Produced by Sue Asscher
STATESMAN
By Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.
In the Phaedrus, the Republic, the Philebus, the Parmenides, and the
Sophist, we may observe the tendency of Plato to combine two or more
subjects or different aspects of the same subject in a single dialogue.
In the Sophist and Statesman especially we note that the discussion is
partly regarded as an illustration of method, and that analogies are
brought from afar which throw light on the main subject. And in his
later writings generally we further remark a decline of style, and of
dramatic power; the characters excite little or no interest, and
the digressions are apt to overlay the main thesis; there is not the
'callida junctura' of an artistic whole. Both the serious discussions
and the jests are sometimes out of place. The invincible Socrates is
withdrawn from view; and new foes begin to appear under old names. Plato
is now chiefly concerned, not with the original Sophist, but with the
sophistry of the schools of philosophy, which are making reasoning
impossible; and is driven by them out of the regions of transcendental
speculation back into the path of common sense. A logical or
psychological phase takes the place of the doctrine of Ideas in
his mind. He is constantly dwelling on the importance of regular
classification, and of not putting words in the place of things. He has
banished the poets, and is beginning to use a technical language. He is
bitter and satirical, and seems to be sadly conscious of the realities
of human life. Yet the ideal glory of the Platonic philosophy is not
extinguished. He is still looking for a city in which kings are either
philosophers or gods (compare Laws).
The Statesman has lost the grace and beauty of the earlier dialogues.
The mind of the writer seems to be so overpowered in the effort of
thought as to impair his style; at least his gift of expression does
not keep up with the increasing difficulty of his theme. The idea of the
king or statesman and the illustration of method are connected, not like
the love and rhetoric of the Phaedrus, by 'little invisible pegs,'
but in a confused and inartistic manner, which fails to produce any
impression of a whole on the mind of the reader. Plato apologizes for
his tediousness, and acknowledges that the improvement of his audience
has been his only aim in some of his digressions. His own image may be
used as a motto of his style: like an inexpert statuary he has made the
figure or outline too large, and is unable to give the proper colours
or proportions to his work. He makes mistakes only to correct them--this
seems to be his way of drawing attention to common dialectical errors.
The Eleatic stranger, here, as in the Sophist, has no appropriate
character, and appears only as the expositor of a political ideal, in
the delineation of which he is frequently interrupted by purely logical
illustrations. The younger Socrates resembles his namesake in nothing
but a name. The dramatic character is so completely forgotten, that a
special reference is twice made to discussions in the Sophist; and this,
perhaps, is the strongest ground which can be urged for doubting the
genuineness of the work. But, when we remember that a similar allusion
is made in the Laws to the Republic, we see that the entire disregard
of dramatic propriety is not always a sufficient reason for doubting the
genuineness of a Platonic writing.
The search after the Statesman, which is carried on, like that for
the Sophist, by the method of dichotomy, gives an opportunity for many
humorous and satirical remarks. Several of the jests are mannered and
laboured: for example, the turn of words with which the dialogue
opens; or the clumsy joke about man being an animal, who has a power
of two-feet--both which are suggested by the presence of Theodorus, the
geometrician. There is political as well as logical insight in refusing
to admit the division of mankind into Hellenes and Barbarians: 'if a
crane could speak, he would in like manner oppose men and all other
animals to cranes.' The pride of the Hellene is further humbled,
by being compared to a Phrygian or Lydian. Plato glories in this
impartiality of the dialectical method, which places birds in
juxtaposition with men, and the king side by side with the bird-catcher;
king or vermin-destroyer are objects of equal interest to science
(compare Parmen.). There are other passages which show that the irony
of Socrates was a lesson which Plato was not slow in learning--as, for
example, the passing remark, that 'the kings and statesmen of our day
are in their breeding and education very like their subjects;' or the
anticipation that the rivals of the king will be found in the class
of servants; or the imposing attitude of the priests, who are the
established interpreters of the will of heaven, authorized by law.
Nothing is more bitter in all his writings than his comparison of the
contemporary politicians to lions, centaurs, satyrs, and other animals
of a feebler sort, who are ever changing their forms and natures. But,
as in the later dialogues generally, the play of humour and the charm of
poetry have departed, never to return.
Still the Politicus contains a higher and more ideal conception of
politics than any other of Plato's writings. The city of which there
is a pattern in heaven (Republic), is here described as a Paradisiacal
state of human society. In the truest sense of all, the ruler is not
man but God; and such a government existed in a former cycle of human
history, and may again exist when the gods resume their care of mankind.
In a secondary sense, the true form of government is that which has
scientific rulers, who are irresponsible to their subjects. Not power
but knowledge is the characteristic of a king or royal person. And the
rule of a man is better and higher than law, because he is more able
to deal with the infinite complexity of human affairs. But mankind, in
despair of finding a true ruler, are willing to acquiesce in any law or
custom which will save them from the caprice of individuals. They are
ready to accept any of the six forms of government which prevail in the
world. To the Greek, nomos was a sacred word, but the political idealism
of Plato soars into a region beyond; for the laws he would substitute
the intelligent will of the legislator. Education is originally to
implant in men's minds a sense of truth and justice, which is the divine
bond of states, and the legislator is to contrive human bonds, by which
dissimilar natures may be united in marriage and supply the deficiencies
of one another. As in the Republic, the government of philosophers, the
causes of the perversion of states, the regulation of marriages, are
still the political problems with which Plato's mind is occupied. He
treats them more slightly, partly because the dialogue is shorter, and
also because the discussion of them is perpetually crossed by the other
interest of dialectic, which has begun to absorb him.
The plan of the Politicus or Statesman may be briefly sketched as
follows: (1) By a process of division and subdivision we discover the
true herdsman or king of men. But before we can rightly distinguish him
from his rivals, we must view him, (2) as he is presented to us in a
famous ancient tale: the tale will also enable us to distinguish the
divine from the human herdsman or shepherd: (3) and besides our fable,
we must have an example; for our example we will select the art of
weaving, which will have to be distinguished from the kindred arts;
and then, following this pattern, we will separate the king from his
subordinates or competitors. (4) But are we not exceeding all due
limits; and is there not a measure of all arts and sciences, to which
the art of discourse must conform? There is; but before we can apply
this measure, we must know what is the aim of discourse: and our
discourse only aims at the dialectical improvement of ourselves and
others.--Having made our apology, we return once more to the king or
statesman, and proceed to contrast him with pretenders in the same
line with him, under their various forms of government. (5) His
characteristic is, that he alone has science, which is superior to law
and written enactments; these do but spring out of the necessities of
mankind, when they are in despair of finding the true king. (6) The
sciences which are most akin to the royal are the sciences of the
general, the judge, the orator, which minister to him, but even these
are subordinate to him. (7) Fixed principles are implanted by education,
and the king or statesman completes the political web by marrying
together dissimilar natures, the courageous and the temperate, the bold
and the gentle, who are the warp and the woof of society.
The outline may be filled up as follows:--
SOCRATES: I have reason to thank you, Theodorus, for the acquaintance of
Theaetetus and the Stranger.
THEODORUS: And you will have three times as much reason to thank me
when they have delineated the Statesman and Philosopher, as well as the
Sophist.
SOCRATES: Does the great geometrician apply the same measure to all
three? Are they not divided by an interval which no geometrical ratio
can express?
THEODORUS: By the god Ammon, Socrates, you are right; and I am glad to
see that you have not forgotten your geometry. But before I retaliate on
you, I must request the Stranger to finish the argument...
The Stranger suggests that Theaetetus shall be allowed to rest, and that
Socrates the younger shall respond in his place; Theodorus agrees to the
suggestion, and Socrates remarks that the name of the one and the face
of the other give him a right to claim relationship with both of them.
They propose to take the Statesman after the Sophist; his path they
must determine, and part off all other ways, stamping upon them a single
negative form (compare Soph.).
The Stranger begins the enquiry by making a division of the arts and
sciences into theoretical and practical--the one kind concerned with
knowledge exclusively, and the other with action; arithmetic and the
mathematical sciences are examples of the former, and carpentering and
handicraft arts of the latter (compare Philebus). Under which of the two
shall we place the Statesman? Or rather, shall we not first ask, whether
the king, statesman, master, householder, practise one art or many? As
the adviser of a physician may be said to have medical science and to be
a physician, so the adviser of a king has royal science and is a king.
And the master of a large household may be compared to the ruler of a
small state. Hence we conclude that the science of the king, statesman,
and householder is one and the same. And this science is akin to
knowledge rather than to action. For a king rules with his mind, and not
with his hands.
But theoretical science may be a science either of judging, like
arithmetic, or of ruling and superintending, like that of the architect
or master-builder. And the science of the king is of the latter nature;
but the power which he exercises is underived and uncontrolled,--a
characteristic which distinguishes him from heralds, prophets, and
other inferior officers. He is the wholesale dealer in command, and the
herald, or other officer, retails his commands to others. Again, a ruler
is concerned with the production of some object, and objects may be
divided into living and lifeless, and rulers into the rulers of living
and lifeless objects. And the king is not like the master-builder,
concerned with lifeless matter, but has the task of managing living
animals. And the tending of living animals may be either a tending of
individuals, or a managing of herds. And the Statesman is not a groom,
but a herdsman, and his art may be called either the art of managing
a herd, or the art of collective management:--Which do you prefer? 'No
matter.' Very good, Socrates, and if you are not too particular about
words you will be all the richer some day in true wisdom. But how would
you subdivide the herdsman's art? 'I should say, that there is one
management of men, and another of beasts.' Very good, but you are in too
great a hurry to get to man. All divisions which are rightly made should
cut through the middle; if you attend to this rule, you will be more
likely to arrive at classes. 'I do not understand the nature of my
mistake.' Your division was like a division of the human race into
Hellenes and Barbarians, or into Lydians or Phrygians and all other
nations, instead of into male and female; or like a division of number
into ten thousand and all other numbers, instead of into odd and even.
And I should like you to observe further, that though I maintain a class
to be a part, there is no similar necessity for a part to be a class.
But to return to your division, you spoke of men and other animals as
two classes--the second of which you comprehended under the general name
of beasts. This is the sort of division which an intelligent crane would
make: he would put cranes into a class by themselves for their special
glory, and jumble together all others, including man, in the class of
beasts. An error of this kind can only be avoided by a more regular
subdivision. Just now we divided the whole class of animals into
gregarious and non-gregarious, omitting the previous division into tame
and wild. We forgot this in our hurry to arrive at man, and found by
experience, as the proverb says, that 'the more haste the worse speed.'
And now let us begin again at the art of managing herds. You have
probably heard of the fish-preserves in the Nile and in the ponds of the
Great King, and of the nurseries of geese and cranes in Thessaly. These
suggest a new division into the rearing or management of land-herds and
of water-herds:--I need not say with which the king is concerned. And
land-herds may be divided into walking and flying; and every idiot knows
that the political animal is a pedestrian. At this point we may take a
longer or a shorter road, and as we are already near the end, I see no
harm in taking the longer, which is the way of mesotomy, and accords
with the principle which we were laying down. The tame, walking, herding
animal, may be divided into two classes--the horned and the hornless,
and the king is concerned with the hornless; and these again may be
subdivided into animals having or not having cloven feet, or mixing or
not mixing the breed; and the king or statesman has the care of animals
which have not cloven feet, and which do not mix the breed. And now, if
we omit dogs, who can hardly be said to herd, I think that we have only
two species left which remain undivided: and how are we to distinguish
them? To geometricians, like you and Theaetetus, I can have no
difficulty in explaining that man is a diameter, having a power of two
feet; and the power of four-legged creatures, being the double of two
feet, is the diameter of our diameter. There is another excellent jest
which I spy in the two remaining species. Men and birds are both bipeds,
and human beings are running a race with the airiest and freest of
creation, in which they are far behind their competitors;--this is a
great joke, and there is a still better in the juxtaposition of the
bird-taker and the king, who may be seen scampering after them. For,
as we remarked in discussing the Sophist, the dialectical method is no
respecter of persons. But we might have proceeded, as I was saying,
by another and a shorter road. In that case we should have begun by
dividing land animals into bipeds and quadrupeds, and bipeds into winged
and wingless; we should than have taken the Statesman and set him over
the 'bipes implume,' and put the reins of government into his hands.
Here let us sum up:--The science of pure knowledge had a part which
was the science of command, and this had a part which was a science of
wholesale command; and this was divided into the management of animals,
and was again parted off into the management of herds of animals, and
again of land animals, and these into hornless, and these into bipeds;
and so at last we arrived at man, and found the political and royal
science. And yet we have not clearly distinguished the political
shepherd from his rivals. No one would think of usurping the
prerogatives of the ordinary shepherd, who on all hands is admitted to
be the trainer, matchmaker, doctor, musician of his flock. But the royal
shepherd has numberless competitors, from whom he must be distinguished;
there are merchants, husbandmen, physicians, who will all dispute his
right to manage the flock. I think that we can best distinguish him by
having recourse to a famous old tradition, which may amuse as well as
instruct us; the narrative is perfectly true, although the scepticism of
mankind is prone to doubt the tales of old. You have heard what happened
in the quarrel of Atreus and Thyestes? 'You mean about the golden lamb?'
No, not that; but another part of the story, which tells how the sun
and stars once arose in the west and set in the east, and that the god
reversed their motion, as a witness to the right of Atreus. 'There is
such a story.' And no doubt you have heard of the empire of Cronos, and
of the earthborn men? The origin of these and the like stories is to be
found in the tale which I am about to narrate.
There was a time when God directed the revolutions of the world, but
at the completion of a certain cycle he let go; and the world, by a
necessity of its nature, turned back, and went round the other way.
For divine things alone are unchangeable; but the earth and heavens,
although endowed with many glories, have a body, and are therefore
liable to perturbation. In the case of the world, the perturbation is
very slight, and amounts only to a reversal of motion. For the lord of
moving things is alone self-moved; neither can piety allow that he goes
at one time in one direction and at another time in another; or that God
has given the universe opposite motions; or that there are two gods, one
turning it in one direction, another in another. But the truth is, that
there are two cycles of the world, and in one of them it is governed by
an immediate Providence, and receives life and immortality, and in the
other is let go again, and has a reverse action during infinite ages.
This new action is spontaneous, and is due to exquisite perfection of
balance, to the vast size of the universe, and to the smallness of the
pivot upon which it turns. All changes in the heaven affect the animal
world, and this being the greatest of them, is most destructive to men
and animals. At the beginning of the cycle before our own very few of
them had survived; and on these a mighty change passed. For their life
was reversed like the motion of the world, and first of all coming to a
stand then quickly returned to youth and beauty. The white locks of the
aged became black; the cheeks of the bearded man were restored to their
youth and fineness; the young men grew softer and smaller, and, being
reduced to the condition of children in mind as well as body, began to
vanish away; and the bodies of those who had died by violence, in a few
moments underwent a parallel change and disappeared. In that cycle of
existence there was no such thing as the procreation of animals from one
another, but they were born of the earth, and of this our ancestors, who
came into being immediately after the end of the last cycle and at the
beginning of this, have preserved the recollection. Such traditions are
often now unduly discredited, and yet they may be proved by internal
evidence. For observe how consistent the narrative is; as the old
returned to youth, so the dead returned to life; the wheel of their
existence having been reversed, they rose again from the earth: a few
only were reserved by God for another destiny. Such was the origin of
the earthborn men.
'And is this cycle, of which you are speaking, the reign of Cronos,
or our present state of existence?' No, Socrates, that blessed and
spontaneous life belongs not to this, but to the previous state, in
which God was the governor of the whole world, and other gods subject
to him ruled over parts of the world, as is still the case in certain
places. They were shepherds of men and animals, each of them sufficing
for those of whom he had the care. And there was no violence among them,
or war, or devouring of one another. Their life was spontaneous, because
in those days God ruled over man; and he was to man what man is now
to the animals. Under his government there were no estates, or private
possessions, or families; but the earth produced a sufficiency of all
things, and men were born out of the earth, having no traditions of
the past; and as the temperature of the seasons was mild, they took no
thought for raiment, and had no beds, but lived and dwelt in the open
air.
Such was the age of Cronos, and the age of Zeus is our own. Tell me,
which is the happier of the two? Or rather, shall I tell you that the
happiness of these children of Cronos must have depended on how
they used their time? If having boundless leisure, and the power of
discoursing not only with one another but with the animals, they had
employed these advantages with a view to philosophy, gathering from
every nature some addition to their store of knowledge;--or again, if
they had merely eaten and drunk, and told stories to one another, and
to the beasts;--in either case, I say, there would be no difficulty in
answering the question. But as nobody knows which they did, the question
must remain unanswered. And here is the point of my tale. In the fulness
of time, when the earthborn men had all passed away, the ruler of
the universe let go the helm, and became a spectator; and destiny and
natural impulse swayed the world. At the same instant all the inferior
deities gave up their hold; the whole universe rebounded, and there was
a great earthquake, and utter ruin of all manner of animals. After a
while the tumult ceased, and the universal creature settled down in
his accustomed course, having authority over all other creatures,
and following the instructions of his God and Father, at first more
precisely, afterwards with less exactness. The reason of the falling off
was the disengagement of a former chaos; 'a muddy vesture of decay'
was a part of his original nature, out of which he was brought by his
Creator, under whose immediate guidance, while he remained in that
former cycle, the evil was minimized and the good increased to the
utmost. And in the beginning of the new cycle all was well enough, but
as time went on, discord entered in; at length the good was minimized
and the evil everywhere diffused, and there was a danger of universal
ruin. Then the Creator, seeing the world in great straits, and fearing
that chaos and infinity would come again, in his tender care again
placed himself at the helm and restored order, and made the world
immortal and imperishable. Once more the cycle of life and generation
was reversed; the infants grew into young men, and the young men became
greyheaded; no longer did the animals spring out of the earth; as the
whole world was now lord of its own progress, so the parts were to
be self-created and self-nourished. At first the case of men was very
helpless and pitiable; for they were alone among the wild beasts, and
had to carry on the struggle for existence without arts or knowledge,
and had no food, and did not know how to get any. That was the time when
Prometheus brought them fire, Hephaestus and Athene taught them arts,
and other gods gave them seeds and plants. Out of these human life was
framed; for mankind were left to themselves, and ordered their own ways,
living, like the universe, in one cycle after one manner, and in another
cycle after another manner.
Enough of the myth, which may show us two errors of which we were guilty
in our account of the king. The first and grand error was in choosing
for our king a god, who belongs to the other cycle, instead of a man
from our own; there was a lesser error also in our failure to define
the nature of the royal functions. The myth gave us only the image of
a divine shepherd, whereas the statesmen and kings of our own day very
much resemble their subjects in education and breeding. On retracing our
steps we find that we gave too narrow a designation to the art which was
concerned with command-for-self over living creatures, when we called it
the 'feeding' of animals in flocks. This would apply to all shepherds,
with the exception of the Statesman; but if we say 'managing' or
'tending' animals, the term would include him as well. Having remodelled
the name, we may subdivide as before, first separating the human from
the divine shepherd or manager. Then we may subdivide the human art of
governing into the government of willing and unwilling subjects--royalty
and tyranny--which are the extreme opposites of one another, although we
in our simplicity have hitherto confounded them.
And yet the figure of the king is still defective. We have taken up a
lump of fable, and have used more than we needed. Like statuaries, we
have made some of the features out of proportion, and shall lose time in
reducing them. Or our mythus may be compared to a picture, which is well
drawn in outline, but is not yet enlivened by colour. And to intelligent
persons language is, or ought to be, a better instrument of description
than any picture. 'But what, Stranger, is the deficiency of which you
speak?' No higher truth can be made clear without an example; every
man seems to know all things in a dream, and to know nothing when he is
awake. And the nature of example can only be illustrated by an example.
Children are taught to read by being made to compare cases in which they
do not know a certain letter with cases in which they know it, until
they learn to recognize it in all its combinations. Example comes into
use when we identify something unknown with that which is known, and
form a common notion of both of them. Like the child who is learning his
letters, the soul recognizes some of the first elements of things;
and then again is at fault and unable to recognize them when they are
translated into the difficult language of facts. Let us, then, take
an example, which will illustrate the nature of example, and will also
assist us in characterizing the political science, and in separating the
true king from his rivals.
I will select the example of weaving, or, more precisely, weaving of
wool. In the first place, all possessions are either productive or
preventive; of the preventive sort are spells and antidotes, divine and
human, and also defences, and defences are either arms or screens, and
screens are veils and also shields against heat and cold, and shields
against heat and cold are shelters and coverings, and coverings are
blankets or garments, and garments are in one piece or have many parts;
and of these latter, some are stitched and others are fastened, and of
these again some are made of fibres of plants and some of hair, and of
these some are cemented with water and earth, and some are fastened with
their own material; the latter are called clothes, and are made by the
art of clothing, from which the art of weaving differs only in name, as
the political differs from the royal science. Thus we have drawn several
distinctions, but as yet have not distinguished the weaving of garments
from the kindred and co-operative arts. For the first process to which
the material is subjected is the opposite of weaving--I mean carding.
And the art of carding, and the whole art of the fuller and the mender,
are concerned with the treatment and production of clothes, as well as
the art of weaving. Again, there are the arts which make the weaver's
tools. And if we say that the weaver's art is the greatest and noblest
of those which have to do with woollen garments,--this, although true,
is not sufficiently distinct; because these other arts require to be
first cleared away. Let us proceed, then, by regular steps:--There are
causal or principal, and co-operative or subordinate arts. To the causal
class belong the arts of washing and mending, of carding and spinning
the threads, and the other arts of working in wool; these are chiefly
of two kinds, falling under the two great categories of composition and
division. Carding is of the latter sort. But our concern is chiefly with
that part of the art of wool-working which composes, and of which one
kind twists and the other interlaces the threads, whether the firmer
texture of the warp or the looser texture of the woof. These are adapted
to each other, and the orderly composition of them forms a woollen
garment. And the art which presides over these operations is the art of
weaving.
But why did we go through this circuitous process, instead of saying
at once that weaving is the art of entwining the warp and the woof? In
order that our labour may not seem to be lost, I must explain the whole
nature of excess and defect. There are two arts of measuring--one is
concerned with relative size, and the other has reference to a mean or
standard of what is meet. The difference between good and evil is the
difference between a mean or measure and excess or defect. All things
require to be compared, not only with one another, but with the mean,
without which there would be no beauty and no art, whether the art of
the statesman or the art of weaving or any other; for all the arts guard
against excess or defect, which are real evils. This we must endeavour
to show, if the arts are to exist; and the proof of this will be
a harder piece of work than the demonstration of the existence of
not-being which we proved in our discussion about the Sophist. At
present I am content with the indirect proof that the existence of such
a standard is necessary to the existence of the arts. The standard or
measure, which we are now only applying to the arts, may be some day
required with a view to the demonstration of absolute truth.
We may now divide this art of measurement into two parts; placing in
the one part all the arts which measure the relative size or number
of objects, and in the other all those which depend upon a mean or
standard. Many accomplished men say that the art of measurement has to
do with all things, but these persons, although in this notion of theirs
they may very likely be right, are apt to fail in seeing the differences
of classes--they jumble together in one the 'more' and the 'too much,'
which are very different things. Whereas the right way is to find the
differences of classes, and to comprehend the things which have any
affinity under the same class.
I will make one more observation by the way. When a pupil at a school is
asked the letters which make up a particular word, is he not asked with
a view to his knowing the same letters in all words? And our enquiry
about the Statesman in like manner is intended not only to improve our
knowledge of politics, but our reasoning powers generally. Still less
would any one analyze the nature of weaving for its own sake. There
is no difficulty in exhibiting sensible images, but the greatest and
noblest truths have no outward form adapted to the eye of sense, and are
only revealed in thought. And all that we are now saying is said for the
sake of them. I make these remarks, because I want you to get rid of any
impression that our discussion about weaving and about the reversal of
the universe, and the other discussion about the Sophist and not-being,
were tedious and irrelevant. Please to observe that they can only be
fairly judged when compared with what is meet; and yet not with what is
meet for producing pleasure, nor even meet for making discoveries, but
for the great end of developing the dialectical method and sharpening
the wits of the auditors. He who censures us, should prove that, if our
words had been fewer, they would have been better calculated to make men
dialecticians.
And now let us return to our king or statesman, and transfer to him the
example of weaving. The royal art has been separated from that of other
herdsmen, but not from the causal and co-operative arts which exist
in states; these do not admit of dichotomy, and therefore they must be
carved neatly, like the limbs of a victim, not into more parts than are
necessary. And first (1) we have the large class of instruments, which
includes almost everything in the world; from these may be parted off
(2) vessels which are framed for the preservation of things, moist or
dry, prepared in the fire or out of the fire. The royal or political art
has nothing to do with either of these, any more than with the arts
of making (3) vehicles, or (4) defences, whether dresses, or arms, or
walls, or (5) with the art of making ornaments, whether pictures or
other playthings, as they may be fitly called, for they have no serious
use. Then (6) there are the arts which furnish gold, silver, wood, bark,
and other materials, which should have been put first; these, again,
have no concern with the kingly science; any more than the arts (7)
which provide food and nourishment for the human body, and which furnish
occupation to the husbandman, huntsman, doctor, cook, and the like, but
not to the king or statesman. Further, there are small things, such as
coins, seals, stamps, which may with a little violence be comprehended
in one of the above-mentioned classes. Thus they will embrace every
species of property with the exception of animals,--but these have been
already included in the art of tending herds. There remains only the
class of slaves or ministers, among whom I expect that the real rivals
of the king will be discovered. I am not speaking of the veritable slave
bought with money, nor of the hireling who lets himself out for service,
nor of the trader or merchant, who at best can only lay claim to
economical and not to royal science. Nor am I referring to government
officials, such as heralds and scribes, for these are only the servants
of the rulers, and not the rulers themselves. I admit that there may be
something strange in any servants pretending to be masters, but I hardly
think that I could have been wrong in supposing that the principal
claimants to the throne will be of this class. Let us try once more:
There are diviners and priests, who are full of pride and prerogative;
these, as the law declares, know how to give acceptable gifts to
the gods, and in many parts of Hellas the duty of performing solemn
sacrifices is assigned to the chief magistrate, as at Athens to the
King Archon. At last, then, we have found a trace of those whom we were
seeking. But still they are only servants and ministers.
And who are these who next come into view in various forms of men and
animals and other monsters appearing--lions and centaurs and satyrs--who
are these? I did not know them at first, for every one looks strange
when he is unexpected. But now I recognize the politician and his troop,
the chief of Sophists, the prince of charlatans, the most accomplished
of wizards, who must be carefully distinguished from the true king or
statesman. And here I will interpose a question: What are the true forms
of government? Are they not three--monarchy, oligarchy, and democracy?
and the distinctions of freedom and compulsion, law and no law, poverty
and riches expand these three into six. Monarchy may be divided into
royalty and tyranny; oligarchy into aristocracy and plutocracy; and
democracy may observe the law or may not observe it. But are any of
these governments worthy of the name? Is not government a science, and
are we to suppose that scientific government is secured by the rulers
being many or few, rich or poor, or by the rule being compulsory or
voluntary? Can the many attain to science? In no Hellenic city are there
fifty good draught players, and certainly there are not as many kings,
for by kings we mean all those who are possessed of the political
science. A true government must therefore be the government of one, or
of a few. And they may govern us either with or without law, and whether
they are poor or rich, and however they govern, provided they govern on
some scientific principle,--it makes no difference. And as the physician
may cure us with our will, or against our will, and by any mode of
treatment, burning, bleeding, lowering, fattening, if he only proceeds
scientifically: so the true governor may reduce or fatten or bleed the
body corporate, while he acts according to the rules of his art, and
with a view to the good of the state, whether according to law or
without law.
'I do not like the notion, that there can be good government without
law.'
I must explain: Law-making certainly is the business of a king; and yet
the best thing of all is, not that the law should rule, but that the
king should rule, for the varieties of circumstances are endless, and no
simple or universal rule can suit them all, or last for ever. The law is
just an ignorant brute of a tyrant, who insists always on his commands
being fulfilled under all circumstances. 'Then why have we laws at all?'
I will answer that question by asking you whether the training master
gives a different discipline to each of his pupils, or whether he has a
general rule of diet and exercise which is suited to the constitutions
of the majority? 'The latter.' The legislator, too, is obliged to lay
down general laws, and cannot enact what is precisely suitable to each
particular case. He cannot be sitting at every man's side all his life,
and prescribe for him the minute particulars of his duty, and therefore
he is compelled to impose on himself and others the restriction of a
written law. Let me suppose now, that a physician or trainer, having
left directions for his patients or pupils, goes into a far country, and
comes back sooner than he intended; owing to some unexpected change in
the weather, the patient or pupil seems to require a different mode of
treatment: Would he persist in his old commands, under the idea that all
others are noxious and heterodox? Viewed in the light of science,
would not the continuance of such regulations be ridiculous? And if the
legislator, or another like him, comes back from a far country, is he to
be prohibited from altering his own laws? The common people say: Let a
man persuade the city first, and then let him impose new laws. But is a
physician only to cure his patients by persuasion, and not by force? Is
he a worse physician who uses a little gentle violence in effecting the
cure? Or shall we say, that the violence is just, if exercised by a rich
man, and unjust, if by a poor man? May not any man, rich or poor, with
or without law, and whether the citizens like or not, do what is for
their good? The pilot saves the lives of the crew, not by laying down
rules, but by making his art a law, and, like him, the true governor
has a strength of art which is superior to the law. This is scientific
government, and all others are imitations only. Yet no great number
of persons can attain to this science. And hence follows an important
result. The true political principle is to assert the inviolability
of the law, which, though not the best thing possible, is best for the
imperfect condition of man.
I will explain my meaning by an illustration:--Suppose that mankind,
indignant at the rogueries and caprices of physicians and pilots, call
together an assembly, in which all who like may speak, the skilled as
well as the unskilled, and that in their assembly they make decrees
for regulating the practice of navigation and medicine which are to
be binding on these professions for all time. Suppose that they elect
annually by vote or lot those to whom authority in either department is
to be delegated. And let us further imagine, that when the term of their
magistracy has expired, the magistrates appointed by them are summoned
before an ignorant and unprofessional court, and may be condemned and
punished for breaking the regulations. They even go a step further, and
enact, that he who is found enquiring into the truth of navigation and
medicine, and is seeking to be wise above what is written, shall be
called not an artist, but a dreamer, a prating Sophist and a corruptor
of youth; and if he try to persuade others to investigate those sciences
in a manner contrary to the law, he shall be punished with the utmost
severity. And like rules might be extended to any art or science. But
what would be the consequence?
'The arts would utterly perish, and human life, which is bad enough
already, would become intolerable.'
But suppose, once more, that we were to appoint some one as the guardian
of the law, who was both ignorant and interested, and who perverted the
law: would not this be a still worse evil than the other? 'Certainly.'
For the laws are based on some experience and wisdom. Hence the wiser
course is, that they should be observed, although this is not the best
thing of all, but only the second best. And whoever, having skill,
should try to improve them, would act in the spirit of the law-giver.
But then, as we have seen, no great number of men, whether poor or rich,
can be makers of laws. And so, the nearest approach to true government
is, when men do nothing contrary to their own written laws and national
customs. When the rich preserve their customs and maintain the law, this
is called aristocracy, or if they neglect the law, oligarchy. When an
individual rules according to law, whether by the help of science or
opinion, this is called monarchy; and when he has royal science he is
a king, whether he be so in fact or not; but when he rules in spite of
law, and is blind with ignorance and passion, he is called a tyrant.
These forms of government exist, because men despair of the true king
ever appearing among them; if he were to appear, they would joyfully
hand over to him the reins of government. But, as there is no natural
ruler of the hive, they meet together and make laws. And do we wonder,
when the foundation of politics is in the letter only, at the miseries
of states? Ought we not rather to admire the strength of the political
bond? For cities have endured the worst of evils time out of mind;
many cities have been shipwrecked, and some are like ships foundering,
because their pilots are absolutely ignorant of the science which they
profess.
Let us next ask, which of these untrue forms of government is the least
bad, and which of them is the worst? I said at the beginning, that each
of the three forms of government, royalty, aristocracy, and democracy,
might be divided into two, so that the whole number of them, including
the best, will be seven. Under monarchy we have already distinguished
royalty and tyranny; of oligarchy there were two kinds, aristocracy and
plutocracy; and democracy may also be divided, for there is a democracy
which observes, and a democracy which neglects, the laws. The government
of one is the best and the worst--the government of a few is less bad
and less good--the government of the many is the least bad and least
good of them all, being the best of all lawless governments, and the
worst of all lawful ones. But the rulers of all these states,
unless they have knowledge, are maintainers of idols, and themselves
idols--wizards, and also Sophists; for, after many windings, the term
'Sophist' comes home to them.
And now enough of centaurs and satyrs: the play is ended, and they
may quit the political stage. Still there remain some other and better
elements, which adhere to the royal science, and must be drawn off in
the refiner's fire before the gold can become quite pure. The arts of
the general, the judge, and the orator, will have to be separated from
the royal art; when the separation has been made, the nature of the king
will be unalloyed. Now there are inferior sciences, such as music and
others; and there is a superior science, which determines whether
music is to be learnt or not, and this is different from them, and the
governor of them. The science which determines whether we are to use
persuasion, or not, is higher than the art of persuasion; the science
which determines whether we are to go to war, is higher than the art of
the general. The science which makes the laws, is higher than that which
only administers them. And the science which has this authority over the
rest, is the science of the king or statesman.
Once more we will endeavour to view this royal science by the light of
our example. We may compare the state to a web, and I will show you how
the different threads are drawn into one. You would admit--would
you not?--that there are parts of virtue (although this position is
sometimes assailed by Eristics), and one part of virtue is temperance,
and another courage. These are two principles which are in a manner
antagonistic to one another; and they pervade all nature; the whole
class of the good and beautiful is included under them. The beautiful
may be subdivided into two lesser classes: one of these is described
by us in terms expressive of motion or energy, and the other in terms
expressive of rest and quietness. We say, how manly! how vigorous! how
ready! and we say also, how calm! how temperate! how dignified! This
opposition of terms is extended by us to all actions, to the tones of
the voice, the notes of music, the workings of the mind, the characters
of men. The two classes both have their exaggerations; and the
exaggerations of the one are termed 'hardness,' 'violence,' 'madness;'
of the other 'cowardliness,' or 'sluggishness.' And if we pursue
the enquiry, we find that these opposite characters are naturally at
variance, and can hardly be reconciled. In lesser matters the antagonism
between them is ludicrous, but in the State may be the occasion of
grave disorders, and may disturb the whole course of human life. For
the orderly class are always wanting to be at peace, and hence they pass
imperceptibly into the condition of slaves; and the courageous sort are
always wanting to go to war, even when the odds are against them, and
are soon destroyed by their enemies. But the true art of government,
first preparing the material by education, weaves the two elements into
one, maintaining authority over the carders of the wool, and selecting
the proper subsidiary arts which are necessary for making the web. The
royal science is queen of educators, and begins by choosing the natures
which she is to train, punishing with death and exterminating those who
are violently carried away to atheism and injustice, and enslaving those
who are wallowing in the mire of ignorance. The rest of the citizens she
blends into one, combining the stronger element of courage, which we
may call the warp, with the softer element of temperance, which we
may imagine to be the woof. These she binds together, first taking
the eternal elements of the honourable, the good, and the just, and
fastening them with a divine cord in a heaven-born nature, and then
fastening the animal elements with a human cord. The good legislator can
implant by education the higher principles; and where they exist there
is no difficulty in inserting the lesser human bonds, by which the State
is held together; these are the laws of intermarriage, and of union for
the sake of offspring. Most persons in their marriages seek after
wealth or power; or they are clannish, and choose those who are like
themselves,--the temperate marrying the temperate, and the courageous
the courageous. The two classes thrive and flourish at first, but they
soon degenerate; the one become mad, and the other feeble and useless.
This would not have been the case, if they had both originally held
the same notions about the honourable and the good; for then they
never would have allowed the temperate natures to be separated from the
courageous, but they would have bound them together by common honours
and reputations, by intermarriages, and by the choice of rulers who
combine both qualities. The temperate are careful and just, but are
wanting in the power of action; the courageous fall short of them in
justice, but in action are superior to them: and no state can prosper in
which either of these qualities is wanting. The noblest and best of all
webs or states is that which the royal science weaves, combining the two
sorts of natures in a single texture, and in this enfolding freeman and
slave and every other social element, and presiding over them all.
'Your picture, Stranger, of the king and statesman, no less than of the
Sophist, is quite perfect.'
...