Chapter XIII: Book V: Argument (2)

CHAP. XIV.—Does not this then, said I, still remain to be discussed, whether it be possible that this community of habits can take place among men, even as among other animals? and how it is possible? You have forestalled me, said he, by mentioning what I was just going to ask. Aye;—for as to war, said I, it is plain, methinks, how they will fight. How? said he. They will go out jointly on their military expeditions, and will carry along with them to battle also such of their children as are robust, in order that those of the craftsmen may see what they ought to practise when arrived at full age, and, apart from mere observation, may serve and minister in all such matters subserviently both to their fathers and mothers. Have you not observed also what happens in the common arts, as, for instance, among the children of the potters,—how long a time they help and look on, before they apply themselves to the making of pottery? Yes, indeed. Should these then, or our guardians, be more careful in instructing their children by their own experience, and by observation of what is suitable for them? [To suppose that the craftsman would,] replied he, were truly ridiculous. Yet every creature whatever will fight more valiantly in the presence of its offspring? It is so: but there is no small danger, Socrates, should they be defeated, as is often the case in war, that when their children, as well as themselves, are cut off, it will be impossible to restore the rest of the state. Yon speak truly, replied I: but think you, that our first duty should Be never to expose them to risk? No, by no means. What then: if they are to hazard themselves in any case, is it not—where they will become better men, if they succeed? Clearly so. But do you think it a small matter, and unworthy of the risk, that children destined for military life should or should not be observers of the transactions of war? No;—for it is highly important with reference to what you now mention. This then, we must first contrive,—to make our children spectators of war, yet providing for their safety:—and then all will go well, will it not? Yes. And surely their fathers, said I, in the first place, as far as men can, will not be ignorant, but well informed as to the kinds of expeditions which are dangerous or not so. Probably so, said he. Into the one then, they will take them; but will be cautious of exposing them to the other. Right. And they will probably, said I, set governors over them, not such as are the most depraved, but such as by experience and years are able leaders and trainers of the young. Yes, quite proper. Yet many things, we may say, happen to many contrary to expectation. Quite so. With reference, therefore, to such events as these, it is fit that we should provide the children with things while quite young, in order, if need be, that they may escape by flight. How do you mean? said he. We must mount them on horseback, said I, when extremely young; and when they have learnt to ride, they must be taken to see battles, not on high-mettled war-horses, but on the fleetest and most obedient to the rein; for thus they will best observe their proper work, and in case of need, escape with the greatest safety, following the aged leaders. I think, said he, your remark is correct. What then, said I, as to the affairs of war; how are you to manage our soldiers, both as respects each other and their enemies? Is my opinion correct or not? Tell me what it is, replied he. As for that man among them, said I, who has left his rank, thrown away his arms, or done any such like act from mere cowardice, ought we not to make him a craftsman, or field labourer? Certainly. And the man who is taken alive by the enemy, should he not be given away as a present to those inclined to use their booty just as they please? Yes, surely. And as to him who has signalized himself and attained to high renown, think you not, that he ought, first of all in the field itself, to be crowned successively by each of the youths and boys who are his fellow-soldiers?—is it not so? Yes, I think so. And will they give him the right hand likewise? And that too. But what I am going to tell you, said I, will not, methinks, be quite so pleasing. What? That they should kiss and be kissed by each individually? This is by far the best of all, said he: and for myself, I would add this regulation,—that, so long as they are on this expedition, no one shall be allowed to refuse the man, whoever it be that he pleases to kiss,—so that if a warrior happen to be in love with any one, male or female, he may be the more animated to win the noblest prize of valour.[171] Very well, said I:—for it has been already said, that more opportunities for marriage should be provided for the brave citizen than for others, and more frequent choice in such matters should be allowed to them than to all others, in order that such a man’s descendants may be as numerous as possible. Yes, we did say so, replied he.

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Footnote 171:

Comp. here Aristot. Pol. ii. 2.

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CHAP. XV.—Moreover, even according to Homer, it is just that really brave youths should be honoured in this way; inasmuch as Homer said, that Ajax, who on account of the renown he had gained in battle, was rewarded with a large share at the entertainments,—fit reward, too, for a brave and youthful man, from which he at once acquired both honour and strength. Most right, said he. In this matter, at least, then, said I, we are to obey the authority of Homer; and as a proof of this, we will so honour the brave, both at our sacrifices, and on such like occasions, in as far as they appear deserving, both with hymns, and the honours just mentioned; and besides this, with seats and viands, and brimming cups, so as at once both to honour and exercise the virtue of worthy men and women. You speak capitally well, replied he. Well, of those then that die in the campaign, shall we not, in the first place, say, of the man that closes his life with glory, that he is of the golden race? Quite so, indeed. And are we not to believe Hesiod, when he tells us, that if any of this race die, then—

Chaste, holy, earthly spirits they become,
Expelling evil, guardians of mankind?[172]

Yes, we will believe him. We will ask the oracle then, how we ought to bury noble and divine men, and with what marks of distinction; and then we will bury them in the very manner that [the God] directs. Of course. And in all after-time we will reverence and worship their tombs as those of demigods, and enact that the same ceremonies shall be observed with regard to persons dying of old age, or from any other cause, after having been deemed remarkably good during their lifetime? Aye, it is only just, said he. But what?—how are our soldiers to behave towards enemies? In what respect? First, as respects enslavement, think you it just, that Greeks should enslave Greek cities?—-nay, ought they not, as far as they can, to prevent others from doing it, and act on the principle of sparing the Grecian tribe, cautiously looking to the possibility of being themselves enslaved by barbarians? Aye, said he; both generally, and in every particular case, it is the best plan to be sparing. Are they then not to keep any Greek slave themselves, and to counsel the rest of the Greeks to agree to the same plan? Surely, said he: because they will thus at least, turn themselves the more against the barbarians, and abstain from one war against another. But what? Stripping the dead, said I, of anything but their arms after conquering them, is that right;—or does it not rather furnish cowards with an excuse not to go against a foe, as if they were doing some duty when bending over a mere corpse; and have not many armies been destroyed by this kind of plunder? Very many. Do not you think it also illiberal and forbidden to plunder a corpse, and the mark of a feminine and little mind to deem the body of the deceased an enemy, after the enemy has fled away, and nought remains behind, but the instrument with which he fought? Do you think that they who act thus do any otherwise than dogs do, who snap at the stones with which they are pelted and do not touch the man who throws them? Not at all, he replied. We must have done then with this stripping of the dead, and these hinderances arising from the carrying off of booty. Aye, by Zeus, said he, we must have done with them.

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Footnote 172:

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

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CHAP. XVI.—Moreover, we shall not at any time bring arms into the temples, for the purpose of dedicating them, at least not the arms of Greeks,—if we at all care for the kind feeling of the rest of the Greeks; but we shall rather fear its being a kind of profanation to bring into the temple such things as these from our close connexions, unless the oracle direct us otherwise. Quite right, replied he. And as regards the laying waste of Grecian lands and the burning of houses, how would your soldiers treat their enemies? Aye,—I should be glad, said he, to hear you state your opinion on that point. Truly then, said I, my opinion is, that we should do neither of these things, but only carry off the year’s crop:—and would you have me tell you the reason, why this should be done? By all means. It appears to me, that as these two words, war and discord, are different, so two different things are signified by them; and I call them different—the latter between members of the same community, and the former between foreigners and strangers.—When hatred is among one’s own people, it is called discord; when it respects foreigners, war. What you say, replied he, is not at all unreasonable. But consider, whether what I now state is also to the purpose; for I assert that the Greek nation itself is friendly and in alliance with itself, though foreign and strange to the barbarian. Well observed, said he. When therefore Greeks fight with barbarians, and barbarians with Greeks, we may then say, that they are at war, and naturally enemies; and this hatred we may call war: but when Greeks act thus towards Greeks, we may say that they are naturally friends, and that Greece in such a case is distempered, and at discord; and such a hatred is to be called discord. I agree, said he, that we must view it thus. Consider then, said I, that in the discord just mentioned, whenever such a thing happens, how the state is split in factions, and when they sequester each other’s lands and burn each other’s houses, how destructive the discord seems, and neither of them seem to be lovers of their country; for otherwise they would never have dared to pillage their nurse and mother, but it would have been sufficient for the victors to carry off the crops of the vanquished, and to conceive that they would one day be reconciled, and not perpetually be at war. This indeed is by far a milder sentiment than the other. But what then? said I; this state that you are founding, is it to be a Greek one? It ought, he replied. Are they not then to be good and mild? By all means. And will they not be lovers of Greece; and will they not account Greece as related to them; and will they not observe the same religious rites as the rest of the Greeks? Most decidedly. Any difference then, that they have with Greeks, as kinsmen, will they not consider that as discord,—not war? Yes, for it is not war. And they will behave then, as those capable of being reconciled? Quite so, of course. They will be mild then and moderate, not punishing so far as to enslave or destroy,—as advocates for correction, and not as enemies. Just so, said he. Neither then, as they are Greeks, will they pillage the lands, or burn the houses of Greeks; nor will they allow, that in every state, individually, all are their enemies, men, women, and children, but that in all cases a few only are enemies,—the originators of the quarrel: and on all these accounts they will not choose to lay waste their lands, since the majority of the occupants are their friends; nor will they overturn the houses:—and so far only will they carry on the war, until the real originators be obliged by the innocent to make reparation to those whom they have grieved. I agree, said he, that we ought so to behave towards opponents among our own citizens,—but towards the barbarians, as the Greeks now act towards each other. This law, then, also, let us enact for our guardians, that they shall neither lay waste the lands, nor burn the houses. Aye, let us enact it, said he; and this further, that these things are right, and those also, that you before mentioned.

CHAP. XVII.—It appears to me, however, Socrates, that if one allow you to go on speaking in this fashion, you will never remember what you formerly put aside, when you entered on all that you have now said;—namely, how far such a government is possible, and in what way it is at all possible? For, if it be at all possible, I will allow that all these high advantages will belong to that state in which it exists, and the following also, which you omitted; and I now tell you, that they will, with all possible courage, fight against their enemies, and least of all abandon each other, recognising, and calling one another by these names,—fathers, sons, and brothers; and if the females encamp along with them, whether in the same rank, or drawn up behind them, they will strike terror into the enemies, and at the same time, in case of need, give all assistance:—in this way, I know, they will be utterly unconquerable; and as for the advantages they have at home, which we have omitted, those at any rate I plainly see.—But as I allow, that all these, and ten thousand other things, will belong to this form of government, if it actually does exist, let us talk no more about it, but try to persuade each other of this itself, how far it is possible, and in what way:—and let us omit the other points. You have suddenly, said I, made an attack on my argument, and make no allowance for one who is but a bungler;[173] because, perhaps, you do not know with what difficulty I have got over two breakers, and now you are driving me on the greatest and most dangerous of all the three. After having seen and heard this, you will, I am sure, forgive me; allowing, that I had reason for hesitation, and was frightened by the mention of so great a paradox from undertaking its examination. The more, said he, you mention such things, the less will you be excused from explaining in what respect this government is possible. Proceed then without delay. Must we not then, said I, first remember this, that we are come hither to inquire into the nature of justice and injustice? We must, said he. But what is this to the purpose? Nothing. But supposing we find out the nature of justice, are we to judge then, that the just man ought nowise to differ therefrom, but in every respect to resemble justice; or are we to be satisfied, if he approach to it, as nearly as possible, and, of all others, partake of it the most? This will satisfy us, said he. For example’s sake, then, said I, we were inquiring into this,—what is the nature of justice; and we were in quest also of the perfectly just man, how he became so, and what was his nature, if he really existed,—and so also with respect to injustice, and the supremely unjust man, in order that, looking to them as regards their apparent qualities in relation to happiness and its opposite, we might be obliged to acknowledge concerning ourselves, that whoever most resembles them in character will have a fortune most resembling theirs; and not for the purpose of showing that these things are possible or not. It is quite true, said he. Think you, then, that he is in any degree an inferior painter, who having painted the portrait of a very handsome man, and having expressed everything fully in his picture, is yet unable to show that such a man really exists? By Zeus, said he, I do not. Well, have we not now then logically defined, [shall we say,] the model of a good state? Yes, indeed. Have we, indeed, less ably stated the case, think you, for this reason, because we are unable to show the possibility of a state being established as we have described?[174] No, indeed, said he. This then, said I, is the truth of the case:—but if indeed, I must now, on your account, be anxious on this point,—that is, to show how and in what respects it is most possible, with a view to this discovery, you must again allow what you did before. What? Can anything possibly be executed as perfectly as it is described; or, is it the nature of practice, that it does not approach so near to truth as theory, though some may think otherwise:—will you allow this or not? I allow it, said he. Do not oblige me then to show you, that all these things in every respect positively exist in as great perfection as we have described in our reasoning:—if, however, we can find out how a state may be established as closely as possible to what has been mentioned, you will agree that we have discovered the possibility of what you require; or will you not even be satisfied, if this be proved? For my own part I should be satisfied. Yes, and I too, said he.

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Footnote 173:

Gr. στραγγευομένῳ, which is Bekker’s emendation, the old reading being
στρατευομένῳ. The verb means—_to be wearied_, _to delay_, _trifle_,
_play the coward_.

Footnote 174:

Plato’s object here is to show, that painters in the high departments
of art copy _ideal_, not actual nature,—nature in its perfection,—not
in its imperfect and actual nature.

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CHAP. XVIII.—Next then, it seems, we must endeavour to find out and show what is the evil now existing in states, owing to which they are not established in the manner we have described,—and what is that smallest change, by making which we could bring the state to this model of government;—and let us chiefly see, if this can be effected by the change of one thing,—if not, by the change of two,—if not that, by the change of the fewest things in number, and the smallest in power. By all means, said he. By changing one thing only then, said I, methinks, I can show that the state may be moulded into this form of government:—that change, however, is neither small nor easy, though possible. What is it? said he. I am now come, said I, to what I compared to the greatest wave: and it shall now be mentioned, even though, as with a wave, I should be overwhelmed with ridicule and infamy. Consider, however, what I am now going to say. Proceed, replied he. Unless either philosophers, said I, govern in states, or those who are at present called kings and governors philosophize genuinely and sufficiently, and both political power and philosophy unite in one,—and until the bulk of those now pursuing each of these separately are of necessity excluded, there will be no end, Glaucon, to the miseries of states, nor yet, as I think, to those of the human race; nor till then will that government, which we have described in our reasonings, ever spring up to a positive existence, and behold the light of the sun.—And this is what all along made me dislike mentioning it, that I saw what a paradox I was about to advance: for one can scarcely be convinced that no other government but this can enjoy happiness, either public or private. You have thrown out such an expression and argument, Socrates, said he, as you think may bring on you a great many, and these too so specially bold as to put off their clothes, and snatch naked whatever weapon each happens to have ready (as if about performing prodigies) for rushing forward in battle-array:—and if you do not mow them down with argument, and so make your escape, you will pay for it by suffering the severest ridicule. And are not you the cause of all this? said I. Aye, through acting well at least, replied he:—yet in this affair, I will not betray but defend you, as far as I can; and I am enabled to do so both by my own good-will and your encouragement; and your questions probably I shall answer more carefully than any other:—only do you try, by help of such assistance, to show those who are loath to believe these things, that they really are what you represent them. I must try, said I; especially, as you afford me so much assistance. And here it seems necessary, if we can at all escape from those you mention, that we should at any rate define clearly what kind of men those are whom we call philosophers,—those, who, we are bold enough to say, ought alone to govern;—so that, when they are clearly pointed out, an able defence may be set up, by asserting that it is their natural province both to study philosophy, and also assume to themselves the government of the state,—while the other members of the state study neither philosophy nor politics, but only obey their leader. It is quite fit, said he, that we should define them. Come then, follow me this way, [and see] if we can in some way or other sufficiently explain this matter. Lead on then, said he. Will it be necessary then, to remind you, said I,—or do you recollect, that when we say of any one, that he loves a thing, he would not appear, if we speak strictly, to love one part of it, and not another, but to have an affection for the whole?

CHAP. XIX.—I need, it seems, to be reminded of that, replied he; for I do not understand it perfectly. Some one else, indeed, Glaucon, replied I, might say what you say; but it does not become a man who is a lover, to forget that all things in their bloom somehow excite, and agitate an amorous person and lover, as seeming worthy both of respect and of proper salutes:—do you not behave in this manner towards the beautiful? One, because flat-nosed, will be called agreeable, and be an object of praise; and the hooked nose of another, you call princely; and that between these, formed with exact symmetry: the dark are said to have a manly look, and the fair to be the children of the gods: but this name of delicate white, think you it is the invention of any other than a flattering lover, who easily bears with the paleness, if it be in the season of youth?—in one word, do you not make all kinds of pretences, and say everything that you can, so as not to reject any one who is in the prime of life? If you are disposed, said he, to judge by me of other lovers, that they act in this manner, I agree to it for argument’s sake. And what, said I, as to lovers of wine:—do not you find they act in the same manner, cheerfully drinking every kind of wine on every pretext? Yes, indeed. And you perceive, I suppose, that the ambitious likewise, if they cannot obtain the command of an army, will take the command of a τριττύς;[175] and if they cannot get honour from greater and nobler men, are content to be honoured by the lesser and the meaner sort, because they are desirous of honour at any rate? Perfectly true. Will you allow this or not: if we say, one desires a thing, are we to say that he desires the whole species, or that he desires one part of it, but not another? The whole, replied he. May we not then likewise say, that the philosopher desires wisdom, and that too, not one part only, but the whole? True. He then, who is averse to a course of discipline, especially if he be young, and has not understanding to discern what is good and what is otherwise, should not be called a lover of learning, nor a philosopher;—just as we say of a person disgusted with meats, that he neither hungers after nor desires meats, and is not a lover but a hater of them. Aye,—and we shall say right. But the man who has a ready inclination to taste of every branch of learning, and enters with pleasure on its study, and is insatiable thereof, this man we may with justice call a philosopher, may we not? Whereon Glaucon said, Many such philosophers as those will go into great absurdities; for all your lovers of shows appear to me to be of this kind, from taking a pleasure in learning; and your story-lovers are of all persons to be reckoned the most stupid,—among philosophers at least. These indeed would not willingly attend to such reasoning, or to such a disquisition as this. But yet, as if they had hired out their ears to listen to every public ditty, they run about to the Dionysia, omitting neither the civic nor village festivals.[176] Are all these then, and others who run after such matters, and those likewise who devote themselves to the inferior arts, to be called by us philosophers? By no means, said I, but only like philosophers.

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Footnote 175:

The Scholiast states by way of explanation, that the Athenian people
were divided into ten φυλαί or wards, which were again subdivided into
τριττύες, ἔθνη and φρατρίαι. The commander of a τρίττυς then was
called a τριττύαρχος,—whence the verb τριττυαρχεῖν.

Footnote 176:

There were three festivals at Athens, commonly termed Bacchic,—the
great or city festival (the most important of all, at which the
dramatic poets contended with their new plays), celebrated in the
month Elaphebolion,—the Lenæa, in the month Maimacterion,—and the
rural Dionysia, in the month Poseideon.

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CHAP. XX.—Who are they, however, said he, whom you call the true ones? Those, said I, who are desirous of discerning the truth.[177] That too, said he, is correct:—but how do you mean? It is not easy, said I, to tell another this; but you, I think, should agree with me in this. In what? That since the beautiful is contrary to the deformed, these are two things. Of course, they are. And if they are two, then each of them is one. Granted also. And as regards justice and injustice,—good and evil,—and also respecting all ideas whatever, the argument is the same—that each of them is one in itself, though, as to their relation with actions and bodies, and each other mutually, they take an all-varying number of forms, so as to make the one appear many. Right, said he. In this manner then, said I, do I distinguish and set apart those that you just mentioned, the lovers of public shows, from craftsmen and mechanics; and then quite apart from these I place those of whom we are now discoursing, whom alone we may properly call philosophers. How say you? replied he. The lovers of common stories and spectacles, delight in fine sounds, colours, and figures, and everything made up of these; but the nature of beauty itself their intellect is unable to discern and admire. That is the case, indeed, said he. As to those, however, who are able to approach this beauty itself and behold it in its real essence, surely they must be few in number? Extremely so. He then who deems some things beautiful, but neither knows beauty itself nor is able to follow, should any one lead to the knowledge of it, do you think he lives in a dream, or is awake? consider: is not this to dream, when a man, either asleep or awake, imagines the likeness of a thing not to be its likeness, but the real thing itself which it resembles? I for my part would assert, replied he, that such a person is really in a dream. But what now as to him who comes to an exactly opposite conclusion, who understands the real nature of beauty, and is able to discern both it and its accessories, and deems neither the accessories to be beauty, nor beauty the accessories;—does such a man, think you, live in a waking or dreaming state? Wide awake, said he. May we not then properly call this man’s intellectual power, so far as he really knows, knowledge, but that of the other, opinion,—as he only opines? Surely so. But what,—if the person, who, we say, only opines things, but does not really know them, becomes indignant, and raises a dispute, alleging that our position is not true, shall we have any method of soothing and gently persuading him, and yet at the same time concealing that he is not in a sound state? We surely ought, replied he. Come then, bethink you what we are to say to him,—are you disposed that we should question him thus,—saying, that if he knows anything, no one envies him, and we should gladly see him possessed of more knowledge;—and tell us this too, does the man who has so much knowledge, know something or nothing? Do you answer me in his behalf. I will answer, said he, that he knows something. Is it something then, that does or does not exist? What does exist: for how can that, which does not exist, be known? This, then, we have sufficiently considered;—though we might have considered it more fully,—that what really is, may be really known, but what does not at all exist, cannot be known at all? Yes,—this we have examined quite sufficiently. Be it so: but if there be anything of such character, as both to be and not to be, must it not lie between what has a perfect existence, and what has none at all? Between them. If then there is knowledge as to what really exists, and necessarily ignorance as to what does not exist,—as to what lies between these, must we not seek for something between ignorance and science, if there be any such thing? By all means. Are we to allege, then, that opinion is anything? Of course. Is it a different faculty from science, or the same? Different. Opinion then is conversant about one thing, and science about another, each according to its own peculiar faculty? Just so. Is not then the nature of science as regards that which exists, to know what existence is? It seems to me, however, far more necessary to lay down the distinction thus. How?

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Footnote 177:

The portrait of the true philosopher, whom Plato conceives to be the
only true president and ruler of his state, is described from this
chapter onwards to the end of the third chapter of the sixth book,
with farther illustration in the thirteenth chapter of that book.
Should the reader conceive, that too little regard is paid to worldly
affairs and too little stress laid on the doctrine of ideas, he must
recollect that this philosopher conceived that all knowledge of truth
(—without which not even civil business could be conducted, according
to his notions—) is to be gained only from the contemplation of things
considered _per se_,—and that there can be no real human felicity
unconnected with wisdom and virtue, which can only be attained by true
philosophers engaged in inquiring into the eternal nature of things
around or in themselves.

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CHAP. XXI.—We will say, that faculties are a certain kind of real existences, by which both we can do whatever we are able, and every being else also whatever it is able: for instance, I say, that seeing and hearing are faculties, if you understand what I mean to call ‘the species’ [or idea].[178] I understand, said he. Hear then what is my opinion about them: for I do not see any colour nor figure, nor any of such qualities of a faculty, as of many other things, with reference to which I form a mental internal perception of their differences: but in a faculty, I regard that alone, about which it is employed, and what it accomplishes; and on this account I call each of these a faculty; and that which is employed about and accomplishes one and the same purpose, this I call the same faculty; but what is employed about and accomplishes a different purpose, that I call a different faculty:—what say you? In what manner do you call it? Just the same, he replied. Here again, excellent Glaucon, said I,—do you allege, that science is itself a certain faculty, or to what class do you refer it? To this, he said, the strongest of all the faculties. But what then;—are we to refer opinion to faculty, or to some other species? By no means, said he; for that by which we have the power of forming opinions is nothing else but opinion. But some time since, you allowed that science and opinion were not the same. How, said he, can any one with common sense reduce under one, what is infallible, and what is not infallible? Right, said I;—and it is plain, that we have allowed opinion to be a different thing from science. Yes,—different. Each of them then has naturally a different faculty in reference to a different object? Of course. Science surely as regards that which exists, so as to know the nature of real existence? Yes. But we say that opinion opines? Yes. Is it cognizant of the same thing that science is;—and will that which is known, and that which is matter of opinion, be the same;—or is this impossible? Impossible, said he, from what has been granted: since they are naturally faculties of different things, and both of them are faculties,—opinion and science,—and each of them different from the other, as we have said; hence it cannot be, that what is opined is the same with that which is known. If then that which exists is known, must it not differ from what is perceived by opinion? It does differ. Does opinion then entertain what has no existence;—or is it impossible to opine what does not exist at all?—Consider now, does not the man who opines, refer his opinion to some standard;—or is it possible to opine, and yet opine nothing at all? Impossible. But whoever opines, opines some one thing? Yes. But surely that which does not exist, cannot be called any one thing, but most properly nothing at all? Certainly. But we necessarily referred ignorance to that which has no true being, and knowledge to real existence? Right, said he. He does not, therefore, opine true being, nor yet that which has no being? He does not. Opinion then is neither knowledge, nor is it ignorance? It seems not. Does it then exceed these, either knowledge in perspicuity, or ignorance in obscurity? Neither. Think you then, said I, that opinion is more obscure than knowledge, but clearer than ignorance? Far, said he. Does it lie then between them both? Yes. Opinion then is between the two? Entirely so. And have we not already said, that if anything appeared of such a nature, as at once to exist and yet not exist, such a thing would lie between what really exists, and that which has no existence at all, and neither science nor ignorance would take cognizance of it, but that only which appeared to be between ignorance and science? Right. And now, what we call opinion has been shown to lie between them. It has been so shown.

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Footnote 178:

Plato makes use of two terms in his system,—τὸ εἶδος and ἡ ἰδέα;—and
some commentators are disposed to think, that the former corresponds
with the dialectical term, _species_,—the higher intellectual,
abstract notion being expressed only by the latter. It must be
confessed, however, that they are often used with scarcely any
distinction of meaning.

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CHAP. XXII.—This then yet remains for us, as it seems, to discover,—what participates in both—that is, being, and non-being, and what can properly be called neither of them perfectly,—so that if it seems to be what it is reputed, we may with justice term it so, assigning to the extremes what are extreme, and to the middle what are between the two:—must we not? Just so. These things being determined, I will say, let this worthy man tell and answer me,—he who reckons that there is neither beauty, nor idea of beauty, always the same; but that lover of beautiful objects[179] reckons that there are many beautiful objects, not enduring to be told that there is only one beautiful, and one just, and so of the rest. Of all these many things, excellent man! shall we say, whether there be any which will not appear deformed, and of those just which will not appear unjust, and of those holy which will not appear profane? No; but said he, the objects themselves must in some respects necessarily appear both beautiful and deformed, and whatever else you ask. But what?—Do double quantities generally seem to have less capacity for being halves than the doubles [of others?] Not at all. And things great and small, light and heavy, are they to be termed what we call them, any more than the opposite? No; said he:—each of them, always participates of both. Is then, or is not, each of these many things just what it is said to be? It resembles their equivocal jokes at feasts, said he, and the riddle of children about the eunuch’s striking the bat, with what and on what part they guess he strikes it:[180] for all these things have a double meaning, and it is impossible to know accurately whether they are, or are not,—or are both, or neither of the two. How can you act with them then, said I, or what better position have you for them than a medium between being and non-being?—For nothing seems more obscure than non-being as compared with having no being at all, nor more clear than being in respect of real being.[181] Most true, said he. We have discovered then, it seems, that most of the maxims of the people about the beautiful, and those other things, fluctuate somehow between being and non-being. Yes, we have discovered it. But it was formerly agreed at least, that if such a thing were apparent, it ought to be called that which is opined, and not what is known; and that which fluctuates between the two is to be perceived by the intermediate faculty. We agreed. Those then, who contemplate many beautiful things, but yet never perceive beauty itself, and cannot follow another who would lead them to it,—and many just things, though not justice itself, and all other things in like manner, these persons, we will say, hold opinions on all things, yet have no accurate knowledge of what they opine. It must be so, said he. But what then, as regards those who perceive each of the objects themselves, always existing in the same manner, and in the same relations,—shall we not say that they know, and do not opine? This must be the case also. And shall we not say, that these embrace and love the things of which they have knowledge, and the others the things of which they entertain only opinions;—and remember we not, that we alleged them to behold and love fine sounds and colours, and such things; though beauty itself they do not admit to have any real being? Yes,—we remember. Shall we be wrong then in calling them lovers of opinion, rather than philosophers?—And yet they will be greatly enraged at us, if we call them so. Not, if they be persuaded by me, said he; for it is not right to be enraged at the truth. Those then who embrace and love what has real being, we must call philosophers, and not lovers of opinion? Most assuredly.

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Footnote 179:

The words ἐκεῖνος ὁ φιλοθεάμων (which Ast. considers superfluous)
convey a sly hit at those sophists who set up for admiration various
different objects of beauty, sensual and physical, instead of the
eternal and immutable beauty of truth and virtue.

Footnote 180:

The Scholiast cites the following lines, which he ascribes to
Clearchus:—

αἶνος τίς ἐστιν ὡς ἀνήρ τε κοὐκ ἀνὴρ
ὄρνιθα κοὐκ ὄρνιθ’ ἰδών τε κοὐκ ἰδών
ἐπὶ ξύλου τε κοὐ ξύλου καθημένην
λίθῳ τε κοὐ λίθῳ βάλοι τε κοὐ βάλοι——ἄλλως
——ἄνθρωπος οὐκ ἄνθρωπος ἄνθρωπος δ’ ὅμως,
ὄρνιθα, κοὐκ ὄρνιθα, ὄρνιθα δ’ ὅμως
ἐπὶ ξύλου τε κοὐ ξύλου καθημένην
λίθῳ βάλων με κοὐ λίθῳ διώλεσεν——
νυκτερίδα ὁ εὐνοῦχος νάρθηκι κισήρει.

Footnote 181:

This is rather an obscure passage, which, however, receives some
illustration from the Parmenides (pp. 137 c—155 e), in which the
philosopher teaches, among other things, that τὸ ἕν (i.e. _the one by
itself and infinite_) is nothing, destitute of all reason and form,
void of truth and in no way falling within the cognizance of the
mental faculties;—whereas τὸ ἓν ὄν (_the one finite_—inasmuch as it
has form, mode, and reason of existence,)—is everything, that is,
receives within itself a variety of certain forms, and is capable
therefore of being perceived and recognised by opinion, perception,
and real knowledge.

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THE END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.