The works of Plato · Plato
ARGUMENT.
In the _seventh book_, which opens with a beautiful description of the nature of man confined in a dark cave, Plato proceeds to show the means and plan for learning true philosophy, and how we may attain to the serious and sober practice of social life and politics. That moral discipline, argues he, which I require in my guardian, is not mere vacant contemplation, but a profound and practical knowledge of all matters nearly or more remotely concerning the duties of life and the social relations of mankind,—that is, the state in its most broad and general sense: in fact, that he should be a philosophic ruler acquainted with divine and human things,—in other words, with true and primary philosophy. This he terms _dialectic_, the subordinates of which are _physics_, the science which considers the origin and formation of matter, and _mathematics_, which is halfway between the two others, engaged indeed in contemplating abstract and purely argumentative, but not on that higher eternal truth; emphatically, τὸ ὄν, that primarily exists in the mind of God: of these matters he treats, particularly the first, at very considerable length: which, as Ritter says, is a regulating superintendent, which, from the knowledge of the eternally true, may indicate to each special science its proper object.
CHAP. I.—After this then, said I, compare our nature as respects education, or the want thereof, to a condition such as follows:—Behold men, as it were, in an underground cave-like dwelling, having its entrance open towards the light and extending through the whole cave,—and within it persons, who from childhood upwards have had chains on their legs and their necks, so as, while abiding there, to have the power of looking forward only, but not to turn round their heads by reason of their chains, their light coming from a fire that burns above and afar off, and behind them; and between the fire and those in chains is a road above, along which one may see a little wall built along, just as the stages of conjurers are built before the people in whose presence they show their tricks. I see, said he. Behold then by the side of this little wall men carrying all sorts of machines rising above the wall, and statues of men and other animals wrought in stone, wood, and other materials, some of the bearers probably speaking, others proceeding in silence.[212] You are proposing, said he, a most absurd comparison and absurd captives also.
Such as resemble ourselves, said I;—for think you that such as these would have seen anything else of themselves or one another except the shadows that fall from the fire on the opposite side of the cave? How can they, said he, if indeed they be through life compelled to keep their heads unmoved? But what respecting the things carried by them:—is not this the same? Of course. If then they had been able to talk with each other, do you not suppose they would think it right to give names to what they saw before them? Of course they would. But if the prison had an echo on its opposite side, when any person present were to speak, think you they would imagine anything else addressed to them, except the shadow before them? No, by Zeus, not I, said he. At all events then, said I, such persons would deem truth to be nothing else but the shadows of exhibitions. Of course they would.
CHAP. II.—Therefore, even if a person should compel him to look to the light itself, would he not have pain in his eyes and shun it, and then, turning to what he really could behold, reckon these as really more clear than what had been previously pointed out? Just so, replied he. But if, said I, a person should forcibly drag him thence through a rugged and steep ascent without stopping, till he dragged him to the light of the sun, would he not while thus drawn be in pain and indignation, and when he came to the light, having his eyes dazzled with the splendour, be unable to behold even any one thing of what he had just alleged as true? No, he could not, at the moment at least, said he. He would require, at least then, to get some degree of practice, if he would see things above him:—and first, indeed, he would most easily perceive the shadows, and then the images of men and other animals in the water, and after that the things themselves;—and after this he would more easily behold the things in heaven, and heaven itself, by night, looking to the light of the stars and the moon, than after daylight to the sun and the light of the sun. How else?
CHAP. III.—As respects this image then, we must apply the whole of it to our preceding discourse; comparing the region that is seen by the eyes to the prison-habitation, and the light of the fire therein to the power of the sun;—and if you were to consider the ascent above, and the contemplation of things above as the soul’s ascent into the region of intellect, you would not disappoint my expectations, since this it is which you desire to hear;—but God knows whether it be true. As respects appearances then, it thus seems, that in the subjects of human knowledge the idea of the good is the last object of vision, and hard to be seen; and when beheld it must be inferred from reason to be the cause of what is right and beautiful in all things, generating in what is visible, both light and its parent also, [viz. the sun,] while in that which is intelligible, it is itself the sovereign producing truth and intelligence; and it must be seen too by him that would act with judgment, either privately or in public. I too, said he, am quite of your opinion, as far indeed as I can be.
Come then, said I, agree on this point also;—and be not surprised that those who come here are unwilling to act in human affairs, but have their souls ever urged to dwell on things above; for it is surely reasonable it should be so, since these things take place according to the above-mentioned image. Aye, quite reasonable, replied he. But what, said I;—think you it at all surprising, that a man coming from divine contemplations to mere human woes, should appear awkward and extremely ridiculous, while he is yet dazzled,[214]—and when, ere being used to the present darkness, he is obliged to contend in courts of law or elsewhere about the shadows of justice, or the statues of which they are the shadows, and then to dispute how these matters are apprehended by those who have never contemplated justice itself? No wonder this, replied he. Nay, said I, if a man has intelligence, he will be conscious, that there are two disturbances of vision arising from two causes,—viz., when we turn from light into darkness and from darkness into light;—and when a man thinks that the same takes place with reference to the soul likewise, when it beholds him disturbed and unable to realize its perceptions, he will not laugh immoderately, but rather consider whether the soul has come out of a more brilliant existence and is now darkened by ignorance, or else emerging out of gross ignorance into a more luminous existence, be overpowered by dazzling splendour;—and thus he will congratulate the former on its life and destiny, while he pities the life and destiny of the other; and even if he wished to laugh at it, his laughter will be less ridiculous than if it were directed to the soul which comes from light into darkness. Your remark is perfectly reasonable, he replied.
The other virtues of the soul, as they are called, seem to me somewhat like those of the body; for in fact those not before contained therein are afterwards engendered by custom and practice:—but the faculty of intellect possesses, it seems, a nature somewhat more god-like than all the rest;—never losing its power, but by exertion becoming useful and profitable,—by the opposite, useless and hurtful. Have you never yet observed of those that are termed wicked yet clever,—how sharply the little soul looks, acutely distinguishing all to which it is turned, having indeed no contemptible power of vision, but compelled to be so far the servant of wickedness, that in proportion as its vision is more acute, the more crime it perpetrates? Quite so, of course, observed he. As regards this part of such a disposition, if from childhood upwards it should be stripped and cut off from what belongs to human production, as from leaden weights,—which have a relation to feastings, and pleasures, and lusts, that turn the sight of the soul to things downward;—if the soul can free itself and turn towards truth, the very same principle in the same individuals would as acutely see those things as the objects to which it is now turned. Certainly, he replied.
What then, is not this probable, said I, and a necessary consequence of what has just been stated, that those who are untaught and inexperienced in truth can never exercise a sufficient superintendence over the state, nor yet those who are allowed to spend the whole of their time in philosophical pursuits,—the former, because they have no single object in life, towards which they should direct all their actions both private and public,—and the latter, because, as far as their will is concerned, they will not engage in public life, from the idea that even while yet living they have been transported to the islands of the blessed? True, said he. It is our business then, said I, to compel those of the inhabitants, who possess the greatest talent, to devote themselves to that learning which we formerly considered most important, both to contemplate the good and go in search of it;—and when they have gained it, and taken a sufficient view thereof, yet they are not to be allowed what is now allowed them. What is that? To abide there, said I, and show an unwillingness to descend again to those captives of whom we were speaking, or share with them, both their labours and honours, whether trifling or more important. In that case, said he, are we to do them injustice, and make them live a worse life, when they could have lived a better?
Each must then in turn descend to the dwelling of the rest, and accustom himself to behold obscure objects; for, when once used to them, you will perceive the individual images of each, what they are and whence sprung, ten thousand times better from having already seen the truth concerning what is beautiful, and just, and good:—and thus the state will be settled as a real vision, both by us and yourselves, and not as a dream, like most of those inhabited by persons fighting about shadows, and quarrelling about government, as if it were some great good.—The truth, however, is as follows: in whatever state those about to rule are least anxious to take the government, this must necessarily be the best and most peacefully governed, while one that has governors of an opposite character, must of course be the opposite. Certainly, said he. Think you then, that those under our charge, when they hear these things, will disobey us, and be unwilling to take their individual share in the labours of the state, and spend the greater part of their time with one another in a state of leisure?
Impossible, said he;—for we will prescribe what is just to just men, and each of them will enter on his office from this consideration above all others, that he should act in a manner directly contrary from those who now govern individual states. Yes, for so it is, my friend;—if you find the life of those appointed to official stations superior to the dignity of their office, then your state may possibly be well settled; as in that alone will the really wealthy govern,—not those rich in gold, but as happy men should be rich, in a life of virtue and good sense;—whereas, should they be poor, and destitute of property of their own, and then come into public life, thinking that they ought to plunder the public of its property, it is not possible [that such a state can be rightly settled]:—for as the contest is about the possession of the ruling power, such a war being domestic and intestine, is destructive to themselves as well as the rest of the state. Most true, he replied. Do you conceive then that any other kind of life despises political offices except that of true philosophy? No, by Zeus, said he. But still it is fitting, at least, that those should enter upon it who are not fond of governing, otherwise the rivals will fight about it. Of course, it cannot be otherwise. Whom else, then, would you compel to enter on the guardianship of a state, except such as are most intelligent in what concerns the best establishment of a state, and possess other honours, and a mode of life superior to that of a mere politician? None other, he replied.
CHAP. VI.—Do you wish, then, that we should now consider this,—in what manner such persons will be produced and how any one can draw them upward into light, just as some are said to have ascended from Hades to the gods? Of course that is my wish, he replied. This then, as it seems, is not a mere turning of a die,[216] but a movement of the soul, which ascends from some half-night kind of day to the true light of existence, which we will term true philosophy. Certainly. Ought we not, then, to inquire what branch of learning possesses this influence? Of course. What then, Glaucon, may that training of the soul be, which draws it from what is generated and unstable towards that which has a positive existence? And talking of this, I am reminded:—did we not say that it is necessary for these persons even while young to engage in warlike exercises? We did say so. We should add this, then, to the training which we are now seeking. What is that? That of not being useless to military men. Aye, we must indeed, said he, if it be possible. Moreover, in our former discourse, we somewhere said we would have them taught gymnastics and music. We did so, said he.
The art of gymnastics has to do, I think, with what is unstable and perishable; for it presides over corporeal growth and decrease. It appears so. This then cannot be the branch of study, of which we are in pursuit. It cannot. Is it music then, such as we have previously described? That, said he, if you remember, corresponded to gymnastics, as it trains the habits of the guardians, giving them a sort of concord founded on harmony—not science,—and good rhythm on the principles of rhythm, and other things in discourses which are akin to these both in such as are fabulous and such as more resemble truth; but as to its being a branch of science that refers to a good such as you are now investigating, music had no such character. Most correctly, said I, do you remind me; for it is in reality no such thing: but, excellent Glaucon, what branch of science is it, that possesses this character?—for all the arts somehow seem to be mechanical and illiberal. Of course;—and moreover what other branch of science is there, that is distinct from music, gymnastics, and the arts? Come, said I, if we cannot conceive any except these, let us take one of those which extends over all. Of what kind is that?
Such as this common idea which all arts, and intellects, and sciences employ, and which every person must learn at the outset. What is that? said he. This trifling matter, said I;—how to distinguish one, and two, and three, which I call in general terms arithmetic and computation:—is it not thus as regards these, that every art and science must necessarily have a share in these? Surely, he replied. Must not then the art of war? said I. Necessarily, he replied. What a ridiculous general then, said I, does Palamedes in his tragedies constantly represent Agamemnon to be.[217]—And have you not observed how he says, that after inventing numeration he adjusted the ranks at Ilium, and numbered the ships and the rest of the forces, as if they had never been numbered before, even when Agamemnon, as it seems, did not know how many feet he had, since he did not know how to count;—what kind of a general would you think him to be? I should think him a mighty absurd one, he replied, if this be true. ----- Footnote 216: This alludes to a game of chance,—ἡ ὀστρακίνδα, fully described in the Onomast. of Pollux, lib. ix. ch. 7 § 110-112. Footnote 217: This passage refers, no doubt, to some one or more lost tragedies in which Palamedes is made to accuse Agamemnon of an utter ignorance of arithmetic.
I will show you then, said I, if you will observe that some things relating to the perceptions do not invite intellect to the inquiry, as being sufficiently determined by perception; while there are other things which by all means bid its interference, as perception alone does nothing correct. You are evidently speaking, said he, of objects seen at a distance, and things sketched in a picture. You have not quite comprehended my meaning, said I. What are you speaking of then? asked he. There are some things, replied I, which do not appeal [to the intellect], and yet do not issue at once into a contrary perception; while those that do so issue I consider as so appealing, when the perceptive faculty takes cognizance of one thing more than another, on meeting it either near or afar off.—And you will thus more clearly know what I mean: these we say are three fingers, the little finger, the next to it, and the middle finger. Just so, observed he. Consider me then to speak of them as seen only from a short distance, and consider this also, respecting them. What?
Each of them appears equally to be a finger, and so far it makes no difference whether one looks at the middle one or the last, whether it be white or black, thick or slender, or anything of the kind; for in all these the soul of man is not compelled to ask the intellect what of many things a finger is,[218] for sight itself never at the same time indicates a finger to be a finger, and its contrary. Of course not, replied he. It is probable, then, said I, that such a case as this would neither appeal to nor rouse the intellect. Probably. But what then;—does the sight sufficiently distinguish their large or small size, and does it make no difference to it whether one of them be placed in the middle or at the end?—And so in like manner does the sense of touch take cognizance of thickness and slenderness, softness and hardness?—And as for the other perceptions, are they not defective in showing such things, or rather does not each of them so act; and first of all, is not the sense which is affected by hardness necessarily also affected by softness, and does it not, when it perceives this, announce to the soul, that hard and soft are one and the same thing?
Just so. he replied. It must necessarily follow then, said I, that in such matters, the soul will be in doubt as to what the perception indicates as hard, since it calls the same thing soft also;—and so also as regards the sense referring to light and heavy, the soul must be in doubt what is light and what is heavy, if the sense intimates heavy to be light, and light heavy? These at least, said he, are truly absurd reports made to the soul, and require investigation. Probably then, said I, in such cases as these the soul would first call in reason and intelligence to investigate the question whether the things reported be one or whether they be two. Of course. If then they appeared to be two, each of them will appear to be one and distinct from the other? Yes. If then each of them be one and both of them two, he will understand them to be two distinct; for, were they not distinct, he would not perceive two, but only one. Right. The sight, moreover, we say, could contemplate what is great and small, though not as distinct from each other, but as somewhat confused:—could it not? Yes. But for the sake of clearness in this matter, the intellect is once more obliged to consider great and small, not as confused, but as distinct in an opposite way from the other,—viz., the sense of sight. True. And is it not hence somehow, that it first sets on questioning us, as to what is the great and what is the small? Assuredly. And thus then we call the one intelligible, and the other visible. Very right, he replied.
Ah, said he;—this is what the very sight of it does in no small degree; for we at once behold the same thing, both as one and as an infinite multitude. If then, said I, unity be thus affected, will not number generally be so likewise? Of course. Yet, again, all computation and arithmetic concern number? Quite so. But these at least seem to lead towards truth? Especially so, of course. They belong then, it seems, to the branches of learning which we are now investigating;—for a military man must necessarily learn them with a view to the marshalling of his troops, and so must a philosopher with the view of understanding real being, after having emerged from the unstable condition of becoming, or else he can never become an apt reasoner. That is the fact, he replied. But that guardian of ours happens to be both a military man and a philosopher? Unquestionably so. It would be proper then, Glaucon, to lay down laws for this branch of science and persuade those about to engage in the most important state-matters to apply themselves to computation, and study it, not in the common vulgar fashion, but with the view of arriving at the contemplation of the nature of numbers by the intellect itself,—not for the sake of buying and selling as anxious merchants and retailers, but for war also, and that the soul may acquire a facility of turning itself from what is in course of generation to truth and real being. A capital remark, he replied. And, moreover, I now observe, said I, respecting that branch of science which concerns computation, how refined it is, and in many ways useful to us as respects our wishes, if we will apply thereto for the sake of getting knowledge, and not with a view of traffic. In what way? inquired he.
Just what we now said—that it powerfully leads the soul upwards, and compels it to reason on abstract numbers, without in any way allowing a person in his reasoning to advance numbers which are visible and tangible bodies;[219]—for perhaps you know of some persons skilled in these matters, who, if one were in argument to attempt dividing unity itself, would at once both ridicule him and not allow it; though, were _you_ to divide it into parts, they would multiply them, lest unity should somehow seem not to be unity, but numerous parts. A very true remark, he replied. What think you then, Glaucon, if a person should ask them—You wonderfully clever men, about what kind of numbers are you reasoning;—in which unity, such as you deem it, is equal, each whole to the whole, without any difference whatever, and having no parts in itself?—what think you they would reply? This, as far as I think;—that they speak of such numbers only—as can be comprehended by the intellect alone, but in no other way. You see then, my friend, I observed, that our real need of this branch of science, is probably because it seems to compel the soul to use pure intelligence in the search after pure truth. Aye, remarked he, it does this to a remarkable extent.
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