Plato, “The Allegory of the Cave”
--Adapted from translations by Paul Shorey and Benjamin Jowett
In this dialogue, Socrates, a famous teacher of ancient Greece, speaks to his friend Glaucon about the
nature of reality. We are, Socrates argues, like prisoners chained in a dark cave, perceiving reality only dimly.
What happens, he wonders, if one of those prisoners suddenly got free? What would happen if he were to return
to the cave and tell his fellow-prisoners about the reality that lies all around them – a reality they have never
really seen? How would he be welcomed back?
Socrates: Picture several people living in a subterranean cavern with a long entrance open to the light. Now
imagine those people having been chained to the same spot by their legs and necks ever since childhood so
that they can’t turn their heads. Now, imagine that there is a light from a fire burning higher up and some
distance behind them. Between the fire and the prisoners is a walkway. Every day, people pass to and fro on
the walkway behind the prisoners, carrying various things, leading animals, carrying objects of wood, stone,
metal, and every material. Sometimes they speak, sometimes not.
Glaucon: That’s one strange image…and strange prisoners.
Socrates: Prisoners that are like us, though, for think about it: do you imagine that these men would ever
have seen much of anything around them – including themselves and each other – except for the shadows
cast from the fire on the wall of the cave in front of them?
Glaucon: How could they, if they were forced to hold their heads in place throughout their lives?
Socrates: And again, wouldn’t that also be true of the objects carried past them?
Glaucon: Of course.
Socrates: If they were able to talk to one another, don’t you think that if they named the things they saw, they
would imagine that they were naming the real thing, not a bunch of shadows?
Glaucon: Sure.
Socrates: And if the cave had an echo, and one of the passersby on the walkway spoke to someone else or
made some sound, don’t you think the prisoners would imagine that it was the shadow who was speaking?
Glaucon: No doubt they would – what else could they imagine?
Socrates: Then essentially, these prisoners would think that the shadows they saw and heard were the same
thing as reality. They would think the shadows they saw were all that reality was made of.
Glaucon: That seems fairly inevitable.
Socrates: Now, imagine this. Suppose that one day, one of the prisoners was released? Imagine that his
chains are cut off and he is compelled to stand up and walk around. For the first time in his life, he can turn
his head and see what is behind him – and what he sees gives him great pain, for it is the dazzle and glitter of
the fire behind him. Now, also imagine that for the first time in his life, he can see all the people and animals
and objects on the walkway behind him – beings he had never seen before except in shadow. Now imagine
something else: What do you think he would say if someone told him that everything he had seen and
believed his whole life was all a cheat and an illusion? What do you think he would say if someone told him
that only now, for the first time, he was closer to reality and saw things more truly? What do you think he
would say if someone were to point to some person or object passing by and ask him, “What do you think that
is?” Don’t you think he would completely be at a loss for words – and that he would think that the shadows he
saw before were more “real” than the new things being pointed out to him?
Glaucon: Far more real, I’m sure.
Socrates: Wouldn’t the light of the fire hurt his eyes? And wouldn’t he want to turn away and run back to
those old familiar shadows? Wouldn’t he see them as more clear and more real than the actual objects that
were being pointed out to him?
Glaucon: I’m sure he would.
Socrates: And then, what if this happened? Suppose someone were to drag him up the long, slanting pathway
to the outside, and would not let the former prisoner go until he had taken him all the way out and into the
light of the sun itself? Don’t you think he’d struggle and protest against this? When he came out into the light,
his eyes would be so dazzled by the sun that he wouldn’t even be able to see even one of the things we call
real, don’t you think?
Glaucon: No, of course not – not immediately.
Socrates: At first, I think he’d easily be able to discern the shadows of the things he saw in the sun. Then, he’d
probably be able to recognize the reflections in the water of people and other things, and then finally later,
he’d be able to recognize the things themselves. Then later, he would be able to make sense of the things he
saw and recognize them, and then be able to examine things more easily by night, looking at the light of the
stars and moon, rather than at the sun and the sun’s light.
Glaucon: Of course.
Socrates: And so finally, I suppose, he would be able to look on the sun itself and see it for what it really was,
not just see it reflected in water, but in itself in its own place.
Glaucon: Certainly.
Socrates: And at this point, he would be able to figure out that the sun is the thing that provides the seasons
of the year, marks the passage of time, and is the cause of all the things that he’d seen.
Glaucon: Obviously, that would be the next step.
Socrates: Well, if at that moment, he thinks back on the cave where he was raised during his entire life, and
remembers what ideas there passed for “wisdom,” and remembers his fellow prisoners, don’t you think he’d
count himself happy by comparison? Don’t you think he would pity them?
Glaucon: I’m sure he would.
Socrates: And if, during the time when he was a captive, there had been contests among the prisoners to see
who could make out the shadows as they pass, and who could remember the order in which certain shadows
appeared, and so on, do you think that he would care at all about those awards now, or envy and imitate the
people who’d gotten the awards, or do you think instead that he’d rather put up with anything rather than go
back there and live that life? Wouldn’t he agree with Homer, who said that “It would be better to be a poor
servant of a poor master and to put up with anything rather than think as they do and live after their manner?”
Glaucon: I think that he’d rather put up with anything than go back there.
Socrates: Now consider this. What would happen, do you think if he were to go down again – return to the
cave where he’d always lived, and take his old place again? Don’t you think his eyes would be filled with
darkness from suddenly coming out of the sunlight?
Glaucon: Yes, of course.
Socrates: Now, if he would have to go back and speak with his fellow prisoners before his eyes had adjusted
to the darkness, wouldn’t they probably laugh at him and say that he’d returned from his journey with his
eyes ruined, and that it therefore wasn’t even worth it to attempt to leave the cave? And if it were possible for
the prisoners to lay hands on any man who tried to loose them from their chains and take them up out of the
cave, don’t you think they’d probably fight back against the man and maybe kill him?
Glaucon: They certainly would.
Socrates: Then you must understand, my friend Glaucon, that the prison-house of the cave is the world we
know; the light of the fire is our sun. Beyond our reality lies other truths. In the world of knowledge, the idea
of good appears last of all.