The Republic
returns from the wall, the voices of the passengers will seem to
proceed from the shadows. Suppose now that you suddenly turn them round
and make them look with pain and grief to themselves at the real
images; will they believe them to be real? Will not their eyes be
dazzled, and will they not try to get away from the light to something
which they are able to behold without blinking? And suppose further,
that they are dragged up a steep and rugged ascent into the presence of
the sun himself, will not their sight be darkened with the excess of
light? Some time will pass before they get the habit of perceiving at
all; and at first they will be able to perceive only shadows and
reflections in the water; then they will recognize the moon and the
stars, and will at length behold the sun in his own proper place as he
is. Last of all they will conclude:—This is he who gives us the year
and the seasons, and is the author of all that we see. How will they
rejoice in passing from darkness to light! How worthless to them will
seem the honours and glories of the den! But now imagine further, that
they descend into their old habitations;—in that underground dwelling
they will not see as well as their fellows, and will not be able to
compete with them in the measurement of the shadows on the wall; there
will be many jokes about the man who went on a visit to the sun and
lost his eyes, and if they find anybody trying to set free and
enlighten one of their number, they will put him to death, if they can
catch him. Now the cave or den is the world of sight, the fire is the
sun, the way upwards is the way to knowledge, and in the world of
knowledge the idea of good is last seen and with difficulty, but when
seen is inferred to be the author of good and right—parent of the lord
of light in this world, and of truth and understanding in the other. He
who attains to the beatific vision is always going upwards; he is
unwilling to descend into political assemblies and courts of law; for
his eyes are apt to blink at the images or shadows of images which they
behold in them—he cannot enter into the ideas of those who have never
in their lives understood the relation of the shadow to the substance.
But blindness is of two kinds, and may be caused either by passing out
of darkness into light or out of light into darkness, and a man of
sense will distinguish between them, and will not laugh equally at both
of them, but the blindness which arises from fulness of light he will
deem blessed, and pity the other; or if he laugh at the puzzled soul
looking at the sun, he will have more reason to laugh than the
inhabitants of the den at those who descend from above. There is a
further lesson taught by this parable of ours. Some persons fancy that
instruction is like giving eyes to the blind, but we say that the
faculty of sight was always there, and that the soul only requires to
be turned round towards the light. And this is conversion; other
virtues are almost like bodily habits, and may be acquired in the same
manner, but intelligence has a diviner life, and is indestructible,
turning either to good or evil according to the direction given. Did
you never observe how the mind of a clever rogue peers out of his eyes,
and the more clearly he sees, the more evil he does? Now if you take
such an one, and cut away from him those leaden weights of pleasure and
desire which bind his soul to earth, his intelligence will be turned
round, and he will behold the truth as clearly as he now discerns his
meaner ends. And have we not decided that our rulers must neither be so
uneducated as to have no fixed rule of life, nor so over-educated as to
be unwilling to leave their paradise for the business of the world? We
must choose out therefore the natures who are most likely to ascend to
the light and knowledge of the good; but we must not allow them to
remain in the region of light; they must be forced down again among the
captives in the den to partake of their labours and honours. ‘Will they
not think this a hardship?’ You should remember that our purpose in
framing the State was not that our citizens should do what they like,
but that they should serve the State for the common good of all. May we
not fairly say to our philosopher,—Friend, we do you no wrong; for in
other States philosophy grows wild, and a wild plant owes nothing to
the gardener, but you have been trained by us to be the rulers and
kings of our hive, and therefore we must insist on your descending into
the den. You must, each of you, take your turn, and become able to use
your eyes in the dark, and with a little practice you will see far
better than those who quarrel about the shadows, whose knowledge is a
dream only, whilst yours is a waking reality. It may be that the saint
or philosopher who is best fitted, may also be the least inclined to
rule, but necessity is laid upon him, and he must no longer live in the
heaven of ideas. And this will be the salvation of the State. For those
who rule must not be those who are desirous to rule; and, if you can
offer to our citizens a better life than that of rulers generally is,
there will be a chance that the rich, not only in this world’s goods,
but in virtue and wisdom, may bear rule. And the only life which is
better than the life of political ambition is that of philosophy, which
is also the best preparation for the government of a State.
Then now comes the question,—How shall we create our rulers; what way
is there from darkness to light? The change is effected by philosophy;
it is not the turning over of an oyster-shell, but the conversion of a
soul from night to day, from becoming to being. And what training will
draw the soul upwards? Our former education had two branches,
gymnastic, which was occupied with the body, and music, the sister art,
which infused a natural harmony into mind and literature; but neither
of these sciences gave any promise of doing what we want. Nothing
remains to us but that universal or primary science of which all the
arts and sciences are partakers, I mean number or calculation. ‘Very
true.’ Including the art of war? ‘Yes, certainly.’ Then there is
something ludicrous about Palamedes in the tragedy, coming in and
saying that he had invented number, and had counted the ranks and set
them in order. For if Agamemnon could not count his feet (and without
number how could he?) he must have been a pretty sort of general
indeed. No man should be a soldier who cannot count, and indeed he is
hardly to be called a man. But I am not speaking of these practical
applications of arithmetic, for number, in my view, is rather to be
regarded as a conductor to thought and being. I will explain what I
mean by the last expression:—Things sensible are of two kinds; the one
class invite or stimulate the mind, while in the other the mind
acquiesces. Now the stimulating class are the things which suggest
contrast and relation. For example, suppose that I hold up to the eyes
three fingers—a fore finger, a middle finger, a little finger—the sight
equally recognizes all three fingers, but without number cannot further
distinguish them. Or again, suppose two objects to be relatively great
and small, these ideas of greatness and smallness are supplied not by
the sense, but by the mind. And the perception of their contrast or
relation quickens and sets in motion the mind, which is puzzled by the
confused intimations of sense, and has recourse to number in order to
find out whether the things indicated are one or more than one. Number
replies that they are two and not one, and are to be distinguished from
one another. Again, the sight beholds great and small, but only in a
confused chaos, and not until they are distinguished does the question
arise of their respective natures; we are thus led on to the
distinction between the visible and intelligible. That was what I meant
when I spoke of stimulants to the intellect; I was thinking of the
contradictions which arise in perception. The idea of unity, for
example, like that of a finger, does not arouse thought unless
involving some conception of plurality; but when the one is also the
opposite of one, the contradiction gives rise to reflection; an example
of this is afforded by any object of sight. All number has also an
elevating effect; it raises the mind out of the foam and flux of
generation to the contemplation of being, having lesser military and
retail uses also. The retail use is not required by us; but as our
guardian is to be a soldier as well as a philosopher, the military one
may be retained. And to our higher purpose no science can be better
adapted; but it must be pursued in the spirit of a philosopher, not of
a shopkeeper. It is concerned, not with visible objects, but with
abstract truth; for numbers are pure abstractions—the true
arithmetician indignantly denies that his unit is capable of division.
When you divide, he insists that you are only multiplying; his ‘one’ is
not material or resolvable into fractions, but an unvarying and
absolute equality; and this proves the purely intellectual character of
his study. Note also the great power which arithmetic has of sharpening
the wits; no other discipline is equally severe, or an equal test of
general ability, or equally improving to a stupid person.
Let our second branch of education be geometry. ‘I can easily see,’
replied Glaucon, ‘that the skill of the general will be doubled by his
knowledge of geometry.’ That is a small matter; the use of geometry, to
which I refer, is the assistance given by it in the contemplation of
the idea of good, and the compelling the mind to look at true being,
and not at generation only. Yet the present mode of pursuing these
studies, as any one who is the least of a mathematician is aware, is
mean and ridiculous; they are made to look downwards to the arts, and
not upwards to eternal existence. The geometer is always talking of
squaring, subtending, apposing, as if he had in view action; whereas
knowledge is the real object of the study. It should elevate the soul,
and create the mind of philosophy; it should raise up what has fallen
down, not to speak of lesser uses in war and military tactics, and in
the improvement of the faculties.
Shall we propose, as a third branch of our education, astronomy? ‘Very
good,’ replied Glaucon; ‘the knowledge of the heavens is necessary at
once for husbandry, navigation, military tactics.’ I like your way of
giving useful reasons for everything in order to make friends of the
world. And there is a difficulty in proving to mankind that education
is not only useful information but a purification of the eye of the
soul, which is better than the bodily eye, for by this alone is truth
seen. Now, will you appeal to mankind in general or to the philosopher?
or would you prefer to look to yourself only? ‘Every man is his own
best friend.’ Then take a step backward, for we are out of order, and
insert the third dimension which is of solids, after the second which
is of planes, and then you may proceed to solids in motion. But solid
geometry is not popular and has not the patronage of the State, nor is
the use of it fully recognized; the difficulty is great, and the
votaries of the study are conceited and impatient. Still the charm of
the pursuit wins upon men, and, if government would lend a little
assistance, there might be great progress made. ‘Very true,’ replied
Glaucon; ‘but do I understand you now to begin with plane geometry, and
to place next geometry of solids, and thirdly, astronomy, or the motion
of solids?’ Yes, I said; my hastiness has only hindered us.
‘Very good, and now let us proceed to astronomy, about which I am
willing to speak in your lofty strain. No one can fail to see that the