The works of Plato · Plato
ARGUMENT.
CHAP. IX.—Let this one thing then, said I, [that has just been discussed,] be settled between us; and now let us consider, in the second place, with respect to what follows from it,—whether and how far it concerns ourselves. What is it, said he;—is it geometry you mean? That very thing, said I. So far, observed he, as it bears a relation to the concerns of war, it evidently does concern us;—for in pitching encampments, occupying positions, contracting and extending a line of troops, and as respects all the varied forms in which they draw up armies, either in battle itself or during a march, it would make a vast difference, whether a general were a geometrician or not. Of course, rejoined I, for such purposes as these a very slender knowledge of geometry, and a small portion of arithmetic would suffice;—but as for any considerable amount thereof, and great progress in it, we must inquire how far they tend to this,—namely, to make us apprehend more easily the idea of the good:—and we say that all things contribute thereto, which compel the soul to turn itself to that region in which is the happiest portion of true being, which it must by all means perceive. Your remark is correct, said he.
If then it compels the soul to contemplate true being, it is suitable,—but if only what is sensible and evanescent, it is not suitable. Aye, truly, we say so. This point then, at least, said I, those who have but little acquaintance with geometry, will not argue with us,—that this science has an entirely opposite nature to the words employed in it by those who practise it. How? said he. They speak somehow most absurdly, and necessarily so, since all the terms they use seem to be with a view to operation and practice,[220]—such as squaring, producing, adding, and such-like sounds; whereas on the other hand, the whole science should be studied for the sake of real knowledge. Assuredly, said he. Is this, then, further to be agreed on? What? That [it be studied] with a view to the knowledge of eternal being, and not of that which is subject to generation and destruction? We may well grant that, said he; for it is the business of geometry to concern itself with eternal being. It would have a tendency, therefore, gentle sir, to draw the soul to truth, and to cause a philosophic intelligence to direct upwards [the thoughts] which we now improperly cast downwards. As much as possible, he replied.
CHAP. X.—But what; shall we fix upon astronomy, as the third, or think you otherwise? I quite think we should, said he; for to have unusually acute perceptions respecting the times of months and years, is suitable not only for agriculture and navigation, but not less so for the art of war. You are jesting, said I, when you seem to be afraid that the multitude will charge you with enjoining useless objects of study:—yet it is not altogether a trifle, but rather difficult to persuade that by these branches of study some organ of the soul in each individual, is purified and rekindled like fire, after having been destroyed and blinded by other kinds of study,—an organ, indeed, better worth saving than ten thousand eyes, since by that alone can truth be seen. Among such, then, as join me in this opinion, you will have the reputation of reasoning admirably well; though such as never had any perception of this will think perhaps that you say nothing to the purpose, as they see no advantage therefrom accruing that is worthy of notice.
Consider, then, from this point, against which of the parties you are arguing,—or whether against neither, but chiefly for your own sake you are carrying on the discussion; moreover, do not envy any other, if therefrom any one could derive any possible advantage. Thus, said he, do I choose, on my own account chiefly, to argue and ask questions, and make replies. Let us go a little back then, in our argument, for just now, indeed, we did not rightly take what is next in order after geometry. How then did we act? asked he. After a plain surface, said I, we took a solid in a state of revolution, without first considering it by itself, in the abstract; but the correct plan is to take the third in order, after the second dimension:—and this, probably, refers to the dimension of cubes, and what has to do with depth. Aye, it is so, said he: but these matters, Socrates, do not seem yet to have been investigated.
Aye, there are two causes for this: because no state holds them in honour, they are only slightly investigated, as being difficult; and those that do so investigate them require a guide, without whom they cannot discover them,—one whom, first of all, it would be hard to get, and, when he is got, as things are at present, the investigators of these matters having lofty notions of themselves, would not obey him; whereas, if the whole state were to hold such pursuits in honour, and superintend them, these persons would be obedient, and the investigations being conducted with assiduity and vigour, would exhibit their true character; whereas now, despised and mutilated by the multitude, as well as by those who study them without being able to account for their usefulness, they still, in spite of all things, increase through their native grace; and it is no wonder that they should appear so to do. Aye, indeed, said he, this gracefulness is especially remarkable; but tell me more plainly what you were just now saying,—for you somehow defined geometry to be a study that concerns plane surfaces. I did, said I. Then next in order you mentioned astronomy; but afterwards you drew back.
Yes, replied I, because when I am in a hurry to get quickly over the discussion, I get on the more slowly; for as regards the mode of measuring depth, which is next in order, that I passed over, as a hopeless investigation, and proceeded, after geometry, to speak about astronomy, which is the motion of solids. You say rightly, observed he. Let us fix on astronomy then, said he, as a fourth branch of science; as if that which we now omit, [viz. solid geometry,] may have an existence, whenever the state enters on that pursuit. Probably, said he: and as to what you just now urged on me, Socrates, about astronomy, as having needlessly praised it, I now praise it in accordance with your notions: for I think it is clear to every one, that it is this which compels the soul to look upwards, and from what is here conducts it thither. Perhaps, rejoined I, it may be clear to all except myself;—to me it does not seem so. Ah! how is that? said he. As those who introduce it into philosophy, nowadays pursue it, it makes the soul look altogether downwards. How say you? inquired he.
I am of opinion, replied I, that you are not ungenerous in forming your mental estimate of the real nature of that branch of science which concerns things above; for you seem to be of opinion, that if a person were to look up and discover some of the heavenly bodies in an enclosed space, he would contemplate them with his intellect and not his eyes. Perhaps, then, you judge rightly, and I am wrong; though I, on the other hand, cannot hold the opinion that any other branch of science can make the soul look upwards, except that which concerns real being and the invisible,—whether one were to gape upwards, or try by peering downwards to get acquainted with those matters:—and if any one were to gape upwards and so try to get acquainted with any perceptible object, I think that he never would get acquainted with it; as his soul has no scientific knowledge of such things,—nor would his soul look upwards, but downwards,—even though he were to try to learn, swimming on his back at sea or lying so on the ground. CHAP. XI.—I am punished, rejoined he;—for you have rightly reproved me:—but in what manner did you say we ought to learn astronomy different from that in which they now teach it, if people are to be taught advantageously for the purposes of which we now speak? Thus, said I:—these various bright bodies in the heaven,—since indeed they are so variously placed in visible space,—ought to be deemed very beautiful and most perfect in their kind, though much inferior to the true magnificence of movement, with which real velocity and real retardation mutually bear along those bodies with all that belongs to them, in their true number and in all their true shapes;[222]—which things, indeed, can be apprehended only by reason and intelligence, not by sight:—do you think they can? By no means, said he.
Must we not then, said I, use the various heavenly phenomena, as an exhibition for the purpose of instructing us in those [real] concerns,—just as one might meet with sketches, capitally well drawn and elaborated by Dædalus, or some other artist or painter?—For one skilled in geometry, on seeing such drawings, would, perhaps, think them to be exceedingly well wrought, and nevertheless deem it absurd to give them a serious consideration,—as if he were thence to get his conception of truth about equals, or doubles, or any other proportion, Of course, it would be absurd, he replied. And think you not then, that the true astronomer will feel just the same, when he looks up to the orbits of the stars,—reckoning, indeed, that the heavens and all in them are established by the heavenly architect in the most beautiful manner possible for the formation of such works; and would not one deem it absurd of a man to conceive that this proportion of night with day, and of both these to a month, and of a month to a year, and of other stars to both of these, and towards each other has existed always in the same manner, and without experiencing any change, because they have a body, and are visible, and so to take all possible means to apprehend the truth of these things? So I think, he replied, whilst I listen to you. Let us then, said I, make use of problems, [or hypotheses,] in astronomy, as in geometry, and dismiss the heavenly bodies,—if we intend really to get acquainted with astronomy, and render useful instead of useless that portion of the soul which is naturally intelligent. You really impose, said he, a far harder task on astronomers than is enjoined them at present.
I think, however, replied I, that we must enjoin other duties likewise, according to the same fashion, if we would be of any service as lawgivers. ----- Footnote 222: Gr. τῶν δὲ ἀληθινῶν πολὺ ἐνδεῖν, ἃς τὸ ὂν τάχος καὶ ἡ οὖσα βραδυτὴς ἐν τῷ ἀληθινῷ ἀριθμῷ καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ἀληθέσι σχήμασι φοράς τε πρὸς ἄλληλα φέρεται καὶ τὰ ἐνόντα φέρει. The passage is evidently corrupt,—and, as it now stands, is almost incapable of translation. That given above closely resembles that given by Victor Cousin, a far better one than Schleiermacher’s. ----- CHAP. XII.—But have you anything to suggest about the fitting branches of study? I have not, he replied,—at present at least. Motion, moreover, said I, affords us, I think, not one indeed, but many species thereof;—all of which any wise man can probably tell; but those which occur to me are two. What are they? In addition to this, said I, there is its counterpart. Which? As the eyes, said I, seem formed for studying astronomy, so do the ears seem formed for harmonious motions; and these seem to be twin sciences to one another, as also the Pythagoreans[223] say; and we too, Glaucon, agree with them:—how shall we do? Just so, replied he. Shall we not, then, said I, since it is a matter of high importance, inquire of them how they speak concerning them, and whether they have anything else to say besides this; but we, notwithstanding all this, shall defend our own conclusion? What is that?
That those whom we educate should never attempt to learn these things imperfectly, nor without always aiming at the object, to which all ought to be directed,—as we just stated with reference to astronomy:—and do not you know that they do some such thing with regard to harmony?—for, while they measure one with another the symphonies and sounds which are heard, they go through a fruitless toil, like the astronomers. Aye, by the gods, said he,—and absurdly too, when they make very frequent trials of the notes, lending their ears to catch the sound as from a neighbour’s voice,—some indeed saying that they hear some middle note, with the smallest appreciable interval, and others again doubtingly saying that the notes are just what were sounded before,—both parties placing the ears above the intellect.
But you are now speaking, said I, of those thrifty, money-making musicians, who are ever harassing and tormenting their strings, turning them on the pegs:—but, that the comparison may not be too tedious, I refrain from speaking of their complaints about the refusal and stubbornness of the strings, and at once give up the simile, saying that we do not mean to speak of these, but of those true musicians whom we before mentioned:—for these do here just what the others did in astronomy; for they search for numbers, in the symphonies which they hear, but do not go on to the inquiry proposed,—what numbers are symphonious, what not, and the reason why they are either the one or the other. You speak, said he, of a noble undertaking. It is serviceable, of course, said I, in the search for the beautiful and good,—but, if pursued in another manner, it is quite useless. Aye, probably so, said he. Still, methinks, said I, the plan of inquiry into all these matters that we have described, if it touches on their mutual communion and alliance, and proves how they are mutually related, will contribute something to what we require, and our labour will not be fruitless; but otherwise it will.
I likewise, said he, guess the very same thing:—but you are speaking, Socrates, of a most laborious undertaking. Mean you the introduction, or what else? said I:—what,—know we not, that all these things are introductory to the strain itself;[224] which we ought to learn?—for even persons clever in these things you perhaps do not think skilled in dialectics. No, by Zeus, said he, only some very few of such as I have met. But supposing some of them not able, said I, to offer and admit reasoning, will they ever be able to get acquainted with what we say they ought to know? They will never be able to do this, he replied. Is not this then the very strain, Glaucon, said I, which dialectic science executes,—which also, being cognizable by the intellect, may be said to be imitated by the power of sight,—which faculty seeks, first, as we observed, to gaze at animals, then at the stars, and last of all at the sun himself:—so when a man attempts to discuss a subject without the aid of his perceptive faculties, he is impelled by reason to what is individual and real being; and if he stops not, till he apprehends by intelligence what is the good itself, then, indeed, he arrives at the end of the intelligible, as the other does at the end of the visible. Assuredly, he replied. What then;—do not you call this the dialectic process? What else?
Say, then, of what kind is the power of dialectic,—into what species is it divided,—and what are the paths leading to it;—for these probably conduct us to that place, which we shall find a resting-place, and the end of our journey. You will not as yet, dear Glaucon, said I, be able to follow:—had you been so, no zeal would be wanting on my part; nor should you any longer only see the image of what we are now speaking about, but the truth itself, or what to me seems so. Whether it be so really or not, however, it is not proper positively to affirm; but that it is somewhat of this kind may be most strongly affirmed:—may it not? Of course. And further, that it is the power of dialectics alone, which can discover this to a person skilled in what we have discussed, and that it can be done by no other power. This also, said he, we may positively affirm. This statement at least no one, said I, will dispute with us,—that no other method can attempt to ascertain through a regular process the nature of each particular being; for all other arts respect either the opinions and desires of men, or generations and compositions, or are employed wholly in the study of what is generated and compounded:—but as for those others, which we alleged to have some relation to being, as geometry, and its dependent sciences, we behold them, as if dreaming indeed about real existence, it being impossible to have a true vision, so long as they employ hypotheses and keep them immovable, without the power of accounting for their existence:—for where the starting-point is the unknown, and the conclusion and intermediate steps are connected with that unknown principle, how can any such kind of assent ever possibly become science? By no means, replied he.
CHAP. XIV.—You are pleased, then, said I, as formerly, to call the first part science, the second reflection, the third faith, the fourth conjecture,—both these last being opinion, and the two former intelligence;—and that opinion is employed also about generation, and intelligence about true being;—likewise, that true being bears to generation the same relation as intelligence to opinion, science to faith, and reflection to conjecture;—but as for the analogy of the things which these powers respect, and the twofold division of each,—viz., into the objects of opinion, and those of intellect, these we omit, Glaucon, that we may not be more prolix here than in our former discussions. As for me, said he, as regards those other things, so far as I can comprehend, I am of the same opinion. But do not you call that man skilled in dialectics, who apprehends the reason of the essence of each particular?—and as for the man who is unable to give a reason to himself, and to another, so far as regards this inability, will you not so far say he wants intelligence of the thing? Of course I shall, he replied.
And is not the case the same with reference to _the good_?—whoever cannot logically define it, abstracting the idea of _the good_ from all others, and taking as in a fight one opposing argument after another, and cannot proceed with unfailing proofs, eager to rest his case, not on the ground of opinion, but of true being,—such an one knows nothing of _the good itself_, nor of any good whatever: and should he have attained to any knowledge of _the good_, we must say he has attained it by opinion, not science; that he is sleeping, and dreaming away his present life; and before he is roused, will descend to Hades, and there be profoundly and perfectly laid asleep. By Zeus, said he, I will certainly affirm all these things. But surely, methinks, you will not allow those children of yours, whom you are ideally training and educating,—if ever in fact you should educate them,—to have the supreme government of the most important affairs in the state, while they are void of reason, as letters of the alphabet? By no means, he replied. You will lay this down then as a law: that they shall most especially get that amount of education which may enable them to question and answer in the most scientific manner. I will make that a law, said he, by your assistance at least. Are you of opinion then, said I, that dialectic science is to be placed on high as a bulwark to moral training, and that no other training can with propriety be more elevated than this, but that this is the completion of scientific training? I am, said he.
CHAP. XV.—There now remains for you, said I, the regulation of the persons to whom we shall assign these studies, and after what manner. That is evident, said he. Do you remember then, in our former election of rulers, what kind we chose? Of course I do, said he. As to other things then, conceive, said I, that those dispositions should be selected, and that we should prefer the bravest, most resolute, and, as far as possible, the most handsome; and besides, we must not only seek for those whose manners are noble and grave,[226] but such as have dispositions adapted to this education. What dispositions do you enjoin? They must have, said I, my excellent friend, acuteness as respects instruction, that they may learn without difficulty; for souls are much more daunted by severe mental studies, than by strenuous bodily exercise; for the employment which is most familiar to them is of a peculiar nature, having no connexion with the body. True, said he. And we must seek for one of good memory, hardy, and in every way fond of toil:—or how think you any one would willingly endure bodily fatigue, and at the same time accomplish such learning and study? No one, said he, unless he be in all respects of a naturally good disposition.
The mistake then about philosophy, and the dishonour done to it, have been occasioned by this, as I formerly said, that it is not studied in a way suitable to its dignity: for it ought not to have been attempted by bastards, but the well-born. How? said he. In the first place, he who is to apply to philosophy, said I, must not be lame in his love of labour, half-laborious, and half-averse to it; and this is the case, when a man is fond of wrestling and hunting, and all bodily exercises, but has no fondness for learning, or hearing instruction or making investigations, but in all these respects has an aversion to labour.—He too is lame, though in an opposite manner from the man who has wrongly employed his love of labour. You say most truly, replied he. And shall we not, said I, in like manner account that soul lame as to truth, which, though it hates a voluntary falsehood and is troubled by it, and is vastly indignant when others tell a lie, yet easily admits the involuntary lie, and if at any time it be found ignorant, is not displeased, but like a savage sow willingly wallows in ignorance? Assuredly, said he.
And in like manner, said I, as to temperance and fortitude, and magnanimity, and all other branches of virtue, we must no less carefully attend to what is bastardly, and what is well-born; for when either private persons or a state understand not how to attend to all these things, they unwarily employ the lame and the bastardly for whatever they want,—private persons employing them as friends, and states as governors. Such is exactly the case, said he. But we must be on our guard, said I, about all such things; so that if we select for such extensive discipline such as are entire in body and mind, and take care to instruct them in suitable exercises, justice herself will not blame us, and we shall preserve both the state and constitution; but if we introduce persons of a different description into these affairs, we shall do everything the reverse, and pour still greater contempt on philosophy. That indeed were shameful, said he. Certainly, said I. But I myself seem at present to be somewhat ridiculous. How so? said he.
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