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Philosophic classics

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second edition

HILO:

Volume I: T/io/es fo Ockham

basic texts selected and edited with prefaces by

WALTER KAUFMANN

Prentice-Hall, Inc., Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey

Acknowledgment is gratefully made to the following: Cambridge University Press, for
selections from The Pre-Socratic Philosophers: A Critical History with a Selection of

: Texts by G. S. Kirk and J. E. Raven, 1957. For selections from Plato s Phaedo, trans,
with Introduction and Commentary by R. Hackforth, 1955. For complete text of the
dialogue in Plato s Phaedrus, trans, with Introduction and Commentary by R. Hack-
forth, 1952. For "The Hymn of Cleanthes" from The Vitality of Platonism by James
Adam, 1911. The Clarendon Press, for selections from The Oxford Translation of
Aristotle, Vol. VIII, trans, and ed. W. D. Ross, 1908. For selections from Aristotle s
Categories and De Interpretation t trans. J. L. Ackrill, 1963. Harvard University Press,

cjor selections from Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers by Kathleen Freeman, 1947.
The Loeb Classical Library, for selections from Sextus Empiricus: Outlines of Pyr
rhonism, Vol. I, trans. The Rev. R. G. Bury, 1933, rev. 1939. For selections from Plato s
Seventh Letter, Vol. VII, trans. The Rev. R. G. Bury, 1929, rev. 1942. For selections
from Aristotle s The Nicomachean Ethics, trans. H. Rackham, 1926, rev. 1934. For
selections from Aristotle s On the Heavens, trans. W. K. C. Guthrie, 1939. For selec
tions from Aristotle s On the Soul, trans. W. S. Hett, 1936, rev. 1957. For selections
from both volumes of Aristotle s Physics, trans. Philip H. Wicksteed and Francis M.
Cornford, 1929, 1934, rev. 1935, 1957. .JEpr selections from Diogenes Laertius, Vol. II,
trans. R. D. Hicks, 1925. For selections from Epictetus, Vol. II, trans. W. A. Oldfather,

1 1928. Oxford University Press, Inc., for selections from Aristotle s Analytica Posteriora,
trans. G. R. G. Mure in The Works of Aristotle Translated into English, ed. W. D. Ross.
Penguin Books, Ltd., for selections from Protagoras and Meno, trans. W. K. C. Guthrie,
1956. Random House, Inc., for selections from Basic Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas,
Vols. I and II, ed. Anton C. Pegis, 1945. Routledge & Kegan Paul, Ltd,, for selections
from Plato s Theory of Knowledge, 1935, Plato s Cosmology, 1937, and Plato and
Parmenides, 1939, trans. F. M. Cornford. Thomas Nelson 8c Sons, Ltd., for selections
from Ockham; Philosophical Writings, trans, and ed, Philotheus Boehner, O.P.M*, 1957.
Washington Square Press, Inc., for selections from the book The Pocket Aquinas by
Vernon J. Bourke. Copyright, , 1960 by Washington Square Press, Inc. Reprinted by
permission of the publisher.

PRENTICE-HALL INTERNATIONAL, INC., London
PRENTICE-HALL OF AUSTRALIA, PTY. LTD., Sydney

PRENTICE-HALL OF CANADA, LTD., Toronto

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PRENTICE-HALL OF JAPAN, INC., Tokyo

1961, 1968 by Prentice-Hall, Inc., Engtewood Cliffs, New Jersey

in any form or by any means without permission in writing

from the publisher.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 68-15350
Printed in the United States of America

Current printing; (tt^t.niimber):
10 9876543

This volume is dedicated to

JOHN WILLIAM MILLER

Mark Hopkins Professor Emeritus of Intellectual and Moral Philosophy

Williams College

BOOKS BY WALTER KAUFMANN

Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist

Critique of Religion and Philosophy

From Shakespeare to Existentialism

The Faith of a Heretic

Cain and Other Poems

Hegel: A Reinterpretation

Nietzsche Translations

The Portable Nietzsche

Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Beyond Good and Evil

The Birth of Tragedy &lt;^ The Case of Wagner

The Will to Power
On the Genealogy of Morals fa Ecce Homo

Other Translations

Judaism and Christianity: Essays by Leo Baech

Goethe s Faust
Twenty German Poets
Hegel: Texts and Commentary

Edited by

Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre

Philosophic Classics; 2 volumes

Religion from Tolstoy to Camus

PREFACE

There is no better introduction to philosophy, whether you read for
yourself or take a course, than to read some of the great philosophers.
But few books are more difficult than Aristotle s Metaphysics or Spinoza s
Ethics or Kant s Critique of Pure Reason. And even works that are less
puzzling are sometimes like snippets of a conversation that you overhear
on entering a room: what is said is clear, only you can t be sure you have
got the point because you do not know just what has gone before. A slight
point may be crucial to refute some earlier suggestion, and a seemingly
pointless remark may contain a barbed allusion. Too often nonphilos-
ophers despair: It does not occur to them that whenever they choose to
begin, they can still get in at the start of the conversation. They need
only begin with Thales and the other pre-Socratics. Nobody should fear
that going back so far will expose him to a tedious excursion. On the
contrary, in quick succession you encounter some of the most fascinating
thinkers of all time and find yourself regretting that so little of their
tf writings has survived.

Soon you come to Socrates and Plato and become involved in philo
sophical discussions that continue to this day. In the early dialogues of
Plato, the most brilliant literary power is employed to introduce you to
philosophy; but you gain ever so much more from your reading if you
know the pre-Socratics.

The later dialogues are much more difficult, and so is much of Aristotle,
but no serious student will be satisfied to remain completely innocent
of all these classics, and most teachers will want to read at least some of
this material with their students.

PREFACE

Altogether, it is not the point of either this book or its companion
, volume to avoid all difficulties. On the contrary, philosophy begins in
perplexity, as both Plato and Aristotle noted; and those who spurn per
plexity and want unquestioned answers have not begun to understand
philosophy. One of the first things you discover in the study of philosophy
is that intelligent and even brilliant men are frequently in disagreement,
and that some of the most interesting problems seem to have no ready-
made solutions. It might be argued that anyone who has not found this
v out still needs an education.

It is an uncomfortable discovery, however, and many people try to
dodge it. Instead of being challenged by one great philosopher after an
other to reconsider preconceived opinions and to become more careful,
thoughtful, and conscientious, many a student would like to learn, once
and for all, the "central doctrines" of the great philosophers: that way he
has something definite that he can memorize, and he does not have to
think, himself.

Alas, the "central doctrines" of a great philosopher often turn out to
be very problematic in the context of the whole work in which they
are said to be presented; and matters become yet less reassuring as we
compare the first edition of some classics with the second, or one book with
another by the same philosopher. Often, there are passages in which the
"central doctrine" seems to be presented; but the philosopher did not
always oblige us by ceasing to think after formulating his position in this
manner: typically, he continued to reflect on the same topic and on other
problems that have some relation to it; and in the end his position turns
out to be hotly disputed by scholars. The greatest Plato scholars still
argue not only about Plato s meaning in specific sentences but also about
"central doctrines"; and the situation is no better in the case of Aristotle.
No one who loves philosophy is seriously dismayed by that: what Plato
and Aristotle teach us is not a body of assured results but rather a way
of thinking the delights of thinking.

The most damning comment on a course I ever heard came from a
student who, after a semester s freshman course which he had taken with
one of my colleagues, said that now he knew all about modern philosophy
adding only, as he noted my surprise, "at least since Descartes/*

Carving up great books to excerpt "essential doctrines* 1 is one of the
sins against the spirit of philosophy. If the reading of a whole Platonic
dialogue leaves a man more doubtful and less sure of himself than the
perusal of a brief epitome, that is all to the good, as Plato himself noted
many times, for example, at the end of the Theaetetus, It is part of the
point of philosophy to make men a little less sure about things* And
Socrates, who converted Plato to philosophy, insisted that what distin
guished him from other men was not that he knew all, or even most,
answers but rather that he realized his ignorance-
Nobody can be introduced to philosophy without being exposed to
wonder and perplexity, without being made aware of his ignorance, and

PREFACE vii

without discovering that the great philosophers, far from settling all
our doubts, present us with a host of puzzles. Not the least of these is
often what precisely the philosopher s position was. Those who have
never read a complete book by a philosopher are very often sure about his
doctrines, whereas those who have studied the man thoroughly are usually
much less sure and those who do feel sure often disagree with each other.
No reader of this book or its companion volume should feel that he
now knows all about Plato or Kant, Aristotle or Spinoza. He will find
many complete and unabridged works, supplemented with selections; but
these, far from being tailored to some one interpretation of the man,
should give some impression of the range of his thought and of the prob
lems that confront interpreters. The reader should not emerge with a
spurious sense that he knows what in fact he does not know; rather he
should come, if possible, to love philosophy. The Apology may communi
cate the philosophic spirit, and the Symposium and the Phaedrus, also
uncut, might convince the reader that here are works of great beauty
which may well require many a delightful reading before they yield up
even most of their treasures. It is thus that one is won for philosophy.

There is much continuity in these selections: those from the pre-
Socratics are relevant for an understanding of Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus,
and many later writers, and the previously suggested metaphor of the
conversation should be taken seriously. Hobbes objections to Descartes
have been included with Descartes replies before Thomas Hobbes is
introduced in his own right; but even where the dialogue is not quite so
explicit it is well to ask oneself to what ideas of his predecessors a philos
opher is probably responding.

Where translations had to be used, versions in the public domain that
could be reprinted without permissions and fees were usually available,
but a great deal of effort was devoted to obtain some of the fine transla
tions done in recent years by the best scholars. Professionals will appre
ciate instantly what it means (to give but a very few examples) that Kirk
and Raven s work on The Presocratic Philosophers (1957) could be used
along with Cornford s and Hackforth s excellent translations of some of
Plato s more difficult dialogues; that Aquinas is offered in the translation
edited by Pegis; and that Philip Wiener s revised versions of his fine
Leibniz translations are presented.

A single case may be discussed in just a little more detail. Old trans
lations, in the public domain but not respected by the scholars in the
field, of much material by and about the pre-Socratics are available. The
versions reprinted in two of the most popular texts come from Arthur
Fairbanks The First Philosophers of Greece (1898), of which R. D. Hicks
showed in The Classical Review (1899, pp. 450 ffi.) that "a pupil who fol
lowed the translation . . . would be liable to serious misconceptions at
almost every step" a verdict seconded by Gregory Vlastos in The Philo*

PREFACE

sophical Review (October 1959). The student who wants versions based
on the latest scholarship can turn to Kathleen Freeman s Ancilla to the
Pre-Socratic Philosophers (1947) and find their fragments but none of
the often equally important paraphrases or reports about their doctrines
-though much of their thought is known to us only indirectly in this
manner. For additional material he can consult Freeman s The Pre-
Socratic Philosophers: A Companion to Diets, Fragmente der Vorso-
kmtiker (1946). Or he can turn to Kirk and Raven and find many of
the testimonies and those fragments-often all too few-that the authors
cite in the course of their scholarly discussions. But to give only two
examples, those who consult Kirk and Raven will miss out on many of
Heraclitus most striking sayings and on almost all the abundant sayings
of Democritus on ethics. In Freeman s Ancilla, on the other hand, they
will miss the atomistic world view of Democritus, which is known almost
exclusively from testimonies. What is offered in the following pages, then,
is-quite apart from some emendations of the translations presented-no
mere reprint but, at least in places, material never previously presented in
anything like the present form.

Zeno represents an especially dramatic case. Few, if any, pre-Socratic
fragments have elicited as much interest and discussion as his famous
paradoxes; but in recent years some of the foremost scholars have repudi
ated earlier translations of this material and proposed new readings. No
English version hitherto in print is really up to date. The section on
tZeno, therefore, was contributed by Gregory Vlastos and constitutes an
important contribution to pre-Socratic scholarship.

Nothing has been offered of Chinese and Indian philosophy. The little
that might have been put into these two volumes could not have done
justice to India or China and would only have taken away valuable space
from Western thinkers. To do justice to Oriental thought, another volume
as large as one of the present volumes would be necessary. The same
reasoning applies to Western philosophy since Kant. Not enough could
have been included along with the men from Bacon to Kant to be satis
factory for students of nineteenth- or twentieth-century philosophy. It
therefore seemed best to devote as much space as possible to philosophers
of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

The treatment of medieval thought also requires comment. In line
with the points just made, it could be argued that the Middle Ages
should have been left out entirely; but for two reasons a few samples of
medieval philosophy have been presented. Unlike Oriental philosophy
which stands entirely apart from the development recorded in these vol
umes and unlike philosophy since Kant, which comes afterwards as
the sequel, medieval philosophy must be conceded to have been either a
link or an interruption, and probably both, in the story that is here pre
sented. Our understanding of Bacon, Descartes, and Spinoza is enhanced

PREFACE

by even a slight knowledge of Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, and Ockham.
Moreover, interest in St. Thomas Aquinas is widespread, and his thought
is as much discussed in the twentieth century as ever before. It is there
fore customary in many colleges to bring in just a little of medieval
philosophy at the end of a course on Greek philosophy, and this makes
good sense. But any great expansion of this section, either by offering
more of the writings of the four men represented here or by introducing
others, such as Erigena, Scotus, and Eckhart, was not feasible for the same
reasons that led to the exclusion of Oriental and recent philosophy: not
enough could have been offered for the serious student or for a semester s
course, and the value of the remaining part of the volume would have
been impaired too seriously by the required cuts. Everything considered,
it seemed best to concentrate chiefly on one medieval philosopher and to
select St. Thomas Aquinas for this purpose.

Those who use one of these volumes as the basis of a one-term course
need hardly be told that there is more material here than can easily fit
into one semester. But the editor does not apologize for offering some
choice or for giving teachers who offer the same course year after year an
easy opportunity for varying their fare.

In this second edition I have made many small revisions as well as the
following major changes:

Plato s Meno is now offered in W. K. C. Guthrie s translation, which
takes its place alongside Cornford s and Hackforth s versions as the best
we have.

The selections from Aristotle s Categories are now offered in John
Ackrill s superior translation, which had not yet appeared when the first
edition of Philosophic Classics was published.

The very substantial selections from Aristotle s Metaphysics have been
strengthened in two ways: they are now presented in W. D. Ross s superb
translation, and Book VII has also been included.

In the chapter on Hellenistic Philosophy I have added a good deal of
material about early Greek Stoicism, including part of the account
Diogenes Laertius gives of Stoic ethics and all / of his report of Stoic
"physics."

Finally, Volume I has been extended beyond Thomas Aquinas to
Ockham; a complete essay by Aquinas has beer* added; and Part V has
been given a new title: "Medieval Philosophy,"

In Volume II I have added selections from Descartes correspondence
with Princess Elizabeth; further selections from Spinoza s Ethics, Locke s
Essay, and Berkeley s Principles; and a short essay by Leibniz translated
especially for this volume by Professor Montgomery Furth.

The last quotation from Xenophanes may serve as a motto for both
volumes: "Nojt from the beginning have the gods revealed all things to
mortals, but by long seeking, men find what is better."

PREFACE

NOTE: In many instances, the page numbers of a standard edition have
-been retained in the running heads at the top of the page in the selec
tions from Aristotle; in brackets at the end of the line in the selections
from Plato and (in the second volume) from Hobbes and Kant. This
should facilitate the checking of scholarly citations as well as comparison
.with the original or with other editions. Moreover, where omissions are
indicated, this device shows at a glance approximately how much has
been omitted.

In making my selections for these two volumes, I have had the invalu
able advantage of discussions with and advice from many colleagues:
Richard Cartwright, Irving Copi, Willis Doney, Dennis O Brien, George

, Pitcher, and Gregory Vlastos. Having taught a variety of courses in the
history of philosophy, they gave me the benefit of their considerable
experience, and I am glad to have this opportunity to express my grati
tude.

In preparing the second edition, I have again profited from the advice
of many colleagues, but I am most profoundly indebted to Professor

i Montgomery Furth, whose detailed and expert comments were exceed
ingly helpful. Besides suggesting many of the changes enumerated above,
he also made a new translation of an essay by Leibniz especially for

^Volume II.

u Professor Vlastos has also contributed the section on Zeno both the
translations and the editorial matter. For this, too, I am deeply indebted
to him.

Everybody with whom I have dealt at Prentice-Hall has been most
cooperative and helpful.

w. K.

port one BEFORE SOCRATES 1

THE MILESIANS

Thales 6, Anaximander 7, Anaximenes 9

THREE SOLITARY FIGURES

Pythagoras 10, Xenophanes 13, Heraclitus 14

THE ELEATICS

Parrnenides 18, Zeno 22, Melissus 31

THE PLURALISTS

Empedocles 34, Anaxagoras 39, Democritus (and Leucippus) 42

THREE SOPHISTS

Protagoras 52, Gorgias 54, Antiphon 58

EPILOGUE

Pericles (as reported by Thucydides) 62

part two SOCRATES AND PLATO 69

SOCRATES AND THE EARLIER PLATO

Apology (complete) 76, Meno (complete) 92, Phaedo (in part: 72-82,
113-end) 113, Symposium (complete) 725, Phaedrus (complete) 158

xii CONTENTS

THE LATER PLATO

Parmenides (in part: 127-136) 199, Theaetetus (in part) 206, The Sophist
(in part: 216-18, 234-end) 219, Timaeus (in part) 253, Laws, Book X
(in part) 263

EPILOGUE

Epistle VII (in part: 324-26, 330-31, 341) 274

part three ARISTOTLE 279

Categories (Chapters 1-5) 282, Posterior Analytics (in part) 287, Meta
physics (Books I, IV, VII, IX, XII, complete; V, in part) 297, Physics (in
part) 381, On the Heavens (in part) 395, On the Soul (in part) 398 9
Nicomachean Ethics (in part) 405, Poetics (Chapters I-XV) 437

part four HELLENISTIC PHILOSOPHY 449

EPICURUS

Letter to Herodotus (complete) 453, Principal Doctrines (complete) 463

THE STOICS

Zeno, from Diogenes Laertius (in part) 467 Gleanthes, Hymn to Zeus

(complete) 476, Epictetus, Encheiridion (complete) 477

SEXTUS EMPIRICUS

Outlines of Pyrrhonism (in part) 491

PLOTINUS

Enneads (in part) 497

part five MEDIEVAL PHILOSOPHY 501

AUGUSTINE

Confessions (in part) 510, The City of God (in part) 520

ANSELM

Proslogiitm (in part) 522

THOMAS AQUINAS

Summa Theologica (in part) 524, On the Principles of Nature
(complete) 542

OCKHAM

The Problem of Universal 552, Being, Essence and Existence HO,
God 563

parf one

Almost all histories of philosophy and all philosophers agree that the so-
called pre-Socratics were the first philosophers, at least in the Western world.
Unlike most of the early thinkers of India and China, the pre-Socratics did
, not think exegetically : they did not read their ideas into, or out of, ancient
scriptures or poems. On the contrary, they spoke as disrespectfully of the
greatest poets as they did of each other. They made bold to speak out on
their own behalf, each for himself, claiming neither the authority of divine
inspiration nor the sanction of tradition. They come before us as thinking
,men who challenge us to think for ourselves as they did.

There are excellent reasons for beginning a study of philosophy with these
men and then proceeding to Socrates and Plato. This, after all, is how
Western philosophy did begin, and we can still recapture the movement
from the bald statements of Thales to the all-embracing questioning of
Socrates, and hence to Plato s efforts to fuse criticism with construction.

If a deep dissatisfaction with all facile answers is the starting point of
philosophic thought, the fragments of the pre-Socratics are doubly appro
priate for a beginning. Not one of their works has survived complete: all
we have are quotations and reports in later writers. As a result, pre-Socratic
thought has a mysterious quality that makes flat statements highly question
able. Cryptic passages and forceful aphorisms whose original context is lost
give us food for thought and stimulate our imagination. Instead of looking
for "the * answer, one is fascinated by reflecting on a wealth of possibilities.
And in the effort to show why some suggested interpretations are untenable,
one can also develop one s critical faculties.

BEFORE SOCRATES

Some of these fragments may remind the reader of archaic statues, heads
with broken noses, torsos without heads or arms pieces so perfect in the
form in which they have survived that one has no regrets and even feels that
the freshly completed work could not have been so fascinating.

For all that, most interest in the pre-Socratics is motivated by the fact that
they furnish the backdrop for the thought of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle:
that is why one lumps them together as "the pre-Socratics." But the mag
nificent succession of thinker upon thinker was anything but luck. The
Chinese Tao-Teh-Ching is also wonderful and enigmatic, but one under
stands why the book was never followed by a philosophic crescendo. Though
they are often enigmatic and at times somewhat oracular, the pre-Socratics
are distinguished by their appeal to reason. In this way each one makes it
possible for his successors to subject his thought to criticisms, to amend it, to
develop an alternative, to go beyond it.

In the pre-Socratics, wisdom ceases to soliloquize and becomes dialogue.
Sage speaks to sage, often acidly, but not with the finality of monologue or
revelation. In the Upanishads of ancient India we are invited to ponder
infinite wisdom that claims to be derived from still more ancient poems, and
any failure to assent is charged to lack of understanding. There is no room
for argument and disagreement. The pre-Socratics confront us with constant
disagreement. They are not mystagogues but heretics.

To picture them either as positivistic scientists, as John Burnet came close
to doing in his Early Greek Philosophy, or as theologians, as Werner Jaeger
did in The Theology of the Early Greek Philosophers, is to miss something
of their very essence. Theology suggests the exegetic mode of thought, a
loyalty to a traditional religion, and an effort to provide a systematic state
ment of, and rational foundation for, traditional beliefs and rites. In all
three respects, the pre-Socratics stand opposed to all theology. None of them
condoned traditional religion or any popular beliefs or cults. Some were
scientists, but their world was not devoid of mystery on the contrary. They
neither denied mystery nor did they try to expound it to the point where it
might cease to be mysterious. They were exuberant in their reliance on
reason, and they wrote poetry about it, or superbly fashioned aphorisms,
They delighted in the light of sane thought but always retained a profound
sense of the outer darkness, the unexpected, and the uncanny.

Their influence on Plato was so great that a study of their thought Is
essential to an understanding of many passages in his dialogues, of his inten
tionsmany problems were suggested to him by Heraclitus, the Eleatics,
and the Pythagoreans and, of course, his originality. Aristotle studied the
pre-Socratics closely and discussed them at length in the first book of his
Metaphysics, which is reprinted in its entirety below, under Aristotle. Of the
later Greek philosophers it has often been remarked that the Stoics were
particularly influenced by Heraclitus, the Epicureans by Democritus. Ele-
ments of Orphism, an early Greek religious movement, also found their

BEFORE SOCRATES

way into the pre-Socratics most obviously, but by no means only, into
Pythagoreanism and hence into Plato and, later, into Christianity. In fact,
a few of the fragments survived as quotations in the works of early Christian
writers.

Most scholars would probably agree that the most important work on the
pre-Socratics has been done by an international cast of philologists. Even
so, there is still a great deal of discussion about the meaning of many frag
ments and the views of some of these early philosophers; and not only
classical philologists have taken an interest in this literature.

Among modern philosophers, Hegel was the first to deal with pre-Socratic
thought at loving length, in his posthumously published lectures on the
history of philosophy. As a professor of classical philology at the University
of Basel, Switzerland, Friedrich Nietzsche dealt in great detail with "The
PrePlatonic Philosophers" or, as he put it in the title of another post
humously published manuscript, with "Philosophy in the Tragic Era of the
Greeks." In the books he himself published, too, there are occasional sugges
tions that in some respects these early thinkers may have been superior to
their successors and that in some ways Plato may represent a decline, with
his bifurcation of the world and of man and with his pre-Christian deprecia
tion of this world and the senses.

In his first philosophic book, "The Psychology of World Views" (1919),
Karl Jaspers based his discussion of "Types of Philosophic Thinking" on
"the pre-Socratics, on account of their relative simplicity, on account of
their greatness, and above all on account of Nietzsche s example" (p. 204) .
Jaspers comments were admittedly based mainly on Nietzsche s essay on
"Philosophy in the Tragic Era of the Greeks." The other great protagonist
of German existentialism, Martin Heidegger actually, both Jaspers and
Heidegger repudiate the label of existentialism has published a large body
of interpretations of pre-Socratic fragments and has suggested again and
again that the whole of Western philosophy from Plato to Nietzsche repre
sents a tragic fall from the sensibility, the world feeling, the insights of the
pre-Socratics to which our generation must somehow recover an approach,
Philologists do not take Heidegger s laborious exegeses seriously, and it is
worth pointing out that he quite misses their most distinctive break with
the past: their refusal to think exegetically. Even so, it is interesting that
the so-called existentialists, at least in Germany, have done their utmost to
redirect attention to the pre-Socratics. Some feeling for at least a few of
these early thinkers might be expected among a generation that has redis
covered archaic Greek art and has come to prefer the best of it to the
(until recently) more celebrated classical and postclassical works.

The surviving quotations from the works of the pre-Socratics were col
lected by a nineteenth-century German scholar, Hermann Diels, in Die
Fragments der Vorsokratiker. Diels assembled the original Greek texts and
furnished German translations of all the fragments* He also collected and

BEFORE SOCRATES

printed, but did not translate., reports of ancient authors about the lives,
works, and ideas of the pre-Socratics, His work went through several editions
and has been periodically revised and kept up to date since his death. No
other work has ever replaced the latest edition of Diels.

In English there are primarily, though certainly not only, three works that
offer pre-Socratic fragments in English. First, John Burnet translated and
discussed many of the fragments in his Early Greek Philosophy (1st ed.,
1892; 4th ed., 1930, reprinted as a paperback by Meridian Books; for some
brief comments on his work, see section I, preceding). Then Kathleen
Freeman published An Ancilla to The Pre-Socratic Philosophers: A com
plete translation of the Fragments in Diets, Fragmente der Vorsokratiker
(Harvard University Press, 1947). Like Diels, she translated only the frag
ments, not the ancient paraphrases and reports about the philosophers lives
and works. Finally, there is The Presocratic Philosophers: A Critical History
with a Selection of Texts by G. S. Kirk and J. E. Raven (Cambridge Uni
versity Press, 1957). Here the emphasis falls on a careful, critical discussion
of some of the texts against the background of recent scholarly books and
articles; and in the course of the discussion many, but not most, of the
fragments, paraphrases, and reports are both cited in Greek and, at the
bottom of the page on which the original is cited, rendered into English,
For the serious students of the pre-Socratics, the book is a delight and a
constant help; for the less serious reader, and especially for those with no
knowledge of Greek, Freeman s book is likely to be more satisfactory, if only
because it offers all the fragments.

Almost all the translations that follow are either those of Kirk or Raven
(marked accordingly with a K or R, followed by the number that the passage
bears in their book) or those of Freeman (marked with an F) . An asterisk
(*) indicates that the translation has been revised slightly often, but not
always, very slightly indeed, for purely stylistic reasons. In a very few cases
the translation is my own and marked WK. After direct quotations, these
symbols (K, R&gt; F, and WK] are preceded by the number that the fragment
bears in the fifth edition of Diels s standard work. Freeman s numbering is
the same as Diels s. After paraphrases, the ancient works in which they
occur are cited briefly, using the standard abbreviations, Those interested
in an evaluation of these paraphrases, which are by no means always com
pletely reliable, will find illuminating, if occasionally controversial, discus
sions in Kirk and Raven.

The reason for often using Kirk s and Raven s versions is that they embody
the latest scholarship; the reason for not relying solely on them is that there
is so much material that they have not translated. Moreover, their wording
and Miss Freeman s, too is now and then excessively academic, Miss Free
man also uses capital letters very profusely to the point of distraction-and
I have departed from this practice.

The reader should not forget that some of the pre-Socratics were very
great writers, but that both here and throughout these readings every effort
has been made to take into account the work of the best scholars in the

BEFORE SOCRATES

field. Nowhere has accuracy been knowingly sacrificed to beauty; but one
need not give the impression, in the name of accuracy, that the pre-Socratics
wrote like classical philologists.

What follows is a selection. There is no such thing as a complete roster
of the pre-Socratics. The so-called Sophists were Socrates contemporaries,
but Protagoras and Gorgias were older than he and acquired great reputa
tions before he came along and challenged them ; and they are included here.
After all, it was partly in response to their teaching that his thought was
developed. Among the older writers, it is arguable who was, and who was
not, a philosopher. Various poets, for example, are occasionally included
among the pre-Socratics. Not counting the Sophists, the present selection
concentrates on the twelve major figures. They might conveniently be
arranged in four groups of three: the Milesians (Thales, Anaximander, and
Anaximenes) ; then three men who came from different places and stood
each by himself (Pythagoras, Xenophanes, and Heraclitus) ; then the so-
called Eleatics (Parmenides, Zeno, and Melissus) ; and finally the pluralists
(Empedocles, Anaxagoras, and Democritus). The only major name that is
missing in this list is that of Leucippus, the founder of the atomistic philoso
phy, who is presented together with his great follower, Democritus.

Offering all the fragments of the twelve main figures, one would have to
include such items as the following, each of which I now proceed to cite
in its entirety: "The joint connects two things"; "as when fig juice binds
white milk* ; and "having kneaded together barley-meal with water" (Em
pedocles, fragments 32, 33, 34).

The selections that follow are generally very inclusive. They are meant to
give an idea not only of each man s major teachings, as far as possible in his
own words, but also of his way of thinking and feeling, his style in short,
of the man who still confronts the student across roughly 2,500 years. Where
a striking sentence has given rise to widely different translations, this is noted.

THE MILESIANS

THALES

Thales is generally considered the first Western philosopher not so much
by virtue of some one thing he said as because an unbroken line leads from
him to Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. He lived in Miletus in Asia Minor
and is said to have predicted an eclipse of the sun that occurred in 585 B,a
He was thus a contemporary of the Hebrew prophet, Jeremiah, who pre-

dieted the fall of Jerusalem, which, to his regret, he lived to see in 586 B.C.

According to both Herodotus, the great fifth-century historian who has

been called "the father of history," and Diogenes Laertius, who, in the

third century A.D,, composed the fascinating, anecdotal, but J?y no means

always reliable Lives of Famous Philosophers^ Thales was of Phoenician

udescent But not all scholars are convinced that he was a pure Semite, In
any case, the Greek-speaking population of Miletus was racially very mixed,
and Greek philosophy originated in a melting pot of many cultures. The
ancients were agreed that Thales had learned a great deal from the Egyp*

c tians, Babylonians, and Phoenicians.

Like many other pre-Socratics, Thales was by no means a philosopher
only* Among other things, he was also a statesman, an astronomer, a
geometer, and a renowned sage. He probably did not write any book, but
ancient literature contains many statements about him, a few of which
follow.

* *

A witty and attractive Thracian serv- for falling into a well while he was ob*
nt-girl is said to have mocked Thales serving the stars ahd gazing upwards;

ANAXIMANDER

declaring that he was eager to know the
things in the sky, but that what was be
hind him and just by his feet escaped
his notice. [Plato, Theaetetus 174A; K
74.]

When they reproached him because of
his poverty, as though philosophy were
no use, it is said that, having observed
through his study of the heavenly bodies
that there would be a large olive-crop,
he raised a little capital while it was still
winter, and paid deposits on all the olive
presses in Miletus and Chios, hiring
them cheaply because no one bid against

^him. When the appropriate time came
there was a sudden rush of requests for
the presses; he then hired them out on
his own terms and so made a large pro
fit, thus demonstrating that it is easy for
philosophers to be rich, if they wish, but
that it is not in this that they are inter
ested. [Aristotle, Politics All, 1259a; K

.75.]

When he came to the Halys river,
Croesus then, as I say, put his army
across by the existing bridges; but, ac
cording to the common account of the
Greeks, Thales the Milesian transferred
the army for him. For it is said that
Croesus was at a loss how his army
should cross the river, since these bridges
did not yet exist at this period; and that
Thales, who was present in the army,
made the river, which flowed on the
left hand of the army, flow on the right
hand also. He did so in this way; begin
ning upstream of the army he dug a
deep channel, giving it a crescent shape,
so that it should flow round the back of

where the army was encamped, being
diverted in this way from its old course
by the channel, and passing the camp
should flow into its old course once more.
The result was that as soon as the river
was divided it became fordable in both
of its parts. [Herodotus I, 75; K 67.]

Moist natural substance, since it is
easily formed into each different thing,
is accustomed to undergo very various
^changes: that part of it which is exhaled
is made into air, and the finest part is
kindled from air into aether, while when
water is compacted and changes into
slime it becomes earth. Therefore Thales
declared that water, of the four ele
ments, was the most active, as it were,
as cause. [Heraclitus Homericus, Quaest.
Horn. 22; K 89. These may not really
have been Thales reasons.]

He [Thales] said that the world is
held up by water and rides like a ship,
and when it is said to "quake" it is
actually rocking because of the water s
movement. [Seneca, Qu. Nat. Ill, 14;
K90.]

Thales, too, seems, from what they
relate, to have supposed that the soul
was something kinetic, if he said that
the [Magnesian] stone possesses soul be
cause it moves iron. [Aristotle, De
Anima A2, 405a; K 91.]

Some say that it [soul] is intermingled
in the universe, for which reason, per
haps, Thales also thought that all things
are full of gods. [Aristotle, De Anima
A5, 411a; K 93.]

ANAXIMANDER

The second Milesian philosopher hazarded a number of interesting guesses
about nature. He may also have been the first among the Greeks to compose
a book of prose. But what has fascinated his successors, down to the present,

THE MILESIANS

far more than anything else about him is the one sentence, or half-sentence,
from that book, which has survived because Simplicius quoted it. In these
few words one may detect an echo of ancient Orphic notions of original sin,
although this interpretation is by no means certain. It was Anaximander at
any rate who introduced the notion of the apeiron, the unlimited, boundless,
infinite, or indefinite, which he considered the fundamental principle of the
world, thus replacing Thales conception of water.

Anaximander son of Praxiades, of
Miletus, philosopher, was a kinsman,
pupil and successor of Thales. He first
discovered the equinox and solstices and
hour-indicators, and that the earth lies
in the center. He introduced the gnomon
[a vertical rod whose shadow indicates
the sun s direction and height] and in
general made known an outline of
geometry. He wrote On Nature, Circuit
of the Earth, and On the Fixed Stars,
and Celestial Globe, and some other
works. [Suda s.v.; K 97. Some of this
has been disputed.]

[Anaximander] was the first of the
Greeks whom we know who ventured to
produce a written account on nature.
[Themistius Or. 26; K 98.]

Of those who say that it is one, mov
ing, and infinite, Anaximander son of
Praxiades, a Milesian, the successor and
pupil of Thales, said that the principle
and element of existing things was the
apeiron [indefinite, or infinite], being
the first to introduce this name of the
material principle. He says that it is
neither water nor any other of the so-
called elements, but some other apeiron
nature, from which come into being all
the heavens and the worlds in them. And
the source of coming-to-be for existing
things is that into which destruction, too,
happens "according to necessity; for they
pay penalty and retribution to each
other for their injustice according ,to the
assessment of time, 9 as he describes it
in these rather poetical terms. It is clear

that he, seeing the changing of the four
elements into each other, thought il
right to make none of these the sub
stratum, but something else besides
these; and he produces coming-to-be
not through the alteration of the ele
ment, but by the separation off of the
opposites through the eternal motion.
[Simplicius, Phys. 24; K 103A and 121,
The phrase quoted from Anaximander s
work has elicited a large literature, in
cluding a 48-page essay by Martin
Heideggger. Some scholars believe that
the quotation begins earlier and com
prises the whole sentence,]

He says that that which is productive
from the eternal of hot and cold was
separated off at the coming-to-be of this
world, and that a kind of sphere of
flame from this was formed round the
air surrounding the earth, like bark
around a tree. When this was broken
off and shut off in certain circles, the
sun and moon and stars were formed.
[Ps.-Plutarch, Strom. 2; K 123,]

He says that the earth is cylindrical in
shape, and that its depth is a third of its
width. [Ibid.\ K 124A,]

Its shape is curved, round, similar to
the drum of a column; of its flat surfaces
we walk on one, and the other is on the
opposite side, [Hippolytus, Ref. I, 6, 3;
K 124B,]

Anaximander says the sun is a circle
28 times the size of the earth, like a
chariot wheel, with its rim hollow and
full of fire, and showing the fire at a
certain point through an aperture as

ANAXIMENES

though through the nozzle of a bellows.
[Aetius II, 20; K 128*]

Anaximander said that the first living
creatures were born in moisture, enclosed
in thorny barks; and that as their age
increased they came forth on to the
drier part and, when the bark had
broken off, they lived a different kind of
life for a short time. [Aetius V, 19; K
136.]

Further he says that in the beginning
man was born from creatures of a differ
ent kind; because other creatures are
soon self-supporting, but man alone
needs prolonged nursing. For this reason

he would not have survived if this had
been his original form. [Ps.-Plutarch,
Strom. 2; K 137.]

Therefore they [the Syrians] actually
revere the fish as being of similar race
and nurturing. In this they philosophize
more suitably than Anaximander; for
he declares, not that fishes and men
came into being in the same parents, but
that originally men came into being in
side fishes, and that, having been nur
tured there like sharks and having
become adequate to look after them
selves, they then came forth and took to
the land. [Plutarch, Symp. VIII, 730E;
K 140.]

ANAXIMENES

The third and last of the Milesian philosophers proposed air as the basic
principle of the world. Perhaps this suggestion can be understood as an
attempted synthesis of the ideas of his predecessors: air, more than water,
seems to partake of the nature of the boundless, the unlimited, the infinite,
the indefinite the apeiron of Anaximander,

Anaximenes son of Eurystratus, of
Miletus, was a pupil of Anaximander
. . , He said that the material principle
was air and the infinite; and that the
stars move, not under the earth, but
round it. He used simple and unsuper-
fluous Ionic speech. He was active, ac
cording to what Apollodorus says,
around the time of the capture of Sardis
[by Cyrus in 546/5 B.C.?], and died in
the 63rd Olympiad. [Diogenes Laertius
II, 3; K 141.]

He [Anaximander] left Anaximenes as
his disciple and successor, who attributed
all the causes of things to infinite air,
and did not deny that there were gods,
or pass them over in silence; yet he be

lieved not the air was made by them,
but that they arose from air. [Augustine,
City of God, VIII, 2; K 149.]

And all things are produced by a kind
of condensation, and again rarefaction,
of this [air]. Motion, indeed, exists from
everlasting; he says that when the air
felts, there first of all comes into being
the earth, quite flat therefore it ac
cordingly rides on the air; and sun and
moon and the remaining heavenly bodies
have their source of generation from
earth. At least, he declares the sun to
be earth, but that through the rapid
motion it obtains heat in great sufficien
cy. [Ps.-Plutarch, Strom. 3; K 151.]

THREE SOLITARY FIGURES

PVTHAGORAS

Born on the island of Samos, just off the coast of Asia Minor and very
close to Miletus, Pythagoras moved to southern Italy, where the Greeks had
colonies, and settled at Croton, on the bay of Tarentum. He founded a
quasi-religious sect that still existed in Plato s time, 150 years later. It exerted
a decisive influence on Plato s thought, second only to the impact of his
9 revered teacher, Socrates,

Pythagoras was soon associated with so many legends that few scholars
would dare to say much about his life and personality, or even about his
teachings, without adding that we cannot really be sure whether our in
formation is accurate. That there really was a man named Pythagoras who
founded the sect, we need not doubt: among the witnesses to that was his
younger contemporary, Heraclitus, who thought ill of him (see below under
Heraclitus, section D), The big question is this: what did Pythagoras him
self do and say, and what did others later ascribe to him?

Today he is best known for the so-called Pythagorean theorem in geometry
(cited below) . His interest in mathematics is as well attested to as his con
cern with religion and philosophy, and we may safely surmise that, like
Plato after him, he considered the study of mathematics essential for the
conversion of the soul from the world of the senses to the contemplation
of the eternal

The following ideas evidently influenced Plato especially: the dualistic
juxtaposition of body and soul and the conception of the body (soma in
Greek) as the tomb (stma in Greek) of the soul; the belief in the im-

PYTHAGORAS

mortality of the soul; the doctrine of the transmigration of souls; the idea
that knowledge and a philosophic life are required for the salvation of the
soul; the notion that one might design a society that would be an instru
ment of salvation for its members; the admission of women to this society;
the suggestion that all members should hold their property in common;
and, finally, the division of mankind into three basic types tradesmen
being the lowest class; those in whom the competitive spirit and ambition
are highly developed, a little higher; and those who prefer contemplation,
the most excellent.

The whole development of Plato s thought from his early works to his

last ones may be understood as a gradual departure from the heritage of

Socrates and a sustained effort to absorb Pythagoreanism. And it was the

JPythagorean Plato rather than the Socratic one who decisively influenced

the subsequent development of Christian thought.

According to my information from the
Greeks who live beside the Hellespont
and Pontus, this Salmoxis, a real man,
was a slave in Samos to Pythagoras son
of Mnesarchus . . . but I believe that this
Salmoxis lived many years before
^Pythagoras. [Herodotus IV, 95; R 255.]

Aristoxenus says that at the age of
forty, seeing that the tyranny of Poly-
crates had grown more intense, ... he
eventually migrated to Italy. [Porphyry
V.P. 9; R 256.]

He emigrated to Croton in Italy and
there, by legislating for the Italians, won
renown together with his pupils. They
numbered nearly 300, and they adminis
tered the affairs of state so well that
the constitution was virtually an aristo
cracy. [Diogenes Laertius VIII, 3; R
257.]

Pythagoras wrote nothing, nor did

Socrates [Plutarch, Alex. fort. 1, 4,

328; R 267.]

is the reason: if one starts at the unit
and adds the successive numbers up to
four, one will make up the number ten;
and if one exceeds the tetrad, one will
exceed ten, too. If, that is, one takes
the unit, adds two, then three, and then
four, one will make up the number ten.
... So the Pythagoreans used to invoke
the tetrad as their most binding oath:
"Nay, by him that gave to our genera
tion the tetractys, which contains the
fount and root of eternal nature."
[Aetius I, 3, 8; R 280.]

The square of the hypotenuse of a
right-angled triangle is equal to the sum
of the squares on the sides enclosing the
right angle. [The text of the next sen
tence is corrupt, but the sense is:] If we
pay any attention to those who like to
recount ancient history, we may find
some of them referring this theorem to
Pythagoras, and saying that he sacrificed
an ox in honor of his discovery. [Proclus,
In Eucl, p, 426 Fried!.; R 281.]

Ten is the very nature of number. All
Greeks and all barbarians alike count
up to ten, and having reached ten revert
again to the unit. And again, Pythagoras
maintains, the power of the number ten
lies in the number four, the tetrad. This

On the subject of reincarnation,
Xenophanes bears witness in an elegy
which begins: "Now I will turn to an
other tale and show the way." What he
says about Pythagoras runs thus: "Once
they say that he was passing by when a

PYTHAGORAS

puppy was being whipped, and he took
pity and said: Stop, do not beat it; for
it is the soul of a friend that I recognized
when I heard it giving tongue."
[Diogenes Laertius VIII, 36; Xenopha-
? nes, fragment 7 ; R 268.]

Moreover, the Egyptians are the first
to have maintained the doctrine that
the soul of man is immortal and that,
when the body perishes, it enters into
another animal that is being born at
the time, and when it has been the com
plete round of the creatures of the dry
land and of the sea and of the air it
enters again into the body of a man at
birth; and its cycle is completed in 3000
years. There are some Greeks who have
adopted this doctrine, some in former
times and some in later, as if it were
their own invention; their names I know
but refrain from writing down. [Hero
dotus II, 123; R 270.]

None the less the following became
universally known: first that he main
tains that the soul is immortal; next,
that it changes into other kinds of living
things; also that events recur in certain
cycles, and that nothing is ever absolutely
new; and finally, that all living things
should be regarded as akin. Pythagoras
seems to have been the first to bring
these beliefs into Greece* [Porphyry, Vita
Pythagorae 19; R 271.]

If one were to believe the Pythagore
ans that events recur in an arithmetical
cycle, and that I shall be talking to you
again sitting as you are now, with this
pointer in my hand, and that everything
else will be just as it is now, then it is
plausible to suppose that the time, too,
will be the same as now. [Eudemus ap.
Simplic, Phys., 732, 30; R 272. The
doctrine of the eternal recurrence of the
same events at gigantic intervals was
revived in modern times by Friedrich
Nietzsche; cf, Walter Kaufmann s
Nietzsche, Princeton 1950, Meridian

Books 1956, Chapter 11, "Overman and
Eternal Recurrence."]

Let the rules to be pondered be these:

1. When you are going out to a
temple, worship first, and on your way
neither say nor do anything else connect
ed with your daily life.

2. On a journey neither enter a tem
ple nor worship at all, not even if you
are passing the very doors.

3. Sacrifice and worship without
shoes on.

4. Turn aside from highways and
walk by footpaths

6. Follow the gods and restrain your

tongue above all else

8. Stir not the fire with iron. . . .

10, Help a man who is loading
freight, but not one who is unloading,

11. Putting on your shoes, start with
the right foot; washing your feet, with
the left,

12 Speak not of Pythagorean matters
without light.

13, Never step over a cross-bar.

14. When you are out from home,
look not back, for the furies come after
you. . . ,

22. Do not wear a ring. . , .

23. Do not look in a mirror beside a
lamp. . , .

30. Eat not the heart. . . .

32. Spit upon the trimmings of your
hair and finger-nails* . . .

37. Abstain from beans. . . .

39. Abstain from living things,
[lamblichus, Protr. 21; R 275, These
were some of the rules of the sect found
ed by Pythagoras,]

Phythagoras turned geometrical philo
sophy into a form of liberal education by
seeking its first principles in a higher
realm of reality, [Prod, In EucL, p, 65
Fried!.; R 277,]

Life, he said, is like a festival; just as
some come to the festival to compete,

XENOPHANES

some to ply their trade, but the best
people come as spectators, so in life the
slavish men go hunting for fame or gain.

the philosophers for the truth. [Diogenes
Laertius VIII, 8; R 278.]

XENOPHANES

A contemporary of Pythagoras, Xenophanes came from Colophon on
the mainland of Asia Minor, a few miles inland and approximately fifty
miles north of Miletus and less than fifteen miles north of Ephesus. He
traveled a great deal and recited his poetry of which only a few fragments
survive. At one time he was supposed to have been Parmenides teacher
and the founder of the Eleatic school, no doubt on account of his concep
tion of one sole, unmoving god a notion readily associated with Par
menides idea of being. But this supposition is now generally rejected, and
Xenophanes is seen as an essentially solitary figure. Little of his work has
come down to us, but what little there is is unforgettable.

Xenophanes son of Dexios or, accord
ing to Apollodorus, of Orthomenes, of
Colophon . . . being expelled from his
native land, passed his time in Zancle in
Sicily and in Catana. ... He wrote in
epic metre, also elegiacs and iambics,
against Hesiod and Homer, reproving
them for what they said about the gods.
But he himself also recited his own
original poems. He is said to have held
contrary opinions to Thales and Pytha
goras, and to have rebuked Epimenides,
too. He had an extremely long life, as he
himself somewhere says: "Already there
are seven and sixty years tossing my
thought up and down the land of
Greece; and from my birth there were
another twenty-five to add to these, if I
know how to speak truly about these
things. * [Diogenes Laertius IX, 18; K
164,]

Homer and Hesiod ascribed to the
gods whatever is infamy and reproach
among men: theft and adultery and de
ceiving each other. [II; WK.]

Mortals suppose that the gods are

born and have clothes and voices and
shapes like their own [14; WK.]

But if oxen, horses, and lions had
hands or could paint with their hands
and fashion works as men do, horses
would paint horselike images of gods and
oxen oxlike ones, and each would fashion
bodies like their own. [15; WK.]

The Ethiopians consider the gods
flat-nosed and black; the Thracians blue-
eyed and red-haired. [16; WK.]

There is one god, among gods and
men the greatest, not at all like mortals
in body or mind, [23; F*.]

He sees as a whole, thinks as a whole,
and hears as a whole. [24; F.]

But without toil he moves everything
by the thought of his mind. [25; F*.]

He always remains in the same place,
not moving at all, nor is it fitting for him
to change his position at different times.
[26; F.]

Everything comes from earth and re
turns to earth in the end. [27; F*.]

14 HERACLITUS

No man knows or ever will know the Not from the beginning have the gods

truth about the gods and about every- revealed all things to mortals,, but by

thing I speak of: for even if one chanced long seeking men find what is better,

to say the complete truth, yet oneself [18; WK.]
knows it not; but seeming is wrought
over all things. [34; K 189.]

HERACLITUS

Heraclitus of Ephesus flourished around 500 B.C. The ancients already
called him "the dark philosopher/ but there is nothing obscure about his
cutting strictures of Xenophanes and Pythagoras, Homer and Hesiod, or
about his contempt for common sense and common men. He was clearly a
man of very great literary genius, and his epigrams, though often para
doxical and elusive, are immensely suggestive, invite frequent rereading,
and haunt the mind. In his sayings, as in those of no previous philosopher,
one feels that one encounters the personality of the thinker. After almost
twenty-five centuries, he still evokes instant antipathy in some readers and
the highest admiration in others. Among those who have paid lavish tribute
to him are Hegel and Nietzsche.

Because so many of his sayings have survived and are worth quoting
here, it seemed advisable to arrange them under a few topical headings.
Regarding the two items in the first section (A), it may be noted that the
claim about the three parts of his book has been questioned; indeed, some
have doubted that he wrote any book at all but this doubt strikes me as
unreasonable.

The term Logos, left untranslated in section B, is sometimes rendered
as reason, sometimes as word (as in the first sentence of the fourth CJospeli
"In the beginning was the Word") ; and it may also denote a rational
principle in the world. The so-called river fragments are included in section
C. In the following section, the role assigned to fire is striking. Thales had
considered water the basic principle; Anaximenes, air; now Heraclitus
introduces fire. It would seem that fire was associated in his mind with
both change, which it represents even much more strikingly than water, and
with strife and war; but the last two fragments in that section also raise the
question whether he may not possibly have been influenced by the religion
of the Persians, who had conquered the Babylonian empire during Her-
aclitus lifetime. It was the Persians who put an end to the Babylonian exile
of the Jews, and it was probably from the Persians that the conception of a
fiery^ judgment day entered first Jewish speculation and later the Christian
religion, The Persians, following their great prophet Zarathustra, or Zoro
aster, also believed that there were two great gods, one of the good and of
light, the other of evil and darkness, and that man must assist the former,
Qrmuzd, against the latter, Ahriman, This idea, which the Jews emphati-

HERACLITUS

cally rejected, was not accepted by Heraclitus either (cf., e.g., fragments
57 and 102 in section D) . That Heraclitus knew something of the religion
of the Persians is by no means established. It seems probable to me, but
some eminent scholars doubt it. It has also been suggested that Heraclitus
associated fire not only with change but also with permanence.

Plato frequently referred to Heraclitus and named one of his dialogues
after Heraclitus follower, Cratylus. In the Cratylus he speaks of "the opinion
of Heraclitus that all things flow," and this phrase, "all things flow" (panta
rhei) has often been cited as the quintessence of Heracliteanism. With
some slight oversimplification, one might say that Plato was convinced by
Heraclitus that in this world all things are in flux; that he also believed that
if everything were in flux no rational discourse would be possible; and that
he concluded that there must be another world beyond the world of sense
experience a realm utterly free from change, motion, and time. At that
point he was probably influenced not only by the Pythagoreans but also by
Parmenides, the next great pre-Socratic after Heraclitus.

A. The Man

Antisthenes, in his Successions, quotes
as a sign of his [Heraclitus ] arrogance
that he resigned the hereditary kingship
to his brother. [Diogenes Laertius IX, 6;
K 194.]

The book said to be his is called On
Nature, from its chief content, and is
divided into three discourses: On the
Universe, Politics, Theology. He ded
icated it and placed it in the temple
of Artemis, as some say, having purpose
ly written it rather obscurely so that only
those of rank and influence should have
access to it, and it should not be easily

despised by the populace The work

had so great a reputation that from it
arose disciples, those call Heracliteans.
[Ibid., IX, 5; 195.]

8, Logos and Senses

Those awake have one ordered uni
verse in common, but in sleep every man
turns away to one of his own. [89; WK.]

The thinking faculty is common to all.
[113; P.]

Of the Logos, which is as I describe

it, men always prove to be uncompre
hending, both before they have heard
it and when once they have heard it. For
although all things happen according to
this Logos men are like people of no
experience, even when they experience
such words and deeds as I explain, when
I distinguish each thing according to its
constitution and declare how it is; but
the rest of men fail to notice what they
do after they wake up just as they forget
what they do when asleep. [1; K 197.]

Therefore it is necessary to follow the
common; but although the Logos is
common the many live as though they
had a private understanding. [2; K 198.]

Listening not to me but to the Logos
it is wise to agree that all things are one.
[50; K 199.]

The things of which there is seeing
and hearing and perception, these I pre
fer, [55; K 200.]

The eyes are more exact witnesses
than the ears. [lOla; F.]

If all existing things turned to smoke,
the nose would be the discriminating
organ* [7; F.]

Evil witnesses are eyes and ears for
men if they have souls that do not

HERACLITUS

understand their language. [107; K
201.]

C. Cosmos

The path up and down are one and
the same. [60; K 203*.]

The sun is new each day. [6; F.]

Sun will not overstep his measures;
else the Erinyes, Justice s ministers, will
find him out. [94; K 299*.]

In the same river we both step and
do not step, we are and are not. [49a;
F*.]

It is not possible to step twice into the
same river. [91; F.]

Upon those that step into the same
rivers different and different waters
flow. [12; K 217.]

Sea is the most pure and polluted
water: for fishes it is drinkable and
salutary, but for men undrinkable and
perilous. [61; K 202*.]

Disease makes health pleasant and
good, hunger satiety, weariness rest.
[Ill; K 204.]

What is in opposition is in concert,
and from what differs comes the most
beautiful harmony. [8; F*.]

War is the father of all, the king of
all; and some he shows as gods, some as
men; some he makes slaves, some free,
[53; K 215*.]

One must know that war is common
and justice is strife, and that all things
happen by strife and necessity, [80; K
214.*]

For souls it is death to become water,
for water death to become earth; from
earth water comes-to-be, and from water,
soul. [36; K 232*.]

Immortals are mortal, mortals immort
al, living each other s death, dying each
other s life. [62; WK,]

After death things await men which
they do not expect or imagine. [27; F*.]

Time is a child playing a game of
draughts; the kingship is in the hands
of a child. [52; F.]

D. Religion and Fire

Being a polymath does not teach
understanding; else Hesiod would have
had it and Pythagoras; also Xenophanes
and Hekataeus. [40; WK.]

Homer deserves to be thrown out of
the contests and whipped, and Archilo-
chus, too. [42; WK.]

The most popular teacher is Hesiod.
Of him people think he knew mosthe
who did not even know day and night:
they are one. [57; WK.]

They purify themselves by staining
themselves with other blood, as if one
stepped into mud to wash off mud. But
a man would be thought mad if one
of his fellowmen saw him do that, Also,
they talk to statues as one might talk
with houses, in ignorance of the nature
of gods and heroes. [5; F*.]

The consecrations of the mysteries, as
practised among men, are unholy, [14;
WK,]

Corpses should be thrown away more
than dung, [96; WK, To appreciate the
full measure of this heresy, one should
recall Sophocles Antigone and Homer s
Mad.]

To god all things are beautiful and
good and just, but men have supposed
some things to be unjust, some just. [102;
K 209*,]

^ Man is called childish compared with
divinity, just as a boy compared with a
man, [79; PJ

Fire lives the death of earth, and air
the death of fire; water lives the death
of air, earth that of water. [76; F*,]

HERACL1TUS

Fire, having come upon them, will
judge and seize upon [condemn] all
things. [66; F.]

This cosmos [the same of all] none of
gods or men made, but it always was
and is and shall be: an everlasting fire,
kindling in measures and going out in
measures. [30; K 220*.]

E. Men and Morals

Asses prefer chaff to gold. [9; F*.]

Dogs bark at those whom they do not
recognize. [97; F.]

If happiness lay in bodily pleasures,
we should call oxen happy when they
find vetch to eat. [4; F*.]

It is not good for men to obtain all
they wish. [110;

Sane thinking is the greatest virtue,
and wisdom is speaking the truth and
acting according to nature; paying heed.
[112; F*.]

All men are granted what is needed
for knowing oneself and sane thinking.
[116; WK.]

A dry soul is wisest and best. [118; K
233.]

A man when he is drunk is led by an
unfledged boy, stumbling and not know
ing where he goes, having his soul moist.
[117; K 234.]

The best choose one above all else:
everlasting fame above mortals. The
majority are contented like well-fed
cattle. [29; WK.]

The people must fight on behalf of
the law as though for the city wall. [44;
K 252.]

One man to me is ten thousand if he
is the best. [49; F*.]

The Ephesians would do well to hang
themselves, every adult man, and leave
their city to adolescents, since they ex
pelled Hermodorus, the worthiest man
among them, saying: Let us not have
even one worthy man; but if we do, let
him go elsewhere and live among others!
[121; F*.]

F. Epilogue

I sought myself. [101; WK.]

If one does not expect the unexpected
one will not find it, for it is not reached
by search or trail. [18; WK.]

Character is man s fate. [119; WK.]
Nature loves hiding. [123; WK.]

The Sybil, uttering her unlaughing,
unadorned, unincensed words with rav
ing mouth, reaches out over a thousand
years with her voice, through the god.

[92 ;F*.]

The lord whose oracle is in Delphi
neither speaks out nor conceals, but
gives a sign. [93; K 247.]

THE ELEATICS

PARMENIDES

Parmenides, a younger contemporary of Heraclitus and an older con
temporary of Socrates, lived in Elea in southern Italy, on the west coast, a
few miles south of the ancient Posidonia (now Paestum) where a magni
ficent temple of Poseidon stands to this day along with two other fine
temples that also belong to the time of Parmenides. He may have been

r born about 510 B.C., something like thirty years after Heraclitus. Plato gave
free expression to his reverence for Parmenides and introduced him into
one of his dialogues, named after him (part of it is reprinted in this volume) .
According tp that dialogue, Parmenides visited Athens when he was about
sixty-five, accompanied by his chief pupil, Zeno, then nearly forty, and
conversed with Socrates who was still "quite young." Whether the visit to
Athens really took place, we do not know; that Socrates met Parmenides is
not especially likely; but that they did not have the conversation reported

, in the dialogue is absolutely clear: for that discussion presupposes Plato s
own earlier work and explores difficulties in the theory of forms expounded
in the Phaedo and the Republic-^difficuhiw that Plato evidently had not
noticed when he wrote those dialogues long after the death of Socrates,

That Plato raised Parmenides to such heights, allowing him to instruct
the young Socrates (generally, Socrates bests or teaches those with whom
he converses in Plato s dialogues), confirms the impression one gets in any
case, that there were few men to whom Plato felt a greater debt, Specifically,

, his dichotomy of knowledge and belief and of an unchanging, eternal, time-
less reality and ever changing, temporal appearance was derived from

PARMENIDES 19

Parmenides. The Eleatic idea that reality is one/ devoid of any plurality,

jJPlato did not accept: he peopled the "real" world with a number of un
changing, eternal forms. But when he realized later that this theory was
open to serious objections, he put the criticisms that occurred to him into

^the mouth of the great Parmenides. And in a still later dialogue, the Sophist
(also reprinted in large part in this volume), Plato occupied himself with

tjanother Parmenidean dichotomy: that of being and nonbeing.

Parmenides distinction between the one, undifferentiated, timeless,
changeless reality and the merely apparent world of sense experience invites
comparison with the slightly older philosophy of the Indian Upanishads;

und Pythagoras belief in the transmigration of souls points in the same
direction. No Indian influence on the pre-Socratics has ever been demon
strated, but this, of course, does not prove that there was no such influence.
Parmenides, as the philosopher of changeless being, has often been con
trasted with Heraclitus, as the philosopher of change and becoming. But
it should not be overlooked that both are at one in repudiating the wisdom

uof tradition as well as common sense. One is as radical as the other.

The fragments that follow are parts of a poem in which, after an imposing
prologue, the ways of knowledge and belief, of being and nonbeing, are
distinguished.

The steeds that bear me took me as far gaping space, as the brazen posts with

as my heart s desire after they brought their rivets and nails swung in turn on

me to the renowned way of the goddess their hinges. There, straight through the

that leads the man who knows through gates, on that road the maidens guided

every town. On that way I was borne, the chariot and steeds, [Lines 15-21.]

for there the wise chariot-steeds bore me, _, , ,, A , . .

and the maidens led the way. [Lines Then the goddess greeted me kmdly,

J L 4-yvssLr WIYT v&gt;tfr\^4- v\i*vif\ it-k li^ya ovtsH GriStLrA

1-5.]

took my right hand in hers, and spoke

to me, addressing me thus: [Lines 22-
The axle, glowing in the socket, urged 23.]

round by the whirling wheels at each companion of immortal

end, made the naves smg as4he daugh- ^^ and ste P eds ^ b ht

ters of the sun, hastening to convey me to ^ , , 7 . -- 5 ., /

t ... t r * i- j 1.4. j to our abode: welcome! No evil fate,
the light, left the abode of night and , ^ .&gt;- , . . ^ ....

T u IT. -i r 4.1, f , Dut right and justice, sent you on this

threw back the veils from their laces. L. f f thbt t k f men

FLines 6-10 1
/ &gt;J You must needs learn all: both the un/

There are the gates of the ways of -^shaken heart of well-rounded 1 truth and
night and day, with a lintel above and the opinions of mortals in which there is
a threshold of stone below. They them- no true belief. Nevertheless, you shall
selves, lofty, are filled with huge doors, i earn these things also, how, passing
and avenging Justice wields the chang- right through all things, one should
ing bolts. [Lines 11-14.] judge the things that seem to be. [Lines

Her the maidens entreated with 24-32; fragment 1 comprises lines 1-32.
gentle words, persuading her cleverly to Raven s translation is based on Burnet s;

unfasten the bolted bar quickly from the ,

gates, Flung open, they revealed a wide, ^ l Gf. Fragment 5, following.

THE ELEATICS

the above version was arrived at after
also consulting Diels s and Freeman s.]

Come, I will tell you; hear my word
and carry it away. These are the only
ways of inquiry that can be thought
of [literally: that exist for thinking
(Raven)]: one way, that it is and can
not not-be, is the path of persuasion,
for it attends upon truth; the other, that
it is-not and needs must not-be, that,
I tell you, is a path altogether unthink
able. For you could not know that which
is-not (that is impossible), nor utter it.
[2; R 344*.]

For the same thing can be thought as
can be. [3; R 344. Raven construes the
literal meaning as : the same thing exists
for thinking and for being; Burnet: for
it is the same thing that can be thought
as can be. Freeman s "For it is the same
thing to think and to be" is based on
Diels s Denn (das Seiende) denken und
sein ist dasselbe, This much-discussed
sentence seems to be continuous with
the preceding two fragments.]

Look steadfastly at things which,
though far off, are yet present to your
mind; for you shall not cut off what is
from clinging to what is, neither scatter
ing itself everywhere in order nor crowd
ing together. [4; R 349,]

It is all one to me where I begin; for
I shall come back there again in time.
[5; R 343.]

That which can be spoken and
thought needs must be; for it is possible
for it, but not for nothing, to be; that
is what I bid you ponder. This is the
first way of inquiry from which I hold
you back, and then also from that way
on which mortals wander, knowing
nothing, two-minded; for helplessness
guides the wandering thoughts in their
breasts: they are carried along, deaf and
blind at once, dazed altogether, hordes
without judgment, persuaded that to be
and to be-not are the same, yet not the
same, and that the path of all things

turns back. [6; R 345*. Freeman renders
the final words: in everything there is a
way of opposing stress. Either way, many
interpreters believe that Parmenides
here alludes to Heraclitus.]

For never shall this be proved, that
things that are not are. Hold back your
thought from this way of inquiry, nor let

^custom, born of much experience, force
yop to let roam along this road your
e ye, sightless, your ear, noise-filled, or
your tongue. But by means of the logos

L judge the much-debated proof that I
utter. [7; R 346*,]

Only one way remains; that it is, To
this way there are very many sign-posts:
that being has no coming-into-being and
no destruction, for it is whole of limb,
without motion, and without end. And it
never was, nor will be, because it is now,
a whole all together, one, continuous;
for what creation of it will you look?
How, whence sprung? Nor shall I allow
you to speak or think of it as springing
from not-being; for it is neither expres
sible nor thinkable that what-is-not is,
Also, what necessity impelled it, if it did
spring from nothing, to be produced
later or earlier? Thus it must be ab
solutely, or not at all. Nor will the force
of credibility ever admit that anything
should come into being, beside being
itself, out of not-being. So far as that is
concerned, justice has never released
(being] from its fetters and set it free
either to come into being or to perish,
but holds it fast. The decision on these
matters depends on the following: it is,
or it is not. It is therefore decided, as is
inevitable; ignore the one way as un
thinkable and inexpressible (for it is no
true way) and take the other as the way
of being and reality. How could being
perish? How could it come into being?
If it came into being, it is not; and
so too if it is about-to-be at some
future time, Thus coming-into-being is
quenched, and destruction also into the
unseen.

PARMENIDES

Nor is being divisible, since it is all
alike. Nor is there anything there which
could prevent it from holding together,
nor any lesser thing, but all is full of
^being. Therefore it is altogether con
tinuous; for being is close to being.

But it is motionless in the limits of
mighty bonds, without beginning, with
out cease, since becoming and destruc
tion have been driven very far away,
and true conviction has rejected them, i
And remaining the same in the same
place, it rests by itself and thus remains
there fixed; for powerful necessity holds
it in the bonds of a limit, which con
strains it round about, because it is
decreed by divine law that being shall
not be without boundary. For it is not-/
lacking; but if it were (spatially in
finite), it would be lacking everything. 2
To think is the same as the thought
that it is; for you will not find thinking
without being to which it refers. For
nothing else either is or shall be except
being, since fate has tied it down to be
a whole and motionless; therefore all
things that mortals have established, be
lieving in their truth, are just a name:
becoming and perishing, being and not-
being, and change of position, and al
teration of bright colour.

But since there is a (spatial) limit,
it is complete on every side, like the
mass of a well-rounded sphere, equally
balanced from its centre in every direc
tion; for it is not bound to be at all
either greater or less in this direction or
that; nor is there not-being which could
check it from reaching to the same point,
nor is it possible for being to be more
in this direction, less in that, than being,
because it is an inviolate whole. For,
in all directions equal to itself, it reaches
its limits uniformly.

At this point I cease my reliable theory
(Logos) and thought, concerning Truth;

2 Reading and meaning doubtful. Diels-
Kranz: "if it lacked Limit, it would fall short
of being a Whole," but without any certainty.

from here onwards you must learn the
opinions of mortals, listening to the de
ceptive order of my words.

They have established (the custom of)
naming two forms, one of which ought
not to be (mentioned) : that is where
they have gone astray. They have dis
tinguished them as opposite in form, and
haveTmarked them off from another by
giving them different signs: on one side
4he flaming fire in the heavens, mild,
very light (in weight), the same as itself
in every direction, and not the same as
the other. This (other) also is by itself
and opposite: dark night, a dense and
heavy body. This world-order I describe
to you throughout^ it appears with all
its phenomena, in order that no intellect
t of mortal men may outstrip you. [8; F*.]

But since all things are named light
and night, and names have been given
to each class of things according to the
power of one or the other, everything is
full equally of light and invisible night,
as both are equal, because to neither of
them belongs any share (of the other).
[9. Kranz takes e-Trei with the previous
line, and translates: "For nothing is pos
sible which does not come under either
of the two" (i.e. everything belongs to
one or other of the two categories light
and night) ; F*.]

You shall know the nature of the
heavens, and all the signs in the heavens,
and the destructive works of the pure
bright torch of the sun, and whence they
came into being. And you shall learn of
the wandering works of the round-faced
moon, and its nature; and you shall
know also the surrounding heaven,
whence it sprang and how necessity
brought and constrained it to hold the
limits of the stars. [10; F.]

(I will describe) how earth and sun
and moon, and the aether common to
all, and the milky way in the heavens,
and outermost Olympus, and the hot
power of the stars, hastened to come
into being. [1 1 ; F.]

22 THE ELEATICS

For the narrower rings were filled with versely again the male with the female,
unmixed fire, and those next to them [12; F.]
with night, but .between (these} rushes u sh^e devised Love.

fho T-n-kvH /MI /-\+ -Horvusi AnH iv +hA fdanrrA

portion of flame. And in the centre

[13; F.]

of these is the goddess who guides every
thing; for throughout she rules over (The moon) : Shining by night with

cruel birth and mating, sending the a light not her own ; wandering round

female to mate with the male, and con- the earth. [14; F.]

ZENO 1

According to Plato s Parmenides, Zeno was "close to forty" when Par-
menides was sixty-five and Socrates (born 469 B.C.) was a very young man
(127b) ; while still young (128d) he wrote a book (128a) 2 whose purpose
was "a defence of Parmenides argument against those who try to ridicule
it by arguing that ludicrous and self-contradictory consequences follow
from the hypothesis that [only] One exists. This book talks to those who
affirm the Many [i.e., that many things exist.] It pays them back In the
same coin, and with something to spare. What it aims to make clear is
that if the case is properly made, their own hypothesis, that there are many,
has still more ridiculous consequences than the hypothesis that there is
[only] One [128cd]." In other words, the purpose of Zeno s book was not
to expound his own doctrine, or that of his master, but to counter-attack
Parmenides critics. Elsewhere (Phaedrus 261d) Plato speaks of Zeno as

1 This section on Zeno has been contributed by Gregory Vlastos. When I prepared
the original edition of 1961, Professor Vlastos very generously agreed to contribute
not only translations but a detailed discussion of Zeno s arguments, In a note he
explained: "I consented^pnly because I know, from my own experience in teaching
Zeno to undergraduates,^ how hard it is for the nonspecialist to get from currently
available textbooks an even approximately adequate idea of what the historical Zeno
is likely to have thought and written , , , I should add that everything in thii chapter
represents purely provisional results of work-in-progress that will be published else
where in due course; that I try to avoid) as far as possible, controversial questions;
and that when I find it necessary to take sides (as I do in almost every paragraph),
I do not burden the text by explaining, or even naming, respectable scholarly alter
natives to the views I expound, nor do I attempt to marshal all the evidence that
can be cited for my own positions,*

In 1966, Professor Vlastos published his results on "Zeno s Race Course* with

.Appendix on the Achilles, * in Journal of the History of Philosophy, 4, 95~10a and

"A Note on Zeno s Arrow** in PAroiuww 11, 3-1 S, These articles supersede his earlier

treatment of Zeno s arguments against motion, and this part of the discussion hst*

therefore been omitted in the present edition, although the texts themselves are,

of course, still offered in this volume, Vlastos* recent results are also embodied in

his article on Zeno in the Encyclopedia of Philosophy (1967), vol. 8, 369-79. W.K,

2 Or books? Several titles are mentioned by Suidas, Vorsokratiktr 29 A 2, Pluto
speaks of "writings" at 127c, but this is inconclusive.

ZENO 23

"that Eleatic Palamedes 3 who by his art makes the same things appear to
his listeners both like and unlike, both one and many, both at rest and in
motion."

Zeno s puzzles have fascinated philosophers, logicians, and mathematicians
ever since, and never more than in our own time : probably more has been
written on his paradoxes in the last hundred years than in all the preceding
two thousand. 4 Much of this work is cheerfully unconcerned with the con
nection, if any, between its "Zeno"- and Zeno. Reading it one might form
extravagant notions of the reasoning powers of this remote Greek. One
might come to think of him as a logical superman who enjoyed a charmed
infallibility and an uncanny insight into difficulties that baffled all others
for more than two millennia after his time. Anyone who has swallowed this
legend will get a shock when he comes face to face with what Zeno wrote
and sees how, on the best available evidence, this man must have thought
and reasonecbS/But if one persists in seeking facts, instead of wish-fulfilments,
and is not totally lacking in historical imagination, one may still come to
feel in the end that, for all his crudities and blunders, this pioneer in the
art of argument deserves an honored place in the history of thought.

A Arguments Against Plurality

Hermann Diels identified four fragments as verbatim citations from Zeno s
original book (or books), and numbered them as Bl, B2, B3 3 and B4. 6 The
authenticity of the first three has never been called into question. The third
of these, B3, is a beautifully self-contained logical argument that speaks for
itself; it will be cited as such without much commentary as "The Second
Argument Against Plurality." The first two fragments, Bl and B2, are
almost certainly pieces from a much longer piece of argumentation, which

3 "(IIcBAojjuijSTys, "the handy or contriving one"), a proverbially (cf. Aristophanes
Frogs 1451) clever hero ... His chief distinctions are the invention of letters and
his cunning while serving with Agamemnon. . . ." H. J. Rose, s.v. s Oxford Classical
Dictionary, Oxford, 1941.

4 For some idea of the vast literature on Zeno see F. Gajori, "The History of
Zeno s Arguments on Motion," American Mathematical Monthly 22 (1915), pp.
1 ff., 39 ff., 77 ff ., 109 ff., 143 ff,, 179 ff., 253 if., 292 ff.; the bibliography in H. D.
P. Lee, Zeno of Elea, Cambridge, 1936, pp. 124-5. Interesting samples of the more
recent literature; The nine papers in Analysis 12-15 (1951-5), most of them listed
in Max Black, Problems of Analysis, Ithaca, 1954, p. 109, n. 1; the whole of the
section on Zeno s Paradoxes in this book by Max Black; the chapter on "Achilles
and the Tortoise" in Dilemmas (Cambridge, 1954) by Gilbert Ryle; and A. Gruen-
baum, "Modern Science and the Refutation of the Paradoxes of Zeno," Scientific
Monthly 81 (1955), pp. 234 ff.; D. S. Schwayder, "Achilles Unbound," Journal of
Philosophy 52 (1955), pp. 449 ff.

5 The most important paper by a philologist that established the right perspective
for understanding the historical Zeno is H. Fraenkel, "Zeno of Elea s Attacks on
Plurality," American Journal of Philology 63 (1942), pp. 1 ff. and 193 ff.

6 This number has been preserved in current editions of Vorsokratiker, in spite of
the fact that it is now generally recognized that B2 preceded Bl in Zeno s text.

24 THE ELEAT1CS

preceded B3 in Zeno s text, 7 and may for that reason be called Zeno s
"First Argument Against Plurality." 8 To figure out the structure of this
whole argument and tell just where Bl and B2 fit and what part they play
in it is a difficult problem of historical scholarship. But I think it is fair to
say that it has been solved in principle by Hermann Fraenkel. 9 The main
lines of his reconstruction, but with important modifications of my own, 10
are incorporated in the following version:

First Argument Against Plurality

This began with a section that has been lost to us, although this sentence
from Simplicius (Physics 139, 18-19), gives some idea of what it tried to
prove and how: "He showed earlier [i.e., prior to the parts of the argument
constituting Bl and B2] that nothing has size because each of the many is
self-identical and one."

It so happens that Zeno s contemporary and fellow-disciple of the great
Parmenides, Melissus, has an argument that runs as follows (in verbatim
citation) :

If it existed, it would have to be one; have parts; and then it would not be
but if^it were one, it could not have one. 11
^body; for if it had thickness, it would

This gives us a fair idea of the logical bridge a disciple of Parmenides
would build from c # is one (or, more fully, from x is one and self-identical*)
to x has no size. If it is one, he would argue, it can have no parts, and
hence, can have no size, The latter inference would be drawn on the as
sumption that anything that does have size is at least logically divisible and
has at least logically discriminable parts; 12 the former, on the assumption
that anything that has parts in any sense whatever cannot be strictly or
absolutely "one, 9 13 Thus the whole of this argument might have gone some
what as follows:

If anything is one and self-identical, would not have size, But if anything
it would not have parts, and then it exists, it must be one and self-identical

7 Simplicius, Physics 140, 34.

8 It may, or may not, have been preceded by other arguments against plurality in
Zeno s original text,

9 In the paper cited above, n. 5,

10 Some of these are defended in my review of H. Fraenkel, W&lt;ge und Formtn
trmhgructuschin Denktns (Munich, 1955), in Gnomon 31 (1959), pp. 193 ff,; and

,m a paper entitled, "A Zenonian Argument Against Plurality, * which I presented
to the Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy at Harvard on December 27, 1957:
this paper ^has not been published, but copies of it were distributed to the members
oi the Society and to some other scholars,
" Vorsokratiktr 30 B 9,

Zeno (or Mellissus) would not, of course, have used such language, Words for
what r* express by "logical" and "physical" did not exist at that time

For various versions of arguments, attributed to Zeno by later writers, which
ring the changes on this theme, see items 1, 3, 5 in Lee, op. cit*

ZENO 25

Hence if the Many exist (or, if there are have to be one and self -identical, and
many), then each of the Many would hence none of them would have size.

Zeno s next move was to turn around and argue that, on the contrary,
if the many exist, they must have size, on the grounds that something without
size would not even exist. This part of the argument (B2 in Diels) survives
intact in a verbatim citation by Simplicius:

For [a] if it [something having no nothing, [d] If indeed when [something

size] were added to another, it would is] subtracted from another, the latter

make it [the latter] no larger. For [b] is not reduced, nor again increased when

having no size, it could not contribute [something is] added [to it], it is clear

anything by way of size when added, that what is added or subtracted is noth-

^And thus [c] the thing added would be ing.

This is not a smooth translation which is all to the good, for the original
is just as rough; and this is not surprising, for the use of written prose for
this kind of abstract argumentation was something new under the sun: it
had never been done before, so far as we know, except in geometry. What
may seem a bit more disturbing than the clumsy formulation is the peculiar
inverted order, which is best seen if we compare the text above with a
modernized version of it (simplified by using symbols to cut out unnecessary
verbiage), exhibiting the true logical order of the intended argument:

1. If x did not increase y, when added crease y, when subtracted from it.
to it, nor decrease y, when subtracted Therefore,

from it, then x would be nothing. 3. If x had no size, it would be noth-

2. If x had no size, then x would not ing.
increase y, when added to it, nor de-

A comparison with the above text will show that the last proposition
there, (d), is in fact (1) here, the first premise of the argument; and the
conclusion here, (3), appears at (c) above, before (d). This is odd, but
commits no logical fault; it is no rule of logic that the premise haf to be
written (or spoken) ahead of the conclusion (and sometimes it is not in
live arguments; e.g., A and B are both right angles, so they must be equal
all right angles are equal. ) What does look like a logical fault is not that
the premise (1) should be stuck at the end of the argument, but that it
should be used as a premise at all.

A modern reader might object: How can Zeno ask me to agree to (1),
when he professes to have proved to me a moment ago that no existent has
size; that would entail that all existents are incorporeal, and hence that (1)
is false, since it could only be true if all existents were corporeal. 9 But this
objection would misconceive the purpose of Zeno s argument, which is
purely dialectical. Addressed to his contemporaries not -ours, or even Plato s
its aim was to show them that their thinking was crisscrossed with contra
diction. And since the notion of incorporeal existence cannot be claimed for
anyone at this time outside of Eleatic circles, Zeno s own readers would
have been assuming the truth of (1) all along. Hence Zeno, given his

THE ELEATICS

purpose to convince them they had been holding inconsistent beliefs, could
claim the right to use the premises he did in the first section and ( 1 ) in this
section, since prior to this argument they would have agreed immediately
to all of them. It was clumsy of him to do it in just this way; but it com
mitted no fault of logic.

We are now ready for the climax of the whole argument:

So if [the many] exist, each one [of
them] must have some size and thickness
and one part [of each] must extend be
yond the other [part of the same ex-

,istent]. And the same reasoning holds of
the projecting [part]. For this too will
have size and some part of it will project.
Now to say this once is as good as saying

^ it for ever. For no such [part, i.e., no

part resulting by subdivision, no matter
how far this process is carried out] will
be the last or without one [part similar
ly] related to another [part].

Thus, if there are many, they must be
both small and great: on one hand, so
small as to have no size; on the other,
so large as to be infinite.

The reasoning in this lap of the argument (on the above translation) is
perfectly straightforward: If there are many existents, each of them must
have some size; this is just a carry-over from the preceding section, B2, But
if something has size, it must be spread out in space, so you can distinguish
in it a "here" from a "there"; having such nonoverlapping parts, Zeno might
have explained, is part of what we mean by having size. These parts are
clearly not intended to be physically separate; they don t arise by splitting
an object, or cutting it up, but a purely logical process of discriminating
different regions within it. And this process can go on ad infinitum; we can
distinguish parts b and c within a, parts d and e within &lt;?, and so forth, as
in the accompanying diagram ;

A....

The series 0, *,,&... has no last member.

So far so good, But how could Zeno expect us to go from this point to
the extraordinary conclusion he wants to reach and which he evidently
thinks can be reached by moving along this road: that a (which stands for
any existent) is infinitely large? He must have assumed, as too obvious for
mention, some such additional intervening steps as these:

4. a is the sum of an infinite number
of terms, each of which has a finite size

(assb + d + f +,,.), This follows
correctly from the preceding*

ZENO 27

5. The sum of an infinite number of 6. a is infinitely large. This follows
terms, each of which has a finite size, is from (4) and (5). 14
M infinitely large. Therefore,

That something has gone wrong here is evident, and it is not hard to see
just where: (5) is clearly false. To show this it is sufficient to call attention
to any convergent series, e.g., to the series, %, %, %, %e&gt; sucn as t ^ ie b, d,
/; . . . series might well have been by the terms of the construction. It is
false to say that the sum of this series is infinitely large, and Zeno himself
might have satisfied himself that this is false by the arithmetic at his disposal.
He could have reasoned: when there are two terms in this series, % + %,
their sum is %; when there are three, % + % + %, the sum is %; in both
cases it is less than 1; and this will always be true, no matter how many
terms are put into the series, since the last term added will never be the
whole of the difference between 1 and the sum of the preceding terms, but
always half of that difference. So the sum could never be more than 1. Or,
if Zeno were averse to arithmetic, he might have seen the error of (5) by
just reasoning from a diagram, like the one in the text above: since all the
magnitudes included in the b, d, /, . . . series are nonoverlapping parts of
a } their sum will always fall short of a, so long as a finite number of terms
have been put into the series; and if the whole infinite lot of them could
be put in, they would exhaust a (no part of a would be left unincluded),
and hence the sum of the series would be precisely equal to a; and since a is
finite, how could that sum be infinite? So there is no getting around the
point that here, at (5), our clever Zeno walked into a booby trap, which,
one would think, he could have avoided with the materials at his disposal.
What is it then that could have made him go wrong?

Consider the following proposition, (5a), and compare it carefully with
(5) above:

5a. The sum of an infinite number of size, is infinitely large,
terms, the smallest of which has a finite

14 Many modern readers will find it impossible to believe that such a vital part
of the chain of argument was left purely tacit in the original text. Before he makes
up his mind on this point, he would do well to study other arguments in Greek
philosophical texts and note how elliptical they sometimes are, even in authors like
Plato and Aristotle, who have the benefit of enormous intervening progress in the
art of argument. Only long and bitter experience teaches philosophers that every

vargument must be made as fully explicit as possible, even at the risk of saying the
obvious at tedious length, for it is in just those stretches of it that look most obvious

, that mistakes are likely to occur. As for the present case, it is, of course, not certain
that the gap in the reasoning was also present in Zeno s original text; it is possible
that something dropped out of the text at this point. But since it would be just this
portion of the argument that would have had the greatest interest for Zeno s own
contemporaries and successors all the way down to the faithful Simplicius, the chance
that such a portion as this was lost in the transmission is so small that no historian
can reasonably bank on it.

28 THE ELEATICS

The only difference between (5a) and (5) is that "the smallest 55 at (5a)
replaces "each" at (5). But what a difference that makes: (5a) refers only
to a collection that does have a smallest term (or, smallest terms), while
(5) refers to any collection whatever, including series that have no smallest
term. The result of the difference is that (5a) is true, as one can see by
noting (i), that given an infinite number of things such that the smallest
of them has any size at all, their sum would be infinitely large, since if that
smallest term were added to itself an infinite number of times the sum
would be infinitely large, and hence a fortiori if added to an infinite number
of terms larger than itself the sum would certainly be infinitely large; and
(ii), that the convergent series that falsified (5) would not falsify (5a), for
it would be irrelevant to (5a) : having no last term, it would have no
smallest term. But after seeing all this, note finally how easily even a very
clever man could have confused (5a) with (5). Since at (5) he is think
ing of an infinite number of parts all of which have size, it would be
easy for him to say, Well, if they all have size, it must be the case that even
the smallest of them has size, failing to see that, in saying this, he is making
the fatal assumption that "smallest" does apply to this infinitely decreasing
series. This failure would be a symptom of the tendency to extrapolate from
what remains true of the series so long as it has a finite number of terms
to what would be the case if all its terms were present in it. Zeno s best
hope of checking this tendency lay in making the assumption as explicit as
possible. Had he actually said, the series b, d, /, . . . must have a smallest
member/ his chances of noticing the contradiction with the fact that, as he
himself says, it has no last, would have immeasurably improved. He threw
this chance away when he treated the steps intervening between the argu
ment that makes up the first paragraph of Bl above and the conclusion to
4 a is infinitely large as too abvious to deserve a place in his text.

We can now look back over the whole argument, and see how, on the
present reconstruction of it, Zeno thought he could prove the conclusion at
Bl: If there are many existents, then each of them must be both (I) so
small as to have no size and (II) so large as to be infinite, (I) he would
infer^from the first section of the argument: if no existent has any size, then
it is indeed "so small as to have no size," (II) he would infer by the long
drawn-out process that begins by propping up again, at B2, the common-
sense belief knocked down in the first section, that existents have size, and
deducing therefrom by the explicit reasoning at Bl and its tacit sequel (4) ,
(5), (6), above that every one of them must be "so large as to be in
finite." 15

Second Argument Against Plurality there are many, they must be just so

rc&lt;* re- v OL ,** *, many as thfi y are "either more nor

B3. [Simplicity Phys. 140, 30.] If fewer, But if they are just so many as

For a new interpretation of the kit sentence of Bl, which puti an entirely
different face on the logical structure df the whole of this First Argument Against

J*1^^ **"" ."** * W &gt; M*. W, * I?f3

n. .&gt;&. Though I find this an extremely interesting and attractive suggestion, 1 do
not waw m my adherence to the interpretation I have set out her*

ZENO 29

they are, they must be finite [in num- and again others between these. And

berj. If there are many, the existents are thus the existents are infinite [in num-

infinite [in number]: for there are al- ber],
ways other [existents] between existents,

The first horn of the dilemma is proved by arguing that if there are many
things, they must be just so many, i.e., they have a number; and then in
ferring that this must be a finite number. This is a very respectable inference.
It could not have been known to be false prior to the discovery of transfinite
cardinal numbers by Georg Cantor, more than 2,300 years after this time.

The second horn is proved by arguing that given any two distinct existents,
there must be other existents between them. The existents Zeno is thinking
of here must be physically separate objects, and he must be assuming that
to be separate, any two objects, a and fc, must be separated by at least one
separate object c\ hence he infers correctly that a must be separated from c
by d, so too a from d by 0, and so forth.

8. Arguments Against Motion
The Race Course

Aristotle has four references to this argument:

[Topics, 160b 7.] For we have many problems they raise"] says that there is

arguments contrary to (common) beliefs, no motion, because the moving [body]

whose solution is yet difficult, like Zeno s must reach the midpoint before it gets to

that it is impossible to move or to trav- the end.

erse the race course. 16 [Phys. 263a 5.] In the same way one

[Phys. 233a 21.] For this reason Zeno s should reply to those who pose [literally,

argument too assumes falsely that it is "ask"] Zeno s argument, claiming that

impossible to traverse or to come in con- it is always necessary to traverse the half

tact with each one of an infinite number [i.e., to traverse any given distance we

[of things] in a finite time. must first traverse its first half], and

[Phys. 239b 11.] The first [of Zeno s these [sc. half-distances] are infinitely

arguments against motion "which cause numerous, while it is impossible to

difficulty to those who try to solve the traverse an infinity

We get a somewhat different version of the argument in the late com
mentators. 17 The following, from Simplicius (Phys. 1013, 4ff.), is typical:

If there is motion, the moving object motion does not exist. He demonstrates
must traverse an infinity in a finite his hypothesis thus: The moving object
[time]: and this is impossible. Hence must move a certain stretch. And since

16 Evidently the stage setting of the argument is a race course. On this ground it is
better to call the argument by this name, instead of "The Dichotomy," as is often
done in the literature, keeping "The Stadium" as the generally accepted name of the
fourth argument.

17 They are all in Lee, op. cit., pp. 44 ff .

THE ELEATICS

every stretch is infinitely divisible, the
moving object must first traverse half
the stretch it is moving, and then the
whole; but before the whole of the half,
half of that and, again, the half of that.
If then these halves are infinite, since,
whatever may be the given [stretch] it
is possible to halve it, and [if, further,]
it is impossible to traverse the infinity
[of these stretches] in a finite time ... it
follows that it is impossible to traverse
any given length in a finite time.

The Achilles

[Aristotle, Phys. 239b 14.] The sec
ond [of Zeno s arguments against mo
tion] is the so-called "Achilles." This is
that the slowest will never be overtaken
by the swiftest; for the pursuer must first
reach [the point] whence the pursued
started, so that the slower must always
be some distance ahead.

The Arrow

[Aristotle s account of this argument
will be found below, in Book VI, Chap
ter IX of Physics: "Against Zeno,"
p. 393. WK.]

The Stadium

Aristotle s account of this argument
may be consulted at Phys. 239b 33, [See
ibid. WK.]

C. Against Space

[Aristotle, Phys. 210b 23.] Zeno s
puzzle "if place exists, in what does it
exist?" is not hard to solve. [Ibid. 209a
23.] Further, if it [place] is itself an
existent, where will it exist? For Zeno s
puszle demands some explanation, For
if every existent is in a place, clearly
there will have to be a place of a place,
and so on ad infinitum*

Why think that such a thing as place exists? asks Zeno, If his contem
poraries reply, as they doubtless would, Because whatever exists must be
somewhere in some place, they are caught in his trap, unless they can then
go on to explain what sort of "existent" place (or, space) is, how different
from the things we ordinarily think of as existents which do exist in space. 1
To do this would be to launch an inquiry into the different senses of the
word to be (there is no separate word for to exist in Greek), anticipating
Aristotle by a century. No wonder Zeno s question went begging for a
hundred years.

D. The Paradox of
the Millet Seed

[Simplicius, Phys. 1108, 18 ff.] By this
means he [Aristotle at Phys. 250a 19]
solves the puzzle which Zeno the Eleatic
put to Protagoras the Sophist. Tell me,
Protagoras; he said, does a single millet
seed, or the ten thousandth part of a
seed, make a noise when they fall?
When Protagoras said they did not, he
said: does the bushel then make a noise
when Jt falls or not? When Protagoras

said this did, Zeno said: *Is there not
then some ratio of the bushel to one
seed and to a ten thousandth of a seed?*
When Protagoras said there was, Zeno
said; But then must not the respective
noises stand to one another in the same
ratios? For as the sounding bodies arc
to one another, so must be the sounds
they make. Tins being so, if the bushel
of^ millet makes a noise, then the* single
millet seed must also make a noise, and
so must the ten thousandth of a millet
seed,*

MELISSUS 31

The dialogue form in which this argument appears is not Zeno s, and
Simplicius does not pretend that it is. But neither is there any reason to
doubt that the gist of the argument did go back to Zeno. (Cf. H. D. P.
Lee, Zeno of Elea, Cambridge, 1936, p. 110).

The argument speaks for itself. Along similar lines Leibniz argued that
because we hear the roar of the sea we must have a "small perception" of
"the little sounds" that come from each wave. New Essays of Human
Understanding, Introduction (R. Latta, Leibniz, The Monadology etc.,
Oxford, 1898, p. 371). If Leibniz were trying to show, not that we have
"small perceptions," but that sense perception as such is delusive, he would
not have stopped at the sounds made by each wave but would have gone
on, like Zeno, to the vastly smaller ones made by each of the minute
particles that compose each wave.

MELISSUS

Melissus is said to have come from Samos, like Pythagoras, and to have
flourished about 440 B.C. He wrote a book "About Nature or Reality,"
probably some time after the completion of Zeno s more celebrated work.
Melissus, too, was concerned to defend Parmenides, and it is therefore
convenient to have a single label for the philosophy of these three men.
They are traditionally called Eleatics, after the small town in southern Italy
where Parmenides made his home, Elea.

Melissus son of Ithagenes, a Samian. mander s inexperience that he persuaded

He was a pupil of Parmenides He the Samians to attack. A battle took

was a statesman, and was held in great place which the Samians won. They took
honor by the citizens; and later, when so many prisoners and destroyed so many
he was elected admiral, he won even ships that they had command of the sea,
greater fame for his personal courage, and they devoted to the prosecution of
. . . [Diogenes Laertius, IX, 24; R 379.] the war certain supplies which they did

not till then possess. Pericles himself,

When Pericles had set sail, Melissus according to Aristotle, had also been de-
son of Ithagenes, a philosopher who was feated by Melissus in an earlier naval
then in command of Samos, was so battle, [Plutarch, Pericles 26; R 380.
contemptuous of the small number of The great battle referred to took place
the Athenian ships or of their com- in 441/40 B.C.]

All his genuine fragments follow, in Freeman s translation:

1. That which was, always and always nothing existed, in no way could ^any-

will be. For if it had come into being, it thing come into being out of nothing,

necessarily follows that before it came 2. Since therefore it did not come into

into being, nothing existed. If however being, it is and always was and always

THE ELEATICS

will be, and has no beginning or end,
but it is eternal. For if it had come into
being, it would have a beginning (for
it would have come into being at some
time, and so begun), and an end (for
since it had come into being, it would
have ended [for it would at some time
have stopped coming into being:
Raven]). But since it has neither begun
nor ended, it always was and always will
be and has no beginning nor end. For
it is impossible for anything to be [exist
forever: Raven] unless it is completely.

3. But as it is always, so also its size
must always be infinite,

4. Nothing that has a beginning and
an end is either everlasting or infinite.

5. If it were not one, it would form
a boundary in relation to something else.

6. If it were infinite, it would be one;
for if it were two, (these) could not be
(spatially) infinite, but each would have
boundaries in relation to each other.

7. (1) Thus therefore it is everlasting
and unlimited and one and like through
out (homogeneous).

(2) And neither could it perish or
become larger or change its (inner)
arrangement, nor does it feel pain or
grief. For if it suffered any of these
things, it would no longer be one. For
if being alters, it follows that it is not
the same, but that that which previously
was is destroyed, and that not-being has
come into being. Hence if it were to be
come different by a single hair in ten
thousand years, so it must be utterly
destroyed in the whole of time.

(3) But it is not possible for it to be
rearranged either, for the previous ar
rangement is not destroyed, nor does a
nonexistent arrangement come into be
ing. And since it is neither increased
by any addition, nor destroyed, nor
changed, how could it have undergone
a rearrangement of what exists? For if it
were different in any respect, then there
would at once be a rearrangement.

(4) Nor does it feel pain; for it could
not be completely if it were in pain ; for

a thing which is in pain could not always
be. Nor has it equal power with what is
healthy. Nor would it be the same if it
were in pain; for it would feel pain
through the subtraction or addition of
something, and could no longer be the
same.

(5) Nor could that which is healthy
feel pain, for the healthy that which is
would perish, and that which is not
would come into being.

(6) And with regard to grief, the
same reasoning applies as to pain.

(7) Nor is there any emptiness; for
the empty is nothing; and so that which
is nothing cannot be. Nor docs it move;
for it cannot withdraw in any direction,
but (all) is full. For if there were any
empty, it would have withdrawn into
the empty; but as the empty does not
exist, there is nowhere for it (being) to
withdraw,

(8) And there can be no dense and
rare. For the rare cannot possibly be as
full as the dense, but the rare must at
once become more empty than the dense.

(9) The following distinction must
be made between the full and the not-
full: if a thing has room for or admits
something, it is not full; if it neither
has room for nor admits anything, it is
full

(10) It (being) must necessarily be
full, therefore, if there is no empty. If
therefore it is full, it does not move.

8. (1) This argument is the greatest
proof that it (being) is one only; but
there are also the following proofs;

(2) If things were many, they would
have to be of the same kind as I say the
one is. For if there is earth and water
and air and fire and iron and gold, and
that which is living and that which is
dead, and black and white and all the
rest of the things which men say are
real ; if these things exist, and we see and
hear correctly, each thing must be of
such a kind as it seemed to us to be in
the first place, and it cannot change or
become different, but each thing must

MELISSUS

always be what it is. But now, we say
we see and hear and understand cor
rectly,

(3) and it seems to us that the hot
becomes cold and the cold hot, and the
hard soft and the soft hard, and that the
living thing dies and comes into being
from what is not living, and that all
things change, and that what was and
what now is are not at all the same, but
iron which is hard is worn away by
contact with the ringer, and gold and
stone and whatever seems to be entirely
strong (is worn away) ; and that from
water, earth and stone come into being.
So that it comes about that we neither
see nor know existing things.

(4) So these statements are not con
sistent with one another. For although
we say that there are many things, ever
lasting^), having forms and strength,
it seems to us that they all alter and

change from what is seen on each oc
casion.

(5) It is clear therefore that we have
not been seeing correctly, and that those
things do not correctly seem to us to be
many; for they would not change- if they
were real, but each would be as it seemed
to be. For nothing is stronger than that
which is real.

(6) And if it changed, being would
have been destroyed, and not-being
would have come into being. Thus,
therefore, if things are many, they must
be such as the one is.

9. If therefore being is, it must be
one; and if it is one, it is bound not
to have body. But if it had bulk, it would
have parts, and would no longer be. [Gf.
Vlastos s translation on page 24 above.]

10. If being is divided, it moves; and
if it moved, it could not be.

THE PLURALISTS

EMPEDOCLES

The philosophers who came after the Eleatics, down to Plato and
Aristotle, were concerned to show how change was possible. The first three
philosophers to make this attempt are sometimes lumped together as u the
Pluralists," for each of them tried to explain change by invoking several
ultimate principles.

The first of these was Empedocles of Agrigentum, in Sicily, where an
excellently preserved Greek temple of his time still stands, along with the*
ruins of several others. Like the more legendary Pythagoras, he fused
scientific thought with religious concerns and left other people with the
definite impression that he had performed miracles. He is said to have
ended his life by leaping into the crater of Mount Etna, Friedrich HSlderlin,
one of the greatest German poets, who was also a close friend of Hegel s,
left several drafts, one almost finished, for a drama on "The Death of
Empedocles/ in five acts.

Empedocles wrote two poems, u On Nature" and "Purifications. 1 " Tht
former is said to have been divided into two books, totalling 2,000 lines,
of which less than 400 have survived. According to Diogenes Lacrtius, the
two poems together came to 5,000 lines; if so, even less than one-fifth of
the "Purifications 9 has come down to us.

As a person, Empedocles comes to life for us more than any other pre~

Socratic, save only Heraclitus. Of an aristocratic family, he opposed tyranny

and reputedly refused the crown of his native town. Like Pytimgoras, he

t believed in the transmigration of souls; also like Pythagoras, he spoke of

EMPEDOCLES

himself as a god. E. R. Dodds, in his splendidly illuminating and suggestive
u book on The Greeks and Irrational (published as a paperback by the Uni
versity of California Press ), speaks of Empedocles as a shaman.

Empedocles was the first great synthesizer of the history of philosophy.

Around 450 B.C., a full century before Aristotle, he tried to find a place in

his thought for all the major contributions of his predecessors. By explaining

generation and destruction, if not all change, in terms of mixture and

separation, Empedocles tried to reconcile Heraclitus 5 insistence on the reality

of change with the Eleatic claim that generation and destruction are

unthinkable. Going back to the Greeks traditional belief in four elements,

he found a place for Thales water, Anaximenes ^air, and Heraclitus fire,

adding to them earth. In addition to these four, which Aristotle might have

ucalled "material causes," Empedocles postulated two "efficient causes":

strife (Heraclitus great principle) and love. He envisaged four successive

ages: an age of love or perfect mixture in the beginning; then gradual

separation as strife enters; then complete separation as strife rules; finally,

as love enters again, a gradual mixture.

Jhe fragments are given in Freeman s translations.

Empedocles of Agrigentum was born
not long after Anaxagoras, and was an
admirer and associate of Parmenides,
and even more of the Pythagoreans.
[Simplicius, Phys. 25, 19; R 411.]

Anaxagoras of Clazomenae, though
older than Empedocles, was later in his
philosophical activity. [Aristotle, Meta
physics A 3, 984 a; see below under
Aristotle.]

here into retirement, shall learn not
more than mortal intellect can attain.

8. I shall tell you another thing: there
is no creation of substance in any one
of mortal existences, nor any end in
execrable death, but only mixing and
exchange of what has been mixed; and
the name "substance" (Physis, "nature")
is applied to them by mankind.

2. For limited are the means of grasp
ing (i.e. the organs of sense-perception)
which are scattered throughout their
limbs, and many are the miseries that
B press in and blunt the thoughts. And
"having looked at (only) a small part of
existence during their lives, doomed to
perish swiftly like smoke they are carried
aloft and wafted away, believing only
that upon which as individuals they
chance to hit as they wander in all
directions; but every man preens himself
on having found the Whole: so little are
these things to be seen by men or to be
heard, or to be comprehended by the
mind! But you, since you have come

9. But men, when these (the Ele
ments) have been mixed in the form of
a man and come into the light, or in the
form of a species of wild animals, or
plants, or birds, then say that this has
"come into being"; and when they
separate, this men call sad fate (death).
The terms that right demands they do
not use; but through custom I myself
also apply these names.

12. From what in no wise exists, it is
impossible for anything to come into
being; and for being to perish completely
is incapable of fulfilment and unthink
able; for it will always be there, wher-

THE PLURALISTS

ever anyone may place it on any oc-
* casion.

13. Nor is there any part of the whole
that is empty or overfull.

14. No part of the whole is empty; so
whence could anything additional come?

17. I shall tell of a double (process] :
at one time it increased so as to be a
single one out of many; at another time
again it grew apart so as to be many out
of one. There is a double creation of
mortals and a double decline: the union
of all things causes the birth and de
struction of the one (race of mortals),
the other is reared as the elements grow
apart, and then flies asunder. And these
(elements) never cease their continuous
exchange, sometimes uniting under the
influence of love, so that all become one,
at other times again each moving apart
through the hostile force of hate. Thus
in so far as they have the power to grow
into one out of many, and again, when
the one grows apart and many are
formed, in this sense they come into
being and have no stable life; but in so
far as they never cease their continuous
exchange, in this sense they remain al
ways unmoved (unaltered) as they fol
low the cyclic process.

But come, listen to my discourse! For
be assured, learning will increase your
understanding. As I said before, reveal
ing the aims of my discourse, I shall tell
you of a double process. At one time it
increased so as to be a single one out of
many; at another time it grew apart so
as to be many out of one fire and water
and earth and the boundless height of
air, and also execrable hate apart from
these, of equal weight in all directions,
and love in their midst, their equal in
length and breadth, Observe her with
your mind, and do not sit with wonder
ing eyes! She it is who is believed to be
implanted in mortal limbs also; through
her they think friendly thoughts and per
form harmonious actions, calling her joy

and Aphrodite. No mortal man has per
ceived her as she moves in and out
among them. But you must listen to the
undeceitful progress of my argument.

All these (elements) are equal and of
the same age in their creation; but each
presides over its own office, and each has
its own character, and they prevail in
turn in the course of time. And besides
these, nothing else comes into being, nor
does anything cease. For if they had
been perishing continuously, they would
be no more; and what could increase
the whole? And whence could it have
come? In what direction could it perish,
since nothing is empty of these things?
No, but these things alone exist, and run
ning through one another they become
different things at different times, and
are ever continuously the same.

20. This process is clearly to be seen
throughout the mass of mortal limbs:
sometimes through love all the limbs
which the body has as its lot come to
gether into one, in the prime of flourish
ing life; at another time again, sundered
by evil feuds, they wander severally by
the breakers of the shore of life. Like
wise too with shrub-plants and fish in
their watery dwelling, and beasts with
mountain lairs and diver-birds that
travel on wings.

21. But come, observe the following
witness to my previous discourse, lest in
my former statements there was any sub
stance of which the form was missing.
Observe the sun, bright to see and hot
everywhere, and all the immortal things
(heavenly bodies] drenched with its heat
and brilliant light; and the rain, dark
and chill over everything; and from the
earth issue forth things based on the
soil and solid. But in (the reign of)
wrath they are all different in form and
separate, while in (the reign of) love
they come together and long for one
another. For from these (ttemtnts)
come all things that were and are and

EMPEDOCLES

will be; and trees spring up, and men
and women, and beasts and birds and
water-nurtured fish, and even the long-
lived gods who are highest in honour.
For these (elements) alone exist, but by
running through one another they be
come different; to such a degree does
mixing change them.

22. For all these things beaming sun
and earth and heaven and sea are con
nected in harmony with their own parts :
all those (parts) which have been
sundered from them and exist in mortal
limbs. Similarly all those things which
are suitable for mixture are made like
one another and united in affection by
Aphrodite. But those things which differ
most from one another in origin and
mixture and the forms in which they are
moulded are completely unaccustomed
to combine, and are very baneful be
cause of the commands of hate, in that
hate has wrought their origin.

24. ... Touching on summit after
summit, not to follow a single path of
discourse to the end.

25. For what is right can well be
uttered even twice.

26. In turn they get the upper hand
in the revolving cycle, and perish into
one another and increase in the turn ap
pointed by fate. For they alone exist, but
running through one another they be
come men and the tribes of other
animals, sometimes uniting under the in
fluence of love into one ordered whole,
at other times again each moving apart
through the hostile force of hate, until
growing together into the whole which
is one, they are quelled. Thus in so far
as they have the power to grow into one
out of many, and again, when the one
grows apart and many are formed, in
this sense they come into being and have
no stable life; but in so far as they never
cease their continuous exchange, in this
sense they remain always unmoved (wn-
altersd) as they follow the cyclic process.

27. (The sphere under the dominion
of love) : Therein are articulated neither
the swift limbs of the sun, nor the shaggy
might of earth, nor the sea: so firmly is
it (the whole) fixed in a close-set se
crecy, a rounded Sphere enjoying a cir
cular solitude.

28. But he (god) is equal in all direc
tions to himself and altogether eternal,
a rounded sphere enjoying a circular
solitude.

29. For there do not start two
branches from his back; (he has) no feet,
no swift knees, no organs of reproduc
tion; but he was a sphere, and in all
directions equal to himself.

35. But I will go back to the path of
song which I formerly laid down, draw
ing one argument from another: that
(path which shows how) when hate has
reached the bottommost abyss of the
eddy, and when love reaches the middle
of the whirl, then in it (the whirl) all
these things come together so as to be
one not all at once, but voluntarily
uniting, some from one quarter, others
from another. And as they mixed, there
poured forth countless races of mortals.
But many things stand unmixed side by
side with the things mixing all those
which hate (still) aloft checked, since it
had not yet faultlessly withdrawn from
the whole to the outermost limits of the
circle, but was remaining in some places,
and in other places departing from the
limbs (of the sphere) . But in so far as it
went on quietly streaming out, to the
same extent there was entering a benev
olent immortal inrush of faultless love.
And swiftly those things became mortal
which previously had experienced im
mortality, and things formerly unmixed
became mixed, changing their paths.
And as they mixed, there poured forth
countless races of mortals, equipped with
forms of every sort, a marvel to behold.

THE PLURALISTS

36. As they caine together, hate re
turned to the outermost.

45. There whirls round the earth a
circular borrowed light.

48. It is the earth that makes night
by coming in the way of the (sun s) rays.

55. Sea, the sweat of earth.

58. Limbs wandered alone.

60. Creatures with rolling gait and
innumerable hands.

100. The way everything breathes in
and out is as follows: all have tubes of
flesh, empty of blood, which extend over
the surface of the body; and at the
mouths of these tubes the outermost
surface of the skin is perforated with
frequent pores, so as to keep in the blood
while a free way is cut for the passage
of the air, Thus, when the thin blood
flows back from here, the air., bubbling,
rushes in in a mighty wave; and when
the blood leaps up (to the surface) , there
is an expiration of air. As when a girl,
playing with a water-catcher of shining
brass when, Having placed the mouth
of the pipe on her well-shaped hand she
dips the vessel into the yielding sub
stance of silvery water, still the volume
of air pressing from inside on the many
holes keeps out the water, until she un
covers the condensed stream (of air).
Then at once when the air flows out,
the water flows in in an equal quantity.
Similarly, when water occupies the
depths of the brazen vessel, and ths
opening or passage is stopped by the
human flesh (kand)&gt; and the air out

side, striving to get in, checks the water,
by controlling the surface at the entrance
of the noisy strainer until she lets go
with her hand: then again, in exactly
the opposite way from what happened
before, as the air rushes in, the water
flows out in equal volume. Similarly
when the thin blood, rushing through
the limbs, flows back into the interior,
straightway a stream of air flows in with
a rush; and when the blood flows up
again, again there is a breathing-out in
equal volume.

110. If you press them deep into your
firm mind, and contemplate them with
good will and a studious care that is
pure, these things will all assuredly re
main with you throughout your life ; and
you will obtain many other things from
them; for these things of themselves
cause each (element) to increase in the
character, according to the way of each
man s nature. But if you intend to grasp
after different things such as dwell
among men in countless numbers and
blunt their thoughts, miserable (trifles) ,
certainly these things will quickly desert
you in the course of time, longing to
return to their own original kind. For
all things, be assured, have intelligence
and a portion of thought.

111. You shall learn all the drugs that
exist as a defence against illness and
old age ; for you alone will I accomplish
all this. You shall check the force of the
unwearying winds which rush upon the
earth with their blasts and lay waste the
cultivated fields, And again, if you wish,
you shall conduct the breexes hack again,
You shall create a seasonable tlryness
after the dark rain for mankind, and
again you shall create after summer
drought the streams that nourish the.
trees and [which will flow in the sky], 1
And you shall bring out of Hades a
dead man restored to strength,

Reading corrupt,

ANAXAGORAS

Katharmoi (Purifications)

112. Friends, who dwell in the great
town on the city s heights, looking down
on yellow Agrigentum, you who are oc
cupied with good deeds, who are har
bours treating foreigners with respect,
and who are unacquainted with wicked
ness: greeting! I go about among you
as an immortal god, no longer a mortal,
held in honour by all, as I seem (to
them to deserve), crowned with fillets
and flowing garlands. When I come to
them in their flourishing towns, to men
and women, I am honoured; and they
follow me in thousands, to inquire where
is the path of advantage, some desiring
oracles, while others ask to hear a word
of healing for their manifold diseases,
since they have long been pierced with
cruel pains.

113. But why do I lay stress on these
things, as if I were achieving something
great in that I surpass mortal men who
are liable to many forms of destruction?

114. Friends, I know that truth is
present in the story that I shall tell; but
it is actually very difficult for men, and
the impact of conviction on their minds
is unwelcome.

115. There is an oracle of necessity,
an ancient decree of the gods, eternal,

sealed fast with broad oaths, that when
one of the divine spirits whose portion
is long life sinfvlly stains his own limbs
with bloodshed, and following hate has
sworn a false oath these must wander
for thrice ten thousand seasons far from
the company of the blessed, being born
throughout the period into all kinds of
mortal shapes, which exchange one hard
way of life for another. For the mighty
air chases them into the sea, and the sea
spews them forth on to the dry land,
and the earth (drives them) towards
the rays of the blazing sun; and the Sun
hurls them into the eddies of the Aether.
One (Element) receives them from the
other, and all loathe them. Of this num
ber am I too now, a fugitive from heaven
and a wanderer, because I trusted in
raging Hate.

117. For by now I have been born
as boy, girl, plant, bird, and dumb
sea-fish.

118. I wept and wailed when I saw
the unfamiliar land (at birth).

119. How great the honour, how deep
the happiness from which (/ am exiled) !

136. Will ye not cease from this harsh-
sounding slaughter? Do you not see that
you are devouring one another in the
thoughtlessness of your minds?

ANAXAGORAS

Anaxagoras came from Clazomenae on the coast of Asia Minor, not far
northwest of Colophon (Xenophanes home) and Ephesus (Heraclitus
home). He was the first of the Greek philosophers to move to Athens,
where he became a good friend of Pericles, the greatest statesman of the
time, who gave his name to the whole epoch. The dates are uncertain, but
he may have been born about 500 B.C. and come to Athens around 480.
He lived in Athens during the time of her greatest glory, a contemporary
of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides.

THE PLURALISTS

He taught that everything consists of an infinite number of particles or
seeds, and that in all things there is a portion of everything. Hair could
not come from what is not hair, nor could flesh come from what is not
flesh. The names we apply to things are determined by the preponderance
of certain kinds of seeds in them, e.g., hair seeds or flesh seeds. Like
Empedocles, he added to such "material causes" an "efficient cause" to
account for the motion and direction of things however, he added only
one "efficient cause," which was mind, nous in Greek. The introduction of
mind led Aristotle to hail Anaxagoras as the only sober man among the
pre-Socratics; but Aristotle found fault with Anaxagoras for not making
more use of this new principle to explain natural events. The modern reader
is more likely to commend Anaxagoras on that score, having wearied of
centuries of purposive explanations.

Anaxagoras was the first philosopher to be tried formally on a charge
of heresy or impiety. He went into exile at Lampsacus on the Hellespont,
where he died about 428/7, a year after Pericles. His sole book was still
on sale in Athens at the end of the century, for one drachma.

The fragments are given in Freeman s translations, for once with her
profuse capitals.

He is said to have been twenty years
old at the time of Xerxes crossing, and
to have lived to seventy-two. ... He be
gan to be a philosopher at Athens in
the archonship of Callias, at the age of
twenty, as Demetrius Phalereus tells us
in his Register of Archons, and is said

to have spent thirty years there Of

his trial different accounts are given.
Sotion, in his Succession of Philosophers)
says that he was prosecuted for impiety
by Cleon, because he claimed that the
sun was a red-hot mass of metal, and
that after Pericles, his pupil, had made
a speech in his defense, he was fined
five talents and exiled. Satyrus, in his
lives, on the other hand, says that the
charge was brought by Thucydides in
his political campaign against Pericles;
and he adds that the charge was not
only for impiety but for Medism
["treasonable correspondence with
Persia, * as another translator puts it] as
well; and he was condemned to death
in absence. . * . Finally he withdrew to
Lampsacus, and there died* It is said
that when the rulers of the city asked
him what privilege he wished to be

granted, he replied that the children
should be given a holiday every year in
the month in which he died. The custom
is preserved to the present day. When
he died, the Lampsacenes buried him
with full honors. [Diogenes Laertius II,
7-15; R 487,]

Anaxagoras, the natural philosopher,
was a distinguished Glazomenion , , . and
his own pupils included . . , Euripides,
the poet. [Strabo 14, p, 645 Gas,; R 490.]

Those who wrote only one book in
clude Melissus, Parmcnidcs, and Anaxa
goras. [Diogenes Laertius I, 16; R 494,]

* *

1, (Opening sentences from his book
"On Natural Science") All Things were
together, infinite in number and in small-
ness. For the Small also was infinite.
And since all were together, nothing was
distinguishable because of its smallncsa.
For Air and Aether dominated all things,
both of them being infinite. For these are
the most important (Elements) in the
total mixture, both in number and in
size.

ANAXAGORAS

2. Air and Aether are separated off
from the surrounding multiplicity, and
that which surrounds is infinite in num
ber.

3. For in Small there is no Least, but
only a Lesser: for it is impossible that
Being should Not-Be [that what is
should cease to be: Raven], and in
Great there is always a Greater. And it is
equal in number to the small, but each
thing is [in relation: Raven] to itself
both great and small.

4. Conditions being thus, one must
believe that there are many things of
all sorts in all composite products, and
the seeds of all Things, which contain
all kinds of shapes and colours and
pleasant savours. And men too were fit
ted together, and all other creatures
which have life. And the men possessed
both inhabited cities and artificial works
[cultivated fields: Raven] just like our
selves, and they had sun and moon and
the rest, just as we have, and the earth
produced for them many and diverse
things, of which they collected the most
useful, and now use them for [or, "in"]
their dwellings. This I say concerning
Separation, that it must have taken
place not only with us, but elsewhere.

Before these things were separated off,
all things were together, nor was any
colour distinguishable, for the mixing of
all Things prevented this, (namely) the
mixing of moist and dry and hot and
cold and bright and dark, and there was
a great quantity of earth in the mixture,
and seeds infinite in number, not at all
like one another. For none of the other
things either is like any other. And as
this was so, one must believe that all
Things were present in the Whole.

5. These things being thus separated
off, one must understand that all things
are in no wise less or more (for it is not
possible for them to be more than All),
but all things are forever equal (in
quantity) .

6. And since there are equal (quanti
tative) parts of Great and Small, so too

similarly in everything there must be
everything. It is not possible (for them)
to exist apart, but all things contain a
portion of everything. Since it is not
possible for the Least to exist, it cannot
be isolated, nor come into being by
itself; but as it was in the beginning,
so now, all things are together. In all
things there are many things, and of the
things separated off, there are equal
numbers in (the categories) Great and
Small.

7. So that the number of the things
separated off cannot be known either
in thought or in fact.

8. The things in the one Cosmos are
not separated off from one another with
an axe, neither the Hot from the Cold,
nor the Cold from the Hot.

9. Thus these things circulate and are
separated off by force and speed. The
speed makes the force. Their speed is not
like the speed of any of the Things now
existing among mankind, but altogether
many times as fast.

10. How can hair come from not-hair,
and flesh from not-flesh?

11. In everything there is a portion
of everything except Mind; and some
things contain Mind also.

12. Other things all contain a part
of everything, but Mind is infinite and
self-ruling, and is mixed with no Thing,
but is alone by itself. If it were not by
itself, but were mixed with anything
else, it would have had a share of all
Things, if it were mixed with anything;
for in everything there is a portion of
everything, as I have said before. And
the things mixed (with Mind) would
have prevented it, so that it could not
rule over any Thing in the same way
as it can being alone by itself. For it is
the finest of all Things, and the purest,
and has complete understanding of
everything, and has the greatest power.
All things which have life, both the
greater and the less, are ruled by Mind.
Mind took command of the universal
revolution, so as to make (things) re-

THE PLURALISTS

volve at the outset. And at first things
began to revolve from some small point,
but now the revolution extends over a
greater area, and will spread even fur
ther. And the things which were mixed
together, and separated off, and divided,
were all understood by Mind. And what
ever they were going to be, and whatever
things were then in existence that are
not now, and all things that now exist
and whatever shall exist all were ar
ranged by Mind, as also the revolution
now followed by the stars, the sun and
moon, and the Air and Aether which
were separated off. It was this revolution
which caused the separation off. And
dense separates from rare, and hot from
cold, and bright from dark, and dry
from wet. There are many portions of
many things. And nothing is absolutely
separated off or divided the one from
the other except Mind, Mind is all alike,
both the greater and the less. But nothing
else is like anything else, but each in
dividual thing is and was most obvious
ly that of which it contains the most.

13. And when Mind began the mo
tion, there was a separating-off from all
that was being moved; and all that Mind
set in motion was separated (internally) ;
and as things were moving and separat
ing off (internally), the revolution great
ly increased this (internal) separation,

14. Mind, which ever Is, certainly still
exists also where all other things are,
(namely) in the multiple surrounding

(mass) and in the things which were
separated off before, and in the things
already separated off [things that have
been either aggregated or separated:
Raven].

15. The dense and moist and cold
and dark (Elements) collected here,
where now is Earth, and the rare and
hot and dry went outwards to the fur
thest part of the Aether.

16. From these, while they are
separating off, Earth solidifies; for from
the clouds, water is separated off, and
from the water, earth, and from the
earth, stones are solidified by the cold;
and these rush outward rather than the
water.

17. The Greeks have an incorrect be
lief on Coming into Being and Pass
ing Away. No Thing comes into being
or passes away, but it is mixed together
or separated from existing Things, Thus
they would be correct if they called
coming into being "mixing,* and pass
ing away "separation-off."

18. It is the sun that endows the
moon with its brilliance.

19. We give the name Iris to the re
flection of the sun on the clouds, It is
therefore the sign of a storm, for the
water which flows round the cloud pro
duces wind or forces out rain.

21. Through the weakness of the
sense-perceptions, we cannot judge
truth,

DEMOCRITUS (and LEUCIPPUS)

Democritus of Abdera, on the coast of Thrace, was probably born in
t460 B.C. Together with Leucippus, his teacher, he was the prime exponent
of the philosophy known as atomism. Leucippus work has perished, but
we have many reports about the atomistic philosophy, especially in its
Democntean form; a few of Democritus remarks on knowledge and
reality have survived; a collection of Democritus ethical maxims the
so-called Gnomae has come down to us; and finally we also have a large

DEMOCR1TUS (AND LEUCIPPUS)

number of fragments from his other writings, dealing with ethics. This
material is offered in four sections here: first, the reports (in Raven s

translations) ; then the metaphysical and epistemological fragments; next,
the Gnomae; and eventually the fragments on ethics all in Freeman s

Aversions.

There are three reasons for allotting so much space to Democritus.
First, we have much more material on him than on any of his predecessors.
Second, although atomism represents another pluralistic answer to Par-

^menides, along with the philosophies of Empedocles and Anaxagoras, and
although Leucippus was a pre-Socratic, Democritus was actually / a slightly

younger contemporary of Socrates and an older contemporary of Plato.
His philosophy may be viewed as an important alternative to Platonism
as one follows the development of pre-Socratic thought, the road forks in
the end, one. path leading to Democritus, the other to Plato. Third,
Democritus does not by any means represent a dead end; his thought was

" taken up first by Epicurus and then, in Roman times, by Lucretius. Epicurus
is represented later in the present volume, but Lucretius is not. Because
we are here dispensing with Roman copies, we are in a position to give
more space to the Greek originals.

That so much of Democritus thought on ethics has come down to us
is our good fortune: atomism has often been contrasted with Platonism as
materialism versus idealism. It is worth noting, then, that Democritus

t^ethic was no less lofty than Plato s.

A. Ancient Reports on Atomism

Leucippus of Elea or Miletus (both
accounts are current) had associated
^with Parmenides in philosophy, but in
his view of reality he did not follow the
same path as Parmenides and Xeno-
phanes but rather, it seems, the opposite
path. For while they regarded the whole
as one, motionless, uncreated, and limit
ed, and forbade even the search for
what is not, he posited innumerable
elements in perpetual motion namely
the atoms and held that the number
of their shapes was infinite, on the
ground that there was no reason why
any atom should be of one shape rather
than another; for he observed too that
coming-into-being and change are in
cessant in the world. Further he held
that not-being exists as well as being,
and the two are equally the causes of
things coming-into-being. The nature of

atoms he supposed to be compact and
full; that, he said, was being, and it
moved in the void, which he called not-
being and held to exist no less than
being. In the same way his associate,
Democritus of Abdera, posited as prin
ciples the full and the void. [Simplicius,
Phys. 28, 4; R 546.]

Apollodorus in the Chronicles says
that Epicurus was instructed by Nausi-
phanes and Praxiphanes ; but Epicurus
himself denies this, saying in the letter
to Eurylochus that he instructed him
self. He and Hemarchus both maintain
that there never was a philosopher
Leucippus, who, some (including Apol
lodorus the Epicurean) say, was the
teacher of Democritus. [Diogenes
Laertius X, 13; R 547.]

Leucippus postulated atoms and void,

t.and in this Democritus resembled him

though in other respects he was more

THE PLURALISTS

productive. [Cicero, Academica pr. II,
37, 118; R 548.]

Later he [Democritus] met Leucippus
and; according to some, Anaxagoras also,

uwhose junior he was by forty years. . . .
As he himself says in the Little World-
System, he was a young man in the old
age of Anaxagoras, being forty years
younger. [Diogenes Laertius IX, 34; R

,549.]

Demetrius in his Homonyms and
Antisthenes in his Successions say that
he [Democritus] traveled to Egypt to
visit the priests and learn geometry, and
that he went also to Persia to visit the
Chaldaeans, and to the Red Sea. Some
say that he associated with the "naked
philosophers" in India; also that he went
to Ethiopia. [Ibid., IX, 35; R 551.]

Leucippus thought he had a theory
which, being consistent with sense-per
ception, would not do away with coming-
into-being or perishing or motion or the
multiplicity of things. So much he con
ceded to appearances, while to those
who uphold the one [the Eleatics] he
granted that motion is impossible without
void, that the void is not-being, and that
no part of being is not-being. For being
in the proper sense is an absolute
plenum. But such a plenum is not one,
but there is an infinite number of them,
and they are invisible owing to the
smallness of their bulk. They move in the
void (for the void exists), and by their
coming together they effect coming-into-
being, by their separation perishing.
[Aristotle, De Gen. et Corr., A 8, 325a;
R 552.]

They [Leucippus, Democritus, and
Epicurus] said that the first principles
were infinite in number, and thought
they were indivisible atoms and impassi
ble owing to their compactness, and
without any void in them; divisibility
comes about because of the void in
compound bodies. [Simplicius, D$ Catlo
242, 18; R 556.]

To this extent they differed, that one
[Epicurus] supposed that all atoms
were very small and on that account
imperceptible; the other, Democritus,
!that there are some atoms that are very
large. [Dionysius ap. Eusebium P.E.
, 23, 3; R 560.J

Democritus holds the same view as
Leucippus about the elements, full and
void ... he spoke as if the things that
are were in constant motion in the void;
and there are innumerable worlds which
differ in size. In some worlds there is
no sun and moon, in others they are
larger than in our world, and in others
more numerous. The intervals between
the worlds are unequal; in some parts
there are more worlds, in others fewer;
some are increasing, some at their height,
some decreasing; in some parts they are
arising, in other failing, They are de
stroyed by colliding with each other.
There are some worlds without any liv
ing creatures, plants, or moisture. [Hyp-
polytus Ref. I, 13, 2; R 564*.]

Everything happens according to
necessity; for the cause of the coming-
into-being of all things is the whirl,
which he calls necessity, [Diogenes
Laertius IX, 45; R 565; cf, "the only
extant saying of Leucippus himself, R
568, Fr. 2, Aetius I, 25, 4: Nothing
occurs at random, but everything for
a reason and by necessity."]

As they [the atoms] move, they collide
and become entangled in such a way
as to cling in close contact to one an
other, but not so as to form one sub
stance of them in reality of any kind
whatever; for it is very simple-minded to
suppose that two or more could ever
become one. The reason he gives for
atoms staying together for a while is
the intertwining and mutual hold of the
primary bodies; for some of them are
angular, some hooked, some concave,
some convex, and indeed with countless
other differences; so he thinks they cling
to each other and stay together until

DEMOCRITUS (AND LEUCIPPUS)

such time as some stronger necessity
comes from the surrounding and shakes
and scatters them apart. [Aristotle On
Democritus ap. Simplicium De Caelo
295, 11;R58L]

Democritus says that the spherical is
the most mobile of shapes; and such is
mind and fire. [Aristotle, De Anima, A
2, 405a; R 583.]

Democritus and the majority of na
tural philosophers who discuss percep
tion are guilty of a great absurdity, for
they represent all perception as being by
touch. [Aristotle, De Sensu 4, 442a; R
585.]

Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus
say that perception and thought arise
when images enter from outside; neither
occurs to anybody without an image im
pinging. [Aetius IV, 8; R 586.]

Democritus explains sight by the visual
image, which he describes in a peculiar
way; the visual image does not arise
directly in the pupil, but the air between
the eye and the object of sight is con
tracted and stamped by the object seen
and the seer; for from everything there
is always a sort of effluence proceeding.
So this air, which is solid and variously
colored, appears in the eye, which is
moist (?) ; the eye does not admit the
dense part, but the moist passes through
[Theophrastus, De Sensu 50; R 587.]

8. Metaphysical and
Epistemological Fragments

7. We know nothing about anything
really, but opinion is for all individuals
an inflowing (? of the atoms). (From
"On the Forms.")

8. It will be obvious that it is impos
sible to understand how in reality each
thing is. (From "On the Forms.")

9. Sweet exists by convention, bitter
by convention, colour by convention;
atoms and void (alone) exist in reality

. . . We know nothing accurately in
reality, but (only) as it changes accord
ing to the bodily condition, and the con-
^stitution of those things that flow upon
(the body) and impinge upon it.

10. It has often been demonstrated
that we do not grasp how each thing
is or is not.

11. There are two sorts of knowledge,
one genuine, one bastard (or "obscure"} .
To the latter belong all the following:
sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch. The
real is separated from this. When the
bastard can do no more neither see
more minutely, nor hear, nor smell, nor
taste, nor perceive by touch and a finer
investigation is needed, then the
genuine comes in as having a tool for
distinguishing more finely. (From "The
Canon.")

156. Naught exists just as much as
Aught.

C. The So-Called Gnomae
(complete)

35. If any man listens to my opinions,
here recorded, with intelligence, he will
achieve many things worthy of a good
man, and avoid doing many unworthy
things.

36. It is right that men should value
the soul rather than the body; for per
fection of soul corrects the inferiority of
the body, but physical strength without

t intelligence does nothing to improve the
mind.

37. He who chooses the advantages
of the soul chooses things more divine,

but he who chooses those of the body,
chooses things human.

38. It is noble to prevent the criminal;
l "but if one cannot, one should not join

him in crime.

39. One must either be good, or
1 imitate a good man.

40. Men find happiness neither by

THE PLURALISTS

means of the body nor through posses
sions, but through uprightness and wis-

. ^

41. Refrain from crimes not through
ar but through duty.

42. It is a great thing, when one is
in adversity, to think of duty.

* 43. Repentance for shameful deeds is

salvation in life.
t, 44. One should tell the truth, not

speak at length.
y 45. The wrongdoer is more un

fortunate than the man wronged.

46. Magnanimity consists in endur
ing tactlessness with mildness.

47. Well-ordered behaviour consists in
obedience to the law, the ruler, and the

"man wiser (than oneself).

48. When inferior men censure, the
good man pays no heed.

u 49. It is hard to be governed by one s
inferior.

50. The man completely enslaved to
Svealth can never be honest.

51. In power of persuasion, reasoning
is far stronger than gold.

52. He who tries to give intelligent
advice to one who thinks he hs intel

ligence, is wasting his time.

53. Many who have not learnt reason,
nevertheless live according to reason.

53a. Many whose actions are most
disgraceful practise the best utterances.

54. The foolish learn sense through
misfortune.

55. One should emulate the deeds
and actions of virtue, not the words*

56. Noble deeds are recognised and
emulated by those of natural good dis
position.

57. Good breeding in cattle depends
on physical health, but in men on a
well-formed character,

58. The hopes of right-thinking men
are attainable, but those of the unintel
ligent are impossible.

59. Neither skill nor wisdom is at
tainable unless one learns,

60. It is better to examine one s own
faults than those of others.

61. Those whose character is well-

ordered have also a well-ordered life.

62. Virtue consists, jiot in avoiding
wrong-doing, but in having no wish

&gt; thereto.

63. To pronounce praise on noble
deeds is noble ; for to do so over base
deeds is the work of a false deceiver.

64. Many much-learned men have no
intelligence.

65. One should practise much-sense,
not much-learning.

66. It is better to deliberate before
j action than to repent afterwards,

67. Believe not everything, but only
what is approved: the former is foolish,
the latter the act of a sensible man.

68. The worthy and the unworthy
man (are to be known) not only by their
actions, but also their wishes.

69. For all men, good and true are
the same; but pleasant differs for dif
ferent men.

70. Immoderate desire is the mark of
a child, not a man.

71. Untimely pleasures produce un
pleasantnesses.

72. Violent desire for one thing 1
blinds the soul to all others.

73. Virtuous love consists in decorous
desire for the beautiful

74. Accept no pleasure unless it is
beneficial.

75. It is better for fools to be ruled
than to rule.

76. For the foolish, not reason but
advantage is the teacher,

77. Fame and wealth without intel
ligence are dangerous possessions.

78. To make money is not without
use, but if it comes from wrong-doing,
nothing is worse.

79. It is a bad thing to imitate the
bad, and not even to wish to imitate
the good,

80. It is shameful to be so busy over
the affairs of others that one knows
nothing of one s own,

81. Constant delay means work
undone.

82. The false and the seeming-good
are those who do all in word, not in fact.

DEMOCR1TUS (AND LEUCIPPUS)

83. The cause of error is ignorance of
the better.

84. The man who does shameful
J deeds must first feel shame in his own

eyes.

85. He who contradicts and chatters
much is ill-fitted for learning what he
ought.

86. It is greed to do all the talking
and not be willing to listen.

87. One must be on one s guard
against the bad man, lest he seize his

, opportunity.

88. The envious man torments him
self like an enemy.

89. An enemy is not he who injures,
but he who wishes to do so.

90. The enmity of relatives is much
worse than that of strangers.

91. Be not suspicious towards all, but
be cautious and firm.

92. Accept favours in the foreknowl
edge that you will have to give a greater
return for them.

93. When you do a favour, study the
recipient first, lest he prove a scoundrel
and repay evil for good.

94. Small favours at the right time
are greatest to the recipients.

95. Marks of honour are greatly
valued by right-thinking men, who un
derstand why they are being honoured.

96. The generous man is he who does
not look for a return, but who does good
from choice.

97. Many who seem friendly are not
so, and those who do not seem so, are.

98. The friendship of one intelligent
man is better than that of all the unintel
ligent.

99. Life is not worth living for the
man who has not even one good friend.

100. The man whose tested friends do
not stay long with him is badtempered.

101. Many avoid their friends when
they fall from wealth to poverty.

102. In all things, equality is fair,
excess and deficiency not so, in my
opinion.

103. The man who loves nobody is,
I think, loved by no one.

104. In old age, a man is agreeable
if his manner is pleasant and his speech
serious.

105. Physical beauty is (merely)
animal unless intelligence be present.

106. In prosperity it is easy to find a
friend, in adversity nothing is so difficult.

107. Not all one s relatives are friends,
but only those who agree with us about
what is advantageous.

107a. It is proper, since we are
human beings, not to laugh at the mis
fortunes of others, but to mourn.

108. Good things are obtained with
difficulty if one seeks; but bad things
come without our even seeking.

^ 109. The censorious are not well-fitted
for friendship.

1 10. A woman must not practise argu
ment: this is dreadful.

111. To be ruled by a woman is the
ultimate outrage for a man.

112. It is the mark of the divine in
tellect to be always calculating something
noble.

113. Those who praise the unintel
ligent do (them) great harm.

114. It is better to be praised by an
other than by oneself.

115. If you do not recognise (i.e.
Understand) praise, believe that you are

being flattered.

D. Fragments on Ethics

3. The man who wishes to have
serenity of spirit should hot engage in

i jnany activities, either private or public,
nor choose activities beyond his power
and natural capacity. He must guard
against this, so that when good fortune
strikes him and leads him on to excess
by means of (false) seeming, he must
rate it low, and fiot attempt things be-
x yond his powers. A reasonable fullness
is better than overfullness.

4. Pleasure and absence of pleasure
are the -criteria of what is profitable and

is not.

THE PLURALISTS

31. Medicine heals diseases of the
body, wisdom frees the soul from pas
sions.

32. Coition is a slight attack of
apoplexy. For man gushes forth from
man, and is separated by being torn
apart with a kind of blow.

33. Nature and instruction are simi
lar; for instruction transforms the man,
and in transforming, creates his nature.

34. Man is a universe in little (Micro
cosm).

things disagreeable when he remembers
any of them, and he is afraid and tor
ments himself.

175. But the gods are the givers of
all good things, both in the past and
now. They are not, however, the givers
of things which are bad, harmful or non-
beneficial, either in the past or now,
but men themselves fall into these
through blindness of mind and lack of
sense.

118. (I would] rather discover one
cause than gain the kingdom of Persia.

159. If the body brought a suit against
the soul, for all the pains it had endured
throughout life, and the illtreatment,
and I were to be the judge of the suit,
I would gladly condemn the soul, in that
it had partly^ ruined the body by its
neglect and dissolved it with bouts of

udrunkenness, and partly destroyed it and
torn it in pieces with its passion for
pleasure as if, when a tool or a vessel
were in a bad condition, I blamed the
man who was using it carelessly.

160. (To live badly is) not to live
badly, but to spend a long time dying.

169. Do not try to understand every
thing, lest you become ignorant of every
thing.

170. Happiness, like unhappiness, is a
property of the soul.

171. Happiness does not dwell in cat
tle or gold. The soul is the dwelling-

.place of the (good and evil) genius.

174. The cheerful man, who is im
pelled towards works that are just and
lawful, rejoices by day and by night,
and is strong and free from care. But
the man who neglects justice, and does
not do what he ought, finds all such

180. Education, is an ornament for
the prosperous/a refuge for the unfor-

Hunate.

181. The man who employs exhorta
tion and persuasion will turn out to be
a more effective guide to virtue than he
who employs law and compulsion. For
the man who is prevented by law from
wrongdoing will probably do wrong in
secret, whereas the man who is led to
wards duty by persuasion will probably
not do anything untoward either secretly
or openly. Therefore the man who
acts rightly through understanding and
knowledge becomes at the same time
brave and upright.

182. Beautiful objects are wrought
by study through effort, but ugly things
are reaped automatically without toil
For even one who is unwilling is some
times so wrought upon by learning
(? MMS. corrupt.)

184. Continuous association with base
men increases a disposition to crime.

186. Similarity of outlook creates
friendship.

188, The criterion of the advanta
geous and disadvantageous is enjoyment
and lack of enjoyment.

DEMOCRITUS (AND LEUCIPPUS)

190. One must avoid even speaking of
: - evil deeds.

191. Cheerfulness is created for men
-through moderation of enjoyment and

Jiarmoniousness of life. Things that are
in excess or lacking are apt to change
and cause great disturbance in the soul.
Souls which are stirred by great diver
gences are neither stable nor cheerful.
Therefore one must keep one s mind on
what is attainable, and be content with
what one has, paying little heed to things
envied and admired, and not dwelling
on them in one s mind. Rather must
you consider the lives of those in distress,
reflecting on their intense sufferings, in
order that your own possessions and
condition may seem great and enviable,
and you may, by ceasing to desire more,
cease to suffer in your soul. For he who
admires those who have, and who are
called happy by other mortals, and who
dwells on them in his mind every hour,
is constantly compelled to undertake
something new and to run the risk,
through his desire, of doing something
irretrievable among those things which
the laws prohibit. Hence one must not
seek the latter, but must be content with
the former, comparing one s own life
with that of those in worse cases, and
must consider oneself fortunate, reflect
ing on their sufferings, in being so much
better off than they. If you keep to this
way of thinking, you will live more
serenely, and will expel those not-negligi
ble curses in life, envy, jealousy and
spite.

( 194. The great pleasures come from
4 the contemplation of noble works.

198. The animal needing something
knows how much it needs, the man does
not.

199. People are fools who hate life
and yet wish to live through fear of
Hades.

200. People are fools who live with
out enjoyment of life.

201. People are fools who yearn for
long life without pleasure in long life.

202. People are fools who yearn for
what is absent, but neglect what they
have even when it is more valuable than
what has gone.

206. Fools want to live to be old be
cause they fear death.

207. One should choose not every
pleasure, but only that concerned with
the beautiful.

208. The self-control of the father is
the greatest example for the children.

210. A rich table is provided by luck,
^but a sufficient one by wisdom.

211. Moderation multiplies pleasures,
and increases pleasure.

212. Sleep in the daytime signifies
bodily trouble or aberration of mind or
laziness or lack of training.

213. Courage minimises difficulties.

214. The brave man is not only he
who overcomes the enemy, but he who
is stronger than pleasures. Some men are
masters of cities, but are enslaved to
women.

215. The reward of justice is con
fidence of judgement and imperturba
bility, but the end of injustice is the
fear of disaster.

216. Imperturbable wisdom is worth
everything.

219. The passion for wealth, unless
limited by satisfaction, is fair more pain
ful than extreme poverty; for greater
passions create greater needs.

222. The excessive accumulation of
wealth for one s children is an excuse
for covetousness, which thus displays its
peculiar nature.

223, The things needed by the body
are available to all without toil and

trouble. But the things which require

THE PLURALISTS

toil and trouble and which make life
disagreeable are not desired by the body
but by the ill-constitution of the mind.

226. Freedom of speech is the sign of
/freedom; but the danger lies in discern
ing the right occasion.

227. Misers have the fate of bees:
they work as if they were going to live
for ever.

231. The right-minded man is he who
is not grieved by what he has not, but
enjoys what he has.

234. Men ask in their prayers for
health from the gods, but do not know
that the power to attain this lies in them
selves; and by doing the opposite
through lack of control, they themselves
become the betrayers of their own health
to their desires.

236. It is hard to fight desire; but to
control it is the sign of a reasonable man.

239. Bad men, when they escape, do
not keep the oaths which they make in
time of stress.

242. More men become good through
practice than by nature.

243. All kinds of toil are pleasanter
than rest, when men attain that for
which they labour, or know that they
will attain it. But whenever there is
failure to attain, then labour is painful
and hard.

244. Do not say or do what is base,
even when you are alone. Learn to feel
shame in your own eyes much more than
before others.

*
247. To a wise man, the whole earth

is open; for the native land of a good
soul is the whole earth.

249. Civil war is harmful to both
""parties; for both to the conquerors and
the conquered, the destruction is the
,same.

251. Poverty under democracy is as
much to be preferred to so-called pros
perity under an autocracy as freedom to
slavery.

252. One must give the highest im
portance to affairs of the state, that it
may be well run; one must not pursue
quarrels contrary to right, nor acquire a
power contrary to the common good.
The well-run state is the greatest protec
tion, and contains all in itself; when this
is safe, all is safe; when this is destroyed,
all is destroyed*

260. Anyone killing any brigand or
pirate shall be exempt from penalty,
whether he do it by his own hand, or by
instigation, or by vote,

261. One must punish wrong-doers to
the best of one s ability, and not neglect
it. Such conduct is just and good, but
the neglect of it is unjust and bad.

262. Those who do what is deserving
of exile or imprisonment or other punish
ment must be condemned and not let
off. Whoever contrary to the law acquits
a man, judging according to profit or
pleasure, does wrong, and this is bound
to be on his conscience.

264, One must not respect the opinion
of other men more than one s own; nor
must one be more ready to do wrong if
no one will know than if all will know.
One must respect one s own opinion
most, and this must stand as the law of
one s soul, preventing one from doing
anything improper,

DEMOCRITUS (AND LEUCIPPUS)

265. Men remember one s mistakes
rather than one s successes. This is just;
for as those who return a deposit do not
deserve praise, whereas those who do
not do so deserve blame an4 punishment,
so with the official: he was elected not
to make mistakes but to do things well.

270. Use slaves as parts of the body:
each to his own function.

272. The man who is fortunate in his
choice of a son-in-law gains a son; the
man unfortunate in his choice loses his
daughter also.

273. A woman is far sharper than a
man in malign thoughts.

274. An adornment for a woman is
lack of garrulity. Paucity of adornment
is also beautiful.

275. The rearing of children is full of
pitfalls. Success is attended by strife
and care, failure means grief beyond all
others.

276. I do not think that one should
have children. I observe in the acquisi
tion of children many great risks and
many griefs, whereas a harvest is rare,
and even when it exists, it is thin and
poor.

277. Whoever wants to have children
should, in iny opinion, choose them from
the family of one of his friends. He will
thus obtain a child such as he wishes,
for he can select the kind he wants. And
the one that seems fittest will be most
likely to follow on his natural endow
ment. The difference is that in the latter

way one can take one child out of many
who is according to one s liking; but if
one begets a child of one s own, the risks
are many, for one is bound to accept
him as he is.

284. If your desires are not great, a
little will seem much to you; for small

, .appetite makes poverty equivalent to
,wealth.

285. One should realise that human
life is weak and brief and mixed with
many cares and difficulties, in order that
one may care only for moderate posses
sions, and that hardship may be meas
ured by the standard of one s needs.

286. He is fortunate who is happy
with moderate means, unfortunate who
is unhappy with great possessions.

289. It is unreasonablenesss not to
submit to the necessary conditions of life.

290. Cast forth uncontrollable grief
from your benumbed soul by means of
reason.

291. To bear poverty well is the
sign of a sensible man.

292. The hopes of the unintelligent
are senseless.

293. Those to whom their neighbours
misfortunes give pleasure do not under
stand that the blows of fate are com
mon to all; and also they lack cause for
personal joy.

294. The good things of youth are
strength and beauty, but the flower of
age is moderation.

THREE SOPHISTS

PROTAGORAS

Protagoras, like Bemocritus, came from Abdera, on the Thracian coast.
He was the first of those traveling teachers of philosophy and rhetoric
who became known as "Sophists." Plato considered it his task to oppose
these men, and since his dialogues survive while their writings do not, his
highly polemical pictures of the Sophists have been widely but unreasonably
accepted as fair and accurate portraits, and the very name "Sophist** has
become an opprobrium. Yet one should no more accept Plato s image of
the Sophists at face value than one should take the picture of the Pharisees
in the Gospels for the gospel truth.

The Sophists are the great representatives of the Greek enlightenment
They come^ after the bold speculators and metaphysicians and ask what

twe can relly know. Their thought is critical, not constructive; and their
criticisms do not stop before all kinds of prejudices and traditions. Some

* of them question the hallowed distinction between Greeks and barbarians
and that between masters and slaves: is not the supposition that barbarians
and slaves are more similar to the animals than to the Greeks based on
convention rather than on evidence? They do not only question prejudices
of this sort which Plato and Aristotle sought to revive but all knowledge
and all ethics: how much can be defended rationally, and how much is
merely a matter of convention?

Questioning of that sort is inseparable from honesty, at least at a certain
level of maturity. But the Sophists do not seem to have boasted of their

, honesty; on the contrary, their manner tended to be somewhat playful and

PROTAGORAS 53

occasionally somewhat cynical. They enjoyed debating, liked to construct
skilful, craftsmanlike speeches, and offered to teach young men how to do
likewise. For such instruction they accepted money, insisting quite reason
ably that the skills they taught were likely to spell success, especially in
politics.

This combination of qualities made it easy for Plato to picture the
Sophists in the darkest colors. One as hostile to Plato as Plato was to the
Sophists could easily portray him as a reactionary who sought some sanction
in another world for convict ; ons threatened by the Greek enlightenment.
Plato makes skilful use of Socrates, contrasting his ironic modesty with

the Sophists pomp, his acid questioning with their big speeches, his concern
^with the moral fiber of a man with their admitted interest in success. Even
if one agrees that Socrates was inimitably greater than any of the Sophists,
this does not settle any of the crucial issues. After all, he was greater than
almost any other man; he would have balked at the ideas which Plato in
the dialogues put into his mouth quite as much as he had ever balked at
any of the Sophists views. The question of the limits of knowledge and
the role played by convention, especially in ethics, cannot be answered by
making capital of the less appealing traits of one or another Sophist.

In sum, the Sophists represent a milestone in the history of human
thought. But exceedingly few fragments survive. The following selections
concentrate on three representative figures.

Of Protagoras, born in Abdera about 480 B.C., an ancient story relates
that he was at first a porter and that Democritus of Abdera saw him,
admired his poise, and,, decided to instruct him; but this story is very
doubtful. Protagoras feflected on language and developed a system of

grammar. Having settled in Athens where he taught the youths, he won
the respect of Pericles, who commissioned him to frame laws for the new

. colony of Thurii, in Italy. At the age of seventy, he was accused and con
victed of atheism and is said to have left for Sicily and to have drowned
at sea.

Plato introduces him in one of his dialogues, which is named after
Protagoras. Some of Protagoras ideas about truth are also considered

at some length in one of Plato s later dialogues, the Theaetetus; and the
relevant sections are reprinted below under Plato. The fragments are given
in Freeman s translations.

1. (From "Truth" or "Refutatory plagiarisms. At any rate, in the place
Arguments"} Of all things the measure where I happened to have been reading
is Man, of the things that are, that they in Protagoras 3 book "On Being" the
are, and of the things that are not, that argument he usps against those who make
they are not. Being One, frjind that he uses the same

2. (From "On Being. 99 ) (PORPHYRY: L refutatory terms. For I took the trouble
Few of the writings of Plato s predeces- to memorise the passage word for
sors have survived, otherwise Plato per- word. 9 }

haps would have been detected in further 3. (From a treatise entitled "Great

THREE SOPHISTS

Logos") Teaching needs endowment
and practice. Learning must begin in
youth.

4. (From "On the Gods."} About the
gods, I am not able to know whether
they exist or do not exist, nor what they
are like in form; for the factors prevent
ing knowledge are many: the obscurity
of the subject, and the shortness of
human life.

6b. To make the weaker cause the
stronger.

9. When his sons, who were fine young
men, died within eight days, he
(Pericles) bore it without mourning.
For he held on to his serenity, from
which every day he derived great benefit
in happiness, freedom from suffering,
and honour in the people s eyes for all
who saw him bearing his griefs valiantly
thought him great-souled and brave and
superior to themselves, well knowing
their own helplessness in such a calamity.

10. Art without practice, and practice
i .without art, are nothing,

11. Education does not take root in
the soul unless one goes deep.

GORGfAS

Next to Protagoras, Gorgias was probably the most renowned of all the
Sophists. (Regarding the Sophists, see the preface to the selections from
Protagoras.) Gorgias came from Leontini, in southern Sicily, a little to the
east of Agrigentum. His dates are uncertain, but he is said to have died at
the age of 108, possibly as late as 375 B.C. He first came to Athens on a
mission from his countrymen, who had asked him to enlist Athenian help
against Syracuse; in this he succeeded.

Like Protagoras, he is introduced as one of the two main figures (the
other being Socrates) in one of Plato s dialogues, which is named after
him. The following selections, all translated by Freeman, comprise the
one philosophic fragment that has come down to us (as a long quotation
in Sextus Empiricus), a sample speech (the encomium on Helen), and
three very short bits that may help to round out the picture of Gorgias,

3. (SEXTOS, from "On Net-Bring? 9 or
"On Nature/ )
I. Nothing exists.

(a) Not-Being does not exist.

(b) Being does not exist
i, as everlasting.

ii, as created*
iii. as both,
iv. as One,
v. as Many.

II. If anything exists, it is incomprehen
sible.

III. If it is comprehensible, it is incom
municable.

I. Nothing exists,

If anything exists, it must be either
Being or Not-Being, or both Being
and Not-Being,

(a) It cannot be Not-Being, for Not-
Being does not exist; if it did, it
would be at the same time Being
and Not-Being, which is impossible.

(b) It cannot be Being, for Being does
not exist. If Being axists, it must be
either everlasting, or created, or
both,

GORGIAS

i. It cannot be everlasting; if it
were, it would have no beginning,
and therefore would be boundless;
if it is boundless, then it has no
position, for if it had position it
would be contained in something,
and so it would no longer be bound
less; for that which contains is
greater than that which is con
tained, and nothing is greater than
the boundless. It cannot be con
tained by itself, for then the thing
containing and the thing contained
would be the same, and Being
would become two things both
position and body which is absurd.
Hence if Being is everlasting, it is
boundless; if boundless, it has no
position ("is nowhere") ; if without
position, it does not exist,
ii. Similarly, Being cannot be creat
ed; if it were, it must come from
something, either Being or Not-
Being, both of which are impossible,
iii. Similarly, Being cannot be both
everlasting and created, since they
are opposite. Therefore Being does
not exist.

iv. Being cannot be one, because
if it exists it has size, and is there
fore infinitely divisible; at least it
is threefold, having length, breadth
and depth.

v. It cannot be many, because the
many is made up of an addition of
ones, so that since the one does not
exist, the many do not exist either.

II. If anything exists, it is incompre
hensible.

If the concepts of the mind are
not realities, reality cannot be
thought if the thing thought is
white, then white is thought about;
if the thing thought is non-existent,
then non-existence is thought about;
this is equivalent to saying that
"existence, reality, is not thought

about, cannot be thought." Many
things thought above are not reali
ties: we can conceive of a chariot
running on the sea, or a winged
man. Also, since things seen are the
objects of sight, and things heard
are the objects of hearing, and we
accept as real things seen without
their being heard, and vice versa;
so we would have to accept things
thought without their being seen or
heard; but this would mean believ
ing in things like the chariot racing
on the sea.

Therefore reality is not the object
of thought, and cannot be com
prehended by it. Pure mind, as op
posed to sense-perception, or even
as an equally valid criterion, is a
myth.

III. If anything is comprehensible, it is
incommunicable.

The things which exist are percepti-
bles; the objects of sight are appre
hended by sight, the objects of
hearing by hearing, and there is no
interchange; so that these sense-
perceptions cannot communicate
with one another. Further, that with
which we communicate is speech,
and speech is not the same thing as
the things that exist, the percepti-
bles; so that we communicate not
the things which exist, but only
speech; just as that which is seen
cannot become that which is heard,
so our speech cannot be equated
with that which exists, since it is
outside us. Further, speech is com
posed from the percepts which we
receive from without, that is, from
perceptibles; so that it is not speech
which communicates perceptibles,
but perceptibles which create
speech. Further, speech can never
exactly represent perceptibles, since
it is different from them, and per
ceptibles are apprehended each by
the one kind of organ, speech by
another. Hence, since the objects of

.56

THREE SOPHISTS

sight cannot be presented to any
other organ but sight, and the dif
ferent sense-organs cannot give
.their information to one another,
similarly speech cannot give any
information about perceptibles.
Therefore, if anything exists and is
comprehended, it is incommuni
cable.

11. ("Encomium on Helen": sum
mary. )

(1) The glory (cosmos] of a city is
courage, of a body, beauty, of a soul,
-wisdom, of action, virtue, of speech,
truth; it is right in all circumstances to
praise what is praiseworthy and blame
^what is blameworthy,

(2) It belongs to the same man both
to speak the truth and to refute false
hood. Helen is universally condemned
and regarded as the symbol of disasters;
I wish to subject her story to critical
examination, and so rescue her from
ignorant calumny.

(3) She was of the highest parentage:
her reputed father Tyndareus was the
most powerful of men; her real father,
Zeus, was king of all.

(4) From these origins she obtained
her divine beauty, by the display of
which she inspired love in countless men,
and caused the assemblage of a great
number of ambitious suitors, some en
dowed with wealth, others with ancestral
fame, others with personal prowess,
others with accumulated wisdom,

(5) I shall not relate the story of
who won Helen or how: to tell an
audience what it knows wins belief but
gives no pleasure. I shall pass over this
period and come to the beginning of my
defence, setting out the probable reasons
for her journey to Troy.

(6) She acted as she did either
through Fate and the will of the gods
and the decrees of Necessity, or because
she was seized by force, or won over by
persuasion (or captivated by love). If
the first, it is her accuser who deserves
blame; for no human foresight can

hinder the will of God: the stronger
cannot be hindered by the weaker, and
God is stronger than man in every way.
Therefore if the cause was Fate, Helen
cannot be blamed.

(7) If she was carried off by force,
clearly her abductor wronged her and
she was unfortunate. He, a barbarian,
committed an act of barbarism, and
should receive blame, disgrace and
punishment; she, being robbed of her
country and friends, deserves pity rather
than obloquy.

(8) If it was speech that persuaded
her and deceived her soul, her defence
remains easy. Speech is a great power,
which achieves the most divine works
by means of the smallest and least visible
form; for it can even put a stop to fear,
remove grief, create joy, and increase
pity. This I shall now prove:

(9) All poetry can be called speech
in metre. Its hearers shudder with terror,
shed tears of pity, and yearn with sad
longing; the soul, affected by the words,
feels as its own an emotion aroused by
the good and ill fortunes of other peo
ple s actions and lives,

(10) The inspired incantations of
words can induce pleasure and avert
grief; for the power of the incantations,
uniting with the feeling in the soul,
soothes and persuades and transports by
means of its wizardry. Two types of
wizardry and magic have been invented,
which are errors in the soul and decep
tions in the mind.

(11) Their persuasions by means of
fictions are innumerable; for if everyone
had recollection of the past, knowledge
of the present, and foreknowledge of
the future, the power of speech would
not be so great. But as it is, when men
can neither remember the past nor ob
serve the present nor prophesy the
future, deception is easy; so that most
men offer opinion as advice to the soul,
But opinion, being unreliable, involves
those who accept it in equally uncertain
fortunes.

GORGIAS

(12) (Text corrupt.) Thus, persua
sion by speech is equivalent to abduction
by force, as she was compelled to agree
to what was said, and consent to what
was done. It was therefore the per
suader, not Helen, who did wrong and
should be blamed.

(13) That persuasion, when added to
speech, can also make any impression it
wishes on the soul, can be shown, firstly,
from the arguments of the meteoro
logists, who by removing one opinion
and implanting another, cause what is
incredible and invisible to appear before
the eyes of the mind; secondly, from
legal contests, in which a speech can
sway and persuade a crowd, by the skill
of its composition, not by the truth of
its statements; thirdly, from the philo
sophical debates, in which quickness of
thought is shown easily altering opinion.

(14) The power of speech over the
constitution of the soul can be compared
with the effect of drugs on the bodily
state: just as drugs by driving out dif
ferent humours from the body can put
an end either to the disease or to life,
so with speech: different words can in
duce grief, pleasure or fear; or again,
by means of a harmful kind of persua
sion, words can drug and bewitch the
soul.

(15) If Helen was persuaded by love,
defence is equally easy. What we see
has its own nature, not chosen by us;
and the soul is impressed through sight.

(16) For instance, in war, the sight
of enemy forms wearing hostile array is
so disturbing to the soul that often men
flee in terror as if the coming danger
were already present. The powerful
habit induced by custom is displaced by
the fear aroused by sight, which causes
oblivion of what custom judges honour
able and of the advantage derived from
victory.

(17) People who have seen a fright
ful sight have been driven out of their
minds, so great is the power of fear;
while many have fallen victims to use

less toils, dreadful diseases and incur
able insanity, so vivid are the images of
the things seen which vision engraves on
the mind.

(18) Painters, however, when they
create one shape from many colours,
give pleasure to sight; and the pleasure
afforded by sculpture to the eyes is
divine; many objects engender in many
people a love of many actions and forms.

(19) If therefore Helen s eye, de
lighted with Paris s form, engendered
the passion of love in her soul, this is not
remarkable; for if a god is at work with
divine power, how can the weaker person
resist him? And if the disease is human,
due to the soul s ignorance, it must not
be condemned as a crime but pitied as a
misfortune, for it came about through
the snares of Fate, not the choice of the
will; by the compulsion of love, not by
the plottings of art.

(20) Therefore, whichever of the four
reasons caused Helen s action, she is in
nocent.

(21) I have expunged by my dis
course this woman s ill fame, and have
fulfilled the object set forth at the outset.
I have tried to destroy the unjust blame
and the ignorant opinion, and have
chosen to write this speech as an En
comium on Helen and an amusement
for myself.

15. Beggarly toadying bards, who
swear a false oath and swear it well.

23. Tragedy, by means of legends and
emotions, creates a deception in which
the deceiver is more honest than the
non-deceiver, and the deceived is wiser
than the non-deceived.

26, Being is unrecognisable unless it
succeeds in seeming, and seeming is
weak unless it succeeds in being.

58 THREE SOPHISTS

ANTIPHON

Of the many ancient Greeks who bore this name, at least three were put
to death. One, a poet of Attica who wrote tragedies, epics, and speeches,
defied Dionysius the tyrant, answering the question, what brass is best, by
saying, "that of which the statues of Harmodius and Aristogiton are made,"
they being the men who in 510 B.C. had delivered Athens from tyranny;
and when this Antiphon also refused to praise the compositions of Dionysius,
the tyrant had him executed. Another Antiphon, an orator, promised
Philip of Macedonia, the father of Alexander the Great, that he would
set fire to the citadel of Athens; for this promise he was put to death at
the instigation of Demosthenes.

A third Antiphon, born at Rhamnus in Attica about 480 B.C., was one
of the great orators of the fifth century. During the Peloponnesian War, he
helped set up the oligarchy of the 400 in 411 B.C., and was condemned
to death after the restoration of the democracy. Thucydides calls him "a
man inferior in virtue to none of his contemporaries, and possessed of
remarkable powers of thought and gifts of speech. He did not like to come
forward in the assembly, or in any other public arena. To the multitude.,
who were suspicious of his great abilities, he was an object of dislike; but
there was no man who could do more for any who consulted him, whether
their business lay in the courts of justice or in the assembly. And when the
government of the Four Hundred was overthrown and became exposed
to the vengeance of the people, and he being accused of taking part in the
plot had to speak in his own case, his defense was undoubtedly the best
ever made by any man on a capital charge down to my time" (VIIL 68;
Jowett s translation).

Most writers distinguish between Antiphon, the orator, and Antiphon,
the Sophist, but it is by no means certain that the two were not identical
(Detailed arguments for identifying them may be found in Karl Joel s
Geschichte der antiken Philosophic 1921, p. 663, and A, E. Taylor leans
the same way in his standard work on Plato, p. 102 of the Meridian paper
back edition.) Among those who distinguish the orator and the Sophist,
Karl Popper in The Open Society and Its Enemies (Princeton University
Press) and R. B. Levinson in In Defense of Plato (Harvard University
Press) arrive at opposite evaluations of Antiphon the Sophist: Popper sings
his praises as a deeply humane thinker, while Levinson condemns him
roundly as an enemy of civilization. It is generally admitted that at least
some of his ideas are re-encountered in, and presumably greatly influenced,
first the Cynic school of philosophy and later the Stoics. Some of the
material cited below was discovered only in the twentieth century, on
Egyptian papyri. The translations are Freeman s. (For the Sophists generally,
see the preface to the selections from Protagoras.)

ANTIPHON

10. (From "Truth") Hence he (God)
needs nothing and receives no addition
from anywhere, but is infinite and lack
ing nothing.

(Oxyrhynchus papyrus. From "Truth"}
44. Justice, then, is not to transgress
that which is the law of the city in
which one is a citizen. A man therefore
can best conduct himself in harmony
with justice, if when in the company of
witnesses he upholds the laws, and when
alone without witnesses he upholds the
edicts of nature. For the edicts of the
laws are imposed artificially, but those
of nature are compulsory. And the edicts
of the laws are arrived at by consent,
not by natural growth, whereas those of
nature are not a matter of consent.

So, if the man who transgresses the
legal code evades those who have agreed
to these edicts, he avoids both disgrace
and penalty; otherwise not. But if a man
violates against possibility any of the
laws which are implanted in nature,
even if he evades all men s detection,
the ill is no less, and even if all see, it is
no greater. For he is not hurt on account
of an opinion, but because of truth. The
examination of these things is in general
for this reason, that the majority of just
acts according to law are prescribed con
trary to nature. For there is legislation
about the eyes, what they must see and
what not; and about the ears, what they
must hear and what not; and about the
tongue, what it must speak and what
not; and about the hands, what they
must do and what not; and about the
feet, where they must go and where not.
Now the law s prohibitions are in no
way more agreeable to nature and more
akin than the law s injunctions. But life
belongs to nature, and death too, and
life for them is derived from advantages,
and death from disadvantages. And the

advantages laid down by the laws are
chains upon nature, but those laid down
by nature are free. So that the things
which hurt, according to true reasoning,
do not benefit nature more than those
which delight; and things which grieve
are not more advantageous than those
which please; for things truly advan
tageous must not really harm, but must
benefit. The naturally advantageous
things from among these . . .

(According to law, they are justified}
who having suffered defend themselves
and do not themselves begin action^
and those who treat their parents well,
even though their parents have treated
them badly; and those who give the
taking of an oath to others and do not
themselves swear. Of these provisions,
one could find many which are hostile
to nature; and there is in them the
possibility of suffering more when one
could suffer less ; and enjoying less when
one could enjoy more; and faring ill
when one need not. Now if the person
who adapted himself to these provisions
received support from the laws, and
those who did not, but who opposed
them, received damage, obedience to the
laws would not be without benefit; but
as things are, it is obvious that for those
who adapt themselves to these things the
justice proceeding from law is not strong
enough to help, seeing that first of all it
allows him who suffers to suffer, and him
who does, to do, and does not prevent
the sufferer from suffering or the doer
from doing. And if the case is brought
up for punishment, there is no advantage
peculiar to the sufferer rather than to
the doer. For the sufferer must convince
those who are to inflict the punishment,
that he has suffered; and he needs the
ability to win his case. And it is open to
the doer to deny, by the same means . . .
and he can defend himself no less than
the accuser can accuse, and persuasion

THREE SOPHISTS

is open to both parties, being a matter

of technique

We revere and honour those born of
noble fathers, but those who are not born
of noble houses we neither revere nor
honour. In this we are, in our relations
with one another, like barbarians, since
we are all by nature born the same in
every way, both barbarians and Hellenes.
And it is open to all men to observe the
laws of nature, which are compulsory.
Similarly all of these things can be ac
quired by all, and in none of these things
is any of us distinguished as barbarian
or Hellene. We all breathe into the air
through mouth and nostrils, and we all
eat with hands. . . .

49. Now let life proceed, and let him
desire marriage and a wife. This day,
this night begin a new destiny; for mar
riage is a great contest for mankind. If
the woman turns out to be incompatible,
what can one do about the disaster?
Divorce is difficult: it means to make
enemies of friends, who have the same
thoughts, the same breath, and had been
valued and had regarded one with
esteem. And it is hard if one gets such
a possession, that is, if when thinking to
get pleasure, one brings home pain.

However, not to speak of malevolence:
let us assume the utmost compatibility.
What is pleasanter to a man than a wife
after his own heart? What is sweeter,
especially to a young man? But in the
very pleasure lies near at hand the pain;
pleasures do not come alone, but are
attended by griefs and troubles. Olympic
and Pythian victories and all pleasures
are apt to be won by great pains.
Honours, prizes, delights, which God has
given to men, depend necessarily on
great toils and exertions. For my part, if
I had another body which was as much
trouble to me as I am to myself, I could
not live, so great is the trouble I give
myself for the sake of health, the acquisi
tion of a livelihood, and for fame, re
spectability, glory and a good reputation*

What then, if I acquired another body
which was as much trouble? Is it not
clear that a wife, if she is to his mind,
gives her husband no less cause for love
and pain than he does to himself, for the
health of two bodies, the acquisition of
two livelihoods, and for respectability
and honour? Suppose children are born:
then all is full of anxiety, and the youth
ful spring goes out of the mind, and the
countenance is no longer the same.

51. The whole of life is wonderfully
open to complaint, my friend; it has
nothing remarkable, great or noble, but
all is petty, feeble, brief-lasting, and
mingled with sorrows.

53a. There are some who do not live
the present life, but prepare with great
diligence as if they were going to live
another life, not the present one, Mean
while time, being neglected, deserts
them.

54. There is a story that a man seeing
another man earning much money
begged him to lend him a sum at in
terest. The other refused; and being of
a mistrustful nature, unwilling to help
anyone, he carried it off and hid it
somewhere, Another man, observing him,
filched it* Later, the man who had
hidden it returning, could not find it;
and being very grieved at the disaster
especially that he had not lent to the
man who had asked him, because then
it would have been safe and would have
earned increment he went to see the
man who had asked for a loan, and be-
wailed his misfortune, saying that he had
done wrong and was sorry not to have
granted his request but to have refused
it, as his money was completely lost.
The other man told him to hide a stone
in the same place, and think of his
money as his and not lost; "For even
when you had it you completely failed to
use it; so that now too you can think
you have lost nothing*" For when a per-

ANTIPHON

son has not used and will not use any
thing, it makes no difference to him
either whether he has it or not. For
when God does not wish to give a man
complete good fortune when he has
given him material wealth but made him
poor in right thinking in taking away
one he has deprived him of both.

56. He is cowardly who is bold in
speech concerning absent and future
dangers, and hurries on in resolve, but
shrinks back when the fact is upon him.

58. Whoever, when going against his
neighbour with the intention of harming
him, is afraid lest by failing to achieve
his wishes he may get what he does not
wish, is wiser. For his fear means hesita
tion, and his hesitation means an interval
in which often his mind is deflected from
his purpose. There can be no reversal of
a thing that has happened: it is possible
only for what is in the future not to
happen. Whoever thinks he will illtreat
his neighbours and not suffer himself is
unwise. Hopes are not altogether a good
thing ; such hopes have flung down many

into intolerable disaster, and what they
thought to inflict on their neighbours,
they have suffered themselves for all to
see. Prudence in another man can be
judged correctly by no one more than
him who fortifies his soul against im
mediate pleasures and can conquer him
self. But whoever wishes to gratify his
soul immediately, wishes the worse in
stead of the better.

59. Whoever has not desired or
touched the base and the bad, is not
self -restrained; for there is nothing over
which he has gained the mastery and
proved himself well-behaved.

60. The first thing, I believe, for
mankind is education. For whenever
anyone does the beginning of anything
correctly, it is likely that the end also
will be right. As one sows, so can one
expect to reap. And if in a young body
one sows a noble education, this lives
and flourishes through the whole of his
life, and neither rain nor drought de
stroys it.

62. One s character must necessarily
grow like that with which one spends
the greater part of the day.

EPILOGUE

PERICLES (as reported by THUCYDIDES)

Neither Pericles, the great statesman, who succumbed to the pestilence
that struck Athens in 429 B.C., nor Thucydides, the great historian who died
about thirty years later, was a philosopher. The plain fact that they were
among the greatect minds produced by the fifth century would not ensure
their inclusion here; else, Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides would have
to be introduced, too. For a number of reasons, however, it is eminently
worthwhile to bring in at this point the great speech that Pericles delivered
in 431 B.C. at the funeral of those who had been killed in the war.

First, it is important to recall that the Greek philosophers did not think
and write in ivory towers, but as men deeply involved in the public and
cultural life of their day. Therefore it is desirable, if only it were possible,
to bring to life, in a few pages, fifth century Athens, That is precisely
what Pericles succeeded in doing inimitably in his funeral speech*

Then one also wants something to which one might compare the Apology
of Socrates, as reported by Plato; and one wonders about Alcibiades re
mark, near the end of the Symposium, that even Pericles speeches had not
moved him the way Socrates did, making him angry at the thought of his
own slavish state. There are other references to Pericles both in the preced
ing pages and in the selections that follow. Moreover and this is decisive
this speech, unlike anything in the great tragedies of the fifth century,
is a self-contained unit that does not suffer too greatly from being read out
of context. Some of Sophocles great choruses, on the other hand, are seen
as pregnant with irony when they are considered in relation to the action
of the plays,

PERICLES (AS REPORTED BY THUCYDIDES)

Finally, it is often said that Plato s critique of democracy, especially in
Book VIII of the Republic, was entirely fitting in relation to Athenian
democracy though, of course, not applicable to modern democracy. This is
not the place to discuss the second point, but it is interesting to read the
classical defense of Athenian democracy at its best, while keeping in mind
that the democracy that put Socrates to death, thirty years after Pericles
had died, was emphatically not democracy at its best, but rather an early
and hideous example of what sometimes happens in democracies, especially
after great wars. In this context, the first selection about Anaxagoras should
be reread; also the end of the preface to the selections from Protagoras.

The first of our three selections from Thucydides history of the Pelopon-
nesian War comprises I. 22; the second runs from II. 34 through II. 46;
the last comes from II. 65. All are offered in Benjamin Jowett s magnificent
translation.

22. As to the speeches which were
made either before or during the war,
it was hard for me, and for others who
reported them to me, to recollect the
exact words. I have therefore put into
the mouth of each speaker the senti
ments proper to the occasion, expressed
as I thought he would be likely to ex
press them, while at the same time I
endeavored, as nearly as I could, to give
the general purport of what was actually
said. Of the events of the war I have
not ventured to speak from any chance
information, nor according to any notion
of my own; I have described nothing
but what I either saw myself, or learned
from others of whom I made the most
careful and particular inquiry. The task
was a laborious one, because eye-wit
nesses of the same occurrences gave dif
ferent accounts of them, as they remem
bered or were interested in the actions
of one side or the other. And very likely
the strictly historical character of my
narrative may be disappointing to the
ear. But if he who desires to have before
his eyes a true picture of the events
which have happened, and of the like
events which may be expected to happen

hereafter in the order of human things,
shall pronounce what I have written to
be useful, then I shall be satisfied. My
history is an everlasting possession, not a
prize composition which is heard and
forgotten.

When the remains have been laid in
the earth, some man of known ability
and high reputation, chosen by the city,
delivers a suitable oration over them;
after which the people depart. Such is
the manner of interment; and the cere
mony was repeated from time to time
throughout the war. Over those who
were the first buried Pericles was chosen
to speak. At the fitting moment he ad
vanced from the sepulchre to a lofty
stage, which had been erected in order
that he might be heard as far as possible
by the multitude, and spoke as fol
lows:

[Funeral Oration]

35. "Most of those who have spoken
here before me have commended the
lawgiver who added this oration to our

PERICLES (AS REPORTED BY THUCYDIDES)

other funeral customs ; it seemed to them
a worthy thing that such an honor should
be given at their burial to the dead who
have fallen on the field of battle. But I
should have preferred that, when men s
deeds have been brave, they should be
honored in deed only, and with such an
honor as this public funeral, which you
are now witnessing. Then the reputation
of many would not have been imperilled
on the eloquence or want of eloquence
of one, and their virtues believed or not
as he spoke well or ill. For it is difficult
to say neither too little nor too much;
and even moderation is apt not to give
the impression of truthfulness. The
friend of the dead who knows the facts
is likely to think that the words of the
speaker fall short of his knowledge and
of his wishes ; another who is not so well
informed, when he hears of anything
which surpasses his own powers, will be
envious and will suspect exaggeration.
Mankind are tolerant of the praises of
others so long as each hearer thinks that
he can do as well or nearly as well him
self, but, when the speaker rises above
him, jealousy is aroused and he begins
to be incredulous.. However, since our
ancestors have set the seal of their ap
proval upon the practice, I must obey,
and to the utmost of my power shall
endeavor to satisfy the wishes and beliefs
of all who hear me.

36. "I will speak first of our ancestors,
for it is right and becoming that now,
when we are lamenting the dead, a
tribute should be paid to their memory.
There has never been a time when they
did not inhabit this land, which by their
valor they have handed down from
generation to generation, and we have
received from them a free state, But if
they were worthy of praise, still more
were our fathers, who added to their
inheritance, and after many a struggle
transmitted to us their sons this great
empire. And we ourselves assembled
here to-day, who are still most of us in
the vigor of life, have chiefly done the
work of improvement, and have richly

endowed our city with all things, so that
she is sufficient for herself both in peace
and war. Of the military exploits by
which our various possessions were ac
quired, or of the energy with which we
or our fathers drove back the tide of
war, Hellenic or Barbarian, I will not
speak; for the tale would be long and is
familiar to you. But before I praise the
dead, I should like to point out by what
principles of action we rose to power,
and under what institutions and through
what manner of life our empire became
great. For I conceive that such thoughts
are not unsuited to the occasion, and that
this numerous assembly of citizens and
strangers may profitably listen to them.

37. "Our form of government does
not enter into rivalry with the institu
tions of others. We do not copy our
neighbors, but are an example to them.
It is true that we are called a democra
cy, for the administration is in the hands
of the many and not of the few. But
while the law secures equal justice to
all alike in their private disputes, the
claim of excellence is also recognized;
and when a citizen is in any way dis
tinguished, he is preferred to the public
service, not as matter of privilege, but as
the reward of merit. Neither is poverty a
bar, but a man may benefit his country
whatever be the obscurity of his condi
tion. There is no exclusiveness in our
private intercourse we are not suspicious
of one another, nor angry with our
neighbor if he does what he likes ; we do
not put on sour looks at him which,
though harmless, are not pleasant. While
we are thus unconstrained in our private
intercourse, a spirit of reverence per
vades our public acts; we are prevented
from doing wrong by respect for authori
ty and for the laws, having an especial
regard to those which are ordained for
the protection of the injured as well as
to those unwritten laws which bring
upon the transgressor of them the re
probation of the general sentiment,

38. "And we have not forgotten to
provide for our weary spirits many re-

PERICLES (AS REPORTED BY THUCYD1DES)

laxations from toil; we have regular
games and sacrifices throughout the year ;
at home the style of our life is refined;
and the delight which we daily feel in
all these things helps to banish melan
choly. Because of the greatness of our
city the fruits of the whole earth flow in
upon us; so that we enjoy the goods of
other countries as freely as of our own.

39. "Then, again, our military train
ing is in many respects superior to that
of our adversaries. Our city is thrown
open to the world, and we never expel
a foreigner or prevent him from seeing
or learning anything of which the secret
if revealed to an enemy might profit
him. We rely not upon management or
trickery, but upon our own hearts and
hands. And in the matter of education,
whereas they from early youth are al
ways undergoing laborious exercises
which are to make them brave, we live
at ease, and yet are equally ready to
face the perils which they face. And here
is the proof. The Lacedaemonians come
into Attica not by themselves, but with
their whole confederacy following; we go
alone into a neighbor s country; and
although our opponents are fighting for
their homes and we on a foreign soil, we
have seldom any difficulty in overcoming
them. Our enemies have never yet felt
our united strength; the care of a navy
divides our attention, and on land we
are obliged to send our own citizens
everywhere. But they, if they meet and
defeat a part of our army, are as proud
as if they had routed us all, and when
defeated they pretend to have been
vanquished by us all.

"If then we prefer to meet danger
with a light heart but without laborious
training, and with a courage which is
gained by habit and not enforced by
law, are we not greatly the gainers?
Since we do not anticipate the pain, al
though, when the hour comes, we can
be as brave as those who never allow
themselves to rest; and thus too [40]
our city is equally admirable in peace
and in war. For we are lovers of the

beautiful, yet simple in our tastes, and
we cultivate the mind without loss of
manliness. Wealth we employ, not for
talk and ostentation, but when there is
a real use for it. To avow poverty with us
is no disgrace: the true disgrace is in
doing nothing to avoid it. An Athenian
citizen does not neglect the state because
he takes care of his own household; and
even those of us who are engaged in
business have a very fair idea of politics.
We alone regard a man who takes no
interest in public affairs, not as a harm
less, but as a useless character; and if few
of us are originators, we are all sound
judges of a policy. The great impedi
ment to action is, in our opinion, not
discussion, but the want of that knowl
edge which is gained by discussion pre
paratory to action. For we have a pecu
liar power of thinking before we act and
of acting too, whereas other men are
courageous from ignorance but hesitate
upon reflection. And they are surely to
be esteemed the bravest spirits who, hav
ing the clearest sense both of the pains
and pleasures of life, do not on that
account shrink from danger. In doing
good, again, we are unlike others; we
make our friends by conferring, not by
receiving favors. Now he who confers a
favor is the firmer friend, because he
would fain by kindness keep alive the
memory of an obligation; but the re
cipient is colder in his feelings, because
he knows that in requiting another s
generosity he will not be winning grati
tude, but only paying a debt. We alone
do good to our neighbors not upon a
calculation of interest, but in the con
fidence of freedom and in a frank and
fearless spirit. To sum up: I say that
Athens is the school of Hellas, and [41]
that the individual Athenian in his own
person seems to have the power of adapt
ing himself to the most varied forms of
action with the utmost versatility and
grace. This is no passing and idle word,
but truth and fact; and the assertion is
verified by the position to which these
qualities have raised the state. For in the

PERICLES (AS REPORTED BY THUCYDIDES)

hour of trial Athens alone among her
contemporaries is superior to the report
of her. No enemy who comes against her
is indignant at the reverses which he
sustains at the hands of such a city; no
subject complains that his masters are
unworthy of him. And we shall assuredly
not be without witnesses; there are
mighty monuments of our power which
will make us the wonder of this and of
succeeding ages; we shall not need the
praises of Homer or of any other
panegyrist whose poetry may please for
the moment, although his representation
of the facts will not bear the light of
day. For we have compelled every land
and every sea to open a path for our
valor, and have everywhere planted
eternal memorials of our friendship and
of our enmity. Such is the city for whose
sake these men nobly fought and died;
they could not bear the thought that
she might be taken from them; and
every one of us who survive should gladly
toil on her behalf.

42. "I have dwelt upon the greatness
of Athens because I want to show you
that we are contending for a higher
prize than those who enjoy none of
these privileges, and to establish by
manifest proof the merit of these men
whom I am now commemorating, Their
loftiest praise has been already spoken.
For in magnifying the city I have
magnified them, and men like them
whose virtues made her glorious. And
of how few Hellenes can it be said as
of them, that their deeds when weighed
in the balance have been found equal
to their fame! Methinks that a death
such as theirs has been gives the true
measure of a man s worth; it may be the
first revelation of his virtues, but is at
any rate their final seal* For even those
who come short in other ways may justly
plead the valor with which they have
fought for their country; they have
blotted out the evil with the good, and
have benefited the state more by their
public services than they have injured
her by their private actions, None of

these men were enervated by wealth or
hesitated to resign the pleasures of life;
none of them put off the evil day in the
hope, natural to poverty, that a man,
though poor, may one day become rich.
But, deeming that the punishment of
their enemies was sweeter than any of
these things, and that they could fall in
no nobler cause, they determined at the
hazard of their lives to be honorably
avenged, and to leave the rest. They
resigned to hope their unknown chance
of happiness; but in the face of death
they resolved to rely upon themselves
alone. And when the moment came they
were minded to resist and suffer, rather
than to fly and save their lives; they ran
away from the word of dishonor, but
on the battle-field their feet stood fast,
and in an instant, at the height of their
fortune, they passed away from the
scene, not of their fear, but of their
glory.

43. "Such was the end of these men;
they were worthy of Athens, and the
living need not desire to have a more
heroic spirit, although they may pray
for a less fatal issue. The value of such
a spirit is not to be expressed in words.
Any one can discourse to you for ever
about the advantages of a brave defence
which you know already. But instead of
listening to him I would have you day
by day fix your eyes upon the greatness
of Athens, until you become filled with
the love of her; and when you are im
pressed by the spectacle of her glory,
reflect that this empire has been acquir
ed by men who knew their duty and
had the courage to do it, who in the
hour of conflict had the fear of dis
honor always present to them, and who,
if ever they failed in an enterprise, would
not allow their virtues to be lost to their
country, but freely gave their lives to her
as the fairest offering which they could
present at her feast. The sacrifice which
they collectively made was individually
repaid to them; for they received again
each one for himself a praise which
grows not old, and the noblest of all

PERICLES (AS REPORTED BY THUCYDIDES)

sepulchres I speak not of that in which
their remains are laid, but of that in
which their glory survives, and is pro
claimed always and on every fitting oc
casion both in word and deed. For the
whole earth is the sepulchre of famous
men; not only are they commemorated
by columns and inscriptions in their
own country, but in foreign lands there
dwells also an unwritten memorial of
them, graven not on stone but in the
hearts of men. Make them your ex
amples, and, esteeming courage to be
freedom and freedom to be happiness,
do not weigh too nicely the perils of
war. The unfortunate who has no hope
of a change for the better has less reason
to throw away his life than the prosper
ous who, if he survive, is always liable
to a change for the worse, and to whom
any accidental fall makes the most seri
ous difference. To a man of spirit,
cowardice and disaster coming together
are far more bitter than death, striking
him unperceived at a time when he is
full of courage and animated by the
general hope.

44. "Wherefore I do not now com
miserate the parents of the dead who
stand here; I would rather comfort
them. You know that your life has been
passed amid manifold vicissitudes; and
that they may be deemed fortunate who
have gained most honor, whether an
honorable death like theirs, or an honor
able sorrow like yours, and whose days
have been so ordered that the term of
their happiness is likewise the term of
their life. I know how hard it is to make
you feel this, when the good fortune of
others will too often remind you of the
gladness which once lightened your
hearts. And sorrow is felt at the want of
those blessings, not which a man never
knew, but which were a part of his life
before they were taken from him. Some
of you are of an age at which they may
hope to have other children, and they
ought to bear their sorrow better; not
only will the children who may hereafter
be born make them forget their own

lost ones, but the city will be doubly a
gainer. She will not be left desolate, and
she will be safer. For a man s counsel
cannot have equal weight or worth,
when he alone has no children to risk
in the general danger. To those of you
who have passed their prime, I say;
Congratulate yourselves that you have
been happy during the greater part of
your days; remember that your life of
sorrow will not last long, and be com
forted by the glory of those who are
gone. For the love of honor alone is
ever young, and not riches, as some say,
but honor is the delight of men when
they are old and useless.

45. "To you who are the sons and
brothers of the departed, I see that the
struggle to emulate them will be an
arduous one. For all men praise the
dead, and, however pre-eminent your
virtue may be, hardly will you be
thought, I do not say to equal, but even
to approach them. The living have their
rivals and detractors, but when a man is
out of the way, the honor and good-will
which he receives is unalloyed. And, if
I am to speak of womanly virtues to
those of you who will henceforth be
widows, let me sum them up in one
short admonition: To a woman not to
show more weakness than is natural to
her sex is a great glory, and not to be
talked about for good or evil among
men.

46. "I have paid the required tribute,
in obedience to the law, making use of
such fitting words as I had. The tribute
of deeds has been paid in part; for the
dead have been honorably interred, and
it remains only that their children
should be maintained at the public
charge until they are grown up; this is
the solid prize with which, as with a
garland, Athens crowns her sons living
and dead, after a struggle like theirs.
For where the rewards of virtue are
greatest, there the noblest citizens are
enlisted in the service of the state. And
now, when you have duly lamented,

PERICLES (AS REPORTED BY THUCYDIDES)

every one his own dead, you may de
part."

In private they felt their sufferings
keenly; the common people had been
deprived even of the little which they
possessed, while the upper class had lost
fair estates in the country with all their
houses and rich furniture. Worst of all,
instead of enjoying peace, they were now
at war. The popular indignation was not
pacified until they had fined Pericles;
but, soon afterwards, with the usual
fickleness of the multitude, they elected
him general and committed all their af
fairs to his charge. Their private sorrows
were beginning to be less acutely felt,
and for a time of public need they
thought that there was no man like him.
During the peace while he was at the
head of affairs he ruled with prudence;
under his guidance Athens was safe, and
reached the height of her greatness in
his time. When the war began he showed
that here too he Ind formed a true
estimate of the Athenian power. He sur
vived the commencement of hostilities
two years and six months; and, after his
death, his foresight was even better ap
preciated than during his life. For he
had told the Athenians, that if they
would be patient and would attend to
their navy, and not seek to enlarge their
dominion while the war was going on,
nor imperil the existence of the city,
they would be victorious; but they did
all that he told them not to do, and in
matters which seemingly had nothing
to do with the war, from motives of
private ambition and private interest
they adopted a policy which had dis
astrous effects in respect both of them
selves and of their allies; their meas
ures, had they been successful, would
only have brought honor and profit to
individuals, and, when unsuccessful,
crippled the city in the conduct of the
war. The reason of the difference was
that he, deriving authority from his
capacity and acknowledged worth, be
ing also a man of transparent integrity,

was able to control the multitude in a
free spirit; he led them rather than was
led by them; for, not seeking power by
dishonest arts, he had no need to say
pleasant things, but, on the strength of
his own high character, could venture to
oppose and even to anger them. When
he saw them unseasonably elated and
arrogant, his words humbled and awed
them; and when they were depressed by
groundless fears, he sought to reanimate
their confidence. Thus Athens, though
still in name a democracy, was in fact
ruled by her greatest citizen. But his
successors were more on an equality with
one another, and, each one struggling
to be first himself, they were ready to
sacrifice the whole conduct of affairs to
the whims of the people. Such weakness
in a great and imperial city led to many
errors, of which the greatest was the
Sicilian expedition; not that the Atheni
ans miscalculated their enemy s power,
but they themselves, instead of consult
ing for the interests of the expedition
which they had sent out, were occupied
in intriguing against one another for the
leadership of the democracy, and not
only grew remiss in the management of
the army, but became embroiled, for the
first time, in civil strife. And yet after
they had lost in the Sicilian expedition
the greater part of their fleet and army,
and were distracted by revolution at
home, still they held out three years not
only against their former enemies, but
against the Sicilians who had combined
with them, and against most of their
own allies who had risen in revolt. Even
when Cyrus the son of the King joined
in the war and supplied the Pelopon-
nesian fleet with money, they continued
to resist and were at last overthrown, not
by their enemies, but by themselves and
their own internal dissensions* So that at
the time Pericles was more than justified
in the conviction at which his foresight
had arrived, that the Athenians would
win an easy victory over the unaided
forces of the Peloponnesians.

porf two

AND PLATO

Socrates is widely considered one of the greatest human beings of all
time largely on the basis of some of the texts that follow. He is known to
us mainly through the works of Plato, his pupil; but we have some other
sources of information about him., too.

Aristophanes (455-375 B.C.) made fun of Socrates in one of his comedies,
The Clouds. First performed in 423, it received only the third prize, which
is said to have galled the poet, who considered the play one of his best. He
subsequently undertook, but did not complete, a revision. It is the revised
version, never performed in the poet s lifetime, that has survived.

Xenophon, the general, known to elementary students of Greek as the
author of Anabasis, recorded his memories of Socrates, his friend and
master, in Memorabilia,, in an Apology of Socrates, and in a Symposium.
He wrote these works after the death of Socrates in an effort to defend
him, and it is a commonplace that his Socrates is more innocuous and less
exciting than Plato s.

Aristotle, Plato s great pupil, who was born fifteen years after the death
of Socrates, makes many interesting statements about Socrates in his philo
sophic works, and there is no reason to believe that he relied solely on
Plato s testimony.

Socrates was the son of Sophroniscus, a sculptor, and Phaenarete, a mid
wife. He is said to have done some sculpting in his youth and to have
fashioned some impressively simple and elegant statues of the Graces. About
his adult life and his death nothing could be said that has not been said
betterln the Apology, in the closing pages of the Phaedo, and in Alcibiajles

._. rc " " " " " " "

70 SOCRATES AND PLATO

great speech about him at the end of the Symposium. It is above all in
these three works that Plato has borne witness of the man who first taught
him philosophy. If Plato had never written anything else, his place would
still be secure as one of the world s greatest writers; and if we knew nothing
else about Socrates, his place, too, would be assured.

Plato s Apology is generally thought to be eminently faithful to yfoa f t
Socrates actually said when tried in 399 B.C., at the age of seventy, on
charges of impiety and corruption of the youth. The speech was delivered
in public and heard by a large audience; Plato has Socrates mention that
Plato was present; and there is no need to doubt the historical veracity of
the speech, at least in essentials.

In the CritOj not reprinted here, Plato has Grito visit Socrates in prison
to assure him that his escape from Athens has been well prepared and to
persuade him to consent to leave. That Socrates, in fact, refused to leave
is certain; whether he used the arguments Plato ascribes to him is much
less certain. In any case, anyone who has read the Apology will agree that,
after delivering that speech, Socrates could not very well have escaped.

The Meno is one of several earlyJEtetoriiQ dialogues that gives, at least
in a general way, a very fine and faithful picture of the manner in which
Socrates liked to practice the art of dialogue,. The work has the added
advantage of being both very brief and philosophically interesting.

That the account of Socrates death at the very end QfJ^PhaefoJb
^historically accurate is a matter of common agreement. It is almost as~widely
agreed that in the preceding conversation, Plato has put his own views
into the mouth of Socrates views significantly different from those held
by the real Socrates. A generation or more ago, John Burnet and A. E*
Taylor, two scholars of repute, argued that the real Socrates did hold the
views that Plato here ascribes to him. However, by the middle of the
twentieth century, there was a virtual unanimity among scholars that &
views the historic Socrates held about life after death are correctly rep
resented at the end of tfiq 4potogy I whereas the arguments for immortality
that Plato introduces in thft Phatdo^aw&j, great deal to Pythagoreanism t
which exerted an increasingly deep influence on Plato s thought. "(See the
preface to the Pythagorean selections, above.)

The Symposium certainly makes_jio claim to historic^acguracyj except
of Alcibiades^ ?E^^jwi_Socr^t: what is said there is "no

doubt true. As for the rest, we need not believe that Aristophanes, the

comic poet, really told the moving myth ascribed to him, or that the others

ever said what Plato makes them say. The Symposium is not history but a

work of art, and it shows us Plato s literary powers^at their peak. Even those

not interested in philosophy can read and reread and enjoy it; and chances

are that it may lead at least some to develop a strong feeling for, if not to

fall m love with, philosophy, This, dialog represents the most perfect

blend of philosophy and poetry ever achieved -

Only one other dialogue comes close to it in this respect the Phaedrus*

It too is reprinted without omission. One or another professional philosopher

SOCRATES AND PLATO 71

may wonder why two dialogues that deal with love had to be included. In
the first place, a volume of this sort is not intended primarily for profes
sional philosophers, but rather for those seeking an approach tojhilosophy;
and from that point of view the Apology, Meno, Symposium, and~ Phaedrus,
all of which are offered complete, can hardly be rivaled. Second, both the
Symposium and the Phaedrus involve a great deal besides love and are of
the utmost philosophic interest. Finally, these dialogues help to balance
the selections from the later Plato, which are rather difficult and possibly
discouraging for many beginners.

Plato was probably born in 428/7 B.C. He had two older brothers,
Adimantus and Glaucon, who appear in Plato s Republic, and a sister,
Potone. Plato was still a child when his father, Ariston, died, and his
mother, Perictione remarried her uncle, Pyrilampes, who is said to have
been a close friend of Pericles. From a previous marriage, Plato s stepfather
had a son, Demus, famous for his good looks; and from the second marriage,
to Plato s mother, another boy was born, Antiphon, who appears in Plato s
Parmenides.

Plato s mother had a brother, Charmides, and a cousin, Critias, who were
prominent in politics in the days of the oligarchy that ruled Athens at the
end of the Peloponnesian War. One of Plato s early dialogues bears the
name Charmides, and from this dialogue it appears that Charmides knew
Socrates quite well even before Plato was born. It is therefore possible that
Plato knew Socrates from his childhood. But Plato may well have been
close to twenty when he first came under the spell of Socrates, and as an
ancient story has it, tore up the poetry he had written hitherto and resolved
to devote his life to philosophy. Certainly, the death of Socrates made an
enormous impression on Plato, who appears to have felt the call to bear
witness for posterity of "the finest man" to cite Plato s Phaedo "of all
whom we came to know in his generation; the wisest too, and the most
righteous." Plato s early dialogues are as wonderful a monument as any man
ever constructed for his teacher.

It was the restored democracy that put Socrates to death, and animosity
against Socrates had certainly been nourished by his friendship with some
of the oligarchs. Still, there is no need to suppose that this was the "real"
reason, and that the charge of impiety and the corruption of the youth was
a mere pretext for this political animus. The account Socrates gives of
himself in the Apology fully accounts for the hatred that many^must have
felt against him. It also explains wEy^ato should have been almost as_
disillusioned with oligarchy (Socrates incriminates the oligarchs in no
uncertain "terms ) awjjH democracy (seeing that the democracy put Socrates
to death). Though Plato came from a most distinguished family and might
have been fairly expected to follow the example of some of his relatives by
going into politics, he decided definitely to abandon any such ambition in
favor of philosophy.

72 SOCRATES AND PLATO

His Republic^ which contains lengthy criticisms of oligarchy and democra
cy and pictures only despotism as a still worse form of government, belongs
to the same period of Plato s life as the Phaedrus, though the Phaedrus may
have been written a little later. The Republic is entirely omitted here, be
cause it would be a shame to excerpt it. Those who want to supplement the
present volume with one further text could hardly do better than to turn
to F. M. Gornford s translation, with commentary, of Plato s Republic
(Oxford University Press, both in hard cover and in paperback). The
English name of this dialogue is most unfortunate. Its Greek name is
politeia, which means citizenship, civic life, politics, state., or common
wealth; and in Latin this was rendered as res publica. In German, it is
called, with reasonable accuracy, Der Staat. The ideal city it describes is
emphatically no republic. Rather, it is ruled by philosopher kings, and
among its prominent features are censorship and a system of education
that would probably make it impossible for any Socrates either to develop
or to live there. Yet the arguments for this ideal are put into the mouth
of Socrates. No irony appears to be intended. In the Republic and in those
other late dialogues in which he appears, Socrates generally vofceSL Plato s*
views, not those of the historic Socrates. And if occasionally Plato s own
views are in doubt in some of the late dialogues, which are impassioned
invitations to reflection rather than straightforward expositions of some
doctrine, it is still agreed that what is said by Socrates is not to be ascribed
to the historic Socrates.

Of Plato s late dialogues, five are here represented by long selections. The
Patmenides marks a crisis in the development of Batons thought, This is
discussed briefly above, in the preface to the selections from Parmenides.
The last part of the dialogue is omitted here because it is the most abstruse
and difficult thing Plato ever wrote, and interpretations of it differ widely-
The T&SSgMto* deals with the problem of knowledge and contains an
interesting discussion of some of the ideas of Protagoras, the Sophist. Besides
much technical philosophy, it also offers some very charming digressions,
arcdjhe conclusion of the dialogue, with its genuinely Socratic spirit, rep
resents one of the higfrlffhts in Plato s works.

The selections from the Sg&hisL. a fine example of Plato s later dialectic^
is probably the most difficult material in this part of the book, but reward
ing for the serious student.

The passages from the 7%iMM* and the Laws summarize some of
Plato s theology though they deal with other things as well. Although
Socrates appears in the Timaeus, most of the talking is done not by him,
but by the man whose ^me the dialogue bears. Timaeus tells how the
TilS^J!^^^^ and his account is heavily influenced by Pythagorean
doctrines. IjUhe^ear^^ this was the only Platonic dialogue

known, and it. exerted an enormous influence.

The Laws was Pfcto s lasTwork, written when he was eighty, Among his
other dialogues, only the Republic equals it in length. The city described in

SOCRATES AND PLATO 73

the Republic is said in a famous passage to be an ideal "a pattern set up
in the heavens . . . But whether it exists anywhere or ever will exist, is no
matter" (592) . This ideal city is governed by ideally wise men, without the
benefit of laws. In the Laws, Plato outlines the best feasible city, and this
is ruled by laws. For that reason, some interpreters consider it a significant
step in the direction of democracy. But the selection offered here from the
justly famous tenth book (there are twelve books in all) shows how far
Plato was from the spirit of Jeffersonian, and by no means only Jeffersonian,
democracy.

It was Plato who first introduced into Western thought along with a
great deal else the twin notions of dogma and heresy. It was he who first
tried to offer precise ^formulations of central and indispensable ^loctrinesj
and it was he, too, who first proposed a painstakingly graduated penal code
for dealing with all those who_might differ with, one or another of these
dogmas. Aquinas ideas about the treatment of heretics are better under
stood against the background of Plato s. And Aquinas 3 theology as welLas-.
Aristotle s is also best considered against the background of Plato s.

In addition to the dialogues, we have a number of letters that are said
to have been written by Plato. There has been a good deal of controversy
about their authenticity, but the seventh letter, which is at least as interest
ing and significant as any, is generally conceded to be genuine. When Plato
wrote it, he was about seventy-five.

The major events of his later life, alluded to in the seventh letter, revolve
around two cities: Syracuse, in Sicily, and Athens. In 367 B.C., Dionysius
I, tyrant of Syracuse, died and was succeeded by Dionysius II. Years before,
Plato had gained the friendship and devotion of Dion, son-in-law of Diony
sius I and brother-in-law of his successor. Dion called Plato to Syracuse to
train Dionysius II, then thirty years old and unprepared for the tasks that
suddenly confronted him. After a few months, however, the young tyrant
sent away Dion as well as Plato, who returned to Athens. Plato s attempts
to reconcile the brothers-in-law failed; but in 361/60, Plato made a second
voyage to Syracuse. The tyrant had kept up a correspondence with him,
and Plato thought it possible at this time to draft a constitution for a federa
tion of Greek cities. At that time, Sicily was colonized not only by the
Greeks but also by the Carthaginians, and the Greeks felt threatened by
their rivals. Again there were intrigues, and Plato returned to Athens in 360.
Three years later, Dion "liberated" Syracuse, but was later murdered. Plato
still wrote two further letters to the remnants of Dion s party, and the
"seventh letter" is one of these. It seems to have been written in 353 B.C.

In another great project, Plato succeeded. He founded a school in Athens.
which came to be known a? the Academy. One might call it the worths
first university, and it endured as a center of higher learning for about 1,000
years, until a Christian emperor closed it in A.D. 529. In 367 B.C., young
Aristotle entered the Academy and stayed on until after Plato died at
eighty in 348/7 B.C.

74 SOCRATES AND PLATO

The following translations have been used: for the Apology, Symposium,
and Laws, those of Benjamin Jowett; for the Meno, that of W. K. G.
Guthrie (Penguin Books) ; for the Phaedo and Phaedrus, those of R. Hack-
forth (Cambridge University Press) ; and for the Parmenides, Theaetetus,
Sophist, and Timaeus those of F. M. Cornford (Routledge & Kegan Paul).

Towett s translations are of the highest literary quality: they have some
of the magnificence of the King James Bible without imposing any com
parable difficulties on the modern reader. In fact, neither Cornford s ver
sions nor Hackforth s are so immensely readable. In the earlier dialogues,
where Plato s literary art is at its height, Jowett s beautiful translations
appear most appropriate. But in most of the Phaedo and in the later dia
logues, literary genius, though by no means altogether absent, tends to
recede in importance; arguments become more and more central, the
precise rendering of various concepts is frequently crucial, and it becomes
essential to take into account the latest research. In this field, F. M. Corn-
ford established himself as by far the most commanding figure. His trans
lations, with commentary, of the Parmenides, (in Plato and Parmenides,
1939), of the Theaetetus and Sophist (in Plato s Theory of Knowledge,
1934), and of the Timaeus (in Plato s Cosmology, 1937) are models of
graceful, lucid, and informative scholarship; it is a delight to be able to
offer his translations here.

After Cornford s death, R. Hackforth undertook the task of dealing
similarly with some of the other dialogues, and his versions of the Phaedo
and Phaedrus have met with the same kind of acclaim. Permission to use
them here greatly enhances the value of the present volume; and^I am
delighted that I have received permission to include Guthrie s version of
the Meno in the second edition,

A few of Cornford s and Hackforth s footnotes have been retained, some
because they are so very helpful, others to give at least some idea of the
difficulties with which Plato scholars have to contend. Most of the footnotes
and all of the commentary have been omitted. The marginal page numbers
are the same in all scholarly editions, whether Greek, English, German, or
French and are used in citing Plato in scholarly works. They are therefore
indispensable for serious students.

Plato s letters are most conveniently consulted in the bilingual edition
(Greek text and English translation on facing pages) in The Loeb Classical
Library (Harvard University Press) * All the translations in this series are
very scholarly, and for the portions selected from the seventh letter, that of
the Rev. R. G. Bury has been used.

Those seeking further help with the dialogues translated by Cornford
and Hackforth could not do better than to turn to the original editions,
which feature excellent commentaries. These commentaries are not written
primarily for beginners, but rather for serious students and fellow scholars.

Books about Plato are, of course, legion, Those seeking a relatively simple,
comprehensive, but high-level volume to assist them will find help aplenty

SOCRATES AND PLATO 75

in A. E. Taylor s Plato (Meridian Books, paperback) , to which I am in
debted for some of the material in Section II of this preface. Taylor s little
book on Socrates is less good: the author tends to make an Anglican of
Socrates.

Any detailed commentary on the following selections is impossible in the
confines of the present volume. The point here is to offer the texts.

But what of Plato s influence? At this point, a single sentence may suf
fice: Alfred North Whitehead, one of the outstanding philosophers of the
twentieth century, said in one of his major works, Process and Reality (1929,
p. 63) : "The safest general characterization of the European philosophical
tradition jsJthat it consists of a series of footnotes to Plato." ~

SOCRATES AND
THE EARLIER PLATO

APOLOGY (complete)

How you, O Athenians, have been
affected by my accusers, I cannot tell;
but I know that they almost made me
forget who I was so persuasively did
they speak; and yet they have hardly
uttered a word of truth. But of the many
falsehoods told by them, there was one
which quite amazed me; I mean when
they said that you should be upon your
guard and not allow yourselves to be
deceived by the force of my eloquence.
To say this, when they were certain to
be detected as soon as I opened my lips
and proved myself to be anything but a
great speaker, did indeed appear to me
most shameless unlessjby the force of

eloquence they mean the force of
tor_ti such isjheir meaning, I admit that
riim eloquent jbut in iiow different a
way from theirs! Well, as I was saying,
they have scarcely spoken the truth at
all; but from me you shall hear the
whole truth: not, however, delivered
after their manner in a set oration duly

ornamented with words and phrases. No,
by heaven! but I shall use the words
and arguments which occur to me at
the moment; for I am confident in the
justice of my cause; 1 at my time of life
I ought not to be appearing before you,
O men of Athens, in the character of a
juvenile orator let no one expect it of
me. And I must beg of you to grant me
a favour: If I defend myself in my
accustomed manner, and you hear me
using the words which I have been in
the habit of using in the agora, at the
tables of the money-changers, or any
where else, I would ask you not to be
surprised, and not to interrupt me on
this account, For I am more than seventy
years of age, and appearing now for the
first time in a court of law, I am quite
a stranger to the language of the place;
and therefore I would have you regard

l Or, I am certain that I am right in
taking this course,

APOLOGY

me as if I were really a stranger, whom
you would excuse if he spoke in his na
tive tongue, and after the fashion of his
country: Am I making an unfair [18]
request of you? Never mind the manner,
which may or may not be good; but
think only of the truth of my words, and
give heed to that: let the speaker speak
truly and the judge decide justly.

And first, I have to reply to the older
charges and to my first accusers, and
then I will go on to the later ones. For
of old I have had many accusers, who
have accused me falsely to you during
many years; and I am more afraid of
them than of Anytus and his associates,
who are dangerous, too, in their own
way. But far more dangerous are the
others, who began when you were chil
dren, and took possession of your minds
with their falsehoods, telling of one
Socrates, a wise man, who speculated
about the heaven above, and searched
into the earth beneath, and made the
worse appear the better cause. The dis
seminators of this tale are the accusers
whom I dread; for their hearers are apt
to fancy that such enquirers do not be
lieve in the existence of the gods. And
they are many, and their charges against
me are of ancient date, and they were
made by them in the days when you
were more impressible than you are now
in childhood, or it may have been in
y OU th and the cause when heard went
by default, for there was none to answer.
And hardest of all, I do not know and
cannot tell the names of my accusers;
unless in the chance case of a Comic
poet. All who from envy and malice
have persuaded you some of them hav
ing first convinced themselves all this
class of men are most difficult to deal
with, for I cannot have them up here,
and cross-examine them, and therefore
I must simply fight with shadows in my
own defence, and argue when there is
no one who answers. I will ask you then
to assume with me, as I was saying,

that my opponents are of two kinds;
one recent, the other ancient: and I
hope that you will see the propriety of
my answering the latter first, for these
accusations you heard long before the
others, and much oftener.

Well, then, I must make my defence,
and endeavour to clear away in a [19]
short time, a slander which has lasted a
long time. May I succeed, if to succeed
be for my good and yours, or likely to
avail me in rny cause! The task is not an
easy one; I quite understand the nature
of it. And so leaving the event with
God, in obedience to the law I will now
make my defence.

I will begin at the beginning, and
ask what is the accusation which has
given rise to the slander of me, and in
fact has encouraged Meletus to prefer
this charge against me. Well, what do
the slanderers say? They shall be my
prosecutors, and I will sum up their
words in an affidavit: "Socrates is an
evil-doer, and a curious person, who
searches into things under the earth and
in heaven, and he makes the worse ap
pear the better cause; and he teaches the
aforesaid doctrines to others." Such is
the nature of the accusation: it is just
what you have yourselves seen in the
comedy of Aristophanes, 2 who has in
troduced a man whom he calls Socrates,
going about and saying that he walks
in air, and talking a deal of nonsense
concerning matters of which I do not
pretend to know either much or little
not that I mean to speak disparagingly
of any one who is a student of natural
philosophy. I should be very sorry if
Meletus could bring so grave a charge
against me. But the simple truth is, O
Athenians, that I have nothing to do
with physical speculations. Very many
of those here present are witnesses to
the truth of this, and to them I appeal.
Speak then, you who have heard me,

2 Aristoph., Clouds, 225 ff.

PLATO

and tell your neighbours whether any
of you have ever known me hold forth in
few words or in many upon such mat
ters You hear their answer. And

from what they say of this part of the
charge you will be able to judge of the
truth of the rest.

As little foundation is there for the
report that I am a teacher, and take
money; this accusation has no more truth
in it than the other. Although, ifjijnan
were really able to instruct mankind^ to
i&ivF"~ monev tor giving instruction
would, Tn my opinion, be an honourJa
him. Therels Gorgias ofXeontium, and
Proclicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis,
who go the round of the cities, and are
able to persuade the young men to leave
their own citizens by whom they might
be taught for nothing, and come to [20]
them whom they not only pay, but are
thankful if they may be allowed to pay
them. There is at this time a Parian
philosopher residing in Athens, of whom
I have heard; and I came to hear of
him in this way: I came across a man
who has spent a world of money on the
Sophists, Callias, the son of Hipponicus,
and knowing that he had sons, I asked
him: "Callias," I said, "if your two sons
were foals or calves, there would be no
difficulty in finding some one to put over
them; we should hire a trainer of horses,
or a farmer probably, who would im
prove and perfect them in their own
proper virtue and excellence; but as they
are human beings, whom are you think
ing of placing over them? Is there any
one who understands human and politi
cal virtue? You must have thought about
the matter, for you have sons; is there
any one?" "There is," he said, "Who is
he?" said I; "and of what country? and
what does he charge?" "Evenus the
Parian," he replied; "he is the man, and
his charge is five minae." Happy is
Evenus, I said to myself, if he really has
this wisdom, and teaches at such a mode
rate charge. Had I the same, I should

have been very proud and conceited;
but the truth is that I have no knowl
edge of the kind.

I dare say, Athenians, that some one
among you will reply, "Yes, Socrates,
but what is the origin of these accusa
tions which are brought against you;
there must have been something
strange which you have been doing? All
these rumours and this talk about you
would never have arisen if you had been
like other men: tell us, then, what is
the cause of them, for we should be
sorry to judge hastily of you." Now I
regard this as a fair challenge, and I will
endeavour to explain to you the reason
why I am called wise and have such an
evil fame. Please to attend then. And
although some of you may think that I
am joking, I declare that I will tell you
the entire truth. Men of Athens, this
reputation of mine has come of a certain
sort of wisdom which I possess, If you
ask me what kind of wisdom, I reply,
wisdom such as may perhaps be attained
by man, for to that extent I am inclined
to believe that I am wise; whereas the
persons of whom I was speaking have a
superhuman wisdom, which I may fail
to describe, because I have it not mf-
self ; and he who says that I have, speaks
falsely, and is taking away my character.
And here, O men of Athens, I must beg
you not to interrupt me, even if I seem
to say something extravagant, For the
word which I will speak is not mine. I
will refer you to a witness who is worthy
of credit; that witness shall be the God of
Delphi he will tell you about my wis
dom, if I have any, and of what sort it
is, You must have known Chaerephon;
he was early a friend of mine, and also
a friend of yours, for he shared in the
recent exile of the people, and re- [21]
turned with you. Well, Chaerephon, as
you know, was very impetuous in all his
doings, and he went to Delphi and
boldly asked the oracle to tell him
whether as I was saying, I must beg

APOLOGY

you not to interrupt he asked the oracle
to tell him whether any one was wiser
than I was, and the Pythian prophetess
answered^ that there was no man wiser.
Ghaerephon is dead himself; but his
brother, who is in court, will confirm
the truth of what I am saying.

Why do I mention this? Because I
am going to explain to you why I have
such an evil name. When I heard the
answer, I said to myself, What can the
god mean? and what is the interpretation
of his riddle? for I know that I have no
wisdom, small or great. WJtiat then can
he mean when he says that I am the
wisest of men? And yet he is a god, and
cannot lie; that would be against his
nature. After long consideration, I
thought of a method of trying the ques
tion. I reflected that if I could only find
a man wiser than myself, then I might
go to the god with a refutation in my
hand. I should say to him, "Here is a
man who is wiser than I am; but you
said that I was the wisest." Accordingly
I went to one who had the reputation
of wisdom, and observed him his name
I need not mention; he was a politician
whom I selected for examination and
the result was as follows: When I be
gan to talk with him, I could not help
thinking that he was not really wise,
although he was thought wise by many,
and still wiser by himself; and there
upon I tried to^egplflm tp him that Jie

thought himself wise, but yras not really
wise; and the consequence was that he
hatecl me, and his enmity was shared by
several who were present and heard me.
So I left him, saying to myself, as I went
away: Well, although I do not suppose
that either of us knows anything really
beautiful and good, I am better off than
he is, for he knows nothing^ and .thinks
that lie knows ; I neither know ^nor think
that I know,. In this latter particular,
then, I seem to have slightly the advant
age of him. Then I went to another who
had still higher pretensions to wisdom,

and my conclusion was exactly the
same. Whereupon I made another
enemy of him, and of many others be
sides him.

Then I went to one man after another,
being^ not unconsicous of ...the... enmity
which I provoked, and I lamented and
feared this : but necessity was laid upon
me, the word^of God r I thought ought
to be considered- first. And I said to
myself, Go I must to all who appear to
know, and find out the meaning of the
oracle. And I swear to you, Athenians,
by the dog I swear! for I must [22]
tell you the truth the result of my mis
sion was just this : I found that the men
most in repute were all but the most
f polish j and that^ others less esteemgJ
^vy^ie^really wiser and better. I will tell
you the tale of my wanderings and of
the "Herculean" labours, as I may call
them, which I endured only to find at
last the oracle irrefutable. After the po
liticians, I went to the poets; tragic,
dithyramblic, and all sorts. And there, I
said to myself, you will be instantly de
tected; now you will find out that you
are more ignorant than they are. Accord
ingly, I took them some of the most
elaborate passages in their own writings,
and asked what was the meaning of
them thinking that they would tea,ch
me something. Will you believe me? I
am almost ashamed to confess the truth,
but I must say that there is hardly a per
son present who would not have talked
better about their poetry than they did
themselves. Then I knew that not by_
wisdom do poets write ppetry ? but by a
sorT ogjuand insiratiorj.^ they are

like diviners or soothsayers who also say
many fine things, but do not understand
the meaning of them. The poets ap
peared to me to be much in the same
case; and I further observed that upon
the strength of their poetry they believed
themselves to be the wisest of men in
other things in which they were not wise.
So I departed, conceiving myself to be

PLATO

superior to them for the same^ reason
that I was superior to the politicians.

At last I went to the artisans, for I
was conscious that I knew nothing at
all, as I may say, and I was sure that
they knew many fine things; and here
I was not mistaken, for they did know
many things of which I was ignorant,
and in this they certainly were wiser than
I was. But I observed that even the good
artisans fell into the same error as the
poetsj- because they were good work
men they thought that they also knew
aU sorts of high matters, and this Defect
in them overshadowed their wisdom ;
and therefore I asked myself on behalf
of the oracle, whether I would like to
be as I was, neither having their knowl
edge nor their ignorance, or like them in
both; and I made answer to myself and
to the oracle that I was better off as I
was.

This inquisition has led to my having
many enemies of the worst and most
dangerous kind, and has given occasion
also to many calumnies. And I am [23]
called wise, for my hearers always im
agine that I myself possess the wisdom
which I find wanting in others: but the
truth is, O men of Athens, that God only
is_wisej and by his answer he intends
to show that the wisdom of men is worth
little or nothing; he is not speaking of
Socrates, he is only using my name by
way of illustration, as if he said, He, O
men, is the wisest, who, Jike

knows that his wisdoirilislr^
nothing. ^And so I go aboutjthe world*
obeHient to the god, "ancTlisarch" and
make enquiry into the wisdom of any
one, whether citizen or stranger, who ap
pears to be wise; and if he is not wise,
then in vindication of the oracle I show
him that he is not wise; and my occupa
tion quite absorbs me, and I have no
time to give either to any public matter
of interest or to any concern of my own,
but I am in utter poverty by reason of
my devotion to

tn^jo, come about me of their ownjac-
cord; ^they like t(TlTea.f~the pretenders
examined, and they often imitate me,
and proceed to examine others ; there are
plenty of persons, as they quickly discov
er, who think that they know something,
but really know little or nothing; and
then those who are e gggjf^j^Vj^^
instead of being angr^Twith tKemselves
flrfi ano-ry with me: This confounded
Socrates, they say; this villainous jnis-
leader of youth! and then if somebody
asks them, Why, what evil does he
practise or teach? they do not know, and
cannot tell; but in order that they may
not appear to be at a loss, they repeat the
ready-made charges which are used
against all philosophers about teaching
things up in the clouds and under the
earth, and having no gods, and making
the worse appear the better cause; for
they do not like to confess that their
pretence of knowledge has been detected
which is the truth; and as they are
numerous and ambitious and energetic,
and are drawn up in battle array and
have persuasive tongues, they have filled
your ears with their loud and inveterate
calumnies. And this is the reason why
my three accusers, Mcletus and Anytus
and Lycon, have set upon me; Meletus,
who has a quarrel with me on behalf of
the poets; Anytus, on behalf of the
craftsmen and politicians ; Lycon, on be
half of the rhetoricians; and as I [24]
said at the beginning, I cannot expect to
get rid of such a mass of calumny all in
a moment. And this, O men of Athens,
is the truth and the whole truth; I have
concealed nothing, I have dissembled
nothing, /my yet J[ knoyv that -n*y

makes ^

the _trujj}? -Hence has

There is another thing :-
of the richer classes, who have not much

arisen the prejudice against me; and this
is the reason of it, as you will find
out either in this or in any future en
quiry.

I have said enough in my defence
against the first class of my accusers; I
turn to the second class* They are headed

APOLOGY

by Meletus, that good man and true
lover of his country, as he calls himself.
Against these, too, I must try to make a
defence. Let their affidavit be read; it
contains something of this kind: It says
that Socrates is a doer of evil, who cor
rupts the youth; and who does not be
lieve in the gods of the state, but has
other new divinities of his own. Such is
the charge; and now let us examine the
particular counts. He says that I am a
doer of evil, and corrupt the youth; but
I say, O men of Athens, that Meletus is
a doer of evil, in that he pretends to be
in earnest when he is only in jest, and is
so eager to bring men to trial from a
pretended zeal and interest about mat
ters in which he really never had the
smallest interest. And the truth of this
I will endeavour to prove to you.

Gome hither, Meletus, and let me ask
a question of you. You think a great deal
about the improvement of youth?

Yes, I do.

Tell the judges, then, who is their im
prover; for you must know, as you have
taken the pains to discover their cor-
rupter, and are citing and accusing me
before them. Speak, then, and tell the
judges who their improver is. Observe,
Meletus, that you are silent, and have
nothing to say. But is not this rather
disgraceful, and a very considerable
proof of what I was saying, that you have
no interest in the matter. Speak up,
friend, and tell us who their improver is.

The laws.

But that, my good sir, is not my mean
ing. I want to know who the person is,
who, in the first place, knows the laws.

The judges, Socrates, who are present
in court.

What, do you mean to say, Meletus,
that they are able to instruct and im
prove youth?

Certainly they are.

What, all of them, or some only and
not others?

All of them.

By the goddess Here, that is good
news! There are plenty of improvers,

then. And what do you say of the au
dience, do they improve them? [25]

Yes, they do.

And the senators?

Yes, the senators improve them.

But perhaps the members of the as
sembly corrupt them? or do they too
improve them?

They improve them.

Then every Athenian improves and
elevates them; all with the exception of
myself; and I alone am their corrupter?
Is that what you affirm?

That is what I stoutly affirm.

I am very unfortunate if you are right.
But suppose I ask you a question: How
about horses? Does one man do them
harm and all the world good? Is not the
exact opposite the truth? One man is
able to do them good, or at least not
many; the trainer of horses, that is to
say, does them good, and others who
have to do with them rather injure
them? Is not that true, Meletus, of
horses, or of any other animals? Most
assuredly it is; whether you and Anytus
say yes or no. Happy indeed would be
the condition of youth if they had one
corrupter only, and all the rest of the
world were their improvers. But you,
Meletus, have sufficiently shown that you
never had a thought about the young:
your carelessness is seen in your not car
ing about the very things which you
bring against me.

And now, Meletus, I will ask you an
other question by Zeus I will: Which
is better, to live among bad citizens, or
among good ones? Answer, friend, I say;
the question is one which may be easily
answered. Do not the good do their
neighbours good, and the bad do them
evil?

Certainly.

And is there any one who would
rather be injured than benefited by those
who live with him? Answer, my good
friend, the law requires you to answer
does any one like to be injured?

Certainly not.

And when you accuse me of corrupt-

PLATO

ing and deteriorating the youth, do you
allege that I corrupt them intentionally
or unintentionally?

Intentionally, I say.
But you have just admitted that the
good do their neighbours good, and the
evil do them evil. Now, is that a truth
which your superior wisdom has re
cognized thus early in life, and am I, at
my age, in such darkness and ignorance
as not to know that if a man with whom
I have to live is corrupted by me, I am
very likely to be harmed by him; and yet
I corrupt him, and intentionally, too so
you say, although neither I nor any other
human being is ever likely to be con
vinced by you. But either I do [26]
not corrupt them, or I corrupt them un
intentionally; and on either view of the
case you lie. If my offence is uninten
tional, the law has no cognizance of
unintentional offences: you ought to
have taken me privately, and warned
and admonished me; for if I had been
better advised, I should have left off
doing what I only did unintentionally
no doubt I should; but you would have
nothing to say to me and refused to
teach me. And now you bring me up in
this court, which is a place not of in
struction, but of punishment.

It will be very clear to you, Athenians,
as I was saying, that Meletus has no
care at all, great or small, about the
matter. But still I should like to know,
Meletus, in what I am affirmed to cor
rupt the young. I suppose you mean, as
I infer from your indictment, that I
teach them not to acknowledge the gods
which the state acknowledges, but some
other new divinities or spiritual agencies
in their stead. These are the lessons by
which I corrupt the youth, as you say.

Yes, that I say emphatically.

Then, by the gods, Meletus, of whom
we are speaking, tell me and the court,
in somewhat plainer terms, what you
mean! for I do not as yet understand
whether you affirm that I teach other
men to acknowledge some gods, and

therefore that I do believe in gods, and
am not an entire atheist this you do
not lay to my charge, but only you say
that they are not the same gods which
the city recognizes the charge is that
they are different gods. Or, do you mean
that I am an atheist simply, and a
teacher of atheism?

I mean the latter that you are a
complete atheist.

What an extraordinary statement!
Why do you think so, Meletus? Do you
mean that I do not believe in the god
head of the sun or moon, like other
men?

I assure you, judges, that he does not:
for he says that the sun is stone, and the
moon earth.

Friend Meletus, you think that you
are accusing Anaxagoras: and you have
but a bad opinion of the judges, if you
fancy them illiterate to such a degree as
not to know that these doctrines are
found in the books of Anaxagoras the
Clazomenian, which are full of them*
And so, forsooth,, the youth are said to be
taught them by Socrates, when there are
not unfrequently exhibitions of them at
the theatre 3 (price of admission one
drachma at the most) ; and they might
pay their money, and laugh at Socrates
if he pretends to father these extraordi
nary views. And so, Meletus, you really
think that I do not believe in any god?

I swear by Zeus that you believe ab
solutely in none at all

Nobody will believe you, Meletus, and
I am pretty sure that you do not believe
yourself. I cannot help thinking, men of
Athens, that Meletus is reckless and im
pudent, and that he has written this in
dictment in a spirit of mere wantonness
and youthful bravado. Has he not [27]
compounded a riddle, thinking to try
me? He said to himself: I shall see
whether the wise Socrates will discover

3 Probably In allusion to Ariitophane* who
caricatured, and to Euripides who borrowed
the notioni of Anaxagoras, at well ai to
other dramatic poets.

APOLOGY

my facetious contradiction, or whether I
shall be able to deceive him and the rest
of them. For he certainly does appear to
me to contradict himself in the indict
ment as much as if he said that Socrates
is guilty of not believing in the gods, and
yet of believing in them but this is not
like a person who is in earnest.

I should like you, O men of Athens,
to join me in examining what I con
ceive to be his inconsistency; and do
you, Meletus, answer. And I must re
mind the audience of my request that
they would not make a disturbance if I
speak in my accustomed manner:

Did ever man, Meletus, believe in the
existence of human things, and not
of human beings? ... I wish, men of
Athens, that he would answer, and not
be always trying to get up an interrup
tion. Did ever any man believe in horse
manship, and not in horses? or in flute-
playing, and not in flute-players? No,
my friend; I will answer to you and to
the court, as you refuse to answer for
yourself. There is no man who ever did.
But now please to answer the next ques
tion: Can a man believe in spiritual and
divine agencies, and not in spirits or
demigods?

He cannot.

How lucky I am to have extracted that
answer, by the assistance of the court!
But then you swear in the indictment
that I teach and believe in divine or
spiritual agencies (new or old, no matter
for that) i at any rate, I believe in spiri
tual agencies, so you say and swear in
the affidavit; and yet if I believe in
divine beings, how can I help believing
in spirits or demigods; must I not? To
be sure I must; and therefore I may as
sume that your silence gives consent.
Now what are spirits or demigods? are
they not either gods or the sons of gods?

Certainly they are.

But this is what I call the facetious
riddle invented by you: the demigods or
spirits are gods, and you say first that I
do not believe in gods, and then again

that I do believe in gods; that is, if I
believe in demigods. For if the demigods
are the illegitimate sons of gods, whether
by the nymphs or by any other mothers,
of whom they are said to be the sons
what human being will ever believe that
there are no gods if they are the sons of
gods? You might as well affirm the ex
istence of mules, and deny that of horses
and asses. Such nonsense, Meletus, could
only have been intended by you to make
trial of me. You have put this into the
indictment because you had nothing real
of which to accuse me. But no one who
has a particle of understanding will ever
be convinced by you that the same men
can believe in divine and superhuman
things, and yet not believe that there are
gods and demigods and heroes. [28]
I have said enough in answer to the
charge of Meletus: any elaborate de
fence is unnecessary; but I know only
too well how many are the enmities
which I have incurred, and this is what
will be my destruction if I am destroyed;
not Meletus, nor yet Anytus, but the
envy and detraction of the world, which
has been the death of many good men,
and will probably be the death of many
more; there is no danger of my being
the last of them.

Some one will say: And are you not
ashamed, Socrates, of a course of life
which is likely to bring you to an un
timely end? To him I may fairly an
swer: There you are mistaken: a man
who is good for anything ought not to
calculate the chance of living or dying;
he ought only to consider whether in
doing anything he is doing right or
wrong acting the part of a good man
or of a bad. Whereas, upon your view,
the heroes who fell at Troy were not
good for much, and the son of Thetis
above all, who altogether despised
danger in comparison with disgrace; and
when he was so eager to slay Hector, his
goddess mother said to him, that if he
avenged his companion Patroclus, and
slew Hector, he would die himself

PLATO

"Fate/ 9 she said, in these or the like
words , "waits for you next after Hec
tor"; he, receiving this warning, utterly
despised danger and death, and instead
of fearing them, feared rather to live in
dishonour, and not to avenge his friend.
"Let me die forthwith," he replies, "and
be avenged of my enemy, rather than
abide here by the beaked ships, a laugh
ing-stock and a burden of the earth."
Had Achilles any thought of death and
danger? For wherever a man s place is,
whether the place which he has chosen
or that in which he has been placed by
a commander, there he ought to remain
in the hour of danger; he should not
think of death or of anything but of
disgrace. And this, O men of Athens, is
a true saying.

Strange, indeed, would be my con
duct, O men of Athens, if I who, when
I was ordered by the generals whom you
chose to command me at Potidaea and
Amphipolis and Delium, remained
where they placed me, like any other
man, facing death if now, when, as I
conceive and imagine, God orders me to
fulfil the philosopher s mission of search
ing into myself and other men, I were
to desert my post through fear of [29]
death, or any other fear; that would
indeed be strange, and I might justly be
arraigned in court for denying the ex
istence of the gods, if I disobeyed the
oracle because I was afraid of death,
fancying that I was wise when I was not
wise. For the fear of death is indeed the
pretence of wisdom, and not real wis
dom, being a pretence of knowing the
unknown; and no one knows whether
death, which men in their fear appre
hend to be the greatest evil, may not be
the greatest good. Is not this ignorance
of a disgraceful sort, the ignorance which
is the conceit that a man knows what he
does not know? And in this respect only
I believe myself to differ from men in
general, and may perhaps claim to be
wiser than they are: that whereas I
know but little of the world below,
I do not suppose that I know: but

I do know that injustice and dis
obedience to a better, whether God or
man, is evil and dishonourable, and I
will never fear or avoid a possible good
rather than a certain evil. And there
fore if you let me go now, and are not
convinced by Anytus, who said that since
I had been prosecuted I must be put to
death: (or if not that I ought never to
have been prosecuted at all) ; and that
if I escape now, your sons will all be ut
terly ruined by listening to my words
if you say to me, Socrates, this time we
will not mind Anytus, and you shall be
let off, but upon one condition, that you
are not to enquire and speculate in this
way any more, and that if you are
caught doing so again you shall die; if
this was the condition on which you let
me go, I should reply: Men of Athens,
I honour and love you; but I shall obey
God rather than you, and while I have
life and strength I shall never cease from
the practice and teaching of philosophy,
exhorting any one whom I meet and say
ing to him after my manner: You, my
friend, a citizen of the great and
mighty and wise city of Athens, are
you not ashamed of heaping up the
greatest amount of money and honour
and reputation, and caring so little about
wisdom and truth and the greatest im
provement of the soul, which you never
regard or heed at all? And if the person
with whom I am arguing, says: Yes, but
I do care; then I do not leave him or let
him go at once; but I proceed to interro
gate and examine and cross-examine
him, and if I think that he has no virtue
in him, but only says that he has, I re
proach him with undervaluing the great
er, and overvaluing the less, And I [30]
shall repeat the same words to every one
whom I meet, young and old, citizen and
alien, but especially to the citizens inas
much as they are my brethren. For know
that this is the command of God ; and I
believe that no greater good has ever
happened in the state than my service
to the God, For I do nothing but go
about persuading you all, old and young

APOLOGY

alike, not to take thought for your per
sons or your properties, but first and
chiefly to care about the greatest im
provement of the soul. I tell you that
virtue is not given by money, but that
from virtue comes money and every
other good of man, public as well as pri
vate. This is my teaching, and if this is
the doctrine which corrupts the youth, I
am a mischievous person, if any one says
that this is not my teaching, he is speak
ing an untruth. Wherefore, O men of
Athens, I say to you, do as Anytus bids
or not as Anytus bids, and either acquit
me or not; but whichever you do, under
stand that I shall never alter my ways,
not even if I have to die many times.

Men of Athens, do not interrupt, but
hear me; there was an understanding
between us that you should hear me to
the end: I have something more to say,
at which you may be inclined to cry
out; but I believe that to hear me will
be good for you, and therefore I beg
that you will not cry out. I would have
you know, that if you kill such an one
as I am, you will injure yourselves
more than you will injure me. Nothing
will injure me, not Meletus nor yet
Anytus they cannot, for a bad man is
not permitted to injure a better than
himself. I do not deny that Anytus
may, perhaps, kill him, or drive him
into exile, or deprive him of civil rights;
and he may imagine, and others may
imagine, that he is inflicting a great
injury upon him: but there I do not
agree. For the evil of doing as he is doing
the evil of unjustly taking away the life
of another is greater far.

And now, Athenians, I am not going
to argue for my own sake, as you may
think, but for yours, that you may not
sin against the God by condemning me,
who am his gift to you. For if you kill
me you will not easily find a successor
to me, who, if I may use such a ludi
crous figure of speech, am a sort of
gadfly, given to the state by God; and
the state is a great and noble steed who
is tardy in his motions owing to his

very size, and requires to be stirred into
life. I am that gadfly which God [31]
has attached to the state, and all day
long and in all places am always fast
ening upon you, arousing and persuad
ing and reproaching you. You will not
easily find another like me, and there
fore I would advise you to spare me.
I dare say that you may feel out of
temper (like a person who is suddenly
awakened from sleep), and you think
that you might easily strike me dead
as Anytus advises, and then you would
sleep on for the remainder of your
lives unless God in his care of you sent
you another gadfly. When I say that
I am given to you by God, the proof
of my mission is this: if I had been
like other men, I should not have
neglected all my own concerns or
patiently seen the neglect of them dur
ing all these years, and have been do
ing yours, coming to you individually
like a father or elder brother, exhort
ing you to regard virtue; such conduct,
I say, would be unlike human nature.
If I had gained anything, or if my ex
hortations had been paid, there would
have been some sense in my doing so,
but now, as you will perceive, not even
the impudence of my accusers dares to
say that I have ever exacted or sought
pay of any one; of that they have no
witness. And I have a sufficient wit
ness to the truth of what I say my
poverty.

Some one may wonder why I go
about in private giving advice and busy
ing myself with the concerns of others,
but do not venture to come forward in
public and advise the state. I will tell
you why. You have heard me speak at
sundry times and in divers places of an
oracle or sign which comes to me, and
is the divinity which Meletus ridicules
in the indictment. This sign, which is
a kind of voice, first began to come to
me when I was a child; it always for
bids but never commands me to do any
thing which I am going to do. This is
what deters me from being a politician.

PLATO

And rightly, as I think. For I am cer
tain, O men of Athens, that if I had
engaged in politics, I should have
perished long ago, and done no good
either to you or to myself. And do not
be offended at my telling you the
truth: for the truth is, that no man
who goes to war with you or any other
multitude, honestly striving against the
many lawless and unrighteous deeds
which are done in a state, will save [32]
his life; he who will fight for the right, if
he would live even for a brief space,
must have a private station and not a
public one.

I can give you convincing evidence
of what I say, not words only, but what
you value far more actions. Let me re
late to you a passage of my own life
which will prove to you that I should
never have yielded to injustice from
any fear of death, and that "as I should
have refused to yield" I must have died
at once. I will tell you a tale of the
courts, not very interesting perhaps, but
nevertheless true. The only office of
state which I ever held, O men of
Athens, was that of senator: the tribe
Antiochis, which is my tribe, had the
presidency at the trial of the generals
who had not taken up the bodies of the
slain after the battle of Arginusae; and
you proposed to try them in a body, con
trary to law, as you all thought after
wards; but at the time I was the only
one of the Prytanes who was opposed
to the illegality, and I gave my vote
against you; and when the orators
threatened to impeach and arrest me,
and you called and shouted, I made up
my mind that I would run the risk, hav
ing law and justice with me, rather
than take part in your injustice because
I feared imprisonment and death. This
happened in the days of the democracy.
But when the oligarchy of the Thirty
was in power, they sent for me and four
others into the rotunda, and bade us
bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis,
as they wanted to put him to death. This

was a specimen of the sort of commands
which they were always giving with the
view of implicating as many as possible
in their crimes; and then I showed, not
in word only but in deed, that if I may
be allowed to use such an expression, I
cared not a straw for death, and that
my great and only care was lest I
should do an unrighteous or unholy
thing. For the strong arm of that op
pressive power did not frighten me into
doing wrong; and when we came out
of the rotunda the other four went to
Salamis and fetched Leon, but I went
quietly home. For which I might have
lost my life, had not the power of the
Thirty shortly afterwards come to an
end. And many will witness to my
words.

Now do you really imagine that I
could have survived all these years, if
I had led a public life, supposing that
like a good man I had always main
tained the right and had made justice,
as I ought, the first thing? No indeed,
men of Athens, neither I nor any other
man. But I have been always the [33]
same in all my actions, public as well
as private, and never have I yielded
any base compliance to those who are
slanderously termed my disciples, or to
any other* Not that I have any regular
disciples, But if any one likes to come
and hear me while I am pursuing my
mission, whether he be young or old,
he is not excluded. Nor do I converse
only with those who pay; but any one,
whether he be rich or poor, may ask
and answer me and listen to my words;
and whether he turns out to be a bad
man or a good one, neither result can
be justly imputed to me; for I never
taught or professed to teach him any
thing, And if any one says that he has
ever learned or heard anything from
me in private which all the world has
not heard, let me tell you that he is
lying.

But I shall be asked, Why do people
delight in continually conversing with

APOLOGY

you? I have told you already, Athen
ians, the whole truth about this mat
ter: they like to hear the cross-examina
tion of the pretenders to wisdom; there
is amusement in it. Now this duty of
cross-examining other men has been
imposed upon me by God; and has been
signified to me by oracles, visions, and
in every way in which the will of divine
power was ever intimated to any one.
This is true, O Athenians; or, if not
true, would be soon refuted. If I am
or have been corrupting the youth,
those of them who are now grown up
and have become sensible that I gave
them bad advice in the days of their
youth should come forward as accusers,
and take their revenge; or if they do
not like to come themselves, some of
their relatives, fathers, brothers, or
other kinsmen, should say what evil
their families have suffered at my
hands. Now is their time. Many of them
I see in the court. There is Crito, who
is of the same age and of the same
deme with myself, and there is Crito-
bulus his son, whom I also see. Then
again there is Lysanias of Sphettus,
who is the father of Aeschines he is
present; and also there is Antiphon of
Cephisus, who is the father of Epigenes;
and there are the brothers of several
who have associated with me. There is
Nicostratus the son of Theosdotides,
and the brother of Theodotus (now
Theodotus himself is dead, and there
fore he, at any rate, will not seek to
stop him) ; and there is Paralus the son
of Demodocus, who had a brother
Theages; and Adeimantus the son [34]
of Ariston, whose brother Plato is pres
ent; and Aeantodorus, who is the brother
of Apollodorus, whom I also see. I
might mention a great many others,
some of whom Meletus should have pro
duced as witnesses in the course of
his speech; and let him still produce
them, if he has forgotten I will make
way for him. And let him say, if he
has any testimony of the sort which

he can produce. Nay, Athenians, the
very opposite is the truth. For all these
are ready to witness on behalf of the
corrupter, of the injurer of their kin
dred, as Meletus and Anytus call me;
not the corrupted youth only there
might have been a motive for that
but their uncorrupted elder relatives.
Why should they too support me with
their testimony? Why, indeed, except
for the sake of truth and justice, and
because they know that I am speaking
the truth, and that Meletus is a liar.
Well, Athenians, this and the like of
this is all the defence which I have to
offer. Yet a word more. Perhaps there
may be some one who is offended at
me, when he calls to mind how he him
self on a similar, or even a less serious
occasion, prayed and entreated the
judges with many tears, and how he
produced his children in court, which
was a moving spectacle, together with
a host of relations and friends; whereas
I, who am probably in danger of my
life, will do none of these things. The
contrast may occur to his mind, and
he may be set against me, and vote in
anger because he is displeased at me
on this account. Now if there be such
a person among you, mind, I do not
say that there is, to him I may fairly
reply: My friend, I am a man, and
like other men, a creature of flesh and
blood, and not "of wood or stone," as
Homer says; and I have a family, yes,
and sons, O Athenians, three in num
ber, one almost a man, and two others
who are still young; and yet I will not
bring any of them hither in order to
petition you for an acquittal. And why
not? Not from any self-assertion or
want of respect for you. Whether I am
or am not afraid of death is another
question, of which I will not now speak.
But, having regard to public opinion,
I feel that such conduct would be dis
creditable to myself, and to you, and
to the whole state. One who has
reached my years, and who has a name

PLATO

for wisdom, ought not to demean him
self. Whether this opinion of me be de
served or not, at any rate the world
has decided that Socrates is in some
way superior to other men. And [35]
if those among you who are are said
to be superior in wisdom and courage,
and any other virtue, demean them
selves in this way, how shameful is
their conduct! I have seen men of repu
tation, when they have been con
demned, behaving in the strangest man
ner: they seemed to fancy that they
were going to suffer something dread
ful if they died, and that they could be
immortal if you only allowed them to
live; and I think that such are a dis
honour to the state, and that any
stranger coming in would have said of
them that the most eminent men of
Athens, to whom the Athenians them
selves give honour and command, are
no better than women. And I say that
these things ought not to be done by
those of us who have a reputation; and
if they are done, you ought not to per
mit them; you ought rather to show
that you are far more disposed to con
demn the man who gets up a doleful
scene and makes the city ridiculous,
than him who holds his peace,

But, setting aside the question of pub
lic opinion, there seems to be something
wrong in asking a favour of a judge,
and thus procuring an acquittal, in
stead of informing and convincing him.
For his duty is, not to make a present
of justice, but to give judgment; and
he has sworn that he will judge accord
ing to the laws, and not according to
his own good pleasure; and we ought
not to encourage you, nor should you
allow yourselves to be encouraged, in
this habit of perjury there can be no
piety in that. Do not then require me
to do what I consider dishonourable
and impious and wrong, especially now,
when I am being tried for impiety on
the indictment of Meletus. For If, O
men of Athens, by force of persuasion

and entreaty I could overpower your
oaths, then I should be teaching you
to believe that there are no gods, and
in defending should simply convict my
self of the charge of not believing in
them. But that is not so far other
wise. For I do believe that there are
gods, and in a sense higher than that in
which any of my accusers believe in
them. And to you and to God I com
mit my cause, to be determined by you
as is best for you and me.

There are many reasons why I am
not grieved, O men of Athens, [36]
at the vote of condemnation. I expect
ed it, and am only surprised that the
votes are so nearly equal; for I had
thought that the majority against me
would have been far larger; but now,
had thirty votes gone over to the other
side, I should have been acquitted. And
I may say, I think, that I have escaped
Meletus. I may say more; for without
the assistance of Anytus and Lycon, any
one may see that he would not have
had a fifth part of the votes, as the law
requires, in which case he would have
incurred a fine of a thousand drachmae.

And so he proposes death as the
penalty. And what shall I propose on
my part, O men of Athens? Clearly
that which is my due* And what is my
due? What return shall be made to the
man who has never had the wit to be
idle during his whole life; but has been
careless of what the many care for
wealth, and family interests, and mili
tary offices, and speaking in the as
sembly, and magistracies, and plots, and
parties. Reflecting that I was really too
honest a man to be a politician and live,
I did not go where I could do no good
to you or to myself; but where I could
do the greatest good privately to every
one of you, thither I went, and sought
to persuade every man among you that
he must look to himself, and seek virtue
and wisdom before he looks to his pri
vate interests, and look to the state be-

APOLOGY

fore he looks to the interests of the state;
and that this should be the order which
he observes in all his actions. What shall
be done to such an one? Doubtless some
good thing, O men of Athens, if he has
his reward; and the good should be of
a kind suitable to him. What would be
a reward suitable to a poor man who is
your benefactor, and who desires leisure
that he may instruct you? There can be
no reward so fitting as maintenance in
the Prytaneum, O men of Athens, a
reward which he deserves far more than
the citizen who has won the prize at
Olympia in the horse or chariot race,
whether the chariots were drawn by two
horses or by many. For I am in want,
and he has enough; and he only gives
you the appearance of happiness, and I
give you the reality. And if I am [37]
to estimate the penalty fairly, I should
say that maintenance in the Prytaneum
is the just return.

Perhaps you think that I am braving
you in what I am saying now, as in
what I said before about the tears and
prayers. But this is not so. I speak rather
because I am convinced that I never
intentionally wronged any one, although
I cannot convince you the time has
been too short; if there were a law at
Athens, as there is in other cities, that
a capital cause should not be decided
in one day, then I believe that I should
have convinced you. But I cannot in a
moment refute great slanders; and, as I
am convinced that I never wronged an
other, I will assuredly not wrong my
self. I will not say of myself that I de
serve any evil, or propose any penalty.
Why should I? Because I am afraid of
the penalty of death which Meletus
proposes? When I do not know whether
death is a good or an evil, why should
I propose a penalty which would cer
tainly be an evil? Shall I say imprison
ment? And why should I live in prison,
and be the slave of the magistrates of
the year of the Eleven? Or shall the
penalty be a fine, and imprisonment un

til the fine is paid? There is the same
objection. I should have to lie in prison,
for money I have none, and cannot pay.
And if I say exile (and this may pos
sibly be the penalty which you will
affix), I must indeed be blinded by the
love of life, if I am so irrational as to
expect that when you, who are my own
citizens, cannot endure my discourses
and words, and have found them so
grievous and odious that you will have
no more of them, others are likely to
endure me. No indeed, men of Athens,
that is not very likely. And what a life
should I lead, at my age, wandering
from city to city, ever changing my
place of exile, and always being driven
out! For I am quite sure that wherever
I go, there, as here, the young men will
flock to me; and if I drive them away,
their elders will drive me out at their
request; and if I let them come, their
fathers and friends will drive me out for
their sakes.

Some one will say: Yes, Socrates, but
cannot you hold your tongue, and then
you may go into a foreign city, and no
one will interfere with you? Now I have
great difficulty in making you under
stand my answer to this. For if I tell you
that to do as you say would be a disobe
dience to the God, and therefore that I
cannot hold my tongue, you will not
believe that I am serious; and if I say
again that daily to discourse about [38]
virtue, and of those other things about
which you hear me examining myself
and others, is the greatest good of man,
and that the unexamined life is not
worth living, you are still less likely to
believe me. Yet I say what is true, al
though a thing of which it is hard for
me to persuade you. Also, I have never
been accustomed to think that I de
serve to suffer any harm. Had I money
I might have estimated the offence at
what I was able to pay, and not have
been much the worse. But I have none,
and therefore I must ask you to propor
tion the fine to my means. Well, per-

PLATO

haps I could afford a mina, and there
fore I propose that penalty: Plato, Crito,
Critobulus, and Apollodorus, my friends
here, bid me say thirty minae, and they
will be the sureties. Let thirty minae be
the penalty; for which sum they will be
ample security to you.

Not much tune will be gained, O
Athenians, in return for the evil name
which you will get from the detractors
of the city, who will say that you killed
Socrates, a wise man; for they will call
me wise, even although I am not wise,
when they want to reproach you. If you
had waited a little while, your desire
would have been fulfilled in the course
of nature. For I am far advanced in
years, as you may perceive, and not far
from death. I am speaking now not to
all of you, but only to those who have
condemned me to death. And I have
another thing to say to them: You think
that I was convicted because I had no
words of the sort which would have pro
cured my acquittal I mean if I had
throught fit to leave nothing undone or
unsaid. Not so; the deficiency which led
to my conviction was not of words
certainly not. But I had not the boldness
or impudence or inclination to address
you as you would have liked me to do,
weeping and wailing and lamenting, and
saying and doing many things which you
have been accustomed to hear from
others, and which, as I maintain, are
unworthy of me. I thought at the time
that I ought not to do anything com
mon or mean when in danger: nor do
I now repent of the style of my defence;
I would rather die having spoken after
my manner, than speak in your manner
and live. For neither in war nor yet at
law ought I or any man to use [39]
every way of escaping death. Often in
battle there can be no doubt that if a
man will throw away his arms, and fall
on his knees before his pursuers, he may
escape death; and in other dangers there
are other ways of escaping death, if a
man is willing to say and do anything*

The difficulty, my friends, is not to avoid
death, but to avoid unrighteousness; for
that runs faster than death. I am old
and move slowly, and the slower runner
has overtaken me, and my accusers are
keen and quick, and the faster runner,
who is unrighteousness, has overtaken
them. And now I depart hence con
demned by you to suffer the penalty of
death, they too go their ways con
demned by the truth to suffer the penal
ty of villainy and wrong; and I must
abide by my reward let them abide by
theirs. I suppose that these things may
be regarded as fated, and I think that
they are well.

And now, O men who have con
demned me, I would fain prophesy to
you; for I am about to die, and in the
hour of death men are gifted with pro
phetic power. And I prophesy to you
who are my murderers, that immediate
ly after my departure punishment far
heavier than you have inflicted on me
will surely await you. Me you have
killed because you wanted to escape the
accuser, and not to give an account of
your lives. But that will not be as you
suppose: far otherwise. For I say that
there will be more accusers of you than
there are now; accusers whom hitherto
I have restrained: and as they are
younger they will be more inconsiderate
with you, and you will be more offended
at them. If you think that by killing
men you can prevent some one from
censuring your evil lives, you are mis
taken; that is not a way of escape which
is either possible or honourable; the
easiest and the noblest way is not to be
disabling others, but to be improving
yourselves. This is the prophecy which
I utter before my departure to the
judges who have condemned me,

Friends, who would have acquitted
me, I would like also to talk with you
about the thing which has come to pass,
while the magistrates are busy, and be
fore I go to the place at which I must
die. Stay then a little, for we may as
well talk with one another while there is

APOLOGY

time. You are my friends, and I should
like to show you the meaning of [40]
this event which has happened to me.

my judges for you I may truly call
judges I should like to tell you of a
wonderful circumstance. Hitherto the
divine faculty of which the internal
oracle is the source has constantly been
in the habit of opposing me even about
trifles, if I was going to make a slip or
error in any matter; and now as you
see there has come upon me that which
may be thought, and is generally be
lieved to be, the last and worst evil. But
the oracle made no sign of opposition,
either when I was leaving my house in
the morning, or when I was on my way
to the court, or while I was speaking, at
anything which I was going to say; and
yet I have often been stopped in the
middle of a speech, but now in nothing

1 either said or did touching the matter
in hand has the oracle opposed me.
What do I take to be the explanation
of this silence? I will tell you. It is an
intimation that what has happened to
me is a good, and that those of us who
think that death is an evil are in error.
For the customary sign would surely
have opposed me had I been going to
evil and not to good.

Let us reflect in another way, and we
shall see that there is great reason to
hope that death is a good; for one of
two things either death is a state of
nothingness and utter unconsciousness,
or, as men say, there is a change and
migration of the soul from this world to
another. Now if you suppose that there
is no consciousness, but a sleep like the
sleep of him who is undisturbed even by
dreams, death will be an unspeakable
gain. For if a person were to select the
night in which his sleep was undisturbed
even by dreams, and were to compare
with this the other days and nights of
his life, and then were to tell us how
many days and nights he had passed in
the course of his life better and more
pleasantly than this one, I think that
any man, I will not say a private man,

but even the great king will not find
many such days or nights, when com
pared with the others. Now if death be
of such a nature, I say that to die is
gain; for eternity is then only a single
night. But if death is the journey to an
other place, and there, as men say, all
the dead abide, what good, O my friends
and judges, can be greater than this? If
indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the
world below, he is delivered from [41]
the professors of justice in this world,
and finds the true judges who are said
to give judgment there, Minos and
Rhadamanthus and Aeacus and Trip-
tolemus, and other sons of God who
were righteous in their own life, that
pilgrimage will be worth making. What
would not a man give if he might con
verse with Orpheus and Musaeus and
Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true,
let me die again and again. I myself,
too, shall have a wonderful interest in
there meeting and conversing with Pala-
medes, and Ajax the son of Telamon,
and any other ancient hero who has
suffered death through an unjust judg
ment; and there will be no small plea
sure, as I think, in comparing my own
sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall
then be able to continue my search into
true and false knowledge; as in this
world, so also in the next; and I shall
find out who is wise, and who pretends
to be wise, and is not. What would not
a man give, O judges, to be able to
examine the leader of the great Trojan
expedition; or Odysseus or Sisyphus, or
numberless others, men and women too!
What infinite delight would there be in
conversing with them and asking them
questions! In another world they do not
put a man to death for asking questions:
assuredly not. For besides being happier
than we are, they will be immortal, if
what is said is true.

Wherefore, O judges, be of good
cheer about death, and know of a cer
tainty, that no evil can happen to a
good man, either in life or after death.
He and his are not neglected by the

PLATO

gods; nor has my own approaching end
happened by mere chance. But I see
clearly that the time had arrived when
it was better for me to die and be re
leased from trouble; wherefore the
oracle gave no sign. For which reason,
alsOj I am not angry with my condemn-
ers, or with my accusers; they have done
me no harm 3 although they did not
mean to do me any good; and for this I
may gently blame them.

Still I have a favour to ask of them.
When my sons are grown up, I would
ask you, O my friends, to punish them;
and I would have you trouble them, as

I have troubled you, if they seem to care
about riches, or anything, more than
about virtue; or if they pretend to be
something when they are really nothing,
then reprove them, as I have reproved
you, for not caring about that for which
they ought to care, and thinking that
they are something when they are really
nothing. And if you do this, both [42]
I and my sons will have received justice
at your hands.

The hour of departure has arrived,
and we go our ways I to die, and you
to live. Which is better God only knows.

MENO (complete)

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE

MENO
SOCRATES

A SLAVE OF MENO
ANYTUS

MENO. Can you tell me Socrates [70]
is virtue something that can be
taught? Or does it come by practice? Or
is it neither teaching nor practice that
gives it to a man but natural aptitude
or something else?

SOCRATES. Well Meno ; in the old days
the Thessalians had a great reputation
among the Greeks for their wealth
and their horsemanship. Now it seems
they are philosophers as well es- [B]
pecially the men of Larissa, where
your friend Aristippus comes from. It
is Gorgias who has done it. He went
to that city and captured the hearts
of the foremost of the Aleuadae for his
wisdom (among them your own ad
mirer Aristippus), not to speak of other
leading Thessalians, In particular he
got you into the habit of answering
any question you might be asked, with
the confidence and dignity ap- [a]
propriate to those who know the
answers, just as he himself invites ques
tions of every kind from anyone in the

Greek world who wishes to ask, and
never fails to answer them. But here at
Athens, my dear Meno, it is just [71]
the reverse. There is a dearth of wis
dom, and it looks as if it had migrated
from our part of the country to yours.
At any rate if you put your question
to any of our people, they will all alike
laugh and say: "You must think I am
singularly fortunate, to know whether
virtue can be taught or how it is
acquired* The fact is that far from
knowing whether it can be taught, I
have no idea what virtue itself is/ 9

That is my own case, I share the [B]
poverty of my fellow-countrymen in
this respect, and confess to my shame
that I have no knowledge about virtue
at all. And how can I know a property
of something when I don t even know
what it is? Do you suppose that some
body entirely ignorant who Meno is
could say whether he is handsome and
rich and well-born or the reverse? Is
that possible, do you think?

MENO. No. But is this true about your
self, Socrates, that you don t even [o]
know what virtue is? Is this the report
that we are to take home about you?

MEMO

SOGR. Not only that; you may say also
that&gt; to the best of my belief I have
never yet met anyone who did know.

MENO. What! Didn t you meet
Gorgias when he was here?

SOGR. Yes.

MENO. And you still didn t think he
knew?

SOGR. I m a forgetful sort of person,
and I can t say just now what I thought
at the time. Probably he did know, and
I expect you know what he used to say
about it. So remind me what it was, [D]
or tell me yourself if you will. No doubt
you agree with him.

MENO. Yes I do.

SOGR. Then let s leave him out of it,
since after all he isn t here. What do
you yourself say virtue is? I do ask
you in all earnestness not to refuse me,
but to speak out. I shall be only too
happy to be proved wrong if you and
Gorgias turn out to know this, although
I said I had never met anyone who
did.

MENO. But there is no difficulty [E]
about it. First of all, if it is manly virtue
you are after, it is easy to see that the
virtue of a man consists in managing
the city s affairs capably, and so that
he will help his friends and injure his
foes while taking care to come to no
harm himself. Or if you want a wom
an s virtue, that is easily described. She
must be a good housewife, careful with
her stores and obedient to her hus
band. Then there is another virtue for
a child, male or female, and another
for an old man, free or slave as [72]
you like; and a great many more kinds
of virtue, so that no one need be at
a loss to say what it is. For every act
and every time of life, with reference to
each separate function, there is a vir-
ture for each one of us, and similarly, I
should say, a vice.

SOCR. I seem to be in luck. I want
ed one virtue and I find that you have
a whole swarm of virtues to offer. But
seriously, to carry on this metaphor of

the swarm, suppose I asked you what
a bee is, what is its essential nature, [B]
and you replied that bees were of many
different kinds, what would you say if
I went on to ask: "And is it in being
bees that they are many and various
and different from one another? Or
would you agree that it is not in this
respect that they differ, but in some
thing else, some other quality like size
or beauty?"

MENO. I should say that in so far as
they are bees, they don t differ from
one another at all.

SOGR. Suppose I then continued: [a]
"Well, this is just what I want you to
tell me. What is that character in re
spect of which they don t differ at all,
but are all the same?" I presume you
would have something to say?

MENO. I should.

SOCR. Then do the same with the
virtues. Even if they are many and
various, yet at least they all have some
common character which makes them
virtues. That is what ought to be kept
in view by anyone who answers the
question: "What is virtue?" Do you [D]
follow me?

MENO. I think I do, but I don t yet
really grasp the question as I should
wish.

SOCR. Well, does this apply in your
mind only to virtue, that there is a dif
ferent one for a man and a woman
and the rest? Is it the same with health
and size and strength, or has health the
same character everywhere, if it is [E]
health, whether it be in a man or any
other creature?

MENO. I agree that health is the same
in a man or in a woman.

SOCR. And what about size and
strength? If a woman is strong, will it
be the same thing, the same strength,
that makes her strong? My meaning is
that in its character as strength, it is
no different, whether it be in a man or
in a woman. Or do you think it is?

MENO. No.

PLATO

SOGR. And will virtue differ, in its [73]
character as virtue, whether it be in a
child or an old man, a woman or a
man?

MENO. I somehow feel that this is
not on the same level as the other cases.

SOGR. Well then, didn t you say that
a man s virtue lay in directing the city
well, and a woman s in directing her
household well?

MENO. Yes.

SOGR. And is it possible to direct any
thing well city or household or any
thing else if not temperately and
justly?

MENO. Certainly not. [B]

SOCR. And that means with temper
ance and justice?

MENO. Of course.

SOGR. Then both man and woman
need the same qualities, justice and
temperance, if they are going to be good.

MENO. It looks like it.

SOGR. And what about your child
and old man? Could they be good if
they were incontinent and unjust?

MENO. Of course not.

SOCR. They must be temperate and
just?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. So everyone is good in the [c]
same way, since they become good by
possessing the same qualities.

MENO. So it seems.

SOCR. And if they did not share the
same virtue, they would not be good
in the same way.

MENO. No.

SOGR. Seeing then that they all have
the same virtue, try to remember and
tell me what Gorgias, and you who share
his opinion, say it is.

MENO. It must be simply the capacity
to govern men, if you are looking for
one quality to cover all the instances. [D]

SOCR. Indeed I am. But does this
virtue apply to a child or a slave?
Should a slave be capable of governing
his master, and if he does, is he still a
slave?

MENO. I hardly think so.

SOGR. It certainly doesn t sound like
ly. And here is another point. You speak
of "capacity to govern." Shall we not
add "justly but not otherwise"?

MENO. I think we should, for justice
is virtue.

SOCR. Virtue, do you say, or a vir- [E]
tue?

MENO. What do you mean?

SOCR. Something quite general. Take
roundness, for instance. I should say
that it is a shape, not simply that it
is shape, my reason being that there are
other shapes as well.

MENO. I see your point, and I agree
that there are other virtues besides
justice.

SOCR. Tell me what they are. Just [74]
as I could name other shapes if you
told me to, in the same way mention
some other virtues.

MENO. In my opinion then courage
is a virtue and temperance and wis
dom and dignity and many other
things.

SOCR. This puts us back where we
were, In a different way we have dis
covered a number of virtues when we
were looking for one only. This single
virtue, which permeates each of them,
we cannot find,

MENO. No, I cannot yet grasp it [B]
as you want, a single virtue covering
them all, as I do in other instances,

SOGR, I m not surprised, but I shall
do rny best to get us a bit further if I
can. You understand, I expect, that the
question applies to everything. If some
one took the example I mentioned
just now, and asked you: "What is
shape?" and you replied that roundness
is shape, and he then asked you as I
did, "Do you mean it is shape or a
shape?" you would reply of course that
it is a shape,

MENO, Certainly,

SOGR. Your reason being that there [a]
are other shapes as well

MENO. Yes*

MEMO

SOCR. And if he went on to ask you
what they were, you would tell him.

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. And the same with colour if
he asked you what it is, and on your
replying "White," took you up with:
"Is white colour or a colour?" you
would say that it is a colour, because
there are other colours as well.

MENO. I should.

SOGR. And if he asked you to, you [D]
would mention other colours which are
just as much colours as white is.

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. Suppose then he pursued the
question as I did, and objected: "We
always arrive at a plurality, but that
is not the kind of answer I want. Seeing
that you call these many particulars by
one and the same name, and say that
every one of them is a shape, even
though they are the contrary of each
other, tell me what this is which em
braces round as well as straight, and
what you mean by shape when you [E]
say that straightness is a shape as much
as roundness. You do say that?"

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. "And in saying it, do you
mean that roundness is no more round
than straight, and straightness no more
straight than round?"

MENO. Of course not.

SOCR. "Yet you do say that roundness
is no more a shape than straightness,
and the other way about."

MENO. Quite true.

SOCR. "Then what is this thing which
is called shape ? Try to tell me." If
when asked this question either about
shape or colour you said: "But I [75]
don t understand what you want, or
what you mean," your questioner would
perhaps be surprised and say: "Don t
you see that I am looking for what is
the same in all of them?" Would you
even so be unable to reply, if the ques
tion was: "What is it that is common
to roundness and straightness and the
other things which you call shapes?"

Do your best to answer, as practice for
the question about virtue.

MENO. No, you do it, Socrates. [B]

SOCR. Do you want me to give in to
you?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. And will you in your turn give
me an answer about virtue?

MENO. I will.

SOCR. In that case I must do my
best. It s in a good cause.

MENO. Certainly.

SOCR. Well now, let s try to tell you
what shape is. See if you accept this
definition. Let us define it as the only
thing which always accompanies colour.
Does that satisfy you, or do you want
it in some other way? I should be con
tent if your definition of virtue were
on similar lines.

MENO. But that s a naive sort of [c]
definition, Socrates.

SOCR. How?

MENO. Shape, if I understand what
you say, is what always accompanies
colour. Well and good but if some
body says that he doesn t know what
colour is, but is no better off with it
than he is with shape, what sort of
answer have you given him, do you
think?

SOCR. A true one; and if my ques
tioner were one of the clever, disputa
tious and quarrelsome kind, I should
say to him: &lt;e You have heard my [D]
answer. If it is wrong, it is for you to
take up the argument and refute it."
However, when friendly people, like you
and me, want to converse with each
other, one s reply must be milder and
more conducive to discussion. By that
I mean that it must not only be true,
but must employ terms with which the
questioner admits he is familiar. So I
will try to answer you like that. Tell
me therefore, whether you recognize the
term "end"; I mean limit or boundary
all these words I use in the same [E]
sense. Prodicus might perhaps quarrel
with us, but I assume you speak of

PLATO

something being bounded or coming to
an end. That is all I mean, nothing
subtle.

MENO. I admit the notion, and be
lieve I understand your meaning.

SOGR. And again, you recognize [76]
"surface" and "s&lid," as they are used
in geometry?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. Then with these you should by
this time understand my definition of
shape. To cover all its instances, I say
that shape is that in which a solid
terminates, or more briefly, it is the
limit of a solid.

MENO. And how do you define
colour?

SOGR. What a shameless fellow you
are, Meno. You keep bothering an old
man to answer, but refuse to exercise
your memory and tell me what was [B]
Gorgias s definition of virtue.

MENO. I will, Socrates, as soon as you
tell me this.

SOGR. Anyone talking to you could
tell blindfold that you are a handsome
man and still have your admirers.

MENO. Why so?

SOCR. Because you are for ever laying
down the law as spoilt boys do, who act
the tyrant as long as their youth lasts,
No doubt you have discovered that I [c]
can never resist good looks. Well, I
will give in and let you have your
answer.

MENO. Do by all means.

SOCR. Would you like an answer & la
Gorgias, such as you would most readily
follow?

MENO. Of course I should.

SOCR, You and he believe in Em-
pedocles s theory of effluences, do you
not?

MENO, Whole-heartedly,

SOCR, And passages to which and
through which the effluences make their
way?

MENO, Yes.

SOCR. Some of the effluences fit into

some of the passages, whereas others [D]
are too coarse or too fine.

MENO. That is right.

SOGR. Now you recognize the term
"sight"?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. From these notions, then,
"grasp what I would tell," as Pindar
says. Colour is an effluence from shapes
commensurate with sight and percepti
ble by it.

MENO. That seems to me an excellent
answer.

SOCR. No doubt it is the sort you are
used to. And you probably see that it
provides a way to define sound and
smell and many similar things.

MENO. So it does, [E]

SOGR. Yes, it s a high-sounding
answer, so you like it better than the
one on shape.

MENO. I do.

SOCR. Nevertheless, son of Alexide-
mus, I am convinced that the other is
better; and I believe you would agree
with me if you had not, as you told me
yesterday, to leave before the mysteries,
but could stay and be initiated, 1

MENO. I would stay, Socrates, if [77]
you gave me more answers like this,

SOCR. You may be sure I shan t be
lacking in keenness to do so, both for
your sake and mine; but I m afraid I
may not be able to do it often, How
ever, now it is your turn to do as you
promised,, and try to tell me the general
nature of virtue. Stop making many out
of one, as the humorists say when some
body breaks a plate, Just leave virtue
whole and sound and tell me what it

1 Evidently the Athenians are about to
celebrate the famous rites of the Eleusinian
Mysteries, but Meno has to return to Thessaly
before they fall due. Plato frequently plays
upon the analogy between religious initiation,
which bestowed a revelation of divine secrets,
and the insight which comes from initiation
into the truths of philosophy,

MEMO

is, as in the examples I have given [B]
you.

MENO. It seems to me then, Socrates,
that virtue is, in the words of the poet,
"to rejoice in the fine and have power,"
and I define it as desiring fine things
and being able to acquire them.

SOGR. When you speak of a man
desiring fine things, do you mean it is
good things he desires?

MENO. Certainly.

SOCR. Then do you think some [c]
men desire evil and others good?
Doesn t everyone, in your opinon, desire
good things?

MENO. NO.

SOGR. And would you say that the
others suppose evils to be good, or do
they still desire them although they re
cognize them as evil?

MENO. Both, I should say.

SOGR. What? Do you really think that
anyone who recognizes evils for what
they are, nevertheless desires them?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. Desires in what way? To possess
them?

MENO. Of course. [D]

SOGR. In the belief that evil things
bring advantage to their possessor, or
harm?

MENO. Some in the first belief, but
some also in the second.

SOCR. And do you believe that those
who suppose evil things bring advantage
understand that they are evil?

MENO. No, that I can t really believe.

SOCR. Isn t it clear then that this class,
who don t recognize evils for what they
are, don t desire evil but what they [E]
think is good, though in fact it is evil;
those who through ignorance mistake
bad things for good obviously desire the
good.

MENO. For them I suppose that is
true.

SOCR. Now as for those whom you
speak of as desiring evils in the belief
that they do harm to their possessor,

these presumably know that they will
be injured by them?

MENO. They must.

SOGR. And don t they believe that [78]
whoever is injured is, in so far as he is
injured, unhappy?

MENO. That too they must believe.

SOGR. And unfortunate?

MENO. Yes.

SOGR. Well, does anybody want to be
unhappy and unfortunate?

MENO. I suppose not.

SOGR. Then if not, nobody desires
what is evil; for what else is unhappi-
ness but desiring evil things and getting
them?

MENO. It looks as if you are right, [B]
Socrates, and nobody desires what is
evil.

SOCR. Now you have just said that
virtue consists in a wish for good things
plus the power to acquire them. In this
definition the wish is common to every
one, and in that respect no one is better
than his neighbour.

MENO. So it appears.

SOGR. So if one man is better than
another, it must evidently be in respect
of the power, and virtue, according to
your account, is the power of acquiring
good things. [c]

MENO. Yes, my opinion is exactly as
you now express it.

SOGR. Let us see whether you have
hit the truth this time. You may well
be right. The power of acquiring good
things, you say, is virtue?

MENO. Yes.

SOGR. And by good do you mean such
things as health and wealth?

MENO. I include the gaining both of
gold and silver and of high and honour
able office in the State.

SOGR. Are these the only classes of
goods that you recognize?

MENO. Yes, I mean everything of that
sort.

SOCR. Right. In the definition of [D]
Meno, hereditary guest-friend of the

PLATO

Great King, the acquisition of gold and
silver is virtue. Do you add "just and
righteous" to the word "acquisition/ 5 or
doesn t it make any difference to you?
Do you call it virtue all the same even
if they are unjustly acquired?
MENO. Certainly not.
SOGR. Vice then?
MENO. Most certainly.
SOCR. So it seems that justice or tem
perance or piety ; or some other part of
virtue, must attach to the acquisition.
Otherwise., although it is a means to
good things, it will not be virtue. [E]
MENO. No, how could you have vir
tue without these?

SOGR. In fact lack of gold and silver,
if it results from failure to acquire it
either for oneself or another in cir
cumstances which would have made its
acquisition unjust, is itself virtue.
MENO, It would seem so.
SOGR, Then to have such goods is no
more virtue than to lack them. Rather
we may say that whatever is accom- [79]
panied by justice is virtue, whatever is
without qualities of that sort is vice,

MENO, I agree that your conclusion
seems inescapable.

SOCR. But a few minutes ago we called
each of these justice, temperance, and
the rest a part of virtue?
MENO. Yes, we did.
SOCR. So it seems you are making a
fool of me.

MENO. How so, Socrates?
SOCR. I have just asked you not to
break virtue up into fragments, and
given you models of the type of answer
I wanted, but taking no notice of this
you tell me that virtue consists in [B]
the acquisition of good things with
justice; and justice, you agree, is a part
of virtue.
MENO. True.

SOGR. So it follows from your own
statements that to act with a part of
virtue is virtue, if you call justice and
all the rest parts of virtue. The point

I want to make is that whereas I asked
you to give me an account of virtue
as a whole, far from telling me what it
is itself you say that every action is
virtue which exhibits a part of virtue,
as if you had already told me what [c]
the whole is, so that I should recognize
it even if you chop it up into bits. It
seems to me that we must put the same
old question to you, my dear Meno
the question: "What is virtue?" if
every act becomes virtue when com
bined with a part of virtue. That is, after
all, what it means to say that every act
performed with justice is virtue. Don t
you agree that the same question needs
to be put? Does anyone know what a
part of virtue is, without knowing the
whole?

MENO. I suppose not.
SOGR. No, and if you remember, [D]
when I replied to you about shape just
now, I believe we rejected the type of
answer that employs terms which are
still in question and not yet agreed upon.
MENO. We did, and rightly.
SOCR, Then please do the same. While
the nature of virtue as a whole is still
under question, don t suppose that you
can explain it to anyone in terms of its
parts, or by any similar type of ex- [E]
planation, Understand rather that the
same question remains to be answered;
you say this and that about virtue, but
what is it? Does this seem nonsense to
you?

MENO, No, to me it seems right
enough.

SOCR. Then go back to the beginning
and answer my question, What do and
your friend say that virtue is?

MENO. Socrates, even before I met
you they told me that in plain truth [80]
you are a perplexed man yourself and
reduce others to perplexity. At this
moment I feel you are exercising magic
and witchcraft upon me and positively
laying me under your spell until I am
just a mass of helplessness. If I may be

MEMO

flippant, I think that not only in out
ward appearance but in other respects
as well you are exactly like the flat sting
ray that one meets in the sea. Whenever
anyone comes into contact with it, it
numbs him, and that is the sort of thing
that you seem to be doing to me now.
My mind and my lips are literally [B]
numb, and I have nothing to reply to
you. Yet I have spoken about virtue
hundreds of times, held forth often on
the subject in front of large audiences,
and very well too, or so I thought. Now
I can t even say what it is. In my
opinon you are well advised not to leave
Athens and live abroad. If you behaved
like this as a foreigner in another coun
try, you would most likely be arrested
as a wizard.

SOGR. You re a real rascal, Meno.
You nearly took me in.

MENO. Just what do you mean?

SOGR. I see why you used a simile [c]
about me.

MENO. Why, do you think?

SOGR. To be compared to something
in return. All good-looking people, I
know perfectly well, enjoy a game of
comparisons. They get the best of it,
for naturally handsome folk provoke
handsome similes. But I m not going to
oblige you. As for myself, if the sting
ray paralyses others only through being
paralysed itself, then the comparison is
just, but not otherwise. It isn t that,
knowing the answers myself, I perplex
other people. The truth is rather that I
infect them also with the perplexity [D]
I feel myself* So with virtue now. I
don t know what it is. You may have
known before you came into contact
with me, but now you look as if you
don t. Nevertheless I
out, together with youjoint investiga
tion and inquiry into what rTis.

MENO. But now 7 will you look for
something when you don t in the least
know what it is? How on earth are you
going to set up something you don t

know as the object of your search? To
put it another way, even if you come
right up against it, how will you know
that what you have found is the thing
you didn t know?

SOGR. I know what you mean. Do you
realize that what you are bringing [E]
up is the trick argument that a man
cannot try to discover either what he
knows or what he does not know? He
would not seek what he knows, for since
he knows it there is no need of the in
quiry, nor what he does not know, for in
that case he does not even know what
he is to look for.

MENO. Well, do you think it a [81]
good argument?

SOGR. No.

MENO. Can you explain how it fails?

SOGR. I can. I have heard from men
and women who understand the truths
of religion

[Here he presumably pauses to em
phasize the solemn change of tone which
the dialogue undergoes at this point.]

MENO. What did they say?

SOCR. Something true, I thought, and
fine.

MENO. What was it, and who were
they?

SOCR. Those who tell it are priests
and priestesses of the sort who make it
their business to be able to account for
the functions which they perform.
Pindar speaks of it too, and many an
other of the poets who are divinely [B]
inspired. What they say is this see
whether you think they are speaking the
truth. They say that the soul of man is
immortal: at one time it comes to an
end that which is called death and at
another is born again, but is never final
ly exterminated. On these grounds a
man must live all his days as righteously
as possible. For those from whom

Persephone receives requital for ancient
doom,

100

PLATO

In the ninth year she restores again
Their souls to the sun above.
From whom rise noble kings [c]

And the swift in strength and greatest in

wisdom;

And for the rest of time
They are called beroes and sanctified by

men. 2

Thus the soul, since it is immortal
and has been born many times, and has
seen all things both here and in the
other world, has learned everything that
is. So we need not be surprised if it can
recall the knowledge of virtue or any
thing else which, as we see, it once
possessed. All nature is akin, and the [JD]
soul has learned everything, so that
when a man has recalled a single piece
of knowledge learned it, in ordinary
language there is no reason why he
should not find out all the rest, if he
keeps a stout heart and does not grow
weary of the search; for seeking and
learning are in fact nothing but recol
lection.

We ought not then to be led astray by
the contentious argument you quoted. It
would make us lazy, and is music in the
ears of weaklings. The other doctrine
produces energetic seekers after knowl
edge; and being convinced of its truth,
I am ready, with your help, to in- [E]
quire into the nature of virtue.

MBNO. I see, Socrates. But what do
you mean when you say that we don t
learn anything, but that what we call
learning is recollection? Can you teach
me that it is so?

SOCR. I have just said that you re a
rascal, and now you ask me if I can
teach you, when I say there is no such
thing as teaching, only recollection. [82]
Evidently you want to catch me con
tradicting myself straight away.

MENO, No, honestly, Socrates, I wasn t
thinking of that. It was just habit. If
you can in any way make clear to me

The quotation is from Pindar.

that what you say is true, please do.

SOCR. It isn t an easy thing, but still
I should like to do what I can since
you ask me. I see you have a large
number of retainers here. Gall one of
them, anyone you like, and I will use
him to demonstrate it to you. [B]

MENO. Certainly. (To a slave-boy.)
Come here.

SOCR. He is a Greek and speaks our
language?

MENO. Indeed yes born and bred in
the house.

SOCR. Listen carefully then, and see
whether it seems to you that he is learn
ing from me or simply being reminded.

MENO. I will.

SOCR. Now boy, you know that a
square is a figure like this?

(Socrates begins to draw figures in the
sand at his feet. He points to the square
ABCD.)

BOY. Yes.

SOCR. It has all these four sides [c]
equal?

BOY. Yes*

SOCR, And these lines which go
through the middle of it are also equal?
(The lines EF, GH,)

BOY. Yes.

SOCR. Such a figure could be either
larger or smaller, could it not?

BOY, Yes*

SOCR. Now if this side is two feet long&gt;
and this side the same, how many feet

MEMO

101

will the whole be? Put it this way. If it
were two feet in this direction and only
one in that, must not the area be two feet
taken once?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. But since it is two feet this [D]
way also, does it not become twice two
feet?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. And how many feet is twice
two? Work it out and tell me.

BOY. Four.

SOGR. Now could one draw another
figure double the size of this, but similar,
that is, with all its sides equal like this
one?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. How many feet will its area be?

BOY. Eight.

SOGR. Now then, try to tell me how
long each of its sides will be. The [E]
present figure has a side of two feet.
What will be the side of the double-sized
one?

BOY. It will be double, Socrates, ob
viously.

SOGR. You see, Meno, that I am not
teaching him anything, only asking. Now
he thinks he knows the length of the
side of the eight-feet square.

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. But does he?

MENO. Certainly not.

SOCR. He thinks it is twice the length
of the other.

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. Now watch how he recollects
things in order the proper way to rec
ollect.

You say that the side of double length
produces the double-sized figure? Like
this I mean, not long this way and [83]
short that. It must be equal on all sides
like the first figure, only twice its size,
that is eight feet. Think a moment
whether you still expect to get it from
doubling the side.

BOY. Yes, I do.

SOGR. Well now, shall we have a line

double the length of this (AB) if we add
another the same length at this end

(BJ)?

BOY. Yes.

SOCR. It is on this line then, ac- [B]
cording to you, that we shall make the
eight-feet square, by taking four of the
same length?

BOY. Yes.

SOCR. Let us draw in four equal lines
(i.e. counting AJ, and adding JK, KL,
and LA made complete by drawing in its
second half LD) , using the first as a base.
Does this not give us what you call the
eight-feet figure?

BOY. Certainly.

SOGR. But does it contain these four
squares, each equal to the original four-
feet one?

(Socrates has drawn in the lines CM,
GN to complete the squares that be
wishes to point out.}

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. How big is it then? Won t it be
four times as big?

BOY. Of course.

SOCR. And is four times the same as
twice?

BOY. Of course not.

SOCR. So doubling the side has [c]
given us not a double but a fourfold
figure?

BOY. True.

SOGR. And four times four are sixteen,
are they not?

102

PLATO

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. Then how big is the side of the
eight-feet figure? This one has given us
four times the original area, hasn t it?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR, And a side half the length gave
us a square of four feet?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. Good. And isn t a square of
eight feet double this one and half that?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. Will it not have a side [D]
greater than this one but less than that?

BOY, I think it will

SOCR. Right. Always answer what you
think. Now tell me: was not this side
two feet long, and this one four?

BOY. Yes.

SOCR. Then the side of the eight-feet
figure must be longer than two feet but
shorter than four?

BOY. It must.

SOGR. Try to say how long you [B]
think it is.

BOY. Three feet.

SOGR. If so, shall we add half of this
bit (BO, half of BJ) and make it three
feet? Here are two, and this is one, and
on this side similarly we have two plus
one; and here is the figure you want.

(Socrates completes the square AOPQ.)

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. If it is three feet this way and
three that, will the whole area be three
times three feet?

BOY. It looks like it.

SOCR. And that is how many?

BOY. Nine.

SOCR. Whereas the square double our
first square had to be how many?
BOY. Eight.

SOCR. But we haven t yet got the
square of eight feet even from a three-
feet side?
BOY, No.

SOCR. Then what length will give it?
Try to tell us exactly. If you don t [84]
want to count it up, just show us on the
diagram.

BOY. It s no use, Socrates, I just don t
know.

SOGR. Observe, Meno, the stage he has
reached on the path of recollection. At
the beginning he did not know the side
of the square of eight feet. Nor indeed
does he know it now, but then he
thought he knew it and answered boldly,
as was appropriate he felt no perplexi
ty. Now however he does feel perplexed.
Not only does he not know the answer;
he doesn t even think he knows.

MENO. Quite true.

SOGR. Isn t he in a better position now
in relation to what he didn t know?

MENO. I admit that too.

SOCR. So in perplexing him and numb
ing him like the sting-ray, have we done
him any harm?

MENO. I think not.

SOCR. In fact we have helped him to
some extent towards finding out the right
answer, for now not only is he ignorant
of it but he will be quite glad to look
for it. Up to now, he thought he could
speak well and fluently, on many oc
casions and before large audiences, on
the subject of a square double the size
of a given square, maintaining that [c]
it must have a side of double the length,

MENO, No doubt.

SOCR. Do you suppose then that he
would have attempted to look for, or
learn, what he thought he knew (though
he did not) , before he was thrown into
perplexity, became aware of his ignor
ance, and felt a desire to know?

MENO. No.

SOCR. Then the numbing process was
good for him?

MENO. I agree.

SOCR. Now notice what, starting from
this state of perplexity, he will discover
by seeking the truth in company with
me, though I simply ask him ques- [D]
tions without teaching him. Be ready to
catch me if I give him any instruction
or explanation instead of simply inter
rogating him on his own opinions.

MENO

103

(Socrates here rubs out the previous
figures and starts again.}

Tell me, boy, is not this our square of
four feet? (ABGD.) You understand?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. Now we can add another equal
to it like this? (BCEF.)

BOY. Yes.

SOCR. And a third here, equal to each
of the others? (GEGH.)

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. And then we can fill in this one
in the corner? (DGHJ.)

BOY. Yes. [E]

SOGR. Then here we have four equal
squares?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. And how many times the size
of the first square is the whole?

BOY. Four times.

SOGR. And we want one double the
size. You remember?

BOY. Yes.

SOCR, Now does this line going [85]
from corner to corner cut each of these
squares in half?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. And these are four equal lines
enclosing this area? (BEHD,)

BOY. They are.

SOCR. Now think. How big is this
area?

BOY. I don t understand.

SOCR. Here are four squares. Has not
each line cut off the inner half of each
of them?

BOY. Yes.

SOGR. And how many such halves are
there in this figure? (BEHD.)

BOY. Four.

SOCR. And how many in this one?
(ABGD.)

BOY. TWO.

SOGR. And what is the relation of four
to two?

BOY. Double.

SOCR. How big is this figure then? [B]

BOY. Eight feet.

SOCR. On what base?

BOY. This one.

SOCR. The line which goes from cor-
nor to corner of the square of four feet?

BOY. Yes.

SOCR. The technical name for it is
"diagonal"; so if we use that name, it is
your personal opinion that the square on
the diagonal of the original square is
double its area.

BOY. That is so, Socrates.

SOCR. What do you think, Meno? Has
he answered with any opinions that were
not his own?

MENO. No, they were all his. [c]

SOCR. Yet he did not know, as we
agreed a few minutes ago.

MENO. True.

SOCR. But these opinions were some
where in him, were they not?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. So a man who does not know
has in himself true opinions on a sub
ject without having knowledge.

MENO. It would appear so.

SOCR. At present these opinions, being
newly aroused, have a dream-like qual
ity. But if the same questions are put to
him on many occasions and in different
ways, you can see that in the end he
will have a knowledge on the subject [D]
as accurate as anybody s.

MENO. Probably.

SOCR. This knowledge will not come
from teaching but from questioning. He
will recover it for himself.

MENO. Yes.

104

PLATO

SOGR. And the spontaneous recovery of
knowledge that is in him is recollection,
isn t it?
MENO. Yes.

SOGR. Either then he has at some time
acquired the knowledge which he now
has, or he has always possessed it. If he
always possessed it, he must always have
known; if on the other hand he acquired
it at some previous time, it cannot [E]
have been in this life, unless somebody
has taught him geometry. He will behave
in the same way with all geometrical
knowledge, and every other subject. Has
anyone taught him all these? You ought
to know, especially as he has been
brought up in your household.

MENO. Yes, I know that no one ever
taught him.

SOGR. And has he these opinions, or
hasn t he?

MENO. It seems we can t deny it.
SOCR. Then if he did not acquire
them in this life, isn t it immediately [86]
clear that he possessed and had learned
them during some other period?
MENO. It seems so.

SOCR. When he was not in human
shape?
MENO. Yes.

SOCR. If then there are going to exist
in him, both while he is and while he
is not a man, true opinions which can
be aroused by questioning and turned
into knowledge, may we say that his soul
has been for ever in a state of knowl
edge? Clearly he always either is or is
not a man.
MENO. Clearly.

SOCR. And if the truth about reality is
always in our soul, the soul must be [B]
immortal, and one must take courage
and try to discover that is, to recollect
what one doesn t happen to know, or
(more correctly) remember, at the mo
ment.

MENO. Somehow or other I believe
you are right.

SOCR. I think I am* I shouldn t like
to take my oath on the whole story, but
one thing I am ready to fight for as long

as I can, in word and act: that is, that
we shall be better, braver and more ac
tive men if we believe it right to look
for what we don t know than if we [c]
believe there is no point in looking be
cause what we don t know we can never
discover.

MENO. There too I am sure you are
right.

SOCR. Then since we are agreed that
it is right to inquire into something that
one does not know, are you ready to
face with me the question: what is
virtue?

MENO. Quite ready. All the same, I
would rather consider the question as I
put it at the beginning, and hear your
views on it; that is, are we to pursue
virtue as something that can be taught,
or do men have it as a gift of nature [D]
or how?

SOCR. If I were your master as well as
my own, Meno, we should not have in
quired whether or not virtue can be
taught until we had first asked the main
question what it is; but not only do
you make no attempt to govern your
own actions you prize your freedom, I
suppose but you attempt to govern
mine. And you succeed too, so I shall let
you have your way. There s nothing else
for it, and it seems we must inquire [B]
into a single property of something about
whose essential nature we are still in the
dark, Just grant me one small relaxation
of your sway, and allow me, in consider
ing whether or not it can be taught, to
make use of a hypothesis the sort of
thing, I mean, that geometers often use
in their inquiries. When they are asked,
for example, about a given area&gt; whether
it is possible for this area to be in- [87]
scribed as a triangle in a given circle,
they will probably reply: "I don t know
yet whether it fulfils the conditions, but
I think I have a hypothesis which will
help us in the matter. It is this, If the
area is such that, when one has applied
it [w, as a rectangle] to the given line
p.*. the diameter] of the circle, it is de
ficient by another rectangle similar to

MENO

105

the one which is applied, then, I should
say, one result follows; if not, the result
is different. If you ask me, then, about [B]
the inscription of the figure in the circle
whether it is possible or not I am
ready to answer you in this hypothetical
way. 3 3

Let us do the same about virtue. Since
we don t know what it is or what it
resembles, let us use a hypothesis in in
vestigating whether it is teachable or
not. We shall say: "What attribute of
the soul must virtue be, if it is to be
teachable or otherwise?" Well, in the
first place, if it is anything else but
knowledge, is there a possibility of any
one teaching it or, in the language we
used just now, reminding someone of it?
We needn t worry about which name
we are to give to the process, but simply
ask: will it be teachable? Isn t it [c]
plain to everyone that a man is not
taught anything except knowledge?

MENO. That would be my view.

SOGR. If on the other hand virtue is
some sort of knowledge, clearly it could
be taught.

MENO. Certainly.

SOGR. So that question is easily settled;
I mean, on what condition virtue would
be teachable.

MENO. Yes.

SOGR. The next point then, I suppose,
is to find out whether virtue is knowl
edge or something different.

MENO. That is the next question, I [D]
agree.

SOCR. Well then, do we assert that
virtue is something good? Is that as
sumption a firm one for us?

MENO. Undoubtedly.

3 The geometrically illustration here ad
duced by Socrates is very loosely and obscure
ly expressed. Sir Thomas Heath in his History
of Greek Mathematics (1921, vol. i, p. 298)
says that C. Blass, writing in 1861, already
know of thirty different interpretations, and
that many more had appeared since then.
Fortunately it is not necessary to understand
the example in order to grasp the hypothetical
method Socrates is expounding.

SOCR. That being so, if there exists any
good thing different from, and not as
sociated with, knowledge, virtue will not
necessarily be any form of knowledge.
If on the other hand knowledge em
braces everything that is good, we shall
be right to suspect that virtue is knowl
edge.

MENO. Agreed.

SOGR. First then, is it virtue which
makes us good?

MENO. Yes.

SOGR. And if good, then advan- [E]
tageous. All good things are advan
tageous, are they not?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. So virtue itself must be some
thing advantageous?

MENO. That follows also.

SOGR. Now suppose we consider what
are the sort of things that profit us. Take
them in a list. Health, we may say, and
strength and good looks, and wealth
these and their like we call advan
tageous, you agree?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. Yet we also speak of these [88]
things as sometimes doing harm. Would
you object to that statement?

MENO. No, it is so.

SOGR. Now look here: what is the
controlling factor which determines
whether each of these is advantageous
or harmful? Isn t it right use which
makes them advantageous, and lack of
it ; harmful?

MENO. Certainly.

SOGR. We must also take spiritual
qualities into consideration. You recog
nize such things as temperance, justice,
courage, quickness of mind, memory,
nobility of character and others?

MENO. Yes of course I do. [B]

SOGR. Then take any such qualities
which in your view are not knowledge
but something different. Don t you think
they may be harmful as well as advan
tageous? Courage for instance, if it is
something thoughtless, is just a sort of
confidence. Isn t it true that to be con
fident without reason does a man harm,

106

PLATO

whereas a reasoned confidence profits
him?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. Temperance and quickness of
mind are no different. Learning and dis
cipline are profitable in conjunction with
wisdom, but without it harmful.

MENO. That is emphatically true, [a]

SOCR. In short, everything that the
human spirit undertakes or suffers will
lead to happiness when it is guided by
wisdom, but to the opposite, when
guided by folly.

MENO. A reasonable conclusion.

SOCR. If then virtue is an attribute of
the spirit, and one which cannot fail to
be beneficial, it must be wisdom; for all
spiritual qualities in and by themselves
are neither advantageous nor harmful,
but become advantageous or harmful by
the presence with them of wisdom or [D]
folly. If we accept this argument, then
virtue, to be something advantageous,
must be a sort of wisdom.

MENO. I agree.

SOCR. To go back to the other class of
things, wealth and the like, of which we
said just now that they are sometimes
good and sometimes harmful, isn t it the
same with them? Just as wisdom when
it governs our other psychological im
pulses turns them to advantage, and folly
turns them to harm, so the mind by [E]
its right use and control of these mate
rial assets makes them profitable, and by
wrong use renders them harmful.

MENO. Certainly.

SOCR. And the right user is the mind
of the wise man, the wrong user the
mind of the foolish.

MENO. That is so.

SOCR. So we may say in general that
the goodness of non-spiritual assets de
pends on our spiritual character, and the
goodness of that on wisdom. This [89]
argument shows that the advantageous
element must be wisdom; and virtue, we
agree, is advantageous, so that amounts
to saying that virtue, either in whole or
in part, is wisdom.

MENO. The argument seems to me fair
enough.

SOCR. If so, good men cannot be good
by nature.

MENO. I suppose not.

SOCR. There is another point. If [B]
they were, there would probably be ex
perts among us who could recognize the
naturally good at an early stage. They
would point them out to us and we
should take them and shut them away
safely in the Acropolis, sealing them up
more carefully than bullion to protect
them from corruption and ensure that
when they came to maturity they would
be of use to the State.

MENO. It would be likely enough.

SOCR. Since then goodness does not
come by nature, is it got by learning? [c]

MENO. I don t see how we can escape
the conclusion. Indeed it is obvious on
our assumption that, if virtue is knowl
edge, it is teachable.

SOCR. I suppose so. But I wonder if
we were right to bind ourselves to that.

MENO. Well, it seemed all right just
now.

SOCR. Yes, but to be sound it has got
to seem all right not only "just now"
but at this moment and in the future.

MENO. Of course. But what has [D]
occurred to you to make you turn
against it and suspect that virtue may
not be knowledge?

SOCR. I ll tell you, I don t withdraw
from the position that if it is knowl
edge, it must be teachable; but as for
its being knowledge, see whether you
think my doubts on this point are well
founded. If anything not virtue only
is a possible subject of instruction,
must there not be teachers and students
of it?

MENO. Surely. [B]

SOCR. And what of the converse, that
if there are neither teachers nor students
of a subject, we may safely infer that
it cannot be taught?

MENO. That is true. But don t you
think there are teachers of virtue?

MENO

107

SOCR. All I can say is that I have
often looked to see if there are any, and
in spite of all my efforts I cannot find
them, though I have had plenty of fel
low-searchers, the kind of men especially
whom I believe to have most experience
in such matters. But look, Meno, here s
a piece of luck. Anytus has just sat [90]
down beside us. We couldn t do better
than make him a partner in our inquiry.
In the first place he is the son of Anthe-
mion, a man of property and good sense a
who didn t get his money out of the blue
or as a gift like Ismenias of Thebes
who has just come into the fortune of a
Croesus but earned it by his own brains
and hard work. Besides this he shows
himself a decent, modest citizen with no
arrogance or bombast or offensiveness [B]
about him. Also he brought up his son
well and had him properly educated, as
the Athenian people appreciate: look
how they elect him into the highest
offices in the State. This is certainly the
right sort of man with whom to inquire
whether there are any teachers of virtue,
and if so who they are.

Please help us, Anytus Meno, who is
a friend of your family, and myself to
find out who may be the teachers of this
subject. Look at it like this. If we wanted
Meno to become a good doctor, [c]
shouldn t we send him to the doctors to
be taught?

ANYTUS. Of course.

SOCR. And if we wanted him to be
come a shoemaker, to the shoemakers?

ANYT. Yes.

SOGR. And so on with other trades?

ANYT. Yes.

SOGR. Now another relevant question.
When we say that to make Meno a
doctor we should be right in sending
him to the doctors, have we in mind
that the sensible thing is to send him [D]
to those who profess the subject rather
than to those who don t, men who
charge a fee as professionals, having an
nounced that they are prepared to teach
whoever likes to come and learn?

ANYT. Yes.

SOGR. The same is surely true of
flute-playing and other accomplishments.
If you want to make someone a per
former on the flute it would be very [E]
foolish to refuse to send him to those
who undertake to teach the art and are
paid for it, but to go and bother other
people instead and have him try to learn
from them people who don t set up to
be teachers or take any pupils in the
subject which we want our young man
to learn. Doesn t that sound very un
reasonable?

ANYT. Sheer stupidity I should say.

SOGR. I agree. And now we can both
consult together about our visitor [91]
Meno. He has been telling me all this
while that the longs to acquire the kind
of wisdom and virtue which fits men to
manage an estate or govern a city, to
look after their parents, and to entertain
and send off guests in proper style, both
their own countrymen and foreigners.
With this in mind, to whom would [B]
it be right to send him? What we have
just said seems to show that the right
people are those who profess to be
teachers of virtue and offer their serv
ices freely to any Greek who wishes to
learn, charging a fixed fee for their in
struction.

ANYT. Whom do you mean by that,
Socrates?

SOGR. Surely you know yourself that
they are the men called Sophists.

ANYT. Good heavens, what a thing [a]
to say! I hope no relative of mine or any
of my friends, Athenian or foreign,
would be so mad as to go and let him
self be ruined by those people. That s
what they are, the manifest ruin and
corruption of anyone who comes into
contact with them.

SOCR. What, Anytus? Can they be so
different from other claimants to useful
knowledge that they not only don t do
good, like the rest, to the material that
one puts in their charge, but on the [D]
contrary spoil it and have the effron-

108

PLATO

tery to take money for doing so? I for
one find it difficult to believe you. I
know that one of them alone, Protagoras,
earned more money from being a Sophist
than an outstandingly fine craftsman like
Phidias and ten other sculptors put to
gether. A man who mends old shoes or
restores coats couldn t get away with it
for a month if he gave them back in [E]
worse condition than he received them;
he would soon find himself starving.
Surely it is incredible that Protagoras
took in the whole of Greece, corrupting
his pupils and sending them away worse
than when they came to him, for more
than forty years. I believe he was nearly
seventy when he died, and had been
practising for forty years, and all that
time indeed to this very day his rep
utation has been consistently high; and
there are plenty of others besides [92]
Protagoras, some before his time and
others still alive. Are we to suppose from
your remark that they consciously de
ceive and ruin young men, or are they
unaware of it themselves? Can these re
markably clever men as some regard
them be mad enough for that?

ANYT. Far from it, Socrates. It isn t
they who are mad, but rather the young
men who hand over their money, and
those responsible for them, who let them
get into the Sophists hands, are even [B]
worse. Worst of all are the cities who
allow them in, or don t expel them,
whether it be a foreigner or one of
themselves who tries that sort of game.

SOCR. Has one of the Sophists done
you a personal injury, or why are you
so hard on them?

ANYT. Heavens, no! I ve never in my
life had anything to do with a single one
of them, nor would I hear of any of my
family doing so.

SOCR. So you ve had no experience of
them at all?

ANYT. And don t want any either, [c]

SOGR. You surprise me. How can you
know what is good or bad in something
when you have no experience of it?

ANYT. Quite easily. At any rate I
know their kind, whether I ve had ex
perience or not.

SOGR. It must be second sight, I sup
pose; for how else you know about them,
judging from what you tell me yourself,
I can t imagine. However, we are not
asking whose instruction it is that [D]
would ruin Meno s character. Let us say
that those are the Sophists if you like,
and tell us instead about the ones we
want. You can do a good turn to a
friend of your father s house if you will
let him know to whom in our great
city he should apply for proficiency in
the kind of virtue I have just described,
ANYT. Why not tell him yourself?
SOGR. Well, I did mention the men
who in my opinion teach these things, but
apparently I was talking nonsense. So
you say, and you may well be right. [E]
Now it is your turn to direct him; men
tion the name of any Athenian you like.
ANYT. But why mention a particular
individual? Any decent Athenian gentle
man whom he happens to meet, if he
follows his advice, will make him a
better man than the Sophists would.

SOGR. And did these gentlemen get
their fine qualities spontaneously self-
taught, as it were, and yet able to teach
this untaught virtue to others? [93]
ANYT. I suppose they in their turn
learned it from forebears who were
gentlemen like themselves. Would you
deny that there have been many good
men in our city?

SOCR. On the contrary, there are
plenty of good statesmen here in Athens
and have been as good in the past, The
question is, have they also been good
teachers of their own virtue? That is
the point we are discussing now not
whether or not there are good men in
Athens or whether there have been in [B]
past times, but whether virtue can be
taught. It amounts to the question
whether the good men of this and former
times have known how to hand on to
someone else the goodness that was in

MENO

109

themselves, or whether on the contrary
it is not something that can be handed
over, or that one man can receive from
another. That is what Meno and I have
long been puzzling over. Look at it from
your own point of view. You would [c]
say that Themistocles was a good man?

ANYT. Yes, none better.

SOGR. And that he, if anyone, must
have been a good teacher of his own
virtue?

ANYT. I suppose so, if he wanted to be.

SOGR. But don t you think he must
have wanted others to become worthy
men above all, surely, his own son? Do
you suppose he grudged him this and
purposely didn t pass on his own [D]
virtue to him? You must have heard
that he had his son Cleophantus so well
trained in horsemanship that he could
stand upright on horseback and throw
a javelin from that position; and many
other wonderful accomplishments the
young man had, for his father had him
taught and made expert in every skill
that a good instructor could impart. You
must have heard this from older people?

ANYT. Yes.

SOCR. No one, then, could say that
there was anything wrong with the boy s
natural powers?

ANYT. Perhaps not. [E]

SOGR. But have you ever heard anyone,
young or old, say that Cleophantus the
son of Themistocles was a good and wise
man in the way that his father was?

ANYT. Certainly not.

SOCR. Must we conclude then that
Themistocle s aim was to educate his son
in other accomplishments, but not to
make him any better than his neighbours
in his own type of wisdom that is, sup
posing that virtue could be taught?

ANYT. I hardly think we can.

SOGR. So much then for Themistocles
as a teacher of virtue, whom you your
self agree to have been one of the best
men of former times. Take another [94]
example, Aristides son of Lysimachus.
You accept him as a good man?

ANYT. Surely.

SOGR. He too gave his son Lysimachus
the best education in Athens, in all sub
jects where a teacher could help; but did
he make him a better man than his
neighbour? You know him, I think, and
can say what he is like. Or again there
is Pericles, that great and wise man. [B]
He brought up two sons, Paralus and
Xanthippus, and had them taught rid
ing, music, athletics, and all the other
skilled pursuits till they were as good as
any in Athens. Did he then not want to
make them good men? Yes, he wanted
that, no doubt, but I am afraid it is
something that cannot be done by teach
ing. And in case you should think that
only very few, and those the most [c]
insignificant, lacked this power, consider
that Thucydides also had two sons,
Melesias and Stephanus, so whom he
gave an excellent education. Among
other things they were the best wrestlers
in Athens, for he gave one to Xanthias
to train and the other to Eudoxus the
two who, I understand, were considered
the finest wrestlers of their time. You
remember?

ANYT. I have heard of them.

SOCR. Surely then he would never have
had his children taught these expensive
pursuits and yet refused to teach them
to be good men which would have [D]
cost nothing at all if virtue could have
been taught? You are not going to tell
me that Thucydides was a man of no
account, or that he had not plenty of
friends both at Athens and among the
allies? He came of an influential family
and was a great power both here and in
the rest of Greece. If virtue could have
been taught, he would have found the
man to make his sons good, either among
our own citizens or abroad, supposing [E]
his political duties left him no time to
do it himself. No, my dear Anytus, it
looks as if it cannot be taught.

ANYT. You seem to me, Socrates, to be
too ready to run people down. My ad
vice to you, if you will listen to it, is to

110

PLATO

be careful. I dare say that in all cities it
is easier to do a man harm than good,
and it is certainly so here, as I expect [95]
you know yourself.

SOCR. Anytus seems angry, Meno, and
I am not surprised. He thinks I am
slandering our statesmen, and moreover
he believes himself to be one of them.
He doesn t know what slander really is:
if he ever finds out he will forgive me.

However, tell me this yourself: are
there not similar fine characters in your
country?

MENO. Yes, certainly.

SOCR. Do they come forward of [B]
their own accord to teach the young?
Do they agree that they are teachers and
that virtue can be taught?

MENO. No indeed, they don t agree on
it at all. Sometimes you will hear them
say that it can be taught, sometimes that
it cannot.

SOGR. Ought we then to class as
teachers of it men who are not even
agreed that it can be taught?

MENO. Hardly, I think.

SOGR. And what about the Sophists,
the only people who profess to teach [c]
it? Do you think they do?

MENO. The thing I particularly ad
mire about Gorgias, Socrates, is that you
will never hear him make this claim;
indeed he laughs at the others when he
hears them do so. In his view his job is
to make clever speakers.

SOCR. So you too don t think the
Sophists are teachers?

MENO. I really can t say. Like most
people I waver sometimes I think they
are and sometimes I think they are not.

SOGR. Has it ever occurred to you that
you and our statesmen are not alone [D]
in this? The poet Theognis likewise says
in one place that virtue is teachable and
in another that it is not.

MENO, Really? Where?

SOCR. In the elegiacs in which he
writes :

Eat, drink, and sit with men of power and
weight,

Nor scorn to gain the favour of the great.
For fine men s teaching to fine ways \vill

win thee: [E]

Low company destroys what wit is in thee.

There he speaks as if virtue can be
taught, doesn t he?

MENO. Clearly.

SOGR. But elsewhere he changes his
ground a little:

Were mind by art created and instilled
Immense rewards had soon the pockets
filled

of the people who could do this. More
over

No good man s son would ever worthless

be,
Taught by wise counsel. But no teacher s

skill [96]

Can turn to good what is created ill.

Do you see how he contradicts him
self?

MENO. Plainly.

SOCR. Can you name any other sub
ject, in which the professed teachers are
not only not recognized as teachers of
others, but are thought to have no
understanding of it themselves, and to [B]
be no good at the very subject they pro
fess to teach; whereas those who are
acknowledged to be the best at it are in
two minds whether it can be taught or
not? When people are so confused about
a subject, can you say that they are in
a true sense teachers?

MENO. Certainly not*

SOCR. Well, if neither the Sophists nor
those who display fine qualities them
selves are teachers of virtue, I am sure
no one else can be, and if there are [c]
no teachers, there can be no students
either,

MENO. I quite agree,

SOCR. And we have also agreed that a
subject of which there were neither
teachers nor students was not one which
could be taught.

MENO. That is so.

MEMO

111

SOGR. Now there turn out to be neither
teachers nor students of virtue, so it
would appear that virtue cannot be
taught.

MENO. So it seems, if we have made [D]
no mistake; and it makes me wonder,
Socrates, whether there are in feet no
good men at all, or how they are pro
duced when they do appear.

SOGR. I have a suspicion, Meno, that
you and I are not much good. Our
masters Gorgias and Prodicus have not
trained us properly. We must certainly
take ourselves in hand, and try to find
someone who will improve us by hook or
by crook. I say this with our recent [E]
discussion in mind, for absurdly enough
we failed to perceive that it is not only
under the guidance of knowledge that
human action is well and rightly con
ducted. I believe that may be what pre
vents us from seeing how it is that men
are made good.

MENO. What do you mean?

SOGR. This. We were correct, were we
not, in agreeing that good men must be
profitable or useful? It cannot be other
wise, can it? [97]

MENO. No.

SOCR. And again that they will be of
some use if they conduct our affairs
aright that also was correct?

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. But in insisting that knowledge
was a sine qua non for right leadership,
we look like being mistaken.

MENO. How so?

SOCR. Let me explain. If someone
knows the way to Larissa, or anywhere
else you like, then when he goes there
and takes others with him he will be a
good and capable guide, you would
agree?

MENO. Of course.

SOGR. But if a man judges correctly [B]
which is the road, though he has never
been there and doesn t know it, will he
not also guide others aright?

MENO. Yes, he will.

SOGR, And as long as he has a correct
opinion on the points about which the

other has knowledge, he will be just as
good a guide, believing the truth but not
knowing it.

MENO. Just as good.
SOGR. Therefore true opinion is as
good a guide as knowledge for the pur
pose of acting rightly. That is what we
left out just now in our discussion of [c]
the nature of virtue, when we said that
knowledge is the only guide to right ac
tion. There was also, it seems, true
opinion.

MENO. It seems so.

SOGR. So right opinion is something no
less useful than knowledge.

MENO. Except that the man with
knowledge will always be successful, and
the man with- right opinion only some
times.

SOGR. What? Will he not always be
successful so long as he has the right
opinion?

MENO. That must be so, I suppose. [D]
In that case, I wonder why knowledge
should be so much more prized than
right opinion, and indeed how there is
any difference between them.

SOCR. Shall I tell you the reason for
your surprise, or do you know it?
MENO. No, tell me.
SOCR. It is because you have not ob
served the statues of Daedalus. Perhaps
you don t have them in your country.
MENO. What makes you say that?
SOGR. They too, if no one ties them
down, run away and escape. If tied, they
stay where they are put.

MENO. What of it? [E]

SOCR. If you have one of his works
untethered, 1 it is not worth much: it
gives you the slip like a runaway slave.
But a tethered specimen is very valuable,
for they are magnificent creations. And
that, I may say, has a bearing on the
matter of true opinions. True opinions
are a fine thing and do all sorts of good
so long as they stay in their place; [98]
but they will not stay long. They run
away from a man s mind, so they are not
worth much until you tether them by
working out the reason. That process, my

112

PLATO

dear Meno, is recollection, as we agreed
earlier. Once they are tied down, they
become knowledge, and are stable. That
is why knowledge is something more
valuable than right opinion. What dis
tinguishes one from the other is the
tether.

MENO. It does seem something like
that, certainly.

SOGR. Well of course, I have only [B]
been using an analogy myself, not knowl
edge. But it is not, I am sure, a mere
guess to say that right opinion and
knowledge are different. There are few
things that I should claim to know, but
that at least is among them, whatever
else is.

MENO. You are quite right.

SOCR. And is this right too, that true
opinion when it governs any course of
action produces as good a result as
knowledge?

MENO. Yes, that too is right, I think.

SOCR. So that for practical purposes [c]
right opinion is no less useful than
knowledge, and the man who has it is
no less useful than the one who knows.

MENO. That is so.

SOGR. Now we have agreed that the
good man is useful.

MENO. Yes.

SOCR. To recapitulate then: assuming
that there are men good and useful to
the community, it is not only knowledge
that makes them so, but also right [D]
opinion, and neither of these comes by
nature but both are acquired or do you
think either them is natural?

MENO. No.

SOCR. So if both are acquired, good
men themselves are not good by nature.

MENO. No.

SOGR. That being so, the next thing
we inquired was whether their goodness
was a matter of teaching, and we decided
that it would be, if virtue were knowl
edge, and conversely, that if it could be
taught, it would be knowledge.

MENO. Yes.

SOGR. Next, that if there were teachers

of it, it could be taught, but not if there
were none. [E]

MENO. That was so.

SOGR. But we have agreed that there
are no teachers of it, and so that it can
not be taught and is not knowledge.

MENO. We did.

SOCR. At the same time we agreed
that it is something good, and that to be
useful and good consists in giving right
guidance.

MENO. Yes.

SOGR. And that these two, true [99]
opinion and knowledge, are the only
things which direct us aright and the
possession of which makes a man a true
guide. We may except chance, because
what turns out right by chance is not
due to human direction, and say that
where human control leads to right ends,
these two principles are directive, true
opinion and knowledge.

MENO. Yes, I agree.

SOCR. Now since virtue cannot be
taught, we can no longer believe it to
be knowledge, so that one of our two [B]
good and useful principles is excluded,
and knowledge is not the guide in public
life.

MENO. No.

SOGR. It is not then by the possession
of any wisdom that such men as Themis-
tocles, and the others whom Anytus
mentioned just now, became leaders in
their cities. This fact, that they do not
owe their eminence to knowledge, will
explain why they are unable to make
others like themselves.

MENO. No doubt it is as you say.

SOGR. That leaves us with the other
alternative, that it is well-aimed con- [c]
jecture which statesmen employ in up
holding their countries welfare. Their
position in relation to knowledge is no
different from that of prophets and tel
lers of oracles, who under divine inspira
tion utter many truths, but have no
knowledge of what they are saying.

MENO. It must be something like that.

SOCR. And ought we not to reckon

PHAEDO

113

those men divine who with no conscious
thought are repeatedly and outstandingly
successful in what they do or say?

MENO. Certainly.

SOCR. We are right therefore to give
this title to the oracular priests and [D]
the prophets that I mentioned, and to
poets of every description. Statesmen
too, when by their speeches they get
great things done yet know nothing of
what they are saying, are to be con
sidered as acting no less under divine
influence, inspired and possessed by the
divinity.

MENO. Certainly.

SOGR. Women, you know, Meno, do
call good men "divine," and the Spar
tans too, when they are singing a good
man s praises, say "He is divine."

MENO. And it looks as if they are [E]
right though our friend Anytus may be
annoyed with you for saying so.

SOCR. I can t help that. We will talk
to him some other time. If all we have
said in this discussion, and the questions
we have asked, have been right, virtue
will be acquired neither by nature nor

by teaching. Whoever has it gets if by
divine dispensation without taking [100]
thought, unless he be the kind of states
man who can create another like him
self. Should there be such a man, he
would be among the living practically
what Homer said Tiresias was among the
dead, when he described him as the only
one in the underworld who kept his wits
"the others are mere flitting shades."
Where virtue is concerned such a man
would be just like that, a solid reality
among shadows.

MENO. That is finely put, Socrates. [B]
SOCR. On our present reasoning then,
whoever has virtue gets it by divine dis
pensation. But we shall not understand
the truth of the matter until, before
asking how men get virtue, we try to
discover what virtue is in and by itself.
Now it is time for me to go; and my
request to you is that you will allay the
anger of your friend Anytus by convinc
ing him that what you now believe is
true. If you succeed, the Athenians may
have cause to thank you.

PHAEDO (in part : 72-82, 773-enc/J

72E-77A A Complementary
Argument. The Theory of Recollection

Cebes rejoined: "There is also [72s]
another theory which, if true, points the
same way, Socrates: the one that you
are constantly asserting, namely that
learninjs: is really just recollection from
which it follows presumably that what
we now gall to mind| w$ fravft learnt at
some

which would [73]
not be possible unless our souls existed
somewhere before being born in this
human frame. Hence we seem to have
another indication that the soul is some
thing immortal."

Simmias now intervened to ask: "But
how is that proved, Cebes? Please re

mind me, as I can t quite remember at
the moment." 1

"First," replied Cebes, "by the excel
lent argument that when people are
asked questions _ they can produce the
right answers to anything jT
accord, provided that the que

one properly. Of course they wouldn t
be able to do so unless they had knowl
edge and correct views within them.
Secondly, if you confront people with
anything in the nature of a diagram, you

1 Simmias defective memory is doubtless
no more than a device to make it more nat
ural for Socrates to expound and defend a
theory, which if it had in fact been his own,
would presumably have been quite familiar
to his present audience.

114

PLATO

have the plainest proof of the point [B]
in question."

"And if that doesn t convince you,
Simmias," said Socrates, "I will suggest
another consideration to which you may
perhaps agree. You are evidently scepti
cal about the possibility of what is called
learning being recollection."

"Not sceptical," said Simmias: "what
I need is just what we are talking about,
namely to recollect. In point of fact,
thanks to Cebes s setting out of the argu
ments I do already almost remember,
and am almost convinced; all the same,
I should like now to hear how you your
self have set them out."

"I will tell you. We agree, I take [c]
it, that tojbe reminded of something
implies haying at some preyious_,jiai
known it?"
~ "Certainly."

"And can we further agree that recol
lection may take the form of acquiring
Knowledge in a particular way, I mean
like this: a man who has seen or heard
or by some other sense perceived jtoine;-
thing may come to know something
other than that, m

"Reminder then may take that
form : but it is most

nexjon with things i that _wejiayjjforgot-
ten owing to the lapse of time and our
not having thought about them. Isn t
that so?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Another point: is it possible to see
the picture of a horse or a lyre and be
reminded of their owner: or again to
see a picture of Simmias and be re
minded of Gebes?"

"Certainly."

"Or alternatively to see a picture of
Simmias and be reminded of Simmias? *

"Yes, that is possible." [74]

"And from all this it follows, doesn t
it, that we may be reminded of things
either by snmp-.thingr like them,
something unlike

It does."

"Moreover, when it is by something
like the other thing., are we not certain.
to find ourselves doing something else
besides, namely asking ourselves whether
the similarity between the object and
the thing it remindru? of is defective or

else besides that, jomething that is the
object of a different knowledge. When
this happens are we not justified in say- j
ing that Jbe_ recollects or is reminded I
of the new object that he has thought I

Of?" [D]

"How do you mean?"

"To give an example, the knowledge
of a man is different from that of a
lyre."

"Of course."

"Well, you know how a lover feels
when he sees a lyre or a cloak or some
other object commonly used by his be
loved: he apprehends the lyre, but he
also conceives in his mind the form of
the boy to whom it belongs; and that is
reminder. Similarly one who sees Sim
mias is often reminded of Cebes, and we
could think of any number of similar
cases."

"Yes indeed, any number," agreed
Simmias emphatically.

not?"

Certainly we shall."
Well now, see if you agree with my
next point. Ws^maintain, do we not, that
there is^such a jlnng^as equality, not the
equality of oneTlog to another, or one
stone to another, but something beyond
all these cases, something different,
equality itself. May we maintain that
that exists, or may we not?"

"Most assuredly we may," answered
Simmias: "not a doubt of it." [B]

"And have we knowledge of it, in and
by itself?"

"Certainly we have."

"Then where do we get that knowl
edge, from? Mustn t it be from the ob
jects we mentioned just now, the equal
logs or stones or whatever they were that
we saw? Didn t they lead us to conceive
of that other something? You do regard
it as something other than those things,
don t you? Look at it like this: two
stones or two logs equal in length some-

PHAEDO

115

times seem equal to one man, but not to
another, though they haven t changed."

"Yes certainly."

"But now, what about equals them- [c]
selves? Have they ever appeared to you
to be unequal, or equality to be inequal
ity?"

"Never, Socrates."

"Then those equal objects are not the
same as the equal itself."

"Far from it, I should say."

"And yet i^.^fron^ those,, equal objects,
this eguaj, that:

yojuijiave conceived and acquired Jmowl-

"That is perfectly true."

"This latter being either like those
others or unlike?"

"Just so."

"However, that point is immaterial;
but so long as th_sight of one thing
leads you to conceive another, whether
like it or unlike r a case of reminder [p|
must have occurred."

"Yes, to be sure."

"And to continue: in the instance of
those equal logs and other equal objects
that we mentioned just now, is it our
experience that they appear equal to the
same degree as the equal itself? Is there
some deficiency in respect of the likeness
of the former to the latter, or is there
none?"

"Yes, a considerable deficiency."

"Then when someone sees a certain
object and says to himself The thing I
am looking at wants., .to bel^ke^ some
thing else, but can resemble that other
thing only defectively, as an inferior [E]
copy, may we agree that what he is
saying necessarily implies a previous
knowledge of that which he finds tHe
object seen to resemble thus defective
ly?"

"That is necessaiily implied."

"Well then, is our own experience of
the equal objects and the equal itself
that just described, or is it not?"

"Undoubtedly it is."

"So it necessarily follows that we knew
the equal at a time previous to that first

sight of equal objects which led us to
conceive all these as Tstrivin^ to be [75j"

like the .equal,. but_defectively succeed-

. . i MIII.IIII ..... - ..i.

ing."

"That is so."

"And we agree moreover on a further
point, that the conception referred to has
arisen only, and could have arisen only.
from seeing or touching, or some other
form of sense-perception: what I am say
ing applies to them all alike."

"And alike they are, Socrates, in re
spect of the point that our argument
seeks to establish."

"But the fact is that these very sense-
perceptions must lead us to conceive that
all those objects of perception are [B]
striving for that which is equal, but de
fectively attaining it. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Hence before we_ever began to see
or hear or otherwise perceive things we
must, it seems, have possessed knowledge
of the equal itself 5 if we were^goingL tp
refer the_equal things of^jpur j[ense-pejr-
ceptijMisjte ithfrt stiandard, that all such
objects are doing their best to resemble
it, yet are in fact inferior to it."

"That must follow from what we said
before, Socrates."

"Well, we have been seeing and hear
ing things, and employing^ our other
senses from the very monignt^ we were
born,, have we not?"

"Certainly."

"And befpre doing so we must, so [c]
we maintain, have possessed knowledge
of {foe equal?"

"Yes."

"Then it seems that we jmust have

"It

"Then if we wereHporn with this
knowledge. 2 having acquired it before
birth, must we not Jhtayehad knowledge,

2 It is important to realise that both the
introductory clause of this paragraph ou/coS/v
el /*ei&gt; ... T& roi&vra and the second e jueV
clause at D? put forward hypotheses which
Socrates does not accept; that which he does
accept comes at E2 with the Be clause.

116

PLATO

both before birth and immediately after
wards, not only of the equal, the greater
and the smaller, but of all things of that
sort? For our argument applies not mere
ly to the equal, but with the same force
to the beautiful itself, the good itself,
the just, the holy, in fact, as I have just
said, to everything upon which we [D]
affix our seal and mark as being c the
thing itself, when we put our questions
and give our answers. 3 Of all these then
we must have possessed the knowledge
before we were born."

"That is so."

"And if we do not each time fojget
what we have acquired, we must be pos
sessed ot knowledge always, we must
have it throughout our whole life ; for to
know means jo have acquired knowledge^
of something and not have lost it. The
losing of knowledge is what we mean by
forgetting, isn t it, Simmias?"

"Undoubtedly, Socrates." [E]

"But if on the other hand we lost at

quired before birth., but afterwards by
(Erecting our senses to the relevant object
recover^that old knowledge, then, I take
it, what is called learning will consistjn
recovering a knowledge which belongs
to us; and should we not be right in
calling this recollection?"

"Certainly."

"The reason being that we found [76]
that it was possible for a person who had
seen or heard or otherwise perceived an
object to go on to conceive another ob
ject which he had forgotten, something
with which the first object was connect
ed, whether by resemblance or contrast.
Hence my two alternatives: either we
a_jtll of us born knowing th^ things in
question, and retain the knowledge
throughout our life, or else those who

a Jji!j3j^^

and learning w^^ojTLSJsJ^in^jrgcollectiQn."
^Tf a^^uite^sure you are right,
Socrates,"

"Then which do you choose, Sim- [B]

I.e. in philosophical dialogue or dialectic.

mias? Are we born with that knowledge,
or do we recollect a knowledge which
we once possessed?"

"At the moment, Socrates, I don t
know which to choose."

"Well, here is something about which
perhaps you can choose, and give me
your view. If a man knows certain things,
will he be able to give an account of
them, or will he not?"

"Unquestionably he will, Socrates."

"And do you think that everybody
could give an account of those objects
we were speaking of just now?"

"I only wish I did," replied Simmias;
"alas, on the contrary I fear that by this
time to-morrow there will be no man
left alive capable of doing so adequate-
ly."

"So you don t think that every- [c]
body knows those objects, Simmias."

"By no means."

"Can they then recollect what they
once learnt?"

"It must be so."

"But when did our souls acquire this
knowledge? Evidently not since our birth
as human beings."

"No indeed."

"Before that, then?"

"Yes."

"Then, Simmias, our souls did exist
before they were within this human
form, apart from our bodies and pos
sessed of intelligence."

"Unless possibly it was at the actual
moment of birth that we acquired the
knowledge in question, Socrates; there is
that moment still left."

"Yes yes, my friend; but at what [D]
moment, may I ask, do we lose it? We
are not born with the knowledge: that
we agreed a moment ago: do we then
lose it at the very moment that we
acquire it, or is there some other mo
ment that you can suggest?"

"No indeed, Socrates; I see now that
I was talking nonsense."

"Then may our position be put like
this, Simmias? If those objects, exist
which are always on our lips., a beautiful

PHAEDO

117

and a good and all reality of that sort
and if it is to that that we refer the
content of our sense-perceptions, thereby
recovering what was ours aforetime, and
compare our percepts thereto, it must [E]
follow that as surely as those objects exist
so surely do our souls

^ jwe

arej&gt;orj3,; but if the former do not exist,
all our argument will have gone for
nothing. Is that our position? Does the
existence of our souls before birth stand
or fall with the existence of those ob
jects?"

"I am utterly convinced, Socrates,"
replied Simmias, "that it does so stand
or fall: our argument is happily reduced
to this, that it is equally certain that our
souls exist before birth as Jjiat the [77]
reality of which you_now speak exists. I
say happily, because there is nothing so
plainly true to my mind as that all that
sort of thing most assuredly does exist,
a beautiful and a good and all those
other things that you were speaking of
just now. So I think we have had a
satisfactory proof." 4

77A-78B Combined Results

of The Two Preceding Arguments.

Socrates as Charmer

"And what about Gebes?" asked Soc
rates; "we must convince him too." [77A]

"He is satisfied, I think," said Sim
mias, "though indeed he is the most
obstinate sceptic in the world. I think
he is fully persuaded that our souls exist
ed before we were born; but will they [B]
still exist after we die? That I myself
don t think we have proved; we are still
left with the ordinary man s misgiving
which Gebes voiced a while ago, that
when a man dies his soul is simultane
ously dissipated and thus comes to the
end of its existence. May it not be that,
deriving its origin and construction from
some external source, it exists before

entering into a human body, yet when
it quits the body it has entered it too
comes to an end and is destroyed?"

"You are right, Simmias," said [a]
Gebes. "We seem to have proved half
of what we want, namely that our souls
existed 1
Have yet
exist

die ; "only then will our
"

proof be complete"."

"But you have the complete proof al-
ready, my friends," said Socrates, "if you
will combine the present argument with
that which we agreed upon previously,
that is to say the principle that every
thing that lives comes from what is dead*
For if the soul exists before birth f andTTf
its entry into life, its being born, must [D]
necessarily have one and only one origin.
namely death or the state of being dead,
must it not follow, seeing , that it is,Jto
be born again, that it still exists .

4 Sc, of the pre-natal existence of the soul;
not, of course, of the existence of the Forms,
which has been a premiss of the proof.

has died? So your point is indeed proved
already. Nevertheless I fancy you and
Simmias would like to have further dis
cussion of this point too; you seem to
have a childish fear that the wind [E]
literally blows a soul to bits when it
quits the body, and scatters it in all
directions, more especially if one happens
to die when it s blowing a full gale."

"Then, Socrates," replied Simmias
with a smile, "see if you can argue us
out of our fear. Or rather, not so much
us as the child, maybe, within us that
is given to such fears. See if you can
persuade him to abandon his fear of this
bogy called death."

"Well," said Socrates, "you will have
to pronounce charms over him every day
until you have charmed the bogy away."

"And where, Socrates," said Gebes,
are we going to find an expert at [78]
such charms, now that you are leaving
us?"

"There is a wide field in Greece,
Cebes, which must surely contain ex
perts, and a wide field also in the world
outside Greece, the whole of which you
ought to explore in quest of your charm
er; and you should spare neither money

118

PLATO

nor trouble, for you couldn t spend your
money on a more pressing object. But
you should search amongst yourselves
too: I daresay you won t easily find any
one better at this task than you are."

"Very well/ said Cebes, "we will see
to that. But let us now, if it suits you,
go back to the point at which we [B]
broke off."

"Why, of course it suits me; what do
you expect?"

"Excellent."

78B-80C Third Argument.
The Kinship of Souls and Forms

Socrates then resumed: "Now [78s]
the sort of question that we ought to put
to ourselves is this: what kind of thing
is in fact liable to undergo this dispersal
that you speak of? For what kind of
thing should we fear that it may be dis
persed, and for what kind should we^
oot? And next we should Consider to
which kind the soul belongs, and so find
some ground for confidence or for ap
prehension about our own souls. Am I
right?"

"Yes, you are."

"Well now, isn t anything that has [c]
peen compounded or has a composite

ponent parts? Isn t it incomposite things
done that can possibly be exempt from
hat?"

"I agree that that is so ; " replied Gebes.
"And isn t it most probable that the
incomposite things are those that are
always^constaoiLand unchanging, while
the composite ones are those that are
different at different times and never
constant?"

"I agree."

"Then let us revert to those objects
which we spoke of earlier. What of that
very reality of whose existence we give
an account when we question and [D]
answer each other? 5 Is that always un
changing and constant, or is it different

5 I,e, in philosophical discussions; cf.

at different times? Can the equal itself,
the beautiful itself, the being itselFwhat-
ever^it may be. ever admit any sort of
change? Or does each of these real be
ings, uniform 6 and independent, remain
unchanging and constant, never admit
ting any sort of alteration whatever?"

"They must be unchanging and con
stant," Gebes replied.

"But what about the many beautiful
things, beautiful human beings, say, or
horses or garments or anything else you
like? What about the many equal [E]
things? What about all the things that
are called by the same name as those
real beings? Are they contant, or in con
trast to those is it too much to say that
they are never identical with themselves
nor identically related to one another?"

"You are right about them too," said
Cebes," they are never constant."

"Then again, you can touch them
and see them or otherwise perceive [79]
them with your senses, whereas those un
changing objects cannot be apprehended
save by the mind s reasoning. Things of
that sort are invisible, are they not?"

"That is perfectly true."

"Then shall we say there are two
Jdnds oflhing. the visible and the in
visible?"

"Very well"

"The invisibly Toeing gjwa.yj^ constant,

"We may agree to that too,"

"To proceed: we ourselves are [B]
partly body, partly soul, are we not?"

"Just so."

"Well, which kind of thing shall we
say the body tends to resemble and be
akin to?"

"The visible kind; anyone can see
that."

"And the soul? It that visible or in
visible?"

6 The term /toj/o5& recurs at 80s in close
conjunction with ot$t&\vroi and it is used of
the Form of beauty of Symp. 21 IB. It has the
same force as itw bpoTov which Parmenidea
asserts of his V $v t viz. the denial of internal
difference or distinction of unlike parts.

PHAEDO

119

"Not visible to the human eye, at all
events, Socrates."

"Oh well, we were speaking of what
is or is not visible to mankind: or are
you thinking of some other sort of be
ing?"

"No: of a human being."

"Then what is our decision about the
soul, that it can be seen, or cannot?"

"That it cannot."

"In fact it is invisible?"

"Yes."

"Hence soul rather than body is like
the in visible, while body rather than
jjoiiljg JiTc^Jthe visible."

"Unquestionably, Socrates." [c]

"Now were we not saying some time
ago that when the soul makes use of
the body to investigate something
through vision or hearing or some other
sense of course investigating by means
of the body is the same as investigating
by sense it is draped by the body tor-
wards objects, that are never constant,
and itself wanders in a sort of dizzy
drunken confusion, inasmuch as it is
apprehending confused objects?"

"Just so." ^ ***J

"But when it investigates bv itself [D]
alone, it_pa.sses to that other world of
pure, everlasting, immortal, constant be
ing, and by reason of its kinship thereto
abides ever therewith, whensoever it has
come to be by itself and is suffered to do
so! and then it has rest from wandering
and ever keeps close to that being, un
changed and constant, inasmuch^ as it is_
apprehending unchanging .objects. ^Ancl
is not the experience which it then has
called intelligence?"

"All you have said, Socrates, is true
and admirably put."

"Once again, then, on the strength of
our previous arguments as well as of this
last, which of the two kinds of thing do
you find that soul resembles and is more
akin to?" [E]

"On the strength of our present line
of inquiry, Socrates, I should think that
the veriest dullard would agree that the
soul has a far and away greater resem

blance to everlasting, unchanging being
than to its opposite."

"And what does the body resemble?"

"The other kind."

"Now consider a further point. When
soul and bpdy are conjoined, Nature
prescribes that the latter should be slave
and subject, the former master and [80]
ruler. Which of the two, in your judg
ment, does that suggest as being like the
divine, and which like the mortal? Don t
you think it naturally belongs to the
divine to rule and lead, and to the mortal
to be ruled and subjected?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then which is soul like?"

"Of course it is obvious, Socrates, that
souHs like the divine^ and body like the
mortal."

"Would you say then, Gebes, that the
result of our whole discussion amounts
to this: on the one hand we have that
which is divine, immortal, indestructi- [B]
ble, of a single form, accessible to
thought, ever constant and abiding true
to itself; and the soul is very like it: on
the other hand we have that which is
human, mortal, destructible, of many
forms, inaccessible to thought, never con
stant nor abiding true to itself; and the
body is very like that. Is there anything
to be said against that, dear Cebes?"

"Nothing."

"Well then, that being so, isn t it right
and proper for the body to be quickly
destroyed, but for the soul to be al
together indestructible, or nearly so?"

"Certainly." [c]

80C-82D The After-Life
of Unpurified Souls

"Now you are aware that when [80c]
a man diesjiis body, the visible part of
him which belongs to the visible world,
t&e corpse as we_call it, which in the
natural course is destroyed, falling to
pieces and scattered to the winds, does
not undergo any part of this fate im
mediately, but survives for quite a^con-
indeed for a very

120

PLATO

time if death finds the body in favour
able condition and comes at a favourable
season: for that matter, a corpse that
has been shrunk and embalmed, in the
Egyptian fashion, will remain almost
entire for ages and ages; and some parts
of the body, such as bones, sinews and [D]
so forth, even when decomposition has
occurred, are virtually immortal. Isn t
that so?"

"Yes."

"What then of the soul, the invisible
thing which passes to an invisible region,
a region of splendour and purity, literally
the unseen 5 world of Hades, 7 into the
presence of the good and wise god, 8
whither, if god will, my own soul must
shortly pass? Having found what its
nature is like, are we going to say that
when it quits the body it is immediately
blown to pieces and annihilated, as most
people maintain? 9 Far from it, my
friends: the truth of the matter is very
different. Let jos suppose that a soul [E]
departs in a state of purity, trailing
nothing bodily after it inasmuch as dur-

7 Plato is ready to accept or reject popular
etymologies according as they do or do not
suit his momentary purpose. The etymology
of "Hades" here accepted is rejected at
Cratylus 404s.

8 I doubt whether any allusion is intended
to v&ov\ts as an epithet of Hades, as Burnet
suggests. Socrates has spoken earlier (63s)
of his going to join Qcovs &AAOUJ &lt;ro^&gt;oiJj re ew
ayaMs in the plural, which he again uses at
81A9. Plato is notoriously indifferent about
speaking of "god" or "gods" (see Cornford,
Plato s Cosmology, p. 280), and Hades is
brought in here simply for the sake of the
etymology.

9 This is a noteworthy assertion, but perhaps
"most people" (oi ico\\o\ faQpurtot) should
not be taken too literally; there was, no doubt,
much variety of belief or half-belief about the
soul s fate in the fourth century. "The Classi
cal Age," writes Prof. Dodds (op. cit. p. 179),
"inherited a whole series of inconsistent pic
tures of the "soul" or "self" the living corpse
in the grave, the shadowy image in Hades,
the perishable breath that is spilt in the air
or absorbed in the aether, the daemon that
is reborn in other bodies,"

ing life it has had as little connexion as
possible with the 5o3y "has shunned it
and gathered itself together to be by
itself a state it has always been train
ing for, training itself, in fact, to die
readily: which is precisely what true [81]
philosophy consists in, as I think you
would agree?"

"I agree entirely."

"Well, willjiot a soul in such condi
tion

yisiEle which jt, resembles, where all is
divine, immortal and wise, and having
come thither attain happiness, released
from its wanderings and follies and fears,
its wild desires and all the other ills that
beset mankind? Will it not truly dwell.
as the initiated are alleged to dwell in
the company of Jh&j5ds Q. all-time Jo
come? 10 May we say that, Gebes, or may
we not?"

"Yes, indeed we may/ 9 replied Cebes.

"But now let us suppose that an- [B]
other soul departs polluted uncleansed
of the bod s tn:. inasmuch as it

has always associated with the body
and tended it, filled with its lusts and
so bewitched by its passions and plea
sures as to think nothing real save what
is bodily, what can be touched and seen
and eaten and made to serve sexual
enjoyment; while it has grown to hate
and shun with terror the things that are
invisible, obscure to the eyes but to
be seized by philosophic thought Do you
believe that a soul in such condition as
that will depart unsullied, alone by it-

Jfitt?" [a]

"That could never be so,"
"No: it would be interspersed. I think,

10 According to this passage the philoso
pher s soul can escape from the "wheel of
birth" after a single incarnation; herein our
dialogue differs from the Phaedrus (249*),
where it can only do so after three times
choosing the philosophic life: cf. Pindar, Ol.
II, 68 fT. $001 5 M\fjL06tfoty ttfrpls JKOtrtpcaOi new*
at/ret aitl TtapTtav oBtKay $x*w tyvrav /c.r.X. The
discrepancy may be due to Plato s closer ad
herence in the later dialogue to the details
of Orphic eschatology.

PHAEDO

121

with a bodily element which had been
worked into its substance by unceasing
commerce and association with
and by long training."

"Just so."

"Yes, my friend; and we must think
of that element as a ponderous, heavy,
earthy and visible substance; and the
sojiLJ&aL carries jt is weighed down and
dragged bacJTinto the visible world; you
know the stones about souls which, in
their dread of the invisible that is called
Hades, roam about tombs and burying-
places, in the neighbourhood of [D]
which, itjs alleged, ghostly phantoms of
souls have actually been seen just the
sort of wraiths that souls like that would
produce, souls which are not pure when
they are released but still retain some of
that visible substance, which

"It may well be so, Socrates."
"It may indeed, Cebes, and it^is cer
tainly not the souls of the rightequs^but
those ot ^hejwjAeH l^
to wander about ,such_places a

as the
the past.

penalty for bad nurture

And they must continue to wander imtil

they

body, by reason of the desires of that [E]
bodily attendant which is ever at their
side; and naturally they will b enchained
to^thejtyjpe of character that they have
traine^ti^^ m their

lifetime." ~~

"What types have you in mind, Soc
rates?"

"I mean, for example, that thosewho
have trained themselves in ^u^n^un-
cHStTty land dru^ermess, instead of
caretully^avoiding^ tKem7 will^ naturally
join jthe oomgajny_cf_d(yieys or {82]
some such creatures, will they not?"

"Yes, very naturally."

"Whereas those who have set more
value upon injuring and plundering and
tyrannising over their fellows will join
the_wolves^_and hawks ancMcites^ Or
should we give such souls Its -these some
other destination?"

"By no means," said Cebes; "leave
them where you have put them."

"Then it is obvious, I take it, where
all the other types will go conformably
to the roles in which they have severally
trained themselves."

"Quite obvious, I agree, 35

"Now if we may call any of these
happy, Jhe^haggiest, who pass to the
most favoured region, are^Jhey that have
practised the common .virtues of social
lif e^ what are called tempernce"ancr^]
justice, virtues which spiing from habit
and training devoid of philosophic wis
dom."

"Why are they the happiest?"

"Because they will naturally find
themselves in another well-conducted
society resembling their old

a so

ciety of bees, perhaps, or, wasps or ants_;
and later on they may rejoin, the human
race they have left, and tun* into respect
able men."

"Naturally enough."

"But the society of ffods none shall
join who has not sought wisdom and
departed wholly pure: only the lover of
knowledge may ftp thither. And that [c]
is the reason, dear friends, why true
philosophers abstain from the desires of
the body, standing firm and never sur
rendering to them; they are not troubled
about poverty and loss of estate like
the common lover of riches, nor yet is
their abstinence due to fear of the dis
honour and disgrace that attach to an
evil life, the fear felt by the lovers of
power and position."

"No, that would be unworthy of
them, Socrates," remarked Cebes.

"Most certainly it would," he re- [D]
plied. "And that of course, Cebes, is why
one who is concerned about his own
jouL instead of spending his life getting
his body into good shape, says good-bye
to all that sort of thing; and while the
rest follow a road which leads them they
know not whither, he takes another one:
holding that he must never act against
philosophy and that deliverance and

122

PLATO

rification which philosophy achieves,
ae proceeds in the direction whither
philosophy points him."

JI3D-1J5A The Myth Concluded.
Its Truth and Value

"Such then is the nature of the [D]
earth s interior. Now when the dead are
come to that place whither their several
guardian spirits bring them, they that
have lived well and righteously submit
themselves to judgements, and likewise
they that have not so lived. And such
as are deemed to have lived indifferently
well set off for Acheron, embarking on
certain vessels appointed for them,
which bring them to the lake; and while
they dwell there they are purged and
absolved from their evil deeds by mak
ing atonement therefor, and are reward
ed for their good deeds, each according
to his desert.

"But some there be who because [E]
of the enormity of their sins are deemed
incurable: such as have stolen much and
often from the temples, or wrought wick
ed murder time and again, or com
mitted other such crimes; these their
due portion befalls, to be hurled into
Tartarus, never to escape.

"Others there be whose sins are ac
counted curable, yet heinous: such as
have been moved by anger to lay violent
hands upon father or mother, yet [114]
have lived thereafter a life of repentance;
or such as have slaughtered a man in
some similar condition, all these must
be cast into Tartarus, but after abiding
there for the space of a year the surging
waters throw the parricides and matri
cides out by way of Pyriphlegethon, and
the others by way of Cocytus. And when
they have been swept along to a point
near the Acherusian Lake, then do they
cry aloud and call to those whom they
have slain or despitefully used, begging
and beseeching them that they would
suffer them to come forth into the [B]
lake and give them hearing. If they can
prevail, they do come forth, and find an

end to their trouble; but if not, they are
swept back into Tartarus, and thence
into the rivers again; nor can they ever
have respite from their woes until they
prevail upon those whom they have in
jured; for such is the penalty appointed
by their judges.

"But lastly there are those that are
deemed to have made notable progress
on the road to righteous living; and
these are they that are freed and de
livered from the prison-houses of this in
terior of the earth, and come to make [c]
their habitation in the pure region above
ground. And those of their number who
have attained full purity through philos
ophy live for evermore without ajiy
^bodies at all^ and attain to habitations
even fairer than those others; but the
nature of these it would not be easy to
reveal, even were time enough now left
me.

"But now, Simmias, having regard to
all these matters of our tale, we must
endeavour ourselves to have part in
goodness and intelligence while this life
is ours; for the prize is glorious, and
great is our hope thereof.

"Now to affirm confidently that [D]
these things are as I have told them
would not befit a man of good sense;
yet seeing that the soul is found to be
immortal, I think it is befitting to affirm
that thisjor something like it is the, tSFutfT
about our souls and their habitation^.
I think too that we should do well in
venturing and a glorious venture it is
to believe it to be so. And we should
treat such tales as spells to pronounce
over ourselves, as in fact has been my
own purpose all this while in telling my
long story.

"And now surely, by reason of all this,
no anxiety ouffht to be felt about his
own soul by a man who all his lifetime
ha^jrenounced the pleasures of the M
body and its adornments as alien to him a
and likely to do him more harm than
good, and has pursued the pleasures of
learning; who has adorned his ^uTwith
no alien adornment, but with its own,

PHAEDO

123

even vnth^tempzraxice and justice and
courage and freedom and truth, [115]
and thus adorned awaits that journey to
Hades which he is ready to make when
soever destiny calls him.

"Well, Simmias, you and Gebes and
the others will make the journey some
day later on; but now tis I am called/
as a tragic hero might say, by destiny;
and it is just about time 11 I made my
way to the bath; I really think it is better
to have a bath before drinking the poison
rather than give the women the trouble
of washing a dead body."

775B-7J8 Socrafes Death

To this Crito replied, "Very [115s]
well, Socrates; but what instructions
have you for our friends here or for me
about the children, or about any other
matter? We want to do just what would
be of most service to you."

"Only what I am always telling you,
Grito, nothing very new. Look after
yourselves : then anything you do will be
of service to me and mine, and to your
selves too, even if at this moment you
make no promises to that effect, but if
you neglect yourselves, and refuse to
follow that path of life which has been
traced out in this present conversation
and in others that we have had before,
then, plentiful and vehement though
your present promises may be, all you
do will be fruitless." [c]

"Then," said Crito, "we shall strive to
do as you bid us. But how are we to
bury you?"

"However you like," said Socrates,
"provided you can catch me and prevent
my escaping you." Then with a quiet
laugh and a look in our direction he
remarked, "You know, I can t persuade
Grito that I am the Socrates here pre
sent, the person who is now talking to
you and arranging the topics of our con-

11 The abrupt way in which Socrates
"comes down to earth" is perhaps intended
to suggest his characteristic avoidance of
pomposity and staginess.

versation; he imagines that I am the
dead body which he will shortly be look
ing at, and so he asks how he is to [D]
bury me. As for all I have been main
taining this long while, to wit that when
I have drunk the poison I shall no longer
be with you, but shall have taken my
departure to some happy land of the
tJestj that, I suppose, he regards as idle
talk, intended to console you all and my
self as well. That being so, I want you to
stand surety for me with Grito, but for
the precise opposite of that for which he
sought to stand surety with the court.
His pledge then, offered under oath, was
that I would stay where I was; but I
want you to pledge yourselves under oath
that I will not stay where JT am after
f"have died,, but will take my de- \E\
parture; that will make it easier for
Crito: when he sees my body being
burnt or put under ground he won t have
to distress himself on my behalf, as
though I were being outraged, and won t
have to say at the funeral that it is
Socrates whom he is laying out or carry
ing to the grave or burying."

Then turning to Grito, "My best of
friends," he continued, "I would assure
you that misuse of language is not only
distasteful in itself, but actually harmful
to the soul. So you must be of good
cheer, and say that you are burying my
body; and do that in whatever [1 16]
fashion you please and deem to be most
conformable to custom."

With these words he rose and went
into another room to take his bath. Crito
went with him, and told us to stay where
we were. This we did, discussing amongst
ourselves and meditating upon all that
had been said, or sometimes talking of
the great sorrow that had come upon
us; for truly we felt like children who
had lost a father, condemned to live
henceforth as orphans. However, when
Socrates had had his bath his [B]
children two little boys and one bigger
were brought in to him, and those
women relatives of his appeared; to
these he addressed some words in the

124

PLATO

presence of Crito, with certain directions
as to his wishes. He then told the women
and children to withdraw, and himself
came over to us.

By this time it was near to sunset, for
he had spent a long time in the inner
room. So he came and sat with us after
his bath, and did not talk much more.
And now the agent of the prison [c]
authorities had arrived, and stepping up
to him said, "Socrates, I shan t have my
usual ground for complaint in your case;
many people get angry and abusive when
I instruct them, at the behest of the
authorities, to drink the poison; but I
have always known you, while you have
been here, for the most generous, the
best tempered and the finest man of any
that have entered this place; and in
particular I feel sure now that you are
not angry with me, but with those whom
you know to be responsible for this. Well,
you know what I have come to tell you:
so now good-bye, and try to bear as [D]
best you may what must be borne." As
he said this, he burst into tears, and
turned to leave us. Socrates looked up at
him and said, "Good-bye to you: I will
do as you say"; and then to us, "What
a delightful person! All these weeks he
has been coming to see me, and talking
with me now and then, like the excellent
fellow he is; and now see how generously
he weeps for me! Well, come now, Grito,
let us do his bidding. If the draught has
been prepared, will someone please bring
it me; if not, tell the man to prepare it."
"Oh, but I think, Socrates," said [B]
Crito, "that the sun is still upon the
mountains; it has not set yet. Besides, I
know of people who have taken the
draught long after they were told to do
so, and had plenty to eat and drink, and
even in some cases had intercourse with
those whom they desired. Don t hurry:
there is still plenty of time."

"It is quite natural, Crito," he replied,
"that the people you speak of should do
that: they think it brings them some
advantage; and it is equally natural that
I should not do so: I don t think I

should get any advantage out of taking
the poison a little later on; I should [117]

ruiirjilonff ir&gt; -my
tn Ife

last .djpffl- Nn ; no: don t hamper

me: do as I say."

At this Crito nodded to his slave who
stood close by; whereupon the latter
went out, and after a considerable time
came back with the man who was to
administer the poison, which he was
carrying in a cup ready to drink. On
seeing him Socrates exclaimed, "All
right, good sir : you know about this busi
ness: what must I do?"

"Simply drink it," he replied, "and
then walk about until you have a feeling
of heaviness in your legs; then lie down,
and it will act of itself." And as he [B]
spoke he offered Socrates the cup. And
I tell you, Echecrates, he took it quite
calmly, without a tremor or any change
of complexion or expression. He just
fixed the man with his well-known glare
and asked, "What do you say to using
the drink for a libation? Or is that not
allowed?" The man replied, "We only
mix what we judge to be the right dose,
Socrates,"

"I see," he rejoined. "Well, at all [c]
events itjs allowed to pravfo foe ggdgj
as indeed we must, for a happy journey
jg^Qur new f^YslUnff-place: and that is
my prayer: so may it be." With these
words he put the cup to his lips and
drained it with no difficulty or distaste
whatever.

So far most of us had more or less
contrived to hold back our tears, but
now, when we saw him drinking, and
the cup emptied, it became impossible;
for myself, despite my efforts the tears
were pouring down my cheeks, so that
I had to cover my face; but I was weep
ing not for him, no, but for myself and
my own misfortune in losing such a [D]
friend. Grito had got up and withdrawn
already, finding that he could not
restrain his tears; as for Apollodorus, he
had even before this been weeping con
tinuously, and at this last moment he

SYMPOSIUM

125

burst into sobs, and his tears of distress
were heart-breaking to all of us, except
to Socrates himself, who exclaimed, "My
dear good people, what a way to behave!
Why, it was chiefly to avoid such a lapse
that I sent the women away; for__I^ [E]

jr^ peace and quiet. Gome, calm your
selves and do not give way."

At that we felt ashamed, and ceased
to weep. He walked round the room
until, as he told us, his legs came to feel
heavy, and then lay on his back, as he
had been bidden. Thereupon the man
who had brought the poison felt his
body, and after a while examined his
feet and legs, and then squeezed his foot
tightly, asking if he felt anything. [118]
Socrates said no; next he felt his legs
again, and moving his hand gradually
up he showed us that he was becoming
cold and rigid. Touching him once more,

he told us that when the cold reached
the heart all would be over.

By this time it had reached some
where about the pit of the stomach,
when he removed the covering which he
had put over his face, and uttered his
final words: "Crito, we owe a cock to
Asklepios, pray do not forget to pay the
debt." "It shall be done," said Crito.
"Is there anything else you can think
of?" There was no reply to this ques
tion; a moment afterwards he shud
dered; the attendant uncovered his face
again, and his gaze had become rigid;
seeing which Crito closed his mouth and
his eyes.

And that, Echecrates, was the end of
our friend, the finest man so we should
say of all whom we came to know in
his generation; the wisest too, and the
most righteous.

SYMPOSIUM (complete)

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

ALGIBIADES

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 [172]
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 1 man, halt! So I did as I was

1 Probably a play of words on
"bald-headed."

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 in
distinct, but he said that you knew, and
I wish that you would give me an ac
count of them. Who, if not you, should
be the reporter of the words of your

126

PLATO

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 [173]
running about the world, fancying my
self 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 philoso
pher.

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 Cyda-
thenaeum. He had been at Agathon s
feast; and I think that in those days
there was no one who was a more de
voted 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 conversa
tion? 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, especial
ly 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 re
turn, 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 differ
ence.

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 Soc
rates.

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.

COM. No more of that, Apollodorus;
but let me renew my request that you
would repeat the conversation.

APOLL. Well, the tale of love was [174]
on this wise: But perhaps I had better
begin at the beginning, and endeavour
to give you the exact words of Aristo
demus :

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 vic
tory 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 de
molish the proverb;

SYMPOSIUM

127

"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 un
bidden 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 Agamem
non as the most valiant of men, he
makes Menelaus, who is but a faint
hearted warrior, come unbidden 2 to the
banquet of Agamemnon, who is feasting
and offering sacrifices, not the better to
the worse, but the worse to the better.

1 rather fear, Socrates, said Aristo-
demus, 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. 3 -

This was the style of their conver
sation as they went along. Socrates
dropped behind in a fit of abstraction,
and desired Aristodemus, who was wait
ing, 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 corning 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

2 Iliad ii, 408, and xvii. 588.

3 Iliad x. 224.

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 ex
plain 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 [175]
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 be
lieve 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 what
ever you please, for there is no one to
give you orders; hitherto I have never
left you to yourselves. But on this oc
casion 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

128

PLATO

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 posses
sion; 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 wis
dom 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 thou
sand 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 [176]
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 re
cover; 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 Eryx-
imachus, 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, Phae-
drus, 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 none of the
company seem disposed to drink much,
I may be forgiven for saying, as a phy
sician, 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 phy
sician, rejoined Phaedrus the Myrrhinu-
sian, 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 volun
tary, and that there is to be no com
pulsion, 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. 4 To-day let us have con
versation instead; and, if you will allow
me, I will tell you what sort of conversa
tion. This proposal having been [177]
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

Gp. Pro*. 347.

SYMPOSIUM

129

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 Pro-
dicus 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 philo
sophical 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 diety 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 assem
bled 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, Eryxi-
machus, said Socrates. How can I oppose
your motion, who profess to understand
nothing but matters of love; nor, I pre
sume, will Agathon and Pausanias; and
there can be no doubt of Aristophanes,
whose whole concern is with Dionysus
and Aphrodite; nor will any one dis
agree 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. [178]

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.

The Speech of Phaedrus

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 acknowl
edge 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 speak
ing? Of the sense of honour and dis
honour, without which neither states Bor
individuals ever do any good or great
work. And I say that a lover who is
detected in doing any dishonourable

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PLATO

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, 5 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, [179]
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;

Cp. Rep. v. 468 D.

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 re
ward 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 [180]
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 in
spired 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 rea
sons 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.

The Speech of Pau$ania$

This, or something like this, was the
speech of Phaedrus; and some other
speeches followed which Aristodemus did
not remember; the next which he re-

SYMPOSIUM

131

peated 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, you 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 god
desses? 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 with
out 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, [181]
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 pur
pose, is noble and worthy of praise. The
Love who is the offspring of the com
mon 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 there
fore does good and evil quite indiscrim
inately. 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 en
thusiasts in the very character of their
attachments. For they love not boys, but
intelligent beings whose reason is begin
ning 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 [182]
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 decor
ously 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

132

PLATO

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 coun
tries 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 re
quire that their subjects should be poor
in spirit 6 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 con
stancy of Harmodius had a strength
which undid their power. And, there
fore, the ill-repute into which these at-
tachements 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 coun
tries is attributable to the laziness of
those who hold this opinion of them.
In our own country a far better princi
ple 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 hon
ourable. 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

6 Cp. Arist. Politics, v. n. 15.

he succeeds he is praised, and if he fails
he is blamed. And in the pursuit of his
love the custom of mankind allows him
to do many strange things, which phi
losophy would bitterly censure if [183]
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 slavery worse than that of
any slave in any other case friends and
enemies would be equally ready to pre
vent 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
is 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 trans
gression, 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 com
panions 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 im
agine is, that whether such practices are
honourable or whether they are dis
honourable 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

SYMPOSIUM

133

an evil manner; but there is honour in
yielding to the good, or in an honour
able manner. Evil is the vulgar lover
who loves the body rather than the soul,
inasmuch as he is not even stable, be
cause 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, [184]
and would have us yield to the one sort
of lover and avoid the other, and there
fore 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 rea
son why, in the first place, a hasty at
tachment 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 politi
cal 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 dis
honour 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 re
garded 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 wis
dom 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 dis
grace 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 [185]
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
him company, shows himself to be virtu
ous, even though the object of his affec
tion 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 any
thing 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 goddess, and is
heavenly, and of great price to individ-

134

PLATO

uals 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, Phae-
drus, 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 Aristo-
demus 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.

The Speech of Eryximachus

Eryximachus spoke as follows: Seeing
that Pausanias made a fair beginning,
and but a lame ending, I must [186]
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 dishonour
able: 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 phy
sician has to do, and in this the art
of medicine consists: for medicine may
be regarded generally as the knowl
edge 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 for 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 ele
ments in the constitution and make
them loving friends, is a skilful, prac
titioner. 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 husban
dry are under his dominion. Any one
who pays the least attention to [187]
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 Hera-
cleitus, although his words are not ac
curate; for he says that The One is

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135

united by disunion, like the harmony
of the bow and the lyre. Now there is
an absurdity in 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 dis
agreed 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 sym
phony is an agreement; but an agree
ment of disagreements while they dis
agree there cannot be; you cannot har
monize that which disagrees. In like
manner rhythm is compounded of ele
ments short and long, once differing
and now in accord; which accordance,
as in the former instance, medicine,
so in all these other cases, music im
plants, 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 tem
perate, and those who are as yet in
temperate only that they may become
temperate, and of preserving their
love; and again, of the vulgar Poly
hymnia, who must be used with cir
cumspection that the pleasure be en
joyed, but may not generate licentious
ness; 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 medi
cine, 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. [188]

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 har
monious 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, get
ting the upper hand and affecting the
seasons of the year, is very destructive
and injurious, being the source of pes
tilence, 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 com
munion between gods and men these,
I say, are concerned only with the pre
servation of the good and the cure of
the evil love. For all manner of im
piety is likely to ensue if, instead of
accepting and honouring and rever
encing 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 divi
nation is to see to these loves and to
heal them, and divination is the peace
maker of gods and men, working by
a knowledge of the religious or irreli
gious tendencies which exist in human
loves. Such is the great and mighty, or
rather omnipotent force of love in gen
eral. And the love, more especially,
which is concerned with the good,
and which is perfected in company
with temperance and justice, whether

136

PLATO

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, [189]
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 quite right, said Aristoph
anes, 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 man
ner 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, per
haps if you are very careful and bear
in mind that you will be called to ac
count, I may be induced to let you off.

The Speech of Aristophanes

Aristophanes professed to open an
other vein of discourse; he had a mind
to praise Love in another way, unlike
that either of Pausanias or Eryxima
chus. 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 correspond
ing 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 form
ing 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 re- [190]
mainder 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; be
cause 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

SYMPOSIUM

137

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 unre
strained. 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 mak
ing 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 [191]
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 divi
sion the two parts of man, each desir
ing his other half, came together, and
throwing their arms about one an
other, 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 sur
vived, 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 gen
erated 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, re
uniting our original nature, making
one of two, and healing the state of
man. Each of us when separated, hav
ing one side only, like a flat fish, is but
the indenture of a man, and he is al
ways looking for his other half. Men
who are a section of that double na
ture which was once called Androgy
nous 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 com
panions 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 [192]

138

PLATO

boys and youths, because they have the
most manly nature. Some indeed as
sert 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 em
brace 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
saying. 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 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 ex
plain 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 de
sires and cannot tell, and of which she
has only a dark and doubtful presenti
ment. 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; al
ways and night to be in one another s
company? for if this is what you de
sire, 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 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 de
sire, 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 an
cient need. 7 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 [193]
love. There was a time, I say, when
we were one, but now because of the
wickedness of mankind God has dis
persed us, as the Arcadians were dis
persed into villages by the Lacedae
monians. 8 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 min
ister; and let no one oppose him he
is the enemy of the gods who oppose
him. For if we are friends of the God
and at peace with him we shall find
our own true loves, which rarely hap
pens in this world at present. I am
serious, and therefore I must beg
Eryximachus not to make fun or to
find any allusion in which I am say
ing to Pausanias and Agathon, who, as
I suspect, are both of the manly na
ture, 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

7 Cp. Arist. Pol ii. 4, 6.
Gp. Arist. Pol XL 2, 3.

SYMPOSIUM

139

believe that if our loves were perfectly
accomplished, and each one return
ing 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 ori
ginal state, and heal us and make us
happy and blesssed. This, Eryxima-
chus, is my discourse of love, which, al
though 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 i 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 [194]
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 ex
pectation raised among the audience
that I shall speak well.

I should be strangely forgetful, Aga
thon, 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 nevrves could be
fluttered at a small party of friends.

Do you think, Socrates, said Aga
thon, 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, Aga
thon, that or any other want of re
finement. 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: Do not answer him, my dear
Agathon; for if he can only get a
partner with whom he can talk, espe
cially 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.

The Speech of Agathon

Very good, Phaedrus, said Agathon;
I see no reason why I should not pro
ceed with my speech, as I shall have

140

PLATO

many other opportunities of convers
ing 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 congratu
lated mankind on the benefits which
he confers upon them. But I would
rather praise the god first, and [195]
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 wit
ness, 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 lapetus
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
Parrnenides 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 sweet
ness, 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 ten
derness, 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 tender

ness 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 al
ways with his feet and in all manner of
ways in the softest of soft places, how
can he be other than the softest of [196]
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 ad
mitted 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. Con
cerning 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 agree
ment, there, as the laws which are the
lords of the city say, is justice. And not
only is he just but exceedingly tem
perate, for Temperance is the acknowl
edged 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 tem
perate indeed. As to courage, even the

SYMPOSIUM

141

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, 9 even though he had no music in
him before; 9 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 him
self, or teach that of which he has no
knowledge. Who will deny that the crea
tion of the animals is his doing? [197]
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 dis
covered 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 evi
dent, 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 beauti-

9 A fragment of the Sthenoboea of Euri
pides.

ful, 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 \vinds and bids the sufferer
sleep."

This is he who empties men of disaffec
tion 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 kind
ness 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 join
ing 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 ded
icate to the god.

When Agathon had done speak- [198]
ing, 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 con
cerns Agathon, replied Eryximachus, ap-

142

PLATO

pears to me to be true; but not the
other part that you will be in a strait.

The Speech of Socrcrfes

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 especial
ly struck with the beauty of the con
cluding 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, 10 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 say
ing 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," mak
ing him appear the fairest and best [199]
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 mis
understood the nature of the praise when
I said that I would take my turn, I
must beg to be absolved from the pro
mise which I made in ignorance, and
which (as Euripides would say 11 ) 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 man
ner 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 pro
ceeded 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 ap
prove. And as you have spoken so elo
quently 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,

Odyssey, X. 632.

11 Eurip. Hippolytus, 1. 612.

SYMPOSIUM

143

if I asked is a father a father of some
thing? to which you would find no dif
ficulty 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. [200]

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 nec
essarily 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 mis

conception. 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 a 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 re
capitulate the argument. First, is not
love of something, and of something too
which is wanting to a man?

Yes, he replied. [201]

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 em
pire 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.

144

PLATO

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, Aga
thon, 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
will rehearse a tale of love which I
heard from Diotima of Mantineia, 12 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 in
structress in the art of love, and I shall
repeat to you what she said to me, be
ginning 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. 13 As you, Agathon, suggested, 14 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

12 Cp. I. Alcibiades.

13 Gp. Gorgias, 505 E.
H Supra, 195 A.

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 [202]
wise, ignorant? do you not see that there
is a mean between wisdom and igno
rance?" "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 rea
son? nor again, ignorance, for neither
can ignorance attain the truth), but is
clearly something which is a mean be
tween ignorance and wisdom." "Quite
true," I replied. "Do not then insist," she
said, "that what is not fair is of neces
sity 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, de
sires 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?" "Impos
sible." "Then you see that you also deny
the divinity of Love."

SYMPOSIUM

145

"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 (dctip&v) , 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, convey
ing 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 incanta- [203]
tion, 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; never
theless 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 man
ner 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 her
self 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, enter
prising, strong, a mighty hunter, always
weaving some intrigue or other, keen in
the pursuit of wisdom, fertile in resour
ces; 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 al
ways 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 [204]
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 re
plied; "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 there
fore 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.

146

PLATO

Such, my dear Socrates a is the nature of
the spirit Love. The error in your con
ception of him was very natural, and as
I imagine from what you say, has arisen
out of a confusion of love and the be
loved, which made you think that love
was all beautiful. For the beloved is the
truly beautiful, and delicate, and per
fect, 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 [205]

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 re
plied; "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 illustra
tion," I said. She answered me as fol
lowers: "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 pro
cesses of all art are creative; and the
masters of art 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 hap
piness 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 seek
ing 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 [206]
but the good. Is there anything?" "Cer
tainly, I should say, that there is
nothing." "Then," she said, "the simple
truth is, that men love the good." "Yes,"

SYMPOSIUM

147

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 gen
eration are an immortal principle in the
mortal creature, and in the inharmoni
ous 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 par
turition who presides at birth, and there
fore, 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: [207]
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 atten
dant 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 utter
most, 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 al
ready, 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 ac
knowledged; for here again, and on the
same principle too, the mortal nature is
seeking as far as is possible to be ever
lasting and immortal: and this is only

PLATO

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 be
tween 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 sur
prising to us mortals, not only do [208]
the sciences in general spring up and
decay, so that in respect of them we are
never the same; but each of them in
dividually experiences a like change.
For what is implied in the word recol
lection, 5 but the departure of knowl
edge, 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 mortal
ity leaving another new and similar ex
istence 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 im
mortality; 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 ambi

tion 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 king
dom 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 give
them the blessedness and immortality
which they desire in the future. But
souls which are pregnant for there
certainly are men who are more crea
tive in their souls than in their [209]
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 inven
tor. But the greatest and fairest sort of
wisdom by far is that which is con
cerned with the ordering of states and
families, and which is called temper
ance 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

SYMPOSIUM

149

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 be
get 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 Lycur-
gus 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 bar
barians, 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
their; 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 [210]
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 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, be
ing not like a servant in love with the
beauty of one youth or man or institu
tion, himself a slave mean and narrow-
minded, but drawing towards and con
templating 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

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PLATO

the end will suddenly perceive a nature
of wondrous beauty (and this, Socrates,
is the final cause of all our former [211]
toils) a nature which in the first place
is everlasting, not growing and decay
ing, or waxing and waning; secondly, not
fair in one point of view and foul in
another, or at one time or in one rela
tion 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 be
ing, 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 ascend
ing 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 mor
tality and all the colours and vanities of
human life thither looking, and hold
ing converse with the true beauty simple
and divine? Remember how in [212]
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 bring
ing forth and nourishing true virtue to
become the friend of God and be im
mortal, 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 at
tainment 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 Aristo
phanes was beginning to say something
in answer to the allusion which Socrates
had made to his own speech, 15 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 resound
ing in the court; he was in a great state

15 p, 205 E.

SYMPOSIUM

151

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 attend
ants, 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. [213]
But first tell me- if I come in shall we
have the understanding of which I
spoke? 16 Will you drink with me or not?"

The Speech of Aldbiades

The company were vociferous in
begging that he would take his place
among them, and Agathon specially in
vited 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 Alcibia
des, turning round and starting up as

16 Supra 212 D. Will you have a very
drunken man? etc.

he caught sight of Socrates. By Heracles,
he said, what is this? here is Socrates al
ways 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 mo
ment 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 be
tween you and me, said Alcibiades; but
for the present I will defer your chastise
ment. 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 be
fore 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 admit
ted 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

152

PLATO

filled and emptied, and bade the attend
ant fill it again for Socrates. Ob- [214]
serve, 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 con
versation 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"*?

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 Al
cibiades; 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 pres
ence, 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 Al
cibiades, 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 [215]
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, hold
ing 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 powers of his breath, and
the players of his music do so still: for
the melodies of Olympus 18 are derived

17 From Pope s Homer, II. xi. 514.

Cp. Arist Pol. viii. 5.

SYMPOSIUM

153

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 pro
duces 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 hope
lessly 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 Peri
cles 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 [216]
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 con
fessed 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 resid
ing 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 re
gards 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 seri
ous purpose, I saw in him divine and
golden images of such fascinating beauty
that I was ready to do in a moment [217]
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 attrac-

154

PLATO

tions 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, ex
pose 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 lov
ers use to their loves when they are by
themselves, and I was delighted. Noth
ing 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 invita
tion, 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; 19 and therefore I must

19 In allusion to the two proverbs, otvos teal
&*? atoi$is 9 and oivos K&l &\JiQt&lt;,

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 [218]
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 Aristo-
demus 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 un-
mannered 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 medi
tating?" 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 certain
ly have more reason to be ashamed
of what wise men would say if I were

SYMPOSIUM

155

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 ex
change beauty for beauty, you will have
greatly the advantage of me; you will
gain true beauty in return for appear
ance like Diomede, gold in exchange
for brass. But look again, sweet [219]
friend, and see whether you are not de
ceived 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 con
sider 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 ar
rows 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 con
temptuous 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 hap
pened, 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 man
liness. 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 per
sonal 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 com- [220]
pelled to go without food on such oc
casions, 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 mis
taken, will be tested before long. His
fortitude in enduring cold was also sur
prising. There was a severe frost, for the
winter in that region is really tremen
dous, 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

156

PLATO

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 some
thing 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 lonians out of curio
sity (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. 20 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 [221]
the army after the battle of Delium,
where he served among the heavy-armed,
I had a better opportunity of see
ing him than at Potidaea, for I was
myself on horseback, and therefore com
paratively 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, 21
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 intel
ligible 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 head
long. 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 unlike-
ness 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 al
ready suggested of Silenus and the
satyrs; and they represent in a figure not
only himself, but his words. For, al
though 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, 22 so that
any ignorant or inexperienced per- [222]
son might feel disposed to laugh at him;
but he who opens the bust and sees what

20 Op. supra, 175 B.

21 Aristoph. Clouds, 362.

22 Gp. Oorg. 490, 491, 517.

SYMPOSIUM

157

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 honour
able 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 detect
ed, and you must not allow him, Aga
thon, to set us at variance.

I believe you are right, said Agathon,
and I am disposed to think that his in
tention 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 be
tween 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. [223]

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 attract
ing 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 ban
quet. Some one who was going out hav
ing 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 quanti
ties of wine. Aristodemus said that Eryxi-
machus, 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 Soc
rates, 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 Soc
rates 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,

158

PLATO

then, when the day was already dawn
ing, 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 re
tired to rest at his own home.

PHAEDRUS (complete)

227A-230E Introductory Conversation.

The Scene on the Bank

of the Ilissus

SOCRATES. Where do you come [227]
from, Phaedrus my friend, and where
are you going?

PHAEDRUS. I ve been with Lysias,
Socrates, the son of Gephalus, and I m
off for a walk outside the wall, after a
long morning s sitting there. On the in
structions of our common friend
Acumenus 1 I take my walks on the open
roads; he tells me that is more invigorat
ing than walking in the colonnades.

SOGR. Yes, he s right in saying so. But
Lysias, I take it, was in town. [B]

PH. Yes, staying with Epicrates, in
that house where Morychus used to live,
close to the temple of Olympian Zeus.

SOGR. Well, how were you occupied?
No doubt Lysias was giving the company
a feast of eloquence.

PH. I ll tell you, if you can spare time
to come along with me and listen.

SOCR. What? Don t you realise that I
should account it, in Pindar s words, 2
"above all business" to hear how you and
Lysias passed your time?

PH. Lead on then. [c]

SOCR, Please tell rne.

PH. As a matter of fact the topic is
appropriate for your ears, Socrates; for

us may be

said to have concerned love. Lysias, you
must know, has described how a hand
some boy was tempted, but not by a
lover: that s the clever part of it: he
maintains that surrender should be to
one who is not in love rather "tEan to
one who is.

SOGR. Splendid! I wish he would add
that it should be to a poor man rather
than a rich one, an elderly man rather
than a young one, and, in general, to
ordinary folk like myself. What an at
tractive democratic theory that would [D]
be! However, I m so eager to hear about
it that I vow I won t leave you even if
you extend your walk as far as Megara,
up to the walls and back again as- re
commended by Herodicus. 3

PH. What do you mean, my good [228]
man? Do you expect an amateur like me
to repeat by heart, without disgracing its
author, the work of the ablest writer of
our day, which it took him weeks to com
pose at his leisure? That is far beyond
me; though I d rather have had the
ability than come into a fortune.

SOGR. I know my Phaedrus; yes in
deed, I m as sure of him as of my own
identity, I m certain that the said
Phaedrus didn t listen just once to
Lysias s speech : time after time he asked
him to repeat it to him, and Lysias
was very ready to comply. Even that
would not content him: in the end [B]
he secured the script and began poring
over the parts that specially attracted
him; and thus engaged he sat there the

1 A well-known physician, father of Eryxi-
machus, the physician who is one of the
speakers in the Symposium.

2 hthm. 1, 2.

3 Another physician, mentioned in Protag.
316ft as a Megarian who afterwards settled at
Selymbria in Thrace.

PHAEDRUS

159

whole morning, until he grew weary and
went for a walk. Upon my word, I be
lieve he had learnt the whole speech by
heart, unless it was a very long one; and
he was going into the country to practise
declaiming it. Then he fell in with one
who has a passion for listening to dis
courses; and when he saw him he was
delighted to think he would have some
one to share his frenzied enthusiasm; so
he asked him to join him on his way.
But when the lover of discourses begged
him to discourse, he became difficult, [c]
pretending he didn t want to, though he
meant to do so ultimately, even if he
had to force himself on a reluctant listen
er. So beg him, Phaedrus, to do straight
way what he will soon do in any case.

PH. Doubtless it will be much my best
course to deliver myself to the best of
my ability, for I fancy you will never let
me go until I have given you some sort
of a speech.

SOCR. You are quite right about my
intention.

PH. Then here s what I will do: it [D]
really is perfectly true, Socrates, that I
have not got the words by heart; but I
will sketch the general purport of the
several points in which the lover and
the non-lover were contrasted, taking
them in order one by one, and beginning
at the beginning.

SOGR. Very well, my dear fellow: but
you must first show me what it is that
you have in your left hand under your
cloak; for I surmise that it is the actual
discourse. If that is so, let me assure you
of this, that much as I love you I am
not altogether inclined to let you [E]
practice your oratory on me when Lysias
himself is here present. Gome now, show
it me.

PH. Say no more, Socrates; you have
dashed my hope of trying out my pow
ers on you. Well a where would you like
us to sit for our reading?

SOGR. Let us turn off here and [229]
walk along the Ilissus: then we can sit
down in any quiet spot you choose.

PH. It s convenient, isn t it, that I

chance to be bare-footed: you of course
always are so. There will be no trouble
in wading in the stream, which is es
pecially delightful at this hour of a
summer s day.

SOCR. Lead on then, and look out for
a place to sit down.

PH. You see that tall plane-tree over
there?

SOCR. To be sure.

PH. There s some shade, and a [B]
little breeze, and grass to sit down on,
or lie down if we like.

SOCR. Then make for it.

PH. Tell me, Socrates, isn t it some
where about here that they say Boreas
seized Oreithuia from the river?

SOCR. Yes, that is the story.

PH. Was this the actual spot? Cer
tainly the water looks charmingly pure
and clear, it s just the place for girls to
be playing beside the stream.

SOCR. No, it was about a quarter of [c]
a mile lower down, where you cross to
the sanctuary of Agra: there is, I be
lieve, an altar dedicated to Boreas close
by.

PH. I have never really noticed it; but
pray tell me, Socrates, do you believe
that story to be true?

SOCR. I should be quite in the fashion
if I disbelieved it, as the men of science
do: I might proceed to give a scientific
account of how the maiden, while at
play with Pharmaceia, was blown by a
gust of Boreas down from the rocks hard
by, and having thus met her death was
said to have been seized by Boreas:
though it may have happened on the [D]
Areopagus, according to another version
of the occurrence. For my part, Phaed
rus, I regard such theories as no doubt
attractive, but as the invention of clever,
industrious people who are not exactly
to be envied, for the simple reason that
they must then go on and tell us the real
truth about the appearance of Centaurs
and the Chimaera, not to mention a
whole host of such creatures, Gorgons
and Pegasuses and countless other re
markable monsters of legend flocking in

160

PLATO

on them. If our sceptic, with his [E]
somewhat crude science, means to reduce
every - one of them to the standard of
probability, he ll need a deal of time
for it. I myself have certainly no time
for the business: and I ll tell you why,
my friend : I can t as vet "know myself^"
as the inscription at Delphi enjoins; [230]
and so lonpf as that ignorance remains it
seems to me ridiculous to inquire into
extraneous matters^ Consequently I don t
bother about such things, but accept the
current beliefs about them, and direct
my inquiries, as I have just said, rather
to myself, to discover whether I really
am a more complex creature and more
puffed up with pride than Typhon, 4 or
a simpler, gentler being whom heaven
has blessed with a quiet, un-Typhonic
nature. By the way, isn t this the tree
we were making for? [B]

PH. Yes, that s the one.

SOGR. Upon my word, a delightful
resting-place, with this tall, spreading
plane, and a lovely shade from the high
branches of the agnus: now that it s in
full flower, it will make the place ever
so fragrant. And what a lovely stream
under the plane-tree, and how cool to
the feet! Judging by the statuettes and
images I should say it s consecrated to
Achelous and some of the Nymphs. And
then too, isn t the freshness of the [c]
air most welcome and pleasant: and the
shrill summery music of the cicada-choir!
And as crowning delight the grass, thick
enough on a gentle slope to rest your
head on most comfortably. In fact, my
dear Phaedrus, you have been the&gt;
stranger s perfect guide.

PH. Whereas you, my excellent friend,
strike me as the oddest of men. Anyone
would take you, as you say, for a stranger
being shown the country by a guide in
stead of a native : never leaving town [D]
to cross the frontier nor even, I believe,

so much as setting foot outside the walls.

SOGR. You must forgive me, dear
friend; I m a lover of learning, and trpfffi
and open country won t leach me any
thing, whereas men in the town do. Yet
you seem to have discovered a recipe for
getting me out. A hungry animal can be
driven by dangling a carrot or a bit of
green stuff in front of it: similiarly if
you proffer me volumes of speeches I
don t doubt you can cart me all round
Attica, and anywhere else you please. [E]
Anyhow, now that we ve got here I pro
pose for the time being to lie down, and
you can choose whatever posture you
think most convenient for reading, and
proceed.

PH. Here you are then.

n
230E-234C The Speech of Lysias

You know how I am situated, and I
have told you that I think it to our ad
vantage that this should happen. Now
I claim that I should not be refused what
I ask simply because I am not your
lover. Lovers, when their craving is [231]
a^ an end, repent of such benqfits^asjhev
have conferred: but for the other sort
no occasion arises for regretting what
has passed; for being free agents under
no constraint, they regulate their services
by the scale of their means, with an eye
to their own personal interest. Again,
lovers weigh ufe profit and loss accruing
afiflft""* by g^gJft of their pas

4 Socrates connects the name of this
hundred-headed monster with the verb rv&lt;j&gt;&lt;a 9
to smoke, and perhaps also with the noun
rv&lt;f&gt;os, vanity, humbug.

sion, and with tha^extra item of labour
expended decided that they haveJong [B]
since made full payment for favours ia
ceivedj whereas the non-lovers cannot
allege any consequential neglect of their
personal affairs, nor record any past
exertions on the debit side, nor yet com
plain of having quarrelled with their
relatives; hence, with all these troubles
removed, all they have left to do is to
devote their energies to such conduct as
they conceive likely to gratify the other
party.

PHAEDRUS

161

Again, it is argued that a lover [c]
ought to jaejiighly valued because he
"protesse^ to be ^specially kind towards
the loved one, and ready t^ gratify him
mjwords and deeds wVnl ft a.miigiTigrjjy
diglikejof _ggggYn. e e te- If this is true,
however, it is obvious that he will set
greater store by the loved one of to
morrow than by that of to-day, and will
doubtless do an injury to the old love
if required by the new.

And really, what sense is there jn
lavishing what is so precious upon one
labouring" undef^an affliction which ID!

who knew anything of it would
even attempt to remove? Why, the man
himself admits that he is not sound^ but
sick; that he is aware of his folly, but
cannot control himself how then, when
hecomes to his senses, iTTie likely t"p
approve of the intentions that he formed
m his^berration?

And observe this : if you are to choose
the best of a number of lovers, your
choice will be only amongst a few;
whereas a general choice of the person
who most commends himself to you
gives you a wide field, so that in that
wide field jrou have a m^rh hp.ttpr [v]
jprospect of finding someone worthy of
your friendship

Now maybe you respect established
conventions, and anticipate odium if
people get to hear about you; if so, it
may be expected that a lover, conceiving
that everyone will admire him as [232]
he admires himself, will be proud to talk
about it and flatter his vanity by declar
ing to all and sundry that his enterprise
has been successful; whereas the other
type, who can control themselves, will
prefer to do what is best rather than
shine in the eyes of their neighbours.

Again, a lover is bound to be heard
about and seen by many people, consort
ing with his beloved and caring about
little else; so that when they are observed
talking to one another, the meeting is [B]
taken to imply the satisfaction, actual or
prospective, of their desires; whereas,
with the other sort, no one ever thinks

of putting a bad construction on their
association, realising that a man must
have someone to talk to by way of
friendship or gratification of one sort or
another.

And observe this: perhaps you feel
troubled by the reflection that it is hard
for friendship to be preserved, and that
whereas a quarrel arising from other
sources will be a calamity shared by both
parties, one that follows the sacrifice of
your all will involve a grievous hurt [c]
to yourself; in that case it is doubtless
the lover who should cause you the
more alarm, for he is very ready to take
offence, and thinks the whole affair is
to his own hurt. Hence he discourages
his beloved from consorting with anyone
else, fearing that a wealthy rival may
overreach him with his money, or cul
tured one outdo him with his intelli
gence: and he is perpetually on guard
against the influence of those who possess
other advantages. So by persuading you
to become estranged from such rivals [D]
he leaves you without a friend in the
world; alternatively, if you look to your
own interest and show more good sense
than your lover, you will find yourself
quarrelling with him. On the other hand,
one who is not a lover, but has achieved
what he asked of you by reason of his
merit, will not be jealous of others who
seek your society, but will rather detest
those who avoid it, in the belief that the
latter look down on him, whereas the
former are serving his turn. Consequent
ly the object of his attentions is far more
likely to make friends than enemies [E]
out of the affair.

And observe this: a lover more often
than not wants to possess you before he
has come to know your character or
become familiar with your general per
sonality; and that makes it uncertain
whether he will still want to be your
friend when his desires have waned;
whereas in the other case, the fact [233]
that the pair were already friends before
the affair took place makes it probable
that instead of friendship diminishing as

162

PLATO

the result of favours received, these fa
vours will abide as a memory and pro
mise of more to come.

And observe this; it ought to be for
your betterment to listen to me rather
than to a Invar.- for a. lover commends
anything you say__or_ do even when it is
amiss, partly from fear that he may
offend you, partly hp.ra.use his passion
impairs his QWIL judgment. For the [B]
record of Love s achievement is, first
that, when things go badly, he makes a
man count that an affliction which
normally causes no distress: secondly
that, when things go well, he compels
his subjects to extol things that ought not
to gratify them: which makes it fitting
that they should be pitied far more than
admired by the objects of their passion.
On the other hand, if you listen to me,
my intercourse with you will be a matter
of ministering not to your immediate
pleasure but to your future advantage;
for I am the master of myself, r at he r
than the victim of love^ T do not [c]
jbring bitter enmity^ upon myself . .&gt;&gt;y rg-
^senting trifling offences

it is only on^accounl of serious ^vrgrigL
that I am moved, and that but slowly, to
mild indignation, pardoning what is
done unintentionally, and endeavouring
to hinder what is done of intent: for
these are the tokens of lasting friendship.
If however you are disposed to think
that there can be no firm friendship
save with a lover, you should reflect
that in that case we should not set [D]
store by sons, or fathers, or mothers, nor
should we possess any trustworthy
friends: no, it is not to erotic passion
that we owe these, but to conduct of a
different order.

Again, if we ought to favour those
who press us most strongly, then in
other matters too we should give our
good offices not to the worthiest people
but to the most destitute; for since their
distress is the greatest, they will be the
most thankful to us for relieving them.
And observe this further consequence:
when we give private banquets, the [R]

right people to invite will be not our
friends but beggars and those in need of
a good meal: for it is they that will be
fond of us and attend upon us and
flock to our doors : it is they that will be
most delighted and most grateful and
call down blessings on our heads. No:
the proper course, surely, is to show
favour not to the most importunate but
to those most able to make us a return:
not to mere beggars, but to the deserv
ing; not to those who will regale [234]
themselves with your youthful beauty,
but to those who will let you share their
prosperity when you are older; not to
those who, when they have had their
will of you, will flatter their vanity by
telling the world, but to those who will
keep a strict and modest silence; not to
those who are devoted to you for a brief
period, but to those who will continue to
be your friends as long as you live; not
to those who, when their passion is spent,
will look for an excuse to turn against
you, but to those who, when your beauty
is past, will make that the time for dis
playing their own goodness.

Do you therefore be mindful of [B]
what I have said and reflect that, while
lovers are admonished by their friends
and relatives for the wrongness of their
conduct, the other sort have never been
reproached by one of their family on the
score of behaving to the detriment of
their own interest.

Perhaps you will ask me whether I
recommend you to accord your favours
to all and sundry of this sort. Well, I do
not suppose that even a lover would bid
you to be favourable towards all and
sundry lovers; in the first place a re
cipient would not regard it as merit- [c]
ing so much gratitude, and in the second
you would find it more difficult if you
wished to keep your affairs concealed;
and what is wanted is that th^ business
should involve no harm., but mutual ad-

And now I think I have said all that
is needed; if you think I have neglected
anything, and want more, let me know.

PHAEDRUS

163

234C-2378 Criticism of Lysias

Speech. Socrates Is Induced to

Treat the Theme Himself

PH. What do you think of the speech,
Socrates? Isn t it extraordinarily fine,
especially in point of language?

SOCR. Amazingly fine indeed, my [D]
friend: I was thrilled by it. And it was
you, Phaedrus, that made me feel as I
did : I watched your apparent delight in
the words as you read. And as I m sure
that you understand such matters better
than I do, I took my cue from you, and
therefore joined in the ecstasy of my
right worshipful companion.

PH. Gome, come! Do you mean to
make a joke of it?

SOGR. Do you think I am joking, and
don t mean it seriously?

PH. No more of that, Socrates: [E]
tell me truly, as one friend to another,
do you think there is anyone in Greece
who could make a finer and more ex
haustive speech on the same subject?

SOGR. What? Are you and I required
to extol the speech not merely on the
score of its author s lucidity and terseness
of expression, and his consistently precise
and well-polished vocabulary, but also
for his having said what he ought? If
we are, we shall have to allow it only on
your account, for my feeble intelligence
failed to appreciate it; j was only at
tending to it as a piece of rhetoric, [235]
and as such I couldn t think that even
Lysias himself would deem it adequate.
Perhaps you won t agree with me,
Phaedrus, but really it seemed to me
that he said the same things several
times over: maybe he s not very clever
at expatiating at length on a single
theme, or possibly he has no interest in
such topics. In fact it struck me as an
extravagant performance, to demon
strate his ability to say the same thing
twice, in different words but with equal
success.

PH. Not a bit of it, Socrates: the [B]
outstanding feature of the discourse is
just this, that it has not overlooked any
important aspect of the subject, so mak
ing it impossible for anyone else to outdo
what he has said with a fuller or more
satisfactory oration.

SOCR. If you go as far as that I shall
find it impossible to agree with you; if
I were to assent out of politeness, I
should be confuted by the wise men and
women who in past ages have spoken
and written on this theme.

PH. To whom do you refer? Where [c]
have you heard anything better than
this?

SOCR. I can t tell you off-hand; but
I m sure I have heard something better,
from the fair Sappho maybe, or the wise
Anacreon, or perhaps some prose writer.
What ground, you may ask, have I for
saying so? Good sir, there is something
welling up within my breast, which
makes me feel that I could find some
thing different, and something better, to
say. I am of course well aware it can t
be anything originating in my own mind,
for I know my own ignorance; so I sup
pose it can only be that it has been
poured into me, through my ears, as [D]
into a vessel, from some external source;
though in my stupid fashion I have
actually forgotten how, and from whom,
I heard it.

PH. Well said! You move me to ad
miration. I don t mind your not telling
me, even though I should press you,
from whom and how you heard it, pro
vided you do just what you say: you
have undertaken to make a better speech
than that in the book here and one of
not less length which shall owe nothing
to it; I in my turn undertake like the
nine Archons to set up at Delphi a
golden life-size statue, not only of [E]
myself but of you also.

SOCR. How kind you are, Phaedrus,
and what a pattern of golden-age sim
plicity, in supposing me to mean that
Lysias has wholly missed the mark^and
fhat another speech could avoid all his

164

PLATO

points! Surely that couldn t bejo
witfiTtfie most worthless of wjitersTThus,
as regards the subject of the speech, do
you imagine that anybody could argue
that the non-lover should be favoured,
rather than the lover, without praising
the wisdom of the one and censuring the
folly of the other? That he could dis
pense with these essential points, [236]
and then bring up something different?
No, no : surely we must allow such argu
ments, and forgive the orator for using
them,- and in that sort of field what
merits praise is not invention, but ar
rangement; but when it comes to non-
essential points, that are difficult to
invent, we should praise arrangement
and invention too.

PH. I agree: what you say seems fair
enough. For my part, this is what I will
do: I will allow you to take it for [B]
granted that the lover is less sane than
the non-lover: and for the rest, if you
can replace what we have here by a
fuller speech of superior merit, up with
your statue in wrought gold beside the
offering of the Cypselids at Olympia.

SOGR. Have you taken me seriously.
Phaedrus, for teasing you with an attack
on your darling Lysias? Can you possibly
suppose that I shall make a real attempt
to rival his cleverness with something
more ornate?

PH. As to that, my friend, I ve got you
where I can return your fire. Assuredly
you must do what you can in the [c]
way of a speech, or else we shall be
driven, like vulgar comedians, to cap
ping each other s remarks. Beware: do
not deliberately compel me to utter the
words "Don t I know my Socrates? If
not, I ve forgotten my own identity," or
"He wanted to speak, but made difficul
ties about it?" No: make up your mind
that we re not going to leave this spot
untiy you have delivered yourself of
what you told me you had within your
breast. We are by ourselves in a lonely
place, and I am stronger and younger

than you: for all which reasons "mis
take not thou my bidding" 5 and [D]
please don t make me use force to open
your lips.

SOGR. But, my dear good Phaedrus, it
will be courting ridicule for an amateur
like me to improvise on the same theme
as an accomplished writer.

PH. Look here, I ll have no more of
this affectation; for I m pretty sure I
have something to say which will com
pel you to speak.

SOGR. Then please don t say it.

PH. Oh, but I shall, here and now;
and what I say will be on oath. I swear
to you by but by whom, by what [E]
god? Or shall it be by this plane-tree?
I swear that unless you deliver your
speech here in its very presence, I will
assuredly never again declaim nor report
any other speech by any author whatso
ever.

SOGR. Aha, you rogue! How clever of
you to discover the means of compelling
a lover of discourse to do your bidding!

PH. Then why all this twisting?

SOCR. I give it up, in view of what
you ve sworn. For how could I possibly
do without such entertainment?

PH. Then proceed. [237]

SOGR. Well, do you know what I m
going to do?

PH. Do about what?

SOGR. I shall cover my head before I
begin: then I can rush through my
speech at top speed without looking at
you and breaking down for shame. 6

PH. You can do anything else you like,
provided you make your speech.

SOCR. Come then, ye clear-voiced
Muses, whether it be from the nature of

5 Pindar, frag. 94 (Bowra).

6 To Phaedrus Socrates s words here doubt
less express apprehension that he will disgrace
himself by an inferior performance, but the
shame that Socrates really feels is, as trans
pires later (243fi), due to his having been
forced to adopt an unworthy conception of
Eros.

PHAEDRUS

165

your song, or from the musical people of
Liguria that ye came to be so styled/
"assist the tale I tell" under compulsion
by my good friend here, to the end that
he may think yet more highly of one [B]
dear to him, whom he already accounts
a man of wisdom.

237B-238C Socrafes Begins His
Speech. A Definition of Love

SOCR. Well then, once upon a time
there was a very handsome boy, or
rather young man, who had a host of
lovers; and one of them was wily, and
had persuaded the boy that he was not
in love with him, though really he was,
quite as much as the others. And on one
occasion, in pressing his suit he actually
sought to convince him that he ought
to favour a non-lover rather than a
lover. And this is the purport of what
he said:

My boy, if anyone means to deliberate
successfully about anything, there is one
thing he must do at the outset: he [c]
must know what it is he is deliberating
about; otherwise he is bound to go ut
terly astray. Now most people fail to
realize that they don t know what this
or that really is: consequently when they
start discussing something, they dispense
with any agreed definition, assuming
that they know the thing; then later on
they naturally find, to their cost, that
they agree neither with each other nor
with themselves. That being so, you and
I would do well to avoid what we charge
against other people; and as the ques
tion before us is whether one should
preferably consort with a lover or a non-

lover, we ought to agree upon a defini
tion of love which shows its nature and
its effects, so that we may have it before
our minds as something to refer to while
we discuss whether love is -beneficial [D]
or injurious.

Well now, it is plain to everyone that
love is some sort of desire; and further
we know that men desire that which is
fair without being lovers. How then are
we to distinguish one who loves from
one who does not? We must go on to
observe that within each one of us Jiere^
are two sorts of ruling or guiding prin
ciple tKat we f laUfw,: one is anunaale

desire for pleasur^ th^ nfKer m n . i-pji ]

judgment that aims at what is best.
Solnefinies these infernal guides are in
accord, sometimes at variance: now one
gains the mastery, now the other. [E]
And when judgment guides us rationally
towards what is best, and has the mas

7 The suggested connexion between
(clear-voiced) and the Ligurian people is one
of those etymological jests in which Plato
often, and sometimes rather pointlessly,
indulges.

tery, that mastery_is called tem- [238]
perance; but when desire drags us irra
tionally towards pleasure, and has come
to rule within us, the name given to that
rule is wantonness. But in truth wanton
ness itself has many names, as it has
many branches or forms, and when one
of these forms is conspicuously present
in a man it makes that man bear its
name, a name that it is no credit or dis
tinction to possess. If it be in the matter
of food that desire has the mastery over
judgment of what is for the best, and
over all other desires, it is called [B]
gluttony, and. the person in question will
be called a glutton; or again if desire
has achieved domination in the matter
of drink, it is plain what term we shall
apply to its subject who is led down that
path; and no less plain what are the
appropriate names in the case of other
such persons and of other such desires,
according as this one or that holds sway.
Now the reason for saying all this can
hardly remain in doubt; yet even so a
statement of it will be illuminating.
Mien irrational desire, pursuing the en-

166

PLATO

joyment of beauty, has gained the mas
tery over judgment that prompts to right
conduct, and has acquired from [c]
other desires, akin to it. fresh strength
to Strain towards Twtily beauty, that
very strength provides it with its name:
it is the strong passion called Love.

238C-241D Socrates Concludes
His First Speech

SOCR. Well, Phaedrus my friend, do
you think, as I do, that I am divinely
inspired?

PH. Undoubtedly, Socrates, you have
been vouchsafed a quite unusual elo*
quence.

SOGR. Then listen to me in silence.
For truly there seems to be a divine pres
ence in this spot, so that you must [D]
not be surprised if, as my speech pro
ceeds, I become as one possessed; already
my style is not far from dithyrambic.

PH. Very true.

SOCR. But for that you are responsible.
Still, let me continue; possibly the men
ace may be averted. However, that must
be as God wills: our business is to re
sume our address to the boy:

Very well then, my good friend: the
true nature of that on which we have to
deliberate has been stated and defined;
and so, with that definition in mind, we
may go on to say what advantage or [E]
detriment may be expected to result to
one who accords his favour to a lover
and a non-lover respectively.

Now a man who is dominated by de
sire andenslaved to pleasure is_of course
bound to^imtttirtht greatest pos

sible pleasure out of his beloved; and
whaF pleases a sick man 8 is anything that
does not thwart him, whereas anything
that is as strong as, or stronger than,
himself gives him offence. Hence he will
not, if he can avoid it, put up with a

8 Cf. 23 ID, 236A.

favourite that matches or outdoes [239]
him in strength, but will always seek to
make him weaker and feebler: and
weakness is found in the ignorant, the
cowardly, the poor speaker., the slow
thinker, as against the wise, the brave,
the eloquent, the quick-minded. All
these defects of mind and more in the
beloved are bound to be a source of
pleasure to the lover: if they do not exist
already as innate qualities, he will cul
tivate them, for not to do so means de
priving himself of immediate pleasure.
And of course he is bound to be jealous,
constantly debarring the boy not only,
to his great injury, from the advan- [B]
tages of consorting with others, which
would make a real man of him, but,
greatest injury of all, from consorting
with that which would most increase his
wisdom; by which I mean divine philos
ophy: no access to that can possibly be
permitted by the lover, for he dreads be
coming thereby an object of contempt.
And m general he must aim at making
the boy totally ignorant and totally
dependent on his lover, by way of secur
ing the maximum of pleasure for him
self, and the maximum of damage to the
other.

Hence in respect of the boy s mind [c]
it is anything but a profitable investment
to have as guardian or partner a man in
love.

After the mind, the body; we must see
what sort of physical condition will be
fostered, and how it will be fostered, in
the boy that has become the possession
of one who is under compulsion to pur
sue pleasure instead of goodnesss. We
shall find him, of course, pursuing a
weakling rather than a sturdy boy, one
who has had a cosy, sheltered upbring
ing instead of being exposed to the open
air, who has given himself up to a soft
unmanly life instead of the toil and [D]
sweat of manly exercise, who for lack of
natural charm tricks himself out with
artificial cosmetics, and resorts to all

PHAEDRUS

167

sorts of other similar practices which are
too obvious to need further enumeration;
yet before leaving the topic we may sum
it up in a sentence: the boy will be of
that physical type which in wartime v and
other times that try a man s mettle, in
spires confidence in his enemies and
ajarm^in his friends, aye and in his very
lovers too.

And now let us pass from these [E]
obvious considerations and raise the next
question: what advantage or detriment
in respect of property and possessions
shall we find resulting from the society
and guardianship of a lover? Well, one
thing is plain enough to anyone, and
especially to the lover, namely that his
foremost wish will be for the boy to be
bereft of his dearest possessions, his
treasury of kindness and ideal affection:
father and mother, kinsmen and friends
he will want him to be robbed of them
all, as likely to make difficulties [240]
and raise objections to the intercourse
which he finds so pleasant. If however
the boy possesses property, in money or
whatever it may be, he will reckon that
he will not be so easy to capture, or if
captured to manage; hence & jgver_is
bound to nurse a grudge against one
who possesses property,, and to rejoice
when he loses it. Furthermore he will
want his beloved to remain as long as
possible without wife or child or home.
so as to enjoy for as long as may be his
own delights.

There are, to be sure, other evils in
life, but with most of them heaven has
mixed some momentary pleasure: [B]
thus in the parasite, a fearsome and most
pernicious creature, nature has mingled
a dash of pleasing wit or charm; a
courtesan may well be branded as perni
cious, not to mention many other similar
creatures with their respective callings,
yet in everyday life they can be agree
able; but a lover, besides being perni
cious, is the most disagreeable of all men
for a boy to spend his days with. There s

an old saying about "not matching [c]
May with December," based, I suppose,
on the idea that similarity of age tends
to similarity of pleasures and consequent
ly makes a couple good friends: still
even with such a couple the association
is apt to pall. Then again, in addition to
the dissimilarity of age, there is that
compulsion which is burdensome for any
body in any circumstances, but especially
so in the relations of such a pair.

The elderly lover will not if he can
heTp it, suffer any desertion by his" be
loved by day or by nisfo: he is [D]
driven on by a compelling, goading pow
er, lured by the continual promise of
pleasure in the sight, hearing, touching
or other physical experience of the be
loved; to minister unfailingly to the boy s
needs is his delight. But what pleasure
or what solace will he have to offer to
the beloved? How will he save him from
experiencing the extremity of discomfort
in those long hours at his lover s side, as
he looks upon a face which years have
robbed of its beauty, together with [E]
other consequences which it is unpleasant
even to hear mentioned, let alone to have
continually to cope with in stark reality.
And what of the suspicious precautions
with which he is incessantly guarded,
with whomsoever he associates, the
unseasonable fulsome compliments to
which he has to listen, alternating with
reproaches which when uttered in sober
ness are hard to endure, but coming
from one in his cups, in language of un
limited, undisguised coarseness, are both
intolerable and disgusting?

To continue: if while his love lasts
he is harmful and offensive, in later days,
when it is spent, he will show his bad
faith. He was lavish with promises,
interspersed amongst his vows and en
treaties, regarding those later days, con
triving with some difficulty to secure his
partner s endurance of an intercourse
which even then was burdensome, [241]
by holding out hopes of benefits to come.

168

PLATO

But when the time comes for fulfilling
the promises, a new authority takes the
place within him of the former ruler:
love and passion are replaced by wis
dom and temperance: he has become a
different person. But the boy does not
realise it, and demands a return for what
he gave in the past, reminding him of
what had been done and said, as though
he were talking to the same person;
while the erstwhile lover, who has now
acquired wisdom and temperance, can
not for very shame bring himself to de
clare that he has become a new man,
nor yet see his way to redeeming [B]
the solemn assurances and promises
made under the old regime of folly; he
fears that if he were to go on acting as
before he would revert to his old charac
ter, his former self. So he runs away from
his obligations as one compelled to de
fault; it s "tails" this time instead of
"heads," 9 and he has to turn tail and
rush away. But the boy must needs run
after him, crying indignantly to high
heaven: though from start to finish he
has never understood that he ought not
to have yielded to a lover inevitably de
void of reason, but far rather to one pos
sessed of reason and not in love. He
should have known that the wrong [c]
choice must mean surrendering himself
to a faithless, peevish, jealous and offen
sive captor, to one who would ruin his
property, ruin his physique, and above
all ruin his spiritual development, which
is assuredly and ever will be of supreme
value in the sight of gods and men
alike. 10

Let that then, my boy, be your lesson:
be sure that the attentions of a lover
carry no goodwill: they are no more
than a glutting of his appetite, for

9 An allusion to the game

in which a shell was thrown into the air be
tween two opposing sides, and according as
it fell white or dark side uppermost one side
had to run and the other to catch them.

10 Cf. Apol 29E, 30A-B.

As wolf to lamb, so lover to his lad. [D]

There, I knew I should, 11 Phaedrus. Not
a word more shall you have from me:
let that be the end of my discourse.

241D-243E Interlude, Leading to
Socrates s Recantation

PH. Why, I thought you were only
half-way through and would have an
equal amount to say about the non-lover,
enumerating his good points and show
ing that he should be the favoured
suitor. Why is it, Socrates, that instead
of that you break off?

SOCR. My dear good man, haven t
you noticed that I ve got beyond [E]
dithyramb, and am breaking out into
epic verse, despite my fault-finding?
What do you suppose I shall do if I
start extolling the other type? Don t you
see that I shall clearly be possessed by
those nymphs into whose clutches you
deliberately threw me? I therefore tell
you, in one short sentence, that to each
evil for which I have abused the one
party there is a corresponding good be
longing to the other. So why waste
words? All has been said that needs say
ing about them both. And that being
so, my story can be left to the fate ap
propriate to it, and I will take myself
off across the river here before [242]
you drive me to greater lengths*

PH. Oh, but you must wait until it
gets cooler, Socrates. Don t you realise
that it s just about the hour of "scorch
ing moonday," as the phrase goes? Let
us wait and discuss what we ve heard;
when it has got cool perhaps we will go.

SOCR. Phaedrus, your enthusiasm for
discourse is sublime, and really moves
me to admiration. Of the discourses pro
nounced during your lifetime no one, I
fancy, has been responsible for [B]

11 Socrates had feared that he would break
out into inspired verse, 2380.

PHAEDRUS

169

more than you, whether by delivering
them yourself or by compelling others to
do so by one means or another with
one exception, Simmias of Thebes: you
are well ahead of all the rest. And now
it seems that once more you are the
cause of my having to deliver myself.

PH. It might be a lot worse! But how
so? To what do you refer?

SOGR. At the moment when I was
about to cross the river, dear friend,
there came to me my familiar divine
sign which always checks me when on
the point of doing something or [c]
other and all at once I seemed to hear
a voice, forbidding me to leave the spot
until I had made atonement for some
offence to heaven. Now, you must know,
I am a seer; not a very good one, it s
true, but, like a poor scholar, good
enough for my own purposes; hence I
understand already well enough what my
offence was. The fact is, you know,
Phaedrus, the mind itself has a kind of
divining power; for I felt disturbed some
while ago as I was delivering that
speech, and had a misgiving lest I might,
in the words of Ibycus

By sinning in the sight of God win high
renown from man. [D]

But now I realise my sin.

PH. And what is it?

SOCR. That was a terrible theory,
Phaedrus, a terrible theory that you in
troduced and compelled me to expound.

PH. How so?

SOCR. It was foolish, and somewhat
blasphemous; and what could be more
terrible than that?

PH. I agree, if merits your description.

SOGR. Well, do you not hold Love to
be a god, the child of Aphrodite?

PH. He is certainly said to be.

SOGR. But not according to Lysias, and
not according to that discourse of yours
which you caused my lips to utter [E]
by putting a spell on them. If Love is,
as he is indeed, a god or a divine be
ing, he cannot be an evil thing: yet

this pair of speeches treated him as evil.
That then was their offence towards
Love, to which was added the most ex
quisite folly of parading their pernicious
rubbish as though it were good sense
because it might deceive a few [243]
miserable people and win their applause.
And so, my friend, I have to purify
myself. Now for such as offend in speak
ing of gods and heroes there is an an
cient mode of purification, which was
known to Stesichorus, though not to
Homer. When Stesichorus lost the sight
of his eyes because of his defamation of
Helen, he was not, like Homer, at a
loss to know why: as a true artist he
understood the reason, and promptly
wrote the lines:

False, false the tale:

Thou never didst sail in the well-decked ships
Nor come to the towers of Troy. [B]

And after finishing the composition of
his so-called Palinode he straightway
recovered his sight. Now it s here that
I shall show greater wisdom than these
poets: I shall attempt to make my due
palinode to Love before any harm comes
to me for my defamation of him, and
no longer veiling my head for shame,
but uncovered.

PH. Nothing you could say, Socrates,
would please me more.

SOGR. Yes, dear Phaedrus: you [a]
understand how irreverent the two
speeches were, the one in the book and
that which followed. Suppose we were
being listened to by a man of generous
and humane character, who loved or
had once loved another such as him
self: suppose he heard us saying that
for some triffling cause lovers conceive
bitter hatred and a spirit of malice
and injury towards their loved ones;
wouldn t he be sure to think that we
had been brought up among the scum
of the people and had never seen a case
of noble love? Wouldn t he utterly re
fuse to accept our vilification of
Love? [D]

170

PLATO

PH. Indeed, Socrates, he well might.

SOGR. Then out of respect for him,
and in awe of Love himself, I should
like to wash the bitter taste out of my
mouth with a draught of wholesome dis
course; and my advice to Lysias is that
he should lose no time in telling us
that, other things being equal, favour
should be accorded to the lover rather
than to the non-lover.

PH. Rest assured, that will be done.
When you have delivered your en
comium of the lover, I shall most
certainly make Lysias compose a [E]
new speech to the same purport.

SOCR. I m sure of that, so long as you
continue to be the man you are.

PH. Then you may confidently pro
ceed.

SOGR. Where is that boy I was talk
ing to? He must listen to me once more,
and not rush off to yield to his non-
lover before he hears what I have to
say.

PH. Here he is, quite close beside you,
whenever you want him.

243E-245C Socrates Begins His

Second Speech. Three Types

of Divine Madness

SOGR. Now you must understand, fair
boy, that whereas the preceding dis
course was by Phaedrus, son of Pytho-
cles, of Myrrinous, that which I [224]
shall now pronounce is by Stesichorus,
son of Euphemus, of Himera. 12 This
then is how it must run:

12 Thompson and, as we should expect,
Hermeias before him, regard all these proper
names as significant. Doubtless the last two
are so: the speech will be ev^^os as opposed
to KtoKJyopos, and Iwcuos anticipates the "flood
of passion" (ffupos) of 25 Ic. But to find signi
ficance in the other four is a task best left
to Ncoplatonic subtlety.

"JFalse is the tale" that when a lover
is at hand favour ought rather to be
accorded to one who c|ofts not Ip^re, on
th ft S rn i^ H that tV "* fnri rier is mad, and"
the latter sound of mind. That would
be right if it were an invariable truth
that madness is an evil : but in reality,
the greatest blessings come J&gt;y way of
madness, indeed of madnf^ that _j
heaven-sent. It was when they were
mad that the prophetess at Delphi [B]
and the priestesses at Dodona achieved
so much for which both states and in
dividuals in Greece are thankful: when
sane they did little or nothing. As for
the Sibyl and others who by the power
of inspired prophecy have so often fore
told the future to so many, and guided
them aright, I need not dwell on what
is obvious to everyone. Yet it is in place
to appeal to the fact that madness was
accounted no shame nor disgrace by
the men of old who gave things their
names: otherwise they would not have
connected that greatest of arts, whereby
the future is discerned, witfy ftm [r]
very word "madflfi^" and named it ac
cordingly. Nofltwas beranaft t^eyji^
madness to be a valuable ffift 7 when dug
jo divine dispensation, that they named
that art as they did, though the men of
to-day, having no sense of values, have
put in an extra letter, making it not
manic but mantic. That is borne out by
the name they gave to the art of those
sane prophets who inquire into the
future by means of birds and other
signs: the name was "oionoistic," which
by its components indicated that the
prophet attained understanding and in
formation by a purely human activity of
thought belonging to his own intelli
gence; though a younger generation has
come to call it "oionistic/ lengthening
the quantity of the o to make it sound
impressive. You see then what this [D]
ancient evidence attests: corresponding
to the superior perfection ^and value of
the prpphftry nf inspiration yAr tli at ...it

PHAEDRUS

171

omen-reading, both in name and in fact,
is the superiority of heaven-sent mad
ness over man-made sanitv.

And in the second place, when
grievous maladies and afflictions have
beset certain families by reason of some
ancient sin, madness has appeared
amongst them, and breaking out [E]
into prophecy has secured relief by
finding the means thereto, namely by
recourse to prayer and worship; and in
consequence thereof rites and means of
purification were established, and the
sufferer was brought out of danger, alike
for the present and for the future. Thus
did madness secure, for him that was
maddened aright and possessed, de
liverance from his troubles.

There is a third form of posses- [245]
sjon_or rnadness. of which the Muse*
are the source. This seizes a tender,
virgin soul and stimulates it to rapt
passionate expression, especially in lyric
poetry, glorifying the countless mighty
deeds of ancient times for the instruc
tion of posterity. But if any man come
to the gates of poetry without the mad
ness of the Muses, persuaded that skill
alone will make him a good poet, then
shall he and his works of sanity with
him be brought to naught by the poetry
of madness, and behold, their place is
nowhere to be found.

Such then is the tale, though I [B]
have not told it fully, of the achieve
ments wrought by madness that comes
from the gods. So let us have no fears
simply on that score; let us not be
disturbed by an argument that seeks
to scare us into preferring the friendship
of the sane to that of the passionate.
For there is something more that it must
prove if it is to carry the day, namely
that love is not a thing sent from heaven
for the advantage both of lover and ber
loved. What we have to prove is the
opposite, namely that this sort of mad
ness is a gift of the gods, fraught [c]
with the highest bliss. And our proof

assuredly will prevail with the wise,
though not with the learned.

Now our first step towards attaining
the truth of the matter is to discern the
nature of soul, divine and human, its
experiences and its activities. Here then
our proof begins.

vm
245C-246A The Immortality of Soul

All soul is immortal; for that which
is ever in motion is immortal. But that
which while imparting motion is itself
moved by something else can cease to
be in motion, and therefore can cease
to live; it is only that which moves
itself that never intermits its motion,
inasmuch as it cannot abandon its own
nature; moreover this self-mover is the
source and first principle of motion for
aJTotEer tilings that are moved. Now
a first principle cannot come into [D]
being; for while anything that comes
to be must come to be from a first
principle, the latter itself cannot come
to be from anything whatsoever: if rt
did, it would cease any longer to be a
first principle. Furthermore, since it
does not come into being, it .jmusJLbe
imperishable^ for assuredly if a first
principle were to be destroyed, nothing
could come to be out of it, nor could
anything bring the principle itself back
into existence, seeing that a first prin
ciple is needed for anything to come
into being.

The self-mover, then, is the first prin
ciple of motion: and it is as impossible
that it should be destroyed as that it
should come into being: were it other
wise, the whole universe, the whole of
that which comes to be, would collapse
into immobility, and never find [E]
another source of motion to bring it
back into being.

And now that we have seen that that
which is moved by itself is immortal,

172

PLATO

we shall feel no scruple in affirming
that precisely that is the essence and
definition of soul, to wit self-motion.
Any body that has an external source
of motion is soulless; but ji body deriv
ing its motion from a source within
itself is animate or besouled, which im-
plies that the nature of soul is what has
been said.

And if this last assertion s correct,
namely that "that which moves itself"
is precisely identifiable with soul, it

must IQllftw *h* grv "* fg nnt frnm [246]

and does not die.

246A-247C Myth of the Soul.

The Charioteer and Two Horses.

The Process/on of Souls

As to soul s immortality then we have
said enough, but as to its nature there
is this that must be said: what manner
of thing it is would be a long tale to
tell, and most assuredly a god alone
could tell it; but what it resembles, that
a man might tell in briefer compass : let
this therefore be our manner of dis
course. Let it be likened to the union of
powers in a team of winged steeds and
their winged charioteer. Now all the
gods steeds and all their charioteers are
good, and of good stock; but with other
beings it is not wholly so. With us men,
in the first place, it is a pair of [B]
steeds that the charioteer controls; more
over one of them is noble and good, and
of good stock, while the other has the
opposite character, and his stock is op
posite. Hence the task of our charioteer
is difficult and troublesome.

And now we must essay to tell how
it is that living beings are called mortal
and immortal. All soul has the care of
all thatjsjn animate, and traverses the
whole u^erse, though in ever-chang
ing forms. Thus when it is perfect and
winged ij journeys on high and controls
the whole world; but one that has Tel

shed its wings sinks down until. .iL-an
fasten on son^tMng solid, and settling
there it takesto itself an earthy body
which seems by reason of the soul s
power to move itself. This cpmpnsfo
structure of soul and body is rallprl a
Hying being, and is further termed
"mortal" : "immortal" is a term applied
on no basis of reasoned argument at all,
but our fancy pictures the god whom
we have never seen, nor fully conceived,
as an immortal living being, possessed [D]
of a soul and a body united for all
time. Howbeit let these matters, and our
account thereof, be as god pleases; what
we must understand is the reason why
the soul s wings fall from it, and are
lost. It is on this wise.

The natural property of a wing is to
raise that which is heavy and carry it
aloft to the region where the gods
dwell; and more than any other bodily
part it shares in the divine nature,
which is fair, wise and good, and [E]
possessed of all other such excellences.
Now by these excellences especially is
the soul s plumage nourished and fos
tered, while by their opposites, even by
ugliness and evil, it is wasted and
destroyed. And behold, there in the
heaven Zeus, mighty leader, drives his
winged team: first of the host of gods
and daemons he proceeds, ordering all
things and caring therefor: and the
host follows after him, marshalled in
eleven companies. For Hestia abides
alone in the gods dwelling-place; [247]
but for the rest, all such as are ranked
in the number of the twelve as ruler
gods lead their several companies, each
according to his rank*

Now within the heavens are many
spectacles of bliss upon the highways
whereon the blessed gods pass to and
fro, each doing his own work; and with
them are all such as will and can follow
them: for jealousy has no place in the
choir divine. But at such times as they
go to their feasting and banquet, behold
they climb the steep ascent even unto

PHAEDRUS

173

the summit of the arch that supports
the heavens; and easy is that ascent [B]
for the chariots of the gods, for that
they are well-balanced and readily
guided; but for the others it is hard,
by reason of the heaviness of the steed
of wickedness, which pulls down his
driver with his weight, except that
driver have schooled him well.

And now there awaits the soul the
extreme of her toil and struggling. For
the souls that are called immortal, so
soon as they are at the summit, come
forth and stand upon the back of the
world: and straightway the revolving
heaven carries them round, and they [c]
look upon the regions without.

247C-248E The Soul s Vision

of True Being, /fs Fall

and Incarnation

Of that place beyond the heavens
none of our earthly poets has yet sung,
and none shall sing worthily. But this
is the manner of it, for assuredly we
must be bold to speak what is true,
above all when our discourse is upon
truth. It is there that true Being dwells,
without colour or shape, that cannot be
touched; reason alone, the soul s pilot,
can behold it, and all true knowledge
is knowledge thereof. Now even as the
mind of a god is nourished by reason
and knowledge, so also is it with [D]
every soul that has a care to receive her
proper food; wherefore when at last she
has beheld Being she is well content,
and contemplating truth she is nourished
and prospers, until the heaven s rev
olution brings her back full circle. And
while she is borne round she discerns
justice, its very self, and likewise tem
perance, and knowledge, not the knowl
edge that is neighbour to Becoming and
varies with the various objects to which
we commonly ascribe being, but the [E]

veritable knowledge of Being that verita
bly is. And when she has contemplated
likewise and feasted upon all else that
has true being, she descends again
within the heavens and comes back
home. And having so come, her chario
teer sets his steeds at their manger, and
puts ambrosia before them and draught
of nectar to drink withal.

Such is the life of gods: of the [248]
other souls that which best follows a
god and becomes most like thereunto
raises her charioteer s head into the
outer region, and is carried round with
the gods in the revolution, but being
confounded by her steeds she has much
ado to discern the things that are; an
other now rises, and now sinks, and by
reason of her unruly steeds sees in part,
but in part sees not. As for the rest,
though all are eager to reach the heights
and seek to follow, they are not able:
sucked down as they travel they trample
and tread upon one another, this one
striving to outstrip that. Thus confusion
ensues, and conflict and grievous [B]
sweat: whereupon, with their chario
teers powerless, many are lamed, and
many have their wings all broken; and
for all their toiling they are baulked,
every one, of the full vision of Being,
and departing therefrom, they feed
upon the food of semblance.

Now the reason wherefore the souls
are fain and eager to behold the Plain
of Truth, and discover it, lies herein:
to wit, that the pasturage that is prop
er to their noblest part comes from [c]
that Meadow, and the plumage by
which they are borne aloft is nourished
thereby.

Hear now the ordinance of Necessity.
Whatsoever soul has followed in the
train of a god, and discerned some
thing of truth, shall be kept from sorrow
until a new revolution shall begin; and
if she can do this always, she shall
remain always free from hurt. But when
she is not able so to follow, and sees
none of it, but meeting with some mis-

174

PLATO

chance comes to be burdened with a
load of forgetfulness and wrongdoing,
and because of that burden sheds her
wings and falls to the earth, then thus
runs the law: in her first birth she
shall not be planted in any brute [D]
beast, but the soul that hath seen the
most of Being shall enter into the
human babe that shall grow into a
seeker after wisdom or beauty, a fol
lower of the Muses and a lover; the
next, having seen less, shall dwell in a
king that abides by law, or a warrior
and ruler; the third in a statesman, a
man of business or a trader; the fourth
in an athlete, or physical trainer or
physician; the fifth shall have the [E]
life of a prophet or a mystery-priest; to
the sixth that of a poet or other imita
tive artist shall be fittingly given; the
seventh shall live in an artisan or farm
er, the eighth in a sophist or demagogue,
the ninth in a tyrant.

248E-249D Reincarnation and
Final Liberation of the Soul.
The Philosopher s Privilege

No XA ^ ;r a 11 *hese incarnations he_who
lives righteously has a better lot inr hfo
portion, and he who lives

^ worse. 13 For a soul does not return to
the place whence she came for ten
thousand years, since in no lesser time
can she regain her wings, save only his
soul who has sought after wisdom [249]
unfeignedly, or has conjoined his pas
sion for a loved one with that seeking,
Such a soul, if with three revolutions
of a thousand years she has thrice
chosen this philosophic life, regains
thereby her wings, and speeds away
after three thousand years; but the rest,
when they have accomplished their first

13 These words refer not to the final destiny
of the souls, but to the period of reward or
punishment between two incarnations.

life, are brought to judgment, and after
the judgment some are taken to be
punished in places of chastisement
beneath the earth, while others are
borne aloft by Justice to a certain region
of the heavens, there to live in such
manner as is merited by their past [B]
life in the flesh. And after a thousand
years these and those alike come to the
allotment and choice of their second
life, each choosing according to her
will; then does the soul of a man enter
into the life of a beast, and the beast s
soul that was aforetime in a man goes
back to a man again. For only the soul
that has beheld truth may enter into this
our human form: seeing that man
must needs understand the language of
Forms, passing from a plurality of [c]
perceptions to a unity gathered together
by reasoning; and such understanding
is a recollection of those things which
our souls beheld aforetime as they jour
neyed with their god, looking down
upon the things which now we suppose
to be, and gazing up to that which truly
is.

Therefore is it meet and right that
the soul of the philosopher alone 14
should recover her wings: for she, so
far as may be, is ever near in memory
to those things a god s nearness where-
unto makes him truly god. Wherefore
if a man makes right use of such means
of remembrance, and ever approaches
to the full vision of the perfect mys
teries, he and he alone becomes truly
perfect. Standing aside from the busy
doings of mankind, and drawing nigh
to the divine, he is rebuked by the [D]
multitude as being out of his wits, for
they know not that he is possessed by
a deity.

14 The word "alone" is strictly inconsistent
with 248B 5-7, where it is implied that all
souls ultimately regain their wings, But in the
present sentence Plato is thinking only of
events within a 1 0,000-year period, and giving
the ground for his "assertion that the philoso
pher alone can shorten the period of itrip&lt;rts.

PHAEDRUS

175

249D-250D The Soul s Recollection
of Ideal Beauty

Mark therefore the sum and sub
stance of all our discourse touching the
fourth sort of madness: to wit, that
this is the best of all forms of divine
possession, both in itself and in its
sources, both for him that has it and
for him that shares therein; and when
he that loves beauty is touched by [E]
such madness he is called a lover. juch
an one, as soon as he beholds the beauty
of this world, is reminded of true

T-jfa wmprg hfirJTl tO

then is he fain to lift his wings and fly
upward; yet he has not the power, but
inasmuch as he gazes upward like a
bird, and cares nothing for the world
beneath, men charge it upon him that
he is demented.

Now, as we have said, every human
soul has, by reason of her nature, had
contemplation of true Being: else would
she never have entered into this human
creature; but to be put in mind thereof
by things here is not easy for every [250]
soul; some, when they had the vision,
had it but for a moment; some when
they had fallen to earth consorted un
happily with such as led them to deeds
of unrighteousness, wherefore they for
got the holy objects of their vision. Few
indeed are left that can still remember
much: but when these discern some
likeness of the things yonder, they are
amazed, and no longer masters of them
selves, and know not what is come upon
them by reason of their perception
being dim. [B]

Now in the earthly likenesses of
justice and temperance and all other
prized possessions of the soul there
dwells no lustre; nay, so dull are the
organs wherewith men approach their
images that hardly can a few behold
that which is imaged; but with beauty

it is otherwise. Beauty it was ours to
see in all its brightness in those days
when, amidst that happy company,
we beheld with our eyes that blessed
vision, ourselves in the train of Zeus,
others following some other god; then
were we all initiated into that mystery
which is rightly accounted blessed be
yond all others; whole and unblemished
were we that did celebrate it, un- [c]
touched by the evils that awaited us
in days to come; whole and unblemished
likewise, free from all alloy, steadfast
and blissful were the spectacles on
which we gazed in the moment of final
revelation; pure was the light that
shone around us, and pure were we,
without taint of that prison-house which
now we are encompassed withal, and
call a body, fast bound therein as an
oyster in its shell.

There let it rest then, our tribute to
a memory that has stirred us to linger
awhile on those former joys for which
we yearn. Now beauty, as we said, [D]
shone bright amidst these visions, and
in this world below we apprehend it
through the clearest of our senses, clear
and resplendent. For sight is the
keenest mode of perception vouchsafed
us through the body; wisdom, indeed,
we cannot see thereby how passionate
had been our desire for her, if she had
granted us so clear an image of herself
to gaze upon nor yet any other of
those beloved objects, save only beauty;
for beauty alone this has been ordained,
to be most manifest to sense and most
lovely of them all.

250E-252C Love as the Regrowing
of the Soul s Wings

Now he whose vision of the mys- [E]
tery is long past, or whose purity has
been sullied, cannot pass swiftly hence
to see Beauty s self yonder, when he
beholds that which is called beautiful

176

PLATO

here; wherefore he looks upon it with
no reverence, and surrendering to
pleasure he essays to go after the fashion
of a four-footed beast, and to beget
offspring of the flesh; or consorting with
wantonness he has no fear nor shame
in running after unnatural pleasure. But
when one who is fresh from the [251]
mystery, and saw much of the vision,
beholds a godlike face or bodily form
that truly expresses beauty, first there
comes upon him a shuddering and a
measure of that awe which the vision
inspired, and then reverence as at the
sight of a god: and but for fear of
being deemed a very madman he would
offer sacrifice to his beloved, as to a
holy image of deity. Next, with the
passing of the shudder, a strange sweat
ing and fever seizes him: for by reason
of the stream of beauty entering in [B]
through his eyes there comes a warmth,
whereby his soul s plumage is fostered;
and with that warmth the roots of the
wings are melted, which for long had
been so hardened and closed up that
nothing could grow; then as the
nourishment is poured in the stump of
the wing swells and hastens to grow
from the root over the whole substance
of the soul: for aforetime the whole
soul was furnished with wings. Mean
while she throbs with ferment in every
part, and even as a teething child [c]
feels an aching and pain in its gums
when a tooth has just come through,
so does the soul of him who is begin
ning to grow his wings feel a ferment
and painful irritation. Wherefore as she
gazes upon the boy s beauty, she admits
a flood of particles streaming there
from that is why we speak of a "flood
of passion" 15 whereby she is wanned
and fostered; then has she respite from
her anguish, and is filled with joy. But
when she has been parted from him [D]

15 The suggestion is that *l/jiepos is derived
om Wot-

and become parched, the openings of
those outlets at which the wings are
sprouting dry up likewise and are closed,
so that the wing s germ is barred off; and
behind its bars, together with the flood
aforesaid, it throbs like a fevered pulse,
and pricks at its proper outlet; and
thereat the whole soul round about is
stung and goaded into anguish; how-
beit she remembers the beauty of her
beloved, and rejoices again. So between
joy and anguish she is distraught at
being in such strange case, perplexed
and frenzied; with madness upon her
she can neither sleep by night nor [E]
keep still by day, but runs hither and
thither, yearning for him in whom
beauty dwells, if haply she may behold
him. At last she does behold him, and
lets the flood pour in upon her, releas
ing the imprisoned waters; then has
she refreshment and respite from her
stings and sufferings, and at that
moment tastes a pleasure that is sweet
beyond compare. Nor will she willingly
give it up: above all others does [252]
she esteem her beloved in his beauty:
mother, brother, friends, she forgets
them all: naught does she reck of losing
worldly possessions through neglect: all
the rules of conduct, all the graces of
life, of which aforetime she was proud,
she now disdains, welcoming a slave s
estate and any couch where she may be
suffered to lie down close beside her
darling; for besides her reverence for
the possessor of beauty she has found in
him the only physician for her grievous
suffering. [B]

Hearken, fair boy to whom I speak:
this is the experience that men term
love ($QCOS), but when you hear what
the gods call it, you will probably smile
at its strangeness. There are a couple
of verses on love quoted by certain
Homeric scholars from the unpublished
works, the second of which is remark
ably bold and a trifle astray in its
quantities: they run as follows:

PHAEDRUS

177

Eros, cleaver of air, in mortals speech is

he named;
But, since he must grow wings, Pteros the

celestials call him. 16

You may believe that or not, as [c]
you please; at all events the cause and
the nature of the lover s experience are
in fact what I have said.

xrv

252C-253C The Various Types
of Lover

Now if he whom Love has caught be
amongst the followers of Zeus, he is
able to bear the burden of the winged
one with some constancy; but they that
attend upon Ares, and did range the
heavens in his train, when they are
caught by Love and fancy that their
beloved is doing them some injury, will
shed blood and not scruple to offer both
themselves and their loved ones in
sacrifice. And so does each lover live,
after the manner of the god in whose
company he once was, honouring [D]
him and copying him so far as may
be, so long as he remains uncorrupt and
is still living in his first earthly period;
and in like manner does he comport
himself towards his beloved and all his
other associates. And so each selects a
fair one for his love after his disposition,
and even as if the beloved himself were
a god he fashions for himself as it were
an image, and adorns it to be the ob
ject of his veneration and worship.

Thus the followers of Zeus seek [E]
a beloved who is Zeus-like in soul;
wherefore they look for one who is by
nature disposed to the love of wisdom

and the leading of men^ and when
they have found him and come to love
him they do all in their power to foster
that disposition. And if they have not
aforetime trodden this path, they now
set out upon it, learning the way from
any source that may offer or finding it
for themselves; and as they follow up
the trace withmThemselves of the na
ture i ot their own god their task is [253]
made easier, inasmuch as they are
constrained to fix their s^aze upon him"
and reaching out after him in memory
they are possesssed by him, and frnm
Tlim they take thftir ways

16 For such double names cf. Iliad i, 404;
xrv, 291; xx, 74, The name given by the gods
is normally the more significant. It is un
certain whether the two lines are simply in
vented by Plato or modified from existing
lines fathered upon Homer, perhaps by some
Orphic writer.

in so far as a man can partake
of a god. But all this, mark you, they
attribute to the beloved, and the
draughts which they draw from Zeus
they pour out, like Bacchants, into the
soul of the beloved, thus creating in
him the closest possible likeness to the
god they worship. [B]

Those who were in the train of Hera
look for a royal nature, and when they
have found him they do unto him all
things in like fashion. And so it is with
the followers of Apollo and each other
god: every lover is fain that hisbeloved
should be ot a nature like tcT"fars-- &lt; ewn
god; and when he has won him, he
leTds him on to walk in the ways of
their god, and after his likeness, pattern
ing himself thereupon and giving coun
sel and discipline to the boy. There is
no jealousy nor petty spitefulness in his
dealings, but his very act is aimed at
bringing the beloved to be every whit
like unto himself and unto the god [c]
of their worship.

So therefore glorious and blissful is
the endeavour of true lovers in that
mystery-rite, if they accomplish that
which they endeavour after the fashion
of which I speak, when mutual affec
tion arises through the madness inspired
by love. But the beloved must needs be
captured: and the manner of that cap
ture I will now tell.

178

PLATO

253C-256E The Sub/ugaf/on of Lusf.
Love and Counter-Love

In the beginning of our story we
o!ivided each soul into three parts, two
being like steeds and the third like a
charioteer. Well and good. Now of the
steeds, so we declare, one is good and
the other is not; but we have not [D]
described the excellence of the one nor
the badness of the other, and that is
what must now be done. He that is on
the more honourable side is upright and
clean-limbed, carrying his neck high,
with something of a hooked nose: in
colour he is white, with black eyes: a
lover of glory, but with temperance
and modesty: one that consorts with
genuine renown, and needs no whip,
being driven by the word of command
alone. The other is crooked of frame, a
massive jumble* of a creature, with [E]
thick short neck, snub nose, black skin,
and grey eyes; hot-blooded, consorting
with wantonness and vainglory; shaggy
of ear, deaf, and hard to control with
whip and goad.

Now when the driver beholds the
person of the beloved, and causes a
sensation of warmth to suffuse the
whole soul, he begins to experience a
tickling or pricking of desire; and [254]
the obedient steed, constrained now as
always by modesty, refrains from leap
ing upon the beloved; but his fellow,
heeding no more the driver s goad or
whip, leaps and dashes on, sorely
troubling his companion and his driver,
and forcing them to approach the loved
one and remind him of the delights of
love s commerce. For a while they strug
gle, indignant that he should force [B]
them to a monstrous and forbidden act;
but at last, finding no end to their
evil plight, they yield and agree to do
his bidding. And so he draws them on,
and now they are quite close and be
hold the spectacle of the beloved flash
ing upon them. At that sight the driver s

memory goes back to that form of
Beauty, and he sees her once again
enthroned by the side of Temperance
upon her holy seat; then in awe and
reverence he falls upon his back, and
therewith is compelled to pull the reins
so violently that he brings both steeds
down on their haunches, the good [c]
one willing and unresistant, but the
wanton sore against his will. Now that
they are a little way off, the good horse
in shame and horror drenches the whole
soul with sweat, while the other, con
triving to recover his wind after the
pain of the bit and his fall, bursts into
angry abuse, railing at the charioteer
and his yoke-fellow as cowardly treach
erous deserters. Once again he tries to
force them to advance, and when [D]
they beg him to delay awhile he grudg
ingly consents. But when the time ap
pointed is come, and they feign to have
forgotten, he reminds them of it, strug
gling and neighing and pulling until he
compels them a second time to approach
the beloved and renew their offer; and
when they have come close, with head
down and tail stretched out he takes
the bit between his teeth and shame
lessly plunges on. But the driver, with
resentment even stronger than before,
like a racer recoiling from the [E]
starting-rope, jerks back the bit in the
mouth of the wanton horse with an
even stronger pull, bespatters his railing
tongue and his jaws with blood, and
forcing him down on legs and haunches
delivers him over to anguish.

And so it happens time and again,
until the evil steed casts off his wan
tonness; humbled in the end, he obeys
the counsel of his driver, and when he
sees the fair beloved is like to die of
fear. Wherefore at long last the soul
of the lover follows after the beloved
with reverence and awe.

Thus the loved one receives all [255]
manner of service, as peer of the gods,
from a lover that is no pretender but
loves in all sincerity; of his own nature,
too, he is kindly disposed to him who

PHAEDRUS

179

pays such service. Now it may be that
in time past he has been misled, by his
schoolfellows or others, who told him
that it is shameful to have commerce
with a lover, and by reason of this he
may repel his advances; nevertheless as
time goes on ripening age and the or
dinance of destiny together lead him to
welcome the other s society; for as
suredly fate does not suffer one evil [B]
man to be friend to another, nor yet
one good man to lack the friendship
of another.

And now that he has come to wel
come his lover and to take pleasure in
his company and converse, it comes
home to him what a depth of kindliness
he has found, and he is filled with
amazement, for he perceives that all his
other friends and kinsmen have nothing
to offer in comparison with this friend
in whom there dwells a god. So as he
continues in this converse and society,
and comes close to his lover in the
gymnasium and elsewhere, that flowing
stream which Zeus, as the lover of [c]
Ganymede, called the "flood of passion,"
pours in upon the lover; and part of
it is absorbed within him, but when he
can contain no more the rest flows away
outside him; and as a breath of wind
or an echo, rebounding from a smooth
hard surface, goes back to its place of
origin, even so the stream of beauty
turns back and re-enters the eyes of the
fair beloved; and so by the natural
channel it reaches his soul and gives it
fresh vigour, watering the roots of the
wings and quickening them to growth:
whereby the soul of the beloved, in [D]
its turn, is filled with love. So he loves,
yet knows not what he loves: he does
not understand, he cannot tell what has
come upon him; like one that has
caught a disease of the eye from an
other, he cannot account for it, not
realising that his lover is as it were a
mirror in which he beholds himself.
And when the other is beside him, he
shares his respite from anguish; when
he is absent, he likewise shares his

longing and being longed for; since he
possesses that counter-love which is the
image of love, though he supposes it
to be friendship rather than love, [E]
and calls it by that name. He feels a
desire, like the lover s yet not so strong,
to behold, to touch, to kiss him, to
share his couch: and now ere long the
desire, as one might guess, leads to the
act.

So when they lie side by side, the
wanton horse of the lover s soul would
have a word with the charioteer, claim
ing a little guerdon for all his trouble.
The like steed in the soul of the be
loved has no word to say, but [256]
swelling with desire for he knows not
what embraces and kisses the lover, in
grateful acknowledgment of all his
kindness. And when they lie by one an
other, he is minded not to refuse to
do his part in gratifying his lover s
entreaties; yet his yoke-fellow in turn,
being moved by reverence and heed-
fulness, joins with the driver in resisting.
And so, if the victory be won by the
higher elements of mind guiding them
into the ordered rule of the philosophic
life, their days on earth will be blessed
with happiness and concord; for the
power of evil in the soul has been [B]
subjected, and the power of goodness
liberated: they have won self-mastery
and inward peace. And when life is
over, with burden shed and wings
recovered they stand victorious in the
first of the three rounds in that truly
Olympic struggle; nor can any nobler
prize be secured whether by the wisdom
that is of man or by the madness that
is of god.

But if they turn to a way of life [c]
more ignoble and unphilosophic, yet
covetous of honour, then mayhap in a
careless hour, or when the wine is flow
ing, the wanton horses in their two souls
will catch them off their guard, bring
the pair together, and choosing that
part which the multitude account bliss
ful achieve their full desire. And this
once done, they continue therein, albeit

180

PLATO

but rarely, seeing that their minds are
not wholly set thereupon. Such a pair
as this also are dear friends, but not
so dear as that other pair, one to an
other, both hi the time of their love
and when love is past; for they feel
that they have exchanged the most [D]
binding pledges, which it were a sin to
break by becoming enemies. When
death comes they quit the body wingless
indeed, yet eager to be winged, and
therefore they carry off no mean reward
for their lovers madness: for it is
ordained that all such as have taken the
first steps on the celestial highway shall
no more return to the dark pathways
beneath the earth, but shall walk to
gether in a life of shining bliss, and
be furnished in due time with like
plumage the one to the other, be- [E]
cause of their love.

XVI

256E-257B The Speech Concluded.
A Prayer for Lysias and Phaedrus

These then, my boy, are the blessings
great and glorious which will come to
you from the friendship of a lover. He
who is not a lover can offer a mere
acquaintance flavoured with worldly
wisdom, dispensing a niggardly measure
of worldly goods; in the soul to which
he is attached he will engender an
ignoble quality extolled by the multi
tude as virtue, and condemn it to [257]
float for nine thousand years hither and
thither, around the earth and beneath
it, bereft of understanding.

Thus then, dear God of Love, I have
offered the fairest recantation and
fullest atonement that my powers could
compass; some of its language, in
particular, was perforce poetical, to
please Phaedrus. Grant me thy pardon
for what went before, and thy favour for
what ensued: be merciful and gracious,
and take not from me the lover s talent
wherewith thou hast blest, me neither

let it wither by reason of thy displeas
ure, but grant me still to increase hi
the esteem of the fair. And if anything
that Phaedrus and I said earlier [B]
sounded discordant to thy ear, set it
down to Lysias, the only begetter of
that discourse; and staying him from
discourses after this fashion turn him
towards the love of wisdom, even as his
brother Polemarchus has been turned.
Then will his loving disciple here pres
ent no longer halt between two opin
ions, as now he does, but live for Love
in singleness of purpose with the aid
of philosophical discourse.

xvn

257B-258E Preliminary Consideration
of Speech-Writing

PH. If that be for our good, Socrates,
I join in your prayer for it. And I have
this long while been filled with ad- [c]
miration for your speech as a far finer
achievement than the one you made
before. It makes me afraid that I shall
find Lysias cutting a poor figure, if he
proves to be willing to compete with
another speech of his own. The fact is
that only the other day, my dear good
sir, one of our politicians was railing
at him and reproaching him on this
very score, constantly dubbing him a
"speech-writer"; so possibly we shall
find him desisting from further com
position to preserve his reputation.

SOCR. What a ridiculous line to take,
young man! And how utterly you mis
judge our friend, if you suppose him [D]
to be such a timid creature! Am I to
believe you really do think that the per
son you speak of meant his raillery as a
reproach?

PH. He gave me that impression,
Socrates ; and of course you know as well
as I do that the men of greatest influence
and dignity in political life are reluctant
to write speeches and bequeath to
posterity compositions of their own, for

PHAEDRUS

181

fear of the verdict of later ages, which
might pronounce them Sophists. 17

SOCR. Phaedrus, you are unaware that
the expression "Pleasant Bend" comes
from the long bend in the Nile: and [E]
besides the matter of the Bend you are
unaware that the proudest of politicians
have the strongest desire to write
speeches and bequeath compositions;
why, whenever they write a speech, they
are so pleased to have admirers that they
put in a special clause at the beginning
with the names of the persons who ad
mire the speech in question.

PH. What do you mean? I don t
understand.

SOCR. You don t understand that [258]
when a politician begins a composition
the first thing he writes is the name of
his admirer.
PH. Is it?

SOGR. Yes, he says maybe "Resolved
by the Council" or "by the People" or
by both: and then "Proposed by so-and-
so" a pompous piece of self-advertise
ment on the part of the author; after
which he proceeds with what he has to
say, showing off his own wisdom to his
admirers, sometimes in a very lengthy
composition. This sort of thing amounts,
don t you think, to composing a speech?
PH. Yes, I think it does. [B]

SOCR. Then if the speech holds its
ground, the author quits the scene re
joicing; but if it is blotted out, and he
loses his status as a recognised speech-
writer, he goes into mourning, and his
friends with him.
PH. Quite so.

SOCR. Which clearly implies that their
attitude to the profession is not one of
disdain, but of admiration.
PH. To be sure.

SOCR. Tell me then: when an orator,
or a king, succeeds in acquiring the

17 The implication is that most prose works
hitherto had come from the pens of Sophists;
and a glance at the relevant testimonia in
Diels-Kranz, Vors. n, makes this easy to be
lieve.

power of a Lycurgus, a Solon or a [c]
Darius, and so winning immortality
among his people as a speech-writer,
doesn t he deem himself a peer of the
gods while still living, and do not people
of later ages hold the same opinion of
him when they contemplate his writings?

PH. Yes, indeed.

SOCR. Then do you suppose that any
one of that type, whoever he might be,
and whatever his animosity towards
Lysias, could reproach him simply on the
ground that he writes?

PH. What you say certainly makes that
improbable; for apparently he would be
reproaching what he wanted to do him
self.

SOGR. Then the conclusion is ob- [D]
vious, that there is nothing shameful in
the mere writing of speeches.

PH. Of course.

SOCR. But in speaking and writing
shamefully and badly, instead of as one
should, that is where the shame comes
in, I take it.

PH. Clearly.

SOGR. Then what is the nature of
good writing and bad? Is it incumbent
on us, Phaedrus, to examine Lysias on
this point, and all such as have written
or mean to write anything at all, whether
in the field of public affairs or private,
whether in the verse of the poet or the
plain speech of prose?

PH. Is it incumbent! Why, life [E]
itself would hardly be worth living save
for pleasures like this: certainly not for
those pleasures that involve previous
pain, as do almost all concerned with
the body, which for that reason are
rightly called slavish.

xvm

258E-259D Interlude.
The Myth of the Cicadas

SOGR. Well, I suppose we can spare the
time; and I think too that the cicadas
overhead, singing after their wont in the
hot sun and conversing with one an-

182

PLATO

other, don t fail to observe us as [259]
well. So if they were to see us two be
having like ordinary folk at midday, not
conversing but dozing lazy-minded un
der their spell, they would very properly
have the laugh of us, taking us for a
pair of slaves that had invaded their
retreat like sheep, to have their midday
sleep beside the spring. If however they
see us conversing and steering clear of
their bewitching siren-song, they might
feel respect for us and grant us that [B]
boon which heaven permits them to
confer upon mortals.

PH. Oh, what is that? I don t think I
have heard of it.

SOGR. Surely it is unbecoming in a
devotee of the Muses not to have heard
of a thing like that! The story is that
once upon a tune these creatures were
men men of an age before there were
any Muses: and that when the latter
came into the world, and music made
its appearance, some of the people of
those days were so thrilled with pleasure
that they went on singing, and quite [c]
forgot to eat and drink until they actual
ly died without noticing it. From them
in due course sprang the race of cicadas,
to which the Muses have granted the
boon of needing no sustenance right
from their birth, but of singing from the
very first, without food or drink, until
the day of their death: after which they
go and report to the Muses how they
severally are paid honour amongst man
kind, and by whom. So for those whom
they report as having honoured Terpsi
chore in the dance they win that [D]
Muse s favour; for those that have wor
shipped in the rites of love the favour
of Erato; and so with all the others,
according to the nature of the worship
paid to each. To the eldest, Calliope,
and to her next sister Urania, they tell
of those who live a life of philosophy
and so do honour to the music of those
twain whose theme is the heavens and
all the story of gods and men, and whose
song is the noblest of them all.

Thus there is every reason for us not
to yield to slumber hi the noontide, but
to pursue our talk.

PH. Of course we must pursue it.

XIX

259E-26JA Rhetoric
ancf Knowledge

SOCR. Well, the subject we proposed
for inquiry just now was the nature of
good and bad speaking and writing: so
we are to inquire into that.

PH. Plainly.

SOGR. Then does not a good and suc
cessful discourse presuppose a knowl
edge in the mind of the speaker of the
truth about his subject?

PH. As to that, dear Socrates, what I
have heard is that the intending orator
is under no necessity of understand- [260]
ing what is truly just, but only what is
likely to be thought just by the body of
men who are to give judgment; nor need
he know what is truly good or noble, but
what will be thought so; since it is on
the latter, not the former, that persua
sion depends.

SOGR. "Not to be lightly rejected," 18
Phaedrus, is any word of the wise; per
haps they are right: one has to see. And
in particular this present assertion must
not be dismissed.

PH. I agree.

SOGR. Well, here is my suggestion for
discussion.

PH. Yes?

SOGR. Suppose I tried to persuade [B]
you to acquire a horse to use in battle
against the enemy, and suppose that
neither of us knew what a horse was, but
I knew this much about you, that Pha
edrus believes a horse to be that tame
animal which possesses the largest ears.

PH. A ridiculous thing to suppose,
Socrates.

SOGR. Wait a moment: suppose I con-

18 A quotation from Iliad n, 361.

PHAEDRUS

183

tinued to urge upon you in all serious
ness, with a studied encomium of a don
key, that it was what I called it, a horse:
that it was highly important for you to
possess the creature, both at home and
in the field: that it was just the animal
to ride on into battle, and that it was [c]
handy, into the bargain, for carrying
your equipment and so forth.

PH. To go to that length would be
utterly ridiculous.

SOCR. Well, isn t it better to be a ridic
ulous friend than a clever enemy? 19

PH. I suppose it is.

SOCR. Then when a master of oratory,
who is ignorant of good and evil, em
ploys his power of persuasion on a com
munity as ignorant as himself, not by
extolling a miserable donkey as being
really a horse, but by extolling evil as
being really good : and when by studying
the beliefs of the masses he persuades
them to do evil instead of good, what
kind of crop do you think his oratory [D]
is likely to reap from the seed thus
sown?

PH. A pretty poor one.

SOCR. Well now, my good friend, have
we been too scurrilous in our abuse of
the art of speech? Might it not retort:
"Why do you extraordinary people talk
such nonsense? I never insist on ignor
ance of the truth on the part of one who
would learn to speak; on the contrary,
if my advice goes for anything, it is that
he should only resort to me after he has
come into possession of truth; what I
do however pride myself on is that with
out my aid knowledge of what is true
will get a man no nearer to mastering
the art of persuasion."

PH. And will not such a retort be [E]
just?

SOCR. Yes, if the arguments advanced

19 The meaning is that the obviously ridi
culous mistakes of a well-intentioned speaker
are likely to do less harm that the mistakes
of an ill-intentioned one who is clever enough
to disguise his ignorance and so escape ridi
cule.

against oratory sustain its claim to be an
art. In point of fact, I fancy I can hear
certain arguments advancing, and pro
testing that the claim is false, that it is
no art, but a knack that has nothing to
do with art: inasmuch as there is, as the
Spartans put it, no "soothfast" art of
speech, nor assuredly will there ever be
one, without a grasp of truth. 20

PH. We must have these argu- [261]
ments, Socrates. Gome, bring them up
before us, and examine their purport.

SOCR. Come hither then, you worthy
creatures, and impress upon Phaedrus,
who is so blessed in his offspring, 21 that
unless he gets on with his philosophy he
will never get on as a speaker on any
subject; and let Phaedrus be your re
spondent.

PH. I await their questions.

267A-264E Knowledge of
Resemblances and Differences

SOCR. Must not the art of rhetoric,
taken as a whole, be a kind of influenc
ing of the mind by means of words, not
only in courts of law and other public
gatherings, but in private places also?
And must it not be the same art that is
concerned with great issues and small, its
right employment commanding no [B]
more respect when dealing wili impor
tant matters than with unimportant? Is
that what you have been told about it?

PH. No indeed, not exactly that: it is
principally, I should say, to lawsuits that
an art of speaking and writing is applied
and of course to public harangues also.
I know of no wider application.

20 The point urged here is that knowledge
of truth must be part and parcel of the art
of rhetoric, if it is really to be an art : knowl
edge cannot be something preliminary or ex
traneous which the orator can presume in his
audience to start with, as had just been sug
gested by the apologist of rhetoric.

21 The allusion is to Phaedrus as begetter
of discourses: cf. 242A-B.

184

PLATO

SOCR. What? Are you acquainted only
-with the "Arts" or manuals of oratory
by Nestor and Odysseus, which they
composed in their leisure hours at Troy?
Have you never heard of the work of
Palamedes?

PH. No, upon my word, nor of [c]
Nestor either; unless you are casting
Gorgias for the role of Nestor, with
Odysseus played by Thrasymachus, or
maybe Theodoras.

SOCR. Perhaps I am. But anyway we
may let them be, and do you tell me,
what is it that the contending parties in
lawcourts do? Do they not in fact con
tend with words, or how else should we
put it?

PH. That is just what they do.

SOCR. About what is just and unjust?

PH. Yes.

SOCR. And he who possesses the art of
doing this can make the same thing ap
pear to the same people now just, now
unjust, at will? [D]

PH. To be sure.

SOCR. And in public harangues, no
doubt, he can make the same things
seem to the community now good, and
now the reverse of good?

PH. Just so.

SOCR. Then can we fail to see that the
Palamedes of Elea 22 has an art of speak
ing, such that he can make the same
things appear to his audience like and
unlike, or one and many, or again at
rest and in motion?

PH. Indeed he can.

SOCR. So contending with words is a
practice found not only in lawsuits and
public harangues but, it seems, [E]
wherever men speak we find this single
art, if indeed it is an art, which enables
people to make out everything to be like

22 I.e., Zeno, whose method of argument
was to show that an opponent s thesis led to
two contradictory consequences. For the con
tradictory pairs here mentioned cf. Farm.
127E 6, 129B 5 and 129E 1; and see F. M.
Gornford, Plato and Parmenides, pp. 57-9.

everything else, within the limits of
possible comparison, and to expose the
corresponding attempts of others who
disguise what they are doing.

PH. How so, pray?

SOCR. I think that will become clear
if we put the following question. Are
we misled when the difference between
two things is wide, or narrow?

PH. When it is narrow. [262]

SOCR. Well then, if you shift your
ground little by little, you are more likely
to pass undetected from so-and-so to its
opposite than if you do so at one bound.

PH. Of course.

SOCR. It follows that anyone who in
tends to mislead another, without being
misled himself, must discern precisely
the degree of resemblance and dissimi
larity between this and that.

PH. Yes, that is essential.

SOCR. Then if he does not know the
truth about a given thing, how is he
going to discern the degree of resem
blance between that unknown thing and
other things?

PH. It will be impossible. [B]

SOCR. Well now, when people hold
beliefs contrary to fact, and are misled,
it is plain that the error has crept into
their minds through the suggestion of
some similarity or other.

PH. That certainly does happen.

SOCR. But can anyone possibly master
the art of using similarities for the pur
pose of bringing people round, and lead
ing them away from the truth about
this or that to the opposite of the truth,
or again can anyone possibly avoid this
happening to himself, unless he has
knowledge of what the thing in question
really is?

PH. No, never.

SOCR. It would seem to follow, my [c]
friend, that the art of speech displayed
by one who has gone chasing after be
liefs, instead of knowing the truth, will
be a comical sort of art, in fact no art
at all.

PH. I dare say.

PHAEDRUS

185

SOGR. Then would you like to observe
some instances of what I call the pres
ence and absence of art in that speech
of Lysias which you are carrying, and in
those which I have delivered?

PH. Yes, by all means: at present our
discussion is somewhat abstract, for want
of adequate illustrations.

SOCR. Why, as to that it seems a stroke
of luck that in the two speeches we have
a sort of illustration of the way in [D]
which one who knows the truth can
mislead his audience by playing an
oratorical joke on them. I myself, Phae-
drus, put that down to the local deities,
or perhaps those mouthpieces of the
Muses that are chirping over our heads
have vouchsafed us their inspiration; for
of course I don t lay claim to any
oratorical skill myself.

PH. I dare say that is so: but please
explain your point.

SOCR. Well, come along: read the be
ginning of Lysias s speech.

PH. "You know how I am situated, [E]
and I have told you that I think it to
our advantage that the thing should be
done. Now I claim that I should not be
refused what I ask simply because I am
not your lover. Lovers repent when "

SOGR. Stop. Our business is to indicate
where the speaker is at fault, and shows
absence of art, isn t it?

PH. Yes. [263]

SOCR. Well now, is not the following
assertion obviously true, that there are
some words about which we all agree,
afrr&gt; u t which we are at

PH. I think I grasp your meaning, but
you might make it still plainer.

SOCR. When someone utters the word
"iron" or "silver," we all have the same
object before our minds, haven t we?

PH. Certainly.

SOCR. But what about the words "just"
and "good"? Don t we diverge, and dis
pute not only with one another but with
our own selves?

PH. Yes indeed.

SOGR. So in some cases we agree, and
in others we don t. [B]

PH. Quite so.

SOCR. Now in which of the cases are
we more apt to be misled, and in which
is rhetoric more effective?

PH. Plainly in the case where we
fluctuate.

SOGR. Then the intending student of
the art of rhetoric ought, in the first
place, to make a systematic division of
words, and get hold of some mark dis
tinguishing the two kinds of words, those
namely in the use of which the multitude
are bound to fluctuate, and those in
which they are not.

PH. To grasp that, Socrates, would [c]
certainly be an excellent piece of dis
cernment.

SOCR. And secondly, I take it, when
he comes across a particular word he
must realise what it is, and be swift to
perceive which of the two kinds the
thing he proposes to discuss really be
longs to.

PH. To be sure.

SOCR. Well then, shall we reckon love
as one of the disputed terms, or as one
of the other sort?

PH. As a disputed term, surely. Other
wise can you suppose it would have been
possible for you to say of it what you
said just now, namely that it is harmful
both to the beloved and the lover, and
then to turn round and say that it is
really the greatest of goods?

SOCR. And excellent point. But now [D]
tell me this, for thanks to my inspired
condition I can t quite remember: did
I define love at the beginning of my
speech?

PH. Yes indeed, and immensely
thorough you were about it.

SOCR. Upon my word, you rate the
Nymphs of Achelous and Pan, son of
Hermes, much higher as artists in
oratory than Lysias, son of Gephalus. Or
am I quite wrong? Did Lysias at the
beginning of his discourse on love compel
us to conceive of it as a certain definite

186

PLATO

entity, with a meaning he had himself
decided upon? And did he proceed to [E]
bring all his subsequent remarks, from
first to last, into line with that meaning?
Shall we read his first words once again?

PH. If you like; but what you are
looking for isn t there.

SOGR. Read it out, so that I can listen
to the author himself.

PH. "You know how I am situated,
and I have told you that I think it to
our advantage that the thing should be
done. Now I claim that I should not be
refused what I ask simply because I [264]
am not your lover. Lovers, when their
craving is at an end, repent of such
benefits as they have conferred."

SOCR. No: he doesn t seem to get any
where near what we are looking for: he
goes about it like a man swimming on
his back, in reverse, and starts from the
end instead of the beginning; his open
ing words are what the lover would
naturally say to his boy only when he
had finished. Or am I quite wrong, dear
Phaedrus?

PH. I grant you, Socrates, that the [B]
substance of his address is really a pero
ration.

SOCR. And to pass to other points:
doesn t his matter strike you as thrown
out at haphazard? Do you find any
cogent reason for his next remark, or
indeed any of his remarks, occupying the
place it does? I myself, in my ignorance,
thought that the writer, with a fine
abandon, put down just what came into
his head. Can you find any cogent princi
ple of composition which he observed in
setting down his observations in this
particular order?

PH. You flatter me in supposing that I
am competent to see into his mind with
all that accuracy. [c]

SOGR. Well, there is one point at least
which I think you will admit, namely
that any discourse ought to be con
structed like a living creature, with its
own body, as it were; it must not lack
either head or feet; it, must have a
middle and

each othei^and die whole work.

PH. Of course.

SOCR. Then ask yourself whether that
is or is not the case with your friend s
speech. You will find that it is just like
the epitaph said to have been carved on
the tomb of Midas the Phrygian.

PH. What is that, and what s wrong
with it? [D]

SOCR. It runs like this:

A maid of bronze I stand on Midas tomb,
So long as waters flow and trees grow tall,
Abiding here on his lamented grave,
I tell the traveller Midas here is laid.

I expect you notice that it makes no [E]
difference what order the lines come in.
PH. Socrates, you are making a joke
of our speech!

XXI

264E-266B Dialectic Method
os Exhibited in Preceding Speeches

SOGR. Well, to avoid distressing you,
let us say no more of that though
indeed I think it provides many exam
ples which it would be profitable to
notice, provided one were chary of
imitating them and let us pass to the
other speeches; for they, I think, pre
sented a certain feature which everyone
desirous of examining oratory would do
well to observe.

PH. To what do you refer? [265]

SOGR. They were of opposite purport,
one maintaining that the lover should
be favoured, the other the non-lover.

PH. Yes, they did so very manfully.

SOGR. I thought you were going to say
and with truth madly; but that re
minds me of what I was about to ask.
We said, did we not, that love is a
sort of madness?

PH. Yes.

SOGR. And that there are two kinds of
madness, one resulting from human ail
ments, the other from a divine distur
bance of our conventions nf

PH. Quite so. [B]

SOCR. And in the divine kir^i we

PHAEDRUS

187

tinguished four types^ascribing them to
tpur godst The ins^jratioli ot the propSet
to Apollo, that of the mystictoDionysus,
that of the pogt^to the
^

we declared to be the

faignest, the madness of the lover, to
Aphrodite and Eros; moreover we

painted, after a fashion, a picture of the
lover s experience, in which perhaps we
attained some degree of truth, though
we may well have sometimes gone astray;
the blend resulting in a discourse which
had some claim to plausibility, or shall
we say a mythical hymn of praise, in [c]
due religious language, a festal celebra
tion of my master and yours too, Phae-
drus, that god of love who watches over
the young and fair.

PH. It certainly gave me great pleasure
to listen to it.

SOCR. Then let us take one feature of
it, the way in which the discourse con
trived to pass from censure to encomi
um.

PH. Well now, what do you make of
that?

SOCR. For the most part I think our
festal hymn has really been just a festive
entertainment; but we did casually al
lude to a certain pair of procedures, and
it would be very agreeable if we [D]
could seize their significance in a scien
tific fashion,

PH. What procedures do you mean?

SOGR. The first is that in which we
bring a dispersed plurality under a single
form* seeing it all together: the purpose
being to define so-and-so, and thus to
make plain whatever may be chosen as
the topic for exposition. For example,
take the definition given just now of
love: whether it was right or wrong, at
all events it was that which enabled our
discourse to achieve lucidity and con
sistency.

PH. And what is the second procedure
you speak of, Socrates?

SOGR. The reverse of the other, [E]
whereby we are enabled to divide into

tionj we are not to attempt to hack off

parts like a clumsy butcher, but to take
example from our two recent speeches.
The single general form which they
postulated was irrationality; next, on the
analogy of a single natural body [266]
with its pairs of like-named members,
right arm or leg, as we say, and left,
they conceived of madness as a single
objective form existing in human beings:
wherefore the first speech divided off a
part on the left, and continued to make
divisions, never desisting until it dis
covered one particular part bearing the
name of "sinister" love, on which it very
properly poured abuse. The other speech
conducted us to the forms of madness
which lay on the right-hand side, and
upon discovering a type of love that
shared its name with the other but was
divine, displayed it to our view and ex
tolled it as the source of the greatest [B]
goods that can befall us. 23

23 There are serious difficulties in this
paragraph. Socrates speaks as though die
generic concept of madness (rb afypov, icap&vota,
pav ux) had been common to his two speeches,
and there had been a formal divisional pro
cedure followed in both of them. Neither of
these things is true

It must therefore be admitted that Socra-
tes s account of the dialectical procedure
followed in his speeches is far from exact.
Nevertheless it may be said to be substantially
true: for it is true to the spirit and implica
tion of what has happened: it describes how
the two speeches might naturally be schema
tised when taken together as part of a design
which has gradually unfolded itself. A writer
with more concern for exact statement than
Plato had, would have made Socrates say
something to the following effect: "I can
illustrate these two procedures, Collection and
Division, by reference to my two speeches;
if you think of them together, you will agree
that I was in fact, though not explicitly,
operating with a generic concept, fiavia, under
which I contrived to subsume two sorts of
g/ws: though I grant you that my actual pro
cedure was very informal, and in particular
that I tended to leap from genus to infima
species, without any clear indication of inter
mediate species."

It should further be remembered that the
word fLapia did occur in Socrates s first speech,
although more or less casually

188

PLATO

PH. That is perfectly true.

SOGR. Believe me, Phaedrus, I am
myself a lover of these divisions and
collections, that I may gain the power
to speak and to think; and whenever I
deem another man able to discern an
objective unity and plurality, I follow
"in his footsteps where he leadeth as a
god." Furthermore whether I am right
or wrong in doing so, God alone knows
it is those that have this ability whom
for the present I call dialecticians.

xxn

266C-269C The Technique
of Existing Rhetoric

SOGR. But now tell me what we ought
to call them if we take instruction from
Lysias and yourself. Or is what I have
been describing precisely that art of
oratory thanks to which Thrasymachus
and the rest of them have not only made
themselves masterly orators, but can do
the same for anyone else who cares to
bring offerings to these princes amongst
men?

PH. Doubtless they behave like princes,
but assuredly they do not possess the
kind of knowledge to which you refer.
No, I think you are right in calling the
procedure that you have described dia
lectical; but we still seem to be in the
dark about rhetoric.

SOCR. What? Can there really be [D]
anything of value that admits of scientific
acquisition despite the lack of that pro
cedure? If so, you and I should certainly
not disdain it, but should explain what
this residuum of rhetoric actually consists

in.

PH. Well, Socrates, of course there is

plenty of matter in the rhetorical

manuals.

SOGR. Thank you for the reminder.

The first point, I suppose, is that a

speech must begin with a Preamble. You

are referring, are you not, to such niceties

of the art?
PH. Yes. [ E ]

SOCR. And next comes Exposition ac
companied by Direct Evidence; thirdly
Indirect Evidence, fourthly Probabilities;
besides which there are the Proof and
Supplementary Proof mentioned by the
Byzantine master of rhetorical artifice.
PH. You mean the worthy Theodorus?
SOGR. Of course; and we are to [267]
have a Refutation and Supplementary
Refutation both for prosecution and de
fence. And can we leave the admirable
Evenus of Paros out of the picture, the
inventor of Covert Allusion and Indirect
Compliment and (according to some ac
counts) of the Indirect Censure in
mnemonic verse? A real master, that.
But we won t disturb the rest of Tisias
and Gorgias, who realised that probabili
ty deserves more respect than truth, who
could make trifles seem important and
important points trifles by the force of
their language, who dressed up novel- [B]
ties as antiques and vice versa, and found
out how to argue concisely or at inter
minable length about anything and
everything. This last accomplishment
provoked Prodicus once to mirth when
he heard me mention it: he remarked
that he and he alone had discovered
what sort of speeches the art demands:
tc^wit, neither long ones nor short, but
of fitting length.

PH. Masterly, Prodicus!
SOGR. Are we forgetting Hippias? I
think Prodicus s view would be sup
ported by the man of Elis.
PH. No doubt.

SOGR. And then Polus: what are we
to say of his Muses 3 Treasury of Phrases
with its Reduplications and Maxims [c]
and Similes, and of words a la Licymnius
which that master made him a present
of as a contribution to his fine writing?

PH. But didn t Protagoras in point of
fact produce some such works, Socrates?
SOCR. Yes, my young friend: there is
his Correct Diction, and many other ex
cellent works. But to pass now to the
application of pathetic language to the
poor and aged, the master in that style
seems to me to be the mighty man of

PHAEDRUS

189

Chalcedon, who was also expert at
rousing a crowd to anger and then
soothing them down again with his [D]
spells, to quote his own saying; while
at casting aspersions and dissipating
them, whatever their source, he was un
beatable.

But to resume: on the way to con
clude a speech there seems to be general
agreement, though some call it Re
capitulation and others by some other
name.

PH. You mean the practice of remind
ing the audience towards the end of a
speech of its main points?

SOGR. Yes. And now if you have any
thing further to add about the art of
rhetoric

PH. Only a few unimportant points.

SOGR. If they are unimportant, [268]
we may pass them over. But let us look
at what we have got in a clearer light,
to see what power the art possesses, and
when.

PH. A very substantial power, Socrates,
at all events in large assemblies.

SOGR. Yes indeed. But have a look at
it, my good sir, and see whether you
discern some holes in the fabrics, as I
do.

PH. Do show them me.

SOGR. Well, look here: Suppose some
one went up to your friend Eryximachus,
or his father Acumenus, and said "I
know how to apply such treatment to a
patient s body as will induce warmth or
coolness, as I choose: I can make [B]
him vomit, if I see fit, or go to stool, and
so on and so forth. And on the strength
of this knowledge I claim to be a com
petent physician, and to make a com
petent physician *of anyone to whom I
communicate this knowledge." What do
you imagine they would have to say to
that?

PH. They would ask him, of course,
whether he also knew which patients
ought to be given the various treatments,
and when, and for how long.

SOCR. Then what if he said "Oh, no:
but I expect my pupils to manage

what you refer to by themselves?" [c]

PH. I expect they would say "The man
is mad: he thinks he has made himself
a doctor by picking up something out
of a book, or coming across some com
mon drug or other, without any real
knowledge of medicine."

SOGR. Now suppose someone went up
to Sophocles or Euripides and said he
knew how to compose lengthy dramatic
speeches about a trifling matter, and
quite short ones about a matter of mo
ment; that he could write pathetic pas
sages when he chose, or again passages
of intimidation and menace, and so
forth; and that he considered that by [D]
teaching these accomplishments he could
turn a pupil into a tragic poet.

PH. I imagine that they too would
laugh at anyone who supposed that you
could make a tragedy otherwise than by
so arranging such passages as to exhibit
a proper relation to one another and
to the whole of which they are parts.

SOCR. Still I don t think they would
abuse him rudely, but rather treat him
as a musician would treat a man who
fancied himself to be a master of har
mony simply because he knew how to
produce the highest possible note and
the lowest possible on his strings. The
musician would not be so rude as to say
"You miserable fellow, you re off your [E]
head": but rather, in the gentler lan
guage befitting his profession "My good
sir, it is true that one who proposes to
become a master of harmony must know
the things you speak of: but it is per
fectly possible for one who has got at
far as yourself to have not the slightest
real knowledge of harmony. You are
acquainted with what has to be learnt
before studying harmony: but of har
mony itself you know nothing."

PH. Perfectly true.

SOCR. Similarly then Sophocles [269]
would tell the man who sought to show
off to himself and Euripides that what
he knew was not tragic composition but
its antecedents; and Acumenus would
make the same distinction between medi-

190

PLATO

cine and the antecedents of medicine.

PH. I entirely agree.

SOGR. And if "mellifluous" Adrastus,
or shall we say Pericles, were to hear of
those admirable artifices that we were
referring to just now the Brachylogies
and Imageries and all the rest of them,
which we enumerated and deemed it
necessary to examine in a clear light
are we to suppose that they would ad
dress those who practise and teach this
sort of thing, under the name of the
art of rhetoric, with the severity you and
I displayed, and in rude, coarse [B]
language? Or would they, in their am
pler wisdom, actually reproach us and
say "Phaedrus and Socrates, you ought
not to get angry, but to make allowances
for such people; it is because they are
ignorant of dialectic that they are in
capable of properly defining rhetoric,
and that in turn leads them to imagine
that by possessing themselves of the req
uisite antecedent learning they have
discovered the art itself. And so they [c]
teach these antecedents to their pupUs,
and believe that that constitutes a com
plete instruction in rhetoric; they don t
bother about employing the various arti
fices in such a way that they will be
effective, or about organising a work as
a whole: that is for the pupils to see
to for themselves when they come to
make speeches."

xxni

269C-272B Philosophy

and Rhetoric. Pericles s Debt

to Anaxagcras

PH. Well yes, Socrates: I dare say that
does more or less describe what the
teachers and writers in question regard
as the art of rhetoric; personally I think
what you say is true. But now by what
means and from what source can one
attain the art of the true rhetorician, [D]
the real master of persuasion?

SOGR. If you mean how can one be
come a finished performer, then prob

ably indeed I might say undoubtedly
it is the same as with anything else: jf_
you have an innate capacity for rhetoric,
you vyill hp;rnmft a famous
provided von also acquire kn
practicej but if you lack any of these
three you will be correspondingly un
finished^ As regards the art itself (as dis
tinct from the artist) I fancy that the
line of approach adopted by Lysias and
Thrasymachus is not the one I have in
view.

PH. Then what is?

SOCR. I am inclined to think, my [E]
good friend, that it was not surprising
that Pericles became the most finished
exponent of rhetoric there has ever been.

PH. Why so?

SOCR. All the great arts need supple
menting by a study of Nature: your artist
must cultivate garrulity and high- [270]
flown speculation; from that source
alone can come the mental elevation and
thoroughly finished execution of which
you are thinking; and that is what Peri
cles acquired to supplement his inborn
capacity. He came across the right sort
of man, I fancy, in Anaxagoras, and by
enriching himself with high speculation
and coming to recognise the nature of
wisdom and folly on which topics of
course Anaxagoras was always discours
ing he drew from that source and ap
plied to the art of rhetoric what was
suitable thereto.

PH. How do you mean?

SOCR. Rhetoric is in the same case [B]
as medicine, don t you think?

PH. How so?

SOCR. In both cases there is a nature
that we have to determine, the nature
of body in the one, and of soul in the
other, if we mean to be scientific and
not content with mere empirical routine
when we apply medicine and diet to in
duce health and strength, or words and
rules of conduct to implant such convic
tions and virtues as we desire.

PH. You are probably right, Socrates.

SOCR. Then do you think it possible [c]
to understand the nature of the soul

PHAEDRUS

191

satisfactorily without taking it as a
whole?

PH. If we are to believe Hippocrates
the Asclepiad, we can t understand even
the body without such a procedure.

SOCR. No, my friend, and he is right.
But we must not just rely on Hippo
crates: we must examine the assertion
and see whether it accords with the
truth.

PH. Yes.

SOCR. Then what is it that Hippocrates
and the truth have to say on this matter
of nature? I suggest that the way to [D]
reflect about the nature of anything is as
follows: first., to decide whether the ob
ject hi respect of

scientific knowledge, and to be able to
impart ilTto otners, is simple or complex:
secondly, if it is simple, to inquire what
natural capacity it has _of acting- upon
another thing., and, through what means;
or by what other thing, and through
what means^ it can be acted upon: or-if
it is complex, to enumerate its parts and
observe iri respect of each whatjwe ob
serve in the case of the simple object, to
wit what its natural capacity, active or
passive, consists in.

PH. Perhaps so, Socrates.

SOCR. Well, at all events, to pursue an
inquiry without doing so would be like
a blind man s progress. Surely we [E]
mustn t make out that any sort of scien
tific inquirer resembles a blind or deaf
person. No, it is plain that if we are to
address people scientifically, we shall
show them precisely what is the real and
true nature of that object on which our
discourse is brought to bear. And that
object, I take it, is the soul.

PH. To be sure.

SOCR. Hence the speaker s whole [271]
effort is concentrated on that, for it is
there that he is attempting to implant
conviction. Isn t that so?

PH. Yes.

SOCR. Then it is plain that Thrasy-
machus, or anyone else who seriously
proffers a scientific rhetoric, will, in the
first place, describe the soul very precise

ly, and let us see whether it is single and
uniform in nature or, analogously to the
body, complex; for to do that is, we
maintain,, to show a thing s nature.

PH. Yes, undoubtedly.

SOCR. And secondly he will describe
what natural capacity it has to act upon
what, and through what means, or by
what it can be acted upon.

PH. Quite so.

SOCR. Thirdly, he will classify the [B]
types of discourse and the types of soul,
and the various ways in which souls are
affected, explaining the reasons in each
case, suggesting the type of speech ap
propriate to each type of soul, and show
ing what kind of speech can be relied on
to create belief in one soul and disbelief
in another, and why.

PH. I certainly think that would be an
excellent procedure.

SOCR. Yes: in fact I can assure you,
my friend, that no other scientific
method of treating either our present [c]
subject or any other will ever be found,
whether in the models of the schools or
in speeches actually delivered. But the
present-day authors of manuals of
rhetoric, of whom you have heard, are
cunning folk who know all about the
soul but keep their knowledge out of
sight So don t let us admit their claim
to write scientifically until they compose
their speeches and writings in the way
we have indicated.

PH. And what way is that?

SOCR. To give the actual words would
be troublesome; but I am quite ready to
say how one ought to compose if he
means to be as scientific as possible.

PH. Then please do.

SOCR. Since the function of oratory is
in fact to influence men s souls, the in
tending orator must know what types [D]
of soul there are. Now these are of a
determinate number, and their variety
results in a variety of individuals. To the
types of soul thus discriminated there
corresponds a determinate number of
types of discourse. Hence a certain type
of hearer will be easy to persuade by a

192

PLATO

certain type of speech to take such-and-
such action for such-and-such reason,
while another type will be hard to per
suade. All this the orator must fully
understand; and next he must watch it
actually occurring, exemplified in men s
conduct, and must cultivate a keenness
of perception in following it, if he is [E]
going to get any advantage out of the
previous instruction that he was given in
the school. And when he is competent
to say what type of man is susceptible
to what kind of discourse; when, further,
he can, on catching sight of so-and-so,
tell himself "That is the man, that [272]
character now actually before me is the
one I heard about in school, and in order
to persuade him of so-and-so I have to
apply these arguments in this fashion";
and when, on top of all this, he has
further grasped the right occasions for
speaking and for keeping quiet, and has
come to recognise the right and the
wrong time for the Brachylogy, the
Pathetic Passage, the Exacerbation and
all the rest of his accomplishments, then
and not till then has he well and truly
achieved the art. But if in his speaking
or teaching or writing he fails in any of
these requirements, he may tell you that
he has the art of speech, but one [B]
mustn t believe all one is told.

And now maybe our author will say
"Well, what of it, Phaedrus and Socra
tes? Do you agree with me, or should we
accept some other account of the art of
speech?"

PH. Surely we can t accept any other,
Socrates; still it does seem a considerable
business.

XXIV

272B-274B The True Method

of Rhetoric. Its Difficulty

and Its Justification

SOCR. You are right, and that makes it
necessary thoroughly to overhaul all our
arguments, and see whether there is some

easier and shorter way of arriving at the
art ; we don t want to waste effort in [c]
going off on a long rough road, when we
might take a short smooth one. But if
you can help us at all through what you
have heard from Lysias or anyone else,
do try to recall it.

PH. As far as trying goes, I might; but
I can suggest nothing on the spur of the
moment.

SOCR. Then would you like me to tell
you something I have heard from those
concerned with these matters?

PH. Why, yes.

SOCR. Anyhow, Phaedrus, we are told
that even the devil s advocate ought to
be heard.

PH. Then you can put his case. [D]

SOCR. Well, they tell us that there is
no need to make such a solemn business
of it, or fetch such a long compass on
an uphill road. As we remarked at the
beginning of this discussion, there is, they
maintain, absolutely no need for the
budding orator to concern himself with
the truth about what is just or good
conduct, nor indeed about who are just
and good men whether by nature or
education. In the lawcourts nobody
cares a rap for the truth about these
matters, but only about what is plausible.
And that is the same as what is prob- [E]
able, and is what must occupy the atten
tion of the would-be master of the art of
speech. Even actual facts ought some
times not to be stated, if they don t tally
with probability; they should be replaced
by what is probable, whether in prosecu
tion or defence; whatever you say, you
simply must pursue this probability they
talk of, and can say good-bye to the truth
for ever. Stick to that all through [273]
your speech, and you are equipped with
the art complete.

PH. Your account, Socrates, precisely
reproduces what is said by those who
claim to be experts in the art of speech.
I remember that we did touch briefly on
this sort of contention a while ago; and
the professionals regard it as a highly
important point.

PHAEDRUS

193

SOCR. Very well then, take Tisias him
self; you have thumbed him carefully,
so let Tisias tell us this : does he maintain
that the probable is anything other than
that which commends itself to the multi
tude? [B]

PH. How could it be anything else?

SOCR. Then in consequence, it would
seem, of that profound scientific dis
covery he laid down that if a weak but
brave man is arrested for assaulting a
strong but cowardly one, whom he has
robbed of his cloak or some other gar
ment, neither of them ought to state the
true facts; the coward should say that
the brave man didn t assault him single-
handed, and the brave man should con
tend that there were only the two of
them, and then have recourse to the
famous plea "How could a little fellow
like me have attacked a big fellow [c]
like him?" Upon which the big fellow
will not avow his own poltroonery but
will try to invent some fresh lie which
will probably supply his opponent with
a means of refuting him. And similar
"scientific" rules are given for other cases
of the kind. Isn t that so, Phaedrus?

PH. To be sure.

SOGR. Bless my soul! It appears that
he made a brilliant discovery of a buried
art, your Tisias, or whoever it really was
and whatever he is pleased to be called
after. But, my friend, shall we or shall
we not say to him

PH. Say what? [D]

SOGR. This: "In point of fact, Tisias,
we have for some time before you came
on the scene been saying that the multi
tude get their notion of probability as
the result of a likeness to truth; and we
explained just now that these likenesses
can always be best discovered by one
who knows the truth. Therefore if you
have anything else to say about the art
of speech, we should be glad to hear it;
but if not we shall adhere to the point
we made just now, namely that unless
the aspirant to oratory can on the one
hand list the various natures amongst his
prospective audiences, and on the other

divide things into their kinds and em- [E]
brace each individual thing under a
single form, he will never attain such
success as is within the grasp of mankind.
Yet he will assuredly never acquire such
competence without considerable dili
gence, which the wise man should exert
not for the sake of speaking to and deal
ing with his fellow-men, but that he
may be able to speak what is pleasing to
the gods, and in all his dealings to do
their pleasure to the best of his ability.
For you see, Tisias, what we are told by
those wiser than ourselves is true, that
a man of sense ought never to study [274]
the gratification of his fellow-slaves, save
as a minor consideration, but that of his
most excellent masters. So don t be sur
prised that we have to make a long de
tour: it is because the goal is glorious,
though not the goal you think of." Not
but what those lesser objects also, if you
would have them, can best be attained
(so our argument assures us) as a con
sequence of the greater.

PH. Your project seems to be excel
lent, Socrates, if only one could carry it
out.

SOCR. Well, when a man sets his hand
to something good, it is good that he
should take what comes to him. [B]

PH. Yes, of course.

SOCR. Then we may feel that we have
said enough about the art of speech, both
the true art and the false?

PH. Certainly.

XXV

274B-278B The Superiority

of the Spoken Word.
Myth of the Invention of Writing

SOCR. But there remains the question
of propriety and impropriety in writing,
that is to say the conditions which make
it proper or improper. Isn t that so?

PH. Yes.

SOCR. Now do you know how we may
best please God, in practice and in
theory, in this matter of words?

194

PLATO

PH. No indeed. Do you?

SOCR. I can tell you the tradition [c]
that has come down from our fore
fathers, but they alone know the truth
of it. However, if we could discover that
for ourselves, should we still be con
cerned with the fancies of mankind?

PH. What a ridiculous question! But
tell me the tradition you speak of.

SOCR. Very well. The story is that in
the region of Naucratis in Egypt there
dwelt one of the old gods of the country,
the god to whom the bird called Itis is
sacred, his own name being Theuth. He
it was that invented number and calcula
tion, geometry and astronomy, not to [D]
speak of draughts and dice, and above
all writing. Now the king of the whole
country at that time was Thamus, who
dwelt in the great city of Upper Egypt
which the Greeks call Egyptian Thebes,
while Thamus they call Ammon. To him
came Theuth, and revealed his arts, say
ing that they ought to be passed on to
the Egyptians in general. Thamus asked
what was the use of them all : and when
Theuth explained, he condemned what
he thought the bad points and praised [E]
what he thought the good. On each art,
we are told, Thamus had plenty of views
both for and against; it would take too
long to give them in detail, but when
it came to writing Theuth said "Here,
O king, is a branch of learning that will
make the people of Egypt wiser and im
prove their memories : my discovery pro
vides a recipe for memory and wisdom."
But the king answered and said "O man
full of arts, to one is it given to create
the things of art, and to another to judge
what measure of harm and of profit they
have for those that shall employ them.
And so it is that you, by reason of your
tender regard for the writing that [275]
is your offspring, have declared the very
opposite of its true effect. If men learn
this, it will implant forgetfulness in their
souls: they will cease to exercise memory
because they rely on that which is writ
ten, calling things to remembrance no

longer from within themselves, but by
means of external marks; what you have
discovered is a recipe not for memory,
but for reminder. And it is no true wis
dom that you offer your disciples, but
only its semblance; for by telling them
of many things without teaching them
you will make them seem to know much,
while for the most part they know [B]
nothing; and as men filled, not with wis
dom, but with the conceit of wisdom,
they will be a burden to their fellows."

PH. It is easy for you, Socrates, to
make up tales from Egypt or anywhere
else you fancy. 24

SOCR. Oh, but the authorities of the
temple of Zeus at Dodona, my friend,
said that the first prophetic utterances
came from an oak-tree. In fact the peo
ple of those days, lacking the wisdom of
you young people, were content in their
simplicity to listen to trees or rocks, pro
vided these told the truth. For you [c]
apparently it makes a difference who the
speaker is, and what country he comes
from: you don t merely ask whether
what he says is true or false.

PH. I deserve your rebuke, and I agree
that the man of Thebes is right in what
he said about writing.

SOCR. Then anyone who leaves behind
him a written manual, and likewise any
one who takes it over from him, on the
supposition that such writing will pro
vide something reliable and permanent,
must be exceedingly simple-minded; he
must really be ignorant of Ammon s
utterance, if he imagines that written

24 The little myth of Theuth and Thamus
is, like that of the cicadas, apparently Plato s
own invention, though of course the per
sonages belong to Egyptian history or legend.
The inventor of writing in Greek legend was
Prometheus; but he was unsuitable for Plato s
purpose, since it would have been difficult
to make anyone play against him the part
that Thamus plays against Theuth. And in
any case it was natural enough for Plato to
go to Egypt for a tale of pre-history, just as
in a later dialogue he goes to an Egyptian
priest for his story of Atlantis.

PHAEDRUS

195

words can do anything more than re
mind one who knows that which the
writing is concerned with. [D]

PH. Very true.

SOCR. You know, Phaedrus, that s the
strange thing about writing, which makes
it truly analogous to painting. The
painter s products stand before us as
though they were alive: but if you ques
tion them, they maintain a most majestic
silence. It is the same with written
words: they seem to talk to you as
wf&gt;rp intplHp^nt but if you

ask theirf

ahnnt

f;h?y

from a desire to be instructed, they go
on telling you just the same thing for
eyer. And once a thing is put in writing,
the composition, whatever it may be, [E]
drifts all over the place, getting into the
hands not only of those who understand
it, but equally of those who have no
business with it; it doesn t know how to
address the right people, and not address
the wrong. And when it is ill-treated and
unfairly abused it always needs its parent
to come to its help, being unable to de
fend or help itself.

PH. Once again you are perfectly
right.

SOCR. But now tell me, is there [276]
another sort of discourse, that is brother
to the written speech, but of unques
tioned legitimacy? Can we see how it
originates, and how much better and
more effective it is than the other?

PH. What sort of discourse have you
now in mind, and what is its origin?

SOCR. The sort that goes together with
knowledge, and is written in the soul of
the learner: that can defend itself, and
knows to whom it should speak and to
whom it should say nothing.

PH. You mean no dead discourse, but
the living speech, the original of which
the written discourse may fairly be called
a kind of image.

SOCR. Precisely. And now tell me [B]
this: if a sensible farmer had some seeds
to look after and wanted them to bear
fruit, would he with serious intent plant

them during the summer in a garden of
Adonis, 25 and enjoy watching it produc
ing fine fruit within eight days? If he
did so at all, wouldn t it be in a holiday
spirit, just by way of pastime? For serious
purposes wouldn t he behave like a
scientific farmer, sow his seeds in suitable
soil, and be well content if they came to
maturity within eight months?

PH. I think we may distinguish as [c]
you say, Socrates, between what the
farmer would do seriously and what he
would do in a different spirit.

SOCR. And are we to maintain that he
who has knowledge of what is just,
honourable and good has less sense than
the fanner in dealing with his seeds?

PH. Of course not.

SOCR. Then it won t be with serious
intent that he "writes them in water" 26
or that black fluid we call ink, using his
pen to sow words that can t either speak
in their own defense or present the truth
adequately.

PH. It certainly isn t likely.

SOCR. No, it is not. He will sow his [D]
seed in literary gardens, I take it, and
write when he does write by way of past-
time, collecting a store of refreshment
both for his own memory, against the
day "when age oblivious comes," and for
all such as tread in his footsteps; and he
will take pleasure in watching the tender
plants grow up. And when other men
resort to other pastimes, regaling them
selves with drinking-parties and such
like, he will doubtless prefer to indulge
in the recreation I refer to.

PH. And what an excellent one it [E]
is, Socrates! How far superior to the
other sort is the recreation that a man
finds in words, when he discourses about
justice and the other topics you speak of.

SOGR. Yes indeed, dear Phaedrus. But
far more excellent, I think, is the serious
treatment of them, which employs the

25 A pot or window-box for forcing plants
at the festival of Adonis.

26 A proverbial phrase for useless labour.

196

PLATO

art of dialectic. The dialectician selects
a soul of the right type, and in it he
plants and sows his words founded on
knowledge, words which can defend both
themselves and him who planted [277]
them, words which instead of remaining
barren contain a seed whence new words
grow up in new characters; whereby the
seed is vouchsafed immortality, and its
possessor the fullest measure of blessed
ness that man can attain unto.

PH. Yes, that is a far more excellent
way.

SOCR. Then now that that has been
settled, Phaedrus, we can proceed to the
other point.

PH. What is that?

SOCR. The point that we wanted to
look into before we arrived at our pres
ent conclusion. Our intention was to ex
amine the reproach levelled against
Lysias on the score of speech-writing,
and therewith the general question of
speech-writing and what does and [B]
does not make it an art. Now I think
we have pretty well cleared up the ques
tion of art.

PH. Yes, we did think so, but please
remind me how we did it.

SOGR. The conditions to be fulfilled are
these: %st, you ngt

about the subject that you speak or write
about: that is to say, you must be able
to isolate it in definition, and having so
defined it you must next understand how
to divide it into kinds, until you reach
the limit of division ; secondly, you must
jhave a corr^pnpHmgr discernment of the

nature yf thf, S.QTI) discover the type [c]
of speech appropriate to, each nature,
and order fl"H arrange

accordingly,, addressing a variegated soul
in a variegated style that ranges over the
whole gamut of tones, and a simple soul
in a simple style. All this must be done
if you are to become competent, within
human limits, as a scientific practitioner
of speech, whether you propose to ex
pound or to persuade. Such is the clear
purport of all our foregoing discussion.

PH. Yes, that was undoubtedly how
we came to see the matter.

SOCR. And now to revert to our [D]
other question, whether the delivery and
composition of speeches is honourable or
base, and in what circumstances they
may properly become a matter of re
proach, our earlier conclusions have, I
think, shown

PH. Which conclusions?

SOCR. They have shown that any
work, in the past or in the future,
whether by Lysias or anyone else,
whether composed in a private capacity
or in the role of a public man who by
proposing a law becomes the author of
a political composition, is a matter of
reproach to its author (whether or no
the reproach is actually voiced) if he
regards it as containing important truth
of permanent validity. For ignorance of
what is a waking vision and what is a
mere dream-image of justice and in
justice, good and evil, cannot truly be [E]
acquitted of involving reproach, even if
the mass of men extol it.

PH. No indeed.

SOCR. On the other hand, if a man
believes that a written discourse on any
subject is bound to contain much that is
fanciful: that nothing that has ever been
written whether in verse or prose merits
much serious attention and for that
matter nothing that has ever been spoken
in the declamatory fashion which aims
at mere persuasion without any ques
tioning or exposition: that in reality such
compositions are, at the best, a means
of reminding those who know the [278]
truth: that lucidity and completeness
and serious importance belong only to
those lessons on justice and honour and
goodness that are expounded and set
forth for the sake of instruction, and are
veritably written in the soul of the
listener: and that such discourses as these
ought to be accounted a man s own
legitimate children a title to be applied
primarily to such as originate within the
man himself, and secondarily to such of

PHAEDRUS

197

their sons and brothers as have grown [B]
up aright in the souls of other men: the
man, I say, who believes this, and dis
dains all manner of discourse other than
this., is, I would venture to affirm, the
man whose example you and I would
pray that we might follow.

PH. My own wishes and prayers are
most certainly to that effect.

XXVI

278B-279C Messages
to Lysias and Isocrates

SOGR. Then we may regard our literary
pastime 27 as having reached a satisfac
tory conclusion. Do you now go and tell
Lysias that we two went down to the
stream where is the holy place of the
Nymphs, and there listened to words
which charged us to deliver a message,
first to Lysias and all other composers [c]
of discourses, secondly to Homer and all
others who have written poetry whether
to be read or sung, and thirdly to Solon
and all such as are authors of political
compositions under the name of laws:
to wit, that if any of them has done his
work with a knowledge of the truth, can
defend his statements when challenged,
and can demonstrate the inferiority of
his writings out of his own mouth, he
ought not to be designated by a name
drawn from those writings, but by one
that indicates his serious pursuit. [D]

PH. Then what names would you as
sign him?

SOGR. To call him wise, Phaedrus,
would, I think, be going too far: the
epithet is proper only to a god; a name
that would fit him better, and have more
seemliness, would be "lover of wisdom,"
or something similar.

PH. Yes, that would be quite in keep
ing.

SOCR. On the other hand, one who has
nothing to show of more value than the
literary works on whose phrases he
spends hours, twisting them this way and
that, pasting them together and pull- [E]
ing them apart, 28 will rightly, I suggest,
be called a poet or speech-writer or law-
writer.

PH. Of course.

SOCR. Then that is what you must tell
your friend.

PH. But what about yourself? What
are you going to do? You too have a
friend who should not be passed over.

SOCR. Who is that?

PH. The fair Isocrates. What will be
your message to him, Socrates, and what
shall we call him?

SOCR. Isocrates is still young, Phaedrus,
but I don t mind telling you the future
I prophesy for him. [279]

PH. Oh, what is that?

SOGR. It seems to me that his natural
powers give him a superiority over any
thing that Lysias has achieved in liter
ature, and also that in point of character
he is of a nobler composition; hence it
would not surprise me if with advancing
years he made all his literary predeces
sors look like very small fry; that is, sup
posing him to persist in the actual type
of writing in which he engages at pres
ent; still more so, if he should become
dissatisfied with such work, and a sub-
limer impulse lead him to do greater
things. For that mind of his, Phaedrus,
contains an innate tincture of philoso
phy.

Well then, there s the report I con- [B]
vey from the gods of this place to Isoc-

27 The reference is probably not to the
whole dialogue, but to the discussion from
274A 6 onwards.

28 Dionysius of Halicarnassus (de comp.
verb. p. 208, Reiske) tells us that Plato con
tinued throughout his life * combing and
curling" (KTV LWV K&I /Botfrpvxifav ) his dia
logues, and that at his death a tablet was
found with numerous variants of the opening
sentence of the Republic; cf. also Diog. Laert.
m, 37. It is possible that the present sentence
reflects the impatience of Plato the philoso
pher with Plato the meticulous literary artist.

198

PLATO

rates my beloved, and there s yours for
your beloved Lysias.

PH. So be it. But let us be going, now
that it has become less oppressively hot.

SOCR. Oughtn t we first to offer a
prayer to the divinities here?

PH. To be sure.

SOCR. Dear Pan, and all ye other gods
that dwell hi this place, grant that I may
become fair within, and that such out
ward things as I have may not war [c]

against the spirit within me. May I count
hi rich who is wise; and as for gold,
may I possess so much of it as only a
temperate man might bear and carry
with him.

Is there anything more we can ask for,
Phaedrus? The prayer contents me.

PH. Make it a prayer for me too, since
friends have all things in common.

SOCR. Let us be going.

THE LATER PLATO

PARMENIDES (in part: 727-736)

127 A-D Antiphon Repeats

Pythodorus Account

of the Meeting

According to Antiphon, then, this was
Pythodorus account. Zeno and Par-
menides once came to Athens for the [B]
Great Panathenaea. Parmenides was a
man of distinguished appearance. By that
time he was well advanced in years, with
hair almost white; he may have been
sixty-five. Zeno was nearing forty, a tall
and attractive figure. It was said that he
had been Parmenides favourite. They
were staying with Pythodorus outside the
walls in the Geramicus. Socrates and [c]
a few others came there, anxious to hear
a reading of Zeno s treatise, which the
two visitors had brought for the first time
to Athens. Socrates was then quite
young. Zeno himself read it to them;
Parmenides at the moment had gone out.
The reading of the arguments was very
nearly over when Pythodorus himself
came in, accompanied by Parmenides [D]

and Aristoteles, the man who was after
wards one of die Thirty; so they heard
only a small part of the treatise. Pytho
dorus himself, however, had heard it
read by Zeno before.

I27D-J28E The Contents
and Character of Zeno s Treatise

When Zeno had finished, Socrates
asked him to read once more the first
hypothesis of the first argument. He did
so, and Socrates asked: What does this
statement mean, Zeno? "If things are [E]
many," you say, "they must be both like
and unlike. But that is impossible: un
like things cannot be like, nor like things
unlike." That is what you say, isn t it?

Yes, replied Zeno.

And so, if unlike things cannot be like
or like things unlike, it is also impossible
that things should be a plurality; if
many things did exist, they would have
impossible attributes. Is this the precise
purpose of your arguments to maintain,

199

200

PLATO

against everything that is commonly said,
that things are not a plurality? Do you
regard every one of your arguments as
evidence of exactly that conclusion, and
so hold that, in each argument in your
treatise, you are giving just one more
proof that a plurality does not exist? Is
that what you mean, or am I [128]
understanding you wrongly?

No, said Zeno, you have quite rightly
understood the purpose of the whole
treatise.

I see, Parmenides, said Socrates, that
Zeno s intention is to associate himself
with you by means of his treatise no less
intimately than by his personal attach
ment. In a way, his book states the same
position as your own; only by varying the
form he tries to delude us into thinking
that his thesis is a different one. You
assert, in your poem, that the All is one;
and for this you advance admirable
proofs. Zeno, for his part, asserts that it
is not a plurality; and he too has many
weighty proofs to bring forward. You
assert unity, he asserts no plurality; each
expresses himself in such a way that your
arguments seern to have nothing in com
mon, though really they come to very
much the same thing. That is why your
exposition and his seem to be rather over
the heads of outsiders like ourselves.

Yes, Socrates, Zeno replied; but [c]
you have not quite seen the real char
acter of my book. True, you are as quick
as a Spartan hound to pick up the scent
and follow the trail of the argument; but
there is a point you have missed at the
outset. The book makes no pretence of
disguising from the public the fact that
it was written with the purpose you de
scribe, as if such deception were some
thing to be proud of. What you have
pointed out is only incidental; the book
is in fact a sort of defence of Parmenides
argument against those who try to [D]
make fun of it by showing that his sup
position, that there is a One, leads to
many absurdities and contradictions.
This book, then, is a retort against those

who assert a plurality. It pays them back
in the same coin with something to spare,
and aims at showing that, on a thorough
examination, their own supposition that
there is a plurality leads to even more
absurd consequences than the hypothesis
of the One. It was written in that con
troversial spirit in my young days; and
someone copied it surreptitiously, so that
I had not even the chance to consider
whether it should see the light or not. [E]
That is where you are mistaken Socrates;
you imagine it was inspired, not by a
youthful eagerness for controversy, but
by the more dispassionate aims of an
older man; though, as I said, your de
scription of it was not far wrong.

J28E-/30A Socrafes Offers the Theory

of Separate Forms as Explaining

How One Thing Can Have Two

Contrary Characters

I accept that, said Socrates, and I
have no doubt it is as you say. But tell
me this. Do you not recognise that [129]
there exists, just by itself, a Form of
Likeness and again another contrary
Form, Unlikeness itself, and that of these
two Forms you and I and all the things
we speak of as "many" come to partake?
Also, that things which come to partake
of Likeness come to be alike in that re
spect and just in so far as they do come
to partake of it, and those that come to
partake of Unlikeness come to be unlike,
while those which come to partake of
both come to be both? Even if all things
come to partake of both, contrary as
they are, and by having a share in both
are at once like and unlike one another,
what is there surprising in that? If one
could point to things which are simply
"alike" or "unlike" proving to be unlike
or alike, that no doubt would be a por
tent; but when things which have a share
in both are shown to have both char
acters, I see nothing strange in that,
Zeno; nor yet in a proof that all things

PARMENIDES

201

are one by having a share in unity and
at the same time many by sharing in
plurality. But if anyone can prove that
what is simply Unity itself is many or
that Plurality itself is one, then I shall [c]
begin to be surprised.

And so in all other cases; if the kinds
or Forms themselves were shown to have
these contrary characters among them
selves, there would be good ground for
astonishment; but what is there surpris
ing in someone pointing out that I am
one thing and also many? When he
wants to shown that I am many things,
he can say that my right side is a dif
ferent thing from my left, my front from
my back, my upper parts from my
lower, since no doubt I do partake of
plurality. When he wants to prove that
I am one thing, he will say that I am
one person among the seven of us, [D]
since I partake also of unity. So both
statements are true. Accordingly, if any
one sets out to show about things of
this kind sticks and stones, and so on
that the same thing is many and one,
we shall say that what he is proving is
that something is many and one, not
that Unity is many or that Plurality is
one; he is not telling us anything
wonderful, but only what we should all
admit. But, as I said just now, if he
begins by distinguishing the Forms apart
just by themselves Likeness, for in
stance, and Unlikeness, Plurality and
Unity, Rest and Motion, and all the [E]
rest and then shows that these Forms
among themselves can be combined
with, or separate from, one another,
then, Zeno, I should be filled with ad
miration. I am sure you have dealt with
this subject very forcibly; but, as I say,
my admiration would be much greater
if anyone could show that these same
perplexities are everywhere involved in
tlie Forms themselves among the ob
jects we apprehend in reflection, just as
you and Parmenides have shown [130]
them to be involved in the things we
see.

130A-E Parmenides Criticises
the Theory of Forms

(1) What Classes of Things Have
Forms ?

While Socrates was speaking, Pytho-
dorus said he was expecting every mo
ment that Parmenides and Zeno would
be annoyed; but they listened very
attentively and kept on exchanging
glances and smiles in admiration of
Socrates. When he ended, Parmenides
expressed this feeling: Socrates, he said,
your eagerness for discussion is admir
able. And now tell me: have you your
self drawn this distinction you speak of
and separated apart on the one side
Forms themselves and on the other the
things that share in them? Do you be
lieve that there is such a thing as Like
ness itself apart from the likeness that
we possess, and so on with Unity and
Plurality and all the terms in Zeno s
argument that you have just been
listening to?

Certainly I do, said Socrates.
And also in cases like these, asked Par
menides: is there, for example, a Form
of Rightness or of Beauty or of Good
ness, and all of such things?

Yes.

And again, a Form of Man, apart from
ourselves and all other men like us a
Form of Man as something by itself?
Or a Form of Fire or of Water?

I have often been puzzled about those
things, Parmenides, whether one should
say that the same thing is true in their
case or not.

Are you also puzzled, Socrates, about
cases that might be thought absurd, such
as hair or mud or dirt or any other
trivial and undignified objects? Are you
doubtful whether or not to assert that
each of these has a separate Form
distinct from things like those we
handle? [D]

Not at all, said Socrates; in these

202

PLATO

cases, the things are just the things we
see; it would surely be too absurd to
suppose that they have a Form. All the
same 3 I have sometimes been troubled
by a doubt whether what is true in one
case may not be true in all. Then, when
I have reached that point, I am driven
to retreat, for fear of tumbling into a
bottomless pit of nonsense. Anyhow, I
get back to the things which we were
just now speaking of as having Forms,
and occupy my time with thinking about
them.

That, replied Parmenides, is be- [E]
cause you are still young, Socrates, and
philosophy has not yet taken hold of
you so firmly as I believe it will some
day. You will not despise any of these
objects then; but at present your youth
makes you still pay attention to what
the world will think.

{2} Objections to
Participation

[130E-131E]

(a) A THING CANNOT CONTAIN EITHER THE
FORM AS A WHOLE OR A PART OF IT

(Parmenides continues.) However that
may be, tell me this. You say you hold
that there exist certain Forms, of which
these other things come to partake and
so to be called after their names: by
coming to partake of Likeness or
Largeness or Beauty or Justice, [131]
they become like or large or beautiful
or just?

Certainly, said Socrates.

Then each thing that partakes re
ceives as its share either the Form as
a whole or a part of it? Or can there
be any other way of partaking besides
this?

No, how could there be?

Do you hold, then, that the Form as
a whole, a single thing, is in each of
the many, or how?

Why should it not be in each,
Parmenides?

If so, a Form which is one and [B]
the same will be at the same rime, as

a whole, in a number of things which
are separate, and consequently will be
separate from itself.

No, it would not, replied Socrates, if
it were like one and the same day, which
is in many places at the same time and
nevertheless is not separate from itself.
Suppose any given Form is hi them all
at die same time as one and the same
thing in that way.

I like the way you make out that one
and the same thing is in many places at
once, Socrates. You might as well spread
a sail over a number of people and then
say that the one sail as a whole was over
them all. Don t you think that is a fair
analogy?

Perhaps it is. [c]

Then would the sail as a whole be
over each man, or only a part over one,
another part over another?
Only a part.

In that case, Socrates, the Forms
themselves much be divisible into parts,
and the things which have a share in
them will have a part for their share.
Only a part of any given Form, and no
longer the whole of it, will be in each
thing.

Evidently, on that showing.
Are you, then, prepared to assert that
we shall find the single Form actually
being divided? Will it still be one?
Certainly not.

No, for consider this. Suppose it is
Largeness itself that you are going to
divide into parts, and that each of the
many large things is to be large by [D]
virtue of a part of Largeness which is
smaller than Largeness itself. Will not
that seem unreasonable?
It will indeed.

And again, if it is Equality that a
thing receives some small part of, will
that part, which is less than Equality
itself, make its possessor equal to some
thing else?

No, that is impossible.
Well, take Smallness: is one of us to
have a portion of Smallness, and is
Smallness to be larger than that portion,

PARMENIDES

203

which is a part of it? On this supposi
tion again Smallness itself will be
larger, and anything to which the por
tion taken is added will be smaller, [E]
and larger, than it was before.

That cannot be so.

Well then, Socrates, how are the
other things going to partake of your
Forms, if they can partake of them
neither in part nor as wholes?

Really, said Socrates, it seems no
easy matter to determine in any way.

(b) THE THIRD MAN [131E-132B]

Again, there is another question.

What is that?

How do you feel about this? I [132]
imagine your ground for believing in a
single Form in each case is this: when
it seems to you that a number of things
are large, there seems, I suppose, to be
a certain single character which is the
same when you look at them all; hence
you think that Largeness is a single
thing.

True, he replied.

But now take Largeness itself and the
other things which are large. Suppose
you look at all these in the same way in
your mind s eye, will not yet another
unity make its appearance a Largeness
by virtue of which they all appear large?

So it would seem.

If so, a second Form of Largeness will
present itself, over and above Largeness
itself and the things that share in it;
and again, covering all these, yet an
other, which will make all of them [B]
large. So each of your Forms will no
longer be one, but an indefinite num
ber.

These objections cannot be met by
making the Form a thought in a mind.

[132B-G]

But, Parmenides, said Socrates, may
it not be that each of these Forms is a
thought, which cannot properly exist
anywhere but in a mind. In that way
each of them can be onr ^ T iH *he stu*

ments that have just been made would
no longer be true of it.

Then, is each Form one of these
thoughts and yet a thought of nothing?

No, that is impossible.

So it is a thought of something?

Yes.

Of something that is, or of some
thing that is not? [c]

Of something that is.

In fact, of some one thing which that
thought observes to cover all the cases,
as being a certain single character?

Yes.

Then will not this thing that is
thought of as being one and always the
same in all cases be a Form?
1 That again seems to follow.

And besides, said Parmenides, accord
ing to the way in which you assert that
the other things have a share in the
Forms, must you not hold either that
each of those things consists of thoughts,
so that all things think, or else that they
are thoughts which nevertheless do not
think?

That too is unreasonable, replied
Socrates.

Can the objections be met by making
the Forms patterns of which there are
likenesses in things? [132c-133A]

(Socrates continues.} But, Parmenides,
the best I can make of the matter is
this: that these Forms are as it were
patterns fixed in the nature of things;
the other things are made in their im
age and are likenesses; and this partic
ipation they come to have in the Forms
is nothing but their being made in their
image.

Well, if a thing is made in the image
of the Form, can that Form fail to be
like the image of it, in so far as the
image was made in its likeness? If a
thing is like, must it not be like some
thing that is like it?

It must.

And must not the thing which is [E]
like share with the thing that is like it
lit or r:- rvnd th: 1 . wue thin*

204

PLATO

Yes.

And will not that in which the like
things share, so as to be alike, be just
the Form itself that you spoke of?

Certainly,

If so, nothing can be .like the Form,
nor can the Form be like anything.
Otherwise a second Form will always
make its appearance over and above the
first Form; and if that second Form is
like anything, yet a third; and [133]
there will be no end to this emergence of
fresh Forms, if the Form is to be like
the thing that partakes of it.

Quite true.

It follows that the other things do
not partake of Forms by being like
them; we must look for some other
means by which they partake.

So it seems.

{3} Will Not the Separate Forms Be
Unknowable by Us? [133A-134E]

You see then, Socrates, said Par
menides, what great difficulties there
are in asserting their existence as Forms
just by themselves?

I do indeed.

I assure you, then, you have as [B]
yet hardly a notion of how great they
will be, if you are going to set up a
single Form for every distinction you
make among things.

How so?

The worst difficulty will be this,
though there are plenty more. Suppose
someone should say that the Forms, if
they are such as we are saying they must
be, cannot even be known. One could
not convince him that he was mistaken
in that objection, unless he chanced to
be a man of wide experience and nat
ural ability, and were willing to follow
one through a long and remote train of
argument. Otherwise there would be no
way of convincing a man who [a]
maintained that the Forms were un
knowable.

Why so, Parmenides?

Because, Socrates, I imagine that you

or anyone else who asserts that each of
them has a real being "just by itself,"
would admit, to begin with, that no such
real being exists in our world.

True; for how could it then be just
by itself?

Very good, said Parmenides. And fur
ther, those Forms which are what they
are with reference to one another, have
their being in such references among
themselves, not with reference to those
likenesses (or whatever we are to call
them) in our world, which we possess
and so come to be called by their [D]
several names. And, on the other hand,
these things in our world which bear
the same names as the Forms are re
lated among themselves, not to the
Forms; and all the names of that sort
that they bear have reference to one
another, not to the Forms.

How do you mean? asked Socrates.
Suppose, for instance, one of us is
master or slave of another; he is not, of
course, the slave of Master itself, the
essential Master, nor, if he is a master,
is he master of Slave itself, the essential
Slave, but, being a man, is master [E]
or slave of another man; whereas
Mastership itself is what it is (master
ship) of Slavery itself, and Slavery itself
is slavery to Mastership itself. The
significance of things in our world is not
with reference to things in that other
world, nor have these their significance
with reference to us; but as I say, the
things in that world are what they are
with reference to one another and to
wards one another; and so likewise are
the things in our world. You see what
I mean?

Certainly I do.

And similarly Knowledge itself, [134]
the essence of Knowledge, will be
knowledge of that Reality itself, the es
sentially real.
Certainly.

And again any given branch of
Knowledge in itself will be knowledge
of some department of real things as it
is in itself, will it not?

PARMENIDES

205

Yes.

Whereas the knowledge in our world
will be knowledge of the reality in our
world ; and it will follow again that each
branch of knowledge in our world must
be knowledge of some department of [B]
thing that exist in our world.

Necessarily.

But, as you admit, we do not possess
the Forms themselves, nor can they exist
in our world.

No.

And presumably the Forms, just as
they are in themselves, are known by
the Form of Knowledge itself?

Yes.

The Form which we do not passess.

True.

Then, none of the Forms is known
by us, since we have no part in Knowl
edge itself.

Apparently not.

So Beauty itself or Goodness itself and
all the things we take as Forms in them
selves, are unknowable to us.

I am afraid that is so.

Then here is a still more formidable
consequence for you to consider.

What is that?

You will grant, I suppose, that if
there is such a thing as a Form, Knowl
edge itself, it is much more perfect than
the knowledge in our world; and so with
Beauty and all the rest.

Yes.

And if anything has part in this
Knowledge itself, you would agree that
a god has a better title than anyone
else to possess the most perfect knowl-
edge?

Undoubtedly.

Then will the god, who possesses [D]
Knowledge itself, be able to know the
things in our world?

Why not?

Because we have agreed that those
Forms have no significance with refer
ence to things in our world, nor have
things in our world any significance
with reference to them. Each set has it
only among themselves.

Yes, we did.

Then if this most perfect Mastership
and most perfect Knowledge are in the
gods world, the gods Mastership can
never be exercised over us, nor their [E]
Knowledge know us or anything in our
world. Just as we do not rule over them
by virtue of rule as it exists in our
world and we know nothing that is
divine by our knowledge, so they, on
the same principle, being gods, are not
our masters nor do they know anything
of human concerns.

But surely, said Socrates, an argument
which would deprive the gods of knowl
edge, would be too strange.

The Forms are admitted [134E-135c]
to be necessary for all thought and dis
course.

And yet, Socrates, Parmenides went
on, these difficulties and many more
besides are inevitably involved in the
Forms, if these characters of things [135]
really exist and one is going to disting
uish each Form as a thing just by
itself. The result is that the hearer is
perplexed and inclined either to ques
tion their existence, or to contend that,
if they do exist, they must certainly be
unknowable by our human nature.
Moreover, there seems to be some
weight in these objections, and, as we
were saying, it is extraordinarily diffi
cult to convert the objector. Only a
man of exceptional gifts will be able to
see that a Form, or essence just by
itself, does exist hi each case; and it
will require someone still more remark
able to discover it and to instruct [B]
another who has thoroughly examined
all these difficulties.

I admit that, Parmenides; I [135s]
quite agree with what you are saying.

But on the other hand, Parmenides
continued, if, in view of all these dif
ficulties and others like them, a man re
fuses to admit that Forms of things
exist or to distinguish a definite Form in
every case, he will have nothing on
which to fix his thought, so long as he

206

PLATO

will not allow that each thing has [c]
a character which is always the same;
and in so doing he will completely
destroy the significance of all discourse.
But of that consequence I think you
are only too well aware.
True.

I35C-J36E Transition
to the Second Part

What are you going to do about
philosophy, then? Where will you turn
while the answers to these questions re
main unknown?

I can see no way out at the present
moment.

That is because you are undertaking
to define "Beautiful," "Just/ "Good,"
and other particular Forms, too soon,
before you have had a preliminary [D]
training. I noticed that the other day
when I heard you talking here with
Aristoteles. Believe me, there is some
thing noble and inspired in your passion
for argument; but you must make an
effort and submit yourself, while you
are still young, to a severer training in
what the world calls idle talk and con
demns as useless. Otherwise, the truth
will escape you.

What form, then, should this exercise
take, Parmenides?

The form that Zeno used in the

treatise you have been listening to. With
this exception: there was one thing you
said to him which impressed me [E]
very much: you would not allow the
survey to be confined to visible things
or to range only over that field; it was
to extend to those objects which are
specially apprehended by discourse and
can be regarded as Forms.

Yes, because in that other field there
seems to be no difficulty about showing
that things are both like and unlike and
have any other character you please.

You are right. But there is one thing
more you must do. If you want to be
thoroughly exercised, you must not
merely make the supposition that such
and such a thing is and then consider
the consequences; you must also [136]
take the supposition that that same
thing is not.
How do you mean?
Take, if you like, the supposition that
Zeno made: "If there is a plurality of
things" You must consider what con
sequences must follow both for those
many things with reference to one an
other and to the One, and also for the
One with reference to itself and to the
many. Then again, on the supposition
that there is not a plurality^ you must
consider what will follow both for the
One and for the many, with reference
to themselves and to each other. . . .

THEAETETUS (in part)

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE
SOCRATES THEAETETUS THEODORUS

THEAETETUS. One of the very hardest,
I should say.

SOCR. You may be reassured, then,
about Theodorus account of you, and
set your mind on finding a definition of

SOCRATES. Do you fancy it is a [148c]

small matter to discover the nature of knowledge, as of anything "else]

knowledge? Is it not one of the hardest with all the zeal at your command
questions? - -

.
THEAET. If it depends on my zeal,

THEAETETUS

207

Socrates, the truth will come to light.

SOCR. Forward, then, on the way you
have just shown so well. Take as a
model your answer about the roots: just
as you found a single character to em
brace all that multitude, so now try to
find a single formula that applies to the
many kinds of knowledge.

THEAET. But I assure you, Soc- [E]
rates, I have often set myself to study
that problem, when I heard reports of
the questions you ask. But I cannot per
suade myself that I can give any satis
factory solution or that anyone has ever
stated in my hearing the sort of answer
you require. And yet I cannot get the
question out of my mind.

Socrafes Arf of Midwifery

SOCR. My dear Theaetetus, that is
because your mind is not empty or bar
ren. You are suffering the pains of
travail.

THEAET. I don t know about that,
Socrates. I am only telling you how I
feel.

SOCR. How absurd of you, never [149]
to have heard that I am the son of a
midwife, a fine buxom woman called
Phaenarete!

THEAET. I have heard that.

SOCR. Have you also been told that
I practise the same art?

THEAET. No, never.

SOCR. It is true, though; only don t
give away my secret. It is not known
that I possess this skill; so the ignorant
world describes me in other terms as
an eccentric person who reduces people
to hopeless perplexity. Have you been
told that too?

THEAET. I have.

SOCR. Shall I tell you the reason?

THEAET. Please do.

SOCR. Consider, then, how it is with
all midwives; that will help you to
understand what I mean. I dare say
you know that they never attend other

women in childbirth so long as they
themselves can conceive and bear
children, but only when they are too
old for that.

THEAET. Of course.

SOCR. They said that is because
Artemis, the patroness of childbirth, is
herself childless; and so, while she did
not allow barren women to be mid-
wives, because it is beyond the power of
human nature to achieve skill with- [c]
out any experience, she assigned the
privilege to women who were past child-
bearing, out of respect to their likeness
to herself.

THEAET. That sounds likely.

SOCR. And it is more than likely, is it
not, that no one can tell so well as a
midwife whether women are pregnant
or not?

THEAET. Assuredly.

SOCR. Moreover, with the drugs and
incantations they administer, midwives
can either bring on the pains of travail
or allay them at their will, make a [D]
difficult labour easy, and at an early
stage cause a miscarriage if they so de
cide.

THEAET. True.

SOCR. Have you also observed that
they are the cleverest match-makers,
having an unerring skill in selecting a
pair whose marriage will produce the
best children?

THEAET. I was not aware of that.

SOCR. Well, you may be sure they
pride themselves on that more than on
cutting the umbilical cord. Consider the
knowledge of the sort of plant or [E]
seed that should be sown in any given
soil; does not that go together with skill
in tending and harvesting the fruits of
the earth? They are not two different
arts?

THEAET. No, the same.

SOCR. And so with a woman; skill in
the sowing is not to be separated from
skill in the harvesting?

THEAET. Probably not.

SOCR. No; only, because there is [150]

208

PLATO

that wrong and ignorant way of bring
ing together man and woman which
they call pandering, midwives, out of
self-respect, are shy even of matchmak
ing, for fear of falling under the accusa
tion of pandering. Yet the genuine
midwife is the only successful match
maker.

THEAET. That is clear.

SOGR. All this, then, lies within the
midwife s province; but her performance
falls short of mine. It is not the way of
women sometimes to bring forth real
children, sometimes mere phantoms, [B]
such that it is hard to tell the one from
the other. If it were so, the highest and
noblest task of the midwife would be
to discern the real from the unreal,
would it not?

THEAET. I agree.

SOCR. My art of midwifery is in gen
eral like theirs; the only difference is
that my patients are men, not women,
and my concern is not with the body
but with the soul that is in travail of
birth. And the highest point of my art
is the power to prove by every test
whether the offspring of a young [c]
man s thought is a false phantom or
instinct with life and truth. I am so far
like the midwife, that I cannot myself
give birth to wisdom; and the common
reproach is true, that, though I question
others, I can myself bring nothing to
light because there is no wisdom in me.
The reason is this: heaven constrains
me to serve as a midwife, but has de
barred me from giving birth. So of my
self I have no sort of wisdom, nor [D]
has any discovery ever been born to me
as the child of my soul. Those who- fre
quent my company at first appear, some
of them, quite unintelligent; but, as we
go further with our discussions, all who
are favoured by heaven make progress
at a rate that seems surprising to others
as well as to themselves, although it
is clear that they have never learnt any
thing from me; the many admirable
truths they bring to birth have been

discovered by themselves from within.
But the delivery is heaven s work and
mine.

The proof of this is that many [E]
who have not been conscious of my
assistance but have made light of me,
thinking it was all their own doing, have
left me sooner than they should,
whether under others influence or of
their own motion, and thenceforward
suffered miscarriage of their thoughts
through falling into bad company; and
they have lost the children of whom I
had delivered them by bringing them up
badly, caring more for false phantoms
than for the true; and so at last their
lack of understanding has become ap
parent to themselves and to every- [151]
one else. Such a one was Aristides, son
of Lysimachus, and there have been
many more. When they come back and
beg for a renewed of our intercourse
with extravagant protestations, some
times the divine warning that comes to
me forbirds it; with others it is per
mitted, and these begin again to make
progress. In yet another way, those who
seek my company have the same ex
perience as a woman with child: they
suffer the pains of labour and, by night
and day, are full of distress far greater
than a woman s; and my art has power
to bring on these pangs or to allay [B]
them. So it fares with these; but there
are some, Theaetetus, whose minds, as
I judge, have never conceived at all. I
see that they have no need of me and
with all goodwill I seek a match for
them. Without boasting unduly, I can
guess pretty well whose society will profit
them. I have arranged many of these
matches with Prodicus, and with other
men of inspired sagacity.

And now for the upshot of this long
discourse of mine. I suspect that, as you
yourself believe, your mind is in labour
with some thought it has conceived.
Accept, then, the ministration of a mid
wife s son who himself practises his [c]
mother s art, and do the best you can

THEAETETUS

209

to answer the questions I ask. Perhaps
when I examine your statements I may
judge one or another of them to be an
unreal phantom. If I then take the abor
tion from you and cast it away, do not
be savage with me like a woman robbed
of her first child. People have often felt
like that towards me and been positively
ready to bite me for taking away some
foolish notion they have conceived.
They do not see that I am doing them
a kindness. They have not learnt that no
divinity is ever ill-disposed towards [D]
man, nor is such action on my part due
to unkindness; it is only that I am not
permitted to acquiesce in falsehood and
suppress the truth.

So, Theaetetus, start again and try to
explain what knowledge is. Never say
it is beyond your power; it will not be
so, if heaven wills and you take courage.

Theaetetus Identifies Knowledge
with Perception

THEAET. Well, Socrates, with such en
couragement from a person like you, it
would be a shame not to do one s best
to say what one can. It seems to me
that one who knows something is per
ceiving the thing he knows, and, so [E]
far as I can see at present, knowledge
is nothing but perception.

SOGR. Good; that is the right spirit in
which to express one s opinion. But now
suppose we examine your offspring to
gether, and see whether it is a mere
wind-egg or has some life in it. Percep
tion, you say, is knowledge?

THEAET. Yes.

SOCR. The account you give of the
nature of knowledge is not, by any
means, to be despised. It is the same
that was given by Protagoras, [152]
though he stated it in a somewhat dif
ferent way. He says, you will remember,
that "man is the measure of all things
alike of the being of things that are and
of the not-being of things that are not."
No doubt you have read that.

THEAET. Yes, often.

SOGR. He puts it in this sort of way,
doesn t he? that any given thing "is
to me such as it appears to me, and is
to you such as it appears to you," you
and I being men.

THEAET. Yes, that is how he puts it.

SOCR. Well, what a wise man says [B]
is not likely to be nonsense. So let us
follow up his meaning. Sometimes,
when the same wind is blowing, one of
us feels chilly, the other does not; or
one may feel slightly chilly, the other
quite cold.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOCR. Well, in that case are we to
say that the wind in itself is cold or not
cold? Or shall we agree with Protagoras
that it is cold to the one who feels
chilly, and not to the other?

THEAET. That seems reasonable.

SOCR. And further that it so "ap
pears" to each of us?

THEAET. Yes.

SOCR. And "appears" means that he
"perceives" it so?

THEAET. True.

SOCR. "Appearing," then, is the [c]
same thing as "perceiving," in the case
of what is hot or anything of that kind.
They are to each man such as he per
ceives them.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOCR. Perception, then, is always of
something that is, and, as being knowl
edge, it is infallible.

THEAET. That is clear.

SOCR. . . . When we say that I, being
of the height you see, without gaining or
losing in size, may within a year be
taller (as I am now) than a youth like
you, and later on be shorter, not because
I have lost anything in bulk, but [c]
because you have grown. For apparent
ly I am later what I was not before, and
yet have not become so; for without the
process of becoming the result is im
possible, and I could not be in process

210

PLATO

of becoming shorter without losing some
of my bulk. I could give you countless
other examples, if we are to accept these.
For I think you follow me, Theaetetus;
I fancy, at any rate, such puzzles are not
altogether strange to you.

THEAET. No; indeed it is extraordin
ary how they set me wondering what
ever they can mean. Sometimes I get
quite dizzy with thinking of them.

SOCR. That shows that Theodoras [D]
was not wrong in his estimate of your
nature. This sense of wonder is the
mark of the philosopher. Philsophy in
deed has no other origin, and he was a
good genealogist who made Iris the
daughter of Thaumas. 1 Do you now
begin to see the explanation of all this
which follows from the theory we are
attributing to Protagoras? Or is it not
yet clear?

THEAET. I can t say it is yet.

SOCR. Then perhaps you will be
grateful if I help you to penetrate to
the truth concealed in the thoughts of
a man or, I should say, of men of
such distinction. 2 (E)

THEAET. Of course I shall be very
grateful.

SOCR. Then just take a look round
and make sure that none of the un-
initiate overhears us. I mean by the
uninitiate the people who believe that
nothing is real save what they can grasp
with their hands and do not admit that
actions or processes or anything invisible
can count as real.

THEAET. They sound like a very hard
and repellent sort of people. 3 [156]

1 The Cratylus connects Iris with
(408B), and ctpctv (\eyc0 with dialetic (398D) .
So Iris (philosophy) is daughter of Thaumas
(wonder) .

2 Observe the hints that the coming theory
is one that "we are attributing" to Protagoras,
and not 1 to frim alone.

3 Like the physical bodies in whose reality
they believe, with their essential property of
hardness and resistance to touch.

SOCR. You have an absolute pas- [161]
sion for discussion, Theodorus. I like
the way you take me for a sort of bag
full or arguments, and imagine I can
easily pull out a proof to show that our
conclusion is wrong. You don t see [B]
what is happening: the arguments
never come out of me, they always come
from the person I am talking with. I
am only at a slight advantage in having
the skill to get some account of the
matter from another s wisdom and en
tertain it with fair treatment. So now, I
shall not give any explanation myself,
but try to get it out of our friend.

THEOD. That is better, Socrates; do as
you say.

Objections to a Simple Identification
of Perceiving and Knowing

SOGR. Let us look at it in this [163A] t
way, then this question whether knowl
edge and perception are, after all, the
same thing or not. For that, you remem
ber, was the point to which our whole
discussion was directed, and it was for
its sake that we stirred up all this swarm
of queer doctrines, wasn t it?

THEAET. Quite true.

SOGR. Well, are we going to agree [B]
that, whenever we perceive something
by sight or hearing, we also at the same
time know it? Take the case of a foreign
language we have not learnt. Are we to
say that we do not hear the sounds
that foreigners utter, or that we both
hear and know what they are saying?
Or again, when we don t know our let
ters, are we to maintain that we don t
see them when we look at them, or that,
since we see them, we do know them?

THEAET. We shall say, Socrates, that
we know just so much of them as we
do see or hear. The shape and colour
of the letters we both see and know; we
hear and at the same time know the
rising and falling accents of the [c]

THEAETETUS

211

voice; but we neither perceive by sight
and hearing nor yet know what a
schoolmaster or an interpreter could tell
us about them.

SOCR. Well done, Theaetetus. I had
better not raise objections to that, for
fear of checking your growth. But look,
here is another objection threatening.
How are we going to parry it?

THEAET. What is that?

SOCR. It is this. Suppose someone [D]
to ask: "Is it possible for a man who
has once come to know something and
still preserves a memory of it, not to
know just that thing that he remembers
at the moment when he remembers it?"
This is, perhaps, rather a long-winded
way of putting the question. I mean:
Can a man who has become acquainted
with something and remembers it, not
know it?

THEAET. Of course not, Socrates; the
supposition is monstrous.

SOGR. Perhaps I am talking nonsense,
then. But consider: you call seeing "per
ceiving," and sight "perception," don t
you?

THEAET. I do.

SOGR. Then, according to our [E]
earlier statement, a man who sees
something acquires from that moment
knowledge of the thing he sees?

THEAET. Yes.

SOGR. Again, you recognise such a
thing as memory?

THEAET. Yes.

SOGR. Memory of nothing, or of
something?

THEAET. Of something, surely.

SOGR. Of what one has become ac
quainted with and perceived that sort
of things?

THEAET. Of course.

SOCR. So a man sometimes remem
bers what he has seen?

THEAET. He does.

SOCR. Even when he shuts his eyes?
Or does he forget when he shuts them?

THEAET. No, Socrates; that would be
a monstrous thing to say.

SOGR. All the same, we shall have [164]
to say it, if we are to save our former
statement. Otherwise, it goes by the
board.

THEAET. I certainly have a suspicion
that you are right, but I don t quite see
how. You must tell me.

SOCR. In this way. One who sees, we
say, acquires knowledge of what he sees,
because it is agreed that sight or percep
tion and knowledge are the same thing.

THEAET. Certainly.

SOCR. But suppose this man who sees
and acquires knowledge of what he has
seen, shuts his eyes; then he remembers
the thing, but does not see it. Isn t that
so?

THEAET. Yes.

SOCR. But "does not see it" means [B]
"does not know it," since "sees" and
"knows" mean the same.

THEAET. True.

SOCR. Then the conclusion is that a
man who has come to know a thing and
still remembers it does not know it, since
he does not see it; and we said that
would be a monstrous conclusion.

THEAET. Quite true.

SOCR. Apparently, then, if you say that
knowledge and perception are the same
tiling, it leads to an impossibility.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOCR. Then we shall have to say they
are different.

THEAET. I SUppOSe SO.

Defence of Protagoras [J65E-/68C]

SOCR. . . . Now, perhaps, you may
wonder what argument Protagoras will
find to defend his position. Shall we try
to put it into words?

THEAET. By all means.

SOCR. No doubt, then, Protagoras will
make all the points we have put forward
in our attempt to defend him, and [166]
at the same time will come to close
quarters with the assailant, dismissing us

212

PLATO

with contempt. 4 &lt;e Your admirable Soc
rates," he will say, "finds a little boy
who is scared at being asked whether
one and the same person can remember
and at the same time not know one and
?the same thing. When the child is
frightened into saying No, because he
cannot foresee the consequence, Socrates
turns the conversation so as to make a
figure of fun of my unfortunate self. You
take things much too easily, Socrates.
The truth of the matter is this: when
you ask someone questions in order to
canvass some opinion of mine and he is
found tripping, then I am refuted only
if his answers are such as I should have
given; if they are different, it is he [B]
who is refuted, not I. For instance, do
you think you will find anyone to admit
that one s present memory of a past im
pression is an impression of the same
character as one had during the original
experience, which is now over? It is
nothing of the sort. Or again, will any
one shrink from admitting that it is pos
sible for the same person to know and
not to know the same thing? Or, if he
is frightened of saying that, will he ever
allow that a person who is changed is
the same as he was before the change
occurred; or rather, that he is one per
son at all, and not several, indeed an
infinite succession of persons, provided
change goes on happening if we are [c]
really to be on the watch against one
another s attempts to catch at words?
e No, he will say; show a more generous
spirit by attacking what I actually say;
and prove, if you can, that we have not,
each one of us, his peculiar perceptions,
or that, granting them to be peculiar, it
would not follow that what appears to

4 Protagoras will both (re] urge, as we
have done for him, that we are talking clap-
_trap (162D), that verbal disputation is futile
(164s) and we must use words more carefully
(165A), and (/corf) will come to grips (not
with us, but) with the sophistic skirmisher
and his armoury of eristic cavils, despising us
for our feeble surrender to such weapons.

each becomes or is, if we may use the
word e is 3 for him alone to whom it ap
pears. With this talk of pigs and baboons,
you are behaving like a pig yourself, 5
and, what is more, you tempt your [D]
hearers to treat my writings in the same
way, which is not fair.

"For I do indeed assert that the truth
is as I have written: each one of us is a
.^measure of wh|tt is and of what is not;
but there is "all the difference in the
, world between one man and another just
~in the very fact that what is and ap
pears to one is different from what is
^ and appears to the other. And as for
wisdom and the wise man, I am very
far from saying they do not exist. By a
wise man I mean precisely a man who
can change any one of us, when what is
bad appears and is to him, and make
what is good appear and be to him. In
this statement, again, don t set off in
chase of words, but let me explain [E]
still more clearly what I mean. Remem
ber how it was put earlier in the con
versation: to the sick man his food
appears sour and is so; to the healthy
man it is and appears the opposite. Now
there is no call to represent either of the
two as wiser that cannot be nor is the
sick man to be pronounced unwise [167]
because he thinks 6 as he does, or the
healthy man wise because he thinks dif
ferently. What is wanted is a change to
the opposite condition, because the other
state is better.

"And so too in education a change has

5 The pig, in Greek, is an emblem of
stupidity (apese to). Lack. 169D: "Would not
any pig know..." Cic. Ac. Post, i, 5, 18:
non sus docet Mineruam. This remark is less
offensive than the English sounds.

6 "Thinks," "judges" (frojAfc.),, here re
places "appears" (Qaiveffdat),. What is meant
is the judgment stating the fact of a sense-
impression: "This food seems and is to me
sour." If Socrates earlier expression, "what
every man believes as the result of perception"
(o ct* Si Vftf&lt;rw*o#{n, 161o) is restricted to
such judgments, they are not ignorant or
foolish judgments; nor are they false.

THEAETETUS

213

to be effected from the worse condition
to the better; only, whereas the physician
produces a change by means of drugs,
the sophist does it by discourse. It is not
that a man makes someone who pre
viously thought what is false think what
is true (for it is not possible either to
think the thing that is not or to think
anything but what one experiences, [B]
and all experiences are true) ; rather, I
should say, when someone by reason of
a depraved condition of mind has
thoughts of a like character, one makes
him, by reason of a sound condition,
think other and sound thoughts, which
some people ignorantly call true, whereas
I should say that one set of thoughts is
better than the other, but not in any
way truer. 7 And as for the wise, my dear
Socrates, so far from calling them frogs,
I call them, when they have to do with
the body, physicians, and when they have
to do with plants, husbandmen. For I
assert that husbandmen too, when plants
are sickly and have depraved sensations,
substitute for these sensations that are [c]
sound and healthy; 8 and moreover that
wise and honest public speakers sub
stitute in the community sound for un
sound views of what is right. For I hold
that whatever practices seem right and
laudable to any particular State are so,

7 The text is doubtful. The best sense is
obtained by taking fls (167 A, 7) as the sub
ject of a single sentence from titel (A, 6) to
oi$4v (B, 4). Read rtovnpa, and xf"? &lt; r ? (sc.
fyrxhs V|, with W.) and omit ra QavraHTpasra
(.with Diels, Vors* ii, 225). It is the sophist,
not the wntf riri V&y, that "makes" the change
to sound thoughts. The reading wM will
then be explained as an attempt to provide
the eTTonjc e following it with a subject, made
by someone who did not see that ris (govern
ing the earlier eTtowjcre, (. 7) is still the sub
ject.

8 Omitting re Ktxt a\riQefs. Diels suggestion
(Vors.* ii, 225) Vre K&I a^deTs gives a wrong
sense, for the unhealthy sensations are also
true. The conjectures fayBeias (Schleier-
macher), efas (Dies), rt&Q&lt;*s (Richards) are
not convincing.

for that State, so long as it holds by
them. Only, when the practices are, in
any particular case, unsound for them,
the wise man substitutes others that are
and appear sound. On the same principle
the sophist, since he can in the same
manner guide his pupils in the way they
should go, is wise and worth a con- [D]
siderable fee to them when their educa
tion is completed. In this way it is true
both that some men are wiser than
others and that no one thinks falsely;
and you, whether you like it or not,
must put up with being a measure, since
by these considerations my doctrine is
saved from shipwreck. Now if you can
dispute this doctrine in principle, do so
by argument stating the case on the
other side, or by asking questions, if you
prefer that method, which has no terrors
for a man of sense; on the contrary it
ought to be specially agreeable to him.
Only there is this rule to be observed: [E]
do not conduct your questioning unfair
ly. It is very unreasonable that one who
professes a concern for virtue should be
constantly guilty of unfairness in argu
ment. Unfairness here consists in not pb-
serving the distinction between a debate
and a conversation. A debate need not
be taken seriously and one may trip up
an opponent to the best of one s power;
but a conversation should be taken in
earnest; one should help out the other
party and bring home to him only those
slips and fallacies that are due to [168]
himself or to his earlier instructors. If
you follow this rule, your associates will
lay the blame for their confusions and
perplexities on themselves and not on
you; they will like you and court your
society, and disgusted with themselves,
will turn to philosophy, hoping to escape
from their former selves and become
different men. But if, like so many, you
take the opposite course, you will reach
the opposite result: instead of turning
your companions to philosophy, you [B]
will make them hate the whole business
when they get older. So, if you will take

PLATO

my advice, you will meet us in the candid
spirit I spoke of, without hostility or
contentiousness, and honestly consider
what we mean when we say that all
things are in motion and that what
seems also is, to any individual or com
munity. The further question whether
knowledge is, or is not, the same thing
as perception, you will consider as a
consequence of these principles, not (as
you did just now) basing your argu- [c]
ment on the common use of words and
phrases, which the vulgar twist into any
sense they please and so perplex one
another in all sorts of ways."

Criticism of Protagoras Doctrine
as Extended to AH Judgments

SOCR. Let us begin, then, by [169o]
coming to grips with the doctrine at the
^same point as before. Let us see
whether or not our discontent was justi
fied, when we criticised it as making
every individual self-sufficient hi wisdom.
Protagoras then conceded that some peo
ple were superior in the matter of what
is better or worse, and these, he said,
N were wise. Didn t he?

THEOD. Yes.

SOCR. If he were here himself to make
that admission, instead of our conceding
it for him in our defence, there would [E]
be no need to reopen the question and
make sure of our ground; but, as things
are, we might be said to have no authori
ty to make the admission on his behalf.
So it will be more satisfactory to come to
a more complete and clear agreement
on this particular point; for it makes a
considerable difference, whether this is
so or not.

THEOD. That is true.

SOCR. Let us, then, as briefly as pos
sible, obtain his agreement, not through
any third person, but from his own state
ment. [170]

THEOD. HOW?

SOCR. In this way. He says doesn t

he? that what seems true 9 to anyone is
true for him to whom it seems so?
THEOD. He does.

SOCR. Well now, Protagoras, we are
expressing what seems true to a man, or
L rather to all men, when we say that
everyone without exception holds that in
some respects he is wiser than his neigh
bours and in others they are wiser than
r he. For instance, in moments of great
danger and distress, whether in war or in
sickness or at sea, men regard as a god
anyone who can take control of the [B]
situation and look to him as a saviour,
when his only point of superiority is his
knowledge. Indeed, the world is full of
people looking for those who can instruct
and govern men and animals and direct
their doings, and on the other hand of
people who think themselves quite com
petent to undertake the teaching and
governing. In all these cases what can
we say, if not that men do hold that
wisdom and ignorance exist among
them?

THEOD. We must say that.
SOCR. And they hold that wisdom lies
in thinking truly, and ignorance in false
belief?

THEOD. Of course. [c]

SOCR. In that case, Protagoras, what
are we to make of your doctrine? Are
we to say that what men think is always
true, or that it is sometimes true and
sometimes false? From either supposition
it results that their thoughts are not al
ways true, but both true and false. For
consider, Theodorus. Are you, or is any
Protagorean, prepared to maintain that
no one regards anyone else as ignorant
or as making false judgments?

THEOD. That is incredible, Socrates.
SOCR. That, however, is the inevit- [D]
able consequence of the doctrine which
makes man the measure of all things.
THEOD. How so?

9 TO 5oow here, as the context shows, mean
"what seems true." Since Protagoras maxim
covered judgment, the interpretation is per
fectly fair.

THEAETETUS

215

SOCR. When you have formed a judg
ment on some matter in your own mind
and express an opinion about it to me,
let us grant that, as Protagoras theory
_says, it is true for you; but are we to
"understand that it is impossible for us,
the rest of the company, to pronounce
any judgment upon your judgment; or,
if we can, that we always pronounce
your opinion to be true? Do you not
rather find thousands of opponents who
set their opinion against yours on every
occasion and hold that your judgment
and belief are false?

THEOD. I should just think so, Soc- [E]
rates; thousands and tens of thousands,
as Homer says; and they give me all the
trouble in the world.

SOCR. And what then? Would you
have us say that in such a case the
opinion you hold is true for yourself and
false for these tens of thousands?

THEOD. The doctrine certainly seems to
imply that.

SOGR. And what is the consequence for
Protagoras himself? Is it not this: sup
posing that not even he believed in man
being the measure and the world in gen
eral did not believe it either as in fact
it doesn t then this Truth which he
wrote would not be true for any- [171]
one? If, on the other hand, he did be
lieve it, but the mass of mankind does
not agree with him, then, you see, it is
more false than true by just so much as
the unbelievers outnumber the believers.

THEOD. That follows, if its truth or fal
sity varies with each individual opinion.

SOCR. Yes, and besides that it involves
a really exquisite conclusion. 10 Protag
oras, for his part, admitting as he does
that everybody s opinion is true, must
acknowledge the truth of his opponents
belief about his own belief, where they
think he is wrong.

THEOD. Certainly.

SOCR. That is to say, he would [B]
acknowledge his own belief to be false,
if he admits that the belief of those who
, think him wrong is true?

THEOD. Necessarily.

SOCR. But the others, on their side, do
not admit to themselves that they are
wrong.

THEOD. No.

SOCR. Whereas Protagoras, once more,
according to what he has written, admits
that this opinion of theirs is as true as
any other.

THEOD. Evidently.

SOCR. On all hands, then, Protagoras
included, his opinion will be disputed, or
rather Protagoras will join in the general
consent when he admits to an opponent
the truth of his contrary opinion, [c]
from that moment Protagoras himself
will be admitting that a dog or the man
in the street is not a measure of anything
whatever that he does not understand.
Isn t that so?

THEOD. Yes.

SOCR. Then, since it is disputed by
everyone, the Truth of Protagoras is true
to nobody to himself no more than, to
anyone else.

THEOD. We are running my old friend
too hard, Socrates.

SOCR. But it is not clear that we are
outrunning the truth, my friend. Of
course it is likely that, as an older [D]
man, he was wiser than we are; and if
at this moment he could pop his head
up through the ground there as far as to
the neck, very probably he would expose
me thoroughly for talking such nonsense
and you for agreeing to it, before he
sank out of sight and took to his heels.
However, we must do our best with such
lights as we have and continue to say
what we think.

10 Sextus, Math, vii, 389, says that an argu
ment of this form, known as "turning the
tables" (iccptrpoicii) , was used against Pro
tagoras by Democritus, as well as by Plato
here.

Digression-. The Philosopher

THEOD. What do you mean, Socra
tes? [174]

216

PLATO

SOCR. The same thing as the story
about the Thracian maidservant who ex
ercised her wit at the expense of Thales,
when he was looking up to study the
stars and tumbled down a well. She
scoffed at him for being so eager to
know what was happening in the sky
that he could not see what lay at his
feet. Anyone who gives his life to philoso
phy is open to such mockery. It is true
that he is unaware what his next-door [B]
neighbour is doing, hardly knows, in
deed, whether the creature is a man at
all; he spends all his pains on the ques
tion, what man is, and what powers and
properties distinguish such a nature from
any other. 11 You see what I mean,
Theodoras?

THEOD. Yes; and it is true.

SOGR. And so, my friend, as I said at
first, on a public occasion or in private
company, in a law court or anywhere [c]
else, when he is forced to talk about
what lies at his feet or is before his eyes,
the whole rabble will join the maid
servants in laughing at him, as from
inexperience he walks blindly and stum
bles into every pitfall. His terrible
clumsiness makes him seem so stupid.
He cannot engage in an exchange of
abuse^ 12 for, never having made a study
of anyone s peculiar weaknesses, he has
no personal scandals to bring up; so in
his helplessness he looks a fool. When
people vaunt their own or other men s [D]
merits, his unaffected laughter makes
him conspicuous and they think he is
frivolous. When a despot or king is
eulogised, he fancies he is hearing some
keeper of swine or sheep or cows being
congratulated on the quantity of milk
he has squeezed out of his flock; only he
reflects that the animal that princes tend
and milk is more given than sheep or
cows to nurse a sullen grievance, and

11 A clear allusion to the theory of Forms.
The real object of knowledge is the Form
**Man," not individual men.

t2 A constant feature of forensic speeches
at Athens.

that a herdsman of this sort, penned up
in his castle, doomed by sheer press of
work to be as rude and uncultivated [E]
as the shepherd in his mountain fold. He
hears of the marvellous wealth of some
landlord who owns ten thousand acres or
more; but that seems a small matter to
one accustomed to think of the earth as
a whole. When they harp upon birth
some gentleman who can point to seven
generations of wealthy ancestors he
thinks that such commendation must
come from men of purblind vision, too
uneducated to keep their eyes fixed [175]
on the whole or to reflect that any man
has had countless myriads of ancestors
and among them any number of rich
men and beggars, kings and slaves,
Greeks and barbarians. To pride oneself
on a catalogue of twenty-five progenitors
going back to Heracles, son of Am
phitryon, strikes him as showing a
strange pettiness of outlook. He laughs
at a man who cannot rid his mind of
foolish vanity by reckoning that be- [B]
fore Amphitryon there was a twenty-fifth
ancestor, and before him a fiftieth, whose
fortunes were as luck would have it. But
in all these matters the world has the
laugh of the philosopher, partly because
he seems arrogant, partly because of his
helpless ignorance in matters of daily
life.

THEOD. Yes, Socrates, that is exactly
what happens.

SOGR. On the other hand, my friend,
when the philosopher drags the other
upwards to a height at which he may [c]
consent to drop the question "What in
justice have I done to you or you to
me?" and to think about justice and
injustice in themselves, what each is, and
how they differ from one another and
from anything else; 13 or to stop quoting
poetry about the happiness of kings or
of men with gold in store and think
about the meaning of kingship and the

13 The moral Forms are here openly men
tioned, and there are allusions to the allegory
of the Gave in Rep. vi.

THEAETETUS

217

whole question of human happiness and
misery, what their nature is, and how
humanity can gain the one and escape
the other in all this field, when that
small, shrewd, legal mind has to render
an account, then the situation is re- [D]
versed. Now it is he who is dizzy from
hanging at such an unaccustomed height
and looking down from mid-air. Lost and
dismayed and stammering, he will be
laughed at, not by maidservants or the
uneducated they will not see what is
happening but by everyone whose
breeding has been the antithesis of a
slave s.

Such are the two characters, Theo-
dorus. The one is nursed in freedom and
leisure, the philosopher, as you call [E]
him. He may be excused if he looks
foolish or useless when faced with some
menial task, if he cannot tie up bed
clothes into a neat bundle or flavour a
dish with spices and a speech with flat
tery. The other is smart in the dispatch
of all such services, but has not learnt to
wear his cloak like a gentleman, or
caught the accent of discourse that will
rightly celebrate the true life of [176]
happiness for gods and men.

THEOD. If you could convince every
one, Socrates, as you convince me, there
would be more peace and fewer evils in
the world.

SOCR. Evils, Theodorus, can never be
done away with, for the good must al
ways have its contrary; nor have they
any place in the divine world; but they
must needs haunt this region of our
mortal nature. That is why we should
make all speed to take flight from this
world to the other; and that means
becoming like the divine so far as we [B]
can, and that again is to become right
eous with the help of wisdom. But it is
no such easy matter to convince men that
the reasons for avoiding wickedness and
seeking after goodness are not those
which the world gives. The right motive
is not that one should seem innocent and
good that is no better, to my thinking,
than an old wives tale but let us state

the truth in this way. In the divine [a]
there is no shadow of unrighteousness,
only the perfection of righteousness; and
nothing is more like the divine than any
one of us who becomes as righteous as
possible. It is here that a man shows
his true spirit and power or lack of spirit
and nothingness. For to know this is
wisdom and excellence of the genuine
sort; not to know it is to be manifestly
blind and base. All other forms of seem
ing power and intelligence in the rulers
of society are as mean and vulgar as the
mechanic s skill in handicraft. If a [D]
man s words and deeds are unrighteous
and profane, he had best not persuade
himself that he is a great man because
he sticks at nothing, glorying in his
shame as such men do when they fancy
that others say of them: They are no
fools, no useless burdens to the earth, but
men of the right sort to weather the
storms of public life. Let the truth be
told: they are what they fancy they are
not, all the more for deceiving them
selves; for they are ignorant of the very
thing it most concerns them to know
the penalty of injustice. This is not, as
they imagine, stripes and death, which
do not always fall on the wrong-doer, but
a penalty that cannot be escaped. [E]

THEOD. What penalty is that?

SOCR. There are two patterns, my
friend, in the unchangeable nature of
things, one of divine happiness, the other
of godless misery a truth to which their
folly makes them utterly blind, un- [177]
aware that in doing injustice they are
growing less like one of these patterns
and more like the other. The penalty
they pay is the life they lead, answering
to the pattern they resemble. But if we
tell them that, unless they rid themselves
of their superior cunning, that other re
gion which is free from all evil will not
receive them after death, but here on
earth they will dwell for all time in some
form of life resembling their own and in
the society of things as evil as them
selves, all this will sound like foolishness
to such strong and unscrupulous minds.

218

PLATO

THEOD. So it will, Socrates.

SOCR. I have good reason to know [B]
it, my friend. But there is one thing
about them: when you get them alone
and make them explain their objections
to philosophy, then, if they are men
enough to face a long examination with
out running away, it is odd how they
end by finding their own arguments un
satisfying; somehow their flow of elo-
quency runs dry, and they become as
speechless as an infant.

All this, however, is a digression; we
must stop now, and dam the flood of
topics that threatens to break in and [c]
drown our original argument. With your
leave, let us go back to where we were
before.

THEOD. For my part, I rather prefer

listening to your digressions, Socrates;

they are easier to follow at my time of

life. However, let us go back, if you like.

Thinking

SOCR. Do you accept my de- [189s]
scription of the process of thinking?

THEAET. How do you describe it?

SOCR. As a discourse that the mind
carries on with itself about any subject
it is considering. You must take this ex
planation as coming from an ignoramus;
but I have a notion that, when the mind
is thinking, it is simply talking to itself,
asking questions and answering them,
and saying Yes or No. When it reaches
a decision which may come slowly [190]
or in a sudden rush when doubt is over
and the two voices affirm the same thing,
then we call that its "judgment." So I
should describe thinking as discourse,
and judgment as a statement pro
nounced, not aloud to someone else, but
silently to oneself. 14

THEAET. I agree.

SOCR. It seems, then, that when a per
son thinks of one thing as another, he is

14 This account of the process of thinking
and judgment is repeated in the Sophist 263,
see below.

affirming to himself that the one is the
other.

Conclusion [2/0]

SOCR. So, apparently, to the question,
What is knowledge? our definition will
reply: "Correct belief together with
knowledge of a differentness" ; for, ac
cording to it, "adding an account" will
come to that.

THEAET. So it seems.

SOCR. Yes; and when we are inquiring
after the nature of knowledge, nothing
could be sillier than to say that it is cor
rect belief together with a knowledge of
differentness or of anything whatever.

So, Theaetetus, neither perception,
nor true belief, nor the addition of an
"account" to true belief can be knowl
edge. [B]

THEAET. Apparently not.

SOCR. Are we in labour, then, with any
further child, my friend, or have we
brought to birth all we have to say about
knowledge?

THEAET. Indeed we have; and for my
part I have already, thanks to you, given
utterance to more than I had in me.

SOCR. All of which our midwife s skill
pronounces to be mere wind-eggs and
not worth the rearing?

THEAET. Undoubtedly.

SOCR. Then supposing you should ever
henceforth try to conceive afresh, Thea
etetus, if you succeed, your embryo [c]
thoughts will be_ the better as a con
sequence of to-day s scrutiny; and if you
remain barren, you will be gentler and
more agreeable to your companions,
having the good sense not to fancy you
know what you do not know. For that,
and no more, is all that my art can
effect; nor have I any of that knowledge
possessed by all the great and admirable
men of our own day or of the past. But
this midwife s art is a gift from heaven;
my mother had it for women, and I [D]
for young men of a generous spirit and
for all in whom beauty dwells.

Now I must go to the portico of the

THE SOPHIST

279

King Archon to meet the indictment
which Meletus has drawn up against me.

But to-morrow morning., Theodorus, let
us meet here again.

THE SOPHIST (in part : 276-78, 234-end)

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE

THEODORUS A STRANGER from Elea

SOCRATES THEAETETUS

Introductory Conversation

THEODORUS. Here we are, Socra- [216]
tes, faithful to our appointment of yes
terday; and, what is more, we have
brought a guest with us. Our friend here
is a native of Elea; he belongs to the
school of Parmenides and Zeno, and is
devoted to philosophy.

SOCRATES. Perhaps, Theodorus, it is no
ordinary guest but some god that you
have brought us unawares. Homer 1 [B]
tells us that gods attend upon the goings
of men of mercy and justice; and not
least among them the God of Strangers
comes to mark the orderly or lawless
doings of mankind. Your companion may
be one of those higher powers, who in
tends to observe and expose our weak
ness in philosophic discourse, like a very
spirit of refutation.

THEOD. That is not our friend s way,
Socrates; he is more reasonable than the
devotees of verbal dispute. I should not
call him a god by any means; but there
is something divine about him: I [c]
would say that of any philosopher.

SOCR. And rightly, my friend; but one
might almost say that the type you men
tion is hardly easier to discern than the
god. Such men the genuine, not the
sham philosophers as they go from city
to city surveying from a height the life
beneath them, appear, owing to the
world s blindness, to wear all sorts of
shapes. To some they seem of no account,
to others above all worth; now they wear

1 Odyssey ix, 270, and xvii, 483.

the guise of statesmen, now of sophists;
and sometimes they may give the im- [D]
pression of simply being mad. But if our
guest will allow me, I should like to ask
him what his countrymen thought and
how they used these names. [217]

THEOD. What names?

SOCR. Sophist, Statesman, Philosopher.

THEOD. What is your question exactly?
What sort of difficulty about these names
have you in mind?

SOCR. This: did they think of all these
as a single type, or as two, or did they
distinguish three types and attach one of
the three corresponding names to each?

THEOD. I imagine you are quite wel
come to the information. Is not that so,
sir?

STRANGER. Yes, Theodorus, perfect- [B]
ly welcome; and the answer is not dif
ficult. They thought of them as three
different types; but it is not so short and
easy a task to define each one of them
clearly.

THEOD. As luck would have it, Socra
tes, you have hit upon a subject closely
allied to one on which we were pressing
him with questions before we came here.
He tried to put us off with the same
excuse he has just made to you, though
he admits he has been thoroughly in
structed and has not forgotten what he
heard.

SOCR. Do not deny us, then, the [c]
first favour we ask. Tell us this much:
which do you commonly prefer to dis
course at length by yourself on any mat
ter you wish to make clear, or to use the
method of asking questions, as Par
menides himself did on one occasion in
developing some magnificent arguments
in my presence, when I was young and
he quite an elderly man?

220

PLATO

STR. When the other party to the [D]
conversation is tractable and gives no
trouble, to address him is the easier
course; otherwise, to speak by oneself.

SOCR. Then you may choose any of the
company you will; they will all follow
you and respond amenably. But if you
take my advice, you will choose one of
the younger men Theaetetus here or
any other you may prefer.

STR. I feel some shyness, Socrates, at
the notion that, at my first meeting with
you and your friends, instead of ex
changing our ideas in the give and take
of ordinary conversation, I should [E]
spin out a long discourse by myself or
even address it to another, as if I were
giving a display of eloquence. 2 For in
deed the question you have just raised is
not so easy a matter as one might sup
pose, on hearing it so simply put, but it
calls for a very long discussion. On the
other hand, to refuse you and your
friends a request, especially one put to
me in such terms as you have used,
strikes me as a breach of civility in a
guest. That Theaetetus should be the
other party to our conversation is a [218]
proposal which my earlier talk with him,
as well as your recommendation, makes
exceedingly welcome.

THEAETETUS. Then do as you say, sir;
you will, as Socrates said, be conferring
a favour on us all.

STR. On this point, Theaetetus, no
more need be said; the discussion from
now onwards must, it seems, be carried
on with you. But if the long task should
after all weigh heavy on you, your

2 Three alternative procedures are sug
gested: (1) an unbroken monologue, such as
the rhetorical Sophists preferred; (2) an ex
position "addressed to another," i.e. cast in
the form of questions, to which the respond
ent merely answers "yes" or "no" as required
(vittoKovw), like the young Aristotle in the
Parmenidesj (3) a genuine conversation, to
which the respondent makes a real contribu
tion. The Stranger s preference for the third
marks that he understands "dialectic" as Plato
understood it.

friends here, not I, must bear the blame.

THEAET. I do not feel at this mo- [B]
ment as if I should sink under it; but
should something of that sort happen,
we will call in Socrates namesake here,
who is of my own age and shares my
pursuits. He is quite used to working
out most questions with me.

STR. A good suggestion: that shall be
for you to consider as our conversation
goes forward. What now concerns us
both is our joint inquiry. We had better,
I think., begin by studying the Sophist
and try to bring his nature to light in a
clear formula. [c]

STR. About the Sophist: tell me, is it
now clear that he is a sort of wizard, an
imitator of real things or are we [235]
still uncertain whether he may not pos
sess genuine knowledge of all the things
he seems capable of disputing about?

THEAET. He cannot, sir. It is clear
enough from what has been said that he
is one of those whose province is play.

STR. Then we may class him as a
wizard and an imitator of some sort.

THEAET. Certainly.

Division of Image-making into two
species [235A-236c]

STR. Gome then, it is now for us to see
that we do not again relax the pursuit of
our quarry. We may say that we have [B]
him enveloped in such a net as argument
provides for hunting of this sort. He can
not shuffle out of this.

THEAET. Out Of what?

STR. Out of being somewhere within
the class of illusionists. 3

THEAET. So far I quite agree with
you.

STR. Agreed then that we should at
once quarter the ground by dividing the
art of Image-making, and if, as soon as

3 eavparonotGby means specially the puppet-
showman, but it is used here to cover all
species of "imitators" artists and poets as
well as Sophists . (cf. 224A). They are all
"creators of eidola."

THE SOPHIST

221

we descend into that enclosure, we meet
with the Sophist at bay, we should [c]
arrest him on the royal warrant of rea
son, report the capture, and hand him
over to the sovereign. 4 But if he should
find some lurking-place among the sub
divisions of this art of imitation, we must
follow hard upon him, constantly divid
ing the part that gives him shelter, until
he is caught. In any event there is no
fear that he or any other kind shall ever
boast of having eluded a process of in
vestigation so minute and so comprehen
sive.

THEAET. Good; that is the way to go
to work.

STR. Following, then, the same method
of division as before, I seem once more
to make out two forms of imitation; [D]
but as yet I do not feel able to discover
in which of the two the type we are
seeking is to be found.

THEAET. Make your division first, at
any rate, and tell us what two forms you
mean.

STR. One art that I see contained in
it is the making of likenesses (eikastike).
The perfect example of this consists in
creating a copy that conforms to the
proportions of the original in all three
dimensions and giving moreover the
proper colour to every part. [E]

THEAET. Why, is not that what all
imitators try to do?

4 Apelt illustrates the allusion to the Per
sian method (called "draw-netting," trayi"*?**)
of sweeping up the whole population of a
district by means of a line of soldiers holding
hands and marching across it. It is several
times mentioned by Herodotus (e.g. vi, 31);
and Plato (Laws 698D) says that Datis, ten
years before Salamis, sent word to Athens that
he had captured all the Eretrians by this
method, under Darius orders (the "royal war
rant") to transport all Eretrians and Atheni
ans to Persia. The method is an admirable
image for the procedure of the last section
which has drawn the notion of Image-making
or Imitation like a net around all the types
called "Sophists" collected for review. The
net also includes other "imitators," all the
varieties of artist.

STR. Not those sculptors or painters
whose works are of colossal size. If they
were to reproduce the true proportions
of a well-made figure, 5 as you know, the
upper parts would look tco small, and
the lower too large, because we see the
one at a distance, the other close at
hand. [236]

THEAET. That is true.
STR. So artists, leaving the truth to
take care of itself, do in fact put into
the images they make, not the real pro
portions, but those that will appear
beautiful.

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. The first kind of image, then,
being like the original, may fairly be
called a likeness (eikon) .
THEAET. Yes.

STR. And the corresponding sub- [B]
division of the art of imitation may be
called by the name we used just now
Likeness-making.
THEAET. It may.

STR. Now, what are we to call the kind
which only appears to be a likeness of a
well-made figure because it is not seen
from a satisfactory point of view, but to
a spectator with eyes that could fully
take in so large an object would not be
even like the original it professes to
resemble? Since it seems to be a like
ness, but is not really so, may we not call
it a semblance (phantasma] ?
THEAET. By all means.
STR. And this is a very extensive class,
in painting and in imitation of all [c]
sorts.

THEAET. True.

STR. So the best name for the art
which creates, not a likeness, but a

5 "Well-made" (K&lt;K\QV\ because what is in
question is not improving the proportions of
an ill-made model to conform to canons of
beauty, but altering the proportions which are
really beautiful so as to keep the appearance
of beauty. Apelt mentions that, in the Epicur
ean inscription on a wall at Oenoanda, the
letters in the top lines are cut larger than
those in the lower, so that all may look the
same size from below.

222

PLATO

semblance will be Semblance-making
(phantastike] .

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. These, then, are the two forms of
image-making I meant the making of
likenesses and the making of semblances.

THEAET. Good.

Statement of the problems of unreal
appearances and of falsity in speech and
thought [236c-237B]

STR. Yes; but even now I cannot see
clearly how to settle the doubt I then
expressed: under which of the two arts
(likeness-making and semblance-mak
ing) we must place the Sophist. It is
really surprising how hart it is to get a
clear view of the man. At this very [D]
moment he has, with admirable clever
ness, taken refuge in a class 6 which
baffles investigation.

THEAET. So it seems.

STR. You assent, but do you recognise
the class I mean, or has the current of
the argument carried you along to agree
so readily from force of habit?

THEAET. How? What are you referring
to?

STR. The truth is, my friend, that we
are faced with an extremely difficult
question. This "appearing" or "seem- [E]
ing" without really "being" and the say
ing of something which yet is not true
all these expressions have always been
and still are deeply involved in perplexi
ty. It is extremely hard, Theaetetus, to
find correct terms in which one may say
or think that falsehoods have a real ex
istence, without being caught in a con
tradiction by the mere utterance of such
words. 7 [237]

THEAET. Why?

STR. The audacity of the statement

6 Namely "unreal appearance and falsity."

7 Falsehoods being "things which are not,"
as the Stranger next remarks. A common
equivalent of "speaking falsely" is "saying the
thing that is not," see Theaet. 1884 ff. (p.
114) .^Campbell correctly interprets the con
struction. tyevSii is placed where it stands for
emphasis.

lies in its implication that "what is not"
has being; for in no other way could
a falsehood come to have being. But, my
young friend, when we were of your age
the great Parmenides from beginning to
end testified against this, constantly
telling us what he also says in his poem:

"Never shall this be proved that things
that are not are; but do thou, in thy inquiry,
hold back thy thought from this way." 8

So we have the great man s testimony, [B]
and the best way to obtain a confession
of the truth may be to put the statement
itself to a mild degree of torture. 9 So, if
it makes no difference to you, let us
begin by studying it on its own merits.

THEAET. I am at your disposal. As for
the argument, you must consider the way
that will best lead to a conclusion, and
take me with you along it,

STR. It shall be done.

The Worlds of Reality

and Appearance
(a) The totally unreal [237s-239c]

STR. (continues] Now tell me: we do
not hesitate to utter the phrase "that
which has no sort of being"? 10

THEAET. Surely not.

STR. Then setting aside disputation for
its own sake 11 and playing with words,
suppose one of this company were seri-

8 Parmenides, frag. 7.

9 The statement itself (that falsehood, or
what is not, really exists) is compared to a
slave belonging to the other party in the suit,
against whom Parmenides has borne witness.
The immediate sequel submits this statement
(not Parmenides) to examination. Parmeni
des own statement will be put to the question
later (rbv rov icarpls Hap/uvtoov

10 ri infiapMs ov, the "totally unreal" or
"absolute nonentity." We can "utter this
phrase" (&lt;f&gt;e4yytr6ai) , but it will be shown to
have no meaning.

11 The problems to be stated had figured in
Eristic debate, but our purpose is to face the
real difficulties seriously.

THE SOPHIST

223

ously required to concentrate his mind
and tell us to what this name can be [c]
applied "that which is not." Of what
thing or of what sort of thing should
we expect him to use it himself, and
what would he indicate by it to the in
quirer?

THEAET. That is a hard question. It is
scarcely for a person like me to find an
answer at all.

STR. Well, this much is clear at any
rate: that the term "what is not" must
not be applied to anything that exists.

THEAET. Certainly not.

STR. And since it cannot be applied to
what exists, neither can it properly be
applied to "something."

THEAET. HOW SO?

STR. Surely we can see that this [D]
expression "something" is always used of
a thing that exists. We cannot use it just
by itself in naked isolation from every
thing that exists, can we?

THEAET. No.

STR. Is your assent due to the reflec
tion that to speak of "something" is to
speak of "some one thing"? 12

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Because you will admit that
"something" stands for one thing, as
"some things" for two or more.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. So it seems to follow neces- [E]
sarily that to speak of what is not "some
thing" is to speak of no thing at all.

THEAET. Necessarily.

STR. Must we not even refuse to allow
that in such a case a person is saying

12 The accident that English confines "some
one" and "no one" to persons, "something"
"nothing" to things, makes translation awk
ward. Greek has ( 1 ) rts, "some" (masc. some
one, neut, something) with (in poetry) its
contradictory oi/rw "not-some" (masc. no-one,
neut. nothing) ; and (2) ov5e/r "not even
one" (masc. no-one, neut. no-thing) with its
regular contradictory * ye TW, at least some
one" (masc. someone, neut. something),
which is used here, and: has to be rendered
"some one thing," in order to introduce the
word "one."

something, though he may be speaking
of nothing? Must we not assert that he
is not even saying anything when he sets
about uttering the sounds "a thing that
is not"?

THEAET. That would certainly bring
the argument to the last pitch of per
plexity.

STR. "No time for boasting yet." [238]
There is more to come, in fact the chief
of all the difficulties and the first, for it
goes to the very root of the matter.

THEAET. How do you mean? Do not
hesitate to state it.

STR. When a thing exists, I suppose
something else that exists may be at
tributed to it.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. But can we say it is possible for
something that exists to be attributed to
what has no existence?

THEAET. How could it be?

STR. Well, among things that exist we
include number in general.

THEAET. Yes, number must exist, if
anything does. [B]

STR. We must not, then, so much as
attempt to attach either plurality or
unity in number of the non-existent.

THEAET. That would certainly seem to
be wrong, according to our argument.

STR. How then can anyone utter the
words "things which are not," or "that
which is not," or even conceive such
things in his mind at all, apart from
number?

THEAET. How do you mean?

STR. When we speak of "things that
are not," are we not undertaking to at
tribute plurality to them? [c]

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And unity, when we speak of
"that which is not"?

THEAET. Clearly.

STR. And yet we admit that it is not
justifiable or correct to set about attach
ing something that exists to the non
existent.

THEAET. Quite true.

STR. You see the inference then: one
cannot legitimately utter the words, or

224

PLATO

speak or think of that which just simply
is not; it is unthinkable, not to be spoken
of or uttered or expressed. 13

THEAET. Quite true.

STR. Perhaps then I was mistaken [D]
in saying just now that I was going to
state the greatest difficulty it presents;
whereas there is a worse one still that
we can formulate.

THEAET. What is that?

STR. I am surprised you do not see
from the very phrases I have just used
that the non-existent reduces even one
who is refuting its claims 14 to such straits
that, as soon as he sets about doing so,
he is forced to contradict himself.

THEAET. How? Explain more clearly.

STR. You must not look to me for
illumination. I who laid it down that
the non-existent could have neither [E]
unity nor plurality, have not only just
now but at this very moment spoken of
it as one thing: for I am saying "the
non-existent." You see what I mean?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And again a little while ago I
was speaking of its being a thing not to
be uttered or spoken of or expressed. Do
you follow?

THEAET. Yes, of course.

STR. Well, then, in trying to apply that
term "being" to it, was I not contradict
ing what I said before? 15 [239]

THEAET. Evidently.

STR. And again in applying the term

13 &\oyov not "irrational," but "incapable
of being expressed in discourse" (\yos) .
There is no meaning conveyed (cf. Farm.
142A) . appnrov means that there is nothing for
the words to refer to. Plato is echoing Par-
menides warning against the "Way of Not-
Being," "to leave that way as unthinkable,
unnameable; for it is no true way" (frag. 8,
15).

14 Refuting any claim it might make to
"being." I cannot even deny its existence
without contradicting myself by speaking of
it at all.

15 The reference is to 2 38 A: nothing that
has existence must be ^attributed to the non
existent. "Being" (rb e?vat) is something that
exists, in the same sense that number exists.

"the," was I not addressing it as singu
lar? 16

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And again in speaking of it as "a
thing not to be expressed or spoken of
or uttered," I was using language as if
referring to a single thing.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. Whereas we are admitting that, if
we are to speak strictly, we ought not to
specify it as either one thing or many or
even to call it "it" at all; for even that
appellation means ascribing to it the
character of singleness.

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. In that case there is nothing [B]
to be said for me. I shall be found to
have had the worst of it, now and all
along, in my criticism of the non-existent.
Accordingly, as I said, we must not look
to anything I have to say for the correct
way of describing the non-existent; we
must turn to you for that. Gome along
now.

THEAET. What do you mean?

STR. Come, you are young; show your
spirit and make the best effort you can.
Try, without attributing being or unity or
plurality to the nonexistent, to find some
form of words describing it correctly.

THEAET. I should need an extra- [c]
ordinary zeal for such an enterprise in
face of what has happened to you.

(b) Definition of eidolon [239c-242B]
and the problem of -false statement and
belief

STR. Well, if you agree, we will leave
ourselves out of account; and until we
meet with someone who can perform
this feat, let us say that the Sophist with
extreme cunning has found an im
penetrable lurking-place. 17

THEAET. It certainly seems so.

16 Read r}&gt; C W for ro&ro

17 It must be remembered that the various
senses of "that which is not" are only gradual
ly being disclosed. The Sophist does not lurk
in the region of nonentity, above dealt with,
but in the field of the not wholly read and
the false which we are now entering.

THE SOPHIST

225

STR. Accordingly, if we axe going to
say he possesses an art of creating "sem
blances/ 5 he will readily take advan- [D]
tage of our handling our arguments in
this way to grapple with us and turn
them against ourselves. When we call
him a maker of images, he will ask what
on earth we mean in speaking of an
"image" at all. So we must consider,
Theaetetus, how this truculent person s
question is to be answered.

THEAET. Clearly we shall say we mean
images in water or in mirrors, and again
images made by the draughtsman or the
sculptor, and any other things of that
sort.

STR. It is plain, Theaetetus, that you
have never seen a Sophist. [E]

THEAET. Why?

STR. He will make as though his eyes
were shut or he had no eyes at all.

THEAET. HOW SO?

STR. When you offer him your answer
in such terms, if you speak of something
to be found in mirrors or in sculpture,
he will laugh at your words, as implying
that he can see. He will profess to [240]
know nothing about mirrors or water or
even eyesight, and will confine his ques
tion to what can be gathered from dis
course.

THEAET. Namely?

STR. The common character in all
these things you mentioned and thought
fit to call by a single name when you
used the expression "image" as one term
covering them all. State it, then, and
hold your ground against the man with
out yielding an inch.

THEAET. Well, sir, what could we say
an image was, if not another thing of the
same sort, copied from the real thing?

STR. "Of the same sort"? Do you [2]
mean another real thing, or what does
"of the same sort" signify?

THEAET. Certainly not real, but like it.

STR. Meaning by "real" a thing that
really exists.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And by "not real" the opposite of
real?

THEAET. Of course.

STR. Then by what is "like" you mean
what has not real existence, 18 if you are
going to call it "not real."

THEAET. But it has some sort of ex
istence.

STR. Only not real existence, according
to you.

THEAET. No; except that it is really a
likeness,

STR. So, not having real existence, it
really is what we call a likeness? 19

THEAET. Real and unreal do seem [c]
to be combined in that perplexing way,
and very queer it is.

STR. Queer indeed. You see that now
again by dovetailing them together in
this way our hydra-headed Sophist has
forced us against our will to admit that
what is not" has some sort of being.

THEAET. Yes, I do.

STR. And what now? How can we de
fine his art without contradicting our
selves?

THEAET. How do you mean? What sort
of contradiction do you fear?

STR. When we say that he deceives [D]
with that semblance we spoke of and
that his art is a practice of deception,
shall we be saying that, as the effect of
his art, our mind thinks what is false, or
what shall we mean?

THEAET. Just that. What else could we
mean?

STR. And false thinking, again, will be
thinking things contrary to the things
that are? 20

18 Reading OVK OVTUS [ov/c] ov with Burnet
and others.

19 Reading O&K ^v &p& [ow] OVT&lt;OS The sub
ject "it" is, as in the previous sentences, ro
IOM&S, i.e. 5\oj&gt; the term we are defining.
The paradox lies in saying that an $&lt;a\ov 9
which is not real, really is a likeness.

20 "The things that are." "The facts"
would be a more natural translation, but at
this stage it seems better to keep the vaguer
expression. "Things that are not" (falsehoods)
are things which are contrary to the facts and
yet must have some sort of being, for we
have already said that we cannot think sheer
nonentity.

226

PLATO

THEAET. Yes.

STR. You mean, then, by false think-
ing, thinking things that are not?

THEAET. Necessarily.

STR. Does that mean thinking that [E]
things that are not, are not, or that
things that are not in any way, in some
way are?

THEAET. It must at least mean think
ing that things that are not 21 are hi some
way, if anyone is ever to be hi error even
to the smallest extent.

STR. And also surely thinking that
things which certainly 22 are, are not in
any way at all?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. That also is error?

THEAET. Yes, that also.

STR. And a false statement, 23 I sup
pose, is to be regarded in the same light,
as stating that things that are, are [241]
not, and that things that are not, are.

THEAET. Yes. How else could it be
false?

STR. Hardly in any other way. But the
Sophist will deny that. How could a
sensible man agree, when the admissions
we made earlier are set beside this one?
We understand, Theaetetus, what he is
referring to?

THEAET. Of course we understand. He
will say that we are contradicting what
was said just now, when we have the [B]
face to say that falsehoods exist in
thoughts and in statements; for we are
constantly being obliged to attribute

21 Theaetetus does not repeat the Stranger s
suggestion rfc tnfiajjws owros, but correctly sub
stitutes rot pdi ovra, things which are not the
fact, but are not (as ft^a/Ms might suggest)
sheer nonentities.

22 it&yrtos 3 "in any case" : "things which
certainly have being* (not itavre&s, "things
which have the fullest sort of being or real
ity"). The whole means "denying any ex
istence to facts which certainly do exist."

23 "Statement" is the best rendering for
kayos not "proposition," because of its modern
uses. For Plato a "statement" is simply the
utterance in speech of a judgment made by
the mind in its silent dialogue with itself
(263E, and Theaet. 189E, 206D, 208c).

what has being to what is not, after
agreeing just now that this was alto
gether impossible. 24

STR. Your recollection is correct. But
you must now consider what we are to
do about the Sophist; for if we pursue
our search for Vn rn by ranking him under
the art of the illusionists and creators of
error, you see what an easy opening we
offer to many perplexities and counter
attacks.

THEAET. I do.

STR. They are almost without num- [3]
ber and we have stated only a small
fraction of them.

THEAET. If that is so, it looks as if it
were impossible to catch the Sophist.

STR. What then? Are we to lose heart
and give up now?

THEAET. I don t think we ought to, if
we have the least chance of being able
to lay hands on him somehow.

STR. Then I may count on your in
dulgence, and, as you now say, you will
be content if we can by some twist free
ourselves, even to the least extent, from
the grip of so powerful an argument?

THEAET. By all means.

STR. Then I have another still more
pressing request. [D]

THEAET. What is that?

STR. That you will not think I am
turning into a sort of parricide.

THEAET. In what way?

STR. We shall find it necessary in self-
defence to put to the question that pro
nouncement of father Parmenides, and
establish by main force 25 that what is
not, in some respect has being, and con
versely that what is, in a way is not.

THEAET. It is plain that the course of
the argument requires us to maintain
that at all costs.

24 This is the "earlier admission" referred
to: "Nothing that exists (such as "Being")
must be attributed to the non-existent"
(238A) 3 an admission already recalled at
238E.

25 0t&eir8ai may allude to Parmenides own
word Sa/Mj (So^of*) in the lines quoted above.

THE SOPHIST

227

STR. Plain enough for the blind to [E]
see, as they say. Unless these propositions
are either refuted or accepted, anyone
who talks of false statements or false
judgment as being images or likenesses
or copies or semblances, or of any of the
arts concerned with such things, can
hardly escape becoming a laughing-stock
by being forced to contradict himself.
THEAET. Quite true.
STR. That is why we must now [242]
dare to lay unfilial hands on that pro
nouncement, or else, if some scruple
holds us back, drop the matter entirely.
THEAET. As for that, we must let no
scruple hinder us.

STR. In that case, for the third time,
I have a small favour to ask.

THEAET. You have only to mention it.
STR. I believe I confessed just now
that on this point the task of refutation
has always proved too much for my
powers, and still does so.
THEAET. You did say that.
STR. Well, that confession, I am
afraid, may make you think me scatter
brained when at every turn I shift my [B]
position to and fro. It is for your satis
faction that we shall attempt to refute
the pronouncement, if we can refute it.

THEAET. Then you may take it that I
shall never think you are overstepping
the limits by entering on your refutation
and proof. So far as that goes, you may
proceed with an easy mind.

STR. Gome then, where is one to make
a start on so hazardous a theme? I think
I see the path we must inevitably follow.

THEAET. And that is ?

STR. To take first things that are [c]

now supposed to be quite clear 27 and see
whether we are not in some confusion
about them and too easily reaching con
clusions on the assumption that we un
derstand them well enough.

THEAET. Tell me more plainly what
you mean.

STR. It strikes me that Parmenides and
everyone else who has set out to deter
mine how many real things there are and
what they are like, have discoursed to
us in rather an off-hand fashion.

THEAET. HOW SO?

STR. They each and all seem to treat
us as children to whom they are telling
a story. According to one there are three
real things, some of which now carry on
a sort of warfare with one another, [D]
and then make friends and set about
marrying and begetting and bringing up
their children. Another tells us that there
are two Moist and Dry, or Hot and
Cold whom he marries off, and makes
them set up house together. 28 In our
part of the world the Eleatic set, who
hark back to Xenophanes or even earlier,
unfold their tale on the assumption that
what we call "all things" are only one
thing. Later, certain Muses in Ionia and
Sicily perceived that safety lay rather in
combining both accounts and saying [E]
that the real is both many and one and
is held together by enmity and friend
ship. "In parting asunder it is always
being drawn together" say the stricter 29

26 In the coming section TO ov will be trans
lated by "the real" or "reality." This sense
of the word has emerged from the contrast
between the "sort of existence" belonging to
an eidolon, and the real existence of

27 Namely, the meaning of "real," a word
we all use and imagine we understand.

28plato recognises in the pre-Socratic sys
tems the presence of mythical images, especial
ly the two most important: the sex-imagery
of the cosmic Eros, and the warfare of op
posed "powers" (such as Hot and Gold).
These images of Love and Strife can be traced
all through the ancient science of nature, and
survive even in Atomism as the Venus and
Mars of Lucretius.

29 The stricter Muses of Ionia represent the
philosophy of Heracleitus. It was a main
point of his doctrine that the Harmony of
Opposite essentially involves a tension or
strife that is never resolved. There is no peace
without war.

228

PLATO

of these Muses. The milder 30 relax the
rule that this should always be so and
tell us of alternate states, in which [243]
the universe is now one and at peace
through the power of Love, and now
many and at war with itself owing to
some sort of Strife.

In all this, whether any one of them
has told the truth or not is a hard ques
tion, and it is in bad taste to find fault
so grossly with men of long-established
fame. But one observation may be made
without offence.

THEAET. And that is ?

STR. That they have shown too little
consideration for ordinary people like
ourselves in talking over our heads, [B]
Each school pursues its own argument to
the conclusion without caring whether
we follow what they say or get left be
hind.

THEAET. How do you mean?

STR. When one or another of them in
his discourse uses these expressions "there
really are" or "have come to be" or
"are coming to be" "many things" or
"one thing" or "two/ 9 or again another
speaks 31 of "Hot being mixed with
Cold/ assuming "combinations" and
"separations/ 5 do you, Theaetetus under
stand a single word they say? Speaking
for myself, when I was younger I thought
I understood quite clearly when some
one spoke of this thing that is now puz
zling us "the unreal." But now you see
how completely perplexed we are about
that

THEAET. I do. [G]

STR, Possibly, then, our minds are in

30 The milder Muses of Sicily (Empedo-
cles) recognised a Reign of Love (without
Strife) and, at the opposite pole, a Reign of
Strife (without Love). Between these polar
states, worlds come into being and pass away.
In one half of the cycle a world is formed
by Love gaining upon Strife, in the other, by
Strife gaining upon Love.

3 ^ Reading &AAW *nt-n (Rademacher, Dies)
for ofAAo^ TCy, which is pointless, whether it
means "elsewhere in his discourse" or "else
where in the universe."

the same state of confusion about reality.
We profess to be quite at our ease about
the real and to understand the word
when it is spoken though we may not
understand the unreal, when perhaps
we are equally in the dark about both.
THEAET. Perhaps.

STR. And we may take it that the same
is true of the other expressions I have
just mentioned.
THEAET. Certainly.

STR. The general run of these expres
sions we will consider later, if we so
decide. We must begin now with the [D]
chief and most important of them all.

THEAET. Which is that? Of course you
mean we ought to begin by studying
"reality" and finding out what those who
use the word think it stands for.

STR. You have hit my meaning pre
cisely, Theaetetus; I do mean that we
must take this line. Imagine them here
before us, and let us put this question:
"You who say that Hot and Gold or
some such pair really are all things, what
exactly does this expression convey [E]
that you apply to both when you say
that they both are real or each of
them is real ? How are we to understand
this reality 5 you speak of? Are we to
suppose it is a third thing alongside the
other two and that the All is no longer,
as you say, two things, but three? For
surely you do not give the name reality
to one of the two and then say that both
alike are real; for then there will be only
one thing, whichever of the two it may
be, and not two."
THEAET. True.

STR. "Well then, do you intend to give
the name reality to the pair of them?"
THEAET. Perhaps.

STR. "But that again," we shall [244]
object, "will clearly be speaking of your
two things as one."

THEAET. You are quite right.

STR. "We are completely puzzled, then,

and you must clear up the question for

us, what you do intend to signify when

you use the word real. Obviously you

THE SOPHIST

229

must be quite familiar with what you
mearij whereas we, who formerly im
agined we knew, are now at a loss. First,
then 3 enlighten us on just this point, so
that we may not fancy we understand
what you have to tell us, when in fact
we are as far as possible from under- [B]
standing."

If we put our case in that way to these
people and to any others who say that
the All is more than one thing, will there
be anything unwarrantable in our re
quest?

THEAET. Not at all.

Criticism of Parmenides 9 [244s-245E]
One Real Being

STR. Again, there are those who say
that the All is one thing. Must we not
do our best to find out what they mean
by "reality"?

THEAET. Surely.

STR. Let them answer this question,
then: "You say, we understand, that
there is only one thing?" "We do," they
will reply, won t they?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. "And there is something to which
you give the name real?"

THEAET. Yes.

STR. "Is it the same thing as that [c]
to which you give the name one? Are
you applying two names to the same
thing, or what do you mean?"

THEAET. What will their next answer
be?

STR. Obviously, Theaetetus, it is not so
very easy for one who has laid down
their fundamental assertion to answer
this question or any other.

THEAET. HOW SO?

STR. In the first place, it is surely
absurd for him to admit the existence of
two names, when he has laid down that
there is no more than one thing.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. And further, it is equally [D]
absurd to allow anyone to assert that a
name can have any existence, when that
would be inexplicable.

THEAET. How is it inexplicable?

STR. If, on the one hand, he assumes
that the name is different from the thing,
he is surely speaking of two things.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Whereas, if he assumes that the
name is the same as the thing, either he
will have to say it is not the name of
anything, or if he says it is the name of
something, it will follow that the name
is merely a name of a name and of noth
ing else whatsoever.

THEAET. That is so.

STR. . . . 32

THEAET. Necessarily.

STR. And what of "the whole"? Will
they say that this is other than their "one
real thing" or the same?

THEAET. Certainly that is the same. [E]
In fact they do say so.

STR. Then if it is a whole as indeed
Parmenides says: 33

32 The dilemma stated in the Stranger s last
two speeches is complete. It has been shown
that die very existence of a name is inexpli
cable, whether it be distinct from the thing
or identical with it. This argument applies
equally to the name "real" and to the name
"one," and there is no need for any special
application of it to the name "one." The
speech here omitted is corrupt. It looks as if
it might be intended to make that special
application; but since that is not wanted, it
is impossible to restore the sense with any
probability. The oldest evidence for the text
is Simplicius, Phys. 89: teal rb & ye evks & (eV
om. D) ov fuSvov K&lt;xl rov bvofAO&ros OJurJ&gt; %v *ov.
This ( including &0 agrees with the Bodleian
(B) of Plato. The view that Ms eV can
mean "unity of a unity" is rightly rejected by
Ritter (N. Unters. 15), who adopts the read
ing of T: Kal rfc %v 7 evbs *ov rfvov (sa^j/ojua?
ffvp&jffcrat), K&l rovro Mfjtoeros, abro ^rb?) %v 8y,
"And it will result too that One (they talk
of) will be the name of itself only, and that
the name (not of a different objective reality,
but) of a name (the name "one"), while yet
it is the One itself." The last words here are
barely intelligible, and the whole statement
seems to have no point. If the speech, together
with Theaetetus previous reply ovrcw, were
simply omitted, it would not be missed.
33 Frag. 8, 43.

230

PLATO

"Every way like the mass of a well-
rounded sphere, evenly balanced from the
midst in every direction; for there must
not be something more nor something
less here than there"

if the real is like that, it has a middle
and extremities, and consequently it
must have parts, must it not?

THEAET. It must.

STR. Well, if a thing is divided [245]
into parts, there is nothing against its
having the property of unity as applied
to the aggregate of all the parts and
being in that way one, as being a sum
or whole.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. On the other hand, the thing
which has these properties cannot be just
Unity itself, can it?

THEAET. Why not?

STR. Surely Unity in the true sense and
rightly defined must be altogether with
out parts.

THEAET. Yes, it must.

STR. Whereas a thing such as we [B]
described, consisting of several parts, will
not answer to that definition.

THEAET. I see.

STR. Then, (A) is the Real one and a
whole in the sense that it has the prop
erly of unity, or (B) are we to say that
the Real is not a whole at all?

THEAET. That is a hard choice.

STR. Quite true. For if (A) the real
has the property of being in a sense one,
it will evidently not be the same thing
as Unity, and so all things will be more
than one.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And again (B) if the Real is [c]
not a whole by virtue of having this
property of unity while (a) at the same
time Wholeness itself is real, it follows
that the Real falls short of itself.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. So, on this line of argument too,
the Real will be deprived of reality and
will not be a thing that is.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And further, once more all things

will be more than one, since Reality on
the one side and Wholeness on the other
have now each a distinct nature.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. But if, (b) on the other hand,
there is no such thing as Wholeness at
all, not only are the same things true of
the Real, but also that, besides not being
a thing that really is, it could never even
become such.

THEAET. Why not? [D]

STR. Whenever a thing comes into
being, at that moment it has come to be
as a whole; accordingly, if you do not
reckon unity or wholeness among real
things, you have no right to speak of
either being or coming-into-being as
having any existence.

THEAET. That seems perfectly true.

STR. And further, what is not a whole
cannot have any definite number either;
for if a thing has a definite number, it
must amount to that number, whatever
it may be, as a whole.

THEAET. Assuredly.

STR. And countless other difEcul- [E]
ties, each involved in measureless per
plexity, will arise, if you say that the real
is either two things or only one.

THEAET. That is plain enough from
those we have had a glimpse of now.
One leads to another, and each carries
us further into a wilderness of doubt
about every theory as it is mentioned.

The Battle of Gods and [245E-246E]
Giants: Idealists and Materialists

STR. So much, then, for those who give
an exact account of what is real or un
real. .We have not gone through them
all, but let this suffice. Now we must
turn to look at those who put the matter
in a different way, so that, from a com
plete review of all, we may see that re
ality is just as hard to define as unreality.

THEAET. We had better go on, then,
to their position.

STR. What we shall see 34 is [246A]

34 K cti fAiv 9 as in tragedy, where a person
on the stage calls attention to the entry of a
fresh character.

THE SOPHIST

231

something like a Battle of Gods and
Giants going on between them over their
quarrel about reality.

THEAET. HOW SO?

STR. One party is trying to drag every
thing down to earth out of heaven and
the unseen, literally grasping rocks and
trees in their hands; for they lay hold
upon every stock and stone and strenu
ously affirm that real existence belongs
only to that which can be handled and
offers resistance to the touch. They de
fine reality as the same thing a body, [B]
and as soon as one of the opposite party
asserts that anything without a body is
real, they are utterly contemptuous and
will not listen to another word.

THEAET. The people you describe are
certainly a formidable crew. I have met
quite a number of them before now.

STR. Yes, and accordingly their ad
versaries are very wary in defending their
position somewhere in the heights of the
unseen, maintaining with all their force
that true reality consists in certain in
telligible and bodiless Forms. In the clash
of argument they shatter and pulverise
those bodies which their opponents [c]
wield, and what those others allege to
be true reality they call, not real being,
but a sort of moving process of becom
ing. On this issue an interminable battle
is always going on between the two
camps.

THEAET. True.

STR. Suppose, then, we challenge each
party in turn to render an account of the
reality they assert.

THEAET. How shall we do so?

STR. It will be easier to obtain from
those who place reality in Forms, be
cause they are more civilised; harder, [D]
from those whose violence would drag
everything down to the level of body
perhaps, all but impossible. However, I
think I see the right way to deal with
them.

THEAET. What is that?

STR. Best of all, if it were anyhow pos
sible, would be to bring about a real
change of heart; but if that is beyond

our power, to imagine them reformed
and assume them willing to moderate
their present lawlessness in answering
our questions. The better a man s char
acter is, the more force there will be in
any agreement you make with him.
However, we are not concerned with
them so much as with our search for the
truth.

THEAET. You are quite right. [E]

A mark of the real is of- [246E-248A]
fered for the materialists 9 acceptance

STR. Well then, call upon these re
formed characters to oblige you with an
answer, and you shall act as their spokes
man.

THEAET. I will.

STR. Let them tell us, then, whether
they admit that there is such a thing
as a mortal living creature.

THEAET. Of course they do.

STR. And they will agree that it is a
body animated by a sold?

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. Taking a soul to be something
real?

THEAET. Yes. [247]

STR. Again, they allow that one soul
may be just, another unjust, or one wise,
another foolish?

THEAET. Naturally.

STR. And that any soul comes to be
just or the reverse by possessing justice
or the reverse, which is present in it?

THEAET. Yes, they agree to that too.

STR. But surely they will admit that
whatever can come to be present in a
thing or absent from it is certainly a real
thing.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Granted, then, that justice or [B]
wisdom or any other sort of goodness or
badness is real, and moreover that a soul
in which they come to exist is real, do
they maintain that any one of these
things is visible and tangible, or are they
all invisible?

THEAET. They can hardly say that any
one of them is visible.

STR. And do they really assert that

232

PLATO

something that is not visible has a body?

THEAET. That question they do not
answer as a whole without a distinction.
The soul itself, they think, does possess a
sort of body; 35 but when it comes to
wisdom or any of the other things you
asked about, they have not the face
either to accept the inference that [c]
they have no place among real things or
to persist in maintaining that they are
all bodies.

STR. That shows, Theaetetus, that they
are genuinely reformed characters. The
Giants among them, of the true earth-
born breed, would not stick at any point;
they would hold out to the end, that
whatever they cannot squeeze between
their hands is just nothing at all.

THEAET. I dare say that describes their
state of mind,

STR. Let us question them further,
then; for it is quite enough for our pur
pose if they consent to admit that [D]
even a small part of reality is bodiless.
They must now tell us this: when they
say that these bodiless things and the
other things which have body are alike
"real/* what common character that
emerges as covering both sets of things
have they in view? It is possible they may
be at a loss for an answer. If that is their
state of mind, you must consider whether
they would accept at our suggestion a
description of the real and agree to it.

THEAET. What description? Perhaps
we can tell, if you will state it.

STR. I suggest that anything has [E]
real being, that is so constituted as to
possess any sort of power either to affect
anything else or to be affected, in how
ever small a degree, by the most in
significant agent, though it be only once.
I am proposing as a mark to distinguish

35 The soul had been regarded both popu
larly and by philosophers before Plato as con
sisting of a subtle and invisible kind of matter.
The Atomists continued to maintain that it
was composed of atoms, like everything else;
only its atoms were round and so specially
mobile.

real things, that they are nothing but
power. 36

THEAET. Well, they accept that, having
for the moment no better suggestion of
their own to offer.

STR. That will do; for later on [248]
both they and we perhaps may change
our minds. For the present, then, let us
take it that this agreement stands be
tween us and the one party.

THEAET. It does.

The Idealists must con- [248A-249o]
cede that reality includes some changing
things

STR. Let us turn, then, to the opposite
party, the friends of Forms. Once more
you shall act as their spokesman.

THEAET. I will.

STR. We understand that you make a
distinction between "Becoming" and
"Real being" and speak of them as sep
arate. Is that so?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And you say that we have inter
course with 37 becoming by means of the
body through sense, whereas we have
intercourse with Real being by means of
the soul through reflection. And Real
being, you say, is always in the same
unchanging state, whereas Becoming is
variable.

3?AAo rt rt\)iv ^VVUIJLLS. The construction is dif
ficult. I think the sentence ought to mean
that the mark of real things (not the real
things themselves) is nothing but power. This
sense could be obtained if we could translate :
"I am proposing a mark to distinguish real
things that there is nothing else but power
(to serve as such a mark)" or "that it (the
mark) is nothing but power." But neither
rendering seems defensible.

37 Kowcoveiv ("are in touch with," Taylor)
is chosen as a neutral word covering all
forms of cognition, the usual words (efteyoH,
ytyv&tfKcLv, %iti(fra(r9ai 9 aiffO&vecrQai, etc.) being
too much specialised and associated either
with knowledge to the exclusion of sensation
and perception or vice versa, icoivtovelv is "to
enter into relations with." It is used of social
and business intercourse, and also of sexual
intercourse. . . .

THE SOPHIST

233

THEAET. We do. [B]

STR. Admirable. But now what are we
to take you as meaning by this expres
sion "intercourse" which you apply to
both? Don t you mean what we de
scribed a moment ago?

THEAET. What was that?

STR. The experiencing an effect or the
production of one, arising, as the result
of some power, from things that encoun
ter one another. Perhaps, Theaetetus,
you may not be able to catch their an
swer to this, but I, who -am familiar with
them, may be more successful.

THEAET. What have they to say, then?

STR. They do not agree to the prop- [c]
osition we put just now to the earth-
born Giants about reality.

THEAET. You mean ?

STR. We proposed as a sufficient mark
of real things die presence in a thing of
the power of being acted upon or of
acting in relation to however insignif
icant a thing.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Well, to that they reply that a
power of acting and being acted upon
belongs to Becoming, but neither of these
powers is compatible with Real being.

THEAET. And there is something in
that answer?

STR. Something to which we must [D]
reply by a request for more enlighten
ment. Do they acknowledge further that
the soul knows and Real being is known?

THEAET. Certainly they agree to that.

STR. Well, do you agree that knowing
or being known is an action, or is it
experiencing an effect, or both? Or is
one of them experiencing an effect, the
other an action? Or does neither of
them come under either of these heads
at all? 38

38 The Stranger puts all the possible ways
of regarding knowing. He does not suggest
that it must be an action, not a being-acted-
upon, but that it may be either, or both, or
neither. The Idealists in their next reply take
up only one of these suggestions that know
ing is an action and object to that.

THEAET. Evidently neither; otherwise
our friends would be contradicting what
they said earlier.

STR. I see what you mean. They [E]
would have to say this: 39 If knowing is
to be acting on something, it follows that
what is known must be acted upon 40 by
it; and so, on this showing, Reality when
it is being known by the act of knowl
edge must, in so far as it is known, be
changed owing to being so acted upon;
and that, we say, cannot happen to the
changeless.

THEAET. Exactly.

STR. But tell me, in heaven s name:
are we really to be so easily convinced
that change, life, soul, understanding
have no place in that which is perfectly
real that it has neither life nor [249]
thought, but stands immutable in solemn
aloofness, devoid of intelligence?

THEAET. That, sir, would be a strange
doctrine to accept.

STR. But can we say it has intelligence
without having life?

THEAET. Surely not.

STR. But if we say it contains both, can
we deny that it has soul in which they
reside?

THEAET. How else could it possess
them?

STR. But then, if it has intelligence,
life, and soul, can we say that a living
thing remains at rest in complete change-
lessness?

THEAET. All that seems to me unrea
sonable. [B]

STR. In that case we must admit that
what changes and change itself are real
things.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. From this, however, it follows,
Theaetetus, first, that, if all things are

ye (sc.

39 HE,

What follows is put into the mouths of the
Idealists, who state their objection to regard
ing knowing as an action. They ignore the
possibility that knowing is an affection of the
soul, acted upon by the object.

40 Of "affected" a rendering that more
clearly implies suffering some change,

234

PLATO

unchangeable 41 no intelligence can really
exist anywhere hi anything with regard
to any object.

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. And, on the other hand, if we
allow that all things are moving and
changing, on that view equally we shall
be excluding intelligence from the class
of real things.

THEAET. HOW SO?

-STR. Do you think that, without rest,
there could ever be anything that abides
constant in the same condition and in
the same respects? [a]

THEAET. Certainly not.

STR. And without such objects can you
make out that intelligence exists or could
ever exist anywhere?

THEAET. It would be quite impossible.

STR. Well then, all the force of rea
soning must be enlisted to oppose anyone
who tries to maintain any assertion about
anything at the same time that he sup
presses knowledge or understanding or
intelligence.

THEAET. Most certainly.

STR. On these grounds, then, it seems
that only one course is open to the phi
losopher who values knowledge and the
rest above all else. He must refuse to
accept from the champions either [D]
of the One or of the many Forms 42 the
doctrine that all Reality is changeless;
and he must turn a deaf ear to the other
party who represent Reality as every
where changing. Like a child begging
for "both," he must declare that Reality

41 The point is that, if the whole of Reality-
excludes change, intelligence (which involves
life and therefore change) will have no real
existence anywhere.

42 As Ritter (Platan ii, 132) remarks, no
one could ever have doubted that the Friends
of Forms include the Platonic Socrates of the
Phaedo and Republic, if the temporal se
quence of the dialogues had been correctly
determined earlier than it was. Ritter himself
identifies the Friends of Forms with members
of the Academy who took the doctrines of
personal immortality and of bodiless Forms,
as set forth in the Phaedo, more seriously and
literally than Plato himself intended.

or the sum of things is both at once all
that is unchangeable and all that is in
change.

THEAET. Perfectly true.

Transition. What does the [249D-25U]
idealist mean by "real"?

STR. Well then, does it not look now
as if we had fairly caught reality within
the compass of our description?

THEAET. Certainly it does.

STR. And yet oh dear, Theaetetus,
what if I say after all that I think it is
just at this point that we shall come to
see how baffling this question of reality
is?

THEAET. How so? Why do you say
that? [E]

STR. My good friend, don t you see
that now we are wholly in the dark
about it, though we fancy we are talk
ing good sense?

THEAET. I certainly thought so, and I
don t at all understand how we can be
deceived about our condition.

STR. Then consider these last conclu
sions of ours more carefully, and wheth
er, when we agree to them, we might
not fairly be posed with the same [250]
question we put earlier to those who
said that the sum of things "really is"
Hot and Cold.

THEAET. You must remind me what
that question was.

STR. By all means; and I will try to do
it by questioning you in the same way
as I questioned them, so that we may
get a little further at the same time.

THEAET. Very good.

STR. Come along then. When you
speak of Movement and Rest, these are
things completely opposed to one an
other, aren t they?

THEAET. Of course.

STR. At the same time you say of both
and of each severally, that they are real?

THEAET. I do. [B]

STR. And when you admit that they
are real, do you mean that either or both
are in movement?

THEAET. Certainly not.

THE SOPHIST

235

STR. Then, perhaps, by saying both
are real you mean they are both at rest?

THEAET. No, how COuld I?

STR. So, then, you conceive of reality
(realness) as a third thing over and
above these two; and when you speak
of both as being real, you mean that you
are taking both movement and rest to
gether as embraced by reality and fixing
your attention on their common associa
tion with reality?

THEAET. It does seem as if we [c]
discerned reality as a third thing, when
we say that movement and rest are real.

STR. So reality is not motion and rest
"both at once," but something distinct
from them.

THEAET. Apparently.

STR. In virtue of its own nature, then,
reality is neither at rest nor in move
ment.

THEAET. I SUppOSe SO.

STR. If so, where is the mind to turn
for help if one wants to reach any clear
and certain conclusion about reality?

THEAET. Where indeed?

STR. It seems hard to find help in [D]
any quarter. If a thing is not in move
ment, how can it not be at rest? Or
how can what is not in any way at rest
fail to be in movement? Yet reality is
now revealed to us as outside both alter
natives. Is that possible?

THEAET. As impossible as anything
could be.

STR. Then there is one thing that
ought to be remembered at this point.

THEAET. And that is ?

STR. That we were completely puzzled
when we were asked to what the name
"unreal" should be applied. You re
member?

THEAET. Of course.

STR. And now we are in no less per
plexity about reality? [E]

THEAET. In even greater, I should say,
sir, if that be possible.

STR.. Let us take it, then, that our
difficulty is now completely stated. But
since reality and unreality are equally
puzzling, there is henceforward some

hope that any light, whether dim or
bright, thrown upon the one will illumin
ate the other to an equal degree,* and if,
on the other hand, we cannot get [251]
sight of either, at any rate we will make
the best we can of it under these condi
tions and force a passage through the
argument with both elbows at once.
THEAET. Very good.

The Combination of Forms

and the Problem
of Negative Statements

Exclusion of the trivial ques- [25lA-c]
j how one individual thing can have
many names

STR. Let us explain, then, how it is
that we call the same thing whatever
is in question at the moment by several
names.

THEAET, For instance? Give me an
example.

STR. Well, when we speak of a man
we give him many additional names:
we attribute to him colours and shapes
and sizes and defects and good qualities;
and in all these and countless other state
ments we say he is not merely a "man"
but also "good" and any number of [B]
other things. And so with everything
else: we take any given thing as one
and yet speak of it as many and by
many names.

THEAET. True.

STR. And thereby, I fancy, we have
provided a magnificent entertainment
for the young and for some of their
elders who have taken to learning late
in life. Anyone can take a hand in the
game and at once object that many
things cannot be one, nor one thing
many; indeed, they delight in forbidding
us to speak of a man as "good"; we must
only speak of a good as good, and of [c]
the man as man. I imagine, Theaetetus,
you often meet with these enthusiasts,
sometimes elderly men who, being poor-

236

PLATO

ly endowed with intelligence, gape with
wonder at these discoveries and fancy
they have lighted here on the very treas
ure of complete wisdom.
THEAET. I have indeed.

Proof that some Forms will combine,
others will not [251c-252E]

sra. Well then, we want our argu
ment to be addressed to all alike who
have ever had anything to say about
existence; so let us take it that the [D]
questions we shall put now are intended
not only for these people but for all
those others whom we have been convers
ing with earlier.

THEAET. And what are the questions?

STR. Are we not to attach Existence
to Motion and Rest, nor anything else
to anything else, but rather to treat them
in our discourse as incapable of any
blending or participation in one an
other? Or are we to lump them all to
gether as capable of association with one
another? Or shall we say that this is
true of some and not of others? Which
of these possibilities shall we say they
prefer, Theaetetus? [E]

THEAET. I am not prepared to answer
that on their behalf.

STR. Then why not answer the ques
tions one at a time and see what are
the consequences in each case?

THEAET. Very good.

STR. And first, if you like, let us sup
pose them to say that nothing has any
capacity for combination with anything
else for any purpose. Then Movement
and Rest will have no part in Existence.

THEAET. No. [252]

STR. Well then, will either of them
exist, if it has no association with Ex
istence?

THEAET. No, it will not exist.

STR. That admission seems to make
short work of all theories; it upsets at
one blow those who have a universe in
motion, and those who make it a motion
less unity, and all who say their realities
exist in Forms that are always the same

in all respects; 43 for they all attribute
existence to things, some saying they
really are in movement, some that they
really are at rest.

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. And further, those who make [B]
all things come together at one time and
separate at another, whether they bring
innumerable things into a unity and out
of a unity, or divide things into and
combine them out of a limited set of
elements; no matter whether they sup
pose this to happen in alternation or to
be going on all the time however it
may be, all this would be meaningless
if there is no blending at all. 44

THEAET. True.

STR. Moreover, the greatest absurdity
of all results from pursuing the theory
of those very people who will not allow
one thing to share in the quality of an
other and so be called by its name.

THEAET. HOW SO? [c]

STR. Why, in referring to anything
they cannot help using the words
"being" and "apart" and "from the
others" and "by itself" and any number
more. They cannot refrain from these
expressions or from connecting them in
their statements, and so need not wait
for others to refute them; the foe is in
their own household, as the saying goes,
and, like that queer fellow Eurycles. 45
they carry about with them wherever
they go a voice in their own bellies to
contradict them.

THEAET. True; your comparison is [D]
very much to the purpose.

43 The three classes mentioned above
(249s) at the end of the argument with the
idealists. The earlier philosophers are recalled
in the next speech.

44 "No blending" means no blending of
Forms. If no Form partakes of any other, the
statements that "Motion exists" and "Rest
exists" are either false or meaningless. If that
is so, it follows that physical things cannot
partake of Motion or of Rest; and this is
fatal to all cosmologies.

45 A ventriloquist, mentioned by Aristoph
anes.

THE SOPHIST

237

STR. Well, suppose we allow that all
are capable of combining with one an
other.

THEAET. Even I can dispose of that
suggestion.

STR. How?

THEAET. Because then Movement it
self would come to a complete stand
still, and again Rest itself would be in
movement, if each were to supervene
upon the other.

STR. And that is to the last degree im
possible that Movement should come
to be at rest and Rest be in motion?

THEAET. Surely.

STR. Then only the third choice is left.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And observe that one of these
alternatives must be true: either all [E]
will blend, or none, or some will and
some will not.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. And two of the three have been
found impossible.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Whoever, then, wishes to give a
right answer will assert the remaining
one.

THEAET. Quite so.

The texture of philosophic discourse 46

[252E-253c]

STR. Then since some will blend, some
not, they might be said to be in the
same case with the letters of the [253]
alphabet. Some of these cannot be con
joined, others will fit together.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. And the vowels are specially good
at combination a sort of bond pervad
ing them all, so that without a vowel
the others cannot be fitted together.

THEAET. That is so.

STR. And does everyone 47 know which

46 Rep. vi, 51 IB. The phrase texture of
discourse" is based on Plato s later remark
that "all discourse depends on the weaving
together (&lt;rv prelaw) of Forms" (259E below).

47 In Burnet s text (1899) it* is mis
printed for it&s.

can combine with which, or does one
need an art to do it rightly?

THEAET. It needs art.

STR. And that art is ?

THEAET. Grammar.

STR. Again, is it not the same with
sounds of high or low pitch? To [B]
possess the art of recognising the sounds
that can or can not be blended is to be
a musician; if one doesn t understand
that, one is unmusical.

THEAET. True.

STR. And we shall find differences of
the same sort between competence and
incompetence in any other art.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. Well, now that we have agreed
that the Kinds stand towards one an
other in the same way as regards blend
ing, is not some science needed as a
guide on the voyage of discourse, if one
is to succeed in pointing out which Kinds
are consonant, and which are incom
patible with one another; also, whether
there are certain Kinds that pervade [a]
them all and connect them so that they
can blend, and again, where there are
divisions (separations), whether there
are certain others that traverse wholes
and are responsible for the division?

THEAET. Surely some science is need
ed perhaps the most important of all.

Description of the science of Dialectic

[253c-254B]

STR. And what name shall we give
to this science? Or good gracious,
Theaetetus, have we stumbled unawares
upon the free man s knowledge and, in
seeking for the Sophist, chanced to find
the Philosopher first?

THEAET. How do you mean?

STR. Dividing according to Kinds, not
taking the same Form for a different [D]
one or a different one for the same is
not that the business of the science of
Dialectic?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And the man who can do that
discerns clearly one Form everywhere

238

PLATO

extended throughout many, where each
one lies apart, and many Forms, different
from one another, embraced from with
out by one Form; and again one Form
connected in a unity through many
wholes, and many Forms, entirely
marked off apart. That means knowing
how to distinguish, Kind by Kind, in [E]
what ways the several Kinds can or can
not combine.

THEAET. Most certainly.

STR. And the only person, I imagine,
to whom you would allow this mastery
of Dialectic is the pure and rightful lov
er of wisdom.

THEAET. To whom else could it be al
lowed?

STR. It is, then, in some such region
as this that we shall find the Philosopher
now or later, if we should look for him.
He too may be difficult to see clear- [254]
ly; but the difficulty in his case is not
the same as in the Sophist s.

THEAET. What is the difference?

STR. The Sophist takes refuge in the
darkness of Not-being, where he is at
home and has the knack of feeling his
way; and it is the darkness of the place
that makes him so hard to perceive.

THEAET. That may well be.

STR. Whereas the Philosopher, whose
thoughts constantly dwell upon the na
ture of reality, is difficult to see because
his region is so bright; for the eye of
the vulgar soul cannot endure to keep [B]
its gaze fixed on the divine.

THEAET. That may well be no less true.

STR. Then we will look more closely at
the Philosopher presently, if we are still
in the mind to do so; meanwhile clearly
we must not loosen our grip on the
Sophist until we have studied him
thoroughly.

THEAET. I entirely agree.

Three of the most important Forms,
selected -for purposes of illustration:
Existence, Motion, Rest [254ja-D]

STR. Now that we are agreed, then,

that some of the Kinds will combine with
one another and some will not, and that
some combine to a small extent, others
with a large number, while some pervade
all and there is nothing against their
being combined with everything, let [c]
us next follow up the argument in this
way. We will not take all the Forms, for
fear of getting confused in such a multi
tude, but choose out some of those that
are recognised as most (or very) import
ant, and consider first their several na
tures and then how they stand in respect
of being capable of combination with
one another. In this way, though we
may not be able to conceive Being and
Not-being with perfect clearness, we
may at least give as satisfactory an ac
count of them as we can under the
conditions of our present inquiry, 48 and
see if there is any opening allowing us [D]
to assert that what is not, really is what
is not, and to escape unscathed.

THEAET. Yes, we had better do that.

STR. Now, among the Kinds, those we
were just now discussing Existence it
self and Rest and Motion are very im
portant. 49

THEAET. Quite so.

48 Possibly a hint that in what follows we
shall not draw all the distinctions that a com
plete account would require, or at least not
emphasise those which do not directly bear on
the conclusion desired.

49 This sentence is usually mistranslated,
[j,4yurr&lt;* being rendered as if it were T&gt; ptyurra
and taken as subject; e.g., Campbell: "The
most important kinds are those which we have
just been considering." The point is important
because all these renderings mean that Ex
istence, Motion, and Rest are the most im
portant kinds. Plato does not assert this. The
previous speech said that we would select
"some of those that are recognised as most (or
very) important." The present speech tells us
which these "some" are; but they are only
some of the most important, not the most im
portant. The subject is & vwfy fto}^?: peyHfrct
is predicate, standing first for emphasis and
because it provides the link with the former
speech. We might translate: "Now this de
scription most important (or Very im-

THE SOPHIST

239

STR. And observe, we say that two of
the three will not blend with one an
other. 50

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. Whereas Existence can be blend
ed with both; for surely they both exist.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. So they make three in all.

Two further Forms, Sameness and
Difference, distinct from these three and
all-pervading [254D-255E]

STR. And each one of them (Existence,
Motion, Rest) is different from the other
two 51 and the same as itself.

THEAET. That is so. [E]

STR. But what do we mean by these
words we have just used "same" and
"different"? Are they a pair of Kinds
distinct from those three, though always
necessarily blending with them, so that
we must consider the Forms as five in
all, not three? Or, when we say "same"
or "different," are we unconsciously us
ing a name that belongs to one or [255]
another of those three Kinds?

THEAET. Possibly.

STR. Well, Motion and Rest at any

portant ) among the Kinds does apply to
those we have been discussing, namely Ex
istence, Rest, Motion." Accordingly, we take
those as the "some" we said we would take.
But there are others of the highest importance,
as the earlier speech implied. Sameness and
Difference, presently added, are equally im
portant, and actually "wider" than Mdtion
and Rest, being "all-pervading" like Existence.
These speeches leave open the possibility that
there may be any number of other ptyiffra
7&i7, which we do not require to mention for
our purpose. The consequences of mistransla
tion will be noted presently.

50 The Motion will not blend with Rest
was remarked at 252o. The point of these
sentences is that Existence, Motion, Rest, are
three distinct Forms, no one of them identical
with any other.

51 This statement at once notes that Dif
ference is distinct from Incompatibility; for
Motion and Rest are not incompatible with
Existence.

rate cannot be (identical with) Differ
ence or Sameness.

THEAET. Why not?

STR. Neither Motion nor Rest can be
(identical with) anything that we say
of both of them in common.

THEAET. Why?

STR. Because Motion would then be at
rest, and Rest in motion; for whichever
of the two (Motion or Rest) becomes
applicable to both (by being identified
with either Sameness or Difference,
which are applicable to both) will force
the other (Rest or Motion) to change to
the contrary of its own nature, as thus
coming to partake of its contrary. [B]

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. But both do partake of Sameness
or Difference.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Then we must not say that Same
ness or Difference is (identical with)
Motion, nor yet with Rest. 52

THEAET. No.

STR. Are we, however, to think of Ex
istence and Sameness as a single thing?

52 This argument is highly compressed and
somewhat obscure even with the additions I
have interpolated in the translation. We want
to prove that neither the word "Motion" (or
"being in motion") nor the word "Rest" (or
"being at rest") can mean the same thing as
either the word "Sameness" (or "being the
same") or the word Different" (or "being
different" ). The proof is (1) We know that

Motion blends with Sameness

Rest " " Sameness

Motion " " Difference

Rest " " Difference.

(2) We now say: Anything that can be as
serted of (blends with) both Motion and Rest
and Sameness and Difference do blend with
both cannot be identical with either. (3)
For suppose (for example) that Motion is
identical with Sameness. Then "Motion" can
be substituted for "Sameness" in any state
ment. So the second statement abpve ("Rest
blends with Sameness") becomes "Rest blends
with Motion." But this is false. Therefore
Motion is not identical with Sameness. The
same proof holds of all the other identifica
tions of Motion with Difference, Rest with
Difference, Rest with Sameness.

240

PLATO

THEAET. Perhaps.

STR. But if "Existence" and "Same
ness" have no difference in meaning,
once more, when we say that Motion [c]
and Rest both "exist," we shall thereby
be speaking of them as being "the same."

THEAET. But that is impossible.

STR. Then Sameness and Existence
cannot be one thing.

THEAET. Hardly.

STR. We may, then, set down Same
ness as a fourth Form, additional to our
three.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. And are we to call Difference a
fifth? Or must we think of Difference
and Existence as two names for a single
Kind?

THEAET. Perhaps.

STR. But I suppose you admit that,
among things that exist, some are always
spoken of as being what they are 53 just
in themselves, others as being what tfiey
are with reference to other things.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. And what is different is always [D]
so called with reference to another thing,
isn t it?

THEAET. That is so.

STR. It would not be so, if Existence
and Difference were not very different
things. If Difference partook of both
characters 54 as Existence does, there
would sometimes be, within the class of
different things, something that was dif
ferent not with reference to another
thing. But in fact we undoubtedly find
that whatever is different, as a necessary
consequence, is what it is with reference
to another.

THEAET. It is as you say.

53 The addition of the words "being what
they are" is justified by the statement below
(D7) ^that what is different is what it is (ro06 J
oicep c&lt;rrly) with reference to another thing.

54 I.e.rb we c&r6 and rb itfis &A\O. Note
that Existence, which includes both these
Forms, is said to partake of both. This is one
of the places which show that "partaking"
is symmetrical in the case of Forms.

STR. Then we must call the nature [E]
of Difference a fifth among the Forms
we are singling out.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And moreover we shall say that
this nature pervades all the Forms; for
each one is different from the rest, not
by virtue of its own nature, but because
it partakes of the character of Difference.

THEAET. Quite so.

A review of true statements involving
the five Forms shows that there are any
number of true statements asserting that
"what is" in a sense "is not 33 [255E-257A]

STR. Now, then, taking our five Kinds
one by one, let us make some statements
about them.

THEAET. What statements?

STR. First about Motion: let us say
that Motion is altogether different from
Rest. Or is that not so?

THEAET. It is SO.

STR. So Motion is not Rest.

THEAET. Not in any sense. 55

STR. But Motion is (exists), by virtue
of partaking of Existence. [256]

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And once more Motion is dif
ferent from the Same (Sameness). 56

THEAET. No doubt.

STR. So Motion is not the Same
(Sameness) .

THEAET. No.

STR. But on the other hand, Motion,
we said, is the same as itself, because
everything partakes of the Same (Same
ness) , 57

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. Motion, then, is both the same
and not the Same: we must admit that
without boggling at it. For when we say
it is "the same" and "not the Same"

55 Possibly "altogether different" and "not
in any sense" mean that Motion and Rest are
not only different but also incompatible.
^ 56 In Greek the appearance of contradic
tion is increased by raMv meaning both
"Sameness" and "the same."
57 Reading aevry . . . itav ravrov with Madvig.

THE SOPHIST

241

we are not using the expression in the [B]
same sense: we call it "the same" on ac
count of its participation in the Same
with reference to itself; but we call it
"not the Same" because of its combina
tion with Difference, a combination that
separates it off from the Same (Same
ness) and makes it not the Same but
different, so that we have the right to
say this time that it is "not the Same."

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. So too, supposing Motion itself
did in any way participate in Rest, there
would be nothing outrageous in speaking
of it as stationary. &lt;But it does not in
fact participate in Rest at all.

THEAET. No, it does not.

STR. Whereas it does participate both
in Sameness and in Difference, so that
it is correct to speak of it as both the
same and not the Same.&gt;

THEAET. Perfectly correct, provided
that we are to agree that some of the
Kinds will blend with one another, some
will not.

STR. Well, that is a conclusion we [c]
proved at an earlier stage, when we
showed that such was indeed their na
ture.

THEAET. Of course. 58

58 I understand the argument here as fol
lows. We have just said that Motion is the
same and not the same (as partaking of Dif
ference). The sounds like a contradiction:
how can what is the same partake of Dif
ference? "Same" and "Different" sound as if
they were contraries and so incompatible, like
Motion and Rest, which are contraries and
incompatible. But suppose Motion and Rest
were merely different, not incompatible: then
Motion could partake of Rest and be called
stationary. That is impossible because Motion
and Rest are in fact incompatible. But the
sameness which Motion has towards itself and
the difference it has towards other things are
not incompatible. So there is no contradiction
in saying Motion is the same and not the
same. (Gf. Brochard, Etudes, 143.)

If this is the meaning, the text is intolerably
elliptical and obscure. . . .

Other critics suppose that Plato is suggest
ing that there is, after all, a sense in which

STR. To go back to our statements,
then: is Motion different from Different
(Difference), just as it was other than
the Same (Sameness) and other than
Rest?

THEAET. Necessarily.

STR. Motion, then, in a sense is not
Different, and also is different, in ac
cordance with the argument we stated
just now.

THEAET. True.

STR. What, then of the next point? Are
we to say that Motion is different from
three of the four, but not from the [D]
fourth, when we have agreed that there
were five Kinds in the field we set before
us for examination?

THEAET. How can we? We cannot
allow that their number is less than it
was shown to be.

STR. So we may fearlessly contend that
Motion is different from Existence.

THEAET. Without the smallest fear.

STR. In fact, it is clear that Motion
really is a thing that is not (Existence)
and a thing that is, since it partakes of
Existence.

THEAET. Perfectly clear.

STR. It must, then, be possible for
"that which is not" (i.e. is different from
Existence) to be (to exist), not only in
the case of Motion but of all the other
Kinds. For in the case of them all [E]
the nature of Difference makes each one
of them different from Existence and so
makes it a thing that "is not" ; and hence
we shall be right to speak of them all on
the same principle as things that in this
sense "are not" and again, because they
partake of Existence, to say that they
"are" (exist) and call them things that
have been (existence).

Motion does partake of Rest, e.g. the uniform
motion of a sphere in the same place (Dies),
or because Motion partakes of stability in that
it can be measured and described (Ritter, N.
Unt. 61). But I agree with Brochard that the
reference to earlier statements asserting that
Motion and Rest are incompatible excludes
such interpretations.

242

PLATO

THEAET. No doubt.

STR. So, in the case of every one of
the Forms there is much that it is and
an indefinite number of things that it is
not. 59

THEAET. So it appears.

STR. And, moreover. Existence [257]
itself must be called different from the
rest,

THEAET. Necessarily.

STR. We find, then, that Existence like
wise "is not" in as many respects as
there are other things; for, not being
those others, while it is its single self, it
is not all that indefinite number of other
things.

THEAET. That is so.

STR. Then we must not boggle even at
that conclusion, granted that Kinds are
of a nature to admit combination with
one another. If anyone denies that, he
must win over our earlier arguments to
his side before he tries to win over their
consequences.

THEAET. That is a fair demand,

There are also any number of true
statements asserting that "what is not"
in a sense "is" [257B-258c]

STR. Now let us mark this.

THEAET. Yes?

STR. When we speak of "that which
is not/ 3 it seems that we do not mean
something contrary to what exists but
only something that is different.

THEAET. HOW?

STR. In the same way that when, for
example, we speak of something as "not
tall," we may just as well mean by that
phrase "what is equal" as "what is
short," mayn t we? 60

THEAET. Certainly.

59 This means that many affirmative state
ments are true of any Form, and also any
number of negative statements, expressing its
difference from other Forms. This conclusion
is next applied to Existence itself.

6 "Short" is the contrary of "tall"; but
"equal" is not; so the equal is different from
the tall, not contrary. Similarly "the not-
beautiful" is not necessarily "the ugly."

STR. So, when it is asserted that a
negative signifies a contrary, we shall not
agree, but admit no more than this: [c]
that the prefix "not" indicates something
different from the words that follow or
rather from the things designated by the
words pronounced after the negative.

THEAET. Exactly.

STR. And here, if you agree, is a point
for us to consider.

THEAET. Namely?

STR. The nature of the Different (Dif
ference) 61 appears to the parcelled out,
in the same way as knowledge.

THEAET. HOW SO?

STR. Knowledge also is surely one, but
each part of it that commands a certain
field is marked off and given a special [D]
name proper to itself. Hence language
recognises many arts and forms of knowl
edge. 62

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. And the same thing is true of the
parts of the single nature of the Differ
ent.

THEAET. Perhaps; but shall we explain
how?

STR. There exists a part of the Differ
ent that is set in contrast to the Beauti
ful?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Are we to say it is nameless, or
has it a special name?

THEAET. It has. Whenever we use the
expression "not Beautiful," the thing we
mean is precisely that which is different
from the nature of the Beautiful.

STR. Then tell me this.

THEAET. What? [E]

STR. May we not say that the existence

61 Th6 ambiguity of 66repov in all this sec
tion "the different" (that which is different)
and "Difference itself" will be discussed be
low. [Cornford s discussion has been omitted,
but see note 65 below. W.K.]

62 Knowledge and its species are a mere
illustration. There is no suggestion that the
species of knowledge correspond to "parts of
the Different." Every Form is a part of the
Different, but there is not a species of
knowledge for every Form.

THE SOPHIST

243

of the not-Beautiful is constituted by its
being marked off from a single definite
Kind among existing things and again
set in contrast with something that ex
ists?

THEAET. YeS.

STR. So it appears that the not-Beauti
ful is an instance of something that exists
being set in contrast to something that
exists.

THEAET. Perfectly.

STR. What then? On this showing has
the non-Beautiful any less claim than the
Beautiful to be a thing that exists?
THEAET. None whatever.
STR. And so the not-Tall must be said
to exist just as much as the Tall [258]
itself.

THEAET. Just as much.
STR. And we must also put the not-
Just 63 on the same footing as the Just
with respect to the fact that the one
exists no less than the other.
THEAET. Certainly.

STR. And we shall say the same of all
the rest, since we have seen that the
nature of the Different is to be ranked
among things that exist, and, once it
exists, its parts also must be considered
as existing just as much as anything else.
THEAET. Of course.
STR. So, it seems, when a part of the
nature of the Different and a part of
the nature of the Existent (Existence) [B]
are set in contrast to one another, the
contrast is, if it be permisssible to say
so, as much a reality as Existence itself;
it does not mean what is contrary to
"existent," but only what is different
from that Existent.

THEAET. That is quite clear.
STR. What name are we to give it,
then?

THEAET. Obviously this is just that
"what-is-not" which we were seeking for
the sake of the Sophist.

63 The "not- Just" is not "the unjust," but
any Form that is different from "the Just."
Note that the moral Forms (Beautiful,
Just) once more appear alongside the rest.

STR. Has it then, as you say, an ex
istence inferior to none of the rest in
reality? May we now be bold to say that
"that which is not" unquestionably is a
thing that has a nature of its own [c]
just as the Tall was tall and the Beauti
ful was beautiful, so too with the not-
Tall and the not-Beautiful and in that
sense "that which is not" also, on the
same principle, both was and is what-is-
not, a single Form to be reckoned among
the many realities? Or have we any
further doubts with regard to it,
Theaetetus?

THEAET. None at all t
Conclusion: We have re- [258c-259D]
futed Parmenides 9 dogma that "what is"
cannot in any sense not-be^ and that
"what is not 33 cannot in any sense be

STR. You see, then, that in our dis
obedience to Parmenides we have tres
passed far beyond the limits of his
prohibition.

THEAET. In what way?
STR. In pushing forward on our quest,
we have shown him results in a field
which he forbade us even to explore.

THEAET. HOW?

STR. He says, you remember, [D]

"Never shall this be proved, that things
that are not, are; but keep back thy
thought from this way of inquiry."

THEAET. Yes, he does say that.

STR. Whereas we have not merely
shown that things that are not, are, but
we have brought to light the real char
acter of "not-being." We have shown
that the nature of the Different has [E]
existence and is parcelled out over the
whole field of existent things with re
ference to one another; and of every part
of it that is set in contrast to "that which
is" we have dared to say that precisely
that is really "that which is not."

THEAET, Yes, sir, and I think what we
have said is perfectly true.

STR. Then let no one say that it is the
contrary of the existent that we mean
by "what is not," when we make bold to
say that "what is not" exists. So far as

244

PLATO

any contrary of the existent is concerned,
we have long ago 64 said good-bye to the
question whether there is such a [259]
thing or not and whether any account
can be given of it or none whatsoever.

But with respect to the "what-is-not"
that we have now asserted to exist, an
opponent must either convince us that
our account is wrong by refuting it, or,
so long as he proves unable to do that,
he must accept our statements:

that the Kinds blend with one an
other;

that Existence and Difference pervade
them all, and pervade one another;

that Difference (or the Different), 65
by partaking of Existence, is by virtue
of that participation, but on the other
hand is not that Existence of which it
partakes, but is different; and since it is
different from Existence (or an ex
istent), quite clearly it must be possible 66
that it should be a thing that is not , 67

and again, Existence, having a part [B]
in Difference, will be different from all
the rest of the Kinds; and, because it is
different from them all, it is not any one
of them nor yet all the others put to
gether, but is only itself, 68 with the con-

&* At 238c, where rb fue$afws oV, "the simply
non-existent," was dismissed as not to be
spoken or thought of. There are no true state
ments saying that any Form does not exist.
But it is true of every Form other than Ex
istence itself that it is not (identical with)
Existence.

65 As before, d&repov is verbally ambiguous
and the formula covers the two statements:

( 1 ) that the Form Difference is not (the same
as) Existence, but is (exists) ; (2) that the
different (that which is not so-and-so) is not

(the same as) a thing that is (viz. a certain
existent, the so-and-so differs from), but is
a thing that is (an, existent).

66 %ffriv | &yy/ei7s elvat, "It is possible, nec
essarily, for it to be." Gf 256D, %&lt;frw e avayivris
. . . fTvai, in the same sense.

67 I.e. (1) Difference is not Existence, and

(2) the different is not some other definite
existent with which it is contrasted.

68 Here the distinction between the Form

sequence, again indisputable, that Ex
istence is not myriads upon myriads of
things, and that all the other Kinds in
the same way, whether taken severally
or all together, in many respects are and
in many respects are not.

THEAET. True.

STR. And if anyone mistrusts these ap
parent contradictions, he should study
the question and produce some better [c]
explanation that we have now given;
whereas if he imagines he has discovered
an embarrassing puzzle and takes delight
in reducing argument to a tug of war,
he is wasting his pains on a triviality, as
our present argument declares. There is
nothing clever in such a discovery, nor
is it hard to make; what is hard and at
the same time worth the pains is some
thing different.

THEAET. And that is ?

STR. What I said before: leaving such
quibbling alone as leading nowhere, 69 to
be able to follow our statements step by
step and, in criticising the assertion that
a different thing is the same or the [D]
same thing is different in a certain sense,
to take account of the precise sense and
the precise respect in which they are
said to be one or the other. Merely to
show that in some unspecified way the
same is different or the different is the
same, the tall short, the like unlike, and
to take pleasure in perpetually parading
such contradictions in argument that is
not genuine criticism, but may be re
cognised as the callow offspring of a too
recent contact with reality.

THEAET. I quite agree.

Existence as discussed in all this section and
the Existent (the Real, the whole world of
real Forms) is clearly recognised. The cor
responding statements are: (1) Existence is
not (the same as any other Form), but is (the
same as) itself,- (2) the Existent (any Form
or group of Forms) is not (the same as) any
other existent, but is (exists).

69 kvivvrot, (Badham) seems to be the most
probable correction of tiw&rto yet proposed.

THE SOPHIST

245

False Speaking and Thinking

Introductory statement of [259o-261c]
the problem

STR. Yes, my friend, and the attempt
to separate everything from every other
thing not only strikes a discordant [E]
note but amounts to a crude defiance of
the philosophic Muse.

THEAET. Why?

STR. This isolation of everything from
everything else means a complete aboli
tion of all discourse; for any discourse
we can have owes its existence to the
weaving together of Forms.

THEAET. True.

STR. Observe, then, how oppor- [260]
tune was our struggle with those sepa
ratists, when we forced them to allow
one Form to blend with another.

THEAET. In what respect?

STR. In respect of securing the position
of discourse as one of the kinds of things
that exist. To rob us of discourse would
be to rob us of philosophy. That would
be the most serious consequence; but,
besides that, we need at the present mo
ment to come to an agreement about the
nature of discourse, and if its very ex
istence had been taken from us, we
should naturally not be able to dis- [B]
course any further. And that would have
happened, if we had yielded the point
that there is no blending of any one
Form with another.

THEAET. That is certainly true. But I
do not understand why we need an
agreement about discourse at the present
moment.

STR. I may be able to suggest a line of
thought that will help you to under
stand.

THEAET. What is that?

STR. We saw the "not being" is a
single kind among the rest, dispersed
over the whole field of realities.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. We have next to consider whether
it blends with thinking and discourse.

THEAET. Why that?

STR. If it does not blend with them, [c]
everything must be true; but if it does,
we shall have false thinking and dis
course; for thinking or saying "what is
not" comes, I suppose, to the same thing
as falsity in thought and speech.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And if falsity exists, deception is
possible.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And once deception exists, im
ages and likenesses and appearance will
be everywhere rampant.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. And the Sophist, we said, had [D]
taken refuge somewhere in that region,
but then he had denied the very exist
ence of falsity: no one could either think
or say "what is not," because what is not
never has any sort of being.

THEAET. So he said.

STR. But now that "what is not" has
been found to have its share in existence,
perhaps he will not fight with us further
on that point. On the other hand, he
may perhaps say that some things par
take of not-being, some do not, and that
speech and thinking are among those
that do not; and so once more he might
contend that the art of creating im- [E]
ages and semblances, where we say he
is to be found, has no existence at all,
since thought and speech have no share
in not-being, and without that combina
tion there is no such thing as falsity.

That is why we must begin by in
vestigating the nature of discourse and
thinking and appearance, in order that
we may then make out their combina
tion with not-being and so prove [261]
that falsity exists, and by that proof pin
down the Sophist there, if he is amen
able to capture, or else let him go and
pursue our search in some other Kind.

THEAET. Certainly, sir, what we said
at the outset about the Sophist seems

246

PLATO

true: that he is a hard sort of beast to
hunt down. Evidently he possesses a
whole armoury of problems, and every
time that he puts one forward to shield
him, we have to fight our way through
it before we can get at him. So now,
hardly have we got the better of his de
fence that "what is not" cannot exist,
when another obstacle is raised in our [B]
path: we must, it seems, prove that
falsity exists both in speech and thought,
and after that perhaps something else,
and so on. It looks as if the end would
never be in sight.

STR. A man should be of good cour
age, Theaetetus, if he can make only a
little headway at each step. If he loses
heart then, what will he do in another
case where he cannot advance at all or
even perhaps loses ground? No city, as
they say, will surrender to so faint a [c]
summons. And now that we have sur
mounted the barrier you speak of, we
may have already taken the highest wall
and the rest may be easier to capture.

THEAET. That is encouraging.

Every statement is a complex of
heterogeneous elements (name and
verb) [261c-262E]

STR. Then, as I said, let us take first
statement 70 and judgment, so as to estab
lish clearly whether not-being has any
point of contact with them, or both are
altogether true and there is never falsity
in either.

THEAET. Very good.

STR. Now, remembering what we [D]
said about Forms and letters, 71 let us
consider words in the same way. The

TO "Statement." So far \6yos has been
translated "discourse"; but the following
analysis is concerned with what Aristotle calls
the &7Co&lt;j&gt;ayriKbs Xoyos a statement which can
and must be either true or false, as distinct
from questions, prayers, etc. A "judgment"
(as explained later) is here equivalent to an
unspoken statement made by the mind in its
internal dialogue with itself.

71 At 253A.

solution of our present problem promises
to lie in that quarter.

THEAET. What are you going to ask
me about words?

STR. Whether they all fit together, or
none of them, or some will and some will
not.

THEAET. That is plain enough: some
will, some will not.

STR. You mean perhaps something
like this: words which, when spoken in
succession, signify something, do fit [E]
together, while those which mean noth
ing when they are strung together, do
not.

THEAET. What do you mean?

STR. What I supposed you had in your
mind when you gave your assent. 72 The
signs we use in speech to signify being
are surely of two kinds.

THEAET. HOW?

STR. One kind called "names," the
other "verbs." [262]

THEAET. Give me a description of
each.

STR. By "verb" we mean an expression
which is applied to actions.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And by a "name" the spoken sign
applied to what performs these actions.

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. Now a statement never consists
solely of names spoken in succession, nor
yet of verbs apart from names.

THEAET. I don t follow that.

STR. Evidently you had something [B]
else in mind when you agreed with me
just now; because what I meant was
just this: that these words spoken in a

7 2 Probably what Theaetetus had in mind
was the combination of Forms in affirmative
statements and the incompatibility of Forms
expressed by negative statements, which was
illustrated by the fitting-together (crwap^rrety)
or not fitting of vowels and consonants at
253 A. But the Stranger is referring only to the
illustration and is thinking of the fact that a
statement cannot consist of a combination of
two nouns only or of two verbs only, any more
than a word can consist of two consonants
without a vowel.

THE SOPHIST

247

string in this way do not make a state
ment.

THEAET. In what way?

STR. For example, "walks runs
sleeps/ 573 and so on with all the other
verbs signifying actions you may utter
them all one after another, but that does
not make a statement.

THEAET. Naturally.

STR. And again, if you say "lion stag
horse" and any other names given to
things that perform actions, such a [c]
string never makes up a statement.
Neither in this example nor in the other
do the sounds uttered signify any action
performed or not performed or nature
of anything that exists or does not exist, 74
until you combine verbs with names. The
moment you do that, they fit together
and the simplest combination becomes a
statement of what might be called the
simplest and briefest kind.

THEAET. Then how do you make a
statement of that kind?

STR. When one says "A man under
stands," do you agree that this is a state
ment of the simplest and shortest possible
kind?

THEAET. Yes. [D]

STR. Because now it gives information
about facts or events in the present or
past or future: it does not merely name
something but gets you somewhere by
weaving together verbs with names.
Hence we say it "states" something, not
merely "names" something, and in fact

73 The inverted commas in Burnet s text be
tween &a$ei and Ka6effiet (and below, be
tween \4&lt;ov and Irtrtoi) should be omitted.

74 itp&j-iv ofr5 aitpatfav refers to the former
example (l/ce^ws) of the string of verbs, which
does not state that any action is actually per
formed, or not performed, by any agent, ovtie
ovffi&v 5vro5 ovSe fj^i dvros refers to the latter
example (otfcro&gt;s) of the string of names,
which does not state that there actually exists
(foros), or does not exist, anything with the
nature (ov&lt;rfa) expressed by any of the
names. This does not mean that the words
themselves have no meaning, and are senseless
noises; but that such concatenations are not
statements of fact, do not refer (or profess to
refer) to any actual fact or event.

it is this complex that we mean by the
word "statement."

THEAET. True.

STR. And so, just as some things fit to
gether, some do not, so with the signs of
speech: some do not fit, but those [E]
that do fit make a statement.

THEAET. Quite so.

Every statement is about something
and is either true or false [262E]

STR. Now another small point.

THEAET. Yes?

STR. Whenever there is a statement, it
must be about something; it cannot be
about nothing.

THEAET. That is so.

STR. And must it not have a certain
character? 75

THEAET. Of course.

The definition of true [262E-263B]
statement

STR. Now let us fix our attention on
ourselves.

THEAET. We will.

STR. I will make a statement to you,
then, putting together a thing with an
action by means of a name and a verb.
You are to tell me what the statement
is about.

THEAET. I will do my best. [263]

STR. "Theaetetus sits" not a lengthy
statement, is it?

THEAET. No, of very modest length.

STR. Now it is for you to say what it
is about to whom it belongs.

THEAET. Clearly about me: it belongs
to me.

STR. Now take another.

THEAET. Namely ?

STR. "Theaetetus (whom I am talking
to at this moment) 76 flies."

THEAET. That too can only be de
scribed as belonging to me and about
me.

75 That "character" or "quality" means
truth or falsity, here as at Philebus 37fi, is
obvious from what follows (263A, B).

76 Not an imaginary Theaetetus or Theae
tetus at some other moment, but the real
Theaetetus here and now.

248

PLATO

STR. And moreover we agree that any
statement must have a certain character.

THEAET. Yes. [B]

STR. Then what sort of character can
we assign to each of these?

THEAET. One is false, the other true.

STR. And the true one states about you
the things that are (or the facts) as they
are.

THEAET. Certainly.

The definition of false state- [263B-DJ
ment.

STR. Whereas the false statement states
about you things different from the
things that are.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And accordingly states things that
are-not as being.

THEAET. No doubt.

STR. Yes, but things that exist, differ
ent from things that exist in your case.
For we said that in the case of every
thing there are many things that are and
also many that are not.

THEAET. Quite so.

STR. So the second statement I [c]
made about you, in the first place, ac
cording to our definition of the nature
of a statement, must itself necessarily be
one of the shortest possible.

THEAET. So we agreed just now.

STR. And secondly it must be about
something.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And if it is not about you, it is
not about anything else.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. And if it were about nothing, it
would not be a statement at all; for
we pointed out that there could not be
a statement that was a statement about
nothing.

THEAET. Quite true.

STR. So what is stated about you, [D]
but so that what is different is stated as
the same or what is not as what is a
combination of verbs and names an
swering to that description finally seems
to be really and truly a false statement.

THEAET. Perfectly true.

Judgment being simply [263D-264B]
unspoken statement, false judgment and
false "appearing* are possible

STR. And next, what of thinking and
judgment and appearing? Is it not now
clear that all these things occur in our
minds both as false and as true?

THEAET. HOW SO?

STR. You will see more easily if you
begin by letting me give you an account
of their nature and how each differs [E]
from the others.

THEAET. Let me have it.

STR. Well, thinking and discourse 77
are the same thing, except that what we
call thinking is, precisely, the inward
dialogue carried on by the mind with
itself without spoken sound.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. Whereas the stream which flows
from the mind through the lips with
sound is called discourse.

THEAET. True.

STR. And further there is a thing 78
which we know occurs in discourse.

THEAET. Namely?

STR. Assertion and denial. 79

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Then when this occurs in [264]
the mind in the course of silent thinking,
can you call it anything but judgment?

77 Thinking (ttfoou*) and discoure (\6yos)
are both used in the wide sense which in
cludes, not only judgment ($6a) and state
ment (A.^yos), which must be true or false,
but all forms of thinking and speech, ques
tions, commands, etc. The account of think
ing as unspoken discourse at Theaet. 189s
[see above] and 206D [not included in this
volume], is here briefly repeated.

78 afob, BT should be retained: "a thing
(presently to be mentioned)." Gf ai&gt;rb at
Theaet. 207o (Campbell).

79 (jxkffts and ^TCO^XKCTLS cover ( 1 ) affirmation
and negation, which appear in the affirmative
or negative form of the spoken statement, and
(2) the mental acts of assent and dissent
saying "yes" and "no" to questions which
the mind puts to itself, as described at Theaet.
190A. QdtfKovtfa Kal ov &lt;t&gt;6&lt;fKov&lt;rc6 [see above].
Judgment was there defined as the mind s
final decision when all doubt and debate is
over.

THE SOPHIST

249

THEAET. No.

STR. And suppose judgment occurs,
not independently, but by means of per
ception, the only right name for such a
state of mind is "appearing."

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Well then, since we have seen
that there is true and false statement,
and of these mental processes we have
found thinking to be a dialogue of the
mind with itself, and judgment to be [B]
the conclusion of thinking, and what we
mean by "it appears" a blend of percep
tion and judgment, it follows that these
also, being of the same nature as state
ment, must be, some of them and on
some occasions, false.

THEAET. Of course.

STR. You see, then, that we have dis
covered the nature of false judgment and
false statement sooner than we expected
just now when we feared there would
be no end to the task we were setting
ourselves in the search for them.

THEAET. I do.

Transition, connecting these [264B-D]
results with the interrupted Division of
Image-making

STR. Then let us not lose courage for
what remains to be done. Now that these
matters are cleared up, let us recall [c]
our earlier divisions by forms.

Art

Acquisitive

Productive
I

THEAET. Which do you mean?

STR. We distinguished two forms of
Image-making: the making of likenesses
and the making of semblances.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And we said we were puzzled to
tell under which of these two we should
place the Sophist.

THEAET. We did.

STR. And to increase our perplexity we
were plunged in a whirl of confusion by
the apparition of an argument that
called in question all these terms and
disputed the very existence of any copy
or image or semblance, on the ground
that falsity never has any sort of exist
ence anywhere. [D]

THEAET. True.

STR. But now that we have brought to
light the existence of false statement and
of false judgment, it is possible that there
should be imitations of real things and
that this condition of mind [false judg
ment] should account for the existence
of an art of deception.

THEAET. Yes, it is.

STR. And we agreed earlier that the
Sophist does come under one or other of
the two kinds mentioned.

THEAET. Yes.

The Sophist as a species [264o-268D]
of Image-maker*

80 The final Table of Division is as follows:

Divine-
i^vnic

likenesses semblances

by tools (Painting, Sculpture, Music,)

1
by mimicry

with knowledge
(Acting)

ignorant

simple-minded

J
insincere
1

The DEMAGOGUE

I
The SOPHIST

250

PLATO

STR. Now, then, let us set to work
again and, as we divide the Kind pro
posed in two, keep to the right-hand [E]
section at each stage. Holding fast to the
characters of which the Sophist partakes
until we have stripped off all that he
has hi common with others and left only
the nature that is peculiar to him, let us
so make that nature plain, in the first
place to ourselves, and secondly to [265]
others whose temperament finds a pro
cedure of this sort congenial.

THEAET. Very good.

STR. Well, we began by dividing Art
into Productive and Acquisitive.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And under the head of the Ac
quisitive we had glimpses of the Sophist
in the arts of hunting, contention, traf
ficking, and other kinds of that sort. 81

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. But now that he has been in
cluded under an art of Imitation, clearly
we must start by dividing into two [B]
the Productive branch of Art. For Imita
tion is surely a kind of production,
though it be only a production of im
ages, as we say, not of originals of every
sort. Is that not so?

THEAET. Assuredly.

STR. Let us begin, then, by recognising
two kinds of Production.

THEAET. What are they?

STR. The one Divine, the other
Human.

THEAET. I don t understand yet.

STR. Production to recall what we
said at the outset we defined as any
power that can bring into existence what
did not exist before.

81 This reference to the five tentative Divi
sions of the Acquisitive branch is significant.
They only provided "glimpses" or indistinct
visions of various types called sophists, not
the essential feature. With e^avr&^ero com
pare tfxwraCfacyor used of the figure indis
tinctly seen at a distance, Philebus 38c. The
third main branch of Art, the Separative
QuKKpirtKJft, from which was derived the
Cathartic method of Socrates in Division VT,
is here ignored. It gave us no glimpse of the
Sophist.

THEAET. I remember.
STR. Now take all mortal animals [c]
and also all things that grow plants
that grow above the earth from seeds
and roots, and lifeless bodies compacted
beneath the earth, whether fusible or not
fusible. Must we not attribute the com
ing into being of these things out of not-
being to divine craftsmanship and noth
ing else? Or are we to fall in with the
belief that is commonly expressed?
THEAET. What belief do you mean?
STR. That Nature gives birth to them
as a result of some spontaneous cause
that generates without intelligence. Or
shall we say that they come from a cause
which, working with reason and art, is
divine and proceeds from divinity?

THEAET. Perhaps because I am young,
I often shift from one belief to the
other; but at this moment, looking at
your face and believing you to hold that
these things have a divine origin, I too
am convinced.

STR. Well said, Theaetetus. If I
thought you were the sort of person that
might believe otherwise in the future, I
should now try by force of persuasion to
make you accept that account. But I can
see clearly that, without any arguments
of mine, your nature will come of [E]
itself to the conclusion which you tell
me attracts you at this moment. So I will
let that pass: I should be wasting time.
I will only lay it down that the products
of Nature, as they are called, are works
of divine art, as things made out of
them by man are works of human art.
Accordingly there will be two kinds of
Production, one human, the other divine.

THEAET. Good.

STR. Once more, then, divide each of
these two into two parts.

THEAET. HOW?

STR. As you have just divided the [266]
whole extent of Production horizontally,
now divide it vertically.

THEAET. Be It SO.

STR. The result is four parts in all:
two on our side, human; two on the side
of the gods, divine.

THE SOPHIST

251

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And taking the divisions made in
the first way (horizontally: divine and
human), one section of each part will
be the production of originals, and the
remaining two sections will be best de
scribed as production of images. So we
have a second division of Production on
that principle (originals and images) .

THEAET. Explain once more how [B]
each of the two parts (divine and
human) is divided.

STR. Ourselves, I take it, and all other
living creatures and the elements of nat
ural things fire, water, and their kin
dred are all originals, the offspring, as
we are well assured, of divine workman
ship. Is it not so?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. And every one of these products
is attended by images which are not the
actual thing, and which also owe their
existence to divine contrivance.

THEAET. You mean ?

STR. Dream images, and in daylight
all those naturally produced semblances
which we call "shadow" when dark [c]
patches interrupt the light, or a "reflec
tion" when the light belonging to the
eye meets and coalesces with light be
longing to something else on a bright
and smooth surface and produces a form
yielding a perception that is the reverse
of the ordinary direct view.

THEAET. There are, indeed, these two
products of divine workmanship: the
original and the image that in every case
accompanies it. 82

STR. And what of our human art?

82 These originals and images make tip the
contents of the visible world (Sptxrd or Sofacrrcfc
of Rep. vi, where they are described in similar
terms, 510A) . They are the work of the divine
craftsman of the Timaeus, who fashions the
visible world after the pattern of the Forms.
The Forms themselves, which are not created,
are, of course, not mentioned here. But the
Platonist will recall that the actual things
here called originals are themselves only copies
or images of the Forms. They are those eidola
whose ambiguous existence still remains a
problem.

Must we not say that hi building it pro
duces an actual house, and in painting
a house of a different sort, as it were
a man-made dream for waking eyes?

THEAET. Certainly. [D]

STR. And so in all cases, we find once
more twin products of our own produc
tive activity in pairs one an actual
thing, the other an image.

THEAET. I understand better now, and
I recognise two forms of production,
each of them twofold: divine and human
according to one division, and according
to the other a production of actual things
and of some sort of likenesses.

STR. Let us remind ourselves, then,
that of this production of images there
were to be two kinds, one producing [E]
likenesses, the other semblances, provided
that falsity should be shown to be a thing
that really is false and of such a nature
as to have a place among existing things.

THEAET. Yes, it was to be so.

STR. And that has now been shown; so
on that ground shall we now reckon the
distinction of these two forms as beyond
dispute?

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Once more, then, let us [267]
divide in two the kind that produces
semblances.

THEAET. HOW?

STR. There is the semblance produced
by means of tools, and another sort
where the producer of the semblance
takes his own person as an instrument.

THEAET. How do you mean?

STR. When someone uses his own per
son or voice to counterfeit your traits or
speech, the proper name for creating
such a semblance is, I take it, Mimicry.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Let us reserve that section, then,
under the name of mimicry, and indulge
ourselves so far as to leave all the rest [B]
for someone else to collect into a unity
and give it an appropriate name.

THEAET. So be it.

STR. But there is still ground for think
ing that mimicry is of two sorts. Let me
put it before you.

252

PLATO

THEAET. Do,

STR. Some mimics know the thing they
are impersonating, other do not; and
could we find a more important distinc
tion than that of knowing from not
knowing?

THEAET. No.

STR. And the mimicry we have just
mentioned goes with knowledge; for to
impersonate you, one must be acquainted
with you and your traits.

THEAET. Of course. [c]

STR. And what of the traits of Justice
and of virtue generally? Are there not
many who, having no knowledge of
virtue but only some sort of opinion
about it, zealously set about making it
appear that they embody virtue as they
conceive it, mimicking it as effectively as
they can in their words and actions?

THEAET. Only too many.

STR. And are they always unsuccessful
in appearing to be virtuous when they
are not really virtuous at all? Do they
not rather succeed perfectly?

THEAET. They do.

STR. We must, then, distinguish [D]
the ignorant mimic from the other, who
has knowledge.

THEAET. Yes.

STR. Where, then, must we look for a
suitable name for each? No doubt it is
hard to find one, because the ancients, it
would seem, suffered from a certain
laziness and lack of discrimination with
regard to the division of Kinds by forms,
and not one of them even tried to make
such divisions, with the result that there
is a serious shortage of names. However,
though the expression may seem daring,
for purposes of distinction let us call
mimicry guided by opinion "conceit- [E]
mimicry," and the sort that is guided by
knowledge "mimicry by acquaintance."

THEAET. So be it.

STR. It is the former, then, that con
cerns us; for the Sophist was not among
those who have knowledge, but he has a
place among mimics.

THEAET. Certainly.

STR. Then let us take this conceit-

mimic and see if his metal rings sound
or there is still a crack in it somewhere.

THEAET. Let us do so.

STR. Well, there is a gaping [268]
crack. There is the simple-minded type
who imagines that what he believes is
knowledge, and an opposite type who is
versed in discussion, so that his attitude
betrays no little misgiving and suspicion
that the knowledge he has the air of
possessing in the eyes of the world is
really ignorance.

THEAET. Certainly both the types you
describe exist.

STR. We may, then, set down one of
these mimics as sincere, the other as in
sincere.

THEAET. So it appears.

STR. And the insincere is he of two
kinds or only one?

THEAET. That is for you to consider.

STR. I will; and I can clearly make [B]
out a pair of them. I see one who can
keep up his dissimulation publicly in long
speeches to a large assembly. The other
uses short arguments in private and
forces others to contradict themselves in
conversation.

THEAET. Very true.

STR. And with whom shall we identify
the more long-winded type with the
Statesman or with the demagogue?

THEAET. The demagogue.

STR. And what shall we call the other
wise man or Sophist?

THEAET. We cannot surely call him [c]
wise, because we set him down as igno
rant; but as a mimic of the wise man he
will clearly assume a title derived from
his, and I now see that here at last is the
man who must be truly described as the
real and genuine Sophist.

STR. Shall we, then, as before collect
all the elements of his description, from
the end to the beginning, 83 and draw our
threads together in a knot?

83 The construction of the final definition is
obscured by the effort to frame it so as to men
tion all the specific differences in order &lt;f from
the end to the beginning" (productive art).

TIMAEUS

253

THEAET. By all means.

STR. The art of contradiction-making,
descended from an insincere kind of con
ceited mimicry, of the semblance-making
breed, derived from image-making, dis
tinguished as a portion, not divine [c]

but human, of production, that presents
a shadow-play of words such is the
blood and lineage which can, with per
fect truth, be assigned to the authentic
Sophist.

THEAET. I entirely agree.

TIMAEUS fin part)

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE
CRITIAS SOCRATES TIMAEUS

CRITIAS. I will submit to you the [2 7 A]
plan we have arranged for your enter
tainment, Socrates. We decided that
Timaeus shall speak first. He knows
more of astronomy than the rest of us
and has made knowledge of the nature
of the universe his chief object; he will
begin with the birth of the world and
end with the nature of man.

TIMAEUS. We must in my judgment,
first make this distinction: what is that
which is always real and has no becom
ing, and what is that which is always
becoming and is never real? That [28]
which is apprehensible by thought with
a rational account is the thing that is
always unchangeably real; whereas that
which is the object of belief together
with unreasoning sensation is the thing
that becomes and passes away, but never
has real being. Again, all that becomes
must needs become by the agency of
some cause; for without a cause nothing
can come to be. Now whenever the
maker of anything looks to that which is
always unchanging and uses a model of
that description in fashioning the form
and quality of his work, all that he thus
accomplishes must be good. If he [B]
looks to something that has come to be
and uses a generated model, it will not
be good.

So concerning the whole Heaven or
World let us call it by whatsoever
name may be most acceptable to it 1
we must ask the question which, it is
agreed, must be asked at the outset of
inquiry concerning anything: Has it al
ways been, without any source of becom
ing; or has it come to be, starting from
some beginning? It has come to be; for
it can be seen and touched and it has
body, and all such things are sensible;
and as we saw, sensible things, that are
to be apprehended by belief together [c]
with sensation, are things that become
and can be generated. But again, that
which becomes, we say, must necessarily
become by the agency of some cause. The
maker and father of this universe it is a
hard task to find, and having found him
it would be impossible to declare him to
all mankind. Be that as it may, we must
go back to this question about the world:
After which of the two models did its
builder frame it after that which is al
ways in the same unchanging state, [29]
or after that which has come to be?
Now if this world is good and its maker
is good, clearly he looked to the eternal;
on the contrary supposition (which can
not be spoken without blasphemy), to
that which has come to be. Everyone,
then, must see that he looked to the
eternal; for the world is the best of
things that have become, and he is the

1 "Heaven" (o/&gt;oW$) is used throughout
the dialogue as a synonym of cosmos t the
entire world, not the sky.

254

PLATO

best of causes. Having come to be, then,
in this way, the world has been fashioned
on the model of that which is compre
hensible by rational discourse and under
standing and is always in the same state.

Again, these things being so, our [B]
world must necessarily be a likeness of
something. Now in every matter it is of
great moment to start at the right point
in accordance with the nature of the
subject. Concerning a likeness, then, and
its model we must make this distinction:
an account is of the same order as the
things which it sets forth an account
of that which is abiding and stable and
discoverable by the aid of reason will
itself be abiding and unchangeable (so
far as it is possible and it lies in the
nature of an. account to be incontrover
tible and irrefutable, there must be no
falling short of that) ; while an ac- [c]
count of what is made in the image of
that other, but is only a likeness, will
itself be but likely, standing to accounts
of the former kind hi a proportion: as
reality is to becoming, so is truth to
disbelief. If then, Socrates, in many re
spects concerning many things the gods
and the generation of^the universe we
prove unable to render an account at all
points entirely consistent with itself and
exact, you must not be surprised. If we
can furnish accounts no less likely than
any other, we must be content, remem
bering that I who speak and you my
judges are only human, and con- [D]
sequently it is fitting that we should, in
these matters, accept the likely story and
look for nothing further.

SOCRATES. Excellent, Timaeus; we
must certainly accept it as you say. Your
prelude we have found exceedingly ac
ceptable; so now go on to develop your
main theme.

TIM. Let us, then, state for what rea
son becoming and this universe were
framed by him who framed them. [E]
He was good; and in the good no jeal
ousy in any matter can ever arise. So,

being without jealousy, he desired that
all things should come as near as possible
to being like himself. That this is the
supremely valid principle of becoming
and of the order of the world, we shall
most surely be right to accept from men
of understanding. Desiring, then, [30]
that all things should be good and, so
far as might be, nothing imperfect, the
god took over all that is visible not at
rest, but in discordant and unordered
motion and brought it from disorder
into order, since he judged that order
was in every way the better.

Now it was not, nor can it ever be,
permitted that the work of the supremely
good should be anything but that which
is best. Taking thought, therefore, he
found that, among things that are by [B]
nature visible, no work that is without
intelligence will ever be better than one
that has intelligence, when each is taken
as a whole, and moreover that intelli
gence cannot be present in anything
apart from soul. In virtue of this reason
ing, when he framed the universe, he
fashioned reason within soul and soul
within body, to the end that the work he
accomplished might be by nature as ex
cellent and perfect as possible. This,
then, is how we must say, according to
the likely account, that this world came
to be, by the god s providence, in very [c]
truth a living creature with soul and rea
son.

This being premised, we have now to
state what follows next: What was the
living creature in whose likeness he
framed the world? We must not suppose
that it was any creature that ranks only
as a species; for no copy of that which is
incomplete can ever be good. Let us
rather say that the world is like, above all
things, to that Living Creature of which
all other living creatures, severally and in
their families, are parts. For that em
braces and contains within itself all [D]
the intelligible living creatures, just as
this world contains ourselves and all

TIMAEUS

255

other creatures that have been formed as
things visible. For the god, wishing to
make this world most nearly like that
intelligible thing which is best and in
every way complete, fashioned it as a
single visible living creature, containing
within itself all living things whose na
ture is of the same order.

Have we, then, been right to call [31]
it one Heaven, or would it have been
true rather to speak of many and indeed
of an indefinite number? One we must
call it, if we are to hold that it was made
according to its pattern. For that which
embraces all the intelligible living crea
tures that there are, cannot be one of
a pair; for then there would have to be
yet another Living Creature embracing
those two, and they would be parts of
it; and thus our world would be more
truly described as a likeness, not of them,
but of that other which would embrace
them. Accordingly, to the end that this
world may be like the completely Living
Creature in respect of its uniqueness, [B]
for that reason its maker did not make
two worlds nor yet an indefinite number ;
but this Heaven has come to be and is
and shall be hereafter one and unique.

Now that which comes to be must be
bodily, and so visible and tangible; and
nothing can be visible without fire, or
tangible without something solid, and
nothing is solid without earth. Hence the
god, when he began to put together the
body of the universe, set about making
it of fire and earth. But two things alone
cannot be satisfactorily united without a
third; for there must be some bond [c]
oetween them drawing them together.
And of all bonds the best is that which
makes itself and the terms it connects
a unity in the fullest sense; and it is of
the nature of a continued geometrical
proportion to effect this most perfectly.
For whenever, of three numbers, the [32]
middle one between any two that are
either solids (cubes?) or squares is such
that, as the first is to it, so is it to the

last, and conversely as the last is to the
middle, so is the middle to the first, then
since the middle becomes first and last,
and again the last and first becomes
middle, in that way all will necessarily
come to play the same part toward one
another, and by so doing they will all
make a unity.

Now if it had been required that the
body of the universe should be a plane
surface with no depth, a single mean
would have been enough to connect its
companions and itself; but in fact [B]
the world was to be solid in form, and
solids are always conjoined, not by one
mean, but by two. Accordingly the god
set water and air between fire and earth,
and made them, so far as was possible,
proportional to one another, so that as
fire is to air, so is air to water, and as
air is to water, so is water to earth, and
thus he bound together the frame of a
world visible and tangible.

For these reasons and from such [c]
constituents, four in number, the body
of the universe was brought into being,
coming into concord by means of propor
tion, and from these it acquired Amity,
so that coming into unity with itself it
became indissoluble by any other save
him who bound it together.

Now the frame of the world took up
the whole of each of these four; he who
put it together made it consist of all the
fire and water and air and earth, leaving
no part or power of any one of them
outside. This was his intent: first, that
it might be in the fullest measure a liv
ing being whole and complete, of [D]
complete parts; next, that it might be
single, nothing being left over, out of
which such another might come into [33]
being; and moreover that it might be
free from age and sickness. For he
perceived that, if a body be composite,
when hot things and cold and all things
that have strong powers beset that body
and attack it from without, they bring
it to untimely dissolution and cause it to

256

PLATO

waste away by bringing upon it sickness
and age. For tfafc reason and so con
sidering, he fashioned it as a single whole
consisting of all these wholes, complete
and free from age and sickness.

And for shape he gave it that which [B]
is fitting and akin to its nature. For the
living creature that was to embrace all
living creatures within itself, the fitting
shape would be the figure that compre
hends in itself all the figures there are;
accordingly, he turned its shape rounded
and spherical, equidistant every way
from center to extremity a figure the
most perfect and uniform of all; for he
judged uniformity to be immeasurably
better than its opposite. And all round
on the outside he made it perfectly
smooth, for several reasons. It had no [c]
need of eyes, for nothing visible was left
outside; nor of hearing, for there was
nothing outside to be heard. There was
no surrounding air to require breathing,
nor yet was it in need of any organ by
which to receive food into itself or to
discharge it again when drained of its
juices. For nothing went out or came
into it from anywhere, since there was
nothing: it was designed to feed itself
on its own waste and to act and be acted
upon entirely by itself and within itself;
because its framer thought that it [D]
would be better self-sufficient, rather
than dependent upon anything else.

It had no need of hands to grasp with
or to defend itself, nor yet of feet or
anything that would serve to stand
upon; so he saw no need to attach to it
these limbs to no purpose. For he as
signed to it the motion proper to its
bodily form, namely, that one of the [34]
seven which above all belongs to reason
and intelligence; accordingly, he caused
it to turn about uniformly in the same
place and within its own limits and
made it revolve round and round; he
took from it all the other six motions
and gave it no part in their wanderings.
And since for this revolution it needed
no feet, he made it without feet or legs.

All this, then, was the plan of the
god who is forever for the god who was
sometime to be. According to this [B]
plan he made it smooth and uniform,
everywhere equidistant from its center,
a body whole and complete, with com
plete bodies for its parts. And in the
center he set a soul and caused it to
extend throughout the whole and further
wrapped its body round with soul on
the outside; and so he established one
world alone, round and revolving in a
circle, solitary but able by reason of its
excellence to bear itself company, need
ing no other acquaintance or friend but
sufficient to itself. On all these accounts
the world which he brought into being
was a blessed god.

Now this soul, though it comes later in
the account we are now attempting, was
not made by the god younger than the
body; for when he joined them together,
he would not have suffered the elder [a]
to be ruled by the younger. There is in
us too much of the casual and random,
which shows itself in our speech; but
the god made soul prior to body and
more venerable in birth and excellence,
to be the body s mistress and governor.

When the father who had begotten
it saw it set in motion and alive, a shrine
brought into being for the everlasting
gods, he rejoiced and being well pleased
he took thought to make it yet more like
its pattern. So as that pattern is the Liv
ing Being that is forever existent, he
sought to make this universe also like it,
so far as might be, in that respect. [37o]
Now the nature of that Living Being
was eternal, and this character it was
impossible to confer in full completeness
on the generated thing. But he took
thought to make, as it were, a moving
likeness of eternity; and, at the same
time that he ordered the Heaven, he
made, of eternity that abides in unity,
an everlasting likeness moving according
to number that to which we have given
the name Time.

TIMAEUS

257

For there were no days and nights,
months and years, before the Heaven
came into being; but he planned that
they should now come to be at the [E]
same time that the Heaven was framed.
All these are parts of Time, and "was"
and "shall be" are forms of time that
have come to be; we are wrong to
transfer them unthinkingly to eternal
being. We say that it was and is and
shall be; but "is" alone really belongs
to it and describes it truly; "was" and
"shall be" are properly used of becoming
which proceeds in time, for they [38]
are motions. But that which is forever
in the same state immovably cannot be
becoming older or younger by lapse of
time, nor can it ever become so; neither
can it now have been, nor will it be
in the future; and in general nothing
belongs to it of all that Becoming at
taches to the moving things of sense;
but these have come into being as forms
of time, which images eternity and re
volves according to number. And besides
we make statements like these: that what
is past is past, what happens now is [B]
happening now, and again that what will
happen is what will happen, and that
the nonexistent is nonexistent: no one of
these expressions is exact. But this, per
haps, may not be the right moment for
a precise discussion of these matters.

Be that as it may, Time came into
being together with the Heaven, in
order that, as they were brought into
being together, so they may be dissolved
together, if ever their dissolution should
come to pass; and it is made after the
pattern of the ever-enduring nature, in
order that it may be as like that [c]
pattern as possible; for the pattern is a
thing that has being for all eternity,
whereas the Heaven has been and is
and shall be perpetually throughout all
time.

As concerning the other divinities, to
know and to declare their generation is
too high a task for us; we must trust

those who have declared it in former
times: being, as they said, descendants
of gods, they must, no doubt, have had
certain knowledge of their own ancestors.
We cannot, then, mistrust the children
of gods, though they speak without [E]
probable or necessary proofs; when they
profess to report their family history,
we must follow established usage and ac
cept what they say. Let us, then, take
on their word this account of the genera
tion of these gods. As children of Earth
and Heaven were born Oceanus and
Tethys; and of these Phorkys and Cronos
and Rhea and all their company; and of
Cronos and Rhea, Zeus and Hera and all
their brothers and sisters whose [41]
names we know; and of these yet other
offspring.

Be that as it may, when all the gods
had come to birth both all that revolve
before our eyes and all that reveal them
selves in so far as they will the author
of this universe addressed them in these
words:

"Gods, of gods whereof I am the mak
er and of works the father, those which
are my own handiwork are indissoluble,
save with my consent. Now, although
whatsoever bond has been fastened may
be unloosed, yet only an evil will [B]
could consent to dissolve what has been
well fitted together and is in a good
state; therefore, although you, having
come into being, are not immortal nor
indissoluble altogether, nevertheless you
shall not be disssolved nor taste of
death, finding my will a bond yet
stronger and more sovereign than those
wherewith you were bound together
when you came to be.

"Now, therefore, take heed to this
that I declare to you. There are yet left
mortal creatures of three kinds that
have not been brought into being. If
these be not born, the Heaven will be
imperfect; for it will not contain all the
kinds of living being, as it must if it is
to be perfect and complete. But if I [c]
myself gave them birth and life, they

258

PLATO

would be equal to gods. In order, then,
that mortal things may exist and this
All may be truly all, turn according to
your own nature to the making of liv
ing creatures, imitating my power hi
generating you. In so far as it is fitting
that something in them should share
the name of the immortals, being called
divine and ruling over those among
them who at any time are willing to
follow after righteousness and after you
that part, having sown it as seed and
made a beginning, I will hand over to
you. For the rest, do you, weaving mortal
to immortal, make living beings; [D]
faring them to birth, feed them, and
cause them to grow; and when they fail,
receive them back again."

Having said this, he turned once
more to the same mixing bowl wherein
he had mixed and blended the soul of
the universe, and poured into it what
was left of the former ingredients, blend
ing them this time in somewhat the
same way, only no longer so pure as
before, but second or third in degree of
purity. And when he had compounded
the whole, he divided it into souls equal
in number with the stars, and distributed
them, each soul to its several star. There
mounting them as it were in chariots, [E]
he showed them the nature of the
universe and declared to them the laws
of Destiny. There would be appointed
a first incarnation one and the same
for all, that none might suffer disadvan
tage at his hands; and they were to be
sown into the instruments of time, each
one into that which was meet for it,
and to be born as the most god- [42]
fearing of living creatures; and human
nature being twofold, the better sort was
that which should thereafter be called
"man."

Whensoever, therefore, they should of
necessity have been implanted in bodies,
and of their bodies some part should
always be coming in and some part
passing out, there must needs be innate
in them, first, sensation, the same for

all, arising from violent impressions;
second, desire blended with pleasure and
pain, and besides these fear and anger
and all the feelings that accompany
these and all that are of a contrary [B]
nature: and if they should master these
passions, they would live in righteous
ness; if they were mastered by them, in
unrighteousness.

And he who should live well for his
due span of time should journey back
to the habitation of his consort star and
there live a happy and congenial life;
but failing of this, he should shift at his
second birth into a woman; and if in
this condition he still did not cease [c]
from wickedness, then according to the
character of his depravation, he should
constantly be changed into some beast
of a nature resembling the formation
of that character, and should have no
rest from the travail of these changes,
until letting the revolution of the Same
and uniform within himself draw into
its train all that turmoil or fire and
water and air and earth that had later
grown about it, he should control its [D]
irrational turbulence by discourse of
reason and return once more to the form
of his first and best condition.

When he had delivered to them all
these ordinances, to the end that he
might be guiltless of the future wicked
ness of any one of them, he sowed them,
some in the Earth, some in the Moon,
some in all the other instruments of
time. After this sowing he left it to the
newly made gods to mold mortal bodies,
to fashion all that part of a human soul
that there was still need to add and all
that these things entail, and to govern [E]
and guide the mortal creature to the
best of their powers, save in so far as
it should be a cause of evil to itself.

I will try to give an explanation of
all these matters in detail, no less prob
able than another, but more so, starting
from the beginning in the same manner

TIMAEUS

259

as before. So now once again at the
outset of our discourse let us call upon
a protecting deity to grant us safe pas
sage through a strange and unfamiliar
exposition to the conclusion that [48E]
probability dictates; and so let us begin
once more.

Our new starting point in describing
the universe must, however, be a fuller
classification than we made before. We
then distinguished two things; but now
a third must be pointed out. For our
earlier discourse the two were sufficient:
one postulated as model, intelligible and
always unchangingly real; second, a
copy of this model, which becomes [49]
and is visible. A third we did not then
distinguish, thinking that the two would
suffice; but now, it seems, the argument
compels us to attempt to bring to light
and describe a form difficult and ob
scure. What nature must we, then, con
ceive it to possess and what part does it
play? This, more than anything else:
that it is the Receptacle as it were, the
nurse of all Becoming.

True, however, as this statement is, it
needs to be put in clearer language; and
that is hard, in particular because to
that end it is necessary to raise a [B]
previous difficulty about fire and the
things that rank with fire. It is hard to
say, with respect to any one of these,
which we ought to call really water
rather than fire, or indeed which we
should call by any given name rather
than by all the names together or by
each severally, so as to use language in
a sound and trustworthy way. How,
then, and in what terms are we to speak
of this matter, and what is the previous
difficulty that may be reasonably stated?

In the first place, take the thing we
now call water. This, when it is com
pacted, we see (as we imagine) becom
ing earth and stones, and this same [c]
thing, when it is dissolved and dispersed,
becoming wind and air; air becom
ing fire by being inflamed; and, by a
reverse process, fire, when condensed

and extinguished, returning once more
to the form of air, and air coming to
gether again and condensing as mist and
cloud; and from these, as they are yet
more closely compacted, flowing water;
and from water once more earth and
stones: and thus, as it appears, they
transmit in a cycle the process of pass
ing into one another. Since, then, in this
way no one of these things ever makes
its appearance as the same thing, [D]
which of them can we steadfastly affirm
to be this whatever it may be and not
something else, without blushing for our
selves? It cannot be done; but by far
the safest course is to speak of them in
the following terms. Whenever we ob
serve a thing perpetually changing
fire, for example in every case we
should speak of fire not as "this," but as
"what is of such and such a quality,"
nor of water as "this," but always as
"what is of such and such a quality";
nor must we speak of anything else as
having some permanence, among all the
things we indicate by the expres- [E]
sions "this" or "that," imagining we are
pointing out some definite thing. For
they slip away and do not wait to be
described as "that" or "this" or by any
phrase that exhibits them as having per
manent being. We should not use these
expressions of any of them, but "that
which is of a certain quality and has
the same sort of quality as it perpetually
recurs in the cycle" that is the descrip
tion we should use in the case of each
and all of them. In fact, we must give
the name "fire" to that which is at all
times of such and such a quality; and
so with anything else that is in process
of becoming. Only in speaking of that in
which all of them are always coming
to be, making their appearance and
again vanishing out of it, may we use
the words "this" or "that"; we must [50]
not apply any of these words to that
which is of some quality hot or cold or
any of the opposites or to any combi
nation of these opposites.

260

PLATO

But I must do my best to explain this
thing once more in still clearer terms.

Suppose a man had molded figures of
all sorts out of gold, and were unceasing
ly to remold each into all the rest: then,
if you should point to one of them and
ask what it was, much the safest [B]
answer in respect of truth would be to
say "gold," and never to speak of a
triangle or any of the other figures that
were coming to be in it as things that
have being, since they are changing
even while one is asserting their ex
istence. Rather one should be content if
they so much as consent to accept the
description "what is of such and such a
quality" with any certainty. Now the
same thing must be said of that nature
which receives all bodies. It must be
called always the same; for it never de
parts at all from its own character; since
it is always receiving all things, and
never in any way whatsoever takes on [c]
any character that is like any of the
things that enter it: by nature it is there
as a matrix for everything, changed and
diversified by the things that enter it,
and on their account it appears to have
different qualities at different times;
while the things that pass in and out
are to be called copies of the eternal
things, impressions taken from them in
a strange manner that is hard to express:
we will follow it up on another occasion.

Be that as it may, for the present [D]
we must conceive three things: that
which becomes; that in which it be
comes; and the model in whose likeness
that which becomes is born. Indeed we
may fittingly compare the Recipient to a
mother, the model to a father, and the
nature that arises between them to their
offspring. Further we must observe that,
if there is to be an impress presenting
all diversities of aspect, the thing itself
in which the impress comes to be situat
ed, cannot have been duly prepared un
less it is free from all those characters
which it is to receive from elsewhere.
For if it were like any one of the things

that come in upon it, then, when [E]
things of contrary or entirely different
nature came, in receiving them it would
reproduce them badly, intruding its own
features alongside. Hence that which is
to receive in itself all kinds must be free
from all characters; just like the base
which the makers of scented ointments
skillfully contrive to start with: they
make the liquids that are to receive the
scents as odorless as possible. Or again,
anyone who sets about taking impres
sions of shapes in some soft substance
allows no shape to show itself there be
forehand, but begins by making the sur
face as smooth and level as he can, In
the same way, that which is duly to [51]
receive over its whole extent and many
times over all the likenesses of the intel
ligible and eternal things ought in its
own nature to be free of all the char
acters. For this reason, then, the mother
and Receptacle of what has come to
be visible and otherwise sensible must
not be called earth or air or fire or
water, nor any of their compounds or
components; but we shall not be de
ceived if we call it a nature invisible and
characterless, all-receiving, partaking in
some very puzzling way of the intelli- [B]
gible and very hard to apprehend. So
far as its nature can be arrived at from
what has already been said, the most
correct account of it would be this: that
part of it which has been made fiery
appears at any time as fire; the part that
is liquefied as water; and as earth or air
such parts as receive likenesses of these.
But in pressing our inquiry about
them, there is a question that must rather
be determined by argument. Is there
such a thing as "Fire just in itself or
any of the other things which we are
always describing in such terms, as
things that "are just in themselves"? [c]
Or are the things we see or otherwise
perceive by the bodily senses the only
things that have such reality, and has
nothing else, over and above these, any
sort of being at all? Are we talking idly

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261

whenever we say that there is such a
thing as an intelligible Form of any
thing? Is this nothing more than a
word?

Now it does not become us either to
dismiss the present question without
trial or verdict, simply asseverating that
it is so, nor yet to insert a lengthy digres
sion into a discourse that is already [D]
long. If we could see our way to draw
a distinction of great importance in few
words, that would best suit the occasion.
My own verdict, then, is this. If intelli
gence and true belief are two different
kinds, then these things Forms that we
cannot perceive but only think of
certainly exist in themselves; but if, as
some hold, true belief in no way differs
from intelligence, then all the things we
perceive through the bodily senses must
be taken as the most certain reality. Now
we must affirm that they are two dif- [E]
ferent things, for they are distinct in
origin and unlike in nature. The one is
produced in us by instruction, the other
by persuasion; the one can always give
a true account of itself, the other can
give none; the one cannot be shaken by
persuasion, whereas the other can be
won over; and true belief, we must
allow, is shared by all mankind, intelli
gence only by the gods and a small
number of men.

This being so, we must agree that
there is, first, the unchanging Form, un-
generated and indestructible, which [52]
neither receives anything else into itself
from elsewhere nor itself enters into any
thing else anywhere, invisible and other
wise imperceptible; that, in fact, which
thinking has for its object.

Second is that which bears the same
name and is like that Form; is sensible;
is brought into existence; is perpetually
in motion, coming to be in a certain
place and again vanishing out of it; and
is to be apprehended by belief involving
perception.

Third is Space, which is everlasting,
not admitting destruction; providing a

situation for all things that come into [B]
being, but itself apprehended without
the senses by a sort of bastard reasoning,
and hardly an object of belief.

This, indeed, is that which we look
upon as in a dream and say that any
thing that is must needs be in some place
and occupy some room, and that what is
not somewhere in earth or heaven is
nothing. Because of this dreaming state,
we prove unable to rouse ourselves and
to draw all these distinction and others
akin to them, even in the case of the [c]
waking and truly existing nature, and so
to state the truth: namely that, whereas
for an image, since not even the very
principle on which it has come into being
belongs to the image itself, but it is the
ever moving semblance of something
else, it is proper that it should come to
be in something else, clinging in some
sort of existence on pain of being noth
ing at all; on the other hand that which
has real being has the support of the
exactly true account, which declares that,
so long as the two things are different,
neither can ever come to be in the [D]
other in such a way that the two should
become at once one and the same thing
and two.

Let this, then, be given as the tale
summed according to my judgment:
that there are Being, Space, Becoming
three distinct things even before the
Heaven came into being. Now the nurse
of Becoming, being made watery and
fiery and receiving the characters of
earth and air, and qualified by all the
other affections that go with these, [E]
had every sort of diverse appearance to
the sight; but because it was filled with
powers that were neither alike nor even
ly balanced, there was no equipoise in
any region of it; but it was everywhere
swayed unevenly and shaken by these
things, and by its motion shook them in
turn. And they, being thus moved, were
perpetually being separated and carried
in different directions; just as when
things are shaken and winnowed by

262

PLATO

means of winnowing baskets and other
instruments for cleaning corn, the [53]
dense and heavy things go one way,
while the rare and light are carried to
another place and settle there. In the
same way at that time the four kinds
were shaken by the Recipient, which
itself was in motion like an instrument
for shaking, and it separated the most
unlike kinds farthest apart from one an
other, and thrust the most alike closest
together; whereby the different kinds
came to have different regions, even [B]
before the ordered whole consisting of
them came to be. Before that, all these
kinds were without proportion or meas
ure. Fire, water, earth, and air possessed
indeed some vestiges of their own nature,
but were altogether in such a condition
as we should expect for anything when
deity is absent from it. Such being their
nature at the time when the ordering of
the universe was taken in hand, the god
then began by giving them a distinct
configuration by means of shapes and
numbers. That the god framed them
with the greatest possible perfection,
which they had not before, must be
taken, above all, as a principle we con
stantly assert.

. . . But as it was, the artificers who
brought us into being reckoned whether
they should make a long-lived but in
ferior race or one with a shorter life but
nobler, and agreed that everyone [75c]
must on all accounts prefer the shorter
and better life to the longer and worse.

When the conjoined bonds of the
triangles in the marrow no longer hold
out under the stress, but part asunder,
they let go in their turn the bonds of
the soul; and she, when thus set free in
the course of nature, finds pleasure in
taking wing to fly away. For whereas all
that is against nature is painful, what
takes place in the natural way is [8 IE]
pleasant. So death itself, on this princi
ple, is painful and contrary to nature
when it results from disease or wounds,

but when it comes to close the natural
course of old age, it is, of all deaths, the
least distressing and is accompanied
rather by pleasure than by pain.

And now, it would seem, we have [E]
fairly accomplished the task laid upon
us at the outset: to tell the story of the
universe so far as to the generation of
man: For the manner in which the other
living creatures have come into being,
brief mention shall be enough, where
there is no need to speak at length; so
shall we, in our own judgment, rather
preserve due measure in our account of
them.

Let this matter, then, be set forth as
follows. Of those who were born as men,
all that were cowardly and spent their
life in wrongdoing were, according to
the probable account, transformed [91]
at the second birth into women: for this
reason it was at that time that the gods
constructed the desire of sexual inter
course, fashioning one creature instinct
with life in us, and another in women.
The two were made by them in this way.
From the conduit of our drink, where it
receives liquid that has passed through
the lungs by the kidneys into the bladder
and ejects it with the air that presses
upon it, they pierced an opening com
municating with the compact marrow
which runs from the head down the neck
and along the spine and has, indeed, in
our earlier discourse been called [B]
"seed." This marrow, being instinct with
life and finding an outlet, implanted in
the part where this outlet was a lively
appetite for egress and so brought it to
completion as an Eros of begetting.
Hence it is that in men the privy mem
ber is disobedient and self-willed, like a
creature that will not listen to reason,
and because of frenzied appetite bent
upon carrying all before it. In women
again, for the same reason, what is [c]
called the matrix or womb, a living
creature within them with a desire for
childbearing, if it be left long unfruitful

LAWS

263

beyond the due season, is vexed and ag
grieved, and wandering throughout the
body and blocking the channels of the
breath, by forbidding respiration brings
the sufferer to extreme distress and
causes all manner of disorders; until at
last the Eros of the one and the Desire
of the other bring the pair together, [D]
pluck as it were the fruit from the tree
and sow the plowland of the womb with
living creatures still unformed and too
small to be seen, and again differentiat
ing their parts nourish them till they
grow large within, and thereafter by
bringing them to the light of day accom
plish the birth of the living creature.
Such is the origin of women and of all
that is female.

Birds were made by transformation:
growing feathers instead of hair, they
came from harmless but light-witted
men, who studied the heavens but im
agined in their simplicity that the surest
evidence in these matters comes through
the eye. [E]

Land animals came from men who
had no use for philosophy and paid no
heed to the heavens because they had
lost the use of the circuits in the head
and followed the guidance of those parts
of the soul that are hi the breast. By
reason of these practices they let their
forelimbs and heads be drawn down to
earth by natural affinity and there sup
ported, and their heads were lengthened
out and took any sort of shape into [92]
which their circles were crushed together
through inactivity. On this account their

kind was born with four feet or with
many, heaven giving to the more witless
the greater number of points of support,
that they might be all the more drawn
earthward. The most senseless, whose
whole bodies were stretched at length
upon the earth, since they had no
further need of feet, the gods made
footless, crawling over the ground.

The fourth sort, that live in water, [B]
came from the most foolish and stupid
of all. The gods who remolded their form
thought these unworthy any more to
breathe the pure air, because their souls
were polluted with every sort of trans
gression; and in place of breathing the
fine and clean air, they thrust them down
to inhale the muddy water of the
depths. Hence came fishes and shellfish
and all that lives in the water: in penalty
for the last extreme of folly they are
assigned the last and lowest habitation.
These are the principles on which, now
as then, all living creatures change one
into another, shifting their place with [c]
the loss or gain of understanding or folly.

Here at last let us say that our dis
course concerning the universe has come
to its end. For having received in full its
complement of living creatures, mortal
and immortal, this world has thus be
come a visible living creature embracing
all that are visible and an image of the
intelligible, a perceptible god, supreme
in greatness and excellence, in beauty
and perfection, this Heaven single in its
kind and one.

LAWS, Book X (in part)

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE

An ATHENIAN Stranger
CLEINIAS, a Cretan

ATHENIAN. Now we have to determine
what is to be the punishment of those

who speak or act insolently toward the
Gods. But first we must give them an
admonition which may be in the follow
ing terms: No one who in obedience
to the laws believed that there were
Gods, ever intentionally did any unholy

264

PLATO

act, or uttered any unlawful word; but
he who did must have supposed one of
three things, either that they did not
exist, which is the first possibility, or
secondly, that, if they did, they took no
care of man, or thirdly, that they were
easily appeased and turned aside from
their purpose by sacrifices and prayers.

CLEINIAS. What shall we say or do to
these persons?

ATH. My good friend, let us first hear
the jests which I suspect that they in
their superiority will utter against us.

CLE. What jests?

ATH. They will make some irreverent
speech of this sort: "O inhabitants of
Athens, and Sparta, and Cnosus," they
will reply, "in that you speak truly; for
some of us deny the very existence of
the Gods, while others, as you say, are of
the opinion that they do not care about
us; and others that they are turned from
their course by gifts. Now we have a
right to claim, as you yourself allowed,
in the matter of laws, that before you
are hard upon us and threaten us, you
should argue with us and convince us
you should first attempt to teach and
persuade us that there are Gods by rea
sonable evidences, and also that they are
too good to be unrighteous, or to be
propitiated, or turned from their course
by gifts. For when we hear such things
said of them by those who are esteemed
to be the best of poets, and orators, and
prophets, and priests, and by innumer
able others, the thoughts of most of us
are not set upon abstaining from un
righteous acts, but upon doing them and
atoning for them. When lawgivers pro
fess that they are gentle and not stern,
we think that they should first of all use
persuasion to us, and show us the ex
istence of Gods, if not in a better manner
than other men, at any rate in a truer;
and who knows but that we shall hearken
to you? If then our request is a fair one,
please to accept our challenge."

GLE. But is there any difficulty in
proving the existence of the Gods?

ATH. How would you prove it? [886]

CLE. How? In the first place, the earth
and the sun, and the stars and the uni
verse, and the fair order of the seasons,
and the division of them into years and
months, furnish proofs of their existence;
and also there is the fact that all Hel
lenes and barbarians believe in them.

ATH. I fear, my sweet friend, though I
will not say that I much regard, the con
tempt with which the profane will be
likely to assail us. For you do not under
stand the nature of their complaint, and
you fancy that they rush into impiety
only from a love of sensual pleasure.

CLE. Why, Stranger, what other reason
is there?

ATH. One which you who live in a
different atmosphere would never guess.

GLE. What is it?

ATH. A very grievous sort of ignorance
which is imagined to be the greatest
wisdom.

CLE, What do you mean?

ATH. At Athens there are tales pre
served in writing which the virtue of
your state, as I am informed, refuses to
admit. They speak of the Gods in prose
as well as verse, and the oldest of them
tell of the origin of the heavens and of
the world, and not far from the begin
ning of their story they proceed to nar
rate the birth of the Gods, and how
after they were born they behaved to
one another. Whether these stories have
in other ways a good or a bad influence,
I should not like to be severe upon them,
because they are ancient; but, looking at
them with reference to the duties of chil
dren to their parents, I cannot praise
them, or think that they are useful, or
at all true. Of the words of the ancients
I have nothing more to say; and I
should wish to say of them only what is
pleasing to the Gods. But as to our
younger generation and their wisdom, I
cannot let them off when they do mis
chief. For do but mark the effect of their
words: when you and I argue for the
existence of the Gods, and produce the

LAWS

265

sun, moon, stars, and earth, claiming for
them a divine being, if we would listen
to the aforesaid philosophers we should
say that they are earth and stones only,
which can have no care at all of human
affairs, and that all religion is a cooking
up of words and a make-believe.

CLE. One such teacher, O Stranger,
would be bad enough, and you imply
that there are many of them, which is
worse.

ATH. Well, then; what shall we [887]
say or do? Shall we assume that some
one is accusing us among unholy men,
who are trying to escape from the effect
of our legislation; and that they say of
us How dreadful that you should legis
late on the supposition that there are
Gods! Shall we make a defence of our
selves?

The duty of the legislator is and al
ways will be to teach you the truth of
these matters. [888]

I must repeat the singular argument
of those who manufacture the soul ac
cording to their own impious notions;
they affirm that which is the first cause
of the generation and destruction of all
things, to be not first, but last, and that
which is last to be first, and hence they
have fallen into error about the true na
ture of the Gods.

CLE. Still I do not understand [892]
you.

ATH. Nearly all of them, my friends,
seem to be ignorant of the nature and
power of the soul, especially in what
relates to her origin: they do not know
that she is among the first of things, and
before all bodies, and is the chief author
of their changes and transpositions. And
if this is true, and if the soul is older
than the body, must not th6 things
which are of the soul s kindred be of
necessity prior to those which appertain
to the body?

CLE. Certainly.

ATH. Then thought and attention and
mind and art and law will be prior to
that which is hard and soft and heavy
and light; and the great and primitive
works and actions will be works of art;
they will be the first, and after them will
come nature and works of nature, which
however is a wrong term for men to
apply to them; these will follow, and
will be under the government of art and
mind.

CLE. But why is the word "nature"
wrong?

ATH. Because those who use the term
mean to say that nature is the first crea
tive power; but if the soul turn out to
be the primeval element, and not fire
or air, then in the truest sense and be
yond other things the soul may be said
to exist by nature; and this would be
true if you proved that the soul is older
than the body, but not otherwise.

Holding fast to the rope we will ven
ture upon the depths of the argument.
When questions of this sort are asked of
me, my safest answer would appear to
be as follows: Some one says to me,
"O Stranger, are all things at rest and
nothing in motion, or is the exact op
posite of this true, or are some things in
motion and others at rest?" To this I
shall reply that some things are in mo
tion and others at rest. "And do not
things which move move hi a place, and
are not the things which are at rest at
rest in a place?" Certainly. "And some
move or rest in one place and some in
more places than one?" You mean to
say, we shall rejoin, that those things
which rest at the centre move in one
place, just as the circumference goes
round of globes which are said to be at
rest? "Yes." And we observe that, in the
revolution, the motion which carries
round the larger and the lesser circle at
the same time is proportionally distrib
uted to greater and smaller, and is

266

PLATO

greater and smaller in a certain propor
tion. Here is a wonder which might be
thought an impossibility, that the same
motion should impart swiftness and slow
ness in due proportion to larger and
lesser circles. &lt;c Very true." And when
you speak of bodies moving in many
places, you seem to me to mean those
which move from one place to another,
and sometimes have one centre of mo
tion and sometimes more than one be
cause they turn upon their axis; and
whenever they meet anything, if it be
stationary, they are divided by it; but
if they get in the midst between bodies
which are approaching and moving to
wards the same spot from opposite direc
tions, they unite with them. "I admit
the truth of what you are saying," Also
when they unite they grow, and when
they are divided they waste away, that
is, supposing the constitution of each to
remain, or if that fails, then there is a
second reason of their dissolution. "And
when are all things created and [894]
how?" Clearly, they are created when
the first principle receives increase and
attains to the second dimension, and
from this arrives at the one which is
neighbour to this, and after reaching the
third becomes perceptible to sense.
Everything which is thus changing and
moving is in process of generation; only
when at rest has it real existence, but
when passing into another state it is de
stroyed utterly. Have we not mentioned
all motions that there are, and compre
hended them under their kinds and
numbered them with the exception, my
friends, of two?

CLE. Which are they?

ATH. Just the two, with which our
present enquiry is concerned.

GLE. Speak plainer.

ATH. I suppose that our enquiry has
reference to the soul?

CLE. Very true.

ATH. Let us assume that there is a
motion able to move other things, but
not to move itself; that is one kind;

and there is another kind which can
move itself as well as other things, work
ing in composition and decomposition,
by increase and diminution and genera
tion and destruction, that is also one
of the many lands of motion.

CLE. Granted.

ATH. And we will assume that which
moves other, and is changed by other,
to be the ninth, and that which changes
itself and others, and is co-incident with
every action and every passion, and is
the true principle of change and motion
in all that is, that we shall be inclined
to call the tenth.

GLE. Certainly.

ATH. And which of these ten motions
ought we to prefer as being the mightiest
and most efficient?

GLE. I must say that the motion which
is able to move itself is ten thousand
times superior to all the others.

ATH. Very good; but may I make one
or two corrections in what I have been
saying?

CLE. What are they?

ATH. When I spoke of the tenth sort
of motion, that was not quite correct.

CLE. What was the error?

ATH. According to the true order, the
tenth was really the first in generation
and power; then follows the second,
which was strangely enough termed the
ninth by us.

CLE. What do you mean?

ATH. I mean this: when one thing
changes another, and that another, of
such will there be any primary changing
element? How can a thing which is
moved by another ever be the beginning
of change? Impossible. But when the
self -moved changes other, and that again
other, and thus thousands upon tens of
thousands of bodies are set in mo- [895]
tion, must not the beginning of all this
motion be the change of the self-moving
principle?

CLE. Very true, and I quite agree.

ATH. Or 3 to put the question in an
other way, making answer to ourselves:

LAWS

267

If, as most of these philosophers have
the audacity to affirm, all things were at
rest in one mass, which of the above-
mentioned principles of motion would
first spring up among them?

CLE. Clearly the self -moving; for there
could be no change in them arising out
of any external cause; the change must
first take place hi themselves.

ATH. Then we must say that self-
motion being the origin of all motions,
and the first which arises among things
at rest as well as among things in mo
tion, is the eldest and mightiest principle
of change, and that which is changed
by another and yet moves other is sec
ond.

OLE. Quite true.

ATH. At this stage of the argument let
us put a question.

CLE. What question?

ATH. If we were to see this power
existing in any earthy, watery, or fiery
substance, simple or compound how
should we describe it?

CLE. You mean to ask whether we
should call such a self-moving power
life?

ATH. I do.

CLE. Certainly we should.

ATH. And when we see soul in any
thing, must we not do the same must
we not admit that this is life?

CLE. We must.

ATH. And now, I beseech you, reflect;
you would admit that we have a three
fold knowledge of things?

CLE. What do you mean?

ATH. I mean that we know the es
sence, and that we know the definition
of the essence, and the name, these are
the three; and there are two questions
which may be raised about anything.

CLE. How two?

ATH. Sometimes a person may give the
name and ask the definition; or he may
give the definition and ask the name. I
may illustrate what I mean in this way.

CLE. How?

ATH. Number like some other things is

capable of being divided into equal
parts; when thus divided, number is
named "even," and the definition of the
name "even" is "number divisible into
two equal parts"?
CLE. True.

ATH. I mean, that when we are asked
about the definition and give the name,
or when we are asked about the name
and give the definition in either case,
whether we give name or definition, we
speak of the same thing, calling "even"
the number which is divided into two
equal parts.

CLE. Quite true.

ATH. And what is the definition [896]
of that which is named "soul"? Can we
conceive of any other than that which
has been already given the motion
which can move itself?

CLE. You mean to say that the essence
which is defined as the self -moved is the
same with that which has the name soul?
ATH. Yes; and if this is true, do we
still maintain that there is anything
wanting in the proof that the soul is the
first origin and moving power of all that
is, or has become, or will be, and their
contraries, when she has been clearly
shown to be the source of change and
motion in all things?

CLE. Certainly not; the soul as being
the source of motion, has been most
satisfactorily shown to be the oldest of
all things.

ATH. And is not that motion which is
produced in another, by reason of an
other, but never has any self-moving
power at all, being in truth the change
of an inanimate body, to be reckoned
second, or by any lower number which
you may prefer?
CLE. Exactly.

ATH. Then we are right, and speak the
most perfect and absolute truth, when
we say that the soul is prior to the body,
and that the body is second and comes
afterwards, and is born to obey the soul,
which is the ruler?

CLE. Nothing can be more true.

268

PLATO

ATH. Do you remember our old ad
mission, that if the soul was prior to the
body the things of the soul were also
prior to those of the body?

CLE. Certainly.

ATH. Then characters and manners,
and wishes and reasonings, and true
opinions, and reflections, and recollec
tions are prior to length and breadth
and depth and strength of bodies, if the
soul is prior to the body.

OLE. To be sure.

ATH. In the next place, must we not
of necessity admit that the soul is the
cause of good and evil, base and honour
able, just and unjust, and of all other
opposites, if we suppose her to be the
cause of all things?

GLE. We must.

ATH. And as the soul orders and in
habits all things that move, however
moving, must we not say that she orders
also the heavens?

CLE. Of course.

ATH. One soul or more? More than
one I will answer for you; at any rate,
we must not suppose that there are less
than two one the author of good, and
the other of evil.

CLE. Very true.

ATH. If, my friend, we say that the
whole path and movement of heaven,
and of all that is therein, is by nature
akin to the movement and revolution
and calculation of mind, and proceeds
by kindred laws, then, as is plain, we
must say that the best soul takes care of
the world and guides it along the good
path. [897]

CLE. And judging from what has been
said, Stranger, there would be impiety in
asserting that any but the most perfect
soul or souls carries round the [898]
heavens.

ATH. Either the soul which moves the
sun this way and that, resides within the
circular and visible body, like the soul
which carries us about every way; or the
soul provides herself with an ex- [899]
ternal body of fire or air, as some affirm,
and violently propels body by body; or
thirdly., she is without such a body, but
guides the sun by some extraordinary and
wonderful power.

CLE. Yes, certainly; the soul can only
order all things in one of these three
ways.

ATH. And this soul of the sun, which
is therefore better than the sun, whether
taking the sun about in a chariot to give
light to men, or acting from without, or
in whatever way, ought by every man to
be deemed a God.

CLE. Yes, by every man who has the
least particle of sense.

ATH. And of the stars too, and of the
moon, and of the years and months and
seasons, must we not say in like manner,
that since a soul or souls having every
sort of excellence are the causes of all of
them, those souls are Gods, whether they
are living beings and reside in bodies,
and in this way order the whole heaven,
or whatever be the place and mode of
their existence; and will any one who
admits all this venture to deny that all
things are full of Gods?

CLE. No one, Stranger, would be such
a madman.

ATH. And now, Megillus and Cleinias,
let us offer terms to him who has hitherto
denied the existence of the Gods, and
leave him.

CLE. What terms?

ATH. Either he shall teach us that we
were wrong in saying that the soul is the
original of all things, and arguing ac
cordingly; or, if he be not able to say
anything better, then he must yield to us
and live for the remainder of his life in
the belief that there are Gods. Let us
see, then, whether we have said enough
or not enough to those who deny that
there are Gods.

LAWS

269

CLE. Certainly, quite enough. Stran
ger.

ATH. Then to them we will say no
more. And now we are to address him
who, believing that there are Gods, be
lieves also that they take no heed of
human affairs: To him we say, O thou
best of men, in believing that there are
Gods you are led by some affinity to
them, which attracts you towards your
kindred and makes you honour and be
lieve in them. But the fortunes of evil
and unrighteous men in private as well
as public life, which, though not really
happy, are wrongly counted happy in the
judgment of men, and are celebrated
both by poets and prose writers these
draw you aside from your natural [900]
piety. Perhaps you have seen impious
men growing old and leaving their chil
dren s children in high offices, and their
prosperity shakes your faith you have
known or heard or been yourself an eye
witness of many monstrous impieties, and
have beheld men by such criminal means
from small beginnings attaining to sover
eignty and the pinnacle of greatness; and
considering all these things you do not
like to accuse the Gods of them, because
they are your relatives; and so from some
want of reasoning power, and also from
an unwillingness to find fault with them,
you have come to believe that they exist
indeed, but have no thought or care of
human things. Now, that your present
evil opinion may not grow to still greater
impiety, and that we may if possible use
arguments which may conjure away the
evil before it arrives, we will add another
argument to that originally addressed to
him who utterly denied the existence of
the Gods. And do you, Megillus and
Cleinias, answer for the young man as
you did before; and if any impediment
comes in our way, I will take the word
out of your mouths, and carry you over
the river as I did just now.

CLE. Very good; do as you say, and we
will help you as well as we can.

ATH. There will probably be no dif

ficulty in proving to frim that the Gods
care about the small as well as about the
great. For he was present and heard
what was said, that they are perfectly
good, and that the care of all things is
most entirely natural to them.
CLE. No doubt he heard that.
ATH. Let us consider together in the
next place what we mean by this virtue
which we ascribe to them. Surely we
should say that to be temperate and to
possess mind belongs to virtue, and the
contrary to vice?
CLE. Certainly.

ATH. Yes; and courage is a part of
virtue, and cowardice of vice?
CLE. True.

ATH. And the one is honourable, and
the other dishonourable?
CLE. To be sure.

ATH. And the one, like other meaner
things, is a human quality, but the Gods
have no part in anything of the sort?

CLE. That again is what everybody will
admit.

ATH. But do we imagine carelessness
and idleness and luxury to be virtues?
What do you think?
CLE. Decidedly not.

ATH. They rank under the opposite
class?
CLE. Yes.

ATH. And their opposites, there- [901]
fore, would fall under the opposite class?
CLE. Yes.

ATH. But are we to suppose that one
who possesses all these good qualities will
be luxurious and heedless and idle, like
those whom the poet compares to sting-
less drones? 1

CLE. And the comparison is a most
just one.

ATH. Surely God must not be supposed
to have a nature which He Himself
hates? he who dares to say this sort of
thing must not be tolerated for a mo
ment.

1 Hesiod, Works and Days, 307.

270

PLATO

CLE. Of course not. How could He
have?

ATH. Should we not on any principle
be entirely mistaken in praising any one
who has some special business entrusted
to him, if he have a mind which takes
care of great matters and no care of
small ones? Reflect; he who acts in this
way, whether he be God or man, must
act from one of two principles.

CLE. What are they?

ATH. Either he must think that the
neglect of the small matters is of no con
sequence to the whole, or if he knows
that they are of consequence, and he
neglects them, his neglect must be attrib
uted to carelessness and indolence. Is
there any other way in which his neglect
can be explained? For surely, when it is
impossible for him to take care of all,
he is not negligent if he fails to attend
to these things great or small, which a
God or some inferior being might be
wanting in strength or capacity to
manage?

CLE. Certainly not.

ATH. Now, then, let us examine the
offenders, who both alike confess that
there are Gods, but with a difference,
the one saying that they may be ap
peased, and the other that they have no
care of small matters: there are three of
us and two of them, and we will say to
them, In the first place, you both ac
knowledge that the Gods hear and see
and know all things, and that nothing
can escape them which is matter of sense
and knowledge: do you admit this?

CLE. Yes.

ATH. And do you admit also that they
have all power which mortals and im
mortals can have?

CLE. They will, of course, admit this
also.

ATH. Let us say to the youth: [903]
The ruler of the universe has ordered all
things with a view to the excellence and
preservation of the whole, and each part,

as far as may be, has an action and pas
sion appropriate to it. Over these, down
to the least fraction of them, ministers
have been appointed to preside, who
have wrought out their perfection with
infinitesimal exactness. And one of these
portions of the universe is thine own,
unhappy man, which, however little,
contributes to the whole; and you do
not seem to be aware that this and
every other creation is for the sake of
the whole, and in order that the life of
the whole may be blessed; and that
you are created for the sake of the
whole, and not the whole for the sake
of you. For every physician and every
skilled artist does all things for the sake
of the whole, directing his effort to
wards the common good, executing the
part for the sake of the whole, and not
the whole for the sake of the part. And
you are annoyed because you are igno
rant of how what is best for you happens
to you and to the universe, as far as
the laws of the common creation ad
mit. Now, as the soul combining first
with one body and then with another
undergoes all sorts of changes, either of
herself, or through the influence of an
other soul, all that remains to the player
of the game is that he should shift the
pieces; sending the better nature to the
better place, and the worse to the
worse, and so asigning to them their
proper portion.

The formation of qualities he left to
the wills of individuals. For every one
of us is made pretty much what he is
by the bent of his desires and the nature
of his soul.

CLE. Yes, that is probably true.

ATH. Then all things which have a
soul change, and possess in themselves a
principle of change, and in changing
move according to law and to the order
of destiny: natures which have under
gone a lesser change move less and on
the earth s surface, but those which have

LAWS

271

suffered more change and have become
more criminal sink into the abyss, that
is to say, into Hades and other places
in the world below, of which the very
names terrify men, and which they pic
ture to themselves as in a dream, both
while alive and when released from the
body. And whenever the soul receives
more of good or evil from her own
energy and the strong influence of others
when she has communion with divine
virtue and becomes divine, she is carried
into another and better place, which is
perfect in holiness; but when she has
communion with evil, then she also
changes the place of her life.

"This is the justice of the Gods who
inhabit Olympus. ss 2

youth or young man, who fancy that
you are neglected by the Gods, know that
if you become worse you shall go to the
worse souls, or if better, to the better,
and in every succession of life and death
you will do and suffer what like may fitly
suffer at the hands of like. This is [905]
the justice of heaven, which neither you
nor any other unfortunate will ever glory
in escaping, and which the ordaining
powers have specially ordained; take
good heed thereof, for it will be sure
to take heed of you. If you say: I am
small and will creep into the depths of
the earth, or I am high and will fly up
to heaven, you are not so small or so
high but that you shall pay the fitting
penalty, either here or in the world be
low or in some still more savage place
whither you shall be conveyed For

1 think that we have sufficiently proved
the existence of the Gods, and that they
care for men: The other notion that
they are appeased by the wicked, and
take gifts, is what we must not concede
to any one, and what every man should
disprove to the utmost of his power.

2 Horn. Odyss. xix. 43.

ATH. And shall we say that those wh^
guard our noblest interests, and are the
best of guardians, are inferior in virtue
to dogs, and to men even of moderate
excellence, who would never betray
justice for the sake of gifts which un
just men impiously offer them?

GLE. Certainly not; nor is such a
notion to be endured, and he who holds
this opinion may be fairly singled out
and characterized as of all impious men
the wickedest and most impious.

ATH. Then are the three assertions
that the Gods exist, and that they take
care of men, and that they can never
be persuaded to do injustice, now suf
ficiently demonstrated? May we say
that they are?

GLE. You have our entire assent to
your words.

ATH. I have spoken with vehemence
because I am zealous against evil men;
and I will tell you, dear Cleinias, why
I am so. I would not have the wicked
think that, having the superiority in
argument, they may do as they please
and act according to their various im
aginations about the Gods; and this zeal
has led me to speak too vehemently;
but if we have at all succeeded in per
suading the men to hate themselves and
love their opposites, the prelude of our
laws about impiety will not have been
spoken in vain.

CLE. So let us hope; and even if we
have failed, the style of our argument
will not discredit the lawgiver.

ATH. After the prelude shall follow a
discourse, which will be the interpreter
of the law; this shall proclaim to all
impious persons that they must depart
from their ways and go over to the
pious. And to those who disobey, let the
law about impiety be as follows: If a
man be guilty of any impiety in word
or deed, any one who happens to be
present shall give information to the
magistrates, in aid of the law; and if a
magistrate, after receiving information,
refuses to act, he shall be tried for im-

272

PLATO

piety at the instance of any one who is
willing to vindicate the laws; and if
any one be cast, the court shall estimate
the punishment of each act of impiety;
and let all such criminals be imprisoned.
There shall be three prisons in the [908]
state: the first of them is to be the
common prison in the neighborhood of
the agora for the safe-keeping of the
generality of offenders; another is to
be hi the neighborhood of the nocturnal
council, and is to be called the "House
of Reformation" ; another, to be situated
in some wild and desolate region in the
centre of the country, shall be called
by some name expressive of retribution.
Now, men fall into impiety from three
causes, which have been already men
tioned, and from each of these causes
arise two sorts of impiety, in all six,
which are worth distinguishing, and
should not all have the same punish
ment. For he who does not believe in
the Gods, and yet has a righteous na
ture, hates the wicked and dislikes and
refuses to do injustice, and avoids un
righteous men, and loves the righteous.
But they who besides believing that the
world is devoid of Gods are intemperate,
and have at the same time good memo
ries and quick wits, are worse; although
both of them are unbelievers, much less
injury is done by the one than by the
other. The one may talk loosely about
the Gods and about sacrifices and oaths,
and perhaps by laughing at other men
he may make them like himself, if he
be not punished. But the other who
holds the same opinions and is called a
clever man, is full of stratagem and
deceit men of this class deal in proph
ecy and jugglery of all kinds, and out
of their ranks sometimes come tyrants
and demagogues and generals and hiero-
phants of private mysteries and the
Sophists, as they are termed, with their
ingenious devices. There are many
kinds of unbelievers, but two only, for
whom legislation is required; one the
hypocritical sort, whose crime is deserv

ing of death many times over, while the
other needs only bonds and admoni
tion. In like manner also the notion that
the Gods take no thought of men pro
duces two other sorts of crimes, and the
notion that they may be propitiated
produces two more. Assuming these
divisions, let those who have been made
what they are only from want of under
standing, and not from malice or [909]
an evil nature, be placed by the judge
in the House of Reformation, and or
dered to suffer imprisonment during a
period of not less than five years. And
in the meantime let them have no inter
course with the other citizens, except
with the members of the nocturnal
council, and with them let them con
verse with a view to the improvement
of their soul s health. And when the
time of their imprisonment has expired,
if any of them be of sound mind let
him be restored to sane company, but
if not, and if he be condemned a second
time, let him be punished with death.
As to that class of monstrous natures
who not only believe that there are no
Gods, or that they are negligent, or to
be propitiated, but in contempt of
mankind conjure the souls of the living
and say that they can conjure the dead
and promise to charm the Gods with
sacrifices and prayers, and will utterly
overthrow individuals and whole houses
and states for the sake of money let
him who is guilty of any of these
things be condemned by the court to
be bound according to law in the prison
which is in the centre of the land, and
let no freeman ever approach him, but
let him receive the rations of food ap
pointed by the guardians of the law
from the hands of the public slaves; and
when he is dead let him be cast beyond
the borders unburied, and if any free
man assist in burying him, let him pay
the penalty of impiety to any one who
is willing to bring a suit against him.
But if he leaves behind him children
who are fit to be citizens, let the guard-

LAWS

273

ians of orphans take care of them, just
as they would of any other orphans,
from the day on which their father is
convicted.

In all these cases there should be one
law, which will make men in general
less liable to transgress hi word or deed,
and less foolish, because they will not
be allowed to practise religious rites con
trary to law. And let this be the simple
form of the law: No man shall have
sacred rites in a private house. When
he would sacrifice, let him go to the
temples and hand over his offerings to
the priests and priestesses, who see to
the sanctity of such things, and let him
pray himself, and let any one who
pleases join with him in prayer. The
reason of this is as follows: Gods and
temples are not easily instituted, and to
establish them rightly is the work of a
mighty intellect. And women especially,
and men too, when they are sick or in
danger, or in any sort of difficulty, or
again on their receiving any good for
tune, have a way of consecrating the
occasion, vowing sacrifices, and promis
ing shrines to Gods, demigods, and [910]
sons of Gods; and when they are
awakened by terrible apparitions and
dreams or remember visions, they find
in altars and temples the remedies of
them, and will fill every house and
village with them, placing them in the
open air, or wherever they may have
had such visions; and with a view to all
these cases we should obey the law. The
law has also regard to the impious, and
would not have them fancy that by
secret performance of these actions by

raising temples and by building altars in
private houses, they can propitiate the
God secretly with sacrifices and prayers,
while they are really multiplying their
crimes infinitely, bringing guilt from
heaven upon themselves, and also upon
those who permit them, and who are
better men than they are; and the con
sequence is that the whole state reaps
the fruit of their impiety, which, in a
certain sense, is deserved. Assuredly God
will not blame the legislator, -who will
enact the following law: No one shall
possess shrines of the Gods in private
houses, and he who is found to possess
them, and perform any sacred rites not
publicly authorized, supposing the of
fender to be some man or woman who
is not guilty of any other great and
impious crime, shall be informed
against by him who is acquainted with
the fact, which shall be announced by
him to the guardians of the law; and
let them issue orders that he or she
shall carry away their private rites to
public temples, and if they do not per
suade them, let them inflict a penalty
on them until they comply. And if a
person is proven guilty of impiety, not
merely from childish levity, but such as
grown-up men may be guilty of, whether
he have sacrificed publicly or privately
to any Gods, let him be punished with
death, for his sacrifice is impure.
Whether the deed has been done in
earnest, or only from childish levity, let
the guardians of the law determine, be
fore they bring the matter into court
and prosecute the offender for impiety.

EPILOGUE

EPISTLE VII (in part: 324-26, 330-37, 341)

In the days of my youth my experi
ence was the same as that of many
others. I thought that as soon as I
should become my own master I would
immediately enter into public He. But
it so happened, I found, that the follow
ing changes occurred in the political
situation.

In the government then existing, re
viled as it was by many, a revolution
took place; and the revolution was
headed by fifty-one leaders, of whom
eleven were in the City and ten in the
Piraeus each of these sections dealing
with the market and with all municipal
matters requiring management and
Thirty were established as irresponsible
rulers of all. Now of these some were
actually connexions and acquaintances
of mine; and indeed they invited me
at once to join their administration,
thinking it would be congenial. The
feelings I then experienced, owing to
my youth, were in no way surprising:
for I imagined that they would ad

minister the State by leading it out of
an unjust way of life into a just way,
and consequently I gave my mind to
them very diligently, to see what they
would do. And indeed I saw how these
men within a short time caused men to
look back on the former government as
a golden age; and above all how they
treated my aged friend Socrates, whom
I would hardly scruple to call the most
just of men then living, when they tried
to send him, along with others, after
one of the citizens, to fetch him by force
that he might be put to death their
object being that Socrates, whether he
wished or no, might be made to share
in their political actions; he, however,
refused to obey and risked the uttermost
penalties rather than be a partaker in
their unholy deeds. So when I beheld
all these actions and others of a similar
grave kind, I was indignant, and I with
drew myself from the evil practices then
going on. But in no long time the power
of the Thirty was overthrown together

274

EPISTLE Vll

275

with the whole of the government
which then existed. Then once again I
was really., though less urgently, im
pelled with a desire to take part in
public and political affairs. Many de
plorable events, however, were still hap
pening in those times, troublous as they
were., and it was not surprising that in
some instances, during these revolutions,
men were avenging themselves on their
foes too fiercely; yet, notwithstanding,
the exiles who then returned exercised
no little moderation. But, as ill-luck
would have it, certain men of authority
summoned our comrade Socrates before
the law-courts, laying a charge against
him which was most unholy, and which
Socrates of all men least deserved; for
it was on the charge of impiety that
those men summoned him and the rest
condemned and slew him the very
man who on the former occasion, when
they themselves had the misfortune to
be in exile, had refused to take part
in the unholy arrest of one of the friends
of the men then exiled.

When, therefore, I considered all
this, and the type of men who were
administering the affairs of State, with
their laws too and their customs, the
more I considered them and the more
I advanced in years myself, the more
difficult appeared to me the task of
managing affairs of State rightly. For
it was impossible to take action without
friends and trusty companions; and
these it was not easy to find ready to
hand, since our State was no longer
managed according to the principles and
institutions of our forefathers; while to
acquire other new friends with any
facility was a thing impossible. More
over, both the written laws and the
customs were being corrupted, and that
with surprising rapidity. Consequently,
although at first I was filled with an
ardent desire to engage in public affairs,
when I considered all this and saw how
things were shifting about anyhow in
all directions, I finally became dizzy;

and although I continued to consider
by what means some betterment could
be brought about not only in these mat
ters but also in the government as a
whole, yet as regards political action I
kept constantly waiting for an oppor
tune moment; until, finally, looking at
all the States which now exist, I per
ceived that one and all they are badly
governed; for the state of their laws is
such as to be almost incurable without
some marvellous overhauling and good
luck to boot. So in my praise of the
right philosophy I was compelled to
declare that by it one is enabled to
discern all forms of justice both political
and individual. Wherefore the classes of
mankind (I said) will have no cessation
from evils until either the class of those
who are right and true philosophers
attains political supremacy, or else the
class of those who hold power in the
States becomes, by some dispensation of
Heaven, really philosophic [cf. Republic
437].

Ought not the doctor that is giving
counsel to a sick man who is indulging
in a mode of life that is bad for his
health to try first of all to change his
life, and only proceed with the rest of
his advice if the patient is willing to
obey? But should he prove unwilling,
then I would esteem him both manly
and a true doctor if he withdraws from
advising a patient of that description,
and contrariwise unmanly and unskilled
if he continues to advise. 1 So too with
a State, whether it has one ruler or
many, if so be that it asks for some
salutary advice when its government is
duly proceeding by the right road, then
it is the act of a judicious man to give
advice to such people. But in the case
of those who altogether exceed the

1 For the comparison of the political ad
viser to a physician cf. Rep. 425 E ff., Laws
720 A ff.

276

PLATO

bounds of right government and wholly
refuse to proceed in its tracks, and who
warn their counsellor to leave the gov
ernment alone and not disturb it, on
pain of death if he does disturb it,
while ordering him to advise as to how
all that contributes to their desires and
appetites may most easily and quickly
be secured for ever and ever then, in
such a case, I should esteem unmanly
the man who continued to engage in
counsels of this kind, and the man who
refused to continue manly.

This, then, being the view I hold,
whenever anyone consults me concern
ing any very important affair relating
to his life the acquisition of wealth,
for instance, or the care of his body or
his soul, if I believe that he is carrying
on his daily life in a proper way, or that
he will be willing to obey my advice
in regard to the matters disclosed, then
I give counsel readily and do not confine
myself to some merely cursory reply. But
if he does not ask my advice at all or
plainly shows that he will in no wise
obey his adviser, I do not of my own
instance come forward to advise such an
one, nor yet to compel him, not even
were he my own son. To a slave, how
ever, I would give advice, and if he re
fused it I would use compulsion. But to
a father or mother I deem it impious
to apply compulsion, unless they are in
the grip of the disease of insanity; but
if they are living a settled life which is
pleasing to them, though not to me, I
would neither irritate them with vain
exhortations nor yet minister to them
with flatteries by providing them with
means to satisfy appetites of a sort such
that I, were I addicted to them, would
refuse to live. So likewise it behooves
the man of sense to hold, while he lives,
the same view concerning his own
State: if it appears to him to be ill
governed he ought to speak, if so be
that his speech is not likely to prove
fruitless nor to cause his death; but he

ought not to apply violence to his
fatherland in the form of a political
revolution, whenever it is impossible to
establish the best kind of polity with
out banishing and slaughtering citizens,
but rather he ought to keep quiet and
pray for what is good both for himself
and for his State.

I know indeed that certain others
have written about these same subjects;
but what manner of men they are not
even themselves know. But thus much I
can certainly declare concerning all
these writers, or prospective writers,
who claim to know the subjects which
I seriously study, whether as hearers of
mine or of other teachers, or from their
own discoveries; it is impossible, in my
judgement at least, that these men
should understand anything about this
subject. There does not exist, nor will
there ever exist, any treatise of mine
dealing therewith. For it does not at
all admit of verbal expression like other
studies, but, as a result of continued ap
plication to the subject itself and com
munion therewith, it is brought to
birth in the soul on a sudden, as light
that is kindled by a leaping spark, and
thereafter it nourishes itself. Notwith
standing, of thus much I am certain,
that the best statement of these doc
trines in writing or in speech would be
my own statement; and further, that if
they should be badly stated in writing,
it is I who would be the person most
deeply pained. And if I had thought
that these subjects ought to be fully
stated in writing or in speech to the
public, what nobler action could I have
performed in my life than that of writ
ing what is of great benefit to mankind
and bringing forth to the light for all
men the nature of reality? But were I
to undertake this task it would not, as
I think, prove a good thing for men,
save for some few who are able to dis-

EPISTLE VII 277

cover the truth themselves with but little overweening and empty aspiration, as

instruction; for as to the rest, some it though they had learnt some sublime

would most unseasonably fill with a mis- mysteries,
taken contempt, and others with an

parf three

STOTLE

Aristotle was born at Stagira, on the borders of Macedonia., in 384 B.C.
For twenty years, beginning in 367, he was a student in Plato s Academy;
but, as he said, he loved the truth more than he loved Plato, and he had
no mind to remain a mere disciple. It is said that he left Athens when Plato
made his nephew Speusippus his successor as head of the Academy, in
347. Around 343 he was called to Macedonia by king Philip to tutor the
king s son, Alexander. Ten years later, Alexander had conquered all of
Greece and overthrown the Persian Empire, By that time Aristotle had
returned to Athens, where he presided over his own school, the so-called
Lyceum. Because he liked to do some of his teaching while walking up
and down under the colonnades with some of his more advanced students,
his school and his philosophy were also called peripatetic. Charged with
impiety when he was just over sixty, he fled Athens "lest," as he put it,
"the Athenians sin twice against philosophy." A year later, in 322, he died.

There is no doubt that after Plato, he was the most influential philosopher
of all time. He dominated later medieval philosophy to such an extent that
St. Thomas referred to him simply as philosophies,, "the philosopher."
Thomism and contemporary Catholic philosophy are unthinkable without
him. Logic, as taught until about the time of the second World War, was
essentially Aristotle s logic. His Poetics is still one of the classics of literary
criticism, and his dicta about tragedy are still widely accepted. In metaphys
ics and ethics, criticism of his views has spread since Bacon and Descartes
inaugurated modern philosophy, hurling their defiance at him; but for all
that&gt; the problems he saw, the distinctions he introduced, and the terms he

279

280 ARISTOTLE

defined are still central in many, if not most a discussions. His influence and
prestige, like Plato s, are international and not confined to any school.
Without him, Western philosophy might be very different.

His extant works lack the literary grace of Plato s. He, too, is said to
have written dialogues, but they have not survived. What we have are
often crabbed, extremely difficult, but generally highly interesting notes.
There is a great deal of overlapping, repetition, and no dearth of apparent
contradictions. Even one who is loath to violate the philosophic and artistic
integrity of a complete work finds that we simply do not have works from
Aristotle s hand that are complete in that sense. Still, there is no need to
paste together snippets from here and there to piece together a system.

Over half of the following selections comes from Aristotle s Metaphysics:
five of its fourteen books are offered complete, and about half of Book V
is included. In the first book (A), he introduces his conception of the four
kinds of causes (formal, material, efficient, and final), and reviews the
history of philosophy to his own time. In the fourth (/"*) he speaks of the
study of being as such, of substance, of the law of contradiction and the
law of excluded middle, and discusses and criticizes the teaching of Pro
tagoras. In the fifth book ( J) he furnishes a "Philosophical Lexicon" and
defines thirty terms or groups of terms. Only half of this "dictionary" is
offered here. Book VII (Z ) deals with substance and related notions. Book
nine ( 9} is devoted to the distinction between potency and actuality. The
twelfth book (A) has been called "in some ways the most impressive of
all" by W. D. Ross. It employs many of the conceptions introduced pre
viously, such as substance, actuality, and potency, and then argues to a first
mover, to whom a large number of other unmoved movers are added in
short order, before we are offered Aristotle s conception of the divine as
contemplating itself.

Scholars agree that the books of the Metaphysics represent a collection
of notes and treatises, not a finished work. Many of the best consider Book
V ( A) an independent work, earlier than most of the rest, and regard XII
(A) as a separate treatise, too. XII.8, with its many unmoved movers, has
been relegated to a later phase in Aristotle s development.

The first five chapters of Aristotle s Categories help to clear up all kinds
of questions about his conception of substance; and they add a few other
interesting points as well.

The Posterior Analytics, which deals with the forms of argument and
inquiry, is divided into two books. From the first, Chapters 1-3, 8-10, and
31 are offered here. Of these three sections, the first deals with the need
for pre-existent knowledge, the nature of scientific knowledge, the condi
tions of demonstration, and the meaning of contradiction, enunciation,
proposition, basic truth, thesis, axiom, hypothesis, and definition. In Chapter
8, Aristotle argues that only eternal connections can be demonstrated; in
Chapter 9, that demonstrations must proceed from the basic premises
peculiar to each science, except in the case of subalternate sciences. In
Chapter 10, he distinguishes the different kinds of basic truth. Chapters 1

ARISTOTLE 281

and 2 of Book II, reproduced here, consider the four possible forms of
inquiry and argue that they all concern the middle term. And in Chapter
19, the last Chapter of the whole work, he discusses how the individual
mind comes to know the basic truths.

Of Aristotle s many works on science, two are represented in the follow
ing pages. From the Physics, three sections have been selected: In Book II,
Chapter 8, Aristotle argues that nature is purposeful; in Book IV, Chapters
10 through 14, he offers a noteworthy discussion of time; and in Book VI,
Chapter 9, he attempts to refute Zeno s arguments against the possibility of
motion.

From the first book of On the Heavens (often cited as De Caelo),
Chapters 2 and 3 are offered. Here the four elements that we know from
the pre-Socratics earth, water, air, and fire are found insufficient, and
Aristotle adds a fifth, sometimes called aither.

Next, we turn to Aristotle s work On the Soul (also known as De Anima) .
In the first three chapters of the second book, Aristotle defines the soul and
distinguishes its faculties. In Chapters 4 and 5 of the third and last book,
the passive and the active mind are discussed.

The Nicomachean Ethics is still considered one of the greatest works, if
not the single most important one, in the whole field of ethics. The com
prehensive selections from it include Aristotle s discussions of the subject
matter and nature of ethics, of the good for man, of moral virtue, of the
mean, of the conditions of responsibility for an action, of pride, vanity,
humility, and the great-souled man (Aristotle s ideal), of the superiority of
loving over being loved, of friendship and self-love, and finally of human
happiness.

The last selection comprises the first fifteen (of twenty-six) chapters of
the famous Poetics. This is still a standard work of literary criticism, if not
the standard work. This is not to say that everybody agrees with Aristotle,
although it is astonishing how many critics do. But no other work in this
field has elicited so much discussion. The discussion of diction in some of
the later chapters, here omitted, is scarcely comprehensible in translation (at
least the original Greek words or lines have to be furnished in parentheses
or notes) , and much of the rest abounds in brief allusions to a great number
of plays : those who have read all of these plays will surely want to read the
whole of the Poetics, while those who have not will not find the later
chapters as rewarding as the fifteen reproduced here.

The translation of Categories is that of J. L. Ackrill, published by the
Clarendon Press, Oxford, in 1963.

The translation of the Posterior Analytics used here is that of G. R. G.
Mure; it comes from The Works of Aristotle, translated into English under
the editorship of W. D. Ross, and published by the Oxford University
Press. The translation of the Metaphysics is by W. D. Ross himself.

282 ARISTOTLE, CATEGORIES [1*

The next four translations are taken from The Loeb Classical Library,
founded by James Loeb and published by the Harvard University Press, in
Cambridge, Massachusetts, and by William Heinemann Ltd., in London.
In over two hundred volumes, which are available singly, The Loeb Classi
cal Library offers scholarly editions of the original texts of the great Greek
and Latin works of classical antiquity, with exceedingly faithful and read
able English translations on facing pages. Top scholars have contributed
translations with introductions and notes. The names of the translators of
the selections offered here are as follows:

Physics, Philip H. Wicksteed and Francis M. Cornford; On the Heavens,
W. K. C. Guthrie; On the Soul, W. S. Hett; and Nicomachean Ethics, H.
Rackham.

The translation of the Poetics is that of S. H. Butcher. Those who want
to go on to read the whole work will find much helpful material in G. M. A.
Grube s version.

The marginal page numbers, with their "a" and "b," are the same in all
scholarly editions, regardless of language. They are therefore used in all
^scholarly citations of Aristotle. They will be found at the top of the follow
ing pages, as part of the running heads.

The student who seeks further guidance will find W. D. Ross s Aristotle
(published in paperback by Meridian Books) particularly helpful.