“What is wisdom? What is moderation? What is courage? What is justice? What is the nature of reality itself? Looking at these questions today, we could just shrug our shoulders and discard them as irrelevant. After all, they seem too abstract and distant from real concerns of our everyday life. Or are they? Two and half millennia ago the Greek philosopher Plato considered answers to these questions vital, if not absolutely necessary, for a happy and fulfilling life, a conviction reflected in his timeless treatise The Republic (paperback | audiobook), where he envisioned a life of ideal society. In today’s post, we’re diving into wisdom, one of the four virtues that figure prominently throughout the dialogue. Understanding the nature of wisdom is not an easy task, and this particular excerpt sheds light on how it was perceived by one of the greatest philosophers in the history of Western thought. Please enjoy this audio performance by an immensely talented William Sigalis as Socrates and Ray Childs as Glaucon.

SOCRATES ON WISDOM
from The Republic of Plato

[Glaucon,] let’s say that if the republic [that we created] has been properly ordered, then it is completely good.

That necessarily follows.

Then do you believe that your republic is wise, courageous, moderate, and just?

I do.

Once we find some of these qualities, we can assume that the ones we have not yet discovered remain to be found.

That makes sense.

Hmm. Let’s suppose that we are looking for one thing out of four. If we find it first, that is the end of the search. But if we first find the other three and can eliminate them, then the one that remains is the one we are seeking.

True.

Then that is how we should proceed in the present case.

I agree.

Wisdom is the first one we saw in your republic, but there seems to be something strange about it.

What’s that?

When we say that republic is wise, don’t we mean that it practices good judgment?

Yes. We mean good judgment.

People make good judgments by knowledge, not by ignorance. So can we say that good judgment is a kind of knowledge?

Clearly.

But don’t we find many different kinds of knowledge in the Repuplic?

Of course.

For example, consider the knowledge of the carpenter. Is that the kind of knowledge that leads us to say that a republic is wise and has good judgement?

No. That only means it is skilled in making things out of it wood. …

Then do any of the citizens of your recently founded republic possess a kind of knowledge that advises about the entire republic rather than some particular thing? Does anyone know how to make the best policy concerning both citizens and foreigners?

Certainly.

Then what is this knowledge and who has it?

It is the knowledge of leading possessed by those we call guards in the fullest sense of the term.

Then what should we call a republic that has this kind of knowledge?

We should call it wise in the sense of having good judgment in leading people. …

Of all the groups that are named because they possess a certain kind of knowledge, don’t you think good leaders will be the smallest?

The smallest by far.

Then do we agree that the nature of the smallest group in a republic, those who govern a rule justifies calling the whole republic wise? And can we say that this is the only knowledge properly called wisdom?

Yes, Socrates, we do agree about that.

Glaucon, somehow we have discovered the nature and the place in the republic of one of the four things we are seeking.

I’m quite satisfied with our method.

Complement this particular passage from The Republic of Plato, a treasure trove of timeless wisdom, with another incredibly gratifying audio performance by William Sigalis as Socrates on moderation as a harmony that permeates all aspects of the human soul and then revisit the famous allegory of the cave that questions the nature of perceived reality itself.

What is the source of all unhappiness in our lives, and is there a way to overcome it? To answer this question, two and a half millennia ago, a young man named Siddhattha Gotama left his parents’ palace to become a wandering ascetic. After six years of extreme austerities and meditation, he attained enlightenment and expounded his famous teaching on the Four Noble Truths. Since then, wherever he went, he taught those who wanted to listen that the root cause of our suffering lies in our boundless cravings, and that the key to liberation lies in the Noble Eightfold Path.

While it’s unlikely that any of us will be able to complete the path and become enlightened in this lifetime, we can significantly lessen our pain by lessening our desires. This is what Roman philosopher Seneca and Greek philosopher Epicurus discuss in letters to their friends quoted in an altogether indispensable Letters on Ethics. And even though they lived in different times and belonged to different schools of thought, Seneca was a follower of Stoicism and Epicurus was the founder of Epicureanism, both of them agreed on what role desires play in our lives, and how restricting them can make one happy and fulfilled.

Drawing on his boundless wisdom and knowledge of rival philosophical schools, Seneca writes to his friend Lucilius Junior while quoting Epicurus writing to his friend Idomeneus:

It was to him [Idomeneus] that Epicurus wrote that fine sentence urging him to enrich Pythocles in no common or ambivalent way. He says, “If you want to make Pythocles rich, what you must do is not add to his money but subtract from his desires.”

He continues by noting that “this saying is too clear to need interpretation, and too well phrased to need improvement,” and that his only addition is that it applies not only to wealth but to everything else in life. Seneca writes:

If you want to make Pythocles honorable, what you must do is not add to his accolades but subtract from his desires.
If you wish to make Pythocles experience constant pleasure, what you must do is not add to his pleasure but subtract from his desires.
If you wish to make Pythocles live a long and complete life, what you must do is not add to his years but subtract from his desires.

And just to make sure that his friend Lucilius doesn’t miss his point, Seneca throws in another piece of advice:

For about those superfluous desires that can be put off, rebuked, or suppressed, I remind you only of this: such pleasure is natural but not necessary. You do not owe it anything: anything you do devote to it is voluntary. The belly does not listen to instructions: it merely demands and solicits. Still, it is not a troublesome creditor. You can put it off with very little, if you just give it what you owe rather than what you can. Farewell.

Complement these witty and life-changing passages from Seneca’s Letters on Ethics with Socrates on moderation as a harmony that permeates all aspects of the human soul, Aristotle on virtues as habits, and then revisit Seneca on the middle way of restraining ourselves.

“What is wisdom? What is moderation? What is courage? What is justice? What is the nature of reality itself? Looking at these questions today, we could just shrug our shoulders and discard them as irrelevant. After all, they seem too abstract and distant from real concerns of our everyday life. Or are they? Two and half millennia ago the Greek philosopher Plato considered answers to these questions vital, if not absolutely necessary, for a happy and fulfilling life, a conviction reflected in his timeless treatise The Republic (paperback | audiobook), where he envisioned a life of ideal society. In today’s post, I would like to draw your attention to one of the most enduring and captivating passages from this book that can serve as a subject for deep contemplation in our meditation practice — the allegory of the cave. In this allegory, we are likened to prisoners sentenced to a lifetime in a dark cave whose walls are full of flickering shadows. Please enjoy this audio performance by an immensely talented William Sigalis as Socrates and Ray Childs as Glaucon.

THE ALLEGORY OF THE CAVE
from The Republic of Plato

Now, Glaucon, let’s think about the ignorance of human beings and their education in the form of an allegory. Imagine them living underground in a kind of cave. The mouth of the cave, which is far above, is as wide as the cave itself and opens to the light outside. These people have been here since childhood. Their legs and necks are chained so that they cannot move. They can see only what is in front of them because the chains are fastened in a way that keeps them from turning their heads. A fire burns at some distance behind them. If you look carefully, you can see a wall between the fire and the prisoners, like a curtain that hides puppeteers showing their puppets.

I can see that.

Can you also see people passing behind the wall, carrying all kinds of objects above their heads so that they show over the wall? They are carrying statues of humans and animals made of wood, stone, and other materials. Some of them are talking, and others are silent.

That’s a strange image, Socrates, and these are strange prisoners.

They are like us. They see only the shadows the light from the fire throws on the wall of the cave in front of them, their own shadows, or those of the objects passing behind the wall. … If the prisoners were able to talk with each other about these shadows, wouldn’t they believe that they were discussing reality?

That’s right. …

So it’s obvious that for these prisoners, the truth would be no more than the shadows of objects.

That seems inevitable.

Now let’s consider how they might be released and cured of their ignorance. Imagine that one man is set free and forced to turn around and walk toward the light. … He would have to get used to seeing the world outside the cave. First, he will recognize the shadows. Then the reflections of people and other objects in the water. And finally, he could see the objects themselves. Then he will gaze at the night sky, still better able to see the light of the moon and the stars than the sunlight of the sun.

That’s probably how it would be.

But at last, he would be able to see the sun in its proper place, rather than its reflection in the water or somewhere else. Then he will be able to consider its true nature.

Yes. …

Glaucon, my friend, you may now connect this allegory with what we were saying before. What we normally see with our eyes can be compared with the prison where the people dwell. And the fire can be related to the power of the sun. Consider the journey out of the cave and seeing the things there to be the ascent of the soul to the realm of what is knowable. This is my belief which I have shared at your request. It would take God to know whether it is right or wrong. But regardless of whether it’s true or false, I believe that in the realm of what is knowable, the idea of the good appears last of all and can be seen only with great effort. Once we see it, we understand it to be the cause of all things that are right and beautiful, the origin and ruler of light in this world, and the ultimate source of truth and reason beyond it. This must be understood by anyone who wishes to act rationally and effectively, either in public or private life.

Complement this particular passage from The Republic of Plato with another incredibly gratifying audio performance by William Sigalis as Socrates on moderation as a harmony that permeates all aspects of the human soul and then revisit Aristotle on virtues as habits.

“There is something funny about the expression ‘self-control,'” exclaimed Socrates in a conversation with Glaucon while contemplating the virtue of moderation. “The one doing the controlling is also the one who is controlled. The master is also mastered.”

What is moderation? Simple on the outside, this perennial question has infinite depth, and it’s up to us how deep we want to dive into finding its true meaning. In the age of smartphones, digital advertising, and invisible tracking systems that know intimate details of our online activities, it becomes harder and harder to resist buying the next new shiny thing or indulge ourselves in this or that service that promises to make our lives evermore easier and lighter. When everything we want is just one button press away, it becomes vital to learn to draw the line, say no, and know when enough is enough. It is precisely at this moment that we could use some timeless wisdom from a famous Roman philosopher Seneca who took up this question in a letter to his friend Lucilius Junior, included in the wholly essential Letters on Ethics.

After greeting his friend and commending him for his continuous effort to better himself through rigorous hard work and sticking to the single task, Seneca writes:

I have a warning for you. There are those who wish to be noticed rather than to make moral progress. Don’t be like them, altering your dress or way of life so as to attract attention. … Within, let us be completely different, but let the face we show to the world be like other people’s. Our clothes should not be fine, but neither should they be filthy; we should not own vessels of silver engraved with gold, but neither should we think that the mere fact that one lacks gold and silver is any indication of a frugal nature. The life we endeavor to live should be better than the general practice, not contrary to it. … The very first thing philosophy promises is fellow feeling, a sense of togetherness among human beings. By becoming different, we will be cut off from this. If we are not careful, the very measures that are meant to win us admiration will instead make us objects of hatred and ridicule.

A hankering after delicacies is a sign of self-indulgence; by the same token, avoidance of those comforts that are quite ordinary and easy to obtain is an indication of insanity. Philosophy demands self-restraint, not self-abnegation — and even self-restraint can comb its hair. The limit I suggest is this: our habits should mingle the ideal with the ordinary in due proportion, our way of life should be one that everyone can admire without finding it unrecognizable.

But, “What do you mean?” Seneca adds right after with righteous indignation. “Are we to act just like other people? Is there to be no difference between us and them?” And then calms himself with another dose of Stoic wisdom:

A very great difference, but a difference that will be evident only on close inspection. A person entering our house should marvel at the inhabitant, not at the dinnerware. One who uses earthenware as if it were silver is indeed a great person; equally great, though, is the one who uses silver as if it were earthenware. Not being able to cope with wealth is an indication of weakness.

Letters on Ethics, a new complete and accessible translation by Margaret Graver and A.A. Long, remains a monolithic work of great wisdom and a kind of book that beckons you to open it again and again. Complement this particular portion with Socrates on moderation as a harmony that permeates all aspects of the human soul and then revisit Aristotle on virtues as habits.