Parmenides - Platonic Foundation

Parmenides

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narrator: CEPHALUS of Clazomenae

persons in the dialogue: ADIMANTUS Athenian, son of Ariston, Plato’s brother

ZENO of Elea, student of Parmenides

SOCRATES of Alopece, son of Sophroniscus

PARMENIDES of Elea, philosopher and teacher

ARISTOTLE Athenian of Thorae, son of Timocrates

indirect speakers: GLAUCON Athenian, son of Ariston, Plato’s brother

ANTIPHON Athenian, son of Pyrilampes, Plato’s half-brother

PYTHODORUS Athenian

also present: FRIENDS FROM CLAZOMENAE

scene: outside city walls of Athens in the house of Pythodorus,

during the Great Panathenaea

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When we arrived in Athens from Clazomenae, our hometown, we came across Adimantus and

Glaucon

in the Agora. Adimantus took me by the hand and said, “Greetings, Cephalus, if there is

anything you want here, anything we can do for you, just ask.”

“In fact,” said I, “that’s the very reason I’m here, to ask you for something.”

“Tell us what you want,” he said.

“Your half-brother”, I replied, “on your mother’s side, what was his name? I have forgotten

it. He was just a child when I came to Athens previously from Clazomenae, and that was a long

time ago now. I think his father’s name was Pyrilampes.

“Indeed so,” he replied.

“And his name was?”

“Antiphon. But why are you asking?”

“These men here”, said I, “are fellow citizens of mine, serious philosophers who have heard

that this man, Antiphon, had numerous meetings with a certain Pythodorus, a companion of

Zeno’s,

and that he had heard the discussions that took place between Socrates and Zeno and

Parmenides

so often from Pythodorus that he could recite them from memory.”

“That’s true,” he replied.

“Well,” said I, “we want to hear an account of these discussions.”

“That is no problem,” said he. “Indeed, as a young man he studied these, although nowadays

he takes after his grandfather of the same name and busies himself, for the most part, with horses.

But if you want we can go to visit him. He left here a while ago to go home, but he lives nearby

in Melite.”

With that, we set off on foot and we came across Antiphon at home, giving a bit of some

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sort to a smith to work on. When he had finished with the smith, the brothers told him why we

were there. He recognised me from my previous visit, and greeted me. When we asked him to

recount the discussions, he was reluctant at first, saying that it involved a lot of work, but he even-

tually gave us a detailed account.

Antiphon explained that, according to Pythodorus, Zeno and Parmenides had come to

Athens once for the Great Panathenaea.

Parmenides was by then well advanced in years, a grey-

haired, sixty-five-year-old man of noble and handsome appearance. Zeno was almost forty at the

time, tall and good-looking, and it was said that he had once been a favourite of Parmenides’. They

were staying, he said, with Pythodorus outside the walls in the Kerameikos. Socrates arrived,

accompanied by a number of others who wished to hear a reading of Zeno’s writings which had

been brought to Athens for the first time by these two visitors. Socrates was quite young at the

time. While Zeno himself was reading to them, Parmenides happened to be outside. Pythodorus

said that when he himself came in, along with Parmenides and Aristoteles, who later became one

of The Thirty, very few of the arguments still remained to be read, and they listened to a small

number of writings, although he himself had actually heard them before from Zeno.”

Having listened, Socrates asked that the first hypothesis of the first argument be read again,

and once it had been read, he said, “What do you mean by this Zeno? If things that are, are many,

they must actually be both like and unlike, but this is an impossibility since what’s unlike cannot

be like, nor can what’s like be unlike. Is that what you are saying?”

“It is,” said Zeno.

“So if it is impossible for what’s unlike to be like and for what’s like to be unlike, then isn’t

it also impossible for them to be many? For if they were many, they would be subject to impossible

outcomes. So isn’t this the intention of your arguments, solely to contend, contrary to everything

that is said, that things that are, are not many? You think, don’t you, that each of your arguments

is a proof of this very claim, and so you believe that you have provided as many proofs as written

arguments to the effect that things that are, are not many? Is this what you mean, or have I misun-

derstood you?”

“No,” said Zeno. “On the contrary, you have well understood the intent of the book as a

whole.”

“Well Parmenides,” said Socrates, “I am discovering that Zeno here wishes to be close to

you not only in general friendship, but also in his book. For he has, in a way, written the same

thing as yourself, but by making some changes he tries to deceive us into believing that he is saying

something different. For you say in your poems that ‘all is one’, and you provide excellent, elegant

proofs of this assertion, while this man, for his part, says that it is not many,

and he too provides

lots of extensive proofs. So with one of you saying that it is one, and the other that it is not many,

and each speaking as if you had seemingly not said the same things, while saying more or less the

same things, what you have said appears to have been spoken over the heads of the rest of us.”

“Yes, Socrates,” said Zeno, “but you have not fully appreciated the truth about the book,

although like the hounds of Sparta, you hunt down the arguments and follow their trail quite well.

In the first place, you are unaware of the fact that the book is not really so serious as to have been

written with the intention you are describing, while concealing it from people as if that was some

significant achievement. No, you are referring to something incidental, while in truth this is a sup-

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Adimantus and Glaucon were Plato’s older brothers. They are the main interlocutors with Socrates in Plato’s Republic.

Zeno of Elea was a philosopher and student of Parmenides who became famous for his paradoxes.

Parmenides of Elea was a famous philosopher and founder of the Eleatic school of philosophy.

The Panathenaea was an annual festival held over several days in Athens in honour of the goddess Athena. Every four

years it was celebrated as the Great Panathenaea.

This phrase could be rendered as ‘the many are not’, ‘there is no multiplicity’, or as ‘multiplicity does not exist’.

port to Parmenides’ argument against those who try to make fun of it on the grounds that if it is

one, many absurdities and self-contradictions follow from that proposition. This book then opposes

those who speak for the many and pays them back with the same and more, intending to demon-

strate that this hypothesis of theirs, that it is many, incurs even greater ridicule, if someone suffi-

ciently presses the point, than the hypothesis that it is one. I wrote the book in this sort of combative

spirit in my early years, but once it had been written, someone plagiarised it, so I was not allowed

to decide whether it should see the light of day or not. So, this is the point you have missed,

Socrates. You think it was written out of an older man’s ambition rather than a young man’s com-

bative spirit. Although, as I said, your comparison is not a bad one.”

“I accept that,” said Socrates, “and I believe that the circumstances were as you say. But

tell me this. Don’t you think that there is a form, just by itself, of likeness, and again another form,

opposite to this, that which unlike is? And don’t you and I, and whatever else we call many, get a

share of these two? Don’t those that get a share of likeness become like in the way that, and to the

extent that, they get a share, while those that get a share of unlikeness become unlike, and those

that get a share of both become both? And even if all things get a share of both, although they are

opposites, and by partaking of both become like as well as unlike themselves, is that a surprise?

“Indeed if someone were to show the likes themselves becoming unlike, or the unlikes

becoming like, that I think would be extraordinary. But if he shows that whatever partakes of both

of these is characterised in both ways, that does not seem at all unusual to me, Zeno, nor indeed if

he shows that all things are one by partaking of the one, and these same things are again many by

partaking of multiplicity. But if someone can prove that this itself, what one is, is many, or in turn

that the many are indeed one, at this I will be surprised. And the same holds for all of the others.

If someone could show the kinds and forms themselves, in themselves, being characterised by

these opposite characteristics, that would be worthy of surprise. But why be surprised if someone

can show that I am one and many by saying, when he wants to show that I am many, that my right

side is different, my left side is different, my front is different, my back is different, and the same

goes for my upper and lower parts, since I presumably partake of multiplicity? And when he wants

to show that I am one, he will say that I am one person of the seven of us here, since I also partake

of the one. And so he shows that both assertions are true. So if, in the case of stones and sticks and

the like, someone were to show that such objects are many and also the same one, we shall maintain

that he has shown that something is one and many, not that the one is many or that the many is

one, and he is not saying anything surprising, but something we would all accept. But if someone

were first to distinguish as separate the forms, just by themselves, of the things I just mentioned,

such as likeness, unlikeness, multiplicity, the one, rest and motion and the like, and then show that

these are capable of being combined and separated among themselves, I for one, Zeno, would

admire him wonderfully,” said he. “And although I believe you have dealt with these issues very

thoroughly, I would, as I say, have much more admiration for someone who could demonstrate

that this very same difficulty that you and Parmenides described among visible things, is involved

in all sorts of ways in the forms themselves, in things that are grasped by reasoning.”

Pythodorus said that while Socrates was saying all this, he himself thought that at any

moment Parmenides and Zeno might get annoyed, but on the contrary they paid close attention to

him and occasionally glanced at one another and smiled as if they admired Socrates.

Parmenides confirmed this when Socrates stopped speaking, by saying, “Socrates, you deserve to

be admired for your drive towards arguments, but tell me this. Do you, as you say, distinguish as

separate, certain forms by themselves, and as separate too, whatever partakes of the forms? And

do you think that likeness itself is something separate from the likeness that we have, and indeed

one and many and everything else you heard of just now from Zeno?”

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“I do, indeed,” said Socrates.

“And what about things of this sort,” said Parmenides, “things like the just, beautiful and good

and everything of this sort? Is there a form just by itself in each case?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And what about a form of human being separate from us and from all those who are like us? Is

there a form itself of human being, or fire, or even water?”

“I have often been in perplexity about these, as to whether I should speak of them just as I

spoke of the others, or speak of them differently.”

“What about the following things, Socrates, which may seem ridiculous, for example, hair, mud

and dirt, or anything else totally contemptible or commonplace? Are you perplexed as to whether

or not you should say there is also a separate form of each of these which, in turn, is different from

anything we handle?”

“Not at all,” said Socrates. “No, these are just what we see them to be. Surely it would be

most strange to think that there is a form belonging to these. At that stage, I am troubled

sometimes lest there might be something that is the same about all these. Then, whenever

I end up in that predicament I take flight, afraid that I might sink into some pit of nonsense

and be undone. Finally, getting back to those things which we have just said have forms, I

spend my time dealing with these.”

“You are still young, Socrates,” said Parmenides, “and philosophy has not yet taken hold of you

as, in my opinion, it will in the future when you will hold none of these things in contempt. For

the moment however, because of your youth, you still look to the opinions of other people. In any

case, tell me this: does it seem to you, as you say, that there are certain forms of which these other

things get a share and adopt their names? For example, getting a share of likeness, do they become

like, getting a share of largeness do they become large, and getting a share of beauty and of justice

do they become just and beautiful?”

“Indeed so,” replied Socrates.

“Doesn’t whatever gets a share in each case get a share either of the whole form or of a part? Or

could there be some other way of getting a share besides these two?”

“How could there be?”

“Do you think that the whole form, being one, is in each of the many? Or what do you think?”

“What’s to prevent this, Parmenides?” said Socrates.

“So, being one and the same, it will be present simultaneously as a whole in things that are many

and separate, and would thus be separate from itself.”

“No, Parmenides,” said he, “not if it is like a day, which being one and the same is in many

places simultaneously, and is, nevertheless, not separate from itself. If this were the case,

each of the forms could simultaneously be one and the same in all things.”

“Socrates,” how nicely you make the one and the same be in many places simultaneously, as if

you were to throw a sail over many people and maintain that one, as a whole, is over many. Don’t

you think something like this is what you are saying?”

“Perhaps.”

“Would the sail as a whole be on each person or just a part of this, and another part on another

person?”

“A part.”

“So, forms themselves are divisible, Socrates, and things that partake of them would partake of a

part, and would no longer be in each as a whole, but a part of each form would be in each.”

“Apparently so.”

“Well then, Socrates, do you wish to maintain that our one form is in truth divided and will still

be one?”

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“Not at all.”

“Indeed, look at it this way. If you are going to divide largeness itself, and each of the many

large things is to be large by a part of largeness, smaller than largeness itself, won’t that appear

unreasonable?”

“Very much so.”

“What about this? Will each thing that has received a small part of the equal be equal to anything

else by possessing a part that is less than the equal itself?”

“Impossible.”

“But some of us will have a part of the small, and the small will be greater than this part since this

is a part of itself, and the small itself will in this way be larger, while whatever the subtracted part

is added to will be smaller, not larger, than before.”

“Well, that couldn’t happen,” he said.

“In that case, Socrates, in what way will the others get a share of your forms when they are unable

to get a share either on the basis of parts or on the basis of wholes?”

“No, by Zeus,” he responded, “I don’t think it is easy to decide such a question at all.”

“What about this then? Where do you stand on the following question?”

“Which is?”

“I presume that you think that each form is one for some such reason as this. Whenever many

things seem to you to be large, perhaps there seems to be one characteristic that is the same as you

survey them all. Hence you think that the large is one.”

“That’s true.”

“What about the large itself and the other large things? If you survey all these in the same way

with the soul, won’t some one large appear, in turn, by which all these large things appear large?”

“So it seems.”

“So, another form of largeness will make an appearance alongside the largeness itself that has

come into being, and whatever partakes of this, and another, in turn, over all these, by which all

these will be large, and each of your forms will be one no longer but unlimited in multiplicity.”

“But Parmenides,” said Socrates, “couldn’t each of the forms be a thought of these, and it would

not be appropriate for this to arise anywhere else besides in souls? For in this way, each form

could be one and would no longer be affected by everything that has just been described.”

“Then,” Parmenides replied, “is each of the thoughts one, but a thought of nothing?”

“No, that’s impossible,” he said.

“So, it is a thought of something?”

“Yes.”

“Of something that is or something that is not?”

“Something that is.”

“Isn’t it of some one which that thought thinks is set over all of them as one characteristic?”

“Yes.”

“That something, which is thought to be one, being always the same over all of them, won’t that

be a form?”

“Again, this appears necessary.”

“What about this, then?” asked Parmenides. “By the necessity by which you maintain that the oth-

ers partake of the forms, do you think either that each is from thoughts and everything thinks, or

although they are thoughts, they are devoid of thinking?”

“No, this is not reasonable either,” he said. “But Parmenides, what appears most obvious

to me is that these forms stand like patterns in nature, while the others resemble these and

are likenesses, and for the others this partaking of forms turns out to be nothing else but

resembling them.”

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“Now,” Parmenides replied, “if something resembles the form, can that form fail to be like what-

ever resembles it, insofar as that has been made like the form? Or is there some way that the like

is unlike its like?”

“There is not.”

“And isn’t there a strong necessity that the like partakes of one and the same thing as what it is like?”

“It is necessary.”

“But what do the likes partake of so as to be like? Won’t that be the form itself?”

“Entirely so.”

“So nothing can be like the form, nor can the form be like anything else. Otherwise, alongside the

form another form will always make an appearance. And if that form is like something, yet another

form will appear, and the continual generation of a new form will never cease if the form turns out

to be like whatever partakes of it.”

“Very true.”

“Since it is not by likeness that the others get a share of the forms, we must rather look for some-

thing else by which they get a share.”

“So it seems.”

“Do you see then, Socrates,” said he, “the extent of the difficulty once someone distinguishes

forms as being just by themselves?”

“Very much so.”

“Mark my words, you have not yet, so to speak, grasped the extent of the difficulty that arises if

you propose one form for each of the things that are, in each case, by continually separating some-

thing off.”

“How so?”

“Though there are various other reasons, the main one is this. If someone were to maintain that if

forms are such as we say they must be, it is not in their nature even to be known, no one would be

able to show someone who says so that he is wrong, unless the objector happened to be naturally

gifted, and have lots of experience and a willingness to follow a very extensive and far-reaching

demonstration dealing with the issue. Otherwise, the person who insists that the forms are unknow-

able would remain unconvinced.”

“Why is that Parmenides?” Socrates asked.

“Because, Socrates, I would imagine that you and anyone else who proposes that there is, for each,

some being just by itself, would agree in the first place that none of these are among us.”

“Indeed not. How could it still be just by itself?”

“Well said,” Parmenides replied. “Therefore, those characteristics that are what they are in relation

to one another have their being in relation to themselves, and not in relation to whatever is with

us, whether someone posits likeness or whatever else he suggests we partake of and are named

after in each case. While those that are with us, although they have the same names as the forms,

are, in turn, what they are in relation to themselves and not in relation to the forms. And whatever

things are named in this way refer to themselves and not to those forms.”

“What do you mean?” asked Socrates.

“For instance,” said Parmenides, “if one of us is the master or slave of someone, he is not, of

course, the slave of master itself, what master is; nor is a master, master of slave itself, what slave

is. Rather, as human beings, we are master or slave of a fellow human. Mastery itself, on the other

hand, is what it is of slavery itself, while slavery itself, in like manner, is slavery of mastery itself.

But the things among us do not have their power towards those, nor do those have their power

towards us. Rather, as I say, these are what they are, of themselves and in relation to themselves,

while things with us are, in like manner, relative to themselves. Or do you not understand what I

am saying?”

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“I understand,” said Socrates, “very much so.”

“And is it also the case that knowledge itself, what knowledge is, would be knowledge of that

truth itself, what truth is?”

“Entirely so.”

“Then again, each of the instances of knowledge, what each is, would be knowledge of particular

things that are. Isn’t this so?”

“Yes.”

“The knowledge with us would be knowledge of the truth with us, and furthermore, particular

knowledge with us would turn out to be knowledge of particular things that are with us?”

“Necessarily.”

“But the forms themselves, as you agree, we neither possess nor can they be with us.”

“No, indeed not.”

“And presumably each of the kinds themselves is known by the form of knowledge itself?”

“Yes.”

“Which we do not possess.”

“We do not.”

“So none of the forms is known by us since we do not partake of knowledge itself.”

“Apparently not.”

“So what beauty itself is, and the good, and indeed everything we understand as being character-

istics themselves, are unknown to us.”

“Quite likely.”

“Then consider something even more daunting.”

“Which is?”

“You would say, I presume, that if there is indeed a kind, just by itself, of knowledge, it is much

more precise than the knowledge with us, and the same holds for beauty and all the others.”

“Yes.”

“Now, if anything else partakes of knowledge itself, wouldn’t you say that a god, more so than

anyone, possesses the most precise knowledge?”

“Necessarily.”

“In that case, will a god possessing knowledge itself be able to know things in our realm?”

“Why not?”

“Because, Socrates,” said Parmenides, “we have agreed that those forms do not have the power

that they have, in relation to the things that are with us, nor do the things with us have their power

in relation to those forms. The power in each case is in relation to themselves.”

“Yes, we agreed on that.”

“Well then, if this most precise mastery is with a god, and this most precise knowledge too, the

gods’ mastery would never exercise mastery over us, nor would their knowledge know us nor any-

thing else that is with us. Rather, just as we neither rule over them with our rule nor do we know

anything of the divine with our knowledge, they in turn by the same argument, are not the masters

of us nor do they have knowledge of human affairs, although they are gods.”

“But surely if someone were to deprive a god of knowledge, the argument would be most

surprising.”

“Indeed, Socrates,” said Parmenides, “the forms inevitably possess these difficulties and many

others besides these, if there are these characteristics of things that are, and someone marks off

each form as something by itself. And the person who hears about them gets perplexed and con-

tends that these forms do not exist, and even if they do it is highly necessary that they be unknow-

able to human nature. And in saying all this he seems to be making sense, and as we said before,

it is extraordinarily difficult to persuade him otherwise. Indeed, this will require a highly gifted

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man who will have the ability to understand that there is, for each, some kind, a being just by itself,

and someone even more extraordinary who will make this discovery and be capable of teaching

someone else who has scrutinised all these issues thoroughly enough for himself.”

“I agree with you, Parmenides,” said Socrates. “What you are saying is very much to my

mind.”

“Yet on the other hand Socrates,” said Parmenides, “if someone, in the light of our present

considerations and others like them, will not allow that there are forms of things that are, and

won’t mark off a form for each one, he will not even have anywhere to turn his thought, since

he does not allow that a characteristic of each of the things that are is always the same. And in

this way he will utterly destroy the power of dialectic. However, I think you are well aware of

such an issue.”

“That’s true.”

“Well then, what will you do about philosophy? In what direction will you turn while these are

unknown?”

“Well at the moment I don’t think I can see an answer.”

“Socrates,” said he, “that is because you are trying to mark off something beautiful, just and good,

and each one of the forms too soon before you have been trained. Indeed, I noticed this earlier as

I listened to you in discussion here with this man Aristoteles. Now, mark my words, although the

drive you bring to arguments is noble and divine, you must bestir yourself while you are still young

and get more training in something that seems useless and which most people call idle talk, or else

the truth will escape you.”

“What is the manner of the training Parmenides?” he asked.

“The same as what you heard from Zeno,” he replied, “with the following exception. I was indeed

delighted when you said that you would not allow the enquiry to be about visible things or to con-

sider their wandering. It was rather to consider things that one apprehends mainly by reason and

might think to be forms.”

“That”, said he, “is because by the other approach I think it is all too easy to show things

that are, being characterised as both like and unlike or as anything else at all.”

“And you are right to say so,” he said. “But it is also necessary to do something else in addition.

It is not enough to consider the consequences that follow from hypothesising that each is, but you

must also hypothesise that this same thing is not, if you wish to be better trained.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“Take for instance, if you like,” said he, “this hypothesis that Zeno proposed, ‘if many are’.

What

are the consequences for the many themselves in relation to themselves and in relation to the one,

and for the one in relation to itself and in relation to the many. And furthermore, if many are not,

you need to consider what the consequences will be both for the one and for the many in relation

to themselves and one another. And again, if you hypothesise ‘if likeness is’ or ‘if likeness is not’,

what will follow from either hypothesis, both for the things hypothesised themselves, and for the

others, both in relation to themselves and one another. And the same argument applies when dealing

with unlikeness, with movement, with rest, with generation, with destruction, with being itself,

and with non-being. And in a word, whatever you may ever hypothesise as being, or as not being,

or as characterised by any other characteristic whatsoever, you should consider the consequences

both in relation to itself and in relation to each of the others, whichever you choose, and in relation

to a number of them, and in relation to them all together in the same way, and the others too for

their part, both in relation to themselves and in relation to anything else you may ever choose,

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The Greek phrase here is ei polla esti. We have rendered it as ‘if many are’, but it could be translated as ‘if [things] are

many’.

whether you hypothesise it as being or as not being, if you are to be perfectly trained to have a

supreme vision of the truth.”

“Parmenides,” said he, “you are describing an enormous undertaking which I do not really

understand. Why don’t you go through the process yourself for me by hypothesising some-

thing so that I may better understand this. “

“For a man of my age, Socrates,” he replied, “you are assigning a huge task.”

“Well, Zeno,” said Socrates, “why don’t you go through a hypothesis for us?”

And Pythodorus said that Zeno laughed and replied, “We should ask Parmenides himself, for he

is describing something that is far from commonplace. Don’t you see the extent of the task you

are assigning him? Now, if there were more of us here it wouldn’t be right to ask him, for it is not

appropriate to speak of such matters in front of lots of people, especially at his age. Indeed, most

people are unaware that without this detailed and extensive exploration it is impossible to encounter

the truth and acquire reason. And so, Parmenides, I join Socrates in his request so that I too may

hear you out to the very end after all these years.”

When Zeno had said all this, Antiphon told us that Pythodorus said that he himself, along

with Aristoteles and the others, implored Parmenides to demonstrate what he was speaking of,

nothing else would do. So Parmenides said, “I must comply although I feel as if I am in the same

predicament as the horse in Ibycus’ poem,

the aged competitor who is about to compete in a

chariot race and, because of past experience, trembles at the prospect. The poet comparing himself

to this animal said that he himself, an old man, was being compelled against his will to embark

upon amorous pursuits. And as I think back, I too, it seems, am fearful as to how at my age I am

to swim across such a vast sea of arguments. Nevertheless, I should oblige you since indeed, as

Zeno says, we are by ourselves. So, where shall we begin and what shall we hypothesise first? Or

since it seems I am to play this laborious game, would you like me to begin with myself and my

own hypothesis by hypothesising about the one itself, and what the consequences must be if it is

one or not one?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Zeno.

“Who”, asked Parmenides, “will respond to me? Perhaps the youngest? Yes, he will make least

trouble and will be most inclined to answer based upon what he thinks, and at the same time his

answering would give me a rest.”

“I’m ready for that Parmenides,” said Aristoteles, “since you are referring to me when you

refer to the youngest. So ask your questions and I will answer you.”

“Very well,” said he. “If one is,

the one would not be many, would it?”

“No, how could it be?”

“So, of this there is no part, neither could it be a whole.”

“Why is that?”

“The part is presumably part of a whole.”

“Yes.”

“And what about the whole? Wouldn’t that from which no part is missing be a whole?”

“Certainly.”

“So in both cases the one would consist of parts both by constituting a whole and by having parts.”

“Necessarily.”

“So in both cases the one would thus be many, but not one.”

“True.”

“But it should not be many, but just one.”

“It should.”

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310 | PARMENIDES – 136d–137d

“So, if the one is to be one, it will neither be a whole nor will it have parts.”

“Indeed not.”

“Now, if it does not have a part it would not have a beginning, an end, or a middle, for these sorts

of things would already be parts of it.”

“Correct.”

“And indeed, a beginning and an end are a limit of each thing.”

“Of course.”

“So the one is limitless if it has neither a beginning nor an end.”

“Limitless.”

“So it is without shape, for it partakes neither of round nor straight.”

“How so?”

“Well, whatever has its extremities everywhere the same distance from the middle is presumably

round.”

“Yes.”

“And indeed, something is straight if the middle intercepts both extremities.”

“Quite so.”

“Then the one would have parts and would be many if it were to partake of straight or round shape.”

“Yes certainly.”

“So it is neither straight nor round since, in fact, it does not have parts.”

“Correct.”

“And indeed, being like this, it would be nowhere at all, for it would neither be in another nor in

itself.”

“How so?”

“Being in another, it would presumably be encompassed in a circle by whatever it was contained

in, and would touch this in many places with many parts. However, since it is one, and devoid of

parts, and does not partake of circularity, it is impossible for it to touch in many places in a circle.”

“Impossible.”

“Then again, being in itself it would, by itself, encompass nothing other than itself, if it were actually

in itself, for it is impossible for anything to be in something and not be encompassed by it.”

“Impossible, indeed.”

“In that case, whatever encompasses would be one thing, and whatever is encompassed would be

another, for the same thing will not simultaneously, as a whole, be both active and passive, and

thus the one would no longer be one but two.”

“Indeed not.”

“So the one is not anywhere, neither in itself nor in another.”

“It is not.”

“This being the case, consider whether it can be at rest or in motion.”

“Why could it not be?”

“Because being in motion it would either be transported or altered, for these are the only motions.”

“Yes.”

“But it is impossible, presumably, for the one still to be one while being altered from itself.”

“Impossible.”

“So it does not move by alteration at least.”

“Apparently not.”

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–––––

Ibycus of Rhegium was a lyric poet who was noted, in particular, for his verses on love.

Some scholars justify translating this phrase as ‘if one is or if it is not’.

The phrase ‘if one is’ can also be translated as ‘if it [the one or the all?] is one’. This, however, would make the first

hypothesis predicative, while all of the others are existential.

“In that case, is it transported?”

“Perhaps.”

“And yet, if the one were transported it would either be borne around in a circle in the same place,

or change location from one place to another.”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, being borne around in a circle, it must stand upon a centre and have all that is borne around

that centre as other parts of itself. But in what way is that to which neither centre nor parts belong,

ever to be borne in a circle upon a centre?”

“There is no way.”

“Well then, does it come to be in different places at different times by changing place? Is that how

it moves?”

“If it actually does move.”

“Didn’t it appear impossible for it to be somewhere, in something?”

“Yes.”

“So isn’t it even more impossible for it to come to be somewhere in something?”

“I don’t understand how.”

“If it is coming to be in something, isn’t it necessary that it not yet be in that something while it is

still coming to be in that? Nor can it still be entirely outside that if indeed it is already coming to

be in it.”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, if this is to happen to anything, it could only happen to something that has parts, for some

of it could already be in that thing while, at the same time, some is outside. But that which has no

parts will presumably not be able, in any way, to be neither wholly inside something nor wholly

outside, at the same time.”

“True.”

“But isn’t it even more impossible for that which has no parts and is not a whole, to come to be in

something, somewhere, since it cannot come to be in something else, either part by part, or as a

whole?”

“Apparently.”

“So it does not change place by going somewhere or coming to be in something, nor is it borne

about in the same place, nor is it altered.”

“It seems not.”

“So, on the basis of every movement, the one is unmoving.”

“Unmoving.”

“And yet we also say that it cannot be in something.”

“Yes, so we say.”

“So it is never in the same.”

“Why?”

“Because it would then be in that, in the same that it is in.”

“Certainly.”

“But it was unable to be either in itself or in another.”

“It was indeed.”

“So the one is never in the same.”

“It seems not.”

“But that which is never in the same is neither still nor at rest.”

“Indeed, it cannot be.”

“So the one, it seems, is neither at rest nor in motion.”

“Yes, so it appears anyway.”

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312 | PARMENIDES – 138d–139b

“Then it will neither be the same as another or itself, nor would it be different from itself or from

another.”

“Why is that?”

“Being somehow different from itself, it would be different from one and would not be one.”

“True.”

“And indeed, being the same as another it would be that and not itself, and so in this way it would

not be just what it is, namely one, it would rather be different from one.

“Indeed.”

“So it will not be the same as another, or different from itself.”

“It will not.”

“Yes, and it will not be different from another as long as it is one, for it does not belong to the one

to be different from anything. It belongs rather to different alone, and to nothing else to be different

from another.”

“Correct.”

“So it will not be different by being one. Or do you think it could?”

“Of course not.”

“And yet, if it will not be different by this, it will not be so by itself, and if not by itself it will not,

itself, be different, and being in no way different itself it will be different from nothing.”

“Correct.”

“Nor indeed will it be the same as itself.”

“Why not?”

“The nature of the one is not of course the nature of the same.”

“Why is that?”

“Because once something has become the same as something, it does not become one.”

“What happens?”

“Having become the same as many, it must become many and not one.”

“True.”

“But if the one and the same did not differ at all, whenever something became the same it would

always come to be one, and whenever it became one it would always come to be the same.”

“Certainly.”

“So, if the one is to be the same as itself, it will not be one with itself, and accordingly, although

it is one, it will not be one. But this is indeed impossible. So it is impossible for the one either to

be different from another or the same as itself.”

“Impossible.”

“In this way then, the one would neither be different from, nor the same as, itself or another.”

“It would not.”

“Nor indeed will it be like or unlike anything, either itself or another.”

“Why is that?”

“Because whatever is characterised as the same is presumably like.”

“Yes.”

“But the same appeared to be separate in nature from the one.”

“So it appeared.”

“And yet if the one were characterised as anything besides being one, it would be characterised as

being more than one, and that is impossible.”

“Yes.”

“So the one is not characterised as being like either another or itself.”

“Apparently not.”

“So it cannot be like either another or itself.”

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“It seems not.”

“Nor indeed is the one characterised as being different, for in this way too it would be characterised

as being more than one.”

“More indeed.”

“And yet whatever is characterised as different from itself or another would be unlike itself or

another, since whatever is characterised as the same is like.”

“Correct.”

“Then the one, it seems, is not characterised as being in any way different from, or in any way

unlike, either itself or another.”

“It is not.”

“So the one would neither be like, nor unlike, either itself or another.”

“Apparently not.”

“And indeed, being like this, it will be neither equal nor unequal to itself or another.”

“Why is that?”

“Being equal it will be of the same measures as that to which it is equal.”

“Yes.”

“And presumably, if it is greater or lesser it will have more measures than whatever is lesser than

it, and fewer measures than whatever is greater, in cases where it is commensurable.”

“Yes.”

“But in cases where it is not commensurable, its measures will be either smaller or greater.”

“Of course.”

“Now, isn’t it impossible for that which does not partake of the same, to be of the same measures

or the same anything else at all?”

“Impossible.”

“In that case, since it is not of the same measures, it would not be equal either to itself or to

another.”

“Well, it certainly appears not.”

“Furthermore, being of more measures, or of fewer, it would have as many parts as it has measures,

and thus the one would again be one no longer but as many as its measures.”

“Correct.”

“But if it was of one measure it would become equal to that measure, but this appeared impossible;

it was impossible for the one to be equal to anything.”

“It appeared so indeed.”

“So, since the one neither partakes of one measure nor many nor few, and does not at all partake

of the same, it will never, it seems, be equal to itself or to another, nor again will it be greater or

lesser than itself or another.”

“Entirely so.”

“What about this? Does the one seem capable of being older or younger or the same age as any-

thing?”

“Why could it not be?”

“Because being the same age as itself or another it would partake of equality of time, and of like-

ness, and we said that the one does not partake either of likeness or of equality.”

“We said so indeed.”

“And indeed, we also said that it does not partake of unlikeness and inequality.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Well then, since it is like this, in what way can it be older or younger or the same age as anything?”

“There is no way.”

“So the one could not be younger or older or the same age either as itself or another.”

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314 | PARMENIDES – 140b–141a

“It appears not.”

“Well then, if it were like this, would the one actually be able to be in time at all? Or if something

is in time, must it not necessarily be constantly becoming older than itself?”

“Necessarily.”

“Isn’t the older always older than the younger?”

“Indeed.”

“So, whatever is becoming older than itself is also becoming younger than itself at the same time,

if indeed it is going to have something to become older than.”

“How do you mean?”

“As follows. There is no need for something to become different from something else that is already

different. Rather, it must already be different from that which is different already, it must have

become different from that which has become so, and be about to be different from that which is

about to be so. But it must not have become, nor be about to become, nor be different yet, from

that which is becoming different. It must be becoming so, and nothing else.”

“Yes, necessarily.”

“Furthermore, older is difference from younger and not from anything else.”

“It is indeed.”

“So that which is becoming older than itself is also, necessarily, becoming younger than itself at

the same time.”

“So it seems.”

“Then again, it is not becoming so for more or less time than itself. It is rather for a time equal to

itself that it becomes, and is, and has become, and is about to be.”

“This too is necessarily so.”

“So it is necessary, it seems, at least for everything that is in time and partakes of it, that each of

them is the same age as itself, and is becoming older than itself and younger than itself at the same

time.”

“Very likely.”

“But of course the one did not share in any of these characteristics.”

“It did not.”

“Neither then does it have a share of time, nor is it in any time.”

“It certainly is not, as the argument proves.”

“What about this then? Don’t ‘was’ and ‘has become’ and ‘was becoming’ seem to indicate par-

ticipation in time that has passed?”

“They certainly do.”

“And what about ‘will be’ and ‘will become’ and ‘will have become’? Don’t these indicate partic-

ipation in time to come?”

“Yes.”

“And ‘is’ and ‘becomes’ refer to time that is present now, don’t they?”

“Entirely so.”

“So if the one does not partake of time in any respect, it has never come into being, nor was it coming

into being, and it never was, nor has it now come into being, nor is it coming into being, and it is not.

Nor will it come into being in the future, nor will it have come into being, nor will it be.”

“Very true.”

“Now, is there any way that anything can partake of being besides one of these ways?”

“There is not.”

“So the one does not partake of being at all.”

“It seems not.”

“So the one is not, at all.”

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“Apparently not.”

“So the one is not, not in such a way as to be one, for if it were it would already be, and be partaking

of being. But it seems that the one is not one, and is not, if we should be persuaded by this sort of

argument.”

“Quite likely.”

“What about anything that is not? Would anything be to that, or of that?”

“No, how could it be?”

“So no name belongs to it, nor an account, nor any knowledge, nor perception, nor opinion.”

“It appears not.”

“So it is neither named nor described, nor is it subject to opinion, nor is it known, nor is it perceived

by any of the things that are.”

“It seems not.”

“Now, in relation to the one, is it possible that all this is the case?”

“Well, I don’t think so anyway.”

“Do you wish to go back to the hypothesis once more from the beginning in case something dif-

ferent occurs to us as we go back over it?”

“I certainly do.”

“In that case, if one is, we are saying that the consequences relating to it, whatever they happen to

be, must be agreed upon. Isn’t this so?”

“Yes.”

“Then consider, from the beginning. If one is, can it be but not partake of being?”

“It cannot.”

“Then there would also be the being of the one, and this is not the same as the one, or else it could

not be the being of the one, nor could that, the one, partake of that being, and saying ‘one is’ would

be just like saying ‘one is one’. But the present hypothesis is not what must the consequences be

‘if one is one’, but ‘if one is’. Isn’t this so?”

“It certainly is.”

“Does not the ‘is’ indicate something other than the ‘one’?”

“Necessarily.”

“So, whenever someone makes the succinct statement that ‘one is’, this simply means the one par-

takes of being.”

“Entirely so.”

“Then we should again state what the consequences will be if one is. Now, consider this hypothesis.

Doesn’t it indicate that the one, being like this, has parts?”

“How so?”

“As follows. If we speak of the ‘is’ of the one that is, and the ‘one’ of that which is one, but being

and one are not the same although both belong to what we hypothesised, namely the one that is,

isn’t it necessary that the one that is, itself, be a whole, and that the one and the being constitute

parts of this?”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, shall we refer to each of these two parts as just a part only, or should the part be referred to

as a part of the whole?”

“Of the whole.”

“So, whatever would be one is a whole and has a part.”

“Certainly.”

“What about each of these parts of the one that is, the one part and the being part? Is the one ever

absent from the being part, or the being from the one part?”

“It could not be.”

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“So, once again, each of the two parts possesses the one and the being, and the least part, in

turn, arises from two parts, and according to the same argument it is always the case that what-

ever has become a part always possesses these two parts. And so, the one always possesses being

and being always possesses the one. And so, of necessity, since it is always becoming two, it is

never one.”

“Entirely so.”

“Consequently, the one that is would be unlimited in multiplicity, would it not?”

“So it seems.”

“Let’s take the matter even further.”

“In what way?”

“Do we maintain that because the one is, it partakes of being?”

“Yes.”

“And for these reasons, the one that is appeared to be many.”

“Quite so.”

“What about the one itself then, which we maintain partakes of being? If we grasp this in thought,

on its own just by itself, without that of which we say it partakes, will it appear to be just one, or

will the very same thing also appear to be many?”

“One. That is what I think anyway.”

“Let’s see. If indeed that one is not being, but as one partakes of being, then its being must neces-

sarily be one thing, and itself something different.”

“Necessarily.”

“In that case, if the being is one thing and the one is something different, it is not by being one that

the one is different from the being, or by being being that the being is other than the one. Rather

they are different from one another by the different and the other.”

“Certainly.”

“So the different is not the same as the one or the being.”

“No, how could it be?”

“Well then, if from these we were to select, say, the being and the different, or the being and the

one, or the one and the different, would we not be choosing, with each selection, some pair that is

correctly referred to as both?”

“In what way?”

“As follows. Is it possible to mention being?”

“It is.”

“And also, in turn, to mention one?”

“This too.”

“In that case, has each of them been mentioned?”

“Yes.”

“And whenever I mention being and one, don’t I mention both?”

“Certainly.”

“And whenever I mention being and different, or different and one, and so on for each possible

case, don’t I speak of both?”

“Yes.”

“Could things that are correctly referred to as both, be both without being two?”

“They could not.”

“And if they are two, is there any way that each of them can avoid being one?”

“None at all.”

“So although each turns out to be a twofold combination of these, each constituent would be one.”

“So it appears.”

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“And if each of them is one, by combining any one whatsoever with any pair whatsoever, won’t

they all become three?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t three odd and two even?”

“Of course.”

“What about this? If there are two, is it not necessary that there is also twice, and if there are three,

thrice, if indeed two happens to be twice one and three thrice one?”

“Necessarily.”

“And since there are two and twice, isn’t it necessary that there be twice two? And since there are

three and thrice, isn’t it necessary, again, that there be thrice three?”

“Of course.”

“What about this? If there are three and they are twice, and if there are two and they are thrice, is

it not necessary that there be twice three and thrice two?”

“Very much so.”

“So there would be even times even and odd times odd, and even times odd and odd times even.”

“This is so.”

“And if this is how matters stand, do you think there is any remaining number which must not

necessarily be?”

“Not at all.”

“So if one is, there must necessarily also be number.”

“Necessarily.”

“And yet, if there is number, there would also be many, and a limitless multiplicity of things that

are. Or does not number, while being many and partaking of being, become limitless in multi-

plicity?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“In that case, if all number partakes of being, would not each part of number also partake of this?”

“Yes.”

“So, has being been distributed to all things which are multiple, and is it not absent from any of

the things that are, neither from the smallest nor from the largest? Or is this question unreasonable?

For how could being be absent from any of the things that are?”

“In no way at all.”

“So being is chopped up into all sorts of things that are, from the very smallest to the very largest,

and is the most divided of all things, and there are parts without limit, of being.”

“This is so.”

“So the parts of being are as many as can be.”

“As many as can be, indeed.”

“What about this? Of these parts, is there any that is a part of being without being one part?”

“No, how could that ever happen?”

“Rather, I presume, if it actually is, so long as it is, it is necessarily always one thing, it cannot be

no thing.”

“Necessarily.”

“So the one is present to every part of being, and is not absent from the smaller or larger part, or

from anything else.”

“Indeed so.”

“Well then, being one, is it, as a whole, in many places at the same time? Consider this carefully.”

“I am considering this, and I see that it is impossible.”

“Then if it is not so as a whole, it is so as divided, for the one will not, I presume, be present at the

same time to all the parts of being in any other way besides being divided.”

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“Yes.”

“And indeed, whatever is divided must necessarily be as numerous as its parts.”

“Necessarily.”

“So we were not speaking the truth just now when we said that being has been divided more than

anything. For it has not been divided more than the one, but, it seems, equally with the one, since

being is not absent from the one, nor the one from being, but being two they are always equal

throughout everything.”

“It certainly appears so.”

“So the one, having been itself chopped up by being, is many, and unlimited in multiplicity.”

“So it appears.”

“So not alone is the one that is many, but the one itself having been distributed by being, must

also of necessity be many.”

“Entirely so.”

“Furthermore, because the parts are parts of the whole, the one, on the basis of the whole, would

be limited. Or are the parts not contained by the whole?”

“They must be.”

“And yet whatever contains would be a limit.”

“Of course.”

“So the one, being one, is presumably also many, and a whole, and parts, and is limited and limitless

in multiplicity.”

“So it appears.”

“In which case, since it is limited, doesn’t it also have extremities?”

“Necessarily.”

“What about this? If it is a whole, would it not also have a beginning, middle and end? Or can

anything be a whole without these three? And if any one of these is missing from anything, will it

still, of itself, be a whole?”

“Not of itself, no.”

“Then the one, it seems, would also have a beginning, an end and a middle?”

“It would.”

“Now, the middle stands equally between the extremities, for otherwise it would not be a middle.”

“It would not.”

“Then being like this, the one would also partake of some shape, either straight or round or some

mixture of both.”

“Yes, it would partake of this.”

“Now, since this is so, won’t it also be in itself and in another?”

“How so?”

“Each of the parts is presumably in the whole, and none are outside the whole.”

“Quite so.”

“Are all the parts contained by the whole?”

“Yes.”

“And indeed, the one is all the parts of itself and neither more nor less than all.”

“Indeed not.”

“The one is also the whole, is it not?”

“How could it not be?”

“So, if all the parts happen to be in the whole, and the one is all the parts and the whole itself, and

all the parts are contained by the whole, the one would be contained by the one, and the one would

itself, in this way, already be in itself.”

“So it appears.”

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“Then again, the whole, in turn, is not in any of the parts, nor in them all. For if it is in them all,

it must be in one, since without being in any one it would not, presumably, be in them all. And

if this one is one of them all, and the whole is not present in this, how will it still be present in

them all?”

“In no way at all.”

“Nor again is it in some of the parts, for if the whole were in some, more would be in less, which

is impossible.”

“Yes, impossible.”

“But if the whole is not in more, or in one, or in all of the parts, must it not necessarily be in some-

thing different, or no longer be anywhere at all?”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, being nowhere it would be nothing, but being a whole, since it is not in itself, it is necessarily

in another.”

“Certainly.”

“Insofar then as the one is a whole, it is in another, whereas insofar as it happens to be all the parts,

it is in itself, and thus the one must itself be in itself, and in another.”

“Necessarily.”

“So, if this is the nature of the one, must it not necessarily be in motion and at rest?”

“In what way?”

“If it is indeed in itself it is presumably at rest, for being in one and not changing from that, it

would be in the same, in itself.”

“Indeed so.”

“And that which is always in the same must, surely, always be at rest.”

“Certainly.”

“What about this? Is it not necessarily the case, in contrast, that whatever is always in the different

must never be in the same, and never being in the same must never be at rest, and never being at

rest must be moving?”

“Quite so.”

“So, is it necessary that the one, because it is always in itself and in something different, is always

in motion and at rest?”

“So it appears.”

“And indeed, if it is actually characterised as just indicated, it must be the same as itself and dif-

ferent from itself, and in like manner be both the same as and different from the others.”

“How so?”

“Everything is presumably related to everything else as follows. It is either the same or different,

and if it were neither the same nor different, it would be related to this, either as part to whole, or

as whole in relation to part.”

“So it appears.”

“Now, is the one itself part of itself?”

“Not at all.”

“So it would not be related as a whole to itself as part of itself.”

“No, it could not be.”

“But is the one different from one?”

“Of course not.”

“So it would not be different from itself.”

“Indeed not.”

“Now, if it is neither related to itself as different, nor as part, nor whole, must it not then necessarily

be the same as itself?”

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“Necessarily.”

“What about this? Is it not necessary that whatever is in something different from itself, itself being

in the same as itself, must be different from itself, if indeed it is also to be in something different?”

“Well, I think so.”

“And this appeared to be the case with the one, being both in itself and in another at the same time.”

“It appeared so indeed.”

“So the one, it seems, would in this way be different from itself.”

“So it seems.”

“What about this? If anything is different from something, will it not be different from something

that is different?”

“Necessarily.”

“Won’t whatever is not one be different from the one, and the one from whatever is not one?”

“Of course.”

“So the one would be different from the others?”

“Different.”

“Now, look at this. Are not the same itself and the different opposite to one another?”

“Of course.”

“In that case will the same ever, of itself, be in the different, or the different be in the same?”

“Not of itself, no.”

“So, if the different will never be in the same, there are none of the things that are in which the

different will be present for any time, for if the different were in anything for any time, the different

would for that time be in the same. Is this not so?”

“It is so.”

“And since the different is never in the same, it would never be in any of the things that are.”

“True.”

“So the different would not be in things not one, nor in the one.”

“Indeed not.”

“So, not by the different would the one be different from things not one, nor things not one from

the one.”

“No.”

“Nor by themselves could they be different from one another, since they do not partake of the

different.”

“No, how could they?”

“And if they are not different by themselves, nor by the different, wouldn’t they totally avoid being

different from one another?”

“They would.”

“Furthermore, things not one do not partake of the one, or else they would not be not one, but

would somehow be one.”

“True.”

“Neither would things not one be number, for in this way they would not be not one in every

respect, because they would at least have number.”

“Indeed.”

“What about this? Are things not one parts of the one, or in that case too would things not one par-

take of the one?”

“They would partake of it.”

“So, if in every respect the one is one, and they are not one, the one would neither be a part of

things not one, nor a whole with them as its parts. Nor again would things not one be parts of the

one, nor wholes with the one as a part.”

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“Indeed not.”

“And indeed, we said that things that are neither parts, nor wholes, nor different from one another,

will be the same as one another.”

“Yes, we said so.”

“Then, should we also say that the one, being related in this way to things not one, is the same as

them?”

“We should say so.”

“So the one, it seems, is different both from the others and from itself, and also the same as them,

and itself.”

“It certainly appears likely from this argument.”

“Now, is it also like and unlike itself and the others?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, since it appeared to be different from the others, the others too will presumably be different

from it.”

“Indeed.”

“Wouldn’t it then be just as different from the others as the others are from it, neither more nor

less?”

“Yes, it would.”

“So, if it is neither more so nor less so, it is so in like manner.”

“Yes.”

“Now, being characterised as different from the others, and the others as different from the one in

like manner, the one would in this respect be characterised as the same as the others, and the others

as the same as the one.”

“How do you mean?”

“As follows. Don’t you apply each of the names you use to something?”

“I do.”

“Yes, and can you speak the same name once or many times?”

“I can.”

“Now, is it the case that when you say the name once, you refer to that of which it is the name,

whereas you don’t refer to that when you say it many times? Or is there a strong necessity that

you always speak of the same thing, whether you say the same name once or many times?”

“Indeed so.”

“Now, ‘different’ is a name given to something, is it not?”

“Certainly.”

“So whenever you utter it, whether once or many times, you are not referring to something else,

or naming anything else apart from that of which it is the name.”

“Necessarily.”

“Then, whenever we say that the others are different from the one and that the one is different

from the others, we say ‘different’ twice, but we are not applying the word to another nature. We

are always referring to that nature of which it is the name.”

“Certainly.”

“So, insofar as the one is different from the others and the others from the one, on the basis of

being characterised as different, the one would have a characteristic that is not other than the others

but is the same. And whatever somehow has a characteristic the same, is like, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Insofar then as the one is characterised as different from the others, it would on that basis be

entirely like them all, since it is entirely different from them all.”

“So it seems.”

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322 | PARMENIDES – 147c–148a

“And yet the like is opposite to the unlike.”

“Yes.”

“And the different too is opposite to the same.”

“It is.”

“Then again it appeared to be the case that the one is the same as the others.”

“Yes, it appeared so.”

“And yet being the same as the others is the characteristic opposite to being different from the others.”

“Certainly.”

“But, at least insofar as it was different, it appeared to be like.”

“Yes.”

“So, insofar as it is the same, it will be unlike based upon the characteristic opposite to the one by

which it was characterised as like. And the different made it like, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“So the same will make it unlike, or else it will not be opposite to the different.”

“So it seems.”

“So the one will be like and unlike the others, being like insofar as it is different, and unlike insofar

as it is the same.”

“Yes, it seems that such an argument as this also holds.”

“And indeed the following holds too.”

“Which is?”

“Insofar as it has a characteristic that is the same, it has a characteristic that is not of another kind;

and having a characteristic that is not of another kind, it is not unlike; and not being unlike, it is

like. Whereas insofar as it has another characteristic, it is of another kind, and being of another

kind, is unlike.”

“That’s true.”

“So the one, being the same as the others and because it is different, on both grounds and on either

ground, would be both like and unlike the others.”

“Certainly.”

“In relation to itself too, in like manner, since it appeared to be different from itself and the same

as itself, on both grounds and on either, it will prove to be both like and unlike itself.”

“Necessarily.”

“What about this? Consider the question of the one touching and not touching itself and the others.”

“I am.”

“Indeed, the one somehow appeared to be in itself as a whole.”

“Correct.”

“Now, won’t the one also be in the others?”

“Yes.”

“Then, insofar as it is in the others, it would touch the others, while insofar as it is in itself, it would

be prevented from touching the others, and being in itself, would touch itself.”

“So it appears.”

“Thus the one, then, would touch both itself and the others.”

“It would.”

“What about this then? Mustn’t everything that is going to touch something lie next to whatever

it is going to touch, occupying the position that lies alongside the position occupied by whatever

it touches?”

“Necessarily.”

“So the one then, if it is going to touch itself, must lie right next to itself, occupying a place adjacent

to the place that itself is in.”

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“Yes, it must do this.”

“Now, the one could do this by being two. It could then be in two places at the same time. But as

long as it is one, how could it do so of itself?”

“It could not.”

“So by the same necessity that makes it the case that the one is not two, it must not touch itself

either.”

“The same.”

“Nor indeed will it touch the others.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, according to us, whatever is going to touch must be separate from and next to whatever

it will touch, without any third thing in between them.”

“True.”

“So, if there is to be contact, there must be at least two things.”

“There must.”

“And if to the two, the two distinct things, a third is added next to them, they will be three, and the

contacts two.”

“Yes.”

“And in this way then, by continually adding one thing, one contact is also added, and it follows

that the contacts are fewer by one than the quantity of numbers. For by whatever the first two

exceed the contacts, in being more in a number than the contacts, any succeeding number also

exceeds all the contacts by an amount equal to this. For with every remaining addition, one is

added to the number and one contact is added to the contacts at the same time.”

“Correct.”

“So, whatever the number of things that are, the contacts are always one fewer than them.”

“True.”

“And yet if there is only one, and there is no two, there could be no contact.”

“No, how could there be?”

“Now, according to us, things other than one are neither one, nor do they partake of it if they are

indeed other.”

“No indeed.”

“So number is not in the others since one is not in them.”

“Certainly not.”

“So the others are neither one nor two, nor do they possess the name of any other number.”

“They do not.”

“So the one alone is one, and there could not be two.”

“Apparently not.”

“And in the absence of two, there is no contact.”

“There is not.”

“So the one does not touch the others nor the others the one, since there is no contact.”

“Indeed not.”

“Accordingly, on the basis of all this, the one both touches and does not touch itself and the others.”

“So it seems.”

“Well then, is the one also equal and unequal both to itself and to the others?”

“In what way?”

“If the one were greater or lesser than the others, or the others for their part were greater or lesser

than the one, they could not be greater or lesser than one another by their own being, by the one

being one and the others being other than one, could they? But if in addition to being like this

each were to possess equality, they would be equal to one another. But if the others had greatness

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324 | PARMENIDES – 149a–149e

while the one had smallness, or the one had greatness while the others had smallness, whatever

form had greatness added to it would be greater, while that to which smallness was added would

be lesser.”

“Necessarily.”

“So there are these two forms, largeness and smallness, are there not? For if somehow there were

not, they could not be opposite to one another, nor could they occur in things that are.”

“No, how could they?”

“Now, if smallness occurs in the one, it would be present either in the whole or in part of it.”

“Necessarily.”

“What if it were to occur in the whole? Wouldn’t it either be extended equally throughout the

whole of the one, or else encompass it?”

“Of course.”

“Now, smallness, by being equally with the one, would be equal to it, while by encompassing the

one, wouldn’t it be greater than the one?”

“Inevitably.”

“Now, can smallness be equal to or greater than something, and do what belongs to equality or to

greatness rather than what belongs to itself?”

“Impossible.”

“So smallness could not be in the one as a whole, but in part, if so at all.”

“Yes.”

“But not in the entire part, otherwise it will act in the same way as it did towards the whole. It will

either be equal to or greater than whatever part it would always be in.”

“Necessarily.”

“So smallness will never be in any of the things that are, since it occurs neither in a part nor in the

whole, nor will anything be small except smallness itself.”

“It seems not.”

“So largeness will not be in the one either, for in that case, besides largeness itself, something else,

whatever largeness was in, would be larger, and that would happen in the absence of the small,

which the larger necessarily exceeds if it is actually to be large. But this is impossible since small-

ness is not in anything anywhere.”

“True.”

“Furthermore, largeness itself is not larger than anything except smallness itself, nor is smallness

less than anything but largeness itself.”

“Indeed not.”

“So the others are neither greater nor lesser than the one, since they possess neither greatness nor

smallness. Nor do these two themselves possess the power of exceeding and being exceeded in

relation to the one, but only in relation to one another. Nor again would the one be greater or lesser

than these two or the others, since it possesses neither greatness nor smallness.”

“It certainly appears not.”

“Now, if the one is neither greater nor lesser than the others, must it necessarily neither exceed

them nor be exceeded by them?”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, that which neither exceeds nor is exceeded must necessarily be equally so, and being equally

so, must be equal.”

“Inevitably.”

“And indeed the one itself would also be related in this way to itself, having neither largeness nor

smallness in itself, it would neither exceed nor be exceeded by itself, but being equally so, it would

be equal to itself.”

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“Yes, certainly.”

“So the one would be equal to itself and the others.”

“So it appears.”

“And indeed the one, because it is in itself, would surround itself from outside, and by encom-

passing itself would be greater than itself, while by being encompassed it would be lesser than

itself, and thus the one would be greater than and lesser than itself.”

“It would indeed.”

“Is it necessary then, that outside of the one and the others, there is nothing?”

“Of course.”

“And yet what is, must always be somewhere.”

“Yes.”

“Won’t whatever is in something, be so as a lesser in a greater? For in no other way could one

thing be in another.”

“Indeed not.”

“But since there is nothing else apart from the others and the one, and since they must be in some-

thing, mustn’t they necessarily then be in one another, the others in the one and the one in the

others, or else be nowhere at all?”

“Apparently so.”

“So, because the one is in the others, the others would be greater than the one since they encompass

it, while the one, since it is encompassed, would be lesser than the others. But because the others

are in the one, the one would, by the same argument, be greater than the others and the others

lesser than the one.”

“So it seems.”

“So the one is both equal to, and greater and lesser than, itself and the others.”

“Apparently.”

“And indeed, if it is actually greater, and lesser, and equal, it would be of equal measures with

itself and the others, and of more and fewer measures too, and since of measures, also of parts.”

“Of course.”

“Then being of equal measures and more and less, it would also be less and more in number than

itself and the others, and equal both to itself and the others on the same basis.”

“In what way?”

“It would presumably be of more measures and parts than whatever it is greater than, and of as

many parts as of measures, and likewise for whatever it is less than, and the same holds for what-

ever it is equal to.”

“Quite so.”

“Then being greater and lesser than and equal to itself, wouldn’t it be of equal and more and fewer

measures to itself, and since of measures, also of parts?”

“Of course.”

“Well then, being of equal parts with itself, it would be equal to itself in multiplicity, and being

more than itself and less than itself, it would be more or less in number than itself.”

“So it appears.”

“Wouldn’t the one also relate to the others in the same way? Because it appears greater than them,

it is necessarily more than them in number, and on the other hand, because it is smaller it is less in

number, and because it appears equal in magnitude, it must be equal in multiplicity to the others.”

“Necessarily.”

“Accordingly, it seems that the one will in turn be equal to, and more and less in number than itself

and the others.”

“It will.”

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“Now, does the one partake of time, and partaking of time, is it and does it come to be younger

and older than itself and the others, and neither younger nor older than itself and the others?”

“How?”

“If one actually is, then ‘to be’ belongs to it.”

“Yes.”

“And is ‘to be’ anything other than participation in being along with present time, just as ‘was’ is

communion with being along with past time, and ‘will be’ is communion along with future time.”

“It is indeed.”

“So the one partakes of time if it does indeed partake of being.”

“Certainly.”

“Of time that is advancing?”

“Yes.”

“So the one continually becomes older than itself if it actually advances according to time.”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, do we remember that whatever becomes older becomes older than something that becomes

younger?”

“We do.”

“Therefore, since the one becomes older than itself, wouldn’t it become older while becoming

younger than itself?”

“Necessarily.”

“In this way then, it becomes younger and older than itself.”

“Yes.”

“But it is actually older, is it not, whenever in coming to be it is at the present moment, in between

what was and what will be? For as it proceeds from what was to what will be, it will not, I presume,

step over the present.”

“Indeed not.”

“Well, won’t it then cease from becoming older whenever it encounters the present? Then it is not

becoming older since it is already older. For while advancing it would never be grasped by the

present. For that which is advancing is in a situation whereby it is in touch with both the present

and what will be, letting go of the present while grasping what will be, as it is becoming in between

both what will be and the present.”

“True.”

“But if anything that is becoming must necessarily not evade the present, then whenever it is, at

this it ceases from its becoming, and then actually is whatever it happened to be becoming.”

“Apparently.”

“And so the one, as it is becoming older, ceases becoming older and is actually older whenever,

as it is becoming older, it encounters the present.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Now, it is actually older than whatever it was becoming older than, and wasn’t it becoming older

than itself?”

“Yes.”

“Is the older, older than the younger?”

“It is.”

“And so the one is then younger than itself whenever, as it is becoming older, it encounters the

present.”

“Necessarily.”

“And yet, the present is always present to the one throughout its entire being, for whenever the

one is, it always is in the present.”

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“Of course.”

“So the one always is, and always becomes, older and younger than itself.”

“So it seems.”

“Now, is it, or is it becoming, for a longer time than itself, or for an equal time?”

“Equal.”

“But whatever is always becoming for an equal time is the same age.”

“Of course.”

“And whatever is the same age is neither younger nor older.”

“Indeed.”

“Then the one, since it is and is becoming for a time that is equal to itself, neither is nor is becom-

ing, younger or older than itself.”

“It seems not.”

“Well then, what about the others?”

“I can’t say.”

“Well, you can say that things other than the one, if they are indeed things that are different rather

than a thing that is different, are more than one. For a different thing would be one, while different

things are more than one and would be possessed of multiplicity.”

“Yes, they would.”

“And being multiple they would have a share of number greater than the one.”

“Of course.”

“What about this? Shall we maintain, with respect to number, that it is the more numerous or the

less numerous that come into being, and have come into being earlier?”

“The less numerous.”

“So the least of all is first of all and this is the one. Isn’t this so?”

“Yes.”

“So, of everything that possesses number, the one has come into being first, and the others all pos-

sess number if they are indeed others, and not just an other.”

“They possess it indeed.”

“But the one, I think, having come into being first, has come into being earlier, while the others

have come into being later, and thus the others would be younger than the one and the one older

than the others.”

“They would indeed.”

“What about this? Has the one come into being contrary to its own nature, or is that an impossi-

bility?”

“An impossibility.”

“And yet the one was shown to have parts, and having parts, to have a beginning, an end and a

middle.”

“Yes.”

“Now, of all the parts of the one itself, and of each of the others, doesn’t the beginning come into

being first, and after the beginning, all the others until the end?”

“Indeed.”

“And shall we also say that all these others are parts of the whole, that is the one, and that this has

itself come to be one and whole, simultaneously with the end?”

“Yes, so we should say that.”

“And yet the end, I believe, comes into being last, and simultaneously with this, the one naturally

comes into being. So that if indeed the one itself necessarily comes into being in accord with its

nature, it would naturally come into being later than the others, having come into being at the same

time as the end.”

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“So it appears.”

“So the one is younger than the others, and things other than the one are older than the one.”

“Again, that’s how it appears to me.”

“What about the beginning then, or any other part whatsoever of the one or of anything else at all?

If it is a part, but is not parts, must it not of necessity be one, at least insofar as it is a part?”

“Necessarily.”

“In that case the one would come into being at the same time as the first part that comes into being,

and at the same time as the second, and is not left out of any of the other parts that come into being,

whatever is added to anything, until, with the arrival of the last part, one whole has come into being,

missing neither the middle part, nor the first, nor the last, nor any other part, in its generation.”

“True.”

“Therefore, the one is the same age as all the others, and so, if the one itself is not by nature opposed

to its own nature, it would not have come into being either before or after the others, but at the same

time. And according to this account, the one would be neither older nor younger than the others,

nor the others than the one. But according to the previous argument the one is both older and younger

than the others, and the others are in like manner both older and younger than the one.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“So the one is, and has come into being in this way. But what about the one becoming both older

and younger than the others, and the others than the one, and becoming neither older nor younger?

Is whatever is the case in relation to being also the case in relation to becoming, or is it different?”

“I cannot say.”

“Well, I can say this much at least. If one thing is indeed older than another, it would not be able

to become even older by an age difference greater than the age difference when it first came into

being, nor for its part could the younger become even younger by an increased amount. For equal

amounts added to unequal amounts of time, or anything else at all, always make them differ by an

amount equal to the initial difference.”

“Of course.”

“So that which is older or younger could never become older or younger if it does indeed always

differ in age by an equal amount. It is, and has come to be, older in one case and younger in the

other, but it is not becoming older or younger.”

“True.”

“Then the one does not ever become either older or younger than the others that are older or

younger than it.”

“Indeed not.”

“But let’s see if they become older or younger in the following way.”

“How?”

“In the way that the one appeared to be older than the others, and the others than the one.”

“What of it?”

“Whenever the one is older than the others, it has been becoming for a longer period of time than

the others.”

“Yes.”

“Consider this, then. If we add an equal amount of time to the greater and to the lesser time periods,

will the greater differ from the lesser by an equal portion of time, or by a smaller portion?”

“By a smaller portion.”

“So, whatever was the initial age difference between the one and the others, this will not be the

same thereafter. Rather, having taken a time increment that is equal to the others, the one will

always differ from them by a lesser portion than before. Isn’t this so?”

“Yes.”

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“Now, wouldn’t that which is lesser in age than it was before in relation to something else, become

younger than before in relation to whatever it was previously older than?”

“Yes, younger.”

“And if that becomes younger, won’t those others, in turn, become older than before in relation to

the one?”

“Certainly.”

“So that which has come to be younger, becomes younger in relation to that which had previously

come to be and still is older, yet although it is always becoming older than that, it never actually

is older. For that advances towards the younger, while the younger advances towards the older.

And the older, for its part, becomes younger than the younger in the very same way. For as they

are both proceeding towards their opposites, they are becoming opposite to one another; the

younger is becoming older than the older, while the older is becoming younger than the younger.

But they could not actually become so. For if they had become so, they would no longer be becom-

ing so, but would actually be so. But as matters stand, they are becoming older and younger than

one another; the one is becoming younger than the others because it proved to be older and to have

come into being earlier, while the others are becoming older than the one because they came into

being later. And by the same argument, the others are also related in the same way to the one, since

they proved to be older than the one and to have come into being earlier.”

“Yes, this appears to be the case.”

“Isn’t it the case then, that in so far as nothing becomes younger or older than anything else on the

basis of always differing by an equal number, the one would not become older or younger than

the others, nor the others than the one. While insofar as things that have come into being earlier

necessarily differ from things that have come into being later, and the later from the earlier, by a

portion that is never the same, things must in this way be becoming both older and younger than

one another, the others than the one, and the one than the others?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Based upon all this then, the one is itself both older and younger than the others, and is becoming

so, and neither is, nor is becoming, either older or younger than itself or the others.”

“Yes, entirely so.”

“And since the one partakes of time and of becoming older and younger, mustn’t it necessarily

partake of ‘was’, ‘will be’, and of ‘now’, if it does indeed partake of time?”

“Necessarily.”

“So the one was, and is, and will be, and has become, and is becoming, and will become.”

“Indeed.”

“And something could be to that, and of that, and was, and is, and will be.”

“Certainly.”

“And there could then be knowledge of this, and opinion, and awareness, if we are in fact even

now engaging in all these in relation to this.”

“Correct.”

“And a name and an account belong to it, and it is named and described, and anything of this sort

that happens to apply to the others applies also to the one.”

“Yes, this is how matters stand, entirely so.”

“Then, let’s say for yet a third time: if the one is, as we have described it, being both one and many,

and neither one nor many, and partaking of time, must it not of necessity sometimes partake of

being because one is, and, indeed, sometimes not partake of being because one is not?”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, when it is partaking will it then be able not to partake, or to partake when it is not partaking?”

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“It will not be able.”

“So it partakes at one time and does not partake at another, for only in this way could it partake

and not partake of the same thing.”

“Correct.”

“Isn’t there also this time when it gets a share of being and gets rid of it? Or how will it be able to

have something at one time, and not have the same thing at another, if it does not ever take hold

of this and let it go?”

“In no way at all.”

“Well don’t you refer to getting a share of being as coming to be?”

“I do.”

“And to departing from being as ceasing to be?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Then the one, it seems, in grasping and letting go of being, is coming into being and ceasing to

be.”

“Necessarily.”

“And being both one and many, and coming into being and ceasing to be, isn’t it the case that

whenever it becomes one, its being many ceases to be, and whenever it becomes many, its being

one ceases to be.”

“Certainly.”

“And in becoming one and many mustn’t it necessarily be separated and combined?”

“Very much so.”

“And indeed whenever it becomes unlike and like, mustn’t it necessarily be likened and

unlikened?”

“Yes.”

“And whenever it becomes greater or lesser or equal. isn’t it increased, diminished or equalised?”

“Quite so.”

“And whenever being in motion it comes to rest, and whenever being at rest it changes to moving,

it must not itself be in any time at all.”

“How so?”

“Being previously at rest and afterwards in motion, or previously in motion and subsequently at

rest, are impossible unless it undergoes change.”

“Of course.”

“And yet there is no time in which something can, simultaneously, be neither in motion nor at

rest.”

“Indeed not.”

“But it cannot undergo change without changing.”

“Not likely.”

“So when does it undergo change? For it does not change whilst at rest, or whilst in motion, or

whilst in time.”

“It does not.”

“Well, in that case, is there this strange thing in which it would then be when it changes?”

“What sort of thing?”

“The moment. Indeed the moment seems to indicate something of this sort, such that there is

change from the moment to either state. For a thing does not change from resting while still being

at rest, nor does it change from moving while still being in motion. But the moment is this strange

nature, inserted between motion and rest, being in no time at all, and indeed to this, and from this,

the moving changes to being at rest and the resting to being in motion.”

“Quite likely.”

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“And the one then, if indeed it is both at rest and in motion, would change to both states, for only

in this way could it do both. But in changing it changes in a moment, and when it changes it would

be in no time at all, nor would it then be in motion, nor would it be at rest.”

“Indeed not.”

“Is this also the case in relation to the other changes? Whenever it changes from being to ceasing

to be, or from not being to coming into being, is it then coming to be in between certain motions

and rests? And is it then the case that it neither is, nor is not, and is neither coming to be, nor

ceasing to be?”

“So it seems at any rate.”

“And by the same argument too, when going from one to many and from many to one, it is neither

one nor many, neither separated nor combined. And when going from like to unlike and from

unlike to like, it is neither like nor unlike, neither likened nor unlikened. When going from small

to large, and to equal, and to their opposites, it is neither small nor large nor equal, and it would

be neither increasing nor diminishing nor becoming equal.”

“It seems not.”

“So, if the one is, it would undergo all these affections.”

“Of course.”

“Well, shouldn’t we also consider what it would be appropriate for the others to undergo if one is?”

“We should consider this.”

“In that case, should we state what things other than the one must undergo, if one is?”

“We should.”

“Now, since they are indeed other than the one, the others are not the one, or else they would not

be other than the one.”

“Correct.”

“But the others are not entirely deprived of the one either, but partake of it in some way.”

“In what way?”

“Things other than the one are presumably other because they have parts. Indeed if they were not

to have parts they would be entirely one.”

“Correct.”

“But parts, we say, are parts of this, this whole.”

“So we say.”

“And yet the whole is necessarily one composed of many, of which the parts will be parts, for each

of the parts must be a part not of multiplicities but of a whole.”

“Why is that?”

“If something were to be a part of a multiplicity, among which it is itself included, it would pre-

sumably be part of itself which is impossible. And it would be a part of each of the others too if it

were actually part of them all. Indeed, not being part of this one, it will be a part of the others

except for this one, and thus will not be part of each one, but not being part of each it will be part

of none of the many. But it is not possible for something that is not a part of all of them to be a

part or anything else at all of those things of which it is not a part of any one.”

“Apparently so.”

“So a part is not a part of a multiplicity or of all; it is rather a part of some one form that we call a

whole, a complete one that has arisen from them all. A part would be part of this.”

“Entirely so.”

“So, if the others have parts, they would also have a share of the one and of the whole.”

“Certainly.”

“So things other than one must necessarily be one complete whole possessing parts.”

“Necessarily.”

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“And indeed, the same argument applies to each part. For these too must necessarily have a share

of the one. For if each of them is a part, being each presumably indicates being distinct from the

others and being by itself, if indeed it is to be each.”

“Correct.”

“And yet it would of course have a share of the one while being other than one, or else it would

not have a share of the one but would itself be one. But it is presumably impossible now for any-

thing except the one itself to be one.”

“Impossible.”

“So both the whole and the part necessarily share in the one. For the whole will be one and the

parts will be parts of that. While each part, in turn, that is part of the whole, would be one part of

the whole.”

“Quite so.”

“Won’t whatever shares in the one have a share while being different from the one?”

“Of course.”

“Things that are different from the one would presumably be many. Indeed if things other than the

one were neither one nor more than one, they would be nothing.”

“Indeed so.”

“But since whatever gets a share of one part or one whole is more than one, it is necessary, is

it not, that those things themselves that partake of the one must already be unlimited in mul-

tiplicity?”

“How so?”

“Let’s look at the following. When they partake of the one they partake while neither being one,

nor having a share of the one.”

“Obviously.”

“Then they partake, don’t they, while being multiplicities in which the one is not present?”

“Multiplicities indeed.”

“What about this? If we wished, in thought, to take away as little as we possibly could from such

multiplicities, wouldn’t the part that has been taken away necessarily be a multiplicity and not

one, if in fact it does not partake of the one?”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, continuing to consider the nature just by itself, different from the form, in this way won’t

as much of it as we can ever discern be unlimited in multiplicity?”

“Entirely so.”

“And indeed, whenever each part has become one part, the parts then have limit in relation to one

another, and in relation to the whole, and so too does the whole in relation to the parts.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“In that case, the consequence for things other than the one from the communion of themselves

and the one is, it seems, that something different arises among themselves which provides limit in

relation to one another, while by themselves their own nature provides limitlessness.”

“So it appears.”

“In this way then, things other than the one, both as wholes, or based upon parts, are limitless and

have a share of limit.”

“Certainly.”

“Are they not also both like and unlike one another and themselves?”

“In what way?”

“Insofar as they are all presumably unlimited based upon their own nature, they would in this way

be characterised as the same.”

“Certainly.”

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“And indeed, insofar as they all have a share of limit, they would all in this way also be charac-

terised as the same.”

“Of course.”

“And yet insofar as they have been characterised as both limited and limitless, they have been

characterised by characteristics that are opposite to one another.”

“Yes.”

“And the opposites are as unlike as possible.”

“Indeed.”

“So on the basis of either characteristic, they would be like themselves and one another, while on

the basis of both characteristics, they would be as unlike as possible, and as opposite as possible,

in both ways.”

“Quite likely.”

“In this way then, the others themselves would be both like and unlike themselves and one another.”

“So they would.”

“And since they actually proved to have these characteristics, we shall find with no further diffi-

culty that things other than the one are the same as, and different from, one another, are in motion

and at rest, and are characterised by all the opposite characteristics.”

“Correct.”

“Well then, if at this stage we accept these outcomes as obvious, should we consider once more if

one is, are things other than the one not so, or just so?”

“Certainly.”

“Then let us say from the beginning how things other than the one must be characterised if one is.”

“Let’s say so.”

“Now, must not the one be separate from the others, and the others be separate from the one?”

“Why is that?”

“Because there is not, I presume, anything else besides these, that is other than the one and other than

the others, for once the one and the others have been mentioned, everything has been spoken of.”

“Yes, everything.”

“So there is nothing further that is different from these, in which both the one and the others could

be in the same.”

“Indeed not.”

“So the one and the others are never in the same.”

“It seems not.”

“So are they separate?”

“Yes.”

“Now, according to us that which is truly one does not have parts.”

“Of course.”

“So the one as a whole, would not be in the others, nor would parts of it, if it is separate from the

others and does not have parts.”

“Of course.”

“So the others would not partake of the one in any way, since they partake neither of a part of it

nor of the whole.”

“It seems not.”

“So the others are not one in any way, nor do they have any one in themselves.”

“Indeed not.”

“So the others are not many either, for each of them would be one part of the whole if they were

many. But, as matters stand, things other than one are neither one nor many, neither a whole nor

parts, since they do not partake of the one in any way.”

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“Correct.”

“So the others themselves are neither two nor three nor are these in them if they are indeed entirely

deprived of the one.”

“This is so.”

“So the others are themselves neither like and unlike the one, nor are likeness and unlikeness in

them. For if they were like and unlike, or had likeness and unlikeness in themselves, things other

than the one would presumably possess two forms in themselves that are opposite to one another.”

“Apparently.”

“But things that do not even partake of one could not possibly partake of any two.”

“Impossible.”

“So the others are neither like, nor unlike, nor both. For if they were like or unlike they would par-

take of one different form, and if they were both like and unlike they would partake of two opposite

forms, but these outcomes have proved to be impossible.”

“True.”

“Nor are they the same or different, nor are they in motion or at rest, nor are they coming into

being or ceasing to be, nor are they greater or lesser or equal. Nor do they have any other charac-

teristics of this sort. For if the others submit to being characterised by anything of this sort, they

will also share in one and two and three and odd and even. But it turned out to be impossible for

them to partake of these since they are entirely deprived of the one in every way.”

“Very true.”

“In which case, if one is, the one is everything, and both in relation to itself and in relation to the

others in like manner, it is not even one.”

“Entirely so.”

“So be it. Next, should we not consider what the consequences must be if one is not?”

“Yes, we should.”

“Well, what would this hypothesis, ‘if one is not’, be? Does it differ at all from the hypothesis, ‘if

not one is not’?”

“It differs indeed.”

“Does it just differ, or is saying ‘if not one is not’ the complete opposite to saying ‘if one is not’?

“It is the complete opposite.”

“What if someone were to say ‘if largeness is not’ or ‘if smallness is not’, or anything else of that

sort, would it be obvious in each case that he is saying that a different thing is that which is not?”

“Certainly.”

“Is it not also obvious then that whenever someone says ‘if one is not’, he is saying that what is

not is different from the others, and we know what he is referring to?”

“Yes, we know.”

“So whenever he speaks of one, is it obvious, firstly, that he is referring to something knowable,

and secondly, to something different from the others, whether being or not being is added. For we

still know, nevertheless, what is said not to be, and we know that it is different from the others.

Isn’t this so?”

“Necessarily.”

“So we should say from the beginning as follows, what must be the case if one is not. Now, the

first thing that must pertain to it is, it seems, that there be knowledge of it, otherwise we would

not know what is being said when someone says, ‘if one is not’.”

“True.”

“Also, must not the others be different from it, otherwise it could not be said to be different from

the others?”

“Certainly.”

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“And so, difference belongs to it in addition to the knowledge. For whenever the one is said to

be different from the others, the difference of that one is referred to, and not the difference of

the others.”

“Apparently.”

“And indeed, the one that is not would share in that, in something, and in by-this and in to-this

and in these, and in everything of this sort. For the one could not be spoken of, nor could things

different from the one, nor could anything be to that or of that, nor could it be referred to as anything

if it did not have a share either of something or of these others.”

“Correct.”

“In that case, although the one cannot partake of ‘to be’, since it is not, there is nothing to prevent

it from partaking of many things and this is actually necessary if indeed that one, and not another,

is not. In fact, if neither the one, nor that, are not to be, but the argument concerns something else,

then nothing should even be uttered. But if that one and no other is hypothesised not to be, it must

also have a share in that, and in many others.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“So the one also has unlikeness in relation to the others. For things other than the one, being dif-

ferent, would also be different in kind.”

“Yes”

“And are not things that are different in kind, other in kind?”

“Of course.”

“And things that are other in kind are unlike, are they not?”

“Yes, unlike.”

“Now, if they are indeed unlike the one, it is obvious that unlike things would be unlike something

that is unlike them.”

“It is obvious.”

“In that case, the one would also have unlikeness in respect of which the others are unlike it.”

“So it seems.”

“But if it actually has unlikeness to the others, must it not necessarily have likeness to itself?”

“In what way?”

“If the one has unlikeness to the one, the argument would not, presumably, be about something of

this sort, something like the one, nor would the hypothesis be about one, but about something other

than one.”

“Of course.”

“But it should not be about that.”

“Indeed not.”

“So the one must have likeness of this to itself.”

“It must.”

“And furthermore, the one is not equal to the others either. For if it were to be equal it would

already be, and it would also be like them, based on the equality. But both these outcomes are

impossible if indeed one is not.”

“Yes, impossible.”

“And since the one is not equal to the others, isn’t it necessary that the others are not equal to

the one?”

“Necessarily.”

“Are not things that are not equal, unequal?”

“Yes.”

“And unequals are unequal to an unequal, are they not?”

“Of course.”

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“And in that case, does the one partake of inequality in respect of which the others are unequal to it?”

“It partakes.”

“But inequality involves largeness and smallness.”

“It does.”

“So, does a one of this sort have largeness and smallness?”

“Quite likely.”

“But largeness and smallness always stand apart from one another.”

“Certainly.”

“So there is always something in between them?”

“There is.”

“Now, can you say that there is anything in between them except equality?”

“Nothing except this.”

“So, whatever has largeness and smallness also has an equality which is in between these two.”

“Apparently.”

“Then the one that is not would, it seems, also have a share of equality as well as largeness and

smallness.”

“So it seems.”

“And indeed, it should also, in a way, have a share of being.”

“In what way?”

“It must be such as we describe it, for if it were not such as we describe it, we would not be speak-

ing the truth when we say that the one is not. But if we are speaking the truth, it is obvious that we

are stating what actually is. Is this not so?”

“It is so indeed.”

“And since we maintain that we are speaking the truth, we must also maintain that we are stating

what is.”

“We must.”

“So the one is, it seems, if it is not. For if it were not to be what is not, but were somehow to let

go of its being in relation to not being, it would immediately be what is.”

“Entirely so.”

“So, if it is not to be, it must have being what is not as a bond of not being, in just the same way

that what is must have not being what is not, so that it in turn may be in every respect. For in this

way, most of all, what is would be, and what is not would not be, by what is partaking of the being

of being what is, and the being of not being what is not, if it is to be in every respect, and on the

other hand, by what is not partaking of the being of not being what is, and of the being of being

what is not, if it too is in turn not to be in every respect.”

“Very true.”

“Now, since what is also shares in non-being, and what is not shares in being, the one must nec-

essarily share in being in respect of its non-being, since it is not.”

“Necessarily.”

“In fact then, it appears that the one has being, if it is not.”

“So it appears.”

“And also to have non-being if in fact it is not.”

“Of course.”

“Now, can something that is in a certain state not be in that state without changing from that state?”

“It cannot.”

“So everything of this sort, which is both so and not so, implies change.”

“Of course.”

“And change is motion, or what shall we maintain?”

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“It is motion.”

“Didn’t the one turn out to be and not to be?”

“Yes.”

“And so it appears in this way to be both so and not so.”

“So it seems.”

“And so the one that is not turns out to be in motion, since it has turned out to be changing from

possessing being to possessing not being.”

“Quite likely.”

“Then again, if it is not included anywhere among things that are, which it is not since it is not, it

would not relocate from one place to another.”

“Of course.”

“So it would not move by changing place.”

“It would not.”

“Nor indeed would it revolve in the same, since it has no contact with the same anywhere. For the

same is something that is, and what is not cannot be in any of the things that are.”

“No, it cannot.”

“So the one that is not would not be able to revolve in that in which it is not.”

“Indeed not.”

“Nor could the one, whether it is or is not, be altered from itself. For in that case the argument

would no longer be about the one if it were actually altered from itself, but about something else.”

“Correct.”

“But if it is not altered, nor does it revolve in the same place, nor does it change place, could it

still move in any way?”

“No, how could it?”

“But that which is not moving must necessarily be still, and that which is still must be at rest.”

“It must.”

“So the one, it seems, although it is not, is both at rest and in motion.”

“So it seems.”

“And indeed, if in fact the one is moved, there is a strong necessity that it be altered. For according

to the manner in which something is moved. it is to that extent no longer just as it was, but is dif-

ferent.”

“Quite so.”

“So the one, since it is being moved, is also being altered.”

“Yes.”

“Then again, since it is not being moved in any way, it would not be altered in any way.”

“Indeed not.”

“So, insofar as the one that is not is moved, it is altered, but insofar as it is not moved it is not

altered.”

“Indeed not.”

“So the one that is not is both altered and not altered.”

“Apparently.”

“Now, must not that which is altered come to be different than before and cease to be in its former

state, while that which is not altered must neither come to be, nor cease to be?”

“Necessarily.”

“And so the one that is not, because it is being altered, is both coming to be and ceasing to be. And

because it is not being altered it is neither coming to be nor ceasing to be, and accordingly, the one

that is not is both coming to be and ceasing to be, and neither coming to be nor ceasing to be.”

“Indeed it is not.”

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“Then let us go back once again to the beginning and see if different outcomes or the same out-

comes will appear to us as appeared just now.”

“We should do so.”

“In that case, are we to state what the consequences for the one must be, if the one is not?”

“Yes.”

“Whenever we say ‘is not’, isn’t this simply indicating the absence of being in that which we main-

tain is not?”

“Nothing else.”

“Now, whenever we maintain that something is not, are we maintaining that in a way it is not, and

in a way it is? Or is the phrase ‘is not’ simply indicating that whatever is not, is not at all in any

way, and does not partake of being in any way?”

“Yes, simply that.”

“So, what is not could not be, nor could it partake of being in any other way at all.”

“Indeed not.”

“But coming to be and ceasing to be are nothing but the acquisition of being and the loss of being.”

“Nothing but.”

“But that which has no share of being could neither have acquired it nor lost it.”

“No, how could it?”

“So, since the one is not in any way, it could not possess or lose or acquire being in any way at all.”

“Quite likely.”

“So the one that is not neither ceases to be, nor comes to be, since in fact it does not partake of

being in any way.”

“Apparently not.”

“So the one that is not is not altered in any way, for if this happened it would already be both com-

ing into being and ceasing to be.”

“True.”

“But if it is not altered, then necessarily it is not moved either.”

“Necessarily.”

“Nor indeed shall we maintain that what in no way is, is at rest. For that which is at rest must

always be in something the same.”

“In the same, yes of course.”

“Accordingly, we should also say that what is not is never either at rest or in motion.”

“Indeed it is not.”

“But in that case, none of the things that are belong to it, for it would then partake of being by par-

taking of this.”

“Obviously.”

“So neither largeness nor smallness nor equality belong to it.”

“Indeed not.”

“Nor would likeness or difference belong to it, neither with respect to itself, nor with respect to

the others.”

“Apparently not.”

“What about this? If it can have nothing, is there any way that it can have others?”

“There is not.”

“So the others are neither like nor unlike, nor the same as it nor different from it.”

“Indeed not.”

“What about this? Will there be of that, or to that, or something, or this, or of this, or of another,

or to another, or once, or was, or now, or knowledge, or opinion, or perception, or an account, or

a name, or will any of the other things that are be related to what is not?”

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“They will not.”

“Accordingly then, the one, if it is not, is not characterised in any way at all.”

“Well, it certainly seems not.”

“In that case we should go on to say how the others must be characterised if one is not.”

“Yes, we should.”

“Now, they must somehow be others, for if they are not even others we would not be talking about

the others.”

“Quite so.”

“But if the argument is about the others, the others are different, or don’t you refer to the same

thing as both other and different?”

“I do.”

“And we maintain, I presume, that what is different is different from something different, and what

is other is other than something other?”

“Yes.”

“And the others, if they are to be others, will have something to be other than.”

“Necessarily.”

“Now, what would that actually be? Indeed, they will not be other than the one since the one is not.”

“Indeed not.”

“So they are other than one another. Indeed this option still remains for them, or alternatively, to

be other than nothing.”

“Correct.”

“So they are other than one another, in each case, as multiplicities, for they could not be so as

ones, since one is not. But in each case, it seems, the mass of them is unlimited in multiplicity, and

if someone takes what seems to be the smallest part, suddenly, just as in a dream while sleeping,

it appears to be many instead of seeming to be one, and instead of seeming miniscule, it appears

enormous in comparison with any parts that are cut from it.”

“Quite right.”

“In which case, the others would be other than each other as masses of this sort if the others are,

although one is not.”

“Precisely.”

“Won’t there be many masses, each appearing to be one without being so, if in fact one is not to be?”

“Quite so.”

“And if in fact each seems to be one, there will seem to be a number of them since they are many.”

“Certainly.”

“And some among them appear to be even, others odd, without in truth being so, if in fact one is

not to be.”

“Indeed.”

“And furthermore, according to us, a smallest will seem to be among them, but this appears to be

many and large, relative to each of the many because they are small.”

“Of course.”

“And each mass will be imagined to be equal to what is many and small, for it could not give the

appearance of changing from greater to lesser before seeming to arrive at whatever is in between,

and this would be apparent equality.”

“Quite likely.”

“Would it not have limit relative to another mass, while having, itself, neither a beginning limit,

nor middle, relative to itself?”

“Why is that?”

“Because whenever anyone, in thought, grasps any of these as if it were one of them, then another

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beginning always appears before that beginning, and after the end, another end still remains, and

in the middle others more in the middle, but smaller due to the impossibility of grasping each of

them as one, since one is not.”

“Very true.”

“So it must be the case, I believe, for anything that is, that whatever one grasps in thought, even

as it is being cut into pieces, must crumble apart. For it would always be grasped, somehow, as a

mass devoid of the one.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Now, isn’t it necessary that something of this sort must appear to be one to anyone who views it

dimly from afar, while to someone who considers it keenly from close up, each one must appear

unlimited in multiplicity if it is actually deprived of the one because the one is not?”

“Yes, absolutely necessary.”

“In that case then, the others must each appear limitless and possessed of limit, and one and many,

if one is not and there are things other than one.”

“They must indeed.”

“Won’t they also seem to be both like and unlike?”

“In what way?”

“In the way that shadow drawings all appear one to a person standing away from them, and appear

to have a characteristic the same, and to be like.”

“Indeed.”

“But to someone who has approached them they appear many and different, and by the appearance

of difference they appear to be different in character and unlike themselves.”

“So they do.”

“And so the masses themselves necessarily appear like and unlike themselves and one another.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Therefore if one is not, and there are many, these must appear both the same as and different from

one another, both in contact with and apart from themselves, both moving with every motion and

at rest in every respect, both coming to be and ceasing to be and neither, and everything else of

this sort, I presume, which we could easily set out at this stage.”

“Very true.”

“Then let us go back once again to the beginning, and let us say what must be the case if one is

not and there are things other than one.”

“Yes, let us do so.”

“In that case, the others will not be one.”

“No, how could they?”

“Nor indeed will they be many since one would then be present in things that are many. For if no

one of them is one, they are all nothing, and so they could not be many.”

“True.”

“But without the one being present in the others, the others are neither many nor one.”

“Indeed not.”

“Nor do they even appear to be one or many.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the others do not have any communion whatsoever in any way at all with any of the

things that are not, nor does anything from the others belong to things that are not, since there is

no part of things that are not.”

“True.”

“Nor is there any opinion of what is not, with the others, nor any appearance either, nor is what is

not thought of in any way at all by the others.”

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“Indeed not.”

“So if one is not, none of the others is thought to be either one or many, for it is impossible to

think of many in the absence of one.”

“Yes, impossible.”

“So if one is not, the others neither are, nor are thought to be, one or many.”

“It seems not.”

“Nor are they like, nor are they unlike.”

“Indeed not.”

“Nor are they the same, nor different, nor in contact, nor separate, nor are they anything else that

they appeared to be in our earlier description. They neither are, nor appear to be, any of these if

one is not.”

“True.”

“In that case, if we were to maintain, in short, that if one is not then nothing is, would we be right

to say so?”

“Entirely so.”

“So, let us say this, and also that, as it seems, whether one is or is not, both itself and the others,

in relation to themselves and to one another, both are and are not, and appear and do not appear to

be all things in all ways.”

“Very true.”

_____

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