Text from Perseus
[Socrates narrates in the first person speaking to Glaucon]
[504a] ...
“You remember, I presume,” said I, “that after distinguishing three kinds in the soul, we established definitions of justice, sobriety, bravery and wisdom severally.” “If I did not remember,” he said, “I should not deserve to hear the rest.” “Do you also remember
[504b] what was said before this?” “What?” “We were saying, I believe, that for the most perfect discernment of these things another longer way was requisite which would make them plain to one who took it, but that it was possible to add proofs on a par with the preceding discussion. And you said that that was sufficient, and it was on this understanding that what we then said was said, falling short of ultimate precision as it appeared to me, but if it contented you it is for you to say.” “Well,” he said, “it was measurably satisfactory to me, and apparently
[504c] to the rest of the company.” “Nay, my friend,” said I, “a measure of such things that in the least degree falls short of reality proves no measure at all. For nothing that is imperfect is the measure of anything, though some people sometimes think that they have already done enough and that there is no need of further inquiry.” “Yes, indeed,” he said, “many experience this because of their sloth.” “An experience,” said I, “that least of all befits the guardians of a state and of its laws.” “That seems likely,” he said. “Then,” said I, “such a one must go around
[504d] the longer way and must labor no less in studies than in the exercises of the body or else, as we were just saying, he will never come to the end of the greatest study and that which most properly belongs to him.” “Why, are not these things the greatest?” said he; “but is there still something greater than justice and the other virtues we described?” “There is not only something greater,” I said, “but of these very things we need not merely to contemplate an outline as now, but we must omit nothing of their most exact elaboration. Or would it not be absurd to strain every nerve to attain
[504e] to the utmost precision and clarity of knowledge about other things of trifling moment and not to demand the greatest precision for the greatest matters?” “It would indeed, ” he said; “but do you suppose that anyone will let you go without asking what is the greatest study and with what you think it is concerned?” “By no means,” said I; “but do you ask the question. You certainly have heard it often, but now you either do not apprehend or again you are minded to make trouble for me
[505a] by attacking the argument. I suspect it is rather the latter. For you have often heard that the greatest thing to learn is the idea of good by reference to which just things and all the rest become useful and beneficial. And now I am almost sure you know that this is what I am going to speak of and to say further that we have no adequate knowledge of it. And if we do not know it, then, even if without the knowledge of this we should know all other things never so well, you are aware that it would avail us nothing,
[505b] just as no possession either is of any avail without the possession of the good. Or do you think there is any profit in possessing everything except that which is good, or in understanding all things else apart from the good while understanding and knowing nothing that is fair and good ?” “No, by Zeus, I do not,” he said.
“But, furthermore, you know this too, that the multitude believe pleasure to be the good, and the finer spirits intelligence or knowledge. ” “Certainly.” “And you are also aware, my friend, that those who hold this latter view are not able to point out what knowledge it is but are finally compelled to say that it is the knowledge of the good.” “Most absurdly,” he said. “Is it not absurd,”
[505c] said I, “if while taunting us with our ignorance of the good they turn about and talk to us as if we knew it? For they say it is the knowledge of the good, as if we understood their meaning when they utter the word ‘good.'” “Most true,” he said. “Well, are those who define the good as pleasure infected with any less confusion of thought than the others? Or are not they in like manner compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures ?” “Most assuredly.” “The outcome is, I take it, that they are admitting
[505d] the same things to be both good and bad, are they not?” “Certainly.” “Then is it not apparent that there are many and violent disputes about it?” “Of course.” “And again, is it not apparent that while in the case of the just and the honorable many would prefer the semblance without the reality in action, possession, and opinion, yet when it comes to the good nobody is content with the possession of the appearance but all men seek the reality, and the semblance satisfies nobody here?”
505e] “Quite so,” he said. “That, then, which every soul pursues and for its sake does all that it does, with an intuition of its reality, but yet baffled and unable to apprehend its nature adequately, or to attain to any stable belief about it as about other things, and for that reason failing of any possible benefit from other things,--
[506a] in a matter of this quality and moment, can we, I ask you, allow a like blindness and obscurity in those best citizens to whose hands we are to entrust all things?” “Least of all,” he said. “I fancy, at any rate,” said I, “that the just and the honorable, if their relation and reference to the good is not known, will not have secured a guardian of much worth in the man thus ignorant, and my surmise is that no one will understand them adequately before he knows this.” “You surmise well,” he said. “Then our constitution
[506b] will have its perfect and definitive organization only when such a guardian, who knows these things, oversees it.”
“Necessarily,” he said. “But you yourself, Socrates, do you think that knowledge is the good or pleasure or something else and different?” “What a man it is,” said I; “you made it very plain long ago that you would not be satisfied with what others think about it.” “Why, it does not seem right to me either, Socrates,” he said, “to be ready to state the opinions of others but not one's own when one has occupied himself with the matter so long. ”
[506c] “But then,” said I, “do you think it right to speak as having knowledge about things one does not know?” “By no means,” he said, “as having knowledge, but one ought to be willing to tell as his opinion what he opines.” “Nay,” said I, “have you not observed that opinions divorced from knowledge are ugly things? The best of them are blind. Or do you think that those who hold some true opinion without intelligence differ appreciably from blind men who go the right way?” “They do not differ at all,” he said. “Is it, then, ugly things that you prefer
[506d] to contemplate, things blind and crooked, when you might hear from others what is luminous and fair?” “Nay, in heaven's name, Socrates,” said Glaucon, “do not draw back, as it were, at the very goal. For it will content us if you explain the good even as you set forth the nature of justice, sobriety, and the other virtues.” “It will right well content me, my dear fellow,” I said, “but I fear that my powers may fail and that in my eagerness I may cut a sorry figure and become a laughing-stock. Nay, my beloved,
506e] let us dismiss for the time being the nature of the good in itself; for to attain to my present surmise of that seems a pitch above the impulse that wings my flight today. But of what seems to be the offspring of the good and most nearly made in its likeness I am willing to speak if you too wish it, and otherwise to let the matter drop.” “Well, speak on,” he said, “for you will duly pay me the tale of the parent another time.” “I could wish,”
[507a] I said, “that I were able to make and you to receive the payment and not merely as now the interest. But at any rate receive this interest and the offspring of the good. Have a care, however, lest I deceive you unintentionally with a false reckoning of the interest.” “We will do our best,” he said, “to be on our guard. Only speak on.” “Yes,” I said, “after first coming to an understanding with you and reminding you of what has been said here before and often on other occasions. ”
[507b] “What?” said he. “We predicate ‘to be’ of many beautiful things and many good things, saying of them severally that they are, and so define them in our speech.” “We do.” “And again, we speak of a self-beautiful and of a good that is only and merely good, and so, in the case of all the things that we then posited as many, we turn about and posit each as a single idea or aspect, assuming it to be a unity and call it that which each really is. “It is so.” “And the one class of things we say can be seen but not thought,
[507c] while the ideas can be thought but not seen.” “By all means.” “With which of the parts of ourselves, with which of our faculties, then, do we see visible things?” “With sight,” he said. “And do we not,” I said, “hear audibles with hearing, and perceive all sensibles with the other senses?” “Surely.” “Have you ever observed,” said I, “how much the greatest expenditure the creator of the senses has lavished on the faculty of seeing and being seen? “Why, no, I have not,” he said. “Well, look at it thus. Do hearing and voice stand in need of another medium so that the one may hear and the other be heard,
507d] in the absence of which third element the one will not hear and the other not be heard?” “They need nothing,” he said. “Neither, I fancy,” said I,” do many others, not to say that none require anything of the sort. Or do you know of any?” “Not I,” he said. “But do you not observe that vision and the visible do have this further need?” “How?” “Though vision may be in the eyes and its possessor may try to use it, and though color be present, yet without
[507e] the presence of a third thing specifically and naturally adapted to this purpose, you are aware that vision will see nothing and the colors will remain invisible. ” “What is this thing of which you speak?” he said. “The thing,” I said, “that you call light.” “You say truly,” he replied. “The bond, then, that yokes together
[508a] visibility and the faculty of sight is more precious by no slight form that which unites the other pairs, if light is not without honor.” “It surely is far from being so,” he said.
“Which one can you name of the divinities in heaven as the author and cause of this, whose light makes our vision see best and visible things to be seen?” “Why, the one that you too and other people mean,” he said; “for your question evidently refers to the sun. ” “Is not this, then, the relation of vision to that divinity?” “What?” “Neither vision itself nor its vehicle, which we call the eye, is identical with the sun.”
[508b] “Why, no.” “But it is, I think, the most sunlike of all the instruments of sense.” “By far the most.” “And does it not receive the power which it possesses as an influx, as it were, dispensed from the sun?” “Certainly.” “Is it not also true that the sun is not vision, yet as being the cause thereof is beheld by vision itself?” “That is so,” he said. “This, then, you must understand that I meant by the offspring of the good which the good
[508c] begot to stand in a proportion with itself: as the good is in the intelligible region to reason and the objects of reason, so is this in the visible world to vision and the objects of vision.” “How is that?” he said; “explain further.” “You are aware,” I said, “that when the eyes are no longer turned upon objects upon whose colors the light of day falls but that of the dim luminaries of night, their edge is blunted and they appear almost blind, as if pure vision did not dwell in them.” “Yes, indeed,” he said. “But when, I take it,
[508d] they are directed upon objects illumined by the sun, they see clearly, and vision appears to reside in these same eyes.” “Certainly.” “Apply this comparison to the soul also in this way. When it is firmly fixed on the domain where truth and reality shine resplendent it apprehends and knows them and appears to possess reason; but when it inclines to that region which is mingled with darkness, the world of becoming and passing away, it opines only and its edge is blunted, and it shifts its opinions hither and thither, and again seems as if it lacked reason.”
[508e] “Yes, it does,” “This reality, then, that gives their truth to the objects of knowledge and the power of knowing to the knower, you must say is the idea of good, and you must conceive it as being the cause of knowledge, and of truth in so far as known. Yet fair as they both are, knowledge and truth, in supposing it to be something fairer still than these you will think rightly of it. But as for knowledge and truth, even as in our illustration
[509a] it is right to deem light and vision sunlike, but never to think that they are the sun, so here it is right to consider these two their counterparts, as being like the good or boniform, but to think that either of them is the good is not right. Still higher honor belongs to the possession and habit of the good.” “An inconceivable beauty you speak of,” he said, “if it is the source of knowledge and truth, and yet itself surpasses them in beauty. For you surely cannot mean that it is pleasure.” “Hush,” said I, “but examine
[509b] the similitude of it still further in this way. ” “How?” “The sun, I presume you will say, not only furnishes to visibles the power of visibility but it also provides for their generation and growth and nurture though it is not itself generation.” “Of course not.” “In like manner, then, you are to say that the objects of knowledge not only receive from the presence of the good their being known, but their very existence and essence is derived to them from it, though the good itself is not essence but still transcends essence in dignity and surpassing power.”
[509c]
And Glaucon
very ludicrously1 said, “Heaven save us, hyperbole2 can no further go.” “The fault is yours,” I
said, “for compelling me to utter my thoughts about it.” “And don't desist,” he said,
“but at least3 expound the similitude of the sun,
if there is anything that you are omitting.” “Why, certainly,” I said, “I am omitting a
great deal.” “Well, don't omit the least bit,” he said. “I fancy,” I said, “that I
shall have to pass over much, but nevertheless so far as it is at present practicable I shall
not willingly leave anything out.” “Do not,”
1 He is amused at Socrates' emphasis. Fanciful is Wilamowitz' notion (Platon, i. p. 209)that the laughable thing is Glaucon's losing control of himself, for which he compares Aristoph.Birds 61. Cf. the extraordinary comment of Proclus, p. 265. The dramatic humor of Glaucon's surprise is Plato's way of smiling at himself, as he frequently does in the dialogues. Cf. 536 B, 540 B, Lysis 223 B, Protag. 340 E, Charm. 175 E, Cratyl. 426 B, Theaet. 200 B, 197 D, etc. Cf. Friedländer, Platon, i. p. 172 on the Phaedo.
2 “What a comble!” would be nearer the tone of the Greek. There is no good English equivalent for huperbolês. Cf. Sir Thomas Browne's remark that “nothing can be said hyperbolically of God.” The banter here relieves the strain, as is Plato's manner.
[509d]
[509e] of the visible world, images. By images I mean,
[510a] first, shadows, and then reflections in water and on surfaces of dense, smooth and bright texture, and everything of that kind, if you apprehend.” “I do.” “As the second section assume that of which this is a likeness or an image, that is, the animals about us and all plants and the whole class of objects made by man.” “I so assume it,” he said. “Would you be willing to say,” said I, “that the division in respect of reality and truth or the opposite is expressed by the proportion: as is the opinable to the knowable so is the likeness to that
[510b]
of which it is a likeness?” “I certainly would.” “Consider then again the way in
which we are to make the division of the intelligible section.” “In what way?” “By the
distinction that there is one section of it which the soul is compelled to investigate by
treating as images the things imitated in the former division, and by means of assumptions from
which it proceeds not up to a first principle but down to a conclusion, while there is another
section in which it advances from its assumption to a beginning or principle that transcends
assumption,1 and in which it makes no use of the
images employed by the other section, relying on ideas only and progressing systematically
through ideas.” “I don't fully understand3 what
you mean by this,” he said. “Well, I will try again,”
1 Cf. my Idea of good in Plato's republic, pp. 230-234, for the anupotheton. Ultimately, the anupotheton is the Idea of Good so far as we assume that idea to be attainable either in ethics or in physics. But it is the Idea of Good, not as a transcendental ontological mystery, but in the ethical sense already explained. The ideal dialectician is the man who can, if challenged, run his reasons for any given proposition back, not to some assumed axioma medium, but to its relation to ultimate Good, To call the anupotheton the Unconditioned or Absolute introduces metaphysical associations foreign to the passage. Cf. also Introd. pp. xxxiii-xxxiv.
[510c]
1 Aristot.top. 100 b 2-3ou dei gar en tais epistêmonikais archais epizêteisthai to dia ti, exactly expresses Plato's thought and the truth, though Aristotle may have meant it mainly for the principle of non-contradiction and other first principles of logic. Cf. the mediaeval “contra principium negantem non est disputandum.” A teacher of geometry will refuse to discuss the psychology of the idea of space, a teacher of chemistry will not permit the class to ask whether matter is “real.”
[510d]
from these, and pursuing the inquiry from this point on consistently, conclude with that
for the investigation of which they set out.” “Certainly,” he said, “I know that.”
“And do you not also know that they further make use of the visible forms and talk about
them, though they are not thinking of them but of those things of which they are a likeness,
pursuing their inquiry for the sake of the square as such and the diagonal as such, and not for
the sake of the image of it which they draw ?
[510e]
1 i.e. a bronze sphere would be the original of its imitative reflection in water, but it is in turn only the imperfect imitation of the mathematical idea of a sphere.
[511a] only by the mind. ” “True,” he said.
“This then is the class that I described as intelligible, it is true, but with the
reservation first that the soul is compelled to employ assumptions in the investigation of it,
not proceeding to a first principle because of its inability to extricate itself from and rise
above its assumptions, and second, that it uses as images or likenesses the very objects that
are themselves copied and adumbrated by the class below them, and that in comparison with these
latter are esteemed as clear and held in honor. ” “I understand,”
[511b]
said he, “that you are speaking of what falls under geometry and the kindred arts.”
“Understand then,” said I, “that by the other section of the intelligible I mean that
which the reason1 itself lays hold of by the power
of dialectics, treating its assumptions not as absolute beginnings but literally as hypotheses,
underpinnings, footings, and springboards so to speak, to enable it to rise to that which
requires no assumption and is the starting-point of all,2
and after attaining to that again taking hold of the first dependencies from it, so to proceed
downward to the conclusion,
1 logos here suggests both the objective personified argument and the subjective faculty.
2 pantos archên taken literally leads support to the view that Plato is thinking of an absolute first principle. But in spite of the metaphysical suggestions for practical purposes the pantos archê may be the virtual equivalent of the hikanon of the Phaedo. It is the archê on which all in the particular case depends and is reached by dialectical agreement, not by arbitrary assumption. Cf. on 510 B, p. 110, note a.
[511c]
making no use whatever of any object of sense1
but only of pure ideas moving on through ideas to ideas and ending with ideas.2 ” “I understand,” he said; “not fully, for it is no
slight task that you appear to have in mind, but I do understand that you mean to distinguish
the aspect of reality and the intelligible, which is contemplated by the power of dialectic, as
something truer and more exact than the object of the so-called arts and sciences whose
assumptions are arbitrary starting-points. And though it is true that those who contemplate
them are compelled to use their understanding and not
1 This is one of the passages that are misused to attribute to Plato disdain for experience and the perceptions of the senses. Cf. on 530 B, p. 187, note c. The dialectician is able to reason purely in concepts and words without recurring to images. Plato is not here considering how much or little of his knowledge is ultimately derived from experience.
2 The description undoubtedly applies to a metaphysical philosophy that deduces all things from a transcendent first principle. I have never denied that. The point of my interpretation is that it also describes the method which distinguishes the dialectician as such from the man of science, and that this distinction is for practical and educational purposes the chief result of the discussion, as Plato virtually says in the next few lines. Cf. What Plato Said, pp. 233-234.
[511d]
1 noun ouk ischein is perhaps intentionally ambiguous. Colloquially the phrase means “have not sense.” for its higher meaning Cf. Meno 99 C, Laws 962 A.
2 Unnecessary difficulties have been raised about kaitoi and meta here. Wilamowitz, Platon, ii. p. 345 mistakenly resorts to emendation. the meaning is plain. Mathematical ideas are ideas or concepts like other ideas; but the mathematician does not deal with them quiet as the dialectician deals with ideas and therefore does not possess nous or reason in the highest sense.
3 Here the word dianoia is given a technical meaning as a faculty inferior to nous, but, as Plato says, the terminology does not matter. The question has been much and often idly discussed.
[511e]
1 pistis is of course not “faith” in Plato, but Neoplatonists, Christians, and commentators have confused the two ideas hopelessly.
[514a] “Next,” said I, “compare our nature in respect of education and its lack to such an experience as this. Picture men dwelling in a sort of subterranean cavern with a long entrance open to the light on its entire width. Conceive them as having their legs and necks fettered from childhood, so that they remain in the same spot,
The image of the cave illustrates by another proportion the contrast between the world of sense-perception and the world of thought. Instead of going above the plane of ordinary experience for the other two members of the proportion, Plato here goes below and invents a fire and shadows cast from it on the walls of a cave to correspond to the sun and the “real” objects of sense. In such a proportion our “real” world becomes the symbol of Plato's ideal world. Modern fancy may read what meanings it pleases into the Platonic antithesis of the “real” and the “ideal.” It has even been treated as an anticipation of the fourth dimension. But Plato never leaves an attentive and critical reader in doubt as to his own intended meaning. there may be at the most a little uncertainty as to which are merely indispensable parts of the picture. The source and first suggestion of Plato's imagery is an interesting speculation, but it is of no significance for the interpretation of the thought. Cf. John Henry Wright, “The Origin of Plato's Cave” in Harvard Studies in Class. Phil. xvii. (1906) pp. 130-142. Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, pp. 89-90, thinks the allegory Orphic. Cf. also Wright, loc. cit. pp. 134-135. Empedocles likens our world to a cave, Diels i.3 269. Cf. Wright, loc. cit. Wright refers it to the Cave of Vari in Attica, pp. 140-142. Others have supposed that Plato had in mind rather the puppet and marionette shows to which he refers. Cf. Diès in Bulletin Budé,No. 14 (1927) pp. 8 f. The suggestiveness of the image has been endless. The most eloquent and frequently quoted passage of Aristotle's early writings is derived from it, Cic.De nat.deor. ii. 37. It is the source of Bacon's “idols of the den.” Sir Thomas Browne writes in Urne-Buriall: “We yet discourse in Plato's den and are but embryo philosophers.” Huxley's allegory of “Jack and the Beanstalk” in Evolution and Ethics, pp. 47 ff. is a variation on it. Berkeley recurs to it, Siris, 263. The Freudians would have still more fantastic interpretations. Cf. Jung, Analytic Psych. p. 232. Eddington perhaps glances at it when he attributes to the new physics the frank realization that physical science is concerned with a world of shadows
[514b] able to look forward only, and prevented by the fetters from turning their heads. Picture further the light from a fire burning higher up and at a distance behind them, and between the fire and the prisoners and above them a road along which a low wall has been built, as the exhibitors of puppet-shows have partitions before the men themselves, above which they show the puppets.” “All that I see,” he said. “See also, then, men carrying past the wall
[514c] implements of all kinds that rise above the wall, and human images
[515a] and shapes of animals as well, wrought in stone and wood and every material, some of these bearers presumably speaking and others silent.” “A strange image you speak of,” he said, “and strange prisoners.” “Like to us,” I said; “for, to begin with, tell me do you think that these men would have seen anything of themselves or of one another except the shadows cast from the fire on the wall of the cave that fronted them?” “How could they,” he said, “if they were compelled
[515b] to hold their heads unmoved through life?” “And again, would not the same be true of the objects carried past them?” “Surely.” “If then they were able to talk to one another, do you not think that they would suppose that in naming the things that they saw they were naming the passing objects?” “Necessarily.” “And if their prison had an echo from the wall opposite them, when one of the passersby uttered a sound, do you think that they would suppose anything else than the passing shadow to be the speaker?” “By Zeus, I do not,” said he. “Then in every way
[515c] such prisoners would deem reality to be nothing else than the shadows of the artificial objects.” “Quite inevitably,” he said. “Consider, then, what would be the manner of the release and healing from these bonds and this folly if in the course of nature something of this sort should happen to them: When one was freed from his fetters and compelled to stand up suddenly and turn his head around and walk and to lift up his eyes to the light, and in doing all this felt pain and, because of the dazzle and glitter of the light, was unable to discern the objects whose shadows he formerly saw,
[515d] what do you suppose would be his answer if someone told him that what he had seen before was all a cheat and an illusion, but that now, being nearer to reality and turned toward more real things, he saw more truly? And if also one should point out to him each of the passing objects and constrain him by questions to say what it is, do you not think that he would be at a loss and that he would regard what he formerly saw as more real than the things now pointed out to him?” “Far more real,” he said.
“And if he were compelled to look at the light itself,
[515e] would not that pain his eyes, and would he not turn away and flee to those things which he is able to discern and regard them as in very deed more clear and exact than the objects pointed out?” “It is so,” he said. “And if,” said I, “someone should drag him thence by force up the ascent which is rough and steep, and not let him go before he had drawn him out into the light of the sun, do you not think that he would find it painful to be so haled along, and would chafe at it, and when
[516a] he came out into the light, that his eyes would be filled with its beams so that he would not be able to see even one of the things that we call real?” “Why, no, not immediately,” he said. “Then there would be need of habituation, I take it, to enable him to see the things higher up. And at first he would most easily discern the shadows and, after that, the likenesses or reflections in water of men and other things, and later, the things themselves, and from these he would go on to contemplate the appearances in the heavens and heaven itself, more easily by night, looking at the light
[516b] of the stars and the moon, than by day the sun and the sun's light. ” “Of course.” “And so, finally, I suppose, he would be able to look upon the sun itself and see its true nature, not by reflections in water or phantasms of it in an alien setting, but in and by itself in its own place.” “Necessarily,” he said. “And at this point he would infer and conclude that this it is that provides the seasons and the courses of the year and presides over all things in the visible region,
[516c] and is in some sort the cause of all these things that they had seen.” “Obviously,” he said, “that would be the next step.” “Well then, if he recalled to mind his first habitation and what passed for wisdom there, and his fellow-bondsmen, do you not think that he would count himself happy in the change and pity them ?” “He would indeed.” “And if there had been honors and commendations among them which they bestowed on one another and prizes for the man who is quickest to make out the shadows as they pass and best able to remember their customary precedences,
[516d] sequences and co-existences, and so most successful in guessing at what was to come, do you think he would be very keen about such rewards, and that he would envy and emulate those who were honored by these prisoners and lorded it among them, or that he would feel with Homer and ‘greatly prefer while living on earth to be serf of another, a landless man,’ and endure anything rather than opine with them
[516e] and live that life?” “Yes,” he said, “I think that he would choose to endure anything rather than such a life.” “And consider this also,” said I, “if such a one should go down again and take his old place would he not get his eyes full of darkness, thus suddenly coming out of the sunlight?” “He would indeed.” “Now if he should be required to contend with these perpetual prisoners
[517a] in 'evaluating' these shadows while his vision was still dim and before his eyes were accustomed to the dark--and this time required for habituation would not be very short--would he not provoke laughter, and would it not be said of him that he had returned from his journey aloft with his eyes ruined and that it was not worth while even to attempt the ascent? And if it were possible to lay hands on and to kill the man who tried to release them and lead them up, would they not kill him ?” “They certainly would,” he said.
“This image then, dear Glaucon, we must apply as a whole to all that has been said,
[517b] likening the region revealed through sight to the habitation of the prison, and the light of the fire in it to the power of the sun. And if you assume that the ascent and the contemplation of the things above is the soul's ascension to the intelligible region, you will not miss my surmise, since that is what you desire to hear. But God knows whether it is true. But, at any rate, my dream as it appears to me is that in the region of the known the last thing to be seen and hardly seen is the idea of good,
[517c] and that when seen it must needs point us to the conclusion that this is indeed the cause for all things of all that is right and beautiful, giving birth in the visible world to light, and the author of light and itself in the intelligible world being the authentic source of truth and reason, and that anyone who is to act wisely in private or public must have caught sight of this.” “I concur,” he said, “so far as I am able.” “Come then,” I said, “and join me in this further thought, and do not be surprised that those who have attained to this height are not willing to occupy themselves with the affairs of men, but their souls ever feel the upward urge and
[517d] the yearning for that sojourn above. For this, I take it, is likely if in this point too the likeness of our image holds” “Yes, it is likely.” “And again, do you think it at all strange,” said I, “if a man returning from divine contemplations to the petty miseries of men cuts a sorry figure and appears most ridiculous, if, while still blinking through the gloom, and before he has become sufficiently accustomed to the environing darkness, he is compelled in courtrooms or elsewhere to contend about the shadows of justice or the images that cast the shadows and to wrangle in debate
[517e] about the notions of these things in the minds of those who have never seen justice itself?” “It would be by no men strange,” he said. “But a sensible man,”
[518a] I said, “would remember that there are two distinct disturbances of the eyes arising from two causes, according as the shift is from light to darkness or from darkness to light, and, believing that the same thing happens to the soul too, whenever he saw a soul perturbed and unable to discern something, he would not laugh unthinkingly, but would observe whether coming from a brighter life its vision was obscured by the unfamiliar darkness, or
[518b] whether the passage from the deeper dark of ignorance into a more luminous world and the greater brightness had dazzled its vision. And so he would deem the one happy in its experience and way of life and pity the other, and if it pleased him to laugh at it, his laughter would be less laughable than that at the expense of the soul that had come down from the light above.” “That is a very fair statement,” he said.
“Then, if this is true, our view of these matters must be this, that education is not in reality what some people proclaim it to be in their professions.
[518c] What they aver is that they can put true knowledge into a soul that does not possess it, as if they were inserting vision into blind eyes.” “They do indeed,” he said. “But our present argument indicates,” said I, “that the true analogy for this indwelling power in the soul and the instrument whereby each of us apprehends is that of an eye that could not be converted to the light from the darkness except by turning the whole body. Even so this organ of knowledge must be turned around from the world of becoming together with the entire soul, like the scene-shifting periact in the theater, until the soul is able to endure the contemplation of essence and the brightest region of being.
[518d] And this, we say, is the good, do we not?” “Yes.” “Of this very thing, then,” I said, “there might be an art, an art of the speediest and most effective shifting or conversion of the soul, not an art of producing vision in it, but on the assumption that it possesses vision but does not rightly direct it and does not look where it should, an art of bringing this about.” “Yes, that seems likely,” he said. “Then the other so-called virtues of the soul do seem akin to those of the body.
[518e] For it is true that where they do not pre-exist, they are afterwards created by habit and practice. But the excellence of thought, it seems, is certainly of a more divine quality, a thing that never loses its potency, but, according to the direction of its conversion, becomes useful and beneficent,
[519a] or, again, useless and harmful. Have you never observed in those who are popularly spoken of as bad, but smart men, how keen is the vision of the little soul, how quick it is to discern the things that interest it, a proof that it is not a poor vision which it has, but one forcibly enlisted in the service of evil, so that the sharper its sight the more mischief it accomplishes?” “I certainly have,” he said. “Observe then,” said I, “that this part of such a soul, if it had been hammered from childhood, and had thus been struck free of the leaden weights, so to speak, of our birth
[519b] and becoming, which attaching themselves to it by food and similar pleasures and gluttonies turn downwards the vision of the soul --If, I say, freed from these, it had suffered a conversion towards the things that are real and true, that same faculty of the same men would have been most keen in its vision of the higher things, just as it is for the things toward which it is now turned.” “It is likely,” he said. “Well, then,” said I, “is not this also likely and a necessary consequence of what has been said, that neither could men who are uneducated and inexperienced in truth ever adequately
[519c] preside over a state, nor could those who had been permitted to linger on to the end in the pursuit of culture--the one because they have no single aim and purpose in life to which all their actions, public and private, must be directed, and the others, because they will not voluntarily engage in action, believing that while still living they have been transported to the Islands of the Blest. ” “True,” he said. “It is the duty of us, the founders, then,” said I, “to compel the best natures to attain the knowledge which we pronounced the greatest, and to win to the vision of the good,
[519d] to scale that ascent, and when they have reached the heights and taken an adequate view, we must not allow what is now permitted.” “What is that?” “That they should linger there,” I said, “and refuse to go down again among those bondsmen and share their labors and honors, whether they are of less or of greater worth.” “Do you mean to say that we must do them this wrong, and compel them to live an inferior life when the better is in their power?”
[519e] “You have again forgotten, my friend,” said I, “that the law is not concerned with the special happiness of any class in the state, but is trying to produce this condition in the city as a whole, harmonizing and adapting the citizens to one another by persuasion and compulsion, and requiring them to impart to one another any benefit
[520a] which they are severally able to bestow upon the community, and that it itself creates such men in the state, not that it may allow each to take what course pleases him, but with a view to using them for the binding together of the commonwealth.” “True,” he said, “I did forget it.” “Observe, then, Glaucon,” said I, “that we shall not be wronging, either, the philosophers who arise among us, but that we can justify our action when we constrain them to take charge of the other citizens and be their guardians.
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