BERKELEY
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
•_L
THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO,
TRANSLATED BY THOMAS TAYLOR, EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION,
BY THEODORE WRATISLAW.
LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
INTRODUCTION.
THE Politeia — the Commonwealth, or, as it is usually translated, the Republic of Plato — is the crowning achievement of Plato's art and philosophy. This first human attempt at the intellectual creation of an ideal state stands, according to one enthusiastic commentator, on the same level in the world of speculation as the Agamemnon or the Parthenon in the world of Art. " The whole state is an imitation of the best and noblest life," runs a passage in the Laws; and it may be that in expound- ing his theory of the best state Plato was only expounding his ideas of the noblest form of life : such a life being best visible in the life of a community, and also being one that, although inborn in individuals, can only be fostered by careful educa- tion. For the idea that runs through the Republic is that the individual presents almost the same features and qualities as society, on a smaller scale, and in his argument Plato first considers the state and thence makes his deductions as to the individual. But if the Republic is also a new theory of education, as well as a discourse on Justice and the per-
321
vi IN TROD UCTION.
feet state and the noblest life, its various ideas must be considered, not separately, but jointly. The whole work is an harmonious and artistic unity. It is as impossible to split its ideas into sections as it would be to separate one part of it from another. From the introduction — a charm- ing picture of old-world life — from the first sentences, thought runs into thought and argument into argument with perfect precision and connection, artistically and logically, until the work is ended. Nothing can be detached or omitted without losing some of its beauty. Just as a fragment of one of Wagner's operas may not be detached and performed without its being half-spoilt, so cannot you detach any portion of this close deduction without losing the artistic beauty of its logical sequence. Plato, almost alone among philosophers, is a literary artist as well as a philosopher, and it is to this fact that half of his perennial popularity may be attributed. ^ The ethical doctrines of Plato are based, it is hardly neces- sary to say, on his philosophical creed. This there is no need to discuss here, for the motive of the Republic is almost entirely ethical, and so much of his philosophy as appears in the book is intelligible by itself, and needs no explanation. Plato held with Heraclitus that the objects of the senses are unreal and fugitive, but that we may from contemplation of them rise to the Ideal, which is the only reality. The ethical side needs rather more comment. Plato wrote the Republic apparently under the sense that " the glory that was Greece " was rapidly vanishing/ At the age of twenty-three, he had seen his country- men beaten by the Lacedaemonians at the crushing defeat of
INTR OD UCTION. vii
yEgospotami. Lysander, the Spartan general, had blockaded Athens, and early in the next year (B.C. 404) had taken formal possession of it. With his help, the Committee of Manage- ment, which was soon known by the name of the Thirty Tyrants, was established. Murders of their political enemies became the order of the day. Socrates himself was summoned before them and dismissed with a warning. But towards the end of the year, Thrasybulus, with the aid of Athenian exiles and Theban citizens, marched into Attica, and by great good fortune managed to defeat the Thirty. The Peloponnesians quitted Attica, and the democracy was restored. But Athens was now but a shadow of herself. Her fortifications, her fleet, her revenues, and her empire had vanished. Far from ruling others, she had now to struggle to maintain her independence. Five years later (B.C. 399) Socrates was put to death. The year 388 B.C. was the date of Plato's first expedition to Syracuse, he being then forty years of age.1 The next year saw the dis- graceful " Peace of Antalcidas " concluded between the Greeks and Persians, owing to the machinations of Sparta ; while the next few years of Grecian history are a record of intestine quarrels. It was probably at this time that the Republic was written. Hellenic politics were in a lamentable condition, and Plato wished to create an ideal commonwealth in words as a last protest against the increasing depravity of actual things. He states that the ideal state was to be Hellenic, and he found
1 See the letter of Plato (of disputed authenticity, however), included in Mr. T. W. Rolleston's Selections from Plato, in the Scott Library.
viii INTR OD UCTION.
in Sparta many of the regulations which he adopted for his Republic. The life of Sparta was military, and was even more rigid in peace than in time of war. The citizens of Sparta were forbidden to trade; gold and silver were unpermitted; and if women and children were not in common, as in the Republic, yet the two sexes were constantly mingled in public " in a way foreign to the habits," says Grote, " as well as repugnant to the feelings of other Grecian states ; " the bride lived with her family, and only visited her husband in his barrack in male attire, and on short and stolen occasions ; the uniting of the finest couples was regarded by the citizens as desirable, and by the lawgiver as a duty : jealousy on the husband's part found no sympathy, and he had to permit and encourage compliances on the part of his wife consistent with this generally acknow- ledged object.
The question arises whether Plato intended his ideal state to be a Cloudcuckootown or Utopia of theory, or wished to establish it in actuality. Plato himself says that though difficult of creation, such a state would be by no means im- possible, could any place be found suitable for the habitation of philosophers and the growth of philosophy : and this place, he says, would be found if some monarch should apply himself to practical philosophy and find his people willing to obey. It seems beyond doubt that Plato had hopes of founding such a state in Syracuse, with the aid of his friend and pupil, Dion, the brother-in-law of Dionysius the younger, the tyrant of Syracuse. But though Dionysius for a time was glad of Plato's teaching, and even allowed Plato to be practically master of his king-
INTR OD UCT1ON. ix
dom, he soon tired of the experiment. Dion was banished on suspicion of conspiracy, and Plato was glad to escape with his life.
With reference to the much-debated question of his attitude in the Republic towards poetry and the imitative arts, it appears that Plato was continually striving to bring art and philosophy into alliance, upon some neutral ground where neither would find itself in antagonism with the other. Doubtless Plato, had he founded his perfect state, would have been com- pelled to modify his purely philosophical view of it in accord- ance with the eternal demands of art for the liberty without which it must of necessity die. But in the Republic the artist in Plato was strangled by the philosopher and social regenerator. His condemnation, if not of useless beauty, at least of luxury and display, is as severe as, if less violent than, that of any demagogue : although what is known as democracy had no more determined opponent than Plato, if we except perhaps Aristophanes. The hatred and contempt that Aristo- phanes poured out on such self-seeking demagogues as Cleon is paralleled by the antagonistic criticism of a democracy to be found in the eighth book of the Republic. By aristocracy of birth no less than by aristocracy of intellect was he filled with contempt for the rule of the many — the rule that murdered Socrates and destroyed Athens. This it was that made him look abroad, to Sparta and to Egypt, for the regulations of his state. The legislation of Lycurgus inculcated the sacrifice of the individual for the good of the whole. It asserted the suprem- acy of Law : and in the brotherhood of Pythagoras Plato found
x INTRO D UCTION.
the same discipline joined, not only to the good of the actual state, but to the perfection of human nature as displayed in its best representatives. And Athens with its splendid artistic past and present appealed less to him than the utilitarian states that came under his notice. The artistic and philosophic sides of Plato's temperament were often at variance. As an artist he clings to art : and when as a philosopher he condemns it, it is with a sigh, or at all events with the obvious fear of the accusa- tion of dulness. The mourning Muse who has inspired the sweetest poetry is, he says, unacceptable to the philosophy which directs the soul to be as immovable as is possible. But in considering his condemnation of the arts, it will be remem- bered that Phidias and Zeuxis, ^Ischylus and Sophocles had lived and worked before Plato.
Besides the enduring value of the Republic as a work of art, its philosophical and ethical teaching is of particular interest in the present disordered condition of social and speculative ideas, and the conclusions of Plato as to the relative good and evil of the five kinds of constitutions may be considered in the light of the later theories of socialism and anarchy. His consideration of Aristocracy, the perfect state, the rule of the few best: of Timocracy, the rule of the wealthy or of those in good position : of Oligarchy, that of the few worst: of Democracy, that of the mob, and of Despotism, is of abiding value. Certainly, the con- dition of Hellenic politics when he wrote the Republic was not more complicated or contentious than our own at the present time: and the philosophic student may enjoy a period of retire- ment from external quarrels in the company of this tranquil and
INTR OD UCTION. xi
consideration of mundane complexities. One of the greatest charms of Plato's writing is, as it seems to me, his remoteness from temporal troubles, his avoidance of things of ephemeral interest, his artistic and "Attic" calm.
I have carefully revised the text of Taylor's admirable trans- lation. Faulty translation of difficult passages one expects to find in his text, but besides amending the passages in which he is at fault in his rendering of the Greek, I have attempted here and there to render his English somewhat more intelligible and smooth. I have also to a certain extent removed the numerous and irritating phrases used by Taylor in his desire to ake a literal translation of Greek idioms, such as "You say ue"for "You are right," "Why not?" for "Yes." But in pite of this revision the book remains Taylor's, and distinct om any other translation. Indeed, I hope that, except by careful comparison of the two texts, the difference will be unnoticeable.
THEODORE WRATISLAW.
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK I.
Speakers— SOCRATES, CEPHALUS, POLEMARCHUS, GLAUCO.1 ADIMANTUS, THRASYMACHUS.
whole is a recital by Socrates. The Scene is in the house of Cephalus, at the Pirceus.
SOCRATES.
WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus, with Glauco, the son of Aristo, to pay my devotion to the Goddess; and desirous, at the same time, to observe in what manner they would celebrate the festival, as they were now to do it for the first time.2 The procession of our own countrymen seemed to me to be indeed beautiful ; yet that of the Thracians appeared no less brilliant. After we had paid our devotion, and seen the solemnity, we were returning to the city; when Polemarchus, the son of Cephalus, observing us at a distance hurrying home, ordered his boy to run and desire us to wait for him: and the boy, taking hold of my robe behind, Polemarchus, says he, desires you to wait. I turned about, and asked where he was. He is coming up, said he, after you ; but do you wait for him. We
• 1 Glauco and Adimantus were the brothers of Plato, whom, as Plutarch justly observes in his Treatise on Brotherly Love, Plato has rendered famous by introducing them into this dialogue. (Taylor's Note.)
I The festival was in honour of Bendis, a Thracian goddess, usually dentified with Artemis.
2 THE REPUBLIC.
will wait, said Glauco ; and soon afterwards came Polemarchus, and Adimantus the brother of Glauco, and Niceratus the son of Nicias, and some others apparently coming from the proces- sion. Then said Polemarchus, Socrates ! you seem to me to be hurrying to the city. You conjecture, said I, not amiss.
Do you not see, then, said he, how many there are of us ? Undoubtedly, I do.
Therefore, now, you must either prove yourself stronger than these, or you must stay here. Is there not, said I, one way still remaining? May we not persuade you that you must let us go ? Can you be able to persuade such as will not hear ? By no means, said Glauco. So then, if we are not to hear, determine accordingly. But do you not know, said Adimantus, that there is to be a torch-race in the evening, on horseback, to the goddess? On horseback ? said I. That is new. Are they to have torches, and give them to one another, while the horses are racing ? or how do you mean ? Just so, replied Polemarchus. And besides, there will be a night festival * worth seeing. For we shall rise after supper, and see the night festival, and shall be there with many of the young men with whom we may converse. But do you stay, and do not refuse. It seems proper, then, said Glauco, that we should stay. Nay, if it seem so, said I, we ought to do it
We went home therefore to Polemarchus's house ; and there we found Lycias and Euthydemus, brothers of Polemarchus ; as well as Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, and Charmantides the Pseoneian, and Clitipho the son of Aristonimus; Cephalus the father of Polemarchus was likewise in the house ; he seemed to me to be looking very old, for I had not seen him for a long time. He was sitting crowned, on a certain couch and seat ; for he had been offering sacrifice in the court. So we sat down by him ; for some seats were placed there in a circle. Immediately, then, when Cephalus saw me, he saluted me, and said, Socrates, you do not often come down to us in the Pirasus ; you ought to come often ; for, were I still able easily to go up to the city,
1 This nocturnal solemnity was the lesser Panathensea, which, as the name implies, was sacred to Athene.
THE REPUBLIC.
you should not need to come hither, but we would be with you. But now you should come hither more frequently ; for I assure you that, so far as I am concerned, as the pleasures of the body languish, the desire and pleasure of conversation increase.
Do not fail, then, to make a party often with these youths, and come hither to us, as to your friends and intimate acquaint- ance. In truth, said I, Cephalus, I take pleasure in conversing with those who are very far advanced in years ; for it appears to me proper, that we learn from them, as from persons who have gone before us, what the road is which we have to travel ; whether it be rough and difficult, or plain and easy. And I would gladly learn from you, as you are now arrived at that time of life which the poets call " the Threshold of Age," what your opinion of it is ; whether you consider it to be a grievous part of life, or what else you deem it to be ? I will tell you, Socrates, said he, what is really my opinion ; for we frequently meet together in one place, several of us who are of the same age, observing the old proverb. Most of us, therefore, when assembled, lament their state, when they feel a want of the pleasures of youth, and call to their remembrance the delights of love, of drinking, and feasting, and some others akin to these : and they express indignation, as if they were bereaved of some mighty things. In those days, they say, they lived well, but now they do not live at all : some of them, too, bemoan the con- tempt which old-age meets with from their acquaintance : and on this account also they lament old-age, which is to them the cause of so many ills. But these men, Socrates, seem not to me to blame the real cause ; for, if this were the cause, I too should have suffered the same things on account of old-age, that have all the others, who have arrived at these years : whereas I have met with several who are not thus affected ; and particularly Sophocles the poet, who, when he was asked by some one, How he was affected towards the pleasures of love ? was he still able to enjoy them? Softly, friend, replied he; most gladly, indeed, have I escaped from these pleasures, as from some
(urious and savage master. He seemed to me at that time o speak wisely, and no less does he seem so now: for,
4 THE REPUBLIC.
certainly, there is in old-age abundance of peace and free- dom from such things ; for, when the appetites cease to be vehement, and are become easy, what Sophocles said certainly happens; we are delivered from very many insane masters. But with regard to these troubles, and those likewise re- specting our acquaintance, there is one and the same cause ; which is not our old-age, Socrates, but our temperaments ; for, if indeed they are well-regulated and moderate, even old-age is no great burthen ; if not, both old-age, Socrates, and youth are grievous. Being delighted to hear him say these things, and wishing him to discourse further, I urged him, and said, I think, Cephalus, the multitude will not agree with you in those things ; but will imagine that you bear old-age easily, not from your character, but from your possessing much wealth ; for the rich, say they, have many consolations. You speak truly, replied he, they do not agree with me ; and there is something in what they say ; but, however, not so much as they imagine. For the saying of Themistocles was just ; who, when the Seriphian reviled him, and said that he was honoured, not on his own account, but on that of his country, replied, " / should not have been renowned had I been a Seriphian, nor would you had you been an Athenian." The same saying is justly applicable to those who are not rich, and who bear old-age with uneasiness. That neither would the worthy man, were he poor, bear old-age quite easily ; nor would he who is unworthy, though enriched, ever be happy in himself. But, Cephalus, said I, was the greater part of what you possess, left you; or have you acquired it? Somewhat, Socrates, replied he, I have acquired: as to money-getting, I am half-way between my grandfather and my father: for my grandfather, of the same name with me, who was left almost as much substance as I possess at present, made it many times as much again ; but my father Lysanias made it yet less than it is now : I am satisfied it I leave my sons here, no less, but some little more than I received. I asked you, said I, for this reason, because you seem to me to love riches moderately ; and those generally do so who have not acquired them : but those who have acquired
THE REPUBLIC. 5
them are doubly fond of them: for, as poets love their own poems, and as parents love their children, in the same manner, those who have enriched themselves value their riches as being a production of their own, as well as for the utilities they afford, for which riches are valued by others. You speak truly, replied he. It is entirely so, said I. But further, tell me this: What do you think is the greatest good derived from the possession of much substance? That, probably, said he, in which few will agree with me. For be assured, Socrates, continued he, that after a man begins to think he is soon to die, he feels fear and concern about things which before gave him no uneasiness: for those stories concerning a future state, which represent that the man who has done injustice here must there be punished, though formerly ridiculed, do then trouble his soul with apprehensions that they may be true ; and the man, either through the infirmity of old-age, or as being now more near those things, views them more attentively: he becomes therefore full of suspicion and dread; and he considers, and reflects, whether he has, in any thing, injured any one. He then who finds in his life much iniquity, and is wakened from sleep, as children by repeated calls, is afraid, and lives in miserable anticipation. But the man who is not conscious of any iniquity,
" Still pleasing hope, sweet nourisher of age ! Attends-
as Pindar says. This, Socrates, he has beautifully expressed ; that, whoever lives a life of justice and holiness,
*' Sweet hope, the nourisher of age, his heart Delighting, with him lives ; which most of all Governs the many veering thoughts of man."
He really speaks wisely and admirably; wherefore, from this consideration, I deem the possession of riches to be chiefly valuable ; not to every man perhaps, but at any rate to the
)od man : for the possession of riches contributes considerably free us from being tempted to cheat or deceive ; and from
6 THE REPUBLIC.
being obliged to depart to the other world in terror of being either indebted in sacrifices to the Gods, or in money to man. It has many other advantages besides ; but, for my part, Socrates, it is chiefly in this respect that I deem riches to be most advantageous to a man of understanding. You speak most admirably, Cephalus, replied I. But with respect to this very thing, justice. Shall we call it truth, simply, and the restoring of what one man has received from another ? or shall we say that the very same things may sometimes be done justly, and sometimes unjustly? My meaning is this: Every one I suppose would admit, that if a man should receive dangerous weapons from his friend who was of a sound mind, it would not be proper to restore such things if he should demand them back when mad; nor would the restorer be just: nor again would he be just, who, to a man in such a condition, should willingly tell all the truth. You are right, replied he. This, then, " to speak the truth, and restore what one hath received," is not the definition of justice? It is not, Socrates, replied Polemarchus, if at least we may give any credit to Simonides. However that may be, I give up, said Cephalus, this conversa- tion to you; for I must now go to take care of the sacred rites. Is not Polemarchus, said I, your heir? Certainly, replied he smiling, and at the same time departed to the sacred rites.
Tell me, then, said I, you who are heir to the conversation, what is the definition which, according to you, Simonides gives of justice? That to give every one his due, is just, replied he; in saying this, he seems to me to say well. It is, indeed, said I, not easy to disbelieve Simonides, for he is a wise and inspired man ; but what his meaning may be in this, you, Polemarchus, may probably know, but I do not ; for it is plain he does not mean what we were saying just now; that, when one deposits with another any thing, it is to be given back to him when he asks for it again in a state of madness: yet what has been deposited is in some respect, at least, due; is it not? It is. But yet, it is not by any means to be restored, when any one asks for it back in his madness. It is not, replied he.
THE REPUBLIC.
7
Simonides then, as it should seem, says something different from this, that to deliver up what is due, is just. Something different truly, replied he : for he thinks that friends ought to do their friends good, and not ill. I understand, said I. He who restores gold deposited with him, if to restore and receive it be hurtful, and the restorer and receiver be friends, does not give what is due. Is not this what you allege Simonides says? Surely. But what ? are we to give our enemies, too, what may chance to be due to them? By all means, replied he, what is due to them; and from an enemy, to an enemy, there is due, I imagine, what is fitting, that is, some evil. Simonides, then, as it should seem, replied I, expressed what is just, enigmatically, and after the manner of the poets ; for he well understood, as it appears, that this was just, to give every one what was fitting for him, and this he called his due. But what, said he, is your opinion ? Truly, replied I, if any one should ask him thus : Simonides, what is the art, which dispensing to certain persons something fitting and due, is called medicine ? what would he answer us, do you think ? That art, surely, replied he, which dispenses drugs, and prescribes regimen of meats and drinks to bodies. And what is the art, which, dispensing to certain things something fitting and due, is called cookery? The art which gives seasonings to victuals. Be it so. What then is that art, which, dispensing to certain persons some- thing fitting and due, may be called justice? If we ought to be any way directed, Socrates, by what is said above, it is the art which dispenses good offices to friends, and injuries to enemies. To do good, then, to friends, and ill to enemies, he calls justice? It seems so. Who, then, is most able to do good, to his friends, when they are diseased, and ill to his enemies, with respect to sickness and health? The physician. And who, when they sail, with respect to the danger of the sea ? The pilot. But as to the just man, in what business, and with respect to what action, is he most able to serve his friends, and to hurt his enemies ? It seems to me, in fighting in alliance with the one, and against the other. Be it so. But, surely, the physician is useless, Polemarchus, to
8 THE REPUBLIC.
those, at least, who are not sick? It is true. And the pilot, to those who do not sail ? He is. And is the just man, in like manner, useless to those who are not at war? I can by no means think that he is. Justice, then, is useful likewise in time of peace. It is. And so is agriculture, is it not? It is. Towards the possession of grain ? Certainly. And is not shoemaking likewise useful ? It is. Towards the possession of shoes, you will say, I imagine. Certainly. But for the use, or possession of what, would you say, that justice is useful in time of peace? For co-partnerships, Socrates. You call co-partnerships, joint companies, or what ? Joint companies, certainly. Well, then, is it the just man, or the dice-player, who is a good and useful co-partner, for playing at dice ? The dice-player. But, in the laying of tiles or stones, is the just man a more useful and a better partner than the mason ? By no means. In what joint company, now, is the just man a better co-partner than the harper, as the harper is better than the just man for touching the strings of a harp ? In a joint company about money, as I imagine. And yet it is likely, Polemarchus, that with regard to the making use of money, when it is necessary to buy or sell a horse, the jockey, as I imagine, is then the better co-partner. Is he not ? He would appear so. And with respect to a ship, the shipwright, or ship-master? It would seem so. In what then is it, with respect to the joint application of money, that the just man is more useful than others ? When it is to be deposited, and be safe, Socrates. Do you not mean, 'when there is no need to use it, but to let it lie ? Certainly. So then only when money is useless is justice useful with regard to it ? It seems so. And when a pruning-hook is to be kept, justice is useful, both for a partnership, and for a particular person : but when it is to be used, the art of vine-dressing is useful. It appears so. And you will say that, when a buckler, or a harp, is to be kept, and not to be used, then justice is useful; but when they are to be used, then the military, and the musical art? Of necessity. And with reference to all other things, when they are to be used, justice is useless; but when they are not to be used, it is uselul? It seems so. Justice, then, my
THE REPUBLIC. 9
friend ! can be no very important matter, if it is useful only in respect of things, which are not to be used. But let us consider this matter: Is not he who is the most dexterous at striking, whether in battle or in boxing, the same likewise in defending himself? Certainly. And is not he who is dexterous in warding off and shunning a distemper, most dexterous too in bringing it on ? So I imagine. And he, too, the best guardian of a camp, who can steal the counsels, and the other operations of the enemy ? Certainly. Of whatever, then, any one is a good guardian, of that likewise he may be a dexterous thief. It seems so. If therefore the just man be dexterous in guarding money, he is dexterous likewise in stealing? So it would appear, said he, from this reasoning. The just man, then, has appeared to be a sort of thief ; and you seem to have learned this from Homer; for he admires Autolycus, the grandfather of Ulysses by his mother, and says that he was distinguished beyond all men for thefts and oaths.
It seems, then, according to you, and according to Homer and Simonides, that justice is a sort of thieving, for the profit indeed of friends, and for the hurt of enemies. Did not you say so ? No, by no means ; nor indeed do I know any longer what I said; yet I still think that it is justice to help one's friends, and hurt one's enemies. But do you pronounce such to be friends, as seem to be honest, or such as are so, though they do not seem to be ; and in the same way with enemies ? It is reasonable, said he, to love those whom a man deems to be honest ; and to hate those whom he deems to be wicked. But are not men mistaken in this ; so that many who are not honest appear so to them, and many contrariwise ? They are mistaken. To such, then, the good are enemies, and the bad are friends ? Certainly. So, then, it is just for them to profit the bad ; and to hurt the good. It appears so. But the good are likewise just, and such as do no ill. True. But, according to your speech, it is just to do ill to those who do no ill. By no means, Socrates, replied he ; for the speech seems to be wicked. It is just, then, said I, to hurt the unjust, and to profit the just. This saying appears better than the other. Then the result
10 THE REPUBLIC.
in the case of many men, Polemarchus — as many men indeed as have misjudged — will be that it is just for them to hurt their friends, who are really bad ; and to profit their enemies, who are really good ; and so we shall say the very reverse of what we affirmed Simonides said ?
That is the result, said he. But let us define again ; for we seem not to have rightly defined a friend and an enemy. How were they defined, Polemarchus ? That he who seems honest is a friend. But how shall we now define? said I. That he who seems, replied he, and likewise is honest, is a friend ; and he who seems honest, yet is not, is not a friend. And we must admit the distinction about an enemy to be the very same. The good man, according to this, will, it seems, be the friend ; and the wicked man, the enemy. Yes. Do you now require us to describe what is just, as we did before, when we said it was just to do good to a friend, and ill to an enemy ? Or shall we add to the definition, and now say, that it is just to do good to a friend, when he is good ; and ill to an enemy, when he is bad ? This last, said he, seems to me to be perfectly well expressed. Is it, then, said I, the part of a just man to hurt any man ? By all means, said he, he ought to hurt the wicked, and his enemies. But, do horses, when they are hurt, become better or worse ? Worse. Whether in the virtue of dogs, or of horses ? In that of horses. And, do not dogs, when they are hurt, become worse in the virtue of dogs, and not of horses ? Of necessity. And shall we not, in like manner, my friend, say that men, when they are hurt, become worse in the virtue of a man ? Certainly.
But is not justice Jhe virtue of a man? Of necessity this likewise. Of necessity then, friend, those men who are hurt must become more unjust. It seems so. But can musicians, by music, make men unmusical ? It is impossible. Or horse- men, by horsemanship, make men unskilled in horsemanship ? It cannot be. Or can the just, by justice, make men unjust ? Or in general, can the good, by virtue, make men wicked ? It is impossible. For it is not, as I imagine, the effect of heat, to make cold, but of its contrary. Yes. Nor is the effect of drought,
THE REPUBLIC.
to make moist ; but its contrary. Certainly. Neither is it the part of a good man to hurt ; but of his reverse. It appears so. But, the just man is good. Certainly. Neither, then, is it the part of a just man, Polemarchus, to hurt either friend, or any other, but the part of his reverse, the unjust man. In all respects, said he, you seem io me, Socrates, to be right If, then, any one says, that it is just to give every one his due, and thinks that hurt is due to his enemies from a just man, and profit to his friend ; he was not wise who said so, for he spoke not the truth. For it has nowhere appeared to us, that any just man hurts any one. I agree, said he. Let us jointly contend, then, said I, if any one shall say that a Simonides, a Bias, a Pittacus, said so ; or any other of those wise and talented men. I am ready, said he, to join in the fight. But do you know, said I, whose saying I fancy it is, That it is just to profit friends, and hurt enemies ? Whose? said he. I fancy it is the saying of Periander, or Perdiccas, or Xerxes, or Ismenius the Theban ; or some other rich man, who thought himself able to accomplish great things. You speak rightly, said he. Be it so, said I. But as this has not appeared to be justice, nor the just, what else may one assert it to be ?
Frequently,1 during our reasoning, Thrasymachus had in- terrupted to make objections to the discourse; but he was hindered by those who sat near him, and who wanted to hear the conversation to an end. But, when we paused, and I had said these things, he was no longer quiet ; but, collecting him- self as a wild beast, he sprang upon us as if he would have torn us in pieces. Both Polemarchus and I, being frightened, were thrown into the utmost consternation: but he, roaring out in the midst : What nonsense, said he, Socrates, is this which has for a long time possessed you ; and why do you thus play the fool together, yielding mutually to one another ? But, if you truly want to know what is just, ask not questions only, nor display yourself by refuting the answers given you (knowing that it is
1 Thrasymachus is the typical sophist, the false philosopher, and Plato represents him as a blusterer, full of insolence and dogmatism. He was common in those days : and is possibly not unknown now.
i2 THE REPUBLIC.
easier to ask than to answer); but answer yourself, and say what it is you call justice. And do not tell me that it is what is fit ; nor what is due, nor what is profitable, nor what is gainful, nor what is advantageous ; but, what you mean tell plainly and accurately ; for I will not allow you to talk such nonsense as this. When I heard this, I was astonished, and, looking at him, was frightened; and I should have become speechless, I imagine, if I had not perceived him before he perceived me.1 But I had observed him first, when he began to grow fierce at our reasoning ; so that I was now able to answer him, and said, trembling : Thrasymachus ! be not hard on us ; for, if we make mistakes in our inquiries, Polemarchus and I, be well assured that we do so unwittingly : for think that, if we were searching for gold, we would never willingly yield to one another in the search, and mar the finding it ; and that, searching for justice, an affair far more valuable than a great deal of gold, we shall not foolishly yield to each other, but labour, friend, with the utmost ardour, that we may discover what it really is. But I am afraid we are not able to discover it. It is more reason- able, then, that we be pitied, than be used hardly by men of your ability. Having heard this, he laughed aloud in a very coarse manner, and said, By Hercules ! this is Socrates's wonted irony. This I both knew and foretold to these, here, that you never incline to answer if any one ask you anything. You are a wise man, Thrasymachus, said I. For you knew well, that if you asked any one, How many is twelve ? and, when you ask, should previously tell him, You are not, friend, to tell me that twelve is twice six; nor three times four; nor four times three; for I will not admit your trifling in such a manner; — I fancy it is plain to you that no man would answer one asking in such a way. But if he should reply, Excellent Thrasymachus ! what do you mean ? May I answer in none of those ways you have told me ; not even though the real and true answer happen to be one of them, am I to say something else than the truth ? Or, what is it you mean? What would you say to him in
1 Referring to a popular belief that any one meeting a wolf would be struck dumb, if the wolf saw him before he saw the wolf.
THE REPUBLIC.
answer to these things ? If they were alike, I should give an answer; but how are they alike? Nothing hinders it, said I; but, though they were not alike, but should appear so to him who was asked, would he not give what appeared to him to be the right answer ; whether we forbade him or not ? Will it do so now ? said he. Will you answer with some of these things which I forbade you to say ? I should not wonder if I did, said I, if it should appear so to me on inquiry. What then, said he, if I shall show you another and a better answer, besides all these about justice? what will you deserve to suffer? What else, said I, but what is proper for the ignorant to suffer? And it is proper for them to learn somewhat from a wise man. I shall therefore deserve to suffer this. You are pleasant now, said he, but together with the instruction, you must pay me some money. I will when I have some, said I. But it is here, said Glauco ; so as to money, Thrasymachus, say on ; for all of us will advance for Socrates. I truly imagine so, said he, so that Socrates may go on in his wonted manner ; not answer himself, but, when another answers, he may take up the discourse, and confute. How, said I, most excellent Thrasy- machus, can a man answer when, in the first place, he neither knows, nor says he knows, what to answer; and who, in the next place, if he have any opinion about these matters, is forbidden by no dullard to advance any of his opinions. But it is more reasonable that you speak, as you say you know, and can tell us. Do not decline, then, but oblige me by answering, and do not grudge instructing Glauco here, and the rest of the company. When I had said this, both Glauco and the rest of the company entreated him not to decline it. And Thrasymachus appeared plainly desirous to speak, in order to gain applause ; reckoning he had a very fine answer to make ; yet pretended to be earnest that I should be the answerer, but at last he agreed. And then, This, said he, is the wisdom of Socrates : Unwilling himself to teach, he goes about learning from others, and gives no thanks for it. That I learn from others, said I, Thrasymachus, is true ; but in saying that I do not give thanks for it, you are mistaken. I pay as much as
14 THE REPUBLIC.
I am able; and I can only give commendation; for money I have not : and how readily I do this, when any one appears to me to speak well, you will know very soon, when you make an answer ; for I imagine you are to speak well. Hear then, said he; for I say, that what is just, is nothing else but the advan- tage of the more powerful. But why do not you commend ? You are unwilling. Let me learn, first, said I, what you say; for as yet I do not understand it. The advantage of the more powerful, you say, is what is just. What is this which you now say, Thrasymachus ? For you certainly do not mean such a thing as this: If Polydamus, the wrestler, be more powerful than we ; and if beef be beneficial for his body, that this food is likewise both just and advantageous for us, who are weaker than he. You are most impudent, Socrates, and lay hold of my speech on that side where you may do it in the greatest hurt. By no means, most excellent Thrasymachus, said I, but say more plainly what is your meaning. Do not you then know, said he, that, with reference to states, some are tyrannical ; others democratic ; and others aristocratic ? Why are they not ? And is not the governing part in each state the more powerful ? Certainly. And every government makes laws for its own advantage ; a democracy, democratic laws ; a tyranny, tyrannic; and others the same way. And when they have made them, they show that what is for their own advantage is just for their subjects; and they punish the transgressor of this as one acting contrary both to law and justice. This, then, most excellent Socrates, is what I say, that, in all states, what is just, and what is advantageous for the established government, are the same; it hath the power. So that it appears to him who reasons rightly, that, in all cases, what is to the advantage of the more powerful, is just. Now I have learned, said I, what you mean. But whether it be true, or not, I shall endeavour to learn. What is advantageous, then, Thrasymachus, you yourself have affirmed to be likewise just; though you forbade me to give this answer ; but, indeed, you have added to it that of the most powerful. Yes, said he, but a small addition. It is not yet manifest, whether it is small or
THE REPUBLIC.
great ; but it is manifest that this is to be considered, whether you speak the truth ; since I too acknowledge that what is just is in some ways that which is advantageous: but you add to it, and say, that it is that of the more powerful. This I am uncertain of, and we will consider it. Consider then, said he. I will, said I. And tell me, do not you say that it is just to obey governors ? I say so. Are the governors in the several states infallible ? or are they capable of erring ? Certainly, said he, they are liable to err. Do they not, then, when they attempt to make laws, make some of them rightly and others wrongly ? I imagine so. To make them rightly, is it not to make them advantageous for themselves; and to make them wrongly, disadvantageous ? Or what is it you mean ? Entirely so. And what they enact is to be observed by the governed, and this is what is just ? Why not ? It is, then, according to your reasoning, not only just to do what is advantageous for the more powerful ; but also, to do the contrary, what is not advan- tageous. What do you say? replied he. The same, I imagine, that you say yourself. But let us consider better : have we not acknowledged that governors, in enjoining the governed to do certain things, may sometimes mistake what is best for them- selves; and that what the governors enjoin is just for the governed to do ? Have not these things been acknowledged ? I think so, said he. Think, also, then, said I, that you have acknowledged that it is just to do what is disadvantageous to governors, and the more powerful; since governors un- wittingly enjoin what is ill for themselves; and you say that it is just for the others to do what these enjoin. Must it not then, most wise Thrasymachus, necessarily happen, that, by this means, it may be just to do the contrary of what you say ? For that which is the disadvantage of the more powerful, is sometimes enjoined the inferiors to do ? Yes, indeed, Socrates, said Polemarchus, these things are most manifest. Yes, if you are his witness, retorted Clitipho. What need, said I, of a witness ? For Thrasymachus himself acknow- ledges that governors do indeed sometimes enjoin what is ill for themselves; but that it is just for the governed to
i6 THE REPUBLIC.
do these things. For it has, Polemarchus, been laid down by Thrasymachus, that it is just to do what is enjoined by the governors; and he has likewise, Clitipho, established that what is to the advantage of the more powerful is just; and, having laid down both these things, he has acknowledged like- wise, that the more powerful sometimes enjoin the inferiors and governed to do what is disadvantageous to themselves; and, from these concessions, the advantage of the more powerful can no more be just than the disadvantage. But, said Clitipho, he said the advantage of the more powerful ; that is, what the more powerful judged to be advantageous to himself; that this was to be done by the inferior, and this he established as just. But, said Polemarchus, it was not said so. There is no difference, Polemarchus, said I. But, if Thrasymachus says so now, we shall allow him to do it. And tell me, Thrasymachus, was this what you meant to say was just ? The advantage of the more powerful, such as appeared so to the more powerful, whether it is advantageous, or is not. Shall we say that you spoke thus? By no means, said he. For, do you imagine I call him the more powerful who misjudges, at the time he mis- judges ? I thought, said I, you said this, when you acknow- ledged that governors were not infallible; but that in some things they even erred. You are a quibbler, said he, in argu- ment, Socrates. For, do you now call him who mistakes about the management of the sick, a physician, and refer to that very thing in which he mistakes? or him, who mistakes in calculation, an accountant, with reference to that very error? But, I imagine, we say, in common language, that the physician erred ; that the accountant erred ; and the grammarian. But, I imagine that each of these, as far as he is what we call him, errs not at any time. So that, according to strict terms (since you argue in a strict sense), no artificer errs: for he who errs, errs by departing from science ; and, in this, he is no artificer : and no artificer, or wise man, or governor errs; so far as their professions are concerned. Yet any one may say the physician erred, or the governor erred. Imagine, then, it was in
r
;
THE REPUBLIC. 17
this way I just now answered you. But the most accurate answer is this : That the governor, in as far as he is governor, errs not ; and, as he does not err, he enacts that which is best for himself; and this is to be observed by the governed. So that what I said from the beginning, I maintain : that justice is to do what is to the advantage of the more powerful. Be it so, said I, Thrasymachus ! So I appear to you to be a quibbler ? Yes, indeed, said he. Do you imagine that I spoke as I did, insidiously, and to injure you ? I do, said he, but you shall gain nothing by it ; for, whether you injure me in a concealed manner, or otherwise, you shall not be able to overcome me by your reasoning. I shall not attempt it, said I, excellent Thrasy- machus ! But, that nothing of this kind may happen to us again, state whether you speak of a governor, and the more powerful, according to the popular sense, or according to the strict sense in which you used the words just now when you said that it is just for the inferior to do what is to the advantage of the governor, as he is the more powerful. I speak of him, said he, who, in the strictest sense, is governor. For this now, injure me, and quibble as well as you are able. I do not shun you; but you cannot do it. Do you imagine me, said I, to be so mad as to attempt to shave a lion, and quibble with Thrasy- machus? You have, said he, just attempted it, but with no effect. Enough, said I, of this. But tell me, with reference to him, who, accurately speaking, is a physician, whom you now mentioned, whether is he a gainer of money, or one who takes care of the sick ? and speak of him who is really a physician. He is one who takes care, said he, of the sick. But what of the pilot, who is a pilot, truly ? Whether is he the governor of the sailors, or a sailor? The governor of the sailors. That, I think, is not to be considered, that he sails in the sliip ; nor that he is called a sailor ; for it is not for his sailing that he is called pilot, but for his art, and his governing the sailors. True, said he. Is there not then something advantageous to each of hese? Certainly. And does not art, said I, naturally tend to his, to seek out and afford to every thing its advantage ? It tends to this, said he. Is there, now, anything else advan-
2
1 8 THE REPUBLIC.
tageous to each of the arts, but to be the most perfect possible ? Why ask you this ? As, if you asked me, said I, whether it sufficed the body to be a body, or if it stood in need of anything — I would say, that it stood in need of something else. For this reason is the medicinal art invented, because the body is infirm, and is not sufficient for itself in such a state; in order therefore to afford it things for its advantage, for this purpose art has been provided. Do I seem to you, said I, to be right, or not, in speaking in this manner ? Right, said he. But what now? This medicinal art itself, or any other, is it imperfect, and requiring a certain additional virtue — as the eyes need sight, and the ears, hearing; and have need of a certain art, to discover and attain what is advantageous for these purposes- is there, then, in art itself, some imperfection ; and does every art stand in need of another art, to perceive what is advan- tageous to it, and this stand in need of another, and so on, to infinity? Or does each art perceive what is advantageous to itself; and stand in need neither of itself, nor of another, to perceive what is for its advantage, with reference to its own imperfection ? For there is no imperfection, nor error, in any art. Nor is it its duty to seek what is advantageous to any thing, but that of which it is the art. But it is, itself, infallible, and pure, being in the right. So long as each art is an accurate whole, whatever it is. And consider the question, according to the strict meaning of words, whether it be thus, or otherwise. Thus, said he, it appears. The medicinal art, then, said I, does not consider what is advantageous to the medicinal art, but to the body. Yes, said he. Nor the art of managing horses, what is advantageous for that art; but what is advan- tageous for horses. Nor does any other art consider what is advantageous for itself (for it hath no need), but what is advantageous to that of which it is the art ? So, replied he, it appears. But, Thrasymachus, the arts rule and govern that of which they are the arts.
He yielded this, but with great difficulty. No science, then, considers the advantage of the more powerful, nor enjoins it ; but that of the inferior, and of what is governed. He consented
•
THE REPUBLIC. 19
these things at last, though he attempted to contend about them, but afterwards he consented. Why, then, said I, no physician, so far as he is a physician, considers what is advan- tageous for the physician, nor enjoins it ; but what is advan- tageous for the sick ; for it has been agreed, that the accurate physician is one who takes care of sick bodies, and not an amasser of wealth. Has it not been agreed? He assented. And likewise that the accurate pilot is the governor of the sailors, and not a sailor? It has been agreed. Such a pilot, then, and governor will not consider and enjoin what is the advantage of the pilot, but what is advantageous to the sailor, and the governed. He consented, with difficulty. And so, Thrasymachus, said I, all who are in a position of authority, s far as they are governors, neither consider nore njoin their own advantage, but that of the governed, for whom they minister; and it is with an eye to this, and to what is advantageous and suitable to this, that they both say what they say and do what they do.
When we were at this part of the discourse, and it was evident to all that the definition of what was just stood now on the contrary side, Thrasymachus, instead of replying, Tell me, said he, Socrates, have you a nurse? What, said I, ought you not rather to answer, than ask such things ? Because, said he, she neglects you when your nose is stuffed, and does not wipe it when it needs it, you who understand neither what is meant by sheep, nor by shepherd. For what now is all this, said I. Because you think that shepherds, and neatherds, ought to consider the good of the sheep, or oxen, to fatten them, and to minister to them, having in their eye, something besides their master's good and their own. And you fancy that those who govern in cities, those who govern truly, are somehow otherwise affected towards the governed than one is towards sheep; and that they are attentive, day and night, to somewhat else than this, how they shall be gainers themselves ; and so far are you from the notion of the just and of justice, and of the unjust and injustice, that you do not know that both justice and the just are, in reality, a foreign good, the advantage of the more
20 THE REPUBLIC.
powerful, and of the governor; and really, the hurt of the subject, and the inferior; and injustice is the contrary. And justice governs such as are truly simple and just; and the governed do what is for the governor's advantage, he being more powerful, and by ministering to him, promote his happi- ness, but by no means their own. You must thus consider it, most simple Socrates ! that, on all occasions, the just man gets less than the unjust. First, in co-partnerships with one another, where the one joins in company with the other, you never can find, on the dissolving of the company, that the just man gets more than the unjust, but less. Then, in civil affairs, where there are taxes to be paid from equal substance, the just man pays more, the other less. But when there is anything to be gained, the one gains nothing, but the gain of the other is great. For, when each of them governs in any public magistracy, if no other loss befalls the just man, his private affairs, at least, become disordered through his neglect ; and he gains nothing from the public, because he is just. Add to this, that he comes to be hated by his domestics and acquaintance, when at no time he will serve them beyond what is just. But all these things are quite otherwise with the unjust; such an one, I mean, as I now mentioned ; one who has it greatly in his power to become rich. Consider him, then, if you would judge how much more it is to his private advantage to be unjust than just ; and you will most easily understand it if you come to the most consummate injustice ; such as renders the unjust man most happy, but the injured and those who are unwilling to do injustice, most wretched; and this form is tyranny, l which takes away the goods of others, both by secret fraud, and by open violence ; both things sacred and holy, both private and public, and these not by degrees, but all at once. In all small cases of such crimes, when one, committing injustice, is found out, he is punished, and suffers the greatest ignominy. For according to the several kinds of the wickedness they commit, they are called sacrilegious, robbers, house-breakers, pilferers, thieves.
1 Tyranny : an absolute monarchy, despotism.
THE REPUBLIC. 21
But when any one, besides these thefts of the substance of his citizens, steals and enslaves the citizens themselves ; instead of those disgraceful names, he is called happy and blest; not by his citizens alone, but likewise by as many others as are informed that he has committed the most consummate wickedness. For such as revile wickedness, revile it not because they are afraid of doing, but because they are afraid of suffering, unjust things. And thus, Socrates, injustice, when in sufficient measure, is both more powerful, more free, and hath more absolute command than justice: and (as I said at the beginning), the advantage of the more powerful, is justice ; but injustice is the profit and advantage of oneself.
Thrasymachus, having said these things, inclined to go away; after having, like a bathing man, poured into our ears this long and rapid flow of words. These, however, who were present, would not suffer him, but forced him to stay, and give an account of what he had said. I too myself earnestly entreated him, and said, divine Thrasymachus ! after throwing in upon us so strange a discourse, do you intend to go away before you teach us sufficiently, or learn yourself, whether the case be as you say, or otherwise ? Do you imagine you attempt to determine a small matter, and not the guide of life, by which, each of us being conducted, may lead the most happy life? But I imagine, said Thrasymachus, that this is otherwise. You seem truly, said I, to care nothing for us ; nor to be any way concerned, whether we shall live well or ill, whilst we are ignorant of what you say you know. But, good Thrasymachus, be readily disposed to show it also to us, nor will the favour be ill placed, whatever you shall bestow on so many of us as are now present. And I, for my own part, tell you, that I am not persuaded, nor do I think that injustice is more profitable than justice; not although it should be permitted to exert itself, and be no way hindered from doing whatever it should incline. But, good Thrasymachus, let a man be unjust, let him be able to do unjustly, either in secret, or by force, yet will you not persuade me at least that injustice is more profitable than
22 THE REPUBLIC.
justice, and probably some other of us here is of the same mind, and I am not single. Convince us, then, blest Thrasyrnachus ! that we imagine wrong, when we value justice more than injustice. But how, said he, shall I convince you? For, if I have not convinced you by what I have said already, what shall I further do for you ? shal I enter into your soul, and put my reasoning within you ? God forbid, said I, you shall not do that. But, first of all, whatever you have said, abide by it : or, if you do change, change openly; and do not deceive us. For now you see, Thrasymachus (for let us still consider what has been said before), that when you first defined the true physician, you did not afterwards think it needful that the true shepherd should, strictly, upon the like principles, keep his flock; but you fancy that, as a shepherd, he may feed his flock, not regarding what is best for the sheep, but as some glutton, who is going to feast on them at some entertainment ; or yet to dispose of them as a merchant ; and not a shepherd. But the shepherd's art hath certainly no other care, but of that for which it is ordained, to afford it what is best : for its own affairs are already sufficiently provided for; so as to be in the very best state while it needs nothing of the shepherd-art. In the same manner, I at least imagined, there was a necessity for agreeing with us in this, that every government, in as far as it is a government, considers what is best for nothing else but for the governed, and those under its charge ; both in political and private government. But do you imagine that governors in cities, such as are truly governors, govern willingly? Truly, said he, as for that, I not only imagine it, but am quite certain. Why now, said I, Thrasymachus, do you not perceive, as to all other governments, that no one undertakes them willingly, but they ask a reward ; as the profit arising from governing is not to be to -themselves, but to the governed ? Or, tell me this now, do not we say that every particular art is in this distinct, in having a distinct power? And now, good Thrasymachus, answer not differently from your sentiments, that we may make some progress. In this, said he, it is distinct. And does not each of them afford us a certain distinct advantage, and not a
THE REPUBLIC. 23
common one? As the medicinal affords health, the pilot art, preservation in sailing; and the others in like manner. Cer- tainly. And does not the mercenary art afford a reward, for this is its power? Or, do you call both the medicinal art, and the pilot art, one and the same ? Again, if you will define them accurately, as you proposed ; though one in piloting recover his health, because sailing agrees with him, you will not the more on this account call it the medicinal art ? No, indeed, said he. Nor will you, I imagine, call the mercenary art the medicinal, though one, in gaining a reward, recover his health. No, indeed. What now? Will you call the medicinal, the mer- cenary art, if one in performing a cure gain a reward? No, said he. Have we not acknowledged, then, that there is a distinct advantage in every art ? Be it so, said he. What is that advantage, then, with which all artists are advantaged ? It is plain it must be in using something common to all that they are advantaged by it. It seems so, said he. Yet we say that skilled persons are profited in receiving a reward arising to them from the increase of a lucrative art. He .agreed with difficulty. Has not, then, every one this advantage in his art, the receiving a reward. Yet, if we are to consider accurately the medicinal art produces health, and the mercenary art a reward ; masonry, a house, and the mercenary art accom- panying it, a reward. And all the others, in like manner, every one produces its own work, and benefits that for which it was ordained; but, if it meet not with a reward, is the artist advantaged by his art? It appears not, said he. But does he then no service when he works without reward? I chink he does. Is not this, then, now evident, Thrasymachus, that no art, nor government, provides what is advantageous for itself; but, as I said long ago, provides and enjoins what is advantageous for the governed ; having in view the profit of the inferior, and not that of the more powerful. And, for these reasons, friend Thrasymachus, 1 like%vise said now, that no one is willing to govern, and to undertake to rectify the ills of others, but asks a reward for it ; because, whoever will perform the art handsomely, never does what is best for himself, in ruling
24 THE REPUBLIC.
according to art, but what is best for the governed ; and on this account, it seems, a reward must be given tc those who are willing to govern ; either money, or honour ; or punishment, if they will not govern. How say you, Socrates? said Glauco; two of the rewards I understand; but this punishment you speak of, and here you mention it in place of a reward, I do not. You know not, then, said I, the reward of the best of men, for which the most worthy are induced to govern, when they consent to do so. Or, do you not know, that to be ambitious and covetous, is both deemed a reproach, and really is so ? I know, said he. For those reasons, then, said I, good men are not willing to govern, either for money or honour; for they are neither willing to be called mercenary, in openly receiving a reward for governing, nor to be called thieves, in clandestinely receiving from those under their government ; as little are they willing to govern for honour, for they are not ambitious. Of necessity, then, there must be laid on them a penalty, that they may consent to govern. And hence, it seems, it hath been accounted dishonourable to enter on government willingly, and not by constraint. Now the greatest punishment is to be governed by a base person, if one himself is not willing to govern : and the good seem to me to govern from a fear of this, when they do govern : and then, they enter on the government, not as on any thing good, or as what they are to reap advantage by, but as on a necessary task, and finding none better than or as good as them- selves, to entrust with the government : since it would appear that, if there was a city of good men, the contest would be, to avoid being the governor, just as at present it is, to obtain power. And then it would be manifest, that he who is indeed the true governor, does not aim at his own advantage, but at that of the governed; so that every under- standing man would rather choose to be benefited, than to have trouble in benefiting another. This, therefore, I, for my part, will never yield to Thrasymachus ; that justice is the advantage of the more powerful; but this we shall consider afterwards. What Thrasymachus says now, seems to me of
THE REPUBLIC. 25
much more importance, when he says that the life of the unjust man is better than that of the just. You, then, Glauco, said I, which side do you choose; and which seems to you most agreeable to truth ?
The life of the just, said he, I, for my part, deem to be the more profitable. Have you heard, said I, how many good things Thrasymachus just now enumerated in the life of the unjust? I heard, said he, but am not persuaded. Are you willing, then, that we should persuade him (if we be able any- how to find arguments), that there is no truth in what he says ? Why not ? said he. If, then, said I, pulling on the other side, we advance argument for argument, how many good things there are in being just, and then again, he on the other side, we shall need a third person to compute and estimate what each shall have said on either side ; and we shall likewise need some judges to determine the matter. But, if, as now, assenting to one another, we consider these things ; we shall be both judges and pleaders ourselves. Certainly, said he. Which way, then, said I, do you choose ? The latter, said he.
Come then, said I, Thrasymachus, answer us from the beginning. Do you say that complete injustice is more profit- able than complete justice ? Yes, indeed, I say so, replied he. And the reasons for it I have enumerated. Come now, do you ever affirm anything of this kind concerning them ? Do you call one of them, virtue; and the other, vice? Why not? Is not then justice, virtue; and injustice, vice? Very likely, said he, most pleasant Socrates ! after I say that injustice is profit- able; but justice is not; what then? The contrary, said he. Is it justice you call vice ? No, but I call it, altogether genuine simplicity. Do you, then, call injustice, cunning? No, said he, but I call it sagacity. Do the unjust seem to you, Thrasy- machus, to be both prudent and good ? Such, at least, said he, as are able to do injustice in perfection; such as are able to subject to themselves states and nations ; but you probably imagine I speak of those who cut purses. Even such things as these, he said, are profitable if concealed ; but such only as I now mentioned are of any worth. I understand, said I, what
26 THE REPUBLIC.
you want to say. But this I have wondered at, that you should
deem injustice to be a part of virtue and wisdom, and justice
to be among their contraries. But I do deem it altogether so.
Your meaning, said I, is now more determined, friend, and it is
no longer easy for one to find what to say against it: for, if
when you had set forth injustice as profitable, you had still
allowed it to be vice or ugly, as some others do, we should have
had something to say, speaking according to the received
opinions. But now, it is plain, you will call it beautiful and
powerful; and all those other things you will attribute to it
which we attribute to the just man, since you have dared to
class it with virtue and wisdom. You conjecture, said he, most
truly. But, however, I must not grudge, said I, to pursue our
inquiry so long as I conceive you speak as you think ; for to me
you plainly seem now, Thrasymachus, not to be in irony, but
to speak what you think concerning the truth. What is the
difference to you, said he, whether I think so or not, if you do
not confute my reasoning? None at all, said I. But endeavour,
further, to answer me this likewise — Does a just man seem to
you desirous to have more than another just man ? By no
means, said he; for otherwise he would not be so delightfully
simple, as we now supposed him. But what, will he not desire
it in a just action ? Not even in a just action, said he. But,
would he deem it proper to exceed the unjust man and count it
just, or would he not ? He would, said he, both count it just
and deem it proper, but would not be able to effect it. That,
said I, I do not ask. But, whether a just man would neither
deem it proper, nor incline to exceed a just man, but would
deem it proper to exceed the unjust? This last, said he,
is what he would incline to do. But what would the unjust
man do? Would he deem it proper to exceed the just
man even in a just action? Why not, said he, he who
deems it proper to exceed all others ? Will not then the unjust
man desire to exceed the unjust man likewise, and in an unjust
action ; and contend that he himself receive more than all
others ? Certainly. Thus, we say, then, said I, the just man
does not desire to exceed one like himself, but one unlike. But
THE REPUBLIC. 27
the unjust man desires to exceed both one like, and one unlike himself. You have spoken, said he, perfectly well. But, said I, the unjust man is both wise and good ; but the just man is neither. This, too, said he, is well said. Is not, then, said I, the unjust man like the wise and the good, and the just man un- like ? Must he not, said he, be like them, being such an one as we have supposed ; and he who is otherwise, be unlike them ? Excellently. Each of them is indeed such as those he resembles. What else? said he. Be it so, Thrasymachus, call you one man musical and another unmusical ? I do. Which of the two call you wise and which unwise? I call the musical, wise, and the unmusical, unwise. Is he not good in as much as he is wise, and ill in as much as he is unwise ? Yes. And what as to the physician ? Is not the case the same ? The same. Do you imagine, then, most excellent Thrasymachus, that any musician, in tuning a harp, wants to exceed, or deems it proper to have more skill than a man who is a musician, with reference to the tightening or loosening of the strings ? I am not of that opinion. But what say you of exceeding a man who is no musician ? Of necessity, said he, he will deem it proper to exceed him. And what as to the physician? In presenting a regimen of meats or drinks does he want to exceed another physician in medical cases ? No, indeed. But to exceed one who is no physician ? Yes. And as to all science and ignor- ance does any one appear to you intelligent who wants to grasp at or do or say more than another intelligent in the art ; and not to do the same things, in the same affair, which one equally intelligent with himself doth ? Probably there is a necessity, said he, it be so. But what, as to him who is ignorant ; will not he want to exceed the intelligent and the ignorant both alike ? Probably. But the intelligent man is wise ? I say so. And the wise man is good ? I say so. But the good and the wise will not want to exceed one like himself; but the unlike and con- trary? It seems so, said he. But the evil and the ignorant wants to exceed both one like himself and his opposite ? It appears so. Why, then, Thrasymachus, said I, the unjust de- sires to exceed both one unlike, and one like himself. Do not
28 THE REPUBLIC.
you say so ? I do, said he. But the just man will not desire to exceed one like himself, but one unlike? Yes. The just man, then, said I, resembles the wise and the good ; and the unjust resembles the evil and the ignorant. It appears so. But we acknowledged that each of them was such as that which they resembled. We acknowledged so, indeed. The just man, then, has appeared to us to be good and wise; and the unjust to be ignorant and depraved. Thrasymachus admitted all these things not as easily, as I now narrate them, but reluctantly and with much difficulty and with prodigious sweat, as it was in the summer. And I then saw what I had never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing. After we had acknowledged that justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice was vice and ignor- ance, well, said I, let this remain so. But we said likewise that injustice was powerful. Do not you remember, Thrasymachus ? I remember, said he. But what you now say does not please me; and I have somewhat to say concerning it which I well know you would call declaiming if I should advance it ; either, then, suffer me to say what I incline, or if you incline to ask, do it; and I shall answer "be it so" as to old women telling stories ; and shall nod my head or shake it. By no means, said I, contrary to your own opinion. Just to please you, said he; since you will not allow me to speak. But do you want any- thing further ? Nothing, truly, said I ; but if you are to do thus, do; I shall ask. Ask then. This, then, I ask, which I did just now; (that we may in an orderly way see through our discourse,) of what kind is justice, compared with injustice; for it was surely said that injustice was more powerful and stronger than justice. It was so said just now, replied he. But if justice be both virtue and wisdom, it will easily, I imagine, appear to be likewise more powerful than injustice; since injustice is ignorance ; of this now none can be ignorant. But I am will- ing, for my own part, Thrasymachus, to consider it not in this absolute manner, but some how thus. Might you not say that a state may be unjust, and may attempt to enslave other states unjustly, and succeed in it; and, hold many states in slavery under itself? Why not? said he: and the best state will chiefl)
THE REPUBLIC. 29
do this, and such as is most completely unjust. I understand, said I, that this was your speech; but I consider this in it;— Whether this state, which becomes more powerful than the other state, shall hold this power without justice, or must it of necessity be with justice ? With justice, said he, if indeed, as you now said, justice be wisdom; but if, as I said, with in- justice. I am much delighted, said I, Thrasymachus, that you do not merely nod and shake your head, but that you answer so handsomely. I do it, said he, to gratify you. That is obliging in you. But gratify me in this likewise, and tell me ; do you imagine that a city, or camp, or robbers, or thieves, or any other community, such as jointly undertakes to do anything unjustly, is able to effectuate anything if they injure one another? No indeed, said he. But what, if they do not injure one another ; will they not do better? Certainly. For injustice, somehow Thrasymachus, brings seditions, and hatreds, and fightings among them ; but justice affords harmony and friendship. Does it not ? Be it so, said he, that I may not differ from you. You are very obliging, most excellent Thrasymachus ! But tell me this. If it be the work of injustice, wherever it is, to create hatred, will it not then, when it occurs, whether among free men or slaves, make them hate one another, and grow seditious, and become impotent to do anything together in company ? Certainly. And, in the case of injustice between any two men, will they not differ, and hate, and become enemies both to one another, and to just men ? They will become so, said he. If now, wonderful Thrasymachus, injustice be in one individual, does it lose its power, or will it retain it ? We will say. said he, that it retains it. Does it not then appear to have such a power as this. That wherever it is, whether in a city, or tribe, or camp, or wher- ever else, in the first place, it renders it unable for action in itself, through seditions and differences; and besides, makes it an enemy to itself, and to every opponent, and to the just? Is it not thus? Certainly. And, when injustice is in one man, it will have, I imagine, all these effects, which it is natural for it to produce. In the first place, it will render him unable for action whilst he is in sedition and disagree-
THE REPUBLIC.
ment with himself; and next as he is an enemy both to himself, and to the just. Is it not so? Yes. But the Gods, friend, are likewise just. We will suppose them so, said he. The unjust man, then, Thrasymachus, is an enemy also to the Gods; and the just man, a friend. Feast yourself, said he, with the reasoning; for I will not oppose you, that I may not render myself odious to these Gods.1 Come then, said I, and complete my feast ; answering as you were doing just now : for the just already appear to be wiser, and better, and more powerful in their acts; and the unjust are not able to act in any thing with one another. But what we said with reference to those who are unjust, — that they are ever at any time able strenuously to act jointly together ; this we said not altogether accurately, for they would not spare one another ; being thoroughly unjust ; but it is plain that there was in them some justice, which made them refrain from injuring one another, and those of their party; and by this justice they performed what they did. And they rushed on unjust actions, through injustice; being half wicked; since those who are completely wicked, and perfectly unjust, are likewise perfectly unable to act. This then I understand is the case with reference to these matters, and not as you pro- pounded at first. But whether the just live better than the unjust, and are more happy (which we proposed to consider afterwards), is now to be considered; and they appear to do so even at present, as I imagine, at least from what has been said. Let us, however, consider it further. For the discourse is not about a trivial thing, but about the manner in which we ought to live. Consider then, said he. I will, said I ; tell me, does anything seem to you to be the work of a horse ? Yes. Would you not call that the work of a horse, or of any one else, which one does with him only, or in the best manner ? I do not understand, said he. Thus, then: Do you see with anything else but the eyes? No indeed. Could you hear with anything but the ears ? By no means. Do we not justly then call these
1 I.e., the company present.
THE REPUBLIC. 31
things the works of these ? Certainly. Could not you with a sword, a knife, and many other things, cut off a branch of
vine ? Why not ? But with nothing, at least I imagine, so well, as with a pruning-hook, which is made for that purpose : shall we not then settle this to be its work? We shall then settle it. I imagine, then, you may now understand better what I was asking when I inquired whether the work of each thing were not that which it alone performs, or performs in the best manner. I understand you, said he ; and this does seem to me to be the work of each thing. Be it so, said I. And is there not likewise a virtue belonging to everything to which there is a certain work assigned ? But let us go over again the same things •. We say there is a work belonging to the eyes ? There is. And is there not a virtue also belonging to the eyes ? A virtue also. Well then, was there any work of the ears ? Yes. Is there not then a virtue also ? A virtue also. And what as to all other things ? Is it not thus ? It is. But come, could the eyes ever well perform their work, not having their own proper virtue ; but, instead of virtue, having vice ? How could they, said he, for you probably mean their having blindness instead of sight. Whatever, said I, be their virtue, for I do not ask this ; but, whether it be with their own proper virtue that they well perform their own proper work, whatever things are performed, or by their vice, badly ? In this, at least, said he, you are right. And will not the ears likewise, when deprived of their virtue, perform their work ill ? Certainly. And do we settle all other things according to the same reasoning ? So I imagine. Come, then, after these things, consider this.
Is there belonging to the soul a certain work, which, with no other being whatever, you can perform; such as this, to care for, to govern, to consult, and all such things; is there any thing else but the soul, to which we may justly ascribe them, and say they properly belong to it ? Nothing. Again, shall we say that life is the work of the soul ? Most especially, said he. Do not we say, then, that there is some virtue of the soul likewise ? We say so.
And shall, then, the soul, ever at all,, Thrasymachus, perform
32 THE. REPUBLIC.
her works well, whilst deprived of her proper virtue? or, is this impossible ? It is impossible. Of necessity, then, a depraved soul must in a bad manner govern, and take care of things ; and a good soul perform all these things well. Of necessity. But did not we agree that justice was the virtue of the soul ; and injustice its vice ? We did agree. Why then, the just soul, and the just man, shall live well ; and the unjust, ill. It appears so, said he, according to your reasoning. But, surely, he who lives well is both blessed and happy, and he who does not is the opposite. Why not? The just, then, is happy ; and the unjust miserable. We may say so, said he. But it is not advantageous to be miserable, but to be happy. Certainly. At no time, then, good Thrasymachus, is injustice more advantageous than justice. Thus, now, Socrates, said he, have you been feasted in the festival of Bendis. By you, truly, I have, Thrasymachus, said I ; since you are grown meek, and have ceased to be angry. I have not feasted handsomely, but that is owing to myself, and not to you : for as voracious guests, always taking what is brought before them, taste of it before they have sufficiently enjoyed what went before ; so I, as I imagine, before I have found what we first inquired into, — what justice is — have left this, hurrying to inquire concerning it, whether it be vice and ignorance, or wisdom and virtue. And, as a new idea afterwards came in, that injustice was more profitable than justice, I could not refrain from coming to this from the other. So that, from the dialogue, I have now come to know nothing; for whilst I do not know what justice is, I hardly know whether it be a virtue or not, or whether he who possesses it be unhappy or happy.
THE REPVUUC. 33
BOOK II.
WHEN I had said these things I imagined that the debate was at an end ; but this it seems was only the introduction : for Glauco, as he is on all occasions most courageous, did not approve of Thrasymachus giving up the debate ; but said, Socrates, do you wish to seem to have persuaded us, or to have persuaded us in reality, that in every respect it is better to be just than unjust? I would choose, said I, to do it in reality, if it depended on me. You do not, then, said he, do what you desire. For, tell me, does there appear to you to be any good thing of such a kind, that we would be glad to have it ; not as regards its consequences, but for its own sake? as joy, and such pleasures as are harmless; though nothing arises after- wards from these pleasures, and the possession alone gives us delight. There seems to me, said I, to be something of this kind. But is there something too, which we both love for its own sake, and also for what arises from it ? as wisdom, sight, and health; for I think we embrace these things on both accounts. Yes, said I. But do you perceive, said he, a third species of good, among which are bodily labour, to be healed when sick, to practice physic, or other lucrative employment ? for we say that these things are troublesome, but that they profit us ; and while we should not choose these things for their own sake, yet on account of the rewards and other advantages which arise from them, we accept them. There is, indeed, said I, likewise this third kind. But in which of these, said he, do you place justice? I imagine, said I, in the best; which, both on its own ctecount, and for the sake of what arises from it, is desired by the man who is in pursuit of happiness. It does not, however, said he, seem so to the many, but to be among the troublesome kind, which is pursued for the sake of glory, and
3
34 THE REPUBLIC.
on account of rewards and honours ; but which on its own account is to be shunned, as being irksome. I know, said I, that it seems so, and it was in this view that Thrasymachus some time since despised it, and commended injustice ; but it seems I am one of those who are dull in learning. Come then, said he, hear me likewise, if it be agreeable to you ; for Thrasy- machus seems to me to have been charmed by you, like an adder, sooner than was proper : but, with respect to myself, the proof has not yet been made to my satisfaction, in reference to either of the two ; for I desire to hear what each is, and what power it has by itself, when in the soul — without considering the rewards, or the consequences arising from them. I will proceed, therefore, in this manner, if it seem proper to you : I will revive the speech of Thracymachus ; and, first of all, I will tell you what men say justice is, and whence it arises ; and, secondly, I will maintain that all those who pursue it pursue it unwillingly, as a necessary, but not as a good thing; thirdly, that they do this reasonably; for, as they say, the life of an unjust man is much better than that of the just. Although, for my own part, to me, Socrates, this does not yet appear so. I am, however, in doubt, having my ears bedinned with what I hear from Thracymachus and innumerable others. But I have never, hitherto, heard from any one such a discourse as I wish to hear concerning justice, proving it better than injustice : I wish to hear it commended, as it is in itself, and from you if from any one imagine I shall hear this : wherefore I shall, as strongly as I can, speak in commendation of an unjust life; and, in speaking, shall show you in what manner I want to hear you condemn injustice, and commend justice. But see if what I say be agreeable to you. Extremely so, said I ; for in what would any man of intellect delight rather than in speaking, and hearing of this frequently ? You speak well, said he ; so listen ^-hile I speak on my first theme; what justice is, and whence it arises. They say that, according to its nature, to do injustice is good; but to suffer injustice is bad; for the evil which arises from suffering injustice is greater than the good which arises from doing it : so that, after men had done one another injus-
THE REPUBLIC. 35
tice, and likewise suffered it, experiencing both, it seemed proper to those who were not able to shun the one, and choose the other, to agree neither to do injustice, nor to be injured : and that from this laws and conventions began to be estab- lished ; and that which was enjoined by law they denominated lawful and just. This, men say, is the origin and essence of justice : being in the middle between what is best, doing injustice without punishment, and what is worst — namely, suffering injustice, when the injured person is unable to punish ; and that justice, being thus in the middle of both these, is desired, not as a good thing, but because it is held in honour from its incapacity for doing injustice : for the man who had ability to do so would never, if really a man, agree with any one either to injure, or to be injured ; for otherwise he were mad. This, then, Socrates, is said to be the nature of justice and its origin. And we shall best perceive that these who pursue justice pursue it unwillingly, and from impotence to injure, if we imagine such a case as this. Let us give liberty to each of them, both to the just and to the unjust, to do whatever they incline ; and then let us follow them, observing how their inclination will lead each of them. We should then find the just man, with full inclination, going the same way with the unjust, through a desire of having more than others. This, every nature is made to pursue as good, but by law is forcibly led to respect equality.
And the liberty which I speak of may be better realised if imagined to be of such a kind as once invested Gyges, the progenitor of Lydus : for the story says that he was the hired shepherd of the then governor of Lydia; and that a pro- digious rain and earthquake happening, part of the earth was rent asunder, and an opening made in the place where he pastured his flocks; that when he beheld, and wondered, he descended into the hollow, and saw many other wonders, which the legend relates, and a brazen horse likewise, hollow and with doors in it ; and, on looking in, he saw within, a dead body arger in appearance than that of a man, which had nothing else pon it but a gold ring on its hand ; which ring he took off.
36 THE REPUBLIC.
and came up again. That when there was a convention of the shepherds, as usual, for reporting to the king what related to their flocks, he also came, having the ring : and whilst he sat with the others, he happened to turn the stone of the ring to the inner part of his hand; and when this was done he became invisible to those who sat by, and they talked of him as absent : that he wondered, and, again handling his ring, turned the stone outward, and on this became visible ; and that, having observed this, he made trial of the ring whether it had this power : and it happened, that on turning the stone inward he became invisible, and on turning it outward he became visible. That, perceiving this, he instantly managed so as to be made one of the embassy to the king, and that on his arrival he seduced his wife ; and, with her, assaulting the king, killed him, and possessed the kingdom. If now, there were two such rings, and the just man had the one, and the unjust the other, neither, it seems, would be so adamantine as to persevere in justice, and refrain from the things of others, and not to touch them, whilst it was in his power to take, even from a public market, without fear, whatever he pleased ; to enter into houses, and embrace any one he pleased ; to kill, and to loose from chains, whom he pleased ; and to do all other things with the same power as a God among men : — acting in this manner, he would be in no respect different from the other ; but both of them would go the same road. This now, one may say, is a strong proof that no one is just from choice, but by constraint ; as it is not a good merely in itself, since every one does injustice wherever he imagines he is able to do it. And every man thinks that injustice is, to the particular person, more profitable than justice ; and he thinks rightly, according to this way of reasoning : since, if any one with such a liberty were never to do any injustice, nor touch the things of others, he would be deemed by men of sense to be a most wretched fool ; though they would commend him before one another, to impose on each other from a fear of being injured. This much, then, concerning these things. But, with reference to the difference of the lives of those we speak of, we shall be able to discern
THE REPUBLIC. 37
aright, if we contrast the most just man, and the most unjust; and now, how are we to contrast them ? Let us take from the unjust man nothing of injustice, nor of justice from the just man; but let us make each of them perfect in his own pro- fession. And first, as to the unjust man, let him act as the able artists; as a perfect pilot, or physician, he comprehends the possible and the impossible in the art ; the one he attempts, and the other he relinquishes ; and, if he fail in anything, he is able to rectify it: so, in like manner, the unjust man attempting pieces of injustice in a dexterous manner, let him be concealed, if he intend to be exceedingly unjust ; but, if he be caught, let him be deemed worthless : for the most complete injustice is, to seem just, not being so. We must give then to the completely unjust the most complete injustice; and not take from him, but allow him, whilst doing the greatest injustice, to procure to him- self the highest reputation for justice; and, if in anything he fail, let him be able to rectify it : and let him be able to speak so as to persuade if anything of his injustice be spread abroad: let him be able to do by force, through his courage and strength, and by means of his friends and his wealth : and having sup- posed him to be such an one as this, let us place the just man beside him in our reasoning, a simple and ingenuous man, desiring, according to y£schylus, not the appearance but the reality of goodness: let us take from him the appearance of goodness; for, if he shall appear to be just, he shall have honours and rewards ; and thus it will be uncertain whether he be just for the sake of justice, or on account of the rewards and honours: let him be stripped of everything but justice, and be made completely contrary to the other ; whilst he does no in- justice, let him have the reputation of doing the greatest ; that he may be tortured for justice, not yielding to reproach, and such things as arise from it, but may be immovable till death; appearing indeed to be unjust through life, yet being really just ; that so both of them arriving at the utmost pitch, the one of justice, and the other of injustice, we may judge which of them is the happier. Strange ! said I, friend Glauco, how strenuously you purify each of the men, like a statue which is to be judged
38 THE REPUBLIC.
of I As much, said he, as I am able : whilst then they continue lo be such, there will not, as I imagine, be any further difficulty to observe what kind of life remains to each of them. It must therefore be told. And if it should be told too coarsely, imagine not, Socrates, that it is I who' tell it, but those who commend injustice preferably to justice. They will say that the just man, being of this disposition, will be scourged, tormented, fettered, will have his eyes burnt out, and lastly, having suffered all manner of evils, will be crucified ; and thus you see, that he should not desire the reality but the appearance of justice: and that it is much more correct to pronounce that saying of ^schylus concerning the unjust man : for they will in reality support the unjust man as one who is in pursuit of what is real, and lives not according to the opinion of men, and who means not to have the appearance but the reality of injustice :
" Reaping the hollow furrow of his mind,
Whence all his glorious councils blossom forth."
In the first place, he holds the magistracy in the state, being thought to be just ; next, he marries wherever he inclines, and matches his children with whom he pleases ; he joins in part- nership and company with whom he inclines ; and, besides all this, he will succeed in all his projects for gain; as he does not scruple to do injustice: and when he engages in compe- titions, he will both in private and in public surpass and exceed his adversaries ; and by this means he will be rich, and serve his friends, and hurt his enemies: and he will amply and magnificently render sacrifices to the Gods, and will honour the Gods, and such men as he chooses, much better than the just man. From whence they reckon, that it is likely he will be more beloved of the Gods than the just man. Thus, they say, Socrates, that both with Gods and men there is a better life prepared for the unjust man than for the just. When Glauco had said these things, I had a design to say something. But before I could reply, his brother, Adimantus, said — Socrates, you do not imagine there is yet enough said on the argu- ment. What further then? said I. That has not yet been
REPUBLIC. 39
spokeii, said he, which ought most specially to have been mentioned. Why then, said I, the proverb is, A brother is help at hand. So do you assist, if he has failed in anything. Though what has been said by him is sufficient to overthrow me, and make me unable to succour justice. You jest, replied he. But hear this further. For we must go through all the arguments opposed to what he has said, which commend justice and condemn injustice, that what Glauco seems to me to intend may be more manifest. Now, parents surely tell and exhort their sons, as do all those who have the care of any, that it is necessary to be just; not commending justice in itself, but the honours arising from it ; so that whilst a man is reputed t' be just, he may obtain by this reputation magistracies and mar- riages, and whatever Glauco just now enumerated as the con- sequence of being reputed just : but these carry this matter of reputation somewhat further ; for, throwing in the approbation of the Gods, they have unspeakable blessings to enumerate to holy persons ; which, they say, the Gods bestow. As the wise Hesiod and Homer say; the former that the Gods cause the oak trees of the just to produce to just men
" Acorns at top, and in the middle bees; Their woolly sheep are laden with their fleece;"
and a great many other good things of the same nature. In like manner, the other,
" The blameless king, who holds a godlike name, Finds his black mould both wheat and barley bear ; With fruit his trees are laden, and his flocks Bring forth with ease; the sea affords him fish."
But Musaeus and his son tell us that the Gods give just men more splendid blessings than these ; for, carrying them in his poem into Hades, and placing them in company with holy men at a feast prepared for them, they crown them, and make them pass the whole of their time in drinking, deeming eternal inebriation the finest reward of virtue. But some carry the rewards from the Gods still further ; for they say that the offspring of the holy, and
40 THE REPUBLIC.
the faithful, and their children's children, still remain. With these things, and such as these, they commend justice. But the unholy and unjust they bury in Hades, in a swamp, and compel them to carry water in a sieve; and make them, even whilst alive, to live in infamy. Whatever punishments were assigned by Glauco to the just, whilst they were reputed unjust; these they assign to the unjust, but mention no others. This now is the way in which they commend and discommend them severally; but besides this, Socrates, consider another kind of reasoning concerning justice and injustice, mentioned both in ordinary life and by the poets : all of them with one mouth celebrate temper- ance and justice as indeed excellent, but yet difficult and laborious; and intemperance and injustice as indeed pleasant and easy to attain; and only in men's opinion, and at law, abominable : and they say that for the most part unjust actions are more profitable than just. And they are gladly willing, both in public and private, to play honour to wicked rich men, and such as have power of any kind, and to pronounce them happy, but to contemn and overlook those who are anyhow weak and poor, even whilst they acknowledge them to be better than the others. But, of all these speeches, the most marvel- lous are those concerning the Gods, and virtue: according to which even the Gods give to many good men misfortunes and an evil life, and to persons of the other kind a different fate : and mountebanks and prophets, frequenting the gates of the rich, persuade them that they have a power granted them by the Gods, of expiating by sacrifices and songs, with pleasures and with feastings, any injustice that has been committed by them, or their forefathers : and if one wishes to injure any enemy he may do it at a small expense, and whether such enemy be just or unjust; for by certain blandishments and bonds, they say that they can persuade the Gods to succour them. And to all these discourses they bring the poets as witnesses ; who} mentioning the facilities of vice, say —
" How vice at once, and easily is gain'd ; The way is smooth, and very nigh it dwells; Sweat before virtue stands, so Ileav'n ordain'd "
THE REPUBLIC. \\
and a very long and steep road.1 Others make Homer witness how the Gods are prevailed upon by men, because he says,
" The Gods themselves are turn'd With sacrifices and appeasing vows; Fat off 'rings and libation them persuade ; And for transgressions suppliant pray'r atones."
They produce likewise many books of Musaeus and Orpheus, the offspring, as they say, of the Moon, and of the Muses ; according to which they perform their sacred rites, persuading not only private persons, but states likewise, that there are absolutions and purgations from iniquities by means of sacri- fices, sports and pleasures; for the benefit both of the living and of the dead : these they call the Mysteries which absolve us from torment in the other world ; and they assert that dread- ful things await those who do not offer sacrifice. When all this and many things of the same kind, friend Socrates, are said of virtue and vice, and their reward both from men and Gods ; what
»m we imagine to be the effect on the minds of our young men, hen they hear them ; such of them as are intelligent, and able as it were to skim like birds over all these things which are said, and to deliberate, with what sort of character and in what sort of road one may best pass through life? It is likely that they will speak to themselves in the words of Pindar,
" Whether shall I the lofty wall
Of justice try to scale; Or, hedg'd within the guileful maze Of vice, encircled dwell ? "
For, according to what is said, though I be just, if I be not reputed so, there shall be no profit, but manifest troubles and punishments. But the unjust man, who procures to himself the character of justice, is said to have a divine life. Since then the appearance surpasses the reality, as wise men demonstrate to me, and is the primary part of happiness, ought I not to turn
1 Hesiod, Works and Days, 287.
42 THE REPUBLIC.
wholly to it ; ant} to draw round myself as a covering, the picture, and image of virtue ; but after me I must drag the cunning and versatile fox mentioned by the most wise Archi- lochus ? But perhaps some one will say, It is not easy, being wicked, always to be concealed. Neither is anything else easy, (will we say) which is great.
But, however, if we would be happy, let us go where the vestiges of the reasonings lead us. For, in order to be con- cealed, we will make secret societies and clubs ; and there are masters of persuasion, who teach skill in popular and political oratory ; by which means, partly by persuasion and partly by force, when we seize more than our due, we shall not be punished. But, surely, to be concealed from the Gods, or to overpower them, is impossible. Still, if they do not exist, or care not about human affairs, we need not have any concern about being concealed : but if they really exist, and care for us, we neither know nor have heard of them otherwise than from traditions, and from the poets who write their genealogies ; and these very persons tell us, that they are to be moved and per- suaded by sacrifices, and appeasing vows, and offerings. We must believe both of these statements, or neither. If we believe both, we may do injustice, and of the fruits of our injustice offer sacrifice. If we be just, we shall indeed be unpunished by the Gods; but then we shall not have the gains of injustice. But if we be unjust, we shall make gain ; and after we have trans- gressed and offended, we shall appease them by offerings, and be liberated from punishment. But we shall, it is said, be punished in the other world for our unjust doings here ; either we ourselves, or our children's children. But, friend, will the reasoner say, the mysteries can do much ; the Gods are exorable, as is said by the mightiest states, and by the children of the Gods, the poets, who are also their prophets, and who declare that these things are so. For what reason, then, should we still prefer justice before the greatest injustice ? Since, if we shall attain to it while keeping up appearances, we shall fare to our liking, with reference both to the Gods and men, both while alive and dead, according to the reasoning just
THE REPUBLIC. 43
mentioned of many excellent men ? From all that has been said, for what reason, O Socrates, shall he incline to honour justice, who has any advantages whether of fortune or of wealth, of body or of birth, instead of laughing when he hears it com- mended ? Indeed, though a man were able to show what we have said to be false, and is fully convinced that justice is better, he will, however, abundantly pardon and not be angry with the unjust; for he knows, that unless one from a divine nature abhor to do injustice, or from acquired knowledge abstain from it, no one else is willingly just ; but either through cowardice, old age, or some other weakness, condemns the doing injustice when unable to do it. That it is so is plain. For the first of these who arrives at powrer is the first to do injustice, as far as he is able. And the reason of all this is no other than that from whence all this discourse proceeded, Socrates, because, O wonderful man ! among all those of you that call yourselves the commenders of justice, beginning from those ancient heroes of whom any accounts are left to the men of the present time, no one hath at any time condemned injustice, nor commended justice, for any other reason than the reputation, honours and rewards arising from them: but no one has hitherto sufficiently examined, in poetry, or in prose, either of them in itself, as a thing subsisting by its own power in the soul of him who possesses it, concealed both from Gods and men : so as to show that injustice is the greatest of all the evils which the soul hath within it, and justice the greatest good. If it had been thus spoken of by you all from the beginning, and you had so persuaded us from our youth, we should not need to watch over our neighbour lest he should do us injustice, but every man would have been the best guardian over himself, afraid lest in doing injustice he should dwell with the greatest evil. These things now, Socrates, and probably much more than these, Thrasy- machus or some other might say of justice and injustice, inverting their powers, against my own opinion. But as I (for I want to conceal nothing from you) am desirous of hearing you on the oplposite side, 1 have spoken as well as
44 THE REPUBLIC.
I was able, taking the contrary view. Do not, therefore, only show us in your reasoning that justice is better than injustice; but in what manner as regards the mind, one of them is evil, and the other good. And do not notice the opinion men have of either, as Glauco likewise enjoined : for, if you notice the false opinions on both sides, and not the true ones, we will say you do not commend justice, but the appearance of it; nor condemn injustice but the appearance of it; that you advise the unjust man to conceal himself; and that you assent to Thrasymachus that justice is a foreign good, the profit of the more powerful; and that injustice is the profit and advantage of oneself, and the loss of the weaker. Since, therefore, you have acknowledged that justice is among the greatest goods, such as are worthy to be possessed for what arises from them, and much more in themselves, and for their own sake (such as sight, hearing, wisdom, health, and such other goods as are real in their own nature, and not merely in opinion); in the same manner commend justice; how, in itself, it profits the owner, while injustice hurts him. Leave others to commend the rewards and opinions; for I could bear with others in this way, commending justice, and con- demning injustice, since they only celebrate and revile the opinions and rewards of them; but not with you (unless you desire me), because you have passed the whole of life considering nothing else but this. Show us, then, in your discourse, not only that justice is better than injustice ; but also show us what is the effect that each has on its possessor (whether he be concealed or not from Gods and men), by which the one becomes a blessing and the other an evil.
Much as I have always been pleased with the talents of Glauco and Adimantus, at that time I was perfectly delighted ; and I replied: It was not ill said concerning you, sons of that worthy man, by the lover of Glauco, in the beginning of his Elegies, when, celebrating your behaviour at the battle of Megara, he sang,
" Aristo's sons ! of an illustrious man, The race divine . . ."
THE REPUBLIC. 45
This, friends, seems to be well said ; for you are truly affected in a divine manner, if you are not persuaded that injustice is better than justice, when you are able to speak thus in its defence : and to me you seem, truly, not to be persuaded ; and I reason from the whole of your other behaviour, since, accord- ing to your present speeches at least, I should distrust you. But the more I can trust you, the more I am in doubt what argument I shall use. For I can neither think of what assist- ance I have to give (for I seem to be unable to do anything since you do not accept what I said to Thrasymachus when I imagined I showed that justice was better than injustice), nor yet can I think of giving no assistance; for I am afraid it be an unholy thing to desert justice when I am present, and see it accused, and not assist it whilst I breathe, and am able to speak. It is best then to succour it in such a manner as I can.
Hereupon Glauco and the rest entreated me, by all means, to assist, and not relinquish the discourse ; but to search thoroughly what each of them is, and which way the truth lies, as to their respective advantages. I then said what I felt : That the inquiry we were attempting was not contemptible, but required a sharp sight, as I imagined. Since, then, said I, I am not very expert, it seems proper to make the inquiry concerning this matter in such a manner as if it were ordered those who are not very sharp-sighted, to read small letters at a distance ; and one should afterwards discover, that the same letters were written on something else in larger characters : it would appear eligible, I imagine, first to read these, and thus come to con- sider the lesser, if they happen to be the same. Perfectly right, said Adimantus. But what of this kind, Socrates, do you perceive in the inquiry concerning justice ? I will tell you, said I. Do not we say there is justice in one man, and there is likewise justice in a whole state? It is certainly so, replied he. Is not a state a greater object than one man? Yes, said he. It is likely, then, that justice should be greater in what is greater, and be more easy to be understood: we shall first, then, if you incline, inquire what it is in states ; and then, after
4<5 THE REPUBLIC.
the same manner, we shall consider it in each individual, con- templating the similitude of the greater in the idea of the lesser. You seem to me, said he, to be right. If then, said I, we contemplate, in our discourse, the growth of a state, shall we not perceive the growth of its justice and injustice as well? Perhaps, said he. And in this case, were there not ground to hope that we shall more easily find what we seek for ? Most certainly. It seems, then, we ought to attempt to succeed, for I imagine this to be a work of no small importance. Consider, then. We are considering, said Adimantus, and do you no otherwise.
A city, then, said I, as I imagine, takes its rise from this, that none of us happens to be self-sufficient, but is indigent of many things ; or, do you imagine there is any other origin of building a city ? None other, said he. Thus it is then that because each man requires one person for one want, and another for another; and each stands in need of many things, there assemble into one habitation many companions and assistants ; and to this joint-habitation we give the name of city, do we not ? Certainly. And they mutually exchange with one another, each judging that, if he either gives or takes in exchange, it will be for his advantage. Certainly. Come, then, said I, let us, in our discourse, construct a city from the beginning. It is con- structed, it seems, because of our natural requirements ? Yes. But the first and the greatest of wants is the preparation of food, in order to subsist and live. By all means. The second is of lodging. The third of clothing ; and such like. It is so. But, come, said I, how shall the city be able to make so great a pro- vision ? Shall not one be a husbandman, another a mason, some other a weaver ? or shall we add to them a shoemaker, or some other of those who minister to the necessities of the body ? Certainly. So that the smallest possible city must consist of four or five men ? It seems so. But, what now ? must each of those do his work for them all in common; so that the husband- man, as one of them, shall prepare food for four ; and consume quadruple time, and labour, in preparing food, and sharing it with others? or, neglecting them, shall he for himself alone
THE REPUBLIC. 47
make the fourth part of this food, in the fourth part of the time ? and, of the other three parts of time, shall he employ one in the preparation of a house, the other in that of clothing, the other of shoes, and not give himself trouble in sharing with others, but do his own affairs by himself? Adimantus said — Probably, Socrates, this way is more easy than the other. No, certainly, said I ; it were absurd. For, whilst you are speaking, I con- sider that we are born not perfectly resembling one another, but differing in disposition ; one being fitted for doing one thing, and another for doing another: does it not seem so to you? It does. But, what now ? Will a man do better if he works in many arts, or in one ? In one, said he. But this, I imagine, is also plain; that if one miss the season of any work, it is ruined. That is plain. For, I imagine, the work will not wait upon the leisure of the workman ; but of necessity the workman must attend close upon the work, and not treat it as an easy affair. Of necessity. And hence it appears, that more will be done, and better, and with greater ease, when every one does but one thing, according to their genius, and in proper season, and freed from other things. Most certainly, said he. But we need certainly, Adimantus, more citizens than four, for those pro- visions we mentioned : for the husbandman, it would seem, will not make a plough for himself, if it is to be useful ; nor yet a spade, nor other instruments of agriculture: as little will the mason ; for he, likewise, needs many things : and in the same w^y, the weaver and the shoemaker also. Is it not so? True. Joiners, then, and smiths, and other such workmen, being admitted into our little city, make it throng. Certainly. But still it would be no very great matter, if we give them neatherds likewise, and shepherds, and other herdsmen; in order that both the husbandmen may have oxen for ploughing, and that the masons, with the help of the husbandmen, may use the cattle for their carriages ; and that the weavers likewise, and the shoe- akers, may have hides and wool. Nor yet, said he, would it
e a very small city, having all these. But, said I, it is almost possible to set down such a city in any place as should need
o importations. U is impossible. It will then certainly want
48 THE REPUBLIC.
others still, who may import from another state those whom it needs. It will. And surely if the servant take with him nothing which is wanted by these from whom is imported what is needed, he will come away without anything. To me it seems so. Then the city ought not only to make what is sufficient for itself; but such things, and so many, as will recompense for those things which they need. It ought. Our city, then, cer- tainly wants a great many more husbandmen and other work- men ? A great many more. And other servants besides, to import and export the several things ; and these are merchants, are they not ? Yes. We shall then want merchants likewise ? Yes, indeed. And if the merchandise is by sea, it will require many others ; such as are skilful in sea affairs. Many others truly. But as to the city, how will the inhabitants exchange with one another the things which they have each of them worked ; and for the sake of which, forming a community, they built a city ? It is plain, said he, by selling and buying. Hence we must have a market, and money, as a symbol, for the sake of exchange. Certainly If now, the husbandman, or any other workman, bring any of his work to the market, but come not at the same time with those who want to make exchange with him, will he not be obliged to desist from his work, and to sit there idly? By no means, said he. But there are some who, observing this, set themselves to this service ; and, in well-regulated cities, they are mostly such as are weakest in their body, and unfit to do any other work. Their business is to wait in the market and to give money in exchange for such things as any may want to sell ; and things in exchange for money to such as want to buy. This demand, said I, procures our city a race of shopkeepers; for, do not we call shopkeepers those who, fixed in the market, serve both in selling and buying ? and such as travel to other cities we call merchants. Certainly. There are still, as I imagine, certain other ministers, who, though unfit to serve the public in things which require understanding, have yet strength of body sufficient for labour, who selling the use of their strength, and calling the reward of it hire, are called, as I imagine, hirelings : are they
THE REPUBLIC. 49
not? Yes, indeed. Hirelings then are, it seems, the comple- ment of the city ? It seems so. Has our city now, Adimantus, already so increased upon us as to be complete ? Perhaps.
Where now, at all, should justice and injustice be in it ; and in which of the things that we have considered does it appear to exist ? I do not know, said he, Socrates, if it be not in some relation of these things to one another. Perhaps, said I, you are right. But we must consider it, and not shirk trouble. First, then, let us consider after what manner those who are thus procured will be supported. I suppose by making bread and wine, and clothes, and shoes, and building houses ? In summer, indeed, they will work for the most part without clothes and shoes ; and, in winter, they will be sufficiently furnished with clothes and shoes ; they will be nourished, partly with barley, making meal of it, and partly with wheat, making loaves, oiling part and toasting part, and putting fine loaves and :akes on mats of straw, or on dried leaves, and resting them- elves on couches, strewed with yew and myrtle leaves, they nd their children will feast ; drinking wine, and crowned, and inging to the Gods, they will pleasantly live together, and not egetting children beyond their substance, guarding against overty or war. Glauco interrupted and said, You make the en feast, it appears, without anything but bread. You say ue, said I ; for I forget that they will have other things, hey will have salt, and olives, and cheese ; and they will boil ulbous roots, and herbs of the field ; and we set before them esserts of figs, and vetches, and beans ; and they will toast at e fire myrtle berries, and the berries of the beech-tree ; drink- g in moderation, and thus passing their life in peace and ealth ; and dying, in old age, they will leave to their children nother life, like their own. If you had been making, Socrates, id he, a city of hogs, what else would you have fed them ith but with these things? But what else should we do, lauco? said I. What is usually done, said he. They must, imagine, have their beds, and tables, and meats, and desserts,
Is we now have, if they are not to be miserable. Be it so, said ; I understand you. We are considering, it seems, not only '
?!
50 THE REPUBLIC.
how a city, but how a luxurious city, may exist; and perhaps it is not amiss ; for, in considering such an one, we may probably see how justice and injustice have their origin in cities. The true city seems to me to be such an one as we have described ; like one who is healthy; but if you incline that we likewise consider a city that is corpulent, nothing hinders it. For these things will not, it seems, please some ; nor this sort of life satisfy them ; but there shall be beds, and tables, and all other furniture ; seasonings, ointments, and perfumes ; mistresses, and confections, and various kinds of all these. And we must no longer consider as alone necessary what we mentioned at the first, houses, and clothes, and shoes ; painting too, and all the curious arts must be set a-going, carving, and gold, and ivory- work ; all these things must be procured, must they not ? Yes, said he. Must not the city, then, be larger? For that healthy one is no longer sufficient, but is already full of luxury, and of a crowd of such as are in no way necessary to cities ; such as all kinds of sportsmen, and the imitative artists, many of them imitating in figures and colours, and others in music ; poets too, and their ministers, rhapsodists, actors, dancers, undertakers, makers of all sorts of things, including women's ornaments, as well as other things. We shall need likewise many more servants. Do not you think they will require pedagogues, and nurses, and tutors, hair-dressers, barbers, victuallers too, and cooks? And further still, we shall want swine-herds: of these there were none in the other city (for there was no need), but in this we shall want these, and many other sorts of cattle likewise, for those who may wish to eat them ; shall we not ? Yes. Shall we not then, in this manner of life, be much more in need of physicians than formerly? Much more. And the country, which was then sufficient to support the inhabitants, will, instead of being sufficient, become too little ; will it not ? Yes, said he. Must we not then encroach upon the neighbouring country, if we want to have sufficient for plough and pasture, and they, in like manner, on us, if they likewise suffer themselves to accumulate wealth to infinity; going beyond the boundary of necessaries? There is great
THE REPUBLIC. 51
necessity for it, Socrates. Shall we then go to war, Glauco, or what shall we do ? We shall, certainly, said he. We will not say, said I, whether war does evil, or good; but thus much only, that we have found the origin of war : from whence, most especially, arise the greatest mischiefs to states, both private and public. Yes, indeed. We shall need, then, friend, still a larger city; not for a small, but for a large army, who, in going out, may fight with those who attack them, in defence of their own substance, and that of all those we have lately mentioned. What, said he, are not these sufficient to fight? No; if you, at least, said I, and all of us, have rightly agreed, when we formed our city : and we agreed, if you remember, that it was impossible for one to perform many arts well. You are right, said he. What then, said I, as to that contest of war ; does it not appear to require art ? Very much, said he. Ought we then to take more care of the
rt of shoemaking than of the art of making war ? By no cans. But we charged the shoemaker neither to undertake
t the same time to be a husbandman, nor a weaver, nor a ason, but a shoemaker; that the work of that art may be
one for us well' and, in like manner, we allotted to every one
f the rest one thing, to which the genius of each led him, and what each took care of, freed from other things, to do it well, applying to it the whole of his life, and not neglecting the
teasons of working. And now, as to the affairs of war, is it not f the greatest importance, that they be well performed ? Or, > this so easy a thing, that one may be a soldier and also a ^usbandman, a shoemaker, or be employed in any other art ? But not even at chess, or dice, can one ever play skilfully, unless he study this very thing from his childhood, and not make it a by-work. Or, shall one, taking a spear, or any other of the warlike arms and instruments, become instantly an expert com- batant, in an encounter in arms, or in any other military service, although the taking up of another instrument will not make a workman, or a wrestler, nor be useful to him who has neither the knowledge of that particular thing, nor has bestowed the study sufficient for its attainment ? Such instruments, said he,
52 THE REPUBLIC.
would truly be very valuable. In proportion then, said I, to the importance of this work of guarding the city, it should require the greatest leisure from other things, and likewise the greatest art and study. I imagine so, replied he. And will it not like- wise require a natural genius for this profession ? Yes. It will be our business, then, it seems, to choose the kind of genius that is best for the guardianship of the city. Yes. We have truly, said I, undertaken no mean business ; but, however, we are not to despair, so long at least as we have any ability. No indeed, said he. Do you think then, said I, that the genius of a generous dog differs in point of guardianship from that of a generous youth? What is it you say? It is this. Must not each of them be acute in perception, swift to pursue what they perceive, and strong likewise if there is need to conquer what they shall catch ? There is need, said he, of all these. And surely he must be brave likewise, if he fight well ? Yes. But will any one be brave who is not spirited, whether it is a horse, a dog, or any other animal ? Or, have you not observed, that the spirit is irresistible and invincible ; and when it is present every soul is, in respect of all things, fearless and unconquer- able ? I have observed it. It is plain then what sort of a guard we ought to have, with reference to his body. Yes, and with reference to his soul, that he should be spirited. This likewise is plain. How then, said I, Glauco, will they not be savage to- wards one another and the other citizens, being of such a temper ? No truly, said he, not easily. But yet it is necessary that towards their friends they be meek, and fierce towards their enemies ; for otherwise they will not wait till others destroy them; but they will anticipate them, and do it themselves. True, said he. What then, said I, shall we do ? Where shall we find, at once, a gentle and a spirited temper ? For the mild disposition is opposite to the spirited. It appears so. But, however, if he be deprived of either of these, he cannot be a good guardian ; and as the combination seems impossible ; so it appears, that a good guardian is an impossible thing. It seems so, said he. I was then at a loss, but after considering what had passed: Justly, said I, friend, are we in doubt \ for
THE REPUBLIC. 53
we have departed from that image which we first established. How say you ? Have we not observed, that there are truly such tempers, though we thought there were none which have these opposite qualities ? Where are they to be found ? One may see it in several animals, and not a little in that one with which we compared our guardian. For this, you know, is the natural temper of generous dogs, to be most mild towards their friends and their acquaintance, but the reverse to those they know not. It is so. This then, said I, is possible; and it is not unnatural that we require our guardian to be such an one. It seems not. Are you further, of this opinion, that he who is to be our guardian should, besides being spirited, be a philosopher likewise ? How ? said he ; for I do not understand you. This likewise, said I, you will observe in the dogs ; and it is worthy of admiration in the brute. What ? He is angry at whatever unknown person he sees, though he hath never suffered any ill from him before ; but he is fond of whatever acquaintance he sees, though he has never at any time received any good from him. Have you not wondered at this ? I never, said he, much attended to it before ; but, that he does this, is plain. But, indeed, this affection of his nature seems to be an excellent disposition, and truly philosophical ? How? Because, said I, it distinguishes between a friendly and unfriendly aspect, by nothing else but this, that it knows the one, but is ignorant of the other. How, now, should not this be deemed the love of learning, which distinguishes what is friendly and what is foreign, by knowledge and ignorance ? It can in no way be shown why it should not. But, however, said I, to be a lover of learning, and a philosopher, are the same. The same, said he. May we not then boldly lay down, That in man too, if any one is to be of a mild disposition towards his friends and acquaintance, he must be a philosopher and a lover of learning ? Yes, said he. He then who is to be a good and worthy guardian for us, of the city, shall be of a philosophic disposition, spirited, and swift, and strong. By all means, said he. Let then our guardian, said I, be such »n one. But in what manner shall
54 THE REPUBLIC.
we educate them, and instruct them ? And will the considera- tion of this be of any assistance in perceiving that for the sake of which we consider everything else, namely, In what manner justice and injustice arise in the city. For we should not omit a necessary part of the discourse ; nor consider what is super- fluous. The brother of Glauco said : I, for my part, expert that this inquiry will be of assistance. Then, said I, friend Adimantus, we must not omit it, though it should happen to be somewhat tedious. No, truly. Come then, let us, as if we were talking in the way of fable, and at our leisure, describe the education of these men. It must be done. What then is the education ? Is it not difficult to find a better than that which was found long ago, which is gymnastic for the body, and music for the mind? It is indeed. Shall we not then, first, begin with instructing them in music, rather than in gymnastic ? Why not ? When you say music, you mean discourses, do you not ? I do. But of discourses there are two kinds ; the one true, and the other false. There are. And they must be educated in them both, and first in the false. I do not understand, said he, what you mean. Do not you understand, said I, that we first of all tell children fables ? And this part of music, somehow, to speak in the general, is false ; yet there is truth in them ; and we accustom children to fables before their gymnastic exercises. We do so. This then is what I meant, when I said that children were to begin music before gymnastic. Right, said he. And do you not know that the beginning of every work is of the greatest importance, especially to any one young and tender ? for then truly, in the easiest manner, is formed and taken on the impression which one inclines to imprint on every individual. It is entirely so. Shall we then suffer the children to hear any kind of fables composed by any kind of persons ; and to receive, for the most part, into their minds, opinions contrary to those we judge they ought to have when they are grown up ? We shall by no means suffer it. First of all, then, we must preside over the fable-makers. And whatever beautiful fables they make must be chosen ; and those that are otherwise must be
THE REPUBLIC. 55
rejected ; and we shall persuade the nurses and mothers to tell the children such fables as shall be chosen ; and to fashion their minds by fables, much more than their bodies by their hands. But the greater part of what they tell them at present must be rejected. What are they ? said he. In the greater ones, said I, we shall see the lesser likewise. For the fashion of them must be the same ; and both the greater and the lesser must have the same kind of power. Do you not think so ? I do, said he: but I do not at all understand which you call the greater ones. Those, said I, which Hesiod and Homer tell us, and the other poets. For they composed false fables to mankind, and told them as they do still. Which, said he, do
Eou mean, and what is it you blame in them ? That, said which first of all and most especially ought to be blamed, hen the falsity has no beauty. What is that ? When one, i his composition, gives ill representations of the nature of uods and heroes : as a painter drawing a picture in no respect resembling what he wished to paint. It is right, said he, to blame such things as these. But how have they failed, say we, and as to what ? First of all, that poet created an ugly story, the greatest of lies, on a matter of the greatest importance, who told how Uranus did what Hesiod says he did ; and then again how Cronos punished him, and what Cronos did, and what he suffered from his son. For though these things were true, yet I should not imagine they ought to be so plainly told to the unwise and the young, but ought much rather to be concealed. But if there were a necessity to tell them, they should be heard in secrecy, by as few as possible ; after they had sacrificed not a hog,1 but some great and wonderful sacrifice, that thus the fewest possible might chance to hear them. These fables, said he, are indeed truly hurtful, and not to be mentioned, Adi- mantus, said I, in our city. Nor is it to be said in the hearing of a youth, that he who does the most extreme wickedness does nothing strange; nor he who brutally punishes the crimes of his father ; but that he does what was done by the first and the greatest of the Gods. No truly, said he, these things do not 1 The usual sacrifice at the Mysteries. See page 41.
56 THE REPUBLIC.
seem to me proper to be said. Nor, said I, must it be told how Gods war with Gods, and plot and fight against one another (for such assertions are not true), — if, at least, those who are to guard the city for us ought to account it the most shameful thing to hate one another on slight grounds. As little ought we to tell in fables, and embellish to them, the battles of the giants ; and many other all-various feuds, both of the Gods and heroes, with their own kindred and relations. But if we are at all to persuade them that at no time should one citizen hate another, and that it is unholy; such things as these are rather to be said to them when they are children, by the old men and women, and by those well advanced in life ; and the poets are to be obliged to compose agreeably to these things. But the tales of Here being fettered by her son, and Hephaestus being hurled from heaven by his father for going to assist his mother when beaten, and all those battles of the Gods which Homer has written, must not be admitted into the city ; whether they be composed in the way of allegory, or not ; for the young person is not able to judge what is allegory and what is not : and what- ever opinions he receives at such an age are with difficulty washed away, and are generally indelible. On these accounts, one would imagine, that, of all things, we should endeavour that what children first hear be composed in the best manner for exciting them to virtue. There is reason for it, said he. But, if any one now should ask us what these tales and fables are, what should we say ? And I said : Adimantus, you and I are not poets at present, but founders of a city ; and it is the duty of the founders to know the models according to which the poets are to compose their fables ; contrary to which, if they compose, they are not to be tolerated ; but it is not our duty to compose the fables for them. Right, said he. But as to this very thing, the models concerning theology, which are they ? Some such as these, said I. God is always to be represented such as he is, whether one represent him in epic, in lyric, or in dramatic poetry. This ought to be done. Is not God essentially good, and is he not to be described as such ? Without doubt. But nothing which is good is hurtful ; is it ? It does not appear to
THE REPUBLIC. 57
me that it is. Does, then, that which is not hurtful ever do hurt ? By no means. Does that which does no hurt do any evil ? Nor this neither. And what does no evil cannot be the cause of any evil ? How can it ? But what ? Good is beneficial. Yes. It is, then, the cause of welfare ? Yes. Good, therefore, is not the cause of all things, but the cause of those things which are in a right state ; but it is not the cause of those things which are in a wrong. Entirely so, said he. Neither, then, can God, said I, since he is good, be the cause of all things, as the many say, but he is the cause of a few things ; but of the many evil things he is not the cause ; for our good things are much fewer than our evil : and no other than God is the cause
Ef our good things ; but of our evils we must not make God the ause, but seek for some other. You seem to me, said he, to peak well. We must not, then, said I, either admit Homer or «ny other poet trespassing so foolishly with reference to the Gods, and saying, how
" Two vessels on Zeus' threshold ever stand, The source of evil one, and one of good. The man whose lot Zeus mingles out of both, By good and ill alternately is rul'd. But he whose portion is unmingled ill, O'er sacred earth by famine dire is driv'n."1
or that Zeus is the dispenser of our good and evil. Nor, if ny one say that the violation of oaths and treaties by Pandarus was effected by Athene and Zeus, shall we commend it. Nor :hat dissension and strife among the Gods were instigated by Themis and Zeus. Nor yet must we suffer the youth to hear what ^Eschylus says ; how
B" Whenever God inclines to raze A house, himself contrives a cause. "
But, if any one compose poems like this from which these lines are taken, about the sufferings of Niobe, of the Pelopides, or the Trojans, or others of a like nature, we must either not suffer them to say they are the works of God ; or, if of God, they
1 Homer, lliad^ xxiv. 527.
58 THE REPUBLIC.
must find that reason for them which we now require, and must say that God did what was just and good ; and that the sufferers were benefited by being chastised: but we must not suffer a poet to say, that they are miserable who are punished; and that it is God who does these things. But if they say that the wicked, as being miserable, needed correction; and that, in being punished, they were profited by God, we may suffer the assertion. But, to say that God, who is good, is the cause of ill to any one, this we must by all means oppose, nor suffer any one to say so in his city ; if he wishes to have it well regulated. Nor must we permit any one, either young or old, to hear such things told in fable, either in verse or prose ; as they are neither agreeable to sanctity to be told, nor profitable to us, nor consistent with themselves. I vote along with you, said he, for this law, which pleases me. This, then, said I, may be one of the laws and models with reference to the Gods : by which it shall be necessary that those who speak, and who compose, shall compose and say that God is not the cause of all things, but of good only. Yes, indeed, said he, it is necessary. But what as to this second law ? Think you that God is a wizard, and insidiously appears, at different times, in different shapes ; sometimes like himself; and, at other times, changing his appearance into many shapes; sometimes deceiving us, and making us conceive false opinions of him ? Or, do you conceive him to be simple, and not in the least likely to depart from his proper form ? I cannot, at once replied he, answer you. Then tell me this. If anything be changed from its proper form, is there not a necessity that it be changed either by itself, or by another ? Undoubtedly. Are not those things which are in the best state, least of all changed and moved by any other thing ? as the body, by meats and drinks, and labours : and every vegetable by tempests and winds, and such like accidents. Is not the most sound and vigorous least of all changed? Certainly. And as to the soul itself, will not any perturbation from without, least of all disorder and change the soul that is most brave and wise ? Yes. And surely, somehow, all vessels which are made, and buildings, and vestments, according to the
THE REPUBLIC. 59
same reasoning, such as are properly worked, and in a right state, are least changed by time, or other accidents ? They are so, indeed. Everything then which is in a good state, either by nature, or art, or both, receives the smallest change from any- thing else. It seems so. But God, and everything belonging to divinity, are in the best state. Yes. In this way, then, God should least of all have many shapes. Least of all, truly. But should he change and alter himself? It is plain, said he, if he be changed at all. Whether then will he change himself to the better, and to the more handsome, or to the worse, and the more deformed ? Of necessity, replied he, to the worse, if he be changed at all ; for we shall never at any time say, that God is any way deficient with respect to beauty or excellence. You re right, said I. And this being so; do you imagine, Adiman- is, that any one, whether God or man, would willingly make limself in any way worse? It is impossible, said he. It is ipossible then, said I, for a God to desire to change himself; >ut each of them, being most beautiful and excellent, continues Iways, and without variation in his own form. This appears to me, said he, to be wholly so. Let not, then, said I, most excellent Adimantus, any of the poets tell us, how the Gods,
"... at times resembling foreign guests, Wander o'er cities in all various forms." *
[or let any one belie Proteus and Thetis. Nor bring in Here, tragedies or other poems, as having transformed herself into priestess, and collected " alms for the life-sustaining sons of [nachus the Argive River." Nor let them tell us many other such lies. Nor let the mothers, persuaded by them, affright their children, telling the stories wrong ; as, that certain Gods wander by night,
' Resembling various guests, in various forms,"
hat they may not, at one and the same time, blaspheme against ;he Gods, and render their children timid. By no means, said
1 Homer, Odyssey, xvii. 485,
60 THE REPUBLIC.
he. But do the Gods, said I, though in themselves they never change, yet make us imagine they appear in various forms, deceiving us, and playing at magic ? Perhaps, said he. But, said I, can a God cheat ; holding forth a phantasm, either in word or deed? I do not know, said he. Do not you know, said I, that what is an actual fraud, if we may use the phrase, is abhorred both by Gbds and men ? What do you mean ? replied he. This, said I : That to defraud the principal part of oneself, and one's principal interests, is what none willingly inclines to do ; but every one is most afraid of a fraud in that particular place. As yet, said he, I do not understand you. Because, said I, you think I am saying something mysterious : but I am simply saying, that to defraud the soul concerning realities, and to be so defrauded, and to be ignorant, and in the soul to have obtained and to keep up a fraud, is what every one would least of all choose ; for a fraud on the soul is what men especially hate. Especially, said he. But this, as I was now saying, might most justly be called a true fraud — ignorance in the soul of the defrauded person : since a fraud in words is but a kind of imitation of what the soul feels ; an image afterwards arising, and not altogether a pure cheat. Is it not so ? Entirely. But this real lie is not only hated of the Gods, but of men likewise. So it appears.
Again, with respect to the cheat in words, when is it some- what useful, and not deserving hatred? Is it not when employed towards our enemies ; or even those called our friends ; when in madness, or other distemper, they attempt to do some mischief? In that case, for a dissuasive, as a drug, it is useful. And in those fables we were now mentioning, as we know not how the truth stands concerning ancient things, we treat the lie as resembling the truth, and so render it as useful as possible. It is, said he, perfectly so. In which then, of these cases, is a lie useful to God ? Will he lie so that his lie resembles the truth, because he is ignorant of ancient things ? That were ridiculous, said he. In God then is no place for the lies of a poet ? I do not think so. But will he lie through fear of his enemies ? Far from it. Or on account of the folly or
THE REPUBLIC.
61
I
madness of his friends ? No, said he, none of the foolish and mad are the friends of God. There is then no occasion at all for God to lie. There is none. The divine and godlike nature then, in all respects, without a lie ? Altogether, said he.
od, then, is simple and true, both in word and deed ; neither is he changed himself, nor does he deceive others, either by visions, or by discourse, or by the sending of signs; whether when we are awake, or when we sleep. So it appears, said he, to me, at least whilst you are speaking. You agree, then, said I, that this shall be the second model, by which we are to speak and to compose concerning the Gods : that they neither change
emselves like wizards, nor mislead us by lies, either in word r deed ? I agree. Whilst then we commend many other
ings in Homer, this we shall not commend, the dream sent Zeus to Agamemnon ; neither shall we commend yEschylus,
hen he makes Thetis say that Apollo had sung at her mar- riage, that
" A comely offspring she should raise, From sickness free, of lengthen'd days : Apollo, singing all my fate, And praising high my Godlike state, Rejoic'd my heart ; and 'twas my hope, That all was true Apollo spoke : But he, who, at my marriage feast, Extoll'd me thus, and was my guest ; He who did thus my fate explain, Is he who now my son hath slain."
When any one says such things as these of the Gods, we shall show displeasure, and not give him a chorus ] : nor shall re suffer teachers to make use of such things in the education the young; if our guardians are to be pious, and divine men, is far as it is possible for man to be. I agree with you, said he,
irfectly, as to these models ; and we may use them as laws.
J /.e., produce his play.
62 THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK III
THESE things, then, and such as these, are, it seems, what are to be heard, or not heard, concerning the Gods, from childhood, by those who are to honour the Gods and their parents, and who are not to despise friendship with one another. I imagine, replied he, that this appears so. But, what now ? If they are to be brave, must not these things be narrated to them, and such other likewise as may render them least of all afraid of death ? Or, do you imagine that any one can ever be brave enough whilst he has this fear within him ? Not I, truly, said he. But do you think that any one can be without fear of death, whilst he imagines that there is Hades, and that it is dreadful; and that in battles he will choose death before defeat and slavery? By no means. We ought then, as it seems, to give orders like- wise to those who undertake to Discourse about fables of this kind; and to entreat them not to reproach thus in general the things in Hades, but rather to commend them; as they say neither what is true, nor what is profitable to those who are to be soldiers. We ought indeed, said he. Beginning then, said I, at this verse, we shall leave out all of such kind as this :
" I'd rather, as a rustic slave, submit To some mean man, who had but scanty fare, Than govern all the wretched shades below." And, that
" The house, to mortals and immortals, seems
Dreadful and squalid ; and what Gods abhor ' And,
" O strange ! in Pluto's dreary realms to find Soul and its image, but no spark of mind.."
THE REPUBLIC. 63
And,
" He's wise alone, the rest are fluttering shades."
And,
' ' The soul to Hades from its members fled ;
And, leaving youth and manhood, wail'd its fate." And,
"... the soul, like smoke, down to the shades
Fled howling ..." And,
"As in the hollow of a spacious cave,
The owls fly screaming ; if one chance to fall Down from the rock, they all confus'dly fly; So these together howling went."1
We shall request Homer and the other poets not to be indignant if we erase these things, and such as these; not that they are not poetical, and pleasant to many to be heard ; but, the more poetical they are, the less ought they to be heard by children, and men who ought to be free, and more afraid of slavery than of death. By all means. Further, are not all the dreadful and frightful names of these things likewise to be rejected? Cocytus, and Styx, infernals and anatomies, and such other appellations, in this form, such as terrify all who hear them. These may, perhaps, serve some other purpose: but we are afraid for our guardians; lest, by such a terror, they be rendered more effeminate and soft than they ought to be. We are rightly afraid of it, said he. Are these then to be taken away ? They are. And they must speak and compose on a contrary model. That is plain. We shall take away likewise the bewailings and lamentations of illustrious men. This is necessary, if what is above be so. Consider then, said I, whether we rightly take away, or not. And do not we say, that the worthy man will imagine that to die is not a dreadful thing to the worthy man whose com- panion he is ? We say so. Neither then will he lament over
im, at least, as if his friend suffered something dreadful. No ndeed. And we say this likewise, that such an one is most of
11 sufficient in himself, for the purpose of living happily, and
1 Quotations from the Odyssey and Iliad*
64 THE REPUBLIC.
that he is distinguished from others because he is least of all dependent on things outside him. True, said he. It is to him, then, the least dreadful to be deprived of a son, a brother, wealth, or any other of such-like things. Least of all, indeed. So that he will least of all lament; but endure, in the mildest manner, when any such misfortune befalls him. Certainly. We shall rightly then take away the lamentations of famous men, and assign them to the women (and those of the better sort), and to such of the men as are dastardly; so that those whom we propose to educate for the guardianship of the country may disdain to make lamentations of this kind. Right, said he. We shall again, then, entreat Homer, and the other poets, not to say in their compositions, that Achilles, the son of a Goddess,
' ' Lay sometimes on his side, and then anon Supine ; then grov'ling ; rising then again, Lamenting wander'd on the barren shore." Nor how
"... With both his hands He pour'd the burning dust upon his head."
Nor the rest of his lamentation, and bewailing; such and so great as he has composed. Nor that Priam, so near to the Gods, so meanly supplicated, and rolled himself in the dirt :
"Calling on every soldier by his name."
But still much more must we entreat them not to make the Gods, at least, to bewail, and say,
" Ah wretched me ! unfortunately brave A son I bore."
And if they are not thus to bring in the Gods, far less should they dare to represent the greatest of the Gods in so unbecoming a manner as this :
" How dear a man, around the town pursu'd, Mine eyes behold ! for which my heart is griev'd : Ah me ! 'tis fated that Patroclus kill Sarpedon ; whom, of all men, must I love."
THE REPUBLIC. 65
For, if, friend Adimantus, our youth should serioasly hear such things as these, and not laugh at them as spoken most unsuit- ably, hardly would any one think it unworthy of himself, as a man, or rebuke himself, if he should happen either to say or to do anything of the kind; but, without shame or endurance, would, on small sufferings, sing many lamentations and moans. You are right, replied he. They must not, therefore, do in this manner, as our reasoning now has evinced to us ; which we must believe, till some one persuade us by some better. They must not, indeed. But, surely, neither ought we to be given to excessive laughter ; for, where a man gives himself to violent laughter, such a disposition commonly includes a violent re- action. It seems so, said he. Nor, if any one shall represent worthy men as overcome by laughter, must we allow it ; much less if he thus represent the Gods. Much less, indeed, said he. Neither, then, shall we receive such things as these from Homer concerning the Gods:
"Vulcan ministrant when the Gods beheld, Amidst them laughter unextinguish'd rose."
This is not to be admitted, according to your reasoning. If you incline, said he, to call it my reasoning ; this, indeed, is not to be admitted. But surely the truth is much more to be valued. For, if lately we reasoned right, and if indeed a lie be unprofit- able to the Gods, but useful to men, in the way of a drug, it is plain that such a thing is to be entrusted only to the physicians, but not to be touched by private persons. It is plain, said he. It belongs then to the governors of the city, if to any, to invent a lie, with reference either to enemies or citizens, for the good of the city ; but none of the rest must venture on such a thing. But for a private person to tell a lie to such governors ; we will call it the same offence as, or even a greater than, for a patient to tell a lie to the physician ; or for the man who learns his exercises, not to tell his master the truth as to the indispositions of his body: or for one not to tell the pilot the real state of things, respecting the ship and sailors, in what condition himself and the other sailors are. Most
5
66 THE REPUBLIC.
true, said he. But if you find in the city any one else making a lie,
" . . . of those who artists are,
Or prophet, or physician, or who make
The shafts of spears, ..."
you shall punish them, as introducing a practice subversive and destructive of the city, as of a ship. We must do so; if indeed it is upon speech that actions are completed. But what ? Shall not our youth have need of temperance ? Certainly. And are not such things as these the principal parts of temperance ? that they be obedient to their governors ; that the governors themselves be temperate in drinking, feast- ing, and venereal pleasures. And we shall say, I imagine, that such things as these are well spoken, which Diomed says in Homer:
" Sit thou in silence, and obey my speech." And what follows ; thus,
"The Greeks march'd on in silence, breathing force; Revering their commanders;"
and such like. Well spoken. But what as to these ? " Thou drunkard with a dog's face, and the heart of a deer;" and all of this kind, are these, or such other juvenile things, which any private person may say against their governors, spoken handsomely? Not handsomely. For I do not imagine that when they are heard they are likely to promote temperance in youth; if they afford a pleasure of a different kind. We need not wonder. But what do you think ? In the same way, said he. But what of this ? To make the wisest man1 say, that it appears to him to be the most beautiful of all things,
". . . To see the tables full Of flesh and dainties, and the butler bear The wine in flagons, and fill up the cup : "
is this proper for a youth to hear, in order to obtain a command over himself? Or yet this ?
1 Odysseus,
THE REPUBLIC. 67
"... Most miserable it is,
To die of famine, and have adverse fate."
Or that Zeus, through desire of venereal pleasures, easily forgetting all those things which he alone awake revolved in his mind, whilst other Gods and men were asleep, was so struck, on seeing Here, as not even to be willing to come into the house, but wanted to embrace her on the ground; and at the same time declaring that he was possessed with such desire, as exceeded what he felt on their first connection with each other,
Hid from their parents dear. "
Nor yet how Ares and Aphrodite were bound by Hephaestus, and other such things. No, said he. These things do not seem fit. But if any instances of self-denial, said I, with respect to all these things be told, and practised by eminent men, these are to be beheld and heard. Such as this :
He beat his breast, and thus reprov'd his heart : Endure, my heart ! thou heavier fate hast borne. "
I By all means, said he, we should do thus. Neither must we suffer men to receive bribes, nor to be covetous. By no means. Nor must we sing to them, that
Gifts gain the Gods and venerable kings."
Nor must we commend Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, as if he spoke with wisdom, in counselling him to accept presents, and assist the Greeks ; but, without presents, not to desist from his wrath. Neither shall we commend Achilles, nor approve of his being so covetous as to receive presents from Agamemnon; and likewise only for a ransom to give up the dead body of Hector. It is not right, said he, to commend such things as these. I am unwilling, said I, for Homer's sake, to say, That neither is it lawful that these things be said against Achilles, nor that they be believed, when said by others ; or, again, that he spoke thus to Apollo ;
68 THE REPUBLIC.
" Me thou hast injur'd, thou, far-darting God ! Most baneful of the powers divine ! But know, Were I possest of power, then vengeance should be mine."
And how disobedient he was to the river, though a divinity, and was ready to fight; and again, he says to the river Spercheius, with his sacred locks,
" Thy locks to great Patroclus I could give, Who now is dead. ..."
Nor are we to believe he did this. And again, the dragging Hector round the sepulchre of Patroclus, and the slaughter- ing the captives at his funeral pile, — that all these things are untrue, we will not hesitate to say ; nor will we suffer our people to be persuaded that Achilles, the son of a Goddess, and of Peleus the most temperate of men and the third from Zeus, and educated by the most wise Cheiron, was full of such disorder as Ito have within him two distempers opposite to one another, — the illiberal and covetous disposition, and a contempt both of Gods and of men. You say rightly, replied he. Neither, said I, let us be persuaded of these things ; nor suffer any to say that Theseus the son of Poseidon, and Peirithous the son of Zeus, were impelled to perpetrate such dire rapines ; nor that any son of a deity, or any hero, would dare to do horrible and impious deeds ; such as the lies of the poets ascribe to them : but let us compel the poets either to say that these are not the actions of these persons, or that these persons are not the children of the Gods ; and not to say both. Nor let us suffer them to attempt to persuade our youth that the Gods create evil ; and that heroes are in no respect better than men. For, as we said formerly, these things are neither holy nor true : for we have elsewhere shown, that it is impossible that evil should proceed from the Gods. Yes. And these things are truly hurtful, to the hearers, at least. For every one will pardon his own depravity, when he is persuaded that even the near relations of the Gods do and have done things of the same kind : such as are the kin of Zeus —
THE REPUBLIC. 69
"Who, on the top of Ida, have uprear'd
To parent Zeus an altar; ..." And,
" Whose blood derived from Gods is not extinct."
On which accounts all such fables must be suppressed ; lest they create in our youth a powerful habit of wickedness. We must do so, replied he, by all means. What other species of discourses, said I, have we still remaining, now whilst we are determining what ought to be spoken, and what not ? We have already mentioned in what manner we ought to speak
!of the Gods, and likewise the daemons and heroes ; and of what relates to Hades. Yes, indeed. Should not that which yet remains be concerning men ? It is plain. But it is im- possible for us, friend, to regulate this at present. How ? Because, I think, we shall say that the poets and orators speak amiss concerning the greatest affairs of men : as, That most men are unjust, and, notwithstanding this, are happy; and that the just are miserable ; and that it is profitable for one to do unjustly, when he is concealed ; and that justice is gain indeed to others, but the loss of the just man himself; these, and innumerable other such things, we will forbid them to say ; and enjoin them to sing, and compose in fable, the contrary to these. Do not you think so ? I do, said he. If then you acknowledge that I am right, shall I not say that you have acknowledged what all along we seek for ? You judge right, said he. Shall we not then grant that such discourses are to be spoken concerning men, whenever we shall have discovered what justice is; and how in its nature it is profitable to the just man to be such, whether he appear to be such or not ? Most true, replied he. Concerning the discourses, then, let this suffice.
We must now consider, as I imagine, the manner of discourse. And then we shall have completely considered, both what is to be spoken, and the manner how. Here Adimantus said, But I do not understand what you say. But, replied I, it is needful you should. And perhaps you will rather understand it in this way. Is not everything told by the mythologists, or poets,
70 THE REPUBLIC.
a narrative of the past, present, or future ? What else ? replied he. And do not they execute it, either by simple narration, or imitation, or by both ? This too, replied he, I want to under- stand more plainly. I seem, said I, to be a ridiculous and obscure instructor. Therefore, like those who are unable to speak, I will endeavour to explain, not the whole, but I will take up a particular part, by which I can show my meaning. Tell me, Do not you know the beginning of the Iliad? where the poet says that Chryses entreated Agamemnon to set free his daughter; but that he was displeased that Chryses, when he did not succeed, prayed against the Greeks to the God. I know. You know, then, that down to these verses,
"... The Grecians all he pray'd; But chief the two commanders, Atreus' sons ; "
the poet himself speaks, and does not attempt to divert our attention elsewhere; as if any other person were speaking: but what he says after this, he says as if he himself were Chryses, and endeavours as much as possible to make us imagine that the speaker is not Homer, but the priest, an old man ; and that in this manner he has composed almost the whole narrative of what happened at Troy, and in Ithaca, and all the adventures in the whole Odyssey. It is certainly so, replied he. Is it not then narration, when he tells the several speeches ? and likewise when he tells what intervenes between the speeches ? Yes. But when he makes any speech in the person of another, do not we say that then he assimilates his speech, as much as possible to each person whom he intro- duces as speaking ? We do say so. And is not the assimilating one's self to another, either in voice or figure, the imitating him to whom one assimilates himself? Why not ? In such a manner as this, then, it seems, both he and the other poets perform the narrative by means of imitation. Certainly. But if the poet did not at all conceal himself, his whole action and narrative would be without imitation. And that you may not say you do not again understand how this should be, I shall tell you. If Homer, after relating how Chryses came with his daughter's
THE REPUBLIC. 71
ransom, beseeching the Greeks, but chiefly the kings, had spoken afterwards, not as Chryses, but still as Homer, you know it would not have been imitation, but simple narration. And it would have been somehow thus (I shall speak without metre, for I am no poet): The priest came and prayed, that the Gods might grant they should take Troy, and return safe; and begged them to restore him his daughter, accepting the presents, and revering the God. When he had said this, all the rest showed respect, and consented ; but Agamemnon was enraged, charging him to depart instantly, and not to return again ; lest his sceptre and the garlands of the God should be of no avail ; and told him, that before he would restore his daughter she should grow old with him in Argos ; and ordered him to be gone, and not to irritate him, that he might get home in safety. The old man, upon hearing this was afraid, and went away in silence. And when he was retired from the camp he made many supplications to Apollo, rehearsing the names of the God, and reminding him and beseeching him, that if ever he had made any acceptable donation in the building of temples, or the offering of sacrifices, — for the sake of these, to avenge his tears upon the Greeks with his arrows. Thus, said I, friend, the narration is simple, without imitation. I understand, said he. Understand then, said I, that the opposite of this happens, when one, taking away the poet's part between the speeches, leaves the speeches themselves. This, said he, I likewise understand, that a thing of this kind takes place respecting tragedies. You apprehend per- fectly well, said I. And I think that I now make plain to you what I could not before ; that in poetry, and likewise in mythology, one kind is wholly by imitation, such as you say tragedy and comedy are; and another kind by the narration of the poet himself; and you will find this kind most especially in dithyrambic poetry : and another poet will use both ; as in epic poetry, and in many other cases besides, if you under- stand me. I understand now, replied he, what you meant before. You remember that we were saying that we had already mentioned what things were to be spoken ; but that
REPUBLIC.
it yet remained to be considered in what manner they were to be spoken. I remember. This, then, is what I was saying, that it were necessary we agreed whether we shall suffer the poets to make narratives to us in the way of imitation; or, partly in the way of imitation, and partly not ; and, what in each way; or, if they are not to use imitation at all. I con- jecture, said he, you are to consider whether we shall receive tragedy and comedy into our city or not. Perhaps, replied I, and something more too; for I do not as yet know, indeed, but wherever our reasoning, like a gale, bears us, there we must go. And truly, said he, you say well. Consider this now, Adimantus, whether our guardians ought to practise imita- tion or not. Or does it follow from what went before, That each one may handsomely perform one business, but many he cannot : or, if he shall attempt it, in grasping at many things, he shall fail in all ; so as to be remarkable in none.
Certainly, it does. And is not the reason the same concern- ing imitation ? That one man is not so able to imitate many things well, as one. He is not. Hardly then shall he perform any part of the more eminent employments, and at the same time imitate many things, and be an imitator; since the same persons are not able to perform handsomely imitations of two different kinds, which seem to resemble each other; as, for instance, they cannot succeed both in comedy and tragedy : or, did you not lately call these two imitations ? I did ; and you say truly, that the same persons cannot succeed in them. Nor can they, at the same time, be rhapsodists and actors. True. Nor can the same persons be actors in comedies and in tragedies. And all these are imitations, are they not ? Imitations. The genius of man seems to me, Adimantus, to be shut up within still smaller bounds than these ; so that it is unable to imitate handsomely many things, or do these very things, of which even the imitations are resemblances. Most true, said he. If therefore we are to hold to our first reasoning, that our guardians, if unoccupied in any manu- facture whatever, ought to be the best protectors of the liberty of the city, and to mind nothing but what has some
0
ri
TJZE REPUBLIC, 73
reference to this ; it were surely proper, they neither did nor imitated anything else; but, if they shall imitate at all, to imitate immediately from their childhood whatever is proper to their profession ; brave, temperate, holy, free men, and the like ; — but neither to do, nor to be desirous of imitating, things illiberal or base,, lest from imitating they come to be really such. Or have you not observed, that imitations, if from earliest youth they be continued onwards for a long time, are established into the manners and natural temper, whether there be gestures or tones of the voice or modes of thinking ? Very much so, replied he. We will not surely allow, said I, those we profess to take care of, and who ought to be good men, to imitate a woman, either young or old, either reviling her husband, or quarrelling with the Gods, or speaking boastingly when she imagined herself happy ; nor yet to imitate her in her misfortunes, sorrows, and lamentations, when sick, or in love, or in child-bed. We shall be far from permitting this. By all means, replied he. Nor to imitate man- or maid-servants in doing what belongs to servants. Nor this either. Nor yet o imitate depraved men, it seems, such as are dastardly, and o the contrary of what we have now been mentioning ; reviling ,nd railing at one another; and speaking abominable things, either intoxicated or sober, or any other things such as persons f this sort are guilty of, either in words or actions, either with respect to themselves or one another. Neither must they accustom themselves to resemble madmen, in words or actions. The mad and wicked must be known, both the men and the women ; but none of their actions are to be done, or imitated. Most true, said he. But what ? said I, are they to imitate such as work in brass, or any other handicrafts, or such as are employed in rowing boats, or such as command these ; or anything else appertaining to these things ? How can they, said he, as they are not to be allowed to give application to any of those things ? But shall they imitate horses neighing, or bulls lowing, or rivers murmuring, or the sea roaring, or thunder, and all such-like things ? We have forbidden them, said he, to be mad, or to resemble madmen. If then I under-
74 THE REPUBLIC.
stand, replied I, what you say, there is a certain kind of speech, and of narration, in which he who is truly a good and worthy man expresses himself when it is necessary for him to say anything ; and another kind again unlike to this, which he who has been born and educated in an opposite manner always possesses, and in which he expresses himself. But of what kind are these? said he. It appears to me, said I, that the worthy man, when he comes in his narrative to any speech or action of a good man, will willingly tell it as if he were himself the man, and will not be ashamed of such an imitation ; most especially when he imitates a good man acting prudently and without error, one who seldom, and but little, through diseases, or love, intoxication, or any other misfortune. But when he comes to anything unworthy of himself, he will not be studious to resemble himself to that which is worse, unless for a short time when it produces some good ; but will be ashamed to do so, both as he is unpractised in the imitation of such characters as these, and likewise as he is unwilling to degrade himself and stand among the models of baser characters, disdaining it from intelligence, or doing it only for amusement. It is likely, said he. He will not then make use of such a narrative as we lately mentioned, with reference to the compositions of Homer: but his composi- tion will participate of both imitation and the other narrative; and but a small part of it will be imitation, in a great quantity of plain narrative. Do I seem to be right or entirely wrong?
You express, replied he, perfectly well what ought to be the model of such an orator. And, on the other hand, will not the man, said I, who is not such an one, the more depraved he is, be the readier to rehearse everything whatever ; and not think anything unworthy of him ? so that he will undertake to imitate everything in earnest, and likewise in the presence of many; and such things also as we now mentioned ; thunderings, and noises of winds and tempests, of axles, and wheels, and trumpets, and pipes, and whistles, the sounds of all manner of instruments, the voices of dogs, and of sheep, and of birds. And his whole style will consist in the expression of these things, by imitation of voices and gestures, having but a small part of it narration.
THE REPUBLIC. 75
This too, said he, must happen of necessity. These now, said I, I called the two kinds of diction. They are so, replied he. But has not the one of these small variations ? And if the orator afford the becoming harmony and rhythm to the diction, where he speaks with propriety, the discourse will be almost after one and the same manner, and in one harmony; for the variations are but small, and in a measure which accordingly is similar. It is indeed, replied he, entirely so. But what as to the other kind ? Does it not require the contrary, all kinds of harmony, all kinds of rhythm, if it is to be naturally expressed, as it has all sorts of variations ? It is perfectly so. Do not now all the poets, and such as speak in any kind, make use of either one or other of these models of diction, or of one compounded of both ? Of necessity, replied he. What then shall we do? said I. Shall we admit into our city all of these ; or one of the unmixed, or the one compounded? If my opinion, replied he, prevail, that uncompounded one, which is imitative of what i's worthy. But surely, Adimantus, the mixed is pleasant, at least. And the opposite of what you choose is by far the most pleasant to children and pedagogues, and the crowd. It is most pleasant. But you will not, probably, said I, think it suitable to our government, because with us no man is to attend to two or more employments, but to be quite simple, as every one does one thing. It is not indeed suitable. Shall we not then find that in such a city alone, a shoemaker is only a shoemaker, and not a pilot along with shoemaking, and that the husbandman is only a husbandman, and not a judge along with husbandry; and that the soldier is a soldier, and not a money-maker besides : and all others in the same way? True, replied he. And it would appear, that if a man, who, through wisdom, were able to become everything, and to imitate everything, should come int( our city, and should wish to show us his poems, we shouk revere him as a sacred, admirable, and pleasant person : but we should tell him, that there is no such person with us, in our city nor is there any such allowed to be : and we should send him tc some other city, pouring oil on his head, and crowning him with wool : but we should use a more austere poet, and mythologist, for
76 THE REPUBLIC.
our advantage, who may imitate to us the diction of the worthy manner; and may say whatever he says, according to those models which we established by law, at first, when we undertook the education of our soldiers. So we should do, replied he, if it depended on us. It appears, said I, friend, that we have now thoroughly discussed that part of music respecting oratory and fable ; for we have already said what is to be spoken, and in what manner. It appears so to me likewise, said he.
Does it not yet remain, said I, for us to speak of the manner of song, and of melodies? It is plain. May not any one dis- cover what we must say of these things ; and of what kind these things ought to be, if we are to be consistent with what is above mentioned ? Here Glauco, laughing, said : Then I appear, Socrates, to be no one, for I am not able at present to guess at what we ought to say: though perhaps I suspect. You are certainly, said I, fully able to say this in the first place, that song is composed of three things; the words, the harmony, and the rhythm. Yes, replied he, this I can say. And that the words differ in nothing from the words which are not sung, in the respect, that they ought to be upon the same models we spoke of just now, and in the same manner. True, said he. And surely, then, the harmony and rhythm ought to correspond to the words. Why not. But we observed there was no occasion for wailings and lamentations in compositions. No occasion, truly.
Which then are the sad harmonies ? Tell me, for you are a musician. The mixed Lydian, replied he, and the Hyper- Lydian; and some others of this kind. Are not these, then, said I, to be rejected ? for they are unprofitable even to women, such as are worthy, and much more to men. Certainly. But intoxication is most unbecoming our guardians ; and effeminacy and idleness. Yes. Which then are the effeminate and con- vivial harmonies? The Ionic, replied he, and the Lydian, which are called relaxing. Can you make any use of these, my friend, for military men ? By no means, replied he. Then, it seems, you have only yet remaining the Doric, and the Phrygian. 1 do not know, said I, the harmonies; but leave me that
THE REPUBLIC. 77
harmony, which may, in a becoming- manner, imitate the voice and accents of a truly brave man, going on in a military action, and every rough adventure ; and bearing his fortune in a de- terminate and persevering manner, when he fails of success, who rushes on wounds, or death, or falls into any other distress ; and leave me that kind of harmony likewise which is suited to what is peaceable ; where there is no violence, but everything is voluntary ; where a man either persuades or beseeches any one, about anything, either God by prayer, or man by instruction and admonition : or, on the other hand, where one submits himself to another, who beseeches, instructs, and persuades ; and, in all these things, acts according to intellect, and does not behave haughtily ; demeaning himself soberly and moderately ; gladly embracing whatever may happen : leave then these two har- onies, the vehement and the calm ; which, in the best manner, itate the voice of the unfortunate and of the fortunate, of the oderate and of the brave. You desire me, replied he, to leave ou nothing else but those I now mentioned. We shall not en, said I, have any need of a great many strings, nor of a nharmonion in our songs and melodies. It appears not, plied he. We shall not nourish, then, such workmen as make arps and spinets,1 and all those instruments which consist of any strings, and produce a variety of harmony. We shall not, appears. But what? Will you admit into your city such orkmen as make pipes, or pipers ? for, are not the instruments hich consist of the greatest number of strings, and those that reduce all kinds of harmony, imitations of the pipe ? It is lain, replied he. There are left you still, said I, the lyre and .he zither, as useful for your city, and there might likewise be some reed for shepherds in the fields. Thus reason, said he, shows us. We then, replied I, do nothing dire, if we prefer Apollo, and Apollo's instruments, to Marsyas, and the instru- ments of that eminent musician. Truly, replied he, we do not.
1 It is not easy to translate the terms of Greek music. The word "harmony," it will be seen, does not correspond with the modern sense of it. I leave Taylor's anachronistic "spinet," in default of a better word.
78 THE REPUBLIC.
And by the dog, said I, we have unawares cleansed our city, which we said was become luxurious. And we have wisely done, replied he. Come then, said I, and let us cleanse what remains ; for what concerns rhythm should be suitable to our harmonies ; that our citizens pursue not such rhythms as are diversified, and have a variety of cadences ; but observe what are the rhythms of a decent and manly life, and, whilst they observe these, make the foot J and the melody subservient to the sentiment of such a life ; and not the sentiment subservient to the foot and melody.
But what these rhythms are, is your business to tell, as you have done the harmonies. But by Zeus, replied he, I cannot tell. That there are three kinds into which all movements fall, as there are four in sounds, into which fall all harmonies, I can say, as I have observed it : but which kinds of rhythm are the imitations of one kind of life, and which of another, I am not able to tell. But these things, said I, we must consider with Damon's assistance : what movements are suitable to illiberality and insolence, to madness, or other ill disposition ; and what are proper for their opposites. And I remember, but not distinctly, to have heard him speaking of a certain complex warlike rhythm, of another that was dactylic, and another heroic; arranging them, I do not know how, making foot balance foot in its rise and fall, some syllables being short and some long : and he called one fcot, I believe, an iambus, and another a trochee, affixing to them long or short marks ; and, in some of these, I believe, he blamed or commended the measure of the foot, no less than the rhythm itself, or something com- pounded of both ; for I cannot speak of these things ; because, as I said, they are to be thrown upon Damon. To speak distinctly, indeed, on these matters, would require no small discourse : do not you think so ? Not a small one, truly. But can you admit this, that grace or clumsiness go with good or ill rhythms ? Yes. But, with respect to the good or ill rhythm, the good comes from a good style, conforming itself to it: and the other from the reverse. And, in the
1 The metrical foot, that is, and not the foot which is wont to beat time on the ground to a march, say, of Wagner's.
THE REPUBLIC. 79
same way, as to the harmonious, and the discordant: since the rhythm and harmony are subservient to the sentiment, as we just now said ; and not the words to these. These, indeed, said he, are to be subservient to the words. But what ? said I. Do not the manner of expression, and the words, corre- spond with the character of the soul? Yes. And all other things correspond to the expression. Yes. So that the beauty of expression, fine consonancy, and propriety, and excellence of numbers, depend on a good disposition — not that stupidity, which in complaisant language we call good nature, but the moral character, truly adorned with excellent and beautiful manners. By all means, replied he. Must not these things e always pursued by the youth, if they are to perform their ork ? They are indeed. But painting too is somewhat full f these things; and every other workmanship of the kind; nd weaving is full of these, and carving, and architecture, d all workmanship of every kind of vessels : as is more- ver the nature of bodies, and of all vegetables: for in all hese there is grace and awkwardness ; and the want of grace, iscord, and dissonance, are the sisters of a bad style and epraved manners ; and their opposites are the sisters and mitations of sober and worthy manners. 'Tis entirely so, eplied he. Are we then to give injunctions to the poets one, and oblige them to work into their poems the image f the worthy manners, or not to compose at all with us ? or re we to enjoin all other workmen likewise; and forbid this 1, undisciplined, illiberal, ungraceful manner, and allow them exhibit it neither in the representations of animals, in build- gs, nor in any other workmanship, and, he who is not able o do this, be not suffered to work with us ? lest our guardians, being educated in the midst of ill representations, as in an ill pasture, by every day plucking and eating much of different things, by little and little, contract, imperceptibly, a great mass of evil in their souls. But we must seek for such workmen as are able, by the help of a good natural genius, to investigate the nature of the beautiful and the graceful . that our youth, dwell- ing as it were in a healthful place, may be profited on all sides \
8o THE REPUBLIC.
whence, from the beautiful works, something will be conveyed to the sight and hearing, as by a breeze bringing health from salutary lands ; imperceptibly leading them on directly from childhood, to the resemblance, friendship, and harmony with right reason. They should thus, said he, be educated. On these accounts, therefore, Glauco, said I, is not education in music of the greatest importance, because rhythm and harmony enter in the strongest manner into the inward part of the soul, and most powerfully affect it, introducing at the same time upright- ness, and making every one upright if he is properly educated, and the reverse if he is not ? And moreover, because the man who has here been educated as he ought perceives in the quickest manner whatever workmanship is defective, and what- ever execution is bad, or whatever productions are of that kind; and being rightly disgusted, he will praise what is beautiful, rejoicing in it; and, receiving it into his soul, be nourished by it, and become a worthy and good man : but whatever is base, he will rightly despise, and hate, whilst yet he is young, and before he is able to be a partaker of reason ; and when reason comes, such an one as has been thus educated will embrace it, recognising it perfectly well, from its intimate familiarity with him. It appears to me, replied he, that education in music is for the sake of such things as these. Just as when we learnt to read, said I, we were fairly perfect when we were not ignorant of the letters, which are but few in number, wher- ever they were in the words ; and when we did not despise them more or less as unnecessary to be observed, but by all means endeavoured to distinguish them, as it was impossible for us to be scholars till we did thus. True. And if the images of letters appeared anywhere, either in water or in mirrors, should we know them before we knew the letters themselves, since the understanding of the reflections and the originals belongs to the same art and study? By no means. Is it indeed then according as I say, that we shall never become musicians, either we ourselves, or those guardians we say we are to educate, before we understand the forms of temperance, fortitude, liberality, and magnificence, and the other sister
n h
i
THE REPUBLIC. 81
virtues ; and, on the other hand again, the contraries of these, which are everywhere to be met with ; and observe them wheresoever they are, both the virtues themselves, and the images of them, and despise them neither in small nor in great instances; but let us believe that this belongs to the same art and study. There is, said he, great necessity for it. Can there be then, said I, to any one who has eyes to see, anything more beautiful than the sight of a man whose beauty of soul is combined with outward beauty of form, the latter corresponding and harmonising with the former because it >artakes of the same impression ? Nothing. But what is ost beautiful is most lovely ? Yes. Then he who is musical ill surely love those men who are most eminently of this kind ; ut if one be inharmonious he will not love him. He will not, replied he, if the person be in any way defective as to is soul: if indeed the defect were in his body, he would bear with it, so as to be willing to associate with him. I understand, said I, that your favourite is or was of this kind; so I agree to it. But tell me this, Is there any communion between temperance and excessive pleasure ? How can there, aid he, for such pleasure causes a privation of intellect no less han pain. But has it communion with any other virtue ? By o means. But what has it in common with insolence and ntemperance? Everything. Can you mention a greater and more acute pleasure than that respecting indulgence in love? cannot, said he, nor yet one that is more insane. But the est love is of such a nature as to love the beautiful, and the emperate, in a temperate and harmonious manner ? Certainly. Nothing then which is insane, or allied to intemperance, is to approach the best love. Neither must pleasure approach to it; nor must the lover, and the person he loves, have communion with it, where they love and are beloved in a right manner. No truly, said he; they must not, Socrates, approach to these. Thus then, as appears, you will establish by law, in the city which is to be established, that the lover may love, and converse, and associate with the object of his love, and embrace him as a son, for the sake of his beauty,
6
82 THE REPUBLIC.
if he gain consent : and in other ways, that every one so con- verse with him whose love he solicits, as never to appear to associate with him for anything beyond what is now mentioned ; and that otherwise he shall undergo the reproach of being un- musical, and unacquainted with the beautiful. It must be thus, replied he. Does then, said I, the discourse concerning music seem to you to be finished ? For it has terminated where it ought to terminate, as the affairs of music ought, somehow, to terminate in the love of the beautiful. I agree, said he.
But, after music, our youth are to be educated in gymnastic. It is surely necessary that in this likewise they be accurately disciplined, from their infancy through the whole of life. For the matter, as I imagine, is somehow thus : but do you also con- sider. For it does not appear to me that whatever body is found, doth, by its own virtue, render the soul good ; but con- trariwise, that a good soul, by its virtue, renders the body as perfect as may be: but how does it appear to you? In the same manner to me likewise, replied he. If, then, we have sufficiently cultivated the dianoetic [thinking] part, we shall commit to it the accurate management of the concerns of the body ; shall not we, as we are only laying down models (that we may not be too long), act in a right manner ? Entirely so. We say then, that they are to abstain from intoxication ; for it is more allowable to any, than to a guardian, to be intoxicated, and not to know where he is. It were ridiculous, said he, that the guardian should stand in need of a guardian.
But what as to meats ? For these men are wrestlers in the noblest combat: are they not? They are. Would not then the bodily habit of the wrestlers be proper for such as these ? Probably. But, said I, it is a drowsy kind of regimen, and dubious as to health : or, do you not observe, that they sleep out their life ? and, if they depart but a little from their appointed diet, such wrestlers become greatly and extremely diseased. I perceive it. But some more elegant exercise, said I, is requisite for our military wrestlers ; who, as dogs, ought to be wakeful, and to see, and to hear in the most acute manner; and, in their expeditions, to endure many changes of water and of
THE REPUBLIC. 83
food, of heat and of cold, that so they may not have a precarious state of health. To me it appears so. Is not then the best gymnastic a kind of sister to the simple music, which we a little before described ? What do you mean ? That the gymnastic is to be simple and moderate, and of that kind most especially which pertains to war.
Of what kind ? Even from Homer, said I, one may learn these things : for you know, that in their warlike expeditions, at the entertainments of their heroes, he never feasts them with fishes, even whilst they were by the sea at the Hellespont, nor yet with boiled flesh, but only with roast, as what soldiers can most easily procure: for, in short, one can everywhere more easily make use of fire, than carry vessels about. Yes, indeed. Neither does Homer, as I imagine, anywhere make mention of seasonings : and this is what the other wrestlers understand, that the body which is to be in good habit must abstain from all these things. They rightly understand, said he, and abstain. You do not then, friend, as appears, approve of the Syracusan table, and the Sicilian variety of meats, since this other appears to you to be right ? I do not, as appears. You will likewise disapprove of a Corinthian girl, as a mistress, for those who are to be of a good habit of body. By all means, truly. And like- wise of those delicacies, as they are reckoned, of Attic confec- tions. Of necessity. As to feeding and dieting of this kind, if we compare it to the melody and song produced in the panharmonion, and in all rhythms, shall not the comparison be just ? Yes. And does not diversity in music create intemper- ance, and in gymnastic disease, while simplicity in music creates in the soul temperance ; and, in gymnastic, health in the body. Most true, said he. And when intemperance and diseases multiply in the city, shall we not have many halls of justice and of medicine opened? And will not the arts of justice and of medicine be in esteem, when many well-born persons earnestly apply themselves to them ? Certainly. But can you adduce any greater argument of an ill and base education in a city, than that there should be need of physicians and supreme magistrates, and that not only for the contemptible and low handicrafts, but
84 THE REPUBLIC.
for those who boast of having been educated in a liberal manner ? Or, does it not appear to be base, and a great sign of want of education, to be obliged to observe justice pronounced on us by others, as our masters and judges, and to have no sense of it in ourselves ?
Of all things, this, replied he, is the most base. And do you not, said I, deem this to be more base still; when one not only spends a great part of life in courts of justice, as defendant and plaintiff; but, from his ignorance of the beautiful, imagines that he becomes renowned for this very thing ; as being dexterous in doing injustice, and able to turn himself through all sorts of windings, and, using every kind of subterfuge, thinks to escape so as to evade justice ; and all this for the sake of small and contemptible things ; being ignorant how much better and more handsome it were so to regulate his life as not to stand in need of a sleepy judge ? This, replied he, is still more base than the other. And to stand in need of the medicinal art, said I, not on account of wounds, or some incidental epidemic distempers, but through sloth, and such a diet as we mentioned, being filled with rheums and wind, like lakes ; obliging the skilful sons of ./Escuiapius to invent new names for diseases, such as dropsies and catarrhs. Do not you think this abominable ? These are truly, replied he, very new and strange names of diseases. Such, said I, as were not, I imagine, in the days of .^sculapius : and I conjecture so from this, that when Eurypylus was wounded at Troy, and was getting Pramnian wine to drink with much flour in it, with the addition of cheese (all which seem to be in- flammatory); the sons of-^sculapius neither blamed the woman who presented it, nor reprehended Patroclus, who had presented the cure. And surely the potion, said he, is absurd for one in such a case. No, said I, if you consider, that, as they tell us, the descendants of ^Esculapius did not, before the days of Herodicus, practise this method of cure now in use, which puts the patient on a regimen : but one Herodicus who was a teacher of youth, and at the same time infirm in his health, mixing gymnastic and medicine together, made himself most uneasy in the first place, and afterwards many others besides. After what
THE REPUBLIC. 85
manner? said he. In procuring to himself, said I, a lingering death; for, whilst he was constantly attentive to his disease, which was mortal, he was not able, as I imagine, to cure him- self; though, neglecting everything besides, he was still using medicines ; and thus he passed his life, still in the greatest un- easiness if he departed in the least from his accustomed diet ; and through this wisdom of his, struggling long with death, he arrived at old age.
A mighty reward, said he, he reaped of his art I Such as became one, said I, who did not understand that it was not from ignorance or inexperience of this method of cure that ^sculapius did not discover it to his descendants; but because he knew that, in all well-regulated states, there was some certain work enjoined every one in the city, which was necessary to be done, and that no one was to be allowed to have the leisure of being sick through the whole of life, and to be attentive only to the taking of medicines. This we may well observe in the case of labouring people ; but we do not observe it in the case of the rich, and such as are counted happy. How ? said he.
A smith, replied I, when he falls sick, thinks it fit to take from the physician some potion, to throw up his disease, or purge it downwards, or, by means of burning or amputation, to be freed from the trouble : but if any one prescribe for him a long regimen, putting caps on his head, and other such things, he quickly tells him that he has not leisure to lie sick, nor does it avail him to live in this manner, attentive to his trouble, and negligent of his proper work ; and so, bidding such a physician farewell, he returns to his ordinary diet ; and, if he recovers his health, he continues to manage his own affairs ; but if his body be not able to support the disease, he dies, and is freed from troubles. It seems proper, said he, for such an one to use the medicinal art in this manner. Is it not, said I, because he has a certain business, which if he does not perform, it is not for his advantage to live ? It is plain, replied he. But the rich man, as we say, has no such work allotted him, from which if he be obliged to refrain, life is not worth the having. He is surely said at least to have
86 THE REPUBLIC
none. For you do not, said I. attend to what Phocylides says ;
that one ought as soon as he has enough whereon to live, to
practise virtue. I think so, replied he, and before that, too.
Let us by no means, said I, differ from him in this. But let
us inform ourselves whether attention to virtue be the business
of the rich ; so that their life is not worth keeping, if they do
not give this attention ; or if such a life of valetudinarianism,
though indeed a hindrance of the mind's application to
masonry and other arts, yet is no hindrance with respect
to the exhortation of Phocylides. Yes, by Zeus, said he, it
is, and that in the greatest degree when this excessive care
of the body goes beyond gymnastic. Neither does it agree
with attention to private economy, or military expeditions, or
sedentary magistracies in the city. But what is of the greatest
moment is, that such application to health is ill fitted for any
sort of learning, and inquiry, and study, by one's self, whilst
one is always dreading certain pains and swimmings of the
head, and blaming philosophy as occasioning them ; so that
where there is this attention to health it is a great obstacle
to the practice of virtue and improvement in it; for it makes
us always imagine that we are ill, and always complain of the
body. That is likely, said he. And shall we not say that
vEsculapius too understood these things, when to persons of
a healthful constitution, and such as used a wholesome diet,
but were afflicted by some particular disease, to these and
to such a constitution he prescribed medicine, repelling their
diseases by drugs and incisions, and enjoined them their
accustomed diet, that the public might suffer no damage ?
But he did not attempt, by extenuating or nourishing diet,
to cure such constitutions as were wholly diseased within ;
as it would but afford a long and miserable life to the man
himself, and the descendants which would spring from him
would probably be of the same kind : for he did not imagine
the man ought to be cured who could not live in the ordinary
course, as he would be neither profitable to himself nor to the
state. You make ./Esculapius, said he, a politician. It is plain,
said I. And his sons may show that he was so. Or do you
THE REPUBLIC. 87
not see, that at Troy they excelled in war, and likewise practised medicine in the way I mention ? Or do not you remember, that when Menelaus was wounded by Pandarus,
they
" Wash'cl off the blood, and soft'ning drugs applied?'
But, as to what was necessary for him to eat or drink after- wards, they prescribed for him no more than for Eurypylus ; deeming external applications sufficient to heal men, who, before they were wounded, were healthful and moderate in their diet, whatever mixture they happened to have drunk at that time. But they judged, that to have a diseased con- stitution, and to live an intemperate life, was neither profit- able to the men themselves nor to others; and that their art ought not to be employed on these, nor to minister to them, not even though they were richer than Midas. You make, said he, the sons of ^sculapius truly ingenious. It is proper, replied I ; though in opposition to us the writers of tragedy, and Pindar, call indeed ^Esculapius the son of Apollo, but say that he was prevailed on by gold to raise to life a rich man, who was already dead ; for which, truly, he was struck with a thunderbolt : but we, agreeably to what has been formerly said, will not believe tliem as to both these things; but will aver, that if he was the son of the God, he was not given to filthy lucre ; or, if he were given to filthy lucre, he was not a son of the God. These things, said he, are most right. But what do you say, Socrates, as to this ? Is it not necessary to provide good physicians for the state? and must not these, most likely, be such as have been conversant with the greatest number of healthy and of sickly people? just as the best judges will be those who have been conversant with all sorts of dispositions ? Yes, said I, I should choose those who are very good. But 'do you know whom I deem to be such ? If you tell me, replied he. I shall endeavour to do it, said I ; but you inquire in one question about two differ- ent things. How ? said he. Physicians, replied I, would become most expert, if, beginning from their infancy, they would, in learning the art, be conversant with the greatest number of
88 THE REPUBLIC.
cases, and these of the worst kind; and laboured themselves under all manner of diseases, and by natural constitution were not quite healthful ; for it is not by their own bodies, I imagine, that they cure the body (else their own bodies could at no time be admitted to be of an ill constitution) ; but they cure the body by the mind ; which, whilst it is of an ill constitution, is not capable to perform well any cure. Right, said he. But the judge, friend, governs the mind by the mind ; which, if from its childhood it has been educated among depraved minds, and has been conversant with them, and has itself done all manner of evil, is not able to come out from among them, so as accurately, by itself, to judge of the evils of others, as happens in the diseases of the body ; but it must in its youth be unexperienced and unpolluted with evil manners, if it is to be good and beautiful itself, and to judge soundly of what is just. And hence the virtuous, in their youth, appear simple, and easily deceived by the unjust, as they have not within them- selves dispositions similar to those of the wicked. And this, said he, they do often suffer extremely. For which reason, said I, the good judge is not to be a young man, but an old, having been late in learning wickedness, what it is ; perceiving it not as a kindred possession, residing in his own soul, but as a foreign one, in the souls of others, which he has for a long time studied, and has understood what sort of an evil it is, by the help of knowledge rather than by proper experience. Such an one, said he, is like to be the most noble judge. And likewise a good one, said I ; which was what you required. For he who has a good soul is good. But the other clever and suspicious man, who has committed much iniquity himself, when indeed he converses with his like, being thought subtle and wise, he appears a notable man, being extremely cautious, having an eye to those models which he has within himself; but when he approaches the good, and the more aged, he appears foolish, suspicious out of season, and ignorant of integrity of manners, as having within no models of such a kind : but being more frequently conversant with the wicked than with the wise, he appears, both to himself and others, to be more wise, rather
\
THE REPUBLIC. 8q
than more ignorant. This, said he, is perfectly true. We must not, therefore, said I, look for such an one to be a wise and good judge, but the former one; for indeed vice can never at all know both itself and virtue.
But virtue, where the temper is instructed by time, shall attain both to the knowledge of itself and depravity. The virtuous man, then, and not the wicked, it appears to me, is the wise man. And I, replied he, am of the same opinion. Will you not then establish in the city such a method of medicine as we have mentioned, along with such a method of judicature as shall care-
"ully preserve for you those of your citizens who are naturally well disposed both in mind and in body ? and those who are otherwise in their bodies, they shall suffer to die ; but such as are of an evil nature, and incurable with respect to their soul, these they shall themselves put to death. This, said he, has
ppeared to be best, both for those who suffer it, and for the
ity. And it is plain, said I, that your youth will not need this justiciary, whilst they are employed in that simple music which, we say, generates temperance. Certainly not, said he. And,
ccording to the very same steps of reasoning, the musician who is willing to pursue gymnastic will choose to do it so as not to require any medicine unless there be necessity. . It appears so to me. And he will perform his exercises, and his labours, rather looking to the spirited part of his nature, and exciting it by labour, than attempting to gain strength ; and not as the wrestlers, who eat and drink and engage in labours for the sake of bodily strength. Most right, said he. Why then, said I, Glauco, they who propose to teach music and gymnastic, do not propose these things for what some imagine, to cure the body by the one, and the soul by the other.
What then ? replied he. They seem, said I, to propose them
oth chiefly on the soul's account. How ? Do you not perceive, said I, how those are affected as to their intellectual part, who have all their life been conversant with gymnastic, and have never applied themselves to music ? or how those are affected who have lived in a method the reverse of this ? What, said he, do you speak of? Of rusticity, said I, and fierceness, and again
90 THE REPUBLIC,
of softness and mildness. I know, said he, that those who apply themselves immoderately to gymnastic, become more rustic than is proper; and those again who attend to music alone, are more soft than is becoming for them to be. And surely, said I, this rusticity, at least, may impart spirited nature, which, when rightly disciplined, may become fortitude; but, when carried further than is becoming, will probably be fierce and troublesome. So it appears to me, said he. But what? does not the philosophic temper partake of gentleness? And when this disposition is carried too far, may it not prove more soft than is becoming ; but, when rightly disciplined, be really mild and comely ? These things are so. But we say that our guardians ought to have both these dispositions. They ought. Ought not then these to be adapted to one another ? Why not ? And the soul in which they are thus adapted is temperate and brave. Certainly. But the soul in which they are not adapted is cowardly and savage. Extremely so. And when one yields up himself to be soothed with the charms of music, and pours into his soul through his ears, as through a pipe, those we denominated the soft, effeminate, and plaintive harmonies, and spends the whole of his life chanting and ravished with melody; such an one, at the first, if he has anything irascible, tempers it like steel, and, from being useless and fierce, renders it profit- able. But when still persisting he does not desist, but enchants his soul, after this, it melts and dissolves him, till it liquefies his anger, and cuts out, as it were, the nerves of his soul, and renders him an effeminate warrior. It is certainly so, said he. And if, said I, he had from the beginning a temper void of irascibility, this he quickly effectuates; but, if irascible, he renders the mind weak, and easily turned, so as instantly to be enraged at trifles, and again the rage is extinguished; so that, from being irascible, they become outrageous and passionate, and full of the morose. So indeed it happens. But what now ? If he labour much in gymnastic, and feast extremely well, but apply not to music and philosophy ; shall he not, in the first place, having his body in a good condition, be filled with prudence and courage, and become more brave than he was
THE REPUBLIC. 91
before ? Certainly so. But when he does nothing else, nor participates in anything which is musical, though there were any love of learning in his soul, yet as it neither tastes of any study, nor bears a share in any inquiry nor reasoning, nor any- thing which is musical, .must it not become feeble, and deaf, and blind, since his perceptions are neither awakened, nor nourished, nor refined ? Just so. Such an one then becomes, as I imagine, a reason-hater, and unmusical, and by no means can be persuaded to anything by reasoning, but is carried to every- thing by force and savageness, as a wild beast ; and lives in ignorance and barbarity, out of symmetry, and unpolished. It s, said he, entirely so. In order then to correct these two empers, I would say, that some God has given men two arts, hose of music and gymnastic, with reference to the spirited and he philosophic temper ; not for the soul and body, separately, xcept as a by-work, but for that other purpose, that those two tempers may be adapted to one another ; being stretched and slackened (like strings) as far as is fit. So indeed it appears. Whoever then shall in the best way mingle gymnastic with music, and have these in the justest measure in his soul, him we shall most properly call the most completely musical, and of the best harmony; far more so than the man who tunes the strings of a lyre. Most reasonably, said he, Socrates. Shall we not then, Glauco, always have need of such a president for our state, if our government is to be preserved ? We shall most especially have need of this.
Those then may be the models of education and discipline. For why should one go over the dances, the huntings of wild beasts, both with dogs and with nets, the wrestlings and the horse-races proper for such persons ? for it is fairly manifest that these will naturally follow, and it is no difficult matter to find them. It is indeed, said he, not difficult. Be it so, said I. But what follows next ? What was next to be deter- mined by us. Was it, which of these shall govern, and be governed? What else? Is it not plain that the elder ought to be governors, and the younger to be the governed? It is plain. And is it not likewise plain, that the best of them are
02 THE REPUBLIC.
to govern ? This too is plain. But are not the best husband- men the most assiduous in agriculture ? They are. If now our guardians are the best, will they not be most vigilant over the city ? They will. Must we not for this purpose choose the prudent, and able, and those careful likewise of the city ? We must do so. But one would seem to be most careful of that which he happens to love. Undoubtedly. And one shall most especially love that to which he thinks the same things are profitable which are so to himself, and with whose good estate he thinks his own connected ; and where he is of a contrary opinion, he will be contrariwise affected. Just so. We must choose then from the other guardians such men as shall most of all appear to us, on observation, to do with the greatest cheerfulness, through the whole of life, whatever they think advantageous for the state, and what appears to be disadvantageous will not do by any means. These are the most proper, said he. It truly appears to me, that they ought to be observed through every stage of their life, if they be tenacious of this opinion, so as that neither fraud nor force make them inconsiderately throw away this opinion, that they ought to do what is best for the state. What throwing away do you mean? said he. I will tell you, said I. An opinion seems 'to me to depart from the mind voluntarily or involun- tarily. A false opinion departs voluntarily from him who unlearns it-; but every true opinion departs involuntarily. The case of the voluntary one, replied he, I understand; but that of the involuntary I want to learn. What now ? Do not you think, said I, that men are involuntarily deprived of good things ; but voluntarily of evil things ? And is it not an evil to deviate from the truth, and a good thing to form a true opinion ? And does it not appear to you, that to conceive of things as they really are, is to form a true opinion ? You say rightly indeed, replied he They do seem to me to be deprived unwillingly of true opinion. Do they not then suffer this, either through theft, enchantment, or force ? I do not now, said he, understand you. I seem, said I, to speak theatrically. But, I say, those have their opinions stolen away, who are persuaded
THE REPUBLIC. 93
to change their opinions, and also those who forget them ; in the one case, they are imperceptibly taken away by time, and in the other by reasoning. Do you now understand in any measure ? Yes. And those, I say, have their opinions forced from them, whom grief or agony obliges to change them. This, said he, I understand, and you say rightly. And those, I imagine, you will say, are enchanted out of their opinions, who change them, being bewitched by pleasure, or seduced by fear, being afraid of something. It seems, said he, that everything magically beguiles which deceives us. That then which I was now mentioning must be sought for : who are the best guardians of this opinion; that that may be done which best for the state : and they must be observed immediately rom their childhood, setting before them such pieces of work which they may most readily forget a thing of this kind, md be deluded ; and he who is mindful, and hard to be leluded, is to be chosen, and he who is otherwise is to be rejected. Is it not so ? Yes. And we must appoint them trials of labours and of pains, in which we must observe the mie things. Right, said he. Must we not, said I, appoint lem a third contest, that of the enchanting kind ; and observe them as those do, who, when they lead on young horses against loises and tumults, observe whether they are frightened ? So mst they, whilst young, be led into dreadful things, and igain be thrown into pleasures, trying them more than gold in the fire, whether one is hard to be beguiled with mountebank ricks, and appears composed amidst all, being a good guardian )f himself, and of that music which he learned, showing himself in all these things to be in just measure and harmony. Being- of such a kind as this, he would truly be of the greatest advan- tage both to himself, and to the state. And the man who in childhood, in youth, and in manhood, has been thus tried, and has come out pure, is to be appointed governor and guardian of the state ; and honours are to be paid him whilst alive, and rtien dead he should receive the highest rewards of public funeral and other memorials. And he who is not such an one is to be rejected. Of such a kind, Glauco, said I, as it appears
94 THE REPUBLIC.
to me, is to be the choice and establishment of our governors and guardians, in outline, and not accurately detailed. And I, said he, am of the same opinion. Is it not then truly most just, to call these the most complete guardians, both with refer- ence to enemies abroad, and to friends at home ; so that the one shall not have the will, nor the other have the power to do any mischief? And the youth (whom we now called guardians) will be allies and auxiliaries to the decrees of the governors. I imagine so, replied he. What fiction, said I, may we contrive in the way of those lies, which are made on occasion, and of which we were lately speaking, saying that it is an ingenious task, in making lies, to persuade the governors themselves; or, if not these, the rest of the state ? What sort do you mean ? Nothing new, said I, but a Phoenician story, which has frequently happened heretofore, as the poets tell us, and have persuaded men, but which has not happened in our times, nor do I know if ever it shall happen : and to obtain credit for it requires a subtile persuasion. How like you are, said he, to one who is averse to speak ! I ohall appear, said I, to be averse with very good reason, after I tell it. Speak, said he, and do not fear. I speak, then, though I know not with what courage, and using what expres- sions, I shall tell it. I shall attempt, first of all, to persuade the governors themselves, and the soldiers, and afterwards the rest of the state, that, whatever we educated and instructed them in, all these particulars seemed to happen to them and to befall them as dreams; and that they were in truth at that time being formed and educated within the earth ; they themselves, and their armour and their other utensils being there likewise fabricated And after they were completely fashioned, that the earth, who is their mother, brought them forth ; and now they ought to be affected towards the country where they are, as to their mother and nurse ; to defend her, if any invade her; and to consider the rest of the citizens as being their brothers, and sprung from their mother earth. It was not without reason, said he, that some time since you were ashamed to tell this falsehood. I had truly reason, said
THE REPUBLIC. 95
I. But hear, however, the rest of the fable. All of you now in the state are brothers (as we shall tell them in way of fable) ; but the God, when he formed you, mixed gold in the formation of such of you as are able to govern ; therefore are they the most honourable. And silver, in such as are auxiliaries ; and iron and brass in the husbandmen and other handicrafts. There- fore, as you are all of the same kind, you for the most part resemble one another: yet it sometimes happens, that of a gold parent is generated a silver child, and of a silver parent a golden descendant ; and thus in every different way are they generated of one another. The governors then receive this in charge, first and above all, from the Gods, that of nothing are they to be so good guardians, nor are they so strongly to keep watch over anything, as over their children ; to know which of those principles is mixed in their souls ; and if a descendant of theirs shall be of the brazen or iron kind, they shall by no means have compassion ; but assigning him honour proportioned to his natural temper they shall push him down to the craftsmen or husbandmen. And if again any from among these shall be born of a golden or silver kind, they shall pay them honour, and refer them; those to the guardianship, and these to the .uxiliary rank : it being pronounced by an oracle, that the state
to perish when iron or brass shall have the guardianship of it.
ave you now any contrivance to persuade them of this fable ? None, said he, to persuade the present race of men ; but I can contrive how that their sons and posterity, and all mankind afterwards, shall believe it. Even this, said I, would do well towards making them more concerned about the state, and one another ; for I think I understand what you say. Still we will let the fiction go the same way as the oracle.
But let us, having armed these earth-born sons, lead them forwards under their leaders ; and when they are come to the city, let them consider where it is best to place their camp, so as best to keep in order those who are within, if any one should want to disobey the laws; and likewise defend against those without, if any enemy, as a wolf, should come upon the fold. And when they have marked out their camp, and performed
96 THE REPUBLIC.
sacrifices to the proper divinities, let them erect their tents : or, what are they to do ? Just so, said he. Shall the tents not be such as may be sufficient to defend them, both from winter and summer ? Why not ? for you seem, said he, to mean houses. Yes, said I, but military ones; not such as are costly. What do you say, replied he, is the difference between the one and the other? I will endeavour, said I, to tell you; for, of all things, it is the most dreadful, and the most shameful to shepherds, to breed such kind of dogs, and in such a manner, as auxiliaries of the flocks, that either through intemperance or famine, or some other ill disposition, the dogs themselves should attempt to hurt the sheep ; and, instead of dogs, resemble wolves. That is dreadful, said he, certainly. Must we not then, by all means, take care lest our allies do such a thing towards our citizens, as they are more powerful ; and, instead of generous allies, resemble savage lords ? We must take care, said he. Would they not be prepared with the best safeguards, if they were really well educated? But they are so, replied he. I said: It is not worth while to affirm that confidently now, friend Glauco ; but it is to maintain what we were now saying, that they ought to have good education, whatever it is, if they are to have what is of the greatest consequence towards rendering them mild, both among themselves and towards those who are guarded by them. Very right, said he. Besides then this education, any one of understanding would say, that their houses, and all their other substance, ought to be so contrived, as not to hinder their guardians from being the very best of men, and not to stir them up to injure the other citizens. They will say truly. If then they intend to be such, consider, said I, whether they ought to live and dwell in some such manner as this : First, then, let none possess any substance privately, unless there be the greatest necessity for it ; next, let none have any dwelling, or storehouse, into which whoever inclines may not enter : as for necessaries, let them be such as temperate and brave warriors may require ; and as they are instituted by the other citizens, let them receive such a reward of their guardianship, as to have neither overplus nor deficiency at the year's end. Let them have public meals,
THE REPUBLIC. 97
as in encampments, and live in common. They must be told, that they have from the Gods a divine gold and silver at all times in their souls ; and have no need of the earthy ore, and that ever it were profane to pollute the possession of the divine kind, by mixing it with the possession of this mortal gold; because the money of the vulgar has produced many impious deeds, but that of these men is incorruptible. And of all the men in the city, they alone are not allowed to handle or touch gold and silver; nor to bring it under their roof; nor carry it about with them ; nor to drink out of silver or gold : and that thus they are to preserve themselves and the state. But whenever they shall possess lands, and houses, and money, in a private way, they shall become householders and farmers in- stead of guardians, and hateful lords instead of allies to the other citizens: hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against, they shall pass the whole of their life ; much oftener and more afraid of the enemies from within than from without, by which time they and the rest of the state will be hastening speedily to destruction. For all which reasons, said I, let us affirm, that our guardians are thus to be constituted with refer- ence both to their houses and to other things. And let us settle these things by law. Shall we? By all means, said Giauco.
98 THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK IV.
ADIMANTUS hereupon replying, What, Socrates, said he, will you say in your own defence, if any one shall say that you do not make these men quite happy? for, though it is owing to these men that the city really exists, yet they enjoy no advantage in the city, such as others do who possess lands, build beautiful and large houses, purchase suitable furniture, offer sacrifices at their own expense, give public entertain- ments to strangers, and possess what you were now mention- ing, gold and silver, and everything which is reckoned to contribute towards the rendering men happy. But one may readily say, that, like hired auxiliaries, they seem to possess nothing in the city but the employment of keeping guard. Yes, said I ; and that too only for their maintenance, without receiving, as all others do, any reward besides. So that they are not allowed so much as to travel privately any- where abroad, though they should incline to it ; nor to bestow money on women, nor to spend it in such other methods as those do who are counted happy. These and many such things you leave out of the accusation. But let these things too, said he, be charged against them. You ask then, what we shall do in our defence? I do. If we go on in the same road as before, we shall find, I imagine, what may be said : for we shall say, that it were nothing strange if these men, even in these circumstances, should be the happiest possible. Yet it was not with an eye to this that we established the city ; to have any one tribe in it remarkably happy beyond the rest; but that the whole city might be in the happiest condition; for we judged, that in such an one we should most especially find justice, and injustice in the city the worst
THE REPUBLIC. 99
established: and that, upon thoroughly examining these, we should determine what we have for some time been in search of. Now then, as I imagine, we are forming a happy state, not selecting some few persons to make them alone happy ; but we are establishing the universal happiness of the whole : and we shall next consider a state which is the reverse. As if then we were painting human figures, and one approaching should blame us, saying, that we do not place the most beautiful colours on the most beautiful parts of the creature ; for that the eyes, the most beautiful part, were not painted with purple, but with black ; should we not seem to apologise sufficiently to him by saying, Wonderful critic ! do not imagine that we ought to paint the eyes so beautifully that they would not appear to be eyes; and so with reference to all other parts. But consider, whether, in giving each particular part its due, we make the whole beautiful. And so now, do not oblige us to confer such a happiness on our guardians as shall make them anything but guardians : and do not let us array the husbandmen in rich and costly robes, and enjoin them to cultivate the ground only with a view to pleasure ; nor, in like manner, those who make earthenware, lie at their ease by the fire, drinking and feasting, neglecting the wheel, and working only so much as they incline: nor confer felicity of this nature on every individual, in order to render the whole state happy. Do not advise us to act after this manner ; since, if we obey you, neither would the husband- man really be a husbandman, nor would any other really be of any of those professions of which the city is composed. As to others, it is of less consequence ; for, when shoemakers become bad, and are degenerate, and profess to be shoemakers when they are not, no great mischief happens to the state : but when the guardians of the law and of the state are not so in reality, but only in appearance, you see how they entirely destroy the whole constitution, as they alone can confer on the rest the privilege of an affluent and happy life. If we then are for appointing men who shall be really guardians of the city, the least of all hurtful to it ; he who makes the supposed objection and is for having them rather as farmers, and as if in a festival-
loo THE REPUBLIC.
meeting, public entertainers, indulging in jollity and not citizens of a state, he must mean something else than a city. We must then consider whether we establish guardians with this view, that they may have the greatest happiness ; or if we establish them with a view to the happiness of the whole city, compelling these allies and guardians to become the best performers of their own particular work ; and we must act towards all others in the same manner. And thus as the whole city increases, and becomes well constituted, let us allow the several classes to participate of as much happiness as their natures admit. You seem to me, said he, to say well Shall I appear to you, said I, to speak right in what is akin to this ? What is that ? Consider whether the other artificers are corrupted by these things, so as to be made bad workmen. What things do you mean? Riches, said I, and poverty. As how? Thus: Does the potter, after he becomes rich, seem still to mind his art ? By no means, said he. But will he not become more idle and careless than formerly ? Much more so. Will he not then become a more unskilful potter ? Much more so, said he. And surely, if he is unable through poverty to furnish himself with tools, or anything else requisite to his art, his work- manship will be more imperfectly executed, and his sons, or those others whom he instructs, will be inferior artists. Yes. Through both these, now, poverty and riches, the workmanship in the arts is rendered less perfect, and the artists themselves become less expert. It appears so. We have then, it seems, discovered other things, which our guardians must by all means watch against, that they may in no respect escape their notice, and steal into the city. What kind of things are these ? Riches, said I, and poverty: as the one is productive of luxury, idleness, and a love of novelty; and the other, besides a love of novelty, is illiberal, and productive of mischief. They are entirely so, said he. But consider this, Socrates. How shall our city be able to engage in war, if it is possessed of no money, especially if it be obliged to wage war against a great and opulent state ? It is plain, said I, that to fight against one of this kind is some- what difficult ; but to fight against two is a more easy matter.
THE REPUBLIC. 101
How say you ? replied he. First of all, now, said I, if they have at all occasion to fight, will they not, being expert in the art of war, fight against rich men ? They will, said he. What then, said I, Adimantus, do you think that one boxer, who is fitted out in the best manner possible for this exercise, is easily able to fight against two who are not expert boxers, but, on the contrary, are rich and unwieldy ? He would not perhaps easily fight with both at once, said he. Would he not, said I, though he had it in his power to retire a little, and then turn on the one who should be furthest advanced towards him, and strike him, and doing this frequently in the sun and heat ? Alight not a person of this kind easily defeat many such as these ? Certainly, said he ; that would be no great wonder. But do not you think that the rich have more knowledge and experience of boxing than of the military art? I do, said he. Easily then, as it plainly appears, will our athletes combat with double and triple their number. I will agree with you, said he ; for you seem to me to say right. But what if they should send an embassy to another state, informing them of the true situa- tion of the affair, telling them, WTe make no use of gold or silver, neither is it lawful for us to use them, but with you it is lawful; if then you become our allies in the war, you will receive the spoils of all the other states : do you imagine that any, on hearing these things, would choose to fight against strong and resolute dogs, rather than in alliance with the dogs to fight against fat and tender sheep? I do not; but, if the riches of others be amassed into one state, see that it does not endanger that which is poor. You are happy, said I, in that you imagine any constitution deserves to be called a state save such an one as we have established. Why not ? said he. We must give others, said I, a more magnificent appellation; for each of them consists of many states, and is not one, as is said in the game : l for there are always in them two states at war with each other, the poor and the rich ; and in each of these again there are very many states : which if you treat as one
1 Referring to a game played with counters and called " Cities." Ii is not known what the game was.
102 THE REPUBLIC.
state, you will be mistaken entirely ; but if, as many, and you put one part in possession of the goods and power, or even the bodies of the others, you shall always have the many for your allies, and the few for enemies ; and, so long as your state shall continue temperately, as now established, it shall be the greatest. I do not say it shall be accounted so, but shall be really the greatest, though its defenders were no more than one thousand ; for one state so great you will not easily find, either among the Greeks or Barbarians, though you may find many which are accounted many times larger than such an one as this. Are you of a different opinion ? No, truly, said he. Might not this, then, said I, be the best standard for our rulers how large to make the city, and what extent of ground to mark off for it in proportion to its bulk, without attending to anything further? What standard? said he. I imagine, said I, this: So long as the city, as it increases, continues to be one, so long it may be increased, but not beyond it. Very right, said he. Shall we not then lay this further injunction on our guardians, to take care that the city be neither small nor great, but of moderate extent, and be one city ? We shall probably, said he, enjoin them a trifling affair. A more trifling affair still than this, said I, is that we mentioned above, when we observed, that if any descendant of the guardians be depraved, he ought to be dismissed to the other classes; and if any descendant of the others be worthy, he is to be raised to the rank of the guardians ; and this was intended to show that all the other citizens ought to apply themselves each to that particular art for which he has a natural genius, that so every one minding his own proper work may not be many, but be one ; and so likewise the whole state may become one, and not be many. This indeed, said he, is still a more trifling matter than the other. We do not here, said I, good Adimantus, as one may imagine, enjoin them many and great matters, but such as are all trifling, if they take care of one grand point, as the saying is, or rather that which is sufficient rather than great. What is that? said he. Educa- tion, said I, and nurture; for if, being well educated, they become temperate men, they will easily See through all these
THE REPUBLIC. 103
things, and such other things as we omit at present, respecting women, marriages, and the propagation of the species. For these things ought all, according to the proverb, to be made entirely common among friends. That, said he, would be most right. And surely, said I, if once a republic is set a-going, it proceeds happily, increasing as a circle. And whilst good education and nurture are preserved, they produce good natures ; and good natures, partaking of such education, pro- duce still better than the former, as well in other respects as with reference to propagation, as in the case of other animals. It is likely, said he. To speak then briefly, this the guardians of the state must hold fast to, that it may not, escaping their notice, hurt the constitution ; nay, above all things, they must guard against the making pf any innovations in gymnastic and music, contrary to the established order of the state, but they must maintain this order as much as possible ; being afraid lest, whilst a man adopts that poetical expression,
"... Men most admire that song, Which most partakes of novelty,"
he should imagine, that the poet means not new songs, but
I a new method of song, and should commend this. Such a thing is neither to be commended nor admitted; for, to receive a new kind of music is to be guarded against, as endangering the whole of the constitution : for never are the measures of music altered without altering the greatest political laws, according to Damon, with whom I agree. You may place me likewise, said Adimantus, among those who are of that opinion. We must erect then, said I, some barrier, as would seem, somewhere here, for our guardians themselves, with regard to music. A transgression here, said he, easily indeed steals in imperceptibly. It does, said I, in the way of diversion, and as if productive of no mischief. Neither indeed does it produce any, said he, but becoming familiar by degrees it insensibly runs into the manners and pursuits; and from thence, in intercourse of dealings one with another, it becomes greater ; and from this intercourse it enters into laws and policies with much impudence, Socrates,
ic>4 THE REPUBLIC.
till at last it overturns all things, both private and public. Well, said I, let it be allowed to be so. It appears so to me, replied he. Ought not then our children, as I said at the beginning, to receive directly from their infancy an education more agreeable to the laws of the constitution ? because, if their education be such as is contrary to law, and the children be of such a nature themselves, it is impossible that they should ever grow up to be worthy men, and observant of the laws. Undoubtedly, said he. But when excellent amusements are appointed them from their infancy, and when, by means of the music, they embrace that amusement which is according to law (contrariwise to those others), this music attends them in everything else, and grows with them, and raises up in the city whatever formerly was fallen down. It is true, indeed, said' he. And these men, said I, discover those regulations which appear trifling, and which those others destroyed altogether. What are they ? Such as these: Silence of the younger before the elder, which is proper; and the giving them place, and rising up before them, and reverence of parents; likewise regulations as to wearing the hair, what clothes and shoes are proper, the whole dress of the body, and everything else of the kind. Are you not of this opinion ? I am. But to establish these things by law, would, I imagine, be a silly thing, nor is it done anywhere ; nor would it stand, though established both by word and writing. How is it possible? It seems then, said I, Adimantus, that a man's character and conduct will always be according to his education, let him apply himself afterwards to what he will : or, does not the like always produce the like ? Why not ? And we may say, I imagine, that at last the system will arrive at something complete and vigorous, whether it be good, or the reverse. Why not? said he. I would not then, said I, for these reasons, as yet, undertake to settle by law such things as these. Right, said he. But what now, by the gods, said I, as to those laws relative to matters of exchange, and to their traffic one with another in the market, and, if you please, their traffic like- wise among their handicrafts, their scandals, bodily hurt, and raising of law-s'uits ; their institution of judges, and like-
THE REPUBLIC. 105
wise such imposts and payments of taxes as may be necessary either in the market or on the shores ; or in general whatever laws are municipal, civil, or marine, or what other laws there may be of this kind ; shall we need to establish any of these ? It is improper, said he, to prescribe these to good and worthy men ; for they will easily find out the most of them, such as ought to be established by law. Yes, said I, friend, if at least God grant them the preservation of the laws we formerly explained. And if not, said he, they will spend the whole of their life making and amending many such laws as these, imagining that they shall thus attain to that which is best. You say that such as these shall lead a life, said I, like those who are sick, and at the same time unwilling, through intemper- ance, to quit an unwholesome mode of life. Entirely so. And these truly must live very pleasantly ; for, though they deal with physicians, they gain nothing, but render their diseases greater and more complex; and they still hope, that when any one recommends any new medicine to them, they shall, by means of it, be made whole. This is entirely the situation of such diseased persons as these. But what, said I, is not this pleasant in them, to count that man the most hateful of all, who tells them the truth; that, till they give over drunken- ness and gluttony, and unchaste pleasure, and laziness, neither I drugs nor caustics, nor amputations, nor charms, nor applica- tions, nor any other such things as these, will be of any avail. I That, said he, is not quite pleasant ; for to be enraged at one who tells us what is right, has nothing pleasant in it. You are no admirer, said I, as it would seem, of this sort of men. No, truly. Neither then, though the whole of the city (as we were lately saying) should do such a thing, would you commend them : or, is not the same thing which is done by these people, done by all those cities, which, being ill-governed, enjoin their citizens not to alter any part of the constitution, for that who- ever shall do such a thing is to be put to death ; but, that whoever shall with the greatest cheerfulness reverence those who govern in this fashion, and shall gratify them in the most obsequious manner; and, anticipating their desires, be most
io6 THE REPUBLIC.
dexterous in satisfying them, shall be reckoned both worthy and wise in matters of highest importance ; and be held by them in the greatest honour? They seem to me, at least, said he, to do the very same thing, and by no means do I commend them. But what again as to those who desire to have the management of such states, and are even fond of it, are you not delighted with their courage and dexterity ? I am, said he ; excepting such as are imposed on, and fancy that they are really politicians, because they are commended as such by the multitude. How do you mean ? Do you not pardon those men? said I. Or do you even think it is possible for a man who cannot measure himself, when he hears many other such men telling him that he is six feet high, not to believe this of himself? It is impossible, said he. Then be not angry in this case ; for such men as these are of all the most ridiculous, since, always making laws about such things as we now mentioned, and always amending, they imagine that they shall find some way of stopping these frauds respecting commerce, and those other things I now spoke of, being ignorant that they are in reality attempting to destroy a hydra. They are surely, said he, doing nothing else. I imagine then, said I, that a true lawgiver ought not to give himself much trouble about such a species of laws and police, either in an ill or well-regulated state; in the one, because it is unprofitable and of no avail; in the other, because any one can find out some of the laws, and others of them flow of course from the habits arising from their early education.
What part then of the institutions of law, said he, have we yet remaining? And I said, to us indeed there is nothing remaining; but to the Delphian Apollo there remains the greatest, noblest, and most important of legal institutions. Of what kind ? said he. The institution of temples, sacrifices, and other worship of the Gods, daemons, and heroes ; likewise the burning of the dead, and what other rites ought to be performed to them, so as to make them propitious. For truly such things as these, we ourselves neither know ; nor, in found- ing the state, will we entrust them to any other, if we be wise j
THE REPUBLIC. 107
nor will we make use of any other interpreter, except the God of the country. For this God is the interpreter in every country to all men in these things, who interprets to them sitting in the middle of the earth. It is well established, said he, and we must do accordingly.
Thus now, son of Aristo, said I, is the city established for you. And, in the next place, having procured somehow sufficient light, do you yourself observe, and call on your brother and on Polemarchus and these others to assist us, if
iby any means we may perceive where justice is, and where injustice; and in what respect they differ from each other; and which of them the man ought to acquire, who proposes to him- self to be happy, whether he be concealed or not concealed both from Gods and men. But you say nothing to the purpose, replied Glauco ; for you yourself promised to inquire into this, deeming it impious for you not to assist the cause of justice by every possible means. It is true, said I, what you remind me of, and I must do accordingly. But it is proper that you too should assist in the inquiry. We shall do so, said he. I hope then, said I, to discover it in this manner. I think that our city, if it be rightly established, is perfectly good. Of necessity, said he. Then it is plain, that it is wise, and brave, and temper- ate, and just. It manifestly is so. Whichever then of these we shall find in it, shall there not remain behind that which is not found ? Why not ? For supposing there were any four things in any subject whatever, if we were in quest of one of them and discovered this one at the first, we would be satisfied ; but if we should first discover the other three, the one which we were inquiring after would be known from this; for it is plain it would be no other but that which remained. You say right, said he. Since then there are in our state those four above mentioned, shall we not inquire about them, according to the same manner? It is plain we ought. First of all, then, to me at least, wisdom appears to be conspicuous in it : and concerning it there appears something paradoxical. What is that? said he. Surely this city which we have described appears to me to tye wise, for its councils are wise ; are they not ? They are. And
io8 THE REPUBLIC.
surely this very thing, the ability of counselling well, is plainly a certain science; for men nowhere counsel well through ignorance, but through science. It is plain. But there are many and various species of science in the state. Why, are there not ? Is it then from the science of the carpenters, that the state is to be denominated wise and well-counselled ? By no means from this, said he, is it said to be wise, but to be mechanical. Is then the state to be denominated wise, when it consults wisely through its knowledge in utensils of wood, how to have these in the best manner possible ? Nor this either. But is it for its knowledge of working in brass, or for anything else of this kind ? For none of these, said he. Nor yet for its knowledge of the fruits of the earth is it said to be wise, but to be skilled in agriculture. It seems so to me. But, said I, is there any science among any of the citizens in this city which we have founded, which deliberates, not about any particular thing in the city, but about the whole, how it may, in the best manner, behave towards itself, and towards other cities? There is truly. What is it, said I, and among whom is it to be found ? This very guardianship, said he, is it, and it is among these governors, whom we lately denominated complete guardians. What now do you denominate the state on account of this knowledge? Well-counselled, said he, and really wise. Whether then, said I, do you imagine the brass-smiths, or these tine guard- ians, will be most numerous in the state ? The brass-smiths, said he, will be much more numerous. And of all classes, said I, that have any knowledge, and bear a name on that account, will not these guardians be the fewest in number ? By much. Then it is from this smallest tribe, or part of the state, and from that presiding and governing science in it, that the whole city is wisely established according to nature ; and this tribe, whose duty it is to share in this science (which of all others ought alone to be denominated wisdom), as it appears, is by nature the smallest in the state. You are, replied he, perfectly right. This one, then, of the four, we have somehow found, and in what part of the state it resides. It seems to me, said he, to be sufficiently made out. But surely as to fortitude, at least, it is
THE REPUBLIC. 109
no difficult matter, both to find out itself, and the particular part of the city in which it resides, on account of which virtue the city is denominated brave. How? Doth anyone, said I, call a city brave or cowardly, with reference to any other than that particular part of it which makes war and fights in its defence ? No one, said he, calls it such, with reference to any other part. For I do not think, said I, that the other classes who are in it, whether they be cowardly or brave, have power to render the city either the one or the other. No, indeed. The city then is brave likewise in one particular part of itself, because it has ithin it a power of such a nature as shall always preserve their pinions about things which are to be dreaded, teaching that :hey are of such a kind as the lawgiver inculcated on them in their education ? Do not you call this fortitude ? I have not, said he, entirely comprehended what you say ; but tell it over again. I call fortitude, said I, a certain preservative. What sort of preservative ? A preservative of opinion formed by law n a course of education about things which are to be feared, teaching what these are, and of what kind: I called it a preserva- tive at all times, because they were to retain it in pains and in leasures, in desires and fears, and never to cast it off; and, if ou are willing, I shall liken it to what in my opinion it bears near resemblance. I am willing. Do not you know then, id I, that the dyers, when they want to dye their wool, so as o be of a purple colour, out of all the colours first make choice f the white; and then, with no trifling care, they prepare and manage it, so as best of all to take on the purest colour, and
»*hen they dye it ; and whatever is tinged in this manner is of an ndelible dye; and no washing, either without or with soap, s able to take away the pure colour : but such wool as is not managed in this manner, you know what sort it proves, whether one is dyeing other colours, or this, without the due preparation beforehand. I know, said he, that they are easily washen out, and are ridiculous. Imagine then, that we too, according to our ability, were aiming at such a thing as this, when we were choosing out our soldiers, and were instructing them in music and gymnastic : and do not imagine we had anything else in
no THE REPUBLIC.
view, but that, in obedience to us, they should in the best manner imbibe the laws as a colour ; in order that their opinion about what is dreadful, and about other things, might be indel- ible, both by means of natural temper and suitable education : and that these detergents, however powerful in effacing, may not be able to wash away their dye, pleasure to wit, which is more powerful in effecting this than all soap and ashes, pain and fear, and desire, which exceed every other solvent. Such a power which is a perpetual preservation of right and lawful opinion, about things which are to be feared or not, I call and define as fortitude, unless you offer something else. I offer, said he, nothing else: for you seem to me to reckon that such right opinion of these things, if it arises without education, among beasts and slaves, is not at all according to law, and you would call it something else than fortitude. You are right, said I. I admit then, that this is fortitude. Admit it further, said I, to be political fortitude, and you shall admit rightly : but, if you please, we shall inquire about it more perfectly another time ; for, at present, it is not this, but justice we were seeking ; and with regard to the inquiry concerning this, it has, in my opinion, been carried far enough. You speak very well, said he.
There yet remain, said I, two things in the city which we must search out : both temperance, and justice. By all means. How now can we find out justice, that we may not be further troubled about temperance ? I neither know, said he, nor do I wish to know, if we are to dismiss altogether the consideration of temperance; so, if you please to gratify me, consider this before the other. I am indeed pleased, said I, as I am an honest man. Consider then, said he.
We must consider, replied I; and as it appears from this point of view, it seems to resemble concord and harmony more than those things formerly mentioned. How? Temperance, said I, is, I think, a kind of order, and a government, so men say, of certain pleasures and desires. We say that a man appears a master of himself, in some way or other: and we say other things of this kind, in which we see vestiges of it, is it not so ? These are the principal vestiges of it, said he.
THE REPUBLIC. 1 1 1
Is not then the expression, "Master of oneself," ridiculous? For he who is superior to himself must be likewise inferior to himself, and the inferior be the superior; for the same person is spoken of in all these cases. Why not? But to me, said I, the expression seems to denote, that in the same man, with respect to his soul, there is one part better, and another worse ; and that when the part more excellent in his nature is that which governs the inferior part, this is called being master of himself, and expresses a commendation ; but when through ill education, or any kind of converse, that better part, which is smaller, is conquered by the crowd, the worse part, we say, by way of reproach and blame, that the person thus affected is a slave to himself, and altogether licentious.
So it appears, said he. Observe then, said I, our new city, and you shall find one of these in it : for you will own, it may justly be said to be master of itself, if a state in which the better part governs the worse may be said to be temperate, and master of itself. I observe, said he, and you are right. And surely one may chiefly find a great many various desires and pleasures and pains among children and women and domestics, and amongst the vulgar crowd of those who are called freed men. It is perfectly so. But the simple and moderate desires, and such as are led by intellect, and the judgment of right opinion, you will meet with amongst the few, that is those of the best natural temper, and of the best education. True, said he.
And do not you see those things in our city, that there too the desires of the many, and of the baser part, are governed by the desires and by the prudence of the smaller and more moderate part? I see it, said he. If then any city ought to be called superior to pleasures and desires, and to itself, this one is to be called so. By all means, said he. And is it not on all these accounts temperate ? Very much so, said he. And if, in any other city, there is the same opinion in the governors and the governed about this point, who ought to govern, it is to be found in this, do not you think so ? I am strongly of that opinion. In whom then of the citizens will you
1 1 2 THE REPUBLIC.
say that temperance resides, when they are thus affected, in the governors, or the governed? In both of them somehow, said he. You see then, said I, that we justly conjectured of late, that temperance resembles a kind of harmony. Why ? Because not as fortitude and wisdom, which reside each of them in a certain part, the one of them making the city wise, and the other courageous, not after this manner doth it render the city tem- perate ; but it is naturally diffused through the whole, producing an unison between the weakest and the strongest, and those in the middle, all in one concord — either as to wisdom if you will, or, if you will, in strength, or in substance, or in any other of those things ; so that most justly may we say that this unanimity is temperance : a concord of that which is naturally the worse and the better part, whether in a state or an individual, as to which of them ought to govern. I am entirely, said he, of the same opinion. Be it so, then, said I , There are now three things in the city, it would seem, clearly dis- covered : but with respect to that other species which remains, by which the city partakes of virtue; what at all can it be? Is it not plain that it is justice? It is plain. Ought we not now, Glauco, like huntsmen, to surround the thicket, carefully attend- ing lest justice somehow escape, and, disappearing, remain undiscovered ? For it is plain that she is somewhere here. Look, therefore, and be eager to perceive her, if anyhow you see her sooner than I, and point her out to me. I wish I could, said he ; but if you employ me as an attendant rather, and one who is able to perceive what is pointed out to him, you will treat me perfectly well. Follow, said I, after you have offered prayers along with me. I will do so ; only, said he, lead you the way. To me this seems, said I, to be a place somehow of difficult access, and woody: it is at all events dark, and difficult to be scrutinised ; we must, however, go on. We must, said he. I then perceiving, said 16 ! 16 ! Glauco, we seem to have somewhat which appears to be a footstep; and I imagine that something shall not very long escape us. You tell good news, said he. We are truly, said I, of a slow disposition. As how ? It appears, O blessed man ! to have been long since
i j
i
4-^w
W
THE REPUBLIC. 113
rolling at our feet, from the beginning, and we perceived it not, but made the most ridiculous figure, like those who seek some- times for what they have in their hand ; so we did not perceive it, but were looking somewhere off at a distance,. and in this way perhaps it escaped us. What do you mean? replied he. This, said I, that we seem to me to have been speaking and ;aring of it long since, and not understanding that in some easure we ourselves expressed it. A long preamble, said he, one who is eager to hear. Hear then, said I, and tell me if I am right or not. For that which we at first established, when e regulated the city, as what ought always to be done, that, s it appears to me, or a species of it, is justice. For we omewhere established it, and often spoke of it, if you emember ; that every one ought to apply himself to one thing, relating to the city, to which his genius was natur- ally most adapted. We did speak of it. And that to mind one's own affairs, and not to be pragmatical, is justice. This e have both heard from many others, and have often said it ourselves. We have. This then, friend, said I, appears to e in a certain manner justice ; to do one's own affairs. Do you know whence I conjecture this? No; but tell, said he. esides those things we have already considered in the city — iz., temperance, fortitude, and wisdom ; this, said I, seems to main, which enables these to have a being in the state, and, hilst they exist in it, to afford it safety ; and we said too, that ustice would be that which would remain, if we found the other :hree. There is necessity for it, said he. But if, said I, it be ecessary to judge which of these, when subsisting in the city, hall in the greatest measure render it good, it would be ifficult to determine: whether the agreement between the overnors and the governed ; or the maintaining of sound pinion by the soldiers about what things are to be feared, and hat are not; or wisdom and guardianship in the rulers; or hether this, when it exists in the city, renders it in the greatest easure good, namely, when child and woman, bond and free, rtificer, magistrate, and subject, when every one does their own ffairs, and is not pragmatical. It is difficult to determine, said
8
i T 4 THE REP US LIC.
he : How should it not be so ? This power then, by which every one in the city performs his own office, is co-rival it seems for the perfection of the city, along with its wisdom, temperance, and fortitude.
Extremely so, said he. Will you not then constitute justice to be this co-rival with these, for the perfection of the city ? By all means. Consider it likewise in this manner, whether it shall thus appear to you. Will you enjoin the rulers to give just decisions in judgment ? Why not ? But will they give just judgment, if they aim at anything preferable to this, that no one shall have what belongs to others, nor be deprived of his own ? No ; they can only give just judgment, when they aim at this. And do they not aim at this as being just ? Yes. And thus justice is acknowledged to be the habitual practice of one's own proper and natural work. It is so. See then if you agree with me. If a carpenter take in hand to do the work of a shoemaker, or a shoemaker the work of a carpenter, or exchange either their utensils or grades ; or if the same man take in hand to do both, and all else be exchanged; do you imagine the state would be greatly injured ? Not very much, said he. But I imagine, that when one who is a craftsman, or who is born to any lucrative employment, shall afterwards, being puffed up by riches, by the mob, or by strength, or any other such thing, attempt to go into the rank of counsellor and guardian, when unworthy of it; and when these shall exchange utensils and rewards with one another ; or when the same man shall take in hand to do all these things at once ; then I imagine you will be of opinion that this interchange of these things, and this variety of employments practised by one, will be the destruction of the statfe. By all means.
Intermeddling then in these three species, and their change into one another, is the greatest hurt to the state, and may most justly be called its depravity. It may so truly. But will not you say that injustice is the greatest ill of the state ? Why not ? This then is injustice. But let us again speak of it in this man- ner. When the craftsman, the auxiliary, and the guardian-band do their proper work, each of them doing their own work in the
THE REPUBLIC. 115
city ; this is the contrary of the other ; that is to say, it is justice, and renders the city just. It seems so, said he. Let us not, said I, affirm it very strongly : but if it shall be allowed us that this idea, when applied to an individual, is likewise justice in him, we shall then be agreed (for what more can we say ?); if not, we shall try a new consideration. But now let us finish that speculation, which we thought proper, when we judged that, if we attempted first to contemplate justice in some of the greater objects which possess it, it would more easily be seen in one man ; and a city appeared to us to be the most proper object of this kind. And so we established the very best we could, well knowing that justice would be in a good one. Let us now transfer and apply to a single person what has there appeared to us with respect to a whole city : and, if the same things cor- respond, it shall be well ; but, if anything different appear in the individual, going back again to the city, we shall put it to the proof; and, by considering them, when placed side by side, and striking them together, we shall make justice flash out as from flints ; and, when it is become manifest, we shall firmly establish it among ourselves. You speak quite in the right way, said he, and we must do so.
Well, said I, when we denominate two things of different sizes in the same way, are they dissimilar so far as the same name applies, or similar? Similar, said he. The just man then, said I, will differ nothing from the just city, so far as the idea of justice is concerned, but will be similar to it. He will be similar to it, said he. But with respect to this inquiry, the city appeared to be just, when the three species of dis- positions in it did each of them its own work — viz., the temper- ate, the brave, and the wise, by virtue of their own proper natures, and not according to any other affections and habits. True, said he. And shall we not, friend, judge it proper, that the individual, who has in his soul the same principles (viz., temperance, fortitude, wisdom), shall, from having the same affections with those in the city, be called by the same names ? By all means, said he. We have again, my dear friend ! fallen across no easy question concerning the soul ; whether it contain
n6 THE REPUBLIC.
in itself those three principles or not. Into no easy one, I imagine, said he. And it is likely, Socrates, that the common saying is true, that things excellent are difficult. It appears so, said I. But know well, Glauco, that, according to my opinion, we shall never comprehend this matter accurately, in the methods we are now using in these reasonings. Still the road leading to that is more toilsome and longer, and we may, however, it is likely, speak of it in a manner worthy of our former disquisitions and speculations. Is not that allowable ? said he. This would satisfy me for my own part, at present, at least. This, said I, shall to me too be quite sufficient. Do not then give over, said he, but pursue your inquiry. Are we not, then, under a necessity, said I, of acknowledging that there are in every one of us the same forms and manners which are in the city? for from no other source could they come to it. It were ridiculous if one should imagine that the irascible disposition did not arise from the individuals in cities, which have this blemish, as those of Thrace, Scythia, and in some measure, almost all the northern region ; and the same thing may be said with respect to the love of learning, which one may chiefly ascribe to this country ; or with reference to the love of riches, which we may say prevailed especially among the Phoenicians and the inhabitants of Egypt. Very much so, said he. This then is so, said I ; nor is it difficult to learn. No, indeed. But here is a difficulty. Do we perform all our actions by the same power ; or are there three powers, and do we perform one thing by one power, and another by another ; that is, do we learn by one, and be angry by another, and by a third desire those pleasures relating to nutrition and propagation, and the other pleasures akin to these? Or do we, in each of these, when we apply to them, act with the whole soul ? These things are difficult to be deter- mined in a manner worthy of the subject. So it seems to me, said he. Let us then, in this manner, attempt to determine these things, whether they are the same with one another, or different. How are we to do it? It is plain, that one and the same thing cannot, at one and the same time, do or suffer
THE REPUBLIC. IT?
contrary things in the same respect, and with reference to the same object ; so that, if we anywhere find these circumstances existing among them, we shall know that it was not one and the same thing, but several. Be it so. Consider then what I am saying. Proceed, replied he. Is it possible for the same thing to stand and to be moved at once in the same respect ? By no means. Let us determine this more accurately still ; lest, as we proceed, we be any way uncertain about it If one should say that when a man stands, yet moves his hands and his head, that the same person at once stands and is moved, we should not, I imagine, think it proper to speak in this manner; but that one part of him stood, and another part was moved. Should we not? Yes. But if one who says these things should, in a more jocose humour still, and facetiously cavil- ling, allege that tops stand wholly, and are at the same time moved, when their pegs are fixed on one point, and yet they are whirled about, — or that anything else going round in a circle in the same position doth this, — we should not admit it, as it is not in the same respect that they stand still and are moved: but we should say, that they have in them an axis and a circumference; and that, as regards the axis they stood (for towards no side they declined) ; but as regards the circumference, they moved in a circle. But when its perpen- dicularity declines either to the right or left hand, forwards or backwards, whilst it is at the same time whirling round; then in no respect doth it stand. Very right, said he. Nothing then of this kind shall move us, when it is said: nor shall any one persuade us, as if anything, being one and the same thing, could do and suffer contraries at one and the same time, with reference to the same object, and in the same respect. He shall not persuade me, said he. But however, said I, that we may not be obliged to be tedious in going over all these quibbles, and in evincing them to be false, let us proceed on this supposition, that so it is ; after we have agreed that, if at any time these things appear other- wise than as we now settle them, we shall yield up again all we shall have assumed by it. It is necessary, said he, to do so.
n8 THE REPUBLIC,
Would not you, then, said I, deem these things to be among those which are opposite to one another (whether they be active or passive, for in this there is no difference) ; to assent, to wit, and to dissent, to desire to obtain a thing, and to reject it ; to bring towards oneself, and to push away ? I would deem these, said he, among the things which are opposite to each other. What then, said I, with respect to thirsting, to hungering, and in general with respect to all the passions ; and further, to desire, to will, and all these, may they not somehow be placed among those species which have now been mentioned ? As for example, will you not always say that the soul of one who has desire goes out after that which it desires, or brings near to it that which it wishes to have ? Or again, in so far as it wants something to be afforded it, like one who only sees an object, that it intimates by signs to have it brought near, desiring the actual possession of it ? I would say so. But to be unwilling, not to wish, nor to desire, shall we not deem these of the same kind, as to push away, and drive off, and everything else, which is opposite to the former? Why not? This being the case, shall we say there is a certain species of the desires ? and that the most conspicuous are those which we call thirst and hunger ? We shall say so, replied he. Is not the one the desire of drink- ing, and the other of eating? Yes. Is thirst then, when con- sidered as thirst, a desire in the soul of something more than drink? It is according to the nature of the thirst. Is there then a thirst of a hot drink, or of a cold, of much or of little, or in short, of some particular kind of drink? for, if there be any heat accompanying the thirst, it readily occasions a desire of a cold drink; but if cold accompanies it, then there is excited a desire of a warm drink: if the thirst be great, through many circumstances, it occasions a desire of much drink, but if small, a desire of a little drink : but the thirst itself never creates the desire of anything else, but drink, as its nature prompts ; and in like manner the appetite of hunger with relation to meat. Thus every desire, said he, in itself, is for that alone for which it is the desire ; but the desire of such or such a particular thing is adventitious. Let not then any one, said I, create any trouble,
THE REPUBLIC.
as if we were inadvertent ; saying that no one desired drink, but good drink ; or meat, but good meat ; for indeed all men desire that which is good. If then thirst be a desire, it is of what is good ; whether it be of drink, or of whatever else it is the desire. And in the same way of all the other desires. Perhaps, replied he, the man who should mention these things would seem to say something material. But however, said I, whatever things are of such a nature as to belong to any genus, have a general reference to the genus ; but each particular of these refers to a articular species of that genus. I have not understood you, id he. Have you not understood, said I, that "greater" is elative, and implies that it is greater than something ? Yes, deed. Is it not greater than the less ? Yes. And that which considerably greater than that which is considerably less ; is not ? Yes. And that which was formerly greater than that hich was formerly less ; and that which is to be greater than at which is to be less ? What else ? said he. And after the me manner, what is more numerous with respect to what is ess numerous, and what is double with reference to what is half, and all such-like things; and further, what is "heavier" with respect to " lighter," and " swifter" to " slower," and further till, "hot" to "cold"; and all such-like things, are they not ter this manner ? Entirely so. But what as to the sciences ? s not the case the same ? For science itself is the science of e knovvable, or of whatever else you think proper to call the bject of science : but a certain particular science, and of such particular kind, refers to a certain particular object, and of such a kind. What I mean is this. After the science of build- ing houses arose, did it not separate from other sciences, so as to be called architecture? What else? Was it not from its being of such a kind as none of others were ? Yes. Was it not hen from its being the art of such a particular thing, that itself ecame such a particular art ? And all other arts and sciences like manner ? They are so. Allow then, said I, that this is .'hat I wanted to express, if you have now understood it ; where hings are considered as having reference to other things, the bstract alone refer to the abstract, and the particular to the
120 THE REPUBLIC.
particular. I do not, however, say that the science altogether resembles that of which it is the science (as if, for example, the sciences of health and disease were respectively healthy and sickly; or that the sciences of good and evil were good and evil). But as soon as science becomes not the science of that abstract thing of which it is the science, but only of a particular kind of it (to wit, of its healthy and sickly state), it comes to be a particular science; and this causes it to be called no onger simply a science, but the medicinal science ; the particular species to which it belongs being superadded. I have under- stood you, said he, and it appears to me to be so. But will not you, said I, consider thirst, whatever it be, to be one of those things which respect something else, supposing that there is such a thing as thirst? I do, said he, and it respects drink. Then a particular thirst desires a particular drink. But thirst in the abstract is neither of much nor of little, nor of good nor bad, nor, in one word, of any particular kind ; but of drink in general alone is thirst in general naturally the desire. Entirely so, indeed. The soul of the man then who thirsts, so far as he thirsts, inclines for nothing further than to drink; this he desires, to this he hastens. It is plain. If then at any time anything draw back the thirsting soul, it must be some different part of it from that which thirsts, and leads it as a wild beast to drink; for, have we not said that it is impossible for the same thing, in the same respects, and with the same parts of it, to do at once contrary things ? It is indeed impossible. In the same manner, I imagine, as it is not proper to say of an archer, that his hands at once push out and likewise pull in the bow ; but that the one hand is that which pushes out, and the other that which pulls in. Entirely so, said he. But may we say, that there are some who when athirst are not willing to drink ? Yes, indeed, said he, there are many, and many times that is the case. What now, said I, may one say of these persons ? Might it not be said, that there was in their soul somewhat prompting them to drink, and likewise something hindering them, different from the other, and superior to the prompting principle? It seems so to me, said he. Does not then the restraining
THE REPUBLIC. 121
principle, when it arises, arise from reason; but those which push, and drive forwards, proceed from passions and diseases ? It appears so. We shall then, said I, not unreasonably assume that there are two principles, different from one another; and call the one part which reasons, the rational part of the soul; but that part with which it loves, and hungers, and thirsts, and those other appetites, the irrational and concupiscible part, the ally of certain gratifications and pleasures. We shall not, said he ; but we may most reasonably consider them in this light. Let these then, said I, be allowed to be distinct parts in the soul. But as to that of anger, is it a third principle, or has it affinity to one of those two ? Perhaps it has, said he, to the concupis- cible part. I believe, said I, what I have somewhere heard, how that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, as he returned from the Pyrasus, perceived some dead bodies lying in the sewer, below the outside of the north wall, and had both a desire to look at them, and at the same time was averse from it, and turned him- self away ; and for a while he struggled with his desire, and covered his eyes ; but, at last, being overcome by his appetite, he opened his eyes widely with his fingers, and running towards the dead bodies, " Lo, now," said he, " you wretched eyes ! glut yourselves with this fine spectacle." I too, said he, have heard it. This speech now, said I, shows that anger sometimes opposes the appetites, showing them to be different one from another. It shows it, indeed, said he. And do not we often perceive, said I, when the appetites compel any one contrary to reason, that he reproaches himself, and is angry at the compelling principle within him? And when the rational and concupiscible parts are in a state of sedition, anger in such a person becomes as it were an ally to reason : but when the appetite goes along with reason, then anger gives no opposition. You will say, I imagine, that you have perceived nothing of this kind in yourself at any time, nor yet in another. No, by Zeus, said he. What now, said I, when one imagines he does an injury, the more generous he is, is he not so much the less apt to be angry, when he suffers hunger and cold, or any other such things, from one who inflicts, as he imagines, these things with justice? And, as I have said, his
122 THE REPUBLIC.
anger will not incline him to rise up against such an one. True, said he. But what ? when a man imagines he is injured, does not anger in such an one burn ? is he not indignant ? and does he not fight, as an ally, on the side of what appears to be just ? and under all the sufferings of hunger, cold, and such like, does he not bear up and conquer; and cease not from his generous toils, till either he accomplish them, or die, or be restrained by the rational principle within him, like a dog by the shepherd, and is rendered mild? It perfectly resembles, said he, what you say; for, in our city, we appointed the auxiliaries to be obedient to the rulers of the city, as dogs to shepherds. You rightly understand, said I, what I would say. But have you besides considered this ? What ? That what we say now concerning the irascible is the reverse of that in the former case ; for there we were deeming it the same with the concupiscible ; but now we say it is so far from it that, in the sedition of the soul, it sides with the rational part. Entirely so, said he. Is it then as something different from it, or only a modification of the rational principle? so that there are not three species, but only two in the soul, the rational and concu- piscible. Or, as there were three species which completed the city, the productive, the auxiliary, the legislative; so, in the soul, this irascible principle is a third thing, naturally an auxiliary to the rational, if it be not corrupted by bad educa- tion ? Of necessity it is, said he, a third. Yes, said I, if at least it appear to be any way different from the rational, as it appeared to be distinct from the concupiscible principle. That is not difficult, said he, to be seen. For one may see this, even in little children, who from their infancy are full of anger; while some appear, to me at least, never at all to participate of reason; and the most arrive at it but late. Yes,f truly, said I, you are right. And one may yet further observe in the brute creatures, that what you say is really the case: and besides this, it is likewise attested by what we formerly mentioned from
Homer,
"His breast he struck, and thus his heart reproved."
For, in that passage, Homer has plainly made one part
THE REPUBLIC. 123
reprehend another; the part which reasons about good and evil, reprehend the part which is unreasonably angry. You are perfectly right, said he.
These things, said I, we have with difficulty agreed to ; and it is now sufficiently acknowledged, that the same species of principles as are in a city are in every individual, and to the same number. They are so. Must it not, therefore, of neces- sity follow, that after what manner the city was wise, and in what respect, after the same manner, and in the same respect, is the individual wise also ? Why not ? And in what respects, and after what manner, the individual is brave, in the same respect, and after the same manner, is a city brave. And so in all other respects, both of them are the same as to virtue. Of necessity. And I think, Glauco, we shall say that a man is just, in the same way as we said a city was so ? This likewise is quite necessary. But we have not surely forgot this, that the city was just, when every one of the three species in it did each its own work. We do not appear to me, said he, to have forgotten it.
We must then remember likewise, that each one of us will be just, and do his own work, when he doth his own affairs within himself. We must, said he, carefully remember it. Is it not then proper that the rational part should govern, as it is wise, and hath the care of the whole soul ? and that the irascible part should be obedient, and an auxiliary of the other ? Certainly. Shall not then the mixture, as we observed, of music and gymnastic make these two harmonious, raising and nourishing the one with beautiful reasonings and disciplines, and unbend- ing the other, soothing and rendering it mild by harmony and rhythm ? Most perfectly, said he. And when those two are in this manner nourished, and have been truly taught, and instructed in their own affairs, let them be set over the concupiscible part, which in every one is the greater part of the soul, and in its nature most insatiably desirous of being gratified : and let them take care of this part, lest, being filled with these bodily pleasures, as they are called, it become great and vigorous, and do not its own work, but attempt to enslave
124 THE REPUBLIC.
and rule over those it ought not, and overturn the whole life of all. Entirely so, said he. And might he not, said I, by this principle, guard likewise in the best manner against enemies from without, by its influence over the whole soul and body, the one deliberating, and the other fighting in obedience to its leader, and executing with fortitude the things deliberated ? It is so. And I think that we call a man brave, when, through all the pains and pleasures of life, the irascible part preserves the opinion dictated by reason concerning what is terrible, and what is not. Right, said he. And we call him wise, from that small part which governs in him, and dictates these things, having in it the knowledge of what is advantageous for each one, and for the whole community of the three, and for each of them separ- ately. Perfectly so. But, do we not call him temperate, more- over, from the friendship and harmony of these very things, when the governing and governed agree, that reason ought to govern, and when they do not raise sedition? Temperance, said he, is no other than this, both as to the city and the individual. But, as we have often said, he shall be just, by these things, and in this manner. It is quite necessary. What then, said I, has anything dulled us, that we should think justice to be anything else than what it has appeared to be in a state? Nothing appears to me at least, said he, to have done it. But, let us, by all means, confirm ourselves, if there yet remain any doubt or objection to this principle, by bringing the man into difficult circumstances. What ? Such as this : if we were obliged to declare concerning such a city, and concerning a man born and educated conformably to it, whether we thought such an one, when intrusted with gold or silver, would embezzle it ; do you imagine that any one would think such an one would do it sooner than those who are not of such a kind ? No one, said he. Will not such an one then be free of sacrilege, theft, or treachery, towards his own friends or the city? He will. Nor will he ever, in any shape, be faith- less, either as to his oaths, or other declarations. How can he ? Adulteries, and neglect of parents, impiety Sgainst the Gods, will belong to every one else, sooner than to such an
THE REPUBLIC. 125
one. They will, truly, said he. And is not this the cause of all these things, that, of all the parts within him, each one thing does its own work, as to governing and being governed ? This is it, and nothing else. Do you desire justice to be any- thing else, but such a power as produces such men and cities ? Not I, truly, said he, for my part. Our dream, then, is at last accomplished ; or the conjecture we expressed before, that when we first began to build our city, we seemed, by some divine assistance, to have got to a beginning and type of justice. Entirely so. And that, Glauco, was a rough* image of justice, according to which, it behoved the man who was fitted by nature for the office of a shoemaker, to perform properly that office, and to do nothing else, and he who is a carpenter to perform that office, and all others in the same way. It appears so. And of such a kind truly was justice, as it appeared to us. I do not mean as to external action, but concerning that which is really internal, relating to the man himself, and those things which are properly his own ; not allowing any principle in him- self to attempt to do what belongs to others, nor the principles to be pragmatical, engaging in one another's affairs ; but in reality well establishing his own proper affairs, and holding the government of himself, adorning himself, and becoming his own friend, and attuning those three principles in the most natural manner, as three musical strings, base, tenor, and treble, or whatever others may chance to intervene. Thus he will be led to combine all these together, and become of many an entire one, temperate and attuned, and in that manner perform what- ever is done, either in the way of acquiring wealth, or concerning the management of the body, or any public affair or private bargain ; and in all these cases account and call that action just and handsome, which always sustains and promotes this habit ; and call the knowledge which presides over this action, wisdom ; but to call that an unjust action which dissolves this habit, and the opinion which presides over this, folly. You say perfectly true, Socrates, said he. Be it so, said I. If then we should say that we have found out a just man and city, and what justice is in them, I do not think we should seem to be altogether telling
126 THE REPUBLIC.
a lie. No, by Zeus, said he. May we say so? We may say it. Be it so, said I. But we were next, I think, to consider injus- tice. That is plain. Must it not then be some sedition among the three principles, some interfering and intermeddling in things foreign to their proper business, and an insurrection of some one principle against the whole soul, to govern in it when it does not belong to it, but which is of such a nature as that it really ought to be in subjection to the governing principle ? I imagine then we shall call their tumult and confusion by such names as injustice, intemperance, cowardice and folly, and in short all vice. These things, said he, are so. To do injustice then, said I, and to be injurious, and likewise to do justly, all these must be very manifest, if, to wit, injustice and justice are so. How ? Because they are no way different from what is salutary or noxious : as these are in the body, so are the others in the soul ? How, said he. Such things as are healthy con- stitute health, and such as are noxious produce disease. Yes. And must not the doing justly produce justice, and doing un- justly produce injustice? Of necessity. But to produce health, is to establish the body so that one part governs, or is governed by, another according to nature ; and to produce disease, is to govern and be governed, one part by another, contrary to nature. It is indeed. Then again, to produce justice, is it not to establish the soul, so that one part governs and is governed by another, according to nature, and to produce injustice is to make them govern and be governed by one another contrary to nature. Plainly so, said he. Virtue then, it seems, is a sort of health, and beauty, and good habit of the soul ; and vice the disease, and deformity, and infirmity. It is so. Do not then honourable pursuits lead to the acquisition of virtue, and dishonourable ones to that of vice ? Of necessity.
What remains then for us, it seems, to consider, is, whether it be profitable to do justly, and to pursue what is honourable, and to be just (whether a man of such a character be unknown or not), or to do unjustly, and to be unjust, though one be never punished, nor by chastisement become better? But, said he, Socrates, this speculation seems now, to me at least, to be
THE REPUBLIC. 127
ridiculous. For if, when the nature of the body is corrupted, it be thought that life is not worth having, though one has all kinds of meats and drinks, all kind of wealth, all kind of dominion; when the nature of that by which we live is dis- ordered, and thoroughly corrupted, shall life then be worth having, though one can do everything else which he inclines, except ascertaining how he shall be liberated from vice and injustice, and acquire justice and virtue, since, to wit, both these things have appeared as we have represented them ? It would be truly ridiculous, said I. But, however, as we have arrived at such a point as enables us most distinctly to perceive that these things are so, we must not be weary. We must not, by Zeus, said he. Come then, said I, that you may likewise see how many principles vice possesses, principles which, as I imagine, are worthy of attention. I attend, said he, only tell me. And truly now, said I, since we have reached this part of our dis- course, it appears to me as from a lofty place of survey, that there is one principle of virtue, but those of vice are infinite, and of these there are four which deserve to be mentioned. How do you say? replied he. There seem to be as many species of soul as there are of governments. How many, then ? There are five kinds, said I, of governments, and five of the soul. Tell, said he, what these are. I say, replied I, that this, which we have gone through, is one species of a republic ; and it may have a twofold appellation; for, if among the rulers there be one surpassing the rest, it may be called a Monarchy ; if there be several, an Aristocracy. True, said he. I call this, then, one species ; for, whether they be several, or but one, who govern, they will never alter the principal laws of the city ; if they observe the nurture and education we have described. It is not likely, said he.
128 THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK V.
SUCH then is the city or republic, and such the man we have described, that we denominate good and upright : and if this republic be an upright one, I must deem the others bad and erroneous, both as to the regulations in cities, and the formation of the temper of individual souls : and there are four species of depravity. Of what kind are these? said he. I was then proceeding to mention them in order, as they appeared to me to rise out of one another: but Polemarchus stretching out his hand (for he sat a little further off than Adimantus) caught him by the robe at his shoulder, and drew him near; and, bending himself towards him, spoke something in a whisper, of which we heard nothing but this : Shall we let him pass then ? said he, or what shall we do ? Not at all, said Adi- mantus, speaking now aloud. And I replied, What will not you let pass ? You, said he, for it was to you I alluded. You seem to us to be growing negligent, and to steal a whole branch of the discourse, and that not the least considerable, that you may not have the trouble of going through it ; and you imagine that you escaped our notice, when you made this speech so simply, viz., that, both as to wives and children, it is manifest to every one that these things will be common among friends. Do I not say right, Adimantus ? Yes, said he ; for this, which was rightly said, like other parts of your discourse, requires explanation ; and you must show what is the manner of their being common ; for there may be many kinds of it. Do not omit then to tell which is the method you spoke of ; for we have been in expectation for some time past, imagining you would, on some occasion, make mention of the propagation of children, in what way they should be propagated : and, when
THE REPUBLIC. 129
they are born, how they should be nurtured; and everything relative to what you spoke concerning wives and children being in common ; for we imagine, that it is of considerable, nay, of the utmost importance to the state, when this is rightly per- formed, or otherwise. But now when you are entering on the consideration of another constitution, before you have sufficiently discussed these things, we determined on what you over-heard, not to let you pass, before you went over all these things, as you did the others. And you may count me too, said Glauco, as joining in this vote. You may easily judge, Socrates, said Thrasymachus, that this is the opinion of us all. What a deed, said I, you have done in laying hold of me ! What a mighty discourse do you again raise, as if we were only beginning to speak about a republic. I was rejoicing at having now completed it, being pleased if any one would have let these things pass, and been content with what was said ! But you know not what a swarm of reason- ings you raise by what you now challenge, which I foreseeing passed by at that time, lest it should occasion great disturbance. What, said Thrasymachus, do you imagine that these are now come hither to smelt gold,1 and not to hear a discussion ? Yes, said I, but in measure. The whole of life, Socrates, said Glauco, is, with the wise, the measure of hearing such reason- ings as these. But pass what relates to us, and do not at all grudge to explain your opinions concerning the object of our inquiry, — What sort of community of wives and children is to be observed by our guardians, and concerning the nurture of the latter while very young, in the period between their generation and their education, which seems to be the most troublesome of all. Endeavour then to tell us in what manner it should be done. It is not easy, happy Glauco, said I, to go through these things; for there are many of them which can hardly be believed to be possible; and even though they could easily be effected, whether they would be for the best might still be doubted: wherefore, dear companion, I grudge
1 To smelt gold seems to have been a proverbial expression for attending to anything but the right thing.
9
i.3o THE REPUBLIC.
somewhat to touch on these things, lest our reasonings appear to be rather what were to be wished for, than what could take place. Do not at all grudge, said he; for your hearers are neither stupid, nor incredulous, nor ill-affected towards you. Then I said, Do you say this, most excellent Glauco, with a desire to encourage me ? I do, said he. Then your dis- course has a quite contrary effect, said I ; for, if I trusted myself, that I understood what I am to say, your encouragement would do well. For one who understands the truth, about the greatest and the most interesting affairs, speaks with safety and confidence when among wise friends; but to be diffident of oneself, and doubtful of the truth, and at the same time to be haranguing as I do now, is both dreadful and dangerous : not only lest he should be exposed to ridicule (for that is but a trifling thing), but lest that, mistaking the truth, I not only fall myself, but draw my friends along with me into an error about things in which we ought least of all to be mistaken. I pray therefore that I may not be punished for what, Glauco, I am going to say. For I believe it is a smaller offence to be a man- slayer without intention, than to be an impostor with regard to what is good and excellent, just and lawful : and it were better to hazard such a thing among enemies than friends; so that you must give me better encouragement. Then Glauco, laughing: But, Socrates, said he, if we suffer anything amiss from your discourse, we shall acquit you as guiltless of man- slaughter, or imposture: so proceed boldly. Indeed, said I, he who is acquitted at a court of justice, the law says, is also deemed clear of the crime in the next world, and so 'tis reasonable he should be so in this. For this reason then, said he, proceed. We must now, said I, return again to what it seems should, according to method, have been recited before ; and perhaps it is right to proceed in this manner, that, after having entirely finished the drama respecting the men, we go over that which concerns the women ; especially since you challenge me to proceed in this manner.
In my opinion, men who have been born and educated in such a manner as we have described, can have no right posses-
THE REPUBLIC. T3i
sion and enjoyment of children and wives, save in pursuing the same track in which we have proceeded from the beginning: for we have endeavoured, in our reasoning, to make our men as it were the guardians of a flock. We have. Let us proceed then, and establish likewise rules relating to propagation and education in a manner similar to that of the males ; and let us consider whether they will be suitable or not. How do you mean ? replied he. Thus : shall we judge it proper for the females of our guardian dogs, to watch likewise in the same manner as the males do, and hunt along with them, and do everything else in common ? Or shall we judge it proper for them to manage domestic affairs within doors, as being unable for the other exercises, because of the bringing forth and the nursing the whelps ; and only for the males to labour, and to have the whole care of the flocks ? They are to do all, said he, in common. Only we are to employ the females as the weaker, and the males as the stronger. Is it possible, said I, to employ any creature for the same purposes with another, unless you give it the same nurture and education as you give the other ? It is not possible. If then we shall employ women for the same purposes as we do the men, must we not likewise teach them the same things? We must. Were not both music and gymnastic bestowed on the males ? They were. These two arts, therefore, and those likewise relating to war, must be bestowed also on the women, and they must be employed about the same things. It is reasonable, said he, from what you say. Yet as these things, said I, are contrary perhaps to custom, many of these things we are now speaking of may appear ridiculous, if practised in the way we mention. Extremely so, replied he. What, said I, do you consider the most ridiculous part? Is it not plainly the idea of the women, naked in the Palaestra, wrestling with the men, and not only the young women, but even the more advanced in years, in the same manner as old men in the wrestling-schools, when they are wrinkled and ugly, yet are still fond of the exercises ? Yes, by Zeus, said he. Because it might indeed appear ridiculous, at least as matters stand at present. Therefore, said I, since we
132 THE REPUBLIC.
have entered upon this discourse, we must not be afraid of the railleries of the men of pleasantry, whatever things they may say with regard to such a revolution being introduced, as well in gymnastic as in music, and particularly in the use of arms, and the management of horses ? You say right, replied he. But since we have entered on this discourse, we must go to the rigour of the law, and beg these men not to follow their usual custom, but to think seriously, and remember, that it is not long ago since it appeared base and ridiculous to the Greeks (as it is now to most of the barbarians) for men to be seen naked. And when first the Cretans, and afterwards the Lace- daemonians, began their exercises, it was in the power of the men of humour of that time to turn all these things into ridicule. Do not you think so ? I do. And I imagine, that when upon experience it appeared better to strip themselves, than to be wrapped up, if it seemed ridiculous indeed to the eye, the ob- jection was removed by the argument that it was best, and it was also proved manifestly that he is a fool who deems anything ridiculous but what is bad, and who attempts to jest upon any other idea of the ridiculous but that which is the foolish and the vicious, or who is serious in any other pursuit but that of the good. By all means, said he. Is not this then first of all to be agreed on, whether these things be possible or not ? And we must allow it to be a matter of dispute, if any one, either in jest or earnest, incline to doubt, whether the human nature in the female sex be able, in everything, to bear a share with the male, or if not, then in any one thing, or in some things, but not in others, and among which of these are the affairs of war? Would not the man who thus sets out also conclude in the best way ? By far, said he. Are you willing then, said I, that we ourselves, instead of others, dispute about these things, that the opposite side may not be destitute of a defence ?
Nothing hinders, said he. Let us then say this for them : There is no need, Socrates and Glauco, of others to dispute with you about this matter ; for yourselves in the beginning of your scheme, when you established your city, agreed, that it was necessary for each individual to practise one business
THE REPUBLIC. 133
according to their several geniuses. I think we acknowledged it; for why should they not ? Does not then the genius of the male differ widely from that of the female ? Yes. And is it not fit to enjoin each a different work, according to their genius? Why not ? Are not you then in the wrong now, and contradict yourselves, when you say that men and women ought to do the same things, whilst their nature is extremely different ? Can you in answer to these objections, admirable Glauco, make any defence. It is not quite an easy matter, said he, to do it immediately ; but I will entreat you, and do now entreat you, to go through the arguments on our side, whatever they may be. These are the things, Glauco, replied I, and many other such like, which I long ago foresaw, and was afraid and backward to touch on the law concerning the possession of wives, and the education of children. It is not easy, by Zeus, replied he. It is not, said I. But the case is thus : If a man fall into a small fish-pond, or into the middle of the greatest sea, he must still wim in the one no less than in the other. Entirely so. Must ot we swim then, and endeavour to emerge from this reason- ing, expecting that either some dolphin l will carry us out, or that we shall have some other remarkable deliverance? It seems we must do so, replied he. Come then, said T, let us see if we can anywhere find an out-gate ; for we did acknow- ledge that different natures ought to study different things ; but the nature of man and woman is different ; yet now we say that different natures ought to study the same things : these are the things which you accuse us of. Certainly. How generous, Glauco, said I, is the power of the art of contradicting ! How ? Because, replied I, many seem to fall into it unwillingly, and imagine that they are not cavilling, but reasoning truly, when and because they are not able to understand the meaning of a thing they are investigating ; but simply oppose what is said by attacking the mere words, using cavilling instead of reason- ing. This is indeed, said he, the case with many ; but does it at present extend likewise to us? Entirely so, said I. We seem unwillingly to have fallen into a contradiction. How?
1 Alluding, of course, to the story of Ar ion.
134 THE REPUBLIC.
Because we have very strenuously and very keenly asserted, that when natures are not the same, they ought not to have the same employments ; but we have not in any respect considered what is the characteristic of the sameness or diversity of nature, nor to what it points : we stopped then, when we had assigned different pursuits to different natures, and to the same natures the same pursuits. We have never indeed, said he, con- sidered it.
It is therefore, replied I, still in our power, as appears, to question ourselves, whether the nature of bald or long-haired men be the same, and not different ? And after we should agree that it was different, whether, if the bald made shoes, we should allow those who wear long hair to make them, or, if those who wear long hair made them, whether we should allow the others ? That were ridiculous, replied he. Is it in any other respect, said I, ridiculous then, that we did not wholly determine the sameness and diversity of nature, but attended only to that species of diversity and sameness which respects the employ- ments themselves; just as we say that the physician, and the man who has a medical talent, have one and the same nature? Do not you think so? I do. But that the physician and architect have a different nature. Entirely. And so, replied I, of the nature of men and of women, if it appear different, in respect to any art, or other employment, we shall say that this different employment is to be assigned to each separately. But if their nature appear different only in this, that the female brings forth, and the male begets, we shall not say that this has at all shown the man to be different from the woman in the respect we speak of. But we shall still be of opinion, that both our guardians and their wives ought to pursue the same employments. And with reason, said he. Shall we not then henceforth desire any one who says the con- trary, to instruct us in this point, what is that art or study respecting the establishment of a city, where the nature of the man and woman is not the same, but different? It is reason- able, truly. Possibly some one may say, as you were saying some time since, that it is not easy to answer sufficiently on the
THE REPUBLIC.
sudden, but that it is not difficult to one who has considered it. One might indeed say so. Are you willing then that we desire such an opponent to listen to us, if by any means we shall show him that there is in the administration of the city no employ- ment peculiar to women ? By all means. Come on then (shall we say to him), answer us. Is not this your meaning? That one man has a genius for anything, and another has not, in this respect, that the one learns the thing easily, and the other with difficulty; and the one with a little instruction discovers much in what he learns; but the other, when he obtains much instruc- tion and care, does not retain even what he has learned : with the one, the body is duly subservient to the mind; with the other, it opposes its improvement : are there any other marks than these by which you would determine one to have a genius for anything, and another to have none ? No one, said he, would mention any other. Know you then any human art which men do not better manage than women ? Or, should we not be tedious, if we mentioned particularly the weaving art, and the dressing pot-herbs and victuals, in which women are supposed to excel, and in which their failure is most laughed at ? You say true, said he, that in general, in everything the one genius is superior to the other, yet there are many women who in many things excel many men : but, on the whole, it is as you say. There is not then, my friend, any office among the whole inhabitants of the city peculiar to woman, considered as woman, nor to man, considered as man ; but natural talents are indiscriminately diffused through both : the woman is naturally fitted for sharing in all offices, and so is the man ; but in all the woman is weaker than the man. Perfectly so. Shall we then commit everything to the care of men, and nothing to the care of women ?
How can we do so ? I is therefore, I imagine, as we say, that one woman is fitted by natural genius for being a physician, and another is not ; one is naturally a musician, and another is not ? What else ? And one is naturally fitted for gymnastic, and another is not ; one is fitted for war, and another is not. I at least am of this opinion. And is not one likewise a lover of
136 THE REPUBLIC.
philosophy, and another averse to it; one high-spirited, and another not ? This likewise is true. And has not one woman a natural genius for being a guardian, and another not ? And have not we made choice of such a genius as this for our guardian men ? Of such a genius as this. The nature then of the woman and of the man for the guardianship of the city is the same, only that the one is weaker, and the other stronger. It appears so. And such women as these are to be chosen to dwell with these men, and be guardians along with them, as they are naturally fit for them, and of a kindred genius. Entirely so. And must not the same employments be assigned to the same natures ? The same. We have now arrived by a circular progression at what we formerly mentioned; and we allow that it is not contrary to nature, to assign music and gymnastic to the wives of our guardians. By all means. We are not then establishing things impossible, or such as can only be wished for, since we establish the law according to nature; and what is at present contrary to these things, is contrary to nature, it appears. It seems so. Was not our inquiry to hear of what was possible and best? It was. And we have agreed, that these things are possible. We have. And we must next agree, that they are best. It is plain we must. In order therefore to make a guardian of a woman, at least the education will not be different from that of the men, espe- cially as she has received the same natural genius. It will not be different. What is your opinion of this? Of what? That one man is better, or worse, than another — or do you deem them to be all alike ? By no means. In the city now which we have established, do you think that our guardians educated as we have described, or shoemakers with their education in their art, will be the better men ? The question, replied he, is ridiculous. I understand you, said I. But what? Of all the citizens, are not they the best? By far. But what? Will not these women too be the best of women ? They will be so, replied he, by far. Is there anything better in a city than that both the women and the men be rendered the very best ? There is not. This then will be effected by music and
THE REPUBLIC. 137
gymnastic, being afforded them according as we have de- scribed ? Yes. We have then established a law which is not only possible, but moreover best for the state. We have. The wives, then, of our guardians must be unclothed, since they will put on virtue for clothes ; and they must bear a part in war, and the other guardianship of the city, and do nothing else. But the lightest part of these services is to be allotted to the women rather than to the men, on account of the weakness of their sex. And the ridicule of the man who laughs at naked women,
(whilst they are performing exercises for the sake of what is best, reaps only "the unripe fruit of the tree of wisdom,"1 and in no respect knows, it appears, at what he laughs, nor why he does it. For that ever was and will be deemed a noble saying. That what is profitable is beautiful, and what is hurtful is base. By all means.
Let us say then, that we have escaped one wave, as it were, [ ! in our discussion of the law with respect to women, without
(being wholly overwhelmed in ordaining that our male and female guardians are to manage all things in common : but our reasoning has been consistent with itself, as it respects both what is possible and likewise advantageous. It is truly no small wave you have escaped, said he. You will not, replied I, call it a great one, when you see what follows. Mention it, said he, that I may see. That law, replied I, and those others formerly mentioned, involve, as I imagine, the following. Which ? That these women must all be common to all these men, and that no one woman dwell with any man privately, and that their children likewise be common ; that neither the parent know his own children, nor the children their parent. This is much more likely than the other, to be distrusted, both as to its being possible, and at the same time advantageous. I do not believe, replied I, that any one will doubt the utility, at least, of having the women and children in common, if it were but possible. But I think the greatest question will be, whether it be possible or not ? One may very readily, said he, dispute as to both. You mention, replied I, a crowd of disputes. But
1 This is said to be a quotation from i'inclar.
138 THE REPUBLIC.
I thought that I should at least have escaped from the one, if its utility had been agreed on, and that it should have only remained to consider its possibility. But you have not, said he, escaped unobserved ; give us then an account of both. I must then, said I, submit to a trial. But, however, indulge me thus far; allow me to feast myself, as those who are sluggish in their minds are wont to feast themselves when they walk alone. Men of this sort, sometimes before they find out how they shall attain what they desire (waiving that inquiry, that they may not fatigue themselves in deliberating about the possibility or impossibility of it), suppose they have obtained what they desire, and then go through what remains. And they delight in running over what they will do when their desire is obtained, rendering their soul, otherwise indolent, more indolent still. I am now effeminate after this manner, and wish to defer those debates, and to inquire afterwards whether these things be possible. But at present, holding them possible, if you allow me, I will consider in what manner our rulers shall regulate these things, when they take place, that they may be done in the most advantageous manner, both to the state and the guardians.
These things I shall endeavour, in the first place, to go over with your assistance, and the others afterwards, if you allow me. I allow it, said he ; proceed with the inquiry accordingly. I imagine, said I, that if our rulers, and those who are their auxiliaries, their ministers in the government, are worthy of the name, the latter will be disposed to do whatever is enjoined them, and the former will be ready to command; enjoining them some things in direct obedience to the law, and imitating the law in whatever things are entrusted to them.
It is likely, said he. Do you now, said I, since you are their lawgiver, in the same manner as you have chosen out the men, choose out likewise the women, taking care that their natures shall be as similar as possible : and since they dwell and eat to- gether in common, and as no one possesses any of these things privately, both sexes will live together, and being mingled in their exercises and other actions, will be led from an innate
THE REPUBLIC.
139
lecessity, as I imagine, to mutual embraces. Do not I seem to say what will necessarily happen ? Not, replied he, by any geometrical necessity, but by an amatory one, which seems to be more powerful than the other in persuading and drawing the bulk of mankind. Much more, said I. But after this, Glauco, to mix together in a disorderly manner, or to do anything else, irregularly, is neither holy in a city of happy persons, nor will the rulers permit it. It were not just, said he. It is plain then that after this we must make marriages as much as possible sacred ; and the most advantageous marriages would be those that are sacred. By all means. How then shall they be most advantageous ? Tell me this, Glauco ; I see in your house dogs of chase, and a great many game birds. Have you ever attended, in any respect, to their marriages, and the propaga- tion of their species ? How ? said he. First of all, among these, although they be excellent themselves, are there not some who are most excellent ? There are. Then do you breed from all of them alike ? or are you careful to breed chiefly from the best ? From the best. But how ? From the youngest or from the oldest, or from those who are in their prime ? From those in their prime. And if the breed be not of this kind, you reckon that the race of birds and dogs greatly degenerates. I reckon so, replied he. And what think you as to horses, said I, and other animals ? is the case any otherwise with respect to these ? That, said he, were absurd. Strange, said I, my friend ! What extremely perfect governors must we have, if the case be the same with respect to the human race ! However, it is so, replied he ; but why perfect ? Because there is a necessity, said I, for their using many medicines : for where bodies have no occasion for medicines, but are ready to subject themselves to a regimen of diet, we reckon that a weaker physician may suffice; but when there is a necessity for medicines, we know that a more able physician is then requisite. True, but with what view do you say this ? With this view, replied I. It appears that our rulers are obliged to use much fiction and deceit for the advan- tage of the governed ; and we said somewhere, that all these things were useful in the way of medicines. And rightly, said he,
140 THE REPUBLIC.
This piece of right now seems to apply to the question of mar- riages, and the propagation of children. How ? It is proper, said I, from what we have acknowledged, that the best men embrace for the most part the best women ; and the most de- praved men, on the contrary, the most depraved women ; and the offspring of the former is to be educated, but not that of the latter, if you desire to have the flock of the most perfect kind ; and this must be performed in such a manner as to escape the notice of all but the governors themselves, if you would have the whole herd of the guardians as free from sedition as possible. Most right, said he. Shall there not then be some festivals by law established, in which we shall bring together the brides and bridegrooms ? Sacrifices too must be performed, and hymns composed by our poets suitable to the marriages which are making. But the number of the marriages we shall commit to the rulers, that as much as possible they may preserve the same number of men, having an eye to the wars, diseases, and everything else of this kind, and that as far as possible our city may be neither too great nor too little. Right, said he. And an ingenious system of lots, I imagine, should be made, that the inferior man may accuse his fortune, and not the governors, of the manner in which the couples are joined. By all means, said he. And those of the youth who distinguish themselves, in war or anywhere else, ought to have rewards and prizes given them, and the most ample liberty of embracing women, that so, under this pretext likewise, the greatest number of children may be generated by such persons. Right. And shall the children as soon as they are born be received by magistrates appointed for these pur- poses, whether men or women, or both ? for the magistracies are in common to women as to men. They are so. And when they receive the children of worthy persons, they will carry them, I imagine, to the nursery, to certain nurses dwelling apart in a certain place of the city. But the children of the more depraved, and such others as are any way imperfect, they will hide in some secret and obscure place, as is proper. If they want, said he, the race of guardians to be pure. And
THE REPUBLIC. 141
shall not these take care likewise of their nursing, in bringing to the nursery the mothers when their breasts are full, practising every art that no one know her own child, and in providing others who have milk, if these shall prove insufficient? And they shall likewise take care that these nurses suckle only for a proper time : and appoint nurses and keepers to sit up at night, and take every other necessary toil. You make, said he, the breed- ing of children an easy matter for the wives of our guardians. It is fit, replied I. But let us in the next place discuss that ivhich we chiefly intended. We said that true offspring ought to be generated of persons in their prime. Are you then of opinion vith me, that the proper season of vigour is twenty years to a woman, and thirty to a man ? Of what continuance are these seasons ? said he. The woman, replied I, beginning at twenty, is to bear children to the state until the age of forty ; and the man, after he has past the most raging part of his course, from that period, is to beget children to the state until the age of fifty-five. This indeed is the acme, replied he, in both sexes, both of body and of mind. If then any one who is older or younger than these shall meddle in generating for the public, t?e shall say the trespass is neither holy nor just, as he begets to the state a child, which, if it be concealed, is born and grows up unattended with the sacrifices and prayers (which, upon every marriage, the priestesses and priests, and the whole of the city, shall offer, that the descendants of the good may be still more good, and from useful descendants still more useful may arise); but is born in darkness, and from a dreadful intemper- ance. Right, said he. And the law, said I, must be the same. If any of those men, who are of the age for generating, shall touch women of a proper age, without the concurrence of the magistrate, we shall consider him as having raised to the state a bastardly, illegitimate, and unhallowed child. Most right, said he. And I imagine, that when the women and men exceed the age of generating, we shall permit the men to cohabit with any woman they incline, except their daughter and mother, and those who are the children of their daughters, or those upwards from their mother ; and so likewise the women
142 THE REPUBLIC.
to embrace any but a son and father, and the children of these, either downwards or upwards : all this liberty we will allow them, after we have enjoined them to attend carefully, in the first place, if anything should be conceived, not to bring it to the light ; but if, by any accident, it should be brought forth, to expose it as a creature for which no provision is made. All these things, said he, are reasonably said. But how shall fathers and daughters, and those other relations you now mentioned, be known to one another? They shall not be known at all, said I. But from the day on which any one is a bridegroom, whatever children are born between the seventh and the tenth month after it, all these he shall call, the male his sons, and the female his daughters, and they shall call him father. And in the same way again, he shall call the children of these, grandchildren, and they again shall call them grand- fathers and grandmothers : and those who were born in that period in which their fathers and mothers were begetting children, they shall call sisters and brothers, so as not to touch each other, as I just now said. But the law shall allow brothers and sisters to live together, if their lot so fall out, and the Pythian oracle give consent. Most right, said he.
This, Glauco, and such as this, is the community of women and children, among your city guardians : and that it is both consonant to the other parts of our polity, and by far the best, we must, in the next place, establish from argument; or how shall we do ? Just so, by Zeus, said he. Will this not be for us the best beginning; to inquire what we can mention as the greatest good in the establishment of a state, with an eye to which the lawgiver ought to enact the laws, and what is the greatest evil ; and then to inquire, whether what we have hitherto gone over contributes towards leading us in the steps of this good, and away from that evil ? By all means, said he. Is there, then, any greater ill to a city than that which lacerates it; and instead of one, makes it many? Or, is there any greater good than that which binds it together, and makes it one? There is not. Does not then the communion of pleasure and pain bind them together, when the whole of the citizens as
THE REPUBLIC. 143
much as possible rejoice and mourn in the same manner, for the same things when they are obtained, and when they are lost ? By all means so, replied he. But a separate feeling of these things destroys it, when some of the citizens are extremely grieved, and others extremely glad, at the same sufferings of the city, or of those who are in it. Why not? Does not then such an evil as the following arise from this, when they do not all jointly in the state use the words " mine," and " not mine," with regard to the same objects ? And will not that city be best regulated, when every individual, with regard to the con- cerns of another, in the same way with him, pronounces these words, mine, and not mine ? By far. And it is such as comes nearest to the condition of an individual man. As when one of our fingers is anyhow hurt ; the whole common feeling spreads through the body to the soul, with one co-ordination of its governing part, perceives it, and the entire whole mourns along with the distressed part: and so we say that the man is dis- tressed in his finger : and the reasoning is the same as to any other part of a man, both with respect to grief, when any part is in pain ; or with respect to pleasure, when any part is at ease. It is the same, said he. And to return to your question, the city which comes nearest to this is governed in the best manner. Then when any one of the citizens receives any good or ill, such a city, I imagine, will most especially say, that she herself receives it, and the whole city rejoice or mourn together. Of necessity, said he, this must prevail in a city governed by good laws.
It is now time for us to go back to our city, and consider how those things are in it which we have agreed on in our reasoning, whether they prevail most in our city, or more in some other. We must do so, replied he. What now? Are there not, in other cities, governors and people ? And are there not likewise in this ? There are. And will not all these call one another citizens ? Why not ? But besides this name of citizens, what does the people call its governors in other states? Masters or lords in most states, and, in democracies, this very name, governors. But in our city, besides that of citizens, by what
144 THE REPUBLIC.
name does the people call its governors ? Their preservers, said he, and helpers. And what do they call the people? Rewarders, replied he, and nourishers. And in other cities, what do the governors call their people ? Slaves, replied he. And what do the governors call one another? Fellow-rulers, said he. And ours, what? Fellow-guardians. Can you tell, whether any one of the governors in other cities can address one of his fellow-governors as his kinsman, and another as a stranger? Very many do so. Does he not then regard and call the kindred one his own, and the stranger as not his own ? Just so. But with your guardians, is there one of them who can deem and call any one of their fellow-guardians a stranger? By no means, replied he ; for, with whomsoever any one meets, he reckons he meets with a brother or sister, a father or mother, a son or daughter, or the descendants or ancestors of these. You speak most beautifully, replied I. But further, tell me this likewise, whether will you only establish among them, by law, these kindred names, or will you also enjoin them to perform all their actions in conformity to these names, enjoin- ing with respect to parents whatever the law enjoins to be performed to parents, such as reverence, and care, and obedi- ence, or that otherwise it will not be for the child's advantage, either in the sight of Gods or of men, as he does what is neither holy nor just, if he do other things than these ? Shall these, or any other rules from all our citizens, resound directly in the ears of our children, both concerning their parents, whom any one shall point out to them, and concerning other relations ? These things shall be said, replied he ; for it were ridiculous, if friendly names alone resounded, without any actions accompanying them. Of all cities, then, there will be the greatest harmony in this, in which when any individual is either well or ill, every one will use the expression we lately mentioned — viz., "mine is well," or "mine is ill." Most true, said he. Did not we say too, that their common pleasures and pains will accompany this opinion and expression ? And we said rightly. Will not then our citizens most especially have the same interest in common and call it " my own " ; and,
THE REPUBLIC. 145
having- this in common, will of all others most especially have in common pleasure and pain ? Extremely So. And along with the other parts of the constitution, is not the community of women and children among the guardians the cause of these things ? This it is most especially, replied he. But we agreed, that this was the greatest good of a city, likening a well- established city to a body, in its being affected with the pleasure and pain of any part. And we rightly, said he, agreed on this. This community, then, of women and children among our auxiliaries, has appeared to us to be the cause of the greatest good to the city. Extremely so, replied he. And surely this agrees with what went before ; for we somewhere said, that they ought neither to have houses of their own, nor land, nor any possession; but, receiving their subsistence from others, as a reward for their guardianship, they should all spend it in common, if they intended really to be guardians. Right, said he. Do not therefore, as I say, both these things which were formerly mentioned, and still more what we now speak of, render them real guardians, and prevent the city from being lacerated, by their not calling one and the same thing their own (instead of calling all the same); and not drawing to their own houses whatever each can possess, separately from the others; and by not having different wives and children which occasion different pleasures and pains, which are private, as belonging to private persons : but being of one opinion concerning their home, and all of them point- ing towards the same thing, as far as possible, to have one common feeling of pleasure and pain ? Extremely so, replted he. And will not law-suits and accusations against one another be banished from among them, so to speak, by their possessing nothing as private property, but their body, and everything else being common, from whence they shall be liberated from all those disturbances which men raise about money, children, or relations ? They will of necessity be liberated from these. Neither indeed can there be reasonably among them any actions raised for violence or unseemly treatment. For, making the protection of their persons a necessary thing, we
10
146 THE REPUBLIC.
will own it to be right and just for those of equal age to dei'end themselves against each other. Right, said he. And this law, said I, hath this in it likewise: that if any one be in a passion, and gratify his passion in this manner by fight- ing, he is less apt to raise greater seditions. It is entirely so. The elder shall be enjoined both to govern and chastise the younger. That is plain. And surely the younger, as becomes them, shall never attempt to beat the elder, or in any other way to offer violence to him, unless appointed by the governors ; nor will they, I imagine, in any sort, dishonour them; for there are sufficient guardians to hinder it — namely, fear and reverence ; reverence on the one hand restraining them from assaulting, as it were, their parents ; and fear on the other hand, lest others shall assist the sufferer; sons, brothers, and fathers. It happens so, said he. In every respect then, according to this law, the men shall live peaceably with one another. Very much so. And while these have no seditions among themselves, there is no danger of the other citizens raising disturbance against these, or that they shall split into factions. There is not. As for the lesser evils, from which surely they will be freed, I do not choose, because of the small- ness of them, so much as to mention them : the flattery of the rich ; that indigence and trouble in the education of their child- ren, and in procuring money for the necessary support of their family, which is the portion of the poor, — sometimes borrowing, and sometimes hiring, and sometimes using all manner of shifts to procure the provisions which they give to the management of their wives and domestics, all the slavish and mean things, my friend, they suffer in all these respects, are not even worthy to be mentioned. And they are manifest, said he, even to the blind. They will be delivered from all these things, and will live more blessedly than that most blessed life which those live who gain the prize in the Olympic games. How ? Those are esteemed happy, on account of a small part of what these enjoy. But the victory of these is more noble, and their maintenance from the public is more complete ; for the victory they gam is the safety of the whole city ; and both they and
THE REPUBLIC. 147
their children receive crowns and laurels in the shape of their maintenance, and all the other necessaries of life, and receive honour from their city while alive, and at their death an honour- able funeral. The most noble rewards ! said he. Do you re- member then, said I, that in our former reasonings, some one l objected that we were not making our guardians happy, who, though they had it in their power to have the whole wealth of their citizens, had nevertheless nothing at all? and we pro- posed to consider this afterwards, if it fell in our way ; but that at the present we were making our guardians only guardians, and the city itself as happy as possible, but without regarding one particular tribe in it, with a view to make it happy. I remember it, said he. What think you now of the life of our auxiliaries, which appears far more noble and happy than that of those who gain the prize at the Olympic games ? It does not at all appear to resemble the life of the leather-cutter, the handi- craft, or farmer. 1 do not think it, said he. But, however, it is proper that I mention here what I likewise said on a former occasion, that if the guardian shall attempt to be happy in such a way as to be no longer a guardian, nor be content with this moderate, and steady, and, as we say, best life ; but, being seized with a foolish and youthful2 opinion about happiness, shall, because he has it in his power, be driven to make himself the master of everything in the city, he shall know that Hesiod was truly wise, in saying that the half is greater than the whole. If he take me, said he, for his counsellor, he will remain in such a life. You allow then, said I, that the women are to act in common with the men, as we have explained, with respect to education and the breeding of children, and the guardianship of the other citizens ; and whether they remain in the city, or go forth to war, they ought to keep guard, and to hunt as dogs do along with the men, and in every case to take a share in all things as far as they can ; and that while they do these things they will do what is best, and no way contrary to the nature of
1 Adimantus, at the commencement of the Fourth Book.
2 Compare Schopenhauer, who says that happiness is only a delusion of youth and childhood.
148 THE REPUBLIC.
the female, with respect to the male, by which nature they are made to act jointly with one another. I agree, said he. Does not then this, said I, remain to be discussed, whether it be possible that this community take place among men ; as among other animals? and how far it is possible. You have antici- pated me, said he, in mentioning what I was going to ask. With relation to warlike affairs, it is plain, I imagine, said I, how they will fight. How ? said he. That they will jointly go out on their military expeditions, and besides will carry along with them such of their children as are grown up, that, like those of other craftsmen, they may see what it will be necessary for them to practise when they are grown up; and, besides seeing, that they may serve and administer in everything with relation to the war, and assist both their fathers and mothers. Or, have you not observed what happens in the common arts ? as, for instance, that the children of the potters, ministering to them for a long time, look on before they apply themselves to the making of earthen ware ? Yes, indeed. Now are such as these or our guardians to instruct their children with greater care, by the practice and view of what belongs to their office ? To suppose those, replied he, should take greater care than our guardians, were ridiculous. Again, every creature fights more remarkably in the presence of its offspring. The case is so; but there is no small danger, Socrates, when they are defeated, as is often the case in war, that when their children, as well as themselves, are cut off, it shall be impossible to raise another city. You say true, replied I ; but do you imagine we ought, first of all, to take care never to run any risk. No, by no means. What then, if they are at all to hazard themselves in any case, is it not where, if they succeed, they shall become better men ? That is plain. But do you imagine it a small matter, and not worthy of the risk, whether children, who are destined to be military men, see affairs relating to war, or not ? No ; it is a matter of consequence with respect to what you mention. We must, then, first endeavour to make our children spectators of the war, but contrive for them a place of safety— and then it will be well, will it not ? Yes. Will not, said I,
THE REPUBLIC. 149
the fathers, in the first place, as being men, not be ignorant, but understand which of the campaigns are, and which are not, dangerous? It is likely, said he. And they will bring the children into the one, but with respect to the other they will be on their guard. Right. And they will probably set governors over them, said I ; not such as are the most depraved, but such as by experience and year:: are able leaders and pedagogues. It is very proper. But we may say that many things have happened contrary to expectation. Very many. With reference therefore to such events as these, it is proper that whilst they are children they procure wings, that so, in any necessity, they may escape by flight. How do you mean ? said he. They must, when extremely young, be mounted on horses, and taught to ride on horseback, and brought to see the battle, not on high-mettled and warlike horses, but on the fleetest, and those that are the most obedient to the rein ; for thus they shall, in the best manner, observe their proper work, and, on any necessity, shall escape with the greatest safety, following the aged leaders. You seem to me, said he, to say right.
But what, said I, as to the affairs of war? how are you to manage your soldiers, both with respect to one another and their enemies ? have I imagined rightly or not ? As to what ? said he. That whoever of them, said I, leaves his rank, throws away his arms, or does any such thing from cowardice, must he not be made an artisan or land-labourer ? By all means. And shall not the man who is taken alive by the enemy be given gratis to any who incline to employ him in the country just as they please ? By all means. And are you of opinion that he who gains a character, and excels, ought, in the first place, in the expedition itself, to be crowned in some measure by every one of the youths and boys who are his fellow-soldiers ? or think you otherwise ? I am of opinion, for my part, they ought to be crowned. And be shaken by the right hand likewise ? This likewise. But this further, I imagine, said I, you will not be satisfied about. What? That they should embrace and be embraced by every one. They should most of all, said he: and I would add to this law, that whilst they are upon this expedi-
THE REPUBLIC.
tton no one shall be allowed to refuse them, whoever they in- cline to embrace, so that if any happen to be in love with any one, male or female, he may be the more eager to win the prizes. Very well, said I; for we already said that there are more marriages provided for the good citizen than for others, and more frequent choice in such matters allowed them than others, that the descendants of such an one may be as numerous as possible.
We have already said so, replied he. But surely, even according to Homer's opinion, it is just that such of the youth as are brave be honoured in this way. For Homer says that Ajax, who excelled in war, was rewarded with " whole sides of beef," this being the most natural reward to a brave man in the bloom of youth, by which he at the same time acquired honour and strength. Most right, said he. We shall then obey Homer, said I, at least, in these things. And we shall honour the good, both at our sacrifices, and on all such occasions, in as far as they appear to be deserving, with hymns likewise, and with those things we lately mentioned ; and besides these things, with seats, and dishes, and full cups ; that at the same time we may both honour and exercise the virtue of worthy men and women. You say well, replied he. Be it so. If any one of those who die in the army shall have distinguished himself, shall we not, in the first place, say that he is of the golden race ? Most especially. And shall we not believe Hesiod, telling us, that when any of these die,
" Good, holy, earthly daemons, they become, Expelling evils, guardians of mankind ? "
We shall believe him. And we shall ask the oracle in what manner we ought to bury superhuman and divine men, and with what marks of distinction ; and thus shall we bury them in that very manner which shall be explained. Why shall we not? And we shall in all after time reverence and worship their tombs as those of daemons. And we shall enact by law, that the same things be performed, and in the same manner, to any who shall have been deemed to have remarkably distinguished
THE REPUBLIC. 151
themselves in life, when they die of old age, or anything else ? It is right, said he.
But what now ? How shall our soldiers behave towards their enemies ? As to what? First, as to the custom of slavery. Do you think it just that Greeks should enslave Greek cities? or rather, as far as they are able, not suffer any other to do it, and accustom themselves to spare the Grecian tribes, and so be on their guard against being enslaved by the Barbarians? It is, said he, in general, and in every particular case, best to be sparing. Are they not to acquire any Grecian slave themselves, and to counsel the other Greeks to act in the same manner ? By all means, said he. They will the more, at least, by such a conduct, turn themselves against the Barbarians, and abstain from one another. Again, to strip the dead, said I, of anything ut their arms after they conquer them, is it noble or not ? It gives a pretence to cowards not to go against the enemy who is alive, as being necessarily occupied when they are thus employed about the one who is dead ; and many armies have been lost by this plundering. Very many. And does it not appear to you to be illiberal and sordid, and the part of a womanish and little mind, to strip the dead body, and deem the body of the deceased an enemy, when the real enemy is fled away, and there is only left behind that with which he fought ? Or, do you imagine that they who act in this manner are in any way different from dogs, who are in a rage at the stones which are thrown at them, not touch- ing the man who throws them ? Not in the least, said he. We must let alone then this stripping the dead, and these hind- rances arising from the carrying off booty. Truly, said he, these must be banished. Nor shall we at any time bring their arms into the temples, to dedicate them ; at least not the arms of Grecians, if we have any concern to obtain the benevolence of the other Greeks : but we shall rather be afraid, lest it should be a kind of profanation to bring into the temple such things as these from our own kinsman, unless the oracle shall say other- wise. Most right, replied he. But, with reference to the laying waste Grecian lands, and burning of houses, how shall your soldiers behave towards their enemies ? I should be glad, said
152 THE REPUBLIC.
he, to hear you signifying your opinion. Truly then, said I, in my opinion, neither of these ought to be done, but only one year's produce to be carried off. And would you have me tell you the reason why this should be done ? By all means. It appears to me, that as these two words, war and sedition, are different, so they are two different things which are signified by them: I call them two different things, because the one is domestic and against relations, the other foreign and against strangers. When hatred is among ourselves, it is called sedi- tion; when it respects foreigners, it is called war. What you say, replied he, is no way unreasonable. But consider now, if I say this likewise reasonably : for I aver that the Greek nation is friendly and akin to itself, but is foreign and strange to the Barbarian. That too is right. When then the Greeks fight with the Barbarians, and the Barbarians with the Greeks, we shall say they wage war, and are naturally enemies ; and this hatred is to be called war. But when Greeks do any such thing to Greeks, we shall say that they are friends by nature, and that Greece in such a case is distempered, and in sedition ; and such a hatred is to be called a sedition. I agree, said he, to account for it in the same manner. Consider then, said I, that in the sedition now mentioned, wherever such a thing happens, and the city is disjointed, if they lay waste the lands, and burn the houses of one another, how destructive the sedition appears, and neither of them seem to be lovers of their country : for otherwise they would never dare to lay waste their nurse and mother; but it would suffice the victors to carry off the fruits of the vanquished, and to consider they are to be recon- ciled, and not perpetually to be at war. This indeed is by much a more mild sentiment than the other.
But what now? said I. Is not this city you are establishing a Greek one? It should be so, replied he. And shall not they be good and mild ? By all means. And shall they not be lovers of Greeks ? And shall they not account Greece akin to them ? And shall they not have the same religious rites with the rest of the Greeks ? By all means. A difference then with Greeks, as with kinsmen, will they not denominate a sedition,
THE REPUBLIC. 153
and not a war ? They will. And they will behave as those who are to be reconciled ? By all means. They shall then be mild and moderate, not punishing so far as to enslave or destroy, since they are moderate, and not hostile. Just so, said he. Neither then, as they are Greeks, will they lay waste Grecian lands, nor burn their houses ; nor will they allow that in every city all are their enemies, men, women, and children ; but that always a few only are enemies, the authors of the quarrel : and on all these accounts they will neither choose to lay waste lands, as the greatest number are their friends ; nor will they overturn the houses, but will only carry on the war till the guilty be obliged by the innocent, whom they distress, to make reparation. I agree, said he, that we ought to behave so towards our own citizens when we are set against one another; and to behave so towards the Barbarians as the Greeks at present do to one another. Let us then likewise establish this law for our guardians, — neither to lay waste the lands, nor burn the houses. Let us establish it, said he, and this further, that these things, and those too you mentioned formerly, are right.
But it appears to me, Socrates, if we allow you to speak in this manner, that you will never remember what you formerly passed by, when you entered on all that you have now said; viz., how far such a government is possible ? and in what way it is at all possible ? For, if it be at all possible, I will allow that all these good things will belong to that city, and the following likewise which you have omitted ; — that they will, in the best manner, fight against their enemies, and of all others least abandon one another, recognising these names, and calling one another by these, — fathers, sons, and brothers; and if the females shall encamp along with them, whether in the same rank, or drawn up behind them, that they will strike terror into their enemies, and at the same time assist, if ever there be necessity for it. I know that in this way they will entirely be invincible. And I plainly see too what advan- tages they have at home, which we have omitted. But speak no more about this government, as I admit that all these, and ten thousand other things, will belong to it, if it actually exist. But
154 THE REPUBLIC.
let us endeavour to persuade one another of this itself, whether it be possible, and in what respect it is so ; and let us omit those other things. You have suddenly, said I, made an assault on my reasoning, and make no allowance for one who is fighting ; for perhaps you do not advert, that, with difficulty, I am escaped from two waves, and now you are bringing upon me the greatest and most dangerous of the three. After you have seen and heard this, you will entirely forgive me; allowing, that I with reason grudged, and was afraid to mention so great a theory, and undertake to examine it. The more, said he, you mention these things, the less you will be freed from explaining in what respect this government is possible. Proceed then, and do not delay. Must not this then, said I, in the first place, be remem- bered, that we are come hither in search of justice, what it is ? and what injustice is ? It must, said he. But what is this to the purpose ? Nothing. But if we discover what justice is, shall we then judge that the just man ought in no respect to differ from it, but in every respect to be such as justice is? or shall we be satisfied if he approach the nearest to it, and, of all, partake of it the most ? We shall, said he, be satisfied with this. Our design, said I, was to inquire into what kind of thing justice is ; and we likewise were in quest of a just man ; and consider what sort of man he should be, if he did exist. We likewise inquired what injustice is, and what too was the most unjust man — in order that, looking into these two models, what kind of men they appeared with respect to happiness and its opposite, we might be obliged to acknowledge concerning ourselves, that whoever should most resemble them in character shall have a fortune the most resembling theirs; and it was not to this end, to show that these things are possible or not. In this, said he, you say true. Do you imagine then that the painter is in any degree the less excellent, who having painted a model of the most beautiful man, and brought every- thing fully into his piece, is yet unable to show that such a man does really exist ? No, said he, I do not. What then, have we not made in our reasonings (shall we say) a model of a good city ? Yes, indeed. Have we then spoken anything the worse,
THE REPUBLIC. 155
do you imagine, on this account, that we are not able to show, that it is possible for such a city as we have described to be established ? No, indeed, said he. This then, said I, is the truth of the case. But if I must now likewise, on your account, hasten to show how especially, and in what respects, it is most possible, then in order to forward this discovery, you must again grant the same things as formerly. What things ? Is it possible for anything to be executed so perfectly as it is described ? or, is it the nature of practice, to approach as near the truth as theory. Though some may think otherwise, do you say if you will admit this or not ? I allow it, said he. Do not then oblige me to show you that all these things, in every respect, exist in fact as perfectly as we have described in our reasoning ; but if we be able to find out how a city may be established as nearly as possible like what we have mentioned, you will say we have discovered that these things which you require are possible ? Or will you not even be satisfied if this be obtained ? For my own part, I should be satisfied. And I too, said he. We are now, it seems, in the next place, to endeavour to find out and to show what is the evil which is now practised in cities through which they are not established in this manner we have described ; and what is that smallest change, which, if made, would bring the city to this model of government ; and let us chiefly see, if this can be effected by the change of one thing; if not, by the change of two; and if not then, by the change of the fewest things in number, and the smallest in power. By all means, said he. Upon the change then of one thing, said I, I am able, I think, to show that the state can fall into this model of government. But the change is not indeed small nor easy, yet it is possible. What is it ? said he. I am now come, said I, to what I compared to the greatest wave : and it shall now be mentioned, though, like a breaking wave, it should overwhelm us, with excessive laughter and unbelief. Consider what I am going to say. Proceed, replied he. Unless either philosophers, said I, govern in cities, or those who are at present called kings and governors philosophise genuinely and sufficiently, and these two, the political power
156 THE REPUBLIC.
and philosophy, unite in one; and unless the bulk of those who at present pursue each of these separately are of necessity excluded from either, there shall be no end, Glauco, to the miseries of cities, nor yet, as I imagine, to those of the human race; nor till then, shall ever this republic, which we have gone over in our reasonings, spring up to a possibility, and behold the light of the sun. But this is that which all along made me grudge to mention it, for I saw what a paradox I was to utter: for it is difficult to be convinced that in no other way but this can a republic enjoy happiness, whether in public or private. You have thrown out, Socrates, said he, such an expression and argument, as, you may imagine, will bring on you a great many opponents, and these desperate enough to throw off their clothes, and, naked, to snatch what- ever weapon fortune affords each of them ; and, as if they were to perform prodigies, rush upon you in battle array. And unless, mowing them down with argument, you make your escape, you will pay for it by suffering most severe ridicule. Are not you the cause of all this ? said I. Yes, and rightly, replied he. However, in this affair, I will not betray you, but defend you with such things as I am able. And perhaps both by my goodwill and by encouraging you, I may answer your questions more carefully than any other; only do you endeavour, with the help of such an assistant, to show those who are backward to believe these things, that the case really is as you represent it.
I must endeavour, said I, since even you afford so great an alliance. And here it seems to me to be necessary, if we are anyhow to make our escape from those you mention, accurately to define to them what kind of men these are whom we call philosophers, when we dare to assert that they alone ought to govern; in order that, when they are made perfectly manifest, any one may be able to defend himself, when he asserts that to these it naturally belongs both to apply themselves to philosophy, and likewise to take upon them the government of the state: while the duty of others is to apply themselves neither to philosophy nor
THE REPUBLIC. 157
government, but to obey their leaders. It is proper, said he, to define them. Come, then, follow me this way, and see if together we shall sufficiently explain this matter. Lead on then, said he. Will it then be needful, said I, to remind you, or do you remember it, that when we say of any one, that he loves anything, when we speak with pro- priety, he must not appear to love one part of it, and not another, but to have an affection for the whole ? I need, it seems, replied he, to be put in mind ; for I do not understand it erfectly. It might become another, Glauco, replied I, to say hat you say ; but it does not become a man like you to forget hat a susceptible lover of boys is charmed by all those who are in their bloom, and thinks that they are all worthy of attentions and addresses. Or do you not behave in this manner towards those you love ? One, although flat-nosed, you will commend s appearing pleasant ; and the hook-nose of another, you say, s princely ; and a nose which is between these is according to the exactest symmetry : the dark you say to be manly to behold ; and the fair to be the children of the Gods : and the appellation of olive-pale, do you imagine it is the invention of any other than of a flattering lover, and one who easily bears with the paleness, provided it is in the bloom of youth ? And, in a word, you make all kinds of pretences, and say everything so as never to reject any one who is of the flowering age ? If you incline, said he, to judge by me of other lovers, that they act in this manner, I agree to it for the sake of the argument. And, said I, with respect to the lovers of wine ; do you not observe them acting in the same manner, cheerfully drinking every kind of wine upon every pretext ? Yes, indeed. And you have per- ceived, I imagine, that the ambitious likewise, if they cannot obtain the command of a whole army, will take the third com- mand ; and, if they cannot be honoured by greater and better men, are content if they be honoured by the lower and more contemptible, being desirous of honour at any rate? It is perfectly so. Agree to this or not : if we say, one is desirous of anything, shall we say that he desires the whole species, or that he desires one part of it, but not another ? The whole, replied
158 THE REPUBLIC.
he. Shall we not then likewise say, that the philosopher is desirous of wisdom, and that not of one part only, but of the whole ? True. He then who is averse to disciplines, especially if he be young, and has not at all understanding to discern what is good, and what is otherwise, shall not be called a lover of learning, nor a philosopher ; in the same manner as we say of one who is disgusted with meats, that he neither hungers after nor desires meats, nor is a lover but a hater of them. And we shall say right. But the man who readily inclines to taste of every discipline, and with pleasure enters on the study of it, and is insatiable of it, this man we shall with pleasure call a philosopher; shall we not ? On this Glauco said, There will be many such philosophers as those very absurd ; for all your lovers of shows appear to me, to be of this kind, from their taking a pleasure in learning: and those who love to hear stories are the most curious of all to be reckoned among philo- sophers. These indeed would not unwillingly attend such reasonings, and such a disquisition as this. But yet, as if they had hired out their ears to listen to every chorus, they run about to the Bacchanalia, omitting neither those of cities nor villages. Shall all these then, and others studious of such things, and those who apply to the inferior arts, be called by us philosophers? By no means, said I, but sham philosophers. But whom, said he, do you call the true ones ? Those, said I, who are desirous of discerning the truth. This, likewise, said he, is right. But how do you mean ? It is not easy, said I, to tell it to another; but you, I imagine, will agree with me in this. In what ? That since the beautiful is opposite to the deformed, these are two things. Why are they not? And if they are two, then each of them is one. This also is granted. And the reasoning is the same concerning justice and injustice, good and evil. And con- cerning every other species of things the argument is the same — that each of them is one in itself, but appears to be many, being everywhere diversified by their communication with action and body, and with one another. You say right, said he. In this manner then, said I, I separate these, and set apart those you now mentioned, the lovers of public shows, of
THE REPUBLIC. 159
handicrafts, and mechanics; and then apart from these I set those of whom we discourse at present, whom alone we may properly call philosophers. What do you mean? replied he.
PThe lovers of common stories and of spectacles delight in fine sounds, colours, and figures, and everything which is com- pounded of these ; but the nature of beauty itself their dianoetic part [mind] is unable to discern and admire. Indeed the case is so, said he. But as to those then who are able to approach this beauty itself, and to behold it as it is in itself, must they not be few in number ? Extremely so. He then who accounts some things beautiful, but neither knows beauty itself, nor is able to follow if one were to lead him to the knowledge of it, does he seem to you to live in a dream, or to be awake?
• Consider now, what is it to dream ? Is it not this, when a man, whether asleep or awake, imagines the similitude of a thing is not the similitude, but really the thing itself which it resembles? I for my part would say, replied he, that such a person is really in a dream. But what now as to him who judges opposite to this, who understands what beauty is itself, and is able to discern both it and such things as participate of it, and neither deems the participants to be beauty, nor beauty to be the participants ? does such an one seem to you to live awake, or in a dream? Perfectly awake, said he. May we not then properly call this man's dianoetic perception, as he really knows, knowledge, but that of the other, opinion, as he only opines ?
By all means. But what if the person who we say only opines things, but does not really know them, be enraged at us, and dispute with us, alleging that what we say is not true; shall we have any method of soothing and persuading him, in a gentle manner, by concealing that he is not in a sound state ? At least there is need of it, replied he. Come now, consider what we shall say to him. Do you incline we shall interrogate him, telling him, that if he knows anything, no one will grudge it to him, but we shall gladly see him possessed of some know- ledge; but only let him tell us this, does the man who has knowledge, know something or nothing ? Do you now answer
160 THE REPUBLIC.
me for him. I will answer, said he, that he knows something. Something which really exists, or which does not ? What does really exist: for how can that be known which has no real existence ? We have then examined this sufficiently, though we might have considered it more fully; that what really is, may be really known ; but what does not at all exist, cannot at all be known. We have examined it most sufficiently. Be it so. But if there be anything of such a kind, as both to be and not to be, must it not lie between that which perfectly is, and that which is not at all ? Between them. As to what really is, then, is there not knowledge ? and as to that which is not at all, is there not of necessity ignorance? And for that which is between these, we must seek for something between ignorance and science, if there be any such thing. By all means. Do we say then that opinion is anything ? Why not ? Is it a different power from science, or the same ? Different. Is opinion then conversant about one thing, and science about another, by virtue of the same power, or each of them by virtue of a power of its own ? This last. Is not the power of science conversant about what really exists, to know that it exists ? Or rather it seems to me to be necessary to distinguish in this manner. How? We shall say, that powers are a certain species of real existences, by which we and everything else do whatever we can do. Thus, I say, that seeing and hearing are among these powers, if you understand what I mean to call a species. I understand, said he.
Hear then what appears to me concerning them. For in a power I do not see any colour, or figure, or any of such quali- ties, as in many other things, by considering which I can distinguish that some things are different from one another. But as to a power, I regard that alone about which it is con- versant, and what it effects ; and on this account I have called each of these a power. And the power which is conversant about and effects one and the same thing, I call the same power, but that conversant about and effecting a different thing, I call a different power: but what say you? In what manner do you call it ? Just so, replied he. But come again,
THE REPUBLIC. 161
excellent Glauco, do you say that science is itself a certain power, or to what class do you refer it ? I call it a power, said he, as it is of all powers the most strong. But what now ? Shall we call opinion a power, or refer it to some other species? By no means a power, said he ; for that by which we form opinions is nothing else but opinion. But you owned, some time since, that science and opinion were not the same. How, said he, can ever any one who possesses intellect reduce under one, that which is infallible, and that which is not infallible ? You say right, said I. And it is plain that we have allowed opinion to be a different thing from science. We have. Each of them then has naturally a different power over a different thing. Of necessity. Science has a power over being itself, in knowing real existence, how it exists. Yes. But we say that opinion opines. Yes. Does it know the same thing which science knows, and shall that which is known, and that which is opined, be the same? or is this impossible? Impossible, said he, from what we have allowed : since they are naturally powers of different things, and both of them are powers, opinion and science, and each of them different from the other, as we have said; from these things it cannot be, that what is opined is the same with that which is known. If then being itself be known, must it not be different from the being which is perceived by opinion ? Different. Does he then who opines, opine that which has no existence ? Or is it impossible to opine that which doth not exist at all ? Consider now, does not the man who opines, refer his opinion to somewhat ? Or is it possible to opine, and yet opine nothing at all? Impos- sible. But whoever opines, opines some one thing. Yes. But surely that which does not exist, cannot be called any one thing, but most properly nothing at all. Certainly so. But we necessarily referred ignorance to that which does not exist, but knowledge to real existence. Right, said he. Neither there- fore does he opine being, nor yet that which is not. He does not. Opinion then is neither knowledge, nor is it ignorance. It appears it is not. Does it then exceed these, either knowledge in perspicuity, or ignorance in obscurity? It does
II
1 62 THE REPUBLIC.
neither. Does opinion, said I, seem to you to be more obscure than knowledge, but more perspicuous than ignorance ? By much, said he. Does it lie between them both then? It does. Opinion then is in the middle of these two. Entirely so. And have we not already said, that if anything appeared of such a kind, as at the same time to be, and yet not to be, such a thing would lie between that which has really an existence, and that which does not at all exist, and that neither science nor ignorance would be conversant about it, but that which appeared to be between ignorance and science ? Right. And now that which we call opinion, has appeared to be between them. It has appeared. It yet remains for us, it seems, to discover that which participates of both these, of being, and of non-being, and which with propriety cannot be called either ; so that if it appear to be that which is opined, we may justly call it so, assigning to the extremes what is extreme, and to the middle what is in the middle. Shall we not do thus ? Thus. These things being determined, 1 will question this worthy man, who reckons that beauty does not exist, nor an abstract idea of beauty, which is always the same, although this lover of beautiful objects reckons there are many beautiful things, but can never endure to be told that there is one beautiful, and one just, and so on. Of all these many beautiful things, excellent man ! shall we say to him, is there any which may not appear deformed, and of those just things one which may not appear unjust, or of those holy things one which may not appear profane ? No ; but of necessity, said he, the beautiful things themselves must in some respects appear even deformed, and the others in like manner. But may not things which are double, really be halves as well as doubles? Yes. And may things great and small, light and heavy, be denominated what we call them, with more reason than the opposite? No; but each of them, said he, always participates of both. Then is each of these many things that which it is said to be, or is it not? This is like the riddles at feasts, said he, or the riddle of children about the eunuch's strik- ing the bat, puzzling one another in what manner and how far he strikes it. For all these things have a double meaning, and it
THE REPUBLIC, 163
is impossible to know accurately whether they are, or are not, or both, or neither. What can you do with them then ? said I, or have you a better class for them than a medium between being and non-being ? For they cannot seem more obscure than non-being, and so be more than not being, nor more per- spicuous than being, and therefore more than being. Most true, said he. We have then discovered, it seems, that most of the maxims of the multitude concerning the beautiful, and those other things, roll somehow between being and non-being. We have accurately discovered it. But we formerly agreed, that if any such thing should appear, it ought to be called that which is opined, and not what is known ; and that which fluctuates between the two is to be perceived by the power between the two. We did. Those then who contemplate many beautiful things, but who never perceive beauty itself; nor are able to follow another leading them to it ; and many just things, but never justice itself, and all other things in like manner, we will say that they opine all things, but know none of the things which they opine. Of necessity, said he. But what now? Those who perceive each of the things themselves, always existing in the same manner, and in the same respect, shall we not say that they know, and do not opine ? Of necessity this likewise. And shall we not say, that these embrace and love the things of which they have knowledge, and the others the things of which they have opinion ? For we remember, that we said they beheld and loved fine sounds and colours, and such things ; but that beauty itself they do not admit of as any real being? We remember. Shall we then act wrong in calling them lovers of opinion, rather than philosophers? And yet they will be greatly enraged at us if we call them so. Not if they be persuaded by me, said he; for it is not lawful to be enraged at the truth. Those then who admire everything which has a real being, are to be called philosophers, and not lovers of opinion. By all means.
164 THE REPUBLIC,
BOOK VI.
THOSE now who are philosophers, said I, Glauco, and those who are not, have, through a long compass of discourse, we have with difficulty discovered, and what they severally are. Because, perhaps, it was not easy, said he, in a short one. So it appears, said I. But I still think we should have better discovered them if it had been requisite to speak concerning this alone, and not to have discussed that multitude of other things, when we were to consider what difference there is between a just life and an unjust. What then, said he, are we to treat of next ? What else, said I, but of that which is next in order ? Since those are philosophers who are able to pass into contact with that which always subsists unchanging and always the same ; and those who are not able to accomplish this, but who wander amidst many things, and such as are every way shifting, are not philosophers : which of these ought to be the governors of the city ? Which way, said he, shall we determine in this, and determine reasonably? Whichever of them, said I, appear capable of preserving the laws and institutions of cities, these are to be made guardians. Right, said he. This now, said I, is certainly plain; whether a blind or quick-sighted guardian be proper for guarding anything. It is plain, said he. Do those appear to you to differ from the blind, those who are deprived of the knowledge of each particular being, and have neither a clear paradigm (example) in their soul, nor are able (like painters, looking up to the truest paradigm, and always referring themselves thither, and contemplating it in the most accurate manner possible) to establish on earth just maxims of the beautiful and just and good, if there be occasion to establish
THE REPUBLIC. 165
them, and to guard and preserve such as are already estab- lished? No, by Zeus, said he. They do not differ much. Shall we then appoint these to be guardians, or those who know each being, and who in experience are nothing behind those others, nor inferior to them in any other part of virtue ? It were absurd, said he, to choose others, at least if these are not deficient in other things ; for in this, which is almost the greatest, they excel. Shall we not then speak as to this point, - In what manner the same persons shall be able to possess both of those things? By all means. It is then first of all necessary, as we observed in the beginning of this discourse, thoroughly to understand their genius ; and I think if we sufficiently agree respecting it, we shall likewise agree that the same persons are able to possess both these things, and that no others but these ought to be the governors of cities. How so ? Let this now be agreed among us concerning the philosophic geniuses, that they are always desirous of such learning as may discover to them that essence which always is, and is not changed by generation or corruption. Let it be agreed. And likewise, said I, that they are desirous of the whole of such learning, and that they will not willingly omit any part of it, neither small nor great, honourable or despised, as we formerly observed concerning the ambitious, and concerning lovers. You say right, said he. Consider then, in the next place, if, besides what we have mentioned, it be necessary that this also should subsist in the genius of those who are to be such as we have described. What? That they be void of falsehood, nor willingly at any time receive a lie; but hate it, and love the truth. It is likely, said he. It is not only likely, my friend, but is perfectly necessary, that one who is naturally in love with anything should love everything allied and belonging to the objects of his affection. Right, said he. Can you then find anything more allied to wisdom than truth ? How can we ? said he. Is it possible then that the same genius can be philosophic, and at the same time a lover of falsehood ? By no means. He then who is in reality a lover of learning, ought immediately from his infancy to be in the greatest measure desirous of all truth. By all means. But
1 66 THE REPUBLIC.
we know that whoever has his desires vehemently flowing to one thing, has them upon this very account running more weakly in other directions, as a current diverted from its channel. Yes. But whosoever hath his desires running towards learning, and everything of this kind, would be eager, I think, for pleasures of the mind, and would forsake bodily pleasures- provided he be not a counterfeit, but a real philosopher. This follows by a mighty necessity. And such an one is moderate, and by no means a lover of money. For the reasons why money is with so much trouble anxiously sought after, have least weight with such an one, and cannot make him solicitous. Certainly. And surely somehow you must likewise consider this when you are to judge what is a philosophic genius, and what is not. What ? That it do not without your knowledge partake of an illiberal turn * for, pusillanimity is most opposite to a soul which is always to pursue earnestly the whole and every- thing of that which is divine and human. Most true, said he. Do you then suppose that he who possesses magnificent con- ceptions in his dianoetic part, and a contemplation of the whole of time, and the whole of being, can possibly consider human life as a thing of great consequence ? It is impossible, said he. Such an one then will not account death anything terrible. Least of all. A cowardly and illiberal genius, then, will not, it seems, readily participate of true philosophy. It does not appear to me that it will. What now, can the moderate man, and one who is not a lover of money, nor illiberal, nor arrogant, nor cowardly, ever possibly be an ill co-partner, or unjust ? It is impossible. And you will likewise consider this, when you are viewing from its infancy what is the philosophic soul, and what is not, whether it be just and mild, or unsocial and savage. By all means. Neither indeed, as I think, will you omit this. What ? Whether it learn with facility or difficulty. Or do you expect that ever .any one will love anything sufficiently, in per- forming which he performs with uneasiness and with difficulty, making small progress. It cannot be. But what if he can retain nothing of what he learns, being quite forgetful, is it possible for him not to be void of science ? How is it possible ?
THE REPUBLIC. 167
And when he labours unprofitably, do you not imagine he will be obliged at last to hate both himself and such practice ? Why must he not ? We shall never then reckon a forgetful soul among those who are thoroughly philosophic, but we shall require it to be of a good memory. By all means. But never shall we say this at least, that an unmusical and indecent genius leads anywhere else but towards intemperance. Where else? But whether do you reckon truth allied to intemperance or to temperance ? To temperance. Let us require then among other things a dianoetic part naturally temperate and graceful, as a proper guide towards spontaneously attaining the idea of each particular being ? Why not ? What now ? Do we not in
I some measure seem to you to have discussed the necessary qualifications, and such as are consequent to each other, in a soul which is to apprehend being sufficiently, and in perfection ? The most necessary, said he. Is it possible then for you in any measure to blame such a study as this, which a man can never be able sufficiently to apply to, unless he be naturally possessed of a good memory, learn with facility, be magnificent, graceful, and the friend and ally of truth, justice, fortitude, and temper- ance ? Not even Momus himself, said he, could find fault with such a study. But, said I, will it not be to these alone, when they are perfected by education and age, that you will entrust the city ?
I Here Adimantus said, Indeed, Socrates, no one is able to contradict you as to these things; but all who hear you at any time advancing what you do at present, are somehow affected in this manner. Being led off a little by your reasoning on each question, through their inexperience in this method of question and answer, when all these littles are collected together, at the close of your reasonings, they reckon that the mistake appears considerable, and the con- trary of their first concessions ; and like those who play at talus with such as are dexterous, but are themselves unskilful, they are in the end shut up, and can do no more; so your hearers have nothing to say, being shut up by this other kind of game, not with pieceSj but with your reasonings,
1 68 THE. REPUBLIC.
though the truth at least is not by this any way advanced. I say this with reference to the present inquiry; for one may tell you that he has nothing to oppose to each of your questions by way of argument, but that in fact he sees that all those who plunge into philosophy, applying to it not with this view, that being early instructed they may be liberated from it when in their prime, but that they may continue in it much longer, become the most of them eccentric, not to say altogether depraved; and those of them who appear the most worthy, do yet suffer thus much from this study you so much com- mend, that they become useless to the public. When I had heard this, Do you imagine then, said I, that such as say these things are telling a falsehood? I do not know, said he, but would gladly hear your opinion. You would then hear that they appear to me to say true. How then, replied he, is it right to say that the miseries of cities shall never have an end till they be governed by philosophers, whom we are now acknowledging to be useless to them? You ask a question, said I, which needs an answer through an image. And you, said I, are not wont, I think, to speak through images. Be it so, said I. You jest now, when you have brought me on a subject which is so difficult to be explained. But attend to the image, that you may see further with what difficulty I work; for the sufferings of the most worthy philosophers in the management of public affairs are so grievous, that there is not any one other suffering so severe: but in making our simile, and in apologising for them, we must collect from many particulars, in the same manner as painters mix the figures of two different animals together and paint a creature which is both goat and stag in one, and others of this kind. Conceive now that such a man as this is the pilot of a fleet, or of a single ship; one who exceeds all in the ship, both in bulk and in strength, but is somewhat deaf, and sees in like manner but a short way, and whose skill in sea affairs is much of the same kind. Conceive likewise that the sailors are all in sedition among themselves, contending for the pilotship, each imagining he ought to be pilot, though he never learned the
THE REPUBLIC. 169
art, nor is able to show who was his master, nor at what time he learned it. That besides this, all of them say that the art itself cannot be taught, and are ready to cut in pieces any who says that it can. Imagine further, that they continually surround the pilot himself, begging, and doing everything that he may put the helm into their hands ; and that even sometimes when they are not so successful in persuading him as others are, they either kill these others, or throw them overboard ; and after they have by mandra- gora, or wine, or some other thing, rendered the noble pilot incapable, they become masters of the ship and appropriate its contents, and whilst they drink and feast, they sail as may be expected of such people. And besides these things, if any one be dexterous in assisting them to get the government into their own hands, and in setting aside the pilot, either by persuasion or force, they commend such an one, calling him sailor and pilot, and intelligent in navigation ; but they contemn as useless every one who is not of this kind, whilst they never in the least think that the true pilot must necessarily pay attention to the year, the seasons, the heavens, and stars, and winds, and every- thing belonging to the art, if he intends to be a governor of a ship in reality: but the art and practice of governing men, whether some be willing or not, they think impossible for a man to attain in conjunction with the art of navigation. Whilst affairs are in this situation with regard to the ships, do you not think that the true pilot will be called by the sailors aboard of ships fitted out in this manner, a star-gazer, insignificant, and unprofitable to them ? Undoubtedly, said Adimantus. I think then, said I, that you will not want any explanation of the image, to see that it represents how cities are affected towards true philosophers, but that you understand what I mean. Perfectly, said he. First of ail then, if any one wonders that philosophers are not honoured in cities, tell him our image, and endeavour to persuade him that it would be much more wonder- ful if they were honoured, I will, replied he. And further, that it is indeed true, what you were lately observing, that the best of those who apply to philosophy are useless to the bulk of man-
THE REPUBLIC.
kind ; but however, bid them blame such as make no use of these philosophers, and not these philosophers themselves. For it is not natural for the pilot to entreat the sailors to allow him to govern them, nor for the wise to wait at the gates of the rich. But whoever pleasantly said this, was mistaken ; for this is truly the natural method, that whoever is sick, whether rich or poor, must of necessity go to the gates of the physician, and who- ever wants to be governed must wait on him who is able to govern ; for it is not natural that the governed who is really of any value should entreat the governed to subject themselves to his government. But you will not greatly err, when you com- pare our present political governors to those sailors we now mentioned, and those who are called by them insignificant and star-gazers to those who are truly pilots. Most right, said he. From hence then it would seem that the best pursuit is not likely to be held in esteem among those who pursue studies of an opposite nature; but by far the greatest and most violent accusation of philosophy is occasioned by means of those who profess to study it ; the most of whom, you say, your accuser of philosophy calls altogether depraved, and the very best of them of no advantage to the state ; and I admitted that you were right, did I not ? You did. And have we not fully ex- plained the cause why the best of them are of no advantage ? We have. Would you choose then, that we should in the next place explain the reason why the most of them must of necessity be depraved, and endeavour to demonstrate, that of this, philosophy is by no means the cause. Entirely so. Let us attend then, and begin our reasoning, calling to mind what we formerly observed concerning the natural genius which necessarily belongs to the good and worthy. And what was a leading part in it, if you remember, was truth, which he must by all means wholly pursue, or else be a vain boaster, and never partake of true philosophy. It was so said. Is not this one part of his character perfectly contrary to the present opinions of him? It is very much so, replied he. Will it not then be a good defence, if we be able to show that the true lover of learning naturally aspires to the knowledge of real
THE REPUBLIC. 171
being, and so far from resting in the many particular things which are the objects of opinion, goes on, and is not dis- couraged, nor ceases from his love of truth till he comes into contact with the nature of everything which /!?, by that part of the soul whose office it is to come into contact with a thing of this kind : and when this true lover of learning approaches, and is mingled with this he generates wisdom and truth, and then he will have true knowledge, and truly live and be nourished, and liberated from the pains of parturition, but not before. This, said he, will be a most reasonable defence. What now, will it be the part of such an one to love falsehood, or, entirely the contrary, to hate it ? To hate it, said he. But whilst truth indeed leads the way, we can never, I think, say that any band of evils follows in her train. How can we? But, on the contrary, we may aver that she is followed by sound and moderate manners, and that these in their turn are accom- panied by temperance. Right, said he. Need we go over again and range in order the whole qualities of the philosophic genius ? for you no doubt remember that there belong to men of this character fortitude, magnanimity, facility of learning, and memory: and when you replied that every one would be obliged to agree to what we said, we quitted that subject, and turned to that which is the subject of discourse at present, on your saying that you observed some of the philosophers were insignificant, and many of them altogether depraved. And while we were examining into the cause of that calumny, we are now come to this, whence it is that many of them are depraved. And on this account we have gone over again the genius of true philosophers, and have necessarily defined what it is. It is so, said he. It is necessary, said I, that we now consider the corruptions of this genius, which destroy it in many men, and from which few escape, those who are called not depraved, but useless. And next, what those geniuses are which counterfeit the philosophic nature, and pretend to its pursuit : and what is the nature of those souls who aspire to a pursuit which does not belong to them, and is above their reach : for these, by their manifold errors, have everywhere, and among
172 THE REPUBLIC.
all men, introduced this opinion of philosophy which you mention. What sort of corruptions, said he, do you mean ? I shall endeavour to rehearse them, said I, if I be able. And this now, I think, every one will allow us, that such a genius, with all those qualifications we have enjoined one who is to be a perfect philosopher, rarely arises among men, and that there are but few of them : do not you think so ? Entirely so. And for those few, consider how many and how great are the causes of corruption. What are they? That which is most of all wonderful to hear, that each of those things we commended in the genius of a philosopher, corrupts the soul which possesses them, and withdraws it from philosophy; fortitude, I mean, and temperance, and all those other qualifications which we have discussed. That is strange to hear, said he. And further still, said I, besides these things, all those which are commonly called good, such as beauty, riches, strength of body, a powerful alliance in the city, and everything akin to these, corrupt and withdraw it from philosophy ; for you have now an outline of what I mean. I have, replied he, and would gladly understand more accurately what you say. Understand, then, said I, the whole of it aright, and it will appear manifest, and what we formerly said will not seem to be absurd. How, then, said he, do you bid me act ? With respect to every kind of seed, or plant, said I, whether of vegetables or animals, we know, that whatever does not meet with the proper nourishment, nor season, nor place belonging to it, the more vigorous it is by nature, the more it is defective in the excellencies of its kind; for evil is more opposed to good, than to that which is not good. Why is it not? It is then reasonable, I think, to say that the best genius, when meeting with nourishment foreign to it, shall be more changed to what is evil, than a bad genius. It is. And shall we not, Adimantus, said I, in the same manner, say that souls naturally the best, when they meet with bad education, become remarkably depraved? Or do you think that great iniquity, and the extremest wickedness, arise from a weak genius, and not from a vigorous one ruined in its education ; and that weak nature will ever be the cause either
THE REPUBLIC. 173
of mighty good or evil ? I do not think it will, said he, but the case is as you say. If then this philosophic genius, which we have established, meet with suitable instruction, it will, I think, necessarily grow up, and attain to every virtue; but if, when sown in an improper soil, it grow up and be nourished accord-
Iingly, it will on the other hand become perfectly the reverse, unless some one of the Gods afford it assistance. Or do you think, with the multitude, that certain of the youth are corrupted by the sophists, and that certain sophists corrupt them by private teaching to a considerable extent ? Or think you rather, that the persons who say these things are themselves the greatest of sophists, conveying their instruction in the most powerful manner, and rendering young and old, men and women, such as they wish them to be ? When do they effect this ? replied he. When many of them, said I, are set down, crowded together in an assembly, in their courts of justice, the theatre, or the camp, or any other public meeting of the people, with much tumult they blame some of the speeches and actions, and commend others, hooting or applauding the one and the other beyond measure, until the rocks and the place where they are resound, and the tumult is redoubled, whilst they thus blame and applaud. In such a situation now, what kind of self-possession, as we say, do you think the youth can have ? Or what private instruction can make him withstand, so as not to be perfectly overwhelmed by such blame or applause, and, giving way, be borne along the stream wherever it carries him, and say that things are beautiful and base, according as these people say, and pursue the things they pursue, and become of the very same kind himself? This, said he, must by an abundant necessity happen, Socrates. But, said I, we have not yet mentioned, what must of the greatest necessity be the case. What is that ? said he. Thai which these instructors and sophists superadd by action, not being able to persuade by speech : or, do you not know, that they punish with disgraces, and fines, and deaths, the man whom they cannot persuade ? I know that, said he, extremely well. What other sophist then, or what private reasonings do you think capable, drawing
174 THE REPUBLIC.
opposite to these, to overpower them ? I know none, said he. But is it not besides, said I, great folly even to attempt it ? For there neither is, nor was, nor ever can be, a different method from this of regarding virtue, if the character has been thus educated by these sophists. I mean a human method, my friend : for a divine one, according to the proverb, I keep out of the question: for you must know well, that you will not be amiss in saying that whatever has been preserved, and made such as it ought to be, in such a constitution of states, has been preserved by a divine destiny. Nor am I, said he, of a different opinion. But further now, besides these things, said I, you must likewise be of this opinion. Of what ? That each of these adventurers whom these men call sophists, and deem the rivals of their art, teach no other things but those dogmas of the vulgar, which they approve when they are assembled together, and call it wisdom. Just as if a man had learned what were the wrathful emotions and desires of a great and strong animal he were nourishing, how it must be approached, how touched, and when it is most fierce or most mild ; and from what causes, and the sounds which on these several occasions it was wont to utter, and at what sounds uttered by another, the animal is rendered both mild and savage; and, having learned all these things by associating with the animal for a long time, should call this wisdom ; and, as if he had established an art, should apply himself to the teaching it ; whilst yet, with reference to these dogmas and desires, he knows not in reality what is beautiful, or base, or good, or ill, or just, or unjust, but should pronounce all these according to the opinions of the great animal, calling those things good in which it delighted, and that evil with which it was vexed, and should have no other measure as to these things. Let us likewise suppose that he calls those things which are necessary, beautiful and just, but that he hath never discovered himself, nor is able to show to another, the nature of the necessary and the good, how much they really differ from each other. Whilst he is such an one, does he not indeed appear to you a most absurd teacher? To me he appears so, said he. And, think you, that this man does
THE REPUBLIC. 175
•
in any way differ from him who deems it wisdom to have under- stood the anger and the pleasures of the assembled multitude, whether with relation to painting, music, or politics ? For, if any one converses with these, and shows them either a poem, or any other production of art, or piece of ,'idministration respect- ing the city, and makes the multitude the judges of it, he is under what is called a Diomedean necessity, which is above all other necessities, of doing whatever they commend. But have you at any time heard any of them advance a reason that was not quite ridiculous, to show that these things are in reality good and beauti- ful? Nor do I think, said he, I ever shall. Whilst you attend then to all these things, bear this in mind, that the multitude never will admit or reckon that there is the one beautiful itself, and not many beautifuls ; one thing itself which has a single subsistence, and not many such things. They will be the last to do so, replied he. It is impossible then for the multitude to be philoso- phers. Impossible. And those who philosophise must of neces- sity be reproached by them. Of necessity. And likewise by those private persons, who associate with the multitude, and desire to please them. It is plain. From this state of things now, what safety do you see for the philosophic genius to continue in its pursuit, and arrive at perfection ? And consider from what was formerly said, for we have allowed that facility in learning, memory, fortitude, and magnanimity belong to this genius. We have. And shall not such an one, of all men, immediately be the first in every thing, especially if he has a body naturally adapted to the soul ? Why shall he not ? said he. And when he becomes more advanced in age, his kindred and citizens, I think, will incline to employ him in their affairs. WThy will they not? And making supplications to him, and paying him homage, they will submit to him, and anticipate and flatter beforehand his growing power. Thus, said he, it usually happens. What now, said I, do you think such an one will do, in such a case, especially if he happen to belong to a great city, and be rich, and of a noble descent, and withal beautiful and of a large stature ? Will he not be fitted with extravagant hopes, deeming himself capable of managing both the affairs of Greeks
176 THE REPUBLIC.
and Barbarians, and on these accounts carry himself loftily, without any solid judgment, full of ostentation and vain conceit ? Extremely so, replied he. If one should gently approach a man of this disposition, and tell him the truth, that he has no judg- ment, yet needs it ; and that it is not to be acquired but by one who subjects himself to this acquisition, do you think that, with all these evils about him, he would be ready to hearken ? Far from it, said he. If now, said I, through a good natural temper, and an innate disposition to reason, such an one should be made sensible, and be bent and drawn towards philosophy, what do we imagine those others will do, when they reckon they shall lose his company, and the benefit which they are to receive from him ? Will they not by every action, and every speech, say and do everything that the man do not suffer himself to be persuaded ; and to his adviser, to render him incapable by ensnaring him in private, and bringing him to public trial ? This, said he, must of necessity happen. Is it likely now such an one will philoso- phise ? By no means. You see then, said I, that we were not wrong when we said that even the very parts of the philosophic genius, when they meet with bad education, are in some measure the cause of a falling-off from this pursuit, as well as those vulgarly reputed benefits of riches, and all pomp of this kind. We were not, replied he, but it was rightly said. Such then, said I, admirable friend ! is the ruin, such and so great the corruption of the best genius for the noblest pursuit, a genius which besides is but rarely found, as we observed; and from among such as these come the men, who do the greatest mischiefs to cities, and to private persons, and likewise they who do the greatest good, such as happen to be drawn to this side. But a little genius never did any- thing remarkable to any one, neither to a private person nor to a city. Most true, said he. These indeed, then, whose business it chiefly was to apply to philosophy, having thus fallen off, leaving her desolate and imperfect, lead themselves a life neither becoming nor genuine; whilst other unworthy persons, intruding themselves on philosophy, abandoned so to say by her kindred, have disgraced her, and loaded her
THE REPUBLIC. 177
with reproaches, such as these you say her reproachers reproach her with — viz., that of those who converse with her, some are of no value, and most of them worthy of the greatest punishments. These things, replied he, are com- monly said. And with reason, replied I, they are said. For other contemptible men seeing the field unoccupied, and that the possession of it is attended with dignities and honourable names, like persons who make their escape for refuge from prisons to temples, these likewise gladly leap from their handicrafts to philosophy; I mean such of them as are of the greatest address in their own little art. For, even in this situation of philosophy, her remaining dignity, in com- parison with all the other arts, still surpasses in magnificence ; of which dignity many are desirous, who by natural disposition are unfit for it, and whose bodies are not only deformed by their arts and handicrafts, but whose souls also are in like manner confused, and crushed by their life of labour. Must it not of necessity be so ? Undoubtedly, said he. Does it then appear to you, said I, that they are any way different in appearance from a bald and puny blacksmith, who has made a little money, has been recently liberated from chains, and washed in the bath, with a new robe on him, just decked out as a bride- groom, presuming to marry the daughter of his master, encouraged by the poverty and forlorn circumstances with which he sees him oppressed? There is, said he, no great difference. What sort of a race must such as these produce? Must it not be bastardly and abject? By an abundant necessity. But what now? When men who are unworthy of instruction apply to it, and are conversant in it, in an unworthy manner, what kind of sentiments and opinions shall we say are produced ? Must they not be such as ought properly to be termed sophisms, a bastard crew that possess nothing genuine, or worthy of true con- sideration?1 By all means so, replied he. A very small number now, said I, Adimantus, remains of those who worthily are conversant in philosophy, who happen either to 1 Perhaps the reading should be, " possess no genuine insight."
178 THE REPUBLIC.
be detained somehow in banishment, and whose generous and well-cultivated disposition persists in the study of philosophy, being removed from everything which tends to corrupt it; or else when, in a small city, a mighty soul arises, who despises the honours of the state, entirely neglects them, and likewise with justice despises any small thing arising from the other arts.1 Some of these the bridle of our friend Theages will be sufficient to restrain; for Theages is restrained by his health, which excludes him from public life, though all other things would induce him to leave philosophy alone. As to my own genius, it is not worth while to mention the daemonical sign ; for certainly it has happened heretofore to few, or none. And even of these few, such as are tasting, and have tasted, how sweet and blessed is the acquisition of philosophy; and have withal sufficiently seen the madness of the multitude, and how none of them, as I may say, effects anytiiing salutary in the affairs of cities, and that there is no ally with whom he might go to the assist- ance of the just and be safe; and that he is like one falling among wild beasts — being neither willing to join them in injustice, nor able, as he is but one, to oppose the whole savage crew, and who, before he can benefit the city or his friends, is destroyed, and is unprofitable both to himself and others: — reasoning on all these things, lying quiet, and attending to his own affairs, as in a tempest, when the dust is driven, and the sea agitated by winds, standing under a wall, beholding others overwhelmed in iniquity, he is satisfied if he shall himself anyhow pass his life here pure from injustice and unholy deeds, and make his exit hence in good hopes cheerful and benignant. And he shall make his exit, said he, after having done not the least important matters. Nor the greatest either, said I, whilst he has not met with a republic that is suitable to him ; for, in a suitable one, he shall both make a greater proficiency himself, and shall preserve the affairs of private persons as well as of the public. It appears then, to me, that we have now sufficiently told whence it happens that philosophy is accused, and unjustly so, * This is Taylor's rendering of this passage, slightly altered.
II II
THE REPUBLIC. 179
unless you have something else to offer. No, said he, I say nothing further about this point. But which of the present republics do you say is adapted to philosophy? Not one indeed, said I, but this is what I complain of, that there is no constitution of a city at present worthy of the philosophic genius, which is therefore turned and altered, as a rare seed sown in an improper soil, which degenerates to what is usually produced in that soil. After the same manner this race, as it has not at present its proper power, degenerates to a foreign species : but should it meet with the best republic, which therefore corre- sponds with the best individual type, then shall it indeed discover that it is really divine, and that all besides are human, both as to their genius and their pursuits. But now you seem plainly to be going to ask which is this republic. You are mistaken, said he ; for this I was not going to ask : but whether it was this which we have described in establishing our city, or another. In all things, said I, except one, and this very thing was formerly mentioned, that there must always be in the city something which shall have the same regard for the republic which you the legislator have when you establish the laws. It was mentioned, said he. But it was not, said I, made sufficiently plain, through fears which preoccupied you, when you signified that the illustration of the thing would be both tedious and difficult; and it is not indeed altogether easy to discuss this remaining part. What is that ? In what manner a city shall attempt philosophy and not be destroyed; for all grand things are dangerous, and, as the saying is, fine things are truly difficult. But however, said he, let our disquisition be completed in making this evident. Want of inclination, said I, shall not hinder, though want of ability may. And being present, you shall know my alacrity, and consider now how eadily and adventurously I am going to say, that a city ought to attempt this study in a way opposite to that present. How? At present, said I, those who engage in it are striplings, who immediately from their childhood, amidst their domestic affairs and lucrative employments, apply them- selves for a moment to the most abstruse parts of philosophy
i So THE REPUBLIC.
(that is Dialectic), and then throw it up, thinking- themselves consummate philosophers. And in after time, if, when they are invited by others who practise this art, they are pleased to become hearers, they think it a great condescension, reckoning they ought to do it as a by-work : — but when they approach to old age, besides some few, they are extinguished much more ' than the Heraclitean sun, because they are never again re- kindled. l But how should they act ? said he. Quite the reverse. Whilst they are lads and boys they should apply to juvenile instruction and philosophy, and take proper care of their body, whilst it shoots and grows to firmness, thus pro- viding for philosophy a proper assistant : and then, as that age advances in which the soul begins to be perfected, they ought vigorously to apply to her exercises; and when strength decays, and is no longer adapted for civil and military employments, they should then be dismissed, and live at pleasure, and except- ing a by-work, do nothing else but philosophise, if they propose to live happy, and, when they die, to possess in the other world a destiny adapted to the life they have led in this. How truly, said he, Socrates, do you seem to me to speak with zeal ! Yet, I think, the greater part of your hearers will still more zealously oppose you, and by no means be persuaded, and that Thrasy- machus will be the first of them. Do not divide, said I, Thrasymachus and me, who are now become friends ; nor were we enemies heretofore. For we shall no way desist from our attempts, till we either persuade both him and the rest, or make some advances towards that life at which when they arrive they shall again meet with such discourses as these. You have spoken, said he, but a short time. None at all, said I, with respect at least to the whole of time : but that the multitude are not persuaded by what is said, is not wonderful ; for they have never at any time seen existing what has now been mentioned, but rather such discourses as have been industriously composed, and have not fallen in spontaneously as these do at present.
1 Heracleitus (the " weeping " or "obscure " philosopher : B.C. 510) taught that the sun was extinguished every evening and relit each morning.
THE REPUBLIC. 181
But as for the man who has arrived at the model of virtue, and is rendered similar to it in the most perfect manner possible both in word and in deed, they have never at any time seen such a man, neither one nor more of the kind. Or do you think they have? By no means. Neither yet, O blessed man 1 have they sufficiently attended to beautiful and liberal reasonings, so as ardently to investigate the truth, by every method, for the sake of knowing it, saluting only at a distance such intricate and contentious debates, as tend to nothing else but to opinion and strife, both in their courts of justice and in their private meetings. The case is just so, replied he. On these accounts then, said I. and foreseeing these things, we were formerly afraid. However, being compelled by the truth, we did assert, that neither city nor republic, nor even a man in the same way, would ever become perfect, till some necessity of fortune oblige these new philosophers, who are at present called not depraved, but useless, to take the government of the city whether they will or not, and compel the city to be obedient to them ; or till the sons of those who are now in the offices of power and magistracies, or they themselves, by some divine inspiration, be possessed with a genuine love of genuine philosophy : and I aver that no one has reason to think that either of these, or both, are impossible ; for thus might we justly be laughed at, as saying things which are otherwise only similar to wishes. Is it not so? It is. If then, in the infinite series of past ages, the greatest necessity has obliged men that have arrived at the summit of philosophy to take the government of a state, or such men now govern in some barbarous region, remote from our observation, or shall hereafter, we are ready in that case to contend in our reasoning, that this republic we have described has existed and subsists, and shall arise at least when this our muse has obtained the government of the state : for this is neither impossible to happen, nor do we speak of impossibilities, though we ourselves confess that they are difficult. I am like- wise, said he, of the same opinion. But you will say, replied I, that the multitude do not think so too. It is likely, said he. O blessed man ! said 1, do not thus altogether accuse the multi-
182 THE REPUBLIC.
tude ; but, whatever opinion they may have, without upbraiding them, but rather encouraging them, and removing the reproach thrown on philosophy, point out to them the persons you call philosophers, and define distinctly, as at present, both their genius and their pursuits, that they may not think you speak of such as they call philosophers ; or if they mean the same men, you will tell them they have conceived a different opinion of the men from what you have, and give very different answers about them from yours. Or, do you think that a gentle and quiet man can be enraged at another, who is not in a passion? or that a man shall envy the envious, who is himself both void of envy, and is of a mild disposition ? — I will prevent you, and say that I think there is in some few such a naturally bad temper, but hot in the greater part of mankind. I likewise, said he, think so. Are you not then of the same opinion with me in this ? That these men are the cause of the multitude being ill affected towards philosophy, men who openly revile what is no way becoming them, behaving in a scoffing and distasteful manner towards the multitude, always making discourses about particular men, and doing what is least of all becoming philosophy. Certainly, said he. For somehow, Adimantus, the man at least who really applies his dianoetic part to true being has not leisure to look down to the little affairs of mankind, and, in fighting with them, to be filled with envy and ill-nature. On the contrary, beholding and contemplating such objects as are orderly, and always subsist in the same manner, such as neither injure nor are injured by each other, but are in all respects beautiful, and according to reason, these he imitates and resembles as far as possible; or, do you think it possible by any contrivance that a man should not imitate that, in conversing [associating] with which he is filled with admira- tion ? It is impossible, replied he. The philosopher then who converses with that which is decorous and divine, as far as is possible for man, becomes himself decorous and divine. But calumny is powerful in everything. It is. If then, said I, he be under any necessity, not merely of forming himself alone, but likewise of endeavouring to introduce anything he beholds there
THE REPUBLIC. 183
among mankind, in order to form their manners, both in private and in public life, would he prove, think you, a bad artist of temperance and of justice, and of every social virtue ? Not at all, said he. But if now the multitude perceive that we speak the truth of such an one, will they be angry at philosophers, and disbelieve us when we say. that the city can never other- wise be happy unless it be drawn by those painters who follow a divine original ? They will not be angry, said he, if they perceive it : but what method of painting do you mean ? When they have obtained, said I, the city and the manners of men as their canvas, they would first make it pure [white] ; which is not Itogether an easy matter. But in this, you know, they differ rom other artists, that they are unwilling to meddle either with private man or city, or to prescribe laws, till they either eceive a pure canvas, or purify it themselves. And rightly, said he. And after this, do not you think they will draw a sketch of the republic? Why not? Afterwards, I think, as they proceed in their work, they will frequently look both ways, both to what is naturally just and beautiful, and temperate and the like; and likewise again to that which they can establish among mankind, blending and compounding their human form from different human characters and pursuits, drawing from this which Homer calls the divine likeness, and the divine resemblance subsisting among men. Right, said he. They
K-vill then, I think, strike out one thing and insert another, till hey have rendered human manners, as far as is possible, dear -o the Gods. It will thus, said he, be the most beautiful picture. Do we now then, said I, any way persuade these men, who, you said, were coming upon us in battle array, that such a painter of republics is the man we then recommended to them, and on whose account they were enraged at us, that we committed cities to him, and will they now be more mild when they hear us mentioning it ? Certainly, said he, if they be wise : for what is there now they can further question? Will they say that philosophers are not lovers of real being and of truth ? That, said he, were absurd. Or that their genius, as we described it, is not allied to that which is best? Nor this neither. What
184 THE REPUBLIC.
then? Whilst their genius is such as this, and meets with suitable exercises, shall it not become as perfectly good and philosophic, as any can be? or, will they say those are more so whom we set aside? Not at all. Will they still then be enraged at us when we say that till the philosophic race have the government of the city, neither the miseries of the city nor of the citizens shall have an end, nor shall this republic, which we speak of in the way of fable, arrive in reality at perfection ? Perhaps, said he, they will be less enraged. Are you willing, said I, that we say of them, not that they are less enraged at us, but that they are altogether appeased, and persuaded, by our shaming them into consent, if by nothing else? By all means, said he. We will then, said I, consider them persuaded of this. But is there any one who will call this into question, that those of the philosophic genius can spring from kings and sovereigns? Not one, said he, would allege that. Or though such were born with a philosophic genius, may one say they are under a great necessity of being corrupted? — for indeed that it is a difficult matter for these geniuses to be preserved untainted, even we ourselves agree. But is there any one who will contend that in the infinite series of time, of the whole of the human race, there should never be so much as a' single one preserved pure and untainted ? How can there be any one ? But surely, said I, a single one is sufficient, if he exists, and has a city subject to him, to accomplish everything now so much disbelieved. He is sufficient, said he. And when the governor, said I, has established the laws and customs we have recited, it is not at all impossible that the citizens should be willing to obey him. Not at all. But is it wonderful or impossible, that what appears to us should also appear to others ? I do not think it, said he. And that these things are best, if they be possible, we have sufficiently, as I think, explained in the pre- ceding part of our discourse. Sufficiently indeed. So then it seems we are agreed about our legislation; that the laws we mention are the best, if they could exist ; and that though it is difficult to establish them, it is not, however, impossible. We are agreed, said he.
THE REPUBLIC. 185
After this has with difficulty been brought to a conclusion, shall we not in the next place consider what follows ? In what manner, and from what disciplines and studies, they shall become the preservers of our republic ? and in what periods of life they shall each of them apply to the several branches of education ? We must indeed consider that, said he. I acted not wisely, said I, when in the former part of our discourse I left untouched the difficulty attending the possession of women, and the propagation of the species, and the establish- ing governors, knowing with what odium and difficulty they must be introduced, or be carried no further than theory. For now we are under no less a necessity of discussing these things at present. What relates to women and children is already finished ; and we must now go over again, as from the begin- ning, what refers to governors. We said, if you remember, that if they were to appear to be real lovers of the city, they must be tried both by pleasures and by pains, and quit these principles neither through toils nor fears, nor any other change; and that he who was not able to do this was to be rejected ; but he who came forth altogether pure, as gold tried in the fire, was to be appointed ruler, and to have honours and rewards paid him both alive and dead.
Such were the things we said whilst our reasoning passed over, and concealed itself, as afraid to rouse the present argument. You say most truly, said he, for I . remember it. For I was averse, my friend, to say, what I must now venture to assert ; but now we must even dare to assert this : that the most complete philosophers must be made guardians. Let this be agreed upon, replied he. But consider that you will probably have but few of them : for such a genius as we said :they must of necessity have, is wont but seldom in all its parts to meet in one man ; but its different parts generally spring up in different persons. How do you say ? replied he. That such as learn with facility, have a good memory, are sagacious and acute, and endued with whatever qualifications are allied to these, are not at the same time so strenuous and great-souled as to live orderly, with quietness and stability,
1 86 THE REPUBLIC.
but such are carried hither and thither by their acuteness, and everything that is stable departs from them. You say true, replied he. With regard then to these firm habits of the mind, which are not at all versatile, and which one might rather employ as trusty, and which are difficult to be moved at dangers in war, are they not of the same temper with refer- ence to learning? They move heavily, and with difficulty learn, as if they were benumbed, and are oppressed with sleep and yawning, when they are obliged to labour at any- thing of this kind. It is so, replied he. But we said that he must partake of both these to a large extent, or else he ought not to share in the most accurate education, nor magistracy, nor honours of the state. Right, said he. Do not you think this character will but rarely be found ? How should it not ? They must be tried then both in the things we formerly mentioned, in labours, in fears, and in pleasures ; and likewise in what we then passed over, and are now mentioning ; we must exercise them in various kinds of learn- ing, whilst we consider whether their genius be capable of sustaining the greatest disciplines, or whether it fails, as those who fail in the other things. It is proper now, said he, to consider this question at least in this manner. But what do you call the greatest disciplines? You remember in some measure, said I, that when we had distinguished the soul into three parts, we determined concerning justice, temper- ance, fortitude, and wisdom, what each of them is. If I did not remember, said he, it were just I should not hear what remains. Do you likewise remember what was said before that ? What was it ? We somewhere said, that it was possible to behold these in their most beautiful forms, but that the journey would be tedious which he must make, who would see them conspicuously ; that it was possible, how- ever, to approach towards them in the way of our demonstra- tions which would follow; and you said that these were sufficient; so what was then advanced came to be spoken far short, in my own opinion, of accuracy; but, if it was sufficient for you, you may say so. To me, at least, said
THE REPUBLIC. 187
he, they seemed to be discussed in measure; and the rest seemed to think so too. But friend, said I, in speaking of things of this kind, such a measure as leaves out any part whatever of the truth is not altogether in measure. For nothing that is imperfect is the measure of anything. Though some at times are of opinion, that things are sufficiently well when thus circumstanced, and that there is no necessity for further inquiry. Very many, said he, are thus affected through indo- lence. But the guardian of the city, and of the laws, said I, has least of all need of that passion. It appears so, replied he. Such an one, then, my friend, said I, must make the more ample circuit, and labour no less in learning than in the exercises : otherwise, as we were now saying, he will never arrive at the perfection of the greatest and most suitable learning. But are not these, said he, the greatest ? Or is there yet anything greater than justice, and those virtues which we discussed ? There is something greater, said I. And even of these we must not contemplate only the rude description, but we must not omit the highest finishing. Or is it not ridiculous in other things of small account to employ our whole labour, and strive to have them the most accurate and perfect, and not deem the highest and most important affairs worthy of our highest atten- tion, in order to render them the most perfect. The sentiment, said he, is very just. But, however, do you think, said he, that any one will let you go without asking you, what indeed is this greatest discipline, and about what is it conversant, when you call it so? Not at all, said I, but do you yourself ask me; for assuredly you have not seldom heard it, though at present you either do not remember it, or you intend to occasion me trouble in raising opposition. This I rather think, since you have often heard at least, that the idea of the good is the greatest discip- line: which idea when justice and the other virtues employ, they become useful and advantageous. You now almost know that this is what I mean to say, and besides this, that we do not sufficiently know that idea, and that without this knowledge, though we understood everything else in the highest degree, you know that it is of no advantage to us : in the same manner
1 88 THE REPUBLIC.
as it would avail us nothing though we possessed all things except the good, or knew all things except the good, knowing nothing at all that is beautiful and good ? By Zeus, not I, said he. But surely this too at least you know, that to the multitude pleasure seems to be the greatest good; and to the more intelligent it seems to be practical wisdom. And very ridicu- lously, said he. How indeed can it be otherwise ? replied I, if, when they upbraid us that we know not what is the good, they tell us that they know, and call it the insight into what is good, as if we understood what they say when they pronounce the word good. Most true, said he. But what? those who define pleasure to be good, do they less err than the others ? or are not these too obliged to confess that certain pleasures are evil? Extremely so. It happens then, I think, that they acknowledge the same things are both good and evil, do they not ? Un- doubtedly. Is it not evident, then, that there are great and manifold doubts about it ? Why are there not ? But what ? is it not also evident, that with reference to things just and beauti- ful, the multitude choose the apparent, even though they be not really so, and they do or seem to do them, and possess, or appear to possess them ; but the acquisition of good, that were only the apparent, never yet satisfied any one ; but in this they seek what is real, and here every one despises what is only the apparent. Extremely so, said he. This good then is that which every soul pursues, and for the sake of this it does every- thing, guessing at its existence, but being dubious, and unable to. comprehend sufficiently what it is, or possess the same stable belief respecting it as towards other things ; and thus are they unsuccessful also in other things, if there be in them any profit. About a thing now of such a kind, and of such mighty conse- quence, shall we say that even these our best men in the city, and to whom we commit the management of everything, shall be thus in the dark ? As little as possible, said he. I think then, said I, that whilst it is unknown in what manner the just and beautiful are good, they are not of any great value to a guardian to possess, if it be likely he shall know these, whilst he is ignorant of this : but I prophesy that no one will arrive at
THE REPUBLIC.
the knowledge of these before he sufficiently knows what the good is. You prophesy well, said he. Shall not then our republic be complete, if a guardian be placed over it who scientifically knows these things? It must of necessity, said he. But with respect to yourself, Socrates, do you say that the good is science, or pleasure, or something else besides these ? You were ever, said I, a worthy man, and manifestly showed of old that you were not to be satisfied with the opinions of others about these things. Still it does not appear to me to be right, Socrates, said he, that a man should be able to relate the dogmas of others, but not his own, after having spent so much time in inquiring about these particulars. But what, said I, does it then appear to you just for a man to speak of things of which he is ignorant, as if he knew them? By no means, said he, as if he knew them; yet however, according as he thinks, those things which he thinks he should be willing to tell us.
But, said I, have you not observed of opinions void of science how deformed they all are, and that the best of them are blind ? Or do those who without intellect form right opinion seem to you, in any respect, to differ from those who are blind and at the same time walk straight on the road ? In no respect, said he. Are you willing, then, that we should examine things deformed, blind, and crooked, having it in our power to hear from others what is clear and beautiful ? Do not by Zeus, Socrates, said Glauco, desist at the end ; for it will suffice us, if in the same way as you have spoken of justice and temperance, and those other virtues, you likewise discourse concerning the good. And I too shall be very well satisfied, my friend, said I ; but I am afraid I shall not be able ; and, by appearing readily disposed, I shall incur the ridicule of the unmannerly. But, O blessed man ! let us at present dismiss this inquiry, what the good is (for it appears to me a greater thing than we can arrive at, according to our present impulse); but I am willing to tell you what the offspring of the good appears to be, and what most resembles it, if this be agreeable to you ; and if not, I shall dismiss it.
Tell us, said he; for you shall owe us the explanation of
190 THE REPUBLIC.
what the father is. I could wish, said I, both that I were able to pay the principal debt, and you to receive it, and not as now the interest only. Receive now then this child and offspring of the good itself. Yet take care however that unwillingly I deceive you not, in any respect, giving an adulterated account of this offspring. We shall take care, said he, to the best of our ability; only tell us. I shall tell, then, said I, after we have thoroughly assented, and I have reminded you of what was mentioned in our preceding discourse, and has been frequently said on other occasions. What is it? said he. That there are many things, said I, beautiful, and many good, and each of these we say is so, and we distinguish them in our reasoning. We said so. And that there is one essential beauty and one essential good, and so on, reducing all those things which we then considered as many, into one idea of each particular thing, and assigning to each that appellation which belongs to it ; and the former we say are seen by the eye, but are not objects of intellectual perception ; but that the ideas are perceived by the intellect, but are not seen by the eye. Per- fectly so. By what part then of ourselves do we see things visible? By the sight, said he. And is it not, said I, by hearing, that we perceive what is heard; and by the other senses, all the other objects of sense ? Why not ? But have you not observed, said I, with regard to the artificer of the senses, how he has formed the power of sight, and of being visible, in the most perfect manner? I have not entirely perceived it, replied he.
But consider it in this manner.
Is there any other species, which hearing and sound require, in order that the one may hear, and the other be heard, which third thing, if it be not present, the one shall not hear, and the other not be heard? There is nothing, said he. Imagine then, said I, that neither do many others (that I may not say none) require any such thing ; or can you mention any one that does require it ? Not I, replied he. But with reference to the sense of seeing, and the object of sight, do not you perceive that they require something? How? When there is sight in
THE REPUBLIC 191
the eyes, and when he who has it attempts to use it, and when there is colour in the objects before him, unless there concur some third genus, naturally formed for the purpose, you know that the sight will see nothing, and the colours will be invisible. What is that you speak of? said he. What you call light, said I. You say true, replied he. This species then is not despic- able; and by no small phenomenon are the sense of seeing, and the power of being seen, connected together; but by a bond the most honourable of all bonds, if light be not dis- honourable. Whom then of the Gods in heaven can you assign as the cause of this, that light makes our sight to see, and visible objects to be seen, in the best manner ? The same that you, said he, and others do; for it is evident that you mean the sun. Is not the sight then naturally formed in this manner with reference to this God ? How ? The sight itself is not the sun, nor is the eyes in which sight is ingenerated. It is not. But yet I think that of all the organs of sense it is most solar-form. Very much so. And the power which it possesses, does it not possess as dispensed by and flowing from the sun ? Perfectly so. Is not then the sun, which indeed is not sight itself, yet the cause of it, and seen by sight itself? It is so, said he. Con- ceive then, said I, that the sun is what I called the offspring of the good, which the good generates, analogous to itself; and that what the sun is in the visible world with respect to sight and visible things, this is in the intellectual world, with respect to pure wisdom, and the objects of wisdom. How is it? said he: explain to me yet further. You know that the eyes, said I, when they are no longer directed towards objects whose colours are shone upon by the light of day, but by the lights of the night, grow dim, and appear almost blind, as if they had in them no pure sight. Just so, said he. But when they turn to objects which the sun illuminates, then I think they see clearly, and in those very eyes there appears now to be sight. There does. Understand then, in the same manner, with reference to the soul. When it firmly adheres to that which truth and real being enlighten, then it understands and knows it, and appears to possess intellect: but when it
192 THE REPUBLIC.
adheres to that which is blended with darkness, which is generated, and which perishes, it is then conversant with opinion only, its vision becomes blunted, it wanders from one opinion to another, and resembles one without intellect. It has such a resemblance. That therefore which imparts truth to what is known and dispenses the power of knowing" to him who knows, you may call the idea of the good, being the cause of science and of truth, as being known through intellect. And though both knowledge and truth are beautiful, when you think that the good is something different, and still more beautiful than these, you shall think aright. Science and truth here are as light and sight there, which we rightly judged to be solar-form, but that we were not to think they were the sun. So here it is right to judge, that both these partake of the form of the good; but to suppose that either of them is the good, is not right, for the good itself vs worthy of still greater honour.
You speak, said he, of an inestimable beauty, since it affords science and truth, but is itself superior to these in beauty. And you never anywhere said that it was pleasure. Predict better things, said I, and in this manner rather consider its image yet further. How ? You will say, I think, that the sun imparts to things which are seen, not only their visibility, but likewise their generation, growth, and nourishment, not being itself generation. Why not ? We may say, therefore, that things which are known have derived not only this from the good^ that they are known, but likewise that their being and essence are thence derived, whilst the good itself is not essence, but beyond essence, tran- scending it both in dignity and power. Here Glauco, laughing very much, said, By Apollo, this is a divine transcendency indeed ! You yourself, replied I, are the cause, having obliged me to relate what appears to me respecting it. And by no means, said he, stop, if something does not hinder you, but again discuss the resemblance relating to the sun, if you have omitted anything. But I omit, said I, many things. Do not omit, replied he, the smallest particular. I think, said I, that much will be omitted : however, as far as I am able at present, I shall not willingly omit anything. Po not, said he. Under-
THE REPUBLIC. 193
stand then, said I, that we say these are two things ; of which the one reigns over the intellectual class and world, and the other over the visible, not to say the heavens, lest I should seem to you to employ a pun in the expression : you understand then these two species, the visible and the intellectual ? I do. As if then you took a line cut into unequal parts, one representing the visible species, the other the intellectual, and again divided each section according to the same ratio, you will then have perspicuity and obscurity placed by each other. In the visible species you will have in one section images : by images, in the first place, I mean shadows, and in the next, the reflections in water, and such as subsist in bodies which are dense, polished, and bright, and everything of this kind, if you understand me. I do. Suppose now the other section to be the visible things of which these are the reflections, such as the animals around us, and the world of art and nature. I suppose it, said he. Are you willing then that this section appear to be divided into true and untrue? And that the same difference there is between a matter of opinion and a matter of knowledge, is also between the resemblance and that of which it is the resemblance ? I am, indeed, said he, extremely willing. But consider now again the section of the intellectual, how it was divided. How ? That with respect to one part of it, the soul uses the former sections as images; and is obliged to investigate from hypotheses, not proceeding to the beginning, but to the conclusion : and the other part, again, is that where *he soul proceeds from hypothesis to an unhypothetical first principle, without the aid of those images about it, but by the help of the forms themselves makes its way through them. I have not, said he, sufficiently understood you in these things. We will start again, said I, for you will more easily understand me, these things having been premised. For I think you are not ignorant, that those who are conversant in geometry, and computations, and such like, after they have laid down hypo- theses of the odd and the even, and figures, and three species c* angles, and other things the sisters of these, according to each method, they then proceed upon these things as known, having
13
194 THE REPUBLIC.
laid down all these as hypotheses, and do not give any further reason about them, neither to themselves nor others, as being things obvious to all. But, beginning from these, they directly discuss the rest, and with full consent end at that which their inquiry pursued. I know this, said he, perfectly well. And do you not likewise know, that when they use visible forms, and reason about them, their dianoetic power is not employed about these forms, but about those of which they are the resemblances, employing their reasonings about the absolute square, or diameter, and not about those which they draw ? And, in the same manner, with reference to other particulars, those very things which they form and describe, in which number, shadows, and images in water are to be reckoned, these they use as images, seeking to behold those very things, which a man can no otherwise see than by his dianoetic part. You say true, replied he. This then I called a species of the intelligible ; but observed that the soul was obliged to use hypotheses in the investigation of it, not going back to the principle, as not being able to ascend higher than hypotheses, but made use of images formed from things below, to lead to those above, as perspicu- ous, as objects of opinion, and distinct from the things them- selves. I understand, said he, that you speak of things per- taining to the geometrical and other sister arts. Understand now, that by the other section of the intelligible, I mean that which reason itself attains, making hypotheses by its own reasoning power, not as principles, but really hypotheses, as steps and handles, that, proceeding as far as to that which is unhypothetical, viz., the principle of the universe, and coming into contact with it, again adhering to those things which adhere to the principle, it may thus descend to the end ; using nowhere anything which is sensible, but forms themselves, proceeding through some to others, and at length ki forms terminating its progression. I understand, said he, but not sufficiently. For you seem to me to speak of an arduous under- taking : but you want, however, to determine that the perception of real being, and that which is intelligible, by the science of reasoning, are more conspicuous than the discoveries made
THE REPUBLIC.
'95
y the arts, as they are called, which have hypotheses for their rst principles; and that those who behold these are obliged to behold them with their dianoetic power, and not with their enses. But as they are not able to perceive, by ascending to the principle, but from hypotheses, they appear to you not to possess pure reason respecting them, though they are intelli- ible in conjunction with the principle. You also appear to me o call the habit of geometrical and such-like concerns, the ianoetic part, and not intellect ; the dianoetic part subsisting etween opinion and pure reason. You have comprehended, said I, most sufficiently: and conceive now, that corresponding to the four sections there are these four passions in the soul ; pure reason answering to the highest, the dianoetic part (intel- ligence) to the second; faith to the third; and to the last conjecture. Arrange them likewise analogously; conceiving that as their objects participate of truth, so these participate of perspicuity. I understand, said he, and assent, and 1 arrange them as you say.
1 96 THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK VII.
AFTER these things now, said I, compare, with reference to erudition, and the want of erudition, our natural condition with such a condition as this. Imagine men living in a kind of subterraneous cave, with its entrance expanding to the light, and answering to the whole extent of the cave. Suppose them to have been in this cave from their childhood, with chains both on their legs and necks, obliged to remain there, and only able to look before them, as owing to the chains they are incapable of turning their heads round. Suppose there be likewise the light of a fire, burning far above and behind them ; and that between the fire and the fettered men there is a raised road. Along this road, observe a low wall built, like that which hedges in the stage of mountebanks and above which they exhibit their wonderful tricks. I observe it, said he. Behold now, along this wall, men bearing all sorts of utensils, raised above the wall, and human statues, and other animals, in wood and stone, and furniture of every kind. And, as is likely, some of those who are carrying these are speaking, and others silent. You use, said he, a curious comparison, and curious prisoners. But such, however, as resemble us, said I ; for, in the first place, do you think that such as these see anything of themselves, or of one another, but the shadows formed by the fire, falling on the opposite part of the cave ? How can they, said he, if through the whole of life they be under a necessity, at least, of having their heads unmoved ? But what do they see of the things that are carried by? Is it not the very same ? Why not ? If then they were able to converse with one another, do not you think they would deem it proper to give names to those very things which they saw before them ? Of necessity they must. And
THE REPUBLIC. 197
what if the opposite part of this prison had an echo, when any of those who passed along spake, do you imagine they would reckon that whatever spake was anything else than the passing shadow ? I do not, said he. Such as these then, said I, will entirely judge that there is nothing true but the shadows of utensils. By an abundant necessity, replied he. With refer- ence then, both to their freedom from these chains, and their cure of this ignorance, consider the nature of it, if such a thing as this should happen to them. When any one should be loosed, and obliged on a sudden to rise up, turn round his neck, and walk and look up towards the light ; and in doing all these things, should be pained, and unable, from the splendour, to behold the things of which he formerly saw the shadows, what do you think he would say, if one should tell him that formerly he had seen phantoms, but that now, being somewhat nearer to reality, and turned toward what was more real, he saw with more rectitude ; and so, pointing out to him each of the things passing along, should question him, and oblige him to tell what it were ; do not you think he would be both in doubt, and would deem what he had formerly seen to be more true than what was now pointed out to him ? By far, said he. And if he should oblige him to look to the light itself, would he not find pain in his eyes, and shun it ; and, turning to such things as he is able to behold, reckon that these are really more clear than those pointed out ? Just so, replied he. But if one, said I, should drag him from thence violently through a rough and steep ascent, and never stop till he drew him up to the light of the sun, would he not, whilst he was thus drawn, both be in tor- ment, and be filled with indignation ? And after he had come to the light, having his eyes filled with splendour, he would be able to see none of these things now called true. He would not, said he, at first. But he would require, I think, to be accustomed to it some time, if he were to perceive things above. And first of all, he would most easily perceive shadows, after- wards the images of men and of other things in water, and after that the things themselves. And, with reference to these, he would more easily see the things in the heavens, and the
198 THE REPUBLIC.
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. How can it be otherwise ? And, last of all, he will be able, I think, to perceive and contemplate the sun himself, not in water, nor resemblances of him, in a foreign seat, but himself by himself, in his own proper region. Of necessity, said he. And after this, he would now reason with himself concerning him, that it is he who gives the seasons, and years, and governs all things in the visible world ; and that of all those things which he formerly saw, he is in a certain manner the cause. It is evident, said he, that after these things he may arrive at such reasonings as these. But when he remembers his first habitation, and the wisdom which was there, and those who were then his companions in bonds, do you not think he will esteem himself happy by the change, and pity them ? Greatly. And if there were there any honours and encomiums and rewards among themselves, for him who most acutely perceived what passed along, and best remembered which of them were wont to pass foremost, which latest, and which of them went together ; and from these observations were most able to presage what was to happen ; does it appear to you that he will be desirous of such honours, or envy those who among these are honoured, and in power? Or, will he not rather wish to suffer as is described by Homer, and desire
" As labourer to some ignoble man To work for hire ..."
and rather suffer anything than to possess such opinions, and live after such a manner? I think so, replied he, that he would suffer, and embrace anything rather than live in that manner. But consider this further, said I : If such an one should descend again, and sit down again in the same seat, would not his eyes be filled with darkness, in conse- quence of coming suddenly from the sun? Very much so, replied he. And should he now again be obliged to give his opinions of those shadows, and to dispute about them with those who are there eternally chained, whilst yet his
THE REPUBLIC. 199
eyes were dazzled, and before they recovered their former state (which would not be effected in a short time), would he not afford them laughter? and would it not be said of him, that, having ascended, he was returned with vitiated eyes? And if any one attempted to liberate them, and lead them up, would they not put him to death if ever they were able to get him into their hands? They would by all means, said he, put him to death. The whole of this image now, said I, friend Glauco, is to be applied to our preceding discourse ; for, if you compare this region, which is seen by the sight, to the habitation of the prison ; and the light of the fire in it, to the power of the sun ; and the ascent above, and the vision of things above, to the soul's ascent into the intellectual world; you will apprehend my meaning, since you want to hear it, though God alone knows whether it be true. Appearances then present themselves to my view as follows. In the world of pure reason, the idea of the good is the last object of vision, and is scarcely to be seen ; but if it be seen, we must conclude by reasoning that it is the cause to all of everything right and beautiful, generating in the visible world, light, and its lord, the sun; and in the intellectual world, it is itself the lord, producing truth and intellect; and this must be beheld by him who is to act wisely, either privately or in public. I agree with you, said he, as far as I am able. Come now, said I, and agree with me likewise in this. You will not wonder that such as arrive hither are unwilling to act in human affairs, but their souls are always unwilling to desert the things above ; for it is reasonable it should be so, if these things take place according to our above-mentioned image. It is indeed reasonable, replied he. But what ? Do you think that this is anything wonderful, that when a man comes from divine contemplations to human evils, he should behave awkwardly and appear extremely ridiculous, whilst he is yet dazzled, and is obliged, before he is sufficiently accus- tomed to the present darkness, to contend in courts of justice, or elsewhere, about the shadows of justice, or those statues which occasion the shadows ; and to dispute about this point
200 THE REPUBLIC.
how these things are apprehended by those who have never at any time beheld justice itself? This is not at all wonderful, said he. But if a man possesses intellect, said I, he must remember, that there is a twofold disturbance of the sight, and arising from two causes, when we betake our- selves from light to darkness, and from darkness to light: and when a man considers that these very things happen with reference also to the soul, whenever he sees any one disturbed, and unable to perceive anything, he will not laugh in an unreasonable manner, but will consider, whether the soul, coming from a more splendid life, be darkened by ignorance, or, going from abundant ignorance to one more luminous, be filled with the dazzling splendour, and so will congratulate the one on its fate and life, and compassionate the life and fate of the other. And if he wishes to laugh at the soul that goes from darkness to light, his laughter would be less improper, than if he were to laugh at the soul which descends from the light to darkness. You say very reasonably, replied he. It is proper then, said I, if those things be true, that we come to such a conclusion as this, namely — That education is not such a thing as some announce it to be ; for they say, that whilst there is no science in the soul, they will insert it, as if they were inserting sight in blind eyes. They say so, replied he. But our present reason- ing, said I, now shows, that this power is in the soul of every one, and is the organ by which every one learns ; and it is in the same condition as the eye, if it were unable otherwise than by moving the whole body to turn from darkness to light, and it must, in like manner, with the whole soul, be turned from the world of death and generation, till it be able to endure the contemplation of being itself, and the most splendid of being; and this we call the good. Do we not? We do. This then, said I, would appear to be the art of conversion, in what manner a man shall, with greatest ease and advantage, be turned. Not the implanting in him of the power of seeing, but the considering him as possessed of it, and only improperly situated, and not looking at what he ought, and the contrivance
THE REPUBLIC. 201
of some method by which this may be accomplished. It seems so, replied he. The virtues then of the soul, as they are called, seem to be somewhat resembling those of the body (for when, in reality, they were not in it formerly, they are after- wards produced in it by habits and exercises) ; but the virtue of wisdom, as it seems, happens to be of a nature somewhat more divine than any other; as it never loses its power, but, accord- ing as it is turned, is useful and advantageous, or useless and hurtful. Or have you not observed of those who are said to be wicked, yet wise, how sharply the little soul sees, and how acutely it comprehends everything to which it is turned, as having no contemptible sight, though compelled to be sub- servient to wickedness: so that the more acutely it sees, so much the more productive is it of wickedness? Entirely so, replied he. But, however, said I, with reference to this part of such a genius ; if, from childhood, it should be stripped of all those leaden weights, and of all those pleasures and lusts which relate to feastings and such like, which turn the sight of the soul to things downwards ; from all these, if the soul, being freed, should turn itself towards truth, the very same principle in the same men would most acutely see those things as it now does these to which it is turned. It is likely, replied he. But what ? is not this likely, said I, and necessarily deduced from what has been mentioned? that neither those who are un- instructed and unacquainted with truth can ever sufficiently take care of the city; nor yet those who allow themselves to spend the whole of their time in learning. The former, because they have no one scope in life, aiming at which they ought to do whatever they do, both in private and in public; and the latter, because they are not willing to manage civil affairs, thinking that whilst they are yet alive, they inhabit the islands of the blessed. True, said he. It is our business then, said 1, to oblige those of the inhabitants who have the best geniuses, to apply to that learning which we formerly said was the greatest, both to view the good, and to ascend that ascent ; and when they have ascended, and sufficiently viewed it, we are not to allow them what is now allowed them. What is that ? To
202 THE REPUBLIC.
continue there, said I, and be unwilling to descend again to those fettered men, or share with them in their toils and honours, whether more trifling or more important. Shall we then, said he, act unjustly towards them, and make them live a worse life when they have it in their power to live a better? You have again forgot, friend, said I, that this is not the legislator's concern, in what manner any one tribe in the city shall live remarkably happy; but this he endeavours to effectuate in the whole city, connecting the citizens together; and by necessity, and by persuasion, making them share the advantage with one another with which they are severally able to benefit the community : and the legislator, when he makes such men in the city, does it not that he may permit them to go where each may incline, but that himself may employ them for connecting the city together. True, said he, I forgot, indeed. Consider then, said I, Glauco, that we shall in no way injure the philosophers who arise among us, but tell them what is just, when we oblige them to take care of others, and to be guardians. We will allow, indeed, that those who in other cities become philosophers, with reason do not participate of the toils of public offices in the state (for they spring up of themselves, the policy of each city opposing them, and it is just, that what springs of itself, owing its growth to none, should not be forward to pay for its nurture to any one); but as for you we have generated you for the state as well as for yourselves to be as the leaders and kings in a hive, and we have educated you better, and in a more perfect manner than they, and made you more capable of sharing both in the rewards and labours attending public offices. Every one then must, in part, descend to the dwelling of the others, and accustom himself to behold obscure objects: for, when you are accustomed to them, you will infinitely better perceive things there, and will fully know the several images, what they are, and of what, from your having perceived the truth concerning things beautiful, and just, and good. And thus, the city will seem to be inhabited as a reality and not as a dream, like most cities as are at present inhabited by such as
THE REPUBLIC.
203
both fight with one another about shadows, and raise sedition about governing, as if it were some mighty good. But the truth is, I believe, as follows : In whatever city those who are to govern, are the most averse to undertake government, that city, of necessity, will be the best established, and the most free from sedition ; and that city, whose governors are of a contrary character, will be in a contrary condition. Entirely so, replied he. Do you think then that our pupils will disobey us, when they hear these injunctions, and be unwilling to labour jointly in the city, each bearing a part, but spend the most of their time with one another, free from public affairs? Impossible, said he. For we prescribe just things to just men. And each of them enters on magistracy from this consideration beyond all others, that they are under the necessity of governing a thing contrary to all the present governors of all other cities. For thus it is, my companion, said I, if you discover a life for those who are to be our governors, better than that of governing, then it will be possible for you to have the city well established ; for in it alone shall those govern who are truly rich, not in gold, but in that in which a happy man ought to be rich, in a good and prudent life. But if those who are poor, and destitute of goods of their own, come into power, thinking they ought thence to gain advan- tage for themselves, it is not possible to have the city rightly established. For the contest being who shall govern, such a war being domestic, and within them, it destroys both them- selves, and the rest of the city. Most true, said he. Have you then, said I, any other kind of life but that of true philosophy which despises public magistracies ? No, said he. But, how- ever, they ought at least not to be fond of governing who enter on it, otherwise the rivals will fight about it. How can it be otherwise ? Whom else then will you oblige to enter on the guardianship of the city, but such as are most intelligent in those things by which the city is best established, and who have other honours, and a life better than the political one ? No others, said he.
Are you willing then, that we now consider this, by what means such men shall be produced, and how one shall bring them
204 THE REPUBLIC.
into the light, as some are said from Hades, to have ascended to the Gods ? Certainly, replied he. This now, as it seems, is not the turning of a shell; but the conversion of the soul coming from some benighted day, to the true day of real being, by the road which we call true philosophy. Entirely so. Ought we not then to consider which of the disciplines possesses such a power ? Why not ? What now, Glauco, may that discipline of the soul be, which draws her from the ephemeral to the real ? But this I consider whilst I am speaking. Did we not indeed say, that it was necessary for them, whilst young, to be trained in war? We said so. It is proper then, that this characteristic likewise be added to that which is now the object of our inquiry. What is it ? That it is useful to military men. It must indeed, said he, be added if possible. We said somewhere in our former discourse that they were to be instructed by us in gymnastic and music. They were, replied he. Gymnastic is indeed in respect of what is generated and destroyed, for it presides over the increase and corruption of the body. It seems so. This then cannot be the discipline which we investigate. It cannot. Is it music then, such as we formerly described ? No, said he, for it was spoken of as a counterpart of gymnastic, if you remember; instructing our guardians by habit, imparting no science, but only, with respect to harmony, a certain kind of harmony, and with regard to rhythm a certain kind of rhythm, and in discourses, certain other habits the sisters of these, both in such discourses as are fabulous, and in such as are nearer to truth. But as to a discipline respecting such a good as you now investigate, there was nothing of this in that music. You have, most accurately, said I, reminded me ; for it treated, in reality of no such thing. But, divine Glauco, what may this discipline be ? For all the arts have somehow appeared to be mechanical and illiberal. How should they not? And what other discipline remains distinct from music, gymnastic, and the arts ? Come, said I, if we have nothing yet further besides these to take, let us take something in these which extends over them all. What is that? Such as this general thing,
THE REPUBLIC.
205
which all arts, and dianoetic powers, and sciences employ, and which every one ought, in the first place, necessarily to learn. What is that ? said he. The ordinary knowledge, said I, of the numbers one, and two, and three : I call this summarily Number, and Computation. For is it not that every art, and every science, must of necessity participate of these ? They must of necessity, replied he. And must not the art of war likewise participate of them? Of necessity, said he. Pala- medes, for example, in the tragedies, shows everywhere Agamemnon to have been at least a most ridiculous general ; or have you not observed how he says, that having invented numeration, he adjusted the ranks in the camp at Troy, and numbered the ships, and all the other forces which were not numbered before ; for Agamemnon, as it seems, did not even know how many feet he had, as he understood not how to number them: what kind of general do you imagine him to be? A strange one, for my part, replied he, if this were true. Is there any other discipline then, said I, which we shall establish as more necessary to a military man, than to be able to compute and to number ? This most of all, said he, if he would any way understand how to range his troops, and still more if he is to be a man. Do you perceive then, said I, with regard to this discipline the same thing as I do ? What is that? It seems to belong to those things which we are investi- gating, which naturally lead to intelligence, but that no one uses it aright, being entirely a conductor towards real being. What do you mean? replied he. I shall endeavour, said I, to explain at least my own opinion. With reference to those things which I divide in my mind into such as lead towards intelligence, and such as do not, do you consider them along with me, and either agree or dissent, in order that we may more distinctly see, whether this be such as I conjecture re- specting it. Show me, said he. I will, said I. You may perceive some things that are perceived by the senses, which call not intelligence to the inquiry, as they are sufficiently determined by the sense ; and other things which call upon it to inquire, as the sense produces no result. You plainly mean, said he, such
206 THE REPUBLIC.
things as appear at a distance, and such as are painted. You have not altogether, said I, apprehended my meaning. Which then, said he, do you mean ? Those things, said I, call not upon intelligence, which do not produce two contrary sensa- tions at one and the same time ; but such as do I say are those which call upon intelligence: since in the latter the sense mani- fests two contrary sensations, whether the object be near, or at a distance. But you will understand my meaning more plainly in this manner. These, we say, are three fingers, the little finger, the next to it, and the middle finger. Plainly so, replied he. Consider me then as speaking of them when near, and take notice of this concerning them. What ? Each of them alike appears to be a finger, and in this there is no difference, whether it be in the middle or in the end; whether it be white or black, thick or slender, or anything else of this kind; for in all these, the soul of the multitude is under no necessity to question their intellect what is a finger ; for never does sight itself intimate a finger to be a finger, and at the same time its contrary. It does not, replied he. It is not likely then, said I, that such a case as this shall either call upon or excite intelligence ? It is not. But what ? with reference to their being great and small, does the sight sufficiently perceive this, and makes it no difference to it, that one of them is situated in the middle, or at the end ; and in like manner with reference to their thick- ness and slenderness, their softness and hardness, does the touch sufficiently perceive these things ; and in like manner the other senses, do they no way defectively manifest such things ? Or does each of them act in this manner ? First of all, must not that sense which relates to the hard, of necessity relate likewise to the soft ; and feeling these, it reports to the soul, as if both hard and soft were one and the same ? It does. And must not then the soul again, said I, in such cases, of necessity be in doubt, what the sense points out to it as hard, since it calls the same thing soft likewise . and so with reference to the sense relating to light and heavy the soul must be in doubt what is light and what is heavy;
THE REPUBLIC. 207
if the sense intimates that heavy is light, and that light is heavy? These at least, said he, are truly absurd reports to the soul, and stand in need of examination. It is likely then, said I, that first of all, in such cases as these, the soul, call- ing in reason and intelligence, will endeavour to discover, whether the things reported be one, or whether they be two. Why not? And if they appear to be two, each of them appears to be one, and distinct from the other. It does. And
I if each of them be one, and both of them two, it will by intelligence perceive the two to be distinct ; for, if they were not distinct, he could not perceive two, but only one. Right. The sight in like manner, we say, perceives great and small, but not as distinct from each other, but as something confused. Does it not ? It does. In order to obtain perspicuity in this affair, intelligence is obliged again to consider great and small,
inot as confused, but distinct, after a manner contrary to the sense of sight. True. And is it not from hence, somehow, that it begins to question us, What then is great, and what is small ? By all means. And so we have called the one intelli- gible, and the other visible. Very right, said he. This then is what I was just now endeavouring to express, when I said, that some things call on the dianoetic part, and others do not: and such as fall on the sense at the same time with their contraries, I define to be such as require intelligence, but such as do not, do not excite intelligence. I understand now, said he, and it appears so to me. What now ? with refer- ence to number and unity, to which of the two classes do you think they belong ? I do not know, replied he. But reason by analogy, said I, from what we have already said: for, if unity be of itself sufficiently seen, or be apprehended by any other sense, it will not lead towards real being, as we said concerning the finger. But if there be always seen at the same time something contrary to it, so as that it shall appear as much the contrary of itself as unity itself, it would then require some one to judge of it : and the soul would be under a necessity to doubt within itself, and to inquire, exciting the conception within itself, and to interrogate it what this unity
208 THE REPUBLIC.
is. And thus the study which relates to unity would be of the class of those which lead, and turn the soul to the con- templation of real being. Right, said he: this indeed, said he, is what the very sight of it effects in no small degree : for we behold the same thing, at one and the same time, as one and as an infinite multitude. And if this be the case with reference to unity, said I, will not every member be affected in the same manner ? Why not ? But surely both computa- tion and arithmetic wholly relate to number. Very much so. These then seem to lead to truth. Transcendently so. They belong then, as it seems, to those disciplines which we are investigating. For the soldier must necessarily learn these things, for the disposing of his ranks ; and the philosopher for the attaining to real being, emerging from the transitory world, or he can never become a reasoner. It is so, replied he. But our guardian at least happens to be both a soldier and a philosopher. Undoubtedly. It were proper then, Glauco, to establish by law this discipline, and to persuade those who are to manage the greatest affairs of the city to apply to computation, and study it, not in a common way, but till by intelligence itself they arrive at the contemplation of the nature of numbers, not for the sake of buying, nor of sell- ing, as merchants and retailers, but both for war, and for facility in the energies of the soul itself, and its conversion from change to truth and essence. Most beautifully said, replied he. And surely now, I perceive likewise, said I, at present whilst this discipline respecting computations is men- tioned, how elegant it is, and every way advantageous towards our purpose, if one applies to it for the sake of knowledge, and not with a view to traffic ! Which way ? replied he. This very thing which we now mentioned, how vehemently does it lead up the soul, and compel it to reason about numbers themselves, by no means admitting, if a man in reasoning shall produce numbers which have visible and tangible bodies ! For you know of some who are skilled in these things, and who, if a man in reasoning should attempt to divide unity itself, would both ridicule him, and not admit it; and if you divide
THE REPUBLIC. 209
it into parts, they multiply them again, afraid lest unity should appear not to be unity, but many parts. You are right, replied he. What think you now, Glauco, if one should ask them: O admirable men ! about what kind of numbers are you reason- ing ? What numbers are they in which there is such unity as you describe, each unit being equal to each, and not differing in the smallest degree, while having no parts in itself: what do you think they would answer ? This, as I suppose ; that they mean such numbers as can be conceived by the dianoetic part alone, but cannot be comprehended in any other way. You see then, my friend, said I, that in reality this discipline appears to be necessary for us, since it seems to compel the soul to employ intelligence itself in the perception of truth itself. And surely now, said he, it effects this in a very powerful degree. But what ? have you hitherto considered this ? that those who are naturally skilled in computation appear to be acute in all disciplines ; and such as are naturally slow, if they be instructed and exercised in this, though they derive no other advantage, yet at the same time all of them proceed so far as to become more acute than they were before. It is so, replied he. And surely, as I think, you will not easily find anything, and certainly not many, which occasion greater labour to the learner and student than this. No, indeed. On all these accounts, then, this discipline is not to be omitted, but the best geniuses are to be instructed in it. I agree, said he.
Let this one thing then, said I, be established among us; and, in the next place, let us consider if that which is con- sequent to this in any respect pertains to us. What is it ? said he : do you mean geometry ? That very thing, said I. As far, said he, as it relates to warlike affairs, it is plain that it belongs to us; for, as to encampments, and the occupying of ground, contracting and extending an army, and all those figures into which they form armies, both in battles and in marches, there would be a difference in a soldier according as he is a geome- trician, or not. Surely, said I, for such purposes as these, a little geometry, and computation might suffice : but we must
2io THE REPUBLIC.
inquire, whether a larger, and more advanced study of it, would contribute anything to this great end, to make us more easily perceive the idea of the good. We say that everything con- tributes to this, that obliges the soul to turn itself towards that region in which is the most divine of being, which it must by all means perceive. You say right, replied he. If therefore it compel the soul to contemplate the real essence, it concerns us; but if it oblige it to contemplate the changeable, it does not. We say so indeed. Those then who are but a little conversant in geometry, said I, will not dispute with us this point at least, that this science is perfectly contrary to the common modes of speech employed about it by those who practise it. How ? said he. They speak very ridiculously, and as if through poverty of ideas: for all the discourse they employ in it appears to be with a view to actual practice. Thus they speak of making a square, of prolonging, of adjoining, and the like. But yet the whole of this discipline is studied for the sake of knowledge. By all means, said he. Must not this further be assented to ? What ? That it is the knowledge of that which always is, and not of that which is sometimes generated and destroyed. This, said he, must be granted ; for geometrical knowledge is of that which always is. It would seem then, generous Glauco, to draw the soul towards truth, and to be productive of a dianoetic energy adapted to a philosopher, so as to raise this power of the soul to things above, instead of causing it improperly, as at present, to contemplate things below. As much as possible, replied he. As much as possible then, said I, must we give orders, that those in this most beautiful city of yours by no means omit geometry ; for even its by-works are not incon- siderable. What by-works ? said he. Those, said I, which you mentioned relating to war; and indeed with reference to all disciplines, as to the understanding of them more handsomely, we know somehow, that the having learned geometry or not, makes in every way an entire difference. Every way, said he. Let us then establish this second discipline for the youth. Let us establish it, replied he.
But what ? shall we, in the third place, establish astronomy ?
THE REPUBLIC. 211
or are you of a different opinion ? I am, said he, of the same : for to be well skilled in the seasons of months and years, belongs not only to agriculture and navigation, but equally to the military art. You are pleasant, said I, as you seem to be afraid of the multitude, lest you should appear to enjoin useless disciplines : but this is not altogether a contemptible thing, though it is difficult to persuade them that a certain organ of the soul, which is blinded and buried by studies of another kind, is by each of these disciplines both purified and enlivened; an organ better worth saving than ten thousand eyes, since truth is perceived by this alone. To such therefore as are of the same opinion, you will very readily appear to reason admirably well : but such as have never observed this will probably think you talk non- sense; for they perceive no other advantage in these things worthy of attention. Consider now from this point, with which of these two you will reason ; or if you carry on the reasonings with neither of them, but principally for your own sake, yet you will doubtless allow another to be benefited by them. In the latter manner, replied he, I choose, on my own account princi- pally both to reason, and to question and answer. Come then, said I, let us go back again ; for we have not rightly taken that which is consequent to geometry. What have we taken? re- plied he. After a plain surface, said I, we have taken a solid moving in a circle, before we considered the solid by itself: but if we had proceeded rightly we should have taken the third argument immediately after the second, and that is the argument of cubes, and what participates of depth. It is so, replied he. These things, Socrates, seem not yet to be discovered. The reason of it, said I, is twofold. Because there is no city which sufficiently honours them, they are slightly investigated, being difficult; and besides, those who do investigate them want a leader, without which they cannot discover them. And this leader is in the first place hard to be obtained ; and when he is obtained, as things are at present, those who investigate these particulars, as they conceive magnificently of themselves, will not obey him. But if the whole city presided over these things, and held them in esteem, such as inquired into them would be
212 THE REPUBLIC,
obedient, and their inquiries, being carried on with assiduity and vigour, would discover themselves what they were : since even now, whilst they are on the one hand despised and mutilated by the multitude, and on the other by those who study them without being able to give any account of their utility, they yet, under all these disadvantages, progress through their native grace : nor is it wonderful that they do so. Truly, said he, this grace is very remarkable. But tell me more plainly what you were just now saying; for that study which respects a plain surface you called geometry. I did, said I. And then, said he, you mentioned astronomy in the first place after it. But afterwards you drew back. Because, whilst I am hastening, said I, to discuss all things rapidly, I advance more slowly. For the inquiry into spaces of three dimensions which was next according to method we passed over, because the investigation of it is usually ridiculous ; and after geometry we mentioned astronomy, which is the circular motion of a solid. You say right, replied he. We establish then, said I, astronomy as the fourth discipline, supposing that which we have now omitted will be studied, when some city shall enter upon it. It is reasonable, said he. And now that you agree with me, Socrates, I proceed in my commendation of astronomy, which you formerly reproved as unreasonable. For it is evident, I conceive, to every one, that this discipline compels the soul to look to that which is above, and away from things here below. It is, said I, perhaps 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 makes the soul 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 looking up, apprehends everything, 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 othet
THE REPUBLIC. 213
discipline can make the soul look upwards, but that which respects being, and that which is invisible ; and if a man under- takes to learn anything 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 I say his soul looks 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 ; although these variegated bodies in the heavens are deemed the most beautiful and the most accurate of the kind, yet (as they are only part of the visible world) are far inferior to the real beings which are carried in those orbits in which real velocity, and real slowness, in true number, and in all true forms, work with respect to one another, and carry all things that are within them: which latter things truly are to be comprehended by reason and the dianoetic 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 those real things, in the same manner as if one should meet with geometrical figures, drawn remarkably well and elaborately by Daedalus, 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 in equal, in duplicate, or in any other proportion. It would 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 are established in the most beautiful manner pos- sible for such works ; 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 month to a year, and of other stars to the sun and moon and towards one another, existed
214 THE REPUBLIC.
always in the same manner, and in no way suffered any change, though they have a body and are visible ; and who would search by every method to apprehend the truth of these things. So it appears to me, 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 task 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 lawgivers. But can you suggest any of the proper disciplines? I can suggest none, replied he, at present at least. Lation [Motion], said I, as it appears to me, affords us not one indeed, but many species of discipline. All of which any wise man can probably tell ; but those which occur to me are two. What are they ? Together with this we have mentioned, said I, there is its counterpart. 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 Pytha- goreans 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,1 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 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 1 The Pythagorean philosophy considered that the key of the universe lay in number and proportion.
THE REPUBLIC. 215
repeat certain notes, and listen with their ears as if to catch the sound from their neighbours ; 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 say that the notes are the same as were sounded before ; and both parties subject the intellect to the ears. 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 men- tioned. For these do the same things here as the others did in 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, 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 that are skilled in dialectic do not appear expert as to these things. No, by Zeus, 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 able to know anything 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 of the intellectual \vorld, may be said to be imitated by the power of sight ; which
2i6 THE REPUBLIC.
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 begins to discuss a subject without using any of the senses, but by reasoning alone he is impelled to that which each particular is ; and if he does not desist till he apprehends by pure intelligence what is the good itself, he then arrives at the end of the intellectual world, 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 jou 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 behold animals and plants and the light of the sun ; so here you have the con- templation 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 likewise this pursuit of 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 that exist; as in the former case, that which is brightest in the body is led to that which is most splendid in the corporeal and visible world. I admit, said he, these things ; though in one way truly it appears to me ex- tremely difficult to admit them, and in another respect it is difficult not to admit 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 introduc- tion. Say then what is the mode of the power of dialectic, 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 will not as yet, friend Glauco, 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. At least this is how it appears to me ; whether it be so in reality or not, this it is not
THE REPUBLIC. 217
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 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 are concerned with either the opinions and desires of men, or the generations and composition of bodies, or are all employed in the culture of things generated and compounded. Those others, which we said participated some- what of being, geometry, and such as are connected with it, 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 immovable, 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, and by gradually drawing and leading upwards the eye of the soul, which was buried in barbaric ignorance, using as assistants and guides those arts we have mentioned, which through custom we frequently call sciences, but which require another and clearer appellation than opinion, but more obscure than science ? We have somewhere in the former part of our discourse termed it the dianoetic power [understanding]. 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 us. It is not, said he. Do you agree then, said I, as formerly, to call the first part science, the second the dianoetic power, the third faith, and the fourth conjecture? and also these two last, opinion? and the two former, intelligence ? And that opinion is employed about the changeable, and intelligence about the essence ? Likewise,
2i8 THE REPUBLIC.
that as essence is to the changeable, so is intelligence to opinion, science to faith, and the dianoetic power to conjecture ? But as for the analogy of the things which these powers respect, and the twofold division of each — viz., of the object of opinion, 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, separating the idea of the good from all others, and as in a battle piercing through all arguments, eagerly striving to con- fute, 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 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 Zeus, said he, I will strongly aver all these things. But surely you will not, I think, allow your own children whom you are theoretically nourishing and edu- cating, if ever in reality you educate them, to have the supreme government of the most important affairs in the state, whilst they are as 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 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 placed on high as a bulwark to disciplines ? and that no other discipline can with propriety be raised higher than this; but
THE REPUBLIC. 219
everything 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 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 by severe studies, than by 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 we must seek for those 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 legiti- mate. What do you mean by legitimate? 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, as 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 who dislikes all bodily exercise is lame, though in a different manner. You say most true, replied he. And shall we not, said I, in like manner account that soul lame as to
220 THE REPUBLIC.
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 manner, said I, as to temperance and fortitude, and magnanimity, and all the parts of virtue, we must no less care- fully 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 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 everything the reverse, and bring philosophy under still greater ridicule. That indeed were shameful, said he. Certainly, said I. But I myself 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, being enraged at those who are the cause of it, to have spoken too earnestly. No truly, said he, not to me your hearer at least. But to myself I did, said I. But let us not forget this, that in our former election we made choice of old men ; but 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 wilJ
THE REPUBLIC. 221
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 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 t 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. When they have, said I, finished their necessary bodily 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 the behaviour of each in his exercises is none of the least of their trials. Certainly, said he. And after this period, said I, let such as formerly have been selected of the age of twenty receive greater honours than others, and let those discip- lines 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 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 natur- ally 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 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 estab- lished by law, to make choice of such after they exceed thirty years, selecting from those chosen formerly, and to advance
222 THE REPUBLIC.
them to greater honours. Yon 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. 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 ? Disobedience to law, said I. Greatly so, replied he. Are you surprised, said I, or will you not forgive them ? How do you mean ? said he. Just as if, said I, a certain supposititious child were educated in 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 pay more honour to his father and mother, and his other supposed rela- tions 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 any- thing 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 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 see everything, said he, as it would happen. But in what manner does this com- parison 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
THE REPUBLIC. 223
by parents, 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 in every way convinces and reduces him to the opinion, that this "beauty" is as deformed as it is beautiful ; 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, these things honourable, and allied to him as formerly, and cannot discover those which really are so, is it possible that 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 trans- gressor. 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 compassion- able case befall these of the age of thirty, ought they not to apply themselves to reasoning with every precaution ? 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, and 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, and been themselves confuted
224 THE REPUBLIC,
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 inquires after truth, than one 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 orderly 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 per- severance and application, and doing nothing else just as formerly he gave up everything for the sake of his bodily exercises ? Do you mean six years, said he, or four ? JTis 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 magis- tracies 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 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, uplifting the eye 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 private persons, and themselves, during the remainder of their life. For the most part indeed they must be occupied
THE REPUBLIC. 225
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 anything 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 blest. And the city will publicly erect for them, monu- ments, and other 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 ruling men all-beautiful. And our ruling women likewise, Glauco, said I. For do not suppose that I 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 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 several 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 honours which are derived from it above all things ; accounting justice as the greatest thing of all, and the most absolutely necessary; and ministering to it, and, increasing it, thoroughly regulate the constitution 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 will be sent into the country, and, removing their children away from those habits which their parents 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 indeed, said he. And you seem to me, Socrates, to
226 THE REPUBLIC.
have told very well how this city shall arise, if it arise at all. Then, said I, is not what we have said sufficient both concerning such a city as this, and concerning the man similar to it ? For it is also now evident what kind of a man he ought to be. It is evident, replied he; and your inquiry seems to me to be at an end.
THE REPUBLIC.
227
BOOK VIII.
BE it so. - These things, Glauco, we have now assented to; that in this city, which is to be established in a perfect manner, the women are to be common, the children common, and like- wise the whole of education. In like manner, their employ- ments both in peace and war are to be common; and their kings are to be such as excel all others both in philosophy and in the arts of war. These things, said he, have been assented to. And surely we likewise granted, that when the governors are marching with the soldiers, and settle themselves, they shall dwell in such habitations as we formerly mentioned, which have nothing peculiar to any one, but are comrAon to all : and besides these houses, we likewise, if you remember, agreed what sort of possessions they shall have. I remember, said he, that we were of opinion, none of them ought to possess anything as others do at present ; but, as trained soldiers and guardians, they were to receive a reward for their guardianship from others, or a yearly maintenance on these accounts, and were to take care of them- selves and the rest of the city. You say right, said I. But since we have finished this, let us recollect whence we made this digression ; that we may now proceed again in the same way. That is not difficult, said he: for you were mentioning much the same things of the city as those you are mentioning now, saying that you considered such a city to be good as was at that time described, and the man to be good who resembles it; whilst yet it seems you are able to describe a better city, and a better man. And you said, moreover, that if this was right all the others were wrong. Of the other republics, you said, as I remember, there were four species, which deserved to be con- sidered, and to have the errors in them, and the lawless people
228 THE REPUBLIC.
in them, observed; in order that when we have beheld the whole of them, and when we have agreed which is the best, and which is the worst man, we may inquire whether the best man be the happiest, and the worst the most miserable, or otherwise. And when I asked you, which you call the four republics, Pole- marchus and Adimantus hereupon interrupted ; l and you, in this manner having resumed the subject, are come to this part of the reasoning. You have recollected, said I, most accurately. Again therefore afford me the same opportunity, and, whilst I ask you the same question, endeavour to say what you then intended to assert. If indeed I am able, said I. And I am truly desirous, said he, for my part, to hear which you call the four republics. You shall hear that, said I, without difficulty. For they are these I mention, and they have names too. There is that which is commended by many, the Cretan and the Spartan. There is secondly, that which has a secondary praise, called Oligarchy, a republic full of many evils ; that which is the opposite of this, and follows next in order, a Democracy : and then genuine Tyranny, different from all these, the fourth and worst disease of a city. Or have you any other form of a republic belonging to any distinct species ? For your little principalities and venal kingdoms, and such-like republics, are of a middle kind between these, and one may find as many of them among the barbarians as among the Greeks. They are indeed, said he, said to be very many, and very strange ones. Do you know now, said I, that there is a necessity that there be as many species of men as of republics ? Or do you imagine that republics are generated of an oak, or a rock, and not of the manners of those who are in the city, to which, as into a current, everything else likewise is drawn ? By no means do I imagine, said he, they are generated from anything but from hence. If then there be five species of cities, the species of souls in individuals shall be likewise five. Why not ? We have already discussed that which resembles an Aristocracy, which we have rightly pronounced to be both good and just. We have so. Are we now, in the next place, to go over the worse 1 At the beginning of the Fifth Book.
THE REPUBLIC. 229
species, the contentious and the ambitious man, who is formed according to the Spartan republic; then him resembling an Oligarchy; and then the Democratic and the Tyrannic, that we may contemplate the most unjust, and oppose him to the most just, that our inquiry may be completed ? — viz., how the most finished justice is in comparison of the most finished injustice, as to the happiness or misery of the possessor ? that so we may either follow injustice, being persuaded by Thrasymachus, or justice, yielding to the present reasoning ? By all means, said he, we must do so. Shall we then, in the same manner as we began, consider the manners in republics, before we con- sider them in private persons, as being there more conspicuous? And according to this method the ambitious republic is first to be considered (for I have no other name to call it by, but it may be denominated either a Timocracy, or a Timarchy), and to- gether with it we shall consider a man resembling it ; afterwards we shall consider an Oligarchy, and a man resembling Oli- garchy; then again, when we have viewed a Democracy, we shall contemplate a Democratic man; and then in the fourth place, when we come to Tyranny, and contemplate it, and likewise a tyrannic soul, we shall endeavour to become com- petent judges of what we proposed. Both our contemplation and judgment, said he, would in this manner at least be agree- able to reason. Come then, said I, let us endeavour to relate in what manner a Timocracy arises out of an Aristocracy. Or is not this plain, that every republic changes, by means of that part which possesses the magistracies, when in this itself there arises sedition ; but whilst this agrees with itself, though the state be extremely small, it is impossible to be changed? It is so, indeed. How then, Glauco, shall our city be changed ? Or in what shape shall our allies and rulers fall into sedition with one another, and among themselves ? Or are you willing that, like Homer, we invoke the Muses to tell us " How first sedition rose ? " —And shall we describe them as talking tragic- ally, playing with us, and rallying us as children, and pretending to talk seriously and sublimely? In what manner? Somehow thus:— It is indeed difficult for a city thus constituted to be
230 THE REPUBLIC.
changed. But as everything which is generated is subject to corruption, neither will such a constitution as this remain for ever, but be dissolved. And its dissolution is this. Not only with respect to terrestrial plants, but likewise in terrestrial animals, a fertility and sterility of soul as well as of body takes place, when the revolutions of the heavenly bodies complete the periphery of their respective orbits ; which are shorter to the shorter lived, and contrariwise to such as are the contrary : and with reference to the fertility and sterility of our race, although those are wise that you have educated to be governors of cities, yet will they never, by reason in conjunction with sense, observe the proper seasons, but overlook them, and sometimes generate children when they ought not. But the period to that which is divinely generated is that which the perfect number compre- hends ; and to that which is generated by man, that in which the augmentations surpassing and surpassed, when they shall have received these restitutions and four boundaries of things assimilating and dissimilating, increasing and decreasing, shall render all things correspondent and effable; of which the sesquitertian progeny, when conjoined with the pentad, and thrice increased, affords two harmonies. One of these, the equally equal, a hundred times a hundred; but the other, of equal length indeed, but more oblong, is of a hundred numbers from effable diameters of pentads, each being deficient by unity, and from two numbers that are ineffable ; and from a hundred cubes of the triad. But the whole geometric number of this kind is the author of better and worse generations. Of which when our governors, being ignorant, join our couples together unseasonably, the children shall neither be of a good genius, nor fortunate. And though the former governors shall install the best of them in the office, they nevertheless being unworthy of it, and coming to have the power their fathers had, will begin to be negligent of us in their guardianship, in the first place esteeming music less than they ought, and in the next place the gymnic exercises. Hence our youth will become less acquainted with music. And the guardians which shall be appointed from among these will not be altogether expert
THE REPUBLIC. 231
guardians in distinguishing, according to Hesiod and us, the several species of geniuses, the golden, the silver, the brazen, and the iron; but whilst iron is mixed with silver, and brass with gold, dissimilitude arises, and unharmonious inequality. And when these arise, wherever they prevail, they perpetually generate war and enmity. To such a race of men as this, we must suppose them to say, that sedition belongs whenever it happens to rise. And we shall say that they have answered justly, replied he. And of necessity, said I, for they are Muses. What then, said he, do the Muses say next ? When sedition is risen, said I, two of the species of geniuses, the iron and the brazen, will be drawn to gain, and the acquisition of lands and houses, of gold and silver. But the golden and the silver geniuses, as they are not in want, but naturally rich, will lead souls towards virtue, and the original constitution ; yet as they will quarrel violently with one another, they will make an agree- ment to divide their lands and houses between them, and to dwell apart from one another ; and then enslaving those who were formerly kept by them as freemen, as friends, and tutors, they will keep them as domestics and slaves, for service in war, and for their own protection. This revolution, said he, seems to me thus to arise. Shall not then this republic, said I, be somewhat in the middle between an Aristocracy and Oligarchy? Certainly.
The change shall happen in this manner ; and after this change what sort of life shall the state lead ? Is it not plain, that in some things it shall imitate its former condition, and in others Oligarchy, as being in the middle of the two, and shall likewise have somewhat peculiar to itself? Just so, replied he. Will not then the military class, in honouring their rulers, and in abstaining from agriculture, and mechanical and other gain- ful employments, in its establishing common meals, and in studying both gymnastic exercises and contests of war, in all these things will it not imitate the former republic ? Yes. But in that they are afraid to bring wise men into the magistracy, as having no longer any such as are truly simple and inflexible, but such as are of a mixed kind ; and in that they incline for
232 THE REPUBLIC.
those who are more forward and rough, whose natural genius is rather fitted for war than peace, and in that they esteem tricks and stratagems, and spend the whole of their time in continual war, in all these respects shall it not have many things peculiar to itself? Yes. And such as these, said I, shall be desirous of wealth, like those who live in Oligarchies, and in an illiberal and concealed manner, value gold and silver, as they have reposi- tories of their own, and domestic treasures, where they hoard and hide their riches, and have their houses circularly enclosed, where, as in nests altogether peculiar, they squander everything profusely upon their wives and such other things as they fancy. Most true, said he. And will they not likewise be sparing of their own substance, as valuing it highly, and acquiring it not in an open manner, and love to squander the substance of others, through their dissoluteness, and secretly indulging their pleasures ? They will likewise fly from the law, as children from their father, who have been educated not by persuasion but by force, having neglected the true music, which is accompanied with reason and philosophy, and honoured gymnastic more than music. You describe entirely, said he, a mixed republic, com- pounded of good and ill. It is indeed mixed, said I, but one thing is most remarkable in it, from the prevalence of the irascible temper, namely contention, and ambition. Exceed- ingly, said he. Does not then, said I, this republic arise in this manner ? And is it not of such a kind as this, as far as the form of a republic can be described in words where there is not perfect accuracy ; as it suffices us to contemplate in description likewise the most just and the most unjust man ; and it were a work of prodigious length to discuss all republics, and all the various manners of men, without omitting anything? Very right, said he.
What now will the man be who corresponds to this republic ? how shall he be formed, and of what kind ? I think, said Adimantus, he will be somewhat like Glauco here, at least in a love of contention. Perhaps, said I, as to this particular. But in other respects he does not seem to me to have a natural resemblance to him. In what? He must necessarily, said I,
THE REPUBLIC. 233
be more arrogant, and unapt to music, if fond of it: and fond of hearing, but by no means a rhetorician : and such an one will be rough towards certain slaves, without despising them, as he does who is sufficiently educated. He will be mild towards such as are free, and extremely submissive to governors ; a lover of dominion, and a lover of honour, not thinking it proper to govern by eloquence, nor anything of the kind, but by political management and military performances, being a lover of gymnastic and hunting. This indeed, said he, is the temper of that republic. And shall not such an one, said I, despise money, whilst he is young? But the older he grows, the more he will always value it, because he partakes of the covetous genius, and is not sincerely affected towards virtue, because destitute of the best guardian. Of what guardian? said Adimantus. Reason, said I, accompanied with music, which being the only inbred preservative of virtue, dwells with the possessor through the whole of life. You say well, replied he. And surely at least such a timocratic youth, said I, resembles such a city. Certainly. And such an one, said I, is formed somehow in this manner. He happens sometimes to be the young son of a worthy father, who dwells in an ill-regulated city, and who shuns honours and magistracies, and law-suits, and all such public business, and is willing to live neglected in obscurity, that he may have no trouble. In what manner then, said he, is he formed? When first of all, said I, he hears his mother venting her indignation, because her husband is not in the magistracy, and complaining that she is on this account neglected among other women, and that she observes him not extremely attentive to the acquisition of wealth, not fighting and reviling privately and publicly in courts of justice ; but behav- ing on all these occasions indolently, and perceiving him always attentive to himself, and treating her neither with extreme respect nor contempt ; on all these accounts, being filled with indignation, she tells her son that his father is unmanly, and extremely remiss, and such other things as wives are wont to cant over concerning such husbands. They are very many, truly, said Adimantus, and very much in their spirit. And you
234 THE REPUBLIC.
know, said I, that the domestics likewise of such families, such of them as appear good-natured, sometimes say the same things to the sons ; and if they see any one either owing money whom the father does not sue at law, or in any other way doing injustice, they exhort him to punish all such persons when he comes to be a man, and to be more of a man than his father. And when he goes abroad, he hears other such-like things. And he sees that such in the city as attend to their own affairs are called simple, and held in little esteem, and that such as do not attend to their affairs are both honoured and commended. The young man now hearing and seeing all these things, and then again hearing the speeches of his father, and observing his pursuits in a near view, in comparison with those of others; being drawn by both these, his father watering and increasing the rational part in his soul, and these others the concupiscible and irascible ; and being naturally no bad man, but spoiled by the bad conversations of others, he is brought to a mean between the two, and delivers up the government within him- self to a middle power, that which is fond of contention and irascible, and so he becomes a haughty and ambitious man. You seem, said he, to have accurately explained the formation of such an one. We have now then, said I, the second republic and the second man. We have, said he. Shall we not after this go on saying with ^Eschylus—
" With diff 'rent cities diff'rent men accord."
Or rather, according to our plan, shall we not first describe the city ? By all means so, replied he. It would be an Oligarchy then, I think, which succeeds this republic. But what con- stitution, said he, is it you call an Oligarchy ? That republic, said I, which is founded on men's valuations, in which the rich bear rule, and the poor have no share in the government. I understand, said he. Must we not relate first, how the change is made from a Timocracy to an Oligarchy ? We must. And surely at least how this change is made, said I, is manifest even to the blind. How ? That treasury, said I, which every one has filled with gold destroys such a republic ; for, first of all,
THE REPUBLIC. 235
they find ou^ for themselves methods of expense, and to this purpose strain the laws, both they and their wives disobeying them. That is likely, said he. And afterwards, I think, one observing another, and coming to rival one another, the mul- titude of them are rendered of this kind. It is likely. And from hence, then, said I, proceeding still to a greater desire of acquiring wealth, the more honourable they account this to be, the more will virtue be thought dishonourable : or is not virtue so different from wealth, that, if each of them be placed in the opposite arm of a balance, one always rises and the other falls ? Entirely so, replied he. But whilst wealth and the wealthy are honoured in the city, both virtue and the good must be more dishonoured. It is plain. And what is honoured is always pursued, and what is dishonoured is neglected. Just so. In- stead then of contentious and ambitious men, they will at last become lovers of gain and of wealth : and they will praise and admire the rich, and bring them into the magistracy, but the poor man they will despise. Certainly. And do they not then make laws, marking out the boundary of the Oligarchic constitu- tion, and regulating the quantity of Oligarchic power according to the quantity of wealth, more to the wealthy, and less to the less, intimating that he who has not the valuation settled by law is to have no share in the government ? And do they not transact these things violently, by force of arms, or establish such a republic after they have previously terrified them ? Is it not thus ? Thus indeed. This then in short is the constitution. It is, replied he. But what now is the nature of the republic, and what are the faults we ascribed to it ? First of all, said I, this very thing, the constitution itself, what think you of this ? For consider, if a man should in this manner appoint pilots of ships, according to their valuations, but never entrust one with a poor man, though better skilled in piloting, what would be the consequence ? They would, said he, make very bad navigation. And is it not in the same manner with reference to any other thing, or any government whatever? I think so. Is it so in all cases but in a city ? said I, or is it so with reference to a city likewise ? There most especially, said he, inasmuch as it is
THE REPUBLIC.
the most difficult, and the greatest government. Oligarchy then would seem to have this, which is so great a fault. It appears so. But is this fault anything less ? What ? That such a city is not one, but of necessity two ; one consisting of the poor, and the other of the rich, dwelling in one place, and always plotting against one another. By Zeus, said he, it is in no respect less. But surely neither is this a handsome thing, to be incapable to wage any war, because of the necessity they are under, either of employing the armed multitude, and of dread- ing them more than the enemy themselves ; or not employing them, to appear in battle itself truly Oligarchic, and at the same time to be unwilling to advance money for the public service, through a natural disposition of covetousness. This is not handsome. But with reference to what we long ago con- demned, the engaging in a multiplicity of different things, the same persons, at the same time, attending in such a republic to agriculture, lucrative employment, and military affairs, does this appear to be right ? Not in any degree. But see now whether this form of republic be the first which introduces this greatest of all evils. What is that? That one shall be allowed to dispose of the whole of his effects, and another to purchase them from him, and the seller be allowed to dwell in the city, whilst he belongs to no one class in the city, and is neither called a maker of money, nor mechanic, nor horseman, nor foot-soldier, but poor and destitute. It is the first, said he. But yet such an one shall not be prohibited in Oligarchic governments ; for otherwise some of them would not be over-rich, and others altogether poor. Right. But con- sider this likewise. When such a rich man as this is spends of his substance, was it of any more advantage to the city with reference to the purposes we now mentioned ? or did he appear to be indeed one of the magistrates, but was in truth neither magistrate of the city, nor servant to it, but a waster of its sub- stance ? So he appeared, replied he. He was nothing but a waster. Are you willing then, said I, that we say of him, that as when a drone is in a bee-hive, it is the disease of the swarm ; in like manner such an one, when a drone in his house,
THE REPUBLIC. 237
is the disease of the city ? Entirely so, Socrates, replied he. And has not God, Adimantus, made all the winged drones with- out any sting ; but of these with feet, some without stings, and some with dreadful stings? And of those who are without stings, are they who continue poor to old age ; and of those who have stings are all these who are called mischievous. Most true, said he. It is plain then, said I, that in a city where you observe there are poor, there are somewhere in that place con- cealed thieves, and purse-cutters, sacrilegious persons, and workers of all other such evils. It is plain, said he. What then ? Do not you perceive poor people in cities under Oligar- chic government ? They are almost all so, said he, except the governors. And do we not think, said I, that there are many mischievous persons in them with stings, whom the magistracy by diligence and by force restrains ? We think so indeed, said he. And shall we not say, that through want of education, through bad nurture, and a corrupt constitution of state, such sort of persons are there produced? We shall say so. Is not then the city which is under Oligarchy of such a kind as this, and hath it not such evils as these, and probably more too ? It is nearly so, said he. We have now finished, said I, this re- public likewise, which they call Oligarchy, having its governors according to valuation. And let us now consider the man who resembles it, in what manner he arises, and what sort of man he is. By all means, said he. And is not the change from the Timocratic to the Oligarchic chiefly in this manner? How? When such an one has a son, first of all, he both emulates his father, and follows his steps ; afterwards he sees him, on a sudden, dashed on the city, as on a rock, and losing both his substance and himself, either in the office of a general, or some other principal magistracy; then falling into courts of justice, destroyed by sycophants, and either put to death, or stripped of his dignities, disgraced, and losing all his substance. It is likely, said he. When he has seen and suffered those things, friend, and has lost his substance, he instantly in a terror pushes headlong from the throne of his soul that ambitious and animated disposition, and, being humbled by his poverty, turns
238 THE REPUBLIC.
his attention to gain, lives meanly and sparingly, and, apply- ing to work, collects wealth. Do you not think that such a man will then seat in that throne the covetous and avaricious dis- position, and make it a mighty king within himself, begirt with tiaras, and bracelets, and sceptres ? I think so, said he. But he, I imagine, having placed both the rational and the ambitious disposition low on the ground on either side, and having enslaved them under it, the one he allows to reason on nothing, nor ever to inquire, but in what way lesser substance shall be made greater; and the other again he permits to admire and honour nothing but riches and the rich, and to receive honour on no other account but the acquisition of money, or whatever contributes towards it. There is no other change, said he, of an ambitious youth to a covetous one so sudden and so powerful as this. Is not this, then, said I, the Oligar- chic man ? And the change into such an one is from a man resembling that republic from which the Oligarchic republic arises. Let us consider, now, if he any way resembles it. Let us consider. Does he not, in the first place, resemble it in valuing money above all things ? Yes. And surely at least in being sparing and laborious, satisfying only his necessary desires, and not allowing of any other expenses, but subduing the other desires as foolish. Certainly. And being, said I, a sordid man, and making gain of everything, a man intent on hoarding, such as the multitude extols — will not this be the man who resembles such a republic? It appears so to me, replied he. Riches then must be most valued both by the city and by such a man. For I do not think, said I, that such a man has attended to education. I do not think he has, said he ; for he would not have taken a blind one to be the leader of his life. But further still, consider this attentively, said I. Shall we not say that there are in him, from the want of education, the desires of the drone, some of them beggarly, and some of them mischievous, forcibly kept in by some other pursuit? Entirely so, said he. Do you know then, said I, where you will best observe their wickedness ? Where ? said be. In their tutelages of orphans, or in whatever else of this
THE REPUBLIC. 239
kind comes in their way, where they have it much in their power to do injustice. True. And is not this now manifest, that in every other commerce of life, wherever such an one acts so as to be approved, appearing to be just, and by moderate behaviour restrains the other wrong desires within him, he does so, not from any persuasion that it is not better to indulge them, nor from sober reason, but from necessity and fear, trembling for the rest of his substance. Entirely so, said he. And truly, said I, friend, you shall find in most of them desires partaking of the nature of the drone, where there is occasion to spend the property of others. Very much so, said he. Such an one as this, then, will not be without sedition within himself; nor be one, but a kind of double man ; he will, however, have for the most part the better desires governing the worse. It is so. And on these accounts such an one, as I imagine, will be more decent than many others, but the true virtue of a harmonised and consistent soul would far eclipse him. It appears so to me. And the parsimonious man will, in private life, be but a poor rival for victory, or in any contest of the honourable kind. And being unwilling to spend his substance for the sake of good reputation, or for any such contests, being afraid to waken up his expensive desires, or any alliance or contest of this kind, fighting with only a small part of his forces in an Oligarchic manner, he is generally defeated, and increases his wealth. Very true, said he. Do we then yet hesitate, said I, to rank the covetous and parsimonious man as most of all resembling the city under Oligarchic government ? By no means, said he.
Democracy now, as it seems, is next to be considered, in what manner it arises, and what kind of man it produces when arisen ; that, understanding the nature of such a man, we may bring him to a trial. We shall in this method, said he, proceed consistently with ourselves. Is not, said I, the change from Oligarchy to Democracy produced in some such way as this, through the insatiable desire of the proposed good — viz., the desire of becoming as rich as possible ? How? As those who are its governors govern on account of their possessing great riches, they will be unwilling, I think, to restrain by law such
24o THE REPUBLIC.
of the youth as are dissolute from having the liberty of squandering1 and wasting their substance; that so, by pur- chasing the substance of such persons, and lending them on usury, they may still become both richer, and be held in greater honour. They will be more unwilling than any other. And is not this already manifest in the city, that it is impossible for the citizens to esteem riches, and at the same time sufficiently possess temperance, but either the one or the other must of necessity be neglected ? It is abundantly plain, said he. But whilst in Oligarchies they neglect education, and suffer the youth to grow licentious, men of good birth are often under a necessity of becoming poor. Very much so. And these, I imagine, lurk in the city, fitted both with stings and with armour, some of them in debt, others in contempt, others in both, hating and conspiring against those who possess their substance, and others likewise, being desirous of a change. These things are so. But the money-catchers still brood over their affairs, and seem not to observe these ; and wherever they see any of the rest giving way, they wound -them by throwing money into their hands, and, drawing to themselves exorbitant usury, fill the city with drones, and the poor. They do, said he. Nor yet, said I, when so great an evil is burning in the city, are they willing to extinguish it, not even by the method of re- straining any one from spending his substance at pleasure ; nor yet to take that method, by which, according to the second law, such disorder might be removed. According to which? According to that, which is secondary to the other, obliging the citizens to pay attention to virtue; for, if one should enjoin them to traffic in the way of voluntary commerce, at the hazard of the contractor, they would in a less shameful way make money in the city, and likewise less of those evils we have now mentioned would arise in it. Much less, said he. But at present, said I, by means of all these things, the governors render the governed of this kind. And do they not render both themselves and all belonging to them, and the youth like- wise, luxurious and idle with respect to all the exercises of body and of mind, and effeminate in bearing both pleasures and
THE REPUBLIC. 241
pains, and likewise indolent ? What else ? As to themselves, they neglect everything but the acquisition of wealth, and pay no more attention to virtue than the poor do. They do not indeed. After they are trained up in this manner, when these governors and their subjects meet together either on the road in their journeying, or in any other meetings, either at public spectacles, or military marches, either when fellow-sailors or fellow-soldiers, or when they see one another in common dangers (in which case the poor are not contemned by the rich ; since very often a robust fellow, poor and sunburnt, has his rank in battle beside a rich man bred up in the shade, and swollen with a great deal of adventitious flesh, and sees him panting for breath and in agony), do not you imagine that the poor think it is through their own fault that such fellows grow rich, and that they say to one another, when they meet in private, that our rich men are good for nothing at all ? I know very well, said he, that they do so. For, as a diseased body needs but the smallest shock from without to render it sickly, and sometimes without any impression from without is in sedition with itself, will not in like manner a city resembling it in these things, on the smallest occasion from without, when either the one party forms an alliance with the Oligarchic, or the other with the Democratic, be sickly, and fight with itself, and, sometimes without these things from abroad, be in sedition ? Certainly, A Democracy then, I think, arises when the poor prevailing over the rich kill some, and banish others, and share the places in the republic, and the magistracies equally among the remainder, and for the most part the magistracies are disposed in it by lot. This truly, said he, is the establishment of a Democracy, whether it arise by force of arms, or from others withdrawing themselves through fear.
In what manner, now, said I, do these live, and what sort of a republic is this? for it is plain that a man of this kind will appear a Democratic man. It is plain, said he. Is not then the city, in the first place, full of all freedom of action, and of speech, and of liberty, to do in it what any one inclines ? So truly it is said at least, replied he. And wherever there is
16
242 THE REPUBLIC.
liberty, it is plain that every one will regulate his own method of life in whatever way he pleases. It is plain. And I think that in such a republic most especially there would arise men of all kinds. How can it be otherwise? This, said I, seems to be the finest of all republics. As a variegated robe diversified with all kinds of flowers, so this republic, variegated with all sorts of manners, appears the finest. What else ? said he. And it is likely, said I, that the multitude judge this republic to be the best, like children and women gazing at variegated things. Very likely, said he. And it is very proper at least. O blessed man ! said I, to search for a republic in such a state as this. How now? Because it contains all kinds of republics on account of liberty ; and it appears necessary for any one who wants to constitute a city, as we do at present, to come to a Democratic city, as to a general fair of republics, and choose that from which he fancies. It is likely indeed, said he, he would not be in want of models. But what now, said I, is not this a divine and sweet manner of life for the present : to be under no necessity in such a city to govern, not though you were able to govern, nor yet to be subject unless you incline, nor to be engaged in war when others are, nor to live in peace when others do so unless you be desirous of peace; and though there be a law restraining you from governing or administering justice, you may govern never- theless, and administer justice, if you incline ? It is likely, said he; it is pleasant for the present at least. But what now, is not the meekness of some of those who are con- demned very curious? Or have you not as yet observed, in such a republic, men condemned to death or banishment, yet nevertheless continuing in it, and walking up and down openly ; and as if no one attended to or observed them, the condemned march about like heroes ? I have observed very many, said he. But is not this indulgence of the city very generous, in its small regard, and even contempt, for all those things we celebrated so much when we settled our city, as that unless a man had an extraordinary genius, he never would become a good man, unless when a child he were educated in things handsome, and
THE REPUBLIC. 243
should diligently apply to all these things : how magnanimously does it despise all these things, and not regard from what kind of pursuits a man comes to act in political affairs, but honours him if he only says he is well affected towards the multitude ? This contempt, said he, is very generous indeed. These now, said I, and such things as are akin to these, are to be found in a Democracy; and it will be, as it appears, a pleasant sort of republic, anarchical, and variegated, distributing equality to all alike without distinction. What you say, replied he, is perfectly manifest. Consider now, said I, what kind of man such an one is in private ; or first, must we not consider, as we did with respect to the republic, in what manner he arises ? Yes, said he. And does he not in this manner arise — viz., from the parsimonious man, who was trained up in an Oligarchy by his father in his manners ? Why not ? Such an one by force restrains his own pleasures, those of them which are expensive, and tend not to the acquisition of wealth, and which are called unnecessary. It is plain, said he. Are you willing then, said I, that we may not reason in the dark, first to determine what desires are necessary, and what are not ? I am willing, said he. May not such be justly called necessary, which we are not able to remove, and such as when gratified are of advantage to us ? For both these kinds our nature is under a necessity to pursue ; is it not ? Very strongly. This then we shall justly say makes the necessary part in our desires. Justly. But what now ? Such desires as a man may banish, if he study it from his youth, and such as whilst they remain do no good, if we say of these that they are not necessary, we shall not say right ? Right indeed. Let us select a paradigm of each of them, that we may understand by an example what they are. It is proper. Is not the desire of food (that is of plain bread and meat), so far as is conducive to health, and a good habit of body, of the necessary kind? I think so. The desire of bread at least is indeed necessary on both accounts, as it is not only advan- tageous, but also as the want of it must bring life to an end altogether. It is. And the desire of meat is likewise necessary, if it anyhow contribute anything towards the good habit of the
244 THE REPUBLIC.
body. Certainly. But the desire even of these things as goes beyond these purposes, or the desire of less simple food, which is capable of being curbed in youth, and, by being disciplined, of being removed from many people, and which is hurtful both to the body, and to the soul, with reference to her attaining wisdom and temperance, may not such desire be rightly called unnecessary? Most rightly, indeed. And may we not call these expensive, and the others frugal, as they are conducive towards the actions of life? Why not? In the same manner, surely, shall we say of venereal desires, and the others. In the same manner. And did we not, by him whom we just now denominated the drone, mean one who was full of such desires and pleasures, and was governed by such as are unnecessary ? but that he who was under the necessary ones was the parsi- monious and Oligarchic ? Without doubt. Let us again men- tion, said I, how the Democratic arises from the Oligarchic; and to me he appears to arise in great measure thus. How ? When a young man nurtured, as we now mentioned, without proper instruction, and in a parsimonious manner, comes to taste the honey of the drones, and associates with those vehement and terrible creatures who are able to procure all sorts of pleasures, every way diversified, and from every quarter ; — from this time conceive there is the beginning of the change in him from the Oligarchic to the Democratic. There is great necessity for it, said he. And as the city was changed by the assistance of an alliance from without with one party of it with which it was akin, will not the youth be changed in the same manner, by the assistance of one species of desires from without, to another within him which resembles it, and is allied to it ? By all means. And I imagine at least, if by any alliance there be given counter-assistance to the Oligarchic party within him, either by his father, or by others of the family, both admonishing and upbraiding him, then truly arises sedition, and oppression, and a fight within him with himself. Undoubtedly. And sometimes, indeed, I think, the Democratic party yields to the Oligarchic, and some of the desires are destroyed, and others retire, on a certain modesty being ingener-
THE REPUBLIC. 245
ated in the soul of the youth, and he again becomes cultivated. This sometimes takes place, said he. And again, I conceive, that when some desires retire, there are others allied to them which grow up, and, through inattention to the father's instruc- tion, become both many and powerful. This is usually the case, said he. And do they not draw him towards intimacies among themselves, and, meeting privately together, generate a multitude ? What else ? And at length, I think, they seize the citadel of the soul of the youth, finding it evacuated both of beautiful disciplines and pursuits, and of true reasoning, which are the best guardians and preservers in the dianoetic part of men beloved of the Gods. Very much so, said he. And then indeed false and arrogant reasonings and opinions, rushing up in their stead, possess the same place in such an one. Vehem- ently so, said he. And does he not now again, on coming among those Lotus-eaters, dwell with them openly ? And if any assistance comes from his friends to the parsimonious part of his soul, those arrogant reasonings, shutting the gates of the royal wall against it, neither give entrance to this alliance, nor to the individual and ambassador-like admonitions of old men ; but, fighting against these, hold the government themselves. And denominating modesty stupidity, they thrust it out disgrace- fully as a fugitive, and temperance they call unmanliness, and, abusing it most shamefully, expel it. Persuading themselves likewise that moderation, and decent expense, are no other than rusticity and illiberality, they banish them from their territories with the aid of many other and unprofitable desires. Vehem- ently so. Having emptied and purified from all these desires the soul that is detained by them, and is initiated in the great mysteries, they next lead in, with encomiums and applauses, insolence and anarchy, luxury and impudence, shining with a great retinue, and crowned. And insolence, indeed, they denominate education ; anarchy they call liberty ; luxury, mag- nificence; and impudence, manhood. Is it not, said I, somehow in this manner, that a youth changes from one bred up with the necessary desires into licentiousness and remissness of the unnecessary and unprofitable pleasures ? And very plainly so,
246 THE REPUBLIC.
replied he. And such an one, I think, after this leads his life, expending his substance, his labour, and his time, as much on the unnecessary as the necessary pleasures : and if he be for- tunate, and not excessively debauched, when he is somewhat more advanced in years, and when the great crowd of desires is over, he admits a part of those which were expelled, and does not deliver himself wholly up to such as had intruded, but regulates his pleasures by a sort of equality, and so lives delivering up the government of himself to every incidental desire as it may happen, till it be satisfied, and then to another, undervaluing none of them, but indulging them all alike. Entirely so. And such an one, said I, does not listen to true reasoning, nor admit it into the citadel, if any should tell him that there are some pleasures of the worthy and the good desires, and others of the depraved, and that he ought to pursue and honour those, but to chastise and enslave these. But, in all these cases, he dissents, and says that they are all alike, and ought to be held in equal honour. Whoever is thus affected, said he, vehemently acts in this manner. And does he not live, said I, from day to day, gratifying after this manner every incidental desire, sometimes indulging himself in intoxi- cation, and in music, sometimes drinking water, and extenuat- ing himself by abstinence; and then again attending to the gymnastic exercises ? Sometimes too he is quite indolent and careless about everything ; then again he works as if he were a philosopher ; many times he acts the part of a politician, and in a desultory manner speaks and acts according to whatever happens. If at any time he affects to imitate any of the military tribe, thither he is carried ; or of the mercantile, then again hither; nor is his life regulated by any order, or any necessity, but, deeming this kind of life pleasant, and free, and blessed, he follows it throughout. You have entirely, said he, discussed the life of one who places all laws whatever on a level.1 I imagine, at least, said I, that he is multiform, and
1 Davies and Vaughan, with an eye on a later democracy, translate this " the life that might be led by a man whose motto is Liberty and Equality."
THE REPUBLIC. 247
full of very different manners; and that, like the city, he is fine, and variegated, and that very many men and women would desire to imitate his life, as he contains in himself a great many patterns of republics and of manners. He does, said he. What now? Shall such a man as this be arranged as resembling a Democracy, as he may truly be called Democratic ? Let him be so arranged, said he.
But it yet remains that we discuss, said I, the most excellent republic, and the most excellent man — viz., Tyranny, and the Tyrant. It does, said he. Come then, my dear companion! in what manner does Tyranny arise ? for it is almost plain that the change is from Democracy. It is plain. Does not Tyranny arise in the same manner from Democracy, as Democracy does from Oligarchy? How? What did Oligarchy, said I, propose as its good, and according to what was it constituted? It was with a view to become extremely rich, was it not? Yes An insatiable desire then of riches, and a neglect of other things, through attention to the acquisition of wealth, destroys it. True, said he. And with reference to that which Democracy denominates good, an insatiable thirst of it destroys it like- wise ? But what is it you say it denominates good ? Liberty, said I. For this you are told is most beautiful in a city which is under a Democracy, and that for the sake of liberty any one who is naturally free chooses to live in it alone. This word Liberty, said he, is indeed often mentioned. Does not then, said I, as I was going to say, the insatiable desire of this, and the neglect of other things, change even this republic, and prepare it to stand in need of a tyrant? How? said he. When a city, said I, is under a Democracy, and is thirsting after liberty, and happens to have bad cup-bearers appointed it, and becomes intoxicated with an unmixed draught of liberty beyond what is necessary, it punishes even the governors if they will not be entirely tame, and afford abundant liberty, accusing them as corrupted, and Oligarchic. They do this, said he. But such as are obedient to magistrates they abuse, said I, as willing slaves, and good for nothing, and, both in private and in public, commend and honour magistrates who resemble
248 THE REPUBLIC.
subjects, and subjects who resemble magistrates ; must they not therefore necessarily in such a city arrive at the summit of liberty? How is it possible they should not? And must not this inbred anarchy, my friend, descend into private families, and in the end reach even the brutes ? How, said he, do we assert such a thing as this ? Just as if, said I, a father should accustom himself to resemble a child, and be afraid of his sons, and the son accustom himself to resemble his father, and neither to revere nor stand in awe of his parents, that so indeed he may be free ; or as if a stranger were to be equalled with a citizen, and a citizen with a stranger, and, in like manner, a foreigner. It is just so, said he. These things, said I, and other little things of a like nature happen. The teacher in such a city fears and flatters the scholars, and the scholars despise their teachers and their tutors in like manner : and in general the youth resemble the more advanced in years, and contend with them both in words and deeds: and the old men, sitting down with the young, are full of merriment and pleasantry, mimicking the youth, that they may not appear to be morose and despotic. It is entirely so, replied he. But that extreme liberty of the multitude, said I, how great it is in such a city as this, when the men and women slaves are no less free than those who purchase them, and how great an equality and liberty the wives have with their husbands, and husbands with their wives, we have almost forgotten to men- tion. Shall we not then, according to ^Eschylus, said he, say whatever now comes into our mouth ? By all means, said I ; and accordingly I do speak thus, when I say, with reference even to brutes, such of them as are under the care of men, how much more free they are in such a city, he who has not experienced it will not easily believe : for indeed even the puppies, according to the proverb, resemble their mistresses; and the horses and asses are accustomed to go freely and gracefully, marching up against any one they meet on the road, unless he give way; and many other such things thus happen full of liberty. You tell me, said he, my dream; for I have often met with this when going into the country. But
THE REPUBLIC. 249
do you observe, said I, what is the sum of all these things collected together? how delicate it makes the soul of the citizens, so that, if any one bring near to them anything pertaining to slavery, they are filled with indignation, and cannot endure it. And do you know, that at length they regard not even the laws, written or unwritten, that no one by any means whatever may become their masters? I know it well, said he. This now, friend, said I, is that sweet and charming government, whence Tyranny springs, as it appears to me. Charming truly, replied he ; but what follows this ? The same thing, sajd I, which, springing up as a disease in an Oligarchy, destroyed it; the same arising here in a greater and more powerful manner, through its licentious- ness, enslaves the Democracy: and in reality, the doing anything to excess usually occasions a mighty change to the reverse: for thus it is in seasons, in vegetable and in animal bodies, and in republics as much as in anything. It is probable, said he. And excessive liberty seems to change into nothing else but excessive slavery, both with a private person and a city. It is probable, indeed. It is probable then, said I, that out of no other republic is Tyranny constituted than a Democracy; out of the most excessive liberty I conceive the greatest and most savage slavery. It is reasonable, said he, to think so. But this I think, said I, was not what you were asking ; but what that disease is which enslaves Democracy, resembling that which destroys Oligarchy ? You say true, replied he. I spoke, said I, of the race of idle and profuse men, one part of which was more brave, and were leaders, the other more cowardly, and followed. And we compared them to drones ; some to such as have stings, others to such as have none. And rightly, said he. These two now, said I, springing up in every republic, raise disturbance, as phlegm and bile in a natural body. And it behoves a wise physician and lawgiver of a city, no less than a wise bee-keeper, to be afraid of these, and keep them at a distance, that they never get in ; but, if they have entered, that they be in the speediest manner possible cut out, together with their very cells. Yes,
250 THE REPUBLIC,
said he, by all means. Let us take it then, said I, in this manner, that we may see more distinctly what we want. In what manner ? Let us divide in our reasoning a Democratic city into three parts, as it really is ; for one such species as the above grows through licentiousness in it no less than in the Oligarchic. It does so. But it is much more fierce at least in this than in that. How? In an Oligarchy, because it is not in places of honour, but is debarred from the magistracies, it is unexercised, and does not become strong. But in a Demo- cracy this, excepting a few, is the presiding party, and the boldest members speak and act, while the rest sit round the court and make a humming noise of applause, and cannot endure any other to speak differently ; so that all things, some few excepted, in such a republic, are administered by such a party. Just so, said he. Some other party, as well as this, is always separated from the multitude. Which ? Whilst the whole are engaged in the pursuit of gain, such as are naturally the most temperate become for the most part the wealthiest. It is likely. And hence, I think, the greatest quantity of honey, and what comes with the greatest ease, is pressed out of these by the drones. For how, said he, can any one press out of those who have but little? Such wealthy people, I think, are called the pasture of the drones. Nearly so, replied he. And the people will be a third species, such as mind their own affairs, and meddle not with any others, who have not much substance, but yet are the most numerous, and the most prevalent in a Demo- cracy, whenever it is fully assembled. It is so ; but this it will not wish to do often, if it does not obtain some share of the honey. Does it not always obtain a share, said I, as far as their leaders are able, robbing those that have property, and giving to the people that they may have the most themselves ? They are indeed, said he, sharers in this manner. These men who are thus despoiled are obliged to defend themselves, saying and doing all they can among the people. Why not ? Others then accuse them of forming designs against the people, though they should have no inclination to introduce a change of govern- ment, and of being Oligarchic. Why not? But at length, after
THE REPUBLIC. 251
they see that the people, not of their own accord, but being ignorant and imposed on by those slanderers, attempt to injure them, — do they not then indeed, whether they will or not, become truly Oligarchic ? Yet not spontaneously, but this mischief likewise is generated by that drone stinging them. Extremely so, indeed. And so they have accusations, law-suits, and contests one with another. Very much so. And are not the people accustomed always to place some one, in a con- spicuous manner, over themselves, and to cherish him, and greatly increase his power? They are. And this, said I, is plain, that whenever a tyrant arises it is from this presiding root, and from nothing else, that he blossoms. This is ex- tremely manifest. What is the beginning then of the change from a president into a tyrant ? Is it not plain, that it is after the president begins to do the same thing as that in the fable, which is told in relation to the temple of Lycasan Zeus in Arcadia ? What is that ? said he. That whosoever tasted human entrails which were mixed with those of other sacrifices, necessarily became a wolf. Have you not heard the story ? I have. And must not he in the same manner, who being presi- dent of the people, and receiving an extremely submissive multitude, abstains not from kindred blood, but unjustly accus- ing them (of such things as they are wont), and bringing them into courts of justice, stains himself with bloodshed, taking away the life of a man, and, with unhallowed tongue and mouth, tasting kindred blood, and besides this, banishes and slays, and proposes the abolition of debts, and division of lands, — must not such an one, of necessity, and as it is destined, be either destroyed by his enemies, or exercise tyranny, and, from being a man, become a wolf? Of great necessity, said he. This is what becomes of him, said I, who was seditious towards those who have property ; one who if banished and then restored in spite of his enemies with open force, becomes an accomplished tyrant. It is plain. And if they be unable to expel him, or to put him to death, on an accusation before the city, they truly conspire to cut him off privately by a violent death. It is wont indeed, said he, to happen so. And, on this account, all those
252 THE REPUBLIC.
who mount up to tyranny invent this celebrated tyrannical demand, to demand of the people certain guards for their person, that the assistance of the people may be secured to them. Of this, said he, they take special care. And they grant them, I imagine, being afraid of his safety, but secure as to their own. Extremely so. And when a man who has property, and who along with his property has the reputation of hating the people, observes this,— he then, my friend, accord- ing to the answer of the oracle to Croesus,
" . . j to craggy Hermus flies, Nor stays, nor fears to be a coward deemed."
Because he would not, said he, be in fear a second time. For he, said I, who is caught, is, I imagine, put to death. Of neces- sity. It is plain, then, that this president of the city does not lie " like a great man greatly fallen," but, hurling down others, sits in his chair a consummate tyrant of the city, instead of a president. He does, said he. Shall we consider now, said I, the happiness of the man, and of the city in which such a mortal arises? By all means, said he, let us consider it. Does he not then, said I, in the first days, and for the first season, smile, and salute every one he meets ; says he is no tyrant, and promises many things, both in private and in public ; and frees from debts, and distributes land both to the people in general, and to those about him, and affects to be mild and patriotic towards all? Of necessity, said he. But when, I think, he has reconciled to himself some of his foreign enemies, and destroyed others, and there is tranquillity with reference to these, he in the first place always raises some wars, in order that the people may be in need of a leader. It is likely. And is it not likewise with this view, that, being rendered poor by payment of taxes, they may be under a necessity of becoming intent on daily sustenance, and may be less ready to conspire against him? It is plain. And, I think, if he suspects that any of those who are of a free spirit will not allow him to govern, — in order to have some pretext for destroying them, he exposes them to the enemy ; on all these accounts a tyrant
THE REPUBLIC. 253
is always under a necessity of raising war. Of necessity. And, whilst he is doing these things, he must readily be- come more hateful to his citizens. Why not ? And must not some of those who have been promoted along with him, and who are in power, speak out freely both towards him, and among themselves, finding fault with the transactions, such of them as are of a more manly spirit? It is likely. It behoves the tyrant, then, to cut off all these, if he means to govern, till he leave no one, either of friends or foes, who is worth anything. It is plain. He must then carefully observe who is courageous, who is magnanimous, who wise, who rich ; and so happy is he, that willing, or not willing, he is under a necessity of being an enemy to all such as these ; and to plot against them till he purify the city of them. A beautiful purification, said he. Yes, said I, the reverse of what physicians do with respect to animal bodies; for they, taking away what is worst, leave the best; but he does the contrary. Because it seems, said he, he must of necessity do so, if he is to govern. In a blessed necessity, then, truly, is he bound, said I, which obliges him either to live with many depraved people, and to be hated too by them, or not to live at all. In such necessity he is, replied he. And the more he is hated by his citizens whilst he does these things, shall he not so much the more want a greater number of guards, and more faithful ones ? How is it possible he should not ? Who then are the faithful, and from whence shall he send for them ? Many, said he, of their own accord, will come flying, if he give them hire. You seem, by the dog, said I, again to mention foreign and multiform drones. You imagine right, replied he. But those at home, would he not incline to have them also as guards? How? After he has taken away the citizens, by giving the slaves their liberty, and making them guards about his person. By all means, said he, for these are the most faithful to him. What a blessed possession, said I, is this which you mention belonging to the tyrant, if he employ such friends and faithful men, after having destroyed those former ones ! But surely such as these at least, said he, he does employ. And such companions, said I, admire him,
?54 THE REPUBLIC.
and the new citizens accompany him: but the worthy men both hate and fly from him. Why should they not? It is not without reason, said I, that tragedy in the general is thought a wise thing, and that Euripides is thought to excel in it. For what? Because he uttered this, which is the mark of a con- densed conception, " That tyrants are wise, by the conversa- tion of the wise," and he plainly meant those were wise with whom the tyrants hold converse. And he commends too, said he, Tyranny as a divine thing, and says a great many other things of it, as do likewise the other poets. Those composers then of tragedy, said I, as they are wise, will forgive us, and such as establish the government of cities in a manner nearly resembling ours, in not admitting them into our republic as being panegyrists of Tyranny. I think, said he, such of them at least as are more polite will forgive us. But going about among other cities, I think, and drawing together the crowds, and putting to sale their fine, magnificent, and persuasive words, they will draw over the republics to Tyrannies and Democracies. Extremely so. And do they not further receive rewards, and are they not honoured chiefly by Tyrants, as is natural, and in the next place by Democracy ? But the further on they advance towards the republics, the reverse of these, their honour forsakes them the more, as if it were disabled by an asthma from advancing. Entirely so. Thus far, said I, we have digressed : but now again let us mention in what manner that army of the Tyrant, which is so beautiful, so numerous and multiform, and no way the same, shall be maintained. It is plain, said he, that if at any time there be any sacred things in the city, these they will spend, that what they sell may still answer their demands, and the people be obliged to pay in the lighter taxes. But what will they do when these fail them? It is plain, said he, that he and his intoxicated companions, and his associates, male and female, will be maintained out of the paternal inheritance. I understand, said I, that the people who have made the Tyrant will nourish him and his companions. They are under great necessity, said he. But proceed, replied I : What if the people be enraged, and say that it is not just,
THE REPUBLIC. 255
that the son who is arrived at maturity be maintained by the father, but contrariwise that the father be maintained by the son; and that they did not make and establish him for this purpose, to be a slave to his slaves when he should be grown up, and to maintain him and his slaves with their other turbulent attendants; but in order that they might be set at liberty from the rich in the city, who are also called the good and worthy, by having placed him over them ? And now they order him and his companions to leave the city, as a father drives out of the house his son with his turbulent drunken com- panions. Then, by Zeus, shall the people, said he, know what a beast they are themselves, and what a beast they have generated, and embraced, and nurtured, and that though they are the weaker they have attempted to drive out the stronger. What do you mean ? replied I. Will the Tyrant dare to offer violence to his father, and, if he cannot persuade him, will he strike him ? Yes, said he, when he has stripped him of his armour. You call, said I, the Tyrant a parricide and a miser- able nourisher of old age : and yet, as it is probable, Tyranny would really seem to be of this kind; and according to the saying, the people in defending themselves against the smoke of the slavery of free men, have fallen into the fire of a slavish despotism; and instead of that excessive and unseasonable liberty, they embrace the most rigorous and the most wretched slavery of bondmen. These things, said he, happen just so. Then, said I, shall we not speak justly and modestly, if we assert that we have sufficiently shown how Tyranny arises out of Democracy, and what it is when it does arise? We shall, replied he.
256 THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK IX.
THE tyrannical man himself, said I, remains yet to be con- sidered, in what manner he arises out of the Democratic, and when he does arise, what kind of man he is, and what kind of life he leads, whether miserable or blessed. He indeed yet remains, said he. Do you know, said I, what I still want ? What is it? We do not appear to me to have sufficiently distinguished the desires; of what kind they are, and how many ; and whilst this is defective, the inquiry we make will be less evident. May it not be done opportunely now ? said he. Certainly. And consider what it is I wish to know about them ; for it is this: Of those pleasures and desires which are not necessary, some appear to me to be repugnant to law: these indeed seem to be ingenerated in every one; but being punished by the laws, and the better desires, in conjunction with reason, they either forsake some men altogether, or are less numerous, and feeble; in others they are more powerful, and more numerous. Will you inform me what these are ? said he. Such, said I, as are excited in sleep; when the other part of the soul which is rational and mild, and which governs in it, is asleep, and the part which is savage and rustic, being filled with meat and drink, frisks about, and, driving away sleep, seeks to go and accomplish its practices. In such an one you know it dares to do everything, as being loosed, and disen- gaged from all modesty and prudence : for it scruples not the imaginary embraces of a mother, or of any one else, whether of Gods, of men, or of beasts ; nor to kill any one, nor to abstain from any sort of meat, — and, in one word, is wanting in no folly nor impudence. You say most true, replied he. But I imagine, when a man is in health, and lives temperately, and goes to
THE REPUBLIC. 257
sleep, having excited the rational part, and feasted it with worthy reasonings and inquiries, coming to an agreement with himself; allowing that part of the soul which is desiderative neither to be starved nor glutted, that it may lie quiet, and give no disturbance, either by its joy or grief, to the part which is best, but suffer it by itself, alone and pure, to inquire, and strive to apprehend what it knows not, either something that has existed, or now exists, or will exist hereafter; and having likewise soothed the irascible part, not suffering it to be hurried by anything into transports of anger, and so fall asleep with agitated passion: but having quieted these two parts of the soul, and excited the third part in which wisdom resides, shall in this manner take rest : — by such an one the truth is chiefly apprehended, and the visions of his dreams are then least of all repugnant to law. I am altogether, said he, of this opinion.
I We have, indeed, been carried a little too far in mentioning these things. But what we want to be known is this, that there is in every one a certain species of desires which is terrible, savage, and irregular, even in some who seem to us to be perfectly temperate. And this species becomes indeed manifest in sleep. Consider if there appear to be anything in what I say, and if you agree with me. I agree. Recollect now what kind of man we said the Democratic one was: for he was educated from his infancy under a parsimonious father, who valued the avaricious desires alone: and such as were not necessary, but rose only through a love of amusement and finery, he despised. Was he not ? Yes. But, by being conver- sant with those who are more fashionable, and such as are full of those desires we now mentioned, he had run into their manner, and all kinds of riot, from a detestation of his father's parsimony; — however, having a better natural temper than those who corrupt him, and being drawn in two opposite ways, he settled into a manner which is situated in the middle of both; and participating moderately, as he imagines, of each of them, he leads a life neither illiberal nor licentious, becoming changed into a Democratic from an Oligarchic man. This was, said he, and is our opinion of such an one. Suppose now again, that
17
258 THE REPUBLIC.
when such an one is become old, his young son is educated in his manners. I suppose it. And suppose too, the same things happening to him as to his father; that he is drawn into all kinds of licentiousness, which is termed however by such as draw him off " complete liberty " ; and that his father and all the domestics are aiding to those desires which are in the middle, and others also lend their assistance. But when those dire magicians and tyrant-makers have no hopes of retaining the youth in their power any other way, they contrive to excite in him some love which presides over the indolent desires, and such as minister readily to their pleasures, which love is like a large and winged drone; or do you think that the love of these things is anything else ? I think, said he, it is no other thar this. And when other desires make a humming noise aboui him, full of their odours and perfumes, and crowns and wines, and those pleasures of the most dissolute kind which belong to such co-partnerships ; and, being increased and cherished, add a sting of desire to the drone, then truly he is surrounded with madn,ess as a life-guard, and that president of the soul rages with frenzy ; and if he find in himself any opinions or desires which seem to be good, and which retain modesty, he kills them, and pushes them from him, till he be cleansed of temper- ance and is filled with additional madness. You describe perfectly, said he, the formation of a tyrannical man. Is it not, said I, on such an account as this, that, of old, Love is said to be a tyrant ? It appears so, replied he. And, my friend, said I, has not a drunken man likewise somewhat of a tyrannical spirit ? He has indeed. And surely at least he who is mad, and is disturbed in his mind, undertakes and hopes to be able to govern not only men, but likewise the Gods. Entirely so, said he. Such an one then, O divine man ! becomes absolutely tyrannical, when either by temper, or by his pursuits, or by both, he becomes a slave of intoxication, or love, or insanity. Perfectly so, indeed.
Such an one, it seems, then, arises in this manner. But in what manner does he live ? As they say in the plays, replied he, you will tell me that. I will then, said I. For I think that
THE REPUBLIC. 259
after this there will be feastings among them, and revellings, and banquetings, and mistresses, and all such things as may be expected among those where Love the tyrant dwelling within governs all in the soul. Of necessity, said he. Every day and night, therefore, do there not blossom forth many and dreadful desires, which are in need of many things? Many indeed. And if they have any supplies, they are soon spent. What else ? And after this there is borrowing and pillaging of substance. What else ? And when everything fails them, is there not a necessity that the desires, on the one hand, nestling in the mind, shall give frequent and powerful cries; and the men, on the other hand, being driven as by stings, both by the other desires, and more especially by the love itself which commands all the others as its life-guards, shall rage with frenzy, and search what any one possesses which they are able, by deceit or violence, to carry away ? Extremely so, said he. They must of necessity therefore be plundering from every quarter, or be tormented with great agonies and pains. Of necessity. And as with such a man the new pleasures possess more than, and take away what belonged to, the ancient ones, shall not he deem it proper, in the same manner, that himself, being young, should have more than his father and mother, and take away from them, and, if he has spent his own portion, en- croach on that of his parents ? Why will he not ? said he. And if they do not allow him, will he not first endeavour to pilfer from and beguile his parents ? By all means. And where he is not able to do this, will he not in the next place use rapine and violence ? I think so, replied he. But, O wonderful man ! when the old man and woman oppose and fight, will he revere them, and beware of doing anything tyrannical ? I, for my part, am not quite sure, said he, of the safety of the parents of such an one. But, Adimantus, do you think that, for the sake of a newly-beloved and unnecessary mistress, such an one would give up his anciently beloved and necessary mother ; or, for the sake of a blooming youth newly beloved, and not necessary, give up his decayed, his necessary and aged father, the most ancient of all his friends, to stripes, and suffer these to be enslaved by
260 THE REPUBLIC.
those others, if he should bring them into the same house ? Yes, by Zeus, I do, said he. It seems, said I, to be an extremely blessed thing to beget a tyrannical son. Not altogether so, said he. But when the substance of his father and mother fails such an one, and when now there is the greatest swarm of pleasures assembled in him, shall he not first break into some house, or late at night strip some one of his coat, and after this shall he not rifle some temple ; and in all these actions, those desires that are newly loosed from slavery and that have become as the guards of love, shall along with it rule over those ancient opinions he had from his infancy, the established decisions concerning good and evil ; — these desires which here- tofore were only loose from their slavery in sleep, when he was as yet under the laws, and his father, and under Democratic government ? — But now when he is tyrannised over by love, such as he rarely was when asleep shall he be always when awake ; and from no horrid slaughter, or food, or deed of any kind, shall he abstain. But that tyrannical love within him, living without any restraint of law or government, as being sole monarch itself, will lead on the man it possesses, as a city, to every mad attempt, whence it may be supported, and the crowd about it ; which partly enters from without, from ill company, and partly through their manners and his own, is become unrestrained and licentious. Or is not this the life of such an one ? It is this truly, said he. And if there be, said I, but a few such in the city, and the rest of the multitude be sober, they go out and serve as guards to some other tyrant, or assist him for hire if there be any war; but if they remain in peace and quiet, they commit at home in the city a great many small mischiefs. Which do you mean? Such as these: they steal, break open houses, cut purses, strip people of their clothes, rifle temples, make people slaves ; and where they can speak they sometimes turn false informers, and give false testimony and take bribes. You call these, said he, small mischiefs, if there be but a few such persons. What is small, said I, is small in comparison with the great. And all those things, when compared with the wickedness and misery of a city, do not, as the saying is, come
THE REPUBLIC. 261
near the mark of the tyrant ; for when there are many such in the city, and others accompanying them, and when they per- ceive their own number, then these are they who, through the foolishness of ihp people, establish as tyrant the man who among them has himself most of the tyrant, and in the greatest strength, within his soul. It is probable indeed, said he ; for he will be most tyrannical. Will he not be so, if they voluntarily submit to him ? But if the city will not allow him, in the same manner as he formerly used violence to his father and mother, so now again will he chastise his country if he be able ; and bringing in other young people, he will keep and nourish under subjection to these, his formerly beloved mother-country, as the Cretans say, or father-land ? And this will be the issue of such a man's desire. It will be entirely this, said he. But do not these, said I, become such as this, first in private, and before they govern ? In the first place, with the company they keep, are not their associates flatterers, and such as are ready to minister to them in everything ; or, if they need anything them- selves, falling down to those they converse with, they dare to assume every appearance as friends ; but, after they have gained their purpose, they act as enemies ? Extremely so. Thus they pass the whole of their life, never friends to any one, but always domineering, or enslaved to another. But liberty and true friendship the tyrannic disposition never tastes. Entirely so. May we not then rightly call these men faithless ? Why not ? And surely we may call them most of all unjust, if we have rightly agreed about justice, in our former reasonings, what it is. But we did rightly agree, said he. Let us finish then, said I, with our worst man. He would seem such an one awake, as we described as asleep. Entirely so. And does not that man become such an one, who being most tyrannical by natural temper, is in possession of supreme power, and the longer he lives in tyranny, the more he becomes like such an one ? Of necessity, replied Glauco, taking up the discourse. And will not the man, said I, who appears the most wicked, appear like- wise the most wretched ; and he who shall tyrannise for the longest time, and in the greatest measure, shall he not in reaUty,
262 THE REPUBLIC.
in the greatest measure, and for the longest time, be most miser able. But as many men as many minds. Of necessity, said he, these things at least must be so. And would this Tyrannic man differ anything, said I, as to similitude, when compared with the city under tyranny, and the Democratic man when compared with the city under democracy, and after the same manner with respect to others ? How should they ? As city then is to city, in regard to virtue and happiness, will not man be to man ? Why not ? Then does the city which is tyrannised over stand when compared with that under kingly government, such as we at the first described ? Quite the reverse, said he ; for the one is the best, and the other is the worst. I will not ask, said I, which you mean, for it is plain, but do you judge in the same way, or otherwise, as to their happiness and misery ? And let us not be struck with admiration, whilst we regard the tyrant alone, or some few about him ; but let us, as we ought to do, enter into the whole of the city, and consider it: and going through every part, and viewing it, let us declare our opinion. You propose rightly, said he. And it is evident to every one that there is no city more wretched than that which is under Tyranny, nor any more happy than that under regal power. If now, said I, I should propose the same things with respect to the men, should I do rightly if I account him worthy to judge about them, who is able, by his dianoetic power, to enter within, and see through the temper of the man, and who may not, as a child beholding the outside, be struck with admiration of tyrannical pomp, which he makes a show of to those without, but may sufficiently see through him? If then, I should be of opinion, that all of us ought to hear such an one, who, having dwelt with the man in the same house, and having been with him in his actions in his family, is able to judge in what manner he behaves to each of his domestics (in which most especially a man appears stripped of theatrical shows), and likewise in public dangers ; and after he has observed all these things, bid him declare, how the Tyrant is as to happiness and misery in comparison with others? You would advise to these things, said he, most properly. Are you willing then, said I, that we pretend to be
THE REPUBLIC. 263
ourselves of the number of those who are thus able to judge, and that we have already met with such men, that we may have one who shall answer our questions ? By all means. Come then, said I, consider in this manner. Recollect the resem- blance of the city, and the man, to one another, and, thus con- sidering each of them apart, relate the circumstances of each. Which ? said he. To begin first, said I, with the city. Do you call the one under Tyranny, free or enslaved ? Slavish, said he, in the greatest degree possible. And yet, surely, at least, you see in it masters and freemen ? I see, said he, some small part so. But the mass in it, in general, and the most excellent part, is disgracefully and miserably enslaved. If then the man, said I, resembles the city, is it not necessary that there be the same regulation in him likewise; and that his soul be full of the greatest slavery and illiberality ; and that these parts of his soul, which are the noblest, be enslaved, and that some small part, which is most wicked and frantic, is master ? Of necessity, said he. What now ? will you say that such a soul is slavish, or free ? Slavish somehow, I say. But does not then the city which is slavish, and tyrannised over, least of all do what it inclines ? Very much so. And will not the soul too, which is tyrannised over, least of all do what it shall incline (to speak of the whole soul) : but, hurried violently by some stinging passion, be full of tumult and inconstancy ? How should it not be so ? But whether will the city which is tyrannised over be rich or poor ? Poor. And the soul under Tyranny will be of necessity likewise indigent and insatiable ? Just so, said he. But must not such a city, and such a man, of necessity be full of fear ? Very much so. Do you think you will find more lamentations, and groans and weepings, and torments, in any other city ? By no means. But with reference to a man, do you think that these things are greater in any other than in this tyrannical one, who madly rages in his desires and lusts ? How can they ? said he. It is then on consideration of all these things, and others such as these, I think, that you have deemed this city the most wretched of cities? And have I not deemed right? said he. Extremely so^ said I. But what say you again with reference
264 THE REPUBLIC.
to the tyrannical man, when you consider these things ? That he is by far, said he, the most wretched of men. You do not as yet say this rightly, said I. How ? said he. I do not as yet think, said I, that he is such in the greatest degree. But who then is so ? The following will probably appear to you to be yet more miserable than the other. Which ? He, said I, who being naturally tyrannical, leads not a private life, but is unfortunate, and through some misfortune is led to become a Tyrant. I conjecture, said he, from what was formerly men- tioned, that you are right. It is so, said I. But we ought not merely to conjecture about matters of such importance as these, but most thoroughly to inquire into them by reasoning of this kind : for the inquiry is concerning a thing of the greatest conse- quence, a good life and a bad. Most right, said he. Consider then whether there be anything in what I say ; for in consider- ing this question, I am of opinion that we ought to perceive it from these things. From what ? From every individual among private men — namely, such of them as are rich, and possess many slaves ; for those have this resemblance at least of Tyrants, that they rule over many, with the difference, that the Tyrant has a great multitude. There is this difference. You know then that these live securely, and are not afraid of their domestics. What should they be afraid of? Nothing, said I; but do you consider the reason? Yes. It is because the whole city gives assistance to each particular private man. You say right, replied I. But what now ? If some God should lift a man who had fifty slaves or upwards out of the city, both him, and his wife and children, and set him down in the desert, with his other substance, and his domestics, where no freeman was to give him assistance, — in what kind of fear, and in how great, do you imagine he would be about himself, his children and wife, lest they should be destroyed by the domestics ? In the greatest possible, said he, I imagine. Would he not be obliged even to flatter some of the very slaves, and promise them many things, to set them at liberty when there was no occasion for it ? Would he not appear to be merely a flatterer of his servants ? He is under great necessity, said he, to do so,
THE REPUBLIC. 265
or be destroyed. But, said I, if God should settle round him many other neighbours, who could not endure any one to pretend to lord it over another; but, if they anywhere found such an one, should punish him with the extremist rigour? I imagine, said he, that he would be still more distressed, thus beset by every kind of enemies. And in such a prison- house is not the Tyrant bound, being such by disposition, as we have mentioned, full of many and most various fears and loves of all kinds ? And whilst he has in his soul the greatest desire, he alone of all in the city is neither allowed to go any- where abroad, nor to see such things as other men are desirous of ; but, creeping into his house, lives mostly as a woman, envy- ing the other citizens if any of them go abroad, and see anything fine. It is entirely so, said he.
And besides such evils as these, does not the man reap still more misery, who, being under ill policy within himself (which you just now deemed to be the most wretched Tyranny), lives not as a private person, but through some fortune is obliged to act the tyrant, and without holding the government of himself, attempts to govern others; just as if one with a body diseased, and unable to support itself, were obliged to live not in a private way, but in wrestling and fighting against other bodies ? You say, Socrates, replied he, what is altogether most likely and true. Is not then, friend Glauco, said I, this condition alto- gether miserable ? and does not the Tyrant live more miserably still, than the man deemed by you to live most miserably? Very much so, said he. True it is then, though one may fancy otherwise, that the truly tyrannical man is truly slavish with respect to the greatest flatteries and slaveries, and is a flatterer of the most abandoned men ; nor does he ever in the smallest degree obtain the gratification of his desires, but is of all the most indigent of most things, and appears poor indeed, if a man knows how to contemplate his whole soul ; and full of fear through the whole of life, being filled with anxieties and griefs — if indeed he resembles the constitution of that city which he governs. But he does resemble it. Does he not? Extremely, said he. And shall we riot, besides these things, likewise
266 THE REPUBLIC.
ascribe to this man what we formerly mentioned, that he must necessarily be, and, by governing still, become more than formerly, envious, faithless, unjust, unfriendly, unholy, and a general recipient and nourisher of all wickedness; and from all these things be most especially unhappy himself, and then render all about him unhappy likewise ? No one, said he, who hath understanding will contradict you. Come now, said I, as a judge who pronounces, after considering all, so do you tell me, who, according to your opinion, is the first as to happiness, and who second, and the rest in order, they being five in all ? The Regal, the Timocratic, the Oligarchic, the Democratic, and the Tyrannic. The judgment, said he, is easy; for I judge of them as of public performers, in their order of entrance on the stage, according to their virtue and vice, their happiness, and its contrary. Shall we then hire a Herald? said I. Or shall I myself declare that the son of Ariston hath judged the best and justest man to be the happiest (and that this is the man who hath most of the regal spirit, and rules himself with a kingly power); and that the worst and the most unjust is the most wretched; and that he again happens to be the man who is most tyrannical, who in the greatest degree tyrannises over himself, and the city? Let it be published by you, said he. Shall I add, said I, that it matters nothing whether they be unknown to be such or not, both to all men and Gods ? Add it, said he.
Be it so, said I. This would seem to be one proof of ours. And this, if you are of the same opinion, must be the second. Which ? Since the soul, said I, of every individual is divided into three parts, in the same manner as the city was divided, it will, in my opinion, afford a second proof. What is that ? It is this. Of the three parts of the soul, there appear to me to be three pleasures, one peculiar to each, and likewise three desires and governments. What do you mean ? replied he. There is one part, we said, by which a man learns, and another by which he is spirited ; the third is so multiform, we are unable to express it by one word peculiar to itself, but we denominated it from that which is greatest and most impetuous in it ; for we called it
THE REPUBLIC. 267
the desiderative, on account of the impetuosity of the desires relative to meat, drink, and venereal pleasures, and whatever others belong to these; and we called it avaricious likewise, because it is by means of wealth most especially that such desires are accomplished. And we said rightly, replied he. If then we say that its pleasure and delight are in gain, shall we not best of all reduce it under one head in our discourse, so as to express something to ourselves, when we make mention of this part of the soul? and, in calling it the covetous, and the desirous of gain, shall we not term it properly ? So it appears to me, said he. But do not we say that the spirited part ought to be wholly impelled to superiority, victory, and applause ? Extremely so. If then we term it the contentious and ambi- tious, will it not be accurately expressed? Most accurately. But it is evident to every one, that the part of the soul, by which we learn, is wholly intent always to know the truth ; and as to wealth and glory, it cares for these least of all. Extremely so. When we call it then the desirous of learning, and the philosophic, we shall call it according to propriety. How should we not ? And does not this, said I, govern in some souls, while in others one or more is dominant and of different kinds, accord- ing as each happens to be ? Just so, said he. On this account then, we said there were three original species of men; the philosophic, the ambitious, and the avaricious. Entirely so. And that there were likewise three species of pleasures, one subject to each of these. Certainly. You know then, said I, that if you were to ask these three men, each of them apart, which of these lives is the most pleasant, each would most of all commend his own. The avaricious will say, that in comparison with the pleasure of acquiring wealth, that arising from honour, or from learning, is of no value, unless one make money by them. True, said he. And what says the ambitious ? said I. Does not he deem the pleasure arising from making money a vulgar one? And likewise that arising from learning, unless learning bring him honour, does he not deem it smoke and trifling? It is so, said he. And we shall suppose the philosopher, said I, to
268 THE REPUBLIC.
deem the other pleasures as nothing in comparison with that of knowing what the truth is, and of being always employed in learning, and he will call the other pleasures unnecessary, as he does not desire them, but as he desires that of learning he says there is a necessity for it.1 This, said he, is evident. When therefore, said I, these several lives, and the respective pleasures of each, dispute among themselves, not with refer- ence to living more worthily or more basely, or worse or better; but merely with reference to this question of living more pleasantly, or on the contrary more painfully, — how can we know which of them speaks most conformably to truth ? I am not quite able, said he, to tell. But consider it thus. By what ought we to judge of whatever is to be rightly judged of? Is it not by experience, by prudence, and by reason ? Or has any one a better criterion than these ? How can he ? said he. Consider now ; of the three men, who is the most experienced in all the pleasures ? Does it appear to you that the avaricious man, in learning truth itself, what it is, is more experienced in the pleasure arising from knowledge, than the philosopher is in that arising from the acquisition of wealth ? There is, said he, a great difference : for the philo- sopher, beginning from his childhood, must, of necessity, taste the other pleasures ; but what it is to know real beings, and how sweet this pleasure is, the lucrative man has no necessity of tasting, or of becoming experienced in ; but rather, when he earnestly endeavours to effect this, it is no easy matter. The philosopher, then, said I, far surpasses the lucrative man, at least in experience of both the pleasures. Far indeed. But what with reference to the ambitious man ? Is he more experi- enced in the pleasure arising from honour, than the philosopher is in that arising from intellectual energy? Honour, said he, attends all of them, if they obtain each of them what they aim at : for the rich man is honoured by many, and so is the brave, and the wise; so, as to that of honour, what sort of
1 This passage is corrupt and unmeaning, as it stands. I have adopted a conjectural rendering which is intelligible and follows logically.
THE REPUBLIC. 269
pleasure it is, all of them have the experience. But in the contemplation of being itself, what pleasure there is, it is impossible for any other than the philosopher to have tasted. On account of experience then, said I, he of all men judges the best. By far. And surely, along with experience he has pru- dence at least. Yes. But even the organ by which these pleasures must be judged is not the organ of the lucrative, nor of the ambitious, but of the philosopher. Which is it ? We said somewhere, that they must be judged of by reason, did we not ? Yes. But reasoning is chiefly the organ of the philo- sopher. Certainly. If then the thing were to be determined by riches and gain, what the lucrative man commended, or despised, would of necessity be most agreeable to truth. Entirely. And if by honour, and victory and bravery, must it not be as the ambitious and contentious man determined ? It is evident. But since it is by experience, and prudence, and reason, — of necessity, said he, what the philosopher and the lover of reason commends must be the most true. Of the three pleasures, then, that is the most pleasant which belongs to that part of the soul by which we learn most, and he among us in whom this part governs lives the most pleasant life. How can it, said he, be otherwise? For the wise man, being the sovereign commender, commends his own life. But which life, said I, does our judge pronounce the second, and which the second pleasure? It is plain, that of the warlike and ambitious man ; for this is nearer to his own than that of the lucrative. And that of the covetous, as it appears, is last of all. Why not ? said he. These things now have thus succeeded one another in order. And the just man has twice now overcome the unjust. Strive now for the third victory, as at the Olympic games, with the aid of Olympian Zeus, the Preserver ; and consider, that the pleasure of the others is not in every way genuine, but that of the wise man is : nor are they in a clear light, but shadowed over, as I think I have heard one of the wise men say. And this truly would be the greatest and most complete downfall of the unjust Extremely so. But how do you mean? I shall trace it out,
270 THE REPUBLIC.
said I, if whilst I search, you answer my questions. Ask then, said he. Tell me then, replied I, do we not say that pain is opposite to pleasure ? Entirely so. And do we not say like- wise, that there is a state in which we feel neither pleasure nor pain ? We say so. And that being in the middle of both these, it is a tranquillity of the soul with reference to them. Do you not thus understand it ? Thus, replied he. Do you not remem- ber, said I, the speeches of the diseased, which they utter in their sickness ? Which ? How that nothing is more pleasant than health, but that it escaped their notice before they became sick, that it was the most pleasant. I remember it, said he. And are you not wont to hear those who are under any acute pain say, that there is nothing more pleasant than a cessation from pain ? I am wont to hear them. And you may on many occasions perceive in men, I imagine, the same thing ; for when they are in trouble they extol the freedom from trouble, and the tranquillity of such a state, as being the most pleasant, and they do not extol the acute feeling of joy Because probably this cessation, said he, becomes at that time actually pleasant and delightful. And when any one ceaseth, said I, to feel joy, this tranquillity from pleasure will be painful. It is likely, said he. This tranquillity, then, which we just now said was between the two, will at times become each of these, pain and pleasure. It appears so. But is it truly possible, that what is neither of the two should become both ? It does not appear to me that it can. And surely, when anything pleasant or anything painful is in the soul, both sensa- tions are emotions, are they not ? Yes. But did not that which is neither painful nor pleasant appear just now to be tranquillity, and in the middle of these two ? It appeared so, indeed. How is it right, then, to deem it pleasant not to be in pain, or painful not to enjoy pleasure ! It is by no means right. In these cases, then, said I, tranquillity is not really pleasant, but it appears so in respect of the pain, and painful in respect of the pleasant. And there is nothing genuine in these appearances in comparison with real pleasure, but they are delusions. As our reasoning shows, said he. Consider
THE REPUBLIC. 271
then, said I, the pleasures which do not arise from the cessa- tion of pain, that you may not frequently in the present discourse suppose that it is a law of nature that pleasure should be the cessation of pain, and pain the cessation of pleasure.1 How so, said he, and which pleasures do you mean? There are many others, said I, but consider for example pleasures from smells; for these, without any pre- ceding pain, arise suddenly and are very great, and, when they cease, they leave no pain behind them. Most true, said he. Let us not then be persuaded that pure pleasure is the removal of pain, or pain the removal of pleasure. Let us not. But yet, said I, those which extend through the body to the soul, and which are called pleasures, the greatest part of them almost, and the strongest, are of this species, cessations of pain. They are so. And are not the preconceptions of pleasure and pain, which arise in the mind from the expectation of these things, of the same kind ? Of the same. Do you know then, said I, what kind they are of, and what they chiefly resemble ? What ? said he. Do you reckon, said I, that there are in nature, the Above, the Below, and the Middle ? I do. Do you think then that any one, when he is brought from the below to the middle, imagines anything else than that he is brought to the above ? and when he stands in the middle, and looks down whence he was brought, will he imagine he is anywhere else than above, whilst yet he has not seen the true above ? No, said he, I do not think that such an one will imagine otherwise. But if he should again, said I, be carried to the below, he would con- jecture he was carried to the below, and would conjecture according to truth. How should he not ? Would he not be affected in all these respects, from his not having experience in what is really above, and in the middle, and below ? It is plain. Would you wonder, then, that whilst men are inexperi- enced in the truth, they have unsound opinions about many other things, — and that as to pleasure and pain, and what is between these, they are likewise affected in this same manner? So that, even when they are brought to what is 1 This, however, is the philosophy of Schopenhauer.
272 THE REPUBLIC. '
*
painful, they imagine truly, and are truly pained; but when from pain they are brought to the middle, they firmly imagine that they are arrived at fulness of pleasure. In the same manner as those who along with the black colour look at the grey, and through inexperience call it white, and are deceived; so those who consider pain along with a freedom from pain, are deceived through inexperience of pleasure. By Zeus, said he, I do not wonder at it, but much rather should I if it were not so. Again, consider it, said I, in this manner. Are not hunger and thirst, and such like, certain emptiness in the bodily habit? What else? And are not ignorance and folly an emptiness in the habit of the soul? Extremely so. And is not the one filled when it receives food, and the other when it possesses intellect ? Why not ? But which is the more real repletion, that of the real, or that of the less real being? It is plain, that of the real. Which species, then, do you think, participates most of a pure essence ; these which participate of bread and drink, and meat, and all such sort of nourishment ; or that species which participates of true opinion and science, and intellect, and, in short, of all virtue? But judge of it in this manner. Is real being a part of that which is connected with what is always unchanging, and immortal, and true (and is so itself, and arises in what is such), or a part of that which is connected with what is always changing, and is mortal (and which is so itself, and is generated in a thing of this kind)? Of the former, said he. Does not knowledge enter into that which is always unchanging as largely as real being ? Yes. And what with regard to truth ? This also does. That is to say, if it participate less of truth, does it not likewise do so of essence ? Of necessity. In short, then, does not the care of the body in all its branches participate less of truth and essence, than the care of the soul ? By far. And the body less than the soul; do you not think so ? I do. Is not that which is filled with more real substances, and is itself a more real being, more truly filled than that which is filled with less real beings and is itself a less real being ? How should it not ? If then it be pleasant to be filled with what is suitable to nature,
THE REPUBLIC. 273
that which is in reality filled, and with more real substances, must be made both more really and more truly to enjoy true pleasure ; but that which participates of less real being must be less truly and firmly filled, and participates of a more uncertain and less genuine pleasure. Most necessarily, said he. Such then as are unacquainted with wisdom and virtue, and are always engaged in feastings and such-like, are carried as it appears to the below, and back again to the middle, and there they wander for life. But never, passing beyond this, do they look towards the true Above, nor are carried to it ; nor are they ever really filled with real being; nor have they ever tasted solid and pure pleasure ; but, after the manner of cattle looking always downwards, and bowed towards earth and their tables, they live feeding and coupling ; and from a lust of these things, kicking and pushing at one another with iron horns and hoofs, they perish through their unsatiableness, because they fill with unreal being that part of them which is unreal and unrestrained. You pronounce most perfectly, Socrates, as from an oracle, said Glauco, on the life of the multitude. Must they not then, of necessity, be conversant with pleasures mixed with pains, images of the true pleasure, shadowed over, and coloured by their position beside each other? so that both their pleasures and pains will appear vehement, and engender mad passions in the foolish. Hence also they must fight about these things, as Stesichorus says those at Troy fought about the phantom of Helen, through ignorance of the true one. Of necessity, said he, something of this kind must take place.
And what as to the spirited part of the soul ? Must not other such-like things happen, wherever any one gratifies it, either in the way of envy (through ambition), or in the way of violence (through contentiousness), or in the way of anger (through moroseness), pursuing a glut of honour, of conquest, and of anger, without reason, and without intelligence ? Such things as these, said he, must necessarily happen with reference to this part of the soul. Then, said I, shall we boldly say concerning all the pleasures of the avaricious and the ambitious, that such of the men as are obedient to science and reason, and, in con-
18
274 THE REPUBLIC.
junction with these, pursue and obtain the pleasures of which the prudent part of the soul is the leader, shall obtain the truest pleasures, as far as it is possible for them to attain true plea- sure, and inasmuch as they follow truth, pleasures which are properly their own ; if indeed what is best for every one be most properly his own ? But surely it is most properly, said he, his own. When then the whole soul is obedient to the philosophic part, and there is no sedition in it, then every part in other respects performs its proper business, and is just, and also reaps its own pleasures, and such as are the best, and as far as is possible the most true. Certainly, indeed. But when any of the others govern, it happens that it not only does not attain its own pleasures, but it compels the other parts to pursue a plea- sure foreign to them, and untrue. It does so, said he. Do not then the parts which are the most remote from philosophy and reason most especially effectuate such things ? Very much so. And is not that which is most remote from law and order, like- wise most remote from reason ? It plainly is. And have not the amorous and the tyrannical desires appeared to be most remote from law and order ? Extremely so. And the royal and the moderate ones, the least remote ? Yes. The tyrant then, I think, shall be the most remote from true pleasure, and such as is most properly his own, and the other shall be the least. Of necessity. And the tyrant, said I, shall lead a life the most unpleasant, and the king the most pleasant. Of great necessity. Do you know then, said I, how much more unpleasant a life the tyrant leads than the king? If you tell me, said he. As there are three pleasures, as it appears, one genuine, and two illegiti- mate ; the Tyrant in carrying the illegitimate to extremity, and flying from law and reason, dwells with slavish pleasures as his life-guards, and how far he is inferior is not easily to be told, unless it may be done in this manner. How ? said he. The Tyrant is the third remote from the Oligarchic character ; for the Democratic was in the middle between them. Yes. Does he not then dwell with the third image of pleasure, a copy of a copy with reference to truth, if our former reasonings be true ? Just so. But the Oligarchic is the third again from the Royal,
THE REPUBLIC. 275
•
if we suppose the Aristocratic and the Royal the same. He is the third. The tyrant then, said I, is three times thrice remote from true pleasure. It appears so. A square number then, said I, may be the image of tyrannical pleasure — namely, 9. Certainly. But by squaring and cubing this, it is manifest by how great a distance he is remote. It is manifest, said he, to the computer at least. If now, any one reckon how far the King is distant from the Tyrant as to truth of pleasure, shall he not, on completing the multiplication, find him leading the more pleasant life by 729 times, and the Tyrant the more wretched by this same distance ? You have heaped up, said he, a prodigious account of the difference between these two men, the just and the unjust, with reference to pleasure and pain. Yet the numbers are true, said I, and corresponding to their lives, if indeed days, and nights, and months, and years, correspond to them. But these, said he, do correspond to them. If then the good and just man surpasses so far the evil and unjust man in pleasure, in what a prodigious degree further shall he sur- pass him in decorum of life, in beauty and in virtue ! In a prodigious degree, by Zeus, said he.
Be it so, said I. Since now we are come to this part of our argument, let us recapitulate what we first said, on account of which we have come to this point. It was somewhere said, that it was advantageous to do injustice, if one were completely unjust, but were reputed just. Was it not so said? It was indeed. Now then, said I, let us settle this point, since we have now settled the other, with reference to acting justly and unjustly, what power each of these possesses in itself. How? said he. Let us in our reasoning fashion an image of the soul, that the man who said those things may know what he said. What kind of image? said he. One of those creatures, said I, which are fabled to have been of old, as that of Chimaera, of Scylla, of Cerberus; and many others spoken of, where many particular natures existed together in one. They are spoken of indeed, said he. Form now one figure of a creature, various, and many-headed, having all around heads of tame creatures and of wild ones, and having power in itself of changing all
276 THE REPUBLIC.
these heads, and of breeding them out of itself. This is the work, said he, of a skilful modeller : however, as the formation is easier in fancy, than in wax and such-like, let it be formed. Let there be now one other figure of a lion, and one of a man ; but let the first be by far the greatest, and the second be the second in bulk. These are easy, said he, and they are formed. Conjoin now these three in one, so as to exist somehow with one another. They are conjoined, said he. Form now around them the external appearance of one of them, that of the man ; so that to one who is not able to see what is within, but who perceives only the external covering, the man may appear one creature. This is formed around, said he. Let us now tell him, who asserts that it is profitable to this man to do injustice, but to do justice is unprofitable, that he asserts nothing else, than that it is profitable for him to feast the multiform creature, and to make it strong; and likewise the lion and attributes of the lion, whilst the man he kills with famine, and renders weak, so as to be dragged whichever way either of those drag him ; and that he will also find it advantageous never to accustom the one to live in harmony with the other, nor to make them friends, but suffer them to be biting one another, and to fight and devour each other. He, said he, who commendeth the doing injustice, undoubtedly asserts these things. And does not he again, who says it is profitable to do justice, say that he ought to do and to 'say such things by which the inner man shall come to have the most entire command of the man, and, as a tiller of the ground, shall take care of the many-headed creature, cherishing the mild parts, and nourishing them, and hindering the wild ones from growing up, taking the nature of the lion as his ally, and, having a common care for all, make them friendly to one another, and to himself, and so nourish them? He who commends justice undoubtedly says such things as these. In all respects, then, he who commends justice would seem to speak the truth, but he who commends injustice, to speak what is false ; for, with regard to pleasure, and applause, and profit, he who commends justice speaks the truth, and he who discommends it speaks nothing genuine.
THE REPUBLIC. 277
Nor does the other discommend with understanding what he discommends. Not at all, said he, as appears to me at least. Let us then in a mild manner persuade him (for it is not willingly he errs), asking him, O blessed man ! do not we say that the things held to be beautiful and base are held to be so, according as they subject the brutal part of our nature to the man (or rather perhaps to that part which is divine) : or enslave the mild part of our nature to the brutal. Will he agree with us? or how? He will, if he be advised by me, said he. Is there then any one, said I, whom it profits, from this reasoning, to take gold unjustly, if it happens that, whilst he takes the money, he at the same time subjects the best part of himself to the worst? Or, if, taking gold, he should sell into slavery a son or daughter, and that even to savage and wicked men, shall we not say this would not avail him, not though he should receive for it a prodigious sum ? But if he enslaves the most divine part of himself to the most impious and most polluted part, is he not infinitely more wretched ? and does he not take a gift of gold to his far more dreadful ruin, than Euriphyle did when she received the necklace for her husband's life ? By far, said Glauco ; I will answer you for the man. And do you not think that to be intemperate, has of old been discommended on such accounts as these, because that in such an oneMhat terrible, great, and multiform beast was indulged more than was meet ? It is plain, said he. And are not arrogance and moroseness blamed, when the lion and the serpentine disposition increases and stretches beyond measure ? Entirely so. And are not luxury and effeminacy blamed because of the remissness and looseness of this disposition, when it engenders in the man cowardice ? What else ? Are not flattery and servility blamed, when any one makes this irascible part itself subject to the brutal crew, and, for the sake of wealth and its insatiable lust, accustoms the irascible to be affronted from its youth, and instead of a lion to become an ape? Entirely so, said he. But why is it, do you think, that coarseness and vulgarity are despicable? Shall we say it is on any other account than this — that it is because they occur when the best part of a
278 THE REPUBLTC.
man's soul is naturally weak, so that he is not able to govern the creatures within himself, but ministers to them, and is able only to learn what flatters them? It is likely, said he. In order then that such an one may be governed in the same manner as the best man is, do we not say that he should be the servant of him who is the best, and who has within him the divine power that governs? Not that we at all conceive that he should be governed to the hurt of the subject (as Thrasy- machus imagined), but, as it is best for every one to be governed, by one divine and wise and possessing the power as his own within him, but if not subjecting himselt to it externally; that as far as possible we may all resemble one another and be friends, governed by one and the same thing ? Rightly, indeed, said he. And law, at least, said I, plainly shows it intends such a thing, being an ally to all in the city; as does likewise the government of children, in not allowing them to be free till we establish in them a proper government, as in a city; and having cultivated that in them which is best, by that which is best in ourselves, we establish a similar guardian and governor in them, and then truly we set them free. It shows it indeed, said he. In what way then shall we say, Glauco, and according to what reasoning, that it is profitable to do injustice, to be intemperate, or to do anything base, by which a man shall indeed become more wicked, but yet shall acquire more wealth, or any kind of power ? In no way, said he. But how shall we say it is profitable for the unjust to be concealed, and not to suffer punishment ? Does he not indeed, who is concealed, become still more wicked ? but he who is not concealed, and is punished, has the brutal part quieted, and made mild, and the mild part set at liberty. And the whole soul being settled in the best temper, in possessing temperance and justice, with wisdom, acquires a more valuable habit than the body does, in acquiring vigour and beauty, with a sound constitution ; in as far as the soul is more valuable than the body. Entirely so, said he. Shall not every one then, who possesses intellect, regulate his life in extending the whole of his powers hither, in the first place, honouring those disciplines which will render his
THE REPUBLIC. 279
soul of this kind, and despising all other things? It is plain, said he. And next, said I, with reference to a good habit of body and its nourishment, he will spend his life in attention to these; not that he may not indulge the brutal and irrational pleasure, nor yet with a view to health, nor, as regards the becoming strong, and healthy, and beautiful (unless by means of these he is to become temperate likewise): but he will always appear to adjust the harmony of the body for the sake of the symphony which is in the soul. By all means, said he, if indeed he is to be truly musical. He will keep that arrange- ment then, said I, and concord which should accompany the possession of wealth and magnificence; and he will not, in consequence of being astonished by the congratulations of the multitude, increase it to infinity, and bring on himself infinite evils. I do not think it, said he. But looking, said I, to that polity within himself, and taking care that nothing there be moved out of its place> through the greatness or smallness of his property, governing in this manner as far as he is able, he will add to his substance, and spend out of it. Entirely so, said he. He will regard honours likewise in the same manner; some he will willingly partake of, and taste, which he judges will render him a better man, but those which he thinks would dissolve that habit of soul which subsists within rnm, he will fly from, both in private and in public. He will not then, said he, be willing to act in politics, if he takes care of this. Yes he will, said I, in his own city, and greatly too. But not probably in his country, unless some divine fortune befall him. I under- stand, said he. You mean in the city we have now established, which exists in our reasoning, since it is nowhere on earth, at least so I imagine. But in heaven, probably, there is a model of it, said I, for any one who inclines to contemplate it, and on contemplating to regulate himself accordingly; and it is of no consequence to him, whether it does exist anywhere, or shall ever exist here. He will perform the duties of this city alone, and of no other. It is reasonable, said he.
28o THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK X.
I OBSERVE, said I, with reference to many things, that we have established a city in a right manner, beyond what all others have done; and among these regulations, I consider those respecting poetry as none of the least. Which ? said he. That no part of it which is imitative be by any means admitted. And it appears, now most of all, and with greatest perspicuity, that it is not to be admitted, since the several forms of the soul have been distinguished apart from one another. How do you mean ? That I may tell it as to you (for you will not accuse me to the composers of tragedy, and the rest of the imitative kind), all such things as these seem to be the ruin of the dianoctic part of the hearers, at least of such of them as have not a medicine to enable them to discern their peculiar nature. From what con- sideration, said he, do you say so? It must be spoken, said I, although a friendly reverence for Homer, which I have had from my childhood, restrains me from telling it ; for he seems truly both to have been the first teacher and leader of all these good composers of tragedy : but a man must not be honoured preferably to the truth, and what I mean must be spoken. By all means, said he. Hear me then, or rather answer me. Ask. Can you tell me perfectly, what imitation is ? for I do not myself altogether understand what it means. And shall I then under- stand it? said he. That would be in no way strange, said I; since those who are dim-sighted perceive many things sooner than those who see more clearly. The case is so, said he ; but whilst you are present, I should not be able to adventure to tell, even though something did appear to me. But consider it yourself. Are you willing then, that we hence begin our inquiry in our usual method? We are wont to suppose the existence of
THE REPUBLIC. 281
a certain Form which includes the many individual things to which we give the same name ; do you not understand me ? I understand. Let us take now any such one thing from among the many as you please ; as, for example, there are many beds and tables, if you will have this instance. There are. But the Forms of these pieces of furniture are two; one of the bed, and one of the table. Yes. And are we not wont to say, that the workmen of each of these species of furniture, looking towards the Form, respectively make in this manner, the beds, and the tables which we use ? and all other things after the same manner. For no one of the artists makes, at least, the Idea (Form) itself ; for how can he ? By no means. But see now whether you call such an one as this an artist? Which? One who alone makes all such things as each separate manual artificer does. You mention a skilful and wonderful man. Not yet, at least ; but you will much more say so presently ; for this same mechanic is not only able to make all sorts of utensils, but he makes also everything which springs from the earth, and he makes all sorts of animals, him °lf as well as others : and besides these things, he makes the ea^th, and heaven, and the Gods, and all things in heaven, and in Hades under the earth. You mention, said he, a perfectly wonderful sophist. You do not believe me ; but tell me, does it appear to you that there is not any such artist ? or that, in one respect, such an one may be the maker of all these things, and in another not ? or do you not perceive that even you yourself might be able to make all these things, in a certain manner at least ? And what, said he, is this manner? It is not difficult, said I, but is performed in many ways, and quickly ; but in the quickest manner of all, if you choose to take a mirror, and turn it round everywhere ; for then you will quickly make the sun, and the things in the heavens, quickly the earth, quickly yourself, and the other animals, and utensils, and vegetables, and all that was now mentioned. Yes, said he, the appearances, but not however the real things, You come well, said I, and seasonably, with your remark ; for I imagine that the painter too is one of these artists. Is he not ? How is it possible he should not ? But you
282 THE REPUBLIC.
*
will say, I think, that he does not make what he makes, true, although the painter too, in a certain manner, at least, makes a bed, does he not ? Yes, said he, he too makes only the appearance. But what with reference to the bed-maker ? Did you not indeed say, just now, that he does not make the form which he says exists, which is the bed, but only a particular bed ? I said so indeed. If then he does not make that which is, he does not make real being-, but something resembling being, but not being itself: but if any one should say, that the work of a bed-maker, or of any other handicraft, were real being, he would seem not to say true. He would, said he, as it must appear to those who are conversant in such kind of reasonings as this. Let us not then at all wonder if things as a bed happen to seem somewhat obscure when contrasted with the truth. Let us not. Are you willing then, said I, that with the use of these very things as illustrations, we inquire con- cerning the imitator, who he really is ? If you are willing, said he. Are there not then these three sorts of beds ? One which exists in nature, and which we may say, as I imagine, God made, or who else ? None, I think. And one which the joiner makes. Yes, said he. And one which the painter makes. Is it not so ? Be it so. Now the painter, the bed-maker, God, these three preside over three species of beds. They are three, indeed. But God, whether it were that he was not willing, or whether there was some necessity for it, that he should not make but one bed in nature, made this one only, which is really a bed ; but two or more beds have never been produced by God, nor ever will be produced. How so ? said he. Because, said I, if he had made but two, again one would have appeared, the form of which both these two would have possessed, and that form would be, that which is bed, and not those two. Right, said he. God then, I think, knowing these things, and willing to be the maker of the real bed, but not the particular maker of any particular bed, produced but one in nature. It appears so. Are you willing, then, that we call him the creator of this, or something of this kind ? It is just, said he, since he has, in their nature, made both this, and all other things. But what as
THE REPUBLIC. 283
to the joiner? Is not he the workman of a bed? Yes. And is the painter, too, the workman and maker of such a work ? By no means. But what will you say he is with relation to the bed ? This, said he, as it appears to me, we may most reason- ably call him ; the imitator of what these others are the workmen of. Be it so, said I ; you call him then the imitator who makes what is generated in the third place from nature. Entirely so, said he. And this the composer of tragedy shall be likewise, since he is an imitator; and he will rise as a third from the King and the truth ; and in like manner all other imitators. It seems so. We have agreed then as to the imitator; but tell me this concerning the painter, whether do you think he under- takes to imitate each particular thing in nature, or the works of craftsmen? The works of craftsmen, said he. Whether, such as they really are, or such as they appear? Determine this further. What do you mean ? replied he. Thus. Does a bed differ in anything from itself, whether one view it obliquely, or directly opposite, or in any particular position ? or does it differ nothing, but only appears different, and in the same way as to other things ? Thus, said he, it appears, but differs nothing. Consider this too, with reference to which of the two does painting work, in each particular work ; does it imitate the real nature of real beings, or the apparent nature of appear- ances ? is it the imitation of appearance, or of truth ? Of appear- / ance, said he. The imitative art, then, is far from the truth : and on this account, it seems, it is able to make these things, because it is able to attain but to some small part of each par- ticular, and that but an image. Thus we say that a painter will paint us a shoemaker, a joiner, and other artists, though he be skilled in hone of those arts; yet he will be able to deceive children and ignorant people, if he be a good painter, when he paints a joiner, and shows him at a distance, so far as to make them imagine he is a real joiner. Why not ? But this, I think, my friend, we must consider with reference to all these things ; that when any one tells us that he has met with a man who is skilled in all manner of workmanship, and everything else which every several artist understands, and that there is nothing which
284 THE REPUBLIC.
he does not know more accurately than any other person, we ought to reply to such an one, that he is a simple man, and that it seems, having met with some magician, and mimic, he has been deceived ; so that he has appeared to him to know every- thing, from his own incapacity to distinguish between science, and ignorance, and imitation. Most true, said he.
Ought we not then, said I, in the next place, to consider tragedy, and its leader, Homer; since we hear from some, that these poets understand all arts, and all human affairs, respecting virtue and vice, and likewise all divine things ? For a good poet must necessarily compose with knowledge, if he means to compose well, else he is not able to compose. It behoves us then to consider whether these who have met with those imitators have been deceived, and on viewing their works have not perceived that they are the third distant from real being, and that their works are such as can easily be made by one who knows not the truth (for they make phantasms, and not real beings) ; or whether they do say something to the purpose, and that the good poets in reality have knowledge in those things which they seem to the multitude to express well. By all means, said he, this is to be inquired into. Do you think, then, that if any one were able to make both that which is imitated, and likewise the image, he would allow himself seriously to apply to the workmanship of the images, and propose this to himself as the best thing in life ? I do not. But if he were in reality intelligent in these things which he imitates, he would far rather, I think, seriously apply himself to the things than to the imitations, and would endeavour to leave behind him many and beautiful actions, as monuments of himself, and would study rather to be himself the person commende'd than the encomiast. I think so, said he ; for neither is the honour nor the profit equal. As to other things, then, let us not call them to account, nor ask Homer or any other of the poets, whether any of them were in any way skilled in medicine, and not imitators only of medical discourses : for which of the ancient or latter poets is said to have restored any to health, as yEscula- pius did ? or what students in medicine any has left behind him,
THE REPUBLIC. 285
as ;Esculapius did his descendants? Nor let us ask them con- cerning the other arts, but dismiss them. But with reference to those greatest and most beautiful things which Homer attempts to speak of, such as wars and armies, and constitutions of cities, and the education belonging to men, it is just to question and demand of him : Friend Homer, if you be not the third from the truth with regard to virtue, being the workman of an image (which we have defined an imitator to be), but the second, and are able to discern what pursuits render men better or worse, both in private and public, tell us which of the cities has been by you better constituted, as Lacedaemon was by Lycurgus, and many other both great and small cities by many others. What city acknowledges you to have been a good lawgiver, and to have been of advantage to them? Italy and Sicily acknowledge Charondas, and we Solon ; but will any one acknowledge you as the benefactor of any city? I think he will say no, said Glauco. It is not pretended even by the descendants of Homer. But what war in Homer's days is recorded to have been well conducted by him as leader, or counsellor ? Not one. But what are his discoveries ? as among the works of a wise man there are many discoveries and inventions spoken of, respecting the arts, and other affairs ; as of Thales the Milesian, and of Anacharsis the Scythian. By no means is thete any such thing. But if not in a public manner, is Homer said to have lived as a private tutor to any who delighted in his conversation, and have delivered to posterity an Homeric manner of life, in like manner as Pythagoras was remarkably beloved on this account, and, even to this day, such as denominate themselves from the Pythagorean manner of life appear to be somehow eminent among others. Neither is there, said he, anything of this kind related of Homer. For the education of Creophilus, Socrates, the companion of Homer, may probably appear more ridiculous than his name, if what is said of Homer be true. For it is said that even he greatly neglected Homer while he lived. It is said indeed, replied I. But do you think, Glauco, that if Homer had been able to educate men, and to render them better, as being capable not only to imitate with respect
2S6 THE REPUBLIC.
to these things, but to understand them, would he not then have procured himself many companions, and have been honoured and beloved by them ? While Protagoras the Abderite, and Prodicus the Chian, and many others, are able to persuade the men of their times, conversing with them privately, that they will neither be able to govern their family, nor yet their city, unless they themselves preside over their education, — and for this wisdom of theirs, they are so exceed- ingly beloved, that their companions almost carry them about on their heads, would then the men of Homer's time have left him or Hesiod to go about singing their songs, if they had been able to profit men in -the way of virtue ? Would they not have retained them with gold, and obliged them to stay with them? or, if they could not persuade them, would they not as scholars have followed them everywhere, till they had obtained sufficient education? You seem to me, said he, Socrates, to say what is in every respect true. Shall we not then establish this point, — That all the poets, beginning with Homer, are imitators of the images of virtue, and of other things about which they compose, and do not attain to the truth : but as we just now said, a painter who himself knows nothing about the making of shoes, will draw a shoemaker, who shall appear to be real to such as are not intelligent, but who view according to the colour and figures? Entirely so. In the same manner, I think, we shall say that the poet colours over with his names and words the several arts, whilst he understands nothing himself, but merely imitates, so as to others such as himself who view things in his compositions, he appears to have knowledge : and if he says anything about shoe- making in measure, rhythm, and harmony, he seems to speak perfectly well, and in like manner if of an expedition, or of any- thing else : so great an enchantment have these things naturally. For you know, I think, in what manner poetical things appear when stripped of musical colouring, and expressed apart by them- selves: you have doubtless noticed it. I have, said he. Do they not, said I, resemble the faces of people who have been young, but not beautiful, such as they appear when their bloom
THE REPUBLIC. 287
forsakes them? Entirely, said he. Come now, and consider this. The maker of the image, whom we call the imitator, knows nothing of real being, but only of that which is apparent. Is it not so ? Yes. Let us not then leave it expressed by halves, but let us sufficiently perceive it. Say on, replied he. A painter, we say, will paint reins, and bridle. Yes. And the leather-cutter, and the smith, will make them. Certainly. Does then the painter understand what kind of reins and bridle there ought to be? or not even he who makes them, the smith, nor the leather-cutter, but he who knows how to use them, the horseman alone ? Most true Shall we not say it is so in every- thing else? How? That with reference to each particular thing, there are these three arts : — That which is to use it, that which is to make it, and that which is to imitate it. Yes. Are then the virtue, and the beauty, and the rectitude of every utensil, and animal, and action, for nothing else but for the use for which each particular was made, or generated ? Just so. By a great necessity, then, he who uses each particular must be the most skilful, and be able to tell the maker whether what he makes is good or bad, with reference to the use for which he uses it : thus, for example, a player on the pipe tells the pipe- maker concerning pipes, what things are of service towards the playing on the pipe, and he will give orders how ne ought to make them, and the workman will obey. How should it be otherwise ? Does not the one then, being intelligent, pronounce concerning good and bad pipes, and the other, believing him, make accordingly ? Yes. With reference then to the same instrument, the maker shall have a right opinion concerning its beauty or deformity, whilst he is conversant with one who is intelligent, and he is obliged to hear from the intelligent ; while he who uses it shall have science. Entirely so. But whether shall the imitator have science from using the things he paints, whether they be handsome and right, or otherwise ? or shall he have right opinion from his being necessarily conversant with the intelligent, and from being enjoined in what manner he ought to paint ? Neither of the two. The imitator then shall have neither knowledge, nor right opinion about what he
288 THE REPUBLIC.
imitates with reference to beauty or deformity. It appears not. The imitator then should be very wise in his imitation, with regard to wisdom, concerning what he paints. Not entirely. However he will imitate at least, without knowing in what respect each particular is ill or good ; but it is likely that he will imitate such as appears to be beautiful to the multitude, and those who know nothing. What else ? We have now, indeed, sufficiently, as it appears, settled these things: That the imi- tators know nothing worth mentioning in those things which he imitates, but that imitation is a sort of amusement, and not a serious affair. And likewise that those who apply to tragic poetry in iambics and heroics, are all imitators in the highest degree. Entirely so.
But, by Zeus, said I, this imitation is in the third degree from the truth. Is it not? Yes. To what part then of man does it belong, having the power it possesses? What part do you speak of? Of such as this. The same magnitude perceived by sight, does not appear the same when near, and at a distance. It does not. And the same things appear crooked and straight, when we look at them in water, and out of water ; and concave and convex, through the error of the sight as to colours. All this disturbance is manifest in the soul ; and this infirmity of our nature painting attacks, and leaves nothing of magical seduction unattempted, just as does the wonder-working art, and many other such-like devices. True. And have not the arts of measuring, numbering, and weighing, appeared to be most ingenious helps in these things, that so the apparent greater or less, the apparent more or heavier, may not deceive us, but the numbered, the measured, and the weighed may teach us truly ? How should it be otherwise ? But this again is, at least, the work of the rational part in the soul. It is so, indeed. But whilst reason often measures and declares some things to be greater or less than other things, or equal, the contrary appears at the same time with reference to these things. Yes. But did not we say that it was impossible for the same person to have contrary opinions about the same things at the same time ? And thus far we said rightly. That part of the soul, then, which
I
THE REPUBLIC. 289
judges contrary to the measure, would seem not to be the same with that which judges according to the measure. It would not. But surely, at least, that which trusts to measure and computa- tion would seem to be the best part of the soul. Why not ? That then which opposes itself to this will be some one of the depraved parts of us. Of necessity. It was this then I wished should be agreed upon, when I said that painting, and in short imitation, being far from the truth, delight in their own work, conversing with that part in us which is far from wisdom, and are its companions and friends ; to no sound nor genuine pur- pose. Entirely so, said he. Imitation then, being depraved in itself, and joining with that which is depraved, generates de- praved things. It seems so. Whether, said I, is the case thus, with reference to the imitation which is by the sight only, or is it likewise so with reference to that by hearing, which we call poetry ? Likely as to this also, said he. We shall not therefore, said I, trust to the appearance in painting, but we shall proceed to the consideration of the dianoetic part which the imitative art of poetry is conversant with, and see if it is depraved or worthy. It must be done. Let us proceed then thus : Poetic imitation, we say, imitates men acting either voluntarily or in- voluntarily ; and imagining that in their acting they have done either well or ill, and in all these cases receiving either pain or pleasure. Is it any more than this ? No more. In all these, now, does the man agree with himself? Or, as he disagreed with reference to sight, and had contrary opinions in himself of the same things at one and the same time, does he, in the same manner, disagree likewise in his actions, and fight with himself? But I recollect that there is no occasion for us to settle this now; for, in former reasonings, we sufficiently determined that our soul is full of a thousand such contrarieties existing in it. Right, said he. Right indeed, said I ; but it appears to me necessary to discuss now what was then omitted. As what ? said he. We said formerly, said I, that a good man, when he meets with such a misfortune as the loss of a son, or of anything else which he values the most, will bear it of all men the easiest. Certainly. But let us now consider this further, — whether he will not grieve
29o THE REPUBLIC.
at all, or, if this is indeed impossible, will moderate his grief? The truth, said he, is rather this last. But tell me this now concerning him, whether do you think that he will struggle more with grief and oppose it, when he is observed by his equals, or when he is in solitude, alone by himself? Much more, said he, when he is observed. But when alone, he will venture, I think, to utter many things, which, if any one heard him, he would be ashamed of, and he will do many things which he would not wish any one to see him doing. It is so, said he. Is it not then reason and law which command him to restrain his grief, — but what drags him to grief is the passion itself? True. As then there is in the man an opposite conduct, with regard to the same thing, at one and the same time, we must necessarily say that he has two conductors. What else ? And shall we not say that one of them is ready to obey the law wherever law leads him ? How ? Law in a manner says that it is best in mis- fortunes to have the greatest tranquillity possible, and not to bear them ill ; since the good and evil of such things as these is not manifest, and since no advantage follows the bearing these things ill ; and as nothing of human affairs is worthy of great concern ; and, besides, as grief proves a hindrance to the course which when in trouble we ought to adopt. What is it, said he, you speak of? To deliberate, said I, on the event; and, as on a throw of the dice, to regulate our affairs according to what casts up, in whatever way reason shall declare to be best ; and not as children when they fall, to lie still, and waste the time in crying; but always to accustom the soul to apply in the speediest manner to heal and rectify what was fallen and sick, dismissing lamenta- tion. One would thus, said he, behave in the best manner in every condition. And did not we say that the best part of us is willing to follow this which is rational ? It is plain. And shall not we say that the part which leads to the remembrance of the affliction and to wailings, and is insatiably given to these, is irrational, and idle, and a friend to cowardice ? We shall say so truly. Is not then the grieving part that which admits of much and of various imitation ? But the prudent and tranquil part, which is always uniform with itselfj is neither easily imitated,
THE REPUBLIC. 291
nor, when imitated, easily understood, especially by a popular assembly, where all sorts of men are assembled together in a theatre. For it is the imitation of a disposition which is foreign to them. Entirely so. It is plain, then, that the imitative poet is not made for such a part of the soul as this. Nor is his skill fitted to please it, if he means to gain the applause of the multi- tude. But he applies to the passionate and the multiform part, as it is easily imitated. It is plain. May we not then, with justice, lay hold of the imitative poet, and place him as corre- spondent to the painter? For he resembles him, both because, as to truth, he effects but depraved things, and in this too he resembles him, in being conversant with a different part of the soul from that which is best. And thus we may, with justice, not admit him into our city which is to be well regulated, because he excites and nourishes this part of the soul, and, strengthening it, destroys the rational. And as he who in a city makes the wicked powerful, betrays the city, and destroys the best men, in the same manner we shall say that the imitative poet establishes a bad republic in the soul of each Individual, gratifying the foolish part of it, which neither discerns what is great, nor what is little, but deems the same things sometimes great, and some- times small, forming little images in its own imagination, altogether remote from the truth. Entirely so.
But we have not however as yet brought the greatest accusa- tion against it : for that is a very dreadful one, that it is able to corrupt even the good, a very few excepted. How should it not, since it acts in this manner ? But hear now, and consider ; for the best of us, when we hear Homer, or any of the tragic writers, imitating some of the heroes when in grief, pouring forth long speeches in their sorrow, bewailing and beating their breasts, you know we are delighted ; and, yielding ourselves, we follow along, and, sympathising with them, seriously commend him as an able poet whoever most affects us in this manner. I know it. But when any domestic grief befalls any of us, you perceive, on the other hand, that we value ourselves on the opposite behaviour, if we can be quiet, and endure, this being the part of a man ; while that of a woman, in the other case,
292 THE REPUBLIC.
we commended. I perceive it, said he. Is this commendation then, said I, a handsome one, when we see such a man as one would not deign to be oneself, but would be ashamed of, not to abominate but to delight in him, and commend him ? No, said he ; it appears unreasonable. Certainly, said I, if you consider it in this manner. How? If you consider that the part of us, which in our private misfortunes is forcibly restrained, and is kept from weeping and bewailing to the full, though being by nature of such a kind as is desirous of these reliefs, — is the very part which is by the poets filled and gratified : but that part in us, which is naturally the best, being not sufficiently instructed, either by reason or habit, grows remiss in its guardianship over the bewailing part, by attending to the sufferings of others, and deems it no way disgraceful to itself, to commend and pity one who grieves immoderately, whilst he professes to be a good man. Indeed it thinks it gains even pleasure, and would not choose to be deprived of it by despising the whole of the poem. For, I think, it falls to the share of few to be able to consider, that what we feel with respect to the fortunes of others, must necessarily be felt with respect to our own. Since it is not easy for a man to bear up under his own misfortunes, who strongly cherishes the bewailing disposition over those of others. Most true, said he. And is not the reasoning the same with reference to the ridiculous ? For when you hear, in imitation by comedy, or in private conversation, what you would be ashamed to do yourself to excite laughter, and are delighted with it, and do not hate it, you do the same thing here as in the tragic : for that part, which, when it wanted to excite laughter, was formerly restrained by reason from a fear of incurring the character of scurrility, being now let loose, and allowed to grow vigorous, you are often imperceptibly brought to be in your own behaviour a buffoon. Extremely so, said he. And in the case of venereal pleasures, and anger, and the whole of the passions, as well the sorrowful as the joyful, which truly, we have said, attend us in every action, the poetical imitation of these has the same effect upon us ; for it nourishes and waters those things which ought to be parched, and constitutes as our governor, those which
THE REPUBLIC. 293
ought to be governed, in order to our becoming better and happier, instead of being worse and more miserable. I can say no otherwise, said he. When therefore, Glauco, said I, you meet with the encomiasts of Homer, who tell how this poet instructed Greece, and that he deserves to be taken as a master to teach a man both the management and the knowledge of human affairs, and that a man should regulate the whole of his life according to this poet, we should indeed love and embrace such people, since they are excellent to the best of their ability ; and agree with them that Homer is the greatest and the first of tragic writers: but they must know, that hymns to the Gods,| and the praises of worthy actions, are alone to be admitted into j the city. But if it should admit the pleasurable muse likewise, I in songs, or verses, you would have pleasure and pain reigning in the city, instead of law, and that reason which appears best to the community. Most true, said he. Let these things now, said I, be our apology, when we recollect what we have said with reference to poetry, that we formerly very properly dis- missed it from our republic, since it is such as is now described : for reason obliged us. And let us tell it further, lest it accuse us of roughness, and rusticity, that there is an ancient variance between philosophy and poetry ; for such verses as these,
"That bawling bitch, which at her mistress barks," and
" He's great in empty eloquence of fools," and
" On trifles still they plod, because they're poor,"
and a thousand such like, are marks of an ancient opposition between them. But nevertheless let it be said, that if any one can assign a reason why the poetry and the imitation which are calculated for pleasure ought to be in a well-regulated city, we, for our part, shall gladly admit them, as we are at least consci- ous that we are charmed by them. But to betray what appears to be truth, were an unholy thing. For are not you yourself, my friend, charmed by this imitation, and most especially when you see it as performed by Homer? Very much so. Is it not
294 THE REPUBLIC.
just, then, that we exile it until it apologise for itself, either in song, or in any other measure ? By all means. And we may at least grant, even to its defenders, such as are not poets, but lovers of poetry, to speak in its behalf, without verse,jm(lj§]iaiy that it is not only pleasant, but profitable for republics, and for human life ; and we shall hear with pleasure, for we shall gain somewhat if it shall appear not only pleasant but also profit- able. . How is it possible we should not gain ? said he. And if it happen otherwise, my friend, we shall do as those who have been in love when they deem their love unprofitable, — they desist, though with cost : so we in like manner, through this inborn love of such poetry that prevails in our best republics, shall be well pleased to see it appear to be the best and truest : but till it is able to make its apology, we shall take along with us while we hear it this discourse which we have held, as a counter-charm, and incantation, being afraid to fall back again into a childish love, aqknowledged by all. We may perceive then that we are not to be much in earnest about such poetry as this, as if it were a serious affair, and approached to the truth; but the hearer is to beware of it, and to be afraid for the republic within himself, and to entertain those opinions of poetry which we mentioned. I entirely agree, said he. For, friend Glauco, said I, mighty is the contest, and not such as it appears, to become a good or a bad man : so as not to be moved, either through honour, or riches, or any magistracy, or poetic imitation, ever to neglect justice, and the other virtues. I agree with you, from what we have discussed, and so L think will any other.
But we have not yet, said I, discussed the greatest prize of virtue, and the rewards laid* up for her. You speak of some- thing prodigious, said he, if there be other greater than those mentioned. But what is there, said I, can be great in a little time ? for all this period from infancy to old age is but little in respect of eternity. Nothing at all, indeed, said he. What then ? Do you think an immortal being ought to be much con- cerned about such a period, and not about the whole of time ? I think, said he, about the whole. But why do you mention this ? Have you not perceived, said I, that our soul is immortal, and
THE REPUBLIC. 295
never perishes ? On which he, looking at me in surprise, said, By Zeus, not I indeed. But are you able to show this? Yes, on my honour, said I. And I think you yourself can show it, for it is in no respect difficult. To me at least, said he, it is difficult ; but I would willingly hear from you this which is not difficult. You shall hear then, said I. Only speak, replied he. Is there not something, said I, which you call good, and something which you call evil ? I own it. Do you then conceive of them in the same manner as I do? How? That which destroys and corrupts everything is the evil, and what preserves and profits it is the good. I do, said he. But what ? Do you not say, there is something which is good, and something which is bad, to each particular? as blindness to the eyes, and disease to every animal body, mildew to corn, rottenness to wood, rust to brass and iron, and, as I am saying, almost everything has its connate evil, and disease ? I think so, replied he. And when anything of this kind befalls anything, does it not render that which it befalls base, and in the end dissolves and destroys it? How should it not? Its own connate evil, then, and baseness destroys each particular ; or, if this does not destroy it, nothing else can ever destroy it. For that which is good can never destroy anything, nor yet that which is neither good nor evil. How can they? said he. If then we shall be able to find, among beings, any one which has indeed some evil which renders it base, but is not however able to dissolve and destroy it, shall we not then know that a being thus constituted cannot be destroyed at all ? So, replied he, it appears. What then ? said I. Is there not something which renders the soul evil? Certainly, replied he ; all these things which we have now mentioned, injustice, intemperance, cowardice, ignorance. But does then any of these dissolve and destroy it ? And, attend now, that we may not be imposed on, in thinking that an unjust and foolish man, when he is detected acting unjustly, is then destroyed through his injustice, which is the baseness of his soul. No, consider it thus. As disease, which is the baseness of animal body, dissolves and destroys body, and reduces it to be no longer that body; so all those things we mentioned, being
296 THE REPUBLIC.
destroyed by their own proper evil adhering to them and possessing them, are reduced to a non-existence. Is it not so ? Yes. Consider now the soul in the same manner. Does injustice, or other vice, possessing it, by possessing, and adher- ing to it, corrupt and deface it, till, bringing it to death, it separates it from the body ? By no means, said he. But it were absurd, said I, that anything should be destroyed by the baseness of another, but not by its own. Absurd. For consider, Glauco, said I, that neither by the baseness of victuals, whether it be their mouldiness, or rottenness, or whatever else, do we imagine our body can be destroyed ; but if this baseness in them create in the body a depravity of the body, we will say that, through their means, the body is destroyed by its own evil, which is disease. But we will never allow that by the baseness of food, which is one thing, the body, which is another thing, can ever be destroyed, unless this foreign evil create in it its own peculiar evil. You say most right, replied he. According to the same reasoning, then, said I, unless the baseness of the body create a baseness of the soul, let us never admit that the soul can be destroyed by an evil which is foreign, unless it creates its own peculiar disease; which would be the destruction of one thing by the evil of another. There is reason for it, said he. Let us then either refute these things as not good reason- ing, or, so long as they are unrefuted, let us at no time say, that the soul shall be ever in any degree destroyed, either by burning fever, or by any other disease, or by slaughter, nor even though a man should cut the whole body into the smallest parts possible, till some one show that, through these sufferings of the body, the soul herself becomes more unjust and unholy. But we will never allow it to be said, that when a foreign evil befalls anything, whilst its own proper evil is not within it, either the soul or anything else is destroyed. This at least, said he, no one can ever show, that the souls of those who die are by death rendered more unjust. But if any one, replied I, shall dare to contend with us in reasoning; and, in order that he may not be obliged to own that souls are immortal, should say, that when a man dies he becomes more wicked and unjust, we shall infer
THE REPUBLIC. 297
(if he says true in telling us this) that injustice is deadly to the possessor, as a disease ; and that those who embrace it are destroyed by it as by a disease destructive in its own nature — those most speedily who embrace it most, and those more slowly who embrace it less ; and is not as it seems now, when the unjust die through having the punishment of death inflicted on them by others. By Zeus, said he, injustice would not appear perfectly dreadful, if it were deadly to him who practises it (for what were a deliverance from evil). But I rather think it will appear to be, altogether the reverse, destroying others as far as it can, but rendering the unjust extremely alive, and, in conjunction with being alive, wakeful likewise ; so far, apparently, is it from being deadly. You say well, replied I ; for, when a man's own wickedness and peculiar evil is insufficient to kill and destroy the soul, hardly can that evil, which aims at the destruc- tion of another, destroy a soul, or anything else, but what it is aimed against. Hardly indeed, said he, as appears to me at least. Since therefore it is destroyed by no one evil, neither peculiar nor foreign, is it not plain that, of necessity, it always is ? and, if it always is, it is immortal ? Of necessity, replied he.
Let this then, said I, be fixed in this manner. And if it be, you will perceive that souls will always remain the same for their number will never become less, none being destroyed, nor will it become greater ; for if the number of immortals was made greater, you know it would take from the mortal, and in the end all would be immortal. You say true. But let us not, said I, think that this will be the case (for reason will not allow of it), nor yet that the soul in its truest nature is of such a kind as to be full of much variety, dissimilitude, and difference considered in itself. What do you mean ? replied he. That cannot easily, said I, be eternal which is compounded of many things, and which has not the most beautiful composition, as hath now appeared to us to be the case with reference to the soul. It is not likely. That the soul then is something im- mortal, both our present reasonings, and others too, oblige us to own : but in order to know what kind of being the soul is, in
298 THE REPUBLIC.
truth, one ought not to contemplate it as it is damaged both by its conjunction with the body, and by other evils, as we now behold it, but such as it is when become pure. As such it must by reasoning be fully contemplated ; and he (who does this) will find it far more beautiful, and will more plainly see through justice and injustice, and everything which we have now dis- cussed. We are now telling the truth concerning it, when in such a form as it appears at present. We have seen it, indeed, in the same condition in which men see the sea-god Glaucus, whose ancient nature they cannot easily perceive because the ancient members of his body are partly broken off, and others are worn away ; and he is altogether damaged by the waves : and, besides this, other things are grown to him, such as shell- fish, sea- weed, and stones : so that he in every respect resembles a beast, rather than what he naturally was. In such a condi- tion do we behold the soul under a thousand evils. But we ought, Glauco, to behold it in one part. What ? said he. In its love of wisdom ; and to observe to what it applies, and what intimacies it affects, as being allied to that which is divine, immortal, and eternal ; and what it would become if it pursued wholly a thing of this kind, and were by this pursuit brought out of that sea in which it now is, and had the stones and shell- fish shaken off from it, which at present, as it is fed on earth, render its nature, in a great measure, earthy, stony, and savage, through those aliments which are said to procure felicity. And then might one behold its true nature, whether multiform or uniform, and everything concerning it. But we have, I think, sufficiently discussed its passions and forms in human life. Entirely so, replied he.
Have we not now, said I, discussed everything else in our reasonings, though we have not mentioned those rewards and honours of justice (as you say Hesiod and Homer do)? but we find justice itself to be the best reward to the soul ; and that it ought to do what is just, whether it have or have not Gyges' ring, or together with such a ring, the helmet likewise of Hades.1 You say most true, said he. Will it now, Glauco, 1 Which tendered the wearer invisible.
THE REPUBLIC. 299
said I, be a matter of offence if we mention those rewards to justice and the other virtues which are bestowed on the soul by men and Gods, both whilst the man is alive, and after he is dead ? By all means let us mention them, said he. Will you then restore to me what you borrowed in the reasoning? What, chiefly? I granted you, that the just man should be deemed unjust, and the unjust be deemed to be just. For you were of opinion that though it were not possible that these things should be concealed from Gods and men, it should how- ever be granted, for the sake of the argument, that justice in itself might be compared with injustice in itself ; or do you not remember it ? I should indeed be unjust, said he, if I did not. Now after the judgment is over, I demand again, in behalf of justice, that as you allow it to be indeed esteemed both by Gods and men, you likewise allow it to have the same good reputa- tion, that it may also receive those prizes of victory, which it acquires from the reputation of justice, and bestows on those who possess it ; since it has already appeared to bestow those good things which arise from really being just, and that it does not deceive those who truly embrace it. You demand what is just, said he. Will you not then, said I, in the first place, restore me this ? That it is not concealed from the Gods, what kind of man each of the two is. We will grant it, said he. And if they be not concealed, one of them will be beloved of the Gods, and one of them hated, as we agreed in the beginning. We did so. And shall we not agree that as to the man who is beloved of the Gods, whatever comes to him from the Gods will all be the best possible, unless he has some necessary ill from former miscarriage. Entirely so. We are then to think in this manner of the just man. That if he happen to be in poverty, or in diseases, or in any other of those seeming evils, these things result in something good, either whilst he is alive or dead. For never at any time is he neglected by the Gods, who inclines earnestly to endeavour to become just, and practises virtues as far as it is possible for man to resemble God. It is reasonable, replied he, that such an one should not be neglected by him whom he resembles. And are we not to
3oo THE REPUBLIC.
think the reverse of these things concerning the unjust man ? Entirely. Such, then, would seem to be the prizes which the just man receives from the Gods. Such they are indeed in my opinion, said he. But what, said I, do they receive from men? Is not the case thus (if we are to set down the truth) ? Do not cunning and unjust men do the same thing as those racers, who run well at the beginning, but not so at the end ? for at the first they briskly leap forward, but in the end they become ridiculous, and crestfallen, and beaten — they run off without any reward. But such as are true racers, arriving at the end, both receive the prizes, and are crowned. Does it not happen thus for the most part to just men, that at the end of every action and intercourse of life they are both held in esteem, and receive rewards from men ? Entirely so. You will then suffer me to say of these what you yourself said of the unjust. For I will aver now that the just, when they are grown up, shall arrive at power if they desire magistracies, they shall marry where they incline, and shall settle their children in marriage agree- ably to their wishes ; and everything else you mentioned con- cerning the others, I now say concerning these. And on the other hand I will say of the unjust, that the most of them, though they may be concealed whilst they are young, yet being caught at the end of the race, are ridiculous, and, when they become old, are wretched and ridiculed, and shall be scourged both by foreigners and citizens, and they shall afterwards be tortured and burnt; which you said were terrible things, and you spoke the truth. Imagine you hear from me that they suffer all these things, and see if you will admit of what I say. Entirely, said he, for you say what is just.
Such as these now, said I, are the prizes, the rewards and gifts, which a just man receives in his lifetime, both from Gods and men ; besides those good things which justice contains in itself. And they are extremely beautiful, said he, and likewise permanent. But these now, said I, are nothing in number or magnitude when compared with those which await each of the two at death. And these things must likewise be heard, that each of them may completely have what is their due in the
THE REPUBLIC. 301
reasoning. You may say on, replied he, not as to a hearer who has heard much, but as to one who hears with pleasure. But, however, I will not, said I, tell you a tale like the apologue of Alcinous j1 but that, indeed, of a brave man, of Er, the son of Armenius, by descent a Pamphylian ; who happened on a time to die in battle. When the dead were on the tenth day carried off, already corrupted, he was taken up and found still fresh; and being- carried home, as he was about to be buried on the twelfth day, when laid on the funeral pile, he revived ; and being revived, he told what he saw in the other world, and said : That after his soul left the body, it went with many others, and that they came to a certain mysterious place, where there were two chasms in the earth, near to each other, and two other openings in the heavens opposite to them, and that the judges sat between these. That when they gave judgment, they commanded the just to go to the right hand, and upwards through the heaven, fixing before them symbols of the judgment pronounced ; but the unjust they commanded to the left, and downwards, and these, likewise, had behind them the evidences of all they had done. But on his coming before the judges, they said it behoved him to be a messenger to men concerning things there, and they commanded him to hear, and to contemplate everything in the place. And he saw the souls departing through the two open- ings, some through the one in the heaven, and some through the one in the earth, after they were judged; and through the other two openings he saw, rising through the one out of the earth, souls full of squalidness and dust ; and through the other, he saw other souls descending pure from heaven ; and always on their arrival they seemed as if they came from a long journey, and gladly went to rest themselves in the meadow, as in a public assembly, and saluted one another, such as were acquainted, and those who rose out of the earth asked the others concerning the things above, and those from heaven asked them concerning the things below, and they told one another ; the one wailing and weeping whilst they called to mind what and how many things they suffered and saw in
1 That is, a short tale,
302 THE REPUBLIC.
their journey under the earth (for it was a journey of a thousand years) ; and the others from heaven explained their enjoyments, and spectacles of immense beauty. To narrate many of them, Glauco, would take much time ; but this, he said, was the sum, that whatever unjust actions any had committed, and how many soever any one had injured, they were punished for all these separately tenfold, and that they began to suffer again every hundred years, the life of man being considered as so long, that they might suffer tenfold punishment for the injustice they had done. So that if any had been the cause of many deaths, either by betraying cities or armies, or bringing men into slavery, or being confederates in any other wickedness, for each of all these they reaped tenfold sufferings ; and if, again, they had benefited any by good deeds, and had been just and holy, they were rewarded according to their deserts. Of those who died very young, and lived but a little time, he told what is not worth relating. But of impiety and piety to- wards the Gods and parents, and of the murder of relations, he told the more remarkable retributions. For he said he was present when one was asked by another, where the great Aridasus was ? This Aridaeus had been tyrant in a certain city of Pamphylia a thousand years before that time, and had killed his aged father, and his elder brother, and had done many other unhallowed deeds, as it was reported : and he said, the one who was asked replied : " He neither comes," said he, "nor ever will come hither. For we saw this likewise among other dreadful spectacles. When we were near the mouth of the opening, and were about to ascend after having suffered everything else, we beheld both him on a sudden, and others likewise, most of whom were tyrants, and some private persons who had committed great iniquity, whom, when they imagined they were to ascend, the mouth of the opening did not admit, but bellowed when any of those who were so polluted with wickedness, or who had not been sufficiently punished, attempted to ascend. And then, said he, fierce men, and fiery to the view, standing by, and understanding the bellowing, took them and led them apart, Aridasus and the rest, binding their
THE REPUBLIC. 303
hands and their feet, and, thrusting them down, and flaying off their skin, dragged them to an outer road, tearing them on thorns ; declaring always to those who passed by, on what accounts they suffered these things, and that they were carrying them to be thrown into Tartarus. And hence, he said, that amidst all their various terrors, this terror surpassed, lest the mouth should bellow when we went up, and when it was silent every one most gladly ascended." And the punishments and torments were such as these, and their rewards were the reverse of these. He also added, that every one, after they had been seven days in the meadow, arising thence, it was requisite for them to depart on the eighth day, and arrive at another place on the fourth day after, whence they perceived from above through the whole heaven and earth, a light extended as a pillar, mostly resembling the rainbow, but more splendid and pure ; at which they arrived in one day's journey ; and they perceived, being in the middle of the light from heaven, that its extremities were fastened to the sky. For this light was the belt of heaven, like the transverse beams of ships, and kept the whole circumference united. To the extremities the distaff of Necessity is fastened, by which all the revolutions of the world were made, and its spindle and point were both of adamant, but its whirl mixed of this and of other things ; arid that the nature of the whirl was of such a kind, as to its figure, as is any one we see here. But you must conceive it, from what he said, to be of such a kind as this : as if in some great hollow whirl, carved throughout, there was such another, but lesser, within it, adapted to it, like casks fitted one within another ; and in the same manner a third, and a fourth, and four others, for that the whirls were eight in all, as circles one within another, each having its rim appearing above the next; the whole forming round the spindle the united solidity of one whirl. The spindle was driven through the middle of the eight ; and the first and outmost whirl had the widest circumference, the sixth had the next greatest width ; the fourth the third width ; then the eighth ; the seventh ; the fifth ; the third ; and the second. Likewise the circle of the largest is variegated in colour: the
304 THE REPUBLIC.
seventh is the brightest, and that of the eighth hath its colour from the shining of the seventh ; that of the second and fifth resemble each other, but are more yellow than the rest. But the third hath the whitest colour, the fourth is reddish; the second in whiteness surpasses the sixth. The distaff must turn round in a circle with the whole it carries ; and whilst the whole is turning round, the seven inner circles are gently turned round in a contrary direction to the whole. Again, the eighth moves the swiftest; and next to it, and equal to one another, the seventh, the sixth, and the fifth ; and the third went in a motion which as appeared to them completed its circle in the same way as the fourth, which in swiftness was the third, and the fifth was the second in speed. The distaff was turned round on the knees of Necessity.1 And on each of its circles there was seated a Siren on the upper side, carried round, and uttering one note in one tone. But that the whole of them, being eight, composed one harmony. There were other three sitting round at equal distances one from another, each on a throne, the daughters of Necessity, the Fates, in white vestments, and having crowns on their heads ; Lachesis, and Clotho, and Atropos, singing to the harmony of the Sirens ; Lachesis singing the past, Clotho the present, and Atropos the future. And Clotho, at certain intervals, with her right hand laid hold of the spindle, and along with her mother turned about the outer circle. And Atropos, in like manner, turned the inner ones with her left hand. And Lachesis touched both of these, severally, with either hand. Now after the souls arrive here, it is necessary for them to go directly to Lachesis, and then an herald first of all ranges them in order,
1 The preceding passage is a rough description of elemental astro- nomy. The distaff in motion is apparently the revolution of heaven round the motionless earth. The seven inner whirls are the orbits of Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Mercury, the sun, and the moon. The outer whirl with various colours means the stars. The light like a pillar is probably neither the Milky Way nor the axis of the world, but may be a reference to some old theory about light, possibly Pythagorean.
THE REPUBLIC. 305
and afterwards taking the lots, and the models of lives, from the knees of Lachesis, and ascending a lofty tribunal, he says : — "The speech of the virgin Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity. Souls of a day ! This is the beginning of another period of men of mortal race. Your destiny shall not be given you by lot, but you shall choose it yourselves. He who draws the first, let him first make choice of a life, to which he must of necessity adhere. Virtue is independent, which every one shall partake of, more or less, according as he honours or dis- honours her. The cause is in him who makes the choice, and God is blameless !" When he had said these things, he threw on all of them the lots, and that each took up the one which fell beside him, but Er was allowed to take none. And that when each had taken it, he knew what number he had drawn. After this the herald placed on the ground before them the models of lives, many more than those we see at present. And they were all various. For there were lives of all sorts of animals, and human lives of every kind. And among ih^se there were tyrannies, some of them perpetual, and others destroyed in the midst of their greatness, and ending in poverty, banishment, and want. There were also lives of men renowned, some for their appearance as to beauty, strength, and agility ; and others for their descent, and the virtues of their ancestors. There were the lives of renowned women in the same manner. But there was no disposition of soul among these models, because of necessity, on choosing a different life, it becomes different itself. As to other things, riches and poverty, sickness and health, they were mixed with one another, and some were in a middle station between these. There then, as appears, friend Glauco, is the whole danger of man. And hence this of all things is most to be studied, in what manner every one of us, omitting other disciplines, shall become an inquirer and learner in this study, if, by any means, he be able to learn and find out who will make him expert and intelligent to discern a good life and a bad; and to choose everywhere, and at all times, the best of what is possible, considering all the things now mentioned, both compounded and separated from one another,
20
306 THE REPUBLIC.
what they are with respect to the virtue of life. And to under- stand what good or evil is created by beauty when mixed with poverty, or riches, and with this or the other habit of soul ; and what is effected by noble and ignoble descent, by privacy and by public station, by strength and weakness, docility and indocility, and everything else of the kind which naturally pertains to the soul, and likewise of what is acquired, when blended one with another; so as to be able from all these things to compute, and, having an eye to the nature of the soul, to comprehend both the worse and the better life, pronouncing that to be the worse which shall lead the soul to become more unjust, and that to be the better life which shall lead it to become more just, and to dismiss every other consideration. For we have seen, that in life, and in death, this is the best choice. But it is necessary that a man should have this opinion firm as an adamant in him, when he departs to Hades, that there also he may be unmoved by riches, or any such evils, and may not, falling into tyrannies, and other such practices, do many and incurable mischiefs, and himself suffer still greater: but may know how to choose always the middle life, as to these things, and to shun the extremes on either hand, both in this life as far as is possible, and in the whole of the hereafter. For thus man becomes most happy.
To return : the messenger from the other world further told that the herald spoke thus : " Even to him who comes last, choosing with judgment, and living consistently, there is pre- pared a desirable life ; not bad. Let neither him who is first be negligent in his choice, nor let him who is last despair ! " He said, that when the herald had spoken these things, the first who drew a lot ran instantly and chose the greatest tyranny, but through folly and insatiableness had not sufficiently examined all things on making his choice, but was ignorant that in this life there was this destiny, the devouring of his own children, and other evils ; and that afterwards, when he had considered it at leisure he wailed and lamented his choice, not having observed the admonitions of the herald above mentioned. For he did not accuse himself, as the author of his misfortunes, but fortune
THE REPUBLIC. 307
and destiny, and everything instead of himself. He added, that he was one of those who came from heaven, who had in his former life lived in a regulated republic, and had been virtuous by custom without philosophy. And that, in short, among these there were not a few who came from heaven, as being unexercised in trials. But that the most of those who came from earth, as they had endured hardships themselves, and had seen others in hardships, did not precipitantly make their choice. And hence, and through the fortune of the lot, to most souls there was an exchange of good and evil things. Since, if one should always, whenever he comes into this life, soundly philosophise, and the lot of election should not fall on him the very last, it would seem, from what has been told us from thence, that he shall be happy not only here, but when he goes hence, and his journey hither back again shall not be earthly, and rugged, but smooth and heavenly. This spectacle, he said, was worthy to behold, in what manner the several souls made choice of their lives. For it was pitiful and ridiculous and wonderful to behold, as each for the most part chose according to the habit of their former life. For he told, that he saw the soul which was formerly the soul of Orpheus making choice of the life of a swan, through hatred of womankind, being unwilling to be born of woman on account of the death he suffered from them. He saw likewise the soul of Thamyris making choice of the life of a nightingale. And he saw also a swan turning to the choice of human life ; and other musical animals in a similar manner, as is likely. And he saw one soul, in making its choice, choosing the life of a lion ; and it was the soul of Ajax, the son of Telamon, shunning to become a man, remembering the judgment given with reference to the armour of Achilles. That after this he saw the soul of Agamemnon, which, in hatred also of the human kind, on account of his misfortunes, exchanged it for the life of an eagle. And that he saw the soul of Atalanta choosing her lot amidst the rest, and, having attentively observed the great honours paid to an athlete, was unable to pass by this lot, but took it. Next, he saw the soul of Epaeus the son of Fanopeus going into the nature of a skilful workwoman. And far off, among the
308 THE REPUBLIC.
last, he saw the soul of the buffoon Thersites assuming the ape. And by chance he saw the soul of Ulysses, who had drawn its lot last of all, going to make its choice : and in remembrance of its former toils, and tired of ambition, it went about a long time, seeking the life of a private man of no business, and with difficulty found it lying somewhere, neglected by the rest. And that on seeing this life, it said, that it would have made the same choice even if it had obtained the first lot, — and joyfully chose it. In like manner the souls of wild beasts went into men, and men again into beasts : the unjust changing into wild beasts, and the just into tame ; and that they were blended by all sorts of mixtures.
After, therefore, all the souls had chosen their lives according as they drew their lots, they all went in order to Lachesis, and that she gave to every one the fate he chose, and sent it along with him to be the guardian of his life, and the accomplisher of what he had chosen. First of all, he conducts the soul to Clotho, to ratify under her hand, and by the whirl of the vortex of her spindle, the destiny it had chosen by lot : and after being with her, he leads it back again to the spinning of Atropos, who makes the destinies irreversible. And from hence they proceed directly under the throne of Necessity; and after the others had passed by it, Er also passed, and they all of them marched into the plain of Lethe amidst dreadful heat and scorching, for he said that it is void of trees and everything that the earth produces. That when night came on, they encamped beside the river Amelete,1 whose water no vessel can contain. Of this water all of them must necessarily drink a certain measure, and such of them as are not preserved by prudence drink more than the measure, and that he who drinks always forgets everything. But after they were laid asleep, and it became midnight, there was thunder, and an earthquake, and they were thence on a sudden carried upwards, some one way, and some another, approaching to generation like stars. But that Er himself was forbidden to drink of the water. Where, however, and in what manner, he came into his body, he was
1 Indifference.
THE REPUBLIC. 309
entirely ignorant ; but suddenly looking up in the morning, he saw himself already laid on the funeral pile.
And this fable, Glauco, hath been preserved, and is not lost, and it may preserve us, if we are persuaded by it ; and thus we shall happily pass over the river Lethe, and shall not contami- nate the soul. But if the company will be persuaded by me; considering the soul to be immortal, and able to bear all evil, and all good, we shall always persevere in the road which ieads above; and shall by all means pursue justice in conjunction with prudence, in order that we may be friends both to our- selves, and to the Gods, both whilst we remain here, and when we receive its rewards, like victors assembled together ; and we shall, both here, and in that journey of a thousand years which we have described, enjoy a happy life.
THE END.
TJUi WALTER SCOTT PUESS, NEWCAS'ILE-OiN-TV.NE.
I I
I
n
"
f
WORKS BY GEORGE MOORE,
Cloth, Crown Svo, Price 6s.
Esther Waters: A Novel
BY GEORGE MOORE
Strong, vivid, sober, yet undaunted in its realism, full to the brim of observation of life and character, Esther Waters is not only immeasurably superior to anything the author has ever written before, but it is one of the most remarkable works that has appeared in print this year, and one which does credit not only to the author, but the country in which it has been written." — The World.
' As we live the book through a^ain in memory, we feel more and more confident that Mr. Moore has once for all vindicated his position among the half-do/en living novelists of whom the historian of English literature will have to take account.' — Daily Chronicle.
Crown Svo, Cloth, 568 pages, Price 6s.
Celibates.
' A remarkable book, that adds to the reputation of its author.'— Speaker.
' Excessively clever.'— The Times.
' These stud'ies are amazingly clever.' — Tlie Daily Neius.
' A sympathetic and masterly analysis of temperament.' — The Literary World.
Other Novels by George Moore
Crown S>v0, Cloth, y. 6d. each. A DRAMA IN MUSLIN. Seventh Edition. A MODERN LOVER. New Edition. A MUMMER'S WIFE, Twentieth Edition. VAIN FORTUNE, New Revised Edition. With Five Illustrations by MAURICE GREIFFENHAGEN.
New Edition, Crown Svo, doth, 6.r. MODERN PAINTING, By GEORGE MOORE. IMPRESSIONS AND OPINIONS. By GEORGE MOORE.
' His book is one of the best books about pictures that have come into our hands for some years.'— St. James's Gazette.
'A more original, a better informed, a more suggestive, and, let us add, a more amusing work on the art of to-day, we have never read than this volume.'— Glasgow Ho aid.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
NEW EDITION AT REDUCED PRICE. AUTHORISED VERSION.
Crown Svo, Cloth, Price 3*. 6d.
Peer Gynt : A Dramatic Poem
BY HENRIK IBSEN. TRANSLATED BY WILLIAM AND CHARLES ARCHER.
This Translation, though unrhyhied, preserves throughout the various rhythms of the Original.
' To English readers this will not merely be a new work of the Norwegian poet, dramatist, and satirist, but it will also be a new Ibsen. . . . Here is the imaginative Ibsen, indeed, the Ibsen of such a boisterous, irresistible fertility of fancy that one breathes with difficulty as one follows him on his headlong course. . . . "Peer Gynt" is a fantastical satirical drama of enormous interest, and the present translation of it is a master- piece of fluent, powerful, graceful, and literal rendering.' — The Daily Chronicle,
Crown 8vo, Cloth 5$.
The Strike at Arlingford
(PLAY IN THREE ACTS.) BY GEORGE MOORE
1 It has the large simplicity of really great drama, and Mr. Moore, in conceiving it, has shown the truest instinct for the art he is for the first time essaying.' — W. A. in The World.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
THE SCOTT LIBRARY.
Cloth, Uncut Edges, Gilt Top. Price is. 6d. per Volume.
VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED-
1 MALORY'S ROMANCE OF KING ARTHUR AND THE
Quest of the Holy Grail. Edited by Ernest Rhys.
2 THOREAU'S WALDEN. WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTE
by Will H. Dircks.
3 THOREAU'S "WEEK." WITH PREFATORY NOTE BY
Will H. Dircks.
4 THOREAU'S ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH AN INTRO-
duction, by Will H. Dircks.
5 CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, ETC.
By Thomas De Quincey. With Introductory Note by William Sharp.
6 LANDOR'S IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. SELECTED,
with lutroduction, by Havelock Ellis.
7 PLUTARCH'S LIVES (LANGHORNE). WITH INTRO-
ductory Note by B. J. Snell, M.A.
8 BROWNE'S RELIGIO MEDICI, ETC. WITH INTRO-
duction by J. Addington Symonds.
9 SHELLEY'S ESSAYS AND LETTERS. EDITED, WITH
Introductory Note, by Ernest Rhys.
10 SWIFT'S PROSE WRITINGS. CHOSEN AND ARRANGED,
with Introduction, by Walter Lewin.
11 MY STUDY WINDOWS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
With lutroduction by R. Garnett, LL.D.
12 LOWELL'S ESSAYS ON THE ENGLISH POETS. WITH
a new Introduction by Mr. Lowell.
13 THE BIGLOW PAPERS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
With a Prefatory Note by Ernest Rhys.
14 GREAT ENGLISH PAINTERS. SELECTED FROM
Cunningham's Lives. Edited by William Sharp.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
THE SCOTT LIBBABY— continued.
15 BYRON'S LETTERS AND JOURNALS. SELECTED,
with Introduction, by Mathilde Blind.
16 LEIGH HUNT'S ESSAYS. WITH INTRODUCTION AND
Notes by Arthur Symons.
17 LONGFELLOW'S "HYPERION," "KAVANAGII," AND
"The Trouveres." With Introduction by W. Tirebuck.
18 GREAT MUSICAL COMPOSERS. ' BY G. F. FERRIS.
Edited, Avith Introduction, by Mrs. William Sharp.
19 THE MEDITATIONS OF MARCUS AURELIUS. EDITED
by Alice Zimtnern.
20 THE TEACHING OF EPICTETUS. TRANSLATED FROM
the Greek, with Introduction and Notes, by T. W. Rolleston.
21 SELECTIONS FROM SENECA. WITH INTRODUCTION
by Walter Clode.
22 SPECIMEN DAYS IN AMERICA. BY WALT WHITMAN.
Revised by the Author, with fresh J'reface.
23 DEMOCRATIC VISTAS, AND OTHER PAPERS. BY
Walt Whitman. (Published by arrangement with the Author.)
24 WHITE'S NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. WITH
a Preface by Richard Jett'eries.
25 DEFOE'S CAPTAIN SINGLETON. EDITED, WITH
Introduction, by H. Halliday Sparling.
26 MAZZINTS ESSAYS: LITERARY, POLITICAL, AND
Religious. With Introduction by William Clarke.
27 PROSE WRITINGS OF HEINE. WITH INTRODUCTION
by Havelock Ellis.
28 REYNOLDS'S DISCOURSES. WITH INTRODUCTION
by Helen Zhnmern.
29 PAPERS OF STEELE AND ADDISON. EDITED BY
Walter Lewin.
30 BURNS'S LETTERS. SELECTED AND ARRANGED,
with Introduction, by J. Logie Robertson, M.A.
31 VOLSUNGA SAGA. WILLIAM MORRIS. WITH INTRO-
duction by H. H. Sparling.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
THE SCOTT LIBRARY— continued.
32 SARTOR RESARTUS. BY THOMAS CARLYLE. WITH
Introduction by Ernest Jlhys.
33 SELECT WRITINGS OF EMERSON. WITH INTRO-
duction by Percival Chubb.
34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF LORD HERBERT. EDITED,
with an Introduction, by Will H. Dircks.
35 ENGLISH PROSE, FROM MAUNDEVILLE TO
Thackeray. Chosen and Edited by Arthur Galton.
36 THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY, AND OTHER PLAYS. BY
Ilenrik Ibsen. Edited, \vith an Introduction, by Havelock Ellis.
37 IRISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED AND
Selected by W. B. Yeats.
38 ESSAYS OF DR. JOHNSON, WITH BIOGRAPHICAL
Introduction and Notes by Stuart J. Reid.
39 ESSAYS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT. SELECTED AND
Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Frank Carr.
40 LANDOR'S PENTAMERON, AND OTHER IMAGINARY
Conversations. Edited, with a Preface, by II. Ellis.
41 POE'S TALES AND ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH INTRO-
duction, by Ernest Rhys.
42 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
Edited, with Preface, by Ernest Rhys.
43 POLITICAL ORATIONS, FROM WENT WORTH TO
Maeaulay. Edited, with Introduction, by William Clarke.
44 THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
45 THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY OLIVER
Wendell Holmes.
46 THE/ PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY
OKver Wendell Holmes.
47 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS SON.
Selected, with Introduction, by Charles Sayle.
48 STORIES FROM CARLETON. SELECTED, WITH INTRO-
duction, by W. Yeats.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
THE SCOTT LIBRARY— continued.
49 JANE EYRE. BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE. EDITED BY
Clement K. Shorter.
50 ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND. EDITED BY LOTHROP
Withington, with a Preface by Dr. Furnivall.
51 THE PROSE WRITINGS OF THOMAS DAVIS. EDITED
by T. W. Rolleston.
52 SPENCE'S ANECDOTES. A SELECTION. EDITED,
with an Introduction and Notes, by John Underbill.
53 MORE'S UTOPIA, AND LIFE OF EDWARD V. EDITED,
with an Introduction, by Maurice Adams.
54 SADI'S GULISTAN, OR FLOWER GARDEN. TRANS-
lated, with an Essay, by James Ross.
55 ENGLISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED BY
E. Sidney Hartland.
56 NORTHERN STUDIES. BY EDMUND GOSSE. WITH
a Note by Ernest Rhys.
57 EARLY REVIEWS OF GREAT WRITERS. EDITED BY
E. Stevenson.
58 ARISTOTLE'S ETHICS. WITH GEORGE HENRY
Lewes's Essay on Aristotle prefixed.
59 LANDOR'S PERICLES AND ASPASIA. EDITED, WITH
an Introduction, by Havelock Eilis.
60 ANNALS OF TACITUS. THOMAS GORDON'S TRANS-
lation. Edited, with an Introduction, by Arthur Galtun.
6 1 ESSAYS OF ELI A. BY CHARLES LAMB. EDITED,
with an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.
62 BALZAC'S SHORTER STORIES. TRANSLATED BY
William Wilson and the Count Stenbock.
63 COMEDIES OF DE MUSSET. EDITED, WITH AN
Introductory Note, by S. L. G vvynn.
64 CORAL REEFS. BY CHARLES DARWIN. EDITED,
with an Introduction, by Dr. J. W. Williams.
65 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. EDITED, WITH AN INTRO-
duction, by Rudolf Dircks.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
THE SCOTT LIBRARY-continued.
66 OUR VILLAGE. BY MISS MITFORD. EDITED, WITH
an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.
67 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, AND OTHER STORIES.
By Charles Dickens. With Introduction by Frank T. Maizials.
68 TALES FROM WONDERLAND. BY RUDOLPH
Uaumbach. Translated by Helen B. Dole.
69 ESSAYS AND PAPERS BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. EDITED
by Walter Jervold.
70 VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. BY
iMary Wollstonecraft. Introduction by Mrs. E. Robins Pennell.
71 "THE ATHENIAN ORACLE." A SELECTION. EDITED
by John Underbill, with Prefatory Note by Walter liesant.
72 ESSAYS OF SAINTE-BEUVE. TRANSLATED AND
Edited, with an Introduction, by Elizabeth Lee.
73 SELECTIONS FROM PLATO. FROM THE TRANS-
lation of Sydenham. and Taylor. Edited by T. W. Rolleston.
74 HEINE'S ITALIAN TRAVEL SKETCHES, ETC. TRANS-
lated by Elizabeth A. Sharp. With an Introduction from the French of Theophile Gautier.
75 SCHILLER'S MAID OF ORLEANS. TRANSLATED,
with an Introduction, by Major-General Patrick Maxwell.
76 SELECTIONS FROM SYDNEY SMITH. EDITED, WITH
an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.
77 THE NEW SPIRIT. BY HAVELOCK ELLIS..
78 THE BOOK OF MARVELLOUS ADVENTURES. FROM
the "Morte d' Arthur." Edited by Ernest Rhys. [This, together with No. 1, forms the complete "Morte d' Arthur."]
79 ESSAYS AND APHORISMS. BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS.
With an Introduction by E. A. Helps.
80 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. SELECTED, WITH A
Prefatory Note, by Percival Chubb.
81 THE LUCK OF BARRY LYNDON. BY W. M.
Thackeray. Edited by F. T. Marzials.
82 SCHILLER'S WILLIAM TELL. TRANSLATED, WITH
an Introduction, by Major-General Patrick Maxwell.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
THE SCOTT LIBRARY— cbiitiuued.
83 CARLYLE'S ESSAYS ON GERMAN LITERATURE.
With an Introduction by Ernest Rhys.
84 PLAYS AND DRAMATIC ESSAYS OF CHARLES LAMB.
Edited, with au Introduction, by Kudoif Dircks.
85 THE PROSE OF WORDSWORTH. SELECTED AND
Ediied, with an Introduction, by Professor William Knight.
86 ESSAYS, DIALOGUES, AND THOUGHTS OF COUNT
Gi.icomo Leopardi. Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by Major-General Patrick Maxwell.
87 THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL. A RUSSIAN COMEDY.
By Nikolai V. Gogol. Translated from the original, with an Introduction and Notes, by Arthur A. Sykts.
88 ESSAYS AND APOTHEGMS OF FRANCIS, LORD BACON.
Edited, with an Introduction, by John Buchaa.
89 PROSE OF MILTON. SELECTED AND EDITED, WITH
an Introduction, by Kichard Garuett, LL.D.
90 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO. TRANSLATED BY
Thomas I'aylor, with an Introduction by Theodore Wratislaw.
91 PASSAGES FROM FROISSART. WITH AN INTRO-
duction by Frank T. Marzials.
92 THE PROSE AND TABLE TALK OF COLERIDGE.
Edited by Will H. Dircks.
93 HEINE IN ART AND LETTERS, TRANSLATED BY
Elizabeth A. Sharp.
94 SELECTED ESSAYS OF DE QUINCEY. WITH AN
Introduction by Sir George Douglas, Bart.
95 VASARI'S LIVES OF ITALIAN PAINTERS. SELECTED
and Prefaced by Havelock Ellis.
96 LAOCOON, AND OTHER PROSE WRITINGS OF
LESSING. A new Translation by W. B. Rounfeldt.
97 PELLEAS AND MELISANDA, AND THE SIGHTLESS.
Two Plays by Maurice Maeterlinck. Translated from the French by Laurence Alma Tadema.
98 THE COMPLETE ANGLER OF WALTON AND COTTON.
Edited, with au Introduction, by Chailes Hill Dick.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
THE SCOTT LIBRARY-continucd.
99 LESSING'S NATHAN THE WISE. TRANSLATED BY
Major-General Patrick Maxwell.
TOO THE POETRY OF THE CELTIC RACES, AND OTHER Essays of Ernest Renan. Translated by W. G. Hutchison.
101 CRITICISMS, REFLECTIONS, AND MAXIMS OFGOETIIE.
Translated, with an Introduction, by W. B. Ronnfeldt.
102 ESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER. TRANSLATED BY
Mrs. Rudolf Dircks. With an Introduction.
103 RE NAN'S LIFE OF JESUS. TRANSLATED, WITH AN
Introduction, by William G. Hutchison.
104 TFIE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE. EDITED,
with an Introduction, by Arthur Symoiis.
105 THE PRINCIPLES OF SUCCESS IN LITERATURE.
By George Henry Lewes. Edited, with an Introduction, by T. Sharper Knowlson.
1 06 THE LIVES OF D R. JOHN DONNE, SIR HENRY WOTTON,
Mr. Richard Hooker, Mr. George Herbert, and Dr. Robert Sanderson. By Izaac Walton. Edited, with an Introduction, by Charles Hill Dick.
107 WHAT IS ART? BY, LEO TpLSTOY. TRANSLATED
from the Original Russian MS., with an Introduction, by Aylmer
Maude.
1 08 KENAN'S ANTICHRIST. TRANSLATED, WITH AN
Introduction, by W. G. Hutchison.
109 ORATIONS OF CICERO. SELECTED AND EDITED,
with an Introduction, by Fred. W. Norris.
1 10 REFLECTIONS ON THE REVOLUTION IN FRANCE.
By Edmund Burke. With an Introduction by George Sampson.
in THE LETTERS OF THE YOUNGER PLINY. SERIES I. Translated, with an Introductory Essay, by John B. Firth, B.A., Late Scholar of Queen's College, Oxford.
112 THE LETTERS OF THE YOUNGER PLINY. SERIES II.
Translated by John B. Firth, B.A.
113 SELECTED THOUGHTS OF BLAISE PASCAL. TRANS-
lated and Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by Gertrude Burfoid Rawlings.
114 SCOTS ESSAYISTS: FROM STIRLING TO STEVENSON.
Edited, with an Introduction, by Oliphant Smeaton.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
MANUALS OF EMPLOYMENT FOR EDUCATED WOMEN.
EDITED BY CHRISTABEL OSBORN.
The object of this series of manuals will be to give to girls, more particularly to those belonging to the educated classes, who from inclination or necessity are looking forward to earning their own living, some assistance with reference to the choice of a profession, and to the best method of preparing for it when chosen. Of late years a great deal of attention has been directed to the subject of women's employment, and a considerable amount of useful information has been published with regard to different occupations, but it can hardly be said to have yet appeared in any form rendering it generally accessible to that portion of the public for whom it is specially intended.
VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED.
Foolscap 8vo, Stiff Paper Cover, Price is.; or in Limp Cloth, is. 6J.
I.— SECONDARY TEACHING.
BY CHRISTABEL OSBORN AND FLORENCE B. LOW.
With an Introduction by Miss E. P. HUGHES, Associate of Newnham College, Camb.
This manual contains particulars of the qualifications necessary for a secondary teacher, with 'a list of the colleges and universities where train- ing may be had, the cost of training, and the prospect of employment when trained.
II.— ELEMENTARY TEACHING.
BY CHRISTABEL OSBORN.
With an Introduction by SIR JOSHUA FITCH, LL.D.
This manual sums up clearly the chief facts which need to be known respecting the work to be done in elementary schools, and the conditions under which women may take a share in such work.
III.— SICK NURSING.
BY CHRISTABEL OSBORN.
This manual contains useful information with regard to every branch of Nursing — Hospital, District, Private, and Mental Nursing, and Nursing in the Army and Navy and in Poor Law Institutions, with particulars of the best method of training, the usual salaries given, and the prospect of em- ployment, with some account of the general advantages and drawbacks of the work.
OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION. LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster bquare.
IBSEN'S PROSE DRAMAS.
EDITED BY WILLIAM ARCHER.
Complete in Five Vols. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Price 3/6 each. Set of Five Vols., in Case, 17/6; in Half Morocco, in Case, 32/5.
" We seem at last to be shown men and women as they are ; and at first it is more than we can endure. . . . All Ibsen's chai acters speak and act as if they ^vere hypnotised, and under their creator** imperious demand to reveal themselves. There never was such a mirror held iip to nature before : it ts too terrible. . . . Yet we must return to Ibsen, with his remorseless surgery , his remorseless electric-light, until we, toot have grown strong and learned to face the naked — if necessary^ the flayed and bleeding — reality." — SPEAKER (London).
VOL. I. "A DOLL'S HOUSE," "THE LEAGUE OF YOUTH," and "THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY." With Portrait of the Author, and Biographical Introduction by WILLIAM ARCHER.
VOL. II. "GHOSTS," "AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE/' and "THE WILD DUCK." With an Introductory Note.
VOL. III. "LADY INGER OF OSTRAT," "THE VIKINGS AT HELGELAND," "THE PRETENDERS." With an Introductory Note and Portrait of Ibsen.
VOL. IV. "EMPEROR AND GALILEAN." With an Introductory Note by WILLIAM ARCHER.
VOL. V. " ROSMERSHOLM," "THE LADY FROM THE SEA," "HEDDA GABLER." Translated by WILLIAM ARCHER. With an Introductory Note.
The sequence of the plays in each volume is chronological ; the complete set of volumes comprising the dramas thus presents them in chronological order.
"The art of prose translation does not perhaps enjoy a very high literary status in England, but we have no hesitation in numbering the present version of Ibsen, so far as it has gone (Vols. I. and II.), among the very best achievements, in that kind, of our generation," — Academy.
" We have seldom, if ever, met with a translation so absolutely idiomatic. " — Glasgow Herald.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
COMPACT AND PRACTICAL. In Limp Cloth ; for the Pocket. Price One Shilling.
THE EUROPEAN
CONVERSATION BOOKS,
FRENCH ITALIAN
SPANISH GERMAN
NORWEGIAN
CONTENTS.
Hi nls to Travellers — Everyday Expressions — Arriving at and Leaving a Railway Station — Custom House Enquiries — In a Train — At a Buffet and Restaurant — At an Hotel— Paying an Hotel Bill — Enquiries in a Town — On Board Ship — Embarking and Disembarking — Excursion by Carnage — Enquiries as to Diligences — Enquiries as to Boats — Engaging Apartments — Washing List and Days of Week — Restaurant Vocabulary — Telegrams and Letters^ efc.t etc.
The contents of these little handbooks are so arranged as to
CD
permit direct and immediate reference. All dialogues or enquiries not considered absolutely essential have been purposely excluded, nothing being introduced which might confuse the traveller rather lhan assist him. A few hints are given in the introduction which will be found valuable to those unaccustomed to foreign travel.
LONDON : WALTBR SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
Crown Svo, about 350 pp. each, Cloth Cover, 2/6 per Vol.; Half- Polished Morocco, Gilt Top, 53.
Count Tolstoy's Works.
The following Volumes are already issued —
A RUSSIAN PROPRIETOR.
THE COSSACKS.
IVAN ILYITCH, AND OTHER
STORIES. MY RELIGION. LIFE.
MY CONFESSION. CHILDHOOD, BOYHOOD,
YOUTH.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF WAR. ANNA KARENINA. 3/6.
WHAT TO DO?
WAR AND PEACE. (4 VOls.)
THE LONG EXILE, EiC.
SEVASTOPOL.
THE KREUTZER SONATA, AND
FAMILY HAPPINESS. THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS
WITHIN YOU. WORK WHILE YE HAVE THE
LIGHT. THE GOSPEL IN BRIEF.
Uniform with the above — IMPRESSIONS OF RUSSIA. By Dr. GEORG BRANDES.
Post 410, Cloth, Price is. PATRIOTISM AND CHRISTIANITY. To which is appended a Reply to Criticisms of the Work. By COUNT TOLSTOY.
i/- Booklets by Count Tolstoy.
Bound in White Grained Boards, with Gilt Lettering.
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD
IS ALSO.
THE TWO PILGRIMS. WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
THE GODSON.
IF YOU NEGLECT THE FIRE, YOU DON'T PUT IT OUT. WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN ?
2/- Booklets by Count Tolstoy.
NEW EDITIONS, REVISED.
Small I2mo, Cloth, with Embossed Design on Cover, each containing
Two Stories by Count Tolstoy, and Two Drawings by
H. R. Millar. In Box, Price 2s. each.
Volume I. contains —
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD
IS ALSO. THE GODSON.
Volume II. contains —
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A
MAN ?
Volume III. contains — THE TWO PILGRIMS. IF YOU NEGLECT THE FIRE,
YOU DON'T PUT IT OUT.
Volume IV. contains —
MASTER AND MAN.
Volume V. contains — TOLSTOY'S PARABLES.
LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square,
NEW ENGLAND LIBRARY.
GRAVURE EDITION.
PRINTED ON ANTIQUE PAPER. 2s. 6d. PER VOL. Each Volume ivith a Frontispiece in Photogravure.
By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNS.
THE SCARLET LETTER.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES.
THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE.
TANGLEWOOD TALES.
TWICE-TOLD TALES.
A WONDER-BOOK FOR GIRLS AND BOYS.
OUR OLD HOME.
MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE.
THE SNOW IMAGE.
TRUE STORIES FROM HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY.
THE NEW ADAM AND EVE.
LEGENDS OF THE PROVINCE HOUSE.
By OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. ELSIE VENNER.
By HENRY THOREAU.
ESSAYS AND OTHER WRITINGS. WALDEN; OR, LIFE IN THE WOODS. A WEEK ON THE CONCORD.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
Crown &v0, Cloth, 35. 6d. each; some vols., 6s.
The Contemporary Science Series.
EDITED BY HAVELOCK ELLIS.
Illustrated Volumes containing between 300 and 400 pp.
EVOLUTION OF SEX. By Professors GEDDES and THOMSON. 6s.
ELECTRICITY IN MODERN LIFE. By G. W. DE TUNZELMANN.
THE ORIGIN OF THE ARYANS. By Dr. TAYLOR.
PHYSIOGNOMY AND EXPRESSION. By P. MANTEGAZZA.
EVOLUTION AND DISEASE. By J. B. SUTTON.
THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY. By G. L. GOMME.
THE CRIMINAL. By HAVELOCK ELLIS. New Edition. 6s.
SANITY AND INSANITY. By Dr. C. MERCIER.
HYPNOTISM. By Dr. ALBERT MOLL (Berlin).
MANUAL TRAINING. By Dr. WOODWARD (St. Louis).
SCIENCE OF FAIRY TALES. By E. S. HARTLAND.
PRIMITIVE FOLK. By ELIE RECLUS.
EVOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. By LETOURNEAU.
BACTERIA AND THEIR PRODUCTS. By Dr. WOODHEAD.
EDUCATION AND HEREDITY. ByJ. M. GUYAU.
THE MAN OF GENIUS. By Prof. LOMBROSO.
PROPERTY: ITS ORIGIN. By CH. LETOURNEAU.
VOLCANOES PAST AND PRESENT. By Prof. HULL.
PUBLIC HEALTH PROBLEMS. By Dr. J. F. SYKES.
MODERN METEOROLOGY. By FRANK WALDO, Ph.D.
THE GERM-PLASM. By Professor WEISMANN. 6s.
THE INDUSTRIES OF ANIMALS. By F. HOUSSAY.
MAN AND WOMAN. By HAVELOCK ELLIS. 6s.
MODERN CAPITALISM. By JOHN A. HOBSON, M.A.
THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE. By F. PODMORE, M.A.
COMPARATIVE PSYCHOLOGY. By Prof. C. L. MORGAN, F.R.S. 6s.
THE ORIGINS OF INVENTION. By O. T. MASON.
THE GROWTH OF THE BRAIN. By H. H. DONALDSON.
EVOLUTION IN ART. By Prof. A. C. HADDON, F. R. S.
HALLUCINATIONS AND ILLUSIONS. By E. PARISH. 6s.
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE EMOTIONS. By Prof. RIBOT. 6s.
THE NEW PSYCHOLOGY. By Dr. E. W. SCRIPTURE. 6s.
SLEEP : ITS PHYSIOLOGY, PATHOLOGY, HYGIENE, AND PSYCHOLOGY. By MARIE DE MANACEINE.
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF DIGESTION. By A. LOCKHART GILLESPIE, M.D., F.R.C.P. ED., F.R.S. ED. 6s.
DEGENERACY: ITS CAUSES, SIGNS, AND RESULTS. By Prof. EUGENE S. TALBOT, M.D., Chicago. 6s.
THE HISTORY OF THE EUROPEAN FAUNA. By R. F. SCHARFF, B.Sc., PH.D., F.Z.S. 6s.
THE RACES OF MAN: A SKETCH OF ETHNOGRAPHY AND ANTHRO- POLOGY. ByJ. DENIKER. 6s.
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION. By Prof. S TARBUCK. 6s.
THECHILD. By ALEXANDER FRANCIS CHAMBERLAIN, M.A. , Ph.D. 6s.
LONDON : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
SPECIAL EDITION OF THE
CANTERBURY POETS.
Square %vo, Cloth, Gilt Top Elegant, Price 2s.
Each Volume with a Frontispiece in Photogravure.
CHRISTIAN YEAR. With Portrait of John Keble.
LONGFELLOW. With Portrait of Longfellow.
SHELLEY. With Portrait of Shelley.
WORDSWORTH. With Portrait of Wordsworth.
WHITTIER. With Portrait of Whittier.
BURNS. Songs \With Portrait of Burns, ami View of "The
BURNS. Poems/ Auld Brig o' Doon."
KEATS. With Portrait of Keats.
EMERSON. With Portrait of Emerson.
SONNETS OF THIS CENTURY. Portrait of P. B. Marion.
WHITMAN. With Portrait of Whitman.
LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST. Portrait of Eric Ma okay.
SCOTT. Lady of the Lake, ^ With Portrait of Sir Walter Scott,
etc. and View of " The Silver
SCOTT. Marmion, etc. Strand, Loch Katrine."
CHILDREN OF THE POETS. With an Engraving of " The
Orphans," by Gainsborough.
SONNETS OF EUROPE. With Portrait of J. A. Symomls. SYDNEY DOBELL. With Portrait of Sydney Dobell. HERRICK. With Portrait of Herrick. BALLADS AND RONDEAUS. Portrait of W. E. Henley. IRISH MINSTRELSY. With Portrait of Thomas Davis. PARADISE LOST. With Portrait of Milton. FAIRY MUSIC. Engraving from Drawing by C. E. Brock. GOLDEN TREASURY. With Engraving of Virgin Mother. AMERICAN SONNETS. With Portrait of J. R. Lowell. IMITATION OF CHRIST. With Engraving, "Eccellomo." PAINTER POETS. With Portrait of Walter Crane. WOMEN POETS. With Portrait of Mrs. Browning. POEMS OF HON. RODEN NOEL. Portrait of Hon. R. NoeL AMERICAN HUMOROUS VERSE. Portrait of Mark Twain. SONGS OF FREEDOM. With Portrait of William Morris. SCOTTISH MINOR POETS. With Portrait of R. Tannahill. CONTEMPORARY SCOTTISH VERSE. With Portrait of
Robert Louis Stevenson.
PARADISE REGAINED. With Portrait of Milton. CAVALIER POETS. With Portrait of Suckling. HUMOROUS POEMS. With Portrait of Hood. HERBERT. With Portrait of Herbert. POE. With Portrait of Poe.
OWEN MEREDITH. With Portrait of late Lord Lytton. LOVE LYRICS. With Portrait of Raleigh. GERMAN BALLADS. With Portrait of Schiller. CAMPBELL. With Portrait of Campbell. CANADIAN POEMS. With View of Mount Stephen. EARLY ENGLISH POETRY. With Portrait of Earl of Surrey. ALLAN RAMSAY. With Portrait of Ramsay. SPENSER. With Portrait of Spenser.
CIIATTERTON. With Engraving, " The Death of Chatterton."
COWPER. With Portrait of Cowper.
CHAUCKR. With Portrait of Chaucer.
COLERIDCiE. With Portrait of Coleridge.
POPE. With Portrait of Pope.
BYRON. Miscellaneous \ with pnrtrnitq of Bvron
BYRON. Don Juan /N
JACOBITE SONGS. With Portrait of Prince Charlie.
BORDER BALLADS. With View of Neidpath Castle.
AUSTRALIAN BALLADS. With Portrait of A. L. Gordon.
HOGG. With Portrait of Hogg.
GOLDSMITH. With Portrait of Goldsmif.1.
MOORE. With Portrait of Moore.
DORA GREENWELL. With Portrait of Dora Greenwell.
BLAKE. With Portrait of Blake.
POEMS OF NATURE. With Portrait of Andrew Lang.
PRAED. With Portrait.
SOUTHEY. With Portrait.
HUGO. With Portrait.
GOETHE. With Portrait.
BERANGER. With Portrait.
HEINE. With Portrait.
SEA MUSIC. With View of Corbiere Rocks, Jersey.
SONG-TIDE. With Portrait of Philip Bourke Marston.
LADY OF LYONS. With Portrait of Bulwer Lyiton.
SHAKESPEARE : Songs and Sonnets. With Portrait.
BEN JONSON. With Portrait.
HORACE. With Portrait.
CRAB BE. With Portrait.
CRADLE SONGS. With Engraving from Drawing by T. E. Macklin.
BALLADS OF SPORT. Do. do.
MATTHEW ARNOLD. With Portrait.
AUSTIN'S DAYS OF THE YEAR. With Portrait.
CLOUGH'S BOTHIE, and otlvu Poems. With View.
BROWNING'S Pippa Passes, etc. ~\
BROWNING'S Blot in the 'Scutcheon, etc. '/With Portrait.
BROWNING'S Dramatic Lyrics.
MACKAY'S LOVER'S MISSAL. With Portrait.
K1RKE WHITE'S POEMS. With Portrait.
LYUA NICOTIAN A. With Portrait.
AURORA LEIGH. With Portrait of E. B. Browning.
NAVAL SONGS. With Portrait of Lord Nelson.
TENNYSON : In Memoriam, Maud, etc. With Portrait.
TENNYSON : English Idyls, The Princess, etc. With View of
Fairingford House. WAR SONGS. With Portrait of Lord Roberts.
Great Writers.
A IS'EW SERIES OF CRITICAL BIOGRAPHIES. Edited by E. ROBERTSON and F. T. MARZIALS.
Cloth, Uncut Edges, Gilt Top. Price 1/6. Longfellow . By Professor Eric S. Robertson
Coleridge
Dickens
Dante Gabriel Ross
Samuel Johnson
Darwin
Charlotte Bronte
Carlyle
Adam Smith
Keats
Shelley
Smollett
Goldsmith
Scott
Burns
Victor Hugo
Emerson
Goethe
Congreve
Bunyan
Crab be
Heine
Mill .
Schiller
Ma rry at
Lesaing
Milton
Balzac
George Eliot
Jane Austen
Browning .
Byron
Hawthorne
Schopenhauer
Sheridan
Thackeray.
Cervantes
Voltaire
Leigh Hunt
Whittier .
Renan
Thoreau
By Hall Caine By Frank T. Marzials tti . . By J. Knight
. By Colonel F. Grant By G. T. Bettany By A. Birrell By R. Garnett, LL.D. By R. B. Haldane, M.P. By W. M. Rossetti By William Sharp By David Hannay By Austin Dobson By Professor Yonge By Professor Blackie By Frank T. Marzials By R. Garnett, LL.D. . By James Sime By Edmund Goase By Canon Venables By T. E. Kebbel By William Sharp By W. L. Courtney By Henry W. Nevinson By David Hannay By T. W. Rolleston By R Garnett, LL.D. By Frederick Wedrnore . By Oscar Browning . By Goldwiu Smith By William Sharp By Hon. Roden Noel By Moncure D. Con way By Professor Wallace By Lloyd Sanders B«. H. Merivale and F. T. Marziala . By H. E. Watts By Francis Espinasse By Cosmo Monkhouse By \V. J. Linton By Francis Espinasse By H. S. Salt
J. P. ANDERSON
Librarv Edition of '
A Complete Bibl >graphy to each volume, by
icish Museum, London, reat Writers," DemySvo, 2/6.
*
Gre
London : WALTER SCOTT, Paternoster Square.
14 DAY USE
RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED
LOAN DEPT.
This book is due on the last date stamped below, or
on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.
t&
ii^
-m
NOV 1 6 B
-
' '
MAR 2 If
MAY 2 8
m UG
LD 21A-60m-4,'64 (E4555slO)476B
General Library
University of California
Berkeley
YB 23694
8000707531