path: root/plato_time.otx

\chap PLATO'S IMAGE OF TIME (AN ESSAY IN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIOLOGY) 

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63-5592 

This dissertation has been microfilmed exactly as received 

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GIOSCIA, Victor Joseph, 1930-- PLATO'S IMAGE OF TIME (AN ESSAY IN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIOLOGY).\nl
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Fordham University, Ph.D., 1963\nl
Philosophy\nl
Sociology, general \nl

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\centerline{University Microfilms, Inc., Ann Arbor, Michigan}

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\centerline{ Copyright by Victor Joseph Gioscia 1963}
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\centerline{PLATO'S IMAGE OF TIME}
\centerline{(AN ESSAY IN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIOLOGY)}


\centerline{BY}\nl

\centerline{VICTOR JOSEPH GIOSCIA}
\centerline{M.A. FORDHAM UNIVERSITY, 1957}

\centerline{DISSERTATION}

{\parindent=0pt\leftskip=0pt plus1fill\rightskip=0pt plus1fill\parfillskip=0pt
SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE DEPARTMENT OF PHILOSOPHY AT FORDHAM UNIVERSITY\par}


\centerline{NEW YORK}
\centerline{1963}

\Q{But now the sight of day and night, and the months and the revolutions of the years have created number and have given us a conception of time, and the power of inquiring about the nature of the universe, and from this source we have derived philosophy, than which no greater good ever was or will be given by the gods to mortal man.}
\Qs{Tim\ae us 47}

\sec Introduction

If one knew of an important writer who had written 
a number of consecutive and cumulative works, but if one 
chose to read the tenth in the series because he felt 
that it gave evidence of a stylistic superiority, one 
could be criticized for exercising a stylistic preference 
at the expense of his own doctrinal enrichment. 

For example, if it is true that Plato wrote his 
dialogues over a period of many years, and that in some 
of the later works he reconsidered his philosophy of time, 
one could criticise that reader who chose to look for 
Plato's philosophy of time only in those dialogues to 
which he is attracted, by reminding the reader that he 
ignored the possibility of later modifications of doctrine 
which Plato may have attained. 

In this age of process philosophies, we seldom 
witness scholarly interest in Plato's views of time and 
history. And yet Whitehead has remarked that not only the 
process philosophies, but, in some sense, all european 
Philosophy consists of a series of footnotes to Plato.\pnote{1}

If it could be shown that there is a Platonic 
philosophy of time and that this philosophy is as seminal 
for the process philosophies as Whitehead's remark 
indicates it to be, it would seem well worth the effort 
to investigate this topic with some thoroughness. In 
addition, he who begins to read the scholars who have 
written in this area will quickly discover that many of 
them seem to prefer to study those dialogues which have 
come to be called the "middle" group. 

As the reader will see in the pages to come, there 
has recently been a quickening of interest on the part of 
modern writers in the views of Plato on the question of 
time and its meaning, and these writers have attempted to 
investigate the relations between Plato's philosophy of 
time and contemporary process-philosophies. Several writers 
have addressed themselves to reconsiderations of the 
meanings of Plato's theory of time and the implications 
which this theory might have for contemporary investigations. For example, W.H. Walsh\pnote{2} discusses the controversy 
which arose after the publication of K. Popper's two 
volumes,\pnote{3} in which Popper wrote, somewhat angrily, that 
Plato's "view of the world" was "fundamentally historical." 
Although Walsh later agrees with Popper's assertion that 
Plato was at bottom a "totalitarian"\pnote{4} he disagrees strongly 
that Plato's view of the world was historical at all, and, 
in the remainder of his article, examines with great care 
and patience Books VIII and IX of the \ul{Republic} to show 
that Plato did not really posess a "philosophy of History." 

While it is not the aim of this study to discuss 
these two writers, it is instructive to cite them as 
examples because they contain views which are representative 
of certain aspects of Platonic scholarship in our generation.\pnote{5} Walsh represents the tendency to view the \ul{Republic}
as the final source of Plato's philosophy of the \ul{Polis}; 
Popper represents that view which regards Plato as one 
of the first "social scientists" whose interest it was to 
observe and classify those irrevocable patterns in nature 
which make prediction of future events possible. 


R.G. Bury has also addressed himself to the question 
whether Plato has a philosophy of history, and, although 
he does not regard the \ul{Republic} as the final source of 
Plato's reflections on this topic, and pays rather extended 
attention to the \ul{Timaeus}, he nevertheless concludes that 
Plato does not achieve a sufficiently gradualist position 
to qualify as a genuine philosopher of history.\pnote{6}

E. MacKinnon\pnote{7} is of the opinion that an adequate 
conceptualization and subsequent insight into the meaning 
of the notion of time in contemporary physics must begin 
with the thoughts which the classical Greeks gave to this 
topic. He cites passages from the \ul{Timaeus} to show that 
Plato's thoughts on time can be fruitfully consulted by a 
modern theorist and that such a consultation facilitates 
the modern's attempt to understand contemporary physical 
theory. 

The contemporary student of Plato has been delighted 
with the extensive commentary which has been flowing from 
the pen of Gauss\pnote{8} in his six volume \bt{Handkommentar}, and it 
might be mentioned that in the final volume Gauss devotes 
considerable attention to Plato's \ul{Timaeus} and the social 
function of Piato's theory of time in the cosmology which 
this dialogue develops. 

In a similar vein, although of slightly less recent 
vintage, one notices in Bertrand Russell's \bt{Mysticism and 
Logic}\pnote{9} an extended discussion of the relation between a 
conception of time and the sort of insight which he 
describes as "mystical." There the reader confronts the 
statement that Plato, like ail "mystical" writers, regarded 
the reality of time as illusory, and Russe.l: supports his 
claim by appeal to the \ul{Parmenides}. He does not distinguish 
between tne character or Parmenides which Plato has 
created in his dialogue, and the real Parmenides whose 
doctrines we must reconstruct from the fragments of his 
works bequeathed to us through the ages. 

There is the now familiar quotation from Whitehead's 
\bt{Process and Reality} to the effect that an analysis of 
Plato's thought is rar from an antiquarian interest; it 
reads in full, "The safest general characterization of 
the European philosophical tradition is that 1t consists
of a series of footnotes to Plato."\pnote{19} This statement is of 
considerable import since it appears in @ major work of a 
major philosopher of our own era, who is known to have 
been deeply influenced by Einstein's notion of time in 
his Relativity Physics. For this reason, Whitehead's 
philosophy may be viewed as a process philosophy because 
of its radical temporalism. 

Again, in a similar vein, Heisenberg\pnote{11} perhaps the 
most distinguished of living physicists, has recently 
written that the key to the hoped-for solution to the 
fundamental enigmas involved in the constitution of 
matter, is to be found in Plato's \ul{Timaeus}, where it is 
said that mathematical forms and not fundamental particles 
of a solid stuff are at the basis of the Universe. 

Iwo groups of writers can be distinguished in the 
foregoing citations; one group of writers concern themselves with political and sociologicaL questions, and the 
others are concerned with cosmological questions. It is 
therefore a matter of importance to note that Plato does 
not suffer from this division of subject matter; in the 
\ul{Timaeus}, it is precisely these two seemingly disparate 
themes which he unites. Thus it is something of a 
problem for modern writers to account for the separation 
of cosmology from politics which most writers assume in 
approaching Plato's written works, although this separation is foreign to Plato himself. 

Therefore, in addition to showing the relevance of 
Plato's thought to modern speculation, we must point out 
that some modern writers have divided Plato against himself, and have viewed his philosophy as if it were divided 
among the academic specializations which characterize 
modern universities. Or, to put the matter differently, 
we ought to realize that Plato's perspectives do not 
mirror our own perspectives, and that Plato's approach 
to certain fundamental questions about the ultimate origins 
of society and the Universe differ from our own. But it 
does not suffice to say that Plato's focus differed from 
our own; one must account for the difference, and explain 
how it was that Plato was able to consider cosmological 
and sociological questions as inseparable. 

To account for Plato's undivided focus on what we 
would consider separate problems, it is necessary to 
anticipate some of the conclusions which we shall reach in 
subsequent chapters. Briefly, it can be said at this 
juncture that Plato included cosmology and sociology within 
a larger perspective, a perspective in which the origin of 
the Universe and the origin of society were seen as stages 
in a temporal process, so that he first presents an account 
of the origins of the Universe and then, presents an 
account of the origin of society, at a later time. But it 
should not pass without comment that Plato's account of 
the origin of the Universe was set down for the purpose 
of deepening his account of the origin of society, and 
that his discussion of the account of the Universe is 
preceded by statements to the effect that it is only upon 
the broad canvass of the entire Universe that the best 
account of society's origins can be painted.\pnote{12}

the reason for this metaphorical phraseology is not 
arbitrary, and in the remainder of this study it will 
become evident that one must frequently resort to metaphor 
to explain Plato's meaning because Plato himself makes use 
of metaphor throughout his \ul{Timaeus}, indeed, throughout 
most of his philosophy. This emphasis on metaphor, in fact, 
becomes one of the central problems for any commentator on 
the \ul{Timaeus} and its philosophy. For Plato has fashioned 
his philosophy of time in such a way that it is impossible 
to be faithful to Plato's thought without a heavy emphasis 
on imagery. As we shall see, Plato's discussion of the 
reality of time contains not only a number of images but 
a definition of time whose central term is the word image. 
Since Plato defines time as an image, it becomes the 
problem of the commentator to reveal as clearly as possible 
the significance of this definition and the reason for his 
inclusion of image as one of its principal terms. 

In short, it would be impossible to discuss Plato's 
\ul{Timaeus} and its doctrine of time without paying considerable 
attention to Plato's use of the word image, and the meaning 
otf this word in its philosophical context. but there is 
another reason for discussing Plato's time-image, and 
again, to anticipate briefly what shall be discussed in 
the concluding portions of this study, we may say at this 
juncture that Plato has put imagery at the heart or his 
time-philosophy because it is the function of an image to 
present complex unities in a simple vision, on which one 
may, if one wishes, focus the more divisive powers of 
logical analysis. In short, Plato's use of image invests 
his doctrine of time with a great unity, which subsequent 
analysis finds to be a rich source of philosophical insight. 

There is unanimous agreement among scholars that 
Plato concerned himself with those inquiries which he felt 
were important for a philosophy of life in community. It 
should not, therefore, be surprising to find that a 
sociologist who is interested in a full and complete 
history of sociological theory, endeavors to examine Plato's 
philosophy of society. Since, however, Plato does not 
separate his sociological theory from his cosmological 
philosophy, the sociologist is faced with the necessity of 
familiarizing himself with those parts of Plato's philosophy which most contemporary sociologists would exclude 
from current definitions of the province of sociology. 
This ought not give rise to the conclusion that the 
contemporary sociologist has forsaken his calling; rather, 
it should be interpreted as the willingness of the sociologist to extend his inquiry into those regions of 
thought where the theorist he is following has taken hin. 
In this sense, it is clear that Plato's sociological 
thinking must read it in its given context, and to do so, 
it is necessary to notice that Plato has made this context 
cosmological. It follows that the sociologist who reads 
Plato's theories of society without a comprehension of 
their stated cosmological context is attempting to take 
Plato's theory of society out of its given context, and 
that, to do so violates the general canons of scholarship. 

The most explicit formulation which Plato made of his 
philosophy of time is found in his \ul{Timaeus}. In this 
dialogue, he reexamines some of the ideas he formulated in 
the \ul{Republic}, and, in so doing, makes the context of his 
examination of society explicitly temporal; that is, he 
suggests that it is necessary to know about time in order 
to know about the best form of society, and he examines 
these two problems together in the \ul{Timaeus}. 

The most important focus of this study is to set out 
the meaning of this apparant juxtaposition of problems and 
to show that it was no arbitrary mingling of themes, but a 
theoretical synthesis which flows from a central Platonic 
insight. 

It will be established that the \ul{Timaeus} is very 
probably the last dialogue Plato completed and edited, that 
it is followed only by the incomplete \ul{Critias} and the 
unedited \ul{Laws}. These facts, taken together with the fact 
that the \ul{Timaeus} recapitulates some doctrines of the 
\ul{Republic}, give the \ul{Timaeus} a central importance in Plato's 
reflections on society. Only much later in history do we 
find divisions of thought about society into the academic 
disciplines called Political Philosophy, Sociology, 
Economics, Anthropology, etc. Such divisions were not made 
in Plato's era, Plato wrote the \ul{Republic}, the \ul{Statesman}, 
the \ul{Critias}, and the \ul{Laws}, and in each of these dialogues 
he asks questions which twentieth century thinkers would 
regard as crossing over traditional academic boundaries. 
Therefore, although it might seem altogether strange to the 
modern reader, it is nonetheless true that Plato put 
together the themes of society and astronomy in the \ul{Timaeus}, 
and that he linked them through his investigation of the 
reality of time. 

It is necessary to clarify the claim that the \ul{Timaeus}, 
is the last completed dialogue of Plato. The claim that the 
\ul{Timaeus} is a "late" dialogue means that the doctrine of the 
\ul{Timaeus} contains certain generalizations of doctrine which 
show it to be a more mature work, the result of subsequent 
reflection on the doctrines of prior works. The words "more 
mature" therefore mean that the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus} 
includes, generalizes, and goes beyond other dialogues 
which are therefore doctrinally "earlier." Therefore, it 
should be evident that the characterization of a dialogue 
as "late" or "early" or "middle" refers not only to the 
period of Plato's life during which it was composed but 
also to the degree to which its doctrine represents a
reflective advance over prior positions and themes. 

More specifically, it will be shown that the 
\ul{Timaeus} contains a discussion of the themes of eternity, 
time, and image, and that these three themes are related 
to each other in such a way as to be inseparable from each 
other and from the question of the basis of a society. 

Thus, the statement that the \ul{Timaeus} precedes the 
\ul{Critias} and the \ul{Laws} and succeeds the \ul{Republic} means not 
only that these dialogues were written before and after 
each other respectively; it means also that the doctrine of 
the \ul{Timaeus} is a "later doctrine" than the \ul{Republic}, i.e., 
that is a reflective advance over the doctrine of the 
\ul{Republic}. However, it should be pointed out that the 
precise meaning of this hypothesized advance will have to 
be spelled out in the following chapters. It is not possible 
to reach a precise meaning on this point here and now, 
because it is necessary to say exactly how and in what 
way the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus} constitutes an advance 
over prior dialogues, which it is the whole business of 
this study to describe. 

Briefly, all that can be done here in the Introduction 
is to anticipate the conclusion, which is that the \ul{Timaeus} 
refers to doctrines developed in the \ul{Republic}, \ul{Parmenides}, 
\ul{Theatetus}, \ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, \ul{Philebus}, and modifies the 
doctrines developed in these dialogues in a new way, 
referring "back" to them, and referring "forward," as it 
were, to the \ul{Critias} and \ul{Laws}. Again, this is not to say 
that Plato was perfectly conscious of a precise and 
detailed plan to write the \ul{Critias} and then the \ul{Laws}, and 
that he knew full well in advance what the exact formulations of doctrine were to be in these future dialogues. 
No such definite finality is necessary to follow out the 
hypothesis of this study. Most Platonic scholars agree 
that Plato planned to write a trilogy, of which the 
\ul{Timaeus} was the first dialogue, but we cannot even be sure 
that he fully intended to complete the trilogy. It may well 
be, as Cornford says,\pnote{13} that Plato planned only to complete 
the \ul{Critias}, and then changed his mind and wrote the \ul{Laws} 
instead of the \ul{Hermocrates}. Again, this does not damage 
the hypothesis of this study. 

In short, all that is maintained here is the view 
that the \ul{Timaeus} contains Plato's most mature reflections 
on the themes of eternity, image, and time, and that in 
the \ul{Timaeus} this trilogy of themes receives the most 
explicit formulation Plato gave it. this late formulation 
reformulates some of the ideas Plato had formed in the 
\ul{Republic}, and therefore, one ought not look to the \ul{Republic} 
for the final formulation of Plato's philosophy of eternity, 
time, or image. Further, the themes of eternity, time, 
and image are treated in the \ul{Timaeus} in an explicitly 
sociological framework, and are said to be part and 
parcel of the inquiry into the best society and its basis 
in time. 

It is necessary to clarify the special use of the 
term "hypothesis" as it will be employed in this study. 
By hypothesis is meant nothing more than a tentative 
assertion of a conclusion, such that one states an hypothesis 
and then musters "arguments" in favor of it. The 
hypothesis in this study is a tripartite one: it involves 
the tentative assertion that the \ul{Timaeus} is a "late" 
dialogue, that is, it was written during Plato's last years 
and it contains his most mature reflections on the doctrines 
which it discusses; it involves the tentative assertion 
that the doctrines of the \ul{Timaeus} constitute a maturation 
and are the results of a progressive evolution which can 
be traced through the group of dialogues which the scholars 
have agreed to call the "late" group; and it involves the 
tentative assertion that the themes of eternity, image, and 
time, can be focused upon as those themes which Plato 
devoted his maturing efforts to expand and deepen by 
repeated reflection upon them. Finally, the tripartite 
hypothesis involves the tentative assertion that Plato's 
thoughts on the basis of society gradually shifted from an 
"eternalist" to a "temporalist" orientation; that is, in 
his early works, Plato reasoned to the conclusion that 
society is based on an eternal model, and in his later 
works he reasoned that society also shares in a temporal . 
process, or, to be more exact, in the reality of time 
itself. 

Thus it is necessary to distinguish the word 
"hypothesis" from other uses of the term. For example, in 
the \ul{Parmenides} Plato discusses eight "hypotheses" and his 
meaning there seems to be that one may tentatively assert 
a proposition, and then, by reasoning logically to the 
conclusions which flow from it, and by asking whether these 
conclusions seem acceptable or not, either accept or reject 
the hypothesis. This is not the meaning of the term hypothesis as it will be employed here, for we do not intend 
to begin with the assertion that the \ul{Timaeus} is a late 
dialogue in which certain views are put forward. Rather we 
will attempt to ascertain whether there are acceptable 
arguments on whose basis it seems reasonable to conclude 
that the \ul{Timaeus} is what we hypothesize it to be and 
whether it says what we say it says. 

Finally, it is necessary to distinguish the term 
hypothesis from the usage of the so-called physical 
sciences, wherein "data" are brought forward to "validate, 
verify, and confirm" the hypothesis. In the sciences, an 
hypothesis is said to be a "testable" proposition by 
reason of "operationalizing" its terms; i.e., describing 
the operations through which the investigator has gone 
in the process of reaching his conciusions.\pnote{14}

As used in this study, the term hypothesis means that 
a conclusion has been tentatively reached and an insight 
has been developed by the writer as a result of reading 
the statements and works cited, and that he regards his 
views as reasonable conclusions because he has interpreted 
certain passages in a certain way. The term hypothesis is 
used because the writer does not regard his conclusions as 
definitive and exhaustive, but as probable and reasonable 
conclusions. In this, the method of hypothesis and arguments in favor of adopting the hypothesis as a conclusion 
resemble but are not identical with the methods of the 
sciences, because it is impossible to measure an interpretation with physical instruments or to reveal by what 
processes or operations one has reached his conclusions. 
Nevertheless, it is claimed that, by focusing his attention 
on the passages discussed, another student of Plato will 
probably be brought, if not to identical, then to similar 
conclusions. 

One could, then, assert that it is the hypothesis of 
this study that the \ul{Timaeus} is a late dialogue in which 
Plato has united several themes from the late dialogues 
into a new unity, and that this new unity of themes places 
society on a basis different from the one it received in 
the earlier dialogues. Then the chapters devoted to the 
several aspects of this hypothesis could be viewed as 
"data" which conspire to "verify" the hypothesis; i.e., 
make it seem more reasonable than another view. 

There are, then, three important problems surrounding 
Plato's philosophy of time. First, to get the philosophy 
of time into its Platonic context, it is necessary to 
show the chronological relation of the \ul{Timaeus} as a dialogue 
to the other dialogues. This is an "external argument" 
which attempts to establish the relative chronology of 
the dialogues by relatively non-interpretative criteria, 
i.e., criteria which do not demand an insight into the 
meaning of Plato's thought. Second, it is necessary to set 
the philosophy of time in the \ul{Timaeus} in its philosophical 
context. This is an internal argument, which traces the 
development of Plato's philosophy of time through the late 
dialogues, in which he considered this problem. Third, it 
is necessary to show how the definition of time emerges 
gradually from Plato's thought in the late group of 
dialogues, where the use of an image becomes gradually 
more appropriate. 

These problems form a cluster about a deeper point, 
and it is this deeper point which deserves the best efforts 
towards clarification. Since Plato investigates the meaning 
of time, eternity, and image together in his effort to 
describe the basis of the best form of society, it is 
necessary to reveal as clearly as possible how the themes 
of eternity, time and image are related to the basis of 
society. This constitutes the primary purpose of this study. 

As we said above, the twentieth century has witnessed 
an increasing concern for what is called the Philosophy of 
History, which includes an attempt to understand human 
behavior in its historical setting.\pnote{15} Plato is infrequently 
consulted in this attempt, and when he is, the \ul{Republic} is 
most frequently consulted. If it can be shown that Plato 
in the \ul{Timaeus} devotes his most mature reflections to the 
meaning of human life in society in its historical setting, 
then the tendency to regard the \ul{Republic} as the definitive 
source of Plato's reflections on man in history may receive 
a small counter-thrust. It may well be that Plato's 
philosophy of time and society, seen together as they are 
in the \ul{Timaeus}, contains the seed of an insight relevant 
for our times. 

As to the format of this study, certain preliminary 
remarks are in order. In the second chapter will be found 
a discussion of those arguments drawn from relatively non-interpretative sources which set the \ul{Timaeus} in its 
chronological order. That is, it will be demonstrated that 
the \ul{Timaeus} is in fact the last completed work we have 
from the pen of Plato, since the \ul{Critias} is unfinished and 
the \ul{Laws} is unedited. The argument in the second chapter 
is as external as it is possible to be, and relies as 
little as possible on insight into the meaning of Plato's 
thought. It is devoted to the scholars' discussions of 
Greek language and with certain topographic features of 
the dialogues. The order of the dialogues according to the 
"ancients" is recounted; stylistic and linguistic criteria 
are described and the conclusions reached by these methods 
are stated in support of the hypothesis. Certain details 
of Plato's life which are known from sources other than 
Plato's own writings are brought forward as additional 
support for the claim that the \ul{Timaeus} is a late work. 
Finally, the same chapter examines the information avail. 
able to us in Plato's \bt{Seventh Letter}. The problem of its 
authenticity is discussed and the relevance of this 
information is described. 

In the third chapter, the order of the dialogues is 
taken to be correct, as established by the external 
criteria, and, assuming this order, the themes of eternity, 
time, and image are traced through the \ul{Republic}, \ul{Parmenides}, 
\ul{Theatetus}, \ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, and \ul{Philebus}. The gradual 
culmination of these themes in the \ul{Timaeus} is anticipated 
by tracing the development of these themes through the 
late dialogues. It is therefore not appropriate to call 
this chapter only an internal or interpretative argument 
in support of the hypothesis that the \ul{Timaeus} is a late 
dialogue, for it is concerned with the meaning of the 
doctrines of the several dialogues as well as the gradual 
progression of doctrine which becomes visible by reading 
the dialogues in sequence. 

The fourth and fifth chapters are devoted to a 
commentary on those parts of the \ul{Timaeus} which pertain to 
the trilogy of themes of eternity, image, and time, and 
those aspects of prior dialogues which are pertinent to 
these themes as the \ul{Timaeus} treats them. In the final 
chapter the relation of eternity, time, and image to the 
Philosophy of Society is discussed in detail; certain 
references to the \ul{Critias} and the \ul{Laws} are made for 
additional clarification. 

The final chapter is therefore devoted to the 
Philosophy of Society and the Philosophy of Time in their 
concatenation and interrelationship. Some modern studies 
of Plato's philosophy of history and the conclusions which 
these studies reach are there discussed, and, where 
appropriate, differences between their conclusions and 
the conclusions of this study are presented. Plato's 
Philosophy of Time and his Philosophy of Society are shown 
to be interdependent. 

Finally, it should be mentioned that the study will 
draw on the original Greek sources only insofar as there 
are controversial points of grammar, and that English 
translations are used throughout. 

The writer realizes that this study concerns only a 
small part of the whole philosophy of Plato, and he humbly 
admits himself to the company of those more learned than 
himself who assert nonetheless that one never masters 
Plato but continues to learn from him at each reading. 

The plan of the thesis, then, is quite simple. The 
second chapter will show that there is a significant 
measure of scholarly agreement on the order of the 
dialogues. The third chapter will trace the doctrines of 
eternity, image, and time through the late group of dialogues. 
The fourth and fifth chapters will show the interrelation
of these themes in the \ul{Timaeus}. The concluding 
chapter will show the relationships between Plato's 
philosophy of time and his philosophy of society, and 
point out what these relationships signify for a philosophy 
of history in the Platonic manner. 

The study aspires to show that Plato regarded the 
eternity of the Forms as the sole basis of perfection 
when he was in his middle years, and that the \ul{Republic} 
may well be taken as representative of the philosophical 
reflections Plato articulated during these years. But, 
during the last years of his life, Plato rethought many 
of the themes of his earlier years, and, as the result of 
significant experiences and significant reflections on 
them throughout his later years, finally arrived at a 
reformulation of the doctrines of the middle years. 
In his late reformulation, the temporality of the Forms 
takes on new meaning. 

Whereas the \ul{Republic} placed society on an eternal 
basis, the \ul{Timaeus} places society on a temporal basis. But 
one should not conclude that Plato has simply shifted from 
one pole of a dichotomy to its opposite, for such a view 
would be incorrect. Rather, one should follow Plato 
through the doctrinal reformulations he accomplishes in 
his late dialogues to see how he has expanded his philosophical horizons, and in that way, one may arrive, as 
the writer has, at the view that Plato has ascended new 
philosophical heights, in which the simple dichotomy 
between time and eternity is no longer valid or fruitful, 
and that one best comprehends the basis of society by 
comprehending the processes which we call Time. One 
should not infer that Plato has abandoned former insights 
in his later doctrines. On the contrary, his former 
insights are included in his new doctrines, not merely as 
special cases but as points of departure. He retains the 
old in the new. 

\sec The Order of the Dialogues

In the first chapter, it was stated that an attempt 
will be made in this study to verify the hypothesis that 
the \ul{Timaeus} is a late dialogue in which Plato significantly 
reformulates his earlier doctrines of eternity, image, and 
time. It was stated that the hypothesis was to be investigated
by dividing it into two logically interrelated 
aspects; first, the order of the dialogues will be 
established and their relative chronology will be documented; 
second, the doctrines of the late dialogues will be 
traced insofar as they develop the tripartite theme of
eternity, image, and time. 

It was said that the first aspect relied upon 
criteria which demand an interpretation of the significance 
of Plato's style, and that the second aspect depends on an 
interpretation of Plato's thought. In this chapter, the 
criteria which do not depend on an interpretation of 
Plato's thought will be discussed. This chapter assumes 
that some knowledge of the order or Plato's dialogues is 
needed in order to interpret them intelligently, and so 
the chapter which discusses how the scholars established 
this order precedes the chapter which discusses Platonic 
doctrine.

It should be stated at the outset that one cannot 
simply assume that a dialogue which was composed later 
than another is therefore necessarily a more mature work. 
This is precisely what must be demonstrated. In this 
chapter, the chronology of the dialogues is ascertained 
insofar as this is possible by citing the conclusions of 
those scholars who have specialized in the use of stylistic 
criteria. If one establishes the chronological 
order of composition there is a valid presumption that 
it also represents some sort of development in doctrine. 
If, then, one shows in addition that the doctrines 
developed follow an ascending order of reflection, the 
point is made. Thus, the arguments are not independent 
of each other. 

If it can be shown that there is a development of 
doctrine which can be traced through the late dialogues, 
then it can be shown that this progression facilitates 
comprehension of the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus}. More 
specifically, the themes of eternity, image, and time 
can be traced through the late dialogues only after one 
knows which dialogues are late and in what order they 
should be read. Thus the chronology of the dialogues 
and the progression of doctrine are not separate items but 
logically interrelated aspects of a larger argument. 

It would be possible to postulate an order for the 
dialogues which would support the view that the doctrine 
of the \ul{Timaeus} is a culmination, and each scholar could 
do this without reference to non-interpretative criteria. 
But, in this way, so many different postulates would ensue 
that it would become impossible for scholars to reach any 
agreement among themselves. This in fact is what happened 
when doctrinal criteria alone were used, and it resulted 
in such widespread disagreement that a need for some sort 
of non-interpretative criteria by which to establish the 
sequence of the dialogues was finally perceived. Further, 
the reliance on interpretative criteria alone and the 
subsequent differences in the alleged order could support 
the conclusion that the relation of the dialogues to each 
other had no bearing on their respective doctrines, since 
each scholar might postulate a different chronology. But 
Plato himself contradicted this view in those of his 
dialogues which refer to each other, as, for example, in 
the \ul{Timaeus}, which refers to the \ul{Republic} almost explicitly 
by repeating those doctrines of the \ul{Republic} which are 
found nowhere else in those of Plato's written works which 
have come down to us. 

The proceedure followed in this chapter is as 
follows. Firat, the testimony of the ancients is adduced. 
then the efforts of scholars to use stylistic and Linguistic 
criteria are described. Then, biographical intormation 
about Plato's life and travels is recounted. Finally, 
Plato's own description of his life and his travels is 
presented. By drawing from each of these sources, one can 
compile a composite picture of the criteria by which the 
order of the dialogues can be established, without 
reference to an interpretation of Piato's thought. It will 
be shown that all of these sources lead to the conclusion 
that there is a group of dialogues which are later than 
others, and that the \ul{Timaeus} is the latest of this group. 
In the next chapter, it will be shown that the doctrinal 
interpretation of these dialogues leads to a greater 
insight into the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus}. 

\secc The Traditional View 

Writing in his \et{Commentary,} A.E. Taylor presents 
an impressive list of ancients who authenticate the \ul{Timaeus} 
as Plato's work. He cites Aristotle's references to 
passages of the \ul{Timaeus} and the fact that Aristotle refers 
to the \ul{Timaeus} as a completed dialogue. In addition to 
reminding us that Aristotle may be presumed to know the 
works of his teacher, Taylor cites, in regard to the 
authenticity of the \ul{Timaeus}, the testimony of Theophrastus, 
Plutarch, Chalcidius, Xenocrates, Crantor, Poseidonius, 
Procius, Plotinus, Boethius, Cicero, and Diogenes Laertius,\pnote{1.1}
This list is offered against the view of Schelling, who 
contended that the \ul{Timaeus} was spurious, and by it, 
Taylor demonstrates that those who do not recognize the 
\ul{Timaeus} as authentic are in the decided minority. There is 
little need to recapitulate all of the scholarship on each 
of these authors' claims and it is certainly sate to regard 
Taylor's scholarship in these matters as impeccable. 

To this List, Cornfrord adds the names of Galen, 
Theon, Derclydes, and Adrastus, who not only knew the 
\ul{Timaeus} to be Plato's own but in addition agreed that it 
was the work of Plato's maturity. Summing up his own 
argument, Cornford says, "All the ancient Platonists from 
Aristotle to Simplicius, all the medieval and modern 
scholars have assumed that this dialogue contains the 
mature doctrine of its author."\phnote{1.2} Again it seems unnecessary
to repeat the details of Cornford's scholarship which may, 
like Taylor's, be regarded as impeccable. Both authors 
state that the ancients regarded the \ul{Timaeus} as Plato's 
mature work. 

But the testimony of the ancients is hardly sufficient 
to establish beyond doubt that the \ul{Timaeus} is both Plato's 
work, and, in addition, a work of Plato's old age. Citing 
the ancients lends a great deal of support to the claim 
that the \ul{Timaeus} is authentic, but the claim that it is a 
late work bears closer scrutiny. This is especially true 
in view of the fact that, at one time, a lively controversy 
with regard to the alleged maturity of the \ul{Timaeus} took 
place among the scholars. 

Between the time of the ancients and the moderns, 
the \ul{Timaeus} was not unknown. Jaeger presents a short and 
terse history of the \ul{Timaeus} in the middle ages. Beginning 
with the fact that Plato's \ul{Timaeus} deeply influenced 
Augustine, and through Augustine, the whole of the middle 
ages, and continuing through the Renaissance by way of the 
Byzantine theologian and mystic Gemistos Plethon, who 
brought Plato to the Quattrocento, Jaeger also describes 
the treatment Plato received at the academy of the Medicis, 
where Marsilius Ficinus taught from the text of the 
Timaeus.\pnote{1.3}

Jaeger notes a change in the eighteenth century, 
when Schleiermacher seems to have resuscitated a Plato who 
was nonetheless very much alive. However, theretofore, 
Plato had been regarded as a mystic and as a theologian 
whose doctrine was as systematic and systematized as the 
Aristotelianism of the Schoolmen. Plato was regarded only 
as the author of the theory of ideas.\pnote{1.4}

According to Jaeger, it was Schleiermacher's 
contention that the form which a philosophy took was a 
creative expression of the philosopher's individuality, 
and it was Plato's genius, he thought, to dramatize, and to 
use philosophy as a "continuous philosophical discussion 
aimed at discovering the truth."\pnote{1.5}

Immediately after Schleiermacher's view became 
known, there followed a period during which the philological
investigation of every last minute hypothesis of 
Plato's was undertaken with the painstakingly precise 
attention for which philologists are deservedly famous. 
However, it soon became evident that the forest was being 
obscured by the trees. 

It remained for C.F. Hermann\pnote{1.6} to regard the problems 
of authenticating not only the authorship but the chronology
of Plato's dialogues as of paramount importance, and 
Jaeger tells us that Hermann came to regard the dialogues 
as "stages in the gradual development of Plato's philosophy."\pnote{1.7}
Thus Hermann brought "into the center of interest 
a problem which had hitherto been little considered, and 
gave it much greater importance. This was the problem of 
the dates at which the several dialogues had been written.\pnote{1.8}
Since various authors developed differing opinions on the 
dating of the dialogues by using doctrinal criteria alone, 
4t was the task of philology and researches into stylistic 
differences and minute characteristics of language to fix 
the date of composition as exactly as possible. 

\secc The Stylistic Controversy 

T. Gompers presents an entire chapter on the question 
of the authenticity and order of Plato's dialogues.\pnote{1.9} He 
makes a good summary of some of the chief difficulties to 
be encountered in an evaluation of the results of the whole 
stylistic controversy, and gives evidence of how and to 
what extent the whole question has been settled, 

He begins with a tantalizing supposition: suppose 
Speusippus had sat down one afternoon, and, in fifteen 
minutes, written on a scrap of paper the order of the 
Platonic dialogues. But, of course, Speusippus did no such 
thing, nor did anyone else, so that the scholars were left 
with the need to know the order of the dialogues, but, 
also, they were left with a need to construct methods of 
establishing the chronology, with no hints from Plato or 
the Academy as to which methods would prove the most 
fruitful.\pnote{1.10}

Initially, each man interpreted the dialogues in 
what he felt was the logical order of Platonic philosophy. 
But this produced almost as many logical orders as there 
were interpreters. 

According to Gompers (and others, including Jaeger) 
it was Schleiermacher who first attempted to find his own 
way out of this myriad of opinions. By viewing Plato's 
doctrine developmentally, and, starting with Aristotle's 
guarantees as to certain authentic passages and chronologies,
he set about constructing an orderly arrangement of 
the dialogues. However, this attempt got off to a wrong 
start because, since only approximately half of Aristotle's 
works are extent, it became possible for some to construct 
what was called the argument from silence, i.e., those 
works of Plato which Aristotle did not mention might be 
regarded as spurious.\pnote{1.11} Gompers points out that this was 
really an excess of Platonic zeal since it included only 
those works which Aristotle claimed were Plato's best.\pnote{1.12}

Notwithstanding these efforts, Gompers states that 
even in ancient tradition, the \ul{Laws} were regarded as Plato's 
last work. Campbell then perceived that there were 
stylistic similarities between the \ul{Laws} and the \ul{Timaeus} 
and the \ul{Critias}, including the fact that some 1500 words 
were used in these works which do not appear in any of 
Plato's earlier works.\pnote{1.13} In addition, these works appear 
last on the list of Plato's works which was kept by 
Aristophanes of Byzantium, the Librarian of Alexandria. 
But these are not final criteria. Gompers asks "...is not 
an author's 'advance,' his progress towards perfection 
the surest criterion for the chronological arrangement of 
his works"? He answers his own question in the affirmative, 
but reminds us that this road leads to diverse and varied 
interpretations of "advance," because there are so many 
possible meanings for this term.\pnote{1.14}

For these reasons, the stylistic methods were tried. 
Describing them as "linguistic...and verbal statistics,"\pnote{1.15}
Gompers lists some of the criteria employed: 
\begitems\style a
* number and use of particles 
* new words and phrases 
* certain formulae of affirmation and negation 
* special superlatives\pnote{1.16}
\enditems

He goes on to say that the use of these criteria 
produced "astonishing agreement between many different 
investigators."\pnote{1.17} They noted that the style of the \ul{Laws}, 
known to be late, (from other sources) was very similar to 
the style of the \ul{Timaeus}, \ul{Critias}, \ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, and 
the \ul{Philebus}. 

He concludes: 

\Q{The determination of the chronologically separate 
groups and the distribution among these groups 
of the individual dialogues...are problems 
which may be regarded as finally solved; the 
more ambitious task of settling the chronological 
order within all the groups cannot yet be said to 
have been completed.\pnote{1.18}}

However, Jaeger claimed, 

\Q{This method, in its turn, was at first successful; 
but it was later discredited by its own exaggerations.
It actually undertook, by the purely 
mechanical application of language tables, to 
determine the exact date of every dialogue.\pnote{1.19}}

Before entering into this lively controversy, it is 
necessary to distinguish a few crucial points; otherwise, 
Jaeger's claim that the movement discredited itself will not 
be intelligible. First, let it be noted that it is sometimes
impossible to distinguish very well between the 
date of composition of a dialogue, that is, the period of 
time during which Plato is said to have actually written 
down his thoughts, and the date at which the dialogue 
appeared, that is, was circulated, and, as we should say, 
released for publication. Although it is sometimes possible 
to indicate that a dialogue was actually composed in the 
late period of Plato's life, one cannot simply equate a 
late doctrine and a late writing. This distinction is 
necessary if one is to assert that the doctrine of the 
\ul{Timaeus} is a late formulation in Plato's life, and, as our 
documentation will attempt to indicate, both the formulation 
of doctrine and the actual composition of the \ul{Timaeus} seem 
to be very late, according to the sources available to us. 
But one cannot jump immediately from the conclusion that a 
dialogue was written late to the conclusion that its 
doctrine is therefore, on that basis alone, a late doctrine. 
It should be pointed out in this regard that we have no 
way of knowing whether Plato did or did not compose in the 
last years of his life, dialogues whose doctrine and style 
we should call early or middle doctrines. Like anyone else, 
he might incorporate in late writing what he had formulated 
much earlier. Although it is unlikely that Plato set early 
or middle doctrines down on paper in his late years, it is 
almost impossible to establish this unlikelihood to a 
degree of satisfaction which would entirely eliminate 
controversy. For example, the last few pages of the \bt{Philebus}
seem not to be in the same style or in the doctrinal spirit 
as the rest of the dialogue. It may well be that this 
dialogue was left unfinished by Plato, and was completed by 
the Academy after Plato's death, and that the completion 
was accomplished by an academician whose insight and 
doctrinal leaning corresponds to what we should call the 
middle period of Plato's philosophy. 

However, in the instance of the \ul{Timaeus}, it is claimed 
here that both the doctrine and the composition of the 
dialogue are to be placed in the last years of Plato's 
life, and that it was probably a late doctrine, because it 
was composed late. These are the two sides or halves of the 
argument which we are following in the attempt to verify 
our hypothesis. On the one hand, if the dialogue was 
written late, we have probable grounds to infer that ite 
doctrine is a late one. But it is unwise to conclude only 
from its late composition that the \ul{Timaeus} contains a late 
view. In addition to establishing its date of composition 
one must examine its doctrine, to see whether it reveals a 
more developed form of Plato's later thought. Having made 
this distinction, it is now possible to pass in review 
the main points of the stylistic controversy, whose 
protaganists and antagonists tried by what we are calling 
non-interpretative criteria, to establish the late date of 
composition of the \ul{Timaeus}. 

Campbell\pnote{1.20} presents a brief outline of the history 
of attempts to date the dialogues. He recounts how 
Schleiermacher was so assured that Plato had a complete 
system of philosophy to expound that there must have been 
a pedagogical order of the dialogues which Plato intended 
so that his students could gradually master his philosophical 
system. 

Campbell says that Schleiermacher's conception of a 
"complete system gradually revealed" was a stirring one 
which caused a renaissance of Platonic scholarship. Later, 
C.F. Hermann's statement that the gradual development of 
Plato's thought in the dialogues was not a pedagogical 
gradualism but reflected the slow maturation and development
of Plato's mind, brought about a quickening of 
interest beyond even that which Schleiermacher had precipitated.
Ueberweg discerned that the \ul{Sophist} and the 
\ul{Statesman} must be placed between the \ul{Republic} and the \ul{Laws} 
on the basis of Hermann's view. Ueberweg and other Hegelians 
felt that the non-being of the \ul{Sophist} represented a 
dialectical advance over the \ul{Republic} and welcomed the 
chance to demonstrate this point of view by mapping out 
the dialogues in a series of dialectical advances.\pnote{1.21} Grote, 
on the other hand felt so strongly that the \bt{Protagoras} was 
Plato's most mature doctrine that he discounted the 
chronological attempts of Schleiermacher, Hermann, and 
Ueberweg. 

Campbell adopted a different method of reasoning. 
Starting with the conclusion that the \ul{Laws} remained 
unedited because Plato died before he could do so himself, 
and noting that the \ul{Laws} contains a reference to the death 
of Dionysius Il, and inferring from the tone and style of 
the \ul{Laws} that it is almost a monologue and represents a 
departure from the Socratic dialogues, and adding the 
agreement of the Ancients with his own view, Campbell 
concluded that the Laws is probably the last of Plato's 
works. Then, Campbell reasoned that both the \ul{Timaeus} and 
the \ul{Critias} presuppose the \ul{Republic}, and both resemble 
the \ul{Laws} in style and tone. Thus they should both precede 
the \ul{Laws}. Since the \ul{Sophist} and the \ul{Statesman} seem to 
belong together, he placed the \ul{Philebus} between them and 
the \ul{Timaeus} and \ul{Critias}. So, Campbell concluded, the order 
of the late dialogues must be begun at the \ul{Sophist}, and 
followed by the \ul{Statesman}, \ul{Philebus}, \ul{Timaeus}, \ul{Critias}, and 
\ul{Laws}.\pnote{1.22} He says, in addition, that Dittenberger and Ritter 
followed him in taking this view, and that Lutoslawski 
later reached the same conclusions.\pnote{1.23} Jaeger says that he 
himself reached these same conclusions by another route. 
He also agreed with Campbell that the \ul{Parmenides}, and 
\ul{Theatetus} immediately precede the \ul{Sophist}. 

It should be pointed out that Campbell's chain of 
reasoning depends on the placement of the \ul{Laws} as the last 
of the dialog'es, and this placement does not rest 
exclusively on non-interpretative bases, since it includes 
the criterion of the tone and style of Plato's language. 
One must have at least a comprehension of the tones and 
styles of the language in which Plato wrote and some 
knowledge of the relation of style to the content which 
is expressed by language. To avoid confusion, it is 
necessary to define certain terms as they are employed in 
this study. By stylistic criteria, I mean the use made by 
reputable scholars of observations such as the presence 
or absence of Socrates in a dialogue, or the apparent 
attempt on Plato's part to have his passage read more 
smoothly and without unnecessary interruptions. Such 
devices as the avoidance of hiatus and the use of 
anacoluthic sentence endings are here called stylistic. 
The term stylometry refers to the application of statistical
procedures to the number of particles in a paragraph, 
or to the frequency of certain words in one dialogue as 
against another; clearly, it carries metric connotations, 
and necessitates only the sort of competence which can 
easily be programmed into a computer. Whereas the stylistic 
reader must understand what he reads, the stylometric 
reader ought to avoid understanding the passage he 
subjects to statistical criteria. A similar difference 
could be found between counting a number of unknown 
objects, which, by analogy, would represent the stylometric
method, and concluding that the objects so counted 
are a strange lot of objects, which be analogy, would 
represent the stylistic method. It is one thing to count 
the number of clausulae and quite another to notice that a 
passage reads more smoothly because of the presence of a 
number of clausulae. Thus objections to the use of stylometric 
scholarship need not carry equal weight if referred 
to stylistic scholarship. It would be impossible, for 
example, to put words of the \ul{Laws} into a computer and 
arrive at the conclusion that the \ul{Laws} is a late dialogue, 
without at the same time programming into the computer the 
criteria according to which one says that a certain 
language style is late or early. There are similar studies 
concerning the language of Homer in progress at Columbia 
University, and there too, the criteria of "lateness" 
must be agreed upon before the "purely mechanical application\
of language tables to determine the exact date of 
every dialogue" is undertaken. Thus, Campbell's argument 
should read as follows; if the \ul{Laws} is agreed to be last, 
then the remainder follows on stylistic grounds. And it 
should be tallied against Jaeger that the placement of the 
\ul{Laws} as last does not rest on "purely mechanical" criteria. 

This conclusion bears directly on the question of 
the chronology and the relation of the \bt{Seventh Letter} to 
the \ul{Timaeus}, because the \ul{Seventh Letter} contains a 
description of certain events in Sicilian politics in which, 
Plato was directly involved. These events were significant 
experiences for Plato, and their impress is discernible 
in certain passages of the \ul{Timaeus}. Detailed comment on the 
impact of the Sicilian journeys on the doctrine of the 
\ul{Timaeus} will be reserved for the discussion of the 
doctrine of the-\ul{Timaeus} in the fourth chapter. Suffice 
it here to point out that the autobiographical material 
Which the \ul{Seventh Letter} makes available was taken over 
by the stylists,\pnote{1.24}\tss{,}\pnote{1.25} and added to their attempts to 
establish the order of the avavoedee: Again, this shows 
that the stylistic criteria cannot be viewed as "purely 
machanical." On the one hand this limite the extent to 
which stylistic criteria may be said to be non-interpretative;
on the other hand, since interpretative sources 
enter into stylistic researches, it seems to add to the 
reliability of stylistic criteria in establishing the 
order of the dialogues. 

A.E. Taylor says that the real impetus for the 
stylometric method was received from Campbell's groundbreaking
edition of the \ul{Sophist} and \ul{Statesman}, and that 
Dittenberger, Ritter, and Lutoslawski continued and 
extended Campbell's efforts, but, he adds, these scholars 
were able to agree further that there was a definite break 
in style between the \ul{Theatetus} and the whole group of 
dialogues Which Campbell had called the late group. However,
Taylor says that the stylometric tabulations, while 
they could establish whole groups of dialogues which 
shared a style, could not effectively establish the order 
of dialogues within a given group.\pnote{1.26}

It is interesting to follow A.E. Taylor's shifting 
emphasis and reliance on the stylistic researches. In the 
article which he wrote for the \bt{Britannica},\pnote{1.27} Taylor says 
there are no stylistic grounds for placing the \ul{Timaeus} 
late in the order of Plato's dialogues. However, in the 
\bt{Commentary on the Timaeus},\pnote{1.28} there is a rather extensive 
description of the stylistic and stylometric criteria and 
@ rather extensive reliance on both of them, albeit 
accompanied by a critique. Later, in \bt{Plato, the Man and 
his Work},\pnote{1.29} there is a recapitulation of the stylistic 
criteria and a somewhat limited reliance upon them. One 
can only conclude that Taylor did not deem it worthwhile 
to inform the readers of the \bt{Britannica} on the intricasies 
of the stylistic controversy. Nevertheless, in all these 
works, Taylor concludes that the \ul{Timaeus} is the work of 
Plato's last years. 

It is informative therefore, to read Taylor's 
description of the stylistic criteria. He summarizes those 
used to establish the late group as follows: 
\begitems\style n
* a reduction of dramatic style 
* a lesser role for Socrates 
* the presence of a lecture 
* periodic versus poetic style\pnote{1.30}
\enditems

He says, in addition, that the last dialogue which bears 
the marks of Plato's earlier style must be the \ul{Theatetus}, 
and that he shares this view with Ritter\pnote{1.31} and 
Lutoslaweki.\pnote{1.32}

A.E. Taylor's recapitulation of the stylistic 
criteria is especially interesting in view of the fact 
that he follows Burnet rather carefully, and yet Burnet 
states, "I have ventured to assume the results of the 
stylistic researches inaugurated by Lewis Campbell in 
1867."\pnote{1.33} It is also interesting to note that Burnet, like 
taylor, refers to these researches as stylistic and not 
stylometric, which indicates that he is not willing to go 
so far as Lutoslawski's application of calculus to the 
frequency of hiatus and the use of clausulae in Plato's 
aQialogues. On the other hand, Burnet himself makes use of 
"stylistic" arguments when he notes that the early dialogues 
make use of dramatic form and employ the person of Socrates 
centrally in that endeavor, whereas the later dialogues do 
so with less and less emphasis on drama and on Socrates' 
interlocutory role. On this basis Burnet too concludes 
that the \ul{Timaeus} is the work of Plato's old age, but 
reserves decision as to whether the \ul{Philebus} precedes it or 
not. 

It is frequently recognized that Burnet, A.E. Taylor 
and Cornford collectively form something of a school, and 
so it is appropriate to take Cornford's remarks on the 
order of the dialogues into account. This is especially 
true since his translation of the \ul{Timaeus} is the most 
recent and constitutes a valuable synthesis of scholarly 
efforts to understand this dialogue. 

In his \bt{Plato's Cosmology} Cornford discusses the 
dating of the \bt{Timaeus} but makes only peripheral reference 
to the stylistic criteria.\pnote{1.34} He cites Wilamowitz\pnote{1.35} to the 
effect that \ul{Timaeus} speaks with an authoritative tone, and 
makes little use of the gently poetic questionings of 
Socrates. Cornford also cites Ritter to the effect that 
the fourth person of the \ul{Timaeus} is left unknown, perhaps 
because Plato wanted to keep open the possibility of writing a fourth dialogue in the series.\pnote{1.36}
But Cornford, like Burnet and unlike A.E. taylor, makes 
little mention of the whole matter of stylistic dating. 
He assumes the results of the stylists but prefers to place 
the \ul{Timaeus} and \ul{Critias} just before the \ul{Laws} for reasons of 
doctrine rather than for reasons of style. 

Ritter says that he learned most "from the English," 
meaning Burnet, Taylor, and Cornford, and that his own 
researches brought him into "remarkably close agreement... 
with respect to their chronological determinations."\pnote{1.37}
Briefly, his conclusions are theses there are six major 
groupings of dialogues, and the last group, composed of 
the \ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, \ul{Timaeus}, \ul{Critias}, \ul{Philebus}, and 
\ul{Laws}, must be late because a "careful study of the differences
in language and expression" creates an "indubitable 
means of determining their genuineness as well as the 
approximate date of their appearance."\pnote{1.38} In addition, he 
says that there are changes in \e{style} and writing which 
are less precise but no less observable by the trained 
observer, and that perhaps the strongest of these 
considerations is the transition from the "poetic" style 
in the early works to the "didactic" style of the later 
works.\pnote{1.39} It is interesting to observe that when Zeller 
challenged Ritter to try the stylistic methods on a
modern writer's works, whose chronology could be independantly
verified, Ritter was able to arrive at the correct 
chronology of the works of Goethe.\pnote{1.40}

Perhaps a summary of the stylistic controversy is 
in order at this point.\pnote{1.41} Briefly, it began with the 
efforts of Schleiermacher to reveal what he felt was the 
pedagogical gradualiem of Plato's dialogues. But Hermann 
felt that the gradual development in the dialogues revealed 
not Plato's pedagogical process so much as the gradual 
growth of Plato's own insight. Campbell started with the 
assertion that the \ul{Laws} was the last work of Plato and 
noted stylistic similarities between the \ul{Laws} and a whole 
group of dialogues, which included the \ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, 
\ul{Philebus}, \ul{Timaeus}, and \ul{Critias}. Ritter modified the 
stylistic criteria and made them more precise, and arrived 
at astonishingly similar conclusions. In turn, Wilamowitz 
and Lutoslawski carried the work further (and perhaps to 
excess) by accomplishing stylometric word-counts and 
establishing frequency tables for the number of particles, 
clausulae, and hiatus. They too reached similar conclusions. 
It emerged that the comparison of styles of writing employed 
by Plato in the dialogues could be used by several 
relatively independant scholars to reach agreement on the 
chronology of the dialogues, and, on this basis, it was 
agreed that the \ul{Timaeus} was a work of Plato's old age, 
since the \ul{Timaeus} and the \ul{Critias} resembled the \ul{Laws}, | 
more than any other work of Plato, in its style and 
composition. The researches of Burnet, Taylor, and Cornford 
assume these stylistic results and take them up into a 
more comprehensive view of the dialogues. This however 
does not alter their opinions that the \ul{Timaeus} is the work 
of Plato's old age. Taylor and Burnet are uncertain whether 
the stylistic methods can place the \ul{Timaeus} after the 
\ul{Philebus} and conclude that if this is to be done it must 
be done on other grounds. More recent researchers have 
little or nothing to add to the stylistic probability that 
the \ul{Timaeus} is the work of Plato's old age. 

The criteria used by these authors are said to be 
non-interpretative, insofar as they refer to the use of 
grammar, style, language devices such as expletives, hiatus, 
clausulae, etc. But other criteria, such as the death of 
Dionysius II, the decreasing importance of the role of 
Socrates in the various dialogues, do, to a certain extent, 
demand a degree of insight and interpretation of the style 
of the dialogues, and are used both as starting points for 
stylistic analyses and as parts of such analyses. They 
cannot be said to be purely mechanical, nor are they wholly 
objective, but their use by what Ritter calls "trained 
observers" has led to a remarkably wide and detailed 
agreement on the part of scholars to the effect that the 
\ul{Timaeus} is the work of Plato's old age. 

Before we pass on to an examination of those details 
of Plato's biography which help to establish the sequence 
of the late dialogues, there is another point which 
deserves attention, and it is the matter of those dialogues 
which Zeller and Ritter call the "transitional dialogues, " 
namely the \ul{Parmenides} and the \ul{Theatetus}. It is necessary 
to note that a number of those scholars who have constructed 
chronologies of the dialogues have reached agreement that 
these two dialogues must be placed after the works of 
Plato's middle period, which include the \ul{Republic}, and 
before the last period, which begins with the \ul{Sophist}. In 
the next chapter, the doctrinal significance of this 
placement will become evident. It is necessary here only 
to document the assertion that reputable scholars have 
agreed to place the \ul{Parmenides} and \ul{Theatetus} immediately 
before the dialogues of the late period. 

\secc Biographical Criteria 

Up to this point, we have seen that there is a long 
and honorable tradition which regards the \ul{Timaeus} as the 
work of Plato's old age, and that atylistic criteria, used 
by a small but highly reputable number of Platonic scholars, 
has brought about a condition of wide and detailed agreement
that the \ul{Timaeus} is Plato's work and that he wrote it 
in his last few years.

To these sources, let us now add a review of those 
details of Plato's life which may be useful in determining 
the order of the dialogues. Again, so far as possible, the 
argument here will attempt to avoid any interpretations of 
Plato's thought, in keeping with the attempt to divide the 
evidence in favor of the nypotheale into two inseparable 
but logically discrete aspects. 

Unfortunately, the biographical information which 
we posess about Plato is painfully scant, since most of 
what we know about Plato's life has to be derived from the 
dialogues and the letters. The date of Plato's birth is 
usually said to be 427, although A.E, Taylor gives 428. 
Similarly, the date of Plato's death is usually given as 
347 but A.E. Taylor gives 348. All agree that these dates 
are approximate. The concensus seems to be that Plato was 
approximately eighty or eighty-one when he died. 

Plato was descended from an aristocratic family. 
His mother's first husband was Ariston who traced himself 
to Poseidon; her second husband was Pyrilampes, who 
related himself to Pericles. Plato's mother, Perictione, 
was of the family of Solon.\pnote{1.42}

Plato had two brothers, Adeimantus and Glaucon, and 
a sister, Potone, whose son, Speusippus was therefore 
Plato's nephew as well as successor as head of the 
Academy. Plato was the youngest child in the family. *? 
According to Cicero, Plato's introduction to Archytas (the 
Strategus of Tarentum) was extremely fortunate since 
Archytas later rescued Plato from slavery, into which he 
had been sold by Dionysius II.\pnote{1.44} the incident of Plato's 
slavery was also recorded by Philodemus in his \bt{Index 
Academicorum}.\pnote{1.45} However, without the \ul{Seventh Letter} it is 
not possible to set a precise date for this event. Cicero 
only tells us that Plato was in Sicily and that he was 
ransomed by Archytas from the slavery into which he had 
been sold.\pnote{1.46}

After citing the well known details of Plato's birth 
and aristocratic lineage, Ritter reminds us that Plato was 
born during the Peloponesian war and that soon thereafter 
Pericles succumbed to the plague. Plato was six when peace 
was concluded with Sparta in 421 and he was fourteen, an 
Aimpressionable age, when the Athenian fleet was destroyed 
off Sicily.\pnote{1.47}

In 405, when he was approximately twenty, Plato met 
Socrates, and Ritter tells us that even his exceptional 
education in the arts of drama and poetry were not enough 
to prevent Plato from committing his poetic works to the 
flames, since they were not up to the new philosophical 
standards Socrates had impressed on him.\pnote{1.48}

When "The Thirty" came to rule, Plato was asked to 
join with them, but he could not bring himself to take 
part in a regime which he felt to be responsible for the 
injustice of Socrates' death, so he went instead to Megara 
for a few years.\pnote{1.49}

Plato also travelled to Egypt, Crete, Cyrene, and 
Italy and Sicily. The Sicilian travels were "of great 
significance" for Plato's philosophy. In addition to 
Archytas of Tarentum he met other Pythagoreans in Syracuse. 
It was during these travels that he also met Dion and 
Dionysius I. Plato was at this time fourty years old; Dion 
was twenty and Dionysius forty-three.\pnote{1.50}

Many years later, after the unfortunate and misconceived
rivalry between Dion and Dionysius II, Plato was 
sold into slavery at the island of Aegina but was soon 
ransomed, His benefactor refused reimbursement, so Plato 
took the sum and applied it to the purchase of a plot of 
ground in the gardens of Akademos, where the founding and 
administration of his school occupied his attention for the 
next twenty years.\pnote{1.51}

In 367, Dionysius I dies and Dionysius II is advised 
by Dion to send for Plato. A rivalry takes place between 
Dion and Dionysius. Plato is allowed to return to Athens 
for the duration of the war in which Syracuse is engaged, 
on the promise that he will return as soon as it is over. 
Plato leaves and Dion is banished.\pnote{1.52}

Five years later, Plato returns. He tries, with less 
success than before, to have Dion reinstated. He returns 
again to Athens in 360. Three years later, Dion assembles 
an army and marches on Syracuse. He meets with some success 
but is later assassinated. According to Ritter,\pnote{1.53} Plato 
mourns with deeper grief than he had for Socrates, 
although Ritter does not reveal the source of his information. 

In 347, Plato dies. Ritter says: "To the end of his 
life he was mentally alert and active and enjoyed the honour 
and respect conferred upon him by his circle of disciples."\pnote{1.54}

By accepting the authenticity of the \ul{Seventh Letter}, 
Ritter is able to conclude that the \ul{Parmenides} and the 
\ul{Theatetus} were written before Plato's Sicilian adventures 
and that the late dialogues were written thereafter.\pnote{1.55}
Thus Ritter is of the opinion that the \ul{Parmenides} and 
\ul{Theatetus} immediately precede the late group and should be 
read before them, since, in this order, the changes in style 
and doctrine between the \ul{Parmenides} and the \bt{Theatetus} and 
the late group became more clearly recognizeable. In short, 
the influence of Plato's Sicilian experiences can be 
better discerned in the late group, and this influence is 
not detectable in the \ul{Parmenides} and \ul{Theatetus}. 

One final biographical point deserves attention 
before we pass on to a discussion of the relevance of 
Plato's letters to the matter of establishing the chronology 
of the dialogues, and it is the problem of determining the 
relative influence of Socrates on Plato's life. 

While this problem seems at first sight to belong 
to a discussion of Plato's biography, actually it does not. 
While it is true to say that we have as little information 
about the details of Socrates' life as we have of Plato's, 
the fact is that we can only determine the influence of 
Socrates by examining Plato's thought. It is frequently 
asserted that Plato wrote in the dialogue form because he 
held Socrates' method of communication in such high esteem, 
and this is probably true. But there seems to be no 
information which could help us to determine whether the 
order of the dialogues was influenced by Socrates. It 
seems better to postpone this question until the next 
chapter, where we take up the doctrines of the dialogues, 
and the influence of Socrates' thought on Plato's doctrine. 

It might be noted in anticipation that Plato does 
give several hints, through the \ul{Parmenides}, \ul{Theatetus}, and 
in the whole group of late dialogues, of the extent to 
which the doctrines of these dialogues are "beyond" 
Socrates, that is, ask the sort of questions which Socrates 
probably would not have asked. 

Let us pass, then, to a discussion of Plato's 
\ul{Seventh Letter}, which reveals in some detail how Plato's 
Sicilian experiences influenced him. Such information will 
be useful in understanding some of the passages in the late 
dialogues. 

\secc The Letters 

J. Harward\pnote{1.56} has made a very useful compendium 
which contains an impressive amount of material on the 
\bt{Letters}. He cites a number of ancients who regarded the 
whole collection of Plato's letters as authentic, including 
Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, Lucian, Cicero, and Aristophanes
the grammarian of Alexandria.\pnote{1.57} Although Jowett\pnote{1.58}
followed Karsten\pnote{1.59} into the opinion that the entire lot 
was spurious, Harward says that the increasingly wide use 
of stylistic criteria soon dissipated the influence of their 
opinions. The stylists were thus able to overcome the views 
of Jowett and Karsten\pnote{1.60} which were that the letters were 
written in too lowly a style for them to be regarded as 
Plato's own, that the philosophical doctrine of the letters 
differs too widely from Plato's theory or Ideas, and that 
there are no sources from which we may conclude that Plato 
was actually ever in Sicily.\pnote{1.61} Wilamowitz was particularly 
strong in asserting the letters to be genuine, and his 
criteria were largely stylistic, that is, he was able to 
conclude that the satyle of the letters was not too lowly 
tor Plato, but was in fact written with many or the idioms 
and phrases which Plato favored in his late years. 

Thus, there are few scholars today who would reject 
all the letters, although some scholars reject some of then, 
as we shall see. But in the main, the wave of scepticism 
has subsided. Thus, Harward is able to compile a list of 
scholars and tabulate which scholars accept which of the 
letters. 

The \ul{Seventh Letter} in particular, has been accepted by 
Taylor, Burnet, Ritter, Hackforth, Wilamowitz, Souilhe, 
Bury, and Field.\pnote{1.62} These scholars were able to agree 
largely because of the stylistic criteria as applied to 
the letters. Harward discusses these criteria in some 
detail. He divides them into four groups, which include 
the following: 
\begitems\style n
* choice of words, including neologisms and 
expressions Known to be current in certain 
years by reference to other authors. 
* word order, including inversions of normal 
word order, hiatus, elision, the use of clausulae 
* sentence structure, including extra paranthetic 
clauses, hanging nominatives, a string of terse, 
clipped unmodified verbs, following intuitional 
rather than strictly logical order. 
* circuitous mannerisms and tautologous phrases\pnote{1.63}
\enditems
\noindent One notices that the foregoing criteria are neither 
atrictly stylistic nor strictly stylometric. In order to 
make use of them i1t would be necessary to be a "trained 
observer" as Ritter says, and, in addition to noticing the 
presence of these devices of style, one could, if so 
inclined, make tables and count the frequency with which 
these mannerisms occurred. But the deeper point is that 
the most reputable Platonic scholars were able to agree 
on the basis of these criteria that the \ul{Seventh Letter} was 
both genuine and late. Harward says "...the stylistic 
features in common (between the \ul{Seventh Letter} and the 
\ul{Laws}) are so striking that they stare the reader in the 
face,"\pnote{1.64} Ritter makes a similar comment when he says, "On 
any unprejudiced reader it (the \ul{Seventh Letter}) cannot 
fail to produce the impression of the natural outspokenness 
of a narrative of personal experience."\pnote{1.65} Cicero himself 
says, "praeclara epistula Platonis ad Dionis propinquos..."\pnote{1.66}
To these, Harward adds his own views since Plato regarded 
Kallipos as a "fiend incarnate," and since it was Kallipos 
who had Dion murdered, and since Kallipos wrote to Plato 
of the death of Dion in 354, and since the death of Dion 
is recorded in the letter, but the letter does not record 
the death of Kallipos, which occurred a year later, it is 
probable that the letter was written between 354 and 353.\pnote{1.67}
From all of these probabilities, Harward concludes that the 
letter was composed after the Sicilian journeys and before
the \ul{Laws}. This places the letters in a setting which is 
either immediately before or contemporaneous with the 
\ul{Timaeus}. As we shall see after a discussion of the \ul{Seventh Letter} 
in detail, it is probable that it precedes the 
\ul{Timaeus}. 

Having shown on the basis of reputable scholarship 
the authenticity of the \ul{Seventh Letter} and its late 
composition, I would like now to summarize its contents, 
in order to point out certain experiences Plato had 
relevant to the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus}. 

Plato begins by telling that his motive for visiting 
Sicily as the desire to see the people there freed by the 
best laws for the situation, and, in addition, he will 
recount in the letter the process in which he reached the 
formation of his opinions on the matter (324b). 

He describes his youthful aspiration for a political 
career and recounts that some of his relatives, (Critias 
and Charmides) were members of the Thirty, and that they 
had asked him to rule with them (324 b,c). But he declines 
because he sees that their rule, like most revolutionary 
regimes new in power, suffered excesses. These were 
particularly visible in these attempt to send Socrates on 
a dishonorable mission (324 e). It was finally certain, 
when Socrates was sentenced to death at the hands of this 
regime (325 c). Plato notes sadly that the older he gets 
the more he realizes the extreme difficulty of handling 
public matters (325 d). He noticed that not only the 
written but the unwritten laws were extremely inflexible 
and therefore hard to mold. As a matter of fact, those in 
Athens struck him as incurable, and for the time, nothing 
could be done (326 a).

We then read a small recapitulation of the \ul{Republic} 
doctrine of the philosopher-king. Plato tells his readers 
that the situation in Sicily, like the one in Athens, is 
so difficult that there will be no peace for the sons of 
men until either philosophers are kings or those in power 
lay hold to some philosophical illumination (326 b). It 
was with these expectations that Plato first arrived in 
Sicily. He is repelled by the life of vice and court 
debauchery which he finds there, and says that here as 
elsewhere such immorality will inevitably lead to a 
succession of tyranny, oligarchy, and democracy (326 d). 

However, while there, he instructs the young Dion 
who is extraordinarily adept at this sort of learning, and 
Dion resolves to "live for the future" which of course 
makes him terribly unpopular at the court (327 b,c).
However it is his hope that Dionysius will learn too, and 
in this way peace and happiness will be introduced (327 d). 
This fits in with Plato's desires not to be "only a man 
of words" (328 a--c) and, in addition, helps Plato to 
prove to himself that he does no dishonor to philosophy by 
inaction (329 a). However, Dionysius does not devote himself
to philosophy. Moreover, Dion is perceived as a 
threat and is expelled from the court. Plato becomes a 
prisoner of the court (329 c--d). Dionysius flatters Plato, 
but Plato is aware that it is his status and not his 
philosophy which Dionysius desires (330 a). 

Plato reflects on these experiences for his readers, 
and tells them an allegory to the effect that the physician 
is to his patient as the philosopher is to the state, and 
that, just as the physician prescribes diet, so the 
philosopher prescribes laws and constitutions which will 
eventuate in a good state (330 d--331 e). This too is 
reminiscent of the \ul{Republic}. Again we are told that the 
good governor is he who frames good laws (332 b). To do 
so, a man must have loyal friends, and there is no surer 
test of vice than a man without friends (332 c). Such a 
man is Dionysius, whose early years were hungry for want 
of education and proper training. Thus he was raised 
discordantly, and, beyond the fact that he is wrecking 
Sicily, the greatest poverty arises from his lack of 
harmony with himself (332 d). Nevertheless, a way must be 
found to free Sicily by the introduction of just laws (334c). 
A way might be found if only Dionysius can be brought to 
harmony with himself. If it is not possible to introduce 
order through Dionysius, then other means must be sought, 
for the source of light is the soul at harmony within the 
man (335 a--d). Plato's hope is high and his desire is 
strong, but the worst crime is comitted: Dionysius 
refuses (335 e). 

Thus the second venture ends worse than the first, 
due to a "fiendish" ignorance of matters of the soul and 
of philosophy on the part of Dionysius (336 b--c). 

We are reminded of the early lesson of the letter, 
i.e., that a period of temperance after a revolution is 
as rare as it is necessary. Perhaps it follows that this 
is the time when just laws should be enacted but it is 
unfortunately true that this is also the time when such 
an enactment is least possible. Perhaps this task will 
remain for the future (336 e). 

How should such laws come to be? Plato answers his 
own question by saying that only the best men can make 
the best laws, and actually goes into the proportion of 
men to the population (337 c). 

The motive for Plato's third trip to Sicily is 
given. We are informed that Dionysius is eager to have 
Plato return, and that he has made progress in his study 
of philosophy. Archytas and his Tarentine circle of 
Pythagoreans implore Plato by letter, and one, Archydemos, 
even accompanies the trireme which is sent to supply 
Plato's passage. In order not to betray Dion and his other 
Tarentine friends, Plato allows himself to be convinced (339 a--e). 

There follows what one writer (Ritter) calls a 
philosophical digression into the nature of the process 
wherein philosophy is "imparted" so that the student will 
see a "marvellous road" open before him (340 b,c). Here 
we have a recapitulation of some of the thoughts Plato 
had set down in the \bt{Phaedo} and in the \ul{Republic}, where he 
described how the soul, reflecting on herself, sees a 
whole new realm (340 d). 

"There neither is nor ever will be a treatise of 
mine on the subject" says Plato, in what seems at first 
to be a deep paradox. What can a philosopher mean whose 
Magnificent dramatic dialogues are revered as perhaps 
the highest insights ever written? Is it all a game? The 
key to this, is to be found in the \ul{Seventh Letter}, which 
explains to the friends of Dion that Plato never fell from 
honor and was not among the murderers of Dion nor among 
the followers or participants in the horrible rule of 
Dionysius who had him killed. Plato is not addressing a 
learned academy nor an audience of philosophers but a 
group of friends and former associates of Dion who cannot 
understand how the great Plato and his philosophy could 
not save Dion from an unjust fate. 

To the claim of Dionysius that he was learning 
philosophy from the one lesson Plato had given him and 
that he was in fact producing learned treatises of originality
and brilliance, Plato responds not only that his 
philosophy can't be taught in a few lessons, but that its 
deepest meanings cannot be taught at all, but must be 
experienced as a fire which is enkindled in the soul 
after an arduous preliminary regimen in the company of 
teachers who have been so inflamed (341 d,e).

If philosophy cannot be taught as a series of learnable 
propositions, how can one expect to learn it in 
writings and disquisitions? To bolster this argument and to 
derive it from higher knowledge, Plato launches into a 
short essay on the steps and stages on the way to philosophical 
insight. There are, he says, three preliminary 
steps and two later stages through which philosophical 
knowledge is imparted (342 a).\pnote{1.68}

The "instruments" of this process are names, definitions,
and images (\e{eidola}). Names are notoriously flighty 
and subject to the winds of change and fashion. Definitions 
are frequently contradictory and refer to aspects which 
shift. Images may be drawn and fashioned at will but what 
images attempt to convey is not necessarily subject to 
these inconsistancies (342 b,c). More proximate but still 
very distant is knowledge of the thing and closest is the 
thing itself as it is. If somehow one does not go through 
the first three, (names, definitions, and images) one 
cannot even aspire to the fourth, (knowledge of the thing) 
much less the fifth. It is much the same with the Good, 
the Beautiful, the Just, Bodies, even Characters of the 
soul, and with all that is done or suffered (342 e).

Plato distrusts the fixity and unchangeable character 
of language as he hesitates to put down in words which 
seem firm and clear what cannot be grasped so easily (343 a). 
Words, definitions, and images contain much that is 
opposite to the things themselves (343 b). Philosophy is so 
hard that men satisfy themselves with images.\pnote{69} Most men 
cannot study philosophy, and even those who do, find it 
hard if not impossible to speak of. Perhaps, after the 
preliminaries of words, definitions, and images, a birth 
will take place but unless the preparatory steps are 
taken, naught will avail the ambitious, such as Dionysius. 
In addition, if there is no "natural inclination," even 
these steps will lead nowhere (344 a). 

What is needed is a "sudden flash" which will arrive 
only occasionally and then only after long preperation (344b). 
Therefore, Plato warns his audience, do not expect to plumb 
the deepest meanings of philosophy too rapidly. And, even 
if a treatise on Laws, written by a great writer, should 
cross your attention, do not think that you see there the 
most precious thought of their writer; you do not. These, 
he implies, are images drawn for your information, but 
they are not philosophy, in its deepest sense (344 c). 

Moreover, Plato tells his readers that his reverence 
for the truth is such that he will not entrust it to 
vehicles. That which is inexpressibly beautiful should not 
be dragged down in homely expression. The inner harmony of 
philosophy will not mix with the discordant decadence of 
Dionysian politics. On the other hand, once truths of this 
sort have been experienced, there is no need to write them 
down because there is no danger of forgetting them. Once 
posessed, they live on (344 d). So ends the "philosophical 
digression." 

Plato returns to his history of the events of his 
third stay in Sicily. He is implored to stay on by 
Dionysius' promise to restore Dion's property and income. 
Plato is asked to remain for a while to consider the plan, 
but while he does so, the last trade ships leave and the 
season for travel comes to an end (346). (He has been tricked.) 
After the ships are gone, Dionysius sells Dion's 
property (347). Plato is told that Herakleides will not be 
harmed, even though he led a guard's revolt for higher pay, 
but again Dionysius goes back on his promise. Plato is 
ousted from the palace gardens on the pretext that they are 
needed for a festival (349). 

Plato begins to realize that his friendship for Dion 
is disadvantageous, that he no longer shares the tyrant's 
confidence, that he is no longer useful, either to himself 
or to the tyrant, and that his friends at the court are 
gradually being arrested. 

He sends for help to Archytas (350). A trireme of 
thirty oars is sent, with Lamiskos, a Pythagorean, in 
command. Plato is taken to Dion, who immediately plots 
revenge against Dionysius II. This time, Plato pleads not 
to be included, because of his advanced age, and because 
Dion is plotting to injure someone, and Plato will not be 
a party to violence (350 c). 

Plato gives out another allegory. Like the brave 
captain of a good vessel who underestimates the brutal 
ferocity of a storm, it became Dion's fate to die at the 
hands of Dionysius' forces, but it was a death with honor. 

Plato ends the letter by saying that he felt it was 
necessary to explain the paradoxical turn of events in 
Sicily, and he hopes he has done so (352). 

Since reputable scholars have agreed that the 
\ul{Seventh Letter} is Plato's own, and since, in all probability 
it was written between 354 and 353, we must place it in the 
late period. We should expect the extraordinary experiences 
of Plato's Sicilian travels to have a marked influence on 
the doctrine of those dialogues written after the travels 
which the \ul{Seventh Letter} record. 

However, in order to show what influences these 
experiences had on the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus}, it is 
first necessary to pass in review the doctrines of the 
dialogues between the \ul{Republic} and the \ul{Timaeus}. This task 
is the burden of the following chapter. It is possible at 
this point only to anticipate how the \ul{Seventh Letter} leads 
us to expect that the Timaeus will reveal the influence of 
Plato's Sicilian experiences. 

Thus, there is confirmatory evidence to be derived 
from the \ul{Seventh Letter} for the view that the \ul{Timaeus} is a 
late dialogue. This is indicated in the statement (at 344c) 
that even if a great writer were to write a treatise on 
laws and if such a treatise were to come to the attention 
of the Sicilians, it should not be regarded as philosophy 
but as a set of images. The fact that this statement is 
put in the hypothetical future seems to indicate that the 
\ul{Laws} have not yet been written (at least, not completed). 
If the \ul{Laws} is Plato's last effort, and if the \ul{Timaeus} 
is as closely related to the \ul{Laws} as the stylistic criteria 
indicate, this statement would seem to indicate that the 
letter itself was written before both the \ul{Timaeus} and the 
\ul{Laws}. We have already cited evidence for this view. 

It 18 the business of the next chapter to spell out 
the doctrinal criteria on which this same conclusion can 
be reached. There, the relevence of the doctrinal points 
of the \ul{Seventh Letter} will be introduced. 

Perhaps it is not inexcusable to ask the reader to 
recall at this point that the division of the initial 
hypothesis into two methodological procedures, has, at 
this point, only dealt with one half of the argument, and 
that both halves are necessary to establish the hypothesis. 
Thus, one concludes from this chapter that the external 
sources, individually and collectively, point to the 
\ul{Timaeus} as a late work. It now needs to be demonstrated 
that the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus} is a late doctrine. 
Thereafter, it will be shown that in the doctrine of the 
\ul{Timaeus} we find not only a later doctrine than its 
predecessors, but a more developed doctrine, consisting of 
a culmination and synthesia of the themes of eternity, 
image, and time. 

\secc Conclusion 

I conclude this chapter with the conviction that the 
\ul{Timaeus} is a late dialogue, probably written after Plato's 
Sicilian adventures. It is difficult to fix a precise date 
for its composition. It is certainly after the first two 
Sicilian adventures and certainly before 347, the year of 
Plato's death.\pnote{1.70} stylistic criteria place it in the same 
age grouping as the \ul{Laws}. This makes it probable that the 
\ul{Laws} and the \ul{Timaeus} occupied Plato's attention alternately 
during the same set of years. This means that the \ul{Timaeus} 
trilogy and the \ul{Laws} were both written in the last years 
of Plato's life. I think it is probable that the \ul{Timaeus} 
was written after the third Sicilian adventure, after 
Plato's indebtedness to the Tarentine Pythagoreans had 
increased a great deal. I feel no need to separate the 
\ul{Laws}, the \ul{Seventh Letter}, and the \bt{Timaeus} more precisely 
because I think that work on all three of them could have 
proceded together, yet I feel it is probable that the 
\ul{Seventh Letter} precedes the completion of the \ul{Laws} and 
the \ul{Timaeus}. Cornford's hypothesis that Plato stopped in 
the middle of the \ul{Critias} in order to complete the \ul{Laws} is 
especially attractive. 


\sec The Doctrine of the Dialogues
\secc Introduction 

In the foregoing chapter, the chronology of the 
dialogues according to reputable scholars was presented. 
The conclusion that the \ul{Timaeus} is a late dialogue was 
reached by these scholars by utilizing several criteria, 
including stylistic interpretations, biographical information,
agreement among some of the ancients, and certain 
relevant information which Plato set down in his \ul{Seventh Letter}.
It is now the task before us to confirm this 
conclusion by appeal to doctrinal development in the 
dialogues which precede the \ul{Timaeus}. This will be done by 
showing that there are significant themes in the dialogues 
which precede the \ul{Timaeus}, which are gradually modified 
and expanded until they are treated in a new way in the 
\ul{Timaeus}. 

It is obviously impossible in these few pages to 
present a detailed summary of all of the philosophical 
doctrines which Plato treated in each of the dialogues to 
be discussed. Therefore, only those themes which specifically 
culminate in the \ul{Timaeus} will be passed in review. 
It is assumed that no significant distortion of Plato's 
philosophy will be made by selecting three themes which 
Plato discusses together in the \ul{Timaeus}, and that no 
distortion will be introduced by tracing these themes as 
Plato develops them in the dialogues which intervene 
between a logical starting point and the \ul{Timaeus}. 

The first problen, then, is to determine a logical 
point to begin our investigations. The \ul{Timaeus} itself gives 
us the starting point because it begins with a recapitulation
of certain themes in the \ul{Republic}. This seems to be a 
clear indication that the investigation of Plato's later 
philosophy must include some sort of comparison with the 
\ul{Republic} and the doctrines of the so-called middle period. 
In the discussion which follows, it will be assumed that 
the doctrines of the \ul{Republic} may fairly be taken as 
representative of the doctrines of the entire middle 
period, and that reference to the other dialogues of the 
middle period will be made only when it seems clearly 
necessary. Thus little mention will be found of the \bt{Phaedo}, 
\bt{Phaedrus}, and \bt{Symposium}, and our inquiry will focus mainly 
on the \ul{Republic}. 

The \ul{Parmenides} and the \ul{Theatetus} constitute a special 
group of dialogues, as Ritter has observed. In these 
dialogues a special critique of the doctrines of the middle 
period is undertaken by Plato himself. Thus, if one plans 
to trace the development of certain doctrinal themes by 
starting with the Republic and continuing through the late 
dialogues, one ought to interpose between the \ul{Republic} 
and the "late" dislogues, the \ul{Parmenides} and the \ul{Theatetus}, 
and their respective doctrines, insofar as they discuss 
the themes in question. 

In the subsequent discussion of the doctrines of 
the late dialogues, it will be shown that the critique of 
the middle doctrines by the \ul{Parmenides} and \ul{Theatetus} had 
brought Plato to the recognition of a need for new doctrinal 
formulations. Thus, it will not only clarify the doctrine 
of the \ul{Republic} but it will shed light on the \ul{Sophist}, 
\ul{Statesman}, and \ul{Philebus} if we examine carefully the critique
made by the \ul{Parmenides} and \ul{Theatetus}. In this way, one 
May examine the sequence of doctrinal modifications which 
Plato made as he matured, and one may discuss both the 
doctrines and the doctrinal advances as one treats each 
succeeding dialogue. 

Certain confirmations of the view that the \ul{Timaeus} 
reformulates old doctrines in a new way will be sought 
in relevant passages from the \ul{Critias} and the \ul{Laws}, but 
these are only taken as lateral confirmations, and not as 
indices, of the extent to which the \ul{Timaeus} contains 
significantly new doctrinal formulations. They form, as 
it were, testable corollaries of the main hypothesis. 

The three themes which I have selected to focus upon 
are the themes of eternity, image, and time. It should be 
noted that the words eternity, image, and time are not 
technical terms for Plato, and that their meaning will be 
found to change as the sequence of dialogues approaches the 
\ul{Timaeus}. For this reason, I prefer to call them themes and
not terms or ideas or doctrines. 

I have also made a methodological choice. It would 
be possible to select the passages from each of the dialogues
 which discuss eternity, image, and time, and by placing 
them together, one could discuss each theme separately. But 
there is another way, which seems more faithful to Plato's 
own method, and that 18 to pass each dialogue in review, 
and, in passing, point out those passages which are relevant
to the themes of eternity, image and time. This latter 
method has been adopted. 

In the chapters which follow the present one, a more 
or less interlinear commentary will be offered on those 
passages of the \ul{Timaeus} which are relevant to the three 
themes I have selected for study. In this way, the gradual 
advance of Plato's thought is given what I feel is an 
appropriately developmental context. 

I maintain, then, that in the middle period, i.e., in 
the \ul{Republic}, Plato formulated a doctrinal position with 
respect to the relations of eternity, image, and time, 
that he began a critique of this position in the \ul{Parmenides} 
and \ul{Theatetus}, and that he began a new formulation in the 
\ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, and \ul{Philebus}, which reached a new 
height in the \ul{Timaeus}. The reader is asked to judge for 
himself in what follows whether this claim is credible. 

\secc The Republic 

In the \ul{Republic}, Plato retains the doctrine of the 
Forms, and seeks particularly to find the Form of Justice, 
its nature and origin (357 d). However, this is a hard 
task which can only be performed by those whose eyesight 
(for the Forms) is particularly good (368 d). For this 
reason, it is decided that perhaps the method of inquiry 
had better be adapted to those whose sight is not so 
perfect, so that, instead of attempting to gaze directly 
on the Form of Justice, it will be better to adopt a 
"shortsighted" method, namely, seeing Justice where it is 
writ large, in the state (369 a). This will bring about an 
unfortunate mutilation of pure vision, but it is inescapable. 
Moreover, it is a better method than the one adopted 
by such "story tellers" as Hesiod and Homer who rather tell 
lies than avoid distortion (377 e). These authors do not 
realize that "children" do not know the difference between 
allegory and fact. It were better that the truth be not 
told at all than told badly, yet the problem of representing 
truth in images is not a small one. The primary requirement 
is that truths must be represented, if at all, ina true 
way, worthy of their contents (379 b). "Because we do not 
know the truth of ancient traditions, we make falsehoods 
as much like the truth as we can, and there is no use in 
this." (382 d) 

Here in the opening passages of Book II, Plato tells 
us that one encounters difficulty in attempting to reveal 
those truths which have been seen by one's excellent eyesight,
to those with less than perfect vision. Images of 
truth are, for such men, dangerous, and should be avoided. 

Nevertheless, Plato does not stop the process of 
inquiry. Reluctantly, he will try to see the truth of the 
Form of Justice as it is writ large in the state. This 
tells us that the whole \ul{Republic} is, in its own way, an 
allegory, designed not so much to spell out the legal 
machinations of a \e{polis} as to take a shortsighted view of 
the Form of Justice. We know this interest in Justice to be 
a lifelong concern of Plato. It is cited here to document 
the fact that even in the middle dialogues, Plato is not 
unaware of the danger of misrepresenting the gods, and 
that at this point in his development he uses a short-e 
sighted method. He makes the decision to undertake a vision 
of Justice in the state despite his awareness that his 
description of the state will only imperfectly incarnate 
Justice in an image, which in this case, is an allegory (368
a). The problem is that allegories only imperfectly imitate
the Form of Justice, which Plato tells us next in the 
famous allegory of the guardians and their education. It 
is necessary for the guardians to know the Forms, or else 
their guidance shall be lacking in some perfection, yet 
they are surrounded in their youth by "images of moral 
deformity (401 b)." Physicians, like judges, must cure by 
use of mind, and "a virtuous nature, educated by time, will 
acquire a knowledge of both virtue and vice (409 e)." 
Thus, it will be necessary for the guardians to be exposed 
to both perfect and imperfect images of Justice, and, if 
they are strong, and if their souls are in harmony (410 e), 
they will rule well, despite the limitations which mere 
images of Justice impose on their thought. 

This limitation of images is termed the "royal lie" 
and the "audacious fiction" (414 b). It is recognized that 
the sights of youth are like dreams, and that their 
education is an acquaintance with "appearance," but youth 
ie in a process of formation in the womb of the earth. 
Perhaps it might not be possible to so educate the guardians 
in the first generation, but in the next, their sons 
will probably adopt this view (415 b). Here Plato anticipates
the difficulty that a new set of laws may not be 
accepted with open arms by a generation of men, but the 
need is great; new laws must be found and promulgated. Yet 
the basis for new laws, i.e., a clear sight of the Forms, 
is impossible. It is as if Plato were scandalized by the 
need to speak the truth of the Forms in a language of 
imagery and allegory, yet, the political necessity (the 
need to know the truth) cannot be denied. Eventually, the 
guardians will see through the mere images of their 
education if they are instructed in these matters "and 
others not mentioned (423 e)." For that reason, there is 
no need to legislate about particulars, since these will 
flow from the character of the institutions (425 c). 

In order to legislate about the "greatest and noblest" 
institution (427 b) the one which deals with temples and 
sacrifices, Plato introduces the "method of residues" 
which we would call the method of gradual elimination. 
By presenting the given activities, which are presumed to 
be known, and by eliminating all the unacceptable ones, 
Plato arrives at a list of virtues which ought to characterize
the guardians (428 a). (As we shall see, this method 
of residues is by no means the same as the method of 
division in the \ul{Sophist}). Then, by eliminating lesser 
virtues, Plato arrives at the conclusion that the guardians 
ought to be temperate, wise, courageous, and just (432 b). 
And by further use of the method of residues, it is 
decided that Justice is the ultimate basis of the perfection 
of the state (433 a). As we shall see, this conclusion will 
be expanded in the \ul{Timaeus}, where \e{Time,} not Justice is 
said to be the basis of perfection. 

Justice itself is said to be "the having and doing 
what is a man's own, and belongs to him (433 b)." If a 
man does what he does, and does not attempt to do what 
others do, then Justice will have introduced harmony into 
the relations of the citizens. 

Just as the classes of the state are to be in harmony 
with each other, so the soul's virtues will be in harmony 
with each other, if education proceeds correctly. Yet 
Socrates confessed that he does not understand this notion 
of harmony too well. The technical insight into music and 
the harmony of string lengths is best left to the musician, 
as the matter of gymnastic is best left to the gymnast. 
Socrates relates the need for harmony in the soul; the 
images of this harmony in the particular instances of 
music and gymnastics are not directly his concern. 

This is true because it behooves a man, and a state, 
to be a unity, whereas a skill in a large number of 
particulars strains unity. 'thus, each class in the state 
has one and only one function, just as each man in the 
state will have one and only one occupation. Thus for the 
shoemaker to fight will be unjust, just as the fighter 
should not make shoes. 

However, Socrates begins to doubt that his method of 
residues is working very well. He reminds us that we are 
seeking a knowledge of Justice and that we are trying to 
achieve it by seeing Justice writ large in the state, but 
the discussion seems to be bogging down in particulars. 
However, he hopes to "strike a spark" and in that way 
release a vision of his subject (434 e). He says: 

\Q{I must confess that the method we are employing 
seems to be altogether inadequate to the accurate 
solution of this questions for the true method is 
another and a longer one. Still, we may arrive at 
a solution not below the level of the previous 
inquiry (435 a).}

This is the same intractable necessity to reveal 
visions of a more perfect eye to those with less than 
perfect vision. However, the method of employing images 
aoes reveal a "shadow" of Justice, and therefore, it is 
useful (443 c). So, on this basis he traces out the 
division of labor in a society, showing that each man who 
fulfills his appointed task is just only insofar as he does 
not encroach upon the appointed task of another. To do what 
another ought to do is a double injustice, both to oneself 
and to the other. The solidarity of the "imaginary commonwealth"
(456 d) rests on this Justice, and, in the same way, 
the soul of the man who tries to cross his line of responsibility
will be unjust. The relation of these divided 
responsibilities is injustice. We must assume this to be 
so, for we are reminded that the allegorical investigation 
of the Form of Justice is like dreamers feasting on a 
dream, and that the state here investigated is "imaginary (458 a)." 

Does unity, achieved by the harmony of each individual
(soul or class) performing his one task, really work. 
"The inquiry has yet to be made whether such a community 
will be found possible...and in what way...(471 c)." 

To answer this, we must inquire what is the least 
change to be introduced into the state which would bring 
about the imaginary harmony we seek. The philosopher-king
is the person who will accomplish this. Why do we 
need the philosopher-king? Because it is he who sees the 
Forms in their direct "Beauty" (476 b) and he knows the 
difference between knowledge of something and knowledge of 
nothing. When one knows, he knows something, and this is 
true knowledge. When one knows nothing, he is in "ignore 
ance" (477 b). The realm of opinion is in between, where 
what one knows both is and is not. True knowledge is of 
the immutable and the eternal, and only this is rightly 
called knowledge (478 e). this sort of knowledge and this 
sort alone should characterize the philosopher-king, and 
all those who deal in opinions about the Justice of this 
or that or the Beauty of this or that occupy some intermediary
region which will not fit them for ruling, nor for 
introducing into the atate the least change which will 
make it a just state. Only knowledge of the eternal and 
immutable is knowledge. And yet, as Galileo remarked in 
another age, it moves: the dialogue which castigates mere 
images continues on its allegorical way. 

Not only is it true that Knowledge which deserves 
the name is eternal and immutable, but further, those who 
dwell in the realm of opinion are called Sophists, whose 
cant and mere talk is subject to every whim and caprice of 
opinion, changing from day to day and from speech to 
speech. Such men cannot deserve the honor of navigating 
at the helm of state, for they follow the fancies of the 
demanding crew, whom they are supposed to lead (488 a). 
Just as most do not possess the clarity of vision to see 
Justice, these men do not know how sweet philosophy is. 
Few know this (496 c). For this reason, there has never 
been a state ruled by the philosopher king, and none exists 
at the present (499 a). We see how necessary it is to 
found the state on justice yet we have confronted the 
supreme difficulty of revealing justice to the inhabitors 
of the realm of opinion. It is confessed to be impossible, 
and for that reason, rather than try to show the Sophist 
the form of justice, we had better imagine a state where 
youths are educated from the start to see through the 
dreams which characterize the realm of opinion. 

\Q{If then, in the countless ages of the past or at 
the present hour in some foreign clime which is 
far away and beyond our ken, the perfect philosopher 
4s or has been or shall be hereafter compelled by a 
superior power to have charge of the state, we are 
ready to assert to the death that this our 
constitution has been, is, and yea, will be at 
any time, only when the muse of philosophy is 
queen. Neither is there any impossibility in 
this: the difficulty we do not deny (499 d).}

Here is a striking juncture, for in it, Plato tells 
us that the vision of the eternal and immutable Form of 
Justice is only to be had by philosophers, that images are 
not completely satisfactory (since the Sophists deal in 
them), but that there is no impossibility in imagining the 
philosopher-king performing his role, perhaps in the past, 
perhaps at present, or perhaps in the future. The themes 
of eternity, image, and time, are joined in one passage. 
The eternal realm of Forms is the domain of the philosopher, 
not the Sophist, who dwells in the realm of opinion and 
changing imagery. At present, we have no philosopher-king, 
but, since he is not impossible, he may be sought in 
another time; perhaps past, perhaps future, or perhaps in 
the present somewhere far away. 

\Q{What will be the task of the philosopher-king. 

...He will look at Justice and Beauty as they are 
in nature and again at the corresponding quality 
in mankind, and then inlay the true human image, 
moulding and selecting out of the various forms 
of life: and this He will conceive according to 
that other image, which, when existing among 
men, Homer calls the form and likeness of 
God (501 b).}

It will be his task to see the forms and to legislate 
in such a way that men are made in him image. To do so 
requires a very high wisdom indeed, and the education of 
the guardians must therefore by truly philosophical. They 
will not be allowed to take the shortsighted path: theirs 
will be the "long way." To this astonishing exhortation, it 
is objected: is there a higher form than Justice, and the 
still more astonishing answer is: yes. This is the idea of 
the Good and the Beautiful (504 d). 

The Good and the Beautiful are not to be represented 
on the same level as Justice. For them, nothing short of 
the most perfect representation suffices (504 e). Yet, 
even the best opinion is only like a blind man hoping to 
find his way along a straight road (506). To discuss the 
4dea of the Good is too much of a task for the present, 
but Socrates deigns to discuss the "child of the good"; 
he warns his hearers to be on guard lest he render a false 
account, although he has no intention of deceit (506 e). 

What follows is an extended metaphor concerring 
sunlight, the eyes, and the things seen, in which Socrates 
explains that the sun is not sight but the source of sight, 

\Q{he whom I call the child of the Good, whom the 
Good begat in his own likeness, to be in the 
visible world in relation to sight and the 
things of sight what the Good is in the 
intellectual world in relation to mind and 
the things of the mind (508 b).}

This is the immediate prelude to the famous allegory 
of the divided line, in which the ambivalence which Plato 
seems to show with respect to images is somewhat clarified. 
It emerges that there are two sorts of images, those which 
pertain to the visible world and those which pertain to the 
intelligible world. In the intelligible sphere, reason 
apprehends the Forms, understanding apprehends images of 
the Forms. In the same way, there are divisions in the 
visible world: the reflections of the Forms in the visible 
world, when perceived truly, are reflections and images, 
but when they are not perceived truly, are mere shadows 
and opinions (510 a). In the intelligible realm, images 
function as hypotheses, suggesting but not confirming 
the Forms and the ideas. 

Perhaps the most famous of all philosophical allegories 
is the next image which Socrates presents, the allegory 
of the cave (514 a). We are told that the divided line can 
be seen more concretely in the cave allegory. Going from 
the lowest to the highest of knowledge, we first have 
shadows, then the objects which cast the shadows, themselves 
only images of the Forms. Then, the understanding captures
images of the Forms and finally, reason sees the Form (515e). 
It is noteworthy, despite the familiarity of this allegory, 
to point out that the path of philosophical knowledge is 
laden with two difficulties: the first is the blinding 
clarity of the Forms when first seen: the second is the 
need to readapt one's eyes to the dark of the cave upon 
redescending (516 e). However, since the soul likes to 
climb, and prefers not to descend back into the cave, the 
guardians will have to point out that the whole state 
suffers if the enlightened ones do not redescend to 
enlighten in turn their former fellows (519 c). 

Here we again confront two kinds of images, or 
rather two levels of images. This is an advance beyond 
the first books of the dialogue, where all images were 
weve copies, dangerous and to be avoided. But, Plato has 
not brought the realm of the Forms any closer: rather, he 
has added a small measure of validity to the images of the 
Forms. It is no longer true that no truth whatever can be 
had in the visible wordl: now, \e{some} images are valid, 
others are not. It is still true, however, that images do 
not perfectly reveal the Forms. 

There is one further step in the treatment of images 
in the \ul{Republic} which deserves emphasis. After Socrates 
describes the visible universe and the starry heaven as 
the most beautiful and perfect of all visible things (on 
this basis the guardians are to be instructed in geometry 
and astronomy) he says that these sciences are not to be 
learned for their own sake, but because they contain 
instructive images of the "divine" (532). The unfortunate 
thing is that those who study the number of stars do not 
look for number itself, and even those who study numbers 
themselves do not reflect upon why some numbers are 
harmonious and some are not: they ignore the "images of 
the divine," not knowing that what they study is only 
like the truth, but is not the truth (533 c). 

The seeds of a new insight are here, but it would 
be stretching the point to say that we are now fully 
4nstructed in it. It becomes true to say that for every 
level of truth, the level just beneath it "images" it. 
For this reason, there are two kinds of image in the 
divided line: from the higher vantage point of perception, 
mere sensation is only a shadow, the lowliest kind of image. 
From the point of view of reason, understanding is only an 
image. Similarly, every perception, from the higher point 
of view of understanding, is only an image. Image is thus 
a relative term, not necessarily opprobrious, since to 
advance from a shadow to an image is an advance in the 
right direction, i1.e., toward greater insight. 

This is an important doctrine in several respects, 
not the least of which is the new validity which images 
have been given. It is also important to stress the 
relativity of images to the respective truths which they 
reveal, because it is just this function of revealing the 
higher truth which the \ul{Timaeus} develops in a new way. In 
the \ul{Republic}, Plato admits the functional role of images 
with some hesitation. In the \ul{Timaeus}, this hesitation is 
gone, and images are said to be perfectly appropriate 
revelations in themselves, since they are proportional 
to their paradigms. 

Next we are given a Pythagorean myth of the origin 
and outcome of strife in the state, in which the diameters 
and circumferences of circles are described by means of 
the numbers for which the Pythagoreans are famous. The 
perfect stpirelede circle is one whose diameter is a 
perfect number; i.e., one which is the sum of its divisors, 
as six is divided by and is the sum of 1, 2, and 3. 
Unevenly divided circles introduce strife in the state. 
This is the sort of tale the muses tell, and Homer speaks 
their language (545 e). However, while these tales are true 
in their way, Plato says that there are more pressing 
investigations, and little is made of the whole procedure. 
It is quickly introduced and quickly abandoned. Suffice it 
here to note that in this Pythagorean allegory time is 
represented by a revolving sphere, and, like a sphere, has 
a beginning, a middle and an end, so that the forms of 
government which correspond to the periods of time have a 
definite sequence. One might extract here a whole political 
philosophy of history in the Pythagorean idiom, but it can
be shown by a discussion of the \ul{Timaeus}, that a philosophy 
of political forms and their temporal sequence along 
Pythagorean lines is far from the sort of treatment Plato 
can give to this subject. 

Plato resorts once again to an image of the soul, 
but this time it is an ideal image, the best possible. 
The soul is pictured as consisting of one part polycephalous 
beast, one part lion, and one part man (588 c), just 
as the state consists of three classes, one of knowledge, 
one of ambition, and one of money (580 da). Having discovered
this as a result of the inquiry into the state as the 
image of the justice of the soul, Socrates says now that 
the ideal city is a pattern laid up in heaven, and "he who 
desires may behold this, and beholding, govern himself 
accordingly. But whether there really is or ever will be 
such a one is of no importance to him, for he will act 
according to the laws of that city and no other" (592 b). 

The last book of the \ul{Republic} again takes up the 
problem of representing this ideal realm in images which 
the short-sighted might be able to see. Here Plato rejects 
imitative poetry as mere copy-making, so that even the 
painter, who paints new images which did not exist before, 
4s an inferior kind of creator, for when he copies the bed 
which the carpenter makes of wood, even the wooden bed is 
only an imitation of the Form of all beds. The painter 
copies, the carpenter copies, but the idea of the bed is 
original and is not a copy of any thing or of any idea. 

Thus, the doctrine of the \ul{Republic}, insofar as it 
concerns the realm of Forms, describes this realm as a 
sphere in which what is remains what it is, and does not 
become something else. These Forms are the archetypes of 
the visible world, which, from the point of view of the 
Forms, consists of images and copies of the Forms. Images 
are subject to time in the guises of generation and corrup~ 
tion, and are changeable, and, therefore, are not truly 
real, since they are not immutable and eternal. 

One last doctrinal theme of the \ul{Republic} remains to 
be cited before we pass on to the next dialogue. It is the 
Myth of Er. Like the small Pythagorean allegory which 
purported to explain the origin of strife, it represents 
an attempt on Plato's part to plumb not only the depths 
of things but to discern their origins. The Myth of 
goes beyond the Pythagorean myth of political philosophy 
in that it is meant to be a brief cosmogony, not just the 
origin of this or that political form. To those who search 
the \ul{Republic} for a literal political philosophy and its 
correlations with the soul, it might seem strange that 
the \ul{Republic} should end on a note of myth. However, to 
those who see that the \ul{Republic} is an allegorical attempt 
to portray the realm of Justice, (which is timeless) in 
terms which the shortsighted can comprehend, (namely, the 
images of the changing present) it comes as no surprise 
that the \ul{Republic} ends in a myth. In fact, since the whole 
\ul{Republic} itself, is confessedly only a short-sighted 
representation of an eternal realm, there should be no 
jarring of consciousness when the Myth of Er is presented. 
The whole dialogue reads like an attempt to say what seems 
unsayable to those who think that saying things means they 
are true. 

However, there are certain characteristics of the 
Myth of Er which ought to be singled out, in addition to 
its cosmogonical character.

The Myth of Er recounts the alleged journey of a 
slain warrior into the world after death, where he is 
allowed to see what happens to the souls who perish. Some 
are doomed to wander beneath the earth for ten times the 
normal lifespan (reckoned as ten times one hundred) and 
others are allowed to spend their time in a realm of 
"inconceivable Beauty." Thereafter, the souls are allowed 
to choose from a wide assortment of lives those they think 
they would enjoy in their next mortal period on earth. 

The more interesting feature of this myth is the 
description of the stars and planets spinning in their 
relative spheres around the spindle of Necessity; the 
Fates, daughters of Necessity, may interrupt these revolutions
momentarily or give them direction. The fates 
represent the tenses of time, one for the present, one 
for the past, and one for the future. Here is the circular 
image of time again, in which the revolutions of the 
spheres of the heavens is taken to be the meaning of time: 
that is, the spinning of the spheres is the motion we call 
time. Notice, however, that here in the \ul{Republic}, time 
derives from necessity. As we shall see, this is quite 
different from the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus}. 

One of the most provocative features of this myth, 
is the perpetual recurrence which is said to characterize 
life, and the circular imagery in which this doctrine is 
cloaked. For, if it is taken seriously as a myth, it tells 
us that the number of souls must be a constant, and the 
careers of men are predetermined by their former lives. 
How could the experience of such a realm elude our conscious 
thought in the mortal portion of life? We are told that the 
souls must drink of the "waters of forgetfulness and negligence"
before they return to a mortal abode (621 a). 

this is a strange metaphor, especially when coupled 
with the doctrine of reminiscence, or with the description 
of the after-life in the \ul{Phaedo}. What is the meaning of 
the "water of forgetfulness"? It pertains to the theme we 
have been describing throughout the \ul{Republic}: the eternal 
realm of Forms, the visible world of time, and the strange 
distance between them which makes the truth of the eternal 
realm almost impossibly unintelligible to the visible life. 
Here in the Myth of Er the souls who have lived for a 
thousand years in the realm of "inconceivable Beauty" are 
made to forget this experience by imbibing the waters of 
forgetfulness. In this way, a mythical answer is made to 
the problem of the difficulty of remembering the realm of 
Forms, the true home of the soul. Since the soul has been 
in the realm of the Forms, this former life is the basis of 
the soul's subsequent recognition of copies of the Forms in 
this life. This accounts for Socrates' constant attempt to 
be the midwife of insight. He hopes that a particularly 
well-chosen image might awaken the soul's memory of the 
eternal realm. His whole pedagogy is based on this premise. 

On the one hand, this elevates philosophic discourse 
to a very high level. On the other hand, it puts the whole 
responsibility of achieving insight into the Forms on a 
lesser and inferior type of insight. This contradiction 
did not escape Plato, but he did not resolve it in the 
\ul{Republic}. We shall have to look to succeeding dialogues for 
its resolution. 

\secc Summary of the Republic 

We have seen that the \ul{Republic} presents an attempt to 
gain insight into the eternal realm through the investigation
of Justice as it is in the state, that this is an 
allegorical attempt to see the Form of justice in the soul, 
and in that way to see Justice itself. However, we are told 
repeatedly that one needs good vision for this, and that not 
everyone has good vision. Further, even those with good 
vision have a difficult time communicating with those who 
have less than perfect vision. This forces him who has seen 
the Form of Justice to resort to images and copies of the 
Form of Justice, which, unfortunately results in a
mutilation of the truth of the Form. We are forced to rely 
on myths which are like the truth but are not the truth. 
They bring us close to the truth but not close enough. 
The height and distance of the Forms is the reason for this 
difficulty, and it is only partially diminished by the use 
of imagery, which is unfortunately always changing, becoming,
and passing away. We must have the truth as it is, 
yet we cannot, for the realms of eternity and time are too 
discrete. While time derives from necessity, the Forms 
derive from eternity, and images constitute an in-between 
realm of compromise. 

\secc The Parmenides 

It is generally agreed that the \ul{Parmenides} and the 
\ul{Theatetus} must be placed midway between the middle and the 
late dialogues. If it is true that Plato gradually developed
his doctrines, one should expect to find in the \ul{Parmenides}
some criticism of the Form-theory as it was developed 
in the \ul{Republic}, and some sort of further development of 
doctrine. In order to present the details of this hypothesized 
development, it is now necessary to examine the 
doctrines of the \ul{Parmenides} which pertain to the themes of 
eternity, image, and time, and to see how Plato modifies 
his view of the relation of these themes to each other 
and in what way the meaning of these themes in themselves 
is changed. As we shall see, the eternal realm of the Forms 
and the relation of this realm to the realm of visible 
things, as described in the \ul{Republic}, is brought face to 
face with some sharp criticisms, in the light of which 
Plato modifies the positions he took in the \ul{Republic}. 

It is also generally agreed that one may logically 
divide the \ul{Parmenides} into two parts, the first of which is 
a dramatic introduction and the second of which constitutes 
the body of doctrine. In this second part, Plato divides 
his subject into a series of eight hypotheses. Before we 
discuss them, it might be wise to describe what the word 
hypothesis means as Plato uses it in the \ul{Parmenides}. 

First, Plato does not mean by hypothesis what is 
usually meant by this word in contemporary usage in our 
own day. We are accustomed to the provisional character of 
hypotheses and we regularly expect them to be written in 
the form of if-then propositions. Thus for example, we 
usually begin an investigation by asserting that, if a 
given theoretical view is true, then we should expect to 
find the certain conditions to obtain. Then we seek out 
the conditions, describe them as impartially and fairly as 
we can, and thereafter determine with what accuracy the 
conditions resemble those we predicted would obtain. 

But Plato's method in the \ul{Parmenides} is different 
from the methods just described. He proceeds in a similar 
but not identical way: for he first decides to examine 
whether a given proposition is true or false and then, 
first assumes the truth and then the falsity of the 
proposition in question, which he follows with a demonstration
of the logical consequences of these assumptions. If 
he arrives at an absurd consequence by assuming the 
proposition to be false, he begins again by logically 
deducing the consequences of assuming the proposition to 
be true. In short, Plato asks what are the consequences of 
assuming a given proposition to be true or false, and it 
is these propositions which he calls hypotheses. His method 
differs from our own in that we are accustomed to confront 
our hypothetical propositions with observations which may 
or may not agree with predicted observations. Plato examines 
the logical consequences of a given view; we predict which 
observations shall be made if the hypothesis is true. 
While these two methods have much in common, they are 
obviously not identical. 

The eight hypotheses which Plato discusses in the 
\ul{Parmenides} are not equally relevant to the themes of eternity,
image and time, so that the short summary of the 
doctrine of the \ul{Parmenides} which follows should not be 
regarded as an attempt to summarize the entire significance 
of the dialogue. 

The dialogue begins with a recitation of a youthful 
work of Zeno's, which asserts that the existence of the 
many leads to logical absurdities even more ridiculous than 
the alleged absurdities which are said to flow from the 
assertion of the existence of the One. The basis for this 
assertion of absurdity is the statement that the many 
would have to be both like and unlike, and that therefore 
the Like would be Unlike and the Unlike Like, i.e., since 
there are both like and unlike things, both Like and Unlike
would have to be said of them (127 e). 

Socrates asks whether it is possible to assert that 
there is a Form of Like and a Form of Unlike, and that, 
instead of saying that each thing is both Like and Unlike, 
perhaps things share in these Forms, and in that way, 
things will only share in these Forms and will not have to 
be both like and unlike in themselves (129 a). While it 
would not be difficult to think that things shared in the 
Forms in this dual way, it would of course be impossible to 
assert that the idea of Like and the idea of Unlike themselves 
shared in a dual way in some higher Form. A thing 
might participate in the One and in the Many and in that 
way it could share in both of them without being both of 
them, and thus different from itself. In the same way, 
things could share in both Rest and Motion, Same and 
Different, and other pairs of opposites (129 e). 

Parmenides and Zeno smile in admiration at this 
view, as if they were amused at the craft of this philosophical
child named Socrates, who, at the time of this 
dialogue, is said to be no more than twenty years old (130). 

Parmenides elicits from Socrates the admission that 
his method leads to the assertion of a Form for the Just,
the Good, and the Beautiful, and of all that class of 
notions (130 a). Therefore, there must be a Form of man, 
of fire, of water, etc. Similarly, there must be a Form of 
hair, dirt, mud, etc. 

\Q{...Visible things such as these are as they appear 
to us, and I am afraid that there would be an 
absurdity in assuming an idea of them, although I 
sometimes get disturbed and begin to think that 
there is nothing without an idea; but then again 
when I have taken this position, I run away, 
because I am afraid that I may fall into a bottonmless
pit of nonsense, and perish; and I return to 
the ideas of which I was just now speaking, and 
busy myself with them (130 d).}

\noindent Parmenides responds that this is due to Socrates' youth, 
and that a time will come when philosophy will have a 
firmer grasp. 

Parmenides then puts the issue squarely: are there 
or are there not Forms in which things participate, and in 
that way come to have the qualities of the Forms. Socrates 
says there are (131 a). Here we have the central problem 
of the \ul{Parmenides} posed with exact precision: are there 
Forms and is there an eternal unchanging realm where they 
abide. This realm and its characteristics are assumed to 
exist so that they can be examined in a new way. The 
problem of the manner in which the Many participate in the 
One is chosen as the topic by which this issue is best 
focused, and they agree to discuss it.

The first objection Parmenides offers to this view is 
the problem of accounting for the way in which a Form could 
be said to be in the many and yet remain one Forn. For, . 
if the Form were in the many, it would seem to be divided 
among them, and hence, not one Form, but many. Nor is it 
possible for the whole idea to be in each of the many for 
then the idea itself would be many (131 c). 

The second objection Parmenides raises is as follows: 
if the Idea of Greatness (or Oneness, or Justice, etc.) 
arises as the Idea under which the many are comprehended, 
must not an Idea of the Idea arise which is the source 
both of the Idea and of its distribution in the many, and 
then an Idea of it, and so on, until an infinite regress 
4a reached (132 b)? 

Socrates attempts to evade this by asking whether 
the Idea may not be only a mental unity assigned to the 
class. Parmenides shows that even such an Idea would be 
subject to the same critique, for an Idea of the Idea 
would have to arise to give meaning to the first idea, and 
so on. 

Socrates then attempts to say that the Ideas are 
really patterns fixed in nature, and that things resemble 
them. This is subjected to the same critique: another Idea 
would have to arise in which both the pattern and the 
thing would be like. 

\Q{The theory, then, that other things participate in 
the Ideas by resemblance has to be given up, and some 
other mode of participation has to be devised (133 a).}

These are not even the gravest objections which can 
be raised against the theory of the Forms. Even worse 
consequences follow once one perceives that the Ideas 
cannot exist in us or be known by us so long as they remain 
where they are said to be, for then they are there and not 
here with us. And if we cannot know them, is there any 
basis of intelligibility: how can we know, and what can we 
know (133 b). Parmenides asserts that only a long and 
laborious demonstration can remove this difficulty, which 
necessitates much training, (not good eyesight alone). 

Parmenides begins then, by facing directly the 
problem which the \ul{Republic} began to examine; i.e., if there 
is a realm of Forms separated from the realm of things, 
the relation of one realm to the other seems impossible, and 
with that impossibility of separation, partially bridged by 
the reluctant admission of images, the basis of true 
knowledge (and Justice, Good, Beauty, etc.) disappears. 
One falls thereafter into a "pit of nonsense." The further 
consequence is that anyone who might have knowledge of the 
Forms would be unable to have knowledge of us, since we are 
in a different realm (134 e). Separated realms leads to 
nothing less than the destruction of reason (135 c). All 
this arises out of the youth of Socrates, and his lack of 
training. 

Parmenides holds out a hopes he says that there is 
more truth to be found, if, after affirming the hypothesis 
of separated realms and inapecting its logical results, 
the hypothesis is also denied, and the results of this 
denial are similarly subjected to logical investigation. 
One should further test this method by both affirming and 
denying such hypotheses as the existence and non-existence 
of the One and the Many, Rest and Motion, Like and Unlike, 
Generation and Destruction (136 b). 

Notice the characteristics of this method. The 
existence \e{and} the non-existence, Rest \e{and} Motion, Generation 
\e{and} Destruction, are to be tested. \e{Both} sides of the 
argument are to be followed. Nowhere has the question yet 
been asked whether there \e{are} two sides. It is assumed. As 
we shall see, it is this assumption of a dualism running 
through the nature of Forms, Ideas, things, perceptions, 
etc., which Plato is subjecting to the light of his 
analysis. 

So much for part one of the \ul{Parmenides}. In the next 
portion Parmenides employs his method of affirmation and 
denial in eight hypotheses. In them, he subjects nothing 
less than the basis of the theory of Forms to a searching 
critique. 

The first hypothesis of the eight is said to be 
Parmenides' own One; if this sort of One is, it cannot be 
many (137 c). From this it follows that it has no parts, 
no beginning, middle, end, is not like or unlike itself or 
another, is neither same nor different, is neither at rest 
nor in motion, is neither great nor small, limited not 
unlimited, equal or unequal. The relation of the One and 
time is set forth as follows: 

The One cannot be older, or younger, or the same age 
as itself, because that would imply Likeness, which it was 
shown not to have (140 a). Therefore it cannot exist in 
time at all (141 a). "And if the One is without participation
in time, it never has become, or was becoming, or was 
at any former time, or has now become or is becoming, or is 
or will become, or will have become or will be hereafter." 

\Q{Most true.\nl
But are there any modes of being other than these?\nl
There are none.\nl
Then the One cannot possibly partake of being.\nl
That is the inference.\nl
Then the One is not. (141 a)

But can all this be true about the One? 
I think not. (142 a)}

The result of the first hypothesis is clear: starting
on the assumption of the One as unrelated, it follows 
that nothing can be said about it, not even that it is 
One. Assuming the logic to be impeccable, the hypothesis 
leads to its own contradiction. Such an hypothesis is 
untenable. Therefore, all the things which we tried to 
predicate of it, and found ourselves unable to predicate of 
it, are not predicable of it \e{(if it is what we assumed it to 
be),} that is, unrelated. If it is unrelated, it is unspeakably
other. Therefore, we must seek for other ways to 
speak intelligently about it. 

Here is the first clear attempt to close the gap 
between the unreachably eternal and the irrevocably temporal,
a gap which is now clearly faced and admitted to 
present an obstacle to intelligent thought. The One, 
therefore, cannot be in a completely separated eternal 
realm. It must somehow be in some sort of relation to the 
temporal realm. The ways in which the One is so related are 
the topics of the next hypotheses. 

The second hypothesis (142 e--155 a) begins with a 
different assumption. It affirms that if the One is, its 
unity and its being are different. Therefore, it is a 
vhole of two parts, unity and being. Each part, furthermore, 
is a one (142 d). Therefore, the One of hypothesis II 
contains division within it, and therefore becomes the 
recipient of the predicates which its former indivisibility 
made impossible. It is now, however, susceptible of both 
sides of the pairs of contraries which were formerly 
inapplicable. It is now One and Many, Infinite in number 
and Limited in number, Same and Other, in itself and in 
another, at Rest and in Motion. Further, these predicates 
are both applicable by affirmation, but, because each pair 
is contradictory, they are also inapplicable. 

If the One is a One of parts, it partakes of time, 
which is always moving forward (152 a). Therefore, the One 
becomes older, younger, and is the same age as itself. Yet, 
Since it is the same age as itself, it is neither older nor 
younger than itself (152 e). 

In the same way, it is younger, older, and the same 
age as the Other and the Others (153 e). And, in the same 
way, it is not older, younger, or the same age as the 
Other or the Others (154 a). 

Therefore, since the one partakes of time, and 
partakes of becoming older and becoming younger than itself 
and the Others, and neither is nor becomes older or younger 
than the Others, the One is aid wee and will be, and was 
becoming, is becoming, and will be becoming. "And, if we 
are right in all this, then there is an opinion and science 
and perception of the One" (155 d). 

Two conclusions may be drawn from the second hypothesis.
First, the One, by hypothesis, is no longer so 
separate and so isolated that nothing can be known or said 
of it, so that it is now said to be in time and becoming, 
\e{and} not in time and becoming. Second, it is, by the same 
token, \e{both} like and unlike itself. But this is far from 
the final doctrine of the \ul{Parmenides}. 

In the first hypothesis, the One was indivisibly One 
and nothing could be said or known of it. In the second 
hypothesis, the One is divisible and therefore, everything 
can be said and known of it. But this is nor more satisfactory
than before. Previously, we avoided contradictory 
predications at the expense of knowledge; now, we have 
knowledge, but it pays the price of contradictory predications.
Since it ia no more helpful to say everything of it 
than it is to say nothing of it, another way must be found 
to discuss the One intelligently. 

Hypothesis IIA interposes another method by which 
the One can be intelligently discussed. The One cannot be 
the bare unity of hypothesis I nor the divided unity of 
hypothesis II. Hypothesis IIA tries to see whether one can 
avoid the scandal of contradiction by making predications 
of the One at different instants, so that there will be no 
one time at which the contradictory predicates of hypothesis 
II need to be applied simultaneously. In its own way, it 
introduces some considerations of not-being, which, as we 
shall see, are pursued further in subsequent dialogues, 
especially in the \ul{Sophist}. 

If, as hypothesis II asserts, the One is divided, 
and partakes of time, it cannot both be and not be at the 
same time (155 a). (This is precisely what is to be proved). 
Therefore, there must be an instant between the instant 
when the One is (said to be anything) and the One is not 
(said to be anything) (156 a). Similarly, there must be an 
instant between its generation and its corruption. In the 
same way, there must be an instant between the instant 
when the One is in motion and the instant when the One is 
at rest, when it is like and when it is unlike, etc. The 
strange instant between the instants at which predication 
may be asserted is a very peculiar sort of instant, for, 
if the predicates which we assert of the One are asserted 
of the One insofar as it is in time, the instant between 
these instants cannot be in time, and might therefore be 
called not-time. Plato does not use this term. He calls it 
"queer instant" and says that the divided One of 
hypothesis II leads to the conclusion of contradictory
predicates, and that these cannot be simultaneously 
asserted (157 a). But if they cannot be asserted at the 
same instants, perhaps they can be asserted at different 
instants. Yet at any given instant, if we do not assert 
\e{both} sets of predicates \e{and} neither, (i.e., both affirm 
and deny them) this instant cannot be in time at all. 

Hypothesis IIA may be called the "linear" hypothesis, 
by which is meant that in it, time is examined as if it 
consisted of a series of instants, a sort of Zenoism of 
time, an imaginary line. Plato here applies the third 
man argument to a linear image of time, a series of 
instants, yet, if time is a series of instants, a third 
inatant will always be found between the two surrounding 
4netants at which predication is made. It seems that Plato 
here asserts that time cannot consist of a series of 
4nstants and that predication is made impossible by so 
viewing it. 

If becoming, motion, change, generation, alteration, 
and locomotion are in time, and their contraries are also 
in time, we cannot avoid the difficulty of contradictory 
predication by assuming that time is a series of instants, 
nor can we say that the pairs of predicates switch over 
from one instand to another in an interstitial instant. 
For, if a predicate is asserted of the first instant and 
the contradictory predicate is asserted of the third 
instant, at the point of the second instant, nothing can 
be asserted, and we are back to hypothesis I where we can 
neither affirm nor deny anything of the One. However, this 
philosophical gymnastic has not been unfruitful. We know 
now that the need to make intelligent statements about 
the One is not satisfied by assuming that it is a completely
separate One. We know that we cannot say that it is 
completely divided, for then it is really a Two. And we 
know that we cannot insert the instant between the One and 
the Two in order to fasten predicates on either end and 
allow the middle to be the transition, for then the middle 
is neither One nor Two. 

I hope it does no violence to the spirit of philosophical
continuity to say at this juncture that the remainder
of the \ul{Parmenides} may be briefly summarized. The 
\ul{Parmenides} does not attempt to solve its problem within 
itself, but leads one beyond it. The third hypothesis 
points out that parts in their multiplicity, and parts in 
their relation as parts of a whole, must be distinguished, 
and on this basis, their limitation and relative infinity 
can overcome the contrariety they seem to suggest. In this 
way we avoid the contradiction of saying that the parts 
are both limited and unlimited and therefore cannot be 
predicated of the One. In fact we must say that the parts 
participate in the One as parts, but that parts by them 
selves are merely unlimited. 

The fourth hypothesis considers the relation of the 
One to Others, that is, each part, as a One, has some of 
the properties of the Other insofar as it is a part. The 
fifth hypothesis considers the need to understand how the 
One, the parts, and the Others limit each other. (This 
point will be pursued at some length in the \ul{Philebus}). The 
sixth hypothesis examines the characteristic of the Other 
insofar as it is only other. The seventh hypothesis considers 
the result of assuming the existence of the many 
without assuming the existence of the One. This is said to 
result in mere opinion, which is inadequate precisely 
insofar as it sees only the many as many and ignores the 
many as parts of the whole. The elgth hypothesis points 
out that the assumption of the existence of the Many 
without the One results in a contradiction because without 
the One there is no Many. 

\secc Summary 

I would like to summarize the doctrine of the 
\ul{Parmenides} insofar as it pertains to the hypothesis of this 
study. It is, I think, an examination of the naive assumption
that the realm of the Forms in its bare unrelated 
purity renders intelligent predication, and therefore, all 
intelligent discourse, impossible. It asks how and in 
what way we may \e{both} speak of the Forms \e{and} speak of 
appearances without separating their respective realms. 
It states that the realms are related (in some way-hypothesis 
III) but it never really reveals this way with any 
precision or clarity. 

However, for the purposes of this study, an important, 
conclusion has been stated. We saw in hypothesis IIA, 
that it is not possible to regard time as a series of 
instants strung out along an imaginary line, and that the 
instant is, in some way, not-time, a "queer instant." 

As we shall see, in one of the next dialogues, the 
\ul{Sophist}, the generalization of this problem of not-time is 
examined: i.e., the problem of not-being. A new method of 
division of predicates is introduced in the \ul{Sophist} and 
developed in the \ul{Statesman}. The question of limit and 
measure is examined in the \ul{Philebus}, and, finally, the 
divisions of becoming and the nature of time are examined 
in the \ul{Timaeus}. 

However, between the \ul{Parmenides} and the \ul{Sophist} 
there is another dialogue which intervenes, the dialogue 
which is generally agreed to follow the \ul{Parmenides}. It 
seems to be the task of this next dialogue to examine the 
protagonists of hypothesis VII, in which it is said that 
there are those who hold that the Many exist and can be 
known. This is the subject of the \ul{Theatetus}. 

\secc The Theatetus 

This dialogue sets itself the problem of examining 
knowledge, and asks itself to answer such questions as 
"do we know," "how do we know," and "are there kinds of 
knowledge." Where the \ul{Parmenides} focused on the consequences
of hypothesizing that the realm of Forms is completely 
separated from the realm of things, the \ul{Theatetus} inquires 
into the basis of knowledge from the other direction, 
namely, it focuses on the world of things and seeks the 
basis for speaking of it intelligently and knowingly. 

In the interests of brevity, only those portions of 
the \ul{Theatetus} which are directly relevant to the analysis 
of the themes of eternity, image, and time will receive 
comment in what follows, and no implication should be drawn 
that the entire significance of the dialogue consists in 
these portions to the exclusion of other important aspects 
of the dialogue. It is the business of the following 
comments to focus on the significance of the problem of 
knowledge and the attendant problem of error to show that 
the \ul{Theatetus} constitutes something of an advance over the 
\ul{Parmenides} precisely because it takes some of the conclusions
of the \ul{Parmenides} into account. 

Theatetus suggests that knowledge is perception (151e). 
Socrates reminds Theatetus that this position makes all 
knowledge infallible, and that this same doctrine fits 
Heraclitus, Empedocles, and Homer, indeed, fits a whole 
tradition, with the single exception of Parmenides. 
According to this tradition,all things are in a perpetual 
becoming, and therefore we may not say that things are 
being or something, because they are all in flow and flux 
(152 6). In perception as well as in matters of the soul, 
motion, not rest, is the source of health, according to 
these philosophers. 

Socrates then reaches the conclusion that whatever 
appears can only be while it is appearing. He remarks 
"Let us follow out our recent statement and lay it down that 
there is no single thing that is in and by itself" (153 e), 
as if Socrates were testing the hypotheses of the Parmenides 
in the realm of perception. Thus we read "...nothing can 
become greater or less either in size or in number, so 
long as it remains equal with itself" (155 a). Again, we 
find "...a thing to which nothing is added and from which 
nothing is taken away is neither diminished nor increased, 
but always remains the same in amount" (155 a). And 
"...must we not say...that a thing which was not at an 
earlier instant cannot be at a later instant without 
becoming, and being in process of becoming" (155 b)? On 
the basis of these axioms, things both change and do not 
change and are perceived and are not perceived. "The 
conclusion from all this, is, as we said at the outset, 
that nothing is one thing by itself but is always in 
process of becoming for someone, and being is to be ruled 
out altogether" (157 b). All is flux, each is flux. 
Socrates wants to make sure that the point has been firmly 
made so he asks: "Once more, then, tell me whether you 
like this notion that nothing is but is always becoming 
good, or beautiful, or any of the other things we mentioned" (157 d). 

The bearing these questions have on the three themes 
of eternity, image, and time which we are pursuing is, 
briefly, this; perception deals with appearance and the 
world of appearance is a fluxion in which all things are 
becoming. Therefore, the forms cannot be located in a 
completely separate eternal realm which guarantees knowledge.
Yet we seem to know. The question is, are the images 
which perception furnishes us true because they are neither
eternal nor mere appearance? Plato is again posing 
the problem: how can the visible world participate in the 
eternal world? In the \ul{Theatetus}, the question becomes: do 
the images which perception gives us make possible a knowledge
of the eternal? 

Socrates reminds us that the "men of flux" constitute 
only one group, which is opposed by another group, consisting of Parmenides and Melissus, who hold that "all things 
are a unity which stays still by itself, having no room to 
move in. How are we to deal with all these combatants? For, 
little by little, our advance has brought us, without our 
knowing it, between the two lines..." (180 e). Socrates 
says that the inquiry will succeed best if the flux 
doctrine is examined, and if the re-examination of the 
forms is postponed (183 a). 

But let us not be deceived by the atatement that 
Parmenides' view is to be postponed. For, no sooner has 
Socrates said it, than he enters into discussion of what 
is known, and, asks whether all the things that we say we 
know are perceived by sense. We say, for example, that a 
flower is white and that the flower is. Surely the faculty 
that says it is white and no white and the faculty that 
says it is and is not, surely these cannot be the same 
faculty. 

\Q{You mean existence and non-existence, likeness and 
unlikeness, sameness and difference, and also unity 
and numbers in general as applied to them; and 
clearly your question covers even and odd and all 
that kind of notions. You are asking through what 
part of the body our mind perceives these? (185 c)}

\noindent Socrates congratulates Theatetus on reaching the conclusion 
that the mind is its own instrument in perceiving, since it 
saves him a long argument (185 e). Thus, we go beyond the 
statement that knowledge is perception, for we know the 
existence of a thing not by perception but by the mind's 
reflection on something perceived (186 e). And this 
reflection is temporal, for all those qualities of which 
we spoke (the Parmenidean pairs of contraries) "seem to me 
above all to be things whose being is considered, one in 
comparison with another, by the mind, when it reflects 
upon the past and present with an eye to the future" (186 a). 
Such reflections upon perception only come, if they come at 
all, to those who go through a long and troublesome process 
of education (186 c). For, if one cannot reach the existence
of a thing, he cannot reach the truth (186 c). 

Welcome as it seems, this statement only pushes the 
difficulty further back. If the mind's reflection on 
itself is like two voices of the mind speaking to each 
other, why do we assume that the voices always agree. 
Cannot the voices of the mind disagree; in short, are all 
judgments necessarily true? We dismissed Protagoras because 
he made all perceptions infallible: are we to say we have 
gone beyond his position only to assert that all judgments 
are infallible (187 a).

The suggested approach to the problem of false 
judgment is the famous allegory of the wax tablet (191b ff.). 
We are asked to imagine that the mind contains a wax 
tablet and that ite quality varies in different people: 
some have good, clear, firm, wax, others have unclear, 
muddy, soft, wax, and so the images which perception 
imprints on the tablet vary. In addition, the strength of 
the imprint varies. Images are the gifts of Memory, so that, 
in any act of knowledge, we must now distinguish the memory 
image, the perception (the present image) and the mind's 
knowledge (reflection on images with "an eye to the 
future"). 

Notice that the basis of this division is temporal, 
and not a static hierarchy. Images are not discarded merely 
because they are "low," and knowledge is not better merely 
because it is "high": we are now asked to see that false 
judgments can arise out of faulty matching of remembered 
images, present images, and reflections on images with 
"an eye to the future." This is a significant advance 
over the \ul{Republic}. 

The discussion of knowledge is further complicated 
because we may confuse past images with present images, 
past perceptions with present perceptions, past knowledge
with present knowledge, and each of these may be faulty 
both by reason of faulty wax, varying strengths of impres- 7 
sion, or mismatching. Even Theatetus complains of the 
complexity. In addition, we have again only pushed the 
difficulty further back, because we are assuming that the 
mind is infallible, and that is just the problem we wanted 
to investigate. "That was the very ground on which we 
were led to make out that there could be no such thing as 
false judgment: it was in order to avoid the conclusion 
that the same man must at the same time know and not know 
the same thing" (196 c). 

Socrates reminds Theatetus that the whole conversation
assumes both that we know, and that we do not know, 
what we say. If we do not assume that we can know, 
conversation is impossible (197 a); If we do not assume that we may 
not know, all knowledge is infallible. 

Another allegory is introduced to supplement the 
wax tablet. It is the allegory of the Aviary. Where the 
allegory of the wax tablet was concerned with images and 
the possibilities of conflict between images and reflections 
on images, the allegory of the Aviary is concerned with 
flying birds, which symbolize reflections i.e., thoughts. 
Although reflection upon images gives rise to thoughts, 
these thoughts soar and must be recaptured in recollection 
4f we are really to know. Here again we are shown that 
there is a temporal emphasis to be placed on the acts of 
knowledge, for, in a sense, knowing is relearning what we 
knew before (198 e). Yet, if we ask whether some of these 
recollections might not also be false, we see that the 
criterion of true knowledge remains to be found (200 b). 

Perhaps there is no way to define knowledge, and we 
must content ourselves with the statement that perception 
gives rise to true belief and opinion. 

Socrates shows that this conclusion is due to an 
inaccuracy. For example, he says, the syllable was not, 
until the letters were combined in just that fashion; it 
is a one \e{after} its parts become parts of it (204 a). Here 
is another recapitulation of the arguments of the \ul{Parmenides}.
It is the same with number: a sum is not a sum 
\e{until} its component integers are added, and only thereafter 
is it one sum (204 e). But this is the distinction to be 
made (as it was made in the \ul{Parmenides}): the whole consists 
of the parts; not just any parts, considered in themselves, 
as unrelated ones, but parts as related. In other words, 
the difficulty is only apparent, and it vanishes as soon 
as we see that the whole and the parts are not two different
things in isolation but related aspect of a One (205 b). 

\Q{To conclude, then; if, on the one hand, the 
syllable is the same thing as a number of 
letters and is a whole with the letters as 
parts, then the letters must be neither 
more nor less knowable and explicable than 
syllables, since we made out that all the 
parts are the same thing as the whole (205 a).}

\noindent Therefore, Socrates concludes that those who hold that the 
elements or the whole are more or less knowable than each 
other, are playing with us. We can know the elements, as 
parts, and therefore, an opinion with an account is 
knowledge. 

But what is an account (\e{logos})? It cannot be only an 
enumeration of parts as isolated parts (207 e). The other 
meaning might be "the image of thought spoken in sound"
or language (208 c). This is the problem, not the answer. 
Perhaps marking off a thing and distinguishing it from all 
others constitutes a good account (208 d). An account will 
then mean putting the thing's "difference" into words. (209a) 
But Socrates quickly shows that we must first \e{know} the 
common to distinguish the different, which begs the question
of knowledge. (209 e) Therefore it does not seem true 
to say that knowledge is opinion with an account of 
difference, unless we already know the common on the basis 
of which we distinguish the difference. (Although this is 
what we do, it is not a definition of knowledge since it 
includes "knowing the common" in its "definition"). 

The dialogue ends a few lines later with Socrates 
saying that all the definitions of knowledge so far 
adduced are mere "wind-eggs" (210 b). Theatetus is told 
that the mid-wife's art is a heavenly gift which Socrates 
uses on those in whom beauty resides, and that as a result 
of this gymnastic they have engaged in, Theatetus will 
thereafter be better enabled to know what knowledge is. 
The conclusion, on the surface, is that we know, but cannot 
define what knowledge is. Actually, we have said several 
things about what it is not, and therefore Theatetus has 
made progress along the "long way" which is required for 
this sort of knowledge. That is why the last words of the 
dialogue are "But tomorrow morning, Theatetus, let us 
meet again" (210 d). 

\secc Summary 

What have we learned about eternity, moving images, 
and time? A great deal, it seems. And what we have learned 
cannot be separated from the doctrines of the dialogues we 
have considered so far. We see in the \ul{Theatetus} that some 
of the positions of the \ul{Republic} and of the \ul{Parmenides} have 
been reexamined and certain modifications have taken place. 
We know now that knowledge must include, but is not 
exhaustively defined by, moving images of thought, (birds); 
that we cannot refer to parts in isolation but must discuss 
them as they are related in a One; that the mere enumeration 
of elements does not comprise an explanation; and, above all, 
that we know, but do not know how we know. In addition, 
and perhaps this is the most striking conclusion of all, 
we have seen that the mind can be viewed as conversing 
with itself, and that this internal dialogue consists of 
the attempt to put images and reflection on the past, 
present, and future in their right order. We have advanced 
far beyond the naive view that the mind is a static camera 
whose job it is to escape the transient shadows of perception
in a flight to eternal forms. We are now told that it 
is the task of mind to discern the right temporal order of 
its ingredients, so to speak. However, even after all 
these things have been done, we still do not have a 
definition of knowledge. The important point to notice is 
that the steps and hypotheses of the \ul{Theatetus} are no 
longer regarded as inferior but as necessary preliminaries 
in the "long way" which the mind must take to true knowledge. 

Somehow, we have found, not what knowledge is, but 
what complete knowledge is not. This insight, namely, that 
somehow what is not, in some way, must be included in what 
is, will be examined in the next dialogue, the \ul{Sophist}, 
which can, from certain points of view, be regarded as a 
triumphant breakthrough into another whole way of philosophizing. 

\secc The Sophist 

We enter now into the series of dialogues unanimously
regarded as the late group, in which Plato's evolved 
reflections are to be found. The \ul{Sophist} begins with a 
dramatic introduction which includes the participants of the 
\ul{Theatetus}, but now we meet an additional person, an Eleatic 
Stranger. This scems to be the fulfillment of the \ul{Theatetus}' 
promise to consider the Parmenidean approach to truth 
after the \ul{Theatetus} dealt with the "men of flux." It is 
further interesting to note that the Stranger begins the 
whole dialogue by using a method which is unavailable to 
the men of flux, namely, the method of division, which 
seemed to the men of flux to presume knowledge, not to 
seek it. (This point will be expanded in the \ul{Statesman}). 
The Stranger does not allude to this hypothetical difficulty,
and he employs the method without question. This confirms
the hint that we are now to inspect the heritage of 
the \ul{Parmenides}, not in the manner of the \ul{Theatetus}, nor 
exactly in the manner of the \ul{Parmenides}, but in some new 
way to deal with philosophical inquiry. And, as we shall 
see, we are told new things about eternity, images, and time. 

It is agreed that a trial run of this method should 
be had before the \ul{Sophist} is defined, and they agree to 
use an easy example, the angler one familiar to them all. 
This is important because it assumes the results of the 
\ul{Theatetus}; the angler is at once a familiar experience but 
an undefined reality. 

The definition of the Angler is reached, and the 
method of "halving" is satisfactorily put to the test. 
What is of special interest to us here is the difference 
between this kind of division, and the method of elimination
which Plato had previously used in the \ul{Republic}. 
In the sort of dividing which Plato accomplishes here, it 
is necessary for the divider to proceed very carefully and 
to divide the subject into exact halves, so that only 
what actually pertains to the subject is retained and 
what ta found not to pertain to the subject nevertheless 
reveals something about the subject (221 b). If the 
division is not well made, the remainder will contain too 
much, that is, the definition will remain too vague. Only 
by carefully determining what something is not can one 
reach a precise knowledge of what something is. Thus it is 
incorrect to equate the method of division which we find 
in the \ul{Sophist} to the method of residues which we confronted 
in the \ul{Republic}. The latter proceeds by eliminating classes 
of objects, the former by dividing within a class of 
objects. 

It is necessary to notice, however, that the Stranger 
provides the divisions, and that Plato passes over the 
fact that in some way the Stranger knows what divisions are 
most helpful. It is almost as if the Stranger already has a 
higher wisdom. In other words, he does not draw his 
distinctions from appearance, but somehow draws them from 
a higher kind of knowledge. It is important to emphasize 
this point because it is in strong contrast to the method 
advocated by the men of flux in the \ul{Theatetus}. 

Having defined the Angler, Socrates now attempts to 
define the Sophist. To those he convinces, the Sophist 
seems to know all things, and to be versed in every art, 
but such competence is impossible. Now we approach the 
central concern. For the Sophist cannot truly be what he 
claims to be, yet he certainly appears to be. Appearance 
and reality cannot be the same, yet the question is, how 
do they differ. This question might be called the most 
important question in all of Plato's dialogues so far. The
definition of the Sophist, then, is a case in point: we 
are to investigate this partisuien gentleman, as we 
investigated the Angler, in order to discover how reality 
is, and what appearance seems to be; in the language of 
this study, how the eternal forms are related to the temporal 
world. 

The Stranger asserts that the Sophist is an imitator, 
and that sufficient division of the imitative art will 
reveal him. Just as imitation may be divided in two kinds, 
so the images which imitation produces are of two kinds; 
some images (\e{eikastike}) are like reality in that they are 
faithful to the proportions of the original (235 d); others 
distort the proportions of the reality, and these we shall 
call fantasies (\e{phantastike}) (236 b). But now the problem 
becomes even greater, because to distinguish the image 
from the reality we have to say that the image is not the 
reality. How can a man say what is not true, or assert the 
existence of what is not. The word which Parmenides forbade 
Must be uttered---not-being (237 a). No sooner do we 
distinguish the image from the reality than we distinguish 
not-being from being. At this point, Plato leaps beyond the 
level of Parmenides' and of his own earlier philosophy, and 
reaches out into virgin territory. And at this point, 
Plato's most crucial discussion of the meaning of the word 
image is begun. 

Surely, the Stranger asserts, we cannot just say 
that what ia, is not. Yet we say "not0being" as if it were 
a singular; we say "not-beings" in the plural. We agree 
that not-being is unutterable and inconceivable, and yet 
we speak the words; in short, in the act of saying we 
cannot say it, we are saying it (238 c). This is the dark 
hole into which the Sophist retreats when we try to refute 
him, for, if we say that an opinion of his is false, we 
assert that it is-not true, and in so doing, we assert 
that it is-not, and he therby chides us on this contradiction 
(239 a). This is precisely what happens if we ask 
him what an image is. "How can I describe an image except 
as \e{another} made in the likeness of the true" (240 a). But 
1f it is \e{other} than the true, it is \e{other} than what is, and 
hence it isenot. The Stranger then begs not to be accused 
of patricide, for, if they are to catch the Sophist in their 
dialectical trap, the philosophy of Parmenides must be put 
to the test (241 d). In a certain sense, we must say that 
not-being is, and being is-not. 

The Stranger then says that the predicament in which 
they now find themselvea is due to the fact that the former 
philosophers treated their hearers with disdain, as if 
dealing with children. They followed their arguments whereever 
they led and left the children to wonder at their 
meanings, because they spoke in myths, among which he 
classes the One and the Many (242 e), the myths of strife 
and peace, the three principles at war in the soul, the 
moist and the dry, and includes in this group the Ionian 
and Sicilian explanations in mythical garb (242 d). He 
says that a discussion of most of these myths may be 
deferred to a later occasion; at present, the chief of 
iheus will be discussed; the myth of the One and the Many. 

The Stranger proceeds to recapitulate several of the 
points made in the \ul{Parmenides}, citing this as the main 
difficulty among all those presented by the myth-makers. 
He shows that both the unity and the existence of a One 
cannot be the same parts, nor can any of the pairs of 
predicates be reduced to a simple identity, since, if one 
of a pair is chosen as being, the other must then be other 
than being, i.e., not-being (245 d). 

The materialists who claim that only the tangible 
exists are then subjected to a critique. Their opponents 
are also brought forward, and these are the "friends of the 
Forms," who disolve tangible realities in a sea of corruption
and generation. None of these schools, Plato tells us, 
are able to deal intelligently with the question now before 
them: the question of not-being. Having reached this point, 
Plato can no longer choose from existing alternatives. The 
Stranger says "Let us improve them, if we can" (245 e). 
The doctrine he develops to accomplish this improvement is 
the doctrine for which this dialogue is noted, the doctrine 
of not-being. It must be shown how justly this doctrine may 
be said to constitute an advance, by comparing and 
contrasting it to earlier philosophies. For example, if, 
on the one hand, the materialists were to admit that there 
is a difference between things and thoughts, they would 
be forced to admit that there are some incorporeal 
existences, and if this were admitted, they could be asked 
Whether being is common to both. If pa the other hand, the 
friends of the Forms distinguish between what is and what 
is generated, both being and generation will have to share 
in something common, just as the materialists had to admit 
that something was common to things and thoughts (248 e). 
Now both the materialists and the friends of the Forms are 
caught. As soon as the friends of the Forms admit that 
knowing and being known are different, that one is active 
and one is passive, they will see that one is powerful, the 
other is not. Thus the Stranger suggests that Being is 
Power. If the friends of the Forms deny this, by claiming 
that knowing is only a motion as in generation, there will 
be no knowledge at all. So there must be motion in knowing. 
"and, Oh Heavens, can we ever be made to believe that 
motion and life and soul and mind are not present with 
Being. Can we imagine Being to be devoid of life and mind, 
and to remain in awful unmeaning and everlasting fixture"
(248 e)? Clearly, they cannot. Therefore, "We must 
include motion under being, and that which is moved" (249 b). 

As we shall see, this is an important anticipation 
of the \ul{Timaeus}. And yet, if all things are in motion, there 
can be no sameness or permanence or relation to the same. 
The philosopher must be equally deaf to those who say all 
is in motion and to those who say there is no motion. Somehow, 
we must have both, yet somehow we can have neither 
alone. Further, if we have only a third, this third will 
not be either nor will it be both (250 b). 

This is not the place for a long discussion of the 
Stranger's solution to this difficulty. We are interested 
only in its relevance to the themes of eternity, image, and 
time. Suffice it to say that, in the following brief 
summary, I am all too aware of the danger of flatly stating 
the results of a long philosophical process. However, 
brevity must be attempted. 

We see, then, that being and not-being are equally 
perplexing. The Stranger suggests that we try to work out 
the doctrine of not-being, in the realm of predication. Can 
we say that all of the Forms indicated by names, of which 
there are thousands of pairs, can be mixed with each other, 
or only that some forms mix, or must we say that no forms 
mix (251 d). 

These tentative conclusions are tested on the 
examples of grammar and music, where we see now that only 
some letters go with certain others, and only certain 
notes go with certain others. Similarly, he who develops 
the art which knows which of the forms go with which other 
forms, is truly the philosopher, and the art of division 
is his art and his alone. 

The philosopher knows that Rest and Motion, Same and 
Other, are the most general divisions of being, although he 
is hard to see by excess of light (254 a). (As we saw in 
the \ul{Republic} cave). Rest and Motion do not communicate with 
each other, but being communicates with them both. Same and 
Other do not communicate with each other, but being 
communicates with them both. But Motion and Rest communicate 
with Same and Other, and therefore, Motion is both Same 
and Other than being. In other words, Motion is both 
being and not-being. And Rest is both being and not-being. 
And Same is both being and not-being. "Every class, than, 
has plurality of being and infinity of not-being" (256 e). 
And 

\Q{Whereas, we have not only shown that things which 
are not exist, but we have also shown what form 
of being not-being is; for we have shown that the 
nature of the other exists and is distributed over 
all things in their mutual relations, and when each 
part of the other is contrasted with being, that is 
precisely what we have ventured to call not-being. (258 e)}

There is one last refuge, the realm of images, into 
which the Sophist will now try to escape. The Sophist will 
contend that only some images partake of falsity, but the 
ones that he uses do not. Images are again divided, as 
before, into two sorts, the images which are like the 
original in proportion, and the others, which are fantasies 
and distortions. If the art of philosophical division will 
be applied to images, the Sophist will be deprived of his 
last refuge (264 e). 

Since images are either divinely produced or humanly 
produced (265 b), the Stranger himself suggests that they 
discuss divinely produced images at greater length. 

\Q{Looking now at the world and all the animals and 
plants which grow upon the earth from seeds and 
roots, and at inanimate substances which form 
within the earth, fusile or non-fusile, shall we 
say that they come into existence, not having 
existed previously, in any way but by creation 
of God, or shall we agree with vulgar opinion 
about them? (265 c)}

Notice that the creation of the world is spoken 
in a context of a division of \e{images,} not of \e{Forms.} Plato 
will expand on this point at much greater length when he 
reaches the \ul{Timaeus}, but now, since Theatetus agrees with 
him the Stranger says he will postpone this extended 
discussion: right now he wants to trap the Sophist, once 
and for all. 

We now confront, yet again, a divided line. But, 
like the previous discussion of images, it is a more 
developed doctrine than it was in the \ul{Republic}. Having 
divided image-making into human and divine, we now must 
divide images into genuine images and fantasies (266 e). 
Thus, there are both human and divine images, and human 
and divine fantasies. As an example of divine images 
which are genuine, we have the whole world of things. As 
an example of fantasies, we have shadows caused by things 
interrupting firelight, as in the analogy of the cave. 
Human images can be seen in those genuine imitations which 
preserve the proportions of the originals, as for example 
in true speech. The next subdivision, false images, or 
human fantasies, is found to be the realm of the Sophist. 

One further division remains. He who imitates and 
knows that he imitates genuinely, is not a Sophist, but a 
philosopher. It is the Sophist who imitates fantasies. 

\secc Summary 

What have we learned from this dialogue, with reference 
to the themes of eternity, image, and time. Obviously, 
the most significant doctrinal advances were made with 
respect to images, where we learn that their production is 
both a human and a divine art. But more deeply, it has 
emerged that not-being cannot be divided absolutely from 
being, and that the entire realm of things is suffused with 
both being and not-being. One is tempted to assert that 
the gap between the realms of eternity and time has been 
closed, but Plato has not explicitly said this and the 
adoption of this conclusion would be premature. What has 
been explicitly shown is that the Parmenidean isolation of 
the One, beyond all predication and therefore beyond all 
time is unfruitful, and Plato has advanced beyond the 
Parmenidean position. The realm of the Forms cannot be a 
separate realm, as it was described in foregoing dialogues. 
Just as we have advanced from a faulty conception of being 
through a notion of not-being, so we have advanced from a 
faulty notion of the realm of the Forms through notions 
of what the Forms are not. Of time, we are told little in 
an explicit way. But one should notice that the Parmenidean 
"queer instant," what we have called "not-time" has been 
generalized, for the Sophist shows that not-being is to 
being what not-time is to time. 

\secc The Statesman 

The participants of this dialogue begin their 
dialectical search for the definition of the Statesman, 
utilizing the method of division developed in the \ul{Sophist}. 
But, the Eleatic Stranger now cautions the hearers not to 
divide arbitrarily and too quickly, but to make sure that 
the divisions they follow in the argument are real divisions
into real classes, and not arbitrary divisions for 
which names are invented. 

The general point deserves to be underscored. Plato 
is reminding us that division which proceeds only in haste 
to reach a fore-ordained conclusion is sophistic. Such a 
division ignores the fact, established in the \ul{Sophist}, that 
not all classes communicate with each other, and so division
must follow the lines which mark off real classes from 
fantasies. "We must not attempt too general a division of 
the class..." (263 e). "More haste...(means)...less 
speed" (264 b). It is especially necessary to draw out 
the implication that an empirical acquaintance with classes 
of objects is necessary for the process of right division. 

the dialogue proceeds with the method of dividing 
until it reaches the conclusion that the Statesman is he 
who uses the predictive art of knowledge, runs herds of 
living things, which live on land, who are hornless, who 
do not interbreed with other classes of animals, and who 
are two-footed. But the Stranger is not satisfied (267a,b,c). 
For, unlike the shepherd, the Statesman's right to rule is 
disputed by the herd. A new beginning must be made. 'the 
Stranger announces that he will approach the subject by 
employing a myth. But the Stranger says that his tale is 
not to be a retelling of the familiar myth of Kronos, but 
the Stranger's own version, which, he says, is the basis 
of all such stories. In so saying, Plato undercuts the 
myths he has told in the preceding dialogues, from the myth 
of Er in the \ul{Republic}, through and including the One and 
Many, which he presents and criticises, respectively, in 
the \ul{Parmenides} and the \ul{Sophist}. We shall see that even the 
myth of Kronos shall be transcended in the \ul{Timaeus}. 

The Stranger tells us that the universe was once 
helped in its rotation by the god who framed it in the 
beginning, but that it completed its circle of rotation 
and then set itself in rotation in the opposite direction. 
It did so of its own natural \e{necessity,} which the Stranger 
will now explain (269 d). 

It is the only prerogative of divine things to be 
steadfast and abiding, but the universe, since it partakes 
of the bodily, cannot enjoy this rank. However, as far as 
possible, it will have uniform rotation (269 e), and 
rotation in reverse is at least in a uniform direction, 
which is as close to the divine as it can be. Even the 
divine god could not change this direction for it would 
violate eternal decrees. Therefore, there are many things 
we cannot say of this universe: neither that it revolves 
entirely by itself, nor that the god revolves it in its 
entirety, nor that a pair of divinities revolve it in 
opposite directions (270 a). In one era it is moved by the 
god and has its own sort of immortality, in another era it 
revolves by itself of its own momentun. 

At the time when the reversal of rotation takes 
place, human life experiences great changes. The course of 
life itself reverses, and the old grow younger and younger 
become children and finally wither away (270 e). On the 
other hand, the race of eartheborn men, long dead, now are 
reborn out of the earth, as they were in the former 
rotation (271 c). 

Since a reversal of motion takes place at both the 
restoration of proper motion and at the onset of reversal, 
the Stranger tells about the time when the universe was 
helped in its rotation by the god. In that era, all things 
came about without men's labor. When this god was shepherd, 
there were no political constitutions and no personal 
possession of wives or children, since all men rose up 
fresh out of the earth with no memories. (This is the 
analogue of the "waters of forgetfulness" in the myth of 
Er). Neither did they need clothing or beds but disported 
themselves in the open. Such was the reign of Kronos (272 b). 

"The crucial question is---did the nurselings of Kronos 
make a right use of their time?" (272 b) They certainly had 
the opportunity to engage in philosophy, since they had 
the requisite leisure, and if they did, their happiness 
would be a thousandfold greater than ours. "Be that as it 
may, let us leave this question aside until we find someone
(Timaeus?) who can inform us accurately whether or not 
their hearts were set on gaining knowledge and engaging 
in discussion." (272 d)

When the era of Kronos came to an end, the drastic 
experiences of reversal of motion again took place. The 
god released his helping hand and a great shock went 
through the earth. It tried to follow out the instructions 
given to it by its father, but gradually the bodily element 
gained sway, and it approached the primordial chaos out of 
which it had been fashioned (273 b). At this moment, the 
god again beholds it, and seeing its time of trouble, again 
resumes the helm. 

But we are not now in the era of Kronos. It has now 
been ordained that the universe must take sole responsibility
for its course, and, following and imitating the change 
in the universe, all things have to change, and, in 
particular, a new law of birth and nurture is now binding 
on all creatures (274 8). Since we do not have this 
guardianship of the god to follow, but, "imitating the 
universe and following it through all time, we live and 
grow at one time in this way and at another time in 
that" (274 e). As we shall see, the \ul{Timaeus} advances beyond 
these doctrines, especially beyond this particular doctrine 
of necessity. 

The relevance of this myth to the definition of the 
Statesman is now revealed by the Stranger. Since there are, 
in either era of rotation, men who were sired in the former 
era, we must be careful to look for the right models of the 
Statesman. In the era of the gods' rule, the shepherds 
experience no strife, since all is in harmony; but in the 
subsequent era, the shepherd is forced of \e{necessity} to care 
for a strife-torn flock. Which of these is the Statesman 
most like (275 a)? 

Before answering this, let us note that there are 
several features of the myth of Kronos, as the Stranger 
composes it, which pertain to our tracing the themes of 
time, image, and eternity. We are told that the unlverse 
is framed by inserting order into chaos, that time is 
governed by the motion of the revolving universe, and that 
the bodily element is the cause of the corruption and decay 
of an era. This would seem to reverse the claim of the 
mature character of the \ul{Statesman}, since it resembles the 
doctrine of bodily imperfection, an early doctrine. However, 
it is a children's tale, and, as we shall see, Plato will 
not allow it to pass without criticism. The most important 
feature, for our purposes, is the intimacy with which the 
notion of right rule is connected with the right time and 
the right revolution of the spheres. We have come far from 
the bland assertion that there is a single pattern laid up 
in heaven which he who is willing can easily discern. Now 
we are charged with the need to see how right order in the 
state is dependent on the order of the heavens because they 
are linked by time. We should further note the \ul{Statesman}'s 
anticipation of the \ul{Timaeus} in its description of the 
demiurge and the world soul in the universe described as a 
living creature. 

It emerges that the whole reason for the recounting 
of the Kronos myth was to show that the first image of the 
Statesman was incorrect, because it really represented a 
Statesman from the wrong cosmic cycle, innapropriate to 
the cycle we are now following (275). The shepherd of the 
other cycle is much more like a divine shepherd, whereas our 
cycle seems to produce tyrants. Even so, the myth of Kronos 
4s insufficient, and it is said to be too long. It was 
assumed that a grand myth was necessary, as fitting kingly 
responsibility, but, as usual, we went too fast in our 
haste to arrive at a definition (277 b). 

The Stranger admits that it is difficult to explain 
anything without the use of examples, and he is now in the 
strange predicament of using examples to explain his 
doctrine of examples (277 d)! The familiar pedagogical 
device of the alphabet is again resuscitated, and the use 
of known syllables next to unknown syllables is put forward 
as an instance in which similarities and differences can 
be distinguished (278 b). Our own mind reacts the same 
way to the letters with which the universe is spelled out. 
(Again, the cosmological concern) The Stranger admits 
however, that notwithstanding his familiarity with the 
letters in one combination it is difficult to recognize 
them in another setting (278 d). 

Another analogy is introduced, and this time it is 
the weaver's art. A long semi-technical discussion of 
weaving arrives at the fact that the weaver is a uniter, 
but he needs the carder, who separates fibers, so that the 
weavers art consists of both separating and combining (283b) 
In other words, the proper art of dialectic consists in the 
skillful handling of both the warp and the woof of being, 
or, as we saw in the \ul{Sophist}, the correet analysis of 
being and not-being. It is noteworthy that the Stranger 
here, as he did in the \ul{Sophist}, agrees to supply the 
divisions, or else the argument would have become interminable.
Here is another hint that he who uses the method of 
division must know in advance where he is going, a point 
which the men of flux advanced. But, instead of confronting 
this objection head-on, the Stranger attacks it from 
another direction; through the question of relative 
measure, of excess and of defect. 

It is quickly ascertained that if the greater is 
greater only by relation to the smaller, and the smaller is 
smaller only by relation to the greater, there is no way 
to say what is right in itself (283 e). Therefore, there 
must be a standard of wieaeuse to which they both approximate
in some way. (And so the Forms are reasserted.) In the 
same manner, if there were no standard, there would be no 
way of dividing the unjust from the just man, nor, for 
that matter, would it be possible to discern the right 
practice of any art. "Must we not do now what we had to do 
when we discussed the Sophist. We felt constrained there 
to admit that what is not-$x$ nevertheless exists..." (284 b) 
So there must be two standards of measure, one having to do 
with measures relative to each other, and the second those 
which "comprise arts concerned with due measure, due 
occasion, due time, due performance, and all such standards 
as have removed their abode from the extremes and are now 
settled about the mean" (284 e). This seems to refer to 
the Pythagoreans, who assert that measure has to do with 
all things brought into being, but who fail to see that 
there are two sorts of measure, and who therefore are 
prohibited from seeing that there are real classes of 
things with affinities for one another, just as there are 
real differences between some things which therefore have 
no affinity for one another (285 a--c). It is necessary 
to divide according to real classes, not merely to divide 
every item from every other. This is another recapitulation 
of the \ul{Sophist}: only some forms communicate with each 
other. 

This view is asserted in another way when the Stranger 
says, 

\Q{Some of the things that have true existence and are 
easy to understand have images in nature which are 
accesible to the senses, so that when someone asks 
for an account of any one of them, one has no 
trouble at alleone can simply point to the sensible 
image and dispense with any account in words. But 
to the highest and most important class of existents 
(being) there are no corresponding images, no work 
of nature clear for all to look upon. (285 e)}

In short, the classes of being have images, but being 
itself does not. The important political corollary of this 
becomes evident in the Stranger's description of the 
unlikelihood of the many ever achieving the art of statecraft,
since the true science of statecraft is like the 
true science of being: it has no images, and it would be 
quite out of the question to look for fifty kings at any 
one time. (292 e)

It is important here to comment on what has been 
said about the lack of images of being, for, at first 
sight, it seems to contradict the trend we have been 
tracing through the late dialogues. Plato has told us (in 
the \ul{Sophist}) that only some of the classes of being 
communicate with each other, and he reminds us of it here. 
When he says that there are no images of being, he seems to 
mean, that there are no sensory images for the sort of 
pure unmixed being which Parmenides described. But we have 
already seen another sort of being in the \ul{Sophist}. The 
lack of images, then, pertains to the classes of being, 
not to being as such nor to beings as such. 

I do not wish to enter into a lengthy exegesis of the 
\ul{Statesman} concerning law and political philosophy. Let it 
suffice here to write that the Statesman should posess the 
true art of law-making, that this art depends on his real 
knowledge, of which the laws will be images, and that he 
shall have to weave the special knowledge of the special 
departments of life together as best he can, for he can best 
do so. Those who follow those laws, and who know them to be 
images, live in Justice. Those who follow the laws and do 
not know they are images, at least follow a just life 
unknowingly. (291--300)

The final task of the dialogue is to describe how 
the life of the state is woven by the Statesman. We are 
confronted with the daring statement that the virtues which 
comprise the state are, in contradistinction to those 
described in the \ul{Republic}, \e{not} at harmony with each other, 
which means that the several parts of goodness are actue 
ally not in accord (306 c). What is the Statesman to do 
about this? He is to establish a training program to 
bring out the best qualities of future citizens, some of 
whom will have opposite virtues. He weaves both sorts into 
the fabric of the state, some forming the warp and some 
forming the woof. This training program "first unites that 
element in their soul which is eternal, by a divine bond, 
since it is akin to the divine. After this divine bond, it 
will in turn unite their animal nature by human bonds" 
(309 b). In short, the Statesman will implant in every 
citizen in the state what we would call a sense of values, 
whether they understand them to be of eternal origin or 
not, and he will accomplish the insertion of this warp by 
a clever weaving of the woof, the human element. In this 
way, citizens will at least imitate, albeit unknowingly, 
their right measure and true standard. More specifically, 
the Statesman will require those who give evidence of 
divine wisdom to intermarry with those who seem without it, 
and so interweave the divine and the human. Thus for 
example, instead of inbreeding a race of warriors who will 
eventually get out of hand by sheer power of zeal, or, on 
the other hand, inbreeding a race of perennial moderates 
who never dare to invent, the Statesman will see to it 
that there are cross fertilizations of these two breeds. 
In this way the best weave is had, which marries the 
gentle to the brave. Socrates ends the dialogue by saying 
"You have drawn to perfection, sir, the image of the true 
king and statesman" (311 c). 

\secc Summary 

After a rather comical beginning, the Statesman 
quickly discards the first definition of the Statesman. 
The Myth of Kronos is put between it and the next attempt, 
and it results are that the Statesman must have a real 
knowledge of the rotation of the universe in order to 
ascertain the right time for the right kind of image of 
the ruler. There are certain necessities of cosmic motion 
which must be imitated in the ruler's art. The Pythagoreans 
are chided for their remorseless division without regard 
for real classes and true dialectic. 

But perhaps the clearest indication of Plato's 
development of the themes of eternity, image, and time in 
this dialogue is to be found in the view that the true 
Statesman is he who weaves the being and not-being of 
opposing virtues into the fabric of the state, an eternal 
warp and a temporal woof, which are to be interbred via 
marriage across real classes. 

Two themes stand out as clear anticipations of the 
\ul{Timaeus}: the concern for cosmological time, in the myth 
of Kronos, and the introduction of the sexual allegory, 
which, as we shall see, in the \ul{Timaeus}, is generalized. 

However, before we reach the \ul{Timaeus}, we must see 
how the \ul{Philebus} treats these themes. 

\secc The Philebus 

If one approaches the \ul{Philebus} with the expectation 
that it will deal with some of the topics of the Statesman 
in a more developed manner, its opening passages seem to be 
anachronistic, for the dialogue begins with a discussion of 
the relative merits of pleasure and wisdom (11 a), subjects 
discussed in great detail in the \ul{Republic}. But it soon 
becomes apparent that the discussion will be anything but 
a simple repetition. For example, when Socrates asks 
whether there might not be a third state even better than 
pleasure or wisdom, or whether some mixture of the two is 
preferable, we see that the theme of mixture, as introduced 
in the \ul{Sophist} and evolved in the \ul{Statesman}, is actually to 
be reexamined in the context of an ethical inquiry. 

It is agreed that there are many pleasures, each of 
which differ from the others. This simple observation 
serves to reintroduce the problem of the One and the Many 
on an ethical level, and with this reintroduction, we will 
be confronted with the modifications and developments which 
the subjects of pleasure and wisdom must receive in the 
light of Plato's later reflections. Thus, it is agreed 
that unity and diversity of pleasures is "the same old 
argument" (13 c). Somehow, the unity and diversity of 
pleasure must be understood, not in the old way, but in a 
new way. The key to the new way is the principle of 
Difference. 

It is said that this principle of Difference is a 
marvel of nature because it asks us to affirm that "one 
would be many or many one" (13 e). No one any longer argues 
that it is marvelous to assert that Socrates is many and 
one because he has many limbs but is only one Socrates: 
everyone has agreed to dismiss this as childish (14 d). 

Here the initial impression of anachronism fades 
completely, for the passage clearly asserts that it is 
childish to continue to play on the words "one" and "many" 
now that the \ul{Parmenides} and the \ul{Sophist} and the \ul{Statesman} 
have advanced so far beyond this verbal naivete. He who 
asserts that the One or the Beautiful or the Good have a 
real existence which in some way is beyond generation or 
destruction, introduces a problem of far greater import 
than the problem of matching names and things (15 a). For, 
if these Forms are real, and if they are always the same, 
or if they are said to have a permanent individuality, he 
who asserts these propositions is dealing with matters of 
greater depth than seems at first apparent. In the same 
way, if one asserts that these Forms can be dispersed and 
multiplied in the world of generation and the endless 
number of things which compose this world, he involves 
himself ina difficulty, for he seems to assert that the 
Forms are at once what they are in themselves and \e{at the 
same time} in the world of many things (15 c). In short, 
he who asserts that there are many pleasures and who says 
at the same time that Pleasure is a One, involves himself 
in the difficulties of "the old argument" and since the 
old argument has not been resolved, one cannot pretend 
that it is a simple assertion when he says that there are 
many pleasures, all of which are Pleasure. 

To put the matter in our own way, we should say that 
the statement "there are many pleasures, each of which 
shares in the idea of Pleasure" involves all of the 
aifficulties which Plato has been examining in the 
\ul{Parmenides}, the \ul{Sophist}, and the \ul{Statesman}. In short, we 
are confronted with nothing less than a philosophical 
summary of the problems and doctrines which Plato confronted 
in the late dialogues. 

Notice that it is openly admitted that the verbal 
assertion of both the unity and the diversity of Socrates 
is "childish," and no longer a cause for wonder. The whole 
world is said to know this now. Plato seems to be saying 
here that there are deeper issues at stake than the 
linguistic gymnastics these issues first created. True, 
these questions will be discussed, but their resolution 
will take place on a higher plane than it had heretofore. 
As usual, Plato begins a difficult investigation by 
focusing on the practical face of the deeper problem. Notice 
too that these questions about pleasure and wisdom are not 
mere allegories or childrens' stories; they are the points 
of departure. Plato intends, as we shall see, to apply 
the method of division, which he has been perfecting in 
the \ul{Sophist} and the \ul{Statesman}, to the questions of ethical 
import involved in a discussion of pleasure and wisdom and 
their relative merits. But in addition to applying the 
method, he will perfect it further, and greater insight 
4nto the method as well as its applicability will be 
reached. It is no longer possible to begin with the simple 
separation of the One and the Many, because the method 
of division has gone beyond this level of simplicity. 

The One and the Many, therefore are said to "run 
about everywhere together, in and out of every word" (15 a)
Therefore, we must not divide too quickly between the One 
and the Many, or run too quickly from the Many to the One. 
The endless number of the Many is a kind of infinity, that 
is, a lack of determined specificity, or, in another sense, 
& vague and indefinite formlessness. 

\Q{The infinite must not be allowed to approach the 
many until the entire number of species 
intermediate between unity and infinity has been 
found out-then and not until then may we rest 
from division. (16 e)}

The familiar analogy of the alphabet is offered, and 
it is agreed that every sound we utter is both one and 
infinite, that is, a sound is at once just \e{this} sound, 
but in another sense it is only \e{a} sound, which by itself 
has no meaning, just as letters by themselves have no 
meaning until they are related to each other in words. But 
the precise knowledge of the number and nature of each 
sound is the special province of the grammarian (17 b), 
just as the precise knowledge of tones and their intervals 
4s the province of the musician. (17 c)

In this way, Plato seems to say quite clearly that 
the way to knowledge is neither the addition of elements 
to each other without regard to the kinds of relations 
these elements must have to be intelligible, nor the 
simple recitation of the name we give to them to create 
the appearance of their simple unity. 

Since these themes were treated in the \ul{Statesman} 
it seems reasonable to place the \ul{Philebus} after it. It was 
necessary to insert this point here because the degree of 
unanimity with which the scholars agree that the \ul{Statesman} 
succeeds the \ul{Sophist} is not had in the placement of the 
\ul{Philebus} after the \ul{Statesman}. It seems now that the \ul{Philebus}
can be read more intelligently by placing it after the 
\ul{Statesman} but before the \ul{Timaeus}, but we shall have to see 
whether this is true after reading the \ul{Timaeus}. 

The method of division, as developed in the \ul{Statesman}, 
is summoned here in the Philebus to do service in the 
quest for the nature of pleasure and the nature of wisdom. 
We have seen that Plato regards Unity as the dialectical 
opposite of infinity, which, for him, means the indeterminite 
vagueness or an unspecific description of an element, 
without some account of its manner of relation to its 
fellows. In this respect, it is striking to note a brief 
allegory of the god Theuth, whom the Egyptians describe as 
the author and divider and enumerator of sounds in music 
and grammar (18 ad). As we shall see, the \ul{Timaeus} will test 
the method of division on a cosmic scale in a tale similarly
attributed to an Egyptian priest. 

In any event, the problem now is not merely to 
assert the unity and the infinity of number, or pleasure, 
or wisdom, but to ascertain the kinds of each, and, by 
implication, the Unity, Likeness, Sameness \e{and} the opposites
in everything (19 b). Whereas Socrates once preferred 
to discuss the Forms and to avoid the realm of things, he 
does not fear to enter into this latter problem now, 
because, just at this instant, some god appears to have 
given him a new memory (20 b). 

Socrates quickly convinces Philebus that he would 
not even have full pleasure if he did not also have mind 
and aenery and knowledge, because, without them, he would 
not know whether he was experiencing pleasure. Similarly 
if he had no memory he would not remember pleasure, which 
4s also pleasant, nor, without "true opinion" would he be 
able to perceive present pleasures. In the same way, had 
he no knowledge, he would be unable to calculate future 
pleasures (21 b). Similarly, a life of mind without 
pleasure or pain would be unfeeling. Therefore, somehow we 
must have both in a union, which is a kind of third (22 a). 
But, on this account, neither pleasure nor wisdom can be 
the good, which was decided (at 19) to be the most perfect. 
Socrates exempts divine mind from this refutation, admitting
only that human minds are excluded from exclusive 
posession of the Good (22 c). For, the divine mind may 
turn out to be the cause of the three, and, in that case, 
it will be a fourth. There may even be a fifth, but that 
will be discussed later. 

When we say something is hotter or colder, we make 
a comparison, and such comparisons are always relative, 
admitting of degrees, and this is an endless business 
because such measures suggest no way to establish a stable 
measure. Thus, the class of all such comparatives includes 
an infinite, i.e., an unlimited number. However, the \e{class }
of unnumbered things itself \e{is} the unity of such comparatives 
(25 a). On the other hand, its opposite, the class of 
all numbered things, admits quantity and is therefore 
finite, or limited, and here too, the class itself is the 
unity of these (25 b). 

Now, let them be mixed and let the offspring of 
these two classes be inspected. For out of their union 
comes a third class which has been generated by their 
mixture, and it includes all things so generated by the 
limitation of the unlimited (26 d). Further, the cause of 
thie union is not the same as any of the three classes so 
achieved, and it therefore must be a fourth class (27 b). 
The problem is to ascertain which class pertains to mind, 
for, obviously, pleasure is of the first class since it 
always admits of degree. In this regard, the question is 
raised: 

\Q{...Whether all of this which they call the universe 
is left to the guidance of an irrational and random 
chance, or, on the contrary, as our fathers have 
declared, ordered and governed by a marvelous 
intelligence and wisdom...Wide asunder are the two 
assertions, Socrates, for that which you are now 
saying is blasphemy; but the other assertion, that 
mind orders all things, is worthy of the respect of 
the world, and of the sun, and of the moon, and 
of the whole circle of the heavens;...(28 d)}

Here, quite obviously, is a clear anticipation of 
the \ul{Timaeus}. In addition, we are next presented with an 
analysis of the elements of bodies, which are said to be 
the traditional fire, air, water and earth, and, just as 
before, the mere enumeration of their discreteness does not 
explain their unity, for they are united in a body (29 ad). 
The further point is that the universe too consists of 
these elements but it too is a unity. And of course, it 
would be folly to assert that the unity of the universe 
depends on our bodies; rather, we depend on its unity. The 
analogy is carried further, because we know that we have 
souls, and, in the same way, we must assert that our souls 
depend on the soul of the univeree. Further, as bodies 
consist of four elements, so the four classes previously 
discovered may be considered as these elements; that is, 
the unlimited, the limited, their offspring, mixture, and 
the cause of their union, are in fact the true meanings of 
fire, air, earth and water. The universal fire which is 
the cause of our fire is the hidden meaning of mind as 
the cause of the universe (30 d). So we must conclude that 
the universe consists of four elements and that we are 
similarly constructed, and our construction depends on its. 

Fire, earth, water, and land correspond to the 
unlimited, limited, mixture and cause. It is not said 
which elements correspond to which elements, but it is 
clear that mind corresponds to fire, both in us and in the 
universe, It goes without too much comment that this 
doctrine goes beyond a simple Heracliteanism or Pythagoreanism
or Anaxagoreanism, or Anaximandersanism. It is, in 
my view, the seed of the more exact and detailed view 
which we shall find in the \ul{Timaeus}. 

In the remainder of the dialogue, there is a delineation
and cross comparison of the types of pleasure and 
pain, including the cognate emotions, and desires. It would 
be tempting to enter into a detailed commentary on this 
section of Plato's philosophy to show some of its origins 
or that certain doctrines of the modern giants of depth 
psychology are deeply in Plato's debt. However, our purpose 
here is to trace three themes insofar as Plato treats them 
explicitly. Perhaps a short summary will not be too deficient. 

Just as there are four classes of elements which 
enter into the composition of the body and of the universe, 
so there are four classes to be discerned in the discussion 
of pleasure. However, it is more complicated here, since 
there are four classes of pleasures, four of pains, four of 
emotions, four of desires, and the intermixture of each of 
these with every other gives rise to innumerable variety. 
Plato himself does not even attempt an exhaustive treatment 
What is significant for our purposes is the treatment of 
memory and perception. We saw in the \ul{Sophist} and the 
\ul{Statesman} that certain images could be false while others 
could be true. In the realm of feeling, the feelings 
attendant upon true or false images will be correspondingly
true or false. Thus Plato develops the significant 
ethical dictum that pleasures (or pains or emotions) 
though felt, may be false. We meet again the artist in the 
soul (imagination) which sometimes correctly and sometimes 
incorrectly inscribes the memory-images of past, present, 
and future experiences (39 a). Thus, the question of images, 
irrevocably linked to the tenses of imagination, is, in 
the \ul{Philebus}, introduced into the discussion of pleasure, 
pain, and emotion. Again, since the number of combinations 
of pleasures, whether unlimited, or limited or mixed or 
causative, is innumerable, the multiplication of this 
innumerable number by the three tenses adds an exponential 
4nnumerability. Had he wanted, Plato could have trebled 
and then quadrupled the exponent by the introduction of 
the intermediary tenses of becoming, and then quintupled 
the whole by using the middle voice of his native grammar. 
However, he assures us that he has not forgotten his own 
former dialogues, when he says "...for any class to be 
alone and in perfect solitude is not good nor altogether 
possible" (63 b). 

The end of the dialogue, interpreted in the light 
of the gradual growth of Plato's thought through the late 
group, is striking, for it asserts unequivocally that . 
neither mind and wisdom nor pleasure and pain are simply 
superior to one another: there must be mixture. Formerly, 
mind and knowledge of the forms would have been indubitably 
best; now, mixture is necessary. However, this is not to 
be interpreted as a simple linear progression, because, as 
we shall see in the \ul{Timaeus}, what is necessary and what is 
good are not due to comparable causes and are not therefore 
subject to the same criterion for choosing which is better. 
It may well be that what is better is unfortunately not 
what is necessary. 

\secc Summary 

There are unmistakable hints in the \ul{Philebus} that 
the dialogue which succeeds it will take up certain strands 
of Pythagorean logic and develop them further, as for exe 
ample the whole question of the manner in which the cause 
of mixture accomplishes its business, or, as another 
example, the application of the method of division to the 
universe, which was only briefly and partially done in this 
dialogue. 

This much, however is certain. 'he Philebus begins 
with the extension of the method of division to the realm 
of pleasure and knowledge of pleasure. The purist position 
that either pleasure or mind must be affirmed as the best 
is abandoned as "childish" and as an "old argument," which, 
it is agreed, no longer captures philosophic interest. 
The isolated eternality of the forms, modified by the 
Sophist and the Statesman, is further modified by the 
assertion that pleasures or any Form or class cannot be 
both good and alone. 

Lastly, the familiar doctrine of the aviary of images 
is maintained, and developed insofar as it is now employed 
to explain the basis of false pleasures, feelings, and 
emotions. A beginning is made into the physiology of 
reminiscence and an intimate connection is drawn between 
such a physiology and the first outlines of a concrete 
cosmology. For this intimate connection and a fuller 
description of the relations between a psychogeny and a 
cosmogeny, we must look to the \ul{Timaeus}. 

Summary of the Chapter 

Tracing the hypothesized modification and development 
of the tripartite theme of eternity-image-time through 
the \ul{Republic}, \ul{Parmenides}, \ul{Theatetus}, \ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, 
and \ul{Philebus}, it emerges that Plato's treatment of these 
topics is not a simple linear progression. I think I have 
shown that these themes are, in fact, treated together 
wherever discussion of any one of them is broached, and 
that to speak of one involves the need to speak of. the 
others. 

From the eternal realm of the Forms and the shadow-like 
copies of them in the \ul{Republic}'s cave, we saw the 
initial doctrine of the Forms of the middle dialogues 
subjected to the criticism of the \ul{Parmenides}. There we are 
told that the naive view of the Forms as separated from 
what appears to us leads to logically untenable positions, 
from a series of unreal instants to hypostasizing none 
existence. A hint of the doctrine of not-time emerges. The 
\ul{Theatetus} informs us that we must examine the reality of 
moving images, as if the results of perception were flying 
birds in an aviary-like memory. The \ul{Sophist} examines note 
being and concludes with the extraordinary assertion that 
not-being in some way is, so that the artificial separation 
of the world into what is either eternal or temporal, 
agreed to be inadequate in the \ul{Parmenides}, is now shown, 
not only to be inadequate, but to be impossible. Things 
are not isolated absolutes sharing in isolated absolute 
Forms, for images have their own sort of reality. The 
\ul{Statesman} acknowledges that this reality of images must be 
generalized beyond a psychological doctrine, and implies 
that there might well be cosmic images, which are better 
and more intelligible than the myths and fables of the 
historical story-tellers. The \ul{Philebus} shows that there 
are far-reaching ethical implications of this doctrine, 
and especially, leads to a discussion of the cause (s) 
of mixed classes and mixed realities. 

In short, from an initial position which asserted 
the realm of Forms to be eternally separated from the 
world of moving images, Plato comes to assert that moving 
images have a reality which is in no way to be despised or 
neglected in favor of a naively-viewed eternity. The world 
of time and the moving images in it cannot be intelligently 
separated from the eternal. 

This is not to say that the eternal and the temporal 
are the same world, or that a simple blending or a denial 
of existence to one or the other is Plato's conclusion. On 
the contrary, only by the careful dialectical investigation 
of the differences between eternity and time can their 
relations be spelled out with any philosophical accuracy. 

However, it remains to spell out this relationship 
of Forms, images, and times. To qualify as a genuine 
evolution, such a treatment will have to synthesize all 
that has gone before, in a way which will not excise any 
real progress made before it. This means that there will 
have to be a discussion of the psychology of knowledge as 
well as a cosmology of being, and that these two preponderant
interests will have to be united in a way which spells 
out their intimate relation. This is exactly what the 
\ul{Timaeus} will do. If the \ul{Timaeus} accomplishes this task, 
it follows that the \ul{Timaeus} should be regarded as a later 
dialogue and that we should find in it a new synthesis of 
the doctrines of eternity, image, and time. 

\sec The Timaeus

\secc The Introductory Conversation (17a--27b) 

We have seen in the foregoing two chapters that the 
\bt{Timaeus-Critias-Laws} is the last group of writings to which 
Plato devoted his attention. The argument was divided into 
two logically interrelated parts: first, tradition, 
stylistic researches, biography, and autobiography led to 
the conclusion of the second chapter that the \ul{Timaeus} was 
actually written late; second, the gradual modification and 
development of the doctrine of the middle period, as 
exemplified by the \ul{Republic}, was traced through the 
\ul{Parmenides}, \ul{Theatetus}, \ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}, and \ul{Philebus} 
in the third chapter. We shall now investigate how the 
\ul{Timaeus} synthesizes the themes of eternity, image, and 
time in a new and more unified way. 

Because of the sheer bulk of commentary we shall 
make on the doctrines of the \ul{Timaeus}, the reader will find 
two chapters devoted to this last Aiatoeue: The present 
chapter deals with the introductory remarks to the dialogue 
and to the introductory remarks which Timaeus delivers as 
a prelude to his rather extended monologue. The next 
chapter examines the relations of eternity, image, and time 
in the light of the purposes which the introductory portions
of the dialogue reveal. The introductory remarks 
found in the \ul{Timaeus} set the foundations, not only for 
Plato's later philosophy of time but also for the functional
significance this philosophy has in relation to Plato's 
view of the best possible society. 

The first hint that the \ul{Timaeus} will interest itself 
in temporal questions comes in the list of persons who are 
scheduled to hold the dialectical conversation. We know 
that Critias was the name shared by Plato's grandfather 
and his greategrandfather, His grandfather was a poet in 
his own right and a collector of constitutions, and his 
greategrandfather was associated with Solon.\pnote{2.1} We note that 
Hermocrates, a general famous for his defense of Athens and 
for his attempt to establish a just regime in Syracuse, is 
also scheduled to speak.\pnote{2.2} We note the presence of Socrates, 
who has spoken relatively little in the late group of 
dialogues, but who reappeared in the \ul{Philebus}. And finally, 
we note Timaeus of Locri, an Italian city well-governed by 
Pythagoreans. 

Here is a strange assembly; Critias is a very old man 
of considerable political experience in Athens; Timaeus is 
a Pythagorean Stranger who is in Athens for the festival 
of Athena; Hermocrates is an Athenian general distinguished 
in the Peloponnesian War; and we note that Socrates is now 
described as a very old man. One might almost conclude 
from this cast alone that questions about the morality of 
ancient Athenian politics will be discussed. 

Socrates opens the dialogue. His discussion of 
"yesterday" ia a "recapitulation"\pnote{2.3} of some of the doctrines 
of the \ul{Republic}, (books II--VI) namely, the description of 
the farmers, craftsmen, and guardians who make up the 
"best form of society" (17c). The occupational specialization
which alloted one and only one role to each individual 
citizen because he was best fitted for one and only one 
role, is restated as a reminder of "yesterday's conversation."
The statement is made that this brief recapitulation 
leaves nothing out and is an exact description of the 
contents of yesterday's conversation. Thus, one should 
not conclude that this recapitulation includes the entire 
contents of the \ul{Republic}, for this would create a manifest 
contradiction. The \ul{Republic} conprises ten books, much of 
which are not recapitulated here. Quite obviously, something 
\e{has} been left out, and Socrates implies clearly that 
he intends to discuss only those doctrines which he has 
summarized above. One might add, however, that the recapitulation 
does deal with those doctrines of the \ul{Republic} 
which are central to the whole dialogue, namely, the 
occupational specialization of three classes of citizens, 
who do not mix the functions of the others into their own 
allotted lives, just as the Forms on which their respective 
perfections are based do not mix or combine. 

Socrates says that the description of these citizens 
(of the \ul{Republic}) makes him feel like "a man who has been 
looking at some noble creatures in a painting, or perhaps 
at real animals, alive but motionless, and conceives a 
desire to watch them in motion and actively exercising 
the powers promised by their form" (19 b,c). 

Two features of this statement are particularly 
remarkable. First, we notice Socrates' apparent indecision 
as to whether he is looking at a painting (a mere copy) or 
at real animals who are motionless (a genuine image but 
motionless). Second, it is unusual to see Socrates admit 
his inability to extract the doctrine he seeks through his 
accustomed midwifery. These aspects of the introductory 
conversation hint that the \ul{Timaeus} will attempt to go 
beyond earlier Socratic positions. 

Socrates goes on at some length to spell out his 
precise inability, and he connects it explicitly with the 
firmness of his aged opinions about the poets (19d), 
although he stated in the \ul{Theatetus} that he had no opinions 
of his own. He says that he does not mean to imply that he 
has a lowly opinion of the poets in general (which he had 
in the \ul{Republic}) but he feels now that the good imitator 
(there are none such in the \ul{Republic}) should be familiar 
with the surroundings which he is going to imitate (19e). 
On the surface, this statement pertains to the history of 
ancient Athens; allegorically, it says that Socrates' 
viewpoint is not the one to be followed in this dialogue. 
Socrates does not usually speak of genuine imitation, for 
this sort of imitation is introduced by the Stranger in the 
\ul{Sophist}. Just as the \ul{Sophist}s move about from city to city 
too often, and do not remain in any one city long enough to: 
become familiar with it, so Socrates is said to be unfamiliar 
with the matters about to be discussed. Plato seems to 
say here in the gentlest way that he has great respect for 
his old teacher but that Socrates' viewpoint is not the 
most fruitful one for his present concern. 

Timaeus, however, is a well-born citizen of Locri, 
which is a well-governed state, so he is better qualified 
to discuss the constitution of the society which Socrates 
would like to see in motion. Timaeus is better suited by 
reason of his philosophical training, and, in addition, he 
has the necessary qualifications for statesmanship which 
were described in the \ul{Statesman}. 

Hermocrates sets the foundation for the discourse by 
telling us that Critias remembers a story which bears 
directly on the trend of their discussion. It is a story 
of ancient Athens and the way she conducted herself in 
ancient times. It is said to be true on no less authority 
than Solon's own words, since Solon himself is said to 
have told the story to Critias' grandfather. The story had 
been forgotten through lapse of time and the destruction of 
human lives by a catastrophe (20e). 

Socrates inquires why the tale was not recorded, and 
Critias tells him that Solon had been forced to lay it 
aside because, after he had returned from Egypt, there 
were too many troubles in the city (21c). (If it is true 
that Plato himself traveled in Egypt, this statement might 
be interpreted as Plato's own excuse for not writing the 
\ul{Timaeus} sooner because of the difficulties he himself 
experienced on his own return to Athens. The awe with 
which the origins of Athens would be regarded by its 
citizens would confront a writer of new legends about 
Athens with the need for a great deal of caution, and the 
reservation that there were too many political difficulties 
would serve as an excellent excuse, should Plato have felt 
the need for one). 

Thus, the story of ancient Athens was not lost only 
because Solon did not have time to write it but also 
because of the intervention of a catastrophe which destroyed 
the actors in the drama. Solon says, however, that 
when he himself was travelling in Egypt, he was received 
with great respect, because the Egyptian priests who knew 
the ancient history of Athens claimed that there is a kinship
between Athenians and Egyptians, and they even said 
that the name of their own city-god is the Egyptian word 
for Athena (21e). Solon was of course interested to hear 
about Athenian antiquity, and recounted for the Egyptians 
the venerable legends with which he was familiar. 

But the Egyptian priest sighs with benigh patience, 
and says, "Ah Solon, Solon, you Greeks are always children; 
in Greece there is no such thing as an old man" (22b). 

This would be an interesting remark no matter what 
the chronology of the \ul{Timaeus}, but, since the \ul{Timaeus} is so 
late in the series of late dialogues, the remark becomes 
crucial. Several times in the preceding dialogues, the 
childishness of certain opinions is mentioned, and the 
rigours of dialectical discipline are extolled as the only 
remedy. In the \ul{Parmenides}, Socrates' youth is blamed for 
the naivete of the early form-doctrine (130) and in the 
\ul{Theatetus} (175) Socrates himself chides \ul{Theatetus} for his 
youthful impatience. Plato used this form of criticism 
increasingly in the late dialogues, during which he came 
to realize that a certain maturity is prerequisite for 
right philosophy. Now we are told that no amount of individual
or personal maturity is of consequence for the 
Greeks, for collectively they are all children. Here is a 
very definite indication that the sort of knowledge which 
Timaeus will put forward is not reachable by that heretofore 
most favored of philosophical paths, the doctrine of 
individual, personal reminiscence. In short, reflection is 
only the source of some knowledge, not of all. Taken in 
conjunction with the stated purpose of the dialogue, that 
is, the conditions of the best society, it delivers a 
fatal blow to the Socratic procedure of questioning 
contemporaries. There are some things about which 
contemporaries have no knowledge, and it is necessary to 
know these things in order to describe the best society. 
One needs to know the origins of a society, and it is 
probable that one's contemporaries do not know this. This 
is precisely the difference between memory and history, and 
it constitutes a significant expansion of doctrine beyond 
the earlier dialogues. In earlier dialogues, myths were 
presented to perform the function of carrying the individual
memory beyond its contemporary confines, but we saw 
in the \ul{Sophist} that these myths (not all myths) were 
"childish." 

In short, more than the maturity of the individual 
person is required for true knowledge of the best society; 
the best society requires its citizens to have a knowledge 
of its origins; allegorically, this translates into the 
need for a society to know its ultimate origins, and it is 
this interpretation which makes the \ul{Timaeus}' relation of 
cosmology and sociology intelligible. In the process of 
tracing the historical antiquity of Athens, the \ul{Timaeus} 
will discern the origins of the whole cosmos. As history 
includes memory, so cosmology includes sociology: this is 
the import of Timaeus' tale. And in both aspects of the 
proportion, the cardinal issue is the "amount" of time 
involved. 

Solon, however, does not understand the appellation 
"children," and inquires what the priest means when he says 
that he, Solon, an old man, is a "child." The priest 
explains that there are periodic catastrophes due to temporary 
deviations of the celestial bodies from their regular 
orbits, and that, at these times, the deviations bring 
about floods. These floods wreak havoc on most people but 
the Egyptians are saved by their irrigation system.\pnote{2.4} For 
this reason, the Egyptians have been able to maintain a 
continuous record which covers a period of 8,000 years, 
but the Athenians were destroyed in one of these periodic 
catastrophes, and therefore have no continuous records. 
Thus they had to begin afresh, like children, to trace 
their origins (22b--23d). 

Solon is astonished, and asks for a more complete 
account of ancient Athens. The Egyptian priest responds 
willingly, saying that it is good for the city for him to 
tell the story. He says that Athens was founded by the 
goddess a thousand years before Egypt was founded, which 
means 9,000 years ago. Thus, according to the priest 
Solon's stories are nothing more than nursery tales since 
they recount only one deluge, when in fact there have 
been several. Furthermore, the priest says that the 
Athenians were once counted among the bravest of people in 
the era just before the last catastrophe, and that present 
Athenians are descended from their seed. (24) 

The priest describes the Egyptian caste system of 
priests, craftemen, and soldiers, in which system each 
class performs one and only one function, and he adds that 
these contemporary Egyptian institutions are continuous 
with those olden days when the goddess instructed both 
Athens and Egypt in these ways. Furthermore, the laws of 
Egypt are said to reflect the "order of the world, deriving 
from those divine things the discovery of all arts applied 
to human affairs..." (24b). As we shall see, this is almost 
how Timaeus will describe the origin of all human arts. 

There are other records which pertain to Athens, and 
the priest decides to inform Solon about one exploit in 
particular, the greatest which Athens ever performed; it is 
the fable of Atlantis (24e). The story recounts how Athens 
once vanquished foes who invaded her even after her allies 
had been defeated, and suggests that the invaders came 
from an island which has now vanished beneath the sea. 
Frutiger is not alone in the opinion that no such island 
ever existed, and concludes that it must be credited to 
Plato's imagination.\pnote{2.5} It is nevertheless fascinating to 
follow Cornford into the opinion that the island of 
Atlantis was the staging area for invaders who crossed the 
Atlantic, perhaps from America.\note{2.6}

It 4s interesting to forecast the almost exact 
thematic parallel of the tale of the Egyptian priest and 
the tale which Timaeus will deliver. In both, the cosmological 
origins of the art of healing are described. Plato 
of course viewed the proper function of statecraft to be 
the healing of society, as, for example, in his repeated 
comparisons of the statesman to the physician. 

Critias himself tells Socrates that he is surprised 
to notice how Socrates' story (the recapitulation of 
\ul{Republic} doctrines) and the tale of Atlantis resemble each 
other in so many details (25e). Critias had expected that 
it would be difficult to find a basis for their conversation
of today, and so he carefully rehearsed the story of 
Atlantis before he spoke it (26). He assures us that the 
tale is exactly as he heard it because he says, 

\Q{How true is the saying that what we learn in 
childhood has a wonderful hold on the memory. 
I doubt if I could recall everything I heard 
yesterday, but I should be surprised if I 
have lost any detail of this story told me 
so long ago. (26b)}

In addition to guaranteeing the accuracy of the tale, 
this remark of Critias tells us something else of equal 
4mportance, for it reminds us that his tale is introduced 
only as a basis of today's conversation, and as the raw 
material for the discourse of Timaeus. Critias himself says 
he has only approached the main points when he says: 

\Q{We will transfer the state you (Socrates) described 
yesterday and its citizens from the region of 
theory to concrete fact; we will take the city of 
Athens and say that your imaginary citizens are 
those actual ancestors of ours of whom the priest 
spoke. They will fit perfectly and there will be 
no inconsistency in declaring them to be the real 
men of ancient times. (26d)}

Thus it seems to be Plato's purpose to see beyond 
the recapitulation of \ul{Republic} doctrines which Socrates 
made in the beginning of the \ul{Timaeus}, and this is confirmed 
by the statement that Critias' story will serve only as 
material for today's discourse. For, if Critias' story 
were not only the basis but was in fact the perfect match 
between Socrates imaginary realm and the ancient city of 
Athens, the dialogue could end here, with the conclusion 
that the \ul{Republic} once existed. The doctrine of the 
\ul{Timaeus}, however, concerns not only what the best society 
ought to be and what it was, but what is the origin of the 
best society and what is ita basis. 

Socrates agrees that fitting the \ul{Republic} citizens 
into ancient Athenian society is a proper basis for today's 
discourse, and goes so far as to say that if this is not 
the basis, there can be no other (26e). 

The plan of the projected trilogy is now revealed; 
Timaeus, who knows more of astronomy than anyone else 
present, will begin with the birth of the world and carry 
the account forward until he reaches the birth of man. 
Critias will start from the origin of man and carry the 
account to the birth of Athens. In this way, the actual 
origins of society will be discovered. Interestingly, 
no mention is made of the proposed content of the 
\bt{Hermocrates}. Once before, Plato hinted at a projected 
trilogy, and seems not to have completed the third dialogue. 
Perhaps, as before, we shall learn so much in the 
two dialogues that the third seems unnecessary.\pnote{2.7} Or perhaps 
Plato wrote the \ul{Laws} instead.\pnote{2.8} In any case, the point at 
issue is whether the fitting of the \ul{Republic}'s citizens 
into the ancient Athenian \e{polis} suffices to describe the 
origins and bases of the best society. It is agreed that 
Timaeus will account for the origin of man from his 
astronomical beginnings, and that this is necessary as a 
preliminary for the investigations into the actual origins 
of society. 

One cannot therefore follow Taylor into the opinion 
that this introductory conversation is actually only an 
introduction to the \ul{Critias}.\pnote{2.9} By extending this logic, the 
\ul{Parmenides} and \ul{Theatetus} are only introductions to the 
\ul{Sophist}, and the \ul{Sophist} only an introduction to the 
\ul{Statesman}, etc. Such a linearization of Plato's philosophy 
leaves everything behind in which case we should read only 
the \ul{Laws} and dismiss all else as preliminary introduction. 

In the next section, we shall confront Timaeus' own 
introduction, and as we shall see, he connects his remarks 
to the general introductory remarks we have just discussed. 

\secc The Role of Image (27c--29d)

Timaeus invokes the blessings of the gods, as custom 
requires, but says that the other members of the conversation 
must also call upon their own powers, so that they can 
understand Timaeus' thoughts on the proposed theme (27c). 

The first distinction to be made is that between 
\Q{what is always re&l and has no becoming and what 
it is which is always becoming and is never real. 
That which is apprehensible by thought with a 
rational account is the thing which is always 
unchangeably real; whereas that which is the 
object of belief together with unreasoning 
sensation is the thing that becomes and passes 
away, but never has real being. (28a)}

At first, this seems to be the familiar dichotomy 
between the eternal and the temporal, but it 4s not. In 
dividing the line of knowledge here, Plato deliberately 
accentuates the "top" and the "bottom," but leaves out the 
other intermediary divisions which he has established. In 
the Cave, opinion and false images were placed in between 
the Forms and mere sensation; in the \ul{Theatetus}, right 
opinion was established; in the \ul{Sophist}, genuine images; 
and in the \bt{Philebus}, the need to mix the Forms and the 
four levels of knowledge. Thus the meaning of the sentences 
which open this section of discourse are illuminated by a 
summary of the doctrines of some of the preceding dialogues. 

This is confirmed by Timaeus' next sentence. He says, 

\Q{Again all that becomes must needs become by the 
agency of some cause, for without a cause nothing 
can come to be. Now whenever the maker of anything 
looks to that which is always unchanging and uses 
a model of that description in fashioning the form 
and quality of his work, all that he thus accomplishes 
must be good. If he looks to something 
that has come to be and uses a generated model, 
4t will not be good. (28b)}

Here is a recapitulation of the preliminary doctrine 
of the good painter of the \ul{Sophist}, where those imitations 
which faithfully represent the proportions of the original 
are good images, but those which distort the original are 
mere fantasies (234, 235). The main point here is that in 
the early dialogues, an imitation would necessarily falsify; 
in the late dialogues, an imitation must be carefully made 
in order to preserve the proportions of its model, and if 
it does so, it may properly be called good. This is 
especially true in the \ul{Philebus}, where the cause of the 
mixture of elements is responsible for the quality of the 
mixture (27a). Here, Timaeus says that if the maker is to 
use a generated model (a copy of the original) he will be 
copying a copy, whereas he should copy the original, and 
by preserving its proportion, imitate genuinely. 

This much could have been said in the \ul{Philebus}, and 
was in fact said in other words. But now this doctrine must 
be generalized and tested on a cosmological scale. Therefore, 
Timaeus uses the phrase, "concerning the \e{whole} \sq{heaven} or 
\sq{world} (not heaven \e{and} world)..." (27b), parenthetically 
adding that the name can be chosen to suit heaven itself. It 
is interesting to observe that the term heaven (\e{ouranos}) is 
now taken to be synonymous with the whole cosmos, whereas 
formerly, a strict division was made between heaven and 
the visible world. This foreshadows the entire theme of the 
dialogue, in which the former gap between heaven and earth 
is now to be supplanted by a richer and more meaningful 
relation. 

Has this heaven, or universe, always been, or did it 
begin from some beginning? Timaeus answers his own rhetorical
question by saying that it must have begun because it 
has a body and is apprehensible by sensation together with 
right opinion, and it was formerly established that those 
things which are so apprehensible are things which become 
and are generated. This refers to the \ul{Theatetus} where it 
was established that sensation and true opinion do have a 
measure of the truth but are not the sources of that truth, 
and to the \ul{Sophist}, where it was established that images, if 
genuine, have a measure of truth because they are not 
absolutely not-being but have a reality ot their own. The 
doctrine of the \ul{Philebus} is brought into the account in the 
next line where we read "But again that which becomes, we 
Say, must necessarily become by the agency of some 
cause" (28c). 

Next comes the often quoted statement "The maker and 
father of this universe it is a hard task to find, and 
having found him it would be impossible to declare him to 
all mankind" (28c). This statement is absolutely central to 
the exposition of the remainder of the dialogue. It asserts 
that the gap between the eternal and the temporal realms 
is not only a cosmological but a sociological one. It is 
\e{not} an impossible task to find the father of the universe; 
it is \e{hard.} But it is impossible to declare him to all 
mankind. For this reason, as it was said in the \ul{Statesman}, 
some authors make myths and childish stories when they 
confront this impossibility of declaration, and even the 
One and the Many is said to be such a myth, made for minds 
incapable of genuine dialectic. 

Now the problem is not that there is a gap in the 
structure of the universe, but that some kinds of communication 
are impossible. On the one hand, some truths are 
ineffable, on the other hand some people cannot be told 
the glaring truth because it would momentarily blind them 
as it did the prisoner of the Cave when he was released 
to see the Sun. But the Sun is there, and those few who 
can and do see it, ought to lead others to it. 

There is a further difficulty. The insight into the 
ultimate origins of being is not only the subject of myths 
and stories which the people feed themselves on; they hold 
on to these myths with rigid conviction, and the innovator 
in this area must beware lest he invite the hemlock with 
which Socrates was sentenced to death. Plato has already 
said several times that these myths are for children, but, 
evidently, he has underestimated his own age. This relates 
directly to the whole purpose of the dialogue, which is 
to replace what Plato regards as dangerous fantasies about 
the ultimate origins of the universe, with a more rational 
account. Notice he does not intend to make an absolutely 
rational account, which the learned elite of Pythagoreans, 
Eleatics, and Academicians, might demand. The account of 
Timaeus cannot be written in the arcane language of the 
intellectualist; some way must be found to declare the 
father of the universe to all mankind. This need springs 
from Plato's conviction that the best state is composed of 
the best citizens, and, those citizens are best who know 
their traditions (Atlantis) and their ultimate origins. 
In short, the experience so familiar to the teacher of a 
aifficult doctrine was also Plato's experience-how to tell 
the student by example without distorting the truth of the 
original meaning. 

This difficulty is exacerbated by the fact that the 
myths of the origin of the universe were probably held 
with the fervor of blind conviction by Plato's contemporaries, 
much as they sometimes are by our own contemporaries, 
so that the attempt to redefine them would be regarded as 
blasphemy by those whose hold on these myths was invested 
with the unshakable grasp of an inflexible conservatisn. 
This seems to be his meaning when Timaeus says that the 
maker of the universe clearly looked to the eternal for 
his model, and that the contrary supposition "...cannot be 
spoken without blasphemy..." (29). 

Plato is caught between two extreme difficulties: on 
the one hand the childish myths must be corrected, but 
'this might be regarded by the people as blasphemy; on the 
other hand, the people to whom Plato wishes to speak the 
correction cannot understand the deeper truths behind the 
myths, so that he has to put them in examples which are not 
perfectly appropriate; but this involves the danger of 
blasphemy in his own mind. The difficulty of finding the 
father is compounded by the impossibility of revealing 
him adequately. It is extremely important that this dual 
difficulty be born in mind in what follows, because it 
bears directly on the use of genuine images and Plato's 
repeated insistence that the dialogue is a probable myth 
(eikota mython). One makes a mistake in expecting Plato to 
speak out boldly in a purely rational language about the 
maker of the universe for two reasons; first, as we noted, 
some truths seem ineffable; second, one would miss Plato's 
concern for the prisoners of the cave who would be blinded 
by the pure truth but left in the dark by anything less. 
The efficacy of the act of communication involves taking 
the audience's view into account, and Plato was far from 
ignorant on this point.\pnote{2.10}

This accounts for the strangely popular grounds on 
which the argument (whether the model of the universe is 
eternal or generated) is settled. Timaeus says "Everyone, 
then, must see that (the father) looked to the eternal..." 
(29a). 

The next portion of the paragraph adds a peculiar 
reaffirmation for the eternity of the model of the universe. 
It states "...for the world is the best of things that 
have Hadoiie: and he (the father) is the best of causes." 
There is no preparation for this statement in all of Plato, 
as far as I know. One could expect that the father of the 
universe would be described as the best of causes on the 
extension of the theme of avoiding blasphemy which runs 
through the whole dialogue. But there seems to be no 
preparation for Plato's statement that the world is the 
best of things that have become, unless it is Plato's 
knowledge that he is going to describe the world as the 
result of the best of causes, and therefore knows it must 
be the best of "effects." But this creates the very 
difficulty which this dialogue is trying to avoid, and 
that is the description of the best cause as one whose 
action can only bring about the best results. For, in one 
sense, the world is the best result of the best cause, but 
in another sense, it is only the best of things that have 
become, and becoming is not the best sort of being. In 
short, there has already been a slight movement from the 
etrictly univocal causality of the best cause, toward some 
kind of intermediary causation. In this way, Plato continues 
to pose the whole problem of some sort of mid-ground 
between eternity and the realm of becoming. This is confirmed
in what follows next. 

Timaeus says, 
\Q{Again, these things being so, our world must 
necessarily be a likeness (\e{eikona}) of something. 
Now in every matter it is of great moment to 
start at the right point in accordance with the 
nature of the subject (\e{kata physin archen}). 
Concerning a likeness (\e{eikonos}) then, and its 
model (\e{paradeigmatos}) we must make this 
distinction; an account (\e{logos}) is of the same 
order (\e{suggenes}) as the thing it sets forth
an account of that which is abiding and stable 
and discoverable by the aid of reason will 
itself be abiding and unchangeable (so far as 
it is possible and it lies in the nature of 
the account to be incontrovertible and 
irrefutable, there must be no falling short of 
that); while an account of what is made in the 
image (\e{eikonos}) of that other, but is only a 
likeness (\e{eikona}) will itself be but likely 
(\e{eikotas}) standing to accounts of the former 
in a proportion: as reality is to becoming so 
is truth to belief. (29b--c, Cornford)}

Since this passage is absolutely central to the 
whole exposition of Plato's philosophy of time, image, and 
eternity, it may be well to compare other translations of 
this paragraph. 

Archer-Hind has it: 
\Q{Granting this, it must needs be that this universe 
is a likeness of something. Now it is all important 
to make our beginning according to nature: and this 
affirmation must be laid down with regard to a 
likeness and its model, that the words must be akin 
to the subjects of which they are the interpreters: 
therefore of that which is abiding and sure and 
discoverable by the aid of reason the words too 
Must be abiding and unchanging and so far as it 
lies in words to be incontrovertible and immovable 
they must in no wise fall short of this; but 
those which deal with that which is made in 
the image of the former and which is a likeness, 
must be likely and duly corresponding 
with their subject: as being is to becoming, 
so ia truth to belief. (29b-c, Archer-Hind)}

Jowett has: 

\Q{And being of such a nature the world has been 
framed by him with a view to that which is 
apprehended by reason and mind and is unchangeable,
and if this be admitted must of necessity 
be a copy of something. Now that the beginning 
of everything should be according to nature is 
a great matter. Let us then assume about the 
copy and original that the words are akin to 
the matter which they describe, and that when 
they relate to the lasting and the permanent 
and intelligible, they ought to be lasting 
and unfailing, and as far as is in the nature 
of words irrefutable and immovable, and nothing 
less than this. But the words which are the 
expression of the immitation of the eternal 
things, which is an image only, need only be 
likely and analogous to the former words. 
What essence is to generation, that truth is 
to belief. (29b--c, Jowett)}

T.T. Taylor has: 

\Q{And from hence it is perfectly necessary that 
this world should be the resemblance of something. 
But to describe its origin according to 
nature is the greatest of all undertakings. In 
this manner, then, we must distinguish concerning
the image and its exemplar. As words are 
allied to the things of which they are the 
interpreters, hence it is necessary, when we 
speak of that which is stable and firm and 
intellectually apparent, that our reasons 
should be in like manner stable and immutable, 
and as much as possible irreprehensible, with every 
perfection of a similar kind. But that, when we 
speak concerning the image of that which is 
4mmutable, we should employ only probable 
arguments, which have the same analogue to the 
former as a resemblance to its exemplar. And, 
indeed, as essence is to generation, so is truth 
to faith. (29b--c, T.T. Taylor)}

R.G. Bury has: 

\Q{Again if these premises be granted, it is wholly 
necessary that this Cosmos should be a Copy of 
something. Now in regard to every matter it is 
most important to begin at the natural beginning. 
Accordingly, in dealing with a copy and its model, 
we must affirm that the accounts given will 
themselves be akin to the diverse objects which 
they serve to explain; those which deal with what 
is abiding and firm and discernible by the aid of 
thought will be abiding and unshakable; and in so 
far as it is possible and fitting for statements 
to be irrefutable and invincible, they must in no 
wise fall short thereof; whereas the accounts of 
that which is copied after the likeness of that 
Model, and is itself a likeness, will be analogous 
thereto and posess liklihood; for as Being is to 
Becoming, so is Truth to Belief. (29b--c, Bury)}

These five translations and the commentaries on the 
passage will be reviewed in order. First, Cornford holds 
that the chief point established in this prelude is that 
the visible world, of which an account is to be given, is 
a changing image or likeness (\e{eikon}) of an eternal model, 
and reasons that it is not a realm of being but of becoming. 
He says, therefore, that we must not expect anything more 
than a "likely" account, because only that which is stable 
can produce a stable account, and becoming is not stable. 
"There can never be a final statement of exact truth about 
this changing object."\pnote{2.11} Having taken this view, Cornford 
goes on to comment on the distinction of being and becoming. 
It 18 to be noticed that he delivers his comment as a 
derivative of his view that the account of becoming is 
\e{only} likely because it is unstable. 

Cornford comments that the opening sentence of the 
preceding passage divides the world into two veulne: the 
one of Forms which intelligence grasps, and the other of 
sensation, which is always imprecise and in flux. We have 
seen however that this two-fold division is not a dichotomy, 
but rather an emphasis on the extremes of a four-fold 
division. We differ, therefore, with Cornford's conclusion 
that the use of the word "becoming" (\e{genesis}) by Plato is 
"ambiguous" by which he indicates that it has only two 
meanings, one which means that a thing comes into existence, 
acd the other which means that a thing is in the process of 
change. There are many more senses in which the word 
"becoming" can be understood, as Plato showed in the 
\ul{Parmenides} (151e--152e). For example, one may say "is 
becoming," "was becoming," "becoming older," "becoming 
younger," "will be becoming," etc. On the basis of his 
simple division into two meanings, Cornford adopts the 
conclusion that the second meaning cannot be what Plato 
means and that therefore the world must have begun in time. 
He then differs with A.E. Taylor, who attributes the 
Christian theory of creation to Plato via Whitehead's 
theory of time. The point here is the fact that Cornford 
has assumed Plato to have spoken a simple dichotomy, the 
familiar dichotomy between the realm of Forms and the reaim 
of becoming. Thus, for example, he says that the \ul{Sophist} 
similarly divided the kinds of production in two (265b) 
whereas it is clear that there are several kinds of 
production stated theres human and divine, fantasy ad 
image, proportional and non-proportional. This is especially 
important, because the \ul{Sophist} divides genuine production 
into human production and divine production, but omits 
speaking of false divine production whereesa it does speak 
of false human production. It is precisely this problen, 
i.e., how can a divine product be lacking in any divine 
perfection, which Plato is now examining. But it is not a 
mere repetition; it is now the starting point for Plato's 
expanded doctrine. Just as the \ul{Sophist} investigated the 
relation between not-being and divine production in the 
realm of things, so now the Timaceus is investigating the 
relation between not-being and the divine production of 
the entire cosmos. One need not suppose that the familiar 
doctrine of the split between the realm of Forms and the 
realm of things has remained unmodified between the \ul{Republic} 
and the \ul{Timaeus}. One need not assume that there is no 
difference between the \ul{Sophist} doctrine and the \ul{Republic} 
doctrine with respect to the reality of not-being. Yet 
Cornford introduces the Sophist's division (which he sees 
as a dichotomy) into the \ul{Timaeus}, which he similarly 
dichotomizes. 

Cornford notes that the distinction to be made is 
not simply between being and becoming, but between eternal 
being and that which is \e{always} becoming. It seems better 
to state that Plato is here distinguishing that which is 
\e{only becoming and always becoming,} from another sort of 
becoming, which it is the business of this dialogue to 
discuss. Therefore, while it is perfectly true to Plato to 
say that, clearly, the world has become, it does not follow 
to say that the world is \e{only becoming,} for, on that 
supposition, how could it be the best of things that have 
become? 

Consistently, then, Cornford concludes that the 
maker of the universe is \e{merely} mythical and that therefore 
there was no "moment of creation." This follows from 
Cornford's division of the passage into \e{only} two realms, 
which he concludes must therefore be \e{either} true \e{or} mythical. 
But the whole division in two is not the only interpretation 
possible, for it does not follow Plato through his development. 

Thus, Cornford is led to take literally the dictum 
of the \ul{Seventh Letter} that there neither was nor is nor 
shall be a doctrine of Plato's on the subject, and that 
Plato is \e{only} revealing a mythical figure of the maker of 
universe, but not the real exact truth. Cornford's view 
makes it impossible to conclude that the difficulty of 
revealing the maker to all mankind is not a sociological 
aifficulty inherent in the crass and hollow mentality of 
most men, nor the impossibility of an ineffable truth, but 
Plato's refusal to speak out what he knows perfectly well. 
fhis seems to be only one interpretation of the passage 
which states clearly that the maker can be found, admittedly 
with difficulty, but cannot be revealed. Cornford precludes 
the interpretation that the difficulties of communication 
necessitate the mythical figure or that it might be true to 
say that the maker is ineffably inscrutable and should not 
be spoken for fear of blasphemy, both of which interpretations 
seem more plausible in the light of the doctrinal 
development of the late dialogues. Thus Cornford says that 
a similar "device" was employed in the \ul{Republic}, referring 
probably to the Myth of Er. But in the late dialorues, 
Plato repeatedly criticises these myths as childish. Yet 
Cornford's interpretation of myth is responsible for his 
dichotomy here, where, it seems possible to offer there 
other interpretations. 

It will be the business of our concluding chapter 
to show why Cornford's interpretation narrowly construes 
Timaeus' mythical language. Suffice it at this point to 
indicate what that conclusion will be. Plato does not 
stop at a \e{merely} mythical account in the \ul{Timaeus}. True, 
there is another myth of "creation" in the \ul{Timaeus}, but 
4t is not all that is to be found there. In addition to 
the mythical, Plato is, as usual, revealing what he feels 
to be the truth, so that he who sees what the myth \e{means} 
has seen more than the myth. In this way, the \bt{Timaeus} can be 
read either as myth and myth alone, or it can also be 
interpreted as a new doctrine in which Plato points 
clearly beyond \e{mere} myth. This view is clearest in the 
ending of the passage cited, where Plato says that we must 
see, not mere myth, but a likely myth, just as in the 
\ul{Theatetus} we must have, not only opinion, but right opinion, 
or in the \ul{Sophist} and opening passages of the \ul{Timaeus}, we 
must see, not mere images, but moving images, which 
faithfully reproduce the proportions of the original model. 

Thus, Cornford can say, 

\Q{In the application here it is argued that, since 
the world is in fact good, its maker must have 
copied a model that is eternal. The world then is 
a copy, an image, of the real. It is not, indeed, 
like an artist's painting, at a third remove from 
reality but on the other hand it is not wholly 
real.\pnote{2.12}}

Notice that Cornford does not distinguish, as the \ul{Sophist} 
does (at 266d) between a good painter's faithful copy, and 
a poor painter's unfaithful distortion. Cornford implies 
that images are separated from the ultimate reality. 
Cornford seems to ignow the distinction between a genuine 
image and a mere copy in this case. He says, "The cosmology 
of the \ul{Timaeus} is poetry, an image that \e{may} come nearer the 
truth than some other cosmologies."\pnote{2.13} He seems to mean 
\e{mere} poetry, as opposed to genuine poetry. This does not 
help us to understand Timaeus' statement that he will give 
the best possible account, which seems to mean genuine 
poetry. 

But what does the statement that the \ul{Timaeus} is 
poetry mean for Cornford, It means that 
\Q{...inexactness and inconsistency are inherent in 
the nature of the subject; they cannot be removed 
by a stripping off the veil of allegory. An 
allegory, like a cypher, has a key; the Pilgrim's 
Progress can be retranslated into the terms of 
Bunyan's theology. But there is no key to poetry 
or myth.\pnote{2.14}}

Certainly there is poetry, and myth, and imagery. 
But these must not be seen in the youthful light of the 
myths which Plato himself calls childish; they must be 
seen as the best possible account to reveal this doctrine 
to all mankind. Cornford's interpretation would lead one 
always to insert "only" when ever he refers to images, 
since, in such a view, things are either perfectly true 
or they are only images. But for Plato, this simple 
dichotomy has long outlived its utility, and the doctrine 
of not-being, and the mixture of being and not-being is, 
in the \ul{Timaeus}, a further effort on Plato's part to 
clarify his thought on these matters. 

Archer-Hind comments that the eternal model of the 
universe and its creation in time represents Plato's use 
of allegory, and that there can be 

\Q{no question whatsoever of the beginning of the 
universe in time. The creation in time is simply 
part of the figurative representation; in Plato's 
highly poetical and allegorical exposition, a 
logical analysis is represented as taking place 
in time, and to reach his true meaning we must 
strip off the veil of allegory.\pnote{2.15}}

\noindent Here is the source of Cornford's statement that it is 
impossible to "strip off the veil of allegory." Later in 
his commentary, Archer-Hind writes that although Plato is 
talking about "absolute thought thinking itself" Plato 
has put this idea into the figure of a gradually unfolding 
process. My view is that it is \e{not} necessary to strip off 
the veil of allegory to see Plato's meaning, for the 
allegory does not conceal but enhances the doctrine. For 
those who see \e{only} the allegory, it affords a pretty image 
of the truth. But for those who see the doctrine, the image 
4s an added richness, which does not cloud the doctrine, 
but actually helps it to radiate of itself, and to shine 
more radiantly. However, one notices that Archer-Hind does 
not translate the final portion of the passage in question 
by the phrase "only an image"; he says, simply, that an 
image is "likely" and "duly corresponding" with its 
subject. Thus Archer-Hind is able to conclude that words 
stand in the same relation to the Forms, which they represent 
as the images do, and that this proportion is a 
special case of the more general formula at the end of the 
passage, which has it that becoming is to being as probability
is to truth, This is not \e{mere} imagery, for words 
themselves, in this setting, become images. Later, when 
the whole cosmos is termed an image, Cornford's diminution 
of imagery will suffer because he has not allowed anything 
less than pure being to be called being, and so, whatever 
is less than pure must be somehow less than real. Thus 
Archer-Hind has escaped the claws of this argument by 
interpreting Plato's text to mean that words and images 
must correspond to that which they represent, so that a 
moving \e{cosmos} described without the use of a moving image 
would violate the canons Plato sets down for faithful 
representation. 

However, Archer=-Hind seems not to follow his own 
conviction that the later dialogues show a constant 
progression, because he adds that this analogy is precisely 
what one finds at \ul{Republic} 511e. But there we find, not a 
division into two parts which are proportional, but 4 
fourfold division of the powers of the soul where images 
are the lowest level of intelligence, and not the proportional 
representation of truths of reason. 

Jowett too holds that the images which are \e{only} 
imitations of eternal things must be \e{only} images. Jowett's 
well-known Kantian bias is clearly evident here, since 
those kinds of knowledge which give anything less than the 
inscrutable nature of the Forms cannot be satisfactorily 
called true knowledge, but \e{only} images and copies. The 
fact that Jowett places the \ul{Timaeus} next after the \ul{Republic} 
is in part based on his claim that there is little differeme 
between the doctrine of the two dialogues. This is a 
function of two factors; first, Jowett wrote his translations 
before the stylometrists ushered in the new era of 
Platonic criticism, and second, if one reads the \ul{Timaeus} 
with the expectation that its doctrine will not differ 
materially from the doctrine of the middle period, and 
then translates the text with that view in mind, it is not 
only consistent but logically necessary to write "only an 
image." But if one follows the majority of scholars who 
placed the \ul{Timaeus} in the late period, then one may see in 
the \ul{Timaeus} certain doctrinal reformulations, so that it 
is not necessary to expect Plato to speak in the same 
epistemological voice which the later dialogues clearly 
modulate. 

But a point worth making is partially confirmed by 
Jowett, in that he agrees with Archer-Hind that Plato 
makes words proportional to their referents, just as 
images are proportional to their paradigms. Although 
Cornford's translation of "accounts" is somewhat cumbersome,
Jowett, however, agrees with Cornford in translating 
the second half of the proportion "what essence is to 
generation, so truth is to belief," although Cornford 
prefers being to essence. 

The little-consulted work of T.T. Taylor is also 
instructive with regard to the passage in question. T.T. 
Taylor translates \e{paradeigmatos} not as paradigm, nor as 
model, but as exemplar. This translation could lead to the 
game difficulty into which Cornford was led, since the 
word exemplar has inescapably transcendental connotations, 
creating the impression that there is a spatial separation 
between the world of exemplars and the world of images, 
and this in turn would lead to the diminution of the role 
of images and the arguments based upon them. And so, T.T. 
Taylor says that in the discussion of images, "we should 
employ \e{only} probable arguments," thereby separating what 
Plato is trying to put together in a new way. However, T.T. 
Taylor says, 
\Q{The faith which Plato now assumes appears to be 
different from that of which he speaks in the 
sixth book of the \ul{Republic}, in the section of 
aline; for that is irrational knowledge, whence 
also it is divided from conjecture, but is arranged 
according to sense. But the present faith is 
rational, although it is mingled with irrational 
knowledges, employing sense and conjecture; aud 
hence is filled with much that is unstable.\pnote{2.16}}

He goes on to say that for Plato there are four kinds of 
truth, and that some must be conjoined with sensibles. 
This opinion is noteworthy since it was written in 1804, 
a full half-century before the scholars decided to resort 
to language tables to sort the dialogues into their 
chronological context. Here is a scholar who sees that 
Plato's reference is to the \e{four} truths, not of the \ul{Republic}, 
but of the \ul{Philebus}, where the Good is said to impart 
purity to the mixture.\pnote{2.17}

Bury does not relate the four truths of the \ul{Timaeus} 
to the four divisions of the \bt{Philebus}, but, instead, 
dichotomizes being and becoming.\pnote{2.18} Thus in the last few 
lines of his translation, he says that, on the one hand, . 
statements which copy the eternal must be, 
\Q{in so far as it is possible and fitting for 
statements to be, irrefutable and invincible, they 
must in no wise fall short thereof, whereas the 
accounts of that which is copied after the likeness 
of that model, and is itself a likeness, will be 
analogous thereto and posess likelihood;}

\noindent Although Bury does not insert an "only" in this passage, 
the feeling tone is indicated in his tra*slation by his 
use of "whereas," which makes it seem that he has shifted 
the field and is now speaking of the opposite side of the 
dichotomy. His translation makes it seem that the universe 
4s only a copy of a copy, and therefore probably lese than 
true. This seems to go against the aim of the passage, 
which is to account for the use of imagery, which, in 
earlier dialogues (\ul{Republic}, \ul{Phaedo}) were unworthy vehicles 
of the truth, but in later dialogues (\ul{Sophist}, \ul{Statesman}) 
are not only worthy but somehow necessary to describe the 
not-being integral to every real thing. 

It is A.E. Taylor's view that the Platonic theory 
of creation in the \ul{Timaeus} is a perfectly Christian vision, 
and that, futhermore, Plato's view is best understood by 
applying to it the fundamentals of Whitehead's theory of 
time, as set out in the \et{Concept of Nature.} There are 
here actually two "heresies," as Cornford says. The first 
ig the assertion that Plato's theory of creation is 
assimilable to the Christian notion: the second is that 
Whitehead's theory is both Christian and Platonic. It 
might seem that these theological disputes are not to the 
point, but, unfortunately, Taylor has introduced them in 
explanation of the passage which is under discussion. 

Taylor first determines that Plato has said that 
the world clearly must have had an eternal model but that 
the world itself is mutable. Then he says, "This is 
virtually what Whitehead means when he says in his own 
terminology that objects are \sq{ingredient}"\pnote{2.19} in events. 
From this he draws the inference that Plato insists on a 
provisional character of representation because the senses 
only perceive roughly, and because it takes a long time for 
the coarseness of sensory perception to cross-check itself 
and finally arrive at precise and exact perceptions. 
Cornford seems right here when he says that A.E. Taylor's 
speculations derive from A.E. Taylor and hardly at all 
from Plato. It might be true to assert that Plato held 
the senses not to be "infinitely acute" but this is a 
long way from the claim that Plato offers a provisional 
account \e{because} the senses are so dull and because they 
can only report what they perceive at a given time\pnote{2.20}

A.E. Taylor nevertheless does not insert the "only" which 
others want. His translation reads: 
\Q{We must lay it down that discourses are akin in 
character to that which they expound, discourses 
about the permanent and stable and apprehensible 
by thought themselves permanent and unchanging 
(so far as it is possible and proper for discourses 
to be irrefutable and final, there must be no 
falling short of that---), discourses about that 
which is itself a likeness likely and corresponding
to their objects.\pnote{2.21}}

However, he adds the comment that Timaeus' discourse 
and Timaeus' "warning" about proportionality pertain to 
the whole cosmology. 
\Q{It is not given as a finally true account of 
anything but simply (only?) as the account which, 
so far as Timaeus can see, best "saves," i.e., 
does full justice to all the "appearances" so far 
as they are known to him.\pnote{2.22}}

\noindent So, although A.E. Taylor does not insert "only" in his 
translation, he asks that the passage be interpreted as a 
warning that the account is simply the best one which 
Timaeus can devise to save the appearances. This follows 
upon Taylor's assumption that the \ul{Timaeus} is a dialogue in 
which we should expect to find "nothing more" than the 
doctrine of a fifth-century Pythagorean, a "provisional 
tale," the "best approximation" Timaeus could manage. This 
interpretation makes it impossible for Taylor to accept 
the Timaeus as a dialogue which contains anything of the 
"later Platonic theory."\pnote{2.23}

Rather than enter into a detailed discussion of this 
Taylorian "heresy," as Cornford calls it, and rather than 
give the details of a long and involved series of quotations 
from the Ancients, it seems more appropriate to state 
Cornford's view of A.E. Taylor's unique and solitary 
opinion that the \ul{Timaeus} is \e{only} Plato's eclectic and 
rather artificial combination of Empedoclean biology on to 
the stock of Pythagorean mathematics and astronomy. Cornford 
says, in summary, 

\Q{It is hard to understand how anyone acquainted 
with the literature and art of the classical 
period can imagine that the greatest philosopher 
of that period, at the height of his powers, 
could have wasted his time on so frivolous and 
futile an exercise in pastiche.\pnote{2.24}}

In addition, Cornford feels that "There is more of Plato 
in \bt{The Adventures of Ideas} than there is of Whitehead in 
the \ul{Timaeus}."\pnote{2.25}

Except for Bury's, the most recent translation of the 
passages under discussion (29b--c) is Cornford's, which has 
the additional merit of supplying a detailed commentary, 
familiar at once with the sources and the conclusions of 
Platonic scholars. Yet Cornford's translation contains the 
assumption that the doctrine of the \ul{Timaeus} cannot go 
beyond the dialogues of the late period which precede it. 
Yet Cornford himself places the Timeaeus after the \ul{Philebus} 
on doctrinal grounds; he feels that the \ul{Timaeus} generalizes 
the divisions of the \ul{Philebus} into the far more general 
topic of cosmology. But he fails to see that the \ul{Timaeus} 
does not merely \e{apply} the \ul{Philebus}' doctrine to cosmology; 
the \ul{Timaeus} seeks a broader generalization of insight, 
proportional to the broader range of inquiry. Thus, in the 
passage in question, one should not conclude with Cornford 
that \ul{Timaeus} is apologizing for the use of image because 
of Plato's repudiation of images in the middle period. 
There is an explanation which is much more simple; the 
\ul{Timaeus} says quite simply that the image by which the 
universe is to be described is proportional to its model. 
The simplest view is that Plato now introduces an image 
into his most mature doctrine, and one can plausibly draw 
the inference that Plato's mature doctrine contains a 
rejwassesment of the value of an image. To force Plato to 
hold fast to his earlier repudiation of the value of images 
is to preclude the need for the whole \ul{Timaeus}, which, 
nevertheless, Plato wrote in his last years. 

Thus, the simplest interpretation of 29b-c seems 
best. We must accept Plato's statement that the Universe 
\e{is} an image, and we ought not inflict our interpretations 
of the earlier Platonic Philosophy on the philosophy Plato 
writes in the \ul{Timaeus}. This interpretation saves us the 
trouble of inserting cumbersome deviations from Plato's 
simple language. It seems too circuitous to assert that, 
although Plato says the Universe \e{is} an image, what he 
really means is that the Universe is \e{not} an image but \e{only} 
allegorically described \e{as if} it were an image. It seems 
simpler and more correct to say, with Plato, that our 
Universe \e{is} an image. 

Now the problem becomes more philosophical, for we 
must inquire of the succeeding passages about the reality 
of an image, what an image is and why an image is, and, 
with Plato and the whole \ul{Timaeus}, \e{when} an image is. This 
inquiry, as we shall see, is not to be separated from the 
main theme of the trilogy of which the \ul{Timaeus} is the first 
dialogue; what are the conditions of the best form of 
society. 

It would seem then, that the sense of 29b--c is as 
follows: 

\Q{Granting these premises, we must see now that our 
Universe is an image of something. Now in all things 
it is most important to start at the natural beginning.
Concerning an image, then, and its paradigm, we 
must state the following: as a word is proportional 
to the reality it describes, a description of that 
which is stable and abiding and discoverable by the 
aid of reason being itself stable and abiding (so 
far as it is possible for descriptions to be so---there
must be no falling short of that) so, a 
description which describes an image will be 
proportional to the image it describes; as reality 
is to becoming, so is truth to rational faith.}

This reading, it seems, restores the whole proportional 
tone of the passage, which is a carefully balanced 
set of proportional propositions, culminating in the statement 
that reality is to becoming what truth is to a rational 
faith. 

Thus, when Timaeus tells Socrates that the participants 
of the dialogue should accept the account he is 
about to give as a "probable myth" (\e{eikota mython}) (29d) 
4t need not be understood as "only" a myth but, in 
contradistinction to the childish myths which are for those 
who can see no further, the myth which Timaeus is about 
to tell is a likely or probable myth. This follows out the 
theme established in the former passage. Just as the image 
which our world is, is not \e{merely} an image, so the myth of 
Timaeus is not merely a \e{myth}. As the image is proportional 
to its model, so the myth will be proportional to its 
model. The myth is a description of the Universe, and the 
Universe \e{is} an image. And since the image is faithful to 
the proportions of the original, as the \ul{Sophist} stated it 
must be to have its measure of truth, so the myth will be 
proportional to the image, so that it can have its measure 
of truth. For some images are fantasies, and some myths are 
childish. But the universe is a genuine image and the myth 
which describes it is faithful to the proportions of the 
image, its model. As reality is to becoming, so image is 
to myth. It cannot be stressed too strongly that the 
reality and hence the reliability of images and myths 
depends on the account given to images in the \ul{Sophist} 
which goes beyond the sterile purity of the isolated Forms 
of the \ul{Parmenides}, which were there described as due to the 
naivete of the youthful Socrates. In this connection, it 
must equally be stressed that Plato is not vindicating any 
and all myths. He explicitly says only \e{faithful} images 
(in the \ul{Sophist}) and only probable myths (in the \ul{Timaeus}). 
But this is new. For Plato had written myths in each of the 
dialogues in the late period, and the famous myth of Er of 
the \ul{Republic} is easily remembered. In the \ul{Sophist} even 
some views of the One and the Many are called childish 
myths. And in the \ul{Seventh Letter}, Plato tells us that there 
neither was nor is nor shall there ever be a doctrine of 
Plato's on the subject of the ultimate Forms. In view of 
29b--c this paradoxical statement becomes intelligible. It 
means that there cannot be a doctrine of the ultimate Forms 
in \e{isolation}. Since the Universe is an image, the account 
of its ultimate Forms must be proportional to its reality. 
thus the account of the origins of the Universe, which is a 
locus of the Forms and the powers which they promise, must 
be mythical; not \e{merely} mythical, but \e{genuinely} mythical. 
It is Plato's sense of the inneffable and his poetic genius 
to see beyond every exact and fixed statement. The need not 
to blaspheme and yet the need to communicate can only be 
united in a properly proportional account of the subject. 
One must, and yet one dares not, speak the Name of the 
Ultimate Form. One may find the father of this universe 
but it is impossible to reveal him to all mankind. This 
speaks the double necessity not to lie and not to distort, 
and this double necessity is met by the true myth, which 
functions to reveal yet hide, to speak yet remain silent. 
Thus, while the myth speaks Plato's doctrine, in a sense, 
4t does not constitute a doctrine. It is precisely this 
notespeaking which constitutes the connecting theme between 
the \ul{Timaeus} and the \ul{Sophist}, but, at the same time, it is 
the generalization of this theme to a cosmic level, united 
to the investigation of time and eternity insofar as they 
relate to the best society, which constitutes the \ul{Timaeus} 
as a culmination of the themes of eternity, image, and time, 
as they were gradually developed in the later dialogues. 
Granted that the \ul{Timaeus} is poetry, it is not \e{only} poetry; 
it is, above all, Plato's philosophical poetry. 

So far, then, we have been told about the role which 
an image is to play in Plato's description of the origin 
of the Universe. We have been told that the Universe is an 
image and that one properly makes use of a myth to describe 
an image as accurately as it can be described. It remains 
for Plato to tell us what an image 1s, how the Universe is 
an image, and, most especially, how the description of the 
Universe as an image explains the relation of time and 
eternity to the best society. 

\sec Time and the Universe

\secc The Motive of Creation (29d--30b)

So far, we have been told that the World is a becoming 
image of an eternal realm. But this is precisely the 
problem. How can like be unlike, or how can the maker 
generate less perfectly than the perfect model. We recall 
the \ul{Sophist} (265b) distinguishes divine and human production 
and that the \ul{Philebus} has told us that the cause is the 
maker. But these distinctions only seem to introduce new 
problems. How can there be eternal becoming; would the 
cause of such an eternal becoming have to be a perpetually 
sustaining cause; or does eternal becoming mean that what 
becomes never began, or that what began shall perpetually 
become and continue. These questions must now be confronted, 
for the general issue which underlies them is "what is the 
relation of a becoming image to reality." 

Cornford states that "Plato denied reality to what is 
commonly called matter."\pnote{3.1} The materiality of this universe, 
however, is not unconnected with the motive for the generation 
of the Universe by its maker. We shall investigate the 
two issues simultaneously. Timaeus informs us of this motive 
when he tells us that the father of this Universe is good, 
and hence, not jealous of his perfection, so that "he 
desired that all things should come as near as possible to 
being like himself" (29e).\pnote{3.2} The father therefore: 

\Q{took over all that was visible-not at rest-but in 
discordant and unordered motioneand brought it 
from disorder into order, since he judged that 
order was in every way better. (30a)}

\noindent But the moat striking is: 

\Q{That this is the supremely valid principle of 
becoming and of the order of the world, we 
shall be most surely right to accept from men 
of understanding. (29a)}

Here the first part of the problem of an eternal 
becoming is stated. Plato has established that the model 
of the Universe must clearly be the eternal, and that the 
maker of the Universe introduced order, and that this 
order is the \e{most} valid basis of becoming. Yet, the 
following statement creates the problem, for it asserts; 
"Now it was not nor can it ever be permitted that the 
work of the supremely good should be anything but that 
which is the \e{best}" (30b). Here is the antithesis clearly 
stated: The Universe resembles an eternal model, yet it is 
a becoming Universe, and becoming, heretofore, could not 
be described in superlatives. Becoming is as perfect as it 
can be after it is ordered and endowed with intelligence. 

Plato leaves the problem unresolved at this juncture. 
He says only that the Universe was framed as perfectly as 
possible. It is thus a living being with reason and soul. 
Yet soul is presumably eternal. It is important to realize 
that this problem, namely the reconciliation of eternity 
and becoming, is kept alive during the succeeding passages, 
and has not yet been resolved. this is no oversight: Plato 
means to hold this question in readiness until the doctrine 
he is developing can supply the answer. 

Thus it is important to notice that the demiurge 
fashions the Universe \e{to the end} and \e{by nature toward}
perfection, which seems to mean that its present state is 
incomplete, and yet the Universe is ordered and given 
intelligence so that it might be as perfect as possible. 
Later (in 48a and 52d) we shall have occasion to point 
out the \e{relative} omnipotence of the demiurge. At this point, 
we have not yet been told how it is possible to place the 
eternal and the realm of becoming in a harmony without 
flaws. The relation of the eternal model and the becoming 
Universe remains problematic. 

Cornford states that it "...is not easy for us to 
understand" the relative and not absolute omnipotence of 
the demiurge. For it is clear that the demiurge has not 
created \e{ex nihilo,} but has ordered the discordant motions 
only in so far as it was possible. Cornford concludes that 
the set of discordant motions, the chaos, the material 
which the demiurge orders, is an eternally present 
material, and so the demiurge cannot be simply equated 
with the God of the Christians.\pnote{3.3} Cornford wants to help 
Plato avoid the "impossibly absolute divinity" who, being 
absolute, could not involve himself in earthly affairs. 
But this seems unnecessary, since the demiurge is in no 
danger of being impossibly absolute; rather is he in 
danger of being so completely relativized in Cornford's 
description that he becomes, not only not the God of the 
Christians, but not even the demiurgic divinity which 
Plato describes. 

\secc The Model of the Universe (30c--31b)

In the next paragraph Timaeus speaks of the model 
after which the demiurge fashioned this Universe. He says 
that we must not suppose that the model was any specific 
Form, for then the Universe would lack the perfections of 
the other Forms after which the Universe was not copied. 
The Universe is most like that Living Being of which all 
the other things are parts, and it contains them all. In 
this, the Universe is very much like the model because 
there are no specific perfections lacking to it. 

What can this Living Being be to whom no perfection 
is lacking and who serves as the model for each specific 
perfection. It cannot be any one Form, for on this supposition 
there might be others (31a). Nor can it be a Form 
of all Forms, for this position involved the difficulties 
mentioned in the \ul{Parmenides}. Is it The Form of The Good, 
or perhaps the Demiurge Himself? None of these answers 
satiafy. If it were the Good, Plato could easily have said 
so, as he did in the \ul{Republic}. Nor does the demiurge regard 
his own perfection as a model; he is said to regard a 
model, but he is not described as looking to himself. It 
is hard to see the grounds for Taylor's assertion that the 
demiurge fashions by "an overflow of his goodness."\pnote{3.4}

Plato himself "recapitulates" the third man argument 
of the \ul{Parmenides} to the effect that the model which 
embraces all the intelligible things there are cannot be 
one of a pair (the simplest number),

\Q{for then there would have to be yet another Living 
Creature embracing those two, and they would be 
parts of it; and thus our world would be more 
truly described as likeness, not of them, but of 
that other which would embrace them. (31a)}

The Universe must be one, like its model. Here again the 
\ul{Timaeus} marches out boldly beyond the doctrines of its 
predecessors, for that One after which the Universe is 
modelled is not the sort of One which is put into the 
mouth of Parmenides in the dialogue which hears his name, 
but a new sort of One which is now to be described. Or 
rather, Timaeus will now present a mythical account of that 
One of which the Universe is the image. 

\secc The Body of the Universe (31b--32c)

But Plato does not launch immediately into a 
description of the One. Instead, he takes the lesson of 
the \ul{Philebus} to heart and proceeds to reveal how the 
Universe is composed of four primary elements, first the 
traditional fire and earth, and then the third which 
unites them, "for two cannot be satisfactorily united 
without a third." (31b)

Here Taliaferro''s brilliant analysis of Plato's 
Pythagoreanism is apropos. He shows how the necessity of 
proportion \e{between} lines, planes, and spheres, is a 
generalization of the proportions \e{within} lines, planes, 
and spheres. That is, just as the extremities which make 
up a line are proportional to each other, so the plane 
and the sphere have proportional elements; but further, 
the proportion between the line and the plane is proportionally
the same as the proportion between the plane and the 
sphere. In the same way, the realms of physics and geometry 
are proportional to each other, as the realm of matter is 
proportional to the realm of soul, and the realm of soul 
with the realm of being. Plato seems to be suggesting that 
there is a general proportionality between being and 
becoming.\pnote{3.5}

Yet this is abstract, and Plato wants to present the 
tale with all the richness of which a myth is capable. 
Although a radical unity of realms has been introduced, 
the structured, leveled unity of these realms must be 
spelled out, for the Universe shares in the intelligibility 
of 4ts model, which comprehends all the things within it 
in a single unity. It is as if Plato were building suspense 
into his drama of creation. There is a difference between 
@& metaphysical dramatist, who writes drama with metaphysical 
overtones and suggestions, and the dramatic metaphysician, 
who writes metaphysics with dramatic overtones. Plato seems 
to be one of the latter sort, since his \ul{Timaeus} portrays 
the metaphysical origins of the Universe, in such a fashion 
that Timaeus' account manages to create dramatic suspense. 

Since the Universe is visible, it must be bodily, 
and that which is bodily must have come to be. But, the 
\ul{Philebus} informed us that the visible must have fire to be 
visible and earth to be tangible, and, since no two can 
be united without a third, fire and earth cannot be united 
without a third. Here in the \ul{Timaeus}, the third must unite 
fire and earth in the best way possible, which is in the 
manner of a geometric proportion (31c). This is the best 
because "in that way all will necessarily come to play 
the same part toward one another, and by so doing they 
will all make a unity" (32a). Plato speaks here of the 
relation of proportional elements to each other; 2 is to 
4 as 4 is to 8. By transposition, 4 is to 2 as 8 is to 4, 
and in this way the mean, 4, comes to be the outside term 
and therefore it seems to be the outer boundary of the 
proportion. This is the arithmetical way of allegorizing 
the doctrine that proportion is what unifies, just as the 
side of the plane forms the outer boundary of its area, 
There is no need to dwell on the obvious Pythagorean style 
of this image. The point is that the elements of fire and 
earth need to be united in a proportion so that they 
define each other in the unity which they form. But on the 
basis of a simple proportion of this type, the Universe 
would have a plane surface with no depth. Yet we see that 
the World is a solid, "and solids are always conjoined, 
not by one mean, but by two" (32b). Therefore the god set 
water and air between fire and earth, and made then 
proportional to one another. In this way the unity of the 
Universe was achieved, and the proportionality of its 
four elements to each other is their boundary. Further, 
only he who set the elements in proportion could disolve 
it (32c). All of the elements were used up in the construction 
of the Universe, and in this way the Universe resembles 
its model's perfect unity, for none of the materials were 
left over and it is therefore, in its way, complete. It 
4s also, on that basis, simple, that is, one Universe, and 
hence resembles the unity of its model. Since only he who 
made the Universe can disrupt its unity, and since there 
are no materials left over which could attack the Universe, 
it-.ia free from old age and sickness, which come about by 
the introduction of materials from without. This at first 
seems to mean that the Universe resembles the eternity of 
its model in that those elements which might bring about 
age and sickness to the eternal would have to be outside ite 
definition, and so, the Universe, in its fashion, similarly 
cannot age or succumb to sickness for this would require 
elements outside it, of which there are none (33). 

But the shape of the body of the Universe is "that 
which is fitting to its nature" (33b); it is spherical. 
This is an extremely important phrase, since some regard 
Plato's image of time as circular and therefore interpret  
the Platonic Universe as closed, and subject only to 
eternal recurrence, without novelty or growth or process.\pnote{3.6}
Therefore it is necessary to dwell on this phrase, for it 
says precisely and unambiguously that the spherical shape 
of the body of the Universe is proper to its nature. The 
foregoing passage clearly tells us that the Universe 
resembles its model in its own way, and that the perfection 
of the Universe is the aspect of the model from which the 
spherical shape derives. It is one thing to say that the 
Platonic Universe is spherical and therefore closed; it 
48 quite another thing to say that the Platonic Universe, 
which is a becoming image, is as perfect as it can be, and 
therefore allegorically spherical. This latter view cannot 
be stressed too strongly, because it is common to regard 
the Platonic Universe as nonetemporal, or as imperfect 
because it is only spherically temporal. Plato, on the 
contrary, tells us clearly that the perfection of the 
model is the paradigm for the perfection of the Universe, 
which is a becoming image, so that it is appropriate to 
its setyle of perfection for it to be spherical. It is 
necessary to state simply that the question of the temporal 
character of this Universe has yet to be broached and will 
not be introduced by Plato until the discussion of the 
soul of the Universe has been undertaken. It follows that 
descriptions of the temporal character of the Universe 
based on its spherical shape do not follow the logical 
order of the dialogue, for they extract elements of the 
dialogue out of their context, in order to put them 
together in an order which was foreign to Plato's stated 
order. The spherical shape of the body of the Universe as 
Plato describes it, is the way in which the body of the 
Universe resembles the perfection of its model, insofar as 
that model is a self-comprehending figure, that is, a 
figure which is a proportional unity. It is not the — 
function of the spherical shape to resemble the eternity 
of the model; on the contrary; it is the function of the 
revolution of the sphere, governed by the world-soul, to 
resemble the eternity of the model. In so far as the body 
of the Universe is spherical, to that extent does it 
resemble the unity of the model. One must call to mind 
here the impossibility of describing each and every 
characteristic of the Universe at the same time and by the 
same set of words. Plato, like every other writer, cannot 
speak simultaneously of every aspect of his vision; it 
takes \e{time} to describe every feature of what one describes. 
The function of an image in this context becomes somewhat 
more evident, and the truism that a picture is worth a 
thousand words is not irrelevant to this characteristic of 
written description. For an image, a picture, can put 
forward thousands of details in a simple \e{simultaneous} 
unity, whereas the description of the picture in written 
words must focus on one aspect \e{at a time.} Thus Plato 
describes his Universe as a becoming image, to indicate 
that the unity of its elements is complete and harmonious: 
but to reason immediately from its spherical shape to its 
temporal character is an instance of cart-before-the-horsemanship.
We must wait until the discussion of the body 
of the Universe has been completed, and then for the 
discussion of the soul of the Universe. Then, and only 
then, does Plato introduce his doctrine of time and the 
relation of time to the eternal model. 

Thus Plato states that the spherical body of the 
Universe is without organs or limbs, because the Universe 
which embraces all living things within itself ought to 
have that shape which comprehends all shapes within itself. 
The sphere is the most perfect shape because it "comprehends 
in itself all the figures there are" (33b). The shape of the 
Universe is proportional to its model: as the model is the 
most perfect model, the sphere is the most perfect shape. 
To accomplish his stated purpose, Plato describes how the 
Universe, as an image, is proportional to its model. In so 
doing, Plato continues to follow his own injunction; as 
reality is to becoming, so is truth to faith. 

But again, it is important to notice that the precise 
description of the relation between an eternal becoming 
and an eternal being has not yet been made clear. It is 
still held out for later comment. In short, during his 
description of the shape of the Universe, Plato has not 
yet said how it can be that the Universe can be an eternal 
becoming. The spherical shape of the Universe is basic but 
not sufficient for an insight into Plato's philosophy of 
time. 

Similarly, one cannot pass immediately from Plato's 
aphenteal Universe to Plato's philosophy of time. The motion 
of the sphere, which he is about to reveal, is basic, but 
even thie will \e{not} be sufficient for the explication of 
Plato's time-doctrine. The spherical Universe has no 
organs for sight or food, and is therefore not dependent 
on anything else. It has the sort of metion which, above 
all, belongs to reason and intelligence, namely, uniform 
rotation. It does not go from up to down, nor from down to 
up; nor from left to right, nor right to left; nor does 
it go from forward to backward, nor from backward to 
forward; the maker took these six motions away from it in 
the process of ordering its discorcant wanderings. It 
revolves uniformly within its own limits (34a). 

In his description of the body of the Universe, it 
is important to see that the divisions of the \ul{Philebus} and 
the arrangement of the elements in their proportions are 
recapitulated here in the \ul{Timaeus}. Otherwise, one fails to 
notice that the relation of fire, air, earth, and water, in 
the \ul{Timaeus} is a subtle transfiguration of the Pythagorean 
number four, and also a substitution of proportion for the 
Amity which the elements had when ordered by the \e{Nous} of 
Anaxagoras, which, as Socrates complained in the \ul{Phaedo}, 
Anaxagoras introduces early in his work but soon proceeds 
to ignore. Here Plato carries the theme of proportional 
unity into the relation of the elements themselves, It is 
doubly important to take note of this proportionality as 
constituent of the Universe, because Plato has described 
the relation of proportionality as the best sort of unity 
for the Universe, and the Universe must be the best 
possible because it is an image of its model. As we shall 
see, the world soul is similarly the best possible, for, 
not only is it too a resemblance of the model but it is 
the deeper source of the proportional perfection of the 
Universe. 

\secc The Soul of the Universe

The plan of the god who makes the Universe into the 
best image of the best model could not exclude soul from 
his activity, so that the excellent body of the Universe, 
which is spherical, and therefore not dependent on anything 
outside of itself, must in some way be related to a soul. 
The Soul of the Universe was set in the center, but 
further "wrapped its body round with soul on the outside" 
(340). Here the transposability of the elements of a proportion
comes into the account. For, at first, it seems 
that the center of the Universe cannot at the same time be 
the periphery. But, just as the mean term of a proportion 
can become the extremes by transposition, so the Soul, 
which is first described as the center (the mean) now 
becomes the outer boundary. This use of mathematical image 
seems to be Plato's way to indicate allegorically that the 
very heart of the Universe is also its limit, and that its 
center is not to be taken as a strictly spatial point but 
as the inner principle of the Cosmos, which therefore also 
animates its sphere of functioning and the limits of that 
functioning. Because the Soul of the Universe is both its 
center and its limiting boundary, it is described as a 
"blessed god" (34b). 

One might easily wonder why the body of the 
Universe is discussed before the Soul, which is said to be 
the most excellent source of perfection. Plato explains in 
the next paragraph why this was done. He says that we 
should not suppose, merely because the Soul came later in 
the account of the Universe, that it is therefore younger, 
for that would be an insufferable perversion of right 
order. Already, "There is in us too much of the casual and 
the random which shows itself in our speech..." (34c). The 
priority of Soul in perfection is not absolute and total; 
there are still too many obvious wanderings and deviations 
from the orderly to assert that the Soul is prior in every 
way.\pnote{3.7} Plato is all too aware that the Universe cannot be 
empirically described as exhibiting the perfections of 
Soul. It seems likely that Plato described the body of the 
Universe before describing the Soul in order to follow out 
his initial premise that the \ul{Timaeus} will reveal the plan 
of the Universe in an image, so that, by first establishing 
the visible shape of the Universe, he will then be able to 
make use of the shape he attributed to it to fashion images 
of the Soul. This was the procedure of the \ul{Republic}, for 
there, it was explicitly agreed that the best plan for the 
investigation of the Soul would be to see it writ large in 
the State. So here, it seems that Plato is saying that we 
shall come to understand the Soul of the Universe writ 
large in its body. Throughout the \ul{Timaeus} the details of 
the image are described before the image itself, but this 
is only an apparent reversal of the order in which the 
Universe was fashioned. It does not seem wise to interpret 
this, (as Cornford and A.E. Taylor do) as "inconsistent." 
If one understands from the outset that the best description 
of the Universe must be proportional "te its reality, then 
the details of the allegorical level of explanation are not 
inconsistent with the details of the reality of the 
Universe. Only on the supposition that Plato is following 
a linear plan of description would it follow that details 
are out of place. But if one accepts Plato's approach 
through image, then one remembers that the exigencies of 
written description create the appearance of a linear 
account, whereas, in fact, Plato concentrates on one 
aspect and then another of the entire image, which, in its 
unity, does not serialize or linearize the elements of the 
account. Plato's Universe does not consist of a series of 
elements which must therefore be described one at a time. 
One could more easily attempt to fashion a length of rope 
from grains of sand.\pnote{3.8} Thus, if one starts from an expectae 
tion that the description of the Universe must be a linear 
account, one should conclude that Plato's description of 
the World-Soul snould have preceeded his account of the 
Body of the Universe. But, if one starts from the awareness 
that Plato is describing those aspects of the Universe 
which will lead to an insight into the whole Universe in 
a simple image, which is the best kind of account of the 
Universe because it is proportional to its kind of being, 
one is not disappointed that Plato describes the Soul of 
the Universe after the body. One ought to recall in this 
regard Plato's deep concern that it is, after all, impossible
to reveal the maker of the Universe to all mankind. 
He attempts, by means of his imagery, to communicate to as 
Many as possible. In this way, the recipient of his account 
has been presented with the shape of the body of the 
Universe, and he can now elevate this image by perceiving 
how it has Soul at the center and all around it. 

However, the World-Soul is not so simple that its 
description can rest on the characteristics of centrality 
and periphery. The description of the "parts" of the 
World-Soul follows next, in a passage which Cornford has 
described as "one of the most obscure of the whole dialogue."\pnote{3.9}
Further, he says that the passage "would be 
simply unintelligible to anyone who had not read and 
understood the \ul{Sophist}."\pnote{3.10} In a note he adds that A.E. 
Taylor has precluded this basis for understanding the 
World-Soul because A.E. Taylor denies a knowledge of the 
\ul{Sophist} to Timaeus.\pnote{3.11}

By his reference to the \ul{Sophist}, Cornford points 
out that the "ingredients" of the Soul will be the Forms 
which Plato there said communicated with each other, 
namely, Unity, Sameness, and Difference. Particularly, 
Difference has the character of not-being, yet these Forms 
communicate with each other. In the following passage from 
the \ul{Timaeus}, Plato describes how the World-Soul comes to be 
formed, and how the communication of these Forms is 
accomplished in the World-Soul. 

\Q{The things of which he composed soul and the manner 
of its composition were as follows: Between the 
indivisible existence that is ever in the same 
state, and the divisible existence that becomes 
in bodies, he compounded a third form of existence 
composed of both. Again, in the case of Sameness 
and that of Difference, he also on the same 
principle made a compound intermediate between 
that kind of them which is indivisible and the 
kind that is divisible in bodies. Then, taking 
the three, he blended them all into a unity, 
forcing the nature of difference, hard as it was 
to mingle, into union with sameness, and mixing 
them together with existence. (35a--b)}

This passage bears extensive comment, for several of 
its points are crucial to Plato's development of his 
philosophy of time. 

First, it is clear that the Forms have not been 
repudiated by the \ul{Timaeus}, since the passage begins with a 
description of the Forms which recapitulates their treatment 
in the \ul{Sophist}. The kind of existence which is always 
the same is proper to the Forms, and was proper to the 
Forms as early as the \ul{Phaedo} and the \ul{Republic}. But in the 
\ul{Sophist}, the Different was introduced, based on Plato's 
recognition that it is necessary to say what is-not in 
order to say what is. In short, the entire doctrine of 
not-being of the \ul{Sophist} has reappeared in the \ul{Timaeus}. 
But, just as the initial recapitulation of the \ul{Republic} at 
the beginning of the \ul{Timaeus} (28a) does not rest with a 
simple repetition but proceeds further, so here the 
recapitulation of the \ul{Sophist} doctrine of not-being, on 
the level of the Forms, i.e., Difference, will not end 
Plato's discussion. He means to go beyond this point. Or, 
to put the matter differently, Plato will now investigate 
the relevance of the doctrine of not-being insofar as it 
helps to explain the constitution of the World-Soul. 

The second point to be noticed is the recognition 
that there are, as Cornford translates it, "kinds" of 
existences: there is the "kind" of existence proper to the 
Forms, there is the "kind" of existence proper to divisible 
bodies, and in addition, there is a third "kind" of 
existence, between them, an intermediate existence, proper 
to the Soul of the Universe. Further, these three "kinds" 
are further divided and then further recombined, so that 
there is a whole hierarchy of "kinds" of existence. 
Cornford's diagram is instructive on this point.\pnote{3.12}

\table{c|c}{
First Mixture & Final Mixture \crll
Indivisible existence\nl
Divisible existence &
Intermediate existence \crl
Indivisible sameness\nl
Divisible sameness & Intermediate sameness \nl Soul \crl
Indivisible difference\nl
Divisible difference & Intermediate difference}

Note that it is no longer possible to assert that 
there is only one "kind" of existence which deserves the 
name, the sort reserved for the Forms in the \ul{Republic}, 
where all else is mere shadows. In this connection, it 
should be recalled that the \ul{Sophist} distinguished sharply 
between the kinds of images (\e{eidola}), and reached the 
conclusion that some images are false (\e{phantasiai}) but 
some are genuine. Of those that are genuine one must 
further distinguish those that are of human origin and 
those that are of divine origin (240a). The \ul{Sophist} therefore 
credits images with some sort of existence. But the 
\ul{Timaeus} does not simply describe the Universe as an 
\e{eidolon,} a little Form, so to speak. The Universe is an 
\e{eikon,} which now comes to mean that it is like the perfection 
of the most perfect. But even this is not the high 
point of Plato's analysis, as we shall see. Nevertheless 
it is central to the exposition of this passage to notice 
that the doctrine of the \ul{Sophist}, which makes it necessary 
to somehow include not-being in the realm of Forms, is now 
recapitulated, but, in addition, it is not only the reality 
of the Forms but the reality of the whole Universe which 
must now be explained. And in this connection, Plato has 
shifted from a description which accords some sort of being 
to images, to a description of the whole Universe \e{as} an 
image, and that the transition from \e{eidolon} to \e{eikon} is 
intrinsic to this development of doctrine. 

Thus, between the two orders of existence with which 
we were formerly acquainted in the \ul{Sophist}, namely, the 
eternal and the becoming, Plato has now inserted a third. 
This is a further development of his doctrine of proportion, 
of which we saw the first usage in this dialogue in the 
composition of the body of the Universe. The sort of 
mixture which the \ul{Philebus} prefigures is now developed in 
Plato's attempt to construct the entire Cosmos on this 
basis. But, in the \ul{Philebus}, the precise details of the 
manner in which this mixture was to be accomplished were 
left somewhat less clear than they are now painted, for 
the \ul{Philebus} insisted that the cause of the mixture was in 
fact the god, but the god was not described as the maker 
of the whole Universe; he was there only the mixer of the 
Forms in some things. 

This passage, like the passage at 29, is a radical 
innovation on Plato's part, which takes the doctrine of 
the \ul{Timaeus} far beyond the doctrines of its predecessor 
dialogues. It is a recapitulation, but the recapitulation 
serves as a basis for an advance. Where once only the 
Forms were ultimately real, now there are "kinds" or 
"sorts" or "levels" of reality; but these are not to be 
distinguished from each other as merely Different; they are 
also the Same, and, further, they are in a proportional 
Unity. The significance of this proportional unity is the 
basis of the succeeding passages, where we notice that the 
basis of knowledge itself has undergone a radical growth. 
And, in addition, the basis of the former division of the 
world into the eternal and the becoming has similarly 
undergone a radical growth, wherein it will no longer be 
possible for Plato to distinguish simply between the eternal 
and the becoming as separated realms, but the relation 
of the eternal to the becoming will have to be described 
in a new way. Somehow, the eternal and the becoming will 
be related in a way which will explain how it is possible 
to have an eternal becoming. 

This pertains to the statement that the Universe is 
an image. For, as we saw, the Universe is an image which in 
some way is like its eternal model and yet is a becoming 
image; yet it was not explained how there could be any 
reality to such an intermediary thing. The basis for the 
reality of the Universe as an image has now been laid. For 
the World-Soul itself is neither simply eternal nor simply 
becoming; it is a proportional unity of the Same and the 
Different. 

But, from basis to doctrine is not an immediate step. 
The lesson of the \ul{Philebus} and the \ul{Statesman}, which was 
the caution not to divide too quickly, but to proceed by 
following the right divisions according to the way things 
are, is not foreign to the author of these lessons. Before 
he gives the details of the reconciliation between eternal 
being and mere becoming, Plato follows out the division of 
the World-Soul into its precise portions. 

Of course, we should not expect that Plato's 
passages on the motions of the planets will be adequate 
from the point of view of contemporary astronomy, so that 
a detailed commentary on the exact motions of the planets 
will be of interest only to those whose taste runs to 
collecting the opinions of the ancients and constructing a 
history of opinions with no care about their relevance or 
utility to contemporary experience. Plato had no Galileo 
to instruct him, nor a Newton. Furthermore, the invention 
of the telescope and the mass spectrometer have outmoded 
most of Plato's astronomy. But it is interesting to note 
that Plato looked to astronomy as a case in point. For, if 
the World-Soul united the Same and the Different within 
4tself, and if the World-Soul, by reason of its superior 
dignity, is actually responsible for the motions of the 
planets, it should follow that the revolutions of the 
planets will occur in what Plato will describe as the 
revolution of the Same, the Different, and their Unity in 
the revolution of the uniforn. 

This is precisely the description which we confront 
in Plato's astronomy. It emerges that the seven divisions 
of the Soul are intermediate between the seven basic 
Forms, on the one hand, and the seven planetary distances, 
on the other, which in turn are proportional to the seven 
basic string lengths. Plato tells us that the harmony of 
the musical scale is only one level (or sort, or kind) of 
harmony, and that the Soul of the World is itself an 
intermediate between the ultimate Forms and the body of 
the Universe. The fundamental truth is the assertion of 
proportionality and the harmony of the elements of the 
proportions.\pnote{3.13} Plato goes on to construct an intricate 
allegory of the circles of the Same and of the Different; 
he describes how these circles have been joined in the 
center of the Soul, and how the revolution of the Same 
circumscribes the revolution of the Different (the allegorical 
indication that the Same is the "outer" limit of the 
Different). The seven circles of the Soul represent the 
proportional share which the Soul has in the seven Forms,\pnote{3.14}
just as the seven tones reflect the seven planetary distances.
The point is not merely the number of circles, but 
the motion of the circles, since planets and music certainly move. 

Plato tries very hard to make his allegory exact in 
every detail. He indicates that motions are shared 
proportionately by the seven planets, which means, (as 
A.E. Taylor has seen\pnote{3.15}) that Plato anticipated our own 
contemporary relativity theory of motion. (Heisenberg 
makes the same point\pnote{3.16}), It is anticlimactic to note that 
Plato knew the solar system to be heliocentric, although 
this is not universally agreed upon. 

Plato next relates the seven motions of the Soul 
to the seven dimensions of the body, which is fashioned 
later than Soul, although it was described earlier. He 
says in summary; 

\Q{...the soul, being everywhere interwoven from the 
center to the outermost heaven, enveloping heaven 
all around on the outside, revolving within its 
own limits, made a divine beginning of ceaseless 
and intelligent life for all time. (36e)}

It is unnecessary to point out in this age of 
possible thermonuclear holocaust that Plato's optimism is 
derived from the perfection of the Universe which is the 
image of the perfection of the model, and not from the 
sort of empirical observation which has created pessimism 
in many quarters. However, one should note that Plato's 
Sicilian adventures did result in a sadness which Plato 
describes in his \ul{Seventh Letter}. The difference between 
Plato's sadness over the outcome of Sicilian politics and 
the contemporary pessinism lies in the world-wide scale 
on which contemporary destruction can be accomplished. One 
might wish to derive a sense of optimism from the possibility 
that the Universe will go on even if the planet earth 
does not harbor any human life. For Plato refers to the 
life of the World-Soul as it inspires the body of the 
Universe, and not to the life of man, which, Plato was 
aware, is all too short. In the Myth of Er, the \ul{Republic} 
describes the life of man as a span of one hundred years, 
and the cycle of good life as a span of ten thousand years. 
Here in the \ul{Timaeus} intelligent life is "ceaseless." 

But the discourse concerning the World-Soul was not 
written only to illustrate that Plato was master of the 
Pythagorean system of numbers. Where Pythagoras would 
derive the proportions of any body from the numbers 1, 2, 
3, and 4, Plato establishes harmonic intervals which do not 
sum to the perfect number 10; instead, he leaves the end 
of the proportions open, so that the scale of tones or the 
planetary differences might be further calculated, if one 
wished.\pnote{3.17} Here one could agree with A.E. Taylor that Plato 
has given a "provisional" tone to his dialogue,\pnote{3.18} but, at 
the same time, one would have to disagree that Timaeus does 
nothing more than recite fifth-century Pythagoreanism, for 
Plato's Universe is not strictly Pythagorean. There seem 
to be several reasons for this, not the least of which is 
Plato's \e{use} of Pythagorean numerology in a description of a 
Universe which has far more complexity, and, at the same 
time, far more simplicity than the Universe of Pythagoras. 
This is most evident in the Pythagorean insistence that the 
Forms (numbers) are the ultimately real, and the World of 
appearance is less real. In what follows, Plato will reveal 
that there is a kind of knowledge proper to the World-Soul 
which transcends a knowledge of number, by including it in 
a more comprehensive knowledge. 

Thus, the body of the Universe is visible, but the 
Soul of the Universe is invisible, and is the "best of 
things brought into being by the most excellent of things 
intelligible and eternal" (37a). Because the Soul has been 
blended out of the Same, the Different, and the Existent, 
she is "in contact with anything that has dispersed existence 
or with anything whose existence is indivisible" (37a) 
In this way the Soul is like anything that is, and it can 
therefore know anything that is, "either in the sphere of 
things that become or with regard to things that are always 
changeless" (37b). 

Thus, even though the World-Soul is the intermediate 
form of existence between what is eternal and what becomes, 
Plato can still say that there are two "levels" of existence, 
one eternal and one becoming. But he no longer says that 
there are only two forms of existence, nor that these two 
"levels" or spheres are exhaustive of all existence. Since 
the Soul is intermediate, it is a third "level" of existence. 
Yet, one courts danger by the simple enumeration of the 
number of forms of existence for one misses the whole 
emphasis which Plato has put on proportionality throughout 
the \ul{Timaeus}. The Soul could not know either realm if it 
were simply in between the eternal and the becoming; the 
point is that the Soul is in a proportional unity with the 
eternal and the becoming, and so, it is part of each and 
each is part of it. Plato tells us in the following 
passage that both the circle of the same and the circle 
of the different transport their respective judgments into 
the Soul: 

\Q{Now whenever discourse that is alike true, whether 
it takes place concerning that which is different 
or that which is the same, being carried on without 
speech or sound within the thing that is self-moved, 
is about that which is sensible, and the circle of 
the different, moving aright, carriea its message 
through all its soul-then there arise judgments 
and beliefs that are sure and true. But whenever 
discourse is concerned only with the rational, 
and the circle of the same, running smoothly, 
declares it, the result must be rational 
understanding and knowledge. (37b, c)}

Several features of this passage bear comment. First, 
it states that belief arises from the circle of the 
Different, (which includes the realm of the many, the 
dispersed, and the sensible objects of perception) and that 
beliefs must be sure and true if they arise from the 
\e{proper} revolution of the circle of the Different. Second, 
it describes this sort of judgment as intrinsic to the 
World-Soul, and not an inferior sort of knowledge. For the 
Same and the Different constitute Soul; no longer is Soul 
only the superior portion of the divided line. Third, the 
knowledge of the Same and the knowledge of the Different 
both comprise Soul, and are both proper functions of Soul, 
having allegorically, the relation to each other of 
proportionality. This is not to say that rational knowledge 
alone is not better; rather, it asserts that belief and 
opinion are not bad or impossible. Both judgments are 
necessary to what Soul is, and both sorts of knowledge arise 
when Soul does what Soul does; namely, generate the motions 
of the Universe. Lastly, the judgment by the Soul is 
called an \e{aesthesis}, which, unlike the English word 
"judgment," extends to feeling and to the appreciation of 
beauty as well as of truth. This capacity to Know aesthetically 
is of the utmost significance in Plato's Universe, and 
it is especially necessary for a consideration of the next 
topic to which Plato addresses himself, namely, time. For 
if time is a Form then reason alone will comprehend it. But 
if time is an image, then its beauty is as important as its 
truth. 

\secc Time as Image (to 39e) 

Up to this point in his development of the construction 
of the Universe, Plato has insisted that the Universe 
embodies in its proportional way the perfection of its 
model, and yet the model is consistently described as 
eternal, while the Universe is said to be an eternal becoming.
The Universe is described throughout the foregoing 
passages as a reality which is as perfect as it can be, and 
yet Plato nowhere says how a visible and tangible body can 
be like its eternal indivisible model. Even the existence 
of the World-Soul and its participation in the whole of the 
Universe, in its divisible as well as its indivisible aspects 
that is, in its sameness and in its difference, is not 
sufficient to confer on the Universe the closest approximnation 
to the perfection of the eternal model, even though 
Plato usually attributes the highest perfections to Soul. 
In the following passage, Plato finally makes explicit the 
way in which the Universe of becoming most resembles the 
eternity of its model. To all the perfection which he has 
attributed to the Universe, including intelligence, 
judgment, and uniform revolution, he now adds the perfection 
which enables the Universe to resemble its eternal model 
to the fullest extent possible, the ultimate perfection of 
which the Universe is capable. Plato writes: 

\Q{When the father who had begotten it saw it set in 
motion and alive, a shrine brought into being for 
the everlasting gods, he rejoiced and being well 
pleased he took thought to make it yet more like 
its pattern. (37c)}

When the Universe was set "in motion and made alive," 
the requirements which Socrates had laid down in the 
beginning of the dialogue were met. However, Plato does 
not end his sentence on this condition; he adds that the 
Universe was alive and in motion, and, in addition, it was 
a shrine (\e{agalma}). This peculiar word has caused the 
commentators no small difficulty.\pnote{19} Its meaning is not 
fixed and precise, since it may mean a statue or it may 
mean a thing of joy. But the connotation of the word 
suggests that either the statue or the thing of joy are 
made by the lover who beholds in the statue an image of 
his loved one, which makes the \e{agalma} both a statue and 
a thing of joy. One recalls that the dialogues of the late 
period, especially the \ul{Sophist}, have consistently lent 
themselves to an exposition of the difference between a 
mere statue, which may or may not be faithful to the 
proportions of the original model, and a genuine image,  
which is faithful to the proportions of the original model. 
The \e{agaima} is not only faithful to its original model but 
the model is a loved one whose very visage brings joy to 
the heart of the beholder. Heretofore, the Universe was 
described as an image, (\e{eikon}) but in this passage it is 
described as \e{agalma}, an image which brings joy to the 
heart of the beholder. 

But the \ul{Sophist} distinguished between human and 
divine images. One can understand that a human craftsman 
might take delight in an image of his loved one, but when 
the maker of the Universe takes delight in the image of 
the perfection of the eternal model, it is another matter. 
For this image is said to be a shrine for the everlasting 
gods, and the plural is unmistakable. For the plural gods 
have not made the Universe; this was the work of the 
demiurge; yet the Universe is not described as a shrine 
for the demiurge but for the everlasting gods. It is 
tempting to conclude from what first seems to be a glaring 
inconsistency that Plato had made the Universe to be a 
place in which the gods may worship the Living Being who 
is the model of the Universe. Or, going beyond the surface 
of the allegory, one might conclude that the One Living 
Being who is the maker of the Universe takes delight in 
Himself in the image of Himself which is called the 
Universe, since Plato clearly says that the maker rejoiced 
when he beheld it. But it is first necessary to state that 
Plato does not offer these interpretations himself, and we 
are forced once again to remind ourselves that the finding 
of the maker of the Universe is a hard task and the 
revelation of the maker to all mankind is impossible. It 
seems best to interpret the passage in the light of Plato's 
own statement that the exact and specific description of 
the maker is impossible. Nor does it seem wise to expect 
that Plato is trying to bring us to the point where we 
ourselves experience the reality behind the veil of 
allegory, in the hope that we will experience what he means, 
even though he does not say it explicitly. Although this 
might very well be Plato's intention, we have no way of 
knowing whether he has designed this passage, indeed, this 
entire dialogue, to create the basis of such an experience, 
Although it is impossible to pretend that we do not 
project our own views on to the structure of Plato's 
philosophy, since we are moderns and our minds are attuned, 
as it were, to our own era, nevertheless we ought to 
attempt to plumb Plato's meaning, so far as we can. To 
assert that this is impossible is to abandon all historical 
scholarship; to assert that this poses no difficulty at all 
is \e{naivete} in the extreme. Thus, despite the agreement 
which Augustine and many other philosophers felt when 
confronting this passage, we ought not to conclude that 
Plato has "anticipated," as the saying goes, the doctrines 
of Christianity. One could as well say that the ineffability
which characterizes Plato's maker of the Universe is 
due to his acquaintance with Buddhist or Mosaic doctrines 
of the ineffability of the Divine. 

One must rest at Plato's statement that the Universe 
is an \e{agalma}, and that the maker rejoiced when he saw that 
it was alive and in motion. In the \bt{Phaedrus} (at 252d) 
there is a similar usage of \e{agalma}, in which the lover 
chooses his love (\e{eros}) as if the love were a shrine 
(\e{agalma}). There is another use in the Laws (931a) where 
parents who receive proper veneration from their children 
are regarded as instances of \e{agalma}. 

However, one must recall that Plato has said all 
through the \ul{Timaeus} that the Universe was fashioned by the 
demiurge, who in turn looks to the perfection of the 
eternal model, and not to himself as the locus of the 
eternal model, so that the simple equation of the eternal 
model with the demiurge runs counter to the stated details 
of the allegory. Again, it would seem to be a modern 
projection to interpret this division of the model from the 
demiurge as a justification for the claim that Plato 
distinguished the Father from the Creator. From such an 
interpretation one could reach out to the conclusion that, 
for Plato, \e{Summun Bonum est diffusivum Sui,} but this 
stretches interpretation far beyond Plato's stated words. 

The attempt on the part of some commentators to 
assert or to deny these implications of Plato's words, 
then, seems to represent an attempt to fit Plato's 
meaning into more contemporary doctrines. One cannot quarrel 
with those who find inspiration in Plato's text, but 
this is not the question. The question is, what did Plato 
mean? And in this context, it seems beside the point to 
fit Platonism into more recent doctrines of creation, and 
rather more to the point to relate the details of Plato's 
intricate allegory to what is clearly demonstrable and 
attributable to Plato as a fourthecentury genius, and not 
a twentieth-century commentator on twentieth-century 
investigations. The great controversy which Plato's 
demiurge has created will not be settled in these pages. 
The point under discussion is the distinction between the 
Universe as a shrine and the Universe as an image, and the 
fact that Plato described the Universe as an image (\e{eikon}) 
throughout the preceding passages, but now refers to it as 
a shrine (\e{agalma}). 

But a relatively full view of this shift of emphasis 
must include stylistic as well as theological considerations. 
For, Plato will put forward in the next few passages, a 
doctrine of time as a special sort of image, and, in 
order to avoid calling both the Universe and time by the 
same name, Plato has elevated the Universe to the status of 
& shrine-image so that he can refer to time as another 
sort of image. Recall that the beginning of the \ul{Timaeus} 
confronts the reader with the need to avoid blasphemy, and 
yet the equally insistent need not to demean the Universe 
or to rob it of any due measure of perfection. Thus the 
Universe as a shrine becomes the locus of divine function, 
and as we shall see, the Universe as temporal becomes the 
\e{manner} of divine function: respectively the place where 
the demiurge acts and the way in which he acts. There is a 
further note which should be added. For a shrine may be 
occasionally empty of the presence of the god to whom it 
is dedicated, or it may be filled with his presence. And 
it is precisely this distinction which bears on the 
following passage. For the Universe has so far been endowed 
with body and Soul, but the maker sought to make it \e{yet 
more} like its eternal model, not only a shrine in space 
but in some way an eternal shrine, as much like its model 
as it can be. 

\Q{(Just)\pnote{3.20} as that pattern is the Living Being that 
is forever existent, so he sought to make this 
Universe also like it, so far as it might be, in 
that respect. Now the nature of the Living Being 
was eternal, and this character it was impossible 
to confer in full completeness on the generated 
thing. (37d)}

Here Plato speaks the paradox which has run through 
the previous discussion of the Universe as an eternal 
becoming. He states openly that the model is the Living 
Being who is eternal but the Universe is a generated thing 
which therefore cannot be eternal in the same way. It is 
this difference between the model and the Universe which 
must be reconciled in order to describe the Universe as a 
thing which is as much like its model as possible. And to 
accomplish this, Plato says: 

\Q{But he took thought to make, as it were, a moving 
likeness (\e{eikona}) of eternity; and at the same 
time that he ordered heaven, he made, of eternity 
that abides in unity, an everlasting likeness 
moving according to number-that to which we have 
given the name Time. (37d)}

In this passage, the themes of eternity, image, and 
time culminate in a synthesis, of which there are several 
aspects. First, notice that the act of the demiurge which 
brought order to the original chaos, which Plato has 
already described, is said in this passage to be the same 
act as the act of making time. Second, notice that time as 
an image is made, not of chaos but of eternity. Third, 
note that Time is a moving image \e{and} an everlasting image. 
Fourth, note that Time is said to move according to number, 
Fifth, note that we have given it the name of Time. I shall 
discuss each of these aspects in turn. 

\begitems\style n
* \Be{The activity of the demiurge}---The Universe has been 
described throughout the \ul{Timaeus} as made by an act of the 
demiurge, whose activity brings order out of the discordant 
motions which confront him. This feature of the allegory 
has elicited much comment, and some of the commentators 
would like to conclude that the demiurge does not create 
\e{ex nihilo} because Plato clearly says that the demiurge 
was confronted by a chaos of discordant motions.\pnote{3.21} Others 
would like to conclude that it is merely a detail of the 
allegory which does not jibe with the details of literal 
experience, so that one can dismiss the chaos as only a 
mythical element but not a real thing. Both views seem 
unnecessary, for Plato was neither writing \e{mere} allegory 
nor Christian Theology. It seems more to the point to show 
that Plato once before introduced a prior consideration 
into his account after he has introduced a later consideration,
as we saw, for example, when he described the World-Soul 
after the World-body. There, it was to give the reader 
the necessary materials out of which he could fashion the 
image through which Plato put forward his account of the 
process. Plato of course attributes to Soul a superior sort 
of perfection than that which he attributes to body, but 
not because these parts of the Universe stand in an 
external hierarchy of items which are spatially and existentially
discrete; rather, the proportional unity of the 
entire Universe is his primary desideratum, and he says 
repeatedly that the Universe is an image, and that we 
must see it as we see images, in their unity. But one 
cannot simply call off a list of parts if one wishes the 
reader to appreciate and know the unity of the image, since 
the list would create the impression of a linear, serial 
juxtaposition of parts, whereas the Universe is the most 
excellent unity of things that have become. 

So here, the doctrine of Time, the aspect of the 
Universe by which it most resembles its eternal model, has 
been introduced last in the account of the perfected 
Universe, and we are told that the making of Time is 
accomplished by the demiurge \e{in the same act} as the ordering
of the original chaos. Plato has again introduced the 
most difficult aspect of the doctrine he is fashioning, 
after the materials have been provided for the reader to 
see the doctrine in its unity. Logically, since the act of 
ordering the Universe is the same as the act of making Time, 
one might expect that these two aspects of the act of 
constructing the Universe should have been discussed toget~ 
her. But this runs into a severe difficulty, which is the 
simple fact that Plato did not do so, which leads to the 
contradiction that what we should expect Plato to say is 
not what we should expect Plato to say; in other words, if 
we are being faithful to the development of Plato's logic, 
we ought not to expect him to put the making of Time and 
the making of order into the same paragraph since he did 
not do so. It is only necessary to perceive that these 
aspects are united better in an image than by serial logic, 
to follow Plato's meaning as exactly as he states it. Thus 
the function of image as an explanation of the relation 
between time and eternity is not less than logical; on the 
contrary, the image provides the basis to transcend the 
linear \e{appearance} of philosophical logic and to reach into 
the heart of Plato's doctrine of the Unity of the Universe. 

* \Be{Time is said to be made as an image of eternity}---At 
first, this seems to mean that the demiurge fashioned the 
Universe out of the material of an original chaos, but 
fashioned Time out of the material of eternity. This is 
not only a philosophical difficulty but also a function of 
translation. For, in English (American?) we say that 
something is an image of something, which does not mean, 
for example, that the image of Freud, is made out of the 
material of his flesh. An image of Freud can be made of 
photosensitive paper, of clay, or bronze, or the graphite 
scratchings of a pencil, or colored pigments, etc. However, 
when one discusses the Universe as an image, a Universe 
which has been described as exhausting all of the four 
elements out of which it is made, what can the image be 
made of. But the answer stares us in the face. Plato has 
said that the Universe is a Unity of the four elements of 
fire, earth, air, and water, which has Soul indivisibly in 
each and every one of its parts. One cannot then expect the 
image, which the Universe is, to be \e{made of} any one of these 
so-called ingredients; the Universe is an image precisely 
because it is a \e{Unity.} Just as the Universe is a Unity, so 
is it an image, and one can as reasonably ask of what is 
unity made as one can ask of what is an image made. The 
Universe, as image, is like the Soul of the Universe; it 
is indivisible from its existence. Thus, insofar as Time 
is an image, it is not compounded out of the elements of 
chaos or out of the perfection of eternity. Time as image 
is Plato's way of describing, "as it were," the temporal 
unity of the Universe. The phrase "made of" seems 
ambiguous only because in English, the preposition "of" 
is sometimes used to indicate apposition, sometimes to 
indicate the genitive, as in derivation. The "of" here is 
appositive. 

* \Be{Time is said to be a moving image, and an everlasting 
one}---We have already been given the ingredients of this 
aspect of the Universe from which we may construct an image. 
For the motions of the circles of the planets have been 
described as due to the ordering perfection of the Soul of 
the Universe, and we are aware that the several motions of 
the circles within the Universe take place within that 
sort of motion which is best suited to the perfection of 
the Universe, namely, uniform rotation. Because Uniform 
rotation is the best sort of motion, which best suits the 
sort of perfection the Yniverse has, we know that the 
Universe is a sphere which revolves and comprehends all the 
other motions of the circles within itself. Just as the 
Soul comprehends all that can be comprehended because it is 
indivisible from every area of the Universe, so uniform 
rotation includes the several motions of the circles which 
revolve within the sphere of the Universe. The question now 
arises whether the motion which characterizes Time is the 
uniform motion of the entire sphere itself, considered 
apart from the subsidiary motion of the interior circles, 
or whether it is one of the lesser motions of one or some 
of these circles, or whether it is all of these motions 
in some sort of unity. But we have been given the material 
from which to reach this conclusion, for we have been told 
that the making of Time is the same act as the making of 
order. Thus, Time is the proportional unity of all the 
motions of all the circles, including the motion of the 
outer sphere, insofar as these are a unity. For, as order 
unifies chaos, Time unifies motion. Once order has brought 
the elements of chaos into a unity, they are no longer 
elements of chaos, but of unity. So, once Time has brought 
unity into the several motions of the circles, they are no 
longer only several circles, but are now the elements of 
the proportional Unity of Time. It would be wrong to 
suppose that order is the principle according to which the 
many elements of the spatial universe have been united 
into a One and that Time is the principle according to 
which the many elements of the temporal Universe have been 
united into a One, because that would lead to the conclusion 
that there are two Ones. Two Ones would create the 
third man problem which has been adduced already in the 
\ul{Timaeus} to show that the Universe is One and only One, or 
one One. The Universe is a radical Unity, not simply of 
spaces and Times, but, one ought to say, of Time-space. 
At the same time, however, one must assert that the Unity 
of the Universe is not a simply homogeneity without parts, 
for that would be the destruction and not the construction 
of a Universe. Plato's Universe is neither atomistic nor 
pantheistic; it is a unity of proportional realities, a 
moving image. 

The second aspect of the moving image is the everlasting 
character of its motion. Again, we have been furnished
with the material to construct an understanding of 
this characteristic. We have already called attention to 
Plato's optimism in his use of the word "ceaseless," by 
which he seems to indicate that the Universe must resemble 
eternity by being indestructible. This feature of the 
Universe might well be called its alleged immortality, and 
it is therefore appropriate to recall again that the 
Universe exhausted all the elements out of which it was 
fashioned. It was said, on this basis, that there were no 
forces outside of it which might attack it and that it 
was therefore impervious to age and sickness. There is 
nothing outside the Universe which might attack it and so 
it must be immortal, ceaseless, indestrutible, everlasting. 
Can Plato have concluded naively that there are no dangers 
to which the Universe is subject? To answer this, it is 
necessary to recall the reservation with which the whole 
character of Time has been prefaced. Plato says clearly 
that the perfection of Time was given to the Universe as 
far as it was possible to do so. but why should it not be 
fully possible? For two reasons. First, if the Universe 
were as eternal as its model it would be identical with 
its model and there would then be no difference between the 
model and the reality. But this cannot be, for the Universe, 
being visible, must have been generated, and must therefore 
have been fashioned on a model. Secondly, throughout his 
philosophy, Plato repeatedly uses the phrase "as far as 
possible" without giving a doctrine of possibility which 
would explain the meaning of the phrase. Both the need for 
a model and the limit of possibility are related to the 
doctrine of not-being. The meaning of this doctrine of 
not-being for the realm of the Forms, was first revealed in 
the \ul{Sophist}, where it becomes the Different. The Universe 
is both the same as and different from its model, so that 
it is like its model and yet it is-not like its model. 
Having said that the Universe is a Unity of the Same and 
the Different, and having said that Time gives the closest 
approximation to perfection that the generated Universe 
can attain, one should expect that Plato will now develop 
his doctrine of not-being on a cosmological scale, as he 
has developed his doctrines of eternity and image and Time 
on a cosmological scale. This new doctrine of cosmic note 
being is found in the second half of the dialogue, where 
the relation of necessity and the receptacle of becoming 
is discussed. One can conclude at this point only that the 
perfection of Time is as perfect as it is possible for the 
demiurge to make it, but, since the demiurge is not 
absolutely omnipotent, the full character of eternity could 
not be conferred on the Universe. The demiurge must 
persuade necessity, not force it. 

Or, to put the matter in another way, insofar as the 
perfection of the Universe depends on the activity of the 
rational demiurge, it is perfect; but insofar as the 
Universe depends on the reluctance of necessity to be 
persuaded by the demiurge, it lacks perfection. Thus the 
everlasting image, which we call Time, is subject to the 
recalcitrance of necessity. In recognising this, we rescue 
Plato from the charge of naive optimism, for the perfection 
of the Universe is its everlasting character, but this is 
not the same as asserting that the Universe is absolutely 
perfect; even Time must confront necessity. 

* \Be{Time ie said to move according to number.}---Again, we 
have been furnished with the material to understand this 
assertion. We know already that the Universe considered as 
a whole is a sphere, but considered as the proportional 
unity of the many circles and living beings which inhabit 
it, it 18 a populated sphere. Thus Time is neither the 
revolution only of the outer periphery nor only the sum of 
the rotations of the many circles which inhabit the interior 
of the sphere. Time is the order which the One Universe 
enjoys; (correlatively, the order of the Universe is the 
Time it enjoys). Time encompasses both the Unity and the 
multiplicity of the Universe insofar as it is the perfection 
of the Universe which makes it most like its eternal 
model. It would be a serious misreading of this phrase to 
assert that Plato's Universe is simply a Pythagorean 
Universe because Time moves in it according to number. 
Such a view focuses on the plurality of motions within the 
Universe but ignores the proportional Unity which these 
motions have in the Universe. This is not to say that 
Plato's Universe is non-Pythagorean. On the contrary, there 
is a great deal of Pythagorean wisdom in this dialogue, and 
one should not forget that Timaeus, the principle speaker 
of the dialogue, is represented as a Pythagorean. But it is 
a long way from the assertion that there are Pythagorean 
elements and themes in Plato's \ul{Timaeus} to the assertion 
that the whole dialogue is only a Pythagorean tale. Time 
moves, no doubt. Time orders the Universe. And the many 
motions which the Universe includes are not excluded from 
the ordering perfection which Time brings to the Universe. 
But it seems more reasonable to say that Time moves the 
many, and that Time brings order to the many by moving 
them in accordance with the perfection of which Time is the 
image. To derive the reality of Time from the number of 
motions in the Universe would be tantamount to the 
assertion that Time is a subsidiary perfection of multiplicity,
whereas the passage clearly states that Time 
brings the Universe into a closer and more perfect relation 
to its eternal model. 

* \Be{We have given it the name Time}---Once before, Plato 
expressed a desire to use the right name for the Universe, 
and he said there that we ought to give the name to it 
which is most appropriate and acceptable to it (24b). It 
is inetructive to recall that the difficulty of finding 
the right name would remind Plato of Cratylus, his first 
teacher, as it calls up for us the dialogue which bears 
his name. But one should also recall that the difficulty 
of finding the right name for the Universe, and for Time, 
are related to Plato's concern to avoid blasphemy. For we 
must remember that the majority of simple Athenians had 
deities and names for those aspects of the Universe which 
they regarded as mysterious. Thus the name of Time could 
very well have precipitated controversial discussions in 
Plato's Athens which could swell to the dimensions which 
they had reached with Socrates. The \ul{Phaedo} would convince 
anyone that Plato was not afraid of death, and so it does 
not follow that Plato is cautious out of fear. It is better 
to think that Plato regarded thinking through the doctrine 
of the \ul{Timaeus} as a more important work than entering into 
a polemic with those who could not understand it, especially 
if we are correct in asserting that the \ul{Timaeus} is not only 
a synthesis of doctrine but a preparation for the \ul{Critias} 
and the \ul{Laws}, which were intended to have direct political 
influence. 
\enditems

These five aspects of Plato's doctrine of Time, then, 
show that Plato has come to relate eternity, image, and 
Time in a new synthesis, which passes far beyond the way in 
which these doctrines were treated separately in prior 
dialogues. But we shall not conclude that the passage just 
discussed is sufficient to establish our hypothesis, for 
Plato has not completed his discussion of Time. Before we 
can conclude that Plato's image of Time is the high 
synthesis we claim it to be, we ought to have the entirety 
of Plato's doctrine of Time before us. 

Before adding the final details, perhaps a small 
summing up is in order. Plato has said that the Universe 
is a shrine, and that its deepest perfection is its 
temporality, which is the way it is ordered. Time is a 
moving image, because the Universe resembles its eternal 
model as closely as possible. 

Plato now speaks of the parts of Time, having already 
spoken of the Unity of Time. He says that there were no 
days and nights, or months and years, before the Universe 
came to be, and that all of these came into being simultaneously.
However, he says 

\Q{All these are parts of Time, and \sq{was} and \sq{shall be}
are forms of Time that have come to be; we are wrong 
to transfer them unthinkingly to eternal being. We 
say that it was and is and shall be but \sq{is} alone 
really belongs to it and describes it truly; \sq{was}
and \sq{shall be} are properly used of becoming which 
proceeds in Time, for they are motions. (37e)}

There is much that is important in this passage, but 
the central point which concerns our exposition of Time is 
the phrase "becoming which proceeds in Time." By this small 
phrase, Plato indicates that there is a distinction to be 
made between becoming and Time, and that these two words
do not indicate the same reality. It is important to notice 
that the familiar antithesis between eternity and time is 
not identical with the antithesis of eternity and becoming. 
For it is clearly said that becoming proceeds in Time. We 
must attempt to see how Plato relates Time, Becoming, and 
eternity in a meaningful way. Plato does not put them in 
a simple juxtaposition, for there are clearly three of 
them, and their relation to each other is not a simple 
opposition. We have seen that Time introduces the perfect 
order which characterizes the Universe, and we have been 
told that the Universe is a becoming image. How are these 
statements to be reconciled so that the Universe may 
continue to have the perfection which it has been said to 
have. The key to this problem is given in the following: 

\Q{But that which is forever in the same state 
immovably cannot be becoming older or younger 
by lapse of time nor can it ever become s0; 
neither can it now have been nor will it be 
in the future; and in general nothing belongs 
to it of all that Becoming attaches to the 
moving things of sense; but these have come 
into being as forms of Time, which images 
eternity and revolves according to number. (38a)}

The important consideration here is the phrase 
"moving things of sense," for it specifies the realm of 
becoming, as the realm of the moving things of sense. Here 
is Plato's familiar doctrine that the things of sense keep 
moving and therefore give rise to difficulties for the 
intelligence which would like them to be still so that the 
things of sense would be as stable as the names we give to 
them. But the context of the doctrine has been changed. 
Formerly, intelligence had to go beyond the merely visible 
because the constant changes in the visible realm made 
knowledge impossible. This early conviction of Plato led 
to the theory of Forms, which are eternal and therefore 
sufficiently stable for intellectual comprehension. But 
now, the greatest perfection of which the Universe is 
capable is the perfection which Time brings as the 
principle of order. We are now informed that becoming 
proceeds \e{in} Time. Thus it is inexact to say "...that what 
is past \e{is} past, what happens now \e{is} happening, and again 
what will happen \e{is} what will happen, and that the non-existent 
\e{is} the non-existent" (38b). Plato has affirmed 
that the ordering of the Universe has been made even more 
like its model by Time, the moving image of eternity. The 
theory of the Forms, up to this point, has told us that 
things share in Forms and therefore achieve a certain 
resemblance to being. But Plato tells us now that resem-= 
blance is not enough, for it leaves too wide a gap between 
being and becoming. Thus the Forms by which things resemble 
being are further perfected by Time, by which, things share 
in the eternity of being, as much as possible. Time, then, 
even perfects the Forms because Time helps things share in 
the intimacy of eternity's own nature. By Time, things 
share in the divine ordering of the Universe. 

\Q{Time came into being together with the Heaven in 
order that, as they were brought together, so 
they might be dissolved together, if ever their 
dissolution should come to pass: and it is made 
after the pattern of the everenduring nature, in 
order that it may be as like that pattern as 
possible: for the pattern is a thing that has 
being for all eternity, whereas the Heaven has 
been and is and shall be perpetually throughout 
all time. (38b--c)}

Thus Time embraces all. By it, becoming most "becomes" 
Being. It has been generated like the forms of Time but it 
transcends them, because it has been made to increase the 
great intimacy which becoming has been brought to have 
with Being. 

This could be paraphrased in several ways. One could 
speak of the relation between becoming and being as that 
of Time, such that they are constituted by that relation 
with respect to each other. One could say that Time is the 
consummation of the contact which becoming and being have 
with each other. One could speak in Hegelian language and 
say that Time is the Mediation of Becoming, by which 
becoming "becomes" being. But out of profound admiration for 
Plato's greatness as a stylist, Plato's imagery should be 
retained. But the truth must be understood as well as seen. 
"Time, the moving image of eternity," is spoken in the 
language of philosophical poetry, a language largely of 
Plato's invention. The phrase is beautiful as well as 
truthful, for it not only relates the realms of eternity and 
becoming truthfully but it also relates them beautifully, 
in the kind of elegant simplicity we expect of great truths. 
Time has so perfected the Universe that what merely becomes 
incessantly is now enabled to share in the perfection of 
eternal being. Time transfigures what merely becomes into 
what really is, without destroying its becoming. 

Thus it is not illegitimate to ask "where is time," 
and Plato answers that, since the World-Soul is responsible 
both for the order and the motion of the numbered Universe, 
Time lives in the Soul of the Universe. Time accomplishes 
the ceaseless transcendence of becoming, for, by Time, 
things which only became, now "become" being. 

It is important to state that Time does not so 
completely accomplish its transfiguration of mere becoming 
that nothing any longer becomes; the unification which Time 
introduces into the manifold realm of becoming is a 
proportional Unity, so that becoming no longer needs to te 
excluded from the perfection of the Universe, but can now 
enter into it on its own terms. Things which become, become 
intelligible by Time, because Time introduces order into 
their motions, whereas ceaseless becoming as such, unordered 
by Time, has no order at all, and hence no intelligibility.
Thus, where once Plato insisted that only the eternal 
is intelligible, now he asserts that Time brings becoming 
into the realm of the intelligible by introducing order 
into the realm of the incessantly becoming. 

The basis for the often-asserted statement that 
Plato's image of Time is circular, derives in part from his 
description of the Universe as a sphere which revolves 
uniformly, and in part from the following passage: 

\Q{In virtue then of this plan and intent of the god 
for the birth of Time, in order that Time might 
be brought into being, Sun, Moon, and five other 
stars-wanderers as they are called\pnote{3.22} were made 
to define and preserve the numbers of Time. 
Having made a body for each of them, the god set 
them in orbits\pnote{3.23} in which the revolution of the 
Different was moving in seven orbits seven 
bodies. (38c)}

It is not necessary to follow Plato into the 
detailed descriptions which he gives for the motions of 
each of the planets and for each of the spheres, since as 
we noted previously, his observations were limited as much 
by the lack of such modern instruments as the telescope, 
the mass spectrometer, radio telescopes and 200-inch lenses 
as by the absence of Kepler, Copernicus, and Newton. The 
general point is this; Time is the perfection of the 
Universe and is coterminous with the ordering activity of 
the demiurge; the numbers of Time, corresponding to the 
many of bodies, are made visible by the bodies we call 
Planets, which revolve both in their various orbits within 
the circle of the Different and the circle of the Same. 
Time gives rise to the orderly motions of the bodies 
called the planets and the stars. "Thus for these reasons 
day and night came into being, the period of the single 
and most intelligent revolution" (39c). And again: 

\Q{In this way then, and for these ends were brought 
into being all those stars that have turnings on 
their journey through the Heaven: in order that 
this world may be as like as possible to the 
perfect and intelligible Living Being in respect 
of imitating its ever-enduring nature. (39e)}

The planets, then, are living beings who follow out 
prescribed courses according to number, But the perfection 
of the Universe which Time introduces is not merely the 
month or the year or the day or the night; these are the 
numbers of Time, just as was ard shall be are the forms 
of Time. Time, the reality, is the order of the Universe in 
motion. Time is neither motion nor the result of motion 
(indeed, quite the reverse is true; motion is the result 
of the order which the demiurge elicits from chaos). Nor 
is Time becoming, for becoming proceeds in Time. In short, 
Time is the Life of the Universe, which was foreshadowed 
in the \ul{Sophist}, where the Stranger Bays: 

\Q{And, Oh Heavens, can we ever be made to believe 
that motion and lite and soul and mind are not 
present with sNeing. Can we imagine Being to be 
devoid of life and mind, and to remain in awful 
unmeaning and everlasting fixture? (249a)}

\sec Time and Society

While it has not escaped the attention of the 
scholars whose interest leads them to the \ul{Timaeus} that its 
doctrine of Time is inseparable from the doctrine of the 
eternal model, the purpose or role of Plato's Time image 
is frequently overlooked.\pnote{4.1} Similarly, while it is true that 
Plato fashions his image of Time with great care and is 
conscious throughout his formulation of a desire not to 
distort the ineffable while yet speaking of it, it seems 
that insufficient attention has been paid to the relevance 
of the introductory remarks in the opening section of the 
Gialogue to this image, and the relation of these remarks 
to Plato's doctrine of Time. 

To rectify this oversight, it is only necessary to 
recall the opening passages of the \ul{Timaeus} where Socrates 
had agreed to the plans which Timaeus and Critias had made 
for their talk: Timaeus intends to describe the origin of 
the Universe and to carry on his account \e{until} it had 
reached the \e{time} when man made his appearance; there\e{after,}
Critias intends to take up the account and to describe 
ancient Athens; both of these accounts are to be given so 
that Socrates may fulfill his wish to hear an account of a 
real city, not an imaginary one; not a tale of "some noble 
creatures in a painting, or perhaps of real animals, alive 
but motionless" but an account of real creatures, "in 
motion, and actively exercising the powers promised by their 
form" (19c). In this way, Plato gently suggests that the 
power to describe the actual origins of the best society 
are beyond Socrates, and it must be the task of others to 
supply it. This is the meaning of the obviously inadequate 
recapitulation of the doctrines of the \ul{Republic}, which are 
mUch too briefly summarized in the opening passages of the 
\ul{Timaeus}. There is no need to look for deeper or more arcane 
meanings in Socrates' confession of inability to construct 
such an account; it is not the absence of opinion on 
Socrates part, as it was in the \ul{Theatetus}. In the \ul{Timaeus}, 
Socrates does not say that he is "only" an opinionless 
midwife who must deliver the philosophical offspring of 
those pregnant with the truth; on the contrary, he says 
quite openly that he is not up to the task, and that the 
power to tell such a story is beyond him. It has been 
generally agreed among the scholars that the opening 
passages of the \ul{Timaeus} "recapitulate" the \ul{Republic},\pnote{4.2} and 
most of those who do not agree on the order of the 
dialogues as they have been described in chapter II agree 
that the \ul{Timaeus} must be later than the \ul{Republic} for this 
interpretative reason.\pnote{4.3} And it has long been agreed that 
the \ul{Republic} is the work in which Plato reveals a political 
philosophy, or, as we call it, a philosophy of society. 
But if we take separate conclusions, on which the scholars 
agree, and, if we attempt to see them in relation to each 
other, we shall arrive at a simple and yet, to the best of 
my knowledge, an uncommon conclusion. If (1) 1t is true 
that the \ul{Republic} is a dialogue in which Plato has attempted
to see the powers of the soul "writ large," that is, 
if the Republic is a dialogue in which the state is seen 
as a magnification of the soul; and, together with this, 
if (2) we see that the \ul{Timaeus} is a dialogue in which the 
"alive but motionless," society of the \ul{Republic} is recapitulated,
and, if we add to this (3) the fact that the 
\ul{Timaeus} first develops a doctrine of Time before setting 
out the details of the best form of society, we may draw a 
startling conclusion; Plato has made the doctrine of Time 
the basis of a new Platonic sociology. Where the \ul{Republic} 
describes a State based on the view that only the eternal 
is real and all else is mere becoming, the \ul{Timaeus} describes 
a society based on the perfection which Time confers on 
the discordant motions of a primordial chaos. Plato has 
shifted the basis of his sociology from the eternal to the 
temporal; no longer is it his view that the realms of 
eternity and becoming are separated by an unbridgeable 
chasm; now, in the \ul{Timaeus}, through the gradual process we 
described in Chapter II, Plato has arrived at the formulation
of a doctrine in which Time is, so to speak, the 
bridge between these two realms. 

But this image of Time as a bridge falls short of 
Plato's meaning. It would be better to say that the 
Universe which the Timaeus reveals is a proportional unity 
of many levels, and that Time is the proportion between 
eternal being and incessant becoming. But further, it is 
necessary to recall that Plato does not use this sort of 
intellectually precise language; he prefers to say that 
Time is the moving image of eternity, because the richness 
and allegorical suggestiveness of the phrase "moving image" 
captures two very different levels of meaning, i.e., both 
the ineffable truth of the eternal model of the Universe, 
and the magnificent beauty of the concrete relations within 
the visible Universe. 

To the best of my knowledge, Bury is the only writer 
who has seen that the \ul{Republic} is Plato's \e{first} Philosophy 
of History, and that in the \ul{Timaeus} Plato modifies this 
view.\pnote{4.4} But Bury nevertheless concludes that there has been 
no growth of Plato's doctrine, and that the conclusions of 
the \ul{Timaeus} are implicit in the views stated in the \ul{Republic}, 
This seems to stretch the meaning of the term "implicit" 
beyond reasonable bounds, for, on this basis, we should 
have to conclude that Plato's movement from an eternal 
basis to a temporal basis is no development, but merely an 
explication of former views. It is difficult to see how one 
can say that the basis of society in one dialogue is 
eternity and the basis of society in another dialogue is 
Time, and that the one view is "4mplicit" in the other. 

Similarly, it is hard to see the grounds for A.E. 
Taylor's assertion that the \ul{Timaeus} is only an introduction 
to the \ul{Critias}, since, as we said above, such a view would 
so linearize Plato's philosophy that we should have to 
view the \ul{Laws} as the only source of Plato's mature philosophy.
One should not ignore the early works of a genius 
such as Plato when one reads his later works, since this 
procedure deprives one of the measure of the man and the 
gradual maturity which he was able to reveal in his late 
writings. 

It seems to us more reasonable to follow Cornford 
into the opinion that the \ul{Timaeus} was the first of a 
projected trilogy of dialogues, which were to have revealed 
Plato's reflections concerning the basis of the best 
possible form of society, after a life-long concern for 
this subject. If it is true that Plato's Sicilian adventures 
were of such a nature as to discourage and disillusion the 
great man from his life-long hopes to bring about good 
government, we should expect to see bitterness and pessimism
in the works written after these experiences. But we 
find no shallow despair in the \ul{Seventh Letter} or in the 
\ul{Timaeus}; rather we confront a dialogue which is written 
in a style especially designed to appeal to those whose 
philosophical training was not so arduous nor so disciplined
as Plato's own. Plato does not become a disdainful 
elitist, nor is the \ul{Timaeus} a children's allegory, 
written by a sour old grandfather, for there is a great 
deal in it which requires strenuous philosophical reflection
and painstaking attention. Yet, even those without 
philosophical training and exacting logical skill can be 
moved by the poetry which Plato has made in the \ul{Timaeus}. 
It is both a mature philosophy and a beautiful myth which 
seems to be designed as well for the elite philosopher as 
for the untutored statesman.

Thus it seems pointless to criticise the \ul{Timaeus} as 
an uneven dialogue which skips about from the level of 
thought to the level of myth, and, on the basis of such a 
criticism, to prefer to look to other dialogues for more 
philosophical meanings because the style of earlier dialogues 
is more even and their philosophy more exactly 
stated. This is not unlike preferring to look in the 
pantry for the broom only because there is a light in the 
pantry, when, in fact, the broom is in a darker but more 
spacious room in the attic. 

If it is true that the \ul{Timaeus} was written after 
Plato's later and more mature reflections on the requisites 
for the best possible society, as we tried to establish in 
the third chapter, one should not ook to the \ul{Republic} for 
Plato's most mature doctrines of society. And yet those 
writers who wish to discuss Plato's philosophy of society 
as a philosophy of history or as a political philosophy 
seem more drawn to the \ul{Republic}, and few of them go to 
the \ul{Timaeus} as the source of Plato's teaching on this 
subject.\pnote{4.5}

This is not to complain that scholarly inattention 
plagues the \ul{Timaeus}, for the \ul{Timaeus} has not gone without 
a great deal of comment by writers in almost every century 
in the West. Yet it has not been viewed as the dialogue in 
which Plato makes his most explicit statements on the \e{basis} 
for the best possible form of society, and no writer in the 
modern era has seen in it the culmination of Plato's gradual 
development beyond the doctrine of eternity in the Republic. 
And yet this seems to be precisely what Plato has done. 

This is not the place to examine and comment in 
detail on the elements which, according to Plato, would 
characterize the best form of society, since these 
specifications are to be found in part in the \ul{Critias} and in 
great detail in the \ul{Laws}. It is not our purpose here to 
describe exhaustively Plato's later sociology. The issue 
here is the role of Plato's image of Time as a basis for 
his later sociology, insofar as this can be ascertained 
by a careful reading of the \ul{Timaeus} in its chronological 
and doctrinal context. The \ul{Timaeus} seems to be unequivocally 
clear on this issue, for Plato shows repeatedly in this 
dialogue that the basis for a sound understanding of his 
sociology is the role of Time in the nature of the Universe. 
Thus, betore Critias can accomplish his promise to furnish 
Socrates with an account of ancient Athens in her prime of 
social life, Timaeus speaks a monologue which comprises 
almost the entire work which bears his name. In the first 
half of the dialogue, which discusses the Universe insofar 
as it is due to the Work of Reason, Plato leads gradually 
and ineluctably to the basis of the rational perfections 
which are brought to the Universe by time. In the \ul{Republic} 
the perfections of society derive from a participation of 
the state in eternal justice; in the \ul{Timaeus}, society is 
perfected by Time, which brings order to chaos. 

The most serious objection to our conclusion is the 
claim that Plato only speaks of the gradual construction 
of the Universe \e{as if} it were gradually brought into 
existence, when his actual meaning remains hidden between 
the lines. A.E. Taylor adopts this view, when he says that 
Plato believes the Universe is eternal, and therefore it 
does not actually have a temporal character (Archer-Hind 
also holds this view). In short, Taylor claims that 
Plato described the Universe \e{as if} it were gradually 
brought into being because it would be easier for Plato's 
readers to comprehend his meaning in this way.\pnote{4.6}

Happily, Plato himself seems to upset this view in 
the \ul{Timaeus}, when he distinguishes quite carefully between 
the eternal and the becoming, between a false image and a 
genuine image, between a mere myth and a genuine myth. If 
the \ul{Timaeus} were only a myth designed to create the appearance 
of the truth but not to reveal the actual truth, it 
would follow that Plato has cast his whole account of the 
origin of the Universe into the deceptively simple mold of 
orderly succession. But the discrepancy between the 
deliberately temporal image which Plato has created and 
the calm stillness of the eternal, which he recurrently 
describes, seems too wide to support the interpretation 
that Plato remained an eternalist in the midst of a 
temporalist account.\pnote{4.7}

It seems better to view Plato's statements about the 
temporality of the Universe as the basis of its perfection, 
and to reject the assertion that Plato's Universe is 
actually eternal even though he says it is temporal. But 
there is a deeper point, and it is this; to continue to 
distinguish so sharply between eternity and Time after 
reading the \ul{Timaeus} is to miss a major doctrine of the 
\ul{Timaeus}, which describes philosophically-mythologically 
the proportional relation between the realms of eternity and 
becoming, and to view the role of Time as the mediator 
between these realms, such that they are no longer as 
separate as they were described to be in the \ul{Republic}, but 
are aspects of a proportionally united Universe. The 
assertion that Plato separates eternity and Time ignores 
Plato's description of their relation in the \ul{Timaeus}, where 
Time is said to be the proportional unification of becoming 
and eternity. By viewing Plato's doctrine of Time as the 
"mediation" of becoming, one can reach the basis of Plato's 
late sociology, since Plato repeatedly has Timaeus say that 
the gradual origin of man must be sought in the gradual 
origin of the Universe, and it is precisely Timaeus' 
function to reveal Plato's doctrine of Time so that Critias 
can take up the account of man. To assert that Plato held 
a static view of the Universe but spoke of it as a gradual 
process, because he was unable to discuss the whole 
Universe at once, seems to misinterpret the crucial 
significance of Plato's definition of Time as an image. 
For the Image is the whole Universe, and, furthermore, it 
is deliberately described as a moving image. As we have 
said repeatedly above, Plato was not unable to describe 
the whole Universe at once; he did so in an image, and 
while it is true that he gradually reveals the elements 
and aspects of the image in a serialized description, he 
nevertheless insists that the Universe is one image. In 
short, Plato no longer impales himself on the horns of a 
dilemma by separating eternity and Time; he has transcended 
such an impasse by describing a Universe which is both 
hierarchical and processual, yet neither in isolation. 
One may continue to dissect logically Plato's Universe 
into one part hierarchy and one part process, but it 
seems to see that it is the dissector and not Plato who s0 
bifurcates the Platonic Universe. That is, one may analyze 
the Platonic Universe into logically discrete categories, 
and focus now on the hierarchic aspect and now on the 
processual aspect, but one can also say that Plato's 
Universe is a proportional unity in which the temporal 
hierarchy (or the hierarchical temporality) are concretely 
related. Thus one could reject A.E. Taylor's view that 
Plato believed the Universe to be eternal but described it 
as if it were temporal, so that Plato could communicate 
better to the philosophically ill-equipped. 

However, it should be borne in mind that the \ul{Timaeus} 
does not itself \e{contain} a new sociology, but presents the 
\e{basis} for one, for we must look to the \ul{Critias} and the \ul{Laws} 
for the details of Plato's later view of society. It is our 
contention here that this later view is unintelligible 
without a sound interpretation of Plato's moving image 
of eternity. 

It follows that the entire basis of society and the 
communal life of man is not to be found completely within 
those aspects of the Universe which are due to the orderly 
perfections which derive from Time. For our analysis has 
stopped midway in the monologue of Timaeus; we have 
described, up to this point, only the works of reason, and 
have not presented any discussion of those aspects of the 
Universe which derive from necessity. Plato has not 
described the demiurge as absolutely omnipotent, for even 
the demiurge must attempt to persuade necessity, not force 
it, to yield to the urgings of Time and order.\pnote{4.8}

The admission that Time itself is not all powerful, 
but must confront, so to speak, the cosmological inertia 
of necessity, serves to strengthen, not weaken, the 
conclusion that Time brings perfection. Whereas it was 
once possible to say that Plato viewed the eternal as the 
only source of perfection and viewed the temporal realm 
of becoming as the source of imperfection, it now emerges 
that Plato has made a sharp distinction between incessant 
becoming, which is indeed less than perfect, and 'time, 
which brings perfection even to becoming. When becoming 
1s ordered by Time it is no longer merely incessant, nor 
only a ceaseless and perpetual fluxion of chaotic changes, 
but an ordered motion which is perfected by Time, the source 
of orderly motion. Necessity belongs to mere becoming; 
Time belongs to reason and eternity. 

It follows that a society will be perfect insofar as 
it regards Time as the paradigm of its style of life, and 
that society will be imperfect insofar as it regards mere 
becoming as the model for its political flux. And these 
are exactly the doctrines which Plato develops in the 
\ul{Critias} and the \ul{Laws}. The \ul{Critias}, as much as we have of 
it, describes the "mythical" kingdom of Atlantis, and we 
have a brief foretaste of this description in the opening 
passages of the \ul{Timaeus}. In the third book of the \ul{Laws}, we 
have what the moderns would call a philosophy of history, 
or, in other terms, what could well be described as an 
incipient philosophical anthropology. The third book of 
the \ul{Laws} dwells at aveat length on the questions which 
we are now examining; it is concerned with "immense periods 
of Time" and "thousands of cities" which came to be and 
have now disappeared from memory, and puts the question 
to itself whether there may not be a discernible pattern 
in the rise and fall of these cities. Or, to see the 
matter from another point of view, one could point to the 
tenth book of the \ul{Laws} where questions about what we 
might call divine providence are raised and discussed, in 
a context which is explicity temporal. Or again, one could 
cite quotation after quotation from almost any book of the 
\ul{Laws} which would show that Plato was much interested in 
the relative durations of various things, from constitutions 
to kingdoms and from mountains to men. 

But these investigations must be left to another 
time when they can be treated with the exhaustive documentation 
they deserve. It has been our purpose to spell out 
in detail the reasons for adopting the view that there is 
a Platonic philosophy of time and that this philosophy is 
inseparable from Plato's concern for the best possible 
society. 

Before the final words are written, however, it 
seems appropriate to state a few opinions which have emerged 
during the course of this study. While it would be 
impossible to draw final conclusions about the relevance 
of Plato's philosophy of time to the intellectual pursuits 
of the modern world without at the same time presenting
a history of Platonic scholarship for all of the 
intervening years between Plato's era and our own, it is 
possible to state a few opinions which have been reached 
on this subject, providing caution is advised about the 
extent to which we may derive philosophical satisfaction 
from a careful reading of Plato's works. 

Perhaps the most persistent opinion which comes to 
mind concerning Plato's philosophy of time is the frequents 
ly stated view that the Greeks viewed the world as closed 
and that their view of history was in sharp contrast to 
our modern view of the open Universe. While it is not 
possible to state that this view of the Greek world as 
closed is without any foundation, it is not only possible 
but necessary to confront the closed view with the import 
of the doctrine of time which we find in the \ul{Timaeus}. It 
is simply incorrect and therefore, unscholarly to repeat 
the naive eternalism of the \ul{Republic}, if the \ul{Timaeus} is as 
late a work as it seems to be. One should not continue to 
separate the eternal from the temporal after one has 
studied the \ul{Timaeus}, and one could say with some accuracy 
that the whole import of the \ul{Timaeus} has been to remove 
this intolerable dichotomy by revealing the manner of 
relation of these two aspects of the Universe. 

This is not to assert that Plato came in the end to 
a simple monism in which all things are merely becoming. 
As we have said repeatedly, time perfects becoming. But 
there is an ineluctable gradualism in the Universe the 
\ul{Timaeus} describes which cannot be ignored, and, while 
it is true to say that our modern notion of process is 
richer by far and more concrete than ever a Greek could 
imagine, it is also true to say that there was some 
degree of openness in the Greek Universe and that it 
would be false to state simply that it was a closed world. 

The political implications of this openness deserve 
some attention although it is only possible to suggest 
some more obvious points here. If the Universe is closed 
and is in some way a completed whole, it becomes the 
business of the statesman to discern those Laws by which 
the Universe attains its style of perfection and to fashion 
human laws in such a way that human perfection is sought 
in copying the perfection of the Universe. In this way 
the constitution of the state should be only a copy and 
an imitation of the Universe. 

If, on the other hand, the Universe is open ard is 
in some way incomplete and unfinished, it becomes the 
business of the statesman to model his constitution as far 
as possible on the pertection of the Universe and thereafter 
to improvise and invent those measures which seem 
best under the circumstances. If such a statesman can 
be found, he will understand that the sources of imperfection 
are not solely derived from the failure of the citizens 
to model themselves on the eternal forms, but might 
result from the very incompletion of the statesman's 
actions. In other words, it follows from a completed world 
that its citizens must adjust themselves to its patterns; 
4t follows from an incomplete world that its citizens 
play a part in its completion. It does not follow that 
the citizens of an incomplete world must live ina 
totalitarian regime where all law emanates from an elite 
few who claim to have discovered the basis of all law. To 
put the matter differently, it can be said that a closed 
Universe has no room for human innovation, whether it be 
political, scientific, or philosophical; the converse 
statement would read that only in an open Universe can the 
citizenry aspire to creative participation in the processes 
of the state. 

Unfortunately, this simple division of worlds into 
those that are closed and those that are open is not 
applicable to Plato's Universe, since it is a world in 
which there are eternal models as well as incomplete 
republics. Something of a similar view obtains in current 
anthropology in which one may read many statements to the 
effect that there are some basic exigencies of human nature 
which must be met in any culture, but that there are a 
number of ways in which cultures can set about handling 
these exigencies in their own respective styles. Plato's 
Universe is neither simply open or simply closed; nor does 
it suffice to say that it is both. The Platonic philosophy 
handles this question in a different way, for it describes 
a world in which there are stages of completion and degrees 
of openness. Thus for Plato it is possible to claim the 
best of both possible worlds, for he can assert that there 
are eternal models for human political action and that 
there are necessary innovations and inventions which the 
statesman must create. To the extent that the human 
invention resembles the temporal order which the Universe 
achieves, to that extent is it good. In other language, 
one can say that the Platonic conception of perfection 
which appears in the \ul{Timaeus} is a gradualist notion, such 
that a thing is perfect if it is as good as it can be at 
a given time. Perfection then is a stage concept which 
refers itself inevitably to a basic pace at which perfection
is achievable. 

In this way, one can see that the Platonic Universe 
is neither simply open nor simply closed, and that he who 
uses the paradigm "open or closed" really uses a spatial 
idea, not a temporal one, and is therefore guilty of a 
species of philosophical reductionism. The question is not 
whether the Universe is closed or open but whether there is 
in the Universe sufficient ground for the gradual attainment 
of perfection. Even this last statement seems to put 
perfection at the end of the process, whereas in fact it is 
possible to say in the Platonic idiom that a thing is as 
perfect as it can be \e{while} it is proceeding at its proper 
pace of attainment. In this way, one does not need to 
assert that perfection is attainable only in some otherworldly
realm, or that only those things which have 
achieved release from the quagmire of time have entered 
into eternity. On the contrary, those things which have 
nothing of time in them but share only in the incessant 
flux of becoming have no measure of eternity in them 
precisely because eternity can be brought to becoming only 
by time. 

To use another perspective, the same point can be 
made in another way. In a Universe in which the eternal is 
removed from the temporal by a radical division, only those 
things which have transcended the Aaviaton may properly be 
called eternal. Thus, no individuality can be claimed for 
any person who has not transcended time and achieved 
eternity. But in Plato's Universe, each person who finds 
his proper pace of achievement may be said to be as eternal 
as he can be at the moment, or that his perfection consists 
of the entire process of attainment. It is therefore 
necessary for the citizens of the \ul{Republic} to model thenselves
entirely upon the eternal forms or be called failures,
where the citizens of the realm founded on the philosophy
of the \ul{Timaeus} may be said to posess individuality 
insofar as they attain perfection to the extent that it is 
possible to attain it at the time. In this way, another of 
the frequently asserted opinions about the world of the 
Greeks is found wanting. In conversation with philosophers, 
one frequently hears that there were no genuine individuals 
in the Greek world, since genuine individuality would 
scandalize the Greek notion of an ordered and predictable 
world. We must clarify the statement that there is individuality 
in the Greek world; a more accurate statement would 
read that there is a genuine basis of individuality in the 
philosophy which Plato reveals in the \ul{Timaeus}, but this 
statement must be quickly followed by the statement that 
there were few Greek individuals. While it is true on the 
one hand to state that most Greeks felt the Universe to be 
closed, it is nonetheless true that Plato's \ul{Timaeus} does 
not reveal such a Universe. 

This creates something of a problem for the historian 
who would like to see one ethos in the age which produced 
both Plato and Aristotle. If the \ul{Timaeus} reveals the 
philosophy herein described, we must separate Plato from 
his pupil even more widely than is sometimes the practice, 
for it does seem to be true that Aristotle's Universe is 
closed, since it is a world in which time is described as 
an accident. Surely this is far from Plato's view of time 
as the source of the perfections which make it possible for 
him to regard the Universe as a shrine. It is necessary to 
state that the gap between the moving image of eternity and 
the measure of motion is even wider than it has usually 
been described, if the viewpoint herein adopted is credible. 

Again, this is not the place to discourse upon a 
philosophical prejudice, nor is it claimed that the 
philosophy of Plato is superior to the philosophy of 
Aristotle. Such statements do violence to the historical 
view which regards philosophies as different because they 
were written by different men in different times with 
different needs. Aristotle was not confronted with the 
same political realities that confronted Plato, and to 
that extent, at least, we should, expect their political 
philosophies to differ. However, it remains true that 
Plato placed time at the very heart of his doctrine and 
that Aristotle placed time at the accidental periphery of 
his. To that extent, Plato's philosophy of time is more 
congenial to the modern mind which occupies itself with 
questions of historical process and temporal being. 

Viewed in this light, it becomes possible to see 
the basis of Whitehead's remark that Plato has spawned 
almost the entire philosophical heritage of the West. 
Furthermore, it becomes possible to compare \bt{Science in 
the Modern World} to the \ul{Timaeus}, since the authors of both 
works attempted not only to write a history of contemporary 
science but also to show in their discussions of the 
scientific theories prevalent in their respective eras 
that beyond the reach of the sciences there were insights 
upon which the sciences unknowingly depended. 

In that same spirit, I have attempted to write of 
Plato's image of time, since it is my conviction that every 
age, and not only Plato's or even Whitehead's, depends 
unknowlingly on a view of time and derives its basic 
cognitive orientation from its time-view. 

If it is true that Plato matured until the last, and 
that he sought in the end to plumb the awesome mystery of 
time and eternity, I felt that his search could only 
enlighten the attempts of a working sociologist to make 
some sense out of his own era by viewing it, in the last 
analysis, as a moving image of eternity. 

There is one aspect of the temporal perfection of 
the Universe which deserves special attention in the light 
of modern interests, and that is the special perfection 
which develops in the individual man in time. We pointed 
out in chapter three that Plato made frequent use of the 
age of the speaker in several dialogues, sometimes accusing 
the speaker of naivete because of his youth and sometimes 
praising the venerable age of the speaker and the wisdom 
which came to him because of his age. For example, in the 
\ul{Parmenides}, Socrates is very young and Parmenides is very 
old, and Plato implies clearly that the very young do not 
yet have the requisite insight for profound subjects. This 
is again true in the \ul{Theatetus} wherein Socrates is now 
the old and wise man, as opposed to the young and malleable 
Theatetus. In view of the fact that the \e{Timaeus} casts 
the whole middle doctrine of individual reminiscence into 
j more generalized sociological frame of reference, it 
should be pointed out that Plato has not abandoned his 
reminiscence theory in the later dialogues: actually, he 
has fortified it by showing that there is a cosmological 
basis for the sort of memory which a society must have 
in order to be as fully societal as it is possible to be. 

Thus, just as the society develops in time, so the 
individual citizen develops in time, and in time, the 
citizen not only ages, but he matures and grows wise. It 
is this very maturity of insight which Plato himself 
experienced with his own advancing years, and it is therefore 
unsurprising that we find in the later dialogues a 
doctrine in to which the perfection of reason is attained 
by those individuals who have participated more fully in 
time than those younger philosophers whose maturity is yet 
unreached. 

To put the matter somewhat more technically, Plato 
has so closely related cosmogenesis and anthropogenesis 
by reason of their mutual participation in time that it 
is also possible to relate the ontogenesis of the individual 
citizen to the same basis in time. While it was always 
possible to say with Plato that the older man is probably 
the wiser man, it is possible, after a careful reading of 
the later dialogues, to assert that the older man ought to 
pe the wiser because of his fuller participation in time. 
Or to put the matter in more modern language, the gradual 
development of the individual person takes place not only 
according to psychological processes, but also according 
to sociological and cosmological processes, since all of 
these processes may be seen as particular manifestations 
of the pertections which Time brings to the Universe. 

Therefore, I assert that a careful reading of the 
\ul{Timaeus} in its doctrinal and chronological context leads to 
the following conclusions. 

Plato's final formulation of a doctrine of Time was 
revealed in his \ul{Timaeus}. In that work, he tells us that 
Time is the basis of society, from which the society 
derives the perfections of life and mind in motion. Thus 
it is false to divide eternity and time from each other 
since Time delivers perfections and perfects mere becoming 
s0 that it most resembles the source of perfections. It is 
g00d to regard Time as a moving image of eternity since 
this phrase indicates the mediatory role of time. The 
simple division of eternity \e{versus} time is false, since 
eternity differs most from mere becoming. Time perfects 
becoming by relating it concretely to eternity. In this 
way, the things of the Universe may achieve individuality 
since they need not be either completely eternal nor 
merely becoming but may be best what they are by being as 
fully as possible what they are when they are. Thus, from 
the early formedoctrine of the middle dialogues, Plato has 
advanced to a new position. It is neither a renunciation of 
the Form-doctrine nor a simple extension or reapplication 
of it. In the \ul{Timaeus}, the Forms are paradigms and have 
reality only to the extent to which the things modelled 
upon them derive their perfections from them. The earlier 
Form-doctrine described a number of perfect Forms from 
which things differed by reason of their imperfection; the 
later form-doctrine describes a set of Forms which are 
originative, such that they give of their perfection in a 
process called Time. 

In such a world, society is not a realm removed from 
a penultimate world of silent and unspeaking self posession, 
but becomes the way in which eternal perfection discloses 
itself, which Plato calls the moving image of eternity. 

\sec Appendix A

Ross\pnote{5.1} gives a tabular presentation of the order 
of the dialogues according to "five leading students" 
of the subject. Since the order of the early works is 
not in question here, the table is abbreviated to show 
the order of the dialogues starting with the \ul{Republic}, 
on which there is wide agreement. However it should be 
noted that Ross does not distinguish between stylistic 
criteria and stylometric criteria and uses the two 
interchangeably in his chapter on the order of the 
dialogues. With the exception of the \bt{Phaedrus}, the 
scholars cited by Ross give substantially the order I 
have adopted as the most probable. 

\table{l|l|l|l|l}{
Arnim & Lutoslawski & Raeder & Ritter & Wilamowitz \crll
Rep. 2--10 & Rep. 2--10 & Rep. & Rep. & Rep. \cr
Theaet. & Phaedr. & Phaedr. & Phaedr. & Phaedr. \cr
Parm. & Theaet. & Theaet. & Theaet. & Parm. \cr
Phaedr. & Parm. & Parm. & Parm. & Theaet. \cr
Soph. & Soph. & Soph. & Soph. & Soph. \cr
Pol. & Pol. & Pol. & Pol. & Pol. \cr
Phil. & Phil. & Phil. & Tim. & Tim. \cr
& Tim. & Tim. & Critias & Critias \cr
& Critias & Critias & Phil. & Phil. \cr
Laws & Laws & Laws & Laws & Laws \cr
& & Epin. & &}

\sec Bibliography


Archer-Hind, R.D. 
\bt{Commentary on the Timaeus}. 
London: The Macmilian Co., 1888. 

Barker, E. 
\bt{Political Thought of Plato and Aristotle}.
New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1959. 

Burnet, John. 
\bt{Greek Philosophy}.
Part I. 
London: Macmilian & Co., Ltd., 1914. 

Bury, R.G. 
\et{Plato and History,}
\jt{Classical Quarterly},
New Series, 1-2, pp. 86-94. 

Callahan, J.F. 
Four Views of Time in Ancient Philosophy. 
Cambridge: Harvard University Fress, 1946. 

Campbell, L. 
"Plato," 
Encyclopaedia Britannica. 
11\tss{th} ed., Vol. XXI, pp. 808--824.

Claghorn, George S. 
Aristotle's Criticism of Plato's 'Timaeus'.
The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1954. 

Cornford, F.M. 
From Religion to Philosophy. 
New York: Harper & Brothers, 1957. 

Cornford, F.M. 
Plato's Cosmology.
London: Routledge \& Kegan Paul, Ltd., 1937. 

Dodds, E.K. 
The Greeks and the Irrational.
Boston: Beacon Press, 1957. 

Field, G.C. 
Plato and His Contemporaries: A Study in Fourth-Century Life and Thougnt.
London: Methuen \& Co., Ltd., 1930. 

Frutiger, P. 
Les Myths de Platon.
Paris: 1930. 

Gauss, Hermann. 
Philosophischer Handkommentar zu den Dialogen Platos.
vol. III, part 2. 
Bern: Herbart Lang, 1961. 

Gioscia, V.J. 
"A Perspective for Role Theory," 
The American Catholic Sociological Review.
XXII, No. 2, 
Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1961, pp. 143 ff. 

Gompers, Theodor. 
Greek Thinkers.
trans. G.G. Bery. 
London: John Murray, 1905.

Harward, J. 
The Platonic Epistles.
Cambridge: The University Press, 1952. 

Heisenberg, Werner. 
Physics and Philosophy.
New York: Harper \& Brothers, 1955. 

Hempel, Carl G. 
"Fundamentals of Concept Formation in Empirical Science,"
International Encyclopaedia of Unified Science,
vols. I and II; 
Foundations of The Unity of Science,
vol. II, No. 7. University of Chicago Press, 1952. 

Jaeger, Werner. 
Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture. 
New York: Oxford University Press, 1943. 

Jowett, B. 
The Dialogues of Plato.
3\tss{rd }ed.;
New York: Scribner, Armstrong, \& Co., 1878. 

Koyre, Alexandre. 
From the Closed world to the Infinite Universe.
New York: Harper \& Brothers, 1958. 

Lauer, Q., S.J. 
The Being of Non-Being in Plato's Sophist.
unpublished manuscript; 
New York: Fordham University. 

Lutoslawski, W. 
Origin and Growth of Plato's Logic. 
New York: Longmans, 1925. 

Mackinnon, Edward, S.J. 
"Time in Contemporary Physics," 
International Philosophical Quarterly,
II, No. 3, (September, 1962). 

Meyerhoff, Hans (ed.) 
The Philosophy of History in Our Time.
New York: Doubleday \& Co., 1959. 

Nettleship, R.L. 
Lectures on the Republic of Plato. 
New York: Macmillan, 1955. 

Popper, K.R. 
The Open Society and its Enemies.
2 vols., 2\tss{nd} ed. rev., 
London: Routledge \& Kegan Paul, 1952. 

Ritter, Constantin. 
Untersuchungen uber Platon. 
Stuttgart: 1888. 

Ritter, Constantin. 
Neue Untersuchungen uber Platon.
Munich: 1910. 


Ritter, Constantin. 
The Essence of Plato's Philosophy.
trans.  Adam Alles. 
London: George Allen \& Unwin, Ltd., 1933. 

Ross, W.D. 
Plato's Theory of Ideas.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1951. 

Russell, Bertrand.
Mysticism and Logic.
Garden City, 
New York: Doubleday \& Co., 1917. 

Taylor, A.E. 
Commentary on Plato's Timaeus.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1928. 

Taylor, A.E. 
"Plato,"
Encyclopaedia britannica.
XVIII. 
Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica, inc., 1957. 

Taylor, A.E. 
Plato: the Man and His Work.
6\tss{th} ed. 5\tss{th} print.
New York: Meridian books, Inc., 1959. 

Taylor, T.T. 
The Timaeus and Critias of Plato. 
Washington: Pantheon Books inc., 1952. 

Walsh, W.H. 
"Plato and the Philosophy of History: History and Theory in the Republic,"
History and Theory,
II, No. 1 (1962), pp. 1--16. 

Whitehead, A.N. 
Process and Reality.
New York: The Macmillan Company, 1941. 

Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U.v. 
Platon.
2 vols., Berlin: Weidman, 1920. 

\sec ABSTRACT 

\rightline{Victor Joseph Gioscia}
\rightline{B.S., Fordham College}
\rightline{M.A., Fordham University}

\centerline{\ul{Plato's Image of Time}}

\rightline{Dissertation directed by J. Quentin Lauer, Ph.D.}


The most explicit formulation which Plato made of 
his philosophy of Time is found in his \ul{Timaeus}. In this 
dialogue, he reexamines some of the doctrines he had 
formulated in the \ul{Republic}. 

By reference to a wide concensus of scholarly 
opinion, it is established that the \ul{Timaeus} is very probably 
the last dialogue Plato completed and edited, that it is 
tollowed only by the incomplete \ul{Critias} and the unedited 
\ul{Laws}. These facts, taken together with the fact that the 
\ul{Timaeus} recapitulates some doctrines of the \ul{Republic}, 
Give the \ul{Timaeus} a central importance in Plato's reflections 
on society. 

This means that the \ul{Timaeus} contains a "later" 
doctrine than the \ul{Republic} and that in the \ul{Timaeus} we 
find a reflective advance over the doctrines ot the 
"early" and "middle" dialogues of Plato. 

The study traces the evolution of the three themes 
of eternity, image, and time anda shows that Plato discussed 
them in an increasingly generalized fashion as he grew 
older. It traces the development or these themes from 
the \ul{Republic} through the \ul{Parmenides}, \ul{Theatetus}, \bt{Sophist}, 
\ul{Statesman}, and \ul{Philebus}. 

The study espouses the view that the \ul{Timaeus} contains 
Plato's most mature reflections on the themes of eternity, 
image, and time, and that the formulation in the \ul{Timaeus} 
\e{re}formulates some of the doctrines of the \ul{Republic}, and 
therefore one ought \e{not} to regard the \ul{Republic} as the 
final formulation of Plato's philosophy of eternity, image, 
and time. 

Further, the themes of eternity, image, and time 
are treated in the \ul{Timaeus} in an explicitly sociological 
framework, and are said to be part and parcel or the 
4nquiry into the best society and its basis in time. 

Plato included cosmology and sociology within a 
larger perspective, in which the origin of the Universe 
and the origin of society were seen as stages in a temporal 
process. His account of these matters in the \ul{Timaeus} is 
preceded by statements to the erfect that it is only on 
the broad canvass of the entire Universe that the best 
account of society's origins can be painted. 

The use ot such metaphorical phraseology is not 
arbitrary, and one must frequently deal in metaphor to 
explain Plato's meaning because Plato makes extensive use 
of metaphor throughout his \ul{Timaeus}, indeed, throughout 
most of his philosophy. Plato's discussion of temporal 
processes contains a definition whose central term is the 
word image (\e{eikon} not \e{eidolon}). Since Plato defines time as 
an image, it becomes the problem of the commentator to 
reveal as clearly as possible the significance or this 
definition and the use of image as one of its principal 
terms. 

The study concludes that Plato viewed the entire 
Universe as an Image and sees Time as the Life of Society. 

\sec Vita

Victor Joseph Gioscia, son of Joseph and Anne 
D'Onofrio Gioscia, was born June 13, 1930, in New York, 
New York. He attended Xavier High School, New York City, 
and was graduated in June 1948. 

He entered Springhill College in September 1948, 
transferred to Fordham College in September 1950, and 
received the degree of Bachelor of Science in June 1952. 
He received the Hughes Award in Philosophy and an 
Assistantship in Philosophy. He was accepted as a 
graduate student and was given a Research Assistantship 
in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences of Fordham 
University in September of 1956. He majored in Theoretical 
Sociology under the mentorship of Professor N.S. Timasheff 
and received the degree of Master of Arts in February 1957. 

He was employed as a Lecturer in Sociology at Fordham 
College in 1958, as an Instructor in Sociology at Fordham 
University School of Education in 1959, and as a Lecturer 
in Anthropology-Sociology at Queens College of the City 
University of New York in 1961 and 1962. 

He was accepted as a graduate student in the Graduate 
School of Arts and Sciences of Fordham University in 
February 1957, where he majored in the Philosophy of 
Society under the mentorship of Professor J. Quentin 
Laver, S.J.