Here Adeimantus interposes:—‘No man can answer you, Socrates; but every man feels that this is owing to his own deficiency in argument. He is driven from one position to another, until he has nothing more to say, just as an unskilful player at draughts7 is reduced to his last move by a more skilled opponent. And yet all the time he may be right. He may know, in this very instance, that those who make philosophy the business of their lives, generally turn out rogues8 if they are bad men, and fools if they are good. What do you say?’ I should say that he is quite right. ‘Then how is such an admission reconcileable with the doctrine9 that philosophers should be kings?’
I shall answer you in a parable10 which will also let you see how poor a hand I am at the invention of allegories. The relation of good men to their governments is so peculiar11, that in order to defend them I must take an illustration from the world of fiction. Conceive the captain of a ship, taller by a head and shoulders than any of the crew, yet a little deaf, a little blind, and rather ignorant of the seaman’s art. The sailors want to steer12, although they know nothing of the art; and they have a theory that it cannot be learned. If the helm is refused them, they drug the captain’s posset, bind13 him hand and foot, and take possession of the ship. He who joins in the mutiny is termed a good pilot and what not; they have no conception that the true pilot must observe the winds and the stars, and must be their master, whether they like it or not; — such an one would be called by them fool, prater14, star-gazer. This is my parable; which I will beg you to interpret for me to those gentlemen who ask why the philosopher has such an evil name, and to explain to them that not he, but those who will not use him, are to blame for his uselessness. The philosopher should not beg of mankind to be put in authority over them. The wise man should not seek the rich, as the proverb bids, but every man, whether rich or poor, must knock at the door of the physician when he has need of him. Now the pilot is the philosopher — he whom in the parable they call star-gazer, and the mutinous15 sailors are the mob of politicians by whom he is rendered useless. Not that these are the worst enemies of philosophy, who is far more dishonoured16 by her own professing18 sons when they are corrupted19 by the world. Need I recall the original image of the philosopher? Did we not say of him just now, that he loved truth and hated falsehood, and that he could not rest in the multiplicity of phenomena21, but was led by a sympathy in his own nature to the contemplation of the absolute? All the virtues22 as well as truth, who is the leader of them, took up their abode24 in his soul. But as you were observing, if we turn aside to view the reality, we see that the persons who were thus described, with the exception of a small and useless class, are utter rogues.
The point which has to be considered, is the origin of this corruption25 in nature. Every one will admit that the philosopher, in our description of him, is a rare being. But what numberless causes tend to destroy these rare beings! There is no good thing which may not be a cause of evil — health, wealth, strength, rank, and the virtues themselves, when placed under unfavourable circumstances. For as in the animal or vegetable world the strongest seeds most need the accompaniment of good air and soil, so the best of human characters turn out the worst when they fall upon an unsuitable soil; whereas weak natures hardly ever do any considerable good or harm; they are not the stuff out of which either great criminals or great heroes are made. The philosopher follows the same analogy: he is either the best or the worst of all men. Some persons say that the Sophists are the corrupters of youth; but is not public opinion the real Sophist who is everywhere present — in those very persons, in the assembly, in the courts, in the camp, in the applauses and hisses26 of the theatre re-echoed by the surrounding hills? Will not a young man’s heart leap amid these discordant27 sounds? and will any education save him from being carried away by the torrent28? Nor is this all. For if he will not yield to opinion, there follows the gentle compulsion of exile or death. What principle of rival Sophists or anybody else can overcome in such an unequal contest? Characters there may be more than human, who are exceptions — God may save a man, but not his own strength. Further, I would have you consider that the hireling Sophist only gives back to the world their own opinions; he is the keeper of the monster, who knows how to flatter or anger him, and observes the meaning of his inarticulate grunts29. Good is what pleases him, evil what he dislikes; truth and beauty are determined only by the taste of the brute30. Such is the Sophist’s wisdom, and such is the condition of those who make public opinion the test of truth, whether in art or in morals. The curse is laid upon them of being and doing what it approves, and when they attempt first principles the failure is ludicrous. Think of all this and ask yourself whether the world is more likely to be a believer in the unity31 of the idea, or in the multiplicity of phenomena. And the world if not a believer in the idea cannot be a philosopher, and must therefore be a persecutor32 of philosophers. There is another evil:— the world does not like to lose the gifted nature, and so they flatter the young (Alcibiades) into a magnificent opinion of his own capacity; the tall, proper youth begins to expand, and is dreaming of kingdoms and empires. If at this instant a friend whispers to him, ‘Now the gods lighten thee; thou art a great fool’ and must be educated — do you think that he will listen? Or suppose a better sort of man who is attracted towards philosophy, will they not make Herculean efforts to spoil and corrupt20 him? Are we not right in saying that the love of knowledge, no less than riches, may divert him? Men of this class (Critias) often become politicians — they are the authors of great mischief33 in states, and sometimes also of great good. And thus philosophy is deserted34 by her natural protectors, and others enter in and dishonour17 her. Vulgar little minds see the land open and rush from the prisons of the arts into her temple. A clever mechanic having a soul coarse as his body, thinks that he will gain caste by becoming her suitor. For philosophy, even in her fallen estate, has a dignity of her own — and he, like a bald little blacksmith’s apprentice35 as he is, having made some money and got out of durance, washes and dresses himself as a bridegroom and marries his master’s daughter. What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile36 and bastard37, devoid38 of truth and nature? ‘They will.’ Small, then, is the remnant of genuine philosophers; there may be a few who are citizens of small states, in which politics are not worth thinking of, or who have been detained by Theages’ bridle39 of ill health; for my own case of the oracular sign is almost unique, and too rare to be worth mentioning. And these few when they have tasted the pleasures of philosophy, and have taken a look at that den40 of thieves and place of wild beasts, which is human life, will stand aside from the storm under the shelter of a wall, and try to preserve their own innocence41 and to depart in peace. ‘A great work, too, will have been accomplished42 by them.’ Great, yes, but not the greatest; for man is a social being, and can only attain43 his highest development in the society which is best suited to him.
Enough, then, of the causes why philosophy has such an evil name. Another question is, Which of existing states is suited to her? Not one of them; at present she is like some exotic seed which degenerates44 in a strange soil; only in her proper state will she be shown to be of heavenly growth. ‘And is her proper state ours or some other?’ Ours in all points but one, which was left undetermined. You may remember our saying that some living mind or witness of the legislator was needed in states. But we were afraid to enter upon a subject of such difficulty, and now the question recurs45 and has not grown easier:— How may philosophy be safely studied? Let us bring her into the light of day, and make an end of the inquiry46.
In the first place, I say boldly that nothing can be worse than the present mode of study. Persons usually pick up a little philosophy in early youth, and in the intervals47 of business, but they never master the real difficulty, which is dialectic. Later, perhaps, they occasionally go to a lecture on philosophy. Years advance, and the sun of philosophy, unlike that of Heracleitus, sets never to rise again. This order of education should be reversed; it should begin with gymnastics in youth, and as the man strengthens, he should increase the gymnastics of his soul. Then, when active life is over, let him finally return to philosophy. ‘You are in earnest, Socrates, but the world will be equally earnest in withstanding you — no more than Thrasymachus.’ Do not make a quarrel between Thrasymachus and me, who were never enemies and are now good friends enough. And I shall do my best to convince him and all mankind of the truth of my words, or at any rate to prepare for the future when, in another life, we may again take part in similar discussions. ‘That will be a long time hence.’ Not long in comparison with eternity49. The many will probably remain incredulous, for they have never seen the natural unity of ideas, but only artificial juxtapositions50; not free and generous thoughts, but tricks of controversy51 and quips of law; — a perfect man ruling in a perfect state, even a single one they have not known. And we foresaw that there was no chance of perfection either in states or individuals until a necessity was laid upon philosophers — not the rogues, but those whom we called the useless class — of holding office; or until the sons of kings were inspired with a true love of philosophy. Whether in the infinity52 of past time there has been, or is in some distant land, or ever will be hereafter, an ideal such as we have described, we stoutly53 maintain that there has been, is, and will be such a state whenever the Muse54 of philosophy rules. Will you say that the world is of another mind? O, my friend, do not revile55 the world! They will soon change their opinion if they are gently entreated56, and are taught the true nature of the philosopher. Who can hate a man who loves him? Or be jealous of one who has no jealousy? Consider, again, that the many hate not the true but the false philosophers — the pretenders who force their way in without invitation, and are always speaking of persons and not of principles, which is unlike the spirit of philosophy. For the true philosopher despises earthly strife58; his eye is fixed59 on the eternal order in accordance with which he moulds himself into the Divine image (and not himself only, but other men), and is the creator of the virtues private as well as public. When mankind see that the happiness of states is only to be found in that image, will they be angry with us for attempting to delineate it? ‘Certainly not. But what will be the process of delineation60?’ The artist will do nothing until he has made a tabula rasa; on this he will inscribe61 the constitution of a state, glancing often at the divine truth of nature, and from that deriving62 the godlike among men, mingling63 the two elements, rubbing out and painting in, until there is a perfect harmony or fusion64 of the divine and human. But perhaps the world will doubt the existence of such an artist. What will they doubt? That the philosopher is a lover of truth, having a nature akin57 to the best? — and if they admit this will they still quarrel with us for making philosophers our kings? ‘They will be less disposed to quarrel.’ Let us assume then that they are pacified65. Still, a person may hesitate about the probability of the son of a king being a philosopher. And we do not deny that they are very liable to be corrupted; but yet surely in the course of ages there might be one exception — and one is enough. If one son of a king were a philosopher, and had obedient citizens, he might bring the ideal polity into being. Hence we conclude that our laws are not only the best, but that they are also possible, though not free from difficulty.
I gained nothing by evading66 the troublesome questions which arose concerning women and children. I will be wiser now and acknowledge that we must go to the bottom of another question: What is to be the education of our guardians67? It was agreed that they were to be lovers of their country, and were to be tested in the refiner’s fire of pleasures and pains, and those who came forth69 pure and remained fixed in their principles were to have honours and rewards in life and after death. But at this point, the argument put on her veil and turned into another path. I hesitated to make the assertion which I now hazard — that our guardians must be philosophers. You remember all the contradictory70 elements, which met in the philosopher — how difficult to find them all in a single person! Intelligence and spirit are not often combined with steadiness; the stolid71, fearless, nature is averse72 to intellectual toil73. And yet these opposite elements are all necessary, and therefore, as we were saying before, the aspirant74 must be tested in pleasures and dangers; and also, as we must now further add, in the highest branches of knowledge. You will remember, that when we spoke75 of the virtues mention was made of a longer road, which you were satisfied to leave unexplored. ‘Enough seemed to have been said.’ Enough, my friend; but what is enough while anything remains76 wanting? Of all men the guardian68 must not faint in the search after truth; he must be prepared to take the longer road, or he will never reach that higher region which is above the four virtues; and of the virtues too he must not only get an outline, but a clear and distinct vision. (Strange that we should be so precise about trifles, so careless about the highest truths!) ‘And what are the highest?’ You to pretend unconsciousness, when you have so often heard me speak of the idea of good, about which we know so little, and without which though a man gain the world he has no profit of it! Some people imagine that the good is wisdom; but this involves a circle — the good, they say, is wisdom, wisdom has to do with the good. According to others the good is pleasure; but then comes the absurdity77 that good is bad, for there are bad pleasures as well as good. Again, the good must have reality; a man may desire the appearance of virtue23, but he will not desire the appearance of good. Ought our guardians then to be ignorant of this supreme78 principle, of which every man has a presentiment79, and without which no man has any real knowledge of anything? ‘But, Socrates, what is this supreme principle, knowledge or pleasure, or what? You may think me troublesome, but I say that you have no business to be always repeating the doctrines80 of others instead of giving us your own.’ Can I say what I do not know? ‘You may offer an opinion.’ And will the blindness and crookedness81 of opinion content you when you might have the light and certainty of science? ‘I will only ask you to give such an explanation of the good as you have given already of temperance and justice.’ I wish that I could, but in my present mood I cannot reach to the height of the knowledge of the good. To the parent or principal I cannot introduce you, but to the child begotten83 in his image, which I may compare with the interest on the principal, I will. (Audit the account, and do not let me give you a false statement of the debt.) You remember our old distinction of the many beautiful and the one beautiful, the particular and the universal, the objects of sight and the objects of thought? Did you ever consider that the objects of sight imply a faculty84 of sight which is the most complex and costly85 of our senses, requiring not only objects of sense, but also a medium, which is light; without which the sight will not distinguish between colours and all will be a blank? For light is the noble bond between the perceiving faculty and the thing perceived, and the god who gives us light is the sun, who is the eye of the day, but is not to be confounded with the eye of man. This eye of the day or sun is what I call the child of the good, standing48 in the same relation to the visible world as the good to the intellectual. When the sun shines the eye sees, and in the intellectual world where truth is, there is sight and light. Now that which is the sun of intelligent natures, is the idea of good, the cause of knowledge and truth, yet other and fairer than they are, and standing in the same relation to them in which the sun stands to light. O inconceivable height of beauty, which is above knowledge and above truth! (‘You cannot surely mean pleasure,’ he said. Peace, I replied.) And this idea of good, like the sun, is also the cause of growth, and the author not of knowledge only, but of being, yet greater far than either in dignity and power. ‘That is a reach of thought more than human; but, pray, go on with the image, for I suspect that there is more behind.’ There is, I said; and bearing in mind our two suns or principles, imagine further their corresponding worlds — one of the visible, the other of the intelligible86; you may assist your fancy by figuring the distinction under the image of a line divided into two unequal parts, and may again subdivide87 each part into two lesser88 segments representative of the stages of knowledge in either sphere. The lower portion of the lower or visible sphere will consist of shadows and reflections, and its upper and smaller portion will contain real objects in the world of nature or of art. The sphere of the intelligible will also have two divisions — one of mathematics, in which there is no ascent89 but all is descent; no inquiring into premises90, but only drawing of inferences. In this division the mind works with figures and numbers, the images of which are taken not from the shadows, but from the objects, although the truth of them is seen only with the mind’s eye; and they are used as hypotheses without being analysed. Whereas in the other division reason uses the hypotheses as stages or steps in the ascent to the idea of good, to which she fastens them, and then again descends91, walking firmly in the region of ideas, and of ideas only, in her ascent as well as descent, and finally resting in them. ‘I partly understand,’ he replied; ‘you mean that the ideas of science are superior to the hypothetical, metaphorical92 conceptions of geometry and the other arts or sciences, whichever is to be the name of them; and the latter conceptions you refuse to make subjects of pure intellect, because they have no first principle, although when resting on a first principle, they pass into the higher sphere.’ You understand me very well, I said. And now to those four divisions of knowledge you may assign four corresponding faculties94 — pure intelligence to the highest sphere; active intelligence to the second; to the third, faith; to the fourth, the perception of shadows — and the clearness of the several faculties will be in the same ratio as the truth of the objects to which they are related . . .
Like Socrates, we may recapitulate95 the virtues of the philosopher. In language which seems to reach beyond the horizon of that age and country, he is described as ‘the spectator of all time and all existence.’ He has the noblest gifts of nature, and makes the highest use of them. All his desires are absorbed in the love of wisdom, which is the love of truth. None of the graces of a beautiful soul are wanting in him; neither can he fear death, or think much of human life. The ideal of modern times hardly retains the simplicity96 of the antique; there is not the same originality97 either in truth or error which characterized the Greeks. The philosopher is no longer living in the unseen, nor is he sent by an oracle98 to convince mankind of ignorance; nor does he regard knowledge as a system of ideas leading upwards99 by regular stages to the idea of good. The eagerness of the pursuit has abated100; there is more division of labour and less of comprehensive reflection upon nature and human life as a whole; more of exact observation and less of anticipation101 and inspiration. Still, in the altered conditions of knowledge, the parallel is not wholly lost; and there may be a use in translating the conception of Plato into the language of our own age. The philosopher in modern times is one who fixes his mind on the laws of nature in their sequence and connexion, not on fragments or pictures of nature; on history, not on controversy; on the truths which are acknowledged by the few, not on the opinions of the many. He is aware of the importance of ‘classifying according to nature,’ and will try to ‘separate the limbs of science without breaking them’ (Phaedr.). There is no part of truth, whether great or small, which he will dishonour; and in the least things he will discern the greatest (Parmen.). Like the ancient philosopher he sees the world pervaded102 by analogies, but he can also tell ‘why in some cases a single instance is sufficient for an induction’ (Mill’s Logic103), while in other cases a thousand examples would prove nothing. He inquires into a portion of knowledge only, because the whole has grown too vast to be embraced by a single mind or life. He has a clearer conception of the divisions of science and of their relation to the mind of man than was possible to the ancients. Like Plato, he has a vision of the unity of knowledge, not as the beginning of philosophy to be attained104 by a study of elementary mathematics, but as the far-off result of the working of many minds in many ages. He is aware that mathematical studies are preliminary to almost every other; at the same time, he will not reduce all varieties of knowledge to the type of mathematics. He too must have a nobility of character, without which genius loses the better half of greatness. Regarding the world as a point in immensity, and each individual as a link in a never-ending chain of existence, he will not think much of his own life, or be greatly afraid of death.
Adeimantus objects first of all to the form of the Socratic reasoning, thus showing that Plato is aware of the imperfection of his own method. He brings the accusation105 against himself which might be brought against him by a modern logician106 — that he extracts the answer because he knows how to put the question. In a long argument words are apt to change their meaning slightly, or premises may be assumed or conclusions inferred with rather too much certainty or universality; the variation at each step may be unobserved, and yet at last the divergence107 becomes considerable. Hence the failure of attempts to apply arithmetical or algebraic formulae to logic. The imperfection, or rather the higher and more elastic108 nature of language, does not allow words to have the precision of numbers or of symbols. And this quality in language impairs109 the force of an argument which has many steps.
The objection, though fairly met by Socrates in this particular instance, may be regarded as implying a reflection upon the Socratic mode of reasoning. And here, as elsewhere, Plato seems to intimate that the time had come when the negative and interrogative method of Socrates must be superseded110 by a positive and constructive111 one, of which examples are given in some of the later dialogues. Adeimantus further argues that the ideal is wholly at variance112 with facts; for experience proves philosophers to be either useless or rogues. Contrary to all expectation Socrates has no hesitation113 in admitting the truth of this, and explains the anomaly in an allegory, first characteristically depreciating114 his own inventive powers. In this allegory the people are distinguished115 from the professional politicians, and, as elsewhere, are spoken of in a tone of pity rather than of censure116 under the image of ‘the noble captain who is not very quick in his perceptions.’
The uselessness of philosophers is explained by the circumstance that mankind will not use them. The world in all ages has been divided between contempt and fear of those who employ the power of ideas and know no other weapons. Concerning the false philosopher, Socrates argues that the best is most liable to corruption; and that the finer nature is more likely to suffer from alien conditions. We too observe that there are some kinds of excellence117 which spring from a peculiar delicacy118 of constitution; as is evidently true of the poetical119 and imaginative temperament120, which often seems to depend on impressions, and hence can only breathe or live in a certain atmosphere. The man of genius has greater pains and greater pleasures, greater powers and greater weaknesses, and often a greater play of character than is to be found in ordinary men. He can assume the disguise of virtue or disinterestedness121 without having them, or veil personal enmity in the language of patriotism122 and philosophy — he can say the word which all men are thinking, he has an insight which is terrible into the follies123 and weaknesses of his fellow-men. An Alcibiades, a Mirabeau, or a Napoleon the First, are born either to be the authors of great evils in states, or ‘of great good, when they are drawn124 in that direction.’
Yet the thesis, ‘corruptio optimi pessima,’ cannot be maintained generally or without regard to the kind of excellence which is corrupted. The alien conditions which are corrupting125 to one nature, may be the elements of culture to another. In general a man can only receive his highest development in a congenial state or family, among friends or fellow-workers. But also he may sometimes be stirred by adverse126 circumstances to such a degree that he rises up against them and reforms them. And while weaker or coarser characters will extract good out of evil, say in a corrupt state of the church or of society, and live on happily, allowing the evil to remain, the finer or stronger natures may be crushed or spoiled by surrounding influences — may become misanthrope127 and philanthrope by turns; or in a few instances, like the founders128 of the monastic orders, or the Reformers, owing to some peculiarity129 in themselves or in their age, may break away entirely130 from the world and from the church, sometimes into great good, sometimes into great evil, sometimes into both. And the same holds in the lesser sphere of a convent, a school, a family.
Plato would have us consider how easily the best natures are overpowered by public opinion, and what efforts the rest of mankind will make to get possession of them. The world, the church, their own profession, any political or party organization, are always carrying them off their legs and teaching them to apply high and holy names to their own prejudices and interests. The ‘monster’ corporation to which they belong judges right and truth to be the pleasure of the community. The individual becomes one with his order; or, if he resists, the world is too much for him, and will sooner or later be revenged on him. This is, perhaps, a one-sided but not wholly untrue picture of the maxims131 and practice of mankind when they ‘sit down together at an assembly,’ either in ancient or modern times.
When the higher natures are corrupted by politics, the lower take possession of the vacant place of philosophy. This is described in one of those continuous images in which the argument, to use a Platonic132 expression, ‘veils herself,’ and which is dropped and reappears at intervals. The question is asked — Why are the citizens of states so hostile to philosophy? The answer is, that they do not know her. And yet there is also a better mind of the many; they would believe if they were taught. But hitherto they have only known a conventional imitation of philosophy, words without thoughts, systems which have no life in them; a (divine) person uttering the words of beauty and freedom, the friend of man holding communion with the Eternal, and seeking to frame the state in that image, they have never known. The same double feeling respecting the mass of mankind has always existed among men. The first thought is that the people are the enemies of truth and right; the second, that this only arises out of an accidental error and confusion, and that they do not really hate those who love them, if they could be educated to know them.
In the latter part of the sixth book, three questions have to be considered: 1st, the nature of the longer and more circuitous133 way, which is contrasted with the shorter and more imperfect method of Book IV; 2nd, the heavenly pattern or idea of the state; 3rd, the relation of the divisions of knowledge to one another and to the corresponding faculties of the soul
1. Of the higher method of knowledge in Plato we have only a glimpse. Neither here nor in the Phaedrus or Symposium134, nor yet in the Philebus or Sophist, does he give any clear explanation of his meaning. He would probably have described his method as proceeding135 by regular steps to a system of universal knowledge, which inferred the parts from the whole rather than the whole from the parts. This ideal logic is not practised by him in the search after justice, or in the analysis of the parts of the soul; there, like Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics136, he argues from experience and the common use of language. But at the end of the sixth book he conceives another and more perfect method, in which all ideas are only steps or grades or moments of thought, forming a connected whole which is self-supporting, and in which consistency137 is the test of truth. He does not explain to us in detail the nature of the process. Like many other thinkers both in ancient and modern times his mind seems to be filled with a vacant form which he is unable to realize. He supposes the sciences to have a natural order and connexion in an age when they can hardly be said to exist. He is hastening on to the ‘end of the intellectual world’ without even making a beginning of them.
In modern times we hardly need to be reminded that the process of acquiring knowledge is here confused with the contemplation of absolute knowledge. In all science a priori and a posteriori truths mingle138 in various proportions. The a priori part is that which is derived139 from the most universal experience of men, or is universally accepted by them; the a posteriori is that which grows up around the more general principles and becomes imperceptibly one with them. But Plato erroneously imagines that the synthesis is separable from the analysis, and that the method of science can anticipate science. In entertaining such a vision of a priori knowledge he is sufficiently140 justified141, or at least his meaning may be sufficiently explained by the similar attempts of Descartes, Kant, Hegel, and even of Bacon himself, in modern philosophy. Anticipations142 or divinations, or prophetic glimpses of truths whether concerning man or nature, seem to stand in the same relation to ancient philosophy which hypotheses bear to modern inductive science. These ‘guesses at truth’ were not made at random143; they arose from a superficial impression of uniformities and first principles in nature which the genius of the Greek, contemplating144 the expanse of heaven and earth, seemed to recognize in the distance. Nor can we deny that in ancient times knowledge must have stood still, and the human mind been deprived of the very instruments of thought, if philosophy had been strictly145 confined to the results of experience.
2. Plato supposes that when the tablet has been made blank the artist will fill in the lineaments of the ideal state. Is this a pattern laid up in heaven, or mere146 vacancy147 on which he is supposed to gaze with wondering eye? The answer is, that such ideals are framed partly by the omission148 of particulars, partly by imagination perfecting the form which experience supplies (Phaedo). Plato represents these ideals in a figure as belonging to another world; and in modern times the idea will sometimes seem to precede, at other times to co-operate with the hand of the artist. As in science, so also in creative art, there is a synthetical149 as well as an analytical150 method. One man will have the whole in his mind before he begins; to another the processes of mind and hand will be simultaneous.
3. There is no difficulty in seeing that Plato’s divisions of knowledge are based, first, on the fundamental antithesis151 of sensible and intellectual which pervades152 the whole pre-Socratic philosophy; in which is implied also the opposition153 of the permanent and transient, of the universal and particular. But the age of philosophy in which he lived seemed to require a further distinction; — numbers and figures were beginning to separate from ideas. The world could no longer regard justice as a cube, and was learning to see, though imperfectly, that the abstractions of sense were distinct from the abstractions of mind. Between the Eleatic being or essence and the shadows of phenomena, the Pythagorean principle of number found a place, and was, as Aristotle remarks, a conducting medium from one to the other. Hence Plato is led to introduce a third term which had not hitherto entered into the scheme of his philosophy. He had observed the use of mathematics in education; they were the best preparation for higher studies. The subjective154 relation between them further suggested an objective one; although the passage from one to the other is really imaginary (Metaph.). For metaphysical and moral philosophy has no connexion with mathematics; number and figure are the abstractions of time and space, not the expressions of purely155 intellectual conceptions. When divested156 of metaphor93, a straight line or a square has no more to do with right and justice than a crooked82 line with vice157. The figurative association was mistaken for a real one; and thus the three latter divisions of the Platonic proportion were constructed.
There is more difficulty in comprehending how he arrived at the first term of the series, which is nowhere else mentioned, and has no reference to any other part of his system. Nor indeed does the relation of shadows to objects correspond to the relation of numbers to ideas. Probably Plato has been led by the love of analogy (Timaeus) to make four terms instead of three, although the objects perceived in both divisions of the lower sphere are equally objects of sense. He is also preparing the way, as his manner is, for the shadows of images at the beginning of the seventh book, and the imitation of an imitation in the tenth. The line may be regarded as reaching from unity to infinity, and is divided into two unequal parts, and subdivided158 into two more; each lower sphere is the multiplication159 of the preceding. Of the four faculties, faith in the lower division has an intermediate position (cp. for the use of the word faith or belief, (Greek), Timaeus), contrasting equally with the vagueness of the perception of shadows (Greek) and the higher certainty of understanding (Greek) and reason (Greek).
The difference between understanding and mind or reason (Greek) is analogous160 to the difference between acquiring knowledge in the parts and the contemplation of the whole. True knowledge is a whole, and is at rest; consistency and universality are the tests of truth. To this self-evidencing knowledge of the whole the faculty of mind is supposed to correspond. But there is a knowledge of the understanding which is incomplete and in motion always, because unable to rest in the subordinate ideas. Those ideas are called both images and hypotheses — images because they are clothed in sense, hypotheses because they are assumptions only, until they are brought into connexion with the idea of good.
The general meaning of the passage, ‘Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight . . . And of this kind I spoke as the intelligible . . . ’ so far as the thought contained in it admits of being translated into the terms of modern philosophy, may be described or explained as follows:— There is a truth, one and self-existent, to which by the help of a ladder let down from above, the human intelligence may ascend161. This unity is like the sun in the heavens, the light by which all things are seen, the being by which they are created and sustained. It is the IDEA of good. And the steps of the ladder leading up to this highest or universal existence are the mathematical sciences, which also contain in themselves an element of the universal. These, too, we see in a new manner when we connect them with the idea of good. They then cease to be hypotheses or pictures, and become essential parts of a higher truth which is at once their first principle and their final cause.
We cannot give any more precise meaning to this remarkable162 passage, but we may trace in it several rudiments163 or vestiges164 of thought which are common to us and to Plato: such as (1) the unity and correlation165 of the sciences, or rather of science, for in Plato’s time they were not yet parted off or distinguished; (2) the existence of a Divine Power, or life or idea or cause or reason, not yet conceived or no longer conceived as in the Timaeus and elsewhere under the form of a person; (3) the recognition of the hypothetical and conditional166 character of the mathematical sciences, and in a measure of every science when isolated167 from the rest; (4) the conviction of a truth which is invisible, and of a law, though hardly a law of nature, which permeates168 the intellectual rather than the visible world.
The method of Socrates is hesitating and tentative, awaiting the fuller explanation of the idea of good, and of the nature of dialectic in the seventh book. The imperfect intelligence of Glaucon, and the reluctance169 of Socrates to make a beginning, mark the difficulty of the subject. The allusion170 to Theages’ bridle, and to the internal oracle, or demonic sign, of Socrates, which here, as always in Plato, is only prohibitory; the remark that the salvation171 of any remnant of good in the present evil state of the world is due to God only; the reference to a future state of existence, which is unknown to Glaucon in the tenth book, and in which the discussions of Socrates and his disciples172 would be resumed; the surprise in the answers; the fanciful irony173 of Socrates, where he pretends that he can only describe the strange position of the philosopher in a figure of speech; the original observation that the Sophists, after all, are only the representatives and not the leaders of public opinion; the picture of the philosopher standing aside in the shower of sleet174 under a wall; the figure of ‘the great beast’ followed by the expression of good-will towards the common people who would not have rejected the philosopher if they had known him; the ‘right noble thought’ that the highest truths demand the greatest exactness; the hesitation of Socrates in returning once more to his well-worn theme of the idea of good; the ludicrous earnestness of Glaucon; the comparison of philosophy to a deserted maiden175 who marries beneath her — are some of the most interesting characteristics of the sixth book.
Yet a few more words may be added, on the old theme, which was so oft discussed in the Socratic circle, of which we, like Glaucon and Adeimantus, would fain, if possible, have a clearer notion. Like them, we are dissatisfied when we are told that the idea of good can only be revealed to a student of the mathematical sciences, and we are inclined to think that neither we nor they could have been led along that path to any satisfactory goal. For we have learned that differences of quantity cannot pass into differences of quality, and that the mathematical sciences can never rise above themselves into the sphere of our higher thoughts, although they may sometimes furnish symbols and expressions of them, and may train the mind in habits of abstraction and self-concentration. The illusion which was natural to an ancient philosopher has ceased to be an illusion to us. But if the process by which we are supposed to arrive at the idea of good be really imaginary, may not the idea itself be also a mere abstraction? We remark, first, that in all ages, and especially in primitive176 philosophy, words such as being, essence, unity, good, have exerted an extraordinary influence over the minds of men. The meagreness or negativeness of their content has been in an inverse177 ratio to their power. They have become the forms under which all things were comprehended. There was a need or instinct in the human soul which they satisfied; they were not ideas, but gods, and to this new mythology178 the men of a later generation began to attach the powers and associations of the elder deities179.
The idea of good is one of those sacred words or forms of thought, which were beginning to take the place of the old mythology. It meant unity, in which all time and all existence were gathered up. It was the truth of all things, and also the light in which they shone forth, and became evident to intelligences human and divine. It was the cause of all things, the power by which they were brought into being. It was the universal reason divested of a human personality. It was the life as well as the light of the world, all knowledge and all power were comprehended in it. The way to it was through the mathematical sciences, and these too were dependent on it. To ask whether God was the maker180 of it, or made by it, would be like asking whether God could be conceived apart from goodness, or goodness apart from God. The God of the Timaeus is not really at variance with the idea of good; they are aspects of the same, differing only as the personal from the impersonal181, or the masculine from the neuter, the one being the expression or language of mythology, the other of philosophy.
This, or something like this, is the meaning of the idea of good as conceived by Plato. Ideas of number, order, harmony, development may also be said to enter into it. The paraphrase182 which has just been given of it goes beyond the actual words of Plato. We have perhaps arrived at the stage of philosophy which enables us to understand what he is aiming at, better than he did himself. We are beginning to realize what he saw darkly and at a distance. But if he could have been told that this, or some conception of the same kind, but higher than this, was the truth at which he was aiming, and the need which he sought to supply, he would gladly have recognized that more was contained in his own thoughts than he himself knew. As his words are few and his manner reticent183 and tentative, so must the style of his interpreter be. We should not approach his meaning more nearly by attempting to define it further. In translating him into the language of modern thought, we might insensibly lose the spirit of ancient philosophy. It is remarkable that although Plato speaks of the idea of good as the first principle of truth and being, it is nowhere mentioned in his writings except in this passage. Nor did it retain any hold upon the minds of his disciples in a later generation; it was probably unintelligible184 to them. Nor does the mention of it in Aristotle appear to have any reference to this or any other passage in his extant writings.
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1
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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8
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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13
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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prater
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| 多嘴的人，空谈者 | |
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mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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16
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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17
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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18
professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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19
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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20
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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21
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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22
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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24
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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26
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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28
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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29
grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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30
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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32
persecutor
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| n. 迫害者 | |
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33
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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34
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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36
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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38
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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39
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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40
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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41
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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42
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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43
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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44
degenerates
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45
recurs
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| 再发生，复发( recur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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48
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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49
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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50
juxtapositions
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| n.并置，并列( juxtaposition的名词复数 ) | |
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51
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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52
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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53
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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54
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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revile
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| v.辱骂，谩骂 | |
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56
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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58
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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59
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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60
delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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61
inscribe
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| v.刻；雕；题写；牢记 | |
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62
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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63
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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65
pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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66
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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67
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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69
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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73
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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75
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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81
crookedness
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| [医]弯曲 | |
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82
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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83
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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85
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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86
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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87
subdivide
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| vt.细分（细区分，再划分，重分，叠分，分小类） | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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91
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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92
metaphorical
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| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
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metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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94
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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recapitulate
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| v.节述要旨，择要说明 | |
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96
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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98
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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101
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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102
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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104
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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105
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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106
logician
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| n.逻辑学家 | |
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107
divergence
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| n.分歧，岔开 | |
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108
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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109
impairs
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| v.损害，削弱( impair的第三人称单数 ) | |
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110
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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111
constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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112
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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113
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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114
depreciating
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| v.贬值，跌价，减价( depreciate的现在分词 )；贬低，蔑视，轻视 | |
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115
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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116
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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117
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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118
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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119
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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120
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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121
disinterestedness
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122
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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123
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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124
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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125
corrupting
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的现在分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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126
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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127
misanthrope
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| n.恨人类的人；厌世者 | |
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128
founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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129
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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130
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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131
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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132
platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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133
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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134
symposium
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| n.讨论会，专题报告会；专题论文集 | |
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135
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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136
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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137
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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138
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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139
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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140
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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141
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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142
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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143
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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144
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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145
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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146
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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147
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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148
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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149
synthetical
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| adj.综合的，合成的 | |
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150
analytical
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| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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151
antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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152
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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153
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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154
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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155
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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156
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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157
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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158
subdivided
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| 再分，细分( subdivide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
multiplication
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| n.增加，增多，倍增；增殖，繁殖；乘法 | |
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160
analogous
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| adj.相似的；类似的 | |
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161
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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162
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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163
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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164
vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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165
correlation
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| n.相互关系，相关，关连 | |
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166
conditional
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| adj.条件的，带有条件的 | |
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167
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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168
permeates
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| 弥漫( permeate的第三人称单数 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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169
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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170
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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171
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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172
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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173
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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174
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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175
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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176
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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177
inverse
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| adj.相反的，倒转的，反转的；n.相反之物；v.倒转 | |
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178
mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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179
deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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180
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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181
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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182
paraphrase
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| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
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183
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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184
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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