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Copyright © 1986 by Yale University. All rights reserved. This book may
not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that copying
permitted by Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except
by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the
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publishers.
The following are reprinted by permission of the publishers:
Portions of chapter 4 originally appeared as “Genesis and Motion in
Parmenides: B8.12—13,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 87 (1983):
151-68, published by Harvard University Press; © 1983 by the President
and Fellows of Harvard College. Portions of the Introduction and
chapter 6 originally appeared in “Parmenides and Ultimate Reality,”
Ultimate Reality and Meaning 7 (1984): 220-32; © 1984 by the Institute for
Ultimate Reality and Meaning. The text and translation of Fragment 17 in
the Appendix are from Caelius Aurelianus, On Acute Diseases and On
Chronic Diseases, edited by Israel Drabkin; © 1950 by The University of
Chicago Press.
Designed by Nancy Ovedovitz and set in Baskerville type by Brevis Press,
Bethany, Connecticut. Printed in the United States of America.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Austin, Scott, 1953—
Parmenides, being, bounds, and logic.
Bibliography: p. 193
Includes index.
1. Parmenides—Addresses, essays, lectures.
I. Title.
B235.P24A97 1986 182’.3 85—29436
ISBN 0—300—03559—4 (alk. paper)
The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability
of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the
Council on Library Resources.
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Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1 Why Not “Is Not”? 11

CHAPTER 2 ‘Terms 44
CHAPTER 3 Contraries 65
CHAPTER 4 Modals, the Other, and Method 96
CHAPTER 5 Context and Contradiction 116
CHAPTER 6 The Bounded and the Unbounded 136
APPENDIX Parmenides’ On Nature 155
NOTES 175
BIBLIOGRAPHY 193
INDEX 199
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Acknowledgments
Here I would like to record my gratitude to the many people who

watched over this book and over me. Parts of chapter | (the criticism of
opposing views), the body of chapter 3, and the sections on the emen-
dation and modals in chapter 4 are from my 1979 University of Texas
at Austin dissertation, The Method of Parmenides, written under the su-
pervision of Alexander P. D. Mourelatos. I have him to thank for years
of attention to my thoughts on Parmenides, an attention that exacted
only care, and never compliance with his own views—years also of pa-
tience, providence, and friendship. Though my disagreements with him
are throughout this book, so also is the effect of his ideas and criticisms.
If his and Linda Oppen Mourelatos’ intellectual sons and daughters
throughout the world can treat their students as they themselves were
treated, they will be fortunate, for nothing else will be required of them.
Thanks also to the other members of my committee: E. D. Francis, Paul
Woodruff, Norman Martin, and Thomas Seung. My work on the dis-
sertation was in part supported by the Danforth Foundation and by the
University of Texas, support I gratefully acknowledge here.
Shortly after my dissertation oral, a different view of the core of Par-
menides’ thought occurred to me, and this view, together with its histor-
ical context, appears in chapters | and 5. I thank my colleagues at Boston
University for the chance to present this view at an informal colloquium
in the spring semester of 1980; and I thank audiences there and at the
University of Texas, Boston College, Cambridge University, and Vassar
College for the opportunity to make presentations and for their stimu-
lating comments and criticisms, many of which I have incorporated into
the final versions of chapters 1 and 5. Though this book contains textual
and other material from the dissertation, then, its central view of Par-
menides’ doctrine of being, nonbeing, syntax, and contradiction dates
from later.
Chapters 2, 5, and 6 were mostly written while I was in Cambridge,
England, on a Fulbright fellowship during the academic year 1983-84.
I thank the Council for the International Exchange of Scholars and the
ix
x ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
United States-United Kingdom Educational Commission, especially Mr.

J. O. A. Herrington and colleagues, for their Support and help; Boston
University for granting me a leave of absence; my faculty contact at
Christ’s College, David Sedley, for a warm and hospitable welcome to
Cambridge; and the rest of the fine Cambridge ancient philosophy com-
munity, especially Geoffrey Lloyd, Myles Burnyeat, Malcolm Schofield,
Mary Margaret Mackenzie, Robert Jordan, Jonathan Lear, and (visitors
like me) Gregory Vlastos, Carl Huffman, Samuel Scolnikov, Toshio Ku-
wako, and Harold Tarrant for welcoming me and treating me to their
conversation and comments. I am grateful to the librarians and staff of
the Cambridge Classics Faculty Library for their help. Thanks also to
Jonathan Barnes for listening, and to the English and Irish people who
were so friendly during my visit.
Some more specific acknowledgments: to Martha Nussbaum for in-
dispensable encouragement over the years and crucial help with the
whole, especially chapter 1. Also for chapter 1: to Alan Nussbaum; to
Victor Bers for sources, information, suggestions, and criticisms. For
chapter 5 and the theme of contradiction in chapter 1: to Paul Wood-
ruff; to Geoffrey Lloyd and R. W. Jordan for very helpful substantive
ideas; and to Richard Monnier for suggesting a formulation that became
decisive. To Malcolm Schofield and Samuel Scolnikov for conversations.
To Robert Brumbaugh for getting me interested in Eleatic logic. To the
people at Cambridge generally for help with chapters1 and 5. For
chapter 6: to James Ogilvy, Karsten Harries (from whom I derived an
interest in and some seed and other ideas about the bounded and the
unbounded), Nicholas Asher, Lee Miller, Alexander Mourelatos (for the
bounded sphere), Richard Monnier, Klaus Brinkmann, and Seyla Ben-
habib for conversations and help over the years. Time did not permit
me to work with recent treatments by Cordero, Casertano, and Gomez-
Lobo.
There are other people whom I would like to acknowledge from these
years: Alasdair MacIntyre, Marx Wartofsky, John Findlay, Louis Mackey,
Thomas McCarthy, Steven Scully, Steven Strange, Michael Frede, Leo-
nardo Taran, Judith Genova, Mark Jordan, Steven Hyman, J. Steven
Alexander, Richard Zenn, Mark Desjardins, Thomas Schutz, William
Barthelemy, Robert Welshon, Olga Vorloou, Stephanie Vrattos,
Stephanie Jones (for superb editing), two unnamed readers for the
Archw fiir Geschichte der Philosophie, and readers for other presses, above
all the extraordinarily acute Yale Press reader. These people have helped
me in various different ways to write this book, though none is respon-
sible for its faults.
To my students and colleagues, thanks for company in the Platonic
spirit. Thanks to Jeanne Ferris, Yale Press editor, for warmth, generosity,
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS xi
and flexibility. Thanks to Bruno Scherz for keeping Apollo and Dionysos
in balance with a laugh. Thanks to Kenneth Edelman for his aqua-
fraternal faith, and to him and Denise Hemmerly, Christian Sees, James
Sabat, Steven Plotnick, and Jeff Goodman for warm fellowship. Thanks
to my family for years of love and support and kind enlightenment in
the text of the world. And to Susan Zaleski-Austin, for her gracious
wisdom and love and editorship and all else that is hers, this book is
dedicated.
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Introduction
The Ocean bounded in a finite Shore,

Is better far becaus it ts no more.
—Thomas Traherne
Jack Kerouac wrote: “Don’t worry about nothing.”! This book is dedi-
cated throughout to disregarding Kerouac’s advice, in an analysis of the
West’s first great theoretician about being and nothing. The book at-
tempts a new interpretation of Parmenides’ logic and method and situ-
ates his thought in a wider philosophical and theological context. These
two attempts are connected in that Parmenides was not only the architect
of Western ontology, but also the father of our logic—two modes of
discourse often separated in the twentieth century. They are also con-
nected in that each must take place on several levels at once: the level of
textual analysis, the level of interpretation, and the level of philosophical
speculation. Thus I try in this book, both in theme and in method of
treatment, to cross those boundary lines between metaphysics and syn-
tax, philosophy and philology, that are sometimes found in contemporary
debates. The book, then, asks the question: why should the first ontologist
also have been the first logician? and offers an answer at once textual
and speculative.
It is customary at this point in an introduction to give a more detailed
summary of what is to follow, but in the present undertaking such a step
is best deferred until after an introductory sketch of who Parmenides
was and what he said, both in order to focus on certain scholarly prob-
lems within the zone of discussion and, more broadly, in an attempt to
clarify the general outlines of a subject whose most important features
are often lost in a maze of detail. Readers already familiar with Parmen-
ides are invited to skip the intervening pages.
Parmenides was born in Elea, a Greek colony in southern Italy. He
was the founder of Western rational theology, as well as of scientific
The epigraph is from Thomas Traherne, Centuries of Meditation, Third Century, sec. 21,
lines 7-8, in H. M. Margoliouth, ed., Thomas Traherne: Centuries, Poems, and Thanksgivings,
vol. I, p. 122. “Becaus” (sic) is what Margoliouth prints in the former quotation.
Z INTRODUCTION
explanation as we now know it. His innovations in logic, in the meta-

physical characterization of ultimate reality, and in the construction of
standards for explanation have been passed down to us by Plato and
Aristotle, who departed from his insights only in order to further the
quest for truth that he had begun. He may also have beena civic leader:
it is reported that he constructed a code of laws for his city. He is sup-
posed to have sat at the feet of the philosopher Xenophanes when the
latter traveled through Italy, and this seems possible in view of his verbal
echoes of Xenophanes; perhaps more probable is the story of Parmen-
ides’ devotion to his teacher, a noble Pythagorean of humble birth.? Plato
(Parmenides 127A—B) dramatically represents Parmenides and Zeno as
having talked to Socrates in Athens when Socrates was very young; how-
ever doubtful this story may be as a way of dating people exactly,’ it may
nevertheless be useful as a rough index of contemporaneity and would
place Parmenides’ death, at an advanced age, sometime around the mid-
dle of the fifth century B.c.
Parmenides, Zeno, and Melissus are together regarded as comprising
the Eleatic school, which was named after Parmenides’ home town; of
these three, Parmenides and Zeno are of the first rank, with Melissus’s
position somewhat lower (his exact status depends on which scholar you
read).* Parmenides and his two pupils are distinguished by their use of
long, tightly woven proofs and by their concern with the methods of
proof and with determining which entities there are for proofs to be
about. They begana series of reflections on the relation between dem-
onstration and reality that ultimately bears fruit in Socratic and Platonic
dialectic. It is difficult to know whether the unity of the school consisted
in anything more than this, however. It is now open to question whether
Parmenides, Zeno, and Melissus were all monists, as was formerly
thought,° and the precise relation between Zeno’s destructive paradoxes
and Parmenides’ affirmative arguments is not as clear today as it was for
Plato, who represents Zeno as simply defending Parmenides against his
philosophical opponents.
Parmenides’ hexameter poem, which may have been titled “On Na-
ture,” survives only in fragments quoted and/or translated by later au-
thors, mainly Simplicius,® who transcribed for us because the poem had
become hard to find in his time. We do not have other works by Par-
menides. The surviving fragments, in the original and in translation, are
given in the Appendix, not as a putatively critical edition but for the
reader’s convenience in referring to the poem. I also offer translation
and analysis throughout where textual questions and questions of mean-
ing arise.
The poem is the first-person account of a chariot ride taken by a young
INTRODUCTION 3
man, one who (we are told) knows, far from the beaten track of humanity,
in a chariot drawn by cunning mares. Traveling at tremendous speed,
escorted by the maiden daughters of the sun, he arrives at Hesiod’s’
huge, lintel-surmounted gates, where the paths of night and day con-
verge at the edge of the world—the gates are guarded and locked by the
figure of avenging Justice. This is a place beyond, and also at the source
of, the contrariety and opposition characteristic of ordinary human life.
It takes the maidens to persuade Justice to let him through with his
train—the gates strain open—but, once admitted, he is given the gra-
cious welcome appropriate to a Homeric hero. The goddess who greets
him reassures the charioteer that, though his route has been an unusual
one, he is not doomed but, in fact, has been conducted along by Rightness
and Justice. And she promises him an account, not only of the unshaking
heart of truth, but also of the opinions of mortals, in which there is not
true trust. The epic quest for victory and homecoming has now been
transformed by Parmenides into the search for truth, and the youth, like
Odysseus and Telemachus, is about to receive further positive and neg-
ative directions along the road to ultimate reality.®
This is a fascinating prologue, and commentators since ancient times
have attempted to find meaning in it: it is a shaman’s journey, an Orphic
allegory, a secularization of the Phaethon myth, a conceptualized version
of the journey of the Homeric hero to his home and goal, a journey to
a place where normal distinctions between opposites break down.° The
last two are certainly part of the poetic apparatus, which works by in-
corporating themes from other literary works, especially Homer and
Hesiod, but the general purpose of the chariot ride is clear and can be
apprehended by the imagination alone. A young man journeys toafar-
away place with tremendous urgency under the protection and guidance
of maidens; the topography of his journey is one in which the normal
directions of up and down are muddled; after penetrating through a
gate guarded by an initially severe female figure, he receives a warm
welcome from another female, his superior, who proceeds to initiate him
into the right path and course of inquiry to follow. This (I believe) non-
controversial description of the journey, if seen as the product of some-
one’s imagination, should allow us to sidestep controversies about timing,
topography, underlying metaphors, religious overtones, and direction.
Initiation, illumination, katabasis (descent), homecoming, the reception
of adulthood—all are ways of describing the journey and its meaning;
and metaphors from mystery, epic quests, and cosmic archetypes of all
sorts will lie beneath the surface simply because of the nature of the
subject matter, regardless of whether the author intended to evoke them
specifically. We need not try to excavate them all as distinct from each
a Na Ae See me
other. And surely there is an element in the initial story which, though
the Parmenidean voyager is male, could be generalized into a universal
human content for all philosophical imaginations.
The rest of the poem (fragments 2—19) is taken up with the goddess’s
speech. It is usually divided into the two parts she promises to deliver:
the account of truth (fragments 2—8.51) and the account of mortal opin-
ion (fragments 8.51—19). Fragments 2—7 Of the “Truth” section prepare
the way for the extended deduction of the transcendental attributes of
reality that takes place in fragment 8.
The “Truth” section, then, begins in fragment 2 with the enunciation
of two “routes” or “ways” of inquiry. Both routes are described rather
elliptically: the first, the “path of persuasion,” as the route “that it is and
that it is not possible for it not to be”; the second as the route “that it is
not and that it is right that it should not be”’—“And this,” says the god-
dess, “I point out to you as a completely uninformative route: for neither
could you get to know what is not (for it cannot be completed) nor could
you point it out.”!° As the poem continues, these brief route-descriptions
are expanded; everything incompatible with saying how it is is rejected
as inappropriate in a description of being, of what-is, and an attempt is
made to separate the two routes clearly from each other, so that the
positive one can then be chosen. There is much disagreement among
scholars about the meaning of these compressed requirements and pro-
hibitions and the nature and number of the routes they generate.!! (For
a summary of some current hypotheses, see chapter 1.)
The goddess continues her discussion of the routes in fragment 6:
being, the object of the route that it is, must have some connection with
language and thought, for it can be, whereas nothing cannot. The god-
dess bars the youth from the route of nonbeing, but also bars him from
the mixed route taken by mortals, those two-headed creatures whose
straying minds are steered by Helplessness, who are tossed about like a
senseless swarm of the deaf and blind, who consider being and nonbeing
to be the same and not the same.
Thus far, then, we have three routes: one of what-is, the route of
persuasion and truth; one of what-is-not, which is completely uninfor-
mative, and one taken by mortals, who attempt to mix the two routes.
After this point in the fragments we have, the route of what-is-not is
discussed only as rejected, and the route of mortals is given full exem-
plification in the “Opinion” section. It remains, then, for the deductions
of fragment 8 to present to us the route of what-is, the route of truth.
Along the route of what-is, the goddess says, are many signposts as to
how being is ungenerable, unperishing, a whole of a single kind, un-
moving, and perfect. These are the transcendental predicates of being,
or what-is. What-is is the subject of the route how it is, the subject about
INTRODUCTION sic aca tien
which attributions are made. We are supposed to speak and think of

what-is as it is, and not as it is not. What-is cannot come from nothing
(lines 7—9) because one cannot speak or think of what-is-not; nor can
what-is come to be at any particular time (lines 9-11), for there is not
sufficient reason why any particular time should be preferred; nothing
besides being can come from nothing either (lines 12-13); and so Justice
will permit neither coming-to-be nor perishing, and she does not release
her bonds (lines 13-15). The goddess goes on to speak of the choice
between “it is” and “it is not” as a “decision” or “verdict” (krisis), con-
tinuing the metaphors of justice and morality, and says that the latter
must remain “unthinkable” and “nameless,” while the former must be
allowed to be and to be true. (This transcendental connection between
being and truth, implicit in the Greek language, is adopted by later
ancient and medieval authors, e.g., Thomas Aquinas.!*) A short recapit-
ulation of the preceding argument (“If it comes to be, it is not,” lines
19-21) concludes the discussion of the signpost “ungenerable.” The im-
perishability of what-is is not directly discussed by Parmenides; it may
be that he thought a turning of being into nothing to be so inconceivable
(“unheard-from perishing,” line 21) as not to be in need of discussion.
This section of the poem persuaded Empedocles and Anaxagoras that
nothing can come from nothing and that absolute generation is therefore
impossible.!°
- The proofs continue with the statement that being 1s indivisible and
homogeneous, without any protuberances or areas of greater or lesser
density, and that it is not capable of locomotion; it rests immobile and
uniform within the bounds of Necessity (lines 22—31). There can be no
thinking without being, because there never can be anything else besides
being, Doom having sentenced it to be an immobile whole (lines 34-38).
And this being is the ultimate referent of all language as well, even of
the terms (to come to be and to perish, to change place, to undergo
change of color) that mortals use, wrongly persuaded that they apply to
reality (lines 38-41). The Truth section of the poem concludes with a
recapitulatory metaphor: being is like a well-rounded sphere equal from
every side; it is not right for it to be any bigger or any smaller anywhere,
since nothingness cannot prevent it from reaching uniformity. And, since
there is nothing in its own nature which would cause it to be asymmetri-
cal, it rests evenly within its bounds. “With this,” the goddess cqncludes,
“T leave off my trustworthy discourse and thought about Truth. Now
learn from me the opinions of mortals, attending to the deceptive or-
dering of my words.” The Parmenidean version of ultimate reality is thus
one from which all distinction, difference, change, and plurality have
been excluded, yet one which, in accordance with the horror some
Greeks had for the infinite, preserves its definiteness so that it can also
6 INTRODUCTION
be the truth, the implicit and single object of all language. Parmenides
is thus the first metaphysician (or, if you prefer, theologian) to argue for
those eternal attributes also shared by Plato’s Forms, by Aristotle’s pri-
mary movers, and by their descendants in the history of philosophy. This
picture of the truth as a single, abiding whole is next contrasted with the
picture the mortals subscribe to. The “Opinion” section of the poem is,
in fact, a plausible cosmology of the pre-Socratic type, a description of
the world we think we live in, done in great detail and with tremendous
richness of scope.
The mortals begin by separating two cosmic opposites—fire and
night—in familiar pre-Socratic style, and filling the cosmos with them in
such a way as to leave no gaps, at least at the beginning of the cosmic
process (fragment 8, lines 51-61, fragment 9). Descriptions are then
given of ether, sun, and moon (fragment 10), the encircling heaven, the
earth, and the stars (fragment 11), a system of cosmic rings of fire and
night containing a Damon (a divine or semidivine being) who is respon-
sible for the blending of the sexes in copulation (fragment 12), the cre-
ation of Love (fragment 13), the statement (apparently for the first time
in the West) that the moon receives her light from the sun (fragments
14-15), a discussion of the relative placements of the sexes on different
sides of the womb during embryological development (fragment 17), a
theory of the generation of gay men (fragment 18), and a concluding
statement seeming once again to suggest that the entire scheme is the
work of mortal nomenclature and classification (fragment 19). With this
the goddess completes the sketch of the misleading opinions of others
that she had promised to the youth, “so that no mortal judgment will
ever outstrip you.” And yet it is a little surprising to find such a wealth
of detail in the descriptions of unstable and changing objects from the
philosopher of an immutable cosmic Entity.
It seems that, though the propositions of “Opinion” about the sensible
world are not ones that the goddess will herself assent to, there is still
something that we, as mortals, are supposed to learn from her descrip-
tion of our world. Scholars have disagreed widely about what that some-
thing is, all the way from seeing the “Opinion” section as a serious
exposition of Parmenidean doctrine to discarding it as Parmenides’ re-
jection of the sensible world as a mere error.'* What are we supposed to
learn? First, “Opinion” contains many descriptions that recall, and yet
are ironically distanced from, the descriptions of being given in
“Truth.”!® Fire, one of the two elements separated off by mortals at the
beginning of “Opinion,” is “in every way the same with itself and not the
same with the other” (i.e., with Night). The assertion about sameness is
also made about being, as if Fire were trying to imitate the solidity and
substantiality of being; but the assertion about difference would not be
INTRODUCTION 7
said of being, and it represents the respect in which the entities of opin-
ion reveal themselves as copies and caricatures. Second, the two sexes,
which are distinguished as opposites by the mortals, just as Fire and
Night were, immediately try to overcome this distinction and (as Par-
menides sees it) revert to some kind of more primal unity in the phe-
nomena of copulation and homosexuality, thus undercutting the sharp
boundaries which the mortals in vain try to set up between their oppo-
sites. These opposites, which try to mimic the isolation and distinctive-
ness of being, end up (as he sees it) mixed together in a parody of
themselves in different forms of human sexuality. The irony here is sup-
posed to make us see the ontological values of “Truth” as imperfectly
mirrored, or only temporarily attained, in the entities of “Opinion.”
But “Opinion” is more than a piece of profound irony; it is also (or,
perhaps, consequently) a serious attempt to describe things, in consid-
erable detail, as we do in fact perceive them. This aspect of “Opinion”
has often raised suspicions that Parmenides had a serious motive in writ-
ing it. And yet there is no incongruity in supposing that an author,
convinced of the derivativeness or unreality of the sensible world, could
nevertheless try to describe that world as exactly as possible. In fact, the
better the description, the more effective the irony would be, as if Par-
menides had said to his cosmological contemporaries: “I can give as good
a descriptive account of the cosmos as you can, starting from a pair of
contraries. But, since I have already shown in “Truth” that the logic of
contraries only mirrors and distorts the logic of being, it follows that,
since the sensible cosmos has been shown to derive from contraries, such
a cosmos is only a reflection in a moving pool of waters of an unchanging
sun above.” In this way a serious sensible cosmology is at the same time
an ironic reductio ad absurdum of the sensible world. (See chapters 1
and 4 for more discussion of “Opinion.”)
With the end of “Opinion,” then, the goddess has delivered on the
promise she made to the youth at the beginning, to show forth and show
through not only the truth but also the untrustworthy opinions of mor-
tals. It remains for us to explore in more detail just what she thought
was right about “Truth” and wrong with the route of what-is-not and
the mixed route of opinion. In chapter 1, I attempt to describe what
exactly the goddess requires and prohibits. One scholarly issue arises
from the puzzling fact that, though the goddess prohibits discourse about
what-is-not, her own discourse is full of negative words and expressions,
thus seeming inconsistent. I try to arrive at an interpretation of her
prohibition which does not make her rule out the language that she
herself uses, which clears her of some inconsistencies by allowing her to
mean what she says, negatively as well as positively. In the process I
attempt to determine what Parmenides thought were the ultimate rela-
BE EEE CRON
tionships among ontology, sentence structure, and logic. I also claim that
Parmenides’ attitude towards contextual relativity determines what is
right about “Truth” and wrong about “Opinign.” This claim, if correct,
allows us to make connections between Parmenides, the Sophists, Plato,
and Aristotle, connections which are taken up again and historically am-
plified in chapter 5. This first chapter is the most controversial in its
claims. Chapter 2, taking as its premise the goddess’s use of different
sorts of positive and negative language, tries to determine just how many
sorts of language there are, how comprehensive the coverage of them is,
and why certain sorts occur in specific places in the poem. In this chapter,
I claim that Parmenides deliberately set out to use, in a systematic and
comprehensive way, almost all the possibilities for positive and negative
expression. If such was his intention, then the ultimate reasons for his
methodology were in part logical ones; the proof for the attributes of
being is at the same time a catalogue of the different uses of predicates
in positive and negative judgments. The method of exhaustion of pos-
sibilities will also be read as a way of insuring determinacy, both because
of its rigor and because it assigns determinate attributes to the object
(being) of its discourse. Chapters 3 and 4 make the same claim about
comprehensiveness and determinacy for Parmenides’ treatment of con-
traries, for his proof that there is nothing besides being, and for his use
of metaphorical modal language. Here the method of elimination of
alternatives has the same ontological outcome: a single, noncontrary,
necessary being is rendered determinate and, to use Parmenides’ own
metaphor, is bounded by being the object of a discourse which operates
by systematically examining the spectrum of possibilities. In chapters 2—
4, then, logic and a comprehensive method of enumeration and variation
appear intimately intertwined with ontology in a combination originated
by Parmenides and (as chapters 5 and 6 try to show) decisive in subse-
quent philosophy and in its own right. Chapter 5 attempts to trace the
history, from Thales through Parmenides to Aristotle, of the Parmeni-
dean logic of contextual variability, of the method of variation, and of
the theory of negative language attributed to Parmenides in the first four
chapters, thus to situate his thought in its immediate historical context
while showing that later developments can be predicated retroactively in
his terms. The concluding chapter meditates on the philosophical and
theological significance of the views attributed here to Parmenides, es-
pecially in light of his identification of the transcendent with the deter-
minate or bounded rather than with the unbounded, and in connection
with the methodology and theory associated with that identification in
earlier chapters. Christianity, Buddhism, Heraclitus, Hegel, and Nietz-
sche appear as alternatives in the spectrum of possibilities, and I discuss
the connection between different views of being and different views of
INTRODUCTION 9
logic and offer a speculative interpretation of certain dominant trends

in Western philosophy in the light of Parmenides. Thus the book’s aim
is to give an interpretation of Parmenides which accounts for his wealth
of discourse, for the many possibilities explored in his philosophical
method, for his sensitivity to assertion and negation and their interre-
lationships. I seek to explain how Parmenides, so interpreted, would have
influenced the development of logic, and to evaluate possible effects of
the Eleatic revolution on subsequent philosophy and possible advantages
and disadvantages of Parmenideanism as a vision of human life. I sketch
a Parmenides who was acutely sensitive to the issues raised by his own
language and to the details in the composition of his poem, whose at-
tention to the forms of judgment and of proof is not only a device for
getting a point across but also the awakening of self-critical attention in
the West to logic and method themselves. I hope to show that this logical
and methodological side of Parmenides does not function by itself but is
also intimately connected with the ontological boundedness or determi-
nacy characteristic of the object of his discourse, and that, if he is read
this way, important moments in the history of philosophy can be seen as
exploiting variations on him. This Parmenides is absolutely decisive for
philosophy, not only as a monist, precursor of Plato’s Forms, or disturber
of naive cosmogonists, but as the architect of those canons of reason
which, together with the ontology they generate and reflect, have fur-
nished the material for all subsequent philosophical emendations in the
West. The book’s question will be this: why—in defiance of twentieth-
century practice—should the first ontologist have been the first logician?
The book’s title reflects the fact that an answer will be attempted here;
it is my purpose to show, not just that ontology and logic have gone
together in the history of philosophy (for that would be nothing new),
but also that Parmenides conceived them as essentially one in ways which
the later tradition slowly modifies and unravels. Parmenides’ view can
say something to us now no matter what kinds of philosophy we are
interested in. Accordingly the reader will find sentence structure in
chapter 1 and mysticism in chapter 6. My question is best approached
on all three interdependent (and sometimes too harshly distinguished)
levels of exegesis, interpretation, and speculation. I aim to create acli-
mate in which the levels benefit from each other instead of being incom-
patible. ‘
This book is not a complete study of Parmenides. I do not present
detailed accounts of the chariot ride and “Opinion” sections, or formal-
izations of every argument in the “Truth” section, or complete accounts
of every major scholarly controversy. For such things, the reader is ad-
vised to look to more than one other book;'® even an interpretation of
Parmenides, whose remains are so few, cannot be contained within a
10 INTRODUCTION
single volume or a single critic, and no single interpretation can claim to

be decisive. I do offer new accounts of some crucial ontological, logical,
and methodological issues. In the case of this.pre-Socratic author, above
all, it is necessary to invoke the favor of a sympathetic goddess and the
indulgence of a kind reader, and I do so now. ‘
In what follows, references designated by the letter B are those of the

Diels-Kranz edition (see n. 2), so that, for‘example, B8.42 means “Diels-
Kranz fragment 8, line 42.” Line numbers without a fragment number
almost always refer to lines in fragment 8 unless some other fragment is
prominent in the immediately preceding context. Greek is usually trans-
lated except in the footnotes or when atranslation has already been
given. I always use being and what-is to mean the same thing.
CHAPTER 1
Why Not
“Is Not’’2
Though Parmenides is famous for saying that one ought not say or think
what is not (whatever that is), he went on to compose a poem that seems
to do almost nothing else. Since Plato’s Sophist, perhaps, Parmenides has
been almost as famous for apparent inconsistencies! as for the rigid dicta
that seemed to land him in them. Here I try to extricate him from some
if not all his inconsistencies and to suggest a new role for him in the
history of mysticism and logic. I suggest that previous interpretations
have not dealt adequately with the problem of Parmenides’ negative lan-
guage, note that there is one negative expression (ouk esti, “isn’t”) which
he does not use except innocuously,? suggest that his abhorrence of neg-
ative language was not an abhorrence of negative facts and extended
only so far as a directly and assertorically negated copula, and try to
generate a philosophical rationale which will explain both this limited
abhorrence and the rest of the poem. I discuss previous interpretations
of Parmenides’ negative language in section 2.
Like all interpretations of Parmenides, mine is controversial. Without
downplaying my commitment to it, I will say that much of the rest of the
book is independent of it. At the end of the chapter I describe which
parts of the remaining chapters do not depend on what is said here.
Though we are told that the route of “is not” is completely uninformative
and the route of what-is trustworthy, the goddess’s language in
fragment 8 abounds in denials, negative words and phrases, and contra-
positive methods of proof. This fact has long been noted, but it has not,
I think, been sufficiently appreciated. Being “is not lacking” (B8.33),
“nor is it divisible” (B8.22), is not such as to be here bigger and there
smaller than being (B8.47—48), is “ungenerable” (B8.3), “unmoving”
(B8.4), “immovable . . .without beginning, without end” (B8.26—27), and
11
12 WHY NOT “IS NOT’?
so on. Parmenides says that it is not right for being to be incomplete

(B8.32) and then says that it is complete (B8.42)—that is, he has, at least,
the right opinion that one would expect from any Greek about the fact
that some double-negatives yield a positive.
Moreover, the entire elenchus operates within a framework of negative
proof. “Whole” in line 4 is proved in lines 22—26 by denying “divisible,”
“here somewhat bigger,” and “somewhatxsmaller”; “ungenerable” and
“unperishing” in line 3 are proved by denying various sorts of birth and
destruction in the lines that follow; and the signpost at the end of line 4,
whose meaning must have been “perfect” or “complete,” is proved in
lines 42—49 through aseries of similar denials, involving language which
seems doubly negative: “neither any bigger, nor any smaller ... nor is
there what-is-not ... nor is it in any way possible for what-is to be here
bigger and there smaller than what-is.” The core of each signpost-proof
is thus to say what is true about being by denying what is false. And this
is not all: not only does the poem contain negative language in a context
where negation and its logic are supposedly being ruled out, but the
negations seem to cover a great deal of what one might call the “allowable
logical ground.” I return to this in chapter 2, but I note here that the
poem contains not only the assertion of alpha-privative “predicates” like
agenéton, ““ungenerable,” andlethron, “unperishing,” atremes, “unmoving,”
akinéton, “immovable,” anarchon, “without beginning,” apauston, “without
end,” but also the denial of such a predicate (ateleutéton, “incomplete”)
using the modal expression ou themis estin, “it is not right,” in B8.32.
Positive (that is, non-alpha-privative) “predicates” are also asserted (oulon
mounogenes, “a whole of a single kind,” tetelesmenon, “perfect”) and denied
(diaireton, “divisible,” epidees, “lacking”). The triple oude ... oude .. . oude
(“neither ... nor... nor”) of lines 22—25 is echoed in the akinéton . ..
anarchon apauston (“immovable ... without beginning, without end”) of
lines 26—27, and in the tauton ... en tautoi ... kath’heauto (“the same...
in the same place.. . by itself”) of line 29—an interdependence of pos-
itives and negatives in proof. There are, finally, negative expressions
involving various personified figures: for example, Justice did not allow
being to come to be or to perish (B8.13—14; see also lines 7-8, 36-38).
I examine these figures more closely in chapter 4.
In the context of this poem, where negation and affirmation are al-
ready at issue in the distinction between two routes, surely there is some-
thing we are supposed to notice in all this. Did the goddess have to be
negative in order to speak at all? If so, why was she so negative? Inter-
estingly, there was one thing she left out; the words ouk esti, “isn’t”—
which are used as a nickname for the negative route and in certain other
ways—are not used in an assertoric negative predication about being, in
what Simplicius tells us is the whole of the “Truth” section of the poem.
WHY NOT “IS NOT’? 13
This fact, which is significant in view of the abundance of other negative

language, is important for my hypothesis. But, for now, surely the god-
dess is inviting us to take up the challenge posed by her apparent incon-
sistency and to respond to it with our nooi, our minds.
It seems to me that one of the following explanations will carry the
field, or else nothing will. (1) If all this negative language and style of
argument is deliberate, we must either explain the second fragment’s
enunciation of the two routes so as to allow the negative language to be
acceptable on Parmenides’ own criteria, or explain the language as a
necessary (though perhaps perversely indulged in) self-referential incon-
sistency. (2) Perhaps Parmenides merely used the Greek language in the
only way he could in order to say what he thought was true about being,
and did not worry too much about how well his language conformed to
his own rules.
The second explanation, if true, would make Parmenides very unin-
teresting. Luckily, it is improbable. Parmenides knew what he was doing.
If he was so extraordinarily sensitive to, and scrupulous about, negative
statements as to eliminate the entire sensible world in one fell swoop on
the grounds that it cannot be described without making’such statements,
then he must have noticed that he himself was making what might well
be thought to be the same mistake. But, on the contrary, he seems to
have thought nothing wrong with the goddess’s discourse about being;
there is little room in her “trustworthy discourse and thought about
truth” (B8.50—51) for self-doubt.
But, if the language is deliberate, it remains to be seen whether and
how the goddess’s discourse about Truth in fragment 8 is to be brought
into accord with her prescriptions and prohibitions in fragments 2 and
6—if, indeed, this is possible and/or desirable at all. Here we return to
the first alternative discussed above, and here there is already a well-
charted route to follow through the intense scholarly discussion of recent
years. The major possibilities thus far considered seem to be these:
(1) The language of fragment 8 does violate the canons of fragment 2,
if, indeed, the canons do not violate themselves in their very utterance.
Parmenides knew this, but this predicament is inevitable given his view
and, far from disabling the poem, it is in fact an index of genuine pro-
fundity. (This is the Owen line of interpretation, also in Furth and Nuss-
baum.)* (2) The language of fragment 8 does not violate the canons,
(a) because it contains only double-negations, that is, (implicitly) positive
statements, not singly negative statements;* (b) because fragment 8 does
not deny that being exists, but only denies that being has certain prop-
erties which, if it had them, would involve its being nonexistent in various
ways (Taran, Barnes, and Gallop, among others);° (c) because what is
said by means of the negations genuinely characterizes what is real, in-
stead of leading one off into a morass of vagueness in which no definite

information can be provided, as would be the case if Parmenides had
affirmed what he denies in fragment 8 (Mourelatos).® These three read-
ings of course depend on and provide support for their authors’ inter-
pretations of the canons of fragment 2; they all differ from the Owen
line of interpretation in that they attempt to explain fragment 8 as con-
taining language that Parmenides would not disallow, language that
should be interpreted as being in some ‘sense, implicitly or in effect,
positive, and not really negative.
In what follows I shall offer criticisms of these interpretations before
setting out my own hypothesis. But let me first say something about the
classical background against which the interpretations operate.
Plato’s and Aristotle’s criticisms of Parmenides attribute to him an ig-

norance of, or blindness to, the fact that what-is is and is not in many
different ways. In one way, it can be true of a rose that it is not blue,
without its being true that the rose does not exist, that it 7s not. Or, to
put it differently, the “is” of predication is to be distinguished from the
“is” of existence. Could ignorance of this distinction have led Parmenides
to a monistic conclusion? Yes. If one thought that one could not speak
or think of what does not exist, and if one were ignorant of the different
behavior of “is” used predicatively from “is” used existentially, one might
think that all negative predicates were inadmissible (because assimilated
to negative existential statements) and so conclude that the only admis-
sible statement is the statement, Being is. This view of Parmenides was
taken by Calogero and Raven.’ Others have written of a “fused” sense
of “is,” intending to avoid an accusation of conceptual unclarity while
capturing the fact that the argument might seem transferable into both
existential and predicative contexts.* Such views seem at first to have the
advantage of actually explaining why Parmenides said what he said, on
the basis of an ignorance which might be thought appropriate for a
thinker who composed before Plato’s Sophist. Parmenides, on this view,
exhibited behavior reasonable for one living in an archaic age, and does
not seem merely to have argued for or explicated a revised version of a
conclusion which he had swallowed beforehand, for example, a (suitably
logicized).One Being from Milesian or Pythagorean cosmology, as in
Cornford’s interpretation.®
In fact, however, the Calogero-Raven view explains no more than
Cornford’s. To take for granted that “is” is fused or confused between
existence- and predication-contexts is just as much of a presupposition
as to take for granted that Being is One. Moreover, given the connection
between an existence-predication conflation and monism (the connection

that Calogero and Raven wish to establish), “Being is One” could just as
well be a conclusion from, or a justification for, a fusion or confusion
between predication and existence. Both are equally basic and, at first
sight, equally unargued for by Parmenides. Neither is, on this level, a
better explanation. One needs a different criterion than explanatory ad-
equacy for choosing between the two interpretations.
But the view that Parmenides fused or confused existence and pre-
dication does not hold up well, if only because the goddess says of being
that “it is not lacking” (B8.33: esti gar ouk epidees), and she certainly does
not mean to say that being does not exist. I do not think that any inter-
pretation which has Parmenidean existence- and predication-statements
joined, confused, or moving in parallel can withstand this counterex-
ample without forcing the goddess to break her own laws. But this raises
the question of the status of Parmenides’ own language, thus entering
immediately into dialogue with Owen and Furth, both of whom view this
language as a device for transcending itself.
Owen and Furth give somewhat different explanations for the origin
and motivations of Parmenides’ argument: Owen, at least initially, inter-
prets him as seeking a general, existing subject on the grounds that only
such a subject can suffice for language and for thought, while Furth’s
models for assertions disallowed by Parmenides involve negative predic-
ations and/or negative existential statements. Indeed, all the statements
refused by Parmenides fall into one or both of Furth’s models. For ex-
ample, if being were to be more somewhere, it would be not less there,
and this is, for Furth, inadmissible, as would be divisibility, a hole in
being where being is not. Furth’s view, then, adequately accounts for the
Parmenidean lexicon of transcendental predicates. I will not stress fur-
ther differences between Owen and Furth here; in what follows I argue
only against the general idea that some parts of Parmenidean discourse
about Truth in fragment 8 violate the goddess’s own laws for speech.
Owen associates himself with the idea that fragment 8 is a Wittgenstein-
ian ladder which is jettisoned at the end of the elenchus; but really the
ladder is one upon which one cannot even take the first step, given what
Parmenides actually says.
Any interpretation of Parmenides which says that the reason for his
view was that he did not like negative predications or existence-assertions
ought to be confronted first of all with the fact that Parmenidean dis-
course about Truth is full of precisely those predications and assertions.
In view of all this negative language, one is tempted to ask, how could
anyone say that the root of Parmenides’ theory was an objection to such
speech? The poem’s entire method is that of negative elenchus, and the
goddess tramples through the negative predications as if they were the
sweet grapes of the vine. Surely the burden of proof is on a view in which
all her words are disqualified right off the bat.
The resort here is to read fragment 8 as an example of a familiar sort
of philosophical self-referential inconsistency: the ladder is rendered un-
necessary by its very trustworthiness. Owen recommends transcendental
argument; Furth suggests that, given a student of intelligence, the same
effect could have been achieved by repeated beatings, Zen-fashion, every
time the student used negative language. A supple youth like Zeno
would, presumably, respond well to this sort of “negative reinforce-
ment.”!° But then why bother to compose a poem at all? Why not just
say “Being is’—if one can even say that? Practical charity or vanity are
plausible motives, but Furth does not give a philosophical reason why
Parmenides should have designed his argument to show how being is by
denying how it is not. And this is what Parmenides did do, as was indi-
cated above. And if Parmenides had a genuine antipathy towards neg-
ative language, would he not at least have reduced his use of it to the
bare minimum, even if the constraints of communication forced him
into negative statement? This reduction he certainly does not make—if
anything, he flaunts his Mephistophelian side. Or, one who thought self-
referential inconsistency was unavoidable might embrace it and become
promiscuously inconsistent. In that case, why aren’t there even more
negations, clearly indicating that the goal is silence?
It might be replied that many philosophers have been in the predic-
ament of saying what they know they ought not to say in order to explain
why they ought not to say it. Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason is an example,
if Fichte was right about it; Wittgenstein’s Tractatus has already been
mentioned; the Platonic likely stories are perhaps another example. Here
the philosopher is depicted as both master and victim of a proper ob-
session, walking about with cast and crutches in order to demonstrate
the impossibility of doing so. Or, perhaps, out of a real charity and
concern for truth, Parmenides is willing to bend a principle in order to
make it accessible. But Wittgenstein and Plato at least say that this is
what they are doing and give good reasons for why they need to do it.
Why not Parmenides? If he is indeed as scrupulous about negative lan-
guage as he is represented to be, then the repeated negations in fragment
8 might be thought daring, as if he were flaunting his violation of the
principle, inviting the reader to pounce. This might be good pedagogy
in certain situations, but it invites misunderstanding if used as a general
method.
What is needed is an explanation of how self-referentially inconsistent
or paradoxical (Mackenzie) discourse!! could be regarded as “trustwor-
thy” in the sense demanded by the goddess. Her language of trust has
to do with the fixity of being within its bounds (B8.13—15, 26-33), with
its accessibility to discourse and thought (B2.1—4, B8.16—18, 34-38), and

with the guarantees underlying the positive route (B1.26—30). If a tran-
scendent reality is finite as well, then it can be grasped even as we express
its transcendence, or so she seems to imply. How, then, could the violation
of a prohibition against negative facts in the very statement of the pro-
hibition be trustworthy? First, it might be said to demonstrate the pro-
hibition by showing the (profound) incoherence that results when it is
violated; the fact that the incoherence is necessary for the very statement
of the prohibition might not be thought to affect this point. Second, both
the positive fact (being) and the prohibition which expresses it through
violating it might be said to stand in a relation of trustworthy corre-
spondence to each other, if part of the nature of being, so to speak, is
that it must always be expressed in this self-inconsistent way. Thus, some-
one might say, it is not really a failure of language, but rather something
natural, when language bites its own tail in attempting to express a truth
so fundamental. Language, on this view, would be untrustworthy if it
attempted to disguise its inconsistencies, for the truth cannot be com-
municated except through the inconsistencies. It is the mortals, not the
goddess, who attempt to disambiguate the inconsistencies by shoving con-
trary predicates onto two substrates, Fire and Night. They fail, on this
view, because the truth they attempt to grasp is so paradoxical that its
very paradoxicality is a sign of truth and cannot be dispensed with.
But of all this, in the statement of the goddess and in the theme of
the poem, I do not see clear evidence to clue us in, to let us know that
this is what we are supposed to expect. And yet the goddess is not shy
about her intentions and our duties and warns us, as at the beginning
of the “Opinion” section, when the ordering of her words is to be taken
as deceptive. I don’t find a self-referentially complicated hermeneutic in
the assertoric portions of fragment 8. Surely the language of trust is to
be taken at face value, at least so far as the directly attributed negations
in the fragment are concerned. Whatever the “sound of one hand clap-
ping” is, it is surely not the language of transcendental proof and jus-
tice—in effect, the language of an honest oath. This is not to demean a
self-undercutting hermeneutic (I insist on the great importance of several
such in my concluding chapter) but only to say that the great burden of
proof involved in attributing such a hermeneutic to Parmenides disap-
pears if we begin by baptizing the negations rather than ending by throw-
ing them away. (I discuss the question whether for Parmenides all words
turn out in the end to be shadows, and the problem of self-undercutting
with goddess, maidens, and chariot, later in this chapter.) Indeed, the
question is a profound one: Do certain paradoxes inherent in some meta-
languages extend to the object-language as well, or is there a bounded
zone within which the object-language obeys the laws that are set for it?
My purpose here is to explore ways in which the second alternative might

be worth attributing to Parmenides.
Another objection along self-referential lines is based on Plato’s read-
ing of Parmenides in the Sophist. This seems a very fruitful and respect-
able reading of Parmenides as plagued by the inconsistencies that afflict
absolute monists, but it becomes clear that Plato regards the inconsisten-
cies as providing a starting-point for his own pluralistic ontology, for a
weakening of Eleatic criteria in order to allow nonidentical things to be
fully real. (I discuss monism, pluralism, and nonidentity later in this
chapter and in chapter 5.) Surely, it might be said, if Plato thinks Par-
menides had the inconsistencies, then so may we, and if he thinks they
are profound raw material for a new ontology, then we do not have to
regard them as lessening Parmenides’ philosophical value.
The difficulty is that Plato thinks Parmenides did not go far enough.
Plato does not think it possible to secure a coherent discourse about
reality on Parmenidean principles even though he respects Parmenides
very much; and one reason why he disagrees with Parmenides is that he
thinks Parmenides as a monist is self-referentially inconsistent: if there
is oneness, there is also being, different from oneness, and so forth. The
Parmenides to whom Plato testifies is not an able self-undercutter; he is
not a master of the limitations of positive and negative discourse but
ultimately becomes immured in a silence which makes discourse impos-
sible—he is not depicted as self-referentially inconsistent in a successfully
self-conscious way. If we say that the inconsistencies were designed to
break the rules, we are adding to the Platonic picture, going beyond it.
An interesting additional possibility, both for Furth, Nussbaum, and
Mackenzie and for my interpretation, is this: the use of both positive and
negative language in Parmenides, in Heraclitus, and in the Sophist’s ex-
ploration of the fabric of interconnections and nonidentities among
Forms might conceal a deeper consensus about truth, one suppressed
by the disagreements about monism, pluralism, change, and certain sorts
of negative language in relation to others. If the articulation of the truth
demands both the positive and the negative side (and I suggest in
chapter 6 why this might have been so in Greece) then what matters is
that, on all these interpretations, Parmenides too thought that this was
so, and my disagreement with these other interpreters becomes less im-
portant. I claim here, however, that the goddess’s direct, assertoric neg-
ative language about being is not meant to be inconsistent merely on the
grounds that it is negative.
Various criticisms also apply against other readings in contemporary
debate. The existential interpretation offered by Taran, Barnes, and Gal-
lop has the advantage of simplicity and economy.’? It might be concluded
from B8.7—9 (“Nor will I allow you to say or think: out of what-is-not.
\
For it is not sayable or thinkable that it is not.”) that a mention of what

does not exist in an explanation, even of the relatively minimal sort in-
volved in the statement that what-is comes from what-is-not, is an in-
stance of the sort of discourse involved in the negative route, the route
of what-is-not. Parmenides’ phraseology here in B8.9 (hopés ouk est2, “how
it isn’t”) is almost the same as that in fragment 2 (hds ouk esti, “how it
isn’t”). If one continues along these lines, it is tempting to adopt an
existential reading of the assertions and denials in fragment 8 and to say
that wrong discourse for Parmenides is simply the attempt to refer di-
rectly or implicitly to what does not exist, or the attempt to say anything
about it except that it does not exist. There is nothing for negative ex-
istential language to hold on to. Thus, on Taran’s reading, there is noth-
ing wrong with using language that is grammatically negative or alpha-
privative so long as such discourse in effect serves to attribute to what-
is properties or conditions that are in fact incompatible with its having,
or containing, or being susceptible to nonexistence—and there is nothing
wrong with using the phrase “is not” in a sentence, so long as that sen-
tence serves to say that one ought not to say “is not” (like B8.8—11) or
what implies or involves “is not.” Moreover, this interpretation, like
Furth’s, provides us with an easy deduction of the signposts that Par-
menides asserts in fragment 8. For, if being comes into being or perishes,
then it comes from, or fades into, what does not exist; if it is divided
from itself, then there is somewhere it does not exist; and so on.
There is a compelling reason, however, to disagree with an interpre-
tation that has these advantages. There is evidence in the poem to suggest
that Parmenides meant to rule out other kinds of “is not” besides the “is
not” which says that something does not exist.
First, at the beginning of the “Opinion” section, when Parmenides
states the initial error of mortals in constructing their world-scheme, the
dichotomy they set up is described as follows: “Fire . . . in every way the
same with itself and not the same with the other.” Now surely this is a
specimen or a description of mortal discourse, ironically adopted by the
goddess in order to demonstrate the insufficiency of that discourse; it is
equally certain that the mortals think there is nothing wrong with it.
What is wrong with it? It certainly does not, so far as I can see, either
say or imply that something does not exist; in fact, the mortals go on to
say that no point anywhere is without both light and night; this is cer-
tainly not thought, by them or by Parmenides, to be a situation in which
there is a hole in the plenum, a place where an ontological distinction
between Fire and Night requires there to be a hole of nonbeing. So,
clearly, what is wrong with the world of mortals, at least in its initial
formulation, cannot be just that it contains something that is thought not
to exist.
But there are problems with the exhaustiveness of the existential read-
ing even in the “Truth” section, with Parmenides’ discussion of local
inhomogeneity in fragment 8. We hear, in two similar but distinguishable
passages, that what-is is not bigger or smaller anywhere. There is some
discussion in recent literature about just what the inhomogeneity in-
volves, whether it is one of density, or.spatial distribution, or even
(wrongly, I think) temporal distribution (see chapter 3). But surely a
thing can be (though it does not have to be) more dense in one place
and less dense in another without thereby containing a zone of nonbe-
ing.!? It is true that if a stuff is less in one place and more in another,
then, even if it contains no gaps, it “is not more” in the place in which
it is less, and “is not less” in the place in which it is more. But this is not
the “is not” of denial of existence. We still have to explain what Parmen-
ides thinks is wrong with certain statements involving negative predica-
tions, not just negative existential statements. Moreover, there are
negative existential statements within the body of fragment 8 (“For there
neither is nor will be an other besides what-is,’ B8.36—38). For the ex-
istential reading, these are allowable because (like fragment 2) they are
to be read as ways of telling us how not to talk. Thus they are not taken
to be direct discourse but instead part ofa self-referentially inconsistent
metalanguage. However, I would like to bring these statements, too, di-
rectly within the ambit of allowable Parmenidean expression.
I do not rule out the possibility that a combination of the existential
criterion with some other criterion against contradiction (of the sort I
present later) might be workable at least as a deduction of the predicates
of being.'* But if a purely existential reading of the “is” is not wide enough
to rule out “Opinion” and preserve “Truth,” one might want to look for
some other construal of “is.” Here the view to deal with is that of Moure-
latos. In what follows I argue against his claim that Parmenides’ world
could have been composed of many monads, each with its own proper
or constitutive name. A potentially pluralistic claim is shared by Moure-
latos and Barnes.
Basic to a view of the world as a paratactically ordered plurality of
monads, without negation-inviting relations among them, is the view that
each thing is what it is and not another thing. If there is only one thing
in the world, then one doesn’t have to worry, since there aren’t any other
things, though one may need to show that there aren’t any others. But
if the world has many monads in it, then whenIsay, “This is Odysseus,”
I also say or imply, “This is not anything which is not Odysseus.” Par-
menides seems to say not only how what-is is, but also how it is not
possible for it not to be (B2.3). On Mourelatos’ reading, in which the
statements made in “Truth” are more or less guidelines for what ought
to be said, one ought to avoid characterizing Odysseus in terms which
\
(implicitly or explicitly) relate him to some particular other individual,

to someone or something that he is not. Now the “is not” in the statement
“is not anything which is not Odysseus” is not supposed to be a focused
negation directed at some particular thing (say, Telemachus)—if it were,
Odysseus would be constituted by the fact that he is not Telemachus,
and this is what is inadmissible on Mourelatos’ reading. Rather, the “is
not” is supposed to be a general negation, undirected, or directed at any
other thing in the world. Odysseus, then, is supposedly constituted by
the fact that he “is not” any one of those things which are not Odysseus—
not that he “is not this one” or “is not that one,” but that he is not any
of them. This is what must be required by Mourelatos’ view (1) if it is to
allow more than one thing as a candidate for what-is, and (2) if directed
negation, negation applied to a particular “this,” is what Parmenides
disallows. And a world composed of monads is supposedly unexception-
able, since one is never allowed to think, even on the underlying meta-
physical level, that this one (Odysseus) is characterized by not being that
one; the “is not” in “This is Odysseus and is not anything which is not
Odysseus” is thought to be merely a strengthening of the applicability of
the name to the single thing it singles out.
But here one wants to say, in criticism of Mourelatos, that the situation
does arise, sooner or later, in which Odysseus meets up with Telemachus,
and then the negation will be not only global but also individual; that is,
one cannot say, “This is not any of the others” without sooner or later
saying, “This is not that one, or that one, or that one’”—and this is a
feature even of a world of monads, and even if there are no two members
of the same family. If the identity of an individual is secured by its not
being identical with any other, then it is secured also, sooner or later, by
its not being identical with this one and that one. But then constitutive
predications, even in a world of monads, sooner or later involve negative
assertions on the deeper metaphysical level, in particular the assertion
of nonidentity, so long as there is more than one thing, even if such a
world is not imagined as containing hidden strands of logical texture in
the form of families or classes. And thus the Parmenidean world, as
Mourelatos represents it, could not be set up without violating what
Mourelatos takes to be Parmenides’ own prohibition. Barnes’s view is
existential, so the statement of nonidentity is not directly thought of as
prohibited language; but all pluralistic views seem to run up against the
fact that nonidentity statements are characteristic of “Opinion,” not of
“Truth.” It is Fire, not being, which is “in every way the same with itself
and not the same with the other” (B8.57—58).
Let me summarize the train of the argument thus far. (1) Either Par-
menides had no objection to (at least some kinds of) negative language,
or the entire “Truth” section of the poem is a deliberate, merely heuristic
22 WHY NOT “IS NOT’’?
device, not only just because it is language, but also because of the kind
of language it is. (2) It is worth viewing the negative language seriously
as a kind of language to which Parmenides apparently felt himself en-
titled. Previous interpretations have too often attributed to him a pro-
hibition against the very language that he uses in fragment 8, and this
tells me that it is no longer fruitful to try to figure out what is prescribed
and prohibited without examining that language more closely. (3) Par-
menides knew (at least on the level of right opinion) that one could make
a negative predication without making a negative existence-assertion.
Thus he could not have fused or confused the two. (4) On the assump-
tion that, for example, “it is not lacking” (B8.33) and “nor is there what-
is-not” (B8.46) are acceptable forms of expression for Parmenides, he
cannot have objected to sentences which express negative predications
or negative existential statements. (5) Nor could the Parmenidean uni-
verse have included a plurality of totally real beings.
I earlier sketched the extent and richness of the negative language in

fragment 8. Thus it strikes me as interesting that the sequence of words
ouk esti, “isn’t,” does not occur as such except (1) as a name for the neg-
ative route, (2) as said modally of méden, “nothing” (B6.2),!> (3) as the
statement of a (ruled-out) consequence that would occur if what-is were
to come to be (B8.20), (4) as used to mean “it is not possible that...”
(B2.3). The sequence as such, however, is never used assertorically to
deny a predicate of being, nor, of course, is it used to say that being does
not exist. And this is in a poem where ouk esti is prohibited in fragment 2.
What one finds instead are various ways (e.g., alpha-privatives) for keep-
ing negations away from assertoric copulas; I exhibit these inalist below.
It is true that a negation followed directly by a form of the verb “to be”
is rare in Homer in impure nominal sentences,'® so the fact that ouk esti
is not used to deny assertoric predicates is not statistically significant from
the point of view of epic practice. The philosophically significant fact,
however, is that the only uses (1—4) in this poem of the very locution (ouk
estt) which characterizes the negative route in B2.3 are uses which do
not deny something of being assertorically and directly. This suggests
later the hypothesis that the locution is barred from these uses—that its
partial absence is also an omission which is significant for interpretation.
I return to the special case of modal negative uses of the verb later, but
I note now that “nothing cannot be” in B6.2, since it says “how it is not
possible for it not to be,” in the words of B2.3, may well be on the positive
route (see n. 15, above).
The challenge to be met is this: it is, if possible, desirable to explain
\
how a sentence like esti gar ouk epidees, “for it is not lacking,” could be
taken as a sentence which says “hds esti,” “that it is,’ one in which the
goddess speaks of being as it is and not as it is not; and to explain, in
the same breath if possible, why the locution ouk esti, “isn’t,” is not used
as such to make adirect predication or assertoric negative existential
statement.
I assume, first, that metrical considerations alone would not have pre-
vented Parmenides from using the locution ouk esti, or a contraction
thereof, in assertoric negative predications and negative existentials.'”
The locution already finds its place in the Parmenidean hexameter, and
its omission in an otherwise highly negative poem where the prohibited
route is described as the route hdés ouk esti, “how it isn’t,’ could not have
been decisively affected by such considerations.
My proposal is very simple. Parmenides thinks that esti gar ouk epidees,
“for it is not lacking,” says hés esti, “that it is,” precisely because it says
esti, “is.” It literally says esti (“it is”) owk epidees (“not lacking”) and does
not say ouk esti (“it isn’t”) epidees (“lacking”). He thinks that an assertoric
sentence which can be read as saying esti, “is,” is a sentence which belongs
to the route hopés esti, “that it is,” and that an assertoric sentence which
had to be read as saying ouk esti, “isn’t,” would be one which belonged to
the route hés ouk esti, “that it isn’t.” The fact is that sentences which say
esti in this way are found in fragment 8, no matter how negative they
seem; but sentences which say ouk esti in making an assertoric negative
predication, or a negative assertoric existential statement, are not found,
though they are found in modal discourse. And a systematically self-
referentially inconsistent poem, it could be argued, would have included
them. Thus, fragment 8 accords with fragment 2, and Parmenides obeys
his own prescriptions and prohibitions in every word. It is a simple recipe
for correct speech, one whose nature and rationale any intelligent
speaker could understand.
Behind the apparent simplicity of such prohibitions and prescriptions,
however, might lie a philosophical rationale of some depth. The point
can be made either in ordinary language or in theoretical language.
Ordinarily I might suppose that there is a difference between “he isn’t
in debt” and “he is not-in-debt,” and think that the first tells me what he
isn’t (thus telling me nothing) while the second tells me what he is,
namely, not-in-debt, even though it looks like it might be telling me
nothing. And I want to know something, namely what he is. I might have
thought this difference up for myself, become enchanted with it, and
made a theory out of it.
Theoretically, the origin of such a view might lie in an intuition (think
of this as only a matter of intuition, of philosophical insight, on Par-
menides’ part, since there is no evidence for its being part of a formal,
explicitly conscious science of logic or grammar) about the differing roles

of subject, predicate, and copula in a sentence which purports to express
a true judgment. Parmenides might have thought that an assertoric sen-
tence which must be read as saying what isn’t (that is, one in which the
ouk, “not,” must be taken as going only with the estzn, “is”) cannot express
a true or false judgment. He would have thought this if he had thought
that the locution “isn’t” cannot introduce a predicate or give information
about a subject, because it does not allow the sentence to get off the
ground, so to speak. (The technical terminology here is no more vague
than it need be.) And he might have thought that a sentence which can
be read as saying what is (that is, one in which the negative word can be
taken with the subject- or predicate-term, or with the sentence as a whole,
instead of just with the copula) can express a true or false judgment. It
succeeds in introducing a predicate or in saying something about a sub-
ject, because the unnegated “is” introduces something and allows the
sentence to say something. Now here’s the point: he might have thought
that the only sort of assertoric sentence which (in the fluid language of
verse) must be taken as one which says what isn’t, in the above sense, is
one which contains the locution ouk esti as such, or something unambig-
uously reducible to it. And this, I am suggesting, is why the omission
from fragment 8 of such sentences might be significant, just as their
inclusion would have signified the decisive intention to be self-referen-
tially inconsistent.
Let me now examine some predications and assertions in fragment 8.
agenéton eon kai anolethron “is ungenerable and unper- B8.3—4
estin ishing”
oude pot’én oud’estai, epei “Nor was it nor will it be, 5-6
nun estin homou pan/hen, since it is now altogether
suneches one, cohesive”
ou gar phaton oude noéton/ “For it is neither sayable nor 8-9
estn hopos ouk esti thinkable that it is not”
oude diaireton estin “Nor is it divisible” a2
pan estin homoion “All of it is similar” 22
pan d’empleon estin eontos “All of it is full of being” 24
xuneches pan estin “Tt is all cohesive” 25
akinéton ... esttn anarchon “Immovable... it is without 26-27
apauston beginning, without end”
esti gar ouk epidees “Tt is not lacking” 33
ouden gar (€) estin é estal “For there neither is nor will 36-37
allo parex tou eontos be any other besides what-
is”
tetelesmenon esti “It is perfect” 42
oute gar ouk eon esti, to ken “For neither is there what-is- 46
pauoi min hikneisthai eis not, which might prevent
homon it from attaining same-
ness”
out’eon estin hopos eié ken “Nor is it in any way possi- 47-48
eontos téi mallon téi d’hés- _ ble for what-is to be here
son _ more and there less than
what-is”
pan estin asulon “All of it is inviolable” 48
It is striking to notice the number of times esti, “is,” is repeated and
how consistently it is not associated with an immediately preceding neg-
ative. I would suggest that we read these sentences as follows: the cases
where no negation could possibly attach to the copula pose no difficulty
even if the predicate is alpha-privative. Lines B8.3—4, the second half of
5-6, the second half of 22, 24, 25, 26-27, 42, and 48 fall into this
category. They are all unambiguous sentences of the esti-type. As I said
above, I believe that the frequent use of alpha-privatives testifies to a
desire to move negations away from the copula.
On the present interpretation, 22 (first half) and 33 are syntactically
ambiguous sentences which, because they do not contain the locution ouk
esti as such, are intended by Parmenides to be taken as sentences of the
esti-type with negated predicates, or negations of the sentence as a whole
(see below).'8 Lines 8—9 and 47-48 are essentially modals, and as such
need not be thought of as on the negative route. They could belong to
a modal side of the positive route wherein we are supposed to say neg-
ative things, to say not only “that it is,” hds esten, but also “how it is not
possible for it not to be,” hés ouk esti mé einai (B2.3); I discuss the dis-
tinction between assertoric and modal language in this poem in more
detail later. Still, even though the context in 8—9 and 47—48 is not asser-
toric, Parmenides does not use the locution ouk esti as he did in the modal
negation of B2.3. Lines 8—9 and 47—48 can be thought of as doing the
same job as méden d’ouk estin (“nothing cannot be”) or mé eon d’an pantos
edeito (“nonbeing would lack everything”), that is, they say that and why
something is prohibited. Méden d’ouk estin (“nothing cannot be,” B6.2),
of course, like B2.3, does negate the modal estin, and part of what I am
suggesting is that such negative modal language, as opposed to an as-
sertoric ouk esti, is legitimate. But I also suggest that Parmenides is so
careful to avoid the appearance of error that he does not even use the
locution ouk esti as such modaily in fragment 8.
In 36-37 and in 46, Parmenides is denying the existence of some-
thing—in the first case, of an “other besides what-is” and, in the second,
of a “what-is-not” which “might stop it [what-is] from attaining same-
ness.” In neither case, however, is the locution ouk esti used. Moreover,
36-37 is also essentially modal, since something which neither is nor will
be is something which is impossible, as the following imagery with the
figure of Doom suggests. Or one could take the negation as part of the
subject (ouden allo, “nothing other’) rather than the verb, so that the
underlying positive structure is “there is something which is nothing
other than being.” And 46—which is the:most difficult case—could be
taken as negating the subject, thus leaving the esti free, which would
make the sentence say underneath that there is something which is not
an ouk eon, a not-being, with the to, “which,” then picking up ouk eon. Or
46 could be seen as a version of “nothing cannot be,” given the modal
context in “which might prevent it from reaching sameness,” even though
the esti in 46 1s itself assertoric. The sentence will then be part of a general
explanation of why certain sorts of inhomogeneity are impossible owing
to the impossibility of what-is-not. Or the negation could be taken as
negating the estz-sentence as a whole (see below). In both 36—37 and 46,
then, I would suggest that the sentence is either modal or has as its depth-
structure the negation of the sentence or the subject or predicate rather
than the copula, or both. If Parmenides thought that an alpha-privative
or directly negated predicate can function within a canonically good
sentence, it is also possible that he would allow himself to negate a subject
provided that the copula was unnegated and the ultimate subject re-
ferred to was being. Such subject-terms are not necessarily too indefinite
in a monistic ontology. But this would depend on the scope of the ne-
gations.
If these explanations are adopted, then all the sentences about being
in fragment 8 will be negations of the predicate, the subject, or the whole
sentence, or will be modal negations, and so all will be on the positive
route. The pattern of absence of assertoric ouk esti is, I think, supposed
to clue us in to the possibility that something else is going on underneath
the surface of these sentences, that is, that they may not necessarily be
negating the copula assertorically. So long as such a negation is or can
be avoided, modal negations and also subject- or predicate-negations can
clear the bar. And these are not the only modals in the poem; some of
the personified female figures who guarantee the boundedness of being
are also ways of saying how it is not possible for being to be as it is not.
(I discuss these figures further in chapter 4.) That there must be a clear
distinction between modal and other uses of ouk esti is guaranteed by its
double occurrence first in the description (B2.3) of the positive route as
containing hés ouk esti mé einai, “how it is not possible for it not to be,”
and, second, two lines below in B2.5, where the negative route is de-
scribed as the route hos ouk esti, “how it isn’t.” Thus Parmenides must be
aware of a permissible use of the locution as well as of an impermissible
\
one, and of the distinction between them: the permissible use is clearly
in a modal context. “Nothing cannot be” in B6 seems to be such a use,
as would be the possible implicit modal negations of the copula in B8.36—
37 and 46, if these are not taken as subject-negations. All can be grouped
together as language which is tolerated by Parmenides under circum-
stances where direct statement would not be tolerated. My claim is thus
that to say that Parmenides does not make this distinction is to say that
the second half of B2.3—the statement of the positive route—is already
on the negative route from the very beginning, since ouk esti occurs there
too. A distinction between the two routes can be sustained only by mak-
ing a distinction between modal and assertoric language. These assimi-
lations of the language in fragment 8 to innocuous kinds of discourse
are rendered plausible by what may be a deliberate avoidance. Otherwise
the absence in assertoric discourse of the very expression named in the
negative route from a discourse containing many other negations has no
philosophical point. But, if it is avoided for a reason, we can seek the
reason in an attempt to defuse the sentences, to assimilate them to in-
nocuous kinds of negation already permitted in the statement of the two
routes or in different ways of construing sentences. The objection of
Gallop is that “any determinate affirmative predication entails a host of
negative ones”;!® I reply by representing Parmenides as merely disqual-
ifying the negative rephrasings of sentences without being concerned
about their possible equivalences to positive ones, as being preoccupied
with a canonical form in which the copula is or is not negated.
Two philological objections can be made to this case. One is that the
difference between negated copula and negated predicate in, e.g., oude
diaireton estin, “nor is it divisible,” is very slight. How can one assert
Parmenides to have made a distinction which is not consciously formu-
lated until Aristotle’s logic? It might be said that one has enough trouble
trying to construe sentences in hexameters without attributing such so-
phisticated distinctions to the fluid language of verse.”° The other objec-
tion is similar: the interpretation presented here seems to take for
granted that Parmenides could have distinguished the roles of copula
and predicate in theory as well as distinguishing between modal and as-
sertoric discourse. What historical evidence is there that he could have
made such distinctions? :
The first objection suggests a possible difficulty in localizing the focus
of negations in verse. A. C. Moorhouse, in Studies in the Greek Negatives,
summarizes a survey of some evidence as follows.
In Hom. JI. 1-12, there is no case, out of thirteen sentences, of ow followed
by eimi. Instead the adjective predicate comes next ... or else another
word. ... This means that the adjective, as predicate, is treated in the same
way as a verb predicate where a “full” verb is used; and that the presence
of the verb “to be” is disregarded. This is in contrast with later usage. It
seems likely that this Homeric treatment wasvnfluenced by the usage in the
pure nominal type (from which the verb “to be” was absent). . .. The free-
dom of position of the adjective, when ov is initial, is a striking feature, and
this too is paralleled by the freedom of placing of the verb generally in
Homer after initial ow.?! io
Moorhouse adds that the separation between negative and copula is later
reversed and that in the New Testament both regularly occur together.??
Thus a general Homeric avoidance of this negative followed by forms of
“to be” in impure nominal sentences means that the adjective is there
most directly negated. Parmenides, in following this practice with his
adjectival negations (also in his alpha-privatives, which encapsulate such
negations), might thus be supposed to have been doing so for purely
linguistic rather than philosophical reasons. But, as I said above, when
we add to this the fact that ouk esti is what is prohibited, putting the
weight of the negation on the adjective can also acquire a philosophical
significance. Parmenides will then have performed a metaphysical re-
flection on this epic practice, which now becomes one way of producing
canonically good sentences. This point about word order, then, means
that it is possible to localize the ouk, “not,” in esta gar ouk epidees, “for it
is not lacking,” more decisively away from the copula.
Moorhouse also makes a relevant point about sentence (‘“nexal”) ne-
gations.
Now we shall see that nexal ow was most often either initial, or else in
second place (less frequently). Other positions were comparatively rare. The
verb was by no means always associated with it: in Iliad, Books 1-12 the
verb follows the negative immediately in only 50 per cent. of all cases. Yet
it is the verbal idea which we would expect to find negatived in a sentence
with a nexal negative, if any single element 1s to be so selected.”
Here Moorhouse refers to the ambiguities earlier in his treatment: “The

essential part of the statement made ina sentence resides in its verb, and
we may regard the nexal negative as primarily the negation of the verbal
idea.” Later, however, he writes, “But in all cases the nexal negative ap-
plies to the whole of the sentence.”*4 After referring to these earlier
statements of his, he quotes “Men. 639 ouch hai triches poiousin hai leukai
phronein, all’ho tropos enton esti téi phusei geron” and then says, “Rather, if
Men. 639 were written with algebraic symbols, we should express it as
ouch [haz triches porousin hat leukai phronein], ‘it is not true that [white hairs
produce wisdom].’”?°
I take all this to mean that oude and oute, nexal negations in fragment 8,
can be taken to bear on the sentence as a whole rather than on the copula
‘
specifically, just as the earlier adjectival negations can be taken with the
adjective. Though Moorhouse also mentions the verb, the proposition
expressed by the sentence is really the focus of attack. If this were the
case, then the negations would not be taken as part of the proposition,
but rather as floating outside it, outside the brackets as in the sentence
Moorhouse analyzes. The copula, then, which is inside the brackets, is
not negated except as a part of the sentence as a whole just because the
negations are nexal. Such a practice could acquire philosophical signif-
icance for Parmenides, who was a theoretician of negation and affir-
mation; the significance that it might naturally acquire in his case would
be that the proposition in a negative sentence must be itself internally
free of a directly negated copula even though there are negative words
floating outside. If such were his trend of mind, Parmenides would have
reflected deeply on his language and encoded that reflection in his poem
by prohibiting ouk esti and keeping negations away from copulas as a
signal to readers that all his judgments about being were canonical and
genuine. This reflection would have been signalled by an interpretation
of the -owk in ouk esti as (in effect) a negation bearing directly on the
copula.
These canonical judgments, then, would naturally fall into various
classes, some of whose members are actually found in the poem: (1) esti-
sentences with no negations except, perhaps, within alpha-privative
predicates; (2) esti-sentences with word-negations attaching to predicates
or subjects; (3) sentence-negations where the negation is in effect outside
brackets; (4) modal affirmations or rejections of the first three classes or
rejections of ouk esti-sentences. The idea is that an assertoric esti-sentence
is a basic carrier of meaning in the direct object-language about reality,
which must be accepted or rejected as a whole, or piece by piece, without
violating the copula. Modal ouk esta can occur (4), as can negations equiv-
alent to “it is not the case that” (3); the former can be used in rejecting
the negative route (ouk esti in lines 8—9), but the latter seem to bear only
on sentences which are canonically good inside the brackets. If all this
language is taken as being on the positive route, it will be because of the
unnegated copula, or the rejected negative copula, at the core of each
sentence. This guarantees its meaning and reference, its capacity to carry
a judgment. Such, then, would have been Parmenides’ philosophical re-
flection on syntax. Now it is possible to call the negations outside the
brackets “metalinguistic” and to group them, together with the modals,
the personified figures, and the chariot ride, in the category of permis-
sible language which is not itself an esti-sentence; but I prefer the looser
formulation adopted above, in which the close connection between these
negations, which are not themselves expanded into sentences, and the
full sentences on which they bear is expressed inaclassification of can-
onical judgments. In this way one can speak of classes 1—4 as acceptable
and distinguish them from myth on the basis of their having a non-self-
referentially inconsistent core. Thus oude diaireton estin, “nor is it divisi-
ble,” would be read as “not [it is divisible],” while cute gar ouk eon esti,
“nor is there what-is-not,” could become “not [what-is-not is],” with free
copulas inside the brackets, unless one adopts one of the other expla-
nations given above. Negative existentials, if there are any nonmodal
examples of such in the poem, and all other types of discourse, will be
translated directly into estz-sentences or into (negative, modal, etc.) op-
erations on such sentences. These operations are thus performed on
sentences which do not themselves violate any laws. Canonical judgments
can thus include the denial of existence and of fact as well as modal
denials. I take up the question which of such judgments are true and
which are false below.
To sum up from a different angle: however rare predicative ouk est
might be in Homer as compared to existential or modal ouk estz,?° the use
of modal ouk esti in Parmenides where ouk esti is prohibited means that
at least one ouk esti—the modal—must be allowed. The question then
arises of which ouk estz is in fact prohibited. The absence of the locution
in assertoric negative existentials and negative predications in fragment 8
suggests that these uses are barred. One rephrases the sentences, as the
text does already to some extent, pushing the negations to the outside,
and the result is canonical discourse in which the locution or its unam-
biguous equivalents do not appear inside brackets. To the question,
“Aren’t you just ruling out what may not be likely to occur anyway?” I
reply that the infrequency of some uses of ouk esti in the language com-
pared to others could perhaps have been a fact of great importance to
Parmenides. Assertoric existential owk esti or equivalents do not occur as
such either in fragment 8, and since modal ouk esti does occur in B2.3,
we should, I think, suppose that the total absence even of an improbable
predicative ouk esti could have had a philosophical rationale. In this way
one can interpret the Homeric practice of using certain negations to bear
only on predicates or on the sentence as a whole as crucial for Parmenides
in a more theoretical way, and so see him as reflecting on what he in-
herited in terms, not necessarily of statistics, but of what types of sen-
tences there can be and what they mean. The result will be the use of
Homeric ambiguity to provoke thought, disambiguation, and an unam-
biguous and ontologically proper prose version; the freedom of verse is
thus indispensable without making it impossible to tell where the nega-
tions go. This is a complicated hermeneutic to follow, but it seems pref-
erable to the (genuinely important) alternative in which the poem self-
destructs as soon as its meaning is even partly understood. If poets are
freer in their language than other writers, then a philosopher preoccu-
xX
pied above all with negation could use Homeric fluidity in order to make
sure that certain things were conspicuously absent.”” And if, as Moor-
house says, Aristophanes, perhaps reflecting colloquial speech, has a
“more frequent use of initial ow than in either Herodotus or Thucydides,
though not rising as high as in Homer,’?* then perhaps Parmenides’
hearers could recognize negative words freely positioned away from the
copula as preserving an essential positivity within the sentence itself. This
hypothesis avoids difficulties in other interpretations of the poem’s pro-
hibitions.
But how self-conscious were Parmenides’ notions? Doesn’t this hy-
pothesis require Parmenides to have aset of theoretical distinctions among
sentence, subject, copula, and predicate, as well as modal and assertoric
discourse? What evidence is there for his use of material usually thought
to be found only in later philosophy and grammar?
My reply to all such objections is that it is not necessary to suppose
that Parmenides had a body of articulated theoretical statements in which
such distinctions were drawn. Clearly, he was not a grammarian or a
systematic formal logician like Aristotle. Equally clearly, however, he was
not a mere speaker of the ordinary language, but rather someone for
whom negation and negative discourse, to give only two examples, posed
deep theoretical problems. What I want to attribute to him is a state
appropriate to a discoverer. (I attempt such an attribution again in
chapter 2 with reference to his logic of terms.) This would beastate in
which, for whatever reasons, he wished to avoid the locution ouk este or
its equivalents in assertoric discourse, and therefore produced only sen-
tences where no negation could attach to the copula, or verse sentences
where (without an explicit body of grammatical theory) he felt the weight
of the negation as pressing elsewhere than on the copula, or modals.
This is perfectly possible given the poem’s evidence, even without his-
torical antecedents or a theoretical superstructure. A response for the
distinction between assertoric and modal ouk esti has already been of-
fered: the wealth of modal expression is used to say negative things which
seem to flout the laws. And poetic flexibility is used ingeniously. Thus
distinctions possible in language, though not explicitly formulated until
later, can be invoked in order to explain Parmenides’ behavior so long
as they are (as I would claim) required in order to understand the text
but are not (as I would not wish to do) claimed to have been held in full
theoretical self-consciousness by an author. All Parmenides needed was
a philosophically heightened sensitivity, a desire to display the laws of his
logic as laws of his words without writing a science of logic.
Another apparent difficulty is posed by lines 5—6, “nor was it, not will
it be, since it is now altogether one, cohesive.” Here we have forms of
“to be” negated without anything in between or anything else for the
negation to attach to. Of course, part of the point of the passage is that
these are not (in Parmenides’ mind) fully genuine forms of the verb;
moreover, the locution ouk esti is not present; but this does not remove
the difficulty; I still must explain what is supposed to be special about
these other tenses, which can (one supposes) clearly introduce predicates
on their own, just like the present tense. Also, the announcement of the
two routes in fragment 2, since it uses the-infinitive in the second half
of line 3, might be thought to include any tense in the range of expres-
sion of the positive route. Moreover, in B8.36—37, “nor is there nor will
there be any other besides what-is,” “will be” seems included in the same
scope as “is” in a way which seems to give the future a sanction of its
own in legitimate predications. In response, I would say that there is no
indication that the “to be” and “not to be” in B2.3 and B2.5 are anything
more than required infinitizations of the “is” and “is not” which imme-
diately precede them in the same lines. This is made clear by B8.5—6,
which show that the “is” is the only legitimate tense. Moreover, the “will
be” in lines 36-37, which seems coupled with an “is,” is not functioning
assertorically, but modally, as the following imagery with the figure of
Doom suggests. “It is not, nor will it be” means “never.” Thus it might
be permissible to deny “will be” modally but not to affirm it assertorically
about being, because of the unsavory ontological implications of past or
future temporal existence on the part of an eternal being. This criterion
is more complicated than the one I used before, because it already seems
to presuppose a doctrine about the relationship of being to time, but this
presupposition does not seem to be virulent. (See chapter 3.)
But before attempting to assess further whether my hypothesis allows
Parmenides to know too much, let me furnish its reading of the rest of
the poem’s theory. Two questions must be answered: first, what deter-
mines the truth or falsity of est7-sentences? Second, what is wrong with
the world-view of mortals?
I suggest that a modified principle of noncontradiction, combined with
an archaic logic whose outlines are still visible in Plato’s Phaedo and Eu-
thydemus, allowed Parmenides to generate the predicates true of being.?°
(I say more about this logic in chapter 5.) Some of those predicates which
Parmenides denies in fragment 8 would, if true, imply sentences of the
following form:
It is P and it is not P
where P stands for the same predicate in both of its occurrences. I sug-
gest either that Parmenides saw such forms as instances of contradiction
or “doubletalk” regardless of additional qualifying terms which, to an
Aristotelian mind at least, would remove the contradiction; or that he
felt the contextual relativity that such sentences embody—and which is
\
made manifest by dropping the qualifiers—somehow (perhaps on epis-

temological grounds) disallows them. I do not think it is possible to be
more precise about Parmenides’ motivations, since, as I claim in
chapter 5, it is not possible to distinguish between contradiction and con-
textual relativity without the modern version of the law of noncontra-
diction first introduced by Protagoras or Plato.
Let me offer an example of Parmenidean argument against such “con-
tradictory” or relative forms. Parmenides, in showing that what-is is a
whole of a single kind, proceeds in part by denying that it is divisible,
here somewhat bigger and somewhat smaller, in lines 22—26. If a division
is or generates a hole in being, then there will be a place where what-is
is not continuous, and so the sentence “what-is is here divided, and is
there not divided” would have to be true. Similarly, if what-is is bigger
somewhere, then it is smaller somewhere else (as Parmenides clearly re-
alizes in 46—48), and so “it is here bigger, there not bigger” would have
to be true. These are more of a problem for my interpretation than for
Owen’s, since for me both parts of the sentence can be of the estz-type,
whereas for him the second part of each is of the ouk esti-type. I suggest
that Parmenides saw this as an instance of something like contradiction,
and would claim that saying of what-is that it is bigger and not bigger
makes being to be both. Parmenides’ ears do not (for philosophical pur-
poses, at least) register the “here . .. there” contrast. He allows himself
to be deaf because his logic focuses on the terms directly introduced by
the copula, to the exclusion of the qualifiers, somewhat in the manner
of the logic of Plato’s Phaedo, in which what is ontologically suspect about
entities like Simmias and Cebes (or what clues us into their ontological
derivativeness) is that they can be both taller and shorter, never mind
“than whom.” We mortals think the fact that they are taller and shorter
in different respects prevents them from being wishy-washy and allows
them to be substrates in their own right; like Aristotle, we think that the
qualifiers disambiguate the sentence and place it out of reach of the
horns of contradiction or make the contextual relativity innocuous. In
so thinking, we miss what in Parmenides’ mind is the radical incoherence,
the reiterative buzzing swarm of predicates which fly away only to return
again, involved in saying “bigger and not bigger” or, as he puts it, the
mortals are those by whom “to be and not to be are considered the same
and not the same” (B6.8—9). Similarly, of course, what-is must be un-
generable and unperishing, for otherwise it is at one time but not at
another time. If we are allowed to drop the temporal qualifiers, the only
way to say this on the positive route is to say both “is” and “not [is].” This
contradiction, of course, is not between two bracketed sentences or within
one, but between the affirmation and the denial of the same bracketed
sentence. And the “not [what-is-not is]” of B8.46 also tries to use esta
within brackets on a subject which cannot carry it. In these cases as well
the sentences are canonical but false.
This may also have been what Parmenides thought wrong with the
sentence which introduces the cosmologies of mortals. Fire is declared
by them to be “with itself in every way the same, with the other (Night)
not the same” (B8.57—58). This would have been babble to Parmenides
if all he allowed himself to hear was “the same and not the same.” What
is Fire is the same with itself and not the same with what is not Fire, and
Night (which is not Fire) is the same with itself and not the same with
what is not Night. Or so we mortals would believe. This sentence from
“Opinion” seems almost designed as the antagonist for Plato’s statement
in Sophist 256A—B that motion, for example, can be the same and not
the same in different senses, though the sense of “the same” in the
passage from the Sophist is not the same. (This point has also been made
by A. A. Long; see chapter 6, n. 34). It is here in this Parmenidean line,
I think, that the goddess for the first and decisive time explicitly signals
to us just what is wrong with “Opinion” and right with “Truth.”
The logic that would have allowed Parmenides to think this way is not
only not anachronistic, but also of a piece with what I am attributing to
him in his use of the copula in fragment 8. It is an interesting logic. First
the qualifying phrases on the predicates are dropped (in an effort to
discover any underlying “contradictions” or contextual relativities which
might prevent the predicates from being true), and then the predicates
themselves are dropped in a process of simplification aimed at getting
out the underlying assertion(s) and/or denial(s). “What-is is here bigger”
becomes “what-is is here bigger, and there not bigger” becomes “what-is
is bigger and not bigger”; while “what is isn’t (ouk esti)lacking” becomes
“what is isn’t.” (But to eon esti owk epidees, “what-is is not-lacking,” is ac-
ceptable because it reduces to esti, “is,’ and moreover Says something
true—something which does not require what-is to be “in this respect
lacking, in that respect not lacking.”) I claim in chapter 3 that the proofs
of most signposts in the poem proceed by a denial of incomplete pred-
icates; thus the ruling out of “contradiction” of the sort I am concerned
with here is a central feature of the poem’s argument as well as of its
logic. Such a world-view is certainly possible for the likes of Euthydemus
and Dionysodorus; whether it is worthy of Parmenides is another ques-
tion, to be dealt with later. But it is worth noting that such a view of
contradiction is the natural expression of the (still viable) Heraclitean-
Parmenidean variety of monism, from which it follows and which follows
from it. It may be, therefore, not a fallacy at all.
There is additional textual evidence also. The “it is not possible for it
not to be” of B2.3 can be given a sense which bears both on the logic of
“Opinion” and on the rejection of false predicates in “Truth.” This sec-
‘\
ond half of the positive route-announcement might be declaring that

one should prove things by modally ruling out their contradictories, but
it also says (if one inserts here the predicates proved in fragment 8) that
we not only must say how what-is is P but also must deny that what-is
ouk esti (“isn’t”) PR We are, in other words, prohibited from taking away
with the negative route what we asserted with the positive route. Since
fragments 6 (ouk einai, “not to be,” line 8) and 7 (mé eonta, “not being,”
line 1) make it clear that half of the “Opinion” section is on the negative
route, and since the contrast between “the same” and “not the same”
(B6.8—9) is also embedded in the initial distinction between Fire and
Night which generates “Opinion,” it would seem, not only that what is
affirmed by “Opinion” is the same—though true in a different sense—
as what it denies, but also that the assertion and the denial take place on
different routes. On this reading, “Opinion” is prohibited already in
B2.3, in the very enunciation of the positive route. There are thus, op-
erating within or against “Opinion,” both a version of the law of non-
contradiction and a prohibition of the negative route. I am also taking
this version of the law to be operative even in the denials of false esti-
sentences in fragment 8, although those denials need not occur on the
negative route. That is, even though the sentences of “Opinion” could,
in my interpretation (as opposed to Owen’s, for example) be put on the
positive route (est? ou touton, “is not-the-same,” instead of ouk esta touton,
“fsn’t the same”), these sentences would still be false (though formally
impeccable because not negating the copula) because they would be tak-
ing away in one sense what they affirmed in another. In this way the law
of noncontradiction as Parmenides sees it helps to justify both “Truth”
and the ruling out of “Opinion.” (For more remarks about relationships
among routes, see n. 9 to the Introduction and n. 15 to this chapter.)
About the ultimate reason for Parmenides’ rejecting these “contradic-
tory” sentences by dropping the qualifiers, I prefer to remain somewhat
vague. It is possible both that he makes an ontological (rather than a
logical) point against contextual relativity for epistemological reasons (the
object of his knowledge must be invariable) and that a version of the law
of noncontradiction 1s operating in which the qualifiers are thought to
be droppable without affecting ult:mate (as opposed to mortal) truth. If
the former, dropping the qualifiers can serve as a test or index of where
contextual variability is present. 5
The general character of “Opinion” can also be approached in terms
of contradiction. The mortals try to secure the nonidentity of Fire and
Night by having contrary predicates true of each, and this attempt ram-
ifies into a whole cosmos of nonidenticals; they do their best to have Fire
and Night mimic the effect of being by having both together cover the
entire cosmos without gaps (B9); but the attempt gradually degenerates
as the mutual chase of the opposites (in sex and reproduction, for ex-
ample—B 12, 17, 18) shows that neither one of a pair of “Opinion”-type
opposites is sufficient in itself; each is sufficient only with reference to
the other, just as the moon only borrows the sun’s light (B14)—only
undivided being, without ouk esti and contextual relativity, is a true object
of knowledge. The initial postulate of nonidentity creates a network of
distinctions which are undercut in the very.act of making the distinctions,
as the indiscriminate mixing of opposites reveals the core of ambiguity
underlying their separation. The result, as I claimed in the Introduction,
is surely a reductio ad absurdum of our everyday cosmos, which is in-
tended to illustrate the result of breaking the goddess’s laws by showing,
first, that the result is identical with the cosmos as we usually accept it
and, second, that that cosmos is therefore illegitimate even though pos-
sessed of a weird internal logic of its own—illegitimate, because it tries
to engrave on sand. Fire and Night, sharply distinguished in the begin-
ning, soon generate a world in which mortals can lead their ambiguous
lives on both sides of a dichotomy of nonidentities. The law of noncon-
tradiction, or the prohibition against contextual relativity, can be satisi-
fied only in a world where predicates apply without distinctions of
respect; for any such distinctions soon bring about a coincidence of op-
posites, the very opposite of what they hoped to achieve. The language
throughout “Opinion” is, of course, as well-scrubbed and positive as
possible, as though the mortals were trying to conceal from themselves
the negation that lies at the bottom of their souls; but the attempt fails.
It is possible to bring the criteria for canonical judgments together
with the anti-contradiction rule if one supposes that Parmenides thought
assertoric ouk esti was contradictory when used of being either existen-
tially or in a predication. If one supposes this, then there is a single
criterion; but it is also possible to suppose that meaningfulness for him
was a matter separate from truth or falsity. I discuss below how such a
separation would affect the history of philosophy and the independence
of this chapter from my other conclusions.
When, at the beginning of fragment 8, Parmenides announces that
what follows will be the account of the route “that it is,” and when this
is immediately expanded to “that being is ungenerable and unperishing,”
I take it we are supposed to understand “how it is” in B2 and B8 as
shorthand for telling it like it is (est?) and not like it isn’t (ouk esti). A
sentence which says “that it is P” is a sentence which says “that it is,” so
long as it does so in so many words. If I told you that Socrates was ugly,
you would say that someone who says that legei ta onta hés estin, “states
the facts (or reality, what-is, or the truth) like they are.” A similar position
underlies the views of Calogero, Mourelatos, Kahn, and Furth,?° but my
Parmenidean est has to remain unnegated, except innocuously, because
\
it is the only kind of sentence-copula which makes contact with the truth
assertorically, and it can be followed by a de re negation in an assertoric
sentence about being—for reasons which reflect a profound ontology of
syntax.
Thus I suggest that for Parmenides a canonical sentence makes a judg-
ment that can be true or false, while a noncanonical sentence does not
really make a judgment. The canonical sentences that are true do not
contain or imply both the assertion and denial of the same predicate-
term or statement in the same or in different contexts. Those that are
false do contain both. Parmenides rejects all the false terms in canonical
judgments; in the words of B2.3, he shows that it is and that it is not
possible for it to be in any sense otherwise.
The following rules can be adopted as ways to explain and generate,
more accurately and economically than before, both what Parmenides
did say and what he did not say. They are his rules for the construction
of.an adequate logos which expresses being.
(1) When you wish to tell the truth about being the way it really is,
always say esti or use one of the other forms of canonical judgment. It
doesn’t matter how many negations there are in the sentence, grammat-
ical subject, or predicate, so long as the negative words in the judgment
do not have to be taken with the assertoric copula alone. For only these
judgments can say what is, that is, put reality into language, and so be
affirmed or denied meaningfully.
(2) Though you may say that the locution ouk esti as such is prohibited,
use it as a nickname for the uninformative negative route, say that noth-
ing is not, use it modally, or mention it as a consequence to be avoided,
you cannot use it to say something true about what is real in the assertoric
mode.
(3) Never contradict yourself, either explicitly or implicitly, either by
asserting or by implying anything which, if true, would state or require
that two contradictory predicates or statements be admissible in the same
or in different senses. (Alternative formulation: never allow the saying and
unsaying of the same thing to enmesh you in contextual relativity.) These
two formulations, I suggest in chapter 5, could have been distinguished
only by Protagoras or Plato.*!
(4) However, when applying rule 3, remember that the predicate or
statement proper does not include qualifying terms, such as “in this re-
spect ... in that respect,” “with itself ... with the other,” “at this ime
o> 6
... at that time,” and so on.

I hope this sounds like a set of rules for rational inquiry that would
have been worthy of Plato’s respectful emendation. (It is worth pointing
out here that rules 1 and 2 can be maintained independently of rules 3
and 4, unless one adopts the possibility, raised above, that Parmenides
thought of ouk esta-sentences as contradictory when applied to what-is. I

claim in chapter 5 that some sophists retain the latter pair while drop-
ping the former. Thus some of the conclusions of that chapter are in-
dependent of what is said about the esti here.) But what does the view
leave for Plato and Aristotle to discover? (Here again, I anticipate
chapter 5 to some extent.)
For Parmenides, being is the only genidine subject of assertion.*? All
sorts of things, both positive and negative, are asserted of it by means
of the copula estin or in certain innocuous ways. A rigidity about this
practice dates it before Plato; at the same time, there is unmistakable
evidence of the beginnings of an understanding of, and fascination with,
the functions of negation, double-negation, copula, and predicate. A
sentence is viewed as having a referential core in which a judgment is
expressed via the copula’s introduction of a term—and this core is
thought to have immediate ontological implications as we drop qualifiers
to see if terms are contradictory or contextually relative, and as we drop
predicates and subjects to test for a negated or unnegated copula. So far
as I know, and if the present interpretation is correct, this view of being
and its relation to the various layers of logical importance in sentences
is, as a whole, original with Parmenides (though I later discuss earlier
views of contradiction as a specialized topic) and is genuinely fruitful.
In Parmenides’ logic, if we step back from the importance of the cop-
ula for a moment, it is the term which has the next most important place.
It is so important that its truth is not thought to be affected by qualifying
words or phrases. This emphasis on the term is characteristic of the time,
as Owen and Mourelatos have claimed. The Platonic theory of Forms
begins as a nominalization and reification of those same terms, along the
lines of Parmenidean being, one in which the criteria for what is to count
as ultimately real are also borrowed from Parmenides: what is truly P
must never in any way be not P. But Plato later discovered, or thematized,
two things: (1) a negated copula could express a truth-telling message
without thereby making its sentence say what is not (Sophist); (2) the
qualifiers on a term must be taken into account; even the Forms (not to
mention the sensible world) can be in one respect what they are not in
another, without ceasing to be real—in fact, they must be (Parmenides)
“all manner of things in all manner of ways” if discourse (Sophist) is to
be possible. It remained for Aristotle to allow sensible things, too, to be
genuine subjects of assertion, for the qua-locution is supposed to allow
us to consider them to be such. For each successive ontology, then, there
is a new piece of logic; but the Greek emphasis on copula, predicate,
and property, which centrally preoccupies Parmenides, does not vanish
even from Aristotle’s thought.
In the context of this picture, my interpretation allows Parmenides to
\
belong to his time and yet be worthy of the respect accorded to him by
Plato. For, on the one hand, an ontological abhorrence of a negated
copula leaves something for Plato to discover, since Parmenides has only
a relatively simple mapping of the present tense onto the participle; the
supposition that the mapping of language onto reality is so direct that
a negated copula robs the sentence of ontological import belongs to a
period before the Sophist; Parmenidean monism as a significant perennial
position is imaginable without that particular doctrine. On the other
hand, a Parmenides who (in some sense) understood double-negation
and the logical role of the alpha-privative and who saw a difference
between “is not-P” and “isn’t B” even if he rejected the latter, might well
have been the teacher of Zeno, the “father of dialectic.” The inclusion
of negations as part of the predicate in est7-sentences is even reminiscent
of Plato’s redemption of negation in the Sophist, as I conjectured above,
and I discuss Parmenides’ relationship with negative theology in
chapter 6. That these things were the common coin of sophistry in the
hands of Euthydemus and Dionysodorus does not mean that they were
debased by their inventor. And it is surely no accident that Plato repre-
sents Parmenides as the father of ontology and of logic, even as he dis-
agrees with him. I wondered earlier whether even Plato understood that
Parmenides’ negations could have been deliberate, meaningful, and care-
ful.
-Parmenides very cleverly navigated between the Scylla of giving voice
only to the tautology “what is, is” and the Charybdis of saying ouk esti
while trying to describe what-is assertorically. He bravely tried to derive
everything from the law of noncontradiction plus an injunction to say
esti. He was deaf to the siren song of sensible cosmology, which promised
him a complete science at the price of a violation of justice. It was left
for Plato and Aristotle to carry on the enterprise by breaking their mas-
ter’s prohibition.
This way of drawing the connection between Parmenides’ “is” and
Greek “being” as a name for truth or reality is, of course, related to
what many critics have been saying since Owen’s article. But it is high
time that we used these critical points to develop a criterion which relates
the surface of Parmenides’ sentences to their underlying ontology, a cri-
terion which applies literally to what Parmenides actually said. I try to
supply the criterion, the ontology, and some of the subsequent history
here. Once these have been laid out, the insights of earlier interpretations
can be incorporated. In my terms, Parmenides believed that what he
actually said met the goddess’s criteria for adequate discourse, because
he thought that a canonical sentence (rules 1 and 2 above) which is,
moreover, true because not “contradictory” in the peculiar Parmenidean
sense (rules 3 and 4 above), (a) makes contact with an ultimately positive
fact (Furth considers positive facts as one of three possible things ex-
pressed by positive predications), (b) describes the ultimate existing log-
ical subject (Owen), (c) really characterizes an entity which is the object
of speculative inquiry (Mourelatos). I think that the criterion presented
here can incorporate all three of these. Nor is there anynecessary conflict
among them. The entity of an absolute monist must be each of them, if
discourse is to be possible at all. But theseother views were not adequate
by themselves to generate fragment 8 as we have it. My agreement with
them is thus limited to their explanations of what is wrong with negative
language and does not constitute an endorsement of their accounts of
what counts as negative language in the first place.
What becomes of the other self-referential inconsistencies in the poem?
What about goddess, chariots, daughters of the sun, multivariant lan-
guage, and the three routes among which nonidentity statements obtain?
Here I am prepared to allow a more complicated hermeneutic, which
involves obtaining the violation of precepts that hold in the canonical
discourse (much of the language of fragment 8), so long as this violation
is not extended to that discourse itself. That is, so long as discourse about
being is securely bound by the fetters of esti and noncontradiction in such
a way that even statements like those of the two routes are bound by
laws, I can allow the other language, which incorporates the pathway
from our everyday opinions up to the house of truth, to be exempt from
the rules, for we are not told that it has to fall under them. (I discuss
below what counts as part of this “other language” and why.) But even
within the canonical discourse as I describe it, there also has to be a
complicated hermeneutic: we have to see, first, that the negations appear
to break the law; second, that the negations do not break the law; and,
third, that they are essential for the full statement of truth. So I am not
robbing the poem of any of its heuristic profundity, a profundity in
which the role of the opposite side, of negation, is as large as it is in
Heraclitus, the Sophist, Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, or Moses Mai-
monides. (See chapter 6 for more on this point.)
One can thus, if one wishes, distinguish three sorts of language in the
poem. “Truth” purports to be true and trustworthy and succeeds because
it does not break the laws; “Opinion” tries to be true but winds up as a
reductio of breaking the laws. Both of these purport to describe what
really and truly is, but “Opinion” misunderstands the nature of its de-
sired object. The portraits of the chariot ride and goddess, however, as
well as some of what the goddess herself says about distinguishing the
three routes (B1.24—32, B2—B7, except for the “that it is” and “that it is
not possible for it not to be” in B2.3, and the other things spoken about
being, e.g., B1.29, B3, B4, B6.1—2, or along the other two routes, B2.5,
B6.8—9, B7.1), as well as about other metalinguistic issues (B8.15-18,
me
much of B8.34—41), do not purport to be directly about being itself, and

so—though they use nonidenticals and sensuous imagery in the manner
of “Opinion”—are exempt from their own rules, qua using the language
of “Opinion” for higher purposes, that is, for preparing the young man
for the true and trustworthy assertions of the greater part of fragment 8,
or for explaining those assertions. Such discourse tells us how to use our
minds, how to speak properly, what the difference between good and
bad language is, and how the chariot of thought must be steered away
from our common paths to the place of a special insight which is both
mystical and logical in the highest degree. In calling such speech “other
language,” I mean to imply only that it is a language about the conditions
for the descriptive language of much of fragment 8, without stirring up
other resonances. But it is a feature of such speech that it is often exempt
from the rules that it itself declares to be normative for the speech that
it is about. If we try to apply the rules of canonical discourse to this
“other language,” we get contradictions, it is true; but these, like Kant’s
antinomies, are signs that the ordinary canonical language, which judges
about objects, is pressing its logical and epistemological rules beyond the
sphere of their proper employment. This may seem to diminish the dis-
tance between goddess and “Opinion,” until we remember that the latter
makes judgments where being is a putatively reached subject where the
former is merely useful as it transmutes “Opinion”’s language of non-
identity into the servant of a discourse which transcends nonidentity in
favor of identity. In this way, perhaps, the “other language” dispenses
with its own necessity as, once it has shown us the way to what is canonical
and once the latter has been insightfully understood, words, goddess,
youth, and all hermeneutical pluralities collapse into the featureless ball
of truth, which includes even the reader who contemplates it. But this
can only be done, I suggest, if the rules of the canon are followed as far
as they can go, for they can be used to conduct the mind beyond itself
into the darkness of transrational intuition of the one only if we cling to
the life-raft of our prescriptions and prohibitions—that is, stay true—
until the very last minute when rules no longer apply. (Even then, the
rules will have been true.) In this way I hope to allow pedagogical signif-
icance to many self-referential inconsistencies in the poem while absolv-
ing the canonical language from the claim that it bites its own tail. For
it is, perhaps, only after constructing the picture of a single truth ac-
cording to the laws that we overcome, not the need for the truth of those
laws (and in this “Truth” differs from “Opinion”), but the need for their
explicit statement. “Truth” justifies itself only when it is completed; until
then, we need the goddess to tell us not to violate the laws, a goddess
who shows us what to do by refusing to break her own rules when making
judgments about being. In this way reason receives its impetus from
myth and then does away with the need for both myth and explicit,
discursive thought; and in this sense the rules, if followed to the limit,
make themselves not false but no longer necessary except for others, as
guides to future generations of mortals.** At any rate, I have tried to
narrow the scope of that discourse which must be regarded as violating
(for whatever purpose) the precepts of truth, in order to preserve the
distinction between reason, on the one hand, where the goddess clearly
means literally what she says about being, and myth and opinion, on the
other hand. Many interpretations of Parmenides up to now have not
allowed enough of “Truth” to be literally meant, and I hope the way is
now open for a compromise which will preserve legitimate hermeneutical
profundity while allowing the goddess, on some level at least, to mean
what she says about being in a trustworthy way.
A note on how I wish my hypothesis to be taken in relation to the rest

of this book. The remaining chapters are to a large extent independent
of this one; in order to make this clearer, I would like first to issue a
challenge to other readers of Parmenides, then to indicate what would
stand or fall. Even if this method of making the negative language pos-
itive is rejected, I still claim that my arguments against the other inter-
pretations hold. In particular, the direct statements about being in
fragment 8 should be interpreted as belonging to the positive route and
should be so interpreted in some new way not found in earlier interpre-
tations. If this claim is accepted, my statements in chapters 2—6, about
how both positive and negative subjects and predicates and assertions
are necessary for the full amplitude of Parmenidean discourse to reach
reality, are independent of the particular solution to the problem of
negative language offered here. The later chapters then describe Par-
menides’ argumentative practice and use of positive and negative terms
in a consistent ontology.
A reader who, on the contrary, denies my claim and believes that much
or all of fragment 8 is on the negative route can still use the textual
results of chapters 2—4 and the negative theology of chapter 6 as de-
scriptions of the way Parmenides uses the negative route in combination
with the positive. The later chapters then still describe his method and
metaphysics. It will be clear to such a reader that certain claims will have
to be deleted, but I urge that the patterns of positive and negative pred-
icates in chapter 2 and the scaffolding of the arguments in chapters 3
and 4 are facts about the poem no matter how the negative language is
interpreted; i.e., they are internal structures indifferent to which routes
make them up. Much of chapter 5 also remains as is, since the point
about contradiction is independent of the point about negated copulas
by the time of early Plato; the methodological observations also remain.
In chapter 6, if the discourse is taken as self-referentially inconsistent, it

will no longer be true that positive discourse, containing positive and
negative language, is possible in relation to a bounded reality; but the
central metaphor of boundedness retains its force as metaphor, and so
most of the other philosophical and theological comparisons follow
through. In these senses the later chapters are largely independent of
the first, while remaining related to the problematic that it seeks to ad-
dress.
Thus, it may be thought that the goddess should not have spoken more
than one word (if even that is not too many), or it may be that she is no
other than being itself; but I hope to have shown that, in what she does
say about being, she does not have to be thought of as breaking her own
rules. For no being can escape its fate. Or, as Will Rogers, the Oklahoma
cowboy-philosopher, used to say: “There are some things that just ain’t
SOs.
CHAPTER 2
Terms
In the preceding chapter I attempted to show that much of the language

Parmenides uses in fragment 8 can be taken as being on the positive
route. In the next three chapters, I would like to study his language and
method of argument in more detail, in order to show how broad and
systematic the spectrum of speech and argument is, and to consider
modal and other kinds of discourse. The logical and methodological
questions covered in chapters 2—4 are reunited in chapter 5 with the
hermeneutics of the first chapter in a speculative portrait of Parmeni-
dean being as bounded, which is the subject of chapter 6.
In this chapter I examine the terms that Parmenides uses along the
way of truth, and also the connections among them. I try to show that
he covers the territory well. Of the predicates and other terms that can
be affirmed and denied, he offers specimens of almost all the positive
and privative singles, doubles, and triples; and of the types of connection
that can exist between and among single terms, he offers a good many
of the possibilities. The result is a method so comprehensive and so
striking that it warrants the hypothesis that he designed his poem in
order to show that all these possibilities were generated by what we would
today call logical and inferential considerations. The outcome of this
examination applies also for readers who view Parmenides’ negatives as
on the negative route. For them, the patterns of predications and infer-
ences will show that Parmenides was aware of the relationships between
the two routes in his discourse.
The following list includes all the kinds of predication in fragment 8,
with their verbs of assertion and denial. Here I focus on predicate ad-
jJectives and adverbs as affirmed or denied generally, not on the copula
or on the form of the underlying sentence.
POSITIVE PREDICATES ASSERTED
line 4 oulon mounogenes “a whole of a single estin
kind”
5-6 homou pan hen, “altogether one, estin
suneches cohesive”
44
ee,
I aen aeee
Ze homoion “alike” estin

24 pan d’empleon ... “all full of being” estin
eontos
25 xuneches pan “all cohesive” estin
20 tauton t’en tautdi... “the same andinthe menon
kath’heauto same ... by itself” (“remains”
keitai (“lies”)
30 empedon “shackled” menei
(‘“remains”
38 oulon “whole” emenai (“to
be”)
42 tetelesmenon “perfect” esti
44 messothen isopales “pushing out from the
pantéi middle equally in every
direction”
49 pantothen ison “equal from every
side”
ALPHA-PRIVATIVE PREDICATES ASSERTED
3 agenéton ... kai “ungenerable...and ___ estin
anolethron unperishing”
26-27 akinéton...anarchon “immovable... estin
apauston without beginning,
without end”
38 akinéton “ammovable” emenai (“to
; be”)
48 pan asulon “all inviolable” estin
POSITIVE PREDICATES DENIED
22 oude (diaireton) “nor divisible” estin
22 oude (ti téi mallon) “nor here somewhat estin
more”
24 oude (ti cheiroteron) “nor somewhat less” estin
oo ouk epidees “not lacking” esti
44-48 meizon (mallon)— bigger (more)—smaller pelenai/eié
baioteron (hésson) (less)
ALPHA-PRIVATIVE PREDICATE DENIED (MODALLY)
32 houneken ouk “wherefore it is not
ateleutéton to eon right for being to be
themis einai incomplete”
ALPHA-PRIVATIVES USED WITH NEGATIVE IMPORT
17 anoéton anOnumon “unthinkable and
nameless” ;
The list is limited; it does not capture the richness of the argument in
(e.g.) lines 8-15, where coming-to-be and perishing, which are positive
in surface-form, are argued against without being directly denied in an
assertoric sentence. Often in the poem, indeed, a conclusion is estab-
46 TERMS
lished, not by asserting it directly, but by denying its opposite, or by

making a modal judgment, or by using nouns instead of predicates. I
shall be taking account of some of these wider uses later on in this chap-
ter. The list does, however, make it even clearer that Parmenides seems
to have no scruple about speaking positively as well as negatively. The
general point (to repeat some of what was Said in the preceding chapter)
must be that truth can be expressed in a variety of ways and, moreover,
that some of the positive ways are equivalent to some of the negative
ways. The triply positive predications (“the same ... in the same place
... by itself”) of lines 29-30 echo the triple alpha-privatives in the im-
mediately preceding lines (“immovable ... without beginning, without
end,” lines 26-27), which in turn echo the triple “Nor ... nor ... nor”
construction of lines 22—25. This might seem at first to be just a rhetor-
ical flourish, but that would seem unlikely on further reflection in view
of the fact that the meaning of what is asserted in all three triplets is
ultimately the same (what is indivisible is the same in every respect and
what is always in the same place is immovable); the point must be that
the positives and negatives come to the same thing in meaning as well
as in rhetoric. Or consider the way in which the modal double-negative,
the negation of an alpha-privative predicate, in “wherefore it is not right
for being to be incomplete” (line 32) is so closely followed by the negation
of a positive predicate (“lacking”) in line 33; here we have two negatives
equated in the equation of the denials, and a privative supporting a
positive because the denial of the one supports the denial of the other.
Again, the point could be supposed to be merely rhetorical, merely the
attempt to juxtapose positives to privatives indiscriminately; but a phi-
losophy whose whole point is against at least some negatives is not likely
to throw other negatives around in juxtaposition to equivalent affirmed
and denied positives without at least some deeper design. And given the
fact that, on some interpretations at least, it ought to be strange for us
to find any negations in Parmenides, especially where the context makes
it so clear that they are being equated to positives, the whole setup seems
to call for further thought.
We can begin this process of interpretation by looking at the kinds of
language in lines 22-33, the lines just considered. The lines contain the
assertion (“the same,” “in the same,” “by itself”) and denial (“divisible,”
“more,” “less,” “lacking”) of positive predicates, also the assertion (“im-
movable,” “without beginning,” “without end”) and denial (“incomplete”)
29 66
of privatives. These are internal relationships among the predicates: if

“divisible” means “internally inhomogeneous,” then “more” and “less”
are the two ways of being “divisible”; if it means “splittable apart by
gaps,” then the places where there is nothing are smaller and the rest
are bigger, so again we have the two contraries as two modes of appli-
TERMS 47
cability for the larger term. Similarly, to be immovable is presumably

neither to begin nor to end. Now these relationships so far are all among
predicates of the same type, whether asserted or denied, positive or
privative; but there are also relationships among predicates of different
types.
We can see this, first, by noting that lines 22-33 depict a complicated
set of connections among the signposts, the transcendental predicates of
being, first enunciated in B8.2—6. Thus the denial of the positives “com-
ing-to-be” and “perishing” in 27-28, which is part of the assertion of the
privative signposts “ungenerable” and “unperishing,” supports (with
“since”) the privatives “immovable,” etc., which are part of the privative
signpost “unmoving.” The assertion made with the figure of Necessity
in 30-31 supports (with “for”) both the triply positive “the same,” etc.,
which belong with the signpost “of a single kind,” and the denial of the
privative “incomplete” in 32, which belongs with the last signpost. The
denial of the positive “lacking” supports the denial of this privative. Thus
all the signposts are drawn together in many different kinds of assertion
and denial, with the different kinds providing logical or argumentative
support for each other. This becomes especially clear if one considers
the way the meaning of “the same,” etc. (29), includes both “not divisible”
(22) and “immovable” (26); it would not be the same unless it were
uniform, and it would not remain in the same place unless it were im-
movable. The point is, to follow the signpost-list, that being is not only
a whole of a single kind, but also one which is unmoving. This use of
“the same” to summarize the other predicates underlines the fact that
privative and positive assertions and denials can sometimes be transfor-
mations of each other. Thus, I think, Parmenides was aware not only
that a double-negative (“not incomplete”) creates a positive (“complete”)
but also that privatives and positives can support each other in argument
quite generally, according to certain laws. This is an astonishing richness
of language and argument for a philosopher who is supposed to have
given up all negation along with meaningful, discursive speech. I think
that the lesson of this richness is that the route of est2 can include all
these forms of expression, provided that they are seen as transformable
into each other; but others are welcome to conclude that the negative
route is being woven in quite skillfully. 2
A table of these kinds of “connection” in Parmenides may give more
of an idea of the scope and richness of the language. Under this inten-
tionally broad and ambiguous term “connection,” I include (1) straight-
forward logical equivalence, as between “complete” and the denial of
“ancomplete”; (2) argumentative support, as in lines 26-28, where the
denial of “coming-to-be” and “perishing” is said to support the affir-
mation of “immovable . . . without beginning, without end.” This support
48 TERMS
may be proximate, as in the example justgiven, or more remote, as when

a term (like “divisible” in 22) is involved in the proof of a much earlier
signpost (like “whole, of a single kind” i in 4); (3) argumentative ruling-
out, as when “inviolable” rules out “more” and “less” in line 48 (also
proximate or remote); (4) what I call “subordination,” in which two terms
like “without beginning” and “without end” in 27, roughly contrasting
in meaning, or two terms opposed in meaning, like “more” and “less”
(23-24), fall under the scope of a more comprehensive term which in-
cludes them both, like “immovable” (26) or “divisible” (22); see the dis-
cussion of such triplets above and below. The subordinate terms cannot
apply unless the comprehensive term applies, while the comprehensive
term in the cases Parmenides uses cannot apply unless at least one of
the subordinate terms applies. This seems like a genuine relationship.
If one jumbles all of these different things together into a heap and
does not take into consideration the direction of the inference or “con-
nection,” the result looks something like table 2.1 (the top half just dup-
licates the bottom unless one specifies the direction), with the connected
affirmations and denials specified on the left and on top. Let me take
the cases in order. (1) “Of a single kind” in line 4 is the signpost whose
proof is given in lines 22-25, which conclude with the line in which
“cohesive” is asserted. The latter explicitly supports the former in the
argument. (2) “Inviolate” is one of the pillars on which the proof of
“complete” rests in 42—49. (3) The same affirmation of “cohesive” is cor-
related with the denial of “divisible” in the proof of “of a single kind”
and “whole.” (4) The relationship between “complete” in 42—49 and the
denial of “incomplete” in 32, which looks forward to the final proof, is
obvious. (5) “Without beginning” and “without end” are the modes of
“immovable” in the proof in lines 26—27. (6) The assertion of “inviolable”
in line 48 is given as the reason for ruling out “more” and “less” in the
same line. (7) “Inviolable,” by supporting and crowning the proof of
TABLE 21
Affirmed Affirmed Denied Denied

Positive Privative Positive Privative
Affirmed positive (1) of a single kind-
cohesive
Affirmed privative (2) complete- (5) immovable-
inviolable without beginning,
without end
Denied positive (3) divisible-whole (6) inviolable- (8) divisible-
more, less more, less
Denied privative (4) complete- (7) incomplete- (9) lacking-
incomplete inviolable incomplete
TERMS 49
“complete” (42—49), also rules out the “incomplete” whose denial in 32

had anticipated that proof. (8) “More” and “less,” as mentioned above,
stand in roughly the same relationship to “divisible” in 22—25 that “with-
out beginning” and “without end” did to “immovable” in case 5, lines
26-27; the two contrary subordinate terms are special cases or limiting
cases of the larger term. Finally, (9) as noted above, the denials of “in-
complete” and “lacking” are connected with “for” in 32-33. I have no
specific explanation as to why the remaining case of an alpha-privative’s
denial being supported by the same is missing, though Parmenides does
seem to have trouble denying privatives assertorically; the only explicit
denial (that of “incomplete” in 32) uses the modal expression “it is not
right.” But I think that the fact that all other cases are present entitles
us to speak of the remaining case as “missing.”
One might have been entitled to conclude, even without an enumer-
ation of these cases, that Parmenides felt the truth could be expressed
in-both positive and negative language. But when we see him drawing
his modes of expression into all these kinds of relationships we can, I
think, make the stronger conclusion that he was also interested in the
relationships for their own sake. Perhaps he was presenting something
like a catalogue or inventory of the various kinds of language and infer-
ence. A concern with method, with enumeration, underlies the table of
relationships. Thus his terms come not only with different signs and in
different modes of assertion, but also in all sorts of logical connections.
Moreover, these relationships are not limited to those just sketched on
the monadic level; they extend to doublets and triplets of terms as well.
Consider the way the dyadic pair “ungenerable-unperishing” relates
to coming-to-be and perishing as these are rejected in lines 6—28. (Now
I include not only what I have called predicates, but also things affirmed
or denied generally, including modally.) There is a contrary opposition
in meaning within each pair, and the pairs are mutually contrary. Or
consider the two routes, one of which is “unthinkable” and “nameless”
(17) (the order here is the reverse of, but connected with, the “to say-to
think’/“sayable-thinkable” pairs earlier: both language and thought are
involved in these pairs), the other of which we must allow “to be” (and
so, presumably, to be accessible for thought; see B3) and “to be true”
(accessible for language, line 18); once again, two positives oppose two
privatives, but this time the positives are on the good side and the op-
position within each pair is not as strong as that between birth and death,
amounting only to a distinction of respects within human access to re-
ality.!
There are also many triplets which differ from each other and from
the pairs. Common to all the triads is a structure, discussed previously,
in which two mutually opposed or contrary or simply different subor-
50 TERMS
dinate terms fall under a single, more general term, which, if it supports
them, cannot exist without one or both of them, but which, if it opposes
them, rules them both out. Some of these have already been mentioned.
Here we have the subsumption of one of our original dyads under a
more general term. This happens first with “later” and “earlier” in line
10, which are modes of coming-to-be “out of what-is-not” (7); such a
coming-to-be cannot occur except earliet or later or both, and Parmen-
ides first rules out the general term “out of what-is-not” before ruling
out the logically subordinate contraries. A parallel case occurs in lines
22-24 with “divisible,” “more,” and “less.” The best reading of “divisible”
comes when we see it opposed by “similar” in the same line; it must mean
that there are inhomogeneities or gaps in what-is; “more” and “less” are
thus kinds of inhomogeneity—the only kinds, so that whatever is the
latter is also the former. This triad is also opposed by another triad of
positive terms: “divisible” by “similar,” “more” by “to cohere,” and “less”
by “all full.” “To cohere” opposes “more” if the latter represents a pro-
tuberance which would hold together and be equal with the rest of the
mass under the pressure of the coherence. “To cohere” and “full” are
also different from each other, though both are modes of “similar,” since
“holding together” and “being full” examine, respectively, what might
be called the centripetal and the centrifugal dimensions of a cohesive
whole. (I discuss lines 22-24 more fully in chapter 3.)
A solid can be full everywhere and still have a place sticking out, and
a solid can cohere and still be small in one place. (At least until one
realizes that all the other places are less and more, respectively, than the
places which are sticking out or being smaller). Thus we have two coin-
ciding triads, and can represent the relationships thus:
divisible
more peas
to cohere full
eae
(Iwo contradictcries and two pairs of opposed contraries). The next
triads are not as complete and in some of them the logical structure just
examined begins to vary. With “immovable-without beginning-without
end” there is a subordination of two opposed terms under a general
term, all alpha-privatives just as the first two triads were all positive. This
third triad is said to be true “since to come to be and to perish have been
driven far off” by True Trust (27-28). “To come to be” and “to perish”
occur in the same line as “without beginning” and “without end” and
TERMS 51
seem paired in meaning with the latter pair; it would seem that to be
without beginning is to be immune from a kind of birth, and that to be
without end is to be immune from a kind of destruction. So we have two
triads again, but the second is lacking a more comprehensive term, and
this time the positive terms are paired with alpha-privatives instead of
with other positives.
immovable
without beginning without end

to come to be to perish
Next is “the same and remaining in the same place, it lies by itself” (29),
where there are three positive predicates; the echoing of the auto-stem,
plus the meanings of the terms, clue us in to the fact that there is a
relationship among them, but the relationship does not seem to involve
any contrariety; they seem all to be aspects of the same thing, each
deducible from the other two. However, they do stand in a relationship
to the previous two triads, because the meaning of “the same...” en-
capsulates both “similar” and “immovable” as described earlier.
The final two triads are these, in the sphere-section, lines 42—49:
more We pushing out equally
inviolable bigger smaller
“Pushing out equally” (44) and “inviolable” (48), one positive and one
privative, are on the good side. Thus this passage sums up the earlier
passages, in which one of each kind of predicate was a hero. Each op-
poses two mutually opposed contrary terms which would fall under its
(unmentioned) contradictory if the contradictory were mentioned. This
pattern differs from the preceding ones in that the only general term
we have is opposed to the only contraries we have and is not on their
side.
Thus Parmenides’ dyads and triads give us a fair sampling of logical
relationships—including agreement, incompatibility, being individually
necessary but jointly sufficient, contradictoriness, contrariety—in a uni-
verse which has a fair degree of complexity and which goes through
most of the permutations of positive and privative predicates. Let us
proceed for the moment under the assumption that all this is deliberate—
an assumption explicitly examined later. The following questions may
then be asked of a poem this rich and this careful: Why do four triads
appear in succession in lines 22—33? Why are the dyads concentrated in
lines 6—21? Why are single terms really not treated until 32? Why does
52 TERMS
the general term switch gears and oppose the two contraries only in 42—
49? If we can find answers to these questions, then we may also be able
to say that the facts the questions point to are deliberate.
Let me attempt to answer these questions by noting another feature
of the divisions of the poem and their characteristics. It may be useful
to divide fragment 8into sections (this division will be illustrated further
and justified in the next chapter): ‘
Introduction and list of signposts (1—4)

Summary of signposts and prefiguration of division of proof-section
(5—6)
I Time. Proof of “ungenerable” and “imperishable”
(A) proof (6-15)
(B) general remarks (15-18)
(C) recapitulation plus something new (19-21)
II Place and Mass. Proof of “whole and of a single kind, unmoving”
(A) (1) Proof of “whole, of a single kind” (22-25)
(2) Proof of “unmoving” (26-28)
(3) Summary (29-31)
(B) (4) Prefiguration of Sphere (32-33)
(5) General remarks (34—41)
III Sphere. Proof of “perfect” (42-49)
Concluding sentence (50-51)
From now on, I shall sometimes call section I the “time-section,”
section II the “mass-place section,” and section III the “sphere-section.”
The time-section (I) is concerned with coming-to-be and perishing, and
with the independence of what-is from time. In it, contrary pairs of terms
predominate, or simply pairs, though it also has triads (see below). In
the mass-place section (II), on the other hand, the concern is with divis-
ibility and difference, with inequalities in the occupation of place by
mass, with triads (parts 1-3) and with single terms (parts 4—5). In the
sphere-section (III), which is largely recapitulatory, the triads and single
terms are of a different sort than in preceding sections, as was explained
earlier.
If we adopt this division, the poem turns out to present various sorts
of symmetry, literary devices, and philosophically important variations.
PartI is an example of ring composition in which the compositive (a
denial of “coming-to-be” and “perishing,” line 21) of the beginning (the
assertion of “ungenerable” and “unperishing,” line 3) is repeated at the
end. In between the assertion of two privatives at the beginning and the
denial. of two positives at the end are the denial of two privatives (“un-
thinkable” and “nameless,” line 17) and the assertion of two positives
(“to be and to be true,” line 18). Here the direct predications are not of
XN
TERMS 53
being, but of the routes; still, the words themselves are being accepted
or rejected, so these lines can find their place in the spectrum of Par-
menidean language (see n. 1 to this chapter). PartI thus contains all
possible sorts of pairs. In the following list, + or — outside the paren-
theses stands for affirmation or denial, respectively, and + or — inside
the parentheses represents positive or privative.
St ate, ungenerable, unperishing
— (— =) unthinkable, nameless
+ (4:4) to be, to be true
esi oho) coming-to-be, perishing
The section also includes two parallel triads which are denied; they are
parallel because in both cases nonbeing is the general term and two
contraries are the subordinate terms.
és out of what-is-not
later earlier (7-10)
is not
came tobe will be (20)

But, it might be asked, are these genuine triads? Surely they are not as
evident as “immovable ... without beginning, without end”? One can
see the parallel between the triplets in I and the triplets in II.A first by
noting a parallel between the sequence “more-less” in II.A, where two
contrary terms are present, and the “later-earlier” of section I, as well as
the “bigger-smaller” pairs of III. It now seems that all of these contrary
pairs are immediately preceded by a more general term which either
includes them both or rules them both out: thus “earlier-later” are modes
of coming-to-be out of what-is-not; “came to be” and “will be” are con-
nected with “coming-to-be” and “perishing” in 18-21 and both are
modes of “is not” or lead to it; “more-less” and “bigger-smaller” in II.A
and III are modes of divisibility and of not pushing out from the middle
equally; and the two final contraries in III, “bigger” and “smaller,” are
modes of not being “inviolable.” In view of the parallels among these
passages, it seems appropriate to call them all triads, not just the ones
in II.A. If we now locate the triads in section I in their proper places in
relation to the paired terms, and assign a negative sign to the general
terms because of the unequivocally negative character, we can see the
structure of the contrapositive ring composition:
54 TERMS
fsCss)
c(t wee)
He Gels?
+ (+ +)
—(+ +)
oe
Each triplet occupies the middle of one half of the structure and is
bracketed by a pair. The structure is symmetrical and circular. I am
speaking here only of the plus and minus signs, not of the number of
lines allotted to each portion.
Section IIJ.A features triads just as I featured pairs. Two positive triads
and one privative triad are affirmed, and one positive triad is denied.
Here, unlike in section I, all the members of each triad have the same
sign, either positive or privative. The first two triads, as explained earlier,
oppose each other, one denied positive and one affirmed (“divisible-
more-less” versus “similar-to cohere-all full”), and are devoted to the
signpost(s) “whole, of a single kind”; the third (“immovable-without be-
ginning-without end”) is an affirmed privative devoted to “unmoving,”
the next signpost, and the fourth, “the same—in the same place—by
itself,” sums up the section by combining elements of both signposts.
These are all the possibilities for triads all of whose members are of the
same sign—affirmation and denial of positives and affirmation of pri-
vatives—except the denial of privatives. And, in fact, the denial of a
single privative (“incomplete,” 32) immediately follows, inaugurating the
treatment of single predicates in section II.B, after the treatment of
doublets and triplets in the first two sections. “Incomplete” (which, of
course, looks forward to section III) and “lacking” are denied in close
connection in 32 and 33, and then “whole” and “immovable” (which, of
course, recapitulate the signposts of II.A) are affirmed because of Doom
(36-38); the sequence is thus
— (—) incomplete
— (+) lacking
+ (+) whole
+ (—) immovable
and covers all of the possibilities for singles. I call these single terms,
even though each is closely associated with another, because “whole” and
“immovable,” for example, do not seem as close together as “ungenera-
ble” and “unperishing,” since they are not proved or denied in the same
breath and are not opposed in meaning. Similarly, “unthinkable” and
“nameless” belong with each other in a way that “lacking” and “incom-
plete” do not, even though the denials of the two latter terms are con-
.
TERMS 55
nected. If the reader prefers to consider the terms of II.B as doubles,

then, though single terms will now be missing from the catalogue, the
scope of treatment would include pairs of terms of different signs (one
positive and one privative, together denied and affirmed). The fact that
such pairs are hard to distinguish from singles may be part of the point;
it may be that we are supposed to take the second sort of pair either
way.
We are left with the sphere-section which is bracketed beginning and
end by two positive terms, “complete” and “equal.” In the middle are
two triads. The second triad, “inviolable-more-less,” combines a privative
general term with two opposed positive terms, and the positive terms are
rejected while the privative is affirmed. So what is outside the parenthe-
ses below is novel to section III; namely, part of a triad affirmed while
the rest is denied. What is inside the parentheses is the same as in
section I:
: +(+ +)
Here the terms have different signs, but in the other triad in section III,
the first in order of occurrence, the terms all have the same sign (“push-
ing out equally—bigger—smaller”) and in this resemble the triads of
section II.A—with this difference: for the first time in the poem, the
general term is affirmed in contradistinction to the subordinate contrar-
ies. The two final general terms, moreover, differ in logic just as they
differ in meaning; “inviolable” refers to the impenetrability of the
boundary while “pushing out equally” refers to distance out from the
middle; the two terms consider opposed or complementary aspects of
the sphere even as they make the same point while having different signs.
Thus this section is recapitulatory in its inclusion of both sorts of pre-
vious triads.
+ (+) complete
+ (+ * +) pushing out equally, etc.
+(+ +) inviolable, etc.
+ (+) equal
I do not claim that every iota in the text falls into a scheme. But I think
the regularities, symmetries, and comprehensiveness are there. In par-
ticular, there seems to be clear evidence of an intention to cover all of
the possibilities for affirmation and denial on the monadic and dyadic
levels and a great many of the possibilities on the triadic level. (Levels
beyond these, it could be argued, are reducible to the first three.) More-
over, the levels appear to be separated from each other into argumen-
tatively distinct areas of the text. Finally, the third section of the poem
appears to be recapitulatory on the level of affirmation and negation
56 TERMS
just as it is on the level of meaning. One may conclude that, for Par-
menides, a full description of being was also a catalogue of the forms of
affirmation and denial, plus examples of every type of predication. The
connection between being and the logic of language appears to be tight.
Why do the doubles occur in the first section and the most prominent
triples in the second? The first section is concerned with time, the second
(literally or metaphorically) with space, of with the relation of masses to
places (see chapter 3 for partial justification of my argument here). Now
time has only one dimension of variation, whereas in the mass-place
section there are two dimensions. In time, to be other is to be earlier or
later; every point is saturated with contraries, and every point is both
later and earlier than other points simply in virtue of the nature of time.
So a mean between contraries is not possible in time; points can be
equidistant and that is all. If we consider the relationship between place
and mass, however, we see that the amount of mass per place does not
necessarily vary with place, and so a mean can exist—a set of places
which, in relation to other places, are free from contrariety as regards
their mass. Thus, a general term expressing the mean can be given in
opposition to the two contraries. In addition, an opposite to such a gen-
eral term can be denied in tandem with the two contraries, in opposition
to the mean and to two different terms allied with it, as in lines 22—25.
Neither of these situations is possible with respect to time. Thus it is
possible to affirm and deny certain sorts of contradictory triples about
space, but not about time. And dyads flourish where there is no mean.
There are kinds of triples that can be affirmed in connection with
time, but they are not like the spatial triples. The triples that have to do
with time either express something which is not directly concerned with
the contrariety characteristic of time (like “immovable-without begin-
ning-without end” in 26-27; since time itself does not require starts and
stops, a startless and stopless mean can be affirmed just as a mean
amount of mass was affirmed in the case of place). Or, a triple connected
with the denial of contraries will deny them, but with an unrestrictedly
negative term as the general term, like “out of what-is-not—later—ear-
lier” in 7-10. The use of such a term is necessary, I would suggest,
because no particular or determinately negative term can be used in
opposition to a nonexistent mean. The only term that can cover both
contraries is itself not the opposite of any particular mean and so is
entirely negative.
Thus the denial of dyads and the affirmation of contradictory dyads
are characteristic of time, while triads with finite or determinate general
terms will be characteristic of the mass-place section; only triads with an
unrestrictedly negative term, or those which do not intrinsically oppose
time’s saturated contrariety, will be used of time. This is, I think, a
\
TERMS 57
possible connection between the number of terms and the characteristics

of the section to which they belong. Time has to be rejected altogether;
place does not.
The sphere-section is the third in which contraries occur. Here we
have two sets of contraries in opposition to two means; this reflects the
fact that saturated contrariety is no more necessary in the radii of a
sphere than it is in the mass-place situation. As explained above, the two
means approach the same symmetry from different perspectives. And,
because the mean has already been established, the unity of what-is al-
ready encapsulated in the preceding singles, these two means can oppose
the contraries that fall under them in a way hitherto unparalleled in the
poem. An unrestrictedly negative alternative (“nor is there what-is-
not...”) is also present, but it does not function the way a similar alter-
native did in the time-section; it does not oppose or include the contraries
directly but receives its own refutation (“which might prevent it from
reaching sameness”). Thus its presence does not invalidate the general-
ization just made about time and space. A boundary can be set in place,
but not in time.
I suggest, then, that the predominant numbers of affirmed or denied
terms in each section are connected with the theme of the _section,
whether or not the theme is literally meant—with time, which lacks a
mean, having an affinity for dyads, and place for triads. A couple of
‘central predications set the tone for the section, and then the rest follow
suit. For example, “later” and “earlier” in 10 are followed by the denial
of “to come to be” and “to perish” (13-14); the latter terms are dyads
because each tries to set a boundary in time to the existence of what-is,
one an earlier boundary and the other a later. There is no mean in the
situation, because any point for coming-to-be will have an infinite num-
ber of points earlier and later than it, and so there is no reason for
picking it; consequently birth and destruction must be denied together.
By the time we get to anoéton anénumon, “unthinkable and nameless,” we
are still expressing a dyadic structure, but a direct connection with con-
traries is not present; the opposition is between language and thought.
By this time, I suggest, the poem is considering dyads in general, in their
various positive and negative manifestations, not just the time-situation
that spawns them. Similarly, in the space-situation, the first two triads
(22-25) are preoccupied with contraries; the third examines another
situation with a mean between two terms (26—27); in the fourth (29), the
triadic structure is still present, but the opposition between the two sub-
ordinate contraries is now merely a difference. The triadic structure has
now been generalized out of its original context and functions indepen-
dently. These differences in the nature and logic of plural terms also go
along with the fact that the poem is gradually establishing the character
58 TERMS
of what-is and in so doing it eliminates the most dangerous threats to

that character (absolute coming-to-be and perishing) first, before consid-
ering mere lack of uniformity in the mass-place section. The effect is
that of a gradual calming down, reflected in the increasing uniformity
of the terms. ;
What about the single terms? Here it is useful to remember that the
argument of the poem is essentially complete starting with “incomplete”
(32), which is the denied contradictory of the signpost that the largely
recapitulatory sphere-section defends. The mean has been established
between contraries; the boundary encloses what-is; the dyads and triads
have been asserted and denied. Once the total uniformity of what-is has
been established, it can now be grasped as a whole by a single term, since
all the possible dyads and triads within it have been rendered uniform
in all their members. That is, it is no longer necessary to announce the
unity of what-is in a complicated way expressive of the overcoming of
internal divisions. Both in their content and in their form, then, the four
single terms follow naturally after the preceding sections. For details on
how the matrices of time and space might originally have been generated
together with their dyadic and triadic terms, see chapter 3.
I do not mean to suggest that the form of each and every assertion in
the poem is predictable in advance, just that, for example, the double
terms in a section are double because one or two of them are double and
serve as examples; and that these are double because of the temporal
context in which they are embedded; and that these contexts vary and
affect the contraries for philosophical reasons (again, see chapter 3).
Thus, on the thematic level, dyadic structure in this poem almost al-
ways incorporates contrariety, opposition, or at least difference. The
signposts which are being proved in section I, “ungenerable” and “un-
perishing,” are, as mentioned above, the ones which most crucially mark
off what-is from the zone of nonbeing and unrestricted contrariety—
whence, perhaps, the predominance of dyads in this section and the need
for this section to come first. Section II.A, on the other hand, is most
crucially concerned with the relationship of what-is to itself—its whole-
ness, its not moving out of its own place. A uniform relationship to self
is capably expressed by groups of predicates which are all of the same
sign and which capture a unity that obtains through many different
relationships. Triads, which express the unity of two (often opposed)
aspects under a general term, are perhaps most suited to this part of the
poem, and single terms, once the main body of the nonrecapitulatory
part of the poem is finished at the end of II.A, can come in to express
the simplicity, unity, and balance of a what-is which is now finished (te-
telesmenon) in argument as well as in reality. The regularities are too
marked to have been dictated by considerations of vocabulary alone.
\
TERMS 59
These reasons, of course, unlike the previous set, are thematic, not
formal or logical. Yet there is a natural relationship between the two. A
logical tool-kit whose purpose is to display all sorts of structural and
argumentative relationships among terms will not necessarily begin with
the simplest building block, but it may begin with the most fruitful one.
And the marriage of singles and dyads to produce triplets may begin
more fruitfully with the internal dialectic of two than with the abstract
independence of one. Moreover, three and one (assuming that one is
combining and separating terms) can be reached more easily from two
than from each other. Two is at the midpoint; it represents a type of
contrariety that this poem, among all others, cannot leave alone; it must
either expel it or tame it or both. The sequence as a whole is one in
which dyadic contrariety is first expelled, then incorporated into triads,
and then reconciled into a harmonious unity; dyads are thus both a
natural starting point for the theme and a logical underpinning for the
formal structures of affirmation and denial.
Thus I suggest that the near-completion of table 2.2 captures a delib-
erate feature of the poem’s presentation. The numbers of terms (single,
double, and triple) make them fit into specific sections of the poem, and
the range of discourse (covering affirmation and denial, positivity and
privativeness) shows the scope of rational speech. The connections in
meaning and proof between terms of different types show that the same
‘point can be expressed in many different ways. The types of inference
and logical/argumentative connection treated earlier are part of the same
sort of composition, one which fructifies into an impressively varied ar-
ray. I claim later that the logical laws are visible in generating the un-
derlying calculus in which terms and judgments are varied in sign and
TABLE 2.2
Affirmed (+) or Positive Privative
denied (—) term (+) term (—)
Singles Be whole immovable
(sec. II.B) — lacking incomplete
Doubles Ae to be and ungenerable
(sec. I) to be true unperishing
= coming-to-be unthinkable
perishing nameless
Triples - the same immovable
(sec. II.A) in the same without beginning
by itself without end
- divisible
more oe
less
60 TERMS
then related to each other in meaning and proof in most of the possible
combinations—a good way of jogging readers into an understanding of
the laws. :
Let me make a few more suggestions. First, to expand on what was
said earlier, the triples may be combinations of the singles and the dou-
bles not only in number but also in mode. Some of the doubles exhibit
the contrariety characteristic of the subordinate terms in almost all the
triples, and the single terms (e.g., “immovable,” which is both a single
and a constituent of a triple in 38 and 26) can become the topmost
general terms of the triples when the doubles are joined to them. Thus
the triples could be said to incorporate the structure as well as the num-
ber of elements of one single and one double. This is mirrored by their
placement in the poem between doubles and singles. Second, I men-
tioned earlier that the singles and doublets contain specimens of every
type of assertion while the triplets lack the denial of a privative, and that
the triplets come at the end of the argument proper, just before the
recapitulatory section. Consider again the sequence in section II.A,
which has many more triplets than any other section. If there were a full
spectrum of positives and negatives, we would expect the denial of pri-
vatives to occur at the very end, after their affirmation with “immovable-
without being-without end.” But there is no denied privative triple in the
poem. Instead there is, once more, the affirmation of a positive triad.
Dare I suggest that this positive triad is standing in for the expected
denied negatives as their double-negation? “The same—in the same
place—by itself,” after all, encapsulates section II.A, as was explained
earlier. And, if this is the end of the argument, isn’t it possible that a
form of closure could be attained by rounding off the poem’s construc-
tive sections with an unequivocally positive assertion? I suggest that we
are to interpret Parmenides as producing a deliberately incomplete cat-
alogue. The reader’s attention is certainly supposed to be drawn, first by
the negations, then by the many kinds of statements contained in the
poem. When one sees that these fall into groups, and that the poem is
very carefully put together, one is tempted to attribute to the author the
intention of showing how one thing can be written in many different
ways, plus the desire to show the ways themselves as examples of rules
of transformation which relate positives to negatives. One then may con-
clude that the rules according to which the catalogue was generated can
be invoked in order to explain why certain of the most complicated ele-
ments (the denied alpha-privative triplets) are missing from the cata-
logue—one may suppose that the denied privatives are replaced by
affirmed positives in order to show that two negatives make a positive.
The catalogue is deliberately left incomplete in order to test the reader’s
understanding of the reasons for its construction. Without the deliberate
\
TERMS 61
flaw, the reader would be confronted bya perfect catalogue of affirmative

monads, dyads, and triads, but the omissions make it clear that we are
to discover not just the examples, but also the rules for their construction.
In so doing the omissions make clear the purpose behind the catalogue,
which is not just a list, but an attempt to show how positives and negatives
interrelate logically and inferentially and so can stand in for each other.
Parmenides’ formal procedures are bounded by incompleteness. And as
if to signal that the argument comes to a new beginning at this point,
near line 30, the next thing that we find is the denial of a single privative,
which not only starts the clock again with single terms, giving the rudi-
ments of the construction on which the rest of the “Truth” section is
based, but also (since it is a denied privative) reminds us of the denied
privative triplet that is, as it were, “missing.” I do not want to overem-
phasize this possible explanation for the missing triplet, but I believe we
are supposed to recognize that a method of logical variation is at work
to generate nearly all the possibilities.
Thus far, then, I have made the following assertion: the presence in
Parmenides’ poem of nearly all the possible alternatives available for
terms means that the poem was deliberately designed to exhibit just those
alternatives in order to show their mutual logically and inferentially rel-
evant relationships. Parmenides employed a method of permutation or
variation, not just because one way to argue is to present every positive
‘and negative way of formulating a point, but also because he wanted to
lay bare the laws of dialectical and logical speech by combining and
separating terms varied in sign.
Is it reasonable to suppose Parmenides capable of this sort of method?
It might be thought that, even though he was demonstrably concerned
with logic and careful with his words, he either could not have come up
with this because it is an anachronism, or would not have even if he
could have, because he did not care very much about the form of lan-
guage and did not really believe he should speak at all. I addressed the
second objection in chapter 1; I try to answer the first one now.
Let me put the case against the present reading as strongly as I can.
“Let it be granted,” says the objector, “that the poem contains all these
equivalent and related monads, dyads, and triads, and let it be granted
that they in fact stand in the relationships which you attribute to them.
Even then it still does not follow that Parmenides was conscious of those
relationships, that he had alogical or dialectical design of the sort that
one might confidently attribute to Plato or Aristotle. Isn’t it anachronistic
to attribute to Parmenides a consciousness of logic as abstract laws, ca-
pable of being shown forth in examples yet independent of any particular
example, as your hypothesis demands?”
It is worth examining my hypothesis as the inference that it is and
62 TERMS
defending it against these objections. The inference proceeds from cer-

tain observations about the text to a conclusion about the intentions of
its author. Thus four questions may be asked. First, is this general sort
of inference reasonable? Second, does the evidence warrant the inference
in this particular case? Third, is the conclusion reasonable? Fourth, has
the evidence been interpreted correctly? On the fourth: I see no way to
deny that singlets, pairs, and triplets occur in the poem, or that they
cover all of the possibilities except for the denied privative triplet. How
this evidence is to be interpreted is, of course, another story. On the third
question, several things can be said. I see no great difficulty in asserting
that the first propounder of the laws of noncontradiction and excluded
middle? was also interested in the application of logical and argumen-
tative techniques to his own inferences and that, in particular, a Par-
menides for whom negative language was (surprisingly) permissible
would go out of his way to show the various ways in which negative and
positive language could be used. That the poem itself was designed as a
logical or argumentative catalogue of different alternatives is quite pos-
sible, though not proven by these general considerations alone.
In response to the first question, whether the inference from evidence
of design to author’s intention is legitimate, I would say that it depends
on the nature of the design and on what we know of the author. The
design must somehow convince us that it is not an accident, and the
author must be the sort of person who we have reason to believe could
have come up with the design. Thus this question passes into the second
and most difficult question: “Does the evidence warrant the inference
from design to intention in this particular case?”
Let me begin by saying that there is one clear sense in which Parmen-
ides does not do logic—the modern, Aristotelian-Platonic sense. He does
not self-consciously distinguish a special sort of science which deals ex-
plicitly with rules of inference, or even with rational, conceptual, hypo-
thetical or dialectical procedures; he does not self-consciously isolate such
rules and procedures and examine them. If Parmenides is a logician, it
is not in this sense.
Is he then an early philosopher, interested in arguments, who gives us
tokens of them in a rational, planned way, but without ever rising above
the level of right opinion about them to that of knowledge? Surely, one
might say, all these regularities in the text could have been produced by
someone interested in the forms of speech but who did not look at those
forms in and by themselves as part ofa science of logic. This interpre-
tation sees Parmenides as the possessor of a kind of right opinion, but
not knowledge, about knowledge. It calls for a judgment of probability
on the part of an interpreter and reader. I would like to show that the
TERMS 63
opposite is more probable—that Parmenides, though he did not write a

science of logic, deliberately displayed the laws in his work, so that the
reader would be jogged into an understanding of them.
Let us examine again his statement, “For never will this be brought to
pass: to be while not being” (B7.1). This sentence is supposed to rule
out the world of mortals, in which things are and are not as described
in chapter 1. Thus the sentence functions as a norm which prohibits. In
short, it functions as the law of noncontradiction functions, but without
being identified as one member ina system of principles. How important
is the clause that begins with “but” in the preceding sentence? I would
suggest it is not very important. It suffices, I think, to say that Parmenides
knew and used the law, to show that he not only used it as if it were a
law but also explicitly identified it as having normative force. The same
goes for the law of excluded middle, where the metaphor is made explicit
with krisis, “verdict, decision, judgement.”* In both these cases we see the
first formulator of a law proclaiming the law as a law. This is a state of
mind, intermediate between true opinion and systematic theory, suitable
for a discoverer. It corresponds to knowing that the standard is a stan-
dard, and formulating it as such, without making it the object of an
independent investigation, at least not one that is recorded as such.
If Parmenides knew this, what else did he know? We have seen that,
for example, the denial of “incomplete” is clearly equivalent to “com-
‘ plete” in the poem. But when we see, in addition, that all the signposts
are (at least in part) proved by denying their opposites, then the use of
alpha-privatives in clear opposition to and connection with positives
comes to seem less like a simple reliance upon ordinary language, less
like literary variation, and more like a device intended to call our atten-
tion to the relationships between these terms. More generally, when we
see that the number and placement of predicate-terms of different and
logically relevant types can also be brought into connection with Par-
menidean philosophical concerns, the possibility arises that he deliber-
ately constructed the poem to make us think about types of inference
and predication in addition to the context or meaning of the predicates
treated. The very fact that Parmenides’ negative language can become
an issue among interpreters means that the text poses as a problem the
relationship between his rules and his discursive behavior. The text ex-
plicitly focuses our attention on the permutations of language and denial.
Under these circumstances, I think, it is not enough to speak merely of
right opinion. Instead, we should watch the goddess draw attention to
her own method. In this sense one can speak of the “birth” of logic in
this speech: one is dealing with a reflection which is clearly separate from
its parent, but not yet fully articulated. For the same reason, I do not
64
b n nneeeann EEE EEERSRSSSSESEETERMS
EERE!
think a desire for poetic variation alone could have produced the array
of predications that I describe. This author was not one for whom neg-
atives and positives had merely rhetorical significance.
The goddess’s speech is a deliberate survey of the forms of logic and
inference in discourse about being. An opposition between ontology (and
Parmenides’ is of the most transcendent sort) and logic (his is of the most
formal sort) does not occur in Parmenides as, for example, it presents
itself historically as splits between positions in twentieth-century philos-
ophy. His insight is that, while logic merely expresses being, being is
nothing to us unless it is spoken according to trustworthy rules; this
insight transcends both sides of the contemporary split and incorporates
both. If abstracted from the goddess’s speech, the laws are merely con-
ventions; but if spoken without the laws, being becomes merely illusion
or falsehood. I show in chapter 6 how this two-way connection between
speech and being is rendered possible for Parmenides because both are,
in a deep sense, bounded.
CHAPTER 3
Contraries
Without Contranies 1s no progression.

—William Blake
In the preceding chapters I suggested that the statements made along

the positive route in fragment 8 be taken as having a deliberately negative
component both in their vocabulary and in the manner of their argu-
ment. Parmenides says not only how being is, but also—and, in fact, more
importantly—how it is not, and succeeds in doing even the latter on the
positive route and in a systematically varied way. In the next two chap-
ters, I discuss the question whether the methodology so far encountered
is generalizable beyond the case of types of predicate-terms. I think we
encounter it again in at least three more contexts: the poem’s consider-
ation of different sorts of contrariety, the use of modal discourse, and
the treatment of the ways in which an other besides what-is might have
come to be. In this chapter, I claim that the goddess explores and rejects
each of the many ways in which contraries might have been found within
what-is, and that she explores them in a systematic way reminiscent of
the more general treatment of terms discussed earlier. I isolate three
sections of the poem for discussion, but I do not wish to imply that the
contraries are ultimately independent of the other terms and the modal
language. Both as a pattern of inference and as a calculus of variations,
the poem is a unity, and in this chapter I attempt to provide the under-
lying quetifieation for the claims in chapter 2 about the subjects of the
poem’s various sections.
One may continue the task by sketching out some more of what the
logical universe of fragment 8 looks like. There is, first, the univocally
positive alternative—‘“yes” all the way through—with pampan (“alto-
gether,” line 11), pan homovon (“all similar,” line 22), pantothen ison (“equal
from every side,” line 49). Then there is the negative alternative: mé
eontos (“from what is not,” line 7), tou médenos (“from nothing,” line 10),
65
66 CONTRARIES
diaireton (“divisible,” line 22), ouk eon (“what-is-not,” line 46). Then there
is the third alternative, a partial one involving contrariety, which must
be ruled out in order to distinguish clearly the univocally positive alter-
native from the negative one, so that the positive one can then be chosen:
husteron-prosthen (“later-earlier,’ in 10), mallon-cheiroteron (“more-less”
in 23-24), meizon-baioteron (“bigger-smaller” in 44-45), mallon-hésson
(“more-less” in 48). The terms having tosdo with coming-to-be and per-
ishing in 13—14, 21, and 27, though they are opposed, are, I think, part
of the picture involving terms generally rather than contraries specifi-
cally, because they are not adjectives or adverbs envisioned as applying
to what-is. The contraries, moreover, are all elements of triples discussed
in the preceding chapter.
This sequence of the three alternatives occurs three times in the
poem—in lines 6-11, 22-25, and 42—49. Since the world view of the
“Opinion” section involves contrarieties (Fire and Night) which, unlike
those in the “Truth” section, are reified rather than being relational
predicates, it is worth examining the “Truth” section in order to deter-
mine why and how the contraries are rejected there, and in particular
whether there is any reason why the contrarieties are rejected three
times, and whether there are any differences in the sorts of contrariety
being rejected.
There is another reason why the selection of contraries as foci of the
argument is not arbitrary. As mentioned in chapter 2, each of the sign-
posts introduced in lines 3—4 is proved, more or less, separately in the
poem. The signposts “ungenerable” and “unperishing” are argued for
in 6—21; “whole of a single kind” in 22-25; “unmoving” is first asserted
in 26—28; and whatever the last signpost was is first mentioned in 32
and then given a more extensive treatment in 42—49. That is, the core
treatment of each signpost (except “unmoving,” which is proved on the
basis of the two preceding signposts) corresponds to one of the passages
where contraries occur. The affirmation of most of these signposts in-
volves the negation of contraries in such a way that, if the contraries
were to hold of what-is, the signpost would have to be denied; conse-
quently, to affirm the signpost is to deny the contraries. “Ungenerable”
and “unperishing” have “later-earlier’; “whole” has mallon-cheiroteron
(“more-less”); and the signpost whose meaning is “perfect” or “complete”
has two pairs, both parallel to mallon-cheiroteron: meizon-baioteron (“bigger-
smaller”) and mallon-hésson (“more-less”). I claim that the different pairs
of contraries correspond to real differences in the poem’s treatment of
what-is. The contraries are not just rejected all at once. Rather, each pair
corresponds to a definite situation or phase in a method of one-many
variation. The conclusion is that being is here said to be one in three
different ways, corresponding to the three groups of signposts, except
x
CONTRARIES 67
“unmoving,” and that the four pairs of contraries betoken three ways of
not-being-one which are rejected. I analyze the passages in which the
contraries occur in the “Truth” section and then draw the conclusions
just summarized.
There are intriguing differences in the wording of these three pas-
sages. The first is phrased as the question why what-is should be occupied
by either contrary (lines 9-11). The second deals with one contrary ap-
plying to some degree somewhere (¢é), and then with the other, in an
almost leisurely way, as if the contraries could be treated independently,
though the tone of “neither ... nor ... nor” is stronger than that of a
question, stronger than that of lines 9-11. And in the third passage,
lines 42—49, it is clear not only that neither contrary is acceptable to any
degree, wherever either might apply (té é té, “here or there”), but also
that both are unacceptable, that one cannot apply here and the other
there (té mallon téi d’hésson, “here more and there less”). Why the differ-
ences? And why the alternations, in the statement of the contrarieties
rejected, between an “or” formulation (“later or earlier” or “later rather
than earlier,” line 10), a “neither-nor-nor” formulation (lines 22—25 and
44-45), and a “not-and” formulation (lines 47-48)? Are these simply
literary variations, or are they also logical? And, if they are also logical,
what is the logical point? What might be the underlying machinery that
generates the pattern according to which they are arrayed?
Even if they are literary variations, they are variations with logical
overtones. An alternation between “or,” “neither-nor,” and “not-and” for-
mulations of similar points, given the results of chapters 1—2, leads one
to suspect not only that Parmenides was aware of these differences and
connections among conjunctive and disjunctive formulations of similar
points—which he must have been, even if his purpose were merely lit-
erary—but also that he set them in that order for a reason, even if only
to display all the different variations on similar points. The differences
in the ways contraries are pinned down naturally lead one to suspect
that the contraries are seen as applying in different ways in each of the
different passages. Of course, it is first necessary to show that the pas-
sages in question do contain alist of all the variations in the application
of contraries that are possible in a Parmenidean discourse on Truth.
The following, then, are questions that stand in need of an answer.
They are not answered fully by the single hypothesis that contyaries are
being rejected; I propose to explain them. (1) Why are there alternations
between conjunctive and disjunctive formulations in the rejections, of
contraries? (2) Why are the contraries rejected singly, with an intervening
explanation for each in the second part of the line, in lines 23 and 24,
and together, without intervention, in lines 44—45 and 48? (3) Why does
Parmenides use a single ¢é, “here,” in lines 22—25 and two occurrences
68 CONTRARIES
of té: in 44—45 and 47-48? And why is there no similar specifying device
in lines 9-11? Do these differences in formulation carry any import for
the interpretation of the manner in which the contraries apply?
Of the three passages in which contraries occur, the most difficult
(according to Hermann Diels!) is found in 22-25:
oude diaireton estin, epei pan estin homoion.
oude ti téi mallon, to ken eirgoi min sunechesthai,
oude ti cheiroteron, pan d’empleon estin eontos.
toi xuneches pan estin. eon gar eonti pelazei.
[Nor is it divisible, since it is all alike. Nor is it here somewhat more, which
might prevent it from cohering, nor somewhat less, but all of it is full of
what-is. And all of it is cohesive, for what-is draws near to what-is.]
I take these lines to represent Parmenides’ proof for, or offering of
considerations in support of, the attribute “whole” he announced earlier
in the list of signposts, also “of a single kind.” The lines, as stated earlier,
both deny what would be inappropriate for what-is and assert what is
appropriate. Each of the clauses introduced by “nor” is opposed and
counterbalanced by a clause affirming the contradictory of what the
“nor”-clause denies. Very generally, these lines seem to be saying that
what-is is not divisible because it is all homogeneous; that it is not more
anywhere, because then it would fail to cohere; and that it is not less,
because all of it is equally full of what-is. In what follows I skirt the
question whether the spatial language is meant metaphorically or liter-
ally.
The first problem of interpretation in these lines is the following: what
is Parmenides talking about when he denies “divisible,” “more,” and
“less” of what-is? The basic language seems to be that of mass and place;
is he asserting that what-is is or is like a finitely large, spatially homo-
geneous mass? ‘Taran sees the lines as saying that, since what-is is every-
where self-identical, no distinction in it is possible. Mourelatos? suggests
the lines imply that “it is all of the same stock. It is not thicker, or bigger,
or stronger here, and thinner, or smaller, or weaker there. Rather, all of
it is evenly and tightly packed or distributed, and the constituents agree
out of mutual affinity . . . [or] it cannot be separated or segregated into
two classes: good or noble, on the one side, and bad or common, on the
other.”* These are only part of a forest of problems of interpretation. In
section II of this chapter, I address these problems on a more detailed
textual level. In section III, the thread of the overall interpretation re-
sumes.
The problems posed by lines 22—25 may be grouped around the follow-
ing topics. (1) Which signpost is being proved here, how is it to be rep-
\
CONTRARIES 69
resented in a critical text of B8.4, and what does it mean in those lines?
(2) Is Parmenides here talking about spatial or temporal homogeneity?
In what follows I engage in dialogue with Mourelatos, Stokes, Taran, and
Owen.
As for B8.4, most people today read oulon mounogenes te, which might
be rendered as “whole and single”* or “whole and of a single kind”® or
“whole and only-begotten,”® rather than a variant reading, est gar oulo-
meles (“for it is whole in limb”), found in Plutarch (Pros Koloteén 1114C11).
The question of whether the Parmenidean what-is can tolerate a nu-
merical plurality, such as that apparently envisaged by “whole in limb,”
immediately arises. The picture is further complicated by the interpre-
tation of Untersteiner, who argues for the existence of such a plurality,
partly on the basis of his adoption of “whole in limb.” The reading risks
being associated with the thesis that what-is consists in such a plurality,
and the reading “whole and of a single kind” risks association with the
thesis that what-is is absolutely one in the sense that no parts or elements
can be distinguished in it. I accept the reading “whole and of a single
kind,” because the objections offered to it need not hold,’ but neither
reading is decisive on the question whether what-is, while remaining one,
might not have some kind of interior plurality. “Whole in limb” has no
more connotation of a unity formed out of a diversity than does “cohe-
sive” or “what-is draws close to what-is” in 25. Conversely, if, as Moure-
latos claims, “whole and of a single kind” can mean an absence of inner
contrariness and strife,® there is nothing to prevent sucha whole from
being like a handful of taffy or a block of ice, a glob composed entirely
of a single sort of stuff, without being inhomogeneous or interrupted by
gaps. Thus far one may agree with Untersteiner, who remarks, “Ma
questa sunecheia non esclude la pluralita di homoia che stanno uniti in un
oulon”—(to paraphrase) the coherence which “cohesive” attributes to
what-is is not incompatible with a plurality of similar things which stand
together united in a whole.® (I discuss the question of divisibility later.)
But whether “whole and of a single kind” is to be read, with Stokes, as
implying an entire absence of interior multiplicity depends on how one
reads 22~25. Mourelatos is right in claiming that “of a single kind” need
not describe only a single thing; but I have argued against the view of
fragment 8 as applying de dicto to namings oi many things. The reading
“whole and of a single kind,” then, is acceptable and need not by itself
commit one either to absolute unity or to numerical plurality on the part
of what-is or of the things that truly are. Solmsen says that the “whole
in limb” reading might make more sense of lines 4—21 of the fragment:
“It would be defensible to prefer ... the minority reading esti gar oulo-
meles, especially if we understand séma (v.2) as a poetic equivalent of
sémeion ( = “proof” ...) in Melissus B8.1.... On this view, 8.4—21 (note
70 CONTRARIES
the last verse) would indeed be a full and coherent presentation of the
proofs (or sémata) for agenéton and andlethron.”!° Solmsen himself favors
“of a single kind” as emphasizing the singleness or solitariness of what-
is; it is “the Hesiodic (or epic? see esp. Theog. 426) word for an only
child.”' Here the connotation of “the only one in its family” would apply
literally to what-is, while the connotation of “begetting” (rightly objected
to, if taken in the sense of having a beginning in time, by Burnet!2) would
be ironically ruled out here. But it is hard to see what Solmsen means
in his statement of the case for the minority opinion. Jf whatever occurs
in the first part of line 4 is in some way connected with 22—25—as seems
likely, even given only that the last signpost in the line, whose meaning
is “complete,” is shown in 32-33 and 42—49—and if 22-25 are not pri-
marily temporal in meaning (as I claim later), then lines 4-21 are not
all commentary on “ungenerable” and “imperishable.” It has been sug-
gested to me that the est? gar, “for it is,” before “whole in limb” may be
part of Plutarch’s text and not Parmenides’;!’ if so, then “whole in limb”
may be a misquotation from memory, and there is no reason to take
line 4 as part of the argumentative support for line 3.
The words “whole and of a single kind” announce what is to be proved
in 22-25. There seems to be no clear separation in proof between
“whole” and “of a single kind,” though there is a separation between
“whole” and “unmoving,” which is discussed in 26-28, even though a
later statement of the lack of motion of what-is (“to be whole and im-
movable,” line 38) treats that lack as being just as closely connected with
“whole” (however close that is) as “of a single kind” is in line 4. Somehow,
what-is is a whole which is of a single kind, or the only one of its kind,
and unmoving; somehow “whole” comes first.
Next, however, one runs up against the fact that there is an assertion
in B8.5—6, starting in the next line after “whole and of a single kind,”
which has some vocabulary in common with 22-25, but whose relations
with the list of signposts and with the argument beginning in line 6,
immediately after the assertion, are controversial, as is its translation.
The assertion is “nor was it nor will it be, since it is now all together one,
cohesive.”'* The variant given by Ammonius cannot be fitted in with 22—
25, since, though it asserts mounon, “single,” it denies that what-is is homou
pan, “all together,” and we hear pan homoion, “all similar,” in 22.15
The following are elements of common vocabulary between lines 5—6
and lines 22—25: Pan (“all”) and related words occur in a cluster in 22—
25 (pan homovon, “all similar,” pan empleon . . . eontos, “all full of what-is,”
both in 24, and xuneches pan, “all cohesive,” in 25), as do suneches-words
(sunechesthaz, “to cohere,” in 23, xuneches pan in 25). Given this clustering,
it is reasonable to suppose that lines 5—6 also have something to do with
what is announced, with “whole and of a single kind” in 4, as to be proved
*
CONTRARIES 71
in 22-25; though pan-words occur in other places in the proof-section

(“altogether,” 11; “in [of] everything,” 33; “all,” 38; “from every side,”
43 and 49; “everywhere,” 44), swneches-words do not. Hen, “one,” from
line 6 also does not recur. This may seem compatible with the feeling
that the oneness of what-is is not very important, even if it does not
justify Untersteiner’s (unacceptable) adoption of Ammonius’s variant
“nor was it nor will it be all together; it is, rather, single, whole of limb.”!6
The primary subject of discourse in fragment 8is what-is, not the One;
to that extent, the historical Parmenides, even though he did say that
what-is is one, is not identical with the Parmenides of Plato’s dialogue,
as Solmsen has pointed out. But it is not always true that the Platonic
Parmenides is a champion of hen to pan, “(The) All is One”; Plato’s Par-
menides is made to characterize his own thesis at least once simply as hen
estin, “[there is] a One” (137C). But the historical Parmenides, as I shall
claim (agreeing in part with Stokes), could have been a champion of the
one what-is, yet may still have failed to hold the same views on all ques-
tions as the Parmenides of the dialogue.
The situation is something like this: “All together,” “one,” and “cohe-
99 66
sive” have to do with the homogeneity of the single what-is; “one” here
functions as one element in a wider context.!” This said, one has disso-
ciated oneself from any a priori claims about Plato’s comprehension of
Parmenides and about the adequacy of Neoplatonic readings of the his-
torical or dialogical Parmenides. But it is still Sees that “one” is
not explicitly mentioned again, even though, asI suggest below, lines 5—
6 are not part of the signpost-list proper. I shall say below that Stokes is
essentially right in claiming that 5—6 present a prospective picture of the
entire argument as well as an index to the signposts. Since this is so, the
application of “one” is not necessarily restricted to the context of 22-25,
the question about the oneness of being in Parmenides ought not to be
settled either by taking Platonic and/or Neoplatonic testimony for
granted or by thinking that assigning “one” an important role in Par-
menides is improbable because of the fact (which I agree with) that Plato
makes the Parmenides of the dialogue focus on oneness rather than on
the eon, “what-is,” of the historical Parmenides. “One” and “being” in
Melissus may in places be functioning as practically interchangeable
names, which they would need to do if there is only one thing.’
Given that 5-6 have some relation to 22-25, and so, presumably, to
the “whole and of a single kind” of line 4, it remains to be determined
what that relation is. The textual problem is set by the following facts.
Line 5 begins with a “nor,” which may be continuative; it contains a
“since,” which introduces something that argumentatively supports what
is said just before the “since”; and line 6, “for which birth would you
seek for it,” has a “for” near the beginning, which may indicate that the
72 CONTRARIES
passage from “nor” in 5 to “cohesive” in 6 is supported by “for which

birth would you seek for it?” Given these facts, one may wonder where
the actual proof begins—in line 5 or in line 6? And if in line 6, what
happens in lines 5—6?
In what follows I skirt the question of the eternality, temporality, or
atemporality of the Parmenidean what-is and refer the reader to other
treatments.'? But I will say that the “is new” of line 5 is compatible with
either sempiternality or eternity; there is no reason why Parmenides’
“now” might not have been the perpetual present of eternity.?°
Stokes has presented convincing arguments for the claim that lines 5—
6 are not part of the list of signposts.?! The problem is that, because
Parmenides says “nor was it nor will it be, since (epei) it is now altogether
one, cohesive,” if these lines are part of the actual proof, and because
epei is always used by Parmenides to introduce the reason for something,
then there is a circularity in the proof, because the cohesiveness of what-
is is not proved until lines 22-25. I have no quarrel with the claim that
epet in Parmenides always introduces the reason for something. (Stokes
says “it cannot be argued that epei anywhere in Parmenides fails to in-
troduce an argument.”2?)
The attribution of a circularity in the proof is to be avoided whenever
possible. It follows that lines 5-6 are, not part of the actual proof—
which begins, then, with tina gar gennan, “for which birth... 2?” in 6—
but are both a summary of the signposts and a description of the total
condition of what-is, which, on the present reading, is eternally being all
together single/unified and cohesive. (The existence outside of time in
“nor was it nor will it be, since it is not...” goes, like the signposts
“ungenerable” and “imperishable” in line 3, with the time-section of the
fragment, lines 6-21; the “all together one, cohesive,” like the signposts
“a whole of a single kind, unmoving,” goes with the space-section, lines
22-41.)
Lines 5 and 6, then, are a nice retro- and prospective precis of the
entire proof-section. It follows that “one,” which lies at the heart of these
lines, is a very important predicate in the poem and would be even if it
did mean precisely the same as “whole and of a single kind.” If the
signposts are the advertisements and the proof is the movie, then lines
5—6 are the posters outside. If this is what Stokes means when he says
that the lines summarize “the essential point of the succeeding argu-
ment,”** then I agree. The high points in the logic of the lines are “now”
and “one’—“was” and “will be” lead up to “now,” and “it is now alto-
gether one, cohesive,” puts the stress on “one.” (This point depends on
Mourelatos’ reading and punctuation of the lines.?*) I argue later that
most of the signposts in fragment 8 can be construed as rejections of
various kinds of disunity, and this includes the temporal ones—“now”
CONTRARIES 73
depends on “one” in the proof. Line 5 and the first part of line 6, then,
summarize the signposts and encapsulate the proof, but are not part of
the proof proper, which begins in the second part of line 6 with “for
what birth... ?” The “for” indicates that the question “for what birth
would you seek for it?” is at least related to what has just been said (“nor
was it nor will it be, for it is now...” in line 5, also probably to “ungen-
erable unperishing” in line 3); it may also mark the transition to the
proof proper. The “for” indicates that what is being considered in the
question “what birth?” is going to serve as support for something that
goes before, and this is what happens, since the question cannot be an-
swered for the Parmenidean what-is, as the succeeding lines (7—15) show.
But the “for” does not, I think, have to mean that what begins in line 6
supports only what immediately precedes the “for” (say, lines 5—6); these
lines do not have to be construed as containing signposts not already
listed in lines 3—4 or as saying something not anticipated in those lines.
This is so even though (since 6-15 support‘ ‘now” in 5 and‘ ‘ungenerable”
in 3) the “for” is not only continuative and explicative but also logical in
meaning. (Further commentary on lines 6—15 is provided in chapter 4.)
Given that the list of signposts proper ends with the end of line 4, that
there is heavy stress on the unity of what-is, and that the signposts proved
in lines 22—25 are “whole and of a single kind,” it remains to be deter-
mined what Parmenides is talking about in lines 22-25. Owen has
claimed that the lines refer to the temporal indivisibility and continuity of
what-is. The argument is too complicated to summarize in detail here.
To the objections already raised by Stokes, I have only this to add.”» Owen
argues that lines 22-25 have as a premise the successful conclusion of
the temporality-argument in 6—21; even if this is so, it does not by itself
show that lines 22-25 are temporal, since they would presuppose the
temporality-conclusion even if they were spatial. Spatial cohesiveness can-
not be proved if part, or all, of the spatial whole is exposed to the risk
of coming-into-being or going-out-of-being.
Moreover, Owen feels that, in two of the three occurrences where epez,
“because, since,” in fragment 8 is found at the beginning of major ar-
gument-sections of the poem (namely 27 and 42), it introduces some-
thing previously proved. Indeed, in these two occurrences epei does
introduce something previously proved. The feeling is then that, since
the eper in 22 also occurs at or near the beginning of a major argument-
section, it, too, ought to introduce something previously proved: It would
be nice if it did, but one cannot argue that it must, first, because it is
very difficult to say that 27 is the beginning of a major argument-section
(it introduces the demonstration of “unmoving,” but 22-23 constitute a
single section in which, as 29—31 indicate, “unmoving” is seen together
with “whole and of a single kind”), and, second, because, of the three
74 CONTRARIES
remaining occurrences of epei in fragment 8 (aside, that is, from 22),

only one (42) could be said to repeat what has been proved previously.
The occurrence in 37-38, though it says that what-is is whole and im-
movable, also mentions the figure of Doom, whom we have not heard
from before; and the occurrence in 48, which says that what-is is invio-
lable, mentions something which is in no way previously shown. (In fact,
if what it introduces has been previously shown, then—unless the proof
is circular, and since the assertion of inviolability is part of a chain of
argument going all the way back to 44—42—49 would have to be temporal
and not spatial, since the only contexts available for the epei to borrow
from are, on Owen’s account, temporal.) And I have claimed that the
epe in 5 does not introduce something previously proved. Really, I think,
only the eper in 42 both indubitably appears at the beginning of a major
argument-section and introduces something previously asserted (though
even there the statement is not that what-is is inside the bound—which
is what was shown in 26 and 31—but that there is an outermost bound).
Of the five other occurrences of epei in the fragment, including 22, two
(5 and 48) do not, and one (37) probably does not, introduce something
previously proved. Under these circumstances an induction to the state-
ment that the epe in 22 introduces something previously proved is not
easy to make. Still, though, it would be nice if the logical connectives in
fragment 8 were clearer, and I am not able to provide a better expla-
nation. Owen himself admits that “the whole treatment of temporal vari-
ation is couched in spatial metaphor”;*° this is prima facie evidence
against a temporal reading of 22-25. It is true that there are temporal
notions after line 25—“remaining” and “remains” in 29 and 30—and,
indeed, the emphasis in 29-31 is on the immovability of what-is. But it
is possible to read these lines as combining spatial and temporal consid-
erations. What-is, shown to be ungenerable and imperishable in lines 6—
21, is now asserted to be incapable of motion as a whole in 29-31, incap-
able of, say, rolling like a ball along the street. The notions of freedom
from birth and destruction (temporal notions) are combined with the
notion of wholeness (spatial) in a proof that what-is does not change its
position over time, in whole or in part; and this last is a fusion of tem-
poral and spatial notions which, far from being a temporal “context” in
which lines 22-25 are “embedded,” in fact presupposes a prior spatial
proof of wholeness if it is not to be undermined. Moreover, Owen states
that lines 34-41 mention “only ideas of temporal change,”?’ but this is
not so, since “change of place” in 41 is as much spatial as temporal.
I think, then, that one can take lines 22-25 as being nontemporal in
meaning. Now Stokes and Mourelatos, though they do not take the lines
as being temporal in meaning, are inclined to find “similar” in 22 antic-
ipated in the earlier part of the poem.?8 But I am not sure that we need
CONTRARIES 75
an antecedent for “similar” just because of the epe: which introduces it—
we would also then need one for “inviolate” in 48—and spatial homo-
geneity is not proved as such in lines 6-15. Mourelatos cites line 11 as
containing a general principle that might apply to spatial or to qualitative
“altogetherness” as well as to temporal; I discuss this in chapter 4. Many
points in the structure of fragment 8 remain obscure, and some, I think,
become less obscure if one resists the urge to find a sequence of proof
in which each assertion has a clearly specifiable antecedent. My proposal,
though it is highly structured, does not attempt this, and what generates
the assertions is not so much a formal pattern of proof in the strict sense
(where is the assumed “to cohere” in 23 proved, rather than asserted?) as
a method of exhausting alternatives which are generated by an under-
lying pattern of one-many variations. Owen’s desire to read homoion
(“alike”) as adverbial in line 22 came from the feeling that an adjectival
homoion (on his reading of 6-21, in which adverbial totality is shown
there) would have represented the introduction of a previously unproved
premise. But this is perhaps not such a dangerous alternative to fall into.
Our calling a given assertion unproved does not mean that we would
have to fill the gap with a view of Parmenides in terms taken from
previous cosmologists, which is what Owen was trying to avoid. Given
the nontemporality of 22-25, I see no alternative to saying that 22—
though logically different from what precedes and follows it in a method
which (I claim below) adds up in its totality to proof—is not the strict
argumentative consequence of anything before it. This, if my conclusions
are accepted, will be harmless.
Finally, as Mourelatos and Stokes have pointed out, the language of
22-25 is compatible with a ruling out of variations in qualitative intensity
as well as with a(literal or metaphorical) ruling out of variations in the
amount of mass in different places, variations in density.?° “More” and
“less” are shorthand for these variations.
I proceed by taking the point of lines 22—25 to be that what-is is, in some
fundamental—perhaps physical—sense, a unity in the sense that in-
equalities and divisions are not found in it. Indeed, the underlying im-
agery (“divisible,” “to cohere,” “full,” “draws near to”) is that of the
distribution of a mass in space or in place. I take this as being perhaps
metaphorical—or at least capable of covering qualitative homogeneity
and variation, and equal or varied intensity—and I take it that Parmen-
ides, while not committed by these lines to the assertion that what-is is a
mass in space, still found in the consideration of masses in space a con-
venient embodiment for the sorts of relations he was concerned with. As
76 CONTRARIES
when he compares what-is with a ball in lines 42-49, the language here
is not necessarily literally meant; the boundaries between the ball and
what-is are very hard to draw. I suggest, then, that we are being asked
to imagine a field of places—“place” in the sense of a container for
mass—together with a mass which is to be distributed across the field of
places in an equal or cohesive manner, as if we set a block of ice on a
piece of graph paper or poured water into the many divisions of an ice-
tray. I imagine what-is as being like a single, cohesive, homogeneous
stuff, like taffy, a concretized mass-term all gathered together. That there
is a field of places which coheres does not mean that there are boundaries
or junctures within the field. In making this imaginative experiment, I
am responding to language which—whether metaphorical or not—is
within the text. The denial of “divisible,” then, means either that there
is no place within the field of places which is completely without mass,
or that all the places have the same amount of mass; the denials of “more”
and “less” mean, respectively, that no place has less mass. “More” and
“less” than what? I attempt to explain this below.
Herein, however, lies the second problem of interpretation. If “divis-
ible” simply means that there is a difference, within what-is, between the
amount of mass in one place and the amount of mass in some other
place, then to rule out “divisible” (as Parmenides does when he says “all
of it is alike”) is also to rule out “more” and “less.” Why, then, would he
repeat himself, amplifying his point at the sacrifice of argumentative
economy? The other possibility is that Parmenides means by “divisible”
the existence of a fracture in what-is, or (to use the language of masses
in places) the existence of a place which has none of the mass of what-
is in it. But here, too, there are difficulties: first, such a place would
certainly be “less” than the other places which did have mass in them,
and they would certainly be “more” than it, so that Parmenides would
again be repeating himself; second, if “divisible” meant that there would
be an empty place dividing what-is from itself, then “all of it is similar”
would have to mean not “having an equal mass at every place” but simply
“having mass.” (Barnes has a similar difficulty with both bigger and
smaller.*°) On either interpretation of “divisible,” then, Parmenides ends
up repeating himself. I offer no explanation for the fact that he does,
unless he is independently and for reasons of his own interested in triads
where the two contrary terms are subsumed under the general term (as
suggested in chapter 2) and in the different ways in which contraries can
apply, as is discussed below. .
Similar problems occur in lines 23 and 24. These problems go back
to Diels,*! whose difficulty was that it seemed in line 23 that “which would
prevent it from cohering” could not be the answer to “nor is it here
somewhat bigger,” because (to paraphrase) what spoils the cohesiveness
CONTRARIES 77
of a whole is not the existence in it of parts which have more mass than
others, but rather the existence of parts which have less mass than others.
That is, one would have expected “less,” not “more,” to oppose “which
would prevent it from cohering.” And yet, in the next line, “all of it is
full of what-is” seems to be a perfect answer to “nor somewhat less,” since
to deny that one place in what-is has less mass is to affirm that no place
is defective in mass, that is, that all the places are equally full of mass.
Because of these difficulties, Gomperz was even led to postulate a radical
reorganization of the order of lines in the passage, a reorganization
objected to adequately by Diels on philological grounds.*? So line 22,
where “all similar” seemed to cause difficulties with the “fracture” inter-
pretation of “divisible,” would not be the only line which seems to lack
an adequate positive answer to a predicate denied in the “nor”-clause.
At this point there are several alternatives, short of junking the lines
or ignoring them. We could take both “all of it is full of what-is” and
“which would prevent it from cohering” as being directed against “less”—
but that would leave “more” without an answer, which would be unac-
ceptable. We could propose that all of the positive statements—“all sim-
ilar,” “cohesive,” and “all of it is full of what-is’—are different ways of
saying the same thing, in such a way that each of these positive statements
opposes all of the negative statements. Or, we could argue that “which
would prevent it from cohering” is an adequate answer to the denial in
“nor is it here somewhat more.” Let me treat this third argument briefly.
Sunechesthai (“to cohere”) and suneches (“cohesive”) seem to be words
with a fairly wide resonance; they seem not only to have the meanings
just given, but also those involved in “to draw together” (in the sense of
retreating from an attack), “joining,” and “holding together.”* If the
word is taken this way, then it seems reasonable that “more” should be
opposed by “to cohere.” For—to form a mental picture that might not
have occurred to Diels—the existence of a lump in a mass of dough, that
is, the existence within what-is of a place that has more mass, does prevent
the mass (what-is) from cohering, in the sense that the unit of greater
mass not only fails to cohere with the other units of mass in the sense of
being equal to them, but actually prevents (eirgoi, “would prevent”) the
mass as a whole from drawing together (sunechesthat) in a uniform way,
because it obtrudes and is not homogeneous. Whereas, if part of the
mass is smaller, nothing prevents the mass as a whole from drawing
together and expelling the empty space. So the present conjecture is that
“to cohere” is an appropriate answer to “here somewhat more”—just as
appropriate, in its way, as “all full” is to “less.”
I return for a moment to the predicate “divisible.” We saw that “sim-
ilar” did not seem to be an adequate answer to taking a “division” as a
fracture, and that “similar” did seem to be adequate if the division is
78 CONTRARIES
Just a difference in mass between one place and another. I do not attempt
to resolve this question here, except to point out a consequence that
seems to follow on either interpretation. Either way, as mentioned in
chapter 2, “divisible” is the more extreme case of which “more” and
“less” are less extreme cases: if “divisible” just means that not all the
parts are the same in mass, then “more” and “less” detail, respectively,
the two possible ways in which the parts might not be the same; whereas,
if “divisible” means that some place has no mass, then that place is ab-
solutely smaller than the other places which are absolutely bigger than
it, so here too “divisible,” while being broader and more inclusive than
either “more” or “less” taken by itself, also represents the limiting case
for the application of these two subordinate relative terms. Why then
does Parmenides duplicate his argument? I leave this question unan-
swered for the moment, except to note that similar things happen in
lines 6-15, where coming-to-be later or earlier is considered after com-
ing-to-be out of what-is-not; and in lines 42—49, where being here bigger
and there smaller is taken up after consideration of the possibility that
what-is-not might interrupt what-is (which would make what-is less).
Before proceeding, I would like to address a possible objection to my
use of the terms “mass” and “place.” I have already proposed that the
language of lines 22-25 is possibly metaphorical. But Taran might object
that it is illegitimate to use “mass” and “place” as terms of analysis, since
Parmenides is clearly denying, not only an inequality or lack of cohe-
siveness in the body of what-is, but also the very applicability of the
notion of place—in particular, of the notion that there are many different
places in what-is. The logical simplicity of what-is asserted in these lines,
one might say, rules out even the bare and abstract sort of plurality
involved in the notion of many places.
This objection goes too far beyond the text. The text does not rule out
that there be many places; it rules out only that the places be different
from one another with respect to the amount of mass they contain. More-
over, even if we assume that Parmenides would not have wanted what-is
to be subject to the sorts of contrarieties and asymmetries involved in
the occupations of real places by real masses, still there is nothing to
suggest that he would have ruled out the abstract sort of plurality-in-
unity that is called to mind by terms like “cohesive” and “all full.” Or, as
I shall claim later, it is possible that an abstract plurality is called into
play only to remove the differences and contrarieties that would make
its members different from each other, so that—with contraries re-
moved—the members can again collapse into a unity.
I take it, then, that Parmenides is concerned in lines 22—25 to rule out
certain defective kinds of unification in what-is. In “nor is it divisible”
he rules out that some place might have a different amount of mass than
CONTRARIES 79
the others or have no mass; in “all of it is similar” he states that all the
places have equal amounts of mass. With “nor is it here somewhat more”
he denies that some place might have a greater amount of mass; with
“which might prevent it from cohering” he asserts that the existence of
more mass in a place would mean that what-is would fail to be cohesive.
Finally, with “nor somewhat less” he denies the alternative involving a
smaller amount of mass; with “all of it is full of what-is” he states that
every place has an amount of mass which is not less than the amount of
mass in any other place. Each denial is followed by its corresponding
contrapositive assertion.
The third problem of interpretation in lines 22-25 is posed by the
word ¢é (“here” or “this way”) in line 23. This problem is set forth by
Diels.** He said that a single té is somewhat incongruous in this context.
The problem is caused by the fact that té is not repeated in line 24, “nor
is it somewhat less,” after it appears in line 23, oude ti tér mallon, “nor is
it here somewhat more.” But in this context it might be thought natural
to expect a téi... téi, “here ... there,” construction such as the one that
Parmenides uses in line 48, té mallon téi d’hésson, “here more and there
less.” Or, in line 23, the first té could have been dropped, giving the
sense “nor is it more ... nor is it less.”
What motivates the feeling that there is an incongruity here is the fact
that, if something is more somewhere, it must be less somewhere else, as
Parmenides himself seems to realize in line 48. Why not indicate the
second point with ¢é as well as the first? Or, if one is not going to indicate
the second, why bother to indicate the first? It is, | think, worth trying
to explain the lines without Stein’s emendation of pé for téi, “nor is it in
some way more.” The feeling recently has been that this is not so much
the anomaly that it was for Diels*> as a context in which we are to under-
stand what Owen calls an “implicit answering ¢é”*° in line 23.
In fact it is not the case that a single t@, meaning “here” or “there,”
needs an answering #é in Parmenides. The argument that there has to
be an implicit answer comes from the contraries but not from the té&
itself. In Bl, line 4, t@22 means “there”—on the route—in both of its oc-
currences. The second occurrence echoes the first, and since té2 can mean
“that way,” the two occurrences denote the same place (the road), or
path, or direction, echoing rather than contrasting with each other.
Line 20 of fragment 1 is formulaic, but the té: adds dramatic effect—
“right through those doors there!” and clearly has a component of spatial
location in its meaning. “There (té) the bright flame of Fire” (B8.56) is
in contrast to “but off by itself is the other, dark Night” (B8.58—59), and
the contrast, whether or not it has specifically spatial purpose, helps to
locate the two contrary forms as apart from each other in whatever sense;
the mortals attempt to make a daring and dramatic distinction which, as
80 CONTRARIES
Mourelatos has suggested, is soon undercut.*” Té in Parmenides, though

it lends itself to being used as a vehicle for the expression of contrasts,
does not require an answering ¢é in and of Jtself. I shall suggest shortly
that the contrast in 22—25 is not between one actual té2 and another
understood ¢é, but between the two contraries, which are (perhaps suc-
cessively) imagined to occupy some single point. All that is required by
the present reading is that ¢é in Parmenides denote a single point (or
road, or respect). It is worth examining the Homeric and other evidence
on this point.
Though, as mentioned above, a single ¢é2 without an answering adverb
is unusual,** there are places in Homer where #é is used to single out a
point which is distinctive or superlative, a point whose location can be
inferred only from the context. In Iliad X1:519-20, Nestor and Ma-
chaon’s horses “gladly hurried on to the hollow ships, for there (té) was
where they liked to be.” And in Odyssey V:441—43, “when he had swum
to the mouth of the flowing river, there (té) he found a place which
seemed to be the likeliest spot, clear of rocks, where there was good
cover from the wind.” In Odyssey XII:61—66, té is used to refer to the
path other than that of Scylla and Charybdis. “The blessed gods call
these “The Wandering Rocks.’ No winged thing can pass through that
way (té), not even the shy doves which carry ambrosia to father Zeus,
without the smooth rock’s snatching one away... . No human ship has
ever gotten through that way (¢é) either.”
Now it might be said that the té: in Parmenides B8.23 does not have
a clearly specified antecedent; but it is clear that the context is what-is.
It is not such as to be more in some one place. There are some interesting
examples from the Iliad where, almost always with a preceding adverb,
té refers to a focal point, a node, or a nexus, where two things join but
can be separated or forced apart in order to effect a passage, or to a
place of conflict and resistance between two opposing forces, or to a place
of vulnerability, a weak point which can be breached or driven through,
or to a path through such a weak point or place of conflict—in short, té&
refers to a s¢ngle point which is in contrast to many. What is pierced or
gone through is something which is being defended or protected, or
which is vulnerable, a place where conflict occurs. An arrow’s going
through a body (//.XXIII.874—76), a chariot’s course toward an open
gate (IX.124) defended by the enemy, a place in the array of battle where
the most conflict occurs (XI.149) or where one man charges and the
enemy gives way (XII.47—48), a spear’s piercing through a point where
sinews join (Chapman: “where the nerves about the elbow knit”)
(XX.478—80), a path across a trench whose banks have been breached
(XV.360), a weak point in a wall’s defense. These are images which have
these forms:
CONTRARIES 81
Fobod 4
The pictures lend themselves naturally to what seems to be imagined in
lines 22—24. A coherence, a joining, would be interrupted if what-is were
here somewhat more; the contraries “more” and “less” are trying to
breach the defenses in the ordered and coherent array of what-is and
are driven off. There is no distinguishable focal or nodal point, of stress
or of weakness, which is in danger of being penetrated or being made
into a highway for opposing forces. Being is secure.
Téi é téi, “here or there” (Parmenides B8.45), is not a Homeric expres-
sion; Hesiod uses téi kai téi, “to and fro,” with reference to the swimming
of dolphins, darting about this way and that, Aspis 210. Ta. . . té, téi men
... tei de (Empedocles B61.3—4), “here ... there,” and ¢té haz téi, “here
and there,” are familiarly used, in later philosophical contexts, either in
opposition to pantéi, “everywhere” (as in Parmenides B8.45), or in con-
texts where the local variability characteristic of the sense-world is being
stressed as against the changelessness and lack of variability of eternal
things, for example, absolute Beauty, which is not beautiful in one way
(téi men) and ugly in another (¢é d’) (Plato, Symposium 210E6—211A2), or
Parmenides B8.49, té mallon té d’hésson, “here more and there less.”
Thus, first, it is reasonable to take the single ¢é in lines 22-25 as
referring to a single point among many at which a coherence is inter-
rupted, and there is no need for an explicit antecedent or subsequent
specifying word in order for the té to have this meaning. Second, in
general, a single #é stands for a single point or way, so two occurrences
of té stand for two different points or ways.*?
But let us suppose for a moment that the case is not decided by the
considerations that have just been introduced, and examine interpreta-
tions in the abstract for a moment. Parmenides says “nor is it here some-
what more ... nor somewhat less.” The following interpretations are
possible: Parmenides means us to understand a second (é in line 23; the
lines bear the sense “nor is it here somewhat more ... nor is it there
somewhat less” (and so on for every pair of places); or Parmenides means
us to understand that a single ¢é suffices for both line 23 and line 24;
the lines bear the sense “nor is it more at some place. . . nor is it less at
82 CONTRARIES
that place” (and so on for every single place). I say “and so on,” and this
is clearly what is meant. He writes “nor is it here somewhat more,” and
one asks, “where?” Clearly the answer is “anywhere.” The first possibility
says that it is not the case that some place is more than some other place
which is less; the second says that it is not the case-that some place is
more or less. The choice between these two possibilities is a choice be-
tween two methods of treatment of contraries. The first takes all the
places two by two and denies that any pairs of places, one of which is
more than the other which is less, can exist within what-is; the second
takes each place, one by one, and asks of it, first whether it is more, and
then whether it is less. In the first, the contrast is between one place and
one other place, with the first place more than the other which is less
(and, by extension, to a similar situation in the case of any pair of places);
in the second, the contrast is between more and less, as first one, and
then the other, predicate applies to some single place (and, by extension,
to each place within the compass of what-is). I suggest a decision between
these two possibilities in a moment.
First, however, a further question arises: more or less than what? Here
again there are two possible answers, given that, in line 48, Parmenides
wrote “here more and there less” with the implication clearly that there
are two points within what-is, one of which is greater than the other which
is less. First, lines 22—25 could deal with exactly the same situation as
that dealt with in line 48: some one point is more, and some other point
is less. This would be required on the interpretation that there is an
implicit answering ¢é in line 23, for then 22—23 say, implicitly, “here more
and there less.” But this interpretation is also possible, though much less
probable, if a single téi is held to suffice for both 22 and 23; in that case
“here somewhat more ... or somewhat less” would mean, implicitly,
“here somewhat more or somewhat less than somewhere else.”
As was stated above, it is obvious that nothing can be more without
being more than something else, but a second possible reading would
interpret the situation involving a single téi as saying “here somewhat
more or somewhat less than everywhere else.” That is, the single téi would
here be read—as in the Homeric examples—as singling out one distinc-
tive place among many, a place at which a coherence is interruptible. I
read the lines this way because, on this reading, lines 22—25 have some-
thing different to say than lines 42-49. This gives the single té the special
function that it seems to call for in the text. On this reading, the single
té in 23 does just what each of the two occurrences of téi does in 45 and
in 48: a single ¢é picks out a single point. But ¢é by itself does a different
job than that done by both occurrences of té together; it picks out a
single point which is different from every other, while they together pick
out two points which are different from each other. This gives the single
‘
CONTRARIES 83
tei something to do, and makes the point of lines 22—25 different from
that of lines 42—49, not only in subject matter, but also in logic. All of
these considerations seem to me to make it plausible that the single té
in 23 is to be read in this manner. Moreover, even if there had been an
explicit answering /é in the next line, it would not have to be read as
“more here and less there.” It could, because the contraries are separated
into two different lines, be read as “more somewhere (with respect to
everywhere else) or less somewhere (with respect to everywhere else)”;
it would be left open whether the two somewheres were the same or
different, so long as the referent of each ¢é was a single point. The two
contraries, considered separately in lines 99-95, are considered together
in lines 42—49.
The suggestion is, then, that Parmenides writes out only one ¢é be-
cause he wishes us to understand that only one place is being examined,
first with regard to its being more and second with regard to its being
less. There is no need for an emendation. More or less than what? More
or less, I suggest, than every other place within the compass of what-is.
Only one place? Not exactly; the point is surely that the #é is general,
that it stands for any single place, taken in its relations (of equality or
inequality with respect to mass) with every place other than it. That is,
in lines 23 and 24, Parmenides is considering the possibility that some
one place might not be the same (with respect to mass or qualitative
intensity) as any other place.
I suggest, then, the adoption of the following points of interpretation
in lines 22—25: (a) each item in the “nor ... nor ... nor” construction
receives an appropriate answer in the second half of its line; (b) whatever
“divisible” means in line 22, it is not unconnected with the issues raised
by “more” and “less”; (c) the use of the single ¢é in line 23, without an
explicit echo in line 24, is intended to signify that only one (unspecified)
place in what-is is being analyzed with respect to its occupation, first by
one contrary, and then by the other; (d) this place is being compared,
not only with one other place, but with all the places which are other
than it; (e) the place in question is perfectly general, that is, it stands for
any place in what-is (or, if you like, each place in what-is is being ex-
amined singly); (f) there may therefore be crucial differences between
the treatment of contraries in 22-25 and their treatment in the sphere-
section, lines 42—49. ;
Lines 22-25 systematically exhaust the possibility that contrary relative
terms might apply within what-is at some single point in relation to every
other point. This may be why the language of place and mass can be
taken metaphorically, referring to the intensity of the quality “being,”
without making too much of a difference in the sense. If the purpose is
to compare the members of an (essentially abstract) plurality with one
84 CONTRARIES
another, and if in order to be compared they must be compared in some

respect, then place suggests itself as the vehicle of the pluralization in
question, and mass suggests itself as the vehicle of comparison. The most
important feature of the vehicles is that a difference in place does not
necessarily carry with it a difference in mass; this is what allows Par-
menides to conclude that the whole (consisting of all the masses-in-places)
is homogeneous. This is what made the triads in this section different
from the triads of the time-section in my interpretation of the poem’s
terms in chapter 2. I mention this because in the next passages I discuss
the vehicles for the logical point are different than in lines 22—25.
The first such passage is in lines 42—49 of fragment 8. The “Truth”
portion of the poem ends shortly after these eight lines, which compare
what-is with the expanse of a well-rounded ball, and will here be called
the sphere-section, as above.
autar epei peiras pumaton, tetelesmenon esti,
pantothen eukuklou sphairés enalinkion onkdi,
messothen isopales pantéi. to gar oute ti meizon
oute ti baioteron pelenai chreon esti téi é téi.
oute gar ouk eon esti, to ken pauoi min hikneisthai
eis homon, out’ eon estin hopds eié ken eontos
téi mallon téi d’ hésson, epei pan estin asulon.
hoi gar pantothen ison, homés en peirasi kurei.
[But since there is an outermost bound, it is perfect, from every side like
the mass of a well-rounded sphere, pushing out equally from the middle
everywhere. For it is not right for it to be any bigger or any smaller, here
or there. For neither is there what-is-not, which might prevent it from at-
taining sameness, nor is it in any way possible for what-is to be here more
and there less than what-is, since all of it is inviolable. For, equal from every
side, it lies evenly within bounds.]
This passage exhibits a nice symmetry, very appropriate to what it is
describing. It begins and ends by describing what-is and its bounds; at
the beginning, the bound appears as outside of what-is, while at the end
what-is appears as inside the bound. The ball is well-rounded as one
holds it from outside, at every angle, and also as it pushes out from
inside, from the center in every direction. What-is-not cannot stop what-
is from attaining sameness; nor can what-is itself fail to be inviolate. It
is neither more nor less. And so on. A ball presents the same silhouette
no matter what direction it is viewed from. The characterization makes
the point that what-is, like a ball, is what it is in spite of, in defiance of,
the particular perspective that one takes on it; the point is underlined
by being violated only rhetorically.
The next phrase (“for it is not right for it to be any bigger or any
smaller, either here or there”) offers a reason for what has been said.
CONTRARIES 85
This phrase must be taken as commenting on “pushing out equally from

the middle everywhere” because “here or there” is such a clear answer
to “everywhere.” What-is would not have equal push—it would not be
isopales—if some radius or other were any bigger or smaller, or if the
push were any more or any less anywhere. But, says Parmenides, no one
is so; it would be wrong for what-is to be somewhat bigger or somewhat
smaller, either here or there. The ¢é é téi, “here or there,” serves a double
purpose here: first, it looks back to the earlier pantéi, “everywhere,” and
makes it clear that there are absolutely no objections to pantéi, not only
here but also anywhere else. Second, the té @ té is woven into the logic
of the contrary terms “bigger” and “smaller.” I suggested above that, in
22-25, the occurrence of a single, “hanging” té pointed the way to an
understanding of the lines as being concerned with the application of
first one and then the other of a pair of contraries at some single point
which was perfectly general. Here, in the sphere-section, however, I sug-
gest that the rhetoric invites us to consider the application of either
member of a pair of contraries at either member of a pair of perfectly
general points. This disjunctive formulation in 44—45 is then made con-
junctively in 47—48: “here more and there less” is another way of putting
the situation involved in “bigger or smaller, here or there.” To deny the
former is also to deny the latter. Of course, to make these denials is also
to rule out the situation ruled out in 22-25, in which one place is dif-
ferent from all the rest. But the fact that two occurrences of té are used
in the sphere-section, while only one is used in 22-25, serves to differ-
entiate the two passages. The incomplete relative terms are not pinned
down until 47-48.
Thus I suggest the adoption of the following points of interpretation
about the sphere-section, lines 42—49: (a) Like lines 22—25, which were
concerned with the signposts “whole and of a single kind,” the sphere-
section, which is concerned with “complete,” carries out its proof by
juxtaposing propositions with their contradictories; the pattern is com-
plicated somewhat by the existence of two directions within such a solid
(radially outwards and inwards) but is basically the same here as earlier.
(b) The fact that té occurs twice in line 48 as well as in line 45 is intended
to signify that some two (unspecified) radii or pushes are being com-
pared, in order to see whether the contraries apply. (c) The sphere-sec-
tion, which compares one radius or push with some other, is therefore
different from lines 22—25, which compare one place with all the other
places. This interpretation can explain the similarities between the rhet-
oric of the rejections of contraries in the two passages without having to
say that one repeats the other. There is therefore no need to seek dif-
ferences in subject matter between the two passages, as Owen does when
he claims that the former is about time and the latter about space, in
86 CONTRARIES
order to avoid the charge of repetition. There is a logical difference

between the two passages.
The picture of contrariety in fragment 8 will not be complete until the
remaining occurrences of contrary relational predicates in the poem’s
proofs (lines 6—11) have been treated. It is clear that these lines are part
of the proof of the signpost-group consisting in “ungenerable” and “un-
perishing,” and that their focus is on the inadmissibility of the notion
that what-is might have a beginning or an end in time. The contraries
are husteron and prosthen, “later” and “earlier.” My readings of some dif-
ficulties posed by these lines are presented in the next chapter. The lines
read:
... tina gar gennan dizéseai autou?
péi pothen auxéthen? out’ ek mé eontos eass6
phasthai s’ oude noein. ou gar phaton oude noéton
estin hopos ouk esti. ti d’ an min kai chreos 6rsen
husteron € prosthen, tou médenos arxamenon, phun?
hout6s € pampan pelenai chre6n estin € ouchi.
[For what birth would you seek for it? Which way, from what did it grow?
Nor will I allow you to say or think: out of what-is-not. For it cannot be said
or thought that it is not. And what need urged it on to grow later or earlier,
starting from nothing? So it must either be completely or not at all.]
The fact that Parmenides seems to have in mind, when he rejects the
notion that what-is might come into being at some particular time, is a
fact about time itself. It is a fact that, for any point in time, there is some
other point in time which is later and a third which is earlier. And, given
two distinct points, one is always later and the other is always earlier.
This is, I suggest, why Parmenides writes husteron é prosthen (“later or
earlier”) instead of tote men ... tote de (“then ... then again”); I submit
that he could have written the latter, just as he later writes ta é te, “here
or there,” if he were not interested in underlining this elementary fact
about the time-series, that to be other in time is already to be either
earlier or later, that temporal difference is necessarily either temporal
priority or temporal subsequence. This is a fact about time (and about
other asymmetrically ordered series, like the sequence of integers,
whether or not the series is continuous, as is time, or discrete, as are the
integers), but it is not a fact about places and masses; for two places to
be different, it is not necessary that their masses be qualified by one or
the other of a pair of contraries. But two points in time can only differ
if each one is already qualified either by the one contrary or by the other.
Moreover, if we consider not just two points in time but the entire tem-
poral series, we see that each different time is in fact already qualified
by both contraries, though in different respects. The comprehensiveness
\
CONTRARIES 87
of the argument here is also underlined in the logic and rhetoric with
which it is expressed: husteron é prosthen, “later or earlier,’ with its dis-
junctive “or,” reminds us that it is a matter of indifference which point
we pick, since all are both earlier and later. The “nor here somewhat
more ... nor somewhat less” of 23 and 24 consider their contraries
separately, as if one could be considered apart from the other, and it is
not until 42—49 that the contraries are again considered together, first
disjunctively and then conjunctively, in their interrelationship. The
method is one of variations in expression which get across an underlying
logical or dialectical point: first the disjunction of two contraries which
are in fact always conjoined, then a mixed conjunctive and disjunctive
“neither-nor” formulation, then the disjunctive and conjunctive separate
formulations of the freedom of what-is from contrariety.
Thus the application of contraries in a temporal situation, lines 9-11,
is different from the applications of contraries in a mass-place situation
and in the sphere-section. In a temporal situation, every plurality is rid-
dled with contraries; there is no escape, no average density, no homo-
geneous whole, no group of equal radii; instead, every group of time-
points is such that no point is the same as any other; in order for what-
is to be freed from temporal contrarieties, it must be freed from time
itself, or at least from temporally conditioned variations. This, I submit,
is why Parmenides goes on to say that what-is ought either to be alto-
gether or not at all (line 11); the choice has to be very radical. The
prohibition on time, then, must be taken literally, regardless of whether
or not the space-sections are taken metaphorically.
Let me now make a brief remark on the three passages before sum-
marizing my interpretation of them. If Parmenides simply wanted to
reject contraries in time, space, and the ball, he need not have combined
them with ¢é, which represents the contraries as applying to what-is in
some particular way. Lines 6-11 felicitously exploit the fact that “later”
and “earlier” apply at every point in time. And the single ¢é in 23, which
has seemed incongruous to several people, is read naturally as denoting
a single point in its relation to all other points, and, if so read, completes
the picture in the manner explained below. The point made in chapter 1
against a world of monads—that such a world must involve the mutual
nonidentities of individuals—can, however, be extracted from 6—11 and
42-49 without 22-25, for the first does rule out a situation in which no
point is the same as any other, while the second rules out a situation in
which some one is not the same as some other, though the case for
reading them that way is strengthened by 22-25: to reject both of these
is to reject “not any other than this” along with “not that other than this”
and so, even if one does not go so far as to claim (which one can if one
includes 22—25) that Parmenides made the connection between “not any”
88 CONTRARIES
and “not this,” it is still the case that “not any” is rejected in 6-11, and
that “not any” includes “not this, or that, or that...”
The present interpretation of the passages involving contrariety may,
then, be summarized as follows: Parmenides is interested in rejecting all
forms of contrariety as they might apply to what-is; the rejection of
contrariety is as important a part of his task as are the proofs of most
of the signposts; in fact, it is the same task, since the contraries are set
up in such a way that to reject each pair is to affirm one signpost-group.
The forms of contrariety that are rejected are the following:
A. lines 9-11 No point is the same as any other. (Each point is
either earlier or later than every other.)
B. lines 22—25 Some place is not the same as (i.e., has more or less
mass than) any (every) other place.
C. lines 42-49 Some radius is not the same as (i.e., is bigger or
smaller than) some other radius. Or: Some two radii
are different.
The “is the same” and “is not the same” in these formulations are
expressions of numerical nonidentity, but, more importantly, they are
expressions of qualitative difference: “X is not the same as Y” means
“with respect to the characteristic being measured (temporal position,
amount of mass, and length of radius or push), X differs contrariwise
from Y.” Now, of course, such a qualitative difference would carry nu-
merical nonidentity with it; but by “not the same” here, I mean some-
thing like “having its numerical nonidentity secured by means of
qualitative difference.”
Another way of expressing these differences is to say that, in A and C,
both contraries are thought of as applying at the same time, except that
A makes them true of the same point in time while C makes them true
of two different points in space. And, in B, one contrary is taken at a
time, applying to one point, and is then connected disjunctively with the
other contrary, which is also seen as applying at one point. These are
real differences in treatment.
Now these are in fact complete catalogues of the ways in which con-
trarieties might apply as within a plurality, though the principle of in-
ventory isa little unusual—to start with, logic tells us that two contraries
cannot apply at the same point in the same respect (in ruling this out,
Parmenides is one with modern logic). But a single point can be bigger
and smaller at the same time if it is bigger in one respect and smaller in
another. Let P and Q stand for the contraries. Our three situations are
these: (1) each point is both P and Q (time); (2) one point is P and all
the others are Q (mass-place); (3) one point is P and one other is Q
(sphere). Now situation 3, as has been observed, includes both 1 and 2.
\
CONTRARIES 89
Parmenides puts 3 last because he wants to show that | and 2 boil down
to 3—and 3 is similar enough to the introductory statement of the world-
views of mortals commented on in chapter 1 to have been thought a
rudimentary error by Parmenides. The principle of inventory in virtue
of which this is a complete catalogue is the principle of “collation,” dis-
cussed below.
The sequence of denials in this passage is interesting, because the items
have internal connections with one another. In particular, the successive
items are nested, in the following sense. Imagine A, B, and C as utterly
abstract assertions, apart from the contexts in which they occur; that is,
read A as “no one is the same as any other,” B as “some one is not the
same as any other,” and C as “some one is not the same as some other.”
Now: to reject A is not necessarily to reject B, since A can be denied via
the assertion that some point is the same as some other point (even
though Parmenides, on the present interpretation, is making the far
stronger assertion that no point is earlier or later than any other point);
but the former assertion is not enough to rule out B. Similarly, to reject
B is not necessarily to reject C, since B can be rejected via the assertion
that no place is different from every other place (though in the text
Parmenides makes the far stronger assertion that all the places are the
same); but this does not rule out C. However, to deny C is to deny both
A and B, since the only denial available for C is that all the radii are the
same. Whatever the principle underlying it, this is an extremely inter-
esting formal progression. ;
Why does Parmenides end with “here more and there less,” which on
my reading denies “some one is not the same as some other,” when he
could have shortened his whole task by pointing out this alternative at
the very beginning?—-since to rule it out is also to rule out the others,
and since on my account the temporal, spatial, and metaphorical contexts
alone are not sufficient to explain why the contrarieties are rejected three
times. I suggested an answer above: Parmenides wanted to show that the
first two alternatives boil down to the last, which is itself both one of the
alternatives and the expression, in capsule form, of what is wrong with
all of them. What is wrong is that all the points, places, and/or radii
which one is endeavoring to distinguish are within what-is, and so, if
there were such a distinction, what-is would not be one. Parmenides could
have dealt with the last alternative first and shortened his argument
considerably; but then he would not have presented all the different ways
in which contrarieties might apply within a thing. He might also have
contented himself with saying that what-is is. That he says more may
mean that he was concerned with method, with the maximum possible
amplitude in the expression of a given point. The three rejections of
contraries do not have the function of an ordinary argument. If they
90 CONTRARIES
did, the last would have sufficed. Rather, the point must have been to
compare what-is with itself in all the ways in which this can be done. It
is as if he had said to his imaginary interlocutor: You can’t have con-
traries applying everywhere—that’s obviously wrong. Now you want to
try having one of the contraries at only one place, and the other contrary
everywhere else? That’s wrong, too. In fact, even if you try having the
one contrary applying at only one place ahd the other at only one place,
it won’t do. They’ve got to be expelled altogether. The net effect is rhe-
torically and elenctically powerful precisely because the last alternative
includes the other two. But he gives all three because he is interested
also in the ways in which a thing might be compared with itself.
In making these points I temporarily put aside considerations of the
contexts within which the assertions and denials occur. Let me now reex-
amine these contexts. As I read them, they are these:
Signpost-group Contrary Context Situation rejected
ungenerable, later-earlier time Both contraries are
imperishable true of every time.
whole and of — more-less density or Either contrary is
a single kind intensity true at some place.
complete, bigger-smaller radius or Either contrary true
perfect resistance to _—_at any place. (Or,
push both contraries true
at some pair of
places.)
Each of these contexts presupposes its predecessor, just as the abstract
formulations did. It is not worth worrying about the density or qualitative
intensity of what-is if it is continually, or even occasionally, coming into
or going out of existence; nor is it worth worrying about the symmetry,
or equal resistance to push, ofa ball if it is not already homogeneous, of
the same density.
Moreover, the contexts themselves have interesting relations of simi-
larity and difference with one another, relations that run in parallel with
the ways in which the contraries are varied. In lines 6—15, the context is
that of a time line; there is only one dimension of difference between
and among points; to be other is to be earlier or later. As we saw, this
necessitated the rejection of later and earlier together, since both were
true of every point in time. In 22-25, on the other hand, there are two
dimensions of difference. For this reason the contraries could be denied
without at the same time denying an implicit or explicit plurality of
places, since neither contrary had to be true of any place in order for
that place to be numerically different from some other place, though
‘
CONTRARIES 91
there was also good reason for thinking that a plurality of places itself
would have interfered with the unanimity of what-is. What, then, is ac-
tually being compared, if the contraries are envisaged as applying to
what-is? That is, what is the meaning of the contrary terms?
If no point in time is the same as any other, then each point is being
compared with every other point, all at once, and every point is different;
all the points are being compared with all the others at the same time,
and so there is a collation or comparison of many onto many. The case
in lines 22—25 is this. Suppose that one place has more mass than every
other place. Here one does not compare each point with every other
right away; instead, one compares one place with all the other places
with respect to the amount of mass that each contains, and then does
the same for every other place. This, then, is a one-many collation, re-
peated for each point. And, if we take all of what-is into consideration,
we see that there are in fact many of these one-many collations (since
the ¢é in 23 is perfectly general). Then, in the sphere-section, one point
is being compared with some other point; so the collation here is between
one and one, and there are many of these collations, since the two #é-
points are perfectly general.
So we have three passages containing contraries, which correspond to
three ways in which the members of a plurality might be collated with
each other. First, the members of a plurality might be collated with each
other one-on-one, in which case the plurality would be being counted up
in many one-on-one collations, in which each point was compared with
every other one at a time. If contraries were to saturate any one of these
collations, some one point would possess the one contrary, and some
other point would possess the other; this is what happens in the sphere-
section with “here more and there less.” The second kind of collation is
that in which the plurality is counted up in many one-on-many map-
pings; each point is taken singly in its relations to all the other points at
once. If contraries were to saturate any one of these collations, some one
point would possess the one contrary, and all the other points would
possess the other contrary. This is what happens in 22-25, with first
“bigger” and then “smaller” being imagined to apply at the same point.
(A one-many collation is also a many-one collation. I use “collation” here
in such a way that if A is collated with B, then B is collated with A. But
if, for example, one point is greater and the other is less in a one-one
collation, then two asymmetrical relations will apply as within a single
collation.) Third, a plurality could be counted up by making a single
many-on-many coliation in which all points were compared with all.
When contraries saturate this collation, however, both contraries apply
at every point; the result is like the situation in time.
The basic plan of the method I attribute to Parmenides is this: a man-
92 CONTRARIES
ifold, a plurality, is collated with itself in order to bring outits, unity, in

such a way that each member is compared with every other member,
both one-by-one and as a group. In the following diagram, if the man-
ifold consists of three points arranged in the shape of a triangle, then
the one-on-one collations are the following three: ;
x
There are also three one-on-many collations:
And, finally, there is a single many-on-many collation:
In the above diagram, “many” means “more than one,” so “two” counts
as “many.” But, if it is thought that Parmenides would have objected to
duality but not to plurality, a similar diagram can be made using four
points in the shape of a square. The straight lines in the above diagram
refer to single comparisons between points to see whether and how con-
traries apply. A collation in this sense can consist of several comparisons,
if it is a One-many or many-many collation. A collation in this sense is
like a state of affairs in which two or more elements stand in relationships
(of contrariety or the lack thereof) to each other or to one another.
In conclusion, one of the purposes of the proof-portion of fragment
8 is to show that what-is is ungenerable, imperishable, and so on. But
most of these “signposts” envisage different situations, involving the re-
jection of contraries. The situations are described and in each case some-
thing (namely, the contradictory of the signposts at issue which, if it
applied, would involve the application of contraries to what-is) is rejected.
In the process, the meaning and import of the bare “it is” of fragment 2
are amplified through metaphorical concrete embodiments (i.e., density,
the sphere; the rejection of time, however, seems literally meant). The
*
CONTRARIES 93
conclusion is that to say what-is is means also to say how what-is is not,
and this in turn means that one must not only affirm what what-is is but
also deny what what-is is not. The antagonist is within fragment 8. One
must, in the words of fragment 2, say not only how it is, but also how it
is not possible not to be. The denial takes place according to a sequence
dictated, on my interpretation, by a previously thought-out scheme in-
volving one-many counting or collation. The scheme details all of the
different ways it is necessary to reject disunity in order to assert unity.
Thus, the signposts can all have different proofs and still be expressions
of a single meaning—the unity of what-is, the entity they all signify. This
is part of the reason why apparently negative language is tolerated, and
why such language has more than merely heuristic significance. It does
not involve leaving the positive route, nor is it just a ladder to be thrown
away; it is, rather, a vehicle, not only permissible but also necessary, for
saying what what-is is. And, since the situations rejected are modes of
disunity, it would seem to follow that the most important of the assertions
in lines 5—6 of fragment 8 is the one that does not receive explicit further
mention of its own, namely, “one,” which includes ungenerability, un-
perishingness, wholeness, homogeneity, and perfection, or, in the words
of 5—6 themselves, what-is is “now altogether one, cohesive.” The ques-
tions asked earlier about the conjunctive and disjunctive formulations
and the use of ¢é find their answers in this picture. Thus there is no
underlying self-referentially inconsistent plurality of meanings or objec-
tive referents corresponding to the many signposts; they all have the
same object. As I claimed at the end of chapter 1, whatever the ultimate
dissolutions of language may be, this is not one of them, at least until
language itself disappears. And, as I also claimed earlier, time, qualitative
intensity across space, and a metaphorical sphere are appropriate expres-
sions of these various kinds of collation, though, of course, they are not
the only possible ones. Every point in time has both contraries, while
masses in place can differ in number without being contrary. The sphere-
section presupposes the equal density or homogeneity of the mass-place
passage, the equal occupation of what-is by itself, or relation of itself (as
“spatially” distributed plurality) to itself (as the quality “being”). It then
goes on to inquire whether what-is, as a homogeneous distribution
through space, is equal to itself in yet another way, not as a quality evenly
distributed, but as a mass with boundaries at distances from, a central
focus. The points on the surface of the sphere well-rounded from every
side are all at equal distances from this focus: what-is is again compared
with itself, this time not as mass onto place, but as one relation between
surface-point and center onto the relation between another surface-point
and the center. And all these relations of relations are equal, that is,
what-is is, in its expanse, in every relation of relations to the center, the
94 CONTRARIES
same. But then the mortals spoil everything by calling what-is “Fire” in
such a way as to introduce another with which it is not the same, and
the contrarieties creep back in the manner described in the next chapter.
What-is in “Truth” is thus folded onto itself like a paper carnation, the
same in all the relations and relations of relations in which a thoroughly
unified plurality might be collated with itself. There is no diazresis, “di-
vision,” only sunagégé, “leading together. And what-is appears here as
the name for a thing, “being,” as the quality (being) which is evenly
distributed throughout that thing which it is, and as the Truth, utterly
equal with itself from every one of these points of view. Whence, per-
haps, on a quite different level, the referential-existential (“what is there
to be spoken and thought about must exist,” as in Owen), veridical (“one
must say how things stand and how they do not”) and informational (one
must not give characterizations of a thing which do not touch it in ways
on which one can cognitively rely) aspects of the Parmenidean “is.”
Is being in time? No. Is it in space? Perhaps not, or perhaps equally
at every point in space, and perhaps thought of, like the ether of Mich-
elson and Morley, as a stuff rather than as the omnipresence of God. At
any rate being is not distributed unevenly through space or through
places.
Thus, with contraries as well as with the other terms, Parmenides uses
a method of exhausting possibilities. The goals are, of course, different,
for contraries themselves are rejected while negative language is, I be-
lieve, embraced. But the means are the same, and they involve covering
the ground as widely as possible in a way remarkable for the consistency
of its application and for the sophistication of its method. The stages of
the method of contraries are correlated with the ways in which different
kinds of terms (single, double and triple) apply at different points in the
poem, in the way explained in chapter 2; just as the spatial or temporal
situations vary the logic of contraries, so they vary the numbers of terms
in order to display the many different alternatives that are available from
a single logical or inferentially relevant rule of construction.
Now that a technique of varying and exhausting alternatives has (I
hope) been demonstrated and shown to be philosophically relevant in
two such different domains, a preliminary inference to the existence of
a general Parmenidean procedure seems warranted. In this procedure,
one demonstrates or illustrates something by displaying all the alterna-
tives that fall under it (if it is a law) or oppose it (if it is a proposition
like “Being is One”). The purpose of such a procedure will be to guar-
antee exhaustiveness and precision in the statement and proof of the law
or proposition. A consciously used method of this sort is appropriate in
a philosopher to whom is usually attributed the discovery of the canons
of reason. I explore this question further in chapter 5, along with the
CONTRARIES 95
question of possible connections between this method and that of Plato’s

Parmenides. My attribution of this method to Parmenides is intended not
to replace but to supplement other descriptions of his reasoning. (But
for the limits of syllogistic strictness in the case of one Parmenidean
argument, see chapter 4.) It is just that the text’s procedure seems best
describable as that of a calculus of variations, for the variations in kinds
and numbers of terms are not as such capturable in syllogisms, and the
variations in treatment of contraries embody a profound underlying phi-
losophy of space and time most economically expressed as a survey of
different contexts. In chapter 4 I show how the same method is at work
in Parmenides’ argument against the existence of an other besides what-
is, and in his modal discourse.
CHAPTER 4
Modals, .
the Other,
and Method .
In the preceding chapters, I have tried to see in Parmenides a method

of systematic variation which covers all the possibilities in whatever realm
he is exploring: for terms, it was affirmation and negation; for contraries,
the variations lay in the way contraries applied at particular points. A
similar method, or another piece of the same method, is used in his
discussion of the coming-to-be and movement out of what-is of an other
besides what-is, and in his treatment of personified female figures who
have a modal function.
I shall discuss his method of treating the other through the criticism
of a popular but unwarranted emendation. The emendation tow for mé
in fragment 8, line 12, proposed by Karsten,! has been adopted by
(among others) Reinhardt, Taran, Stokes, and Barnes.? And yet, while
there is no compelling reason to make the emendation, there are several
good reasons why one should not make it. I want to claim that the un-
emended poem already does what the emendation is supposed to allow
it to do. I would also like to venture some observations on Parmenidean
method and on his use of the key concepts of change and motion.
Lines 12—13 are part of Parmenides’ demonstration in 6—15 that being
does not come to be or perish. This passage is the earliest one from
Western philosophy to contain a sustained, demonstrative argument for
the existence of something real and unchangeable; I looked at some of
its claims in chapter 3. The lines read as follows with the unemended
line 12:
... tina gar gennan dizéseai autou?
péi pothen auxéthen? out’ ek mé eontos eass6
phasthai s’oude noein. ou gar phaton oude noéton
estin hopos ouk esti. ti d’ an min kai chreos 6rsen
husteron é€ prosthen, tou médenos arxamenon, phun?
houtds € pampan pelenai chre6n estin é ouchi.
96 ?
MODALS, THE OTHER, AND METHOD 97
oude pot’ ek mé eontos ephései pistios ischus

gignesthai ti par’ auto. tou heineken oute genesthai
out’ ollusthai anéke Diké chalasasa pedéisin,
all’ echei.
The lines might be rendered as follows:

[For what birth would you seek for it? Which way, from what did it grow?
Nor will I allow you to say or think: out of what-is-not. For it cannot be said
or thought that it is not. And what need urged it on to grow later or earlier,
starting from nothing? So it must either be completely or not at all. Nor
will the strength of Trust ever permit anything besides it to come to be out
of what-is-not. Because of this, neither to come to be nor to perish did
Justice allow, releasing her bonds: instead, she holds.]
Without the emendation, lines 12-13 read “Nor will the strength of
Trust ever permit anything besides it to come to be out of what-is-not.”
With the emendation, the lines end “. . . to come to be out of what-2s.”®
One important element of support for the emendation comes from the
feeling that, without it, Parmenides’ argument is not complete; let me
turn, then, to the immediately preceding lines, in order to examine
whether this is so.
In lines 7—9, it is clear that Parmenides’ argument is directed against
a coming-to-be of what-is from what-is-not. Lines 9-11 are ambiguous,
and, I submit, deliberately so. One might paraphrase: what Need urged
it (i.e., what-is) on to come to be later or earlier, starting (as it would in
this case) from nothing? And line 11 says something to the effect that
one has to choose between being altogether or not at all. Now there are
at least three components of meaning in 9-10. As distinguished by
Stokes,‘ they are the following. Husteron é prosthen might mean (1) “later
rather than sooner” (following Burnet), or (2) “at one particular moment,
either later or sooner” (following Diels and Kranz), or (3) “What necessity
might ever have caused it to grow, starting from nothing?” (following
Stokes). What-is cannot need to come to be at some particular time,
because, given the nature of the time-series, there are always many other
particular times. Now interpretation 2, if I read it right, presupposes 1,
and 3 presupposes 2. The first asks why it should come to be at this time
rather than at that time, later rather than sooner, or, for that matter,
sooner rather than later. The second asks why it should come to be at
some particular moment, either later or sooner. (The question “later or
sooner than what?” arises in this context, but the fact that it has no
particular answer is part of the reason why there is need for what-is to
come to be at all.) If reading 2 does not mean the same thing as 1, then
it says, “Given that there is no principle of choice between moments, as
is shown by 1, why should some particular moment be chosen? And,
98 MODALS, THE OTHER, AND METHOD
given the situation in 2, reading 3 asks why what-is should come to be at

any time, either later or sooner; since no particular moment can be sin-
gled out, why should any moment be singled out? (Notice the play here
between negation applied to each of many particulars and negation ap-
plied to all of them indiscriminately.) It is not necessary to suppress
interpretations 1 and 2, as Stokes would have us do, in order to allow
lines 9-10 also to have meaning 3; the meanings are related, and there
is a natural progression from 1 to 3; all are, I think, present. The point
of the passage is that they are all present.
Lines 9-11, then, involve the rejection of a coming-to-be of what-is
from nothing at some particular time. This is the context in which lines
12-13, the lines in which the emendation is proposed, occur. Taran ob-
jects to the unemended text:
Parmenides, having already said in lines 7-8 that Being cannot come from
non-Being and in lines 8-11 having proved why it cannot, would not in
line 12 say “nor can it come from non-Being.” It will not do to argue that
what Parmenides says in lines 12—13 is different from what he says in lines
7-11, namely that lines 7-11 say that being cannot come from non-Being,
whereas lines 12-13 mean that the force of conviction will not permit “any-
thing” to come from non-Being. [This “anything” is the ti of the Parmeni-
dean text.] For what to Parmenides could “anything” be? Not non-Being,
for he has already asserted that non-Being is ow phaton oude noéton [not
available for discourse or for thought]; not Being, for he has already proved
that this cannot come from non-Being; and not some tertium quid, for he
has already proved to his own satisfaction that there can be no tertium quid
(é pampan pelenai chreon estin é ouchi). .. . Furthermore the object of inquiry
here is, as has been announced in lines 6-7, the possibility of an origin for
Being, not for anything else.®
But if pampan pelenai chreon estin é ouchi does not rule out a tertium quid—
something existing but not identical with what-is—then this reason for
the emendation does not hold. For then there will still be room in lines
12-13 for the discussion of the coming-to-be ofa tertium quid out of what-
is-not, and such a coming-to-be is discussed in the unemended text. What
do the words of line 11 mean, and what do they rule out? The line
contains the word houtos, “thus,” and so might (as Mourelatos has noted®)
comment globally on the facts about what-is, that is, not only on the
immediately preceding lines 9-10, but also on the denial of a coming-
to-be of what-is from what-is-not in lines 7~9. So one cannot assume that
the line functions only in the temporal context of the surrounding ar-
gument; line 11 might also be saying that what-is must be fully or com-
pletely to begin with, if it exists at all (i.e., spatially as well as temporally)
and so cannot come to be (i.e., temporally).”
Note, however, that the line is embedded in a temporal context, and
\
MODALS,
Ree eee eee ee AND
THE OTHER, eeeMETHOD 99
so—though it might be an ontological principle which would apply also

to what is (metaphorically) spatial—it is not easy to say (as Mourelatos
does) that it is what is picked up by epei, “since,” in “since it is all similar”
(line 22).
The line clearly asserts that there is no allowed middle ground between
complete being on the part of what-is and no being at all. The line thus
addresses the context of the immediately preceding lines 9 and 10. What-
is cannot come to be at some particular (later or earlier) time in such a
way as to fail to be pampan, to be sempiternally, eternally, or atemporally,
whichever you prefer.
We can tell this by examining the possible ways of fitting the line
together. Ouchi, hanging at the end of the sentence, seems to compel us
into a syntactical “everything or nothing” situation. But we can still try
to see at what point in the first part of the line a word-negation might
fall.? Is the opposition between pampan and ou pampan? No, because ou
pampan would be the same as husteron é prosthen and because Parmenides
is making the point that the husteron-prosthen situation corresponds to
neither half of the “all or nothing” disjunction. Is the opposition between
pelenai and mé pelenai? Or is it between chreon and ou chreon? These come
to the same thing, since chredn esti mé pelenai is the same as ou chreon esta
pelenaa.
The line, then, says: either what-is must be completely or what-is must
not be at all. But it is very important to realize that what-is is the subject
of the line. Chreos in line 9, which is a line about what-is, is picked up by
chréon in line 11, and there is nothing in the context to suggest that
anything other than what-is is being discussed or contemplated until
line 13.
But this, pace Taran, is in no sense the ruling out of a tertiwm quid
between being and nonbeing—something that would exist without being
identical with the what-is—it is the ruling out of a tertium quid (namely,
coming-to-be at some particular time) between not being at all and being
apart from time in whichever of the three senses one prefers. Conse-
quently the possibility that something besides what-is might come to be
out of what-is-not has not been ruled out by this point in the argument
(certainly not by 6-9, which, as Taran says, discuss a coming-to-be of
what-is, not of something besides it), and so there is, perhaps, need to
discuss the possibility, if only in order to reject it. Why not in lines 12—
13? .
The strangeness noticed by ‘Taran of having auto, “it,” in 13 refer, not
to a closely preceding mé eontos (“out of what-is-not”) in line 12, but to
an understood to con, “what-is,”!° does not by itself justify an emendation,
since it is possible to make sense out of the passage as it stands.
The strongest argument raised in favor of the emendation is that,
unless it is made, Parmenides will have failed to discuss an important

possibility, without which his denial of coming-to-be would not be com-
plete: namely, the coming-to-be of something besides what-is out of what-
is. There is also another reason why it might be thought desirable to
discuss this possibility before line 13: lines 6-13 do not discuss a possible
destruction of what-is, even though imperishability is asserted in the
signpost list (andlethron, line 4) and announced, as if it had been proved
by then, in line 14. Stokes thinks that a tacit refutation of destruction
would be contained in the denial that something besides what-is would
come to be out of what-is; “destruction” on his reasoning “must indeed
be the turning of what-is into something besides Being,” that is, into
what-is-not.!? Barnes has a similar view.!2 And it would be nice to find
some refutation of destruction before 14.
So let me now discuss these two elements of support for the emen-
dation. They go in different directions. First, it is claimed that the emen-
dation allows Parmenides to deny the coming-to-be from being of
something existing besides being (Taran); second, it is claimed that the
emendation allows Parmenides to deny that being could turn into what-
is-not and be destroyed (Stokes, Barnes).
I claim that the possibility of a coming-to-be from what-is of something
besides what-is, is discussed later in the poem, in 36—38, under the rubric
of kinésis, “motion,” rather than that of genesis, “coming-to-be.” The line
is usually translated this way,'* and yet the consequences for B8.12—13
have not, so far as I know, been noticed. This is the possibility that Taran
finds in the emended line 12. I claim also that only by retaining the
manuscript reading ek mé eontos, “out of what-is-not” can we find Par-
menides rejecting all of the a priori reasonable possibilities for coming-
to-be. Taran thinks this can be done only by making the emendation.
Lines 36-38 read as follows in one of Simplicius’s versions (Phys.
86.31—87.1), with Preller’s addition of (é) after gar:
... ouden gar (€) estin é estai

allo parex tou eontos, epei to ge Moir’ epedésen
oulon akinéton t’emenai .. .
Another version (Simp. Phys. 146.9-11) has oud’ei chronos before estin é
estai, a text objected to since Diels on the grounds that the phrase in-
volving chronos, as Taran says, “does not make sense in the context.”!4 As
far as I am concerned, the reading quoted above is acceptable for the
whole of 36, and might be rendered “For there neither is nor ever will
be any other besides what-is, since it was this which Doom bound to be
whole and immovable.” On either reading, the point of lines 36-38 is
that there will never be any other besides what-is on account of what-is’s
MODALS, THE OTHER
OTHER, , AND METHOD
AND METH OD COT
MODA LS, THE
wholeness and immovability. This sense is clear in both versions. More-

over, this sense is what the lines need to have, since, in order to support
what immediately precedes them in lines 33-35, they need only to rule
out the possibility that there is or might be a subject of discourse other
than being.'® The present proposal, then, takes account only of the fol-
lowing facts about lines 36-38 which, it seems to me, are independent
of the question how the text of 36 originally sounded: (1) the lines say
that no other besides what-is could ever arise out of what-is; (2) the lines
say that this is true because Doom made what-is whole and immovable.
This is a somewhat peculiar statement for Parmenides to be making
here. First, it is hard to see why being’s wholeness and immovability
should guarantee its solitariness; surely there could be many whole and
immovable solids. Second, it is hard to see why, at this late point in the
poem, he is still discussing a possible future being (and consequently,
one must suppose, a possible future coming-to-be) on the part of some-
thing other than being. One would have thought that the proof against
coming-to-be was completed by the end of line 21; indeed, the emen-
dation is proposed in order to allow us to find a complete such proof
before that line. So why would Parmenides dredge up the question again
in 36-38?
In 36—38, the reason why there neither is nor ever will be any other
besides what-is, is declared to be that Doom constrained what-is to be
whole and immovable. Why are “whole and immovable” supposed to
support the claim that no other exists now or will exist later? “Whole”
by itself might be supposed not to support “no other exists now or ever,”
since, one might say, what-is could perhaps be a whole even if there were
another whole, and the other could also be a whole. Even if what-is could
not be a whole if there were two separate existing things (that is, if “what-
is” meant, in part, “whatever is”), this would leave “immovable” without
an independent contribution to make, since “whole” alone would then be
ruling out the existence of another. What, then, if anything, does “im-
movable” add to the meaning of the claim being made here? “Immova-
ble” has no independent contribution to make unless motion could
include the egress of something from something, like the splitting of an
amoeba, as well as egress in the sense of change of place, of something's
moving out of its own place. That is, the addition of “immovable” here,
if it means anything, tells us that this something other than what-is, if
there were to be such a thing later on, is being imagined to come to be
out of what-is, as the language (parex tou eontos) suggests. If the other
were being imagined to come out of what-is-not, then there would be no
point in saying that what-is is “immovable.” Now the “will be” (present
in both readings) informs us that Parmenides is considering the possi-
bility that such an other might be in the future but not in the present.
But then it would have had to come to be, presumably either from what-
is or from what-is-not. F
Can “immovable” have this meaning at this point in the poem? The
earlier “immovable” in 26 looks back to the signpost “unmoving” of 4
and could refer either to qualitative change, or to change of place, or to
both in line 26. That it means at least change of place is guaranteed by
“to change place” in 40—41.!° That “immovable” rules out change of
place in 26 is also shown by “the same and remaining in the same place,
it stays by itself” in 29. Here I agree with Stokes that, in this line, “The
themes [of qualitative and locomotive change] are inextricably mixed.”!’
But I do not see why Stokes says that “immovable” in 37 would be ruling
out primarily qualitative change,'* especially in view of the remark just
quoted. He argues that a qualitative “immovable” in 37 is required if the
term is there to exclude “the future existence of anything other than
Being.” I don’t understand why what both Stokes and I find in these
lines—the coming-to-be of a new entity, a new logical subject—is_pri-
marily a qualitative change; nor do I understand why “immovable” would
have to be qualitative here in order to rule out such a coming-to-be, nor
how it could be qualitative here but locomotive in 26, especially since (as
I try to show below) the terms tend to widen in meaning, not narrow, as
the poem goes along. Line 29, which immediately precedes a description
of what-is as “bonded” in line 30, is, on Stokes’s own reading, a combi-
nation of spatial and qualitative language.
As line 29 helps to show, change in place—in Parmenides as in Zeno—
is thought of as egress from one’s own place.!® We learn from 22-30 at
least that what-is does not move out from its own place as a whole. I
suggest that in 36-38 we hear something new, namely, that another
whole does not move out from what-is—or, equivalently, that part of it
does not move off and start living on its own as a whole in its own right.
“Whole” and “immovable” would, then, each separately work against the
existence of another; being would not be whole because there would be
two things, separate from one another. And if such an other were ever
to come out of what-is, then being (“being” now names only one of the
pair, which is just what Parmenides thinks is wrong) would not be “im-
movable.”
It will be objected that “immovable” is now being represented as mean-
ing, in 38, more than it meant in 26. But it occurs in 26 in the context
of two other alpha-privative predicates, “not starting up” and “not stop-
ping.” The context is at least that of motion as a whole across space.
What-is cannot move like a ball along the sidewalk—in particular, it can-
not start moving or stop moving. Thus the meaning of “immovable” in
26 is narrowed by the context, and there is no reason why in the context
\
MODALS,
Bh
THE OTHER, AND METHOD 103
eed
of 36-38 its meaning should not widen.?? Moreover, it is Parmenides’

usual practice to widen the meaning of terms as he goes along. The
“coming-to-be” and “perishing” whose denial helps to rule out “immov-
able” in 26-27 are not the “to come to be” and “to perish” of 13-15,
since the latter do not involve change of place—or, if they already rule
out change of place by 13-15, then, since this meaning is not part of
their (purely temporal) immediate context in 6-15, their denial in 13—
15 does not exclude all their senses, since there would then be nothing
further to add in 26—32. Either way, they widen in meaning. This present
scheme has the advantage of providing an underlying rationale for what
seems on the surface to be a fluidity of meaning in the discussion of
immovability, coming-to-be, and perishing.
Consequently, it is all right for the “immovable” in 38 to be wider in
extent (covering the emergence of a new entity as well as the locomotion
of the old) than “immovable” in 26. And both “whole” and “immovable”
contribute to the denial that what-is has offspring, a denial which first
occurs in 36—38. It remains whole, that is, no part of it moves out or
runs away like a baby kangaroo; and it is not subject to the sort of motion
which means the movement of something new out of its own former
place. This widening of the two terms does not occur until 36-38, which
therefore say something new even as they recapitulate what went before.
And this is how Parmenides argues. His method is only occasionally
syllogistic and consists much more in the expansion of the same kind of
argument through different, and wider, contexts. The poem’s procedure
is essentially dialectical, as Furth has suggested.”
That 36-38 are to be read, in part, as Moira’s (Doom’s) denial of egress
is reinforced by the fact that one’s motra, one’s mortal lot, is in Homer
that from which one cannot escape.?? Parmenides’ fragment contains
four pictures of fetters and bonds, of which this is the fourth. Without
such an explicit denial of the coming-to-be of something besides what-is
out of what-is, Parmenides’ refutations of mortal opinions would not be
complete, since otherwise many atoms could be, or could be generated
out of what-is.
I suggest that lines 36-38 contain the alternative of the coming-to-be
of something besides what-is out of what-is which Taran rightly desires
to find in the poem, and that the words “whole” and “immovable” are
used here in a way in which they could not have been used before line
26, after Parmenides seems to declare that he has refuted the dreaded
olethros, “perishing.” There is therefore no need to emend lines 12-13
in order to find this alternative in the poem. Moreover, the emendation
has the very consequence that Taran tries to avoid by adopting it, namely,
that the text then lacks an important component in the argument. On
my reading of 36-38, and without the emendation in 12, we can set up
a complete list of all reasonable forms of coming-to-be, as follows. (1) The

coming-to-be of what-is out of what-is-not is ruled out in 7-11; (2) the
coming-to-be of something other than what-is out of what-is-not is ruled
out in 12-13; (3) the coming of something other than what-is out of
what-is is ruled out in 36-38; (4) a coming-to-be of what-is-not out of
what-is would make no sense, pace Stokes, who finds the “turning of
what-is into something besides Being” im the emended line 12.23 Stokes
then says that this “something besides Being” would have to be “nothing.”
Thus he finds an argument against perishing in these lines: he thinks
that they say that being does not turn into nothing. But the nothing here
would have to be méden, “nothing” = to mé eon (“nonbeing”) in line 7;
Parmenides would have to be using ti, “something,” as a reference to
nothing without an explicit signal in the context.24 There is no refutation
of perishing here, even with the emendation. According to my interpre-
tation, the argument (in 12-13 and in 36-38) establishes that there is
nothing for such a & to refer to, but this is still in the process of being
established in 36-38; it is ironically presupposed only in the ball-section,
when Parmenides raises as a question (46—47) the possibility that nothing
might stop being from reaching its limits, as if it were nobody that the
Cyclopes were afraid of. A turning of what-is into something (t:) that
does not exist is, in Parmenidean terms, apustos olethros, “unheard-from
perishing” (21), since there is nothing to turn into. This is perhaps why
he does not discuss it and does not need to. (More on this later.) (5) The
coming of what-is-not out of what-is-not is not really anything at all, as
Barnes has noted.” (6) Finally, a coming of what-is out of what-is either
makes no sense (since, if it is already, it cannot come to be as a whole),
or is to be read as (3), as the coming of something which is, but which
would be other than what-is, out of what-is. Parmenides has the distinc-
tion between “what-is,” as a name for the one eon, and “something that
exists” (t2, “something,” allo, “an other”), as a name for something which
might be supposed to exist but be thought capable of not being identical
with the eon, “being,” but he does not need to use the distinction except
to reject the possibility just mentioned, that there might be something
existing that is other than being.”6
If one accepts the Karsten emendation with Taran and others, then
alternative 2 above will be missing, and alternative 3 will be given twice,
in 12—13 and in 36-38. The emendation thus subtracts an alternative in
the poem’s treatment of the metaphysical possibilities, which is Just the
consequence it was intended to avoid.
But the following objection immediately arises: if the coming-to-be of
something besides what-is out of what-is is really not discussed until lines
36-38, then why does Parmenides behave in lines 26-28 as if coming-
to-be and perishing have already been ruled out?—a ruling-out which is
‘\
MODALS, t THE OTHER, ! AND METHOD 105
surely complete at least by the end of 21, which begins with a triumphant
tos, as if announcing alogical conclusion, and after which is begun a new
subject, the treatment of inhomogeneity in lines 22-26. One might ask,
given this apparent ring of finality in line 21, is it really reasonable to
suppose that 36-38 do anything more than repeat (though perhaps from
a more inclusive perspective) what has been shown by the end of 21?
After all, passages of reiteration and conclusion (15-18, 34-36, 38-41)
are scattered throughout the elenchus. And, it will be suggested, if this
is so, then perhaps we do need the emendation in line 12, in spite of all
the foregoing considerations.
My reply is that Parmenides seems to use genesis, “coming-to-be” and
(what we might call) kznésis somewhat differently. Genesis, before line 21
in the unemended text, seems solely to mean what we might call absolute
coming-to-be, the coming-to-be (either of what-is or of something else)
from bare nothing. Later, in 26-30, a connection between genesis and
kinésis, “motion,” is drawn with “it is in the bounds of mighty bonds
immovable, without beginning, without end,” since coming-to-be and
perishing have been driven far off by True Trust. In order to support
the denial of the possibility of motion in these lines, genesis must be wide
enough to cover that sort of coming-to-be involved in change of place,
the coming-to-be in a different place of something that used to be some-
where else. And yet this wider meaning of genesis is not found in lines
6—21 as they stand. Thus we are not really under the gun—either the
ring of finality (tds) in 21 is meant to announce the demise only of ab-
solute coming-to-be and not yet change of place, or we do not have to
do all our refuting of genesis before the end of 21, in spite of the ring of
finality. So we need not be in haste to emend in order to finish by then.
Finally, what I earlier called the coming-to-be of something besides
what-is out of what-is, 2s found in 36—38, but there it is not called coming-
to-be (genesis); it is called kenésis, or would be if Parmenides used the
word, since the reason why no other ever comes to be is that what-is is
“whole and immovable (akinéton).” Thus there is no evidence that Par-
menides liked to call such a coming-to-be a genesis. All the less reason to
emend line 12 in order to find there denied the coming (perhaps not
genesis, but kinésis in the sense of the egress of a part from a whole, or
of a second whole from the original place of the first whole) which is
comfortably denied so much later, in 36—38. Moreover, the parex tou eontos
of 37 might be more suited to carry this meaning than the par’auto of
13, since the latter can mean mere juxtaposition (“besides,” “alongside”)
and the former could perhaps mean something like “from out of what-
is,” as well as “alongside what-is.”?” A being besides what-is which sprang
from (ek) nothing (as in the unemended line 12) would naturally be
described as “besides” or “alongside” (para) what-is; but one which leaped
out from what-is would more naturally be described as “from out of”
(parek) what-is. Thus the unemended text is more natural. And it would
be much more appropriate to find the assertion that being does not give
rise to another made in 36-38, after its wholeness and immovability have
been asserted by the time line 32 rolls around. Otherwise there is no
sense in saying that, because what-is is immovable, there can be no other.
Once its bounds have been drawn, it is much easier to say that it cannot
transgress them. Such boundaries would not be affected if an other were
to pop into existence from nothing besides it, but they would be affected
if a new being budded off. Thus, it is also more natural to have the
unemended text, and the assertion found in 36-38 after 22-33. Par-
menides did not seem to feel himself under any compulsion to speak of
a coming-to-be parex tou eontos as a genesis. The fact that children come
from parents is apparently of little importance here. So we should not
feel under any compulsion to find this possibility discussed or refuted
before line 21. Lines 36-38 belong to the proof of “unmoving” (line 4),
not to that of “ungenerable” (line 3). Of course they recapitulate and
include what went before; but they also add something new.
The final reason for making the emendation is that it is supposed to
explain how lines 6—21 can be read as containing a refutation of olethros
(perishing) on the part of what-is. For this seems to be one respect in
which the poem is entirely lacking in logical rigor. “Unperishing” is an-
nounced in line 3 as one of the signposts to be proved; but the proof
seems to be lacking in lines 6—13, which, on the surface at least, are
entirely devoted to proving “ungenerable”; and yet, in lines 13-15, Par-
menides says that Justice did not permit what-is to perish, as if this were
a conclusion that had been established in the intervening lines. Again,
lines 19-21 do seem to be devoted in part to perishing, but one seems
to look there in vain for the sort of detailed refutation of destruction
that one finds for birth, and the lines are, in any case, partly recapitu-
latory, as can be seen from the fact that some sort of conclusion is drawn
in lines 12-15.
It is claimed that the emended version of line 12 supplies such a re-
futation. I have already explained why I think that Stokes’s version of
this claim does not make sense for Parmenides. Barnes’s proposal is very
close to Stokes’s. He begins by paraphrasing the relevant lines:
“Nor from a state of existence can o [Barnes’s object of discourse and
thought, i.e., being] become something other than what is”; i.e., o cannot
change from existing to not existing, o cannot be destroyed. That offers a
statement, not an argument. Yet it is obvious what argument we are to
supply: if o is destroyed at t, then o exists before ¢ and o does not exist after
t. But “it is not sayable or thinkable that it is not.”28
MODALS, THE OTHER, AND METHOD
OD —C—C“‘(‘CNCCOC‘(!C"C«CNO:
MODALS, THE OTHER, AND METH
This, I think, actually militates against the spirit of Barnes’s own inter-
pretation, for one would have expected him to read the emended lines
as saying that the object of knowledge and discourse cannot turn into
any existing thing besides itself. Otherwise it is not really worthwhile for
Barnes’s Parmenides to spend time discussing the possibility raised in
the emended line; for a Parmenides who takes it as nearly undeniable
that what is available for discourse or for thought must exist would hardly
spend time discussing the possibility that such a thing might suddenly
cease to be. It would be much more worthwhile for such a Parmenides
to show that there is only one such thing.
Finally—and this applies against both Barnes and Stokes—if it were
already so obvious in lines 12—13 that anything (é) besides being would
have to be nothing, so obvious that the turning of what-is into such a
thing would be no less than the complete destruction of what-is, then
why is Parmenides still bravely denying, some twenty-four lines later in
36~38, that there ever could be anything other than what-is? Surely, if
this needs to be said so forcefully so late, it cannot be obvious in the
earlier passage, even if the later passage is to some extent recapitulatory.
And yet it must be taken to be no less than obvious in 12-13, if the
emendation is in fact to furnish us with a refutation of perishing. The
equation (on all accounts still unproven before 12-13) “what is other
than being equals what does not exist”—an equation which both Barnes
and Stokes must attribute to Parmenides in those lines—is one which
Parmenides himself never took for granted, as lines 36-38 show.
I conclude that the emendation does not provide us with a refutation
of perishing before line 19. In fact, there is no such refutation there,
and there does not need to be. For, if being undergoes perishing, then
there is a time when “being is not” is true, and this would have crisped
Parmenides’ hair with horror. That this is impossible for Parmenides is,
as Barnes implies, obvious and (I would add) therefore not in need of a
separate argument. As Barnes and others have pointed out, there is some
connection in Parmenides’ mind between perishing and future being, as
5-6 and 19-21 reveal; but a comprehensive study of the temporal lan-
guage in Parmenides’s poem, one to which Barnes, Owen, Kneale, Mou-
relatos, and Schofield have made contributions, is outside the scope of
the present investigation. In any case, no matter what is really happening
in 19-21, perishing is really announced as disproved in 13—h5, and if
the emendation does not help Barnes and Stokes before then, it does not
help them at all, since they want to find a refutation of perishing before
19:
I suggest, then, the adoption of the following points. (1) Lines 36-38
are to be read as denying, in part, that something besides what-is (i.e.,
something existing but not identical with what-is) might come to be out
of what-is. (2) Consequently the emendation tow for mé in lines 12-13 is

neither necessary (since the strongest reason for making it was to have
it supply the alternative which is in fact to be found in 36-38) nor de-
sirable, since, if it is made, the fragment then lacks an important alter-
native (the coming-to-be of something besides what-is out of what-is-not).
(3) It is also claimed that the emendation allows us to find the long-sought
but never found refutation of perishing before line 19. But this cannot
be done without also reading Parmenides as presupposing in 12—13 what
he still seems to think worthy of commentary no earlier than 36-38,
namely, that what is other than being is nothing. Moreover, it is more
than likely that Parmenides thought perishing refuted itself without need
for explicit treatment from him. After all, he calls it “unheard-from.”
So:
Lines 6-11 Being doesn’t ever come from nothing.

Lines 12-13 Nothing else comes from nothing, either.
Lines 36-38 And nothing ever comes from being.
Conclusion There is nothing but being, and it does not come to
be or move; it just is.
(For whether the uniqueness of what-is is thoroughly settled at this point,
see below.)
A word on method. The logical universe of Parmenides inhabiting
these proofs about the other may seem abit strange to those accustomed
to seeing clear, deductive arguments in his poetry. And yet it seems clear
to me that Parmenides does widen the meanings of terms (like “coming-
to-be,” “immovable”) as he goes along in order to display the same gen-
eral principles first in temporal, then in spatiotemporal contexts; that he
recapitulates his argument in passages which also add to the meaning of
what is recapitulated (36-38); and, finally, that some of his assertions
are made without antecedent argument. Where is the proof that Doom
bound what-is? Where is the proof of “inviolable” in B8.48? I do not, of
course, fault Parmenides, but I simply point out that his procedure was
not totally a linear-deductive one, a statement that accords perfectly well
with according him high respect as a thinker. Instead, the argument
appears to proceed through a systematic enumeration of all reasonable
possibilities, an enumeration in which the various stages are related to
each other not only by providing support proofs but also by illustrating
other parts of a map which makes sense only as an articulated whole.
Parmenides does indeed cover much of the ground for the other in the
passages I have discussed so far, just as he covered the ground for the
contraries and terms, and the net effect is that of proof; but the real
argument is under the surface and does not necessarily link each line to
the next. In what follows I examine the interpenetration of two of these
‘
enumerations in the “Opinion” section, where the contraries and the

other combine to produce an alternative which sheds important light on
the methodology of the “Truth” section.
Of the other, we just heard that neither what-is nor anything else comes
from nothing, and that nothing ever comes from being, either. Of the
contraries, in the preceding chapter we heard denied (1) both contraries
true at every point; (2) one contrary true at some point, then the other
true; (3) one contrary true at one point, the other at another. Only one
possibility remains, and it emerges only if we consider the interpenetra-
tion of the two domains. (I do not mean my introduction of this possi-
bility to affect the claims I have made about the completeness of each
method in isolation—I claim below that “Truth” proves everything it
wants to prove—but only to illustrate the relationship of “Opinion” to
“Truth.”)
Suppose that the other did not come to be from what-is or what-is-
not, and that it is distinguishable from what-is by having one contrary
true of it everywhere in relation to what-is in such a way that the other
contrary applies everywhere to what-is in relation to the other. This will
be, I submit, the situation with Fire and Night, which mimic being and
are not depicted as having come to be, and which are yet opposed to
each other in terms of contraries which are true one at a tume (one per
entity) and all the way through in the sense that the other contrary is not
represented anywhere except in the other. This situation is not repre-
sented as such anywhere in the list in “Truth” of possibilities for con-
traries and the other, yet it is an important alternative; without something
like it, the proof of the uniqueness of what-is might be thought in a sense
incomplete, since fragment 8 only proves that no other can come to be,
not that no coeval other, contrary to what-is, exists (although 36-38
appear to presuppose such a proof, it seems to be lacking).*° The pos-
sibilities for contraries in “Truth” consider each contrary only in relation
to other points within the same whole, and only in relation to the other
contrary as applying within that same whole. The discussions of the other
in “Truth” do not consider the fact that the other might be not only
coeval but also possessed of an equal claim to being, yet might be char-
acterized by one contrary and distinguishable from the first on the
grounds that the first as a whole possesses the other contrary. Thus the
treatments of the other and contraries interpenetrate to produce “Opin-
ion,” which treats them in a new way. I am not positively saying that
Parmenides saw this, since, as I claimed above, the context of 36-38
presupposes a successful uniqueness-proof; but perhaps he saw a dif-
ference between two coeval entities distinguished from each other by
contraries and two entities exactly like being, that is, not characterized
by contrariety in any way. The latter case might be ruled out in 36-38
if “whole” widens its meaning from “without internal inhomogeneity in

the case of being” (lines 22—25) to “without internal inhomogeneity in
the case of all beings taken together,” that is, if “being” covers (or widens
to cover) everything that is. In that case a gap between entities would be
a failure of wholeness. This wider meaning is not explicitly present in
22-25, but perhaps “whole” widens as I earlier claimed that “immovable”
does. In that case there would be a “proof” against a coeval other in
“Truth,” but “Opinion” would still be ruling out another aspect of the
case, one not explicitly considered in “Truth”: two entities distinguished
because each is everywhere possessed by a contrary different from the
contrary that possesses the other. And the moral of the story would be:
if two coeval entities are indistinguishable, they are one (“Truth”); but
if they are distinguished by contraries (or in any respect) each one will
inevitably be (like Fire) such-and-such in one respect (with respect to
itself, for example) and not such-and-such in another respect (e.g., with
respect to the other) and so will be, to Parmenides’ way of thinking,
contradictory. In the second case neither will be truly “whole,” a proper
object of language or of thought; that is, the uniqueness which 34—41
require of the proper object of thought is violated by pseudo-entities like
Fire and Night. Thus 34—41 rule out the existence of another being; but
the coda, “for if there were another being, both it and the first being
would be entities of ‘Opinion’ and would be called by names like ‘Fire’
and ‘Night, not “Being,” is not drawn explicitly until the “Opinion”
section. In this case, however, that section would have something to add.
To attribute such a procedure to Parmenides is to attribute a rationale
for the textual differences; in this way the uniqueness proof can be com-
plete by line 38 while still leaving something for “Opinion.” “Truth”
argues to uniqueness from the identity of indiscernibles; “Opinion,”
from the contradictoriness of discernibles.
These hypostatized contraries in “Opinion” have fantastic properties:
they are able to be in the same place at the same time without fusing
with each other (fragment 9); they can be present at the same time as
different aspects of the same thing without cancelling each other out
(fragment 18); they can react with each other reciprocally in time, first
one being active and the other passive, and then the reverse
(fragment 12), and so on—all of which is incompatible with the utter
freedom. of Parmenidean Truth from contrary determinations within
and without. “Opinion” thus completes the calculus of variations that
began with the treatments of contraries and the other in “Truth.” I would
like to complete this sketch of Parmenidean method by examining the
poem’s modal metaphors and other language as a set of similar variations
on the theme of necessity.
The picture of what-is as a ball in lines 42—49 takes for granted a long
\
series of metaphors of boundedness behind it. I attempt in chapter 6 to

account for the ball as an expression of the completeness of the poem’s
treatment of contraries and terms. I examine the bound here and the
metaphorical personages who establish it and guard it in order to show
that a certain completeness attaches to them, too, and in order to distin-
guish them more clearly from what surrounds them.
Within the body of the “Truth” section is a series of female figures or
operators whose attributes and actions look back to the vocabulary of
rightness, justice, truth, and persuasion in fragments | and 2.*° I would
here like to examine five of these modal usages in the poem, involving
Diké (Justice), Pastis Aléthés (True Trust), Ananké (Necessity), themis (right-
ness, in the expression “it is not right that”), and Mozra (Doom). Justice
“did not allow it to come to be or to perish, releasing her bonds, but
holds” in lines 13-15; True Trust drove off coming-to-be and perishing
in 27-28, making what-is “immovable, without beginning, without end,
within the bounds of mighty bonds”; it is “the same and remaining in
the same place, it lies by itself,’ since mighty Necessity holds it in the
bonds of a bound, which encircles it all around (19-31), wherefore it is
not right (themis) for being to be incomplete. And, as we have seen, there
neither is nor will be any other besides what-is, “since it was this that
Doom bound to be whole and immovable,” 36—38. (I do not mention the
Strength of Trust, though she is also important for the signpost “unge-
nerable,” because her role in the completeness of the modal picture is
duplicated by Justice.) As with the method of terms in chapter 2, I at-
tempt to demonstrate that the group can be isolated by showing its co-
hesiveness and completeness, not by starting off with a criterion of
selection; if even a limited selection is complete, then so is the rest of the
discourse a fortiori.
It is clear that dyadic contrariety must be denied of what-is as Par-
menides conceives it. We have two modal forms of such a denial, which
we can Call “not possible” (Justice) and “necessary not” (True Trust). In
all these cases what is denied is a positive dyad involving coming-to-be
and perishing; the latter contains a denial which supports the assertion
of a privative triad (“immovable,” etc.). Note that the modalities of merely
“allowing” and “not being necessary” are not permissible either for Par-
menidean being or for its opposite, since nothing in this particular
Eleatic world is contingent. This means that modern modalities,are not
strict renderings of Parmenides’ metaphors, since it is not possible to
negate them in the same ways. But, if this is understood, one can go on
to say that “necessary” and “not possible not” still remain to be explored;
the former occurs with Necessity, which supports the triple positive “the
same,” etc.; notice that “necessary” supports positive terms and denies
positive terms. Finally, “not possible not” occurs with Doom; it is not
possible that there be another, that is, it is not possible for it not to be
whole and immovable, since Doom bound it to be whole and immovable.
Here, with both a positive and a privative term tied to the same person-
ified figure, we have another modal recognition of the fact that the truth
can take either positive or negative guise.
Again, in using terms like “necessary,” I do not mean to call into play
their precise modern meanings but only their metaphorical flavor; “nec-
essary not,” for example, calls up active exclusion, and this is a much
stronger metaphor than “not possible,” which, in spite of the logical
equivalence, merely expresses failure to allow. Similarly, what is necessary
is what is bound to be; the metaphor is as deep in English as it is in
Greek. If one thinks of the pictures rather than of possibly anachronistic
logical notions, the point I would like to convey is that all of the pictures
which are possible in a Parmenidean ontology are in fact presented:
refusal to admit something wrong (Justice), active exclusion of what is
wrong (True Trust), requiring what is right (Necessity), requiring that
what is right not fail to be what it is (Doom). The boundary is not crossed
from the outside in (the first two) or from the inside out (the second
two). In each case, moreover, there is a connection between the meaning
of the action performed and the nature of the predicates brought into
play. Thus, Justice supports “ungenerable” and “imperishable” by not
allowing coming-to-be and perishing, while True Trust supports “im-
movable,” etc., again by ruling out coming-to-be and perishing; in both
cases privatives are (implicitly or explicitly) supported by the denials of
positives; while the action in the first is merely refusal to do something
passive (allow), the action in the second is that of active driving. But
when Necessity supports both “the same,” etc., and the denial of “incom-
plete” and changes the object of the modal action from the contraries
outside the bound to what-is inside the bound, we learn that the lines of
demarcation can be crossed in the other direction to favor positives and
rule out privatives; and finally Doom, with catholic impartiality, prevents
both positives and privatives from failing to appear as it does not allow
being to escape the bound. Moreover, the assertions and denials are
related. The two positive terms, “to come to be” and “to perish,” ruled
out by Justice are almost the same as the coming-to-be and perishing
whose ruling-out by True Trust establishes the three privatives “immov-
able,” etc., the first of which is also required by Doom. These in turn
are roughly the contrapositives of the three positive terms required by
Necessity. All are different possible modal expressions of the same com-
plex point. The list of kinds of modal assertions and kinds of predicates
is complete. It contains: (1) the ruling out of a positive term (Justice);
(2) the ruling out of a privative with “it is not right” in 32; (3) support
for a positive (Necessity); (4) support for a privative by ruling out a
MODALS, , THE OTHER, riAND METHOD 113
positive (True Trust); and (5) support for both privative and positive
(Doom).
Both in the complete range of their metaphorical pictures and in the
many sorts of predicates they affirm and deny, these modal figures are
one with the rest of the poem and show how being is necessary in every
way. But here the urge to elaborate seems even more like mere decora-
tion unless we suppose it to have some philosophical rationale. Why
bother to build up the metaphors of ball and boundary in all possible
ways unless obsessed with architectonic, unless desirous of a complete-
ness and expansiveness in what is to be said? The variation seems par-
ticularly superfluous in this case—where there are two pairs each of
whose members is equivalent to the other because concerned with the
same signpost (“the same,” etc., is a prefiguration of what is summarized
in “whole and immovable,” and there are two treatments of coming-to-
be and perishing)—unless it is deliberate, an exploration of different
forms of discourse toward a goal of completeness. These modal figures
are central in the proof, and I now claim that what is true of the rest of
the poem is true of them as well. They traverse the various kinds of
discourse in an exploration of the four ways of being modally necessary,
of being bounded. I explore the significance of this metaphor further in
chapter 6.
It is time for some conclusions about the first four chapters. In
chapter 1 I suggested that Parmenides’ way of truth gave full rights of
citizenship to negative as well as positive statements by leaving the copula
free from direct negation (except innocuous negation) in even negative
cases. The resulting positive discourse has a very wide range. As I showed
in chapter 2, all of the possible affirmations and denials of single, double,
and triple positive and privative terms—except one—are present, and
the particular kinds of terms are, more or less, segregated into those
areas of the poem whose underlying concerns make them both possible
and necessary. The contraries of chapter 3, too, are denied in all the
ways they might apply to a plurality within a single whole, and these
denials generate and unify the proofs of most signposts as well as the
variations of terms in chapter 2. The modals as metaphors for bound-
edness in chapter 4 cover all the noncontingent possibilities for modal
discourse and themselves affirm and deny both positive and privative
terms, while the sections of the poem which rule out an other do so by
ruling out all the possible sources for such an other. Finally, the treat-
ments of contraries and the other dovetail in the “Opinion” section,
which presents the final possibility for both treatments that was not ex-
plicitly discussed in the “Truth” section.
Assuming that the details of these schemes have been accurately pre-
sented here, what significance should one attach to all of this? I argued
in chapter 2 that it was reasonable to credit Parmenides with the inten-

tion to construct an almost-complete catalogue of terms, and I make the
same argument for the material presented in the other chapters, though
it is, I trust, unnecessary to go through such an argument in detail, since
(among other reasons) contraries and coming-to-be are demonstrably
Parmenidean concerns. But why go through with such a method?
There seem to be two possibilities, and the second one includes the
first. The first is that this covering of all the ground is just what might
be called good argumentative procedure, even if it is not deductive. If
you wish to prove that there is no other, then you should show that it is
impossible for one ever to arise, either from what-is or from nothing; if
you want to argue against contraries, you should show that contraries
cannot apply in any of the ways in which they might apply; if you wish
to make the point that every kind of positive and negative predicate can
be affirmed or denied in your new and otherwise very strict ontology,
then you can give a catalogue of such predicates. The attribution to
Parmenides of a sophisticated desire to cover all the ground for argu-
mentative purposes should give us no trouble. It is a commonplace that
Parmenides invented rational argument; as I try to show in chapter 5,
Zeno pursued a similar method of exhausting alternatives in his defense
of Parmenidean ontology, and the legacy, as passed down to subsequent
generations, is one of amplitude and exactitude in method.
But is there more to it than that? Is there any purpose deeper than
that of efficiency or groundedness in proof, in demonstration? Is there
anything in Eleatic speech itself which would require this kind of cata-
logue, over and above the goal of proving something?
Eleatic speech is supposed to tell it like it is. But speech which tells it
like it is is sometimes very hard to recognize; it is often nearly indistin-
guishable from speech which doesn’t tell it like it is. In particular, if the
hypothesis advanced in chapter |is correct, all sorts of negative language
belong on the positive route while, on the other hand, not all language
uttered with an unnegated copula is therefore true. Under these circum-
stances an appropriate distinction can be drawn by multiplying examples
to the limit and situating them in positive discourse; the negative and
false examples will be able to be recognized by their absence, provided
that the catalogue of true examples is complete enough so that the laws
that generated it can be understood from the examples. The repetition
of the point that negative and positive language are both permissible or
impermissible depending on the meaning of the term—a repetition ac-
complished first through single examples, then through multiples—goes
on so long with such redundancy, it might be claimed, that there can be
no mistaking which possibilities are on the list. The illustration of dif-
ferent modal and contrary contexts similarly shows different ways of
MODALS, L THE OTHER, A AND METHOD 115
telling it like it is while ruling out what it isn’t, of displaying the unity of
all the signposts in a hall of mirrors. But the final explanation has to do
with what-is as the truth: as claimed above, the truth of Parmenides, like
the truth of Heraclitus, requires both positive and negative statement,
though in a different way. Truth must be expressed in a finished—that
is, perfect, bounded, guaranteed, complete—speech, so that there may
be an exact fit between the speech and the thing spoken of. Complete
speech includes both the light of affirmation and the darkness of ne-
gation, and blends them both into one as it circles the bound. It also
includes the displaying of all the required things and of those forbidden.
It is therefore trustworthy only when it includes both in a catalogue of
logical and thematic possibilities. If Parmenides’ ontological motives, and
his philosophy of truth, were something like this, then one may perhaps
attribute to him such a goal—deeper than that of mere efficient argu-
ment, though certainly including it—for the method of variation that I
attempt to see in his poem. Even if much of the discourse is on the
negative route, the point about affirmation and negation in relation to
method still holds.
Thus the poem—in attempting to derive everything from the “is” plus
the law of noncontradiction, but also in the way things are said in many
contexts and ways—is a circle.*! It covers all the ground and loops back
on itself in a systematic way after having enumerated all the possibilities.
One way of taking the goddess’s remark about her own method (“it’s all
the same to me where I start from; for I’ll come back there again,” B5)
is thus to connect it with the method I have attributed to her. She loops
through the many ways of putting predications, unity, and necessity. This
method is argumentatively, rhetorically, and philosophically practical,
and it seems to be Parmenides’ method in four rather different contexts
of argument governed by the goal of a complete, discursive speech. In
the next chapters I shall consider first the ancestors and descendants in
Greek philosophy of Parmenidean logic and argument as I have char-
acterized them, second the way his logic and method hang together with
his characterization of a bounded being so as to occupy a viable and
important alternative in the history of philosophy and theology.
CHAPTER 5
Context x
and
Contradiction
Thus far I have attributed to Parmenides a certain ontology, logic, and

method. I now undertake the historical task of showing that he could
have held such views and used such tools. A historical account of Par-
menides’ antecedents and consequences would be a major enterprise if
undertaken exhaustively. I do not pursue this enterprise in full, however,
but rather attempt a compromise between depth and breadth. Fortu-
nately, previous treatments, to which I owe much, can be relied on. I do
not here say much that is new: my purpose is only to sketch the sort of
story that could be told about Parmenides’ historical context. Thus I have
avoided areas of controversy, detailed examinations of other interpreta-
tions, textual work, and anything more than a broad and necessarily
superficial outline of a possible interpretation, a prospectus for the first
chapter of a history of Greek logic. Along the way I hope to clarify the
picture of Parmenides sketched in previous chapters. But I am aware
that a single chapter is a rather small space for this endeavor.
Everything follows from three of my previous claims: (1) Parmenidean
logic permits the dropping of a predicate-term in order to get at the
underlying (negated or unnegated) copula, in which the heart of the
judgment resides. (2) Parmenides drops qualifiers on predicates in order
to see whether contrary or contradictory terms are true in the same or
in different respects—such terms are eliminated or debunked even if
they are true only in different respects. (3) Parmenides uses a method
of exhausting alternatives. The first two claims together constitute the
logic I attributed to him in chapter 1; the third would, if supported,
constitute the justification for the attribution of method in chapters 2-
4. In what follows, I attempt to demonstrate that these three claims can
be sustained for Parmenides by showing that a similar logic and method
are found in his historical context. I take the claims in order, and my
116
CONTEXT AND CONTRADICTION 117
historical search is undertaken partly as a defense of the implications of

the following remark by Owen:
The Phaedrus reapplies the distinction [between predicates which breed no
contradictions and predicates which do] ... when it argues that men dis-
agree not on the use of “iron” or “stone” but on that of “good” or “right”—
or, we can add, on that of “one” or “similar”; for Zeno’s logical puzzles, like
the moral antinomies of his successors, were built on such incomplete pred-
icates, and the Parmenides of itself would suffice to show that these two classes
of problem lie at the root of Plato’s earlier theorizing.'
The first claim is that Parmenides’ logic allows one to drop the pred-
icate-terms in a sentence in order to get at the copula, which is regarded
as doing the underlying work of the sentence. This most central claim is
the most difficult to establish in context. Melissus, Parmenides’ pupil,
argues against what-is-not, but not on the basis of an elaborate theory
of language and negation; Zeno, Parmenides’ great pupil, is not con-
cerned with being and negation either; nor are Parmenides’ predeces-
sors, and the intervening space between Parmenides and Plato’s Sophist
does not contain the precise point I am interested in: Empedocles, An-
axagoras, and Democritus, indebted to Elea though they are, borrowed
from Parmenides his maxim that coming-to-be and perishing were im-
possible for ultimate reality without adding to it a logic ultimately mo-
nistic in outcome.”
But one does find a similar piece of logic attributed to two fifth-century
sophists in Plato’s Euthydemus—not as part of a prosy treatise, but as part
of a lightning-quick piece of eristical swordplay designed to impress a
young man, Clinias, whose tuition and fees the sophists want. Socrates,
who has no financial interest in Clinias’s education, claims to be serious
about wanting him to become wise (283C5—D6).
Dionysodorus Very well. ... You say you want him to become wise.
Socrates Most certainly.
Dion But now ... is (estin) Clinias wise or not?
Soc He says, not yet. . .. He’s no boaster, you know.
Dion And you people ... want him to become (genesthar) wise, and not to
be (mé einai) a dunce?
Soc We agreed.
Dion Then you wish him to become one that he is not (ouk estin) and no
longer (méketi) to be (einai) one that he is. ... You want him to be de-
stroyed (apolélenaz), it seems!* ,
It has been observed that the flavor of this interchange is peculiarly

Eleatic, with its reduction of qualitative change (becoming, genesthaz) to
nonbeing (mé einai) (compared by Sprague to Parmenides’ “if it came to
be, it is not,” B8.20), and with its move from not-being-something-in-
118 CONTEXT AND CONTRADICTION
particular to not-being simpliciter.* It has also been observed that many

of these Eleatic tropes crop up as fallacies in Aristotle’s Sophistical Refu-
tations.’ Indeed, one may risk the qualified remark that the occurrence
of a particular fallacy in the Euthydemus is almost enough to guarantee
the possibility that it is an Eleatic pattern of argument, or at least a
bastardized version of such a pattern. But what interests me in particular
is the clear transition from “ouk estin wise” (negated copula plus predi-
cate) to “ouk estin...” with no predicate. (The fact that the ouk estin is
then znterpreted by Dionysodorus as meaning nonexistence is a subsequent
development, a separate issue; it seems that the interlocutor is supposed
to regard the transition from “ouk esti P” to “ouk esti” as natural and is
then supposed not to be able to tell that an owk esti obtained in this way
is not the same as the ouk esti of nonexistence.) For it is precisely this
dropping of the predicate that I attributed to Parmenides in chapter 1;
Dionysodorus’s syllogism in fact goes through, so to speak, in my reading
of Parmenidean logic, because the dropping of the predicate shows that
“Clinias is not wise” is an ouk esti-sentence. (This is not Dionysodorus’s
stated reason, but it would be Parmenides’ reason.) Once again, the mere
occurrence of a sophism in the Euthydemus does not prove said sophism
to have been part of the logic of the historical Parmenides; but the fact
that Eleaticism is in the air here and elsewhere in the dialogue means
that the attribution made in chapter | is not historically implausible. I
attempt to discover another example of this attribution in the Dissoi Logoi,
below. Indeed, it is easy enough to think of any Greek as having believed
that a sentence which says “hés esti P”—“how it is P”—is a sentence which
says hos esti, “how it is.”
The footing is a little more extensive for the second claim, that Par-
menides has a logic in which qualifiers are dropped in order to see
whether the terms are incompatible with each other. Here I move for-
ward through the Sophists to middle and late Plato before going back-
ward to the other pre-Socratics—stopping once again at the Euthydemus.®
The dropping of qualifiers in order to generate “contradictions”
(whether for the purpose of parading antinomies or as a tool of putative
refutations) is a well-recognized feature of sophistic method. It appears,
from the time of Heraclitus and Parmenides, to have been recognized
by some Greeks that contradiction or contextual relativity in some sense
either doomed and disqualified an assertion or (which sometimes comes
in the end to the same thing) that there was no escape from contradictory
variabilities, at least in certain zones of human reason and attitudes. This
is Parmenides’ immediate logical legacy to posterity through Zeno and
the sophists (for Heraclitus, see below), along with the ontological prin-
ciple that nothing can come from nothing (the legacy to Empedocles,
Anaxagoras, and the atomists). Zeno is an intermediate stage; since it is
‘
impossible within the confines of one chapter to settle the question

whether his arguments are to some extent fallacious and whether the
fallacies were deliberate, it seems best to rest with this point: that,
whether or not the opposites were intended by Zeno to apply in the same
or in different senses,” it still holds that the conjunction of opposites—
assuming Plato’s picture of Zeno as a defender of Parmenides—counts
for him as a defining feature of the sensible world, just as it counted for
Parmenides, and that opposition is thought by both to be characteristic
of a certain type of reasoning—the type they are arguing against. Even
if one holds that Zeno argued against each opposite singly rather than
against both in conjunction, the net effect will still be the disqualification
of sensible reality as putatively covered exhaustively by both members of
the pair. But the fact that it is not immediately clear from Zeno exactly
what sorts of opposition he was arguing against means that we must
move to the sophists themselves.
There are several kinds of argument in sophistry that show what could,
on this hypothesis, be an Eleatic stamp. The relativistic position argued
against in the Dissoi Logoi is that good and bad are the same in that what
is good in one context is also bad in another context (section 1). The
same argument is extended to what is and what is not simpliciter with the
equation between “not being in Libya” and “not being” in a proof that
the same things are and are not (section 5.5). Thus the terms can be
dropped to get at the copula just as the qualifiers can be dropped to get
at the terms. The author of the Dissoi Logoi replies that this relativistic
position cannot be true, for, if good and bad are the same, then to do
good is to do bad. The author’s position seems at first to attribute to the
relativist something that the relativist did not claim, namely that good
and bad are the same for everything and in every context—whereas we
might have thought the relativist to be claiming only that what was good
in one context could also be bad in another context. But what interests
me now is not whether the author triumphs over his antagonists, but this
question: what inferences must we suppose one or the other of them to
have made, if they are genuinely to lock horns with each other over this
issue? We can suppose the inference to be one from “S is P in context y
and not P in context z” to “what is P is what is not P” The move to the
second sentence is not objectionable so long as it is not interpreted as a
logical contradiction; but this move is one way of interpreting what hap-
pens when one drops the qualifiers, and we must suppose the author
and his antagonists to be making this interpretation if they are having a
genuine quarrel. “The same and not the same” is merely vague unless it
feels or is treated like a paradox or contradiction of some kind. Thus,
whereas Barnes claims, “The relativist of section | in effect argues that
‘... is good’ is an incomplete predicate, elliptical for the overtly relational
predicate ‘...is good for ———,’”* I claim that the relativist allows us
to drop the “for ———” in order to get to the conclusion that the same
thing is both good and bad. It is, I would claim, Protagoras who specifies
the context of the incomplete predicates, as Barnes has also suggested;
for the thesis that one has access only to appearance is the thesis that
nothing appears to anyone in a manner which is not qualified by the
relation of that appearance to the person to whom it appears. That is,
Protagoras claims that what is hot is also what is cold, but this, he will
say, is so because what is hot to me is the same as what is cold to you.
This is the disambiguation of an incomplete predicate into a contextually
variable situation; the Protagorean claim is ultimately that the incomplete
predicate is nothing but incomplete outside of such a situation. Or, as
Barnes puts it, “to say that contradiction is impossible is not to assert
that a proposition and its contradictory may both be true at the same
time; it is to assert the perfectly distinct thesis that you cannot contradict
me,”? because (I would say) the predicates cannot be emancipated from
the variable contexts in which they occur. Protagoras thus manifests a
provisional reliance upon the argument-pattern of dropping the quali-
fiers attributed to the relativists in the Dissoi Logot above; he uses this
pattern as a corrosive; but he is equally concerned to stress that the
conclusion should not be interpreted as a logical contradiction, because
of the disambiguation into contexts. Here Zeno’s patterns of inference
come home to roost. Zeno had found statements of the form “S is P and
not P” to be characteristic of the sensible world, the inference being that,
as with Parmenides, there was some other world in which such statements
did not apply. But, for Protagoras, the option of another world is not
available, so all he has are contextually relative contexts; the inference is
not allowed to proceed so far as to eliminate the sensible world as well
(as it could have); so all Protagoras can do is lay stress on the fact that
the apparent contradictions among incomplete predicates can and must
be disambiguated in the sensible world, and that they are not real con-
tradictions. But his interest in variability, in potential conflicts and in
avoiding them, locates him squarely in the tradition of Parmenides and
Zeno, with this difference: that it is now clearly understood that not every
case of contextual relativity is also a case of contradiction. That is, adopt-
ing Barnes’s interpretation of Protagoras’s attitude toward contradiction,
Protagoras is reported as saying that it is not possible to contradict;!° but
what this means is, since each person is the measure of all things, it is
not possible for my report that X is F to contradict (antilegein) your report
that X is not F since the affirmation and the denial do not occur in the
same sense, since one is relative to me and the other to you. Barnes
writes, “Thus the denial of antilegein, far from opening Protagoras to a
peculiarly damning charge of inconsistency, is actually designed to pro-
\
tect him from that charge: the clouds of contradiction . . . are evaporated
by the thesis that ‘it is not possible to contradict.’”!! If so, then Protag-
oras’s view is more sophisticated than that of Parmenides and the Dissoz
Logoi, and it advances toward the sort of understanding of the law of
noncontradiction that was later to come to birth in middle-late Plato and
Aristotle. For, on the Eleatic view, dropping the qualifiers results in a
logically suspicious situation in which the contextual relativity (not yet
clearly distinguished from contradictoriness) relegates the subject and
predicate alike to the realm of Opinion (in Parmenides) or generates
impossible conclusions (in the case of the Dissoz Logoz). But, if Barnes is
right, Protagoras sees that the contradictory or contrary terms are not
true in the same sense, and he sees that the fact that each is true to a
different observer means that the two opposed views of the world do not
contradict each other in an argumentatively fruitful way. If he could do
this, Protagoras must have had a working knowledge of (or at least right
opinion about) the law of noncontradiction in its precise (Platonic and
Aristotelian) sense (in which it prohibits as contradiction only the appli-
cation of contradictories in one and the same sense), even though he put
that knowledge in the service of a non-Platonic relativism by using it to
permit any and every term, provided that opposite terms apply in dif-
ferent senses. Thus Protagoras’s non-Parmenidean attitude toward the
senses: Parmenides, thinking that even opposites true in different senses
disqualify a sentence (as they do indeed in a monistic ontology), proceeds
to disqualify the senses; Protagoras, after freeing the senses from this
(to his mind) overly rigid interpretation of the law, denies just the op-
posite—any world free from contextual relativity. He is now free to en-
dorse the relative world, because, even in this world, as opposed to what
Parmenides thought, it is not possible to contradict in the strict sense.
Plato struggles all his life with the task of showing that nonsensible en-
tities are still needed even on this new understanding of the law as pro-
hibiting contradiction only in one and the same sense—a need whose
ultimate justification, I argue, took even Plato a while to clarify. He could
have remained a happy monist had Protagoras not seen that not every
case of contextual relativity is a case of logical contradiction and had he
not understood, as Barnes points out, that it is precisely an improved
understanding of contradiction that can be used to deny its very possi-
bility. .
Let me now attempt to sketch the course of this development in Pla-
tonic thought. Again, the reader will see my indebtedness to many au-
thors, particularly Owen, Ranulf, Szabé, Lloyd, Prauss, Nehamas, Wood-
ruff, and Jordan, as mentioned in notes; see also Acknowledgments.
The Euthydemus represents sophists as using the logic of dropping qual-
ifiers to arrive at apparent contradictions whose conclusions—whatever
their deeper connections with genuinely Platonic theses such as the the-
ory of recollection!?—are resisted by Socrates not only as morally bad
but also as bad arguments. Whatever may be divine about the dual vis-
itors to Athens does not include their understanding of the role of logic
in philosophical protreptic. Here I am _ particularly indebted to
Rosamond K. Sprague’s treatment.
It is part of Euthydemus’s and Dionysedorus’s logic not only to drop
the terms to get at the copula but also to drop the qualifiers to get at the
terms, as when they get Socrates to admit that if he knows something,
he knows everything, and if he does not know something, he knows
nothing (293B7—294A8).
Euthydemus You do know something then? . . .
Socrates I do.
Euth Then you are knowing, since you know?
Soc Certainly, in that same something.
Euth That makes no difference. ... Isn’t it necessary that you know every-
thing since you are knowing? ,
Soc Why, no indeed. ... There are many other things I do not know.
Euth Then if you do not know something, you are not knowing.
Soc Not knowing that, my friend... .
Euth Are you any the less not knowing? But just now you said you were
knowing, and so you are really this very same you, and again not the
same, in relation to the same things at the same time.
..- Surely ... they cannot know some things and not others, or they
would be at once knowing and not knowing.'*
The phrasing of what Socrates is supposedly guilty of is an explicit ac-
cusation of contradiction. The Parmenidean case was that the world of
the senses is the object of mere opinion because it contains such “con-
tradictions.” Thus this passage gives us, once again, the dropping of
contextual qualifiers and the relegation of the resulting conjunction of
opposites to a violation of the law. A similar trope occurs when Socrates
is forced to subtract the qualifier “which I know” in 296C6—7, and in the
paradoxes about fathers and dogs in 297D3-299A5 (your father is not
my father, so your father is other than a father and is not a father; and
your dog is a father and is yours, which makes you the child of your
father the dog). Here the qualifiers are amputated and reassembled as
if they were entirely separate in function from the terms they qualify—
as, I believe, they are indeed, on a Parmenidean understanding. Without
in any way attempting to date the arguments in the dialogue (though
one set of arguments not examined here is attributed to Protagoras in
286C), I think we may fairly claim that Plato has, at least, put into the
mouths of fifth-century sophists a logic which is that of Parmenides as
the present hypothesis interprets him, and which has affinities with the
logic of Protagoras, Zeno, and the Dissoi Logoi, though Euthydemus and
Dionysodorus apparently do not believe that it is not possible to contra-
dict, and their metaphysical views (if any) are a deep mystery. I am not
necessarily claiming that Parmenides was guilty of a mere fallacy even
though he did not believe in Protagoras’s distinction between contextual
relativity and logical contradiction. It is just that his conceptions of cop-
ula, predicate, and qualifiers meant that the sensible world had to be
viewed as no place for determinacy. It is a place of paradox and irony
where everything turns out both to be and not to be everything else, but
that is not logic’s fault; it is the world’s fault. The entities about which
his logic can be used to lead to fallacious conclusions (in our terms) are
the very entities which cannot be other than fallacious in his terms. More-
over, of course, Parmenides does not use his logic for sophistical effect;
it serves only to undercut the world of the senses in general, and it is
not a fallacy as such to say, as he does, that things which are in one
respect what they are not in another are not ultimately real, though it
might be thought a mistake to go on to say that such things are contra-
dictory. Instead, Parmenides draws an ontological conclusion from a cer-
tain logic, or vice versa. That this logic can be easily misused to morally
debasing or epistemologically corrupting ends does not mean that its
original use was also suspect. And that, perhaps, is the point of the
Euthydemus as well, the divinity and seriousness behind the eristic joust.
Once again, evidence from the dialogue is hard to situate within the
context of Plato’s philosophical development. Some believe that the di-
alogue’s tricks cannot be resolved without the heavy artillery of the late
dialogue, the Sophist, and therefore, since Plato would not have written
Euthydemus unless he had a solution and the artillery, it must be later
than (e.g.) the Phaedo or the Republic, where Plato still appears to be
struggling with such issues. Others feel that Plato would not have had to
struggle so hard with Eleatic patterns of argument if he had already had
a solution tailor-made.'* Be this as it may, however, we can conclude at
least that the issues are there in a context relevant to Eleaticism before
going on to examine the middle and later dialogues.
The Phaedo is the first place in Plato where the theory of Forms re-
ceives a canonical statement, and there is much controversy about the
motivations for the theory, the sorts of things to which Forms are as-
signed, the nature of particulars and characters, and so on.!° I do not
enter into these controversies here, though it will be obvious that I am
indebted to earlier critics. I merely point out what I take to be the nature
of a certain inference apparently recommended in the Phaedo and ap-
parently (in some way) involved in the genesis of the theory of Forms.
The inference is a simple one. If something possesses opposite char-

acteristics, it is not a Form; Forms are free from opposition and contex-
tual relativity. ‘
Socrates We admit, I suppose, that there is such a thing as equality—not
the equality of stick to stick and stone to stone, and so on, but something
beyond all that and distinct from it—absolute equality (auto to ison)
sae =
Soc Where did we get our knowledge? Was it not from the particular ex-
amples that we mentioned just now? ... Look at it in this way. Is it not
true that equal stones and sticks sometimes, without changing in them-
selves, appear equal to one person and unequal to another?
Simmias Certainly.
Soc Well, now, have you ever thought that things which were absolutely
equal (auta ta isa) were unequal, or that equality (isotés) was inequality
(anisotés)?
Simm No, never, Socrates.
Soc Then these equal things (tauta . . . ta isa) are not the same as absolute
equality (auto to ison)'®
(Phaedo 74A9-—C5)
The difference between the things which are equal (particulars) and the
equal itself (what is absolutely equal) is that the former appear equal or
unequal depending on the observer, while the latter is never thought to
be unequal.
As I have just stated it, however, there is a missing link in the inference.
We hear, first, that equal sticks and stones appear equal or unequal
depending on the observer; second, that the equal itself is never unequal.
The missing inference is from “appears equal to observer P and unequal
to observer Q” to “is equal and unequal in a way which makes it impos-
sible for it to be what is absolutely equal.” I am not talking here about
the inference from “appears” (phainetai) to “is” (auto to ho estin, 74D6),
but about the inference from “is equal to one person and unequal to
another” to “is both equal and unequal.” The predicates are considered
without their qualifiers, which are dropped, and then juxtaposed to the
absolute entity which possesses only one of the predicates, and that in
an unqualified sense. The move, once again, is from “X is F in context
p’ to “X is F” (not “X is F” simpliciter, which would make the particular
into either the form or something logically self-contradictory—Plato does
not, unlike some of the sophists, commit the fallacy of secundum quid ad
simpliciter here) but “X is F” in the ordinary sense that whatever has F in
sense P thus has F in some sense or other (not necessarily in all senses).
And this is the dropping of the qualifiers that originates with Parmen-
ides. Now, since our first clear understanding that contextual relativity
does not necessarily mean logical contradictoriness seems to come from
Protagoras, it is at least possible that Parmenides thought that there was

a logical incoherence in Fire’s being the same with itself and not the same
with the other; but by the time of Plato this feature of sensibles has
become not so much an index of their logical suspiciousness as of their
ontological derivativeness, as in Republic V. So much is this so that Plato
can draw upaclear version of the law of noncontradiction in its “mod-
ern” form in Republic 1V (436B8-Cl) while at the same time retaining
the view that sensibles are both P and not P!7 On my view this does not
represent an incoherence so much as the recognition that the following
two sentences are perfectly compossible:
1. Never assert the same predicate in the same respect as its contradictory.
2. Subjects of which opposites hold even in different senses are never know-
able, only opinable.
Here the practice of dropping qualifiers retains its usefulness as a litmus

test for contextual relativity, but the resulting conjunctions of contradic-
tories are not viewed as presenting logical problems. An ontological prej-
udice against contextual relativity is perfectly compatible with a modern
view of contradiction. The work of Protagoras had contained the germ
of such a distinction, since he saw that relativity in fact rules out contra-
diction in the strict sense; but the resulting inability to see that there still
could be non-contextually variable entities led the great sophist to a (for
Plato, pernicious) sensualistic relativism. It remained to be shown that
transcendent entities, whose characteristics had been inferred by Par-
menides from his version of the law of noncontradiction, could still exist
and be needed, even if no longer as an escape from a logically contra-
dictory—as opposed to merely relative—sensible world. This is, I think,
the task that Plato sets himself in the Phaedo and the Republic: to show
that there is still something wrong with contextual relativity in a discus-
sion of ultimate reality, still something only particular, partial and am-
biguous, not definite or knowable enough, about sensible things. Plato
was still confident that the Forms could be saved on the condition that
they were ultimately real in this sense. Middle Plato thus represents an
attempt to conserve a basically Eleatic ontology, in which sensibles are
and are not while reality merely is,!* without the “archaic” logical un-
derpinnings that Parmenides had used, in response to the Protagorean
belief that a “modern” understanding of the law led inevitably to relativ-
ism. Or so the story would go. :
To continue the story: if Plato had a midlife crisis, it was in response
to his understanding for the first time the full consequences of the fact
that the Forms, too, were contextually variable. At one stroke their dif-
ference from particulars—as he himself had characterized it earlier—
disappears, and relativism threatens once again to swamp the edifice:
the Forms, since they are not identical with each other, are the same with
themselves and not with each other, just like Parmenidean “Opinion”;
but a retreat into monism is by this time also impossible for Plato, for
whom the possibility of a discourse which would do good to the soul was
bound up with there being a plurality of different reified meanings for
such a discourse to be about. Aristotle, whose Plato is the artificer of the
architectonic middle period, apparently believes that the system never
recovers from the crisis, as I will attempt to explain below; but Plato’s
own attempt to find his way out is contained in the Sophist.
One can say without controversy that Plato shows in the Sophist that
even the Forms are and are not, that he then says that the “are” and
“are not” occur in different senses, and that these two claims are sup-
posed to rescue discourse from the Eleatic view that an avoidance of
contradiction leads inevitably to monism.!? This short and uncontrover-
sial statement is enough to situate the Sophist in the context of the de-
velopments I have been tracing: (1) the Forms, too, both are and are
not, just like the particulars of the middle period and unlike both Par-
menidean being and the Forms of the middle period; (2) but the law of
noncontradiction as formulated in the Republic is now applied to these
Forms in such a way that the “are” and “are not” are said in different
senses; (3) in this way the Forms of the middle period, though they lose
their pristine Eleatic transcendence of all relativity, retain their immut-
ability, universality, and their status as ultimate objects of knowledge and
sources of meaning. Being is and is not in the Sophist, but it always is
and is not. Critics have disagreed voluminously about just which senses
of the verb “to be” (or which senses of being) are marked off from each
other in this dialogue,” but it suffices for my purposes merely to indicate
that some distinction is drawn, without specifying the terms distin-
guished.
Consider the passage where this happens most obviously:
Stranger First about motion, let us say that motion is altogether different
from rest. Or is that not so?
Theaetetus It is so.
Str So motion is not rest (ow stasis ar’estin).
Theae Not in any sense.
Str But motion is (esti) by virtue of partaking of existence (tou ontos).
Theae. Yes.
Str And once more motion is different from the same.
Theae No doubt.
Str So motion is not the same (ou tauton ara estin).
Theae No.
Str But on the other hand, motion, we said, is the same as itself, because
everything partakes of the same.
Theae Certainly.
Str Motion, then, is both the same and not the same (tauton ... kat mé
auton); we must admit this without boggling at it. For when we say it is
“the same” and “not the same” we are not using the expression in the
same sense (ou .. . homoids eirékamen). We call it “the same” on account of
its participation in the same with reference to itself, but we call it “not
the same” because of its combination with difference. .. .
(Sophist 255E11—256B2)”!
Motion is not rest but also is by partaking of being; it is the same with
itself but is not (the Form of) the same; these, however, are not logical
contradictions because the opposites are not being asserted in the same
sense. The entire world of Forms can be described by the dialectician as
a congeries of opposed terms which do not contradict one another, and
the possibility of discourse about the Forms—and thus about reality—
depends both on the fact that all the opposed terms apply and on their
not applying in the same sense.
Parmenides, of course, would have reacted with horror. So Plato’s dis-
ambiguation of all the apparent contradictions among Forms into state-
ments true in different respects is intended to show, ironically, that the
rights of reason can be preserved—not only in spite of Protagoras—but
also only through an abandonment of Parmenides. Here the revised
version of the law is shown to have an anti-relativistic outcome: the old
tie between Parmenides’ version and the existence of a transcendent
realm is now snapped in the attempt to show that only by abandoning
that version can we save the ontology and discourse that Parmenides had
irivented—shorn, of course, of what Plato regards as its monistically pro-
found unintelligibility.
It is interesting to speculate about the role of the Parmenides in this
picture of Plato’s development. It is not necessary to state that interpre-
tations of the dialogue vary; even to sketch the extent of the variation
would take too much space.” But an observation on the structure of the
dialogue may give us some index of directions to follow.
The younger Socrates is not impressed by Zeno’s antinomies, because,
he says, they are easily obtained from any sensible object. This is the
doctrine of Phaedo and of Protagoras as I and others have sketched it.
But what would surprise him would be if the same antinomies were true
of Forms. (That is what happens in the Sophist’s revision of middle-period
doctrine.) Parmenides then deduces antinomies from the Forms in an
impressive response to Socrates’ dare. It is tempting to conclude from
this that we are to take each Parmenidean antinomy, say P and not F
and disambiguate the purported contradiction, finding out the different
senses in which P and not P are true, just as the Sophist recommends.
The Parmenides will thus seem to call explicitly for the Sophist as part
(though of course not all) of its message and work. Unfortunately this
program of disambiguation is difficult to carry out in detail, because
there appear to be true sides to the antinomies, as well as errors of
reasoning not corrected in the Sophist, and a good—though not deci-
sive—general critique of this way of reading the Parmenides’ relation to
the Sophist has been offered by Robinson.”* Still, one can say this in
general: the Parmenides purports to demonstrate that compresence of
Opposites (in respects not explicitly specified) among the Forms which is
denied in the Phaedo and the Republic as well as by the younger Socrates
in the later dialogue itself. The Sophist shows that such a compresence is
possible—indeed necessary for discourse—so long as the opposites are
not true in the same sense. However the details are worked out, it will
appear that late Plato no longer absolves the Forms from relativity.
A word about method in the Philebus in relation to the Sophist. The
Sophist tells us to take note of the precise senses and respects in which
“contradictory” statements are true.*4 Similarly, the Philebus tells us that,
in addition to concluding that the same thing is at once one and an
indefinite plurality, we must discover precisely how many it is (i.e., how
many subdivisions a given classification has).2° Here the oneness of the
genus corresponds to the singling out of the subject matter in the Sophist;
the indefinitely many correspond to the application of opposite terms;
and the just how many correspond to the specification of respects. The
method in both cases has as its most difficult feature the specification of
a precise middle ground between distinctiveness and haziness, between
boundedness and unboundedness.
If this story makes sense, Plato’s development can be viewed as a grad-
ual clarification of the import of Eleaticism and its logic for a theory of
Forms, that is, a pluralistic theory involving supersensibles related to
each other by nonidentity in order to preserve distinctions of meaning.
Parmenides had distinguished sensible from supersensible on the basis
of a looser formulation of the law; Protagoras had tried to use the tighter
formulation to dispense with the supersensible and condemn everything
sensible to an ethically loose variability; Plato applies the tighter for-
mulation first to sensibles and then to Forms as he moves from the
Phaedo’s denial of Form-relativity to the Sophist’s specification of precisely
that relativity in total tightness of respect.
It has already been observed that Aristotle behaves as if Plato’s late
revision of his ontology was not a success; he takes the Third Man ar-
gument as working against the theory of Forms, and his interpretation
of the separation between Forms and particulars does not allow for the
possibility that his own theory of ambiguity might apply within that
separation.” In particular, one might suppose him to have reasoned like
this: “The big reason for holding Forms was that they were independent
\
of relativity. Now Plato has allowed this into the Forms, too, so the ar-
gument for their existence based on incomplete predicates collapses.
Nothing therefore is left but to find the universality of Forms in the
immanent formal characteristics of particulars, since Forms and partic-
ulars are now indistinguishable from each other on narrowly logical
grounds. We must be modern and swallow the anti-transcendent impli-
cations of the new law of noncontradiction.” This is one possible corre-
lation between Aristotle and a certain attitude toward the transition from
middle to late Plato. For Aristotle, a distinction between immaterial and
material substances is no longer a distinction between universals and
particulars.
There is another way of putting these same points. As R. E.Allen has
pointed out, an expression like to ison, “the equal” (or to eon, “being”),
is, as Plato remarks in Phaedo 103A4—C2, ambiguous in Greek; it can
refer both to the thing which has the characteristic and to the charac-
teristic that the thing has.?”? In Parmenides such an expression would
refer to both in the world of truth, for being is both; it is never qualified
by its opposite, and so it 2s what it has. Plato’s middle-period distinction
between Forms and particulars, with their different sorts of accessibility
to relativity, is supposed to cut through the ambiguity: a particular zson
is both equal and unequal, while the Form (to ison) is only equal. Thus
the sophistic paradox “the equal is unequal” is found only in particulars
and is not surprising in them; they have different predicates true in
different respects. Later, however, the Forms also appear to be qualified
by their opposites, though in different respects (just like particulars). It
is at this point that an Aristotelian qgua-locution can come to the aid of a
Platonic ontology (the Forms are P qua x and not P qua y)—or of an
Aristotelian one, for it might be argued that, since both Forms and par-
ticulars are contextually variable, there no longer is a clear distinction
between them, and so their ontological separation must be dropped.
Both are P qua x and not P qua y, and therefore the middle-period
distinction between Forms and particulars can reappear on the level of
immanent concrete particulars alone as it becomes the distinction be-
tween substance—which must have a given essential property P—and
accidents, which are and are not indifferently.
Thus this second part of Parmenides’ logic, involving the dropping of
qualifiers, may have been historically fruitful in sophistry, in Plato’s de-
velopment, and in Aristotle as it provided raw material for subsequent
adoption and revision, for ontology and for clarifications of the laws. It
remains to be seen whether philosophers earlier than or contemporary
with Parmenides were concerned with similar issues in their own fashion,
with the relationships between opposites applying to an underlying sub-
stratum and with the permissibility, necessity, or impermissibility of those
relationships. Obviously for some of these philosophers we are going to

have to rely on very small hints; but for others, especially Heraclitus,
there is more evidence of a concern with these issues.
Thales is reported to have said that all is water.?° If this is so, and if
he meant that water is the underlying stuff or substance of all things,
then, since both earth and fire derive from water, the canonical sentence
expressing the entire ontology will be: “Water is both earth and fire.”
There is a potential paradox here which becomes more evident if we
assume that fire is the opposite of water. Then, if water is truly the source
of all things, this sentence expresses the true strength and weakness of
Thales’s idea: “Water is both water and fire.” That is, the same thing is
both itself and its opposite. For Thales, perhaps, this is a strength; truly
water must be a marvelous stuff, genuinely worthy of being the arché or
source of all things, if it can encompass both itself and its opposite in
this way. No paradox is felt, or, if one is felt, it is regarded as an advantage
of the system, a plus in explanatory power. The disadvantage is that,
given the reduction and translatability of all the elements into each other
through the medium of water, the path can also be taken in the opposite
direction: “Fire is both fire and water.” And this means that the choice
of any particular one of the elements as the arché is essentially arbitrary.
Anaximenes explores one of these other possibilities without improving
on Thales’s general method of explanation.2? Anaximander, however,
might be thought to make aslightly different move, and in so doing to
reveal the beginning of an awareness of paradoxes that were to be ex-
ploited by Heraclitus and disdained by Parmenides.
Anaximander supposes that the apeiron, the unbounded, unlimited,
indefinite, is the source of all things.3° This candidate for the arché is not
on the same level as water and air, because it is not an element and lacks
a definite nature. Its choice, one might suggest, betrays an impatience
with the arbitrariness of a choice among intertranslatable elements.
Moreover, the apeiron is free to be transformed into anything without
running the risk of conflicting with its own nature. As I said above, I
doubt whether Thales thought there was any danger or chance of con-
tradiction in water’s being both water and fire; he may have thought of
this as an explanatory asset. But the apeiron, since it has no polar op-
posite, avoids this danger, and perhaps it was chosen in part for this
reason. If so, then the fact that Anaximander considers this a danger in
the first place is significant and would indicate the beginnings of an
awareness that sentences of the form “X is both water and fire” express
a metaphysics that is potentially paradoxical, suspect, or at least remark-
able. Only if we did not hold that such sentences were potentially dis-
ambiguable (as “X is water in the sea and fire in the heavens,” for
example) would we go on to think them remarkable either as paradoxes
to be avoided or as divine embodiments of the coincidence of opposites.

If, then, Anaximander proposed the apeiron partly in order to avoid such
a situation, he is the precursor of Heraclitus and Parmenides in that
respect.
Heraclitus can be seen as making the same point in a different way.
Let us take a typical Heraclitean utterance to be something like “God is
day night ... war peace, fullness and hunger. . .” or “Sea is purest and
foulest water: for fish it is drinkable and salutary; for men it is undrink-
able and lethal.’?! There is a class of such statements which, as Barnes
has shown, is metaphysically decisive and involves dropping the quali-
fiers. The interpretation of sentences like these depends on whether we
take Heraclitus to be breaking the law in its modern sense.*? Suppose
that he is not (see below); then what he would be saying is, not that the
same thing is both day and night in the same sense, but that the same
thing, which is day in one sense and night in another sense, is therefore
“day night.” (The absence of an “and” between day and night might
indicate that the way God is day and the way God is night are still two
ways of being God, that the same thing is uninterruptedly both.) The
rhetorical punch and the philosophical message of “day night” would,
then, depend on being able to drop the qualifiers. Heraclitus, of course,
welcomes the resulting paradox and reasons from it to the conclusion
that an all-encompassing God embraces and underlies opposites; this is
the very consequence that Parmenides, on the surface level at least, de-
plores, although Parmenides’ underlying treatment of qualifiers is the
same.
To restate this in terms of a question: is the logic fallacious? Certainly
the same sentence with and without qualifiers does not always have the
same relationship to truth; but to drop the qualifiers in moving from
“God is day at noon” to “God is day” does not result in falsehood unless
we read “God is day” as “God is day now” (when it is night) or as “God
is day always” (haplés, simpliciter), that is, unless we reinsert some qualifiers
or temporal expressions. As it stands, “God is day” can be taken as an
unspecified expression which does follow from “God is day now.” Thus
I suggest Heraclitus is really concluding, from the fact that God is day
now and night later, that God is capable of being both day (in some sense
or other) and night (in some sense or other). Now here is where the
genuine difference between our logic and Heraclitus’s comes in. If I am
right in thinking that there is as yet no fallacy, then we should regard
“day in some sense and night in some sense” as posing no problems; but
Heraclitus regards it as paradoxical. Why? I would suggest that it is
because, like Parmenides, he feels as contradictions things which we
would regard merely as contextual relativities, opposites true even in
different senses. His inferences do not, in fact, break the “modern” law,
but he probably believed that they broke his own version of the law, in
which there is a contradiction even in different senses, and that, in so
doing, they demonstrated that opposites were in some sense one as parts
of a cosmic harmony which could survive being ripped apart. But secun-
dum quid would have been there only if Heraclitusshad demonstrably
concluded that day and night are true of God in the same sense, or that,
given that God was day in some sense, God could not have been night
in any sense. Similarly for Parmenides: the inference is not from “Fire
is not the same with Night” to “Fire is never the same,” but rather from
“Fire is the same with itself and not the same with Night” to “Fire is the
same and not the same”—this, though unspecified, being rejected as
relativistic, contradictory, or vague according to the earlier version of the
law. The sophists are guilty of secundum quid, but the real philosophers
are not—they are working with an “archaic” theory of sentence structure
in which relativity and contradiction are not yet clearly distinguished,
or—to put it differently—they feel that the tensions evoked by dropping
the qualifiers are metaphysically decisive, for good or for ill, in ways
which the more commonsensical later version of the law would conceal
(see n. 33, below). In this theory, the core of the sentence is a subject-
predicate-copula complex which is directly mappable onto reality (in
Parmenides, the mapping is so exact that the copula of an adequate logos
must even remain unnegated in order to express being). Within the
complex, there are levels of importance (thus qualifiers are dropped to
see if terms contradict each other or are contextually relative, and terms
are dropped to see if the copula is negated). The sophists think that this
dropping can occur without damage to truth, but Parmenides and Her-
aclitus use it to produce sentences with no blanks filled in.%3
So much, at any rate, for the claim that Parmenides’ logic of qualifiers
could historically have been what I have attributed to him. The dropping
of qualifiers as well as the dropping of terms are two parts of the same
logic in Greek philosophy, that attributed to him in chapter 1.
Chapters 2-4 made my third claim—that Parmenides used a method
of enumeration and variation in order to demonstrate and illustrate
things. Insofar as such a claim simply means that he used a rational
proof-procedure, there is no historical difficulty with it.24 But there is
more to Parmenides’ method than enumeration and variation: there is
reductio ad absurdum argument (B8.6—15), transcendental argument
(B2), modal argument (see chapter 4), and proof by ironic reversal
(“Opinion”). If I want to single out one tree from this forest of rational
procedures, I must show that it can be found outside Parmenides as well,
even if it be antecedently granted that the whole apparatus of rational
argument is Eleatic.
There would appear to be some reason in Zeno and in Plato for at-
tributing this kind of argument to Parmenides. Parmenides’ method of

argument consists in ringing the changes on a set of connected tautol-
ogies or near-tautologies, generated by an underlying method of one-
many variation which dictates the theme of, and the single, double, and
triple number of, the terms in each section. Contraries (envisaged as
applying in the many kinds of situations which would render a unity
many) are denied, and the result is that nothing prevents the plurality
in which they would have applied from collapsing into a unity. The
denials of the many situations all come to the same thing—no contraries
and no plurality. Similarly, the modal denials and the denials of the other
argue in many cases by ruling something out. The technique of proof is
the same as Zeno’s—one proves by disproving the opposite of what one
is trying to prove. Moreover, Zeno is Platonically supposed to have many
different arguments against plurality. The arguments we have present
different kinds of magnitude, divisibility, the relation of time and motion
to the unlimited, the relation of a thing to its place, the relationships of
time and space involved in moving objects passing each other—all ter-
minating in paradox, all undermining the world of space and time.*°
Each of the comparable contexts differs slightly from its siblings, but
they are all recognizable as variations on a central theme, even if no
direct connections are demonstrable between them.*® And this, too, is
like Parmenides’ method of exhausting the many ways of being many in
space and time. But whereas Parmenides was able to state the same point
in many different ways without contradiction, Zeno’s purpose leads him
to derive a contradiction each time in each group from the same set of
premises. Of being, only one (at most) of any Q and not-Q can apply.
But we have seen that Parmenides is willing to affirm Q and (let’s say)
not-R at the same time in the same or in different contexts, as well as
denying S and not-T, provided that the affirmations and denials are true
by his criteria. And this is just what one would expect if one took Zeno’s
method of going through many different contexts and subtracted the
contradictoriness from it. Zeno gives a Parmenidean characterization to
the sensible world which depicts it as the abode of contradiction; but
Parmenides’ own characterization of the contradiction-free intelligible
world was as radically negative in its language and as thoroughgoing in
its considerations of different contexts as Zeno could have wished for in
a description of the sensible world. The dialogue within the poem be-
tween what is affirmed and what is denied, first dramatized by Furth,*”
recalls an antinomic arrangement, except that the two halves of the an-
tinomy are mutually compatible, like “complete” and “not incomplete.”
Surely part of what Parmenides wants us to understand about being is
that, in it, all legitimate affirmations and denials coincide; but the ap-
plication of such an outlook to the sensible world will immediately gen-
erate a method in which contradictories are true at the same time.

Parmenides’ self-conscious play back and forth between affirmation and
negation is like the eristic cannon-fire of Zeno, except that it is all in the
service of logical harmony. Both, then, agree that contradiction dooms
an assertion; both argue through disproving the opposite; and both use
a method which seeks to cover the possible cases. The characterization
Plato gives Zeno in the Parmenides thus.applies partly to the master as
well. And a method of proof which examines many different contexts is
easily generalizable into a method of varying predicates and modal as-
sertions.
In the Parmenides, moreover, Plato’s own method of generating appar-
ent contradictions from either member of a pair of contradictories is
explicitly declared (135D6—136C5) to be the same as Zeno’s, with this
difference, that one looks at what follows when the supposed thing is not
as well as what follows when it is, in an examination now ranging over
Forms as well as over sensible things. But the deduction of contradictions
is the same; the argument against sensibles now becomes an argument
for the Forms. And this method also reveals a technique of varying
contexts. Each member of a set of highest-level concepts is examined in
its relationship to the other highest-level concepts, both individually and
as a group; thus the initial hypothesis can be “the One is” or “the One
is not,” but it can also be “rest is a whole,” or “motion is one,” or “motion
is not one.”** The actual second half of the Parmenides is only one frag-
ment of a much larger method. Once the initial pair of hypotheses for
each concept—one positive and one negative—has been laid down, then
the hypothesized term can be examined in its relationships to each of
the other concepts, just as is done with the one in the second half that
we have. The result is a network in which the relationships of compati-
bility and incompatibility between and among Forms are all sketched out
from differing perspectives. There is a striking similarity between this
and the Eleatic method of varying the context. The Parmenidean method
of one-many variation explored in chapter 3 also resembles Plato’s in
that members ofa plurality (for Parmenides the points or places, for
Plato the Forms) are collated with each other in all possible ways, both
one by one and as a group. Parmenides’ plurality rejects contraries and
collapses into a simple unity, while Plato’s accepts both members of a
pair of contraries, each in a different sense. If these parallels are gen-
uine, then one is entitled to speak, first, of an Eleatic method, and,
second, of its transformation by Plato even as he acknowledges his debts.
Thus Plato clearly recognizes himself and Zeno as the employers of a
method which is recognizably similar to the one I have attributed to
Parmenides. The Parmenidean logic uses the method of enumeration to
prove the dispensation of the supersensible from real contrariety, in
\
accordance with its version of the law. Zeno, adhering to the same logic,
uses the method asa scaffold for the finding only of opposites in the
sensible world. Plato, still committed to the method as part of a search
for truth, uses it to call for disambiguation in the light of a new under-
standing of the law. It is Parmenides who is at issue throughout, as the
dialogue’s title indicates.
Thus, I think, it is historically possible for Parmenides to have held
the views on syntax and ontology and their relationship to logic, in par-
ticular the treatment of contradiction, that I have attributed to him, and
it is likely (in view of his successors) that he was a methodological orig-
inator who hada lot of influence. Again, it is not new to claim that
Parmenides was influential and related to his historical context in various
ways, but I think that the particular logic attributed to him in preceding
chapters—the relation of contradictions, terms, and the copula toa single
method—is new, as a whole, with him. In the next chapter I consider
how the being which is reached by this method is related to some other
entities in the history of philosophy.
CHAPTER 6
The
Bounded
and the ‘
Unbounded
Thenceforth I thought the Light of Heaven was in this

World.
—Thomas Traherne
In this concluding chapter, I depart somewhat from the methods and
concerns of preceding chapters. I am not here so much concerned with
the text of Parmenides, or with a discussion of his immediate historical
influence, as with a freer (and necessarily more superficial and incom-
pletely justified) exploration of his central metaphor—that of the ball or
sphere—in relation to the central philosophical and theological issues of
the bounded and the unbounded. For Parmenides laid stress on the
boundedness of the transcendent, and though others followed him in
this, Melissus, a member of his own school, did not.! The method of
composition I have adopted here is also different; it is not linear, but
returns again and again to the same themes in order to illustrate them
from different angles.
The old interpretation of Parmenides’ being as a spherical body still
has able and articulate defenders.2 Most interpreters, however, now take
the sphere as a metaphor, and there has been some stimulating discussion
as to why this metaphor is appropriate.’ I do not here intend to enter
this discussion, except in the most elementary way. First, the position of
being as not only a determinate and stable‘ but also a unique? object of
discourse is guaranteed by its boundedness. Second, the bounds mark
being off from time and make it uniform while they prevent it from
wandering in space;° finally, they guarantee its equal relationships with
itself, its indifference to perspectival variation, and its necessity.” These
things all make it not only the only accessible object, but also the only
object, for speech and for thought, and the clear, pristine, bounded world
136
THE BOUNDED AND THE UNBOUNDED 137
of being contrasts sharply with the vague, wandering, contradictory, and

presumably (at least partly) unbounded world of mortals.®
Moreover, such bounded attributes of being paradoxically tie its tran-
scendency to its finitude. I say paradoxically because Western, post-Chris-
tian mortals are still used to tying transcendence to infinitude. We see a
lack of spatiotemporal variation, for example, as involving the negation
of positive and definite attributes which we associate with finitude, not
as a freedom from arbitrary, irrational, and indefinite starts, stops, and
changes in general. And so we see Parmenidean boundedness as some-
what peculiar or incongruous in a discussion of transcendency. Why not
“in-finite” along with the other alpha-privatives? It is this same difficulty
which makes even the Trinity, closer to us in time, so hard to explain:
how is it that three definite hypostases can be marked off from each
other if each of them is infinite? Thus I consider boundedness and tran-
scendence both together and separately here.
In what follows, my task is not that of tracing the history of the notion
of God as transcendent and infinite, nor the history of the philosophical
notions of the bounded and the unbounded from Parmenides through
Zeno and Melissus, Pythagoreanism, Plato, Aristotle, Hellenistic philos-
ophy, the Neoplatonists, and so on. Instead, I would like to isolate just a
few moments in the history of thought and look at them in a necessarily
unconnected way, as types of abstract positions that can be taken in
metaphysical space. This approach, besides being permitted by the
rather modest nature of the conclusions I attempt to draw, is necessitated
by limitations of space, for a complete history—even only a survey—
would fill many books. I hope it will be fruitful to examine these notions
at what I believe to be some nodal points in their Eastern and Western
development. I also look at these various versions of the bounded and
the unbounded, not only in terms of the history of philosophy and the-
ology, but also mythically and in their connections with the theory and
practice of human life.
Two of the abstractly possible positions on the bounded and the un-
bounded, then, are: the transcendent is bounded and the immanent is
unbounded, or a coincidence of bounded and unbounded (Parmenides);
or the transcendent is unbounded while the immanent is bounded (Chris-
tianity and Buddhism). I will soon embark on a comparison of these
positions, but, since Parmenides’ being was bounded, the question first
arises: how does my earlier discussion of Parmenides’ copula and position
on contradiction connect with the notion of a boundary, and why would
the method I have attributed to him be appropriate in laying out the
characteristics of a bounded being? (In what follows I shall use
“bounded” and “finite,” and “unbounded” and “infinite,” as equivalent.)
In chapter | I attempted to show how my reading allows one to endorse
138 THE BOUNDED AND THE UNBOUNDED
parts of earlier interpretations while disagreeing with some of their ac-

counts of what makes negative language negative and with some views
on whether the goddess’s language was intended to be negative. If, as I
suggested, the canonical language is intended to be positive, then we are
free to consider negative language as wrong because it does not make a
Judgment, because it does not refer to qualities or states of affairs, be-
cause it is vague, or because some of it inyolves negative existential state-
ments, or for all of these reasons, without feeling ourselves bound to
make choices and without finding the goddess’s words self-referentially
inconsistent. Now, on Parmenides’ monistic view, as I read it, a truth
introduced by a canonical sentence would have to be something definite
and unvague, so certain elements present in earlier lines of interpretation
can in principle be reconciled. That is, the connection between a can-
onical sentence and the boundedness of what-is would be this: only such
a sentence, with a true predicate or without any predicate, can carry a
definite meaning, can reach the one true object of all discourse. A neg-
ative assertoric copula does not bring a predicate, one of the carriers of
definiteness, into discourse at all; and a false predicate, by violating the
Parmenidean version of the prohibition against contradiction, also lends
itself to vagueness. Only a true canonical sentence can express appro-
priate definiteness and, provided that they are accompanied by an un-
negated assertoric copula, even privative and negative predicates can be
carriers of a positive reality, as the negation is integrated to become part
of a complete predicate. In this sense, to be a positive state of affairs is
to be a bounded being. And there is a rigid, bipartite disjunction between
what is positive and what is not. This “either-or” logic, noted by Ranulf,?
and search for boundedness extend beyond the absolute disjunction be-
tween being and nothing into the tripartite and quadripartite disjunc-
tions I have noted in chapters 2—4. There, if my claims are correct, it is
Parmenides’ intention to select positive and negative modes of expression
for different types and numbers of predicates, different modes for the
applications of contraries in a plurality, and different ways in which an
other besides what-is might come to be. The different modes and alter-
natives occur in different sections of the poem and are thus disjoined in
form as well as in content. Regardless of whether they are accepted or
rejected, the modes represent a search for determinacy or boundedness
in two senses: first, the acceptances and rejections will result in true
propositions about what-is, and these propositions will be determinate,
given Parmenides’ other views about what being has to be in order to be
speakable; second, the habit of setting out alternatives is itself charac-
teristic of a rational method which seeks to determine things, to mark
off acceptable alternatives from unacceptable ones and so to mark a
limit. Boundedness in all these senses is thus characteristic of, or allied
with, Parmenides’ philosophy of the copula, his avoidance of contradic-

tion, and his use of a method of variations. One may therefore sum up
his procedure in the metaphor of a ball. The ball pushes out equally in
every direction because there is nothing to oppose its expansion to uni-
formity and inviolateness; it stops somewhere along the way because, to
continue the metaphor, its stuff is finite in volume, finite therefore in
surface area. The sphere as abode of definiteness is the proper object of
a canonical discourse joining definite and true predicates to a subject
named by the copula’s participle (be-ing), a discourse which proves
things by bounding off what is acceptable from what is not in a calculus
of variations. Parmenides intended to exhibit the truth by denying all the
ways of not-being-one in a speech which exhibits all the different kinds
of affirmation and negation, and he believed that, when this had been
done, the limits of the truth had been delineated. The speech will be
amphis Alétheiés,° around or about truth. The method is one with its
conclusions, just as the mind is ultimately one with the reality is contem-
plates.!! A method containing mere deductions from premises uncon-
nected with each other, instead of a systematic survey of cases, could
never have been expressed in a single metaphor or summed up in a
single act of mind. The boundedness of being might mean also that the
goddess’s discourse is not paradoxical or self-falsifying; of course, a
sphere can be viewed as a self-overcoming metaphor which carries the
goddess along with it as it collapses into being, but this possibility, as I
attempted to show in chapter 1, could presuppose the clear confidence
of the goddess in her own words and in their ontological import.
Much of this, I believe, stands even if the account of the copula and
related issues offered in chapter | is not accepted. Whatever one’s views
on Parmenides’ positive and negative language are, it will still be the job
of positive language to try (at least initially) to guarantee boundedness
in word and thought and in the reality that words and thoughts are
about; this fact about Parmenides’ imagery is compatible with any inter-
pretation and is much of what I explore here. Similarly, the definiteness-
oriented methodology I described in chapters 2—4 stands as a description
of Parmenidean words and reasons. The bound is the central idea here.
Only a view which regarded boundedness as not even pedagogically use-
ful for Parmenides would be totally incompatible with what I claim.
Consider the difference between Parmenides, the apostle of a finite
being, and negative theology, when it speaks of an infinite God. One
would, if finitude and a positive copula go together, expect discourse
about the infinite to be negative. Moses Maimonides, indeed, draws this
conclusion—it is better to speak of God in the negative than in the
positive!2—whereas for Parmenides asserted negatives are seen as intrin-
sically positive. On another level, it is a fact about Parmenides’ language
itself that his canons for positivity are looser than Maimonides’ and can
allow negative states of affairs to be positive; this enables him to cheat,
as it were, and not have negatives import, the infinite. The classical
(Pseudo-Dionysian) form of negative theology, as distinct from Maimon-
ides’, requires both positive and negative statements;!* with this, Par-
menides in a sense has no quarrel, since he too requires both, so long as
both are along the positive route; but the.determinacy which is required
by canonical speech never vanishes, and so, once again, it is not as if he
required infinity by corralling the negative route into “Truth.” Paradox,
contradiction, and self-referential inconsistency would tend to dilute the
very finiteness which is required by his prescriptions and prohibitions,
while a preference for the infinite in language and reality would undercut
what he sees as his intrinsic positivity. Thus an answer to the question
“why would Parmenides have chosen the method I have attributed to
him?” can be given, not only in terms of his early versions of later rules
of rationality, but also in terms of a general transcendental argument to
the effect that reality is only approachable as bounded. The origin of
many rules which were to be dominant in Western thinking thus lies in
an intuition of the real as finite.
Let us now look at some of the less bounded alternatives. Heraclitus
is one. Parmenides is, of course, noted for turning an ironic eye on our
dualistic cosmologies, our copulation and sexual disjunctions, our fetuses
and our astronomy.'* But his work also shines with the confidence be-
gotten by a realized, rational access to the transcendent, to which all
names spoken by mortals ultimately refer in spite of themselves.!® To
know a being which lies at the heart of language and to know that this
being is undivided from itself even in the worst of life’s vicissitudes—
perhaps also to know that one’s thought is one with this which it contem-
plates—is, perhaps, Parmenides’ formula for happiness, if this is not too
far from the text. One can even imagine a gospel: “Nothing isn’t real,
so it’s impossible for anything to alter, to be other than it is. Everything
is already full, complete, perfect. You are also fully real, in fact you are
reality itself, and your mutable becoming is only a dream. Simply be
what you cannot keep from being—namely, the being that you are.” This
doctrine could carry with it reassurance and tranquility, even bliss. And
in a way its underlying message, if not its mood, is not too different from
that of Heraclitus, for whom the tensile strength of the divine Fire is
never interrupted and indeed shows itself forth most strongly when it
springs forth in a new form after being quenched,!° thus overcoming
death in the moment of death’s triumph. Heraclitus’s God proves to be
the same in and through all the changes to which the world is subject,!’
and Parmenides’ being turns out to be the real, though ironically implicit,
object even of mortal language. But there are two different attitudes
toward the transcendent here: the transcendent as finite form in the

aloofness of the Parmenidean sphere from generation and destruction;
and the transcendent unbounded which manifests itself in the destruc-
tion and recreation of finite forms in Heraclitus’s undying Fire. The
transcendent can be conceived either as fixed or as destroying fixity only
in order to resurrect it; the two may well be said to come down to the
same thing (more on this later). But the ethical emphasis of Parmenides
is on trust, stability, commitment and persuasion, while that of Heraclitus
is on the murders which resurrect and the lyric of the humming strung
bow, the harmony of violence.
A related topic of comparison between Heraclitus and Parmenides lies
in the treatment of negation and badness in a discourse which purports
to put us in touch with ultimate reality. If the claims made in chapter 1
are correct, then Parmenides buys into some kinds of negative language
at the price of exile for other kinds. The rhetorical effect of this practice
is perhaps to say: “See how much in the way of negation I can allow
without violating the unity of my precepts.” Thus Parmenidean language
accomplishes in part the same integration of the negative side, the same
ability of the transcendent to repair all seams, that Heraclitean language
does. For the latter, God transcends good and bad by being displayed in
both of them and using them as means;'* for Parmenides, the real pos-
itivity of an unnegated copula transcends and includes apparent nega-
tivity and positivity. Here badness and negativity are parallel because
both start out by seeming prohibited and are later brought in to play a
productive role. Parmenides employs the logic of negation in order to
distance the transcendent from the sensible in a daring tightrope walk
which threatens at any time to fall into the breaking of the prohibition
that governs the whole, while Heraclitus’s Fire is posed at the balance-
point between too much order and too little; it is good by being both
good and bad. Again, Heraclitus seems more radical because he seems
to have the courage to violate prohibitions—that guaranteeing the sep-
aration of good and bad, for example—but in no case does he violate
the unity of his own cosmic principle, any more so than Parmenides
violates being with his daring negations. The two have the same ethic of
thought. In both cases the transcendent is stable enough to survive ap-
parent inundation by its own opposite, ever. though Heraclitus has a
transcendent which is apparently not bounded to any particular shape
while Parmenides has one which is. This is the affinity with Pseudo-
Dionysian negative theology, in which the transcendence of God is best
expressed by both affirming and denying every finite perfection of God;
but for Parmenides even the denials are finite, while for Heraclitus the
infinite itself succumbs to imperfection and so paradoxically remains
infinite.
A third topic of comparison between Parmenides and other thinkers

lies in the finitude of Parmenidean being. For Heraclitus (as also for
Socrates, and in Christianity and Buddhism), the divinity or infinity of
a creature becomes most manifest at the moment it succumbs to its fin-
itude. In Heraclitus things become lost (and thus immortalized) in the
cosmic cycle only when they lose their own individual integrity and
change into other things, and the stability of the cycle consists in the
measured instability of its elements.'® Socrates’ claim to wisdom rests
upon his admission of ignorance, and in the dialogues we often see
people begin to make progress only when stung by the stingray into
abandoning the pretence of knowledge; the suggestion is clearly that all
claims to knowledge higher than those of a merely technical order are
mere pretense, and that wisdom—if there is a wisdom higher than the
admission of ignorance—will consist in exploring one’s ignorance in or-
der to see what one does not know. Socrates’ acceptance of his finitude
and ignorance—of his difference from the gods—is, paradoxically, the
confirmation of his divine mission and wisdom,” just as the very change-
ability of a Heraclitean element is proof of its being swept up in the
divine force. In Christianity, the character of the divine as love is thought
to be most perfectly revealed in its incarnation as human and subjection
to a painful death; the moment when Jesus protests his abandonment by
God is the moment when his passion, and thus the salvation of the world,
are thought to be completed.?! And Jesus is thought to be encountered
perhaps most profoundly in moments of abandonment where the disci-
ple, conscious of his or her own powerlessness and nothingness, is cast
down onto the divine mercy. The moment of confrontation with and
acceptance of one’s finitude is also the moment when the infinite em-
braces one. In Christianity the transcendent seems at first like a stern
vengeance which demands the most intimate of sacrifices—but, para-
doxically, the moment when the sacrifice is completed is also the moment
when the resurrected victim is restored to the sacrificer (now turned
gentle parent), not only whole but also better than before. The infinite
manifests itself in the finite via the dissolution of finite form, but then
via its reconstruction in a way which reveals the infinite behind the finite,
the transcendent resurrecting the immanent. The same effect—the
eternity of the finite—is there from the beginning in a simpler way for
Parmenideans, by making a being transcendent of spatiotemporal mul-
tiplicity and variability also a determinate, definite, and delimited being.
Here the finite does not need to be invaded by the infinite in order to
be made eternal, for it is already transcendent in its own right and so
can remain stable. Thus in the Christian alternative to Parmenides, if
not in the Heraclitean also, we see what can happen when the infinite is
conceived as transcendent: the finite must pay the price and reap the
reward. The pure boundedness of the Parmenidean sphere contrasts

strongly with the infinitized finite (or incarnated infinite) of these alter-
natives. Here I expand to some extent on the account of Heraclitus given
earlier: he disjoins Fire from its manifestations only in order to rejoin it
to them in what is therefore a coincidence of bounded and unbounded.
The system can be compared to a game which continues only when the
players keep changing positions; each player yields his or her position
to the game itself and is swallowed up; but the game cannot exist without
the players and so in a sense coincides with them.
Outside the Western context, a very similar religious meditation on
finitude is found in Japanese Shin Buddhism, where Amida, the Buddha
of infinite light and compassion, embraces and saves all those who call
on him or think of him devoutly; Amida enters at the moment when one
discovers that one needs him and is lost without him. This discovery of,
or immersion in, one’s finitude and helplessness is the same as the dis-
covery of Amida—or, as one devotee put it, “While worrying over my
daily life, fretting about things wanted and wanting, I am all the same
in company with Amida himself.”?? Ultimately the devotee recognizes
Amida.as no other than him or herself.
The same point about the ultimate unity of transcendent infinite and
immanent finite appears in the Buddhist identification of Samsara (the
world of illusion) with Nirvana (bliss). The former is the realm of finite
forms; the latter is the formless void. As Huang Po puts it: “Since no
bodies possess real form, we speak of phenomena as void; and, since
mind is formless, we speak of the nature of all things as void. Both are
formless and both are termed void.”?? The forms of phenomena are void
and empty because illusory, while the void is form because of its oneness
with form: “If you know positively that all sentient beings are already
one with Bodhi (enlightenment, bliss), you will cease thinking of Bodhi
as something to be attained.”** That is, enlightenment is already here
now in the simple recognition of its presence among formed things.
There is a flat coincidence of the transcendent and the immanent: “If
you would only rid yourselves of the concepts of ordinary and enlight-
ened, you would find that there is no other Buddha than the Buddha in
your own mind. (...) So I tell you mind is the Buddha. As soon as
thought or sensation arises, you fall into dualism. Beginningless me
and the present moment are the same. There is no this and no that. To
understand this truth is called complete and unexcelled enlighten-
ment.”25 Time and eternity are always together from the very first in the
presence of the transcendent among immanent things and its unity with
them. This coincidence is not something that has to be brought about,
nor does it take place at one time rather than another. Effort toward a
goal of enlightenment is an obstacle to its achievement, for such striving
comes from a dualism in which bliss is seen as different from us. It is

only when unbounded bliss is thought of as truly unbounded, not bound
to a specific technique, nor as a goal, that its antecedent presence as
universal mind in one’s individual mind (and so, paradoxically, its bound-
edness) can be understood. .
You do not see that THE FUNDAMENTAL DOCTRINE OF THE

DHARMA [law or doctrine] IS THAT THERE ARE NO DHARMAS, YET
THAT THIS DOCTRINE OF NO-DHARMA IS IN ITSELF A DHARMA;
and now that the no-dharma doctrine has been transmitted, how can the
doctrine of the dharma be a dharma?26
The paradox here is that the fundamental principle of Buddhism, when

understood as an ordinary doctrine, self-destructs, as does all speech
about the inability of speech to grasp the infinite. In other words, positive
finite doctrines, when used to express the infinite ungraspability of the
object of doctrine, become paradoxical or terminate in the question with
which the quotation closes. Such a paradox, with its depiction of the
undercutting of the boundedness of doctrines by the unboundedness of
their object, is, however, the doctrine itself, as the “yet that” clause re-
veals. The doctrine is thus a statement about how the finite loses itself
in the infinite by paradoxically acknowledging its finitude. The doctrine
therefore contains a coincidence of the bounded and the unbounded
similar to that preached more discursively in the other quotations from
Huang Po, unless my unenlightened exegesis has been led astray.
In all these traditional ways of wisdom, then, the infinite transcendent
paradoxically appears most fully in its very opposite, or the truth appears
most fully in the infinite together with its opposite, in a conjunction of
bounded and unbounded. What we thought to be the opposite of the
transcendent (badness, ignorance, illusion, the sinner) turns out to be
the working of the transcendent itself. And here there is in a sense a
rapprochement with Parmenides, as pointed out above; his negations,
considered as hermeneutically designed for our consumption, as ways of
being positive which seemed at first to be the opposite of positive, belong
to a long tradition in negative and constructive theology. For Christians,
the acceptance of one’s finitude is infinitude; for Parmenides, finite pos-
itivity is the acceptance of negativity; and this does not diminish the
importance of his boundedness in opposition to their initially infinite
transcendent. And perhaps Buddhism offers us a third possibility—an
immanent finite form which is identified with the infinite without being
destroyed. The doctrine that Nirvana is Samsara, void is form, unless I
misunderstand it, seems to be that things as they are are not other than
the infinite. They need not give way in order to make room for it, but
neither do they need to be frozen into a perfect finite geometrical shape
\
in order to contain the transcendent; they are as they are. This, too, is
a coincidence of transcendence and finitude, but with a different meta-
physical twist.
Similar considerations can perhaps be discovered through the figures
of Apollo and Dionysos on a somewhat Nietzschean interpretation of
them. Apollo is the spirit of measure, restraint, clarity, and order. His
kind of immortality involves resistance to death and its corroding action.
Dionysos is the wisdom involved in allowing periodic spillovers of the
irrational; his is the ability to be reborn through death, to be torn apart
and thus made whole. For Apollo, the transcendent is a pure finite form
against which the waves of time lap in vain, as they do against Parmen-
ides’ being. But with Dionysos, the transcendent rips and bites in fury
into the corpus of finite form, destroying it and guaranteeing its im-
mortality at the same time. Yet the two are brothers, just as Parmenides
and Heraclitus are; immortality is guaranteed by both, since the form
which is born again out of its own destruction, which is knit together by
being dismembered, is the form which survives death by being aloof from
it. Parmenidean form accomplishes in its stasis the same timelessness and
immortality which are given through the death and resurrection of the
Heraclitean elements. Eternity in some sense resides both in the timeless
of an abiding “now” and in the cycles of temporal recurrence. Perhaps,
then, the three perspectives thus far discussed might again be said to
come to the same thing: the transcendent finite form of Parmenides
accomplishes the same thing as the infinite does when it murders and
resurrects finite form, and both express the message that finite form,
just as it is, has the infinite behind it. Yet the ethical outcomes are very
different. The first gets expressed as an ironic Parmenidean detachment
from flux and transiency, the second as a willing Christian submission
to insult and humiliation or (paradoxically) as the Heraclitean prosecu-
tion of war, and the third as a tranquil Buddhistic acceptance of the
scene as it passes. The Parmenidean position is in between the two others.
Like the Buddhist position, it does not mar finite form, but, unlike that
position, it also views transcendence as initially characterized by form;
in this emphasis on form it differs from the Christian position on the
formless infinite which, however, it resembles in not leaving sensibles as
ultimately real. The three positions represent possibilities which are
there, ground which can be staked out. .
I have alluded to Nietzsche’s conception of the Apollinian and Diony-
sian without mentioning his own conception of the eternal recurrence
of the self-same, which is explicitly presented in Thus Spake Zarathustra
as part ofa vision of eternity.?” This conception adds another member
to the spectrum of possibilities. The eternal recurrence is of course dif-
ferent from the return of a resurrected body, for, not only does it occur
many times, but there is also no necessity for transformation or glorifi-

cation on the part of the thing which recurs, except that it come to be
and pass away in the ordinary course of events. Nietzsche’s use of the
formula amor fati* expresses the attitude of a will which wills nothing to
have occurred differently either forward or backward in time, a will
which overcomes bad chances and accidents by willing them—and thus
itself—in perpetuity. Here the will becomes eternal, or infinite in time,
and is reconciled with reality even as it overcomes that reality. The re-
currence is eternal in two senses: because the self-same forever recurs,
and because this “forever” expresses the reconciliation of infinity and
time, of the will with fate. Yet this reconciliation is very far from quie-
tism; indeed, each action has as its maxim something like “act so that
you could bear to have your present action infinitely repeated,” and so
one is reconciled only with that fate which has been infinitely willed by
oneself. This is Kant’s ethical philosophy with the infinity of the thing-
in-itself displaced and secularized onto past and future time. The same
nexus of ideas recurs in Nietzsche’s figures of Caesar and Christ.2? His
characterizations of Jesus as lovingly accepting all things®® and of Caesar
as the embodiment of the conquering will?! mean that the fusion of the
two in one, Caesar with the soul of Christ, involves a will which conquers
by reaching out to infinity, by extending its willing forever, and which at
the same time merely wills the infinite repetition—and thus, its own
loving acceptance—of everything most glorious, most painful, or most
boring.
What I take to be expressed in the eternal recurrence is also relevant
to the comparisons I have been making up to now. The recurrence is
the repetition of the same events again and again (there is no way of
distinguishing an event from its recurrence, since everything—even the
clock—recurs.) It thus gives each event the kind of imperishability in-
volved in its never disappearing utterly from the temporal picture, with-
out removing from it its finitude, its propensity to disappear temporarily
after each repetition. In Christianity the resurrection of the saved is a
reappearance as a glorified body, a reappearance in a different form.
But in Nietzsche the reappearance of the same event is displaced infi-
nitely across time; finite events recur of themselves, without requiring
the intervention of a theological infinite to resurrect them. At the same
time, the finite is itself infinite, since infinitely recurring; the (so to speak)
vertical dimension of infinity involved in the Christian invasion of the
finite by infinity—a verticality that lifts the finite out of itself, crucifying
and resurrecting it in a new way—is replaced by the (so to speak) hori-
zontal infinity of infinite recurrence in forward and backward time. Thus
we can represent Nietzsche’s recurrence as a secular coincidence of
bounded and unbounded, in that the infinity of events appears as their
XX
recurrence after bounded intervals, in that each event has an infinite

number of exact recurrences. The Apollinian element of measure marks
off stretches in the unbounded Dionysian expanse of time. Similar co-
incidences are evident in Nietzsche’s views on life overcoming itself and
justifying itself in and through crime and calamity.*? (The sentiment is,
of course, very close to Heraclitus.) It is the coincidence of bounded
restraint and justice with unbounded lawlessness and injustice that not
only typifies this world but is its most just aspect; for even unlawful excess
has its rights, while, on the other hand, there is something arrogant about
an excess of law.
Thus the recurrence does not touch events, altering them, in the same
way that the invasion of grace touches them. In Buddhism, too, the
infinite is revealed at the boundary of events, not in transmogrifying
them. But there is still this difference: the former gives the flighting
moment a sort of secular immortality and confers on it an imitation of
theological eternity by having it recur endlessly; for the latter, the mo-
ment is already in itself eternal, precisely in its transitoriness. In both,
however, the moment is already hallowed. Which one chooses will depend
on one’s antecedent attitude toward time and eternity, and yet the three
can be seen as different ways of thinking the same thing: the coincidence
of the bounded and the unbounded betokened by the incarnation, by
the oneness of void and form, by the infinite recurrence of the self-same.
The coincidence occurs at the point where ordinary reality, in the very
act of recognizing its ordinariness, proves to be (or to be suffused with)
the infinite. The paradox is that only perfect boundedness reveals the
unbounded.
My points about Parmenides’ incorporation of negative language in its
relationship to negative theology and Heraclitus’s treatment of badness
present a parallel between Parmenides and the thinkers of the infinite
transcendent. But he is, in terms of these later comparisons, very much
the odd one out, unless one wants to make something of the fact that
the finite surface which bounds the sphere is itself unbounded in the
sense of lacking demarcations, like a two-dimensional equivalent of one
of the universes imagined by Einstein. A conjunction between transcen-
dent and finite is, however, visible in all these thinkers, including Par-
menides, and if, as with him, the transcendent is already finite, no further
conjunction with the unbounded is necessary. Thus in Parmenides no
redemption is necessary; but none is possible, either. The pure bounded
is an extreme, but a tenable one, possessed of a certain economy. The
sphere compactly unites the transcendent and the finite into a simple
structure that does not need to be changed in any way. The spirit is
Greek (at least Apollinian Greek): regular and symmetrical, the sphere
presents the same view to every eye. There is here the same delight in
form and proportion which animates the sculptors of this and later times,
the same emphasis on self-sufficiency and an internal principle of bal-
ance. The contrast with individual Gothic forms, which acquire meaning
only by being part of a hierarchy which transcends them, is evident.
Independence from variation is purchased at the cost’of leaving our lived
world behind, and transcendence by leaving out the infinite. This com-
promise acquires stability at a cost, that of having no rapprochement
between the transcendent and the immanent. And yet, if we take the
immanent not necessarily as the sensible but as what participates in the
transcendent, then, if being is the only thing there is and it is like a
sphere, the cost is small, since the transcendent and the immanent are
both the same, enclosed within the same boundary: being is the only
thing that participates in being. If one wants to escape a certain concep-
tual divorce between the transcendent and the finite which is inevitable
(at least initially) for Buddhism and Christianity, then the transcendent,
finite sphere is a plausible alternative. If, on the other hand, one wants
to transcend this sphere without falling once again into the sensible, one
must conceive of the infinite-finite distinction as strictly parallel to the
transcendent-immanent distinction, as the two religions seem to do. The
next question is how the essential unity of the two domains is to be
indicated: is it a matter of converting the one into the other through the
overcoming of immanence by transcendence, or simply a matter of ac-
cepting the finitude of the finite, knowing that this finitude itself reveals
the infinite in the very act of accepting its limits? Here Christianity and
Buddhism, paradoxically, are able to draw sensible things into closer
relationships with the transcendent than Parmenides is—even though,
for him, the finite sphere is transcendent, it is the only finite thing that
is transcendent, since he thinks of sensibles as at least partly indetermi-
nate. For the two other views, on the contrary, everything is either di-
vinisable or already divine.
One name should perhaps have been mentioned before now—that of
Hegel. For it is in Hegel, above all, that one finds a mutual coimplication
and relation of the finite and the infinite; the entire system is incarna-
tionalist. There is, however, this difference between Hegel and the reli-
gions: in Hegel the coincidence of bounded and unbounded is thought
of rationally and is something which can be communicated in a kind of
fusion of intuitive and discursive reason, while in the religions it is some-
thing already accomplished, not needing further penetration by the hu-
man intellect. One may note in this connection that the system of Hegel
in a sense covers the same ground as that of Parmenides, though in a
diametrically opposite way. For whereas in both the coincidence of the
transcendent and the finite is accessible to reason, in Parmenides it is a
reason subject to—indeed, generated by—the law of noncontradiction
\
(though not taken in its later sense), while in Hegel the conquest of spirit
is precipitated precisely by the overcoming of this law.** One might say
that all other traditional Western philosophy hangs between these two
extremes of tautology and contradiction. Parmenides, indeed, might
(from a Hegelian perspective) be seen as the arbiter of an unstable com-
promise, in that definiteness of form can be purchased without un-Par-
menidean contradictions only in a monistic ontology; a pluralistic world,
as Plato sees in the Sophist, cannot be had without a revision of Parmen-
ides’ version of the laws.34 And, as Aristotle sees, this latter admission of
negation and contextual relativity prepares the way for the finding of
conceptual determinacy in the sensible world. If one does not accept the
Parmenidean solution and does not find the transcendent in something
finite, one must find it in the infinite, and there then arises the task of
reconciliation between the infinite and the finite, a task which perhaps
cannot ultimately be accomplished, on the intellectual as opposed to the
religious or practical level, without Hegel’s overcoming of the logical laws,
for a logic designed to encapsulate certain sorts of infinite cannot do so
unless it is no longer restricted to the merely determinate. I shall say
more later about the role of the laws in relation to these issues.
The identity and the difference between Hegel and a branch of Chris-
tianity close to him in spirit can be seen if we compare him with Pseudo-
Dionysius the Areopagite, whose negative theology has already been
mentioned. For Pseudo-Dionysius, true discourse about God consists in
affirming of God all positive perfections (on the grounds that created
perfection comes from God and must preexist in God) and at the same
time in denying them of God (on the grounds that God is infinite and
no finite property can univocally be possessed by God), thus striking a
balance between strict proportionality and lack of proportionality be-
tween the finite and the infinite.*> Here the affirmation and the denial
occur in different senses and do not violate the law because Pseudo-
Dionysius does not equate creatures with God; the one sense traces crea-
tures back to God and the other measures the distance. And yet there
is supposed to be a flavor of paradox, as if the affirmation and the denial
concealed the answer to a riddle. One can predict that if God and crea-
tures are wholly identified in a coincidence of transcendent and finite,
the end result will be the coincidence of opposites in one and the same
sense, the Hegelian logic. From the rational point of view as expressed
by Hegel, the Christian dichotomy between God and creatures is one
that has yet to be overcome; it collapses only in the Incarnation itself,
which is not a logical process. A rational overcoming of the same di-
chotomy would express the coincidence between bounded and un-
bounded not as a historical scandal but as the coincidence of opposites,
not merely in God and in different senses, but also in creatures and in
the same sense. Hegel thus accomplishes the Parmenidean and Christian
goal, but at the cost of violating the logical canons that are tied to these
systems’ different treatments of finite and infinite, transcendent and im-
manent. Yet it was these canons that set up the goal in the first place,
for only the boundedness of reality initially led to its approachability in
a discourse governed by the law. Hegel achieves the goal at the price of
abandoning what made the goal desirable.
In these various ways, I think, Parmenides’ vision of the truth can take
its place in the history of philosophy, can be seen to accomplish the same
goal as other conceptual and mythic structures, while differing in method
from them. This vision possesses a conceptual clarity and isolation, but
it also possesses a sterility and remoteness from the temporal that is all
its own: as noted earlier, it embodies the frozen rigidity, but also the
antique charm, of a Greek sculpture in the archaic style. The philo-
sophical originality (over and above the methodological and logical orig-
inality) of Parmenides consists in his bounded vision of the coincidence
of the transcendent and the finite. Many relationships with other systems
are, of course, possible: those with Heraclitus, the Sophists, Plato, and
Aristotle were touched on in the preceding chapter, while connections
between Parmenides and Leibniz, logical atomism, and the like are also
available.*° But Christianity, Hegel, and Nietzsche represent nodal points
in the Western tradition, while Buddhism (even as imperfectly under-
stood here) represents a cross-cultural alternative. From these, others
can be deduced besides those I have mentioned.
There is thus another possibility besides Parmenides—not to find an
abiding transcendent form beyond this world, but to find in the world
itself, with its forms which do not abide, the abode of the transcendent.
This can be done either in the Heraclitean/Christian way or in the
Buddhist way, either by finding an immortality of forms in their per-
petual dissolution and recreation or by finding in the forms themselves
the infinite hiding behind the finite and also being revealed by it. It is
precisely in its limitation and weakness, or at the moment of its death,
that the finite is thought to be closest to the infinite in these ways of
thinking—a powerful contrast to the perduring, transcendent finite of
Parmenides. It may be that one is never reborn except by being slain,
that there is no rose without an antecedent cross; on such an account
the Parmenidean attempt to give language a solid basis by fixing and
making stable a piece of finite reality would look like madness, since the
real purchase of the intellect on things will be revealed in its picture of
their diversity and changeability, not in an empty snapshot of logical
form. Parmenides’ goddess was supposed to be giving criteria for rational
Judgment, and yet she ended up restricting that judgment to one object
about which very little could be said—a solution which is un-Dionysian
\
in the extreme. Even an Apollinian work of art, one might say, is not
supposed to be the triumph of boundedness as such and over every-
thing—that would be Pentheus, not Apollo—but is rather one which
declares its own incompleteness by the very perfection of its bounded-
ness. Parmenides might be thought to go too far. The smooth surface of
his sphere, though unblemished, perhaps ought to have had the same
effect as the deliberate flaws introduced by Japanese artists into their
work. The flaw connects the work with its unbounded creative source by
commenting on its own status as finished, and therefore limited and
incomplete. This is, perhaps, again the same phenomenon as that in-
volved in the wisdom of Socrates. It might be said that Parmenides should
have recognized that the bounded and the unbounded need each other
here just as in Heraclitus, Christianity, and Buddhism. One could thus
suppose that Parmenides’ flawless sphere is just this Pentheus-like ten-
dency to boundedness writ large and made perfect—a far cry from let-
ting the transitory be transitory or flawing it so as to make it dissolve
into the infinite.
But which is he really, Pentheus or Apollo? He is the former if we take
him as merely stamping boundedness on reality, merely demanding that
it be conceptually graspable. He speaks from Apollo if we take his def-
initeness and limitedness to express the sort of stable position that I have
been attributing to him in this chapter. If the transcendent finite occupies
the same position as the infinite which becomes immanent, then it is not
the expression of limitedness for its own sake so much as an articulation
of a complicated moment of balance between other metaphysical vari-
ables. Parmenides’ encounter with the limits of language is not a flat
insistence on conceptual graspability; instead, it displays the limits of
what is attainable within the scope of a prohibition, the agile twisting of
language within the limits of the speakable, a sort of antinomianism
within the law. That he has all that wealth of negation within the limits
of an archaic rigidity means that Pentheus is only part of the story; there
is also an effect in which the Dionysian, though completely subdued in
one sense, is still visible as a set of negations within an Apollinian calm.
Thus, pace Heidegger, the Western impulse toward rational speech,
which begins with Parmenides and proceeds in accordance with later
revisions of his logic and with the inclusion of the infinite in the tran-
scendent, far from being a covering-up of being, might be thoyght to be
the ultimate expression for the zeal, so to speak, of the unbounded to
behold a stable finite image of itself in a delimited mirror. What for
Parmenides would bea flaw is for others the opening into the infinite;
but all preserve the same balance in an ethic far more ample than that
of Pentheus; for all, the finite is transcendent simply as finite.
In the end it all comes back to the circle or sphere. This lovely figure
has seemed to many to contain all perfection within it—Goethe said that
the sun was the most beautiful object that could be seen with the eyes,
not only because of its golden color, but also because of its shape. In
putting Parmenides on a par with other traditions in the examination of
what is perfect, one can be said in the end only to be exploring a met-
aphor for what is discrete, definite, and determinate, and to be treating
that metaphor as one not only for being but also for at least one kind of
reason. If that reason contains within itself one way of solving the prob-
lem of finite and infinite, rational and irrational, then Parmenides’
sphere can stand asa metaphor for that way in Western thought. It is
one extreme in a dialectic of the bounded and the unbounded.
Before concluding, I would like to make one further remark on the
history of logic in relation to this specimen of dialectic. Up to now I have
been treating Christianity as if its coincidence of the bounded and the
unbounded took place only in the redemptive events like the incarnation
and not in the divine nature by itself. But perhaps Christianity can be
seen to occupy an intermediate position between Parmenides and other
views when we reflect on the fact that its deity (though this fact is sup-
posed to be revealed, not rationally ascertained) is not one infinite, one
purely unbounded, but a Trinity consisting of three infinite persons
bounded off from each other. In this way Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
would be a coincidence of bounded and unbounded halfway between the
bounded transcendent of Parmenides and the transcendent infinite of
Buddhism. The fact that there can be relationships of nonidentity among
the three persons, of imaging, precession, and spiration, makes it easier
for the Trinity to be imitated by and become embodied in creatures in
creation and incarnation, and so makes the Christian finite have a ten-
dency to become associated with the Trinity, to be swept up and trans-
formed in a way that, as we have indicated, does not happen with
Parmenidean and Buddhist finite form. There is also a difference in the
attitude toward contradiction, in the logic of respects. Parmenidean
bounded being is what it is by casting out all distinctions in the same or
in different respects; the trinity allows distinctions of respect to exist
(God is not three and one in the same respect), but only in a transcendent
which is not only bounded but also unbounded; it is only in Hegel that
we get a coincidence of opposites in the same respect which, not sur-
prisingly, is tied to the total infinitization of the finite. What Parmenides
cast out is redeemed in a system with different parameters, and Chris-
tianity once again appears as a midpoint along the way. The three stages
involve an allowance of the infinite into the finite which is at the same
time a gradual allowance of opposition and contradiction. Like the stages
in the revision of the law in the Greek context discussed in the preceding
chapter, the wider dialectic discussed in this chapter thus permits us to
see Parmenides at the source of subsequent developments which can be

predicted retroactively if we introduce new variables into his system. The
ontology of the bounded transcendent is present at the birth of logic.
Whether or not the enterprise is a success—that is, whether the Hegelian
apotheosis and collapse of logic’s grip on being is in a sense inevitable
from the beginning—is thus an interesting question. Logic and ontology,
so often separate from each other in the twentieth century, move in
tandem through these traditional philosophical developments; but
whether Parmenides himself is responsible in some parental sense and
in spite of himself for our contemporary rifts, I leave to each person to
decide. It suffices to have shown that the conditions under which being
can be related to the rules of language and method are either Parmen-
idean—being must be bounded and one—or are derivable as transfor-
mations of Parmenides. After Hegel, perhaps, there would bea situation
in which the Parmenidean finitization of reality had been completely
dissolved, together with the historical dialectic it generated. The remain-
ing common denominator would then be a single perpetual Sabbath of
the present now, a notion implicitly present in all these thinkers. But,
leaving these considerations aside for the moment, I suggest this answer
to the question posed at the beginning of this book: the first transcen-
dental ontologist in the West was also the first logician because his reality
was bounded in a way appropriate to his version of the laws.*’
One may conclude by paying tribute to the fecundity, originality, and
uniqueness of Parmenides. If my claims are accepted, we have in him,
including some of what has been credited to him by other authors, (1) at
least right opinion about some of the forms of negative and positive
judgment in their distinction from each other and in relation to a new
theory of the relation of subjects, copulas, predicates, and qualifiers to
reality; (2) the discovery of the laws of noncontradiction and excluded
middle, though not in the sense in which these laws were later taken;
(3) the combination of | and 2 into a positive doctrine of transcendence
together with a critique of all nonmonistic philosophies and of the sen-
sible world; (4) the first construction of a sustained, demonstrative proof
for anything whatsoever, and especially for the proposition that ultimate
reality is essentially eternal, ungenerable, imperishable, changeless, uni-
form, perfect, the object of all true propositions, and utterly solitary;
(5) the development of a new method for exhibiting philosophical claims
and for solving philosophical problems, illustrated in his treatment of
contraries, terms, modals and the other—a method which passes through
Zeno to Plato; (6) the description of a being which, though transcendent,
is nevertheless finite and bounded, the only reality. Common to all these
Parmenidean points is a loose aggregation of preferences for the definite,
describable; for what is subject to logic, language, definition; for rules,
norms, and method; for the examination of the connections between

language and being, including a tendency to reify the former into the
latter; for the maximum possible amplitude in the expression of a given
point, including both positive and negative ways of saying things; for the
full expression of the intellect, its satisfaction, in a reality commensurate
with it. To the extent that these tendencies are also characteristic of
Western philosophy as a whole, then Parmenides can fairly be said to be
its author. Once again, in laying these disclosures at his door, I do not
mean to imply that they emerged fully formed at the moment of their
discovery. But it is correct to credit him with being the source of logic
and rational method as they have been characteristic of our ontologies.
The fact that his innovations are often credited to those he influenced
is due perhaps not only to historical circumstances but also to the power
of his thought, which carries so far that it becomes common knowledge
and so obliterates its own traces. He is the purest example of the Greek
desire to comprehend, a desire which in him would have nothing to do
with what was not strictly knowable. If later philosophers appear softer
by comparison, it is perhaps because of a revivifying compromise they
made, one more acceptable and more tolerant of the discourse we per-
haps need; but, by the same token, one can perhaps be forgiven for
sometimes thinking them dwarfed by the inhuman shadow of the master.
Parmenides’ being is bound by his logic, but his logic issues from his
ontology. His peers are those logicians who are also capable of transcen-
dent-immanent enlightenment. As Traherne does with the sea, so Par-
menides finds his perfection in the acknowledgment of limits. His end,
to paraphrase T. S. Eliot, is in his beginning.
APPENDIX
Parmenides’
On Nature
Much of the present study consists of textual analysis, and in this Ap-
pendix I have attempted to add Parmenides’ words and a translation—
only, however, for the reader’s convenience. This is not a critical text,
and I make no claim to signal all important issues in either Greek or
translation. Instead, I imagine readers who may wish to see Greek and/
or English versions of the whole in order conveniently to have a sense of
the poem’s range or to determine the context in which certain quotations
and arguments are nested, but who may not initially wish to have, for
those purposes at least, a critical apparatus, an exhaustive commentary,
or a list of alternative translations. Following are some comments on the
construction of and limits on this Appendix.
1. A version of Parmenides, together with commentary, an account of
differences from the preceding critical edition of Taran, and many re-
productions of alternative translations, has recently been published by
David Gallop. While no interpretation of Parmenides is uncontroversial,
Gallop’s fine work on the fragments will surely figure in discussions
among readers, including those who are approaching the text for the
first time. (For my disagreements with Gallop, see chapter 1 and below.)
Thus it seems advisable simply to start from this work and to indicate
the places where I would represent the Greek differently, also supplying
other notes about matters of text and translation. The following are the
places where differences from Gallop’s renderings occur: the accentua-
tion of esti (see below), the capitalization of certain personifications, and
matters of text and/or punctuation in B1.3, 8.4, 8.5, S12 orb. o. 22,
8.31, 8.33, 8.48, 8.53, 8.60-61, the omitted heading for fragment 9 (see
note to B8.51), 16.1, 17, Cornford’s fragment, and the ends ‘of certain
fragments. All important differences are explained below or in the notes.
Readers who wish to dig further are advised to go, first to Gallop, then
to recent studies by Mourelatos and Barnes for interpretation and bib-
liography, and to Taran fora critical edition and an account of earlier
interpretations. See also my Bibliography.
155
156 APPENDIX
2. Comments on various textual and interpretative issues in fragment

8 are also to be found in various places in chapters 1—4. I have signaled
these in the notes here. \
3. In B8.22 and 48 Gallop treats est? as orthotone in order to indicate
that it has (for him) existential force and that the accompanying predi-
cates are adverbial. Here (for reasons given in chapters | and 3) I depart
from him as described in the notes. Mast other departures (for this or
for other reasons) from his accentuation of esti are not footnoted; the
rule I have followed is that the word is orthotone in initial or quasi-initial
TIAPMENIAOY ITIEPI ®YLEQL
FRAGMENT 1
immot tai we PEQovOL, Soov T Ext Buds ixdvo,

méumov, énei w’ Ec O50v Broav moAV@MNUOV! &yovoat
Saipovos, T xata Mav’ (...)? péoer ciddta Mata:
THL PEQOUNV: THL YAO LE TOAVPEaOTOL PEQOV imTOL
or aeua titaivovoat, xoveat 5 dd5dv yeudvevov.
a&wv 5° év xvoinuo tet overyyos Guth
aidduevoc (So.oics yao éneiyeto Siwwwtotow
xUXAOLG AUPoTéowPev), OTE OMEQXOLATO MEUTELV
“HAtédec? xoveat, MooAtmovoa S@pwata Nuxtdct
10 €i¢ PHOS, ModpEevar xOGTwWV GO YEO! xaAtMTOEAGC.
évt'a mvAaL Nuxtdc te xal "Huatds eiou xedevdov,
xal opas tréEQdvEOV duis ExEL xal AduvOS ODddc:
avtal 6° aivgeuat mArvtat weycdrouor Pveétootc:
tav dé Aixn moAvmoWwos ExEL xAnidas auotBovs.
15 THY OT MaQEMPauEvat xoOVEAL WAAaxotor AdyOLOLW
1. I do not see how routes can be “much-speaking” (Gallop) or “resounding” (Taran), or

how they can utter or make noise in general, unless poluphémos is metaphorical from
the start—“signifying much,” “having much of importance to convey,” like one of
‘Taran’s suggestions (“bestowing knowledge”) in his commentary to Parmenides, p. 10.
Whence, perhaps, “very significant,” i.e., knowable or well-known.
2. Alé, not asté, is what is in the manuscripts. For attempts to work with the line see Gallop
and H.A.S. Tarrant (Antichthon 10 (1976): 1-7). In my view all that can be said
securely is that the young man is here reminding us of the total scope and extent of
his journey.
3. It seemed advisable to capitalize throughout the names of figures that might be used
as personifications, since several of these play an important role in the poem’s central
modal utterances about being (see chapter 4).
4. Adopting (with Gallop, Furley, Mansfeld, and others) the suggestion that the comma
belongs after phaos rather than nuktos. But see also n. 7 to the Introduction for some
remarks about the topography of the voyage.
APPENDIX 157
position, otherwise enclitic (see Charles Kahn’s The Verb ‘Be’ and W. S.
Barrett’s edition of Euripides’ Hzppolytus).
4. The translation is in many places indebted to versions by Moure-
latos, Taran, Gallop, and Barnes. Large borrowings (e.g., sentences) are
indicated if they occur in places where the translation borrowed is not
one of the clear possibilities.
5. Ellipsis dots in parentheses (...) in Greek or translation indicate
something which I am either omitting or not translating; in these places
there are explanatory footnotes.
PARMENIDES’ ON NATURE
FRAGMENT 1
The mares that carry me as far as my heart desires were taking me along,
when once they brought me to and put me on the very significant route
of the goddess, which guides the man who knows through every (.. .).
That way I was carried, for that was the way the attentive mares were
carrying me, stressing the chariot, and maidens were leading the way.
The axle, glowing with heat in the naves, sent forth a sharp whistle (for
it was being made to revolve by the two round wheels on either side)
when the daughters of the Sun, leaving the house of Night behind for
the light, were hurrying to conduct me, having brushed the veils off
from their heads. There are the gates of the paths of Night and Day; a
lintel and a stone threshold go around them. The shining gates are filled
with huge doors, whose keys of retribution are held by much-avenging
Justice. The maidens, appeasing her with soft words, cleverly persuaded
158 APPENDIX
meloav Emipoadéws, Wo opi Parkavwtov dyra

AMTEQEWS WOELE TUAEWV GO: Tal dé BuEéTOWV
Yao’ ayaves Moinoav &vartépevar TOAVYCARXOUG
agovacs év overyEw auoiBadov eikiEaoat
20 yougots xal meQdvnotw Gonedte: tH da du’ adtéwv *
idus éxov xoveat xat’ Guaéitov Goua xal immouc.
xal we Ded TEdMEWV UmEdeEaTO, yEioa dé yeLot
deEitegty Edev, Wde 8° Enos Pato xal we TECONVSA:
® xove’ &davatoror cvvdoeos hvidyouow,
25 immous Tat o€ MEQOVOLV ixdvwv HuEetEQov dH,
xato’, étel ovtL oe Moioa xax noovmeume véeoVat
tHvd’ dddv (H yao an’ avbEadnwv &xtd¢ matOV Eotiv),
GAA O€uts te Aixy te. yoew dé oe navta nud ovat
Huev “Adnteing evaerdéoc> ateeués tt00
30 n5é Boeotwav dd€ac, taic obx évi miotis GANDY.
GAM’ Eurtns xai tavta padyoeat, wo Ta SoxovvTA
xorv doxiuws eivar Sia navtdc navta meodvta.§
FRAGMENT 2
el O° Gy’ éyov EQéwW, xduLoat Sé ot LdDOV dxovouc,

aimee ddoi potvat duCrouds eiot vojoat-7
1H wtv Omws Eotiv te xal Ws odx ott ) Elvan,
Tlewbovc got xéhevdocg (AAndeine yao dmndei),
or 1 8° ws ovx EotL TE xal WS YOEMv ~oTL UN} Elvan,
THY OF Tor PEdCw navanevdéa Eupev ataomdv:
ovTE yaQ Gv yvoins TO ye pt dv (od yYaQ &vuoTévV)
OUTE MOdoaLs.
5. Here one should read eupeitheos instead of eukukleos, in spite of the inviting comparison
with lines 42—49, because the context involves reliability versus lack of trust (for rea-
sons see Gallop’s text and Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 154ff).
6. Or per onta. These lines are apparently about an extension of the goddess’s teaching
on the opinions of mortals, one in which she clarifies their significance further for the
young man’s benefit. It is not really safe to say much more than this, nor to attempt
to substantiate an interpretation of Parmenides by using these lines. See Gallop for
the differences among interpreters and translators.
7. Agreeing with Barnes (Presocratic Philosophers, vol. 1, p. 158n6) that this and related
words must be wide enough to cover both successful and unsuccessful thought; as one
reads from fragment 2 through the end of fragment 8, it becomes clear that the god-
dess’s intention is to start with a word expressive of thought generally, then to show
that real insight is only possible on her own ontology. Thus “thinking” rather than
“knowing” at first and afterwards.
APPENDIX 159
her to push the bolted bar quickly back off the gates. As the gates flew
open, they made a gaping gap out of the doors, having set the bronze
jambs, fitted with bolts and pins, revolving by turns in their sockets. Then
the maidens brought the chariot and the mares straight through them
on the broad way. And the goddess gladly received me, taking my right
hand, and spoke to me, addressing me in these words:
“Young man, coming to our abode the companion of immortal char-
ioteers, with the mares which carry you, Welcome! For it is no bad Fate
which sent you along this route (though it is far off the beaten track of
men) but rather Rightness and Justice. Now you must learn everything,
both the unshaking temper of persuasive Truth and the opinions of
mortals, in which there is no true trust. Still, though, you will learn this
as well: how the things of opinion should have been in order to be ac-
ceptable (.. .)
FRAGMENT 2
Come now, and I shall tell you, and you take charge of the story once
you have heard it, which are the only routes of inquiry for thinking: the
one, that it is and that it is not possible for it not to be, is the route of
Persuasion (for she accompanies Truth); the other, that it is not and that
it is right for it not to be, this I point out to you as a completely unin-
formative track. For neither could you get to know what-is-not (for it
cannot be accomplished) nor could you point it out. ;
160 APPENDIX
FRAGMENT 3
. . TO YAO adTO voetv éotiv te xal eivat’ ‘\
FRAGMENT 4 ;
Aevooe 5’ Guws aedvta vom tagedvta BeBaiws:

ov yao a&motunEEL TO EOV Tov Edvtos ExeoDar?
OUTE OXLOVEMEVOV TAVTNL TAVTMS KATA XOOLOV
OUTE OUVLOTAUEVOV.
FRAGMENT 5
Evvov S€ wot éottv,

dénrdb_ev GeEEwpat: TOHt yoo méAtv tEouat ad Otc.
FRAGMENT 6
YON TO A€yetv te voeiv T gov Eupevan!? Zot yao elvan,

undév 5° ovx Eotiv: Ta oO EyO PodCeodar dvwya.
TEHTHS Yao o AM ddov ta’tns SiTHoLOS (etoyw),!!
AVIA ENELT AO THC, Hv SH Bootoi EiddtEes OVSEV
5 MAATtOVTaL, Sixeavor aunxavin yao év avtav
otnveow idive tAaxtOv Vdov: ot S& PoEotvtaL
xWHPOl Gus TUPAot te, tedndtES, Gxoita MdAG,
ois TO méheW TE xal Odx Elvat TADTOV VevduLOTAL
XOV TAVTOV: TavIMV dé Mahivteomds gotL xéhevdoc.
8. To say this is to say what is said in fragment 8, namely that all genuine thought is
about what-is. But this is certainly not to rule out the ultimate identity, necessary for
an absolute monist, between invariable thought and being which some translators find
in this line. It is only to defer the explicit announcement of that identity until the
monism has been clinched in B8.38—41 (see chapter 4).
9. Or (with Taran) taking ho nous as the subject of apotméxei, the mind cannot cut off
being from gripping being. Either way it is the thinker who is forced to confront his
or her constant access to being.
10. The alternative translation (e.g., Gallop’s “It must be that what is there for speaking
and thinking of 7s” also asserts, in conjunction with the next sentence, that connection
between language, thought, and being which must be the central point.
11. See Gallop’s textual note and Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, p. 77n7. Cordero, how-
ever, suggests that the original filler could have meant “I will begin”; this leads to the
suggestion that there were only two routes (Phronesis 24 (1979): 1-32; Cordero also
gives an account of recent debates). See also the Introduction and chapter 1, n. 15.
APPENDIX 161
FRAGMENT 3
... For the same thing is there for thinking and for being [Gallop].
FRAGMENT 4
Behold alike things absent from the mind and things present to it firmly.
For you will not cut what-is off from gripping what-is, neither if it is
scattering everywhere, in every way, in ordered array, nor if it is bringing
itself together.
FRAGMENT 5
It is all the same to me where Istart off from, because I'll get back there
again.
FRAGMENT 6
It is fitting to say and to think this: that what-is is. For it can be, whereas
nothing cannot. These things I bid you ponder. First I bar you from this
route of inquiry, but also from the one on which mortals wander, know-
ing nothing, double-headed. For helplessness in their breasts steers a
mind set adrift. They are tossed about, as much deaf as blind, an un-
discerning horde, by whom to be and not to be are considered the same
and not the same—and the route of all is backward-turning.
162 APPENDIX
FRAGMENT 7
ov YaO unmote tovto Saphe eivar wr) &dvta-
GAAG ob THAS’ a@’ ddod SiCrjoLos Eloye Vontta
undé o° Edos MoAUTELQOV SOV xaTa THVdE BLAoDw,
vee GOXOTOV OULA xa HYNECOaAV axouTV
or xal YA@ooav, xoeivat 5é Adywr TOMVONOLY ELEYYOV
e& euédev Ondévta.
FRAGMENT 8
. wOvos 6° Ett pUTOS ddoi0
Aetmetar Ms Eotiv: tavty. & Eni ojuat’ ~aor
TOAAG UGA’, WS KyEvnTOV Edv xai avodEDodv goTLV,
ovAOV Wouvoyevés TE xal ATOELES (.. .)!2
or ovdé not Hv od’ ~otat, Exel viv Eat 6uOd mav!3
Ev, ouvexés: tiva yao yévvav diCrjoea adtod;
mH whVEV avENnVEV; oT’ Ex un Edvtos Eo
paovtat o ode vogiv: od yae matdov ovdSE vonTdv
EOTLV OWS OVX ~oTL. TIS’ Gv ULV xal YEEOS DEGEV
VoteQov 7 MEdoVEV, TOD UNdevdc GEEGUEVOV, Div;
OUTWS 1 MéuAVv MEehévat YEEMV EOTLV 7} ODL.
OvdE MoT Ex UN EdvtTOS'4 E—rjoet Tliotios ioxtc
ylyveodat tt ta’ avTO-: Tov Elvexev OdtE yevéodat!®
VS
ott OAAvotat avixe Aixn yardoaoa rédnvotv,
GAN’ Exe: 1) SE xEtotg MEQl tToUTwV év TALS’ ~otLW:
EOTLV 1] OVx EotLV:'® xExeLTat 5° ObV, domEQ aveyxn,
12. There are many variants in this line, and many emendations. In chapter 3 I argue for
Simplicius’s reading for the beginning of the line, oulon mounogenes. For the end of the
line Taran records éd’ateleston from Simplicius and éd’agenéton from Simplicius and
others. Gallop reports suggestions from Taran, Owen, and Mourelatos (teleston, teleion,
teléen) involving the sense of completeness or perfection, and this must have been the
meaning, given that the end of the line looks forward specifically to lines 42-49.
Whence “perfect.”
133 Gallop places a comma here, but I try to showin chapter 3 that the unity of what-is
is viewed from many different perspectives; thus homou pan bears directly on hen.
14. See chapter 4 for reasons for retaining the manuscript reading ek mé eontos here.
15. Perishing seems to be associated in Parmenides’ mind with the future, as we can tell
from the mellei esesthai in 20. The reasons for this are obscure unless it is clear in his
mind that what-is always already exists. As Mourelatos observes, the aoristic comings-
to-be in 13 and 19-20 are appropriate to a consideration of coming-to-be in general
as a punctual event somewhere in time.
16. Gallop (in his book andin his Monist article) makes the interesting suggestion that a
question mark should be printed here. I do not see how to rule this out or to prove
it; it is unconnected with an existential reading, and a court renders its verdict with
an affirmation or a denial. But, as Gallop says, lively dialectical questions are effectively
used by Parmenides.
APPENDIX 163
FRAGMENT 7
For this will never be brought to pass: that things that are not are. But
you keep your thought away from this route of inquiry, and do not let
long-standing habit take you along it by force, to ply an aimless eye and
echoing ear and tongue. Instead, judge with your reason the very con-
tentious challenge that has been uttered by me.
FRAGMENT 8
All that remains is the account of the route, “that it is.” Along it there
are very many signposts that what-is is ungenerable and unperishing, a
whole of a single kind, unmoving, and perfect. Nor was it, nor will it be,
since it is now altogether one, cohesive. For what birth would you seek
for it? Which way, from what did it grow? Nor will I allow you to say or
think: out of what-is-not. For it cannot be said or thought that it is not.
And what need urged it on to grow later or earlier, starting from noth-
ing? So it must either be completely or not at all. Nor will the strength
of Trust ever permit anything besides it to come to be out of what-is-
not. Because of this, neither to come to be nor to perish did Justice allow,
releasing her bonds: instead, she holds. The decision in these matters
lies in this: it is or it is not. For it has been decided, as it must, to leave
164 APPENDIX
THV WeV EQV GAVONTOV AvmvuULOV (Od yao GAntrjic

gottv 656s), trv 6 Mote méAev xal EtrtUUOV Elva.
moc 6° av émetta wéAot tO E6v; MHS SO Gv xe YévoLTO;
20 el YQ Eyevt’, oVx Eot(L), OVS’ el MOTE WEéAAEL EDEODaL.
TOS yéveots vev AméoBeota xal Gmvotos GAEPoos. *
ovde Stargetov Eottv, Emei Mav oti Guotov:!”
Ovdé TL THU UGAAOV, TO xEv EloyoL ULV OvvexeoDaL,
ovdé Tt yeLodtEQov, nav 8° EumtrEdv gov &dvtOC.
25 Tat Evvexés wav éotiv: E0v yao &dvtt meAGCet.
avtae axivyntov uEyahwv év meioaor Seoudv
EOTLV AVAEXOV GTaVvOTOV, eel yéveots xai SrAEVO0C
THAE WaA’ ErAGYInoav, atdoe dé Miotic “AAndyjc.
TAVTOV T EV TAVTML TE LEvov xad’ EavtO TE xEtTaL
30 xovtws éumedov avd péver- xoateor yao “Avayxy
metoatos év deouoiouv Exel, TO uv Guqic géoyen.!®
oUvexev O0x GtehetdtTHTOV TO gv Eu eivat:
Eott YAO OVx Emtdeéc: ur Edv 8 Gv mavtdc &Seito.!9
TAVTOV 5° EoTI?? vogiv Te xai OUvExév ~oTL VONUA:?!
35 ov yaQ Gvev Tov EdvtOs, év Wi TE~atioévov Eotiv,
EVONOELS TO VoEiv: OVSEV ya (7) EoTLV 7} EoTAL??
GAhO MaQEE TOU EdvtOC, Emei 6 ye Moio’ éxédyoev
oviov dxivntov T guevat tHL MavT’ 6vduaotat??
do0a Boeotol xatédevto memovddtes civar GAndh,
40 ylyveodat te xal ddMvovat, eivai te xal odxi,
xal TOMOV GAAdooet Sid te YOOa Mavov dueiPetv.
QUTAO Emel MEleas MUuatoV, Teteheouévov EotTt,
17. For an argument against Owen’s adverbial homoion and in favor of taking estin, without
accent, as copulative here, see chapter 3.
18. Whether houneken in B8.32 means “wherefore” or “because,” the connection between
31 and 32 would seem close. I suggest “wherefore,” because modal personifications
like Ananké in 30 are always used as reasons for things in this poem.
19. For the reading epidees: mé eon instead of epideues: eon see Coxon, Classical Quarterly n.s.
18 (1968): 70-75.
20. See my discussion at the beginning of the Appendix for the accentuation of esti.
21. One dispute in this line is whether to take howneken as “that wherefore,” “that for the
sake of which,” or “that,” introducing the clause “that it is,’ as in Kirk and Raven’s
“what can be thought is only the thought that it is.” But surely, in the context of the
uniqueness of what-is as asserted in the following lines, all that counts is that genuine
thought stands in a unique relationship to what is and is about it, and both sides of
the dispute agree with this.
22. See chapter 4 for the text here and for other considerations in lines 36-38. The present
rendering of en hoi pephatismenon estin in line 35 is only a guess at the description of
the perfect, one-on-one relationship between true thought and being which is the point
of this very obscure line.
23. With Gallop, following Woodbury for the text and Burnyeat for the translation.
APPENDIX 165
the latter unthinkable and nameless (for the route is not a true one) and
to leave the former to be and to be true. And how could what-is be in
the future? How could it ever come to be? If it came to be, it is not, and
likewise if it ever will be. Thus coming-to-be has been doused, and un-
heard-from perishing.
Nor is it divisible, since it is all alike. Nor is it here somewhat more,
which might prevent it from cohering, nor somewhat less, but all of it is
full of what-is. And all of it is cohesive, for what-is draws near to what-
is. But, immovable in the bounds of great bonds, it is beginningless and
endless, since coming-to-be and perishing have been banished far afield,
and it was True Trust who drove them off. Remaining the same and in
the same place, it lies by itself, and thus stays steadfast on the spot. For
mighty Necessity holds it in the bonds of a bound, which holds it in all
around, so that it is not right for what-is to be incomplete. For it is not
lacking; what-is-not would lack everything. The same thing is for think-
ing and is also that for the sake of which there is thought. For, without
what-is (towards which its expression is directed) you will not find think-
ing. For there neither is nor ever will be any other besides what-is, since
it was this which Doom bound to be whole and immovable. Wherefore
it has been named all things that mortals have established, persuaded
that they were true: “to come to be” and “to perish”; “to be” and “not
at all”; “change of place” and “exchange of bright color.”
But since there is an outermost bound, it is perfect, from every side
166 APPENDIX
mavtovevt evutdurov ogatens évadiyx.ov dyxwu,

ueoodVev icomahés maVINL: TO yao OTE TL LELCOV
45 ovtE Tt BarldteQov MEAEvaL YOEOV EOTL THL H THL-
otte yao ovx Edv EoTL, TO xEV MavoL ULV ixVEeiodat
cig Oudv, OUT Edv EoTLV OWS Ein xEV EdVTOS
TL UGAAOV trL 8’ Hooov, énel Mav Eat GovAov-2>
oi yao mavtovev toov, Suds év meioaor xboeL.
50 EV THL GOL TAVW MLOTOV Adyov Hdé VOnta
augic “Adndeincg 5dEacs & and tobdSe Bootetac?
udvbave xdoLo0v Eudv Exéwv aratndov dxotvwv:
vwoegas yao xatédevto S00 yvmpatc?” 6voudTev,
TOV wlav od YeEwMv éotLv8—év Gi Mexhavnpuévot ciotv—
oo avtia?? 8° éxeivavto déuas xai onvat’ éevto
XWels ax’ GAAHAwV, TH WEV PAoydc aibéouov nO,
HtLov Ov, wey EAAMOOV, EWUTHL MaVTOSE THUVTOV,
TOO’ ETEOWL UN) TWUTOV: GTAE xdxElVoO xaT abt
tavtia vbut ddan, muxivov dSéuac éuBoudéc Te.
60 TOV GOL EYW SiGxXOOLOV EOLXdTA” TavtAa Matitw,?!
WS OV LY MotE tic o& BEOTMV yvmun maQEdGoonL.
FRAGMENT 9
QAUTAO EELdt] Tavta Phos xal vdE dvduaotat
nal TA Kata opetéoas Suvdmets emi toiol te xal toic,
24. With Gallop, agreeing with Mourelatos’ (Route of Parmenides, p. 123n24) placement of
the comma after est? instead of pantothen.
25. See n. 17 for the accentuation of estin here and the adverbiality of the accompanying
word.
26. Here (rather than at the end of fragment 8) is where the breach between the treatment
of truth and the treatment of opinion begins.
27. Reading gnémais instead of gnémas with Gallop, following Furley.
28. In chapter | I offer an interpretation based on lines 57—58 in which no two forms can
be described as nonidentical without a kind of contradiction. If this is accepted, then
54 must mean that one form (initially unspecified) is not right because its presence
necessitates nonidentity statements. But this—for reasons perhaps not explicitly stated
in the line, but presupposed by its logic—will also mean that neither of a pair of
contrary nonidenticals can be right compared to the noncontrary what-is. Thus it is
not necessary to take ton mian in the sense of ton heterén in order to have it rule out
both forms. “One is not right.” “Which one?” “(Ultimately) either one.” The lack of
initial specificity in the language makes just the philosophical point that is at issue.
29. With Gallop, following Long (‘“Principles,” p. 102) in reading antia instead of the
emendation tantia.
30. Nothing prevents the ironic demotion of a plausibility-word when applied to the cos-
mos of mortals (see Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, p. 231). “Semblance” is intended
to reflect both sides of the irony.
31. Following the punctuation in Diels-Kranz and Taran: hés without accent and comma
after phatizd. But see Gallop on the line.
APPENDIX 167
like the mass of a well-rounded sphere, pushing out equally from the
middle everywhere. For it is not right for it to be any bigger or any
smaller, here or there. For neither is there what-is-not, which might pre-
vent it from attaining sameness, nor is it in any way possible for what-is
to be here more and there less than what-is, since all of it is inviolable.
For, equal from every side, it lies evenly within bounds.
With this I leave off my trustworthy discourse and thought about
Truth. From now on, learn the opinions of mortals, attending to the
deceptive ordering of my words.
They laid down two forms in their minds for naming, of which one is
not right (which is where they are gone astray). They distinguished op-
posites in bodily form and set up signs separate from each other—here
the bright flame of fire, gentle and very light, in every way the same with
itself and not the same with the other. And then, off by itself, contrari-
wise, thick night, a solid and weighty bodily form. All this, I declare to
you, is a world-order in semblance, so that no mortal judgment will ever
outstrip you.
FRAGMENT 9
But since everything has been called light and night, and they have been
assigned according to their properties to various things, everything is
168 APPENDIX
Mav WAEOV Eotiv OUOD PaEOS xai VUXTOS AMEaVTOV

towv duqotéowv, émei obdetéoWL WéETA UNSEV.32
\
FRAGMENT 10
elon 6° aidegiav te pvow Ta v év aidgor mavta

ojuata xal xataedac evaytos HEdtovo
Aaumddoc goy’ &ldnra xai dandde_ev &€eyévovto,
EOYA TE xUVXAWIOS MEvoNL TEEiMPOLTa oEATvNS
or xal Mvotv, eldroetc dé xal oveavov dugic ExovtTa
Evbev Epu te xai W> pv &yovo(a) émédnoev “Avayxy
meloat Exel GOTOWV.
FRAGMENT 11
MOS yata xal Atos HSE cEArvy

aidyo te Evvds yada v ovedviov xal SAuUTOS
EOXATOS 75’ Gotoewv TeQuodv LEVOS Meu Snoav
ylyveodau.
FRAGMENT 12
at YAO otewdteQat MAHVTAL MUEdS dxor|TOLO,

at &° él tats vuxtdc, weta 5é MAOYOc tetaL aica:
év d& péowt TovTHOV Saivwv fh mévta xuBEovat:
TAVtOV*4 yO oTUYEQOiO TOxoV xal ULELOS Gover
or méuOvG Gooevi Oydv utytv 6 Tv Evavtiov abttc
cooev Iyndrvtéowt.
FRAGMENT 13
MOWTLOTOV LEV "EEwta Pedov untioato avtov ..
FRAGMENT 14
VUKTLPAES TEQL yalav GAmpEevov GAAGTELOV MHC
32. If “neither has any share of nothingness” (Kirk and Raven), then nothing is without
both, since both are (supposedly) total. (Such an inference would at least go through
if the contraries in “Opinion” are trying to imitate the pervasiveness of “Truth.”)
33. The words about the Moon are from Gallop’s translation.
34. With Gallop, following Sider in reading panton instead of pantéi. Sider’s argument is
that the previous line is about things.
APPENDIX 169
full at once of light and of obscure night, full of both equally, since
neither has any share of nothingness.
FRAGMENT 10
You shall learn the nature of the ether, all the signs in the ethereal
region, and the unseen [or: annihilating] works of the spotless sun’s pure
torch, as well as what they came to be from, and you shall learn the
wandering works of the round-eyed moon and its nature;** you shall
know whence the encircling heaven came to be, and how Necessity, guid-
ing it, bound it to hold the limits of the stars.
FRAGMENT 11
How earth and sun and moon and the common ether and the Milky
Way and outermost Olympus and the hot force of the stars headed for-
ward to come to be.
FRAGMENT 12
The narrower [cosmic rings] are full of unmixed fire, the next ones of
night, and a portion of flame shoots out. In the middle of them is the
goddess who steers everything. For she directs mixing and hateful birth
for everything, dispatching the female to mix with the male, and then
again contrariwise, the male with the female.
FRAGMENT 13
She devised Love first of all the gods.
FRAGMENT 14
[the moon] night-shining around the earth wandering, a foreign light.

170 APPENDIX
FRAGMENT 15
aigl mamtaivovea medc avyacs HEAtoLo
FRAGMENT 15 A
[Taguevidns év tht ottxorotiat] bSatdouCov [eimev TH yf).

s
FRAGMENT 16
OS YAQ ExGOTOT EXEL KOGOLSG LEAEWV TOAUTAGYxTOV,*°

TOS VOOS AvOEMMoLOL TAEEOTHXEV: TO YAO AdTO
EOTLV OTEO POEOVEEL LEAEWV MUOLC 4voowmoLOLW
xal Maow xai mavti: TO yao mAEov Eotl vonua.
FRAGMENT 17
deEttEQoiotv LEV xOVEOUG, AGLOLOL dé xoO‘oaS?>
FRAGMENT 18
femina virque simul veneris cum germina miscent

venis, informans diverso ex sanguine virtus
temperiem servans bene condita corpora fingit.
nam si virtutes permixto semine pugnent,
or nec faciant unam permixto in corpore, dirae
nascentem gemino vexabunt semine sexum..”
35. Reading hekastot’. . . krasis with Taran (Parmenides, p. 169) and others, in part because
(if I understand correctly) limbs which wander much also do so within the same in-
dividual at different times. Poluplankton is just adornment if an individual always has
the same hrasis. The relativistic remark in 1-2 is not justified (gar) unless 2-3 are also
initially relativistic, i.e., unless it is always the changing nature of the limbs which
thinks (with Raven and others). Absolutistic ambiguities can then work upon the final
words and throughout (Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 256-59).
36. This is the Diels-Kranz changed version of a manuscript reading. An interesting, more
speculative version adopted by Gallop is that of the Wenkebach-Pfaff edition of Galen’s
Commentary on Book Six of Hippocrates’ Epidemics, 11. 46.
37. Adopting (with Gallop) the text and translation of the Parmenides fragment from On
Chronic Diseases 1V.9, in the edition of Caelius Aurelianus, On Acute Diseases and On
Chronic Diseases, edited by Israel Drabkin (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1950).
APPENDIX 171
FRAGMENT 15
[the moon] always looking towards the sunshine.
FRAGMENT 15A
[the earth] rooted in water
FRAGMENT 16
Mind is present to men as is disposed the mixture of the much-wandering

limbs at any time. For it is the same thing, the nature of the limbs, which
thinks in all men and in each. For the full is thought.
FRAGMENT 17
[sides of the womb] On the right boys, on the left girls.
FRAGMENT 18
When man and woman mingle the seeds of love that spring from their
veins, a formative power maintaining proper proportions molds well-
formed bodies from this diverse blood. For if, when the seed is mingled,
the forces contained therein clash and do not fuse into one, then cruelly
will they plague with double seed the sex of the offspring:
172 APPENDIX
FRAGMENT 19
oUtTw tor xata SdEav ~pu tade xai vuv ~aor

xal petéwErt’ Ad TovdSE TeAEUTYOOVOL TOAMEVTA:
totic 6° 6vow’ avbewsor xatétevt’ Exionuov Excotwr.
CORNFORD’S FRAGMENT
‘
otov dxivntov tedéder, TOL Mavt(i) Svop(a) eivar.3
38. Reading ozon instead of hoion, but see Gallop’s textual note to Mourelatos, Route of
Parmenides, p. 185n47. Simplicius’ paraphrase monon, as Woodbury (p. 154) sees, plus
the fact that solitariness and immovability are, on the present account, connected in
the poem’s proofs, make it desirable to find both these signposts here in an “epitome
of the poem’s argument” (Mourelatos). This would also be desirable if being is its own
name.
I refrain from translating the fragment here in order to avoid a long discussion;
see alternative translations in Gallop. The fragment is not to be relied on in any case.
APPENDIX 173
FRAGMENT 19
This is how, according to opinion, these things came to be and now are
and will hereafter come to an end when they have matured. For each
men set up a name asasign.
wisemi tic
nok hed eying onande ee
a au 1 ht eat ee
ae
re ~T pe
i
NOTES
INTRODUCTION
. Jack Kerouac, The Scripture of the Golden Eternity (New York: Totem/Corinth, 1970),
SEC200, Daur
_ For the evidence on Parmenides’ life, see Hermann Diels, ed., Die Fragmente der Vor-
sokratiker, 11th ed. (5th and subsequent editions revised by Walter Kranz) (Berlin:
Weidmann, 1964), vol. I, pp. 138—46. (Hereafter cited as Diels-Kranz.)
. For a statement of the case against an uncritical acceptance of the Platonic tradition,
see Friedrich Solmsen, “The Tradition about Zeno of Elea Re-examined,” in
Alexander P. D. Mourelatos, ed., The Pre-Socratics: A Collection of Critical Essays (Garden
City: Doubleday, 1974), pp. 368-93.
. For a contemporary rehabilitation of Melissus, see Jonathan Barnes, The Presocratic
Philosophers, 2 vols. (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979), vol. I, pp. 155-230.
. See ibid.; and Alexander P. D. Mourelatos, The Route of Parmenides (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1970), pp. 130-33.
. See Diels-Kranz, vol. I, pp. 147-65.
. See Theogony 746-57, M. West, ed. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1966), p. 139. Here I think
that David Furley, “Notes on Parmenides” (in E. N. Lee, A. P. D. Mourelatos, and
’ R. Rorty, eds., Exegesis and Argument: Studies in Greek Philosophy Presented to Gregory
Viastos [Phronesis Suppl. Vol. I] [Assen: Van Gorcum, 1973], pp. 1-15), has made it
clear that the ultimate destination of the journey is one in which both the cosmic
opposites have been transcended. The comma is in line 10, after eis phaos, “into the
light,” not in line 9, so that the maidens who come to conduct the young man them-
selves come into the light and do not necessarily come to conduct him into the light.
But the fact that this opens up the possibility of an infernal destination for all parties
does not mean that the house which is thereby reached is the house of darkness alone.
Indeed, a katabasis (descent) to the edge of the world could just as well be spoken of
as an ascent, given the nature of houses occupied equally by day and night, ie.,
transcendent houses.
. The young man’s situation vis-a-vis the goddess is, among other things, the epic situ-
ation of one obtaining directions or hearkening to advice, as Mourelatos has convinc-
ingly shown. In my opinion the comparison with Odysseus and ‘Telemachus does not
depend on the actual topography of fragment 1 (which contains manifestly un-Ho-
meric elements) so much as on the speech situation in this and succeeding fragments.
. For the various meanings assigned since antiquity to Parmenides’ prologue, see Leo-
nardo Taran, Parmenides (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965), pp. 17-31, and
Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 1-46. See also Furley, “Notes on Parmenides”;
Jaap Mansfeld, Die Offenbarung des Parmenides und die Menschliche Welt (Assen: Van
Gorcum, 1964); and Walter Burkert, “Das Proébmium des Parmenides und die Kata-
basis des Pythagoras,” Phronesis 14 (1969): 1-30.
. I do not intend to take a stand here on whether “how” or “that” is the correct trans-
lation. (See Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 47—73; and David Gallop, ed., Par-
175
176 NOTES
menides of Elea: Fragments [Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1984], p. 55.) Any
translation that allows the general declarations of fragment 2 to be expanded into the
actual predications of fragment 8 is sufficient for'my purposes. I especially regret that
time constraints did not permit me to work with Gallop’s book except in the Appendix.
11. For the interpretations of the two routes, see Taran, Parmenides, pp. 32—40; Mourelatos,
Route of Parmenides, pp. 47—73, 269-76; Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, vol. 1, pp. 157—
65. I am committed in chapter | to the existence of three kinds of discourse in the
poem, and I offer evidence for the claim that the route of mortals is not simply the
negative route but in some sense a mixture of positive and negative. The question of
how many routes there are does not depend upon issues in B6.1—3 alone. The partisans
of two or three routes should want only that mortal discourse be neither about pure
being nor about pure nonbeing, regardless of how one actually numbers the routes
or pins them down. Since it is evident that their discourse is not about pure being, but
also that they do make positive existence-assertions and assert positive facts in “Opin-
ion,” what they say has an intermediate status and as such cannot (to give Parmenides
credit) have been disallowed on the grounds that it was totally negative. What they say
is not supposed to be about nonbeing. If it is then claimed that their discourse is
somehow implicitly on the negative route in such a way that there are still only two
routes, the reply will be that this claim is not now essentially different from the one
the partisans of three routes are making—they call the third route a mixture of the
first two anyway, admitting that it has (at least partly) negative content. But then the
question about the number of routes becomes a question more of enumeration than
of philosophical message. See also n. 15 to chapter 1.
12. De Veritate, question 21. Truth (De Veritate) (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1954), pp. 3-32.
13. See Empedocles, fragment 12, and Anaxagoras, fragment 17, in Diels-Kranz.
14. For the doxography, see Taran, Parmenides, pp. 202-30, and Mourelatos, Route of Par-
menides, pp. 194-221.
15. See Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 222-63.
16. For recent doxography, consult the bibliography, also the treatments of general and
particular issues in Taran, Parmenides, Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, and Barnes,
Presocratic Philosophers.
CHAPTER ONE: WHY NOT “IS NOT’?

1. I shall ultimately offer an explanation in which the negative language will be seen as
belonging to the route of truth; but (as explained later) most modern interpretations
must disqualify at least some of the negations, and so, for them, the opposition between
the hés esti of fragment 2 and the negative language of fragment 8 is a genuine one.
The ouk esti mé einai of B2.3 explicitly admits modal negative language, as I shall argue
below; but it does not necessarily justify assertoric double-negations, because its ouk
estt is modal; thus the problem of fitting the poem’s negative language into its own
prescriptions is a legitimate and difficult one. (See below for more criticisms of the
double-negative view.)
2. This point about ouk esti may have been brought to my attention by Peter Meadow.
3. See G. E. L. Owen, “Eleatic Questions,” Classical Quarterly 10 (1960): 84-102, reprinted
with revisions in R. E. Allen and D. Furley, eds., Studies in Presocratic Philosophy (Lon-
don: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975), vol. I, pp. 48-81; Montgomery Furth, “Ele-
ments of Eleatic Ontology,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 7 (1968): 111-32, also in
Mourelatos, ed., The Pre-Socratics, pp. 241-70; Martha Nussbaum, “Eleatic Conven-
tionalism and Philolaus and the Conditions of Thought,” Harvard Studies in Classical
Philology 83 (1979): 63-108.
\
NOTES 177
4. A tempting view—that the negations in fragment 8 are all negations of inadmissible

predicates (like oude diaireton estin, in which diaireton is negated) and so admissible as
double-negations—has had defenders in the past. See Hermann Frankel, Dichtung und
Philosophie des friihen Griechentums, 2nd ed. (Munich: Ch. Beck, 1962), p. 402 n. 12;
and Hans-Georg Gadamer, “Retraktationen zum Lehrgedicht des Parmenides,” Varia
Variorum: Festschrift Karl Reinhardt (Miinster/Cologne: Bohlau, 1952), p. 61. Mourelatos
speaks of the predications of fragment 8 as “not negations made de re but rejections
de dicto of negations made de re”; Route of Parmenides, p. 53; and Samuel Scolnikov holds
a similar view, in which the proofs of the signposts are negations of mortal attributes
(for my view on this, see chapter 3). Here one wants to say: (1) If the first negation is
rejected because it is negative, so should the second be, unless the second is de dicto.
All such accounts thus presuppose a theory of de dicto discourse like Mourelatos’.
(2) Even if the double-negation view is adopted, we still need an account of what makes
the first (de re) negations wrong, so this account will inevitably have to distinguish true
from false predicates in some way. Thus the double-negation view reduces to one of
the other views when it comes to deciding what is on the negative route and what is
wrong with the negative route. (3) I claim in chapter 3 that almost all the signposts
are proved by denying incomplete predicates like “bigger” and “smaller,” which (as
Scolnikov says) apply in the sensible world. So it is tempting to think that the signposts
are pedagogical only, and ‘that they merely direct us away from “Opinion.” But this
does not come to grips with the fact that some of the signposts are not only asserted
(agenéton . . . estin) but also proved (tetelesmenon esti) in direct assertions involving estin.
There is thus a prima facie case for taking the language of fragment 8 to have as many
direct predications in it as possible, to have something to say in its own right. (4) On
the double-negation view the shifts from de dicto to de re discourse occur at least twice
in each sentence, before and after the negation, even with predicate- and subject-
negations, whenever there is a negation. It would seem desirable to switch horses in
midstream less frequently, and I shall propose to allow negations within an assertoric
sentence itself provided that the copula remains unnegated—though I shall also be
saying that some of the discourse is de re.
Nobody will deny that Parmenides very often says what is true by denying what is
false. The question is how this is to be described. My de dicto discourse can very often
be a singly negated rejection of what is unnegatedly false, and my de re discourse can
involve negations of subject or predicate. Double-negation, or Mourelatos’ view, in
which the rejected subjects or predicates commit one to the negative route, does not
allow enough amplitude for positive discourse. For the question why certain positives
are accepted and others rejected, see below.
. See Taran, Parmenides; Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, and Gallop, Parmenides of Elea.
See also Jonathan Barnes, “Parmenides and the Eleatic One,” Archiv fiir Geschichte der
Philosophie 61 (1979): 1-21.
. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides. See the other works by Mourelatos listed in the bibli-
ography for his later settings-forth of this and related views.
. Guido Calogero, Studi sull’Eleatismo (Rome: Tipografia del Senato, 1932). G. S. Kirk
and J.E. Raven, The Presocratic Philosophers: A Critical History with a Selection of Texts
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1957).
. Schofield’s revision of Kirk and Raven (2nd ed., 1983, p. 246) abandons Raven’s orig-
inal account of Parmenides as confused in favor of an account of the esti as combining
existential and predicative considerations. See also Furth, “Elements of Eleatic Ontol-
ogy.”
Francis M. Conford, Plato and Parmenides (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1939).
Furth’s phrase.
178 NOTES
11. M. M. Mackenzie, “Parmenides’ Dilemma,” Phronesis 27 (1982): 1-13.

12. See Taran, Parmenides, Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, and Gallop, Parmenides of Elea.
13. Though Melissus appears to have argued that differences in density involve different
amounts of void (fragment 7, sec. 8 in Diels-Kranz), this involves a view of the micro-
structure of being which is not explicitly stated by Parmenides. I am indebted to David
Sedley for referring me to the Melissus passage. My next point about negative exis-
tentials in fragment 8 is also made by G. E. L. Owen in his Sather lecture, given at the
University of California at Berkeley, “Words as Quarries, Words as Deceivers” (man-
uscript at the Classics Faculty Library, Cambridge University); Owen proceeds to in-
terpret these negative existentials as essentially positive, but this new distinction
between surface and depth has a tendency to make all discourse positive; if even “nor
is there an other” is positive, then the underlying standard for positive discourse is no
longer merely existential.
14. I am again indebted to David Sedley for pointing this out. If not only nothing or void
but also inequities in its distribution are ruled out, then one can get an argument
against the incomplete predicates in B8.22—25 and 42-49 using an existential esti, i.e.,
if it is supplemented by something like “whatever is true in one place must be true in
every place to avoid contradiction”—something like the contradiction-criterion I in-
troduce later. But this means that the entire burden of proof is no longer carried by
the existentiality of the esti. Moreover, the negative existentials still remain difficult to
explain without involving aself-referentially inconsistent metalanguage. And even if
this is explained, it will still be difficult to explain why the locution ouk esti is not used
in the negative existentials of 36-37 and 46.
15. In what follows I shall be reading the méden d’ouk estin of B6.2 as a modal negation,
“nothing cannot be,” rather than as the assertoric “nothing is not,” in view of the
parallel between B6.2 and the “it is not possible for it not to be” of B2.3. I would like
to make clear, though, that my crucial observation applies to either reading; namely,
fragment 8—supposedly canonical, true discourse—does not use the locution ouk esti
assertorically in order to discourse about being (nor, obviously, in order to say that
being does not exist). I ask the reader to consider the idea that Parmenides could have
regarded as harmless modal or assertoric discourse about nonbeing using the locution.
It may seem strange to legitimate “nothing is not,” or “nothing cannot be,” but to do
otherwise would undercut the tone in which the goddess proclaims the legitimacy of
her words as against other words. (This is discussed further below.)
16. A. C. Moorhouse, Studies in the Greek Negatives (Cardiff: University of Wales Press,
1959), p. 138. I am not sure what the basis is for Moorhouse’s statistical survey, but
he does not seem to say that the locution is impossible in these sentences. But even
such an impossibility could have been philosophically significant for Parmenides. I
thank Victor Bers for directing me to Moorhouse and for stimulating suggestions,
information, and criticisms.
17. A priori, ouk esti can fit into a hexameter line if the ouk is the second long of a foot.
The contractions ouk est’ (ouk esth’) can do anything except, presumably, span the third
foot. Parmenides uses ouk est’ in B8.20; for Homeric examples see JI. 3.45 ( = 6.413),
21.193, 21.103, Od. 15.533, 21.107, 6.201, 23.62, 12.120, taken from Charles Kahn’s
The Verb ‘Be’ in Ancient Greek, Foundations of Language suppl. ser. 16 (Dordrecht:
Reidel, 1973). It is worth noting that most of these Homeric examples say of such-
and-such that there is no such thing. The example from JI. 21.193, however, is modal,
and that from Od. 23.62 says of something (ho) that it is not something, i.e., a muthos
etétumos, and/or of hode muthos that it is not etétwmos, and this is a negative predication.
But see Moorhouse’s conclusion about impure nominal sentences (n. 16).
18. B8.23 contains the adverb mallon, “more,” and Owen has argued that both this word
NOTES 179
and the word homoion, “alike,” in the preceding line should be taken as adverbial.
Owen’s case about homoion depends on the argument that an adjective here would be
unsupported argumentatively in the preceding lines, while an adverb could be taken
as a natural outgrowth of them (“Eleatic Questions,” p. 58). I argue against Owen’s
interpretation of lines 22—25 in chapter 3. The adverbiality of mallon does not mean
that the negation (oude) has to be taken with the copula if sentence-negations are
thought to bear on the sentence as a whole (see my discussion later in this chapter).
Also, mallon could be governing degree of existence here only through implicit inter-
mediary adjectives, like “weighty” or “full.”
. David Gallop, “ ‘Is’ or ‘Is not’?” The Monist 62 (1979): 61-80, p. 65.
. | am indebted to G. E. R. Lloyd and Martha Nussbaum for this objection.
. Moorhouse, Studies in the Greek Negatives, p. 138.
. Ibid., p. 148.
» Ibid., p. 75:
sibideip le
. Ibid., p. 75.
. Ibid.
. Thus I am inasense arguing on the basis of verse fluidity and not trying to undercut
it.
. Moorhouse, Studies in the Greek Negatives, pp. 14-15.
. In this account of incomplete predicates I am agreeing with the consensus defined by
the following: Svend Ranulf, Der eleatische Satz vom Widerspruch (Copenhagen: Gyl-
dendalske Boghandel, 1924); A. Szabé, “Beitrage zur Geschichte der griechischen Di-
alektik,” Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 1 (1951-52): 377-406, “Zur
Geschichte der Dialektik des Denkens,” Act. Ant. 2 (1953-54): 17-57, “Zum Verstand-
nis der Eleaten,” Act. Ant. 2 (1953-54): 243-86, “Eleatica,” Act. Ant. 3 (1955): 67-102;
G. E. L. Owen, “A Proof in the PERI IDEON,” in R. E.Allen, ed., Studies in Plato’s Meta-
physics (New York: Humanities Press, 1965), pp. 293-312; G. E. R. Lloyd, Polarity and
Analogy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1966); Alexander Nehamas, “Pre-
dication and Forms of Opposites in the Phaedo,” Review of Metaphysics 26 (1973): 461—
91, “Confusing Universals and Particulars in Plato’s Early Dialogues,” Review of Meta-
physics 29 (1975): 287-306, “Plato on the Imperfection of the Sensible World,” American
Philosophical Quarterly 12 (1975): 105-17, “Self-Predication and Plato’s Theory of
Forms,” Am. Phil. Quart. 16 (1979): 93-103, “Participation and Predication in Plato’s
Later Thought,” Rev Met. 36 (1980): 343-74; Paul B. Woodruff, “The Socratic Ap-
proach to Semantic Incompleteness,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 38
(1978): 453-68; Robert William Jordan, Plato’s Arguments
for Forms (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge Philological Society, 1983), and his “Plato, the Presocratics, and the Law of
Contradiction” (unpublished). Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, vol. 1, pp. 169-70, con-
siders a reading of fragment 6 in which the same principle is at work; he rejects it on
the grounds that “the reasoning it ascribes to Parmenides will stand no weight”
(p. 170). In what follows and in chapter 5, I propose that the reasoning, even if it does
not clearly distinguish between contextual relativity and contradiction, could never-
theless have been part of a serious and deep theory of the parts of sentences in their
relation to truth. There are internal differences within the consensus defined by the
above authors, but I wish to agree with a common result about the nature and im-
portance of Eleatic contradiction.
30. See Charles H. Kahn, “The Thesis of Parmenides,” Review of Metaphysics 22 (1968/69):
700-24.
Sit I argue in chapter 5 that Heraclitus thought we had to drop the qualifiers (as in rule
4) in order to discover the tension in reality. Thus both he and Parmenides have the
180 NOTES
older version of the law of noncontradiction, though one thinks reality breaks the law
and the other does not. I argue that Protagoras sees that sensible relativity can be
thought of as conforming to a different version of the law.
o2: It is clear that to eon (being) is in fact the grammatical subject of the deductions in
fragment 8; I argue above that there is only one such subject. Owen starts out differ-
ently, by deriving the deductions from a general identification of the subject as the
object of discourse or of thought. This initially undetermined approach to the Par-
menidean subject, intended to cut off an earlier tendency to overdetermine the subject
by identifying it with previous cosmologists™ ideas, was intended as a philosophical
razor. It was supposed to make the proofs into arguments for what was not initially
obvious, rather than empty explorations of tautologies or christenings of earlier Na-
turphilosophie, and in these things it succeeded. But—granting Owen his conclusion
that Parmenides felt he needed to argue that being was the subject—it follows that
“what can be talked and thought about” is just being, as Owen says on p. 55: “No one
will deny that, as the argument goes, to gon is a correct description of the subject. The
point is that Parmenides purports to prove that it is a correct description.” The fact
that the conclusion needs proof is, from my point of view, less important.
Bor The process of doing away with discursive plurality begins already in “Truth,” where
being is the single object of all language (38-41) and in the fact that the signposts are
all expressions of the same point and do not have different “meanings” (see chapter 3).
Also, by “canonical discourse,” I mean, e.g., oude diaireton estin (22) or tetelesmenon esti
(42) or even the statement made with Moira (37-38) or with a metaphor of quenching
(21)—that is, whatever directly attributes a predicate to being, implies a direct pre-
dication, or negates one outside the brackets, but I do not mean, e.g., talk of fetters
and chains themselves in isolation from their connection with predication. In chapter 2
I isolate some of this language (the part which contains, among other things, actual
grammatical predicates) for further study. This criterion includes some metaphors
and modalities (in a loose sense of the term) in the canonical language; but here the
language of “Opinion” is used against itself in order to get across a true predicate,
and so the words belong neither to “Opinion” nor to the “other language,” which as
such talks about chariots and gates and does not make a truth-claim about being. Still,
it is difficult, even within fragment 8, to tell which words talk and which tell you how
to talk. My criterion for fragment 8 includes almost everything except the obvious
digressions (15-18, much of 34-41). I claim to have shown that none of the canonical
language in this fragment breaks the rules as I interpret them.
34. This is all taken later in support of the hypothesis that Parmenides was essentially a
rational mystic in the Platonic sense. I have failed to recover the source for the Will
Rogers quotation.
CHAPTER TWO: TERMS

. The language here associates pelein and etétwmon einai in line 18 with the positive route,
inasmuch as lines 16-18 associate anoéton anénumon with the negative route (hodos,
line 18); even though the predicates are not directly asserted of being or nonbeing, it
is clear that they could be, as pelein and truth are in B6.8 and B2.4, respectively. Or
consider that the difference between the members of the pair anoéton andnumon, the
one having to do with the mind and the other with language, is also found in B8.8,
ou gar phaton oude noéton/estin hopés ouk esti, and in the immediately preceding phasthai-
noe pair. This distinction of aspect within a pair connects these pairs with the truly
contrary dyads exhibited elsewhere in the poem. Finally, if it is not too far-fetched, I
would like to allow etétumon to concern once again being’s accessibility to language and
pelein its accessibility to thought, since only what-is is thinkable.
NOTES 181
2 For the law of noncontradiction see B7.1; for the law of excluded middle, with an
explicitly legal, juridical metaphor, see B8.15—18. Though I claim in chapters 1 and
5 that the laws are not used in the modern (Platonic or Aristotelian) sense, it is hard
to deny the legalistic function and language of these lines.
. Liddell-Scott-Jones list “decision,” “judgment,” and “trial” under krisis. See also n. 2,
above.
CHAPTER THREE: CONTRARIES
The epigraph is from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, plate 3.

as Hermann Diels, Parmenides Lehrgedicht (Berlin: “ae Reimer, 1897), p. 80.
2. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 106-09.
Se Ibid., p. 112.
4. Michael C. Stokes, One and Many in Presocratic Philosophy (Cambridge: Harvard Uni-
versity Press, 1971), p. 130. Taran, Parmenides, p. 92.
. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 113-14.
. John Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, 4th ed. (London: A. & C Black, 1930), p. 174,
n. 4. Quoted in Taran, Parmenides, p. 89.
Taran, Parmenides, pp. 83-93; Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 113-14; Stokes, One
and Many, pp. 128-31.
. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 113-14.
. Mario Untersteiner, Parmenide: Testtmonianze e Frammenti (Florence: La nuova Italia,
1958), p. cl.
10. Friedrich Solmsen, “The ‘Eleatic One’ in Melissus,” Mededelingen der koninklijke akademie
van wetenschappen, n.s. 32, 8 (1969): 221-33, p. 221 n. 1.
he: Ibid.
ie See Taran, Parmenides, p. 89.
. I thank Michael Frede for this suggestion.
14. See also the recent treatment of these lines by P. B. Manchester, “Parmenides and the
Need for Eternity,” The Monist 62 (1979): 81-106. For other references to the question
of time and eternity in Parmenides, see chapter 4, n. 8.
15; Taran, Parmenides, pp. 82, 188-90.
16. Ibid., pp. 188-90, n. 37.
ie Solmsen, “‘Eleatic One’ in Melissus,” pp. 221-22.
18. Diels-Kranz fragment 8.
Lo: See chapter 4, n. 8. I do not believe that the argument of Manchester (“Parmenides
and the Need for Eternity”) affects the special relationship between 2—6 and 22-25,
even though he takes 4 with 5; a unified signpost-statement, in which 5-6 basically
applied to the whole poem, could still have components which were more localized in
the lines.
. Stokes, One and Many, p. 309, n. 74.
. Ibid., pp. 128-30.
. Ibid., pp. 308-09, n. 69.
aibideep. I3c i
. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, p. 95 n. 4.
. Stokes, One and Many, pp. 135-37.
. Owen, “Eleatic Questions,” p. 97 n. 2.
. Ibid., p. 63.
. Pace Stokes, One and Many, pp. 134—36; Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, p. 114.
. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 111-113; Stokes, One and Many, pp. 135-37.
. Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, vol. 1, p. 211.
182 NOTES
31. Diels, Lehrgedicht, p. 81. “Es scheint selbstverstandlich, da was den Zusammenhang
unterbricht, nicht das potenzirte (mallon eon), sondern nur das verminderte Sein dar-
stellen konne.”
32. Ibid., pp. 81-82. *
33. See the entry in Liddell-Scott-Jones.
34. Diels, Lehrgedicht, p. 81. .
35. Ibid.
36. Owen, “Eleatic Questions,” p. 75 n. 62.
37. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 242- 43.~
38. I thank E. D. Francis for his help with the non-Parmenidean Greek evidence.
39. Mourelatos, (Route of Parmenides, pp. 132-33), claiming that words for plurality as such
are never given a negative sense in Parmenides, suggests that a reified dualism of
contraries, rather than plurality, is the Parmenidean antagonist. But the situation in
lines 6—15 surely involves a plurality—the points of time—which is rejected, while the
metaphorical situation in 42—49 involves a plurality which is included; and, if my
interpretation of lines 22—25 is correct, it is precisely a one-many contrast, with non-
identity and contrariety on either side, which is ruled out. On the surface level of
metaphor, at least, it all depends on which kind of plurality one means, though ulti-
mately, I would claim, no plurality is allowed at all.
CHAPTER FOUR: MODALS, THE OTHER, AND METHOD
1. S. Karsten, Parmenidis Eleatae Carminis Reliquiae (Amsterdam, 1835), reported in Taran,

Parmenides.
2. K. Reinhardt, Parmenides und die Geschichte der griechischen Philosophie (Bonn, 1916),
pp. 40ff; Taran, Parmenides, pp. 95-102; Stokes, One and Many, Barnes, “Parmenides
and the Eleatic One,” pp. 188-90.
3. IL agree with Taran, (Parmenides, p. 98) that “out’ in line 7 can be explained without the
need of a corresponding out’ in line 12” (see also pp. 101-02). See also Charlotte
Stough, “Parmenides’ Way of Truth, B8.12—13,” Phronesis 13 (1968): 91-107. For the
history of how these lines were construed, see Taran, p. 98. Barnes crystallizes the
discussion by setting up the following possibilities for the unemended text (‘‘Parmen-
ides and the Eleatic One,” p. 189): “In the last phrase, # may be either subject or
complement of gignesthai, and auto may refer either to ‘what is’ or to ‘what is not.’ Thus
the manuscript text yields four readings: (i) ‘From what is not, it is not possible for
anything to come into being apart from what is’; (ii) ‘From what is not, it is not possible
for anything to come into being apart from what is not’; (iii) ‘From what is not, it is
not possible for it to become anything apart from what is’; (iv) ‘From what is not, it is
not possible for it to become anything apart from what is not.’” I am going to defend
(i) as the sense we ought to see in this passage. But it is worth noting here that the
passage is interestingly ambiguous.
Barnes rightly notes that (iii) and (iv) are unintelligible in context. He then objects
to (ii) as follows (p. 189): “If we construe ‘from’ in the generator sense, then we can
conjure an argument out of (ii): ‘If O’ does not exist and O’ generates O, then O does
not exist.’ But I doubt that this argument is Parmenidean: first, the very notion of the
generation of nonentities is remote from Parmenides’ thought; second, (ii) interprets
‘from” in the fashion which raises problems for the rest of lines 5-21; and third, (ii) has
no bearing upon destruction.”
I comment in this chapter on the issues raised by Barnes’s second and third criti-
cisms. On the first, however, as Stough has pointed out, Parmenides would not in (ii)
be discussing the generation of nonentities so much as saying that there could be no
NOTES 183
offspring of a generation from nothing, and so ruling out such a generation for what-
is. More, then, would be needed in order to discard (ii). Stough attempts to reconstruct
fragment 8 on the basis of (ii), and in the process gives the reading some credibility.
However, in the desire to argue against (i) and the emendation and to show that (ii)
suffices, Stough is led to claim that Parmenides does not discuss the generation of
anything from something existing. Nevertheless, as I try to show, lines 36-38 do dis-
cuss the motion out, from what-is, of something existing but other than what-is, though
Stough is right in pointing out that the discussion of genesis as such is restricted to that
of a coming-to-be from what-is-not. (Stough takes the lines to discuss a different sit-
uation, namely, the generation from what-is-not of something existing but other than
what-is.) And yet, if there is a motion out from what-is in lines 36—38, then it is possible
that lines 12—13 discuss the possibility that Stough finds in 36—38. In fact, as I argue
below, this possibility must be found in 12-13, otherwise the poem’s argument will
not be complete. This is my argument against (ii), to which Stough would reply that
the assertion I find in 12—13 would seem to have to do more with proving the unique-
ness of what-is than with arguing against generation. To this I would reply that the
generation from what-is-not of something existing but other than what-is, is indeed a
kind of coming-to-be. Thus Stough’s argument is, I think, undercut by 36-38, and
this means that 12—13 cannot have the meaning described in (ii). (Unless, of course,
~ one takes # more broadly than Stough does to include both what-is and something
existing but other than what-is. In that case the emendation, which Stough also argues
against, would again be destructive.)
Barnes is, however, also too quick in rejecting (i), the coming-into-being of something
besides what-is out of what-is-not. He says: “(i) is impotent as an argument against
generation and cannot constitute an argument against destruction.” I shall agree below
that lines 12-13 do not furnish an argument against destruction, while claiming that
this does not count against the reading (i). However, it is not immediately clear why
Barnes says that (i) is impotent as an argument against generation. It certainly states,
at any rate, that nothing besides being can come from nothing, and thus that a certain
sort of generation is impossible. Does Barnes mean that the generation in question
would, if (i) is adopted, be a generation, not of being, but of something else? This
would be no reason for rejecting (i), even if it were immediately clear that this “some-
thing else” would have to be nothing. Does Barnes then mean that (i) does not argue
its point but merely states it? This is surely no objection to a reading of a Parmenidean
line. I argued in chapter 3 that there is no linear proof for homoion in 22, and where
is the proof of asulon in 48?
At any rate, of the interpretations available of the manuscript reading, it seems that
(i) has the best chance of making sense.
. Stokes, One and Many, p. 254.
. Taran, Parmenides, pp. 95-96.
. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, p. 101.
. I
SID
OP do not take a stand on the relation of being to time here (but see chapter 6). A full
or complete being on the part of what-is, a freedom from temporal variations, starts,
or stops, would seem to mean that it is eternal, or sempiternal, or exists atemporally.
Critics have attempted to choose among these: see William Kneale, “Time and Eternity
in Theology,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society n.s. 61 (1960-61): 90; G. E. L. Owen,
“Plato and Parmenides on the Timeless Present,” The Monist 50 (1966): 317-40, re-
printed in Mourelatos, ed., The Pre-Socratics, 271-92; Malcolm Schofield, “Did Parmen-
ides Discover Eternity?” Archiv fiir Geschichte der Philosophie 52 (1970): 113-35;
Manchester, “Parmenides and the Need for Eternity,’ Leonardo Taran, “Perpetual
Present and Atemporal Eternity in Parmenides and Plato,” The Monist 62 (1979): 43—
184 NOTES
53; D. O’Brien, “Temps et intemporalité chez Parménide,” Etudes philosophiques 35

(1980): 257-72.
8. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, p. 101.
9. Here I borrow suggestions from A. P. D. Mourelatos and E. D. Francis.
10. Taran, Parmenides, p. 96.
11. Stokes, One and Many, p. 132.
12. Barnes, “Parmenides and the Eleatic One,” pp. 189-90.
13. E.g. Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, p. 170; Stokes, One and Many, p. 136.
14. Taran, Parmenides, pp. 128-29. The extra paren isi here deleted. I am not persuaded
by Manchester’s account of chronos.
15. “You will not find thinking without being ... for there... is no ... other.” Barnes,
(“Parmenides and the Eleatic One,” pp. 12-14) comments interestingly on these lines
and on the adequacy of Preller’s reconstruction. Barnes says: “Perhaps @ estai was
originally a marginal record of a variant for esti, and the text was something like: ouden
gar et’esti noésai, or: ouden gar et’'emmenai estin” (p. 13 n. 44). Here the point of the lines
is still that no other is available for being or for thought because Moira bound it, etc.;
and this point emerges from Barnes’s two possibilities as well as from the corrupt
versions in Simplicius. The present explanation of why the next lines (37-38) support
line 36 is, then, undamaged by the confusing situation in 36, except for what I say
about future being.
16. Contra Stokes, One and Many, p. 136, and Owen, “Eleatic Questions,” p. 63. Lines 40-—
41 contain a negative catalogue of what is proved: “to come to be and to perish,” “to
be and not to be at all,” “to change place,” and “to change in bright color.” Since 42—
49 are recapitulatory, akinéton in 26 should mean at least change of place.
17. Stokes, One and Many, p. 312 n. 96.
18. Ibid., p. 138.
19. For the Homeric evidence, see Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 117-19.
20. That akinéton stands in this logical relationship to anarchon apauston thus involves one
of the triadic structures discussed in chapter 2.
21. See Furth, “Elements of Eleatic Ontology.”
22. Iliad 6.488: moiran d’ou tina phémi pephugmenon emmenai andron.
23. Stokes, One and Many, p. 132.
24. The to ken eirgot min sunechesthai of line 46 is part of a counterfactual conditional, and
lines 12-13 involve the denial of possible fact as well; but the reference to nonbeing
is explicit in 46. All other such pronouns in the poem refer to what-is.
25. See n. 3 above.
26. See chapter 1 for references to a nonmonistic Parmenides.
27. The restriction of genesis to a coming-to-be out of what-is-not is also noticed by Stough,
“Parmenides’ Way of Truth,” pp. 96-98. Untersteiner (Parmenide, p. clii n. 130) also
draws a distinction between genesis and kinésis, for different reasons. All I require is
that para and parex can mean “besides” in either meaning of the English word.
28. Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, pp. 188-90.
29. I am indebted to Myles Burnyeat for getting me to see this point.
30. There is much modal language in the poem. There are modal adjectives (anuston,
B2.7; agenéton, B8.3; phaton, noéton, B8.8; anoéton, B8.17), counterfactuals (B8.19—-20,
23, the second half of 33, 46-48), the modal ouk esti (B2.3, B6.2), and modal actions
performed by various personified figures (B1.26—28, B2.4, B8.13-15, 26-28, 30-31,
36-38, a non-personally-attributed action of “quenching” in 21, and the personified
figures guarantee the boundedness of what-is which is set out in 42—49). I isolate the
personified figures here because their metaphorical actions and (with themis included)
their predications are enough to cover the logical map. I am now using “modal” in a
NOTES 185
wider sense than before. For the mutual relationships of modal and assertoric language
in the narrower sense, see chapter 1.
Silk See also G. Jameson, “ “Well-rounded Truth’ and Circular Thought in Parmenides,”
Phronesis 3 (1958): 15-30.
CHAPTER FIVE: CONTEXT AND CONTRADICTION
Owen, “Proof in the PERI IDEON,” p. 109.

See my discussion of Empedocles and Anaxagoras in the Introduction.
. Translated by W. H. D. Rouse.
PN
. I was first introduced to these Eleatic features of the Euthydemus by Robert Brumbaugh
and Steven Hyman. See also Rosamond Kent Sprague’s treatment of these passages
in Plato’s Use of Fallacy (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1962), pp. 12-24, and n. 6
to this chapter.
. See Hermann Keulen, Untersuchungen zu Platons “Euthydemus,’ Klassisch-Philologische
Studien, vol. 37 (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1971), p. 18 n. 22.
. Here the ground has been well covered by Ranulf and Lloyd, and my discussion is
heavily indebted to them. My central debt in this chapter is to the authors mentioned
_ in chapter 1 n. 29 and n. 15 to this chapter. See also my Acknowledgments. These
sources, though they differ from each other, define a consensus on the importance of
contradiction and incomplete predicates in understanding the Eleatic effect on sub-
sequent philosophy and in understanding other pre-Socratic philosophers.
. One may nevertheless venture the observation that Zeno’s contrary predicates, as the
quotation from Owen (see n. 1) points out, are perhaps not always true in the same
sense (indeed, if they are, then we must throw out either the law of noncontradiction
or our senses). Thus the paradox in B3, whose conclusion is that a plurality is both
finite and infinite, has two senses: the finitude of the plurality comes from its being
mappable onto itself in a discrete and definite manner, while its infinity is an infinity
of number. The plurality is divisible because of its extent, but indivisible in its ultimate
units. The juxtaposition of the two senses in the first may still yield a paradoxical
result, but only if one does not yet have access to the notion of a countable infinite;
that in the second depends on the difference between spatial and logical divisibility.
Similarly, the ambiguity, pointed out by Aristotle at Physics 233A21, between intensive
and extensive magnitude or infinity in the dichotomy paradox may be part of Zeno’s
design rather than an oversight on his part; the distance to be traversed is infinite in
one sense and finite in another, just as, in the “flying arrow” paradox, one is at rest
in the instant in the sense that one’s spatial boundaries do not move during the instant,
but in motion in the sense that the instant does not stand on its own, in isolation from
other instants, for more than an instant. The point of some of the paradoxes could,
then, be that the sensible world is ambiguous and characterized by both members of
pairs of contraries, which, even though they apply in different senses, are still thought
somehow to disable the sensible world. This is just what Socrates accuses Zeno of doing
in the Parmenides, but it is also a method sanctioned by the “Opinion” section of Father
Parmenides himself.
. Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, vol. 11, p. 217. Barnes warns against attributing precise
dates to the Dissoi Logoi without lengthy argument (vol. II, chap. 9, n. 8); for me the
commonality of inference-types is sufficient to establish a post-Eleatic climate of opin-
ion, and the Dissoi Logoi is crude enough to have missed Protagoras’s point about
contradiction.
a Ibid., vol. II, p. 246.
10. Ibid., vol. II, pp. 243-57.
186 NOTES
11. Ibid., vol. I, p. 246.

12. See Keulen, Unterschungen zu Platons “Euthydem,’ pp. 25-33, 49-55. I am indebted to
Robert Brumbaugh for first directing my attention to the serious side of the Euthydemus.
13. Translated by W. H. D. Rouse.
14. See W. K. C. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy (6 vols.) (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1962), vol. IV, pp. 266-67.
15. Besides the authors mentioned in chapter 1 n. 29 and in my Acknowledgments, see
the following: R. E. Allen, “The Argument from Opposites in Republic V,” in John P.
Anton and George L. Kustas, eds., Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy (Albany: SUNY
Press, 1971), pp. 165-75; Erhard Sheibe, “Uber Relativbegriffe in der Philosophie
Platons,” Phronesis 12 (1967): 28—49; John A. Brentlinger, “Particulars in Plato’s Mid-
dle Dialogues,” Archi fiir Geschichte der Philosophie 54 (1972)): 116-52, “Incomplete
Predicates and the Two-World Theory of the Phaedo,” Phronesis 17 (1972): 61—79;
Charlotte Stough, “Forms and Explanation in the Phaedo,” Phronesis 21 (1976): 1-30;
David Gallop, “Relations in the Phaedo,” in Shiner and King-Farlow, Plato and the Pre-
Socratics, pp. 149-63, “Particulars in Phaedo, 95E-107A,” Canadian Journal of Philoso-
phy, suppl. 2 (1976): 129-47, reprinted in Shiner and King-Farlow, Plato and the Pre-
Socratics; F. C. White, “Plato’s Middle Dialogues and the Independence of Particulars,”
Philosophical Quarterly 27 (1977): 193-213; Terence Irwin, “Plato’s Heracliteanism,”
Philosophical Quarterly 27 (1977): 1-13; Mohan Matthen, “Plato’s Treatment of Rela-
tional Statements in the Phaedo,” Phronesis 27 (1982): 90-100. See also Owen, “Proof
in the PERI IDEON”; R. C. Cross and A. D. Woozley, Plato’s ‘Republic’ (London: Mac-
millan, 1964), pp. 155-56; Hector-Neri Castafieda, “Plato’s Phaedo Theory of Rela-
tions,” Journal of Philosophical Logic 1 (1972): 467-80; R. E. Allen, Plato’s ‘Parmenides’:
Translation and Analysis (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1983).
There are disagreements about the degree to which Plato understands relative pred-
icates and contradiction, and about when he comes to whatever understanding he does
possess (see Scheibe, Gallop, Castafieda, Stough, Jordan, and Allen). But the work of
Owen, Nehamas, Woodruff, and Jordan provides a strong defense of the claim that
there is a crucial connection between Plato’s middle-period view of incomplete pred-
icates and the law of noncontradiction and the original motivation for the theory of
Forms (see also Lloyd, Szab6é, Ranulf, Brentlinger, Irwin, White, Gallop). I subscribe
to this claim also. See also n. 20 and 22 for the literature on the Sophist and Parmenides.
16. Translated by Hugh Tredennick. Sensibles are characterized by opposites in Republic
523 ff, Phaedo 75, Symposium 211, and Republic 479.
17. See Lloyd, Polarity and Analogy,pp. 139-41, and Jordan, Plato’s Arguments for Forms,
pp. 35-45; see also Gregory Vlastos, “Degrees of Reality in Plato,” in Vlastos’s Platonic
Studies, 2nd ed. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), pp. 58—75. R. E. Allen
(Parmenides) has argued that Plato was not confused about contradiction and relative
terms (the passages are Republic 438B ff., Charmides 168B ff., Sophist 255C-—D), but also
believes that the theory of Forms at all stages of its development requires that Forms
not be qualified by their own opposites, in that a distinction between the characteristics
and the things they characterize (see also his “Participation and Predication in Plato’s
Middle Dialogues,” pp. 43-60, esp. p. 46n), between, e.g., to ison as “the thing which
is equal, has equality” and the “equality that things have,” shows that, although a thing
which is equal can also be unequal, the Form of equality cannot also be unequal. I
have tried to suggest a compromise solution to the question whether Plato was “con-
fused” or “nonmodern” about the application of the law of noncontradiction to rela-
tives and incomplete predicates: he could, I claim, have known the law in its “modern”
version while believing in the middle period that the possession of opposites even in
different senses by particulars renders them somehow incapable of the highest onto-
NOTES 187
logical dignity. But it goes too far to say that opposites do not apply to Forms even in
the later period: Allen’s reference (in Studies, p. 90), to motion and rest in the Sophist
surely does not apply to the different case of the same and not the same in Sophist
256A; and Parmenides 158A-B, with its distinction between things which have a share
in something and the something in which they share, cannot be cited as a positive
expression of Platonic doctrine if the dialogue is, as Allen claims, aporetic (p. 189).
These two dialogues pose a problem in understanding how the Forms can be qualified
by opposites; but the former at any rate tries to demonstrate that they are so qualified.
This is not to say anything against Allen’s insight about the middle dialogues, however.
. For a good account of Plato’s basic Eleaticism, see the four articles by Szabé listed in
the Bibliography.
19) See Sophist 256A—260B.
20. See R. Hackforth, “False Statement in Plato’s Sophist,” Classical Quarterly 39 (1945): 56—
58; David Ross, Plato’s Theory of Ideas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1951); A. L. Peck,
“Plato and the MEGISTA GENE of the Sophist: A Reinterpretation,” Classical Quarterly n.s.
2 (1952): 32-56, “Plato’s Sophist: The Symploké ton ecdéin,” Phronesis 7 (1962): 46-66;
D. W. Hamlyn, “The Communion of Forms and the Development of Plato’s Logic,”
Philosophical Quarterly 5 (1955): 289-302; R. S. Bluck, “False Statement in the Sophist,”
Journal of Hellenic Studies 77 (1957): 181-86; I. M. Crombie, An Examination of Plato’s
Doctrines (2 vols.) (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1962), vol. II; W. K. C. Guthrie,
History of Greek Philosophy; J. M. E. Moravcsik, “SUMPLOKE EIDON and the Genesis of
Locos,” Archiv fiir Geschichte der Philosophie 60 (1978): 121-39, “Being and Meaning
in.the Sophist,” Acta Philosophica Fennica 14 (1962): 23—78; J. Stenzel, Plato's Method of
Dialectic (tr. and ed. D. J. Allan) (New York: Russell & Russell, 1964); J. Ackrill, “sum-
PLOKE EIDON,” in Allen, ed., Plato’s Metaphysics, pp. 199-206, “Plato and the Copula:
Sophist 251-259,” in ibid., pp. 207-218; Michael Frede, Pradzkation und Existenzaussage,
Hypomnemata, vol. 18 (Géttingen: Vandenhoeck u. Ruprecht, 1967); R. Robinson,
“Plato’s Consciousness of Fallacy,” in his Essays in Greek Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1969); G. E. L. Owen, “Plato on Not-Being,” in Gregory Vlastos, ed.,
Plato: A Collection of Critical Essays (South Bend, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press,
1971), vol. I, pp. 223-67; J. Pelletier, “ ‘Incompatibility’ in Plato’s Sophist,” Dialogue
(Canada) 14 (1975): 143-46; RichardJ. Ketcham, “Participation and Predication in
Sophist 251-260,” Phronesis 23 (1978): 42-62; Robert Flower, “G. E. L. Owen, Plato,
and the Verb “To Be,” Apezron 14 (1980): 87-95; Spiro Panagiotou, “The Parmenides
and the ‘Communion of Kinds’ in the Sophist,” Hermes 109 (1981): 167-71;
J. McDowell, “Falsehood and Not-Being in Plato’s Sophist,” in M. Schofield and
M. Nussbaum, eds., Language and Logos: Studies in Ancient Philosophy Presented to G. E. L.
Owen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), pp. 115-34; works cited in the
Bibliography by Robert William Jordan; and W. G. Runciman, Plato’s Later Epistemology
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962).
But I think that the part of the story that I need can be told without controversy.
21. Translated by F. M. Cornford.
. I give short summaries of interpretations below so that their similarities with and
differences from what I hypothesize in the chapter can be seen. Any interpretation in
which the dialogue’s compresence of opposites is serious discourse about definable
Forms, yet is not allowed to be read as a logical contradiction, is one in which an
apparatus of disambiguation or resolution can play a role. In this sense I am in debt
most to Peck, also to Cornford, Brumbaugh, and Owen.
Harald H6ffding, Bemerkungen tiber den platonischen Dialog Parmenides (Berlin: Bib-
liothek fiir Philosophie 21, 1921). The demonstration is a parody which shows that
Zenonian methods applied to the One yield un-Parmenidean results.
188 NOTES
Harold Cherniss, “Parmenides and the Parmenides of Plato,’ American Journal of Phi-
lology 53 (1932): 122-38. The second half is a “systemic abuse of e:nai” which switches
from one sense to another; the Sophist does not disambiguate.
Francis M. Cornford, Plato and Parmenides (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1939).
The hypotheses are not fallacious but proceed each from a different premise or def-
inition; the differences can be detected; the One is sinbigaous as between hypotheses,
but consistent within each hypothesis.
Richard Robinson, “Plato’s Parmenides,” Classical Philology 37 (1942): 51-76, 159-
86. The dialogue is a gymnastic exercise containing fallacies and ambiguities to be
detected even within each hypothesis. It is not.a statement of doctrine, but is “sceptical.”
Critique of the claim that the Sophist is a solution to the problems posed by the Par-
menides.
W. D. Ross, Plato’s Theory of Ideas, pp. 83-103. The dialogue is a logical exercise in
the detection of fallacies and ambiguities, but one containing real, philosophically
fruitful problems and ideas.
A. L. Peck, “Plato’s Parmenides: Some Suggestions for Its Interpretation,” Classical
Quarterly n.s. 3 (1953): 126-50. The second half exhibits the consequences of sup-
posing either no participation or universal participation; the Sophist unlocks the Par-
menides; the One is contextually variable and so not a Form.
Robert S. Brumbaugh, Plato and the One (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961).
The second half is a serious (though indirect) exposition of what a theory of Forms
has to be and to explain. The inferences are valid, but some “odd concepts” are
introduced. Interesting treatment of previous views.
W. K. C. Guthrie, History of Greek Philosophy, Vol. V, pp. 53 ff. “Readers are intended
to detect the fallacies, but as a training in how to avoid them” (p. 56).
W. G. Runciman, “Plato’s Parmenides,” pp. 149-84. Criticisms of Ross, Robinson,
Ryle, Cornford. The ambiguities are not clear to Plato; the moral “is that forms are
not definable by deduction from existential hypotheses” (p. 181). The method of the
Parmenides leads to contradictory conclusions and must be replaced by the method of
division.
Gilbert Ryle, Plato’s Progress (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1966). Hy-
potheses exhibit consequences of failure to observe type-distinctions.
G. E. L. Owen, “Notes on Ryle’s Plato,” in Oscar P. Wood and George Pitcher, eds.,
Ryle: A Collection of Critical Essays (Garden City: Doubleday, 1970), pp. 341-72. A subtle
treatment. Ambiguities in the Parmenides are disambiguated in the Sophist.
Malcolm Schofield, “The Antinomies of Plato’s Parmenides,” Classical Quarterly n.s. 27
(1977): 139-58. Nice sketches of the universe of discourse in each hypothesis.
R. E. Allen, Parmenides. The dialogue is aporetic; each hypothesis proceeds from
assumptions which must be corrected. The purpose of the second half is to show that
the transcendentals are not definable essences. Allen leaves it to the reader what cor-
rections must be made.
Kenneth M. Sayre, Plato’s Late Ontology (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983).
. See Robinson, “Plato’s Parmenides.”
. Sophist 259C-D.
. Philebus 15D-18D.
. See Metaphysics, book Z, chapters 6, 8, 13-15.
. See Allen, “Participation and Predication,” p. 46n.
. See the “Lehre” section on Thales in Diels-Kranz.
- See “Leben und Lehre” and the two passages quoted in the “Fragmente” section in
ibid.
. See ibid. for the testimonia.
NOTES 189
31. Translated by Jonathan Barnes. See Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, pp. 69-75, for a
full discussion of dropped qualifications in Heraclitus. See also the treatment of the
metaphysical significance of the compresence of opposites in Kirk, Raven, and Scho-
field, Presocratic Philosophers, pp. 188-97.
S2. See C. J. Emlyn-Jones, “Heraclitus and the Identity of Opposites,” Phronesis 21 (1976):
89-114, but agreeing with Lloyd (Polarity and Analogy, pp. 100-02) that Heraclitus
does not give us a “certain violation” of the modern version of the law. I suggest,
however, that the appearance of contradiction is due not so much to an obscurity of
expression as to the fact that respects are being deliberately dropped. See also Barnes,
Presocratic Philosophers, vol. 1, pp. 73—75, and later in my treatment.
30: M. M. Mackenzie, in a thought-provoking paper called “Heraclitus and the Art of
Paradox” (forthcoming), demonstrates that some Heraclitean paradoxes can be re-
solved by adding the appropriate qualifiers and then examines the resulting dialectic
between the sense in which opposites are one and the sense in which they are distinct,
the former (“the unity of opposites”) without qualifiers and the latter (“the opposition
of unity”) with. She remarks that the unity in a sense requires the distinctness, and
vice versa, and that this is, in one sense, precisely the point; yet the underlying par-
adoxical tension between these two principles (as opposed to the things they govern)
remains unresolved. This Heraclitus is one who understands the later version of the
law of noncontradiction and uses it to resolve contradictions in an “object language”
(involving terms like night, day, asleep, awake) while leaving higher-order “common”
terms (e.g., one, many) paradoxical in their mutual interrelationships in a way fruitful
for the metaphysics of individuation. (Here I use “contradiction” interchangeably with
her “paradox,” though the latter is, I think, broader.)
If this view is correct, then it is in fact part of Heraclitus’s strategy to employ the
later law of noncontradiction in dissolving at least certain paradoxes. I argue that the
thrust of Heraclitus requires that the later law not be used, that, in Mackenzie’s terms,
the paradoxes remain fruitfully unresolved even at the lower level where she says they
are resolved. My claim is that, as Mackenzie says, Heraclitus is interested neither
exclusively in a world governed totally by distinctions of respect nor in a world of pure,
undifferentiated unity undivided by such distinctions. But the natural expression for
such a vision of the world would not be even an initial disambiguation of apparent
contradictions into relativities of respect, but rather a formula evoking tension without
settling it (“God is day night”) or stating relativity in such a way as to suggest conflict
or contradiction. I do not deny that the statements in the object-language can be taken
as calling for disambiguation; I only say that even the apparently disambiguating
statements (“For fish good, for humans bad”) could also be taken as presenting us with
contradictions which their author believes are fruitfully irresolvable. Heraclitus might
not have believed that the modern law represented an ultimate truth about the world,
and his paradoxes, it might be claimed, testify to an irresolvable war, a provocative
strife of opposites on the object-language as well. More evidence would be required
in order to show that the essential conflicts are only on the metalevel; indeed, the
relationship between object-language and common language Mackenzie attributes to
Heraclitus would be more appropriate for the Parmenides of this study: consistency
within the former, then inconsistency in the portrait of goddess, chariot, etc.
34. See Barnes, Presocratic Philosophers, vol. 1, pp. 176-78.
357 For the motion of one object, see the dichotomy paradox; for the relative motion of
two, see Achilles and the stadium; for finite and infinite divisibility, see fragments 1
and 3; for motion in the place where something is vs. where it is not, the arrow paradox;
but see ibid., p. 276, against regarding this as an explicit dilemma in Zeno.
36. Barnes (ibid., pp. 233-34) argues that the architectonic view of Tannery, Owen, and
190 NOTES
others should be abandoned in favor of a view of Zeno in which each argument makes
its Own separate point against plurality or motion. But the two views are compatible;
surely it is not the case that no argument.can be connected with any other by way of
disjunction. An Eleatic-style, rigid dichotomy between finite and infinite divisibility
would also have been viewed as connecting the two in a single proof.
37. Furth, “Elements of Eleatic Ontology.”
38. It seems clear from 136A—C that any of the Forms can be said to exist, or not to exist,
or to have any other character: kai hotioun allo pathos paschontos. This means that any
two of the Forms can combine to produce a pair of hypotheses equivalent in complexity
to the second half of the Parmenides as we have it, and this means in turn that that
half is only a portion of a much larger method. On the structure of the hypotheses,
see Schofield, Brumbaugh, and Sayre (n. 22 above) and also a Boston University dis-
sertation by John Strang, “The Parmenides and Its Inheritors” (1983).
CHAPTER SIX: THE BOUNDED AND THE UNBOUNDED

The epigraph is from the Third Century, sec. 35, in Margoliouth, ed., Thomas Traherne.
I am conscious in writing this chapter of having drawn over the years on a great many
people and sources, some of which I fear I no longer remember. See the Acknowledgments
and notes; I would also like to mention Aquinas (for form as boundedness), Hegel (for the
history of Greek philosophy in his own terms), and the work of D. T. Suzuki, John Blofeld,
Stanley Rosen, and Walter Kaufmann. In some places I have attempted to speculate over
thin ice, knowing little. This Parmenides is one who has a mystical experience of what-is;
however, I claimed in the Introduction that this need not commit one to an interpretation
of fragment | in terms of any particular religious or mystical school.
1. Melissus’s ultimate entity was infinite: see fragments 2, 6, 7.
2. David Sedley, who I hope will soon publish his views.
3. See Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 122-30, and references therein to earlier dis-
cussions.
4. Bounds are connected with determinacy in B8.30—33 and 42—49, with freedom from
change in B8.13—15 and 26-28.
Or . Bounds are connected with uniqueness in B8.36—38.
6. Time is done away with by bounds in B8.13-—15, spatial wandering in B8.26—28, 36-
38.
7. See B8.42—49 for aperspectivality, chapter 4 for necessity.
8. The very mé téuton expressing the non-identity between Fire and Night is trouble for
bounds within “Opinion,” for it means that no bound can be all-inclusive; yet there
are bounds (plural) in “Opinion” as well (B10.5—7) and rings (B12) expressing the
mortals’ striving after a determinacy they cannot attain. The world of Opinion is the
coincidence between partial boundedness and partial unboundedness.
9. See Ranulf, “Der eleatische Satz,” p. 162.
10. B8.50-51.
11. It is a consequence of any monistic reading of Parmenides that the mind, properly
described, turns out to be ultimately identical with reality. The ultimate practical con-
sequence of such a monism will thus be the mind’s immediate apprehension of its own
unity with what it contemplates, and this is so regardless of how one reads the disputed
lines in B3 and B8.34.
12. See The Guide of the Perplexed, book I, chapter 58. In Arthur Hyman and J. J. Walsh,
eds., Philosophy in the Middle Ages: The Christian, Islamic, and Jewish Traditions (New York:
Harper & Row, 1967), pp. 371ff.
13. C.-E. Rolt, ed. and tr., Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagitica, “On the Divine Names” and “The
Mystical Theology” (London: Translations of Christian Literature Series, 1920).
NOTES 191
14. These occur in the “Opinion” section, B8.51—B19.

NS: B8.38—41. (Adopting the reading td: pant’ onomastaz in line 38.)
16. See fragments 6, 31, and especially 36 in the light of 30. A Parmenidean gospel (in
the first person instead of the second person singular) is also offered by Hermann
Frankel, Dichtung und Philosophie des friihen Griechentums (Munich, 1962), pp. 417, 418,
referred to by Mansfeld, Die Offenbarung des Parmenides, p. 258. It seems to me that
Parmenidean being, unlike the Yahweh of the Old Testament, does not initially pro-
claim itself in its own voice with “I,” but only through an intermediary who describes
it impersonally. Frankel’s phrasing would, of course, be appropriate for Parmenides
after we fully knew who we really were.
. See fragment 67.
. Fragment 102.
. See fragments 30 and 36 combined with 88.
. Apology 23A—B.
. See Mark, chapters 3 and 7.
. Daisetz T. Suzuki, Shin Buddhism (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1970), p. 87.
. John Blofeld, tr., The Zen Teaching of Huang Po (London: Rider, 1958), p. 110.
. Ibid., p. 83.
. Ibid., p. 58.
. Ibid., p. 64.
. See Thus Spake Zarathustra, pt. 3, “The Other Dancing Song,” in Walter Kaufmann,
ed. and tr., The Portable Nietzsche (London: Chatto & Windus, 1971), pp. 336—43.
. See pp. 367ff. of Karl Jaspers, Nietzsche: An Introduction to the Understanding of His
Philosophical Activity (tr. C. F. Wallraff and F. J. Schmitz) (Tucson: University of Arizona
Press, 1965).
. Thus, in willing the recurrence, the spirit that accepts all things becomes the spirit
that conquers all things.
. See The Antichrist, sec. 35 (Kaufmann, Portable Nietzsche, pp. 608-09).
. See Twilight of the Idols, sec. 31 (ibid., pp. 532-33).
. Ibid., pp. 561-63 (also in Twilight).
. Here I have benefited from conversations with Richard Monnier, Klaus Brinkmann,
and Seyla Benhabib. As I understand it, there are questions among interpreters of
Hegel about the precise nature of the overcoming of the laws. What counts for me is
only that what is ultimately real for Hegel cannot be grasped by a logic bound totally
by the modern law.
34: A. A. Long, in “The Principles of Parmenides’ Cosmogony,” Phronesis 8 (1963): 90—
107, p. 103, views Parmenides’ fire and night in the world of “Opinion” as anticipating
the positive and negative predications in the Sophist. Thus my point could be put
another way: Plato and succeeding mortals descend into opinion.
5D Rolt, ed., Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagitica.
36. See Mourelatos, Route of Parmenides, pp. 133 n. 46, iho
Suk Melissus, whose infinite reality seems still to obey Parmenides’ laws, is not a counter-
example, for in him the laws are not expressed in their connection with sentences and
intelligibility but appear merely as maxims whose connection with transcendental ar-
gument is not reflected on. He does not see what Parmenides saw, namely, that a perfect
match between finite language and reality needs a finite reality. .
I owe the phrase “the first logician” to John Addey.
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Index
Allen, Reginald E., 129 Canonical discourse: “is” and “isn’t” in, 29—
Alpha-privatives. See Predicates, alpha-pri- 31, 38-39, 47, 137-39; truth and falsity
vative in, 32, 33—37, 137-39; and noncontradic-
Ammonius, 70, 71 tion, 36-39, 137-39; criteria of, 37—38;
Anaxagoras, 5, 117, 118 and self-referential inconsistency, 40—42,
Anaximander, 130-31 139; and vagueness, 138
Apollo (Nietzsche), 145-47, 150-51 Chariot, 3, 29, 40, 41
Aquinas, Thomas, 5 Christianity, 8, 142—44, 146—47, 151-53
Aristophanes, 31 Collations: and contraries, 89, 91-92
Aristotle, 2, 6, 8, 14, 31, 33, 38, 61, 121, Coming-to-be, 45, 47, 50-51, 57; of other,
126, 128-149 96, 100—03; and Karsten emendation,
Assertions: assertoric “ouk esti” barred in, 100—05; six forms of, 104; and modality,
12-13, 22-29, 30, 36-37, 118, 138; ex- 112
istential reduction of, 18—20; modal, 23, Contradiction, logical: and canonical dis-
D527. 29. OW Silo Sence alsomelsi- course, 20, 32—36, 37, 38; and contextual
Saloni relativity, 33-34, 36, 37, 119-20, 123,
negative, 18, 21, 22, 29, 31,.30, 415-1 2: 127; and dropped qualifiers, 34, 36, 37,
intentional use of, 18—20; and bounded- 116, 118, 119; and truth, 39-40; and
ness, 138 contraries, 50—51; in immanent world,
—negative existential: barred from 119-21; post-Parmenidean, 125, 127; in
“Truths le 13 1922-30) 3375. LS: pre-Socratic thought, 130-32, 134; and
138 boundedness, 137—40; and predication,
—positive, 12, 18-20, 23-30, 38, 47, 112 138
Contraries, 8, 46, 47, 56-58, 65—95 passim,
Barnes, Jonathan, 13, 18-20, 21, 716, 155= 110, 111, 153; “more” and “less,” 46, 49—
57 50, 68, 75, 76-83, 88, 90; and contradic-
Being. See What-is tion, 50—51; in Time-section, 53, 56, 86—
Blake, William, 65 87, 88, 90-91, 93; in Mass-Space section,
Boundedness, 5, 6, 17, 84, 106, 136-39, 54, 56-57, 68-83, 88, 90-91, 93; in
142, 149-50, 153; and “is,” 137-39; and Sphere-section, 55, 57, 84-86, 88, 89-90,
contradiction, 137—40; and canonical dis- 93; “later” and “earlier,” 57, 86—87, 90;
course, 138—40; and truth, 139; and neg- in “Opinion,” 66, 109-10; disjunctive/
ative theology, 139-43, 144, 147; con- conjunctive formulas of, 67, 85-87; “big-
junction of, with unboundedness, 142— ger” and “smaller,” 76, 85-86, 88, 90;
44, 150-52 nested, 89; contexts of, 90, 93; philosoph-
Buddhism, 8, 142—44, 147, 150, 151, 152 ical rationale for, 92—95; and the other,
Burnet, John, 70, 97 109-10; and plurality, 113, 133; and
dropped qualifiers, 116, 118-19
Calogero, Guido, 14, 36 Copula, 14, 29, 37—40. See also “Is”
199
200 INDEX
Cornford, Francis M., 14, 155 Immovability: and the other, 101—03; qual-
itative and locomotive, 102, 106. See also
Democritus, 117 Unmoving
Dialectic. See Methodology Inconsistency, self-referential: alleged, 15—
Diels, Hermann, 10, 68, 76, 77, 79, 97, 100 18, 20; intentional, 40-41, 138-40; and
Dionysodorus, 39, 118, 122 boundedness, 138—40
Dionysos (Nietzsche), 145—47 Infinity. See Unbouhdedness
Disambiguation, 120, 127-28 Inhomogeneity, 105, 110. See also Whole/of
Dissoi Logoi, 118, 119, 123 asingle kind
Divisibility, 46-47, 48, 50, 76-83. See also “Is,” 11-43 passim, 47, 115; existential, pre-
Whole/of a single kind dicative, fused, delimited, 14—15; and as-
Doom, 5, 26, 54, 74, 100—04, 108, 111, 113 sertoric negation, 22-29, 30, 138; in
Dyads. See Predicates, double canonical discourse, 37, 38-39, 47, 115,
137-39; influence of Parmenidean views,
Einstein, Albert, 147 38—40; and dropped predicates, 119; and
Eliot, T. S., 154 sensible world, 123; and boundedness,
Empedocles, 5, 81, 117, 118 137-39
Enumeration method, 8, 49-50, 94-95, “Isn’t”: barred from assertoric “is,” 12—13,
108-09, 114-15, 137-39; in pre-Socratic 19, 22-29, 30, 31, 37, 118, 138: permis-
thought, 132-35; in Plato, 134-35 sible uses of, 22, 26, 28-29, 30; modal
Euthydemus, 32, 39, 117, 118, 121, 123 use of, 23, 30, 31, 37; contradictoriness
Excluded Middle, law of, 62, 63, 153 of, 30, 36-37; as name for negative route,
SF
Fichte, Johann G., 16
Finite. See Boundedness Jesus, 142, 146
Fire (Heraclitus), 140, 141 Jordan, Robert W., 121
Fire and Night, 6, 17, 19, 34-36, 79, 125, Justice, 3, 5, 12, 106, 111-13
132; as contrary, 66, 79, 110; mimic of
what-is, 109-10 Kahn, Charles H., 36
Forms (Platonic), 38; contextual relativity Kant, Immanuel, 16, 146
of, 123-32, 134; and dropped qualifiers, Karsten emendation, 96-108
124-25, 127-28 Kneale, William, 107
Furth, Montgomery, 13, 15, 16, 19, 36, 103 Kranz, Walther, 10, 97
Language: logic of, and what-is, 4, 5, 18,

Gallop, David, 13, 18-20, 155-56, 157
52-56; transcended, 17, 40—42:; Parmen-
God: in Heraclitus, 131; as unbounded,
ides’ use of negative, analyzed, 61—64
137—40
Leibniz, Gottfried W., 150
Lloyd, Geoffrey E. R., 121
Hegel, G. W. F., 148-50, 152, 153
Logic: in Parmenidean methodology, 1, 8,
Heidegger, Martin, 151 9, 32—37; and ontology, 1, 9, 38-39, 64,
Heraclitus, 8, 18, 115, 118, 131-32, 140—
114-15, 153-54
45
Long, A. A., 34
Hesiod, 3, 70
Homer, 3, 30, 103
Mackenzie, Mary M., 16
Huang Po, 143 Maimonides: and negative theology, 139-
40
Identity: and predication, 21 Mass-space section: predicates in, 52, 54—
Iliad, 80 55, 56; contraries in, 54, 56-57, 68-83,
Immanent world: and contextual relativity, 88, 90-91, 93; temporal reading of, 73—
120-28, 129, 133; unboundedness of, 74; use of “mass” and “space” in, 78—79
136-37; negation in, 141 Mean, the: and contraries, 56-57
INDEX 201
Melissus, 2, 69—70, 71, 117, 136 108; and contraries, 109-10; and bound-
Metalanguage: and paradox, 17-18 edness, 138—39
Methodology: of enumeration, 8, 9, 49-50, Owen, G. E. L., 38, 69, 79, 85, 107, 117,
94-95, 108-09, 114-15, 137-39; dialec- 121; on Parmenidean language, 13, 15,
tical, 61-64, 103, 108, 114 16; Mass-space section in, 73—75
Modalities, 23, 25-30, 31, 32, 35, 110-13,
153; post-Parmenidean, 111-12; philo- Paradox, 17, 40. See also Inconsistency
sophical rationale for, 113-15; denial of, Parmenides, 127-28, 134-35
133 Particular (Platonic), 124-25, 128-29
Monadic. See Predicates, single Pentheus, 151
Monism, Parmenidean, 34, 39, 138 Perfect/complete, 4, 12, 47, 48, 55-56, 66,
Moorhouse, A. C., 27, 28, 29, 31 84-86, 90; negative proof, 12, 55-56, 63
Mourelatos, Alexander P. D., 14, 21, 36, 38, Perishing,45, 47, 50-51, 57; and Karsten
75, 80, 98, 107, 155, 157; plurality in, emendation, 100—08. See also Ungenera-
20-22, 69; on contraries, 68; Mass-space ble/unperishing
section in, 74-75 Phaedo, 32, 33, 123-27
Mysticism, 9 Philebus, 128
Philosophical rationale: for “ouk esti” use,
23-24; for predication method, 60—64;
Necessity, 5, 47, 111-12
for contraries, 92—95; for modalities,
Negation: kinds of, delimited, 12—14; and
113-15
double negation, 13, 38, 39; general vs.
Plato, 2, 6, 8, 14, 18, 71, 121-30, 132, 134,
focused, 21; predicate, 25-30; subject,
149; and inconsistency, 16; on logic, 38,
25-30: modal, 25-30; 31, 32, 35, 37,
61; on qualifiers and predicates, 122, 129
110-13, 153; sentence, 26, 28, 29; innoc-
Plurality of what-is: 69-70, 87, 88, 89; ab-
uous, 26—29, 38; and canonical discourse,
stract/concrete, 78, 83, 91—92; and con-
29-31, 38-39, 137-39; and determinacy,
traries, 133
149
Plutarch: variant reading in, 69-70
Negative theology: and boundedness, 139—
Prauss, Gerold, 121
40, 144, 147, 149; Pseudo-Dionysian,
Predicates: relations between kinds of, 47,
140-41
48, 49; widening in meaning of, 102, 108;
Nehamas, Alexander, 121
and boundedness, 138; and contradic-
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 8, 145—47
tion, 138
Nirvana, 143—44
—alpha-privative, 12, 22, 46-47, 50-51,
Noncontradiction, law of, 115, 121, 125,
53—56, 102, 111; and assertoric “is,” 22—
153; and canonical discourse, 32—36, 37, 28; and negation, 25-26, 29, 112; logical
39: normative force of, 62, 63; and relations of, 51, 58, 59; in Time-section,
Forms, 126-27; in Hegel, 148—49
52—53; and canonical discourse, 138
Nussbaum, Martha, 13 —double, 46, 48-51, 56-57, 60, 113; logi-
cal relations of, 51, 58, 59; use of re-
Object-language: and paradox, 17-18 stricted, 52—54, 56—57; no mean in, 56—
Odyssey, 80 57; thematic and formal significance of,
Ontology: and logic, 1, 9, 38-39, 64, 114— 57, 60-61; and modal negation, 111
15, 153-54; “is” in, 38-39; and theory of —dropping of, 116, 119, 122, 123, 153; in
truth, 114—15; and contextual relativity, pre-Socratic thought, 130-32
123 —incomplete, 34, 120 .
“Opinion,” 4, 6-7, 17, 19, 126; and “Truth,” —single, 46, 48, 49, 54, 57-58, 113; use of
6-7, 34-35; and negation, 34, 35, 40-41; restricted, 52-57; thematic and formal
and contraries, 66, 109-10, 113 significance of, 57-58, 60-61; logical re-
Other, the: coming-to-be of, 100-03, 107— lations of, 59
09, 125, 153; and immovability, 101—03; —triple, 46-49, 51, 53-58, 60, 113; logical
and kinesis, 105-06; and methodology, relations of, 49-51, 59; use of restricted,
202 INDEX
Predicates—triple (continued) Sophist, 11, 18, 34, 38-39, 117, 123, 126—
52-54, 56-57; mean in, 56—57; thematic 28, 149
and formal significance of, 57-58, 60-61; Sophistical Refutations, 118
and contraries, 66 Space: paradoxicality of, 133
Predications: existential reduction of, 20— Sphere, of what-is, 84—86; and bounded-
21; Parmenides’ conscious methodology ness, 136, 139, 143, 147-48, 151-52. See
of, 61-64 also Boundedness; What-is.
—negative, 12, 15, 22, 23, 28, 29, 47-49, Sphere-section: predicates in, 52, 55-56;
62-63. See also Predicates, alpha-privative mean in, 57; contraries in, 57, 84—86, 88,
—positive, 12, 20, 28, 29, 46-49, 51, 52- 89-90, 91
53, 62-63 Sprague, Rosamond K., 117, 122
Principles, logical: Parmenides’ conscious Stokes, Michael C., 69, 71, 72, 73, 74, 96,
use of, 61—64. See also Noncontradiction, 97, 100, 106-07
law of; Excluded middle, law of Subordination, 48, 49—50
Protagoras, 120—23, 127 Symposium, 81
Syntax, 29
Qualifiers, dropping of, 33-36, 37, 38; and Szabé, A., 121
predicates, 116, 118, 120, 122; and con-
tradiction, 121, 124, 128-29; in Phaedo, Taran, Leonardo, 13, 18—20, 68, 78, 96, 99,
124-25; and contextual relativity, 125— 100, 103, 104, 155, 157
29; in pre-Socratic thought, 130-32 Thales, 8, 130
Thus Spake Zarathustra, 145
Raven, J. E., 14
Time: paradoxicality of, 133
Ranulf, Svend, 121, 138
Time-section: ring-composition of, 52-54;
predicates in, 52-54, 56; contraries in,
Reinhardt, Karl, 96
53, 56, 86-87, 88, 90-91; plurality of, 87
Relativity, contextual, 8, 32, 33, 36, 37, 38,
Traherne, Thomas, 136
118; and contradiction, 33, 35, 37, 119—
Transcendent, the: boundedness of, 136—
21, 123-25; and dropped predicates,
39, 141, 150, 151, 153; unboundedness
119, 121; in immanent world, 120-28;
of, 137, 139, 141-44, 147, 150, 151; co-
and dropped qualifiers, 121, 124, 125; in
incidence of, with immanent, 147-48,
pre-Socratic thought, 130-33; and deter-
149, 150
minacy, 149
Transcendental argument, 140
Republic, 123, 125
Trinity, the, 137, 152-53
Rightness, 111, 112
Triads, triplets. See Predicates, triple
Ring-composition: in Time-section, 52-54
True Trust, 17, 50, 105, 111-13
Robinson, Richard, 128
“Truth”: routes of delimited, 4
Routes: of what-is, what-is-not, opinion, de-
Truth, 6, 18, 32; Parmenidean conception
limited, 4
of, 32-33, 36-37, 39-40, 138-39; posi-
tive and negative language in, 114-15
Samsara, 143, 144
Schofield, Malcolm, 107 Unboundedness, 136-54 passim; of the im-
Secundum quid, fallacy of, 124, 132 manent, 136-37; and negative theology,
Sensible world. See Immanent world 139-40, 142-44, 147, 149: horizontal
Signposts: negative proof for, 12, 15, 63; and vertical, 146-47
contraries in proofs for, 47, 63, 90-93, Ungenerable/unperishing, 4, 5, 11, 33, 47,
96-115 passim; assertions and denials in, 49, 53-54, 66, 86-87, 88, 92-93, 99,
47—48. See also Perfect/complete; Ungen- 103-08, 112; negative proof, 12, 47, 63
erable/unperishing; Unmoving; Whole/of Unmoving, 4, 5, 11, 47-49, 54, 66, 90, 101—
a single kind 02, 103, 106, 112; negative proof, 12, 47
Simplicius, 2, 100 Untersteiner, Mario, 69, 71
Solmsen, Friedrich, 69, 70, 71 Variability, contextual. See Relativity
INDEX 203
What-is: boundedness of, 5, 6, 17, 84, 106, Epei: role of, in signpost arguments, 72—75;
108, 113, 136-39, 142-43, 150, 153; ob- introductory role of, 73-75, 99
ject of language, 5, 17, 36; subject of as- Epidees, 12, 15, 23, 34
sertion, 38, 101, 136; coherence of, 50, Esti. See “Is”
69, 71, 76-77; and predication, 58; one- Genesis, 100, 105
ness of, 70—71; atemporality of, 72-75, Hésson, 66, 67, 79, 81
99, 103-07, 136; spatiality of, 74-75; co- Homoion, 65, 70
hesiveness of, 76-77, 78; symmetry of, Husteron, 66, 86, 97, 99
84; contraries and, 92—95; coming-to-be Ison, 65
at a time, 97—99; the other between, and Katabasis, 3
what-is-not, 99-103, 104; immovability Kinésis, 100, 105. See also Other, the
of, 100—03; as truth, 115 Krisis, 5, 63
What-is-not: and coming-to-be of what-is, Mallon, 66, 67, 79, 81
98, 100-01, 107 Mé, 100; emended to tou in B8.12, 96-108;
Whole/of a single kind, 4, 5, 12, 33, 46—48, sufficiency of, in B8.12, 103-04, 107
54, 66-70, 73-83, 90, 101-02, 109-10; Méden, 22, 25, 104
negative proof, 12, 54, 63, 68, 73; variant Meizon, 66
Moira, 103, 111-13
readings of, 69-70; “epei’” in proof for,
Mounogenes. See Whole/of a single kind
72-75
Mounon, 70
Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 15, 16
Nooi, 13
Woodruff, Paul B., 121
Olethros, 103, 104, 106. See also Ungenera-
ble/unperishing
Xenophanes, 2 Ouk esti. See “Isn't”
Oulomeles, 69—70
Zen, 16 Oulon. See Whole/of a single kind
Zeno, 2, 16, 102, 117-19, 120, 123, 127, Ou themis estin, 12
132-34 Pampan, 65, 98, 99
Pantéi, 81, 85
Pistis Aléthés, 111-13
SOME GREEK TERMS Prosthen, 66, 86, 97, 99
Agenéton. See Ungenerable/unperishing Séma, 69
Sémeion, 69
Akinéton. See Immovability
Suneches, 69, 70, 71, 77
Allo, 104
Sunagogé, 94
Ananké, 111-13
Té: and contraries, 67-68, 79-83, 87; in
Anarchon, 12 Homer, 80; single use of, 80-83, 87; dou-
Anélethron. See Ungenerable/unperishing ble use of, 81—82, 85
Apauston, 12 Téi kai téi, 81
Apeiron, 130-31 Téa é Tei, 81
Ateleutéton, 12 Tetelesmenon. See Perfect/complete
Atremes. See Unmoving Themis, 111-13
Baioteron, 66 Ti, 104, 107
Cheiroteron, 66 To eon, 99, 104. See also What-is
Diaresis, 94 Tos, 105
Diaireton. See Divisibility Tou: emendation of, for mé in B8.12, 96—
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Yale University Press

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CHAPTER 1 Why Not “Is Not”? 11

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tft mitaete oO kets wopaar a: 2 marae =<

Here I would like to record my gratitude to the many people who

United States-United Kingdom Educational Commission, especially Mr.

PIS2 ¢ nore nls

MegaeobB sith ain tari: aks lists he

ro ae! ry glam Je tes. .a ab Be

Viv sirt arly petiole tages |F wren ihe tenwl

The Ocean bounded in a finite Shore,

explanation as we now know it. His innovations in logic, in the meta-

which attributions are made. We are supposed to speak and think of

logic and offer a speculative interpretation of certain dominant trends

single volume or a single critic, and no single interpretation can claim to

In what follows, references designated by the letter B are those of the

so on. Parmenides says that it is not right for being to be incomplete

This fact, which is significant in view of the abundance of other negative

stead of leading one off into a morass of vagueness in which no definite

Plato’s and Aristotle’s criticisms of Parmenides attribute to him an ig-

between an existence-predication conflation and monism (the connection

its accessibility to discourse and thought (B2.1—4, B8.16—18, 34-38), and

My purpose here is to explore ways in which the second alternative might

For it is not sayable or thinkable that it is not.”) that a mention of what

(implicitly or explicitly) relate him to some particular other individual,

I earlier sketched the extent and richness of the negative language in

explicitly conscious science of logic or grammar) about the differing roles

Here Moorhouse refers to the ambiguities earlier in his treatment: “The

made manifest by dropping the qualifiers—somehow (perhaps on epis-

ond half of the positive route-announcement might be declaring that

... at that time,” and so on.

thought of ouk esta-sentences as contradictory when applied to what-is. I

much of B8.34—41), do not purport to be directly about being itself, and

A note on how I wish my hypothesis to be taken in relation to the rest

In chapter 6, if the discourse is taken as self-referentially inconsistent, it

In the preceding chapter I attempted to show that much of the language

Ze homoion “alike” estin

lished, not by asserting it directly, but by denying its opposite, or by

of privatives. These are internal relationships among the predicates: if

cability for the larger term. Similarly, to be immovable is presumably

may be proximate, as in the example justgiven, or more remote, as when

Affirmed Affirmed Denied Denied

“complete” (42—49), also rules out the “incomplete” whose denial in 32

without beginning without end

inviolable bigger smaller

Introduction and list of signposts (1—4)

later earlier (7-10)

came tobe will be (20)

nected. If the reader prefers to consider the terms of II.B as doubles,

possible connection between the number of terms and the characteristics

of what-is and in so doing it eliminates the most dangerous threats to

flaw, the reader would be confronted bya perfect catalogue of affirmative

defending it against these objections. The inference proceeds from cer-