BOOK VI



  SOCRATES - GLAUCON



  AND thus, Glaucon, after the argument has gone a weary way, the true

and the false philosophers have at length appeared in view.

  I do not think, he said, that the way could have been shortened.

  I suppose not, I said; and yet I believe that we might have had a

better view of both of them if the discussion could have been confined

to this one subject and if there were not many other questions

awaiting us, which he who desires to see in what respect the life of

the just differs from that of the unjust must consider.

  And what is the next question? he asked.

  Surely, I said, the one which follows next in order. Inasmuch as

philosophers only are able to grasp the eternal and unchangeable,

and those who wander in the region of the many and variable are not

philosophers, I must ask you which of the two classes should be the

rulers of our State?

  And how can we rightly answer that question?

  Whichever of the two are best able to guard the laws and

institutions of our State --let them be our guardians.

  Very good.

  Neither, I said, can there be any question that the guardian who

is to keep anything should have eyes rather than no eyes?

  There can be no question of that.

  And are not those who are verily and indeed wanting in the knowledge

of the true being of each thing, and who have in their souls no

clear pattern, and are unable as with a painter's eye to look at the

absolute truth and to that original to repair, and having perfect

vision of the other world to order the laws about beauty, goodness,

justice in this, if not already ordered, and to guard and preserve the

order of them --are not such persons, I ask, simply blind?

  Truly, he replied, they are much in that condition.

  And shall they be our guardians when there are others who, besides

being their equals in experience and falling short of them in no

particular of virtue, also know the very truth of each thing?

  There can be no reason, he said, for rejecting those who have this

greatest of all great qualities; they must always have the first place

unless they fail in some other respect.

  Suppose then, I said, that we determine how far they can unite

this and the other excellences.

  By all means.

  In the first place, as we began by observing, the nature of the

philosopher has to be ascertained. We must come to an understanding

about him, and, when we have done so, then, if I am not mistaken, we

shall also acknowledge that such an union of qualities is possible,

and that those in whom they are united, and those only, should be

rulers in the State.

  What do you mean?

  Let us suppose that philosophical minds always love knowledge of a

sort which shows them the eternal nature not varying from generation

and corruption.

  Agreed.

  And further, I said, let us agree that they are lovers of all true

being; there is no part whether greater or less, or more or less

honourable, which they are willing to renounce; as we said before of

the lover and the man of ambition.

  True.

  And if they are to be what we were describing, is there not

another quality which they should also possess?

  What quality?

  Truthfulness: they will never intentionally receive into their

mind falsehood, which is their detestation, and they will love the

truth.

  Yes, that may be safely affirmed of them.

  'May be,' my friend, I replied, is not the word; say rather 'must be

affirmed:' for he whose nature is amorous of anything cannot help

loving all that belongs or is akin to the object of his affections.

  Right, he said.

  And is there anything more akin to wisdom than truth?

  How can there be?

  Can the same nature be a lover of wisdom and a lover of falsehood?

  Never.

  The true lover of learning then must from his earliest youth, as far

as in him lies, desire all truth?

  Assuredly.

  But then again, as we know by experience, he whose desires are

strong in one direction will have them weaker in others; they will

be like a stream which has been drawn off into another channel.

  True.

  He whose desires are drawn towards knowledge in every form will be

absorbed in the pleasures of the soul, and will hardly feel bodily

pleasure --I mean, if he be a true philosopher and not a sham one.

  That is most certain.

  Such an one is sure to be temperate and the reverse of covetous; for

the motives which make another man desirous of having and spending,

have no place in his character.

  Very true.

  Another criterion of the philosophical nature has also to be

considered.

  What is that?

  There should be no secret corner of illiberality; nothing can more

antagonistic than meanness to a soul which is ever longing after the

whole of things both divine and human.

  Most true, he replied.

  Then how can he who has magnificence of mind and is the spectator of

all time and all existence, think much of human life?

  He cannot.

  Or can such an one account death fearful?

  No indeed.

  Then the cowardly and mean nature has no part in true philosophy?

  Certainly not.

  Or again: can he who is harmoniously constituted, who is not

covetous or mean, or a boaster, or a coward-can he, I say, ever be

unjust or hard in his dealings?

  Impossible.

  Then you will soon observe whether a man is just and gentle, or rude

and unsociable; these are the signs which distinguish even in youth

the philosophical nature from the unphilosophical.

  True.

  There is another point which should be remarked.

  What point?

  Whether he has or has not a pleasure in learning; for no one will

love that which gives him pain, and in which after much toil he

makes little progress.

  Certainly not.

  And again, if he is forgetful and retains nothing of what he learns,

will he not be an empty vessel?

  That is certain.

  Labouring in vain, he must end in hating himself and his fruitless

occupation? Yes.

  Then a soul which forgets cannot be ranked among genuine philosophic

natures; we must insist that the philosopher should have a good

memory?

  Certainly.

  And once more, the inharmonious and unseemly nature can only tend to

disproportion?

  Undoubtedly.

  And do you consider truth to be akin to proportion or to

disproportion?

  To proportion.

  Then, besides other qualities, we must try to find a naturally

well-proportioned and gracious mind, which will move spontaneously

towards the true being of everything.

  Certainly.

  Well, and do not all these qualities, which we have been

enumerating, go together, and are they not, in a manner, necessary

to a soul, which is to have a full and perfect participation of being?

  They are absolutely necessary, he replied.

  And must not that be a blameless study which he only can pursue

who has the gift of a good memory, and is quick to learn, --noble,

gracious, the friend of truth, justice, courage, temperance, who are

his kindred?

  The god of jealousy himself, he said, could find no fault with

such a study.

  And to men like him, I said, when perfected by years and

education, and to these only you will entrust the State.



  SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS



  Here Adeimantus interposed and said: To these statements,

Socrates, no one can offer a reply; but when you talk in this way, a

strange feeling passes over the minds of your hearers: They fancy that

they are led astray a little at each step in the argument, owing to

their own want of skill in asking and answering questions; these

littles accumulate, and at the end of the discussion they are found to

have sustained a mighty overthrow and all their former notions

appear to be turned upside down. And as unskilful players of

draughts are at last shut up by their more skilful adversaries and

have no piece to move, so they too find themselves shut up at last;

for they have nothing to say in this new game of which words are the

counters; and yet all the time they are in the right. The

observation is suggested to me by what is now occurring. For any one

of us might say, that although in words he is not able to meet you

at each step of the argument, he sees as a fact that the votaries of

philosophy, when they carry on the study, not only in youth as a

part of education, but as the pursuit of their maturer years, most

of them become strange monsters, not to say utter rogues, and that

those who may be considered the best of them are made useless to the

world by the very study which you extol.

  Well, and do you think that those who say so are wrong?

  I cannot tell, he replied; but I should like to know what is your

opinion.

  Hear my answer; I am of opinion that they are quite right.

  Then how can you be justified in saying that cities will not cease

from evil until philosophers rule in them, when philosophers are

acknowledged by us to be of no use to them?

  You ask a question, I said, to which a reply can only be given in

a parable.

  Yes, Socrates; and that is a way of speaking to which you are not at

all accustomed, I suppose.

  I perceive, I said, that you are vastly amused at having plunged

me into such a hopeless discussion; but now hear the parable, and then

you will be still more amused at the meagreness of my imagination: for

the manner in which the best men are treated in their own States is so

grievous that no single thing on earth is comparable to it; and

therefore, if I am to plead their cause, I must have recourse to

fiction, and put together a figure made up of many things, like the

fabulous unions of goats and stags which are found in pictures.

Imagine then a fleet or a ship in which there is a captain who is

taller and stronger than any of the crew, but he is a little deaf

and has a similar infirmity in sight, and his knowledge of

navigation is not much better. The sailors are quarrelling with one

another about the steering --every one is of opinion that he has a

right to steer, though he has never learned the art of navigation

and cannot tell who taught him or when he learned, and will further

assert that it cannot be taught, and they are ready to cut in pieces

any one who says the contrary. They throng about the captain,

begging and praying him to commit the helm to them; and if at any time

they do not prevail, but others are preferred to them, they kill the

others or throw them overboard, and having first chained up the

noble captain's senses with drink or some narcotic drug, they mutiny

and take possession of the ship and make free with the stores; thus,

eating and drinking, they proceed on their voyage in such a manner

as might be expected of them. Him who is their partisan and cleverly

aids them in their plot for getting the ship out of the captain's

hands into their own whether by force or persuasion, they compliment

with the name of sailor, pilot, able seaman, and abuse the other

sort of man, whom they call a good-for-nothing; but that the true

pilot must pay attention to the year and seasons and sky and stars and

winds, and whatever else belongs to his art, if he intends to be

really qualified for the command of a ship, and that he must and

will be the steerer, whether other people like or not-the

possibility of this union of authority with the steerer's art has

never seriously entered into their thoughts or been made part of their

calling. Now in vessels which are in a state of mutiny and by

sailors who are mutineers, how will the true pilot be regarded? Will

he not be called by them a prater, a star-gazer, a good-for-nothing?

  Of course, said Adeimantus.

  Then you will hardly need, I said, to hear the interpretation of the

figure, which describes the true philosopher in his relation to the

State; for you understand already.

  Certainly.

  Then suppose you now take this parable to the gentleman who is

surprised at finding that philosophers have no honour in their cities;

explain it to him and try to convince him that their having honour

would be far more extraordinary.

  I will.

  Say to him, that, in deeming the best votaries of philosophy to be

useless to the rest of the world, he is right; but also tell him to

attribute their uselessness to the fault of those who will not use

them, and not to themselves. The pilot should not humbly beg the

sailors to be commanded by him --that is not the order of nature;

neither are 'the wise to go to the doors of the rich' --the

ingenious author of this saying told a lie --but the truth is, that,

when a man is ill, whether he be rich or poor, to the physician he

must go, and he who wants to be governed, to him who is able to

govern. The ruler who is good for anything ought not to beg his

subjects to be ruled by him; although the present governors of mankind

are of a different stamp; they may be justly compared to the

mutinous sailors, and the true helmsmen to those who are called by

them good-for-nothings and star-gazers.

  Precisely so, he said.

  For these reasons, and among men like these, philosophy, the noblest

pursuit of all, is not likely to be much esteemed by those of the

opposite faction; not that the greatest and most lasting injury is

done to her by her opponents, but by her own professing followers, the

same of whom you suppose the accuser to say, that the greater number

of them are arrant rogues, and the best are useless; in which

opinion I agreed.

  Yes.

  And the reason why the good are useless has now been explained?

  True.

  Then shall we proceed to show that the corruption of the majority is

also unavoidable, and that this is not to be laid to the charge of

philosophy any more than the other?

  By all means.

  And let us ask and answer in turn, first going back to the

description of the gentle and noble nature. Truth, as you will

remember, was his leader, whom he followed always and in all things;

failing in this, he was an impostor, and had no part or lot in true

philosophy.

  Yes, that was said.

  Well, and is not this one quality, to mention no others, greatly

at variance with present notions of him?

  Certainly, he said.

  And have we not a right to say in his defence, that the true lover

of knowledge is always striving after being --that is his nature; he

will not rest in the multiplicity of individuals which is an

appearance only, but will go on --the keen edge will not be blunted,

nor the force of his desire abate until he have attained the knowledge

of the true nature of every essence by a sympathetic and kindred power

in the soul, and by that power drawing near and mingling and

becoming incorporate with very being, having begotten mind and

truth, he will have knowledge and will live and grow truly, and

then, and not till then, will he cease from his travail.

  Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him.

  And will the love of a lie be any part of a philosopher's nature?

Will he not utterly hate a lie?

  He will.

  And when truth is the captain, we cannot suspect any evil of the

band which he leads?

  Impossible.

  Justice and health of mind will be of the company, and temperance

will follow after?

  True, he replied.

  Neither is there any reason why I should again set in array the

philosopher's virtues, as you will doubtless remember that courage,

magnificence, apprehension, memory, were his natural gifts. And you

objected that, although no one could deny what I then said, still,

if you leave words and look at facts, the persons who are thus

described are some of them manifestly useless, and the greater

number utterly depraved; we were then led to enquire into the

grounds of these accusations, and have now arrived at the point of

asking why are the majority bad, which question of necessity brought

us back to the examination and definition of the true philosopher.

  Exactly.

  And we have next to consider the of the philosophic nature, why so

many are spoiled and so few escape spoiling --I am speaking of those

who were said to be useless but not wicked --and, when we have done

with them, we will speak of the imitators of philosophy, what manner

of men are they who aspire after a profession which is above them

and of which they are unworthy, and then, by their manifold

inconsistencies, bring upon philosophy, and upon all philosophers,

that universal reprobation of which we speak.

  What are these corruptions? he said.

  I will see if I can explain them to you. Every one will admit that a

nature having in perfection all the qualities which we required in a

philosopher, is a rare plant which is seldom seen among men.

  Rare indeed.

  And what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rare

natures!

  What causes?

  In the first place there are their own virtues, their courage,

temperance, and the rest of them, every one of which praise worthy

qualities (and this is a most singular circumstance) destroys and

distracts from philosophy the soul which is the possessor of them.

  That is very singular, he replied.

  Then there are all the ordinary goods of life --beauty, wealth,

strength, rank, and great connections in the State --you understand

the sort of things --these also have a corrupting and distracting

effect.

  I understand; but I should like to know more precisely what you mean

about them.

  Grasp the truth as a whole, I said, and in the right way; you will

then have no difficulty in apprehending the preceding remarks, and

they will no longer appear strange to you.

  And how am I to do so? he asked.

  Why, I said, we know that all germs or seeds, whether vegetable or

animal, when they fail to meet with proper nutriment or climate or

soil, in proportion to their vigour, are all the more sensitive to the

want of a suitable environment, for evil is a greater enemy to what is

good than what is not.

  Very true.

  There is reason in supposing that the finest natures, when under

alien conditions, receive more injury than the inferior, because the

contrast is greater.

  Certainly.

  And may we not say, Adeimantus, that the most gifted minds, when

they are ill-educated, become pre-eminently bad? Do not great crimes

and the spirit of pure evil spring out of a fulness of nature ruined

by education rather than from any inferiority, whereas weak natures

are scarcely capable of any very great good or very great evil?

  There I think that you are right.

  And our philosopher follows the same analogy-he is like a plant

which, having proper nurture, must necessarily grow and mature into

all virtue, but, if sown and planted in an alien soil, becomes the

most noxious of all weeds, unless he be preserved by some divine

power. Do you really think, as people so often say, that our youth are

corrupted by Sophists, or that private teachers of the art corrupt

them in any degree worth speaking of? Are not the public who say these

things the greatest of all Sophists? And do they not educate to

perfection young and old, men and women alike, and fashion them

after their own hearts?

  When is this accomplished? he said.

  When they meet together, and the world sits down at an assembly,

or in a court of law, or a theatre, or a camp, or in any other popular

resort, and there is a great uproar, and they praise some things which

are being said or done, and blame other things, equally exaggerating

both, shouting and clapping their hands, and the echo of the rocks and

the place in which they are assembled redoubles the sound of the

praise or blame --at such a time will not a young man's heart, as they

say, leap within him? Will any private training enable him to stand

firm against the overwhelming flood of popular opinion? or will he

be carried away by the stream? Will he not have the notions of good

and evil which the public in general have --he will do as they do, and

as they are, such will he be?

  Yes, Socrates; necessity will compel him.

  And yet, I said, there is a still greater necessity, which has not

been mentioned.

  What is that?

  The gentle force of attainder or confiscation or death which, as you

are aware, these new Sophists and educators who are the public,

apply when their words are powerless.

  Indeed they do; and in right good earnest.

  Now what opinion of any other Sophist, or of any private person, can

be expected to overcome in such an unequal contest?

  None, he replied.

  No, indeed, I said, even to make the attempt is a great piece of

folly; there neither is, nor has been, nor is ever likely to be, any

different type of character which has had no other training in

virtue but that which is supplied by public opinion --I speak, my

friend, of human virtue only; what is more than human, as the

proverb says, is not included: for I would not have you ignorant that,

in the present evil state of governments, whatever is saved and

comes to good is saved by the power of God, as we may truly say.

  I quite assent, he replied.

  Then let me crave your assent also to a further observation.

  What are you going to say?

  Why, that all those mercenary individuals, whom the many call

Sophists and whom they deem to be their adversaries, do, in fact,

teach nothing but the opinion of the many, that is to say, the

opinions of their assemblies; and this is their wisdom. I might

compare them to a man who should study the tempers and desires of a

mighty strong beast who is fed by him-he would learn how to approach

and handle him, also at what times and from what causes he is

dangerous or the reverse, and what is the meaning of his several

cries, and by what sounds, when another utters them, he is soothed

or infuriated; and you may suppose further, that when, by

continually attending upon him, he has become perfect in all this,

he calls his knowledge wisdom, and makes of it a system or art,

which he proceeds to teach, although he has no real notion of what

he means by the principles or passions of which he is speaking, but

calls this honourable and that dishonourable, or good or evil, or just

or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes and tempers of the

great brute. Good he pronounces to be that in which the beast delights

and evil to be that which he dislikes; and he can give no other

account of them except that the just and noble are the necessary,

having never himself seen, and having no power of explaining to others

the nature of either, or the difference between them, which is

immense. By heaven, would not such an one be a rare educator?

  Indeed, he would.

  And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment of

the tempers and tastes of the motley multitude, whether in painting or

music, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom I have been

describing For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits to them

his poem or other work of art or the service which he has done the

State, making them his judges when he is not obliged, the so-called

necessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they

praise. And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give in

confirmation of their own notions about the honourable and good. Did

you ever hear any of them which were not?

  No, nor am I likely to hear.

  You recognise the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me

ask you to consider further whether the world will ever be induced

to believe in the existence of absolute beauty rather than of the many

beautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many

in each kind?

  Certainly not.

  Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher?

  Impossible.

  And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure of

the world?

  They must.

  And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them?

  That is evident.

  Then, do you see any way in which the philosopher can be preserved

in his calling to the end? and remember what we were saying of him,

that he was to have quickness and memory and courage and

magnificence --these were admitted by us to be the true

philosopher's gifts.

  Yes.

  Will not such an one from his early childhood be in all things first

among all, especially if his bodily endowments are like his mental

ones?

  Certainly, he said.

  And his friends and fellow-citizens will want to use him as he

gets older for their own purposes?

  No question.

  Falling at his feet, they will make requests to him and do him

honour and flatter him, because they want to get into their hands now,

the power which he will one day possess.

  That often happens, he said.

  And what will a man such as he be likely to do under such

circumstances, especially if he be a citizen of a great city, rich and

noble, and a tall proper youth? Will he not be full of boundless

aspirations, and fancy himself able to manage the affairs of

Hellenes and of barbarians, and having got such notions into his

head will he not dilate and elevate himself in the fulness of vain

pomp and senseless pride?

  To be sure he will.

  Now, when he is in this state of mind, if some one gently comes to

him and tells him that he is a fool and must get understanding,

which can only be got by slaving for it, do you think that, under such

adverse circumstances, he will be easily induced to listen?

  Far otherwise.

  And even if there be some one who through inherent goodness or

natural reasonableness has had his eyes opened a little and is humbled

and taken captive by philosophy, how will his friends behave when they

think that they are likely to lose the advantage which they were

hoping to reap from his companionship? Will they not do and say

anything to prevent him from yielding to his better nature and to

render his teacher powerless, using to this end private intrigues as

well as public prosecutions?

  There can be no doubt of it.

  And how can one who is thus circumstanced ever become a philosopher?

  Impossible.

  Then were we not right in saying that even the very qualities

which make a man a philosopher may, if he be ill-educated, divert

him from philosophy, no less than riches and their accompaniments

and the other so-called goods of life?

  We were quite right.

  Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and

failure which I have been describing of the natures best adapted to

the best of all pursuits; they are natures which we maintain to be

rare at any time; this being the class out of which come the men who

are the authors of the greatest evil to States and individuals; and

also of the greatest good when the tide carries them in that

direction; but a small man never was the doer of any great thing

either to individuals or to States.

  That is most true, he said.

  And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite

incomplete: for her own have fallen away and forsaken her, and while

they are leading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy

persons, seeing that she has no kinsmen to be her protectors, enter in

and dishonour her; and fasten upon her the reproaches which, as you

say, her reprovers utter, who affirm of her votaries that some are

good for nothing, and that the greater number deserve the severest

punishment.

  That is certainly what people say.

  Yes; and what else would you expect, I said, when you think of the

puny creatures who, seeing this land open to them --a land well

stocked with fair names and showy titles --like prisoners running

out of prison into a sanctuary, take a leap out of their trades into

philosophy; those who do so being probably the cleverest hands at

their own miserable crafts? For, although philosophy be in this evil

case, still there remains a dignity about her which is not to be found

in the arts. And many are thus attracted by her whose natures are

imperfect and whose souls are maimed and disfigured by their

meannesses, as their bodies are by their trades and crafts. Is not

this unavoidable?

  Yes.

  Are they not exactly like a bald little tinker who has just got

out of durance and come into a fortune; he takes a bath and puts on

a new coat, and is decked out as a bridegroom going to marry his

master's daughter, who is left poor and desolate?

  A most exact parallel.

  What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile

and bastard?

  There can be no question of it.

  And when persons who are unworthy of education approach philosophy

and make an alliance with her who is a rank above them what sort of

ideas and opinions are likely to be generated? Will they not be

sophisms captivating to the ear, having nothing in them genuine, or

worthy of or akin to true wisdom?

  No doubt, he said.

  Then, Adeimantus, I said, the worthy disciples of philosophy will be

but a small remnant: perchance some noble and well-educated person,

detained by exile in her service, who in the absence of corrupting

influences remains devoted to her; or some lofty soul born in a mean

city, the politics of which he contemns and neglects; and there may be

a gifted few who leave the arts, which they justly despise, and come

to her; --or peradventure there are some who are restrained by our

friend Theages' bridle; for everything in the life of Theages

conspired to divert him from philosophy; but ill-health kept him

away from politics. My own case of the internal sign is hardly worth

mentioning, for rarely, if ever, has such a monitor been given to

any other man. Those who belong to this small class have tasted how

sweet and blessed a possession philosophy is, and have also seen

enough of the madness of the multitude; and they know that no

politician is honest, nor is there any champion of justice at whose

side they may fight and be saved. Such an one may be compared to a man

who has fallen among wild beasts --he will not join in the

wickedness of his fellows, but neither is he able singly to resist all

their fierce natures, and therefore seeing that he would be of no

use to the State or to his friends, and reflecting that he would

have to throw away his life without doing any good either to himself

or others, he holds his peace, and goes his own way. He is like one

who, in the storm of dust and sleet which the driving wind hurries

along, retires under the shelter of a wall; and seeing the rest of

mankind full of wickedness, he is content, if only he can live his own

life and be pure from evil or unrighteousness, and depart in peace and

good-will, with bright hopes.

  Yes, he said, and he will have done a great work before he departs.

  A great work --yes; but not the greatest, unless he find a State

suitable to him; for in a State which is suitable to him, he will have

a larger growth and be the saviour of his country, as well as of

himself.

  The causes why philosophy is in such an evil name have now been

sufficiently explained: the injustice of the charges against her has

been shown-is there anything more which you wish to say?

  Nothing more on that subject, he replied; but I should like to

know which of the governments now existing is in your opinion the

one adapted to her.

  Not any of them, I said; and that is precisely the accusation

which I bring against them --not one of them is worthy of the

philosophic nature, and hence that nature is warped and estranged;

--as the exotic seed which is sown in a foreign land becomes

denaturalized, and is wont to be overpowered and to lose itself in the

new soil, even so this growth of philosophy, instead of persisting,

degenerates and receives another character. But if philosophy ever

finds in the State that perfection which she herself is, then will

be seen that she is in truth divine, and that all other things,

whether natures of men or institutions, are but human; --and now, I

know that you are going to ask, what that State is.

  No, he said; there you are wrong, for I was going to ask another

question --whether it is the State of which. we are the founders and

inventors, or some other?

  Yes, I replied, ours in most respects; but you may remember my

saying before, that some living authority would always be required

in the State having the same idea of the constitution which guided you

when as legislator you were laying down the laws.

  That was said, he replied.

  Yes, but not in a satisfactory manner; you frightened us by

interposing objections, which certainly showed that the discussion

would be long and difficult; and what still remains is the reverse

of easy.

  What is there remaining?

  The question how the study of philosophy may be so ordered as not to

be the ruin of the State: All great attempts are attended with risk;

'hard is the good,' as men say.

  Still, he said, let the point be cleared up, and the enquiry will

then be complete.

  I shall not be hindered, I said, by any want of will, but, if at

all, by a want of power: my zeal you may see for yourselves; and

please to remark in what I am about to say how boldly and

unhesitatingly I declare that States should pursue philosophy, not

as they do now, but in a different spirit.

  In what manner?

  At present, I said, the students of philosophy are quite young;

beginning when they are hardly past childhood, they devote only the

time saved from moneymaking and housekeeping to such pursuits; and

even those of them who are reputed to have most of the philosophic

spirit, when they come within sight of the great difficulty of the

subject, I mean dialectic, take themselves off. In after life when

invited by some one else, they may, perhaps, go and hear a lecture,

and about this they make much ado, for philosophy is not considered by

them to be their proper business: at last, when they grow old, in most

cases they are extinguished more truly than Heracleitus' sun, inasmuch

as they never light up again.

  But what ought to be their course?

  Just the opposite. In childhood and youth their study, and what

philosophy they learn, should be suited to their tender years:

during this period while they are growing up towards manhood, the

chief and special care should be given to their bodies that they may

have them to use in the service of philosophy; as life advances and

the intellect begins to mature, let them increase the gymnastics of

the soul; but when the strength of our citizens fails and is past

civil and military duties, then let them range at will and engage in

no serious labour, as we intend them to live happily here, and to

crown this life with a similar happiness in another.

  How truly in earnest you are, Socrates! he said; I am sure of

that; and yet most of your hearers, if I am not mistaken, are likely

to be still more earnest in their opposition to you, and will never be

convinced; Thrasymachus least of all.

  Do not make a quarrel, I said, between Thrasymachus and me, who have

recently become friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies;

for I shall go on striving to the utmost until I either convert him

and other men, or do something which may profit them against the day

when they live again, and hold the like discourse in another state

of existence.

  You are speaking of a time which is not very near.

  Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison

with eternity. Nevertheless, I do not wonder that the many refuse to

believe; for they have never seen that of which we are now speaking

realised; they have seen only a conventional imitation of

philosophy, consisting of words artificially brought together, not

like these of ours having a natural unity. But a human being who in

word and work is perfectly moulded, as far as he can be, into the

proportion and likeness of virtue --such a man ruling in a city

which bears the same image, they have never yet seen, neither one

nor many of them --do you think that they ever did?

  No indeed.

  No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noble

sentiments; such as men utter when they are earnestly and by every

means in their power seeking after truth for the sake of knowledge,

while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which

the end is opinion and strife, whether they meet with them in the

courts of law or in society.

  They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.

  And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth

forced us to admit, not without fear and hesitation, that neither

cities nor States nor individuals will ever attain perfection until

the small class of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt

are providentially compelled, whether they will or not, to take care

of the State, and until a like necessity be laid on the State to

obey them; or until kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or

princes, are divinely inspired ' d with a true love of true

philosophy. That either or both of these alternatives are

impossible, I see no reason to affirm: if they were so, we might

indeed be justly ridiculed as dreamers and visionaries. Am I not

right?

  Quite right.

  If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour

in some foreign clime which is far away and beyond our ken, the

perfected philosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be compelled

by a superior power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to

assert to the death, that this our constitution has been, and is

--yea, and will be whenever the Muse of Philosophy is queen. There

is no impossibility in all this; that there is a difficulty, we

acknowledge ourselves.

  My opinion agrees with yours, he said.

  But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the

multitude?

  I should imagine not, he replied.

  O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will change

their minds, if, not in an aggressive spirit, but gently and with

the view of soothing them and removing their dislike of

over-education, you show them your philosophers as they really are and

describe as you were just now doing their character and profession,

and then mankind will see that he of whom you are speaking is not such

as they supposed --if they view him in this new light, they will

surely change their notion of him, and answer in another strain. Who

can be at enmity with one who loves them, who that is himself gentle

and free from envy will be jealous of one in whom there is no

jealousy? Nay, let me answer for you, that in a few this harsh

temper may be found but not in the majority of mankind.

  I quite agree with you, he said.

  And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which the

many entertain towards philosophy originates in the pretenders, who

rush in uninvited, and are always abusing them, and finding fault with

them, who make persons instead of things the theme of their

conversation? and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers

than this.

  It is most unbecoming.

  For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has

surely no time to look down upon the affairs of earth, or to be filled

with malice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever directed

towards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring nor

injured by one another, but all in order moving according to reason;

these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as he can, conform

himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverential

converse?

  Impossible.

  And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order,

becomes orderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but

like every one else, he will suffer from detraction.

  Of course.

  And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself,

but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into

that which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilful

artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?

  Anything but unskilful.

  And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is

the truth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve

us, when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed

by artists who imitate the heavenly pattern?

  They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will

they draw out the plan of which you are speaking?

  They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from

which, as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a

clean surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein

will lie the difference between them and every other legislator,

--they will have nothing to do either with individual or State, and

will inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or themselves

made, a clean surface.

  They will be very right, he said.

  Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the

constitution?

  No doubt.

  And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will

often turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will

first look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at

the human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of

life into the image of a man; and thus they will conceive according to

that other image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form

and likeness of God.

  Very true, he said.

  And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in,

they have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the

ways of God?

  Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.

  And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you

described as rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of

constitutions is such an one as we are praising; at whom they were

so very indignant because to his hands we committed the State; and are

they growing a little calmer at what they have just heard?

  Much calmer, if there is any sense in them.

  Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they

doubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being?

  They would not be so unreasonable.

  Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to the

highest good?

  Neither can they doubt this.

  But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed under

favourable circumstances, will not be perfectly good and wise if any

ever was? Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected?

  Surely not.

  Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until

philosophers bear rule, States and individuals will have no rest

from evil, nor will this our imaginary State ever be realised?

  I think that they will be less angry.

  Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but quite

gentle, and that they have been converted and for very shame, if for

no other reason, cannot refuse to come to terms?

  By all means, he said.

  Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected.

Will any one deny the other point, that there may be sons of kings

or princes who are by nature philosophers?

  Surely no man, he said.

  And when they have come into being will any one say that they must

of necessity be destroyed; that they can hardly be saved is not denied

even by us; but that in the whole course of ages no single one of them

can escape --who will venture to affirm this?

  Who indeed!

  But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a city

obedient to his will, and he might bring into existence the ideal

polity about which the world is so incredulous.

  Yes, one is enough.

  The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have been

describing, and the citizens may possibly be willing to obey them?

  Certainly.

  And that others should approve of what we approve, is no miracle

or impossibility?

  I think not.

  But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this,

if only possible, is assuredly for the best.

  We have.

  And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted,

would be for the best, but also that the enactment of them, though

difficult, is not impossible.

  Very good.

  And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject,

but more remains to be discussed; --how and by what studies and

pursuits will the saviours of the constitution be created, and at what

ages are they to apply themselves to their several studies?

  Certainly.

  I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and

the procreation of children, and the appointment of the rulers,

because I knew that the perfect State would be eyed with jealousy

and was difficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was

not of much service to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The

women and children are now disposed of, but the other question of

the rulers must be investigated from the very beginning. We were

saying, as you will remember, that they were to be lovers of their

country, tried by the test of pleasures and pains, and neither in

hardships, nor in dangers, nor at any other critical moment were to

lose their patriotism --he was to be rejected who failed, but he who

always came forth pure, like gold tried in the refiner's fire, was

to be made a ruler, and to receive honours and rewards in life and

after death. This was the sort of thing which was being said, and then

the argument turned aside and veiled her face; not liking to stir

the question which has now arisen.

  I perfectly remember, he said.

  Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold

word; but now let me dare to say --that the perfect guardian must be a

philosopher.

  Yes, he said, let that be affirmed.

  And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts

which were deemed by us to be essential rarely grow together; they are

mostly found in shreds and patches.

  What do you mean? he said.

  You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity,

cleverness, and similar qualities, do not often grow together, and

that persons who possess them and are at the same time high-spirited

and magnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly

and in a peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by their

impulses, and all solid principle goes out of them.

  Very true, he said.

  On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be

depended upon, which in a battle are impregnable to fear and

immovable, are equally immovable when there is anything to be learned;

they are always in a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep

over any intellectual toil.

  Quite true.

  And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those

to whom the higher education is to be imparted, and who are to share

in any office or command.

  Certainly, he said.

  And will they be a class which is rarely found?

  Yes, indeed.

  Then the aspirant must not only be tested in those labours and

dangers and pleasures which we mentioned before, but there is

another kind of probation which we did not mention --he must be

exercised also in many kinds of knowledge, to see whether the soul

will be able to endure the highest of all, will faint under them, as

in any other studies and exercises.

  Yes, he said, you are quite right in testing him. But what do you

mean by the highest of all knowledge?

  You may remember, I said, that we divided the soul into three parts;

and distinguished the several natures of justice, temperance, courage,

and wisdom?

  Indeed, he said, if I had forgotten, I should not deserve to hear

more.

  And do you remember the word of caution which preceded the

discussion of them?

  To what do you refer?

  We were saying, if I am not mistaken, that he who wanted to see them

in their perfect beauty must take a longer and more circuitous way, at

the end of which they would appear; but that we could add on a popular

exposition of them on a level with the discussion which had

preceded. And you replied that such an exposition would be enough

for you, and so the enquiry was continued in what to me seemed to be a

very inaccurate manner; whether you were satisfied or not, it is for

you to say.

  Yes, he said, I thought and the others thought that you gave us a

fair measure of truth.

  But, my friend, I said, a measure of such things Which in any degree

falls short of the whole truth is not fair measure; for nothing

imperfect is the measure of anything, although persons are too apt

to be contented and think that they need search no further.

  Not an uncommon case when people are indolent.

  Yes, I said; and there cannot be any worse fault in a guardian of

the State and of the laws.

  True.

  The guardian then, I said, must be required to take the longer

circuit, and toll at learning as well as at gymnastics, or he will

never reach the highest knowledge of all which, as we were just now

saying, is his proper calling.

  What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this

--higher than justice and the other virtues?

  Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not the

outline merely, as at present --nothing short of the most finished

picture should satisfy us. When little things are elaborated with an

infinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full

beauty and utmost clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think

the highest truths worthy of attaining the highest accuracy!

  A right noble thought; but do you suppose that we shall refrain from

asking you what is this highest knowledge?

  Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard

the answer many times, and now you either do not understand me or,

as I rather think, you are disposed to be troublesome; for you have of

been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all

other things become useful and advantageous only by their use of this.

You can hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak,

concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know so little;

and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will

profit us nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other

things is of any value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge

of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness?

  Assuredly not.

  You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the

good, but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge

  Yes.

  And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they

mean by knowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the

good?

  How ridiculous!

  Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our

ignorance of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it --for

the good they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we

understood them when they use the term 'good' --this is of course

ridiculous.

  Most true, he said.

  And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity;

for they are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well

as good.

  Certainly.

  And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?

  True.

  There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which

this question is involved.

  There can be none.

  Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or

to seem to be what is just and honourable without the reality; but

no one is satisfied with the appearance of good --the reality is

what they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by

every one.

  Very true, he said.

  Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of

all his actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end,

and yet hesitating because neither knowing the nature nor having the

same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing

whatever good there is in other things, --of a principle such and so

great as this ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is

entrusted, to be in the darkness of ignorance?

  Certainly not, he said.

  I am sure, I said, that he who does not know now the beautiful and

the just are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and I

suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a true

knowledge of them.

  That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours.

  And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will

be perfectly ordered?

  Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you

conceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge or

pleasure, or different from either.

  Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like you

would not be contented with the thoughts of other people about these

matters.

  True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a

lifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating the

opinions of others, and never telling his own.

  Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not

know?

  Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no

right to do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of

opinion.

  And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the

best of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any true

notion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their way

along the road?

  Very true.

  And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when

others will tell you of brightness and beauty?



  GLAUCON - SOCRATES



  Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn

away just as you are reaching the goal; if you will only give such

an explanation of the good as you have already given of justice and

temperance and the other virtues, we shall be satisfied.

  Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I

cannot help fearing that I shall fall, and that my indiscreet zeal

will bring ridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask

what is the actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in

my thoughts would be an effort too great for me. But of the child of

the good who is likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be sure

that you wished to hear --otherwise, not.

  By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain

in our debt for the account of the parent.

  I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive,

the account of the parent, and not, as now, of the offspring only;

take, however, this latter by way of interest, and at the same time

have a care that i do not render a false account, although I have no

intention of deceiving you.

  Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed.

  Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, and

remind you of what I have mentioned in the course of this

discussion, and at many other times.

  What?

  The old story, that there is a many beautiful and a many good, and

so of other things which we describe and define; to all of them 'many'

is applied.

  True, he said.

  And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of other

things to which the term 'many' is applied there is an absolute; for

they may be brought under a single idea, which is called the essence

of each.

  Very true.

  The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are known

but not seen.

  Exactly.

  And what is the organ with which we see the visible things?

  The sight, he said.

  And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other senses

perceive the other objects of sense?

  True.

  But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and

complex piece of workmanship which the artificer of the senses ever

contrived?

  No, I never have, he said.

  Then reflect; has the ear or voice need of any third or additional

nature in order that the one may be able to hear and the other to be

heard?

  Nothing of the sort.

  No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, the

other senses --you would not say that any of them requires such an

addition?

  Certainly not.

  But you see that without the addition of some other nature there

is no seeing or being seen?

  How do you mean?

  Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting

to see; colour being also present in them, still unless there be a

third nature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner of the eyes

will see nothing and the colours will be invisible.

  Of what nature are you speaking?

  Of that which you term light, I replied.

  True, he said.

  Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and

visibility, and great beyond other bonds by no small difference of

nature; for light is their bond, and light is no ignoble thing?

  Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble.

  And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the

lord of this element? Whose is that light which makes the eye to see

perfectly and the visible to appear?

  You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say.

  May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows?

  How?

  Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun?

  No.

  Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun?

  By far the most like.

  And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which

is dispensed from the sun?

  Exactly.

  Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognised

by sight.

  True, he said.

  And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good

begat in his own likeness, to be in the visible world, in relation

to sight and the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual

world in relation to mind and the things of mind.

  Will you be a little more explicit? he said.

  Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs them

towards objects on which the light of day is no longer shining, but

the moon and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind; they seem to

have no clearness of vision in them?

  Very true.

  But when they are directed towards objects on which the sun

shines, they see clearly and there is sight in them?

  Certainly.

  And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which

truth and being shine, the soul perceives and understands and is

radiant with intelligence; but when turned towards the twilight of

becoming and perishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking

about, and is first of one opinion and then of another, and seems to

have no intelligence?

  Just so.

  Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of

knowing to the knower is what I would have you term the idea of

good, and this you will deem to be the cause of science, and of

truth in so far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge;

beautiful too, as are both truth and knowledge, you will be right in

esteeming this other nature as more beautiful than either; and, as

in the previous instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like

the sun, and yet not to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science

and truth may be deemed to be like the good, but not the good; the

good has a place of honour yet higher.

  What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author

of science and truth, and yet surpasses them in beauty; for you surely

cannot mean to say that pleasure is the good?

  God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image in

another point of view?

  In what point of view?

  You would say, would you not, that the sun is only the author of

visibility in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment

and growth, though he himself is not generation?

  Certainly.

  In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author of

knowledge to all things known, but of their being and essence, and yet

the good is not essence, but far exceeds essence in dignity and power.

  Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of

heaven, how amazing!

  Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you

made me utter my fancies.

  And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there is

anything more to be said about the similitude of the sun.

  Yes, I said, there is a great deal more.

  Then omit nothing, however slight.

  I will do my best, I said; but I should think that a great deal will

have to be omitted.

  You have to imagine, then, that there are two ruling powers, and

that one of them is set over the intellectual world, the other over

the visible. I do not say heaven, lest you should fancy that I am

playing upon the name ('ourhanoz, orhatoz'). May I suppose that you

have this distinction of the visible and intelligible fixed in your

mind?

  I have.

  Now take a line which has been cut into two unequal parts, and

divide each of them again in the same proportion, and suppose the

two main divisions to answer, one to the visible and the other to

the intelligible, and then compare the subdivisions in respect of

their clearness and want of clearness, and you will find that the

first section in the sphere of the visible consists of images. And

by images I mean, in the first place, shadows, and in the second

place, reflections in water and in solid, smooth and polished bodies

and the like: Do you understand?

  Yes, I understand.

  Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is only the

resemblance, to include the animals which we see, and everything

that grows or is made.

  Very good.

  Would you not admit that both the sections of this division have

different degrees of truth, and that the copy is to the original as

the sphere of opinion is to the sphere of knowledge?

  Most undoubtedly.

  Next proceed to consider the manner in which the sphere of the

intellectual is to be divided.

  In what manner?

  Thus: --There are two subdivisions, in the lower or which the soul

uses the figures given by the former division as images; the enquiry

can only be hypothetical, and instead of going upwards to a

principle descends to the other end; in the higher of the two, the

soul passes out of hypotheses, and goes up to a principle which is

above hypotheses, making no use of images as in the former case, but

proceeding only in and through the ideas themselves.

  I do not quite understand your meaning, he said.

  Then I will try again; you will understand me better when I have

made some preliminary remarks. You are aware that students of

geometry, arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume the odd and

the even and the figures and three kinds of angles and the like in

their several branches of science; these are their hypotheses, which

they and everybody are supposed to know, and therefore they do not

deign to give any account of them either to themselves or others;

but they begin with them, and go on until they arrive at last, and

in a consistent manner, at their conclusion?

  Yes, he said, I know.

  And do you not know also that although they make use of the

visible forms and reason about them, they are thinking not of these,

but of the ideals which they resemble; not of the figures which they

draw, but of the absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so

on --the forms which they draw or make, and which have shadows and

reflections in water of their own, are converted by them into

images, but they are really seeking to behold the things themselves,

which can only be seen with the eye of the mind?

  That is true.

  And of this kind I spoke as the intelligible, although in the search

after it the soul is compelled to use hypotheses; not ascending to a

first principle, because she is unable to rise above the region of

hypothesis, but employing the objects of which the shadows below are

resemblances in their turn as images, they having in relation to the

shadows and reflections of them a greater distinctness, and

therefore a higher value.

  I understand, he said, that you are speaking of the province of

geometry and the sister arts.

  And when I speak of the other division of the intelligible, you will

understand me to speak of that other sort of knowledge which reason

herself attains by the power of dialectic, using the hypotheses not as

first principles, but only as hypotheses --that is to say, as steps

and points of departure into a world which is above hypotheses, in

order that she may soar beyond them to the first principle of the

whole; and clinging to this and then to that which depends on this, by

successive steps she descends again without the aid of any sensible

object, from ideas, through ideas, and in ideas she ends.

  I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for you seem to me to

be describing a task which is really tremendous; but, at any rate, I

understand you to say that knowledge and being, which the science of

dialectic contemplates, are clearer than the notions of the arts, as

they are termed, which proceed from hypotheses only: these are also

contemplated by the understanding, and not by the senses: yet, because

they start from hypotheses and do not ascend to a principle, those who

contemplate them appear to you not to exercise the higher reason

upon them, although when a first principle is added to them they are

cognizable by the higher reason. And the habit which is concerned with

geometry and the cognate sciences I suppose that you would term

understanding and not reason, as being intermediate between opinion

and reason.

  You have quite conceived my meaning, I said; and now,

corresponding to these four divisions, let there be four faculties

in the soul-reason answering to the highest, understanding to the

second, faith (or conviction) to the third, and perception of

shadows to the last-and let there be a scale of them, and let us

suppose that the several faculties have clearness in the same degree

that their objects have truth.

  I understand, he replied, and give my assent, and accept your

arrangement.