Republic

And Adeimantus broke in and said, What will be your defence, Socrates, if anyone objects that you are not making these men very happy, and that through their own fault? For the city really belongs to them and yet they get no enjoyment out of it as ordinary men do by owning lands and building fine big houses and providing them with suitable furniture and winning the favor of the gods by private sacrifices and entertaining guests and enjoying too those possessions which you just now spoke of, gold and silver and all that is customary for those who are expecting to be happy?

But they seem, one might say, to be established in idleness in the city, exactly like hired mercenaries, with nothing to do but keep guard. Yes, said I, and what is more, they serve for board-wages and do not even receive pay in addition to their food as others do, so that they will not even be able to take a journey on their own account, if they wish to, or make presents to their mistresses, or spend money in other directions according to their desires like the men who are thought to be happy. These and many similar counts of the indictment you are omitting. Well, said he, assume these counts too. What then will be our apology you ask? Yes. By following the same path I think we shall find what to reply. For we shall say that while it would not surprise us if these men thus living prove to be the most happy, yet the object on which we fixed our eyes in the establishment of our state was not the exceptional happiness of any one class but the greatest possible happiness of the city as a whole. For we thought that in a state so constituted we should be most likely to discover justice as we should injustice in the worst governed state, and that when we had made these out we could pass judgement on the issue of our long inquiry. Our first task then, we take it, is to mold the model of a happy state—we are not isolating a small class in it and postulating their happiness, but that of the city as a whole. But the opposite type of state we will consider presently. It is as if we were coloring a statue and someone approached and censured us, saying that we did not apply the most beautiful pigments to the most beautiful parts of the image, since the eyes, which are the most beautiful part, have not been painted with purple but with black— we should think it a reasonable justification to reply, Don’t expect us, quaint friend, to paint the eyes so fine that they will not be like eyes at all, nor the other parts. But observe whether by assigning what is proper to each we render the whole beautiful. And so in the present case you must not require us to attach to the guardians a happiness that will make them anything but guardians. For in like manner we could clothe the farmers in robes of state and deck them with gold and bid them cultivate the soil at their pleasure, and we could make the potters recline on couches from left to right before the fire drinking toasts and feasting with their wheel alongside to potter with when they are so disposed, and we can make all the others happy in the same fashion, so that thus the entire city may be happy.

But urge us not to this, since, if we yield, the farmer will not be a farmer nor the potter a potter, nor will any other of the types that constitute state keep its form. However, for the others it matters less. For cobblers who deteriorate and are spoiled and pretend to be the workmen that they are not are no great danger to a state. But guardians of laws and of the city who are not what they pretend to be, but only seem, destroy utterly, I would have you note, the entire state, and on the other hand, they alone are decisive of its good government and happiness. If then we are forming true guardians and keepers of our liberties, men least likely to harm the commonwealth, but the proponent of the other ideal is thinking of farmers and happy feasters as it were in a festival and not in a civic community, he would have something else in mind than a state. Consider, then, whether our aim in establishing the guardians is the greatest possible happiness among them or whether that is something we must look to see develop in the city as a whole, but these helpers and guardians are to be constrained and persuaded to do what will make them the best craftsmen in their own work, and similarly all the rest. And so, as the entire city develops and is ordered well, each class is to be left, to the share of happiness that its nature comports. Well, he said, I think you are right. And will you then, I said, also think me reasonable in another point akin to this? What pray? Consider whether these are the causes that corrupt other craftsmen too so as positively to spoil them. What causes? Wealth and poverty, said I. How so? Thus! do you think a potter who grew rich would any longer be willing to give his mind to his craft? By no means, said he. But will he become more idle and negligent than he was? Far more. Then he becomes a worse potter? Far worse too. And yet again, if from poverty he is unable to provide himself with tools and other requirements of his art, the work that he turns out will be worse, and he will also make inferior workmen of his sons or any others whom he teaches. Of course. From both causes, then, poverty and wealth, the products of the arts deteriorate, and so do the artisans? So it appears. Here, then, is a second group of things it seems that our guardians must guard against and do all in their power to keep from slipping into the city without their knowledge. What are they?

Wealth and poverty, said I, since the one brings luxury, idleness and innovation, and the other illiberality and the evil of bad workmanship in addition to innovation. Assuredly, he said; yet here is a point for your consideration, Socrates, how our city, possessing no wealth, will be able to wage war, especially if compelled to fight a large and wealthy state. Obviously, said I, it would be rather difficult to fight one such, but easier to fight two. What did you mean by that? he said. Tell me first, I said, whether, if they have to fight, they will not be fighting as athletes of war against men of wealth? Yes, that is true, he said. Answer me then, Adeimantus. Do you not think that one boxer perfectly trained in the art could easily fight two fat rich men who knew nothing of it? Not at the same time perhaps, said he. Not even, said I, if he were allowed to retreat and then turn and strike the one who came up first, and if he repeated the procedure many times under a burning and stifling sun? Would not such a fighter down even a number of such opponents? Doubtless, he said; it wouldn’t be surprising if he did. Well, don’t you think that the rich have more of the skill and practice of boxing than of the art of war? I do, he said. It will be easy, then, for our athletes in all probability to fight with double and triple their number. I shall have to concede the point, he said, for I believe you are right. Well then, if they send an embassy to the other city and say what is in fact true: We make no use of gold and silver nor is it lawful for us but it is for you: do you then join us in the war and keep the spoils of the enemy,—do you suppose any who heard such a proposal would choose to fight against hard and wiry hounds rather than with the aid of the hounds against fat and tender sheep? I think not. Yet consider whether the accumulation of all the wealth of other cities in one does not involve danger for the state that has no wealth. What happy innocence, said I, to suppose that you can properly use the name city of any other than the one we are constructing. Why, what should we say? he said. A greater predication, said I, must be applied to the others. For they are each one of them many cities, not a city, as it goes in the game.

There are two at the least at enmity with one another, the city of the rich and the city of the poor, and in each of these there are many. If you deal with them as one you will altogether miss the mark, but if you treat them as a multiplicity by offering to the one faction the property, the power, the very persons of the other, you will continue always to have few enemies and many allies. And so long as your city is governed soberly in the order just laid down, it will be the greatest of cities. I do not mean greatest in repute, but in reality, even though it have only a thousand defenders. For a city of this size that is really one you will not easily discover either among Greeks or barbarians—but of those that seem so you will find many and many times the size of this. Or do you think otherwise? No, indeed I don’t, said he. Would not this, then, be the best rule and measure for our governors of the proper size of the city and of the territory that they should mark off for a city of that size and seek no more? What is the measure? I think, said I, that they should let it grow so long as in its growth it consents to remain a unity, but no further. Excellent, he said. Then is not this still another injunction that we should lay upon our guardians, to keep guard in every way that the city shall not be too small, nor great only in seeming, but that it shall be a sufficient city and one? That behest will perhaps be an easy one for them, he said. And still easier, haply, I said, is this that we mentioned before when we said that if a degenerate offspring was born to the guardians he must be sent away to the other classes, and likewise if a superior to the others he must be enrolled among the guardians; and the purport of all this was that the other citizens too must be sent to the task for which their natures were fitted, one man to one work, in order that each of them fulfilling his own function may be not many men, but one, and so the entire city may come to be not a multiplicity but a unity. Why yes, he said, this is even more trifling than that. These are not, my good Adeimantus, as one might suppose, numerous and difficult injunctions that we are imposing upon them, but they are all easy, provided they guard, as the saying is, the one great thing—or instead of great let us call it sufficient. What is that? he said.

Their education and nurture, I replied. For if a right education makes of them reasonable men they will easily discover everything of this kind—and other principles that we now pass over, as that the possession of wives and marriage, and the procreation of children and all that sort of thing should be made as far as possible the proverbial goods of friends that are common. Yes, that would be the best way, he said. And, moreover, said I, the state, if it once starts well, proceeds as it were in a cycle of growth. I mean that a sound nurture and education if kept up creates good natures in the state, and sound natures in turn receiving an education of this sort develop into better men than their predecessors both for other purposes and for the production of offspring as among animals also. It is probable, he said. To put it briefly, then, said I, it is to this that the overseers of our state must cleave and be watchful against its insensible corruption. They must throughout be watchful against innovations in music and gymnastics counter to the established order, and to the best of their power guard against them, fearing when anyone says that That song is most regarded among men Which hovers newest on the singer’s lips, Hom. Od. 1.351 lest haply it be supposed that the poet means not new songs but a new way of song and is commending this. But we must not praise that sort of thing nor conceive it to be the poet’s meaning. For a change to a new type of music is something to beware of as a hazard of all our fortunes. For the modes of music are never disturbed without unsettling of the most fundamental political and social conventions, as Damon affirms and as I am convinced. Set me too down in the number of the convinced, said Adeimantus. It is here, then, I said, in music, as it seems, that our guardians must build their guard-house and post of watch. It is certain, he said, that this is the kind of lawlessness that easily insinuates itself unobserved. Yes, said I, because it is supposed to be only a form of play and to work no harm. Nor does it work any, he said, except that by gradual infiltration it softly overflows upon the characters and pursuits of men and from these issues forth grown greater to attack their business dealings, and from these relations it proceeds against the laws and the constitution with wanton licence, Socrates, till finally it overthrows all things public and private. Well, said I, are these things so? I think so, he said.

Then, as we were saying in the beginning, our youth must join in a more law-abiding play, since, if play grows lawless and the children likewise, it is impossible that they should grow up to be men of serious temper and lawful spirit. Of course, he said. And so we may reason that when children in their earliest play are imbued with the spirit of law and order through their music, the opposite of the former supposition happens—this spirit waits upon them in all things and fosters their growth, and restores and sets up again whatever was overthrown in the other type of state. True, indeed, he said. Then such men rediscover for themselves those seemingly trifling conventions which their predecessors abolished altogether. Of what sort? Such things as the becoming silence of the young in the presence of their elders; the giving place to them and rising up before them, and dutiful service of parents, and the cut of the hair and the garments and the fashion of the foot-gear, and in general the deportment of the body and everything of the kind. Don’t you think so? I do. Yet to enact them into laws would, I think, be silly. For such laws are not obeyed nor would they last, being enacted only in words and on paper. How could they? At any rate, Adeimantus, I said, the direction of the education from whence one starts is likely to determine the quality of what follows. Does not like ever summon like? Surely. And the final outcome, I presume, we would say is one complete and vigorous product of good or the reverse. Of course, said he. For my part, then, I said, for these reasons I would not go on to try to legislate on such matters. With good reason, said he. But what, in heaven’s name, said I, about business matters, the deals that men make with one another in the agora— and, if you please, contracts with workmen and actions for foul language and assault, the filing of declarations, the impanelling of juries, the payment and exaction of any dues that may be needful in markets or harbors and in general market, police or harbor regulations and the like, can we bring ourselves to legislate about these? Nay, ʼtwould not be fitting, he said, to dictate to good and honorable men. For most of the enactments that are needed about these things they will easily, I presume, discover. Yes, my friend, provided God grants them the preservation of the principles of law that we have already discussed. Failing that, said he, they will pass their lives multiplying such petty laws and amending them in the expectation of attaining what is best. You mean, said I, that the life of such citizens will resemble that of men who are sick, yet from intemperance are unwilling to abandon their unwholesome regimen.

By all means. And truly, said I, these latter go on in a most charming fashion. For with all their doctoring they accomplish nothing except to complicate and augment their maladies. And they are always hoping that some one will recommend a panacea that will restore their health. A perfect description, he said, of the state of such invalids. And isn’t this a charming trait in them, that they hate most in all the world him who tells them the truth that until a man stops drinking and gorging and wenching and idling, neither drugs nor cautery nor the knife, no, nor spells nor periapts will be of any avail? Not altogether charming, he said, for there is no grace or charm in being angry with him who speaks well. You do not seem to be an admirer of such people, said I. No, by heaven, I am not. Neither then, if an entire city, as we were just now saying, acts in this way, will it have your approval, or don’t you think that the way of such invalids is precisely that of those cities which being badly governed forewarn their citizens not to meddle with the general constitution of the state, denouncing death to whosoever attempts that—while whoever most agreeably serves them governed as they are and who curries favor with them by fawning upon them and anticipating their desires and by his cleverness in gratifying them, him they will account the good man, the man wise in worthwhile things, the man they will delight to honor? Yes, he said, I think their conduct is identical, and I don’t approve it in the very least. And what again of those who are willing and eager to serve such states? Don’t you admire their valiance and light-hearted irresponsibility? I do, he said, except those who are actually deluded and suppose themselves to be in truth statesmen because they are praised by the many. What do you mean? Can’t you make allowances for the men? Do you think it possible for a man who does not know how to measure when a multitude of others equally ignorant assure him that he is four cubits tall not to suppose this to be the fact about himself? Why no, he said, I don’t think that. Then don’t be harsh with them. For surely such fellows are the most charming spectacle in the world when they enact and amend such laws as we just now described and are perpetually expecting to find a way of putting an end to frauds in business and in the other matters of which I was speaking because they can’t see that they are in very truth trying to cut off a Hydra’s head.

Indeed, he said, that is exactly what they are doing. I, then, said I, should not have supposed that the true lawgiver ought to work out matters of that kind in the laws and the constitution either of an ill-governed or a well-governed state—in the one because they are useless and accomplish nothing, in the other because some of them anybody could discover and others will result spontaneously from the pursuits already described. What part of legislation, then, he said, is still left for us? And I replied, For us nothing, but for the Apollo of Delphi, the chief, the fairest and the first of enactments. What are they? he said. The founding of temples, and sacrifices, and other forms of worship of gods, daemons, and heroes; and likewise the burial of the dead and the services we must render to the dwellers in the world beyond to keep them gracious. For of such matters we neither know anything nor in the founding of our city if we are wise shall we entrust them to any other or make use of any other interpreter than the God of our fathers. For this God surely is in such matters for all mankind the interpreter of the religion of their fathers who from his seat in the middle and at the very navel of the earth delivers his interpretation. Excellently said, he replied; and that is what we must do. At last, then, son of Ariston, said I, your city may be considered as established. The next thing is to procure a sufficient light somewhere and to look yourself, and call in the aid of your brother and of Polemarchus and the rest, if we may in any wise discover where justice and injustice should be in it, wherein they differ from one another and which of the two he must have who is to be happy, alike whether his condition is known or not known to all gods and men. Nonsense, said Glaucon, you promised that you would carry on the search yourself, admitting that it would be impious for you not to come to the aid of justice by every means in your power. A true reminder, I said, and I must do so, but you also must lend a hand. Well, he said, we will. I expect then, said I, that we shall find it in this way. I think our city, if it has been rightly founded is good in the full sense of the word. Necessarily, he said. Clearly, then, it will be wise, brave, sober, and just. Clearly. Then if we find any of these qualities in it, the remainder will be that which we have not found?

Surely. Take the case of any four other things. If we were looking for any one of them in anything and recognized the object of our search first, that would have been enough for us, but if we had recognized the other three first, that in itself would have made known to us the thing we were seeking. For plainly there was nothing left for it to be but the remainder. Right, he said. And so, since these are four, we must conduct the search in the same way. Clearly. And, moreover, the first thing that I think I clearly see therein is the wisdom, and there is something odd about that, it appears. What? said he. Wise in very deed I think the city that we have described is, for it is well counselled, is it not? Yes. And surely this very thing, good counsel, is a form of wisdom. For it is not by ignorance but by knowledge that men counsel well. Obviously. But there are many and manifold knowledges or sciences in the city. Of course. Is it then owing to the science of her carpenters that a city is to be called wise and well advised? By no means for that, but rather mistress of the arts of building. Then a city is not to be styled wise because of the deliberations of the science of wooden utensils for their best production? No, I grant you. Is it, then, because of that of brass implements or any other of that kind? None whatsoever, he said. Nor yet because of the science of the production of crops from the soil, but the name it takes from that is agricultural. I think so. Then, said I, is there any science in the city just founded by us residing in any of its citizens which does not take counsel about some particular thing in the city but about the city as a whole and the betterment of its relations with itself and other states? Why, there is. What is it, said I, and in whom is it found? It is the science of guardianship or government and it is to be found in those rulers to whom we just now gave the name of guardians in the full sense of the word. And what term then do you apply to the city because of this knowledge? Well advised, he said, and truly wise. Which class, then, said I, do you suppose will be the more numerous in our city, the smiths or these true guardians? The smiths, by far, he said. And would not these rulers be the smallest of all the groups of those who possess special knowledge and receive distinctive appellations? By far.

Then it is by virtue of its smallest class and minutest part of itself, and the wisdom that resides therein, in the part which takes the lead and rules, that a city established on principles of nature would be wise as a whole. And as it appears these are by nature the fewest, the class to which it pertains to partake of the knowledge which alone of all forms of knowledge deserves the name of wisdom. Most true, he said. This one of our four, then, we have, I know not how, discovered, the thing itself and its place in the state. I certainly think, said he, that it has been discovered sufficiently. But again there is no difficulty in seeing bravery itself and the part of the city in which it resides for which the city is called brave. How so? Who, said I, in calling a city cowardly or brave would fix his eyes on any other part of it than that which defends it and wages war in its behalf? No one at all, he said. For the reason, I take it, said I, that the cowardice or the bravery of the other inhabitants does not determine for it the one quality or the other. It does not. Bravery too, then, belongs to a city by virtue of a part of itself owing to its possession in that part of a quality that under all conditions will preserve the conviction that things to be feared are precisely those which and such as the lawgiver inculcated in their education. Is not that what you call bravery? I don’t altogether understand what you said, he replied; but say it again. A kind of conservation, I said, is what I mean by bravery. What sort of a conservation? The conservation of the conviction which the law has created by education about fearful things—what and what sort of things are to be feared. And by the phrase under all conditions I mean that the brave man preserves it both in pain and pleasures and in desires and fears and does not expel it from his soul. And I may illustrate it by a similitude if you please. I do. You are aware that dyers when they wish to dye wool so as to hold the purple hue begin by selecting from the many colors there be the one nature of the white and then give it a careful preparatory treatment so that it will take the hue in the best way, and after the treatment, then and then only, dip it in the dye. And things that are dyed by this process become fast-colored and washing either with or without lyes cannot take away the sheen of their hues. But otherwise you know what happens to them, whether anyone dips other colors or even these without the preparatory treatment. I know, he said, that they present a ridiculous and washed-out appearance.