Socrates “That is certainly the right way of looking at it,” he said. “But what do you understand by the greatest studies?”

“You remember, I presume,” said I, “that after distinguishing three kinds¹ in the soul, we established definitions of justice, sobriety, bravery and wisdom severally.” “If I did not remember,” he said, “I should not deserve to hear the rest.” “Do you also remember 504b what was said before this?” “What?” “We were saying, I believe, that for the most perfect discernment of these things another longer way² was requisite which would make them plain to one who took it, but that it was possible to add proofs on a par with the preceding discussion. And you said that that was sufficient, and it was on this understanding that what we then said was said, falling short of ultimate precision as it appeared to me, but if it contented you it is for you to say.” “Well,” he said, “it was measurably satisfactory to me, and apparently 504c to the rest of the company.” “Nay, my friend,” said I, “a measure of such things that in the least degree falls short of reality proves no measure at all. For nothing that is imperfect is the measure of anything,³ though some people sometimes think that they have already done enough⁴ and that there is no need of further inquiry.” “Yes, indeed,” he said, “many experience this because of their sloth.” “An experience,” said I, “that least of all befits the guardians of a state and of its laws.” “That seems likely,” he said. “Then,” said I, “such a one must go around⁵ 504d the longer way and must labor no less in studies than in the exercises of the body or else, as we were just saying, he will never come to the end of the greatest study and that which most properly belongs to him.” “Why, are not these things the greatest?” said he; “but is there still something greater than justice and the other virtues we described?” “There is not only something greater,” I said, “but of these very things we need not merely to contemplate an outline⁶ as now, but we must omit nothing of their most exact elaboration. Or would it not be absurd to strain every nerve⁷ to attain 504e to the utmost precision and clarity of knowledge about other things of trifling moment and not to demand the greatest precision for the greatest⁸ matters?” “It would indeed,⁹” he said; “but do you suppose that anyone will let you go without asking what is the greatest study and with what you think it is concerned?” “By no means,” said I; “but do you ask the question.”

“You certainly have heard it often, but now you either do not apprehend or again you are minded to make trouble for me 505a by attacking the argument. I suspect it is rather the latter. For you have often heard¹⁰ that the greatest thing to learn is the idea of good¹¹ by reference to which¹² just things¹³ and all the rest become useful and beneficial. And now I am almost sure you know that this is what I am going to speak of and to say further that we have no adequate knowledge of it. And if we do not know it, then, even if without the knowledge of this we should know all other things never so well, you are aware that it would avail us nothing, 505b just as no possession either is of any avail¹⁴ without the possession of the good. Or do you think there is any profit¹⁵ in possessing everything except that which is good, or in understanding all things else apart from the good while understanding and knowing nothing that is fair and good¹⁶?” “No, by Zeus, I do not,” he said.

“But, furthermore, you know this too, that the multitude believe pleasure¹⁷ to be the good, and the finer¹⁸ spirits intelligence or knowledge.¹⁹” “Certainly.” “And you are also aware, my friend, that those who hold this latter view are not able to point out what knowledge²⁰ it is but are finally compelled to say that it is the knowledge of the good.” “Most absurdly,” he said. “Is it not absurd,” 505c said I, “if while taunting us with our ignorance of the good they turn about and talk to us as if we knew it? For they say it is the knowledge of the good,²¹ as if we understood their meaning when they utter²² the word “good.”” “Most true,” he said. “Well, are those who define the good as pleasure infected with any less confusion²³ of thought than the others? Or are not they in like manner²⁴ compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures²⁵?” “Most assuredly.” “The outcome is, I take it, that they are admitting 505d the same things to be both good and bad, are they not?” “Certainly.” “Then is it not apparent that there are many and violent disputes²⁶ about it?” “Of course.” “And again, is it not apparent that while in the case of the just and the honorable many would prefer the semblance²⁷ without the reality in action, possession, and opinion, yet when it comes to the good nobody is content with the possession of the appearance but all men seek the reality, and the semblance satisfies nobody here?” 505e “Quite so,” he said. “That, then, which every soul pursues²⁸ and for its sake does all that it does, with an intuition²⁹ of its reality, but yet baffled³⁰ and unable to apprehend its nature adequately, or to attain to any stable belief about it as about other things,³¹ and for that reason failing of any possible benefit from other things,— 506a in a matter of this quality and moment, can we, I ask you, allow a like blindness and obscurity in those best citizens³² to whose hands we are to entrust all things?”

“Least of all,” he said. “I fancy, at any rate,” said I, “that the just and the honorable, if their relation and reference to the good is not known,³³ will not have secured a guardian³⁴ of much worth in the man thus ignorant, and my surmise is that no one will understand them adequately before he knows this.” “You surmise well,” he said. “Then our constitution 506b will have its perfect and definitive organization³⁵ only when such a guardian, who knows these things, oversees it.”

“Necessarily,” he said. “But you yourself, Socrates, do you think that knowledge is the good or pleasure or something else and different?” “What a man it is,” said I; “you made it very plain³⁶ long ago that you would not be satisfied with what others think about it.” “Why, it does not seem right to me either, Socrates,” he said, “to be ready to state the opinions of others but not one’s own when one has occupied himself with the matter so long.³⁷” 506c “But then,” said I, “do you think it right to speak as having knowledge about things one does not know?” “By no means,” he said, “as having knowledge, but one ought to be willing to tell as his opinion what he opines.” “Nay,” said I, “have you not observed that opinions divorced from knowledge³⁸ are ugly things? The best of them are blind.³⁹ Or do you think that those who hold some true opinion without intelligence differ appreciably from blind men who go the right way?” “They do not differ at all,” he said. “Is it, then, ugly things that you prefer 506d to contemplate, things blind and crooked, when you might hear from others what is luminous⁴⁰ and fair?” “Nay, in heaven’s name, Socrates,” said Glaucon, “do not draw back, as it were, at the very goal.⁴¹ For it will content us if you explain the good even as you set forth the nature of justice, sobriety, and the other virtues.” “It will right well⁴² content me, my dear fellow,” I said, “but I fear that my powers may fail and that in my eagerness I may cut a sorry figure and become a laughing-stock.⁴³ Nay, my beloved, 506e let us dismiss for the time being the nature of the good in itself;⁴⁴ for to attain to my present surmise of that seems a pitch above the impulse that wings my flight today.⁴⁵ But of what seems to be the offspring of the good and most nearly made in its likeness⁴⁶ I am willing to speak if you too wish it, and otherwise to let the matter drop.” “Well, speak on,” he said, “for you will duly pay me the tale of the parent another time.”

“I could wish,” 507a I said, “that I were able to make and you to receive the payment and not merely as now the interest. But at any rate receive this interest⁴⁷ and the offspring of the good. Have a care, however, lest I deceive you unintentionally with a false reckoning of the interest.” “We will do our best,” he said, “to be on our guard. Only speak on.” “Yes,” I said, “after first coming to an understanding with you and reminding you of what has been said here before and often on other occasions.⁴⁸” 507b “What?” said he. “We predicate “to be”⁴⁹ of many beautiful things and many good things, saying of them severally that they are, and so define them in our speech.” “We do.” “And again, we speak of a self-beautiful and of a good that is only and merely good, and so, in the case of all the things that we then posited as many, we turn about and posit each as a single idea or aspect, assuming it to be a unity and call it that which each really is.⁵⁰ “It is so.” “And the one class of things we say can be seen but not thought, 507c while the ideas can be thought but not seen.” “By all means.” “With which of the parts of ourselves, with which of our faculties, then, do we see visible things?” “With sight,” he said. “And do we not,” I said, “hear audibles with hearing, and perceive all sensibles with the other senses?” “Surely.” “Have you ever observed,” said I, “how much the greatest expenditure the creator⁵¹ of the senses has lavished on the faculty of seeing and being seen?⁵² “Why, no, I have not,” he said. “Well, look at it thus. Do hearing and voice stand in need of another medium⁵³ so that the one may hear and the other be heard, 507d in the absence of which third element the one will not hear and the other not be heard?” “They need nothing,” he said. “Neither, I fancy,” said I,” do many others, not to say that none require anything of the sort. Or do you know of any?” “Not I,” he said. “But do you not observe that vision and the visible do have this further need?” “How?” “Though vision may be in the eyes and its possessor may try to use it, and though color be present, yet without 507e the presence of a third thing⁵⁴ specifically and naturally adapted to this purpose, you are aware that vision will see nothing and the colors will remain invisible.⁵⁵” “What⁵⁶ is this thing of which you speak?” he said. “The thing,” I said, “that you call light.” “You say truly,” he replied.