending to animals and plants, and attaining to the highest vision of truth at the other. in an age when man was seeking for an expression of the world around him, the conception of love greatly affected him. one of the first distinctions of language and of mythology was that of gender; and at a later period the ancient physicist, anticipating modern science, saw, or thought that he saw, a sex in plants; there were elective affinities among the elements, marriages of earth and heaven. (aesch. frag. dan.) love became a mythic personage whom philosophy, borrowing from poetry, converted into an efficient cause of creation. the traces of the existence of love, as of number and figure, were everywhere discerned; and in the pythagorean list of opposites male and female were ranged side by side with odd and even, finite and infinite. but plato seems also to be aware that there is a mystery of love in man as well as in nature, extending beyond the mere immediate relation of the sexes. he is conscious that the highest and noblest things in the world are not easily severed from the sensual desires, or may even be regarded as a spiritualized form of them. we may observe that socrates himself is not represented as originally unimpassioned, but as one who has overcome his passions; the secret of his power over others partly lies in his passionate but self-controlled nature. in the phaedrus and symposium love is not merely the feeling usually so called, but the mystical contemplation of the beautiful and the good. the same passion which may wallow in the mire is capable of rising to the loftiest heights--of penetrating the inmost secret of philosophy. the highest love is the love not of a person, but of the highest and purest abstraction. this abstraction is the far-off heaven on which the eye of the mind is fixed in fond amazement. the unity of truth, the consistency of the warring elements of the world, the enthusiasm for knowledge when first beaming upon mankind, the relativity of ideas to the human mind, and of the human mind to ideas, the faith in the invisible, the adoration of the eternal nature, are all included, consciously or unconsciously, in plato's doctrine of love. the successive speeches in praise of love are characteristic of the speakers, and contribute in various degrees to the final result; they are all designed to prepare the way for socrates, who gathers up the threads anew, and skims the highest points of each of them. but they are not to be regarded as the stages of an idea, rising above one another to a climax. they are fanciful, partly facetious performances, 'yet also having a certain measure of seriousness,' which the successive speakers dedicate to the god. all of them are rhetorical and poetical rather than dialectical, but glimpses of truth appear in them. when eryximachus says that the principles of music are simple in themselves, but confused in their application, he touches lightly upon a difficulty which has troubled the moderns as well as the ancients in music, and may be extended to the other applied sciences. that confusion begins in the concrete, was the natural feeling of a mind dwelling in the world of ideas. when pausanias remarks that personal attachments are inimical to despots. the experience of greek history confirms the truth of his remark. when aristophanes declares that love is the desire of the whole, he expresses a feeling not unlike that of the german philosopher, who says that 'philosophy is home sickness.' when agathon says that no man 'can be wronged of his own free will,' he is alluding playfully to a serious problem of greek philosophy (compare arist. nic. ethics). so naturally does plato mingle jest and earnest, truth and opinion in the same work. the characters--of phaedrus, who has been the cause of more philosophical discussions than any other man, with the exception of simmias the theban (phaedrus); of aristophanes, who disguises under comic imagery a serious purpose; of agathon, who in later life is satirized by aristophanes in the thesmophoriazusae, for his effeminate manners and the feeble rhythms of his verse; of alcibiades, who is the same strange contrast of great powers and great vices, which meets us in history--are drawn to the life; and we may suppose the less-known characters of pausanias and eryximachus to be also true to the traditional recollection of them (compare phaedr., protag.; and compare sympos. with phaedr.). we may also remark that aristodemus is called 'the little' in xenophon's memorabilia (compare symp.). the speeches have been said to follow each other in pairs: phaedrus and pausanias being the ethical, eryximachus and aristophanes the physical speakers, while in agathon and socrates poetry and philosophy blend together. the speech of phaedrus is also described as the mythological, that of pausanias as the political, that of eryximachus as the scientific, that of aristophanes as the artistic (!), that of socrates as the philosophical. but these and similar distinctions are not found in plato;--they are the points of view of his critics, and seem to impede rather than to assist us in understanding him. when the turn of socrates comes round he cannot be allowed to disturb the arrangement made at first. with the leave of phaedrus he asks a few questions, and then he throws his argument into the form of a speech (compare gorg., protag.). but his speech is really the narrative of a dialogue between himself and diotima. and as at a banquet good manners would not allow him to win a victory either over his host or any of the guests, the superiority which he gains over agathon is ingeniously represented as having been already gained over himself by her. the artifice has the further advantage of maintaining his accustomed profession of ignorance (compare menex.). even his knowledge of the mysteries of love, to which he lays claim here and elsewhere (lys.), is given by diotima. the speeches are attested to us by the very best authority. the madman apollodorus, who for three years past has made a daily study of the actions of socrates--to whom the world is summed up in the words 'great is socrates'--he has heard them from another 'madman,' aristodemus, who was the 'shadow' of socrates in days of old, like him going about barefooted, and who had been present at the time. 'would you desire better witness?' the extraordinary narrative of alcibiades is ingeniously represented as admitted by socrates, whose silence when he is invited to contradict gives consent to the narrator. we may observe, by the way, (1) how the very appearance of aristodemus by himself is a sufficient indication to agathon that socrates has been left behind; also, (2) how the courtesy of agathon anticipates the excuse which socrates was to have made on aristodemus' behalf for coming uninvited; (3) how the story of the fit or trance of socrates is confirmed by the mention which alcibiades makes of a similar fit of abstraction occurring when he was serving with the army at potidaea; like (4) the drinking powers of socrates and his love of the fair, which receive a similar attestation in the concluding scene; or the attachment of aristodemus, who is not forgotten when socrates takes his departure. (5) we may notice the manner in which socrates himself regards the first five speeches, not as true, but as fanciful and exaggerated encomiums of the god love; (6) the satirical character of them, shown especially in the appeals to mythology, in the reasons which are given by zeus for reconstructing the frame of man, or by the boeotians and eleans for encouraging male loves; (7) the ruling passion of socrates for dialectics, who will argue with agathon instead of making a speech, and will only speak at all upon the condition that he is allowed to speak the truth. we may note also the touch of socratic irony, (8) which admits of a wide application and reveals a deep insight into the world:--that in speaking of holy things and persons there is a general understanding that you should praise them, not that you should speak the truth about them--this is the sort of praise which socrates is unable to give. lastly, (9) we may remark that the banquet is a real banquet after all, at which love is the theme of discourse, and huge quantities of wine are drunk. the discourse of phaedrus is half-mythical, half-ethical; and he himself, true to the character which is given him in the dialogue bearing his name, is half-sophist, half-enthusiast. he is the critic of poetry also, who compares homer and aeschylus in the insipid and irrational manner of the schools of the day, characteristically reasoning about the probability of matters which do not admit of reasoning. he starts from a noble text: 'that without the sense of honour and dishonour neither states nor individuals ever do any good or great work.' but he soon passes on to more common-place topics. the antiquity of love, the blessing of having a lover, the incentive which love offers to daring deeds, the examples of alcestis and achilles, are the chief themes of his discourse. the love of women is regarded by him as almost on an equality with that of men; and he makes the singular remark that the gods favour the return of love which is made by the beloved more than the original sentiment, because the lover is of a nobler and diviner nature. there is something of a sophistical ring in the speech of phaedrus, which recalls the first speech in imitation of lysias, occurring in the dialogue called the phaedrus. this is still more marked in the speech of pausanias which follows; and which is at once hyperlogical in form and also extremely confused and pedantic. plato is attacking the logical feebleness of the sophists and rhetoricians, through their pupils, not forgetting by the way to satirize the monotonous and unmeaning rhythms which prodicus and others were introducing into attic prose (compare protag.). of course, he is 'playing both sides of the game,' as in the gorgias and phaedrus; but it is not necessary in order to understand him that we should discuss the fairness of his mode of proceeding. the love of pausanias for agathon has already been touched upon in the protagoras, and is alluded to by aristophanes. hence he is naturally the upholder of male loves, which, like all the other affections or actions of men, he regards as varying according to the manner of their performance. like the sophists and like plato himself, though in a different sense, he begins his discussion by an appeal to mythology, and distinguishes between the elder and younger love. the value which he attributes to such loves as motives to virtue and philosophy is at variance with modern and christian notions, but is in accordance with hellenic sentiment. the opinion of christendom has not altogether condemned passionate friendships between persons of the same sex, but has certainly not encouraged them, because though innocent in themselves in a few temperaments they are liable to degenerate into fearful evil. pausanias is very earnest in the defence of such loves; and he speaks of them as generally approved among hellenes and disapproved by barbarians. his speech is 'more words than matter,' and might have been composed by a pupil of lysias or of prodicus, although there is no hint given that plato is specially referring to them. as eryximachus says, 'he makes a fair beginning, but a lame ending.' plato transposes the two next speeches, as in the republic he would transpose the virtues and the mathematical sciences. this is done partly to avoid monotony, partly for the sake of making aristophanes 'the cause of wit in others,' and also in order to bring the comic and tragic poet into juxtaposition, as if by accident. a suitable 'expectation' of aristophanes is raised by the ludicrous circumstance of his having the hiccough, which is appropriately cured by his substitute, the physician eryximachus. to eryximachus love is the good physician; he sees everything as an intelligent physicist, and, like many professors of his art in modern times, attempts to reduce the moral to the physical; or recognises one law of love which pervades them both. there are loves and strifes of the body as well as of the mind. like hippocrates the asclepiad, he is a disciple of heracleitus, whose conception of the harmony of opposites he explains in a new way as the harmony after discord; to his common sense, as to that of many moderns as well as ancients, the identity of contradictories is an absurdity. his notion of love may be summed up as the harmony of man with himself in soul as well as body, and of all things in heaven and earth with one another. aristophanes is ready to laugh and make laugh before he opens his mouth, just as socrates, true to his character, is ready to argue before he begins to speak. he expresses the very genius of the old comedy, its coarse and forcible imagery, and the licence of its language in speaking about the gods. he has no sophistical notions about love, which is brought back by him to its common-sense meaning of love between intelligent beings. his account of the origin of the sexes has the greatest (comic) probability and verisimilitude. nothing in aristophanes is more truly aristophanic than the description of the human monster whirling round on four arms and four legs, eight in all, with incredible rapidity. yet there is a mixture of earnestness in this jest; three serious principles seem to be insinuated:--first, that man cannot exist in isolation; he must be reunited if he is to be perfected: secondly, that love is the mediator and reconciler of poor, divided human nature: thirdly, that the loves of this world are an indistinct anticipation of an ideal union which is not yet realized. the speech of agathon is conceived in a higher strain, and receives the real, if half-ironical, approval of socrates. it is the speech of the tragic poet and a sort of poem, like tragedy, moving among the gods of olympus, and not among the elder or orphic deities. in the idea of the antiquity of love he cannot agree; love is not of the olden time, but present and youthful ever. the speech may be compared with that speech of socrates in the phaedrus in which he describes himself as talking dithyrambs. it is at once a preparation for socrates and a foil to him. the rhetoric of agathon elevates the soul to 'sunlit heights,' but at the same time contrasts with the natural and necessary eloquence of socrates. agathon contributes the distinction between love and the works of love, and also hints incidentally that love is always of beauty, which socrates afterwards raises into a principle. while the consciousness of discord is stronger in the comic poet aristophanes, agathon, the tragic poet, has a deeper sense of harmony and reconciliation, and speaks of love as the creator and artist. all the earlier speeches embody common opinions coloured with a tinge of philosophy. they furnish the material out of which socrates proceeds to form his discourse, starting, as in other places, from mythology and the opinions of men. from phaedrus he takes the thought that love is stronger than death; from pausanias, that the true love is akin to intellect and political activity; from eryximachus, that love is a universal phenomenon and the great power of nature; from aristophanes, that love is the child of want, and is not merely the love of the congenial or of the whole, but (as he adds) of the good; from agathon, that love is of beauty, not however of beauty only, but of birth in beauty. as it would be out of character for socrates to make a lengthened harangue, the speech takes the form of a dialogue between socrates and a mysterious woman of foreign extraction. she elicits the final truth from one who knows nothing, and who, speaking by the lips of another, and himself a despiser of rhetoric, is proved also to be the most consummate of rhetoricians (compare menexenus). the last of the six discourses begins with a short argument which overthrows not only agathon but all the preceding speakers by the help of a distinction which has escaped them. extravagant praises have been ascribed to love as the author of every good; no sort of encomium was too high for him, whether deserved and true or not. but socrates has no talent for speaking anything but the truth, and if he is to speak the truth of love he must honestly confess that he is not a good at all: for love is of the good, and no man can desire that which he has. this piece of dialectics is ascribed to diotima, who has already urged upon socrates the argument which he urges against agathon. that the distinction is a fallacy is obvious; it is almost acknowledged to be so by socrates himself. for he who has beauty or good may desire more of them; and he who has beauty or good in himself may desire beauty and good in others. the fallacy seems to arise out of a confusion between the abstract ideas of good and beauty, which do not admit of degrees, and their partial realization in individuals. but diotima, the prophetess of mantineia, whose sacred and superhuman character raises her above the ordinary proprieties of women, has taught socrates far more than this about the art and mystery of love. she has taught him that love is another aspect of philosophy. the same want in the human soul which is satisfied in the vulgar by the procreation of children, may become the highest aspiration of intellectual desire. as the christian might speak of hungering and thirsting after righteousness; or of divine loves under the figure of human (compare eph. 'this is a great mystery, but i speak concerning christ and the church'); as the mediaeval saint might speak of the 'fruitio dei;' as dante saw all things contained in his love of beatrice, so plato would have us absorb all other loves and desires in the love of knowledge. here is the beginning of neoplatonism, or rather, perhaps, a proof (of which there are many) that the so-called mysticism of the east was not strange to the greek of the fifth century before christ. the first tumult of the affections was not wholly subdued; there were longings of a creature moving about in worlds not realized, which no art could satisfy. to most men reason and passion appear to be antagonistic both in idea and fact. the union of the greatest comprehension of knowledge and the burning intensity of love is a contradiction in nature, which may have existed in a far-off primeval age in the mind of some hebrew prophet or other eastern sage, but has now become an imagination only. yet this 'passion of the reason' is the theme of the symposium of plato. and as there is no impossibility in supposing that 'one king, or son of a king, may be a philosopher,' so also there is a probability that there may be some few--perhaps one or two in a whole generation--in whom the light of truth may not lack the warmth of desire. and if there be such natures, no one will be disposed to deny that 'from them flow most of the benefits of individuals and states;' and even from imperfect combinations of the two elements in teachers or statesmen great good may often arise. yet there is a higher region in which love is not only felt, but satisfied, in the perfect beauty of eternal knowledge, beginning with the beauty of earthly things, and at last reaching a beauty in which all existence is seen to be harmonious and one. the limited affection is enlarged, and enabled to behold the ideal of all things. and here the highest summit which is reached in the symposium is seen also to be the highest summit which is attained in the republic, but approached from another side; and there is 'a way upwards and downwards,' which is the same and not the same in both. the ideal beauty of the one is the ideal good of the other; regarded not with the eye of knowledge, but of faith and desire; and they are respectively the source of beauty and the source of good in all other things. and by the steps of a 'ladder reaching to heaven' we pass from images of visible beauty (greek), and from the hypotheses of the mathematical sciences, which are not yet based upon the idea of good, through the concrete to the abstract, and, by different paths arriving, behold the vision of the eternal (compare symp. (greek) republic (greek) also phaedrus). under one aspect 'the idea is love'; under another, 'truth.' in both the lover of wisdom is the 'spectator of all time and of all existence.' this is a 'mystery' in which plato also obscurely intimates the union of the spiritual and fleshly, the interpenetration of the moral and intellectual faculties. the divine image of beauty which resides within socrates has been revealed; the silenus, or outward man, has now to be exhibited. the description of socrates follows immediately after the speech of socrates; one is the complement of the other. at the height of divine inspiration, when the force of nature can no further go, by way of contrast to this extreme idealism, alcibiades, accompanied by a troop of revellers and a flute-girl, staggers in, and being drunk is able to tell of things which he would have been ashamed to make known if he had been sober. the state of his affections towards socrates, unintelligible to us and perverted as they appear, affords an illustration of the power ascribed to the loves of man in the speech of pausanias. he does not suppose his feelings to be peculiar to himself: there are several other persons in the company who have been equally in love with socrates, and like himself have been deceived by him. the singular part of this confession is the combination of the most degrading passion with the desire of virtue and improvement. such an union is not wholly untrue to human nature, which is capable of combining good and evil in a degree beyond what we can easily conceive. in imaginative persons, especially, the god and beast in man seem to part asunder more than is natural in a well-regulated mind. the platonic socrates (for of the real socrates this may be doubted: compare his public rebuke of critias for his shameful love of euthydemus in xenophon, memorabilia) does not regard the greatest evil of greek life as a thing not to be spoken of; but it has a ridiculous element (plato's symp.), and is a subject for irony, no less than for moral reprobation (compare plato's symp.). it is also used as a figure of speech which no one interpreted literally (compare xen. symp.). nor does plato feel any repugnance, such as would be felt in modern times, at bringing his great master and hero into connexion with nameless crimes. he is contented with representing him as a saint, who has won 'the olympian victory' over the temptations of human nature. the fault of taste, which to us is so glaring and which was recognized by the greeks of a later age (athenaeus), was not perceived by plato himself. we are still more surprised to find that the philosopher is incited to take the first step in his upward progress (symp.) by the beauty of young men and boys, which was alone capable of inspiring the modern feeling of romance in the greek mind. the passion of love took the spurious form of an enthusiasm for the ideal of beauty--a worship as of some godlike image of an apollo or antinous. but the love of youth when not depraved was a love of virtue and modesty as well as of beauty, the one being the expression of the other; and in certain greek states, especially at sparta and thebes, the honourable attachment of a youth to an elder man was a part of his education. the 'army of lovers and their beloved who would be invincible if they could be united by such a tie' (symp.), is not a mere fiction of plato's, but seems actually to have existed at thebes in the days of epaminondas and pelopidas, if we may believe writers cited anonymously by plutarch, pelop. vit. it is observable that plato never in the least degree excuses the depraved love of the body (compare charm.; rep.; laws; symp.; and once more xenophon, mem.), nor is there any greek writer of mark who condones or approves such connexions. but owing partly to the puzzling nature of the subject these friendships are spoken of by plato in a manner different from that customary among ourselves. to most of them we should hesitate to ascribe, any more than to the attachment of achilles and patroclus in homer, an immoral or licentious character. there were many, doubtless, to whom the love of the fair mind was the noblest form of friendship (rep.), and who deemed the friendship of man with man to be higher than the love of woman, because altogether separated from the bodily appetites. the existence of such attachments may be reasonably attributed to the inferiority and seclusion of woman, and the want of a real family or social life and parental influence in hellenic cities; and they were encouraged by the practice of gymnastic exercises, by the meetings of political clubs, and by the tie of military companionship. they were also an educational institution: a young person was specially entrusted by his parents to some elder friend who was expected by them to train their son in manly exercises and in virtue. it is not likely that a greek parent committed him to a lover, any more than we should to a schoolmaster, in the expectation that he would be corrupted by him, but rather in the hope that his morals would be better cared for than was possible in a great household of slaves. it is difficult to adduce the authority of plato either for or against such practices or customs, because it is not always easy to determine whether he is speaking of 'the heavenly and philosophical love, or of the coarse polyhymnia:' and he often refers to this (e.g. in the symposium) half in jest, yet 'with a certain degree of seriousness.' we observe that they entered into one part of greek literature, but not into another, and that the larger part is free from such associations. indecency was an element of the ludicrous in the old greek comedy, as it has been in other ages and countries. but effeminate love was always condemned as well as ridiculed by the comic poets; and in the new comedy the allusions to such topics have disappeared. they seem to have been no longer tolerated by the greater refinement of the age. false sentiment is found in the lyric and elegiac poets; and in mythology 'the greatest of the gods' (rep.) is not exempt from evil imputations. but the morals of a nation are not to be judged of wholly by its literature. hellas was not necessarily more corrupted in the days of the persian and peloponnesian wars, or of plato and the orators, than england in the time of fielding and smollett, or france in the nineteenth century. no one supposes certain french novels to be a representation of ordinary french life. and the greater part of greek literature, beginning with homer and including the tragedians, philosophers, and, with the exception of the comic poets (whose business was to raise a laugh by whatever means), all the greater writers of hellas who have been preserved to us, are free from the taint of indecency. some general considerations occur to our mind when we begin to reflect on this subject. (1) that good and evil are linked together in human nature, and have often existed side by side in the world and in man to an extent hardly credible. we cannot distinguish them, and are therefore unable to part them; as in the parable 'they grow together unto the harvest:' it is only a rule of external decency by which society can divide them. nor should we be right in inferring from the prevalence of any one vice or corruption that a state or individual was demoralized in their whole character. not only has the corruption of the best been sometimes thought to be the worst, but it may be remarked that this very excess of evil has been the stimulus to good (compare plato, laws, where he says that in the most corrupt cities individuals are to be found beyond all praise). (2) it may be observed that evils which admit of degrees can seldom be rightly estimated, because under the same name actions of the most different degrees of culpability may be included. no charge is more easily set going than the imputation of secret wickedness (which cannot be either proved or disproved and often cannot be defined) when directed against a person of whom the world, or a section of it, is predisposed to think evil. and it is quite possible that the malignity of greek scandal, aroused by some personal jealousy or party enmity, may have converted the innocent friendship of a great man for a noble youth into a connexion of another kind. such accusations were brought against several of the leading men of hellas, e.g. cimon, alcibiades, critias, demosthenes, epaminondas: several of the roman emperors were assailed by similar weapons which have been used even in our own day against statesmen of the highest character. (3) while we know that in this matter there is a great gulf fixed between greek and christian ethics, yet, if we would do justice to the greeks, we must also acknowledge that there was a greater outspokenness among them than among ourselves about the things which nature hides, and that the more frequent mention of such topics is not to be taken as the measure of the prevalence of offences, or as a proof of the general corruption of society. it is likely that every religion in the world has used words or practised rites in one age, which have become distasteful or repugnant to another. we cannot, though for different reasons, trust the representations either of comedy or satire; and still less of christian apologists. (4) we observe that at thebes and lacedemon the attachment of an elder friend to a beloved youth was often deemed to be a part of his education; and was encouraged by his parents--it was only shameful if it degenerated into licentiousness. such we may believe to have been the tie which united asophychus and cephisodorus with the great epaminondas in whose companionship they fell (plutarch, amat.; athenaeus on the authority of theopompus). (5) a small matter: there appears to be a difference of custom among the greeks and among ourselves, as between ourselves and continental nations at the present time, in modes of salutation. we must not suspect evil in the hearty kiss or embrace of a male friend 'returning from the army at potidaea' any more than in a similar salutation when practised by members of the same family. but those who make these admissions, and who regard, not without pity, the victims of such illusions in our own day, whose life has been blasted by them, may be none the less resolved that the natural and healthy instincts of mankind shall alone be tolerated (greek); and that the lesson of manliness which we have inherited from our fathers shall not degenerate into sentimentalism or effeminacy. the possibility of an honourable connexion of this kind seems to have died out with greek civilization. among the romans, and also among barbarians, such as the celts and persians, there is no trace of such attachments existing in any noble or virtuous form. (compare hoeck's creta and the admirable and exhaustive article of meier in ersch and grueber's cyclopedia on this subject; plutarch, amatores; athenaeus; lysias contra simonem; aesch. c. timarchum.) the character of alcibiades in the symposium is hardly less remarkable than that of socrates, and agrees with the picture given of him in the first of the two dialogues which are called by his name, and also with the slight sketch of him in the protagoras. he is the impersonation of lawlessness--'the lion's whelp, who ought not to be reared in the city,' yet not without a certain generosity which gained the hearts of men,--strangely fascinated by socrates, and possessed of a genius which might have been either the destruction or salvation of athens. the dramatic interest of the character is heightened by the recollection of his after history. he seems to have been present to the mind of plato in the description of the democratic man of the republic (compare also alcibiades 1). there is no criterion of the date of the symposium, except that which is furnished by the allusion to the division of arcadia after the destruction of mantinea. this took place in the year b.c. 384, which is the forty-fourth year of plato's life. the symposium cannot therefore be regarded as a youthful work. as mantinea was restored in the year 369, the composition of the dialogue will probably fall between 384 and 369. whether the recollection of the event is more likely to have been renewed at the destruction or restoration of the city, rather than at some intermediate period, is a consideration not worth raising. the symposium is connected with the phaedrus both in style and subject; they are the only dialogues of plato in which the theme of love is discussed at length. in both of them philosophy is regarded as a sort of enthusiasm or madness; socrates is himself 'a prophet new inspired' with bacchanalian revelry, which, like his philosophy, he characteristically pretends to have derived not from himself but from others. the phaedo also presents some points of comparison with the symposium. for there, too, philosophy might be described as 'dying for love;' and there are not wanting many touches of humour and fancy, which remind us of the symposium. but while the phaedo and phaedrus look backwards and forwards to past and future states of existence, in the symposium there is no break between this world and another; and we rise from one to the other by a regular series of steps or stages, proceeding from the particulars of sense to the universal of reason, and from one universal to many, which are finally reunited in a single science (compare rep.). at first immortality means only the succession of existences; even knowledge comes and goes. then follows, in the language of the mysteries, a higher and a higher degree of initiation; at last we arrive at the perfect vision of beauty, not relative or changing, but eternal and absolute; not bounded by this world, or in or out of this world, but an aspect of the divine, extending over all things, and having no limit of space or time: this is the highest knowledge of which the human mind is capable. plato does not go on to ask whether the individual is absorbed in the sea of light and beauty or retains his personality. enough for him to have attained the true beauty or good, without enquiring precisely into the relation in which human beings stood to it. that the soul has such a reach of thought, and is capable of partaking of the eternal nature, seems to imply that she too is eternal (compare phaedrus). but plato does not distinguish the eternal in man from the eternal in the world or in god. he is willing to rest in the contemplation of the idea, which to him is the cause of all things (rep.), and has no strength to go further. the symposium of xenophon, in which socrates describes himself as a pander, and also discourses of the difference between sensual and sentimental love, likewise offers several interesting points of comparison. but the suspicion which hangs over other writings of xenophon, and the numerous minute references to the phaedrus and symposium, as well as to some of the other writings of plato, throw a doubt on the genuineness of the work. the symposium of xenophon, if written by him at all, would certainly show that he wrote against plato, and was acquainted with his works. of this hostility there is no trace in the memorabilia. such a rivalry is more characteristic of an imitator than of an original writer. the (so-called) symposium of xenophon may therefore have no more title to be regarded as genuine than the confessedly spurious apology. there are no means of determining the relative order in time of the phaedrus, symposium, phaedo. the order which has been adopted in this translation rests on no other principle than the desire to bring together in a series the memorials of the life of socrates. symposium persons of the dialogue: apollodorus, who repeats to his companion the dialogue which he had heard from aristodemus, and had already once narrated to glaucon. phaedrus, pausanias, eryximachus, aristophanes, agathon, socrates, alcibiades, a troop of revellers. scene: the house of agathon. concerning the things about which you ask to be informed i believe that i am not ill-prepared with an answer. for the day before yesterday i was coming from my own home at phalerum to the city, and one of my acquaintance, who had caught a sight of me from behind, calling out playfully in the distance, said: apollodorus, o thou phalerian (probably a play of words on (greek), 'bald-headed.') man, halt! so i did as i was bid; and then he said, i was looking for you, apollodorus, only just now, that i might ask you about the speeches in praise of love, which were delivered by socrates, alcibiades, and others, at agathon's supper. phoenix, the son of philip, told another person who told me of them; his narrative was very indistinct, but he said that you knew, and i wish that you would give me an account of them. who, if not you, should be the reporter of the words of your friend? and first tell me, he said, were you present at this meeting? your informant, glaucon, i said, must have been very indistinct indeed, if you imagine that the occasion was recent; or that i could have been of the party. why, yes, he replied, i thought so. impossible: i said. are you ignorant that for many years agathon has not resided at athens; and not three have elapsed since i became acquainted with socrates, and have made it my daily business to know all that he says and does. there was a time when i was running about the world, fancying myself to be well employed, but i was really a most wretched being, no better than you are now. i thought that i ought to do anything rather than be a philosopher. well, he said, jesting apart, tell me when the meeting occurred. in our boyhood, i replied, when agathon won the prize with his first tragedy, on the day after that on which he and his chorus offered the sacrifice of victory. then it must have been a long while ago, he said; and who told you--did socrates? no indeed, i replied, but the same person who told phoenix;--he was a little fellow, who never wore any shoes, aristodemus, of the deme of cydathenaeum. he had been at agathon's feast; and i think that in those days there was no one who was a more devoted admirer of socrates. moreover, i have asked socrates about the truth of some parts of his narrative, and he confirmed them. then, said glaucon, let us have the tale over again; is not the road to athens just made for conversation? and so we walked, and talked of the discourses on love; and therefore, as i said at first, i am not ill-prepared to comply with your request, and will have another rehearsal of them if you like. for to speak or to hear others speak of philosophy always gives me the greatest pleasure, to say nothing of the profit. but when i hear another strain, especially that of you rich men and traders, such conversation displeases me; and i pity you who are my companions, because you think that you are doing something when in reality you are doing nothing. and i dare say that you pity me in return, whom you regard as an unhappy creature, and very probably you are right. but i certainly know of you what you only think of me--there is the difference. companion: i see, apollodorus, that you are just the same--always speaking evil of yourself, and of others; and i do believe that you pity all mankind, with the exception of socrates, yourself first of all, true in this to your old name, which, however deserved, i know not how you acquired, of apollodorus the madman; for you are always raging against yourself and everybody but socrates. apollodorus: yes, friend, and the reason why i am said to be mad, and out of my wits, is just because i have these notions of myself and you; no other evidence is required. companion: no more of that, apollodorus; but let me renew my request that you would repeat the conversation. apollodorus: well, the tale of love was on this wise:--but perhaps i had better begin at the beginning, and endeavour to give you the exact words of aristodemus: he said that he met socrates fresh from the bath and sandalled; and as the sight of the sandals was unusual, he asked him whither he was going that he had been converted into such a beau:-to a banquet at agathon's, he replied, whose invitation to his sacrifice of victory i refused yesterday, fearing a crowd, but promising that i would come to-day instead; and so i have put on my finery, because he is such a fine man. what say you to going with me unasked? i will do as you bid me, i replied. follow then, he said, and let us demolish the proverb:-'to the feasts of inferior men the good unbidden go;' instead of which our proverb will run:-'to the feasts of the good the good unbidden go;' and this alteration may be supported by the authority of homer himself, who not only demolishes but literally outrages the proverb. for, after picturing agamemnon as the most valiant of men, he makes menelaus, who is but a fainthearted warrior, come unbidden (iliad) to the banquet of agamemnon, who is feasting and offering sacrifices, not the better to the worse, but the worse to the better. i rather fear, socrates, said aristodemus, lest this may still be my case; and that, like menelaus in homer, i shall be the inferior person, who 'to the feasts of the wise unbidden goes.' but i shall say that i was bidden of you, and then you will have to make an excuse. 'two going together,' he replied, in homeric fashion, one or other of them may invent an excuse by the way (iliad). this was the style of their conversation as they went along. socrates dropped behind in a fit of abstraction, and desired aristodemus, who was waiting, to go on before him. when he reached the house of agathon he found the doors wide open, and a comical thing happened. a servant coming out met him, and led him at once into the banqueting-hall in which the guests were reclining, for the banquet was about to begin. welcome, aristodemus, said agathon, as soon as he appeared--you are just in time to sup with us; if you come on any other matter put it off, and make one of us, as i was looking for you yesterday and meant to have asked you, if i could have found you. but what have you done with socrates? i turned round, but socrates was nowhere to be seen; and i had to explain that he had been with me a moment before, and that i came by his invitation to the supper. you were quite right in coming, said agathon; but where is he himself? he was behind me just now, as i entered, he said, and i cannot think what has become of him. go and look for him, boy, said agathon, and bring him in; and do you, aristodemus, meanwhile take the place by eryximachus. the servant then assisted him to wash, and he lay down, and presently another servant came in and reported that our friend socrates had retired into the portico of the neighbouring house. 'there he is fixed,' said he, 'and when i call to him he will not stir.' how strange, said agathon; then you must call him again, and keep calling him. let him alone, said my informant; he has a way of stopping anywhere and losing himself without any reason. i believe that he will soon appear; do not therefore disturb him. well, if you think so, i will leave him, said agathon. and then, turning to the servants, he added, 'let us have supper without waiting for him. serve up whatever you please, for there is no one to give you orders; hitherto i have never left you to yourselves. but on this occasion imagine that you are our hosts, and that i and the company are your guests; treat us well, and then we shall commend you.' after this, supper was served, but still no socrates; and during the meal agathon several times expressed a wish to send for him, but aristodemus objected; and at last when the feast was about half over--for the fit, as usual, was not of long duration--socrates entered. agathon, who was reclining alone at the end of the table, begged that he would take the place next to him; that 'i may touch you,' he said, 'and have the benefit of that wise thought which came into your mind in the portico, and is now in your possession; for i am certain that you would not have come away until you had found what you sought.' how i wish, said socrates, taking his place as he was desired, that wisdom could be infused by touch, out of the fuller into the emptier man, as water runs through wool out of a fuller cup into an emptier one; if that were so, how greatly should i value the privilege of reclining at your side! for you would have filled me full with a stream of wisdom plenteous and fair; whereas my own is of a very mean and questionable sort, no better than a dream. but yours is bright and full of promise, and was manifested forth in all the splendour of youth the day before yesterday, in the presence of more than thirty thousand hellenes. you are mocking, socrates, said agathon, and ere long you and i will have to determine who bears off the palm of wisdom--of this dionysus shall be the judge; but at present you are better occupied with supper. socrates took his place on the couch, and supped with the rest; and then libations were offered, and after a hymn had been sung to the god, and there had been the usual ceremonies, they were about to commence drinking, when pausanias said, and now, my friends, how can we drink with least injury to ourselves? i can assure you that i feel severely the effect of yesterday's potations, and must have time to recover; and i suspect that most of you are in the same predicament, for you were of the party yesterday. consider then: how can the drinking be made easiest? i entirely agree, said aristophanes, that we should, by all means, avoid hard drinking, for i was myself one of those who were yesterday drowned in drink. i think that you are right, said eryximachus, the son of acumenus; but i should still like to hear one other person speak: is agathon able to drink hard? i am not equal to it, said agathon. then, said eryximachus, the weak heads like myself, aristodemus, phaedrus, and others who never can drink, are fortunate in finding that the stronger ones are not in a drinking mood. (i do not include socrates, who is able either to drink or to abstain, and will not mind, whichever we do.) well, as of none of the company seem disposed to drink much, i may be forgiven for saying, as a physician, that drinking deep is a bad practice, which i never follow, if i can help, and certainly do not recommend to another, least of all to any one who still feels the effects of yesterday's carouse. i always do what you advise, and especially what you prescribe as a physician, rejoined phaedrus the myrrhinusian, and the rest of the company, if they are wise, will do the same. it was agreed that drinking was not to be the order of the day, but that they were all to drink only so much as they pleased. then, said eryximachus, as you are all agreed that drinking is to be voluntary, and that there is to be no compulsion, i move, in the next place, that the flute-girl, who has just made her appearance, be told to go away and play to herself, or, if she likes, to the women who are within (compare prot.). to-day let us have conversation instead; and, if you will allow me, i will tell you what sort of conversation. this proposal having been accepted, eryximachus proceeded as follows:-i will begin, he said, after the manner of melanippe in euripides, 'not mine the word' which i am about to speak, but that of phaedrus. for often he says to me in an indignant tone:--'what a strange thing it is, eryximachus, that, whereas other gods have poems and hymns made in their honour, the great and glorious god, love, has no encomiast among all the poets who are so many. there are the worthy sophists too--the excellent prodicus for example, who have descanted in prose on the virtues of heracles and other heroes; and, what is still more extraordinary, i have met with a philosophical work in which the utility of salt has been made the theme of an eloquent discourse; and many other like things have had a like honour bestowed upon them. and only to think that there should have been an eager interest created about them, and yet that to this day no one has ever dared worthily to hymn love's praises! so entirely has this great deity been neglected.' now in this phaedrus seems to me to be quite right, and therefore i want to offer him a contribution; also i think that at the present moment we who are here assembled cannot do better than honour the god love. if you agree with me, there will be no lack of conversation; for i mean to propose that each of us in turn, going from left to right, shall make a speech in honour of love. let him give us the best which he can; and phaedrus, because he is sitting first on the left hand, and because he is the father of the thought, shall begin. no one will vote against you, eryximachus, said socrates. how can i oppose your motion, who profess to understand nothing but matters of love; nor, i presume, will agathon and pausanias; and there can be no doubt of aristophanes, whose whole concern is with dionysus and aphrodite; nor will any one disagree of those whom i see around me. the proposal, as i am aware, may seem rather hard upon us whose place is last; but we shall be contented if we hear some good speeches first. let phaedrus begin the praise of love, and good luck to him. all the company expressed their assent, and desired him to do as socrates bade him. aristodemus did not recollect all that was said, nor do i recollect all that he related to me; but i will tell you what i thought most worthy of remembrance, and what the chief speakers said. phaedrus began by affirming that love is a mighty god, and wonderful among gods and men, but especially wonderful in his birth. for he is the eldest of the gods, which is an honour to him; and a proof of his claim to this honour is, that of his parents there is no memorial; neither poet nor prose-writer has ever affirmed that he had any. as hesiod says:-'first chaos came, and then broad-bosomed earth, the everlasting seat of all that is, and love.' in other words, after chaos, the earth and love, these two, came into being. also parmenides sings of generation: 'first in the train of gods, he fashioned love.' and acusilaus agrees with hesiod. thus numerous are the witnesses who acknowledge love to be the eldest of the gods. and not only is he the eldest, he is also the source of the greatest benefits to us. for i know not any greater blessing to a young man who is beginning life than a virtuous lover, or to the lover than a beloved youth. for the principle which ought to be the guide of men who would nobly live--that principle, i say, neither kindred, nor honour, nor wealth, nor any other motive is able to implant so well as love. of what am i speaking? of the sense of honour and dishonour, without which neither states nor individuals ever do any good or great work. and i say that a lover who is detected in doing any dishonourable act, or submitting through cowardice when any dishonour is done to him by another, will be more pained at being detected by his beloved than at being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by any one else. the beloved too, when he is found in any disgraceful situation, has the same feeling about his lover. and if there were only some way of contriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and their loves (compare rep.), they would be the very best governors of their own city, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one another in honour; and when fighting at each other's side, although a mere handful, they would overcome the world. for what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? he would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger? the veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at such a time; love would inspire him. that courage which, as homer says, the god breathes into the souls of some heroes, love of his own nature infuses into the lover. love will make men dare to die for their beloved--love alone; and women as well as men. of this, alcestis, the daughter of pelias, is a monument to all hellas; for she was willing to lay down her life on behalf of her husband, when no one else would, although he had a father and mother; but the tenderness of her love so far exceeded theirs, that she made them seem to be strangers in blood to their own son, and in name only related to him; and so noble did this action of hers appear to the gods, as well as to men, that among the many who have done virtuously she is one of the very few to whom, in admiration of her noble action, they have granted the privilege of returning alive to earth; such exceeding honour is paid by the gods to the devotion and virtue of love. but orpheus, the son of oeagrus, the harper, they sent empty away, and presented to him an apparition only of her whom he sought, but herself they would not give up, because he showed no spirit; he was only a harp-player, and did not dare like alcestis to die for love, but was contriving how he might enter hades alive; moreover, they afterwards caused him to suffer death at the hands of women, as the punishment of his cowardliness. very different was the reward of the true love of achilles towards his lover patroclus--his lover and not his love (the notion that patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into which aeschylus has fallen, for achilles was surely the fairer of the two, fairer also than all the other heroes; and, as homer informs us, he was still beardless, and younger far). and greatly as the gods honour the virtue of love, still the return of love on the part of the beloved to the lover is more admired and valued and rewarded by them, for the lover is more divine; because he is inspired by god. now achilles was quite aware, for he had been told by his mother, that he might avoid death and return home, and live to a good old age, if he abstained from slaying hector. nevertheless he gave his life to revenge his friend, and dared to die, not only in his defence, but after he was dead. wherefore the gods honoured him even above alcestis, and sent him to the islands of the blest. these are my reasons for affirming that love is the eldest and noblest and mightiest of the gods; and the chiefest author and giver of virtue in life, and of happiness after death. this, or something like this, was the speech of phaedrus; and some other speeches followed which aristodemus did not remember; the next which he repeated was that of pausanias. phaedrus, he said, the argument has not been set before us, i think, quite in the right form;--we should not be called upon to praise love in such an indiscriminate manner. if there were only one love, then what you said would be well enough; but since there are more loves than one,--should have begun by determining which of them was to be the theme of our praises. i will amend this defect; and first of all i will tell you which love is deserving of praise, and then try to hymn the praiseworthy one in a manner worthy of him. for we all know that love is inseparable from aphrodite, and if there were only one aphrodite there would be only one love; but as there are two goddesses there must be two loves. and am i not right in asserting that there are two goddesses? the elder one, having no mother, who is called the heavenly aphrodite--she is the daughter of uranus; the younger, who is the daughter of zeus and dione--her we call common; and the love who is her fellow-worker is rightly named common, as the other love is called heavenly. all the gods ought to have praise given to them, but not without distinction of their natures; and therefore i must try to distinguish the characters of the two loves. now actions vary according to the manner of their performance. take, for example, that which we are now doing, drinking, singing and talking--these actions are not in themselves either good or evil, but they turn out in this or that way according to the mode of performing them; and when well done they are good, and when wrongly done they are evil; and in like manner not every love, but only that which has a noble purpose, is noble and worthy of praise. the love who is the offspring of the common aphrodite is essentially common, and has no discrimination, being such as the meaner sort of men feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of youths, and is of the body rather than of the soul--the most foolish beings are the objects of this love which desires only to gain an end, but never thinks of accomplishing the end nobly, and therefore does good and evil quite indiscriminately. the goddess who is his mother is far younger than the other, and she was born of the union of the male and female, and partakes of both. but the offspring of the heavenly aphrodite is derived from a mother in whose birth the female has no part,--she is from the male only; this is that love which is of youths, and the goddess being older, there is nothing of wantonness in her. those who are inspired by this love turn to the male, and delight in him who is the more valiant and intelligent nature; any one may recognise the pure enthusiasts in the very character of their attachments. for they love not boys, but intelligent beings whose reason is beginning to be developed, much about the time at which their beards begin to grow. and in choosing young men to be their companions, they mean to be faithful to them, and pass their whole life in company with them, not to take them in their inexperience, and deceive them, and play the fool with them, or run away from one to another of them. but the love of young boys should be forbidden by law, because their future is uncertain; they may turn out good or bad, either in body or soul, and much noble enthusiasm may be thrown away upon them; in this matter the good are a law to themselves, and the coarser sort of lovers ought to be restrained by force; as we restrain or attempt to restrain them from fixing their affections on women of free birth. these are the persons who bring a reproach on love; and some have been led to deny the lawfulness of such attachments because they see the impropriety and evil of them; for surely nothing that is decorously and lawfully done can justly be censured. now here and in lacedaemon the rules about love are perplexing, but in most cities they are simple and easily intelligible; in elis and boeotia, and in countries having no gifts of eloquence, they are very straightforward; the law is simply in favour of these connexions, and no one, whether young or old, has anything to say to their discredit; the reason being, as i suppose, that they are men of few words in those parts, and therefore the lovers do not like the trouble of pleading their suit. in ionia and other places, and generally in countries which are subject to the barbarians, the custom is held to be dishonourable; loves of youths share the evil repute in which philosophy and gymnastics are held, because they are inimical to tyranny; for the interests of rulers require that their subjects should be poor in spirit (compare arist. politics), and that there should be no strong bond of friendship or society among them, which love, above all other motives, is likely to inspire, as our athenian tyrants learned by experience; for the love of aristogeiton and the constancy of harmodius had a strength which undid their power. and, therefore, the ill-repute into which these attachments have fallen is to be ascribed to the evil condition of those who make them to be ill-reputed; that is to say, to the self-seeking of the governors and the cowardice of the governed; on the other hand, the indiscriminate honour which is given to them in some countries is attributable to the laziness of those who hold this opinion of them. in our own country a far better principle prevails, but, as i was saying, the explanation of it is rather perplexing. for, observe that open loves are held to be more honourable than secret ones, and that the love of the noblest and highest, even if their persons are less beautiful than others, is especially honourable. consider, too, how great is the encouragement which all the world gives to the lover; neither is he supposed to be doing anything dishonourable; but if he succeeds he is praised, and if he fail he is blamed. and in the pursuit of his love the custom of mankind allows him to do many strange things, which philosophy would bitterly censure if they were done from any motive of interest, or wish for office or power. he may pray, and entreat, and supplicate, and swear, and lie on a mat at the door, and endure a slavery worse than that of any slave--in any other case friends and enemies would be equally ready to prevent him, but now there is no friend who will be ashamed of him and admonish him, and no enemy will charge him with meanness or flattery; the actions of a lover have a grace which ennobles them; and custom has decided that they are highly commendable and that there no loss of character in them; and, what is strangest of all, he only may swear and forswear himself (so men say), and the gods will forgive his transgression, for there is no such thing as a lover's oath. such is the entire liberty which gods and men have allowed the lover, according to the custom which prevails in our part of the world. from this point of view a man fairly argues that in athens to love and to be loved is held to be a very honourable thing. but when parents forbid their sons to talk with their lovers, and place them under a tutor's care, who is appointed to see to these things, and their companions and equals cast in their teeth anything of the sort which they may observe, and their elders refuse to silence the reprovers and do not rebuke them--any one who reflects on all this will, on the contrary, think that we hold these practices to be most disgraceful. but, as i was saying at first, the truth as i imagine is, that whether such practices are honourable or whether they are dishonourable is not a simple question; they are honourable to him who follows them honourably, dishonourable to him who follows them dishonourably. there is dishonour in yielding to the evil, or in an evil manner; but there is honour in yielding to the good, or in an honourable manner. evil is the vulgar lover who loves the body rather than the soul, inasmuch as he is not even stable, because he loves a thing which is in itself unstable, and therefore when the bloom of youth which he was desiring is over, he takes wing and flies away, in spite of all his words and promises; whereas the love of the noble disposition is life-long, for it becomes one with the everlasting. the custom of our country would have both of them proven well and truly, and would have us yield to the one sort of lover and avoid the other, and therefore encourages some to pursue, and others to fly; testing both the lover and beloved in contests and trials, until they show to which of the two classes they respectively belong. and this is the reason why, in the first place, a hasty attachment is held to be dishonourable, because time is the true test of this as of most other things; and secondly there is a dishonour in being overcome by the love of money, or of wealth, or of political power, whether a man is frightened into surrender by the loss of them, or, having experienced the benefits of money and political corruption, is unable to rise above the seductions of them. for none of these things are of a permanent or lasting nature; not to mention that no generous friendship ever sprang from them. there remains, then, only one way of honourable attachment which custom allows in the beloved, and this is the way of virtue; for as we admitted that any service which the lover does to him is not to be accounted flattery or a dishonour to himself, so the beloved has one way only of voluntary service which is not dishonourable, and this is virtuous service. for we have a custom, and according to our custom any one who does service to another under the idea that he will be improved by him either in wisdom, or in some other particular of virtue--such a voluntary service, i say, is not to be regarded as a dishonour, and is not open to the charge of flattery. and these two customs, one the love of youth, and the other the practice of philosophy and virtue in general, ought to meet in one, and then the beloved may honourably indulge the lover. for when the lover and beloved come together, having each of them a law, and the lover thinks that he is right in doing any service which he can to his gracious loving one; and the other that he is right in showing any kindness which he can to him who is making him wise and good; the one capable of communicating wisdom and virtue, the other seeking to acquire them with a view to education and wisdom, when the two laws of love are fulfilled and meet in one--then, and then only, may the beloved yield with honour to the lover. nor when love is of this disinterested sort is there any disgrace in being deceived, but in every other case there is equal disgrace in being or not being deceived. for he who is gracious to his lover under the impression that he is rich, and is disappointed of his gains because he turns out to be poor, is disgraced all the same: for he has done his best to show that he would give himself up to any one's 'uses base' for the sake of money; but this is not honourable. and on the same principle he who gives himself to a lover because he is a good man, and in the hope that he will be improved by his company, shows himself to be virtuous, even though the object of his affection turn out to be a villain, and to have no virtue; and if he is deceived he has committed a noble error. for he has proved that for his part he will do anything for anybody with a view to virtue and improvement, than which there can be nothing nobler. thus noble in every case is the acceptance of another for the sake of virtue. this is that love which is the love of the heavenly godess, and is heavenly, and of great price to individuals and cities, making the lover and the beloved alike eager in the work of their own improvement. but all other loves are the offspring of the other, who is the common goddess. to you, phaedrus, i offer this my contribution in praise of love, which is as good as i could make extempore. pausanias came to a pause--this is the balanced way in which i have been taught by the wise to speak; and aristodemus said that the turn of aristophanes was next, but either he had eaten too much, or from some other cause he had the hiccough, and was obliged to change turns with eryximachus the physician, who was reclining on the couch below him. eryximachus, he said, you ought either to stop my hiccough, or to speak in my turn until i have left off. i will do both, said eryximachus: i will speak in your turn, and do you speak in mine; and while i am speaking let me recommend you to hold your breath, and if after you have done so for some time the hiccough is no better, then gargle with a little water; and if it still continues, tickle your nose with something and sneeze; and if you sneeze once or twice, even the most violent hiccough is sure to go. i will do as you prescribe, said aristophanes, and now get on. eryximachus spoke as follows: seeing that pausanias made a fair beginning, and but a lame ending, i must endeavour to supply his deficiency. i think that he has rightly distinguished two kinds of love. but my art further informs me that the double love is not merely an affection of the soul of man towards the fair, or towards anything, but is to be found in the bodies of all animals and in productions of the earth, and i may say in all that is; such is the conclusion which i seem to have gathered from my own art of medicine, whence i learn how great and wonderful and universal is the deity of love, whose empire extends over all things, divine as well as human. and from medicine i will begin that i may do honour to my art. there are in the human body these two kinds of love, which are confessedly different and unlike, and being unlike, they have loves and desires which are unlike; and the desire of the healthy is one, and the desire of the diseased is another; and as pausanias was just now saying that to indulge good men is honourable, and bad men dishonourable:--so too in the body the good and healthy elements are to be indulged, and the bad elements and the elements of disease are not to be indulged, but discouraged. and this is what the physician has to do, and in this the art of medicine consists: for medicine may be regarded generally as the knowledge of the loves and desires of the body, and how to satisfy them or not; and the best physician is he who is able to separate fair love from foul, or to convert one into the other; and he who knows how to eradicate and how to implant love, whichever is required, and can reconcile the most hostile elements in the constitution and make them loving friends, is a skilful practitioner. now the most hostile are the most opposite, such as hot and cold, bitter and sweet, moist and dry, and the like. and my ancestor, asclepius, knowing how to implant friendship and accord in these elements, was the creator of our art, as our friends the poets here tell us, and i believe them; and not only medicine in every branch but the arts of gymnastic and husbandry are under his dominion. any one who pays the least attention to the subject will also perceive that in music there is the same reconciliation of opposites; and i suppose that this must have been the meaning of heracleitus, although his words are not accurate; for he says that the one is united by disunion, like the harmony of the bow and the lyre. now there is an absurdity saying that harmony is discord or is composed of elements which are still in a state of discord. but what he probably meant was, that harmony is composed of differing notes of higher or lower pitch which disagreed once, but are now reconciled by the art of music; for if the higher and lower notes still disagreed, there could be no harmony,--clearly not. for harmony is a symphony, and symphony is an agreement; but an agreement of disagreements while they disagree there cannot be; you cannot harmonize that which disagrees. in like manner rhythm is compounded of elements short and long, once differing and now in accord; which accordance, as in the former instance, medicine, so in all these other cases, music implants, making love and unison to grow up among them; and thus music, too, is concerned with the principles of love in their application to harmony and rhythm. again, in the essential nature of harmony and rhythm there is no difficulty in discerning love which has not yet become double. but when you want to use them in actual life, either in the composition of songs or in the correct performance of airs or metres composed already, which latter is called education, then the difficulty begins, and the good artist is needed. then the old tale has to be repeated of fair and heavenly love--the love of urania the fair and heavenly muse, and of the duty of accepting the temperate, and those who are as yet intemperate only that they may become temperate, and of preserving their love; and again, of the vulgar polyhymnia, who must be used with circumspection that the pleasure be enjoyed, but may not generate licentiousness; just as in my own art it is a great matter so to regulate the desires of the epicure that he may gratify his tastes without the attendant evil of disease. whence i infer that in music, in medicine, in all other things human as well as divine, both loves ought to be noted as far as may be, for they are both present. the course of the seasons is also full of both these principles; and when, as i was saying, the elements of hot and cold, moist and dry, attain the harmonious love of one another and blend in temperance and harmony, they bring to men, animals, and plants health and plenty, and do them no harm; whereas the wanton love, getting the upper hand and affecting the seasons of the year, is very destructive and injurious, being the source of pestilence, and bringing many other kinds of diseases on animals and plants; for hoar-frost and hail and blight spring from the excesses and disorders of these elements of love, which to know in relation to the revolutions of the heavenly bodies and the seasons of the year is termed astronomy. furthermore all sacrifices and the whole province of divination, which is the art of communion between gods and men--these, i say, are concerned only with the preservation of the good and the cure of the evil love. for all manner of impiety is likely to ensue if, instead of accepting and honouring and reverencing the harmonious love in all his actions, a man honours the other love, whether in his feelings towards gods or parents, towards the living or the dead. wherefore the business of divination is to see to these loves and to heal them, and divination is the peacemaker of gods and men, working by a knowledge of the religious or irreligious tendencies which exist in human loves. such is the great and mighty, or rather omnipotent force of love in general. and the love, more especially, which is concerned with the good, and which is perfected in company with temperance and justice, whether among gods or men, has the greatest power, and is the source of all our happiness and harmony, and makes us friends with the gods who are above us, and with one another. i dare say that i too have omitted several things which might be said in praise of love, but this was not intentional, and you, aristophanes, may now supply the omission or take some other line of commendation; for i perceive that you are rid of the hiccough. yes, said aristophanes, who followed, the hiccough is gone; not, however, until i applied the sneezing; and i wonder whether the harmony of the body has a love of such noises and ticklings, for i no sooner applied the sneezing than i was cured. eryximachus said: beware, friend aristophanes, although you are going to speak, you are making fun of me; and i shall have to watch and see whether i cannot have a laugh at your expense, when you might speak in peace. you are right, said aristophanes, laughing. i will unsay my words; but do you please not to watch me, as i fear that in the speech which i am about to make, instead of others laughing with me, which is to the manner born of our muse and would be all the better, i shall only be laughed at by them. do you expect to shoot your bolt and escape, aristophanes? well, perhaps if you are very careful and bear in mind that you will be called to account, i may be induced to let you off. aristophanes professed to open another vein of discourse; he had a mind to praise love in another way, unlike that either of pausanias or eryximachus. mankind, he said, judging by their neglect of him, have never, as i think, at all understood the power of love. for if they had understood him they would surely have built noble temples and altars, and offered solemn sacrifices in his honour; but this is not done, and most certainly ought to be done: since of all the gods he is the best friend of men, the helper and the healer of the ills which are the great impediment to the happiness of the race. i will try to describe his power to you, and you shall teach the rest of the world what i am teaching you. in the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it; for the original human nature was not like the present, but different. the sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double nature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost, and the word 'androgynous' is only preserved as a term of reproach. in the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. he could walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air; this was when he wanted to run fast. now the sexes were three, and such as i have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three; and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round like their parents. terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of otys and ephialtes who, as homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods. doubt reigned in the celestial councils. should they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained. at last, after a good deal of reflection, zeus discovered a way. he said: 'methinks i have a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but i will cut them in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us. they shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not be quiet, i will split them again and they shall hop about on a single leg.' he spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them one after another, he bade apollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn in order that the man might contemplate the section of himself: he would thus learn a lesson of humility. apollo was also bidden to heal their wounds and compose their forms. so he gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the belly, like the purses which draw in, and he made one mouth at the centre, which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel); he also moulded the breast and took out most of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker might smooth leather upon a last; he left a few, however, in the region of the belly and navel, as a memorial of the primeval state. after the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one, they were on the point of dying from hunger and self-neglect, because they did not like to do anything apart; and when one of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought another mate, man or woman as we call them,--being the sections of entire men or women,--and clung to that. they were being destroyed, when zeus in pity of them invented a new plan: he turned the parts of generation round to the front, for this had not been always their position, and they sowed the seed no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the ground, but in one another; and after the transposition the male generated in the female in order that by the mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed, and the race might continue; or if man came to man they might be satisfied, and rest, and go their ways to the business of life: so ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man. each of us when separated, having one side only, like a flat fish, is but the indenture of a man, and he is always looking for his other half. men who are a section of that double nature which was once called androgynous are lovers of women; adulterers are generally of this breed, and also adulterous women who lust after men: the women who are a section of the woman do not care for men, but have female attachments; the female companions are of this sort. but they who are a section of the male follow the male, and while they are young, being slices of the original man, they hang about men and embrace them, and they are themselves the best of boys and youths, because they have the most manly nature. some indeed assert that they are shameless, but this is not true; for they do not act thus from any want of shame, but because they are valiant and manly, and have a manly countenance, and they embrace that which is like them. and these when they grow up become our statesmen, and these only, which is a great proof of the truth of what i am saving. when they reach manhood they are lovers of youth, and are not naturally inclined to marry or beget children,--if at all, they do so only in obedience to the law; but they are satisfied if they may be allowed to live with one another unwedded; and such a nature is prone to love and ready to return love, always embracing that which is akin to him. and when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, as i may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. for the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment. suppose hephaestus, with his instruments, to come to the pair who are lying side by side and to say to them, 'what do you people want of one another?' they would be unable to explain. and suppose further, that when he saw their perplexity he said: 'do you desire to be wholly one; always day and night to be in one another's company? for if this is what you desire, i am ready to melt you into one and let you grow together, so that being two you shall become one, and while you live live a common life as if you were a single man, and after your death in the world below still be one departed soul instead of two--i ask whether this is what you lovingly desire, and whether you are satisfied to attain this?'--there is not a man of them who when he heard the proposal would deny or would not acknowledge that this meeting and melting into one another, this becoming one instead of two, was the very expression of his ancient need (compare arist. pol.). and the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love. there was a time, i say, when we were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind god has dispersed us, as the arcadians were dispersed into villages by the lacedaemonians (compare arist. pol.). and if we are not obedient to the gods, there is a danger that we shall be split up again and go about in basso-relievo, like the profile figures having only half a nose which are sculptured on monuments, and that we shall be like tallies. wherefore let us exhort all men to piety, that we may avoid evil, and obtain the good, of which love is to us the lord and minister; and let no one oppose him--he is the enemy of the gods who opposes him. for if we are friends of the god and at peace with him we shall find our own true loves, which rarely happens in this world at present. i am serious, and therefore i must beg eryximachus not to make fun or to find any allusion in what i am saying to pausanias and agathon, who, as i suspect, are both of the manly nature, and belong to the class which i have been describing. but my words have a wider application--they include men and women everywhere; and i believe that if our loves were perfectly accomplished, and each one returning to his primeval nature had his original true love, then our race would be happy. and if this would be best of all, the best in the next degree and under present circumstances must be the nearest approach to such an union; and that will be the attainment of a congenial love. wherefore, if we would praise him who has given to us the benefit, we must praise the god love, who is our greatest benefactor, both leading us in this life back to our own nature, and giving us high hopes for the future, for he promises that if we are pious, he will restore us to our original state, and heal us and make us happy and blessed. this, eryximachus, is my discourse of love, which, although different to yours, i must beg you to leave unassailed by the shafts of your ridicule, in order that each may have his turn; each, or rather either, for agathon and socrates are the only ones left. indeed, i am not going to attack you, said eryximachus, for i thought your speech charming, and did i not know that agathon and socrates are masters in the art of love, i should be really afraid that they would have nothing to say, after the world of things which have been said already. but, for all that, i am not without hopes. socrates said: you played your part well, eryximachus; but if you were as i am now, or rather as i shall be when agathon has spoken, you would, indeed, be in a great strait. you want to cast a spell over me, socrates, said agathon, in the hope that i may be disconcerted at the expectation raised among the audience that i shall speak well. i should be strangely forgetful, agathon replied socrates, of the courage and magnanimity which you showed when your own compositions were about to be exhibited, and you came upon the stage with the actors and faced the vast theatre altogether undismayed, if i thought that your nerves could be fluttered at a small party of friends. do you think, socrates, said agathon, that my head is so full of the theatre as not to know how much more formidable to a man of sense a few good judges are than many fools? nay, replied socrates, i should be very wrong in attributing to you, agathon, that or any other want of refinement. and i am quite aware that if you happened to meet with any whom you thought wise, you would care for their opinion much more than for that of the many. but then we, having been a part of the foolish many in the theatre, cannot be regarded as the select wise; though i know that if you chanced to be in the presence, not of one of ourselves, but of some really wise man, you would be ashamed of disgracing yourself before him--would you not? yes, said agathon. but before the many you would not be ashamed, if you thought that you were doing something disgraceful in their presence? here phaedrus interrupted them, saying: not answer him, my dear agathon; for if he can only get a partner with whom he can talk, especially a good-looking one, he will no longer care about the completion of our plan. now i love to hear him talk; but just at present i must not forget the encomium on love which i ought to receive from him and from every one. when you and he have paid your tribute to the god, then you may talk. very good, phaedrus, said agathon; i see no reason why i should not proceed with my speech, as i shall have many other opportunities of conversing with socrates. let me say first how i ought to speak, and then speak:-the previous speakers, instead of praising the god love, or unfolding his nature, appear to have congratulated mankind on the benefits which he confers upon them. but i would rather praise the god first, and then speak of his gifts; this is always the right way of praising everything. may i say without impiety or offence, that of all the blessed gods he is the most blessed because he is the fairest and best? and he is the fairest: for, in the first place, he is the youngest, and of his youth he is himself the witness, fleeing out of the way of age, who is swift enough, swifter truly than most of us like:--love hates him and will not come near him; but youth and love live and move together--like to like, as the proverb says. many things were said by phaedrus about love in which i agree with him; but i cannot agree that he is older than iapetus and kronos:--not so; i maintain him to be the youngest of the gods, and youthful ever. the ancient doings among the gods of which hesiod and parmenides spoke, if the tradition of them be true, were done of necessity and not of love; had love been in those days, there would have been no chaining or mutilation of the gods, or other violence, but peace and sweetness, as there is now in heaven, since the rule of love began. love is young and also tender; he ought to have a poet like homer to describe his tenderness, as homer says of ate, that she is a goddess and tender:-'her feet are tender, for she sets her steps, not on the ground but on the heads of men:' herein is an excellent proof of her tenderness,--that she walks not upon the hard but upon the soft. let us adduce a similar proof of the tenderness of love; for he walks not upon the earth, nor yet upon the skulls of men, which are not so very soft, but in the hearts and souls of both gods and men, which are of all things the softest: in them he walks and dwells and makes his home. not in every soul without exception, for where there is hardness he departs, where there is softness there he dwells; and nestling always with his feet and in all manner of ways in the softest of soft places, how can he be other than the softest of all things? of a truth he is the tenderest as well as the youngest, and also he is of flexile form; for if he were hard and without flexure he could not enfold all things, or wind his way into and out of every soul of man undiscovered. and a proof of his flexibility and symmetry of form is his grace, which is universally admitted to be in an especial manner the attribute of love; ungrace and love are always at war with one another. the fairness of his complexion is revealed by his habitation among the flowers; for he dwells not amid bloomless or fading beauties, whether of body or soul or aught else, but in the place of flowers and scents, there he sits and abides. concerning the beauty of the god i have said enough; and yet there remains much more which i might say. of his virtue i have now to speak: his greatest glory is that he can neither do nor suffer wrong to or from any god or any man; for he suffers not by force if he suffers; force comes not near him, neither when he acts does he act by force. for all men in all things serve him of their own free will, and where there is voluntary agreement, there, as the laws which are the lords of the city say, is justice. and not only is he just but exceedingly temperate, for temperance is the acknowledged ruler of the pleasures and desires, and no pleasure ever masters love; he is their master and they are his servants; and if he conquers them he must be temperate indeed. as to courage, even the god of war is no match for him; he is the captive and love is the lord, for love, the love of aphrodite, masters him, as the tale runs; and the master is stronger than the servant. and if he conquers the bravest of all others, he must be himself the bravest. of his courage and justice and temperance i have spoken, but i have yet to speak of his wisdom; and according to the measure of my ability i must try to do my best. in the first place he is a poet (and here, like eryximachus, i magnify my art), and he is also the source of poesy in others, which he could not be if he were not himself a poet. and at the touch of him every one becomes a poet, even though he had no music in him before (a fragment of the sthenoaoea of euripides.); this also is a proof that love is a good poet and accomplished in all the fine arts; for no one can give to another that which he has not himself, or teach that of which he has no knowledge. who will deny that the creation of the animals is his doing? are they not all the works of his wisdom, born and begotten of him? and as to the artists, do we not know that he only of them whom love inspires has the light of fame?--he whom love touches not walks in darkness. the arts of medicine and archery and divination were discovered by apollo, under the guidance of love and desire; so that he too is a disciple of love. also the melody of the muses, the metallurgy of hephaestus, the weaving of athene, the empire of zeus over gods and men, are all due to love, who was the inventor of them. and so love set in order the empire of the gods--the love of beauty, as is evident, for with deformity love has no concern. in the days of old, as i began by saying, dreadful deeds were done among the gods, for they were ruled by necessity; but now since the birth of love, and from the love of the beautiful, has sprung every good in heaven and earth. therefore, phaedrus, i say of love that he is the fairest and best in himself, and the cause of what is fairest and best in all other things. and there comes into my mind a line of poetry in which he is said to be the god who 'gives peace on earth and calms the stormy deep, who stills the winds and bids the sufferer sleep.' this is he who empties men of disaffection and fills them with affection, who makes them to meet together at banquets such as these: in sacrifices, feasts, dances, he is our lord--who sends courtesy and sends away discourtesy, who gives kindness ever and never gives unkindness; the friend of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods; desired by those who have no part in him, and precious to those who have the better part in him; parent of delicacy, luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace; regardful of the good, regardless of the evil: in every word, work, wish, fear--saviour, pilot, comrade, helper; glory of gods and men, leader best and brightest: in whose footsteps let every man follow, sweetly singing in his honour and joining in that sweet strain with which love charms the souls of gods and men. such is the speech, phaedrus, half-playful, yet having a certain measure of seriousness, which, according to my ability, i dedicate to the god. when agathon had done speaking, aristodemus said that there was a general cheer; the young man was thought to have spoken in a manner worthy of himself, and of the god. and socrates, looking at eryximachus, said: tell me, son of acumenus, was there not reason in my fears? and was i not a true prophet when i said that agathon would make a wonderful oration, and that i should be in a strait? the part of the prophecy which concerns agathon, replied eryximachus, appears to me to be true; but not the other part--that you will be in a strait. why, my dear friend, said socrates, must not i or any one be in a strait who has to speak after he has heard such a rich and varied discourse? i am especially struck with the beauty of the concluding words--who could listen to them without amazement? when i reflected on the immeasurable inferiority of my own powers, i was ready to run away for shame, if there had been a possibility of escape. for i was reminded of gorgias, and at the end of his speech i fancied that agathon was shaking at me the gorginian or gorgonian head of the great master of rhetoric, which was simply to turn me and my speech into stone, as homer says (odyssey), and strike me dumb. and then i perceived how foolish i had been in consenting to take my turn with you in praising love, and saying that i too was a master of the art, when i really had no conception how anything ought to be praised. for in my simplicity i imagined that the topics of praise should be true, and that this being presupposed, out of the true the speaker was to choose the best and set them forth in the best manner. and i felt quite proud, thinking that i knew the nature of true praise, and should speak well. whereas i now see that the intention was to attribute to love every species of greatness and glory, whether really belonging to him or not, without regard to truth or falsehood--that was no matter; for the original proposal seems to have been not that each of you should really praise love, but only that you should appear to praise him. and so you attribute to love every imaginable form of praise which can be gathered anywhere; and you say that 'he is all this,' and 'the cause of all that,' making him appear the fairest and best of all to those who know him not, for you cannot impose upon those who know him. and a noble and solemn hymn of praise have you rehearsed. but as i misunderstood the nature of the praise when i said that i would take my turn, i must beg to be absolved from the promise which i made in ignorance, and which (as euripides would say (eurip. hyppolytus)) was a promise of the lips and not of the mind. farewell then to such a strain: for i do not praise in that way; no, indeed, i cannot. but if you like to hear the truth about love, i am ready to speak in my own manner, though i will not make myself ridiculous by entering into any rivalry with you. say then, phaedrus, whether you would like to have the truth about love, spoken in any words and in any order which may happen to come into my mind at the time. will that be agreeable to you? aristodemus said that phaedrus and the company bid him speak in any manner which he thought best. then, he added, let me have your permission first to ask agathon a few more questions, in order that i may take his admissions as the premisses of my discourse. i grant the permission, said phaedrus: put your questions. socrates then proceeded as follows:-in the magnificent oration which you have just uttered, i think that you were right, my dear agathon, in proposing to speak of the nature of love first and afterwards of his works--that is a way of beginning which i very much approve. and as you have spoken so eloquently of his nature, may i ask you further, whether love is the love of something or of nothing? and here i must explain myself: i do not want you to say that love is the love of a father or the love of a mother--that would be ridiculous; but to answer as you would, if i asked is a father a father of something? to which you would find no difficulty in replying, of a son or daughter: and the answer would be right. very true, said agathon. and you would say the same of a mother? he assented. yet let me ask you one more question in order to illustrate my meaning: is not a brother to be regarded essentially as a brother of something? certainly, he replied. that is, of a brother or sister? yes, he said. and now, said socrates, i will ask about love:--is love of something or of nothing? of something, surely, he replied. keep in mind what this is, and tell me what i want to know--whether love desires that of which love is. yes, surely. and does he possess, or does he not possess, that which he loves and desires? probably not, i should say. nay, replied socrates, i would have you consider whether 'necessarily' is not rather the word. the inference that he who desires something is in want of something, and that he who desires nothing is in want of nothing, is in my judgment, agathon, absolutely and necessarily true. what do you think? i agree with you, said agathon. very good. would he who is great, desire to be great, or he who is strong, desire to be strong? that would be inconsistent with our previous admissions. true. for he who is anything cannot want to be that which he is? very true. and yet, added socrates, if a man being strong desired to be strong, or being swift desired to be swift, or being healthy desired to be healthy, in that case he might be thought to desire something which he already has or is. i give the example in order that we may avoid misconception. for the possessors of these qualities, agathon, must be supposed to have their respective advantages at the time, whether they choose or not; and who can desire that which he has? therefore, when a person says, i am well and wish to be well, or i am rich and wish to be rich, and i desire simply to have what i have--to him we shall reply: 'you, my friend, having wealth and health and strength, want to have the continuance of them; for at this moment, whether you choose or no, you have them. and when you say, i desire that which i have and nothing else, is not your meaning that you want to have what you now have in the future?' he must agree with us--must he not? he must, replied agathon. then, said socrates, he desires that what he has at present may be preserved to him in the future, which is equivalent to saying that he desires something which is non-existent to him, and which as yet he has not got: very true, he said. then he and every one who desires, desires that which he has not already, and which is future and not present, and which he has not, and is not, and of which he is in want;--these are the sort of things which love and desire seek? very true, he said. then now, said socrates, let us recapitulate the argument. first, is not love of something, and of something too which is wanting to a man? yes, he replied. remember further what you said in your speech, or if you do not remember i will remind you: you said that the love of the beautiful set in order the empire of the gods, for that of deformed things there is no love--did you not say something of that kind? yes, said agathon. yes, my friend, and the remark was a just one. and if this is true, love is the love of beauty and not of deformity? he assented. and the admission has been already made that love is of something which a man wants and has not? true, he said. then love wants and has not beauty? certainly, he replied. and would you call that beautiful which wants and does not possess beauty? certainly not. then would you still say that love is beautiful? agathon replied: i fear that i did not understand what i was saying. you made a very good speech, agathon, replied socrates; but there is yet one small question which i would fain ask:--is not the good also the beautiful? yes. then in wanting the beautiful, love wants also the good? i cannot refute you, socrates, said agathon:--let us assume that what you say is true. say rather, beloved agathon, that you cannot refute the truth; for socrates is easily refuted. and now, taking my leave of you, i would rehearse a tale of love which i heard from diotima of mantineia (compare 1 alcibiades), a woman wise in this and in many other kinds of knowledge, who in the days of old, when the athenians offered sacrifice before the coming of the plague, delayed the disease ten years. she was my instructress in the art of love, and i shall repeat to you what she said to me, beginning with the admissions made by agathon, which are nearly if not quite the same which i made to the wise woman when she questioned me: i think that this will be the easiest way, and i shall take both parts myself as well as i can (compare gorgias). as you, agathon, suggested (supra), i must speak first of the being and nature of love, and then of his works. first i said to her in nearly the same words which he used to me, that love was a mighty god, and likewise fair; and she proved to me as i proved to him that, by my own showing, love was neither fair nor good. 'what do you mean, diotima,' i said, 'is love then evil and foul?' 'hush,' she cried; 'must that be foul which is not fair?' 'certainly,' i said. 'and is that which is not wise, ignorant? do you not see that there is a mean between wisdom and ignorance?' 'and what may that be?' i said. 'right opinion,' she replied; 'which, as you know, being incapable of giving a reason, is not knowledge (for how can knowledge be devoid of reason? nor again, ignorance, for neither can ignorance attain the truth), but is clearly something which is a mean between ignorance and wisdom.' 'quite true,' i replied. 'do not then insist,' she said, 'that what is not fair is of necessity foul, or what is not good evil; or infer that because love is not fair and good he is therefore foul and evil; for he is in a mean between them.' 'well,' i said, 'love is surely admitted by all to be a great god.' 'by those who know or by those who do not know?' 'by all.' 'and how, socrates,' she said with a smile, 'can love be acknowledged to be a great god by those who say that he is not a god at all?' 'and who are they?' i said. 'you and i are two of them,' she replied. 'how can that be?' i said. 'it is quite intelligible,' she replied; 'for you yourself would acknowledge that the gods are happy and fair--of course you would--would you dare to say that any god was not?' 'certainly not,' i replied. 'and you mean by the happy, those who are the possessors of things good or fair?' 'yes.' 'and you admitted that love, because he was in want, desires those good and fair things of which he is in want?' 'yes, i did.' 'but how can he be a god who has no portion in what is either good or fair?' 'impossible.' 'then you see that you also deny the divinity of love.' 'what then is love?' i asked; 'is he mortal?' 'no.' 'what then?' 'as in the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in a mean between the two.' 'what is he, diotima?' 'he is a great spirit (daimon), and like all spirits he is intermediate between the divine and the mortal.' 'and what,' i said, 'is his power?' 'he interprets,' she replied, 'between gods and men, conveying and taking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commands and replies of the gods; he is the mediator who spans the chasm which divides them, and therefore in him all is bound together, and through him the arts of the prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and charms, and all prophecy and incantation, find their way. for god mingles not with man; but through love all the intercourse and converse of god with man, whether awake or asleep, is carried on. the wisdom which understands this is spiritual; all other wisdom, such as that of arts and handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. now these spirits or intermediate powers are many and diverse, and one of them is love.' 'and who,' i said, 'was his father, and who his mother?' 'the tale,' she said, 'will take time; nevertheless i will tell you. on the birthday of aphrodite there was a feast of the gods, at which the god poros or plenty, who is the son of metis or discretion, was one of the guests. when the feast was over, penia or poverty, as the manner is on such occasions, came about the doors to beg. now plenty who was the worse for nectar (there was no wine in those days), went into the garden of zeus and fell into a heavy sleep, and poverty considering her own straitened circumstances, plotted to have a child by him, and accordingly she lay down at his side and conceived love, who partly because he is naturally a lover of the beautiful, and because aphrodite is herself beautiful, and also because he was born on her birthday, is her follower and attendant. and as his parentage is, so also are his fortunes. in the first place he is always poor, and anything but tender and fair, as the many imagine him; and he is rough and squalid, and has no shoes, nor a house to dwell in; on the bare earth exposed he lies under the open heaven, in the streets, or at the doors of houses, taking his rest; and like his mother he is always in distress. like his father too, whom he also partly resembles, he is always plotting against the fair and good; he is bold, enterprising, strong, a mighty hunter, always weaving some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuit of wisdom, fertile in resources; a philosopher at all times, terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer, sophist. he is by nature neither mortal nor immortal, but alive and flourishing at one moment when he is in plenty, and dead at another moment, and again alive by reason of his father's nature. but that which is always flowing in is always flowing out, and so he is never in want and never in wealth; and, further, he is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. the truth of the matter is this: no god is a philosopher or seeker after wisdom, for he is wise already; nor does any man who is wise seek after wisdom. neither do the ignorant seek after wisdom. for herein is the evil of ignorance, that he who is neither good nor wise is nevertheless satisfied with himself: he has no desire for that of which he feels no want.' 'but who then, diotima,' i said, 'are the lovers of wisdom, if they are neither the wise nor the foolish?' 'a child may answer that question,' she replied; 'they are those who are in a mean between the two; love is one of them. for wisdom is a most beautiful thing, and love is of the beautiful; and therefore love is also a philosopher or lover of wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom is in a mean between the wise and the ignorant. and of this too his birth is the cause; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poor and foolish. such, my dear socrates, is the nature of the spirit love. the error in your conception of him was very natural, and as i imagine from what you say, has arisen out of a confusion of love and the beloved, which made you think that love was all beautiful. for the beloved is the truly beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and blessed; but the principle of love is of another nature, and is such as i have described.' i said, 'o thou stranger woman, thou sayest well; but, assuming love to be such as you say, what is the use of him to men?' 'that, socrates,' she replied, 'i will attempt to unfold: of his nature and birth i have already spoken; and you acknowledge that love is of the beautiful. but some one will say: of the beautiful in what, socrates and diotima?--or rather let me put the question more clearly, and ask: when a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?' i answered her 'that the beautiful may be his.' 'still,' she said, 'the answer suggests a further question: what is given by the possession of beauty?' 'to what you have asked,' i replied, 'i have no answer ready.' 'then,' she said, 'let me put the word "good" in the place of the beautiful, and repeat the question once more: if he who loves loves the good, what is it then that he loves?' 'the possession of the good,' i said. 'and what does he gain who possesses the good?' 'happiness,' i replied; 'there is less difficulty in answering that question.' 'yes,' she said, 'the happy are made happy by the acquisition of good things. nor is there any need to ask why a man desires happiness; the answer is already final.' 'you are right.' i said. 'and is this wish and this desire common to all? and do all men always desire their own good, or only some men?--what say you?' 'all men,' i replied; 'the desire is common to all.' 'why, then,' she rejoined, 'are not all men, socrates, said to love, but only some of them? whereas you say that all men are always loving the same things.' 'i myself wonder,' i said, 'why this is.' 'there is nothing to wonder at,' she replied; 'the reason is that one part of love is separated off and receives the name of the whole, but the other parts have other names.' 'give an illustration,' i said. she answered me as follows: 'there is poetry, which, as you know, is complex and manifold. all creation or passage of non-being into being is poetry or making, and the processes of all art are creative; and the masters of arts are all poets or makers.' 'very true.' 'still,' she said, 'you know that they are not called poets, but have other names; only that portion of the art which is separated off from the rest, and is concerned with music and metre, is termed poetry, and they who possess poetry in this sense of the word are called poets.' 'very true,' i said. 'and the same holds of love. for you may say generally that all desire of good and happiness is only the great and subtle power of love; but they who are drawn towards him by any other path, whether the path of money-making or gymnastics or philosophy, are not called lovers--the name of the whole is appropriated to those whose affection takes one form only--they alone are said to love, or to be lovers.' 'i dare say,' i replied, 'that you are right.' 'yes,' she added, 'and you hear people say that lovers are seeking for their other half; but i say that they are seeking neither for the half of themselves, nor for the whole, unless the half or the whole be also a good. and they will cut off their own hands and feet and cast them away, if they are evil; for they love not what is their own, unless perchance there be some one who calls what belongs to him the good, and what belongs to another the evil. for there is nothing which men love but the good. is there anything?' 'certainly, i should say, that there is nothing.' 'then,' she said, 'the simple truth is, that men love the good.' 'yes,' i said. 'to which must be added that they love the possession of the good?' 'yes, that must be added.' 'and not only the possession, but the everlasting possession of the good?' 'that must be added too.' 'then love,' she said, 'may be described generally as the love of the everlasting possession of the good?' 'that is most true.' 'then if this be the nature of love, can you tell me further,' she said, 'what is the manner of the pursuit? what are they doing who show all this eagerness and heat which is called love? and what is the object which they have in view? answer me.' 'nay, diotima,' i replied, 'if i had known, i should not have wondered at your wisdom, neither should i have come to learn from you about this very matter.' 'well,' she said, 'i will teach you:--the object which they have in view is birth in beauty, whether of body or soul.' 'i do not understand you,' i said; 'the oracle requires an explanation.' 'i will make my meaning clearer,' she replied. 'i mean to say, that all men are bringing to the birth in their bodies and in their souls. there is a certain age at which human nature is desirous of procreation--procreation which must be in beauty and not in deformity; and this procreation is the union of man and woman, and is a divine thing; for conception and generation are an immortal principle in the mortal creature, and in the inharmonious they can never be. but the deformed is always inharmonious with the divine, and the beautiful harmonious. beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess of parturition who presides at birth, and therefore, when approaching beauty, the conceiving power is propitious, and diffusive, and benign, and begets and bears fruit: at the sight of ugliness she frowns and contracts and has a sense of pain, and turns away, and shrivels up, and not without a pang refrains from conception. and this is the reason why, when the hour of conception arrives, and the teeming nature is full, there is such a flutter and ecstasy about beauty whose approach is the alleviation of the pain of travail. for love, socrates, is not, as you imagine, the love of the beautiful only.' 'what then?' 'the love of generation and of birth in beauty.' 'yes,' i said. 'yes, indeed,' she replied. 'but why of generation?' 'because to the mortal creature, generation is a sort of eternity and immortality,' she replied; 'and if, as has been already admitted, love is of the everlasting possession of the good, all men will necessarily desire immortality together with good: wherefore love is of immortality.' all this she taught me at various times when she spoke of love. and i remember her once saying to me, 'what is the cause, socrates, of love, and the attendant desire? see you not how all animals, birds, as well as beasts, in their desire of procreation, are in agony when they take the infection of love, which begins with the desire of union; whereto is added the care of offspring, on whose behalf the weakest are ready to battle against the strongest even to the uttermost, and to die for them, and will let themselves be tormented with hunger or suffer anything in order to maintain their young. man may be supposed to act thus from reason; but why should animals have these passionate feelings? can you tell me why?' again i replied that i did not know. she said to me: 'and do you expect ever to become a master in the art of love, if you do not know this?' 'but i have told you already, diotima, that my ignorance is the reason why i come to you; for i am conscious that i want a teacher; tell me then the cause of this and of the other mysteries of love.' 'marvel not,' she said, 'if you believe that love is of the immortal, as we have several times acknowledged; for here again, and on the same principle too, the mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to be everlasting and immortal: and this is only to be attained by generation, because generation always leaves behind a new existence in the place of the old. nay even in the life of the same individual there is succession and not absolute unity: a man is called the same, and yet in the short interval which elapses between youth and age, and in which every animal is said to have life and identity, he is undergoing a perpetual process of loss and reparation--hair, flesh, bones, blood, and the whole body are always changing. which is true not only of the body, but also of the soul, whose habits, tempers, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, fears, never remain the same in any one of us, but are always coming and going; and equally true of knowledge, and what is still more surprising to us mortals, not only do the sciences in general spring up and decay, so that in respect of them we are never the same; but each of them individually experiences a like change. for what is implied in the word "recollection," but the departure of knowledge, which is ever being forgotten, and is renewed and preserved by recollection, and appears to be the same although in reality new, according to that law of succession by which all mortal things are preserved, not absolutely the same, but by substitution, the old worn-out mortality leaving another new and similar existence behind--unlike the divine, which is always the same and not another? and in this way, socrates, the mortal body, or mortal anything, partakes of immortality; but the immortal in another way. marvel not then at the love which all men have of their offspring; for that universal love and interest is for the sake of immortality.' i was astonished at her words, and said: 'is this really true, o thou wise diotima?' and she answered with all the authority of an accomplished sophist: 'of that, socrates, you may be assured;--think only of the ambition of men, and you will wonder at the senselessness of their ways, unless you consider how they are stirred by the love of an immortality of fame. they are ready to run all risks greater far than they would have run for their children, and to spend money and undergo any sort of toil, and even to die, for the sake of leaving behind them a name which shall be eternal. do you imagine that alcestis would have died to save admetus, or achilles to avenge patroclus, or your own codrus in order to preserve the kingdom for his sons, if they had not imagined that the memory of their virtues, which still survives among us, would be immortal? nay,' she said, 'i am persuaded that all men do all things, and the better they are the more they do them, in hope of the glorious fame of immortal virtue; for they desire the immortal. 'those who are pregnant in the body only, betake themselves to women and beget children--this is the character of their love; their offspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and giving them the blessedness and immortality which they desire in the future. but souls which are pregnant--for there certainly are men who are more creative in their souls than in their bodies--conceive that which is proper for the soul to conceive or contain. and what are these conceptions?--wisdom and virtue in general. and such creators are poets and all artists who are deserving of the name inventor. but the greatest and fairest sort of wisdom by far is that which is concerned with the ordering of states and families, and which is called temperance and justice. and he who in youth has the seed of these implanted in him and is himself inspired, when he comes to maturity desires to beget and generate. he wanders about seeking beauty that he may beget offspring--for in deformity he will beget nothing--and naturally embraces the beautiful rather than the deformed body; above all when he finds a fair and noble and well-nurtured soul, he embraces the two in one person, and to such an one he is full of speech about virtue and the nature and pursuits of a good man; and he tries to educate him; and at the touch of the beautiful which is ever present to his memory, even when absent, he brings forth that which he had conceived long before, and in company with him tends that which he brings forth; and they are married by a far nearer tie and have a closer friendship than those who beget mortal children, for the children who are their common offspring are fairer and more immortal. who, when he thinks of homer and hesiod and other great poets, would not rather have their children than ordinary human ones? who would not emulate them in the creation of children such as theirs, which have preserved their memory and given them everlasting glory? or who would not have such children as lycurgus left behind him to be the saviours, not only of lacedaemon, but of hellas, as one may say? there is solon, too, who is the revered father of athenian laws; and many others there are in many other places, both among hellenes and barbarians, who have given to the world many noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of every kind; and many temples have been raised in their honour for the sake of children such as theirs; which were never raised in honour of any one, for the sake of his mortal children. 'these are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you, socrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are the crown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead, i know not whether you will be able to attain. but i will do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. for he who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth to visit beautiful forms; and first, if he be guided by his instructor aright, to love one such form only--out of that he should create fair thoughts; and soon he will of himself perceive that the beauty of one form is akin to the beauty of another; and then if beauty of form in general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to recognize that the beauty in every form is and the same! and when he perceives this he will abate his violent love of the one, which he will despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of all beautiful forms; in the next stage he will consider that the beauty of the mind is more honourable than the beauty of the outward form. so that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be content to love and tend him, and will search out and bring to the birth thoughts which may improve the young, until he is compelled to contemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and to understand that the beauty of them all is of one family, and that personal beauty is a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will go on to the sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not like a servant in love with the beauty of one youth or man or institution, himself a slave mean and narrow-minded, but drawing towards and contemplating the vast sea of beauty, he will create many fair and noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom; until on that shore he grows and waxes strong, and at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science, which is the science of beauty everywhere. to this i will proceed; please to give me your very best attention: 'he who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and who has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession, when he comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty (and this, socrates, is the final cause of all our former toils)--a nature which in the first place is everlasting, not growing and decaying, or waxing and waning; secondly, not fair in one point of view and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another place foul, as if fair to some and foul to others, or in the likeness of a face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame, or in any form of speech or knowledge, or existing in any other being, as for example, in an animal, or in heaven, or in earth, or in any other place; but beauty absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting, which without diminution and without increase, or any change, is imparted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other things. he who from these ascending under the influence of true love, begins to perceive that beauty, is not far from the end. and the true order of going, or being led by another, to the things of love, is to begin from the beauties of earth and mount upwards for the sake of that other beauty, using these as steps only, and from one going on to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is. this, my dear socrates,' said the stranger of mantineia, 'is that life above all others which man should live, in the contemplation of beauty absolute; a beauty which if you once beheld, you would see not to be after the measure of gold, and garments, and fair boys and youths, whose presence now entrances you; and you and many a one would be content to live seeing them only and conversing with them without meat or drink, if that were possible--you only want to look at them and to be with them. but what if man had eyes to see the true beauty--the divine beauty, i mean, pure and clear and unalloyed, not clogged with the pollutions of mortality and all the colours and vanities of human life--thither looking, and holding converse with the true beauty simple and divine? remember how in that communion only, beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become the friend of god and be immortal, if mortal man may. would that be an ignoble life?' such, phaedrus--and i speak not only to you, but to all of you--were the words of diotima; and i am persuaded of their truth. and being persuaded of them, i try to persuade others, that in the attainment of this end human nature will not easily find a helper better than love: and therefore, also, i say that every man ought to honour him as i myself honour him, and walk in his ways, and exhort others to do the same, and praise the power and spirit of love according to the measure of my ability now and ever. the words which i have spoken, you, phaedrus, may call an encomium of love, or anything else which you please. when socrates had done speaking, the company applauded, and aristophanes was beginning to say something in answer to the allusion which socrates had made to his own speech, when suddenly there was a great knocking at the door of the house, as of revellers, and the sound of a flute-girl was heard. agathon told the attendants to go and see who were the intruders. 'if they are friends of ours,' he said, 'invite them in, but if not, say that the drinking is over.' a little while afterwards they heard the voice of alcibiades resounding in the court; he was in a great state of intoxication, and kept roaring and shouting 'where is agathon? lead me to agathon,' and at length, supported by the flute-girl and some of his attendants, he found his way to them. 'hail, friends,' he said, appearing at the door crowned with a massive garland of ivy and violets, his head flowing with ribands. 'will you have a very drunken man as a companion of your revels? or shall i crown agathon, which was my intention in coming, and go away? for i was unable to come yesterday, and therefore i am here to-day, carrying on my head these ribands, that taking them from my own head, i may crown the head of this fairest and wisest of men, as i may be allowed to call him. will you laugh at me because i am drunk? yet i know very well that i am speaking the truth, although you may laugh. but first tell me; if i come in shall we have the understanding of which i spoke (supra will you have a very drunken man? etc.)? will you drink with me or not?' the company were vociferous in begging that he would take his place among them, and agathon specially invited him. thereupon he was led in by the people who were with him; and as he was being led, intending to crown agathon, he took the ribands from his own head and held them in front of his eyes; he was thus prevented from seeing socrates, who made way for him, and alcibiades took the vacant place between agathon and socrates, and in taking the place he embraced agathon and crowned him. take off his sandals, said agathon, and let him make a third on the same couch. by all means; but who makes the third partner in our revels? said alcibiades, turning round and starting up as he caught sight of socrates. by heracles, he said, what is this? here is socrates always lying in wait for me, and always, as his way is, coming out at all sorts of unsuspected places: and now, what have you to say for yourself, and why are you lying here, where i perceive that you have contrived to find a place, not by a joker or lover of jokes, like aristophanes, but by the fairest of the company? socrates turned to agathon and said: i must ask you to protect me, agathon; for the passion of this man has grown quite a serious matter to me. since i became his admirer i have never been allowed to speak to any other fair one, or so much as to look at them. if i do, he goes wild with envy and jealousy, and not only abuses me but can hardly keep his hands off me, and at this moment he may do me some harm. please to see to this, and either reconcile me to him, or, if he attempts violence, protect me, as i am in bodily fear of his mad and passionate attempts. there can never be reconciliation between you and me, said alcibiades; but for the present i will defer your chastisement. and i must beg you, agathon, to give me back some of the ribands that i may crown the marvellous head of this universal despot--i would not have him complain of me for crowning you, and neglecting him, who in conversation is the conqueror of all mankind; and this not only once, as you were the day before yesterday, but always. whereupon, taking some of the ribands, he crowned socrates, and again reclined. then he said: you seem, my friends, to be sober, which is a thing not to be endured; you must drink--for that was the agreement under which i was admitted--and i elect myself master of the feast until you are well drunk. let us have a large goblet, agathon, or rather, he said, addressing the attendant, bring me that wine-cooler. the wine-cooler which had caught his eye was a vessel holding more than two quarts--this he filled and emptied, and bade the attendant fill it again for socrates. observe, my friends, said alcibiades, that this ingenious trick of mine will have no effect on socrates, for he can drink any quantity of wine and not be at all nearer being drunk. socrates drank the cup which the attendant filled for him. eryximachus said: what is this, alcibiades? are we to have neither conversation nor singing over our cups; but simply to drink as if we were thirsty? alcibiades replied: hail, worthy son of a most wise and worthy sire! the same to you, said eryximachus; but what shall we do? that i leave to you, said alcibiades. 'the wise physician skilled our wounds to heal (from pope's homer, il.)' shall prescribe and we will obey. what do you want? well, said eryximachus, before you appeared we had passed a resolution that each one of us in turn should make a speech in praise of love, and as good a one as he could: the turn was passed round from left to right; and as all of us have spoken, and you have not spoken but have well drunken, you ought to speak, and then impose upon socrates any task which you please, and he on his right hand neighbour, and so on. that is good, eryximachus, said alcibiades; and yet the comparison of a drunken man's speech with those of sober men is hardly fair; and i should like to know, sweet friend, whether you really believe what socrates was just now saying; for i can assure you that the very reverse is the fact, and that if i praise any one but himself in his presence, whether god or man, he will hardly keep his hands off me. for shame, said socrates. hold your tongue, said alcibiades, for by poseidon, there is no one else whom i will praise when you are of the company. well then, said eryximachus, if you like praise socrates. what do you think, eryximachus? said alcibiades: shall i attack him and inflict the punishment before you all? what are you about? said socrates; are you going to raise a laugh at my expense? is that the meaning of your praise? i am going to speak the truth, if you will permit me. i not only permit, but exhort you to speak the truth. then i will begin at once, said alcibiades, and if i say anything which is not true, you may interrupt me if you will, and say 'that is a lie,' though my intention is to speak the truth. but you must not wonder if i speak any how as things come into my mind; for the fluent and orderly enumeration of all your singularities is not a task which is easy to a man in my condition. and now, my boys, i shall praise socrates in a figure which will appear to him to be a caricature, and yet i speak, not to make fun of him, but only for the truth's sake. i say, that he is exactly like the busts of silenus, which are set up in the statuaries' shops, holding pipes and flutes in their mouths; and they are made to open in the middle, and have images of gods inside them. i say also that he is like marsyas the satyr. you yourself will not deny, socrates, that your face is like that of a satyr. aye, and there is a resemblance in other points too. for example, you are a bully, as i can prove by witnesses, if you will not confess. and are you not a flute-player? that you are, and a performer far more wonderful than marsyas. he indeed with instruments used to charm the souls of men by the power of his breath, and the players of his music do so still: for the melodies of olympus (compare arist. pol.) are derived from marsyas who taught them, and these, whether they are played by a great master or by a miserable flute-girl, have a power which no others have; they alone possess the soul and reveal the wants of those who have need of gods and mysteries, because they are divine. but you produce the same effect with your words only, and do not require the flute: that is the difference between you and him. when we hear any other speaker, even a very good one, he produces absolutely no effect upon us, or not much, whereas the mere fragments of you and your words, even at second-hand, and however imperfectly repeated, amaze and possess the souls of every man, woman, and child who comes within hearing of them. and if i were not afraid that you would think me hopelessly drunk, i would have sworn as well as spoken to the influence which they have always had and still have over me. for my heart leaps within me more than that of any corybantian reveller, and my eyes rain tears when i hear them. and i observe that many others are affected in the same manner. i have heard pericles and other great orators, and i thought that they spoke well, but i never had any similar feeling; my soul was not stirred by them, nor was i angry at the thought of my own slavish state. but this marsyas has often brought me to such a pass, that i have felt as if i could hardly endure the life which i am leading (this, socrates, you will admit); and i am conscious that if i did not shut my ears against him, and fly as from the voice of the siren, my fate would be like that of others,--he would transfix me, and i should grow old sitting at his feet. for he makes me confess that i ought not to live as i do, neglecting the wants of my own soul, and busying myself with the concerns of the athenians; therefore i hold my ears and tear myself away from him. and he is the only person who ever made me ashamed, which you might think not to be in my nature, and there is no one else who does the same. for i know that i cannot answer him or say that i ought not to do as he bids, but when i leave his presence the love of popularity gets the better of me. and therefore i run away and fly from him, and when i see him i am ashamed of what i have confessed to him. many a time have i wished that he were dead, and yet i know that i should be much more sorry than glad, if he were to die: so that i am at my wit's end. and this is what i and many others have suffered from the flute-playing of this satyr. yet hear me once more while i show you how exact the image is, and how marvellous his power. for let me tell you; none of you know him; but i will reveal him to you; having begun, i must go on. see you how fond he is of the fair? he is always with them and is always being smitten by them, and then again he knows nothing and is ignorant of all things--such is the appearance which he puts on. is he not like a silenus in this? to be sure he is: his outer mask is the carved head of the silenus; but, o my companions in drink, when he is opened, what temperance there is residing within! know you that beauty and wealth and honour, at which the many wonder, are of no account with him, and are utterly despised by him: he regards not at all the persons who are gifted with them; mankind are nothing to him; all his life is spent in mocking and flouting at them. but when i opened him, and looked within at his serious purpose, i saw in him divine and golden images of such fascinating beauty that i was ready to do in a moment whatever socrates commanded: they may have escaped the observation of others, but i saw them. now i fancied that he was seriously enamoured of my beauty, and i thought that i should therefore have a grand opportunity of hearing him tell what he knew, for i had a wonderful opinion of the attractions of my youth. in the prosecution of this design, when i next went to him, i sent away the attendant who usually accompanied me (i will confess the whole truth, and beg you to listen; and if i speak falsely, do you, socrates, expose the falsehood). well, he and i were alone together, and i thought that when there was nobody with us, i should hear him speak the language which lovers use to their loves when they are by themselves, and i was delighted. nothing of the sort; he conversed as usual, and spent the day with me and then went away. afterwards i challenged him to the palaestra; and he wrestled and closed with me several times when there was no one present; i fancied that i might succeed in this manner. not a bit; i made no way with him. lastly, as i had failed hitherto, i thought that i must take stronger measures and attack him boldly, and, as i had begun, not give him up, but see how matters stood between him and me. so i invited him to sup with me, just as if he were a fair youth, and i a designing lover. he was not easily persuaded to come; he did, however, after a while accept the invitation, and when he came the first time, he wanted to go away at once as soon as supper was over, and i had not the face to detain him. the second time, still in pursuance of my design, after we had supped, i went on conversing far into the night, and when he wanted to go away, i pretended that the hour was late and that he had much better remain. so he lay down on the couch next to me, the same on which he had supped, and there was no one but ourselves sleeping in the apartment. all this may be told without shame to any one. but what follows i could hardly tell you if i were sober. yet as the proverb says, 'in vino veritas,' whether with boys, or without them (in allusion to two proverbs.); and therefore i must speak. nor, again, should i be justified in concealing the lofty actions of socrates when i come to praise him. moreover i have felt the serpent's sting; and he who has suffered, as they say, is willing to tell his fellow-sufferers only, as they alone will be likely to understand him, and will not be extreme in judging of the sayings or doings which have been wrung from his agony. for i have been bitten by a more than viper's tooth; i have known in my soul, or in my heart, or in some other part, that worst of pangs, more violent in ingenuous youth than any serpent's tooth, the pang of philosophy, which will make a man say or do anything. and you whom i see around me, phaedrus and agathon and eryximachus and pausanias and aristodemus and aristophanes, all of you, and i need not say socrates himself, have had experience of the same madness and passion in your longing after wisdom. therefore listen and excuse my doings then and my sayings now. but let the attendants and other profane and unmannered persons close up the doors of their ears. when the lamp was put out and the servants had gone away, i thought that i must be plain with him and have no more ambiguity. so i gave him a shake, and i said: 'socrates, are you asleep?' 'no,' he said. 'do you know what i am meditating? 'what are you meditating?' he said. 'i think,' i replied, 'that of all the lovers whom i have ever had you are the only one who is worthy of me, and you appear to be too modest to speak. now i feel that i should be a fool to refuse you this or any other favour, and therefore i come to lay at your feet all that i have and all that my friends have, in the hope that you will assist me in the way of virtue, which i desire above all things, and in which i believe that you can help me better than any one else. and i should certainly have more reason to be ashamed of what wise men would say if i were to refuse a favour to such as you, than of what the world, who are mostly fools, would say of me if i granted it.' to these words he replied in the ironical manner which is so characteristic of him:--'alcibiades, my friend, you have indeed an elevated aim if what you say is true, and if there really is in me any power by which you may become better; truly you must see in me some rare beauty of a kind infinitely higher than any which i see in you. and therefore, if you mean to share with me and to exchange beauty for beauty, you will have greatly the advantage of me; you will gain true beauty in return for appearance--like diomede, gold in exchange for brass. but look again, sweet friend, and see whether you are not deceived in me. the mind begins to grow critical when the bodily eye fails, and it will be a long time before you get old.' hearing this, i said: 'i have told you my purpose, which is quite serious, and do you consider what you think best for you and me.' 'that is good,' he said; 'at some other time then we will consider and act as seems best about this and about other matters.' whereupon, i fancied that he was smitten, and that the words which i had uttered like arrows had wounded him, and so without waiting to hear more i got up, and throwing my coat about him crept under his threadbare cloak, as the time of year was winter, and there i lay during the whole night having this wonderful monster in my arms. this again, socrates, will not be denied by you. and yet, notwithstanding all, he was so superior to my solicitations, so contemptuous and derisive and disdainful of my beauty--which really, as i fancied, had some attractions--hear, o judges; for judges you shall be of the haughty virtue of socrates--nothing more happened, but in the morning when i awoke (let all the gods and goddesses be my witnesses) i arose as from the couch of a father or an elder brother. what do you suppose must have been my feelings, after this rejection, at the thought of my own dishonour? and yet i could not help wondering at his natural temperance and self-restraint and manliness. i never imagined that i could have met with a man such as he is in wisdom and endurance. and therefore i could not be angry with him or renounce his company, any more than i could hope to win him. for i well knew that if ajax could not be wounded by steel, much less he by money; and my only chance of captivating him by my personal attractions had failed. so i was at my wit's end; no one was ever more hopelessly enslaved by another. all this happened before he and i went on the expedition to potidaea; there we messed together, and i had the opportunity of observing his extraordinary power of sustaining fatigue. his endurance was simply marvellous when, being cut off from our supplies, we were compelled to go without food--on such occasions, which often happen in time of war, he was superior not only to me but to everybody; there was no one to be compared to him. yet at a festival he was the only person who had any real powers of enjoyment; though not willing to drink, he could if compelled beat us all at that,--wonderful to relate! no human being had ever seen socrates drunk; and his powers, if i am not mistaken, will be tested before long. his fortitude in enduring cold was also surprising. there was a severe frost, for the winter in that region is really tremendous, and everybody else either remained indoors, or if they went out had on an amazing quantity of clothes, and were well shod, and had their feet swathed in felt and fleeces: in the midst of this, socrates with his bare feet on the ice and in his ordinary dress marched better than the other soldiers who had shoes, and they looked daggers at him because he seemed to despise them. i have told you one tale, and now i must tell you another, which is worth hearing, 'of the doings and sufferings of the enduring man' while he was on the expedition. one morning he was thinking about something which he could not resolve; he would not give it up, but continued thinking from early dawn until noon--there he stood fixed in thought; and at noon attention was drawn to him, and the rumour ran through the wondering crowd that socrates had been standing and thinking about something ever since the break of day. at last, in the evening after supper, some ionians out of curiosity (i should explain that this was not in winter but in summer), brought out their mats and slept in the open air that they might watch him and see whether he would stand all night. there he stood until the following morning; and with the return of light he offered up a prayer to the sun, and went his way (compare supra). i will also tell, if you please--and indeed i am bound to tell--of his courage in battle; for who but he saved my life? now this was the engagement in which i received the prize of valour: for i was wounded and he would not leave me, but he rescued me and my arms; and he ought to have received the prize of valour which the generals wanted to confer on me partly on account of my rank, and i told them so, (this, again, socrates will not impeach or deny), but he was more eager than the generals that i and not he should have the prize. there was another occasion on which his behaviour was very remarkable--in the flight of the army after the battle of delium, where he served among the heavy-armed,--i had a better opportunity of seeing him than at potidaea, for i was myself on horseback, and therefore comparatively out of danger. he and laches were retreating, for the troops were in flight, and i met them and told them not to be discouraged, and promised to remain with them; and there you might see him, aristophanes, as you describe (aristoph. clouds), just as he is in the streets of athens, stalking like a pelican, and rolling his eyes, calmly contemplating enemies as well as friends, and making very intelligible to anybody, even from a distance, that whoever attacked him would be likely to meet with a stout resistance; and in this way he and his companion escaped--for this is the sort of man who is never touched in war; those only are pursued who are running away headlong. i particularly observed how superior he was to laches in presence of mind. many are the marvels which i might narrate in praise of socrates; most of his ways might perhaps be paralleled in another man, but his absolute unlikeness to any human being that is or ever has been is perfectly astonishing. you may imagine brasidas and others to have been like achilles; or you may imagine nestor and antenor to have been like pericles; and the same may be said of other famous men, but of this strange being you will never be able to find any likeness, however remote, either among men who now are or who ever have been--other than that which i have already suggested of silenus and the satyrs; and they represent in a figure not only himself, but his words. for, although i forgot to mention this to you before, his words are like the images of silenus which open; they are ridiculous when you first hear them; he clothes himself in language that is like the skin of the wanton satyr--for his talk is of pack-asses and smiths and cobblers and curriers, and he is always repeating the same things in the same words (compare gorg.), so that any ignorant or inexperienced person might feel disposed to laugh at him; but he who opens the bust and sees what is within will find that they are the only words which have a meaning in them, and also the most divine, abounding in fair images of virtue, and of the widest comprehension, or rather extending to the whole duty of a good and honourable man. this, friends, is my praise of socrates. i have added my blame of him for his ill-treatment of me; and he has ill-treated not only me, but charmides the son of glaucon, and euthydemus the son of diocles, and many others in the same way--beginning as their lover he has ended by making them pay their addresses to him. wherefore i say to you, agathon, 'be not deceived by him; learn from me and take warning, and do not be a fool and learn by experience, as the proverb says.' when alcibiades had finished, there was a laugh at his outspokenness; for he seemed to be still in love with socrates. you are sober, alcibiades, said socrates, or you would never have gone so far about to hide the purpose of your satyr's praises, for all this long story is only an ingenious circumlocution, of which the point comes in by the way at the end; you want to get up a quarrel between me and agathon, and your notion is that i ought to love you and nobody else, and that you and you only ought to love agathon. but the plot of this satyric or silenic drama has been detected, and you must not allow him, agathon, to set us at variance. i believe you are right, said agathon, and i am disposed to think that his intention in placing himself between you and me was only to divide us; but he shall gain nothing by that move; for i will go and lie on the couch next to you. yes, yes, replied socrates, by all means come here and lie on the couch below me. alas, said alcibiades, how i am fooled by this man; he is determined to get the better of me at every turn. i do beseech you, allow agathon to lie between us. certainly not, said socrates, as you praised me, and i in turn ought to praise my neighbour on the right, he will be out of order in praising me again when he ought rather to be praised by me, and i must entreat you to consent to this, and not be jealous, for i have a great desire to praise the youth. hurrah! cried agathon, i will rise instantly, that i may be praised by socrates. the usual way, said alcibiades; where socrates is, no one else has any chance with the fair; and now how readily has he invented a specious reason for attracting agathon to himself. agathon arose in order that he might take his place on the couch by socrates, when suddenly a band of revellers entered, and spoiled the order of the banquet. some one who was going out having left the door open, they had found their way in, and made themselves at home; great confusion ensued, and every one was compelled to drink large quantities of wine. aristodemus said that eryximachus, phaedrus, and others went away--he himself fell asleep, and as the nights were long took a good rest: he was awakened towards daybreak by a crowing of cocks, and when he awoke, the others were either asleep, or had gone away; there remained only socrates, aristophanes, and agathon, who were drinking out of a large goblet which they passed round, and socrates was discoursing to them. aristodemus was only half awake, and he did not hear the beginning of the discourse; the chief thing which he remembered was socrates compelling the other two to acknowledge that the genius of comedy was the same with that of tragedy, and that the true artist in tragedy was an artist in comedy also. to this they were constrained to assent, being drowsy, and not quite following the argument. and first of all aristophanes dropped off, then, when the day was already dawning, agathon. socrates, having laid them to sleep, rose to depart; aristodemus, as his manner was, following him. at the lyceum he took a bath, and passed the day as usual. in the evening he retired to rest at his own home. parmenides by plato translated by benjamin jowett 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 uncertain; 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 contradictions 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 (compare cratylus, 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 imagination 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: '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 second part, where there was no room for such qualities, is there any want of clearness or precision. the latter half is an exquisite mosaic, of which the small pieces are with the utmost fineness and regularity adapted to one another. like the protagoras, 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 impatient 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 persuasion 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); 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 other places (theaet., soph.). 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.). it may be admitted that he has ascribed to an 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 connexion 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 metaphysical 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 which might be urged against them? the consideration of this difficulty has led a recent critic (ueberweg), who in general accepts the authorised 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 (compare theaet., soph.). 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 transmutation; 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 (compare 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 does socrates attempt to offer 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 degeneracy 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:-cephalus, of clazomenae in ionia, the birthplace of anaxagoras, 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 conversation 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.' '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 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 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 absurdities 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 likeness in the abstract, which is the contradictory of unlikeness in the abstract, by participation in either or both of which things are like or unlike or partly both. for the same things may very well partake of like and unlike in the concrete, though like and unlike in the abstract are irreconcilable. nor does there appear to me to be any absurdity in maintaining that the same things may partake of the one and many, though i should be indeed surprised to hear that the absolute one is also many. for example, i, being many, that is to say, having many parts or members, am yet also one, and partake of the one, being one of seven who are here present (compare philebus). this is not an absurdity, but a truism. but i should be amazed if there were a similar entanglement in the nature of the ideas themselves, nor can i believe that one and many, like and unlike, rest and motion, in the abstract, are capable either of admixture or of separation.' pythodorus said that in his opinion parmenides and zeno were not very well pleased at the questions which were raised; nevertheless, they looked at one another and smiled in seeming delight and admiration of socrates. 'tell me,' said parmenides, 'do you think that the abstract ideas of likeness, unity, and the rest, exist apart from individuals which partake of them? and is this your own distinction?' 'i think that there are such ideas.' 'and would you make abstract ideas of the just, the beautiful, the good?' 'yes,' he said. 'and of human beings like ourselves, of water, fire, and the like?' 'i am not certain.' 'and would you be undecided also about ideas of which the mention will, perhaps, appear laughable: of hair, mud, filth, and other things which are base and vile?' 'no, parmenides; visible things like these are, as i believe, only what they appear to be: though i am sometimes disposed to imagine that there is nothing without an idea; but i repress any such notion, from a fear of falling into an abyss of nonsense.' 'you are young, socrates, and therefore naturally regard the opinions of men; the time will come when philosophy will have a firmer hold of you, and you will not despise even the meanest things. but tell me, is your meaning that things become like by partaking of likeness, great by partaking of greatness, just and beautiful by partaking of justice and beauty, and so of other ideas?' 'yes, that is my meaning.' 'and do you suppose the individual to partake of the whole, or of the part?' 'why not of the whole?' said socrates. 'because,' said parmenides, 'in that case the whole, which is one, will become many.' 'nay,' said socrates, 'the whole may be like the day, which is one and in many places: in this way the ideas may be one and also many.' 'in the same sort of way,' said parmenides, 'as a sail, which is one, may be a cover to many--that is your meaning?' 'yes.' 'and would you say that each man is covered by the whole sail, or by a part only?' 'by a part.' 'then the ideas have parts, and the objects partake of a part of them only?' 'that seems to follow.' 'and would you like to say that the ideas are really divisible and yet remain one?' 'certainly not.' 'would you venture to affirm that great objects have a portion only of greatness transferred to them; or that small or equal objects are small or equal because they are only portions of smallness or equality?' 'impossible.' 'but how can individuals participate in ideas, except in the ways which i have mentioned?' 'that is not an easy question to answer.' 'i should imagine the conception of ideas to arise as follows: you see great objects pervaded by a common form or idea of greatness, which you abstract.' 'that is quite true.' 'and supposing you embrace in one view the idea of greatness thus gained and the individuals which it comprises, a further idea of greatness arises, which makes both great; and this may go on to infinity.' socrates replies that the ideas may be thoughts in the mind only; in this case, the consequence would no longer follow. 'but must not the thought be of something which is the same in all and is the idea? and if the world partakes in the ideas, and the ideas are thoughts, must not all things think? or can thought be without thought?' 'i acknowledge the unmeaningness of this,' says socrates, 'and would rather have recourse to the explanation that the ideas are types in nature, and that other things partake of them by becoming like them.' 'but to become like them is to be comprehended in the same idea; and the likeness of the idea and the individuals implies another idea of likeness, and another without end.' 'quite true.' 'the theory, then, of participation by likeness has to be given up. you have hardly yet, socrates, found out the real difficulty of maintaining abstract ideas.' 'what difficulty?' 'the greatest of all perhaps is this: an opponent will argue that the ideas are not within the range of human knowledge; and you cannot disprove the assertion without a long and laborious demonstration, which he may be unable or unwilling to follow. in the first place, neither you nor any one who maintains the existence of absolute ideas will affirm that they are subjective.' 'that would be a contradiction.' 'true; and therefore any relation in these ideas is a relation which concerns themselves only; and the objects which are named after them, are relative to one another only, and have nothing to do with the ideas themselves.' 'how do you mean?' said socrates. 'i may illustrate my meaning in this way: one of us has a slave; and the idea of a slave in the abstract is relative to the idea of a master in the abstract; this correspondence of ideas, however, has nothing to do with the particular relation of our slave to us.--do you see my meaning?' 'perfectly.' 'and absolute knowledge in the same way corresponds to absolute truth and being, and particular knowledge to particular truth and being.' clearly.' 'and there is a subjective knowledge which is of subjective truth, having many kinds, general and particular. but the ideas themselves are not subjective, and therefore are not within our ken.' 'they are not.' 'then the beautiful and the good in their own nature are unknown to us?' 'it would seem so.' 'there is a worse consequence yet.' 'what is that?' 'i think we must admit that absolute knowledge is the most exact knowledge, which we must therefore attribute to god. but then see what follows: god, having this exact knowledge, can have no knowledge of human things, as we have divided the two spheres, and forbidden any passing from one to the other:--the gods have knowledge and authority in their world only, as we have in ours.' 'yet, surely, to deprive god of knowledge is monstrous.'--'these are some of the difficulties which are involved in the assumption of absolute ideas; the learner will find them nearly impossible to understand, and the teacher who has to impart them will require superhuman ability; there will always be a suspicion, either that they have no existence, or are beyond human knowledge.' 'there i agree with you,' said socrates. 'yet if these difficulties induce you to give up universal ideas, what becomes of the mind? and where are the reasoning and reflecting powers? philosophy is at an end.' 'i certainly do not see my way.' 'i think,' said parmenides, 'that this arises out of your attempting to define abstractions, such as the good and the beautiful and the just, before you have had sufficient previous training; i noticed your deficiency when you were talking with aristoteles, the day before yesterday. your enthusiasm is a wonderful gift; but i fear that unless you discipline yourself by dialectic while you are young, truth will elude your grasp.' 'and what kind of discipline would you recommend?' 'the training which you heard zeno practising; at the same time, i admire your saying to him that you did not care to consider the difficulty in reference to visible objects, but only in relation to ideas.' 'yes; because i think that in visible objects you may easily show any number of inconsistent consequences.' 'yes; and you should consider, not only the consequences which follow from a given hypothesis, but the consequences also which follow from the denial of the hypothesis. for example, what follows from the assumption of the existence of the many, and the counter-argument of what follows from the denial of the existence of the many: and similarly of likeness and unlikeness, motion, rest, generation, corruption, being and not being. and the consequences must include consequences to the things supposed and to other things, in themselves and in relation to one another, to individuals whom you select, to the many, and to the all; these must be drawn out both on the affirmative and on the negative hypothesis,--that is, if you are to train yourself perfectly to the intelligence of the truth.' 'what you are suggesting seems to be a tremendous process, and one of which i do not quite understand the nature,' said socrates; 'will you give me an example?' 'you must not impose such a task on a man of my years,' said parmenides. 'then will you, zeno?' 'let us rather,' said zeno, with a smile, 'ask parmenides, for the undertaking is a serious one, as he truly says; nor could i urge him to make the attempt, except in a select audience of persons who will understand him.' the whole party joined in the request. here we have, first of all, an unmistakable attack made by the youthful socrates on the paradoxes of zeno. he perfectly understands their drift, and zeno himself is supposed to admit this. but they appear to him, as he says in the philebus also, to be rather truisms than paradoxes. for every one must acknowledge the obvious fact, that the body being one has many members, and that, in a thousand ways, the like partakes of the unlike, the many of the one. the real difficulty begins with the relations of ideas in themselves, whether of the one and many, or of any other ideas, to one another and to the mind. but this was a problem which the eleatic philosophers had never considered; their thoughts had not gone beyond the contradictions of matter, motion, space, and the like. it was no wonder that parmenides and zeno should hear the novel speculations of socrates with mixed feelings of admiration and displeasure. he was going out of the received circle of disputation into a region in which they could hardly follow him. from the crude idea of being in the abstract, he was about to proceed to universals or general notions. there is no contradiction in material things partaking of the ideas of one and many; neither is there any contradiction in the ideas of one and many, like and unlike, in themselves. but the contradiction arises when we attempt to conceive ideas in their connexion, or to ascertain their relation to phenomena. still he affirms the existence of such ideas; and this is the position which is now in turn submitted to the criticisms of parmenides. to appreciate truly the character of these criticisms, we must remember the place held by parmenides in the history of greek philosophy. he is the founder of idealism, and also of dialectic, or, in modern phraseology, of metaphysics and logic (theaet., soph.). like plato, he is struggling after something wider and deeper than satisfied the contemporary pythagoreans. and plato with a true instinct recognizes him as his spiritual father, whom he 'revered and honoured more than all other philosophers together.' he may be supposed to have thought more than he said, or was able to express. and, although he could not, as a matter of fact, have criticized the ideas of plato without an anachronism, the criticism is appropriately placed in the mouth of the founder of the ideal philosophy. there was probably a time in the life of plato when the ethical teaching of socrates came into conflict with the metaphysical theories of the earlier philosophers, and he sought to supplement the one by the other. the older philosophers were great and awful; and they had the charm of antiquity. something which found a response in his own mind seemed to have been lost as well as gained in the socratic dialectic. he felt no incongruity in the veteran parmenides correcting the youthful socrates. two points in his criticism are especially deserving of notice. first of all, parmenides tries him by the test of consistency. socrates is willing to assume ideas or principles of the just, the beautiful, the good, and to extend them to man (compare phaedo); but he is reluctant to admit that there are general ideas of hair, mud, filth, etc. there is an ethical universal or idea, but is there also a universal of physics?--of the meanest things in the world as well as of the greatest? parmenides rebukes this want of consistency in socrates, which he attributes to his youth. as he grows older, philosophy will take a firmer hold of him, and then he will despise neither great things nor small, and he will think less of the opinions of mankind (compare soph.). here is lightly touched one of the most familiar principles of modern philosophy, that in the meanest operations of nature, as well as in the noblest, in mud and filth, as well as in the sun and stars, great truths are contained. at the same time, we may note also the transition in the mind of plato, to which aristotle alludes (met.), when, as he says, he transferred the socratic universal of ethics to the whole of nature. the other criticism of parmenides on socrates attributes to him a want of practice in dialectic. he has observed this deficiency in him when talking to aristoteles on a previous occasion. plato seems to imply that there was something more in the dialectic of zeno than in the mere interrogation of socrates. here, again, he may perhaps be describing the process which his own mind went through when he first became more intimately acquainted, whether at megara or elsewhere, with the eleatic and megarian philosophers. still, parmenides does not deny to socrates the credit of having gone beyond them in seeking to apply the paradoxes of zeno to ideas; and this is the application which he himself makes of them in the latter part of the dialogue. he then proceeds to explain to him the sort of mental gymnastic which he should practise. he should consider not only what would follow from a given hypothesis, but what would follow from the denial of it, to that which is the subject of the hypothesis, and to all other things. there is no trace in the memorabilia of xenophon of any such method being attributed to socrates; nor is the dialectic here spoken of that 'favourite method' of proceeding by regular divisions, which is described in the phaedrus and philebus, and of which examples are given in the politicus and in the sophist. it is expressly spoken of as the method which socrates had heard zeno practise in the days of his youth (compare soph.). the discussion of socrates with parmenides is one of the most remarkable passages in plato. few writers have ever been able to anticipate 'the criticism of the morrow' on their favourite notions. but plato may here be said to anticipate the judgment not only of the morrow, but of all after-ages on the platonic ideas. for in some points he touches questions which have not yet received their solution in modern philosophy. the first difficulty which parmenides raises respecting the platonic ideas relates to the manner in which individuals are connected with them. do they participate in the ideas, or do they merely resemble them? parmenides shows that objections may be urged against either of these modes of conceiving the connection. things are little by partaking of littleness, great by partaking of greatness, and the like. but they cannot partake of a part of greatness, for that will not make them great, etc.; nor can each object monopolise the whole. the only answer to this is, that 'partaking' is a figure of speech, really corresponding to the processes which a later logic designates by the terms 'abstraction' and 'generalization.' when we have described accurately the methods or forms which the mind employs, we cannot further criticize them; at least we can only criticize them with reference to their fitness as instruments of thought to express facts. socrates attempts to support his view of the ideas by the parallel of the day, which is one and in many places; but he is easily driven from his position by a counter illustration of parmenides, who compares the idea of greatness to a sail. he truly explains to socrates that he has attained the conception of ideas by a process of generalization. at the same time, he points out a difficulty, which appears to be involved--viz. that the process of generalization will go on to infinity. socrates meets the supposed difficulty by a flash of light, which is indeed the true answer 'that the ideas are in our minds only.' neither realism is the truth, nor nominalism is the truth, but conceptualism; and conceptualism or any other psychological theory falls very far short of the infinite subtlety of language and thought. but the realism of ancient philosophy will not admit of this answer, which is repelled by parmenides with another truth or half-truth of later philosophy, 'every subject or subjective must have an object.' here is the great though unconscious truth (shall we say?) or error, which underlay the early greek philosophy. 'ideas must have a real existence;' they are not mere forms or opinions, which may be changed arbitrarily by individuals. but the early greek philosopher never clearly saw that true ideas were only universal facts, and that there might be error in universals as well as in particulars. socrates makes one more attempt to defend the platonic ideas by representing them as paradigms; this is again answered by the 'argumentum ad infinitum.' we may remark, in passing, that the process which is thus described has no real existence. the mind, after having obtained a general idea, does not really go on to form another which includes that, and all the individuals contained under it, and another and another without end. the difficulty belongs in fact to the megarian age of philosophy, and is due to their illogical logic, and to the general ignorance of the ancients respecting the part played by language in the process of thought. no such perplexity could ever trouble a modern metaphysician, any more than the fallacy of 'calvus' or 'acervus,' or of 'achilles and the tortoise.' these 'surds' of metaphysics ought to occasion no more difficulty in speculation than a perpetually recurring fraction in arithmetic. it is otherwise with the objection which follows: how are we to bridge the chasm between human truth and absolute truth, between gods and men? this is the difficulty of philosophy in all ages: how can we get beyond the circle of our own ideas, or how, remaining within them, can we have any criterion of a truth beyond and independent of them? parmenides draws out this difficulty with great clearness. according to him, there are not only one but two chasms: the first, between individuals and the ideas which have a common name; the second, between the ideas in us and the ideas absolute. the first of these two difficulties mankind, as we may say, a little parodying the language of the philebus, have long agreed to treat as obsolete; the second remains a difficulty for us as well as for the greeks of the fourth century before christ, and is the stumbling-block of kant's kritik, and of the hamiltonian adaptation of kant, as well as of the platonic ideas. it has been said that 'you cannot criticize revelation.' 'then how do you know what is revelation, or that there is one at all,' is the immediate rejoinder--'you know nothing of things in themselves.' 'then how do you know that there are things in themselves?' in some respects, the difficulty pressed harder upon the greek than upon ourselves. for conceiving of god more under the attribute of knowledge than we do, he was more under the necessity of separating the divine from the human, as two spheres which had no communication with one another. it is remarkable that plato, speaking by the mouth of parmenides, does not treat even this second class of difficulties as hopeless or insoluble. he says only that they cannot be explained without a long and laborious demonstration: 'the teacher will require superhuman ability, and the learner will be hard of understanding.' but an attempt must be made to find an answer to them; for, as socrates and parmenides both admit, the denial of abstract ideas is the destruction of the mind. we can easily imagine that among the greek schools of philosophy in the fourth century before christ a panic might arise from the denial of universals, similar to that which arose in the last century from hume's denial of our ideas of cause and effect. men do not at first recognize that thought, like digestion, will go on much the same, notwithstanding any theories which may be entertained respecting the nature of the process. parmenides attributes the difficulties in which socrates is involved to a want of comprehensiveness in his mode of reasoning; he should consider every question on the negative as well as the positive hypothesis, with reference to the consequences which flow from the denial as well as from the assertion of a given statement. the argument which follows is the most singular in plato. it appears to be an imitation, or parody, of the zenonian dialectic, just as the speeches in the phaedrus are an imitation of the style of lysias, or as the derivations in the cratylus or the fallacies of the euthydemus are a parody of some contemporary sophist. the interlocutor is not supposed, as in most of the other platonic dialogues, to take a living part in the argument; he is only required to say 'yes' and 'no' in the right places. a hint has been already given that the paradoxes of zeno admitted of a higher application. this hint is the thread by which plato connects the two parts of the dialogue. the paradoxes of parmenides seem trivial to us, because the words to which they relate have become trivial; their true nature as abstract terms is perfectly understood by us, and we are inclined to regard the treatment of them in plato as a mere straw-splitting, or legerdemain of words. yet there was a power in them which fascinated the neoplatonists for centuries afterwards. something that they found in them, or brought to them--some echo or anticipation of a great truth or error, exercised a wonderful influence over their minds. to do the parmenides justice, we should imagine similar aporiai raised on themes as sacred to us, as the notions of one or being were to an ancient eleatic. 'if god is, what follows? if god is not, what follows?' or again: if god is or is not the world; or if god is or is not many, or has or has not parts, or is or is not in the world, or in time; or is or is not finite or infinite. or if the world is or is not; or has or has not a beginning or end; or is or is not infinite, or infinitely divisible. or again: if god is or is not identical with his laws; or if man is or is not identical with the laws of nature. we can easily see that here are many subjects for thought, and that from these and similar hypotheses questions of great interest might arise. and we also remark, that the conclusions derived from either of the two alternative propositions might be equally impossible and contradictory. when we ask what is the object of these paradoxes, some have answered that they are a mere logical puzzle, while others have seen in them an hegelian propaedeutic of the doctrine of ideas. the first of these views derives support from the manner in which parmenides speaks of a similar method being applied to all ideas. yet it is hard to suppose that plato would have furnished so elaborate an example, not of his own but of the eleatic dialectic, had he intended only to give an illustration of method. the second view has been often overstated by those who, like hegel himself, have tended to confuse ancient with modern philosophy. we need not deny that plato, trained in the school of cratylus and heracleitus, may have seen that a contradiction in terms is sometimes the best expression of a truth higher than either (compare soph.). but his ideal theory is not based on antinomies. the correlation of ideas was the metaphysical difficulty of the age in which he lived; and the megarian and cynic philosophy was a 'reductio ad absurdum' of their isolation. to restore them to their natural connexion and to detect the negative element in them is the aim of plato in the sophist. but his view of their connexion falls very far short of the hegelian identity of being and not-being. the being and not-being of plato never merge in each other, though he is aware that 'determination is only negation.' after criticizing the hypotheses of others, it may appear presumptuous to add another guess to the many which have been already offered. may we say, in platonic language, that we still seem to see vestiges of a track which has not yet been taken? it is quite possible that the obscurity of the parmenides would not have existed to a contemporary student of philosophy, and, like the similar difficulty in the philebus, is really due to our ignorance of the mind of the age. there is an obscure megarian influence on plato which cannot wholly be cleared up, and is not much illustrated by the doubtful tradition of his retirement to megara after the death of socrates. for megara was within a walk of athens (phaedr.), and plato might have learned the megarian doctrines without settling there. we may begin by remarking that the theses of parmenides are expressly said to follow the method of zeno, and that the complex dilemma, though declared to be capable of universal application, is applied in this instance to zeno's familiar question of the 'one and many.' here, then, is a double indication of the connexion of the parmenides with the eristic school. the old eleatics had asserted the existence of being, which they at first regarded as finite, then as infinite, then as neither finite nor infinite, to which some of them had given what aristotle calls 'a form,' others had ascribed a material nature only. the tendency of their philosophy was to deny to being all predicates. the megarians, who succeeded them, like the cynics, affirmed that no predicate could be asserted of any subject; they also converted the idea of being into an abstraction of good, perhaps with the view of preserving a sort of neutrality or indifference between the mind and things. as if they had said, in the language of modern philosophy: 'being is not only neither finite nor infinite, neither at rest nor in motion, but neither subjective nor objective.' this is the track along which plato is leading us. zeno had attempted to prove the existence of the one by disproving the existence of the many, and parmenides seems to aim at proving the existence of the subject by showing the contradictions which follow from the assertion of any predicates. take the simplest of all notions, 'unity'; you cannot even assert being or time of this without involving a contradiction. but is the contradiction also the final conclusion? probably no more than of zeno's denial of the many, or of parmenides' assault upon the ideas; no more than of the earlier dialogues 'of search.' to us there seems to be no residuum of this long piece of dialectics. but to the mind of parmenides and plato, 'gott-betrunkene menschen,' there still remained the idea of 'being' or 'good,' which could not be conceived, defined, uttered, but could not be got rid of. neither of them would have imagined that their disputation ever touched the divine being (compare phil.). the same difficulties about unity and being are raised in the sophist; but there only as preliminary to their final solution. if this view is correct, the real aim of the hypotheses of parmenides is to criticize the earlier eleatic philosophy from the point of view of zeno or the megarians. it is the same kind of criticism which plato has extended to his own doctrine of ideas. nor is there any want of poetical consistency in attributing to the 'father parmenides' the last review of the eleatic doctrines. the latest phases of all philosophies were fathered upon the founder of the school. other critics have regarded the final conclusion of the parmenides either as sceptical or as heracleitean. in the first case, they assume that plato means to show the impossibility of any truth. but this is not the spirit of plato, and could not with propriety be put into the mouth of parmenides, who, in this very dialogue, is urging socrates, not to doubt everything, but to discipline his mind with a view to the more precise attainment of truth. the same remark applies to the second of the two theories. plato everywhere ridicules (perhaps unfairly) his heracleitean contemporaries: and if he had intended to support an heracleitean thesis, would hardly have chosen parmenides, the condemner of the 'undiscerning tribe who say that things both are and are not,' to be the speaker. nor, thirdly, can we easily persuade ourselves with zeller that by the 'one' he means the idea; and that he is seeking to prove indirectly the unity of the idea in the multiplicity of phenomena. we may now endeavour to thread the mazes of the labyrinth which parmenides knew so well, and trembled at the thought of them. the argument has two divisions: there is the hypothesis that 1. one is. 2. one is not. if one is, it is nothing. if one is not, it is everything. but is and is not may be taken in two senses: either one is one, or, one has being, from which opposite consequences are deduced, 1.a. if one is one, it is nothing. 1.b. if one has being, it is all things. to which are appended two subordinate consequences: 1.aa. if one has being, all other things are. 1.bb. if one is one, all other things are not. the same distinction is then applied to the negative hypothesis: 2.a. if one is not one, it is all things. 2.b. if one has not being, it is nothing. involving two parallel consequences respecting the other or remainder: 2.aa. if one is not one, other things are all. 2.bb. if one has not being, other things are not. ..... 'i cannot refuse,' said parmenides, 'since, as zeno remarks, we are alone, though i may say with ibycus, who in his old age fell in love, i, like the old racehorse, tremble at the prospect of the course which i am to run, and which i know so well. but as i must attempt this laborious game, what shall be the subject? suppose i take my own hypothesis of the one.' 'by all means,' said zeno. 'and who will answer me? shall i propose the youngest? he will be the most likely to say what he thinks, and his answers will give me time to breathe.' 'i am the youngest,' said aristoteles, 'and at your service; proceed with your questions.'--the result may be summed up as follows:-1.a. one is not many, and therefore has no parts, and therefore is not a whole, which is a sum of parts, and therefore has neither beginning, middle, nor end, and is therefore unlimited, and therefore formless, being neither round nor straight, for neither round nor straight can be defined without assuming that they have parts; and therefore is not in place, whether in another which would encircle and touch the one at many points; or in itself, because that which is self-containing is also contained, and therefore not one but two. this being premised, let us consider whether one is capable either of motion or rest. for motion is either change of substance, or motion on an axis, or from one place to another. but the one is incapable of change of substance, which implies that it ceases to be itself, or of motion on an axis, because there would be parts around the axis; and any other motion involves change of place. but existence in place has been already shown to be impossible; and yet more impossible is coming into being in place, which implies partial existence in two places at once, or entire existence neither within nor without the same; and how can this be? and more impossible still is the coming into being either as a whole or parts of that which is neither a whole nor parts. the one, then, is incapable of motion. but neither can the one be in anything, and therefore not in the same, whether itself or some other, and is therefore incapable of rest. neither is one the same with itself or any other, or other than itself or any other. for if other than itself, then other than one, and therefore not one; and, if the same with other, it would be other, and other than one. neither can one while remaining one be other than other; for other, and not one, is the other than other. but if not other by virtue of being one, not by virtue of itself; and if not by virtue of itself, not itself other, and if not itself other, not other than anything. neither will one be the same with itself. for the nature of the same is not that of the one, but a thing which becomes the same with anything does not become one; for example, that which becomes the same with the many becomes many and not one. and therefore if the one is the same with itself, the one is not one with itself; and therefore one and not one. and therefore one is neither other than other, nor the same with itself. neither will the one be like or unlike itself or other; for likeness is sameness of affections, and the one and the same are different. and one having any affection which is other than being one would be more than one. the one, then, cannot have the same affection with and therefore cannot be like itself or other; nor can the one have any other affection than its own, that is, be unlike itself or any other, for this would imply that it was more than one. the one, then, is neither like nor unlike itself or other. this being the case, neither can the one be equal or unequal to itself or other. for equality implies sameness of measure, as inequality implies a greater or less number of measures. but the one, not having sameness, cannot have sameness of measure; nor a greater or less number of measures, for that would imply parts and multitude. once more, can one be older or younger than itself or other? or of the same age with itself or other? that would imply likeness and unlikeness, equality and inequality. therefore one cannot be in time, because that which is in time is ever becoming older and younger than itself, (for older and younger are relative terms, and he who becomes older becomes younger,) and is also of the same age with itself. none of which, or any other expressions of time, whether past, future, or present, can be affirmed of one. one neither is, has been, nor will be, nor becomes, nor has, nor will become. and, as these are the only modes of being, one is not, and is not one. but to that which is not, there is no attribute or relative, neither name nor word nor idea nor science nor perception nor opinion appertaining. one, then, is neither named, nor uttered, nor known, nor perceived, nor imagined. but can all this be true? 'i think not.' 1.b. let us, however, commence the inquiry again. we have to work out all the consequences which follow on the assumption that the one is. if one is, one partakes of being, which is not the same with one; the words 'being' and 'one' have different meanings. observe the consequence: in the one of being or the being of one are two parts, being and one, which form one whole. and each of the two parts is also a whole, and involves the other, and may be further subdivided into one and being, and is therefore not one but two; and thus one is never one, and in this way the one, if it is, becomes many and infinite. again, let us conceive of a one which by an effort of abstraction we separate from being: will this abstract one be one or many? you say one only; let us see. in the first place, the being of one is other than one; and one and being, if different, are so because they both partake of the nature of other, which is therefore neither one nor being; and whether we take being and other, or being and one, or one and other, in any case we have two things which separately are called either, and together both. and both are two and either of two is severally one, and if one be added to any of the pairs, the sum is three; and two is an even number, three an odd; and two units exist twice, and therefore there are twice two; and three units exist thrice, and therefore there are thrice three, and taken together they give twice three and thrice two: we have even numbers multiplied into even, and odd into even, and even into odd numbers. but if one is, and both odd and even numbers are implied in one, must not every number exist? and number is infinite, and therefore existence must be infinite, for all and every number partakes of being; therefore being has the greatest number of parts, and every part, however great or however small, is equally one. but can one be in many places and yet be a whole? if not a whole it must be divided into parts and represented by a number corresponding to the number of the parts. and if so, we were wrong in saying that being has the greatest number of parts; for being is coequal and coextensive with one, and has no more parts than one; and so the abstract one broken up into parts by being is many and infinite. but the parts are parts of a whole, and the whole is their containing limit, and the one is therefore limited as well as infinite in number; and that which is a whole has beginning, middle, and end, and a middle is equidistant from the extremes; and one is therefore of a certain figure, round or straight, or a combination of the two, and being a whole includes all the parts which are the whole, and is therefore self-contained. but then, again, the whole is not in the parts, whether all or some. not in all, because, if in all, also in one; for, if wanting in any one, how in all?--not in some, because the greater would then be contained in the less. but if not in all, nor in any, nor in some, either nowhere or in other. and if nowhere, nothing; therefore in other. the one as a whole, then, is in another, but regarded as a sum of parts is in itself; and is, therefore, both in itself and in another. this being the case, the one is at once both at rest and in motion: at rest, because resting in itself; in motion, because it is ever in other. and if there is truth in what has preceded, one is the same and not the same with itself and other. for everything in relation to every other thing is either the same with it or other; or if neither the same nor other, then in the relation of part to a whole or whole to a part. but one cannot be a part or whole in relation to one, nor other than one; and is therefore the same with one. yet this sameness is again contradicted by one being in another place from itself which is in the same place; this follows from one being in itself and in another; one, therefore, is other than itself. but if anything is other than anything, will it not be other than other? and the not one is other than the one, and the one than the not one; therefore one is other than all others. but the same and the other exclude one another, and therefore the other can never be in the same; nor can the other be in anything for ever so short a time, as for that time the other will be in the same. and the other, if never in the same, cannot be either in the one or in the not one. and one is not other than not one, either by reason of other or of itself; and therefore they are not other than one another at all. neither can the not one partake or be part of one, for in that case it would be one; nor can the not one be number, for that also involves one. and therefore, not being other than the one or related to the one as a whole to parts or parts to a whole, not one is the same as one. wherefore the one is the same and also not the same with the others and also with itself; and is therefore like and unlike itself and the others, and just as different from the others as they are from the one, neither more nor less. but if neither more nor less, equally different; and therefore the one and the others have the same relations. this may be illustrated by the case of names: when you repeat the same name twice over, you mean the same thing; and when you say that the other is other than the one, or the one other than the other, this very word other (eteron), which is attributed to both, implies sameness. one, then, as being other than others, and other as being other than one, are alike in that they have the relation of otherness; and likeness is similarity of relations. and everything as being other of everything is also like everything. again, same and other, like and unlike, are opposites: and since in virtue of being other than the others the one is like them, in virtue of being the same it must be unlike. again, one, as having the same relations, has no difference of relation, and is therefore not unlike, and therefore like; or, as having different relations, is different and unlike. thus, one, as being the same and not the same with itself and others--for both these reasons and for either of them--is also like and unlike itself and the others. again, how far can one touch itself and the others? as existing in others, it touches the others; and as existing in itself, touches only itself. but from another point of view, that which touches another must be next in order of place; one, therefore, must be next in order of place to itself, and would therefore be two, and in two places. but one cannot be two, and therefore cannot be in contact with itself. nor again can one touch the other. two objects are required to make one contact; three objects make two contacts; and all the objects in the world, if placed in a series, would have as many contacts as there are objects, less one. but if one only exists, and not two, there is no contact. and the others, being other than one, have no part in one, and therefore none in number, and therefore two has no existence, and therefore there is no contact. for all which reasons, one has and has not contact with itself and the others. once more, is one equal and unequal to itself and the others? suppose one and the others to be greater or less than each other or equal to one another, they will be greater or less or equal by reason of equality or greatness or smallness inhering in them in addition to their own proper nature. let us begin by assuming smallness to be inherent in one: in this case the inherence is either in the whole or in a part. if the first, smallness is either coextensive with the whole one, or contains the whole, and, if coextensive with the one, is equal to the one, or if containing the one will be greater than the one. but smallness thus performs the function of equality or of greatness, which is impossible. again, if the inherence be in a part, the same contradiction follows: smallness will be equal to the part or greater than the part; therefore smallness will not inhere in anything, and except the idea of smallness there will be nothing small. neither will greatness; for greatness will have a greater;--and there will be no small in relation to which it is great. and there will be no great or small in objects, but greatness and smallness will be relative only to each other; therefore the others cannot be greater or less than the one; also the one can neither exceed nor be exceeded by the others, and they are therefore equal to one another. and this will be true also of the one in relation to itself: one will be equal to itself as well as to the others (talla). yet one, being in itself, must also be about itself, containing and contained, and is therefore greater and less than itself. further, there is nothing beside the one and the others; and as these must be in something, they must therefore be in one another; and as that in which a thing is is greater than the thing, the inference is that they are both greater and less than one another, because containing and contained in one another. therefore the one is equal to and greater and less than itself or other, having also measures or parts or numbers equal to or greater or less than itself or other. but does one partake of time? this must be acknowledged, if the one partakes of being. for 'to be' is the participation of being in present time, 'to have been' in past, 'to be about to be' in future time. and as time is ever moving forward, the one becomes older than itself; and therefore younger than itself; and is older and also younger when in the process of becoming it arrives at the present; and it is always older and younger, for at any moment the one is, and therefore it becomes and is not older and younger than itself but during an equal time with itself, and is therefore contemporary with itself. and what are the relations of the one to the others? is it or does it become older or younger than they? at any rate the others are more than one, and one, being the least of all numbers, must be prior in time to greater numbers. but on the other hand, one must come into being in a manner accordant with its own nature. now one has parts or others, and has therefore a beginning, middle, and end, of which the beginning is first and the end last. and the parts come into existence first; last of all the whole, contemporaneously with the end, being therefore younger, while the parts or others are older than the one. but, again, the one comes into being in each of the parts as much as in the whole, and must be of the same age with them. therefore one is at once older and younger than the parts or others, and also contemporaneous with them, for no part can be a part which is not one. is this true of becoming as well as being? thus much may be affirmed, that the same things which are older or younger cannot become older or younger in a greater degree than they were at first by the addition of equal times. but, on the other hand, the one, if older than others, has come into being a longer time than they have. and when equal time is added to a longer and shorter, the relative difference between them is diminished. in this way that which was older becomes younger, and that which was younger becomes older, that is to say, younger and older than at first; and they ever become and never have become, for then they would be. thus the one and others always are and are becoming and not becoming younger and also older than one another. and one, partaking of time and also partaking of becoming older and younger, admits of all time, present, past, and future--was, is, shall be--was becoming, is becoming, will become. and there is science of the one, and opinion and name and expression, as is already implied in the fact of our inquiry. yet once more, if one be one and many, and neither one nor many, and also participant of time, must there not be a time at which one as being one partakes of being, and a time when one as not being one is deprived of being? but these two contradictory states cannot be experienced by the one both together: there must be a time of transition. and the transition is a process of generation and destruction, into and from being and not-being, the one and the others. for the generation of the one is the destruction of the others, and the generation of the others is the destruction of the one. there is also separation and aggregation, assimilation and dissimilation, increase, diminution, equalization, a passage from motion to rest, and from rest to motion in the one and many. but when do all these changes take place? when does motion become rest, or rest motion? the answer to this question will throw a light upon all the others. nothing can be in motion and at rest at the same time; and therefore the change takes place 'in a moment'--which is a strange expression, and seems to mean change in no time. which is true also of all the other changes, which likewise take place in no time. 1.aa. but if one is, what happens to the others, which in the first place are not one, yet may partake of one in a certain way? the others are other than the one because they have parts, for if they had no parts they would be simply one, and parts imply a whole to which they belong; otherwise each part would be a part of many, and being itself one of them, of itself, and if a part of all, of each one of the other parts, which is absurd. for a part, if not a part of one, must be a part of all but this one, and if so not a part of each one; and if not a part of each one, not a part of any one of many, and so not of one; and if of none, how of all? therefore a part is neither a part of many nor of all, but of an absolute and perfect whole or one. and if the others have parts, they must partake of the whole, and must be the whole of which they are the parts. and each part, as the word 'each' implies, is also an absolute one. and both the whole and the parts partake of one, for the whole of which the parts are parts is one, and each part is one part of the whole; and whole and parts as participating in one are other than one, and as being other than one are many and infinite; and however small a fraction you separate from them is many and not one. yet the fact of their being parts furnishes the others with a limit towards other parts and towards the whole; they are finite and also infinite: finite through participation in the one, infinite in their own nature. and as being finite, they are alike; and as being infinite, they are alike; but as being both finite and also infinite, they are in the highest degree unlike. and all other opposites might without difficulty be shown to unite in them. 1.bb. once more, leaving all this: is there not also an opposite series of consequences which is equally true of the others, and may be deduced from the existence of one? there is. one is distinct from the others, and the others from one; for one and the others are all things, and there is no third existence besides them. and the whole of one cannot be in others nor parts of it, for it is separated from others and has no parts, and therefore the others have no unity, nor plurality, nor duality, nor any other number, nor any opposition or distinction, such as likeness and unlikeness, some and other, generation and corruption, odd and even. for if they had these they would partake either of one opposite, and this would be a participation in one; or of two opposites, and this would be a participation in two. thus if one exists, one is all things, and likewise nothing, in relation to one and to the others. 2.a. but, again, assume the opposite hypothesis, that the one is not, and what is the consequence? in the first place, the proposition, that one is not, is clearly opposed to the proposition, that not one is not. the subject of any negative proposition implies at once knowledge and difference. thus 'one' in the proposition--'the one is not,' must be something known, or the words would be unintelligible; and again this 'one which is not' is something different from other things. moreover, this and that, some and other, may be all attributed or related to the one which is not, and which though non-existent may and must have plurality, if the one only is non-existent and nothing else; but if all is not-being there is nothing which can be spoken of. also the one which is not differs, and is different in kind from the others, and therefore unlike them; and they being other than the one, are unlike the one, which is therefore unlike them. but one, being unlike other, must be like itself; for the unlikeness of one to itself is the destruction of the hypothesis; and one cannot be equal to the others; for that would suppose being in the one, and the others would be equal to one and like one; both which are impossible, if one does not exist. the one which is not, then, if not equal is unequal to the others, and in equality implies great and small, and equality lies between great and small, and therefore the one which is not partakes of equality. further, the one which is not has being; for that which is true is, and it is true that the one is not. and so the one which is not, if remitting aught of the being of non-existence, would become existent. for not being implies the being of not-being, and being the not-being of not-being; or more truly being partakes of the being of being and not of the being of not-being, and not-being of the being of not-being and not of the not-being of not-being. and therefore the one which is not has being and also not-being. and the union of being and not-being involves change or motion. but how can not-being, which is nowhere, move or change, either from one place to another or in the same place? and whether it is or is not, it would cease to be one if experiencing a change of substance. the one which is not, then, is both in motion and at rest, is altered and unaltered, and becomes and is destroyed, and does not become and is not destroyed. 2.b. once more, let us ask the question, if one is not, what happens in regard to one? the expression 'is not' implies negation of being:--do we mean by this to say that a thing, which is not, in a certain sense is? or do we mean absolutely to deny being of it? the latter. then the one which is not can neither be nor become nor perish nor experience change of substance or place. neither can rest, or motion, or greatness, or smallness, or equality, or unlikeness, or likeness either to itself or other, or attribute or relation, or now or hereafter or formerly, or knowledge or opinion or perception or name or anything else be asserted of that which is not. 2.aa. once more, if one is not, what becomes of the others? if we speak of them they must be, and their very name implies difference, and difference implies relation, not to the one, which is not, but to one another. and they are others of each other not as units but as infinities, the least of which is also infinity, and capable of infinitesimal division. and they will have no unity or number, but only a semblance of unity and number; and the least of them will appear large and manifold in comparison with the infinitesimal fractions into which it may be divided. further, each particle will have the appearance of being equal with the fractions. for in passing from the greater to the less it must reach an intermediate point, which is equality. moreover, each particle although having a limit in relation to itself and to other particles, yet it has neither beginning, middle, nor end; for there is always a beginning before the beginning, and a middle within the middle, and an end beyond the end, because the infinitesimal division is never arrested by the one. thus all being is one at a distance, and broken up when near, and like at a distance and unlike when near; and also the particles which compose being seem to be like and unlike, in rest and motion, in generation and corruption, in contact and separation, if one is not. 2.bb. once more, let us inquire, if the one is not, and the others of the one are, what follows? in the first place, the others will not be the one, nor the many, for in that case the one would be contained in them; neither will they appear to be one or many; because they have no communion or participation in that which is not, nor semblance of that which is not. if one is not, the others neither are, nor appear to be one or many, like or unlike, in contact or separation. in short, if one is not, nothing is. the result of all which is, that whether one is or is not, one and the others, in relation to themselves and to one another, are and are not, and appear to be and appear not to be, in all manner of ways. i. on the first hypothesis we may remark: first, that one is one is an identical proposition, from which we might expect that no further consequences could be deduced. the train of consequences which follows, is inferred by altering the predicate into 'not many.' yet, perhaps, if a strict eristic had been present, oios aner ei kai nun paren, he might have affirmed that the not many presented a different aspect of the conception from the one, and was therefore not identical with it. such a subtlety would be very much in character with the zenonian dialectic. secondly, we may note, that the conclusion is really involved in the premises. for one is conceived as one, in a sense which excludes all predicates. when the meaning of one has been reduced to a point, there is no use in saying that it has neither parts nor magnitude. thirdly, the conception of the same is, first of all, identified with the one; and then by a further analysis distinguished from, and even opposed to it. fourthly, we may detect notions, which have reappeared in modern philosophy, e.g. the bare abstraction of undefined unity, answering to the hegelian 'seyn,' or the identity of contradictions 'that which is older is also younger,' etc., or the kantian conception of an a priori synthetical proposition 'one is.' ii. in the first series of propositions the word 'is' is really the copula; in the second, the verb of existence. as in the first series, the negative consequence followed from one being affirmed to be equivalent to the not many; so here the affirmative consequence is deduced from one being equivalent to the many. in the former case, nothing could be predicated of the one, but now everything--multitude, relation, place, time, transition. one is regarded in all the aspects of one, and with a reference to all the consequences which flow, either from the combination or the separation of them. the notion of transition involves the singular extra-temporal conception of 'suddenness.' this idea of 'suddenness' is based upon the contradiction which is involved in supposing that anything can be in two places at once. it is a mere fiction; and we may observe that similar antinomies have led modern philosophers to deny the reality of time and space. it is not the infinitesimal of time, but the negative of time. by the help of this invention the conception of change, which sorely exercised the minds of early thinkers, seems to be, but is not really at all explained. the difficulty arises out of the imperfection of language, and should therefore be no longer regarded as a difficulty at all. the only way of meeting it, if it exists, is to acknowledge that this rather puzzling double conception is necessary to the expression of the phenomena of motion or change, and that this and similar double notions, instead of being anomalies, are among the higher and more potent instruments of human thought. the processes by which parmenides obtains his remarkable results may be summed up as follows: (1) compound or correlative ideas which involve each other, such as, being and not-being, one and many, are conceived sometimes in a state of composition, and sometimes of division: (2) the division or distinction is sometimes heightened into total opposition, e.g. between one and same, one and other: or (3) the idea, which has been already divided, is regarded, like a number, as capable of further infinite subdivision: (4) the argument often proceeds 'a dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter' and conversely: (5) the analogy of opposites is misused by him; he argues indiscriminately sometimes from what is like, sometimes from what is unlike in them: (6) the idea of being or not-being is identified with existence or non-existence in place or time: (7) the same ideas are regarded sometimes as in process of transition, sometimes as alternatives or opposites: (8) there are no degrees or kinds of sameness, likeness, difference, nor any adequate conception of motion or change: (9) one, being, time, like space in zeno's puzzle of achilles and the tortoise, are regarded sometimes as continuous and sometimes as discrete: (10) in some parts of the argument the abstraction is so rarefied as to become not only fallacious, but almost unintelligible, e.g. in the contradiction which is elicited out of the relative terms older and younger: (11) the relation between two terms is regarded under contradictory aspects, as for example when the existence of the one and the non-existence of the one are equally assumed to involve the existence of the many: (12) words are used through long chains of argument, sometimes loosely, sometimes with the precision of numbers or of geometrical figures. the argument is a very curious piece of work, unique in literature. it seems to be an exposition or rather a 'reductio ad absurdum' of the megarian philosophy, but we are too imperfectly acquainted with this last to speak with confidence about it. it would be safer to say that it is an indication of the sceptical, hyperlogical fancies which prevailed among the contemporaries of socrates. it throws an indistinct light upon aristotle, and makes us aware of the debt which the world owes to him or his school. it also bears a resemblance to some modern speculations, in which an attempt is made to narrow language in such a manner that number and figure may be made a calculus of thought. it exaggerates one side of logic and forgets the rest. it has the appearance of a mathematical process; the inventor of it delights, as mathematicians do, in eliciting or discovering an unexpected result. it also helps to guard us against some fallacies by showing the consequences which flow from them. in the parmenides we seem to breathe the spirit of the megarian philosophy, though we cannot compare the two in detail. but plato also goes beyond his megarian contemporaries; he has split their straws over again, and admitted more than they would have desired. he is indulging the analytical tendencies of his age, which can divide but not combine. and he does not stop to inquire whether the distinctions which he makes are shadowy and fallacious, but 'whither the argument blows' he follows. iii. the negative series of propositions contains the first conception of the negation of a negation. two minus signs in arithmetic or algebra make a plus. two negatives destroy each other. this abstruse notion is the foundation of the hegelian logic. the mind must not only admit that determination is negation, but must get through negation into affirmation. whether this process is real, or in any way an assistance to thought, or, like some other logical forms, a mere figure of speech transferred from the sphere of mathematics, may be doubted. that plato and the most subtle philosopher of the nineteenth century should have lighted upon the same notion, is a singular coincidence of ancient and modern thought. iv. the one and the many or others are reduced to their strictest arithmetical meaning. that one is three or three one, is a proposition which has, perhaps, given rise to more controversy in the world than any other. but no one has ever meant to say that three and one are to be taken in the same sense. whereas the one and many of the parmenides have precisely the same meaning; there is no notion of one personality or substance having many attributes or qualities. the truth seems to be rather the opposite of that which socrates implies: there is no contradiction in the concrete, but in the abstract; and the more abstract the idea, the more palpable will be the contradiction. for just as nothing can persuade us that the number one is the number three, so neither can we be persuaded that any abstract idea is identical with its opposite, although they may both inhere together in some external object, or some more comprehensive conception. ideas, persons, things may be one in one sense and many in another, and may have various degrees of unity and plurality. but in whatever sense and in whatever degree they are one they cease to be many; and in whatever degree or sense they are many they cease to be one. two points remain to be considered: 1st, the connexion between the first and second parts of the dialogue; 2ndly, the relation of the parmenides to the other dialogues. i. in both divisions of the dialogue the principal speaker is the same, and the method pursued by him is also the same, being a criticism on received opinions: first, on the doctrine of ideas; secondly, of being. from the platonic ideas we naturally proceed to the eleatic one or being which is the foundation of them. they are the same philosophy in two forms, and the simpler form is the truer and deeper. for the platonic ideas are mere numerical differences, and the moment we attempt to distinguish between them, their transcendental character is lost; ideas of justice, temperance, and good, are really distinguishable only with reference to their application in the world. if we once ask how they are related to individuals or to the ideas of the divine mind, they are again merged in the aboriginal notion of being. no one can answer the questions which parmenides asks of socrates. and yet these questions are asked with the express acknowledgment that the denial of ideas will be the destruction of the human mind. the true answer to the difficulty here thrown out is the establishment of a rational psychology; and this is a work which is commenced in the sophist. plato, in urging the difficulty of his own doctrine of ideas, is far from denying that some doctrine of ideas is necessary, and for this he is paving the way. in a similar spirit he criticizes the eleatic doctrine of being, not intending to deny ontology, but showing that the old eleatic notion, and the very name 'being,' is unable to maintain itself against the subtleties of the megarians. he did not mean to say that being or substance had no existence, but he is preparing for the development of his later view, that ideas were capable of relation. the fact that contradictory consequences follow from the existence or non-existence of one or many, does not prove that they have or have not existence, but rather that some different mode of conceiving them is required. parmenides may still have thought that 'being was,' just as kant would have asserted the existence of 'things in themselves,' while denying the transcendental use of the categories. several lesser links also connect the first and second parts of the dialogue: (1) the thesis is the same as that which zeno has been already discussing: (2) parmenides has intimated in the first part, that the method of zeno should, as socrates desired, be extended to ideas: (3) the difficulty of participating in greatness, smallness, equality is urged against the ideas as well as against the one. ii. the parmenides is not only a criticism of the eleatic notion of being, but also of the methods of reasoning then in existence, and in this point of view, as well as in the other, may be regarded as an introduction to the sophist. long ago, in the euthydemus, the vulgar application of the 'both and neither' eristic had been subjected to a similar criticism, which there takes the form of banter and irony, here of illustration. the attack upon the ideas is resumed in the philebus, and is followed by a return to a more rational philosophy. the perplexity of the one and many is there confined to the region of ideas, and replaced by a theory of classification; the good arranged in classes is also contrasted with the barren abstraction of the megarians. the war is carried on against the eristics in all the later dialogues, sometimes with a playful irony, at other times with a sort of contempt. but there is no lengthened refutation of them. the parmenides belongs to that stage of the dialogues of plato in which he is partially under their influence, using them as a sort of 'critics or diviners' of the truth of his own, and of the eleatic theories. in the theaetetus a similar negative dialectic is employed in the attempt to define science, which after every effort remains undefined still. the same question is revived from the objective side in the sophist: being and not-being are no longer exhibited in opposition, but are now reconciled; and the true nature of not-being is discovered and made the basis of the correlation of ideas. some links are probably missing which might have been supplied if we had trustworthy accounts of plato's oral teaching. to sum up: the parmenides of plato is a critique, first, of the platonic ideas, and secondly, of the eleatic doctrine of being. neither are absolutely denied. but certain difficulties and consequences are shown in the assumption of either, which prove that the platonic as well as the eleatic doctrine must be remodelled. the negation and contradiction which are involved in the conception of the one and many are preliminary to their final adjustment. the platonic ideas are tested by the interrogative method of socrates; the eleatic one or being is tried by the severer and perhaps impossible method of hypothetical consequences, negative and affirmative. in the latter we have an example of the zenonian or megarian dialectic, which proceeded, not 'by assailing premises, but conclusions'; this is worked out and improved by plato. when primary abstractions are used in every conceivable sense, any or every conclusion may be deduced from them. the words 'one,' 'other,' 'being,' 'like,' 'same,' 'whole,' and their opposites, have slightly different meanings, as they are applied to objects of thought or objects of sense--to number, time, place, and to the higher ideas of the reason;--and out of their different meanings this 'feast' of contradictions 'has been provided.' ... the parmenides of plato belongs to a stage of philosophy which has passed away. at first we read it with a purely antiquarian or historical interest; and with difficulty throw ourselves back into a state of the human mind in which unity and being occupied the attention of philosophers. we admire the precision of the language, in which, as in some curious puzzle, each word is exactly fitted into every other, and long trains of argument are carried out with a sort of geometrical accuracy. we doubt whether any abstract notion could stand the searching cross-examination of parmenides; and may at last perhaps arrive at the conclusion that plato has been using an imaginary method to work out an unmeaning conclusion. but the truth is, that he is carrying on a process which is not either useless or unnecessary in any age of philosophy. we fail to understand him, because we do not realize that the questions which he is discussing could have had any value or importance. we suppose them to be like the speculations of some of the schoolmen, which end in nothing. but in truth he is trying to get rid of the stumbling-blocks of thought which beset his contemporaries. seeing that the megarians and cynics were making knowledge impossible, he takes their 'catch-words' and analyzes them from every conceivable point of view. he is criticizing the simplest and most general of our ideas, in which, as they are the most comprehensive, the danger of error is the most serious; for, if they remain unexamined, as in a mathematical demonstration, all that flows from them is affected, and the error pervades knowledge far and wide. in the beginning of philosophy this correction of human ideas was even more necessary than in our own times, because they were more bound up with words; and words when once presented to the mind exercised a greater power over thought. there is a natural realism which says, 'can there be a word devoid of meaning, or an idea which is an idea of nothing?' in modern times mankind have often given too great importance to a word or idea. the philosophy of the ancients was still more in slavery to them, because they had not the experience of error, which would have placed them above the illusion. the method of the parmenides may be compared with the process of purgation, which bacon sought to introduce into philosophy. plato is warning us against two sorts of 'idols of the den': first, his own ideas, which he himself having created is unable to connect in any way with the external world; secondly, against two idols in particular, 'unity' and 'being,' which had grown up in the pre-socratic philosophy, and were still standing in the way of all progress and development of thought. he does not say with bacon, 'let us make truth by experiment,' or 'from these vague and inexact notions let us turn to facts.' the time has not yet arrived for a purely inductive philosophy. the instruments of thought must first be forged, that they may be used hereafter by modern inquirers. how, while mankind were disputing about universals, could they classify phenomena? how could they investigate causes, when they had not as yet learned to distinguish between a cause and an end? how could they make any progress in the sciences without first arranging them? these are the deficiencies which plato is seeking to supply in an age when knowledge was a shadow of a name only. in the earlier dialogues the socratic conception of universals is illustrated by his genius; in the phaedrus the nature of division is explained; in the republic the law of contradiction and the unity of knowledge are asserted; in the later dialogues he is constantly engaged both with the theory and practice of classification. these were the 'new weapons,' as he terms them in the philebus, which he was preparing for the use of some who, in after ages, would be found ready enough to disown their obligations to the great master, or rather, perhaps, would be incapable of understanding them. numberless fallacies, as we are often truly told, have originated in a confusion of the 'copula,' and the 'verb of existence.' would not the distinction which plato by the mouth of parmenides makes between 'one is one' and 'one has being' have saved us from this and many similar confusions? we see again that a long period in the history of philosophy was a barren tract, not uncultivated, but unfruitful, because there was no inquiry into the relation of language and thought, and the metaphysical imagination was incapable of supplying the missing link between words and things. the famous dispute between nominalists and realists would never have been heard of, if, instead of transferring the platonic ideas into a crude latin phraseology, the spirit of plato had been truly understood and appreciated. upon the term substance at least two celebrated theological controversies appear to hinge, which would not have existed, or at least not in their present form, if we had 'interrogated' the word substance, as plato has the notions of unity and being. these weeds of philosophy have struck their roots deep into the soil, and are always tending to reappear, sometimes in new-fangled forms; while similar words, such as development, evolution, law, and the like, are constantly put in the place of facts, even by writers who profess to base truth entirely upon fact. in an unmetaphysical age there is probably more metaphysics in the common sense (i.e. more a priori assumption) than in any other, because there is more complete unconsciousness that we are resting on our own ideas, while we please ourselves with the conviction that we are resting on facts. we do not consider how much metaphysics are required to place us above metaphysics, or how difficult it is to prevent the forms of expression which are ready made for our use from outrunning actual observation and experiment. in the last century the educated world were astonished to find that the whole fabric of their ideas was falling to pieces, because hume amused himself by analyzing the word 'cause' into uniform sequence. then arose a philosophy which, equally regardless of the history of the mind, sought to save mankind from scepticism by assigning to our notions of 'cause and effect,' 'substance and accident,' 'whole and part,' a necessary place in human thought. without them we could have no experience, and therefore they were supposed to be prior to experience--to be incrusted on the 'i'; although in the phraseology of kant there could be no transcendental use of them, or, in other words, they were only applicable within the range of our knowledge. but into the origin of these ideas, which he obtains partly by an analysis of the proposition, partly by development of the 'ego,' he never inquires--they seem to him to have a necessary existence; nor does he attempt to analyse the various senses in which the word 'cause' or 'substance' may be employed. the philosophy of berkeley could never have had any meaning, even to himself, if he had first analyzed from every point of view the conception of 'matter.' this poor forgotten word (which was 'a very good word' to describe the simplest generalization of external objects) is now superseded in the vocabulary of physical philosophers by 'force,' which seems to be accepted without any rigid examination of its meaning, as if the general idea of 'force' in our minds furnished an explanation of the infinite variety of forces which exist in the universe. a similar ambiguity occurs in the use of the favourite word 'law,' which is sometimes regarded as a mere abstraction, and then elevated into a real power or entity, almost taking the place of god. theology, again, is full of undefined terms which have distracted the human mind for ages. mankind have reasoned from them, but not to them; they have drawn out the conclusions without proving the premises; they have asserted the premises without examining the terms. the passions of religious parties have been roused to the utmost about words of which they could have given no explanation, and which had really no distinct meaning. one sort of them, faith, grace, justification, have been the symbols of one class of disputes; as the words substance, nature, person, of another, revelation, inspiration, and the like, of a third. all of them have been the subject of endless reasonings and inferences; but a spell has hung over the minds of theologians or philosophers which has prevented them from examining the words themselves. either the effort to rise above and beyond their own first ideas was too great for them, or there might, perhaps, have seemed to be an irreverence in doing so. about the divine being himself, in whom all true theological ideas live and move, men have spoken and reasoned much, and have fancied that they instinctively know him. but they hardly suspect that under the name of god even christians have included two characters or natures as much opposed as the good and evil principle of the persians. to have the true use of words we must compare them with things; in using them we acknowledge that they seldom give a perfect representation of our meaning. in like manner when we interrogate our ideas we find that we are not using them always in the sense which we supposed. and plato, while he criticizes the inconsistency of his own doctrine of universals and draws out the endless consequences which flow from the assertion either that 'being is' or that 'being is not,' by no means intends to deny the existence of universals or the unity under which they are comprehended. there is nothing further from his thoughts than scepticism. but before proceeding he must examine the foundations which he and others have been laying; there is nothing true which is not from some point of view untrue, nothing absolute which is not also relative (compare republic). and so, in modern times, because we are called upon to analyze our ideas and to come to a distinct understanding about the meaning of words; because we know that the powers of language are very unequal to the subtlety of nature or of mind, we do not therefore renounce the use of them; but we replace them in their old connexion, having first tested their meaning and quality, and having corrected the error which is involved in them; or rather always remembering to make allowance for the adulteration or alloy which they contain. we cannot call a new metaphysical world into existence any more than we can frame a new universal language; in thought as in speech, we are dependent on the past. we know that the words 'cause' and 'effect' are very far from representing to us the continuity or the complexity of nature or the different modes or degrees in which phenomena are connected. yet we accept them as the best expression which we have of the correlation of forces or objects. we see that the term 'law' is a mere abstraction, under which laws of matter and of mind, the law of nature and the law of the land are included, and some of these uses of the word are confusing, because they introduce into one sphere of thought associations which belong to another; for example, order or sequence is apt to be confounded with external compulsion and the internal workings of the mind with their material antecedents. yet none of them can be dispensed with; we can only be on our guard against the error or confusion which arises out of them. thus in the use of the word 'substance' we are far from supposing that there is any mysterious substratum apart from the objects which we see, and we acknowledge that the negative notion is very likely to become a positive one. still we retain the word as a convenient generalization, though not without a double sense, substance, and essence, derived from the two-fold translation of the greek ousia. so the human mind makes the reflection that god is not a person like ourselves--is not a cause like the material causes in nature, nor even an intelligent cause like a human agent--nor an individual, for he is universal; and that every possible conception which we can form of him is limited by the human faculties. we cannot by any effort of thought or exertion of faith be in and out of our own minds at the same instant. how can we conceive him under the forms of time and space, who is out of time and space? how get rid of such forms and see him as he is? how can we imagine his relation to the world or to ourselves? innumerable contradictions follow from either of the two alternatives, that god is or that he is not. yet we are far from saying that we know nothing of him, because all that we know is subject to the conditions of human thought. to the old belief in him we return, but with corrections. he is a person, but not like ourselves; a mind, but not a human mind; a cause, but not a material cause, nor yet a maker or artificer. the words which we use are imperfect expressions of his true nature; but we do not therefore lose faith in what is best and highest in ourselves and in the world. 'a little philosophy takes us away from god; a great deal brings us back to him.' when we begin to reflect, our first thoughts respecting him and ourselves are apt to be sceptical. for we can analyze our religious as well as our other ideas; we can trace their history; we can criticize their perversion; we see that they are relative to the human mind and to one another. but when we have carried our criticism to the furthest point, they still remain, a necessity of our moral nature, better known and understood by us, and less liable to be shaken, because we are more aware of their necessary imperfection. they come to us with 'better opinion, better confirmation,' not merely as the inspirations either of ourselves or of another, but deeply rooted in history and in the human mind. parmenides persons of the dialogue: cephalus, adeimantus, glaucon, antiphon, pythodorus, socrates, zeno, parmenides, aristoteles. cephalus rehearses a dialogue which is supposed to have been narrated in his presence by antiphon, the half-brother of adeimantus and glaucon, to certain clazomenians. we had come from our home at clazomenae to athens, and met adeimantus and glaucon in the agora. welcome, cephalus, said adeimantus, taking me by the hand; is there anything which we can do for you in athens? yes; that is why i am here; i wish to ask a favour of you. what may that be? he said. i want you to tell me the name of your half brother, which i have forgotten; he was a mere child when i last came hither from clazomenae, but that was a long time ago; his father's 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. 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 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 remembered 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 parmenides 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 pythodorus 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 involve an impossibility. in all that you say have you any 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? is that your meaning, or have i misunderstood you? no, said zeno; you have correctly understood my general purpose. i see, parmenides, said socrates, that zeno would like to be not only one with you in friendship but your second self in his writings too; he puts what you say in another way, and would fain make believe that he is telling us something which is new. for you, in your poems, say the all is one, and of this you adduce excellent proofs; and he on the other hand says there is no many; and on behalf 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 as a spartan hound in pursuing the track, you do not fully 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, 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, 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 coexistence 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 these admit of admixture and separation in themselves, i should be very much astonished. this part of the argument appears to be treated by you, zeno, in a very spirited manner; but, as i was saying, i should be far more amazed if any one 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 ideas of the just and the beautiful and the good, and of all that class? yes, he said, i should. and would you make an idea of man apart from us and 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 such as they appear to us, and i am afraid that there would be an absurdity in assuming any idea of them, although i sometimes get disturbed, and begin to think that there is nothing without an idea; but then again, when i have taken 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, become similar, because they partake of similarity; and great things become great, because they partake of greatness; 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 things which participate in them will have a part of them only and not the whole idea existing in each of them? that seems to follow. 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 the many great things, each one is great in virtue of a portion of greatness less than absolute greatness--is that conceivable? no. or will each equal thing, if possessing some small portion of equality less than absolute equality, be equal to some other thing by virtue of that portion only? impossible. or suppose one of us to have a portion of smallness; this is but a part of the small, and therefore the absolutely small is greater; if the absolutely small be greater, that to which the part of the small is added will be smaller and not greater than before. how absurd! 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 idea of each kind is as follows:--you see a number of great objects, and when you look at them there seems to you to be 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 embrace in one view the idea of greatness and of great things which are not the idea, and to compare them, will not another greatness arise, which will appear to be the source of all these? it would seem so. then another idea of greatness now comes into view over and above absolute greatness, and the individuals which partake 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, parmenides? 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 participates 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? they must. and will not that of which the two partake, and which makes them alike, be the idea itself? certainly. then the idea cannot be like the individual, or the individual like the idea; for if they are alike, some further idea 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 by resemblance, has to be given up, and some other mode of participation devised? 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 unconvinced, 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 who maintains the existence of absolute essences, will admit that they cannot exist in us. no, said socrates; for then they would be no longer absolute. true, he said; and therefore when ideas are what they are in relation to one another, their essence is determined by a relation among themselves, and has nothing to do with the resemblances, or whatever they are to be termed, which are in our sphere, and from which we receive this or that name when we partake of them. and the things which are within our sphere and have the same names with them, are likewise only relative to one another, and not to the ideas which have the same names with them, but belong to themselves and not to them. what do you mean? said socrates. i may illustrate my meaning in this way, said parmenides:--a master has a slave; now there is nothing absolute in the relation between them, which is simply a relation of one man to another. but there is also an idea of mastership in the abstract, which is relative to the idea of slavery in the abstract. these natures have nothing to do with us, nor we with them; they are concerned with themselves only, and we with ourselves. do you see my meaning? yes, said socrates, i quite see your meaning. and will not knowledge--i mean absolute knowledge--answer to absolute truth? certainly. and each kind of absolute knowledge will answer to each kind of absolute being? yes. but the knowledge which we have, will answer to the truth which we have; and again, each kind of knowledge which we have, will be a knowledge of each kind of being which we have? certainly. but the ideas themselves, as you admit, we have not, and cannot have? no, we cannot. and the absolute natures or kinds are known severally by the absolute idea of knowledge? yes. and we have not got the idea of knowledge? no. then none of the ideas are known to us, because we have no share in absolute knowledge? i suppose not. then the nature of the beautiful in itself, and of the good in itself, and all other ideas which we suppose to exist absolutely, are unknown to us? it would seem so. i think that there is a stranger consequence still. what is it? would you, or would you not say, that absolute knowledge, if there is such a thing, must be a far more exact knowledge than our knowledge; and the same of beauty and of the rest? yes. and if there be such a thing as participation in absolute knowledge, no one is more likely than god to have this most exact knowledge? certainly. but then, will god, having absolute knowledge, have a knowledge of human things? why not? because, socrates, said parmenides, we have admitted that the ideas are not valid in relation to human things; nor human things in relation to them; the relations of either are limited to their respective spheres. yes, that has been admitted. and if god has this perfect authority, and perfect knowledge, his authority cannot rule us, nor his knowledge know us, or any human thing; just as our authority does not extend to the gods, nor our knowledge know anything which is divine, so by parity of reason they, being gods, are not our masters, neither do they know the things of men. yet, surely, said socrates, to deprive god of knowledge is monstrous. these, socrates, said parmenides, are a few, and only a few of the difficulties in which we are involved if ideas really are and we determine each one of them to be an absolute unity. he who hears what may be said against them will deny the very existence of them--and even if they do exist, he will say that they must of necessity be unknown to man; and he will seem to have reason on his side, and as we were remarking just now, will be very difficult to convince; a man must be gifted with very considerable ability before he can learn that everything has a class and an absolute essence; and still more remarkable will he be who discovers all these things for himself, and having thoroughly investigated them is able to teach them to others. i agree with you, parmenides, said socrates; and what you say is very much to my mind. and yet, socrates, said parmenides, if a man, fixing his attention on these and the like difficulties, does away with ideas of things and will not admit that every individual thing has its own determinate idea which is always one and the same, he will have nothing on which his mind can rest; and so he will utterly destroy the power of reasoning, as you seem to me to have particularly noted. very true, he said. but, then, what is to become of philosophy? whither shall we turn, if the ideas are unknown? i certainly do not see my way at present. yes, said parmenides; and i think that this arises, socrates, out of your attempting to define the beautiful, the just, the good, and the ideas generally, without sufficient previous training. i noticed your deficiency, when i heard you talking here with your friend aristoteles, the day before yesterday. the impulse that carries you towards philosophy is assuredly noble and divine; but there is an art which is called by the vulgar idle talking, and which is often imagined to be useless; in that you must train and exercise yourself, now that you are young, or truth will elude your grasp. and what is the nature of this exercise, parmenides, which you would recommend? that which you heard zeno practising; at the same time, i give you credit for saying to him that you did not care to examine the perplexity in reference to visible things, or to consider the question that way; but only in reference to objects of thought, and to what may be called ideas. why, yes, he said, there appears to me to be no difficulty in showing by this method that visible things are like and unlike and may experience anything. quite true, said parmenides; but i think that you should go a step further, and consider not only the consequences which flow from a given hypothesis, but also the consequences which flow from denying the hypothesis; and that will be still better training for you. what do you mean? he said. i mean, for example, that in the case of this very hypothesis of zeno's about the many, you should inquire not only what will be the consequences to the many in relation to themselves and to the one, and to the one in relation to itself and the many, on the hypothesis of the being of the many, but also what will be the consequences to the one and the many in their relation to themselves and to each other, on the opposite hypothesis. or, again, if likeness is or is not, what will be the consequences in either of these cases to the subjects of the hypothesis, and to other things, in relation both to themselves and to one another, and so of unlikeness; and the same holds good of motion and rest, of generation and destruction, and even of being and not-being. in a word, when you suppose anything to be or not to be, or to be in any way affected, you must look at the consequences in relation to the thing itself, and to any other things which you choose,--to each of them singly, to more than one, and to all; and so of other things, you must look at them in relation to themselves and to anything else which you suppose either to be or not to be, if you would train yourself perfectly and see the real truth. that, parmenides, is a tremendous business of which you speak, and i do not quite understand you; will you take some hypothesis and go through the steps?--then i shall apprehend you better. that, socrates, is a serious task to impose on a man of my years. then will you, zeno? said socrates. zeno answered with a smile:--let us make our petition to parmenides himself, who is quite right in saying that you are hardly aware of the extent of the task which you are imposing on him; and if there were more of us i should not ask him, for these are not subjects which any one, especially at his age, can well speak of before a large audience; most people are not aware that this roundabout progress through all things is the only way in which the mind can attain truth and wisdom. and therefore, parmenides, i join in the request of socrates, that i may hear the process again which i have not heard for a long time. when zeno had thus spoken, pythodorus, according to antiphon's report of him, said, that he himself and aristoteles and the whole company entreated parmenides to give an example of the process. i cannot refuse, said parmenides; and yet i feel rather like ibycus, who, when in his old age, against his will, he fell in love, compared himself to an old racehorse, who was about to run in a chariot race, shaking with fear at the course he knew so well--this was his simile of himself. and i also experience a trembling when i remember through what an ocean of words i have to wade at my time of life. but i must indulge you, as zeno says that i ought, and we are alone. where shall i begin? and what shall be our first hypothesis, if i am to attempt this laborious pastime? shall i begin with myself, and take my own hypothesis the one? and consider the consequences which follow on the supposition either of the being or of the not-being of one? by all means, said zeno. and who will answer me? he said. shall i propose the youngest? he will not make difficulties and will be the most likely to say what he thinks; and his answers will give me time to breathe. i am the one whom you mean, parmenides, said aristoteles; for i am the youngest and at your service. ask, and i will answer. parmenides proceeded: 1.a. if one is, he said, the one cannot be many? impossible. then the one cannot have parts, and cannot be a whole? why not? because every part is part of a whole; is it not? yes. and what is a whole? would not that of which no part is wanting be a whole? certainly. then, in either case, the one would be made up of parts; both as being a whole, and also as having parts? to be sure. and in either case, the one would be many, and not one? true. but, surely, it ought to be one and not many? it ought. then, if the one is to remain one, it will not be a whole, and will not have parts? no. but if it has no parts, it will have neither beginning, middle, nor end; for these would of course be parts of it. right. but then, again, a beginning and an end are the limits of everything? certainly. then the one, having neither beginning nor end, is unlimited? yes, unlimited. and therefore formless; for it cannot partake either of round or straight. but why? why, because the round is that of which all the extreme points are equidistant from the centre? yes. and the straight is that of which the centre intercepts the view of the extremes? true. then the one would have parts and would be many, if it partook either of a straight or of a circular form? assuredly. but having no parts, it will be neither straight nor round? right. and, being of such a nature, it cannot be in any place, for it cannot be either in another or in itself. how so? because if it were in another, it would be encircled by that in which it was, and would touch it at many places and with many parts; but that which is one and indivisible, and does not partake of a circular nature, cannot be touched all round in many places. certainly not. but if, on the other hand, one were in itself, it would also be contained by nothing else but itself; that is to say, if it were really in itself; for nothing can be in anything which does not contain it. impossible. but then, that which contains must be other than that which is contained? for the same whole cannot do and suffer both at once; and if so, one will be no longer one, but two? true. then one cannot be anywhere, either in itself or in another? no. further consider, whether that which is of such a nature can have either rest or motion. why not? why, because the one, if it were moved, would be either moved in place or changed in nature; for these are the only kinds of motion. yes. and the one, when it changes and ceases to be itself, cannot be any longer one. it cannot. it cannot therefore experience the sort of motion which is change of nature? clearly not. then can the motion of the one be in place? perhaps. but if the one moved in place, must it not either move round and round in the same place, or from one place to another? it must. and that which moves in a circle must rest upon a centre; and that which goes round upon a centre must have parts which are different from the centre; but that which has no centre and no parts cannot possibly be carried round upon a centre? impossible. but perhaps the motion of the one consists in change of place? perhaps so, if it moves at all. and have we not already shown that it cannot be in anything? yes. then its coming into being in anything is still more impossible; is it not? i do not see why. why, because anything which comes into being in anything, can neither as yet be in that other thing while still coming into being, nor be altogether out of it, if already coming into being in it. certainly not. and therefore whatever comes into being in another must have parts, and then one part may be in, and another part out of that other; but that which has no parts can never be at one and the same time neither wholly within nor wholly without anything. true. and is there not a still greater impossibility in that which has no parts, and is not a whole, coming into being anywhere, since it cannot come into being either as a part or as a whole? clearly. then it does not change place by revolving in the same spot, nor by going somewhere and coming into being in something; nor again, by change in itself? very true. then in respect of any kind of motion the one is immoveable? immoveable. but neither can the one be in anything, as we affirm? yes, we said so. then it is never in the same? why not? because if it were in the same it would be in something. certainly. and we said that it could not be in itself, and could not be in other? true. then one is never in the same place? it would seem not. but that which is never in the same place is never quiet or at rest? never. one then, as would seem, is neither at rest nor in motion? it certainly appears so. neither will it be the same with itself or other; nor again, other than itself or other. how is that? if other than itself it would be other than one, and would not be one. true. and if the same with other, it would be that other, and not itself; so that upon this supposition too, it would not have the nature of one, but would be other than one? it would. then it will not be the same with other, or other than itself? it will not. neither will it be other than other, while it remains one; for not one, but only other, can be other than other, and nothing else. true. then not by virtue of being one will it be other? certainly not. but if not by virtue of being one, not by virtue of itself; and if not by virtue of itself, not itself, and itself not being other at all, will not be other than anything? right. neither will one be the same with itself. how not? surely the nature of the one is not the nature of the same. why not? it is not when anything becomes the same with anything that it becomes one. what of that? anything which becomes the same with the many, necessarily becomes many and not one. true. but, if there were no difference between the one and the same, when a thing became the same, it would always become one; and when it became one, the same? certainly. and, therefore, if one be the same with itself, it is not one with itself, and will therefore be one and also not one. surely that is impossible. and therefore the one can neither be other than other, nor the same with itself. impossible. and thus the one can neither be the same, nor other, either in relation to itself or other? no. neither will the one be like anything or unlike itself or other. why not? because likeness is sameness of affections. yes. and sameness has been shown to be of a nature distinct from oneness? that has been shown. but if the one had any other affection than that of being one, it would be affected in such a way as to be more than one; which is impossible. true. then the one can never be so affected as to be the same either with another or with itself? clearly not. then it cannot be like another, or like itself? no. nor can it be affected so as to be other, for then it would be affected in such a way as to be more than one. it would. that which is affected otherwise than itself or another, will be unlike itself or another, for sameness of affections is likeness. true. but the one, as appears, never being affected otherwise, is never unlike itself or other? never. then the one will never be either like or unlike itself or other? plainly not. again, being of this nature, it can neither be equal nor unequal either to itself or to other. how is that? why, because the one if equal must be of the same measures as that to which it is equal. true. and if greater or less than things which are commensurable with it, the one will have more measures than that which is less, and fewer than that which is greater? yes. and so of things which are not commensurate with it, the one will have greater measures than that which is less and smaller than that which is greater. certainly. but how can that which does not partake of sameness, have either the same measures or have anything else the same? impossible. and not having the same measures, the one cannot be equal either with itself or with another? it appears so. but again, whether it have fewer or more measures, it will have as many parts as it has measures; and thus again the one will be no longer one but will have as many parts as measures. right. and if it were of one measure, it would be equal to that measure; yet it has been shown to be incapable of equality. it has. then it will neither partake of one measure, nor of many, nor of few, nor of the same at all, nor be equal to itself or another; nor be greater or less than itself, or other? certainly. well, and do we suppose that one can be older, or younger than anything, or of the same age with it? why not? why, because that which is of the same age with itself or other, must partake of equality or likeness of time; and we said that the one did not partake either of equality or of likeness? we did say so. and we also said, that it did not partake of inequality or unlikeness. very true. how then can one, being of this nature, be either older or younger than anything, or have the same age with it? in no way. then one cannot be older or younger, or of the same age, either with itself or with another? clearly not. then the one, being of this nature, cannot be in time at all; for must not that which is in time, be always growing older than itself? certainly. and that which is older, must always be older than something which is younger? true. then, that which becomes older than itself, also becomes at the same time younger than itself, if it is to have something to become older than. what do you mean? i mean this:--a thing does not need to become different from another thing which is already different; it is different, and if its different has become, it has become different; if its different will be, it will be different; but of that which is becoming different, there cannot have been, or be about to be, or yet be, a different--the only different possible is one which is becoming. that is inevitable. but, surely, the elder is a difference relative to the younger, and to nothing else. true. then that which becomes older than itself must also, at the same time, become younger than itself? yes. but again, it is true that it cannot become for a longer or for a shorter time than itself, but it must become, and be, and have become, and be about to be, for the same time with itself? that again is inevitable. then things which are in time, and partake of time, must in every case, i suppose, be of the same age with themselves; and must also become at once older and younger than themselves? yes. but the one did not partake of those affections? not at all. then it does not partake of time, and is not in any time? so the argument shows. well, but do not the expressions 'was,' and 'has become,' and 'was becoming,' signify a participation of past time? certainly. and do not 'will be,' 'will become,' 'will have become,' signify a participation of future time? yes. and 'is,' or 'becomes,' signifies a participation of present time? certainly. and if the one is absolutely without participation in time, it never had become, or was becoming, or was at any time, or is now become or is becoming, or is, or will become, or will have become, or will be, hereafter. most true. but are there any modes of partaking of being other than these? there are none. then the one cannot possibly partake of being? that is the inference. then the one is not at all? clearly not. then the one does not exist in such way as to be one; for if it were and partook of being, it would already be; but if the argument is to be trusted, the one neither is nor is one? true. but that which is not admits of no attribute or relation? of course not. then there is no name, nor expression, nor perception, nor opinion, nor knowledge of it? clearly not. then it is neither named, nor expressed, nor opined, nor known, nor does anything that is perceive it. so we must infer. but can all this be true about the one? i think not. 1.b. suppose, now, that we return once more to the original hypothesis; let us see whether, on a further review, any new aspect of the question appears. i shall be very happy to do so. we say that we have to work out together all the consequences, whatever they may be, which follow, if the one is? yes. then we will begin at the beginning:--if one is, can one be, and not partake of being? impossible. then the one will have being, but its being will not be the same with the one; for if the same, it would not be the being of the one; nor would the one have participated in being, for the proposition that one is would have been identical with the proposition that one is one; but our hypothesis is not if one is one, what will follow, but if one is:--am i not right? quite right. we mean to say, that being has not the same significance as one? of course. and when we put them together shortly, and say 'one is,' that is equivalent to saying, 'partakes of being'? quite true. once more then let us ask, if one is what will follow. does not this hypothesis necessarily imply that one is of such a nature as to have parts? how so? in this way:--if being is predicated of the one, if the one is, and one of being, if being is one; and if being and one are not the same; and since the one, which we have assumed, is, must not the whole, if it is one, itself be, and have for its parts, one and being? certainly. and is each of these parts--one and being--to be simply called a part, or must the word 'part' be relative to the word 'whole'? the latter. then that which is one is both a whole and has a part? certainly. again, of the parts of the one, if it is--i mean being and one--does either fail to imply the other? is the one wanting to being, or being to the one? impossible. thus, each of the parts also has in turn both one and being, and is at the least made up of two parts; and the same principle goes on for ever, and every part whatever has always these two parts; for being always involves one, and one being; so that one is always disappearing, and becoming two. certainly. and so the one, if it is, must be infinite in multiplicity? clearly. let us take another direction. what direction? we say that the one partakes of being and therefore it is? yes. 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 such case we take two things, which may be rightly called both. how so. in 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 both? 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 must be severally one? 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 are three there must be thrice; that is, if twice one makes two, and thrice one three? 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. here, then, we have even taken even times, and odd taken 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 multiplicity, 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. 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, 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-extensive. 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 one, as a whole, will be limited; for are not the parts contained 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 extremes; or it would not be in the middle? yes. 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 regarded as being all its parts, is in itself; and therefore the one must be itself in itself and also in another. certainly. the one then, being of this nature, is of necessity both at rest and in motion? how? the one is at rest since it is in itself, for being in one, and not passing out of this, it is in the same, which is itself. true. and that which is ever in the same, must be ever at rest? 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 same or other; or if neither the same nor other, then in the relation of a part to a whole, or of a whole to a part. clearly. and is the one a part of itself? certainly not. since it is not a part in relation to itself it cannot be related to itself as whole to 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 relation to itself, must it not be the same with itself? certainly. but then, again, a thing which is in another place from 'itself,' if this 'itself' remains in the same place with itself, must be other than 'itself,' for it will be in another place? true. then the one has been shown to be at once in itself and in another? yes. thus, then, as appears, the one will be other than itself? true. well, then, if anything be other than anything, will it not be other than that which is other? certainly. and will not all things that are not one, be other than the one, and the one other than the not-one? of course. then the one will be other than the others? true. but, consider:--are not the absolute same, and the absolute other, opposites to one another? of course. then will the same ever be in the other, or the other in the same? they will not. if then the other is never in the same, there is nothing in which the other is during any space of time; for during that space of time, however small, the other would be in the same. is not that true? yes. and since the other is never in the same, it can never be in 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. how can they be? but if they are not other, either by reason of themselves 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. 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 oftener? 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 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? certainly. and in that it was other it was shown to be like? yes. but in that it was the same it will be unlike by virtue of 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 otherwise, and not being affected otherwise is not unlike, and not being unlike, is like; but in so far as it is affected by other it is otherwise, and being otherwise affected is unlike. true. then because the one is the same with the others and 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 others?--consider. i am considering. the one was shown to be in itself which was a whole? true. and also in other things? yes. 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? 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 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 contact 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. but if there be only one, and not two, there will be no contact? how can there be? 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? how do you mean? if the one were greater or less than the others, or the others greater or less than the one, they would not be greater 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? if, then, smallness is present in the one it will be present either in the whole or in a part of the whole? certainly. 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. certainly. 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 not greater or less than the one, if they have neither greatness nor smallness; nor have greatness 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. then if the one is neither greater nor less than the others, it cannot either exceed or be exceeded by them? certainly not. and that which neither exceeds nor is exceeded, must be 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 and be without itself; and, as containing itself, will be greater than itself; and, as contained in itself, will be less; and will thus be greater and less than itself. it will. now there cannot possibly be anything which is not included in the one and the others? of course not. 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 other way can one thing be in another. true. and since there is nothing other or besides the one and the others, and they must be in something, must they not be in one another, the one in the others and the others in the one, if they are to be anywhere? that is clear. but inasmuch as the one is in the others, the others will be greater than the one, because they contain the one, which will be less than the others, because it is contained in them; and 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? 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; inasmuch 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 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. but to be (einai) is only participation of being in present 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 whatever 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. 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 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? yes. then the one of all things that have number is the first to come into being; but all other things have also number, being plural and not singular. 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 if parts, then a beginning, middle and end? yes. and a beginning, both of the one itself and of all other things, comes into being first of all; and after the beginning, 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 to come into being with the last; and, since the one cannot come into being except in accordance with its own nature, its nature will require that it should come into being after the others, simultaneously with the end. 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. 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 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? just as the one was proven to be older than the others and the others than the one. and what of that? if the one is older than the others, has come into being a longer time than the others. yes. but consider again; if we add equal time to a greater and a less time, will the greater differ from the less time by an equal or by a smaller portion than before? by a smaller portion. then the difference between the age of the one and the age of the others will not be afterwards so great as at first, but if an equal time be added to both of them they will differ less and less in age? yes. and that which differs in age from some other less than formerly, from being older will become younger in relation to that other than which it was older? yes, younger. and if the one becomes younger the others aforesaid will become older than they were before, in relation to the one. certainly. then that which had become younger becomes older relatively to that which previously had become and was older; 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. that is clear. inasmuch then, one thing does not become older or younger than another, in that they always differ from each 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. yet once more and for the third time, let us consider: if the one is both one and many, as we have described, and is neither one nor many, and participates in time, must it not, in as far as it is one, at times partake of being, and in as far as it is not one, at times not partake of being? certainly. but can it partake of being when not partaking of being, or not partake of being when partaking of being? impossible. then the one partakes and does not partake of being at different times, for that is the only way in which it can partake and not partake of the same. true. and is there not also a time at which it assumes being and relinquishes being--for how can it have and not have the same thing unless it receives and also gives it up at some time? impossible. and the assuming of being is what you would call becoming? i should. and the relinquishing of being you would call destruction? i should. 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 assimilated 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. 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 something 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 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 dissimilation; 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. true. all these, then, are the affections of the one, if the one has being. of course. 1.aa. but if one is, what will happen to the others--is not that also to be considered? yes. let us show then, if one is, what will be the affections of the others than the one. let us do so. inasmuch as there are things other than the one, the others are not the one; for if they were they could not be other than the one. very true. nor are the others altogether without the one, but in a certain way they participate in the one. in what way? because the others are other than the one inasmuch as they have parts; for if they had no parts they would be simply 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 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, 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 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 partake of the one at the very time when they are partaking of it? clearly. they do so then as multitudes in which the one is not present? very true. 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, regarded simply, and in itself, will not they, as far as we see them, be unlimited in number? 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, are infinite, and also partake of limit. certainly. then they are both like and unlike one another and themselves. how is that? 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. 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 reference to both of them together, most opposed and most unlike. that appears to be true. 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. 1.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 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. then there is no way in which the others can partake of the one, if they do not partake either in whole or in part? it would seem not. then there is no way in which the others are one, or have in themselves any unity? there is not. nor are the others many; for if they were many, each part 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 many, nor whole, nor part. true. then the others neither are nor contain two or three, if entirely deprived of the one? true. then the others are neither like nor unlike the one, nor is likeness and unlikeness in them; for if they were like and unlike, or had in them likeness and unlikeness, they would have two natures in them opposite to one another. that is clear. but for that which partakes of nothing to partake of two things was held by us to be impossible? impossible. then the others are neither like nor unlike nor both, for if they were like or unlike they would partake of one of those 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 participate 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. therefore if one is, the one is all things, and also nothing, both in relation to itself and to other things. certainly. 2.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 attribute of 'this'; for the one, or the others than the one, could not have been spoken of, nor could any attribute or relative of the one that is not have been or been spoken of, nor could it have been said to be anything, if it did 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; 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 others being different from the one will be of a different kind. certainly. and are not things of a different kind also other in kind? of course. 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. 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. and since we affirm that we speak truly, we must also affirm that we say what is? certainly. then, as would appear, the one, when it is not, is; for if it were not to be when it is not, but (or, 'to remit something of existence in relation to not-being.') were to relinquish something of being, so as to become not-being, it would at once be. quite true. then the one which is not, if it is to maintain itself, must have the being of not-being as the bond of not-being, just as being must have as a bond the not-being of not-being in 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? clearly. and has not-being also, if it is not? of course. but can anything which is in a certain state not be in that state without changing? impossible. then everything which is and is not in a certain state, implies change? certainly. and change is motion--we may say that? 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? 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 alteration, for anything which is moved, in so far as it is moved, is 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? 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. 2.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 participate 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? 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 anything, 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 perception, 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. 2.aa. yet once more; if one is not, what becomes of the others? let us determine that. yes; let us determine that. the others must surely be; for if they, like the one, were not, we could not be now speaking of them. true. but to speak of the others implies difference--the terms 'other' and 'different' are synonymous? true. other means other than other, and different, different from the different? yes. then, if there are to be others, there is something than which they will be other? certainly. and what can that be?--for if the one is not, they will not be other than the one. 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 not singular; for if one is not, they cannot be singular, but every particle of them is infinite in number; and even if a person takes that which appears to be the smallest fraction, this, which seemed one, in a moment evanesces into many, 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 this will seem large and manifold in comparison with the 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 intellect, 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 difference, different in kind from, and unlike, themselves? true. 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. 2.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. 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 communion 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. then if one is not, the others neither are, nor can be conceived to be either one or many? it would seem not. nor as like or unlike? no. nor as the same or different, nor in contact or separation, nor in any of those states which we enumerated as appearing to be;--the others neither are nor appear to be any of these, 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. a short history of greek philosophy by john marshall m.a. oxon., ll.d. edin. rector of the royal high school, edinburgh formerly professor of classical literature and philosophy in the yorkshire college, leeds london percival and co. 1891 _all rights reserved_ preface the main purpose which i have had in view in writing this book has been to present an account of greek philosophy which, within strict limits of brevity, shall be at once authentic and interesting--_authentic_, as being based on the original works themselves, and not on any secondary sources; _interesting_, as presenting to the ordinary english reader, in language freed as far as possible from technicality and abstruseness, the great thoughts of the greatest men of antiquity on questions of permanent significance and value. there has been no attempt to shirk the really philosophic problems which these men tried in their day to solve; but i have endeavoured to show, by a sympathetic treatment of them, that these problems were no mere wars of words, but that in fact the philosophers of twenty-four centuries ago were dealing with exactly similar difficulties as to the bases of belief and of right action as, under different forms, beset thoughtful men and women to-day. in the general treatment of the subject, i have followed in the main the order, and drawn chiefly on the selection of passages, in ritter and preller's _historia philosophiae graecae_. it is hoped that in this way the little book may be found useful at the universities, as a running commentary on that excellent work; and the better to aid students in the use of it for that purpose, the corresponding sections in ritter and preller are indicated by the figures in the margin. in the sections on plato, and occasionally elsewhere, i have drawn to some extent, by the kind permission of the delegates of the clarendon press and his own, on professor jowett's great commentary and translation. john marshall. transcriber's notes: the passage numbers in the ritter-preller book mentioned in the second paragraph above are indicated in this book with square brackets, e.g. "[10]". in the original book they were formatted as sidenotes. in this e-book they are embedded in the text approximately where they appear in the original book, unless they are at the start of a paragraph, in which case they appear immediately before that paragraph. page numbers are indicated with curly brackets, e.g. "{5}". they are embedded into the text where page breaks occurred in the original book. in the original book, pages had headings that varied with the material being discussed on that pair of pages. in this e-book, those headings have been collected into an "introductory" paragraph at the beginning of each chapter. the original book uses several greek words. these words, the chapters they are used in, and their transliterations are as follows: chapter i (pages 3, 4, 12) "arche" alpha (with the soft-breathing mark), rho, chi, eta; "phloios" phi, lambda, omicron, iota, omicron, final sigma. chapter iii (page 28) "soma" sigma, omega, mu, alpha; "sema" sigma, eta, mu, alpha. chapter iv (page 33, 34 "doxa" delta, omicron, xi, alpha; "peri" pi, epsilon, rho, iota; "phueos" phi, upsilon, sigma, epsilon, omega, final sigma. chapter v (page 48) "logos" lambda, omicron, gamma, omicron, final sigma; "hule" upsilon with rough breathing mark, lambda, eta. contents chap. i.--the school of miletus- i. thales . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 ii. anaximander . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 ii.--the school of miletus (_concluded_)- iii. anaximenes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 iv. heraclitus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 iii.--pythagoras and the pythagoreans . . . . . . . . . 22 iv.--the eleatics- i. xenophanes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 ii. parmenides . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 v.--the eleatics (_concluded_)- iii. zeno . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 iv. melissus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 vi.--the atomists- i. anaxagoras . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 vii.--the atomists (_continued_)- ii. empedocles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 viii.--the atomists (_concluded_)- iii. leucippus and democritus . . . . . . . . . . 74 ix.--the sophists- i. protagoras . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 x.--the sophists (_concluded_)- ii. gorgias . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 xi.--socrates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 xii.--socrates (concluded) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 xiii.--the incomplete socratics- i. aristippus and the cyrenaics . . . . . . . . 124 ii. antisthenes and the cynics . . . . . . . . . 128 iii. euclides and the megarics . . . . . . . . . . 132 xiv.--plato . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 xv.--plato (_continued_) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146 xvi.--plato (_continued_) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154 xvii.--plato (_concluded_) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162 xviii.--aristotle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 xix.--aristotle (_continued_) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 xx.--aristotle (_concluded_) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 xxi.--the sceptics and epicureans . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 xxii.--the stoics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245 {1} chapter i the school of miletus _the question of thales--water the beginning of things--soul in all things--mystery in science--abstraction and reality--theory of development_ i. thales.--for several centuries prior to the great persian invasions of greece, perhaps the very greatest and wealthiest city of the greek world was miletus. situate about the centre of the ionian coasts of asia minor, with four magnificent harbours and a strongly defensible position, it gathered to itself much of the great overland trade, which has flowed for thousands of years eastward and westward between india and the mediterranean; while by its great fleets it created a new world of its own along the black sea coast. its colonies there were so numerous that miletus was named 'mother of eighty cities.' from abydus on the bosphorus, past sinope, and so onward to the crimea and the don, and thence round to thrace, a busy community of colonies, mining, manufacturing, ship-building, corn-raising, owned miletus for their mother-city. its {2} marts must therefore have been crowded with merchants of every country from india to spain, from arabia to russia; the riches and the wonders of every clime must have become familiar to its inhabitants. and fitly enough, therefore, in this city was born the first notable greek geographer, the first constructor of a map, the first observer of natural and other curiosities, the first recorder of varieties of custom among various communities, the first speculator on the causes of strange phenomena,--hecataeus. his work is in great part lost, but we know a good deal about it from the frequent references to him and it in the work of his rival and follower, herodotus. the city naturally held a leading place politically as well as commercially. empire in our sense was alien to the instincts of the greek race; but miletus was for centuries recognised as the foremost member of a great commercial and political league, the political character of the league becoming more defined, as first the lydian and then the persian monarchy became an aggressive neighbour on its borders. [8] it was in this active, prosperous, enterprising state, and at the period of its highest activity, that thales, statesman, practical engineer, mathematician, philosopher, flourished. without attempting to fix his date too closely, we may take it that he was a leading man in miletus for the greater part of the {3} first half of the sixth century before christ. we hear of an eclipse predicted by him, of the course of a river usefully changed, of shrewd and profitable handling of the market, of wise advice in the general councils of the league. he seems to have been at once a student of mathematics and an observer of nature, and withal something having analogy with both, an inquirer or speculator into the _origin_ of things. to us nowadays this suggests a student of geology, or physiography, or some such branch of physical science; to thales it probably rather suggested a theoretical inquiry into the simplest _thinkable_ aspect of things as existing. "under what form known to us," he would seem to have asked, "may we assume an identity in all known things, so as best to cover or render explicable the things as we know them?" the 'beginning' of things (for it was thus he described this assumed identity) was not conceived by him as something which was long ages before, and which had ceased to be; rather it meant the reality of things now. thales then was the putter of a question, which had not been asked expressly before, but which has never ceased to be asked since. he was also the formulator of a new meaning for a word; the word 'beginning' ((greek) _arche_) got the meaning of 'underlying reality' and so of 'ending' as well. in short, he so dealt with a word, on the surface of it implying {4} time, as to eliminate the idea of time, and suggest a method of looking at the world, more profound and far-reaching than had been before imagined.[1] it is interesting to find that the man who was thus the first philosopher, the first observer who took a metaphysical, non-temporal, analytical view of the world, and so became the predecessor of all those votaries of 'other-world' ways of thinking,--whether as academic idealist, or 'budge doctor of the stoic fur,' or christian ascetic or what not, whose ways are such a puzzle to the 'hard-headed practical man,'--was himself one of the shrewdest men of his day, so shrewd that by common consent he was placed foremost in antiquity among the seven sages, or seven shrewd men, whose practical wisdom became a world's tradition, enshrined in anecdote and crystallised in proverb. [9] the chief record that we possess of the philosophic teaching of thales is contained in an interesting notice of earlier philosophies by aristotle, the main part of which as regards thales runs as follows: "the early philosophers as a rule formulated the originative principle ((greek) _arche_) of all things under some material expression. by the originative principle or element of things they meant that of which all {5} existing things are composed, that which determines their coming into being, and into which they pass on ceasing to be. where these philosophers differed from each other was simply in the answer which they gave to the question what was the nature of this principle, the differences of view among them applying both to the number, and to the character, of the supposed element or elements. "thales, the pioneer of this philosophy, maintained that _water_ was the originative principle of all things. it was doubtless in this sense that he said that the earth rested on water. what suggested the conception to him may have been such facts of observation, as that all forms of substance which promote life are moist, that heat itself seems to be conditioned by moisture, that the life-producing seed in all creatures is moist, and so on." other characteristics of water, it is elsewhere suggested, may have been in thales' mind, such as its readiness to take various shapes, its convertibility from water into vapour or ice, its ready mixture with other substances, and so forth. what we have chiefly to note is, that the more unscientific this theory about the universe may strike us as being, the more completely out of accord with facts now familiar to everybody, the more striking is it as marking a new mood of mind, in which _unity_, though only very partially suggested or discoverable by the senses, is {6} preferred to that infinite and indefinite _variety_ and _difference_ which the senses give us at every moment. there is here the germ of a new aspiration, of a determination not to rest in the merely momentary and different, but at least to try, even against the apparent evidence of the senses, for something more permanently intelligible. as a first suggestion of what this permanent underlying reality may be, _water_ might very well pass. it is probable that even to thales himself it was only a symbol, like the figure in a mathematical proposition, representing by the first passable physical phenomenon which came to hand, that ideal reality underlying all change, which is at once the beginning, the middle, and the end of all. that he did not mean water, in the ordinary prosaic sense, to be identical with this, is suggested by some [10] other sayings of his. "thales," says aristotle elsewhere, "thought the whole universe was full of gods." "all things," he is recorded as saying, "have a _soul_ in them, in virtue of which they move other things, and are themselves moved, even as the magnet, by virtue of its life or soul, moves the iron." without pushing these fragmentary utterances too far, we may well conclude that whether thales spoke of the soul of the universe and its divine indwelling powers, or gods, or of water as the origin of things, he was only vaguely symbolising in different ways an idea as yet formless and void, like the primeval chaos, but nevertheless, {7} like it, containing within it a promise and a potency of greater life hereafter. ii. anaximander.--our information with respect to thinkers so remote as these men is too scanty and too fragmentary, to enable us to say in what manner or degree they influenced each other. we cannot say for certain that any one of them was pupil or antagonist of another. they appear each of them, one might say for a moment only, from amidst the darkness of antiquity; a few sayings of theirs we catch vaguely across the void, and then they disappear. there is not, consequently, any very distinct progression or continuity observable among them, and so far therefore one has to confess that the title 'school of miletus' is a misnomer. we have already quoted the words of aristotle in which he classes the ionic philosophers together, as all of them giving a _material_ aspect of some kind to the originative principle of the universe (see above, p. 4). but while this is a characteristic observable in some of them, it is not so obviously discoverable in the second of their number, anaximander. this philosopher is said to have been younger by [11] one generation than thales, but to have been intimate with him. he, like thales, was a native of miletus, and while we do not hear of him as a person, like thales, of political eminence and activity, he was certainly the equal, if not the superior, of thales in {8} mathematical and scientific ability. he is said to have either invented or at least made known to greece the construction of the sun-dial. he was associated with hecataeus in the construction of the earliest geographical charts or maps; he devoted himself with some success to the science of astronomy. his familiarity with the abstractions of mathematics perhaps accounts for the more abstract form, in which he expressed his idea of the principle of all things. [21] to anaximander this principle was, as he expressed it, the _infinite_; not water nor any other of the so-called elements, but a different thing from any of them, something hardly namable, out of whose formlessness the heavens and all the worlds in them came to be. and by necessity into that same infinite or indefinite existence, out of which they originally emerged, did every created thing return. thus, as he poetically expressed it, "time brought its revenges, and for the wrong-doing of existence all things paid the penalty of death." the momentary resting-place of thales on the confines of the familiar world of things, in his formulation of water as the principle of existence, is thus immediately removed. we get, as it were, to the earliest conception of things as we find it in genesis; before the heavens were, or earth, or the waters under the earth, or light, or sun, or moon, or grass, or the beast of the field, when the "earth was without form, and void, and darkness was upon the {9} face of the deep." only, be it observed, that while in the primitive biblical idea this formless void precedes in _time_ an ordered universe, in anaximander's conception this formless infinitude is always here, is in fact the only reality which ever is here, something without beginning or ending, underlying all, enwrapping all, governing all. to modern criticism this may seem to be little better than verbiage, having, perhaps, some possibilities of poetic treatment, but certainly very unsatisfactory if regarded as science. but to this we have to reply that one is not called upon to regard it as science. behind science, as much to-day when our knowledge of the details of phenomena is so enormously increased, as in the times when science had hardly begun, there lies a world of mystery which we cannot pierce, and yet which we are compelled to assume. no scientific treatise can begin without assuming matter and force as data, and however much we may have learned about the relations of _forces_ and the affinities of _things_, matter and force as such remain very much the same dim infinities, that the originative 'infinite' was to anaximander. it is to be noted, however, that while modern science assumes necessarily _two_ correlative data or originative principles,--force, namely, as well as matter,--anaximander seems to have been content {10} with the formulation of but one; and perhaps it is just here that a kinship still remains between him and thales and other philosophers of the school. he, no more than they, seems to have definitely raised the question, how are we to account for, or formulate, the principle of _difference_ or change? what is it that causes things to come into being out of, or recalls them back from being into, the infinite void? it is to be confessed, however, that our accounts on this point are somewhat conflicting. one authority actually says that he formulated motion as eternal also. so far as he attempted to grasp the idea of difference in relation to that of unity, he seems to have regarded the principle of change or difference as inhering in [13] the infinite itself. aristotle in this connection contrasts his doctrine with that of anaxagoras, who formulated _two_ principles of existence--matter and mind (see below, p. 54). anaximander, he points out, found all he wanted in the one. as a mathematician anaximander must have been familiar in various aspects with the functions of the infinite or indefinable in the organisation of thought. to the student of euclid, for example, the impossibility of adequately defining any of the fundamental elements of the science of geometry--the point, the line, the surface--is a familiar fact. in so far as a science of geometry is possible at all, the exactness, which is its essential characteristic, is only {11} attainable by starting from data which are in themselves impossible, as of a point which has no magnitude, of a line which has no breadth, of a surface which has no thickness. so in the science of abstract number the fundamental assumptions, as that 1=1, _x=x_, etc., are contradicted by every fact of experience, for in the world as we know it, absolute equality is simply impossible to discover; and yet these fundamental conceptions are in their development most powerful instruments for the extension of man's command over his own experiences. their completeness of abstraction from the accidents of experience, from the differences, qualifications, variations which contribute so largely to the personal interests of life, this it is which makes the abstract sciences demonstrative, exact, and universally applicable. in so far, therefore, as we are permitted to grasp the conception of a perfectly abstract existence prior to, and underlying, and enclosing, all separate existences, so far also do we get to a conception which is demonstrative, exact, and universally applicable throughout the whole world of knowable objects. such a conception, however, by its absolute emptiness of content, does not afford any means in itself of progression; somehow and somewhere a principle of movement, of development, of concrete reality, must be found or assumed, to link this ultimate abstraction of existence to the multifarious phenomena {12} of existence as known. and it was, perhaps, because anaximander failed to work out this aspect of the question, that in the subsequent leaders of the school _movement_, rather than mere existence, was the principle chiefly insisted upon. before passing, however, to these successors of anaximander, some opinions of his which we have not perhaps the means of satisfactorily correlating with his general conception, but which are not without their individual interest, may here be noted. [14] the word _husk_ or _bark_ ((greek) _phloios_) seems to have been a favourite one with him, as implying and depicting a conception of interior and necessary development in things. thus he seems to have postulated an inherent tendency or law in the infinite, which compelled it to develop contrary characters, as hot and cold, dry and moist. in consequence of this fundamental tendency an envelope of fire, he says, came into being, encircling another envelope of air, which latter in turn enveloped the sphere of earth, each being like the 'husk' of the other, or like the bark which encloses the tree. this concentric system he conceives as having in some way been parted up into various systems, represented by the sun, the moon, the stars, and the earth. the last he figured as hanging in space, and deriving its stability from the inherent and perfect balance or relation of its parts. {13} [16] then, again, as to the origin of man, he seems to have in like manner taught a theory of development from lower forms of life. in his view the first living creatures must have come into being in moisture (thus recalling the theory of thales). as time went on, and these forms of life reached their fuller possibilities, they came to be transferred to the dry land, casting off their old nature like a husk or bark. more particularly he insists that man must have developed out of other and lower forms of life, because of his exceptional need, under present conditions, of care and nursing in his earlier years. had he come into being at once as a human creature he could never have survived. the analogies of these theories with modern speculations are obvious and interesting. but without enlarging on these, one has only to say in conclusion that, suggestive and interesting as many of these poor fragments, these _disjecti membra poetae_, are individually, they leave us more and more impressed with a sense of incompleteness in our knowledge of anaximander's theory as a whole. it may be that as a consistent and perfected system the theory never was worked out; it may be that it never was properly understood. [1] by some authorities it is stated that anaximander, the second philosopher of this school, was the first to use the word _arche_ in the philosophic sense. whether this be so or not, thales certainly had the idea. {14} chapter ii the school of miletus (_concluded_) _air the beginning of things--all things pass--the eternal and the temporary--the weeping philosopher_ [17] iii. anaximenes.--this philosopher was also a native of miletus, and is said to have been a hearer or pupil of anaximander. as we have said, the [19] tendency of the later members of the school was towards emphasising the _motive_ side of the supposed underlying principle of nature, and accordingly anaximenes chose air as the element which best [18] represented or symbolised that principle. its fluidity, readiness of movement, wide extension, and absolute neutrality of character as regards colour, taste, smell, form, etc., were obvious suggestions. the breath also, whose very name to the ancients implied an identity with the life or soul, was nothing but air; and the identification of air with life supplied just that principle of productiveness and movement, which was felt [20] to be necessary in the primal element of being. the process of existence, then, he conceived as consisting in a certain concentration of this diffused life-giving element into more or less solidified forms, and the {15} ultimate separation and expansion of these back into the formless air again. the contrary forces previously used by anaximander--heat and cold, drought and moisture--are with anaximenes also the agencies which institute these changes. this is pretty nearly all that we know of anaximenes. so far as the few known facts reveal him, we can hardly say that except as supplying a step towards the completer development of the _motive_ [22] idea in being, he greatly adds to the chain of progressive thought. iv. heraclitus.--although not a native of miletus, but of ephesus, heraclitus, both by his nationality as an ionian and by his position in the development of philosophic conceptions, falls naturally to be classed with the philosophers of miletus. his period may be given approximately as from about 560 to 500 b.c., though others place him a generation later. few authentic particulars have been preserved of him. we hear of extensive travels, of his return to his native city only to refuse a share in its activities, of his retirement to a hermit's life. he seems to have formed a contrast to the preceding philosophers in his greater detachment from the ordinary interests of civic existence; and much in his teaching suggests the ascetic if not the misanthrope. he received the nickname of 'the obscure,' from the studied mystery in which he was supposed to involve his {16} [23] teaching. he wrote not for the vulgar, but for the gifted few. 'much learning makes not wise' was the motto of his work; the man of gift, of insight, that man is better than ten thousand. he was savage in his criticism of other writers, even the greatest. homer, he said, and archilochus too, deserved to be hooted from the platform and thrashed. even the main purport of his writings was differently interpreted. some named his work 'the muses,' as though it were chiefly a poetic vision; others named it 'the sure steersman to the goal of life'; others, more prosaically, 'a treatise of nature.' [26] the fundamental principle or fact of being heraclitus formulated in the famous dictum, 'all things pass.' in the eternal flux or flow of being consisted its reality; even as in a river the water is ever changing, and the river exists as a river only in virtue of this continual change; or as in a living body, wherein while there is life there is no stability or fixedness; stability and fixedness are the attributes of the unreal image of life, not of life itself. thus, as will be observed, from the _material_ basis of being as conceived by thales, with only a very vague conception of the counter-principle of movement, philosophy has wheeled round in heraclitus to the other extreme; he finds his permanent element in the negation of permanence; being or reality consists in never 'being' but always 'becoming,' not in stability but in change. {17} [27] this eternal movement he pictures elsewhere as an eternal strife of opposites, whose differences nevertheless consummate themselves in finest harmony. thus oneness emerges out of multiplicity, multiplicity out of oneness; and the harmony of the universe is of contraries, as of the lyre and the bow. _war_ is the father and king and lord of all things. neither god nor man presided at the creation of anything that is; that which was, is that which is, and that which ever shall be; even an ever-living fire, ever kindling and ever being extinguished. [28] thus in _fire_, as an image or symbol of the underlying reality of existence, heraclitus advanced to the furthest limit attainable on physical lines, for the expression of its essentially _motive_ character. that this fire was no more than a symbol, suggested by the special characteristics of fire in nature,--its subtlety, its mobility, its power of penetrating all things and devouring all things, its powers for beneficence in the warmth of living bodies and the life-giving power of the sun,--is seen in the fact that he readily varies his expression for this principle, calling it at times the thunderbolt, at others the eternal reason, [29] or law, or fate. to his mental view creation was a process eternally in action, the fiery element descending by the law of its being into the cruder [30] forms of water and earth, only to be resolved again by upward process into fire; even as one sees the {18} vapour from the sea ascending and melting into the [32] aether. as a kindred vapour or exhalation he recognised the soul or breath for a manifestation of the essential element. it is formless, ever changing with every breath we take, yet it is the constructive and unifying force which keeps the body together, and conditions its life and growth. at this point [33] heraclitus comes into touch with anaximenes. in the act of breathing we draw into our own being a portion of the all-pervading vital element of all being; in this universal being we thereby live and move and have our consciousness; the eternal and omnipresent wisdom becomes, through the channels of our senses, and especially through the eyes, in fragments at least our wisdom. in sleep we are not indeed cut off wholly from this wisdom; through our breathing we hold as it were to its root; but of its flower we are then deprived. on awaking again we begin once more to partake according to our full measure of the living thought; even as coals when brought near the fire are themselves made partakers of it, but when taken away again become quenched. [34] hence, in so far as man is wise, it is because his spirit is kindled by union with the universal spirit; but there is a baser, or, as heraclitus termed it, a moister element also in him, which is the element of unreason, as in a drunken man. and thus the trustworthiness or otherwise of the senses, as the {19} channels of communication with the divine, depends on the _dryness_ or _moistness_,--or, as we should express it, using, after all, only another metaphor,--on the _elevation_ or _baseness_ of the spirit that is within. to those whose souls are base and barbarous, the eternal movement, the living fire, is invisible; and thus what they do see is nothing but death. immersed in the mere appearances of things and their supposed stability, they, whether sleeping or waking, behold only dead forms; their spirits are dead. [35] for the guidance of life there is no law but the common sense, which is the union of those fragmentary perceptions of eternal law, which individual men [37] attain, in so far as their spirits are dry and pure. of absolute knowledge human nature is not capable, but only the divine. to the eternal, therefore, alone all things are good and beautiful and just, because to him alone do things appear in their totality. to the human partial reason some things are unjust and others just. hence life, by reason of the limitations [38] involved in it, he sometimes spoke of as the death of the soul, and death as the renewal of its life. and so, [39] in the great events of man's life and in the small, as in the mighty circle of the heavens, good and evil, life and death, growth and decay, are but the systole and diastole, the outward and inward pulsation, of an eternal good, an eternal harmony. day and {20} night, winter and summer, war and peace, satiety and hunger--each conditions the other, all are part of god. it is sickness that makes health good and sweet, hunger that gives its pleasure to feeding, weariness that makes sleep a good. [39] this vision of existence in its eternal flux and interchange, seems to have inspired heraclitus with a contemplative melancholy. in the traditions of later times he was known as the _weeping_ philosopher. lucian represents him as saying, "to me it is a sorrow that there is nothing fixed or secure, and that all things are thrown confusedly together, so that pleasure and pain, knowledge and ignorance, the great and the small, are the same, ever circling round and passing one into the other in the sport of time." "time," he says elsewhere, "is like a child that plays with the dice." the highest good, therefore, for mortals is that clarity of perception in respect of oneself and all that is, whereby we shall learn to apprehend somewhat of the eternal unity and harmony, that underlies the good and evil of time, the shock and stress of circumstance and place. the highest virtue for man is a placid and a quiet constancy, whatever the changes and chances of life may bring. it is the pantheistic apathy. the sadder note of humanity, the note of euripides and at times of sophocles, the note of dante and of the _tempest_ of shakespeare, of shelley and arnold {21} and carlyle,--this note we hear thus early and thus clear, in the dim and distant utterances of heraclitus. the mystery of existence, the unreality of what seems most real, the intangibility and evanescence of all things earthly,--these thoughts obscurely echoing to us across the ages from heraclitus, have remained, and always will remain, among the deepest and most insistent of the world's thoughts, in its sincerest moments and in its greatest thinkers. {22} chapter iii pythagoras and the pythagoreans _the pythagorean brotherhood--number the master--god the soul of the world--music and morals_ [41] the birthplace of pythagoras is uncertain. he is generally called the samian, and we know, at all events, that he lived for some time in that island, during or immediately before the famous tyranny [43] of polycrates. all manner of legends are told of the travels of pythagoras to egypt, chaldaea, phoenicia, and even to india. others tell of a mysterious initiation at the sacred cave of jupiter in crete, and of a similar ceremony at the delphic oracle. what is certain is that at some date towards the end of the sixth century b.c. he removed to southern italy, which was then extensively colonised by greeks, and that there he became a great philosophic teacher, and ultimately even a predominating political influence. [46] he instituted a school in the strictest sense, with its various grades of learners, subject for years to a vow of silence, holding all things in common, and admitted, according to their approved fitness, to {23} [47] successive revelations of the true doctrine of the master. those in the lower grades were called listeners; those in the higher, mathematicians or students; those in the most advanced stage, physicists or philosophers. with the political relations of the school we need not here concern ourselves. in crotona and many other greek cities in italy pythagoreans became a predominant aristocracy, who, having learned obedience under their master, applied what they had learned in an anti-democratic policy of government. this lasted for some thirty years, but ultimately democracy gained the day, and pythagoreanism as a political power was violently rooted out. returning to the philosophy of pythagoras, in its relation to the general development of greek theory, we may note, to begin with, that it is not necessary, or perhaps possible, to disentangle the theory of pythagoras himself from that of his followers, philolaus and others. the teaching was largely oral, and was developed by successive leaders of the school. the doctrine, therefore, is generally spoken of as that, not of pythagoras, but of the pythagoreans. nor can we fix for certain on one fundamental conception, upon which the whole structure of their doctrine was built. [52] one dictum we may start with because of its analogies with what has been said of the earlier {24} philosophies. the universe, said the pythagoreans, was constituted of _indefinites_ and _definers_, _i.e._ of that which has no character, but has infinite capacities of taking a character; and secondly, of things or forces which impose a character upon this. out of the combination of these two elements or principles all knowable [53] existences come into being. "all things," they said, "as known have _number_; and this number has two natures, the odd and the even; the known thing is the odd-even or union of the two." [66] by a curious and somewhat fanciful development of this conception the pythagoreans drew up two parallel columns of antithetical principles in nature, ten in each, thus:- definite indefinite odd even one many right left male female steadfast moving straight bent light dark good evil four square irregular looking down these two lists we shall see that the first covers various aspects of what is conceived as the ordering, defining, formative principle in nature; and that the second in like manner comprises various {25} aspects of the unordered, neutral, passive, or disorganised element or principle; the first, to adopt a later method of expression, is _form_, the second _matter_. how this antithesis was worked out by plato and aristotle we shall see later on. [54] while, in a sense, then, even the indefinite has number, inasmuch as it is capable of having number or order imposed upon it (and only in so far as it has this imposed upon it, does it become knowable or intelligible), yet, as a positive factor, number belongs only to the first class; as such it is the source of all knowledge and of all good. in reality the pythagoreans had not got any further by this representation of nature than was reached, for example, by anaximander, and still more definitely by heraclitus, when they posited an indefinite or infinite principle in nature which by the clash of innate antagonisms developed into a knowable universe (see above, pp. 12, 16). but one can easily imagine that once the idea of number became associated with that of the knowable in things, a wide field of detailed development and experiment, so to speak, in the arcana of nature, seemed to be opened. every arithmetical or geometrical theorem became in this view another window giving light into the secret heart of things. number became a kind of god, a revealer; and the philosophy of number a kind of religion or mystery. and this is why the {26} second grade of disciples were called mathematicians; mathematics was the essential preparation for and initiation into philosophy. whether that which truly exists was actually identical with number or numbers, or whether it was something different from number, but had a certain relation to number; whether if there were such a relation, this was merely a relation of analogy or of conformability, or whether number were something actually embodied in that which truly exists--these were speculative questions which were variously answered by various teachers, and which probably interested the later more than the earlier leaders of the school. [56] a further question arose: assuming that ultimately the elements of knowable existence are but two, the one or definite, and the manifold or indefinite, it was argued by some that there must be some third or higher principle governing the relations of these; there must be some law or harmony which shall render their intelligible union [57] possible. this principle of union was god, ever-living, ever one, eternal, immovable, self-identical. [58] this was the supreme reality, the odd-even or many in one, one in many, in whom was gathered up, as in an eternal harmony, all the contrarieties of lower [61] existence. through the interchange and intergrowth of these contrarieties god realises himself; the {27} universe in its evolution is the self-picturing of god. [62] god is diffused as the seminal principle throughout [68] the universe; he is the soul of the world, and the world itself is god in process. the world, therefore, is in a sense a living creature. at its heart and circumference are purest fire; between these circle the sun, the moon, and the five planets, whose ordered movements, as of seven chords, produce an eternal music, the 'music of the spheres.' earth, too, like the planets, is a celestial body, moving like them around the central fire. [71] by analogy with this conception of the universe as the realisation of god, so also the body, whether [72] of man or of any creature, is the realisation for the time being of a soul. without the body and the life of the body, that soul were a blind and fleeting ghost. of such unrealised souls there are many in various degrees and states; the whole air indeed is full of spirits, who are the causes of dreams and omens. [73] thus the change and flux that are visible in all else are visible also in the relations of soul and body. multitudes of fleeting ghosts or spirits are continually seeking realisation through union with bodies, passing at birth into this one and that, and at death issuing forth again into the void. like wax which takes now one impression now another, yet remains in itself ever the same, so souls vary in the outward {28} [74] form that envelops and realises them. in this bodily life, the pythagoreans are elsewhere described as saying, we are as it were in bonds or in a prison, whence we may not justly go forth till the lord calls us. this idea cicero mistranslated with a truly roman fitness: according to him they taught that in this life we are as sentinels at our post, who may not quit it till our commander orders. on the one hand, therefore, the union of soul with body was necessary for the realisation of the former ((greek) _soma, body_, being as it were (greek) _sema, expression_), even as the reality of god was not in the odd or eternal unity, but in the odd-even, the unity in multiplicity. on the other hand this union implied a certain loss or degradation. in other words, in so far as the soul became realised it also became corporealised, subject to the influence of passion and [75] change. in a sense therefore the soul as realised was double; in itself it partook of the eternal reason, as associated with body it belonged to the realm of unreason. this disruption of the soul into two the pythagoreans naturally developed in time into a threefold division, _pure thought_, _perception_, and _desire_; or even more nearly approaching the platonic division (see below, p. 169), they divided it into _reason_, _passion_, and _desire_. but the later developments were largely influenced by platonic and other doctrines, and need not be further followed here. {29} [78] music had great attractions for pythagoras, not only for its soothing and refining effects, but for the intellectual interest of its numerical relations. reference has already been made (see above, p. 27) to their quaint doctrine of the music of the spheres; and the same idea of rhythmic harmony pervaded the whole system. the life of the soul was a harmony; the virtues were perfect numbers; and the influence of music on the soul was only one instance among many of the harmonious relations of things throughout the universe. thus we have pythagoras described as soothing mental afflictions, and bodily ones also, by rhythmic measure and by song. with the morning's dawn he would be astir, harmonising his own spirit to his lyre, and chanting ancient hymns of the cretan thales, of homer, and of hesiod, till all the tremors of his soul were calmed and still. night and morning also he prescribed for himself and his followers an examination, as it were a _tuning_ and testing of oneself. at these times especially was it meet for us to take account of our soul and its doings; in the evening to ask, "wherein have i transgressed? what done? what failed to do?" in the morning, "what must i do? wherein repair past days' forgetfulness?" but the first duty of all was truth,--truth to one's own highest, truth to the highest beyond us. through truth alone could the soul approach the divine. {30} falsehood was of the earth; the real life of the soul must be in harmony with the heavenly and eternal verities. pythagoreanism remained a power for centuries throughout the greek world and beyond. all subsequent philosophies borrowed from it, as it in its later developments borrowed from them; and thus along with them it formed the mind of the world, for further apprehensions, and yet more authentic revelations, of divine order and moral excellence. {31} chapter iv the eleatics _god and nature--knowledge and opinion--being and evolution--love the creator--the modern egotism_ [79] i. xenophanes.--xenophanes was a native of colophon, one of the ionian cities of asia minor, but having been forced at the age of twenty-five to leave his native city owing to some political revolution, he wandered to various cities of greece, and ultimately to zancle and catana, ionian colonies in sicily, and thence to elea or velia, a greek city on the coast of italy. this city had, like miletus, reached a high pitch of commercial prosperity, and like it also became a centre of philosophic teaching. for there xenophanes remained and founded a school, so that he and his successors received the name of eleatics. his date is uncertain; but he seems to have been contemporary with anaximander [80] and pythagoras, and to have had some knowledge of the doctrine of both. he wrote in various poetic measures, using against the poets, and especially against homer and hesiod, their own weapons, to [83] denounce their anthropomorphic theology. if oxen {32} or lions had hands, he said, they would have fashioned gods after their likeness which would have been as [85] authentic as homer's. as against these poets, and the popular mythology, he insisted that god must be one, eternal, incorporeal, without beginning or ending. [87] as aristotle strikingly expresses it, "he looked forth over the whole heavens and said that god is one, [88] that that which is one is god." the favourite antitheses of his time, the definite and the indefinite, movable and immovable, change-producing and by change produced--these and such as these, he maintained, were inapplicable to the eternally and [86] essentially existent. in this there was no partition of organs or faculties, no variation or shadow of turning; the eternal being was like a sphere, everywhere equal; everywhere self-identical. [84] his proof of this was a logical one; the absolutely self-existent could not be thought in conjunction with attributes which either admitted any external influencing him, or any external influenced by him. the prevailing dualism he considered to be, as an ultimate theory of the universe, unthinkable and therefore false. outside the self-existent there could be no second self-existent, otherwise each would be conditioned by the existence of the other, and the self-existent would be gone. anything different from the self-existent must be of the non-existent, _i.e._ must be nothing. {33} one can easily see in these discussions some adumbration of many theological or metaphysical difficulties of later times, as of the origin of evil, of freewill in man, of the relation of the created world to its creator. if these problems cannot be said to be solved yet, we need not be surprised that xenophanes did not solve them. he was content to emphasise that which seemed to him to be necessary and true, that god was god, and not either a partner with, or a function of, matter. [89] at the same time he recognised a world of phenomena, or, as he expressed it, a world of guesswork or opinion ((greek) _doxa_). as to the origin of things within this sphere he was ready enough to borrow [90] from the speculations of his predecessors. earth and water are the sources from which we spring; and he imagined a time when there was neither sea nor land, but an all-pervading slough and slime; nay, many such periods of inundation and emergence had been, hence the sea-shells on the tops of mountains and the fossils in the rocks. air and fire also as agencies of change are sometimes referred to by him; anticipations in fact are visible of the fourfold classification of the elements which was formally made by some of his successors. [91] ii. parmenides.--the pupil and successor of xenophanes was parmenides, a native of elea. in a celebrated dialogue of plato bearing the name of {34} this philosopher he is described as visiting socrates when the latter was very young. "he was then already advanced in years, very hoary, yet noble to look upon, in years some sixty and five." socrates was born about 479 b.c. the birth of parmenides might therefore, if this indication be authentic, be about 520. he was of a wealthy and noble family, and able therefore to devote himself to a learned leisure. like his master he expounded his views in verse, and fragments of his poem of considerable length and importance have been preserved. the title of the work was _peri phueos_--_of nature_. [93] the exordium of the poem is one of some grandeur. the poet describes himself as soaring aloft to the sanctuary of wisdom where it is set in highest aether, the daughters of the sun being his guides; under whose leading having traversed the path of perpetual day and at length attained the temple of the goddess, he from her lips received instruction in the eternal verities, and had shown to him the deceptive guesses of mortals. "'tis for thee," she says, "to hear of both,--to have disclosed to thee on the one hand the sure heart of convincing verity, on the other hand the guesses of mortals wherein is no ascertainment. nevertheless thou shalt learn of these also, that having gone through them all thou may'st see by what unsureness of path must he go who goeth the way of opinion. from such a way of searching {35} restrain thou thy thought, and let not the much-experimenting habit force thee along the path wherein thou must use thine eye, yet being sightless, and the ear with its clamorous buzzings, and the chattering tongue. 'tis by reason that thou must in lengthened trial judge what i shall say to thee." [94] thus, like xenophanes, parmenides draws a deep division between the world of reason and the world of sensation, between probative argument and the guess-work of sense-impressions. the former is the world of being, the world of that which truly is, self-existent, uncreated, unending, unmoved, unchanging, ever self-poised and self-sufficient, like a sphere. [98] knowledge is of this, and of this only, and as such, knowledge is identical with its object; for outside this known reality there is nothing. in other words, knowledge can only be of that which is, and that which is alone can know. all things which mortals have imagined to be realities are but words; as of the birth and death of things, of things which were and have ceased to be, of here and there, of now and then. it is obvious enough that in all this, and in much more to the same effect reiterated throughout the poem, we have no more than a statement, in various forms of negation, of the inconceivability by human reason of that passage from _being_ as such, to that world of phenomena which is now, but was not before, {36} and will cease to be,--from _being_ to _becoming_, from eternity to time, from the infinite to the finite (or, as parmenides preferred to call it, from the perfect to the imperfect, the definite to the indefinite). in all this parmenides was not contradicting such observed facts as generation, or motion, or life, or death; he was talking of a world which has nothing to do with observation; he was endeavouring to grasp what was assumed or necessarily implied as a prior condition of observation, or of a world to observe. what he and his school seem to have felt was that there was a danger in all this talk of water or air or other material symbol, or even of the _indefinite_ or _characterless_ as the original of all,--the danger, namely, that one should lose sight of the idea of law, of rationality, of eternal self-centred force, and so be carried away by some vision of a gradual process of evolution from mere emptiness to fulness of being. such a position would be not dissimilar to that of many would-be metaphysicians among evolutionists, who, not content with the doctrine of evolution as a theory in science, an ordered and organising view of observed facts, will try to elevate it into a vision of what is, and alone is, behind the observed facts. they fail to see that the more blind, the more accidental, so to speak, the process of differentiation may be; the more it is shown that the struggle for existence drives the wheels of progress along the {37} lines of least resistance by the most commonplace of mechanical necessities, in the same proportion must a law be posited behind all this process, a reason in nature which gathers up the beginning and the ending. the protoplasmic cell which the imagination of evolutionists places at the beginning of time as the starting-point of this mighty process is not merely this or that, has not merely this or that quality or possibility, it _is_; and in the power of that little word is enclosed a whole world of thought, which is there at the first, remains there all through the evolutions of the protoplasm, will be there when these are done, is in fact independent of time and space, has nothing to do with such distinctions, expresses rather their ultimate unreality. so far then as parmenides and his school kept a firm grip on this other-world aspect of nature as implied even in the simple word _is_, or _be_, so far they did good service in the process of the world's thought. on the other hand, he and they were naturally enough disinclined, as we all are disinclined, to remain in the merely or mainly negative or defensive. he would not lose his grip of heaven and eternity, but he would fain know the secrets of earth and time as well. and hence was fashioned the second part of his poem, in which he expounds his theory of the world of opinion, or guess-work, or observation. [99] in this world he found two originative principles {38} at work, one pertaining to light and heat, the other to darkness and cold. from the union of these two principles all observable things in creation come, and over this union a god-given power presides, whose name is love. of these two principles, the bright one being analogous to _fire_, the dark one to _earth_, he considered the former to be the male or formative element, the latter the female or passive element; the former therefore had analogies to being as such, the latter to non-being. the heavenly existences, the sun, the moon, the stars, are of pure fire, have therefore an eternal and unchangeable being; they are on the extremest verge of the universe, and corresponding to them at the centre is another fiery sphere, which, itself unmoved, is the cause of all motion and generation in the mixed region between. the motive and procreative power, sometimes called love, is at other times called by parmenides necessity, bearer of the keys, justice, ruler, etc. but while in so far as there was union in the production of man or any other creature, the [102] presiding genius might be symbolised as _love_; on the other hand, since this union was a union of opposites (light and dark), _discord_ or _strife_ also had her say in the union. thus the nature and character in every creature was the resultant of two antagonistic forces, and depended for its particular excellence or defect on the proportions in which these two elements--the {39} light and the dark, the fiery and the earthy--had been commingled. no character in greek antiquity, at least in the succession of philosophic teachers, held a more honoured position than parmenides. he was looked on with almost superstitious reverence by his fellow-countrymen. plato speaks of him as his "father parmenides," whom he "revered and honoured more than all the other philosophers together." to quote professor jowett in his introduction to plato's dialogue _parmenides_, he was "the founder of idealism and also of dialectic, or in modern phraseology, of metaphysics and of logic." of the logical aspect of his teaching we shall see a fuller exemplification in his pupil and successor zeno; of his metaphysics, by way of summing up what has been already said, it may be remarked that its substantial excellence consists in the perfect clearness and precision with which parmenides enunciated as fundamental in any theory of the knowable universe the priority of existence itself, not in time merely or chiefly, but as a condition of having any problem to inquire into. he practically admits that he does not see how to bridge over the partition between existence in itself and the changeful, temporary, existing things which the senses give us notions of. but whatever the connection may be, if there is a connection, he is convinced that nothing would be more absurd than {40} to make the data of sense in any way or degree the measure of the reality of existence, or the source from which existence itself comes into being. on this serenely impersonal position he took his stand; we find little or nothing of the querulous personal note so characteristic of much modern philosophy. we never find him asking, "what is to become of _me_ in all this?" "what is _my_ position with regard to this eternally-existing reality?" of course this is not exclusively a characteristic of parmenides, but of the time. the idea of personal relation to an eternal rewarder was only vaguely held in historical times in greece. the conception of personal immortality was a mere pious opinion, a doctrine whispered here and there in secret mystery; it was not an influential force on men's motives or actions. thought was still occupied with the wider universe, the heavens and their starry wonders, and the strange phenomena of law in nature. in the succession of the seasons, the rising and setting, the fixities and aberrations, of the heavenly bodies, in the mysteries of coming into being and passing out of it, in these and other similar marvels, and in the thoughts which they evoked, a whole and ample world seemed open for inquiry. men and their fate were interesting enough to men, but as yet the egotism of man had not attempted to isolate his destiny from the general problem of nature. {41} to the _crux_ of philosophy as it appeared to parmenides in the relation of being as such to things which seem to be, modernism has appended a sort of corollary, in the relation of being as such to _my_ being. till the second question was raised its answer, of course, could not be attempted. but all those who in modern times have said with tennyson- thou wilt not leave us in the dust: thou madest man, he knows not why; he thinks he was not made to die; and thou hast made him: thou art just, may recognise in parmenides a pioneer for them. without knowing it, he was fighting the battle of personality in man, as well as that of reality in nature. {42} chapter v the eleatics (_concluded_) _zeno's dialectic--achilles and the tortoise--the dilemma of being--the all a sphere--the dilemmas of experience_ [106] iii. zeno.--the third head of the eleatic school was zeno. he is described by plato in the _parmenides_ as accompanying his master to athens on the visit already referred to (see above, p. 34), and as being then "nearly forty years of age, of a noble figure and fair aspect." in personal character he was a worthy pupil of his master, being, like him, a devoted patriot. he is even said to have fallen a victim to his patriotism, and to have suffered bravely the extremest tortures at the hands of a tyrant nearchus rather than betray his country. his philosophic position was a very simple one. he had nothing to add to or to vary in the doctrine of parmenides. his function was primarily that of an expositor and defender of that doctrine, and his particular pre-eminence consists in the ingenuity of his dialectic resources of defence. he is in fact pronounced by aristotle to have been the inventor of dialectic or systematic logic. the relation of {43} the two is humorously expressed thus by plato (jowett, _plato_, vol. iv. p. 128); "i see, parmenides, said socrates, that zeno is your second self in his writings too; he puts what you say in another way, and would fain deceive us into believing that he is telling us what is new. for you, in your poems, say, all is one, and of this you adduce excellent proofs; and he, on the other hand, says, there is no many; and on behalf of this he offers overwhelming evidence." to this zeno replies, admitting the fact, and adds: "these writings of mine were meant to protect the arguments of parmenides against those who scoff at him, and show the many ridiculous and contradictory results which they suppose to follow from the affirmation of the one. my answer is an address 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 in a still more ridiculous light than the hypothesis of the being of one." the arguments of zeno may therefore be regarded as strictly arguments _in kind_; quibbles if you please, but in answer to quibbles. the secret of his method was what aristotle calls dichotomy--that is, he put side by side two contradictory propositions with respect to any particular supposed real thing in experience, and then proceeded to show that both these contradictories alike imply what is {44} [105] inconceivable. thus "a thing must consist either of a finite number of parts or an infinite number." assume the number of parts to be finite. between them there must either be something or nothing. if there is something between them, then the whole consists of more parts than it consists of. if there is nothing between them, then they are not separated, therefore they are not parts; therefore the whole has no parts at all; therefore it is nothing. if, on the other hand, the number of parts is infinite, then, the same kind of argument being applied, the magnitude of the whole is by infinite successive positing of intervening parts shown to be infinite; therefore this one thing, being infinitely large, is everything. [107] take, again, any supposed fact, as that an arrow moves. an arrow cannot move except in space. it cannot move in space without being in space. at any moment of its supposed motion it must be in a particular space. being in that space, it must at the time during which it is in it be at rest. but the total time of its supposed motion is made up of the moments composing that time, and to each of these moments the same argument applies; therefore either the arrow never was anywhere, or it always was at rest. or, again, take objects moving at unequal rates, as achilles and a tortoise. let the tortoise have a start of any given length, then achilles, however {45} much he excel in speed, will never overtake the tortoise. for, while achilles has passed over the originally intervening space, the tortoise will have passed over a certain space, and when achilles has passed over this second space the tortoise will have again passed over some space, and so on _ad infinitum_; therefore in an infinite time there must always be a space, though infinitely diminishing, between the tortoise and achilles, _i.e._ the tortoise must always be at least a little in front. these will be sufficient to show the kind of arguments employed by zeno. in themselves they are of no utility, and zeno never pretended that they had any. but as against those who denied that existence as such was a datum independent of experience, something different from a mere sum of isolated things, his arguments were not only effective, but substantial. the whole modern sensational or experiential school, who derive our 'abstract ideas,' as they are called, from 'phenomena' or 'sensation,' manifest the same impatience of any analysis of what they mean by phenomena or sensation, as no doubt zeno's opponents manifested of his analyses. as in criticising the one, modern critics are ready with their answer that zeno's quibbles are simply "a play of words on the well-known properties of infinities," so they are quick to tell us that sensation is an "affection of the sentient organism"; ignoring in {46} the first case the prior question where the idea of infinity came from, and in the second, where the idea of a sentient organism came from. indirectly, as we shall see, zeno had a great effect on subsequent philosophies by the development of a process of ingenious verbal distinction, which in the hands of so-called sophists and others became a weapon of considerable, if temporary, power. [109] iv. melissus.--the fourth and last of the eleatic philosophers was melissus, a native of samos. his date may be fixed as about 440 b.c. he took an active part in the politics of his native country, and on one occasion was commander of the samian fleet in a victorious engagement with the athenians, when samos was being besieged by pericles. he belongs to the eleatic school in respect of doctrine and method, but we have no evidence of his ever having resided at elea, nor any reference to his connection with the philosophers there, except the statement that he was a pupil of parmenides. he developed very fully what is technically called in the science of logic [110] the _dilemma_. thus, for example, he begins his treatise _on existence_ or _on nature_ thus: "if nothing exists, then there is nothing for us to talk about. but if there is such a thing as existence it must either come into being or be ever-existing. if it come into being, it must come from the existing or the non-existing. now that anything which exists, {47} above all, that which is absolutely existent, should come from what is not, is impossible. nor can it come from that which is. for then it would be already, and would not come into being. that which exists, therefore, comes not into being; it must therefore be ever-existing." [111] by similar treatment of other conceivable alternatives he proceeds to show that as the existent had no beginning so it can have no ending in time. from this, by a curious transition which aristotle quotes as an example of loose reasoning, he concludes that the existent can have no limit in space [112] either. as being thus unlimited it must be one, therefore immovable (there being nothing else into which it can move or change), and therefore always self-identical in extent and character. it cannot, therefore, have any body, for body has parts and is not therefore one. [113] being incapable of change one might perhaps conclude that the absolutely existing being is incapable of any mental activity or consciousness. we have no authority for assuming that melissus came to this conclusion; but there is a curious remark of aristotle's respecting this and previous philosophers of the school which certain critics have [114] made to bear some such interpretation. he says: "parmenides seems to hold by a unity in thought, melissus by a material unity. hence the first {48} defined the one as limited, the second declared it to be unlimited. xenophanes made no clear statement on this question; he simply, gazing up to the arch of heaven, declared, the one is god." but the difference between melissus and his master can hardly be said to be a difference of doctrine; point for point, they are identical. the difference is a difference of vision or mental picture as to this mighty all which is one. melissus, so to speak, places himself at the centre of this universal being, and sees it stretching out infinitely, unendingly, in space and in time. its oneness comes to him as the _sum_ of these infinities. parmenides, on the other hand, sees all these endless immensities as related to a centre; he, so to speak, enfolds them all in the grasp of his unifying thought, and as thus equally and necessarily related to a central unity he pronounces the all a sphere, and therefore limited. the two doctrines, antithetical in terms, are identical in fact. the absolutely unlimited and the absolutely self-limited are only two ways of saying the same thing. this difference of view or vision aristotle in the passage quoted expresses as a difference between _thought_ ((greek) _logos_) and _matter_ ((greek) _hule_). this is just a form of his own radical distinction between essence and difference, form and matter, of which much will be said later on. it is like the difference {49} between deduction and induction; in the first you start from the universal and see within it the particulars; in the second you start from the particulars and gather them into completeness and reality in a universal. the substance remains the same, only the point of view is different. to put the matter in modern mathematical form, one might say, the universe is to be conceived as a _sphere_ (parmenides) of _infinite radius_ (melissus). aristotle is not blaming melissus or praising parmenides. as for xenophanes, aristotle after his manner finds in him the potentiality of both. he is prior both to the process of thought from universal to particular, and to that from particular to universal. he does not argue at all; his function is intuition. "he looks out on the mighty sky, and says, the one is god." melissus applied the results of his analysis in an interesting way to the question already raised by his predecessors, of the trustworthiness of sensation. his argument is as follows: "if there were many real existences, to each of them the same reasonings must apply as i have already used with reference to the one existence. that is to say, if earth really exists, and water and air and iron and gold and fire and things living and things dead; and black and white, and all the various things whose reality men ordinarily assume,--if all these really exist, and our sight and our hearing give us _facts_, then each of these as {50} really existing must be what we concluded the one existence must be; among other things, each must be unchangeable, and can never become other than it really is. but assuming that sight and hearing and apprehension are true, we find the cold becoming hot and the hot becoming cold; the hard changes to soft, the soft to hard; the living thing dies; and from that which is not living, a living thing comes into being; in short, everything changes, and what now is in no way resembles what was. it follows therefore that we neither see nor apprehend realities. "in fact we cannot pay the slightest regard to experience without being landed in self-contradictions. we assume that there are all sorts of really existing things, having a permanence both of form and power, and yet we imagine these very things altering and changing according to what we from time to time see about them. if they were realities as we first perceived them, our sight must now be wrong. for if they were real, they could not change. nothing can be stronger than reality. whereas to suppose it changed, we must affirm that the real has ceased to be, and that that which was not has displaced it." to melissus therefore, as to his predecessors, the world of sense was a world of illusion; the very first principles or assumptions of which, as of the truthfulness of the senses and the reality of the various objects which we see, are unthinkable and absurd. {51} the weakness as well as the strength of the eleatic position consisted in its purely negative and critical attitude. the assumptions of ordinary life and experience could not stand for a moment when assailed in detail by their subtle analysis. so-called facts were like a world of ghosts, which the sword of truth passed through without resistance. but somehow the sword might pierce them through and through, and show by all manner of arguments their unsubstantiality, but there they were still thronging about the philosopher and refusing to be gone. the world of sense might be only illusion, but there the illusion was. you could not lay it or exorcise it by calling it illusion or opinion. what was this opinion? what was the nature of its subject matter? how did it operate? and if its results were not true or real, what was their nature? these were questions which still remained when the analysis of the idea of absolute existence had been pushed to its completion. these were the questions which the next school of philosophy attempted to answer. after the idealists, the realists; after the philosophy of mind, the philosophy of matter. {52} chapter vi the atomists _anaxagoras and the cosmos--mind in nature--the seeds of existence_ [129] i. anaxagoras.--anaxagoras was born at clazomenae, a city of ionia, about the year 500 b.c. at the age of twenty he removed to athens, of which city clazomenae was for some time a dependency. this step on his part may have been connected with the circumstances attending the great invasion of greece by xerxes in the year 480. for xerxes drew a large contingent of his army from the ionian cities which he had subdued, and many who were unwilling to serve against their mother-country may have taken refuge about that time in athens. at athens he resided for nearly fifty years, and during that period became the friend and teacher of many eminent men, among the rest of pericles, the great athenian [118] statesman, and of euripides, the dramatist. like most of the ionian philosophers he had a taste for mathematics and astronomy, as well as for certain practical applications of mathematics. among other books he is said to have written a treatise on the art {53} of scene-designing for the stage, possibly to oblige his friend and pupil euripides. in his case, as in that of his predecessors, only fragments of his philosophic writings have been preserved, and the connection of certain portions of his teaching as they have come down to us remains somewhat uncertain. [119] with respect to the constitution of the universe we have the following: "origination and destruction are phrases which are generally misunderstood among the greeks. nothing really is originated or destroyed; the only processes which actually take place are combination and separation of elements already existing. [120] these elements we are to conceive as having been in a state of chaos at first, infinite in number and infinitely small, forming in their immobility a confused and characterless unity. about this chaos was spread the air and aether, infinite also in the multitude of their particles, and infinitely extended. before separation commenced there was no clear colour or appearance in anything, whether of moist or dry, of hot or cold, of bright or dark, but only an infinite number of the seeds of things, having concealed in them all manner of forms and colours and savours." there is a curious resemblance in this to the opening verses of genesis, "the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep." nor is the next step in his philosophy without its resemblance to that in the biblical record. [122] as summarised by diogenes laertius it takes this form, "all things were as one: then cometh mind, and by division brought all things into order." [121] "conceiving," as aristotle puts it, "that the original elements of things had no power to generate or develop out of themselves things as they exist, philosophers were forced by the facts themselves to seek the immediate cause of this development. they were unable to believe that fire, or earth, or any such principle was adequate to account for the order and beauty visible in the frame of things; nor did they think it possible to attribute these to mere innate necessity or chance. _one_ (anaxagoras) observing how in living creatures mind is the ordering force, declared that in nature also this must be the cause of order and beauty, and in so declaring he seemed, when compared with those before him, as one sober amidst a crowd of babblers." [122] elsewhere, however, aristotle modifies this commendation. "anaxagoras," he says, "uses mind only as a kind of last resort, dragging it in when he fails otherwise to account for a phenomenon, but never thinking of it else." and in the _phaedo_ plato makes socrates speak of the high hopes with which he had taken to the works of anaxagoras, and how grievously he had been disappointed. "as i proceeded," he says, "i found my philosopher altogether forsaking mind or any other principle of order, and having {55} recourse to air, and aether, and water, and other eccentricities." anaxagoras, then, at least on this side of his teaching, must be considered rather as the author of a phrase than as the founder of a philosophy. the phrase remained, and had a profound influence on subsequent philosophies, but in his own hands it was little more than a dead letter. his immediate interest was rather in the variety of phenomena than in their conceived principle of unity; he is theoretically, perhaps, 'on the side of the angels,' in practice he is a materialist. [12] mind he conceived as something apart, sitting throned like zeus upon the heights, giving doubtless the first impulse to the movement of things, but leaving them for the rest to their own inherent tendencies. as distinguished from them it was, he conceived, the one thing which was absolutely pure and unmixed. all things else had intermixture with every other, the mixtures increasing in complexity towards the centre of things. on the outmost verge were distributed the finest and least complex forms of things--the sun, the moon, the stars; the more dense gathering together, to form as it were in the centre of the vortex, the earth and its manifold existences. by the intermixture of air and earth and water, containing in themselves the infinitely varied seeds of things, plants and animals were {56} developed. the seeds themselves are too minute to be apprehended by the senses, but we can divine their character by the various characters of the visible things themselves, each of these having a necessary correspondence with the nature of the seeds from which they respectively were formed. [128] thus for a true apprehension of things sensation and reason are both necessary--sensation to certify to the apparent characters of objects, reason to pass from these to the nature of the invisible seeds or atoms which cause those characters. taken by themselves our sensations are false, inasmuch as they give us only combined impressions, yet they are a necessary stage towards the truth, as providing the materials which reason must separate into their real elements. from this brief summary we may gather that mind was conceived, so to speak, as placed at the _beginning_ of existence, inasmuch as it is the first originator of the vortex motions of the atoms or seeds of things; it was conceived also at the _end_ of existence as the power which by analysis of the data of sensation goes back through the complexity of actual being to the original unmingled or undeveloped nature of things. but the whole process of nature itself between these limits anaxagoras conceived as a purely mechanical or at least physical development, the uncertainty of his view as between these two alternative ways of considering it being {57} typified in his use of the two expressions _atoms_ and _seeds_. the analogies of this view with those of modern materialism, which finds in the ultimate molecules of matter "the promise and the potency of all life and all existence," need not be here enlarged upon. after nearly half a century's teaching at athens anaxagoras was indicted on a charge of inculcating doctrines subversive of religion. it is obvious enough that his theories left no room for the popular mythology, but the athenians were not usually very sensitive as to the bearing of mere theories upon their public institutions. it seems probable that the accusation was merely a cloak for political hostility. anaxagoras was the friend and intimate of pericles, leader of the democratic party in the state, and the attack upon anaxagoras was really a political move intended to damage pericles. as such pericles himself accepted it, and the trial became a contest of strength, which resulted in a partial success and a partial defeat for both sides. pericles succeeded in saving his friend's life, but the opposite party obtained a sentence of fine and banishment against him. anaxagoras retired to lampsacus, a city on the hellespont, and there, after some five years, he died. {58} chapter vii the atomists (_continued_) _empedocles at etna--brief life and scanty vision--the four elements--the philosophy of contradiction--philosophy a form of poesy--the philosopher a prophet--sensation through kinship--the whole creation groaneth_ [129] ii. empedocles.--empedocles was a native of agrigentum, a greek colony in sicily. at the time when he flourished in his native city (circa 440 b.c.) it was one of the wealthiest and most powerful communities in that wealthy and powerful island. it had, however, been infested, like its neighbours, by the designs of tyrants and the dissensions of rival factions. empedocles was a man of high family, and he exercised the influence which his position and his abilities secured him in promoting and maintaining the liberty of his fellow-countrymen. partly on this account, partly from a reputation which with or without his own will he acquired for an almost miraculous skill in healing and necromantic arts, empedocles attained to a position of singular personal power over his contemporaries, and was indeed regarded as semi-divine. his death was hedged about with mystery. according to one story he gave a great feast to his friends and offered a {59} sacrifice; then when his friends went to rest he disappeared, and was no more seen. according to a story less dignified and better known- deus immortalis haberi dum cupit empedocles, ardentem frigidus aetnam insiluit. hor. _ad pisones_, 464 _sqq_. "eager to be deemed a god, empedocles coldly threw himself in burning etna." the fraud, it was said, was detected by one of his shoes being cast up from the crater. whatever the manner of his end, the etna story may probably be taken as an ill-natured joke of some sceptic wit; and it is certain that no such story was believed by his fellow-citizens, who rendered in after years divine honours to his name. like xenophanes, parmenides, and other graeco-italian philosophers, he expounded his views in verse; but he reached a poetic excellence unattained by any predecessor. aristotle characterises his gift as homeric, and himself as a master of style, employing freely metaphors and other poetic forms. lucretius also speaks of him in terms of high admiration (_de nat. rer. i. 716 sqq._): "foremost among them is empedocles of agrigentum, child of the island with the triple capes, a land wondrous deemed in many wise, and worthy to be viewed of all men. rich it is in all manner of good things, and strong {60} in the might of its men, yet naught within its borders men deem more divine or more wondrous or more dear than her illustrious son. nay, the songs which issued from his godlike breast are eloquent yet, and expound his findings wondrous well, so that hardly is he thought to have been of mortal clay." [180] like the eleatics he denies that the senses are an absolute test of truth. "for straitened are the powers that have been shed upon our frames, and many the frets that cross us and defeat our care, and short the span of unsatisfying existence wherein 'tis given us to see. shortlived as a wreath of smoke men rise and fleet away, persuaded but of that alone which each has chanced to light upon, driven hither and thither, and vainly do they pray to find _the whole_. for this men may not see or hear or grasp with the hand of thought." yet that there is a kind or degree of knowledge possible for man his next words suggest when he continues: "thou therefore since hither thou hast been borne, hear, and thou shalt learn so much as 'tis given to mortal thought to reach." then follows an invocation in true epic style to the "much-wooed white-armed virgin muse," wherein he prays that "folly and impurity may be far from the lips of him the teacher, and that sending forth her swift-reined chariot from the shrine of piety, the muse may grant him to hear so much as is given to mortal hearing." {61} then follows a warning uttered by the muse to her would-be disciple: "thee the flowers of mortal distinctions shall not seduce to utter in daring of heart more than thou mayest, that thereby thou mightest soar to the highest heights of wisdom. and now behold and see, availing thyself of every device whereby the truth may in each matter be revealed, trusting not more to sight for thy learning than to hearing, nor to hearing with its loud echoings more than to the revelations of the tongue, nor to any one of the many ways whereby there is a path to knowledge. keep a check on the revelation of the hands also, and apprehend each matter in the way whereby it is made plain to thee." the correction of the one sense by the others, and of all by reason, this empedocles deemed the surest road to knowledge. he thus endeavoured to hold a middle place between the purely abstract reasoning of the eleatic philosophy and the unreasoned first guesses of ordinary observation suggested by this or that sense, and chiefly by the eyes. the senses might supply the raw materials of knowledge, unordered, unrelated, nay even chaotic and mutually destructive; but in their contradictions of each other he hoped to find a starting-point for order amidst the seeming chaos; reason should weigh, reason should reject, but reason also should find a residuum of truth. {62} [181] in our next fragment we have his enunciation in symbolical language of the _four_ elements, by him first formulated: "hear first of all what are the root principles of all things, being four in number,--zeus the bright shiner (_i.e._ fire), and hera (air), and life-bearing aidoneus (earth), and nestis (water), who with her teardrops waters the fountain of mortality. hear also this other that i will tell thee. nothing of all that perisheth ever is created, nothing ever really findeth an end in death. there is naught but a mingling, and a parting again of that which was mingled, and this is what men call a coming into being. foolish they, for in them is no far-reaching thought, that they should dream that what was not before can be, or that aught which is can utterly perish and die." thus again empedocles shows himself an eclectic; in denying that aught can come into being, he holds with the eleatics (see above, p. 47); in identifying all seeming creation, and ceasing to be with certain mixtures and separations of matter eternally existing, he links himself rather to the doctrine of anaxagoras (see above, p. 53). [132] these four elements constitute the total _corpus_ of the universe, eternal, as a whole unmoved and immovable, perfect like a sphere. but within this sphere-like self-centred all there are eternally proceeding separations and new unions of the elements of things; and every one of these is at once a birth {63} and an infinity of dyings, a dying and an infinity of births. towards this perpetual life in death, and death in life, two forces work inherent in the universe. one of these he names love, friendship, harmony, aphrodite goddess of love, passion, joy; the other he calls hate, discord, ares god of war, envy, strife. neither of the one nor of the other may man have apprehension by the senses; they are spiritually discerned; yet of the first men have some adumbration in the creative force within their own members, which they name by the names of love and nuptial joy. somewhat prosaically summing up the teaching of empedocles, aristotle says that he thus posited _six_ first principles in nature--four material, two motive or efficient. and he goes on to remark that in the working out of his theory of nature empedocles, though using his originative principles more consistently than anaxagoras used his principle of _nous_ or thought, not infrequently, nevertheless, resorts to some natural force in the elements themselves, or even to chance or necessity. "nor," he continues, "has he clearly marked off the functions of his two efficient forces, nay, he has so confounded them that at times it is discord that through separation leads to new unions, and love that through union causes diremption of that which was before." at times, too, empedocles seems to have had a vision of these two forces, not as the counteracting yet {64} co-operative _pulsations_, so to speak, of the universal life, but as rival forces having had in time their periods of alternate supremacy and defeat. while all things were in union under the influence of love, then was there neither earth nor water nor air nor fire, much less any of the individual things that in eternal interchange are formed of them; but all was in perfect sphere-like balance, enwrapped in the serenity of an eternal silence. then came the reign of discord, whereby war arose in heaven as of the fabled giants, and endless change,--endless birth, and endless death. these inconsistencies of doctrine, which aristotle notes as faults in empedocles, are perhaps rather proofs of the philosophic value of his conceptions. just as hegel in modern philosophy could only adequately formulate his conceptions through logical contradictions, so also, perhaps, under the veil of antagonisms of utterance, empedocles sought to give a fuller vision,--discord, in his own doctrine, not less than in his conception of nature, being thus the co-worker with love. the ordinary mind for the ordinary purposes of science seeks exactness of distinction in things, and language, being the creation of ordinary experience, lends itself to such a purpose; the philosophic mind, finding ready to its hand no forms of expression adapted to its conceptions, which have for their final end union and not distinction, {65} can only attain its purpose by variety, or even contradictoriness, of representation. thus to ordinary conception cause must precede effect; to the philosophic mind, dealing as it does with the idea of an organic whole, everything is at once cause and effect, is at once therefore prior to and subsequent to every other, is at once the ruling and the ruled, the conditioning and that which is conditioned. so, to empedocles there are four elements, yet in the eternal perfection, the silent reign of love, there are none of them. there are two forces working upon these and against each other, yet each is like the other either a unifying or a separating force, as one pleases to regard them; and in the eternal silence, the ideal perfectness, there is no warfare at all. there is joy in love which creates, and in creating destroys; there is joy in the eternal stillness, nay, this is itself the ultimate joy. there are two forces working, love and hate, yet is there but one force, and that force is necessity. and for final contradiction, the universe is self-balanced, self-conditioned, a perfect sphere; therefore this necessity is perfect self-realisation, and consequently perfect freedom. the men who have had the profoundest vision of things--heraclitus, empedocles, socrates, plato, ay, and aristotle himself when he was the thinker and not the critic; not to speak of the great moderns, whether preachers or philosophers--have none of {66} them been greatly concerned for consistency of expression, for a mere logical self-identity of doctrine. life in every form, nay, existence in any form, is a union of contradictories, a complex of antagonisms; and the highest and deepest minds are those that are most adequate to have the vision of these antagonisms in their contrariety, and also in their unity; to see and hear as empedocles did the eternal war and clamour, but to discern also, as he did in it and through it and behind it and about it, the eternal peace and the eternal silence. philosophy, in fact, is a form of poesy; it is, if one pleases so to call it, 'fiction founded upon fact.' it is not for that reason the less noble a form of human thought, rather is it the more noble, in the same way as poetry is nobler than mere narrative, and art than representation, and imagination than perception. philosophy is indeed one of the noblest forms of poetry, because the facts which are its basis are the profoundest, the most eternally interesting, the most universally significant. and not only has it nobility in respect of the greatness of its subject matter, it has also possibilities of an essential truth deeper and more far-reaching and more fruitful than any demonstrative system of fact can have. a great poem or work of art of any kind is an adumbration of truths which transcend any actual fact, and as such it brings us nearer to the underlying fundamentals of {67} reality which all actual occurrences only by accumulation _tend_ to realise. philosophy, then, in so far as it is great, is, like other great art, prophetic in both interpretations of the word, both as expounding the inner truth that is anterior to actuality, and also as anticipating that final realisation of all things for which 'the whole creation groaneth.' it is thus at the basis of religion, of art, of morals; it is the accumulated sense of the highest in man with respect to what is greatest and most mysterious in and about him. the facts, indeed, with which philosophy attempts to deal are so vital and so vast that even the greatest intellects may well stagger occasionally under the burden of their own conceptions of them. to rise to the height of such an argument demands a more than miltonic imagination; and criticisms directed only at this or that fragment of the whole are as irrelevant, if not as inept, as the criticism of the mathematician directed against _paradise lost_, that it 'proved nothing.' the mystery of being and of life, the true purport and reality of this world of which we seem to be a part, and yet of which we seem to have some apprehension as though we were other than a part; the strange problems of creation and change and birth and death, of love and sin and purification; of a heaven dreamt of or believed in, or somehow actually apprehended; of life here, and of an immortality yearned after and hoped for--these {68} problems, these mysteries, no philosophy ever did or ever can empty of their strangeness, or bring down to the level of the commonplace 'certainties' of daily life or of science, which are no more than shadows after all, that seem certainties because of the background of mystery on which they are cast. but just as an individual is a higher being, a fuller, more truly human creature, when he has got so far removed from the merely animal existence as to realise that there are such problems and mysteries, so also the humanisation of the race, the development of its noblest peoples and its noblest literatures, have been conditioned by the successive visions of these mysteries in more and more complex organisation by the great philosophers and poets and preachers. the systems of such men may die, but such deaths mean, as empedocles said of the ordinary deaths of things, only an infinity of new births. being dead, their systems yet speak in the inherited language and ideas and aspirations and beliefs that form the never-ending, still-renewing material for new philosophies and new faiths. in thales, heraclitus, pythagoras, parmenides, empedocles we have been touching hands with an apostolic succession of great men and great thinkers and great poets--men of noble life and lofty thoughts, true prophets and revealers. and the apostolic succession even within the greek world does not fail for centuries yet. {69} passing from the general conceptions of empedocles to those more particular rationalisations of particular problems which very largely provided the motive of early philosophies, while scientific methods were in an undeveloped and uncritical condition, we may notice such interesting statements as the following: [135] "the earth, which is at the centre of the sphere of the universe, remains firm, because the spin of the universe as a whole keeps it in its place like the water in a spinning cup." he has the same conception of the early condition of the earth as in other cosmogonies. at first it was a chaos of watery slough, which slowly, under the influence of sky and sun, parted off into earth and sea. the sea was the 'sweat' of the earth, and by analogy with the sweat it was salt. the heavens, on the other hand, were formed of air and fire, and the sun was, as it were, a speculum at which the effulgence and the heat of the whole heavens concentrated. but that the aether and the fire had not been fully separated from earth and water he held to be proved by the hot fountains and fiery phenomena which must have been so familiar to a native of sicily. curiously enough he imagined fire to possess a solidifying power, and therefore attributed to it the solidity of the earth and the hardness of the rocks. no doubt he had observed some effects of fire in 'metamorphic' formations in his own vicinity. {70} [137] he had also a conception of the gradual development on the earth of higher and higher forms of life, the first being rude and imperfect, and a 'struggle for existence' ensuing in which the monstrous and the deficient gradually were eliminated--the "two-faced, the double-breasted, the oxen-shaped with human prows, or human-shaped with head of ox, or hemaphrodite," and so forth. love and strife worked out their ends upon these varied forms; some procreated and reproduced after their image, others were incapable of reproduction from mere monstrosity or [138] weakness, and disappeared. something other than mere chance thus governed the development of things; there was a law, a reason, a _logos_ governing the process. this law or reason he perhaps fancifully illustrated by attributing the different characters of flesh and sinew and bone to the different numerical proportions, in which they severally contain the different elements. on this aristotle, keen-scented critic as he was, has a question, or series of questions, to ask as to the relation between this logos, or principle of orderly combination, and love as the ruling force in all unions of things. "is love," he asks, "a cause of mixtures of any sort, or only of such sorts as logos dictates? and whether then is love identical with this logos, or are they separate and distinct; and if so, what settles their separate functions?" questions {71} which empedocles did not answer, and perhaps would not have tried to answer had he heard them. [139] the soul or life-principle in man empedocles regarded as an ordered composite of all the elements or principles of the life in nature, and in this kinship of the elements in man and the elements in nature he found a rationale of our powers of perception. "by the earth," said he, "we have perception of earth; by water we have perception of water; of the divine aether, by aether; of destructive fire, by fire; of love, by love; of strife, by strife." he therefore, as aristotle observes, drew no radical distinction between sense-apprehension and thought. he located the faculty of apprehension more specifically in the blood, conceiving that in it the combination of the elements was most complete. and the variety of apprehensive gift in different persons he attributed to the greater or lesser perfectness of this blood mixture in them individually. those that were dull and stupid had a relative deficiency of the lighter and more invisible elements; those that were quick and impulsive had a relatively larger proportion of these. again, specific faculties depended on local perfection of mixture in certain organs; orators having this perfectness in their tongues, cunning craftsmen possessing it in their hands, and so on. and the degrees of capacity of sensation, which he found in various animals, or even plants, he explained in similar fashion. {72} the process of sensation he conceived to be conditioned by an actual emission from the bodies perceived of elements or images of themselves which found access to our apprehension through channels [140] congruous to their nature. but ordering, criticising, organising these various apprehensions was the mind or _nous_, which he conceived to be of divine nature, to be indeed an expression or emanation of the divine. and here has been preserved a strangely interesting passage, in which he incorporates and develops in characteristic fashion the doctrine of transmigration [141] of souls: "there is a decree of necessity, a law given of old from the gods, eternal, sealed with mighty oaths, that when any heavenly creature (daemon) of those that are endowed with length of days, shall in waywardness of heart defile his hands with sin of deed or speech, he shall wander for thrice ten thousand seasons far from the dwellings of the blest, taking upon him in length of time all manner of mortal forms, traversing in turn the many toilsome paths of existence. him the aetherial wrath hurries onward to the deep, and the deep spews him forth on to the threshold of earth, and unworn earth casts him up to the fires of the sun, and again the aether hurls him into the eddies. one receives him, and then another, but detested is he of them all. of such am i also one, an exile and a wanderer from god, a slave to strife and its madness." {73} thus to his mighty conception the life of all creation, and not of man only, was a great expiation, an eternal round of punishment for sin; and in the unending flux of life each creature rose or fell in the scale of existence according to the deeds of good or ill done in each successive life; rising sometimes to the state of men, or among men to the high functions of physicians and prophets and kings, or among beasts to the dignity of the lion, or among trees to the beauty of the laurel; or, on the contrary, sinking through sin to lowest forms of bestial or vegetable life. till at the last they who through obedience and right-doing have expiated their wrong, are endowed by the blessed gods with endless honour, to dwell for ever with them and share their banquets, untouched any more with human care and sorrow and pain. [143] the slaying of any living creature, therefore, empedocles, like pythagoras, abhorred, for all were kin. all foul acts were forms of worse than suicide; life should be a long act of worship, of expiation, of purification. and in the dim past he pictured a vision of a golden age, in which men worshipped not many gods, but love only, and not with sacrifices of blood, but with pious images, and cunningly odorous incense, and offerings of fragrant myrrh. with abstinence also, and above all with that noblest abstinence, the abstinence from vice and wrong. {74} chapter viii the atomists (_concluded_) _the laughing philosopher--atoms and void--no god and no truth_ [143] iii. leucippus and democritus.--leucippus is variously called a native of elea, of abdera, of melos, of miletus. he was a pupil of zeno the eleatic. [144] democritus was a native of abdera. they seem to have been almost contemporary with socrates. the two are associated as thorough-going teachers of the 'atomic philosophy,' but democritus, 'the laughing philosopher,' as he was popularly called in later times, in distinction from heraclitus, 'the weeping philosopher,' was much the more famous. [145] he lived to a great age. he himself refers to his travels and studies thus: "above all the men of my time i travelled farthest, and extended my inquiries to places the most distant. i visited the most varied climates and countries, heard the largest number of learned men, nor has any one surpassed me in the gathering together of writings and their interpretation, no, not even the most learned of the egyptians, with whom i spent five years." we {75} are also informed that, through desire of learning, he visited babylon and chaldaea, to visit the astrologers and the priests. [146] democritus was not less prolific as a writer than he was voracious as a student, and in him first the division of philosophy into certain great sections, such as physical, mathematical, ethical, was clearly [147] drawn. we are, however, mainly concerned with his teaching in its more strictly philosophical aspects. his main doctrine was professedly antithetical to that of the eleatics, who, it will be remembered, worked out on abstract lines a theory of one indivisible, eternal, immovable being. democritus, on the contrary, declared for two co-equal elements, the full and the empty, or being and nonentity. the latter, he maintained, was as real as the former. as we should put it, body is unthinkable except by reference to space which that body does not occupy, as well as to space which it does occupy; and conversely space is unthinkable except by reference to body actually or potentially filling or defining it. what democritus hoped to get by this double or correlative system was a means of accounting for or conceiving of _change_ in nature. the difficulty with the eleatics was, as we have seen, how to understand whence or why the transition from that which absolutely is, to this strange, at least apparent, system of eternal flux and transformation. democritus {76} hoped to get over this difficulty by starting as fully with that which _is not_, in other words, with that which _wants_ change in order to have any recognisable being at all, as with that which _is_, and which therefore might be conceived as seeking and requiring only to be what it is. [148] having got his principle of stability and his principle of change on an equal footing, democritus next laid it down that all the differences visible in things were differences either of shape, of arrangement, or of position; practically, that is, he considered that what seem, to us to be qualitative differences in things, _e.g._ hot or cold, sweet or sour, green or yellow, are only resulting impressions from different shapes, or different arrangements, or different modes of presentation, among the atoms of which things are composed. coming now to that which _is_, democritus, as against the eleatics, maintained that this was not a unity, some one immovable, unchangeable existence, but an innumerable number of atoms, invisible by reason of their smallness, which career through empty space (that which _is not_), and by their union bring objects into being, by their separation bring these to destruction. the action of these atoms on each other depended on the manner in which they were brought into contact; but in any case the unity of any object was only an apparent unity, it being really constituted of a multitude of interlaced and mutually related {77} particles, and all growth or increase of the object being conditioned by the introduction into the structure of additional atoms from without. [149] for the motions of the atoms he had no anterior cause to offer, other than necessity or fate. they existed, and necessarily and always had existed, in a state of whirl; and for that which always had been he maintained that no preceding cause could legitimately or reasonably be demanded. [150] nothing, then, could come out of nothing; all the visible structure of the universe had its origin in the movements of the atoms that constituted it, and conditioned its infinite changes. the atoms, by a useful but perhaps too convenient metaphor, he called the _seeds_ of all things. they were infinite in number, though not infinite in the number, of their shapes. many atoms were similar to each other, and this similarity formed a basis of union among them, a warp, so to speak, or solid foundation across which the woof of dissimilar atoms played to constitute the differences of things. [151] out of this idea of an eternal eddy or whirl democritus developed a cosmogony. the lighter atoms he imagined flew to the outmost rim of the eddy, there constituting the heavenly fires and the heavenly aether. the heavier atoms gathered at the centre, forming successively air and water and the solid earth. not that there was only one such {78} system or world, but rather multitudes of them, all varying one from the other; some without sun or moon, others with greater luminaries than those of our system, others with a greater number. all, however, had necessarily a centre; all as systems were necessarily spherical. [152] as regards the atoms he conceived that when they differed in weight this must be in respect of a difference in their essential size. in this he was no doubt combating the notion that the atoms say of lead or gold were in their substance, taking equal quantities, of greater weight than atoms of water or air. the difference of weight in objects depended on the proportion which the atoms in them bore to the amount of empty space which was interlaced with them. on the other hand, a piece of iron was lighter yet harder than a piece of lead of equal size, because of the special way in which the atoms in it were linked together. there were fewer atoms in it, but they were, in consequence of their structure and arrangement, more tightly strung. [153] in all this democritus was with great resolution working out what we may call a strictly mechanical theory of the universe. even the soul or life-principle in living creatures was simply a structure of the finest and roundest (and therefore most nimble) atoms, with which he compared the extremely attenuated dust particles visible in their never-ending {79} dance in a beam of light passed into a darkened room. this structure of exceeding tenuity and nimbleness was the source of the motion characteristic of living creatures, and provided that elastic counteracting force to the inward-pressing nimble air, whereby were produced the phenomena of respiration. every object, in fact, whether living or not, kept its form and distinctive existence by its possession in degree of a kind of soul or spirit of resistance in its structure, adequate to counteract the pressure of external forces upon its particles. [155] sensation and perception were forms in which these external forces acted upon the more nimble and lively existences, more particularly on living creatures. for every body was continually sending forth emanations or images resembling itself sufficiently in form and structure to affect perceptive bodies with an apprehension of that form and structure. these images travelled by a process of successive transmission, similar to that by which wave-motions are propagated in water. they were, in other words, not movements of the _particles_ of the objects, which latter must otherwise in time grow less and fade away, but a modification in the arrangement of the particles immediately next the object, which modification reproduced itself in the next following, and so on right through the medium to the perceptive body. {80} [156] these images tended by extension in all directions to reach vast dimensions at times, and to influence the minds of men in sleep and on other occasions in strange ways. hence men imagined gods, and attributed those mighty phenomena of nature--earthquakes, tempests, lightning and thunder, and dire eclipses of sun and moon, to the vaguely visible powers which they imagined they saw. there was indeed a soul or spirit of the universe, as there was a soul or spirit of every individual thing that constituted it. but this was only a finer system of atoms after all. all else is convention or dream; the only realities are atoms and emptiness, matter and space. [157] of absolute verity through the senses we know nothing; our perceptions are only conventional interpretations of we know not what. for to other living creatures these same sensations have other meanings than they have to us, and even the same person is not always affected alike by the same thing; which then is the true of two differing perceptions we cannot say. and therefore either there is no such thing as truth, or, at all events, we know through the senses nothing of it. the only genuine knowledge is that which transcends appearances, and reasons out what is, irrespective of appearances,--in other words, the only genuine knowledge is that of the (atomic) philosopher. and his knowledge is {81} the result of the happy mixture of his atoms whereby all is in equal balance, neither too hot nor too cold. such a man seeing in the mind's eye the whole universe a tissue of whirling and interlacing atoms, with no real mystery or terror before or after, will live a life of cheerful fearlessness, undisturbed by terrors of a world to come or of powers unseen. his happiness is not in feastings or in gold, but in a mind at peace. and three human perfections he will seek to attain: to reason rightly, to speak graciously, to do his duty. {82} chapter ix the sophists _anarchic philosophy--success not truth--man the measure--all opinions true--reductio ad absurdum_ a certain analogy may perhaps be discerned between the progression of philosophic thought in greece as we have traced it, and the political development which had its course in almost every greek state during the same period. the ionic philosophy may be regarded as corresponding with the _kingly_ era in greek politics. philosophy sits upon the heights and utters its authoritative dicta for the resolution of the seeming contradictions of things. one principle is master, but the testimony of the senses is not denied; a harmony of thought and sensation is sought in the interpretation of appearances by the light of a ruling idea. in pythagoras and his order we have an _aristocratic_ organisation of philosophy. its truths are for the few, the best men are the teachers, equal as initiated partakers in the mysteries, supreme over all outside their society. a reasoned and reasonable order and method are {83} symbolised by their theory of number; their philosophy is political, their politics oligarchic. in the eleatic school we have a succession of personal attempts to construct a _domination_ in the theory of nature; some ideal conception is attempted to be so elevated above the data of sensation as to override them altogether, and the general result we are now to see throughout the philosophic world, as it was seen also throughout the world of politics, in a total collapse of the principle of forced authority, and a development, of successively nearer approaches to anarchic individualism and doubt. the notion of an ultimately true and real, whatever form it might assume in various theorists' hands, being in its essence apart from and even antagonistic to the perceptions of sense, was at last definitely cast aside as a delusion; what remained were the individual perceptions, admittedly separate, unreasoned, unrelated; reason was dethroned, chaos was king. in other words, what _seemed_ to any individual sentient being at any moment to be, that for him was, and nothing else was. the distinction between the real and the apparent was definitely attempted to be abolished, not as hitherto by rejecting the sensually apparent in favour of the rationally conceived real, but by the denial of any such real altogether. the individualistic revolution in philosophy not {84} only, however, had analogies with the similar revolution contemporaneously going on in greek politics, it was greatly facilitated by it. each, in short, acted and reacted on the other. just as the sceptical philosophy of the encyclopaedists in france promoted the revolution, and the revolution in its turn developed and confirmed the philosophic scepticism, so also the collapse of contending philosophies in greece promoted the collapse of contending systems of political authority, and the collapse of political authority facilitated the growth of that individualism in thought with which the name of the sophists is associated. [178] cicero (_brut_. 12) definitely connects the rise of these teachers with the expulsion of the tyrants and the establishment of democratic republics in sicily. from 466 to 406 b.c. syracuse was democratically governed, and a 'free career to talents,' as in revolutionary france, so also in revolutionary greece, began to be promoted by the elaboration of a system of persuasive argument. devices of method called 'commonplaces' were constructed, whereby, irrespective of the truth or falsehood of the subject-matter, a favourable vote in the public assemblies, a successful verdict in the public courts, might more readily be procured. thus by skill of verbal rhetoric, the worse might be made to appear the better reason; and philosophy, so far as it continued its functions, {85} became a search, not for the real amidst the confusions of the seeming and unreal, but a search for the seeming and the plausible, to the detriment, or at least to the ignoring, of any reality at all. the end of philosophy then was no longer universal truth, but individual success; and consistently enough, the philosopher himself professed the individualism of his own point of view, by teaching only those who were prepared to pay him for his teaching. all over greece, with the growth of democracy, this philosophy of persuasion became popular; but it was to athens, under pericles at this time the centre of all that was most vivid and splendid in greek life and thought, that the chief teachers of the new philosophy flocked from every part of the greek world. [177] the first great leader of the sophists was _protagoras_. he, it is said, was the first to teach for pay; he also was the first to adopt the name of sophist. in the word sophist there was indeed latent the idea which subsequently attached to it, but as first used it seems to have implied this only, that _skill_ was the object of the teaching rather than _truth_; the new teachers professed themselves 'practical men,' not mere theorists. the greek word, in short, meant an able cultivated man in any branch of the arts; and the development of practical capacity was doubtless what protagoras {86} intended to indicate as the purpose of his teaching, when he called himself a sophist. but the ability he really undertook to cultivate was ability to _persuade_, for greece at this time was nothing if not political; and persuasive oratory was the one road to political success. and as athens was the great centre of greek politics, as well as of greek intellect, to athens protagoras came as a teacher. he was born at abdera, in thrace (birthplace also of democritus), in 480 b.c., began to teach at athens about 451 b.c., and soon acquired great influence with pericles, the distinguished leader of the athenian democracy at this time. it is even alleged that when in 445 the athenians were preparing to establish a colony at thurii in italy, protagoras was requested to draw up a code of laws for the new state, and personally to superintend its execution. after spending some time in italy he returned to athens, and taught there with great success for a number of years. afterwards he taught for some time in sicily, and died at the age of seventy, after [178] about forty years of professional activity. he does not seem to have contented himself with the merely practical task of teaching rhetoric, but in a work which he, perhaps ironically, entitled _truth_, he enunciated the principles on which he based his teaching. those principles were summed up in the sentence, "man (by which he meant _each_ man) is {87} the measure of all things, whether of their existence when they do exist, or of their non-existence when [179] they do not." in the development of this doctrine protagoras starts from a somewhat similar analysis of things to that of heraclitus and others. everything is in continual flux, and the apparently real objects in nature are the mere temporary and illusory result of the in themselves invisible movements and minglings of the elements of which they are composed; and not only is it a delusion to attempt to give a factitious reality to the things which appear, it is equally a delusion to attempt to separate the (supposed) thing perceived from the perception itself. a thing is only as and when it is perceived. and a third delusion is to attempt to separate a supposed perceiving mind from the perception; all three exist only in and through the momentary perception; the supposed reality behind this, whether external in the object or internal in the mind, is a mere imagination. thus the heraclitean flux in nature was extended to mind also; only the sensation exists, and that only at the moment of its occurrence; this alone is truth, this alone is reality; all else is delusion. [180] it followed from this that as a man felt a thing to be, so for him it veritably was. thus abstract truth or falsity could not be; the same statements could be indifferently true or false--to different {88} individuals at the same time, to the same individual at different times. it followed that all appearances were equally true: what seemed to be to any man, that was alone the true for him. the relation of such a doctrine as this to politics and to morals is not far to seek. every man's opinion was as good as another's; if by persuasion you succeeded in altering a man's opinion, you had not deceived the man, his new opinion was as true (to him) as the old one. persuasiveness, therefore, was the only wisdom. thus if a man is ill what he eats and drinks seems bitter to him, and it is so; when he is well it seems the opposite, and is so. he is not a wiser man in the second state than in the first, but the second state is pleasanter. if then you can persuade him that what he thinks bitter is really sweet, you have done him good. this is what the physician tries to do by his drugs; this is what the sophist tries to do by his words. virtue then is teachable in so far as it is possible to persuade a boy or a man by rhetoric that that course of conduct which pleases others is a pleasant course for him. but if any one happens not to be persuaded of this, and continues to prefer his own particular course of conduct, this _is_ for him the good course. you cannot blame him; you cannot say he is wrong. if you punish him you simply endeavour to supply the dose of unpleasantness which may {89} be needed to put the balance in his case on the same side as it already occupies in the case of other people. it may be worth while to anticipate a little, and insert here in summary the refutation of this position put into the mouth of socrates by plato in the _theaetetus_: "but i ought not to conceal from you that there is a serious objection which may be urged against this doctrine of protagoras. for there are states, such as madness and dreaming, in which perception is false; and half our life is spent in dreaming; and 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? . . . 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 did not begin his great work on truth with a declaration that a pig, 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 expounding to us that he was no wiser than a tadpole. for if truth is only sensation, 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 {90} 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?" . . . 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 reconcilable 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 mistaken. 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 of all things,' and then who is to decide? upon hip 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 {91} [the majority being against him] he will be bound to acknowledge 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 as regards themselves, and he must admit 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" (jowett, _plato_, iv. pp. 239 _sqq._) the refutation seems tolerably complete, but a good deal had to happen before greece was ready to accept or plato to offer such a refutation. {92} chapter x the sophists (_concluded_) _nothing knowable--the solitude of scepticism--the lawlessness of scepticism--the good in scepticism_ [183] gorgias was perhaps even more eminent a sophist than protagoras. he was a native of leontini in sicily, and came to athens in the year 427 b.c. on a public embassy from his native city. the splendid reputation for political and rhetorical ability, which preceded him to athens, he fully justified both by his public appearances before the athenian assembly, and by the success of his private instructions to the crowds of wealthy young men who resorted to him. he dressed in magnificent style, and affected a lofty and poetical manner of speech, which offended the more critical, but which pleased the crowd. [181] he also, like protagoras, published a treatise in which he expounded his fundamental principles, and like protagoras, he preceded it with a striking if somewhat ironical title, and an apophthegm in which he summarised his doctrine. the title of his work was _of the non-existent_, that is, _of nature_, and {93} his dictum, "nothing exists, or if anything exists, it cannot be apprehended by man, and even if it could be apprehended, the man who apprehended it could not expound or explain it to his neighbour." in support of this strange doctrine, gorgias adopted the quibbling method of argument which had been applied with some success to dialectical purposes by zeno, melissus, and others (see above, pp. 44 _sqq._) [185] his chief argument to prove the first position laid down by him depended on a double and ambiguous use of the word _is_; "that which is not, _is_ the non-existent: the word _is_ must, therefore, be applicable to it as truly as when we say that which is, _is_; therefore, being is predicable of that which is not." so conversely he proved not-being to be predicable of that which is. and in like manner he made away with any possible assertions as to the finite or infinite, the eternal or created, nature of that which is. logic could supply him with alternative arguments from whatever point he started, such as would seem to land the question in absurdity. hence his first position was (he claimed) established, that 'nothing is.' to prove the second, that even if anything is, it cannot be known to man, he argued thus: "if what a man thinks is not identical with what is, plainly what is cannot be thought. and that what a man thinks is not identical with what is can be {94} shown from the fact that thinking does not affect the facts. you may imagine a man flying, or a chariot coursing over the deep, but you do not find these things to occur because you imagine them. again, if we assume that what we think is identical with what is, then it must be impossible to think of what is not. but this is absurd; for we can think of such admittedly imaginary beings as scylla and chimaera, and multitudes of others. there is therefore no necessary relation between our thoughts and any realities; we may believe, but we cannot prove, which (if any) of our conceptions have relation to an external fact and which have not." [187] nor thirdly, supposing any man had obtained an apprehension of what is real, could he possibly communicate it to any one else. if a man saw anything, he could not possibly by verbal description make clear what it is he sees to a man who has never seen. and so if a man has not himself the apprehension of reality, mere words from another cannot possibly give him any idea of it. he may imagine he has the same idea as the speaker, but where is he going to get the common test by which to establish the identity? without attempting to follow gorgias further, we can see plainly enough the object and purport of the whole doctrine. its main result is to _isolate_. it isolates each man from his fellows; he cannot tell {95} what they know or think, they cannot reach any common ground with him. it isolates him from nature; he cannot tell what nature is, he cannot tell whether he knows anything of nature or reality at all. it isolates him from himself; he cannot tell for certain what relation exists (if any) between what he imagines he perceives at any moment and any remembered or imagined previous experiences; he cannot be sure that there ever were any such experiences, or what that self was (if anything) which had them, or whether there was or is any self perceiving anything. let us imagine the moral effect on the minds of the ablest youth of greece of such an absolute collapse of belief. the philosophic scepticism did not deprive them of their appetites or passions; it did not in the least alter their estimate of the prizes of success, or the desirability of wealth and power. all it did was to shatter the invisible social bonds of reverence and honour and truth and justice, which in greater or less degree act as a restraining force upon the purely selfish appetites of men. not only belief in divine government disappeared, but belief in any government external or internal; justice became a cheating device to deprive a man of what was ready to his grasp; good-faith was stupidity when it was not a more subtle form of deceit; morality was at best a mere convention which a man might cancel if {96} he pleased; the one reality was the appetite of the moment, the one thing needful its gratification; society, therefore, was universal war, only with subtler weapons. of course protagoras and gorgias were only notable types of a whole horde of able men who in various ways, and with probably less clear notions than these men of the drift or philosophic significance of their activity, helped all over greece in the promulgation of this new gospel of self-interest. many sophists no doubt troubled themselves very little with philosophical questions; they were 'agnostics,' know-nothings; all they professed to do was to teach some practical skill of a verbal or rhetorical character. they had nothing to do with the nature or value of ideals; they did not profess to say whether any end or aim was in itself good or bad, but given an end or aim, they were prepared to help those who hired them to acquire a skill which would be useful towards attaining it. but whether a philosophy or ultimate theory of life be expressly stated or realised by a nation or an individual, or be simply ignored by them, there always is some such philosophy or theory underlying their action, and that philosophy or theory tends to work itself out to its logical issue in action, whether men openly profess it or no. and the theory of negation of law in nature or in man which underlay {97} the sophistic practice had its logical and necessary effect on the social structure throughout greece, in a loosening of the bonds of religion, of family reverence and affection, of patriotism, of law, of honour. thucydides in a well-known passage (iii. 82) thus describes the prevalent condition of thought in his own time, which was distinctively that of the sophistic teaching: "the common meaning of words was turned about at men's pleasure; the most reckless bravo was deemed the most desirable friend; a man of prudence and moderation was styled a coward; a man who listened to reason was a good-for-nothing simpleton. people were trusted exactly in proportion to their violence and unscrupulousness, and no one was so popular as the successful conspirator, except perhaps one who had been clever enough to outwit him at his own trade, but any one who honestly attempted to remove the causes of such treacheries was considered a traitor to his party. as for oaths, no one imagined they were to be kept a moment longer than occasion required; it was, in fact, an added pleasure to destroy your enemy if you had managed to catch him through his trusting to your word." these are the words not of plato, who is supposed often enough to allow his imagination to carry him beyond his facts about the sophists as about others, nor are they the words of a satiric poet such as {98} aristophanes. they are the words of the most sober and philosophic of greek historians, and they illustrate very strikingly the tendency, nay, the absolute necessity, whereby the theories of philosophers in the closet extend themselves into the market-place and the home, and find an ultimate realisation of themselves for good or for evil in the 'business and bosoms' of the common crowd. it is not to be said that the individualistic and iconoclastic movement which the sophists represented was wholly bad, or wholly unnecessary, any more (to again quote a modern instance) than that the french revolution was. there was much, no doubt, in the traditional religion and morality of greece at that time which represented obsolete and antiquated conditions, when every city lived apart from its neighbours with its own narrow interests and local cults and ceremonials. greece was ceasing to be an unconnected crowd of little separate communities; unconsciously it was preparing itself for a larger destiny, that of conqueror and civiliser of east and west. this scepticism, utterly untenable and unworkable on the lines extravagantly laid down by its leading teachers, represented the birth of new conditions of thought and action adapted to the new conditions of things. on the surface, and accepted literally, it seemed to deny the possibility of knowledge; it threatened to destroy humanity and {99} civilisation. but its strength lay latent in an implied denial only of what was merely traditional; it denied the finality of purely greek preconceptions; it was laying the foundations of a broader humanity. it represented the claim of a new generation to have no dogma or assumption thrust on it by mere force, physical or moral. "_i_ too am a man," it said; "_i_ have rights; _my_ reason must be convinced." this is the fundamental thought at the root of most revolutions and reformations and revivals, and the thought is therefore a necessary and a just one. unfortunately it seems to be an inevitable condition of human affairs that nothing new, however necessary or good can come into being out of the old, without much sorrow and many a birth-pang. the extravagant, the impetuous, the narrow-minded on both sides seize on their points of difference, raise them into battle-cries, and make what might be a peaceful regeneration a horrid battlefield of contending hates. the christ when he comes brings not peace into the world, but a sword. and men of evil passions and selfish ambitions are quick on both sides to make the struggle of old and new ideals a handle for their own indulgence or their own advancement; the pharisees and the judases between them make the advent in some of its aspects a sorry spectacle. a reconciler was wanted who should wed what {100} was true in the new doctrine of individualism with what was valuable in the old doctrine of universal and necessary truth; who should be able to say, "yes, i acknowledge that your individual view of things must be reckoned with, and mine, and everybody else's; and for that very reason do i argue for a universal and necessary truth, because the very truth for you as an individual is just this universal." the union and identification of the individual and universal,--this paradox of philosophy is the doctrine of socrates. {101} chapter xi socrates _the crisis of philosophy--philosophic midwifery--the wisest of men--the gadfly of athens--justice, beauty, utility--virtue is knowledge_ the sophistic teaching having forced philosophy to descend into the practical interests and personal affairs of men, it followed that any further step in philosophy, any reaction against the sophists, could only begin from the moral point of view. philosophy, as an analysis of the data of perception or of nature, had issued in a social and moral chaos. only by brooding on the moral chaos could the spirit of truth evoke a new order; only out of the moral darkness could a new intellectual light be made to shine. the social and personal anarchy seemed to be a _reductio ad absurdum_ of the philosophy of nature; if ever the philosophy of nature was to be recovered it must be through a revision of the theory of morals. if it could be proved that the doctrine of individualism, of isolation, which the analysis of a protagoras or a gorgias had reached, was not only _unlivable_ but unthinkable,--carried the seeds of its own destruction, theoretical as well as practical, within {102} itself,--then the analysis of _perception_, from which this moral individualism issued, might itself be called to submit to revision, and a stable point of support in the moral world might thus become a centre of stability for the intellectual and the physical also. by a perfectly logical process, therefore, the crisis of philosophy produced in greece through the moral and social chaos of the sophistic teaching had two issues, or perhaps we may call it one issue, carried out on the one side with a less, on the other side with a greater completeness. the less complete reaction from sophistic teaching attempted only such reconstruction of the moral point of view as should recover a law or principle of general and universally cogent character, whereon might be built anew a _moral_ order without attempting to extend the inquiry as to a universal principle into the regions of abstract truth or into physics. the more complete and logical reaction, starting, indeed, from a universal principle in morals, undertook a logical reconstruction on the recovered universal basis all along the line of what was knowable. to socrates it was given to recover the lost point of stability in the world of morals, and by a system of attack, invented by himself, to deal in such a manner with the anarchists about him as to prepare the way for his successors, when the time was ripe for a more extended exposition of the new point of {103} view. those who in succession to him worked out a more limited theory of law, mainly or exclusively in the world of morals, only were called the _incomplete socratics_. those who undertook to work it out through the whole field of the knowable, the _complete socratics_, were the two giants of philosophy, plato and aristotle. greek philosophy then marks with the life of socrates a parting of the ways in two senses: _first_, inasmuch as with him came the reaction from a physical or theoretical philosophy, having its issue in a moral chaos; and _second_, inasmuch as from him the two great streams of later philosophy issued--the one a philosophy of law or universals in _action_, the other a philosophy of law or universals in _thought_ and _nature_ as well. socrates, son of sophroniscus a sculptor and phaenarete a midwife, was born at athens in or about the year 469 b.c. his parents were probably poor, for socrates is represented as having been too poor to pay the fees required for instruction by the sophists of his time. but in whatever way acquired or assimilated, it is certain that there was little of the prevalent culture in cultivated athens with which socrates had not ultimately a working acquaintance. among a people distinguished generally for their handsome features and noble proportions, socrates was a notable exception. his face was squat and {104} round, his eyes protruding, his lips thick; he was clumsy and uncouth in appearance, careless of dress, a thorough 'bohemian,' as we should call him. he was, however, gifted with an uncommon bodily vigour, was indifferent to heat and cold, by temperament moderate in food and drink, yet capable on occasion of drinking most people 'under the table.' he was of an imperturbable humour, not to be excited either by danger or by ridicule. his vein of sarcasm was keen and trenchant, his natural shrewdness astonishing, all the more astonishing because crossed with a strange vein of mysticism and a curious self-forgetfulness. as he grew up he felt the visitation of a mysterious internal voice, to which or to his own internal communings he would sometimes be observed to listen in abstracted stillness for hours. the voice within him was felt as a restraining force, limiting his action in various ways, but leaving him free to wander about among his fellows, to watch their doings and interpret their thoughts, to question unweariedly his fellows of every class, high and low, rich and poor, concerning righteousness and justice and goodness and purity and truth. he did not enter on his philosophic work with some grand general principle ready-made, to which he was prepared to fit the facts by hook or by crook. rather he compared himself to his mother, the midwife; he sought to help others to {105} express themselves; he had nothing to tell them, he wanted them to tell him. this was the irony of socrates, the eternal _questioning_, which in time came to mean in people's minds what the word does now. for it was hard, and grew every year harder, to convince people that so subtle a questioner was as ignorant as he professed to be; or that the man who could touch so keenly the weak point of all other men's answers, had no answer to the problems of life himself. in striking contrast, then, to the method of all previous philosophies, socrates busied himself to begin with, not with some general intellectual _principle_, but with a multitude of different _people_, with their notions especially on moral ideas, with the meaning or no-meaning which they attached to particular words,--in short, with the individual, the particular, the concrete, the every-day. he did not at all deny that he had a purpose in all this. on the contrary, he openly professed that he was in search of the lost universal, the lost _law_ of men's thoughts and actions. he was convinced that life was not the chaos that the sophists made out; that nobody really believed it to be a chaos; that, on the contrary, everybody had a meaning and purport in his every word and act, which could be made intelligible to himself and others, if you could only get people to think out clearly what they really meant. philosophy {106} had met her destruction in the busy haunts of men; there where had been the bane, socrates' firm faith sought ever and everywhere the antidote. this simple enough yet profound and far-reaching practice of socrates was theorised in later times as a logical method, known to us as _induction_, or the discovery of universal laws or principles out [195] of an accumulation of particular facts. and thus aristotle, with his technical and systematising intellect, attributes two main innovations in philosophy to socrates; the _inductive_ process of reasoning, and the establishing of _general ideas_ or definitions upon or through this process. this, true enough as indicating what was latent in the socratic method, and what was subsequently actually developed out of it by aristotle himself, is nevertheless probably an anachronism if one seeks to represent it as consciously present in socrates' mind. socrates adopted the method unconsciously, just because he wanted to get at the people about him, and through them at what they thought. he was the pioneer of induction rather than its inventor; he created, so to speak, the raw material for a theory of induction and definition; he knew and cared nothing about such theories himself. a story which may or may not be true in fact is put in socrates' mouth by plato, as to the cause which first started him on his "search for definitions." {107} one of his friends, he tells us, named chaerephon, went to the oracle of apollo at delphi, and asked whether there was anybody wiser than socrates. the answer was given that there was none wiser. this answer was reported to socrates, who was much astonished, his own impression being that he had no wisdom or knowledge at all. so with a view to prove the oracle wrong he went in succession to various people of eminence and reputation in the various walks of life,--statesmen and poets and handicraftsmen and others,--in the expectation that they would show, on being questioned, such a knowledge of the principles on which their work was based as would prove their superior wisdom. but to his astonishment he found one after another of these men wanting in any apprehension of principles at all. they seemed to work by a kind of haphazard or 'rule of thumb,' and indeed felt annoyed that anything more should be expected of them. from which at the last socrates came to the conclusion that perhaps the oracle was right in this sense at least, that, if he himself knew nothing more than his fellows, he was at least conscious of his own ignorance, whereas they were not. whether this tale may not itself be a specimen of socrates' irony we cannot tell, but at all events it illustrates from another point of view the real meaning of socrates' life. he, at least, was not content {108} to rest in haphazard and rule of thumb; he was determined to go on till he found out what was the law or principle of men's acts and words. the ignorance of others as to any such law or principle in their own case did not convince him that there was no such law or principle; only it was there (he thought) working unconsciously, and therefore in a way defencelessly. and so he compares himself at times to a gadfly, whose function it is to sting and irritate people out of their easy indifference, and force them to ask themselves what they were really driving at. or again, he compares himself to the torpedo-fish, because he tried to give people a shock whenever they attempted to satisfy him with shallow and unreal explanations of their thoughts and actions. the disinterested self-sacrificing nobility of socrates' life, thus devoted to awakening them that sleep out of their moral torpor; the enmities that his keen and trenchant questionings of quacks and pretenders of every kind induced; the devotion of some of his friends, the unhappy falling away of others; the calumnies of interested enemies, the satires of poets; and lastly, the story of the final attack by an ungrateful people on their one great teacher, of his unjust condemnation and heroic death--all this we must pass over here. the story is in outline, at least, a familiar one, and it is one of the noblest in history. what is more to {109} the purpose for us is to ascertain how far his search for definitions was successful; how far he was able to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them; how far, in short, he was able to evolve a law, a universal principle, out of the confused babel of common life and thought and speech, strong enough and wide enough on which to build a new order for this world, a new hope for the world beyond. we have said that socrates made the individual and the concrete the field of his search. and not only did he look to individuals for light, he looked to each individual specifically in that aspect of his character and faculty which was most particular to himself. that is to say, if he met a carpenter, it was on his carpentering that he questioned him; if a sculptor, on his practice as a sculptor; if a statesman, on his statesmanship. in short, he did not want general vague theories on subjects of which his interlocutors could not be supposed to have any special experience or knowledge; he interrogated each on the subject which he knew best. and what struck him, in contrast to the confusion and uncertainty and isolation of the sophistic teaching 'in the air,' was that when you get a man to talk on his own trade, which he _knows_, as is proved by the actual work he produces, you find invariably two {110} things--_first_, that the skill is the man's _individual_ possession no doubt, the result of inborn capacity and continuous training and practice; but _second_, that just in proportion to that individual skill is the man's conviction that his skill has reference to a _law_ higher than himself, outside himself. if the man whom socrates interviewed was a skilful statesman, he would tell you he sought to produce obedience to _law_ or right among the citizens; if he was a skilful sculptor, he produced _beautiful_ things; if he was a skilful handicraftsman, he produced _useful_ things. justice, beauty, utility; these three words in different ways illustrated the existence of something always realising itself no doubt in individuals and their works, but nevertheless exercising a governing influence upon these to such a degree that this ideal something might be conceived as _prior_ to the individual or his work; or secondly, as _inherent_ in them and giving value to them; or thirdly, as coming in at the end as the _perfection_ or completion of them. this law or ideal then had a threefold aspect in its own nature, being conceivable as justice, as beauty, as utility; it had a threefold aspect in relation to the works produced in accordance with it, as the cause _producing_, the cause _inhering_, the cause completing or _perfecting_. we may therefore conceive socrates as arguing thus: "you clever sophists, when we let you take {111} us into the region of abstract talk, have a knack of so playing with words that in the end we don't seem to know anything for certain, especially on such subjects as we have hitherto thought the most important, such as god and right and truth and justice and purity. we seem to be perfectly defenceless against you; and what is more, any smart youth, whose opinion on any practical matter no one would think of taking, can very soon pick up the trick from you, and bewilder plain people really far wiser than himself by his clever argumentation; all going to prove that there is nothing certain, nothing real, nothing binding; nothing but opinions and conventions and conscious or unconscious humbug in the universe. "but when i go and have a quiet talk with any man who really is a known master of some craft or skill, about that craft or skill, i find no doubt whatever existing in his mind about there being a law, a something absolutely real and beautiful and true in connection with it. he, on the contrary, lives with no other purpose or hope or desire but as far as he can to realise in what he works at something of this real and beautiful and true, which was before him, will be after him, is the only valuable thing in him, but yet which honours him with the function of, in his day and generation, expressing it before the eyes of men." {112} "have we not here a key to the great secret? if each man, in respect of that which he knows best because he lives by it and for it, knows with intimate knowledge and certainty that there at least there is a law working, not himself, but higher and greater than he,--have we not here a hint of the truth for the universe as a whole; that there also and in all its operations, great as well as small, there must be a law, a great idea or ideal working, which was before all things, works in and gives value to all things, will be the consummation of all things? is not this what we mean by the divine?" thus socrates, despising not the meaner things of life, but bending from the airy speculations of the proud to the realities which true labour showed him, laid his ear, so to speak, close to the breast of nature, and caught there the sound of her very heart-beats. "virtue is knowledge," thus he formulated his new vision of things. knowledge, yes; but _real_ knowledge; not mere head-knowledge or lip-knowledge, but the knowledge of the skilled man, the man who by obedience and teachableness and self-restraint has come to a knowledge evidencing itself in _works_ expressive of the law that is in him, as he is in it. _virtue is knowledge_; on the one hand, therefore, not something in the air, unreal, intangible; but something in me, in you, in each man, something which you cannot handle except as individual and {113} in individuals; on the other hand, something more than individual or capricious or uncertain,--something which is absolute, over-ruling, eternal. _virtue is knowledge_. and so if a man is virtuous, he is realising what is best and truest in himself, he is fulfilling also what is best and truest without himself. he is free, for only the truth makes free; he is obedient to law, but it is at once a law eternally valid, and a law which he dictates to himself. and therefore virtue is teachable, inasmuch as the law in the teacher, perfected in him, is also the law in the taught, latent in him, by both individually possessed, but possessed by both in virtue of its being greater than both, of its being something more than individual. _virtue is knowledge_. and therefore the law of virtuous growth is expressed in the maxim engraved on the delphic temple, 'know thyself.' know thyself, that is, realise thyself; by obedience and self-control come to your full stature; be in fact what you are in possibility; satisfy yourself, in the only way in which true self-satisfaction is possible, by realising in yourself the law which constitutes your real being. _virtue is knowledge_. and therefore all the manifold relations of life,--the home, the market, the city, the state; all the multiform activities of life,--labour and speech and art and literature and {114} law; all the sentiments of life,--friendship and love and reverence and courage and hope,--all these are parts of a knowable whole; they are expressions of law; they are reason realising itself through individuals, and in the same process realising them. {115} chapter xii socrates (_concluded_) _the dialectic method--instruction through humiliation--justice and utility--righteousness transcending rule_ it must not be imagined that anywhere in the recorded conversations of socrates can we find thus in so many words expounded his fundamental doctrine. socrates was not an expositor but a questioner; he disclaimed the position of a teacher, he refused to admit that any were his pupils or disciples. but his questioning had two sides, each in its way leading people on to an apprehension of the ideal in existence. the first side may be called the negative or destructive, the second, the positive or constructive. in the first, whose object was to break down all formalism, all mere regard for rules or traditions or unreasoned maxims, his method had considerable resemblance to that of the sophists; like them he descended not infrequently to what looked very like quibbling and word-play. as aristotle observes, the dialectic method differed from that of the sophists not so much in its form, as in the purpose for which it was employed. the end of the {116} sophists was to confuse, the end of socrates was through confusion to reach a more real, because a more reasoned certainty; the sophists sought to leave the impression that there was no such thing as truth; he wished to lead people to the conviction that there was a far deeper truth than they were as yet possessed of. a specimen of his manner of conversation preserved for us by xenophon (_memor_. iv. ii.) will make the difference clearer. euthydemus was a young man who had shown great industry in forming a collection of wise sayings from poets and others, and who prided himself on his superior wisdom because of his knowledge of these. socrates skilfully manages to get the ear of this young man by commending him for his collection, and asks him what he expects his learning to help him to become? a physician? no, euthydemus answers. an architect? no. and so in like manner with other practical skills,--the geometrician's, astronomer's, professional reciter's. none of these he discovers is what euthydemus aims at. he hopes to become a great politician and statesman. then of course he hopes to be a just man himself? euthydemus flatters himself he is that already. "but," says socrates, "there must be certain acts which are the proper products of justice, as of other functions or skills?"--"no doubt."--"then of course you can tell us what {117} those acts or products are?"--"of course i can, and the products of injustice as well."--"very good; then suppose we write down in two opposite columns what acts are products of justice and what of injustice."--"i agree," says euthydemus.--"well now, what of falsehood? in which column shall we put it?"--"why, of course in the unjust column."--"and cheating?"--"in the same column."--"and stealing?"--"in it too."--"and enslaving?"--"yes."--"not one of these can go to the just column?"--"why, that would be an unheard-of thing." "well but," says socrates, "suppose a general has to deal with some enemy of his country that has done it great wrong; if he conquer and enslave this enemy, is that wrong?"--"certainly not."--"if he carries off the enemy's goods or cheats him in his strategy, what about these acts?"--"oh, of course they are quite right. but i thought you were talking about deceiving or ill-treating friends."--"then in some cases we shall have to put these very same acts in both columns?"--"i suppose so." "well, now, suppose we confine ourselves to friends. imagine a general with an army under him discouraged and disorganised. suppose he tells them that reserves are coming up, and by cheating them into this belief he saves them from their discouragement, and enables them to win a victory. what about this cheating of one's friends?"--"why, i {118} suppose we shall have to put this too on the just side."--"or suppose a lad needs medicine, but refuses to take it, and his father cheats him into the belief that it is something nice, and getting him to take it, saves his life; what about that cheat?"--"that will have to go to the just side too."--"or suppose you find a friend in a desperate frenzy, and steal his sword from him, for fear he should kill himself; what do you say to that theft?"--"that will have to go there too."--"but i thought you said there must be no cheating of friends?"--"well, i must take it all back, if you please."--"very good. but now there is another point i should like to ask you. whether do you think the man more unjust who is a voluntary violator of justice, or he who is an involuntary violator of it?"--"upon my word, socrates, i no longer have any confidence in my answers. for the whole thing has turned out to be exactly the contrary of what i previously imagined. however, suppose i say that the voluntary deceiver is the more unjust."--"do you consider that justice is a matter of knowledge just as much (say) as writing?"--"yes, i do."--"well now, which do you consider the better skilled as a writer, the man who makes a mistake in writing or in reading what is written, because he chooses to do so, or the man who does so because he can't help it?"--"oh, the first; because he can put it right whenever he likes."--"very {119} well, if a man in the same way breaks the rule of right, knowing what he is doing, while another breaks the same rule because he can't help it, which by analogy must be the better versed in justice?"--"the first, i suppose."--"and the man who is better versed in justice must be the juster man?"--"apparently so; but really, socrates, i don't know where i am. i have been flattering myself that i was in possession of a philosophy which could make a good and able man of me. but how great, think you, must now be my disappointment, when i find myself unable to answer the simplest question on the subject?" many other questions are put to him, tending to probe his self-knowledge, and in the end he is brought to the conclusion that perhaps he had better hold his tongue, for it seems he knows nothing at all. and so he went away deeply despondent, despising himself as an absolute dolt. "now many," adds xenophon, "when brought into this condition by socrates, never came near him again. but euthydemus concluded that his only hope of ever being worth anything was in seeing as much of socrates as he could, and so he never quitted his side as long as he had a chance, but tried to follow his mode of living. and socrates, when he perceived this to be his temper, no longer tormented him, but sought with all simplicity and clearness to {120} show him what he deemed it best for him to do and think." was this cross-examination mere 'tormenting' with a purpose, or can we discover underlying it any hint of what socrates deemed to be the truth about justice? let us note that throughout he is in search of a _definition_, but that as soon as any attempt is made to define or classify any particular type of action as just or unjust, _special circumstances_ are suggested which overturn the classification. let us note further that while the immediate result is apparently only to confuse, the remoter but more permanent result is to raise a suspicion of any hard and fast definitions, and to suggest that there is something deeper in life than language is adequate to express, a 'law in the members,' a living principle for good, which transcends forms and maxims, and which alone gives real value to acts. note further the suggestion that this living principle has a character analogous to the knowledge or skill of an accomplished artificer; it has relation on the one hand to law, as a principle binding on the individual, it has relation on the other hand to _utility_, as expressing itself, not in words, but in acts beneficial to those concerned. hence the socratic formula, justice is equivalent to the _lawful_ on the one hand, to the _useful_ on the other. {121} socrates had thus solved by anticipation the apparently never-ending controversy about morality. is it a matter imposed by god upon the heart and conscience of each individual? is it dictated by the general sense of the community? is it the product of utility? the socratic answer would be that it is all three, and that all three mean ultimately the same thing. what god prescribes is what man when he is truly man desires; and what god prescribes and man desires is that which is good and useful for man. it is not a matter for verbal definition but for vital realisation; the true morality is that which _works_; the ideally desirable, is ultimately the only possible, course of action, for all violations of it are ultimately suicidal. note finally the suggestion that the man who _knows_ (in socrates' sense of knowledge) what is right, shows only more fully his righteousness when he voluntarily sins; it is the 'unwilling sinner' who is the wrongdoer. when we consider this strange doctrine in relation to the instances given,--the general with his army, the father with his son, the prudent friend with his friend in desperate straits,--we see that what is meant is that 'sin' in the real sense is not to be measured or defined by conformity or otherwise to some formal standard, at least in the case of those who _know_, that is, in the case of men who have realised goodness in its true nature in {122} their characters and lives. as st. paul expressed it (rom. xiii. 10), "love is the fulfilling of the law." or again (gal. v. 23), after enumerating the 'fruits of the spirit'--love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance--he adds, "against such there is no law." in the domain of life, not less than in that of the arts, the highest activity does not always or necessarily take the form of conformity to rule. there are critical moments when rules fail, when, in fact, obedience to rule would mean disobedience to that higher law, of which rules and formulae are at best only an adumbration. the originality of the great musician or painter consists in just such transcendence of accepted formulae; this is why he invariably encounters opposition and obloquy from the learned conventional pedants of his time. and in the domain of morals the martyrs, reformers, prophets are in like manner 'willing sinners.' they are denounced, persecuted, crucified; for are they not disturbers of society; do they not unsettle young men; do they not come, as christ came, not to bring peace into the world, but a sword? and thus it is that the willing sinners of one generation are the martyrs and heroes of the next. through their life and death a richer meaning has been given to the law of beauty or of rectitude, only, alas! in its turn to be translated into new conventions, new {123} formulae, which shall in due time require new martyrs to transcend them. and thus, on the other hand, the perfectly honest sticklers for the old and common-place, unwilling sinners all unconscious of their sin, are fated to bear in history the brand of men who have persecuted the righteous without cause. to each, according to the strange sad law of life, time brings its revenges. {124} chapter xiii the incomplete socratics _a philosopher at ease--the sensual sty--citizens of the world--the tub of diogenes--a philosophy of abstracts_ [204] i. aristippus and the cyrenaics.--aristippus was a native of cyrene, a greek colony on the north coast of africa. he is said to have come to athens because of his desire to hear socrates; but from the notices of him which we find in xenophon's memoirs he appears to have been from the first a somewhat intractable follower, dissenting especially from the poverty and self-denial of the master's mode of life. [205] he in course of time founded a school of his own, called the cyrenaic from his own place of birth, and from the fact that many subsequent leaders of the school also belonged to cyrene. among his notable disciples were his daughter arete, her son named aristippus after his grandfather, ptolemaeus the aethiopian, antipater of cyrene, and a long succession of others. aristippus was a man of considerable subtlety of mind, a ready speaker, clever in adapting himself to persons and circumstances. on one occasion, being {125} asked what benefit he considered philosophy had conferred upon him, he answered, "the capacity of associating with every one without embarrassment." philosophy, in fact, was to aristippus a method of social culture, a means of making the best of life as he found it. as horace observes of him (_epp_. i. 17. 23)- omnis aristippum decuit color et status et res tentantem majora, fere praesentibus aequum. "every aspect and manner of life and fortune fitted aristippus; he aimed at what was greater, yet kept an even, mind whatever his present condition." [206] as we have already said, this school was _incompletely_ socratic, inasmuch as philosophy was not an end in itself, knowledge whether of oneself or of other matters had no intrinsic interest for them; philosophy was only a means towards pleasurable living, enabling them so to analyse and classify the several experiences of life as to render a theory of satisfactory [207] existence possible. with them first came into prominence a phrase which held a large place in all subsequent greek philosophy, the _end_ of existence, by which was meant that which summed up the good in existence, that which made life worth living, that which was good and desirable in and for itself, and not merely as a means to something else. what then according to the cyrenaics was the end of life? {126} their answer was that life had at each moment its own end, in the pleasure of that moment. the past was gone, the future not yet with us; remembrance of the one, fear or hope of the other, might contribute to affect the purity of the present pleasure, but such as it was the present pleasure was a thing apart, complete in and for itself. nor was its perfection qualified by any question of the means by which it was procured; the moment's pleasure was pleasurable, whatever men might say as to the manner of its [208] procuring. this pleasure was a tranquil activity of the being, like the gently heaving sea, midway between violent motion which was pain, and absolute calm which was insensibility. as a state of activity it was something positive, not a mere release from [209] pain, not a simple filling up of a vacuum. nothing was in its essential nature either just or noble or base; custom and convention pronounced them one or other. the wise man made the best he could of his conditions; valuing mental activity and friendship and wealth and bodily exercise, and avoiding envy and excessive indulgence of passion and superstition, not because the first were in themselves good or the second evil, but because they were respectively helpers or hinderers of pleasure. he is the master and possessor of pleasure not who abstains from it, but who uses it and keeps his self-command in the using. moderate indulgence--this is wisdom. {127} [210] the one criterion, whether of good or of truth, is the feeling of the moment for the man who feels it; all question of causes of feelings is delusive. we can say with truth and certainty, i have the sensation of white or the sensation of sweet. but that there is a white or a sweet thing which is the cause of the sensation, that we cannot say for certain. a man may very well have the sensation white or sweet from something which has no such quality, as men in delusion or madness have impressions that are true and real inasmuch as they have them, although other people do not admit their reality. there is, therefore, no criterion of truth as between man and man; we may employ the same words, but each has his own impressions and his own individual experiences. one can easily understand this as the doctrine of such a man as aristippus, the easy-going man of the world, the courtier and the wit, the favourite of the tyrant dionysius; it fits in well enough with a life of genial self-indulgence; it always reappears whenever a man has reconciled himself 'to roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.' but life is not always, nor for most persons at any time, a thing of ease and soft enchantments, and the cyrenaic philosophy must remain for the general work-a-day world a stale exotic. 'every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost,' is a maxim which comes as a rule {128} only to the lips of the worldly successful, while they think themselves strong enough to stand alone. but this solitude of selfishness neither works nor lasts; every man at some time becomes 'the hindmost,' if not before, at least in the hour of death for him or his; at that hour he is hardly disposed, for himself or those he loves, to repeat his maxim. ii. antisthenes and the cynics.--aristippus, in his praises of pleasure as the one good for man (see above, p. 126), remarks that there were some who [209] refused pleasure "from perversity of mind," taking pleasure, so to speak, in the denial of pleasure. the school of the cynics made this perverse mood, as aristippus deemed it, the maxim of their philosophy. as the cyrenaic school was the school of the rich, the courtly, the self-indulgent, so the cynic was the school of the poor, the exiles, the ascetics. each was an extreme expression of a phase of greek life and thought, though there was this point of union [215] between them, that _liberty_ of a kind was sought by both. the cyrenaics claimed liberty to please themselves in the choice of their enjoyments; the cynics sought liberty through denial of enjoyments. [219] both, moreover, were cosmopolitan; they mark the decay of the greek patriotism, which was essentially civic, and the rise of the wider but less intense conception of humanity. aristippus, in a conversation with socrates (xenoph. _memor_. ii. i.) on the {129} qualifications of those who are fitted to be magistrates, disclaims all desire to hold such a position himself. "there is," he says, "to my thinking, a middle way, neither of rule nor of slavery, but of freedom, which leads most surely to true happiness. so to avoid all the evils of partisanship and faction i nowhere take upon me the position of a citizen, but in every city remain a sojourner and a stranger." and in like manner antisthenes the cynic, being asked how a man should approach politics, answered, "he will approach it as he will fire, not too near, lest he be burnt; not too far away, lest he starve of cold." and diogenes, being asked of what city he was, answered, "i am a citizen of the world." the cynic ideal, in fact, was summed up in these four words--wisdom, independence, free speech, liberty. [214] antisthenes, founder of the school, was a native of athens, but being of mixed blood (his mother was a thracian) he was not recognised as an athenian citizen. he was a student first under gorgias, and acquired from him a considerable elegance of literary style; subsequently he became a devoted hearer of socrates, and became prominent among his followers for an asceticism surpassing his master's. one day, we are told, he showed a great rent in the thread-bare cloak which was his only garment, whereupon socrates slily remarked, "i can see through your cloak your love of glory." he carried a leathern {130} scrip and a staff, and the 'scrip and staff' became distinctive marks of his school. the name cynic, derived from the greek word for a dog, is variously accounted for, some attributing it to the 'doglike' habits of the school, others to their love of 'barking' criticism, others to the fact that a certain gymnasium in the outskirts of athens, called cynosarges, sacred to hercules the patron-divinity of men in the political position of antisthenes, was a favourite resort of his. he was a voluminous, some thought a too voluminous, [216] expounder of his tenets. like the other incomplete socratics, his teaching was mainly on ethical questions. [215] his chief pupil and successor was the famous diogenes, a native of sinope, a greek colony on the euxine sea. he even bettered the instructions of his master in the matter of extreme frugality of living, claiming that he was a true follower of hercules in preferring independence to every other good. the tale of his living in a cask or tub is well known. his theory was that the peculiar privilege of the gods consisted in their need of nothing; men approached nearest the life of the gods in needing as little as possible. [217] many other sayings of one or other teacher are quoted, all tending to the same conclusion. for example, "i had rather be mad than enjoying myself!" "follow the pleasures that come after pains, not those which bring pains in their train." "there {131} are pains that are useless, there are pains that are natural: the wise choose the latter, and thus find happiness even through pain. for the very contempt of pleasure comes with practice to be the highest pleasure." "when i wish a treat," says antisthenes, "i do not go and buy it at great cost in the marketplace; i find my storehouse of pleasures in the soul." [218] the life of the wise man, therefore, was a training of mind and body to despise pleasure and attain independence. in this way virtue was teachable, and could be so acquired as to become an inseparable possession. the man who had thus attained to wisdom, not of words, but of deeds, was, as it were, in an impregnable fortress that could neither crumble into ruin nor be lost by treachery. and so antisthenes, being asked what was the most essential point of learning, answered, "to unlearn what is evil." that is to say, to the cynic conception, men were born with a root of evil in them in the love of pleasure; the path of wisdom was a weaning of soul and body by practice from the allurements of pleasure, until both were so perfectly accustomed to its denial as to find an unalloyed pleasure in the very act of [219] refusing it. in this way virtue became absolutely sufficient for happiness, and so far was it from being necessary to have wealth or the admiration of men in addition, that the true kingly life was "to do well, {132} and be ill spoken of." all else but virtue was a matter of indifference. the cosmopolitan temper of these men led them to hold of small account the forms and prejudices of ordinary society: they despised the rites of marriage; they thought no flesh unclean. they believed in no multifarious theology; there was but one divinity--the power that ruled all nature, the one absolutely self-centred independent being, whose manner of [221] existence they sought to imitate. nor had they any sympathy with the subtleties of verbal distinction cultivated by some of the socratics, as by other philosophers or sophists of their time. definitions and abstractions and classifications led to no good. a man was a man; what was good was good; to say that a man was good did not establish the existence of some abstract class of goods. as antisthenes once said to plato, "a horse i see, but 'horseness' i do not see." what the exact point of this criticism was we may reserve for the present. [222] iii. euclides the megaric.--euclides, a native of megara on the corinthian isthmus, was a devoted hearer of socrates, making his way to hear him, sometimes even at the 'risk of his life, in defiance of a decree of his native city forbidding intercourse with athens. when plato and other athenian followers of socrates thought well to quit athens for {133} a time after socrates' execution, they were kindly entertained by euclides at megara. the exact character of the development which the socratic teaching received from euclides and his school is a matter of considerable doubt. the allusions to the tenets of the school in plato and [223] others are only fragmentary. we gather, however, from them that euclides was wholly antithetical to the personal turn given to philosophy, both by the cyrenaics and the cynics. he revived and developed with much dialectical subtlety the metaphysical system of parmenides and the eleatics, maintaining that there is but one absolute existence, and that sense and sense-perceptions as against this [224] are nothing. this one absolute existence was alone absolutely good, and the good for man could only be found in such an absorption of himself in this one absolute good through reason and contemplation, as would bring his spirit into perfectness of union with it. such absorption raised a man above the troubles and pains of life, and thus, in insensibility to these through reason, man attained his highest good. the school is perhaps interesting only in so far as it marks the continued survival of the abstract dialectic method of earlier philosophy. as such it had a very definite influence, sometimes through agreement, sometimes by controversy, on the systems of plato and aristotle now to be dealt with. {134} chapter xiv plato _student and wanderer--the dialogues--immortal longings--art is love--knowledge through remembrance--platonic love_ [239] this great master, the shakespeare of greek philosophy, as one may call him, for his fertility, his variety, his humour, his imagination, his poetic grace, was born at athens in the year 429 b.c. he was of noble family, numbering among his ancestors no less a man than the great lawgiver solon, and tracing back his descent even further to the [240] legendary codrus, last king of athens. at a very early age he seems to have begun to study the philosophers, heraclitus more particularly, and before he was twenty he had written a tragedy. about that time, however, he met socrates; and at once giving up all thought of poetic fame he burnt his poem, and devoted himself to the hearing of socrates. for ten years he was his constant companion. when socrates met his death in 399, plato and other followers of the master fled at first to megara, as already mentioned (above, p. 132); he then entered on a period of extended travel, first to cyrene and {135} egypt, thence to italy and sicily. in italy he devoted himself specially to a study of the doctrine of pythagoras. it is said that at syracuse he offended the tyrant dionysius the elder by his freedom of speech, and was delivered up to the spartans, who were then at war with athens. [241] ultimately he was ransomed, and found his way back to athens, but he is said to have paid a second visit to sicily when the younger dionysius became tyrant. he seems to have entertained the hope that he might so influence this young man as to be able to realise through him the dream of his life, a government in accordance with the dictates of [242] philosophy. his dream, however, was disappointed of fruition, and he returned to athens, there in the 'groves of academus' a mythic hero of athens, to spend the rest of his days in converse with his followers, and there at the ripe age of eighty-one he died. from the scene of his labours his philosophy has ever since been known as the academic [243] philosophy. unlike socrates, he was not content to leave only a memory of himself and his conversations. he was unwearied in the redaction and correction of his written dialogues, altering them here and there both in expression and in structure. it is impossible, therefore, to be absolutely certain as to the historical order of composition or publication among his numerous {136} dialogues, but a certain approximate order may be fixed. we may take first a certain number of comparatively short dialogues, which are strongly socratic in the following respects: _first_, they each seek a definition of some particular virtue or quality; _second_, each suggests some relation between it and knowledge; _third_, each leaves the answer somewhat open, treating the matter suggestively rather than dogmatically. these dialogues are _charmides_, which treats of temperance (_mens sana in corpore sano_); _lysis_, which treats of friendship; _laches_, of courage; _ion_, of poetic inspiration; _meno_, of the teachableness of virtue; _euthyphro_, of piety. the last of these may be regarded as marking a transition to a second series, which are concerned with the trial and death of socrates. the _euthyphro_ opens with an allusion by socrates to his approaching trial, and in the _apology_ we have a platonic version of socrates' speech in his own defence; in _crito_ we have the story of his noble self-abnegation and civic obedience after his condemnation; in _phaedo_ we have his last conversation with his friends on the subject of immortality, and the story of his death. another series of the dialogues may be formed of those, more or less satirical, in which the ideas and methods of the sophists are criticised: _protagoras_, {137} in which socrates suggests that all virtues are essentially one; _euthydemus_, in which the assumption and 'airs' of some of the sophists are made fun of; _cratylus_, of the sophistic use of words; _gorgias_, of the true and the false, the truly good and the truly evil; _hippias_, of voluntary and involuntary sin; _alcibiades_, of self-knowledge; _menexenus_, a (possibly ironical) set oration after the manner of the sophists, in praise of athens. the whole of this third series are characterised by humour, dramatic interest, variety of personal type among the speakers, keenness rather than depth of philosophic insight. there are many suggestions of profounder thoughts, afterwards worked out more fully; but on the whole these dialogues rather stimulate thought than satisfy it; the great poet-thinker is still playing with his tools. a higher stage is reached in the _symposium_, which deals at once humorously and profoundly with the subject of love, human and divine, and its relations to art and philosophy, the whole consummated in a speech related by socrates as having been spoken to him by diotima, a wise woman of mantineia. from this speech an extract as translated by professor jowett may be quoted here. it marks the transition point from the merely playful and critical to the relatively serious and dogmatic stage in the mind of plato:-{138} "marvel not," she said, "if you believe that love is of the immortal, as we have already several times acknowledged; for here again, and on the same principle too, the mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to be everlasting and immortal: and this is only to be attained by generation, because generation always leaves behind a new existence in the place of the old. nay even in the life of the same individual there is succession and not absolute unity: a man is called the same, and yet in the short interval which elapses between youth and age, and in which every animal is said to have life and identity, he is undergoing a perpetual process of loss and reparation--hair, flesh, bones, blood, and the whole body are always changing. which is true not only of the body, but also of the soul, whose habits, tempers, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, fears, never remain the same in any one of us, but are always coming and going; and equally true of knowledge, which is still more surprising--for not only do the sciences in general come and go, so that in respect of them we are never the same; but each of them individually experiences a like change. for what is implied in the word 'recollection,' but the departure of knowledge, which is ever being forgotten and is renewed and preserved by recollection, and appears to be the same although in reality new, according to that law of succession by which all mortal things are preserved, not absolutely the same, but by substitution, the old worn-out mortality leaving another new and similar existence behind--unlike the divine, which is always the same and not another? and in this way, socrates, the mortal body, or mortal anything, partakes of immortality; but the immortal in another way. marvel not then at the love which all men have of their offspring; for that universal love and interest is for the sake of immortality." i was astonished at her words, and said: "is this really true, o thou wise diotima?" and she answered with all the authority of a sophist: "of that, socrates, you may be assured;--think only of the ambition of men, and you will wonder at the senselessness of their ways, unless you consider how they are stirred by the love of an immortality of fame. they are ready to run risks greater far than they would have run for their children, and to spend money and undergo any sort of {139} toil, and even to die for the sake of leaving behind them a name which shall be eternal. do you imagine that alcestis would have died to save admetus, or achilles to avenge patroclus, or your own codrus in order to preserve the kingdom for his sons, if they had not imagined that the memory of their virtues, which is still retained among us, would be immortal? nay," she said, "i am persuaded that all men do all things, and the better they are the more they do them, in hope of the glorious fame of immortal virtue; for they desire the immortal. "they whose bodies only are creative, betake themselves to women and beget children--this is the character of their love; their offspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and give them the blessedness and immortality which they desire in the future. but creative souls--for there certainly are men who are more creative in their souls than in their bodies--conceive that which is proper for the soul to conceive or retain. and what are these conceptions?--wisdom and virtue in general. and such creators are poets and all artists who are deserving of the name inventor. but the greatest and fairest sort of wisdom by far is that which is concerned with the ordering of states and families, and which is called temperance and justice. and he who in youth has the seed of these implanted in him and is himself inspired, when he comes to maturity desires to beget and generate. he wanders about seeking beauty that he may beget offspring--for in deformity he will beget nothing--and naturally embraces the beautiful rather than the deformed body; above all when he finds a fair and noble and well-nurtured soul, he embraces the two in one person, and to such an one he is full of speech about virtue and the nature and pursuits of a good man; and he tries to educate him; and at the touch of the beautiful which is ever present to his memory, even when absent, he brings forth that which he had conceived long before, and in company with him tends that which he brings forth; and they are married by a far nearer tie and have a closer friendship than those who beget mortal children, for the children who are their common offspring are fairer and more immortal. who, when he thinks of homer and hesiod and other great poets, {140} would not rather have their children than ordinary human ones? who would not emulate them in the creation of children such as theirs, which have preserved their memory and given them everlasting glory? or who would not have such children as lycurgus left behind him to be the saviours, not only of lacedaemon, but of hellas, as one may say? there is solon, too, who is the revered father of athenian laws; and many others there are in many other places, both among hellenes and barbarians. all of them have given to the world many noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of every kind, and many temples have been raised in their honour for the sake of their children; which were never raised in honour of any one, for the sake of his mortal children. "these are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you, socrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are the crown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead, i know not whether you will be able to attain. but i will do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. for he who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth to visit beautiful forms; and first, if he be guided by his instructor aright, to love one such form only--out of that he should create fair thoughts; and soon he will of himself perceive that the beauty of one form is akin to the beauty of another; and then if beauty of form in general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to recognise that the beauty in every form is one and the same! and when he perceives this he will abate his violent love of the one, which he will despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of all beautiful forms; in the next stage he will consider that the beauty of the mind is more honourable than the beauty of the outward form. so that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be content to love and tend him, and will search out and bring to the birth thoughts which may improve the young, until he is compelled to contemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and to understand that the beauty of them all is of one family, and that personal beauty is a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will go on to the sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not like a servant in love with the beauty of one youth or man or {141} institution, himself a slave mean and narrow-minded, but drawing towards and contemplating the vast sea of beauty, he will create many fair and noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom; until on that shore he grows and waxes strong, and at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science, which is the science of beauty everywhere. to this i will proceed; please to give me your very best attention. "he who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and who has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession, when he comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty (and this, socrates, is the final cause of all our former toils)--a nature which in the first place is everlasting, not growing and decaying, or waxing and waning, in the next place not fair in one point of view and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another place foul, as if fair to some and foul to others, or in the likeness of a face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame, or in any form of speech or knowledge, or existing in any other being; as for example, in an animal, or in heaven, or in earth, or in any other place, but beauty only, absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting, which without diminution and without increase, or any change, is imparted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other things. he who under the influence of true love rising upward from these begins to see that beauty, is not far from the end. and the true order of going or being led by another to the things of love, is to use the beauties of earth as steps along which he mounts upwards for the sake of that other beauty, going from one to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is. this, my dear socrates," said the stranger of mantineia, "is that life above all others which a man should live, in the contemplation of beauty absolute; a beauty which if you once beheld, you would see not to be after the measure of gold, and garments, and fair boys and youths, whose presence now entrances you; and you and many a one would be content to live seeing only and conversing with them without meat or drink, {142} if that were possible--you only want to be with them and to look at them. but what if man had eyes to see the true beauty--the divine beauty, i mean, pure and clear and unalloyed, not clogged with the pollutions of mortality, and all the colours and vanities of human life--thither looking, and holding converse with the true beauty divine and simple? do you not see that in that communion only, beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become the friend of god and be immortal, if mortal man may. would that be an ignoble life?" (jowett, _plato_, vol. ii. p. 58). closely connected in subject with the _symposium_ is the _phaedrus_. as professor jowett observes: "the two dialogues together contain the whole philosophy of plato on the nature of love, which in _the republic_ and in the later writings of plato is only introduced playfully or as a figure of speech. but in the _phaedrus_ and _symposium_ love and philosophy join hands, and one is an aspect of the other. the spiritual and emotional is elevated into the ideal, to which in the _symposium_ mankind are described as looking forward, and which in the _phaedrus_, as well as in the _phaedo_, they are seeking to recover from a former state of existence." we are here introduced to one of the most famous conceptions of plato, that of _reminiscence_, or recollection, based upon a theory of the prior existence of the soul. in the _meno_, already alluded to, socrates is representing as eliciting from one of meno's slaves {143} correct answers to questions involving a knowledge or apprehension of certain axioms of the science of mathematics, which, as socrates learns, the slave had never been taught. socrates argues that since he was never taught these axioms, and yet actually knows them, he must have known them before his birth, and concludes from this to the immortality of the soul. in the _phaedo_ this same argument is worked out more fully. as we grow up we discover in the exercise of our senses that things are equal in certain respects, unequal in many others; or again, we appropriate to things or acts the qualities, for example, of beauty, goodness, justice, holiness. at the same time we recognise that these are _ideals_, to which in actual experience we never find more than an approximation, for we never discover in any really existing thing or act _absolute_ equality, or justice, or goodness. in other words, any act of judgment on our part of actual experiences consists in a measuring of these experiences by standards which we give or apply to them, and which no number of experiences can give to us because they do not possess or exemplify them. we did not consciously possess these notions, or ideals, or _ideas_, as he prefers to call them, at birth; they come into consciousness in connection with or in consequence of the action of the senses; but since the senses could not give these ideas, the process of {144} knowledge must be a process of _recollection_. socrates carries the argument a step further. "then may we not say," he continues, "that if, as we are always repeating, there is an absolute beauty and goodness and other similar ideas or essences, and to this standard, which is now discovered to have existed in our former state, we refer all our sensations, and with this compare them--assuming these ideas to have a prior existence, then our souls must have had a prior existence, but if not, not? there is the same proof that these ideas must have existed before we were born, as that our souls existed before we were born; and if not the ideas, then not the souls." in the _phaedrus_ this conception of a former existence is embodied in one of the _myths_ in which plato's imaginative powers are seen at their highest. in it the soul is compared to a charioteer driving two winged steeds, one mortal, the other immortal; the one ever tending towards the earth, the other seeking ever to soar into the sky, where it may behold those blessed visions of loveliness and wisdom and goodness, which are the true nurture of the soul. when the chariots of the gods go forth in mighty and glorious procession, the soul would fain ride forth in their train; but alas! the mortal steed is ever hampering the immortal, and dragging it down. if the soul yields to this influence and descends to earth, there she takes human form, but in higher {145} or lower degree, according to the measure of her vision of the truth. she may become a philosopher, a king, a trader, an athlete, a prophet, a poet, a husbandman, a sophist, a tyrant. but whatever her lot, according to her manner of life in it, may she rise, or sink still further, even to a beast or plant. only those souls take the form of humanity that have had _some_ vision of eternal truth. and this vision they retain in a measure, even when clogged in mortal clay. and so the soul of man is ever striving and fluttering after something beyond; and specially is she stirred to aspiration by the sight of bodily loveliness. then above all comes the test of good and evil in the soul. the nature that has been corrupted would fain rush to brutal joys; but the purer nature looks with reverence and wonder at this beauty, for it is an adumbration of the celestial joys which he still remembers vaguely from the heavenly vision. and thus pure and holy love becomes an opening back to heaven; it is a source of happiness unalloyed on earth; it guides the lovers on upward wings back to the heaven whence they came. {146} chapter xv plato (_continued_) _the republic--denizens of the cave--the timaeus--a dream of creation_ and now we pass to the central and crowning work of plato, _the republic_, or _of justice_--the longest with one exception, and certainly the greatest of all his works. it combines the humour and irony, the vivid characterisation and lively dialogue of his earlier works, with the larger and more serious view, the more constructive and statesmanlike aims of his later life. the dialogue opens very beautifully. there has been a festal procession at the piraeus, the harbour of athens, and socrates with a companion is wending his way homeward, when he is recalled by other companions, who induce him to visit the house of an aged friend of his, cephalus, whom he does not visit too often. him he finds seated in his court, crowned, as the custom was, for the celebration of a family sacrifice, and beholds beaming on his face the peace of a life well spent and reconciled. they talk of the happiness that comes in old age to those who have done good and not evil, and who are not too severely {147} tried in the matter of worldly cares. life to this good old man seems a very simple matter; duty to god, duty to one's neighbours, each according to what is prescribed and orderly; this is all, and this is sufficient. then comes in the questioning socrates, with his doubts and difficulties as to what is one's duty in special circumstances; and the discussion is taken up, not by the good old man, "who goes away to the sacrifice," but by his son, who can quote the authorities; and by thrasymachus, the sophist, who will have nothing to do with authority, but maintains that _interest_ is the only real meaning of justice, and that might is right. socrates, by analogy of the arts, shows that might absolutely without tincture of justice is mere weakness, and that there is honour even among thieves. yet the exhibition of the 'law working in the members' seems to have its weak side so long as we look to individual men, in whom there are many conflicting influences, and many personal chances and difficulties, which obscure the relation between just action and happiness. socrates therefore will have justice 'writ large' in the community as a whole, first pictured in its simpler, and then in its more complex and luxurious forms. the relation of the individual to the community is represented chiefly as one of education and training; and many strange theories--as of the equal {148} training of men and women, and the community of wives, ideas partially drawn from sparta--are woven into the ideal structure. then the dialogue rises to a larger view of education, as a preparation of the soul of man, not for a community on earth, but for that heavenly life which was suggested above (p. 144) in the myth of the steeds. the purely earthly unideal life is represented as a life of men tied neck and heels from birth in a cave, having their backs to the light, and their eyes fixed only on the shadows which are cast upon the wall. these they take for the only realities, and they may acquire much skill in interpreting the shadows. turn these men suddenly to the true light, and they will be dazzled and blinded. they will feel as though they had lost the realities, and been plunged into dreams. and in pain and sorrow they will be tempted to grope back again to the familiar darkness. yet if they hold on in patience, and struggle up the steep till the sun himself breaks on their vision, what pain and dazzling once more, yet at the last what glorious revelation! true, if they revisit their old dwelling-place, they will not see as well as their fellows who are still living contentedly there, knowing nothing other than the shadows. they may even seem to these as dreamers who have lost their senses; and should they try to enlighten these denizens of the cave, they may be persecuted or {149} even put to death. such are the men who have had a sight of the heavenly verities, when compared with the children of earth and darkness. yet the world will never be right till those who have had this vision come back to the things of earth and order them according to the eternal verities; the philosopher must be king if ever the perfect life is to be lived on earth, either by individual or community. as it would be expressed in scriptural language, "the kingdoms of this world must become the kingdoms of the lord and of his christ." for the training of these ideal rulers an ideal education is required, which plato calls dialectic; something of its nature is described later on (p. 170), and we need not linger over it here. the argument then seems to fall to a lower level. there are various approximations in actual experience to the ideal community, each more or less perfect according to the degree in which the good of the individual is also made the good of all, and the interests of governors and governed are alike. parallel with each lower form of state is a lower individual nature, the worst of all being that of the tyrant, whose will is his only law, and his own self-indulgence his only motive. in him indeed might is right; but his life is the very antithesis of happiness. nay, pleasure of any kind can give no law to reason; reason can judge of pleasure, but not _vice versã¢_. there is no profit to a {150} man though he gain the whole world, if _himself_ be lost; if he become worse; if the better part of him be silenced and grow weaker. and after this 'fitful fever' is over, may there not be a greater bliss beyond? there have been stories told us, visions of another world, where each man is rewarded according to his works. and the book closes with a magnificent vision of judgment. it is the story of er, son of armenius, who being wounded in battle, after twelve days' trance comes back to life, and tells of the judgment seat, of heavenly bliss and hellish punishments, and of the renewal of life and the new choice given to souls not yet purified wholly of sin. "god is blameless; man's soul is immortal; justice and truth are the only things eternally good." such is the final revelation. the _timaeus_ is an attempt by plato, under the guise of a pythagorean philosopher, to image forth as in a vision or dream the actual framing of the universe, conceived as a realisation of the eternal thought or idea. it will be remembered that in the analysis already given (p. 143) of the process of knowledge in individual men, plato found that prior to the suggestions of the senses, though not coming into consciousness except in connection with sensation, men had _ideas_ that gave them a power of rendering their sensations intelligible. in the _timaeus_ plato attempts a vision of the universe as though he saw {151} it working itself into actuality on the lines of those ideas. the vision is briefly as follows: there is the eternal creator, who desired to make the world because he was good and free from jealousy, and therefore willed that all things should be like himself; that is, that the formless, chaotic, unrealised void might receive form and order, and become, in short, real as he was. thus creation is the process by which the eternal creator works out his own image, his own ideas, in and through that which is formless, that which has no name, which is nothing but possibility,--dead earth, namely, or _matter_. and first the world-soul, image of the divine, is formed, on which as on a "diamond network" the manifold structure of things is fashioned--the stars, the seven planets with their sphere-music, the four elements, and all the various creatures, aetherial or fiery, aerial, aqueous, and earthy, with the consummation of them all in microcosm, in the animal world, and specially in man. one can easily see that this is an attempt by plato to carry out the reverse process in thought to that which first comes to thinking man. man has sensations, that is, he comes first upon that which is conceivably last in creation, on the immediate and temporary things or momentary occurrences of earth. in these sensations, as they accumulate into a kind of habitual or unreasoned knowledge or opinion, he discovers elements which have been active to {152} correlate the sensations, which have from the first exercised a governing influence upon the sensations, without which, indeed, no two sensations could be brought together to form anything one could name. these regulative, underlying, permanent elements are ideas, _i.e._ general forms or notions, which, although they may come second as regards time into consciousness, are by reason known to have been there before, because through them alone can the sensations become intelligibly possible, or thinkable, or namable. thus plato is led to the conception of an order the reverse of our individual experience, the order of creation, the order of god's thought, which is equivalent to the order of god's working; for god's thought and god's working are inseparable. of course plato, in working out his dream of creation absolutely without any scientific knowledge, the further he travels the more obviously falls into confusion and absurdity; where he touches on some ideas having a certain resemblance to modern scientific discoveries, as the law of gravitation, the circulation of the blood, the quantitative basis of differences of quality, etc., these happy guesses are apt to lead more frequently wrong than right, because they are not kept in check by any experimental tests. but taken as a 'myth,' which is perhaps all that plato intended, the work offers much that is profoundly interesting. {153} with the _timaeus_ is associated another dialogue called the _critias_, which remains only as a fragment. in it is contained a description of the celebrated visionary kingdom of atlantis, lying far beyond the pillars of hercules, a land of splendour and luxury and power, a land also of gentle manners and wise orderliness. "the fiction has exercised a great influence over the imagination of later ages. as many attempts have been made to find the great island as to discover the country of the lost tribes. without regard to the description of plato, and without a suspicion that the whole narrative is a fabrication, interpreters have looked for the spot in every part of the globe--america, palestine, arabia felix, ceylon, sardinia, sweden. the story had also an effect on the early navigators of the sixteenth century" (jowett, _plato_, vol. iii. p. 679). {154} chapter xvi plato (_continued_) _metaphysics and psychology--reason and pleasure--criticism of the ideas--last ideals_ we now come to a series of highly important dialogues, marked as a whole by a certain diminution in the purely artistic attraction, having less of vivid characterisation, less humour, less dramatic interes