Well, but there is another thing, Simmias: Is there or is there not an absolute justice? Assuredly there is.
Of course.
Certainly not.
Certainly.
|
| Are not all things which have opposites
generated out of their opposites? I mean such things as good and
evil, just and unjust-and there are innumerable other opposites which are
generated out of opposites. And I want to show that this holds universally
of all opposites; I mean to say, for example, that anything which becomes
greater must become greater after being less.
True.
Yes.
Very true.
Of course.
Yes.
Yes, he said.
Very true, he replied.
True, he said.
Of course.
Quite agreed.
Yes.
That is clear, he replied.
That is true.
Surely, he said.
Certainly, he replied.
Quite true.
Yes, Socrates, he said; all this seems to flow necessarily out of our previous admissions. |
| And if we acquired this knowledge
before we were born, and were born having it, then we also knew before
we were born and at the instant of birth not only equal or the greater
or the less, but all other ideas; for we are not speaking only of equality
absolute, but of beauty, goodness, justice, holiness, and all which we
stamp with the name of essence in the dialectical process, when we ask
and answer questions. Of all this we may certainly affirm that we acquired
the knowledge before birth?
That is true.
Quite true, Socrates.
Very true.
Yes, that is quite true, Socrates.
I cannot decide at the moment.
Certainly, he ought.
I wish that they could, Socrates, but I greatly fear that to-morrow at this time there will be no one able to give a reason worth having. Then you are not of opinion, Simmias, that all men know these things? Certainly not.
Certainly.
Certainly not.
|
| Then now let us return to the previous
discussion. Is that idea or essence, which in the dialectical process we
define as essence of true existence-whether essence of equality, beauty,
or anything else: are these essences, I say, liable at times to some degree
of change? or are they each of them always what they are, having the same
simple, self-existent and unchanging forms, and not admitting of variation
at all, or in any way, or at any time?
They must be always the same, Socrates,
replied Cebes.
The latter, replied Cebes; they are always in a state of change. And these you can touch and see and perceive with the senses, but the unchanging things you can only perceive with the mind-they are invisible and are not seen? That is very true, he said.
Let us suppose them.
That may be also supposed.
To be sure.
Clearly to the seen: no one can
doubt that.
Yes, to the eye of man.
Not seen.
That is most certain, Socrates.
Very true.
|
But when returning into herself she reflects; then she passes into the realm of purity, and eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are her kindred, and with them she ever lives, when she is by herself and is not let or hindered; then she ceases from her erring ways, and being in communion with the unchanging is unchanging. And this state of the soul is called wisdom? That is well and truly said, Socrates, he replied. And to which class is the soul more nearly alike and akin, as far as may be inferred from this argument, as well as from the preceding one? I think, Socrates, that, in the opinion of everyone who follows the argument, the soul will be infinitely more like the unchangeable even the most stupid person will not deny that. And the body is more like the changing? Yes. Yet once more consider the matter in this light: When the soul and the body are united, then nature orders the soul to rule and govern, and the body to obey and serve. Now which of these two functions is akin to the divine? and which to the mortal? Does not the divine appear to you to be that which naturally orders and rules, and the mortal that which is subject and servant? True. And which does the soul resemble? The soul resembles the divine and the body the mortal-there can be no doubt of that, Socrates. Then reflect, Cebes: is not the conclusion of the whole matter this?-that the soul is in the very likeness of the divine, and immortal, and intelligible, and uniform, and indissoluble, and unchangeable; and the body is in the very likeness of the human, and mortal, and unintelligible, and multiform, and dissoluble, and changeable. Can this, my dear Cebes, be denied? |
The lovers of knowledge are conscious that their souls, when philosophy receives them, are simply fastened and glued to their bodies: the soul is only able to view existence through the bars of a prison, and not in her own nature; she is wallowing in the mire of all ignorance; and philosophy, seeing the terrible nature of her confinement, and that the captive through desire is led to conspire in her own captivity (for the lovers of knowledge are aware that this was the original state of the soul, and that when she was in this state philosophy received and gently counseled her, and wanted to release her, pointing out to her that the eye is full of deceit, and also the ear and other senses, and persuading her to retire from them in all but the necessary use of them and to be gathered up and collected into herself, and to trust only to herself and her own intuitions of absolute existence, and mistrust that which comes to her through others and is subject to vicissitude)-philosophy shows her that this is visible and tangible, but that what she sees in her own nature is intellectual and invisible. And the soul of the true philosopher thinks that she ought not to resist this deliverance, and therefore abstains from pleasures and desires and pains and fears, as far as she is able; reflecting that when a man has great joys or sorrows or fears or desires he suffers from them, not the sort of evil which might be anticipated-as, for example, the loss of his health or property, which he has sacrificed to his lusts-but he has suffered an evil greater far, which is the greatest and worst of all evils, and one of which he never thinks.
| There is nothing new, he said,
in what I am about to tell you; but only what I have been always and everywhere
repeating in the previous discussion and on other occasions: I want to
show you the nature of that cause which has occupied my thoughts, and I
shall have to go back to those familiar words which are in the mouth of
everyone, and first of all assume that there is an absolute beauty and
goodness and greatness, and the like; grant me this, and I hope to be able
to show you the nature of the cause, and to prove the immortality of the
soul.
Cebes said: You may proceed at once with the proof, as I readily grant you this. Well, he said, then I should like to know whether you agree with me in the next step; for I cannot help thinking that if there be anything beautiful other than absolute beauty, that can only be beautiful in as far as it partakes of absolute beauty-and this I should say of everything. Do you agree in this notion of the cause? Yes, he said, I agree.
Yes, I agree.
|
| But first of all, let us view the affections and actions of the soul divine and human, and try to ascertain the truth about them. The beginning of our proof is as follows:-The soul through all her being is immortal, for that which is ever in motion is immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by another, in ceasing to move ceases also to live. Only the self-moving, never leaving self, never ceases to move, and is the fountain and principle of motion to all that moves besides. Now, the first principle is unbegotten, for that which is begotten has a first principle; but the first prinicple is begotten of nothing, for if it were begotten of something, then the begotten would not come from a first principle. But if unbegotten, it must also be indestructible; for if first principle were destroyed, nothing could come to be out of it, nor could anything bring the first principle back into existence; and all things must have a first principle. And therefore the self-moving is the first principle of motion; and this can neither be destroyed nor begotten, else the whole heavens and all creation would collapse and stand still, and never again have motion or birth. But if the self-moving is proved to be immortal, he who affirms that self-motion is the very idea and essence of the soul will not be put to confusion. For the body which is moved from without is soulless; but that which is moved from within has a soul, for such is the nature of the soul. But if this be true, must not the soul be the self-moving, and therefore of necessity unbegotten and immortal? Enough of the soul's immortality. |
| Of the nature of the soul, though
her true form be ever a theme of large and more than mortal discourse,
let me speak briefly, and in a figure. And let the figure be composite-a
pair of winged horses and a charioteer. Now the winged horses and the charioteers
of the gods are all of them noble and of noble descent, but those of other
races are mixed; the human charioteer drives his in a pair; and one of
them is noble and of noble breed, and the other is ignoble and of ignoble
breed; and the driving of them of necessity gives a great deal of trouble
to him. I will endeavour to explain to you in what way the mortal
differs from the immortal creature. The soul in her totality has
the care of inanimate being everywhere, and traverses the whole heaven
in divers forms appearing--when perfect and fully winged she soars upward,
and orders the whole world; whereas the imperfect soul, losing her wings
and drooping in her flight at last settles on the solid ground-there, finding
a home, she receives an earthly frame which appears to be self-moved, but
is really moved by her power; and this composition of soul and body is
called a living and mortal creature. For immortal no such union can
be reasonably believed to be; although fancy, not having seen nor surely
known the nature of God, may imagine an immortal creature having both a
body and also a soul which are united throughout all time. Let that, however,
be as God wills, and be spoken of acceptably to him. And now let
us ask the reason why the soul loses her wings!
The wing is the corporeal element which is most akin to the divine, and which by nature tends to soar aloft and carry that which gravitates downwards into the upper region, which is the habitation of the gods. The divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the like; and by these the wing of the soul is nourished, and grows apace; but when fed upon evil and foulness and the opposite of good, wastes and falls away. Zeus, the mighty lord, holding the reins of a winged chariot, leads the way in heaven, ordering all and taking care of all; and there follows him the array of gods and demigods, marshalled in eleven bands; Hestia alone abides at home in the house of heaven; of the rest they who are reckoned among the princely twelve march in their appointed order. They see many blessed sights in the inner heaven, and there are many ways to and fro, along which the blessed gods are passing, every one doing his own work; he may follow who will and can, for jealousy has no place in the celestial choir. But when they go to banquet and festival, then they move up the steep to the top of the vault of heaven. The chariots of the gods in even poise, obeying the rein, glide rapidly; but the others labour, for the vicious steed goes heavily, weighing down the charioteer to the earth when his steed has not been thoroughly trained:-and this is the hour of agony and extremest conflict for the soul. For the immortals, when they are at the end of their course, go forth and stand upon the outside of heaven, and the revolution of the spheres carries them round, and they behold the things beyond. But of the heaven which is above the heavens, what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing worthily? It is such as I will describe; for I must dare to speak the truth, when truth is my theme. There abides Being itself, with which true knowledge is concerned; the colourless, formless, intangible essence, visible only to mind, the pilot of the soul. The divine intelligence, being nurtured upon mind and pure knowledge, and the intelligence of every soul which is capable of receiving the food proper to it, rejoices at beholding reality, and once more gazing upon truth, is replenished and made glad, until the revolution of the worlds brings her round again to the same place. In the revolution she beholds justice, and temperance, and knowledge absolute, not in the form of generation or of relation, which men call existence, but knowledge absolute in existence absolute; and beholding the other true existences in like manner, and feasting upon them, she passes down into the interior of the heavens and returns home; and there the charioteer putting up his horses at the stall, gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink. Such is the life of the gods; but of other souls, that which follows God best and is likest to him lifts the head of the charioteer into the outer world, and is carried round in the revolution, troubled indeed by the steeds, and with difficulty beholding true being; while another only rises and falls, and sees, and again fails to see by reason of the unruliness of the steeds. The rest of the souls are also longing after the upper world and they all follow, but not being strong enough they are carried round below the surface, plunging, treading on one another, each striving to be first; and there is confusion and perspiration and the extremity of effort; and many of them are lamed or have their wings broken through the ill-driving of the charioteers; and all of them after a fruitless toil, not having attained to the mysteries of true being, go away, and feed upon opinion. The reason why the souls exhibit this exceeding eagerness to behold the plain of truth is that pasturage is found there, which is suited to the highest part of the soul; and the wing on which the soul soars is nourished with this. And there is a law of Destiny, that the soul which attains any vision of truth in company with a god is preserved from harm until the next period, and if attaining always is always unharmed. |
| I said: Until philosophers
are kings, or the kings and princes of this world have the spirit and power
of philosophy, and political greatness and wisdom meet in one, and those
commoner natures who pursue either to the exclusion of the other are compelled
to stand aside, cities will never have rest from their evils, --nor the
human race, as I believe, --and then only will this our State have a possibility
of life and behold the light of day. Such was the thought, my dear Glaucon,
which I would fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant; for
to be convinced that in no other State can there be happiness private or
public is indeed a hard thing.
Socrates, what do you mean? I would have you consider that the word which you have uttered is one at which numerous persons, and very respectable persons too, in a figure pulling off their coats all in a moment, and seizing any weapon that comes to hand, will run at you might and main, before you know where you are, intending to do heaven knows what; and if you don't prepare an answer, and put yourself in motion, you will be prepared by their fine wits,' and no mistake. You got me into the scrape, I said. And I was quite right; however, I will do all I can to get you out of it; but I can only give you good-will and good advice, and, perhaps, I may be able to fit answers to your questions better than another --that is all. And now, having such an auxiliary, you must do your best to show the unbelievers that you are right. I ought to try, I said, since you offer me such invaluable assistance. And I think that, if there is to be a chance of our escaping, we must explain to them whom we mean when we say that philosophers are to rule in the State; then we shall be able to defend ourselves: There will be discovered to be some natures who ought to study philosophy and to be leaders in the State; and others who are not born to be philosophers, and are meant to be followers rather than leaders. Then now for a definition, he said. Follow me, I said, and I hope that I may in some way or other be able to give you a satisfactory explanation. Proceed. I dare say that you remember, and therefore I need not remind you, that a lover, if he is worthy of the name, ought to show his love, not to some one part of that which he loves, but to the whole. I really do not understand, and therefore beg of you to assist my memory. Another person, I said, might fairly reply as you do; but a man of pleasure like yourself ought to know that all who are in the flower of youth do somehow or other raise a pang or emotion in a lover's breast, and are thought by him to be worthy of his affectionate regards. Is not this a way which you have with the fair: one has a snub nose, and you praise his charming face; the hook-nose of another has, you say, a royal look; while he who is neither snub nor hooked has the grace of regularity: the dark visage is manly, the fair are children of the gods; and as to the sweet 'honey pale,' as they are called, what is the very name but the invention of a lover who talks in diminutives, and is not adverse to paleness if appearing on the cheek of youth? In a word, there is no excuse which you will not make, and nothing which you will not say, in order not to lose a single flower that blooms in the spring-time of youth. If you make me an authority in matters of love, for the sake of the argument, I assent. And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing the same? They are glad of any pretext of drinking any wine. Very good. And the same is true of ambitious men; if they cannot command an army, they are willing to command a file; and if they cannot be honoured by really great and important persons, they are glad to be honoured by lesser and meaner people, but honour of some kind they must have. Exactly. Once more let me ask: Does he who desires any class of goods, desire the whole class or a part only? The whole. And may we not say of the philosopher that he is a lover, not of a part of wisdom only, but of the whole? Yes, of the whole. And he who dislikes learnings, especially in youth, when he has no power of judging what is good and what is not, such an one we maintain not to be a philosopher or a lover of knowledge, just as he who refuses his food is not hungry, and may be said to have a bad appetite and not a good one? Very true, he said. Whereas he who has a taste for every sort of knowledge and who is curious to learn and is never satisfied, may be justly termed a philosopher? Am I not right? Glaucon said: If curiosity makes a philosopher, you will find many a strange being will have a title to the name. All the lovers of sights have a delight in learning, and must therefore be included. Musical amateurs, too, are a folk strangely out of place among philosophers, for they are the last persons in the world who would come to anything like a philosophical discussion, if they could help, while they run about at the Dionysiac festivals as if they had let out their ears to hear every chorus; whether the performance is in town or country --that makes no difference --they are there. Now are we to maintain that all these and any who have similar tastes, as well as the professors of quite minor arts, are philosophers? Certainly not, I replied; they are only an imitation. He said: Who then are the true philosophers? Those, I said, who are lovers of the vision of truth. That is also good, he said; but I should like to know what you mean? To another, I replied, I might have a difficulty in explaining; but I am sure that you will admit a proposition which I am about to make. What is the proposition? That since beauty is the opposite of ugliness, they are two? Certainly. And inasmuch as they are two, each of them is one? True again. And of just and unjust, good and evil, and of every other class, the same remark holds: taken singly, each of them one; but from the various combinations of them with actions and things and with one another, they are seen in all sorts of lights and appear many? Very true. And this is the distinction which I draw between the sight-loving, art-loving, practical class and those of whom I am speaking, and who are alone worthy of the name of philosophers. How do you distinguish them? he said. The lovers of sounds and sights, I replied, are, as I conceive, fond of fine tones and colours and forms and all the artificial products that are made out of them, but their mind is incapable of seeing or loving absolute beauty. True, he replied. Few are they who are able to attain to the sight of this. Very true. And he who, having a sense of beautiful things has no sense of absolute beauty, or who, if another lead him to a knowledge of that beauty is unable to follow --of such an one I ask, Is he awake or in a dream only? Reflect: is not the dreamer, sleeping or waking, one who likens dissimilar things, who puts the copy in the place of the real object? I should certainly say that such an one was dreaming. But take the case of the other, who recognises the existence of absolute beauty and is able to distinguish the idea from the objects which participate in the idea, neither putting the objects in the place of the idea nor the idea in the place of the objects --is he a dreamer, or is he awake? He is wide awake. And may we not say that the mind of the one who knows has knowledge, and that the mind of the other, who opines only, has opinion. Certainly. But suppose that the latter should quarrel with us and dispute our statement, can we administer any soothing cordial or advice to him, without revealing to him that there is sad disorder in his wits? We must certainly offer him some good advice, he replied. Come, then, and let us think of something to say to him. Shall we begin by assuring him that he is welcome to any knowledge which he may have, and that we are rejoiced at his having it? But we should like to ask him a question: Does he who has knowledge know something or nothing? (You must answer for him.) I answer that he knows something. Something that is or is not? Something that is; for how can that which is not ever be known? And are we assured, after looking at the matter from many points of view, that absolute being is or may be absolutely known, but that the utterly non-existent is utterly unknown? Nothing can be more certain. Good. But if there be anything which is of such a nature as to be and not to be, that will have a place intermediate between pure being and the absolute negation of being? Yes, between them. And, as knowledge corresponded to being and ignorance of necessity to not-being, for that intermediate between being and not-being there has to be discovered a corresponding intermediate between ignorance and knowledge, if there be such? Certainly. Do we admit the existence of opinion? Undoubtedly. As being the same with knowledge, or another faculty? Another faculty. Then opinion and knowledge have to do with different kinds of matter corresponding to this difference of faculties? Yes. And knowledge is relative to being and knows being. But before I proceed further I will make a division. What division? I will begin by placing faculties in a class by themselves: they are powers in us, and in all other things, by which we do as we do. Sight and hearing, for example, I should call faculties. Have I clearly explained the class which I mean? Yes, I quite understand. Then let me tell you my view about them. I do not see them, and therefore the distinctions of fire, colour, and the like, which enable me to discern the differences of some things, do not apply to them. In speaking of a faculty I think only of its sphere and its result; and that which has the same sphere and the same result I call the same faculty, but that which has another sphere and another result I call different. Would that be your way of speaking? Yes. And will you be so very good as to answer one more question? Would you say that knowledge is a faculty, or in what class would you place it? Certainly knowledge is a faculty, and the mightiest of all faculties. And is opinion also a faculty? Certainly, he said; for opinion is that with which we are able to form an opinion. And yet you were acknowledging a little while ago that knowledge is not the same as opinion? Why, yes, he said: how can any reasonable being ever identify that which is infallible with that which errs? An excellent answer, proving, I said, that we are quite conscious of a distinction between them. Yes. Then knowledge and opinion having distinct powers have also distinct spheres or subject-matters? That is certain. Being is the sphere or subject-matter of knowledge, and knowledge is to know the nature of being? Yes. And opinion is to have an opinion? Yes. And do we know what we opine? or is the subject-matter of opinion the same as the subject-matter of knowledge? Nay, he replied, that has been already disproven; if difference in faculty implies difference in the sphere or subject matter, and if, as we were saying, opinion and knowledge are distinct faculties, then the sphere of knowledge and of opinion cannot be the same. Then if being is the subject-matter of knowledge, something else must be the subject-matter of opinion? Yes, something else. Well then, is not-being the subject-matter of opinion? or, rather, how can there be an opinion at all about not-being? Reflect: when a man has an opinion, has he not an opinion about something? Can he have an opinion which is an opinion about nothing? Impossible. He who has an opinion has an opinion about some one thing? Yes. And not-being is not one thing but, properly speaking, nothing? True. Of not-being, ignorance was assumed to be the necessary correlative; of being, knowledge? True, he said. Then opinion is not concerned either with being or with not-being? Not with either. And can therefore neither be ignorance nor knowledge? That seems to be true. But is opinion to be sought without and beyond either of them, in a greater clearness than knowledge, or in a greater darkness than ignorance? In neither. Then I suppose that opinion appears to you to be darker than knowledge, but lighter than ignorance? Both; and in no small degree. And also to be within and between them? Yes. Then you would infer that opinion is intermediate? No question. But were we not saying before, that if anything appeared to be of a sort which is and is not at the same time, that sort of thing would appear also to lie in the interval between pure being and absolute not-being; and that the corresponding faculty is neither knowledge nor ignorance, but will be found in the interval between them? True. And in that interval there has now been discovered something which we call opinion? There has. Then what remains to be discovered is the object which partakes equally of the nature of being and not-being, and cannot rightly be termed either, pure and simple; this unknown term, when discovered, we may truly call the subject of opinion, and assign each to its proper faculty, -the extremes to the faculties of the extremes and the mean to the faculty of the mean. True. This being premised, I would ask the gentleman who is of opinion that there is no absolute or unchangeable idea of beauty --in whose opinion the beautiful is the manifold --he, I say, your lover of beautiful sights, who cannot bear to be told that the beautiful is one, and the just is one, or that anything is one --to him I would appeal, saying, Will you be so very kind, sir, as to tell us whether, of all these beautiful things, there is one which will not be found ugly; or of the just, which will not be found unjust; or of the holy, which will not also be unholy? No, he replied; the beautiful will in some point of view be found ugly; and the same is true of the rest. And may not the many which are doubles be also halves? --doubles, that is, of one thing, and halves of another? Quite true. And things great and small, heavy and light, as they are termed, will not be denoted by these any more than by the opposite names? True; both these and the opposite names will always attach to all of them. And can any one of those many things which are called by particular names be said to be this rather than not to be this? He replied: They are like the punning riddles which are asked at feasts or the children's puzzle about the eunuch aiming at the bat, with what he hit him, as they say in the puzzle, and upon what the bat was sitting. The individual objects of which I am speaking are also a riddle, and have a double sense: nor can you fix them in your mind, either as being or not-being, or both, or neither. Then what will you do with them? I said. Can they have a better place than between being and not-being? For they are clearly not in greater darkness or negation than not-being, or more full of light and existence than being. That is quite true, he said. Thus then we seem to have discovered that the many ideas which the multitude entertain about the beautiful and about all other things are tossing about in some region which is halfway between pure being and pure not-being? We have. Yes; and we had before agreed that anything of this kind which we might find was to be described as matter of opinion, and not as matter of knowledge; being the intermediate flux which is caught and detained by the intermediate faculty. Quite true. Then those who see the many beautiful, and who yet neither see absolute beauty, nor can follow any guide who points the way thither; who see the many just, and not absolute justice, and the like, --such persons may be said to have opinion but not knowledge? That is certain. But those who see the absolute and eternal and immutable may be said to know, and not to have opinion only? Neither can that be denied. The one loves and embraces the subjects of knowledge, the other those of opinion? The latter are the same, as I dare say will remember, who listened to sweet sounds and gazed upon fair colours, but would not tolerate the existence of absolute beauty. Yes, I remember. Shall we then be guilty of any impropriety in calling them lovers of opinion rather than lovers of wisdom, and will they be very angry with us for thus describing them? I shall tell them not to be angry; no man should be angry at what is true. But those who love the truth in each thing are to be called lovers of wisdom and not lovers of opinion. Assuredly. |
| Surely, I said, the one which follows next in order. Inasmuch as philosophers only are able to grasp the eternal and unchangeable, and those who wander in the region of the many and variable are not philosophers, I must ask you which of the two classes should be the rulers of our State? |
| Let us suppose that philosophical
minds always love knowledge of a sort which shows them the eternal nature
not varying from generation and corruption.
Agreed. And further, I said, let us agree that they are lovers of all true being; there is no part whether greater or less, or more or less honourable, which they are willing to renounce; as we said before of the lover and the man of ambition. True. And if they are to be what we were describing, is there not another quality which they should also possess? What quality? Truthfulness: they will never intentionally receive into their mind falsehood, which is their detestation, and they will love the truth. Yes, that may be safely affirmed of them. 'May be,' my friend, I replied, is not the word; say rather 'must be affirmed:' for he whose nature is amorous of anything cannot help loving all that belongs or is akin to the object of his affections. Right, he said. And is there anything more akin to wisdom than truth? How can there be? |
| And have we not a right to
say in his defence, that the true lover of knowledge is always striving
after being --that is his nature; he will not rest in the multiplicity
of individuals which is an appearance only, but will go on --the keen edge
will not be blunted, nor the force of his desire abate until he have attained
the knowledge of the true nature of every essence by a sympathetic and
kindred power in the soul, and by that power drawing near and mingling
and becoming incorporate with very being, having begotten mind and truth,
he will have knowledge and will live and grow truly, and then, and not
till then, will he cease from his travail.
Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him. |
| Why, that all those mercenary
individuals, whom the many call Sophists and whom they deem to be their
adversaries, do, in fact, teach nothing but the opinion of the many, that
is to say, the opinions of their assemblies; and this is their wisdom.
I might compare them to a man who should study the tempers and desires
of a mighty strong beast who is fed by him-he would learn how to approach
and handle him, also at what times and from what causes he is dangerous
or the reverse, and what is the meaning of his several cries, and by what
sounds, when another utters them, he is soothed or infuriated; and you
may suppose further, that when, by continually attending upon him, he has
become perfect in all this, he calls his knowledge wisdom, and makes of
it a system or art, which he proceeds to teach, although he has no real
notion of what he means by the principles or passions of which he is speaking,
but calls this honourable and that dishonourable, or good or evil, or just
or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes and tempers of the great brute.
Good he pronounces to be that in which the beast delights and evil to be
that which he dislikes; and he can give no other account of them except
that the just and noble are the necessary, having never himself seen, and
having no power of explaining to others the nature of either, or the difference
between them, which is immense. By heaven, would not such an one
be a rare educator?
Indeed, he would. And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment of the tempers and tastes of the motley multitude, whether in painting or music, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom I have been describing For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits to them his poem or other work of art or the service which he has done the State, making them his judges when he is not obliged, the so-called necessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they praise. And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give in confirmation of their own notions about the honourable and good. Did you ever hear any of them which were not? No, nor am I likely to hear. You recognise the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me ask you to consider further whether the world will ever be induced to believe in the existence of absolute beauty rather than of the many beautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many in each kind? Certainly not. Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher? Impossible. And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure of the world? They must. And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them? That is evident. |
| For he, Adeimantus, whose
mind is fixed upon true being, has surely no time to look down upon the
affairs of earth, or to be filled with malice and envy, contending against
men; his eye is ever directed towards things fixed and immutable, which
he sees neither injuring nor injured by one another, but all in order moving
according to reason; these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as
he can, conform himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds
reverential converse?
Impossible. And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order, becomes orderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but like every one else, he will suffer from detraction. Of course. And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself, but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into that which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilful artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue? Anything but unskilful. And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is the truth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve us, when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed by artists who imitate the heavenly pattern? They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will they draw out the plan of which you are speaking? They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which, as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a clean surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein will lie the difference between them and every other legislator, --they will have nothing to do either with individual or State, and will inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or themselves made, a clean surface. They will be very right, he said. Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the constitution? No doubt. And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will often turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will first look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at the human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of life into the image of a man; and thus they will conceive according to that other image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form and likeness of God. Very true, he said. And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, they have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the ways of God? Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture. And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you described as rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of constitutions is such an one as we are praising; at whom they were so very indignant because to his hands we committed the State; and are they growing a little calmer at what they have just heard? Much calmer, if there is any sense in them. Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they doubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being? They would not be so unreasonable. |
| You have to imagine, then,
that there are two ruling powers, and that one of them is set over the
intellectual world, the other over the visible. I do not say heaven, lest
you should fancy that I am playing upon the name. May I suppose that
you have this distinction of the visible and intelligible fixed in your
mind?
I have. Now take a line which has been cut into two unequal parts, and divide each of them again in the same proportion, and suppose the two main divisions to answer, one to the visible and the other to the intelligible, and then compare the subdivisions in respect of their clearness and want of clearness, and you will find that the first section in the sphere of the visible consists of images. And by images I mean, in the first place, shadows, and in the second place, reflections in water and in solid, smooth and polished bodies and the like: Do you understand? Yes, I understand. Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is only the resemblance, to include the animals which we see, and everything that grows or is made. Very good. Would you not admit that both the sections of this division have different degrees of truth, and that the copy is to the original as the sphere of opinion is to the sphere of knowledge? Most undoubtedly. Next proceed to consider the manner in which the sphere of the intellectual is to be divided. In what manner? Thus: --There are two subdivisions, in the lower or which the soul uses the figures given by the former division as images; the enquiry can only be hypothetical, and instead of going upwards to a principle descends to the other end; in the higher of the two, the soul passes out of hypotheses, and goes up to a principle which is above hypotheses, making no use of images as in the former case, but proceeding only in and through the ideas themselves. I do not quite understand your meaning, he said. Then I will try again; you will understand me better when I have made some preliminary remarks. You are aware that students of geometry, arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume the odd and the even and the figures and three kinds of angles and the like in their several branches of science; these are their hypotheses, which they and everybody are supposed to know, and therefore they do not deign to give any account of them either to themselves or others; but they begin with them, and go on until they arrive at last, and in a consistent manner, at their conclusion? Yes, he said, I know. And do you not know also that although they make use of the visible forms and reason about them, they are thinking not of these, but of the ideals which they resemble; not of the figures which they draw, but of the absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so on --the forms which they draw or make, and which have shadows and reflections in water of their own, are converted by them into images, but they are really seeking to behold the things themselves, which can only be seen with the eye of the mind? That is true. And of this kind I spoke as the intelligible, although in the search after it the soul is compelled to use hypotheses; not ascending to a first principle, because she is unable to rise above the region of hypothesis, but employing the objects of which the shadows below are resemblances in their turn as images, they having in relation to the shadows and reflections of them a greater distinctness, and therefore a higher value. I understand, he said, that you are speaking of the province of geometry and the sister arts. And when I speak of the other division of the intelligible, you will understand me to speak of that other sort of knowledge which reason herself attains by the power of dialectic, using the hypotheses not as first principles, but only as hypotheses --that is to say, as steps and points of departure into a world which is above hypotheses, in order that she may soar beyond them to the first principle of the whole; and clinging to this and then to that which depends on this, by successive steps she descends again without the aid of any sensible object, from ideas, through ideas, and in ideas she ends. I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for you seem to me to be describing a task which is really tremendous; but, at any rate, I understand you to say that knowledge and being, which the science of dialectic contemplates, are clearer than the notions of the arts, as they are termed, which proceed from hypotheses only: these are also contemplated by the understanding, and not by the senses: yet, because they start from hypotheses and do not ascend to a principle, those who contemplate them appear to you not to exercise the higher reason upon them, although when a first principle is added to them they are cognizable by the higher reason. And the habit which is concerned with geometry and the cognate sciences I suppose that you would term understanding and not reason, as being intermediate between opinion and reason. You have quite conceived my meaning, I said; and now, corresponding to these four divisions, let there be four faculties in the soul-reason answering to the highest, understanding to the second, faith (or conviction) to the third, and perception of shadows to the last-and let there be a scale of them, and let us suppose that the several faculties have clearness in the same degree that their objects have truth. I understand, he replied, and give my assent, and accept your arrangement. |
| The guardian then, I said,
must be required to take the longer circuit, and toll at learning as well
as at gymnastics, or he will never reach the highest knowledge of all which,
as we were just now saying, is his proper calling.
What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this --higher than justice and the other virtues? Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not the outline merely, as at present --nothing short of the most finished picture should satisfy us. When little things are elaborated with an infinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full beauty and utmost clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think the highest truths worthy of attaining the highest accuracy! A right noble thought; but do you suppose that we shall refrain from asking you what is this highest knowledge? Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard the answer many times, and now you either do not understand me or, as I rather think, you are disposed to be troublesome; for you have been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all other things become useful and advantageous only by their use of this. You can hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak, concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know so little; and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will profit us nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other things is of any value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness? Assuredly not. You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the good, but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge Yes. And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they mean by knowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the good? How ridiculous! Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our ignorance of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it --for the good they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we understood them when they use the term 'good' --this is of course ridiculous. Most true, he said. And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity; for they are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well as good. Certainly. And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same? True. There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which this question is involved. There can be none. Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or to seem to be what is just and honourable without the reality; but no one is satisfied with the appearance of good --the reality is what they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by every one. Very true, he said. Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of all his actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end, and yet hesitating because neither knowing the nature nor having the same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing whatever good there is in other things, --of a principle such and so great as this ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is entrusted, to be in the darkness of ignorance? Certainly not, he said. I am sure, I said, that he who does not know now the beautiful and the just are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and I suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a true knowledge of them. That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours. And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will be perfectly ordered? Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you conceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge or pleasure, or different from either. Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like you would not be contented with the thoughts of other people about these matters. True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a lifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating the opinions of others, and never telling his own. Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not know? Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no right to do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of opinion. And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the best of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any true notion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their way along the road? Very true. And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when others will tell you of brightness and beauty? GLAUCON - SOCRATES Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn away just as you are reaching the goal; if you will only give such an explanation of the good as you have already given of justice and temperance and the other virtues, we shall be satisfied. Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I cannot help fearing that I shall fall, and that my indiscreet zeal will bring ridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask what is the actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in my thoughts would be an effort too great for me. But of the child of the good who is likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be sure that you wished to hear --otherwise, not. By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain in our debt for the account of the parent. I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive, the account of the parent, and not, as now, of the offspring only; take, however, this latter by way of interest, and at the same time have a care that I do not render a false account, although I have no intention of deceiving you. Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed. Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, and remind you of what I have mentioned in the course of this discussion, and at many other times. What? The old story, that there is a many beautiful and a many good, and so of other things which we describe and define; to all of them 'many' is applied. True, he said. And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of other things to which the term 'many' is applied there is an absolute; for they may be brought under a single idea, which is called the essence of each. Very true. The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are known but not seen. Exactly. And what is the organ with which we see the visible things? The sight, he said. And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other senses perceive the other objects of sense? True. But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and complex piece of workmanship which the artificer of the senses ever contrived? No, I never have, he said. Then reflect; has the ear or voice need of any third or additional nature in order that the one may be able to hear and the other to be heard? Nothing of the sort. No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, the other senses --you would not say that any of them requires such an addition? Certainly not. But you see that without the addition of some other nature there is no seeing or being seen? How do you mean? Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting to see; colour being also present in them, still unless there be a third nature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner of the eyes will see nothing and the colours will be invisible. Of what nature are you speaking? Of that which you term light, I replied. True, he said. Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and visibility, and great beyond other bonds by no small difference of nature; for light is their bond, and light is no ignoble thing? Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble. And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the lord of this element? Whose is that light which makes the eye to see perfectly and the visible to appear? You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say. May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows? How? Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun? No. Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun? By far the most like. And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which is dispensed from the sun? Exactly. Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognised by sight. True, he said. And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good begat in his own likeness, to be in the visible world, in relation to sight and the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual world in relation to mind and the things of mind. Will you be a little more explicit? he said. Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs them towards objects on which the light of day is no longer shining, but the moon and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind; they seem to have no clearness of vision in them? Very true. But when they are directed towards objects on which the sun shines, they see clearly and there is sight in them? Certainly. And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truth and being shine, the soul perceives and understands and is radiant with intelligence; but when turned towards the twilight of becoming and perishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking about, and is first of one opinion and then of another, and seems to have no intelligence? Just so. Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing to the knower is what I would have you term the idea of good, and this you will deem to be the cause of science, and of truth in so far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too, as are both truth and knowledge, you will be right in esteeming this other nature as more beautiful than either; and, as in the previous instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and yet not to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science and truth may be deemed to be like the good, but not the good; the good has a place of honour yet higher. What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author of science and truth, and yet surpasses them in beauty; for you surely cannot mean to say that pleasure is the good? God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image in another point of view? In what point of view? You would say, would you not, that the sun is only the author of visibility in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment and growth, though he himself is not generation? Certainly. In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author of knowledge to all things known, but of their being and essence, and yet the good is not essence, but far exceeds essence in dignity and power. Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of heaven, how amazing! Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you made me utter my fancies. And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there is anything more to be said about the similitude of the sun. |
| And now, I said, let me show
in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: --Behold!
human beings living in a underground cave, which has a mouth open towards
the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their
childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move,
and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning
round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance,
and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will
see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which
marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets.
I see. And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent. You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners. Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave? True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads? And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows? Yes, he said. And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them? Very true. And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow? No question, he replied. To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images. That is certain. And now look again, and see what will naturally follow it' the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, -will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him? Far truer. And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him? True, he now And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he 's forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities. Not all in a moment, he said. He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day? Certainly. Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. Certainly. He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold? Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him. And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them? Certainly, he would. And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honours and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer, Better to be the poor servant of a poor master, and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner? Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner. Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness? To be sure, he said. And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death. No question, he said. This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal author of all things right and beautiful, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally, either in public or private life must have his eye fixed. |
18. Eudemian Ethics 1217b - 1218a
| We must consider, therefore, what
the best is, and in how many senses the term is used. The answer seems
to be principally contained in three views. For it is said that the
best of all things is the Absolute Good, and that the Absolute Good is
that which has the attributes of being the first of goods and of being
by its presence the cause to the other goods of their being good; and both
of these attributes, it is said, belong to the Form of good (I mean both
being the first of goods and being by its presence the cause to the other
goods of their being good), since it is of that Form that goodness is most
truly predicated (inasmuch as the other goods are good by participation
in and resemblance to the Form of good) and also it is the first of goods,
for the destruction of that which is participated in involves the destruction
of the things participating in the Form (which get their designation by
participating in it), and that is the relation existing between what is
primary and what is subsequent; so that the Form of good is the Absolute
Good, inasmuch as the Form of good is separable from the things that participate
in it, as are the other Forms also. Now a thorough examination
of this opinion belongs to another course of study, and one that for the
most part necessarily lies more in the field of Logic, for that is the
only science dealing with arguments that are at the same time destructive
and general. But if we are to speak about it concisely, we
say that in the first place to assert the existence of a Form not only
of good but of anything else is an expression of logic and a mere abstraction
(but this has been considered in various ways both in extraneous discourses
and in those on philosophical lines); next, even granting that Forms and
the Form of good exist in the fullest sense, surely this is of no practical
value for the good life or for conduct. For 'good' has many senses,
in fact as many as 'being.' For the term 'is,' as it has been analyzed
in other works, signifies now substance, now quality, now quantity, now
time, and in addition to these meanings it consists now in undergoing change
and now in causing it; and the good is found in each of these cases3--in
essence, as mind and God, in quality justice, in quantity moderation, in
time opportunity, and as instances of change, the teacher and the taught.
Therefore, just as being is not some one thing in respect of the categories
mentioned, so neither is the good, and there is no one science either of
the real or of the good. But also even the goods predicated in the same
category, for example opportunity or moderation, do not fall within the
province of a single science to study, but different sorts of opportunity
and of moderation are studied by different sciences, for instance opportunity
and moderation in respect of food are studied by medicine and gymnastics,
in respect of military operations by strategics, and similarly in respect
of another pursuit by another science; so that it can hardly be the case
that the Absolute Good is the subject of only one science.
1218a Again, wherever there is a sequence of factors, a prior and a subsequent, there is not some common element beside these factors and that element separable; for then there would be something prior to the first in the series, for the common and separable term would be prior because when the common element was destroyed the first factor would be destroyed. For example, if double is the first of the multiples, the multiplicity predicated of them in common cannot exist as a separable thing, for then it will be prior to double, if it is the case that the common element is the Form, as it would be if one were to make the common element separable: for if justice is a good, and courage, there is then, they say, a Good-in-itself, so the term 'in itself' is added to the common definition. But what could this denote except that the goodis eternal and separable? Yet a thing that is white for days is no more white than a thing that is white for one day, so that the good is no more good by being eternal; nor yet therefore is the common good the same as the Form, for it is the common property of all the goods. Also the proper method of proving the Absolute Good is the contrary of the method now adopted. At present it is from things not admitted to possess goodness that they prove the things admitted to be good, for instance, they prove from numbers that justice and health are good, because they are arrangements and numbers--on the assumption that goodness is a property of numbers and monads because the Absolute Good is unity. But the proper method is to start from things admitted to be good, for instance health, strength, sobriety of mind, and prove that beauty is present even more in the unchanging; for all these admitted goods consist in order and rest, and therefore, if that is so, the things unchanging are good in an even greater degree, for they possess order and rest in a greater degree.-- And it is a hazardous way of proving that the Absolute Good is unity to say that numbers aim at unity; for it is not clearly stated how they aim at it, but the expression is used in too unqualified a manner; and how can one suppose that things not possessing life can have appetition? One ought to study this matter carefully, and not make an unreasoned assumption about something as to which it is not easy to attain certainty even with the aid of reason.--And the statement that all existing things desire some one good is not true; each thing seeks its own particular good, the eye sight, the body health, and similarly another thing another good. Such then are the difficulties indicating that the Absolute Good does not exist,--and that it is of no use for political science, but that this has a special good of its own, as have the other sciences also--for instance the good of gymnastics is good bodily condition. Further there is also what has been written in the discourse: either the Class-form of the good is in itself useful to no science, or it is useful to all alike. Further it is not practicable. And similarly the good as universal also is not an Absolute Good. |
19. Metaphysics 1.6; 987a 29 -
988a 16
| After the systems we have named
came the philosophy of Plato, which in most respects followed these thinkers,
but had pecullarities that distinguished it from the philosophy of the
Italians. For, having in his youth first become familiar with Cratylus
and with the Heraclitean doctrines (that all sensible things are ever in
a state of flux and there is no knowledge about them), these views he held
even in later years. Socrates, however, was busying himself about ethical
matters and neglecting the world of nature as a whole but seeking the universal
in these ethical matters, and fixed thought for the first time on definitions;
Plato accepted his teaching, but held that the problem applied not to sensible
things but to entities of another kind-for this reason, that the common
definition could not be a definition of any sensible thing, as they were
always changing. Things of this other sort, then, he called Ideas, and
sensible things, he said, were all named after these, and in virtue of
a relation to these; for the many existed by participation in the Ideas
that have the same name as they. Only the name 'participation' was new;
for the Pythagoreans say that things exist by 'imitation' of numbers, and
Plato says they exist by participation, changing the name. But what the
participation or the imitation of the Forms could be they left an open
question.
"Further, besides sensible things and Forms he says there are the objects of mathematics, which occupy an intermediate position, differing from sensible things in being eternal and unchangeable, from Forms in that there are many alike, while the Form itself is in each case unique. "Since the Forms were the causes of all other things, he thought their elements were the elements of all things. As matter, the great and the small were principles; as essential reality, the One; for from the great and the small, by participation in the One, come the Numbers. "But he agreed with the Pythagoreans in saying that the One is substance and not a predicate of something else; and in saying that the Numbers are the causes of the reality of other things he agreed with them; but positing a dyad and constructing the infinite out of great and small, instead of treating the infinite as one, is peculiar to him; and so is his view that the Numbers exist apart from sensible things, while they say that the things themselves are Numbers, and do not place the objects of mathematics between Forms and sensible things. His divergence from the Pythagoreans in making the One and the Numbers separate from things, and his introduction of the Forms, were due to his inquiries in the region of definitions (for the earlier thinkers had no tincture of dialectic), and his making the other entity besides the One a dyad was due to the belief that the numbers, except those which were prime, could be neatly produced out of the dyad as out of some plastic material. Yet what happens is the contrary; the theory is not a reasonable one. For they make many things out of the matter, and the form generates only once, but what we observe is that one table is made from one matter, while the man who applies the form, though he is one, makes many tables. And the relation of the male to the female is similar; for the latter is impregnated by one copulation, but the male impregnates many females; yet these are analogues of those first principles. "Plato, then, declared himself thus on the points in question; it is evident from what has been said that he has used only two causes, that of the essence and the material cause (for the Forms are the causes of the essence of all other things, and the One is the cause of the essence of the Forms); and it is evident what the underlying matter is, of which the Forms are predicated in the case of sensible things, and the One in the case of Forms, viz. that this is a dyad, the great and the small. Further, he has assigned the cause of good and that of evil to the elements, one to each of the two, as we say some of his predecessors sought to do, e.g. Empedocles and Anaxagoras. |
| While Socrates was speaking, Pythodorus
thought that Parmenides and Zeno were not altogether pleased at the successive
steps of the argument; but still they gave the closest attention, and often
looked at one another, and smiled as if in admiration of him. When he had
finished, Parmenides expressed their feelings in the following words:--
Socrates, he said, I admire the bent of your mind towards philosophy; tell me now, was this your own distinction between ideas in themselves and the things which partake of them? and do you think that there is an idea of likeness apart from the likeness which we possess, and of the one and many, and of the other things which Zeno mentioned? I think that there are such ideas, said Socrates. Parmenides proceeded: And would you also make absolute ideas of the just and the beautiful and the good, and of all that class? Yes, he said, I should. And would you make an idea of man apart from us and from all other human creatures, or of fire and water? I am often undecided, Parmenides, as to whether I ought to include them or not. And would you feel equally undecided, Socrates, about things of which the mention may provoke a smile?--I mean such things as hair, mud, dirt, or anything else which is vile and paltry; would you suppose that each of these has an idea distinct from the actual objects with which we come into contact, or not? Certainly not, said Socrates; visible things like these are such as they appear to us, and I am afraid that there would be an absurdity in assuming any idea of them, although I sometimes get disturbed, and begin to think that there is nothing without an idea; but then again, when I have taken up this position, I run away, because I am afraid that I may fall into a bottomless pit of nonsense, and perish; and so I return to the ideas of which I was just now speaking, and occupy myself with them. |
| Yes, Socrates, said Parmenides;
that is because you are still young; the time will come, if I am not mistaken,
when philosophy will have a firmer grasp of you, and then you will not
despise even the meanest things; at your age, you are too much disposed
to regard the opinions of men. But I should like to know whether you mean
that there are certain ideas of which all other things partake, and from
which they derive their names; that similars, for example, become similar,
because they partake of similarity; and great things become great, because
they partake of greatness; and that just and beautiful things become just
and beautiful, because they partake of justice and beauty?
Yes, certainly, said Socrates that is my meaning. Then each individual partakes either of the whole of the idea or else of a part of the idea? Can there be any other mode of participation? There cannot be, he said. Then do you think that the whole idea is one, and yet, being one, is in each one of the many? Why not, Parmenides? said Socrates. Because one and the same thing will exist as a whole at the same time in many separate individuals, and will therefore be in a state of separation from itself. Nay, but the idea may be like the day which is one and the same in many places at once, and yet continuous with itself; in this way each idea may be one and the same in all at the same time. I like your way, Socrates, of making one in many places at once. You mean to say, that if I were to spread out a sail and cover a number of men, there would be one whole including many--is not that your meaning? I think so. And would you say that the whole sail includes each man, or a part of it only, and different parts different men? The latter. Then, Socrates, the ideas themselves will be divisible, and things which participate in them will have a part of them only and not the whole idea existing in each of them? That seems to follow. Then would you like to say, Socrates, that the one idea is really divisible and yet remains one? Certainly not, he said. Suppose that you divide absolute greatness, and that of the many great things, each one is great in virtue of a portion of greatness less than absolute greatness--is that conceivable? No. Or will each equal thing, if possessing some small portion of equality less than absolute equality, be equal to some other thing by virtue of that portion only? Impossible. Or suppose one of us to have a portion of smallness; this is but a part of the small, and therefore the absolutely small is greater; if the absolutely small be greater, that to which the part of the small is added will be smaller and not greater than before. How absurd! Then in what way, Socrates, will all things participate in the ideas, if they are unable to participate in them either as parts or wholes? Indeed, he said, you have asked a question which is not easily answered. Well, said Parmenides, and what do you say of another question? What question? I imagine that the way in which you are led to assume one idea of each kind is as follows:--You see a number of great objects, and when you look at them there seems to you to be one and the same idea (or nature) in them all; hence you conceive of greatness as one. Very true, said Socrates. And if you go on and allow your mind in like manner to embrace in one view the idea of greatness and of great things which are not the idea, and to compare them, will not another greatness arise, which will appear to be the source of all these? It would seem so. Then another idea of greatness now comes into view over and above absolute greatness, and the individuals which partake of it; and then another, over and above all these, by virtue of which they will all be great, and so each idea instead of being one will be infinitely multiplied. But may not the ideas, asked Socrates, be thoughts only, and have no proper existence except in our minds, Parmenides? For in that case each idea may still be one, and not experience this infinite multiplication. And can there be individual thoughts which are thoughts of nothing? Impossible, he said. The thought must be of something? Yes. Of something which is or which is not? Of something which is. Must it not be of a single something, which the thought recognizes as attaching to all, being a single form or nature? Yes. And will not the something which is apprehended as one and the same in all, be an idea? From that, again, there is no escape. Then, said Parmenides, if you say that everything else participates in the ideas, must you not say either that everything is made up of thoughts, and that all things think; or that they are thoughts but have no thought? |
| The latter view, Parmenides, is
no more rational than the previous one. In my opinion, the ideas are, as
it were, patterns fixed in nature, and other things are like them, and
resemblances of them--what is meant by the participation of other things
in the ideas, is really assimilation to them.
But if, said he, the individual is like the idea, must not the idea also be like the individual, in so far as the individual is a resemblance of the idea? That which is like, cannot be conceived of as other than the like of like. Impossible. And when two things are alike, must they not partake of the same idea? They must. And will not that of which the two partake, and which makes them alike, be the idea itself? Certainly. Then the idea cannot be like the individual, or the individual like the idea; for if they are alike, some further idea of likeness will always be coming to light, and if that be like anything else, another; and new ideas will be always arising, if the idea resembles that which partakes of it? Quite true. The theory, then, that other things participate in the ideas by resemblance, has to be given up, and some other mode of participation devised? It would seem so. Do you see then, Socrates, how great is the difficulty of affirming the ideas to be absolute? Yes, indeed. And, further, let me say that as yet you only understand a small part of the difficulty which is involved if you make of each thing a single idea, parting it off from other things. What difficulty? he said. There are many, but the greatest of all is this:--If an opponent argues that these ideas, being such as we say they ought to be, must remain unknown, no one can prove to him that he is wrong, unless he who denies their existence be a man of great ability and knowledge, and is willing to follow a long and laborious demonstration; he will remain unconvinced, and still insist that they cannot be known. What do you mean, Parmenides? said Socrates. In the first place, I think, Socrates, that you, or any one who maintains the existence of absolute essences, will admit that they cannot exist in us. No, said Socrates; for then they would be no longer absolute. True, he said; and therefore when ideas are what they are in relation to one another, their essence is determined by a relation among themselves, and has nothing to do with the resemblances, or whatever they are to be termed, which are in our sphere, and from which we receive this or that name when we partake of them. And the things which are within our sphere and have the same names with them, are likewise only relative to one another, and not to the ideas which have the same names with them, but belong to themselves and not to them. What do you mean? said Socrates. I may illustrate my meaning in this way, said Parmenides:--A master has a slave; now there is nothing absolute in the relation between them, which is simply a relation of one man to another. But there is also an idea of mastership in the abstract, which is relative to the idea of slavery in the abstract. These natures have nothing to do with us, nor we with them; they are concerned with themselves only, and we with ourselves. Do you see my meaning? Yes, said Socrates, I quite see your meaning. And will not knowledge--I mean absolute knowledge--answer to absolute truth? Certainly. And each kind of absolute knowledge will answer to each kind of absolute being? Yes. But the knowledge which we have, will answer to the truth which we have; and again, each kind of knowledge which we have, will be a knowledge of each kind of being which we have? Certainly. But the ideas themselves, as you admit, we have not, and cannot have? No, we cannot. And the absolute natures or kinds are known severally by the absolute idea of knowledge? Yes. And we have not got the idea of knowledge? No. Then none of the ideas are known to us, because we have no share in absolute knowledge? I suppose not. Then the nature of the beautiful in itself, and of the good in itself, and all other ideas which we suppose to exist absolutely, are unknown to us? It would seem so. I think that there is a stranger consequence still. What is it? Would you, or would you not say, that absolute knowledge, if there is such a thing, must be a far more exact knowledge than our knowledge; and the same of beauty and of the rest? Yes. And if there be such a thing as participation in absolute knowledge, no one is more likely than God to have this most exact knowledge? Certainly. But then, will God, having absolute knowledge, have a knowledge of human things? Why not? Because, Socrates, said Parmenides, we have admitted that the ideas are not valid in relation to human things; nor human things in relation to them; the relations of either are limited to their respective spheres. Yes, that has been admitted. And if God has this perfect authority, and perfect knowledge, his authority cannot rule us, nor his knowledge know us, or any human thing; just as our authority does not extend to the gods, nor our knowledge know anything which is divine, so by parity of reason they, being gods, are not our masters, neither do they know the things of men. Yet, surely, said Socrates, to deprive God of knowledge is monstrous. |
| STRANGER: And as classes are admitted
by us in like manner to be some of them capable and others incapable of
intermixture, must not he who would rightly show what kinds will unite
and what will not, proceed by the help of science in the path of argument?
And will he not ask if the connecting links are universal, and so capable
of intermixture with all things; and again, in divisions, whether there
are not other universal classes, which make them possible?
THEAETETUS: To be sure he will require science, and, if I am not mistaken, the very greatest of all sciences. STRANGER: How are we to call it? By Zeus, have we not lighted unwittingly upon our free and noble science, and in looking for the Sophist have we not entertained the philosopher unawares? THEAETETUS: What do you mean? STRANGER: Should we not say that the division according to classes, which neither makes the same other, nor makes other the same, is the business of the dialectical science? THEAETETUS: That is what we should say. STRANGER: Then, surely, he who can divide rightly is able to see clearly one form pervading a scattered multitude, and many different forms contained under one higher form; and again, one form knit together into a single whole and pervading many such wholes, and many forms, existing only in separation and isolation. This is the knowledge of classes which determines where they can have communion with one another and where not. THEAETETUS: Quite true. STRANGER: And the art of dialectic would be attributed by you only to the philosopher pure and true? THEAETETUS: Who but he can be worthy? STRANGER: In this region we shall always discover the philosopher, if we look for him; like the Sophist, he is not easily discovered, but for a different reason. THEAETETUS: For what reason? STRANGER: Because the Sophist runs away into the darkness of not-being, in which he has learned by habit to feel about, and cannot be discovered because of the darkness of the place. Is not that true? THEAETETUS: It seems to be so. STRANGER: And the philosopher, always holding converse through reason with the idea of being, is also dark from excess of light; for the souls of the many have no eye which can endure the vision of the divine. THEAETETUS: Yes; that seems to be quite as true as the other. STRANGER: Well, the philosopher may hereafter be more fully considered by us, if we are disposed; but the Sophist must clearly not be allowed to escape until we have had a good look at him. |
| STRANGER: Is the not-beautiful
anything but this--an existence parted off from a certain kind of existence,
and again from another point of view opposed to an existing something?
THEAETETUS: True. STRANGER: Then the not-beautiful turns out to be the opposition of being to being? THEAETETUS: Very true. STRANGER: But upon this view, is the beautiful a more real and the not- beautiful a less real existence? THEAETETUS: Not at all. STRANGER: And the not-great may be said to exist, equally with the great? THEAETETUS: Yes. STRANGER: And, in the same way, the just must be placed in the same category with the not-just--the one cannot be said to have any more existence than the other. THEAETETUS: True. STRANGER: The same may be said of other things; seeing that the nature of the other has a real existence, the parts of this nature must equally be supposed to exist. THEAETETUS: Of course. STRANGER: Then, as would appear, the opposition of a part of the other, and of a part of being, to one another, is, if I may venture to say so, as truly essence as being itself, and implies not the opposite of being, but only what is other than being. THEAETETUS: Beyond question. STRANGER: What then shall we call it? THEAETETUS: Clearly, not-being; and this is the very nature for which the Sophist compelled us to search. STRANGER: And has not this, as you were saying, as real an existence as any other class? May I not say with confidence that not-being has an assured existence, and a nature of its own? Just as the great was found to be great and the beautiful beautiful, and the not-great not-great, and the not-beautiful not-beautiful, in the same manner not-being has been found to be and is not-being, and is to be reckoned one among the many classes of being. Do you, Theaetetus, still feel any doubt of this? THEAETETUS: None whatever. STRANGER: Do you observe that our scepticism has carried us beyond the range of Parmenides' prohibition? THEAETETUS: In what? STRANGER: We have advanced to a further point, and shown him more than he forbad us to investigate. THEAETETUS: How is that? STRANGER: Why, because he says-- 'Not-being never is, and do thou keep thy thoughts from this way of enquiry.' THEAETETUS: Yes, he says so. STRANGER: Whereas, we have not only proved that things which are not are, but we have shown what form of being not-being is; for we have shown that the nature of the other is, and is distributed over all things in their relations to one another, and whatever part of the other is contrasted with being, this is precisely what we have ventured to call not-being. THEAETETUS: And surely, Stranger, we were quite right. STRANGER: Let not any one say, then, that while affirming the opposition of not-being to being, we still assert the being of not-being; for as to whether there is an opposite of being, to that enquiry we have long said good-bye--it may or may not be, and may or may not be capable of definition. But as touching our present account of not-being, let a man either convince us of error, or, so long as he cannot, he too must say, as we are saying, that there is a communion of classes, and that being, and difference or other, traverse all things and mutually interpenetrate, so that the other partakes of being, and by reason of this participation is, and yet is not that of which it partakes, but other, and being other than being, it is clearly a necessity that not-being should be. And again, being, through partaking of the other, becomes a class other than the remaining classes, and being other than all of them, is not each one of them, and is not all the rest, so that undoubtedly there are thousands upon thousands of cases in which being is not, and all other things, whether regarded individually or collectively, in many respects are, and in many respects are not. THEAETETUS: True. |