BOOK VII



  SOCRATES - GLAUCON



  AND now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is

enlightened or unenlightened: --Behold! human beings living in a

underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching

all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and

have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can

only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round

their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance,

and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and

you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the

screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they

show the puppets.

  I see.

  And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all

sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood

and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of

them are talking, others silent.

  You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners.

  Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or

the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall

of the cave?

  True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they

were never allowed to move their heads?

  And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would

only see the shadows?

  Yes, he said.

  And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not

suppose that they were naming what was actually before them?

  Very true.

  And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from

the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the

passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing

shadow?

  No question, he replied.

  To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the

shadows of the images.

  That is certain.

  And now look again, and see what will naturally follow it' the

prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when

any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn

his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer

sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see

the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows;

and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before

was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to

being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a

clearer vision, -what will be his reply? And you may further imagine

that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and

requiring him to name them, -will he not be perplexed? Will he not

fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the

objects which are now shown to him?

  Far truer.

  And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not

have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take and take

in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will

conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now

being shown to him?

  True, he now

  And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and

rugged ascent, and held fast until he 's forced into the presence of

the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When

he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be

able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.

  Not all in a moment, he said.

  He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper

world. And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of

men and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves;

then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the

spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better

than the sun or the light of the sun by day?

  Certainly.

  Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections

of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place,

and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is.

  Certainly.

  He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season

and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible

world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his

fellows have been accustomed to behold?

  Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about

him.

  And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den

and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would

felicitate himself on the change, and pity them?

  Certainly, he would.

  And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves

on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to

remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and

which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw

conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such

honours and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not

say with Homer,



  Better to be the poor servant of a poor master,



and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after

their manner?

  Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than

entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner.

  Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the

sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to

have his eyes full of darkness?

  To be sure, he said.

  And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring

the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den,

while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become

steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit

of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men

would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes;

and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any

one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only

catch the offender, and they would put him to death.

  No question, he said.

  This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to

the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the

light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if

you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into

the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your

desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But,

whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge

the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort;

and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal author of all

things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light

in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in

the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would

act rationally, either in public or private life must have his eye

fixed.

  I agree, he said, as far as I am able to understand you.

  Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to

this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for

their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they

desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our

allegory may be trusted.

  Yes, very natural.

  And is there anything surprising in one who passes from divine

contemplations to the evil state of man, misbehaving himself in a

ridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he has

become accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled to

fight in courts of law, or in other places, about the images or the

shadows of images of justice, and is endeavouring to meet the

conceptions of those who have never yet seen absolute justice?

  Anything but surprising, he replied.

  Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of

the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from

coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of

the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who

remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and

weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that

soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see

because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to

the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy

in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or,

if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the

light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which

greets him who returns from above out of the light into the den.

  That, he said, is a very just distinction.

  But then, if I am right, certain professors of education must be

wrong when they say that they can put a knowledge into the soul

which was not there before, like sight into blind eyes.

  They undoubtedly say this, he replied.

  Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of

learning exists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was

unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too

the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul

be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn

by degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best

of being, or in other words, of the good.

  Very true.

  And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in the

easiest and quickest manner; not implanting the faculty of sight,

for that exists already, but has been turned in the wrong direction,

and is looking away from the truth?

  Yes, he said, such an art may be presumed.

  And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be

akin to bodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate

they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the of wisdom

more than anything else contains a divine element which always

remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or,

on the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the

narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue --how

eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he

is the reverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is forced into the

service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his

cleverness.

  Very true, he said.

  But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the

days of their youth; and they had been severed from those sensual

pleasures, such as eating and drinking, which, like leaden weights,

were attached to them at their birth, and which drag them down and

turn the vision of their souls upon the things that are below --if,

I say, they had been released from these impediments and turned in the

opposite direction, the very same faculty in them would have seen

the truth as keenly as they see what their eyes are turned to now.

  Very likely.

  Yes, I said; and there is another thing which is likely. or rather a

necessary inference from what has preceded, that neither the

uneducated and uninformed of the truth, nor yet those who never make

an end of their education, will be able ministers of State; not the

former, because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule of

all their actions, private as well as public; nor the latter,

because they will not act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that

they are already dwelling apart in the islands of the blest.

  Very true, he replied.

  Then, I said, the business of us who are the founders of the State

will be to compel the best minds to attain that knowledge which we

have already shown to be the greatest of all-they must continue to

ascend until they arrive at the good; but when they have ascended

and seen enough we must not allow them to do as they do now.

  What do you mean?

  I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not be

allowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in the

den, and partake of their labours and honours, whether they are

worth having or not.

  But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them a worse life,

when they might have a better?

  You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of the

legislator, who did not aim at making any one class in the State happy

above the rest; the happiness was to be in the whole State, and he

held the citizens together by persuasion and necessity, making them

benefactors of the State, and therefore benefactors of one another; to

this end he created them, not to please themselves, but to be his

instruments in binding up the State.

  True, he said, I had forgotten.

  Observe, Glaucon, that there will be no injustice in compelling

our philosophers to have a care and providence of others; we shall

explain to them that in other States, men of their class are not

obliged to share in the toils of politics: and this is reasonable, for

they grow up at their own sweet will, and the government would

rather not have them. Being self-taught, they cannot be expected to

show any gratitude for a culture which they have never received. But

we have brought you into the world to be rulers of the hive, kings

of yourselves and of the other citizens, and have educated you far

better and more perfectly than they have been educated, and you are

better able to share in the double duty. Wherefore each of you, when

his turn comes, must go down to the general underground abode, and get

the habit of seeing in the dark. When you have acquired the habit, you

will see ten thousand times better than the inhabitants of the den,

and you will know what the several images are, and what they

represent, because you have seen the beautiful and just and good in

their truth. And thus our State which is also yours will be a reality,

and not a dream only, and will be administered in a spirit unlike that

of other States, in which men fight with one another about shadows

only and are distracted in the struggle for power, which in their eyes

is a great good. Whereas the truth is that the State in which the

rulers are most reluctant to govern is always the best and most

quietly governed, and the State in which they are most eager, the

worst.

  Quite true, he replied.

  And will our pupils, when they hear this, refuse to take their

turn at the toils of State, when they are allowed to spend the greater

part of their time with one another in the heavenly light?

  Impossible, he answered; for they are just men, and the commands

which we impose upon them are just; there can be no doubt that every

one of them will take office as a stern necessity, and not after the

fashion of our present rulers of State.

  Yes, my friend, I said; and there lies the point. You must

contrive for your future rulers another and a better life than that of

a ruler, and then you may have a well-ordered State; for only in the

State which offers this, will they rule who are truly rich, not in

silver and gold, but in virtue and wisdom, which are the true

blessings of life. Whereas if they go to the administration of

public affairs, poor and hungering after the' own private advantage,

thinking that hence they are to snatch the chief good, order there can

never be; for they will be fighting about office, and the civil and

domestic broils which thus arise will be the ruin of the rulers

themselves and of the whole State.

  Most true, he replied.

  And the only life which looks down upon the life of political

ambition is that of true philosophy. Do you know of any other?

  Indeed, I do not, he said.

  And those who govern ought not to be lovers of the task? For, if

they are, there will be rival lovers, and they will fight.

  No question.

  Who then are those whom we shall compel to be guardians? Surely they

will be the men who are wisest about affairs of State, and by whom the

State is best administered, and who at the same time have other

honours and another and a better life than that of politics?

  They are the men, and I will choose them, he replied.

  And now shall we consider in what way such guardians will be

produced, and how they are to be brought from darkness to light,

--as some are said to have ascended from the world below to the gods?

  By all means, he replied.

  The process, I said, is not the turning over of an oyster-shell, but

the turning round of a soul passing from a day which is little

better than night to the true day of being, that is, the ascent from

below, which we affirm to be true philosophy?

  Quite so.

  And should we not enquire what sort of knowledge has the power of

effecting such a change?

  Certainly.

  What sort of knowledge is there which would draw the soul from

becoming to being? And another consideration has just occurred to

me: You will remember that our young men are to be warrior athletes

  Yes, that was said.

  Then this new kind of knowledge must have an additional quality?

  What quality?

  Usefulness in war.

  Yes, if possible.

  There were two parts in our former scheme of education, were there

not?

  Just so.

  There was gymnastic which presided over the growth and decay of

the body, and may therefore be regarded as having to do with

generation and corruption?

  True.

  Then that is not the knowledge which we are seeking to discover? No.

  But what do you say of music, which also entered to a certain extent

into our former scheme?

  Music, he said, as you will remember, was the counterpart of

gymnastic, and trained the guardians by the influences of habit, by

harmony making them harmonious, by rhythm rhythmical, but not giving

them science; and the words, whether fabulous or possibly true, had

kindred elements of rhythm and harmony in them. But in music there was

nothing which tended to that good which you are now seeking.

  You are most accurate, I said, in your recollection; in music

there certainly was nothing of the kind. But what branch of

knowledge is there, my dear Glaucon, which is of the desired nature;

since all the useful arts were reckoned mean by us?

  Undoubtedly; and yet if music and gymnastic are excluded, and the

arts are also excluded, what remains?

  Well, I said, there may be nothing left of our special subjects; and

then we shall have to take something which is not special, but of

universal application.

  What may that be?

  A something which all arts and sciences and intelligences use in

common, and which every one first has to learn among the elements of

education.

  What is that?

  The little matter of distinguishing one, two, and three --in a word,

number and calculation: --do not all arts and sciences necessarily

partake of them?

  Yes.

  Then the art of war partakes of them?

  To the sure.

  Then Palamedes, whenever he appears in tragedy, proves Agamemnon

ridiculously unfit to be a general. Did you never remark how he

declares that he had invented number, and had numbered the ships and

set in array the ranks of the army at Troy; which implies that they

had never been numbered before, and Agamemnon must be supposed

literally to have been incapable of counting his own feet --how

could he if he was ignorant of number? And if that is true, what

sort of general must he have been?

  I should say a very strange one, if this was as you say.

  Can we deny that a warrior should have a knowledge of arithmetic?

  Certainly he should, if he is to have the smallest understanding

of military tactics, or indeed, I should rather say, if he is to be

a man at all.

  I should like to know whether you have the same notion which I

have of this study?

  What is your notion?

  It appears to me to be a study of the kind which we are seeking, and

which leads naturally to reflection, but never to have been rightly

used; for the true use of it is simply to draw the soul towards being.

  Will you explain your meaning? he said.

  I will try, I said; and I wish you would share the enquiry with

me, and say 'yes' or 'no' when I attempt to distinguish in my own mind

what branches of knowledge have this attracting power, in order that

we may have clearer proof that arithmetic is, as I suspect, one of

them.

  Explain, he said.

  I mean to say that objects of sense are of two kinds; some of them

do not invite thought because the sense is an adequate judge of

them; while in the case of other objects sense is so untrustworthy

that further enquiry is imperatively demanded.

  You are clearly referring, he said, to the manner in which the

senses are imposed upon by distance, and by painting in light and

shade.

  No, I said, that is not at all my meaning.

  Then what is your meaning?

  When speaking of uninviting objects, I mean those which do not

pass from one sensation to the opposite; inviting objects are those

which do; in this latter case the sense coming upon the object,

whether at a distance or near, gives no more vivid idea of anything in

particular than of its opposite. An illustration will make my

meaning clearer: --here are three fingers --a little finger, a

second finger, and a middle finger.

  Very good.

  You may suppose that they are seen quite close: And here comes the

point.

  What is it?

  Each of them equally appears a finger, whether seen in the middle or

at the extremity, whether white or black, or thick or thin --it

makes no difference; a finger is a finger all the same. In these cases

a man is not compelled to ask of thought the question, what is a

finger? for the sight never intimates to the mind that a finger is

other than a finger.

  True.

  And therefore, I said, as we might expect, there is nothing here

which invites or excites intelligence.

  There is not, he said.

  But is this equally true of the greatness and smallness of the

fingers? Can sight adequately perceive them? and is no difference made

by the circumstance that one of the fingers is in the middle and

another at the extremity? And in like manner does the touch adequately

perceive the qualities of thickness or thinness, or softness or

hardness? And so of the other senses; do they give perfect intimations

of such matters? Is not their mode of operation on this wise --the

sense which is concerned with the quality of hardness is necessarily

concerned also with the quality of softness, and only intimates to the

soul that the same thing is felt to be both hard and soft?

  You are quite right, he said.

  And must not the soul be perplexed at this intimation which the

sense gives of a hard which is also soft? What, again, is the

meaning of light and heavy, if that which is light is also heavy,

and that which is heavy, light?

  Yes, he said, these intimations which the soul receives are very

curious and require to be explained.

  Yes, I said, and in these perplexities the soul naturally summons to

her aid calculation and intelligence, that she may see whether the

several objects announced to her are one or two.

  True.

  And if they turn out to be two, is not each of them one and

different?

  Certainly.

  And if each is one, and both are two, she will conceive the two as

in a state of division, for if there were undivided they could only be

conceived of as one?

  True.

  The eye certainly did see both small and great, but only in a

confused manner; they were not distinguished.

  Yes.

  Whereas the thinking mind, intending to light up the chaos, was

compelled to reverse the process, and look at small and great as

separate and not confused.

  Very true.

  Was not this the beginning of the enquiry 'What is great?' and 'What

is small?'

  Exactly so.

  And thus arose the distinction of the visible and the intelligible.

  Most true.

  This was what I meant when I spoke of impressions which invited

the intellect, or the reverse --those which are simultaneous with

opposite impressions, invite thought; those which are not simultaneous

do not.

  I understand, he said, and agree with you.

  And to which class do unity and number belong?

  I do not know, he replied.

  Think a little and you will see that what has preceded will supply

the answer; for if simple unity could be adequately perceived by the

sight or by any other sense, then, as we were saying in the case of

the finger, there would be nothing to attract towards being; but

when there is some contradiction always present, and one is the

reverse of one and involves the conception of plurality, then

thought begins to be aroused within us, and the soul perplexed and

wanting to arrive at a decision asks 'What is absolute unity?' This is

the way in which the study of the one has a power of drawing and

converting the mind to the contemplation of true being.

  And surely, he said, this occurs notably in the case of one; for

we see the same thing to be both one and infinite in multitude?

  Yes, I said; and this being true of one must be equally true of

all number?

  Certainly.

  And all arithmetic and calculation have to do with number?

  Yes.

  And they appear to lead the mind towards truth?

  Yes, in a very remarkable manner.

  Then this is knowledge of the kind for which we are seeking,

having a double use, military and philosophical; for the man of war

must learn the art of number or he will not know how to array his

troops, and the philosopher also, because he has to rise out of the

sea of change and lay hold of true being, and therefore he must be

an arithmetician.

  That is true.

  And our guardian is both warrior and philosopher?

  Certainly.

  Then this is a kind of knowledge which legislation may fitly

prescribe; and we must endeavour to persuade those who are prescribe

to be the principal men of our State to go and learn arithmetic, not

as amateurs, but they must carry on the study until they see the

nature of numbers with the mind only; nor again, like merchants or

retail-traders, with a view to buying or selling, but for the sake

of their military use, and of the soul herself; and because this

will be the easiest way for her to pass from becoming to truth and

being.

  That is excellent, he said.

  Yes, I said, and now having spoken of it, I must add how charming

the science is! and in how many ways it conduces to our desired end,

if pursued in the spirit of a philosopher, and not of a shopkeeper!

  How do you mean?

  I mean, as I was saying, that arithmetic has a very great and

elevating effect, compelling the soul to reason about abstract number,

and rebelling against the introduction of visible or tangible

objects into the argument. You know how steadily the masters of the

art repel and ridicule any one who attempts to divide absolute unity

when he is calculating, and if you divide, they multiply, taking

care that one shall continue one and not become lost in fractions.

  That is very true.

  Now, suppose a person were to say to them: O my friends, what are

these wonderful numbers about which you are reasoning, in which, as

you say, there is a unity such as you demand, and each unit is

equal, invariable, indivisible, --what would they answer?

  They would answer, as I should conceive, that they were speaking

of those numbers which can only be realised in thought.

  Then you see that this knowledge may be truly called necessary,

necessitating as it clearly does the use of the pure intelligence in

the attainment of pure truth?

  Yes; that is a marked characteristic of it.

  And have you further observed, that those who have a natural

talent for calculation are generally quick at every other kind of

knowledge; and even the dull if they have had an arithmetical

training, although they may derive no other advantage from it,

always become much quicker than they would otherwise have been.

  Very true, he said.

  And indeed, you will not easily find a more difficult study, and not

many as difficult.

  You will not.

  And, for all these reasons, arithmetic is a kind of knowledge in

which the best natures should be trained, and which must not be

given up.

  I agree.

  Let this then be made one of our subjects of education. And next,

shall we enquire whether the kindred science also concerns us?

  You mean geometry?

  Exactly so.

  Clearly, he said, we are concerned with that part of geometry

which relates to war; for in pitching a camp, or taking up a position,

or closing or extending the lines of an army, or any other military

manoeuvre, whether in actual battle or on a march, it will make all

the difference whether a general is or is not a geometrician.

  Yes, I said, but for that purpose a very little of either geometry

or calculation will be enough; the question relates rather to the

greater and more advanced part of geometry --whether that tends in any

degree to make more easy the vision of the idea of good; and

thither, as I was saying, all things tend which compel the soul to

turn her gaze towards that place, where is the full perfection of

being, which she ought, by all means, to behold.

  True, he said.

  Then if geometry compels us to view being, it concerns us; if

becoming only, it does not concern us?

  Yes, that is what we assert.

  Yet anybody who has the least acquaintance with geometry will not

deny that such a conception of the science is in flat contradiction to

the ordinary language of geometricians.

  How so?

  They have in view practice only, and are always speaking? in a

narrow and ridiculous manner, of squaring and extending and applying

and the like --they confuse the necessities of geometry with those

of daily life; whereas knowledge is the real object of the whole

science.

  Certainly, he said.

  Then must not a further admission be made?

  What admission?

  That the knowledge at which geometry aims is knowledge of the

eternal, and not of aught perishing and transient.

  That, he replied, may be readily allowed, and is true.

  Then, my noble friend, geometry will draw the soul towards truth,

and create the spirit of philosophy, and raise up that which is now

unhappily allowed to fall down.

  Nothing will be more likely to have such an effect.

  Then nothing should be more sternly laid down than that the

inhabitants of your fair city should by all means learn geometry.

Moreover the science has indirect effects, which are not small.

  Of what kind? he said.

  There are the military advantages of which you spoke, I said; and in

all departments of knowledge, as experience proves, any one who has

studied geometry is infinitely quicker of apprehension than one who

has not.

  Yes indeed, he said, there is an infinite difference between them.

  Then shall we propose this as a second branch of knowledge which our

youth will study?

  Let us do so, he replied.

  And suppose we make astronomy the third --what do you say?

  I am strongly inclined to it, he said; the observation of the

seasons and of months and years is as essential to the general as it

is to the farmer or sailor.

  I am amused, I said, at your fear of the world, which makes you

guard against the appearance of insisting upon useless studies; and

I quite admit the difficulty of believing that in every man there is

an eye of the soul which, when by other pursuits lost and dimmed, is

by these purified and re-illumined; and is more precious far than

ten thousand bodily eyes, for by it alone is truth seen. Now there are

two classes of persons: one class of those who will agree with you and

will take your words as a revelation; another class to whom they

will be utterly unmeaning, and who will naturally deem them to be idle

tales, for they see no sort of profit which is to be obtained from

them. And therefore you had better decide at once with which of the

two you are proposing to argue. You will very likely say with neither,

and that your chief aim in carrying on the argument is your own

improvement; at the same time you do not grudge to others any

benefit which they may receive.

  I think that I should prefer to carry on the argument mainly on my

own behalf.

  Then take a step backward, for we have gone wrong in the order of

the sciences.

  What was the mistake? he said.

  After plane geometry, I said, we proceeded at once to solids in

revolution, instead of taking solids in themselves; whereas after

the second dimension the third, which is concerned with cubes and

dimensions of depth, ought to have followed.

  That is true, Socrates; but so little seems to be known as yet about

these subjects.

  Why, yes, I said, and for two reasons: --in the first place, no

government patronises them; this leads to a want of energy in the

pursuit of them, and they are difficult; in the second place, students

cannot learn them unless they have a director. But then a director can

hardly be found, and even if he could, as matters now stand, the

students, who are very conceited, would not attend to him. That,

however, would be otherwise if the whole State became the director

of these studies and gave honour to them; then disciples would want to

come, and there would be continuous and earnest search, and

discoveries would be made; since even now, disregarded as they are

by the world, and maimed of their fair proportions, and although

none of their votaries can tell the use of them, still these studies

force their way by their natural charm, and very likely, if they had

the help of the State, they would some day emerge into light.

  Yes, he said, there is a remarkable charm in them. But I do not

clearly understand the change in the order. First you began with a

geometry of plane surfaces?

  Yes, I said.

  And you placed astronomy next, and then you made a step backward?

  Yes, and I have delayed you by my hurry; the ludicrous state of

solid geometry, which, in natural order, should have followed, made me

pass over this branch and go on to astronomy, or motion of solids.

  True, he said.

  Then assuming that the science now omitted would come into existence

if encouraged by the State, let us go on to astronomy, which will be

fourth.

  The right order, he replied. And now, Socrates, as you rebuked the

vulgar manner in which I praised astronomy before, my praise shall

be given in your own spirit. For every one, as I think, must see

that astronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us from this

world to another.

  Every one but myself, I said; to every one else this may be clear,

but not to me.

  And what then would you say?

  I should rather say that those who elevate astronomy into philosophy

appear to me to make us look downwards and not upwards.

  What do you mean? he asked.

  You, I replied, have in your mind a truly sublime conception of

our knowledge of the things above. And I dare say that if a person

were to throw his head back and study the fretted ceiling, you would

still think that his mind was the percipient, and not his eyes. And

you are very likely right, and I may be a simpleton: but, in my

opinion, that knowledge only which is of being and of the unseen can

make the soul look upwards, and whether a man gapes at the heavens

or blinks on the ground, seeking to learn some particular of sense,

I would deny that he can learn, for nothing of that sort is matter

of science; his soul is looking downwards, not upwards, whether his

way to knowledge is by water or by land, whether he floats, or only

lies on his back.

  I acknowledge, he said, the justice of your rebuke. Still, I

should like to ascertain how astronomy can be learned in any manner

more conducive to that knowledge of which we are speaking?

  I will tell you, I said: The starry heaven which we behold is

wrought upon a visible ground, and therefore, although the fairest and

most perfect of visible things, must necessarily be deemed inferior

far to the true motions of absolute swiftness and absolute slowness,

which are relative to each other, and carry with them that which is

contained in them, in the true number and in every true figure. Now,

these are to be apprehended by reason and intelligence, but not by

sight.

  True, he replied.

  The spangled heavens should be used as a pattern and with a view

to that higher knowledge; their beauty is like the beauty of figures

or pictures excellently wrought by the hand of Daedalus, or some other

great artist, which we may chance to behold; any geometrician who

saw them would appreciate the exquisiteness of their workmanship,

but he would never dream of thinking that in them he could find the

true equal or the true double, or the truth of any other proportion.

  No, he replied, such an idea would be ridiculous.

  And will not a true astronomer have the same feeling when he looks

at the movements of the stars? Will he not think that heaven and the

things in heaven are framed by the Creator of them in the most perfect

manner? But he will never imagine that the proportions of night and

day, or of both to the month, or of the month to the year, or of the

stars to these and to one another, and any other things that are

material and visible can also be eternal and subject to no deviation

--that would be absurd; and it is equally absurd to take so much pains

in investigating their exact truth.

  I quite agree, though I never thought of this before.

  Then, I said, in astronomy, as in geometry, we should employ

problems, and let the heavens alone if we would approach the subject

in the right way and so make the natural gift of reason to be of any

real use.

  That, he said, is a work infinitely beyond our present astronomers.

  Yes, I said; and there are many other things which must also have

a similar extension given to them, if our legislation is to be of

any value. But can you tell me of any other suitable study?

  No, he said, not without thinking.

  Motion, I said, has many forms, and not one only; two of them are

obvious enough even to wits no better than ours; and there are others,

as I imagine, which may be left to wiser persons.

  But where are the two?

  There is a second, I said, which is the counterpart of the one

already named.

  And what may that be?

  The second, I said, would seem relatively to the ears to be what the

first is to the eyes; for I conceive that as the eyes are designed

to look up at the stars, so are the ears to hear harmonious motions;

and these are sister sciences --as the Pythagoreans say, and we,

Glaucon, agree with them?

  Yes, he replied.

  But this, I said, is a laborious study, and therefore we had

better go and learn of them; and they will tell us whether there are

any other applications of these sciences. At the same time, we must

not lose sight of our own higher object.

  What is that?

  There is a perfection which all knowledge ought to reach, and

which our pupils ought also to attain, and not to fall short of, as

I was saying that they did in astronomy. For in the science of

harmony, as you probably know, the same thing happens. The teachers of

harmony compare the sounds and consonances which are heard only, and

their labour, like that of the astronomers, is in vain.

  Yes, by heaven! he said; and 'tis as good as a play to hear them

talking about their condensed notes, as they call them; they put their

ears close alongside of the strings like persons catching a sound from

their neighbour's wall --one set of them declaring that they

distinguish an intermediate note and have found the least interval

which should be the unit of measurement; the others insisting that the

two sounds have passed into the same --either party setting their ears

before their understanding.

  You mean, I said, those gentlemen who tease and torture the

strings and rack them on the pegs of the instrument: might carry on

the metaphor and speak after their manner of the blows which the

plectrum gives, and make accusations against the strings, both of

backwardness and forwardness to sound; but this would be tedious,

and therefore I will only say that these are not the men, and that I

am referring to the Pythagoreans, of whom I was just now proposing

to enquire about harmony. For they too are in error, like the

astronomers; they investigate the numbers of the harmonies which are

heard, but they never attain to problems-that is to say, they never

reach the natural harmonies of number, or reflect why some numbers are

harmonious and others not.

  That, he said, is a thing of more than mortal knowledge.

  A thing, I replied, which I would rather call useful; that is, if

sought after with a view to the beautiful and good; but if pursued

in any other spirit, useless. Very true, he said.

  Now, when all these studies reach the point of inter-communion and

connection with one another, and come to be considered in their mutual

affinities, then, I think, but not till then, will the pursuit of them

have a value for our objects; otherwise there is no profit in them.

  I suspect so; but you are speaking, Socrates, of a vast work.

  What do you mean? I said; the prelude or what? Do you not know

that all this is but the prelude to the actual strain which we have to

learn? For you surely would not regard the skilled mathematician as

a dialectician?

  Assuredly not, he said; I have hardly ever known a mathematician who

was capable of reasoning.

  But do you imagine that men who are unable to give and take a reason

will have the knowledge which we require of them?

  Neither can this be supposed.

  And so, Glaucon, I said, we have at last arrived at the hymn of

dialectic. This is that strain which is of the intellect only, but

which the faculty of sight will nevertheless be found to imitate;

for sight, as you may remember, was imagined by us after a while to

behold the real animals and stars, and last of all the sun himself.

And so with dialectic; when a person starts on the discovery of the

absolute by the light of reason only, and without any assistance of

sense, and perseveres until by pure intelligence he arrives at the

perception of the absolute good, he at last finds himself at the end

of the intellectual world, as in the case of sight at the end of the

visible.

  Exactly, he said.

  Then this is the progress which you call dialectic?

  True.

  But the release of the prisoners from chains, and their

translation from the shadows to the images and to the light, and the

ascent from the underground den to the sun, while in his presence they

are vainly trying to look on animals and plants and the light of the

sun, but are able to perceive even with their weak eyes the images

in the water (which are divine), and are the shadows of true existence

(not shadows of images cast by a light of fire, which compared with

the sun is only an image) --this power of elevating the highest

principle in the soul to the contemplation of that which is best in

existence, with which we may compare the raising of that faculty which

is the very light of the body to the sight of that which is

brightest in the material and visible world --this power is given,

as I was saying, by all that study and pursuit of the arts which has

been described.

  I agree in what you are saying, he replied, which may be hard to

believe, yet, from another point of view, is harder still to deny.

This, however, is not a theme to be treated of in passing only, but

will have to be discussed again and again. And so, whether our

conclusion be true or false, let us assume all this, and proceed at

once from the prelude or preamble to the chief strain, and describe

that in like manner. Say, then, what is the nature and what are the

divisions of dialectic, and what are the paths which lead thither; for

these paths will also lead to our final rest?

  Dear Glaucon, I said, you will not be able to follow me here, though

I would do my best, and you should behold not an image only but the

absolute truth, according to my notion. Whether what I told you

would or would not have been a reality I cannot venture to say; but

you would have seen something like reality; of that I am confident.

  Doubtless, he replied.

  But I must also remind you, that the power of dialectic alone can

reveal this, and only to one who is a disciple of the previous

sciences.

  Of that assertion you may be as confident as of the last.

  And assuredly no one will argue that there is any other method of

comprehending by any regular process all true existence or of

ascertaining what each thing is in its own nature; for the arts in

general are concerned with the desires or opinions of men, or are

cultivated with a view to production and construction, or for the

preservation of such productions and constructions; and as to the

mathematical sciences which, as we were saying, have some apprehension

of true being --geometry and the like --they only dream about being,

but never can they behold the waking reality so long as they leave the

hypotheses which they use unexamined, and are unable to give an

account of them. For when a man knows not his own first principle, and

when the conclusion and intermediate steps are also constructed out of

he knows not what, how can he imagine that such a fabric of convention

can ever become science?

  Impossible, he said.

  Then dialectic, and dialectic alone, goes directly to the first

principle and is the only science which does away with hypotheses in

order to make her ground secure; the eye of the soul, which is

literally buried in an outlandish slough, is by her gentle aid

lifted upwards; and she uses as handmaids and helpers in the work of

conversion, the sciences which we have been discussing. Custom terms

them sciences, but they ought to have some other name, implying

greater clearness than opinion and less clearness than science: and

this, in our previous sketch, was called understanding. But why should

we dispute about names when we have realities of such importance to

consider?

  Why indeed, he said, when any name will do which expresses the

thought of the mind with clearness?

  At any rate, we are satisfied, as before, to have four divisions;

two for intellect and two for opinion, and to call the first

division science, the second understanding, the third belief, and

the fourth perception of shadows, opinion being concerned with

becoming, and intellect with being; and so to make a proportion: --



  As being is to becoming, so is pure intellect to opinion.

  And as intellect is to opinion, so is science to belief, and

understanding to the perception of shadows.



But let us defer the further correlation and subdivision of the

subjects of opinion and of intellect, for it will be a long enquiry,

many times longer than this has been.

  As far as I understand, he said, I agree.

  And do you also agree, I said, in describing the dialectician as one

who attains a conception of the essence of each thing? And he who does

not possess and is therefore unable to impart this conception, in

whatever degree he fails, may in that degree also be said to fail in

intelligence? Will you admit so much?

  Yes, he said; how can I deny it?

  And you would say the same of the conception of the good?

  Until the person is able to abstract and define rationally the

idea of good, and unless he can run the gauntlet of all objections,

and is ready to disprove them, not by appeals to opinion, but to

absolute truth, never faltering at any step of the argument --unless

he can do all this, you would say that he knows neither the idea of

good nor any other good; he apprehends only a shadow, if anything at

all, which is given by opinion and not by science; --dreaming and

slumbering in this life, before he is well awake here, he arrives at

the world below, and has his final quietus.

  In all that I should most certainly agree with you.

  And surely you would not have the children of your ideal State, whom

you are nurturing and educating --if the ideal ever becomes a

reality --you would not allow the future rulers to be like posts,

having no reason in them, and yet to be set in authority over the

highest matters?

  Certainly not.

  Then you will make a law that they shall have such an education as

will enable them to attain the greatest skill in asking and

answering questions?

  Yes, he said, you and I together will make it.

  Dialectic, then, as you will agree, is the coping-stone of the

sciences, and is set over them; no other science can be placed

higher --the nature of knowledge can no further go?

  I agree, he said.

  But to whom we are to assign these studies, and in what way they are

to be assigned, are questions which remain to be considered?

  Yes, clearly.

  You remember, I said, how the rulers were chosen before?

  Certainly, he said.

  The same natures must still be chosen, and the preference again

given to the surest and the bravest, and, if possible, to the fairest;

and, having noble and generous tempers, they should also have the

natural gifts which will facilitate their education.

  And what are these?

  Such gifts as keenness and ready powers of acquisition; for the mind

more often faints from the severity of study than from the severity of

gymnastics: the toil is more entirely the mind's own, and is not

shared with the body.

  Very true, he replied.

  Further, he of whom we are in search should have a good memory,

and be an unwearied solid man who is a lover of labour in any line; or

he will never be able to endure the great amount of bodily exercise

and to go through all the intellectual discipline and study which we

require of him.

  Certainly, he said; he must have natural gifts.

  The mistake at present is, that those who study philosophy have no

vocation, and this, as I was before saying, is the reason why she

has fallen into disrepute: her true sons should take her by the hand

and not bastards.

  What do you mean?

  In the first place, her votary should not have a lame or halting

industry --I mean, that he should not be half industrious and half

idle: as, for example, when a man is a lover of gymnastic and hunting,

and all other bodily exercises, but a hater rather than a lover of the

labour of learning or listening or enquiring. Or the occupation to

which he devotes himself may be of an opposite kind, and he may have

the other sort of lameness.

  Certainly, he said.

  And as to truth, I said, is not a soul equally to be deemed halt and

lame which hates voluntary falsehood and is extremely indignant at

herself and others when they tell lies, but is patient of

involuntary falsehood, and does not mind wallowing like a swinish

beast in the mire of ignorance, and has no shame at being detected?

  To be sure.

  And, again, in respect of temperance, courage, magnificence, and

every other virtue, should we not carefully distinguish between the

true son and the bastard? for where there is no discernment of such

qualities States and individuals unconsciously err and the State makes

a ruler, and the individual a friend, of one who, being defective in

some part of virtue, is in a figure lame or a bastard.

  That is very true, he said.

  All these things, then, will have to be carefully considered by

us; and if only those whom we introduce to this vast system of

education and training are sound in body and mind, justice herself

will have nothing to say against us, and we shall be the saviours of

the constitution and of the State; but, if our pupils are men of

another stamp, the reverse will happen, and we shall pour a still

greater flood of ridicule on philosophy than she has to endure at

present.

  That would not be creditable.

  Certainly not, I said; and yet perhaps, in thus turning jest into

earnest I am equally ridiculous.

  In what respect?

  I had forgotten, I said, that we were not serious, and spoke with

too much excitement. For when I saw philosophy so undeservedly

trampled under foot of men I could not help feeling a sort of

indignation at the authors of her disgrace: and my anger made me too

vehement.

  Indeed! I was listening, and did not think so.

  But I, who am the speaker, felt that I was. And now let me remind

you that, although in our former selection we chose old men, we must

not do so in this. Solon was under a delusion when he said that a

man when he grows old may learn many things --for he can no more learn

much than he can run much; youth is the time for any extraordinary

toil.

  Of course.

  And, therefore, calculation and geometry and all the other

elements of instruction, which are a preparation for dialectic, should

be presented to the mind in childhood; not, however, under any

notion of forcing our system of education.

  Why not?

  Because a freeman ought not to be a slave in the acquisition of

knowledge of any kind. Bodily exercise, when compulsory, does no

harm to the body; but knowledge which is acquired under compulsion

obtains no hold on the mind.

  Very true.

  Then, my good friend, I said, do not use compulsion, but let early

education be a sort of amusement; you will then be better able to find

out the natural bent.

  That is a very rational notion, he said.

  Do you remember that the children, too, were to be taken to see

the battle on horseback; and that if there were no danger they were to

be brought close up and, like young hounds, have a taste of blood

given them?

  Yes, I remember.

  The same practice may be followed, I said, in all these things

--labours, lessons, dangers --and he who is most at home in all of

them ought to be enrolled in a select number.

  At what age?

  At the age when the necessary gymnastics are over: the period

whether of two or three years which passes in this sort of training is

useless for any other purpose; for sleep and exercise are unpropitious

to learning; and the trial of who is first in gymnastic exercises is

one of the most important tests to which our youth are subjected.

  Certainly, he replied.

  After that time those who are selected from the class of twenty

years old will be promoted to higher honour, and the sciences which

they learned without any order in their early education will now be

brought together, and they will be able to see the natural

relationship of them to one another and to true being.

  Yes, he said, that is the only kind of knowledge which takes lasting

root.

  Yes, I said; and the capacity for such knowledge is the great

criterion of dialectical talent: the comprehensive mind is always

the dialectical.

  I agree with you, he said.

  These, I said, are the points which you must consider; and those who

have most of this comprehension, and who are more steadfast in their

learning, and in their military and other appointed duties, when

they have arrived at the age of thirty have to be chosen by you out of

the select class, and elevated to higher honour; and you will have

to prove them by the help of dialectic, in order to learn which of

them is able to give up the use of sight and the other senses, and

in company with truth to attain absolute being: And here, my friend,

great caution is required.

  Why great caution?

  Do you not remark, I said, how great is the evil which dialectic has

introduced?

  What evil? he said.

  The students of the art are filled with lawlessness.

  Quite true, he said.

  Do you think that there is anything so very unnatural or inexcusable

in their case? or will you make allowance for them?

  In what way make allowance?

  I want you, I said, by way of parallel, to imagine a

supposititious son who is brought up in great wealth; he is one of a

great and numerous family, and has many flatterers. When he grows up

to manhood, he learns that his alleged are not his real parents; but

who the real are he is unable to discover. Can you guess how he will

be likely to behave towards his flatterers and his supposed parents,

first of all during the period when he is ignorant of the false

relation, and then again when he knows? Or shall I guess for you?

  If you please.

  Then I should say, that while he is ignorant of the truth he will be

likely to honour his father and his mother and his supposed

relations more than the flatterers; he will be less inclined to

neglect them when in need, or to do or say anything against them;

and he will be less willing to disobey them in any important matter.

  He will.

  But when he has made the discovery, I should imagine that he would

diminish his honour and regard for them, and would become more devoted

to the flatterers; their influence over him would greatly increase; he

would now live after their ways, and openly associate with them,

and, unless he were of an unusually good disposition, he would trouble

himself no more about his supposed parents or other relations.

  Well, all that is very probable. But how is the image applicable

to the disciples of philosophy?

  In this way: you know that there are certain principles about

justice and honour, which were taught us in childhood, and under their

parental authority we have been brought up, obeying and honouring

them.

  That is true.

  There are also opposite maxims and habits of pleasure which

flatter and attract the soul, but do not influence those of us who

have any sense of right, and they continue to obey and honour the

maxims of their fathers.

  True.

  Now, when a man is in this state, and the questioning spirit asks

what is fair or honourable, and he answers as the legislator has

taught him, and then arguments many and diverse refute his words,

until he is driven into believing that nothing is honourable any

more than dishonourable, or just and good any more than the reverse,

and so of all the notions which he most valued, do you think that he

will still honour and obey them as before?

  Impossible.

  And when he ceases to think them honourable and natural as

heretofore, and he fails to discover the true, can he be expected to

pursue any life other than that which flatters his desires?

  He cannot.

  And from being a keeper of the law he is converted into a breaker of

it?

  Unquestionably.

  Now all this is very natural in students of philosophy such as I

have described, and also, as I was just now saying, most excusable.

  Yes, he said; and, I may add, pitiable.

  Therefore, that your feelings may not be moved to pity about our

citizens who are now thirty years of age, every care must be taken

in introducing them to dialectic.

  Certainly.

  There is a danger lest they should taste the dear delight too early;

for youngsters, as you may have observed, when they first get the

taste in their mouths, argue for amusement, and are always

contradicting and refuting others in imitation of those who refute

them; like puppy-dogs, they rejoice in pulling and tearing at all

who come near them.

  Yes, he said, there is nothing which they like better.

  And when they have made many conquests and received defeats at the

hands of many, they violently and speedily get into a way of not

believing anything which they believed before, and hence, not only

they, but philosophy and all that relates to it is apt to have a bad

name with the rest of the world.

  Too true, he said.

  But when a man begins to get older, he will no longer be guilty of

such insanity; he will imitate the dialectician who is seeking for

truth, and not the eristic, who is contradicting for the sake of

amusement; and the greater moderation of his character will increase

instead of diminishing the honour of the pursuit.

  Very true, he said.

  And did we not make special provision for this, when we said that

the disciples of philosophy were to be orderly and steadfast, not,

as now, any chance aspirant or intruder?

  Very true.

  Suppose, I said, the study of philosophy to take the place of

gymnastics and to be continued diligently and earnestly and

exclusively for twice the number of years which were passed in

bodily exercise --will that be enough?

  Would you say six or four years? he asked.

  Say five years, I replied; at the end of the time they must be

sent down again into the den and compelled to hold any military or

other office which young men are qualified to hold: in this way they

will get their experience of life, and there will be an opportunity of

trying whether, when they are drawn all manner of ways by

temptation, they will stand firm or flinch.

  And how long is this stage of their lives to last?

  Fifteen years, I answered; and when they have reached fifty years of

age, then let those who still survive and have distinguished

themselves in every action of their lives and in every branch of

knowledge come at last to their consummation; the time has now arrived

at which they must raise the eye of the soul to the universal light

which lightens all things, and behold the absolute good; for that is

the, pattern according to which they are to order the State and the

lives of individuals, and the remainder of their own lives also;

making philosophy their chief pursuit, but, when their turn comes,

toiling also at politics and ruling for the public good, not as though

they were performing some heroic action, but simply as a matter of

duty; and when they have brought up in each generation others like

themselves and left them in their place to be governors of the

State, then they will depart to the Islands of the Blest and dwell

there; and the city will give them public memorials and sacrifices and

honour them, if the Pythian oracle consent, as demi-gods, but if

not, as in any case blessed and divine.

  You are a sculptor, Socrates, and have made statues of our governors

faultless in beauty.

  Yes, I said, Glaucon, and of our governesses too; for you must not

suppose that what I have been saying applies to men only and not to

women as far as their natures can go.

  There you are right, he said, since we have made them to share in

all things like the men.

  Well, I said, and you would agree (would you not?) that what has

been said about the State and the government is not a mere dream,

and although difficult not impossible, but only possible in the way

which has been supposed; that is to say, when the true philosopher

kings are born in a State, one or more of them, despising the

honours of this present world which they deem mean and worthless,

esteeming above all things right and the honour that springs from

right, and regarding justice as the greatest and most necessary of all

things, whose ministers they are, and whose principles will be exalted

by them when they set in order their own city?

  How will they proceed?

  They will begin by sending out into the country all the

inhabitants of the city who are more than ten years old, and will take

possession of their children, who will be unaffected by the habits

of their parents; these they will train in their own habits and

laws, I mean in the laws which we have given them: and in this way the

State and constitution of which we were speaking will soonest and most

easily attain happiness, and the nation which has such a

constitution will gain most.

  Yes, that will be the best way. And I think, Socrates, that you have

very well described how, if ever, such a constitution might come

into being.

  Enough then of the perfect State, and of the man who bears its image

--there is no difficulty in seeing how we shall describe him.

  There is no difficulty, he replied; and I agree with you in thinking

that nothing more need be said.