|
Here's a little story from Plato's most
famous book, The Republic.
Socrates is talking to a young follower of his named Glaucon, and is
telling him this fable to illustrate what it's like to be a philosopher
-- a lover of wisdom: Most people, including ourselves, live in a
world of relative ignorance. We are even comfortable with that
ignorance, because it is all we know. When we first start facing
truth, the process may be frightening, and many people run back to
their old lives. But if you continue to seek truth, you will
eventually be able to handle it better. In fact, you want
more! It's true that many people around you now may think you are
weird or even a danger to society, but you don't care. Once
you've tasted the truth, you won't ever want to go back to being
ignorant!
[Socrates is speaking with Glaucon]
[Socrates:] 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 den,
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.
[Glaucon:] 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 if 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 said.
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 beautiful and right, 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.
From
http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/republic.html
|