Part 33

Echec. And so it appears to me, who was absent, and now hear it related. But what was said after this?

As well as I remember, when these things had been granted him, and it was allowed that each several idea exists of itself, and that other things partaking of them receive their denomination from them, he next asked: “If then,” he said, “you admit that these things are so, whether, when you say that Simmias is greater than Socrates, but less than Phædo, do you not then say that magnitude and littleness are both in Simmias?”

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Footnote 37:

εἶναί τι, literally, “is something.”

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“I do.”

117. “And yet,” he said, “you must confess that Simmias’s exceeding Socrates is not actually true in the manner in which the words express it; for Simmias does not naturally exceed Socrates, in that he is Simmias, but in consequence of the magnitude which he happens to have; nor, again, does he exceed Socrates, because Socrates is Socrates, but because Socrates possesses littleness in comparison with his magnitude?”

“True.”

“Nor, again, is Simmias exceeded by Phædo, because Phædo is Phædo, but because Phædo possesses magnitude in comparison with Simmias’s littleness?”

“It is so.”

“Thus, then, Simmias has the appellation of being both little and great, being between both, by exceeding the littleness of one through his own magnitude, and to the other yielding a magnitude that exceeds his own littleness.” And at the same time, smiling, he said, “I seem to speak with the precision of a short-hand writer; however, it is as I say.”

He allowed it.

118. “But I say it for this reason, wishing you to be of the same opinion as myself. For it appears to me, not only that magnitude itself is never disposed to be at the same time great and little, but that magnitude in us never admits the little, nor is disposed to be exceeded, but one of two things, either to flee and withdraw when its contrary, the little, approaches it, or when it has actually come, to perish; but that it is not disposed, by sustaining and receiving littleness, to be different from what it was. Just as I, having received and sustained littleness, and still continuing the same person that I am, am this same little person: but that, while it is great, never endures to be little. And in like manner the little that is in us is not disposed at any time to become or to be great, nor is any thing else among contraries, while it continues what it was, at the same time disposed to become and to be its contrary; but in this contingency it either departs or perishes.”

119. “It appears so to me,” said Cebes, “in every respect.”

But some one of those present, on hearing this, I do not clearly remember who he was, said, “By the gods, was not the very contrary of what is now asserted admitted in the former part of our discussion, that the greater is produced from the less, and the less from the greater, and in a word, that the very production of contraries is from contraries? But now it appears to me to be asserted that this can never be the case.”

Upon this Socrates, having leant his head forward and listened, said, “You have reminded me in a manly way; you do not, however, perceive the difference between what is now and what was then asserted. For then it was said, that a contrary thing is produced from a contrary; but now, that a contrary can never become contrary to itself, neither that which is in us, nor that which is in nature. For then, my friend, we spoke of things that have contraries, calling them by the appellation of those things; but now we are speaking of those very things, from the presence of which things so called receive their appellation, and of these very things we say that they are never disposed to admit of production from each other.” 120. And, at the same time looking at Cebes, “Has any thing that has been said, Cebes, disturbed you?”

“Indeed,” said Cebes, “I am not at all so disposed; however, I by no means say that there are not many things that disturb me.”

“Then,” he continued, “we have quite agreed to this, that a contrary can never be contrary to itself.”

“Most certainly,” he replied.

“But further,” he said, “consider whether you will agree with me in this also. Do you call heat and cold any thing?”

“I do.”

“The same as snow and fire?”

“By Jupiter, I do not.”

“But heat is something different from fire, and cold something different from snow?”

“Yes.”

“But this, I think, is apparent to you, that snow, while it is snow, can never, when it has admitted heat, as we said before, continue to be what it was, snow and hot, but, on the approach of heat, it must either withdraw or perish?”

“Certainly.”