ATHENIAN: Do you believe that there is any truth in ancient traditions? CLEINIAS: What traditions? ATHENIAN: The traditions about the many destructions of mankind which have been occasioned by deluges and pestilences, and in many other ways, and of the survival of a remnant? CLEINIAS: Every one is disposed to believe them. ATHENIAN: Let us consider one of them, that which was caused by the famous deluge. CLEINIAS: What are we to observe about it? ATHENIAN: I mean to say that those who then escaped would only be hill shepherds,--small sparks of the human race preserved on the tops of mountains. CLEINIAS: Clearly. ATHENIAN: Such survivors would necessarily be unacquainted with the arts and the various devices which are suggested to the dwellers in cities by interest or ambition, and with all the wrongs which they contrive against one another. CLEINIAS: Very true. ATHENIAN: Let us suppose, then, that the cities in the plain and on the sea-coast were utterly destroyed at that time. CLEINIAS: Very good. ATHENIAN: Would not all implements have then perished and every other excellent invention of political or any other sort of wisdom have utterly disappeared? CLEINIAS: Why, yes, my friend; and if things had always continued as they are at present ordered, how could any discovery have ever been made even in the least particular? For it is evident that the arts were unknown during ten thousand times ten thousand years. And no more than a thousand or two thousand years have elapsed since the discoveries of Daedalus, Orpheus and Palamedes,--since Marsyas and Olympus invented music, and Amphion the lyre--not to speak of numberless other inventions which are but of yesterday. ATHENIAN: Have you forgotten, Cleinias, the name of a friend who is really of yesterday? CLEINIAS: I suppose that you mean Epimenides. ATHENIAN: The same, my friend; he does indeed far overleap the heads of all mankind by his invention; for he carried out in practice, as you declare, what of old Hesiod (Works and Days) only preached. CLEINIAS: Yes, according to our tradition. ATHENIAN: After the great destruction, may we not suppose that the state of man was something of this sort:--In the beginning of things there was a fearful illimitable desert and a vast expanse of land; a herd or two of oxen would be the only survivors of the animal world; and there might be a few goats, these too hardly enough to maintain the shepherds who tended them? CLEINIAS: True. ATHENIAN: And of cities or governments or legislation, about which we are now talking, do you suppose that they could have any recollection at all? CLEINIAS: None whatever. ATHENIAN: And out of this state of things has there not sprung all that we now are and have: cities and governments, and arts and laws, and a great deal of vice and a great deal of virtue? CLEINIAS: What do you mean?