The works of Plato · Plato
ARGUMENT.
In the _ninth book_ the discussion of tyranny is concluded with a view of its origin and nature in the individual man, who, when thus affected, is given up to all kinds of disordered passions that effectually exclude him from all chance of happiness. Hence is it, that, as good and healthy monarchical government is pre-eminently conducive to the highest happiness of the citizens,—so also tyranny is unfailingly productive of the most intense and general misery. This is proved also from an analysis of the mental faculties, and a pretty full account is here given of the desires, pleasures, and indulgences by which they are affected, and which must be kept in constant subjection by the dominance of reason. CHAP. I.—We have yet, said I, to consider the tyrannical man himself, how he arises out of the democratic,—and, when he does arise, what is his nature, and what kind of life he leads, whether wretched or happy. Yes, we have, said he. Know you, said I, what I still want? What? We do not seem to have sufficiently distinguished as regards the desires; what is their nature and amount; and how many; and while there is any defect in this, the inquiry we make will not be very clear. Is it not good time for that yet? I wish to know about them;—for it is this. Of pleasures and desires that are not necessary, some seem to me contrary to law,—which indeed seem engendered in all men:—though owing to the correction of the laws, and of improved desires aided by reason, they either forsake some men altogether, or are less numerous and feeble, while in others they are more powerful and more numerous. Will you inform me what these are? said he.
Such, said I, as are excited in sleep, when the rest of the soul—which is rational, mild, and its governing principle, is asleep, and when that part which is savage and rude, being sated with food and drink, frisks about, drives away sleep, and seeks to go and accomplish its practices;—in such an one, you know, it dares to do everything, because it is loosed and disengaged from all modesty and prudence: for, if it pleases, it scruples not at the embraces, even of a mother, or any one else, whether gods, men, or beasts; nor to commit murder, nor abstain from any sort of meat,—and in one word, it is wanting neither in folly nor shamelessness. You speak most truly, replied he. But when a man is in good health, methinks, and lives temperately, and goes to sleep, after exciting his reason, and feasting it with noble reasonings and investigations, having thus attained to an internal harmony, and given up the appetites neither to want nor repletion, that they may be at rest, and not disturb that part which is best, either by joy or grief, but suffer it by itself alone without interruption to inquire and long to apprehend what it knows not,—either something of what has existed, or now exists, or will exist hereafter; and so also, having soothed the spirited part of the soul, and not allowed it to be hurried into transports of anger, or to fall asleep with agitated passion;—but after having quieted these two parts of the soul, and roused to action that third part, in which wisdom dwells, he will thus take his rest;—you know, that by such an one the truth is best apprehended, and the visions of his dreams are then least of all portrayed contrary to the law. I am quite of this opinion, said he.
We have digressed indeed a little too far in talking of these things;—but what we want to be known is this, that in every one resides a certain species of desires that are terrible, savage, and irregular, even in some that we deem ever so moderate:—and this indeed becomes manifest in sleep.—Now consider, if I seem to be speaking to the purpose, and whether you agree with me. Aye, indeed, do. CHAP. II.—As for the people’s man then, recollect how we described him, as being brought up somehow from infancy under a parsimonious father, who valued avaricious desires only; and despised all such as were unnecessary, arising only out of a love of amusement and finery.[242] Was he not? Yes. But getting acquainted with the more refined, who are full of the desires just mentioned, running into all sorts of insolence, and imbibing their manners through detestation of his father’s parsimony;—and yet having a better natural temper than his corrupters, and being drawn opposite ways, he at length settles down into a mode of life equi-distant from either, and so in his opinion, participating moderately of each, leads a life neither illiberal nor lawless, after having thus become a democrat instead of an oligarchist. Yes,—this, said he, was and is our opinion of such an one. Suppose now again, that, when such an one has become old, he has a young son educated according to his own habits. I suppose it.
And suppose, too, that the same happens to him as to his father;—that he is drawn into all lawlessness, which his seducers call all freedom; and that his father and his domestics are aiding those intermediate desires;—and that others also lend their assistance (when these clever conjurers and tyrant-makers have no hopes of otherwise keeping youth in their power), and so contrive to excite in him a certain love which is to preside over the passive desires, which distribute what may be at hand to all the rest,—a certain large-winged drone;[243]—or what else think you, is that kind of love? For my part, said he, I think, it is no other than this. Well,—when the rest of the desires buzz about him, full of their odours and perfumes, and crowns and wines, and the dissolute pleasures belonging to such associations,—and at last by their increase and nurture, add to the drone a sting of desire, then truly he is sentinelled by madness as a life-guard, and this president of the soul becomes frenzied; and even should he find in himself any opinions or desires which are deemed good and modest, he kills them and pushes them from him, till he has ridded himself of temperance and has become brimful of madness.
CHAP. III.—Such an one, it seems, then, is thus engendered,—but how does he pass his life?—Just as they say in their games, replied he;—“this you shall tell me too.” I will tell you then, said I;—for I think, that in the next place, they have feastings and revellings and banquetings and mistresses, and all such things as may be expected among those with whom dwells the tyrant love, and governing all in the soul. Necessarily so, said he. Will there not then, each day and night, blossom forth numerous fierce desires, eagerly in want of many things? Many indeed. And if they get any supplies [of their wishes,] these are soon spent? Of course. And after this there are borrowings and forfeitures of property?[244] Of course. And when everything fails them, must it not follow, that while the numerous and powerful desires nestled in the mind, will on the one hand raise a clamour, the men, on the other hand, who are driven and goaded by the rest of the passions, but especially by love itself, which commands all the others as its life-guards, will rage with phrensy, and seek after people’s property, to see if they can plunder it either by fraud or violence? Quite so, said he.
Of necessity, then, they must either plunder from all quarters, or else be hampered with great pain and anguish. Necessarily so. And as in such a man his new pleasures are greater than those he had before, and depreciate the value of the others, will he not similarly deem it right for himself, however young, to have more than his father and mother, and to take away from them, when he has spent his own portion, applying to his own use what belongs to his parents? Of course he will, replied he. And if they will not give it up to him, will he not at first try to pilfer or defraud his parents? By all means. And should he be unable to do this, he will next use rapine and violence? I think so, replied he. But supposing, my fine fellow, that the old man and woman fall out and fight, will he not be very cautious and wary of doing what is tyrannical? I, for my part, said he, am not quite sure about the safety of such a person’s parents. But by Zeus, Adimantus, think you, that for the sake of a newly beloved and unnecessary mistress, such a person would abandon his long loved and closely connected mother; or for the sake of a youth newly loved and with whom he has no ties, give up to stripes his withered but time-honoured father, and the most ancient of all his friends, suffering them to be the slaves of these others, by bringing them into the same house? Yes, by Zeus, I do, said he. It seems indeed, said I, a vastly blessed thing to be the father of a tyrannical son! Not at all so, said he.
But what, when the father and mother’s riches are beginning to fail such an one, and when the great swarm of pleasures has been already collected within him, will he not be the first to scale the wall of some house, or strip some one of his coat late at night, and after that rifle some temple?—And in all these acts, as respects the opinions which he formerly held from boyhood, and which guided his decisions concerning good and evil, the passions, that are newly loosed from slavery and placed as the body-guards of Love, will prevail therewith;—and these indeed had only just been loosed from their dreamy sleep, when he was himself still under the law and governed by his father, as under a democracy:—yet afterwards, when tyrannized over by love, such as he rarely was when in his dreams, he will ever be when awake, nor will he abstain from slaughter, however horrid, or food, or any deed whatever:—but that tyrant love within him, living without restraint of law or government, as if it were sole monarch, will lead on the man it possesses, as it would a state, to every act of madness, whereby he can support himself and the mob of passions about him, which partly entering from without, through evil company, and partly through the manners of the man and his associates, have been unchained and set at liberty: now is not this the life of such an one?
It is this truly, said he. And if, said I, there be, only a few such in the state, and the rest of the people are sober, they go out and serve as guards to other tyrants, or assist them for hire in case of war: but remain at home during peace and quiet, giving rise in the state to a great many minor evils. What mean you? Such as these: they steal, break open houses, cut purses, strip people of their clothes, rifle temples, make people slaves, and, where they can speak, sometimes turn false informers, give false testimony, and take bribes.[245] These then you call minor mischiefs, said he,—if there be but a few such persons. What is small, said I, is small in comparison to the great; and all these things with regard to the tyrant, when compared with the wickedness and misery of the state, do not, as the saying is, come near the mark; for when the state has many such, and others for their companions, and when they perceive their own number, then these are the persons who, led by the people’s folly, elevate to the tyranny the man among them who has within his soul most of the tyrant, and in the greatest strength.
Probably so, indeed, said he; for he will be most suited for a tyrant. Of course, if they voluntarily submit to him:—but if the state will not allow him to use the violence towards them, with which he formerly treated his father and mother, so he will now again, if he can, chastise his country by bringing in his youthful associates, and enslaving under them, as the Cretans say, his once dear mother-land and father-land:—and this will of course be the issue of such a man’s desire. Entirely so, said he. Do not these then behave thus in private life, said I;—even before becoming rulers; first with the company they keep, either associating with their own flatterers and those who are ready to supply their every want; or if they ask one for anything, falling down as suppliants, and deigning to assume the disguise of friends; but after they have gained their own purposes, acting as foes? Quite so. Throughout life then they live as real friends to no one whatever, but always either as masters or slaves to another;—because for liberty and true friendship the tyrant’s nature has no relish whatever. Quite so. May we not rightly call these men faithless? Of course. And as unjust, moreover, as they possibly can be, if indeed we, in what we said before were rightly agreed as to the nature of justice? Aye, we were quite right, said he. Let us then give a summary account, said I, of this worst man of ours; he is the same kind of person, awake perhaps, whom we just described as asleep. Entirely so. And does not that man become such, who with a tyrannical nature holds the sovereign sway, and the longer he lives in tyrant-life become so more and more? Necessarily so, replied Glaucon, taking up the discourse.
I will not ask, said I, which you mean, for that is plain; but do you judge is it thus or otherwise, that you judge of their happiness and misery?—and let us not be struck with admiration when considering the tyrant himself, or the few about him; but let us, as we ought, enter into the whole state, and declare our opinion, after going through and viewing every part. You propose what is right, said he:—and it is clear to all that no state is more wretched than one under tyranny, and none more happy than that under regal power. Well then, said I, in proposing these same things with respect to individual men, should I rightly propose, if I accounted that man a suitable judge of them, who can by intellectual power penetrate into and inspect a man’s disposition, and is not, as a child looking at exteriors, astounded by the pomp, which tyrants exhibit to those without, but has the power of looking properly through him? If then I thought that we should all listen to the man, who from having dwelt with him in the same house, and been joined in his family transactions, is able to judge how he behaves to each of his domestics, [in which most especially a man appears stripped of his actor’s finery,] and so also in public dangers; and if when he has observed all this, I were to bid him declare how the tyrant stands, as regards happiness and misery, in comparison with others.[246] You would be quite right in proposing this, observed he. Are you willing then, said I, that we should set up to be of the number of those who are able to judge, and who have already fallen in with such characters, so that we may have some one to answer our questions? By all means.
And speaking of a soul generally, will it not, when governed by tyranny, least of all do what it likes,—but being constantly hurried by some stinging passion, be full of tumult and inconstancy? Of course it must be so. But will the state governed by tyranny be necessarily rich or poor? Poor. And must a soul under a tyranny then be ever penurious and insatiable? Just so, said he. But what,—must not such a state and such an individual be necessarily full of fear? It must be so. As for lamentations, and groans, and weepings, and torments, think you that you would find more in any other kind of state? By no means. And in a man, think you that such things exist in any one to a greater extent than in this tyrannical one who is maddened by his desires and lusts? How can they? said he. It is with reference, I suppose, then to all these, and other such like things, that you have deemed this the most wretched of all states? Was I not right then in doing so? said he. Certainly, said I. But what say you again as respects the tyrannical man, with regard to these same things? That he is by far, said he, the most wretched of all in the world.
This, replied I, you are not quite correct in saying. How? said he. He is not as yet, methinks, said I, as unhappy as he can be. But who is so? The following person probably you will deem even yet more miserable than the other. Which? That man, said I, who being naturally tyrannical, remains not in private life, but is unfortunate enough to be induced by his destiny to become a tyrant. From what has been formerly observed, said he, I presume that what you say is true. Yes, said I;—but we ought not merely to conjecture about matters so important as these, but to sift them to the bottom, in the way we are now about to do;[247] for most momentous is the inquiry about a good life and a bad one. Quite right, said he. Consider, then, whether there be anything in what I say; for, in considering this question, it is my opinion that we ought to perceive it from what follows. From what? From every individual private man, among such as are rich, and possess many slaves; for these have at least this resemblance to tyrants, that they rule over many,—the difference being in the multitude of the latter. Aye,—there is some difference.
Are you sure then that these live securely, without dread of their domestics? Aye.—for what should they fear? Nothing, said I; but do you understand the reason? Yes;—because the whole state assists each particular individual. You say right, replied I:—but what,—if one of the gods were to take a man who had fifty slaves or upwards out of the state,—both himself, his wife, and children,—and set them down in a desert with the rest of his property, and his domestics, where no freemen would be likely to lend him aid,—what kind of fear, think you, he would entertain about himself, his children, and his wife, of being destroyed by the domestics? The greatest possible, methinks, replied he. Would he not be obliged to flatter some of his very slaves and make them many promises, and set them at liberty without need, and so appear to be himself the flatterer of servants? He must of course be compelled to do so, said he, or else be destroyed. But what, said I;—if the god were to place round him many other neighbours who could not endure for any one to pretend to lord it over another,—and, wherever they find such an one, punished him with extreme rigour? Methinks, he would be still more distressed, said he, when thus beset by a whole host of foes. And is not the tyrant bound in such a prison-house, if he be of such disposition as we have described,—full of many and all kinds of aversions and desires; and whilst he is most eager in his soul, he alone of all in the state is not allowed to go abroad, or to see what others love to see, but huddles himself at home, and lives mostly as a woman, envying the other citizens, whenever they travel abroad, and see what is good? Wholly so, of course, replied he.
And in addition to this, shall we not ascribe also to the tyrant-man what we formerly mentioned that he must necessarily be, and by governing become increasingly, envious, faithless, unjust, unfriendly, impious,—the entertainer and encourager of all vice; and from all these causes be specially happy himself, and render all about him happy likewise? No one of understanding will, said he, contradict you. Come, then, said I, as a judge who is examining the whole case; so tell me,—who, in your opinion, is first in happiness, and who second, and the rest in order, five in all; namely, the regal, the timocratic, the oligarchal, the democratic, and the tyrannic. Easy, indeed, is this decision, said he:—for as they came before us, I have judged of them as public actors, by their virtue and vice,—happiness and its contrary. Shall we then hire ourselves a herald? said I; or shall I myself declare, that the son of Ariston has judged the best and justest man to be the happiest, [and that this is the man who is fittest to be as king, and as king too over himself;] and that the worst and the most unjust is the most wretched; and that he is the most tyrannical, who in the greatest degree tyrannizes over himself and the state? So let it be pronounced by you, said he. Must I, then, state in addition, said I, whether they be unknown to be such or not, to all men, and the gods too? Pray do so, said he.
CHAP. VII.—Well then, said I;—-this would seem to be one of our proofs; and this, if you please, must be the second. Which is this? Since the soul, said I, of every individual is divided into three parts, just as we divided our state, it will, in my opinion, admit of a second illustration. What is that? It is this:—of the parts of the soul there appear to me to be three pleasures, one peculiar to each, with desires and governments in like manner. How say you? replied he. One part we say, by which a man learns, another by which he is roused to spirit; but as for the third, it is so multiform, that we cannot express it by any one word peculiar to itself, but have named it from the greatest and most impetuous part thereof; calling it the desiderative, from the impetuosity of the desires for eating and drinking, and sexual pleasures, and such-like enjoyments, and calling it money-loving also, as it is through wealth most especially that such desires are accomplished. And we said rightly, replied he.
Well, then, if we are to call it the pleasure and delight in gain, shall we not do best to reduce it under one head in our discourse, so that we may have something quite clear to ourselves, when we are speaking of this part of the soul? And in calling it money-loving, and profit-loving, shall we not be giving it its proper term? Yes, I think so, said he. But what; do not we say, that the spirited principle ought to be wholly impelled to superiority, victory, and applause? Especially so. If, then, we term it the contentious and ambitious, shall we not accurately express it? Most accurately. But [as regards that part of the soul] by which we gain knowledge, it is clear to every one, that it is wholly intent on always knowing the truth, wherever it may be; and as to wealth and glory, least of all does it care for these. Just so. By terming it, then, the love of learning, and philosophy, we shall be defining it correctly? Of course. And in these people’s souls, said I, one governs in some, and the other in others, as it happens? Just so, said he.
This was why we said then, that of men also there were three original species; the philosophic, the ambitious, and the avaricious? Surely so. And likewise three species of pleasures,—corresponding to each of the others? Yes, certainly. You know, then, said I, that if you were to ask these three men, by turns, which of these lives is the pleasantest, each would most commend his own; and the money-maker would say, that, compared with the pleasures of acquiring wealth, those arising from honour, or learning, are of no value, unless they bring in money? True, said he. And what says the ambitious man? said I: does not he deem the pleasure arising from money-making a sort of burden;—and again, that which arises from learning, unless it bring him honour, mere smoke and trifling? So it is, said he. And as for the philosopher, said I, we may suppose that he deems all other pleasures in comparison with that of knowing the nature of truth as a mere nothing, and that, while constantly employed in learning something of this kind, he is not far off from pleasure,—and calls them really necessary, because he wanted none else, except when compelled by necessity.[248] This, said he, you should well know. ----- Footnote 248: The real _spiritual_ nature of this truth is beautifully expressed in the Phædo, p. 67 a:—καὶ ἐν ᾧ ἂν ζῶμεν, οὕτως—ἐγγυτάτω ἐσόμεθα τοῦ εἰδέναι, ἐὰν ὅτι μάλιστα μηδὲν ὁμιλῶμεν τῷ σώματι μηδὲ κοινωνῶμεν, ὅτι μὴ πᾶσα ἀνάγκη, μηδὲ ἀναπιμπλώμεθα τῆς τούτου φύσεως, ἀλλὰ καθαρεύωμεν ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ, ἕως ἂν ὁ Θεὸς αὐτὸς ἀπολύσῃ ἡμᾶς.
Ideas discussed in this chapter
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