The Allegory of the Cave
The Republic of Plato , Part III. The Philosopher King , The Allegory of the Cave
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.
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. ......