ARGUMENT.
In the _fourth book_, after defining the true position and functions of
the φύλαξ and the arrangement of a model state,—which he further
conceives to comprise, as essentials, wisdom, temperance, fortitude,
and justice, the necessary union and coherence of which he
demonstrates by analogy with the numerous mental faculties, which,
like the members of a state, exist by mutual connexion and
dependence. This concord of faculties is at the bottom of Plato’s
notion of a state; and this constitutes justice, the benefits of
which are negatively proved by the exposure of injustice. This
justice, however, he proves to have numerous ramifications, just in
the same way as both himself and Aristotle conceive that under the
term politics is included everything that concerns civil
administration when placed in the hands of the people themselves,
both generically and in its specific departments.
CHAP. I.—Adimantus hereupon rejoining said: What answer will you make,
Socrates, if one were to say that you do not make these men very
happy,—and that owing to themselves, whose property the state really
is,—yet they enjoy no advantage in the state, such as others do who
possess lands, build beautiful and large houses, purchase suitable
furniture, offer sacrifices to the gods at their own expense, entertain
strangers, and, as you were just now saying, possess gold and silver,
and everything generally supposed to contribute towards making men
happy. Aye, doubtless, he may say, they seem, like hired auxiliaries, to
be settled in the state for no other purpose than keeping guard. Yes,
said I; and that too only for their maintenance, without receiving, like
the rest, pay as well as rations;—so that they are not to be allowed so
much as to travel abroad privately, though they wish it, nor bestow
money on mistresses, nor spend it in such other ways as those do who are
reputed to be happy. These and many such like things you leave out of
the accusation. Well, let these charges too, said he, be made against
them. What answer then, are we to make, you ask? I do. While travelling
on the same road, we shall find, methinks, what is to be said: for we
shall state, that it would be nothing strange, were these men, under
these circumstances, to be the happiest possible:—yet it was not with an
eye to this, that we are establishing our state,—to have any one tribe
in it remarkably happy, but that the whole state might be so to the
fullest extent; for we judged, that in such an one more particularly we
should meet with justice, and again in that the worst established
injustice; and that, on thoroughly examining these, we might determine
what we have long been seeking. Now then, as we suppose, we are forming
a happy state, not by selection, making some few only so in it, but the
whole: and we will next consider one its reverse. Just as if, when we
were painting human figures, a person should come and blame us, saying,
that we do not place the most beautiful colours on the most beautiful
parts of the creature,—inasmuch as the eyes, the most beautiful part,
were not painted with purple, but black; we should seem perhaps to make
a sufficient answer to him, by saying, Clever fellow, do not suppose
that we ought to paint the eyes so beautifully, as that they should not
appear to be eyes, and so with the other parts;—but consider, rather,
whether, in giving each particular part its due, we make the whole
beautiful. And especially now, do not oblige us to confer such happiness
on our guardians as shall make them anything rather than guardians: for
we know too, how to dress out the husbandmen in fine robes and gird them
with gold, and bid them till the ground with a view to pleasure
only,—and in like manner, those who make earthenware, to lie at their
ease by the fire, drinking and feasting, and placing the wheel near them
to work just so much as they like;—and so also how to confer happiness
on every one in such a manner as to render the whole state happy. But do
not advise us in this way; because, if we obey you, neither will the
husbandman be really a husbandman, nor the potter a potter; nor will any
one else be really of any of those professions of which the state is
composed. As to all the rest, it is of less consequence:—for, when
shoemakers become bad and corrupt, and profess to be shoemakers when
they are not so, no great mischief befals the state; but when guardians
of the laws and of the state are not so really, but only in appearance,
you see how entirely they destroy the whole state, and, on the other
hand, that they alone have the opportunity of managing it well and
effecting its happiness. If then we would appoint men who shall be
really guardians of the city, [let us choose] those who will be least
hurtful to it; but he who says that they should be a kind of farmers,
and as in a festival meeting, not in a state, jolly entertainers, must
speak of something else rather than a city. We must consider, then,
whether we establish guardians with this view, that they may enjoy the
greatest happiness,—or, looking to the entire state, we regard whether
it is to be found therein; and we must compel these allies and guardians
to do this, and persuade them to become the best performers of their own
particular work, and act also towards all others in the same manner; and
thus, as the whole city becomes prosperous, and well constituted, we
must permit its several classes to share in that degree of happiness
which their nature admits.
CHAP. II.—I think you say well, said he. Well then, said I, what is near
akin to this, shall I be thought to say rightly. In what particularly?
With respect to all other artificers again, consider whether these
things corrupt them, so as to make them bad workmen. To what do you
allude? Riches, said I, and poverty. As how? Thus:—Would the potter,
think you, after he has become rich, have any desire still to mind his
art? By no means, said he. But will he not become more idle and careless
than he was before? Much more so. Will he not then become a worse
potter? This too, much more so, said he. And, moreover, being unable
through poverty to supply himself with tools, or other requisites of his
art, his workmanship will be more imperfectly executed, and his sons, or
others whom he instructs, will be inferior artists. Of course they will.
Owing to both these causes, then, [namely] poverty and riches, the
workmanship in the arts becomes inferior, and [the artists] themselves
inferior too. It appears so. We have then, it seems, found out other
things for our guardians, against which they must by all means watch,
that they may not steal into the state without their knowledge. Of what
sort are these? Riches, said I, and poverty;—the one engendering luxury,
idleness, and a love of innovation;—the other, illiberality and
mischief, as well as a love of innovation. Quite so, said he. But,
Socrates, pray consider this;—how is our state to have the power of
engaging in war, when she is possessed of no money, especially if
compelled to wage war against a great and opulent one? It is plain, said
I, that to fight against one is somewhat difficult; but against two such
is more easy. How say you? replied he. First of all, now, said I, if
there is any occasion for fighting, will they not, being practised
warriors, fight against rich men? Yes, surely, said he. What then, said
I, Adimantus, would not a single boxer, trained as highly as possible to
this exercise, seem to you easily able to fight against two who are not
boxers, but on the other hand, are rich and fat? Not perhaps with both
at once, said he. Not even, said I, if he should be enabled to retire a
little, and then turn back and give a blow to the furthest in advance,
and repeat this frequently in the sun and heat?—would not a person of
this kind easily defeat many such as these? Clearly so, and no wonder,
said he. But think you not, that the rich have more science and
experience in boxing than in the military art? I do, said he. In that
case, according to appearances, our wrestlers will easily combat with
double and threefold their number. I will agree with you, said he; for I
believe you say right. But what,—supposing they were to send an embassy
to another state, informing them of their true situation, telling them,
We make no use either of gold or silver, neither is it lawful for us to
use them, while for you it is so:—if then you become our allies in war,
you shall receive the enemy’s spoils;—think you that any, on hearing
this, would choose to fight against stanch and resolute dogs, rather
than in alliance with the dogs to fight against fat and tender sheep? I
think not; but, if the wealth of all the rest be accumulated in one
single state, take care that it [the wealthy state] does not endanger
that which is poor. How good you are, said I, to think that any other
deserves to be called a state except such as we have established. Why
not? said he. To those others, said I, we must give a more magnificent
appellation; for each of them comprises very many states, and is not
one, as was said in the game;[147] for there are always in them, however
small they be, two parties hostile to each other,—the poor and the rich;
and in each of these again there are very many;—to which, if you apply
as to one, you would be entirely mistaken;—but if, as to many, giving
one party the goods and power, or even persons, of the other, you will
always have the many for your allies, and the few for enemies; and, so
long as your state be managed temperately, as lately established, it
will be the greatest,—not I mean in mere repute, but really the
greatest, though its defenders were no more than one thousand; for a
single state of such size you will not easily find, either among Greeks
or barbarians, but many which have the repute of being many times larger
than one such as this.[148] Are you of a different opinion? No, by Zeus,
said he.
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Footnote 147:
The scholiast tells us, that “to play at cities” (πόλεις παίζειν) is a
kind of game at dice, in which the players cried,—“One city,” or “Many
cities;” and he informs us, moreover, that the expression was
proverbial.
Footnote 148:
These notions are severely commented on by Aristotle in his Pol. ii.
4.
-----
CHAP. III.—This, then, said I, will probably be the best boundary-mark
for our rulers as to the size that a state should attain, and what
extent of ground should be marked off for it in proportion to its bulk,
without reference to anything further?[149] What boundary? said he. I
suppose, said I, [it should be] this: So long as the city, as it
increases, continues to be one, so far it may increase, but no further.
Very right, said he. We will impose, then, this further injunction on
our guardians, to take care by all means that the city be neither small
nor great, but of moderate extent, and one only. This probably, said he,
will be a trifling injunction. A more trifling one still, said I, is
what we previously mentioned, when we observed, that if any descendant
of the guardians be depraved, he should be dismissed to the other
classes; and if one from the other classes be worthy, he should be
promoted to that of the guardians;—by all which it was intended to show
that all the other citizens should apply themselves each to that
particular art for which he has a natural genius, that so, each minding
his own proper work, should not become many, but one; and thus,
consequently, the whole state would have the nature of unity;—not
plurality. Well,—this, indeed, said he, is a still more trifling
injunction than the other. We do not here, said I, good Adimantus, as
any one might suppose, impose on them many and grave injunctions, but
all of them rather trifling, if they take care of one grand point that
we speak about, or rather not so much great as sufficient. What is that?
said he. The education, said I, and nurture of children; for if, by
being well educated, they become temperate men, they will easily see
through all these things, and such other things as we pass by at
present,—women, marriages, and the propagation of the species,—inasmuch
as these things ought all, according to the proverb,[150] to be made
entirely common among friends. Yes,—for that, said he, would be most
right. And moreover, said I, if once a republic is set a-going, it
proceeds as a circle, constantly on the increase. For nurture and good
education, when maintained, engender good dispositions, and good
dispositions, partaking of such education, turn out still better than
the former, especially with reference to propagation, just as with all
other animals. Probably, said he. To speak then in brief, this,
particularly, the guardians of the state must guard against, that it may
not be corrupted unawares,—nay, above all things, must they guard
against this, not to make innovations in gymnastics and music, contrary
to the established order of the state, but as far as possible maintain
it, through fear that while a man adopts that poetical expression,
... Men most admire that song
Which most partakes of novelty,[151]
one might often think that the poet means not new songs, but some new
style of song, and so commends it: but such as this one ought neither to
commend nor admit; for as to receiving a new kind of music one should be
specially cautious, as endangering the whole: for never, as Damon says,
and I quite agree with him, are the measures of music altered without
affecting the most important laws of the state. And me too, you may
place, said Adimantus, among those who are of that opinion.
-----
Footnote 149:
From the previous discussion respecting the unity and harmony of a
state, Socrates conceives that it may be inferred _also_ what decision
should be formed respecting its size and boundaries; and he wishes it
to be increased only in such way as may be consistent with moderate
bulk, and not endanger its unity and the harmony of its several parts.
Footnote 150:
Allusion is here made to the well-known Pythagorean adage,—τὰ τῶν
φίλων κοινά, all the property of friends should be held in common.
Footnote 151:
Hom. Odyss. i. v. 353; but with slight variation,—the original having
ἀκουόντεσσι, not ἀειδόντεσσι. Great stress is here laid on the
necessity of keeping up the severe old style of music, inasmuch as the
introduction of a new and more luxurious style would infallibly
produce a general corruption of national morals. The importance
attached to this point will be more truly seen from considering the
close relation which, in the opinion of the Greeks, subsisted between
all the liberal arts. Plato alludes to the subject at length in the
Laws, ii. pp. 656 c, 659 e, and iii. pp. 700 a, &c., and vii.
throughout.
-----
CHAP. IV.—We must erect then, said I, in music, as it seems, a kind of
citadel for our guardians. Nevertheless, neglect of the laws even here,
said he, easily and imperceptibly steals in. Yes, said I, in the way of
diversion, and as if it were doing no mischief. No, for it does nothing
else, said he, but by gradually insinuating itself into it, insensibly
flow into their manners and pursuits; and afterwards in a greater degree
it finds its way into their contracts with each other; and from
contracts it enters with much boldness into the laws and political
establishments, Socrates, till at last it overturns everything,
privately as well as publicly. Well, then, said I, is this the case? It
appears so to me, he replied. Ought not our children then, as I said at
the beginning, even from infancy, to be allowed diversions more
conformable to the laws? because, if their diversions are inconsistent
with the laws, and the children such themselves, it is impossible that
they should grow up men obedient to the laws and virtuous. How can it be
otherwise? said he. When, therefore, children beginning well set about
their diversions conformably to the laws, with music, quite the contrary
to what happens in the former case attends them in everything, and grows
up with them, and corrects in the state whatever was before neglected.
True, indeed, said he. And regulations, even, said I, that seem but of
little importance, these persons discover anew, which the others had
allowed altogether to perish. What regulations? Such as these:—That the
younger should keep silence before the elder, as is proper, and give
them place, and rise up before them,[152] and show reverence to parents;
likewise what shaving, what clothes and shoes are proper, with the whole
bodily dress, and all similar matters. Do not you think so? I do. But to
make laws about these things, would, I think, be silly; neither is it
done anywhere; nor would it stand, though established both by word and
writing. For how can it? It seems then, said I, Adimantus, that in
whatever way a man sets out in his education, such accordingly will be
its consequences; for does not the like always attract the like? Of
course. And we may say, I suppose, that it results at last in something
complete and vigorous, whether it be good or the contrary? Of course,
said he. I would not then, said I, for these reasons, undertake as yet,
to make laws about such matters as these. Very properly, said he. But
what, by the gods, said I, as to those laws relative to matters of
contract, and to the traffic which they severally transact with each
other in the market, and, if you please, their traffic likewise among
their handicrafts, their abusiveness and bodily assaults, their entering
of actions at law, their institution of judges, and likewise such
imposts and payments of taxes as might be expedient either in the
markets or at the ports,—or generally as to laws commercial, municipal,
or marine, or any other the like,—shall we venture to establish any of
these? It is improper, said he, to prescribe them to good and worthy
men; for the greater part of them, such as ought to be established by
law, they will easily find out for themselves. Yes, said I, my friend,
if at least God grant them security for those laws which we have above
described. But if not so, said he, they will spend the whole of their
life making and amending many such [regulations,] imagining that they
will thus attain to what is best. You say that such as these, said I,
will lead a life like that of sick persons, and such as are unwilling,
through intemperance, to relinquish a bad mode of living? Quite so. And
truly, these at least pass their time very pleasantly; for though they
undergo remedial treatment, they do nothing but make their ailments
greater and more complex; and they are ever in hopes, when any one
recommends any medicine to them, that by these means they shall soon get
well. Aye, that is just the case with diseased persons like these. But
what, said I, is not this pleasant of them, to reckon that man the most
hateful of all, who tells them the truth, namely, that, till one
abandons drunkenness, gluttony, unchaste pleasures, and laziness,
neither drugs nor caustics, nor the use of the knife, nor charms, nor
amulets, nor any other such things as these, will be of any avail? That,
said he, is not very pleasant; for to be angry with one who tells us
what is right, has nothing in it that is pleasant. You seem to be no
admirer, said I, of such men as these. No, truly.
-----
Footnote 152:
Comp. here Aristot. Eth. ix. ch. 2:—παντὶ δὲ τῷ πρεσβυτέρῳ τιμὴν καθ’
ἡλικίαν ἀποδοτέον ὑπαναστάσεσι καὶ κατακλίσεσι.
-----
CHAP. V.—You cannot then surely approve of it, even though the entire
city (as we were lately saying) should act so; or rather, do they not
seem to be doing the same that is done by all those cities, which,
however ill-governed, command their citizens not to alter any part of
the constitution, for that death will be inflicted on all who do any
such things; while, on the other hand, whoever most cheerfully serves
those who thus govern, gratifying them with insinuating flattery, and
exhibits great dexterity in anticipating and satisfying their desires,
will be deemed both good and wise in matters of highest importance, and
will be held by them also in the greatest honour? They seem to me at
least, said he, to do the very same thing, and I cannot by any means
commend them. But what again as to those who desire to manage such
states, and are even fond of it, do you not admire their courage and
dexterity? I do, said he; excepting, indeed, such as are imposed on by
them, and fancy that they are really politicians, because they are
praised by the multitude. How do you mean? Do you not pardon those men?
said I. Do you think it even possible that a man ignorant of the art of
measuring, supposing he should hear many other such men tell him that he
is four cubits high, would not believe this of himself? Impossible, said
he. Be not angry then; for such as these are of all the most ridiculous;
because, as they are ever making laws about such things as we have just
mentioned, and ever mending them, they conceive they shall find some end
to the frauds respecting commerce, and what else I just now spoke about,
through ignorance of the fact that they are in fact, as it were, trying
to destroy a hydra. Nevertheless, it is nothing else, said he, that they
are now attempting. I think, then, said I, that a true lawgiver ought
not to give himself much trouble about such sorts of laws and police,
either in an ill or well ordered state; in the one, because it is
unprofitable and of no avail; in the other, because, as for some of the
laws, any one whatever can find them out, while others flow quite of
their own accord out of their former habits and pursuits.
What then, in the enactment of laws, said he, yet remains for us to
consider? And I said: We have nothing, indeed, remaining: to the
Delphian Apollo, however, there remains the greatest, noblest, and most
important of legal institutions. Of what kind? said he. The erection of
temples, sacrifices, and other services to the gods, demons, and heroes;
likewise the rites of the dead, and what other ceremonies should be gone
through, with a view to their propitiation. Such things as these,
indeed, we neither know ourselves, nor, in founding the state, would we
intrust them to any other, if we be wise; nor would we employ any other
interpreter than that of the country: for surely this god, being the
natural interpreter to all men about such matters, interprets to them
sitting in the middle, and, as it were, navel of the earth. Aye, you say
well, said he; and we must act accordingly.
CHAP. VI.—Thus then, son of Ariston, said I, is our state established.
And, in the next place, having provided from some source or other
sufficient light for it, do you yourself observe, and call on your
brother and Polemarchus and these others also to do so also, whether we
can at all perceive where justice lies, and where injustice, and in what
respect they differ from each other; and likewise which of the two that
man ought to possess, who proposes to be happy, whether with or without
the knowledge of gods and men. You say nothing to the purpose, replied
Glaucon; for you yourself promised to inquire into this, as it was
unholy for you not to assist by all possible means the cause of justice.
What you remind me of, said I, is true; and I must act accordingly;
still it is proper, that you too should assist in the inquiry. Aye, that
we will, said he. I hope then, said I, to be able to find what I want in
the following manner:—I think that our city, if at least it has been
rightly established, should be perfectly good. Necessarily so, said he.
It is evident then, that it is wise, and brave, and temperate, and just.
Manifestly so. Whatever then of these [virtues] we shall find in it, the
remainder will be that which is not found? Of course. Supposing of any
four things whatever, if we were in quest of one, were we to discover
this one at first, we should be satisfied; and were we first to discover
the other three, we should discover from this itself what we were
inquiring after; for it would be manifestly no other than what was left
behind. You say right, said he. Well then, since of the virtues above
mentioned there happened to be four [in our state,] shall we not inquire
about them in a similar manner? Plainly so.
CHAP. VII.—First of all, indeed, to my mind at least, wisdom appears to
hold in it a very conspicuous place; and there appears to be something
very peculiar about it. What is that? said he. The state which we have
described appears to me to be really wise, for it is well advised; is it
not? It is. And surely this very thing, the ability of advising well, is
evidently a kind of science; for in no case do men advise well through
ignorance, but only by means of science. Plainly so. But there are many
and various kinds of science in the state? Of course there are. Is it
then owing to the science of builders, that the state is to be termed
wise and well-advised? By no means through this, said he; for it would
only be clever in building. A state, then, is not to be called wise on
account of its skill in advising the best methods of building? Surely
not. And what, as respects skill in brass-work or anything else of a
similar nature? For none of these, said he. Nor yet for its knowledge of
the productions of the earth [is it said to be wise,] but only skilled
in agriculture. I think so. But what, said I; is there any science among
any of the citizens in the state which we have just founded, which
deliberates, not about any particular thing in the city, but about the
whole, how it may best be conducted, both as regards itself and its
intercourse with other cities? Yes, there is. What is it, said I, and
among whom to be found? This very guardianship, said he; and [it may be
found] among those very governors, whom we lately termed perfect
guardians. On account then of this skill, what do you term the state?
Well-advised, said he, and really wise. Whether then, said I, do you
imagine that the braziers, or these true guardians, will be the more
numerous in the state? The braziers, said he, far more so. And of all,
said I, who owing to their skill are to be held in account, will not
these guardians be the fewest in number? By far. By this smallest class
and portion of the state then, and by the science that presides over and
governs it, is the whole city wisely established on natural principles;
and this class, as it seems, is by nature the smallest, whose business
it is to have a share in that science, which of all others ought alone
to be denominated wisdom. Your remark, replied he, is perfectly true. We
have found then, I know not how, one of the four, both as respects its
nature and the part of the state in which it resides. And for my part,
said he, I think it has been sufficiently described.
CHAP. VIII.—But as to fortitude, both as respects itself, and the
particular part of the state in which it resides, on account of which
the state is termed brave, that can be no difficult matter to discover.
How so? Who, said I, would call a state brave or cowardly, with relation
to any other than that particular portion which makes war and fights in
its defence? No one would, said he, with relation to any other. No, said
I, for I do not think that the other classes therein, whether cowardly
or brave, can have any influence to make it either the one or the other.
No, indeed. The state then is brave in a certain part of itself, because
it contains such a power as will constantly maintain its opinion about
things dreadful, as to their being these very things, and such like,
just as the lawgiver inculcated during training:—Do you not call this
fortitude? I have not thoroughly comprehended, said he, what you say; so
tell it over again. Fortitude, said I, I term a kind of preservative.
What sort of preservative? A preservative of opinion formed by law in a
course of education about things dreadful, as to their nature and
quality; and I called it a constant preservative, because one retains it
both in pains and pleasures, desires and fears, and never casts it off;
and, if you please, I will liken it to what I think it closely
resembles. Pray do. Do not you know then, said I, that dyers, when they
want to dye their wool, that it may be purple, choose out of ever so
many colours only the white, and then prepare and manage it with no
trifling pains, so that it may best take a bright hue, and then they dye
it? And whatever is dyed in this manner is of an indelible dye; nor can
any washing, either without or with soap, take away its hue; but as for
wool not thus managed, you know of what sort it proves, whether one dye
either this or other colours, without previous preparation. I know, said
he, that they are easily washed out, and get shabby.[153] Suppose then,
that we, too, were to perform according to our ability a similar
operation, when selecting our soldiers, and instructing them in music
and gymnastics; and that we should attend to no other object, than that
they should obediently and in the best manner receive the laws, as they
would a colour, and so acquire indelible opinions about the dreadful,
and other things as well, through having had a suitable temper and
education; these leys then, however strongly detersive, could not wash
away their dye, whether they be pleasure (which is more powerful in
effecting this than any alkali[154] or ley whatever), or pain, fear, and
desire, which exceed in power all other solvents.—Such a power then, and
constant maintenance of right and legitimate opinion about what is
dreadful or not so, I term and define to be fortitude, unless you offer
some other meaning. No; I can offer none, said he; for you seem to me to
hold, that when a right opinion about these matters arises without
education, it is both savage and slavish, and not at all according to
law; and you give it some other name besides fortitude. Your remark is
quite true, said I. I admit, then, that this is fortitude. Admit
further, said I, that it is political fortitude, and you will admit
rightly; but we will inquire about it, if you please, more perfectly
some other time; for, at present, it is not this, but justice, that we
are seeking; and with regard to the inquiry about the other, that has,
in my opinion, been carried far enough. You say well, he rejoined.
-----
Footnote 153:
The original is γελοῖα—a word not very easy to render.
Footnote 154:
The word χαλαστραῖον, lit. nitre (nitrate of potash), is derived from
Χαλάστρα, a town and lake of Macedonia, where this mineral was found
in great abundance.—Comp. Plin. Nat. Hist. xxxi. 10, 5, 46. The
rendering, _alkali_, may perhaps be thought an anachronism; but it
expresses the author’s meaning better than any one word in our
language.
-----
CHAP. IX.—There yet remain, said I, two [virtues] in the state which we
must consider,—namely, temperance, and that, for the sake of which we
have been searching after all the rest,—that is justice. Certainly. How
then can we find out justice, so as to trouble ourselves no further
about temperance? I truly neither know, said he, nor do I wish it to be
developed before the other, if at least we are on that account to
dismiss altogether the consideration of temperance; but, pray oblige me,
and consider this before the other. I for my part am quite willing, said
I; for I should be acting wrongly not to do so.[155] Consider then, said
he. We must consider, I replied; and as it appears from this point of
view, it seems to resemble a sort of symphony and harmony more than the
virtues formerly mentioned. How? Temperance, said I, is somehow a
certain decorum, and a restraint, as one may say, exercised over certain
pleasures and desires; and when one boasts of being superior to oneself,
and many other such-like expressions, these are mentioned as indications
of it; are they not? Yes,—they are its leading indications, said he. But
is not the expression, “superior to oneself,” ridiculous?—for he who is
superior to himself must somehow also be inferior to himself; and the
inferior be the superior,—for the same person is spoken of in all these
cases. How otherwise? To me, however, said I, the expression seems to
denote, that in the same man, as regards his soul, there is one part
better, and another worse; and that when the better part of his nature
governs the inferior, this is what is termed being superior to himself,
and expresses a commendation; but when, owing to bad education or
associations, that better and smaller part is swayed by the superior
power of the worse part,—then one says, by way of reproach and blame,
that the person thus affected is inferior to himself and altogether in
disorder. Aye,—it would seem so, said he. Look then, said I, at our new
state, and you will find one of these in it: for you will agree, that it
may justly be addressed as superior to itself, if that state, in which
the better part governs the worse, is called temperate and superior to
itself. I do see it, said he;—and you say true. And moreover one may
find very many and various desires, and pleasures, and pains, especially
among children, and women, and domestics, and likewise among the
greatest and most depraved portion of those who are called free.
Certainly. But as for the simple and moderate desires, which are led by
the intellect, with judgment and right opinion, you will meet with them
only in the few, those, namely, of the best temper and best educated.
True, said he. And do not you see that these things are contained in our
state, and that there too the desires of the many and the baser part are
restrained by the desires and prudence of the smaller and more moderate
part? I do, said he.
-----
Footnote 155:
The original is very elliptical:—Ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγὼ, βούλομαί γε,
εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ. The form εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ occurs again, x. ch. 9, p. 608 d,
and ch. 12, p. 612 d.
-----
CHAP. X.—If then, we are to call any state superior to pleasures and
desires, and to itself also, this may be so called. Yes, by all means,
said he. And is it not on all these accounts temperate? Quite so, said
he. And if, again, in any other state, the governors and the governed
agree in opinion on the point, as to the fit governing party, it is to
be found in this:—do you not think so? I am strongly of that opinion. In
whom then of the citizens will you say that temperance resides, when
they are thus situated;—in the governors, or the governed? In both of
them, probably, said he. Do you see then, said I, that we just now
rightly guessed, that temperance resembles a kind of harmony? How so?
Because—not as fortitude and wisdom (each of which resides in a certain
part, the latter making the state wise, and the former courageous), not
after this manner does temperance render the state temperate; but it is
naturally diffused through the whole, making the weakest and the
strongest and the intermediate all to agree, either in prudence, if you
will, or if you will, in strength, magnitude, or in substance, or
anything else of the same kind; so that most justly may we say, that
this concord is temperance, a natural consent between the worse and the
better part, [with reference to the question] which of them ought to
govern, either in the state or in each individual. I am quite of the
same opinion, said he. Well then, said I, three qualities in our state,
it would seem, have been clearly discovered: but with respect to the
remaining species, owing to which the state has the quality of virtue;
what can it be? It is plain that it is justice. It is plain. Ought we
not then, Glaucon, like huntsmen, closely surrounding a thicket, to take
great care that justice does not somehow or other escape, and vanish
from our sight?—for it is clear that it is somewhere here. Look
earnestly, therefore, to spy it out, if you can any how see it sooner
than me, and then point it out to me. Would that I could, said he; but
if you will use me rather as an attendant, and one able only to perceive
what is pointed out to him, you will then be treating me just as you
ought. Call on the gods with me, said I, and follow. I will do so, said
he; do you only lead the way. To me, said I, this seems a place somehow
hard of access, and overcast with shadow:—it is indeed dark, and hard to
penetrate;—but still we must go on. We must, said he. And I perceiving,
said, Ho! Ho! Glaucon, we seem to have some track; and I think that it
will not altogether escape us. You tell good news, said he. Verily, said
I, our senses are somewhat blunted. As how? Long since, even from the
first, my fine fellow, has it been rolling at our feet; and we perceived
it not, but made the most ridiculous figure, like those who sometimes
seek for what they already have in their hands:—so we did not perceive
it, but were looking out to a distance; and thus perhaps it escaped us.
How mean you? said he. Thus, said I;—that I think, although we have been
long talking and hearing of it, we do not understand ourselves, as to
the manner in which we expressed it. A long preamble, said he, to one
who is eager to hear.
CHAP. XI.—Well now, said I, listen whether I say anything to the
point:—for what we at first settled, when regulating the state, as what
ought always to be done,—that, I think, or a species thereof, is
justice:—this surely we settled, and frequently mentioned, if you
remember;—that every one ought to apply himself to one thing, with
reference to the state,—to that, namely, to which his genius most
naturally inclines him? Yes, we did say so. And also, that attending to
one’s own affairs, and not busying oneself about many things, is
justice, and this we have not only heard from many others, but have
frequently said ourselves. We have said so. This then, my friend, said
I, somehow seems to be justice, to attend to one’s own business.—Do you
know whence I infer this? No; pray tell me, said he. Besides what we
have already considered in the state,—namely, temperance, fortitude, and
wisdom,—this, said I, seems to remain, which enables all these both to
have a being in the state and to afford safety to its indwellers as long
as it continues therein; and we said likewise, that justice would be
that remaining part, if we found the other three. It must be so, said
he. But if, said I, you want to judge, which of these, by its presence
in the state, will do it the greatest proportionate good; it would be
difficult to determine whether the coincidence of opinion between the
governors and the governed, or the maintenance of legitimate opinion
among the soldiers about what is dreadful, and what is not so,—or what
is wisdom and guardianship in the rulers,—or whether this, by its
existence in the state, makes it proportionably best,—namely, when child
and woman, bond and free, artificer, magistrate, and subject, every one
in short attends to his own business, and does not meddle. Yes, it is
hard to decide, said he, of course. With reference, then, to the virtue
of a state, that power which makes each person in it attend to his own
business, rivals, as it seems, its wisdom, temperance, and courage.
Undoubtedly so, said he. Will you not then constitute justice as a
co-rival with these, with reference to the virtue of a state? By all
means. Consider, then, whether you agree with me in this: will you
enjoin the rulers to give just decisions in judgment? Of course. And in
giving judgment, what else are they to aim at in preference to
this,—namely, that no one shall have what belongs to others, or be
deprived of his own? No; they [must aim] at this. And [do they not aim
at it,] when acting justly? Yes. And thus justice is acknowledged to be
the habitual practice of one’s own proper and special work? It is so.
See then, if you agree with me:—suppose a carpenter to take in hand the
work of a shoemaker, or a shoemaker the work of a carpenter, exchanging
either their tools or wages; or if the same man undertake both, and make
all the other exchanges; think you that the state would be much injured?
Not very much, said he. But methinks, if a craftsman, or one born to a
money-getting employment, should afterwards, through being elated by
wealth, popularity, strength, or any thing else of the kind, try to
advance into the military class, or out of the military class into that
of counsellor and guardian, when unworthy of it,—and these should
exchange tools and rewards; or if the same man should undertake to do
all these things at once; then, I suppose, you will be of opinion, that
this interchange of things and this multiplicity of employments by a
single person is the destruction of the state. By all means. A meddling
spirit, then, in these three classes, and the change from one to
another, is the greatest injury to the state, and may be most correctly
called its depravity. Aye, truly so. But will not you say that injustice
is the greatest ill a state can do itself? Of course. This then is
injustice.
CHAP. XII.—Again we say, as follows: The peculiar occupation of the
money-getting, the auxiliary, and the guardian class, when each of them
does his own work in a state, will be the contrary of the other, that is
justice, and will make the state just. The case appears to me, said he,
to be no otherwise than thus. Let us not as yet, said I, affirm this for
certain: but if it shall be conceded by us, that this kind enters into
each individual, and that there is justice, we will then agree; for what
shall we say? but if not, then we must push our inquiries further.—But
now let us finish the inquiry on which we were engaged,—namely, whether,
in judging, we should be better able, by first contemplating justice in
some of the greater objects that possess it, to distinguish its nature
in a single man, and that as a state appeared to us this very object; we
thus therefore formed it as well as we possibly could, in the assurance
that justice would be found in one that is good. As to what we have
discovered in the state, then, let us now transfer and apply it to a
single person; and if the two correspond, it will be well; but if there
be any difference in the individual, we will go back again to the state,
and put it to the test; and, perhaps, in considering them side by side,
and by striking them, we shall make justice shine forth, like fire from
flints; and when once clearly apparent, we can then firmly establish it
among ourselves. Aye, you are speaking quite in the right way, said he;
and thus, too, we must act.
With respect then, said I, to what may be termed the same, whether
greater or less, does it happen to be dissimilar in that respect in
which we call it the same, or is it similar? Similar, said he. The just
man then, said I, will not at all differ from the just state, as
respects the idea of justice, but will be similar to it. Aye, similar,
said he. However a state appeared to be just, because three kinds of
dispositions being in it, each performed its own work; but it appeared
to be temperate, brave, and wise, on account of certain other affections
and habits of these very same kinds. True, said he. And in that case, my
friend, we shall deem it proper, that the individual, who has these very
same principles in his soul (namely, temperance, fortitude, wisdom),
should have a good right, from having the same affections with the
state, to be called by the same names? He needs must, said he. Here
again, my clever fellow, we have fallen into a trifling discussion[156]
about the soul, whether it does or does not contain within itself these
three principles. I do not think it is a trifling one, said he: for
probably, Socrates, the common saying is true, that things excellent are
difficult. They seem so, said I. And be assured of this at least,
Glaucon, that, in my opinion, we shall never comprehend this matter
accurately by such methods as we are now using in our conversation,
because the road which really leads to it is longer and of greater
extent: still we will consider it in a manner consistent with our former
disquisitions and inquiries. Ought we not to acquiesce in this? said he:
for to me at least, and for the present, it would be satisfactory
enough. Aye, and for me too, said I, it will be quite sufficient. Do not
get tired then, said he; but pursue the inquiry. Is it then necessary,
said I, that we should acknowledge the very same characters and manners
to exist in every individual that are found in the state? because there
is no other source whence they arrived thither. It were ridiculous,
indeed, to imagine that the high spirit for which the Thracians,
Scythians, and nearly all the northern nations are reputed, does not
arise from individual personages; and the same may be said respecting
the love of learning, which one may especially deem natural to the
people of this country,—or, with reference to the love of riches, which
we may say prevailed especially among the Phœnicians and the people of
Egypt. Quite so, said he. It is so, of course, said I; and it is not
hard of recognition. No, indeed.
-----
Footnote 156:
Stallbaum reads—εἰς φαῦλόν γε σκέμμα, which is the reading of the best
MSS., though the old editions read—οὐκ εἰς φαῦλόν γε. The words are
spoken ironically.
-----
CHAP. XIII.—This, however, is truly hard [to decide,] whether we perform
our separate acts by one and the same power, or whether, as they are
three, we perform one by one, and another by another; that is, learn by
one, get angry by another, and by a third covet the pleasures of
nutrition and propagation, and others akin to these; or whether, when we
devote ourselves to them, we act on each with the whole soul: these
matters are difficult adequately to determine. I think so too, said he.
Let us try to define these things, whether they are the same with one
another, or different. How can we? It is plain that the same thing
evidently cannot at the same time produce or experience contrary effects
in the same respect, and relatively to the same object; so that, if we
ever find anything thus occurring, we shall know that it was not one and
the same thing, but several. Granted. Attend now to what I am saying.
Proceed, replied he. Is it possible for the same thing, considered in
the same relation, to be both at rest and in motion? By no means. Let us
define this more accurately still, lest, as we proceed, we be inclined
to waver:—for, if one were to say that, when a man stands, though yet
moving his hands and head, the same person is at once still and in
motion; we should not, I conceive, reckon this a correct mode of
speaking, but that one part of him is at rest, and another part in
motion:—is it not so? Just so. But if a person arguing thus were to
proceed jestingly and facetiously allege that tops are wholly at rest,
but yet are at the same time in motion, when, fixed on the same point,
they are whirled about their centre,—or that anything else going round
in a circle in the same position does the same,—we should not admit it,
as it is not in the same respect that they both stand still and are in
motion; but we should say that they have in them the straight line [_i.
e._ the axis ] and the circumference; and that, with relation to the
axis they are at rest (because it inclines to neither side); but with
relation to the circumference, they move in a circle:—and again, if,
while it is whirling round, its perpendicularity inclines either to the
right or the left, forwards or backwards, then it is by no means at
rest. Very right, said he. No assertion then of this kind will frighten
us; nor shall any one persuade us, that anything, being one and the
same, can do and suffer contraries at one and the same time, in the same
respect, and relatively to the same object. Me, at any rate, he shall
not, said he. But once more, said I, not to be tedious in going over and
refuting all these quibbles, let us proceed on the supposition, that
this is really the case, acknowledging, also, that if at any time these
things are found to be different from what they now are, all that we
have gained will be lost. This then, said he, is what we must do.
CHAP. XIV.—Well then,—nodding an assent, said I, and making a sign of
dissent, desiring to take a thing and refusing it, attracting or
repelling—will you reckon all such things contraries respectively,
whether actions or passions;—for it matters not which? Contraries,
certainly, said he. What then, said I,—thirst, hunger, and the desires
generally,—and further, to wish and to will, may not all these be
considered as of the same kind with the species just mentioned?—As for
instance, will you not always say of a man who desires, that his soul
aims after what it desires, or attracts to itself what it wishes to
have?—-Or again, so far as the soul wishes something to be given to it,
does it not make a sign for it, as if a person were asking for it,
through desire of acquiring its possession? I should say so. But
what?—to be unwilling, not to wish, and not to desire,—shall we not deem
them synonymous with repelling and driving off from the soul, and so all
things else that are contrary of the former? Of course. This being the
case, shall we say that there is a certain species of desires, and that
the most conspicuous are those which we call thirst and hunger? We shall
say so, he replied. Is not one the desire of drinking, the other of
eating? Yes. In the case of thirst then, is it, so far as it is thirst,
a desire in the soul of anything more than what we were saying; and as
far as thirst goes,—is there a thirst for hot drink, or cold, for much
or little, or in short for some particular kind of drink?—or again, if
heat be added to the thirst, will it not readily occasion a desire for
cold drink; but if cold [be added to it,] then [a desire] for warm
drink: and if the thirst be great, owing to numerous causes, will it not
occasion a desire for much drink, but if small, [a desire] for little;
while as for the desire of thirst itself, it never becomes the desire of
anything else, but of that only to which it naturally belongs,—and so,
also, of hunger with reference to meat? Just so, said he, every desire
belongs in itself to that alone of which it is the desire; but whether
they be desires of such or such a particular kind, are adventitious
circumstances. Let no one then, said I, trouble us, as if we were
inadvertent, [by objecting to us] that no one desires drink, but good
drink,—nor meat, but good meat;—inasmuch as all men desire what is good.
If then thirst be a desire, it is one of something good; whether it be
of drink, or anything else whatever,—and in the same way with all the
other desires. Aye, perhaps, replied he, the man who says this may be
deemed to say something to the purpose. But in truth, said I, things
naturally relative, refer in each particular, as I think, to this or
that object, to which they belong, while in their individual character
they refer only to themselves individually. I do not understand, said
he. Do not you understand, said I, that greater is relatively greater
than something? Certainly. Is it not greater than the lesser? Yes. And
that which is much greater than that which is much less; is it not? Yes.
And that which was formerly greater than that which was formerly less,
and that which is to be greater than that which is to be less? Of
course, said he. And in like manner, the more numerous has reference to
the less numerous, and the double to the half, and so in all such-like
cases;—and further, the heavier to the lighter, and the swifter to the
slower; and further still, the hot to the cold; and all such like, are
they not thus related? Entirely so. But what as to the sciences;—is not
the case the same?—for, science itself is the science of pure learning,
or of whatever else one sees fit to make it the science; while, on the
other hand, a certain particular science, of a particular kind, refers
to a certain particular kind, and also to a particular object. My
meaning is as follows:—when the science of building houses arose, was it
not so far separated from the other sciences, as to acquire the name of
architecture? Of course. Was it not so, because it was of a kind like
none else? Yes. Was it not then from its being the art of such a
particular thing, that it became itself such a particular art;—and are
not all other arts and sciences in like manner? They are so.
CHAP. XV.—Consider then, said I, that this is what I wanted to express,
if you now understand me; namely, that things which are relative, taken
by themselves alone, relate to themselves alone, but considered as of
such a quality, relate to particular objects. I do not say, however,
that a science altogether resembles that of which it is the science; (as
if, for example, the science of healthy and sickly were itself healthy
and sickly, or the science of good and evil itself good and evil;) but
as science is not constituted the science of that generally of which it
is the science, but only of a certain quality of it (that is, of its
healthy and sickly state), so it comes to be itself a particular
science; and hence it is no longer called simply a science, but the
medicinal science, the particular class to which it belongs being
superadded. I understand you, said he; and I think it is so. As for
thirst then, said I, will you not class it among those things which have
relation to something else, so far as it is what it is? and is not
thirst a thirst for something? I should, certainly, said he, for drink.
And does not a particular thirst desire a particular drink?—whereas
thirst in general is neither of much nor of little, nor of good nor bad,
nor, in one word, of any particular kind; but abstractly and in general,
the natural desire of drink. Assuredly. The soul of the man then who
thirsts, so far as he thirsts, wishes nothing further than to drink; and
this he covets, and to this he hurries? Clearly so. If therefore, when
the soul is athirst, anything draws it back, must it not be some
different principle from that which excites thirst, and leads it as a
wild beast to drink;—since it is impossible, we say, for the same thing,
by itself, and at the same time, to produce contrary results from the
same cause? It is indeed impossible. Just as it is not proper, methinks,
to say of an archer, that his hands at once propel and draw in the bow,
but that one of his hands propels it, and the other draws it in?
Assuredly, said he. Can we say, then, that there are some, who when
athirst are not willing to drink? Certainly, said he, many, and often.
What then, said I, is one to say of these persons?—Might it not be said,
that there is something in their soul that prompts them to drink, and
likewise something that restrains them, quite different, and that
prevails over the prompting principle? I think so, said he. Does not the
restraining principle then, whenever it arises, arise from reason; while
those that lead and urge men onwards, proceed from affections and
ailments? It appears so. We shall not then, said I, be unreasonable in
defining these as distinctly two, and separate from one another, if we
call that with which one reasons, the rational part of the soul, but
that part with which it loves, and hungers, and thirsts, and is carried
away by desires, the irrational and concupiscent part, as associated
with certain gratifications and pleasures. We shall not, said he; but we
may reasonably regard them in this light. Let these two then, said I, be
defined as distinct principles in the soul. But as to that of anger, and
by which we are angry, is it a third principle, or is it of like nature
with one or other of these two? Perhaps, said he, with one of them, the
concupiscent. But I believe, said I, what I have somewhere
heard:—Leontius, son of Aglaion, as he was returning from the Piræus,
along the outside of the northern wall, perceiving some dead bodies
lying close to the place of public punishment,[157] had a desire to look
at them, but yet at the same time revolted therefrom and turned away;
and for a while he resisted, and covered his eyes, but, at last,
overcome by his desire, ran with eyes wide open towards the dead bodies,
and said: “Here now, ye wretched eyes of mine! glut yourselves with this
fine spectacle.” I too have heard it, said he. This story now shows,
said I, that anger sometimes opposes the desires, as being distinct from
each other. Yes, said he, it does show it.
-----
Footnote 157:
Gr. παρὰ τῷ δημείῳ, which admits of no concise rendering.
-----
CHAP. XVI.—Do we not then in other cases, and very frequently, perceive,
said I, when the appetites compel any one against his reason, that he
reproaches himself, and is angry at the compelling principle within him;
and that like two persons at variance, the anger of such a person
becomes an ally to reason; but that it sides with the desires when
reason decides that no opposition is to be offered, you will say, I
think, that you have never perceived anything of this kind either in
yourself, nor yet in any other? No, by Zeus, replied he. What then, said
I, is it not the case, when a man imagines he is doing a wrong, that the
more generous he is, the less is he apt to be angry, however he may
suffer hunger or cold, or other like privations, from one, who, as he
thinks, inflicts them with justice?—And, as I have said, his anger will
not incline him to rise up against such an one. True, said he. But
what;—when a man thinks himself injured, does he not in this case boil
with rage and become indignant and ally himself on the side of what
seems just; and under all the sufferings of hunger, cold, and the like,
does he not bear up and strive to conquer; nor does he cease from his
generous toils, until he has either accomplished them, or dies, or, like
a dog by the shepherd, is called off and pacified by the rational
principle within him? Certainly, said he, it is precisely like what you
say; for, in our state, we appointed the auxiliaries to be obedient,
like dogs, to the state rulers, as being shepherds of the state. You
quite understand, said I, what I mean to say:—but have you considered
this also? What? That here apparently, as regards the irascible, the
reverse takes place from what took place in the former instance,—for
then we reckoned it the same as the concupiscent; but now we say it is
far from it, or rather that, in the sedition of the soul, it more
willingly arrays itself on the side of the rational part. Entirely so,
said he. Is it then as something entirely distinct, or as a species of
the rational;—so as that there are not three species, but only two in
the soul, the rational and concupiscent?—or, as there were three species
which completed the city, the money-getting, the auxiliary, the
deliberative; so, in the soul, is this irascible a third natural
principle, auxiliary to the rational, when not corrupted by bad
education? Of course, it must, said he, be a third. Yes, said I, if at
least it seem at all different from the rational, just as it seemed to
be distinct from the concupiscent. Aye, that is not hard to see, said
he;—and as a proof of this, one may see, even in little children, that
quite from their infancy they are full of anger, while some of them, at
least in my opinion, never have any share in reason, the majority indeed
only arriving at it but late in life. Aye, truly, said I, you are right.
And in the brute beasts, too, one may observe yet further, that what you
say is really the case; and besides this, it is attested also by what we
formerly cited from Homer[158]—
His breast he struck, and thus his heart reproved;—
for, in this passage, Homer has plainly made one part reprove the other;
that part, namely, which reasons about good and evil, to reprove the
part which is unreasonably angry. You are quite right, said he.
-----
Footnote 158:
Hom. Odyss. lib. xx. v. 17.
-----
CHAP. XVII.—These things, said I, we have agreed to after some
difficulty; and it is now sufficiently acknowledged, that the same sort
of principles that are in a state reside also in the soul of every
individual, and equal in number. Must it not, then, necessarily follow,
that in whatever manner the state is wise, and in whatever respect,
after the same manner and in the same respect, the individual is so
also? Of course. And in whatever respects, and after whatever manner,
the individual is brave, in the same respect, and after the same manner,
a state is brave also? and so in all other respects, both are the same
as regards virtue? Necessarily so. And I think, Glaucon, it may be said
that a man is so just in the same way as a state is so. This also must
needs be the case. Aye; but have we not somehow or other forgotten this,
that the state is just, when every one of the three species in it does
its own particular work? No, said he, I do not think we have forgotten
that point. We must remember then likewise, that each of us will be
just, and do his own work, each part of whose soul does its own proper
duty. Aye, said he, we must be sure to recollect that. Is it not proper,
then, that the rational part should govern, as being wise, and charged
with the care of the whole soul; and that the spirited part should obey
and ally itself to the other? Certainly. Will not the mixture then, as
we said, of music and gymnastics, make the two to harmonize by exalting
and nurturing the one with excellent arguments and good discipline,
while it unbends the other by soothing and rendering it mild through
harmony and rhythm? Assuredly, said he. And when these two are thus
nurtured and have been truly taught and practised in their own affairs,
they will preside over the concupiscent part, which in every one
occupies the largest part of the soul, and by its nature is insatiable
of wealth; and they will take care, lest, having acquired growth and
strength by being filled with bodily pleasures, as they are termed, it
become discontented with its own work, and so attempt to enslave and
rule over those it ought not, and thus wholly upset the entire system of
life. Certainly, said he. And by this principle, said I, will not the
two maintain a good guard against enemies from without, owing to their
joint influence over both soul and body, the one laying down the plans,
and the other fighting in obedience to its leader, and executing with
fortitude the plans laid down? Such is the case. And I think we call a
man brave, when, through all the pains and pleasures of life, the spirit
maintains the opinion dictated by reason about what is terrible, and
what is not so. Right, said he. And we call a man wise, from that small
part which governs him, and dictates this, inasmuch as it possesses the
knowledge of what is expedient for each separately, and for the whole of
the three together. Certainly. And, do we not moreover term a man
temperate, from the association and harmony of these very principles,
when the governing and governed agree in one,—namely, when reason
governs, and when the others are not at variance therewith? Temperance,
said he, is no other than this, either as respects the state or the
individual. But he will be just, owing to those causes and in the manner
which we have often before mentioned? He must. What then, said I; has
anything blunted us, that we should regard justice as anything else than
what it is seen to be in a state? Not in my opinion at least, said he.
In this manner then (if there yet remain any doubt in the soul), let us,
by all means, satisfy ourselves by bringing the man into difficult
circumstances. As what? For instance, if we be compelled to declare,
concerning such a state and a man born and educated conformably thereto,
whether such a man, if intrusted with gold or silver, is likely to
embezzle it,—who do you think would imagine, that such an one would do
it sooner than those of a different character? No one would, said he.
Will not such an one then be free from sacrileges, thefts, and
treacheries, either privately against his friends, or publicly against
the state? He will. Nor will he ever, in any shape, be faithless, either
as to his oaths, or other compacts? How should he. Adulteries, neglect
of parents, and impiety against the gods, will be found then in any one
rather than such a man as this? Aye, in any one else, truly, said he.
And is not this the cause of all these things,—that, of all the parts
within him each separate one does its own work, as to governing and
being governed? This is it, and nothing else. What else do you wish
justice to be, except such a power as produces men and states like
these? Not I, truly, said he, for my part.
CHAP. XVIII.—Our dream then, which we conjectured, is at last
accomplished; that on our very first attempt to found our state we have
apparently arrived by divine assistance at a principle and pattern of
justice? Quite so. And that, Glaucon, was a certain image of justice,
that the man naturally fitted for the office of a shoemaker, should make
shoes properly, and do nothing else; and that he also, who is a
carpenter, should do that work,—and so also, of the rest. It appears so.
In truth, then, of such a kind was justice, as it seems; nor does it
regard merely a man’s external action, but what is really internal,
relating to the man himself, and what is properly his own; not allowing
any principle in him to attempt what is another’s province, or to meddle
and interfere with what does not belong to it; but really well
establishing his own proper affairs, and maintaining proper
self-government, keeping due order, becoming his own friend, and most
naturally attuning these three principles, as three musical strings,
base, tenor, and treble, or whatever others may intervene:—thus will he
be led to combine all these together, and out of many to form one whole,
temperate, attuned, and able to perform whatever is to be done, either
in acquiring wealth, or managing the body, or any public affair or
private bargain, and in all these cases reckoning that action to be just
and good, which always sustains and promotes this habit; and so also
calling the knowledge which presides over this action wisdom,—and on the
contrary, calling that an unjust action, which destroys this habit,—and
the opinion which presides over this, folly. Perfectly true, Socrates,
said he. Be it so, said I:—if then we should say, that we have found out
a just man and state, and the nature of justice in both, I think we
should not be considered altogether in error. No, by Zeus, said he. May
we assume it, then? We may.
CHAP. XIX.—Be it so, said I. But we were next, I think, to consider
injustice? Clearly so. Is it not then necessarily a kind of variance
between the three principles, a kind of meddling and interfering spirit
in things foreign to their proper business, and an insurrection of some
one principle against the whole soul, to govern where it is not its
province, though it be really of such a nature, that it ought to be in
subjection to the governing principle? I imagine then we are to call
this tumult and error by some such names as these,—injustice,
intemperance, cowardice, folly, and in a word, all vices? Just so, said
he. To commit injustice then, said I, and to be injurious, and likewise
to act justly, all these must be very manifest, if indeed injustice and
justice are so. How? Because, said I, they do not differ from what is
salutary or noxious;—as the latter are in the body, so are the former in
the soul. In what way? said he. Such things as are healthy produce
health, and such as are noxious, disease. Yes. And does not acting
justly produce justice,—and acting unjustly, injustice? Necessarily so.
To produce health, however, is to establish everything in the body, so
that they shall mutually govern and be governed, conformably to
nature,—while the production of disease, on the other hand, consists in
one part governing and being governed by another, contrary to nature. It
is indeed. Then again, said I, to produce justice, is it not to
establish all in the soul, so that its parts shall mutually govern and
be governed according to nature;—and does not injustice consist in
governing and being governed by one another contrary to nature? Plainly
so, said he. Virtue then, as it seems, is a kind of health, beauty, and
good habit of the soul; and vice its disease, deformity, and infirmity?
It is so. Do not honourable pursuits then lead to the attainment of
virtue, but dishonourable to that of vice? They must. What remains for
us to consider then is,—whether it be profitable to act justly, and
pursue what is honourable, and to be just, and whether a man can be of
such a character unconsciously or not;—or to act unjustly, and to be
unjust, though one be never punished, or reformed by correction? But,
said he, Socrates, this inquiry seems, to me at least, quite
ridiculous;—that if in a corrupt state of the body life be deemed not
worth possession, not even though accompanied by all kinds of meats and
drinks, and all wealth and power, yet when the nature of the vital
principle is disordered and thoroughly corrupted, life will then be
worth having, though a man were to do everything else that he likes,
except ascertaining how he shall get released from vice and injustice,
and cultivate justice and virtue,—since both these things have been
proved such as we have represented them. Aye, it would be truly
ridiculous, said I. However, since we have arrived at such a point as
enables us most distinctly to perceive that these things are so, we must
not get weary. On no account, by Zeus, said he, must we be weary. Come
then, said I, and let us see also how many principles vice
possesses,—principles indeed that are worthy of attention. I am all
attention, said he;—only tell me. And truly now, said I;—since we have
reached this part of our discourse, it appears to me, as to one looking
from a height, that there is but one principle of virtue, while those of
vice are infinite:—and of these there are four, particularly deserving
of mention. How say you? replied he. There seem to be as many classes of
the soul as there are forms of government. How many then? Five, said I,
of governments, and five of the soul. Name them, said he. What we have
just described, replied I, is one species of government; and it may have
a twofold appellation; for, if among the rulers one prevails over the
rest, it may be termed a Monarchy,—but if there be several, an
Aristocracy. True, said he. I call this then, said I, one species; for,
whether there be several, or whether it be but one who governs, they
will never alter the principal laws of the state,—because they will
observe the nature and education we have described. It is not likely,
said he.
THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.