the allegory of the cave · the allegory of the cave by plato. 1 plato, 428–348bc . 2 from the...
TRANSCRIPT
THE ALLEGORY OF THE CAVE
By
Plato
1
Plato, 428–348BC
2
From the Republic Book VII
Socrates: Next then, let me offer an image of human nature in its
being educated or enlightened and its being uneducated or
unenlightened. I shall liken it to a condition of the following kind:
—Behold! Human beings living from birth to death in an
underground cave!
The cave has long entrance, which opens to the daylight outside.
These humans have been in this cave from childhood. Their legs
and necks are chained so that they cannot move. Thus, they can
only look at what is immediately in front of them—the cave
wall—being prevented by the chains from turning their heads even
a little. Now, above and behind these prisoners there is a fire
blazing at a distance. And between the prisoners and the fire is a
raised road-way. And more, a low wall has been built along the
road-way, like the screen which puppeteers have in front of them,
over which they show an audience their puppets.
Glaucon: I see.
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Socrates: Then also see that along this wall there are other human
beings, passersby, who carry with them all manner of objects and
artifacts: vessels, and statues of men, and figures of animals made
of wood and stone and various other materials, all of which appear
above the wall, as so many puppets. And as would be expected,
some of these travelers in the cave utter sounds as they pass by
while others remain silent.
Glaucon: It is a strange image, and very strange prisoners indeed,
that you are showing to me, Socrates.
Socrates: But they are just like us, Glaucon.
Tell me, do you suppose that these prisoners could see anything of
themselves or their fellow prisoners? Or would they see only the
shadows of themselves and the shadows of their fellows, which
are cast by the fire onto the opposite side of the cave facing them?
Glaucon: They could see only the shadows!
Socrates: And what about the various objects which are being
carried along the road-way by the travelers behind them? Would it
also be the case that they could only see the shadows of those
objects?
Glaucon: Yes, only the shadows.
Socrates: And if the prisoners were able to discuss things with
one another, would they not assume that the shadows were the real
things, and wouldn’t they give names to those shadows, taking
them to be real.
Glaucon: Yes, indeed they would.
Socrates: Suppose further that this cave produced an echo which
came from the side facing the prisoners. Would not the prisoners
believe that when one of the passers-by spoke, that the voice
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which they heard came from the passing shadows in front of
them?
Glaucon: No question. They would believe the voice originated
from the shadow on the wall in front of them, because it appeared
to originate from there.
Socrates: Certainly, such men as these would hold that the truth is
nothing other than the shadows of artificial things.
Glaucon: Most definitely, Socrates.
Socrates: Now let’s imagine what would naturally follow if such
men were released from their bondage and cured from their
delusions. For instance, say one man is let loose and compelled
suddenly to stand, turn his neck around, look up, and then walk
toward the fire. Certainly, all of these actions would cause much
pain, and the glow from the fire would itself be intense—dazzling
and disorienting him. He would be too distressed to see properly
the objects of which he used to see only the shadows.
What do you suppose this person would say if someone were to
tell him that everything he had seen before on the cave wall was
mere illusion, so much empty nonsense? What if the prisoner were
told that he is now nearer to reality and seeing more correctly,
precisely because he has now been turned toward things that are
more real—what might be his reply?
And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the
objects as they pass by and requiring the freed prisoner to name
them. But because of the disorienting glare of the flame, will he
not be perplexed and, being in a state of shock, unable to name
them? Will he not still imagine that the shadows which he
formerly saw, which were so familiar, are truer and more real than
the objects which are now shown to him?
Glaucon: Yes, he would imagine that what he formerly saw was
truer than the objects he is now being shown.
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Socrates: And if his instructor compelled him to look straight at
the light, will the freed prisoner not have pain in his eyes, forcing
him to look away? Indeed, will he not try to flee back to those
earlier things which he is able to make out, and make sense of?
Glaucon: Truly, this is how the prisoner would respond.
Socrates: And suppose that someone dragged him by force away
from there, dragged him upward along the steep, rugged ascent,
dragged him right up to the mouth of the cave, holding him
directly into the coming sunlight. Imagine his agitation now.
Wouldn’t he be beyond “distressed”? And when he takes in the
light, his eyes now full of sun-beam for the first time in his life,
wouldn’t he be so overwhelmed by the glare of it all that he would
be as good as blind—not even be able to see a single one of those
things he was just told were real?
Glaucon: He wouldn’t be able to see them at all, at least not right
away.
Socrates: Then I suppose that he would have to grow quite
accustomed to this disoriented, aggravated state, provided that he
dares to venture further from the mouth of the prison-cave and
explore his new surroundings.
And once outside of the cave—if he does venture further—first he
would find it easiest to look merely at the shadows of things; after
time, the reflections of people and other objects in the water; and
only later could he clearly look upon the things themselves. And
after that, he would find it easier to observe the heavenly bodies
and the sky itself only during the night, and so he could look at the
light of the moon and the stars rather than at the sun and its light
by day.
Glaucon: Certainly.
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Socrates: Thus, the thing he would be able to do last would be to
look directly at the sun itself and gaze at it without relying on its
reflection in water or any other medium, but as it is in itself.
Glaucon: Necessarily, Socrates.
Socrates: And after this he would already be in a position to
conclude that the sun 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 even the cause of all those things he and his fellow
prisoners used to see.
Glaucon: Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then be
able to draw that conclusion.
Socrates: And when he thinks back on his first home—when he
considers what it was that passed for wisdom in the cave and what
it was that passed for wisdom among his fellow prisoners there—
don’t you suppose he would consider himself quite happy for the
change (though it was accompanied by great distress) and feel
sorry for those people still imprisoned in the cave.
Glaucon: Certainly, he would.
Socrates: And think on this, Glaucon. In the cave, among the
captives, there was probably much honor and praise bestowed
upon those prisoners who were the cleverest at making out the
shadows on the wall and who could best remember their order and
sequence so as to correctly predict their future appearances.
Now, would our freed prisoner desire those praises and honors? In
your opinion, Glaucon, would he be at all jealous of the prisoner
most honored among prisoners? Would he be jealous of the
prisoner who held the most power among prisoners? Or would he
say, along with Homer, that he would rather be “a serf in the house
of some landless man, or indeed anything else in the world, than
hold the opinions they hold and live the life that they do?”
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Better to be the poor servant of a poor master, and to
endure anything, rather than think as they do and live in
their fashion?
Glaucon: Yes, I think that he would prefer anything over having
to live a life like theirs. He would rather suffer anything than
entertain their false notions and live in their miserable, ignorant
manner.
Socrates: Now, Glaucon, what do you think would happen if he
went back down into the cave and took back his old seat among
the prisoners? Wouldn’t his eyes be blinded by the darkness,
because he had come in suddenly out of the sunlight and into the
dark?
Glaucon: To be sure.
Socrates: And imagine that while he was still blind and before his
eyes could again grow used to the darkness—a process that would
take considerable time—imagine that he had to once again form
judgments about the shadows on the cave wall, perhaps in some
sort of a competition with the other prisoners. Wouldn’t he be
likely to make a fool out of himself? Being unadjusted to the
darkness of the cave, wouldn’t he appear ridiculous and be the
source of great laugher among the prisoners?
Glaucon: Yes, yes, Socrates. He would appear laughable—a silly
fool.
Socrates: The prisoners would laugh and say: “Well, up he went
with his eyes but down he came without them!”
But those prisoners wouldn’t see him just as a silly fool—they
would perceive him as a dangerous fool. They would believe that
visiting the upper world had corrupted his sight and ruined his
eyes. They would therefore think it better not to ascend from the
cave. And if there was a person who was set on releasing them
from their prison and compelling them upwards—well, they would
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kill this person if they could get their hands on them, so violent a
form their ignorance would take.
Glaucon: No question. They would do just that.
Socrates: Moreover, those who ascend from the cave and attain
this blissful vision—doesn’t it make sense that they would be
unwilling to descend, unwilling to engage in human affairs? For
their souls are ever eager to spend time in the upper world. This
new desire would be very natural, if our allegory may be trusted.
Glaucon: Yes, a very natural desire.
Socrates: Nor should we think it strange that there would be much
clumsiness and blundering for anyone who descends from this
blissful realm and returns to human life with all of its ills.
Certainly, he would behave in a ridiculous manner.
Now, imagine that while he was still blinded and not yet
accustomed to the surrounding darkness—which would take
considerable time—he was forcibly put on trial and compelled to
fight in the law-courts, or in other places, and forced to argue
about the shadows of justice, or the mere shadows of the
representations of justice? Imagine this person being made to
dispute about the notions of justice held by people who had never
seen justice itself. It would be anything but surprising if this
person were to appear a fool.
Glaucon: Anything but surprising.
Socrates: Now, if a person were intelligent, she would remember
that the disturbance of the eyes are of two kinds and arise from
two causes: the disturbance that is produced either from coming
out of the light and then going into the darkness or the disturbance
caused by coming out of the darkness and going into the light. Our
intelligent person would also recognize that these same things
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happen to the soul1 also. And so whenever she sees a soul that is
confused, weak, and unable to make anything out, she will not be
very quick to laugh at this person. For she he will reason about
their confusion first and then go on to consider whether this
person’s soul has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to
see because they are unaccustomed and disturbed by the dark. Or,
she will consider whether this person, having turned from darkness
to the day, had been dazzled and confused by an excess of light.
Of these two confused souls, she will certainly count the first
person happier because of their state of being and she will pity the
second. And if she happens to chuckle at the second soul, it would
not be motivated by scorn, this person has escaped from ignorance
and come into the light.
Glaucon: That is a very good distinction, Socrates.
Socrates: Now, if I am right about all this, we must say the
following about education: education is not what certain
professors assert it to be, when they say that they can put
knowledge into the soul which was not there before—as though
they were putting sight into blind eyes.
Glaucon: But they undoubtedly say this.
Socrates: Our argument, on the other hand, shows that the power
and capacity of learning exists in the soul already, and that organ
by which one learns is like an eye which cannot be turned form
darkness to light unless the whole body is turned. In the same
way, the soul as a whole must be turned away from the world of
change—the world of becoming—and turn rather toward reality—
the world of being. The soul must be able to endure looking at the
brightest part of that which is: and we affirm that this is the good,
don’t we?
Glaucon: Indeed.
1 In Greek “Psyche”: mind, understanding, consciousness, reason.
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Socrates: And must there not be some art of this “turning
around”? This art would be most concerned with the way in which
this power and capacity can most easily and efficiently be turned
around. This would not be an art of “producing sight.” Rather, this
art takes as a given the fact that sight is already there but is merely
turned in the wrong direction: the soul is not looking at what it
ought to look at. This art that I am describing, Glaucon—it would
be the art of turning the soul.
Glaucon: Yes, Socrates. And such an art may be presumed to
exist.
The End
Translators used:
Alan Bloom, Desmond lee, Benjamin Jowett
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________________________________________________________________________
GLAUCON: IT IS A STRANGE IMAGE, AND VERY STRANGE PRISONERS INDEED, THAT YOU ARE
SHOWING TO ME,
SOCRATES: BUT THEY ARE JUST LIKE US, GLAUCON.