"dog," "cat"; or, if not these, then relational words such as "similar," "before," and so on. Such
words are not meaningless noises, and it is difficult to see how they can have meaning if the world
consists entirely of particular things, such as are designated by proper names. There may be ways
of getting round this argument, but at any rate it affords a prima facie case in favour of universals.
I shall provisionally accept it as in some degree valid. But when so much is granted, the rest of
what Plato says by no means follows.
In the first place, Plato has no understanding of philosophical syntax. I can say " Socrates is
human,"" Plato is human," and so on. In all these statements, it may be assumed that the word
"human" has exactly the same meaning. But whatever it means, it means something which is not
of the same kind as Socrates, Plato, and the rest of the individuals who compose the human race.
"Human" is an adjective; it would be nonsense to say "human is human." Plato makes a mistake
analogous to saying "human is human." He thinks that beauty is beautiful; he thinks that the
universal "man" is the name of a pattern man created by God, of whom actual men are imperfect
and somewhat unreal copies. He fails altogether to realize how great is the gap between universals
and particulars; his "ideas" are really just other particulars, ethically and aesthetically superior to
the ordinary kind. He himself, at a later date, began to see this difficulty, as appears in the
Parmenides, which contains one of the most remarkable cases in history of self-criticism by a
philosopher.
The Parmenides is supposed to be related by Antiphon ( Plato's half-brother), who alone
remembers the conversation, but is now only interested in horses. They find him carrying a bridle,
and with difficulty persuade him to relate the famous discussion between Parmenides, Zeno, and
Socrates. This, we are told, took place when Parmenides was old (about sixty-five), Zeno in
middle life (about forty), and Socrates quite a young man. Socrates expounds the theory of ideas;
he is sure that there are ideas of likeness, justice, beauty, and goodness; he is not sure that there is
an idea of man; and he rejects with indignation the suggestion that there could be ideas of such
things as hair and mud and dirt--though, he adds, there are times when he thinks that there is
nothing without an idea. He runs away from this view because he is afraid of falling into a
bottomless pit of nonsense.