The works of Plato · Plato
ARGUMENT.
In the _sixth book_,—continuing the argument respecting the indispensability of true philosophy to a well-ordered state, and the absolute need of distinguishing true from false philosophy (_i. e._ that of the sophists which throws discredit on the whole pursuit), and likewise from what is warped by prejudice, he goes on to show that a state will be blessed with philosophers for rulers, and shows what is the true subject of true philosophy, as well as the means and manner of learning it,—the sum of which is, that a good φύλαξ must be provided with all the defences of true science, not with a view to unprofitable speculations, but that all science and all virtue, his moral clothing, may be considered with reference to its real bearing on the common good of human society. Philosophy, says Plato, has for its proper subject the idea of good (the true end of being), and this being the subject, he next goes on to show the mode of becoming acquainted therewith.
CHAP. I.—Philosophers then, Glaucon, said I, and those who are not so, have, at length, after a long parade of talk and with some difficulty, been respectively defined. Aye, said he,—for perhaps, it was not easy to do it briefly. It appears not, said I.—I still think, however, that their qualities would have been better exhibited, had we deemed it right to speak about this alone, and not discussed a multitude of other matters while considering the difference between a just and an unjust life. What then, said he, are we to consider next? What else, said I, but that which is next in order?—Since those are philosophers who are able to concern themselves with what always maintains a constant relation, whereas those who cannot effect this, but ruminate among a host of [material objects] that are every way shifting,[182] are not philosophers;—which of these ought to be the rulers of the state? Which way, said he, shall we define the matter, and define correctly? Such of them, said I, as seem capable of preserving the laws and institutions of states, these are to be made guardians. Right, said he. This then, said I, is of course evident,—whether we ought to seek for a guardian one that is blind or one that is sharp-sighted.
Of course, that is quite evident, said he. What difference then is there between blind persons and those who are in fact deprived of the knowledge of each individual essence, and have no clear demonstration of it in the soul, and cannot (like painters who look at what is positively true, and refer everything thereto, examining it with all possible accuracy), if need be, form settled notions, of the beautiful, just, and good, and so maintain them, as if sanctioned by law? No, by Zeus, said he;—they do not differ much. Shall we then rather appoint these as our guardians, or those rather who know each individual being, and in experience are not at all inferior to those others, nor behind them in any other department of virtue? It were absurd, said he, to choose any others, if at least they be not deficient in all other matters; since they excel in this, which is the most important. Must we not inquire this then,—in what manner the same persons will be able to have both the one and the other?[183] Certainly. As we observed then, at the opening of this discussion, we must first of all thoroughly understand their disposition; and I think, if we are pretty well agreed about that, we shall agree also, that the same persons are able to possess both these qualities; and none else but these ought to be the governors of states. How so?
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?
Conceive now such a person as this to be the pilot of a fleet or a single ship, one who surpasses all in the ship both in bulk and strength, but is somewhat deaf, and short-sighted as well, and whose skill in nautical affairs is much of the same kind;—and also that the sailors are all quarrelling among each other about the pilotage, each thinking he ought to be pilot, though he never learned the art, and cannot show who was his master, nor at what time he got his learning;—that besides this, they all say that the art itself cannot be taught, and are ready to cut in pieces any one who says that it can.—Imagine further, that they are constantly crowding round the pilot himself, begging, and forming all schemes to induce him to commit the helm into their hands, and that sometimes even, when they do not so well succeed in persuading him as others may, they either kill these others, or throw them overboard, and after having, by mandragora or wine or something else, rendered the noble pilot incapable, they manage the ship by aid of the crew, and sail on, thus drinking and feasting, as may be expected of such people;—and besides this, if any one be clever at assisting them in getting the management into their own hands, and either by persuasion or force, setting aside the pilot, they praise such an one, calling him sailor and pilot, and versed in navigation, but despise as useless every one not of this character,—not in the least considering that the true pilot must necessarily study the year, the seasons, the heavens, and stars, and winds, and everything belonging to his art, if he would be a real commander of a ship; but at the same time as respects the art and practice of governing men, whether some be willing or not, they think it impossible for a man to attain it in connexion with the art of navigation.—Whilst affairs are thus situated as regards ships, do you not think that the true pilot will be called by the sailors on board of ships thus regulated, a mere star-gazer,[188] trifler, and of no use to them whatever?
Undoubtedly, said Adimantus. I think then, said I, that you do not want this comparison explained, in order to see that it represents how people feel in states towards true philosophers, but that you quite understand what I mean. Perfectly, said he. First of all then, as regards this,—namely, a person’s wondering that philosophers are not honoured in states,—you must acquaint him with our comparison, and try to persuade him, that it would be much more wonderful if they were honoured. I will so, replied he. And further, that it is quite true, as you were just observing, that the best of those who study philosophy are useless to the bulk of mankind:—but nevertheless, for all this, they intend to lay the blame not on the philosophers, but on such as make no use of them,—for it is not natural that the pilot should beg of the sailors to allow him to govern them, nor that the wise should hold attendance at the gates of the rich:[189]—and whoever wittily said this was mistaken; for this indeed is the natural method, that whoever is sick, whether rich or poor, must necessarily go to the gates of the physician, and whoever wants to be governed must wait on a person able to govern; for it is not natural that a really worthy governor should beg of the governed to subject themselves to his government.—You will not be far wrong, however, in comparing our present political governors to those sailors we now mentioned, and those whom they call insignificant and star-gazers to those who are truly pilots. Quite right, said he.
Hence, then, it would seem, that the best pursuit is not likely to be held in much honour by persons engaged in those of an opposite nature,—but by far the greatest and most violent outcry against philosophy is caused by those who profess its study;—the very persons, whom most of all, you say, your reviler of philosophy calls downright wicked, and the very best useless; and I agreed that you spoke correctly,—did I not? Yes. ----- Footnote 187: The τραγέλαφος was a mere fictitious or fabled animal, like the griffin. Footnote 188: μετεωροσκόπον, the usual term of reproach with which the Sophist visited Socrates. Compare Apolog. Socr. p. 18 b; and see throughout Aristophanes’s caricature in his comedy of the Clouds. Footnote 189: τοὺς σοφοὺς ἐπὶ τὰς τῶν πλουσίων θύρας ἰέναι. The Scholiast has a long note on this bon-mot, which he ascribes to Eubulus in a dialogue with Socrates. Schleiermacher, however, following Diogenes Laertius (ii. 69), attributes it to Aristippus, and Schneider to Simonides, on the authority of Aristotle, Rhetor. ii. 16. ----- CHAP. V.—Have we not now fully explained the cause, why the best of them are useless? We have. Do you wish, then, that we should next explain the reason, why most of them must necessarily be depraved, and try also to show, that philosophy is not the cause of this. Certainly. Let us open our argument then, by carefully calling to mind what we before observed about the natural disposition necessarily belonging to the good and worthy [philosopher;]—and if you remember, the leading part therein was truth, which he must by all means wholly pursue, or else be a vain boaster, having no fellowship with true philosophy. Aye,—so it was said. Is not this single part of his character wholly the reverse of what is at present held respecting him? Quite so, replied he.
We shall be urging, therefore, no trifling argument in his defence, if we can show that the true lover of learning is naturally inclined to aspire after the knowledge of real being, and, so far from being arrested by the numerous individual things which are the objects of opinion, that he proceeds undauntedly forward and desists not from his love of truth[190] till he becomes acquainted with the nature of all existing things through the agency of that part of the soul whose business it is to take cognizance of such matters:—but it is the office of that part of the soul which is allied [to real being;] and when this true lover of learning approaches thus far, and mingles therewith, thus giving rise to intellect and truth, he will attain to true knowledge, and truly live and be maintained, and at length become liberated from the pains of production,[191]—but not before. As good a defence, said he, as there possibly can be. What then;—will it be a part of such a person’s business to love falsehood, or quite the contrary, to hate it? To hate it, said he. While truth, however, leads the way, we can never say, I think, that any band of evils follows in her train? No, we cannot.
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.
That each of these hired private teachers, whom these men call sophists and consider as rival artists, teach nothing else but those dogmas of the vulgar, which they approve in their assemblies, and term wisdom;—just as if a man were to learn the tempers and desires of a great and strong animal that he is training,—how it must be approached, how touched, and when it is most fierce or most mild,—and from what sorts it springs, and the sounds also which it is used occasionally to utter, and by what sounds when uttered by another, this beast is rendered either gentle or savage; and if, after learning all these things by long associating with this animal, he should call this wisdom and apply himself to the teaching thereof, as to an established art,—while yet, as regards these dogmas and desires, he has no real knowledge of what is beautiful or base, good or ill, just or unjust, but defines them all by the opinions of that great animal, calling those things good by which it is pleased, and those evil with which it is vexed, having no other measure respecting them, but calling things necessary both just and beautiful, though he has never himself seen, nor can show to another, the nature of the necessary and the good, and how far they really differ from each other.
Being such as this, then, do you not, by Zeus, think him a ridiculous teacher? I do, he replied. And, think you, he in any way differs from the man, who deems it wisdom to have understood the tempers and pleasures of the multitude, and of mixed assemblies, either in painting, music, or politics?—For if any one converse with these, and show them either a poem, or other work of art, or piece of service connected with the state, and make the multitude the judges thereof, he is, beyond all other necessities, under what is called a “Diomedean”[195] necessity,—that of doing whatever they commend.—But as respects these things being really good and beautiful, did you ever hear any of them advance a reason that was not quite ridiculous? No;—and I think, said he, I never shall. ----- Footnote 193: Ast conjectures that there was a well-known adage;—τὸ θεῖον ἐξαιρῶ λόγου. Footnote 194: Similarly in the Menon (p. 97 b, 100 b), Plato, in ridiculing the statesmen of his own day, declares that they acquired virtue,—not from human instruction, but by a certain gift from heaven. Footnote 195: A Diomedean necessity is a proverbial expression applied to those, who do anything from necessity: its origin is as follows. Diomedes and Ulysses, having stolen the Palladium from Ilium, returned by night to their ships. Ulysses, however, most anxious that the glory of the deed should be his alone, endeavoured to slay Diomedes, who walked before him with the Palladium. Diomedes, however, on seeing by moonlight the shadow of the sword raised over him, seized Ulysses, bound his hands, bid him walk before him, and, after striking him on the back with the flat part of his sword, proceeded onward, and at length reached the Argive camp.
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.
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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