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Here Adeimantus interposed and said: To these statements,
Socrates, no one can offer a reply; but when you talk in this way, a
strange feeling passes over the minds of your hearers: They fancy that
they are led astray a little at each step in the argument, owing to
their own want of skill in asking and answering questions; these
littles accumulate, and at the end of the discussion they are found to
have sustained a mighty overthrow and all their former notions
appear to be turned upside down. And as unskilful players of
draughts are at last shut up by their more skilful adversaries and
have no piece to move, so they too find themselves shut up at last;
for they have nothing to say in this new game of which words are the
counters; and yet all the time they are in the right. The
observation is suggested to me by what is now occurring. For any one
of us might say, that although in words he is not able to meet you
at each step of the argument, he sees as a fact that the votaries of
philosophy, when they carry on the study, not only in youth as a
part of education, but as the pursuit of their maturer years, most
of them become strange monsters, not to say utter rogues, and that
those who may be considered the best of them are made useless to the
world by the very study which you extol.
Well, and do you think that those who say so are wrong?
I cannot tell, he replied; but I should like to know what is your
opinion.
Hear my answer; I am of opinion that they are quite right.
Then how can you be justified in saying that cities will not cease
from evil until philosophers rule in them, when philosophers are
acknowledged by us to be of no use to them?
You ask a question, I said, to which a reply can only be given in
a parable.
Yes, Socrates; and that is a way of speaking to which you are not at
all accustomed, I suppose.
I perceive, I said, that you are vastly amused at having plunged
me into such a hopeless discussion; but now hear the parable, and then
you will be still more amused at the meagreness of my imagination: for
the manner in which the best men are treated in their own States is so
grievous that no single thing on earth is comparable to it; and
therefore, if I am to plead their cause, I must have recourse to
fiction, and put together a figure made up of many things, like the
fabulous unions of goats and stags which are found in pictures.
Imagine then a fleet or a ship in which there is a captain who is
taller and stronger than any of the crew, but he is a little deaf
and has a similar infirmity in sight, and his knowledge of
navigation is not much better. The sailors are quarrelling with one
another about the steering --every one is of opinion that he has a
right to steer, though he has never learned the art of navigation
and cannot tell who taught him or when he learned, and will further
assert that it cannot be taught, and they are ready to cut in pieces
any one who says the contrary. They throng about the captain,
begging and praying him to commit the helm to them; and if at any time
they do not prevail, but others are preferred to them, they kill the
others or throw them overboard, and having first chained up the
noble captain's senses with drink or some narcotic drug, they mutiny
and take possession of the ship and make free with the stores; thus,
eating and drinking, they proceed on their voyage in such a manner
as might be expected of them. Him who is their partisan and cleverly
aids them in their plot for getting the ship out of the captain's
hands into their own whether by force or persuasion, they compliment
with the name of sailor, pilot, able seaman, and abuse the other
sort of man, whom they call a good-for-nothing; but that the true
pilot must pay attention to the year and seasons and sky and stars and
winds, and whatever else belongs to his art, if he intends to be
really qualified for the command of a ship, and that he must and
will be the steerer, whether other people like or not-the
possibility of this union of authority with the steerer's art has
never seriously entered into their thoughts or been made part of their
calling. Now in vessels which are in a state of mutiny and by
sailors who are mutineers, how will the true pilot be regarded? Will
he not be called by them a prater, a star-gazer, a good-for-nothing?
Of course, said Adeimantus.
Then you will hardly need, I said, to hear the interpretation of the
figure, which describes the true philosopher in his relation to the
State; for you understand already.
Certainly.
Then suppose you now take this parable to the gentleman who is
surprised at finding that philosophers have no honour in their cities;
explain it to him and try to convince him that their having honour
would be far more extraordinary.
I will.
Say to him, that, in deeming the best votaries of philosophy to be
useless to the rest of the world, he is right; but also tell him to
attribute their uselessness to the fault of those who will not use
them, and not to themselves. The pilot should not humbly beg the
sailors to be commanded by him --that is not the order of nature;
neither are 'the wise to go to the doors of the rich' --the
ingenious author of this saying told a lie --but the truth is, that,
when a man is ill, whether he be rich or poor, to the physician he
must go, and he who wants to be governed, to him who is able to
govern. The ruler who is good for anything ought not to beg his
subjects to be ruled by him; although the present governors of mankind
are of a different stamp; they may be justly compared to the
mutinous sailors, and the true helmsmen to those who are called by
them good-for-nothings and star-gazers.
Precisely so, he said.
For these reasons, and among men like these, philosophy, the noblest
pursuit of all, is not likely to be much esteemed by those of the
opposite faction; not that the greatest and most lasting injury is
done to her by her opponents, but by her own professing followers, the
same of whom you suppose the accuser to say, that the greater number
of them are arrant rogues, and the best are useless; in which
opinion I agreed.
Yes.
And the reason why the good are useless has now been explained?
True.
Then shall we proceed to show that the corruption of the majority is
also unavoidable, and that this is not to be laid to the charge of
philosophy any more than the other?
By all means.
And let us ask and answer in turn, first going back to the
description of the gentle and noble nature. Truth, as you will
remember, was his leader, whom he followed always and in all things;
failing in this, he was an impostor, and had no part or lot in true
philosophy.
Yes, that was said.
Well, and is not this one quality, to mention no others, greatly
at variance with present notions of him?
Certainly, he said.
And have we not a right to say in his defence, that the true lover
of knowledge is always striving after being --that is his nature; he
will not rest in the multiplicity of individuals which is an
appearance only, but will go on --the keen edge will not be blunted,
nor the force of his desire abate until he have attained the knowledge
of the true nature of every essence by a sympathetic and kindred power
in the soul, and by that power drawing near and mingling and
becoming incorporate with very being, having begotten mind and
truth, he will have knowledge and will live and grow truly, and
then, and not till then, will he cease from his travail.
Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him.
And will the love of a lie be any part of a philosopher's nature?
Will he not utterly hate a lie?
He will.
And when truth is the captain, we cannot suspect any evil of the
band which he leads?
Impossible.
Justice and health of mind will be of the company, and temperance
will follow after?
True, he replied.
Neither is there any reason why I should again set in array the
philosopher's virtues, as you will doubtless remember that courage,
magnificence, apprehension, memory, were his natural gifts. And you
objected that, although no one could deny what I then said, still,
if you leave words and look at facts, the persons who are thus
described are some of them manifestly useless, and the greater
number utterly depraved; we were then led to enquire into the
grounds of these accusations, and have now arrived at the point of
asking why are the majority bad, which question of necessity brought
us back to the examination and definition of the true philosopher.
Exactly.
And we have next to consider the of the philosophic nature, why so
many are spoiled and so few escape spoiling --I am speaking of those
who were said to be useless but not wicked --and, when we have done
with them, we will speak of the imitators of philosophy, what manner
of men are they who aspire after a profession which is above them
and of which they are unworthy, and then, by their manifold
inconsistencies, bring upon philosophy, and upon all philosophers,
that universal reprobation of which we speak.
What are these corruptions? he said.
I will see if I can explain them to you. Every one will admit that a
nature having in perfection all the qualities which we required in a
philosopher, is a rare plant which is seldom seen among men.
Rare indeed.
And what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rare
natures!
What causes?
In the first place there are their own virtues, their courage,
temperance, and the rest of them, every one of which praise worthy
qualities (and this is a most singular circumstance) destroys and
distracts from philosophy the soul which is the possessor of them.
That is very singular, he replied.
Then there are all the ordinary goods of life --beauty, wealth,
strength, rank, and great connections in the State --you understand
the sort of things --these also have a corrupting and distracting
effect.
I understand; but I should like to know more precisely what you mean
about them.
Grasp the truth as a whole, I said, and in the right way; you will
then have no difficulty in apprehending the preceding remarks, and
they will no longer appear strange to you.
And how am I to do so? he asked.
Why, I said, we know that all germs or seeds, whether vegetable or
animal, when they fail to meet with proper nutriment or climate or
soil, in proportion to their vigour, are all the more sensitive to the
want of a suitable environment, for evil is a greater enemy to what is
good than what is not.
Very true.
There is reason in supposing that the finest natures, when under
alien conditions, receive more injury than the inferior, because the
contrast is greater.
Certainly.
And may we not say, Adeimantus, that the most gifted minds, when
they are ill-educated, become pre-eminently bad? Do not great crimes
and the spirit of pure evil spring out of a fulness of nature ruined
by education rather than from any inferiority, whereas weak natures
are scarcely capable of any very great good or very great evil?
There I think that you are right.
And our philosopher follows the same analogy-he is like a plant
which, having proper nurture, must necessarily grow and mature into
all virtue, but, if sown and planted in an alien soil, becomes the
most noxious of all weeds, unless he be preserved by some divine
power. Do you really think, as people so often say, that our youth are
corrupted by Sophists, or that private teachers of the art corrupt
them in any degree worth speaking of? Are not the public who say these
things the greatest of all Sophists? And do they not educate to
perfection young and old, men and women alike, and fashion them
after their own hearts?
When is this accomplished? he said.
When they meet together, and the world sits down at an assembly,
or in a court of law, or a theatre, or a camp, or in any other popular
resort, and there is a great uproar, and they praise some things which
are being said or done, and blame other things, equally exaggerating
both, shouting and clapping their hands, and the echo of the rocks and
the place in which they are assembled redoubles the sound of the
praise or blame --at such a time will not a young man's heart, as they
say, leap within him? Will any private training enable him to stand
firm against the overwhelming flood of popular opinion? or will he
be carried away by the stream? Will he not have the notions of good
and evil which the public in general have --he will do as they do, and
as they are, such will he be?
Yes, Socrates; necessity will compel him.
And yet, I said, there is a still greater necessity, which has not
been mentioned.
What is that?
The gentle force of attainder or confiscation or death which, as you
are aware, these new Sophists and educators who are the public,
apply when their words are powerless.
Indeed they do; and in right good earnest.
Now what opinion of any other Sophist, or of any private person, can
be expected to overcome in such an unequal contest?
None, he replied.
No, indeed, I said, even to make the attempt is a great piece of
folly; there neither is, nor has been, nor is ever likely to be, any
different type of character which has had no other training in
virtue but that which is supplied by public opinion --I speak, my
friend, of human virtue only; what is more than human, as the
proverb says, is not included: for I would not have you ignorant that,
in the present evil state of governments, whatever is saved and
comes to good is saved by the power of God, as we may truly say.
I quite assent, he replied.
Then let me crave your assent also to a further observation.
What are you going to say?
Why, that all those mercenary individuals, whom the many call
Sophists and whom they deem to be their adversaries, do, in fact,
teach nothing but the opinion of the many, that is to say, the
opinions of their assemblies; and this is their wisdom. I might
compare them to a man who should study the tempers and desires of a
mighty strong beast who is fed by him-he would learn how to approach
and handle him, also at what times and from what causes he is
dangerous or the reverse, and what is the meaning of his several
cries, and by what sounds, when another utters them, he is soothed
or infuriated; and you may suppose further, that when, by
continually attending upon him, he has become perfect in all this,
he calls his knowledge wisdom, and makes of it a system or art,
which he proceeds to teach, although he has no real notion of what
he means by the principles or passions of which he is speaking, but
calls this honourable and that dishonourable, or good or evil, or just
or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes and tempers of the
great brute. Good he pronounces to be that in which the beast delights
and evil to be that which he dislikes; and he can give no other
account of them except that the just and noble are the necessary,
having never himself seen, and having no power of explaining to others
the nature of either, or the difference between them, which is
immense. By heaven, would not such an one be a rare educator?
Indeed, he would.
And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment of
the tempers and tastes of the motley multitude, whether in painting or
music, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom I have been
describing For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits to them
his poem or other work of art or the service which he has done the
State, making them his judges when he is not obliged, the so-called
necessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they
praise. And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give in
confirmation of their own notions about the honourable and good. Did
you ever hear any of them which were not?
No, nor am I likely to hear.
You recognise the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me
ask you to consider further whether the world will ever be induced
to believe in the existence of absolute beauty rather than of the many
beautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many
in each kind?
Certainly not.
Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher?
Impossible.
And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure of
the world?
They must.
And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them?
That is evident.
Then, do you see any way in which the philosopher can be preserved
in his calling to the end? and remember what we were saying of him,
that he was to have quickness and memory and courage and
magnificence --these were admitted by us to be the true
philosopher's gifts.
Yes.
Will not such an one from his early childhood be in all things first
among all, especially if his bodily endowments are like his mental
ones?
Certainly, he said.
And his friends and fellow-citizens will want to use him as he
gets older for their own purposes?
No question.
Falling at his feet, they will make requests to him and do him
honour and flatter him, because they want to get into their hands now,
the power which he will one day possess.
That often happens, he said.
And what will a man such as he be likely to do under such
circumstances, especially if he be a citizen of a great city, rich and
noble, and a tall proper youth? Will he not be full of boundless
aspirations, and fancy himself able to manage the affairs of
Hellenes and of barbarians, and having got such notions into his
head will he not dilate and elevate himself in the fulness of vain
pomp and senseless pride?
To be sure he will.
Now, when he is in this state of mind, if some one gently comes to
him and tells him that he is a fool and must get understanding,
which can only be got by slaving for it, do you think that, under such
adverse circumstances, he will be easily induced to listen?
Far otherwise.
And even if there be some one who through inherent goodness or
natural reasonableness has had his eyes opened a little and is humbled
and taken captive by philosophy, how will his friends behave when they
think that they are likely to lose the advantage which they were
hoping to reap from his companionship? Will they not do and say
anything to prevent him from yielding to his better nature and to
render his teacher powerless, using to this end private intrigues as
well as public prosecutions?
There can be no doubt of it.
And how can one who is thus circumstanced ever become a philosopher?
Impossible.
Then were we not right in saying that even the very qualities
which make a man a philosopher may, if he be ill-educated, divert
him from philosophy, no less than riches and their accompaniments
and the other so-called goods of life?
We were quite right.
Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and
failure which I have been describing of the natures best adapted to
the best of all pursuits; they are natures which we maintain to be
rare at any time; this being the class out of which come the men who
are the authors of the greatest evil to States and individuals; and
also of the greatest good when the tide carries them in that
direction; but a small man never was the doer of any great thing
either to individuals or to States.
That is most true, he said.
And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite
incomplete: for her own have fallen away and forsaken her, and while
they are leading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy
persons, seeing that she has no kinsmen to be her protectors, enter in
and dishonour her; and fasten upon her the reproaches which, as you
say, her reprovers utter, who affirm of her votaries that some are
good for nothing, and that the greater number deserve the severest
punishment.
That is certainly what people say.
Yes; and what else would you expect, I said, when you think of the
puny creatures who, seeing this land open to them --a land well
stocked with fair names and showy titles --like prisoners running
out of prison into a sanctuary, take a leap out of their trades into
philosophy; those who do so being probably the cleverest hands at
their own miserable crafts? For, although philosophy be in this evil
case, still there remains a dignity about her which is not to be found
in the arts. And many are thus attracted by her whose natures are
imperfect and whose souls are maimed and disfigured by their
meannesses, as their bodies are by their trades and crafts. Is not
this unavoidable?
Yes.
Are they not exactly like a bald little tinker who has just got
out of durance and come into a fortune; he takes a bath and puts on
a new coat, and is decked out as a bridegroom going to marry his
master's daughter, who is left poor and desolate?
A most exact parallel.
What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile
and bastard?
There can be no question of it.
And when persons who are unworthy of education approach philosophy
and make an alliance with her who is a rank above them what sort of
ideas and opinions are likely to be generated? Will they not be
sophisms captivating to the ear, having nothing in them genuine, or
worthy of or akin to true wisdom?
No doubt, he said.
Then, Adeimantus, I said, the worthy disciples of philosophy will be
but a small remnant: perchance some noble and well-educated person,
detained by exile in her service, who in the absence of corrupting
influences remains devoted to her; or some lofty soul born in a mean
city, the politics of which he contemns and neglects; and there may be
a gifted few who leave the arts, which they justly despise, and come
to her; --or peradventure there are some who are restrained by our
friend Theages' bridle; for everything in the life of Theages
conspired to divert him from philosophy; but ill-health kept him
away from politics. My own case of the internal sign is hardly worth
mentioning, for rarely, if ever, has such a monitor been given to
any other man. Those who belong to this small class have tasted how
sweet and blessed a possession philosophy is, and have also seen
enough of the madness of the multitude; and they know that no
politician is honest, nor is there any champion of justice at whose
side they may fight and be saved. Such an one may be compared to a man
who has fallen among wild beasts --he will not join in the
wickedness of his fellows, but neither is he able singly to resist all
their fierce natures, and therefore seeing that he would be of no
use to the State or to his friends, and reflecting that he would
have to throw away his life without doing any good either to himself
or others, he holds his peace, and goes his own way. He is like one
who, in the storm of dust and sleet which the driving wind hurries
along, retires under the shelter of a wall; and seeing the rest of
mankind full of wickedness, he is content, if only he can live his own
life and be pure from evil or unrighteousness, and depart in peace and
good-will, with bright hopes.
Yes, he said, and he will have done a great work before he departs.
A great work --yes; but not the greatest, unless he find a State
suitable to him; for in a State which is suitable to him, he will have
a larger growth and be the saviour of his country, as well as of
himself.
The causes why philosophy is in such an evil name have now been
sufficiently explained: the injustice of the charges against her has
been shown-is there anything more which you wish to say?
Nothing more on that subject, he replied; but I should like to
know which of the governments now existing is in your opinion the
one adapted to her.
Not any of them, I said; and that is precisely the accusation
which I bring against them --not one of them is worthy of the
philosophic nature, and hence that nature is warped and estranged;
--as the exotic seed which is sown in a foreign land becomes
denaturalized, and is wont to be overpowered and to lose itself in the
new soil, even so this growth of philosophy, instead of persisting,
degenerates and receives another character. But if philosophy ever
finds in the State that perfection which she herself is, then will
be seen that she is in truth divine, and that all other things,
whether natures of men or institutions, are but human; --and now, I
know that you are going to ask, what that State is.
No, he said; there you are wrong, for I was going to ask another
question --whether it is the State of which. we are the founders and
inventors, or some other?
Yes, I replied, ours in most respects; but you may remember my
saying before, that some living authority would always be required
in the State having the same idea of the constitution which guided you
when as legislator you were laying down the laws.
That was said, he replied.
Yes, but not in a satisfactory manner; you frightened us by
interposing objections, which certainly showed that the discussion
would be long and difficult; and what still remains is the reverse
of easy.
What is there remaining?
The question how the study of philosophy may be so ordered as not to
be the ruin of the State: All great attempts are attended with risk;
'hard is the good,' as men say.
Still, he said, let the point be cleared up, and the enquiry will
then be complete.
I shall not be hindered, I said, by any want of will, but, if at
all, by a want of power: my zeal you may see for yourselves; and
please to remark in what I am about to say how boldly and
unhesitatingly I declare that States should pursue philosophy, not
as they do now, but in a different spirit.
In what manner?
At present, I said, the students of philosophy are quite young;
beginning when they are hardly past childhood, they devote only the
time saved from moneymaking and housekeeping to such pursuits; and
even those of them who are reputed to have most of the philosophic
spirit, when they come within sight of the great difficulty of the
subject, I mean dialectic, take themselves off. In after life when
invited by some one else, they may, perhaps, go and hear a lecture,
and about this they make much ado, for philosophy is not considered by
them to be their proper business: at last, when they grow old, in most
cases they are extinguished more truly than Heracleitus' sun, inasmuch
as they never light up again.
But what ought to be their course?
Just the opposite. In childhood and youth their study, and what
philosophy they learn, should be suited to their tender years:
during this period while they are growing up towards manhood, the
chief and special care should be given to their bodies that they may
have them to use in the service of philosophy; as life advances and
the intellect begins to mature, let them increase the gymnastics of
the soul; but when the strength of our citizens fails and is past
civil and military duties, then let them range at will and engage in
no serious labour, as we intend them to live happily here, and to
crown this life with a similar happiness in another.
How truly in earnest you are, Socrates! he said; I am sure of
that; and yet most of your hearers, if I am not mistaken, are likely
to be still more earnest in their opposition to you, and will never be
convinced; Thrasymachus least of all.
Do not make a quarrel, I said, between Thrasymachus and me, who have
recently become friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies;
for I shall go on striving to the utmost until I either convert him
and other men, or do something which may profit them against the day
when they live again, and hold the like discourse in another state
of existence.
You are speaking of a time which is not very near.
Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison
with eternity. Nevertheless, I do not wonder that the many refuse to
believe; for they have never seen that of which we are now speaking
realised; they have seen only a conventional imitation of
philosophy, consisting of words artificially brought together, not
like these of ours having a natural unity. But a human being who in
word and work is perfectly moulded, as far as he can be, into the
proportion and likeness of virtue --such a man ruling in a city
which bears the same image, they have never yet seen, neither one
nor many of them --do you think that they ever did?
No indeed.
No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noble
sentiments; such as men utter when they are earnestly and by every
means in their power seeking after truth for the sake of knowledge,
while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which
the end is opinion and strife, whether they meet with them in the
courts of law or in society.
They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.
And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth
forced us to admit, not without fear and hesitation, that neither
cities nor States nor individuals will ever attain perfection until
the small class of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt
are providentially compelled, whether they will or not, to take care
of the State, and until a like necessity be laid on the State to
obey them; or until kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or
princes, are divinely inspired ' d with a true love of true
philosophy. That either or both of these alternatives are
impossible, I see no reason to affirm: if they were so, we might
indeed be justly ridiculed as dreamers and visionaries. Am I not
right?
Quite right.
If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour
in some foreign clime which is far away and beyond our ken, the
perfected philosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be compelled
by a superior power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to
assert to the death, that this our constitution has been, and is
--yea, and will be whenever the Muse of Philosophy is queen. There
is no impossibility in all this; that there is a difficulty, we
acknowledge ourselves.
My opinion agrees with yours, he said.
But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the
multitude?
I should imagine not, he replied.
O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will change
their minds, if, not in an aggressive spirit, but gently and with
the view of soothing them and removing their dislike of
over-education, you show them your philosophers as they really are and
describe as you were just now doing their character and profession,
and then mankind will see that he of whom you are speaking is not such
as they supposed --if they view him in this new light, they will
surely change their notion of him, and answer in another strain. Who
can be at enmity with one who loves them, who that is himself gentle
and free from envy will be jealous of one in whom there is no
jealousy? Nay, let me answer for you, that in a few this harsh
temper may be found but not in the majority of mankind.
I quite agree with you, he said.
And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which the
many entertain towards philosophy originates in the pretenders, who
rush in uninvited, and are always abusing them, and finding fault with
them, who make persons instead of things the theme of their
conversation? and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers
than this.
It is most unbecoming.
For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has
surely no time to look down upon the affairs of earth, or to be filled
with malice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever directed
towards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring nor
injured by one another, but all in order moving according to reason;
these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as he can, conform
himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverential
converse?
Impossible.
And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order,
becomes orderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but
like every one else, he will suffer from detraction.
Of course.
And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself,
but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into
that which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilful
artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?
Anything but unskilful.
And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is
the truth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve
us, when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed
by artists who imitate the heavenly pattern?
They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will
they draw out the plan of which you are speaking?
They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from
which, as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a
clean surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein
will lie the difference between them and every other legislator,
--they will have nothing to do either with individual or State, and
will inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or themselves
made, a clean surface.
They will be very right, he said.
Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the
constitution?
No doubt.
And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will
often turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will
first look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at
the human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of
life into the image of a man; and thus they will conceive according to
that other image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form
and likeness of God.
Very true, he said.
And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in,
they have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the
ways of God?
Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.
And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you
described as rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of
constitutions is such an one as we are praising; at whom they were
so very indignant because to his hands we committed the State; and are
they growing a little calmer at what they have just heard?
Much calmer, if there is any sense in them.
Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they
doubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being?
They would not be so unreasonable.
Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to the
highest good?
Neither can they doubt this.
But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed under
favourable circumstances, will not be perfectly good and wise if any
ever was? Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected?
Surely not.
Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until
philosophers bear rule, States and individuals will have no rest
from evil, nor will this our imaginary State ever be realised?
I think that they will be less angry.
Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but quite
gentle, and that they have been converted and for very shame, if for
no other reason, cannot refuse to come to terms?
By all means, he said.
Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected.
Will any one deny the other point, that there may be sons of kings
or princes who are by nature philosophers?
Surely no man, he said.
And when they have come into being will any one say that they must
of necessity be destroyed; that they can hardly be saved is not denied
even by us; but that in the whole course of ages no single one of them
can escape --who will venture to affirm this?
Who indeed!
But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a city
obedient to his will, and he might bring into existence the ideal
polity about which the world is so incredulous.
Yes, one is enough.
The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have been
describing, and the citizens may possibly be willing to obey them?
Certainly.
And that others should approve of what we approve, is no miracle
or impossibility?
I think not.
But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this,
if only possible, is assuredly for the best.
We have.
And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted,
would be for the best, but also that the enactment of them, though
difficult, is not impossible.
Very good.
And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject,
but more remains to be discussed; --how and by what studies and
pursuits will the saviours of the constitution be created, and at what
ages are they to apply themselves to their several studies?
Certainly.
I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and
the procreation of children, and the appointment of the rulers,
because I knew that the perfect State would be eyed with jealousy
and was difficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was
not of much service to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The
women and children are now disposed of, but the other question of
the rulers must be investigated from the very beginning. We were
saying, as you will remember, that they were to be lovers of their
country, tried by the test of pleasures and pains, and neither in
hardships, nor in dangers, nor at any other critical moment were to
lose their patriotism --he was to be rejected who failed, but he who
always came forth pure, like gold tried in the refiner's fire, was
to be made a ruler, and to receive honours and rewards in life and
after death. This was the sort of thing which was being said, and then
the argument turned aside and veiled her face; not liking to stir
the question which has now arisen.
I perfectly remember, he said.
Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold
word; but now let me dare to say --that the perfect guardian must be a
philosopher.
Yes, he said, let that be affirmed.
And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts
which were deemed by us to be essential rarely grow together; they are
mostly found in shreds and patches.
What do you mean? he said.
You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity,
cleverness, and similar qualities, do not often grow together, and
that persons who possess them and are at the same time high-spirited
and magnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly
and in a peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by their
impulses, and all solid principle goes out of them.
Very true, he said.
On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be
depended upon, which in a battle are impregnable to fear and
immovable, are equally immovable when there is anything to be learned;
they are always in a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep
over any intellectual toil.
Quite true.
And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those
to whom the higher education is to be imparted, and who are to share
in any office or command.
Certainly, he said.
And will they be a class which is rarely found?
Yes, indeed.
Then the aspirant must not only be tested in those labours and
dangers and pleasures which we mentioned before, but there is
another kind of probation which we did not mention --he must be
exercised also in many kinds of knowledge, to see whether the soul
will be able to endure the highest of all, will faint under them, as
in any other studies and exercises.
Yes, he said, you are quite right in testing him. But what do you
mean by the highest of all knowledge?
You may remember, I said, that we divided the soul into three parts;
and distinguished the several natures of justice, temperance, courage,
and wisdom?
Indeed, he said, if I had forgotten, I should not deserve to hear
more.
And do you remember the word of caution which preceded the
discussion of them?
To what do you refer?
We were saying, if I am not mistaken, that he who wanted to see them
in their perfect beauty must take a longer and more circuitous way, at
the end of which they would appear; but that we could add on a popular
exposition of them on a level with the discussion which had
preceded. And you replied that such an exposition would be enough
for you, and so the enquiry was continued in what to me seemed to be a
very inaccurate manner; whether you were satisfied or not, it is for
you to say.
Yes, he said, I thought and the others thought that you gave us a
fair measure of truth.
But, my friend, I said, a measure of such things Which in any degree
falls short of the whole truth is not fair measure; for nothing
imperfect is the measure of anything, although persons are too apt
to be contented and think that they need search no further.
Not an uncommon case when people are indolent.
Yes, I said; and there cannot be any worse fault in a guardian of
the State and of the laws.
True.
The guardian then, I said, must be required to take the longer
circuit, and toll at learning as well as at gymnastics, or he will
never reach the highest knowledge of all which, as we were just now
saying, is his proper calling.
What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this
--higher than justice and the other virtues?
Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not the
outline merely, as at present --nothing short of the most finished
picture should satisfy us. When little things are elaborated with an
infinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full
beauty and utmost clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think
the highest truths worthy of attaining the highest accuracy!
A right noble thought; but do you suppose that we shall refrain from
asking you what is this highest knowledge?
Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard
the answer many times, and now you either do not understand me or,
as I rather think, you are disposed to be troublesome; for you have of
been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all
other things become useful and advantageous only by their use of this.
You can hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak,
concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know so little;
and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will
profit us nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other
things is of any value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge
of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness?
Assuredly not.
You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the
good, but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge
Yes.
And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they
mean by knowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the
good?
How ridiculous!
Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our
ignorance of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it --for
the good they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we
understood them when they use the term 'good' --this is of course
ridiculous.
Most true, he said.
And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity;
for they are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well
as good.
Certainly.
And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?
True.
There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which
this question is involved.
There can be none.
Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or
to seem to be what is just and honourable without the reality; but
no one is satisfied with the appearance of good --the reality is
what they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by
every one.
Very true, he said.
Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of
all his actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end,
and yet hesitating because neither knowing the nature nor having the
same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing
whatever good there is in other things, --of a principle such and so
great as this ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is
entrusted, to be in the darkness of ignorance?
Certainly not, he said.
I am sure, I said, that he who does not know now the beautiful and
the just are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and I
suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a true
knowledge of them.
That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours.
And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will
be perfectly ordered?
Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you
conceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge or
pleasure, or different from either.
Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like you
would not be contented with the thoughts of other people about these
matters.
True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a
lifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating the
opinions of others, and never telling his own.
Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not
know?
Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no
right to do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of
opinion.
And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the
best of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any true
notion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their way
along the road?
Very true.
And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when
others will tell you of brightness and beauty?
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