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.