Chapter XV: Book VI: Argument (2)

CHAP. XIV.—Let them then, said I, be persuaded of this:—-and is there any one who will dispute this,—that men of a philosophic disposition do not usually spring from kings and sovereigns? No one, said he, would assert that. And though they be born of such a character, one may say they are necessarily prone to be corrupted; for indeed, it is a hard matter for them to be preserved untainted, even we ourselves agree;—but will any one contend throughout all time, that not one of the whole human race, would be preserved pure and untainted? How can there be? But surely, said I, any individual born with adequate abilities, and who has his state in obedience to him, can accomplish everything now so much disbelieved? Yes, for he is adequate to his task, said he. And when the governor, said I, establishes the laws and customs here detailed, it is not at all impossible for him to make the citizens willingly obey him? In no way whatever. But is it wonderful or impossible, that what is our opinion should be the opinion of others also? I, at least, do not think so, said he. And that these things are best, if they be possible, we have, I think, sufficiently explained in the former part of our discourse. Yes, quite sufficiently. Now then, it seems, we are agreed about our legislation; that the laws we mention are the best, if they could be realized,—and that if it be hard to establish them, yet it is not impossible? Yes,—we are agreed, said he.

CHAP. XV.—Since this then has been with difficulty brought to a conclusion, shall we not next consider what remains;—in what manner, and in consequence of what sciences and pursuits, they will become installed as the preservers of the government, and at what periods of life they will all apply to their several pursuits? Aye, we must talk of this, observed he. My cunning has done me no service, said I, in having left untouched, in the former part of our discourse, the difficulty attending the possession of women, and the procreation of children, and the establishment of governors, knowing how invidious the business is, and full of difficulty, even though it be perfectly true and correct:—for we are now under no less a compulsion of entering into these details.—What relates to women and children has already been brought to a close; and as to what concerns the governors, we must now from the beginning reconsider that subject.—We have alleged, if you remember, that they should appear to be lovers of the state,—proved to be so both by pleasures and pains, and not seen to abandon this principle, either through toils or fears or any other change; and that he who cannot do this should be rejected; while as for him who comes forth altogether pure, as gold tried in the fire, we should appoint him ruler, and endow him with honours and rewards both during life and after death. Such was what we said, when our argument was wandering and assuming a veil, through fear of disturbing the present state of things. You speak quite truly, said he;—for I remember it. Yes,—for I was loath, to say, my friend, what I must now venture to assert:—but now this assertion must at any rate be ventured,—that the most perfect guardians must be established philosophers. Yes,—that has been stated, replied he. But consider, I pray, that you will probably have only a few of these; for such a disposition, as we declared that they must necessarily have, is but rarely used to centre in one single individual; though its different parts are commonly found in many different persons. How say you? he replied. That such as learn with facility, have a good memory, are sagacious and acute, and endued with all qualifications thereto allied, are yet not at the same time of so vigorous and lofty an intellect, as to live orderly, with calmness and constancy, but are carried hapchance by mere buoyancy of spirits, and are deserted by everything like stability. Your remark is true, replied he. Well then, these firm habits of the mind, which are not easily changeable, and which one might specially employ as trusty, and which in time of war are hard to be excited to terror;—and similarly also as regards learning,—they move heavily, and learn with difficulty, as if benumbed, and oppressed with sleep and yawning, when compelled to labour at any work of this description? It is so, replied he. But we said, that he ought to have a good and fair share of both these, or else should have no share whatever either in the most perfect kind of education, or in magisterial dignities or state-honours? Right, said he. Do not you think then, that this will but rarely happen? Of course it will. They must be tried then both in what we before alluded to,—labours, fears, and pleasures;—and likewise in what we then passed over, and are now mentioning;—we must exercise them in various kinds of learning, with due regard for the power of their talents to go through the highest branches of study, or else their failure, as that of persons failing in all other things. It is fit now, said he, that we consider this question in this manner:—but what kind of studies are they, which you call the highest?

CHAP. XVI.—You remember, perhaps, said I, that when we divided the soul into three parts, we defined the nature respectively of justice, temperance, fortitude, and wisdom? If I did not remember, said he, I should have no right to hear what remains. [Do you remember likewise] what was said before that? What was it? We somewhere said, that it was possible to behold these in their most beautiful forms, but that the journey would be tedious, which a person must make, who would see them clearly; yet that it was possible, to approach them through our proofs before mentioned, and you said also, that these were sufficient; so, what was then asserted fell in my opinion far short of the truth; though if agreeable to you, you may say so. I at least thought, replied he, that they had been discussed in fair measure; and the rest seemed to think so too. But my friend, said I, in speaking of things of this kind, such a measure as omits any part whatever of the truth is not wholly in measure;—for nothing imperfect is the measure of anything;—though people sometimes think that things are sufficiently well when thus circumstanced, and there is no need for further inquiry. Very many, said he, thus behave through indolence. But the guardian of the state and the laws, said I, should least of all be thus affected. So it seems, replied he. Such an one, then, my friend, said I, must make a more comprehensive circuit, and labour as much in learning as in exercising himself: otherwise, as we were just saying, he will never arrive at the summit of the greatest and most suitable learning. But are not these branches the highest:—or is there, said he, any one yet higher than justice, and those virtues which we have discussed? There is something greater, said I; and even of these we must not, as just now, only contemplate the mere rude sketch; but we must not omit even its complete elaboration: is it not ridiculous in other things of small moment to employ our whole labour, and strive to attain the utmost accuracy and perfection, and yet not deem the highest and most important affairs worthy of our highest attention, with a view to making them as perfect as possible? The sentiment, said he, is very just:—but with respect to the question,—what is this most important branch of study, and about what you say it is employed,—think you that any one will let you go without asking its nature? Not at all, said I:—but do you ask; although you have assuredly often heard it, but at present you do not bear it in mind, or else intend to embarrass me by raising objections:—and I think this the more, as you have often heard at least, that the idea of the good is the highest branch of study;—about which, when justice and the other virtues employ themselves, they then become useful and advantageous.—Now then, you know pretty well that I mean to say this, and besides, that we do not sufficiently know that idea; and without this knowledge, though we were to understand everything else as fully as possible, yet you know that it could be of no service whatever to us: in the same manner as no possession whatever would be of aught avail, without the possession of the good:—and think you that it is more profitable to possess all things without the possession of the good than to know all things without the knowledge of the good, having no perception at all of the beautiful and good? Not I, by Zeus, he exclaimed.

CHAP. XVII.—Of this, moreover, you may be quite certain, that to the multitude pleasure seems to be the good, while the more refined think it to be virtue. How otherwise? And you know also, my friend, that those who hold this opinion, are unable to show what knowledge is, but are compelled at last to call it the knowledge of the good. Aye, and most absurdly too, said he. How indeed can it be otherwise, replied I, if when upbraiding us for not knowing the good, they yet speak as to persons knowing it,[206] and say that knowledge is good itself, as if we understood their meaning when pronouncing the word “the good?” Most true, said he. But what? those who define pleasure to be good, are they less in error than the others; or are not these too compelled to confess that pleasures are evil? Quite so. It happens then, I think, that they acknowledge the same things to be both good and evil,—do they not? Undoubtedly. Is it not clear, then, that on this point there are great and manifold varieties of opinion? Of course there are. But what;—is it not clear also, that with reference to things just and beautiful, the multitude choose what is apparent, even though it has no real existence, yet acting and possessing and appearing to possess it;—though the acquisition of only apparent goods, never yet satisfied any one:—for people on the other hand seek what is real, and all men despise what is only apparent? Just so, said he. This then is what every soul pursues, and for the sake of which it does everything, conjecturing it to be something, though still in doubt, and unable either fully to comprehend its nature, or employ belief alone respecting it as of other things; and hence is it, that they fail of success even in other matters however useful.—Are we to say then, that about a matter of this nature, and of such vast consequence, even the best men in the state, to whom we commit the management of all things, will be thus in the dark? By no means, said he. I am of opinion then, said I, that the just and the beautiful, so long as they are unknown in what particular way they are good, cannot be of any great importance to have a guardian who is ignorant of this; and I suspect that no one will before this attain a sufficient knowledge thereof. Yes,—you guess rightly, observed he. Will not our government, therefore, have been completely set in order, if a guardian be set over it that is scientifically acquainted with these things?

-----

Footnote 206:

The meaning is;—that as such persons are forced to allow that
knowledge of itself is not the highest good, but should be referred to
the highest good, as the arbiter thereof,—those persons run into an
absurd error, who denying that we have any knowledge of “the good,”
yet so act as if we had a sufficient knowledge thereof,—fixing their
notion on some abstract theory of good.

-----

CHAP. XVIII.—It must of necessity, said he:—but yet with respect to yourself, Socrates, say you that the good is science, or pleasure, or something independent of these? Oh, you fine fellow, said I, you long ago clearly showed that you were not to be satisfied with other men’s opinions about these matters. Nor does it seem to me just, Socrates, said he, that a man should keep talking of other men’s opinions, and not his own, after having spent so much time in inquiring about these particulars. But what, said I;—do you think it just then, that a man should talk about matters of which he is ignorant, just as if he knew them? By no means as if he knew them, said he; yet, according to his thoughts, whatever he thinks he should willingly tell us. But what, said I;—have you not observed respecting unscientific opinions, how contemptible they all are, and the best of them blind;—and think you, that these persons, who without intellect form true opinions, are at all different from blind men walking on the right road? Not at all, said he. Do you wish, then, that we should contemplate things base, blind, and crooked, when it is in our power to hear from others what is clear and beautiful? By Zeus, Socrates, said Glaucon, do not stop here, as if you had come to a close; for we shall be satisfied, if, in the same way as you have spoken of justice, temperance, and the other virtues, you will in like manner discourse of the good. And I too shall be very well satisfied, my friend, said I; but [I am afraid] that I shall not be able, and so, by my readiness may incur the ridicule of unmannerly persons.—But, my excellent friends, let us at present dismiss[207] this inquiry about the nature of the good, (for it seems to me more, as far as I now think, than we can attain, in our present attempt): but I am willing to tell you, if you please, what I conceive to be the offspring of the good, and its nearest representation; and if not, I shall dismiss it. Well then, tell us, said he; for you shall afterwards acquit yourself of your debt by telling us of its parent. I could wish, said I, both that I were able to oblige you by explaining that, and not as now the offspring only and interest of my debt.[208] This child and offspring of the good itself, pray receive;—but still take due care that I deceive you nowise unwillingly by paying my account of this offspring in base coin. We will take care of that, said he, as far as we can:—only do you tell us. I will then, said I, when we are once thoroughly agreed, and I have reminded you of what was before mentioned, and has been often said on other occasions. What is that? said he. That there are many things beautiful, said I, and many good also; and each of these we declare to be so, and so define them in our argument. Yes, so we say. But as to the beautiful itself and the good itself, and similarly as to all those things which we then considered as of various natures, we are now again establishing them according to the unity of the general idea, to which we conceive each related; and these indeed, we say, are observed by the eye, but are not objects of intellectual perception; whereas the ideas are perceived by the intellect, not seen by the eye. Assuredly. By what part then of ourselves do we see things visible? By the sight, said he. And is it not, said I, by hearing, that we perceive what is heard; and by the other senses, all the other objects of sense? Of course. But have you not perceived, said I, as regards the artificer of the senses, with what perfect skill he has formed the power of seeing, and being seen? Not quite, he replied. But consider it thus:—is there a third kind of faculty required by the hearing and voice, in order that the one may hear and the other be heard, in the absence of which the one will not hear, and the other not be heard? There is not, said he. I conceive, said I, that many others also (not to say, none at all) require no such thing:—can you name any one that does? Not I, he replied. But with reference to the sense of seeing and the object of sight, do you not perceive that they require something? How? When there is sight in the eyes, and when he who has it attempts to use it, and when there is colour in the objects before him, unless there concur some third kind of medium naturally formed for the purpose,—the sight, you are aware, will see nothing, and colours will be invisible. What is this of which you are now speaking? inquired he. What you call light, said I. Your remark is true, replied he. This sense of seeing then, and power of being seen, are no unimportant ideas, and are connected by a bond more precious than all other bonds, if light be not valueless. But it is far, said he, from being valueless.

-----

Footnote 207:

Socrates says this in consequence of the inability of his auditors to
understand the nature of _the good_: for the Greek Scholiast well
observes on this part of the Republic, that it is through the
inaptitude of subordinate natures that the more excellent are unable
to energize. Παρὰ γὰρ τῶν καταδεεστέρων ἀνεπιτηδειότητα τὰ κρείττονα
ἀδυνατοῦσιν ἐνεργεῖν.

Footnote 208:

The _equivoque_ of the word τόκους is difficult to translate; as it
signifies equally _children_, _productions_, and _the interest of a
debt_. The word πατήρ, if τόκος be taken in the latter sense, will
refer to _the capital_. Comp. Aristotle, Polit. i. ch. 10—μεταβολῆς
γὰρ ἐγένετο χάριν, ὁ δὲ τόκος αὐτὸ ποιεῖ πλέον. ὅθεν καὶ τοὔνομα τοῦτ’
εἴληφεν· ὅμοια γὰρ τὰ τικτόμενα τοῖς γεννῶσιν αὐτά ἐστιν, ὁ δὲ τόκος
γίνεται νόμισμα νομίσματος. Plato uses the same figure in the
Politicus, p. 267 a.

-----

CHAP. XIX.—Whom then of the gods in heaven can you assign as the cause of this,—that light makes our sight to see, and visible objects to be seen, in the best manner? The same, he replied, as you and others do; for it is evident that you mean the sun. Does not sight then derive its nature through its relation to this god? How?—The sight is not the sun, nor is that the sun, in which sight is engendered,—which we call the eye. It is not. But yet, methinks, this at least of all the organs of sense is most sun-like? Very much so. And the power which it possesses, does it not possess, as dispensed and emanating hence? Certainly. Is not the sun then, though not sight itself, but the principle thereof, seen by sight itself? It is so, said he. This then, said I, be assured, is what I called the offspring of _the good_, which _the good_ generates, analogous to itself; and what this is in the sphere of intelligence, with reference to intellect, and the objects of intellect, that the sun is in the visible [world] with reference to sight and visible things. How is that? said he: pray further explain it. You are aware, that the eyes, said I, when directed towards objects, whose colours are no longer visited by the light of day,[209] but by the glimmerings of the night, grow dim and appear almost blind, as if they had in them no pure vision. Just so, said he. But when they turn to objects which the sun illuminates, then, methinks, they see clearly, and in those very eyes there now appears vision. There does. Understand the same, then, to be the case with reference to the soul.—When it firmly adheres to what is enlightened by truth and real being, then it understands and knows it, and appears to possess intellect; but when it adheres to what is blended with darkness, and is subject to generation and destruction, it then has to do with opinion, and is dull, wandering from one opinion to another, like one without intellect. So it seems. That therefore which imparts truth to what is known, and dispenses the faculty of knowledge to him who knows, you may call the idea of _the good_ and the principle of science and truth, as being known through intellect. And as both these,—knowledge and truth, are so beautiful, you will be right in thinking that the good is something different, and still more beautiful than these. Science and truth here are as light and sight there, which we rightly judged to be sun-like, but yet did not think them to be the sun:—so here it is right to hold, that both of them partake of the form of _the good_,—but yet not right to suppose that either of them is _the good_, inasmuch as _the good itself_ is worthy of still greater honour. You speak, said he, of some inestimable idea of “the beautiful,” which exhibits science and truth, and yet is itself their superior in beauty;—for you have nowhere said, that it was pleasure. Hope better things, said I; but thus rather consider its image still further. How? You will say, I think, that the sun imparts to things which are seen, not only their visibility, but likewise their generation, growth, and nourishment, though not itself generation?[210] Of course. We may say, therefore, as to things cognizable by the intellect, that they become cognizable not only from _the good_, by which they are known, but likewise that their being and essence are thence derived, while _the good_ itself is not essence, but beyond essence, and superior to both in dignity and power.

-----

Footnote 209:

The words φῶς and φέγγος are here opposed,—the first referring to the
original and primary light of the sun, the latter to the inferior and
borrowed light of the moon and stars.

Footnote 210:

The generation of things illuminated by the sun, shows that it is
perfectly unbegotten; for, according to the Platonic philosophy, the
sun alone of all the bodies in the universe is without generation,
neither receiving any accession nor diminution; whereas all that it
illuminates receives light, through the motion of the sun about its
proper centre, which also at different times sends different rays to
the heavenly bodies belonging to its system. So far therefore as the
sun illuminates, it is unbegotten; and, on this principle only, and
not as respects its corporeal shape, is it assimilated to _the good_.

-----

CHAP. XX.—Here Glaucon, heartily laughing, said, By Apollo, here is a marvellous transcendency! You yourself, replied I, are the cause of it, by compelling me to relate what I think about it. And by no means stop, said he, unless there be some cause; from again discussing the analogy about the the sun, if you have omitted anything. Aye, I have omitted many things, replied I. Ah, but, replied he, pray do not omit the smallest particular. I think, said I, that much will be omitted: yet, as far as I can at present, I will not willingly omit anything. Do not, said he. Understand then, said I, that we allege these to be two; ruling—the one over the intelligible genus and place, and the other over the visible world,—not to say the heavens, lest I should seem to you to employ a sophistical expression: you understand then these two descriptions of being,—the visible and intelligible? I do. Supposing now you to take a line cut into two equal sections, then again cut each part according to the same ratio, both that of the visible and that of the intelligible species, you will then have them placed in contrast with each other, either in clearness or obscurity,—the second section in the visible species being images. Now images I call, in the first place, shadows,—in the next, appearances in water, and such as subsist in opaque, polished and bright bodies, and all such-like representations, if you understand me. Yes, I understand. Consider now the other section of the visible which this resembles,—the animals around us, and all kinds of plants, and everything of an artificial nature. I do consider it, said he. Do you wish to assert, then, that this section is divided by truth and its opposite;—and just as the objects of opinion are opposed to the objects of true knowledge, so also that which is compared [is opposed] to that with which it is compared? Aye, indeed: I am quite willing. Consider once more about this section of the intelligible, how it is to be effected. How? That with respect to one part thereof, the soul uses the former sections as images, and is compelled to investigate by means of hypothesis, not going back to first principles, but advancing onward to conclusions; and the other part, again, is that where the soul proceeds from hypothesis to an unhypothetical principle, and makes its way even without those images by means of the ideas themselves. What you now say, rejoined he, I do not fully understand. Once more, said I,—for you will more easily understand me, from what has been previously stated,—you are not unaware, methinks, that persons versed in geometry, and computations, and such-like, after laying down hypotheses of the odd and even, and figures, and three kinds of angles, and other similar matters, according to each method, proceed on them as known, after establishing them as mere hypotheses, and give no further reason about them, either to themselves or others, as being things obvious to all;—but, beginning with these, then directly discuss the rest, and end by meeting at the point where the inquiry set out? I know this, said he, perfectly well. And [do you not likewise know] that they use the visible species, and reason about them, not employing their intellect about these species, but about those of which they are the resemblances, arguing about the square itself, and the diameter itself, and not about what they describe;—and, so also, with reference to other particulars, those very things which they form and describe, among which are shadows and images in water, these they use as images, trying to behold those very things, which a man can only perceive by his intellect? You say true, he replied.

CHAP. XXI.—This then was what I meant by the idea of the intelligible; but [I said also,] that the soul was obliged to use hypotheses in its investigation, not going back to the principle, as though unable to ascend higher than hypotheses, and employed comparisons formed from things below, to lead to those above, as to clearly-seen objects of thought, distinct from the things themselves. I understand, said he, that you are speaking of what concerns geometry and its sister arts. By that other section of the intelligible, then, you must understand me to mean what reason itself attains by its dialectic faculty, forming hypotheses, not as principles, but really hypotheses, just like steps and starting-points, in order that by proceeding up to the unhypothetical,—[that is,] the principle of the universe, coming in contact therewith, and so again coming into union with what is united to it in principle, it may thus reach the end without making use of anything sensible, but only of ideas themselves, proceeding through some to others, and so ending in ideas. I understand, said he, but not fully:—(for I think you are talking of some difficult work:) but I understand it is your wish to prove that knowledge obtained by dialectic science respecting real and intelligible being is clearer than that acquired by means of what are called arts, which take hypotheses for their first principles, and which those who contemplate must view with the understanding and not the perceptive faculties; whereas, through their inability to go back to first principles, and as they reason only from hypotheses, you think they do not exercise intellect [νοῦν] in these matters, much as they might become intelligible with some principle for a foundation:—and as for understanding [or reasoning,]—that which we acquire through geometry and its kindred arts, and not pure reason, this is something lying between opinion and pure intellect. You have fully understood me, said I:—and understand me now, that analogous to these four branches of knowledge are four affections [or faculties] of the soul,—pure reasoning answering to the highest,—understanding [or reasoning] to the second, faith to the third,—conjecture to the last:[211]—and so arrange them, as to assign to them respectively more or less of clearness, as they are more or less allied to truth. I understand, replied he, and quite agree; and so let us adopt your proposed arrangement.

-----

Footnote 211:

Plato conceived that there was an ideal and a visible world,—the world
of reason and the world of sense, and two essences in each;—in the
_former_, pure or abstract ideas and mixed ideas,—in the visible world
(which comprises exclusively the objects of sense), material
substances; and secondly, the images, shadows, or representations of
bodies. Analogous to these also are four faculties of the human mind,
two only of which have any relation to the ideal world or form any
part of true science;—1. νόησις, the knowledge of pure ideas
(reflection, the pure reason of Kant);—2. διάνοια (_understanding_),
the knowledge of mixed ideas;—3. πίστις, _faith_, the knowledge of
bodies and their properties;—4. εἰκασία, _conjecture_, the knowledge
of the images or shadows of bodies. The two last belong to unstable,
varying opinion (δόξα). This explanation is here given, as the words
require a more accurate definition than can be furnished by the text.
See article _Plato_, in the P. Cycl.

-----