The Republic
contemplation of the heavens draws the soul upwards.’ I am an
exception, then; astronomy as studied at present appears to me to draw
the soul not upwards, but downwards. Star-gazing is just looking up at
the ceiling—no better; a man may lie on his back on land or on water—he
may look up or look down, but there is no science in that. The vision
of knowledge of which I speak is seen not with the eyes, but with the
mind. All the magnificence of the heavens is but the embroidery of a
copy which falls far short of the divine Original, and teaches nothing
about the absolute harmonies or motions of things. Their beauty is like
the beauty of figures drawn by the hand of Daedalus or any other great
artist, which may be used for illustration, but no mathematician would
seek to obtain from them true conceptions of equality or numerical
relations. How ridiculous then to look for these in the map of the
heavens, in which the imperfection of matter comes in everywhere as a
disturbing element, marring the symmetry of day and night, of months
and years, of the sun and stars in their courses. Only by problems can
we place astronomy on a truly scientific basis. Let the heavens alone,
and exert the intellect.
Still, mathematics admit of other applications, as the Pythagoreans
say, and we agree. There is a sister science of harmonical motion,
adapted to the ear as astronomy is to the eye, and there may be other
applications also. Let us inquire of the Pythagoreans about them, not
forgetting that we have an aim higher than theirs, which is the
relation of these sciences to the idea of good. The error which
pervades astronomy also pervades harmonics. The musicians put their
ears in the place of their minds. ‘Yes,’ replied Glaucon, ‘I like to
see them laying their ears alongside of their neighbours’ faces—some
saying, “That’s a new note,” others declaring that the two notes are
the same.’ Yes, I said; but you mean the empirics who are always
twisting and torturing the strings of the lyre, and quarrelling about
the tempers of the strings; I am referring rather to the Pythagorean
harmonists, who are almost equally in error. For they investigate only
the numbers of the consonances which are heard, and ascend no
higher,—of the true numerical harmony which is unheard, and is only to
be found in problems, they have not even a conception. ‘That last,’ he
said, ‘must be a marvellous thing.’ A thing, I replied, which is only
useful if pursued with a view to the good.
All these sciences are the prelude of the strain, and are profitable if
they are regarded in their natural relations to one another. ‘I dare
say, Socrates,’ said Glaucon; ‘but such a study will be an endless
business.’ What study do you mean—of the prelude, or what? For all
these things are only the prelude, and you surely do not suppose that a
mere mathematician is also a dialectician? ‘Certainly not. I have
hardly ever known a mathematician who could reason.’ And yet, Glaucon,
is not true reasoning that hymn of dialectic which is the music of the
intellectual world, and which was by us compared to the effort of
sight, when from beholding the shadows on the wall we arrived at last
at the images which gave the shadows? Even so the dialectical faculty
withdrawing from sense arrives by the pure intellect at the
contemplation of the idea of good, and never rests but at the very end
of the intellectual world. And the royal road out of the cave into the
light, and the blinking of the eyes at the sun and turning to
contemplate the shadows of reality, not the shadows of an image
only—this progress and gradual acquisition of a new faculty of sight by
the help of the mathematical sciences, is the elevation of the soul to
the contemplation of the highest ideal of being.
‘So far, I agree with you. But now, leaving the prelude, let us proceed
to the hymn. What, then, is the nature of dialectic, and what are the
paths which lead thither?’ Dear Glaucon, you cannot follow me here.
There can be no revelation of the absolute truth to one who has not
been disciplined in the previous sciences. But that there is a science
of absolute truth, which is attained in some way very different from
those now practised, I am confident. For all other arts or sciences are
relative to human needs and opinions; and the mathematical sciences are
but a dream or hypothesis of true being, and never analyse their own
principles. Dialectic alone rises to the principle which is above
hypotheses, converting and gently leading the eye of the soul out of
the barbarous slough of ignorance into the light of the upper world,
with the help of the sciences which we have been describing—sciences,
as they are often termed, although they require some other name,
implying greater clearness than opinion and less clearness than
science, and this in our previous sketch was understanding. And so we
get four names—two for intellect, and two for opinion,—reason or mind,
understanding, faith, perception of shadows—which make a proportion—
being:becoming::intellect:opinion—and science:belief::understanding:
perception of shadows. Dialectic may be further described as that
science which defines and explains the essence or being of each nature,
which distinguishes and abstracts the good, and is ready to do battle
against all opponents in the cause of good. To him who is not a
dialectician life is but a sleepy dream; and many a man is in his grave
before his is well waked up. And would you have the future rulers of
your ideal State intelligent beings, or stupid as posts? ‘Certainly not
the latter.’ Then you must train them in dialectic, which will teach
them to ask and answer questions, and is the coping-stone of the
sciences.
I dare say that you have not forgotten how our rulers were chosen; and
the process of selection may be carried a step further:—As before, they
must be constant and valiant, good-looking, and of noble manners, but
now they must also have natural ability which education will improve;
that is to say, they must be quick at learning, capable of mental toil,
retentive, solid, diligent natures, who combine intellectual with moral
virtues; not lame and one-sided, diligent in bodily exercise and
indolent in mind, or conversely; not a maimed soul, which hates
falsehood and yet unintentionally is always wallowing in the mire of
ignorance; not a bastard or feeble person, but sound in wind and limb,
and in perfect condition for the great gymnastic trial of the mind.
Justice herself can find no fault with natures such as these; and they
will be the saviours of our State; disciples of another sort would only
make philosophy more ridiculous than she is at present. Forgive my
enthusiasm; I am becoming excited; but when I see her trampled
underfoot, I am angry at the authors of her disgrace. ‘I did not notice
that you were more excited than you ought to have been.’ But I felt
that I was. Now do not let us forget another point in the selection of
our disciples—that they must be young and not old. For Solon is
mistaken in saying that an old man can be always learning; youth is the
time of study, and here we must remember that the mind is free and
dainty, and, unlike the body, must not be made to work against the
grain. Learning should be at first a sort of play, in which the natural
bent is detected. As in training them for war, the young dogs should at
first only taste blood; but when the necessary gymnastics are over
which during two or three years divide life between sleep and bodily
exercise, then the education of the soul will become a more serious
matter. At twenty years of age, a selection must be made of the more
promising disciples, with whom a new epoch of education will begin. The
sciences which they have hitherto learned in fragments will now be
brought into relation with each other and with true being; for the
power of combining them is the test of speculative and dialectical
ability. And afterwards at thirty a further selection shall be made of
those who are able to withdraw from the world of sense into the
abstraction of ideas. But at this point, judging from present
experience, there is a danger that dialectic may be the source of many
evils. The danger may be illustrated by a parallel case:—Imagine a
person who has been brought up in wealth and luxury amid a crowd of
flatterers, and who is suddenly informed that he is a supposititious
son. He has hitherto honoured his reputed parents and disregarded the
flatterers, and now he does the reverse. This is just what happens with
a man’s principles. There are certain doctrines which he learnt at home
and which exercised a parental authority over him. Presently he finds
that imputations are cast upon them; a troublesome querist comes and
asks, ‘What is the just and good?’ or proves that virtue is vice and
vice virtue, and his mind becomes unsettled, and he ceases to love,
honour, and obey them as he has hitherto done. He is seduced into the
life of pleasure, and becomes a lawless person and a rogue. The case of
such speculators is very pitiable, and, in order that our thirty years’
old pupils may not require this pity, let us take every possible care
that young persons do not study philosophy too early. For a young man
is a sort of puppy who only plays with an argument; and is reasoned
into and out of his opinions every day; he soon begins to believe
nothing, and brings himself and philosophy into discredit. A man of
thirty does not run on in this way; he will argue and not merely
contradict, and adds new honour to philosophy by the sobriety of his
conduct. What time shall we allow for this second gymnastic training of
the soul?—say, twice the time required for the gymnastics of the body;
six, or perhaps five years, to commence at thirty, and then for fifteen
years let the student go down into the den, and command armies, and
gain experience of life. At fifty let him return to the end of all
things, and have his eyes uplifted to the idea of good, and order his
life after that pattern; if necessary, taking his turn at the helm of
State, and training up others to be his successors. When his time comes
he shall depart in peace to the islands of the blest. He shall be
honoured with sacrifices, and receive such worship as the Pythian
oracle approves.
‘You are a statuary, Socrates, and have made a perfect image of our
governors.’ Yes, and of our governesses, for the women will share in
all things with the men. And you will admit that our State is not a
mere aspiration, but may really come into being when there shall arise
philosopher-kings, one or more, who will despise earthly vanities, and
will be the servants of justice only. ‘And how will they begin their
work?’ Their first act will be to send away into the country all those
who are more than ten years of age, and to proceed with those who are
left...
At the commencement of the sixth book, Plato anticipated his
explanation of the relation of the philosopher to the world in an
allegory, in this, as in other passages, following the order which he
prescribes in education, and proceeding from the concrete to the
abstract. At the commencement of Book VII, under the figure of a cave
having an opening towards a fire and a way upwards to the true light,
he returns to view the divisions of knowledge, exhibiting familiarly,
as in a picture, the result which had been hardly won by a great effort
of thought in the previous discussion; at the same time casting a
glance onward at the dialectical process, which is represented by the
way leading from darkness to light. The shadows, the images, the
reflection of the sun and stars in the water, the stars and sun
themselves, severally correspond,—the first, to the realm of fancy and
poetry,—the second, to the world of sense,—the third, to the