Book 7, Part 1

Socrates - Glaucon

An' noo, I said, let me show ye in a wee story how lichtit up or murky oor nature is: Imagine fowk livin' in an underground den that has an openin' facin' the licht an' that stretches aw the wey alang the den; they've been there since they were bairns, an' their legs an' necks are chained sae they cannae move, an' they can only see in front o' them, bein' stopped by the chains fae turnin' their heids roon. Up an' abin them a fire is blazin' a wee bit away, an' atween the fire an' the prisoners there's a raised path; an' if ye look, ye'll see a wee wa built alang the wey, like the screen that folk wha dae puppet shows hide ahint an' wave their wee dolls aboot.

I see.

An' can ye see, I said, fowk walkin' alang the wa carryin' aw sorts o' things, statues an' figures o' beasts made o' wood an' stane an' different materials, that appear ower the wa? Some o' them are talkin', ithers are silent.

Ye've shown me a strange image, an' thir are strange prisoners.

Jist like oorsels, I replied; an' they only see their ain shadows, or the shadows o' each ither, that the fire throws on the opposite wa o' the cave?

True, he said; hoo could they see anythin' but the shadows if they were never allooed tae move their heids?

An' o' the objects that are bein' carried in the same wey they wid only see the shadows?

Aye, he said.

An' if they were able tae speak tae each ither, wid they no think that they were namin' whit wis actually in front o' them?

Very true.

An' suppose on top o' that the prison hid an echo that came fae the ither side, wid they no be sure tae fancy whan yin o' the passers-by spoke that the voice they heard came fae the passin' shadow?

No question, he replied.

Tae them, I said, the truth wid literally be nothin' but the shadows o' the images.

That's certain.

An' noo look again, an' see whit wid naturally follow this: if the prisoners are freed an' made tae see things differently. At first, whan any o' them is let oot an' forced tae suddenly stand up an' turn his neck roon an' walk an' look towards the licht, he will suffer sharp pains; the brichtness will upset him, an' he will be unable tae see the real things o' whilk in his former state he had seen the shadows; an' then imagine some yin tellin' him that whit he saw afore wis an illusion, but that noo, whan he's gettin' closer tae bein' an' his ee is turned towards mair real things, he has a clearer vision, - whit will be his reply? An' ye can further imagine that his instructor is pointin' tae the objects as they pass an' askin' him tae name them, - wid he no be confused? Wid he no think that the shadows that he formerly saw are truer than the objects that are noo bein' shown tae him?

Far truer.

An' if he's made tae look straight at the licht, wid he no hae a sore een that wid mak him turn awa an' try an' tak in the things he can see, an' that he wid think are actually clearer than the things that are noo bein' shown tae him?

True, that's whit wid happen noo.

An' suppose again, that he's dragged up a steep an' rough path against his will, an' held on tight until he's forced intae the presence o' the sun itsel, wid he no likely be pained an' annoyed? Whin he gets near the licht his een will be blearin', an' he winna be able tae see anythin' at all o' whit are noo cried realities.

No aw at ance, he said.

He wid need tae get used tae seein' the upper world. An' first he wid see the shadows best, then the reflections o' fowk an' ither things in the watter, an' then the objects themsels; then he wid look at the licht o' the moon an' the stars an' the starry sky; an' he wid see the sky an' the stars at night better than the sun or the licht o' the sun by day?

Certainly.

Last o' a' he wid be able tae see the sun, an' no juist reflections o' it in the watter, but he wid see it in its ain place, an' no in anither; an' he wid see it as it truly is.

Certainly.

Then he wid maybe argue that this is the yin that maks the seasons an' the years, an' is in charge o' everything in the sichty world, an' in a wey the cause o' aw things that him an' his fellas hae been used tae see?

Clearly, he said, he wid first see the sun an' then think aboot it.

An' whan he remembered his auld hame, an' the ideas they hid in the den an' his fellow-prisoners, wid ye no think that he wid be happy aboot the change, an' feel sorry for them?

Certainly, he wid.

An' if they hid a wey o' giein' honours amang themsels tae the yins that wis the swiftest at seein' the passin' shadows an' notin' whilk yin came first, an' whilk yin came efter, an' whilk yins wis thegither; an' wha wis therefore best at guessin' whit wis gaun tae happen next, wid ye think that he wid care for sic honours an' glories, or envy the yins that hid them? Wid he no say, like Homer:

It's better tae be the puir servant o' a puir maister, an' tae put up wi' onything, rather than think like them an' live the wey they dae?

Aye, he said, I reckon he wid sooner bide ony sufferin' than be humbuggin' himsel' wi' thae fause notions an' livin' this dreich wey.

Juist imagine ance mair, says I, sic a fella comin' oot o' the bricht sun intae his auld steid all o' a sudden; wid his een no be fu' o' darkness?

Aye, for sure, says he.

An' if there wis a competition, an' he hid tae fecht wi' the prisoners wha niver budged oot o' the den, measurin' the shadows, while his sicht wis still weak, an' afore his een hid settled (an' the time it wid tak tae get used tae seein' again micht be a fair wheesh) wid he no be a daftie? Fowk wid say aboot him that he gaed up an' cam doon withoot his sicht; an' that it wis better no even tae think o' climbin'; an' if onybody tried tae let anither ane oot an' tak him up tae the licht, they wid jist catch the chiel an' pit him tae deid.

Nae doot, says he.

This hale allegory, says I, ye can noo stick on, deary Glaucon, tae the previous argument; the prison is the warld o' sicht, the licht o' the fire is the sun, an' ye widnae misunderstand me if ye took the jey up tae the licht tae be the saul climbin' intae the warld o' ideas, accordin' tae my puir belief, whilk, at yer wuss, I've screived oot richt or wrang, only God kens. But, true or fause, it's my thocht that in the warld o' kennin', the idea o' guid comes last o' aw, an' is only seen wi' a graip; an' whan it is seen, it's jaloused tae be the makar o' aw braw an' richt things, the faither o' licht an' o' the laird o' licht in this warld we see, an' the verra wellspring o' reason an' truith in the warld o' ideas; an' that this is the pouer that onybody wha wants tae act wi' heid, baith in public an' private life, maun hae their een set on.

I agree, says he, as far as I can follow ye.

Whit's mair, says I, ye maunna wundir that them wha reach this blissful sicht are no keen tae come back doon tae human affairs; for their sauls are aye fleggin' themsels up tae the upper warld whaur they lang tae bide; whilk langin' is richt natural, if oor allegory can be trusted.

Aye, richt natural.

An' is there onythin' surpreisin' in somebody wha gaes fae divine thochts doun tae the dowie state o' man, behavin' himsel' like a daftie; if, while his een are dingin' an' afore he's gotten used tae the mirkness aroon him, he's bein' made tae fecht in coort, or ither sic places, aboot the shadois or the shadois o' shadois o' jestice, an' is tryin' tae come tae terms wi' the notions o' them wha've niver seen true jestice?

Aye, that's no a wee bit surprising, he says back.

Any wan wi' a bit o' sense kens that bein' bewildered can come aboot in twa ways, for twa reasons: either fae comin' oot o' the licht or gaun intae it, an' that's just as true for the mind's ee as it is for the een in yer heid. An' if somebody remembers this whan they see someone wha's sicht is glaikit an' weak, they widnae be ower eager tae lauch. They wid ask first if that puir soul has juist come oot o' a braw bricht licht an' cannae see richt noo acause their een arenae used tae the dark, or maybe they've juist turned awa frae the darkness intae the day an' are bein' blinded by ower much licht. An' they wid consider the first fellae lucky in their lot an' state o' bein', an' wid hae pity on the other. Or, if they did fancy a wee chuckle at the soul comin' up fae the dowie intae the licht, that wid make mair sense nor lauchin' at the yin comin' back doon fae the bricht intae the den.

That's a richt fair distinction, says he.

But then, if I'm on the richt track, some o' thir teachin' folk maun be wrang whan they say they can pit learnin' intae a soul that wisnae there afore, like sicht intae blin' een.

They sure say that, says he.

Whit oor argument shows, though, is that the pooer an' capacity tae learn is already in the soul; an' juist like the ee couldnae turn fae darkness tae licht withoot the hale body, the gear o' learnin' can only be turned, wi' the movement o' the hale soul, fae the warld o' aye-changin' things intae the warld o' true bein', an' learn bit by bit tae bide the sicht o' bein', an' o' the brawest an' best bein', or, tae pit it anither wey, o' the guid.

Aye, very true.

An' wid there no need tae be some skill that wid mak this turnaroond happen in the easiest an' quickest wey? No stickin' the sicht in, cause that's already there, but juist turnin' it the richt wey, seein' as it's been swivelled wrang an' is lookin' awa fae the truth?

Aye, says he, sic a skill micht be possible.

An' whareas the ither so-called virtues o' the soul seem like they come alang wi' the body, cause even if they're no there tae begin wi', ye can pit them in later wi' habit an' practice, the core o' wisdom mair than onything else contees a wee bit o' the divine that aye bideth, an' bi this turnaroond it becomes useful an' profitable; or, on the ither haund, skaithful an' useless. Did ye niver notice the wee spark o' cleverness glintin' oot o' the ee o' a wheestler? Hoo gleg he is, hoo clearly his wee soul sees the wey tae get whit he wants; he's the opposite o' blin', but his braw sicht is bein' forced tae serve evil, an' he's juist as bad as he is clever.

Very true, says he.

But whit if thir natures hid been loppt clean, like ye wid a young tree, in their youth; an' they hid been severed fae thir bodily pleasures, like eatin' an' drinkin', that are like lead weichts hung on them at birth, an' that drag them doun an' turn the sicht o' their souls ontae the things that are doun belaw? If, I say, they hid been freed o' thir haurdins an' turned the ither wey, the very same faculty in them wid hae seen the truth just as sharply as they see whit their een are turned tae noo.

Aye, most likely.

Aye, I said, an' there's another thing that's likely, or rather a needie inference fae what we've been sayin' afore. Nae yankin' oafs or folk wha are blin' tae the truth, nor yet them that niver stop their learnin', will mak guid government ministers. No the first lot, cause they hinnae a single aim o' duty that's the rule for aw their actions, baith private an' public; nor the last lot, cause they widnae dae naething at all unless they wis forced, thinkin' they're already livin' the dream up in some paradise.

True enough, he says back.

Then, says I, the job o' us wha are startin' this state will be tae force the best minds tae get this learnin' that we've already shown is the greatest o' them all - they cannae just stop climbin' until they reach the guid; but whan they've gotten up there an' seen enough, we cannae let them bide whit they're daein' the noo.

What dae ye mean?

We cannae let them just stay up in that upper world; that widnae be richt; we gottae mak them come back doon amang the prisoners in the den, an' share in their wark an' honours, whether they deserve them or no.

But isnae that jist wrang? says he; wid we no be gievin' them a waur life, whan they could hae a better yin?

Ye've forgotten again, my friend, I says, what the fella settin' up the government wis thinkin' aboot. He wisnae tryin' tae mak ony yin group in the state happier than the rest; the happiness wis tae be for the hail state, an' he yoked the folk thegither wi' persuasion an' need, makin' them benefactors o' the state, an' benefactors o' ilk ither; that's whit he made them for, no tae please themsels, but tae be his tools tae haud the state thegither.

True enough, he says, I had forgotten that.

See here, Glaucon, there wid be nae injustice in forcin' oor philosophers tae tak tent an' care o' ithers; we'll explain tae them that in ither states, folk like them arenae obligated tae share in the hassle o' politics: an' that's fair enough, cause they grow up any wey they like, an' the government wid rather leave them be. Since they learn themsels, it widnae be expected that they wid show ony gratitude for a teachin' they never got. But we've brocht ye intae the world tae be leaders o' the hive, kings o' yersels an' o' the ither citizens, an' we've edjucated ye far better an' mair perfectly than they've been edjucated, an' ye're better able tae share in the double duty. Sae each o' ye, whan it's yer turn, maun gang back doon tae the dowie wharehoose unner the grund, an' get used tae seein' in the dark. Whan ye've gotten the knack o' that, ye'll see ten thoosand times better than the folk in the den, an' ye'll ken whit the various idols are, an' whit they mean, cause ye've seen the braw an' the just an' the guid in their true form. An' that wey oor state, that's also yours, will be real, an' no jist a dream, an' it'll be run in a way that's different fae ither states, whaur folk fecht wi' ilk ither ower shadows an' are oot o' their minds fightin' for pooer, that they think is somethin' grand. But the truth is that the state whaur the leaders are least wantin' tae govern is aye the best an' maist peaceful, an' the state whaur they're wantitin' it the maist is the warst.

Aye, richt enough, says he.

An' will oor students, whan they hear this, refuse tae tak their turn at the dreich duties o' runnin' the state, whan they're allooed tae pass maist o' their time wi' ilk ither in the lichtie paradise?

Nae chance, says he; for they're juist men, an' the things we're tellin' them tae dae are juist; there cannae be ony doobt that every single yin o' them will tak office as a sair necessity, an' no like oor current rulers who are aye gaun on aboot it.

Aye, my friend, says I; an' that's the hale point. Ye maun contrive for yer future leaders anither an' better life than that o' a ruler, an' then ye micht hae a weel-ordered state; for juist in the state that offers this, will the rulers wha are truly rich come forrit, no in siller an' gowd, but in virtue an' wisdom, that are the true blessins o' life. Whereas if they gang intae giein' orders an' runnin' things, puir an' hungerin' efter their ain private advantage, thinkin' that that's whit they'll get oot o' it, order there can niver be; for they'll be fechtin' aboot wha gets tae be in charge, an' the public an' private rows that come oot o' that will be the ruin o' the leaders themsels an' o' the hale state.

Richt true, says he.

An' the only life that looks doon on the life o' wantiin' tae be in charge is that o' true philosophy. Did ye ken o' ony ither?

Nae, I dinnae, says he.

An' them that govern shouldnae be the ones wha like the job ower muckle? For, if they are, there'll be rivals wha like it an' they'll fecht.

Nae question.

Wha then are the fowk we should be forcin' tae be guardians? Surely they wid be the men wha are wisest aboot the state an' whit needs tae be done, an' wha can run it best, an' wha at the same time hae ither honours an' anither an' better life than juist bein' in charge?

They're the men we want, an' I'll pick them, says he.

An' noo should we think aboot hoo sic guardians will be made, an' hoo they are tae be brocht fae the darkness intae the licht - juist like some fowk are said tae hae come up fae the world belae tae the gods?

Absolutely, says he.

The process, I said, isnae like turnin' an oyster on its back, but it's aboot turnin' a soul roon, gaun frae a day that's no much better than nicht tae the true day o' bein', that is, the climb up fae the dowie place, whilk we say is true philosophy?

Aye, that's richt.

An' sud we no be speirin' what sort o' learnin' has the pooer tae mak sic a chynge?

For sure.

Whit sort o' learnin' is there that wid pu' the soul awa fae becomin' an' intae bein'? An' anither thocht juist cam intae my heid: ye'll mind that oor young men are tae be warrior athletes?

Aye, that wis said.

Then this new kind o' learnin' maun hae anither quality on top o' that?

Whit quality?

Something that'll be useful in war.

Aye, if that's possible.

There were twa pairts in oor auld plan for edjucation, were there no?

Juist so.

There wis gymnastics that lukit efter the growin' an' shrivellin' o' the body, an' sae can be seen as bein' aboot creation an' corruption?

True.

Then that's no the learnin' we're efter findin'?

Nae.

But whit dae ye say aboot music, that wis also a bit part o' oor auld plan?

Music, he says, as ye'll mind, wis the counterpart o' gymnastics, an' trained the guardians bi the influence o' habit, makin' them harmonious bi harmony, rhythmical bi rhythm, but no gievin' them science; an' the wirds, whether made-up stories or maybe true, hid things like rhythm an' harmony in them an aw. But in music there wisnae ocht that pit them on the wey tae that guidness ye're efter noo.

Ye're spot on, I said, in yer mindin'; in music there certainly wisnae naething o' the kind. But whit branch o' learnin' is there, my dear Glaucon, that is the wey we want; since we considert aa the handy crafts tae be ower common?

Undoubtedly; an' yet if music an' gymnastics are oot, an' the crafts are oot an aw, whit's left?

Weel, I said, there micht be naething left o' oor special subjects; an' then we wid need tae pick something that isna special, but somethin' that applies tae everything.

Whit micht that be?

Something that aw the arts an' sciences an' cleverness uise thegither, an' that every yin first needs tae learn amang the basics o' edjucation.

What is that?

The wee business o' tellin' the difference atween yin, twa, an' three - in a word, numbers an' coontin': disnae every airt an' science need a wee bit o' that?

Aye, that's true.

Then the airt o' war needs a wee bit o' that an aw?

Och aye.

Then Palamedes, whenever he shows up in a play, makes Agamemnon look like a daftie who shouldnae be a general. Did ye niver notice hoo he says that he invented coontin' an' numbered the ships an' set the ranks o' the army in order at Troy? That seems tae suggest that they hid never been coontit afore, an' Agamemnon maun be seen as bein' literally unable tae coont his ain feet - hoo could he if he didnae ken numbers? An' if that's true, whit sort o' general maun he hae been?

A richt strange yin, if it wis like that.

Can we deny that a warrior sud hae a ken o' coontin'?

Absolutely he sud, if he's tae hae ony wee bit o' understanding o' fechtin' tactics, or indeed, I wid say mair, if he's tae be a man at aw.

I wid like tae ken if ye hae the same notion aboot this study as I dae?

Whit's yer notion?

It seems tae me tae be a study o' the kind we're efter, an' that leads ye natually tae think things through, but it seems it's never been used richtly; for the true wey tae use it is juist tae draw the soul in the direction o' bein'.

Can ye explain whit ye mean? he says.

I'll gie it a bash, I said; an' I wid like ye tae help me oot wi' this enquiry, an' say 'aye' or 'naw' whan I try tae sort oot in my ain heid whit bits o' learnin' hae this power tae draw ye in, sae that we can hae clearer proof that coontin', as I jalouse, is yin o' them.

Explain, he says.

I mean tae say that things we sense are o' twa sorts; some o' them dinnae mak ye think aboot them mair acause the sensin' is enough tae tell ye whit it is; while for ither things, the sensin' is so unreliable that ye need tae enquire further.

Ye're clearly referrin', he says, tae the wey oor senses can be fooled by distance, an' bi paintin's wi' licht an' shade.

Naw, I said, that's no what I mean at aw.

Then whit dae ye mean?

Whin I speak o' things that dinnae mak ye think, I mean things that ye can sense in yin wey aw the time; things that mak ye think are the opposite; in thir last yin, whit ye sense o' the thing, whether it's near or far, white or black, thick or thin - it disnae mak a difference; a finger is a finger aw the same. In thir cases a fella isnae compelled tae ask himsel' whit something is, for the sicht never tells the mind that a finger is anythin' ither than a finger.

True.

An' therefore, I said, as we micht expect, there's nothin' here that mak ye think mair aboot it.

There's nae bother, he says.

But is this the same for the size o' the fingers? Can the sicht see them richtly? Dis it no mak a difference that yin o' the fingers is in the middle an' anither's at the end? An' is it the same for touch wi' thick an' thin, or soft an' hard? Whit aboot the ither senses; dae they gie perfect messages aboot sic things? Disnae it work mair like this - the sense that notices hardness will also notice softness, an' juist tells the soul that the same thing can be felt as both hard an' soft?

Ye're spot on, he says.

An' widnae the soul be confused by this message that the sense gies o' something that's baith hard an' soft? An' whit wey are we meant tae unnerstaun' licht an' hivy, if something that's licht is an aw hivy, an' something that's hivy is licht?

Aye, he says, thir messages that the soul gets are gey puzzling an' need explainin'.

Aye, I says, an' whan the soul's bein' perplexed like this, it naturally calls on coontin' an' thinkin' tae help it oot, sae it can see if the various things it's bein' telt aboot are yin thing or twa.

True.

An' if it turns oot tae be twa things, isnae each o' them yin an' different?

Absolutely.

An' if each is yin, an' baith o' them thegither are twa, it'll see the twa as separate things, cause if they wisnae separate they could only be thocht o' as yin?

True.

The ee definitely saw baith wee an' big things, but juist in a jumbled wey; they wisnae separate.

Aye.

Whereas the thinkin' mind, wantin' tae clear up the mess, wis compelled tae reverse the process, an' look at wee an' big as separate things an' no jumbled thegither.

Very true.

Wisnae this the beginnin' o' the question 'What is big?' an' 'What is wee?'

Exactly so.

An' that's hoo the difference atween sicht-based things an' things we can understand wis made clear.

Most true.

This is whit I meant whan I wis talkin' aboot impressions that mak ye think harder, or the opposite - things that are seen at the same time as their opposites mak ye think; things that arenae seen at the same time disnae.

I understand, he says, an' agree wi' you.

An' tae which group dae oneness an' numbers belang?

I dinnae ken, he says.

Think a wee bit an' ye'll see that whit we've been sayin' afore will gie ye the answer; for if a simple oneness could be seen properly by the sicht or ony ither sense, then, as we were sayin' in the case o' the finger, there wid be naething tae draw it towards true bein'. But whan there's some contradiction aye present, an' yin thing is the opposite o' anither an' involves the idea o' manyness, then thinkin' begins tae be sparked in us, an' the soul, bein' confused an' wantin' tae mak a decision, asks 'What is absolute oneness?' This is hoo the study o' oneness has the pooer tae draw an' change the mind towards contemplatin' true bein'.

An' absolutely, he says, this is especially clear wi' oneness; for we see the same thing bein' baith yin an' an endless nummer o' things a' at ance?

Aye, I said; an' if this is true o' yin then it maun be true o' aw numbers as well?

Och aye.

An' aa coontin' an' nummerical calculations are aboot numbers?

Aye.

An' they seem tae lead the mind towards truth?

Aye, in a maist remarkable wey.

Then this is the kind o' learnin' we're efter, somethin' that's useful in twa ways, for war an' philosophy; for the fellae fechtin' needs to learn the art o' numbers or he widnae ken hoo tae organise his troops, an' the philosopher needs it an aw, because he needs tae rise oot o' the sea o' constant change an' grab haud o' true bein', an' sae he maun be a numismatistician [someone who studies numbers].

That's true.

An' oor guardian is baith a fechter an' a philosopher?

Certainly.

Then this is a kind o' learnin' that the law can richtly prescribe; an' we maun try tae convince those wha mak the laws, the main men o' oor state, tae gang an' learn aboot numbers, no like some wee dabblers, but they need tae keep studiyin' until they can see the nature o' numbers wi' their minds alane; an' no again, like merchants or folk that sell things in wee shops, juist so they can buy an' sell better, but for the sake o' bein' better at war an' for the sake o' their ain souls; an' because this will be the easiest wey for their souls tae pass from constant change intae truth an' bein'.

That's excellent, he says.

Aye, I said, an' noo that we've spoken aboot it, I maun add hoo lovely this science is! An' in hoo many ways it helps us get what we want, if it's pursued in the spirit o' a philosopher, an' no a shopkeeper!

Whit dae ye mean?

I mean, as I wis sayin', that coontin' has a really great an' upliftin' effect, forcin' the soul tae reason aboot abstract numbers, an' refusin' tae let ony sichty or tangible things be brocht intae the argument. Ye ken hoo the teachers o' this airt are aye tellin' aff an' lauchin' at onybody wha tries tae divide perfect oneness when they're coontin', an' if they dae try tae divide it, the teachers multiply it, makin' sure that yin stays yin an' doesnae get lost in wee bits.

That's very true.

Noo, imagine someone wis tae say tae them: "Och lads, whit are these braw numbers ye're bletherin' aboot that ye say contain a oneness like the yin ye want, an' whaur every yin is equal, aye the same, an' cannae be divided?"  Whit wid they say back?

They wid likely answer that they were speakin' aboot numbers that can only be thocht aboot in yer heid.

Then ye see that this learnin' can truly be cried necessary, since it clearly forces ye tae use pure intelligence tae reach pure truth?

Aye; that's a clear sign o' what it is.

An' have ye noticed an aw that folk who are naturally good at coontin' are generally quicker at learnin' ither things an aw; an' even the dour folk, if they've had some trainin' in coontin', even if they get nae ither benefit fae it, they aye become a wheen sharper than they wid otherwise hae been.

Very true, he said.

An' honestly, ye widnae easily find a mair tricky subject, an' no many as tricky.

Ye widnae.

An' for aa these reasons, coontin' is the kind o' learnin' that the best young minds sud be trained in, an' it shouldnae be gien up.

I agree.

Let this then be yin o' oor subjects o' edjucation. An' next, shall we see if the science that's kin tae it is important for us an aw?

Ye mean geometry?

Exactly.

Clearly, he said, that part o' geometry that relates tae war is important for us; for when it comes tae settin' up camp, or takin' up a position, or decidin' whether tae bring yer army closer or spread it oot mair, or ony ither military move, whether it's an actual battle or on the march, it'll mak a huge difference if a general kens geometry or no.

Aye, I said, but for that purpose a wee bit o' geometry or coontin' will be enough; the question is really mair aboot the bigger an' mair advanced parts o' geometry - whether that helps ye see the idea o' goodness any easier; an' as I wis sayin', aa things that force the soul tae look towards that place, whaur is the full perfection o' bein', which it absolutely should be seein', are muckle help.

True, he says.

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