Chapter XIV: Book VI: Argument (1)

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?

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Footnote 196:

It seems highly probable that Plato is here drawing a portrait of
Alcibiades, with whose general character this description most closely
tallies.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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