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ABSTRACT

THE THEORY OF INTUITION
IN PLATO'S REPUBLIC

by Alan M. Phillips

The main argument is that Plato's theory of knowledge in
the Republic is a theory of intuition. First, I argue that a
theory is intuitional if it satisfies three criteria. Second,

I investigate Plato's Republic, in order to arrive at an adequate
interpretation of his theory of knowledge in that dialogue. And
third, I show how that theory of knowledge satisfies the three
criteria for a theory of intuition.

The major part of the work, however, is the investiga-
tion of Plato's theory of knowledge in the Republic. Since know-
ledge, for Plato, is a relation between the mind and the forms,

I first examine Plato‘s theory of the forms and theory of the
mind. Then I examine his account of the knowledge relation be-
tween them.

The method of this investigation of Plato's theory of
knowledge is a line by line analysis of the relevant passages in
the Republic. I translate and interpret, with arguments on be-
half of my translations and interpretations, the following sec-
tions of the Republic, passim: H75a-u80a, 596a-597d, uasa-uuue,
580d-587c, “Bub-“95¢, 608c-611d, 504a-509a, 509d-517e, and 518b—
SHOc.

I argue that, according to Plato, the forms are univer-

 

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Alan M. Phillips

sals 529 exemplars. They can be known, rather than merely "be-
lieved," because they have the following characteristics. First,
they are non-self-contradictory, whereas sense-objects "both are
and are not whatever you call them." Second, they exist com-
pletely, whereas sense-objects are "between what is and what is
not." Third, they are unique, changeless, and eternal, whereas
sense-objects are "many," temporary, and variant. And I argue
that the forms cannot be both exemplars and universals, and I
claim that Plato, when he wrote the Republic, did not realize
that instantiation of universals and imitation of exemplars are
inconsistent explanations of participation.

I argue that, for Plato, the mind is triadic: there are
three things in it--a rational (or philosophic) portion, a spir-
ited (or honor-loving) portion, and an appetitive (or wealth-
loving) portion. I argue that the mind "in its truest nature"
is this immortal rational portion of it, and that it is this ele-
meht which has the power of knowing the forms. If the mind is
properly educated, this rational element can become what its na-
ture is: knower of the forms.

I argue that, according to Plato, knowledge can either be
indirect understanding (dianoia) or direct understanding (noesis).
In the former, the forms are understood only through their images
(i.e., for Plato, their instances), and the mind can only reason
"hypothetically," from "hypotheses" (forms assumed without proof)
to conclusions (forms implied by those hypotheses). In the latter

the forms are understood directly: the rational element in the

 

 

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‘9 jiind has no need for images in order to understand them. It rea-

sons with forms themselves rather than with images (instances) of

.0.
fi' " than, and it can reason inductively (from the hypotheses to the
V, fibres which imply those hypotheses) as well as deductively.

I argue that, for Plato, all of the forms are implied by
the form of the good. These relations of implication are par-
ticipation relations, and the form of the good is the ancestor
(by participation relations) of all of the forms. It is the uni-
versal and original of everything and the image and instance of
nothing (except possibly itself). Everything is dependent, for
its nature and substance, and its existence, upon the good. In
noésis, the mind can ascend inductively all the way to the form
of the good, and then it can deduce (by participation-implication
relations) all of the forms from this first Eremise (arche). But
—.u,r.r although all the other forms can not only be directly understood,
: that proved by the good, the good is evident by direct understand-

- ‘.ing alone.

 

 

    

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THE THEORY OF INTUITION

IN PLATO'S REPUBLIC

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION: THEORIES OF INTUITION . . . . . . . . 1
THE FORMS I I I I I O O O O O C I O O C O I O I O O 0 us

“7sa-u80a I O O O O I I I O O C O I I O O O I O “8
5963-597e O O I O O I O C O C I C O O O O O O O O 6 8

THE TRIADIC MIND O I I I I O O I O O O C I O O I O O 86

H358-Hufle e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e 89
58°d’587c e e o o e e I e e e o e o e e e e e e e 117

THE MIND IN ITS TRUEST NATURE . . . . . . . . . . . . 136

“B“h-ug 5c . . . . . . . . . . . . . C O . U . . C 137
6°8C‘611d e e e e o e e e o o e e o e e e e e o e 15“

KNOHLEDGE: THE SUN 0 e e e e e e e e o o e o e e e e 166
SOKa-Soga e o e o e o e e e e o o o e o e e e e e 167
KNOWLEDGE: THE LINE AND THE CAVE e . e o o e . e o e 192

509d-51flc e e e e o e e o e e e o e e e o e o o e 192
51“C’517b e e o e e e e e e e o e e o e e o o e e 217

KNOHEBDGE: THE LONG, ROUGH. UPHILL ROAD 0 o e e e e 222

518b-5“0¢ e e e e o o e e e e e e e e e e e e e e 228

 

 

 

I. INTRODUCTION: THEORIES OF INTUITION

I intend to show that the theory of knowledge in Plato's
Republic is a theory of intuition, and that it is an intuitional
theory of a certain sort: one which claims that (1) none of the
data of intuition are data of sense-perception, (2) the data of
intuition are themselves the knowledge-items, (3) the knowledge-
items are universals, and (4) whereas some of the knowledge-items
are describable (in definitions), others are known but not describ-
able: the form of the good, for instance. Chiefly, however, I am
interested in showing that it is appropriate to call Plato's theory
of knowledge a theory of intuition.

My strategy is this: first, in this introductory chapter
I intend to arrive at a definition of what a theory of intuition
is. I shall argue that according to theories of intuition, intui-

tional experience is mystical experience: direct acquaintance

.with transcendent, non-sense-perceptual data; that such intuitional

experience provides us with knowledge; and that having such exper-
iences in some way justifies its being called knowledge. Second,
in the eighth and concluding chapter I shall argue that the theory
of knowledge which Plato develops in his Republic satisfies these
criteria for a theory of intuition, and in the process of doing so
I shall indicate what sort of intuitional theory it is. And third,

since knowledge, for Plato in the Republic, consists of a relation

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between the mind and the forms, I will investigate each of the
termini of this relation, and then investigate the relation
itself. Accordingly, in the second chapter I will inquire into
Plato's theory of the forms, in the third and fourth his theory
of the mind, and in the fifth, sixth, and seventh his theory of
the knowledge-relation which holds between the mind and the forms.

In order to show that Plato holds an intuitional theory
in the Republic, it is necessary to decide what makes a theory
of knowledge intuitional. It will not do to simply lay down a
definition and then show that Plato's theory satisfies it, for the
definition itself can be challenged. Therefore it will be necess-
ary to examine some theories of intuition (theories which use the
word "intuition" or make positive claims in behalf of intuition or
of intuitive knowledge), in order to arrive at a definition of
what makes such theories intuitional. Then I can go on to argue
that Plato's theory of knowledge in the Republic fits this pattern.
I And in the beginning, at least, my only clue is that certain theo-
ries claim certain things for intuition or for intuitive knowledge.

The word "intuition" comes from the Latin word "intuitus,"

 

t . which originally meant a visual perception. The dictionary defini-
tion of the term, in Latin, is "looking at closely" or "viewing

intently."1 And throughout the word's history, long after it became
employed to indicate a special way of knowing or type of knowledge,

it has retained its visual associations: intuition, as either a t

1D. P. Simpson, Cassell's New Latin Diction (New York:
Punk 5 Ragnals Co., 19605, p. 32a.

 

 

 

 

  

3.

ground or kind of knowledge, is regarded as in some way like vision.
As we will see, a frequent characteristic of theories of intuition
is their use of a visual analogy: just as we observe (visually)
what is visible, so we intuit what is knowable. Our power, or exer-
cise, of seeing is vision, whereas our power, or exercise, of "see-
ing" is intuition. This "seeing" is a certain kind of experience,
that of intuiting or having intuitions, and this "power of seeing,"
like our power of vision, is an ability which under certain condi-
tions is exercised. Under those conditions, we have "vision" of
what can be known.1

It was in medieval philosophy that the term "intuitus" came
to mean a way of knowing. Duns Scotus, for instance, held that we
can have knowledge of "singular existents" by means of "intellectual
intuition."2 As Copleston describes it, Duns Scotus maintained that
we can not only have immediate intellectual understanding of univer-
sals, but we can likewise have immediate intellectual intuition of
particulars. Although this intellectual intuition is confused during
our human lives, it is not confused after the soul has left the body
and is no longer hindered from clear immediate knowledge of partic-
Iulars. In themselves, particulars are just as intelligible as are
universals. God is not confused, and can know particulars clearly
and immediately. And we are not confused after the death of the

body, when we can also have unconfused immediate understanding of

 

1Sir William Hamilton notes six different philosophical
uses of the word "intuition" (or "intuitus") in his edition of Thom-
as Reid's Philos hical Works (Hildesheim, Germany: Georg Olms Ver-
lagebuchhan ung, 96 , I , 759.

2Duns Scotus ggodlibet 13. 8-10.

 

 

 
   
  
 
   

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particulars in intellectual intuition.l

Hence McKeon identifies the meaning of "intuitus" as a
kind of knowledge, namely "immediate" knowledge:

INTUITUS, intuition, intuitive knowledge, that by which
something is known immediately, without ratiocination; thus,
first principles known through themselves are known intui-
tively, as that the whole is greater than its part, and so too
the existence or non-existence of things—is knowET' More gener-
ally, even ratiocination is reduced to intuitive knowledge, as
Thomas (following Augustine) points out (In Lib. I Sent. d. 3,
q. 4, a. 5 sol.) "To understand means nothing other than the
presence of the intelligible to the understanding in some way.

 

"2

According to this formulation of McKeon's, intuition is some power

i of knowing things "immediately, without ratiocination." It is

"that by which" items of knowledge are "present to the understanding
in some way." (Hereafter I use the term "knowledge-item" to mean
anything which a given theory claims that we know: truths, facts,
principles, propositions, judgments, particulars, universals, or
whatever is held to be known according to that theory.) Intuition
provides knowledge, which is called "intuitive knowledge": for in-

stance, the intuitive knowledge of "first principles" and of "the

 

existence or non-existence of things."

But the phrases in McKeon's explanation provoke a number
of questions. First, what is intuition, this power "by which" the
knowledge-items are known "immediately, without ratiocination" in

intuitional experience? Second, what is meant by "the presence of

 

lFrederick Copleston, S.J., A Histo of Philoso h , Vol. II,
Pt. II, 210-216. Immanuel Kant likewise attributes intellectual
intuition to God, in the Criti us of Pure Reason, Norman Kemp Smith,
trans., p. 90.

2Richard McKeon, Selections from Medieval Philoso hers,
Vol. II: Roger Bacon to William of Occam (New York: Charles Scrib-
nerfis Sons, 1958), Glossary, p. #66.

 

 

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the intelligible to the understanding"? Third, how does immediate
knowledge differ from "mediate" knowledge (knowledge "by ratiocina-
tion")? And fourth, how is ratiocination "reduced to intuitive
knowledge"? The first pair of questions seems to involve, respec-
tively, the "power" of intuiting and the exercise of that power
when one is having intuitional experience, and the second pair of
questions seems to involve the relation between intuitive know-
ledge and the non-intuitive knowledge that is somehow based on it.

A more recent intuitional position is that held by Ber-

trand Russell in The Problems of Philosophy. Russell maintains
that the relation between intuitive knowledge and the knowledge
that is derived from it is implicatio . Mediate knowledge is know-
ledge which is inferred from intuitive knowledge in accordance with
intuitively known principles of valid deduction:

Our immediate knowledge of truths may be called intuitive
knowledge, and the truths so known may be called self-evident
truths. Among such truths are included those which merely
state what is given in sense, and also certain logical and
arithmetical principles, and (though with less certainty) some
ethical propositions. Our derivative knowledge of truths con-

sists of everything that we can deduce from self-evident truths
by the use of self-evident principles of deduction.1

 

In Russell's theory of intuition, mediate knowledge consists of
truths (and principles) which are deduced from self-evident truths
(and principles). Intuitive knowledge (knowledge which consists of
self-evident truths and principles) is immediate rather than deriva-
tive, in that it consists of what is ngt_known mediately--i.e. which
is not known only by deduction from other evident truths and princi-

ples. Intuitive knowledge is self-evident in that it is evident by

 

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itself rather than evident by deduction from something else that
is evident. And ratiocination "reduces to intuition" in that
derivative knowledge is deduced by self-evident principles of
deduction: what makes derivative knowledge evident is that it
is deduced from intuitively known truths by intuitively known
principles of deduction. Were there no self-evident truths, there
would be no evident ones: "if the above account is correct, all
our knowledge of truths depends on our intuitive knowledge."l

Among the varieties of self-evident truths and principles
which Russell recognizes are some ethical prOpositions, certain
logical and mathematical principles, and truths "which merely state
what is given in sense." In each case, to say that these truths

and principles are "intuitive" is to say that they are self-evident.

    
  
  
  
   

 

But what is there about them which EE§2§.them self-evident? What
is it which is "given in sense"? What is there about these logical
and mathematical principles which makes them "luminously evident"?2
In short, what is it in our experience which is "that by which" we
are provided with intuitive knowledge? Russell writes:

We may say that a truth is self-evident, in the first and
most absolute sense, when we have acquaintance with the fact
which corresponds to the truth . . . .9 In all cases where we
know by acquaintance a complex fact consisting of certain terms
in a certain relation, we say that the truth that these terms
are so related has the first or absolute kind of self-evidence,
and in these cases the judgment that the terms are so related
must be true. Thus this sort of self-evidence is an absolute

 

lIbid. See also: (1) Aristotle Posterior Anal tics 72b
lB-2M. (2) John Locke, An Essa Concernin Human Understandin ,
ed. by A. c. Fraser (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1959;,
Vol. II. Bk. IV, chap. ii. Pe 1775

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guarantee of truth.1
Russell elsewhere identifies acquaintance as direct awareness:

. . . we have so uaintance with anything of which we are
directly aware, without the intermediary of any process of
inference or any knowledge of truths.

A truth is self-evident if there is direct awareness (or conscious-
ness) of the "fact" which "corresponds to" the truth. Russell says
that those self-evident truths which state what is given in sense-
perception correspond to facts consisting of a sense-datum having
a certain sense-quality, or consisting of sense-data related to

one another in a certain relation.3 Sense-qualities and relations
are universals, and Russell claims that we can be acquainted with
universals as well as with sense-data particulars.“ And the self-
evident logical and mathematical principles correspond to facts
consisting of relations between universals. We know immediately
that two and two are four, for instance, when we are acquainted
with this complex fact consisting of those universals (two and
four) in that relation to one another.5 Like two and four, the
relation between them is a universal.

Thus, according to Russell's theory, when we have direct
awareness of a "complex fact" consisting of "certain terms in a
certain relation," the truth that these termini are in that rela-
tion to one another is absolutely self-evident. What we are aware
of is the complex fact; it is this "fact" which is given in our
experience. And it is the acquaintance with this fact which pro-

vides us with intuitive knowledge of the truth. Hence we can call

 

11bid, pp. 136-37. 2Ibid, p. us, pp. 128-29.

 

31bid, p. 101. ”Ibid, pp. 95-96. 5Ibid, p. 103.

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such facts data of intuition: things given to us, from which we
can get intuitive knowledge. (There may be some difficulty with
the term "given." In one epistemological sense, to call anything
"given" is to imply that it comes into consciousness unconditioned
by any prior mental factors or operations, or "uncooked": for in-
stance, that (in Peirce's words) it is not "determined by a prev—
ious cognition of the same object."1 That is not the sense in

which I employ the term here. In calling something the datum of

an intuition, I am only saying that it is an_object which one is
aware of when he is having acquaintance which can qualify as in-
tuitional. It is an "immediate object of consciousness" or an
"object of direct awareness": that which, according to theories
of intuition, we are acquainted with.)

Russell's theory claims that there is a correspondence be-
tween the data of intuition (the "complex facts") and the self-
evident truths and principles which we know if we are acquainted
with the "facts." The intuitively known knowledge-items, in this

theory, are these truths and principles, and Russell is claiming

 

that the data of intuition provide us with knowledge of the corre-
sponding knowledge-items. In turn, the judgments which express
these truths and principles, which judge that those termini are in
that relation, "must be true." There is likewise, then, a corre-
spondence between the knowledge-items and the propositional cogni-

tions (the judgments) which express those knowledge—items. I am

 

1Charles Saunders Peirce, Collected Papers, ed. by Charles
Hartshorne and Paul Weiss (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1960), V, 135. Indeed, for Peirce, an intuition is a cognition
net determined by a previous cognition of the same object.

 

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presuming that, for Russell, these judgments are propositional
cognitions (stated or stateable knowledge-claims). If so, then
the sort of intuitional theory Russell is developing is this: the
propositional cognitions (stated or stateable knowledge-claims)
are twice removed from intuitional experience (experience in which
we are acquainted with data of intuition). Acquaintance with the
data of intuition furnishes us with knowledge of the knowledge-
items. The knowledge-items are not themselves data of intuition,

, but correspond to data of intuition. And since we have knowledge
of the knowledge-items, our knowledge-claims must be true: our
intuitional experience, therefore, warrants or justifies these twice
removed knowledge-claims. (By a propositional cognition--stated
or stateable knowledge-claim--I mean whatever we think_or 53x,
when we think what we think we know or state what we assert that
we know. That is, they are the linguistic, publicly stateable ex-
pressions or descriptions of ostensible knowledge-items: they ex-
press the knowledge-items if the knowledge-items are themselves

I. propositional, and they describe the knowledge-items if the know-

   
    
  
 
  

 

ledge-items are not propositional.)
Thus, in Russell's theory, our acquaintance with the data
Of intuition provides knowledge-items (although the data of intui-
tion are not themselves the knowledge-items), and justifies know-
ledge-claims (although the knowledge-claims are not themselves the i
knowledge-items). The data of intuition provide (corresponding) 1
kMHedge-items, and justify (corresponding, gig the knowledge-items E
"between") knowledge-claims. g
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10.
Russell's, in that the data of intuition are themselves the know-
ledge-items. That is, the knowledge-items are immediately given
by acquaintance, and therefore directly provided by intuitional
experience. Descartes' theory of intuition appears in the Rules
for the Direction of the Mind:

By intuition [intuitus] I understand, not the fluctuating
testimony of the senses, nor the misleading judgment that pro-
ceeds from the blundering constructions of imagination, but
the conception which an unclouded and attentive mind gives us
so readily and distinctly that we are wholly freed from doubt
about that which we understand. Or, what comes to the same
thing, intuition is the undoubting conception of an unclouded
and attentive mind, and springs from the light of reason alone;
it is more certain than deduction itself, in that it is sim-
pler, though deduction, as we have noted above, cannot by us
be erroneously conducted. Thus each individual can mentally
have intuition of the fact that he exists, and that he thinks:
that the triangle is bounded by three lines only, the sphere by
a single superficies, and so on. Facts of such a kind are far
more numerous than many people think, disdaining as they do to
direct their attention upon such simple matters.

Intuition is a conception which "an unclouded and attentive mind"
has when "that which we understand" (the "facts") are conceived "so
readily and distinctly" that we have no doubt whatsoever about them.
As in Russell's theory, these things (which the unclouded and atten-
tive mind readily and distinctly understands) are "facts"--for in-
stance, the fact that I exist, that a triangle is bounded by three
lines, etc. Intuition is distinct from other kinds of conception
(such as imagination) by the ready and distinct manner in which

the mind, when unclouded and attentive, is acquainted with its data
(the facts). Consequently, the mind is "wholly freed from doubt"

about the truth of the knowledge-items. Unlike in Russell's theory,

 

 

1Rene Descartes, Rules for the Direction of the Mind in

The Philosophical Works of Descartes, ed. and trans. By Elizabeth I
s. “‘1 Int md Ge Re Te ROSS, I. 7e .

 

   
   
     

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11.
the facts which are known are truths: the data of intuition are
themselves the knowledge-items. And Descartes at least implies
that this complete freedom from doubt is justified in the case of
knowledge provided by intuition, since one can also have no doubts
whatsoever about beliefs acquired in other ways, beliefs which may
not even be true, let alone certain. And, that which distinguishes
intuition from other conceptions is, as Descartes puts it, (1) the
unclouded and attentive state of the mind, and (2) the ready and
distinct way in which the mind conceives "that which it understands."

Deacartes, like Russell, handles the problem of derivative

knowledge in terms of intuitive knowledge. Derivative knowledge
consists of whatever can be deduced from what is intuitively known,
if each inference from premise to conclusion is accompanied by a
"clear vision" (i.e. intuition?) of each step in the deductive pro-
cess:

. . . we have, besides intuition, given this supplementary
method of knowing, viz. knowing by deduction, by which we under-
stand all necessary inference from other facts that are known
with certainty. . . . many things are known with certainty,
though not by themselves evident, but only deduced from true
and known principles by the continuous and uninterrupted action
of a mind that has a clear vision of each step in the process.

For Descartes, all knowledge is infallible, and all such knowledge
is either intuitive or derivative: it is intuitive if it is self-

evident, and it is derivative if it can be deduced from intuitive

knowledge by "necessary" inferences (i.e. valid deduction). More-

 

over, the knowledge-items themselves are certain. What is deduced

 

1Ibid, p. 8. This process of deductive inference certainly
ressembles intuition, relative to the clear vision of each step. V
But Descartes says that it isn't: "the certitude [of deduction] is ;
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12.

from them is therefore also certain, as long as we have a "clear
vision" in the continuous and uninterrupted progress of our minds
from the premises to the conclusions.

Not all theories claim certainty and infallibility for the
knowledge which intuitional experience provides. Russell, for in-
stance, thinks that ethical propositions have "some degree of self-
evidence, but not much."1 Likewise, A. C. Ewing defends intuition
as a reliable source of knowledge, but does not claim certainty or
infallibility for all of the ostensible knowledge-items which are
‘ given in intuitional experience:

Most philosophical defenders of intuition have preferred
not to use the word except in cases where they claimed certain
knowledge. But at any rate we must admit that people sometimes
seem to themselves to know something intuitively when they do
not really have the knowledge, and it does not seem to me to
matter very much whether we express this by saying that they
seemed to have intuitions but did not really, or by saying that
they had intuitions but the intuitions were wrong. I have a
preference, however, for the latter mode of expression because
the former suggests that there is some specific recognizable .:\\
psychological state, that of having intuitions, which has the \
proud privilege of infallibility, and this does not seem to be
the case.

Whether or not there is some "specific recognizable psychological v"
state" of having intuitions, there is apparently a specific recog-
nizable state of seeming to have intuitions, or of having seeming
intuitions:

It is a well-known fact that propositions, particularly in
ethics, but also in other fields of thought, sometimes present
themselves in such a way to a person that without having even a
in his own opinion established them by empirical observation or
by argument he seems to himself to see them directly and clear-
ly to be true. This is often expressed by saying that he has

“—

lRussell, The Problems of Philosophy, p. 117. |
2A. c. Ewing, Ethics, p. 122. I

 

 

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13.
or at least Seems to himself to have an intuition of their
truth. It might be expressed without using—the_term intuition
by saying simply that he knows or rationally believes them to
be true without having any reasons or at least seems to himself
to do so.

Although, according to Ewing, there is nothing about intui-
tional experience which renders it transparently intuitional, he
does claim that there is such a unique sort of experience (that of
"having intuitions"), whether or not in any given case we can be
sure that we are having one. And he does assert that when a person
is having ostensibly intuitional experiences it at least EESE§.t°
him that he is acquainted with ("sees") certain propositions that
are directly and clearly true--i.e. self-evident and obviously
true--even if they aren't necessary or infallible. It is a "well-
known fact," he claims, that propositions present themselves in
that way, and therefore we can call them known (if they are true),
or at least rationally believed, by intuition. Portzwing, as for
Descartes, the data of intuition are the same as the knowledge-items

known: they are certain propositions which we are acquainted with

in experience, that are self-evident and obviously true. But Ewing

   
  
   
 
  
  

denies Descartes' claim that there are certain marks that clearly

 

differentiate intuition from other kinds of conceptions, and he
likewise denies that these intuitive knowledge-items are certain
and infallible.

" However, in claiming that there are ostensibly intuitional
experiences, Ewing is at least supposing that one knows what it

leans to say that someone is having an intuition--i.e. that one

 

 

11135.4. p. 119.

     
  
 
 

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14.

knows what the word "intuition" means. And he also claims that
among these ostensibly intuitional experiences (whether or not we
can differentiate them from other similar psychological states
when we have them) are genuine intuitions. When they are genuine
intuitions rather than only seeming intuitions, they provide us
some evidence for the propositions we are aware of in those cases,
even if we are not certain or the propositions are not infallible.
When the intuitions are not other psychological states in disguise
they are, like those other states of seeming intuition, at least
self-evident in their way of presenting themselves to the mind.
And they are at least obviously true, even if they are not necess-4
ar_ily_ true.l

Thus, like Russell and Descartes, Ewing claims that there
is a unique sort of experience, in this case that of having osten-
sible intuitions. Intuition (or ostensible intuition) is, for
Ewing, entirely different from "empirical observation," and is \7
therefore a unique manner of acquiring knowledge. Thus he differs

from Russell when he claims that intuition is an entirely separate g

i
kind of knowledge than sense-perception, for Russell claimed that

  
  
  
  
  

 

some intuitive truths "merely state what is given in sense." Final-
ly, Ewing admits that there is nothing about intuitional experience
which makes it self-evidently intuitional; he claims only that there
are ostensibly intuitional experiences (at least some of which are

genuinely so).

 

1A. c. Ewing, "Reason and Intuition," Annual Philosophical

Lecture of the British Academy, Proceedings of the British Academy,
XXI (19m). pp. 25-28.

 

 

 

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15.

Ewing admits that intuition is not the 22ly_form of justi-
fication for those propositions which are ostensibly self-evident.
He claims that there is an independent test of intuition, namely

Icoherence. If a self-evident proposition fails to cohere with '
either other self-evident propositions or with our experience, this
is grounds to reject it either as a false intuition or as a pseudo-
intuition. But we cannot apply coherence, he claims, except by

intuiting that there is or is not coherence.l For among other

:v-

things, intuition in reasoning is our final test of whether a propo-
sition follows from, or is consistent with, other propositions.2
Thus Ewing's theory ressembles that of Descartes and Rus-
sell in claiming that our derivative knowledge consists of what
can be inferred from intuitive knowledge by deduction; but he
recognizes that just as intuitive knowledge makes other proposi-
tions evident, so also a body of knowledge derived from intuition
and sense-perception in turn can lend evidence to the self-evident
propositions which form a part of the body of knowledge. Like
Russell's theory, Ewing's theory of intuition holds that it is by
intuition that we know the inferential steps from the intuitively

known premises to the evident (but not always self-evident) con-

  
 
 
 
 
  

 

clusions.

In all, Ewing recognizes four kinds of intuition: (1)
those intuitions presupposed in deduction, (2) those presupposed- N
in induction, (3) those presupposed in ethics, and (u) those con-

\
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16.
they are "non-empirical and immediate cognitions."l They are
non-empirical in that they are not sense-perceptual (nor, it
seems among other possible types of empirical perception such
as feelings, images, etc.). And they are immediate in that we do
not arrive at them by inference from other cognitions: they are
not evident because something else is evident, but evident by
themselves. They are non-sense-perceptual evidence. Ewing, like
Russell and Descartes, holds that intuitional experience provides
us with at least some knowledge that is not based upon sense-
perception.

In this respect, Kant's theory of intuition ressembles the
other three, for he holds that intuition can provide us with some
knowledge (called by him a priori knowledge) that is independent
of experience. Like the other theories, in Kent's theory intuition
is awareness of data given in our experience. But as with Russell,
‘ and unlike Ewing and Descartes, he maintains that the data of in-

f tuition correspond to knowledge-items rather than being identical
with them:

In whatever manner and by whatever means a mode of know-

ledge2 may relate to objects, intuition [Anschauun J is that
through which it is in immediate-FEIation to t em, and to which

all thought as a means is directed. But intuition takes place
only insofar as the object is given to us.

 

2[eine Erkenntnis.]2

   
  

 

The phrase "a mode of knowledge," as a translation for "eine Erkennt-

his,” could be misleading. It means, roughly, what Russell calls

 

leing, "Reason and Intuition,“ pp. 11-12.

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l7.
knowledge by acquaintance.1 Kant next maintains that all intui-
tion is given by means of sense-perception (outer sensibility)
and internal perceptions (inner appearances):

Objects are given to us by means of sensibility, and it
alone yields us intuitions; they are thought through the
understanding, and from the understanding arise concepts.

But all thought must, directly or indirectly, by way of cer-
tain characters, relate ultimately to intuitions, and there-
fore, with us, to sensibility, because in no other way can an
object be given to us.
And Kant claims that there are two types of intuition: empirical
intuition and pure intuition. Empirical intuition gives us appear-
ances, and pure intuition gives us the spatial and temporal forms
of all appearances. These two forms of intuition, space and time,
condition all appearances. Space conditions all outer appearances
(which parallel Russell's particular sense-data), and time condi-
tions all inner appearances (which parallel Russell's data of
introspection).3 Our synthetic a priori knowledge of geometry is
provided by (given its content by) our pure intuition of space,
and our synthetic a priori knowledge of arithmetic comes from our
pure intuition of time.
There is therefore a correspondence between the data of
‘these (pure) intuitions and these a priori knowledge-items (i.e.

'the synthetic a priori truths of arithmetic and geometry). There

is likewise a correspondence between the data of empirical intui-

    

 

tion and the a posteriori knowledge-items of the empirical sciences.

(For Kant, the correspondence is apparently indirect, via the opera-

 

1Russell, The Problems of Philosophy, p. nu.
2Kant, Critigue of Pure Reason, p. 65. 3Ibid., pp. 66-80.

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18.

tions of the mind as conditioned by the categories. Kant's theory
is difficult, and part of the difficulty is involved in this rela-
tion between the data of intuition, in pure and empirical percep-
tion, and the knowledge-items.) In Kant's theory, the data of
intuition are unconditioned, and under Peirce's criterion would
therefore qualify as intuitions, but I can find no such assumption
made by the other three theories of intuition.

Like Russell, Kant is holding that intuition can give us
not only empirical knowledge (a pgsteriori true judgments) but also
a priori knowledge: knowledge of truths and principles of arith-
metic and geometry. But Kant does not call it "intuitive know—
ledge," for he holds that all synthetic knowledge is based upon
intuition. All non-analytic knowledge has to have "content" pro—
vided for it; otherwise one would not have any basis of connecting
the subjects to the predicates. And only intuition, according to
Kant, can provide such content: "from mere concepts only analytic
knowledge, not synthetic knowledge, is to be obtained."1

Unlike Ewing and Descartes, Kant and Russell hold that in-
tuitional experience includes sense-perception, rather than being
entirely different from it. But likewise, like the other two theo-
ries, they hold that some of the data of intuition are not data of
sense-perception. To be given the spatial and temporal §g£p§_of
sense-perception is not quite the same as to be given merely par-
ticular sense-data. Finally, like Ewing and Descartes, Russell

and Kent both hold that intuition provides a priori (non-empiri-

 

lIbid., pp. 85-86.

   

 

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19.
cal) knowledgec-as well as empirical knowledge, rather than instead
pf empirical knowledge as with Ewing and Descartes.

Another intuitionist, N. O. Lossky, denies that any intui-

 

tive knowledge is a priori; rather, he holds that there is no "anti-
thesis" between a priori and a posteriori.1 He is apparently claim-
ing that the so—called a priori "axioms and postulates" are differ-
ent from other judgments only in (a) their extreme generality, and
(b) their intuitive clarity.2 He claims that all our knowledge,
intuitive and otherwise, is empirical in that experience provides,
us with whatever knowledge we have. Some of this empirical know-
ledge is analytic, some of it is synthetic but necessary, and some
of it is contingent, but all of it is empirical.

His theory is empirical, he claims, in that it claims that
all of the evidence for what we know is given in our experience:

. The intuitional theory is an empirical theory. All empiri-
cism is based upon the thought that objects can be known only
insofar as they are experienced by the knowing subject. Only
that which is actually’present to consciousness is regarded by
empiricists as the material for knowledge.

But Lossky claims that his empiricism is mystical rather than £5227

vidualistic, in that it claims that besides our sensuous experience

 

of objects, we are likewise acquainted with objects in non-sensuous
experience. And whereas in sensuous experience we are acquainted
only with the effects of external objects upon us, in intuitional
experience we are directly aware of external objects themselves:

Mystical, in contradistinction to individualistic, empiri-

 

1N. O. Lossky, The Intuitive Basis of Knowledge, trans.
by Natalie A. Duddington, p. #03.

2Ibid., p. 395. 31bid., p. 101.

 

 

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20.

cism, maintains that the external world is apprehended in
experience as it is in itself and not merely in its effects

on the self.

This non-sensuous, direct acquaintance with external ob-
jects themselves Lossky calls "intuition." And the (non-sensuous)
intuition of the most general truths and principles he calls "in-
tellectual intuition." In intellectual intuition, one must have '

"complete abstraction" from sensuous experience:

The knowledge which consists in apprehension of the non-
sensuous I propose to call 5 eculative knowledge, or intellec-
tual intuition; . . . . All knowledge and every method of

thought is to a certain extent speculative. But I reserve the
terms "intellectual intuition," "speculative method," "specu-

lative knowledge," for denoting those cases in which knowledge
requires complete abstraction from sensuous experience, and is
positively hindered by it . . . .

These most general truths and principles, the "axioms and post-
lates" of all the sciences, although they are analytic, are about
external objects themselves, and they are empirical. They are not,
as Mill held, inductively arrived at by generalization from exper-
ience, but they nevertheless rest on experience for their verifica-
‘tion. They are apprehended directly by intellectual intuition:

The way to convince a person of the truth of an axiom or
of a postulate is to avoid concrete examples, and to bring it
before his mind in an abstract form, simply trying to make it
clear and to banish all misunderstandin due to the circum-
stance that 1n concrete reality the true connection of events
is concealed by a multiplicity of detail. The result of such
explanation is an immediate intellectual vision, or intuition,
by which the truth is apprehended w1th perfect jclearness.3

liesides acquainting us with external particular objects and with

‘these "axioms and postulates," intuitional experience also gives

lIbid., p. 192. 2Ibid,, p. sen.

31bid., pp. 365-66.

 

 

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us knowledge of both universals and relations.1

Thus there are in Lossky's theory four sorts of objects
which are data of intuition (non-sensuous perception): particular
external objects themselves (as opposed to their effects upon us,
which are given in sensuous perception), relations, universals,
and certain extremely general truths and principles. These truths
and principles are apparently not judgments (propositional cogni-
tions) but very general features of that reality which our judg-
ments are 52233? J

It seems to be the case in Lossky's theory that the data
of intuition are in some cases also knowledge-items. For instance,
in the case of relations it seems that it is by intuition that we
know such connections immediately.2 But in the case of particular
external objects the knowledge-items seem to be the judgments which
we make about those objects which we are acquainted with in intui-
tional experience. And in the case of universals and the "axioms
and postulates" it seems that the data of intuition are knowledge-
items, even though he says that the knowledge we have of universals
i and of the truths and principles is "mediated by judgments," and
may have to be "limited": that is to say, revised.3 And, accord-
! . ing to Lossky, somehow the external realities are "present in the
, judgment."“
Unlike the previous theories, Lossky's theory claims that

external particulars themselves are given in our intuitional exper-

 

11bid., p. 368. 21bid., pp. 1oa-ou.

31bid., p. uoo. "Ibid., p. 388.

 

   

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22.
ience. In this respect, however, his theory ressembles Bergson's.
Bergson claims that in intuition we "enter into" that external
object itself:
By intuition is meant the kind of intellectual s ath

by which one places oneself within an object in order to co-

incide with what is unique in it and consequently inexpressible.

Analysis, on the contrary, is the operation which reduces the

object to elements already known, that is, to elements common

both to it and other objects.
And since what is unique to an object is how these elements are
put together to form a unique whole, one's intuition of the object
cannot occur "unless we have won its fellowship with its superficial
manifestations." An "immense amount of facts" is "accumulated and
fused together," so that preconceptions and misconceptions "cancel
each other out." Only then do we enter into the object with the
intellectual~sympathy, and in that intuition of the object have in-
tuitive knowledge of it.2

In Bergson's theory, as in Lossky's, intuitional experience

gives us direct awareness of external particular objects. Moreover,
with Bergson it is clear that these data of intuition (the external
particulars) are themselves knowledge—items, apprehended as unique
and inexpressible wholes. And Bergson's theory is unlike all the
rest in claiming that intuitiva knowledge is inexpressible (inca-
pable of being asserted or described in true knowledge-claims).
Hence, in Bergson's theory, intuitional experience cannot justify

knowledge-claims, and for the simple reason that no knowledge-claims

 

1Henri Bergson, An Introduction to Metaphysics, trans. by
To Be Hull... pe 7e

21bid. , p. 91.

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23.

can be formulated which express what we know by intuition. Final-
ly, with Bergson's theory as with all the others, intuitional ex-
perience includes data which are not sensefdata particulars. With
Bergson, as with Descartes and Ewing, we have intuition pply of
data which are not sense—data.

And this claim that in intuitional experience we are aware

of data which are not sense-data seems to be the one common fea-

,ture which all of these theories of intuition share, so far as the

data of intuition are concerned: they all agree that intuitional
experience gives us acquaintance with objects which are not data
of sense-perception. That is, they all agree that in intuitional
experience we have direct awareness with at least some objects
which are not data of sense-perception. But they disagree about
what §g£E§_of things (other than sense-data particulars) are given
in intuitional experience, and they disagree about whether or not
sense—perception is a variety of intuitional experience. And this
makes it quite difficult for the investigator to determine for
himself what there is about these theories which makes them theo-
ries of intuition. For if they have nothing in common in regard
to intuitional experience, then they will not be discernible from
other theories in regard to the other criteria: that such experi-
ence provides knowledge and justifies knowledge-claims (or is in-
expressible knowledge). For these theories of intuition all claim
that intuition is a unique and different way of getting knowledge
and verifying knowledge-claims (if knowledge-claims can be obtained
from intuitive knowledge-items, i.e. if intuitive knowledge is ex-

Pressihle). And intuition is what supposedly distinguishes these

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24.
theories from other epistemological theories. Unless some way can
be found of distinguishing intuitional experience (according to
such theories) from non-intuitional experience, one would have to
admit that about all that differentiates intuitional theories from
others is that they use the word "intuition" or the word "intuitive"
in their theory of knowledgei‘

It is certainly not surprising that certain epistemological
theories claim that we are directly acquainted with certain data,
and that these experiences provide us with knowledge. Indeed, per-
haps any_theory of knowledge would have to "start somewhere," in
the sense that it assumes that something is given to awareness or
consciousness. They may not use the word "intuition," and prefer
some other expression which has the same function of indicating
"that by which" we are directly aware of something given, from which
knowledge can be acquired. Many other expressions seem to have this
function of directing our attention to what is "present to the under-
standing in some way": "it is directly evident that----," "we are
aware of----," "we are aware that----," "there is an immediate con-
sciousness of----," "it is obvious that----," "the mind understands
----," etc. And there is likely to be much more disagreement about
sort of thing is given than about whether or not something is given.
Thus whereas Berkeley holds that only "ideas" are given, Russell
holds that sense-data particulars, universals, and complex facts
are given (including complex facts consisting of universals in cer-
tain relations). Descartes holds that both mathematical truths and

the self*are giVen, wh reas Bergson holds that particular external

   

objects and t:

 

natural garage:
at given, as:
use of the ter
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with knowledge

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inteitional if
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25.
objects and the self are given.1 G. E..Moore claims that non-
rwwural properties are given, A. J. Ayer holds that sense-data
are given, and so on.2 It is obvious that a theory need not make
‘use of the term "intuition" in order to maintain that some things
are given in experience, and that these experiences provide us
with knowledge and justify knowledge-claims.

Therefore there is something wrong with calling a theory
intuitional if it only claims that there are some things which we
are directly acquainted with, from which knowledge-items are ac-
quired and knowledge-claims justified. We would be calling "intui-
tional" theories which explicitly reject all claims on behalf of
intuition and intuitive knowledge, merely because they claim that
some things are given which provide us with knowledge-items. The
reason they reject the term "intuition" is because they take it for
some peculiar, non-empirical road to knowledge.

The problem of arriving at a characterization of intuition-
al experience is this: should we call any_instance of acquaintance
with what is given an intuition, and therefore define a theory of
intuition as a theory which claims that some things are given in
direct Ilareness, and that these experiences provide knowledge?

In that case, many empirical theories which explicitly reject know-

 

11bid., p. 2n.

26. E. Moore, Princi ia Ethica, p. 59; and A. J. Ayer, 223
Foundations of Empirical Knowledge (London: Macmillan 8 Co. Ltd.,
965 , p. 59. Moore 1 ewise hel that there are sense-data, but
likewise held that we are aware of non~natural properties as well.
? On sense-data theories generally, see John L. Austin, Sense and

Sensibilia, ed. from manuscript by G. J. Warnock, Galaxy Books
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1964).

 

 

 

ledge "be.
3:: the a:
claim the
sense-per
which reg

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which we
ire not :
have in:
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26.

Sledge "based on intuition" are included among theories of intuition.
(3n the other hand, if we restrict intuitional theories to those who
<=laim that intuitional experience is direct awareness which is not
sense-perceptual, then our definition leaves out those theories
sshich regard sense-perception as one form (but not the only one)
(of intuitional experience.

A not very intuitively clear compromise is obtainable. Let
:13 define intuitional experience, provisionally, as experience in
which we are directly aware of certain data, at least some of which
are not data of sense-perception. Any theory which claims that we
have intuitional experience (i.e. experience which satisfies this
criterion), and that such experience provides knowledge, would be '
a theory of intuition.

However, this definition of intuitional theories is still

too broad. A theory could claim, for instance, that we are aware

of data of imagination, or of memory, or of introspection (feelings).

and still reject the term "intuition." For feeling, remembering,‘
imagining, dreaming, etc. are presumably varieties of direct aware-;
ness, but they not sense-perceptual either. It may be held that
these varieties of acquaintance derive from sense-perception, but
one could likewise hold that they (some of them) derive from intui-
tion. If a theory merely claims that we are aware of certain data
usually called mental or phenomenal (memories, images, feelings,
dreams, etc.), and does not claim that we are aware of facts, truths
and principles, particular external objects, universals, relations
of implication, organic wholes, etc., it need not make any claims

about intuition or intuitive knowledge.

 

8."...
”.17. a
3-3:: a

BC

27.

Yet theories of intuition are not very clear about how
intuitional experience differs from forms of experience that are
not ordinarily called intuitional, and although they are clearer
about what sorts of thing are given in intuitional experience, they
differ widely among themselves about what the data of intuition
are. The investigator of theories of intuition is therefore faced
with an intuitional experience problem: where can he find agree-
ment among theories of intuition about what intuitional experience
is? It would be a lot simpler for the treatment of this problem
if one could identify something more, here, than the tendency among
theories of intuition to regard intuitional experience as peculiarly
likg_visual sense-perception.

There is another common characteristic among these theories,
however, that deserves mention: with the exception of Kant, they
have all claimed that in intuitional experience we are acquainted
with at least 3221 data which exist independently of our awareness
of them. That is, these theories suppose that at least some of the
data of intuition do not (in Berkeley's phrase) exist only in being
perceived-—they are noumenal rather than henomenal, to use Kant's
phrase. According to these theories (with the exception of Kent's)
the data of at least some intuitions are Egyggg_(or transcend) the
mental act in which we are aware of them; in some sense, they are

"external" to their status as data of awareness. Or, they are

 

independent of our awareness of them, in that they do or would
exist even if unperceived.

To call such data of intuition "transcendent" would mean

 

that the:
perseive

ahfects

28/) a

that they have some separate ontological status besides being
perceived or perceivable: they exist other than in being the
objects of direct awareness merely. And to assert that they

are independent would really be saying the same thing: that they
exist, and what they are, is not at all dependent upon whether or
not they are or can be objects of direct awareness.

Kant, who denies that we can ever be aware of anything
whose existence and nature is independent of our experience of
it, would therefore be denying what all the rest of these theories‘
have affirmed, for he claims that we can never have (of the objects
of our intuition) things-in-themselves, or noumena. Even Kant,
however, suggests that intuition of things-in-themselves is not
impossible (to God, presumably):

But if I postulate things which are mere objects of under-
standing, and which, nevertheless, can be given as such to an
intuition,:although not to one that is sensible-~given there-
fore coram intuitu intellectuali--such things would be entitled
noume55_Tinfelligibili33717-__-—

Human beings, however, only have sensible intuition, and therefore
they have no acquaintance with things-in-themsalves.2

0n the other hand, Bergson holds that we can be aware of
external particulars and of ourselves (as inexpressible wholes), se-
and it is clear from his claim that we can "know reality immediate-
ly” that these data of intuition are transcendent and independent.3

Knowledge of self-evident truths and of ourselves, according to

Descartes, involves direct awareness both of ourselves and of those

 

1Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 265-66.
2Ibid., p. 268. 3Bergson, Metaphysics, p. 9.

 

   

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5.325.

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30.

self-evident truths. And it is clear that the self which he
claims that we have intuition of is no mere phenomenon, but a
snoumenon: the thinking subject whose existence is transcendent
and independent of whether or not one is aware of it--i.e. self-
conscious). And Russell holds that we are aware of universals
and of complex facts consisting of universals in certain rela-
tions. These universals and the relations between them exist

(or, to use his word, "subsist") independently of our awareness
of them; they exist in a realm of universals, andnwill continue
to exist there (or subsist there) though perceivers come and go.1

Finally, the ethical intuitionists, Ewing included, main-

tain that the value properties of actions and objects exist inde-
pendent of being perceived, and that self-evident propositions

are given in our experience-~propositions which are, and are true,
independently of us.2 Thus in all of these theories of intuition,
with the exception of Kant's if we restrict the definition to apply
only to theories of hum§n_intuition, there is a supposition that
the alleged data of at least some intuitional experience exist in
3\an ontological status of their own independently of whether or not
we are aware of them.

There is still some difficulty with this common character-

istic of all these theories of intuition: just exactly what is

meant in saying that certain phenomena (for data of intuition are

 

lRussell, The Mblems of Philosophy, p. 100.

2Ewing, Ethics, pp. 19, 121. See also W. D. Hudson,
Ethical Intuitionism, New Studies in Ethics Series, p. 63. The
rat on at ntu t onists and the moral-sense philosophers both
”reified" moral judgments.

 

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5

P935311

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31.
by definition phenomena, in the sense that they are things that
are directly evident to us) are independent and transcendent of
their being phenomena? What is involved, exactly, in saying that
these data are things-in-themselves, which nevertheless we are
acquainted with? And what does this common characteristic among
theories of intuition, concerning the data of intuition, have to
do with the special or unique character of (at least some) intui-
tional experience?

Lossky calls his intuitional theory "mystical" for the
reason that it claims that we are in direct contact with some
external reality when we are having intuitional experience, where-
as in sensuous experience we are only aware of the effects of this
reality upon ourselves as perceivers. He calls it a "mystical"
theory because in this respect it is like philosophical mysticism,«'
which claims that we are in immediate contact with (an independent
and transcendent) God. In philosophical mysticism, the persistent~
and pious investigator is rewarded for his patience and mental ef-
forts by an experience of direct awareness of God--he "knows Him
by acquaintance," to use Russell's terminology, or "sees Him in a
'vision," as the visual metaphor has it:

The line of reflection I have been following may fairly
enough he described as a m stical tendency of thought. Philo-
sophical mysticism, which Eas Hitherto generally possessed a
religious tinge, has always insisted that there is no impassible

,gulf between God and the human soul; that there are, at any
rate, moments of perfect union between the human and the divine--
moments of ecstasy when man feels and experiences God no less
immediately than his own self. The intuitional theory of know-
ledge is characterized by a kindred thought--the thought,

namely, that the world of the not-self (the whole of that
world, including God, if God exists) is known no less immedie

 

 

 

 

 

32.
ately than the world of the self.1
I. G. Brennan notes the same analogy between intuition and
mysticism:

Ancient Indian sages taught that a holy man, who sub-
jected himself to long periods of self-discipline, would
suddenly know the reality that lay behind the veil of Maya
which is this world. In a famous passage of the S m osium,
Plato says that a philosopher, after laboriously mounting
upward by way of the disciplines of earthly love and mathe-
matics, may achieve a vision of eternal beauty. . . . .
Such intuitions are characteristic of the way of knowledge
of mysticism. The mystic is a saintly person who, after long
exerc se n prayer and ascetic self-denial, suddenly exper-
iences a moment of luminous certitude; he "sees" beyond the

world's illusion that one Divine Reality with which he feels
himself united.2

Brennan distinguishes various senses of the word "intuition."3
In the mystical sense, an intuitional theory is one which claims
that one can have experiences of direct awareness of Divine Reality.
He has acquaintance with something that is divine and is independent
(in its nature and existence) of the perceiver and his world. That
is, it claims that we can be in direct contact with something which
transcends us and our world.

Lossky has extended this word "mystical" to cover his theo-
ry, since it claims that we can be directly aware of external real-
ity, or what he calls "the world of the not-self." If we adopted
Lossky's locution, we could claim that one of the criteria for a
‘theory of intuition is that it claims that we haVe mystical exper-,e

iences, i.e. that we are directly aware of at least some data which

 

lLossky, The Intuitive Basis of Knowledge, p. 100.

2Joseph Gerard Brennan, The Meaning of Philosophy, 2nd ed.,
Ppe 168-69.

31bid. , pp. 167-77.

 

 

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33.

are independent and transcendent of ourselves as perceivers. Thus,
in order to be a theory of intuition, a theory would have to claim
that we have such experiences. However, there are three difficule
ties about this criterion: first, it is too broad, in that theo-
ries which claimed that we were acquainted with such data in sense-
perception (i.e. naive realisms) would qualify as theories of in-
tuition. Second, it seems to narrow, in that theories which make
the claim that intuition givas us immediate acquaintance with our
real selves (as Bergson and Descartes maintain) appear to be exclud-
ed. Third, according to this criterion Kant's theory of intuition
(or at least, his theory of human intuition) would be left out,

for he claims that human perceivers can only have intuition of the
empirical phenomena (sensations of sense-objects) and of the spatial
and temporal conditions of all sense-perception, space and time.

And these conditions are imposed by us upon our experience, they

are not noumena or noumenal conditions.

However, so far as his description of human experience is
concerned, Kant does not need the word intuition at all. He could
do just as well with the word "perception": in empirical perception
we are acquainted with appearances (he could say), whereas in pure
perception we are acquainted with the spatial and temporal formal
conditions of all perception. In neither case would he be implying
that we are acquainted with things-in-themselves--external or other
realities which are transcendent and independent of our perception
of them. (On the other hand, he would need the word "intuition" to

describe God's understanding of particulars, if that is what he is

 

 

 

3“.
getting at when he talks about intellectual intuition.)

In order to avoid confusing intuitional theories with
naive realisms, let us alter the first criterion as follows: in
order for a theory to be intuitional it must claim that we have
mystical experiences--experiences in which we are aware of data
which (a) are pg:_sense-perceptual, and (b) are transcendent
(independent, ontologically, of our awareness of them). A theory
of intuition would have to maintain that at least some intuitional
experiences (whether it uses the word "intuition" or not) are mys-
tical: cases of direct awareness of data which are transcendent
and which are not sense-perceptual.

There is still the problem remaining, however, of pinning
down this sense in which data of intuition can be transcendent.
What does it mean to say that what one is directly aware of is
transcendent (independent, ontologically, of our awareness of it)?
A theory is called a "naive realism" if it claims that sense-
perception gives us direct awareness of external objects. Such
a theory is "realistic" in that it holds that at least some partic-
ular objects (usually "physical" or "material" objects) exist inde-
pendently of whether or not they are perceived. And it is "naive"
in that it holds that we are immediately acquainted, in sense-
peroeption, with these external (transcendent and independent) par-
ticulars, for it is argued that this claim must be false.1

But theories of intuition are not maintaining that sense—

 

JBertrand Russell, "Physics and Perception," in A Modern
Introduction to Philosophy, ed. by Paul Edwards and Arthur Pap,
rev. ed. (New York: The Free Press, 1965), pp. 559-565.

 

 

 

35.
pgrception gives us direct awareness of external particulars. Some
of then hold that we are directly aware of transcendent particulars,
but not by sense-perception. Others hold that we are aware of
transcendent universals (conceptual realism). In both cases, the
theories are claiming that we are acquainted with things which (a)
are not perceived by sense-perception, and (b) exist independently
of whether or not we are or can be acquainted with them. Like
naive realism, however, such theories are claiming that we can be
directly aware of objects whose existence and whose nature in no
way depends upon whether or not we do or can perceive them.

We do not constitute such objects by becoming aware of
them, nor do we in any way gigs; them by doing so. Rather, we
discover that they are, and discover what they are, and do not in
the discovery either create them or alter them. Even if no-one
ever became aware of them they would still exist and have just
exactly the nature that they have when we become aware of them.
They are transcendent in the sense that their nature and their ex-
istence is independent of whether or not they are data of aware-
ness. That we 2E2.a"ar° of them, in other words, is an intensional

property of them, not an extensional property. It is in this sense

 

that according to theories of intuition, the data of intuition are
transcendent: completely independent, ontologically, of our aware-
ness of them. That we are aware of them in our experience is an
intensional property of them; their existence and their nature is
entirely independent of whether or not they are data of awareness.

If we accept this criterion for identifying theories of

 

 

 

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self

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36.
intuition, then we could call a theory intuitional which claimed
that we are aware of ourselves, provided that it also would claim
that the self we become aware of is completely independent, onto-
logically, of our awareness of it: it is in no way constituted
or altered (in its extensional properties) merely because we become
self-conscious. And a theory which claimed that we are acquainted
with universals would claim to be intuitional if it also claimed
that the universals we become acquainted with are completely inde-
pendent (in their existence and in their nature) of whether or not
we are or can be aware of them.

Thus far we have identified two criteria which a theory must

satisfy in order to be a theory of intuition:

(1) it must claim that we have mystical experiences: exper-
iences in which we are aware of transcendent, non-sense-percepu
tual data (that is, data [a] which are not sense-perceptual, and
[b] whose nature and existence are entirely independent, onto-
logically, of whether or not we are or can be acquainted with
them). and

(2) it must claim that these mystical experiences provide
us with knowledge-items, either in that the data of these exper-
iences are themselves knowledge-items or in that there is a cor-
respondence between the data and the knowledge-items.

These criteria for theories of intuition might be sufficient except
for two interrelated problems: (1) those theories of intuition
which hold that knowledge-items can be expressed (in some way) in
knowledge-claims, likewise hold that intuitional experience not only
provides us with knowledge, but also justifies intuitive knowledge-
claims. And (2) there seems to be less objection to the claim that
intuitional experience provides us with knowledge than there is

about the claim that such experience in some way confirms, verifies,

or warrants what we say (or believe) on account of our intuitional

 

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37.

experience. It is one thing to claim that my intuition leads me
to discover some item of knowledge, so that I could then verify
or disconfirm it by some other test or proof, and quite another
thing to say that my intuitional experience has something to do
with the justification of what I discover by intuition.

Mario Bunge, when he is examining the role of intuition in
science, is quite willing to admit that intuition may furnish the
investigator with his hypotheses. "Intuition," according to him,
is a word covering various different sorts of conceptual states
or events which .resemble one another in their characteristics,
and which are not unlike the experiences which the theories we
have examined call "intuitions." These intuitional experiences
provide knowledge at least in the sense that there is sudden or
unexplained discovery of hypotheses which later turn out to have
been fruitful and not (or not yet) disconfirmed. But Bunge claims
that such mystical insight (even in the case of competent investi-
. gators, whose insights turn out to he often reliable) has nothing
to do with the verification of those hypotheses.

First, having criticized a number of theories of intuition
for their claims about intuition and intuitive knowledge (claims
very much like the ones which would satisfy our first two criteria),
he concedes that there are intuitions in science:

There is little doubt, in short, that intuitions of various
sorts occur in scientific research, although they are absent ‘
from science as a body of propositions. But the scientist, .

though esteeming intellectual intuition because of its sugges-
tive power, knows that it can be dangerous . . . .1

 

 

lMario Bunge, Intuition and Science, Spectrum Books, p. ion. .

 

fig

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38.
It is dangerous because it can be erroneous, and because it is
usually vague and must be made precise by more mundane methods.
Most important, however, having an intuition has nothing
to do with the justification of what we discover by it:
Scientists esteem intuition . . . but do not depend upon
it. They know that psychological self-evidence is no warrant
of truth, that intuition is highly personal, and that it often ‘
plays bad tricks. . . . . What characterizes scientific
knowledge, besides logical organization and accuracy, is
testabilit , and not self-evidence or subjective certainty,

which are sometimes associated with intuition and as often
shelter prejudice and superstition.

Finally, hypotheses may he arrived at in various ways, not merely
by intuition, and whether we discover them by intuition or by (for
instance) induction, their discovery is independent of their veri-
fication:

Analogy, induction, and possibly other forms of plausible
inference as well, yield hypotheses, not secure truths; and
before accepting such assumptions we must subject them to cer—
tain teats, both theoretical and empirical. Even their accept-
ance will be provisional. If the hypotheses are adopted as
postulates of some factual science, it is almost certain that
in the long run they will have to be corrected or even alto-
gether abandoned; and if the assumptions belong to formal
science, the possibility should not be excluded that more com-
prehensive and fertile postulates may be found in the future.2

Thus, he claims, the fact that intuitions occur in science, and
‘that they provide hypotheses which later become justified (and
hence could qualify as "knowledge-items"), does not support philo-
sophical intuitionism.3 That we have knowledge-items provided by
intuitional experience is irrelevant to their being known. Theories

‘of intuition are claiming more than that intuition provides hypo-

1flheses, or concepts, etc. They suppose that intuition is enough

11bid., pp. 105-06. 2Ibid., p. 115. 31bid., p. 117.

 

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} 39.
for saying that we have knowledge.

Bunge's criticism would be disputed by any theory which
claimed that regardless of the utility of intuition in coming up
with propositions for testing, or postulated entities, etc., intui-
tion is also in some way a ground or foundation for our knowledge.
And this is just what the theories we have examined have affirmed:
knowledge-items are not only provided by intuition, they are also
justified or warranted by intuitional experience. It is our intui-
tional experience which entitles us to say that we kngg_them.

However, the theories we have examined are divided on an
important matter. Whereas Russell, Descartes, Ewing, and Lossky
all hold that our intuitional knowledge is expressible in knowledge-
claims (stated or stateable propositional cognitions), Bergson
holds that intuitive knowledge is inexpressible. Such theories are
in a weak position relative to Bunge's criticism: they are saying
that we can know something but cannot express it, and hence that
there is no test for whether or not we really know it except that
we feel that we know it. Since what we know cannot be asserted or
described, one cannot come up with any hypotheses or assumptions
for further investigation. At most what we can produce in favor of
calling it knowledge is that we are firmly convinced of it because
of our own private, and incommunicable, experience. We cannot even
communicate our intuitive knowledge to others, let alone provide
L others with some judgmental grounds--some verification, other than
the not very persuasive fact that we ourselves are firmly convinced
that we know it.

The other theories appear to be in a somewhat better posis

 

   

tion.

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#0.
tion. They claim that intuitive knowledge—items can be expressed
(asserted or described) in knowledge-claims. This at least makes
it possible for intuitive knowledge to be subjected to other means
of verification besides intuition, and at least when there is an
appeal to intuition as justification, one can appeal to the other
person's intuition. That is, one can secure agreement among people
to one and the same knowledge-claim, if their separate intuitional
experiences all confirm it.

According to Rus3ell's theory, our intuitional experience
provides justification for knowledge-claims (the judgments) which
correspond to the knowledge-items (the intuitively known truths
and principles): if a proposition is self-evident, then "the cor-
responding judgment must be true." In Descartes' theory, although
it appears to be the case in the Rules for the Direction of the
Eigg_that the propositional cognitions are themselves the knowledge-
items, in the Meditations he says that our judgments express what
we know-—i.e. they are once-removed from the knowledge-items. And
he does not use the word "intuition" in the Meditations, but says
that our judgments (propositional cognitions) can be warranted by
the "light of nature," which seems to amount to the same thing.1

In Lossky's theory, our intuition of the "axioms and postu-
lates" is likewise what proves to us that they are true, and simi-
larly for the judgments we arrive at as a result of our non-sensuous

perceptions. And Ewing holds that although intuition does not pro-

 

1Descartes, Meditations, in The Philosophical Works of
Descartes, I, 17u-79.

 

viée ‘45
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ul.
vide us with certain knowledge-claims, it can at least furnish us
with some evidence of the truth of our judgments.l And although
Ewing admits that intuition is never the only_justification for a
proposition, he claims that it is an indispensable foundation.
Ewing claims that the other test of the truth of a proposition

is coherence with other well-founded propositions and with exper-

/

r ience, by which he means roughly what Bunge says is the only_kind

of verfication for hypotheses.2 But in order to apply the test

of coherence, and in order to get evidence for the whole system

of coherent propositions which we accept as knowledge, Ewing argues
that we must have intuition as well as coherence.3

In claiming that intuition not only provides us with

knowledge-items but likewise justifies knowledge-claims, such
theories are open to just the objection that Bunge raises against
them: that in taking intuition as a way of justifying knowledge-
claims they are resting these assertions upon an undependable,
subjective, and unjustifiable foundation. Intuition is undepend-
able, it is alleged, in that what we think we know intuitively very
(often turns out to be false, or probably false. It is subjective
in that at least the intuitional experience is private, and not
arery easily (if at all) distinguishable from mere firm conviction.
Alnd it is unjustifiable, I suppose, by definition: it is supposed
to be evident even though nothing makes it evident.

Intuitional theories could reply to these charges by

leing, Ethics, pp. 121-2“.

 

2Ewing, "Reason and Intuition," pp. 19-25. 3Ibid., p. 38.

 

 

 

I:2.
pointing out that other sorts of verification likewise sometimes
fail (inductive inference, for instance), and that (as Ewing claims)

intuition need not be certain in order to yield some evidence for

' a proposition. They can reply that all experience is private, not

just intuitional experience. And (1) in one sense, it is verifiable
in other ways--namely by what Ewing calls "coherence," whereas (2)
in another sense it is of course not verifiable: if it is self-
evident, then by definition it is not merely evident because some-
thing else is evident.

Regardless of whether or not the characteristic charges
against theories of intuition are well-founded, it is true that
they are open to the objections that Bunge raises against them.
For they are claiming that intuitive knowledge-claims are justi-
fied by intuitional experience, if they hold that intuitive know-
ledge is expressible. And if they claim that intuitive knowledge
is inexpressible (incapable of being asserted in true statements
or of being described in such statements), they still maintain
that intuitional experience warrants our belief that we are pro-
vided with knowledge by such experience, rather than merely with
possibly useful or accurate representations, or something of the
sort. M‘..

This suggests that a third criterion is necessary in order
‘to define theories of intuition, in order to show that theories of
intuition take intuitional experience to provide us with more than
merely hypotheses to be verified, etc. We need to recognize that
Such theories claim either that intuitional experience justifies

Itnowledge-claims or that intuitional experience does provide us

*

 

an: as
In the
the 3a
an th
the kn

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t“ ~“

43.
with knowledge, even though that knowledge is unassertable and
indescribable. Thus the third criterion which a theory must satis-
fy in order to be called a theory of intuition is:

(3) it must claim that these mystigal experiences are not

merely psychologically convincing, but are’evidence of the

’ th of the knowledge-items (or of the reality of the know-
ledge-items); either they justify the knowledge-claims which
express (assert or describe) the knowledg-items, or they are
evidence of knowledge-items which are inexpressible. In other
words, it must claim that such experiences are justification
for what we claim that we know (whether it is expressible or
not).

I take each of these three criteria as a necessary condi-
tion for a theory of intuition, and all three together as a suf-
ficient condition. A theory of intuition is defined as any theory
which meets all three of these criteria. The data of intuition,
for such a theory, could either be prOpositional or not, and so
could the knowledge-items; only the knowledge-claims (if the theory

makes any) would have to be propositional. The knowledge-claims

would be descriptions if the knowledge-items are not prepositional,

 

and assertions if the knowledge-items are already propositional.
In the latter case, it is possible that the knowledge-claims are
‘the same as the knowledge-items--that is, that the knowledge-items
are the same stated or stateable propositional cognitions as are
the knowledge-claims.

Having arrived at a definition of theories of intuition
'which is at least adequate for the purpose of determining whether
or not Plato's theory of knowledge is intuitional, it is possible
to examine that theory in order to decide if it is a theory of ind
tuition. -There are two other characteristics which many theories of

intuition have: a tendency to employ visual metaphors and anas

—n r-

“

 

..‘H

tOe

nu.
logies comparing or explaining intuition in terms of visual sense-
perception, and a tendency to think of knowledge as a relation
between the mind and what it knows. The first is not essential
to theories of intuition, certainly, since one can always avoid
making that comparisons(although such theories always seem to do
50)., And the second may not be essential, either: one might, for
instance, admit that we are given data of intuition without making
any claims whatsoever about the mind. (This gets into the problem
of whether or not perception requires a perceiver.)

It was these two (possibly accidental) characteristics
which first led me to regard Plato‘s theory of knowledge as intui-
tional. For Plato frequently uses visual metaphors and analogies
to explain what he means by knowledge, and he assumes that knowledge
is such a relation: a relation between the mind and the forms.

He claims that knowledge (or understanding) of the forms is liks.
vision, or i§_vision. Just as we observe what is visible, so we
"see" (or "know," "understand") what is knowable (or intelligible).
And he claims that knowledge is a sort of relation between the

mind and the forms that it knows.

Fl—
“1

II. THE FORMS

For Plato, knowledge consists of a relation between
knower and known-~between that which knows, the mind, and that
which is known, the forms. As we will see, Plato in the Republic
maintains that the objects of knowledge are the forms: these
make up that reality which, according to Plato, exist absolutely
and therefore can be known. The present subject of investiga-
tion is Plato's ontology in the Republic: his theory of forms.

This theory of forms has received much attention from
commentators, because of Plato's persistent identification of the
forms with reality. At least two fundamental problems have gained
their attention: (1) the origin and development of the theory of
forms, and (2) the nature of the forms. The first problem involves
the second, since the nature of the forms (and of the theory of
:forms) does not remain unchanged throughout Plato's philOSOphical
development .

There are two opposing schools of thought on the origin
(If the theory of forms. One side of the dispute holds that the
‘theory first appears in the Phaedo as an essentially new doctrine
of Plato's own invention. This school admits that there are anti-
cipations of the theory in the earlier dialogues, and that the
methods of Socrates (in particular the Socratic search for defini-

tions) lead toward the theory of forms. But it denies that Socrates

HS.

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46.
himself invented the theory which emerges in the Phaedo, which
ascribes to the forms an existence independent of the particular
instances of them. In this view, Plato was gradually led to adopt
the theory of forms, which he introduces for the first time in the
Phaedo. They admit that the Socrates of Plato's dialogues uses
the words "form" ("sides") and ("toes") in earlier dialogues, but
they deny that these words mean quite the same thing in the early
dialogues as they do after the Phaedo. They hold that in the

earlier dialogues the forms exist inthe particulars which partake

 

of them, whereas in the later dialogues the forms exist independ-L
ently of any particulars.l
The other side of the dispute holds that the theory of
forms was not invented by Plato. They believe that he learned it
from the Pythagoreans at "the Pythagorean school at Athens," of
which at one time Socrates was the leader. In this view, the
dialogues are reports (more or less accurate) of actual conversa-
tions expressing the real views of Socrates, at least up to the
Phaedo. They hold that in the Phaedo Plato has Socrates intro-
duce the theory of forms as though it were already known to the
(other participants in the dialogue, the "Pythagoreans" Simmias and

(:ebes. And they claim that the language of the earlier dialogues

‘presupposes the theory of forms even though it does not explain it.2

 

1For arguments and evidence see: (1) G. M. A. Grube,
Plato's Thou ht, Appendix I, pp. 291-9#; (2) W. D. Ross, Plato's
Eggpry of Ideas, pp. 2u-25, 34-36; and (3) J. E. Raven, Plato's
Thought in the Making, pp. 79-80, 8u-87.

2For arguments and evidence see: (1) Glenn R. Morrow,
Plato's Epistles, The Library of Liberal Arts, pp. 109-118; (2)
John Burnet, Greek Philosophy: Thales to Plato, pp. 123-29, 173;

5‘1

 

 

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#7.

Regardless of which theory of the origin of the forms is
correct, it is clear that the theory of forms does not remain un-
changed from the time it emerges into full view in the Phaedo. For
instance, in the Phaedo and the Republic Plato claims that.the
forms alone are completely real, but in the Sophist he admits that
there are other things also which are entirely real: individual,
self-moving minds and material, movable bodies.l Also, in the
Phaedo there is no suggestion that the forms are caused by anything
whatsoever, but in the Republic it is claimed that they are caused
by a "divine craftsman" (the form of the good).2 And then in the
Timaeus Plato once again has them existing independently of any
divine "craftsman"; the Anutoupydg does not create them, but only
employs them to transform the receptacle into a material universe.3

These differences have led commentators to treat the sub-‘
ject chronologically, following out the theory of forms from its
<1rigins in the early dialogues through its changes from the Phaedo
onwards. I do not have the time for this, nor do I wish to compli-

cate this investigation with material from other dialogues which may

 

(3) A. B. Taylor, Plato: The Man and His Work, pp. 175-76. See
also the A 010 , 24b—c: "Socrates is unjust [reads his indict-
ment] in tEat Ea is corrupting our young men and not recognizipg
(voufcsw) the gods which our city recognizes, but new divinifies
(Gotuovfa wawd) instead." Not only does "voufcm" mean "recognize,"
it: also means "acknowledge" or "honor," and the accusation is that
Socrates is corrupting the young men by teaching them to honor "new
divinities" instead of the gods of the state. The "new divinities"

luiSht be the forms.

lSophist 2H8c-u9d. See also: (1) Ross, Plato's Theogy of
Ideas, pp. 105-11, and (2) Francis M. Cornford, Plato 3 Theory 0
Knowledge, The Library of Liberal Arts, pp. 23948.

2Republic 597c, 509b. 3Timaeus 27d-29b.

 

be a:
to ex:

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ands

expla

48.
be at variance in important respects from the Republic. I intend
to examine the Republic alone; there is enough evidence there to
make it possible to arrive at Plato‘s ontology without needing
to refer very often to other dialogues.

There are three sections of the Republic in which the
forms are discussed: n75a-480a, SOua-SQOc, and 596a-597d. Re-
spectively, u7Sa-u80a investigates the nature of the philosopher;
SOQa-SuOc includes the analogies of the sun and of the divided
line, the allegory of the cave, and the training of the guardians
in mathematics and dialectic; and 596a-597d concerns the relation
between art and reality. I shall postpone soua-suOc, since it is
concerned mainly with the relation between the mind and the forms
and since it presupposes the forms (for the most part) rather than

explaining what they are.

#7Sa-u80a

Socrates and Glaucon are attempting to reach agreement
about the true nature of the philosopher, and to differentiate the
genuine philosophers from the philodoxists (otloédios), who are
lovers of opinion (6650:). They agree that the phiIOSOpher desires
wisdom (#75138):

"And wouldn't we say that the philosOpher is desirous

(étteuuntfiv) of wisdom-~not desirous of some wisdom—SEt-not

other wisdom, but desirous of all wisdom?"
"True."

In accordance with a previous argument,1 it would not be correct

to call someone a philosopher if he desired to be wise about

—_

lRepublic used-e.

49.

things but not about others; we would have to name him in accord-
ance with the restriction. One who wanted only mathematical wis-
dom, for instance, would have to be called a lover of mathematical
wisdom, rather than a lover of wisdom (euloooods).

Glaucon points out that this argument seems to result in
an unfortunate consequence. Many peOple whom he knows Socrates
would not call philosophers might be considered philoSOphers since
they are unlimited in their desire for "wisdom." There are dilet-
tantes and others with nothing to do who must attend every festival,
see every play, and know about everything that happens to everyone.
Would Socrates call such people philosophers?

"Never. But I would say that they are like philoSOphers."

"Then who are the genuine philosophers?"
"Those who love to look at (euloeeduovas) the truth (tfis

dlneem

"Right; but what do you mean?"
Glaucon sees that Socrates' statement is not clear. These specta-
‘tors and dillettantes (who will be called philodoxists) love to
ILook at everything whatsoever, and therefore are lovers of the
'truth, at least according to themselves. This definition of a
philoSOpher as someone who loves to look at the truth supplies a
ijgual metaphor to the knowledge relation which is retained through-
cnxt the Republic. Hereafter, knowledge (vaong or Ettatfiun) and
wisdom (oomCa) are often expressed as vision (35%;) or observation
(Oéa) of what is Eu: (i.e., genuine, dknefig).

In order to prove to Glaucon that there is a difference '
between these people and philosophers, Socrates makes use of an

argument which would not convince "another," i.e. a philodoxist,

although it is acceptable to Glaucon:

 

as:

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be.

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T . 3 a. a» r.
3 .. . .t u . M.-
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JI. I‘ l.‘ e
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m b . . .a n

50.

"It would never be easy to explain to another, but I be-
lieve that you will agree with me about this: since beautiful
(nuldv) is opposite to ugly (aioxpfi), they are two."

"Of course."

"And since they are two, isn't each of them one?"

"Of course."

"Similarly with 'ust (otxaCou) and unjust (dofxou), good
(dyaeou) and pgd_(udxov5 and all the forms anvtwv tmv stem»),
the explanation is the same (5 euros Adyog): although each of
them is itself one, each appears to be many things becoming,
apparent everywhere in common with one another amid bodies and
activities (auto uev Ev Exactov strut, Tfi 6: tmv updEemv not
awudtmv not dlldkwv netvwqu ucvraxoD eavtagdusva tolls maneo-
ea; Enactov)."

 

 

Since Glaucon accepts the theory of forms, he grants that beautiful
and ugly are things, and therefore accepts the inference that since I
they are opposite, they are opposite things. The same explanation,
says Socrates, applies to all the other forms as well. They con-
sist of pairs of opposites, and each member of the pair i§_one, but
33323 to be many_things becoming_apparent (onvracduevc quxa).
Since this passage has been variously translated and inter-
preted, I wish to explain my interpretation. The pair of particles
"uev . . . 6:" indicates the contrast between what each one (Enco-
‘rov) i§_(erct) and what each one appears to be (mafveoect). Each

is itself one ((1610 . . . iv) and appears to be many things becoming

 

apparent (ouvtccduevn mono). All the rest, it seems to me, modia’
fies "quracoucva uokka": the forms become apparent everywhere in
common with one another (Tfi . . . durum: xowwqu ncvtaxofi) 3m_o_p_g
bggiies and activities (tmv tpdgemv not amudrmv). I think that it is
the appearances of the forms, and not the forms themselves, which
Plato is here saying occur in common with one another among objects
and events. Hence the statement need not be understood as Ross

understands it, namely as indicating that the forms partake of one

 

 

5.4.

pg
sv‘ .

is

See:

33“
h

51.
another.1 Ross follows Adam in taking "tdvta ta Eton" as the
implicit subject of the sentence, with "Exactov" in distributive
opposition.2 Even so, it does not follow that the forms have to
understood as partaking with one another. Adam translates "by
reason of their partnership with actions and bodies and with one
another," but points out that they may only be in community with

one another amopgactions and bodies.3

Socrates can now prove, but only to another believer in
the forms, that the philos0phers are different from the philo-
doxists: they differ in the nature of what they love.“ The philo-
doxists are lovers of sights (mtkoeeduovcg) and lovers of sounds
(ptkfixoou). They welcome (dondcovrat) beautiful colors and shapes,
and beautiful tones and noises, and other appearances, but they are
incapable of seeing (toatv) and welcoming the nature of the beauti-

ful itself (66100 . . . 100 onoU . . . tnv odouv). Whereas the

 

jphilosophers are capable of reaching (ét' . . . lévat) and seeing

(dpdv xae') the beautiful itself, the philodoxists can only reach

and see beautiful appearances.5

This explanation of the;difference between the philosopher
and the philodoxist would only convince a believer in the forms,

such as Glaucon. Socrates realizes that it would not convince the

1Ross, Plato's Theory of Ideas, p. 37.

2James Adam, ed., The Republic of Plato, I, 362-6“.

31bid., p. 335. "Republic «76a-b.

5Re ublic M76b-c. Plato does not use the word "appearances"
("vuwvducvc"5 until 596d. However, this word still seems to be the
best way to refer to the things that appear (the "many beautifuls,"
0tc.). Perhaps an equally non-committal term would be "sense-

 

phizoc‘vxis‘
who does :11
and realiti‘
which is i:
a differeii
M.

J-‘

Socrates 1"

The argue:
the claim 1
there can c
lates "the
unreal is e
interprets:

\

cmfleets. "
Pendent re ‘
Q

S2.

philodoxist, who has not any notion that there are any forms, and
who does not know that there is a difference between appearance
and reality. Therefore Socrates makes use of another argument,
which is intended to convince even the philodoxist that there is
a difference between himself and the philosopher.

Glaucon is willing to answer for the philodoxist, and
Socrates resumes the inquiry (#7697):

"Does the knower (ytyvmoxmv) know somethipg.(ytyvmoxet TL),

or does he know nothing? Answer me for him."
"I would answer that he knows something. "

"Somethin which exists, or something which does not exist
(Hdtepov 3v H 06x 5v5?"

"Something which exists. How could he know something which
does not exist?"

"Is it enough (and we should consider whether it is too
much) if we hold that what is completely known exists completely
and what does not exist at all is completely unknown (to new
tavrelms 6v tthelBg vaordv, un 3v 6: unocug LIdVTg dvaorov)?"

"It is enough."

 

 

The argument is from Parmenides' Vay_of Truth.l Both here and there

 

'the claim is that there can be knowledge only of what exists, and
'there can only be ignorance of what does not exist. Cornford trans-
.lates "the perfectly real is perfectly knowable, and the utterly
unreal is entirely unknowable."2 The sentence will admit of either

interpretation.

 

objects." For Plato is not, in the Re ublic, committed to the inde-
pendent reality of particular material or perceivable objects. He
nowhere says anything to suggest that the objects of sense-percep- .
tion exist only in being perceived, but on the other hand nothing
that he says in the Republic contradicts this, either. See Theae-
tetus lBld-82d.

1Hermann Diels, ed., Die Pragmente der Vorsokratiker, 5th
ed., revised by Walther Kranz, 3 vols, 288 (Parmenides): 2, 7-8.
Hereafter this work will be referred to as "Diels-Kranz."

2Francis M. Cornford, trans., The Republic of Plato, p. 18”.

 

 

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53.
Socrates then draws a paradoxical conclusion (H77a6):
"Well then, if something is such as to both exist and not
exist (TL ofitwg 5x61 mg a vafite not un eraL), wouldn't it
lie between (ustaxu . . . xéonro) that which exists absolutely
(a [Atxptvms, literally "sun-clearly") and that which ex1sts
not at all?"
"It would."
One would think that if something both exists and does not exist,
then it cannot exist: it would be impossible for it to exist.
Instead of this, Plato infers that it cannot exist absolutely but

can exist in a certain intermediate way. The paradoxes involved

in this straightforward interpretation of him have led some com-

 

mentators to deny that he is really talking about existence, but

only talking about a different kind of reality.

 

Vlastos, for instance, argues that constructions such as
"8v was un 5v,fl "elven was un elven," "Ecru not un EOTL," and so
<on, do not allude to a domain of objects intermediate between
existence and non-existence. Rather, they allude to objects which
are less real in the sense that they are "less true" or "less gen-
taine." That is, they are less clear and less reliable as objects
<>f thought. According to this argument, there are no degrees of
existence in Plato, but only kit-133 of existence. The forms exist
labsolutely (i.e. truly), and what I have called the appearances
(sense-objects) equally EEEEEJ but are less genuine. They are a
different kipd_of thing, rather than a "less existing" thing; they
are a less genuine sort of thing.1

I am not convinced by Vlastos' argument. There may not be

lGregory Vlastos, "Degrees of Reality in Plato," in New
Essays in Plato and Aristotle, ed. by Renford Bambrough, pp. 1-20.

 

 

0'.

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H

I...

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‘5‘:

54.

degrees of existence in Plato, for that seems to imply a continuum
of levels of existence. But I think that there are at least £!p_
levels of existence: the forms, which exist without qualification,
and the appearances, which don't quite exist (for reasons I think
I can spell out) but don't quite pp: exist either. After all, they
do appear.

Plato will claim that each of the forms exists forever, re-
mainsrexactly the same forever, and is pp: rather than many: one
unique object which is always and forever the same.1 Sense-objects,

on the other hand, are temporary, fluctuating_(xlavfi), and not

 

unique: they are many objects ressembling one another, which do
not exist forever and which are constantly changing. There seems
to me to be a suggestion here that permanence, uniqueness, and self—
identity are "criteria" for absolute, complete existence, and that
'the appearances do not exist absolutely because they do not meet
“these conditions. Therefore they must "lie between" existence and
non-existence .

But why would Plato claim that appearances don't meet these

«conditions? Don't sense-objects exist at a certain time, and hence

 

«exist in the "timeless" or temporally definite sense? Aren't they
the same as themselves to a given observer at a given time and in a
given location under such-and-such conditions of observation? Are
not they unique (one rather than many) there and then to that ob-
server under those conditions of observation? In other words, are

they not eternally and uniquely self-identical in the temporally

 

1Republic M78e-79a.

f‘l

0.1 '

 

the
on!

1“

vi

fin”

55.

definite sense?

Perhaps Plato would deny that appearances met these
conditions if he had no temporally definite notion of the "is"
of existence (and for that matter, of the "is" of predication).
The typical and natural (i.e. pre-philosophic) way of under-
standing "is" is "is now"--i.e. "is" in the present tense,
rather than "is" in some timeless sense. Hintikka claims that
such temporal indefiniteness is a pervasive tendency in the Greek
philosophers, and he takes Aristotle for his principal example.l

Hintikka argues that the widespread Greek doctrine that
we can know only what is eternal and changeless is the outcome of
two tendencies: "(1) a tendency to think of temporally indefinite
sentences as typical vehicles of communication; (2) a tendency to
think of knowledge in terms of some sort of acquaintance with the
«objects of knowledge, e.g. in terms of seeing or of witnessing
‘them."2 I will have more to say about the second tendency later.
'The effect of the first tendency would have the effect of separat-
:ing objects of thought into those about which temporally indefinite
sentences are always true and those about which temporally inde-
:finite sentences are sometimes true and sometimes false.

In regard to Plato's distinction between what exists com-
pletely and what is "between what is and what is not," statements

about the forms would be always true or always false, whereas

1Jaakko Hintikka, "Time, Truth, and Knowledge in Ancient
Greek Philosophy," American Philosophical Quarterly, IV (Jan.,
1967), 1-1u.

2mm, p. e.

 

 

0 M
I“
P

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be...

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5...

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56.
statements about appearances would be sometimes true and sometimes
false. For instance, at one time it would be true to say that
aniappearance exists, and then later on this would be false, for
in the meanwhile it had ceased to exist. The situation would be
the same in regard to the changes in sense-objects. Although it
might be true ppy_that the appearance is red, if in future it al-
ters its color it would not Eggp_be red. And that is how appear-
ances are, according to Plato: they are fluctuating and temporary.

On the contrary, the forms are unique, changeless, and
permanent: (1) it is always true that redness exists, and always
false that it does not exist, and (2) its nature never changes,
so that what is true about it (or false about it) is true forever
(or false forever). Since the forms always exist and are always
the same, there is no change in the truth-value of the statements
(definitions) describing them, nor in the statements which affirm
their existence.

Hence the forms alone exist uavtelms and eiktuptvms: they
alone exist always, are the same as themselves always, and always
unique. The appearances are "between existence and non-existence":
they exist for a time, and then later on they do not exist. They
change, and therefore do not remain the same as themselves. And
they are not unique: there are "many" of them, which differ from
one another, perhaps, only numerically--i.e. only in that they
occur at different times.and places.

However, later on Plato will argue that sense-objects are
self-contradictory, in some sense, even in one and the same percep-

tion. They both "are and are not whatever you call them." They

 

 

 

to.”

'v‘

pen!-
I..-

pu-
ban.

0‘.

'o

57.

are ambivalent, like riddles.l This "ambivalence," I suppose,
would likewise add a disreputable feature to sense-objects, and
make for their "intermediate existence." Moreover, this feature
would not involve the question of whether or not knowledge-claims
must be temporally indefinite. However, Plato might have given
up the position that sense-objects are ambivalent if he had recog-
nized some concept of temporal definiteness.2

Socrates argues that if we know only what exists, and are
ignorant about what does not exist, then there must be some entire-
ly different attitude about intermediate objects (477a9):

"Then wouldn't there be knowledge (yvOOLg) about what

0 —_—_-'l_ e T
exists (an; IQ 5vtt), and necessarily 1 norance (avaof ) about

what does not exist (étt un SVTL), and shouldn t we search for
something between ignorance and knowledge (éttdtfiun), if there
were something of this sort, which 15 about what is between
(étf IQ uetaxd) what exists and what does not exist?

"Certainly."

"But don't we say that opinion (665a) is something?"

"Of course."

"Is it another power than knowledg3.(&llnv devoutv attorn-
ung), or the same?"

"Another power."

"Then opinion has been assigned to the one (ét' &Alm) and
knowledge to the other (éu' 8AA ), each power to its own domain
(were tnv odvauiv Exatépa tnv ogtfis37"

Plato is distributing each of the powers to its own domain of ob-

 

 

jects, although he does not mention either the objects or the do-

mains, except by the ambiguous pronouns "dllm" and "adtfis."
Socrates has called étLOtfiun and 665a powers, and hereafter

these terms are ambiguous, referring either to the power of the

mind relative to each domain of objects, or to the result of exer-

 

lRepublic u79b-c.

2Plato returns to these matters again in the So hist,
giving them a good deal more extensive treatment, 2Sub-593.

. .Khij‘

 

58.

cising that power. Plato explains further what he means by
"édvautg" (u77blO):

"Then isn't knowledge naturally about what exists (ént IQ
5er téouxe), a power of knowing the nature of what exists
(yvmvat a; Ecru TO 5v)? But first I have to give another
explanation."

"What explanation?"

"We would say that powers are a certain kind of thing
(yévos tL tmv dvtwv): those with which we are able to do what
we can do, and all other things able to do what they can do
(dis on not Busts duvdueea d’ouvdueSa not Ello may 5Tb tsp dv
édvntou). For instance, I mean that vision and hearing are
powers, if you now understand what form (eiéos) I mean."

"I understand."

 

 

 

Three phrases in this passage call for comment: (1) "étt T¢ 5vrt
néeuxs," (2) "yvmvot is Ecru to 5v," and (3) "yévog TL tmv 5vtwv."
The rest of the passage begins the explanation of what a power is,

so that the power of knowigg_(éttotfiun) can be understood.

 

The second of these three phrases defines "éntorfiun": it
is a power of "knowing what is as it is"--i.e. of knowing the
nature of what exists (what exists completely). In the present
context the various forms of "TO 5v" indicate what exists as
distinct from what appears. The first phrase indicates the natural
object of this power: knowledge is about, or "directed upon," what
exists rather than what appears. That is what the power of knowing

is by nature (téeuxs) about.

 

One important term remains undefined: "yvmvaL." We are
not told what this power of knowing accomplishes. We are only told
that it is "knowing what exists as it is." The phrase "is Ecru"
does not really tell us what knowing what exists consists of, al-
though it suggests that what is known is the nature of what exists.

Hence if the forms alone exist, then knowing is knowing the nature

I1

 

59.
of the forms.

Having called knowledge a power, Socrates recognizes
that the term "odvauts" needs to be defined, and he begins his
explanation of what a power is by calling it yévos TL 5vrmv: a
certain kipg.(yévos) of thing. The phrase is also significant,

however, because it clearly locates powers among existing things

 

(tmv Svtmv). A power exists completely, it doesn't merely appear.
So-if only the forms exist absolutely, all powers are forms.
Oalling the powers "a certain kind" of what exists seems to rule
out the converse of this that all forms are powers. /

Powers are those things "with which we are able to do
what we can do," and therefore the power of knowing is "that which
enables us" to know the nature of what exists. What this power is
about, or directed upon, is to 5v, and what it accomplishes, or
brings about, is yvmveu is Earn 10 5v. And this power of knowing
is among existing things (tmv 5vtwv). Hence, if all (completely)
existing things are forms, then étLOtfiun is that form which, if we
partake of it, enables us to know the forms "as they are"--i.e.
to know the nature of the forms. As vision and hearing are powers
with which we are able to see and hear, knowledge is the power
with which we are able to know.

Socrates explains further what he understands about powers,
and in the process provides a criterion of identity for powers. He
does not 333_(6pm) powers; he can only look at (épBAétw) their
natural objects and their effects. His criterion of identity for

powers is therefore based on these objects and effects (#77c6):

60.

"Listen to my opinions about these powers. I see no
power's color or shape or anything of that sort, which I see
of many other things which I distinguish from one another by
looking at them. With a power I can only look at that thing
upon which it is directed (sis éxetvo . . . BAétw Em'i3_. . .f
56:.) and what it accomplishes (d dnepydcetct). And in doing
this I called each of them [vision and hearing] a power. Pow-
ers which have been employed upon the same thing (éxt T¢ a61¢
tetaquan) and which accomplish the same thing (To auto dxep-
yecouévnv) I call the same power (rnv outnv walm). And I call
powers different when they have been employed upon different
things or accomplish different things. What about you? What
would you do?"

"The same."

 

 

 

 

 

Since powers cannot be detected directly, they must be identified
by means of their objects and their effects. Vision and hearing,
for instance, cannot themselves be seen or heard. One can only
detect the objects upon which these powers are directed, visible
sights and audible sounds, and the effects of the use of these
powers, seeing and hearing the objects. Since seeing is differ-
ent from hearing, and sights and sounds are different, vision and
hearing are different powers. Thus, if the power of knowledge is
different from the power of opinion, then knowing must be differ-
ent from believing (606d:etv),_and the objects of knowledge must
be different from the objects of opinion.

Having to Glaucon's satisfaction explained what a power is,
Socrates returns to the powers of éttOtflun and 565a (#77d7):

"Then let us go back, Glaucon. Would you say that know-

:;:§:"is a certain power, or would you assign it to some other

"To this kind. Of all powers it is the most powerful (ép-
pmueveOtdtnv)."

”And will we classify opinion as a power, or some other‘
form (bogev sis deeu v fi’els Ella eroos afoouev ?

"Not at all, since opinion is nothing else than that with
which we are able to believe ($ . . . doadcetv éuvdueeei."

But you agreed earlier that knowledge and opinion are not
the same."

 

61.
"Certainly not. Would anyone in his right mind identify
what is infallible with what is not?"
"Good. We are clearly in agreement that opinion is differ-
ent from knowledge."
The (listinction between éttdtfiun (or yufioug) and 665a is recurrent
in Plato. Here he applies it to the mental powers rather than to
the effects. He gets it from Parmenides' poem, in which the "way
of seeming" is contrasted with the "way of truth."1 The way of

seeming (opinion) is 665a. The distinction is grounded, in Par-

menides, on the ontological station of the objects of sense-percgpr

 

tion (ainfifious): since they cannot really exist, they cannot be
objects of knowledge.2 As Peters says, Plato incorporates the
distinction into his own epistemology:

The distinction is incorporated, on the same grounds, into
Platonic epistemology, though by now the position had been but-
tressed by the insistent Sophist attacks on cicadas; as rela-
tive (see Plato, Theaetetus 166d-167a, citing Protagoras). In
Re ublic H76e-u80a Plato sets Parmenides' distinction as a
series of epistemological and ontological correlatives: true

‘}\know1edge is of true reality, i.e. the eién, while ignorance/»‘
is of the completely nonreal. Between the two there is an /
intermediate stage: a quasi-knowledge of quasi-being. This
intermediate faculty (ddvautg) is 665a and its objects are
sensible things (eiobfito) and the commonly held opinions of
mankind.3

But although for Parmenides the distinction may be grounded

in the difference between sensible objects and true reality, I

/ \‘r-K.‘_u

think that for Plato the distinction could be the other way around.

The fundamental distinction may be that between what is infallible

R

lDiels-Kranz 283 (Parmenides): 7-8.

2F. E. Peters, Greek Philosophical Terms: A Historical
Lexicon, p. no.

albide. ppe “O’H’le

 

62.

and what is not, and the consequent distinction between the
objects of opinion and the objects of knowledge follows from it.
One can always be mistaken about sense-objects, therefore there
can be no knowledge of such things. If knowledge is infallible
it cannot be about appearances; it must therefore be about what
exists, not about what appears.

Since knowledge is infallible and Opinion is not, they
must be different powers. And if they are different powers, they
must be about different objects and accomplish different effects

(#78a3):

"Then is each of them naturally_capable of accomplishing_
somethin different and directed upon a different thing ( Em
étep3v TL buvauévn éxotépo outmv téeuxev)?";

"Necessarily."

"But the power of knowledge is directed upon what exists,
knowing the nature of what exists?"

"Yes . II

 

If knowledge is directed toward what exists and is able to accom-
plish "knowing what is as it is" (i.e. knowing the nature of what
exists), then opinion must be directed upon something else and

must accomplish something else (478a8):

"And opinion, as we were saying, is the power of believ-
ipg'(éo€dceuv)?"

"Yes . fl

"Believing the very same thing which knowledge knows? And
will what is believed (605o016v) and what is known (vaordv)
be the same? Or will that be impossible?‘

"Impossible, given our agreements: if different powers
are naturally directed upon different things, and if knowledge
and opinion are different powers, as we said, then under our
agreements there is no way for what is known to be the same as

what is believed."
Since what is known is not the same as what is believed, and what

is known is what exists, what is believed must be something else

than what exists.

\.
\‘
I.

“,1 are..."

63.

However, what is believed cannot be what does not exist,
either‘(u78b3):

"Then does one believe what does not exist? Or is it
innpossible to believe what does not exist? Think. Doesn't
the believer have his opinion about something? Or is it poss-
ible to believe, but believe nothing?"

"Impossible."

"Rather, the believer believes something or other?"

"YGSe"

"But wouldn't it be right only to call what does not exist
'nothing'?"

"YeSe"

"But we had to assign what does not exist to ignorance,
and what does exist to knowledge."

"Right."

"Then the believer does not believe either what exists or
what does not exist?"

"YeSe"

"Then opinion can't be ignorance any more than knowledge?"

"It seems not."

Glaucon, still standing in for the philodoxist, is now convinced

that 665a is a power lying between (netaxu xstoeot) knowledge and
ignorance: it does not "go beyond knowledge in clarity or go be-
yond ignorance in lack of clarity."1

Socrates announces that the remaining problem is to dis-
cover what it is which neither exists nor does not exist, such

that it could be called what is believed (ooaaordv) by opinion

(#78el):

"Then it remains for us to discover what partakes of both
bein and non-being (to dueorépwv ustéxov, toD elven to was un
e vet)“and would not be called either one absolutely. If this
intermediate thing were to appear, then we could rightly call
it what is believed, giving back extremes for extremes and
intermediate for intermediate. Don't you think so?"

"I think so."

Socrates is going to argue that since appearances "both are and

—‘

lRepublic “78¢.

 

64.
are rust whatever you call them," and so on, they cannot exist com-
pletely. They are between existence and non-existence, and there-
fore tnust be objects of opinion. But before he can draw these
conanisions, he must prove to the satisfaction of the philodoxist
that appearances, the sensible objects of sense-perception which
the pflnilodoxist thinks about and talks about, are between exist-
ence and non-existence.

He begins by pointing out (for Glaucon, not for the philo-
doxist Glaucon is answering for) the difference between the unique,
changeless, and eternal forms and the many fluctuating, temporary
objects of sense-perception (#78e7):

"'Given these conclusions,' I would say to this person
[the philodoxist] who believes in no beautiful itself (auto .
. . xekov), nor any idea of beau3y_itself (Ioéov . . . c6100
xdklous) which remains the same as itself forever (deb . . .
were touts doadtws Exouoav), this person who recognizes many
beautiful thingg_(tollo . . . to wake vouCCeL) and loves to
look (etkoesdhmv) but would never allow anyone to say that the
beautiful is one (év to nakov . . . elven), as well as the
just and the other forms--'Given these conclusions,‘ we would
say, 'are there any of these beautiful things which cannot
appear ugly? Or any of the many just things which cannot
appear unjust, or holy things which cannot appear unholy?'"

"No. The same thing could certainly appear to be in some
way beautiful and in another way ugly, and the same with any-
thing else of this sort."

 

Although he "loves to look," the philodoxist does not recognize

the forms. .He only sees and holds opinions about objects of sense-
Perception. He believes in many beautiful things but does not
believe in the idea of beauty, which like all the other forms is“
222332 (iv) and self-identical forever--i.e. eternal and always

One and the same. Since he recognizes only appearances, his world

is the world of Heraclitus and Protagoras: a world in which every-

 

65.
thing is in constant flux and in which to seem is to be. The
world of sense-objects is the domain of becoming: it is Hera-
clitnis' world in that it is constantly changing and filled with
contradictionrl It is Protagoras' world in that human percep-
tion is the measure of what exists in it, so that what exists

is what appears to us.2 Not until the Theaetetus, however,

 

does Plato characterize it in precisely this way, where his
perspective of it is derived from these two presocratic philo-

sophers.3

This world of becoming is the only world the philodoxist
is aware of, and the appearances in it (the objects of sense-
perception) are the only objects his mind recognizes. What is
true of beautiful and ugly things, and so on, is true of other
sorts of appearances as well (#78b3):

"What about the many doubles? Does it seem that they are
any more double than half?"

"And likewise the many great and small things, and light
and heavy things; should we say that any of them could be
called these names any more than the opposite names?"

"No. Each of them will always be both."

From this Socrates and Glaucon conclude that these appearances,
like riddles (olvfyuata) are ambivalent (dreamerspfcou0tv). They

Cannot be unequivocally non-existent, because they do appear. But

they cannot be unqualifiedly existent, either, for they both are and

k

1Diels-Kranz 22B (Heraclitus): 89a, 88, 91.
2Ibid., 808 (Protagoras): l.
3Theaetetus 166d-l72b, l77c-l80b, and 186a-186e. See also:

Francis M. Cornford, ed., Plato's Theory of Knowledgg, The Library
0f Liberal Arts, pp. 85-108.

66.
are rust whatever you call them. Since appearances do not belong
either among the things which exist absolutely or among the things
whicti do not exist at all (since there aren't any), they must be

in an intermediate domain (1:79:21):

"Then can you think of anywhere to put them except between
existence [or substance] (odoCos) and what is not (100 un ei-
‘vat5? For they do not seem to be more obscure (onetwééotepe)
than what does not exist, nor more clear (mavdtepa) than what
exists."

"True."

"Then we have discovered, it seems, that the many names,
in the language of the many, 'beautiful' and the others, refer
to what is between what does not exist and what exists com-
pletely."

"We have."

"And we had agreed that if something of that sort should
appear, it must be called what is believed but not known: the
intermediate fluctuating thing (to ueraxu xkovntov) detected
by the intermediate power (18 petaxu ouvduet . . . dltoxzuev-
OVe

 

 

 

"We did."

Since appearances are between existence and non-existence, they
are the intermediate objects detected by the intermediate power
Of opinion.

The difference between the philodoxist and the philosopher
is therefore: (1) a difference in the objects which each of them
igyes to look at (euloeedooOSQL) and (2) a difference in the powers
which they exercise. The philodoxist loves to look at objects of
Sense-perception, the intermediate objects which are detected by
the power of opinion. But the philosopher loves to look at the
forms, objects which exist unequivocally and are detected by the
Power of knowledge.

The philodoxist can only think about what he observes,

and he does not observe the forms; he therefore has only opinion,

“1‘“ at. 1‘1.

 

:6

In;

I.“,‘

he;

67.
not knowledge. The philosopher, on the other hand, possesses the
power of knowing the forms, and therefore has knowledge instead
of merely opinion (479el):

"So we would say that those who look at many beautiful
things but do not ESE (dpmvtas) the beautiful itself (abto TO
xokdv), and are unable to follow anyone else's lead toward it,
only believe, and do not know anything they believe. And
similarly with the just itself, and the other forms."

"Necessarily."

"And what about those who look at (Bemuévoug) all of these
objects themselves (afito’EnaOTa)iwhich are the same as them-
selves forever (de: Mata tabta doedtwg’BVIo)? Wouldn't we say
that they know rather than believe?"

"Necessarily."

"Then wouldn't we say that they welcome (doudceoeat) and
love (etletv) those things about which there is knowledge

tours . . . éo' oIE’vaOLs Ecttv), whereas the others welcome
[and love those things of which there is opinion? Or don't we
remember that we said they love and look at beautiful sounds
and colors and so on, but do not admit of (dvéxeoeat) the
beautiful itself as something which exists (5; TL 6v)?"
"We remember."

 

 

 

 

 

 

The forms are welcomed and loved by those who are able to "see"
them, the phiIOSOphers. They alone have the power of knowledge:
the ability to detect what exists completely--i.e. to know the
forms. The forms exist completely, whereas the appearances are
"between what is and what is not." The forms are unique, eternal,
and changeless, and the "many beautifuls," and so on, are not "one"
but many things becoming apparent again and again. They are not
eternal but temporary: they come into existence and cease to exist.
And they are not changeless, but fluctuation characterizes them:
they "are and are not whatever you call them."

The outcome of this argument which differentiates the philo-
dOXist from the philosopher is a two-fold dichotomy, from which
Plato gets his explanation of the nature of knowledge in the divided

line analogy. It is (l) a classification of objects into two onto-

 

68.

logical levels, complete existence and intermediate existence.
What exists completely are the eternal forms, Plato's "Olympian
Immortals." What exists intermediately are the objects of sense-
perception, the Heraclitean appearances of which human perception
is the only measure. And it is (2) a classification of mental
powers into two epistemological kinds: opinion and knowledge.
Opinion is the power to "have opinion of" perceivable objects.
With this power, the mind is able to have belief of what it per-
ceives, which is therefore what is believed (GOEcOtdv). And know-
ledge is the power to "look at" and know the forms. With this
power, the mind is able to know what exists, which is therefore
what is known (vaotdv).

Although from this argument we know that, according to
Plato, the forms are unique, eternal, and changeless, exist com-
pletely, and are what is known by the power of knowledge, we don't
know what 323: of thing they are: yp§E_is unique, eternal, and
so on? It may be implicit in this discussion that the forms are
"universals," but Plato's clearest explanation of this occurs in

his discussion of mimetic art in Book Ten.

596a-597e
Plato is arguing that since mimetic art only produces
imitations of sense-objects, it only makes appearances of appear-
ances. It is therefore even more remote from reality (what exists
completely) than are sense-objects, and further from the truth.
Art will be so inauthentic, and therefore misleading to the citizens

°f the ideal state, that it will be harmful to the state to allow

r-

 

 

 

' 5‘4.

1'9

“‘
I5:
1,.

69.
it to exist. Plato therefore prOposes to eliminate it.
But first he wishes to show how remote art is from
reality. If sense-objects themselves are fluctuating and im-
permanent, and occupy a domain intermediate between what exists
and what does not exist, and if the work of the mimetic artist
is only an imitation of these sense-objects, then the work of the
artist is even more remote than sense-objects from reality.
Socrates begins by asking if it would be more apprOpriate
to start by assuming that the forms exist (596a5):
"Shall we begin our investigation with our customary meth-_
od (eiweufies usedoou)? We have customarily posited’TrCSsoeoL),
1- .
1n each case, one particular form (5160; . . . TL av) to ever
one of the many thipgs which are called by the same name rapt
Eiders ro tolls, oi; rdfirov Evans étteépouev). Don't you

understand?"
"I understand."

 

The "customary method" is to explain the similarity among a number
of objects of the same kind by positing a single £23m (sides) or
iflgg;(i6ée) which they all have in common, and which accounts for
the ressemblance between them.1 This procedure occurs in all the
early dialogues. We may call many different things by the same

name when we think their similarity so striking that we have one
name for them all. We account for the similarity, according to
Plato, by finding that fp£m_which all and only the things of that
kind partake of. In other words, forms are the qualities or proper-
ties which all and only those particular sense-objects have; forms

are gpiversals.

_k

lPlato uses "eioos" when he wants a neuter noun, and "idea"
when he wants a feminine one. So far as I can tell, that is the
°n1y difference between them; they have the same meaning.

_ej

 

70.

Socrates applies this customary method to some examples of

artificial sense-objects (596alO):

"Then we can select among these many things whatever we
choose. For instance, if you like, there are many beds and
tableSe"

"Of course."

"But there are two ideas (ideas) relative to these objects
(rcpt roOre ta owsdn): one idea of a bed and one idea of a

table e I!
"Yes e It
"And haven't we usually said that the craftsman of each
of these articles, looking toward the idea (noes rnv Coéav
Blétwv), makes in that way the beds and tables which we use,
and similarly all other such articles? For no craftsman 32.
any way (sou) ever produces the idea itself (rnv (déav efirnv),
does he?"
"Never."
The craftsmen Socrates is referring to here are the human crafts-
men who make observable beds and tables. Later on he will claim
that there is a divine "craftsman" who has not only created the
world of becoming, but the forms as well.
Although there are many beds, there is only one idea of
a bed. All manufactured beds partake of this bed-form, and only
beds partake of it. The observable particulars are the many beds,
and the universal is the one bed-form they are all instances of.
When the craftsman makes a bed, he does not just put pieces of
wood together at random, he "looks toward the idea." The form
serves him as a pattern which he copies in his construction of the
bed.- But the bed itself is not produced in any way by any crafts-
man. It is not, like a diagram or picture, an observable archtype
which someone produces and which serves as a model. Nor is it an

idea in the mental sense: it is not produced in any way by any

craftsman. It exists independently of the craftsman as well as

 

 

 

71.
independently of the observable objects patterned after it.

There is a problem here, however. Previously, Plato has
claimed that only the philosopher is able to know the forms, where-
as the philodoxist cannot. Now he says that the craftsman can know
them too, for it is in looking toward the forms that they can pro-
duce objects of those forms. Does this make craftsmen philosophers?
Perhaps Plato would reply in the following vein: craftsmen can
indeed know the forms, with enough experience and training in a
particular craft, whereas philodoxists and mimetic artists cannot.
But craftsmen cannot know iii the forms. They can only know those
forms essential to the pursuit of their technical art (rsxvfi).

Plato might argue that by diligent effort, a virtuous life (doing
his own work), and a certain amount of experience, any man can

learn one rexvfi well, and therefore learn some few forms. Thus

he might learn, love, and welcome the forms of his craft (at least
indirectly, through their instances), but be unable to know any
others. Therefore carpenters, for instance, could not be called
philosophers, since they would not love all wisdom. They could
only be called "lovers of wisdom in carpentry," or something of the
sort. They know only those forms which they know as carpenters,
and love only the "wisdom" of the craft of carpentry. Even if they
know no other form, at least they know what a bed is (for instance),
and that is one more form than a philodoxist or mimetic artist
knows. Since the carpenter knows what a bed is, i.e. knows the form
of a bed, he can make beds and therefore perform a useful service

in the state; whereas the mimetic artist knows no form at all and

xix—fiffl"?
I

leads a:
‘. -'~ 1
.e-ee O

P I
.. 1“. CH

 

f",

I

72.

'therefore is useless.

The defect in this interpretation is that Plato elsewhere
Lleads us to believe that the réxvat belong to opinion, not to know-
ledge.1 Unlike the poets, perhaps, the craftsmen have advanced
from shoots to 5650:. But the analogy of the divided line seems
to assign the mental activities and objects of the craftsmen to
opinion, as it assigns their products to what is believed ((50an-
tdv). But if the craftsmen only have Opinion, how can they look

toward the forms in producing their objects?

 

Socrates now introduces a craftsman of a different sort:

a remarkable producer of everything whatsoever (596bl2):

"Now, look at this next craftsman and tell me what you
would call him. He makes everything whatsoever, of which each
of the artisans makes only one sort."

"That is a most remarkable and skillful man."

"You will soon be even more surprised. This same craftsman
not only can make every article that the other craftsmen can
make, but he also makes all of the things which come out of the
ground and all animals, both himself and the others. And he
creates everything whatsoever which surrounds these things:
earth and sky and everything in the sky and under the ground."

"He is certainly a most skillful prodigy."

"Don't you believe it?~ Tell me, does it seem to you that
there is no craftsman of this sort at all, or that there is a
producer creating all of these things in one way but not in
another? Or don't you perceive that you yourself might be able
to produce all these things in a certain way?"

"How?"

"No difficult way: you can do so often and quickly, and
most easily, if you like, by taking a mirror and turning it
around in every direction. You would quickly make the sun and
everything in the sky, and the earth and yourself and all the
other animals, plants, artifacts, and so on."

"yes, their appearances (ontvduevc). But not at all what
in truth exists (dvra . . . r6 dinesca)."

 

Tmnis "remarkable craftsman" is not the divine Anutoupyds which

¥

lRepublic 522b-c.

tha’ "
.u"

74.

not be making what exists (ro 5v), but the sort of thing which
both exists and does not exist (ofov ro 5v, 5v 6e 06). It
would probably not be true to say that the work of the bedmaker
or any other artisan, if any should appear, is what exists

entirely (rcléws . . . 5v)."

 

I1: would probably not be (wtvouvedEL own) true to say this, because
no m craftsman produces "what a bed is." The divine craftsman,
Efilato will claim, does produce the form. Calling the bed-form
"what a bed is" presumably calls attention to what a definition
explains: the nature of a bed. The bed-form is what a bed is in
tamat when you know the bed-form, you know (and perhaps can explain)
wfluat a bed is. The "d Eoer" is what you are looking for when you
ask the question "rC Eorw;" ("What is it?"): the nature of the
form, its substance (060601)}
Socrates has now differentiated three things: the appear-
ance of a bed, a bed, and the form of a bed (597b5):
"Well then, these beds have become three thing: (rptrraf
ercs xxtvat afirat yfyovrat): the f1rst ex1st1ng 1n nature
(év ru edoet 050a), which we might say §_god creates (866v ép-
ydoaoeat), I believe. Or does something else create it?"

"Nothing else, I think."

"The second, which the carpenter creates."

"Yes . H

."And the third, which the artist creates. Doesn't he?"
"He does."

 

 

All three of the phrases for which I have provided the Greek are
difficult to interpret and important to the understanding of Plato's
theory of forms. Cornford translates the first phrase as "we have

here three sorts of beds."2 But three sorts of beds is precisely

E

lGregory Vlastos, "Degrees of Reality in Plato," in New
Essays on Plato and Aristotle, pp. u-s, 13.

2Cornford, The Republic of Plato, p. 326.

 

what if
<
and
. one

a be“
“I

75.
what we do not have. There is one bed, one appearance of a bed,
and one form of a bed. We _d_o_ have three things: what a bed is,
a bed, and a picture of a bed.

The second phrase might be translated either "existing in
nature," "existing by nature," or "existing naturally." Cornford
translates "exists in the nature of things," which loses the force
which "mums" brings to the explanation.1 I prefer the translation
"existing in nature," since it seems to me to most clearly separate
the forms from sense-objects and artistic imitations. The forms Le
exist in nature (év r6 cpdoet), the domain of the forms, rather than
in the fluctuating world of sense-Objects and their images. I
think Adam is correct in his interpretation of this phrase here,
when he cites Burnet: "'in Greek philosophical language, mucus
always means that which is'primary, fundamental and persistent,
as opposed to that which is secondary, derivative and transient.”2
The important thing about the phrase is the contrast it makes be-
tween that which "a god" creates, which is primary, fundamental,
and persistent, and that which the craftsmen and mimetic artists
create, which are secondary, derivative, and transient.

The third phrase can either be rendered "which God creates"
or "which a god creates." Either way it is very surprising, since
in the Phaedo and Timaeus we are led to suppose that the forms were

never created by anyone or anything. In the Phaedo there is no

-__

llbid.

2Adam, The Republic of Plato, II, 390, and John Burnet,
Egrly Greek Philosophy, 8th ed., Meridian Books, p. 11.

‘5. 3“...- -erv."

 

76.

Anutouyds; the forms are simply given-«presumably they always
existed and always will.:L And in the Timaeus the Anutoupyds is
given the already existing forms as patterns to work with in
shaping the Receptacle into a material universe.2 If Plato is
saying here that the forms are created in some temporal sense,
then one begins to suspect the authenticity of the whole pas-
sage. If the forms are eternal, how can there be a time during
vehich they don't exist? And if they are universals, how can a
God create them?

I think that Adam is correct when he claims that Plato
is now saying in theological language what he said before in

3 namely that the existence of the other

philosophical language,
forms is dependent upon the existence of the form of the good,
and that Plato is now calling the form of the good "856s.” In
calling the good "a god" Plato may be merely calling attention
to its immortality; in that sense, of course, all of the forms
are gods. Although I agree with Adam's interpretation of "826v
épydoaoect," this interpretation gets somewhat strained later
on, for Socrates says that the god wanted (Boulduevos) to be the
maker of the forms.5

If my analysis is correct in regard to these disputed

points, then what Plato is saying is this: there are at least

three things which are created (in one sense or another). The first

_b

lphaedo 78-79. 2Timaeus 29. 3Repub1ic 509b.

"Adam, The Republic of Plato, II, 391.

5Republic 597d.

‘3‘“ l"— u-r I...“
I

77.

is the form of a bed, "created by a god," i.e. dependent for its
existence upon the form of the good. The second is the bed having
been made by the carpenter, which is patterned after the form of
a1 Ibed. And the third is the appearance of a bed which the imi-
1:artive artist copies from the bed which the carpenter makes. The
bed-form exists independently of both the carpenter and his bed,
and the bed of the carpenter exists independently of both the
mimetic artist and his picture.

Socrates' summary, however, gives rise to a problem (what
seems to be a contradiction, in fact), in that he claims that

there are "three forms" of beds (597b13):

"Mimetic artist, bedmaker, god: these three know how to

make (érLordrat) three forms (TOLOLV steeds) of beds (xktvmv)."
"Yes, three."

 

Time problem is that three forms of beds is precisely, according
'tc> Plato's theory, what we cannot have. Only one of them is a
form and only one of them is a bed. And the only way I can re-
scxlve the problem is to assume that Plato realizes that it is in-
correct to speak this way, and has Socrates correct himself in the
very next sentence. This manner of speaking, calling the three
tfliings "three forms of beds," cannot be correct because there is
really 323 only: there can be only one form of a bed itself:

"But this god, whether it did not wish to or whether some
necessity compelled it, made no more than one bed itself (abrov
xltvflv) in nature (évrfi edoet). It made only that one thin
itself (uzev u3vov abrnv éxetvnv) to be what a bed is (6 Eoer
uXZvn). Two or more such things were not producediby the god,
or generated in any other way."

"Why not?"

"Because if it had made as much as two of them, then there
would have to be once again only one thing, which is the form
which the other two would both have, and this form would be

 

 

‘ '2‘”
|

—‘ ‘-...

78.
again what a bed is (sin . . . 5 Eoruv xlen éxsfivn), rather
than the other two." '

"Right."

Ignoring the god for a moment, Socrates' explanation makes
use of a "third man" argument: he is trying to argue that if
there were more than one form of a bed, then there would still be
only one form of a bed. Suppose there were two bed-forms, each
ofsthem "what a bed is." Then there would something which is the
form that they both have, namely the form of a bed. But then this
third thing is the form of a bed, not the other two. Therefore
there is only one bed-form. (The argument is still not very
clear. It would seem simpler to argue that "what a bed is" is no
different from "what a bed is," and therefore there is no more than
one form of a bed (identity of indiscernibles).)

Since there cannot pg_more than one bed-form, the "god"
cannot 1:135: more than one bed-form. Since the god "wanted" to make
at least one bed-form, he did:

"And the god, I believe, knowing (slows) this, wanted

(Bouldusvos) to really be for a bed the maker of a really

existing thingiisivat dvrms xkivns returns Bytes ofions), rather
than just another bedmaker of just another bed (xxfivns rtvos .
. . levOTOLds rug), so he made one thing itself in nature
(uCev @UOEL o6rnv)."

"So it seems."

"Then shall we call him the planter (euroupyov, literally
'nature's maker') of it, or something of the sort?"

"That would be right, since he has made this and every-
thing else in nature."

The adverb "Euros" comes from the same base as the verb "elven"

("to be"), and therefore the phrases "sIch 5vrms" and "5vrms ofions"
seem redundant. But Socrates has previously described the forms

as "ofions tavrslms," hence "to be really" and "actually existing"

may be understood as another way of saying "existing completely,"

_ M“. .‘le.

 

 

[a

79.
as opposed to "existing and not existing." And both the bed-form
gpg_the Anutoupyds muroupyos are so described, so if nothing exists
completely except the forms, then this divine craftsman is a form.
And in that case, what sense does it make to say that he knows any-
thing or wants anything?

Socrates is here once again attributing unique existence
to the bed-form, here described as the product of the divine arti-
san's making. He is not "just another bed-maker of just another
Ibed," but the one really existing maker of the one really existing
ibed-form. Further, the god has made not only the bed-form but
(everything else in nature. If, following Adam's suggestion, we
interpret this as meaning that the form of the good is the cause
and necessary condition for the existence of everything which is
jprdmary, fundamental, and persistent, then this is another way of
saying the form of the good is the cause and necessary condition
<5f the existence of itself and all the other forms.1

The problem remains, however, that the form of the goOd
is here described as "knowing," "wanting," "being compelled by
necessity" and so on. If we take Plato's language literally, then
One of two equally unhappy consequences follow: (1) all the forms,
including the form of the good, are conscious agents (immortal and
changeless but still somehow purposive and rational, like the human
mind), or (2) only the form of the good is a conscious agent, in

which case we have the peculiar position that the forms are created

 

1Adam, The Republic of Plato, II, 391-92. In other reSpects
Adam's interpretation of the theological language of this portion of
the Republic differs from my own.

 

80.

by a purposive agent—-as if what a bed is could be legislated into
existence by a conscious act. Neither of these consequences are
acceptable, and therefore the best alternative seems to be to not
take Plato literally--in fact, to ignore the language which attri-
butes divine personality to the form of the good and calls the
form of the good a god.

The characterization of the forms as somehow created is the
most puzzling feature of the description of the forms which emerges
from Book Ten of the Republic. The remainder is consistent with

the picture of the forms in the rest of the Republic. According

to Book Ten, the forms are (l) neither mental nor observable. They 4

are not produced in any way by any human craftsman. They are neither

a pattern or concept existing in the mind nor an archetypical ob-
servable object or design existing among other appearances. If
they are "exemplars," and they certainly seem to be such (being
the originals which observable objects are c0pies of), then they
are neither mental ones nor observable ones. They are (2) "what

a thing is" ("d Eartv")--i.e. the nature and substance (0606c) of
observable objects. For instance, the form of a bed is what a bed
is--i.e. the nature and substance of a bed. The bed-form is what
gives the bed whatever intermediate existence (oboCo) it partakes

of. And (3) they exist in nature (év T‘ edost sionv): they are

primary, fundamental, and persistent, really existing in that domain
which includes only that kind and level of objects. Perhaps if Plato

had ever written a dialogue on the forms alone, he would have called

it "Kept posses."

There are two problems which remain untouched in this analy-

 

1 I. ‘ s... “. fi.‘ 8“ E
.. (u caAUes W-.3N.NLHI..Q:. .AU

 

 

73.
Socrates will introduce shortly, but the mimetic artist. Like
the divine craftsman, the mimetic artist can produce (or more
accurately, reproduce) every sense-object perceivable. Unlike

him, he can only produce appearances (oatvdusva), not "what truly

 

exists." But the painter, who "holds a mirror up to nature," does
ressemble the human craftsman in one respect: he is an imitator.
While the human and divine craftsmen imitate the eternal forms
when they produce sense-objects, the mimetic artist imitates these
same sense-objects. Therefore if it is correct to call the works
‘of the painters and poets "phenomena," it would seem to be correct
to call sense-objects "phenomena," for the same reason: they are
. appearances of the unobservable forms of which they are images.1
If the mimetic artist is an imitator, then the human bed-
maker is also an imitator: he does not make the form, but "just
another bed" (597al):
"But what about the bedmaker? Didn't you admit that he
does not make the form, which we said is what a bed is (6 sort
xlfivn), but just another bed (dike xlen rive ?"

"I did."
"Then if he does not make what a bed is (d Eortv), he would

 

1There is a difference between imitations and images, which
Plato does not here recognize: an imitation need not resemble its
object, even if it is intended to, and an image need not be an in-
tended one, and hence not an imitation. But Plato is primarily
concerned with these imitations as more or less accurate images,
and it is as images that artistic imitations are inauthentic and
deficient reproductions of their originals. And there is no ques-
tion that Plato is in this section of the Re ublic explaining the
participation relation (the relation between the universal forms
and their particular instances) in terms of imitation and ressem-
blance. See Peters, Greek Philosophical Terms, pp. 118-19. We
will find that, throughout soua-suOc of the Re ublic (particularly
in the analogies of the sun and of the divided line), Plato identi-
fies exam les (paradigms, nepdéstyua) with ima eséisixdva). Hepa-
6styu3ra are sixdve. Participation is imitation esemblance)y

h A -3211:

i-* fl n :-

 

8l.
sis thus far, and which cannot remain unexamined in any investi-
gation of Plato's theory of forms: the problem of participation
and the problem of the "logic" of the forms (i.e. the relations
of the forms to one another). I shall postpone the second of
these problems to chapter six, because the evidence relevant
to it occurs in the divided line analogy. I will here examine
only the problem of participation.

The problem of participation, in the Republic, can either
be understood as a general problem, or as a special problem. The
Ageneral problem is that of the nature of participation: what is
the relation between sensible objects (which I have been calling
"appearances" and "sense-objects") and the forms? The special
problem is that Plato treats his forms as both universals and
exemplars, and they can't possibly be both.

Plato claims that a form is what the sensible objects in
a given yévos have in common, which explains why they are all simi-
lar to one another and are all called by the same name. This makes

the forms universals. But he also claims that the sensible objects

 

are images (sixdva), imitations (utunref), and appearances (oatvd-
wave) of the forms (originals) which they' resemble and imitate,
and imperfectly measure up to. This makes the forms exemplars.

An exemplar is an object taken as a standard or paradigm case for
other objects; they are judged relative to how well, or how badly,
they .resemble the exemplar in a certain respect. The forms are
the standards which sensible objects more or less adequately live
up to. They may be "perfectly existing," unobservable and non-

mental exemplars, but they are exemplars nonetheless.

 

82.

But if the forms are exemplars, they can't be universals:
the universal would have to be what the form and its image have
.in.common, which explains why they are similar. And if the forms
.are universals, they cannot be exemplars: an exemplar would have
'to be just another object which partakes (perfectly, rather than
approximately) of the same universal as does the object which

the exemplar. More briefly, the problem is that uni-
versals cannot be c0pied by their instances, and exemplars cannot
be properties of the objects which are measured against them.

For instance, in the Sorbonne at Paris there is a platinum
bar with two marks on its surface. The distance between the two
marks is (or at any rate, used to be), by definition, one meter.
Any object exactly as long as the bar between those marks is, by

definition, one meter long. Other objects may be approximately_

 

one meter long, in that they are not much longer or much shorter
than the bar between the marks. The bar is the exemplar. Or more
precisely, the bar between the marks is the exemplar; the exemplar
is the part of the bar between the marks.

Suppose a meter-stick is compared with the bar. It is wood
rather than platinum, so in that respect it does not resemble- the
bar between the marks. But it does resemble the bar between the
marks in one important respect: the length of the meterestick is
the same length as the length of the bar between the marks. What
the bar and the meter-stick both have in common is their length:
the bar between the marks and the meter-stick partake of the same

length. But the bar (or rather, the bar between the marks) is the

83.
exemplar, whereas the length of the bar between the marks is not
the exemplar, but‘the universal (common property) which both the
bar and the meter-stick partake of. The bar and the meter-stick
have in common the length of the bar between the marks; they do
not have in common the bar between the marks itself.

Now suppose that we replace the bar with another "exemplar."
Let the "exemplar" be the length between the marks on the bar.' Then
bring the same meter-stick alongside the bar. Now the bar between
the marks, remember, is not the exemplar; rather, the length between
the marks on the bar, supposedly, is the exemplar. But if the
length of the meter-stick is the same as the length of the bar,
then the length of the meter-stick is slip the exemplar. In that
case, the meter-stick does not imitate or ‘resemble the "exemplar,"
it EE§.th° "exemplar." It resembles, not this "exemplar," but
the bar between the marks. Thus this "exemplar" can't be an exem-
plar.

In other words, if the bar between the marks is the exem-
plar, then the exemplar is not a universal. And if the length
Ibetween the marks on the bar is the "exemplar," then it is not
really an exemplar. The meter-stick does not resemble or imitate
the length between the marks on the bar, it resembles and imitates
the bar between the marks and Egg the length between the marks on
'the bar. Instantiation cannot be imitation, nor can exemplifica-
‘tion be ressemblance. An instance cannot be an image; a universal
cannot be an exemplar.

Therefore the two different explanations of participation

are contradictory. According to the one, participation is instan-

 

81+.
'tiation: the sensible objects are instances of the forms, which
are the universals which they instantiate. According to the other
the sensible objects are images of the forms, the exemplars and
originals they resemble.. And participation cannot be both instan-
tiation and resemblance.;

Attempts have been made to reconcile these two conflicting
explanations of participation, by proving that Plato "really" held
one of them and not the other. It is ordinarily assumed that the
forms are universals, and then pointed out that they cannot there-
fore be exemplars and that we can avoid interpreting them so. In
this view, "imitation" is a "metaphor" rather than a literal ex-
planation of participation.2 Or one can try to prove, as R. E. Al-
len does, that they are indeed exemplars, but not universals.3 Or
one can speculate, without much tridence to go on, that there are
two kinds of forms: definitionally perfect universals, and "near-
est perfect instances" which are their unique exemplary instances.
But it is hopeless to try to prove that universals can be exemplars.

It seems to me that we must accept that Plato held that the
forms are both exemplars and universals, and that he did not (when

he wrote the Republic) realize that his two explanations of partici-

 

1Aristotle Metaphysics 997b. As Aristotle puts it, the
ideas cannot resemble thEir instantiations. The result is only
"eternal sensible objects."

 

2Copleston, A History of Philosophy, vol. I, Pt. I, 201-02.
Cepleston claims that both "participation" and "imitation" are meta-
Eflaors, and indicate the relation between particulars and "patterns
or essences." But that way of putting it leads one to believe that
there is no inconsistency between the metaphors.

3R. E. Allen, "Participation and Predication in Plato's early
dialogues," in Studies in Plato's Metaphysics, pp. ua-so.

 

85.

1 So the special problem of partici-

pation were contradictory.
pation has no solution, as far as the Republic is concerned.
And if the special problem has no solution, then neither does
the general problem, because the only explanations of partici-

pation which Plato offers us in the Republic are instantiation

of universals and imitation (or resemblance) of exemplars.

 

1Plato attacks this very explanation of participation
(resemblance) in a third-man argument in the Parmenides. See
Parmenides 132d-33a. See also Francis M. Cornford, Plato and
Parmenides, The Library of Liberal Arts, pp. 93-95.

 

 

h“.

 

III. THE TRIADIC MIND

For Plato, the forms exist completely, whereas sense-
objects are intermediate things, "between what is and what is not."
But in that case, where does the mipd_(¢uxfl) belong? It is not a
form, because it is neither unique nor changeless. There are many
minds, according to the Re ublic, and they undergo mppgl.genera-
tion and corruption, at least: they become better or worse, de-
pending upon their education and environment. But it is not in
the domain of the impermanent sense-objects, either. It is im-
mortal and unobservable. Just what ontological status does the
mind have, in the Republic?

There is no decisive evidence that the mind belongs in
the same domain as the forms, and there is no positive evidence
that it belongs to a third ontological level. One could argue
‘that it belongs in the same domain as the forms, calling atten-
tion to its immortality and its kinship with the forms, and cite
Phaedo.l Or one could argue that since it clearly does not belong
in either of the ontological levels mentioned in the Republic, it
1>elongs in a separate domain of its own, and cite Timaeus.2 In

‘that there is something to be said for either view, and no com-

1Phaedo 78-80.

2Timaeus 35a. See also Francis M. Cornford, Plato's Onto-
logy, The Library of Liberal Arts, pp. 59-66.

86.

 

87.

compelling reason for deciding the question in this investigation,
I will not attempt to solve this problem of where the mind fits
into Plato's ontology in the Republic. I 52225 that when he wrote
the Republic Plato was not prepared to give an opinion on it.1

The problem I am concerned with is the nature of the mind
as knower. What is there about the mind, as Plato describes it,
which makes it capable of knowing the forms? Once again, it seems

wise to confine the inquiry to the Republic. Like the theory of

forms, Plato's theory of the mind changes from one dialogue to the

next, even during the so-called middle period. In the BEESQS."°
are told that the mind is simple and without parts.2 In the 22223:
322 we are introduced to a triadic theory of the mind, with the
help of the myth of the charioteer.3 In the Republic we find a
similar triadic theory. He claims that there are three thing§_
(rptttd) in the mind, and explains each of them in detail. And
whereas in the earlier dialogues many (presumably autonomous) minds
are assumed, we are told in the Timaeus that there is a world-mind
of which individual minds are inferior versions or by-products.“
This investigation of Plato's theory of the mind, like the previous
investigation of his theory of forms, will for the most part involve
evidence in the Republic alone.

I have been using the word "mind" instead of the customary

term "soul" as a translation for "¢uxfl," Plato's word for this

triadic companion of the body. To justify my decision I would say

 

1But see Re ublic Gllb-d, and compare with Timaeus 69b-d.
See also G. M. A. GEESe, Plato's Tho ht, pp. lua-luu.

2Phaedo 78-80. 3Phaedrus 2u6. “Timaeus 30b.

 

life 1
and it
not a
which
and be
{linens
3°urce
thOug}
It 310'.
whethe

spatia

Lid4191.
and an,

88.
that this is an epistemological and metaphysical investigation
of Plato's Re ublic, not a theological one; that "mind" has a
reasonably neutral dynamic meaning rather than a positive emotive
charge; and that "soul" is a word with little if any cognitive
meaning, whereas "mind" at least has Eppg_cognitive meaning: it
is not quite so vague. But neither "mind" nor "soul" is an ade-
quate replacement for "euxfl," and we are accustomed to hearing
about immortal souls but not as accumstomed to hearing minds so
described.

Basically, for the Greeks, a ¢uxfi is a mind which gives
life to the body. That is, it is (or brings) life to the body,
and it is an expanded, "Freudian" sort of a mind: that is, it is
not a "Cartesian" conscious, intellectual mind, but something
which glgp includes desires and feelings--as well as thoughts
and beliefs-~and it has an unconscious as well as a conscious
dimension. Vuxd gives life to the body in that it is (or is the
source of) the body's motion; because the atomistic tradition
thought this way, perhaps, they believed that euxfl was material.
It moves the body; it senses, feels, thinks, and desires; and
whether it is material or not, it extends much further than the
spatial and temporal limits of the living human body.1

This description of what ¢uxfl was, in general, for the
Greeks, is somewhat vague and somewhat conjectural: a collation

from widely diverse ages of Greek thought before Plato, from

 

1For some grasp of the meanings of "¢uxfi" see Henry George
Liddell and Robert Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th ed., revised
and augmented by Henry Stuart Jones, pp. 2026-27.

p a
|

 

89.
from various schools of presocratic philosophers, and from lan-
guage studies of Greek.1 It is a difficult subject, in cases of
this sort, to determine the pre-analytic meaning of a word for
a whole people during half a millenium. But one must have some
concept in mind, however vague and faulty, of what "¢uxfi" meant,
pre-analytically and pre-philosophically, for Plato.

There are five portions of the Republic in which the mind
is discussed at length: (l) nasa-uuue, (2) uBHb-nQSc, (3) sona-
SuOc, (n) 580d-587c, and (S) 608c-611d. I shall examine each
of them except (3), treating them in the order (1), (u), (2), and
(5). In (1) Socrates argues that the mind is triadic, like the
state. In (a) he discusses the desires and happiness of each of
the three things in the mind. In (2) the nature of the mind of
a philosopher is examined, and it is explained why potentially
philosophic minds are corrupted. And in (5) the doctrine of
immortality is finally introduced. The present chapter will
examine (l) and (fl), and the following chapter will treat (2)
and (5). Once again, I omit sous-5n0c (sun, divided line, cave,
and so on), which for the most part presupposes the mind rather
than explaining what it is. I begin with Plato‘s triadic theory

of the mind.

nasa-uuue

Having defined justice and the other virtues for the state,

 

1For instance, see Peters, Greek Philosophical Terms,
pp. 166-76; G. S. Kirk and J. E. Raven, The Presocratic Philo-
.sophers, pp. 93-97, pp. ans-59, and “20-22; and Martin P. Nilsson,
Greek Folk Religion, Harper Torchbooks, The Cloister Library.
(New York: Harper 6 Brothers, 1961), pp. uz-su. '

 

90.
Socrates asks Glaucon if justice is the same in an individual,
the "smaller thing," as it is in the state, the "greater thing"
(#35a5):

"Well then, if someone called a greater thing and a
smaller thing the same, would they be dissimilar in this
respect (taut ) by which ( ) they are called the same, or
Similar?" U 6

"Similare I!

"And so a just man will be no different from a just state
relative to the form of justice itself (not' cure tfis Gtxeto-
oang eiéos); he will be similar.

"H6 Ville"

The form of justice is the "respect in which" the just man res-
sembles the just state. If both the just man and just state have
the same form, then in that respect they will be similar: justice
will be the same for the individual as for the state.

But how would we know that they can possess the same form?
Socrates argues that they can possess the same form if the indivi-
dual has the same three kinds of natures (Tpttta yévn euoemv) as
the state has, and if each of these three kinds is doing its own
work, so that the individual, like the state, is wise, brave, and

self-controlled:

"But it seemed to us that a state is just when the three
kinds (tpttto yévn) of natures (efioewv) existin in it (év curb
. . . évdvre) each does its own work (to e 15v euaotov Expat-
tsv), so that it is self-controlled (odqpmv), brave (dvépefa),
and wise (odwn) because of certain habits (Efistg) and passions
(Iden) of these same kinds of natures."

"Tme . n

"Then, my friend, we willattribute the same thing to the
person who has these same forms in his mind (to cute route eten
Ev tfi ¢uxfl), if he has the same passions (ta cute teen) 23.
those kinds of the same names (Eastbouc tau «are» ovoudtmv)
which we rightly attributed to the state."

"Necessarily."

In order to simplify the interpretation, I am going to treat the

91.
words "tden" and "EEsLs" as synonyms, even though perhaps they
aren't--perhaps tden are passive dispositions and EEsLs are active
dispositions. Hereafter I will treat both as merely mental dis-
positions, whether dispositions of the entire mind or dispositions
of the things in the mind.

Socrates seems to be arguing that if the individual has
the same three kinds in his mind as the state has, and if each of
these kinds has the same dispositions as do the three kinds in the
state, then he will have the same forms in his mind as the state
"has: self-control, wisdom and courage. And if he has these three
virtues, he will have the fourth, because the mind will have the
same three kinds of thing each doing its own work.

The state was called "just" when each of the three kinds
in it has the preper dispositions.l The guardians are disposed
to rule and be wise, the soldiers are disposed to enforce the
rule of the guardians and be courageous, and the craftsmen are
disposed to obey the guardians and soldiers and pursue their tsxvfl.
Since each of the three yévn edosmv in it is doing its own work,
the whole state is just. The lovers of wisdom rule; the lovers
of honor do not rule, but enforce the rule of the philosophers;
and the craftsmen neither rule nor help to rule, but merely, and
literally, mind their own business. What distinguishes the sol—
diers from the craftsmen is that they lp!3_honor, and put honor
above wealth. And what distinguishes the philosophers from the

others is that they love wisdom, and put it above wealth and honor.

h

lRepublic MSZb-Suc.

 

92.
The state is wise if its rulers are wise, courageous if its sol-
diers are spirited in carrying out the policies of wise rulers,
and self-controlled if soldiers and craftsmen agree to be ruled
by philosophers and philosophers agree to rule. And if the state
is wise, brave, and selchontrolled, the state is just.

Similarly, a person will be just if he has these same
three forms in his mind. But his mind will have the same forms
in it only if, like the state, it has three kinds of natures in
it each doing its own work: a philosophic kind of nature ruling
and being wise, a spirited kind of nature courageous in carrying
out the decisions of the philosophic nature, and an appetitive
kind of nature which agrees with the other two that the philo-
sophic nature must rule.

Does the mind have these three kinds of natures in it? (
Socrates and Glaucon agree that the same "forms and dispositions
are present in each man's mind," since they are present in the
state (#35e1):

"Then is it necessary for us to agree that the same forms
and dispositions (to euro . . . effin re was fi8n5present in
the state are present in each of us? For they have not come
from anywhere else: it would be absurd for anyone to believe
that s irit (to euuosffiss) does not come into a state from its
private citizens (tmv lotmtmv), who already partake of this
the cause [of its spirit] (0! 6n not EXOUOL tedtnv tnv altfev),
which the men of Thrace and Scythia and the northern regions
possess. Or the love of learning_(to etlouceés), that cause
of which the men in our own region partake. Or the love of
wealth (to etkoxpfiuatov), which those in Phoenicia and Egypt
seem to have not a little of."

"Very much of."
"That this is how it is, there is no difficulty about

knowing."
"N01: Qt Elle"

 

There seems to be an implication here that there are quantities of

 

 

93.
Spirit, love of learning, and love of wealth, in a state. Per-
haps Plato means that Thracians are more spirited, or that more
Thracians are spirited, or both. On the other hand, the Phoeni-
cians and Egyptians "have not a little of" love of wealth. Later
on he will claim that "with someone whose desires flow more strong-
ly in one direction, they are weaker in the other directions, like

"1 An individual can have more or

a stream with many channels.
less of each of these "forms and dispositions": his desire to
learn can be great or small, and so can his spirit and love of
wealth.

With two of these "forms and dispositions" there is little
difficulty of interpretation. The love of learning (to ptlouoeés)
is clearly both a form of desire and a mental disposition. It is
the desire to learn, and it is likewise a disposition to learn in
that the desire is a ggp§g_(a€tCe) moving the individual to learn.
And one has a desire to learn in that he has a desire to be wise:
to be onloueeés is to be euloodeos. Elsewhere he calls ppp_ppf
tional element (to AoyLOthdv) a portion (uépos) of the mind
which is etlouceés and euloodeos.2 Similarly, to euloxpfiuotov is
both a desire and a disposition. It is a disposition in that it
'motivates the individual to seek wealth. He seeks wealth because
it is the means of obtaining the goods which will obtain "bodily
pleasures," and it is appetite (to étwuunuxdv) and love of profit

(to euloaspéés); it is one's appetite that moves one to love and

seek wealth .

 

1Republic ussa. 21bid 580b.

94.

But there is a problem with the third of these forms and
dispositions, 325353 (To euuostéés). The problem is that there
are three different clusters of concepts surrounding the word.
Since spirit is what makes the soldiers courageous in carrying
out the policies of the philosophic rulers, the word seems to
convey firmness, steadfastness, daring, intrepidity--in a word,
guts. But the ordinary meaning of the word in Greek is "high-
spiritedness," "passion," "hot temper," or "hot blood."1 It comes
from the same root as "euudg" and "euudw," and therefore can mean,
as Cornford translates it, "anger" and "indignation."2 This se-
cond cluster of concepts might be summed up as one's "Irish." The
two clusters are not easily merged, since one can be daring and
resolute in a cold-blooded say, presumably, and hot-tempered and
passionate at a safe distance.

But although guts and Irish both qualify as dispositions,
they do not seem to be forms of desire. Yet a third cluster of
concepts is associated with to euuoetéés later on, which does make
spirit a form of desire. When he is describing the spirited ele-
3222 (To Ouuost6és), Plato calls it a portion of the mind which
loves honor (eulotfuov), loves victory (eLXovaov), and is "urged
toward controlling and winning and being well-thought-of."3 To be
spirited in this third sense is to desire honor, victory, and po-

wer. It might not be unfair to cluster these concepts under the

 

lHenry George Liddell and Robert Scott, A Greek-English
Lexicon, p. 810.

3

2Cornford, The Republic of Plato, p. 137. Republic 581a.

 

95.
heading of love of honor (to ptlorfiuov), since Plato seems to
regard power and victory as the means of achieving honorable recog-
nition or reputation.

It is not clear how one should fit these three different
clusters of concepts together in trying to arrive at what Plato
means by "spirit," and perhaps one can only understand it as some
sort of unknown amalgam of them. However it is understood, it
cannot be merely a cool preference of honor over wealth. Perhaps
Plato means that, in spirited men such as the Thracians and Scyth-
ians are reputed to be, their passion for honor is so strong that
it not only outweighs the desires for "bodily pleasures" and the
wealth to purchase them, but causes such men to put honor above
even life itself (the life of the body, that is). One is spirited
enough to be a soldier in the ideal state if he will carry out a
course of action even at the price of his human life, preferring
"death rather than dishonor." This interpretation would supply
precision to the otherwise vague criterion that a state is coura-
geous when its auxiliary guardians are "spirited" in carrying out
the policies of wise rulers.

Socrates has gotten Glaucon to admit the premise that the
same forms and dispositions present in the state are present in
each of its citizens. But the more difficult question is pp!_they
are present in the mind of each man. Does each man have all three
of the forms and dispositions because of the same thing in him, or
does he have each one of them because of the same things in him

that the state has? He cannot be just in the same way that a state

96.

is just unless, like the state, his mind is triadic: having not
just pp: kind of thing which is wisdom-loving, Spirited, and ac-
quisitive, but Epggg_kinds of natures in it--one of them philo-
sophic, one of them spirited, and one of them wealth-loving.

Thus Socrates asks Glaucon whether all three of these
forms and dispositions are desires of the entire mind, so that
there is only one kind of nature, or whether each of them is a
disposition of a different thing in the mind (436a8):

"It will be difficult to determine whether we do each
thing with this same thing (1Q «61¢ todtm), or whether we do
three different things with a different thipg_(5llm)--whether
we learn with one of these three things in us, are courageous
with another of them, and desire pleasures connected with
nourishment, reproduction, and so on, with some third thing,
or whether we do each of these things with the entire mind.
These matters will be difficult for our argument to rightly
settle."

"So it seems to me."

"Then let us go about deciding the question in the follow-
ing way: it is clear that the same thing (thtov) cannot be
able (06x éeelfloet) to do (tonetv) or to have done to it (udd-
xetv) Opposite thin s (tzvevtfo) at the Same time (due) throu h-
out the same thing_ were tebtov) and relative to the same thing_
(ibos refitov). So if we find opposite things happening with
them (év autots tebto ytyvduevo), we will know that they are
not the same thing, but different things."

After meeting anticipated objections to this principle, Socrates
restates it (#36e8):

"Then no arguments of that sort will frighten us, nor per-
suade us any longer that what is the same thing (to auto 6v)
either can be (sin) or can do (tetfioetsv) or can have happen
to it (Rabat) opposite things (téVthCe) at the same time(3po)
throughout the same thingi(xete to auto) and relative to the
same thing (too: to auto)."

"It won't frighten me."

 

What is most difficult to translate are the prepositions
"were" and "tpos." For instance, "were" could also mean "accord-

ing to" or "in reference to," and "spas" could mean "opposite to"

97.
or "in the same direction." In translating "were" as "throughout"
and "tpog" as "relative to" I am anticipating the application of
the principle to the mind and its elements, understanding Socrates
to mean that the same thing (the mind) cannot be or do or have done
to it opposites (desire and aversion) at the same time throughout
itself in reference to the same thing (the same object of desire).
It cannot, at the same time, both love and hate the same thing
throughout the whole of itself. Thus if we find that the same man
both loves and hates the same object at the same time, then we must
conclude that he does not do so throughout his mind, but loves it
with something in his mind and hates it with something else in his
mind.

After a long discussion about correlative forms of psycho-
logical states, Socrates applies this principle to the mind, in
order to prove that it is triadic. He begins with a typical de-
sire, thirst. Thirst is desire for a drink. But a man can be
thirsty and still be unwilling to drink. Does this mean that he
is both thirsty and not thirsty at the same time, relative to the
same object (a drink) throughout his mind? We would have to con-
clude this, according to Plato, if we assumed that the whole mind
includes this desire for a drink (#39b3):

"Then if sometimes the mind pulls against itself (outnv
eveeAxSL) when thirsty, wouldnTt there be something else in it
besides that thirst which is driving him like an animal toward
drinking? For we said that the same thing cannot do opposite
things at the same time throughout the same thing and relative
to the same thing."

"Of course."

"Just as it is not correct, I think, to say that the ar-

cher's hands both push away and draw up the bow at the same
time; rather, one hand pushes it away and the other draws it

 

 

98.

up . n
"ExaCtly e I!
"But weren't we saying that sometimes a thirsty man is

unwilling to drink?"

"Certainly. Very thirsty and yet frequently unwilling."
"Then what Shall we say about it? That there is in the
mind of those men (Ev 1h euxg outmv) both the ur e (to neleOov)

to drink and the hindrance (to waOov) from drinking, which

is another thing controliing (xpotoOv) the urge?"

"So it seems to me.

"And so doesn't the hindrance, when it arises in such
cases, arise from calculation (Aoytouou), whereas in other
cases, under the influence of illnesses or assions (tobnud-
rev), it oes alon with (tcpoyfiyvetet) the rives and pulls
(fivevra we; lucvre ?

There are cases of mental conflict, in which "drives and pulls"

are opposed and controlled by "hindrances" to these urges, and
these hindrances or controls arise out of calculation--considera-
tion of consequences, for instance. In such a mental conflict,

a man not only has in his mind the urge for an object, he also has
a check or control upon the urge, which owes at least part of its
origin to his reason for avoiding that object at that time. In
such cases, argues Socrates, it cannot be the same thing which both
does and does not desire the object. One requires an explanation
of mental conflicts which does not lead to contradiction.

The solution that Socrates preposes for such mental con-
flicts is that there are at least 532 things in the mind. One of
them has (or includes) such drives and pulls, which arise from the
needs of the body, and the other provides the calculation which
leads to opposition and control of these "animal" urges (naedu):

"Then it would not be unreasonable for us to conclude that

there are two things different from one another: that with
which the mind is erotic, thirsty, hungry, and a itated (curd-
ntet) with all other such desires, called irrational and 82?

etitive (dldytdtdv to not éxteuunttxdv), associated with cer-
tain pleasures and satisfactions; and that with which the mind

99.
reasons, which is called rational (loytottxov)."
"It is not merely reasonable, but likely that we would

think so."
The proposed explanation is not put forward as a consequence of
the fact that there are mental conflicts, but as a "not unreason-
able" orn"likely" explanation of them. The language of the pas-
sage doeS not commit Plato to the claim that the explanation he
proposes is the only possible explanation of such mental conflicts,
though Plato may have thought so. On the other hand, Plato may
have thought that his was the Simplest explanation: it would be
more reasonable to believe that there are just these two rational
and appetitive things in the mind, instead of as many rational and
appetitive things as there are particular appetitive di3positions
and particular checks and controls upon them.

Having claimed that the origin of the various checks and
controls of appetites is a Single rational thing_(loytottxdv),
something with a different form than what is irrational and appeti-
tive in the mind, Socrates goes on to argue that there is a third
thing in the mind, of a different form than the other two (#39e2):

"We have now discovered that there are two of these forms

(route . . . eCGn) present in the mind (év euxn év35?33:-757'
there present the third form of spirit (to . . . toO euuoO . .
. tpCtov), with which we are spirited (5 announced), or would
it be one of the others?"

"Perhaps it is one of the appetites."

Appealing to mental conflicts between spirit and appetite, Socrates
argues that spirit is a distinct third thing in the mind, which
ordinarily takes the side of the rational thing against the appetite

for the various "bodily pleasures." But it is also distinct from

reason, in that some peOple are full of Spirit from their birth, f

100.
but become rational only much later, if at all.1 On the basis of
this combination of introspection and "likely" explanation, Plato
has arrived at a theory of the mind which is triadic. It has in it

three things: the rational thing_(to loytortxdv), the spirited

 

thing (to Ouuostéés), and the third thing which includes all of

the gppetites (Etteuufat).

 

Thus far, Plato has described the triadic nature of the
mind in four ways: (1) as "tptttd" ("three," or "three things"
when "tptttd" occurs as a substantive), (2) as "TpLTTa yévn" ("three
kinds"), (3) as "tpttto etén" ("three forms"), and (u) as "rptttc
ytvn euoemv" ("three kinds of natures"). And no matter which of
these descriptions he uses, the relation between each of them and

the mind is inclusion. The three things, or three kinds, or three

 

forms, or three kinds of natures are in the mind (év tfi ouxfi) or

 

pgesent in the mind (TU ¢ux§ évdvrc). But the inclusion is not
further specified. The mind is not spatial, so the relation be-
tween the mind and its three elements is not a spatial inclusion.
Later on Plato will call these three things portions (uépn). For
now, I would like to get straight the sense in which the kinds,
forms, and kinds of natures of the three things are in the mind.
When Socrates calls the three things "uépn" ("portions")
of the so-called "whole" ("8los") which is the entire mind, the
relation between the three things and the mind is that of quanti-
tative elements to their union, which not only is triadic, but

normatively_has a certain order. They are uépn not merely in a

 

1Republic ”Sla.

 

lOl.
descriptive sense, but in a.pp£3i sense.1 The question now, how-
ever, is what "present in" means relative to the other three ways
Plato characterizes the triadic nature of the mind.

First, I take it that Plato is claiming that each of the
three things in the mind is of a different kipd_(yévos) than the
other two. Therefore there are three different kipd§_present in
the mind. The inclusion may be derivative: the three kinds are
present in the mind by representation, in that their members are

in the mind. That is, the three kinds are represented in the mind

 

by their members. Since there are (presumably) only these three
elements in the mind, each of these kinds is represented there by
a Single member. Hence each yévos in the mind is a unit class.

Second, however, a yévos is more than a class. It is a
class including as members all and only the objects which partake
of a certain fppp'(stéog). Therefore there are three different
alon "present in" the mind. And in this case, it may mean inclu-
sion by participation: the forms are present in the mind in that
the things that partake of them are in the mind. That is, each of
the forms is, by participation, "in" the element which partakes of
it, which in turn is in the mind.

And third, if the pg;ppg_(edosg) of something is what is _
"primary, fundamental, and persistent" about it, then the pgpppg_i
of an element of the mind may be the £233 it partakes of. If so,'

then to say that there are three kinds of natures in the mind is

to say that there are three kinds of forms in it. In that case,

 

lRepublic. puzb-c.

102.
the three kinds of natures are in the mind by representation:
they are represented there by the forms which are in the mind
by participation.
This conjecture about Plato's language in his triadic
theory of the mind fits with the description Plato gives of the

state, to which the mind is supposed to be analogous. The state,

like the individual mind, contains three elements: the rational En
element (its philosophic rulers), the spirited element (the rulersl E
auxiliary guardians), and the appetitive element (the craftsmen). i

 

Similarly, in the state, three kinds are represented: the philo-
sophic kind of man, whose proper function is to rule the state;
the soldierly kind of man, whose duty and function is to obey
and enforce the policies of wise rulers; and the appetitive kind
of man, whose duty is to obey the guardians and practice his
craft. In the state, as in the mind, there are three forms by 4 L
participation: the philosophic rulers are rational,/fhelphilo-
timic auxiliaries are Spirited, and the craftsmen are appetitive.
Finally, there are three kinds of natures represented in the state:
there are men whose nature is philosophic, men whose nature is spir-
ited, and there are men with appetitive natures, represented by the
craftsmen. Each of these three kinds of natures is a yévos of a
form which some of the men in the state partake of.

There are two important differences between the state and
the individual mind: (1) in the state, each kind has many indivi-

dual persons as members, whereas in the mind each of the kinds is

a unit class with only one mental component as a member; and (2)

103.

in the state, each of the three elements is an ppggnized faction
made up of individual human persons. The philosophers, for example,
are not merely a 5329 of person in the state, but (at least in a
well-ordered state) constitute the ruling class. But in the in-
dividual, the three elements are not factions or Combinations of
other elements (so far as one can tell), but merely three (pre-
sumably homogenous) units. The rational element is simply that
one thing in the mind which has (or is) the love of wisdom, the
Spirited thing is that with which we love honor, and the appetitive
thing is whatever it is which loves pleasures or the wealth that
will buy them. Just what 232 these three things; iae. Since they
aren't further divisible wholes (so far as one can'determine), what
qualities or characteristics do they have?

Having argued that three things of the same three forms and
kinds are present in the state and in the mind, Socrates concludes
that justice must be the same for individuals as for states (unlcS):

" . . . the same kinds and the same number exist in the
,mind of each individual as are in the state‘(to sure new EU»

idiot, to efitc 6' Ev évogvikdotou yg ¢ux§ yévn évetveu not too
tov eptendv)."

"They do e I!

"Then doesn't it follow that the citizen is wise with this
same thing in his mind with which a state is wise?"

"It dOQSe"

"And courageous with that same thing in a brave citizen by
which a state is courageous, and likewise with the other
things relative to virtue which both man and state possess?"

"Necessarily."

"And I believe we would say that a man is just, Glaucon,
with the very same character (tpdtm) with which a state was
jUSt e n

"This too is necessary."

"But we have never forgotten that a state was just when
each of the three kinds existing in it does its own work."

"It doesn't seem to me that we should forget that."

"Then we must remember that each of us, of whom each of the

 

101+.
things in the mind does i£§.°"n work, will also be just by
doing pip own work."
"We must remember."

Socrates had claimed that the mind would be just in the same
sense as the state is just if, like the state, the mind includes
the same three forms and kinds as the state includes.1 Having
concluded that, as in the state, there is a philosophic element,
a Spirited element, and an appetitive element in every man's mind,

he infers that justice is the same for the individual mind (the

"smaller thing") as it is for the state (the "greater thing").

In the individual mind, as in the state, there is a rational and
philosophic element, and it partakes of the same stoos and belongs
to the same yévog as does the rational and philosophic element in
the state. Similarly with the other two elements in the mind and
the state. Therefore, the mind will be just, in the same sense as
the state is just, when each of its three elements does its own
work.

It is not yet clear, however, 3225 sort of thing each of
these three elements in the mind is. Thus far the only thing about
them which is relatively clear is the nature of the lng_(otlfi) or
flg§££g_(étteuu€a) which is associated with each of them: one of
them loves wisdom (or is the love of wisdom of that mind), one of
them loves honor, and one them loves wealth. These characteristics
they share with the three elements of the state. Yet the three
things in the state are political units; what is the nature of

these mental elements?

—¥

lRepublic u35b-c.

105.

As Plato continues his investigation of the mind and its
virtues and vices, drawing upon further analogies and metaphors,
the three things in the mind begin to take on personality, as
though there were three different persons in each man's mind. They
battle against one another and make peace with one another. They
give and obey commands, come to agreement with one another, and
so on. Consequently, Plato's explanation becomes more mythical--
more of a gpppy_(ud&os) and less of an explanation (ldyog). The

end-product, after his investigation of justice in the mind, seems

 

to be a sort of trinitarian picture, a "three persons in one"

I image that ressembles the myth of the charioteer in the Phaedrus.
The problem for the interpreter of Plato's descriptions of the mind
is to find his way through myth and metaphor to what the explana-
tion would be if Plato had given it straight.

This trinitarian picture begins to emerge in Plato's argu-
ments from the conclusion that a mind is just in the same sense as
a state is just. In education, for instance, we find that it is
not the whole mind that is trained, but two of the three elements
in the mind (union):

"Then isn't it proper for the rational element (tfi loyto-
erQ) to rule, by being wise (some 591;) and’ ossessin fore-
thou ht (Exovtt tnv . . . tpoufiestev), over tEe entire mind,
and for spirit to obe it and be allied with it (utnxdm stunt
wet ouuudxe tootou)?"

"Certainly."

"Then, as we said, doesn't a blend of physical training
and music make them consonant (ouuomvc), by stretching the
ability to learn (usOfiucouv) and nourishing it with stories
and noble things, as well as by appeasing the Spirit, taming
it with harmony and rhythm?"

"Very much so."

The work of the rational element in the mind, like the work of the

106.
philosopher in the state, is to rule over the entire mind, since it
possesses wisdom and forethought if it has been properly stretched
and nourished. And Spirit's work is to be the obedient ally of the
rational element against the appetites, enforcing reason's rule if
it has been properly appeased. Although either of these elements
will do its own work if it is properly trained, it 222 do what is
pp: its own work--and gill do what is not its own work if it is kn
not educated from the beginning with the right blend of music and

physical training. Each of them has a proper function, and is cap- %-

 

able of exercising it, but will not do so unless certain antecedent
conditions obtain.

The appetites also have a proper role in the mind, like the
craftsmen in the state, and their function is to obey the alliance
of reason and spirit. And, like the other two things in the mind,
appetite is capable of not doing its own work, and it won't do its
own work unless reason and spirit are united against it. Appetite,
apparently, is not trained at all, any more than the craftsmen in
the state are given an education; appetite is compelled to do its
own work if reason and spirit are allied against it (un2au):

"And having been nourished in this way, and trained (tambou-

Oévrs) and tau ht (usedvre) what is truly their own work (is
dlneas to curmv , they will have become an obstacle to appetite,
which is most of the mind in each man and is b nature (odoet)
most insatiable for wealth (xpnudtwv . . . étlnorzrerov). And
a man must guard against it in order that he is not filled up
by it with many of what are called bodily pleasures, which
become so powerful that appetite no longer does its own work
but attempts to rule over and enslave kinds which it is not fit
to control, thereby upsetting everything throughout one's life."

"Certainly."

This triadic theory of the mind has become a normative ethic as

107.
well. The four virtues will be assigned to the mind on the basis
of the functions or pplsg each element is supposed to perform. The
performance of its proPer role is virtue, and the non-performance
(or counter-performance) is vice.

The psychology claims that there are three things in the
mind: reason (TO AOYLOTtXOV), spirit, and appetite. The ethic's
addition is that each of these elements has a proper role or func-
tion. According to the psychology, reason is that thing in the
mind which loves wisdom and reasons, and which esp be wise and
rule over the entire mind if Spirit is its appeased ally and if
it has been properly "stretched and nourished." Spirit is that
thing in the mind which loves honor, and which pep if prOperly
tamed and appeased obey the rational element and enforce its com-
mands upon the appetites. It can also, however, usurp the rule
of reason and rule over the entire mind itself. And appetite is
that thing in the mind (or that bundle of things) which is erotic
for sexual pleasures, greedy for wealth, hungry for food, etc.

It desires pleasures associated with the needs of the body and
therefore loves the wealth which is necessary to satisfy such wants.
Like reason and spirit, appetite ggp_rule over and dominate the
mind, and it will do so if spirit and reason are not allied against
it.

According to the ethic, however, although any of these
three things 233 control the mind, it is proper only for 323332 to
control it. And since reason can rule only if spirit is its ally,

it is preper only for spirit to enforce the commands of the rational

 

108.
element against the appetites and upon itself. It is the 332i2_
which prescribes what the proper function or role (the "work")
of each of the three things is, and demands that each do its own
work. The work of the rational element is to rule and be wise,
the work of the Spirited element is to enforce the rule of the
rational element and be its ally against the appetites, and the
work of the appetites is to obey Spirit and reason. Finally,
the education of the things in the mind is a pppgl nourishment:
the proper blend of physical training and music (including the
"music" of myths and poetry--the Greek term is wider than our own,
extending over all the arts of IOLGtOOOL). This education Should
produce an alliance or consonance (ouuoquo) between reason and
spirit against the common internal "natural enemy," the appetites.

Given the preper education, which stretches and nourishes

the rational element and tames and soothes the spirit (but does not
break it), this pair of things in the mind is able to take charge
of the whole mind, and in that way protect mind and body from
enemies (unzbs):

"Well then, this air (touts) would most effectively pro-
tect all of the mind and the body from their external enemies,
the one counselling (Bookeudusvov) and the other fighting along-
side it, following its counsels (to Boulevfiévrc), being ruled

by it and with courage carrying out those counsels."
"They would."

 

Socrates now draws his ethical conclusions, Specifying what justice
is for the mind. In the course of doing so, he finally uses the

word "uépos" for the first time. Plato has not heretofore identi-
fied the three things as portions (uépn) of the mind. He has said

that the three things are $2 the mind, and that appetite is the most

. . ‘fi‘fn
I

 

109.

of each man's mind.1 He will imply that one can have more or less

 

of love of wisdom, love of honor, and love of wealth.2 This would
lead one to suppose that there can be more or less of each of the
three things in the mind, and that the portions are quantities of
desire. On the other hand, he has called them "portions" only after
he has joined his normative ethic to his theory of the mind. This
would lead one to suppose that the portions are "alloted domains" ‘rfi

of some sort. I will return to this matter shortly.

Socrates' ethical conclusion is that the four virtues are

 

all of them the performance by the various elements in the mind of
their proper functions (Mu2bll):

"And I believe that we call each man courageous in this
portion (tours to uépct), when his Spirit preserves the command
passed down by his rational element, despite any pains or
pleasures and whether he is afraid or not."

"That's right."

"And we call him wise in that small portion (éxsfvm IQ
outlpfi uépsu) which rules in himself and passes down these com-
mands, and which possess the knowledge of what is expedient for
each and all in common of the three elements themselves (oomv
GOth tptav 5vr6v)."

"Certainly."

"What about this: don't we call him self-controlled (ode-
povo) with the friendship and consonance ofitEESe same things
(outmv todtmv), when what rules and its two subjects are agreed
that reason must rule, and are not in conflict with reason (un
ateotdcmotv outm)?"

"Self-control is nothing else than this, both for a state
and for a private citizen."

After some examples of the actions of a man who possesses such
qualities, Socrates concludes that in the mind as well as in the
state, justice is each thing doing its own work (unabi):

"And for all of this, the cause (eitfev) is that each of

 

lRepublic uu2a. 21bid. ussa.

’3

110.

the things in him does its own work, both in ruling and in
being ruled?"
"This and nothing else."

Having defined justice, Socrates can now describe injustice: it
is the absence of justice, a conflict (crests) in the mind
(uuubl):

"Doesn't it have to be some conflict among these entities:
some meddlin (tOlUtpeyuoodvnv) and doing another's work (d110-
TptOIpaYuOO vnv) and insurrection (étauoordotv) of some portion
(uépoug ttvos) in the whole mind, when that portion attempts
to rule over the entire mind even though it is not fit to rule?
Rather, it is by nature (coast) the sort of entity suited only
to be a slave, whereas the kind of entity fit to rule is not
suited to be a slave. And I believe that we would say that
fluctu tion (tldvnv) and disorder (tapexnv) among these things
is injustice: ignorance, cowardice, injustice, or in a word
all vice (waxfev)."

"Yes."

 

 

 

The stasis in the mind is the strife which occurs when one of the
things in the mind is not doing its own work: when reason is ig-
norant and does not rule, or when spirit is cowardly and rebel-
lious and does not serve reason, or when spirit and appetite lack K
discipline and are unwilling to allow reason to rule. But when
all three portions are doing their own work, performing their pro-
per roles, there is a state of harmony in the mind: a man is at
peace with himself rather than at war with himself.

This harmony in the mind is characterized by Plato as a
"hgglth" in the mind, when he has Socrates draw an analogy between
justice in the mind and health in the body (uuuda):

"What produces health is that the things in the body 232.
balanced (xebtordvet) in that they control and are controlled
by one another according to nature (note euotv), and what pro-
duces illness is that one thing rules or is ruled by another

V/ contra to nature (tape edctv)."
Thatiis what produces health and illness."

V .

 

 

111.
Health is a state of equilibrium in the body, when the organs are
performing their prOper functipns and are not in need of nourish-
ment. Illness is a disruption of the balance in the body's natural
functioning, when from either want of nouishment or from disease
the organs of the body are unable to function properly. Plato
characterises this state as an imbalance due to the failure of
function of something in the body, when what is supposed to "rule"
in the body is instead "ruled."

Socrates then draws the analogy between health in the body

and justice in the mind (wands):

"Then isn't what produces justice that the things in the
mind are balanced to control and be controlled by one another
according to nature, and what produces injustice that one thing
rules or is ruled by another thing contrary to nature?"

"Yes."
"Then virtue (doctn), it seems, would be a certain health

and beaut -T§33sz) and gpod state of mind (efissfe euxfis). and
vice new a) an illness and ugiiness (oIEXpos) and weakness of
51532"
"It would."
Having conceded this much, Glaucon agrees that it is ridiculous
to believe that injustice is more profitable than justice. It
would be like thinking that illness is more profitable than health.
We have found Plato claiming that each thing in the mind/"7
has a proper role to perform in the mind, a natural function to
perform on behalf of the whole mind. We also find him waiting un-
til gfpgp_he makes this claim to start calling the three mental
things portions (uépn). I have also previously called attention
to two other matters. The three elements in the mind are not or-

ganized combinations (so far as one can tell), but single units:

£§2_rational element, the Spirited element, the appetite (or per-

E1

 

112.
haps, the bundle of appetites). And, these elements either EEXE.
or §£g_quantities: one can have 2232 or lggp love of wisdom,/love
of honor, and love of wealth. (Which it is, "have" or "are," is
not yet clear. In calling the three things "portions," Plato
seems to imply that they §£g_quantities of love or desire. But
in saying that the three elements can be either at war with one
another or at peace with one another, can give and obey commands,
and so on, he seems to imply that they are entities which 2222.
quantities of those sorts, and which are in a minimal way agents:
i.e. they can act and have other dispositions than those for

which they are named.)

What does Plato mean by calling these three things "uépn"?

An important clue is provided by Greek religion, as found in_Homer n’

and Hesiod, and by one tradition in Greek phiIOSOphy, especially
in the speculations of Anaximander. In Greek religion, the three
chief gods are alloted, whether by mutual agreement or by fate,
three separate sovereign dominions. Under this distribution (6co-
uds), Zeus rules the sky and everything above ground and sea,
Poseidon is lord over the sea, and Hades is king of the under-
world--everYthing under the surface of the earth-~and hence king
of the dead.

Although the gods may intervene in the affairs of men,
who reside on the surface of earth and sea (on the frontiers of
their sovereign dominions), the gods may pp£_intervene in the
affairs of the other two gods. Any encroachment by one god of

another god's territory is injustice (dbtxfi), and there is resent-

"F

 

113.
Egps_(véueotg) of this invasion of sovereignty (yépas). Swift
retribution follows, whether at the hand;of'f§EED(Mona) or at the
hand of the offended god. These three different territories, each
a $33.(xdxn) apportioned to a particular god, are called portions
(uofpot). And "Mofpc" itself means "alloted portion." Justice is
a state of peace between the gods, during which no god is encroach-,///
ing upon the sovereign uono of another god, and injustice is en-
croachment by one god upon the alloted portion of another.

In the philosophy of Anaximander, injustice is likewise

 

encroachment of one thing into the domain of another. The elements
are formed out of the unlimited (10 dtetpdv), are distributed to
their sovereign domains (earth to the earth, water to the sea, air
to the sky, and fire to the ether above the Sky). This initial
state is justice. The world of individual objects which we see is
. generated by injustice: the encroachment of the elements into one
another's domains. But Mona will intervene to restore the moral
order, making the offending elements "pay the price of their in-
justice"; it will bring justice, that is, restore the moral order:
'Things perish into those things out of which they have
their birth, according to that which is ordained; for they give
reparation to one another and pay the penalty of their injustice
according to the disposition of time.
As Cornford points out, in Anaximander as well as in the religion
of Homer and Hesiod, the uonet are not only portions of the world, ,

but alloted portions. The order of nature is a moral order, as well ,"

as (initially) a descriptive order, and a change of the order from

lDiels-Kranz, l2B (Anaximander): l. The translation of the
fragment is Cornford's (see below, p. 11a, n. 1).

114.

its original form is injustice that will somehow be revenged.l
Injustice is the encroachment of one element into the alloted
portion of another, and justice is the restoration of the natural
order.

Plato's explanation of justice and injustice, relative
to the three things in the mind, is similar in some respects to
the foregoing description. Plato has claimed that "meddling,"
"doing another's work," and "insurrection"--i.e. encroachment--
is injustice, and justice is each element in the mind at peace
with the others and minding its own business. However, he has
not claimed that this injustice in the mind is somewhere resented
and that somehow justice will be restored to the mind.2

These Similarities lead me to.suggest that in calling the
three elements in the mind portions (uépn), Plato is not merely
describing them but prescribing_fgg_them. Or, he is describing

what they are b nature, rather than what they happen to be con-

trary to nature. Nature, for Plato as for Anaximander and the

 

others, is a moral order as well as a descriptive order. What
is fundamental, primary, and persistent is also what is best.3
Thus, the rational element is a uépos in that it is that element

in the mind which by nature rules the mind as is "ordained," and

 

1Francis M. Cornford, From Religion to PhilOSOphy: a Stu-
dy in the Origins of Western Speculation, Harper Thrchbooks, p. 12.

The whole of this analysis ofLGreek religion and Anaximander in
regard to uofipot is based on this source (pp. 7-37).

2But See Republic 611b-d.

3See below, chap. xi. Both the sun and the form of the

good are called "best things" (the sun, in the domain of becoming,

and the good, in the domain of the forms).

 

115.
which by nature is wise, whether or not it in fact rules the mind
and is wise. And it is also a uépos in the sense that it makes
up a portion of the mind. To put the same thing in another way,
the rational element has a natural and proper function, whether
it happens to exercise it or not.

That is why Plato waits until after he gives the proper
roles of the three elements before he gets to call them "uépn."
They are uépn in both senses: descriptively, they either have
or are quantities of love or desire in the mind, and normatively,
they have alloted roles or functions, in that they act by nature
when they mind their own business and act contrary to nature when
they encroach upon one another's business. The performance accord-
ing to nature is justice, and their encroachment ("meddling," etc.)
upon one another is contrary to nature and unjust. Thus the

ratippgl element, for instance, is a portion (uéoos) in that,» \

‘Nflm

1
u

descriptively, it either is or has a love of wisdom, and norma-
tively, is bound to act out the role which is in its nature: 5
ruling the entire mind and being wise. If it permits itself to

be ruled or to remain stupid, it fails to do its own work and

does not become what its nature is.

The point of this investigation of Plato's theory of the
mind is to find out what enables the mind to know the forms. Part
of the answer to this question has emerged. The mind is able to
know’the forms because one of the three things in it, the rational
element, either is or has a love for wisdom, and by nature cmq/

achieve that wisdom. The mind is triadic, having three things in

 

116.
it: three neon, each of a different yévos and partaking of a
different sides. Each of them either has or is a quantity of
love for a certain sort of object, and each of them has a natural
function. The rational element is a uépog of the mind in that
it either has or is a quantity of love of wisdom, and it py.
nature (odosu) both wise and ruler over the whole mind. If it
becomes what its nature is, it will achieve both knowledge and
justice--control (update) of the mind and of the person who is
that mind embodied.

Thus, the mind is able to know the forms if the rational‘

I
I

element is able to know them, and the rational element will know)
the forms it if can become what its nature is. Not only does the
rational element i2!2."isd°m’ it has a pggg£'(66veutg) to become'
wise: it is in its nature to be wise, as well as to rule over

the rest of the mind. And it will become what its nature is if

it gets the proper education (whereby its power to learn is nour-
ished and stretched), 223 if spirit is also preperly trained, so

that i3_can become what its nature is, the ally of reason against

the appetites. When spirit and reason together control the ap-

petites, reason can become wise. Otherwise it will not become what
its nature is: knower of the forms as well as ruler over the mind.

Two difficulties remain, however. First, does reason have

the love of wisdom, or i§_it this (variable) quantity of desire?
And second, even if the mind is otherwise courageous and self-
controlled, what is there about the rational element itself which

enables it to know the forms? What is its nature, and how is it

fink-.m-r

ll7.
educated, such that it can acquire knowledge? The second problem
will be addressed in the next chapter; but the answer to the first
problem may be found in SBOd-SB7c, where Plato describes the de-

sires and happiness of the three things in the mind.

580d-587c
Plato has Socrates return to this triadic theory of the
mind in his discussions of the pains and pleasures of each thing
in the mind. Since a desire cannot very well be thought of as

the sort of thing that can experience pain and pleasure, and

 

since the pains and pleasures are likewise attributed to the
three elements, it may now be clear (if it was not before) that
the three things in the mind ppyp desires rather than 2£g_desires.
That is to say, it is not that one or the other of three desires
rules over the mind, but that one or the other of the three things
3i£p_desires rules over the mind.

Socrates' argument seems to be that since each thing in
the mind loves or desires a certain sort of object, each thing in
the mind must also have its own kind of satisfaction of desire (or
pleasure) and its own pgpiyg.(dpxd) as well (580d3):

"Since the state was divided into three forms (were tofu
clan), and thus each man's mind divided triadically_(¢uxfi évos
éxdotov tptg), our reason (to loyuoruxov) will show us something
else, it seems to me.

"Three pleasures (TpLTTGL . . . fléovof) are also evident to
me, with these three entities, as well as three desires and
motives (Etteuutat ts donuts: was doxet), one leasure peculiar
to each of these entities (Eve: éxdorou ntu (650)."

"What do you mean?"

"We were saying that there are [in the mind] that with
which a man learns, that with which he is spirited, and a third
thing for which we did not have one name, since it is many:
formed (duo toxustoficv), but named it for the greatest and most

 

118.

powerful thing in it: we called it appetitive (étteuunttxov)
because it was most excessive in its desires (18v . . . éut-
euutmv) for food, drink, sexual satisfaction, and other things
of the same sort, and wealth-loving (euloxpfluctov), because
such desires are satisfied mainly by means of wealth."

"That's right."

 

 

 

Plato is claiming that not only does each of the three things in
the mind have its own kind of desire (timeouts) and its own kind
of motive (dpxfi), but each thing in the mind has its characteristic
pleasure: the satisfaction of the desire which moved the man to
seek the object. As we will see, the desires are also motives
(dpxet) in that they can pplg.(dpxctv) over a man's mind, and
therefore move him to seek the object--e.g. move him to pursue
wealth rather than honor.

First, Socrates describes each of the three elements in
the mind in accordance with its characteristic sort of desire
(581a3):

"Well then, we would say that if its pleasure and love is
for profit (100 xép6ous) then we could reasonably classify it
under one heading, as something clear to ourselves, whatever
we might mean by this portion (toflto . . . to uépos) of the
mind, and call it wealth-loving (otloxpfiuatov). Would we also
be right to call it profit-loVing (ouloxechg)?"

"So it seems to me.

"And what about Spirit (to Ouuostécg)? Wouldn't we say
that it is always wholly urged (Opufioact) toward controlling
and winning and being well-thought-of (e6601tuetu)?"

"Of course."

"And if we called it victory-loving and honor-loving, it
would be appropriate (éuuslmg)?"

"Most appropriate."

"Well then, that with which we learn, it is entirely clear,
always has been striving only to know thejtruth as it is (to
sléévct tnv dlfibstev din fixet), and therefore among the three
it cares the least for wealth and reputation (56:ns)."

"Certainly." ;

"And can we call it lovin to learn (euloueess) and wisdom-
loving (otldooeov) in its c aracter were tpdtov)?"

Of course."

 

 

 

From this description of each of the three things in the mind,

119.
Socrates draws two conclusions: (1) there are three kinds of men,
and (2) there are three kinds of pleasures. The three kinds of
men are those in which the philosophic element rules the mind,
those in which the philotimic element.rules, and those in which
appetites rule. And the three kinds of pleasure are the pleasure;
the wealth-loving man experiences when his appetites are satiated,
the pleasure the honor-loving man experiences when his desire for
reputation is successful, and the pleasure of the philosopher
when he learns the truth (581bl2):
"Then doesn't it [the philosophic element] sometimes
rule (dpxst) in the minds of men, and sometimes something else
rules, whichever it happens to be?"
"It does."
"And because of this, we are saying, first, that there
are three kinds of men, wisdom-loving, honor-loving, and
wealth-loving?"
"Certainly."
"And second, that there are three forms of pleasure (hoov-
mv . . . tote sion), one of them associated'with each of these
kinds of men?"
"Of course."
The difference between the three kinds of men is expressed as
a difference in what desire (étteuufa) rules (dpxst) over their
minds. Hence it is preper to call the desires also motives (do-
xefi), since any of the three desires is capable of ruling over the
mind. These three kinds of men, moreover, experience three kinds
of pleasure, one pleasure for each of the three kinds of desire.
But just as each kind of man is ruled by a different motive
(i.e. a different desire is his motive), each kind of man believes
that the satisfaction of his own kind of desire is the most pleasant

satisfaction. The businessman finds the appetitive life the most

pleasant, and achievement of honors and understanding please him

 

120.
only for their cash-value. The spirited man thinks that the life
of power and glory is the most satisfying, and he is pleased by
money or knowledge only to the extent to which they contribute
to his success. And the philosophic man is convinced that the
philosophic life is the happiest, and he values money and honors,
if at all, only so much as they are necessary to the maintainance
of a well-ordered state.

Since each kind of man claims that his own kind of life
is the happiest, Socrates asks, how are we to decide which of them
is right? (581e6):

"Well, when the pleasures of each form of life, and the

life itself, are disputed (duotanroOvteL), not in regard to

the nobler or baser life (spas TO xdllsov not a oxtov (flu or

the better or worse life (to xetpov not dustvov), but relative

 

to the more pleasant and less painful (tpog auto to fiétov not
dAUIJtepOV), how would we know which of them is telling the
truth?"

"I'm not sure."

"Look: with what must we judge, if we are to judge right-
ly? Isn't it with experience (éuustpfe), wisdom (opovfioeu),
and reason (love)? Or would you have a better criterion
(xpttaptov) than these?"

"Not at all."

Plato next argues that by all three criteria, the philosopher is
the best judge of which kind of pleasure gives the most satis-
faction (582a8):

"Look: among the three men, who is the most experienced
of them all about these pleasures? Does the profit-lover seem
to you to be more experienced about the pleasure derived from
knowing, from learnin the truth itself as it is (nevedvmv
ebtnv tnv dinettev oidv éottv), or is the philosopher more
experienced about the pleasure derived from making profits?"

"There is a great difference: having been ruled by them
from childhood, he was compelled to taste the other pleasures.
But the profit-lover was not compelled to taste the other
pleasurex. this pleasure of learning what exists as it is in
nature (5!“ lemon: to Euro), nor to become experienced in how
pleasant it is. It would not be easy, even if he were eager

 

121.

to find out."

"Then there is certainly a difference between the philo-
sopher and the businessman in their experience of these pleas-
ures."

"Certainly."

"And compared with the lover of honor, is the philoSOpher
more inexperienced about the pleasure derived from being
honored, or is the other man more inexperienced about the
pleasure derived from bein wise (opovstv)?"

"But honor, if each of them accomplishes what he intends,
comes to them all. The rich man is honored by many, as is a
brave man and a wise one. All of them would experience the
pleasure of being honored, no matter what for. But it is

 

 

impossible for anyone but the philoSOpher to have tasted V‘

whatever pleasure comes with the vision of what exists (tfis I

. . . 100 Bytes eées)." 3
"Then among these men, the philosopher judges best from 3 _

experience?" i
"Certainly."

Only the philosopher is experienced in all three pleasures, and
he prefers his own.

Plato then argues that the philosopher not only is more
experienced than the other two, but he also possesses the best
giggpp.(opdvnots) and reasoning (Adywv), and therefore is the
best judge. Since the philosopher's experience includes knowing
the truth, he will have yigfigp_(opdvnons). And Since one cannot
know anything without being able to reason, and reasoning (ldymv)

is the philosopher's own instrument (dpyovov), the philOSOphic

 

kind of man will excel the other two in reasoning as well. Hence,
by all three criteria, the philosopher is the best judge of the
comparative happiness of the three lives and of the three pleas-
ures (582e7):

"And Since [he makes his judgments] with experience, wisdom
(opdvnous), and reason?"

"Necessarily, the judgments which the philosopher and lover
of reasoning (othdloyos) makes must be most true (dlneéoroto)."

Then of the pleasures of the three men and elements
(Tptfiv . . . odomv), is the pleasure of this portion of the

122.

mind (todtou toD uépoug In; ¢uxfig) with which we learn the
most pleasant, and the life of the man in whom this element
rules the most pleasant life?"

"It must be, since the wise man (6 opdvtuos) is the expert
(nuptos) about what is praiseworthy (étotvétng), and he praises
his own life."

 

Thus each uépog of the mind has its own associated pleasures as t
well as its own motivating desires, according to Plato. Moreover,
the pleasure of the rational portion, the pleasure derived from
knowing, is the most satisfying. Although this information helps
to make it clear that the rational element 222 the desire and
experiences the pleasure which comes from "learning the truth
as it is," it does not further describe what the rational element
is, such that it could have desires, pleasures, or knowledge.
What kind of thing is it, which desires wisdom and is pleased
when it learns the truth?

Socrates next argues that not only is philosophic pleas-
ure the most pleasant of the three kinds, it is also the 552355
pleasure. He begins the argument by drawing an analogy between
the mind and the body again. In doing so, he seems to commit an
obvious and elementary mistake. He claims that just as hunger
and thirst and the other appetites are states of emptiness in the
body, ignorance and lack of self-control are states of emptiness
in the mind. But he has previously asserted that all the appetites
are in the mind. If they are in the mind, then how can they be
states of depletion in the body? Eventually he clears this error
by noting, implicitly at least, that certain states of emptiness in
the body ppu§p_the various appetites in the mind. Under that inter-

pretation, ignorance and lack of self-control are not themselves

 

123.
desires for knowledge and for self-control, but are causes of
desires. The emptiness in the mind makes the rational element
love wisdom, and the lack of self-control in the mind causes a
desire for self-control (on the part of reason and spirit, per-
haps, for it doesn't seem to fit the nature of the appetites, no
matter gpgp_the interpretation).

Socrates_begins with the appetites (585a8):

"Consider this: aren't hunger, thirst, and all the ap-
petites states of de letion (revocats) in the condition of
the body (tfig nap: TO omua afiews)?"

YQSe"

"And aren't igporance ('AyvOIa) and lack of self-control
(dopoodvn) states of emptiness (Kevdtng) in the condition of
the mind?"

"Certainly."

"Then wouldn't this emptiness be filled when the under-
standin takes noprishment and retains it (ore tpoo s peta-
leuBavwv rat 6 vouv.ioxmv--reading "are" for "3 re" in the
text)?" '

"Of course."

Presumably, wisdom is the nourishment for the emptiness of igno-
rance, and self-control is the nourishment for lack of self-
control. The rational element is nourished by wisdom, and all
three elements are nourished by self-control. It is not so
clear which elements have the emptiness of lack of self-control.
Socrates then argues that the nourishment of the mind is
more real than the nourishment of the body. He begins by claim-
ing that nourishment which is more real is more genuine (585b9):
"And is the mops real replenishment the more enuine,
g£_the less real (Hlnpéo:g Ge dlneeorépa 100 httov n 100
udllov Euros ?
"Clearly, the more real nourishment is more genuine."

 

This argument depends upon the prior distinctions between appear-

ance and reality and between image and original. If the nourish-

 

121+.
ment for the mind is real nourishment rather than apparent nourish-
ment, then it is genuine nourishment rather than Spurious nourish-

ment e

Socrates next claims that the nourishment for the mind
i§_more real than the nourishment for the body (585bl2):

"Would you think that the kinds of replenishment which
partake more of pure substance (wallow needed; abate: uetz-
xetv) are bread, meat, and all such nourishment put together
(deco we; ouutdons tpoofig), or the form of true opinion, of
knowled e, of understandin , and of all virtue, taken to ther
(to 63£ns re dlneobs eiéog not Ettotduns not voO oullfisénv cu
tdong ODSTHS)?! Tell me this: does it seem to you that that
which clings to what is true and immortal and always alike,
and which itself becomes and is in this condition, is more
real than that which clings to what is mortal and never alike,
and whichiitself becomesiin this condition (to toO fist ductou
EXBuevov not decvdtou xeL dlneefcs, not e610 tetoOtov 5v not
iv tetodtm ytyvducvov, uullov elves . . . , n to unoétOte
duotou wet Ovntoo, was e010 totoOtov not év tetodtm ytyvd-
usvov)?"

"What clings to what is always alike is certainly much
different."

 

Glaucon is unwilling to admit that what clings to (to éxduevov)
what is true, immortal, and always alike (dot duoCou), becomes
and is ipgglf_true, immortal and always alike. Socrates will
argue later that the mind, in its truest nature, is immortal,
etc., just like the forms to which it is akip_(ouyyévng), the
forms which he here claims the mind "clings to." But Glaucon
.ip willing to agree that what clings to the forms is "much differ-
ent" than the body, which clings to what is mortal and never alike,
annd becomes (ytyvducvov) rather than i3,

The mind takes for its nourishment (when it is nourished,

ans opposed to when it is corrupted by a hostile invironment) the

—;

1Republic 608d-l2a.

hi1

 

12S.
eternal and unchanging ("always alike") forms. It is nourished
by forms such as those of true opinion, knowledge, understanding,
and every virtue. But the body is nourished by less real and
less genuine substances: the things that Socrates elsewhere
calls "appearances" and "imitations" of the forms, existing "be-
tween what is and what is not." The body's nourishment is less
real than the mind's because the forms exist completely, whereas
the appearances are "between existence and non-existence." And
it is less genuine (i.e. less "true") than the mind's nourish-
ment because these sustenances are only images of the forms.

This whole passage (58$c1-585du) is, as Adam notes, "among
the most perplexing in the whole of the Republic."1 I am trans-
lating it under two hypotheses: (1) that throughout this per-
plexing passage, only the mind and the body are the main subjects
of discussion, and (2) that Socrates is anticipating the theory
that he will introduce later that the mind in its "truest nature,"
that of an unencrusted and unmutilated rational element, is im-
mortal and akin to the forms. Putting these assumptions together,
I am risking that the "true" subjects of discussion in this dis-
puted passage are the body and the rational element in the mind.
Otherwise, in its main outlines, my translation conforms to Adam's
explanation, which requires that the text be amended by reading

"dvouoCou" for "duofou" in line 585c7.2

 

1Adam, The Republic of Plato, II, note on p. 35a.

2Ibid., notes on pp. SSW-55, and Appendix vi, pp. 381-83.

126.
Socrates next claims that the body's substance, "the sub-
stance of what is always unlike," partakes no more of existence

than it partakes of knowledge (585c7):

"Then does the substance of what is always unlike ('H . .
. dot dvauafiau abate) partake any more of existence than of
knowled e (abate; It wallow fi éttatfihng ueriei)?"fi
NOt at alle"

"Or of truth (Ti 6'; dlnesfcs)?"

 

 

"Nae

"If it [partakes] less of truth, then it [does] not [par- r1
take] of existence (Bf 6s dlneefas fittav, 06 wet chafing)?" f

Necessarily.". f

The body does not partake any more of existence (abate) than of

 

knowledge, in that it is not the sort of thing which knows and
has the power of understanding, nor does it exist completely like
the forms. Since it does not exist completely, it is less gen-
uine. Conversely, since it partakes less of truth (i.e. is less
. genuine), it does not partake of existence (i.e. of complete
existence). These inferences all depend, once again, upon the
distinctions between appearance and reality, and between image
and original. The body's substance is appearance, existing only
intermediately, rather than existence (i.e. complete existence).
Putting the distinction in the language of Plato in this passage,
the body's substance (abate) does not partake of existence (00-
oCh)--i.e. complete existence. And the substance of the body is
«only an image of what is genuine (dlnefls). Because it is an image,
.it is less genuine than the forms which it imitates.

Socrates then concludes that since the substance of the
loody does not exist completely and is not genuine, the kinds of

substance which the treatment (Oepatcfav) of the body requires

127.
must be themselves less genuine and less substantial (585dl):

"Then all the kinds [of substances] (51mg ta . . . yévn)
for the treatment of the body partake of less existence and
truth (nTTOV dineefag ts kc: auafag pctéxst) than the kinds
of substance for the treatment of the mind."

"Much less."

Since the body's substance is less real and less genuine, the
replenishment for the body's substance can only be less real and

less genuine: it can be treated by only less real and less "true"

kinds of substance.

And if the substance of the body is less real and less
genuine than the substance of the mind, then the body itself is
less real and less genuine than the mind (585d5):

"And don't you think that the body itself [partakes of
less existence and truth] than the mind (Imus . . . auto wuxflg

. . . ourms)?"
"I do."

From this, Socrates argues that Since the kinds of replenishment
differ in truth and reality, and since pleasure is what is pro-
vided by such nourishment, the pleasure of the body (i.e. the
pleasure which is produced by meeting the needs of the body) is
.less real and less genuine than the pleasure of the mind (585d7):

"Then the replenishment with what isl more real (16v pal-
lav avrmv) for what is more real (aura udllov ov--i. e. the
mind) is more really repleniShment (ovtms udllov wlnpofitat)
than the replenishment with what is less real for what is
less real."

"Of course."

"Therefore if replenishment with what is appropgiate to
its nature (18v ¢00€l wpoanxavtmv) is pleasant, the greater
replenishment of what exists by what exists (rd OVTI we: rmv
avtmv) more really and more truly(u51Xav auto; to K01 dln-
Ocatépms) leads to enjoyment of true pleasure. And that
which takes.less real replenishment is nourished less truly
and less permanently (BSBafwg), and gains less true and more
unreliable (intatatépag) pleasures."

Most certainly."

r1

 

128.

In summary, Plato's argument seems to be this: first,
the substances which nourish the mind (forms such as justice,
understanding, and all the virtues) are more real than those sub-
stances which nourish the body, because the forms exist completely,
whereas the substances which nourish the body are between existence
and non-existence. Similarly, the forms are more "true" than
these appearances, and the substances which nourish the body are
less genuine because they are images of the forms. -

Second, the mind is more real than the body, and more

 

genuine than the body, because the mind is nourished by substances
which are more genuine and more real than the substances which
nourish the body. The mind is nourished by what is true and exists
completely, whereas the body is nourished by images of what is true
(or genuine), which are "between what is and what is not."

Third, the replenishment of what is more real (the mind)
by what is more real (the forms) is real replenishment, whereas
the nourishment of what is less real (the body) by what is less
Ireal (the kinds of substance which, like the body itself, are
:Lmages of the forms) is only imitation replenishment--replenish-
mnent which is "between what is and what is not."

Fourth, real and genuine nourishment yields real and gen-
tiine pleasure, whereas spurious and less real replenishment yields
lless real and less genuine pleasure. In both cases it is the mind
fiflhich is pleased, the rational element experiencing genuine and
real pleasure, and the appetitive element having spurious and less

real pleasure. But in the former pleasure, the cause is the re-

129.
plenishment of the mind, and in the latter the cause is the re-
plenishment of the body.

And fifth, the pleasure of the mind, which is provided to
the mind by treating the mind with real replenishment (being
"filled" by justice, understanding, etc.), is real and genuine
pleasure, whereas the pleasure of the body, which is provided
to the mind by treating the body with less real and less gen-
uine replenishment (water, medicine, etc.), is less real and

less genuine pleasure.

 

Socrates has already argued that such spurious pleasure
exists. He claimed that there is an intermediate condition
uctexu) between true pleasure and true pain, a condition which
is not really either pleasure or pain. This intermediate condi-
tion may 5322 painful if it is preceded by pleasure, since it
is such a contrast from the previous pleasure; or it may 3222.
pleasant if it is preceded by pain. But it is really neither
pleasure nor pain. Now, when he turns from the kinds of replenish-
:nent to the kinds of men, he argues that those who have never
experienced true and real pleasure (the mental pleasure which the .
tiourishment of the mind provides) are really only in an inter-
nnediate condition when they experience bodily pleasure. Their
JLives seem to themselves to be pleasant, because of release from
Iaain, but they are not really so, because their pleasure is not
Imeal and true pleasure--it is the intermediate condition (586a1):

"Then it seems that those who are inexperienced in wisdom

(epavfiasms) and virtue (deaths). and are always engaged n

dining and things of that sort, are carried down from and back
to the intermediate condition (to ustexd) throughout their

130.

lives. They never rise above that level to what is truly
above (to dlnbms dvm). They neither look upon it or are
carried up to it. They are neither in reality_replenished
by what exists (tau dvtws t0 OVTL étlnpdenaav) nor taste pure
and permanent pleasure (BcBaCou to not reasons flaavfis). In-
stead, always looking downward and bending toward the ground
and toward their tables, they graze and live as cattle do,
fattening and capulating. And in order to get their fill
of such things, they trample and butt one another in their
lust, and kill one another with their horns and hooves, since
neither abstinence (to atéyov) nor what exists (to 5v) pro-
vides these substances (tats afiatv).

"Your description of the life of the many very poetic, r1:
Socrates." - '

 

Socrates is arguing that Since those who are ruled by their

appetitive element have not experienced the real and genuine

 

pleasure which is provided by justice, understanding, etc., their
lives exhibit only an oscillation between this intermediate condi-
tion and pain. Since they hever have known real and genuine
pleasure, the cessation and absence of pain seems to them to be
pleasure, rather than what it is: the intermediate condition.
Socrates had previously argued that there are spurious pleasures,
and that an intermediate condition of this sort obtains.l Now he
has argued that genuine pleasure is the kind that comes with the
replenishment of the mind, and that the intermediate condition is
the kind that comes with the replenishment of the body.

When men are ruled by their appetitive element, Socrates
argues, their lives are spent in a constant struggle with other
men of the same sort for the substances which will meet their
bodies' needs and satisfy their appetites. The bodily pleasure

which satisfies these painful appetitive desires appears to be

 

lRepublic 583-4.

131.

pleasure, but it is only release from the pain which physical
emptiness in the body causes in the appetitive element in the
mind. (Perhaps there is also the pain--not in the appetitive
element, presumably—-which is the fear that ones appetites and
physical needs will not be satisfied, which causes the mind to
love the wealth which will satisfy such future needs.)

When the mind is ruled by its appetitive element, it
seeks the "pleasure" which is release from the pains caused
by physical needs (and perhaps anxiety), and therefore it pur-
sues the material goods which lead to satisfaction of those
appetites, and pursues the wealth which will purchase those
goods. But such satisfaction is only release from pain: relief
from the pains caused by physical needs (and perhaps from the
fear of future deprivation).

Since the appetitive element compels the mind to move
the body to satisfy the body's needs, the mind is not free to
pursue true and real pleasure (i.e. philosophic pleasure). When
the mind is dominated by the appetites, it has no time to give to
the pursuit of truth and virtue. Thus, since the rational element
in such men is ruled by the appetitive element, the rational ele-
ment will never be nourished by its proper food (wisdom), nor will
the whole mind be nourished by its proper food (justice). (It
may be implied here that the pursuit of wisdom, etc., requires
abstinence from the satisfaction of the appetites: doing without
goods in order to pursue the good. And of course, abstinence will

not furnish the body's food, either: neither abstinence nor real-

 

132.
ity "furnishes such substances" to the bodies of men who lead
appetitive lives.)

Therefore the lives of appetitive men, at any rate when
left to themselves rather than when well-governed, are spent in
conflict with one another for the appearance of pleasure. They
fight over the means to it in their ignorance of true pleasure
"as Stesichorus says the image of Helen was fought over by the E-
Greeks at Troy in their ignorance of the real Helen."1

Plato then argues that the Spirited life has the same

 

result as the appetitive life. When men are dominated by their
spirited element, and are left to themselves, they spend their
lives as appetitive men do, in conflict with other men of the
same sort. But they do so not for wealth and goods, but for
victory and honor (586c7):
"Well, what about the spirited life? Must it not be some
different sort of life, which accomplishes this same result
(6: . . . 0010 10010 atatpdttntat) either because of envy due
to love of honor, or use of force due to love of conquest,
or anger due to discontent, when men pursue victory and honor
without reasonin and without understandipg.(dvsu laytauap
ts not you)?
"The Spirited life must be of this sort."
.Although spirited men are ruled by a different element in their
nninds, they will lead the same lives as appetitive men, struggling
[
saith one another over the appearance and image of pleasure. WitH-
out reasoning or understanding, they will neither spend their

llives in any pursuit of truth nor be willing to renounce power,

Permitting their competitors to be honored instead of them. Like

¥

1Republic 586c.

133.
appetitive men, they are in an intermediate condition even when
they are pleased. They are in an intermediate condition when they
win, and in pain when they lose. They never know real and gen-
uine pleasure.
On the other hand, Socrates claims, if the philosophic

element rules, or if the philosopher rules appetitive and Spirited

men, then Spirit and the appetites are controlled by wisdom (epovfi- L-

ats). In that case, appetite and spirit achieve the most genuine
pleasures of which they are capable, and the pleasures which are

"most their own" (586eu):

"Well then, would we say with confidence that if all the
desires which accompany the honor-loving and profit-loving
elements pursue their pleasures with, and uided b , know-
ledge and reason (IQ éttatflup we; Xdym éx3usvat not nets
to tow), and take the pleasures whigp_the wise element pre-
scribes (ta: . . . TO apartuaviégnyfitet, Xaquvmat), then they
wiIl ohtain the mostggnuine pleasures (to: dlnesatdtss . . .
,Afloovtet), taking pleasures as genuine as possible since they

L(aregguid'ed by truth (its dlnGqu étauévev), and obtaih_ leas-
ures mostifheir own (was to; éaurhv otwstas), if what is est
P35 each element is also most its own (strep to Bélttatov dida-
tu, tauta xat alwasdrarav)?"

"Most its own, indeed."

"Then if the whole mind is guided by its philosophic ele-
ment (TB oblaadom dos stau£Vns Eifians tfls wuxmc)iand is not
in conflict with it (not un areatacadang), it belongs to evegy
portion (éxdbtm ta uépst utdxst) to do its own work with'the

 

 

 

others (st: . . . 1311a ta esotao tpditet?) and be just (atxatu'”

elven), and to be rewarded by the pleasures which are the most
their own, the best, and the mostgenuine in their power (to;
Edutao Exaatav not to: lerfdtes wet sis ta duvetav tag dinosa-
tdtas)."

"Exactly."

"But when either of the other two elements controls the
mind, it belongs to each element not to discover its own pleas-
ure (tnv éaurau flaavnv éEsupCaxeLv), but pursue spurious pleas-
E (M dhnefl flaavnv dudxsw) compel the other two to seek

pleasure not their own (to . . . 511‘ dvayxdtstv dllatpfav)."
It does.'

Apparently, each of the three elements in the mind has spurious

rues-1
a.

 

.a—.

134.
pleasures as well as genuine pleasures, although Plato does not
identify them further. He then claims that there is one genuine
pleasure and two spurious ones.1 But one can't tell from this
.whether he means that each element has one genuine pleasure and
two spurious ones, or whether the whole mind has one genuine
pleasure (learning) and two spurious ones (satisfaction of ambi-
tion and of appetite). lf_each element has its own genuine and
spurious pleasures, then perhaps the two spurious pleasures of
the rational element are "philodoxic." Since Plato has claimed
that the philodoxists love to look at (otlaesdaaaeat) what he
has called "images" and "appearances," I am inclined to believe
that Plato means that for each element in the mind there are
both genuine and spurious pleasures.

In any case, the philosophic element does have its own
genuine pleasure: the pleasure which it has when the mental empti-
ness of ignorance is "filled" by the knowledge of truth and reality /I
("what exists completely"). It not only has its own desire, its
love of learning the truth, it also has a genuine pleasure: a
pleasure which is "most its own" (i.e. natural for it), best for
it, and the most genuine pleasure it is capable of having. This
is the pleasure that comes with knowing the forms--its own best
and most genuine nourishment.

One would think that if something gave one the best, most
genuine, and happiest satisfaction, he would never seek anything

else rather than that. Why, then, does the philosophic element

 

lRepublic 587b-c.

 

135.
in men, in some cases, 23:33 seek that nourishment which will
provide its own best and most genuine pleasure? Plato has
previously claimed that some men are inexperienced in philo-
sophic pleasure, and thus they may be ignorant of it. But
also, Plato gill claim that even a philosophic nature needs
a good education in order to become what its nature is; other-
wise it will never discover the happiness that accompanies
the best of the three lives.

In the foregoing passages, Socrates has been investigating
all three kinds of men, but previously in the Republic he gives
his attention to just ppg of the three kinds of men: those who
are by nature philsophic. And, in the foregoing, Plato has given
us a triadic picture of the mind: an amalgam of three elements,
each with its own desires and pleasures. Eventually he will claim
that "in its truest nature" the mind is its rational element.
Furthermore, the philoSOphic man is the man who is controlled by
his philosophic element. Hence, the nature of the philosopher is
very closely related to the nature of this rational (philosophic)
element.

Thus it is necessary to inquire into the nature of the
philoSOphic man, and into how the philOSOpher is "corrupted" and
prevented from becoming what his nature is, in order to find out
what sort of thing this rational element is, such that it can know
the forms. For the mind "in its truest nature" is this rational
element-—this element which makes a man a philosopher if it rules

over his entire mind.

I]

 

IV. THE MIND IN ITS TRUBST NATURE

We have determined that the rational element in the mind
is what has knowledge of the forms. It is a portion of the mind
which has desires and pleasures, especially the desire for wisdom
and the pleasure of learning. It begins in a state of emptiness
which is ignorance, and has the power of knowing without having
yet the knowledge it can learn. Under the apprOpriate conditions,
ordinarily a good education, this power can be developed, and the
'rational element can become what its nature is: ruler over the
mind and knower of the forms. But it cannot do so unless it gets
the proper "nourishment." In his investigation of the nature of
a philosopher, and of how a philosophic nature is corrupted, Plato
supplies the conditions under which this power of the mind can be
developed.

The philosophic kind of man is one whose mind is ruled by
its philosoPhic element, and who pursues wisdom rather than honor
or wealth. He is satisfied with the least quantity of material
, goods that will sustain him while he rules and learns. But even
if a person is born philoSOphic in nature, he may never become so:
if he is not properly trained and educated, he will never develop

into a philosopher (except by an "act of God").1 Those who have

 

lRepublic u93a.

136.

 

137.
the pgy§£.(60vcutg) to become philosophers will do so under
the right training and education. Otherwise they will become
'soldiers or craftsmen, poets or philodoxists-~and, if they win
control of the state, or a share of it, tyrants, oligarchs,
demagogues, or timocrats rather than kings.
Plato does not differentiate the possible philoSOpher

from the actual philosopher, however. What he does is differ-

’ IFK "10].. -

entiate the genuine philosopher from the "corrupted" philosopher.

Both the true philosopher and the "corrupted" philosopher are

 

philosophic by nature (odast). But one of them has been destroyed
by bad training and education, and the other has managed to become
what his nature is, either because he has managed to "grow wild"
in spite of a hostile environment (the "act of God"), or because
he has been properly cultivated.

In uaub-MQSc, Plato first gives his attention to the nature
of a philoSOpher: those qualities which a man ypplg have if he
became a philosopher. Then he explains how "these very qualities"
which differentiate him from men who cannot be philosophers contri-
bute to the corruption of his nature when he grows up in a typical

Greek city-state.

48flb-H9 Sc
Having just finished distinguishing between philosophers
and philodoxists, Socrates asks Glaucon whether the guardians of
the state should be philosophers or philodoxists (usuba):
"When some men are philosophers, able to gras (auvdusvat

éodsrsaeat) what remains the same as itself forever (taU den
were touts daddies Exavtas), and others are not philosophers

138.

but erratic men (Ikavéuevou) who always remain entirely amon
the many things (év tolkotg . . . uavroffig chouauv), which
of them should be the leaders of the state?"

"What standard (Ems . . . ustpfwg) should we appeal to?"

"Those who show themselves able to guard the laws and
business of the city should be appointed its guardians."

"That's right."

"Then is it clear whether a blind man (tumkov) or a sharp-
sighted man (55v) should be a guardian standing watch?

It is clear."

 

 

 

But in what respect are philosophers "sharp-sighted" and others

 

"blind"? Socrates claims that they can "look upon what is most
true," whereas other men cannot, and this makes them better
rulers (hence):

"How do those who are deprived of the knowledge of-every-
thing which exists‘in reality (1Q 5vtL 100 Euros) differ from
blind men (TL ruplmv Stamépeuv)? The .do not havegin their
minds any exact examples (évupyes Ev tfi ¢uxfi {yovtes tapd-
bstyua), and they are unable to look upon what is most true
(at; to élneéoratov duoBkéxovreé} as at a picture (donep
ypumfis). And they cannot ever see it andgput it into effect
in the state as nearly as possible (uaxéfbe den dvamépovrég
1: net eeduevou is 016v ts dxpuézotora). Thus they cannot
furnish the state with noble, just, and good laws, and if such
laws had already been laid down, be guardians preserving them."

"No, by Zeus, they aren't much different from blind men."

 

 

It is not clear why Plato thinks that philodoxic guardians could
not preserve laws already laid down. It is also not clear what

the exact examples (évapyeg topdésuyua) are. It is likely that

 

they are the examples which Plato in the divided line analogy
assigns to Guavofa, or at least that they are one species of such
"examples and images."

Plato then draws his conclusion, that if those who know
reality do not fall short of other men in experience or in any
other part of virtue besides wisdom, then they should be chosen

instead of the others to be the guardians of the state. The next

 

139.
question is whether philosophers do not fall short of other men
in experience or virtue. But in order to decide this, Socrates
claims, we must first agree on the nature of a philosopher (uBSau):

"We were saying at the beginning of the argument that we
must first learn their nature completely_(tnv ¢UOLV eérmv . .
. uatauuestvjl Andiiithink that if we could reach complete
agreement on this (éav éxefvnv incums ouokoyfiOmuevT, we would
also agree that they have these [other] virtues as much as
possible (ordv ts tobtu Exeuv oi cutof) and that they should
be the leaders of states rather than other men."

 

 

Empirically, the method for determining whether philosophers have
more of the virtues (other than wisdom) than other men would be
to examine cases, once one had decided upon what the virtues are.
But Socrates expects to find the character of a philosopher already '
given in the nature of a philosopher. What a philosopher is,
according to Plato, will also indicate what virtues a philosopher
has. Accordingly, he has Socrates proceed to examine the form
Phi1050pher (what a philosopher is, the nature of a philosopher),
finding in it those characteristics (presumably those forms) which
are "implied" by what a philosopher is. Thus, it is an example of
what he will call "hypothetical reasoning": "deducing" the forms
which are implied by a given form, i.e. "going from hypotheses to
conclusions."1
The first characteristic which Socrates claims is implied

by this form is the love of learning the forms (uBSalO):

"let us agree about this form (10010) from the nature of
philosophers (tau ptxoadmmv pacemv): they always love to learn

some sub'ect which makes clear to them (icefiuu13t ye Est épmatv
3 Ev abrots GnXot) that substance (Eustvns tflg obafug) which

always exists and never fluctuates (tfis dc; ofiang was un ulavw-

 

 

lRepublic SlOc-lla.

 

140.

uévns) by genesis or destruction (Ono ysvéoswg was m30p§s)."

"Let us agree on that.

"And they are unwilling to give up either a small ortion
(uépous) of all existence (ndong ouofig) or a large one, whether
more honorable or less, as we had concluded about lovers and
philoSOphers."

"That's right."

 

Socrates infers that if they have the desire to learn what exists

and are unwilling to give up any portion of it, they must also

love truthfulness and hate deception (uBSblO):

"Next consider whether they are necessarily sure to have
(évdyxn Exéuv . . . oi uéklwouv) another form in theirinature r:
besides that one (T666 . . . upos todrm év Tfl .652.) in order

to be what we are calling them (Eceoaat otous éléyouevs."
"What form (To totov)?"

"Truthfulness (Tnv é¢edéstav): never being willing_to put
up_with what is false (to éxdvtus elven unéauq upooééxeaeat to
$60605), but hating it and loving truth."

"That's likely."

"It is not merely likely, my friend, but entirely necessary
for that which by nature fondly possesses something (tov épwrue
was 100 mJOeL*EXOvru) to be fond of"all its kind and their
descendents (16v auyyevés ts nut oixETov tmv tatétxmv):"-—

"That's right."

 

 

 

 

The usual translation for "raw to auyyevés re nut olxstov tmv
tutdsxmv" would be something like "all its kinsmen and close
friends."1 But I think that such a rendition would be misleading
here. First, to be ouyyévns with something is to be of the same
tribe, family, race, species, or kind, not merely of the same
family, as "kisman" would suggest. Since I have been translating
"yévos" as "kind," I render "to auyyevés" as "its kind." Second,
although "eixetov 15v tatdtxmv" can mean "close friends" (or more
precisely, something like "one's own from children"), it could also

mean "related as children of the same house"--cousins, for instance.

 

1Adam, The Republic of Plato, II, n.

141.
(Perhaps it is by extension that it means persons with whom one
has associated since childhood, as one has associated with his
close relations. At least, this interpretation harmonizes with
the "logic" of the forms, in which forms are related to one
another as ancestors to descendants.) At any rate, I interpret
Plato to be saying that if one loves the truth, then he loves
the other forms in its yévog (whichever ones they are) and also
loves all of those forms related to truth and the other forms
in its kind as descendants to ancestors--i.e. all of the forms
"implied" by truth and its kindred forms.
Socrates then asks whether anything is more closely
related to truth than wisdom (uBSclO):
"Can anythipg be closer to truth than wisdom (’H 05v
otxetdtepov ace e rs dkneEfeg db efipo¢§)?
"How can it?"
"Then is it possible for the same nature (tnw eutnv edotv)
to be philosophic and love deception (etkoweubfi)?"
"Not at all."
"Then whoever loves to learn what exists (Tov . . . 1Q
dutt etkoueefi) mustifrom his youth reach out as far as poss-

ible (udltore dpéoeeu) for all truth (tdons Elneefes).
_ "Absolutely."

 

 

Having deduced these forms from the nature of a philosopher,
Socrates proceeds to infer others. He next claims that a philo-
sopher must be temperate (admpwv), since if one's desires flow
.more strongly in one direction, they must flow more weakly in
other directions, as though the mind were a "stream with many
channels" (#85d6):
"But we have seen that with someone whose desires flow
more strongly in one direction, they flow more weakly in other
directions, like a stream with many channels."

"What of it?"
"With anyone in whom they flow ('QL . . . éppudxeatv)

 

1‘42.

toward mathematics and everything of that sort, I believe
that he would 0 after (Kept . . . stew) the pleasure of his
mind alone tnv tfis ¢Uxfis . . . fiéovnv efitfig xesi abran’and
would entirely ignore the pleasure of the body, if he were a
genuine philoso her and not a counterfeit one (sighn tanked-
uévws dkk' Elnems mulddomds rug sfn .

"Necessarily."

 

 

The picture of the mind as a stream with many channels
is employed here to indicate how the philosophic nature differs
from the others. The channels are the three elements (portions)
of the mind, and the stream is the quantity of desire present

in the mind, of which each element has a portion. The quantities

 

 

of desire flowing through each element vary from person to person

and from time to time in the same person. Apparently the amount

 

of desire in each man's mind is the same, and remains the same,

and the variation from one mind to another (and from one time to
another within the same mind) is due to a difference in the amounts
in each element. Accordingly, the more love of wisdom there is

in the rational element, the less love of other things there is

in the other elements. Therefore, at least part of the proper
education of the mind will consist in whatever means will "enlarge"
the "channel" of philosophic desire, so as to bring about a greater
love of wisdom than of honor or wealth.

Socrates concludes that since the phiIOSOpher enjoys only
mental pleasure and ignores physical pleasure (i.e. enjoys the
pleasure caused by meeting the mind's needs and ignores the pleas-
ure caused by satisfying the needs of the body), the philosopher
will be temperate and not love money: he desires wisdom, not the

wealth which can buy physical pleasures. For the same reason,

1&3.
he will not be stingy (dvekeueepfe) and penny-ante (ouuupoldyog);
his mind always reaches for all and the whole of everything human
and divine (100 5kou not uuvtog den étopéELaeeL 8eCou te net dvepw-
thou).l (Perhaps what is human and divine is knowledge, which
the genuine philOSOpher wants "all and the whole of" in order to
be called a philosopher rather than a lover only of some wisdom.)
Since the philosopher's love of wisdom is great, his appetite is
weak, and therefore he is not intemperate. And since he is tem-
perate, and uninterested in making profits, he is liberal.
Since the philosopher is liberal, and likewise unconcerned
about what appears, he will be unafraid and unpretentious (486a8):
"Then since liberality_and vision of all time and all
existence [or substance] (usyeloupéieue was eewpfe tautos new
xpavou, Idons 5e obozus) belon to his intellect ('HL . . .
Oudpxet 5LvGC), do you think that his human life (tov dvepd-
utvov Bfov) can seem to him to be at all important (ordv te
. . . route uéye TL 5oxetv eivei)?"
"Impossible."

"Therefore this sort of man will not be afraid of anything,
even death (not advetov 06 deuvdv tL fiYfibETatjj“A

"Death least of all."

 

 

His concern is for what is, not what appears, and therefore his
human life is not important to him. He will fear nothing in human

experience, even the death of this body his mind is associated with

 

during his human life. And from the forms there is nothing to fear
(there is only the nourishment of the mind). But he might still

fear for the death of his mind, for if that were to die than his

 

power to know and enjoy the forms would perish with it. However,

Socrates will claim that the mind is immortal--or rather, that the

 

lRepublic nesa.

 

141%.
portion of it which has the power to know is immortal. (Note
that he does not here attribute liberality and vision to the whole
mind, or even to the rational element, but to "n duavofa.")

It also follows, Socrates argues, that the philOSOpher
will never become unfair or unjust, but will always be just and
civilized rather than wild and uncooperative (u86b6):

"Would the rational man (6 xdautog), neither wealth-loving
nor stingy, pretentious, or afraid, ever become unfair and
unjust?"

"NO. I!

"If you examined this philoSOphic mind, wouldn't you ob-
serve (un . . . ettaué¢n) that from its youth it was just and
civilized (dtxefia te not fluepog) rather than wild and unco-
"""'—""l"'_ O
operat1ve_(600xouvé~ntos net epre)?"

'Of course."

My translation over-simplifies the text. "Auxafie" and "éypfu"
are predicated of the feminine "duxfiv," and "fluepos" and "buo-
uouvduntos" of the masculine participle "5vtog," representing

6 xdoutog. Thus "just" and "wild" are attributed to minds, and
"civilized" and "uncooperative" to men.

I take it that these qualities follow from the nature
of the philosopher (just, civilized, cooperative rather than wild)
in that his rational element rules his mind, rather than his
Spirit or appetites. That is, Plato is pointing out that a
phiIOSOphic man (or mind) would no more be led into injustice
because the spirited element was out of control than because the
appetites were unruly. Just as the strength of desire in the
rational element takes strength of desire away from the appetites,

it also makes the rational element stronger in desire than the

spirited element. I gather, although I cannot justify it, that

r-r

 

145.
the Spirit is only EEEEQJ not diminished, by the proper education
and training of the mind, and therefore that the rational element
gains its strength at the expense of appetite, rather than of
spirit.
Socrates continues his deduction from the philOSOphic

nature. It is quick to learn (euueefis). No one would love know-

 

ledge, Socrates claims, if he experienced great difficulty and m-

little enjoyment in learning it. Therefore a philoSOphic mind y

must be able to think quickly. Similarly, one who loves wisdom L

 

must be retentive (uvnuovuxfi). If a man could not remember what
he had learned, he would end up both hating knowledge and hating
himself for being unable to hold on to it. (It is not quite so
obvious whether the mind is philosophic because it is quick to
learn, or that it is quick to learn because it is philosophic--
lie. because it loves wisdom. Similarly, it is at least not
impossible that it is retentive because it loves wisdom, and not
the other way around.) In any event, Socrates is claiming that
the philosopher is necessarily retentive and quick to learn.

Finally, Socrates concludes his analysis of the nature of

the philosopher by inferring that the philosOpher is measured
(Euuetpov) and agreeable (edxepuv) in his nature (#86d9):

"Then in addition to the other [forms] (npo; tots dlloss)
we will look—for an intellect (dudeLev) measured and a ree-
able in its nature (’Euuetpov . . . net eUieva . . . .5...),
which when well-guided (eudymyov) is naturally inclined
(ebtoedes) to the idea of_each thing which exists (étt tnv
toD 6v10; toga» éxdcrou)."

"We must."

This is the second occurrence of "d duvoCe" as a subject of these

lu6.
forms that follow from the philosophic nature. What does Plato
mean by "h duevo Ca" in these two occurrences? I doubt that it
is a synonym for "h ¢uxr1," although that is possible. It cannot

be the power of étavofe, because a power is a form and r) Guuvofe

is here a subject partaking of forms. It is probable that Plato

 

is referring either to the rational element in the mind, which
2§§§_the power of duavofe, or to some sub-element of the rational
element. And since we are not told of any further sub-divisions
of the three elements in the mind, I conclude that n 6Levo€e is
to Aoytattxdv. The rational element is the intellect--i.e. the
element in the mind that has the power of étevofu (as well as the
power of VOflOLS).

Socrates then draws his final conclusion: the rulers of
states should be philosophers, since philosophers are superior
totall other men in all of the other virtues as well as in wis-
dom (n86el):

"Well then, doesn't it seem to you that all these [forms]
we have mentioned are necessary and follow from one another
in a mind which is concerned about ac uirin what exists com-
pletely_and inde endentl (roO Svtos Lxevag te net tiles: . .

. uetelߢeaeet)?'

"Most necessary."

"Then is it a profession for anyone with such defects to
practice? Could anyone ever become adequate to it if he were
not by nature retentive, quick to learn, liberal, agreeable,
and lover and relation of truth, 'ustice, self-control, and‘
coura e (ethos re not auyyevng dlneeias, 6LquOOGVns, dvEEECes,
owmpoa vns)?"

"Not even Momus could reproach such a man."

"Well then, if men of this sort can be brought to completion
(teletmeetat) with education and maturation, wouldn't you turn
your state over to them alone?"

 

Plato has previously claimed that knowledge is ouyyevns with truth.

Now he claims that the man who loves knowledge is not only lover

 

lu7.
(pCAos) of truth and the four virtues, but also ouyyéng with them.
This form (PhilOSOpher) is in the same yévog with truth, knowledge,
self-control, courage, and justice.

This rehearsal of the virtues of the philosopher would be
tiresome and irrelevant if it were not for three things: (I) the
qualities of the philoSOpher which seem to entail or be qualities
of his rational element, (2) the qualities which are ascribed to pi
"fl 6LevoCa" by Plato's language of the passage, and (3) the epis-

temological language in parts of it (the "vision of all time and I:

 

all existence [or substance]" for instance).
The qualities which Plato attributes to the philos0phic
nature (i.e. of the form PhiIOSOpher) are qualities which the man

who is by nature a philosopher has in his nature. But he does not

 

have them in reality_unless he becomes what his nature is. Plato
claims that the philOSOphic nature is rare.1 But the philosoPher
(the genuine philoSOpher, who deve10ps to become what his nature
is) is rarer still. With the proper nourishment and training,
men with a philOSOphic nature will become philOSOphic in fact.
But this power will not be developed without the proper environ-
ment. If there is not a suitable environment, such men will not
become genuine philosophers; they will instead be corrupted. In
a hostile environment, the very qualities in their nature which
make it philosophic will contribute to the destruction (dleepeCe)
of this nature.

Socrates, now conversing with Adeimantus, claims that

 

lRepublic ugib.

148.
these qualities in the philosophic nature are themselves the
causes of destruction of the philosophic nature (#91bu):

"Then consider how great and many are the causes of de-
struction (SAerOL) of these few philosophic {natures or men]
(Toatmv . . . tmv 6ki7mv)." -_"

"What are they?"

"Most amazing to hear, all of the [forms] (tdvtmv) of his
nature (tfig modems), every one of them which we approved ev
Euaarov 5v énnveoauev), destroy the mind which has them (duel-
Auat tnv exouoev ¢anv) and turn it away from philosophy_
(duoond ptloooefas). And I mean courage, self-control, and
all the other qualities we mentioned."

"That is strange to hear."

It would indeed be strange if these qualities signs caused the
mind to turn from philosophy. But other factors must also be
involved to prevent the philosophic mind from becoming what its
nature is (u9lcl):
"In addition, besides these qualities, all of the so-called
oods (ta keyouéve dyeea tdvte) corrupt it and turn it away
was pet xeL dtoctd): beauty, wealth, bodily strength, in-
fluential family connections (ouyyéveta éuuwuévn év «61677
and all such goods--if you have the notion of what I mean."
But he! do the qualities of the phiIOSOphic nature, together with
'the so-called goods, corrupt the philosophic mind and turn it from
philos0phy? According to Plato, they do so through bad education
(xexn totécywyfie), which stunts the growth of a philos0phic mind;
it has a poor opportunity to grow if it matures in a hostile en-
vironment.1
Just as a vigorous and healthy plant or animal requires
a more fruitful and richer opportunity for growth than a weak and

sickly one, argues Socrates, so the best-natured minds need a bet-

ter opportunity to grow than indifferent natures. And vigorous,

 

lRepublic ugid.

 

lug.
healthy organisms suffer more in a hostile environment than
mediocre ones. Thus the best-natured minds become the worst,
when they encounter bad education (uglel):

"Well then, Adeimantus, would we say that the best-
natured minds (res duxeg . . . reg eueueatdteg) become
especially bad (éuamépovtws waxes ytyveeaet) when the
encounter bad education (xexfig tetéeywyfes tuxo oes ? Or
do you believe that the reatest injustice and hi hest
wickedness (re ueydxe eétxfihete net tnvfidkputov tovnptev)
come from an indifferent natp:3_(éx madlng) instead of from
a vigorous nature (Ex veevtxfls vdoewg) ruined by diet (tpomfi
aboXouevns), and that a feeble nature (doeevu . 7'. edauv)
would ever be speause of great goods or evils (ueydlmv ofite
uaxmv eerev)?"

"NO . I!

"Then we would maintain, I believe, that the nature of
the philosopher (rob mtloadmou muonv) which encounters prOper
education (‘Hm . . . neefloews upoonxOJOng tuxn) necessarily

develops, in its growth, to every virtue (els taoav . . .

euEevou vnv eetxvetoeat).__§utif it is not nourished by
proper seeding and cultivation, it develops to all the oppo-
sites of virtue (sis tdvte tévevtfe) unless something comes
to its aid from the gods . . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just as a prOper education stretches and nourishes the power of -
learning (to etloudeeg), tames and soothes the spirit, and pre-
pares the whole mind to become what its nature is (and if its
nature is philosophic, to become able to know that which exists
completely), so a bad education prevents the mind from becoming
what its nature is. Hence the mind which is best in its nature
becomes, on account of the greatness of its abilities, the very
worst when subjected to "improper seeding and cultivation," un-
less an "act of God" permits it to become what its nature is in
spite of a hostile environment.

Socrates goes on to argue that this improper education is
not that which the sophists provide, for these are merely servants

of the public. It is the general public, in states in which ap-

 

150.

learned wisdom in a state ruled by reason.' In crowds and public
meetings, in the assembly, the law-courts.or the theater, they
influence the minds of young men with their overt and noisy
expressions of praise and blame. Since they approve and disap-
prove of the wrong things, being philodoxists, they praise and
blame the wrong things. In that way they transmit their mis-
takes to their heirs. If persuasion fails, they reinforce their
expressions of approval and disapproval by force, "punishing the
unpersuaded with fines, dishonor, or death."1 The "virtue" which
the sophists teach, success in one's affairs, public and private,
effects only a reinforcement of the persuasion and sanctions the
public exerts.

A phiIOSOphic nature subjected to this pressure, there-
fore, becomes corrupted--bad education combining with the so-
called goods and qualities of the philosophic nature itself to
produce in gifted minds ignorance instead of wisdom, and injustice
instead of justice. Just as men who are ruled by spirit or ap-
petite can be directed to their proper ends, the best and most
genuine in their power, if they are ruled by wise and rational
rulers, so are men who could have been philosophic misdirected
from their proper end by the crowd--a great beast controlled by
appetite.

When the whole public combines to misdirect men with a

phiIOSOphic nature, there is not much hope that they can be per-

 

lRepublic u92d.

}

petitive men rule, which corrupts those rare natures who could.have ,

T1“ _ ..

 

lSI.
suaded to take the long, hard road toward knowledge, instead

of the easy way of catering to the appetites of the beast (RQHaII):

"Do you see an savin influence (tfve . . . owtnpfav)
from these [harmful conditionsl ('Ex . . . todtmv) for a philo-
sophic nature (euloodmm mdoet), to preserve it in its vocation
(Eb 1h Eittnéeduutt) to reach its goal (upog tékog Elbetv)?
And keep in mind what we said} for we agreed that quickness to
learn, retentiveness, courage, and liberality are among the

[Qualities] (ex tmv . . . erat) of this nature.'i
Yes.

 

 

"Then even as a child this sort of person will be first g
in everything, especially if his body grows like his mind."
"He Will 0 fl
His family and his state will want to use him to further their own a;

 

ends, so they will fill him with empty-minded arrogance and pre-
tention (axnuuttauoo not epovfiuatog xevoO dveu v00 éuttutlduevov)
by honoring and flattering him and begging his favors.

Under these conditions, it is not likely that he would
ever be persuaded that he is still ignorant (usudu):

"Under these conditions, if someone quietly came to him
and said that there is no understanding in him (v00; 06x Ev-
SOTLV curd), andithat he needs it and cannot possess it unless
slaves for it (Getteu 52, to be ob xrntov un douledoevtt th
xtfiaet «stow, do you think that it would be easy for him to
listen, under such bad [conditionsl (one toaodtwv nexmv)?"

"Far rom it.

"And if, because of his natural talent and his affinit
for ar ument (are 10 e6 tepuxEVeL net to ouyyeveg rmv Sayer,
he were enlightened (elaetoedvntet) and somehow turned around
and drawn toward philosophy, what do you think that those men
would do when they think that his usefulness and cooperation
are being destroyed? Wouldn't they say anything, and do any-
thing, in order that he was not persuaded? To prevent him from
being persuaded, wouldn't they plot against his persuader in
public and private, and put him on trial?"

"Necessarily."

 

 

 

Subjected to such pressure, philosophic natures are not likely to
become what their nature is, and the portions of the philosophic

nature (to tfis wtkoadmou mdoemg uépn) itself are one cause of theig

152.
departure from their vocation (ditto tpdtov TLVG toU éxteoetv
ex toD étttnoeduatos), along with the so-called goods.

Part of the answer has emerged to the problem of how the
philosoPhic element can know the forms. It must belong to a mind
which is by nature phiIOSOphic (lover of knowledge and capable of
learning it) and which has been given a good education, or for-
tuitously develops in spite of a hostile environment. It is only FTP
part of the answer, however. First, we do not know, from Plato's

words, whether it is greater love for knowledge which makes some

 

men's philoSOphic element better able to reason, more retentive,
and quicker to learn (for instance), or whether greater ability

to reason, to remember, and to learn quickly make a man's rational
element love wisdom more. Hence we do not know what makes the
potential philosopher's rational element better able, in its nature
(what it can become), to learn the forms when given a good educa-
tion. Second, although Plato will later spell out what a good
education consists of, for potential philosophic rulers,1 he only

tells us how a philosophic nature becomes able to acquire know-

 

ledge. He never explains what happens to the rational element

in the process, while the philosopher is educated to know and under-
stand the forms (and to rule over the state). Instead, he describes
this process in terms of the relation between the mind and the
forms. Perhaps that is the only way it needs to be described, since
he will claim that "in its truest nature" the mind is this very

rational element. And third, how would an "act’of God" induce ab,

 

lRepublic 518b-35c.

153.
philosoPhic nature to become what his nature is? That is, how
could he be preperly nourished in a hostile environment?

There are few men's minds, according to Plato, which are
philosophic in nature. Fewer still are the minds which survive
a hostile environment to become what their nature is, and develop
into philoSOphic minds rather than philodoxic ones. Corrupted
by bad education, they become dominated by one or the other of
the two elements in the mind, and become philodoxists like those
men who are not by nature capable (alone) of being ruled by their
love of wisdom. The philosophic natures have greater ability, and
hence they become far worse than the others.

Thus the qualification for being able to know the forms is
not merely the possession of a philgsophic element which is by
nature capable of ruling over the mind. This element which can
have greater or less ability or love of wisdom for different men
must not only be strong enough in its love and its ability (by
nature) to control the mind and know the forms, it must also have
the opportunity to become what its nature is. Whereas men who
are craftsmen or soldiers by nature can also be ruled by their
rational element, this element (in them) is not by itself strong
enough to rule their minds without the external reinforcement of
the regson of philosophic rulers.

But in men who are naturally philosOphic, this phiIOSOphic
element is powerful enough in its desire and its ability to reason,
etc., that if it gets the proper nourishment, whether by accident

or by a good education, it will rule.over the mind and be able to

 

15a.
knowythe forms even without external reinforcement. And although
many men can have limited knowledge, perhaps, and know those
forms which their craft or line of duty requires, only those

4:

whose lovewofflwisdom and talent for learning it have been fos-
tered by a good education or by good fortune can acquire know-
ledge--or at least, knowledge not limited to some one small job.
Plato has claimed that the philosopher is ouyyévns with F“

the four virtues, and with knowledge and truth. He next will

claim that the philosophic element (in every man's mind, so far h-"

 

as one can tell) is not only ouvyévns with these and the other
forms, but like them is eternal. The triadic description of the

mind is only accurate for its condition during human life. Plato

 

claims, near the end of the Republic, that in its "truest" nature,
when separated from the body, the mind is not a composition of
three elements (two of them by nature inferior) but an indivisible

to kovLoerdv purified of its human companions.

608c-611d
Socrates opens his argument for the immortality of the mind
with the comment that an immortal thing ought not be concerned with
human life, which lasts only a short time compared with eternity.
Glaucon is puzzled at this opinion, and Socrates explains (608d3):
"Haven't you perceived (06x fioencet).that our minds are
immortal and never are destroyed (dsdvetos . . . not 066 I016

dudlluret)?“
"By Zeus, no!"

 

Socrates claims that it is not difficult to believe, and he begins

his argument with a definition of gobd and bad (608d13):

155.

"Do you call some things good and some things bad?"

"I do. I!

"Then do you conceive them as I do (éonep évw IEDL eétmv
éuevofi)?"

"How do you conceive them?"

"What corrupts and destroys anything (To . . . duokldov
not dueeeetpov nevi is what is bad (to xauov), and what re-
serves and benefits it (to . . . adtwv we: deerOv) 18 what
. w ‘:sr' '--'
is good (to eyeeov .

"I conceive them as you do."

 

 

This definition construes good and bad as relative terms. (It is
at least not obvious that this is a definition of "the good"--i.e.
the form of the good--for Plato claims that the form of the good
cannot be expressed.l) What is good is good for something, and
similarly with what is bad. Opthalmia is bad for the eyes, ill-
ness is bad for the body, rust is bad for iron, and so on. Every
object in the domain of becoming has its own natural evil and
disease (odueurov . . . xexov 1e ueL vdonue). What is good for

an object preserves it from corruption and destruction, and bene-
fits it rather than harms it. And what is bad for something is
what makes it worse and threatens its existence.

Thus if the natural evil and disease of an object fails to
destroy it, nothing else will. How can what is good for something
destroy it, or what is neither good nor evil? (609d6):

"Then when any of these things is attacked by this [natu-
ral evil and disease] (IQ . . . upooyévntut), doesn't it infect
what is attacked (tovnpdv 1e tenet é upoaeyeveto), and tear it
aIl'to ieces and destroy it (teleUtmv 610v 6L€kuaev we: End-
Xeaev)?“

"Of course."

"Then the sickness (A tovana) and the natural evil (To
adventov . . . xuxov) of each thing destroys it. Or, if this

does not destroy it, then nothing can ever destrpy it (sure its
6te¢8efpetev). For what is good for something can never de-

 

lRepublic 506c.

 

156.

stroy it, and neither can what is neither good nor evil."
"Of course."

The assumption seems to be that what is bad for something is what
initiates and continues some natural process which corrupts its
substance and which (if not arrested by "what is good") will end
death or non-existence. For instance, hunger (the physical state
as Opposed to the feeling or the desire) will begin and continue
the process of attrition which ends in starvation if the organism
cannot obtain food. What contributes to the survival of the or-
ganism (or the continuance of the object) is what is good, and
what leads to death (or non-existence) is evil.

But for what is immortal, Socrates claims, such a process
can only corrupt: it cannot destroy. In this respect, according
to Plato, the mind and the body are different. Since the body is
mortal, its natural evil sickness (tovane) will if unchecked
bring about its death. But although injustice is the sickness of
the mind, it is not fatal. Therefore, the mind, unlike the body,
cannot die (609b9):

"Then what about the mind? Isn't there something in it

which makes it bad (6 zone! outnv xexfiv)?"

"Very much so; everything which we have mentioned: in-

justice, lack of discipline, cowardice, andignorance."

"Do any of these things tear it to pieces and destroy it

(outnv dueldet te we: dtdkluat)? And keep in mind that we
would not be entirely mistaken if we maintainedithat the unjust
and stupid man is destroyed by his injustice, a mental illness,
when he is apprehended in being unjust (not évv3et un éEatete-
tnemuev oineévteg tov détxov dvepmuov xet dvdntov, Stew lnmeh

détxmv, rdte dtolwkevet fire the détheg, tovanes ofiong du-
xfls) . . . ."

It would not be entirely mistaken, because if he is caught and

executed his body would be destroyed, not by his injustice alone

 

157.
but by other men. Only bodily evils can destroy the body (609c5):

" . . . . The body's sickness is an illness which corrodes
the body and breaks it apart, which leads to its death. Every
object which we have mentioned is torn apart by its own evil
and the corruption in it. which returns it to non-existence
(etc to un elves detxvettet). Doesn't it?":;'

"Yes . '0

When the body disintegrates through corruption, it ceases to be
one human body and becomes many bodies. At some point in the
“t

process of corruption (Plato does not say when), the body dies and

the mind and body are disjoined.

There are two alternatives, according to Plato. Either

 

 

the mind is destroyed by the natural process of corruption within
it, or the mind is immortal, because the natural evil of one thing
cannot destroy another thing. A man's sickness or illness can only
affect that portion of him which has the sickness or illness.
Hence an illness which is bodily can only affect his body, immedi-
ately. It could only affect his mind if his bodily illness brought
about a mental illness. His mind could not be destroyed by any
bodily illness unless the bodily illness brought about a mental
illness, and the mental illness in turn destroyed his mind. Simi-
‘1arly, an illness in the mind can only cause the death of the body
Iby producing sickness in the body, as for instance when a man is
executed for his injustice.

Thus if the natural evil of the mind cannot destroy the
:nind, then no evil of the body can destroy the mind: for the natu-
ral evil of the body could only destroy the mind if it could pro-
duce a mental evil to destroy the mind. But the natural evil and

illness of the mind, argues Socrates, is injustice. And although

158.
injustice can corrupt the mind, it cannot destroy it (609du):

"Does injustice or any other evil which is present in the
mind corrupt and consume the mind, tearing it apart until it
is destroyed and thus causing the body to be separated from it,
resulting thenhin death?"

"Net at 3110"

"Yet, it is irrational for something to be destroyed by
another's sickness, and yet not be destroyed by its own sick-
ness."

It would be irrational either if the illness of the mind caused
the death of the body without causing any illness in the body, or
if the illness in the body caused the death of the mind when even
mental illness cannot cause the death of the mind.

The natural evil and illness of the mind is injustice:
ignorance, cowardice, or lack of self-control. None of these can
be produced by bodily illness, argues Socrates, and even if it
could, injustice is not a fatal disease. Since injustice is not
fatal, and since the mental illness and natural evil of the mind is
injustice, the mind cannot die. Glaucon agrees that injustice is
the natural evil of the mind, and that it is not fatal (6l0d7):

" . . . I am inclined to think that injustice appears to
be just the opposite: it has killed other men, when possible,
but it has kept its possessor very much alive, and vigilant
about staying alive. Thus, far from being fatal, it seems, it
has kept him in his tent."

"Well said. For when its own illness and its own evil is
not enough to kill and destroy the mind, the evil which has
ruined another thing cannot destroy the mind or anything else
except what it has ruined."

"That is impessible (Zxokfi . . . 5: ye to eixd;)."

"Then when it is not destroyed by any evil, either its own
or another's, it is clear that it must exist forever (dvdyxn
euro den 6v elven). And if it exists forever, it is immortal."

"It must be."

Since neither injustice nor anything else can destroy the mind,

it is immortal. The entire argument depends, of course, on the

hi‘

 

159.

assumption that some kind of injustice is the only natural evil
and illness of the mind. One would suppose that even in Plato's
day senility and psychotic behavior could be distinguished from
injustice, and that physical causes for such psychological states
could be at least conjectured. On the other hand, it depends upon
how one looks at it. It seems barbarous to say "mental illness

is injustice," or to say that the cause of such behavior is in- E
justice in the mind. It suggests that the mentally ill are en~

tirely reSponsible (and blameable) for their illness. Looking ’

 

at it the other way around, however, is intriguing: "injustice
is only mental illness," or "injustice, a mental illness, causes
people to be senile, psychotic, etc." It may be false, but it is
interesting.

After an invalid argument to the effect that the number
of minds in the universe is finite, Socrates calls attention to
a problem. If the mind is immortal, like the forms, then it is
(for him) hard to believe that it is really a synthesis of three
elements (611b1):

" . . . nor would we believe that the mind in its truest
nature (tn dineeetdtn edeen) is such a thing [i.e. immortal],
if it is full of great variation, complete unlikeness, and
difference with itself (date toklfig tonxnlfes xen dvouoiz:'
tntds re xen 5ne¢0p52_yéuenv euro tpog e016)."

"What do you mean?"

"It is not probable (06 ddénov) that an immortal thing is
a synthesis (eiénov eren . . . auveéeen) ppt together between
many elements (adveetdv . . . ix toklmv) and not provided with
what is noblest [or most beautiful] (un tn xellfatn xexpfi-
uevov), as the mind now appeared to us (is va flutv éedvn fl
¢vxfi)."

"It isn't likely."

 

 

 

 

The picture of the mind which Plato has developed heretofore is

160.
that of a synthesis of three elements which are sometimes at odds
with one another, and capable of becoming and remaining unjust.
The three elements can vary greatly from time to time and from
person to person, they are not at all similar to one another, and
they are completely different from one another in form and in kind.
Moreover, two of the elements are inferior to the third, making
the mind--even in the best of men--partly, at least, ignoble.
The picture we now have, according to Socrates, is a strange one:
an immortal thing which is plural and unbeautiful.

Socrates claims that this strange picture of the mind is
incorrect. The mind is only many and ignoble during its human life
(i.e. while it is embodied). A man is mortal, and his mind is
triadic and unbeautiful; but the same man's mind, after his body
dies, is no longer subject to the influences and "carnal accre—
tions" upon it.1 There is a difficulty about the translation of
the passage in which Plato makes this claim, however. First, I
will give the usual translation of it (611b9):

"That the mind (¢uxn) is immortal (dedvetov) our recent
argument and the others necessitate (dveyxéoenev). But we must
observe it as it truly is (610v 6' éetnv th dlnaefe . . . Get
e610 eedoeaeen), not mutilated (06 lekmBnuévov) by its partner-
ship with the bogy_(tfis toD adheres xonvmvfes) and by other
evils (dikuv xexmv), as we observe it now, but as it is when
is becomes purified (oIdv éetnv xeeepov ynyvduevov): the sort
of thing perfectly enyisioned by reasonin (tonthov éxevmg
loyneuh éneeeerov). It will find itself e610 edpfieen) very

noble [or beautiful] Yield]. . . xdlknov) and will see more
clearly (évepyZorepov . . . 6n6¢eten) justice and injustice,

 

 

 

 

1The phrase is Crombie's. See I. M. Crombie, An Examina-
tion of Plato's Doctrines, I, 3&9. However, Crombie believes that
the "carnal accretions"_hccompany the mind after the death of the
body. On the interpretation of this passage, see also G. M. A.
Grube, Plato's Thougbp, pp. 138-39.

 

 

161.

and all that we have discussed . . . ."
The difficulty with translating the passage in this usual way is
that there is a difference in gender between the supposed subject
"¢uxfi" and all of the other words in the passage which refer or
apply to it. "Tuxfi" is feminine, and all the rest are neuter:
"deevetov," "lekanuévov," "e616," "ynyvouévov," "TOLDOtov,"
"6neeeetov," "xdklnov," "e616," and "évepyéotepov."

Accordingly, I suggest that the text be amended by re-

 

placing "¢uxn" with "euxh"} the result reads as follows:

"The present argument and the others necessitate that an
immortal thing is in the mind (' Otn . . . eedvetov ¢ux§.
And it must observe itself as it truly is, not mutilated by
its partnership with the body and by other evils, as we now
observe it, but as it is when it becomes purified: the sort
of thing perfectly observed by reasoning. It will find itself
very beautiful and will see more clearly justice and injust-
ice, and all that we have discussed. What we were saying
about it is true, as it appears at_present (oIov év rd tepdvtn
eefveten). We have observed it conditioned (SnexeCuevov),
as those who see the Sea-god Glaucon cannot yet easily see his
ori inal nature (euroD . . . tnv dpxeCev odonv), because the
anoient portions of his body have been broken off, crushed and
mutilated by the waves. And other things have encrusted him,
barnacles, seaweed, and mineral deposits, so that he seems to
be anything but what he is by nature (030: fiv eueen). In this
way we observe the mindfitnv ¢uxnv . . . duets eedueee) condi-
tioned by a thousand evils (6nexenuévnv Ono uupfwv xexmv .

 

I suggest the following interpretation of this passage: we observe
the mind conditioned because we observe it during our human lives,
and it appears to us so conditioned by its human existence. But
when the rational element (the immortal thing) is purified of the
evils which new condition it, it can see itself as it is by nature:
an unconditioned mind and philosophic element, unencrusted by two
inferior portions and unmutilated by the corruptions of ignorance,

injustice, etc.

162.

When so unconditioned, the purified rational elements/”3
can not only see itself more clearly, it can also see more clearly
"justice and injustice, and all that we have discussed." In other
words, when it is restored from mutilating evils and purged of
encrusted portions of spirit and appetite, it can see more clearly
that which it may or may not have been able to perceive during
its human life: the forms. In its "truest nature" the mind is
an unmutilated and unencrusted philosophic element, an immortal
thing which ressembles and is euyyévns with what it loves and
knows: the immortal, unique, and unchanging forms.

"We must look in another direction," says Socrates, in
order to find the "truest nature" of the mind (Glld7):

"We must look in another direction, Glaucon."

"Where?"

"Toward its love of wisdom (El; tnv mnloaoefev evtfis).
And keep in mind the objects which it reaches for and graSps
(6v dtteten xen oihv’iofeten dunlmv), being kin to (euyyevng
oOoe) what is divineendpimmortal and always exists (1Q te
eefm Ken deevdtm xen IQ denidvtn). And it can become so
(oIe . . . yévonro) EZUBFPSUing all such things_(tm tonodte
taee étnetouévn), and by this effort (Ono re redtns the dpufis)
be lifted out of the sea in which it now exists, and be cleaned
of the minerals and barnacles which are now with it. As it
feeds upon earth, much wild rock and earth cling to it, due
to its so-called happy food. And whether or not anyone opp.
ever see its true nature (161' &v tn: Idon euths tnv dknefi
edenvij many4f3rmed or one-formed (efre toluenbns ette uovo-
endflg), and where it lives and how (etre Bun Exen xen fixes),
at least its forms and dispositions in its human life (to
Ev rd dvepmttvm 86m tdon re xen eton) have now been thor-
oughly investigated."

"Completely."

What the "true nature" of the mind is remains a mystery. The puri-
fied, disembodied rational element is unconditioned by association
with the other two elements and with material objects (the body

and the substances which nourish or corrupt it), and therefore

E‘i

 

 

163.
uncontaminated by the evils which human life imposes upon it
(injustice, ignorance, and the others). What the rational ele-
ment is, however, when it is unconditioned, is unknown. We do
not know whether it is simple (one-formed) or complex (many-
formed)--whereas in the Phaedo Plato maintained that the im-
mortal mind is simple, in the Republic he admits that he does
not know. I am unable to interpret the "Myth of Er," so my
examination of Plato's theory of the mind must end at this mys-
tery.

We have found Plato holding that the mind is triadic
during its human life. There are three things in it: the ra-
tional (or philoSOphic) element, the spirited (or honor-loving)
element, and the appetitive (or wealth-loving) element. The ra-
tional element loves wisdom: it desires that nourishment (real-
ity) which will fill its emptiness (ignorance) with knowledge,
and give the mind the pleasure of knowing. Spirit loves honor,
and gives the mind the pleasure of "controlling and winning and
being well-thought—of." And appetite loves the wealth that can
purchase the substances which bring "physical" pleasures and
which preserve human life.

Of these three things in the mind, the rational element
is what can learn to know the forms. If it is strong enough to
rule over the entire mind, and if it is not corrupted by bad educa-
tion, it can achieve its power of knowing. When all three elements
in the mind are doing their own work, the rational element will

not only obtain control over the whole mind but achieve the wisdom

 

16”.
that it loves.

Plato seems to have implied (in his story of the Sea-god
Glaucon) that when the mind (any man's mind) is separated from
the body, it will not merely be 32$2.t° know the forms, but will
actually know them. Since this body is mortal, and the other two
elements likewise mortal (apparently), there will be nothing to
prevent the mind from having complete knowledge. There will be
no inferior portions to challenge the rule of reason, and no evils
(such as ignorance and injustice) accompanying the rational ele-
ment, when it is purified. The unconditioned rational element
will therefore be wise and just. This is an inference, however,
based upon the interpretation of the passage about the Sea-god
Glaucon. Plato claims else that he does not know the nature of
the unencumbered rational element.

Most important for a study of Plato's epistemology, how-
ever, is (1) of the three things in the mind, only one of them is
able to know the forms, and (2) for knowledge, justice matters:
the mind can know the forms only if there is a harmony among the
three elements and reason rules. When there is justice in the mind
and the philosophic element (in certain rare individuals, prOperly
educated) becomes what its nature is, then knowledge of the forms
is possible.

The two objects in the epistemic relation, in Plato's theory
of knowledge, have been identified, at least to the extent that one
knows what Plato has in mind when he says that "the mind" knows the

"forms." What remains unexplained is the most important question:

 

165.
what relation holds between the rational element in the mind
and the forms, when the mind knows the forms? And this ques-
tion involves another question: b2! does the mind know the
forms? I will argue in chapter eight that the answer to the
first question is intuition (which Plato calls "vofiats," and
which I will be translating as "understanding" until I can prove
that I can call it "intuition"). First, however, I must answer
the second question, which Plato addresses in SOWa-SnOc, where
the nature of the mind and of the forms is presupposed and the

problem is how they come to be related as knower to known.

 

VI. KNOWLEDGE: THE LINE AND THE CAVE

The sun analogy introduced two "greatest things": the
good, reigning over intelligible kinds and their domain (BGOIAEG-
etv TO . . . vontoD yevoug te Ken tdnou), and the sun, reigning

over visible kinds and their domain. The divided line intro-

duces a further distinction relative to each of these domains--

 

not a distinction between things in these domains, but a distinc-
tion as to be! the mind is related (in knowing or believing) to

the objects in each domain. In the intelligible domain, the ob-
jects of knowledge (the forms) can either be known directly, by
vofiong, or through ipgges.(eikove), by Stevofe. These images of
the forms are the perceivable objects of the domain of appearance.
And in the visible domain, the objects of opinion (665a) can either
be believed (dogetetv) directly, or believed indirectly through
Ebsi£_images, by eikeofe. Finally, the allegory of the cave gives
(in the form of an image) the process by which the mind is led

from eireofe to voflets. We begin with the divided line analogy.

509d-517e
Socrates introduces the analogy of the divided line by
asking Glaucon to subdivide a line which has already been divided
into unequal segments (509d6):
"Take a line-segment bisected into unequal segments, 222.
for visible kinds and one for intelli ible kinds (TO Is 100

Bpwuévou yévous not to 105 voouuevou , and bisect each segment

192.

193.

again in the samegproportion (dva 10v aétov Aoyov). The one
segment (to Etepov) will be toygg_(001 Eorat) ima es letkdvcs)
in the visible domain (Ev . . . I? dpmuévm) in clarity and
unclarity relative to one another (oa¢nvefg Kat doaoetg woos
Eilnlaj. And I mean by images, first shadows, then reflections
in water and in opaque, smooth, shinin surfaces (év 10?: 30a
wokvd TE not Asia Kat ¢ava aquOTnKev and so on, if you under-
stand me."

"I do."

 

 

 

A line segment DL has been bisected unequally into a shorter seg-
ment DB and a longer segment BL. The shorter segment DB has again

been bisected into a shorter segment DA and a longer segment AB,

 

in the same proportion. Likewise, the longer segment BL has been
bisected into a shorter segment BC and a longer segment CL, in the
same proportion. The resulting linear figure has the following
geometrical prOperties: (l) DA:AB::DB:BL, (2) BC:CL::DB:BC, (3)
DA:AB::BC:CL, and (u) AB=BC.l The line segment DA corresponds to
images in the visible world, more or less clear relative to one
another. Shadows, for instance, are less clear than the mirror
images in Opaque, smooth, shining surfaces. Hence, the line seg-
ment DA represents a continuum of shadows and images, from the most
shadowy images as we approach point D to the most exact reproduc-
tions approaching point A.

The next line segment (AB) corresponds to perceivable ob-
jects themselves, rather than images of perceivable objects (SlOaS):

"To the other segment assign the objects which the former

are images of (§ toOto Ectxev): the animals around us and
every kind of (16v . . . yévos) of what grows naturall or is

entirely artificial (to ¢U€UTOV Kat to axeuaorov Blov).
I do so.
"And would you be willing to say that what is believed is

 

 

1Adam, The Republic of Plato, II, note and figure on
pp. 6““65 e

19“.

as different from what is known (thpfioeat . . . A; TO 605cc-

rov wpos TO yvmor6y), in truth and untruth (aAneefq TE Kat ufi),

as is an imgge from what it ressembles (ourm auctweev wpos to

m unatfian).'

"I certainly would."

Since perceivable objects are imitations of the forms, what is
believed is as different from what is known as images of perceiv-
able objects differ from those objects themselves. As shadows and

mirror images differ, "in truth and untruth," from the perceivable r

objects they are imitations of, so those perceivable objects differ

 

to the same degree from the real forms which they are imitations
of. This relationship corresponds to geometrical property (1) of
the divided line: DA:AB::DB:BL. Images of perceivable objects are
as remote in truth (i.e. authenticity) from their originals as are
perceivable objects from what is known. Since the images only 3337
semble their originals, they are not genuine (dAnefig) objects of
belief. Similarly, since these perceivable objects are themselves
only imitations of the forms, they are not genuine objects of know-
ledge. In authenticity and inauthenticity, what is believed is to
what is known as images are to their originals.

We are next to consider how the line segment corresponding
to what is known is to be divided. Socrates claims that the shorter
of these segments (BC) corresponds to Gtavofa, and the longer seg-
‘ment (CL) corresponds to vofiOIg. He begins by differentiating the
method of Gtavofa from the method of vofiatg (SlObu):

"[Relative to] the one se ment, the mind, em lo in the
former imitations as picturesgr'fi-t' TWTOWIHH'
__T01v w: eiKGOIv xpmuévn wuxn), is compelled to inquire from
hypotheses (cnreTv dvaykdcerat ea unoeéoemv) toward a conclu-"

sion rather than toward a premise (our éw apxnv . o . dAA:
teAeurflV). And [relative to] the other segment (to 6 cu step-

 

 

195.

ov)--toward an unhypothetical premise (éw' dpxnv avundeerov)--
it oes from hypotheses (ég unoeéoewg 1000a) without such
ima es (aveu va wept ereivo eixdev), its method obtaining.
(tnv uéeodov natouuévn) forms themselves through forms alone
(aUTOtS 615601 61 aurmv .
"I don' t quite understand what you mean."

 

 

Although this passage is somewhat difficult to put into English,
it is clear that in the former process the mind uses images in order
to understand the forms, these images being the perceivable objects
of 665a.1

Just as in eikaofa the mind perceives objects of GQEQ
through (61a) their images in water and on smooth surfaces, so in
dtavofa the mind knows the forms through thgi£_images, namely the
perceivable objects of 665a. And the latter process proceeds not
from hypotheses toward a conclusion, but from hypotheses toward a
first premise (dpxfi), and the mind knows the forms not through
images but through themselves (61' aurmv). Hence the segment of
the line BL is divided into the shorter segment BC and the longer
segment CL. The latter willbe associated with vofi01s (understand-
ing), and the former with 610vofa--because the mind understands
(voeT) the forms through (61a) perceivable objects as images.2

Thus the mind has indirect understanding (étavofa) when
it employs what Plato will call mathematical reasoning. For in-
stance, when the mathematician is really reasoning about the form

of a straight line, he draws an image and instance of this: an

 

1Adam, The Republic of Plato, II, notes on pp. 66-67.

2But see Liddell and Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon,
p. #05. There is no suggestion, in that very detailed work, of
any such interpretation of Gtcvofa as the one I have given to it.
If I am right about Plato's meaning, then it is not "ordinary."

 

196.
actual perceivable straight line. He reasons from the hypothesis,
the form of a straight line, to his conclusion, employing the
drawn line as an image (instance) of the form.

The mind has understanding (i.e. direct understanding,
vofiats) when it engages in what Plato will call dialectical rea-
soning: it reasons from hypotheses toward the premises which they
follow from, and it does not require images in order to understand
the forms. For instance, when a mathematician inquires from hypo-
theses toward their premises, he can reason with forms alone and
understand the forms through themselves (if he is a dialectical
mathematician, of course). The objects which Plato is calling
"hypotheses," "premises," and "conclusions" are the forms, as these
are the objects of knowledge, regardless of whether they are under-
stood directly or indirectly.

Glaucon has asked for a further explanation of the objects
and types of inquiry which the segments of this part of the line
indicate, and Socrates begins with hypothetical reasoning (5l0c2):

" . . . I think that you know that mathematicians in

arithmetic and geometry, and so on, hypothesize (uuoeéuev01)
the even and the odd, the figures and the three forms of
angles, and other forms pr0per to each subject. These hypo-
theses have been adopted as if they were known (siddtes),

and no one demands that an explanation (Aayov) of them be

given either by himself or by anyone else, as though they were
already evident (eavepmv). And since all the rest follows step
by step from these (in toOva . . . dpxduevOI . . . 616513»-
tec), they finish in complete agreement with_whatnthey anchor

the investi ation upon (oquoyouuévm: int 10610 06 éfll oréva

opufiawot).
"Yes, I certainly know that."

 

No explanation (A670:) is given for the "hypotheses"; they are

 

simply assumed. From these "hypotheses" conclusions (teAedtat)

 

 

197.
are drawn, consistent with the hypotheses they follow from. But
although the "hypotheses" are really forms (the even, the odd, and
so on), the reasoning about these forms is conducted through per-
ceivable examples, i.e. sense-objects (SlOdS):

"Then don' t you know that they require the visible forms
(TOT: opwuévo1s £16501 upooxpwvta1) and make their arguments
[or explanations] about them (too; AGYoug nep1 aurwv no1oUv
101), and yet they are not thinkingabout these visible forms
(ou wep1 tofitmv 61cvooduevo1)’but about those objects of which "'
these are copies (ekefvwv «€91 oig_ta01a eo1re)? They make
their arguments on behalf of (evere) the square itself, the
diagonal itself, and so on, instead of what they are drawing_
(aAA ou Todtns nv ypdoou01v). And these figures which they
draw and construct, of which there are shadows and images in
water (wv Ka1 ox1a1 K01 év u6a01v e1K6vss £101v), are needed
as images (ms e1x601v) by those who are seekin to see forms
themselves (100101; . . . Cutoflvtes . . . aura eKeTva {GeTVS
which none would see except with indirect understanding (a our
. . . 5AAws 1601 11: n tfi 61cvofq).1r

"That' 3 true."

 

 

 

 

 

In this final phrase, my translation differs from the cus-
tomary ones, which imply that the objects known by 61avofa are
different from those known by vofio1s.. It seems to me that "d"
refers back to "éKeTva," which in turn refers to "those objects of
which the visible forms are cOpies," i.e. the forms. And "d" is the
direct object of "1601," whose subject is "11:." Therefore "11;"
is either completely unrestricted, or qualified by "100101;." The
result is that this phrase can mean either "which no one could see
except by indirect understanding" or "which none of them [those who
need the visible forms] could see except by indirect understanding."
Thus my translation, "that none would see except by indirect under-
standing," leaves the English as ambiguous as the Greek. But my
interpretation is that it means none of them: none of the mathema-

ticians who employ images can see the forms exept by indirect un-

198.

derstanding. For according to the analogy of the sun, ell Of the
forms can be understood (vonrdv) when one sees them in the "light"
of the form of the good.1

The rest of the language in this quotation makes it clear
that what is known by means of the method of reasoning from hypo-
theses to conclusions are (some of) the forms, and that these forms
are known through their images, such as the pictures which mathema-
ticians draw when they reason. Although their arguments are os-

tensibly about these pictures, they are really reasoning with the

 

forms which the images ressemble. Thus the line segment BL, di-
vided into the shorter segment BC and the longer segment CL, has
for its objects, reSpectively, images of the forms (i.e. objects
directly perceived by 665a) and the forms themselves. The divided
line now represents (a) ways in which the mind believes or knows,
and (b) objects which the mind believes or knows. In efkaofa,
represented by DA, the mind has indirect opinion of perceivable
objects: it believes (605dce1) them through their images (shadows,
reflections in water, etc.). The direct objects of eikaofa are
these images, but through these images the mind has indirect 66£a
of perceivable objects themselves. In 665a, represented by AB,
the mind has direct Opinion of perceivable objects themselves,
rather than having belief of them through images. In 61avofe,
represented by BC, the mind has indirect understanding of the

forms: it knows them through their images , the perceivable ob-

 

1For an example of how the passage is ordinarily trans-
lated and interpreted, see Cornford, The Republic of Plato,
pp. 225, 222-223.

'I

199.

jects of direct opinion. The direct objects of 51avofa are per-
ceivable objects, but through these imitations of the forms the
mind has indirect understanding of the forms themselves. And in
vofio1g, represented by CL, the mind has direct understanding of
the forms themselves, rather than having 51avofa of them through
their examples (imitations, images).

If this interpretation is correct, then geometrical prop-
erties (2), (3), and (u) of the divided line also fit into the
analogy, and Adam and others are wrong in suggesting that there is

1 First, the images of

an anomoly in the equality of AB and BC.
perceivable objects are imitations and images of the (relatively)
authentic perceivable objects themselves. Likewise, these per-
ceivable objects are imitations and images of the authentic forms,
through which they are known; the objects represented by BC also
stand, toward the forms represented by CL, in the relation of imi-
tations and images to their originals. Thus, property (3) of the
divided line holds: DA:AB::BC:CL; in truth and untruth, images are
to perceivable objects as perceivable objects are to the forms.
Second, since the difference between the imitations em-
ployed in 61evofa and their originals directly understood by vofio1s
is exactly the same as the difference between what is believed and
what is known, the property (2) of the divided line holds: in truth
and.untruth, BC:C ::DB:BL. The images (examples) employed by in-

direct understanding are to the forms understood directly as (these

same) perceivable objects of opinion are to (these same) forms

 

lAdam, The Republic of Plato, II, on.

 

200. ’

known. And third, property (u) holds: since the objects of di-

 

rect opinion are the same as the objects employed by indirect
understanding, AB=BC. In truth and untruth, the direct objects
of Opinion are the same as the Objects employed in indirect un-
derstanding, and therefore there is equal authenticity.

Plato will claim that the analogy holds not only in
respect of truth and untruth, but also in respect of clarity and
unclarity, when he reviews the four divisions Of the line. But

thus far he has only said that the line represents shadows and

 

images in clarity and unclarity relative to one another. He has
not yet claimed that the major divisions of the line are clear
and unclear relative to one another, and he will never claim that
the Objects represented within each domain are more or less true
(authentic) relative to one another. We may infer that each of
the other three line segments represents its Objects in positions
corresponding to their clarity and unclarity relative to one anoth-
er. Some perceivable Objects are more clear than others, and some
forms are more clear than others. But we have no grounds here for
assuming that some forms are more genuine than others, or that
some perceivable objects are more genuine than Others.

At Slle Plato will claim that (between divisions, not with-
in divisions) each type of knowing and believing "partakes as
1nuch Of clarity as its Objects partake of truth." This appears
‘to create an anomoly in the divided line analogy, since it makes
direct Opinion as clear as indirect understanding (and as authen-

'tic): the Objects through which the latter has indirect under-

201.

standing are the same as those which the former believes directly.
But 61avofc igpl3_any clearer or more authentic than 66£a in how
it grasps those Objects which correspond to it and which it uses.

But in direct understanding (vofio1s) the forms are known,
not through perceivable images and examples as with 61avofo, but
"through themselves." Socrates begins his discussion of this part
of the divided line by distinguishing between the hypothetical n-H
method and the dialectical method (Sllb3):

"Then you may understand what I say about what is intelli-
ible (TOD vonroD)[corresponding to] the other segment, which
una1ded reasonipg_(cfitos O A6705) ggasps byythe power of dia-
lactic (EntsIa1 Ifi TOD 61aA€yeoea1 Guvdue1). It does not
adopt the hypotheses as premises (tag unoeéoe1 wo1ofiuevog .

. . dpxac), but really as hypotheses (I? 5vt1 unoeéoe1s),
upward steps and anchors (én18éos1g re Ke1 Opudg), in order to
et all the way to the unhypothetical be innin of everything
§Yva uéxp1 IOU évunoeétou En1 tnv IOU nevro; apxnv {év). And
having grasped this (dwduevos auras), it goes back down toward
conclusions (én1 reAEUInv KataBafvg) keeping hold of the con-
seguences (éxduevo: 15v éKefvns éx6uevwv). It requires abso-
lutely nothing perceivable, but descends with forms alone [or
with forms themselves] through forms to forms, and concludes

with forms (eiGsO1v afitofs 611e§tfivfiei§ a618, Ka1 IeAeurd
51$ eidn)."

 

 

 

The unhypothetical beginning of everything (or first premise of
all, IOU HGVTOS dpxnv) is the form Of the good. Once the mind has
grasped this unhypothetical beginning, it can descend to conclu-
sions. And neither the ascent nor the descent requires images in
order to aid the reasoning. Since one knows the forms directly,
rather than through perceivable examples, one can ratiocinate
without needing any perceivable things as images and examples.
And once the form of the good is understood, all of the other
forms can be understood as following from the form Of the good.

Whereas the hypothetical method goes from hypotheses toward their

202.
conclusions, the dialectical method goes from the hypotheses to
their premises, until it reaches the unhypothetical dpxfi. The
descent back down, likewise, can dispense with images entirely
(which makes the process different from hypothetical reasoning
in both directions), and one can understand all of the forms as
consequences (nearer or more remote) from the form of the good.
But what does this reasoning from forms to forms involve? What
does this reasoning with forms themselves consist of, and what
is the relation among the forms which such reasoning follows?
It is no longer possible to avoid undertaking a most speculative
inquiry: what is the logic of Plato's forms?

The description of Kneale and Kneale, although brief,
suggests the general outline of the logic of the forms, which I
am taking as a point of departure:

Both in the Republic and the SO hist there is a strong
suggestion that correct thinking 1s following out the connec-
tions between Forms. The model is mathematical thinking, e.g.
the proofgiven in the Meno that the square on the diagonal
is double the original square in area. For Plato necessary
connections hold between Forms, and inference is presumably
valid when we follow in thought the connections between Forms
as they are.1

The Meno example illustrates mathematical thinking in that it is

deductive: from its assumptions (which in the Republic Plato calls

 

"hypotheses") one deduces conclusions.2 If this mathematical
'thinkfing makes inferences which correspond to the "necessary con-

nections" between the forms, then it is correct mathematical think-

 

lWilliam Kneale and Martha Kneale, The DevelOpment of
Logic (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962), p. 20.

2Meno Bud-85b.

 

 

203.
ing, or as we would now call it, valid inference. In this mathe-
matical thinking, this reasoning from hypotheses to conclusions,
one does not need vofiO1§ of the forms about which one is thinking
or reasoning. He can think and reason by means of images (i.e.,

for Plato, examples), and therefore in the Republic Plato claims

 

that hypothetical reasoning (reasoning by means Of images of the
forms one is reasoning about) proceeds from hypotheses to conclu-
sions, i.e. deductively.

It is important to realize, however, that whether mathemat-

 

ical reasoning is propositional or not, the forms themselves are

 

ppE_prOpositional. The "hypotheses" and "conclusions" are not
propositions, but forms. In such reasoning these forms may be un-
derstood through "images" (actual drawn lines, etc., and perhaps
even sentences), but nevertheless the hypotheses and conclusions
are not these images but the forms, which are understood through

the images. Since the hypotheses and conclusions are forms, the

 

relations between them are connections between forms-~"necessary
connections," in some sense.

However, mathematical reasoning is only one Of the two
forms of reasoning described in the Republic. Plato claims that
when we have direct understanding (vofla1s) Of the forms, we can
"go from hypotheses to an doxfi." The process of dialectical rea-
soning seems tO be the reverse of the process of mathematical (or
hypothetical) reasoning. Since the forms are changeless, it may
be presumed that the "necessary connections" befleen them cannot

change. Therefore in dialectical reasoning (when that reasoning

20".
is correct) we must be following those same necessary connections
from hypotheses to an dpxfi which "implies" them. In other words,
in following these "necessary connections" we are inferring the
"premises" from which the "hypotheses" can be validly inferred by
deduction. Hypothetical reasoning, if correct, is valid deduction
of conclusions from hypotheses, whereas dialectical reasoning (at
least that part Of it which "goes from hypotheses to an dpxfi") is
valid induction, in Aristotle's sense, of premises from hypotheses
which are implied by those premises. After the inductive reason-
ing, Of course, they are not "hypotheses" but conclusions which
follow from the unhypothetical first_premise (dpxfl) with which they
are linked by the "necessary connections."

For Aristotle, induction consists in "finding the middle
term."1 For instance, Socrates dies, Plato dies, etc., and one
needs an explanation why all of these individuals are mortal. Then.
one discovers that they are mortal because they are men. One per-
ceives that all men are (necessarily) mortal, and therefore if
Socrates is a man, then it follows (necessarily) that he is mortal.
The inference from "all men are mortal" and "Socrates is a man" to
"Socrates is mortal" is a valid deductive inference. But the infer-
ence from "Socrates is a man" and "Socrates is mortal" to "all men
are mortal" is inductive: we discover that he is (necessarily)

mortal because he is human. If we further seek to know why all

 

lAristotle Posterior Analytics 89b10-20, lOOb. See also
(I) W. D. Ross, Aristotle: a Complete Exposition of His Works 8
Thou ht, Meridian—Books, pp. uz-uu, and (2) Copleston, A Histogy
of Ph1losophy, Vol. I, Pt. I, pp. 25-26.

 

F‘I’

 

 

 

 

205.

 

men are mortal, we find that they are animals, and that all ani-
mals are mortal, and so on, until we reach definitions and first

principles (5pxa1). In other words, inductive reasoning (if cor-

 

rect--that is, if it discovers the necessary connections) is just
the reverse of scientific demonstration; and induction as an infer-
ential process (correct or otherwise) is the reverse of deduction.
For Plato, of course, these necessary connections hold Efl#

between forms, not between kinds, propositions, or particulars.

But, just as Plato's variety of "deduction" infers forms from

 

forms which "imply" them, so Plato's variety Of "induction" infers
forms from forms "implied by" them. It proceeds from "hypotheses"
to the dpxfi which "implies" those "hypotheses."

Thus, both in Plato's deduction and in his induction,
valid inference is correspondence with the "necessary connections"
between forms. But in hypothetical reasoning, one deduces forms
from forms, following these necessary connections from premises
to conclusions, whereas in dialectical reasoning (or, at least, in
the upward portion Of dialectical reasoning) one induces forms
from forms, following these same necessary connections from con-
clusions to their premises, until one finally reaches their unhypo-
thetical origin (dpxfi). Then, in turn, one can deduce the whole
system of forms "implied" by this single origin (the form of the
good).

This theory of a system of forms related to the form of
the good by "necessary connections," in which the unhypothetical

form of the good "implies" all of the forms, encounters a diffi-

206.
culty. Since the forms are not propositional, what can these
"necessary connections" be? What is this "implication" that holds
between the forms? Brumbaugh thinks that this relation is a sort
of "inclusion." He begins by noting two "facts":

The possibility of science and logic, and that of sound
common sense as well, rest on two facts: first, that the
forms are an ordered system; second, that their order sets up
limits and imposes patterns on the world of space and time
in which their instances appear.1

The order Of this system, according to Brumbaugh, consists of

2 The Odd,

relations of "inclusion" and "exclusion" among forms.
or Oddness, for instance, "includes" the one, the three, the five,
etc., and it "excludes" the even. Hence, it also "excludes" what-
ever the even "includes": the two, the four, etc Such Opposites
as the even and the Odd, life and death, tallness and shortness,
and the good and the bad are "mutually exclusive": each Of them
"excludes" the other, and therefore "excludes" whatever the other
"includes."

Moreover, it is by "inclusion" and "exclusion" that the
forms set limits and impose patterns upon particulars. Since the
Odd and the even exclude one another, any collection of things
which is odd is necessarily not even, and vice versa. And since
the even includes the two, any pair of Objects is necessarily even.

Particulars are limited and ordered in these ways because forms

"include" and "exclude" forms. (Although Brumbaugh does not men-

 

1Robert S. Brumbaugh, Plato for the Modern Age, Collier
Books , p. 110.

21bid., pp. 110-111.

 

 

 

207.
tion them, one wonders about "mutually inclusive" forms. Any-
thing triangular is necessarily trilateral, and vice versa.
Therefore they (triangularity and trilaterality) are mutually
inclusive. Are they the same, or different?)
There are two difficulties about Brumbaugh's point Of

view: (1) what do "inclusion" and "exclusion" mean? And (2)

 

1
E‘—

the forms do not, according to Plato, entirely succeed in im-
posing such patterns and limits upon particulars. Things in the

world of becoming "are and are not whatever you call them"; they

 

are "ambivalent," like riddles. They only have "intermediate ex-
istence," since (for instance) what is even can also be in some
way odd.l Apparently, fOr Plato, pply_the domain of the forms is
consistent and coherent. This is not a criticism of Brumbaugh,
for he is platonizing rather than giving a theory Of Plato's logic

Of the forms.

 

But the main problem is not with the limits and patterns
imposed (or not entirely imposed) upon particulars, but with the
relations among the forms. In what sense do forms "include," and
"exclude," forms? If we assume that the whole system Of forms is
"implied" by the form Of the good, which seems to be implied by
saying that the form of the good is the unhypothetical origin of
the forms, then all of the forms are "included by" the form of the
good. But then the form of the good includes the form of the bad,
even though as the Opposite of the good it is "excluded by" the

good. How can the good both include and exclude its Opposite?

 

1See above, pp. 64-65.

208.

Inasmuch as the good is the cause of the being and sub-
stance Of all of the forms, the relations between the forms will
be a function Of the relations between the form Of the good and
all of the other forms. But as Ross notes, even though it is the

form of the good which gives value as well as existence to all of

 

the other forms, the relation between the form Of the good and the

. . FT?
other forms cannot be that of final causal1ty:

If we are to attempt even dimly to understand Plato's mean-
ing, we must first realize that the functions assigned to the p,
Idea Of gnodgare assigned to it in relation not to the sensible
world, but to the world of Ideas; it plays the part in relation
to them that the sun plays in relation to sensible things. In
saying what he does of it he is not stating, directly at any

\ rate, a teleological view of the world of nature. What he is
saying is that the Ideas themselves exist and are known by vir-
tue of their relation to the Idea of good. What can be the
meaning of such a view Of the world of universals? It is rea-\
sonable to Offer a teleological explanation of some or all of L
the facts of nature, if we believe either in a benevolent Gov- 1
ernor of the universe, or in a nisus in natural Objects toward
the good. But a teleological explanation of the world Of Ideas
is in a different position. Ideas are not changeable things,
plastic to the will of a Governor; they are standards to which
a Governor Of the universe must conform. Nor on the other hand
can we conceive of the Ideas as having a nisus towards good . .
. ; things may have a nisus, but universals cannot.1

 

 

The fOrms (including the form Of the good) may be aimed at by par-
‘ticulars in the world Of becoming, but this does not account for
either the nature of the forms or the relations between them. Pur-
pose and the teleological language of purpose are irrelevant to the
"necessary connections" bemeen the forms.

The form Of the good is an Object of love, and therefore a ,
final cause, for all purposes of beings which can have purposes,

and it may be the case that, for Plato, all particulars in the

 

lRoss, Plato's Theory Of Ideas, p. #1.

209.

world Of becoming are purposive. But the relations between the
form of the good and the other forms cannot be such a final
causality. The forms are not purposive beings, nor are they
efficient causes (means to the form of the good as an end) among
themselves. The form of the good must be the cause of the forms
in some other sense. All Of the other forms may exist and be
what they are because they are good, and therefore have those
"necessary connections" between them for the same reason, but
that does not tell us what the necessary connections-are.

One of the criticisms frequently made of Plato is that
he has failed to recognize relational universals.l One finds
constant reference to monadic forms, but only relatively rarely
does one encounter in Plato terms that might be interpreted as
referring to relations. In the Timaeus, for instance, we are told
about "the same" (identity) and "the other" (difference), and in
the Phaedo we find a reference to "perfect equality."2 And we
find the "double" and "half" in the Republic, and "tallness" and
"shortness" in the Phaedo, where it seems that Plato is taking
these for monadic forms rather than for relational ones.3

If Plato would recognize certain relational forms, then
we could interpret these "necessary connections" as some sort of,/
relational forms which the forms in those relations partake of in

pairs. An argument for doing so would be that otherwise these

 

1Russell, The Problems of Philospphy, chap. vii, passim.
2Timaeus 35a, and Phaedo 75a.

3Republic u75c, and Phaedo lOOc-Ola.

 

 

 

210.
would not be intelligible (vontdv), since only forms are objects
of understanding (vofio1s). The disadvantage of this conjecture,
however, is that it would place some relational forms "higher
than the good in rank and power"--or at least higher in rank. Any
form which the good partakes of would seem to stand higher in the

higher in the hierarchy of forms than the good, and this does not

 

fit the picture of the good Plato describes in the analogy of the
sun. Moreover, there is no evidence anywhere in Plato that pairs

of particulars, rather than individual particulars, partake of uni-

 

 

versalthrms. Nevertheless, this is possible; Plato may have
thought that there are relational universals. The chief objection
would be to the claim that the "necessary connections" are univer-
sals (i.e. relational forms), for in that case the form Of the good
(along with the forms it "implies") would partake of them, and thus
be "lower" in the hierarchy than the "necessary connections."

There is no direct evidence in the Republic that the forms

 

partake of one another. As we have noted, Plato does say that they

"1 But

are "in common with one another among bodies and activities.
he nowhere in the Republic claims that they are in common with one
another otherwise--in participation relations, for instance. Never-
theless, the most plausible hypothesis, in my Opinion, for what the
"necessary connections" are is that they are participation relations
(relations, that is, of instantiation and imitation among forms).

Participation relations are not forms, and therefore are not

objects of understanding. In the Parmenides, where Plato encounters

 

1See above, pp. 50-51.

2ll.
the suggestion that participation is a form, he rejects it by
means of a third-man argument.1 If these "necessary connec-
tions" are likewise not intelligible, then they could be parti-
cipation relations. For instance, to say that the good "implies"
another form is to say that the other form partakes of the form

of the good. In that sense the form of the good is the cause

 

of the other forms. This is the meaning of the word "cause" {‘1

("oirfo") which is given in the Phaedo: "it is by beauty that

beautiful things are beautiful." They are beautiful because
2

 

they are instances Of the beautiful.
I am suggesting that the form of the good is the cause
of the other forms in that those other forms partake of the form
of the good. The other forms are "implied by" the good in that
they partake of the good. Hence when one "follows up" the order
of the forms from hypotheses to their origin, he is "following

up" the forms through participation relations. A possible ex-

 

ample is with the forms of number: the two partakes of the even,
the even partakes Of number, number partakes of substance, and
substance partakes;of the good. Likewise, when one is "following
them down," he is taking them in the reverse order from this:
deducing those forms which partake of the forms he has taken as
"hypotheses." Finally, the good is the highest subject Of study »
in that nothing else partakes of nothing but itself: it outranks

even substance, in that substance partakes of it and it does not

 

lParmenides 132a. 2Phaedo 100c-01a.

 

212.
partake of substance. It is the universal of everything and the /
instance of nothing except (perhaps) itself.

The good causes all of the forms to exist, even substance
(ouofa), because they acquire their nature (character, substance)
from it by participation. That is, it gives them their nature in
that they partake of it themselves, or (possibly) in that they
are ancestrally related to the good by means of participation

relations.1

In this causal sense the good is the "parent" not w
only of the forms but of the sun and all the other things in the
world of becoming, since the sun and other things in the domain
of becoming partake Of the forms, which in turn are related to the
good by participation relations.2
The good is "higher even than substance in power" since it
is the cause of substance and substance is not the cause of it.
It is an unhypothetical first premise in that it exists uncondi-
tionally, as the origin of all the other forms, which exist condi-
tionally--i.e. they can exist because the form of the good exists.
Since (in the Republic) participation is not only a relation of
instance to universal, but of image to Object imitated, the good

is the most authentic of the forms: they are at best only imita-

tions and images of it. Finally, since participation (imitation)

 

1See W. V. O. Quine, Methods of Lo ic, revised edition,
(New York: Holt Rinehart and—Winston, 1961 , p. 229. For an idea
of what I mean by "ancestor" here, substitute forms for classes
and participation for class-membership in the following formula:
"5.13 an ancestor of y" means "5 belongs to every class which con-
tains y_and all parents of members." The construction is due to
Frege.

 

2The theory that the order of the forms consists of parti-
cipation relations is as early as Plotinus: e.g. Ennead V ix 2.

213.
is not a form, it is not intelligible and cannot be defined. Thus
it is pointless to ask further what these "necessary connections"
are among the forms: they are unintelligible and undefinable
relations of participation.

If this theory of the order of the forms is correct, then
there are still six problems for which I have no solution to
offer. First, what about mutually inclusive forms, if there are
any? Do they partake of one another? If so, then participation
is not a relation between a universal and its instance, nor be-
tween an image and its original (at least, not always).

Second, what about the form of the bad? Does it partake
of the good? If so, then it is and is not good: it is the oppo-
site Of the good, and therefore excluded by it, and yet it is in-
cluded by it since the good implies all of the forms. Yet if it
does not partake of the good, then it is not in the system of
forms.

Third, if the relation of participation (imitation, impli-
cation) is unintelligible, then how can we reason correctly from
forms to forms in either direction? And fourth, if the good out-
ranks substance then it has no substance (no nature), and there-
fore cannot be understood--we cannot know "what it is." We not
only cannot define it (describe it, i.e. say that it is such-and-
such), we cannot even understand it (if that means "know what it
is"--i.e. know its nature). We could at most be in some way ac-

quainted with it, without knowing what it is, and in that sense

"understand" it. Since the good partakes of nothing (or of nothing

 

 

 

211+.
but itself), it has no substance (nature, form) to be understood.
Perhaps we could "see" it, but we could not "see" what it is.

Fifth, if the necessary connections among the forms are
participation relations, then they are imitation relations. But
this has the effect of dividing up the intelligible domain into a
hierarchy of domains, containing more or less real and more or less
authentic forms. The segment CL of the divided line would have to
be further sub-divided indefinitely (depending upon the ancestral
remoteness of the form of the good).

And sixth, one still cannot tell why the mind requires the
images and examples in hypothetical deductive reasoning, and yet
can dispense with them in dialectical deductive and inductive rea-
soning.

In spite of the importance of the logic of the forms, the
most important distinction which has emerged from the analogies
of the divided line and the sun is that between direct and indirect
knowledge and belief. Plato has claimed that until the mind (or
rather, the rational element Of the mind) has embarked upon dia-
lectical inquiry, it cannot have direct knowledge of the forms.

It can only know them indirectly through their images, by means
of the hypothetical (or mathematical) method of reasoning. Simi-
larly, the mind can have belief of perceivable objects through
Shela images, such as the imitations drawn by mimetic artists,
the mirror-images of objects in reflective surfaces, and perhaps
even the discourse about perceivable objects, if Plato would re-

gard language as a variety of imitation, or picturing, of the

215.
world.
On the other hand, when the mind has genuine belief
(66am dAnefig) of perceivable objects themselves, and perceives
them directly rather than through images, it has more clear per-
ception Of objects--objects which are perceived as they are.
Likewise, when the mind has understandipg_(v00g, vofio1s) of the
forms, its knowledge is not indirect; it has clearer knowledge
of them and understands them as they are, rather than under-
standing them through their images (the perceivable objects of
the visible world) by 61avofc.
This interpretation of the divided line analogy is very
different from the usual one, which holds that (l) 61cvofa has
its own objects, the "mathematical objects" intermediate between
the forms and sensible objects, (2) the very nature of mathemaq
tical reasoning demands that one use images and examples, as the
"mathematical Objects" cannot be understood in any other way, and
(3) four ingredients of reality are represented on the divided
line: the images of cikeofo, the objects of 665a, the mathemat-
cal objects, and the forms. But it seems to me that, as an inter-
pretation of Plato's ontology in the Republic at least, Ross's
arguments are decisive.l
I have claimed that for Plato knowledge is a relation be-
tween the rational portion of the mind and the forms. Inately we
have the power to know them, and we can learn to know them if we

have a good education. In the analogies of the sun and of the

 

lRoss, Plato's Theory of Ideas, pp. 62-65.

216.

divided line, I have argued that these forms have a logic and
a hierarchy, and I have claimed that this logic and hierarchy
consists of necessary connections which are relations of partici-
pation among the forms, the ancestor of them all being the unhy-
pothetical origin and cause of them, the form of the good.

The divided line analogy makes a further point: the
rational element may either know the forms directly, through

direct understanding, or it can know them indirectly, through

indirect understanding. In other words, in direct understanding \‘

the mind has immediate knowledge of the forms, and in indirect un-\\_

derstanding the mind has intermediate knowledge of them--it knows
them through their examples (images). But this rational element
cannot have direct understanding of the forms unless it is engaged
in dialectical reasoning. In inductive dialectical reasoning,
one ascends by participation relations (following them in thought)
toward the form of the good. In deductive dialectical reasoning,
one descends from the form of the good to all of the forms it
causes and implies--that is to say, all of the forms. In neither
the ascent nor the descent does one need any examples (images).
However, neither of the analogies has anything about how
the mind progresses from eikeofa to vofio1g; we are not told how
one gets from the indirect perception of perceivable objects to
the direct understanding of the forms. We have only a static pic-
ture of these states of mind, and of the forms of reasoning and
conceiving which are represented by the four segments of the line.

Nothing has yet been explained about how the mind moves from divi-

 

P‘

 

 

sion through division to division. §p§_does the mind progress
from eiraofa to vofio1s? The answer to this question is provided
by the program of studies which Plato provides in Sle-SuOc.

But in one great scheme, the allegory of the cave, this static
picture Of the analogies is tied in with the dynamic picture of
the program of studies. There are recent discussions of the
pyramidal development of the Republic, and arguments about where

the apex is. I suggest as a candidate the allegory of the cave.

514c-517b

Here is the allegory: imagine a society of men living
in an underground cave. Since birth, these men have been pris-
oners, chained in positions which prevent them from seeing any-
thing but the rear wall of the cave. Between them and the end of
a tunnel connecting the cave with the world above is a bright
fire, and between the fire and the prisoners is a low wall. Oth-
er men are crouched behind this wall, between it and the fire, and
they hold various objects above it: dolls and statuettes of men
and animals, and images of other natural or artificial objects.
Some of these imitations (of the perceivable objects in the world
above) are carried along the wall, and others remain in the same
place. Some of them are accompanied by noises which imitate the
sounds and cries of their originals, and others are represented as
remaining silent. So as these Objects are held above and moved
along the wall, they are cast in shadow by the fire, and the pris-
oners see the shadows on the rear wall of the cave. The wall also

reflects the noises that accompany the movements of the dolls and

 

L

5

v!) - da““’_iofie'q

 

 

218.
statuettes. Therefore the prisoners see only the shadows of images
and hear only the echoes of mimicry. But since they know nothing
else, the attribute the echoes to the shadows, and they think that
the shadows on the wall are the real and true things in the natu-
ral world.

Then suppose that the prisoners are released from their
chains and compelled to turn around and look at the Objects which
the fire illuminates and casts in shadow. Finally, they look di-
rectly at the fire itself, once their eyes have become accustomed
to its brightness. Now they know that they see more clearly than
they did before, and that the objects which they saw before were
only shadows and imitations of the Objects in their cave. And the
last object which they can see clearly is the fire itself, because
it is so bright compared to the objects in the cave: the dolls,
images, and statuettes, and the shadows of these. (For the fire
is only an imitation of the sun, just as the dolls and statuettes
are only imitations of animals and people in the world above
ground.)

Next, suppose that a certain prisoner is dragged over the
long, rough, uphill road through the tunnel of the cave, and out
of the cave into the open, bright, sun-lit air above ground. The
light would temporarily blind him, and he would be unable to see
anything clearly, not even shadows and images in water. (Notice
that these sun-lit imitations are as removed from reality and
authenticity as the dolls and statuettes in the cave: they are

images of real people, animals, and so on.) Once his eyes had be-

 

 

219.
come accustomed to the light, he would be able to see shadows
and images in water. Next, he would be able to see natural
objects themselves, rather than only images of them. Finally,
he would at last be able to see the sun itself, and he would
learn that it is the cause of everything perceivable, in the
cave as well as out of it.

Then, when this man returns to the cave, he will be able
to see much more clearly than those who have never left it. Once
he had become accustomed to the darkness, he would see the dolls
and statuettes for what they are: imitations of the objects in
nature above the ground. He would see the fire as only an image
of the sun, and the shadows on the real wall of the cave as only
imitations of the imitations in the cave.

Having told this story, Socrates interprets it in relation
to the theory he has developed by means of the analogies of the
divided line and of the sun (Sl7b1)§

" . . . if you compare the region of what appears through_

vision (rnv . . . 6 062m: ¢a1vou€vnv Edpov))to that of the
prisoner, and the light of its fire to the power of the sun
(to . . . 100 nupos ev aurfi on; 16 100 nAfOu Guvduei), and if
you put the upwardjourney (tnv . . . ovm aveBdO1v) and vision
of thin s above (eéav tmv cum) for the upward road of the mind
tnv . . . tfl: wuxfi: ovodov) toward the intelligible domain
(21: rov vontov tdnov), then you will not,I hope, be mis-

taken. . . . . In the intelligible domain, the idea of the
good is the last and hardest thing to be seen, but it is right

 

to infer that it is then seen to be itself entirely the cause .1

 

of eve hin ri ht and beautiful (ndo1 wdvrmv outn Opemv rs
ka1 koAmv uirin). In the visible world it produces light and
the master (xdp1ov) of this region, and in the intelligible
domain it is mastery itself (afitn Kupfa), roducin truth and
understandin (dAfiee1av K01 voDv napaoxouévn). And one must

know this i one is to act wisely (éuepdeg) in affairs public
and private."

 

 

The form of the good is not only the cause of all of the forms, it

r F.-

 

 

 

220.
is also the cause of the sun, which in turn is the cause of every-
thing in the visible world, or at any rate, the cause of everything
about the things in the visible world except what their nature is.
But what their nature is, in turn, is caused by the forms, which
in their turn are caused by the form of the good. Therefore the
form of the good is the cause of everything whatsoever, whether it
is in the world of becoming or in the world of the unchanging and
eternal forms.

We are to compare the upward road through the tunnel of
the cave and into the sunlight to the "upward road" of the mind
from the domain of belief (665a) to the intelligible domain. The
mind, like the prieoner, can progress from eikeofa to genuine
belief (665a dAnefig), from direct belief to indirect understandipg.
(61avofa), and from 61evofa to (direct) understanding (vofiO1s).
For each of these three stages of the process, there is the problem
of interpreting what the allegory has alleged, and what the ana-
logies of the sun and of the divided line have not discussed,
namely the problem of how the mind gets from division through
division to division.

First, in what sense does the mind begin with eikaofa (if
it does so), and how does it get from there to genuine Opinion of
perceivable objects? Second, how does the mind advance from gen-
uine Opinion to 61evofo, and what makes this such a "long, rough,
uphill road"? And third, how does the mind progress from indirect
understanding to direct understanding of the forms?

Curiously, Plato says nothing at all, in 518b-500c, about

 

 

 

221.

the progress of the mind from eikaofo to direct 665a. He describes
in great detail the deveIOpment of the mind from 665a to d1avofa,
following its progress through all the branches of actual or en-
visaged mathematics, and systematically. And then when it is time
to discuss the progress of the mind from 61ovofa to vofio1s, he has
Socrates say, "Glaucon, my friend, you will not be able to follow
me any longer," and then only repeat previous "opinions and images"
about these matters. In 518b-540c, therefore, Plato only addresses
at length the second of these problems involved in the development

of the mind from eikaofa to vofio1s.

:F‘J

 

 

 

VII. KNOWLEDGE: THE LONG, ROUGH, UPHILL ROAD

The following section of the Republic, Sle-SuOc, is for

the most part confined to the "long, rough, uphill road" from
”,1111e11---111,.luuauwmmw,‘thflyyhh_

genuine (or direct)opinion into indirect understanding (61avofa),

M—A'".

 

and through 61ovofa toward, but not into, direct understandipg.
(vofio1s). This process is the second of the three processes al-
luded to in the allegory of the cave.

In the allegory, the three processes in the progress of
the mind from sikaofa to vofio1s are: (l) the release of the pris-
oners from their chains, turning them around to look at the fire
and at the images its light shines on, (2) the upward journey of
one of the prisoners, who is pulled up the tunnel toward the Open
air above, where he sees the shadows and images of the natural ob-
jects in the world above, and (3) the last redirection of the pris-
oner, when he is turned about and can look up at the originals of
these various imitations and images, and finally at the sun1itself.

In eeph of these processes (the first rotation, the upward
journey, and the last rotation), the change in the prisoner and his
circumstances is: (1) from darkness to light; (2) from unclear
vision to clearer vision; (3) from more Obscure Objects to brighter
and clearer ones (in the upward journey there is no change in the
kind of direct objects, but after it there are brighter and clearer

indirect ones); (u) from below and downward to above and upward;

222.

 

 

 

223.
and (5) from image to original (once again, in the upward jour-
ney, there is no change in the Objects directly Observed, but
afterward the indirect objects are the originals Observed through
their images).

If the allegory can be correlated with the progress of
the mind in regard to each of these aspects of the process, then
each stage in the development of the mind can be described in the
terms Corresponding to the aspects of the transitions in the alle-
gory. IIn other words, each stage in the progress of the mind can
be described in the literal terms corresponding to each of the five
aspects of each stage in the journey of the prisoner. We must make
the following replacements: (l) truth (authenticity) for light,
(2) vision for (the power of knowledge), (3) clear and evident for
bright and clear, (u) the intelligible domain for the domain of
sense-objects above the ground, and (5) the domain of sense-objects
for the world inside the cave.

The first stage in the development of the mind, correspond-
ing to the first rotation of the prisoners in the cave, is a re-
direction of the mind from: (1) the less genuine images of per-
ceivable Objects to the more genuine (but still really spurious)
perceivable Objects themselves, in that the mind now sees these
perceivable objects themselves rather than indirectly through their
images; (2) the less clear vision of shadows and images to the
clearer and brighter vision of their perceivable originals; (3) the
darker and more obscure (or indistinct) shadows and images to the

brighter and clearer original sense-Objects; (u) from literally

 

 

 

22”.
below and downward (reflections in water and shadows on the
ground) to literally above and upward (the Objects reflected
in the water and casting shadows on the ground); and (5) from
the images of appearances to the appearances (sense-objects)
themselves.

' The next transition in the life of the mind is the "long,
rough, uphill road from genuine Opinion to knowledge"--i.e. from
direct Opinion to indirect understanding. It proceeds: (1) from
the inauthentic objects of opinion to the (indirectly known)
authentic intelligible Objects; (2) from the vision of what is
visible to the indirect "vision," i.e. understanding, of what is
knowable; (3) from bright and clear objects of sense-perception
(which are not clear and evident) to the clear and evident ob-
jects of knowledge (indirectly known); (u) from below (the per-
ceivable world) to above (the intelligible world), where the ra-
tional element looks "upward" toward the form (indirectly under-
stood) by looking "downward" at their images (directly perceived);
and (5) from directly perceived visible objects, which are them-
selves images of the forms, to the genuine forms themselves (in-
directly understood through these same perceivable objects).

The last transition in the life of the mind is the develop-
ment from indirect understanding of the forms to the direct under-
standing of them. Like the first rotation, it is a redirection of
the mind from the images through which objects are seen to the
objects themselves. It proceeds: (1) from the inauthentic per-

ceivable Objects through which the forms are understood to the

 

 

 

225.

authentic forms themselves; (2) from the indirect understanding
of the forms, which is a less clear state of knowing, to direct
understanding of them, which is the clearest "vision" one can
have of the forms; (3) from the less clear and evident objects
through which the forms are understood to the clearest and most
evidentobjects, the unique, changeless, and eternal forms; (a)
from the perceivable examples of the forms in the world of becom-
ing to the knowable forms themselves in the world of complete ex-
istence; and (S) from the images of the forms to the original
forms themselves.

It is important to note that only the first and the third
transitions are called "rotations," "being turned around," or "re-
direction." The transition from eikaofo to 665a dAnefis is a de-

velOpment of the mind within opinion, from indirect and inauthentic

 

Opinion to direct and authentic opinion. The mind is redirected
from having opinion of objects indirectly to having Opinion of them
directly. Similarly, the transition from 61avofa to vofio1s is a
progress of the mind within knowledge, where the mind is redirected
from just understanding the forms indirectly to understanding them
directly.

But (in the allegory of the cave) the second of these
stages of development is not called a "rotation" or a "turning-
around" but a "long, rough, uphill road (or journey)." Later, how-
ever, Plato will use the word "nep1aywyfis" ("redirection") to de-
scribe the progress of the mind from Opinion to knowledge (where

sometimes, at least, he means only the second of these three stages

 

 

 

226.
rather than the whole process).

The allegory suggests, however, that the second of these
three stages is much the most laborious. In the first stage of
the allegory, the prisoners need only be freed from their chains
and compelled to turn around and Observe the dolls and statuettes.

In the second stage there is a long journey, in which the pris-

 

oner has to be dragged uphill over rough and rocky ground. And F1?
the third stage is merely another rotation, which apparently the

mind can accomplish without working "like a slave" for it.1

 

One has the impression that the first stage is painless,
if not particularly rewarding, that the second stage is long and
painful intellectual drudgery, and that the third stage (although
perhaps not easy) is pleasant and interesting: having sweated
through the mathematical studies that form the curriculum of the
transition from opinion into indirect understanding, the student

is prepared to embark upon dialectical inquiry, and enjoy the

 

search for explanations of the hypotheses under the guidance of
some Socratic friend and tutor.

There is some difficulty in deciding what Plato has in mind
for the first transition. The remaining discussions that appear
to be relevant to the allegory do not furnish any more evidence,.
and Plato may not have intended to tell us any more about it than
one can gather from the divided line analogy and the cave allegory.
However, certain things which Plato says elsewhere in the Republic

do lead me to conclude that he had formed a position on how the

 

lRepublic “Qud.

227.

mind, beginning in indirect Opinion, is released from this condi-
tion and "turned around" toward genuine Opinion, and that he has
discussed this first rotation at some longth in the Republic. He
claims that the first training of the guardians-to-be will be made
up of (among other things) beneficial and more genuine stories,
rather than the harmful and false stories which children are ordi-
narily first told.l He is led to banish mimetic poets from his
state because they foster and preserve false and imitative pic-
tures of the world.2 He admits that even philodoxists love to
look at and learn about whatever can be perceived, rather than re-
maining content with second-hand evidence.3

Thus I believe that for Plato every man's mind begins in
situate (indirect and inauthentic Opinion), and is redirected
toward genuine and direct Opinion by experience and good fortune
if not by a good early education. I£_this is true, then the first
stage of the development of the mind has been described by Plato
in his initial detailed description of the early training of the
guardians.‘4

The second two stages of the develOpment of the mind are
described in what immediately follows the allegory of the cave,
namely Sle-SHOc. The "long, rough, uphill journey" through the
branches of mathematics is described literally and directly, and

the third stage is once again only characterized by means of images

and metaphors, as in the analogy of the divided line and the cave

 

2

1Republic 377c. Republic 605a-b. 3Republic u76a.

"Republic 376-98.

 

 

228.
allegory.
Sle-SHOO
Socrates begins by claiming that knowledge is not some-
thing introduced into the mind "like vision into blind eyes,"
but a power already present in the mind (SchS):

"our present argument refers to thislpowerpresent in
each man's mind (onuufvs1 tadtnv Inv évoOocv éKdOtou 66vou1v
ev In wuxfi), as well as to the instrument with which each
man learns (TO 56Yavov T Kerouavedve1 Exactog). Just as an
eye is unable to see except by turning with the whole body
from what is obscure to what is bright (woos TO Oovov OK 100
oxotfiBous), so this instrument must be turned around with the
whole mind from what becomes toward what exists (ék 100 717-
vouévou . . . 61: TO 5v), in order that the mind can be lifted
up_(§ms . . . Guvatn yévnra1 dvooxéoea1) to contem late {Or
envision] the clearest object that exists TO ovtos to .ooo-
totov . . . eewuévn): the good.

"Yes . "

 

 

 

The power of knowing is present in each man's mind because this
power is possessed by the "eye" of the mind, the rational ele-
ment. This portion of the mind is turned with the whole mind
from perceivable objects to the forms, after which the mind be-

comes able to be lifted up to contemplate (eedoooea1) the form

 

of the good, the "brightest" of the forms.

Since this power is present in the rational element of the
mind, Socrates argues that there should be an art (texvfi) for the
develOpment Of this power. It would be an art of redirection, or
reorientation, of the mind, turning it from what becomes toward
what exists (518d3):

"Then there can be an art for this instrument: an art of ,
redirection, which would reverse someone's attitude (tfva rod-’“
nov . . . natuOTpoofiOEIa1) as quickly and efficiently as poss-
ible--not an art of putting vision into him, as he already has

it, but is neither rightly oriented (6066s terpauuévm) nor
looking at what he should (BAénovt1 oi sde1)--but an art for

 

 

 

229.

contriving this reorientation (10010 61aunxavfioaoea1)."
SO it seemsi";

This art of reorientation reverses the attitude of the mind, rather
than putting "vision" (i.e. understanding) into it. The rational
element Of the mind already possesses this power of knowing. The
art of redirection only reorients it, "turning" it with the whole
mind so that it "looks at" what exists absolutely rather than at
"what becomes." Thus the artnof reorientation enables the philo-
sophic element of the mind to become what its nature is: knower V
of the wisdom it loves.

Socrates does not further elaborate upon what the nature
of this reorientation is, and continues to rely on metaphors of
turning. However, he does explain in considerable detail how the
art develops the power present in the mind: the training the mind
gets which enables it to "turn" from sense-objects to the forms.
According to Socrates, the problem is hp! men can be reoriented
from the visible domain to the knowable domain (52101):

"Then, if you wish, we will ascertain by what means men of

this sort can be developed, and how one leads them uppto the
éigh£_(nms 11$ dvd£e1 afitoug sic—$52), as some men are said to

ave been led up from Hades to the gods."
"Very "3110 II

"It would not involve spinning the shell,1 but redirection -”

 

 

(wep1aywyn) of someone's mind from ni ht-dark day_(Ek vuxrep-
1vfis . . . fiuépag) to enuine 3a (e1s‘EAn613fiv). It is a road
up into what exists (100 0v10g oioav éndvodov), which we would

call genuine philosophy (6v . . . 01A000¢f0v dAnefi ofioouev

 

lCornford, The Republic of Plato, p. 237. In his note,
Cornford describes a child's game in which players toss a shell
in the air. It has light and dark sides, and if the player calls
the toss correctly he wins, and if not he loses. The body, of
course, is the "shell" of the mind, so that Plato means here that
it is the mind which is reoriented rather than the body.

 

 

 

230.

eiva1)."
"Certainly."

This redirection of the mind (and the art which can accomplish
it) are equated with (l) a road up into what exists, and (2)
genuine philosophy. The second of the equations is an added
feature: Plato is apparently claiming that genuine philosophy
is this redirection of the mind, as well as the e££_of redirect-
ing someone's mind, from eikaofa to vofio1s.

The next question is, what subjects (uaenuGTO) have the

power of redirecting the mind (52lclO):

"Then mustn't we ascertain what subjects have this

power?"

"Of course."

"What subject would be the mind's towline (Wuxfis OAKOV)
away from what becomes toward what exists (duo 100 y1yv0-
uévou E11 10 50), Glaucon? What I mean is this: weren't
we saying before that when young those men would be forced
to be trained for war (delntos . . . quéuou)?"

"We were.
"Then this [purpose] also needs the subject which we are

seekin_—f3;—the other [purpose] (Act apa Ko1 10010 upooéxs1v
10 udenua 0 cn100ucv flpOS exefvm). "
"What do you mean?"

Although the subject required is for redirecting the mind from
what becomes toward what exists, Socrates is claiming that it is
also needed for training in warfare (i.e. for the art of war).
It is clear that the subject needed is neither music nor gym-
:nastics, since although these may be needed in the art of war,
‘they'are not required for the art of redirection: they can only
produce health in the body and harmony in the mind. They don't

do anything to lift up the mind toward the forms.2

 

lAdam, The Republic of Plato, II, 181. 2Republic 522b.

 

 

 

I'l-

231.

Socrates claims that the subject he has in mind is needed
by all the arts whatsoever, all 61av0f01, and all sciences (€11-
016ua1). This science is the "science of number and calculation,"
i.e. arithmetic.1 Socrates and Glaucon agree that it is useful
in the art of war; a soldier, particularly a commander of trOOps,
must be able to count his forces and calculate their needs. The
more important question, however, is whether arithmetic is like-
wise needed for develOping the mind's power of knowing the forms
(522e5):

"Do you think as I do about this subject?"

"How is that?"

"It is probably, in nature (00051), amon those guides to
understanding (16v 100: 1nv vofio1v dydv1wv) which we are look-
ing for. But although it is itself just a towline toward ex-
istence [or substance] (EAKT1KQ 5v11 nov1dnao1 1pc: ouofav),
_——__ 7——— II
no one uses it correctly.

"What do you mean?"

"I will try to make my meaning clear. I am trying to deter-

mine for myself which things we regard as guides and which we
do not."

 

The question is, what is there about arithmetic such that in its
own nature it is a towline toward existence and substance, in addi-
tion to also being a useful instrument in warfare and other arts?
Socrates begins by making a distinction between perception
(aioefio1s) which invites understanding (napaKaAOOvTa 1nv vofio1v)
and perception which does not. Some Of the objects in perception
summon the power of understanding into reflection (sis énfoxew1v),
Ibecause these things in our perception are incompatible (évavtfov).

Perception is incompatible if it shows opposites (évavaa) in the

 

1Republic 522b-c.

 

 

 

232.
same object at the same time; if it does not, then the power
of understanding is not summoned to reflect upon the perception.1
For instance, if one holds up three fingers, one does
not, in his perception, see something which both is and is not

a finger; therefore, his power of understanding is not called

upon to reflect about what a finger is. On the other hand, the

 

mind is invited to inquire about what largeness is when it no-

tices that the middle finger is large compared with the first

 

finger and small compared with the second. It sees, at the same
time, that the same finger is both large and small; it therefore
wonders what largeness is.2 There is an incompatibility in the
perception, and this provokes the power of understanding to try
to define largeness and to understand what it is. (This argu-
ment seems to be one of those in which Plato is apparently con-
fused about relations. The example does not appear to indicate

any incompatibility in the perception: if you look at the three

 

fingers you see that the middle finger is both larger than the
fi£§£_and smaller than the second. The perception would be in-
compatible only if the finger were both larger than and smaller
than the same finger.)

Socrates then argues that whenever a perception invites
inquiry by one's power of understanding, one of the questions
which is always invited is whether we are perceiving ppe_object
or Eyp_objects. If a perception is incompatible, attributing

Opposites to one and the same object at the same time, then we

 

1

Republic 523b-c. 2

Republic 523c-d.

233.
begin to inquire whether we are perceiving one object rather
than two. There seems to be only one finger, but there seems
to be two opposite magnitudes, large and small. Which is it,
one finger, or two things, a large thing and a small thing? In
the same perception we seem to have one thing and two things.1
Such "ambivalent" perceptions invite the mind to inquire about
numbers.2

When the mind is confronted by such incompatible per-

ceptions, and is led to investigate what the one is, it is being
drawn toward what exists and being led away from what becomes
(S24e6):

" . . . and since it inquires what the one itself is,
learnin about the one (5 1201 10 Ev udeno1s) would be among
the guldes which convert [the mind] to the vision of what
exists (£11 Tnv 100 6v10: 66av)."

Further, Socrates claims, what is true of the one in this re-
spect is also true of every number. (What grounds Plato has in
mind for claiming this are not clear. Perhaps he would say that
if you inquired about what one is you would also inquire about
what one more is, and thus be led to "the science of number and
calculation.") Therefore arithmetic, Socrates argues, is one of
the towlines to reality, in addition to being a science useful to
warfare and the other arts which are useful to the state.

For similar reasons, argues Socrates, (plane) geometry

and its as yet undevelOped successor (solid geometry) are towlines

toward what exists. And Plato adds two more mathematical sciences

 

——1

lRepublic szub. 2See also Republic 479a-c.

.3“

 

23%.

to them: the study of solids in motion (which he calls "astro-
nomy"), and "harmonics" (and he may have in mind here a science
of prOportions, or something of the sort, for he specifically
rejects the suggestion by Glaucon that astronomy is a study of
the stars or harmonics a study of sounds--these being as much a
matter of opinion as any other sense-objects in the perceivable
world).

All five of these subjects, and perhaps others (Socrates
says that these may not be all), are towlines to what exists.1
They compel the mind to be reoriented from what becomes to the
forms, because in these subjects an organ of the mind is purified
and given new life (év 100101; TOT; uoefiuoo1v éKdOTOU Opyovdv 11
wuxfis ékkaecfpetaf 1: Kat dvacwnupel1c1)22 They are not merely
interesting in themselves, or useful to all the other arts and
sciences, but they are also needed in order to bring the mind to
the direct understanding Of the forms, so that it can finally in-
quire into the form of the good.

But direct understanding of the forms is only possible in
dialectic. And although the first two stages in the develOpment
of the mind from indirect opinion to the direct understanding of
the forms can be explained, the final reorientation of the mind
apparently cannot be explained. Socrates claims that he cannot
give the explanation of the last redirection of the mind, from

61evofa to vofiO1g, or describe the art which effects this transi-

tion. For the last of the arts of redirection is dialectic, and

 

lRepublic 530c-d. 2Republic 527o.

 

.3

 

235.
alone can give one direct understanding of the forms (531d5):

" . . . you describe a very difficult task, Socrates."

"This introductory investigation, Glaucon? Or don't
you know that all of these subjects are introductions to
the ve to ic which must be learned (c0100 100 vduou 0v
def uaeefv)? For theseginferior men do not seem to you to
be dialecticians."

"Except for a few I have met, certainly not."

 

In other words, men whose minds have been developed in mathe-
matical subjects have not yet necessarily been trained in dia-
lectical reasoning. Given hypotheses, they can draw conclusions
from them. But they are unable to give or prove the reasons for
what they have assumed:
"But do those who are unable to ive or prove an explana-
tion (600vc1 TE Ka1 anodégaoeo1 A you) ever know anything

which we said they must know?"
"Not at all."

 

 

A dialectician presumably gives an explanation by pro-
viding a form which implies that hypothesis as a conclusion, and
then proves his explanation by in turn providing the form which
implies 33 as a conclusion, and so on. Or, perhaps, to give and
to prove are the same thing: one explains his hypothesis by giv-
ing a proof of it (i.e. giving an explanation of it). This con-
sists of pointing to the form which implies that hypothesis as a
conclusion. In any case, the mathematician has not been trained
to do this. Yet it is this very subject which dialectical reason-
ing requires:

"But isn't this the very subject (vduos) which dialectic
involves? It is oriented toward what is intelligible and is
imitated by the power of vision, which we said attempts to
look at animals themselves, the stars themselves, and finally
the sun itself. And when someone attempts, in dialectic, rea-

soning without any perceptions, to move toward what each thing
itself is (en note 0 e011v eKaOTOV opudv), and does not stop

 

 

236.

until he rasps what thegood itself is (OOTO 0 Eatlv dyaeov
. . . A689 with understanding_alone (outfi vofioe1) and comes
upon that last object itself which is intelligible (én' 001$
. . . 16 100 v0n100 16A81), just as the othersfinally came
upon the last visible thing."

"Yes, indeed."

"And don't you call this journey dialectic?"

"Yes . "

 

To give an explanation (or reason or argument, Advog) is to point
to the form which implies the "hypothesis"; one goes from form
implied to form implying it--from explanation to explanation--
until he reaches the last intelligible object (6 100 vofi1ou 1€Aos):
the form of the good.

As we have seen, this last form to be reached and grasped
by the philosoPhic element of the mind is also the first form ip_
nature (00051), the origin (or first premise, dpxfi) of all the
forms, from which everything else follows. When the mind under-
stands the form of the good, it can deduce all of the other forms,
without needing any images of them for examples. In the return
journey, the dialectician descends from explanation to what is ex-
plained, from defining forms to forms defined, through the whole
system of forms.

Socrates next reviews the whole journey of the mind from
sfkaofe to vofio1s, as it has thus far been explained in the 327
public. He begins in the language Of the allegory.l The prison-
ers have been released from their chains and turned from the shad-
ows toward the images and the fire in the cave. They have been

pulled out of the cavern toward the sun, and have reached the

 

lRepublic 532b-d.

*5;

 

 

237.
region of natural objects themselves. But they have not yet
been given their final rotation, and as yet they have only seen
the shadows and images of natural Objects, not those objects them-
selves. The entire method thus far described, including the five
arts which have just been discussed, have this power of drawing
the best thing in the mind toward the vision of the best thing
in existence.

But Glaucon admits that he finds difficult to under-
stand this final phase of the development of the "eye" of the
mind, and asks Socrates to explain this Eppie_(v6uos) in the same
way as he described the introductory investigation (532d6):

" . . . perhaps we could pursue this very topic, and
we could investigate it just as we investigated the intro-
ductory one (10 upooofutov). So tell men what the direction
is of the power of dialectic (1f; 0 106105 16; 100 61c-
_A€ysoea1), what routes it follows (vaeg a5 5501), and py-
what forms it differs’(EOTa 1073-3 . . cidn 61601nkev). For

it seems to me that these matters would lead us toward it .
fl

"Glaucon, my friend, you will not be able to follow me
any longer. None of my desire has left me, but you are now
asking to see the true object as it appears to me, and not
merely images of what we are talking about. Whether it is
as it seems to me or not, my opinion of it does not merit
being asserted . . . ."

 

 

 

It is possible that, in refusing to explain what dialectical
reasoning is, Socrates is refusing to get into difficulties Of
the following sort: trying to say what "what a thing itself is"
is; trying to give the nature of nature, the substance of sub-
stance, the form of form; trying to define "definition," give an
explanation of "giving an explanation," describe (for the bene-
fit of Glaucon's power of understanding) what understanding is;

and so on. Whether it is self-referential difficulties of that

 

 

 

238.
sort which Plato is trying to avoid or not, Socrates claims to
be able only to give "opinions and images" of matters involved
in dialectic, and not to be able to account for them in the way
he has accounted for the subjects of his introductory investi-
gation. He is only prepared to assert that no one can acquire
the abilityffor dialectical reasoning, and by means of it under-
stand such matters, unless he is experienced in the subjects
which have already been explained.

Men who are not prepared for dialectic will never under-
stand what is intelligible. They will only be dreaming about
what exists, as long as they cannot explain their hypotheses
(533b8):

"We see that they are dreaming about what exists, and it
is impossible for them to see awake, so long as they remain
unchanged: employing hypotheses and being unable to give an
explanation of them. For if there were a remise (dpxfi) which
you did not know, and if you inferred the 1ntermediate steps
and conclusion from what you did not know, by what device
could this sort of agreement become knowledge?"

"None."

"Then only the dialectical method succeeds in this, by
investigating hypotheses, in order that it can confirm the
origin itself (én' uOTnv tnv dpxnvgiva BeBo1éonTaf). And Ehe_
eye of the mind (10 Th: Wuxfi: Ouua), having been buried in
some barbarous slime, is gently pulled out and led upward, hy_
means of the associated arts of conversion which we have dis-
cussed (OUveprO1g Ka1 ouunep1aywy01s xpwuévn oi: 61fiA60uev
1€xvc1). Conforming to custom we frequently called them
sciences (£11016uag), but they need another name. They are
more evident than Opinion, and yet more obscure than know-
ledge (én1OTfiun$)--we called it indirect understanding_(61d-
v01av) earlier. But it seems to me that there is no confu-
sion about a name for those arts which still are before us for
investigation."

"Of course not."

 

 

Knowledge cannot consist of valid inference from hypotheses, even

if the hypotheses happen to be true, because if you ond't know the

239.
premises are true then you don't know that the valid conclusions
are true: no "device" can ever "make this sort of agreement know-
ledge." The rational element in the mind must seek explanations
for its hypotheses until it finally confirms their origin.
The arts which are still to be investigated are the dia-

lectical arts. And in the Republic they will remain uninvestigfl

 

gated, since Socrates will not consent to discuss them literally.

He only reviews his position, as it has thus far been explained in

 

analogies and metaphors (533eu):

"Rather, it is only clear that [knowled e], by our con-
ventions, means clearness [or evidentnessl 1n the mind (1nv

e€1v ooonvefe Aéye1v EUunxfi)?"'

"Yes."

"Then it will be acceptable if we call the first part
knowledge, the second part indirect understanding, the third
part belief (1(011s), and the fourth part indirect opinion
(eikaofa). The last two are jointly called 0 inion (6650)
and the first two understanding (vofio1v). Opinion is about
becoming (yéveo1v) and understanding is about existence [or
substance] (ouofa). And what existence [or substancel is to
becoming, understanding is to opinion, knowledge is to belief,
and indirect understanding is to indirect opinion. And let's
refrain from drawing analogies and discriminations with these,
for understanding and for what is believed, Glaucon, in order
that our explanations do not grow longer than they have al-
ready 0 fl

 

 

 

In the divided line analogy, Socrates claimed that v0fi01: and
61avofo were parts of €1101fiun, but in this review he has reversed
them and now subsumes éw1orfiun and 610v0f0 under vofio1g. He has
claimed that the various branches of mathematics (as practiced by
mathematicians, not as understood by dialecticians) make up 61a-
vofa, and that these arts are not as clear and evident as branches
of knowledge nor as obscure and unclear as the arts of Opinion

(arts about what becomes).

 

240.

But he could just as easily have argued that 61avofa is
not really part of v0601g as he has argued that it is not really
part of én1orfiun: we are not understanding things themselves
when we only understand them through images, cannot explain them,
and can only assume them (without knowing what we are assuming
except indirectly through examples). Nothing is quite so evident
as the identity, for Plato, of knowledge and understanding: €11-
OTfiun is vofio1s. To know something is to understand "what it is":
its form. And knowledge (and understanding) are clearness (evi-
dentness) in the mind about forms.

The highest knowledge, for Plato, and the greatest under-
standing and clearness in the mind, is the knowledge of the good.

In dialectical reasoning, one ascends inductively from forms (with

 

forms themselves rather than through images of them) to forms--ex-
plaining his "hypotheses" and proving his explanations--until he
knows (grasps, understands, envisions) this unconditional origin
of all of the forms, the form of the good. Once he understands the
unhypothetical and unconditional first premise, then he descends

by deductive dialectical reasoning through the whole system of
forms, reasoning "through forms alone from forms to forms and con-
cluding with forms."

I have two as yet unexamined problems about this picture:
the ignorance of Socrates and the nature of dialectical reasoning.
First, Socrates professes to not know the good, the highest and
greatest of subjects, "when he has made such matters his business

all of his life," and he claims that he cannot explain dialectical

 

 

‘e

 

2H1.

reasoning (its method, tOpic, and subjects), in spite of the fact
that, for Plato, Socrates (the Socrates of history as well as the
Socrates of this dialogue) is a master of dialectical reasoning.

There seem to be two opinions: either Socrates is lying
(practicing irony) or he is telling the truth. Perhaps he is ly-
ing, being ironic in order to avoid trying to relate matters
which he can understand but cannot express in language. In the
seventh Letter, which may not be genuine, Plato claims that he has
never tried to publish his explanations for the highest subjects
of philosophy. These, he claims, can be understood in dialectical
inquiry but cannot be described to others. In that case, Socrates
is refusing to give more than Opinions and images because such
high matters can only be understood, and cannot be explained in
language. And he chooses to say (or rather, Plato has him choose
to say) that he is ignorant rather than admitting that he 53233,
what they are but is unable to eey what they are.1

Or Socrates is telling the truth when he says that he has
only Opinions and images about these subjects. He is a master of
dialectic, and has Opinions and images about the form of the good,

but he has not yet reached the end of his upward journey, and has

 

lLetter VII Sula-304d. If genuine, however, it must have
been written about the time of the Laws, which it resembles very
closely in style. Morrow believes that it is genuine. See Glenn
R. Morrow, Plato's §pi3tles, The Library of Liberal Arts, (1) on
the authenticity of the letter: pp. 8-16, uu-so, and (2) on the
contents of the letter: pp. 60-81, 236-241. But see also M. Lev-
inson, A. Q. Morton, and A. D. Winspear, "The Seventh Letter of
Plato," in Mind, LXXVII (July, 1968), 307. They argue that this
letter is spurious, on the basis of their computer analysis of its
style-«in particular, the frequency of the connectives "xo1" "de"--
in fact, the letter resembles Seussipus' letter to Philip.

 

 

 

 

242.
not thus far understood the form of the good. And since he has
not yet reached the origin of all the forms, he is not yet pre-
pared to discuss the topic, method, and subjects of dialectical
reasoning. Either of these Opinions will probably seem equally
plausible to the reader, and both will fit the evidence in the
Republic and elsewhere. But I think that Plato, like the histor-
ical Socrates, is telling the truth (in the Republic, at least)
when he claims that he does not 522! the greatest subjects and
highest matters. The irony comes in, I submit, when he lets on
that somebody else does.

The second problem involves the nature of dialectical
reasoning. The reasoning described in the analogy of the divided
line (which involves the progress of the mind toward the good) is
inductive until the form of the good is understood, and then de-
ductive until the whole system of forms is validly deduced. But
this does not imply that dialectical reasoning involves no more
than this one ascent and just this one descent. In all of Plato's
dialogues one finds deductive arguments as well as inductive ones.
There is no reason, I think, to suppose that masters (and students)
of dialectic cannot descend from form to form whenever they wish,
or ascend and descend by turns, whether they have yet reached the
origin of all the forms or not. Therefore if Socrates has not yet
reached the form of the good, he can still be a master of dialectic
(over that portion of the system of forms through which he has
ascended and descended). He can still, in dialectical argument,

guide his students through ascent or descent, as he wishes.

mr‘l
L-

E.

2113.

Thus what makes such reasoning dialectical is not merely
that it is inductive and then deductive. It is different from
hypothetical reasoning, so far as I can determine, in Ehpee_
respects: (1) unlike hypothetical (or mathematical) reasoning,
it can be deductive pp inductive, ascending or descending at will;
(2) in dialectical reasoning one is reasoning with the forms them-
selves, whereas in hypothetical reasoning one is only reasoning
with images (i.e. examples), so that even in its deductive side
there is a difference between the dialectical and the mathematical
method; and (3) I gather that whereas hypothetical reasoning can
be expository (stated or thought through in essay or lecture form),

dialectical reasoning is conversaltional. Typically a dialogue

 

is a conversation consisting of questions (by the master) and an-
swers (by the student), but necessarily it is an exchange between
participants in verbalized (or verbalizable) short answers. This
is never asserted in the Republic, but since the method of the
Republic itself is presumably an example (i.e. image) of dialec-
tical reasoning, and since the Republic is conversational through-
out, I conclude that dialectical argument is conversational. (I
don't think that this implies that, for Plato, dialectical reason-
ing cannot be carried out by one person alone, im.a dialogue with
himself. It only implies, I think, that it must be conversational
in its form. And I am not entirely clear on what it means for
something to be--in this sense--conversational.)

In spite of Socrates' claim that he has only opinions and

images of the form Of the good and cannot say what it is, he has

 

244.
nevertheless built up a more detailed picture of the form of the
good than of any other form mentioned in the Republic. First, as
the cause and origin of the forms, the good is the cause_ef the
existence, nature, value, authenticity, intelligibility, and
clear-and-evidentness of all the forms. Second, as the cause

(parent) of the sun, the good is the indirect cause of the genesis

and growth and nourishment of everything which becomes. Third, as

,““‘“ .
.

the cause of all the forms, the good is the indirect cause of the

1
nature (form, substance) of everything which becomes. Therefore,

It
139
l

fourth, the good is the cause of everything which exists and every-
thing which becomes: it is responsible for what exists completely
and for what is "between what is and what is not." It is the cause
of everything whatsoever, in that it is ancestrally related, by
participation relations, to everything which exists and which be-
comes.

Fifth, as the greatest subject of learning and final cause
Of all purposive beings, it is the highest and most prOper subject
to study and object to achieve: it is the object of the mind's
love, the source of all value, the goal of all learning, the best
and most beautiful (noble) thing that exists, the clearest and
most evident form, and the cause of the power of understanding in
the mind. And sixth, it is mastery itself, the original and uni-
versal of everything and the image and instance of nothing (except
possibly itself). It partakes of nothing else and nothing else
partakes of it; it implies and includes all the forms, and is not

implied and included by another form; it surpasses even substance

2W5.
in rank and power.

But all such attributions are only "ignoble opinions,"
according to Scorates. Therefore they do not, for Plato, define
what the good is, either separately or in combination. Moreover,
if the form of the good outranks even substance, then it he§_no
substance (form, nature): it partakes of no form (except poss-
ibly itself). Therefore it cannot be defined.

The same is true of knowledge as is true of the form of
the good: in spite of Socrates' claim that he cannot explain
what dialectical reasoning is (its method, topic, and subjects),
Socrates has a great deal to say about that knowledge (i.e. under-
standing) which dialectical reasoning alone can furnish to the
mind. (If knowledge is not the tOpic of dialectical reasoning,
then it is surely one of its subjects.)

Even though Plato has claimed to have only opinions and
images about these things, he has (1) specified what conditions
must Obtain if knowledge is to take place, and (2) identified
knowledge by other (presumably extensionally synonymous) names.
We have been informed that knowledge occurs only under the fol-
lowing conditions: first, just as seeing occurs only if there is
a power of vision in the eye, visibility of certain objects, and
light present in the air (or the space) between the eye and its
objects (where light is a power of making objects bright and clear
in sense-perception), so knowing occurs only if there is a power
of understanding in the "eye" of the mind (its rational element),

intelligibility of certain Objects of knowledge (the forms), and

 

 

 

246.

authenticity(dAn8efo), "no small idea," which makes the forms
clear and evident to the mind. And second, knowing occurs only
if the mind has been given a good early education, trained in the
mathematical 61avofo1, and then directed upon the forms them-
selves while it engages in dialectical reasoning.

And Socrates has identified knowledge by other names, in
the course of his analogies, the allegory of the cave, and the

program of mathematical studies; knowing is: (1) direct under-

 

standing (voOs, vofio1g) of what is intelligible (v0n16v), (2)

 

clear-and-evidentness (oaonvefa) of the forms in the mind, (3)

 

vision (or contemplation, 66a) of the forms by the "eye" of the

 

mind, (4) confirmation (10 858o160208u1) or proof (10 duodég-

 

ooea1) when one is giving explanations (or reasons, A6701) for

 

forms, (5) infallible knowing (yvmva1) of what a thing_itself is
(0 €011v a610), (6) grasping (611508a1) of the objects which the
mind "reaches for" and "is directed upon," and (7) wisdom (000v-
6019, ooofa), which the philosophic element of the mind loves and
(if it can become what its nature is) acquires.

Finally, there is a lesser, indirect sort of knowledge
which the mind can acquire of the forms: indirect understanding_
(61ev0fo). In some subjects (for instance the five branches of
mathematics), when they are studied by those who are unable to
engage in dialectical reasoning, one can know the forms indirectly_
through their images (i.e., for Plato, examples). When someone
reasons hypothetically, deducing forms from forms with examples,

he can learn indirectly about the forms even though he is looking

 
  
  
    
  
  
   
   
    
   
  

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247.
at and thinking about perceivable objects: he understands the

forms through these instances. This is an intermediate rela-

 

tion between the mind and the forms, rather than immediate know-
ledge, but (1) it is nevertheless (apparently) infallible when
the hypotheses are genuine, and (2) it is (indirectly) about

what exists and remains the same forever. Therefore it belongs
with knowledge (understanding) rather than with opinion--that is,
it corre5ponds to the upper segment of the divided line.

Both immediate knowledge and intermediate knowledge are
relations between the rational (or philosophic) element of the
mind and the eternal, unique, and changeless forms. The mind com-
prehends them, immediately or intermediately; it gra3ps them,
directly or indirectly; through images or without images it under-
stands them, envisions them, and confirms them; and with or with-
out instances, they are clear and evident to the mind, and authen-
tic and intelligible. This, for Plato, is knowledge (éT1OTfiun;
yvmo1s) and wisdom (0001a, opovfio1s), which the philosophic por-
tion of the mind loves, and which it can have if it becomes what
its nature is--if not in its human life, then perhaps after the
death of the body when it is purified. These, at least, are Pla-

to's "Opinions and images."

VIII. PLATO'S THEORY OF INTUITION

I will be arguing that Plato's theory of knowledge is a
theory of intuition: it satisfies the three criteria for a theory
of intuition. In the course of doing this I will be showing that
his theory of intuition is a theory of the following sort: (1)
as in Descartes' and Lossky's theories, none of the data of in-
tuition are data of sense-perception; (2) as in Russell's and
Lossky's theories, the data of intuition are universals (unlike
in those theories, universals are the only data of intuition);

(3) as in Ewing's and Descartes' theories, the knowledge-items

are themselves the data of intuition; and (4) although, for Plato,
some of the knowledge-items are describable (in definitions), not
all of them are: as with Bergson's intuitively known external
particulars, some of Plato's forms (e.g. the form of the good)

are inexpressible .

Knowledge, according to Plato, is a relation between the
mind and the forms; it is a relation which is analogous to visual
perception. Just as in vision the mind sees perceivable objects,
so in knowledge the mind "sees" (understands, grasps, envisions),/
the forms; In direct understanding (vofio1s) the mind knows the
forms directly, and does not require images (that is, for Plato,
examples) through which to understand them. And in indirect un-

derstanding (61avofu) the mind has intermediate knowledge about

 

248.

249.
the forms. Although the objects of the mind's inquiry are the
perceivable objects of the world of becoming, its knowledge is
about the forms, which it understands through these images (in-
stances).

These two types of knowledge are different from Opinion.
"Mathematical knowledge" may be an inferior, limited variety of
knowledge, but it is still knowledge, not opinion. If its as-
sumptions (the "hypotheses") are not mistaken (for otherwise it
ie Opinion), then it is infallible and necessary (like dialectical
knowledge) rather than uncertain and contingent. For according
to Plato there are two different powers in the mind (i.e. in the
rational element in the mind, its "eye"): £11016un (the power of
knowing) and 6660 (the power of believing). These must be differ-
ent powers because they have different objects and different ef-
fects. First, the power of knowing enables us to have knowledge
(yvmo1s, €11016un), which is infallible, whereas the power of opin-
ion only permits us to have opinion (66am), which is not infallible.
And second, our knowledge is necessary, in that its objects exist
completely and remain the same as themselves forever, whereas the
Objects of opinion are temporary and non-self-identical, "between
what is and what is not." For the Objects of opinion are sense-
Objects, which are many and variant, and which exist only tempo-
rarily and ambivalently; but the Objects of knowledge are the
forms, which are unique, changeless, and eternal. Thus the mind
can 522! only the forms, and can only have opinion about the ob-

jects it perceives in sense-perception. The forms alone are know-

250.
ledge-items, i.e. (for Plato) objects of the mind in the know-
ledge relation.

But only one of these two types of knowledge involves
direct acquaintance with the knowledge-items. In vofiO1g the mind
understands the forms themselves, reasoning dialectically "with
forms themselves from forms to forms and ending with forms." But
in 61av0fa the mind only knows the forms through their instances,
reasoning mathematically with these instances. Its direct objects
(the objects it uses in its deductive explanations) are perceivable
objects, images of forms rather than forms themselves. Thus only
in vofio1: does the mind have direet awareness of the forms, its/I
transcendent, non-sense-perceptual data of intuition and knowledge-.
items. As will become clear in the following, Plato's theory of
knowledge meets the first two criteria for a theory of intuition,
and vofio1g is both intuition and intuitive knowledge.

First, in vofio1s the mind has direct awareness of the .
forms; they are data of its experience. For, according to Plato,
in dialectical inquiry the mind has direct understanding of these ’
knowledge-items: it "detects," "grasps," "envisions," "sees,"
"looks at," and "reaches" them. It "loves to look at" them and
"welcomes" them. It enjoys the pleasure that attends the "vision"
Of them. It is "fixed upon" them and they are "clear and evident"
to it. And in inductive dialectical inquiry, the persistent in-
quirer does not stop until he "grasps what the good itself is,"
with his "power of understanding alone." The mind (i.e. the ra-

tional thing in the mind) is directly aware of the forms.

251.

Second, in vofio1s the objects of this acquaintance (the
forms) are net sense-perceptual. The forms are understood but'
not observed, whereas sense-Objects are observed but not under-
stood. The power Of knowing (i.e. of understanding) has dif-
ferent objects than the sense-Objects (appearances) of the ob-
jects of Opinion. What is believed is as different from what is
known, in truth and untruth, as is an image from what it resem-
bles. The mind, in sense-perception, is aware of the instances
of the forms, not the forms themselves; and in vofio1s it is aware
of the forms themselves, not their images. The mind is acquainted
with non-sense-perceptual data of experience, when it has vofio1g
of the forms. Thus, as with Descartes and Lossky, there is a
complete separation of intuition and sense-perception.

Third, in vofio1: the objects of the mind's awareness are
transcendent: entirely independent, ontologically, of its ac-
quaintance with them. The existence and substance (nature) of the \
forms depends entirely upon the form of the good. They are in no
way produced or altered by the mind's awareness of them; they are
not "in any way produced by any craftsman." They are unique and
changeless forever, whether they happen to be perceived or not.__
Their nature and their existence are completely independent, onto-
logically, of whether or not the mind has the power of understand
them (or develops its power of understanding them). They are gen-
uine and intelligible (for the form of the good makes them so),
but they are so independently of whether or not the rational ele-

ment in the mind learns to understand them.

252.

Therefore vofio1s is a species of mystical experience. In
vofio1g, transcendent, non-sense-perceptual data are apprehended
by the mind--or rather, by the mind "in its truest nature": its
L philosophic and rational element, that "eye" and instrument which
loves wisdom and reasons, and which can learn to rule over the
entire mind and to understand the forms. N0601s is intuition, and
Plato's theory of knowledge meets the first of the three criteria
of a theory of intuition. Since the forms are universals, Plato
is claiming (as do Russell and Lossky) that we are acquainted with
universals. Unlike Russell and Lossky, Plato is holding (in the
Republic) that we are acquainted, in this non-sensuous perception,
with universals elgpe,

Plato's theory also meets the second of the three criteria
for a theory of intuition. The data of vofio1s are themselves the
knowledge-items, and therefore intuitional experience provides
knowledge-items. That which is given in intuitional experience is
the same as that which is known: the forms. They are what is
kppyp_(10 yv0016v) in the knowledge~relation. They are directly
understood and known in v0601s. Thus, in Plato's theory as in
Descartes', Ewing's, and Bergson's, the data of intuition are the
same as the knowledge-items: vofia1; is both intuition of the forms;
and intuitive knowledge of them. Because the mind has this intui-
tion of the forms, it can reason dialectically, reasoning "with
forms alone from forms to forms and ending with forms."

The application of the third criterion to Plato's theory

of knowledge is somewhat more difficult, for two reasons: (1)

 

 

   
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
   
 
    
    

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253.

whereas some of the forms are expressible (describable in defini-
tions), others are not (the form of the good, for instance), and
(2) justification, in Plato's theory of knowledge, seems to en-
compass three different things. First, there is the deductive
reasoning from hypotheses to conclusions, which proves the con-
clusions only if the hypotheses are true (i.e. genuine). Second,
there is the inductive reasoning from the hypotheses to their
premises, which proves the hypotheses if the premises are in turn
"explained"-éunlike mathematicians, philosophers are able to rea-
son inductively and therefore able "to give and prove a reason."
And third, there is the vofi01s of the premises--especially in the
case of the mind's understanding of the form of the good, the un-
hypothetical first premise and origin from which all of the forms
can be proved (explained, justified, warranted), but which cannot

itself be proved by giving some other form as an explanation (or

 

reason, Aéyos). Rather, once one has grasped it he sees that it
is itself entirely the reason for everything else.

By the third criterion, a theory is intuitional if these
mystical experiences do not merely furnish us with our hypotheses,
but somehow provide justification for our knowledge-claims (if
what we know is expressible). The only things in Plato's episte-
mology that resemble knowledge-claims are definitions: proposi-
tions of the form f5 is (or means) 1," in which terms that refer
to forms can be substituted for the variables--for instance, as
in the definition "justice is each portion doing its own work."

These definitions are identity propositions ranging over forms as

_I

254.
values. The definiendum is a simple term referring to a form, the
definiens is a complex term referring to a form, and the defini-
tion asserts the identity of the forms referred to.

For instance, the definition "justice is each portion
doing its own work" says what justice is (5 Eattv 51KalOOCVn):
it describes justice by asserting that it is identical with the
"doing of its own work" by each portion of the mind (or state).
The definition describes the form, i.e. says what it is, by as-
serting its identity to the (complex) form referred to by the com-
plex definiens. Justice, according to Plato, is a complex univer-
sal that can be defined in terms of simpler universals, and the
same is true of the other expressible forms. To understand jus-
tice is to know "what it is," and for forms generally, if one is
able to give a definition of what the form is (i.e. to say what
its nature is), that is because he understands what it is. (It
does not follow that if he understands a form he is able to define
it, for according to Plato one can understand the good but cannot
say what it is.)

The foregoing description of the nature of Plato's defini-
tions is of course not Plato's, but an analysis of Plato's language
of definitions. It is clear that definitions, for Plato, do not
indicate the uses of words, except incidentally. They neither
legislate what a word is to mean nor describe what a word already
means within some language in use. They 222 terms rather than
mentioning them, in asserting identities between forms.

Hence definitions are knowledge-claims: knowledge-claims

which describe Plato's knowledge-items, the forms. They are true

255.
if the form referred to by the definiens is identical with the
form referred to by the definiendum, and false otherwise. Further-
more, one knows that the definition is true if he knows (under-
stands) the form. For instance, if he understands justice, then
he knows that justice is (or means) each portion doing its own
work. In knowing that the forms are the same he also knows that
the expressions are synonymous, for the expressions are synonymous
if they refer to the same form--that is, if they have the same
extension. And he could not know that the forms are the same un-
less he understood the form. Hence these definitional knowledge-
claims could be verified (justified) only by vofioxs of the forms,
Plato's knowledge-items. Intuition is what justifies them.

This does not imply that learning true definitions could
not help one to understand the form defined, for it could "key"
his understanding of it. That is, it could (if he were prepared
for dialectical inquiry) cause him to understand the form. For.
instance, if he were informed (by some skillful Socrates, leading
him toward it) that justice is each portion doing its own work,
he might be taught by the definition: in the context of a dia-
lectical argument, the definition might serve to get him to under-
stand the form. But unless he did come to understand the form,
the definition would be no more than a true Opinion for him; he
would not know that it was true. He would not know that it was any
more probable than some other definition, such as "justice is the
interest of the stronger."

But Plato does not admit of knowledge as anything but a

256.
relation between the mind and the forms. Knowing whether or not
some definition is true is not, for Plato, some distinct kind
of knowledge. I presume that Plato would claim that to know
whether or not a definition is true is implying that one knows
the form--i.e. understands it. He would not reject the lan-
guage as misleading, for he uses it himself in the first book
of the Republic, where he has Socrates say, "now I know what you
mean; I must consider whether or not it is true," after Thrasy-
machus has explained his definition of justice.1 Socrates then
goes on to argue that the definition is false because it implies
a contradiction.

The reductio method of Socrates, which overturns defini-
tions by deducing contradictions from them, is certainly, for
Plato, a method for determining when a definition is false, But
such arguments cannot prove a definition 5522: And there is no
evidence that Plato regarded such reductio arguments as explana-
tion or justification, although it is possible that he considered
them as contributing_tg_the dialectical method in its inductive
ascent. He mgy_have regarded it as falsification but not verifi-
cation.

But I am only maintaining in this investigation that (l)
Plato's definitions are knowledge-claims--identity propositions
which describe forms--and (2) they can be justified by vofiats of

the knowledge-items, for otherwise one could not know that they

 

lRepublic 339b.

257.
are true. (One could know that they are false if the definition
implies a contradiction.) Likewise, perhaps, (3) they play a
role in dialectical inquiry when they contribute to the discovery,
but not to the verification, of the knowledge-items. But in any
case , justification (explanation , verification , confirmation ,
proof) only incidentally, for Plato, involves these definitional
knowledge-claims. Primarily it involves the forms, as will be
clear in the analysis of Plato's views on justification.

According to the third criterion, a theory of knowledge is
intuitional if it claims that mystical experiences constitute veri-
fication for the knowledge-items that we claim we know, even if
those knowledge-items are inexpressible. I will argue that in
Plato's theory, such experiences are verification, whether the
form is describable (like justice) or not describable (like the
good). Nofi01$ is a form of justification. But it is not the only
form of justification, for Plato; it is only the one indispens-
able sort, as is intuition for Ewing. But this intuition and '
justification of the forms does not come effortlessly to the mind.
We must work like a slave for it, in order to "win the fellowship"
of what we seek to know.1

The rational (or philosophic) element of the mind desires
that nourishment (reality, "what exists completely") which will
fill its emptiness (ignorance) with knowledge, and in doing so give
the mind the best and most genuine pleasures, and the pleasures

most its own: the pleasure of "knowing what exists as it is"--

 

1Bergson, An Introduction to Metaphysics, p. 91.

 

 

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258.
i.e. of learning the nature of the forms. But it will not acquire
this knowledge and enjoy this pleasure of learning unless it is
develOped (whether by a good education or an "act of God") to
become what its nature is. If the rational element becomes ruler
over the whole mind, it will be teachable: it can be turned with
the whole mind away from what becomes toward what exists. In
other words, it can be led by means of the art of reorientation
(genuine philosophy) from eikcofc to vofi01s.

Once the mind has genuine (i.e. direct) Opinion of per-
ceivable objects, it can be dragged over the long, rough, uphill
road from 665a through Gtavofa, learning about the forms through
their images (i.e. instances), in deductive reasoning. It accepts
certain forms as "hypotheses," and deduces conclusions from them.
And it reasons with examples of the forms rather than with the
forms themselves. Thus, indirectly and incompletely, is capable
of explaining certain forms--namely those which are implied by the
hypotheses. In other words, given certain forms as unproved prem-
ises, it can prove certain forms as conclusions. Such deductive
proofs, however, are indirect and incomplete. They are indirect
in that instances of the forms are employed in the proof rather
than the forms themselves, and they are incomplete in that the
assumptions (the "hypotheses") are unproved. The mathematical
knowledge acquired by Gtavofa, therefore, can at best be condi-
tional: it proves the conclusions i£_the assumptions are true
(genuine).

Having learned such mathematical knowledge, the mind can

again be turned from what is dark and obscure toward what is

 

 

259.
bright and clear. It can be reoriented from the images of the
forms which it employs in its hypothetical reasoning toward the
genuine forms themselves, becoming aware of them and understand-
ing their nature. Now it can not only reason deductively, deduc-
ing forms from the forms which imply them, it can also reason
from the hypotheses toward the forms which imply those hypo-
theses. Instead of simply assuming the forms without understand-
ing them (at most, understanding their images as examples of them),
it understands them directly. Its proofs, whether inductive or
deductive, are now direct, in that the mind is reasoning with the
knowledge-items themselves and not with their images.

Finally, once it has climbed upward, by its dialectical
reasoning, all the way to the form of the good (the unhypothetical
first premise from which the whole system of forms follows), its
proofs can at last be complete: it can now descend, by deductive
reasoning, to all of the forms. Once the form of the good is un-
derstood, the knowledge of all of the other forms is (l) deriva-
tive as well as intuitive, and (2) most clear and certain. All
of the other forms can be drawn as conclusions from the form of
the good, and therefore consist of derivative knowledge, and they
are now most intelligible and most evident, since the form of the
good makes them so. It is itself most clear and evident, and it
implies them as consequences of itself, so that they are most
clear and evident.

But the form of the good is not capable of being proved as

a conclusion from some other premise. It is the highest and great-

260.

est subject, the form and original of everything and the image and
instance of nothing (except perhaps itself). Nothing is related
to it as promise to conclusion; that is, nothing is connected with
it as its ancestor, by participation relations. Once the mind has
reached it by inductive dialectical reasoning, and has grasped it
and found it the clearest and most evident of the forms, it can at
last explain all the forms completely.

All of the rest of the forms are not merely evident by
themselves (in that they are understood directly in dialectical
reasoning), they are now most evident because the good is most
evident and the good implies them. But the form of the good is
not evident because some other form is evident; it is only self-
evident. It cannot be explained, it cannot be described; it can
only be "grasped" or "envisioned," i.e. known by acquaintance.

As in Bergson's theory of intuition, the form of the good is cap-
able of being known by intuition algae; it not merely cannot be
explained by some other form, it cannot even be described.

There are three types of justification in the foregoing
account. There is deduction alone, which proves (justifies, ex-
plains) the conclusion of some hypothesis on the assumption that
the hypothesis is true (genuine). That is, there is mathematical
deduction, in which the premises are unproved and unknown, and the
conclusions are proved from the premises. There is induction,
which proves the hypotheses by finding the premises which imply
those hypotheses as conclusions. And there is the intuition

(vofioxs) of the forms, which (1) in the case of the form of the

261.
good is the only verification one can have, and (2) in the case of
the other forms is verification for those forms with which one rea-
sons in dialectical reasoning. Each of these types of justifica-
tion (explanation, verification, proof) is, I will show, justi—
fiably so called.

First, deductive mathematical reasoning is at least condi-
tional proof. The "truth" (i.e. authenticity) of the conclusions
is guaranteed if the premises (the "hypotheses") are true. If the.
reasoning is valid, the truth of the hypotheses is preserved in
their conclusions. Thus, the conclusions are justified by their
premises, on the condition that the hypotheses can be justified.

Second, inductive dialectical reasoning is also at least
conditional proof. Since one can understand the forms directly,
he can find premises which imply the former hypotheses as conclu-
sions, and can therefore explain (prove, justify) those hypo-
theses. There is another form of justification involved in dia-
lectical reasoning: the direct understanding of the forms, which
makes them evident to the mind. They are not BEES evident until
we can deduce them from the form of the good, but they are have
at least some self-evidence, or we could not understand them in
dialectical reasoning.

There m§y_be still another sort of justification involved
in dialectical reasoning: the explanatory power of the premises.
The premises arrived at by inductive dialectical reasoning imply
as conclusions those forms which were previously simply assumed as

hypotheses (and held to be perfectly acceptable), and which are

262.
new understood directly. Hence one might take the hypotheses as
proof (i.e. inductive proof) for the premises which imply them.
This form of justification would be the explanatory power of the
premises: they imply other self-evident forms, and hence have
fruitful consequences. This, too, would be a form of conditional
proof, in that the self-evident conclusions are likewise made
evident by the premises which imply them. As Ewing points out,
this sort of confirmation not only strengthens the conclusions, it
also tends to reinforce the premises which imply them.1 (But I
do not believe that Plato regarded this sort of thingfas justifi-
cation. There is no evidence in the Republic that he thought of
explanatory power of premises, or for that matter of hypotheses,
as a form of evidence for them.)

And third, the direct understanding of the forms is 227
conditional proof. In dialectical reasoning, the mind understands
the forms directly, without needing either images or explanations
in order to know them. The forms are evident by themselves, in
vofi01c. It could be argued that this sort of proof is still in-
sufficient, for Plato, because until one has grasped the form of
the good, he still has not understood any of the forms completely;
he knows what they are, in that he can produce a correct definition
of them and can explain them by producing forms which imply them.
But he does not understand them adequately_until he can deduce them
from the form of the good. This is exactly what Socrates claims

when he says that one must take the longer road (up to the form of

 

1'Bwing, "Reason and Intuition," p. 20.

BIBLIOGRAPHY .

Selected Sources on Theories of Intuition

Ayer, Alfred Jules. Language,Truth and Logic. New York:
Dover Publications, Inc., n.d.

Bergson, Henri. An Introduction to Metaphysics. Translated
by T. E. Hulme. New York: Putnams, 1912.

Brennan, Joseph Gerard. The Meanin of Philosophy. 2nd ed;
New York: Harper 6 Row, Publishers, 1967.

 

Bunge, Mario. Intuition and Science. Spectrum Books. Engle-
wood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1962.

Chisholm, Roderick M. Theo of Knowled e. Foundations of
Philosophy Series. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-
Hall, Inc., 1966.

Descartes, Rene. The PhilosoPhical Works of Descartes. Trans-

lated by Elizabeth 39?. Haldane and G_—. R. _—T. Ross. 2
vols. N.p.: Dover Publications, Inc., l955.

 

Ewing, A. C. Ethics. Collier Books. New York: The Crowell-
Collier Publishing Company, 1962.

. "Reason and Intuition." Annual Philosophical Lec-
ture of the British Academy. Proceedin s of the Brit-
ish Academy, XXI (1991). London: Humphrey Milford,
lQHl.

 

Hudson, W. D. Ethical Intuitionism. New Studies in Ethics.
London: Macmillan, 1967.

Husserl, Edmund. Ideas: Generalplptroduction to Pure Phenom-
enology. Collier Books. Translated by W. R. Boyce
Gibson. New York: The Crowell—Collier Publishing
Company, 1962.

Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Translated by Norman
Kemp Smith. London: Macmillan 8 Co. Ltd., 1958.

Lindsay, A. D. The Philosophy_of Bergson. Port Washington,
N.Y.: Kennikat Press, 1968.

266.

267.

Lossky, N. O. The IntuitiveiBasis of Knowledge. Trans-
lated by Natalie A. Duddington. London: Macmillan,
1919.

Moore, George Edward. Principia Ethica. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1959.

Russell, Bertrand. The Problems of Philosophy. Galaxy
Books. New York: Oxford University Press, 1959.

Toulmin, Stephen E. The Uses of Ar ent. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1969.

Selected Texts, Translations, and Running.
Commentaries of Plato

 

Adam, James, ed. The Republic of Plato. 2nd ed. 2 vols.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963.

Burnet, John, ed. Platonis Opera. 5 vols. Oxford Clas-
sical Texts. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1902.

Cornford, Francis M., trans. and comm. Plato and Parmenides.
The Library of Liberal Arts. Indianapolis: The
Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., n.d.

, trans. and comm. Plato's Cosmolo . The Library
of Liberal Arts. New York: The Liberal Arts Press,
1957.

, trans. and comm. Plato's Theory of Knowledge. The
Library of Liberal Arts. New York: The Liberal Arts
Press, 1957. .

, trans. The Re ublic of Plato. New York and London:
Oxford University Press, 1995.

 

Davies, John Llewelyn, and Vaughan, David James, trans. The
Republic of Plato. Golden Treasury Series. London:
Macmillan and Co., Limited, 1950.

Jowett, Benjamin. The Dialogues of Plato. 2 vols. New York:
Random House, 1937.

Lee, H. D. P., trans. The Republic. Baltimore, Md.: Penguin
Books, Inc., 1955. -

Lindsay, A. D., trans. The Republic of Plato. Dutton Paper-
backs. New York: E. P. Dutton 5 Co., Inc., 1957.

Morrow, Glenn R., trans. Plato's E istles. The Library of Lib-
eral Arts. Indianapolis: The Bobbs—Merrill Company, 1962.

268.

Skemp, J. B., trans.1 Plato's Statesman. Edited, with an In-
troduction, by Martin Ostwald. The Library of Liberal
Arts. New York: The Liberal Arts Press, 1957.

Selected Sources on Plato's Philosophy

Allen, R. E., ed. Studies in Plato's Metaphy_ics. New York: The
Humanities Press, 1965.

Bambrough, Renford, ed. New Essays on Plato and Aristotle. The
Humanities Press, 1965.

Bréhier, Emile. The Hellenic Age, Vol. I of The Histogy of
Philosophy. Translate by Joseph Thomas. 7 vols.
Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press,
1963.

Brumbaugh, Robert S. Plato for the Modern A e. Collier Books.
New York: The Crowell-Collier Publishing Company, 1969.

 

Burnet, John. Greek PhilosOphy: Thales to Plato. London: Mac-
millan 8 Co. Ltd., 1969.

Crombie, I. M. An Examination of Plato's Doctrines. Vol. I:
Plato on Man and Society, and vol. II: Plato on Knowledge
and Reality. London: Routledge 6 Kegan Paul, 1962.

Cross, R. C., and Woozley, A. D. Plato's Republic: a Philosophi-
cal Commentary. London: Macmillan 6 Co. Ltd., 196%.

Grube, G. M. A. Plato's Thought. Boston: Beacon Press, 1958.

Gulley, Norman. Plato's Theory of Knowledge, London: Metheun
8 Co. Ltd., n.d.

Levinson, M.; Morton, A. Q.; and Winspear, A. D. "The Seventh
Letter of Plato." Mind, LXXVII (July, 1968), 307.

Lutoslawski, Wincenty. The Origin and Growth of Plato's Logic.
London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1897.

Murphy, N. R. The Interpretation of Plato's Republic. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1951.

Nettleship, Richard Lewis. Lectures on the Republic of Plato.
Papermac Books. 2nd ed. London: Macmillan 5 Co. Ltd.,
1963.

Plotinus. The Philosophy of Plotinus. Edited and translated
by Joseph Katz. Appleton-Century Philosophy Source-
books. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, Inc., 1950.

269.

Raven, J. E. Plato's Thought in the Making. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1965.

Robinson, Richard. Plato's Earlier Dialectic. 2nd ed. Ox-
ford: Oxford University Press, 1953.'

Ross, W. D. Plato'sTheory of Ideas. Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 1951.

Taylor, A. E. Plato: The Man and His Work. 6th ed. New
York: Meridian Books, Inc., 1956.

. The Mind of Plato. lst American ed. Ann Arbor
Paperbacks. Ann Arbor, Mich.: The University of Michi-
‘ gan Press, 1960.

Zeller, Eduard. Plato and the Older Academy. Translated by

Sarah Frances Alleyne and Alfred Goodwin. New York:
Russell 8 Russell, Inc., 1962.

Other Selected Sources

Aaron, Richard I. The Theo of Universals. 2nd ed. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1967.

 

Berry, George Ricker. The Classic Greek Dictionary. Chicago:
Follett Publishing Company, 1962.

Burnet, John. Early Greek Philosophy. 9th ed. Meridian Books.
Cleveland and New York: The World Publishing Company,
1957.

Copleston, Frederick, S.J. A History of Philosophy. New rev.
ed. Vol. I: Greece and Rome, and vol. II: Mediaeval
Philosophy. Image Books. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday
6 Company, Inc., 1962.

Cornford, Francis M. From Religion to Philosophy: a Study in
the Origins of Western Speculation. Harper Torchbooks.
New York and Evanston: Harper 8 Row, Publishers, 1957.

 

. Principium Sapientiae. Edited by W. K. C. Guthrie.
Harper Torchbooks. The Academy Library. New York:
Harper 5 Row, Publishers, 1965.

Diels, Hermann, ed. Die Fragments der Vorsokratiker. 5th ed.
Revised by Walter Kranz. Berlin: Weidmann, 1951-53.

Freeman, Kathleen. Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers.
(English translation of the fragments in Diels-Kranz.)
Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1962.

 

 

270.

Goodwin, William Watson. Greek Grammar. Revised by Charles
Burton Gulick. Boston: Ginn and Company, 1958.

 

Guthrie, W. K. C. The Greeks and Their Gods. Boston: Beacon
Press, 1950.

. A History of Greek Philosophy. Vol. I: The Earlier
Presocratics and theT Pythagoreans, and vol. II: The
Presocratlc Tradition from Parmenides to Democritus.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965.

Hintikka, Jaako. "Time, Truth, and Knowledge in Ancient Greek
Philosophy." American PhilosoPhical Quarterly, IV
(Jan., 1967), 1-19.

Kirk, G. S., and Raven, J. E. The Presocratic PhilOSOphers.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962.

Kneale, William, and Kneale, Martha. The Development of Logic.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962.

Leonard, Henry S. An Introduction to Principles of Right Reason.
New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1957.

Liddell, Henry George, and Scott, Robert. A Greek-English Lexi-
con. 9th ed. Revised and augmented By Henry Stuart
Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.

Peters, F. E. Greek Philosophical Terms: a Historical Lexicon.
New York: New York University Press, 1967.

Ross, W. D. Aristotle: a Complete Exposition of His Workg’:
and Thought. Meridian Books. Cleveland and New York:
The World Publishing Company, 1959.

Turabian, Kate L. A Manual for Writers of Term Papers, Theses,,
and Dissertations. 3rd. ed., rev. Phoenix Books.
Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press,
1967.

XenoPhon. Recollections of Socrates, and Socrates' Defense Before

the Jpry. Translated by Anna S. Benjamin. The Library
0 Liberal Arts. Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Com-
pany, Inc., 1965.

   

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