ARGUMENT.
In the _sixth book_,—continuing the argument respecting the
indispensability of true philosophy to a well-ordered state, and the
absolute need of distinguishing true from false philosophy (_i. e._
that of the sophists which throws discredit on the whole pursuit),
and likewise from what is warped by prejudice, he goes on to show
that a state will be blessed with philosophers for rulers, and shows
what is the true subject of true philosophy, as well as the means
and manner of learning it,—the sum of which is, that a good φύλαξ
must be provided with all the defences of true science, not with a
view to unprofitable speculations, but that all science and all
virtue, his moral clothing, may be considered with reference to its
real bearing on the common good of human society. Philosophy, says
Plato, has for its proper subject the idea of good (the true end of
being), and this being the subject, he next goes on to show the mode
of becoming acquainted therewith.
CHAP. I.—Philosophers then, Glaucon, said I, and those who are not so,
have, at length, after a long parade of talk and with some difficulty,
been respectively defined. Aye, said he,—for perhaps, it was not easy to
do it briefly. It appears not, said I.—I still think, however, that
their qualities would have been better exhibited, had we deemed it right
to speak about this alone, and not discussed a multitude of other
matters while considering the difference between a just and an unjust
life. What then, said he, are we to consider next? What else, said I,
but that which is next in order?—Since those are philosophers who are
able to concern themselves with what always maintains a constant
relation, whereas those who cannot effect this, but ruminate among a
host of [material objects] that are every way shifting,[182] are not
philosophers;—which of these ought to be the rulers of the state? Which
way, said he, shall we define the matter, and define correctly? Such of
them, said I, as seem capable of preserving the laws and institutions of
states, these are to be made guardians. Right, said he. This then, said
I, is of course evident,—whether we ought to seek for a guardian one
that is blind or one that is sharp-sighted. Of course, that is quite
evident, said he. What difference then is there between blind persons
and those who are in fact deprived of the knowledge of each individual
essence, and have no clear demonstration of it in the soul, and cannot
(like painters who look at what is positively true, and refer everything
thereto, examining it with all possible accuracy), if need be, form
settled notions, of the beautiful, just, and good, and so maintain them,
as if sanctioned by law? No, by Zeus, said he;—they do not differ much.
Shall we then rather appoint these as our guardians, or those rather who
know each individual being, and in experience are not at all inferior to
those others, nor behind them in any other department of virtue? It were
absurd, said he, to choose any others, if at least they be not deficient
in all other matters; since they excel in this, which is the most
important. Must we not inquire this then,—in what manner the same
persons will be able to have both the one and the other?[183] Certainly.
As we observed then, at the opening of this discussion, we must first of
all thoroughly understand their disposition; and I think, if we are
pretty well agreed about that, we shall agree also, that the same
persons are able to possess both these qualities; and none else but
these ought to be the governors of states. How so?
-----
Footnote 182:
Gr. ἐν πολλοῖς καὶ παντοίως ἴσχουσι πλανώμενοι, &c.
Footnote 183:
Gr. κἀκεῖνα καὶ ταῦτα ἔχειν,—that is, both a practical acquaintance
and experience of things, and a more subtle scientific knowledge of
truth.
-----
CHAP. II.—Let us then so far agree about philosophic dispositions, that
as respects learning they always covet that which discovers to them that
ever-existing essence which does not vary through generation or
corruption. Let it be agreed. And likewise, said I, that they desire the
whole of such learning, and do not willingly omit any part of it, either
small or great, more honourable or more dishonourable, as we formerly
observed concerning the ambitious and those engaged in love. You say
right, said he. Consider then, in the next place, whether, besides, what
we have mentioned, it be necessary for those who would be such as we
have described, to have this also in their natures. What? Freedom from
falsehood, and never willingly to admit a lie, but rather to hate it
through love of truth. It probably would, replied he. It is not only
probable, my friend, but quite necessary, that one who naturally loves a
thing should love everything that is allied and belongs to the object of
his affection. Right, said he. Is there anything that you can find more
nearly allied to wisdom than truth? I cannot, said he. Is it possible,
then, for the same disposition to be both philosophic, and fond of
falsehood? By no means. He then who is really a lover of learning, ought
from early infancy wholly to desire all truth? By all means. But we know
somehow, that whoever has his desires vehemently set on one object, for
this very reason has them weaker as regards other things,—just as a
current diverted from its channel. Certainly. Whoever then has his
desires running out after learning and such like matters, would be
engaged, methinks, with the pleasure of the soul itself, and forsake the
pleasures arising from the body,—if indeed, he be not a pretender, but a
real philosopher. This of course must necessarily follow. Such an one
moreover is prudent, and by no means fond of money;—for the reasons why
money is so anxiously sought at so great a sacrifice are likely to make
any one anxious rather than a man like this. Certainly. And surely you
should consider this too, when deciding about a philosophic disposition,
and one that is not so. What? That it shall not unconsciously take an
illiberal turn,—since narrow-mindedness is most revolting to a soul that
is ever earnestly pursuing all that is divine and human. Most true, said
he. Think you then, that he who possesses magnificent intellectual
conceptions and can contemplate all time and all being, can possibly
consider human life as a thing of great consequence? It is impossible,
said he. Such an one then will not regard death as anything terrible.
Least of all, surely. It seems then, that a cowardly and illiberal
disposition will not readily connect itself with true philosophy. I do
not think it will. What then;—can the well-disposed man, who has
moderate desires, and is not a lover of money, nor illiberal, nor
arrogant, nor cowardly, ever possibly be unjust, or a breaker of
engagements? It is impossible. And this also you will likewise consider,
when viewing from its very source what is and is not a philosophic soul,
whether it be just and gentle, or unsocial and savage. By all means.
Neither, as I think, will you omit this. What? Whether it learn easily
or with difficulty:—in fact, do you expect that a person will ever love
a thing sufficiently, while he is uneasy in its performance, and makes
but small progress? It cannot be. But what if he be oblivious and
retains nothing of what he learns, can he then possibly acquire
science?[184] How is it possible? And when he thus vainly labours, think
you not that he will be forced at last to hate both himself and such
employment? Of course he must. We can never reckon then among
philosophic souls, that which is forgetful; but we shall on the other
hand require it to have a good memory? By all means. And we can never
say this at any rate, that an unmusical and ill-regulated disposition
leads anywhere but towards irregularity. Where else should it? But as
regards truth, think you it is allied to irregularity or regularity? To
regularity. Let us require then, in addition to all other qualities, an
intellect naturally well-regulated and gracious, as a willing and
naturally well-disposed guide in realizing the idea of individual being.
Of course. What then;—do you not think, that we have in some measure
discussed the necessary qualifications, and such as are mutually
connected in a soul that would attain a fitting and perfect apprehension
of being?—Aye, the most necessary, said he. Can you then any how blame
such a study as this, which a man can never sufficiently pursue, unless
he has a naturally good memory, learns with facility, and is generous,
kind-hearted, the friend and ally of truth, justice, manliness, and
temperance? Not even Momus himself, said he, could find fault with such
a study.[185] Aye, said I, and will it not be to such as these alone,
when perfected by education and age, that you will intrust the state?
-----
Footnote 184:
ἄρ’ ἂν οἷός τ’ εἴη ἐπιστήμης μὴ κενὸς εἶναι;—lit. _can he be otherwise
than void of science?_
Footnote 185:
This proverbial expression is well illustrated by Erasmus, Chiliad. i.
5, § 75.
-----
CHAP. III.—Then said Adimantus: No one, indeed, Socrates, can contradict
you on these points; but all who from time to time hear you advancing
what you do at present, feel somehow thus;—being led a little astray by
your reasoning on each question, through inexperience in this mode of
question and answer, when all these littles are collected together, they
reckon at the close of the discussion that the mistake appears
considerable, and the contrary of their first concessions; and just as
those who play at talus with such as are dexterous, themselves being
unskilful, are in the end driven into a corner and cannot move a piece,
so your hearers have nothing to say, being driven into a corner, at this
different kind of play, not with the dice, but your reasonings;—though
the truth at least is not thus at all advanced.[186]—I say this with
reference to the present inquiry; for a person may tell you, that he has
nothing to allege as an argument against your questions individually,
but sees in fact that all those who plunge into philosophy do not pursue
it with the view of being taught in it during childhood, and liberated
from it when they arrive at mature age, but rather in order that they
may continue in it much longer, becoming most of them quite
perverse,—not to say, altogether depraved; while even such of them as
appear most worthy, are still so far affected by this pursuit, that you
so much commend, as to become useless to the public. When I had heard
this, I said,—Think you then, that such as say these things are telling
a falsehood? I know not, said he; but I should like to hear what is your
opinion.
-----
Footnote 186:
This elegant comparison of Socrates to the clever πεττεύτης is more
lightly touched in a passage in the Laws, vii. p. 820 c:—προβάλλοντά
τε ἀλλήλοις ἀεὶ διατριβὴν τῆς πεττείας πολὺ χαριέστερον πρεσβυτῶν
διατρίβοντα φιλονεικεῖν ἐν τοῖς τούτων ἀξίαισι σχολαῖς.
-----
You will hear then, that in my opinion they speak the truth. How,
replied he, can it be right to say that the miseries of states are never
to come to a close, till they be governed by philosophers, whom we now
acknowledge as useless thereto? You ask a question, said I, which needs
a figurative reply. And yet said I, I do not think you usually speak by
figures.
CHAP. IV.—Granted, said I:—and are you not jesting me, after having
involved me in a subject so hard of explanation?—Yet attend to the
comparison, in order that you may the better see how nicely I make
it:—for the sufferings of the best philosophers in the management of
public affairs are so grievous, that there is not one other suffering so
severe: but in making our simile, and putting in a defence for them, we
must collect from many particulars, in the same way as painters mingle
together different figures, and paint a creature both goat and stag in
one,[187] and others of the same kind. Conceive now such a person as
this to be the pilot of a fleet or a single ship, one who surpasses all
in the ship both in bulk and strength, but is somewhat deaf, and
short-sighted as well, and whose skill in nautical affairs is much of
the same kind;—and also that the sailors are all quarrelling among each
other about the pilotage, each thinking he ought to be pilot, though he
never learned the art, and cannot show who was his master, nor at what
time he got his learning;—that besides this, they all say that the art
itself cannot be taught, and are ready to cut in pieces any one who says
that it can.—Imagine further, that they are constantly crowding round
the pilot himself, begging, and forming all schemes to induce him to
commit the helm into their hands, and that sometimes even, when they do
not so well succeed in persuading him as others may, they either kill
these others, or throw them overboard, and after having, by mandragora
or wine or something else, rendered the noble pilot incapable, they
manage the ship by aid of the crew, and sail on, thus drinking and
feasting, as may be expected of such people;—and besides this, if any
one be clever at assisting them in getting the management into their own
hands, and either by persuasion or force, setting aside the pilot, they
praise such an one, calling him sailor and pilot, and versed in
navigation, but despise as useless every one not of this character,—not
in the least considering that the true pilot must necessarily study the
year, the seasons, the heavens, and stars, and winds, and everything
belonging to his art, if he would be a real commander of a ship; but at
the same time as respects the art and practice of governing men, whether
some be willing or not, they think it impossible for a man to attain it
in connexion with the art of navigation.—Whilst affairs are thus
situated as regards ships, do you not think that the true pilot will be
called by the sailors on board of ships thus regulated, a mere
star-gazer,[188] trifler, and of no use to them whatever? Undoubtedly,
said Adimantus. I think then, said I, that you do not want this
comparison explained, in order to see that it represents how people feel
in states towards true philosophers, but that you quite understand what
I mean. Perfectly, said he. First of all then, as regards this,—namely,
a person’s wondering that philosophers are not honoured in states,—you
must acquaint him with our comparison, and try to persuade him, that it
would be much more wonderful if they were honoured. I will so, replied
he. And further, that it is quite true, as you were just observing, that
the best of those who study philosophy are useless to the bulk of
mankind:—but nevertheless, for all this, they intend to lay the blame
not on the philosophers, but on such as make no use of them,—for it is
not natural that the pilot should beg of the sailors to allow him to
govern them, nor that the wise should hold attendance at the gates of
the rich:[189]—and whoever wittily said this was mistaken; for this
indeed is the natural method, that whoever is sick, whether rich or
poor, must necessarily go to the gates of the physician, and whoever
wants to be governed must wait on a person able to govern; for it is not
natural that a really worthy governor should beg of the governed to
subject themselves to his government.—You will not be far wrong,
however, in comparing our present political governors to those sailors
we now mentioned, and those whom they call insignificant and star-gazers
to those who are truly pilots. Quite right, said he. Hence, then, it
would seem, that the best pursuit is not likely to be held in much
honour by persons engaged in those of an opposite nature,—but by far the
greatest and most violent outcry against philosophy is caused by those
who profess its study;—the very persons, whom most of all, you say, your
reviler of philosophy calls downright wicked, and the very best useless;
and I agreed that you spoke correctly,—did I not? Yes.
-----
Footnote 187:
The τραγέλαφος was a mere fictitious or fabled animal, like the
griffin.
Footnote 188:
μετεωροσκόπον, the usual term of reproach with which the Sophist
visited Socrates. Compare Apolog. Socr. p. 18 b; and see throughout
Aristophanes’s caricature in his comedy of the Clouds.
Footnote 189:
τοὺς σοφοὺς ἐπὶ τὰς τῶν πλουσίων θύρας ἰέναι. The Scholiast has a long
note on this bon-mot, which he ascribes to Eubulus in a dialogue with
Socrates. Schleiermacher, however, following Diogenes Laertius (ii.
69), attributes it to Aristippus, and Schneider to Simonides, on the
authority of Aristotle, Rhetor. ii. 16.
-----
CHAP. V.—Have we not now fully explained the cause, why the best of them
are useless? We have. Do you wish, then, that we should next explain the
reason, why most of them must necessarily be depraved, and try also to
show, that philosophy is not the cause of this. Certainly. Let us open
our argument then, by carefully calling to mind what we before observed
about the natural disposition necessarily belonging to the good and
worthy [philosopher;]—and if you remember, the leading part therein was
truth, which he must by all means wholly pursue, or else be a vain
boaster, having no fellowship with true philosophy. Aye,—so it was said.
Is not this single part of his character wholly the reverse of what is
at present held respecting him? Quite so, replied he. We shall be
urging, therefore, no trifling argument in his defence, if we can show
that the true lover of learning is naturally inclined to aspire after
the knowledge of real being, and, so far from being arrested by the
numerous individual things which are the objects of opinion, that he
proceeds undauntedly forward and desists not from his love of truth[190]
till he becomes acquainted with the nature of all existing things
through the agency of that part of the soul whose business it is to take
cognizance of such matters:—but it is the office of that part of the
soul which is allied [to real being;] and when this true lover of
learning approaches thus far, and mingles therewith, thus giving rise to
intellect and truth, he will attain to true knowledge, and truly live
and be maintained, and at length become liberated from the pains of
production,[191]—but not before. As good a defence, said he, as there
possibly can be. What then;—will it be a part of such a person’s
business to love falsehood, or quite the contrary, to hate it? To hate
it, said he. While truth, however, leads the way, we can never say, I
think, that any band of evils follows in her train? No, we cannot. But
on the contrary, sound and just morals accompanied with temperance?
Right, said he. Well then;—is it necessary that we again examine and
re-arrange all the qualities of a philosophic nature?—for, no doubt, you
remember that men of this character possess fortitude, magnanimity,
aptitude for learning, and a good memory; and when you said by way of
rejoinder, that every one would be compelled to agree to our statement,
we quitted that subject, and turned to the subject of our present
discourse—your assertion of having found some of the philosophers
useless, and the majority also completely depraved.—And in investigating
the cause of that calumny, we are at length come to inquire, how it is,
that the greater part of them are bad; and on this account we have again
analyzed the nature of true philosophers, and necessarily defined it. It
is so, said he.
-----
Footnote 190:
Comp. here Book v., ch. 20 (p. 476, c, d).
Footnote 191:
Gr. οὕτω λήγοι ὠδῖνος. Allusion is here made to the pangs attending
the birth of the idea and love of beauty—τὸ καλόν,—as more largely
treated in the Sympos. p. 206, b, e.
-----
CHAP. VI.—We must therefore, consider, said I, the corruptions of this
nature, how it becomes ruined in many, so that only some few escape,
whom men call not depraved, but useless; and next we must consider those
dispositions that counterfeit this nature, and only pretend to pursue
it, and what is the nature also of those souls, which aspire to a
pursuit not belonging to them, and above their reach: for these persons,
by their multiplied errors, have everywhere and among all men, attached
this opinion to philosophy which you are now mentioning. To what kind of
corruptions, said he, do you allude? I will try to recount them, said I,
if I can.—And this now, methinks, every one will allow us, that such a
nature, with all the qualifications that we just now enjoined to a
person aspiring to be a perfect philosopher, is rarely to be found among
men, and of these there are but very few: do you not think so? Quite so.
And among those few, just consider how many and how great are the causes
of corruption. What are they? The most surprising of all to
hear,—namely, that of those qualities which we commended in the nature
of a philosopher, each corrupts the soul possessing them, and withdraws
it from philosophy—from fortitude, I mean, and temperance, and all those
other qualities which we enumerated. That is a strange saying, said he.
And further still, said I;—besides these things, all that are commonly
called good,—such as beauty, riches, bodily strength, a powerful family
connexion in the state,[192] and all that relates to these, corrupt and
withdraw it from philosophy:—there, you now have the outline of what I
mean. I have, he replied, and would be glad more clearly to understand
what say. Apprehend, therefore, the whole of it aright, said I; and it
will become perfectly clear, and what we before said will not be thought
absurd. How then, said he, do you bid me act? With respect to every kind
of seed, or plant, said I, whether of vegetables or animals, we know,
that what is not properly nurtured and has not its proper nourishment,
or season, or place, the stronger it is, so many more kindly influences
does it require,—for evil is more contrary to good, than to that which
is not good. Of course. It is reasonable then, I suppose, that the very
best nature, if supported on diet unsuited to it, should become worse
than one which is inferior? It is. Well then, Adimantus, said I, are we
to say, that souls naturally the best, if badly trained, become more
than commonly depraved;—or think you that gross iniquity and extreme
wickedness arise from an inferior rather than from a good disposition
ruined in its education; whereas a weak disposition will never produce
either great good or great evil? No,—I think not, said he;—and the case
is as you say. If then this philosophic nature, that we have here
defined, meet with suitable training, it will of necessity grow up, I
suppose, and attain to every virtue; but if it be sown in an improper
soil, and grow up and be nurtured accordingly, it will become quite the
reverse, unless one of the gods should by chance come to its
assistance;—think you then, as most do, that some youths are corrupted
by sophists, and that these sophists are men in private life who corrupt
them in any matter soever that is worthy of their attention;—or rather,
that the very persons who say these things are themselves the greatest
sophists, conveying their instruction with most perfect skill, and
rendering young and old, men and women, such as they wish them to be?
When is that? said he. When many of them, said I, are seated and crowded
together in an assembly, in their law-courts, theatres, camps, or other
public meetings of the people, and when they blame with much tumult some
speeches and acts, and commend others, shouting and stamping, [to see]
which shall outvie the other;—and besides this, the echo from the rocks
and the place where they are sitting, redoubles the tumult of their
disapprobation and applause;—in such a situation as this, what kind of
heart, as the saying is, do you think the youth has; or what private
instruction can so restrain him, as to prevent him from being quite
overwhelmed by such blame or applause, and from yielding and being
carried along the stream wherever it bears him;—and will he not call
things beautiful and base, according as these people call them, and just
as they pursue them, thus becoming of the very same character? This,
said he, must of course be the case, Socrates.
-----
Footnote 192:
Gr. ξυγγένεια ἐῤῥωμένη ἐν πόλει. Plato similarly speaks of political
connexions in the Sympos. p. 178 c:—ὃ γὰρ χρὴ ἀνθρώποις ἡγεῖσθαι
παντὸς τοῦ βίου τοῖς μέλλουσι καλῶς βιώσεσθαι, τοῦτο οὔτε ξυγγένεια
οἵα τε ἐμποιεῖν οὕτω καλῶς, οὔτε τιμαὶ οὔτε πλοῦτος οὔτ’ ἄλλο οὐδέν.
-----
CHAP. VII.—And yet, said I, we have not yet mentioned what is the
greatest necessity of all. What is that? said he. What these, your
teachers and sophists, add, by way of acts to their talk, when they
cannot persuade:—know you not that they punish with disgraces and fines
and deaths, the man whom they cannot persuade? I know that, said he,
extremely well. What other sophist then, or what private reasonings, do
you think, will counteract and overpower these? I know none, said he. Is
it not besides, said I, great folly also even to attempt it?—For there
neither is, nor was, nor can ever possibly be, any other system as
regards virtue, to be compared with this education by the sophists,—I
mean a human method, my friend; for a divine one, according to the
proverb, we keep out of the question.[193]—Indeed, you must well know,
with respect to whatever is preserved, and becomes what it ought in such
a constitution of government, that you will not be far wrong in deeming
it preserved by divine destiny.[194] Nor am I; said he, of a different
opinion. But further now, besides this, said I, you must also be of this
opinion. Of what? That each of these hired private teachers, whom these
men call sophists and consider as rival artists, teach nothing else but
those dogmas of the vulgar, which they approve in their assemblies, and
term wisdom;—just as if a man were to learn the tempers and desires of a
great and strong animal that he is training,—how it must be approached,
how touched, and when it is most fierce or most mild,—and from what
sorts it springs, and the sounds also which it is used occasionally to
utter, and by what sounds when uttered by another, this beast is
rendered either gentle or savage; and if, after learning all these
things by long associating with this animal, he should call this wisdom
and apply himself to the teaching thereof, as to an established
art,—while yet, as regards these dogmas and desires, he has no real
knowledge of what is beautiful or base, good or ill, just or unjust, but
defines them all by the opinions of that great animal, calling those
things good by which it is pleased, and those evil with which it is
vexed, having no other measure respecting them, but calling things
necessary both just and beautiful, though he has never himself seen, nor
can show to another, the nature of the necessary and the good, and how
far they really differ from each other. Being such as this, then, do you
not, by Zeus, think him a ridiculous teacher? I do, he replied. And,
think you, he in any way differs from the man, who deems it wisdom to
have understood the tempers and pleasures of the multitude, and of mixed
assemblies, either in painting, music, or politics?—For if any one
converse with these, and show them either a poem, or other work of art,
or piece of service connected with the state, and make the multitude the
judges thereof, he is, beyond all other necessities, under what is
called a “Diomedean”[195] necessity,—that of doing whatever they
commend.—But as respects these things being really good and beautiful,
did you ever hear any of them advance a reason that was not quite
ridiculous? No;—and I think, said he, I never shall.
-----
Footnote 193:
Ast conjectures that there was a well-known adage;—τὸ θεῖον ἐξαιρῶ
λόγου.
Footnote 194:
Similarly in the Menon (p. 97 b, 100 b), Plato, in ridiculing the
statesmen of his own day, declares that they acquired virtue,—not from
human instruction, but by a certain gift from heaven.
Footnote 195:
A Diomedean necessity is a proverbial expression applied to those, who
do anything from necessity: its origin is as follows. Diomedes and
Ulysses, having stolen the Palladium from Ilium, returned by night to
their ships. Ulysses, however, most anxious that the glory of the deed
should be his alone, endeavoured to slay Diomedes, who walked before
him with the Palladium. Diomedes, however, on seeing by moonlight the
shadow of the sword raised over him, seized Ulysses, bound his hands,
bid him walk before him, and, after striking him on the back with the
flat part of his sword, proceeded onward, and at length reached the
Argive camp.
-----
CHAP. VIII.—Considering all these things, then, bear this in mind, that
the multitude never will admit or reckon that there is the one beautiful
itself, and not many beautiful,—one thing itself individually existing,
and not many such individual things. They will be the last to do so, he
replied. It is impossible, then, for the multitude to be philosophers.
Impossible. And those who philosophize must necessarily be subject to
their reproach? Necessarily so. And likewise to that of those private
persons, who, in conversing with the multitude, desire to please them?
Clearly. In consequence of this, then, what security do you see for the
philosophic nature to continue its pursuit, and arrive at
perfection?—And consider from what has gone before; for it has been
admitted, that aptitude for learning, memory, fortitude, and magnanimity
belong to this kind of disposition. Yes,—it has. Will not such an one as
this, then, be the first of all men in all things whatever, especially
if he have a body naturally suited to his soul? Of course he will, he
replied. And when he is further advanced in years, his kindred and
citizens, methinks, will be disposed to employ him in their affairs. Why
not? As suppliants then they will pay him homage, and submit to him,
anticipating and flattering beforehand his growing power. Aye, said he,
such is usually the case. What then, said I, think you such an one will
do under such circumstances, especially if he be a member of a great
state, rich, and nobly born, handsome withal and of large
stature?[196]—Will he not be filled with extravagant hopes, deeming
himself capable of managing the affairs both of Greeks and barbarians,
and on this account demean himself loftily, being full of ostentation
and vain conceit, but without judgment? Quite so, he replied. If one
should gently approach a man of this disposition, and tell him the
truth, that he has no judgment, but needs it;—as judgment is only to be
acquired by one who devotes himself as a slave to its acquisition, think
you, that, amidst all these evils it would be easy for him to hearken?
Far from it, he replied. But if, said I, through a good natural temper,
and innate attachment to reasoning, he were to acquire penetration, and
thus be bent and drawn towards philosophy,—what, think we, will those
others do, when they reckon on losing his services and company:—will
they not by every action, and every speech, say and do all to the man to
prevent his being persuaded,—and as respects his adviser, take away all
his influence, both by forming private plots and arraigning him at
public trials? This, of course, must necessarily be the case, he
replied. Is it likely then, that such an one as this will be a
philosopher? Not at all.
-----
Footnote 196:
It seems highly probable that Plato is here drawing a portrait of
Alcibiades, with whose general character this description most closely
tallies.
-----
CHAP. IX.—You see then, said I, that we were not wrong in saying, that
even the very essentials of the philosophic disposition, are, when badly
directed, in some measure the cause of a falling off from this pursuit,
as well as from those vulgarly reputed goods,—riches, and all such-like
matters. No, certainly, he replied;—that was correctly observed. Such
then, said I, admirable friend! is the ruin, such and so great the
corruption of the best nature for the best of all pursuits, and which,
as we observe, is rarely elsewhere to be found:[197] and among these are
the men who do the greatest harm both to states and private persons, and
those also who do the greatest good, such as are drawn to one particular
side, [viz. what is good:]—whereas small talents do nothing great for
any one, either private person or state. Most true, said he. Since
those, then, who thus fall off, whose chief business was to apply to
philosophy, and who, leaving her deserted and imperfect, lead themselves
a life neither becoming nor true,—while on this same philosophy other
unworthy persons have intruded and disgraced her, loading her with
reproaches, such as those with which you say her revilers reproach
her:—of those who engage with her,—some are worth nothing, and most of
them deserve great punishments. Aye surely, this, replied he, is
commonly said. Aye,—and said too with reason, replied I;—for other
contemptible men seeing the field unoccupied, and the possession of it
followed by dignities and honourable names, just like persons who take
refuge from their prisons in the temples, these likewise gladly leap
from their trade-crafts to philosophy;—such of them I mean, as are most
adept in their own little art.—Indeed, even in this position of
philosophy, her remaining dignity, in comparison with all the other
arts, is still of surpassing magnificence,—which dignity many eagerly
covet, who yet are of an imperfect nature, and have bodies not only
deformed by their arts and crafts, but souls likewise that are broken
and crushed by their servile occupations:[198]—must it not necessarily
be so? Undoubtedly, said he. Think you, then, said I, that they at all
differ in appearance from a bald and puny blacksmith, who having made a
little money, has been newly liberated from chains, and washed in the
bath,[199] with a new robe on him, just decked out as a bridegroom,
presuming, on account of his master’s poverty and forlorn situation, to
propose for his daughter’s hand? There is no great difference, replied
he. What sort of a race must such as these produce;—must it not be
bastardly and abject? Certainly,—it must. But what;—when persons
unworthy of instruction study it, and meddle with it unworthily, what
kind of sentiments and opinions must we say come from them?—Must they
not be such as to be properly termed sophisms, and neither genuine, nor
allied to true discretion? Wholly so, of course, he replied.
-----
Footnote 197:
Gr. ὀλίγης καὶ ἄλλως γινομένης, ὡς ἡμεῖς φαμέν.
Footnote 198:
We give the Greek entire:—οὗ δὴ ἐφιέμενοι πολλοὶ ἀτελεῖς μὲν τὰς
φύσεις, ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν τεχνῶν τε καὶ δημιουργιῶν ὥσπερ τὰ σώματα
λελώβηνται, οὕτω καὶ τὰς ψυχὰς συγκεκλασμένοι τε καὶ ἀποτεθρυμμένοι
διὰ τὰς βαναυσίας τυγχάνουσιν.
Footnote 199:
The elegant play on the words λελυμένου and λελουμένου is wholly lost
in the translation.
-----
CHAP. X.—An extremely small number is left, said I, Adimantus, of those
who engage worthily in philosophy,—men of that noble and well-cultivated
nature, which somehow seeks retirement, and naturally persists in
philosophic study, through the absence of corrupting tendencies; or it
may be, in a small state, some mighty soul arises, who has despised and
wholly neglected civil honours;—and there may be some small portion
perhaps, who, having a naturally good disposition, hold other arts in
just contempt, and then turn to philosophy.—These the bridle of our
friend Theages will probably be able to restrain; for all other things
are calculated to withdraw Theages from philosophy, while the care of
his health occupies him to the exclusion of politics:[200]—and as to
what concerns myself, namely the sign of my demon, it is not worth while
to mention that; for I think it has heretofore been met with only by one
other, if any at all.—And even of these few [they are] such as taste,
and have tasted, how sweet and blessed is the acquisition of philosophy,
and have withal sufficiently observed the madness of the multitude, and
that none of them, as I may say, does what is wholesome in state
matters, and that a man can get none to aid him in securely succouring
the just, but is like one falling among wild beasts, neither willing nor
able to aid them in doing wrong, as one only against a host of wild
creatures, and so without doing any good either to the state or his
friends, perishes unprofitably to all the world. Quietly reasoning on
all these things, and attending to his own affairs, like a man sheltered
under a wall in a storm of dust and foam borne along on the wind, by
which he sees all about him overwhelmed in disorder, such an one is
content anyhow to pass his life pure from injustice and unholy deeds,
and to effect his exit hence with good hopes cheerful and agreeable.
Aye,—and he will make his exit, said he, without having done even the
least of them. Nor the greatest either, said I;—because he has not found
a suitable form of government; for in one that suits him, he will both
make greater progress himself, and together with the affairs of private
persons, will preserve those of the public also.
-----
Footnote 200:
Theages is stated in the Apology of Socrates (p. 33 c), to be the son
of Demodocus and the brother of Paralus, and to have been most
desirous of attaining to a knowledge of the Socratic philosophy;—and
we are here told that his delicate health hindered him from
persevering in its pursuit:—so true is the saying of Plutarch (de
Sanit. tuend. p. 126 b), φιλοσοφεῖν ἀῤῥωστίαι πολλοὺς παρέχουσιν.
-----
CHAP. XI.—As respects philosophy, then, for what reasons it has been
traduced, and that it has been so unjustly, we have, I think,
sufficiently stated,—unless you have anything else to allege. Nay, said
he;—I can say nothing further about this point:—but which of the present
forms of government do you conceive to be suited to philosophy? None
whatever, said I; and this particularly is what I complain of, that no
existing constitution of a state is worthy of the philosophic nature;
and on this account therefore it is turned and altered, just as a
foreign seed sown in an improper soil becomes worthless, and has a
tendency to fall under the influence of the soil in which it is
placed;—so this race likewise has not at present its proper power, but
degenerates to some pattern foreign to it;—but in case that it does meet
with the best form of government, being itself also best, it will then
be evident that this is really divine, and all others only human, both
as to their natures and pursuits:—but as a matter of course you are
evidently about to ask what is this form of government? You are
mistaken, said he,—for this I was not going to ask; but whether it be
this, which we have described in establishing our state, or some other.
As regards all other things, said I, it is this one:—and this very thing
was then mentioned, that there must always be in our state something
having the same regard for the government, which you the legislator had
in establishing the laws. Aye,—that was mentioned, said he. Yes, but,
said I, it was not made sufficiently clear, owing to the fear of what
you objected, when you showed also, that the illustration of the thing
would be both tedious and difficult;—for indeed it is not on the whole
quite easy to discuss what remains. What is that? In what manner a state
is to undertake the study of philosophy, so as not itself to be
destroyed; for all great pursuits are dangerous; and,—as the saying
is,—those noble even are truly difficult. But still, rejoined he, let
our demonstration be completed by making this evident. Want of
inclination, said I, will not hinder, though possibly want of power
may:—and now you shall at once be assured of my readiness.—Consider
indeed, how readily and adventurously I am about to assert, that a state
ought to attempt this study in a way opposite to what it does at
present. How? At present, said I, those who engage in it are striplings,
who, quite from childhood, amidst their domestic affairs and lucrative
employments, betake themselves to most abstruse inquiries, considering
themselves consummate philosophers,—(and I call what respects reasoning,
the most difficult of all;)—and should they in after-time be invited by
others practising this art, they are pleased to become hearers, and
think it a great condescension, reckoning they ought to do it as a
by-work:—but towards old age, with the exception indeed of some few,
they are extinguished even more than the Heraclitean[201] sun, because
they are never again rekindled. But how should they act? said he. Quite
the reverse of what they do:—while they are lads and youths they should
study youthful learning and philosophy,[202] and, take special care of
the body, during its growth and strengthening by inviting its services
to the aid of philosophy; and then, as that time of life progresses,
during which the soul is attaining its perfection, they should
vigorously apply to her exercises;—but when strength decays, and is no
longer suited for civil and military employments, they should then be
dismissed, and live at pleasure, with the exception of a by-work, [that
is, studying philosophy,]—if indeed they propose to live happy, and,
when they die, possess in the other world, a destiny suited to the life
which they have led in this.
CHAP. XII.—How truly do I think, Socrates, said he, that you speak with
ready zeal:—I think, however, that most of your hearers will still more
zealously oppose you, and by no means be persuaded, and Thrasymachus
even first. Do not divide Thrasymachus and me, said I, who are now
become friends, though not enemies heretofore; for we will not at all
relax our efforts, till we either persuade both him and the rest, or
make some advances towards that life, on attaining which they will again
meet with such discourses as these. You have spoken, said he, only for a
short time. No time at all, said I, as compared at least with the whole
of time: but that the multitude are not persuaded by what is said, is no
wonder; for they have never as yet seen that what was mentioned actually
came to pass, but rather that they were certain mere words cleverly
fitted to each other, and not as now coming out spontaneously:—and as
regards the man, who is, as completely as possible, squared and made
consistent with virtue both in word and deed, holding power in a state
of such different character; they have never at all seen either one or
more of the kind:—do you think they have? By no means. And again, as
respects arguments, my excellent friend, they have not sufficiently
listened to what are fair and liberal, such as persevere in the search
for truth, by every method, for the mere sake of knowledge, saluting at
a distance[203] such intricate and contentious questions, as tend only
to opinion and strife, either in their law-courts or private meetings.
Not even as respects these, he replied. On these accounts then, said I,
and foreseeing these things, we, although with fear, still asserted
(compelled by truth), that neither state nor government, nor even a man
in the same way, could ever become perfect, till some need of fortune
should compel those few philosophers, who at present are termed not
depraved but useless, to take the government of the state, whether they
will or not, and oblige it to be obedient to them; or till the sons of
those who are now in high offices and magistracies, or they themselves,
be by some divine inspiration filled with a true love of sincere
philosophy: and I am sure that no one can reasonably suppose either or
both of these to be impossible; for thus might we justly be derided, as
saying things which otherwise are only like wishes:—is it not so? It is.
If then, in the infinite series of past ages, absolute necessity has
compelled men who have reached the summit of philosophy to take the
government of a state,—or even if such is now the case in some barbarous
region, remote from our observation, or is likely to be the case
hereafter, we are ready, in that case, to advance in argument, that this
form of government just described has existed and now exists [in
possibility,] and will actually arise, when this our muse shall obtain
the government of the state: for this is neither impossible to happen,
nor do we speak of impossibilities, though we ourselves confess that
they are difficult. I too, said he, am of the same opinion. But you will
say, replied I, that the multitude are not of that opinion? Very likely,
said he. My excellent friend, said I, do not thus altogether condemn the
multitude; and do not upbraid them for their opinion, but rather
encourage them,—remove the reproach thrown on philosophy,—and point out
to them the persons you call philosophers, defining distinctly, as at
present, both their genius and pursuits, that they may not think that
you speak of such as they themselves call philosophers.—Indeed, if they
talk of the same men, will you not say that they have conceived a
different opinion of the men from what you have, and give very different
replies from yours; and think you that one man can be angered at
another, who is not angry himself; or that a man will envy the envious,
who is himself free from envy, and of a gentle temper? I will anticipate
you by saying, that I think some few, though not the great mass of
mankind, have naturally so bad a temper as you have described. I am
quite of that opinion also, said he. Are you then of my opinion in this
also,—namely, that, as regards the ill-feeling of the populace towards
philosophy, those people from without, [_i. e._ the sophists,] are the
real cause of it, by making an indecent and turbulent irruption
thereinto, insulting and showing a downright hatred of philosophers,
ever directing their discourses at particular men, and so doing what
least of all becomes philosophy? Certainly, said he.
-----
Footnote 201:
Heraclitus the Ephesian said that the sun descended to the western
sea, and at its setting was extinguished,—being again enkindled when
it ascended above the earth in the east; and that this took place
perpetually.
Footnote 202:
The Scholiast suggests, that Plato here refers to mathematical
science: but Stallbaum conceives with far greater probability, that
allusion is made to all liberal or musical arts whatsoever, which are
to be studied as disciplines for the mind, just as gymnastics are
practised to promote the growth and strength of the body.
Footnote 203:
Gr. πόῤῥωθεν ἀσπαζομένων, an elegant phrase equivalent to χαίρειν
ἐώντων, _bidding farewell to_. Perhaps Plato had in memory the line of
Euripides, Hippolyt. v. 101, where Hippolytus accosts Aphrodite—
πρόσωθεν αὐτὴν ἁγνὸς ὢν ἀσπάζομαι.
-----
CHAP. XIII.—In fact, Adimantus, the man who really applies his intellect
to reflect on true being, probably has no leisure to look down on the
little affairs of mankind, and by fighting with them, become filled with
envy and ill-nature; but on the other hand, beholding and contemplating
objects that are orderly, always self-consistent and stable,[204] such
as neither injure nor are injured by each other, but are in all respects
beautiful and consonant with reason, these he imitates and resembles as
far as possible:—what, think you it at all possible, that a man will not
imitate what he admires as soon as he is conversant therewith?
Impossible, he replied. The philosopher then, who is occupied with what
is divine and orderly, becomes himself divine and orderly, as far as
lies in man’s power:—yet in all there is great room for blame. Most
assuredly. If then, said I, he should be any how compelled to try to
introduce among men what he beholds there [in his world of
contemplation,] with a view of forming their manners, both in private
and public, and not merely to form himself alone,—would he prove, think
you, a bad artist, in the matter of temperance and justice and every
civil virtue? Not at all, said he. But, supposing that the multitude
should perceive that we are speaking the truth about him, [_i. e._ the
philosopher,] will they be angry at philosophers and discredit our
assertion, that the state can never otherwise be happy, except as
portrayed by painters who employ a divine pattern?[205] They will not be
angry, said he, if they do perceive it: but what method of painting do
you mean? When they have got for their groundwork, said I, the state and
manners of mankind, they would first make them pure, which is not
altogether an easy matter; for you know, that in this they differ from
others,—in being unwilling to meddle either with a private man or state,
or to prescribe laws, till they have either received them as pure, or
themselves have made them so. Rightly too, said he. And after this,
think you not they will draw a sketch of their form of government? Of
course. Afterwards, I think, as they proceed in their work, they will
frequently look in two directions,—not only to what is naturally just
and beautiful, and temperate and the like, but also, again, to that
which they can establish among mankind, blending and compounding their
human form out of different human characters and pursuits, drawing from
what Homer calls the divine likeness, and the divine resemblance
subsisting among men? Right, said he. They will, of course, I think,
erase one thing, and put in another, till they have, as far as possible,
made human morals pleasing to the gods? At that rate, said he, the
picture will be most beautiful. In this case, said I, do we at all
succeed in persuading these men, who, you said, were coming upon us in
battle-array, that a person who can thus depict governments is the man
we then recommended to them,—and on whose account they were angry with
us, for committing to him our states:—and will they now be more mild,
when they hear our mention thereof? Certainly, said he, if they be
wise:—for what is there now, that they can further question?—will they
assert that philosophers are not lovers of real being and truth? That,
said he, were absurd. Or that their disposition, as just described, is
not allied to what is best? Nor this either. What then;—will not a
disposition such as we have described, by finding suitable employments,
become perfectly good and philosophic, if any other be so;—will men say
that those more attain to it, whom we have selected? Not at all. Will
they still then be indignant at us for saying, that until the
philosophic race have the government of the state, the miseries neither
of state nor citizens can have an end, nor can this government, which we
ideally describe, be ever perfectly realized? Perhaps somewhat less
indignant, rejoined he. Is it your wish, then, said I, that we say—not
that they are somewhat less [indignant,] but that they have become
altogether mild, and are persuaded, that they will at least consent, if
no more, through very shame? By all means, said he.
-----
Footnote 204:
The reader will take in connexion with this what had been stated at
the close of the first chapter of this book,—that the philosopher’s
studies were concerned with real and eternal being, and not allowed to
wander to the changeable and destructible—οὐ πλανωμένην ὑπὸ γενέσεως
καὶ φθορᾶς.
Footnote 205:
Philosophers ideally contemplating the image of a perfect state are
here elegantly compared to painters about to make an original design
of a city, who of course require that their tablets be clean, ere they
commence their drawing.
-----
CHAP. XIV.—Let them then, said I, be persuaded of this:—-and is there
any one who will dispute this,—that men of a philosophic disposition do
not usually spring from kings and sovereigns? No one, said he, would
assert that. And though they be born of such a character, one may say
they are necessarily prone to be corrupted; for indeed, it is a hard
matter for them to be preserved untainted, even we ourselves agree;—but
will any one contend throughout all time, that not one of the whole
human race, would be preserved pure and untainted? How can there be? But
surely, said I, any individual born with adequate abilities, and who has
his state in obedience to him, can accomplish everything now so much
disbelieved? Yes, for he is adequate to his task, said he. And when the
governor, said I, establishes the laws and customs here detailed, it is
not at all impossible for him to make the citizens willingly obey him?
In no way whatever. But is it wonderful or impossible, that what is our
opinion should be the opinion of others also? I, at least, do not think
so, said he. And that these things are best, if they be possible, we
have, I think, sufficiently explained in the former part of our
discourse. Yes, quite sufficiently. Now then, it seems, we are agreed
about our legislation; that the laws we mention are the best, if they
could be realized,—and that if it be hard to establish them, yet it is
not impossible? Yes,—we are agreed, said he.
CHAP. XV.—Since this then has been with difficulty brought to a
conclusion, shall we not next consider what remains;—in what manner, and
in consequence of what sciences and pursuits, they will become installed
as the preservers of the government, and at what periods of life they
will all apply to their several pursuits? Aye, we must talk of this,
observed he. My cunning has done me no service, said I, in having left
untouched, in the former part of our discourse, the difficulty attending
the possession of women, and the procreation of children, and the
establishment of governors, knowing how invidious the business is, and
full of difficulty, even though it be perfectly true and correct:—for we
are now under no less a compulsion of entering into these details.—What
relates to women and children has already been brought to a close; and
as to what concerns the governors, we must now from the beginning
reconsider that subject.—We have alleged, if you remember, that they
should appear to be lovers of the state,—proved to be so both by
pleasures and pains, and not seen to abandon this principle, either
through toils or fears or any other change; and that he who cannot do
this should be rejected; while as for him who comes forth altogether
pure, as gold tried in the fire, we should appoint him ruler, and endow
him with honours and rewards both during life and after death. Such was
what we said, when our argument was wandering and assuming a veil,
through fear of disturbing the present state of things. You speak quite
truly, said he;—for I remember it. Yes,—for I was loath, to say, my
friend, what I must now venture to assert:—but now this assertion must
at any rate be ventured,—that the most perfect guardians must be
established philosophers. Yes,—that has been stated, replied he. But
consider, I pray, that you will probably have only a few of these; for
such a disposition, as we declared that they must necessarily have, is
but rarely used to centre in one single individual; though its different
parts are commonly found in many different persons. How say you? he
replied. That such as learn with facility, have a good memory, are
sagacious and acute, and endued with all qualifications thereto allied,
are yet not at the same time of so vigorous and lofty an intellect, as
to live orderly, with calmness and constancy, but are carried hapchance
by mere buoyancy of spirits, and are deserted by everything like
stability. Your remark is true, replied he. Well then, these firm habits
of the mind, which are not easily changeable, and which one might
specially employ as trusty, and which in time of war are hard to be
excited to terror;—and similarly also as regards learning,—they move
heavily, and learn with difficulty, as if benumbed, and oppressed with
sleep and yawning, when compelled to labour at any work of this
description? It is so, replied he. But we said, that he ought to have a
good and fair share of both these, or else should have no share whatever
either in the most perfect kind of education, or in magisterial
dignities or state-honours? Right, said he. Do not you think then, that
this will but rarely happen? Of course it will. They must be tried then
both in what we before alluded to,—labours, fears, and pleasures;—and
likewise in what we then passed over, and are now mentioning;—we must
exercise them in various kinds of learning, with due regard for the
power of their talents to go through the highest branches of study, or
else their failure, as that of persons failing in all other things. It
is fit now, said he, that we consider this question in this manner:—but
what kind of studies are they, which you call the highest?
CHAP. XVI.—You remember, perhaps, said I, that when we divided the soul
into three parts, we defined the nature respectively of justice,
temperance, fortitude, and wisdom? If I did not remember, said he, I
should have no right to hear what remains. [Do you remember likewise]
what was said before that? What was it? We somewhere said, that it was
possible to behold these in their most beautiful forms, but that the
journey would be tedious, which a person must make, who would see them
clearly; yet that it was possible, to approach them through our proofs
before mentioned, and you said also, that these were sufficient; so,
what was then asserted fell in my opinion far short of the truth; though
if agreeable to you, you may say so. I at least thought, replied he,
that they had been discussed in fair measure; and the rest seemed to
think so too. But my friend, said I, in speaking of things of this kind,
such a measure as omits any part whatever of the truth is not wholly in
measure;—for nothing imperfect is the measure of anything;—though people
sometimes think that things are sufficiently well when thus
circumstanced, and there is no need for further inquiry. Very many, said
he, thus behave through indolence. But the guardian of the state and the
laws, said I, should least of all be thus affected. So it seems, replied
he. Such an one, then, my friend, said I, must make a more comprehensive
circuit, and labour as much in learning as in exercising himself:
otherwise, as we were just saying, he will never arrive at the summit of
the greatest and most suitable learning. But are not these branches the
highest:—or is there, said he, any one yet higher than justice, and
those virtues which we have discussed? There is something greater, said
I; and even of these we must not, as just now, only contemplate the mere
rude sketch; but we must not omit even its complete elaboration: is it
not ridiculous in other things of small moment to employ our whole
labour, and strive to attain the utmost accuracy and perfection, and yet
not deem the highest and most important affairs worthy of our highest
attention, with a view to making them as perfect as possible? The
sentiment, said he, is very just:—but with respect to the question,—what
is this most important branch of study, and about what you say it is
employed,—think you that any one will let you go without asking its
nature? Not at all, said I:—but do you ask; although you have assuredly
often heard it, but at present you do not bear it in mind, or else
intend to embarrass me by raising objections:—and I think this the more,
as you have often heard at least, that the idea of the good is the
highest branch of study;—about which, when justice and the other virtues
employ themselves, they then become useful and advantageous.—Now then,
you know pretty well that I mean to say this, and besides, that we do
not sufficiently know that idea; and without this knowledge, though we
were to understand everything else as fully as possible, yet you know
that it could be of no service whatever to us: in the same manner as no
possession whatever would be of aught avail, without the possession of
the good:—and think you that it is more profitable to possess all things
without the possession of the good than to know all things without the
knowledge of the good, having no perception at all of the beautiful and
good? Not I, by Zeus, he exclaimed.
CHAP. XVII.—Of this, moreover, you may be quite certain, that to the
multitude pleasure seems to be the good, while the more refined think it
to be virtue. How otherwise? And you know also, my friend, that those
who hold this opinion, are unable to show what knowledge is, but are
compelled at last to call it the knowledge of the good. Aye, and most
absurdly too, said he. How indeed can it be otherwise, replied I, if
when upbraiding us for not knowing the good, they yet speak as to
persons knowing it,[206] and say that knowledge is good itself, as if we
understood their meaning when pronouncing the word “the good?” Most
true, said he. But what? those who define pleasure to be good, are they
less in error than the others; or are not these too compelled to confess
that pleasures are evil? Quite so. It happens then, I think, that they
acknowledge the same things to be both good and evil,—do they not?
Undoubtedly. Is it not clear, then, that on this point there are great
and manifold varieties of opinion? Of course there are. But what;—is it
not clear also, that with reference to things just and beautiful, the
multitude choose what is apparent, even though it has no real existence,
yet acting and possessing and appearing to possess it;—though the
acquisition of only apparent goods, never yet satisfied any one:—for
people on the other hand seek what is real, and all men despise what is
only apparent? Just so, said he. This then is what every soul pursues,
and for the sake of which it does everything, conjecturing it to be
something, though still in doubt, and unable either fully to comprehend
its nature, or employ belief alone respecting it as of other things; and
hence is it, that they fail of success even in other matters however
useful.—Are we to say then, that about a matter of this nature, and of
such vast consequence, even the best men in the state, to whom we commit
the management of all things, will be thus in the dark? By no means,
said he. I am of opinion then, said I, that the just and the beautiful,
so long as they are unknown in what particular way they are good, cannot
be of any great importance to have a guardian who is ignorant of this;
and I suspect that no one will before this attain a sufficient knowledge
thereof. Yes,—you guess rightly, observed he. Will not our government,
therefore, have been completely set in order, if a guardian be set over
it that is scientifically acquainted with these things?
-----
Footnote 206:
The meaning is;—that as such persons are forced to allow that
knowledge of itself is not the highest good, but should be referred to
the highest good, as the arbiter thereof,—those persons run into an
absurd error, who denying that we have any knowledge of “the good,”
yet so act as if we had a sufficient knowledge thereof,—fixing their
notion on some abstract theory of good.
-----
CHAP. XVIII.—It must of necessity, said he:—but yet with respect to
yourself, Socrates, say you that the good is science, or pleasure, or
something independent of these? Oh, you fine fellow, said I, you long
ago clearly showed that you were not to be satisfied with other men’s
opinions about these matters. Nor does it seem to me just, Socrates,
said he, that a man should keep talking of other men’s opinions, and not
his own, after having spent so much time in inquiring about these
particulars. But what, said I;—do you think it just then, that a man
should talk about matters of which he is ignorant, just as if he knew
them? By no means as if he knew them, said he; yet, according to his
thoughts, whatever he thinks he should willingly tell us. But what, said
I;—have you not observed respecting unscientific opinions, how
contemptible they all are, and the best of them blind;—and think you,
that these persons, who without intellect form true opinions, are at all
different from blind men walking on the right road? Not at all, said he.
Do you wish, then, that we should contemplate things base, blind, and
crooked, when it is in our power to hear from others what is clear and
beautiful? By Zeus, Socrates, said Glaucon, do not stop here, as if you
had come to a close; for we shall be satisfied, if, in the same way as
you have spoken of justice, temperance, and the other virtues, you will
in like manner discourse of the good. And I too shall be very well
satisfied, my friend, said I; but [I am afraid] that I shall not be
able, and so, by my readiness may incur the ridicule of unmannerly
persons.—But, my excellent friends, let us at present dismiss[207] this
inquiry about the nature of the good, (for it seems to me more, as far
as I now think, than we can attain, in our present attempt): but I am
willing to tell you, if you please, what I conceive to be the offspring
of the good, and its nearest representation; and if not, I shall dismiss
it. Well then, tell us, said he; for you shall afterwards acquit
yourself of your debt by telling us of its parent. I could wish, said I,
both that I were able to oblige you by explaining that, and not as now
the offspring only and interest of my debt.[208] This child and
offspring of the good itself, pray receive;—but still take due care that
I deceive you nowise unwillingly by paying my account of this offspring
in base coin. We will take care of that, said he, as far as we can:—only
do you tell us. I will then, said I, when we are once thoroughly agreed,
and I have reminded you of what was before mentioned, and has been often
said on other occasions. What is that? said he. That there are many
things beautiful, said I, and many good also; and each of these we
declare to be so, and so define them in our argument. Yes, so we say.
But as to the beautiful itself and the good itself, and similarly as to
all those things which we then considered as of various natures, we are
now again establishing them according to the unity of the general idea,
to which we conceive each related; and these indeed, we say, are
observed by the eye, but are not objects of intellectual perception;
whereas the ideas are perceived by the intellect, not seen by the eye.
Assuredly. By what part then of ourselves do we see things visible? By
the sight, said he. And is it not, said I, by hearing, that we perceive
what is heard; and by the other senses, all the other objects of sense?
Of course. But have you not perceived, said I, as regards the artificer
of the senses, with what perfect skill he has formed the power of
seeing, and being seen? Not quite, he replied. But consider it thus:—is
there a third kind of faculty required by the hearing and voice, in
order that the one may hear and the other be heard, in the absence of
which the one will not hear, and the other not be heard? There is not,
said he. I conceive, said I, that many others also (not to say, none at
all) require no such thing:—can you name any one that does? Not I, he
replied. But with reference to the sense of seeing and the object of
sight, do you not perceive that they require something? How? When there
is sight in the eyes, and when he who has it attempts to use it, and
when there is colour in the objects before him, unless there concur some
third kind of medium naturally formed for the purpose,—the sight, you
are aware, will see nothing, and colours will be invisible. What is this
of which you are now speaking? inquired he. What you call light, said I.
Your remark is true, replied he. This sense of seeing then, and power of
being seen, are no unimportant ideas, and are connected by a bond more
precious than all other bonds, if light be not valueless. But it is far,
said he, from being valueless.
-----
Footnote 207:
Socrates says this in consequence of the inability of his auditors to
understand the nature of _the good_: for the Greek Scholiast well
observes on this part of the Republic, that it is through the
inaptitude of subordinate natures that the more excellent are unable
to energize. Παρὰ γὰρ τῶν καταδεεστέρων ἀνεπιτηδειότητα τὰ κρείττονα
ἀδυνατοῦσιν ἐνεργεῖν.
Footnote 208:
The _equivoque_ of the word τόκους is difficult to translate; as it
signifies equally _children_, _productions_, and _the interest of a
debt_. The word πατήρ, if τόκος be taken in the latter sense, will
refer to _the capital_. Comp. Aristotle, Polit. i. ch. 10—μεταβολῆς
γὰρ ἐγένετο χάριν, ὁ δὲ τόκος αὐτὸ ποιεῖ πλέον. ὅθεν καὶ τοὔνομα τοῦτ’
εἴληφεν· ὅμοια γὰρ τὰ τικτόμενα τοῖς γεννῶσιν αὐτά ἐστιν, ὁ δὲ τόκος
γίνεται νόμισμα νομίσματος. Plato uses the same figure in the
Politicus, p. 267 a.
-----
CHAP. XIX.—Whom then of the gods in heaven can you assign as the cause
of this,—that light makes our sight to see, and visible objects to be
seen, in the best manner? The same, he replied, as you and others do;
for it is evident that you mean the sun. Does not sight then derive its
nature through its relation to this god? How?—The sight is not the sun,
nor is that the sun, in which sight is engendered,—which we call the
eye. It is not. But yet, methinks, this at least of all the organs of
sense is most sun-like? Very much so. And the power which it possesses,
does it not possess, as dispensed and emanating hence? Certainly. Is not
the sun then, though not sight itself, but the principle thereof, seen
by sight itself? It is so, said he. This then, said I, be assured, is
what I called the offspring of _the good_, which _the good_ generates,
analogous to itself; and what this is in the sphere of intelligence,
with reference to intellect, and the objects of intellect, that the sun
is in the visible [world] with reference to sight and visible things.
How is that? said he: pray further explain it. You are aware, that the
eyes, said I, when directed towards objects, whose colours are no longer
visited by the light of day,[209] but by the glimmerings of the night,
grow dim and appear almost blind, as if they had in them no pure vision.
Just so, said he. But when they turn to objects which the sun
illuminates, then, methinks, they see clearly, and in those very eyes
there now appears vision. There does. Understand the same, then, to be
the case with reference to the soul.—When it firmly adheres to what is
enlightened by truth and real being, then it understands and knows it,
and appears to possess intellect; but when it adheres to what is blended
with darkness, and is subject to generation and destruction, it then has
to do with opinion, and is dull, wandering from one opinion to another,
like one without intellect. So it seems. That therefore which imparts
truth to what is known, and dispenses the faculty of knowledge to him
who knows, you may call the idea of _the good_ and the principle of
science and truth, as being known through intellect. And as both
these,—knowledge and truth, are so beautiful, you will be right in
thinking that the good is something different, and still more beautiful
than these. Science and truth here are as light and sight there, which
we rightly judged to be sun-like, but yet did not think them to be the
sun:—so here it is right to hold, that both of them partake of the form
of _the good_,—but yet not right to suppose that either of them is _the
good_, inasmuch as _the good itself_ is worthy of still greater honour.
You speak, said he, of some inestimable idea of “the beautiful,” which
exhibits science and truth, and yet is itself their superior in
beauty;—for you have nowhere said, that it was pleasure. Hope better
things, said I; but thus rather consider its image still further. How?
You will say, I think, that the sun imparts to things which are seen,
not only their visibility, but likewise their generation, growth, and
nourishment, though not itself generation?[210] Of course. We may say,
therefore, as to things cognizable by the intellect, that they become
cognizable not only from _the good_, by which they are known, but
likewise that their being and essence are thence derived, while _the
good_ itself is not essence, but beyond essence, and superior to both in
dignity and power.
-----
Footnote 209:
The words φῶς and φέγγος are here opposed,—the first referring to the
original and primary light of the sun, the latter to the inferior and
borrowed light of the moon and stars.
Footnote 210:
The generation of things illuminated by the sun, shows that it is
perfectly unbegotten; for, according to the Platonic philosophy, the
sun alone of all the bodies in the universe is without generation,
neither receiving any accession nor diminution; whereas all that it
illuminates receives light, through the motion of the sun about its
proper centre, which also at different times sends different rays to
the heavenly bodies belonging to its system. So far therefore as the
sun illuminates, it is unbegotten; and, on this principle only, and
not as respects its corporeal shape, is it assimilated to _the good_.
-----
CHAP. XX.—Here Glaucon, heartily laughing, said, By Apollo, here is a
marvellous transcendency! You yourself, replied I, are the cause of it,
by compelling me to relate what I think about it. And by no means stop,
said he, unless there be some cause; from again discussing the analogy
about the the sun, if you have omitted anything. Aye, I have omitted
many things, replied I. Ah, but, replied he, pray do not omit the
smallest particular. I think, said I, that much will be omitted: yet, as
far as I can at present, I will not willingly omit anything. Do not,
said he. Understand then, said I, that we allege these to be two;
ruling—the one over the intelligible genus and place, and the other over
the visible world,—not to say the heavens, lest I should seem to you to
employ a sophistical expression: you understand then these two
descriptions of being,—the visible and intelligible? I do. Supposing now
you to take a line cut into two equal sections, then again cut each part
according to the same ratio, both that of the visible and that of the
intelligible species, you will then have them placed in contrast with
each other, either in clearness or obscurity,—the second section in the
visible species being images. Now images I call, in the first place,
shadows,—in the next, appearances in water, and such as subsist in
opaque, polished and bright bodies, and all such-like representations,
if you understand me. Yes, I understand. Consider now the other section
of the visible which this resembles,—the animals around us, and all
kinds of plants, and everything of an artificial nature. I do consider
it, said he. Do you wish to assert, then, that this section is divided
by truth and its opposite;—and just as the objects of opinion are
opposed to the objects of true knowledge, so also that which is compared
[is opposed] to that with which it is compared? Aye, indeed: I am quite
willing. Consider once more about this section of the intelligible, how
it is to be effected. How? That with respect to one part thereof, the
soul uses the former sections as images, and is compelled to investigate
by means of hypothesis, not going back to first principles, but
advancing onward to conclusions; and the other part, again, is that
where the soul proceeds from hypothesis to an unhypothetical principle,
and makes its way even without those images by means of the ideas
themselves. What you now say, rejoined he, I do not fully understand.
Once more, said I,—for you will more easily understand me, from what has
been previously stated,—you are not unaware, methinks, that persons
versed in geometry, and computations, and such-like, after laying down
hypotheses of the odd and even, and figures, and three kinds of angles,
and other similar matters, according to each method, proceed on them as
known, after establishing them as mere hypotheses, and give no further
reason about them, either to themselves or others, as being things
obvious to all;—but, beginning with these, then directly discuss the
rest, and end by meeting at the point where the inquiry set out? I know
this, said he, perfectly well. And [do you not likewise know] that they
use the visible species, and reason about them, not employing their
intellect about these species, but about those of which they are the
resemblances, arguing about the square itself, and the diameter itself,
and not about what they describe;—and, so also, with reference to other
particulars, those very things which they form and describe, among which
are shadows and images in water, these they use as images, trying to
behold those very things, which a man can only perceive by his
intellect? You say true, he replied.
CHAP. XXI.—This then was what I meant by the idea of the intelligible;
but [I said also,] that the soul was obliged to use hypotheses in its
investigation, not going back to the principle, as though unable to
ascend higher than hypotheses, and employed comparisons formed from
things below, to lead to those above, as to clearly-seen objects of
thought, distinct from the things themselves. I understand, said he,
that you are speaking of what concerns geometry and its sister arts. By
that other section of the intelligible, then, you must understand me to
mean what reason itself attains by its dialectic faculty, forming
hypotheses, not as principles, but really hypotheses, just like steps
and starting-points, in order that by proceeding up to the
unhypothetical,—[that is,] the principle of the universe, coming in
contact therewith, and so again coming into union with what is united to
it in principle, it may thus reach the end without making use of
anything sensible, but only of ideas themselves, proceeding through some
to others, and so ending in ideas. I understand, said he, but not
fully:—(for I think you are talking of some difficult work:) but I
understand it is your wish to prove that knowledge obtained by dialectic
science respecting real and intelligible being is clearer than that
acquired by means of what are called arts, which take hypotheses for
their first principles, and which those who contemplate must view with
the understanding and not the perceptive faculties; whereas, through
their inability to go back to first principles, and as they reason only
from hypotheses, you think they do not exercise intellect [νοῦν] in
these matters, much as they might become intelligible with some
principle for a foundation:—and as for understanding [or
reasoning,]—that which we acquire through geometry and its kindred arts,
and not pure reason, this is something lying between opinion and pure
intellect. You have fully understood me, said I:—and understand me now,
that analogous to these four branches of knowledge are four affections
[or faculties] of the soul,—pure reasoning answering to the
highest,—understanding [or reasoning] to the second, faith to the
third,—conjecture to the last:[211]—and so arrange them, as to assign to
them respectively more or less of clearness, as they are more or less
allied to truth. I understand, replied he, and quite agree; and so let
us adopt your proposed arrangement.
-----
Footnote 211:
Plato conceived that there was an ideal and a visible world,—the world
of reason and the world of sense, and two essences in each;—in the
_former_, pure or abstract ideas and mixed ideas,—in the visible world
(which comprises exclusively the objects of sense), material
substances; and secondly, the images, shadows, or representations of
bodies. Analogous to these also are four faculties of the human mind,
two only of which have any relation to the ideal world or form any
part of true science;—1. νόησις, the knowledge of pure ideas
(reflection, the pure reason of Kant);—2. διάνοια (_understanding_),
the knowledge of mixed ideas;—3. πίστις, _faith_, the knowledge of
bodies and their properties;—4. εἰκασία, _conjecture_, the knowledge
of the images or shadows of bodies. The two last belong to unstable,
varying opinion (δόξα). This explanation is here given, as the words
require a more accurate definition than can be furnished by the text.
See article _Plato_, in the P. Cycl.
-----