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?