however, differ from the shadows seen on the end-rock of the Cave, in being shadows, not of images of real things, but of real things themselves - they represent the diagrams of geometry, and, generally, the symbols and concepts employed in the deductive sciences to express the principles or laws with which the inquiry is really concerned. In time, the eyes of the released prisoners become accustomed to the daylight, and men, animals, trees, the moon and stars, and, last of all, the Sun, can be looked at. We have now reached the end of all education-the direct apprehension of the idéal, or Principles, which severally, and as connected system, explain particulars, just as the living man once seen "explains" the showman's image of him.

I have called the "Cave' Cave" an Allegory. It certainly is an Allegory, and is offered as such together with its interpretation.1 But when a great poetic genius like Plato builds an Allegory, the edifice, while serving its immediate purpose as an Allegory, transcends that purpose. Plato sees the Cave and makes us see it, and there is much more to be seen there than the mere purpose of the Allegory requires. Perhaps Plato, when he was at Syracuse, saw such a gallery in the stone quarries (there are such galleries still to be seen in the Latomie at Syracuse) lighted up with a fire, and the miners— it may be slaves or convicts in chains-working at the far end with their backs to the fire, while their shadows and the shadows of people and things behind them flitted on the walls. Be this as it may, Plato's Cave is a mysterious place. We enter it wondering, and soon forget, in our wonder, that there is "another meaning." We acquiesce in what we seethe prisoners among the shadows, and the Redeemer coming down through the dimly-lighted gloom, like Orpheus,2 to lead them up into the daylight. The vision which Plato's

1 See Couturat, de Plat. Myth. p. 51, who regards the "Cave" as an Allegory. Schwanitz, die Mythen des Plato, p. 9, on the other hand, calls the "Cave' a myth, and brings it into close comparison with the Prometheus-andEpimetheus Myth in the Protagoras:-" Wenn in dem vorigen Bilde (the Cave) auf die verschiedene Erkenntniss der Menschen hingewiesen wurde, je nach dem sie der beschränkenden Fesseln mehr oder weniger entledigt waren, so leitet der Mythus von Prometheus und Pandora die Wahrheit ein, dass von Gott Eins in aller Gemüther eingeprägt ist, an Einem alle Theil nehmen, an der sittlichen Scheu und dem Sinn für Gerechtigkeit, den gemeinsamen Bänden wodurch Staaten zusammengehalten werden.'

2 The book karáßaois els "Aidov (see Lobeck, Aglaoph. p. 373) may have been in Plato's mind.

Allegory" calls up is such as his great Myths call up; it is a vision which fills us with amazement, not a pictorial illustration which helps us to understand something.1 Its nearest parallel in literature is that vision which Dante on a sudden calls up before our eyes in Inferno, iv. 46-63:

Dimmi, Maestro mio, dimmi, Signore,
Commincia' io, per voler esser certo
Di quella fede che vince ogni errore:
Uscicci mai alcuno, o per suo merto,
O per altrui, che poi fosse beato?

E quei, che intese il mio parlar coperto,
Rispose: Io era nuovo in questo stato,
Quando ci vidi venire un possente
Con segno di vittoria coronato.
Trasseci l'ombra del primo parente,
D' Abel suo figlio, e quella di Noè,
Di Moisè legista e ubbidiente;
Abraam patriarcha, e David rè,

Israel con lo padre, e co' suoi nati,
E con Rachele, per cui tanto fè,
Ed altri molti; e fecegli beati :

E vo' che sappi che, dinanzi ad essi,
Spiriti umani non eran salvati.

The "Disorderly Crew" is also an Allegory and offered as such; but, like the "Cave," it has an interest independent of its "other meaning." Without being, like the "Cave," an impressive Myth as well as an Allegory, it is still, apart from its interpretation, a bit of highly interesting ἀνθρωπολογία. Plato makes the crew of a Greek trading vessel live and move before our eyes. And how like the ancient crew is to the modern one! Let me place Plato's sketch of the Disorderly Crew and the brilliant description in Eothen of the "politics of the Greek brigantine caught by a sudden squall side by side:

"Imagine," says Socrates, "a shipowner bigger and stronger than all the other men in the ship, but rather deaf, and rather short-sighted, and with a corresponding knowledge of seamanship; and imagine a crew of sailors all at variance with one another about the steering of the ship, each thinking that he himself ought to steer, although not a man among them has ever learnt the art of steering a ship, or can point to anybody who ever

1 This notwithstanding its close connection with the "Divided Line," Rep. 509 D ff.

taught him, or can mention a time during which he used to receive instruction: imagine them even asserting that the art cannot be taught at all, and ready to cut down anybody who says that it can, and themselves always mobbing the shipowner, their master, and entreating him, with every argument they can lay hold of, to let them have the tiller; sometimes, if one faction fails to move him, and another is more successful, the unsuccessful killing the successful or casting them out of the ship, and taking the fine old owner, and drugging him, or making him drunk, or perhaps putting him in irons, and then taking themselves the command of the ship, and using the stores, and drinking and feasting, and sailing the ship as such revellers are likely to sail her; and, to put the finishing touch to our picture, imagine them praising-describing as a 'true seaman,' a 'true pilot,' a 'man thoroughly qualified in navigation'-any one who is great in the art of capturing the owner by argument or force, and securing the command of the ship to themselves; and imagine these men finding fault with one who cannot do this, and saying that he is of no use'-men who have no conception at all of what the true pilot must be that one must make a study of the seasons, and the sky and the stars, and the winds and all things that belong to navigation, if one is to be really fit to take command of a ship-men, I say, who have no conception whatever of this-men who think that there is no art of how a pilot shall steer whether some people wish him to steer or not-no art of steering as such-to be studied and learnt. With such a state of things as this on board, don't you think that the truly qualified pilot is sure to be called a 'star-gazer,' a 'mere theorist,' and 'of no use to us,' by sailors in a ship so appointed?

"Yes, indeed," said Adeimantus.

"Then," said I, "I don't think you want to have the simile analysed, in order to understand that it figures a city in its attitude to true Philosophers. You understand that?"

"Yes," said he.1

I sailed (writes Kinglake) 2 from Smyrna in the Amphitrite, a Greek brigantine which was confidently said to be bound for the coast of Syria; but I knew that this announcement was not to be relied upon with positive certainty, for the Greek mariners are practically free from the stringency of ship's papers, and where they will, there they go.

The crew receive no wages, but have all a share in the venture, and in general, I believe, they are the owners of the

whole freight; they choose a captain to whom they entrust just power enough to keep the vessel on her course in fine weather, but not quite enough for a gale of wind; they also elect a cook and a mate.

We were nearing the isle of Cyprus, when there arose half a gale of wind, with a heavy, chopping sea. My Greek seamen considered that the weather amounted, not to a half, but to an integral gale of wind at the very least; so they put up the helm, and scudded for twenty hours. When we neared the mainland of Anadoli, the gale ceased, and a favourable breeze springing up, soon brought us off Cyprus once more. Afterwards the wind changed again, but we were still able to lay our course by sailing close-hauled.

We were at length in such a position, that by holding on our course for about half an hour, we should get under the lee of the island, and find ourselves in smooth water, but the wind had been gradually freshening; it now blew hard, and there was a heavy sea running.

As the grounds for alarm arose, the crew gathered together in one close group; they stood pale and grim under their hooded capotes like monks awaiting a massacre, anxiously looking by turns along the pathway of the storm, and then upon each other, and then upon the eye of the Captain, who stood by the helmsman. Presently the Hydriot came aft, more moody than ever, the bearer of fierce remonstrance against the continuing of the struggle; he received a resolute answer, and still we held our course. Soon there came a heavy sea that caught the bow of the brigantine as she lay jammed in betwixt the waves; she bowed her head low under the waters, and shuddered through all her timbers, then gallantly stood up again over the striving sea with bowsprit entire. But where were the crew? It was a crew no longer, but rather a gathering of Greek citizens, the shout of the seamen was changed for the murmuring of the people-the spirit of the old Demos was alive. The men came aft in a body, and loudly asked that the vessel should be put about, and that the storm be no longer tempted. Now, then, for speeches :-the Captain, his eyes flashing fire, his frame all quivering with emotion, -wielding his every limb, like another and a louder voice, pours forth the eloquent torrent of his threats, and his reasons, his commands, and his prayers; he promises-he vows-he swears that there is safety in holding on-safety, if Greeks will be brave! The men hear and are moved, but the gale rouses itself once more, and again the raging sea comes trampling over the timbers that are the life of all. The fierce Hydriot advances one step nearer

to the Captain, and the angry growl of the people goes floating down the wind; but they listen, they waver once more, and once more resolve, then waver again, thus doubtfully hanging between the terrors of the storm and the persuasion of glorious speech, as though it were the Athenian that talked, and Philip of Macedon that thundered on the weather bow.

Brave thoughts winged on Grecian words gained their natural mastery over terror; the brigantine held on her course, and smooth water was reached at last.

1

Let me close these remarks on the relationship between "Myth" and "Allegory 'Allegory" with a reference to "Ritual," in which the characteristics of both seem to be united. A "ritual performance" or "rite" is made up of "symbols." A symbol is a thing, or an act, taken to represent something else. That something else generally something of great importance-may be a transaction (such as a sale of land, symbolised in the Roman law by the act of transferring a clod of earth), or a belief (such as the doctrine of baptismal regeneration, symbolised by sprinkling with water), or a concept (such as that of justice, symbolised by a figure holding an even balance), or a nation (symbolised by its flag). In most cases the symbol has some analogical resemblance, close or remote, to that which it represents; in some cases it is a badge which has for some other reason become attached. The habit of symbolic representation is one of the most primitive and persistent tendencies of human nature. It was present in the first efforts of language, and the highest flights of science are still entirely dependent on the development of it; while without the development of it in another direction there could have been no poetry-the primrose would always have been but the yellow primrose; and even no courtesy of manners-everybody would always have called a spade a spade.

Now, a ritual performance, or rite, is a composition made up of symbols so put together as to produce solemn feeling in those who celebrate and assist. This effect produced is a massive experience of the whole, and may be, indeed ordinarily is, received without conscious attention to the significance of the separate parts the symbols which together

1 See Réville, Prolégomènes de l'Hist. des Religions, p. 125 (Eng. Translation by Squire).