<529a> For it is evident, I conceive, to every one, that this discipline compels the soul to look to that which is above, and from the things here conducts it thither. It is probable, said I, that it is evident to every one but to me. For to me it does not appear so. How then do you think of it? replied he. In the way it is now pursued by those who introduce it into philosophy, it entirely makes the soul to look downwards. How do you say? replied he. You seem to me, said I, to have formed with yourself no ignoble opinion of the discipline respecting things above, what it is: for you seem to think, that if any one contemplates the various bodies in the firmament, and, by earnestly <529b> looking up, apprehends every thing, you think that he has intelligence of these things; and does not merely see them with his eyes; and perhaps you judge right, and I foolishly. For I, on the other hand, am not able to conceive, that any other discipline can make the soul look upwards, but that which respects being, and that which is invisible; and if a man undertakes to learn any thing of sensible objects, whether he gape upwards, or bellow downwards, never shall I say that he learns; for I aver he has no science of these things, nor shall say that his soul looks <529c> upwards, but downwards, even though he should learn lying on his back, either at land or at sea. I am punished, said he; for you have justly reproved me. But which was the proper way, said you, of learning astronomy different from the methods adopted at present, if they mean to learn it with advantage for the purposes we speak of? In this manner, said I, that these variegated bodies in the heavens, as they <529d> are varied in a visible subject, be deemed the most beautiful and the most accurate of the kind, but far inferior to real beings, according to those orbits in which real velocity, and real slowness, in true number, and in all true figures, are carried with respect to one another, and carry all things that are within them. Which things truly are to be comprehended by reason and the dianoëtic power, but not by sight; or do you think they can? By no means, replied he. Is not then, said I, that variety in the heavens to be made use of as a paradigm for learning <529e> those real things, in the same manner as if one should meet with geometrical figures, drawn remarkably well and elaborately by Dædalus, or some other artist or painter? For a man who was skilled in geometry, on seeing these, would truly think the workmanship most excellent, yet would esteem it ridiculous to consider these things seriously, as if from thence he were to learn the truth, as to what were <530a> in equal, in duplicate, or in any other proportion. Why would it not be ridiculous? replied he. And do not you then think, that he who is truly an astronomer is affected in the same manner, when he looks up to the orbits of the planets? And that he reckons that the heavens and all in them are indeed established by the demiurgus of the heavens, in the most beautiful manner possible for such works to be established; but would not he deem him absurd, who should imagine that this proportion of night with day, and of both these to a month, and of a <530b> month to a year, and of other stars to such like things, and towards one another, existed always in the same manner, and in no way suffered any change, though they have a body, and are visible; and search by every method to apprehend the truth of these things? So it appears to me, <530c> replied he, whilst I am hearing you. Let us then make use of problems, said I, in the study of astronomy, as in geometry. And let us dismiss the heavenly bodies, if we intend truly to apprehend astronomy, and render profitable instead of unprofitable that part of the soul which is naturally wise. You truly enjoin a much harder talk on astronomers, said he, than is enjoined them at present. And I think, replied I, that we must likewise enjoin other things, in the same manner, if we are to be of any service as law-givers. But can you suggest any of the proper disciplines? I can suggest none, replied he, at present at least. Lation, said I, as it appears to me, affords us not one indeed, but many species of discipline. <530d> All of which any wise man can probably tell; but those which occur to me are two. What are they? Together with this, said I, there is its counter-part. Which? As the eyes, said I, seem to be fitted to astronomy, so the ears seem to be fitted to harmonious lation. And these seem to be sister sciences to one another, both as the Pythagoreans <530e> say, and we, Glauco, agree with them, or how shall we do? Just so, replied he. Shall we not, said I, since this is their great work, inquire how they speak concerning them - and, if there be any other thing besides these, inquire into it likewise? But above all these things, we will still guard that which is our own. What is that? That those we educate never attempt at any time to learn any of those things in an imperfect manner, and not pointing always at that mark to which all ought to be directed: as we now mentioned with reference to astronomy. Or do not you know that they do the same thing with <531a> regard to harmony, as in astronomy? For, whilst they measure one with another the symphonies and sounds which are heard, they labour like the astronomers unprofitably. Nay, by the gods, said he, and ridiculously too, whilst they frequently repeat certain notes, and listen with their ears to catch the sound as from a neighbouring place; and some of them say they hear some middle note, but that the interval which measures them is the smallest; and others again doubt this, and <531b> say that the notes are the same as were sounded before; and both parties subject the intellect to the ears. But you speak, said I, of the lucrative musicians, who perpetually harass and torment their strings, and turn them on the pegs. But that the comparison may not be too tedious, I shall say nothing of their complaints of the strings, their refusals and stubbornness, but bring the image to an end. But I say we ought not to choose these to speak of harmony, but those true musicians whom we mentioned. For these do the same things here as the others did in <531c> astronomy; for in these symphonies which are heard, they search for numbers, but they pass not thence to the problems, to inquire what numbers are symphonious, and what are not, and the reason why they are either the one or the other. You speak, said he, of a divine work. It is then indeed profitable, said I, in the search of the beautiful and good, but if pursued in another manner it is unprofitable. It is likely, <531d> said he. But I think, said I, that the proper method of inquiry into all these things, if it reach their communion and alliance with each other, and reason in what respects they are akin to one another, will contribute something to what we want, and our labour will not be unprofitable; otherwise it will. I likewise, said he, prophesy the same thing. but you speak, Socrates, of a very mighty work. Do you mean the introduction, or what else? said I. Or do we not know that all these things are introductory to the law itself? which we ought to learn; for even those <531e> that are skilled in dialectic do not appear expert as to these things. No, by Jupiter, said he, unless a very few of all I have met with. But whilst they are not able, said I, to impart and receive reason, will they ever be <532a> able to know any thing of what we say is necessary to be known? Never will they be able to do this, replied he. Is not this itself then, Glauco, said I, the law? To give perfection to dialectic; which being intelligible, may be said to be imitated by the power of sight; which power endeavours, as we observed, first to look at animals, then at the stars, and last of all at the sun himself. So when any one attempts to discuss a subject without any of the senses, by reasoning he is impelled <532b> to that which each particular is; and if he does not desist till he apprehends by intelligence what is The Good Itself, he then arrives at the end of the intelligible, as the other does at the end of the visible. Entirely so, said he. What now? Do not you call this progression dialectic? What else? And now, said I, as in our former comparison you had the liberation from chains, and turning from shadows towards images, and the light, and an ascent from the cavern to the sun; and when there, the looking at images in water, from an inability at first to <532c> behold animals and plants, and the light of the sun; so here you have the contemplation of divine phantasms, and the shadows of real beings, and not the shadows of images shadowed out by another light of a similar kind, as by the sun. And all this business respecting the arts which we have discussed, has this power, to lead back again that which is best in the soul, to the contemplation of that which is best in beings; as in the <532d> former case, that which is brightest in the body is led to that which is most splendid in the corporeal and visible place. I admit, said he, of these things; though truly it appears to me extremely difficult to admit of them, and in another respect it is difficult not to admit of them. But however (for we shall hear these things not only now at present, but often again discuss them), establishing these things as now expressed, let us go to the law itself, and discuss it as we have finished the <532e> introduction. Say then what is the mode of the power of dialectic [see note 3], and into what species is it divided, and what are the paths leading to it? For these, it is likely, conduct us to that place, at which when we are arrived, we shall find a resting-place, and the end of the journey. You <533a> will not as yet, friend Glauco, said I, be able to follow; for otherwise no zeal should be wanting on my part; nor should you any longer only see the image of that of which we are speaking, but the truth itself. But this is what to me at least it appears; whether it be so in reality or not, this it is not proper strenuously to affirm; but that indeed it is somewhat of this kind may be strenuously affirmed. May it not? Why not? And further that it is the power of dialectic alone, which can discover this to one who is skilled in the things we have discussed, and that by no other <533b> power it is possible. This also, said he, we may strenuously affirm. This at least no one, said I, will dispute with us: That no other method can attempt to comprehend, in any orderly way, what each particular being is; for all the other arts respect either the opinions and desires of men, or generations, and compositions, or are all employed in the culture of things generated and compounded. Those others, which we <533c> said participated somewhat of being, geometry, and such as are connected with her, we see as dreaming indeed about being; but it is impossible for them to have a true vision, so long as employing hypotheses they preserve these immoveable, without being able to assign a reason for their subsistence. For where the principle is that which is unknown, and the conclusion and intermediate steps are connected with that unknown principle, by what contrivance can an assent of such a kind ever become science? By none, replied he. Does not then, said I, the dialectic method proceed in this way alone, to the principle itself, removing all hypotheses, that it may firmly establish it, <533d> and gradually drawing and leading upwards the eye of the soul, which was truly buried in a certain barbaric mire, using as assistants and circular leaders those arts we have mentioned, which through custom we frequently call sciences, but which require another appellation more clear than opinion, but more obscure than science? We have somewhere in the former part of our discourse termed it the dianoëtic power. But the controversy is not, as it appears to me, about a name, with those who inquire into things of such great importance as those now before <533e> us. It is not, said he. Do you agree then, said I, as formerly, to call the first part science, the second the dianoëtic power, the third faith, and the fourth assimilation? and both these last opinion? and the two former intelligence? And that opinion is employed about generation, and <534a> intelligence about essence? Likewise, that as essence is to generation, so is intelligence to opinion, science to faith, and the dianoëtic power to assimilation? But as for the analogy of the things which these powers respect, and the twofold division of each, viz. of the object of opinion, <534b> and of intellect, these we omit, Glauco, that we may not be more prolix here than in our former reasonings. As for me, said he, with reference to those other things, as far as I am able to follow, I am of the same opinion. But do not you call him skilled in dialectic, who apprehends the reason of the essence of each particular? And as for the man who is not able to give a reason to himself, and to another, so far as he is not able, so far will you not say he wants intelligence of the thing? Why should I not say so? replied he. And is not the case the same with reference to The Good? Whosoever cannot define it by reason, <534c> separating the idea of The Good from all others, and as in a battle piercing through all arguments, eagerly striving to confute, not according to opinion, but according to essence, and in all these marching forward with undeviating reason, - such an one knows nothing of The Good Itself, nor of any good whatever: but if he has attained to any image of The Good, we must say he has attained to it by opinion, not by science; that <534d> in the present life he is sleeping, and conversant with dreams; and that before he is roused he will descend to Hades, and there be profoundly and perfectly laid asleep. By Jupiter, said he, I will strongly aver all these things. But surely you will not, _ think, allow your own children at least whom you nourished and educated in reasoning, if ever in reality you educate them, to have the supreme government of the most important affairs in the state, whilst they are void of reason, as letters of the alphabet. By no means, replied he. You will then lay down this to them as a law: That in a most especial manner they attain to that part of education, by which they may become able to question and <534e> answer in the most scientific manner. I will settle it by law, said he, with your assistance at least. Does it then appear to you, said I, that dialectic is to be placed on high as a bulwark to disciplines? and that no other discipline can with propriety be raised higher than this; but that <535a> every thing respecting disciplines is now finished? I agree, said he. There now remains for you, said I, the distribution: To whom shall we assign these disciplines, and after what manner? That is evident, said he. Do you remember then our former election of rulers, what kind we chose? How should I not? said he. As to other things then, conceive, said I, that such geniuses as these ought to be selected. For the most firm and brave are to be preferred, and, as far as possible, the most graceful; and besides, we must not only seek for those whose manners <535b> are generous and stern, but they must be possessed of every other natural disposition conducive to this education. Which dispositions do you recommend? They must have, said I, O blessed man! acuteness with respect to disciplines, that they may not learn with difficulty. For souls are much more intimidated in robust disciplines, than in strenuous exercises of the body; for their proper labour, and which is not in common with the body, is more domestic to them. True, said he. And <535c> we must seek for one of good memory, untainted, and every way laborious: or how else do you think any one will be willing to endure the fatigue of the body, and to accomplish at the same time such learning and study? No one, said he, unless he be in all respects of a naturally good disposition. The mistake then about philosophy, and the contempt of it, have been occasioned through these things, because, as I formerly said, it is not applied to in a manner suitable to its dignity: for it ought not to be applied to by the bastardly, but the legitimate. <535d> How? said he. In the first place, he who is to apply to philosophy ought not, said I, to be lame as to his love of labour, being laborious in some things, and averse to labour in others. But this takes place when a man loves wrestling and hunting, and all exercises of the body, but is not a lover of learning, and loves neither to hear nor to inquire, but in all these respects has an aversion to labour. He likewise is lame, in a different manner from this man, who dislikes all bodily exercise. You say most true, replied he. And shall we not, said I, in like manner <535e> account that soul lame as to truth, which hates indeed a voluntary falsehood, and bears it ill in itself, and is beyond measure enraged when others tell a lie; but easily admits the involuntary lie; and, though at any time it be found ignorant, is not displeased, but like a savage sow willingly wallows in ignorance? By all means, said he. And in like <536a> manner, said I, as to temperance and fortitude, and magnanimity, and all the parts of virtue, we must no less carefully attend to what is bastardly, and what is legitimate; for when either any private person or city understands not how to attend to all these things, they unawares employ the lame and the bastardly for whatever they have occasion; private persons employ them as friends, and cities as governors. The case is <536b> entirely so, said he. But we, said I, must beware of all such things; for, if we take such as are entire in body and in mind for such extensive learning, and exercise and instruct them, justice herself will not blame us, and we shall preserve both the city and its constitution: but if we introduce persons of a different description into these affairs, we shall do every thing the reverse, and bring philosophy under still greater ridicule. That indeed were shameful, said he. Certainly, said I. But I myself <536c> seem at present to be somewhat ridiculous. How so? said he. I forgot, said I, that we were amusing ourselves, and spoke with too great keenness; for, whilst I was speaking, I looked towards philosophy; and seeing her most unworthily abused, I seem to have been filled with indignation, and, as being enraged at those who are the cause of it, to have spoken more earnestly what I said. No truly, said he, not to me your hearer at least. But for me, said I, the speaker. But let us not forget this, that in our former election we made choice of old men; but <536d> in this election it will not be allowed us. For we must not believe Solon, that one who is old is able to learn many things; but he is less able to effect this than to run. All mighty and numerous labours belong to the young. Of necessity, said he. Every thing then relating to arithmetic and geometry, and all that previous instruction which they should be taught before they learn dialectic, ought to be set before them whilst they are children, and that method of teaching observed, which <536e> will make them learn without compulsion. Why so? Because, said I, a free man ought to learn no discipline with slavery: for the labours of the body when endured through compulsion render the body nothing worse: but no compelled discipline is lasting in the soul. True, said he. Do not then, said I, O best of men! compel boys in their learning; but <537a> train them up, amusing themselves, that you may be better able to discern to what the genius of each naturally tends. What you say, replied he, is reasonable. Do not you remember then, said I, that we said the boys are even to be carried to war, as spectators, on horseback, and that they are to be brought nearer, if they can with safety, and like young hounds taste the blood? I remember, said he. Whoever then, said I, shall appear the most forward in all these labours, disciplines, and terrors, are to be selected into a certain number. At what age? said he. <537b> When they have, said I, finished their necessary exercises; for during this time, whilst it continues, for two or three years, it is impossible to accomplish anything else; for fatigue and sleep are enemies to learning; and this too is none of the least of their trials, what each of them appears to be in his exercises. Certainly, said he. And after this period, said I, let such as formerly have been selected of the age of twenty <537c> receive greater honours than others, and let those disciplines which in their youth they learned separately, be brought before them in one view, that they may see the alliance of the disciplines with each other, and with the nature of real being. This discipline indeed will alone, said he, remain firm in those in whom it is ingenerated. And this, said I, is the greatest trial for distinguishing between those geniuses which are naturally fitted for dialectic, and those which are not. He who perceives this alliance is skilled in dialectic; he who does not, is not. I am of the <537d> same opinion, said he. It will then be necessary for you, said I, after you have observed these things, and seen who are most approved in these, being stable in disciplines, and stable in war, and in the other things established by law, to make choice of such after they exceed thirty years, selecting from those chosen formerly, and advance them to greater honours. You must likewise observe them, trying them by the power of dialectic so as to ascertain which of them without the assistance of his eyes, or any other sense, is able to proceed with truth to being itself. And here, my companion, is a work of great caution. <537e> In what principally? said he. Do not you perceive, said I, the evil which at present attends dialectic, how great it is? What is it, said he, you mean? How it is somehow, said I, full of what is contrary to law. Greatly so, replied he. Do you think then, said I, they suffer some wonderful thing, and will you not forgive them? How do you mean? said he. Just as if, said I, a certain supposititious child were educated in <538a> great opulence in a rich and noble family, and amidst many flatterers, and should perceive, when grown up to manhood, that he is not descended of those who are said to be his parents, but yet should not discover his real parents; can you divine how such an one would be affected both towards his flatterers, and towards his supposed parents, both at the time when he knew nothing of the cheat, and at that time again when he came to perceive it? Or are you willing to hear me while I presage it? I am willing, said he. I prophesy then, said I, that he will <538b> pay more honour to his father and mother, and his other supposed relations, than to the flatterers, and that he will less neglect them when they are in any want, and be less apt to do or say anything amiss to them, and in matters of consequence be less disobedient to them than to those flatterers, during that period in which he knows not the truth. It is likely, said he. But when he perceives the real state of the affair, I again prophesy, he will then slacken in his honour and respect for them, and attend to the flatterers, and be remarkably more persuaded by them <538c> now than formerly, and truly live according to their manner, conversing with them openly. But for that father, and those supposed relations, if he be not of an entirely good natural disposition, he will have no regard. You say every thing, said he, as it would happen. But in what manner does this comparison respect those who are conversant with dialectic? In this. We have certain dogmas from our childhood concerning things just and beautiful, in which we have been nourished as by parents, <538d> obeying and honouring them. We have, said he. Are there not likewise other pursuits opposite to these, with pleasures flattering our souls, and drawing them towards these? They do not however persuade those who are in any degree moderate, but they honour those their relations, and obey them. These things are so. What now, said I, when to one who is thus affected the question is proposed, What is the beautiful? and when he, answering what he has heard from the lawgiver, is refuted by reason; and reason frequently and every way convincing him, reduces <538e> him to the opinion, that this is no more beautiful than it is deformed; and in the same manner, as to what is just and good, and whatever else he held in highest esteem, what do you think such an one will after this do, with regard to these things, as to honouring and obeying them? Of necessity, said he, he will neither honour nor obey them any longer in the same manner as formerly. When then he no longer deems, said I, <539a> these things honourable, and allied to him as formerly, and cannot discover those which really are so, is it possible he can readily join himself to any other life than the flattering one? It is not possible, said he. And from being an observer of the law, he shall, I think, appear to be a transgressor. Of necessity. Is it not likely then, said I, that those shall be thus affected who in this situation apply to reasoning, and that they should deserve, as I was just now saying, great forgiveness? And pity too, said he. Whilst you take care then, lest this compassionable case befall these of the age of thirty, ought they not by every method to <539b> apply themselves to reasoning? Certainly, said he. And is not this one prudent caution? that they taste not reasonings, whilst they are young: for you have not forgot, I suppose, that the youth, when they first taste of reasonings, abuse them in the way of amusement, whilst they employ them always for the purpose of contradiction. And imitating those who are refuters, they themselves refute others, delighting like whelps in dragging and tearing to pieces, in their reasonings, those always who are near them. Extremely so, said he. And after they have confuted many, <539c> and been themselves confuted by many, do they not vehemently and speedily lay aside all the opinions they formerly possessed? And by these means they themselves, and the whole of philosophy, are calumniated by others. Most true, said he. But he who is of a riper age, said I, will not be disposed to share in such a madness, but will rather imitate him who inclines to reason and inquire after truth, than one <539d> who, for the sake of diversion, amuses himself, and contradicts. He will likewise be more modest himself, and render the practice of disputing more honourable instead of being more dishonourable. Right, said he. Were not then all our former remarks rightly made, in the way of precaution, as to this point, that those geniuses ought to be decent and stable, to whom dialectic is to be imparted, and not as at present when every common genius, and such as is not at all proper, is admitted to it? Certainly, said he. Will not then the double of the former period suffice a man to remain in acquiring the art of dialectic with perseverance and application, and doing nothing else but in way of counterpart exercising <539e> himself in all bodily exercises? Do you mean six years, said he, or four? 'Tis of no consequence, said I, make it five. After this you must compel them to descend to that cave again, and oblige them to govern both in things relating to war, and such other magistracies as require youth, that they may not fall short of others in experience. And they must be still further tried among these, whether, being drawn to every different quarter, they will continue firm, or whether they will in any measure <540a> be drawn aside. And for how long a time, said he, do you appoint this? For fifteen years, said I. And when they are of the age of fifty, such of them as are preserved, and as have excelled in all these things, in actions, and in the sciences, are now to be led to the end, and are to be obliged, inclining the ray of their soul, to look towards that which imparts light to all things, and, when they have viewed The Good Itself, to use it as a paradigm, each of them, in their turn, in adorning both the city and <540b> private persons, and themselves, during the remainder of their life. For the most part indeed they must be occupied in philosophy; and when it is their turn, they must toil in political affairs, and take the government, each for the good of the city, performing this office, not as any thing honourable, but as a thing necessary. And after they have educated others in the same manner still, and left such as resemble themselves to be the guardians of the city, they depart to inhabit the islands of the <540c> blest. But the city will publicly erect for them monuments, and offer sacrifices, if the oracle assent, as to superior beings; and if it do not, as to happy and divine men. You have, Socrates, said he, like a statuary, made our governors all-beautiful. And our governesses likewise, Glauco, said I. For do not suppose that _ have spoken what I have said any more concerning the men than concerning the women, - such of them as are of a sufficient genius. Right, said he, if at least they are to share <540d> in all things equally with the men, as we related. What then, said I, do you agree, that with reference to the city and republic, we have not altogether spoken what can only be considered as wishes; but such things as are indeed difficult, yet possible in a certain respect, and in no other way than what has been mentioned, viz. when those who are truly philosophers, whether more of them or a single one, becoming governors in a city, shall despise those present honours, considering them as illiberal and of no value; but esteeming rectitude and the <540e> honours which are derived from it above all things; accounting the just as a thing of all others the greatest, and most absolutely necessary; and ministering to it, and, increasing it, thoroughly regulate the constitution <541a> of their own city? How? said he. As many, said I, of the more advanced in life as have lived ten years in the city they will send into the country, and, removing their children away from those habits which the domestics possess at present, they will educate them in their own manners and laws, which are what we formerly mentioned: and the city and republic we have described being thus established in the speediest and easiest manner, it will both be happy itself, and be of the greatest advantage to that people among whom it is established. Very much so <541b> indeed, said he. And you seem to me, Socrates, to have told very well how this city shall arise, if it arise at all. Are not now then, said I, our discourses sufficient both concerning such a city as this, and concerning a man similar to it? For it is also now evident what kind of a man we shall say he ought to be. It is evident, replied he; and your inquiry seems to me to be at an end.

Thomas Taylor's Notes to the Seventh Book of the Republic.

1. Every thing in this cave is analogous to things visible; the men, animals and furniture of every kind in it corresponding to the third, and the shadows in it, and the images appearing in mirrors, to the fourth section in the division of a line at the end of the preceding book. Things sensible also are imitations of things dianoëtic, or, in other words, of the objects of scientific energy, which form the second section of Plato's line. For the circle and triangle which are described upon paper are imitations of those which geometry considers; and the numbers which are beheld in things visible, of those which the arithmetician contemplates; and so with respect to every thing else. But observe that Plato here does not consider human life so far as it is essence, and is allotted a particular power, but merely with reference to erudition and the want of erudition. For in the ninth book he assimilates our essence to an animal whose nature is mingled from a man and a lion, and a certain many-headed beast. But the present image in the first place shows what human life is without erudition, and what it will be when educated conformably to the above-mentioned sections, and acquiring knowledge corresponding to that arrangement. In the next place, when Plato says that we must conceive a road above between the fire and the fettered men, and that the fire from on high illuminates the men bearing utensils, and the fettered men, who see nothing but the shadows formed by the fire, it is evident that there is a certain ascent in the cave itself from a more abject to a more elevated life. By this ascent, he signifies the contemplation of dianoëtic objects, (which form the second section of his line,) in the mathematical disciplines. For as the shadows in the cave correspond to the shadows of visible objects, and visible objects are the immediate images of dianoëtic forms, or the essential reasons of the soul, it is evident that the objects from which these shadows are formed must correspond to such as are dianoëtic. It is requisite therefore, that the dianoëtic power, exercising itself in these, should draw forth from their latent retreats the reasons of these which she contains, and should contemplate these, not in images, but as subsisting in herself in impartible involution; which when she evolves, she produces such a beautiful multitude of mathematical theorems. After these things, he says "that the man who is to be led from the cave will more easily see what the heavens contain, and the heavens themselves, by looking in the night to the light of the stars, and the moon, than by day looking on the sun, and the light of the sun." By this he signifies the contemplation of intelligibles: for the stars and their light are imitations of intelligibles, so far as all of them partake of the form of the sun, in the same manner as intelligibles are characterized by the nature of The Good. These then such a one must contemplate, that he may understand their essence, and those summits of their nature by which they are deiform processions from the ineffable principle of things. But if as prior to the vision of the sun it is requisite to behold the whole heaven, and all that the heavens contain; in the same manner prior to the vision of The Good, it is necessary to behold the whole intelligible order and all that it comprehends, we may from hence collect that some things in intelligibles are analogous to the whole starry spheres, but others to the stars which those spheres comprehend, and others again to the circles in them. Hence too, the spheres themselves, considered as wholes, may be said to be images of those Gods that are celebrated as total;* but the circles, of those that are called total, and at the same time partial;# and the stars, of those that are properly denominated partial Gods.+ After the contemplation of these, and after the eye is through these accustomed to the light, as it is requisite in the visible region to see the sun himself in the last place, in like manner, according to Plato, the idea of The Good must be seen the last in the intelligible region. He likewise adds, in a truly divine manner, that it is scarcely to be seen; for we can only be conjoined with it through the intelligible, in the vestibule of which it is beheld by ascending souls. The intelligible indeed is the first participant of The Good, and indicates from itself to those that are able to behold it, what that nature is, if it be lawful so to speak, which is the super-intelligible cause of the light it contains. For the light in an intelligible essence is more divine than that in intellectual natures, in the same manner as the light in the stars is more divine than that which is in the eyes that behold them. Thus also Socrates, in the Philebus, says, that The Good is apprehended with difficulty, and is scarcely to be seen, and that it is found with three monads, and these intelligible, arranged in its vestibule, truth, beauty, and symmetry. For these three produce the first being, or being itself, and through these the whole intelligible order is unfolded into light. With great propriety, therefore, does Plato assert, that the idea of The Good is to be seen the last thing in the intelligible; for the intelligible is the seat of its vision. Hence it is seen in this, as in its first participant, though it is beyond every intelligible. And in the last place Plato exhorts him who knows The Good, "to collect by reasoning that it is the cause to all of every thing right and beautiful, in the visible place generating light, and its lord the sun, and in the intelligible place being itself the lord of all things, producing intellect and truth."  For, if it generates the sun, it must by a much greater priority be the cause of those things which originate from the sun; and if it is the cause of essence to intelligibles, it must be celebrated as in a greater degree the cause of things of which these are the causes.

* That is to say, all the Gods denominated intelligible and intellectual. See the Introduction to the Parmenides.
# That is to say, the supermundane Gods.
+ These are of a mundane characteristic.

2.The Greek Scholia inform us that this is a proverb, said of those who do any thing quickly. It is also the name of a sport. It is likewise applied to those who rapidly betake themselves to flight, or to those who are easily changed.
3. For a copious account of the dialectic of Plato, which is the same with the metaphysics of Aristotle, see the Introduction and Notes to the Parmenides [Thomas Taylor Series vol. X].

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