PROTARCHUS: How so?
SOCRATES: Taken all together, the branches of knowledge will seem to be a plurality, and some will seem quite unlike others. And if some of [14] them turn out in some way actually to be opposites, would I be a worthy partner in a discussion if I dreaded this so much that I would deny that one kind of knowledge can be unlike another? That way our whole discussion would come to an end like that of a fairy tale—with us kept safe and sound through some absurdity.
PROTARCHUS: We must not let that happen, except the part about our being kept safe and sound. But I am rather pleased by the fact that our theses are on the same footing. So let it be agreed that there can be many and unlike kinds of pleasures, but also many and different kinds of knowledge.
[b] SOCRATES: Well, then, let us not cover up the difference between your good and mine, Protarchus, but put it right in the middle and brave the possibility that, when put to a closer scrutiny, it will come to light whether pleasure should be called the good, or wisdom, or yet a third thing. For we are not contending here out of love of victory for my suggestion to win or for yours. We ought to act together as allies in support of the truest one.
PROTARCHUS: We certainly ought to.
[c] SOCRATES: Let us then give even stronger support to our principle by an agreement.
PROTARCHUS: What principle?
SOCRATES: The one that creates difficulties for everyone, for some willingly, for some, sometimes, against their will.
PROTARCHUS: Explain this more clearly.
SOCRATES: It is this principle that has turned up here, which somehow has an amazing nature. For that the many are one and the one many are amazing statements, and can easily be disputed, whichever side of the two one may want to defend.
PROTARCHUS: Do you mean this in the sense that someone says that I, [d] Protarchus, am one by nature but then also says that there are many ‘me’s’ and even contrary ones, when he treats me, who am one and the same, as tall and short, heavy and light, and endless other such things?
SOCRATES: You, dear Protarchus, are speaking about those puzzles about the one and many that have become commonplace. They are agreed by everybody, so to speak, to be no longer even worth touching; they are considered childish and trivial but a serious impediment to argument if [e] one takes them on. No more worthy is the following quibble: when someone who first distinguishes a person’s limbs and parts asks your agreement that all these parts are identical with that unity, but then exposes you to ridicule because of the monstrosities you have to admit, that the one is many and indefinitely many, and again that the many are only one thing.
PROTARCHUS: But what other kinds of such puzzles with respect to the same principle do you have in mind, Socrates, that have not yet admittedly become commonplace?
SOCRATES: When, my young friend, the one is not taken from the things [15] that come to be or perish, as we have just done in our example. For that is where the sort of one belongs that we were just discussing, which we agreed is not worthy of scrutiny. But when someone tries to posit man as one, or ox as one, or the beautiful as one, and the good as one, zealous concern with divisions of these unities and the like gives rise to controversy.
PROTARCHUS: In what sense?
SOCRATES: Firstly, whether one ought to suppose that there are any such [b] unities truly in existence. Then again, how they are supposed to be: whether each one of them is always one and the same, admitting neither of generation nor of destruction; and whether it remains most definitely one and the same, even though it is afterwards found again among the things that come to be and are unlimited, so that it finds itself as one and the same in one and many things at the same time.2 And must it be treated as dispersed and multiplied or as entirely separated from itself, which would seem most impossible of all? It is these problems of the one and many, [c] but not those others, Protarchus, that cause all sorts of difficulties if they are not properly settled, but promise progress if they are.
PROTARCHUS: Is this the first task we should try our hands at right now, Socrates?
SOCRATES: So I would say at least.
PROTARCHUS: Take it, then, that we all here are agreed with you about this. As for Philebus, it might be best not to bother him with questions any further, but let sleeping dogs lie.
SOCRATES: Quite so. Now, where should we make our entry into that [d] complex and wide-ranging battle about this controversial issue? Is it not best to start here?
PROTARCHUS: Where?
SOCRATES: By making the point that it is through discourse that the same thing flits around, becoming one and many in all sorts of ways, in whatever it may be that is said at any time, both long ago and now. And this will never come to an end, nor has it just begun, but it seems to me that this is an “immortal and ageless” condition3 that comes to us with discourse. Whoever among the young first gets a taste of it is as pleased as if he had [e] found a treasure of wisdom. He is quite beside himself with pleasure and revels in moving every statement, now turning it to one side and rolling it all up into one, then again unrolling it and dividing it up. He thereby involves first and foremost himself in confusion, but then also whatever others happen to be nearby, be they younger or older or of the same age, [16] sparing neither his father nor his mother nor anyone else who might listen to him. He would almost try it on other creatures, not only on human beings, since he would certainly not spare any foreigner if only he could find an interpreter somewhere.4
PROTARCHUS: Careful, Socrates, don’t you see what a crowd we are and that we are all young? And are you not afraid that we will gang up against you with Philebus if you insult us? Still, we know what you want to say, and if there are some ways and means to remove this kind of disturbance [b] from our discussion in a peaceful way, and to show us a better solution to the problem, then just go ahead, and we will follow you as best we can. For the present question is no mean thing, Socrates.
SOCRATES: It certainly is not, my boys, as Philebus is wont to address you. Indeed, there is not, nor could there be, any way that is finer than the one I have always admired, although it has often escaped me and left me behind, alone and helpless.
PROTARCHUS: What is this way? Let us have it.
[c] SOCRATES: It is not very difficult to describe it, but extremely difficult to use. For everything in any field of art that has ever been discovered has come to light because of this. See what way I have in mind.
PROTARCHUS: Please do tell us.
SOCRATES: It is a gift of the gods to men, or so it seems to me, hurled down from heaven by some Prometheus along with a most dazzling fire. And the people of old, superior to us and living in closer proximity to the [d] gods, have bequeathed us this tale, that whatever is said to be consists of one and many, having in its nature limit and unlimitedness. Since this is the structure of things, we have to assume that there is in each case always one form for every one of them, and we must search for it, as we will indeed find it there. And once we have grasped it, we must look for two, as the case would have it, or if not, for three or some other number. And we must treat every one of those further unities in the same way, until it is not only established of the original unit that it is one, many and unlimited, but also how many kinds it is. For we must not grant the form of the unlimited to the plurality before we know the exact number of every [e] plurality that lies between the unlimited and the one. Only then is it permitted to release each kind of unity into the unlimited and let it go. The gods, as I said, have left us this legacy of how to inquire and learn and teach one another. But nowadays the clever ones among us make a one, haphazardly, and a many, faster or slower than they should; they go [17] straight from the one to the unlimited and omit the intermediates. It is these, however, that make all the difference as to whether we are engaged with each other in dialectical or only in eristic discourse.
PROTARCHUS: Some of what you said I think I understand in some way, Socrates, but of some I still need further clarification.
SOCRATES: What I me
an is clear in the case of letters, and you should take your clue from them, since they were part of your own education. [b]
PROTARCHUS: How so?
SOCRATES: The sound that comes out of the mouth is one for each and every one of us, but then it is also unlimited in number.
PROTARCHUS: No doubt.
SOCRATES: Neither of these two facts alone yet makes us knowledgeable, neither that we know its unlimitedness nor its unity. But if we know how many kinds of vocal sounds there are and what their nature is, that makes every one of us literate.
PROTARCHUS: Very true.
SOCRATES: And the very same thing leads to the knowledge of music.
PROTARCHUS: How is that?
SOCRATES: Sound is also the unit in this art, just as it was in writing. [c]
PROTARCHUS: Yes, right.
SOCRATES: We should posit low and high pitch as two kinds, and equal pitch as a third kind. Or what would you say?
PROTARCHUS: Just that.
SOCRATES: But you could not yet claim knowledge of music if you knew only this much, though if you were ignorant even about that, you would be quite incompetent in these matters, as one might say.
PROTARCHUS: Certainly.
SOCRATES: But you will be competent, my friend, once you have learned how many intervals there are in high pitch and low pitch, what character they have, by what notes the intervals are defined, and the kinds of [d] combinations they form—all of which our forebears have discovered and left to us, their successors, together with the names of these modes of harmony. And again the motions of the body display other and similar characteristics of this kind, which they say should be measured by numbers and called rhythms and meters. So at the same time they have made us realize that every investigation should search for the one and many. For when you have mastered these things in this way, then you have acquired [e] expertise there, and when you have grasped the unity of any of the other things there are, you have become wise about that. The boundless multitude, however, in any and every kind of subject leaves you in boundless ignorance, and makes you count for nothing and amount to nothing, since you have never worked out the amount and number of anything at all.
PROTARCHUS: For my part, I think that Socrates has explained all this very well, Philebus.
[18] PHILEBUS: I agree as far as this question itself goes. But of what use is all this talk to us, and what is its purpose?
SOCRATES: Philebus is right, Protarchus, when he asks us this question.
PROTARCHUS: Good, so please answer him.
SOCRATES: I will do so when I have gone a little further into the subject matter. Just as someone who has got hold of some unity or other should not, as we were saying, immediately look for the unlimited kind but first look for some number, so the same holds for the reverse case. For if he is forced to start out with the unlimited, then he should not head straight [b] for the one, but should in each case grasp some number that determines every plurality whatever, and from all of those finally reach the one. Let us again make use of letters to explain what this means.
PROTARCHUS: In what way?
SOCRATES: The way some god or god-inspired man discovered that vocal sound is unlimited, as tradition in Egypt claims for a certain deity called Theuth. He was the first to discover that the vowels in that unlimited [c] variety are not one but several, and again that there are others that are not voiced, but make some kind of noise, and that they, too, have a number. As a third kind of letters he established the ones we now call mute. After this he further subdivided the ones without sound or mutes down to every single unit. In the same fashion he also dealt with the vowels and the intermediates, until he had found out the number for each one of them, and then he gave all of them together the name “letter.” And as he realized that none of us could gain any knowledge of a single one of them, taken [d] by itself without understanding them all, he considered that the one link that somehow unifies them all and called it the art of literacy.
PHILEBUS: Protarchus, I understood this even better than what came before, at least how it hangs together. But I still find that this explanation now suffers from the same defect as your earlier one.
SOCRATES: You are wondering again what the relevance of it all is, Philebus?
PHILEBUS: Right, that is what I and Protarchus have been wanting to see for quite a while.
SOCRATES: But have you not already under your nose what you both, as [e] you say, have long wanted to see?
PHILEBUS: How could that be?
SOCRATES: Did we not embark on an investigation of knowledge and pleasure, to find out which of the two is preferable?
PHILEBUS: Yes, indeed.
SOCRATES: And we do say that each of them is one.
PHILEBUS: Right.
SOCRATES: This is the very point in question to which our preceding discussion obliges us to give an answer: to show how each of them is one and many, and how instead of becoming unlimited straightaway, each [19] one of them acquires some definite number before it becomes unlimited.
PROTARCHUS: Socrates has plunged us into a considerable problem, Philebus, by leading us around, I don’t know how, in some kind of circle. But make up your mind which of us should answer the present question. It would seem quite ridiculous that I, who had volunteered to take over the thesis from you as your successor, should now hand it back to you because I don’t have an answer to this question. But it would be even more ridiculous if neither of us could answer it. So what do you think we should do? [b] Socrates seems to be asking whether there are kinds of pleasures or not, and how many there are, and of what sort they are. And the same set of questions applies to knowledge.
SOCRATES: You speak the truth, son of Callias. Unless we are able to do this for every kind of unity, similarity, sameness, and their opposite, in the way that our recent discussion has indicated, none of us will ever turn out to be any good at anything.
PROTARCHUS: I am afraid that this is so. But while it is a great thing for [c] the wise man to know everything, the second best is not to be mistaken about oneself, it seems to me. What prompts me to say that at this point? I will tell you. You, Socrates, have granted this meeting to all of us, and yourself to boot, in order to find out what is the best of all human possessions. Now, Philebus advocated that it is pleasure, amusement, enjoyment, and whatever else there is of this kind. You on the contrary denied this for all of them, but rather proposed those other goods we willingly and [d] with good reason keep reminding ourselves of, so that they can be tested as they are lying side by side in our memory. You claim, it seems, that the good that should by right be called superior to pleasure, at least, is reason, as well as knowledge, intelligence, science, and everything that is akin to them, which must be obtained, rather than Philebus’ candidates. Now, after both these conflicting positions have been set up against each [e] other, we threatened you in jest that we would not let you go home before the deliberation of these questions had reached its satisfactory limit. But since you made a promise and committed yourself to us, we therefore insist, like children, that there is no taking back a gift properly given. So give up this way of turning against us in the discussion here.
SOCRATES: What way are you talking about?
PROTARCHUS: Your way of plunging us into difficulties and repeating [20] questions to which we have at present no proper answer to give you. But we should not take it that the aim of our meeting is universal confusion; if we cannot solve the problem, you must do it, for you promised. It is up to you to decide whether for this purpose you need to divide off different kinds of pleasure and knowledge or can leave that out, if you are able and willing to show some other way to settle the issues of our controversy.
SOCRATES: At least there is no longer anything terrible in store for poor [b] me, since you said it this way. For the clause “if you are willing” takes away all further apprehension. In addition, some memory has come to my mind that one of the gods seems to have sent me to help us.
PROTARCHUS: How
is that and what about?
SOCRATES: It is a doctrine that once upon a time I heard in a dream—or perhaps I was awake—that I remember now, concerning pleasure and knowledge, that neither of the two is the good, but that there is some third [c] thing which is different from and superior to both of them. But if we can clearly conceive now that this is the case, then pleasure has lost its bid for victory. For the good could no longer turn out to be identical with it. Right?
PROTARCHUS: Right.
SOCRATES: So we will not have to worry any longer, I think, about the division of the kinds of pleasure. But further progress will show this more clearly.
PROTARCHUS: Very well said; just push on.
SOCRATES: There are some small matters we ought to agree on first, though.
PROTARCHUS: What are they?
[d] SOCRATES: Whether the good is necessarily bound to be perfect or not perfect.
PROTARCHUS: But surely it must be the most perfect thing of all, Socrates!
SOCRATES: Further: must the good be sufficient?
PROTARCHUS: How could it fail to be that? This is how it is superior to everything else there is.
SOCRATES: Now, this point, I take it, is most necessary to assert of the good: that everything that has any notion of it hunts for it and desires to get hold of it and secure it for its very own, caring nothing for anything else except for what is connected with the acquisition of some good.
PROTARCHUS: There is no way of denying this.
[e] SOCRATES: So let us put the life of pleasure and the life of knowledge on trial, and reach some verdict by looking at them separately.
PROTARCHUS: In what way do you mean?
SOCRATES: Let there be neither any knowledge in a life of pleasure, nor any pleasure in that of knowledge. For if either of the two is the good, then it must have no need of anything in addition. But if one or the other [21] should turn out to be lacking anything, then this can definitely no longer be the real good we are looking for.
Complete Works Page 65