And now, I said, let me
show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: --Behold!
human beings living in a underground den, which has a mouth open towards the
light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood,
and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see
before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above
and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the
prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built
along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them,
over which they show the puppets.
I see.
And do you see, I said,
men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and
figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear
over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent.
You have shown me a
strange image, and they are strange prisoners.
Like ourselves, I
replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another,
which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?
True, he said; how could
they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their
heads?
And of the objects which
are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows?
Yes, he said.
And if they were able to
converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was
actually before them?
Very true.
And suppose further that
the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to
fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from
the passing shadow?
No question, he replied.
To them, I said, the
truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.
That is certain.
And now look again, and
see what will naturally follow it' the prisoners are released and disabused of
their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to
stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will
suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see
the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then
conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but
that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards
more real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what will be his reply? And you
may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass
and requiring him to name them, -will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy
that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now
shown to him?
Far truer.
And if he is compelled to
look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make
him turn away to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and
which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now
being shown to him?
True, he now
And suppose once more,
that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until
he 's forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained
and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he
will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.
Not all in a moment, he
said.
He will require to grow
accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the shadows
best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the
objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars
and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better
than the sun or the light of the sun by day?
Certainly.
Last of he will be able
to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see
him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as
he is.
Certainly.
He will then proceed to
argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of
all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things
which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold?
Clearly, he said, he
would first see the sun and then reason about him.
And when he remembered
his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you
not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them?
Certainly, he would.
And if they were in the
habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were quickest to
observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which
followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to
draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such
honours and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with
Homer,
Better to be the poor
servant of a poor master, and to endure anything, rather than think as they do
and live after their manner?
Yes, he said, I think
that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live
in this miserable manner.
Imagine once more, I
said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old
situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness?
To be sure, he said.
And if there were a
contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who
had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his
eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new
habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men would
say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was
better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and
lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put
him to death.
No question, he said.
This entire allegory, I
said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the
prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you
will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent
of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at
your desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But, whether
true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good
appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also
inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of
light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source
of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which
he who would act rationally, either in public or private life must have his eye
fixed.
I agree, he said, as far
as I am able to understand you.
Moreover, I said, you
must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to
descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper
world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our
allegory may be trusted.
Yes, very natural.
And is there anything
surprising in one who passes from divine contemplations to the evil state of
man, misbehaving himself in a ridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking
and before he has become accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled
to fight in courts of law, or in other places, about the images or the shadows
of images of justice, and is endeavouring to meet the conceptions of those who
have never yet seen absolute justice?
Anything but surprising,
he replied.
Any one who has common
sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and
arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into
the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye;
and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and
weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man
has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to
the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of
light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and
he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes
from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh
which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the den.
That, he said, is a very
just distinction.
But then, if I am right,
certain professors of education must be wrong when they say that they can put a
knowledge into the soul which was not there before, like sight into blind eyes.
They undoubtedly say
this, he replied.
Whereas, our argument
shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already; and
that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole
body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole
soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by
degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or
in other words, of the good.
Very true.
And must there not be
some art which will effect conversion in the easiest and quickest manner; not
implanting the faculty of sight, for that exists already, but has been turned in
the wrong direction, and is looking away from the truth?
Yes, he said, such an art
may be presumed.
And whereas the other
so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even when
they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and
exercise, the of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which
always remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on
the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrow
intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue --how eager he is, how
clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is the reverse of blind, but
his keen eyesight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in
proportion to his cleverness.
Very true, he said.
But what if there had
been a circumcision of such natures in the days of their youth; and they had
been severed from those sensual pleasures, such as eating and drinking, which,
like leaden weights, were attached to them at their birth, and which drag them
down and turn the vision of their souls upon the things that are below --if, I
say, they had been released from these impediments and turned in the opposite
direction, the very same faculty in them would have seen the truth as keenly as
they see what their eyes are turned to now.
Very likely.
Yes, I said; and there is
another thing which is likely. or rather a necessary inference from what has
preceded, that neither the uneducated and uninformed of the truth, nor yet those
who never make an end of their education, will be able ministers of State; not
the former, because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule of all
their actions, private as well as public; nor the latter, because they will not
act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that they are already dwelling apart
in the islands of the blest.
Very true, he replied.
Then, I said, the
business of us who are the founders of the State will be to compel the best
minds to attain that knowledge which we have already shown to be the greatest of
all-they must continue to ascend until they arrive at the good; but when they
have ascended and seen enough we must not allow them to do as they do now.
What do you mean?
I mean that they remain
in the upper world: but this must not be allowed; they must be made to descend
again among the prisoners in the den, and partake of their labours and honours,
whether they are worth having or not.
But is not this unjust?
he said; ought we to give them a worse life, when they might have a better?
You have again forgotten,
my friend, I said, the intention of the legislator, who did not aim at making
any one class in the State happy above the rest; the happiness was to be in the
whole State, and he held the citizens together by persuasion and necessity,
making them benefactors of the State, and therefore benefactors of one another;
to this end he created them, not to please themselves, but to be his instruments
in binding up the State.
True, he said, I had
forgotten.
Observe, Glaucon, that
there will be no injustice in compelling our philosophers to have a care and
providence of others; we shall explain to them that in other States, men of
their class are not obliged to share in the toils of politics: and this is
reasonable, for they grow up at their own sweet will, and the government would
rather not have them. Being self-taught, they cannot be expected to show any
gratitude for a culture which they have never received. But we have brought you
into the world to be rulers of the hive, kings of yourselves and of the other
citizens, and have educated you far better and more perfectly than they have
been educated, and you are better able to share in the double duty. Wherefore
each of you, when his turn comes, must go down to the general underground abode,
and get the habit of seeing in the dark. When you have acquired the habit, you
will see ten thousand times better than the inhabitants of the den, and you will
know what the several images are, and what they represent, because you have seen
the beautiful and just and good in their truth. And thus our State which is also
yours will be a reality, and not a dream only, and will be administered in a
spirit unlike that of other States, in which men fight with one another about
shadows only and are distracted in the struggle for power, which in their eyes
is a great good. Whereas the truth is that the State in which the rulers are
most reluctant to govern is always the best and most quietly governed, and the
State in which they are most eager, the worst.
Quite true, he replied.
And will our pupils, when
they hear this, refuse to take their turn at the toils of State, when they are
allowed to spend the greater part of their time with one another in the heavenly
light?
Impossible, he answered;
for they are just men, and the commands which we impose upon them are just;
there can be no doubt that every one of them will take office as a stern
necessity, and not after the fashion of our present rulers of State.
Yes, my friend, I said;
and there lies the point. You must contrive for your future rulers another and a
better life than that of a ruler, and then you may have a well-ordered State;
for only in the State which offers this, will they rule who are truly rich, not
in silver and gold, but in virtue and wisdom, which are the true blessings of
life. Whereas if they go to the administration of public affairs, poor and
hungering after the' own private advantage, thinking that hence they are to
snatch the chief good, order there can never be; for they will be fighting about
office, and the civil and domestic broils which thus arise will be the ruin of
the rulers themselves and of the whole State.
Most true, he replied.
And the only life which
looks down upon the life of political ambition is that of true philosophy. Do
you know of any other?
Indeed, I do not, he
said.
And those who govern
ought not to be lovers of the task? For, if they are, there will be rival
lovers, and they will fight.
No question.
Who then are those whom
we shall compel to be guardians? Surely they will be the men who are wisest
about affairs of State, and by whom the State is best administered, and who at
the same time have other honours and another and a better life than that of
politics?
They are the men, and I
will choose them, he replied.
And now shall we consider
in what way such guardians will be produced, and how they are to be brought from
darkness to light, --as some are said to have ascended from the world below to
the gods?
By all means, he replied.
The process, I said, is
not the turning over of an oyster-shell, but the turning round of a soul passing
from a day which is little better than night to the true day of being, that is,
the ascent from below, which we affirm to be true philosophy?
Quite so.
And should we not enquire
what sort of knowledge has the power of effecting such a change?
Certainly.
What sort of knowledge is
there which would draw the soul from becoming to being? And another
consideration has just occurred to me: You will remember that our young men are
to be warrior athletes
Yes, that was said.
Then this new kind of
knowledge must have an additional quality?
What quality?
Usefulness in war.
Yes, if possible.
There were two parts in
our former scheme of education, were there not?
Just so.
There was gymnastic which
presided over the growth and decay of the body, and may therefore be regarded as
having to do with generation and corruption?
True.
Then that is not the
knowledge which we are seeking to discover? No.
But what do you say of
music, which also entered to a certain extent into our former scheme?
Music, he said, as you
will remember, was the counterpart of gymnastic, and trained the guardians by
the influences of habit, by harmony making them harmonious, by rhythm
rhythmical, but not giving them science; and the words, whether fabulous or
possibly true, had kindred elements of rhythm and harmony in them. But in music
there was nothing which tended to that good which you are now seeking.
You are most accurate, I
said, in your recollection; in music there certainly was nothing of the kind.
But what branch of knowledge is there, my dear Glaucon, which is of the desired
nature; since all the useful arts were reckoned mean by us?
Undoubtedly; and yet if
music and gymnastic are excluded, and the arts are also excluded, what remains?
Well, I said, there may
be nothing left of our special subjects; and then we shall have to take
something which is not special, but of universal application.
What may that be?
A something which all
arts and sciences and intelligences use in common, and which every one first has
to learn among the elements of education.
What is that?
The little matter of
distinguishing one, two, and three --in a word, number and calculation: --do not
all arts and sciences necessarily partake of them?
Yes.
Then the art of war
partakes of them?
To the sure.
Then Palamedes, whenever
he appears in tragedy, proves Agamemnon ridiculously unfit to be a general. Did
you never remark how he declares that he had invented number, and had numbered
the ships and set in array the ranks of the army at Troy; which implies that
they had never been numbered before, and Agamemnon must be supposed literally to
have been incapable of counting his own feet --how could he if he was ignorant
of number? And if that is true, what sort of general must he have been?
I should say a very
strange one, if this was as you say.
Can we deny that a
warrior should have a knowledge of arithmetic?
Certainly he should, if
he is to have the smallest understanding of military tactics, or indeed, I
should rather say, if he is to be a man at all.
I should like to know
whether you have the same notion which I have of this study?
What is your notion?
It appears to me to be a
study of the kind which we are seeking, and which leads naturally to reflection,
but never to have been rightly used; for the true use of it is simply to draw
the soul towards being.
Will you explain your
meaning? he said.
I will try, I said; and I
wish you would share the enquiry with me, and say 'yes' or 'no' when I attempt
to distinguish in my own mind what branches of knowledge have this attracting
power, in order that we may have clearer proof that arithmetic is, as I suspect,
one of them.
Explain, he said.
I mean to say that
objects of sense are of two kinds; some of them do not invite thought because
the sense is an adequate judge of them; while in the case of other objects sense
is so untrustworthy that further enquiry is imperatively demanded.
You are clearly
referring, he said, to the manner in which the senses are imposed upon by
distance, and by painting in light and shade.
No, I said, that is not
at all my meaning.
Then what is your
meaning?
When speaking of
uninviting objects, I mean those which do not pass from one sensation to the
opposite; inviting objects are those which do; in this latter case the sense
coming upon the object, whether at a distance or near, gives no more vivid idea
of anything in particular than of its opposite. An illustration will make my
meaning clearer: --here are three fingers --a little finger, a second finger,
and a middle finger.
Very good.
You may suppose that they
are seen quite close: And here comes the point.
What is it?
Each of them equally
appears a finger, whether seen in the middle or at the extremity, whether white
or black, or thick or thin --it makes no difference; a finger is a finger all
the same. In these cases a man is not compelled to ask of thought the question,
what is a finger? for the sight never intimates to the mind that a finger is
other than a finger.
True.
And therefore, I said, as
we might expect, there is nothing here which invites or excites intelligence.
There is not, he said.
But is this equally true
of the greatness and smallness of the fingers? Can sight adequately perceive
them? and is no difference made by the circumstance that one of the fingers is
in the middle and another at the extremity? And in like manner does the touch
adequately perceive the qualities of thickness or thinness, or softness or
hardness? And so of the other senses; do they give perfect intimations of such
matters? Is not their mode of operation on this wise --the sense which is
concerned with the quality of hardness is necessarily concerned also with the
quality of softness, and only intimates to the soul that the same thing is felt
to be both hard and soft?
You are quite right, he
said.
And must not the soul be
perplexed at this intimation which the sense gives of a hard which is also soft?
What, again, is the meaning of light and heavy, if that which is light is also
heavy, and that which is heavy, light?
Yes, he said, these
intimations which the soul receives are very curious and require to be
explained.
Yes, I said, and in these
perplexities the soul naturally summons to her aid calculation and intelligence,
that she may see whether the several objects announced to her are one or two.
True.
And if they turn out to
be two, is not each of them one and different?
Certainly.
And if each is one, and
both are two, she will conceive the two as in a state of division, for if there
were undivided they could only be conceived of as one?
True.
The eye certainly did see
both small and great, but only in a confused manner; they were not
distinguished.
Yes.
Whereas the thinking
mind, intending to light up the chaos, was compelled to reverse the process, and
look at small and great as separate and not confused.
Very true.
Was not this the
beginning of the enquiry 'What is great?' and 'What is small?'
Exactly so.
And thus arose the
distinction of the visible and the intelligible.
Most true.
This was what I meant
when I spoke of impressions which invited the intellect, or the reverse --those
which are simultaneous with opposite impressions, invite thought; those which
are not simultaneous do not.
I understand, he said,
and agree with you.
And to which class do
unity and number belong?
I do not know, he
replied.
Think a little and you
will see that what has preceded will supply the answer; for if simple unity
could be adequately perceived by the sight or by any other sense, then, as we
were saying in the case of the finger, there would be nothing to attract towards
being; but when there is some contradiction always present, and one is the
reverse of one and involves the conception of plurality, then thought begins to
be aroused within us, and the soul perplexed and wanting to arrive at a decision
asks 'What is absolute unity?' This is the way in which the study of the one has
a power of drawing and converting the mind to the contemplation of true being.
And surely, he said, this
occurs notably in the case of one; for we see the same thing to be both one and
infinite in multitude?
Yes, I said; and this
being true of one must be equally true of all number?
Certainly.
And all arithmetic and
calculation have to do with number?
Yes.
And they appear to lead
the mind towards truth?
Yes, in a very remarkable
manner.
Then this is knowledge of
the kind for which we are seeking, having a double use, military and
philosophical; for the man of war must learn the art of number or he will not
know how to array his troops, and the philosopher also, because he has to rise
out of the sea of change and lay hold of true being, and therefore he must be an
arithmetician.
That is true.
And our guardian is both
warrior and philosopher?
Certainly.
Then this is a kind of
knowledge which legislation may fitly prescribe; and we must endeavour to
persuade those who are prescribe to be the principal men of our State to go and
learn arithmetic, not as amateurs, but they must carry on the study until they
see the nature of numbers with the mind only; nor again, like merchants or
retail-traders, with a view to buying or selling, but for the sake of their
military use, and of the soul herself; and because this will be the easiest way
for her to pass from becoming to truth and being.
That is excellent, he
said.
Yes, I said, and now
having spoken of it, I must add how charming the science is! and in how many
ways it conduces to our desired end, if pursued in the spirit of a philosopher,
and not of a shopkeeper!
How do you mean?
I mean, as I was saying,
that arithmetic has a very great and elevating effect, compelling the soul to
reason about abstract number, and rebelling against the introduction of visible
or tangible objects into the argument. You know how steadily the masters of the
art repel and ridicule any one who attempts to divide absolute unity when he is
calculating, and if you divide, they multiply, taking care that one shall
continue one and not become lost in fractions.
That is very true.
Now, suppose a person
were to say to them: O my friends, what are these wonderful numbers about which
you are reasoning, in which, as you say, there is a unity such as you demand,
and each unit is equal, invariable, indivisible, --what would they answer?
They would answer, as I
should conceive, that they were speaking of those numbers which can only be
realised in thought.
Then you see that this
knowledge may be truly called necessary, necessitating as it clearly does the
use of the pure intelligence in the attainment of pure truth?
Yes; that is a marked
characteristic of it.
And have you further
observed, that those who have a natural talent for calculation are generally
quick at every other kind of knowledge; and even the dull if they have had an
arithmetical training, although they may derive no other advantage from it,
always become much quicker than they would otherwise have been.
Very true, he said.
And indeed, you will not
easily find a more difficult study, and not many as difficult.
You will not.
And, for all these
reasons, arithmetic is a kind of knowledge in which the best natures should be
trained, and which must not be given up.
I agree.
Let this then be made one
of our subjects of education. And next, shall we enquire whether the kindred
science also concerns us?
You mean geometry?
Exactly so.
Clearly, he said, we are
concerned with that part of geometry which relates to war; for in pitching a
camp, or taking up a position, or closing or extending the lines of an army, or
any other military manoeuvre, whether in actual battle or on a march, it will
make all the difference whether a general is or is not a geometrician.
Yes, I said, but for that
purpose a very little of either geometry or calculation will be enough; the
question relates rather to the greater and more advanced part of geometry
--whether that tends in any degree to make more easy the vision of the idea of
good; and thither, as I was saying, all things tend which compel the soul to
turn her gaze towards that place, where is the full perfection of being, which
she ought, by all means, to behold.
True, he said.
Then if geometry compels
us to view being, it concerns us; if becoming only, it does not concern us?
Yes, that is what we
assert.
Yet anybody who has the
least acquaintance with geometry will not deny that such a conception of the
science is in flat contradiction to the ordinary language of geometricians.
How so?
They have in view
practice only, and are always speaking? in a narrow and ridiculous manner, of
squaring and extending and applying and the like --they confuse the necessities
of geometry with those of daily life; whereas knowledge is the real object of
the whole science.
Certainly, he said.
Then must not a further
admission be made?
What admission?
That the knowledge at
which geometry aims is knowledge of the eternal, and not of aught perishing and
transient.
That, he replied, may be
readily allowed, and is true.
Then, my noble friend,
geometry will draw the soul towards truth, and create the spirit of philosophy,
and raise up that which is now unhappily allowed to fall down.
Nothing will be more
likely to have such an effect.
Then nothing should be
more sternly laid down than that the inhabitants of your fair city should by all
means learn geometry. Moreover the science has indirect effects, which are not
small.
Of what kind? he said.
There are the military
advantages of which you spoke, I said; and in all departments of knowledge, as
experience proves, any one who has studied geometry is infinitely quicker of
apprehension than one who has not.
Yes indeed, he said,
there is an infinite difference between them.
Then shall we propose
this as a second branch of knowledge which our youth will study?
Let us do so, he replied.
And suppose we make
astronomy the third --what do you say?
I am strongly inclined to
it, he said; the observation of the seasons and of months and years is as
essential to the general as it is to the farmer or sailor.
I am amused, I said, at
your fear of the world, which makes you guard against the appearance of
insisting upon useless studies; and I quite admit the difficulty of believing
that in every man there is an eye of the soul which, when by other pursuits lost
and dimmed, is by these purified and re-illumined; and is more precious far than
ten thousand bodily eyes, for by it alone is truth seen. Now there are two
classes of persons: one class of those who will agree with you and will take
your words as a revelation; another class to whom they will be utterly
unmeaning, and who will naturally deem them to be idle tales, for they see no
sort of profit which is to be obtained from them. And therefore you had better
decide at once with which of the two you are proposing to argue. You will very
likely say with neither, and that your chief aim in carrying on the argument is
your own improvement; at the same time you do not grudge to others any benefit
which they may receive.
I think that I should
prefer to carry on the argument mainly on my own behalf.
Then take a step
backward, for we have gone wrong in the order of the sciences.
What was the mistake? he
said.
After plane geometry, I
said, we proceeded at once to solids in revolution, instead of taking solids in
themselves; whereas after the second dimension the third, which is concerned
with cubes and dimensions of depth, ought to have followed.
That is true, Socrates;
but so little seems to be known as yet about these subjects.
Why, yes, I said, and for
two reasons: --in the first place, no government patronises them; this leads to
a want of energy in the pursuit of them, and they are difficult; in the second
place, students cannot learn them unless they have a director. But then a
director can hardly be found, and even if he could, as matters now stand, the
students, who are very conceited, would not attend to him. That, however, would
be otherwise if the whole State became the director of these studies and gave
honour to them; then disciples would want to come, and there would be continuous
and earnest search, and discoveries would be made; since even now, disregarded
as they are by the world, and maimed of their fair proportions, and although
none of their votaries can tell the use of them, still these studies force their
way by their natural charm, and very likely, if they had the help of the State,
they would some day emerge into light.
Yes, he said, there is a
remarkable charm in them. But I do not clearly understand the change in the
order. First you began with a geometry of plane surfaces?
Yes, I said.
And you placed astronomy
next, and then you made a step backward?
Yes, and I have delayed
you by my hurry; the ludicrous state of solid geometry, which, in natural order,
should have followed, made me pass over this branch and go on to astronomy, or
motion of solids.
True, he said.
Then assuming that the
science now omitted would come into existence if encouraged by the State, let us
go on to astronomy, which will be fourth.
The right order, he
replied. And now, Socrates, as you rebuked the vulgar manner in which I praised
astronomy before, my praise shall be given in your own spirit. For every one, as
I think, must see that astronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us
from this world to another.
Every one but myself, I
said; to every one else this may be clear, but not to me.
And what then would you
say?
I should rather say that
those who elevate astronomy into philosophy appear to me to make us look
downwards and not upwards.
What do you mean? he
asked.
You, I replied, have in
your mind a truly sublime conception of our knowledge of the things above. And I
dare say that if a person were to throw his head back and study the fretted
ceiling, you would still think that his mind was the percipient, and not his
eyes. And you are very likely right, and I may be a simpleton: but, in my
opinion, that knowledge only which is of being and of the unseen can make the
soul look upwards, and whether a man gapes at the heavens or blinks on the
ground, seeking to learn some particular of sense, I would deny that he can
learn, for nothing of that sort is matter of science; his soul is looking
downwards, not upwards, whether his way to knowledge is by water or by land,
whether he floats, or only lies on his back.
I acknowledge, he said,
the justice of your rebuke. Still, I should like to ascertain how astronomy can
be learned in any manner more conducive to that knowledge of which we are
speaking?
I will tell you, I said:
The starry heaven which we behold is wrought upon a visible ground, and
therefore, although the fairest and most perfect of visible things, must
necessarily be deemed inferior far to the true motions of absolute swiftness and
absolute slowness, which are relative to each other, and carry with them that
which is contained in them, in the true number and in every true figure. Now,
these are to be apprehended by reason and intelligence, but not by sight.
True, he replied.
The spangled heavens
should be used as a pattern and with a view to that higher knowledge; their
beauty is like the beauty of figures or pictures excellently wrought by the hand
of Daedalus, or some other great artist, which we may chance to behold; any
geometrician who saw them would appreciate the exquisiteness of their
workmanship, but he would never dream of thinking that in them he could find the
true equal or the true double, or the truth of any other proportion.
No, he replied, such an
idea would be ridiculous.
And will not a true
astronomer have the same feeling when he looks at the movements of the stars?
Will he not think that heaven and the things in heaven are framed by the Creator
of them in the most perfect manner? But he will never imagine that the
proportions of night and day, or of both to the month, or of the month to the
year, or of the stars to these and to one another, and any other things that are
material and visible can also be eternal and subject to no deviation --that
would be absurd; and it is equally absurd to take so much pains in investigating
their exact truth.
I quite agree, though I
never thought of this before.
Then, I said, in
astronomy, as in geometry, we should employ problems, and let the heavens alone
if we would approach the subject in the right way and so make the natural gift
of reason to be of any real use.
That, he said, is a work
infinitely beyond our present astronomers.
Yes, I said; and there
are many other things which must also have a similar extension given to them, if
our legislation is to be of any value. But can you tell me of any other suitable
study?
No, he said, not without
thinking.
Motion, I said, has many
forms, and not one only; two of them are obvious enough even to wits no better
than ours; and there are others, as I imagine, which may be left to wiser
persons.
But where are the two?
There is a second, I
said, which is the counterpart of the one already named.
And what may that be?
The second, I said, would
seem relatively to the ears to be what the first is to the eyes; for I conceive
that as the eyes are designed to look up at the stars, so are the ears to hear
harmonious motions; and these are sister sciences --as the Pythagoreans say, and
we, Glaucon, agree with them?
Yes, he replied.
But this, I said, is a
laborious study, and therefore we had better go and learn of them; and they will
tell us whether there are any other applications of these sciences. At the same
time, we must not lose sight of our own higher object.
What is that?
There is a perfection
which all knowledge ought to reach, and which our pupils ought also to attain,
and not to fall short of, as I was saying that they did in astronomy. For in the
science of harmony, as you probably know, the same thing happens. The teachers
of harmony compare the sounds and consonances which are heard only, and their
labour, like that of the astronomers, is in vain.
Yes, by heaven! he said;
and 'tis as good as a play to hear them talking about their condensed notes, as
they call them; they put their ears close alongside of the strings like persons
catching a sound from their neighbour's wall --one set of them declaring that
they distinguish an intermediate note and have found the least interval which
should be the unit of measurement; the others insisting that the two sounds have
passed into the same --either party setting their ears before their
understanding.
You mean, I said, those
gentlemen who tease and torture the strings and rack them on the pegs of the
instrument: might carry on the metaphor and speak after their manner of the
blows which the plectrum gives, and make accusations against the strings, both
of backwardness and forwardness to sound; but this would be tedious, and
therefore I will only say that these are not the men, and that I am referring to
the Pythagoreans, of whom I was just now proposing to enquire about harmony. For
they too are in error, like the astronomers; they investigate the numbers of the
harmonies which are heard, but they never attain to problems-that is to say,
they never reach the natural harmonies of number, or reflect why some numbers
are harmonious and others not.
That, he said, is a thing
of more than mortal knowledge.
A thing, I replied, which
I would rather call useful; that is, if sought after with a view to the
beautiful and good; but if pursued in any other spirit, useless. Very true, he
said.
Now, when all these
studies reach the point of inter-communion and connection with one another, and
come to be considered in their mutual affinities, then, I think, but not till
then, will the pursuit of them have a value for our objects; otherwise there is
no profit in them.
I suspect so; but you are
speaking, Socrates, of a vast work.
What do you mean? I said;
the prelude or what? Do you not know that all this is but the prelude to the
actual strain which we have to learn? For you surely would not regard the
skilled mathematician as a dialectician?
Assuredly not, he said; I
have hardly ever known a mathematician who was capable of reasoning.
But do you imagine that
men who are unable to give and take a reason will have the knowledge which we
require of them?
Neither can this be
supposed.
And so, Glaucon, I said,
we have at last arrived at the hymn of dialectic. This is that strain which is
of the intellect only, but which the faculty of sight will nevertheless be found
to imitate; for sight, as you may remember, was imagined by us after a while to
behold the real animals and stars, and last of all the sun himself. And so with
dialectic; when a person starts on the discovery of the absolute by the light of
reason only, and without any assistance of sense, and perseveres until by pure
intelligence he arrives at the perception of the absolute good, he at last finds
himself at the end of the intellectual world, as in the case of sight at the end
of the visible.
Exactly, he said.
Then this is the progress
which you call dialectic?
True.
But the release of the
prisoners from chains, and their translation from the shadows to the images and
to the light, and the ascent from the underground den to the sun, while in his
presence they are vainly trying to look on animals and plants and the light of
the sun, but are able to perceive even with their weak eyes the images in the
water (which are divine), and are the shadows of true existence (not shadows of
images cast by a light of fire, which compared with the sun is only an image)
--this power of elevating the highest principle in the soul to the contemplation
of that which is best in existence, with which we may compare the raising of
that faculty which is the very light of the body to the sight of that which is
brightest in the material and visible world --this power is given, as I was
saying, by all that study and pursuit of the arts which has been described.
I agree in what you are
saying, he replied, which may be hard to believe, yet, from another point of
view, is harder still to deny. This, however, is not a theme to be treated of in
passing only, but will have to be discussed again and again. And so, whether our
conclusion be true or false, let us assume all this, and proceed at once from
the prelude or preamble to the chief strain, and describe that in like manner.
Say, then, what is the nature and what are the divisions of dialectic, and what
are the paths which lead thither; for these paths will also lead to our final
rest?
Dear Glaucon, I said, you
will not be able to follow me here, though I would do my best, and you should
behold not an image only but the absolute truth, according to my notion. Whether
what I told you would or would not have been a reality I cannot venture to say;
but you would have seen something like reality; of that I am confident.
Doubtless, he replied.
But I must also remind
you, that the power of dialectic alone can reveal this, and only to one who is a
disciple of the previous sciences.
Of that assertion you may
be as confident as of the last.
And assuredly no one will
argue that there is any other method of comprehending by any regular process all
true existence or of ascertaining what each thing is in its own nature; for the
arts in general are concerned with the desires or opinions of men, or are
cultivated with a view to production and construction, or for the preservation
of such productions and constructions; and as to the mathematical sciences
which, as we were saying, have some apprehension of true being --geometry and
the like --they only dream about being, but never can they behold the waking
reality so long as they leave the hypotheses which they use unexamined, and are
unable to give an account of them. For when a man knows not his own first
principle, and when the conclusion and intermediate steps are also constructed
out of he knows not what, how can he imagine that such a fabric of convention
can ever become science?
Impossible, he said.
Then dialectic, and
dialectic alone, goes directly to the first principle and is the only science
which does away with hypotheses in order to make her ground secure; the eye of
the soul, which is literally buried in an outlandish slough, is by her gentle
aid lifted upwards; and she uses as handmaids and helpers in the work of
conversion, the sciences which we have been discussing. Custom terms them
sciences, but they ought to have some other name, implying greater clearness
than opinion and less clearness than science: and this, in our previous sketch,
was called understanding. But why should we dispute about names when we have
realities of such importance to consider?
Why indeed, he said, when
any name will do which expresses the thought of the mind with clearness?
At any rate, we are
satisfied, as before, to have four divisions; two for intellect and two for
opinion, and to call the first division science, the second understanding, the
third belief, and the fourth perception of shadows, opinion being concerned with
becoming, and intellect with being; and so to make a proportion: --
As being is to becoming,
so is pure intellect to opinion.
And as intellect is to
opinion, so is science to belief, and understanding to the perception of
shadows. But let us defer the further correlation and subdivision of the
subjects of opinion and of intellect, for it will be a long enquiry, many times
longer than this has been.
As far as I understand,
he said, I agree.
And do you also agree, I
said, in describing the dialectician as one who attains a conception of the
essence of each thing? And he who does not possess and is therefore unable to
impart this conception, in whatever degree he fails, may in that degree also be
said to fail in intelligence? Will you admit so much?
Yes, he said; how can I
deny it?
And you would say the
same of the conception of the good?
Until the person is able
to abstract and define rationally the idea of good, and unless he can run the
gauntlet of all objections, and is ready to disprove them, not by appeals to
opinion, but to absolute truth, never faltering at any step of the argument
--unless he can do all this, you would say that he knows neither the idea of
good nor any other good; he apprehends only a shadow, if anything at all, which
is given by opinion and not by science; --dreaming and slumbering in this life,
before he is well awake here, he arrives at the world below, and has his final
quietus.
In all that I should most
certainly agree with you.
And surely you would not
have the children of your ideal State, whom you are nurturing and educating --if
the ideal ever becomes a reality --you would not allow the future rulers to be
like posts, having no reason in them, and yet to be set in authority over the
highest matters?
Certainly not.
Then you will make a law
that they shall have such an education as will enable them to attain the
greatest skill in asking and answering questions?
Yes, he said, you and I
together will make it.
Dialectic, then, as you
will agree, is the coping-stone of the sciences, and is set over them; no other
science can be placed higher --the nature of knowledge can no further go?
I agree, he said.
But to whom we are to
assign these studies, and in what way they are to be assigned, are questions
which remain to be considered?
Yes, clearly.
You remember, I said, how
the rulers were chosen before?
Certainly, he said.
The same natures must
still be chosen, and the preference again given to the surest and the bravest,
and, if possible, to the fairest; and, having noble and generous tempers, they
should also have the natural gifts which will facilitate their education.
And what are these?
Such gifts as keenness
and ready powers of acquisition; for the mind more often faints from the
severity of study than from the severity of gymnastics: the toil is more
entirely the mind's own, and is not shared with the body.
Very true, he replied.
Further, he of whom we
are in search should have a good memory, and be an unwearied solid man who is a
lover of labour in any line; or he will never be able to endure the great amount
of bodily exercise and to go through all the intellectual discipline and study
which we require of him.
Certainly, he said; he
must have natural gifts.
The mistake at present
is, that those who study philosophy have no vocation, and this, as I was before
saying, is the reason why she has fallen into disrepute: her true sons should
take her by the hand and not bastards.
What do you mean?
In the first place, her
votary should not have a lame or halting industry --I mean, that he should not
be half industrious and half idle: as, for example, when a man is a lover of
gymnastic and hunting, and all other bodily exercises, but a hater rather than a
lover of the labour of learning or listening or enquiring. Or the occupation to
which he devotes himself may be of an opposite kind, and he may have the other
sort of lameness.
Certainly, he said.
And as to truth, I said,
is not a soul equally to be deemed halt and lame which hates voluntary falsehood
and is extremely indignant at herself and others when they tell lies, but is
patient of involuntary falsehood, and does not mind wallowing like a swinish
beast in the mire of ignorance, and has no shame at being detected?
To be sure.
And, again, in respect of
temperance, courage, magnificence, and every other virtue, should we not
carefully distinguish between the true son and the bastard? for where there is
no discernment of such qualities States and individuals unconsciously err and
the State makes a ruler, and the individual a friend, of one who, being
defective in some part of virtue, is in a figure lame or a bastard.
That is very true, he
said.
All these things, then,
will have to be carefully considered by us; and if only those whom we introduce
to this vast system of education and training are sound in body and mind,
justice herself will have nothing to say against us, and we shall be the
saviours of the constitution and of the State; but, if our pupils are men of
another stamp, the reverse will happen, and we shall pour a still greater flood
of ridicule on philosophy than she has to endure at present.
That would not be
creditable.
Certainly not, I said;
and yet perhaps, in thus turning jest into earnest I am equally ridiculous.
In what respect?
I had forgotten, I said,
that we were not serious, and spoke with too much excitement. For when I saw
philosophy so undeservedly trampled under foot of men I could not help feeling a
sort of indignation at the authors of her disgrace: and my anger made me too
vehement.
Indeed! I was listening,
and did not think so.
But I, who am the
speaker, felt that I was. And now let me remind you that, although in our former
selection we chose old men, we must not do so in this. Solon was under a
delusion when he said that a man when he grows old may learn many things --for
he can no more learn much than he can run much; youth is the time for any
extraordinary toil.
Of course.
And, therefore,
calculation and geometry and all the other elements of instruction, which are a
preparation for dialectic, should be presented to the mind in childhood; not,
however, under any notion of forcing our system of education.
Why not?
Because a freeman ought
not to be a slave in the acquisition of knowledge of any kind. Bodily exercise,
when compulsory, does no harm to the body; but knowledge which is acquired under
compulsion obtains no hold on the mind.
Very true.
Then, my good friend, I
said, do not use compulsion, but let early education be a sort of amusement; you
will then be better able to find out the natural bent.
That is a very rational
notion, he said.
Do you remember that the
children, too, were to be taken to see the battle on horseback; and that if
there were no danger they were to be brought close up and, like young hounds,
have a taste of blood given them?
Yes, I remember.
The same practice may be
followed, I said, in all these things --labours, lessons, dangers --and he who
is most at home in all of them ought to be enrolled in a select number.
At what age?
At the age when the
necessary gymnastics are over: the period whether of two or three years which
passes in this sort of training is useless for any other purpose; for sleep and
exercise are unpropitious to learning; and the trial of who is first in
gymnastic exercises is one of the most important tests to which our youth are
subjected.
Certainly, he replied.
After that time those who
are selected from the class of twenty years old will be promoted to higher
honour, and the sciences which they learned without any order in their early
education will now be brought together, and they will be able to see the natural
relationship of them to one another and to true being.
Yes, he said, that is the
only kind of knowledge which takes lasting root.
Yes, I said; and the
capacity for such knowledge is the great criterion of dialectical talent: the
comprehensive mind is always the dialectical.
I agree with you, he
said.
These, I said, are the
points which you must consider; and those who have most of this comprehension,
and who are more steadfast in their learning, and in their military and other
appointed duties, when they have arrived at the age of thirty have to be chosen
by you out of the select class, and elevated to higher honour; and you will have
to prove them by the help of dialectic, in order to learn which of them is able
to give up the use of sight and the other senses, and in company with truth to
attain absolute being: And here, my friend, great caution is required.
Why great caution?
Do you not remark, I
said, how great is the evil which dialectic has introduced?
What evil? he said.
The students of the art
are filled with lawlessness.
Quite true, he said.
Do you think that there
is anything so very unnatural or inexcusable in their case? or will you make
allowance for them?
In what way make
allowance?
I want you, I said, by
way of parallel, to imagine a supposititious son who is brought up in great
wealth; he is one of a great and numerous family, and has many flatterers. When
he grows up to manhood, he learns that his alleged are not his real parents; but
who the real are he is unable to discover. Can you guess how he will be likely
to behave towards his flatterers and his supposed parents, first of all during
the period when he is ignorant of the false relation, and then again when he
knows? Or shall I guess for you?
If you please.
Then I should say, that
while he is ignorant of the truth he will be likely to honour his father and his
mother and his supposed relations more than the flatterers; he will be less
inclined to neglect them when in need, or to do or say anything against them;
and he will be less willing to disobey them in any important matter.
He will.
But when he has made the
discovery, I should imagine that he would diminish his honour and regard for
them, and would become more devoted to the flatterers; their influence over him
would greatly increase; he would now live after their ways, and openly associate
with them, and, unless he were of an unusually good disposition, he would
trouble himself no more about his supposed parents or other relations.
Well, all that is very
probable. But how is the image applicable to the disciples of philosophy?
In this way: you know
that there are certain principles about justice and honour, which were taught us
in childhood, and under their parental authority we have been brought up,
obeying and honouring them.
That is true.
There are also opposite
maxims and habits of pleasure which flatter and attract the soul, but do not
influence those of us who have any sense of right, and they continue to obey and
honour the maxims of their fathers.
True.
Now, when a man is in
this state, and the questioning spirit asks what is fair or honourable, and he
answers as the legislator has taught him, and then arguments many and diverse
refute his words, until he is driven into believing that nothing is honourable
any more than dishonourable, or just and good any more than the reverse, and so
of all the notions which he most valued, do you think that he will still honour
and obey them as before?
Impossible.
And when he ceases to
think them honourable and natural as heretofore, and he fails to discover the
true, can he be expected to pursue any life other than that which flatters his
desires?
He cannot.
And from being a keeper
of the law he is converted into a breaker of it?
Unquestionably.
Now all this is very
natural in students of philosophy such as I have described, and also, as I was
just now saying, most excusable.
Yes, he said; and, I may
add, pitiable.
Therefore, that your
feelings may not be moved to pity about our citizens who are now thirty years of
age, every care must be taken in introducing them to dialectic.
Certainly.
There is a danger lest
they should taste the dear delight too early; for youngsters, as you may have
observed, when they first get the taste in their mouths, argue for amusement,
and are always contradicting and refuting others in imitation of those who
refute them; like puppy-dogs, they rejoice in pulling and tearing at all who
come near them.
Yes, he said, there is
nothing which they like better.
And when they have made
many conquests and received defeats at the hands of many, they violently and
speedily get into a way of not believing anything which they believed before,
and hence, not only they, but philosophy and all that relates to it is apt to
have a bad name with the rest of the world.
Too true, he said.
But when a man begins to
get older, he will no longer be guilty of such insanity; he will imitate the
dialectician who is seeking for truth, and not the eristic, who is contradicting
for the sake of amusement; and the greater moderation of his character will
increase instead of diminishing the honour of the pursuit.
Very true, he said.
And did we not make
special provision for this, when we said that the disciples of philosophy were
to be orderly and steadfast, not, as now, any chance aspirant or intruder?
Very true.
Suppose, I said, the
study of philosophy to take the place of gymnastics and to be continued
diligently and earnestly and exclusively for twice the number of years which
were passed in bodily exercise --will that be enough?
Would you say six or four
years? he asked.
Say five years, I
replied; at the end of the time they must be sent down again into the den and
compelled to hold any military or other office which young men are qualified to
hold: in this way they will get their experience of life, and there will be an
opportunity of trying whether, when they are drawn all manner of ways by
temptation, they will stand firm or flinch.
And how long is this
stage of their lives to last?
Fifteen years, I
answered; and when they have reached fifty years of age, then let those who
still survive and have distinguished themselves in every action of their lives
and in every branch of knowledge come at last to their consummation; the time
has now arrived at which they must raise the eye of the soul to the universal
light which lightens all things, and behold the absolute good; for that is the,
pattern according to which they are to order the State and the lives of
individuals, and the remainder of their own lives also; making philosophy their
chief pursuit, but, when their turn comes, toiling also at politics and ruling
for the public good, not as though they were performing some heroic action, but
simply as a matter of duty; and when they have brought up in each generation
others like themselves and left them in their place to be governors of the
State, then they will depart to the Islands of the Blest and dwell there; and
the city will give them public memorials and sacrifices and honour them, if the
Pythian oracle consent, as demi-gods, but if not, as in any case blessed and
divine.
You are a sculptor,
Socrates, and have made statues of our governors faultless in beauty.
Yes, I said, Glaucon, and
of our governesses too; for you must not suppose that what I have been saying
applies to men only and not to women as far as their natures can go.
There you are right, he
said, since we have made them to share in all things like the men.
Well, I said, and you
would agree (would you not?) that what has been said about the State and the
government is not a mere dream, and although difficult not impossible, but only
possible in the way which has been supposed; that is to say, when the true
philosopher kings are born in a State, one or more of them, despising the
honours of this present world which they deem mean and worthless, esteeming
above all things right and the honour that springs from right, and regarding
justice as the greatest and most necessary of all things, whose ministers they
are, and whose principles will be exalted by them when they set in order their
own city?
How will they proceed?
They will begin by
sending out into the country all the inhabitants of the city who are more than
ten years old, and will take possession of their children, who will be
unaffected by the habits of their parents; these they will train in their own
habits and laws, I mean in the laws which we have given them: and in this way
the State and constitution of which we were speaking will soonest and most
easily attain happiness, and the nation which has such a constitution will gain
most.
Yes, that will be the
best way. And I think, Socrates, that you have very well described how, if ever,
such a constitution might come into being.
Enough then of the
perfect State, and of the man who bears its image --there is no difficulty in
seeing how we shall describe him.
There is no difficulty,
he replied; and I agree with you in thinking that nothing more need be said.
Book
7: On Shadows and Realities in Education