The works of Plato · Plato
ARGUMENT.
But consider, whether what I now state is also to the purpose; for I assert that the Greek nation itself is friendly and in alliance with itself, though foreign and strange to the barbarian. Well observed, said he. When therefore Greeks fight with barbarians, and barbarians with Greeks, we may then say, that they are at war, and naturally enemies; and this hatred we may call war: but when Greeks act thus towards Greeks, we may say that they are naturally friends, and that Greece in such a case is distempered, and at discord; and such a hatred is to be called discord. I agree, said he, that we must view it thus. Consider then, said I, that in the discord just mentioned, whenever such a thing happens, how the state is split in factions, and when they sequester each other’s lands and burn each other’s houses, how destructive the discord seems, and neither of them seem to be lovers of their country; for otherwise they would never have dared to pillage their nurse and mother, but it would have been sufficient for the victors to carry off the crops of the vanquished, and to conceive that they would one day be reconciled, and not perpetually be at war. This indeed is by far a milder sentiment than the other.
But what then? said I; this state that you are founding, is it to be a Greek one? It ought, he replied. Are they not then to be good and mild? By all means. And will they not be lovers of Greece; and will they not account Greece as related to them; and will they not observe the same religious rites as the rest of the Greeks? Most decidedly. Any difference then, that they have with Greeks, as kinsmen, will they not consider that as discord,—not war? Yes, for it is not war. And they will behave then, as those capable of being reconciled? Quite so, of course. They will be mild then and moderate, not punishing so far as to enslave or destroy,—as advocates for correction, and not as enemies. Just so, said he. Neither then, as they are Greeks, will they pillage the lands, or burn the houses of Greeks; nor will they allow, that in every state, individually, all are their enemies, men, women, and children, but that in all cases a few only are enemies,—the originators of the quarrel: and on all these accounts they will not choose to lay waste their lands, since the majority of the occupants are their friends; nor will they overturn the houses:—and so far only will they carry on the war, until the real originators be obliged by the innocent to make reparation to those whom they have grieved. I agree, said he, that we ought so to behave towards opponents among our own citizens,—but towards the barbarians, as the Greeks now act towards each other. This law, then, also, let us enact for our guardians, that they shall neither lay waste the lands, nor burn the houses. Aye, let us enact it, said he; and this further, that these things are right, and those also, that you before mentioned.
CHAP. XVII.—It appears to me, however, Socrates, that if one allow you to go on speaking in this fashion, you will never remember what you formerly put aside, when you entered on all that you have now said;—namely, how far such a government is possible, and in what way it is at all possible? For, if it be at all possible, I will allow that all these high advantages will belong to that state in which it exists, and the following also, which you omitted; and I now tell you, that they will, with all possible courage, fight against their enemies, and least of all abandon each other, recognising, and calling one another by these names,—fathers, sons, and brothers; and if the females encamp along with them, whether in the same rank, or drawn up behind them, they will strike terror into the enemies, and at the same time, in case of need, give all assistance:—in this way, I know, they will be utterly unconquerable; and as for the advantages they have at home, which we have omitted, those at any rate I plainly see.—But as I allow, that all these, and ten thousand other things, will belong to this form of government, if it actually does exist, let us talk no more about it, but try to persuade each other of this itself, how far it is possible, and in what way:—and let us omit the other points.
You have suddenly, said I, made an attack on my argument, and make no allowance for one who is but a bungler;[173] because, perhaps, you do not know with what difficulty I have got over two breakers, and now you are driving me on the greatest and most dangerous of all the three. After having seen and heard this, you will, I am sure, forgive me; allowing, that I had reason for hesitation, and was frightened by the mention of so great a paradox from undertaking its examination. The more, said he, you mention such things, the less will you be excused from explaining in what respect this government is possible. Proceed then without delay. Must we not then, said I, first remember this, that we are come hither to inquire into the nature of justice and injustice? We must, said he. But what is this to the purpose? Nothing. But supposing we find out the nature of justice, are we to judge then, that the just man ought nowise to differ therefrom, but in every respect to resemble justice; or are we to be satisfied, if he approach to it, as nearly as possible, and, of all others, partake of it the most? This will satisfy us, said he.
For example’s sake, then, said I, we were inquiring into this,—what is the nature of justice; and we were in quest also of the perfectly just man, how he became so, and what was his nature, if he really existed,—and so also with respect to injustice, and the supremely unjust man, in order that, looking to them as regards their apparent qualities in relation to happiness and its opposite, we might be obliged to acknowledge concerning ourselves, that whoever most resembles them in character will have a fortune most resembling theirs; and not for the purpose of showing that these things are possible or not. It is quite true, said he. Think you, then, that he is in any degree an inferior painter, who having painted the portrait of a very handsome man, and having expressed everything fully in his picture, is yet unable to show that such a man really exists? By Zeus, said he, I do not. Well, have we not now then logically defined, [shall we say,] the model of a good state? Yes, indeed. Have we, indeed, less ably stated the case, think you, for this reason, because we are unable to show the possibility of a state being established as we have described?[174] No, indeed, said he.
This then, said I, is the truth of the case:—but if indeed, I must now, on your account, be anxious on this point,—that is, to show how and in what respects it is most possible, with a view to this discovery, you must again allow what you did before. What? Can anything possibly be executed as perfectly as it is described; or, is it the nature of practice, that it does not approach so near to truth as theory, though some may think otherwise:—will you allow this or not? I allow it, said he. Do not oblige me then to show you, that all these things in every respect positively exist in as great perfection as we have described in our reasoning:—if, however, we can find out how a state may be established as closely as possible to what has been mentioned, you will agree that we have discovered the possibility of what you require; or will you not even be satisfied, if this be proved? For my own part I should be satisfied. Yes, and I too, said he. ----- Footnote 173: Gr. στραγγευομένῳ, which is Bekker’s emendation, the old reading being στρατευομένῳ. The verb means—_to be wearied_, _to delay_, _trifle_, _play the coward_. Footnote 174: Plato’s object here is to show, that painters in the high departments of art copy _ideal_, not actual nature,—nature in its perfection,—not in its imperfect and actual nature.
Unless either philosophers, said I, govern in states, or those who are at present called kings and governors philosophize genuinely and sufficiently, and both political power and philosophy unite in one,—and until the bulk of those now pursuing each of these separately are of necessity excluded, there will be no end, Glaucon, to the miseries of states, nor yet, as I think, to those of the human race; nor till then will that government, which we have described in our reasonings, ever spring up to a positive existence, and behold the light of the sun.—And this is what all along made me dislike mentioning it, that I saw what a paradox I was about to advance: for one can scarcely be convinced that no other government but this can enjoy happiness, either public or private. You have thrown out such an expression and argument, Socrates, said he, as you think may bring on you a great many, and these too so specially bold as to put off their clothes, and snatch naked whatever weapon each happens to have ready (as if about performing prodigies) for rushing forward in battle-array:—and if you do not mow them down with argument, and so make your escape, you will pay for it by suffering the severest ridicule.
And are not you the cause of all this? said I. Aye, through acting well at least, replied he:—yet in this affair, I will not betray but defend you, as far as I can; and I am enabled to do so both by my own good-will and your encouragement; and your questions probably I shall answer more carefully than any other:—only do you try, by help of such assistance, to show those who are loath to believe these things, that they really are what you represent them. I must try, said I; especially, as you afford me so much assistance. And here it seems necessary, if we can at all escape from those you mention, that we should at any rate define clearly what kind of men those are whom we call philosophers,—those, who, we are bold enough to say, ought alone to govern;—so that, when they are clearly pointed out, an able defence may be set up, by asserting that it is their natural province both to study philosophy, and also assume to themselves the government of the state,—while the other members of the state study neither philosophy nor politics, but only obey their leader. It is quite fit, said he, that we should define them. Come then, follow me this way, [and see] if we can in some way or other sufficiently explain this matter. Lead on then, said he. Will it be necessary then, to remind you, said I,—or do you recollect, that when we say of any one, that he loves a thing, he would not appear, if we speak strictly, to love one part of it, and not another, but to have an affection for the whole?
CHAP. XIX.—I need, it seems, to be reminded of that, replied he; for I do not understand it perfectly. Some one else, indeed, Glaucon, replied I, might say what you say; but it does not become a man who is a lover, to forget that all things in their bloom somehow excite, and agitate an amorous person and lover, as seeming worthy both of respect and of proper salutes:—do you not behave in this manner towards the beautiful? One, because flat-nosed, will be called agreeable, and be an object of praise; and the hooked nose of another, you call princely; and that between these, formed with exact symmetry: the dark are said to have a manly look, and the fair to be the children of the gods: but this name of delicate white, think you it is the invention of any other than a flattering lover, who easily bears with the paleness, if it be in the season of youth?—in one word, do you not make all kinds of pretences, and say everything that you can, so as not to reject any one who is in the prime of life? If you are disposed, said he, to judge by me of other lovers, that they act in this manner, I agree to it for argument’s sake.
And what, said I, as to lovers of wine:—do not you find they act in the same manner, cheerfully drinking every kind of wine on every pretext? Yes, indeed. And you perceive, I suppose, that the ambitious likewise, if they cannot obtain the command of an army, will take the command of a τριττύς;[175] and if they cannot get honour from greater and nobler men, are content to be honoured by the lesser and the meaner sort, because they are desirous of honour at any rate? Perfectly true. Will you allow this or not: if we say, one desires a thing, are we to say that he desires the whole species, or that he desires one part of it, but not another? The whole, replied he. May we not then likewise say, that the philosopher desires wisdom, and that too, not one part only, but the whole? True. He then, who is averse to a course of discipline, especially if he be young, and has not understanding to discern what is good and what is otherwise, should not be called a lover of learning, nor a philosopher;—just as we say of a person disgusted with meats, that he neither hungers after nor desires meats, and is not a lover but a hater of them. Aye,—and we shall say right.
But the man who has a ready inclination to taste of every branch of learning, and enters with pleasure on its study, and is insatiable thereof, this man we may with justice call a philosopher, may we not? Whereon Glaucon said, Many such philosophers as those will go into great absurdities; for all your lovers of shows appear to me to be of this kind, from taking a pleasure in learning; and your story-lovers are of all persons to be reckoned the most stupid,—among philosophers at least. These indeed would not willingly attend to such reasoning, or to such a disquisition as this. But yet, as if they had hired out their ears to listen to every public ditty, they run about to the Dionysia, omitting neither the civic nor village festivals.[176] Are all these then, and others who run after such matters, and those likewise who devote themselves to the inferior arts, to be called by us philosophers? By no means, said I, but only like philosophers. ----- Footnote 175: The Scholiast states by way of explanation, that the Athenian people were divided into ten φυλαί or wards, which were again subdivided into τριττύες, ἔθνη and φρατρίαι. The commander of a τρίττυς then was called a τριττύαρχος,—whence the verb τριττυαρχεῖν. Footnote 176: There were three festivals at Athens, commonly termed Bacchic,—the great or city festival (the most important of all, at which the dramatic poets contended with their new plays), celebrated in the month Elaphebolion,—the Lenæa, in the month Maimacterion,—and the rural Dionysia, in the month Poseideon.
The lovers of common stories and spectacles, delight in fine sounds, colours, and figures, and everything made up of these; but the nature of beauty itself their intellect is unable to discern and admire. That is the case, indeed, said he. As to those, however, who are able to approach this beauty itself and behold it in its real essence, surely they must be few in number? Extremely so. He then who deems some things beautiful, but neither knows beauty itself nor is able to follow, should any one lead to the knowledge of it, do you think he lives in a dream, or is awake? consider: is not this to dream, when a man, either asleep or awake, imagines the likeness of a thing not to be its likeness, but the real thing itself which it resembles? I for my part would assert, replied he, that such a person is really in a dream. But what now as to him who comes to an exactly opposite conclusion, who understands the real nature of beauty, and is able to discern both it and its accessories, and deems neither the accessories to be beauty, nor beauty the accessories;—does such a man, think you, live in a waking or dreaming state? Wide awake, said he.
May we not then properly call this man’s intellectual power, so far as he really knows, knowledge, but that of the other, opinion,—as he only opines? Surely so. But what,—if the person, who, we say, only opines things, but does not really know them, becomes indignant, and raises a dispute, alleging that our position is not true, shall we have any method of soothing and gently persuading him, and yet at the same time concealing that he is not in a sound state? We surely ought, replied he. Come then, bethink you what we are to say to him,—are you disposed that we should question him thus,—saying, that if he knows anything, no one envies him, and we should gladly see him possessed of more knowledge;—and tell us this too, does the man who has so much knowledge, know something or nothing? Do you answer me in his behalf. I will answer, said he, that he knows something. Is it something then, that does or does not exist? What does exist: for how can that, which does not exist, be known? This, then, we have sufficiently considered;—though we might have considered it more fully,—that what really is, may be really known, but what does not at all exist, cannot be known at all? Yes,—this we have examined quite sufficiently.
Be it so: but if there be anything of such character, as both to be and not to be, must it not lie between what has a perfect existence, and what has none at all? Between them. If then there is knowledge as to what really exists, and necessarily ignorance as to what does not exist,—as to what lies between these, must we not seek for something between ignorance and science, if there be any such thing? By all means. Are we to allege, then, that opinion is anything? Of course. Is it a different faculty from science, or the same? Different. Opinion then is conversant about one thing, and science about another, each according to its own peculiar faculty? Just so. Is not then the nature of science as regards that which exists, to know what existence is? It seems to me, however, far more necessary to lay down the distinction thus. How? ----- Footnote 177: The portrait of the true philosopher, whom Plato conceives to be the only true president and ruler of his state, is described from this chapter onwards to the end of the third chapter of the sixth book, with farther illustration in the thirteenth chapter of that book. Should the reader conceive, that too little regard is paid to worldly affairs and too little stress laid on the doctrine of ideas, he must recollect that this philosopher conceived that all knowledge of truth (—without which not even civil business could be conducted, according to his notions—) is to be gained only from the contemplation of things considered _per se_,—and that there can be no real human felicity unconnected with wisdom and virtue, which can only be attained by true philosophers engaged in inquiring into the eternal nature of things around or in themselves.
But what then;—are we to refer opinion to faculty, or to some other species? By no means, said he; for that by which we have the power of forming opinions is nothing else but opinion. But some time since, you allowed that science and opinion were not the same. How, said he, can any one with common sense reduce under one, what is infallible, and what is not infallible? Right, said I;—and it is plain, that we have allowed opinion to be a different thing from science. Yes,—different. Each of them then has naturally a different faculty in reference to a different object? Of course. Science surely as regards that which exists, so as to know the nature of real existence? Yes. But we say that opinion opines? Yes. Is it cognizant of the same thing that science is;—and will that which is known, and that which is matter of opinion, be the same;—or is this impossible? Impossible, said he, from what has been granted: since they are naturally faculties of different things, and both of them are faculties,—opinion and science,—and each of them different from the other, as we have said; hence it cannot be, that what is opined is the same with that which is known.
If then that which exists is known, must it not differ from what is perceived by opinion? It does differ. Does opinion then entertain what has no existence;—or is it impossible to opine what does not exist at all?—Consider now, does not the man who opines, refer his opinion to some standard;—or is it possible to opine, and yet opine nothing at all? Impossible. But whoever opines, opines some one thing? Yes. But surely that which does not exist, cannot be called any one thing, but most properly nothing at all? Certainly. But we necessarily referred ignorance to that which has no true being, and knowledge to real existence? Right, said he. He does not, therefore, opine true being, nor yet that which has no being? He does not. Opinion then is neither knowledge, nor is it ignorance? It seems not. Does it then exceed these, either knowledge in perspicuity, or ignorance in obscurity? Neither. Think you then, said I, that opinion is more obscure than knowledge, but clearer than ignorance? Far, said he. Does it lie then between them both? Yes. Opinion then is between the two? Entirely so. And have we not already said, that if anything appeared of such a nature, as at once to exist and yet not exist, such a thing would lie between what really exists, and that which has no existence at all, and neither science nor ignorance would take cognizance of it, but that only which appeared to be between ignorance and science? Right. And now, what we call opinion has been shown to lie between them. It has been so shown.
And things great and small, light and heavy, are they to be termed what we call them, any more than the opposite? No; said he:—each of them, always participates of both. Is then, or is not, each of these many things just what it is said to be? It resembles their equivocal jokes at feasts, said he, and the riddle of children about the eunuch’s striking the bat, with what and on what part they guess he strikes it:[180] for all these things have a double meaning, and it is impossible to know accurately whether they are, or are not,—or are both, or neither of the two. How can you act with them then, said I, or what better position have you for them than a medium between being and non-being?—For nothing seems more obscure than non-being as compared with having no being at all, nor more clear than being in respect of real being.[181] Most true, said he. We have discovered then, it seems, that most of the maxims of the people about the beautiful, and those other things, fluctuate somehow between being and non-being. Yes, we have discovered it.
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