r, harmony, development may
also be said to enter into it. The paraphrase which has just been given
of it goes beyond the actual words of Plato. We have perhaps arrived at
the stage of philosophy which enables us to understand what he is aiming
at, better than he did himself. We are beginning to realize what he saw
darkly and at a distance. But if he could have been told that this, or
some conception of the same kind, but higher than this, was the truth
at which he was aiming, and the need which he sought to supply, he would
gladly have recognized that more was contained in his own thoughts
than he himself knew. As his words are few and his manner reticent
and tentative, so must the style of his interpreter be. We should not
approach his meaning more nearly by attempting to define it further. In
translating him into the language of modern thought, we might insensibly
lose the spirit of ancient philosophy. It is remarkable that although
Plato speaks of the idea of good as the first principle of truth and
being, it is nowhere mentioned in his writings except in this passage.
Nor did it retain any hold upon the minds of his disciples in a later
generation; it was probably unintelligible to them. Nor does the mention
of it in Aristotle appear to have any reference to this or any other
passage in his extant writings.

BOOK VII. And now I will describe in a figure the enlightenment or
unenlightenment of our nature:--Imagine human beings living in an
underground den which is open towards the light; they have been there
from childhood, having their necks and legs chained, and can only see
into the den. At a distance there is a fire, and between the fire and
the prisoners a raised way, and a low wall is built along the way, like
the screen over which marionette players show their puppets. Behind the
wall appear moving figures, who hold in their hands various works of
art, and among them images of men and animals, wood and stone, and some
of the passers-by are talking and others silent. 'A strange parable,'
he said, 'and strange captives.' They are ourselves, I replied; and they
see only the shadows of the images which the fire throws on the wall of
the den; to these they give names, and if we add an echo which returns
from the wall, the voices of the passengers will seem to proceed from
the shadows. Suppose now that you suddenly turn them round and make them
look with pain and grief to themselves at the real images; will they
be