BOOK V.

ARGUMENT.

In the _fifth_ book he shows how the magistracy is to be constituted, so

as to establish a prosperous state. True philosophy, says he, is its

basis; and this, so far from being superficial and affecting only

the outward bearing and life of the citizens, turns the mind away

from all these fleeting subjects to that which is real, positive,

and consistent with the knowledge of God. Carrying the subject

somewhat back, therefore, he considers in detail the subject-matter

of philosophy, proving that it is the knowledge both of virtue and

of God, both of which are indispensable to a well-ordered state, in

which either philosophers must be rulers or _vice versâ_. As however

he had said in the third book, that a state’s welfare depended on

the community of ideas and of property, he now shows in detail, how

the duties of men and women are common in a state, and how

consequently themselves and their property too should be common,—a

notion which Aristotle rather severely handles in the second book of

the Politics (ch. 3), where he says, that, though the state be one,

but with this restriction, that we must bear in mind that to

different men belong different dispositions, and if εὐταξία is

gently to be maintained, we must specially guard against confusion

and unnecessary interference, the certain means of downfal to a

state.

CHAP. I.—Such a state and government then, and such a man as we have

described, I term good and upright: and if this government be an upright

one, I reckon the others bad and erroneous, both as to the regulations

in states, and the establishment of the moral nature in individuals,

inasmuch as there are four species of depravity.[159] Of what kind are

these? said he. I was about to mention them in order, as they each

appeared to me to rise one out of another; but Polemarchus stretching

out his hand—(for he sat a little further off than Adimantus,)—caught

him by the robe at his shoulder, and drew him near; and, bending towards

him, he spoke something in a whisper, of which we heard nothing but

this: Shall we let that pass, then? said he, or what shall we do? By no

means, said Adimantus, now speaking aloud. And I replied, What will not

you let pass? You, indeed, said he:—for it was to you I alluded. You

seem to us to be getting careless and to be stealing through a whole

branch of the discourse, and that not the least important, that you may

not have the trouble of going through it; and you think you escaped our

notice, when you made this speech so simply, viz., that it is clear to

every one both as to wives and children, that whatever belongs to

friends will be common. Did not I say right, Adimantus? Yes, said he:

but this, which was rightly said, like the rest of your discourse,

requires explanation;—namely, to show what is the mode of that

community; for there must be many:—do not omit saying then which mode

you mean; for we have been expecting it for some time past, thinking you

would, some time or other, speak of the propagation of children, how

they are to be propagated;—and when born, how they should be brought up,

and everything relating to this community that you were mentioning both

of wives and children; for we suppose it to be of great, nay—paramount

importance to the state, whether this be rightly performed or not. Now

then, since you are taking in hand another kind of state-government

before you have sufficiently discussed this, we have determined, as you

just heard, not to let you pass, without going over all these things, as

you did the others. And me too you may reckon, said Glaucon, as joining

in this vote. Be quite sure, Socrates, said Thrasymachus, that this is

the opinion of us all.

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Footnote 159:

The argument here interrupted respecting the four kinds of depravity,

individually or in states, is resumed at the commencement of the

eighth book.

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CHAP. II.—What have you done, said I, in seizing me thus? What a mighty

talk is this you are again raising, as you did at the beginning, about

your republic, which I was so glad at having completely described,

pleased [to think] that any one would let these things pass, and admit

what was then said!—And as to what you now challenge me to, you know not

what a swarm of disputes you are stirring up: I foresaw them, and let

them pass at that time, for fear of making a great disturbance. What

then, said Thrasymachus, think you that these are now come hither to

melt gold, and not to hear reasonings?[160] Aye, said I, but in

moderation. As for moderation, Socrates, said Glaucon, the whole of life

serves for hearing such reasonings as these:—but let pass what relates

to us; and as to what we are inquiring, do not begrudge explaining what

you think about it,—what sort of community of wives and children is to

be observed by our guardians, and how the latter ought to be reared

while very young, in the period between their birth and their education,

which seems to be the most troublesome of all. Try and tell us now, how

that is to be accomplished. It is not easy, my good fellow, said I, to

describe them; for many of them are very hard to be believed, even more

than those we have before described; for even their possibility we might

well disbelieve; and even were they possible, one might still doubt,

whether they would best be done in this particular way:—on this account,

my dear friend, I somewhat hesitate to touch on these topics, lest our

reasoning appear to be a mere wish, rather than absolute reality. Do not

hesitate now, said he; for your hearers are neither unreasonable, nor

incredulous, nor ill-disposed. Now, my very good Glaucon, said I, is it

with the desire of reassuring me, that you say this? I do, said he. Then

you have produced quite a contrary effect, said I; for could I trust to

myself, that I thoroughly know what I am to say, your encouragement

would have been quite right; for among intelligent and friendly persons,

one who understands the truth, may speak with safety and confidence

about the most important matters; but when one speaks, as of course I

do, with diffidence and a sort of searching spirit, there is both fear

and danger, not only of being exposed to ridicule (for that is but a

trifling thing), but lest, mistaking the truth, I not only fall myself,

but draw my friends along with me into an error about matters, in which

we ought least of all to be mistaken. I conjure Adrasteia,[161]

therefore, Glaucon, with respect to what I am going to say:—For I hope

it is a smaller offence to be unintentionally a murderer, than an

impostor about what is good and excellent, just and lawful: and as for

this risk, it were better to risk it among enemies than friends; so that

you are not giving me proper encouragement. Then said Glaucon, laughing:

Aye, but Socrates, even if we should suffer aught amiss from your

discourse, we acquit you as clear of homicide, and as no impostor: so

proceed boldly. But the man, said I, who is acquitted in a court of

justice is, at any rate, deemed clear of the crime, as the law says; and

if it be so in that case, it should be so in this. As respects this

then, said he, pray proceed. We must now, said I, once more return to

what perhaps in strict order should have been considered before; and

thus perhaps it would be correct, after having entirely completed the

men’s part, to complete also the women’s; especially since you challenge

me to do so.

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Footnote 160:

The verb χρυσοχοεῖν is used proverbially to indicate the entertaining

of great hopes that are afterwards unfulfilled.

Footnote 161:

Adrasteia or Nemesis was a daughter of Zeus, and regarded as the

punisher of murderers and homicides,—even those involuntarily so. See

Blomfield’s note to Æschyl. Prom. v. 972.

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CHAP. III.—Men who have been born and educated as we have described,

cannot, in my opinion, otherwise rightly acquire and employ their wives

and children than by following the same track, in which we have

proceeded from the beginning: for we surely undertook, in our argument,

to represent men as the guardians of a flock. Yes. Let us proceed then,

to give the children a corresponding birth and education; and let us

consider, whether it be proper for us or not. How? replied he. Thus: Are

we to reckon it proper for the females among our guardian dogs to watch

and hunt, and do everything else in common with the males; or rather to

manage domestic affairs within doors, as being disabled from other

exercises on account of bearing and nursing the whelps, while the males

are to labour and take the entire charge of the flocks? All in common,

said he; except that we employ the females as the weaker, and the males

as the stronger. Is it possible then, said I, to employ an animal for

the same purposes [with another,] without giving it the same nurture and

education? It is not possible. If therefore, we are to employ the women

for the same purposes as the men, must we not give them also the same

kind of instruction? Yes. Were both music and gymnastics bestowed on the

males? Yes. To the women too, then, we must impart these two arts, and

those likewise that refer to war; and we must employ them in the same

manner. It is probable from what you say, said he. Perhaps, however,

said I, many things, concerning what we are now speaking, may appear

ridiculous, because contrary to custom,—if they shall be practised in

the way now mentioned. Quite so, replied he. But which of them, said I,

do you conceive to be the most ridiculous? Would it not clearly be to

behold the women naked in the palæstra wrestling with the men, and not

only the young women, but even those more advanced in years, just like

the old men in the wrestling-schools, who are still fond of the

exercises, though wrinkled, and not at all comely to the eye? Aye, by

Zeus, said he; it would appear truly ridiculous, as present fashions go.

Ought we not then, said I, since we have entered on this discourse, to

fear the raillery of wits, which they would probably bestow pretty

abundantly on such innovations [as respects exercising the women] in

gymnastics, music, and more especially in the use of arms, and the

management of horses? You say right, he replied. But since we have

entered on this discourse, let us go to the rigour of the law, and beg

these men not to be the slaves of prejudice, but to think seriously, and

remember, that not long since the sight of naked men appeared base and

disgusting to the Greeks, just as now indeed it does to most of the

barbarians: and when first the Cretans, and afterwards the

Lacedæmonians, began their exercises, the wits of that day might have

made a jest of all this: do not you think so? I do. But methinks, when

those experienced in the art thought it better to strip themselves, than

to cover up such parts, the merely apparent ridiculousness of the thing

is set aside by the advantage stated in our reasoning; and this, too,

manifestly shows that the man is a fool who deems anything ridiculous

except what is bad, and tries to run down as ridiculous any other idea

but that of the foolish and the vicious, or employs himself seriously

with any other end in view but that of the good. Assuredly, said he.

CHAP. IV.—Must we not then, first of all, agree on this,—whether these

things be possible or not;—and set forth a question, whether any one,

either in jest or earnest, can doubt, if the human nature in the female

can in all cases share with the male, or in no case share at all; or in

some cases, but not in others; and this too with reference to what

concerns war? Would not the man who thus sets out so also probably

conclude? Certainly, said he. Do you wish then, said I, that we should

argue against ourselves about these things, in order that the opposite

side may not, if attacked, be destitute of defence? Nothing hinders,

said he. Let us then say this for them: There is no need, Socrates and

Glaucon, for others to dispute with you about this matter; for

yourselves, in first establishing your state, agreed that each

individual ought to practise one business, according to his particular

talent. We did so agree, I think; for how could we do otherwise? Does

not then the nature of a woman differ widely from that of a man? Of

course it differs. And is it not right to allot to each a different

work, according to the nature of each? Of course. Are not you in the

wrong then, and do you not contradict yourselves, in saying that men and

women ought to do the same things, with natures so widely different?

Have you any answer to make against this, my clever Glaucon? To do so on

the moment is no such easy matter, said he; but I will entreat you, and

I do so now, to unravel the arguments on our side, whatever they may be.

These, Glaucon, replied I, and many other such things, are what I long

ago foresaw; and I was both afraid and unwilling to touch on the law

concerning the possession of wives and the education of children. No, by

Zeus, replied he, it seems no easy matter. Certainly not, said I. The

case, however, is thus: If a man fall into a small fish-pond, or quite

into the ocean itself, still he has to swim no less. Certainly. Let us

too, then, swim, and try to escape from this argument, expecting that

either some dolphin[162] will rescue us, or that we shall have some

other remarkable deliverance? It seems we ought, replied he. Come then,

said I;—let us see, if we can anywhere find an outlet; for we

acknowledged that different natures ought to study different things, and

that the natures of a woman and a man are different; yet now we say,

that different natures ought to study the same things:—do you accuse us

of this? Just so. How admirable, Glaucon, said I, is the power of the

art of disputing! How? Because, replied I, many seem to fall into it

unwillingly, supposing that they are not cavilling, but reasoning truly,

owing to their inability to divide a subject rightly and investigate it

according to its species; but following the literal sense, they pursue

what is quite contradictory to their subject, making use of cavilling

instead of argument. This is indeed the case with many, said he; but

does that extend likewise to us in the present instance? Quite so, said

I; for I think, that without meaning it, we have fallen into a

contradiction. How? Because we have very boldly and disputatiously

asserted, that unless persons’ natures are the same, they ought not to

have the same employments; though we have not at all inquired the sort

of difference and identity of the nature [here referred to,] and with

reference to which we defined them, when we ascribed different pursuits

to different natures, and to the same natures the same pursuits. No

certainly, said he, we did not consider that. It would seem then,

replied I, that we may still ask ourselves the question, whether the

nature of the bald and those who wear hair be the same and not

different;—and if we agree that it be different, whether, if the bald

made shoes, we should let those who wear hair make them;—or if again,

those who wear hair [made them, whether we should allow] the others [to

do so likewise]? That were ridiculous, replied he. Is it then

ridiculous, said I, for any other reason than that we did not then in

general define the sameness and diversity of natures, but observed only

that species of diversity and sameness, which respects their peculiar

functions, just as we say that a physician, and a man who has a genius

for being a physician, have one and the same nature? Do not you think

so? I do. But have the physician and the carpenter a different [nature]?

Most assuredly.

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Footnote 162:

Allusion is here made to the fable of Arion,—or if not to that, to the

vulgar notion that the dolphin was particularly friendly to man. See

Plin. Hist. Nat. ix. 8.

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CHAP. V.—In that case, said I, as regards the natures of men and women,

if they appear different, with respect to any art, or other employment,

we are supposed to assign to each separately his proper employment:—but

if it appear to differ only in this,—namely, that the female bears

children, and the male begets them,—we must not say that it has at all

as yet been proved that a man differs from a woman in the sense of which

we are speaking, and we must still think, that both our guardians and

their wives may pursue the same employments. And with reason, said he.

After this, then, should we not require any one who says the contrary,

to inform us on this point,—what is that art or function in the

arrangements of a state, where the nature of a man and woman is not the

same, but different? A reasonable demand, too. Perhaps then some one may

reply, as you said some time since, that it is not easy all at once to

explain this sufficiently, but yet no hard matter for one who has

considered it? Yes,—one might well say so. Do you wish then, that we

should request such an opponent to follow us, while we try to show him,

that there is no function peculiar to a woman in the management of a

state? By all means. Come then (we will say to him), answer us:—did you

not mean that one man has a natural talent for anything, and another

not, in this respect,—namely, that one learns a thing easily, and

another with difficulty; and one with a little instruction discovers

much in what he learns, while another, after much instruction and care,

does not retain even what he has learned; and that with the one, the

body is duly subservient to the mind; while in the other it is opposed

to it?—Well, and what other marks are there besides these, by which you

would distinguish a man that has particular talents from him that has

none at all? One cannot mention any other, said he. Know you then of any

function performed by mankind, in which the males have not all these

characteristics in a superior degree to the females;—and would it not be

tedious to specify particularly the weaving art, and the making of

pastry and spice-meats, for which female talents seem to have some

repute, and cannot be surpassed without the greatest disgrace? You are

right, said he, in saying that in all things universally the talent of

the one is superior to that of the other;—yet many women are superior in

many respects to many men; though, on the whole, it is as you say. There

is no function, my friend, then, among the entire members of our state

that is peculiar to woman, considered as such, nor to man, considered as

such; but natural talents are indiscriminately diffused through both,

and the woman naturally shares in all offices, the same as the man,

though in all cases the woman is weaker than the man. Certainly. Are we

then to commit all [state concerns] to the men, and none to the women?

How should we? It is true then, I think (as we say), that one woman too

is fitted for being a physician, and another not so,—one is musical,

another by nature unmusical. How otherwise? And is one fitted for

gymnastics and warlike,—another not fitted either for war or gymnastics?

That is my opinion too. And what;—is not one a lover of philosophy, and

another averse to it; and one high-spirited, and another timid? This is

true, too. And is not one woman naturally suited for being a guardian,

and another not so;—and have we not made choice of such a talent as this

for our guardian men? Yes—just of such as this. The nature then of the

woman and of the man, as respects the guardianship of the state, is the

same,—only that the one is weaker, the other stronger. So it seems.

CHAP. VI.—Women such as these then are to be chosen to dwell with such

men, and to be their fellow-guardians,—inasmuch as they are naturally

suited for them, and of kindred talents. Certainly. And must not the

same employments be assigned to the same natures? The same. We have now

got round then, to our former point; and, we allow that it is not

contrary to nature, to allot to the wives of our guardians the study

both of music and gymnastics? Assuredly. We did not establish then what

is impossible, or to be only vainly wished for, when we established the

law according to nature:—and it would seem rather, that what is at

present contrary to these things is contrary to nature? It seems so. Was

not then our inquiry, whether our establishment was possible and best?

It was. And we have agreed, that it is possible? Yes. And we must next

be convinced, that it is best? Clearly so. In order, therefore, that a

woman may become a suitable guardian, there will not be one mode of

education for making men [guardians,] and another for women, especially

as the latter have received the same natural genius? No,—it will not be

different. What think you then of such an opinion as this? Of what? That

of imagining in your own mind, that one man is better and another

worse;—or do you deem them to be all alike? By no means. In the state

then which we were just establishing,—which of the two do you think to

make the better men,—the guardians provided with this education we have

described, or shoemakers that are taught shoemaking? That question,

replied he, is ridiculous. I understand you, said I:—but, tell me; of

all the other citizens, are not they the best? By far. But what;—will

not these women too be the best of women? They will, replied he, by far.

Is there anything better in a state, than that both women and men be

rendered the very best? There is not. And this is to be effected by

music and gymnastics being imparted to them, as we have described? Of

course. We have been establishing then a law, which is not only

possible, but best also for the state? Just so. We must unclothe, then,

the wives of our guardians, since they are to put on virtue for

clothes;[163] and they must bear a part in war, and all other

guardianship of the state, and do nothing else:—but of these special

services the lightest part is to be allotted to the women rather than

the men, on account of the weakness of their sex:—and the man who laughs

at naked women while going through their exercises with a view to the

best object, reaps the unripe fruit of a ridiculous wisdom, and seems

not rightly to know at what he laughs, or why he does it:[164]—for that

ever was and will be deemed a noble saying, that the profitable is

beautiful, and the hurtful base. Assuredly.

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Footnote 163:

The expression of Herodotus, Clio, ch. 8, is not dissimilar:—ἅμα δὲ

χιτῶνι ἐκδυομένῳ συνεκδύεται καὶ τὴν αἰδω γυνή.

Footnote 164:

The cited words—ἀτελῆ σοφίας δρέπων καρπόν are from Pindar. See.

Stobæus, Serm. ccxi. p. 711, and Boeck’s Pindar, vol. ii. part 2, p.

669.

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CHAP. VII.—We may say then, that we have escaped one wave, as it were,

by thus settling the law with respect to women, and have not been quite

overwhelmed, through determining that our male and female guardians are

to manage all things in common:[165] and besides that, our reasoning has

been consistent with itself, as respects both what is possible and

advantageous also. Truly, it is no small wave you have escaped, said he.

You will not call it a great one, replied I, when you see what follows.

Tell me, said he; and let me see. After this enactment, replied I, and

the others formerly mentioned, the following, I think, comes naturally.

Which is that? That these women be all common to all these men, and that

no one woman dwell with any man privately, and that their children

likewise be common;—so that neither shall the parents know their own

children, nor the children their parents.[166] This, in comparison with

the other, is far more difficult to persuade, both as to its possibility

and utility. I do not think, replied I, as to its utility at least, that

any one would doubt about it being a very great good to have the women

and children in common, if it were but possible:—but the greatest

question, methinks, will be, whether it be possible or not? One might

very well, said he, raise a discussion on both points. You are

mentioning, replied I, a combination of discussions; but I thought, at

least, that I should escape from one of them, if its utility had been

agreed on, and that in that case it would only have remained to consider

its possibility. But you have not slunk off, said he, quite unobserved;

and so, give us an account of both. I must submit to a trial, said

I:—indulge me thus far, however: let me feast myself, as the slow in

intellect are wont to feast themselves, when they walk alone:—for men of

this sort, I imagine, ere finding out how to attain what they desire,

waive that inquiry, in order that they may not tire themselves in

deliberating about its possibility or impossibility, supposing they have

obtained what they desire, and then they go through what

remains,—rejoicing, also, to recount what they will do, when it has

happened, and rendering their soul, otherwise indolent, more indolent

still. Now I too am become languid, and would, therefore, defer such

debates, and inquire afterwards into the possibility of these

[arrangements]. At present, however, supposing them possible, I will, if

you please, consider how our rulers are to regulate matters thence

arising, in order that the doing of these things may be most

advantageous both to the state and the guardians:—this, first, I will

try to examine with your assistance, and the other question afterwards,

if you allow me. Oh, I will give you leave, said he;—so pray proceed

with your inquiry.

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Footnote 165:

The figure here used bears some resemblance to that used in ch. iv. of

this book, p. 453 d:—ἄντε τις εἰς κολυμβήθραν μικρὰν ἐμπέσῃ, ἄντε εἰς

τὸ μέγιστον πέλαγος μέσον, &c.

Footnote 166:

This peculiar notion on the community of wives and children is

severely handled by Aristotle, Polit. ii. ch. 2, and Hist. Anim. ix.

1. It seems probable, however, that Plato did not intend here entirely

to destroy all domestic ties whatever, but to inculcate a general

community of goods as far as possible,—as most conducive to civil

concord and national prosperity. Compare, however, the opening of the

ninth chapter of this book. The fact is, that the question is here

viewed simply in its physical, not in its moral relations.

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I imagine then, said I, if our rulers will be worthy of that name, and

those also who are their auxiliaries, that the latter will cheerfully do

whatever they are bidden, while the former will take the command, giving

their directions in some matters conformably to the laws, and imitating

their spirit in whatever matters we leave to their sole guidance. Very

likely, said he. Do you then, their lawgiver, said I, as you have chosen

out the men, so choose out also the women, making them, as far as

possible, of similar dispositions:—and these, as they dwell and eat

together in common, and none possesses anything whatever in private,

will be always together;—and as they mingle in the gymnastic yards and

in all their other training exercises, they will, I think, be led by

innate necessity, to mutual intimacies:—do not you think I am speaking

of what must necessarily happen? Not, replied he, by any geometrical

necessity, but by one founded on love, which seems to be more cogent

than the other, in persuading and winning over the bulk of mankind.

CHAP. VIII.—Quite so, said I; but in the next place, Glaucon, to form

irregular intimacies, or to do anything else of the same character, is

not at all right in a city of happy persons, nor ought the rulers to

allow it. No, it were not just, said he. It is evident, by right, in the

next place, to make marriages as far as possible sacred; and those most

advantageous would be sacred. Altogether so. How then are they to be

most advantageous? Tell me this, Glaucon;—for in your house I see both

sporting dogs, and a great number of well-bred birds; have you, by Zeus,

ever attended to their pairing, and bringing forth young? How? said he.

First of all, among these, though all be well-bred, are not some of them

far better than all the rest? They are. Do you breed then from all

alike; or are you anxious to do so, as far as possible, from the best

breeds? From the best. But how; from the youngest or the oldest, or

those quite in their prime? From those in their prime. And if they are

not thus bred, you consider that the breed both of birds and dogs

greatly degenerates? I do, replied he. And what think you as to horses,

said I, and other animals;—is the case otherwise with respect to these?

It were absurd [to think so,] said he. How strange, my dear fellow, said

I; what extremely perfect governors must we have,—if the same applies to

the human race! Nevertheless, it is so, replied he; but what then?

Because, said I, they must necessarily use many medicines; but as for a

physician, where the body does not want medicines, but men willingly

subject themselves to a regimen of diet, we think that an inferior and

less skilful one may suffice; but when there is need for taking

medicines, we know that we want a more able physician. True; but with

reference to what do you say this? With reference to this, replied I: it

seems likely that our rulers must use an abundance of lying and deceit

for the advantage of the governed; and we said somewhere, that all these

things were useful in the way of a remedy. Rightly too, said he. This

apparent right now seems by no means inconsiderable in marriages and the

propagation of children. How so? It necessarily follows, said I, from

what has been acknowledged, that the best men should as often as

possible form alliances with the best women, and the most depraved men,

on the contrary, with the most depraved women; and the offspring of the

former is to be educated, but not of the latter, if the flock is to be

of the most perfect kind:—and this must be so done, as to escape the

notice of all but the governors themselves, if at any rate the whole

band of the guardians is to be as free as possible from sedition. Quite

right, said he. Are there not to be festivals legally established, in

which we shall draw together the brides and bridegrooms;—and must not

there be sacrifices, and hymns composed by our poets suitable to the

marriages in course of celebration?—But as to the number of the

marriages, this we will leave to the rulers, that they may as much as

possible keep up the same number of men, having a regard both to wars

and diseases, and all other such matters, so that as far as possible our

state may be neither great nor small. Right, said he. And chances too, I

conceive, should be so well managed, that the depraved man may, on every

turn of them, accuse his fortune, and not the governors. Of course, said

he.

CHAP. IX.—As for those youths, who distinguish themselves, either in war

or other pursuits, they ought to have rewards and prizes given them, and

the most ample liberty of lying with women, that so, under this pretext,

the greatest number of children may spring from such parentage. Right.

And as for the offspring born from time to time, are the authorities

presiding over these matters to receive them, whether they be men or

women, or both?—for somehow these offices belong in common both to men

and women. Yes, they do. As respects, then, the children of worthy

persons, I think, they should carry them to some retirement, to certain

nurses dwelling apart in a certain quarter of the city; but as for the

children of the more depraved, and such of the rest as may be maimed or

lame, they will hide them, as is right, in some secret and obscure

place. Yes, indeed, said he, if the race of guardians is to be pure.

Will they not then take care also of their children’s nurture, bringing

to the nursery mothers with full breasts, taking every precaution that

no woman should recognise her own child, and, where the mothers cannot

suckle them, providing others who would be able to do so? And they will

be careful also of this most particularly, that the nurses suckle only

during a proper time, and they will enjoin, both on the nurses and

keepers, their watching duties, and every other necessary toil. You

speak, said he, of a time of great ease to the wives of our guardians,

in the breeding of children. Yes, for it should be so, replied I. But

let us next discuss what we were so anxious to do, when we said that the

procreation of children should take place among persons in the prime of

life. True. Do you agree with me then, that this prime season is at

twenty in a woman, and at thirty in a man? How do you reckon this time

for each sex? said he.[167] The woman, replied I, is to bear children to

the state from the age of twenty to that of forty; and the man, after

having passed the most excitable period of his course, is from that

period to beget children to the state up to the age of fifty-five. This

indeed, is the prime, replied he, in both sexes, both as respects body

and mind. If then any one, either older or younger than these, should

employ himself in begetting children for the commonwealth, we should say

that the trespass is neither right nor just, since he is begetting to

the state a child, which (if concealed) is born and grows up, ushered in

neither by sacrifices nor prayers—(which, on every marriage, the

priestesses and priests, and the whole state offer, that the descendants

of the good may be still better, and that from useful descendants others

still more useful may arise),—but is born in darkness, and the result of

dreadful incontinence. Right, said he. And the law, said I, must be the

same, if any of those men, who are yet of the age for procreation, have

intercourse with women of a proper age, without the magistrate’s leave;

for we may consider him as having raised to the state a bastard, born in

adultery and unhonoured by religious auspices. Most right, said he. And

I presume, whenever either the women or the men are past the age of

procreation, we are to let the men cohabit with any woman they like,

except their daughter and mother, and the children of their daughters,

or those upwards from their mother; and so likewise the women are to

embrace any, except a son, a father, and the children of these, in

either direction: all this liberty we are to grant them, after we have

enjoined them to be careful, first, if a child be conceived, not to

bring it to the light, but if, by accident, it should be brought forth,

so to expose it as if there were no provision for it. All these things,

said he, are reasonably said:—but how are the fathers and daughters, and

the other relations you just mentioned, to be known to one another? They

are not to be known at all, said I; but from the day on which any one is

married, whatever children are born between the seventh or tenth month

after it, all these he is to call, the males his sons, and the females

his daughters, and they are to call him father; and in the same way

again, he is to call the children of these—grandchildren; and they in

turn are to call them grandfathers and grandmothers; and those who were

born during the period in which their fathers and mothers were begetting

children, they shall call sisters and brothers, as I just observed,—so

that they may have no sexual intercourse.—But as for brothers and

sisters, the law will allow them to live together,—if their lot so fall,

and the Pythian oracle give consent. Quite right, said he.

-----

Footnote 167:

The Greek (τὰ ποῖα αὐτῶν) is very elliptical; but we agree with Cousin

in considering this to be its real meaning.

-----

CHAP. X.—This, and such as this, Glaucon, is the community of women and

children, among the guardians of the state: and that this is consistent

both with the rest of our polity, and is by far the best, we must next

establish from reason;—or how shall we do? By Zeus, just so, said he. Is

not this, then, the beginning of our agreement, to ask ourselves what we

can allege to be the greatest good for the establishment of a state,

with a view to which the lawgiver is to enact the laws, and what the

greatest evil,—and next to examine, whether what we have hitherto

described tends to or conforms with the track of the good, and is

opposed to that of the evil? Most certainly, said he. Is there, then,

any greater evil for a state than that which tears it in pieces, and

makes it many instead of one;—or, any greater good than that which binds

it together, and makes it one? There is not. Does not then the communion

both of pleasure and pain bind men together, when the whole of the

citizens as much as possible rejoice and mourn in fellowship, for the

same matters, whether gainful or the contrary?[168] Assuredly, he

replied. And again, any mere private perception of such things dissolves

[that union,] when some grieve exceedingly, and others rejoice

exceedingly at the same events, either in the state or those composing

it? Of course. Does not this then arise from the following

circumstance,—when such words as these are not pronounced at the same

time in a state, as _mine_, and _not mine_; and with regard to what

concerns another, in the same way? Aye, surely. And the state, in which

the greatest number unite in saying of the same things, that _this

concerns me_, and _that does not concern me_,—that is best regulated? By

far. And it is that also, which most closely resembles the individual

man;—just as, when a person’s finger is wounded, the entire fellowship

of feeling, extending through the body towards the soul, and producing

that harmony which is the work of the governing principle within it,

[viz. the soul,][169] experiences a sensation, and at the same time

wholly sympathizes with the ailing part; and thus we say that the man

has a finger-ache:—and so also, with respect to any part whatever of the

human frame, the same reasoning applies either with respect to grief,

when a part is in pain, or with respect to pleasure, when it is at ease.

Aye, the very same, said he: and as to what you are asking, the state

that nearest approaches this is the best governed. When, therefore, any

individual citizen receives good or ill, such a state, methinks, will

most especially maintain that she herself is the party affected, and

will unite as a whole in joy or mourning. That must be the case, said

he, in a state, governed, at least, by good laws.

-----

Footnote 168:

Gr. τῶν αὐτῶν γιγνομένων τε καὶ ἀπολλυμένων, &c.

Footnote 169:

Gr. ὅταν που ἡμῶν δάκτυλός που πληγῇ, πᾶσα ἡ κοινωνία ἡ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα

πρὸς τὴν ψυχὴν τεταμένη εἰς μίαν σύνταξιν τὴν τοῦ ἄρχοντος ἐν αὐτῇ,

&c.

-----

CHAP. XI.—It will be time perhaps for us to return to our state, and

consider as to the points on which we have agreed in our discussion,

whether they belong more particularly to our state than any other.

Yes,—we must, he replied. What then? there are surely in other states,

both governors and people?—and so also in this? There are. And will not

all these address one another as citizens? Of course. But besides

calling them citizens, what do the people call their governors under the

other forms of government? In most states, masters, but in democracies,

this very name governors. But what as to the people in our state?

besides citizens, what do they say their governors are? Saviours, said

he, and helpers. And what do they call the people? Paymasters, replied

he, and supporters. And in the other states, what do the governors call

their people? Slaves, he replied. And what do the governors call one

another? Fellow-governors, said he. And ours, what? Fellow-guardians.

Can you then tell about the governors in other states, whether any one

of them can address one of his fellow-governors as an intimate, and

another as a stranger? Aye, very many can. Does he not then esteem and

speak of his intimate as his own, and the stranger as not his own? Just

so. But how is it with your guardians? Is there any one of them, who can

esteem or address any of his fellow-guardians as a stranger? By no

means, he replied;—for with whomever a person falls in, he will conceive

that he falls in with a brother or sister, or a father or mother, or a

son or daughter, or their descendants or ancestry. You speak exceedingly

well, replied I:—and further, tell me this also, whether you will give

them only a legal right to these familiar names,—or rather bid them

perform all their actions in accordance with these names, especially as

respects parents, whatever the law enjoins as the parents’ due,—such as

reverence, and care, and obedience,—it being otherwise not for his

advantage, either in the sight of God or of men, inasmuch as he would do

what is neither holy nor just, if he acted otherwise than thus?—Will

these, or other maxims coming from the whole body of our citizens, echo

close round the ears of our children, both about their parents, when

pointed out to them, and about other relations likewise? These [maxims

must so,] replied he; for it were ridiculous, if, without actions, their

proper names were uttered by the mouth alone. Of all states then, in

this especially, when any one individual fares either well or ill, the

citizens will mostly agree in exclaiming, according to our late

expression,—namely, “Mine fares well, or mine ill?” Quite true, said he.

Did we not say too, that agreeably to this opinion and expression, their

common pleasures and pains should agree? Aye,—and we said rightly. Will

not then our citizens most especially hold in common that same thing,

which they call “_my own_,”—and, holding this in common, thus have a

special fellowship in pleasure and pain? Very much so. And the cause of

all this, independently of other regulations of the state,—is it not the

community of women and children among the guardians? Most especially so,

he replied.

CHAP. XII.—We had agreed, moreover, as to the greatest good of a state,

by comparing a well-managed state to a body, which feels pleasure or

pain affecting any part of it. Aye, we were right, said he, in agreeing

about this. The cause then of all this high degree of good to our state

was found to be the community of women and children among our defenders?

Surely, replied he. And in that case, we agree at least with what was

before alleged; for we said, I believe, that they ought to have neither

houses of their own, nor land, nor any possession, but to receive their

subsistence from others, as a reward for their guardianship, and all to

consume it in common, if they mean really to be guardians? Right, said

he. Do not then, as I say, the circumstances formerly mentioned, and

still more those now mentioned, cause them to be true guardians, and

prevent those divisions in the state [which arise] from not calling one

and the same thing their own,—but one one thing, and another

another;—one drawing to his own dwelling whatever he can acquire

separately from the rest, and another, to his likewise that which is

separate; and also different wives and children, occasioning both

pleasures and pains, individually private, though holding one and the

same opinion concerning what is domestic,—all, as far as possible,

pointing towards the same thing,—namely, a community of feeling

respecting pleasure and pain? Of course, we grant that, replied he. But

what?—will not lawsuits and criminal charges in the courts be banished

from among them (so to speak), from the fact of their possessing nothing

in private but their body, but all the rest in common,—owing to which,

they will be kept free from all the dissensions which men raise about

money, or children and relatives? It is quite clear, they will be thus

relieved. And, moreover, in these there could not fairly be any suits,

as regards personal violence or improper treatment:—for conceiving

personal preservation to be an absolute necessity, we will own it to be

handsome and just for compeers in age to help their compeers. Right,

said he. And this privilege, said I, at any rate this law possesses:—if

a man be in a passion with any one, he will in such a case be less apt

to venture on still greater seditions. Certainly. The elder, moreover,

will be ordered both to govern and chastise all the younger. Clearly so.

And moreover, as to the younger, with regard to the elder, unless the

magistrates order it, he will never attempt to beat the elder, or

otherwise offer him violence,—nor, methinks, will he by any other means

dishonour him:—for there are two sufficient guardians to hinder it, fear

and respect,—respect on the one hand restraining him from laying hands

on a parent, and fear on the other, that others might come to the

defence of the sufferer;—some as sons, others as brothers, and others as

fathers. Yes,—such is the case, said he. In every respect then, in

consequence of the laws, these men, [_i. e._ the warriors,] will enjoy

peace with one another? Yes, much. And so long as these do not quarrel

among themselves, there is no danger of the rest of the state rising or

mutually splitting into factions. No, of course not. As for the least

important evils, I am unwilling for propriety’s sake even to mention

from how many they will have been relieved,—the poor, [for instance,] as

regards the work of flattering the rich,—and the difficulties and

anxieties, which people have in bringing up their children and procuring

money for the support of servants,—sometimes borrowing, sometimes

denying debts, and at other times using all manner of shifts in

procuring [money,] and then giving it to the management of their wives

and domestics;—about these matters, friend, how many slavish and ignoble

troubles they suffer are not even worthy to be mentioned. Yes, they are

manifest, said he, even to one blind.

CHAP. XIII.—From all these troubles, therefore, they will be relieved,

and will live more blessedly than that most blessed life which those

live who gain the Olympic prizes. How? On one small account only are

those esteemed happy, compared with what these enjoy;—for the victory of

these is more noble, and their maintenance at the public expense more

complete: inasmuch as the victory that they gain brings safety to the

entire state,—and by way of crown and reward, both they and their

children receive their maintenance and all other necessaries of life,

thus winning honours from their own state while living, and at their

death an honourable funeral. Noble rewards! indeed, said he. Do you

remember, then, said I, that in a former part of our discussion, some

one,—I know not who,—objected to us, that we were not making our

guardians happy, by decreeing that those who had the whole wealth of the

citizens at their command should nevertheless have nothing at all?—and

we said, I believe, that we would consider this afterwards, if it fell

in our way; but that at present we were making our guardians real

guardians, and the state itself as happy as possible, without

exclusively regarding any single class in it, with a view to make it

happy? I remember, said he. What think you now of the life of our

auxiliaries, which appears far more noble and happy than that of those

of the Olympic prizemen;—do you think it can be compared to the life of

the leather-cutter, or any other kind of craftsman, or even the farmer?

I do not think so, said he. Still even, what I said before, it is proper

that I mention here also,—if the guardian should try to become happy in

such a way as to lose his character as a guardian, and not be content

with a life thus moderate and steady, and as we say, of the best

quality, but on the other hand be impelled by a silly boyish notion

about happiness, to appropriate to himself all the property in the

state, because he has the power, he will know that Hesiod was really

wise, in saying that “the half is considerably more than the

whole.”[170] If he take me for his counsellor, said he, he will remain

in such a life. You agree then, said I, as to the fellowship of the

women with the men, which we have explained, in matters referring to

education and children, and the guardianship of the other citizens;—that

whether they remain in the state, or go forth to war, they ought to keep

guard with them, and hunt with them like hounds, and in every case take

a share in all things, as far as they can; and that doing these things

they will do what is best, and not contrary to the nature of the female,

as regards the male,—by which nature, indeed, they act jointly with one

another? I agree, said he.

-----

Footnote 170:

Comp. Hes. Op. et Di. v. 40—νήπιοι οὐδ’ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ἥμισυ παντός.

-----

CHAP. XIV.—Does not this then, said I, still remain to be discussed,

whether it be possible that this community of habits can take place

among men, even as among other animals? and how it is possible? You have

forestalled me, said he, by mentioning what I was just going to ask.

Aye;—for as to war, said I, it is plain, methinks, how they will fight.

How? said he. They will go out jointly on their military expeditions,

and will carry along with them to battle also such of their children as

are robust, in order that those of the craftsmen may see what they ought

to practise when arrived at full age, and, apart from mere observation,

may serve and minister in all such matters subserviently both to their

fathers and mothers. Have you not observed also what happens in the

common arts, as, for instance, among the children of the potters,—how

long a time they help and look on, before they apply themselves to the

making of pottery? Yes, indeed. Should these then, or our guardians, be

more careful in instructing their children by their own experience, and

by observation of what is suitable for them? [To suppose that the

craftsman would,] replied he, were truly ridiculous. Yet every creature

whatever will fight more valiantly in the presence of its offspring? It

is so: but there is no small danger, Socrates, should they be defeated,

as is often the case in war, that when their children, as well as

themselves, are cut off, it will be impossible to restore the rest of

the state. Yon speak truly, replied I: but think you, that our first

duty should Be never to expose them to risk? No, by no means. What then:

if they are to hazard themselves in any case, is it not—where they will

become better men, if they succeed? Clearly so. But do you think it a

small matter, and unworthy of the risk, that children destined for

military life should or should not be observers of the transactions of

war? No;—for it is highly important with reference to what you now

mention. This then, we must first contrive,—to make our children

spectators of war, yet providing for their safety:—and then all will go

well, will it not? Yes. And surely their fathers, said I, in the first

place, as far as men can, will not be ignorant, but well informed as to

the kinds of expeditions which are dangerous or not so. Probably so,

said he. Into the one then, they will take them; but will be cautious of

exposing them to the other. Right. And they will probably, said I, set

governors over them, not such as are the most depraved, but such as by

experience and years are able leaders and trainers of the young. Yes,

quite proper. Yet many things, we may say, happen to many contrary to

expectation. Quite so. With reference, therefore, to such events as

these, it is fit that we should provide the children with things while

quite young, in order, if need be, that they may escape by flight. How

do you mean? said he. We must mount them on horseback, said I, when

extremely young; and when they have learnt to ride, they must be taken

to see battles, not on high-mettled war-horses, but on the fleetest and

most obedient to the rein; for thus they will best observe their proper

work, and in case of need, escape with the greatest safety, following

the aged leaders. I think, said he, your remark is correct. What then,

said I, as to the affairs of war; how are you to manage our soldiers,

both as respects each other and their enemies? Is my opinion correct or

not? Tell me what it is, replied he. As for that man among them, said I,

who has left his rank, thrown away his arms, or done any such like act

from mere cowardice, ought we not to make him a craftsman, or field

labourer? Certainly. And the man who is taken alive by the enemy, should

he not be given away as a present to those inclined to use their booty

just as they please? Yes, surely. And as to him who has signalized

himself and attained to high renown, think you not, that he ought, first

of all in the field itself, to be crowned successively by each of the

youths and boys who are his fellow-soldiers?—is it not so? Yes, I think

so. And will they give him the right hand likewise? And that too. But

what I am going to tell you, said I, will not, methinks, be quite so

pleasing. What? That they should kiss and be kissed by each

individually? This is by far the best of all, said he: and for myself, I

would add this regulation,—that, so long as they are on this expedition,

no one shall be allowed to refuse the man, whoever it be that he pleases

to kiss,—so that if a warrior happen to be in love with any one, male or

female, he may be the more animated to win the noblest prize of

valour.[171] Very well, said I:—for it has been already said, that more

opportunities for marriage should be provided for the brave citizen than

for others, and more frequent choice in such matters should be allowed

to them than to all others, in order that such a man’s descendants may

be as numerous as possible. Yes, we did say so, replied he.

-----

Footnote 171:

Comp. here Aristot. Pol. ii. 2.

-----

CHAP. XV.—Moreover, even according to Homer, it is just that really

brave youths should be honoured in this way; inasmuch as Homer said,

that Ajax, who on account of the renown he had gained in battle, was

rewarded with a large share at the entertainments,—fit reward, too, for

a brave and youthful man, from which he at once acquired both honour and

strength. Most right, said he. In this matter, at least, then, said I,

we are to obey the authority of Homer; and as a proof of this, we will

so honour the brave, both at our sacrifices, and on such like occasions,

in as far as they appear deserving, both with hymns, and the honours

just mentioned; and besides this, with seats and viands, and brimming

cups, so as at once both to honour and exercise the virtue of worthy men

and women. You speak capitally well, replied he. Well, of those then

that die in the campaign, shall we not, in the first place, say, of the

man that closes his life with glory, that he is of the golden race?

Quite so, indeed. And are we not to believe Hesiod, when he tells us,

that if any of this race die, then—

Chaste, holy, earthly spirits they become,

Expelling evil, guardians of mankind?[172]

Yes, we will believe him. We will ask the oracle then, how we ought to

bury noble and divine men, and with what marks of distinction; and then

we will bury them in the very manner that [the God] directs. Of course.

And in all after-time we will reverence and worship their tombs as those

of demigods, and enact that the same ceremonies shall be observed with

regard to persons dying of old age, or from any other cause, after

having been deemed remarkably good during their lifetime? Aye, it is

only just, said he. But what?—how are our soldiers to behave towards

enemies? In what respect? First, as respects enslavement, think you it

just, that Greeks should enslave Greek cities?—-nay, ought they not, as

far as they can, to prevent others from doing it, and act on the

principle of sparing the Grecian tribe, cautiously looking to the

possibility of being themselves enslaved by barbarians? Aye, said he;

both generally, and in every particular case, it is the best plan to be

sparing. Are they then not to keep any Greek slave themselves, and to

counsel the rest of the Greeks to agree to the same plan? Surely, said

he: because they will thus at least, turn themselves the more against

the barbarians, and abstain from one war against another. But what?

Stripping the dead, said I, of anything but their arms after conquering

them, is that right;—or does it not rather furnish cowards with an

excuse not to go against a foe, as if they were doing some duty when

bending over a mere corpse; and have not many armies been destroyed by

this kind of plunder? Very many. Do not you think it also illiberal and

forbidden to plunder a corpse, and the mark of a feminine and little

mind to deem the body of the deceased an enemy, after the enemy has fled

away, and nought remains behind, but the instrument with which he

fought? Do you think that they who act thus do any otherwise than dogs

do, who snap at the stones with which they are pelted and do not touch

the man who throws them? Not at all, he replied. We must have done then

with this stripping of the dead, and these hinderances arising from the

carrying off of booty. Aye, by Zeus, said he, we must have done with

them.

-----

Footnote 172:

Hesiod. Op. et Di. v. 121, 2.

-----

CHAP. XVI.—Moreover, we shall not at any time bring arms into the

temples, for the purpose of dedicating them, at least not the arms of

Greeks,—if we at all care for the kind feeling of the rest of the

Greeks; but we shall rather fear its being a kind of profanation to

bring into the temple such things as these from our close connexions,

unless the oracle direct us otherwise. Quite right, replied he. And as

regards the laying waste of Grecian lands and the burning of houses, how

would your soldiers treat their enemies? Aye,—I should be glad, said he,

to hear you state your opinion on that point. Truly then, said I, my

opinion is, that we should do neither of these things, but only carry

off the year’s crop:—and would you have me tell you the reason, why this

should be done? By all means. It appears to me, that as these two words,

war and discord, are different, so two different things are signified by

them; and I call them different—the latter between members of the same

community, and the former between foreigners and strangers.—When hatred

is among one’s own people, it is called discord; when it respects

foreigners, war. What you say, replied he, is not at all unreasonable.

But consider, whether what I now state is also to the purpose; for I

assert that the Greek nation itself is friendly and in alliance with

itself, though foreign and strange to the barbarian. Well observed, said

he. When therefore Greeks fight with barbarians, and barbarians with

Greeks, we may then say, that they are at war, and naturally enemies;

and this hatred we may call war: but when Greeks act thus towards

Greeks, we may say that they are naturally friends, and that Greece in

such a case is distempered, and at discord; and such a hatred is to be

called discord. I agree, said he, that we must view it thus. Consider

then, said I, that in the discord just mentioned, whenever such a thing

happens, how the state is split in factions, and when they sequester

each other’s lands and burn each other’s houses, how destructive the

discord seems, and neither of them seem to be lovers of their country;

for otherwise they would never have dared to pillage their nurse and

mother, but it would have been sufficient for the victors to carry off

the crops of the vanquished, and to conceive that they would one day be

reconciled, and not perpetually be at war. This indeed is by far a

milder sentiment than the other. But what then? said I; this state that

you are founding, is it to be a Greek one? It ought, he replied. Are

they not then to be good and mild? By all means. And will they not be

lovers of Greece; and will they not account Greece as related to them;

and will they not observe the same religious rites as the rest of the

Greeks? Most decidedly. Any difference then, that they have with Greeks,

as kinsmen, will they not consider that as discord,—not war? Yes, for it

is not war. And they will behave then, as those capable of being

reconciled? Quite so, of course. They will be mild then and moderate,

not punishing so far as to enslave or destroy,—as advocates for

correction, and not as enemies. Just so, said he. Neither then, as they

are Greeks, will they pillage the lands, or burn the houses of Greeks;

nor will they allow, that in every state, individually, all are their

enemies, men, women, and children, but that in all cases a few only are

enemies,—the originators of the quarrel: and on all these accounts they

will not choose to lay waste their lands, since the majority of the

occupants are their friends; nor will they overturn the houses:—and so

far only will they carry on the war, until the real originators be

obliged by the innocent to make reparation to those whom they have

grieved. I agree, said he, that we ought so to behave towards opponents

among our own citizens,—but towards the barbarians, as the Greeks now

act towards each other. This law, then, also, let us enact for our

guardians, that they shall neither lay waste the lands, nor burn the

houses. Aye, let us enact it, said he; and this further, that these

things are right, and those also, that you before mentioned.

CHAP. XVII.—It appears to me, however, Socrates, that if one allow you

to go on speaking in this fashion, you will never remember what you

formerly put aside, when you entered on all that you have now

said;—namely, how far such a government is possible, and in what way it

is at all possible? For, if it be at all possible, I will allow that all

these high advantages will belong to that state in which it exists, and

the following also, which you omitted; and I now tell you, that they

will, with all possible courage, fight against their enemies, and least

of all abandon each other, recognising, and calling one another by these

names,—fathers, sons, and brothers; and if the females encamp along with

them, whether in the same rank, or drawn up behind them, they will

strike terror into the enemies, and at the same time, in case of need,

give all assistance:—in this way, I know, they will be utterly

unconquerable; and as for the advantages they have at home, which we

have omitted, those at any rate I plainly see.—But as I allow, that all

these, and ten thousand other things, will belong to this form of

government, if it actually does exist, let us talk no more about it, but

try to persuade each other of this itself, how far it is possible, and

in what way:—and let us omit the other points. You have suddenly, said

I, made an attack on my argument, and make no allowance for one who is

but a bungler;[173] because, perhaps, you do not know with what

difficulty I have got over two breakers, and now you are driving me on

the greatest and most dangerous of all the three. After having seen and

heard this, you will, I am sure, forgive me; allowing, that I had reason

for hesitation, and was frightened by the mention of so great a paradox

from undertaking its examination. The more, said he, you mention such

things, the less will you be excused from explaining in what respect

this government is possible. Proceed then without delay. Must we not

then, said I, first remember this, that we are come hither to inquire

into the nature of justice and injustice? We must, said he. But what is

this to the purpose? Nothing. But supposing we find out the nature of

justice, are we to judge then, that the just man ought nowise to differ

therefrom, but in every respect to resemble justice; or are we to be

satisfied, if he approach to it, as nearly as possible, and, of all

others, partake of it the most? This will satisfy us, said he. For

example’s sake, then, said I, we were inquiring into this,—what is the

nature of justice; and we were in quest also of the perfectly just man,

how he became so, and what was his nature, if he really existed,—and so

also with respect to injustice, and the supremely unjust man, in order

that, looking to them as regards their apparent qualities in relation to

happiness and its opposite, we might be obliged to acknowledge

concerning ourselves, that whoever most resembles them in character will

have a fortune most resembling theirs; and not for the purpose of

showing that these things are possible or not. It is quite true, said

he. Think you, then, that he is in any degree an inferior painter, who

having painted the portrait of a very handsome man, and having expressed

everything fully in his picture, is yet unable to show that such a man

really exists? By Zeus, said he, I do not. Well, have we not now then

logically defined, [shall we say,] the model of a good state? Yes,

indeed. Have we, indeed, less ably stated the case, think you, for this

reason, because we are unable to show the possibility of a state being

established as we have described?[174] No, indeed, said he. This then,

said I, is the truth of the case:—but if indeed, I must now, on your

account, be anxious on this point,—that is, to show how and in what

respects it is most possible, with a view to this discovery, you must

again allow what you did before. What? Can anything possibly be executed

as perfectly as it is described; or, is it the nature of practice, that

it does not approach so near to truth as theory, though some may think

otherwise:—will you allow this or not? I allow it, said he. Do not

oblige me then to show you, that all these things in every respect

positively exist in as great perfection as we have described in our

reasoning:—if, however, we can find out how a state may be established

as closely as possible to what has been mentioned, you will agree that

we have discovered the possibility of what you require; or will you not

even be satisfied, if this be proved? For my own part I should be

satisfied. Yes, and I too, said he.

-----

Footnote 173:

Gr. στραγγευομένῳ, which is Bekker’s emendation, the old reading being

στρατευομένῳ. The verb means—_to be wearied_, _to delay_, _trifle_,

_play the coward_.

Footnote 174:

Plato’s object here is to show, that painters in the high departments

of art copy _ideal_, not actual nature,—nature in its perfection,—not

in its imperfect and actual nature.

-----

CHAP. XVIII.—Next then, it seems, we must endeavour to find out and show

what is the evil now existing in states, owing to which they are not

established in the manner we have described,—and what is that smallest

change, by making which we could bring the state to this model of

government;—and let us chiefly see, if this can be effected by the

change of one thing,—if not, by the change of two,—if not that, by the

change of the fewest things in number, and the smallest in power. By all

means, said he. By changing one thing only then, said I, methinks, I can

show that the state may be moulded into this form of government:—that

change, however, is neither small nor easy, though possible. What is it?

said he. I am now come, said I, to what I compared to the greatest wave:

and it shall now be mentioned, even though, as with a wave, I should be

overwhelmed with ridicule and infamy. Consider, however, what I am now

going to say. Proceed, replied he. Unless either philosophers, said I,

govern in states, or those who are at present called kings and governors

philosophize genuinely and sufficiently, and both political power and

philosophy unite in one,—and until the bulk of those now pursuing each

of these separately are of necessity excluded, there will be no end,

Glaucon, to the miseries of states, nor yet, as I think, to those of the

human race; nor till then will that government, which we have described

in our reasonings, ever spring up to a positive existence, and behold

the light of the sun.—And this is what all along made me dislike

mentioning it, that I saw what a paradox I was about to advance: for one

can scarcely be convinced that no other government but this can enjoy

happiness, either public or private. You have thrown out such an

expression and argument, Socrates, said he, as you think may bring on

you a great many, and these too so specially bold as to put off their

clothes, and snatch naked whatever weapon each happens to have ready (as

if about performing prodigies) for rushing forward in battle-array:—and

if you do not mow them down with argument, and so make your escape, you

will pay for it by suffering the severest ridicule. And are not you the

cause of all this? said I. Aye, through acting well at least, replied

he:—yet in this affair, I will not betray but defend you, as far as I

can; and I am enabled to do so both by my own good-will and your

encouragement; and your questions probably I shall answer more carefully

than any other:—only do you try, by help of such assistance, to show

those who are loath to believe these things, that they really are what

you represent them. I must try, said I; especially, as you afford me so

much assistance. And here it seems necessary, if we can at all escape

from those you mention, that we should at any rate define clearly what

kind of men those are whom we call philosophers,—those, who, we are bold

enough to say, ought alone to govern;—so that, when they are clearly

pointed out, an able defence may be set up, by asserting that it is

their natural province both to study philosophy, and also assume to

themselves the government of the state,—while the other members of the

state study neither philosophy nor politics, but only obey their leader.

It is quite fit, said he, that we should define them. Come then, follow

me this way, [and see] if we can in some way or other sufficiently

explain this matter. Lead on then, said he. Will it be necessary then,

to remind you, said I,—or do you recollect, that when we say of any one,

that he loves a thing, he would not appear, if we speak strictly, to

love one part of it, and not another, but to have an affection for the

whole?

CHAP. XIX.—I need, it seems, to be reminded of that, replied he; for I

do not understand it perfectly. Some one else, indeed, Glaucon, replied

I, might say what you say; but it does not become a man who is a lover,

to forget that all things in their bloom somehow excite, and agitate an

amorous person and lover, as seeming worthy both of respect and of

proper salutes:—do you not behave in this manner towards the beautiful?

One, because flat-nosed, will be called agreeable, and be an object of

praise; and the hooked nose of another, you call princely; and that

between these, formed with exact symmetry: the dark are said to have a

manly look, and the fair to be the children of the gods: but this name

of delicate white, think you it is the invention of any other than a

flattering lover, who easily bears with the paleness, if it be in the

season of youth?—in one word, do you not make all kinds of pretences,

and say everything that you can, so as not to reject any one who is in

the prime of life? If you are disposed, said he, to judge by me of other

lovers, that they act in this manner, I agree to it for argument’s sake.

And what, said I, as to lovers of wine:—do not you find they act in the

same manner, cheerfully drinking every kind of wine on every pretext?

Yes, indeed. And you perceive, I suppose, that the ambitious likewise,

if they cannot obtain the command of an army, will take the command of a

τριττύς;[175] and if they cannot get honour from greater and nobler men,

are content to be honoured by the lesser and the meaner sort, because

they are desirous of honour at any rate? Perfectly true. Will you allow

this or not: if we say, one desires a thing, are we to say that he

desires the whole species, or that he desires one part of it, but not

another? The whole, replied he. May we not then likewise say, that the

philosopher desires wisdom, and that too, not one part only, but the

whole? True. He then, who is averse to a course of discipline,

especially if he be young, and has not understanding to discern what is

good and what is otherwise, should not be called a lover of learning,

nor a philosopher;—just as we say of a person disgusted with meats, that

he neither hungers after nor desires meats, and is not a lover but a

hater of them. Aye,—and we shall say right. But the man who has a ready

inclination to taste of every branch of learning, and enters with

pleasure on its study, and is insatiable thereof, this man we may with

justice call a philosopher, may we not? Whereon Glaucon said, Many such

philosophers as those will go into great absurdities; for all your

lovers of shows appear to me to be of this kind, from taking a pleasure

in learning; and your story-lovers are of all persons to be reckoned the

most stupid,—among philosophers at least. These indeed would not

willingly attend to such reasoning, or to such a disquisition as this.

But yet, as if they had hired out their ears to listen to every public

ditty, they run about to the Dionysia, omitting neither the civic nor

village festivals.[176] Are all these then, and others who run after

such matters, and those likewise who devote themselves to the inferior

arts, to be called by us philosophers? By no means, said I, but only

like philosophers.

-----

Footnote 175:

The Scholiast states by way of explanation, that the Athenian people

were divided into ten φυλαί or wards, which were again subdivided into

τριττύες, ἔθνη and φρατρίαι. The commander of a τρίττυς then was

called a τριττύαρχος,—whence the verb τριττυαρχεῖν.

Footnote 176:

There were three festivals at Athens, commonly termed Bacchic,—the

great or city festival (the most important of all, at which the

dramatic poets contended with their new plays), celebrated in the

month Elaphebolion,—the Lenæa, in the month Maimacterion,—and the

rural Dionysia, in the month Poseideon.

-----

CHAP. XX.—Who are they, however, said he, whom you call the true ones?

Those, said I, who are desirous of discerning the truth.[177] That too,

said he, is correct:—but how do you mean? It is not easy, said I, to

tell another this; but you, I think, should agree with me in this. In

what? That since the beautiful is contrary to the deformed, these are

two things. Of course, they are. And if they are two, then each of them

is one. Granted also. And as regards justice and injustice,—good and

evil,—and also respecting all ideas whatever, the argument is the

same—that each of them is one in itself, though, as to their relation

with actions and bodies, and each other mutually, they take an

all-varying number of forms, so as to make the one appear many. Right,

said he. In this manner then, said I, do I distinguish and set apart

those that you just mentioned, the lovers of public shows, from

craftsmen and mechanics; and then quite apart from these I place those

of whom we are now discoursing, whom alone we may properly call

philosophers. How say you? replied he. The lovers of common stories and

spectacles, delight in fine sounds, colours, and figures, and everything

made up of these; but the nature of beauty itself their intellect is

unable to discern and admire. That is the case, indeed, said he. As to

those, however, who are able to approach this beauty itself and behold

it in its real essence, surely they must be few in number? Extremely so.

He then who deems some things beautiful, but neither knows beauty itself

nor is able to follow, should any one lead to the knowledge of it, do

you think he lives in a dream, or is awake? consider: is not this to

dream, when a man, either asleep or awake, imagines the likeness of a

thing not to be its likeness, but the real thing itself which it

resembles? I for my part would assert, replied he, that such a person is

really in a dream. But what now as to him who comes to an exactly

opposite conclusion, who understands the real nature of beauty, and is

able to discern both it and its accessories, and deems neither the

accessories to be beauty, nor beauty the accessories;—does such a man,

think you, live in a waking or dreaming state? Wide awake, said he. May

we not then properly call this man’s intellectual power, so far as he

really knows, knowledge, but that of the other, opinion,—as he only

opines? Surely so. But what,—if the person, who, we say, only opines

things, but does not really know them, becomes indignant, and raises a

dispute, alleging that our position is not true, shall we have any

method of soothing and gently persuading him, and yet at the same time

concealing that he is not in a sound state? We surely ought, replied he.

Come then, bethink you what we are to say to him,—are you disposed that

we should question him thus,—saying, that if he knows anything, no one

envies him, and we should gladly see him possessed of more

knowledge;—and tell us this too, does the man who has so much knowledge,

know something or nothing? Do you answer me in his behalf. I will

answer, said he, that he knows something. Is it something then, that

does or does not exist? What does exist: for how can that, which does

not exist, be known? This, then, we have sufficiently considered;—though

we might have considered it more fully,—that what really is, may be

really known, but what does not at all exist, cannot be known at all?

Yes,—this we have examined quite sufficiently. Be it so: but if there be

anything of such character, as both to be and not to be, must it not lie

between what has a perfect existence, and what has none at all? Between

them. If then there is knowledge as to what really exists, and

necessarily ignorance as to what does not exist,—as to what lies between

these, must we not seek for something between ignorance and science, if

there be any such thing? By all means. Are we to allege, then, that

opinion is anything? Of course. Is it a different faculty from science,

or the same? Different. Opinion then is conversant about one thing, and

science about another, each according to its own peculiar faculty? Just

so. Is not then the nature of science as regards that which exists, to

know what existence is? It seems to me, however, far more necessary to

lay down the distinction thus. How?

-----

Footnote 177:

The portrait of the true philosopher, whom Plato conceives to be the

only true president and ruler of his state, is described from this

chapter onwards to the end of the third chapter of the sixth book,

with farther illustration in the thirteenth chapter of that book.

Should the reader conceive, that too little regard is paid to worldly

affairs and too little stress laid on the doctrine of ideas, he must

recollect that this philosopher conceived that all knowledge of truth

(—without which not even civil business could be conducted, according

to his notions—) is to be gained only from the contemplation of things

considered _per se_,—and that there can be no real human felicity

unconnected with wisdom and virtue, which can only be attained by true

philosophers engaged in inquiring into the eternal nature of things

around or in themselves.

-----

CHAP. XXI.—We will say, that faculties are a certain kind of real

existences, by which both we can do whatever we are able, and every

being else also whatever it is able: for instance, I say, that seeing

and hearing are faculties, if you understand what I mean to call ‘the

species’ [or idea].[178] I understand, said he. Hear then what is my

opinion about them: for I do not see any colour nor figure, nor any of

such qualities of a faculty, as of many other things, with reference to

which I form a mental internal perception of their differences: but in a

faculty, I regard that alone, about which it is employed, and what it

accomplishes; and on this account I call each of these a faculty; and

that which is employed about and accomplishes one and the same purpose,

this I call the same faculty; but what is employed about and

accomplishes a different purpose, that I call a different faculty:—what

say you? In what manner do you call it? Just the same, he replied. Here

again, excellent Glaucon, said I,—do you allege, that science is itself

a certain faculty, or to what class do you refer it? To this, he said,

the strongest of all the faculties. But what then;—are we to refer

opinion to faculty, or to some other species? By no means, said he; for

that by which we have the power of forming opinions is nothing else but

opinion. But some time since, you allowed that science and opinion were

not the same. How, said he, can any one with common sense reduce under

one, what is infallible, and what is not infallible? Right, said I;—and

it is plain, that we have allowed opinion to be a different thing from

science. Yes,—different. Each of them then has naturally a different

faculty in reference to a different object? Of course. Science surely as

regards that which exists, so as to know the nature of real existence?

Yes. But we say that opinion opines? Yes. Is it cognizant of the same

thing that science is;—and will that which is known, and that which is

matter of opinion, be the same;—or is this impossible? Impossible, said

he, from what has been granted: since they are naturally faculties of

different things, and both of them are faculties,—opinion and

science,—and each of them different from the other, as we have said;

hence it cannot be, that what is opined is the same with that which is

known. If then that which exists is known, must it not differ from what

is perceived by opinion? It does differ. Does opinion then entertain

what has no existence;—or is it impossible to opine what does not exist

at all?—Consider now, does not the man who opines, refer his opinion to

some standard;—or is it possible to opine, and yet opine nothing at all?

Impossible. But whoever opines, opines some one thing? Yes. But surely

that which does not exist, cannot be called any one thing, but most

properly nothing at all? Certainly. But we necessarily referred

ignorance to that which has no true being, and knowledge to real

existence? Right, said he. He does not, therefore, opine true being, nor

yet that which has no being? He does not. Opinion then is neither

knowledge, nor is it ignorance? It seems not. Does it then exceed these,

either knowledge in perspicuity, or ignorance in obscurity? Neither.

Think you then, said I, that opinion is more obscure than knowledge, but

clearer than ignorance? Far, said he. Does it lie then between them

both? Yes. Opinion then is between the two? Entirely so. And have we not

already said, that if anything appeared of such a nature, as at once to

exist and yet not exist, such a thing would lie between what really

exists, and that which has no existence at all, and neither science nor

ignorance would take cognizance of it, but that only which appeared to

be between ignorance and science? Right. And now, what we call opinion

has been shown to lie between them. It has been so shown.

-----

Footnote 178:

Plato makes use of two terms in his system,—τὸ εἶδος and ἡ ἰδέα;—and

some commentators are disposed to think, that the former corresponds

with the dialectical term, _species_,—the higher intellectual,

abstract notion being expressed only by the latter. It must be

confessed, however, that they are often used with scarcely any

distinction of meaning.

-----

CHAP. XXII.—This then yet remains for us, as it seems, to discover,—what

participates in both—that is, being, and non-being, and what can

properly be called neither of them perfectly,—so that if it seems to be

what it is reputed, we may with justice term it so, assigning to the

extremes what are extreme, and to the middle what are between the

two:—must we not? Just so. These things being determined, I will say,

let this worthy man tell and answer me,—he who reckons that there is

neither beauty, nor idea of beauty, always the same; but that lover of

beautiful objects[179] reckons that there are many beautiful objects,

not enduring to be told that there is only one beautiful, and one just,

and so of the rest. Of all these many things, excellent man! shall we

say, whether there be any which will not appear deformed, and of those

just which will not appear unjust, and of those holy which will not

appear profane? No; but said he, the objects themselves must in some

respects necessarily appear both beautiful and deformed, and whatever

else you ask. But what?—Do double quantities generally seem to have less

capacity for being halves than the doubles [of others?] Not at all. And

things great and small, light and heavy, are they to be termed what we

call them, any more than the opposite? No; said he:—each of them, always

participates of both. Is then, or is not, each of these many things just

what it is said to be? It resembles their equivocal jokes at feasts,

said he, and the riddle of children about the eunuch’s striking the bat,

with what and on what part they guess he strikes it:[180] for all these

things have a double meaning, and it is impossible to know accurately

whether they are, or are not,—or are both, or neither of the two. How

can you act with them then, said I, or what better position have you for

them than a medium between being and non-being?—For nothing seems more

obscure than non-being as compared with having no being at all, nor more

clear than being in respect of real being.[181] Most true, said he. We

have discovered then, it seems, that most of the maxims of the people

about the beautiful, and those other things, fluctuate somehow between

being and non-being. Yes, we have discovered it. But it was formerly

agreed at least, that if such a thing were apparent, it ought to be

called that which is opined, and not what is known; and that which

fluctuates between the two is to be perceived by the intermediate

faculty. We agreed. Those then, who contemplate many beautiful things,

but yet never perceive beauty itself, and cannot follow another who

would lead them to it,—and many just things, though not justice itself,

and all other things in like manner, these persons, we will say, hold

opinions on all things, yet have no accurate knowledge of what they

opine. It must be so, said he. But what then, as regards those who

perceive each of the objects themselves, always existing in the same

manner, and in the same relations,—shall we not say that they know, and

do not opine? This must be the case also. And shall we not say, that

these embrace and love the things of which they have knowledge, and the

others the things of which they entertain only opinions;—and remember we

not, that we alleged them to behold and love fine sounds and colours,

and such things; though beauty itself they do not admit to have any real

being? Yes,—we remember. Shall we be wrong then in calling them lovers

of opinion, rather than philosophers?—And yet they will be greatly

enraged at us, if we call them so. Not, if they be persuaded by me, said

he; for it is not right to be enraged at the truth. Those then who

embrace and love what has real being, we must call philosophers, and not

lovers of opinion? Most assuredly.

-----

Footnote 179:

The words ἐκεῖνος ὁ φιλοθεάμων (which Ast. considers superfluous)

convey a sly hit at those sophists who set up for admiration various

different objects of beauty, sensual and physical, instead of the

eternal and immutable beauty of truth and virtue.

Footnote 180:

The Scholiast cites the following lines, which he ascribes to

Clearchus:—

αἶνος τίς ἐστιν ὡς ἀνήρ τε κοὐκ ἀνὴρ

ὄρνιθα κοὐκ ὄρνιθ’ ἰδών τε κοὐκ ἰδών

ἐπὶ ξύλου τε κοὐ ξύλου καθημένην

λίθῳ τε κοὐ λίθῳ βάλοι τε κοὐ βάλοι——ἄλλως

——ἄνθρωπος οὐκ ἄνθρωπος ἄνθρωπος δ’ ὅμως,

ὄρνιθα, κοὐκ ὄρνιθα, ὄρνιθα δ’ ὅμως

ἐπὶ ξύλου τε κοὐ ξύλου καθημένην

λίθῳ βάλων με κοὐ λίθῳ διώλεσεν——

νυκτερίδα ὁ εὐνοῦχος νάρθηκι κισήρει.

Footnote 181:

This is rather an obscure passage, which, however, receives some

illustration from the Parmenides (pp. 137 c—155 e), in which the

philosopher teaches, among other things, that τὸ ἕν (i.e. _the one by

itself and infinite_) is nothing, destitute of all reason and form,

void of truth and in no way falling within the cognizance of the

mental faculties;—whereas τὸ ἓν ὄν (_the one finite_—inasmuch as it

has form, mode, and reason of existence,)—is everything, that is,

receives within itself a variety of certain forms, and is capable

therefore of being perceived and recognised by opinion, perception,

and real knowledge.

-----

THE END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.