I ml  Kli UDLIV^
OF
PLATO
TRANSLATED WITH NOTES AND AN  INTERPRETIVE ESSAY BY
ALLAN BLOOM
PUBLISHERS   •   NEW   YORK    . LONDON
t
J
BOOK VII
"Next, then" I said, "make an image of our nature in its educa-       514a tion and want of education, likening it to a condition of the following kind. See human beings as though they were in an underground cave-f like dwelling with its entrance, a long one, open to the light across the
whole width of the cave. They are in it from childhood with their legs and necks in bonds so that they are fixed., seeing only in front of them, , unable because of the bond to turn their heads all the way around. b
Their light is from a fire burning far above and behind them. Between the fire and the prisoners there is a road above, along which see a wall, built like the partitions puppet-handlers set in front of the human beings and over which they show the puppets."
"I see," he said.
[    . "Then also see along this wall human beings carrying all sorts of
artifacts, which project above the wall, and statues of men and other c animals wrought from stone, wood, and every kind of material; as is to 515 a be expected, some of the carriers utter sounds while others are silent."
"It's a strange image," he said, "and strange prisoners you're telling of."
"They're like us," I said. "For in the first place, do you suppose t< such men would have seen anything of themselves and one another
I other than the shadows cast by the fire on the side of the cave facing
I them?"
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515 a "How could they," he said, "if they had been compelled to keep b       their heads motionless throughout life?"
"And what about the things that are carried by? Isn't it the same with them?"
"Of course."
"If they were able to discuss things with one another, don't you believe they would hold that they are naming these things going by before them that they see?"1
"Necessarily,"
"And what if the prison also had an echo from the side facing them? Whenever one of the men passing by happens to utter a sound, do you suppose they would believe that anything other than the passing shadow was uttering the sound?"
"No, by Zeus," he said. "I don't," c "Then most certainly," I said, "such men would hold that the
truth is nothing other than the shadows of artificial things."
"Most necessarily," he said.
"Now consider" I said, "what their release and healing from bonds and folly would be like if something of this sort were by nature to happen to them. Take a man who is released and suddenly compelled to stand up, to turn his neck around, to walk and look-up toward the light; and who, moreover, in doing all this is in pain and, because he is dazzled, is unable to make out those things whose shadows he saw d before- What do you suppose he'd say if someone were to tell him that before he saw silly nothings, while now, because he is somewhat nearer to what is and more turned toward beings, he sees more correctly; and, in particular, showing him each of the things that pass by, were to compel the man to answer his questions about what they are? Don't you suppose he'd be at a loss and believe that what was seen-before is truer than what is now shown?"
"Yes," he said, "by far." e "And, if he compelled him to look at the light itself, would his
eyes hurt and would he flee, turning away to those things that he is able to make out and hold them to be really clearer than what is being shown?"
"So he would," he said.
"And if," I said, "someone dragged him away from there by force along the rough, steep, upward way and didn't let him go before he had dragged him out into the light of the sun, wouldn't he be distressed and
516 a        annoyed at being so dragged? And when he came to the light, wouldn't
he have his eyes full of its beam and be unable to see even one of the things now said to be true?"
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glaxtcon/socrates
"No, he wouldn't," he said, "at least not right away," 516 a
"Then I suppose he'd have to get accustomed, if he were going to see what's up above. At first he'd most easily make out the shadows; and after that the phantoms of the human beings and the other things in water; and, later, the things themselves. And from there he could turn to beholding the things in heaven and heaven itself, more easily at night—looking at the light of the stars and the moon—than by b day—looking at the sun and sunlight," "Of course."
"Then finally I suppose he would be able to make out the sun—not its appearances in water or some alien place, but the sun itself by itself in its own region—and see what it's like."
"Necessarily," he said.
"And after that he would already be in a position to conclude about it that this is the source of the seasons and the years, and is the steward of all things in the visible place, and is in a certain way the c cause of all those things he and his companions had been seeing."
"It's plain," he said, "that this would be his next step."
"What then? When he recalled his first home and the wisdom there, and his fellow prisoners in that time, don't you suppose he would consider himself happy for the change and pity the otihers?"
"Quite so."
"And if in that time there were among them any honors, praises, and prizes for the man who is sharpest at making out the things that go by, and most remembers which of them are accustomed to pass before, which after, and which at the same time as others, and who is d thereby most able to divine what is going to come, in your opinion would he be desirous of them and envy those who are honored and hold power among these men? Or, rather, would he be affected as Homer says and want very much 'to be on the soil, a serf to another man, to a portionless man,'2 and to undergo anything whatsoever rather than to opine those things and live that way?"
"Yes," he said, "I suppose he would prefer to undergo everything e rather than live that way."
"Now reflect on this too," I said. "If such a man were to come down again and sit in the same seat, on coming suddenly from the sun wouldn't his eyes get infected with darkness?"
"Very much so," he said.
"And if he once more had to compete with those perpetual prisoners in forming judgments about those shadows while his vision was still dim, before his eyes had recovered, and if the time       517 a needed for getting accustomed were not at all short, wouldn't he be
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517 a       the source of laughter, and wouldn't it be said of him that he went up
and came back with his eyes corrupted, and that it's not even worth trying to go up? And if they were somehow able to get their hands on and kill the man who attempts to release and lead up, wouldn't they kill him?"
"No doubt about it," he said.
"Well, then, my dear Glaucon," I said, "this image as a whole b must be connected with what was said before. Liken the domain revealed through sight to the prison home, and the light of the fire in it to the sun's power; and, in applying the going up and the seeing of what's above to the soul's journey up to the intelligible place, you II not mistake my expectation, since you desire to hear it. A god doubtless knows if it happens to be true. At all events, this is the way the phenomena look to me: in the knowable the last thing to be seen, and c that with considerable effort, is the idea of the good; but once seen, it must be concluded that this is in fact the cause of all that is right and fair in everything~-in the visible it gave birth to light and its sovereign; in the intelligible, itself sovereign, it provided truth and intelligence —and that the man who is going to act prudently in private or in public must see it."
"I, too, join you in supposing that," he said, "at least in the way I can."
"Come, then," I said, "and join me in supposing this, too, and don't be surprised that the men who get to that point aren't willing to mind the business of human beings, but rather mat their souls are al-d ways eager to spend their time above. Surely mat's likely, if indeed this, too, follows the image of which I told before."
"Of course it's likely," he said,
"And what about this? Do you suppose it is anything surprising," I said, "if a man, come from acts of divine contemplation to the human things, is graceless and looks quite ridiculous when—with his sight still dim and before he has gotten sufficiently accustomed to the surrounding darkness—he is compelled in courts or elsewhere to contest about the shadows of the just or the representations of which they are the e shadows, and to dispute about the way these things are understood by men who have never seen justice itself?"
"It's not at all surprising," he said.
518 a "But if a man were intelligent," I said, "he would remember that
there are two kinds of disturbances of the eyes, stemming from two sources—when they have been transferred from light to darkness and when they have been transferred from darkness to light. And if he held that these same things happen to a soul too, whenever he saw one that is confused and unable to make anything out, he wouldn't laugh
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without reasoning but would go on to consider whether, come from a       518 a brighter life, it is in darkness for want of being accustomed, or whether, going from greater lack of learning to greater brightness, it is dazzled by the greater brilliance. And then he would deem the first soul happy b for its condition and its life, while he would pity the second. And, if he wanted to laugh at the second soul, his laughing in this case would make him less ridiculous himself than would his laughing at the soul which has come from above out of the light," "What you say is quite sensible," he said.