Speakers
- Socrates
- Cephalus
- Polymarchus
- Glauco
- Adimantus
- Thrasymachus
Scene
The House of Cephalus; at the Piraeus.
Socrates:
I went down yesterday to the Piraeum, with Glauco, the son of Aristo, to pay my devotion to the goddess; and defsrous, at the same time, to observe in what manner they would celebrate the festival, as they were now to do it for the first time. The procession of our own countrymen seemed to me to be indeed beautiful; yet that of the Thracians appeared no less proper. After we had paid our devotion, and seen the solemnity, we were returning to the city; when Polemarchus, the son of Cephalus, observing us at a distance hurrying home, ordered his boy to run and desire us to wait for him: and the boy, taking hold of my robe behind, Polemarchus, says he, desires you to wait. I turned about, and asked where he was. He is coming up, said he, after you; but do you wait for him. We will wait, said Glauco; and soon afterwards came Polemarchus, and Adimantus the brother of Glauco and Niceratus the son, of Nicias, and some others as from the procession. Then said Polemarchus, Socrates! you feem to n1e to be hurrying to tb.e city. You conjecture. faid I, not amifs. Do you not fee, then, faid he, how many there are of us? Undoubtedly ‘I do. Therefore, now, you mull: either be firouger than thefe, or you mull: fiay here. ls there not, faid I, one way fiill remaining? May we not perfuade you that you mull let us go? Can you be able to perfoade foch as will not liear? By n-0 means, faid Glauco. Then, as if we are not to hear, determine accordingly. But do you not know, faid Adimantus, that there is to be an illumination in the evening, on horfe ack, to the goddefs? On horfe-back? faid·I. That ie uew. Are they to have torches, and give them to one another, contending together with
their horfes ? or how do you mean ? Jufi fo, replied Polemarchus. And
place. And perhaps, fays be, you may fay that the Pirzum is analogous to the realms of geperation, (i. e. the fublunary region) but the city to a place pure from generation, and, as. 8ocrate in the Phredo fays, to the zthereal r.egion. For generation is full of a bitter and tempefiuous life, and of mighty waves under which fouls are merge,!, whence their life is not without tumult, though they may live according to reafon. But the ,ethereal region is. the place of fouls who are now allotted a pure and blamelefs period of exi!lencc, tho1o1gh they !lill retain the memory of the tumult in generation, and of the labours which they endured in its fluctuating empire, •
‘ This feflival, according to Proclus, (in Plat. Polit. p. 353.) was the Ben<lidian, in which Diana was worlhipped agreeably to the law of the Thracians. For Bendis, fays he, is a Thracian name. He adds, “The theologif! of Thrace (Orpheus), amoug many name& of the Moon, refers that of Bendis alt’o to the goddefs :
Plutonian, joyful goddeCs, Bendis llrong.”
4 befides,
T H E R E P U B L I C. 105
betides, they will perform a nocl:urnal folemnity ‘ worth focing. For We !hall rife after fupper, and foe the notlurnal folemnity, and ihall be there with many of the youth, and converfe together : But do you fray, and do not do otherwife, It fee1 s proper, then, faid Glauco, that we ihould fiay. Nay, if it feem fo, faid I, we ought to do it. We went home therefore to Polemarchus’s houfe; and there we ·found both Lyfias and Euthydemus, brothers of Polemarchus ; likewife Th.r.11fymachus the Chalcc<lonian, and Charmantides the P oncian, and Clitipho· the fon of Arifionimus; Ccphalus the father of Polemarchus was likewife in the houfc ; he feemed to me t be far advanced in years, for I had not feen him for a long time. He was fitting crowned, on a certain couch and feat ; for he had been offering facrifice in the hall. So·we fat down by him; for fom feats were placed there in a circle. lmmediately, then, when Cephalus faw me, he faluted me, and faid, Socrates, you do not often come down to us to the Pirreum, neverthelefs }OU ought to do it; for, were I frill able eafily to go up to the city, you ihould not need to come hither, but we would be with you. But now you fhould come hither more frequently : for 1 affure you that, wit.h relation to myfelf, as the
‘ This noc\urnal folemnity w•s the lell’er Panatheniea, which, as the name implies, wu (acred tQ Minerva. Proclus (in Plat, Polit, p, 353) obferves of this goddcfs and Diana, that they are both daughters of Jupiter, both virgins, and both light-bearers. The one (Diana) ia l’hofphor, as benevolently leading into light the unapparent reafons (i. c:, produllive princi,. ples) of nature ; the other as enkindling intellellual light in the foul-
His11elmet and his lhield {he gave to blaze With fire unweary’d •-
and is removing thofe dark mills, which, when prefent, prevent the foul from feeing what is divine, and what is human. Both, therefore, polfelling idioms of this kind, it is evident that the one prelid s over generation, and is the midwife of its produc\ive principles; but the other elevates fouls, and impart& intellecl: and true prudence : and in the celeftial regions lhe exerts a fiill greater power, fupernally perfec\ing the whole of the lunar order. If thefe things, then, be true, the Bcndidian feftival, as well as the place in which it was celebrated, will be adapted to the firlt converfation, which imitates the foul becoming dorned, but not free from the tumult of generation. But the Panathenza will be adapted to the fecond and third narration of a republic, which imitate the foul retiring into herfelf, and withdrawing her life from things below, to her own intellect, and, infiead of adorning things dillimilar, all’ociating with fuch aa re limilar to herfelf, and communicating in intellellual conceptions, and fpecbcles adapted 10 Jiappy fpellators,
Aom 01 ‘” KOfuOos ‘l’E “”‘ ,.r,r,80,”‘””1′”1’or ‘llop, Iliad. lib. S, I, 4,
VOL, I, p pleafurcs
T H E R E P U :B L I C,
pleafi.tres te{pecting the body languifh, the dcfire and pleafure of conver- fation increafe. Do not fail, then to make a party often with thefe youths, and come hither to us, as to your friends and intimate acquaint ance. tAnd, truly, faid I, Cephalus, I take pleafure in converfing with thofe who are very for advanced in years ; for it appears to me proper, that we lean’l from them, as from perfons who have gone before us, what the road is which it is likely we have to travel; whether rough and dif ficult, or plain and eafy. And I would gladly learn from you, as you are now anived at that time of life which the poets call the threfhold of ol -age. what your opinion of it is ;. whether you confider it to be a. grievous part of life, or what you announce it to be? And I will tell you, Socrates, faid he, what is really my opinion ; for we frequently meet together in one place, feveral of us who are of the fame age, obferving the old proverb. Mo!l: of us, therefore,. when affembled, lament their fiate, when they t’cel a want of the pleafures of youth, and call to their remembrance the delights of love, of drinking, and feall:ing, and fome others akin to thefe : and they exprefs indignation, as if they were be reaved of fome mighty things. In thofe days, they fay, they lived well,. but now they do not live at all:. fome of them, too, bemoan the contempt which old-age meets with from their acquaintance : and 011 this account alf_othey lament old-age, which is to th m the caufe of fo many ills. But thefe men, Socrates, feem not to me to blame the real caufe ; for, if this
were the caufe, I likewife fhould have fuffered the fa e things on account of old-age ; and all others, even as many as have arrived at thefe years :
whereas I have met with feveral who are not thus affected; and particqlarly was once with Sophocles the poet, when he was afked by fome one, How,. faid he, Sophocles, are you affected towards the pleafures of love ? are you fiill able to enjoy them? Softly, friend, replied he, mofi gladly, in deed, have I efcaped from thefe pleafures, as from fome furious and favage mall:er:) He feeme to me to fpeak well at that time, and no lefs fo now: for, certainly, there is in old-age abundance of peace and freedom from.fuch things ; for, when the appetites ceafe to be vehement, and are become cafy, what Sophocles faid certainly happens ; we are delivered from very many, and thofe too infane mafiers. But with relation to thefe things, allll thofe likewife refpecting our acquaintance, there is one and the fame
caufe;
TIIE REPUBLIC.
ca11fo; which is 11ot old age, Socrates, but manners: for, if indeed they are difcrect and moderate, even old-age is but moderately burthenfome : if 11ot, both old age, Socrates, and youth are grievous to fuch. Being delighted to hear him fay thefe things, and withing him to difcourie further, I urged him, and faid, I think, Cephalus, the multitude will not agree with you in thofe things ; but will imagine that you bear old-age eafily, not from manners, but from poffeffing much wealth; for the rich, fay they, have many confolations. You fay true, replied he, they do not agree with me ; and there is fomething in what they fay; but, however, not fo much as they imagine. But the faying of Thcmifiocles was juft; who, when the Seriphian reviled him, and faid that he was honoured,- not on his own account, but 011 that of his country, replied That neither would himfelf have been renowned had lie been a Seriphian, nor would he, had he been an Athenian. The fame faying is jullly applicable to thofc who are not rich, and who bear old-age with uneafinefs, That neither would the worthy man, were he poor, bear old-age quite eafily ; nor would he who is unworthy, though enriched, ever be agreeable to himfelf. But, whether, Cephalus, faid I, was the greater part of what you poffefs, left you; or have you acquired it ? Somewhat, Socrates, replied he, I have acquired: as to money-getting, I am in a medium between my grand father and my father : for my randfather, of the fame name with me, who was left almofi as much fubfiance as I poffefs at prefent, made it many times as much again; but my father Lyfanias made it yet lefs than
it is now : I am fatisfi if I leave my f.o,,ns here, no lefs, but fome little more than I received. I afked you, faid I, for this reafon, becaufe you
fcem to me to love riches moderately ; and thofe generally do fo who have not acquired them : but thofe who have acquired them are doubly fond of them : for, as poets love their own poems, and as parents love their children, in the fame manner, thofe who have enriched themfclves value their riches as a work of their own, as well as for the utilities they afford, for which riches are valued by others. You fay true, replied he. It is entirely fo, faid I. But further, tell me this : What do
you think is the greatefi good derived from the poffeffiou of much fob• fiance r That, probably, faid he, of which I !hall not perfuade the mul
titude.• For be atfored, Socrates, continued he, that after a man begins’
2 to
108 T H E R E P U B L I C.
to think he is foon to die, he feels a fear and concern about things which before gave him no uneafinefs : for thofe fiories concerning a future fiate, which reprefent that the man who has done injufiice here mull: there be punithed, though formerly ridiculed, do then trouble his foul with ap prebenfio11s that they may be true ; and the man, either through the infir mity of old-age, or as being now more near thofe things, views them more att ntively: he becomes therefore full of fufpicion and dread; and con fiders, and reviews, whether he has, in any thing, injured any one He then who finds in his life much of iniquity, and is wakened from fleep, as children by repeated calls, is afraid, and lives in miferable hope. ut the man who is not confcious of any iniquity,
Still plealing hope, fwcct nourilher of age: I Attends-
as Pindar fays. This, Socrates, he has beautifully exprdfed; that, who,.. ever lives a life f jufiice and holinefs,
Sweet hope, the nourilher of age, hi1 heart Delighting, with him lives; which moft of all Governs the many veering thoughts of man.
So that he fays well, and very admirably; wherefore, for this purpole, r deem the poffeffion of riches to be chiefly valuable ; not to every man, but to the man of worth: for the poffeffion of riches contributes confider ably to free us from being tempted to cheat or deceive; and from being obliged to depart thither in a terror, when either indebted in facrifices to GQd.- or in money to man. It has many other advantages befides ; but, for my part, Socrates, I deem riches to be moft advantageous to a man of
\lnderfiaading, chiefly in this refpell:. You fpeak moil: handfomely. Cepha lus, replied I. But with refpecl to this very thing, juil:ice : Whether thall we call it truth, fimply, and the relloring of what one man has received
from another f or {hall we fay that the very fame things may fometimes
be done juftly, and fometimes unjuO:ly ? My meaning is this : Every one would fomehow owu, that if a man thould receive arms from his friend who was of a found mind, it would not be proper to reftore fuch things if he thould demand them when mad; nor would the refiorcr be juft :
nor
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nor again would he be jull, who, to a man in fuch a condition, fhould willingly tell all the truth. You fay right, replied he. This, then, to fpeak the truth, and rell:ore what one hath received, is not the definition. of jufi:ice ? It is not, Socrates, replied Polemarchus, if at leafr we may give any credit to Simonides. However that be, I give up, faid Cephalus,. this converfation to you ; for I mufi now go to take care of the facred rites. Is not Polemarchus, faid I, your heir? Certainly, replied he fmiling, and at the fame time departed to the facred rites. Tell me, then, faid
], you who are heir in the converfation, what is it which, according to you,.
Simonides fays fo well concerning juftice? That to give every one his due,. is jufi, replied he ; in faying this, he feems to me to fay welL It is, indeed,. faid I, not eafy to ditbelieve Simonides, for he is a wife and divine wan ; but what his meaning may be in this, you, Polemarchus, probably know it, but I do not ; for it is plain he does not mean what we were faying juft now ; that, when one depofits with another any thing, it i_s to be giverr. back to him when he afks for it again in his madnefs yet what has been dcpofited is in fome refpecl:,. at leafi, due ; is it not ? It is. But yet, it is. not at all, by any means, then·, to be refiored, when any one afks for it in
his madneCs. It is not, replied he. Simonides then, as it fhould fcem, fays fomething different from this, that to deliver up wbat is due, is juO: 2 Some•. thing different, truly, replied he: for he thinks that friends ought to d<> their friends fome good, but no ill. I underftand, faid I. He who rcil:ores. gold depofited with him, i( to refiore and receive it be hurtful, and the rc!lorer and receiver be friends, does not give what i d1Je. h not this what you allege Simon ides fays l Surely. But what? are we to give our enemies
too, what may chance to be due to them? By all means, replied he, what is due to them; aud from an enemy, to an enemy, there is due, I imagine, what is fitting, that is, fame evil. Simonides, then, as it fhould foem, re plied I, expreffed what is juO:, enigmatically, and after the manner of the poets·;for he well underftood, as it appears, that this was juft, to give every one what was fitting for him, and this he called his due. But, what, faid he, is your opinion? Truly, replied I, if any one fhould afk him thu : Simonides, what is the art, which, difpen!ing to certain perfons fomething fitting and due, is called medicine? what would he anfwer us, do you think ? That art, furely, replied he, which difpenfes drugs, and pre-
fcribes
:110 ‘T H E RE P ‘U BL I C.
fc_ribes regimen of meats and drinks to bodies. And what is the art, which, difpenfing to certain things fomething fitting and due, is called cookery? The art which gives feafouings to victuals. Be it fo. What then is that art, which, di{penfing to certain perfons fomething fitting and due, may be called jufiice ? If we ought to be any way direcled, Socrates, by what is
{aid above, it is the art which difpenfes good offices to friends, and in- 3unes to enemies. To do good, then, to friends, and ill to enemies, he calls jullice? It feems fo. Who, then, is moft able to do good, to his friends, when they are difeafed, and ill to his enemies, with refpell: to ficknefs and health ? The phyfician. And who, when they fail, with re fj,ed to the danger of the fea ? The pilot. But as to the ju ft man, in what bufinefs, and with refpecl: to what aclion, is he moft able to ferve his friends, and to hurt his enemies? It feems to me, in fighting in alliance with the one, and againfi the other. Be it fo. But, forely, the phyfician is ufelefs, Po lemarchus, to thofe, at leaft, who are not fick? It is true. And the pilot, to thofe who do not fail? He is. And is the jufi man, in like manner, ufelefs to thofr who are not at war ? I can by no means think that he is. Jufiice, then, is ufeful likewife in time of peace. It is. And fo is agri culture, -is it not ? It is. Towards the poifeffion of grain ? Certainly. And is not 1hoemaking likewifo ufeful ? It is. Toward the polfeffion of 1hoes, you will fay, I imagine. Certainly. But what, now ? For the ufe, or poifdf)on of what, would you fay that jufiice were ufefol in time of peace ? For co-partner1hips, Socrates. You call co-partner1hips, joint companies, or what elfe ? Joint companies, certainly. Whether, then, is .the jull: man, or the dice-player, a good and ufeful co-partner, for play ing at dice ? The dice-player. But, in the laying of tiles or fioncs, is the juft man a more ufeful an<l a better partner than the mafon ? By no means. In what joint company, now, is the juft man a better co-partner th11,n the harpG’r, as the harper is better than the jut1 man for touching the firings of a harp ? In a joint company about money, as I imagine. Aud yet it is likely, Polemarchus, that with regard to the making ufe of money, when it is necefrary jointly to buy or fell a horfe, the jockey, as I imagine, is then the bette1· co-partner. Is he not ? He would appear fo. And with refpecl: to a fhip, the thip-wright, or 1hip-mafter ? It would feem
{o. When. then is it, with refpea to the joint application of money, that
9 the
THE REPUBLIC’, HI
thejull: man is more ufeful than others? Whe_n it is to be depofited, and be fafe, Socrates. Do you not mean, when there is no need to ufe it, but to let it lie ? Certainly. When money then is ufelefs, juftice is ufeful. with regard to it? It feems fo. And when a pruning-hook is to be kepr,. j.ufiice is ufcful, both for a community, and for a particular perfon : but when i_t is to be ufcd, the art of vine-dreffing is ufeful. It appears fo. And you will fay that, when a buckler, or a harp, is to be kept, and not to be ufed, then jufiice is ufcfol ; but when they are to be ufed, then the, military, and the mufical art ? Of neceffity. And with reference to all other things, when they are to be ufed, ju!lice is ufelefs ; but when they are not to be ufed, it is ufeful? It feems fo. Jufiice, then, my friend ! can be no very important matter,. if it is ufeful only in refpell: of things,. which are not to be ufed. But let us confider this matter: Is not he who is the moft dexterous at {hiking, whether in battle or in boxing, the fame likewife in defending himfelf? Certainly. And is not he who is dexterous in warding off and fhun ing a difiemper, moil: dexterous too in bringing it on ? So I imagine. And he too the ‘beft guardian of a camp, who can fieal the counfels, and the other operations of the enemy ? Cer tainly. Of whatever, then, any one is a good guardian, of that likewife he is a dexterous thief. It feems fo. If therefore the juft man be dexterous in guarding money, he is dexterous likewife in fiealing? So it would appear,. faid he, from this reafoning. The jufi man, then, has appeared to be a fort of thief; and you feern to have learned this from Horner ; for he ad. mires Autolycus, the grandfather of Ulyffes by his mother, and fays that he was diftinguifhed beyond all men for thefts and oaths. It feems, then, according to you, and according to Horner and Simoni-des, that juftice is a fort of thieving, for the profit indeed of friends, and for the hurt of enemies. Did not you fay fo? No,. by no means;· nor indeed do I know any longer what I faid ; yet I frill think that jufiice profits friends, and hurts enemies. But, whether do you pronounce fuch to be friends, as feern to be honefi ? or, fuch as are fo, though they do 1iot feern ; and in the fame way as to enemies? It is reafonable, faid he, to love thofe whom a man deems to be honefi; and to hate thofe whom he deems to be wicked.. But do not men mifiake in this; fo as that many who are not honefl appear. fo to them, and many contrariwife ? They do mifiake.. To fuch, then.,
the
112 THE REPUBLIC.
the good are enemies, and the bad are friends ? Certainly. But, how ever, it is then jufi for them to profit the bad ; and to hurt the good. It appears fo. But the good are likewifo jufi, and foch as do no ill. True. But, according to your fpeech, it is jull: to do ill to thofe who do no ill. By no means, Socrates, replied he ; for the fpeech feems to be wicked. It is jufi, then, faid J, to hurt the unjufi, and to profit the juft. This fpeech appears more handfome than the other. Then, it will happen, Polemarchus, to many,-to as many indeed of mankind as have mif judged, that it fuall be jufi to hurt their friends, who are really bad; and to profit their enemies, who are really good; and fo we fuall fay the very re verfe of what we affirmed Simouides faid? It does, indeed, faid he, happen fo. But let us define again; for we feem not to have rightly defined a friend
;and an enemy. How were they defined, Polemarchus ? That he who feems honeil: is a friend. But how fuall we now define, faid I ? That he who feems, replied he, ‘and likewife is honeft, is a friend ; but he who feems honeft, yet is not, feems, yet is not a friend. And we mull: admit the diftinll:ion about an enemy to be the very fame. The good man, ac cording to this fpeech, will, as it feems, be the friend; and the wicked man, the enemy. Yes. Do you now require us to defcribe what is juft, as we did before, when we faid it was jufi to do good to a friend, and ill to an enemy? Or fuall we add to the definition, and now fay, that it is jufi: to do good to a friend, when he is good ; and ill to an enemy, when he is bad? This !aft, faid he, feems to me to be perfealy well exprdfed. Is it, then, faid I, the part of a jufi man to hurt any man ? By all means, faid he, he ought to hurt the wii::ked, and his enemies. But, do horfes, whe11 t’he-y are hurt, become better or worfe ? W orfe. Whether in the virtue of dogs, or-of horfes? In that of horfes. And, do not dogs, when they are hurt, become worfe in the virtue of dogs, and not of horfes ? Of ne ceffity. And fliall we not in like manner, my friead, fay that men, whe they are hurt, become worfe in the virtue of a man ? Certainly. But is not jufiice the virtue of a man ? Of neceffity this likewife. Of ueceffity then, friend, thofe men who are hurt muft become more unjuft. It feems fo. But can muficians, by mufic, make men unmufical? It is impoffible. Or horfemen, by horfemanfhip, make men unfkilled in horfe manfuip? It cannot be. Or can the juft, by juftice, make men unjuft? Or
6
THE REPUBLIC. us
lin general, can the good, by virtue, make men wicked? It is impoffible. For, it is not, as I imagine, the effetl: of heat, to make cold, but of its contrary, Yes. Nor is it the effell: of drought, to make moil!; but its contrary. Certainly. Neither is it the part of a good man, to hurt ; but of his contrary. It appears fo. But, the jull: is good. Certainly. Neither, then is it the part of a juft man, Polemarchus, to hurt either friend, or any other, but the part of his contrary, the unjuft man,
In all rcfpecl:s, faid ho, you feem to me, Socrates, to fay true. If,
then, any one fays that it is juft to give every one his due, and thinks· this with himfelf, that hurt is due to enemies from a jull: man, and profit to his friend ; he was not wife who faid fo, for he fpoke not the truth. For it has no where appeared to us, that any juft mat) hurts any one. I agree, faid he. Let us jointly cot1tend, then, faid I, if any one ihall fay that a Simonides, a 13ias, a Pittacus, faid fo ; or any other of thofe wife and happy men. I am ready, faid he, to join in the fight. But do you know,
{aid I, whofe faying I fancy it is, That it is juft to profit friends, and hurt
,enemies ? Whofe ? faid he. I fancy it is the faying of Periander, or Per diccas, or Xerxe or lft11enius the Theban ; or fome other rich man, who thought himfelf able to accompliih great things, You fay moft true, faid he. Be it fo, faid L But as this has not appeared to be jullice, 11or the jufi, what elfe may 011e affert it to be ?
Thrafymachus frequently, during our reafoning, ruihed iA the midft, to fay hold of the difcourfe; but was hindered by thoie who fat near him, and who wanted to hear the converfation to an end. But, whetl we paufed, ‘and I had faid thefu things, he was no longer quiet ; but, collecting himfclf as a wi1d beaft, he came upon us as if he would have torn us i11 pieces. Both Polemarchus and I, being frightened, were throw 1, into the utmoft confleruation : but he, roaring out in the midfi: : What trifling, faid he, Socrates, is this which long ago polfelfes you; and why do you thus play the fool together, yielding mutually to one auother? But, if you truly want to know what is jufi:, afk not quefi:ious only, nor value yourfolf in confatiug, wheH any one anfwers you any thing; (knowing this, that it is calier to afk than to anfwer ;) but anfiver yourfelf, and tell what it is you call juft. And you are not to tell me that it i9’what is lit;
,1or what is due, nor what is pro6table, nor what is gainful, nor what is
lfOL. 1 • Q· advan-
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advantageous ; but, what you mean tell plainly and accurately;- for I will not allow it, if you fpeak fuch trifles as thefe. \Vhen I heard this, I was afl:onifhed, and, looking at him, was frightened; and I fhould have become fpeechlefs, I imagine, if I had not perceived him before he perceived me. But I had obferved him firfl:, when he began to grow fierce at our reafoning ; fo that I was now able to anfwer him, and faid”, trembling: Thrafymachus ! be not hard on us; for, if we mifl:ake in our inquiries, Polemarchus and I, be well alfured that we mifl:ake unwittingly: for think not that,-in fearching for gold, we would never williugly yield to one another in the fearch, and mar the finding it ; but that, fearching for jufl:ice, an affair far more valuable than a great deal of gold, we fhould yet foolifhly yield to each other, and not labour, friend, with the utmofi ardour, that we may difcover what it really is. But I am afraid we are not able to difcover it. It is more reafonable, then, that we be pitied, than be’ ufed hardly by you who are men of·,ability. Having heard this, he laughed aloud in a very coarfe manner, and faid By Hercules ! this is Socrates’s wonted irony. This I both kuew and foretold to thefe, here, that you never incline to anfwer if any one afk you any thing. You are a wife m n, therefore, Thrafymachus, faid
I. For you knew well, that if you afked any one, How many is twelve ?
and, when you afk, fhould previoufly tell him, You are not, friend, to tell me that twelve is twice fix ; nor that it is three times four ; nor that it is four times three ; for I will not admit it, if you trifle in fuch a manner ;-I fancy it is plain to you that no man would anfwer one afking in fuch a way. But if he fhould fay to you, Wonderful Thrafymachus ! how do
you mean? May I anfwer in none of thofe ways you have told me; not even though the real and true anfwer happen to be one of them, but I am to fay fomething elfe than the truth? Or, how is it you mean ? What would you fay to him in anfwer to thefe things? If they were alike, I fhould
give an anfwer; but how are they alike? Nothing hinders it, faid I; but, though they were not alike, but fhould appear fo to him who was afked, woukl he the lefs readily anfwer what appeared to him; whether we forbade him or not ? And will you do fo now ? faid he. Will you fay in anfwer fome of thefe things which I forbid you to fay? I fhould not wonder I did, faid I, if it fhould appear fo to me on inquiry,,
What
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What then, faid he, if I 1hall 1how you another and a better anfwer, betides all thefo about jufiice; what will you deferve to fotfer? ‘What elfe, faid I, but what is proper for the ignorant to futfer? And it is proper for them to learn fomcwhcre from a wife man. I 1hall there fore deforve to fulfer this. You are pleafant now, faid he, but to gether with the learning, do you pay money likewife. Shall it not be after I have got it? faid I. But it is here, faid Glauco; fo as to money, Thrafymachus, fay on; for all of us will advance for Socrates. I truly imagine fo, faid he, that Socrates may go on in his wonted manner; not anfwer himfelf, but, when another anfwers, he may take up the difcou.rfe, and confute. How, faid I, moll: excellent Thrafy machus, can a man anfwer? In the firil: place, when he neither knows, nor fays he knows; and, then, if he have any opinion about thefe matters, he is forbid by no mean man to advance any of his opuuons. But it is more reafonable that you fpeak, as you fay you know, and can tell us: Do not decline then, but oblige me in aul\iver
_ing, and do not grudge to inll:rucl: Glauco here, and the rell: of the company. When I had faid this, both Glauco and the re!! of the company entreated him not to decline it. And Thrafymachus appeared plainly defirous to fpeak, in order to gain applaufe ; reckoning he had a very fine anfwer to make ; yet pretended to be earnell: that I 1hould be the anfwerer, but at !ail: he agreed. And then, This, faid he, is the wifdom of Socrates: Unwilling himfelf to teach, he goes about learning from others, a1id gives no thanks for it. That, indeed, I learn from others, faid I, Thrafymachus, is true; but in faying that I do not give thanks for it, you are mill:aken. I pay as much as I am able; and I am only able to commend them; for money I have not: and how readily I do this, when any one appears to me to tj:,eak well, you 1hall perfectly know this moment, when you make an anfwer; for I imagine you are to fpeak well. Hear then, faid he ; for I fay, that what is jufi, is nothing elfe but the advantage of the more powerful. But why do not you commend? You are unwilling. Let me learn firfi, faid I, what you fay; for as yet I do not uuderfiand it. The advantage of the more powerful, you fay, is what is jufi. What is this which you now fay, Thrafymachus.? For you cert_ainly do not
2 mean
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mean fuch a tl’ling as this: If Polydamus, the wre(l!er, be more pow erful than we; and if beef be beneficial for his body, that this food is: likewi.fe both jufl: and advantag<:ous for us,. who are weaker than he. You are mofl: impudent, Socrates, and lay hotd of my fpeech on that fide where you may do it the greatefl: hurt. By 110 means, mofl: excellent Thrafymachus faid I, but tell more plainly what is your meaning. Do not you then kn.ow, faid he,. that, with reference to ftates, fume are tyrannical ;. others democratical ; and- others arifl:ocra tical? \Vhy are they not? And is not the governing pact in each fl:ate the more powerful? Certainly. And every government makes laws for its own advantage; a democracy, democratic laws; a tyranny, ty rannic ; and others the fame way. And when they have made them, they fhow that to be jufl: for the governed,. which is advantageous for themfelves ;. and they punifh the tranfgrelfor of this as one all:ing con trary both to law and jufl:ice. This, then, mofl: excellent Socrates,.
_is what I fay, that, in all fiates, what is juft, and what is advantageous for the eftablilhed government, are the fame; it hath the power. So that it appears to him who reafons rightly, that, in all cafes, what is the advantage of the more powerful, the fame is jufl:. Now I have. learned, faid I, what you, fay. But whether it be true, or not, l fhall endeavour to learn. What is advantageous, then. Thrafymachus, you yourfelf have affirmed to be likewifc jufl:; though you forbid me. to give this anfwer ; but, indeed,. you have added to it that of the· more powerful. Probably, faid- he, but a. fmall addition. It is not yet manifeft, whether it is fmall or great; but it is manifeft that this is. to be confidered, whether you fpeak the truth ; fince I too acknow ledge that what is juft is fomewhat that is advantageous: but you add to it> and fay, that it is that 0f the more powerful. This I do, not know, but it is to be confidered. Confider then,. faid he. That,. faid I, fhall be done. And tell me,. do not you fay that it is jufl: to· obey governors ? I fay fo. Whether are the governors in the feveral,
:fiates infallible? or are they capable of erring? Certainly, faid he, they are liable to err. Do they not, then, when they attempt to make laws,. make fome of them right, and fome of them not right ? I imagine fo. To make them righti is it not to make them advantageous for
themfelves ;.
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themfelves; and to make them not right, difadvantageous? Or what is it you mean? Entirely fo. And what they cnacl: is to be obferved
b.y the governed, and this is what is jufi? Why not? It is, then,. according to your reafoning, not only jufi to do what is advantageous for the more powerful; but alfo to do the contrary, what is not ad-· nntageous. \:Vhat do you fay ? replied he. The fame, I imagine, that you fay yourfelf. But let us confider better: have we not acknow•
!edged that governors, in enjoining the governed to do certain things,. may fometimes miHake what is befi for themfefves; and that what the governors enjoin is jufi for the governed to do? Have not thefe things beell acknowledged? I think fo, faid he. Think, alfo, then, faid I, that you have acknowledged that it is jull: to do what is dif advantageo1.1s to governors, and the more powerful; fince governors unwillingly enjoin what is ill for themfelves ; and you fay that it is juft for the others to do what thefo enjoin. Mull: it not then, moft wife Thrafymachus, neceffarily happen, that, by this. means, it may be jufi to do the contrary of what you fay ? For that which is the tlifadvantage of the more powerful, is fometimes enjoined the in feriors to do? Yes, indeed, Socrates, faid Polemarchus, thefe things arc moll: manifdl-. Yc , if you bear him witnefs, faid Clitipho. What need, faid I, of a witnefs? For Thrafymachus himfelf acknowledges that governors do indeed fometimes enjoin what is ill for themfelves; but that it is juft for the governed to do thefe things. For it has, Polcmarclrns, been efiablithed by Thrafymachus, to be jufl: to do what is enjoined by the governors; and he has likewifc, Clitipho, eftablithed that to be ju!l:, which is the advantage of the more powerfol; and, having ell:ablithed both thefe things, he has acknowledged likewife, that the more powerful fometimes enjoin the inferiors and govern ed to do what is difadvantageous for thcmfdves; and, from thefe conceffions, the advantage of the more powerful can no more be juft than the difadvantage. But, faid Clitipho, he faid the advantage of the more powerful; that is, what the more powerful judged to be ad vantageous to himfelf; that this was to be done by the inferior, and this he eftablithed as juft. But, faid Polemarchus, it was not faid fo. There is no difference, Polcmarchus, faid I. But, if T rafymachus
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118 TH E R E P U B L I C.
fays fo now, we 1hall allow him to do it. And tell me, Thrafymachus, was this what you meant to fay was jufi? The advantage o( the more powerful, fuch as appeared fo to the more powerful, whether it is advantageous, or is not. Shall we fay that you fpoke thus ? By no means, faid he. For, do you imagine I call him the more powerful who misjudges, at the time he misjudges? I thought, faid I, you faid this, when you acknowledged that governors were not infallible; but that in fome things they even erred. You are a fycophant, faid he, in reafoning, Socrates. For, do you now call him who mifiakes about the management of the fick, a phyfician ; as to that very thing in which he mifiakes ? or, him, who mill:akes in reafoning, a reafoner, when he errs, and with reference to that• very error ? But, I imagine, we fay, in common language, that the phyfician erred; that the foner erred, and the grammarian: Thus, however, I imagine, that each of thefe, as· far as he is what we call him, errs not at any time:
,So that, according to accurate difcourfe (fince you difcourfe accurately), none of the artifis errs : for he who errs, errs by departing from fcience; and, in this, he is n • artifi: So that no artill:, or wife man, or governor errs; in fo far as he is a governor. Yet any one may fay
-the phyfician erred; the governor erred : Imagine then, it was in this way I now anfwered you. But the mofi accurate anfwer is this: That the governor, in as far as he is governor, errs not; and, as he does not err, he enall:s that which is befi for himfelf; and this is to be obferved by the governed: So that what I faid from the beginning, I maintain, is jufi-To do what is the advantage of the more power ful. Be it fo, faid I, Thrafymachus ! Do I appear to you to acl the fycophant? Certainly, indeed, faid he. For you imagine that I fpoke as I did, iufidioufly, and to abufe you. I know it well, faid he, but you ihall gain nothing by it ; for, whether you abufe me in a concealed manner, or otherwife, you 1hall not be able to over come me by your reafoning. I ihall not attempt it, faid I, happy Thrafymachus ! But, that nothing of this kind may happen to us again, define, whether you fpeak of a governor, and the more powerful, according to common, or according to accurate difcourfe, as you now fuid, whole advautage, as he is the more powerful, it !hall be jufi for the
inferior
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inferior to obferve. I fpeak of him, faid he., who, in the mo!l: accurate difcourfe, is governor. For this, now, abufe me, and all: the fycophant, if you are able. I .do not fhun you ; but you cannot do it. Do you imagine me, faid I, to be fo mad as to attempt to fhave a lion, and acl: the fycophant with Thrafymachus? You have now, faid he, attempted it, but with no effell:. Enough, faid I, of this. But tell me, with reference to him, who, accurately fpeaking, is a phyfician, whom you now mentioned, whether is he a gainer of money, or one who takes care of the fick? and fpeak of him who is rea1ly a phylician. He is one who takes care, faid he, of the lick. But what of the pilot, who is a pilot, truly? Whether is he the governor of the failors, or a failor? The governor of the failors. That, I think, is not to be confidered, that he fails in the fhip ; nor that he is called a failor; for it is not for his failing that he is called pilot, but for his art, and his governing the failors. • True, faid he. Is there not theu fomething advantageous to each of thefe ? Certainly. And does not art, faid I, naturally tend to this, to fcek out and afford to every thing its advantage ? lt tends to this, faid he, Is there, now, any thing elfe advantageous to each of the arts but to be the mofi perfect poffible ? How aik you this ? As, if you aiked me, faid I, whether it fufficed the body to be body, or if it flood in need of any thing,-1 would fay, that it flood in need of fomething elfe. For this reafon is the medicinal art invented, becaufe the body is infirm, and is not fufficicnt for itfelf in fuch a fiate; in order therefore to afford it things for its advantage, for this purpofe, art has been provided. Do
I feem to you, faid I, to fay right, or not, in fpeaking in this manner l Right, faid he. But what now ? This medicinal art itfelf, or any other, is it imperfect, fo long as it is wanting in a certain virtue? As the eyes, when they want feeing; and the ears, hearing; and, for thefe reafons have they need of a certain art, to perceive, and afford them what is advantageous for thefe purpofes? And is there, fiill, in art it ielf, fome imperfection ; and does every art !l:and in need of another art, to perceive what is advantageous to it, and this fraud in need of another, in like manner, and fo on, to infinity? Or tl1all each art perceive what is advantageous to itfelf; and il:and in need neither of itfelf, nor of another, to perceive what is for its advantage, with reference to its
own
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.own imperfrdion? For there is no imperfection, nor error, in any art. Nor does it belong to it to fcek what is advantageous to any thing, but tu that of which it is the art. But it is, itfolf, infallible, and pure, being in the right. So.long as each art is an accurate whole, whatever it i . And confider now, according to that accurate difcourfe, whether it be thus, or otherwife. Thus, faid he, it appears. The medicinal art, then, faid I, does not connder what is advantageous to the medicinal art, but to the body. Yes, faid he. Nor the art of managing horfos, what is advanta geous for that art; but what is advantageous for horfcs. Nor does any other art confider what is ad\’antageous for itfelf, (for it hath no need,) but ,vhat is advantageous for that of which it is the art? So, replied he, it appears. Bllt, Thraf}machus, the arts rule and gm·ern that of which they are the arts. He yielded this, but with great difficulty. No fcience, then, confiders the advantage of the more powerful, nor enjoins it ; but that of the inferior, and of what is governed. He coufented to thefe things at lafi, though he attempted to contend about them, but afterwards he confeuted. \Vhy, then, faid I, no phyfician, fo far as he is a phyficiau, confiders what is advantageous for the phylician, nor enjoins it ; but what it advantageous for the fick; for it has been agreed, that the accurate phyfician is one who takes care of fick bodies, and 11ot an amaffer of wealth. Has it not been agreed? He affented. And likcwife that the accurate pilot is the governor of the failors, and not a failor ? It has been agreed. Such a pilot, then, and governor will not conli<ler and enjoin what is the advantage of the pilot, but what is advantageous to the failor, and the governed. He confented, with difficulty. Nor, yet, Thrafymachus, faid I, does any other, in any government, as far as he is a governor, confider or enjoin his own advantage, hut that of the governed, and of thofe to whom he minifiers ; and, with an eye to this, and to what is advantageous and fuitable to this, he both fays what he fays, and does what he does. When we were at this part of the difcourfe, and it was evident to all that the definition of what was jufi, fiood now on the contrary fie’ Thra(ymachus, inftead of replying, Tell me, faid he, Socrates, have you a nurfe ? What, faid I, ought you not rather to anfwer, than a{k iuch things? Becaufe, faid he, fl1e neglelts you when your nofe is ftuffed, and does 11ot wipe it when it nec,ds it, you who
4 uudcdl:anJ
T II E R E P U B L I C.
undcrfl:and neither what is meant. by iheep, nor by ihcpherd. For what now is all this? faid I. Becaufe you think that ihepherds, and neatherds, ought to. confider the good of the ihecp, or oxen, to fatten them, and to mioifler to them, having in their eye, fomething be fides their mafl:er’s good and their own. And you fancy that thofe who govern in cities, thofe who gO\·ern truly, are fomchow otherwife aff.::cred tmvards tbc governed than one is towards iheep ; and that they are attentive, day and night, to fomewhat elfe than tis, how they fhall be· gainers themfelves; and fo far are you from the notion of the jufi and of jufl:ice, and of the unjuft and injufiice, that you
.<lo not know that both jufiice and the jufi are, in reality, a foreign good, the advantage of the more powerful, and of the gqvemor ; but properly, the hurt of the fubjecl-, and the iuforior; a injufiice is the contrary. And jufl:ice governs foch as are truly fimple aud juO:; and the governed do what is for the governor’s advantage, he being more powerful, and minifiering to him, promote his happinefs, but by no means their own. You mufi thus confider it, moll fimple Socrates! that, on all occafions, the jufl: man gets lefs than the unjufi. Firfi, in co-partnerfhips with one another, where the one joins in company with the other,. you never can find, on the diffolviug of the company, that the jufi man gets more than the unjufi, but lefs : Then, in civil affairs, wher.e there are taxes to be paid from equal fubfl:ance; the jufi man pay more, the other lefs. But when there is any thing to be gained, the one gains nothing, but the gain of the other is great : For, when each of them governs in any public magifiracy. this, if no other lofs, bcfals the jufl: man, that his domefl:ic affairs, at leafi, are in a worfe fituation through his neglect; and that he gains noth.ing from the public, becaufe he is jufi: Add to this, that he comes to be hated by his domellics and acquaint ance, when at no time he will ferve them beyond what is juil; But all thcfe things are quite otherwife with the unjufi; foch a11 one, I mean, as I now mentioned; one who has it greatly in his power to become rich. Coni,Jer him, then, if you ,vould judge how n:ud1 more it is for his private advantage to be unjufi than jufi, and you will mofl: eafily unclerfiand it if you come to the moll: finifhcd in juftice; li.ich as renders the unjufl: man moll: happy, but the i11jurcd,
VOL.I. B. :td
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and thofe who are unwilling to do injulticc, moll: wretched; and that is tyranny, which takes away the goods f others, both by fecrct fraud, and by open violence; both things facred and holy, both private and public, and thefe not by degrees, but all at once, In all particular cafes of foch crimes, when one, committing injufiice, is not con cealed, he is punilh d, and fuffers •the greatefl: ignominy. For accord ing to the feveral kinds of the wickednefs they commit, they are called facrilegious, robbers, houfe-breakers, pilferers, thieves. But when auy one, befides thefe thefts of the fubfiance of his citizens, fhall flea! and euflave the citizens themfelves; infiead of thofe difgracefol names, he is called happy and blefl; not by his citizens alone, but likewife by others, as many as are ‘informed that he has committed the mofl: con fummate wickedncfs. For foch as revile wickednefs, revile it not becaufe they are afraid of doing, but becaufe they are afraid of fuffer ing, unjufi things. And thus, Socrates, injufiice, when in fufficient meafure, is both more powerful, more free, and hath more abfolute command than jufiice: and, (as I faid at the beginning,) the advantage of the more powerful, is juftice; but injuftice is the profit and advan tage of onefclf. Thrafymachus having faid thefe things, inclined to go away; Eke a bath-keeper after he had poured into our ears this rapid and long difcourfe. Thefe, however, who were prefent, would not fuffer him, but forced him to fl:ay, and give an account of what he had faid. I too myfelf earnefily entreated him, and faid, divine Thrafymachus ! after throwing in upon us fo firange a difcourfe, do you intend to go away before you teach us fufficiently, or learn yourfolf, whether the caie be as
)’OU fay, or otherwife? Do you imagine you attempt to determine a Jinall
matter, and not the guide of life, by which, each of us being conducted, may lead the moll: happy life. But I imagine, faid Thrafymachus, that this is otherwiie. • You fecm truly, faid I, to care nothing for us; nor to be any way concerned, whether we 1hall live well or ill, whilll we are ignorant of what you fay you know : But, good Thrafy machus, be readily difpofed to fhow it alfo to us, nor will the favour be ill placc:d, whatever you ihall bellow on fo many of 1.1s as arc now pn:fent. And I, for my own part, tell you, that I am not perfuaded, nor do I
think that injufiice is more profitable than jufticc ; not although it fl1ould
.
T H E R E P U B L I C. 12:}
be permitted to exert itfelf, and be no way hindered from doing whatever it fhouhl incline. But, good Thrafymachus, let him be unjuft, let him be able to do unjuftly, either in fecret, or by force, yet will you not perfuade me at lcaft that i11juil:ice is more proliiable than jufl:ice, and probably fome other of us here is of the fame mind, and I am not fingle. Convince us then, blefl: Thrafymachus ! that we imagine wrong, when we value jufl:ice more than injufiice. But how, faid he, fhall I convince you? For, if I have not convinced you by what I have faid already, what ihall I further do for you ? {hall 1 enter into your foul, and put my reafoning within you? God forbid, faid I, you (hall not do that. But, firft of all, whatever you have faid, abide by it: or, if you do change, change openly; and do not deceive us. For now you fee, Thrafymachus, (for let us {l:i\l confider what is faid above,) that when you firft defined the true phyfician, you did not afterwards think it needful that the true fhepherd fhould, fl:riBly, upon the like principles, keep his flock; but you fancy that, as a fhepherd, he may feed his flock, not regarding what is befl: for the ihcep, but as fome glutton, who is going to feafl: on them at fome entertainment’; or yet to difpofe of them as a merchant ; and not a (hepherd.• But the ihepherd-art hath certainly no other care, but of that for which ·it is ordained, to afford it what is bell::- for its own alfairs are already fuflkiently provided for; fo as to be in the very bell: ilate while it needs nothing of the fhepherd-art. In the fame manner, I at leafl: imagined, there was a qeceffity for agreeing with us in this, that every government, in as far as it is government, confiders what is bell for nothing elfe but for the governed, and thofe under its charge; both in political and private government. But do you imagine that governors in cities, fuch as are truly governors, govern willingly? Truly, faid he, as for that, I not only imagine it, but am quite certain. VVhy now, faid I, Thrafymachus, do you not perceive, as to all other go\’ernments, that no one undertakes them willingly, but they aik a reward ; as the profit arifing from governing is not to be to themfelves, but to the governed? Or, tell me this now ? do not we fay that every particular art is in this difl:incl, in having a dill:incl: power? And now, bleft Thrafymachus, anfwer not differently from your fentiments, that we may make fome progrefs. In this, faid he, it is difiincl. Aud .does not each of them
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afford us a certain di!lincr ath·antage, and not a common one ? As the medicinal affords health, the pilot art, preforvation in failing ; and the others in like manner. Certainly. And does not the mercenary art afford a reward, for this is its power? Or, do you call both the medicinal art,. and the pilot art, one and the fame? Or, rather, if you will define them accurately, as you propofed; though one in piloting recover his health, becaufo foiling agrees with him, you will not the more on this account call it the medicinal art? No, indeed, faid he. Nor will you,. I imagine, call the mercenary art the medicinal, though 011e; in gai11ing a reward,
. recover his health. No, indeed. What now? Will you call the medi- cinal, the mercenary art, if one in performing a cure gain a reward ?· No, faid he. Have we not acknowledged, then, that there is a d1fiincl. advantage of every art ? Be it fo, faid he. What is that advantage, then,. with which all artiih in common are advantaged ? It is plain it mufi be in uling fomcthing common to all that they are dvantaged by it. It fcems fo, faid he. Yct we f.ay that artills are profited in receiving a reward arifing to them from the increafe of a lucrative art. He agreed· with difficulty. Has not, then, every one this advantage in his art, the· receiving a reward. Yet, if we are to confider accurately, the medicinal; art produces health, and the mercenary art a reward; mafonry, a houfe,. and, the mercenary art accompanying it, a reward. And all the others,. in like manner, every one produces its own work, and benefits that for which it was ordained ; but, if it meet not with a reward,. what is the· artifi advantag.ed by his art ? It does not appear, faid he.. But does he then no forvice when he works without reward? I think he docs. Is not this, then, now evident, Thrafymachus, that no art, nor government,, provides what is advantageous for itfelf; but, as I faid long ago, provides
,md enjoins what is· advantageous for the governed ; having in view the profit of the inferio-r, and not that of the more powerful. And, for thefo reafons, friend Thrnfymachus, I likewife foid now, that 110 one is willing to govern, and to undertake to rell:ify the ills of others,. but afks a reward: for it; becaufo, whoever will perform the art handfomcly, never alls what is befi for himfdf, in ruling according to art, but what is be/l for the governed ; and on this account, it feems, a reward muft be given to thofe who ihall be willing to govern; eh.her money, or honour; or punifhment,
if
T H E R E P U B L I C. 125
1f they will not govern. How fay you, Socrate , faid Glauco ; two of the rewards I underfiand ; but this puni{hment you fpeak of, and here you mention it in place of a reward, I know not. You know not,. then, faid 1, the reward of the befi of men, Oil account of which the moll: worthy govern, when they confcnt to govern. Or, do you not know, that to be ambitious and covetuus, is both deemed a reproach, and really is for I
/{now, faid he. For th;fe rcafom, then, faid I, go d rr.e·n are not willing
to govern, neither for money, nor for honour; for they are neither willin to be called mercenary, in openly receiving a reward for governing, nor to be called thieves, in taking clandell:inely from thofe under their govern,. ment ; as little are they willing. to govern for honour, for they are not ambitious.-Of neccffity then, there mull: be laid 011 them a fine,. that they may confcnt to govern. And hence, it feems, it hath been acounted difhonourable to enter 011 government w llingly, and not by confiraint. And the greatefi: part of the punifhment is to be governed by a bafc perfon, if one himfelf is not willing to govern : and the good fee in to me to govern from a fear of this, when they do govern : and then, they enter on the government, .not as Oil any thing good, or as what they are to reap advantage by, but as on a neceffary taik, and finding none better than themfelves, nor like them to entru/l: with the government: fince it would appear that, if there was a city of good men, the contcfi would be, not to. be in the goverment, as at prefcnt it is, to govern : And hence it would be manifefi, that he who is indeed the true governor, docs not aim at his own. advantage, but at that of the governed; fo that every underfianding man would rather choofe _to be ferved, than to have trouble in terviug another. This, therefore, I, for my part, will never yield to Thrafymachus ; that jufiice is the advantage of the more powerful ; but this we {hall confider afterwards. What Thrafymachus fays now, foems to me of much more importauce, when he fays that the life of the uIJjufl: man is better than th,1t of the jufl:. You, then, Glauco, faid I, which fide do you choofc; aud w!:icl1 lecms to you moff agreeable to truth? The life of the jufi-, fa.id he, l, f,)r my part, deem to be the more profitable. Ifo,·c you heard, faid ], how wany good thi:1gs Thrafymachus ju;} now enumerated in the life of the unjult ? I heard, faid he, but am not perfuaded. Are you willing, then that we 1hould pcrfuade him, (if we be able any how to find argu-
ments),.
·126 ‘T H E R E P U B L I C.
men ts), that there i, no truth m what he fays ? Why not, faid he. If then, faid I, pulling on the other fide, we advance argument for argument, how many good things there are in being jufi, and then again, he on the other fide, we ihall need a third perfon to compute and efiimate what each ihall have faid on eitl r fide ; and we ihall likewife need fome judges to deter mine the matter. But, if, as now, alfenting to one another, we con fider thefe things ; we ihall be both judges and pleaders ourfelves. Cer tainly, faid he. Which way, then, faid I, do you choofe? This way, faid he. Come then, faid I, Thrafymachus, anfwer us from the beginning. Do you fay that complete injutlice is more profitable than co1nplete jutlice ? Yes, indeed, I fay fo, replied he. And the reafons for it I have enume rated. Come now, do you ever affirm any thing of this kind concerning them ? Do you ,i:aU one of them, virtue; and the other, vice? Why not 1
Is not then, jufiice, virtue; and injuf\:ice, vice ? Very likely, faid he, moft pleafa’nt Socrates !’ after I fay that injufiice is profitable; but jufiice is not; What then? The contrary, faid he. Is it jufiice you call vice 1 No, but
I call it, altogether genuine fimplicity. Do you, then, call injufiice, cun
·n ing ? No, faid he, but I call it fagacity. Do the unjufi feem to you, Thrafymachus, to be both prudent and good ? Such, at leafi, faid he, as are able to do injufl:icc in perfection; fuch as are able to fubjecl: to them felves fiates ‘and nations ; but you probably ima ine I fpeak of thofe who
-cut purfes : Even fuch things as thefe, he faid, are profitable if con cealed ; but fuch only as I now mentioned arc of any worth. I under ftand, faid I, what you want to fay : But this I have wondered at, that you ihould deem injufiice to be a part of virtue and of wifdom and jufiice among their contraries. But I do deem it altogether fo. Your meaning, fa.id I, is now more determined, friend, and it is no longer eafy for one to find what to fay againH it : for, if when you had fet forth injufiice as profitable, you had fiill allowed it to be vice or ugly, as fome others do, we fl1ould have had fomething to fay. f?eaking according to the received opi- 11ions: But now, it is plain, you will call it beautiful and po\\<erful;
.and all thofe other things you will attribute to it which we attribute to the jufl: man, fince you have d·ued to clafs it ith virtue and wiiclom. You conjedure, faid he, mo:11: true. But, however, I mufi not grudge, iaid 1, to purfue our inquiry fo loug as I conceive you fpeak as you think;
for
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for to me you plainly feem now, Thrafymachus, not to be in irony, but to fpeak what you think concerning the truth. \Vhat is the difference to you, faid he, whether I think fo or not, if you. do not confute my reafon ing; None at all, faiJ I. But endeavour. further, to anfwer me this like wife-Does a jufl: man feem to you defirous to have more than another juft man ? By no means, faid he; for otherwife he would not be courteous and fimple, as we now fuppofed him. But what, will he not defire it in a juft action ? Not even in a jufi action, faid he. But, whether would he deem it proper to exceed the unjuft man and count it jufl: ? or would be not? He would, faid he, both count it juft and deem it proper but would not be able to effect it. That, faid I, I do not afk. But, whether a juft mau would neither deem it proper, nor incline to exceed a ju.ft man, but would deem it proper to exceed the unjuft ? This lafl:, faid he, is what he would incline • to do, But what would the unjufl: man do? Would he deem it proper to exceed the juft man even in a jufl: action ? \Vhy not, faid he, he who deems it proper to exceed all others. Will not then the unjuft man defire to exceed the unjufl: man likewife, and in an unjuft aaion; and contend that he himfelf receive more than all others ? Certainly. Thus, we fay, then, faid I, the juft man does not defire to exceed one like himfelf, but one un like. But the unjufl: man defires to exceed botq one like, and 011e unlike himfelf You have fpoken, faid he, perfectly well. But, faid I, the unjuft man is both wife and good ; but the jufl: man is neither. This, too, fuid he, is well faid. Is not, then, faid I, the unjull man like the wife and the good, and the jufl: man unlike? Mufi: he not, faid he, be like them, being fuch an one as we have fuppofed; and he who is otherwiic, be unlike them? Excelleutly. Each of them is indeed fuch as thofe he refembles. What elfe ? faid he. Be it fo, Thralymachus, Call you one man mufical and another unmufical ? I do. Which of the two call you wife and which un wife? l call-the mufical, wife, and the unmufical, unwife. Is he not good in as much as he is wife, and ill in as much as he is unwife? Yes. And what as to the phyfician? Is not the cafe the fame ? The fame. Do you imagine, then, mofi. excellent Thrafymachus, that any mufician,’ in tuning a harp, wants to exceed, or deems it proper to have more fkill than a man who is a mulician1 with reference to the intention or remiffion. of the {\rings? I am not of that opinion, But what fay you:ofex<:eeding a
6 man.
l’!B ‘T H E R E P U B L l C.
man who is no 1irnlician? Of ncccffity, faid he, he will deem it proper to excet”d him. All(] what .as .to the phyfician? In prefenting a regimen of meats or dri1-1ks does he want to exceed another phylician in medical cafes? No indeed. But to exceed one who is no phyliciau? Yes. And as to all fcience and ignorance does any one appear to you intelligent who wants to grafp at or do or fay more than another intelligent in the art ; and not to do the fame things, in the fame affair, which one equally intelligent with himfelf doth ? Probabiy there is a neceffity, faid he, it be fo. But what, as. to him who is ignorant ; w\11 not he want to exceed the intelligent and the ·ignorant both alike ? Probably. But the intelligent is wife ? I fay fo. And the wife is good ? I fay fo. But the good and the wife will not want to exceed one like himfelf ; but the unlike and contrary ? It feems fo, faid
he. But the evil and the ignorant wants to exceed both one like himfelf and his oppofite r lt appears fo. \Vhy, then, Thrafymachus, faid_ I, the
unjufi defires to exceed both one unlike and one like himielf. Do not you fay fo ? I do, faid he. But the juft man will not defire to exceed one like himfelf, but one unlike? Yes. The jufi man, then, faid I, refembles the wife and the good ; and the unjufi refembles the evil and the ignorant. It appears fo. But we acknowledged that each of them was fuch as that which they refembled. We acknowledged fo, indeed, The jufi man, then, has appeared to us to be good and wife ; and the unjufr to be ignorant and de praved. Thrafymachus now confelfed all thefe things not eafily, as I now narrate them, but dragged and with difficulty and prodigious fweat, • it being now the fummer feafon. And I then faw, but never before, Thra fymachus bluih. After we had acknowledged that jufiice was virtue and wifdom, and injufiice was vice and ignorance, well, faid I, let this remain fo, But we- faid likewife that injufl:ice was powerful. Do not you remem ber, Thrafymachus ? I remember, faid he. But what you now fay does not pleafe me ; and I have fomcwhat to fay concerning it which I well know you would call declaiming ifl 010uld advance it; either, then, fuffer me to fay what I incline, or if you incline to afk, do it; and I !hall anfwer you “be it fo,” as to old women telling fiories; and {hall alfent and diffent, By no means, faid I, contrary to your own opinion. Jufi to plcafc you, faid he; fince you will not allow me to fpeak. But do you want any thing further? Nothing, truly, faid I : but if you arc to do thus, do; I 01all
4 afk,
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a!k. Afk then. This, then, I afk, which I did jufl: now ; (that we may in an orderly way fee through our di{courfc,) of what kind is jufl:ice, compared with injufl:ice ; for it was furely faid that injufl:ice was more powerful and fl:ronger than jufl:ice. It was fo faid jult now, re plied he. But, if jufl:icc be both virtue and wifdom, it will eafily I ima gine, appear to be likewife more powerful than injufl:ice ;. fiuce injufl:ice is ignorance; of this now none can be ignorant. But I am willing, for my own part, Thrafymachus, to confider it not limply in this manner, but fome how thus. Might you not fay that a fl:ate was unjufl:, and attempted to enflave other fiates unjutlly, and did enllave them; and had many fiates in llavery under itfolf? Why not, faid he : aud the bell: fl:ate will chiefly do this, and fuch as is moll: completely unjufi. [
underfland, faid I, that this was your fpeech; but I confider this in it;
0
Whether this fiate, which becomes more powerful than the other fiate,
fhall hold this power without jufiice, or mull: it of neceffity be with. juO:ice? \Vith jufiice, faid he, if indeed, as you uow faid, jufiice be wifdom ; hut, if as I faid,. with injufiice. I am much delighted, faid I, Thrafymachus that you do not merely affent and diffent but that you anfwer fo handfomely. I do, it faid he, to gratify you. That is obliging in you. But gratify me in this likewife, and tell me; do you imagine that a city, or camp, or robbers, or thieves, or any other community, fuch as jointly undertakes to do any thing unjufily, is able to effectuate any thing if they injure one another? No indeed, faid he. But what, if they do not injure one another; will they not do better? Certainly. For injufiice, fome how, Thrafymachus, brings feditions, and hatreds, and fightings among them; but jufiice affords harmony and friendfhip. Does it not? Be it fo, faid he, that I may not differ from you. You are very obliging, moil: excellent Thrafymachus ! But tell me this. If this be the worj. of injuHice, wherever it i,, to create hatred, will it not then, when happening among free men and flavcs, make them hate one another, and grow feditious, and become impotent to d0 any thing together in company? Certainly. But what, in the cafe of injuO:ice between any two men, will they not difra, and hate, and become enemies to one another, and to jufi men? They will be come fo. faid he. If now, wonderful Thrafymachus, injutlice be in VOL, I. one,
130 THE REPUBLIC.
one, whether does it lofe its power, or will it no lefs retaii1 it? Let it, faid he, no lefs retain it. Does it not. then appear to have fuch a power as this-That wherever it is, whether in a city, or tribe, or camp, or wherever elfe, in the fir!l: place, it renders it unable for action in itfelf, through feditions and differences ; and, be/ides, makes it an enemy to itfelf, and to every opponent, and to the ju0:? Is it not thus? Certainly. And, when injufiice is in one man, it will have, I imagine, all thefe effell:s, which it is natural for it to proJuce. In the firfi place, it will render him unable for action whilO: he is in fedition and difagreement with himfelf; and next as he is an enemy both to himfelf, and to the juft. ls it not fo? Yes. But the Gods, friend, are likewifo juO:. Let them be fo, faid he. The u nj:.10: man then, Thrafymachus, ihall .be an enemy alfo to the Gods; and the juO: man, a friend. Feafi yourfelf, faid he, with the reafoning boldly ; for I will not oppofe you, ‘that I may not render myfelf odious to thefc Gods. Come then, faid I, and complete to me this feafi; anfaering as you were doing jufi now: for the juil: already appear to be wifer, and better, and more powerful to all:; but the unjuft are not able to all: any thing. vvith one another: and what we faid with reference to thofe who are unjufl,-that they are ever at any time able firenuoufly to act jointly together; this we fpokc no”t altogether true, for they would not fpare one another; being thoroughly unjufi; but it is plain that there was in them jufi:ice, which made them refrain from injuring one another, and thofe of their party; and by this jufiice they performed what they did. And they rufhed 011 unjuil: all:ions, through injufiice; being half wicked; fince thofe who art: completely wicked, and perfealy unjull, are likewife perfeclly unable to at1. This then I underfiand is the cafe with reference to thefe matters, and not as you were ef1-ablif11ing at firft. But whether the jufi live better than the unjnfi,• and are more happy (which we propofed to confider afterwards), is now to be confidered; and they appear to do fo even at prefent, as I imagine, at Ieafl-, from what has been faid. Let us, however, confider it furth er. For the difcourfo is not about an accidental thing, but about this, in what manner we ought to live.
Confider then, faid he. I am coofidering, faid I, and tell me ; does
4 ili
THE REPUBLIC. J3J
there any thing feem to you to be the work of a horfe? Yes. Would you not call that the work of a horfe, or of any one elfe, which one does with him only, or in the bell: manner? I do not underll:and, faid he. Thus then: Do you fee with any thing elfe but the eyes? No indeed. What now, could you hear with any thing but the ears? By no means. Do we not jufily then call thefe things the works of thefe? Certainly. But what, could not you with a f,,,ord, a knife, and many other things, cut off a branch of a vine ? \Vhy not ? But with nothing, at leafi l imagine, fo handfomely, as with a pruning hook, which is made for• that purpofe : fhall we not then fettle this to be its work? We lhall then fettle it. I imagine, then, you may now underll:and better what I was aiking when I inquired whether the work of each thing were not that which it alone performs, or performs in the befi manner. I underll:and you, faid he; and this does feem to me to be the work of each thing. Be it fo, faid I. And is there not likewife a virtue belonging to every thing to which there is a certain work affigned ? But let us go over again the fame things: We fay there is a work belonging to the eyes ? There is. And is there not a virtue alfo belonging to the eyes ? A virtue alfo. Well then, was there any work of the ears? Yes. Is there not then a virtue alfo? A virtue alfo. And what as to all other things ? Is it not thus ? It is. But come, could the eyes ever handfomely perform their work, not having thr.ir own proper virtue; but, infi:ead of virtue, hav ing vice? How could they, faid he, for you probably mean their having bliudnefs infiead of fight. \Vhatever, faid I, be their virtue, for I do not aik this ; but, whether it be with their own proper virtue that they handfomely perform their own proper work, whatever things are per formeJ, and by their vice, unhandfomely? In this at leafi, faid he, you you fay true. And will not the ears likewife, when deprived of their virtue, perform their work ill ? Certainly. And do we fettle all other things according to the fame reafoniug? So I imagine. Come, then, after thefe things, confider this. Is there belonging to the foul a certain work, which, with no one other being whatever, you can perform ; fuch as this, to care for, to govern, to confult, and all fuch things; is there any other than the foul, to whom we may juftly
s :z. afcribe
13Z THE RF.PUBLIC.
afcribe them, and fay they properly belong to it? No other, But what of this? To live ; {hall we fay it is the work of the foul? Moll: efpecially, faid he. Do not we fay, then, that there is fome virtue of the foul, likewife? We fay fo. And 1hall, then, the foul, ever at all, Thrafymachus, perform her works handfomely, whiHl: deprived of her proper virtue? or, is this impoffible ? It is impoffiblc. Of ncccffity, then, a depraved foul mufi in a bad manner govern, and take care of things; and a good foul perform all thefe things well. Of neceffity. But did not we agree that jufiice was the virtue of the foul ; and injutlice its vice? vVe did agree. \Vhy, then, the jufi: foul, and the jufi man, ihall live well ; and the unjufi, ill. It appears fo, faid he, according to your reafoning. But, furely, he who lives well is both bleJTed and happy, and he who does not is the oppofite. Why not ? The jl1fi, then, is happy ; and the unjufi, miferable. Let them be fo, faid he. But it is not advan tageous to be miferable, but to be happy. Certainly. At no time, then, blefi Thrafymachus, is injufiice more advantageous than jullice, Thus, now, Socrates, faid he, have you been feafied in Diana’s fefiival. By you, truly, I have, Thrafymachus, faid I; fince you are grown meek; and have ceafed to be troublefome: I have not feallcd handfomely, owing to myfelf, and not to you : But as voracious guells, foatching fiill what is bringing before them, tafte of it before they have fufficiently enjoyed what went before; fo I, as I imagin_e, before I have found what we firft inquired into,-what jufiice is,-have left this, hurrying to inquire concerning it, whether it be vice and ignorance, or wifdom and virtue. And, a difcourfe afterwards falling in, that injufiice was more profitable than jufiice, I could not refrain from coming to this from the other: So that, from the dia logue, I have now come to know nothing ; for whilft I do not know what jufiice is, I {hall hardly know whether it be fome virtue or not, and whether he who po!fcJTes it be unhappy or happy,
THE END O.F THE FIRST BOOK.,
INTRODUCTION
TO THS
SECOND AND THIRD BOOKS OF THE REPUBLIC,
CONTAINING
AN A.POVOGY JFOR TI-l[JE lFA.JBJLES OlF HOMER.
As a very confiderable part both of the fecond and third books of The Republic confifrs in examining and reprobating the affertions of the poets and particularly the fables of Homer, concerning divine natures, it appeared to me that I could not more effentially benefit the reader than by prefenting him with the following defence of Homer and divine fables in general, from the expofition of the more difficult quefrions in this dialogue, by that coryph.eus of all true philofophers Proclus. For in this apology Homer and Plato are fo admirably reconciled, that the poetry of the one and the philofophy of the other are in the higheft degree honoured by the expulfion of the former from the polity of the latter. In !hart, it will be found, however paradoxical it may appear, that the mofr divine of poets ought beyond all others to be bani!hed.from a republic planned by the prince of philofophers. Such readers, too, as may fortunately poffefs a genius adapted for thefe fpeculations, w_ill find that the fables of Homer are replete with a theory no lcfs grand tha11
fcientific, no lcfs accurate than fublime ; that they are truly the progeny of divine fury; are worthy to be afcribed to the Mufes as their origin; are capable of exciting in thofe that undcrfrand them the rnofr exalted conceptions, and of railing the imagination in conjunction with intellecl-, and thus purifying and illuminating its figured eye.
Thopgh I availed myfelf in this trauflation of the epitome made by
Gcfncr of this apology, who feems to have confolted a more perfell:
manuicript
INTRODUCTION TO THE
manufcript than that from which the Bafil edition was printed, yet I frequently found it neceffary to correct the Greek text from my own conjeclure, as the learned reader will readily perceive, Some of thefe· emendations I have noted in the courfe of the tranflation ; but as they are numerous many are omitted.
I. CONCERNING THE MODE OF TIIJ,: APPARATUS OF DIVINE }’ABLES WITlf THEOLOGISTS,-THE CAUSES OF SUCH FABLES ASSIGNED; AND h SOLUTION OF THE OBJECTIONS AGAINST THEM.
Since Socrates accufes the mode of fables according to which Homer and Hefiod have delivered doarines concerning the Gods, and prior to thefe Orpheus, and a11y other poets, who with a divine mouth, e,8e tr701Mx.n, have interpreted things which have a perpetual famenefs offub fifience, it j3 neceffary that we fhould in the firft place fhow that the difpofition of the Homeric fables is adapted to the things which it indi cates. For it may be faid, How can things which are remote from the good and the beautiful, and which deviate from order,-how can bafe and illegal names, ever be adapted to thofe natures whofe effcnce is charac terized by tire good; and is confubfifient with the beautiful, in whom there is the firft order, and from whom all things are unfolded into light, in conjunction with beauty and undefiled power? How then can things which are full of tragical portents and phantafms which fubfift with material natures, and are deprived of the whole of jufiice and the whole of divinity, be adapted to fuch natures as thefe 1 For is it not unlawful to
, afcribe to the nature of the Gods, who are exemvt from all things through tranfcendent excellence, adulteries, and thefts, precipitations from heaven, injurious COf\duct towards parents, bonds, and caflrations, and fuch other particulars as are celebrated by Homer aud other antient poets? But, as the Gods are feparated from other things, are united with the good, or the ineffable principle of things, and have nothing of the imperfecl:ion of inferior natures belonging to them, but are unminglcd and undefiled with refpell: to all things, prefubfifiing uniformly according to one bound and order,-in like manner it is requifite to employ the moft excellent
language
SECOND AND THIRD BOOKS OF THE REPUBLIC. 1!5
language in fpeaking of them, and fuch appellations as are full of intclletl:, and which are able to affimilate us, according to their proper order, to their ineffable tranfccndency. It is alfo necdfary to purify the notions of the foul from material phantafms, in the myfl:ic intellecl:ual conceptions of a divi”ne nature ; and, rejecting every thing foreign and all falfe opinions, to conceive every thing as fmall with refpecl to the unde filed tranfcendency of the Gods, and believe in right O,Pinion alone, and the more excellent fpcclacles of intellect in the truth concerning the firfl: of dfenccs.
Let no one therefore fay to us that fuch things harmonize with the Gods as are adapted to men, nor endeavour to introduce the paffions of material frrationality to natures expanded above intellecl:, and an intellccl:ual dfence and life: for thefe fymbols do not appear fimilar to the hyparxes • of the Gods. It is therefore requillte that fables, if they do not entirely wander from the truth inherent in things, iliould be in a certain rcfpecl aflimilated to the particulars, the occult theory of which they endeavour to conceal by apparent veils. Indeed, as Plato himfelf often myfl:ically teaches us divine concerns through certain images, and neither any thing bafe, nor any reprefentation of diforder, nor material and turbulent phantafm, is. infcrted in his fables,-but the intellet\:ual conceptions con cerning the Gods are concealed with purity, before which the fables are placed like confpicuous fl:atues, and moil: fimilar r,eprefentations of the inward arcane theory,-in like manner it is requi!itc that poets, and Homer himfelf, if they devife fables adapted to the Gods, fhould rejecl: thefe multiform compofitions, and which are at the fame time replete with names mofl: contrary to thiugs, but employing fuch as regard the beautiful and the good, 1hould, through thefe, exclude the multitude from a know ledge concerning the Gods, which docs not pertain to them, and at the fame time employ in a pious manner fabulous devices refi1e.:ling divine natures.
Thcfe are the things which, as it appears to me, Socrates objccb to the fables of Homer, and for which perhaps fome one befiJes may accufo
Hypanis fignifies the fummit of efrence; and, in all the d:vinities except t!ie firll: God, is tht Me conGJercJ as participated by elfonce. See the Introduclion to the Parmcnidcs.
other
136 lNTRODUCTlON TO BOOKS II. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
other poets, in confequence of not admitting the apparently monfirous: fignifica.tion of names. In anfwer then to thefo objeclions, we reply that fables fabric:ate all that apparatus pertaining to them, which firll: prefents itielf to our view, inftead of the truth which is ellabliihed in the arcana, and employ apparent veils of conceptions invilible and unknown. to the multitude. This indeed is their dillinguit11i11g excellence, that they narrate nothing belonging to natures truly good to the profane, but only extend certain velliges of the whole myfiic difcipliuc to foch as are naturally adapted to be led from thefo to a theory inacceffible to the vulgar. For thefe, inftead of invcfiigating the truth which they contain, ufe only the prete of fabulous devices; and, infiead of the purification of intellell:, follow phautafl:ic and figured conceptions. Is it uot therefore abford in thefe men to accufe fables of their own illegitimate conducl:,. and not themfelves for the erroneous manner in which they confide11 them? ‘
In the next place, do we not fee that the multitude are injured by foch things as are remarkably venerable and honourable, from among all other things, and which are efl:abliihed in and produced by the Gods them felves? For who will not acknowledge that the myfl:eries and perfective rites lead fouls upwards from a material and mortal life, and conjoin them with the Gods, and tl1at they fopprefs all that tumult which in finuates itfelf from the irrational part into intellell:ual illuminations, and expel whatever is indefinite and dark from thofe that are initiated, through the light proceeding from the Gods? Yet at the fame time nothing can refl:rain rhe multitude from fofl:aining from thefe all-various diftortions, and, in coufequence of uling the good, and the powers proceed ing from thcfe, according to their perverted habit, departing from the Gods,. and truly facred ceremonies, and falling into a paffive and irrational life.. Thofe indeed that accufe the myfieries for producing thefe effects in the multitude, may alfo accufe the fabrication of the univerfe, the order of wholes, and the providence of all things, becaufe thofe that receive the gifts of thefe, ufe them badly; but neither is fuch an accufation holy, nor iS: it fit that fables thould be calumniated on account of the perverted con ceptions of the multitude. For the virtue and vice of things arc not to be determined from thofe that ufe them perverfely ; but it is fit that
every
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 137
every thing 1hould be efiimated from its own proper nature, and the rec\itudc which it coutains. Hence the Athenian guefi, in the Laws of Plato, is of opinion that even intoxi<:ation ought not to be expelled from a well-infiituted city, on account of the views of the multitude and its corrupt ufe ; for he fays it greatly contributes to education, if it is pro. perly and prudently employed. And yet it may be faid that intoxication corrupts both the bodies and fouls of thofe that are fubjecl: to it ; but the Jegiflator does not on. this account detract from its proper worth, and th·e aid it affords to virtue.
But if any one accufes fables on account of their apparent depravity, and the bafe names which they employ,-fince things of this kind are by no means fimilar to the divine exemplars of which fables are the images, we reply in the firfi place, that there are two kinds of fables, thofe adapted to the education of youth, and thofe full of a divine fury, and which rather regard the univerfe itfelf than the habit of thofe that hear them. In the next place we mull: difilngui1h the lives of thofe that ufe fables; and we mull: confider that fomc are juvenile, an<l converfant with fimple habits; but that others are able to be excited to intellell-, to the whole genera of the Gods, to their progreffions through all things, their feries, and their terminations, which hafien to be extended as far as to the laft of things. This being premifed, we mull: fay that the fables of Homer and Hefiod are not adapted to the education of youth, but that they follow the nature of wholes, and the order of things, and conjoin with true beings fuch as are capable of being led to the elevated furvey of divine concerns. For the fathers of fables-perceiving that nature, fabri. eating images of immaterial and intelligible forms, and diverfifying the fenfible world with the imitations of thefe, adumbrated things impartible partibly, but expreffed things eternal through fuch as proceed according to time, things intelligible through fenfibles, that which is immaterial· materially, that which is without interval with interval, and through mutation that which is firmly efiabli1hed, conformably to the nature and the progrcllion of the pha:nomena,-tbey alfo, deviling the re!emblances and images of things divine in their verfes, imitated the tranfcendent power of exemplars by contrary and moll: remote adumbrations. Hence
.they indicated that which is fupernatural in things divine by things
VOL, I. contrary
138 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND lll. OF THE REPUBLIC:
contrary to nature, that which is more divine than all 1·eafo11, by tliat which is contrary to reafon, and that which is expanded above aU partial beauty, by things apparently bafe, And thus by an aifomlative method they recalled to our memory the exempt fupremacy of divine natures.
Befides this, according to every order of the Gods, which beginning from on high gradually proceeds as far as to the lafi of thiugs, and pene,. trates through all the genera of beings, we may perceive the terminations of their feries exhibiting fuch idioms as fables attribute to the Gods themfelves, and that they give fubfifience to, and are connective of, fuch hings as thofe through which fables conceal the arcane theory of fidl: effences. For the lafl: of the d moniacal genera, and which revolve about matter, prefide over the perverfion of natural powers, the bafenefs of material natures, the lapfe into vice, and a diforderly and confofed motion. For it is neceffary that thefe things fhould take place in the univerfe, and fhould contribute to fill the variety of the whole order of
_things, and that the caufe of their fhadowy fubfifience, and of theic duration, fhould be comprehended in perpetual genera. The leaders of facred rites, perceiving thefe things, ordered that laughter and lamen ations fhould be confecrated to fuch-like genera in certain definite periods
_of time, and that they fhould be allotted a convenient portion of the whole of the facred ceremonies pertaining to a divine nature. As there fore the art of facred rites, diil:ributing in a becoming manner the whole of piety to the Gods and the attendants of the Gods, that no part of worfhip might be omitted adapted to fuch attendants, conciliated the divinities by the moil: holy myfl:eries and myili:: fymbols, but called down the gifts of da:mons by apparent paffions, through a certain arcane fympathy,-in like manner the fathers of thefc fables, looking, as I may fay, to all the progrefiions of divine natures, and hafieuing t6 refer fables to the whole feries proceeding from each, efl:abli{hed the imagery in their fables, and which firil: prefents itfelf to the view, analogous to the lafl: genera, and to thofe that prefide over ultimate and material paffions ; but to the contemplators of true being they delivered the concealed meaning, and which is unknown to the multitude, as declarative of the exempt and inacceffible effence of the Gods, Thus,
..-cry fable is da:moniacal according to that which is apparent in it, but
is
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR TIIE FABLES OF nm.11::n. I 39
is divine according to its recondite theory. If thefe things then are rightly afferted, neither is it proper to deprive the fables of Homer of au alliance to • things which have a true fubliflence, bccaufe they are not ferviceable to the education of youth ; for the end of fuch fables is not juvenile tuition, nor did the authors of fables devife them looking to this, nor are thofe written by Plato to be referred to the fame idea with thofe of a more divinely infpired nature, but each is to be conlidered feparately ; and the latter are to be eftablilhed as more philofophic, but the former as adapted to facred ceremonies and inftitutions. The latter likewife are fit to be heard by youth, but the former by thofe who have been properly conducted through all the other parts of learning.
Socrates, indeed, fufficiently indicates this to thoie who are able to perceive his meaning, and alfo that he only blames the fables of Homer fo far as they are neither adapted to education, nor accord with the r-eftlefs and fimple manners of youth. He likewife lignifies that the recondite and occult good of fables requires a certain myftic and enthe afiic (i. e. divinely infpired) intelligence. But the multitude, not per ceiving the meaning of the Socratic a!fertions, and widely deviating from the conceptions of the philofopher, accufe every fuch-like kind of fables. Rut it is worth while to hear the words of Socrates, and through what caufe he rejecl:s fuch a mythology: “The young perfon (fays he) is not able to judge what is allegory, and what is not; but whatever opinions he receives at fuch an age are with difficulty walhed away, and are generally immoveable. On thefe accounts, care lhould be taken, above all things, that what they arc firft to hear be compofed in the moll: handfome manner for exciting them to virtue.” With great propriety, therefore, do we fay that the Homeric fables do not well imitate a divine nature ; for they are not ufeful to legiflators for the purpofes of virtue and education, nor for the proper tuition of youth, bµt in this reipell: indeed they do not appear at all fimilar to things themfeives, nor adapted to thofe that prefide over the politic fcience ; but, after another manner, they harmonize with the Gods, and lead thofe who polfefs a naturally good difpofition to the con templation of divine natures; and the good which they contain is not difciplinative, but myfiic, nor does it regard a juvenile, but an aged habit of foul. This alfo Socrates hirnfelf .t fiifies, when he fays, ” That fuch
T z fables
UO INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS JJ. AND Ill. OF THE REPUBLIC,
fables iliould be heard in fecrecy, by as few as pofiible, after they had facrificed not a hog, but fome great and wonderful facrifice.” Socrates: therefore is very far from defpifing this kind of fables, according to the opinion of the multitude ; for he evinces that the hearing of them is coordinated with the moft holy initiations, and the moft fubtle myf
_teries 1• For to affert that fuch fables ought to be ufed in fecrel with a facrifice the greatdf and mojl Jmfell, manifefis that the contemplation of them is myflic, and that they elevate the fouls of the hearers to fublime fpeculations. Whoever therefore has divefied hirnfelf of every puerile and juvenile habit of the foul, and of the indefinite impulfcs of the phantafy, and who has efiabliihed intellect as the leader of his life,. fuch a one will moll opportunely participate of the fpe8acles concealed in fuch-Jike fables ; but he who fiill i:equires in!h-uction, and fymmetry of manners, cannot with fafety engage in their fpeculation.
It follows therefore, according to Socrates himfulf, that there is a two-fold fpeci.es of fables, one of which is adapted to the infirull:ion of youth, but the other is myftic ; one is preparatory to moral virtue, but the other imparts a conjunll:ion with a divine nature; one is capable of benefiting the many, the other is adapted to the few; the one is common. and known to mofi men, but the other is feccmdite al)d unadapted to. thofe who do t.1.0t hafien to become perfellly efiabliihed in a divine nature; and the one is co-ordinate with juvenile habits, b1:1t the other karcely unfolds itfelf with facri6ces and myfiic tradition, 1f therefore Socrates teaphes, us theie thisigs, mufi we not fay that he harmonizes with Homer refpecting fable& l But he only rejelb aud reprobates them fu far as they appear Ulladapted to the hyp<>thefis of his d.ifcoui;fe, and the narrati011 of t!ie education of youth.
But if it be requifite that legifiators ihould in one way be converfant with mythical fictions, and thofe who eudeaYoui: to cultivate more im perfetl: habits, but in another way thofe who indicate by the divinely infpired iqtuitive perceptions of intellect the i.ieffable effence of the Gods.
The !:Ieufinian, which Proclui. calls the molt. bely of the myflerics, are likcwi(e always denominated by him TIArT11t: and Suidae informs us that Ttllrfll lignincs a mynerious facrilicc. the gr,at,jl and md/ honourahl,. So that Socrates in the abot”e palfa,e clearIy iodkates that fuch fabl.c:1 belong 10 the moll. facrcd of the myft.crics.
4
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 141
to thofe who are able to follow the moil: elevated contemplations, we thall not helitate to refer the precipitations of Vulcan to the irreprehenfible fcience concerning the Gods, nor the Saturnian bonds, nor the caftrations of Heaven, which Socrates fays are unadapted to the ears of youth, aud by 110 means harmonize with thofe habits which require juvenile tuition. For, in thort, the myftic knowledge of divine natures can never fubfift in foreign receptacles. To thofe therefore that are capable of foch fublime fpeculations we mufi: fay, that the precipitation of Vulcan indicates the progreffion of a divine nature from on high, as far as to the lafl: fabrica tiou in fenfibles, and this fo as to be moved an<l perfell:ed and directed by the demiurgus and father of all things. But the Saturnian bonds manifefi: the union of the whole fabrication of the univerfe’, with the i11tellech1al and paternal fupremacy of Saturn. The caftrations of Heaven obfcurely fig nify the feparation of the Titanic’ feries from the conneclive3 order. By thus fpeaking we thall :-,erhaps affert things that are known, and refer that which is tragical and fictitious in fables to the intellectual theory of the divine genera. For whatever among us appears to be of a worfc condition, and to belongto the inferior coordination ofthings,fables affume according toa better nature and power. Thus, for inftance, a bond with us impedes and reftrains energy, but there it is a contact and ineffable union with caufes. A pre cipitation here is a violent motion from another ; but with the Gods it indicates prolific progreffion, and an unrdl:rained and free prefence to all things, without departing from its proper principle, but in an orderly manner proceeding from it through all things. And cafl:rations in things partial and material caufe a diminution of power, but in primary caufes they obfcurely fignify the progreffion of fecondary natures into a fubjell order, from their proper caufes ; things firCt: at the fame time remaining eftablifhed in themfelves undiminithed, neither moved from themfelves through the progrefiion of thefe, nor mutilated by their feparation, nor divided by their difl:ribution in things fobordinate. Thefe things, which Socrates jufily fays are not fit to be heard by youth, are not on that account to be entirely rejected. For the fame thing takes place with refpecl: to
Hence, according to the fable, Saturn was bound by Jupiter, who is the demiurgus or artificer of the univerfo,
The Titans are the ultimate artificer& of things,
, Sec the notes to the Cratylus,
thefe
l,J2 NTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. A-ND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
thefc fables, which Plato fomewhere fays happens to divine and all-holy dogmas : For thefe are ridiculous to the multitude, but to the few who are excited to intelleclual energy they unfold their fympathy with things, and through facred operations themfelves procure credibility of their po!feffing a power connate with all that is divine. For the Gods, hearing thefe fymbols, rejoice, and readily obey thofe that in voke them, and proclaim the charall:erifl:ic of their natures through thefe, as • figns domefiic and efpecially known to them. The myfieries likewife and the greatefi and moll perfect of facrifices (1o”-m”) polfefs their efficacy in thefe, and enable the myfiics to perceive through thefe, entire, fiable and fimple vilions, which a youth by his age, and mueh more his manners, is incapable of receiving. We mufl: not there.. fore fay that fuch-like fables do not i!lfirull: in virtue, but thofe that object to them ihould !how that they do not in the highefi degree accord with the laws pe’rtaining to facred rites. Nor mufl: it be fa.id that they diffimilarly imitate divine natures, through obfcure fymbols, but it mufi: lie fhown that they do not prepare for us an ineffable fympathy to wards the participation of the Gods. For fables which are compofed with a view to juvenile difcipline fhould polfefs much of the probable, and much of that which is decorous in the fabulous, in their apparent forms, but thould be entirely pure from contrary appellations, and be conjoined with divine natures through a fimilitude of fymbols, But thofe fables which regard a more divinely infpired habit, which co harmonize things lafi with fuch as are firfi through analogy alone, and which are compofe<l with a view to the fympathy in the univerfe between effects and their generative caufes,-fuch fables, defpifing the multitude, employ names in an all-various manner, for the purpofo of indicating divine concerns. Since alfo, with refpect to harmony, we fay that one kind is poetic, and which through melodies exciting to virtue cultivates the fouls of youth ; but another divine, which moves the hearers, and produces a divine mania, and which we denominate petter than temperance: and we admit the former as completing the whole of education, but we reject the latter as not adapted to political dmiuifiration. Or does not Socrates expel the Phrygian harmony from his Republic as producing ecfiafy in the foul, and on this account
feparate it from other harmonies which are fubfervient to education ?
6 • As,
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMl!:R. 143
As,. therefore, harmony is twofold, and one kind is adaptedto erudition, hllt the other is foreign from it; .in a fimilar manner, likewifo, is mytho logy divided; into that which contributes to the proper tuition of youth, au.d into that which is fubforvient to the facred and fymbolic invocation of a divine nature. And the one, viz. the method through images, is ad apted to thofo that philofophize in a genuine manner ; but the other, which indicates a divine effence through recondite iigns, to the leaders of a more myfiically-per.feclive operation ;. from which Plato himfolf alfo renders many of his peculiar dogmas more credible and clear. Thus, in the Phredo he venerates with a becoming filence that recondite affection,. that we are confined. in body. as in a prifon fecured by a guard, and tefii fies, according to the myil:eries, tbe different allotments of the foul, when in a pure or impure condition, on ·its departure to Hades ; and again, ·its. habitudes, and the triple paths arifing from its e!fence, and this according to paternal.facred infiit1nlons; all which are full ofa fymbolic theory, and of the afcent and defcent of fouls celebrated by poets, of Dionyfiacal ligns,, and what are called Titanic er.rors, the trivi , and wandering in Hades and every thiag elfe of this kind. So that Plato does not entirely defpife this mode of mythologi-zing, but confiders it as foreign from juvenile tuition, and, on this account, delivers types of theology commenfurate with the manners of thofe that are infiruaied”‘
It lilcewife appears to me, that whatever i9 tragica1’, monfirous, and unnatural, in poetical fillions, excites the hearers, in an all-various man- ner, to the invefiigation of the truth, attralls us to recondite knowledge , and does not foffcr us through apparent probability to reft fatisfied with fu,. perficial conceptions, but compels us to penetrate into-the interior p rts of fables, to explore the obfcure intention of their authors, and forvey what natures and powers they intended. to fignify to pofierity by fuch myfiical fymbols ‘.
Since therefore fables of this kind excite thofe of a naturally more excel
lent difpofition to a defire of the concealed theory which they contain, and
Such fables, alfo, call forth our unperve-rted conceptions of divine natures, in which they ellicacioully efiablilh us, by untaught facred difciplines; and, in fhort, they give perfeaion to the vital powers of the foul.
to.
U4 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS n. AND m. OF THE REPUBLIC:
to an invefl-igation of the truth efiablifued in the adyta • through their ap parent abfurdity, but prevent the profane from bufying thcmfelves about things which it is not lawful for them to touch, are they not eminently adapted to the Gods themfelves, ofwhofe nature they are the interpreters l For many genera are hurled forth before the Gods 1, fome of a dremoniacal, and others of an angelic order, who terrify thofe that are excited to a parti cipation of divinity, who are exercifed for the reception of divine light, and are fublimely elevated to the union of the Gods. But we may efpecially per ceive the alliance of thefe fables with the tribe of d mons, whofe energies manifeft many things fymbolically, as thofe know who have met with da!mons when awake •, or have enjoyed their infpiration in dreams, un folding mauy paft or future events. For, in all fuch phantafies, after the manner of the authors of fables, fome things are indicated by others. Nor, of the things which take place through this, are Come images, but others paradigms; but Come are fymbols, and others fympathize with the{e from analogy. If, therefore, this mode of compofing fables is d moni acal, muft we not fay that it is exempt from every other variety of fables, as well that which regards nature, and interprets natural powers, as that
which prefides over the infl:ruclion of the forms of the foul r
Act””””°” is cnoneouOy printe• in the original for .Jlifllt,
Proclus fays this ,a•ith reference to what took place in the myficries, as is evident from the
following cxtracl: from his MS. Commentary on the Firft Alcibiades : E, .,.,.., ;.,,.,, ,.,.,, ,..,,
,.,,..,..,, ,rpo .,.,, ;t,..,…,.,, “” ‘”°’ wpo,,..,wr,.., “”‘
“”‘,r,10,,.,1111<11 ,..,,”Xf,…,..,,,.,.,..,., .,., “‘.,,,ihJt, ,•.,,,,_.,..,,..• .t,.,, TO””‘ 01 Sro, ., ..,.. •
.,,.,_,.,.. ,,… ,rpo.-yo, “‘ ‘””‘””‘ /3>.1r11,, “P” .,…,, “”” .,..,, .,.,,..,,..,, ff<JIX/lt,,…, c!’w..,..111>’ o,, x,,,.,,_ “‘
fb,,’lfliJ “f” tfll/lQ Tl>.illllfl,, IUll a;,. TOU’T0 l'<I M)”l<Z “‘fOll”‘l/hill”, (1TI Tl&f ,l,u,e°” $11”1’0VTI’ all TII, TIAITa>
;..,,..,.,,r.,, i, c. ” In the mofi holy of the myfterie., before the God appears, certain terrefirial
dzmons prefent themfelvcs, and fights which difiurb thofc that arc to be initiated, tear them away from undefiled goods, and c ll forth their attention to matter, Hence the Gods exhort us not to look at thcfe, till we are fortified by the powers which the myficries confer. For thus they fpcak: It is not proper for JOV. to behold them till your body is initiated. And on this account the oracles (i. e. the Chaldzan) add, that fuch dzmons, alluring fouls, feduce them from the myfieries.” Agreeably to this, l’roclus, alfo, in Plat. Theo!. p. 7. obfcrves, Ev Tiu,
l’IIJ ,-,>.tTAIJ …,..,,…,…,, ,<SI/I TOU! ,..,,,.,.”” ,,,, /MY WfAtr•• ,ro,..,,,it,111 °”‘ ‘lfOM””‘f,01! T.,V S,.,, rpo:,,i..’1/’ml,
-,nm• “”‘Dlfff’• i.e. ” In the mofi holy of the myfieries they fay that the myftics at firft meet with the multiform and many-fhapcd genera which arc hurled forth before the gods.”
1-“or innp, aa in the original, read ;,.,,. ,_
Ir. WHAT
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 1-15
!I. WHAT THE DIFFERENT MODES O.F THEOMACIIY, OR, THE BATTLES OF TIIE GODS, ARE, AMONG THEOLOGISTS, AND AN INTERPRETATION OF TUE OCCULT TRUTH WHICH THEY CONTAIN.
And thus ffillCh concerning thofe forms of fables according to which other poets and Homer have delivered myfiic conceptions refpecliug the Gods, and whic:h are unapparent to the vulgar. After thi,, it follows I think that we thould <lifiinctly confider the feveral fables in the order i1t”which they arc meutioned by Socrates, and contemplate according to what conceptions of the foul Homer reprefcnts the Gods fighting, or doing or fuffering any thing elfe, in his poems. And in the firfi place let us confider this thto machy as it is called, or battles of the Gods, which Homer devifes, but Socrates thinks worthy of animadverfion, as by no means adapted to the edl1cat10n of youth. For, that there is neither fedition, nor diffenfion and divifion, as with mortals, among the Gods, but peace and au inofFenfive life, the poet himfclf tefiifies when he fomewhere fays concerning Olym pus, that it is a fobfiratum to the Gods, who polfefs eYery poffible joy, and fpectacles of immenfe beauty :
The bletred Gods in joy unceafing live.
\Vhat difcord and war then can find any entrance among thofe who arc allotted eternal delight, who are perpetually propitiotis, and rejoicing in the goods which they poffefs ? But if it be proper that difcourfes concern ing the Gods lhould regard as well their providence as the nature of the bt”ings for whom they provide, I think we may interpret as follows their oppofition to each other :
In the firfl: place, the divided progreffions of all things, and their fepara tions according to dfence, fupernally originate from that divilion of lirfl: operating caufes’ which is unknown to all things; and fubfifiing according to thofe principles which are expanded above wholes, they diffent from each other; fome being fofpended from the unifying monad bound, and about this determining their fubfifience, but others receiving in thernfolves
1 Viz. /,01111d and i1!Ji11it_v, which are 1he highelt principles after the ineffable caufe of all.
.S;c the Philebus, and the Notes to my Tranflation of Ari!totle’s Metaphyfics.
vo.r.. 1. v a never
146 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND IIT. OF THE REPUBLIC:
a never-failing power from that i,ifinity which is generative of wholes, and is a caufo producli•.’c of multitude and pr.ogreflion, and about this eHabliih ing their prupcr hyparxis. After the fame manner, therefore, in which the firfi principles of things are feparated from each other, all the divine genera and true beings have a progreffion orderly divided from each other; and fome of them arc the leaders of union to fc:condary natures, but others impart the power offlparation; fome are the caufes of convujion, convolv ing the multitude of progreffions to their proper principles; but others houtJd the J1rogrej/ions, and the fubordinate generation from the principles. Again, fome fupply a generative abundance to inferior natures, but others impart an immutable and undefiled purity; fome biud to themfelves the caufe of .feparate goods, but others, of thofe goods that are con.fubjijlent with the beings by whom they are received.. And thus in all the orders of being is fuch a contrariety of genera diverfificd. Hence permanency, which efiabliihes things in themfolves, is oppofed to ejficacious powers, and which are full of lifc and motion. Hence the kindred communion of famenefs receives a divifiou according to 1pccies, oppofite to the feparations of d(lference ; but the genus ofjimi!itude is allotted an order contrary to di.lfimilitude, and that of equality to inequalit-v, according to the fame analogy. And the divifions of all thefe are fopernally defined from that duad which fubfifi:s as a prin ciple, according -to which all beings are difiinguiihed by their proper boun daries, proceed with an oppofite divifion to each other from their generative caufes, and from their conneclion with each other generate all the variety
-0f fccondary natures. Is it therefore any longer wonderful, if the authors of fables, perceiving fuch contrariety in the Gods themfelves and the firfi of beings, obfcurely fignified this to their pupils, through battles? the divine genera indeed being perpetually united to each other. but at the fame time containing in themfelves the caufes of the union and feparation of all things. We may alfo, 1 think, adduce another mode of folution: that the Gods themfelves are impartibly conn.afcent with each other, and fubfifi uni formly in each other, but that their progreffions into the univerfe and their communications are feparated in their participants, become divi fible, and are thu filled with contrariety; the objecls of their pro-
vidential exertions not being able to receive in an unmingled manner the powers proceeding from thence, and without confufion their multi-
f.orm
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR TH£ FABLES OF HOMER. 147
form illlllninations. ‘Ne may likewife fay, that the lafl: orders which are fofpcndcd from divine natures, as being generated remote from firfl: caufes, and as being proximate to the fubjecls of their government, which are involved in matter, participate themfolves of all-various contrariety and fcparation, and partibly prefide over material natures, minutely dividing thofe powers which prefubfift uniformly and im partibly in their lirft operating caufes. Such then and fo many being the modes according to which the myfl:ic rumours of theologifts are wont to refer war to the God, themfelves, other poets, and thofe who in explaining divine concerns have been agitated with divine fury, have afcribed wars and battles to the Gods, according to the firfl: of thofe modes we related, in which the divine genera are divided cou fonnably to the firft principles of wholes. For thofc powers which elevate to caufes are after a manner oppofed to thofe that arc the fource; if generation, and the comzellive to the feparating; thofe that unite, to thofe that mu!tiJ1!y the progreffion of things ; total genera, to fuch as fabricate Jiartib v; and thofe which arc rxj1andcd abo’i:e, to thofe that Jirejide over partial natures : and hence fables concealing the truth a!Tert that fuch powers fight and war with each other. On this ac count, as it appears to me, they affert that the Titans wen: the antago nifis of Bacchus, and the Giants of Jupiter; for union, indivifible ope ration, and a wholenefs prior’ to parts, are adapted to thofe artificers that have a fubfifience prior to the world ; but the Titans and Giants produce the demiurgic powers into multitude, divifibly adminifier the affairs of the uuiverfe, and are the proximate fathers of material concerns. We may alfo conceive that the Homeric fables after another man ner have devifed the battles of the Gods. For, in the firfi place, Homer exempts the demiurgic monad from all the multitude of the Goe.ls, and neither reprefents him proceeding to the contrariety of generation, nor in any refpell: oppofing it; but, while this is firmly efiabli!hcc.l in itfelf, the number of the Gods proceeds from it, which number both abides
and proceeds into the univerfe, and on this account is faid to be divided
The form of a thing confi<lered according to its caufal fubliftcnce, or a fublill;cncc in its
c.iufe, ii faid to be a whole prior to parts.
about
148 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND I’ll, OF THE REPUBLIC:
about the providence of the uatures which it governs. In the next place, of thele Gods which are di{l:ributed from their father, fome abide in him, and have an unproceeding fobli!lence in their proper monad, which the poetry of Homer fays are dl:ablifhed in the abode of Jupiter,
and together with their father provideutially prefide in a.n exempt
manner over wholes. That theft: war againi1, or oppofe each other, the fable does not even according to the apparent defcription admit. But it reprefents thofe Gods as warring againil: each other, who pro ceeding from the demiurgic monad, fubfide into multiform orders, become more partial, and more proximate to the objec.l:s of their govern ment, and give completi-011 to the angelic or d moniacal armies, through their abundant f)wpathy with fubordinate natures and partial allotment of providential energy. For to the(e I think the paffions of the fubjetls of their providential care are more allied, fuch as wounds, blows, and repercuffions; a1td, in fhort, the contrariety of generation is not very remote from the adminifiration of thefe Gods. That which is partial likewife in the fabrication of things fecondary, and a minute difl:ribu tion of providence, are adapted t-0 Cuch like powers, but not to thofe which rank as principles, and are exempt from all the objecls of their providential energy, and fobfi{l: as feparate caufes.
Moreover, fince the angdic orders are fu{iJended from the govern.. ment of the more excellent genera of Gods, and preferve the charac.l:er ifiics of their leaders though in a partial and multiplied manner, they are called b.y their names ; and as they fubfiO: analogoufiy to the fidl Gods, they appear in their progreffions to be the fame with their more total caufes. And this not only the fables of the Gret’ks have occultly devifed,-1 mean that leading Gods and their attendants fhould be called by the fame names,-but this is alfo delivered in the initiatory rites of the Barbarians. For they fay that angels fu(pended from the Gods, when invoked, particularly rejoice to be called by the appellations, and to be inveil:ed with the. vehicles► of the leaders of their feries, and exhibit themfelves to theurgifl:s in the place of thefe leading deities. If therefore we refer Minerva, Juno, and Vulcan when engaged in war below about generation, and likewife Latona, Diana, and the river Xanthus, to other fecondary orders, and which are proximate to divi-
fiblc
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY Fon THE FABLES OF HOMER. ug
fible and material things, we ought not to wonder on account of the communion of names. For each fcries bears the appellation of its monad, and partial fpirits love to receive the fame denomination with wholes. Hence there are many and all-various Apollos, Neptunes, and V11lcans; and fome of th m are feparate from the univerfe, others· have an allotment about the heavens, others prefide over the whole elements, a?Jd to others the government of individuals belongs. It i not therefore wonderful if a more partial Vukan, and who is allotted a dremoniacal order, polfelfes a providential dominion over material fire, and which fubfifis about the earth, or that he fhould be the in.. fpeclive guardiau of a certain art which operates in brafs. For, if the providence of the Gods has a fubjecl:ion accor.ding to·an ultimate divifion, being allotted a well-ordered progreffion fupemally from total and uni ted caufes, this Vulcanian dremon alfo will rejoice in the fafoty of that which he is allotted·, and wiff be ho!l:ile to thofe caufes which are cor ruptive of its confiitution. War therefore in fuch like genera, a divi-· fion of all-various powers, mutual familiarity and difcord, a divitible fympathy with. the objects of their government, verbal cont ntions, revenge through mockery, and other things of this kind,. are very pro perly conceived to take place about the terminations of the divine orders, Hence fables, in reprefenting fuch like powers difcordant with and oppof ing each other on account of the fubjell:s over which they providentially prefide, <lo not appear to be very remote from the truth. For the paffions of the things governed are proximately referred to thefe.
In {hort, fince we may perceive two cimceptions of battles celebrated
by poets infpired by Phrebus, one of thefe confiJers the ¼,ell-ordered divifion of the divine genera about thofe two principles of wholes which the one, the exempt caufe of all things, produced, and according to the oppofition of thefe principles reprefcnts the Gods alfo as all:iug contrary to each other. For, whether it ·be proper to call thofe firll: natures bound and infinity, or monad and indefinite duad, they will entirely appear to be oppofitely divided with refpecl: to each other, according to which the orders of the Gods are alfo feparated from each other. But the other conception 11rifes from confidering the con irariety and variety about the !aft of tpings, and referring a difcord of
this
150 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND TIT. OF THE REPUBLIC:
.this kind to the powers that proximately prefide over it, and thus feigning that the Gods, proceeding into a material nature, and di/1:ri hutcd about this, war with each other. Homer, to thofc who confider his poems with attention, will appear to fpeak about the former mode of divine contention when he fays,
When Saturn was by Jove all-feeing thruff: Beneath the earth:
.and in another place• refpell:ing Typhon,
Euth groan’d beneath them; as when angry Jove Hurls down the forky lightning from above,
On Ari,nc whco he the thundei- throws, And fires Typha:us with redoubkd blows,
Where Typhon, preft beneath the burning load, Still feels the fury of th’ avenging God.
For in thcfe verfes he obfcurely fignifies a Titanic war againfl: Jupiter, and what the Orphic writers call precipitations into Tartarus ( <iTaTapTa.• pr,iun). But he particularly introduces the Gods warring with each other, and diffenting about human affairs, according to the fecund conception of divine battles, in which the divine and intelleB:ual clifpofition of the figments adopted by the poet is worthy of the greatell: admiration. For, in defcribing their battles (who though they are allotted a fubfifience at the extremities of the divine progreffions, yet are fufpended from the Gods, and are proximate to the fubjell:s of their government, and are allied to their leaders), be indicates their fympathy with inferior natures, referring a divided life, battle, and oppofition from things i11 fubjcllion to the powers by which they are governed; jufi as Orpheus conjoins with Bacchic images compofitions, divifions and lamentatiom, referring all thefe to them· from prefi<ling caufes. But Homer repre
{ents the alliance of thefe divifible fpirits with the feries from which they proceed, by the fame names through which he celebrates the powers exempt from material natures, and employs numbers and
Iliad. lib. 2, vcr. 288, 8cc.
4 figures
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 15-1
figures adapted to their whole orders. For thofe who engage in battle arc eleven in number, imitating the army of the Gods and d,emons following Jupiter, and difl:ributed into eleven I parts. Of thefo, thofe that prefide over the better coordiuation are contained in the pcntad; for the odd number, the fpheric , and the power of leading all fecond ary natures according to jufl:ice, and of extending from the middle to every number, are adapted to thofe who defire to govern more in telleclual and perfecl: natures, and fuch as are more allied to the one But thofe of an inferior defl:iny, and who are the guardians of material natures, proceed according to the hexad, poffeffing indeed a perfective power over the fobjell:s of their providential care through a proper number; but in confequence of this number being even, and coordinate with a worfe nature, they are fubordinate to the other powers. Nor is it wonderful if fame one ihould call thcfe genera Gods, through their alliance to their leaders, and ihould reprefent them as warriijg through their proximate care of material natures. The oppofition. therefore of Neptune and Apollo fignifies that thefe powers prefide over the apparent contrariety of all fublunary wholes : and hence thefe Gods do not fight with each otlicr. For parts are preferved by their con taining wholes, as long as they fubfi{r. But the oppofition of Juno and Diana rcprefents the oppofite divifion of fouls in the univerfe, whether rational or irrational, fcparate or infeparable, fupernatural or natural ; the former of thcfe powers prefiding over the more excellent order of fouls, but the latter bringing forth and producing into light thofe of all inferior condition. Again, the difcord of Minerva and Mars repre.. fents the divifion of the whole of the war iii generation into. providence fubfifiing according to intellel1:, and that which is perfell:ed through neceffity ; the former power intellecl:ually prefiding over contraries, and the latter corroborating their natural powers, and exciting their mutual oppofition. But the battle between Hermes and Latona infinuates the all-various differences of fouls according to their gnofiic and vital mo-
Sec the Phredrus.
For five is not only an odd, but alfo a fpheric number: for all its muhiplicatiooa iri.to itfc:f terminate in five; and therefore end where they began.
3 For lix is a perfel\ number, being equal to the fo:n 0£ all its parts.
1,52, I TRODUCTION TO BOOKS IT. AND Ill. OF THE REPUBLIC
tions; Hermes giving pcrfell:ion to their knowledge, and Latona to their lives; which two -often differ from and arc contrary to each other. Latlly, the battle between Vulcan and the river Xanthus adorns in a becoming manner the contrary principles of the whole corporeal 1yfiem; the former affifiing the powers of heat and dryaefs, and the latter of cold and moifiure, from which the whole of generation receives its completiO’ll. But fince it is requifite that all contrarieties 1hould end in mutual conco_rd, Venus is prefent, producing friend.fhip I in the adverfe parties, bt-tt at the fame time affifiing thofe powers that belong to the worfe coordinatioH; becaufo thefe arc efpecially adorned, when they
.polTefs fj·mmctry and familiarity with the better order of contrary natures. And thus much concermng the divine battles of Homer.
llJ. IN WHAT M/•NNER AN APOLOGY IS TO BE MADE FOR THOSE DI VINE FABLES WHICH APPEAR TO MAKE THE GODS THE CAUSES OF
.EVIL.
In the next place let us confider how, fince the Gods in the fummit of their effence are particularly charallerized by goo<lnefs, poetry m1ke, them to be the authors .of both evil and good, though it is proper to refer to them tbe princi-pal caufe of what is good alone. For this, Socrates, de monftrating that divinity gives fublifrence to good alone, but to nothing evil, thisks worthy of animadverfion iu the poems of Homer. And it feems that he reprobates the battles of the Gods, as fubverting divine union, but condemns what w.e now ,propofe .to jnvefiigate, as dimini!hing the ioodnefs of the Gods. For,
Two vc!rds on Jove’s threfhold ever fl:and, ‘l’hc fourcc of evil one, and one of good •.
To this objel\ion, we anfwer that there are two coordinations of things in the world, which, as we have before obfervecl, fupernally proceed from
1 That is to fay, though Venus is not reprefented by Homer as allually producing friencl!l,ip
in the advcrfe Gods, yet this is occ11ltly fignilied by her being prefent; for !lie is the fourcc of
,all the harmony, friend!11ip, and analogy in the univcrfc, and of the union of form with maitcr.
,. Iliad. lib. i4. ver.527.
the
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THF. FABLES OF HO IER. B3
the Gods thcmfolves. For all things are divided by the biformcd princi ples’ of things, viz. the orders of the Gods, the natures of beings, the genera offouh, phylical powers, the circulations of the heavens, and the diverfitics of material things ; and lafl:ly human affairs, and allotments according to jufiice, thence receive a twofold generation. ·For, of ·thefe, fome are of a better, and others of an inferior condition. I mean, for infiance, that the uatural habits of bodies, viz. beauty, firength, health, and alfo fuc’h things as, independent of the corporeal confiitution, pertain to fouls, viz. power, and honour, and riches, belong to allotments of a better condition; but thofc habits and circumftances which are oppofite to thefe, belong to thofe of an inferior condition. Thefe·things then being necelfarily divi ded after the above-mentioned manner, .thofe whis:h belong to the better portion it -was ufual with the antient immediately to denominate good, but thofe of ,the contrary portion they denominated evil ; yet not in the fame fignification as when we call an unjufr and intemperate habit of the foul evil ; but as impediments of energies, as darkening our natural difpofi tions, and difiurbing the providence of the foul in its tranquil manage meut of human affairs, they admitted them to be evil, and to be fo deno minated, but after a different manner from what are called the evils of the foul. Thus alfo they were accufiomed to call difeafe, imbecility, and a privation of the neceffaries of life, evils. And why is it necelfary to adduce
·all poetry as a witnefs of the ufe of this name? For the Pythagorreans alfo, in
·fiablifhing twofold coordinations’ of things in all orders, did not refofe to call one of thefe good, and the other ·evil. Though, how can any one ad mit that the even, the oblong, and motion, are to be enumerated among thofe evils which we define as privations of good? How can we fay that the feminine, the genus of difference and of diffimilitude, are contrary to nature ? But I think this entirely evident, that, according to every pro
,gref/ion of things, they called the fubordinate ferie of things oppofite, evil, a, deierting the other feries, and being neither primarily beneficent, nor
Viz, l 01111:I and i1,Ji11ity.
Thefe twofold coordinations of the Pythagorreans are as follow·: Bound, infinity: the odd, the even : the one, multitude : right hand, left hand: the mafculine, the feminine : tl:c quiefcent, that which is in motion: the firaight, the curved: light, darknefs: good, evil: the fquare, the oblong, See my Tranllation of Arifiotlc’s Metaphyfics, book 1.
voL. 1. x difiant
154 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS TI, AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
difiant by th_e fame interval from the one caufe of every thing beautiful and good. It is requifite therefore to fufpend thefe twofold coordinations uf good and evil in the uaiveric from the demiurgic monad. For the divifions of the Gods, and of the genera pofl:crior to the Gods, depend 011 that firO: principle. The caufc likewife of the good and evil which happen from fate, aud whieh arc allotted to fouls about generation, according to jufiice, mull: be referred to the difpcnfator of the univerfe, who alfo fonds fouls h1to the region of mortality. For the efi-ecls of fate are fufpended from de mimgic providence, about which the feries of jufl:ice alfo fublifis, and the boundaries of which it follows, being, as the Athenian guefi in. Plato ob ferves, the avenger of the divine law. Lafily, the gifts of fortune, and the difl:ribution of all things according to jufiice, are determined according to the will of the father. The demiurgus aud father therefore of the univerfe has pre-efiablifhed in himfelf the caufe of every thing good and evil, of more excellent and fubordinate gifts, of profperous events, aud of fuch as are impediments to the energies of the foul in externals ; and he governs. all things according to intcllcB:, ditl:ributing to every being fuch things as. are lit, and referring all things to his own paternal adminifi:ration. For he difiributes to fouls, with a view to good, both things of the better and of the· inferior coordination ; looking in his difiribution to the perfeclion uf the recipients.
1f thefe things then are rightly alferted we mufi admit the Homeric ar rangement, which plal.-es in the dcmiurgic intellea of Jupiter twofold pri mary caufos of the goods and the ills which he imparts to fouls. For, of all the i11tclleclual kings, the duad efpecially belongs to the demiurgus, of the univerfe: fince, accordiug to the Oracle, “the duad is feared with him; and, by his governing all things, and difpofing every thing in its proper place, he lllOws virtue to be victorious, and vice to be vanquifhed in the univerfe.” For what difference is there between a!ferting the(e things,. and comparing the demiurgoo to one playing at che:fs, and fending fouls in to lives adapted to their refpe8ive natures? Thefe two fountains the,-efore. of a better and worfe condition of thing , by which the demiurgus con ducts fouls according to jufiice, the poet mythologizing denominates tubs’;
For wu9w lignifie& per£ualion, and silos ia a tub,
4 whether
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES or TIOMF:R. 155
•whether indicating that divinity afiigus to every thing its proper boundary through intellell:ual /1:1/uef,on {for intellell:, fays Timieus, is the principle of necet1ity, perfi.iading it to lead all things to that “hich is bell:), or the capacioufnefs of thefe principles, and their comprehending all-various ef fell:s. For the demiurgus and father of the univerfe contains unitedly in him fclfthe difperfed multitude of all that he difiributes to fouls. So that, accord ing to this rcafoning, Plato and the Homeric poetry accord with each other. For the former fays that it is not proper to make God the caufe of any evil ; but the other perpetually produces every thing good from thence: yet, fince goods arc twofold, and each kind benefits thofe by whom it is received, hence the Homeric poetry diftributes them into twofold coordinations, and, indicating their difference with refpell to each other, denominates the one as abfolutely good, but places the other feparate, as contrary to good. But that what is called evil by Homer is not fuch as that which Plato de nies to be given by the Gods, the poet himfelf declares ia the following vcrfes i,
The Gods on Pelcus from his birth be!low’d lllu!lrious gifts …………..
With thde God ,ilfo evil joiu’d., •••
‘\Vhat this evil is he immediate I y tells us:
No race fuccceding to imperial Cway; An only fon, and he ,(alas!) ordain’d ‘fo fall untimely in a foreign land.
See him in Troy the pious care decline
.Qf his weak age, to live the curfe of thine 1
In thefe verfcs, it appears that Homer does not make divinity the caufc of real evils, fince he calls the lofs of a fon, and the being deprived of his attendance in old age, evils. But in what manner thefe are evil.,, we have above explained, v.iz. fo far as they caufe difficulty in the prefent life, and forrow in the foul. For, though it is 1_1ot lawful for thofe who philo fophize in a genuine manner to call thefe evils, yet they appear to be im pediments of a life according to virtue, to thofe who make choice of a
‘ Iliad. lib, 24. ver, S 34, &c.
X 2 practical
:t5u INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS If. AND m. OF THE REPUBLrC:
practical life.. Hence rhc Athenian gucft alfo contenas that all foch things are, in a certain reipect, evil to good men, but good to foch as arc depra,ved ;- though he makes God. to be the caufo, both of thefe, and of every thing imparted from the miiverfo. So that not only Homer, and Achill’cs in Homer atTer, thefc. thingsy but Plato-himfelf,. aud the Iegillatoi: accoooing to Plaw
fV. lfOW THE POETlt’Y Of’ OOMER S1″€MS TO llEf’l”.°R A VIOLATlON OF OATHS TO THE GO-OS :-TH’.E TRUTH RESPECTING THI-S UNFOLDED,
ln the ne t place let us– confider how leagues and oaths, according to rlie poetry of Homer, are violated wirh the will of the mighty Jupiter,, and of Minerva- atling in fubferviency to the wiH of her father: for this alfo Socratcg reprobates-, a referrn1g the principle of evils to the firfl: of the Gorls, •
And here indeed it is worth while efpecially to doubt, how he who makes dh.-inity to be the. caufe of thefc things, does not make him to be the caufe of the greateft and real evils,. }!’or Homer cannot here be: defended by faying, that he reprefonts poverty, difeafo, and things of this Icind, as proceeding from the Gods, but he afcribes to divinity the caufe of rhofo things whic:h· are acknowbfged By all men to oc eviis. Tim.eus<, indeed,. in Plat.o, reprefents the demiurgus as entirely prefcribing laws to fouls prior. to thtiir dafrent: into ge1M::ratio11, that he may not be accufed a& the caufo of their confcq,uent e\’ils ;· but thefe verfos of Homer admit that: the principle of he ireatefi evils is imparted to them from divi1iity, when: they have de:fcended, and are converfant with generation. How then fhall we rep!y to thefc an.imadverfious, fo as to harmonize the doftrine of Homer with the nature of things,. and the narration 0f Plato? We may reply as follows : That fables of this kind are uot adapted to the habit of youth, as has been affcrted by us befofe, and we fhall now, a1-1d in all that follows repeat tha affertion. For i.t is not pollible for youth. to <li!linguifh the nature of things, no-r to refei· the apparent figns of truth to an unapparent theory, nor to fee how every thiug. in the univerfc is accomplifhcd accord ing to the will of divinity, through other intervening caufes. But we 1hall· th.ow that thefe things are agreeable to- the- philofophy of Plato,
The
CO’.’.TAINTNG AN APOLOGY FOR THE FARLES OF HOMER: 15T.
The Athenian guefi then, in the Laws, fays, ” that God rs the beginning,. the middle, and end of all thin,6s,. and that jufiice follows him, taking cngeance on thofe that defert the divine law : hut thefe, as he· informs us,.
are fuch as through youth and folly have their foul inflamed with info. Jenee, and for a certain time appear to themfel-ves to govern, but after• wards fuffer the proper punithment of their conoucl: from jufiice, and en tirely fuLwert rhemfclves, their city, and t ir family.” Thefe things are af ierted by the Athenian guell politically but Homer 1, relating them in a divinely infpired manner (e,0,a.’i””w,), fays that thofc who have often fin ned, and committed the greatefl: crimes, are punithed for their offences ac cording to the fingle will of J upitcr, and arc deprived of life together with their wives and children-. He further informs U<;, that Jupiter firfi of all accomplilhcs this punilhmcnt, and in a manner exempt and unapparent to a·ll ; but Minerva ill’ the fecontl place, being fobfervient to and e;ooperating with the paternal providence of Jupiter : for, as Orpheus fays, ” lhe is the
powerful queen of the intellect of Saturnian Jov,e .” The fame poet like
wife adds, .. that his brain who violates leagues and oaths flows on the ground like wi·ne.” In confequence, therefore, of this violation, fuch men fubjcct themfelves to jufiice, and render themfelves adapted to punilh incntr Hence the· violation of leagues and oaths is efpecially perpetrated by thofe who, prior to this, have dcferved the· vengeance of the Gt>ds, who ju!Hy govern mortal affairs, and thus punilh former crimes, But fuch are faid to be moved, and fed forth into energy by the Gods themfelves :· not that the Gods rnnder men who are to be punilhed impious and unjuft, but as calling into energy thofe that are adapted to the perpetration of foch-like actions, that by once energizing according to their inward habit and pro ducir1g i-nto light the progeny of depraved actions with which they are pre-·
gnant, they may become worthy of punilhment. For we lhoufd rather fay,.
according to Plato, that vengeance, the attendant of jufiice, is perfecled in fuch, than divii1e juflice it!clf; lince the jufl: and jufiice arc beautiful things. But both he on whom vengeance is inflicted,. and he on whom it is not, are miforable. Men therefore, who have committed’ many and the greateft crimes, ani:l who have a depraved habit which is parturient with greater and
For;. . •f'”i, as in the original, read o it, ‘Oi,’1po;. • AEIYn rap K,oov,itao ,oou •parmpa TtT,..T<11.
9 more
l 58 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND UL OF THE REPUBLIC:
more weighty evib, in the lir/l: place foOain vengeance, which appears indeed to crnn1 tlwte that folTcr it, leading them to tlie violatiun of oaths, but in reality brings them to fi.1fter the punifhment of their crimes, effect ing that which is limilar to the opening of ulc:ers by the furgcon’s infiru ment, which produces an increafc of pain at the time, but, by dilcharging the putridity aud the latent humour, becomes the caufo of future health. But the poetry of Homer fays that this puni!hment, beginning fupcrnally from Jupiter ( for ju1liee, as we have before obferved, follows him, taking vengeance on thofe that defert the divine law), is perfeEtcd through Mi nerva as the medium. F.or the Trojans, ft:cing into what au evil they had brought themfclves, and that their life was obnoxious to deferved puni{h mcnt, rendered this inevitable to themfelves, by the violation of oaths and leagues.
Again then, it mufi be in the fidl: place faid that the Go<ls were not the caufes of this tonfufcd and diforderly condull: to the Trojans, but that they through their own depravity rendered themfelvcs worthy of an energy of this kind, and among thefe Pandarus iu an emi11ent degree, as being a man ambitious, avaricious, and leading an atheifiical life. Hence Minerva, proceeding according to the intellell: of her father, docs not excite any one cafually to this all.ion, bnt is fuid to feek Paudarus 1, as particularly adapted to an avenging energy.
She ev’ry where the godlike Pandarus explor’d •.
For a man who is capable of doing and foffering any thing, and who alfo oppofes himfclf to divinity, through a certain gigantic and audacious habit of foul, iG rare, and truly difficult to be found. As therefore phy ficians arc not the caufes of cuttings and burnings, but the difeafes of thofe that are cured, fo neither are the Gods the caufes of the impiety i·efpecting oaths and leagues, but the habits of thofe by whom it is
.committed.
In the fecond place, this alfo muft be confidered, that Minerva is not
Pandaru, fecms to be derived …,.. -rou .,…..,… .!’pa•, that is, a, we commonly fay of a verr • tlepravcd charall:er, he was a man capa6/t of 0117 thing.
Iliad, lib. 4. ver. 86,
faid
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 159
faid to prepare Pandarus for the deed, but only to try if he gave himfelf up to this energy. For divinity does not defiroy the freedom of the will, not even i11 fuch as arc confummatcly wicked :
Lycaon’s warlike fon, what I fuggefi,
Wilt thou obey l
But Pandarus, incited by an immoderate defire of riches and power,. leaps to unjufi energies, the poet all but exclaiming in the very words of Socrates in the Republic’, ” that many things are extended to fouls from the univerfe, which afionifh the fiupid, and caufe them to err refpecl:ing the elections of lives.” As therefore the prophet extends a tyranniclife, and he who firfi choofes this is faid to be fiupiJ, although he by whom it was extended was entirely a divine nature ; fo here, when Minerva offers to the choice of Pandarus a more powerful and rich condition with impiety, or one entirely contrary to this, he makes choice of the worfe. And in this cafe Minerva is not the caufe of the elccl:ion, but the impro• bity of him by whom the election is made. For neith r i, the prophet in Plato the caufe of a tyrannic life, but the intemperance of him that chofc it. Hence Pandarus, in obeying Minerva, is faid to fuffer this through his 11upidity. For indeed (to fpeak accurately) he did not obey Minerva, but the avaricious and 11upid habit of his foul. Though, is it not wonderful that Minerva, in this infiance, is not the caufe of wifdom, bJt of folly? But, fays, Plotinus, ” Craft is produced from a delluxion of intellect ; an illumination of temperance becomes intemperance ; and· audacity is the gift of fortitude.” For foch as are the forms of life, fuch alfo from nccefiity mufi be the participations from more excellent natures. Hence fome participate of intelligibles intellell:ually, others according to opinion, and others phantafiically. Others again participate
·ef paffions impaffively, others with mediocrity of pa!Iion, and others with
perfect paffivity. But all things are moved by the Gods, according to their refpell:ive aptitudes, So that the violation of oaths did not proceed from Jupiter and Minerva, but from Pandarus and the Trojans. This action however is fufpendcd from the Gods, as being the forerunner of
1 Sec the. 10th Book.
juftice,
l”UO INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS IT. AND m. OF THF. RF.PUBLIC:
jufiice, and as preparing thofc by whom it )vas perpetrated for the perfed: puniihmcnt of their guilt. .
Nor is a divine nature the caufe of true evih to fouls, but the depraved habits of thefo are the fources to them of their depraved energies. But every energy, though it proceeds with depravity into the univerfe, is under the direaiun of prefiding God,, and of a mor total or partial providence. Far it becomes, fays Plotim1-, an unjufi aclion to him who daes it, fo far as pertains to the doing it, but jufi to him who fuffers for it, fo far as he fuffcrs. Aud fo far as an action of this kind is atheiftical, it originates from a partial caufe, which gives perfedion tu an action foll of paffion; but fo far as it is good, it obtains from prefiding powers its proper en<l. For it is neceffary that the authors of the greatefi crimes ihould fume time or other be called to puni!hment; but this would never take place, unlefs their depravity received its completion. Many habits therefore, remaining unenergetic, render thofe by whom they are polfelfed incapable of obtaining their proper cure. Hence, on the God, coufulting concerning bringing the war to an end, and faving the Trojans, the Goddefs who prefides over jufiice prevents any energy of this kind, that the Trojans may more fwiftly fuffer the puuiihment of .their crimes; and Minerva, who cooperates with this divinity, excites to the violation of.the oath, that, energizing according to the whole of their depravity, they may receive the puni{hment of the whole of it. For neither was it good for
-them to remain without a cure, nor that their latent depravity ihould be healed prior to their fecond offe11ces. All their unjufi life therefore beiug unfolded, puniihment follows, correll:ing the whole of .their impious condull:.
V. THE WHOLE THEORY ,OF THE }”ABLE UNFOLDED, IN WHICH
JUP.lTER, .THROUGH TJIEM1s, EXCITES THE GODS TO CONTENTION.
In the .next place, fmce Socrates mentions the judgment of the Gods in Homer, and the firifc to which Jupiter excites the multitude of the Gods, through Themis elevating all of them to himfelf, let us alfo fpeak concerning thefe things. That Jupiter then is a monad feparated from the univerfe, and the multitude of mundane Gods, and that he is able
to
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF.HOMER. J(>l
to produce all things from, and again convert them to himfelf, has often been faid. But fince his energy proceeding to the multitude of Gods is twofold, one of which converts and the other moves the Gods to the providence of inferior natures, poetry alfo defcribes twofold fpeechea • of Jupiter to the Gods. According to the firft of thefe, the one and whole demiurgus of the univerfc is reprefented as communicating an unmingled purity to the multitude of the Gods, and imparting to them powers feparate from all divifion about the world. Hence he orders all the Gods to defift from the war and the contrariety of mundane affairs. But, according to the fecond of thefe fpeeches, he excites them to the providence of fubordinate natures, and permits their divided progreffions into the univerfe, that they may not only be contained in one demiurgic intellect, which, as the poet fays
None can cCcape, or foaring run beyond-
but may energize in the fubjelb of their providential care, according ta
their own charalterifiics. Hence Jupiter fays to them,
Each, as your minds incline, to eithCT ho!!: Your fuccour lend •.
But as the progreffions of the Gods are not divulfed from the demi
.urgic monad, Themis firft converts them to this mo1tad.
But Jove to Themis gives command, to call The Gods to council-
that, all:ing providentially according to the· will of taei1′ father, they may alfo energize according to the judgment of Themis. And the poet indeed delivers to us feparate fpeeches of the one demiurgus of the univerfe to the junior Gods ; but Tima:us reprefents him in one fpeech
converting the multitude of thefe Gods to himfelf, and exciting them to the providence of mortal affairs, that they may govern all iccoudary
Iliad, lib. 20.
-VOL, I. ;y natutcs
16:.!. INTRODt’CTION TO BOOKS II. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
natures accordi11g to jufticc. Bt1t thefe things in no refpecl: differ from exciting them to war, and through Themis converting them to liimfelf. For thofc who prcfide over generation govern the war in matter; and thofc who energize according to jufrice are fufpended from the whole of Themis, of whom Jufrice is the daughter, and imitate the one dcmiurgic intcllell:, to whom it is not lawful to do any thing but what is moll: beautiful, as Tim us himfelf affi:rts.
VJ. WHAT’.THE JUDGMENT OP THE GODS XS JN Tl-IE FABLFS OF THE POET,· AND WHAT DIFFERENCES OF LIVES IT OBSCURELY- SIGNIFIES,
Again, it is not proper to think that the celebrated judgment of the Gods, which fables fay was accomplifhed by Paris, was in reality a ftrife of the Gods with each other, under the judgment of a barba rian ; but we ought to confider the elections of lives, which Plato delivers in many places, as fobufting under the Gods who are the infpecl:ive guardians of fouls. And this indeed Plato clearly teaches 11s in the Pha:drus, when he fays that a royal life is the gift of Juno, a philofophic life of Jupiter, and an amatory life of Venus. Since therefore fouls, from among a multitude of lives propofed to them from the univerfe, embrace fome according to their own judgment and rcjell: others, hence fables, transferring to the Gods themfelves the peculiarities of lives, affert that not the diverfities of living, but the Gods that prdide over thefe diverlitiea, are judg.ed by thofe that choofe them. According to this reafonir1g, Paris alfo is faid to have been appoiuted a judge of Minerva, Juno and Venus; and that of three Jives which were pr-0pufcd to him, he cbofe the amatory life: and this not with prudence, but recurring to apparent beauty, and purfuing the image of that beauty whu:h is intelligible. For he who is truly amatory, taking iutelletl: and prudence for his gll,ides, and with tbefe conte1trplati11g both tn,e and appareru beauty, is no kfs the votary of Minerva than of Venus. But he who alone purfues the amatory form of life by itfelf, and this accompanied with pafiioo, deferts true beauty,
but
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF BOMER.· 161
but through folly and luxury leaps to the image of beauty, lies about it in a fallen condition, and does not attain to a perfection adapted to an amatory character. For he who is truly amatory and fi:udious of Venus, is led to divine beauty, and defpifes aU that is beautiful in the regions of fenfe. Since however there are certain da:mons with the charalterifiics of Venus, who prefide over apparent beauty, and which fubfifts in matter, hence he who embraces the image of beauty, is (aid to have Vcnus cooperating with him in all his undertakings.
VII. WHAT THE MUTATlONS OF THE GODS ARE, WHICH ARR INTRODUCED IN FABLES, AND IN HOW MANY WAYS, AND
THROUGH WHAT CAUSES, THEY ARE DEVISED.
Since a divine nature is not only beneficent, but likewifc immutable, without form, fimple, and always fubfifl:ing ac::ording to the fame, and after the fame manner, Socrates very properly confiders the followiug verfes of Homer worthy of animadverfion,
The Gods at times, refembling foreign guetb,
Wander o’er cities in all-various forms ‘•
And again thofe refpeaing Proteus and Thetis, in which they are reprefented as changing their forms, and varioufly appearing. Indeed, that fables of this kind ought not to be heard by thofe who genuinely receive a political education, is perfectly evident; fince it is requifite that the paradigm of a polity which is to be ftable, ihould be immutable, and not obnoxious to all-various mutations. But here alfo it is requifitc to collell: by reafoning the divine dianoetic conceptions of Homer, though I am not ignorant that the above verfes are afcribed to one of the fuitors, and that on this account the poet is free from blame. For neither ihould we think it right to take the opinion of Plato from what is faid by Callicles or Thrafymachus, or any other fophifis that are introduced in his writings; but when Parmenides or Socrates, or
Odyft: lib. 17. vcr, 48S.
Ya Tima:us,
1154 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND 111. OF THE REPUBLIC r
TimiEus, or any other of fuch divine men fpeaks, then we think that we hear the dogmas of Plato, In like manner we ihould form a. judgment of the conceptions of Homer, not from what is faid by the fuitors, or any other depraved character in his poems, but from what the poet himfelf, or Nefior, or Ulyffes, appears to fay.
]f any one however is willing to afcribe this dogma concerning the mutatio1) of the Gods to Homer himfelf, he will not be defiitute of arguments which accord with all facred concerns, with the greatefr facrifices and myfieries, and with thofe appearances of the Gods
.which both in dreams and true vifions, the rumour of mankind has fupernally received. Fpr in all thefe the Gods extend many forms of themfelves, and appear palling into many figures. And fometimes an unfigured light of them prefents itfelf to the view ; at other times this light is faihioned in a human form, and at others again affomes a different ihape. Thefe things alfo the difcipline of divine origin per taining to facred concerns delivers. For thus the Oracles • fpeak: “A fimilar fire extending itfelf by leaps through the waves of the air, or an unfigured fire whence a voice runs before; or a light beheld near, every way fplendid, refounding and.convolved. But alfo to behold a horfe full of refulgent- light; or a boy carried· on the fwift back of a horfe,-a boy fiery, or clothed with gold, or, on the contrary, naked; or {hooting an arrow, and fianding on the back of the horfe.” And fuch things as the oracles add after thefe, not at any time attributing either internal change, or variety, or any mutation to a divine nature, but indicating its various participations, For that which is fimple in· the Gods appears various to thofe by whom it is feen, they neither hei1ig changed, nor withing to deceive; but nature herfelf giving a determination to the characl:eriftics of the Gods, according to the meafures of the pllrticipants. For that which is participated, being one, is var_iou0y participated by intellell:, the rational foul, the phantafy, and fenfe. Fo,r the firfi of thefe participates it impartibly, the fecond in an expanded manner, the third accompanied with figure, and the
Viz. the Chalda,an Oracles, See my Colleclion of thcfc Ora,lc& in the: third volume of fhc Monthly Magazine,
fourth
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF II0:\1ER. 165
fourth with paffivity. Hence that which is participated is uniform according to the fummit of its fubfiil:ence, but multiform accord ing to part1c1pation. It is alfo effentially immutable and firmly eil:ablithed, but at different times appearing various to its participants through the imbecility of their nature, And not only thefc things follow, but that which is without weight appears heavy to thofe that are filled with it: “The miferable heart by whom I am received cannot bear I me,” fays -fome one of the Gods. Whence Homer alfo perceiving the truth of thefe things through divine iufpiratiou fays concerning Minerva:
Loud cralh’d the beechen axle with the weight, For firong and dreadful was the power it bore•.
Though here it may be faid, how can that which is without weight be the caufe of weight? But foch as is the participant, fuch neceffarily mull: that which is participated appears:. Whether, therefore, fome of the Gods have appeared fimilar to guells, or have been feen in fame other form, it is not proper to attribute the apparent mutation to them, but we ihould fay that the phantafy js varied in the different recipients. And this is one way in which the poetry of Homer delivers multiform mutations of immutable natures.
But there is another way, when a divine nature itfelf, which is all powerful and full of all-various. forms, ellitends va1;ot1s fpell:acles to thofe that behold it. For then, according to the variety of powers which it poffeffes, it is faid to be changed into many forms, at different times extending different powers ; always indeed energizing according to all its powers, but perpetually appearing various to the tranfitive intelleclions of fouls, through the multitude which it comprehends. According to this mode, Proteus alfo is faid to change his proper form
‘ Icncc alfo Homer, Iliad. lib. 20. vcr. 131. fays, – . 01 ,ar,,110″‘ IV”f’Y”S•-i.e. O’er- powering arc the Gods when clearly fecn. •
Iliad. lib. S•
3 A divine nature muft necclfarily produce the fcnfation of weight in the body by which it is 1eccived, from its overpowering energy ; for body lies like non-entity before Cuch a nature, and fails, and dies away, as it were, under its in0uence.
to
166 INTRODUCTION TO B()()gS If, AND Ill. OF THE RtPUBLICt
to thofe ‘that behold it, perpetually exhibiting a different appearance. For though he is fobordiuate to the fidl: Gods, and immortal indeed. but not a God ; the minifier of Neptune, but not allotted a leading dignity; yet he is a certain angelic intellecl: belonging to the feries of Neptune, poffeffing a11d comprehending in himfelf all the forms of generated natures. Idothea has the firfi arrangement under him ; the being a certain dremoaiacal foul conjoined to Proteus as to her proper divine intellecl, and connecling her intelleclions with his intelligible forms. Another number of rational and perpetual fouls follows, which the fable denominates Phocre. Hence Proteus is rcprefented as num hering thefe, poetry indicating by this the perpetuity of their nature. For the multitude of things which are generated and perith is indefinite. Partial fouls therefore beholding Proteus, who is an intelltcl: poffeffing many powers and full of forms, whilft at different times they convert themfelves to the different forms which he contains, fancy that the tranfition of their own intelleclions is a mutation of the intelligible objecl:s. Hence to thofc that retain him he appears to become all
.things-
Water, and fire divine, and all that creeps
On earth.
For fuch forms as he po1fe1fes and comprehends, oc rather fuch as he perpetually is, fuch does he appear to become when thefe forms arc confidered feparately, through the divifible conception of thofe that behold them.
In the third place, therefore, we fay that the Gods appear to be,
changed, when the fa,ne divinity proceeds according to different orders, and fubfides as far as to the laft of things, multiplying himfolf accord ing to. number, and defcending into fubje ditl:inclions; for then again fables fay, that the divinity, which fopernally proceeds into this form, is changed to that into which it makes its progreffion. Thus they fay that Minerva was affimilated to Mentor, Mercury to the bird called the fea-gull, aud Apollo to a hawk; indicating by this their more dremo
,niacal orders, into which they proceed from thofe of a fuperior rank. Hence, when they defcribe the -di’Ui11t advents of the Gods, they en-
6 deavour
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 107
deavour to preferve them formlefs and unfigure . Thus, when Minerva appears to Achilles 1, and becomes vifible to him alone, the whole camp being prefent, there Homer does not even fabuloufly afcribe any form and figure to the goddefs, but only fays that !he was prefent, without exprefiing the manner in which !he was prefent. But when they intend to fignify angelic appearances, they introdµce the Gods under various forms, but thefe fuch as are total; as for inftance, a human. form, or one common to man or woman indefinitely. For thus, again, Neptune and Minerva were prefent with Achilles:
Neptune and Pallas hafte to his relief,
And thus in human farm addrefs the chief•.
Lafily, when they relate d.Emoniacal advents, then they do not think it improper to defcribe their mutations into individuals and partial natures; whether into particular men, or other animals. For the laft of thofe genera that are the perpetual attendants of the Gods are manifefied by thefe figures. And here you may fee how particulars of this kind are devifed according to the order of things. For that which is fimple is adapted to a divine nature, that which is univerfal to au angelic, .aud the rational nature to both thefe; and that which is par tial and irrational accords with a dremoniacal nature : for a life of this kind is connelled with the dremoniacal order, And thus much cou cerning the modes according to which the Homeric fables devife mutations of things immutable, and introduce various forms to uniform natures.
V1IJ. CONCERNING ‘l’HE DREAM SE-NT TO AGAMEMNOJJ, WHICIJ APPEARS TO ACCUSE TH,E GODS OF FALSEHOOD, AND ¥OW IT MAY
IIE SHOWN THAT A DIVINE NATURE JS VOID 01’ J’A:LSEIIIOOJ>,
It now remains that we fpcak concerning the dream {enl by Jupiter
l!o Agamemnon ; for Socrates, at the end of his theological types, repro-
– Iliad, lib, 1,
bates-
l I i,1 Ii-.’TRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND Ill. OF THE RE.PUBL1C:
bates this, becaufe the whole of a divine and dremoniacal nature is with. out falfehood, as he collec\s by demonfirative arguments. But Homer fays tha: Agamemnon was deceived through this dream. Though, is it not abfurd, if this dream is from Jupiter, according to the alfertion of the poet, that this alone nearly, of all tht: particulars which are mentioned as deriving their origin from Jupiter, fuould be attended
\”l’ith fraud r
In anfwer to this objection, we may fay what is ufoally alferted by moil: of the interpreters, that the fallacy had its fubfifience in the phantafy of Agamemnon. For Jupiter in his fpeech to the dream, and the dream again in its addrefs to Agamemnon, evidently indicate that it would. be requifite to call together all the army, and to attack the enemy with .all his forces ; for this is the meaning of the word
?rcuo-ut,n, which is ufed in both the fpeeches. But Agamemnon, not underfianding the mandatt:, nc;glected the greatefi part of his army,, and, engaging in battle without the aid of Achilles, was frufirated in his expectations through his unfkilfolnefi in judging of divine vifions. So that Jupiter is not the caufe of the deception, but he who did not
,properly underfl:and the mandates of Jupiter.
We fuall alfo add the folution given by our preceptor Syrianus, which both accedes to the meaning of Homer and the truth of things. For, if Jupiter is re,prefented.as providing for the honour of the hero Achilles, and confulting how he may defiroy the greateft number of the Greeks, is it not neceffary that he mull previoufly comprehend in himfelf the caufe of the deception ? For, if Achilles had been affociated with the army, the Greeks would not have been defl:royed, nor would they have been punifhed for their unjuft conduct towards him. It is better therefore to fay that the deception wc1s from divinity for the good of the deceived. For good is better than truth: And among the Gods, indeed, they are conjoined with each other: for neither is intellell: without divinity, nor di\inity without an intellectual effence. But in their participants they are often feparated; and good is pro duced thrm1gh falfehood, and truth is fruftrated of good. Whence alfo So crates himfolf, when he is framing law& for the guardians of his republic. orders falfehood to be employed, through the opinion of the ftupid, who are uot otherwife able to obtain the good whi.h is adapted to their con-
dit:on.
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FAB.LES OF HOMER. 169
dition. If therefore it be faid that divinity benefits fome throu.gh truth,
and others through falfchood, and at the fame time leads all of them to good, it is by no means wonderful. For, of generated natures, fome fubfi!l: without matter, but others with matter, in which fallacy is inherent; or, rather, matter is true fallacy it(elf. So that, in the providence of fouls, if they are, as we have faid, varioufly benefited by divinity, fome immateri ally through truth, but others materially through falfehood, fuch providen tial energy will be adapted to the nature of the Gods.
But, if it be requifite, this alfo may be afferted, t.hat deception and falfe hood are generated in the participant, and that this takes place according to the will of divinity, that he who has alled erroueoufly may through the deception become more worthy : ju!l: as that which is material is gene rated in thefe lower regions, but fubfi!l:s according to demiurgic providence, that there may be generation and corruption in order to the completion of the univerfe. Divinity therefore does .not deceive, but he who is deceived is deceived by himfelf; and this takes place, according to the will of divinity for the good of him who fufl:ains the deception. For, God making immate rially, that which is generated is generated materially ; and he energizing impartibly, that which proceeds from this energy, receives its completion partibly; and he fignifying intellellually, falfehood• obtains a ihadowy fub fi!l:ence in the being that receives what is fignified. But the divine poet himfelf manifeR.s, that, truth dwelling with the Gods, decepti?n is generated from the opinion of the recipients, when he makes Jupiter commanding the dream fay-
.A11 that I order tell with p,,fill truth.
How then is there falfehood in divinity, according to Homer? And how is divinity the caufe of deception ? Unlefs it ihould be faid he is the caufe in fuch a manner, as that neither is the ihadowy fubfifience of deception in thefe lower regions contrary to his will. But the habit of youth is incapa l>le of difl:ingui{hing and contemplating, how, wholes remaining void of evil, in the natures which receive them divifibly evil appears; how, natures more excellent than ours not deceiving, we are often deceived; and how, when deceived, we fuffer this according to the will of providence. Hence VOL, I. z Socrates
110 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II, AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC 1
Socrates is not willing that young men lhould hear thiugs of this kind, aiJ being incapable of forming properly difiiucl: opinions of things.
JX, A COMMON APOLOGY BOTH FOR. THE HOMERIC AND PLATONIC
FABLES, 1N WHICH THEY SPEAK OF THE JUDGMENTS IN HADES, OF SOULS, AND THE DIFFERENT ALLOTMENTS WHICH THEY RECEIVE
ON DEPAJlTINO PROM TH]UR BODIES, ACCORDING ·ro THE IDIOMS OF
THE LIPE IN THE .BODY.
Having then difcuffed thefe things, let us examine what is written in the third book of the Republic, and, prior to other things, what the poet either himfelf afferts, or introduces another atfertiug, mythologically concerning Hades; and let us confider whether they contain any thing of truth, and ac cord with the narrations of Plato. \Vhat then are we to unJerftand, wheu the poet reprefents Achilles as preferring fervitude in the prefent life to
. the poffeffiou of every thing in Hades ? What is the meaning of thofe dread
ful habitations, which are odious to the Gods, of the image and the foul, of 1hades wandering without intellect, of lives compared to fhadows, of the lamentations of fouls paffing thither, of their being affimilated to bats, of fmoke, a crafhing noife. and foch like particulars, which the poems of Ho mer contain ? What likewife are the rivers in Hades, and thofe appellations. which are the mofr tragical? For thefe Socrates reprobates, but at the fame time adds, what is common to all fables, “that they contribute to fomething elfe; but we (fays he) are afraid for our guardians, lefi: from thefe terrible relations, they..{!iould think death to be dreadful.”
However, that Socrates himfelf iq many places ufes names and .enigmas of this kind, is obvious to every one. For, that I may omit the rivers mentioned in the Phredo, the wandcri1lgs of fouls, their anxieties, the three roads, the punifhmcnts, the being carried in river , the lamentations and exclamations there, and the fupplications of injurers to the injured, of all which Plato fays Hades is full ;-though thefc things fhould be omitted, yet docs not what we find written at the end of the Republic accord with the intention of the Homeric poetry, viz. the bellowing mouth, Tartarus, fiery da:mous, tl;e tearing off the fle{h of the tyrant Arida:us, and fouls full of dufl: and filth? For, what is there in thefe which falls fhort of the tragical in the ex-
6 treme?
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. lTl
treme ? So that for the fame reafon thefe alfo are to be rejell:ed, or the Ho- . meric docl:rine is not to be reprehended. In defence of both therefore, whether fome Epicurean or any other endeavours to accufe fuch-like fables, we fay, that the habits of fouls liberated from the body are different, and the places of the univerfe are multiform, into which they are introduced. Ofthefe alfo fome are fo feparated from mortal infirume11ts, as neither to have any habitude to things of a worfe condition, nor to be filled with the tumult which they contain, and material inanity. The vehicles of fuch are neceffarily pure and luciform, not difiurbed by material vapours, nor thick ened by a terrefirial nature. But others who are not yet perfectly purified by philofophy, but are drawn down to an affection towards the tell:aceous body, and purfue a life conjoined with this,-thefe exhibit fuch like vehicles fufpended from their effence to thofe who are capable of beholding them, viz. iliadowy, material, drawing downwards by their weight, and attracl:-. ing much of a mortal condition. Hence Socrates, in the Phredo, fays that fueh fouls, rolling about fepulchres, exhibit lhadowy phantafms ; and the poet relates that they are impelled along fimilar to lhadows.
Further fiill, of thofe fouls which yet embrace a corporeal life there are. many differences. For fome live a more praclic life, and, not yet deferting a life of this kind, embrace an organ adapted to practical energies, from which when they are feparated they are indignant; as was the cafe :with the foul of Patroclus,
Which leaving youth and manhood wa.il’d its Cate.
And when in Hades, they ftill dcfire an affociation with this organ, as did the foul of Achilles •, becaufe he preferred a life on earth to a fcparate life, according to which he was not able to energize, but very much excelled i11. an aclive life. Others again through the infelicity of their condition, eager
.ly embrace the tefiaceous body, and think that the life conjoined with it dif-. fers in no refpecl from the proper life of the foul. Such as thefe the divine poetry of Homer affimilates to bats, as looking to that which is
‘ Heroes arc dividC<! into two kinds: thofe that energize according to praaical, and thofe chat energize according 10 intellcl\ual virtue. Achilles was a hero of the former clafs, and Hercules of the latter. For an ample account of the charal\criftics of thcfe two kinds,_ fte my Paufanias, vol. iii. p, 2.29.
z:z dark’
112 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
dark in the univerfe, and its ery extremity, and which may be denominated
a. ftupendous cavern; and as having the winged nature of the foul grofs and terrcilrjaJ. Is it therefore wonderful that Achilles, who potfetfed prallical vir tue, fhould defire a life in conjunltion with body, and which was capable of being fubfervient to his alt ions? For Hercules, being purified through the telefiic fcience, and partaking of undefiled fruits, obtained a pcrfelt reftora tion among the Gods ; whence the poet fays of him,
He with th”immortal Gods delighted lives, And beauteous Hebe crowns hi• joys.–
But Achilles, fince he embraces reclitude in praltical affairs, and the pre fent life, purfues alfo and defires an infirument adapted to this life.. Plato himfelf, therefore, alfo fays that fouls according to the manners to which they have been accuftomed, make choice of fecondary lives. Is not this likewife worthy of admiration in the divine tradition of Homer-I mean the feparation of the foul from its image, and intellect from the foul ? Alfo that the foul is faid to ufe the image ‘, but that intellelt is more divine than both thefe? And again, that the image and the foul may in a certain refpec\ be known while yet detained in the body ; and that the foul takes care of and providentially attends to the tefiaceous body, and, when this is not effected, defires its accomplifhment; but that intellect is incomprehenfible by our phantafiic and figured motions ? Hence Achilles, on beholding Patro clus fpeaking concerning the burial of his l:iody, was led to believe that the
:foul and its image were in Hades, but that intellect was not there, nor pru dence, by which thefe are ufed. For the energies of the irrational life hafi cned to adopt this pofition, but could not credit the reception of the intellec- tual foul in Hades from the vifions of dreams. •
Does it not alfo moft perfealy accord with things themfclves to fay, that the multitude of fouls depart from their bodies lamentiug, and are divulfed from them with diffic.ulty, through the alluring life and manifold pleafores which they enjoy in them? For evei::y corporeal pleafure, as Socrates fays in the Phredo, as if armed with a nail, faftcus the foul to the body.
The irrational part of the foul is the imag, of the rational, in the fame manner as the rational foul is the image of intellefi. Body alfo is the image of the irrational foul) and matter, or the !aft of thingr• is lhe image of body,
And
CONTATNTNG AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER, 173
And fuch fouls after di:ferting their bodies ufe thadowy vehicles, which are difturbed by the ponderous and terrene vapours ‘ of the Sirens, and utter an uncertain voice, and a material found, which the Homeric poetry denominates a crathing noife. For, as the infiruments of afcend ing fouls emit a harmonious found, and appear to poffefs an elegant and well-meafured motion, fo the found of more irrational fouls defcend ing under the earth is fimilar to a crathing noife, bearing an image of an appetitive and phantaftic life alone. Nor muO: we think that the, places in Hades, and the tribunals under the earth, and the rivers which both Homer and Plato teach us are there, are merely fabulous prodigies : but, as many and all-various places are affigued to fouls afccnd-· ing to the heavens, according to the allotments which are there ; in like manner it is proper to believe that places under the earth are· prepared for thofe fouls that ftill require punithmcnt and purification. Thefe places, as they contain the various defluxions of the elements. on the earth, are called by poets rivers and fireams. They likcwife contain different orders of prefiding dremons; fome of whom arc of an avenging, others of a punithing, others of a purifying, and, laftly. others of a judicial charalkrifiic. But if the Homeric poetry calls. thefe places
Horrid and dark, and odious to the Goers,
neither is it proper to condemn it for .this. For fouls are terrified through the variety and phantafy of the prefiding dremons which arc there. The infernal region likewife is extended according to all-various allotments, adapted to the different habits of thofe that defcend thither•. It is alfo moO: remote from the Gods, as being the extremity of the univerfe, and as poffeffing much of material diforder, and never enjoy
ing the fplendor of the folar rays. And thus much concerning thofe verfes which Socrates thinks fhould be obliterated, and thould by no,
I For,..,,,..,, here read CIT/A(4Vo •
ln[lead of reading the latter part of this fentence, and the beginning of the nrxt; as, it is crro ncoufly print«! in the original, viz. 9,pa,..,.,, ••pp.,TaTt1. T.a l, ,n,.&c.. it is nccc1l”arr to read, as in the tranfiation1 f1po,.,..,,. D,pf””””‘T”‘ lr urn &c.
means
174 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
means be heard by thofe whom he educates: for through thefe, fays he, the love of the foul for the body will be increaied, and a feparation from it will appear to be of all things moll: dreadful.
X. WHAT THE CAUSES ARE THROUGH WHICH THE POETRY OF HOMEJl· ASCRIBES LAMENTATIONS BOTH TO HEROES AND GODS; AND LIKE• WISE TO THE BEST OF HEROES AND THE GREATEST OF THE GODS.
It now follows that we 1hould confider how the poetry of Homer does not reprefent one of us weeping and lamenting, when he alfo afcribes thefe effecls of forrow to his heroes, but makes the Gods themfelves to weep, for the death of mortals whom they loved ; though, according to Plato, Socrates neither wept, nor futfered any perturbation of mind, when his familiars wept on account of his approaching death; but Apollodorus, who wept abundantly, ·and any other who was fimilarly affected, were reproved by their mafier. But the divine poet reprefents his heroes immoderatelv lamenting the lofs of their familiars. And, though fome one 1hould fay that fuch things as the following became Priam who was a barbarian, and
·more irrational in his condul’t :
Roll’d in the dull he fuppliant call’d on all, And nam’d them one by one•:
yet is it not abfurd that Achilles, the fon of a goddefs, 1hould at one time
lie fupine, at another prone, and, at another on his fide, and, defiling his head with dufr, weep in a very puerile manner r And even if fuch paffions
were proper in men who are allotted a mortal nature, yet they ought not to be afcribed to the Gods themfelves. Why then is it requifite that Thetis fhould fay weeping:
Ah wretched me ! unfomanatcly bran
A Con I bore•.
For a divine nature is eftablilhed very remote from pleafure and pain. But though fome one ihould dare to introduce the Gods affelted in this
Diad, u. • Iliad, 11.
manner
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. li5
manner 1, yet it is not fit that the greatefi of the Gods fltould lament and mourn both for Hector when purfued by Achilles, and for his fon Sarpi:don, and exclaim refpecl:i11g both, Ah me ! For fuch an imitation does not appear to he in any refpell: adapted to its paradigms, fince it afcribes tears to things without tears, pain to things void of pain, and in fltort paffion to things free from paffion. Thefe things Socrates reprobates in Homer, and expels from the education of youth, fearful lefi fome impediment thould arife, through fuch-like affortions, to a right difcipline accordiug to virtue. For education is particularly converfant with pleafure and pain; which be ing increafed, the legiflator mufi neceffarily be frufirated of his proper end.
To thefe objell:ions we reply, that fince the poet introduces heroes engaged in prall:ical affairs, and living a life adapted to thefe, he very
_properly reprefents them as affecl:ed with particular events, and living.. conformably to fuch affell:ions. For to philofophers, and thofe who energize cathartically, pleafures and pains, and the mixtures of thefe, are by no means adapted ; fince they are feparated from thefe, lay afide all the trifling of mortality, and hafien to be divefied of the forms of life.
•with w!lich they are furrounded from the elements, rapidly withdrawing themfelves from material paffions the offspring of gem:ration. But plea- fores, pains, fympathies, and a fcene of all-various paffions, are coordi
·nated to thofe engaged in war, and who energize according to the paffive part of the foul. And how could th vehement about actions take place, without the impulfe of the appetites ? . Priam, therefore·,. and”‘Achilles, neither being philofophers, nor willing to feparate themfelves from gene ration, nor living after the manner of the guardians of Plato’s republic,-if they la,nent and commiferate their familiars, it is by no means wonderful. For the lofs of friends, the being defiitute of children, and the fubverfions of cities, appear to warriors to impart a great portion of mifory. The accomplithment of mighty deeds, therefore, is adapted to thefe, as being allotted an heroic nature ; and in conjund:ion with this the pathetic, frorq their being converfant with particulars.
With refpell: to the Gods, however, when they are faid to weep for oa;·
‘ j, e. Jupiter, who is called the grtat!fl of the Gods, wlth reference to the mundane God•, of whom he is the demiurgus and father. For, that he is not the lirft God, is e,ident from the Cratylus, 1’irna:us and Parmenides of Plato I which fee.
lament
176 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND IIJ. OF THE REPUBLIC:
lament thofe that are moll: dear to them, another mode of interpretation is to be adopted, and which was formerly admitted by the authors of fables, who indicated by tears the providence of the Gods about mortal, generated, and perifhable natures. For this objell: of providential energy naturally calling for tears afforded a pretext to the inventors of fables ; and through thefe they obfcurely figuilied providence itfelf. Hence fome one, in a hymn to the Sun, fays,
Pha:bus, the much-enduring race of men Thy tears excite•.–
And on this account, in the myfteries alfo, we myll:ically a1fume facred lamentations, as fymbols of the providence pertaining to us from more excellent natures. Thetis therefore, and Jupiter, are faid to lament thofe moll: dear to them, when in extreme danger-not that they arc paffively difpofed after the hlanner of men, but becaufe a certain feparate provi dence proceeds from them, aud gifts to particulars. And when the order of the univerfe concurs with this divifible providence, the preferving energy of that which provides is unimpeded ; but when this order oppofes, and that which is the object of a particular providence, as being a part of the univerfe, and allotted generation, foftains that corruption which is adapted to its nature, then fables, adducing the idiom or peculiarity of the providence which this object received according to its order, fay that the powers ,iho exert this providential energy lament, but not with excla mation : fo that grief with· them is a fign of the energy of a particular providence about individuals. After this manner, then, we attribute lamentations to the firfi Gods ; ftnce the greatefi and mofi perfecl: • of myfiical facrifices (Te>-.eT ) deliver in the arcana certain facred lamentations of Proferpine and Ceres, and of the greateft 3 goddefs herfelf.
But it is by no means wonderful if the laft of the genera which are the perpetual attendants of the Gods, and which proximately attend to the affairs of mortals, in confequence of employing appetites and paffions, and having their life in thcfe, fhould rejoice in the fafety of the objecls f
A””f”” ,… .-,Q., ,.,,., … .,..,, (lcge n •) ‘l’fflf
viz. the Elcufinian myfteries.
a viz, Rhc:a, who is the mother of the Gods,
4 their
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. “17’/
their providence, but be afflicted and indignant when they are corrupted,
..and fhould fuffer a mutation according to paffions:
The Nymphs lament when trees are leaAcfs found,; But when the·trees through fertilizing rain
:In leaves abound, the Nymphs rejoice again-
fays a certain poet. For all -things fobfi!l: divinely in the Gods, btrt divifibly and dremoniacally in the divided guardians of our nature. An4 thus much may fuffice concerning the lamentations of the Gods.
XJ. WHAT THJ! CAUSE UI OF THE LAUGHTER ASCRIBED TO THE “GOBS IN FABLES, AND WHY THE POETRY OF HOMER MAKES TH.B GOBS TO LAUGH IMMODERATELY AT •\l”,ULCAN..
Let us in the next place confider whether fab1es properly attribute te the Gods a paffion contrary to that which we have jufi now difcuffed, viz. immoderate laughter, and which is thought wort4y of reprehenfiou by Socrates.
Vulcan miniftrant when the Gods beheld, Amidft them laughter unextinguilh’d rofc ‘•
What then is the laughter of the Gods? aud why do they laugh in confequence of Vulcan moving and energizing? Theologifis, therefore, fay that Vulcan, as we have elfewhere obferved, is the demiurgus ai1d maker of every thing apparent •.. Hence he is faid to have conftrucl:ed habitations for the Gods :
Then to their proper domes the Gods depart, Form’d by lame Vulcan with tranfcendent art.
And this, in confequence of preparing for them mundane receptacles. He is alfo faid to be lame in both his feet, becaufe his fabrication is without
Iliad. lib. I, circa finem.
viz. He ii; the artificer of the whole of a corporeal nature. Proclus alfo, fomewhcre in his comment on the Timreus, alligns another reafon for the ficUon of Vulcan’s lamenefs, viz, bccaufc he is the fabricator of things !aft in the progrellions of being (for fuch arc bodies), anc1 which are not able to procerd into another order. I prefer this explanation to the former,
voL. r. :z A legs.
178 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
legs. For that which is moved with a motion about intellect: and prudc·1ce does not, fays Tim;cu , require feet. He is likcwife faid to prefide over the brazier’s art, and he himfelf energizes working i11 brafs. Hence, in the poetry of Homer, heaven is often celebrated as brazen; and many other particulars confirm this opinion. But fince every providt:ntial energy about a Jenjib!e nature, according to which the Gods affill: the fabrication of Vulcan, is faid to be the fl1ort of divinity, hence Tim.eus alfo appears to me to call the mundane Gods junior, as prefiding over things which are perp::tually in generation, or becoming to be, and which may be confiJered as ludicrous. The authors of fables are accuftomed to call this peculiarity of the providence of the Gods energizing about the world. laughter·. And when the poet fays that the Gods, being delighted with the motion of Vulcan, laughed with inextinguifhable laughter, nothing elte is indicated than that they are cooperating artificers ; that they jointly give perfection to the ‘art of Vulcan, and fupernally impart joy to the univerfe. For Vulcan fufpcnds all their mundane receptacles, and extends to the providence of the Gods whole phylical powers. But the Gods, energizing with a facility adapted to their nature, and not departingr from their proper hilarity, confer on thefe powers alfo their charal\:criftic gifts, and move wholes by their perfeclive providence. In fhort, we mull: define the laughter q[ the Gods to be their exuberant energy in the univerf , and the caufe of the gladnefs of all mundane natures. But, as fuch a providence is incomprehenfible, and the communication of all goods from the Gods is never-failing, we muil: allow that the poet very properly calls their laughter unextinguifhed. And here you may again fee hov; what we have faid is conformable to the nature of things. For fables do not affert that the Gods always weep, bt1t that they laugh without ceafing, For tears are fymbols of their providence in mortal and frail concerns, and which now rife into exifiencc, and then perifh; but laughter is a fign of their energy in wholes, and thofe perfect natures in the univerfe which are perpetually moved with undeviating famcne!s. On which account I think, when we divide demi urgic produllions into Gods and men, we attribute laughter to the gene ration of the Gods, but tears to the formation of men and animals; whence
lnllcad of .,.,·,. s Ol#rrll{ 111WGh11Z{ .,,,n-..,..,o,, read u1 ‘fllS 01a11111S 1u,ralf1111s oux.”””””””°” •
the
CO!>l’TAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABU:S OF HOMER. lig
the poet whom we have before mentioned, in his hymn to the Suu, fays,
Mankiml’s laborious race thy tears excite, But the Gods, laughing, blolrom’d into light.
llut when we make a divilion into things celeftial and fublunary, again after the fame m nner we mufr affign laughter to the former, and tears to the latter ; • and when we reafon concerning .the generations and cor ruptions of fublunary natures themfelves, we mull: refer the former to the laughter, and the latter to the tears, of the Gods. Hence, in the myfieries alfo, thofe who prelide over facrcd infiitutions order both thefc to be celebrated at ftated times. And we have elfewhere obferved, that the fiupid are neither able to underftand things employed by theurgifts in fecrecy, nor liclions of this kind. For the hearing of both thefe, when unaccompanied with fcience, produces dire and abfurd confufion in the lives of the multitude, with refpecl: to the reverence pertaining to divinity.
XU. AN APOLOGY POR. THOSE PARTS IN .THE POETRY OP HOMBll., WHICH APPEAR IN ALL•VARIOVS WAYS TO EXCITE THE HEARERS TO A CONTEMPT OP TEMPERANCE.
It now foJlows that we ihoula confider whether the poems of Homer are inimical to the acquifition of temperance. The grcateft fpecies there-• fore of temperance, fays Socrates, is reverence towards governors; the next to this is a command over the pleafures and delires of the foul ; and there is a third confequent to thefe, which we 1hall thortly after contem plate. Achilles appears to have erred according to the firff: of thefe, when he freely fays to the commander of all the Grecian forces,
Drunkard, dog-eyed, with heart of deer • I
But Ulyffes according to the third of thefe, when, defining the moft ·beau
Iliad. lib. 1.
:& A. ll
tiful
l’80’ JNTRBDUCTIGN TO BOOKS lt. D III. OF THE REPUBLIC 1-
ti ul life, he fays that he particularly approves that polity of men in which there are
The heav’n-taught> poet, and·enchanting l\nin ;: The wcll-fill’d palace, the perpetual feall:,.
A land rejoicing, and a people blell:!
The plenteous board high-hcap’d with catcs divine, And o’er the foaming bowl the laughing wine I I
For in thefe verfes he places the end·of life in, nothing elfe than variety of pleafure, and the gratification of defire. Such then being the objel\:ions made by Socrates’ to the verfes of Homer, in anfwerto the firll: we fay, that •thofe guardians which he places over his- city,. and who are allotted fuch a tranfcendency, on account of their erudition and virtue, over thofe whom they govern, demand the mofi abundant and the greatefi honour, both from their ilffociates and al\ others ; as they are truly the faviours and bencfall:ors of the whole polity over which they prefide :· nor is it t<1 be fuppofed that the governed will ever fuffer any thing unholy or unjuft from them, governing as they do according to intellell:. and jufiice. But tbe poet neither admits that Agamemnon excells all thofe that are fubje& to,him, in virtue, nor in benefiting others ; but he ranks him among thofe that a.re benefited by others, and particularly by the military foience of Achilles. Very properly, therefore,. does he reprefent him as reviled by thofe more excellent than himfelf, and confider the general good of the
governed, againfi which Agamemnon finned, as of more confequence than gratifying the paffions of the chief. The J;!Oet therefore introduces the heft of the Gteeks freely fpeakisg to Agamemnon,., without regarding the multitude of foldiers that followed him,. or his naval power. ·For virtue is every where honourable, but not the infl:ruments of virtue. We mull: not therefore fay, that he who employs fuch difgraceful epithets fins againfi the rulers and faviours of the whole army, when they are only fuperior by
. the multitude of thofe that are fobjt”cl: to their command, but are far inferior in virtue. For even the commander himfolf of fo great an army, and fo difficult to be numbered, acknowledges, a little after, ho,v
‘· Odya: lib. 10. at the beginning..
much
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. Hf
much Achilles excels him in virtue, laments his own infelicity, and,,
fays,
And,
For l have err’d,.nor this win I deny.
That happy man whom Jove llill honours moll:, Is more than armies, and himfelf an boll:.
\Vith refpeB: to the word of Ulyffes, we may fay in their defence-, that every thing of thi., kind is interpreted more fymbolically by thofe who transfer to other conceptions his wanderings, and who think it pro per to rank both the Ph:eacians and their felicity ‘ higher than human nature. For. with them the fefiival, the dainties, and the enchanting firain, have a different fignification from that which is obvious to the multitude. It may alfo be faid, that even thofe who do not·depart from the apparent meaning of the poet, may neverthelefs reply to fuch ob jeclions, and ihow, in the fidl: place, that Ulylfes, the wifdl:of the Greeks. does not think it fit that pleafure fhould have dominion in well-infritutcd polities, but• worthy joy (tuippouu,•»). And how much thefe differ from each other, we may learn from Plato himfelf. In the fecond place, Ulyffcs approves· of the·whole city becoming harmonized and unanimous with itfelf through mufic, being an auditor of fuch melodies as lead to virtue. For it is of great confequence to the whole polity, and to true erudition and virtue, that he who exercifes mufic among the vulgar ihould not be any cafual perfon, but one who derives his know ledge of it fu pemally through divine iufpiration, from its prefidiug deity. In the third place, fuch harmony, to thofe that partake of it, adds an abundance of things neceffary, which the multitude in cities very much require. For Ulyffes does not remarkably praifc a life filled with things of this kind, but that life which is in want of nothing neceffary to mortal exifience. The wifefr of the Greeks, therefore, appears to fpeak conformably to our dogmas, and to unperverted preconceptions refpecl:ing divine felicity. But if Ulyffes thought that he defervcs approbation who takes away . worthy delight, and the difripline fub!ifiing through divine mufic, alone
Sre thefe explained in my Hillory of the Platonic Theology, annexed to my Tran!lation of Proclus on Euclid•. regard-
lil1’ JNTRODUCTIO?-i TO BOOKS IJ. AND IH. OF TUE RlPIJBLIC:
re.l?:arding f’eafiing, and immoderate enjoyments, dcfiituti: of the \fofo, and <lirec1s his attention to pleafure, Socrates with great propriety fays that .things of .this kind are remote fr.om his polity. For it i, by no mean fit that immoderate plcafure, and a life adapted to gluttony, fhould have dominion in a city coufifling of the happy.
XJJJ. WH.’1T THE CONNEXION OF JUPITER WITH JU O OBSCURELY SIGNIFIES; WHAT THE ORNAMENT OF JUNO IS; AND WHAT THI:;
PI.ACE IN WHICH THE\” WERE. CONNECTED, WHAT THE LOVE OF JUPITER SIGNIFIES; WHAT THE DIVINE SLEEP rs; AND, IN SHORT, THE WIJOLE INTERPRETATION OF THAT FABLE,
To fuch objections tberefore of Socrates it is not difficult to reply; but a doubt yet remains to be folved by us, greater and more difficult, re. fpccling the connexion of Jupiter with Jui ; for this Socrates repre. he,ids, as by no means fit to be heard by youth. For, docs it not appear to be perf ly impious, to fufpecl: of the grcateft of the Gods, that through his love to Juno he fhould be forgetful of all his former decrees, fhould have connexion with the goddefs on the ground, not waiting to enter into her bedchamber, and fhould conr;lefcend to fpeak in the language of huma!J. lovers ? For thefe in the .firfl: place prefer before all things a conjuncl:ion with the obje s of their love; and in the next place fay, that they experience the power of love mo.re than in any former time, For Jupiter is Dlad to fpeak ii) this manner in the followiu verfes:
Ne’er did my foul fo Rrong a paffion prove, Or for an nrthly, or a heavenly love ‘·
And alfo that he loved her more
Than when, afcending to the nuptial couch,
In love they mingled, from their parents hid.
Dur preceptor ‘ in a mofi divinely infpired manner has unfolded the
‘ Iliad. lib. 14. • viz. the great Syrianu1.
occult
CONTAI?l.”ING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. l!’l3
occult theory of this fable; from whofe writings extratl:ng as much a, is fotFc.:ient to the prelent purpnfe, we {hall briefly explain the ieveral par&s of the fable, and 1how that Homer is free from all blaff,hemy in the pre cedin•! verfes.
All the divine orders, therefore, proceeding from the one principle of wholes, which Plato ufually calls the good, and from tliote biformed caufes proximately appearing after this principle, which Hocrates in the Philebus de11omi11ates bound and infinity, but other wife men have vene rated • _v other names; thefe orders likewife berng divided and feparated from each other, in a manner adapted to tl.e God , through thofc tecond bif< rmed principlc ,-the interpreters of the truth concerning the Gods ufually oppofe in their divifions the male to the female, the even to the odd, and the paternal to the maternal genera. But thefe divine orders again haftening to union and a connate communion, through the firficaufe, which is the leader of united goods to all beings, hence I think the authors of fables took occ-afion in their fymbolical theory to afcribe marriage to the Gods, connexions, and a progeny from thefe, and alfo celebrated the connexions and conjunclions of their progeny, till they had perfeclly con templated the whole extent of a divine nature, diverfified by fuch like pro greffions and conjunclions fupernally, as far as to mundauc natur,s. As therefore, among the Gods prior to the fabrication of the world, they celebrate the connexions of Saturn and Rhea, of Heaven and Earth, and their cogeneration , in the fame manner alfo, among the fabricators 0f t c univerfo, they inform us that the_ firil conjunction is that of Jupiter and Juno; Jupiter being allotted a paternal dignity, but Juno being the motber of every tl1ing of which Jupiter is the father. The former like wife produces all things in tl1e rank of a monad, but the latter in con. junction with him gives fob!illence to ft:cond·ary natures, according to rne prolific duad: aiid tbe formt:r is affimilated to inteiligilrle bound, but the latter to iutelligible infinity. For, according to e,ery order of Gods, it is requifire that there thould be primary caufes fubfi{l:ing analogoufly to thofc two principles. :But, to the union of thefo greatell divinitie5, it is ncceffary th.it there thouLI pre\’ioufly fubfi/l: a onenefs of tranfcendtncy of the monadic and ckmiurgic Goel, and a perfecl converfion to him of the generative and dyadic c:aufc. For the connate communion of more ex-
6 cellent
18-4 INTRODUCFION TO -OOOKS U, AND III. OP THE BEPUBLIC·:
cellent natures i after this manner eff’ecled, more elevated caufes being eftabliihed in themfelvcs, and in natures more divine than themfelves, but f h as are fubord nate giving themfelves up to thofe that are fuperior, Through thefe caufes, as it appeaTs to me, Juno haftening to a connexion with Jupiter, perfeas her whole eifence, and prepares it with all-various powers, the undefiled, the generative, the intelkcl:ual, and the unific ; but Jupiter excites the divine love in himfolf, according to which he alfo fills his proximate participants with good, and extends to them a caufe collective of multitude, and an energy con,vertive of fccondary natures to himfelf. But the union and iudiifoluble conjuHction of both thefe divi nities is eff’ecl:ed feparate from the univerfe, and exempt from the mun Elane recepta les. For Jupiter elevates to this communion, Juno extending to him that which is fubordinate and mundane:; the Gods indeed being always united, but fables feparating them from each other; and referring a connexion feparate I from the univerfe to :the will of Jupiter, but the comm.on cooperation of thefe divinities proceeding into the_ world, to the providence of Juno. The .i;eafon of this is, that every where the paternal caufe is _the leader of exempt and more uniform good, but the maternal of that good which is proximate to its participants, and is multiplied ac cording to all-various progreffions. With great pro.pr.iety, therefore, ar.e fleep and wakefulru:fs ufurped feparately in the fymbols of fables; wake fulnefs manifeft_ing the providence of the Gods about the world, but flecp a life feparate from all fubordinate natures ; though the Gods at the fame time both providentially energize about the univ rfe, and are efiablilhed in themfelves. But as Tima:us reprefents the demiurgus of wholes, at one time energ.izing, and giving fubfifience to the earth, the heavens, the planets, the fixed. fiars, the circles of the foul, and the mundane intellecl:, but at another time abiding in himfelf, after his ac cuO:omed manner, and exempt from all thofe powers that energize
in the univerfe ; fo, long before Tima:us, fables reprefent the father
of, all mundane natures, at one time awake, and at another afleep, for the purpofe of indicating his twofold life and energy. ” For he contains intelligibles in his intellect, but introduces fenfe to the
In the original 14’1′””‘ ; but it is nccctrary to read ,G11pirrnv1 as in our tranfiation.
9 worlds,”
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FA LES OF HOMJ<:R. 18:S
·-
worl<ls ‘,” fays one of the Gods. According to the fo1;mer energy, there-
fore, he may be faid to be awake ; for wakcfulncis· with us is an energy of fenfe ; but according to the latter to fieep, as fcparated from fon!JJ>les, and exhibiting a life defined according to a perfect iutellecl:. It may alto be fai<l, that he confolts about human affairs when awake; for ac cording to this life he provides for all mundane concerns ; but that when
,1.{L·ep, and ll·d together witb Juno to a frparate union, he is not for getful of the other energy, but, potfcffing and encrgizii1g according to it, at the fame time contains both. For he docs not, like nature, produce fccondary things without intelligence, nor through iutelligence is his proviJcnce in fobordinate natures diminifhed, but at the fame time he both governs the objecl:s of his providence according to jufiice, and akenJs to his•intelligible watch-tower. The fable, therefore, indicates this exempt tranfccndency, when it fays that his connexion with Juno was on mount Ida; for there Juno arriving gave herfelf to the embraces of the mighty Jupiter. \1/hat elfe, then, fl1all we fay mount Ir/a obicurely lignitics, but the rcgio1,1 of idtat and at1·intelligible nature, to which Jupiter afcenJs, and elevates Juno through love ;-not,coi.,,rerting himfelf to the participant, but through excefs of goodnefa i1nparting this fecond union with himlelf, and with that which is mtelligiblc? For fuch are the loves of more excellent natures,-th y a;e _convertiv•e of things fubordi nate to things firll, give completion to the good which they contain, and are perfecl:ive of fubjecl: natures. The fable, therefore, does not diminifl1 the dignity of the mighty Jupiter, by reprefe1 ting him as hav i11g connexion on the ground with Juno, and refuling to enter into her bed-chamber ; for by this it inlinuat’!s that the connexion was fuper o11unda11c, and not mundane. The chamber, therefore, confirucl:ed by Vulcan indicates the orderly compolition of the univerfe, and the fenlible regil)l1 ; for Vulcan, as we ha\·e faid before, is the artificer of the uni verfo.
If you are alfo willing to confider the drefs of Juno, through which the conjoined herfelf to the grcateft of the Gods, and called forth the pa-
‘ This is a part of one of the Chahb:an Oracles, to my colkftio11 cif which I ha1·e already rtferred the reader.
VOL, I, 2 Y3 ternal
186 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II, AND Ill. OF TIIE REPUBLIC’:
ternal providence ofr. Jupiter to a communion with her own prolific powers, you will, I think, in a fiill greater degree behold the excefs of the_Jeparate union of the Gods, celebrated in this fable. For fhe af fimilates herfelf all-varioufly to the mother of the Gods, from whom fhe alfo proceeds, and is adorned with the more partial powers of thofo· natures which ,.<efubfift in her totally, and, becoming all but another Rhea, proceeds to the dcmiurgus of the univerfe, who had then afcended to his proper intelligible, For i11e who is about to be conjoim:d with him who imitates his father, through a life feparate from mundane natures, affimilates alfo her own perfechon to the mother of all the divine or-• de.rs, and thus enters into a connate communion with him. .The hairs therefore of the Goddefs, and her ringlets widely fpreadi,;g, which fhe again binds, are evidently analogous to the hairs of the mother of the Gods: ” for her hairs appear fimilar to rays of light ending in .a iliarp point,” fays fome one of the Gods. And the poet calls the hairs of Juno, faining. But her zone, . with the fringes depending on and not cut otf from it, refembles the whole arid all-perfect girdle of Rhea. For Juno alfo is a vivific Goddefs, and is generative of all the multitude of fouls, which the number .of the depending fringes fymbolically indicates. Her ear-rings and her fandals reprefent the firft and the lafi of the partial • powers which flow trom :thence, fome of which fubfift about the. higheft powers of the Goddefs,. and thence depend, but others are fituated about her Jowell progreffions, The ambrofia and the oil are figns of the un defiled powers of e Go<ldefs ; for the inflexible • order of Gods fubfifts about her. What therefore that untamed genus of Gods and caufe of purity is to Juno, that is here fignified through thefe fymbols. For am brofia reprcfents a pow fuperior to all impurity and all defilement, and oil, as it produces firengtfr, and is adapted to gymnafiic exercifes, pro perly belongs to Curetic ctcity. For the firfr Curetes are in other refpects afcribed to the order of Minerva, and are faid by Orpheus to be crowned with a branch of olive.
The Goddefs, therefore, being perfe8ly furnifhed with fuch like fym-
viz. Dzmoniacal powers. The drefs therefore of Juno fignific1 her being invelled with powers of this kind.
yiz. The Curetes, bols,
CO ff,\1:-Sl’.’-G ,\’.\’ APOLOGY FOP. TlIE L\’.;LES 01′ IIO IER. I f7
bols, and becoming as it were a partial Rhea, proce ds to the dC’miurgus of the univerfr, that i11e may be conjoined with him according to that life by which he particularly imitates Saturn; not prcceeding into the univerte, bnt being feparate from mundane n:.itures ; nor confulting about things which are here, according to the fleeplds providence of wholes, but exempt from fonfiblcs, according to divine fleep ; and in this refpccl:
-emulating his father, who is reprefouted as flceping the fir{l: of the Gods.
When Saturn taftcd the deceitful fooJ, Loud fnoring lay the God,
Since therefore Jupiter thus imitates his father Saturn, with great pro priety does the drets of Juno regard the whole of Rhea; and hence Ju piter, through his fimilitude to Saturn, prefers a connexion on mount Ida to that which proceeds into the univcrfe.
The girdle alfo, and the affifia11ce of Venus, affimilate Juno fiill more to Rhea. For there alfo was the prefublifting monad of this Goddefs, proceeding fupernally from the conneclive divinity of Heaven, through Saturn as a medium, and illuminating the whole of an intellecl:ual life with the light of beauty. Venus is faid to carry this girdle in her bo fom, as po/feffing its powers confpicuoufiy extended; but Juno after a manner conceals it i.n her bofom, as being allotted a different idiom of hyparxis, but as po/feffing the girdle alfo, fo far as i11e likewife is filled with the whole of Venus. For {he does not externally derive the power which conjoins her with the demiurgus, but comprehends it alfo in her• felf. But the general opinion of mankiu<l evinces the communion of thefe Godde/fes : for they honour Juno as Nuptial and Pronuba, as be ginning fuch like energies from herfelf. For the conjoins herfelf with the demiurgus through the girdle in herfelf; and hence lhe likewife im parts to all others a legitimate communion with each other.
But how are Jupiter and Juno faid to have been at fidl: connected with each other, concealed from their parents, but that now they are con• necled in a greater degree, through the cxccfs of love with which Ju• piter then loved Juno? Shall we fay that the peculiarities of other good; are alfo twofold ; and that, of union, one kind is connate to thofe that arc united, but that the other fuperually proceeds to them from more per.
2 B 2 feet
188 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS 11. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC,
felt caufes ? According to the former of thefe, therefore, they are faiu to be concealed from their parents, in confequence of being allotted this union as peculiar to themfelves; but according to the other they arc lcvatcd to their caufes, and hence this is faid to be a gJ eater and more perfea union than the former, But both thefe unions eternally .fubfi/l:ing together, with the Gods, fables feparate them, in the fame manner as fleep and wak fulnefs, progreliion and converfion, a communication of proper goods to things fecondary, and a participation of primary caufos: for thefe the authors of fables, concealing the truth, feparate, though they are confubfifient with each other, Every thing, therefore, is alfi.:rted by Homer refpelting the connexion of the great Jupiter and Juno after a theological manner ; which is alfo tefiified by Socrates in the Cratylus,. who derives the etymology of Juno from nothing elfe than love, as being, fays he, lovely to Jupiter. According to an occult theory, there fore, we mufi not accufe Homer for writing foch things concerning thefe· mighty divinities. • But if it fhould be objed:ed, that things of this kind arc not fit to be heard by youth, according to their apparent fignification, poets the authors of fuch. fables will fay, Our fables are not for youth, nor· did we write fuch things with a view to juvenile difcipline, but with an infane mouth ; for thefo are the- produaions of the mania of the Mufes,. of which whoever being deprived arrives at the poetic gates, will be. both as to himfelf and his poetry imperfecl:. And thus much may fufficc for thefe particulars.
XIV. WHAT THE MYTHOLOGY OF HOMER OBSCURELY SIGNIFIES CON CERNiNG VENUS AND MAJIS, AND THE BONDS OF VULCAN, WITH WHICH BOTH ARE SAID TO BE BOUND,
Let us now confider the connexion between Mars and Venus, and the bonds of Vulcau. For Socrates fays that neither mufi thefe be admitted, oor mufi fuch fables be delivered to youth. Let us, therefore, coucifely relate what the poetry of Homer obfcurely fignifies by thefc things. Both tbefe divinities then, I mean Vulcan and Mars, energize about the whole wodd, the latter feparating the contrarieties of the univerfe, which he
6 alfo
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLF.S OF HOMER. 1s9:
atfo perpetually excites, and immutably preferves, that the world may be perfect, and lilied with forms of every kind ; but the former arti ficially fabricating the whole fenfible order, and filling it with phyfical reafons and powers. He alfo fa{hions twenty tripods about the heavens, that he may adorn them with the moft perfect of ma11y-fided • figures,. and fabricates-various and many-formed fublunary fpecies,
Clafps, winding bracelets, neckl ccs, aild chains
Both thefe divinities require the affi!lance of Venus to their energies ; the one, that he may infert order a11d harmony in contraries;. and the other,. that he may introduce beauty and fplendour as much as poffible, into fenfible fabrications, and render this world the· mofi beautiful of things vifible. But, as Venus is every where, Vulcan always enjoys her accord i-ng to the foperior, but Mars according to the inferior, orders of thingsr Thus, for i11.ftance, if Vulcan is fupermundaue, Mars is mundane; and i£ the former is crelefiial, the latter is fublunary. Hence the one is faid to, have married Venus according to the will of Jupiter, but the other is. fabled to have committed adultery with her. For a communion with the rnufe of beauty and conciliation is natural to the demiurgus of fenfibles ; but is in a certain refpeEt foreign to the power which prefides over divifion, and imparts the contrariety of mundane natures ; for the fepa rating are oppofed to the collective genera of Gods. Fables therefore denominate this confpiring union of diliimilar caufes- adultery. But a communion of this kind is necelfary to the univerfe,. that contraries may be co-harmonized, and the mundane war terminate in peace. Since,. howe er, on high mong ccdeflial natures,. beauty thines forth, together· with forms, elegance, and the fabrications of Vulcan,. but beneath, in the realms of generation, the oppofition and war of the elements, contra riety of powers, and in iliort the gifts of Mars, are confpicuous,. 011 this, account the fun from on high beholds the connexion of Mars and Venus,. and difclofes it to Vulcan,. in confequence of cooperating with the whole
viz. The dodecaedron, which is bounded hy twelve equal and equilatcral’pentagons, and’ conlifts of twenty folid angles, of which the tripods of Vulcan arc images; for every angle of· the dodccaedron Is formed from the j1mltion of three lines.
Iliad, lib, 18. vcr, 4oz,
pro<luc\;ions,
1’90 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND ur. OF THE REPUBLIC:
productions of this divinity. But Vulcan is faid to throw over them ail various bonds, unapparent -to the other Gods, as adorning the mundane genera with artificial reafm1s, and producing one fyfiem from martial contrarieties, and the co-harmonizing goods of Venus. For both are 11eceffary to generation. Since too, of bo11ds, fome are crelefiial, but others fublunary (for fome are indiffoluble, as Tim.eus fays, but others di{foluble); on this account, Vulcan again di{folves the bonds with which he had bound Mars and Venus, and this he particularly accompli<hes in compliance wit’h the requeft of Neptune ; who being willing that the perpetuity of generation fhould be prefer ed, and the circle of mutation revolve into itfelf, thinks it proper that generated natures ihould be corrupted, an’d things corrupted be fent back again to generation. What wonder is it, then, if Homer fays that Mars and Venus were bound by the bonds .of Vulcan, fince Tim us alfo denominates thofe demiurgic reafous bonds, by’ which the crelefiial Gods give fubfifience to generated natures ? And does not Homer fpeak conformably to the nature of things when he fays the bonds were diffolved, fince thefe are the bonds of generation? Jndeecl the demiurgus of wholes, by compofing the world from contrary elements, and caufing it through analogy to be in friendthip with itfelf, a-ppears to have collected into union the energies of Vulcan, Mars and Venus. In producing the contrarieties of the elements_, too, he may be faid .to have generated· them according to the Mars which he contains in himfe1f; but, in devifing friendihip, to have energized according to the power of Venus, And in binding together the produc1ions of Veuus with thofe of Mars, he appears to have previoufly comprehended in himfelf, paradigmatically, the art of Vulcan, He is therefore all things,
.and energizes in conjunl\ion with all the Gods. The junior artificers
.alfo, imitating .their father, fabricate mortal animals, and again receive them when they are corrupted, generating, in conjunction with Vulcan, fublunary bonds and previoufly containing in themfelves the caufes of their folution. For every where, he who comprehends in himfelf a bond, knows
.alfo the neceffity .of its folution.
XV. WHAT
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. l’gl
XV. WHAT MUST BE SAID TO THE ANIMADVERSIONS OF SOCRATES., RESPJ;;CTING THE AVARICE ASCRIBED BY HOMER TO HIS HBROE!h
Let us now confider thole places in the poems of Homer, which,. according to Socrates, increafe the love of riches in our fouls. For why does Phrenix advife Achilles to receive gifts when he lays afide his anger,. but otherwife not to lay it afide 2 \1/hy alfu_does Achilles re1.eive gifts from Agamemnon for his i.nfolence, and refufe to refiore the dead body of Hell:or, unlefs it was redeemed with money? For he who becomes an auditor of things of this kind is in danger of falling into a dire and infatiable avarice. To thefe objell:ions we thall briefly fay, that Phreuix advifes Achilles to lay afide his anger on receiving the gifts, and Achilles,. on receiving them, did lay it afide, both of them confidering the gifts as an argument of the repentance of the giver; but not that they might fatisfy the avaricious difpofition of their foul, nor confidering an increafe of riches as the boundary of felicity. For they did not from the firfi demand thefe prefe11ts, but receiv.ed them when they were fpoutaneouOy offered. But if Achilles rdlored the dead body of Heclor to Priam, on its being: redeemed by money, perhaps we may fay that it was at that time cufiom ary to receive a ranfom for the bodies of enemies. This alfo mufl: be confidered, that it belongs to the art of commanding ari- army, to cut off the riches of the enemy, but to increafe the property of thofe who are compelled to oppofe the enemy in a foreign country. Bu.t all thefe and· fuch-like particulars may be defended as the traufactions of thofo heroes who energized according to circumfl:ances,. an.cl whofe aclions are to be dl:imated according to other manners than thofe of common men : they are, however, entirely unfit to be heard by thofe educated under the legit:.. lator of Socrates, whofe geniuses are philofophic, whofe erudition regards a philofophic life, and who are entirely deprived of poffeffions and property.
If you are willing, we may aifo add to what has been faid refpellinK
Achilles, that he himfelf accufes Agamemnon of avarice, and reprobates this paffion as difgracefol.
Atrides, who in glory art the lirft
And no lcfs anricfous than rcaown’d •!:
Iliad. lib. 1·.
Bclides,
:1•97- INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS U. AND HI. OF THE REPUBLIC:
Befides, he indicates to us his contempt of wealth, when he fays to Agamemnon,
Thine in each conten is the wealthy prey, Though mine the fwcat and danger of the day. Some trivial prefcnt to my fuips I bear,
Or barren praifcs pay the wounds {)f war •.
Further 11:iU, neither would he accept the gifts at lid1, when they were
-0ffered by Agamemnon, becaufe he dd not think it was then fit to be reconciled to him. So that it was not the promife of riches which made him more mild to Agamemnon, by whom he had been treated with info Jenee ; but, when he thought it was proper to lay afide his anger, he pre pared himfelf for battle that he might revenge his friend. And when Agamemnon fent him the gifts, he neither looked at them, nor thought that any acceffion would thence be made to his own goods, Befides, his
<:ontempt of thefe things is evident from the multitude of rewards propofed by him in the funeral games : for he honoured the feveral champions with proper gifts; aud magnificently befiowed upon Nell-or, who through his age was unable to engage in the games, a golden bowl. How therefore, according to Homer, could he be avaricious, who ufed riches in a proper
·manner, who when they were prefeut defpifed them, when abfent did not anxioul1\’ defire them, and could endure to receive lefs of them than others? To whi h we may add, that he reprobated, in the midfl: uf the Greeks, that paffion of tbe foul as a difeafe, which afpires after immoderate wealth. 1-Jow Iikewife can it be faid that Pha:nix was the teacher of avarice, who
,exhorts Achilles to imitate the antient cufiom of the Greeks? For he fays,
Thus antient l1erocs, when with rage inflam’d, . By words were foften’d, and by gifts appcas’d •.
But thefe things, which are adapted to heroic times, and to the cufioms which then fobufted among heroes, were confidered by Homer as clefcrving the highefi imitation; though they are by no means adapted to the youth educated by Socrates, who are affigned no other employ ment by the legil1ator, than difcipline and the fiudy of virtue. But au attention to riches, and fuch things as are uecelfary to the pre-
1 Iliad lib. 1. • Iliad. lib. 9.
fervation
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 193
fervation of the life of mortals, is affigned to others who are neccffarv to the perfection of an inferior republic.
XVJ. IN WHAT l\IANNER IT IS REQUISITE TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE NEGLIGENCE OF HEROES RESPECTING A DIVl!’,E NATURE, WIIICH
APPEARS TO TAKE PLACE I:-f THE POETRY OF II0:\1ER,
It now follows that we {hould confider how we are to anfwer Socrates, when he accufes Achilles of negligence refpecting a divine nature. For how can he be pious and a worfuipper of the Gods, who dares to fay to Apollo,
Me thou haft injur’J moll: pernicious GoJ ‘?
who alfo oppofcs the river Xanthus though a God, and prefents his locks to the dead body of Patroclus, though he had promifed them to the river Spcrchius? That Achilles therefore, accordiug to Homer, was remark ably cautious rclj1ecl:i11g a divine nature, is evident from his advifing the Greeks to reverence Apollo, to fond a facrifice to him, and to appeafe Chryfes the priefl: of Apollo. This alfo follows from his readily obey ing the commands of Minerva, when {he appeared to him, though con trary to the impulfe of his wrath. He likewife alferts that a fubfervieocy to the Gods, :!nd a compliance with the will of more excellent natures, is of all things the mofl: ufeful; and offers a libation and prays to Jupiter, with fcience adapted to the Gods. For his firfl: purifying the bowl, and in an efpecial manner confecrating it to Jupiter alone, and fiand ing in the middle of the enclofure, invoking the power that pervades every where from the middle of the unive.rfe, afford a fufficiently con fpicuous argument of his piety to a divine nature, and of his know ledge of the figns adapted to the objell:s of worfuip.
But if be appears to have fpoken to Apollo more boldly than is fit,
it is requifite to know that the Apolloniacal orders pervade from 011 high, as fi,r as to the lafl: of things; and fome of them are divine, others angelic, and others da:moniacal, and thefo multiformly di\’ided. It mufi: be couJiderecl, thcr ·fore, that theie words were not addre!fed
VOL, I,
‘ Iliad. lib. 22.
2 <.; to
lg.& INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
to a God, but to a dremoniacal Apollo, and this not the lirfi in rank,. and coordinated with thofe that have a total dominion, but one who proximately prelides over individuals; and, in {hort, (for why !houkl I not fpeak clearly ?) the guardian of Hell:or himfclf. For the poet perfpicuoufly fays,
Apollo now. before Achilles ftood, In all thing• like Agenor—
This Apollo, therefore, AchiI!es calls mofi pernicious, fo far as he was a hindrance to his all:ions, hy preferving his enemy uninjured. Nor does he by thus fpeaking fin againft a God, but againfr a power who anks amongfi: the mofi partial of the Apolloniacal feries. For it iir not proper to refer either all the fpeeches or energies to that firfl: Apollo,. but we !hould alfo attend to his feconcl and third progreffions. Thus,. for infiance, w !hould confider who the Apollo is that fits with. Jupiter and the Olympian Gods; who, that convolves the folar fphere; who the aerial ,’\pollo is; who the terrefirial; who, that prefides ovei Troy; and who, that is the peculiar guardian of Hell.or, concerning whom the poet alfo fays, ‘
He fled to Hades by Apollo left,
For, by looking to all thefe orders, we fhall be able to refer the !peeches of Achilles to fome foch partial power, who was willing to preferve the objecl: of his care, and impede Achilles in his fl:renuous exertions. For the words “thou haft injured me” are very properly addrelfed to a dremon of this kind, who deprives him of the end of his prefont labours; and the epithet “mofl: pernicious” clearly evinces that this power is more adverfe to him than any other God or da:mon. For he who pn:ferves uninjured a principal enemy, becomes more than any one noxious to the perfon injured, by impeding his avenging the injury. But, as foch language even to foch an inferior power is not unattended with puni!hment, it is faid that Achilles thortly after was flain by a certain power of the Apolloniacal order, which Hcllor whtn he was dying thus predill:s to him:
Paris one! Phccbus {hall avenge my fate,
And firetch thee here before this Sca:an gate,
Docs
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. JgS
Does not therefore the poetry of Homer by thefe things make us more mode{l; rctpell:ing a divine nature, fince we learn from it that even the
mon: fubordinate powers cannot be offended with impunity r Though
I am not ignorant that thofe who are 1killed in myfiic facrifices dare many things of this kind refpecting d::emons; but perhaps they are defended by more divine 11atures from fufiaining any fuch injury from fubordinate powers. In the mean time jufiice follows· other men, correll:ing the improbity of their fpeech.
It is alfo not difficult to reply to what is faid in objell:ion to the contdl: of Achilles with the river Xanthus. For he was not difobe dient to the God himfolf, but he either contended with the apparent water which hindered his impulfe againft the enemy,· or with fome
-0ne of the indigenous powers, the affociate of the Gods in battle : for Minerva and Neptune were prefent with him, and afforded him afiifiance. And it appears to me, indeed, that the poetry of Homer devifes contefis according to all poffible diverfities; fometimes relating the battles of men with men, and fometimes of the more excellent genera with each other, as in what is called theomachy, or the battles of the Gods; and fometimes, as in the infiance before us, the oppofi tions of heroes to certain da!moniacal natures ; indicating to thofe that are able to underfiand things of this kind, that the firfi of lafi natures are after a manner equal to the lafi of fuch as are firfi, and par ticularly when they are guarded and moved by the Gods. Hence, not only Achilles is faid to have contended with Xanthus, but Hercules alfo with the river Achelous, of whofe life Achilles being emulous, he did not avoid fimilar contefts.
Lafily, we may folve the third· of the propofed inquiries by, faying that the firfi and principal defign of Achilles was, on returning to his country, to offer to the river Sperchius his locks, as he had promiled; but when he dcfpaircd of his return, in coufequence of hearing from his mother,
Soon after Hetlor fhall thy death fucceed,
was it not then necelTury that he fhould cut off his hair in honour of his friend? For Socrates in Plato received the crowns which Alcibiades.
was
196 INTRODUCTION TO BOOKS II. AND lII. OF THE REPUBLIC:
was to have offered to a Goel, and was crowned with them; nor did he think that he finned by fo doing, or injured the young man. I omit to fay that the hairs of Achilles were not yet facre<l to the river: for he who had promi(ed to confocrate them on his return, when deprived of this, was alfo deprived of the con(ecration of his hairs.
XVlJ. AN APOLOGY FOR THE VNWOltTIIY TREATMENT OP THE DEAD BODY OF HECTOR, AND FOR THE TWELVE TROJANS SLAIN. AND BURNT ON TUE FUNERAL PILE OF PATROCLUS, SINCE THESE 1•1-11NGS EVIDENTLY APPEAR TO BE CRUEL, ABSVRD, AND UN•
BECOMING THE CHARACTER OF HBROBS.
It now remains that we confider the condull: of Achilles to Heclor;. his dragging him round the tomb of Patrodus, and his facrificing twelve Trojan yopths on his pile ; for tbefo things, fays Socrates, can not be truly afcrihed to Achilles, who was the fon of a Goddefs, and of the moll: temperate Peleus defcended from Jupiter, and who was edu cated by the wife Chiron. In the firft place, then, it is faid by the antients that this was the cufl:om of the Thclfatiam, as the Cyrenrean poet alfo tefiifies, when he informs us, “that 1t 1s an antient Thef falian cuftom, to drag round the tomb of the flain the body of the flaughterer.”
Achilles therefore thus acted· conformabfy to tne cufiom of his coun try, that all due honours might be paid to the funeral’ of Patroclus. nut if Hefter dragged Patroclus when a dead body, threatened to cut off his head, and cafl his corpfe to the Trojan dogs, which is alfo. told to Achilles by Iris-
A prey to dogs he dooms the carfe to lie,
And marks the place ta fix his head on high’•· Ri(e and prevent (if yet you think of fame)
Thy friend’s difgracc, tny own eternal lhame t·
does not Achilles, therefore, infl.icl: a pro}?er punitbment on Heclor, in dragging him round the tomb of Patroclus ? For thus he both revenges the cruelty of Hector, a,n.d openly tefiifies his benevolence to. his friend,
He
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 1g7
He does not, however, accomplilh what he intended ; for he rdlores the dead body of Bedor to his friends, and fuffers him to be buried. He therefore who introduces fuch meafures to his actions energizes according to the whole of jufiice, and the providence of the Gods, Hence the poet alfo fays, that, by complying with the will of more excellent uatures, he was rendered fo mild with reipecl: to Hector, that with his own hands he placed him on the bier.
Two fplendid mantles, and a carpet fpread, They leave, to cover and inwrap the dead;, Then call the handmaids with affillant toil To walh the body, and anoint with oil.
Thi& done, the garments o’er the corfe they fpread ; Achilles lifts it to the funeral bed••
Achilles, therefore, performed every thing pertaining to the dead in a manner adapted to his character. For he illufirioufly honoured his friend by the vengeance which he inflitted on his enemy, and, afterwards becoming more mild, behaved with great philanthropy to Priam, and paid him the utmoft attention and refpecl:.
With refpect to the Trojan youths that were flaughtered at the funeral pile of Patroclus, it may be faid, that by this action, according to ap pearance, Achilles perfectly honoured his friend, and that he did nothing more to thefe Trojans than he was accufiomed to do to other enemies, viz. flaying thofe whom he happened to meet. For what difference is there between dying at a funeral pyre, or iu a river? Does he not ‘in deed aB: better by thefe, whofe bodies were totally defiroyed by fire, than by thofe whofe bodies were torn in pieces by favage beafis, and who fuffer. the fame things with Lycaon? to whom Achilles fays,
Lie there, Lycaon ! let the G01 furround-
n,y bloated corfc, and fuck thy gory wound ••-
But if it be requifite to recall to our memory the more occult fpecu lations of our preceptor refpeB:ing thefe particulars, we mu!l: fay that
Iliad. lib. i 1,
the
l 98 INTROD’OCTION TO BOOKS II. AND III. OF THE REPUBLIC:
the whole tranfacrion of Achilles concerning the’ pyre imitates the im mortalizing of the foul (Tns {u:;tn; c:t7ro9« a.T,crf-tos) by thcurgifls, and per tains to the feparate foul of Patroclus. Hence, before the pyre was en kindled, he is faid to have invoked the winds, the north and the weft, that the apparent vehicle of Patroclus, through their vifible motion, might ob tain a convenient culture, and that the vehicle, which is more divine than this, might be invifibly purified, and refiored to its proper allotment, ” being drawn upwards hy aerial, lunar and folar fplendors,” as one of the Gods fomewhere atrerts. It is alfo related of him, that he made a libation all night on the pyre :
All night Achilles hails Patroclus’ foul
With large libations from the golden bowl’·
The poet alJ but proclaiming to us, in .thefe verfes, that Ach11les was bufily employed about the foul of his friend, and not about his vifible body only, and that alJ things are fymbolically ufurped by him. For the libation from a golden bowl fignifies the defluxion of fouls from their fountain; vvhich defluxiou imparts a more excellent life to a partial foul, and is able through undefiled purity to lead it from bodies to an invifiblc and divine condition of being. And, in thort, many arguments in con firmation of tl1is opinion may be derived from the writings of our pre ceptor.
Since then it appears that Achilles celebrated the funeral of Patroclus
myfiicalJy, it may be not improperly faid, that thefe twelve Trojans that were flaughtered at tbe pyre were coordinated as attendants with the foul of Patroclus, the ruling nature of which was both known and reve renced by Achilles. Hence, he chofe this number as moil adapted to at tendants, and as facred to the all-perfea progrellions of the Gods •. By no means, therefore, did Achilles flay thefe Trojans from a certain dire and favage cruelty of foul, hut performed the whole of this tranfacrion in conformity with certain facred laws pertaining to the fouls of tbofe that die in battle. Nor ought he to be accufed of a proud contempt of Gods and men ; nor ought we to deny that he was the fon of a Goddefs aud Pdeus, and the difciple of Chiron, for acting in this manner. For
1 Iliad, lib. 23. • For -rov Sm in the original, read T•” $,.,,.
4 fome
CONTAINING AN APOLOGY FOR THE FABLES OF HOMER. 1g9
fome of his all:ions he performed as regarding univerfal jufiice, others as a warrior, and others as employing facred methods. But in all thefe the poet has perfcll:ly preferved the meafures of imitation. And fuch is the anfwer to all that Socrates objects to in Homer, as deferving repre• henfion.
But if any one ihould fay that the fable is not to be admitted, which fays that Thefeus and Pirithoiis raviihed Helen, and dcfcended into Hades, perhaps thefe things alfo, which are affcrted more mythologically., may be properly folvcJ by faying that thefe heroes, being lovers both of unap
•parent and vifible beauty, are fabled to have raviihed Helen, and to have defcended into the invifible regions; and that, when there, one of them ( Pirithoiis ), through the elevation, of his intellell: was led back by Her cules, but that the other in a certain refpect remained in Hades,. from not being able to raife himfelf to the arduous altitude of contemplation. And though fome one ihpuld contend that this is not the true meaning of the fable, it does not affecl: the poetry of Homer, which every where attributes, according to imitation, t!1at which is adapted to the Gods, to the genera more excellent than human nature, and to heroic lives ; indicating fome things more occultly, teaching us other particulars about thefe thiugs, with intellccl: and fcience, and leaving no genus of beings uninvefiigatec!, but delivering each as energizing with re1pell: to itfelf and other thingf> according to its own order.
THE
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK II.
WHEN I had faid thefe things I imagined that the debate was at a1t end; but this it feems was ouly the introduclion : for Glauco, as he is on all occafions moft courageous, fo truly at that time did not approve of Thrafymachus in giving up the debate; but faicl, Socrates, do you wifh to fcem to have perfuaded us, or to have perfuaded us in reality, that in every refpeel it is better to be juft than unjull:? I would choofe, faid I, to -do it in f”eality, if it depended on me. You do not then, faid he, do what you defire. For, tell me, does there appear to you any good of this kind, fuch as we would choofe to have ; not regarding the confequences, but embracing it for its own fake? as joy, and fuch plea . fores as are harmlefs ; though nothing elfe arifes afterwards from thefe pleafures, than that the poffeffion gives us delight. There feems to me, faid I, to be fomething of this kind. But what? is there fomething too, which we both love for its own fake, and alfo for what arifes from it ? as wif
<lom, fight, and health; for we fomehow embrace thefe things on both accounts. Yes, faid I. But do you perceive, faid he, a third fpecies of good, among which is bodily labour, to be healed when fick, to praclife phyfic, or other lucrative employment? for we fay, thofe things are troublefome, but that they• profit us ; and we fhould not choofe thcte things for their own fake, but on account of the rewards and thofo
.other a<lvantages which arife from them. There is then, indeed, faid I, iikewife this third kind. But what now ? in which of thefc, faid he, do you place jufl:ice ? I imagine, faid I, in the moft handfome; which, both on its own account, and for the fake of what arifes from it, is defired by the man who is in purfoit of happinefs. It does not, however, faid he, fecm fo to them any, but to be of the troublefomc kind, which is pur-
. focd
T H E R E P lJ B L I C. 201
foed for the fake of glory, and on account of rewards and honours; but on its own account is to be thunned, as being difficult. I know, faid J, that it feems fo, and it was in this view that Thrafymachus fometimes fincc delpifed it, and commended injufiice ; but it feems I am one of•thofe who arc dull in learning. Come then, faid he, hear me likewife, if this be agreeable to you ; for Thrafymachus feems to me to have been charmed by you, like an adder, fooner than was proper ; but, with refpecl to my felf, the proof has not yet been made to my fatisfaclion, in reference to either of the two; for I defire to hear what each is, and what power it has by itfelf, when in the foul-bidding farewel to the rewards, and the confequences arifing from them. I will proceed, therefore, in this manner,
if it feem proper to you : I will renew the fpeech of Thrafymachus ; a11d, firfi of all, I will tell you what they fay jufiice is, and whence it arifcs ;
and, fecondly, that all thofe who purfue it purfue it unwillingly, as nc celfary, but not as good; thirdly, that they do this reafonably; for, as they fay, the life of an unjufi man is much better than that of the juft. Although, for my own part, to me, Socrates, it does not yet appear fo ; I am, however, in doubt, having my ears ftunned in hearing Thrafymachus and innumerable others. But I have never, hitherto, heard from any one fuch a difcourfe as I wifh to hear concerning jufiice, as being better than in jufiice : I with then to hear it commended, as it is in itfelf, and I moft efpecially imagine I thall hear this from you : wherefore, pulling oppo fitely, I !hall fpeak in commendation of an unjufi life; and, i11 {peaking,
!hall lhow you in what manner I want to hear you condemn injufiice, and commend jufiice. But fee if what I fay be agreeable to you. Extremely fo, faid I ; for what would any man of intellell: delight mor tofpeak, and to hear of frequently?
You fpeak mofi handfomely, faid he. And hear what I faid I was firfi to fpeak of; what jufiice is, and whence it arifes ; for they fay that, according to nature, to do injuftice is good ; but to fuffer injuftice is bad ; but that the evil which arifes from fuffering injuftice is greater than the good which arifes from doing it : fo that, after men had done one another injull:ice, and likewife fuffered it, and had experienced both, it feemed proper to thofe who were not able to thun the one, and choofe the other, to agree among themfelves, neither to do injull:ice, nor to be injured : and VOL, 1. 2 D that
202 Tlt F. Il E P U B LI C.
that hence laws began to be efiablil11ed, and their compall:s ; and that which was enjoined by law they denominated la.wful and jufl:; and that this is the origin and dfence of jufiice :. being in the middle between what is beft, when he who does injultice is not puuilhcd, and of what is worfi, when the injured perfou is unable to punifh; aad that jufl:icey being thus in the middle of both thefr, is defired, not as good, but is held i1l honour from an imbecility in doing injufiice: for the man who had ability to do fo would never, if really a man, agree with any one either to injure, or to be injured; for otherwife he were mad. This then, Socrates, and of fuch a kind as this, is the nature of jufiice ;. and this. as they fay, is its origin. And we 1hall beft perceive that thefe who pur foe it purfue it unwillingly, and from an impotence to injure if we ima gine in our mind foch a cafe as this: Let us give liberty to each of them, both to the juft and to the uujuft, to do. whatever they incline; and then let us follow them, obiervmg how their inclination will lead each of them. We 1hould then find the jufi man, with full inclination, going t-he fame way with the unjufi, througb a defire of having mo e than others. This, every nature is made to pttrfue as good, but by la.w is forcibly led to an equality. And the liberty which I fpeak of may be chiefly of this kind; if they happened to have fuch a power, as they f.ay happened once to Gyges, the progenitor of Lydus : for they fay that he was the hired iliep herd of the then governor of Lydia ; and that a prodigi0us rain and earth quake happening, part of the earth was rent, and an opening made in the place where he pafiured her flocks; that when he beheld, and wondered, be defcended, and faw many other wonders, which are mythologically tra-ns mitted to us, and a brazen horfo likewife hollow and with doors ; and, on looking in, he faw within, a dead body larger in appearance than that of a man, which had nothing elfe upon it but a gold ring on its hand; which ring he took off, and came up again. That when there was a con vention of the iliepherds, as ufual, for reporting to the king what related to their flocks, he alfo came, having the riug: and whilfi he fat with the others, he happened to turn the ftone of the ring to the inner part of his hand; and when this was done he became invifible to thofe who fat by, and they talked of him as abfent : that he wondered, and, again handling his ring, turned the fione outward, and on this became vifible; and
that,
THE REP U BL IC. ‘103,
,hat, having obferve<l this, he made trial of the ring whether it had thi, power : and that it happened, that 011 turning the ftone inward he be c:ime invifible, and on turning it outward he became vifible. That, per• ceiving this, he infiantly managed fo as to be made one of the embaffy to the king, and that on his arrival h debauched his wife ; and, with her, alfaulting the king ‘, killed him, and poffeffed the kingdom. If now, thcr were two fuch rings, and the jufi man ha<l the one, and. the· uujufr the othe,·, none, it fcems, would be fo adamautine as to perfevere i1l juil:ice, and dare to refrain from the things of others, and not to touch1 them, whilfi it was in his power to take, even from the Forum, with., out fear, whatever he pleafed; to enter into houfes, and embrace any one he pleafed; to kill, and to loofe from chains, whom he pleafed; and t-0 do all other things with the fame power as a God. among men: acting in this manner, he is in no refpell: different from the other; but both of them go t!’ie fame road. This now, one may fay, is a firong proof that no one is juft from choice, but by confiraint; as it is not a good merely in itfelf, tince every one does injufiice wherever he imagines he is able to do it ; for every man thinks that injuil:ice is, to the particular perfon, more profitable than juHice ; and he thinks jufily, accordiug to this way of reafoning : fince, if any one with fuch a liberty would never do
any injuftice, 11-0r touch the things of others, he would be deemed by
men of fenfe to be moil: wretched, and moll: void of underftanding; yet would they commend him before one another, impofing on each other from a fear of being injured. Thus much, then, concerning thefe things. But, with reference to the difference of their lives whom we fpeak of, we fhall be able to difcern aright, if we fet apart by themfelves the mofi jufi man, and the mofi: unjufi, and not otherwife ; and now, what is this feparation? Let us take from the unjuft man nothing of in juftice, nor of jufiice from the jufi man ; but let us make each of them perfecl in his own profcffion. And firfl:, as to the unjuft man, let him acl as the able artifis ; as a complete pilot, or phyfician, he comprehends the poffible and the impoffible in the art ; the one he attempts, and the other he relinquilhes; and, if he fail in any thing, he is able to rell:ify
1 Gygcs flew Candaulca fa the fccond year of the 16th OIJmpiad. Y’ul. Cic. de Ollie.
lib. 3.
ZD2 it;
2().f, T H E R E P U B L I C.
it: fo, in like manner, the unjufl: man attempting pieces of injufiice in a dexterous manner, let him be concealed, if he intend to be exceedingly unjufl: ; but, if he be caught, let him be deemed worthlefs : for the moft complete injufiice is, to feem juft, not being fo. We mufi give then to the completely unjuO: the moll: complete injullice ; and -not take from him, but a!low him, whiUl: doing the greatefl: injufiice, to procure to himfelf the highefl: reputation for jufl:ice ; and, if in any thing he fail, let him be able to reclify it : and let him be able to fpcak fo Ii to per fuade if any thing of his injufiice be fpread abroad : let him be able to do by force, what requires force, through his courage and firength, and by means of his friends and his wealth : and having fuppofed him to be foch an one as this, let us place the juft man befide him, in our reafoning, a funple and ingenuous man, defiring, according to JEfchylus, not the appearance but the reality of goodnefs : let us take froll) him the appear ance of goodnefs ;’ for, if he fhall appear to be jufl:, he fhall have honours and rewards ; and thus it may be uncertain whether he be foch for the fake of juftice, or on account of the rewards and honours : let him be (hipped of every thing but juftice, and be made completely contrary to the other; whilft he does no injuO:ice, let him have the reputation of doing the greatell; that he may be tortured for jufl:ice, not yieldi11g to reproach, and fuch things as arife from it, but may be immoveable till death; appearing indeed to be unjuft through life’, yet being really jufl:; that fo both of them arriving at the utmoft pitch, the one of jufiice, and the other of injuftice, we may judge which of them is the h-appier. Strange! faid I, friend Glauco, how firenuoufly you purify each of the men, as a fiatue which is to be judged of! As much, faid he, as I am able: whilfi then they continue to be foch, there will not, as I imagine, be any further difficulty to obfcrvc what kind of life remains to each of them. It muft therefore be told. And if poffibly it fhould be told with greater rullicity, imagine not, Socrates, that it is I who tetl it, but thofe who commend injufiice preferably to jufiice; and they will fay thefo things : That the jufi man, being of this difpofition, will be frourged, tormented, fettered, have his eye burnt, and lafily, having futfered all manner of evils, will be crucified; and he fhall know, that he fhould not defire ·the reality but the appearance of jufiice: and that
it
THE REPURLIC. 205
it is much more proper to pronounce that faying of .JEfchylus, con cerning the unjufl: man: for they will m reality fay that the unjufl: man, as being in purfuit of what is real, and living not according to the opinion of men, wants not to have the appearance but the reality of injufl:ice:
Reaping the h low furrow of his mind, Whence all his glorious councils bloff’om f’orth.
In the firft place, he holds the magiftracy in the ftate, being thought to be juft ; next, he marries wherever he inclines, and matches his children with whom he pleafes; he joins in pdrtnerihip and company with whom he inclines ; and, betides all this, he will fucceed in all his projects for gain ; as he does not fcruple to do injuftice : when then he engages in competitions, he will both in private and in public furpafs and exceed his adverfaries; and by this means he will be rich, and ferve his friends, and hurt his enemies : and he will amply and magnificently render facrifices and offerings to tht” Gods, and will honour the Gods, and fuch men as he choofes, much better than the juO: man. From whence they reckon, that it is likely he will be more beloved of the Gods than the juft man. Thus, they fay, Socrates, that both with Gods and men there is a better life prepared for the unjqfi man than for the juft, When Glauco had faid thefe things, I had a defign to fay fomething in reply. But his brother Adimantus faid Socratcs, you do not imagine there is yet enough faid 011 the argument. What further then? faid I. That has not yet been fpoken, faid he, which ought moll: efpecially to have been mentioned. Why then, faid I, the proverb is, A brother is help at hand. So do you affift, if he has failed in any thing. Though what has been faid by him is fufficieut to throw me down, and make me unable to fuccour ju11ice.
You fay nothing, replied he. But hear this further. For we mufl: go through all the arguments oppoiite to what he has faid, which com mend jnO:ice and condemn injufl:ice, that what Glauco feems to me to intend may be more manifeft. Now, parents furely tell and exhort their fons, as do all thofo who have the care of any, that it is neceffary to be jufi ; not commending jufl:ice in itfelf, but the honours arifing
from
2ou T H E R E J> U B L IC.
from it; that whilfl: a man is reputed to be jufl:, he may obtain by this repl!tation magifiracies and marriages, and whatever Glauco juH uow e11Umerated as the confoqueuce of being reputed jufi: but thcfo men carry this matter of re.putatiou fomcwhat further; for, throwing in the approbation of the Gods, they h:wc unfpeakable blcffi.ngs to enumerate to holy ,perfons; which, they fay, the Gods befiow. As the
,generous Hefiod and Homer fay, the one, that the Gods caufe the oaks to produce to jufr men
Acorns at top, and in the middle bees;
Their woolly !beep arc laden with their fleece•;
.and a great many other good things of the fame nature. In like manner, the other,
The blamelcfs king, who holds a godlike name, Finds his black mould both wheat and barley bear; With fruit his trees arc laden, and his flocks
Bring forth with eafe; the Cea affords him lilh •.
But Mufa:us and his fon tell us that the Gods give jul’.l: men more fplendid bldiings thau. thefe; for, carrying them in his poem into Hades, and placing them in company with holy men at a feafi pre• pared for tl1em, they crown them, and make them pafs the whole of their time in drinking, deeming eternal inebriation 3 the finefi: reward of virtue. But fome carry the rewards from the Gods ll:ill further; for they fay that the offspring of the holy, and the faithful, and their children’s children, fiill remain. \Vith thefe things, and foch as thefe, tbey commend jufiice. But the unholy and unjufi they bury in Hades, in a kind of mud 4, and compel them to carry water in a fieve; and make them, even whiHl: alive, to live in infamy. \Vhat ever punifhments were affigned by Glauco to the juft, whilfi they were reputed U1 uft0 thefe they allign to the unjufi, but mention no others. This now is the way in which they commend and difcommend them feverally: but befides this, Socrates, confider another kind of reafoning
‘ Hefiod. Opcr. et Di. lib. r. • Hom. Odylr. lib, 19.
3 By inebriation, theological pucts tignify a dei6c energy, or an energy fuperior to that
whicl. is ·n1clltlhal.
.. S., the notea to Pha:do.
concerning
T II E R. E l’ U B L r C. “20f
conrerning jufiice and injufiice, mentioned both privately and by the poets: for all of them with one mouth celebrate temperance and jufiice as indeed excelleat, but yet difficult and laborious; and intem perance and injufiice as indeed pleafant and eafy to attain; but, by’ opi11io1i only, and by law, abominable: and they fay that for the moll part unjufl: all:ions are more profitable than jufi. Aud. they are gladly willing, both in public and private, to pay honoul’ fo, wicked rich men, a id fuch as have power of any kind, and to pronounce thera happy, but to contemn and overlook thofe who- are· any how weak ·and poor, even whilfi they acknowledge them to be better than the others, But, of all thefe fpeeches, the mofi marvellous are thofe concerning the Godsr and virtue : as if even the Gods gave to many good men misfort.unes and an evil life, and to contrary perfons a contrary fate : and mounte. banks and prophets, frequenting the gates of the rich, perfuade them that they have a power granted them by the Gods, of expiating by facrifices and fongs, with pleafures and with feafiings, if any injufiice has beeu committed by any one, or his forefathers: and if he withes to l:,lafi any enemy at a fmall expenfe, he thall injure the jufi in tha fame manner as the unjuft ; by certain blandifhments and bonds, m; they fay, perfuading the Gods lo fuccour them : and to all thefe dif courfes they bring the poets as witne1fes; who, mentioning the prone nefs to vice, fay,
How vice at once, and·ea61y ii gaiit’d ;
The way is fmooth, and very nigh it dwells; Sweat before virtue ftanda, fo Hcav’n ordain’d •…..
and a cert in long and fieeP, way. Others make Homer wii:nefs how the Gods ar.e prevailed upon by men, becaufe he fays,
• • • The Goda themfelves are turn’d With facrifices and appealing vows s
Fat off’ring$ and libation them perfuade;
And for tranfgrellions fuppliant pray’r atones••.
They thew likewife many books of Mufzus and Orpheus, the offspring; _ as they fay, of the Moon, and of the Mufes; according to which they
Hc6od,.Opcr, ct Di. Jib. 1, • Hom. Diad. lib. 9•.
perform
THE REPUBLIC.
perform their facred rites, perfuading not only private perfons, but fl:atei Jikewife, that there are abfolutions and purgations from iniquities by means of facrilices, fports and pleafures ; and this, for the benefit both of the living and of the dead: thefe they call the myfl:eries ‘ which abfolve us from evils there; hut they alfert that dreadful things await thofe who do uot offer facrifice, All thefe, and fo many things of the kind, friend Socrates, being faid of virtue and vice, and their reward both with men and Gods ; what do we imagine the fouls of our youth do, when they hear them; fuch of them as are well born, and able as it were to ruih into’ all thefe things which are faid, and from all to deliberate, in what fort of chara8:er and i11 what fort of road one may beft pafs through life? It is likely he might fay to himfelf, according to that of Pindar,
Whether lhall I the lofty wall Of juO:ice try to fcale ;
Or, hedg’d within the guileful maze Of vice, encircled dwell/
For, according to what is faid, though I be juft, if I be not reputed fo, there ihall be 110 profit, but manifeft troubles and puniihments. But the imjuft man, who procures to himfelf the characl:er of jufl:ice, is faid to have a divine life. Since then the appearance furpalfes the reality, as wife men demonftrate to me, and is the primary part of happinefs, ought I not to tum wholly to it ; and to draw round myfelf as a covering, and pillurf”, the image of \’irtue ; but to draw after me the cunning and verfa tile fox of the moft wife Archilochus? But perhaps fome one will fay, It is not eaiy, being wicked, always to be concealed. Neither is any thing elfe eafy (will we fay) which is great. But, however, if we would be happy, thither let us go where the vefiiges of the reafonings lead us. For, in order to be concealed, we will make conjurations and alfociations together ; and there are mafier& of perfuafion, who teach a popular and political wifdom; by which means, whilft partly by perfuafion and partly
1’he word ufcd here by Plato is .,,,.,,…,: and this word, as we hue obfened in the intro dullion to thio book, fignifies the &rcateft of the myO:eries, or the Eleufinian. As therefor• the Crphic hyains now extant arc Co called, there can be no (oubt but that thefe were ufcdin the .Elcufinian my!teries: and thia c.onfirms what I have obfcrved in my notes to Pa11Canias.
b
THE R r PUBLIC. 209
‘by force we feize more than our due, we fhall not be puniihed. But, furely, to be concealed from the Gods, or to overpower them, is im pofiiGle.
If then they are not, or care· not about human affai1 ,, we need not have any concern about being conceale<l : but if they really are, and care for us, we·neither know nor have heard of them otherwife than from traditions, aiid from the poets who write their genealogies; and thefe very perfons tell us, that they are to be moved and perfuaded by facrifices, and appeaf ing vows, and offerings; both of which we are to believe, or neither. If then we are .to b lieve both, we may do injuftice, and of the fruits of our injufticc offer facrifice. If we bt juft, we {hall indeed be unpunithed by the Gods ; but then we fhall not have the gains of injufiice. Rut if we be unjufl:, we ihall make gain ; and after’ we- Jiave tranfgrelfed and offended, we ihall appeafc them by offerings, and be liberated from puniihment. But we ihall be puniihed in the other world for our m1juft doings here; either we ourfelves, or _our children’s children. But, fri.:nd, will the ·reafoner fay, the myfieries can do much; the Gods are exorable, as fa:, the mightieft fiates, and the children of the Gods, the poets; who are alfo their prophets, and who declare that thefe things are fo. For what reafon, then, ihould we fiill prefer j Ctice before the greatdl: injuft:ce; which if we fhall attain to with any deceiving appearance, we !hall fare according to our mind, both with reference to Gods and men, both living and dying, according to the fpeech now mentioned of many and excd lent m n ? From all that has been faid, by what means, 0 Socrates, fhall he incline to honour jull:ice, who has any ability of fortune or of wealth, of body or of birth, and not laugh when he hears it com mended? So that, though a man were able even to fhow what we have faid to be falfe, and fully undedl:ood that jull:ice is better, he will, however, abundantly pardon and not be angry with the unjufi; for he knows, that unlefs one from a divine nature abhor to do injufiice, or from ac quired knowledge abftain from it, no one of other:; is willingly jufi; but
either through cowardice, old age, or fome other weaknefs, condemns the doing injufiice when unable to do it. That it is fo is plain, For the firfi of thefe who arrives at power is the lirll: to do injufiice, as far as he is able. And the reafo11 of all this is no other than that from whence all VOL, I, :Z.E this
2.10 T H E R E P U B L I C.
this ditcourfe procee<led, Socrates, becaufe, 0 wonderful man ! among all thofe of you that call yourfclves the commcnders of jullice, beginning from thofc anticnt heroes of whom any accounts arc left to the men of the prcfent time, 110 one hath at any time coudemne·d injufiice, nor com mended jufiice, otherwife than regarding the ·reputations, honours and rewards ariting from them : but no one has hitherto fufficiently examined, neither in poetry nor in profc difcourfe, either of them in itfelf, and fob
:fiil:ing by its own power, in the foul of him who poffcffes it, and concealed from both Gods and men : how that the one is the greatefi of all the evils which the foul hath within it, and jufiice the greatcfi good : for, if it had thus from the beginning been fpoken of by you all, and you ha<l fo per foaded U3 from our youth, we (houl<l not need to watch over our neighbour lefi he ihould do us injufiice, but every man would have been the befl: guardian over himfelf, afraid left in doing injufiicc he (hould dwell with the greatefi evil: Thefe things now, Socrates, and probably much more than thefe, Thralymachus or fome other might fay of jufiice and injufiice, inverting their power, difagrecably as I imagine for my own part. But I (for I want to conceal nothing from you) being dcfirous to hear you on the oppo!ite fide, fpeak the heft I am able, pulling the contrary way. Do not, therefore, only ihow us in your reafoning that jufiice is better than injufiice ; bu tin what manner each of them by itfelf, alfccling the mind, is, the one evil, ·and the other good. And take away all opinions, as Glauco likcwife enjoined: for, if you do not take away the falfe opinions on both fidcs, and add the true oues, we will fay you do not commend ju/lice, but the appearance ; nor condemn being un juCT:, but the appearance; that you advife the unjufi man to conceal himfelf; and that you alfent to Thrafymachus that jufiice is a foreign good; the profit of the more powerful ; and that injufiice is the pro!it and advantage of oncfelf, but unprofitable to the inferior. Wherefore, now, after you have acknowledged that jufiicc is among the greatefi goods, and fuch as
,ire worthy to be pofT”effed for what arifcs from them, and much more i11 themfelvcs, and for their own fake; foch as fight, hearing, wifrfom, health, and fuch other goods as are real in their _own nature, and not merely in opinion; in the fame manner commend jufiice; how, in itfelf, it profits the owner, and injuflice h\lrts him. And leaye to others to
3 commend
TILi:: REPUBLIC, 211
commend the rewards and opinions ; for I could bear with others in this way, commending jufl:ice, and condemning injufiice, celebrating and reviling their opinions and rewards; but not with you (unlefs you dclirt· me), becaufe you have paffed the whole of life coutidering nothing elfe but this. Show us, then, in your difcourfe, not only that jufl:ice is better than injnfiice ; but in what manner each of them by itfrlf affi.:ct ing the owner, whether he be concealed or not concealed from Gods and men, is, the one good, and the other evil.
On hearing thefc things, as I always indeed was pleafed with the dif pofition of Glauco and AJimantus, fo at that time I was perfcclly de lighted, and replied: It was nut ill faid concerning you, fons of that worthy man, by the lover of Glanco, who wrote the beginning of the Elegies, when, celebrating your behaviour at the battle of Megara, he fang,
Ariil.o’s fons ! of an illu!lrious man, The race divinc . , , ..•
This, friend, feems to be well faid; for you are truly affdled in a divine manner, if you are not perli.iaded that injufiice is better than jufl:ice, and yet are able to fpeak thus in its defence: and to me you feem, truly, nut to be pcrfuaded; and 1 reafon from the whole of your other beha viour, lince, according to your prefent tpeeches at leafi, I ihould difiruft you. But the more I can trnfi you, the more I am i11 doubt what argu ment I ihall ufe. For I can neither think of any aflifiance I have to giYc (for I feem to be unable, and my mark is, that you do not accept of \\’hat I faid to Thrafymachus when I imagined I fl10wed that jufiice was better than injull:ice), nor yet can I think of giving no affill:ance; for f am afraid left it be an unholy thing to dctert jufiice when I am prefent, and fee it accufed, and not affi/1: it whilfi I breathe and am able to ipeak. It is betl: then to fuccour it in fuch a manner :;, I can. Hereupon Glauco and the refi entreated me, by all means, to affifr, and not relinquifh the difcourfe; but to fearch thoroughly what each of them is, and which way the truth lies, as to their refpective advantage. I then faid what appeared to me: That the inquiry we were attempting was not contemptible, but was that of one who was fl1arp-fighted, as I i111::1gined. Since then, faid I, we are not very expert, it feems proper to make the inquiry concerning
2 E z this
T H E R E P U B L I C.
this matter, in fuch a manner as if it were ordered thofe who are not very fharp-fighted, to read iinall letters at a di/lance; and one fhould after wards under/1:an<l, that the fame letters are greater fomewhere elfo, and in a larger field : it would appear eligible, I imagine, fidl: to read thefc, and thus come to confider the leffer, if they happen to be the fame. PerfctUy right, faid Adimantus. But what of this kind, Socrates, do you perceive in the inquiry concerni1ig ju/lice? I lhall tell you, faid I. Do not we fay there i ju/lice in one man, and there is likewife ju/lice in a whole fiate? It is certainly fo, replied he. Is not a Hate a greater objea than one man? Greater, faid he. It is likely, then, that ju/lice fhould be greater in what is greater, and be more cafy to be underfiood: we fhall firll:, then, if you in cline, inquire what it is in fiates; and then, after the fame manner, we ihall confider it in each individual, contemplating the fimilitude of the greater in the idea of the leifer. You feem to me, fai.i he, to fay right. If then, faid I, we contemplate, in our difcourfe, a 11ate exill:ing, lhall we not perceive its jull:ice and injullice exill:ing? Perhaps, faid he. And is there not ground to hope, if this exifis, that we lhall more eafily find what we feek for ? Moll: certainly. It feems, then, we ought to attempt to fucceed, for I imagine this to be a work of no fmall importance. Coufider then. We are confi<lering, faid Adimantns, and do you no otherwifo. A city, then, faid I, as I imagine, takes its rife from this, that none of us happens to be felf-fofficieut, but is indigent of many things ; or, do you imagine there is any other origin of building a city? None other, faid he. Thus, then, one taking in one perfon for oue indigence, and another for a1 other ; as they il:aud in ucc<l of many things, they aflemble into one habita tion many companions and affi/1:ants ; and to this joint-habitation we give the name city, do we not? Certainly. And they mutually exchange with one another, each judging that, if he either gives or takes in exchange, it will be for his advantage. Certainly. Come, then, faid I, let us, in our difcourfe, make a city from the beginning. An<l, it feems, our indigence has made it. \Vhy not? But the firfi and the greatell: of wants is the preparation of food, in order to fobfiil: and live. By all means. The fecond is. of lodging. The third of clothing ; and foch like. It is fo. But, come, faid I, _how fhall the city be able to make fo great a provifion ? Shall not one be a hufbandman, another a mafon, fome other a weaver? or,
fhall
T H E Il. E I’ U n L J C.
!hall w:: add to them a lhoemaker, or fome other of thofe who mini/1:er to
the necc!farics of the b:JJ y ? Certain!y. So that the moil indigent city mio-ht conlill: of four or five men? It teems fo. But, what now? muft
0
c:ich of thofe do his work for them all in co:nmon? As, the: huili.indmau,
being one, ihall he prepare food for four; and eonlume quadruple time, and labour, in preparing food, and {haring it with others ? or, neglel\ing them, !hall he for.,himfelf alone make the fourth_ part of this food, in the fourth part of the time? and, of the other three parts of time, fhall he employ one in the preparatio11 of a houle, the other in that of clothing, the other of {hoes, and not give himfdf trouble in fharing with others, but
do his own affairs bv himfelf r
Adima11tus faid_..:_And probably, Socrates, this way is more eafy than the other. No, ce1t1inly, faid I; it were abford. For, whilfi you are [peaking, I conlider that we are born not perfeclly refembling 011e another, but differing in <lifpofition; one being fitted for doing one thing, and another for doing another: does it not feem fo to you ? It does. But, what now? Whether will a man do better, if, being one, he works in many arts, or in one? When in one, faid he. But this, I imagine, is alfo plain; that if oue mifa the feafon of any work, it
is ruined. That is plain. For, I imagine, the work will not wait upon the leifure of the workman; but of neceffity the workman muft attend clofe upon the work, and not in the way of a by-job. Of neceflity. And hence it appears, that more will be done, and better, and with greater eafc, when every one does but cine thing, accordi11g to their genius, and in proper foafon, and freed from other things. Moll: certainly, faid be. But we need certainly, Adimantus, more citizens than four, for thofe provifious we mentioned: for the huiband man, it would feem, will not make a plough for himfolf, if it is to be handfomc ; nor yet a fpade, nor other i11ftrumcnts of agriculture: -as little will the mafon; for he, likewile, needs many. things: and in the fame way, the weaver and the iho maker alfo. Is it not fo? True. Joiners, then, and fmiths, and other fuch workmen, being admitted into our little city, make it throng. Certainly. But it would be no very gr_eat matter, neither, if we did not give them neatherds likewife, and ihepherds, and thofc other herdfinen; in order that both the huiliandmen
may
214 T H E R E P U B LI C.
may have oxen for ploughing, and that the mafons, with the help of the hufbandmen, may ufe the cattle for their carriages; and that the weavers likewilc, an<l the fhoemakcrs, may have hides an<l wo1il. Nor yet, faid he, would it be a very fmall city, having all thefc. But, faid I, it is almo11 impoffiblc to fet down foch a city in any fuch place as that it fhall need no importations. It is impoffible. It will then cer tainly want others fl:ill, who may import from another fiate what it needs. It will want them. And furely this fervice would be empty, if it carry out nothing which thefe want, from whom they import what they need themfelves. It goes out empty in fuch a cafe, does it
not? To me it fccms fo. But the city ought not only to make what is futficient for itfclf; but foch things, and fo much alfo, as may anfwer for thofe things which they need. It ought. Our city, then, certainly wants a great many more lrnibandmen and other workmen? A great mauy more. And other fervants betides, to import a11d export the fcveral things; and thefc arc merchants, are they not? Yes. \Ve 1hall then want merchants likewifo ? Ycs, indeed. And if the merchandife is by fea, it will want many others ; fuch as are fkilfol in fca affairs, Many others, trul ·. But what as to the city within itfelf? How will they exchange with one another the things which they have each of them worke,I; and for the fake of which, making a community, they have built a city? It is plain, faid he, in felling and buying. I-Jenee we mufi have a forum, and money, as a ij·mbol, for the fake
of exchange. ‘Certainly.
If unw the hufbanclman, or any other workman, bring any of his work to the fornm, but come not at the fame time with thofe who want to make exchange witl1 him, mufl: he not, defifiing from his work, fit idly ;n the forum ? By :10 means, faid he. But there are fome who, obfcrving thi,, let them1elves to this i rvice; anJ, it1 well-regulated cities, they are mofily 1i.1ch as are weakefl in their body, and unlit to do any other work. There they arc to attend about the forum, to give money in exchange for fuch things as any may want to fell; and things in exchange for money to fuch as want to buy. This indigence, faid J, procures our city a race of fuopkeepers; for, do not we call
,1hopkeepers, thofe who, fixed in the forum, ferve both in felling _and
buymg?
THE R E PUB L I C.
buying? but fuch as travel to other cities we call merchants. Cer tainly.
There are ftill, as I imagine, certain other minillers, who, though··
unfit to ferve the public in things which require undedl:anding, have yet fireugth of body fulficicnt for labour, who felling the ufo of their firength, and calling the reward of it hire, are called, as I imagine, hirdings: are they not? Yes, indeed. Hirelings then are, it feems, the complement of the city? It feems fo. Has our city: now, Adi mantus, already fo increafed upon us as to be complete? Perhaps.
\Vhere now, at all, {hould ju flice and inju!l:ice be in it; and, in which of the things that we have confidered does it appear to exill? I do not know, faid he, Socrates, if it he not in a certain ufe, fomehow, of thefo things with one another. Perhaps, faid I, you fay right. But we mufl: confider it, and not be weary. Fid1:, then, let us confi<ler after what manner thofo who are thus procured fhall be fupported.
Is it any other way than by making bread and wine, and clothes, and ihoes, and building houfes r 1n fummer, indeed, they will work for the
mo!l: part without clothes and thoes; and, in winter, they will be fufficicutly fornithed with clothes and {hoes ; they will be nourithed, partly with barley, making meal of it, and partly with wheat, makir g loaves, boiling part and toafiing part, putting fine loaves and cakes over a fire of fiubblc, or over dr:e<l leaves; and refiing themfelves 011 couches, firawed with fmilax and myrtle leaves, they and their children. will feafl:; drinking wine, and crowned, and finging to the Gods, they will plcafantly live together, begetting children, not beyond their fob.. • il:ance, guarding againfl: poverty or war.
Glauco replying fays, You make the men to feafi, as it- appears, without meats. You fay true, faid I ; for I forget that they ihall have meats likcwife. They thall have fair, and olives, and cheefe; and they !hall boil bulbous roots, and herbs of the field ; .and we iet before them ddferts of figs, and vetches, and . beans; and • they will toafl: at the fire myrtle berries, and the berries of the beech-tree; drinking in moderation, and thus paffing their life in peace and health; and dying, as is likely, in old age, they will leave to their children another. fuch life. If you had been making, Socrates, faid he, a city af hogs,
what
‘216 T II E R E P U B L I C,
what elfe would you have fed them with but with thcfe things r But how lhoul<l we do, Glauco? faid I. \Vhat is ufually done, faid he. They mufl:, as I imagine, have their beds, and tables, and meats, and ddferts, as we now have, if they are not to be mifcrable. Be it fo, faid I ; I underfl:and you. \Ve confider, it fcems, not only how a city may exiO:, hut ·how a luxurious city: and perhaps it is not amifs; for, in confidcring fuch an one, we may probably fee how jufiice and in jullice have ·-their origin in cities. But the true city fccms to me to be fuch an one as we have defcribed; like one who is healthy; but if
:you incline that we likewife confider a city that is corpulent, nothing hinders 1t. For thefe things will not, it fcems, pleafe fome ; nor this fort of life fatisfy them ; but there lhall be beds, and tables, and all other furniture; feafonings, ointments, and perfumes; mifireffcs, and confeltions, and various kinds of all thefe. And we mufi no lo11ger confider as alone· ncceffary what we mentioned at the firfi; houfes, and clothes, and lhoes; but painting too, and all the curious arts mufi be fet a-going, and carving, and gold, and ivory; and all thefe things mufl: be procured, mufi they not? Yes, faid he, Mufi not the city, then,
be larger r For that healthy one is no longer fufficient, but is already
full of luxury, and of a crowd of foch as are no way neccffary to cities; fuch as all kinds of fporttinen, and the imitative artifis, many·of therri imitating in fi_;:;ures and colours, and others• in mufic: poets too, and their minificrs, rhapfo<lifis, actors, dancers, undertakers, workmen of all forts of infiruments ; and what has reference to female ornaments, as well as other things. \Ve fhall need likewife many more fervants, Do not you think they will require pedagogues, and nurfes, and tutors, hair-drdfers, barbers, viltualler too, an<l cooks? And further fiill, we
ih.ril want twine-herds likewifc : of thefe there were n:me in the other
city, (for there needed uot) but in this we ll1all want thefe, an<l many other forts of herds likewife, if any eat the feveral animals, iliall we not? Why nod Shall we not then, in this manner of life, be much more in need of phyficians than formerly? Much more., 1\nd the country, which was then fofficient to fopport the inhabitants, will, inllead of being fufficient, become too little; or how lhall we fay? Iu this way, faid he, fofl we tiot then encroach upon the neighbouring country, if we want
tc
T H E R E P U B L I C. 217
to have fuHicient fnr plough and p:i./h1rc, and they, in like manner, on us, it they likcwilc {dL·r thcal! L·cs to accu;nulatc wealth to infinity; going beyond the boundary of n cdLrie. ? There is great m:ccffity for it, So crates. Shall we after\\’ards fight, Glauco, or how fhall we do ? \Ve fhall certainly, faiJ he. Rut we fay nothing, faid I, whether war docs any evil, or any good; but t,;us much only, that we have found the origin of war: from whence, m,1Cl: clpccially, arik the greatefl: mifchiefs to fl:atcs, both private am! puGlic. Ye,, indeed. \Ve !hall need; then, fric’.Hl, fiill a larga cit_v; not f,>r :t foul\ but for a large army, who, in going out, may ti,;ht with thole w:m :tiLult them, for their whole fub
il:ance, and e,·,-r, thing we Lave now mentioned. \Vhat, faid he, are not thclc IL1llicic:11t to figlit i No; if yon, at leafi, faid I, and all of us, have rightly agrc,cl, w!1c11 we formc·d our city : and we agreed, if you remember, that it wa, impoffiblc for one to perform many arts hand fomel_r. You fay true, faid he. \Vhat, then, faid I, as to that conteO: of war ; does it not appear to require art? Vcry much, faid he. Ought we then to take more care of the art of iliac-making than of the art of making war? By no means. But we charged the. ilioe-makcr neither
to undertake at the fame time to be a hufbandman, nor a wea,·er, nor a mafon, but a {hoc-maker ; that the work of that art may be done for us handfomely : and, in like manner, we allotted to every one of the reO: one thing, to which the genius of each led him, and what each took care of, freed from other thi;1gs, to do it well, applying to it the whole of his life, and not negle::cting the feafons of working. And now, as to the affairs of war, whether is it of thc greatdl: importance, that tl1ey be well performed? Or, is this fo ea1y a thing, that one may be a huf bandman, and likcwi!i.: a foldicr, :111d i110e-makcr ; or be employed iu any other art ? But not evrn at cbcls, or dice, can one ever play fkilfull:r, unlcfs he fiudy this very thing from his childhood, and not make it a by-work. Or, i11all one, taking a ipcar, or any other of the warlike arms and infiruments, become infiantly aa expert combatant, in an en counter in arms, or in any other relating to war? And, fhall the taking 11p of no other infl:rument make a workman, or a wrcfiler, nor be ufeful to him who has neither the knowledge of that particular thing, nor has VOL, 1. 2 F beflowcd
218 T II E R E P U B L I C.
bcfiowed the fiudy fufficient for its attainment? Such infiruments, faid he, woitld truly be very valuable.
By how much then, faid I, this work of gnanls is one of the greatefi importance, by fo much it lhould require the grcatefi leifurc from other things, and likcwife the greatefi art and fiudy. I imagine fo, rcrlie<l he. And fhall it not likewifr require a competent genius for this profdiion? Why not? It fhould furely be our bulinels, as it foems, if we be able, to choofe who and ·what kind of geniuses arc competent for the gqardian- 01ip of the city. Oms, indeed. \Ve have truly, faid I, undertaken no mean bufinefs ; but, however, we arc not to dclpair, fo long at leafi as we have any ability. No indeed, faid he. D,i you think then, faid I, that the genius of a generous whelp differs any thing for guardian!hip, from that of a generous youth? \Vhat is it you lay ? It is this. Mufi not each of them be acute in the perception, fwift to purfue what they perceive, and firong likewite if•there is need to conquer what they fhall catch? There is need, faid he, of all thefe. And forely he mufi be brave likewife, if he fight well. Why not? But will he be brave who is not fpirited, whether it is a horfc, a dog, or any other animnl? Or, have you not obferved, that the fpirit is fomewhat unfurmountable and invincible ; by the pretence of which every fmil is, in 1·efpell: of all things whatever, unterrilied and un conquerable ? I hav.e obforved it. It is plain then what fort of a guard we ought to have, with reference to his body. Yes, and with reference to his foul, that he lhould be fpirited. This likewife is plain. How then, [aid I, Glauco, will they not be favage towards oue another and the other citizens, being of foch a temper? No truly, faid he, not ca(ily. But yet it is necelfary, that towards their friends they be meek, and fierce towards their enemies; for otherwife they will not wait till others deil:roy them ; but they will prevent them, doing it thcmfelves, True, faid he. What then, fa.id I, ihall we do ? Where fhall we find, at once, the mild and the magnanimous temper? For the mild dilpofition is fome bow oppofite to the fpirited. It appears fo. But, however, if he be de prived of either of thefe, he cannot be a good guardian ; for it feems to be i.mpoffiblc; and thus it appears, that a good guardian is an impofiible (hiJJg. It feeJl)s fo, fajd he. After hefrtating and confidering what had
pa/fed:
T II E R E P U B L I c:
paff’cd: Jufily, faid I, friend, are we in doubt; for we have departed from that image which we firfi ethbli/hed. How fay you ? have we not ob fcrvcd, that there are truly fuch tempers as we were not imagining, who have thefe oppofite things? Where then? One may fee it in other animals, and not a little in that one with which we compared our guar dian. For this, you know, is the natural temper of generous dogs, to be mofi mild towards their domefiics and their acquaintance, but the re
verfe to thofe they know not. It is fo. This then, faid I, is poffible ; and it is not again.ft nature that we rtquire our guardian. to be fuch an one. It fcems not. Are you, further, of this opinioA, that he who is to be out guardian !hould, bcfitles being fpirited, be a philofopher likewife? How? faid he; for I do not underfiand you.. This, likewife, faid I, you will obferve in the dogs ; and it.. is worthy of admiration in the brute. As what ? He is angry at whatever unknown perfon he foes, though he hath never fuffered any ill from him before ; but he is fond of whatever acquaintance he fees, though .he has never at any time received any good from him. Have you not wondered at this ? I never, faid he, muclt attended to it before ; but, that he does this, is plain. But, indeed, this. affetlion of his nature feems to be an excellent dilpofition1 and truly phi)o.. fophical. As how ? As, faid I, it difiingui/hes between a friendly and unfriendly afpecl, by nothing eHe but this, that it knows the one, but is ignorant of the othf’r. How, now, !hould not this be deemed the love of
learning, which difiingui/hes what is friendly and what is foreign, by knowledge and ig_norance? It can no way be !hown- why it !hould not; But, however, faid I, to be a lover of learning, and a philofopher, are• the fame. The fame, faid he. May we not then boldly fettle it, That in man too, if any one is to be of a mild difpofition towards his domefiics. and acquaintance, he mufi be. a philofopher and a lover of learning? Let us fottle it, faid he. He then who is to be a good and worthy gu;r.. dian for us, of the city, fuall be a philofopher, and fpirited, and 1wifr, and firong in his difpofition. By all means,.fuid he. Let then our guardian,. faid I, be foch a11 one. But in what manner !hall thefe be educated for us,. and infirufted ? And .will the confideration of this be of_any affifiance in
p.erceiving that for the fake of which we confider every thing elfe? In·
what manner jufiice and injufiice arife in the city, that• we may not’.
:z.J’ :1.. omit:
220 T H E R E PU B LI C.
omit a neceffary part of the difcourfe ; nor confider what is ft1perfluous ? The brpther of Glauco faid : I, for my part, greatly expect that this in quiry will be of affifiance to that. Truly, faid I, friend Adimantus, it is
not to be omitted, though it fhould happen to be fomewhat tedious. No, truly. Come then, let us, as if we were talking in the way of fabk, and at our leifure, educate thefo men in our rcafoning. It mufl: be done. \Vhat then is the education ? Or, is it difficult to iinJ a better than that which was found long ago, which is, gymna!l:ic for the body, and mufic for the mind? It is indeed. Shall we 11ot then, fidl:, bt>gin with infl:rucling them in mufic, rather than in gymnafiic? Why not ? \Vhen you fay mulic, you mean difcourles, do you not? I do: but of difcourfes there are two kind, ; the one true, and the other falfe. There are. And thej muft be educated in them both, and firfi in the falfc. I do not under fiand, faid he, what you mean, Do not you underfiand, faid I, that we firfi of all tell children fables ? And this part of mufic, fomehow, to fpeak in the general, is falfc; yet there is truth in them ; and we ac cu!l:om children to fables before their gymnafiic exercifes. \Ve do fo. Thi then is what I meant, when lfa.id that children were to begin mulic before gyinnafiic. Riirht, faid he. And do you not know that the be ginning of every work is of the greatefi importance, efpecially to any one young and tender 0? for then truly, in the eafiefi manner, is form<:d and taken on the imprcffion which one inclines.to imprint on e\’ery incli\’idnal. It is entirdy fo. &hall we then fofrer the children to hear any kind of fables compo!ed by any kind of perfons ; and to receive, for the moll: part, into their minds, opinions contrary to thofo we judge the:,: ought to lia\’e when they are grown up? \Ve fhall by no means fi.1ffer it. Firt1 <,f all, then, we mu/t pretide over the fable-makers. And whatever b:autifol fable they make mull: be choten; and what arc ,,thcrwiic muil: be n: jecled ; and we ihall perluade the nurles and mothers to tell the children
{uch fables as fhall be chof<.:n ; and to faihiou their minds by fable,, much more than their bodies by their hands. But the mofi of what thev tell them at pretent n,ufi be thrown ou:. As ,vhat i fai,I 1-:c. In the g;·eatcr one , faid I, we fhall J e the lcller likewifo. For the f,dhi,,n of tLcm mull be l,,e fan:e ; aui Loth the greater and the 1 1for mufl: kt\’C the fame km.i of puwer. D0 uot you think fo ? I do, la;J he : but I do not at
all
T H E R E P U B L I C. 221
all uncledl-ancl which you call the greater one . Thofe, fai<l I, which Hcfiod and Homer tell us, and the other poets. For they compofed falfc fables to mankind, and told them as they do {l:ill. Which, faid he, do you mean, and what is it you blame .in them ? Tint, fi.tid I, which firll: of all and moll: elpecially ought to be blamed, when one does not falfify han<lfomely. What is that ? \\’hen one, in his compofition, gives ill reprelentations of the nature of Gods and heroes’: as a painter draw ing a picture in no refpccl: refembling what he withed t,i paint. It is right, faid he, to blame fuch things a; thcfc. But how have they failed, fay we, and as to what? Fidl: of all, with reference to that greatell: lie, and matters of the grcatell: importance, he did not lie hand!,,mely, who told how Heaven did what Hcfiod fays he did; and then again how Saturn punilhed him, and what Saturn did, and what he fuffered from his fon : For though thefe things were true, yet l lhould not imagine they ought to he fo plainly told to the unwife and the young, but ought much rather to be concealed. But if there were a neceffity to tell them, they fhouid be heard in focrecy, by as few as poffible; after they had facri ficed not a hog, but fome great atlll wonderful facrifice, that thus the fewdl: poffible might chance to hear them.
Thcfe fables, faid he, are indeed truly hurtful. And not to be men tioned, Adimantus, faid I, in our city. Nor is it to be faid in the hearing of a youth, that he who does the mofl: extreme wickedncis docs nothing
:firange; nor he who in every lhape punif11es his unjufi father, but that he does the fame as the firll: and the grcatcll: of the Gods. No truly, faid he, thefo things do not foem to me proper to be faitl. Nor, univerfally, faid J, muO: it be t1Jld how Gods war with Gods, and plot and fight againll: one another, (for foch alfertions are not true,)-if, at leaO:, thole who arc to guard the city for us ought to account it the moil: fhameful thing to hate one another on flight grounds. As littk crnght \YC to tell in fables, and embelli{h to them, the battles of the giauts ; and many other all various feuds, both of tile Gods and heroes, with their own kindred
:ind relations. But if we are at all to pcrfoaclc them that at no time fhonld one citizen hate another, and th:it it is unholy ; foch things as thcfo are rather to be faid to them imm·cdiatcly when they are children,
J by
222 THE REPUBLIC.
by the old men and women, and by thofe well advanced in life ; and. the poets are to be obligeJ to compofe agreeably to thcfe things. But Juno fettered by her fon, and Vulcan hurled from heaven by his father for going to af1ifi his mother when beaten, aud all thofe battles of the Gods which Homer has cornpofed, muft not be admitted into the city; whether they be compofed in the way of allegory, or without allegory;. for the young perfon is not able to judge what is allegory and what is not : but whatever opinions he receives at fuch an age are with difficulty waihed away, and are generally immoveable. On thefe accounts, one would imagine, that, of all things, we ihould endeavour that what they are firfi to hear be compofed in the mofi handfomc manner for exciting them to virtue. There is reafon for it, faid he. But, if any one 110w ihould
aik us concerning thefe, what they are, and what kind of fables they are, which !hould we name i And I faid : Adimantus, you and I are not poets
at prefent, but fuunders of a city ; and it belongs t the founders to know the models according to which the poets are to compofe their fables; contrary to which if they compofe, they are not to be tolerated;. but it belongs not to us to make fables for them. Right, faid he. But. as to this Yery thing, the models concer.ning theology, which are they?. Some fuch as thefe, faid l. God is a·lway to b reprefented fuch as he is, whether one reprefent him in epic, in fong, or in tragedy. This, ought to be done. Is not God elfe11tially good, and is he not to be de fcribed as fuch? ‘Without doubt. But nothing which is good is hurt• fol; is it? I does not appear to me that it is. Does, then, that which is not hurtful ever do hurt ? By no means.. Does that which does. no hurt do any evil? Nor this neither.. And what does 110 evil can- not be the caufe of any evil. How can it? But what?· Good is ene ficial. Yes, It is, then, the caufo of welfare? Yes. Good, therefore, is not the caufe of all things, but the caufe of thofe thiugs whicli are. in a right fiate ; but is not the caufe of thofe things which are in a wrong. Entirely fo, faid he. N.cither, then, can God, faid I, Jince he is good, be, the caufe of all things, as the many fay, but he is the caufe of a. few things to men; but of many things he is not the caufc ;_ for our good things are m\1ch fewer than our C\’il: and no. other than God is the caufe 0£
OU[.
T H E R E P U B L I C.
our good things; but of our evils we mull: not make God the caufe, but feek for fome other. You feem to me, foid he, to fpeak mofi true. \Ve mull not, then, faid I, either admit Homer or any other poet trefpatriug fo fooli!hly with reference to the Gods, and faying, how
Two vefl’els on Jove’s threO,oJ.I ever nand, The fource of evil one, and one of good.
The man whofe lot Jo1·e mingles out of borh, By good and ill alternately is rul’d.
llut he whofe portion is unmingled ill, O’er facrd earth by famine dire is driv’n 1•
Nor that Jupiter is the difj:>enfer of our good and evil. or, if any one fay that the violation of oaths and treaties by Pandarus was etfecl:ed by Minerva and Jupiter, !hall we commend it. Nor that diifenfion among the Gods, and judgment by Themis and Jupiter. Nor yet mufl we fulfer the youth to hear what ./Efr:hylus fays ; how,
Whenever God inclines to raze
A houfe, himfclf contrives a caufe.
But, if any one make poetical compofitions, in which are thefe iambics, the fofferings of Niobe, of the Pelopides, or the Trojans, or others of a like uature’, we mu.fl: either not folfer them to fay they are the works of God; 1or, if of God, we mull: find that reafon for them which we now reqL1ire, aud we muft fay that God did what was jufl: and good ; and that they were benefited by being chafiifod: but we mufi not fotfer a poet to fay, that they are miferable who are punifhed; and that it is God who does thefe things. But if they fay that the wicked, as being miferable, needed cor recl:ion; and that, in being puni!hed, they were profited by God, we may foffer the affertion. Rut, to fay that Gou, who is good, is the caufe of ill to any one, this we mull: by all means oppofe, nor fuffer any one to fay fo in his city; if he wi!hes to have it well regulated. Nor mull: we permit any one, either young or old, to hear foch things told in fable, either in verfe or profe; as they are neither agreeable to fancl:ity to be told, nor profitable to us, nor confiftent with themfelves.
I vote along with you, faid he, in this law, and it pleafes me. This,
!. Hom. Iliad. lib, 24.
then,
22.j. T H E R E I’ U B L I C.
then, faid I, may be one of the laws and models with refrrenee to the Gods: by which it {hall be· 11cceffary tlrnt thofo who Ji,eak, and who compofe, ihall compofoar:d J;ry that Cod is not the eaufe of all things, but of good, Yes, indeed, faid he, it is neceffary. But what as to this fecond law? Think you that God is a butfoou, and infidioufly appears, at different times, in different ihapes; fomctimes like himfelf; and, at other times, changing his appearance into many {hapes ; fometimes deceiving us, and making us conceive falfe opinions of him ? Or, do you conceive him to be fimple, and departing the leaO: of all things from his proper form ? I cannot, at prcfent, at leafl:, replied he, fay fo. But what as to this ? If any thing be changed from its proper form, is there not a ucceffity that it be changed by itfelf, or by another ? Undoubtedly. Are not thofe things which are iu the befi fiatc, lcafi of all changed and moved by any other thing? as the body, by meats and drinks, all!l labours: and every vege table by tempefis and winds, and fuch like accidents. Is not the mofi: found and vigorous lcafi of all changed ? \Vhy not ? And as to the foul itfelf, will not any perturbation from without, lcafi of all diforder and change the mofi brave and wife? Y cs. And furely, fomehow, all veffels which are made, and buildings, and vefiment , according to the fame reafoning, foch as are properly worked, and in a right fiate, are leafi changed by time, or other accidents? They arc fo, indeed. Every thing then which is in a good fiatc, either by nature, or art, or both, receives the fmallefi change from any thing clfe. It fccms fo. But God, and every thing belonging to divinity, arc in the bcfi fiate. Why not? In this way, then, God {hould leafi of all have many ihapes. LcaO: of all, truly. But ihould he change and alter himfelf? It is plain, faid he, if he be changed at all, \Vhether then will he change himfolf to the better, and to the more handfomc, or to the worfc, and the more deformed ? Of neceffity, replied he, to the worte, if he be changed at all; for we ihall never at any time fay, that God is any way deficient with refpell: to beauty or excdlencc. Y,n1 fay mofl: right, faid I. And this being fo; do you imagine, Adimantus, that any one, either of Gods or men, would will ingly make himfclf any way worfe? It is impoffible, faid he. It is impoffiblc, then, faid I, for a God to defire to change himfelf; but each of them, being mofi beautiful and excellent, continues always, to the
utmo.fi
T H E R E P U B L r C. 225
utmoft of liis power, inrnriably in his own form. This appears to me, at leaft, faid he, wholly neceffary. Let not, then, faid I, mofi excellent Adimantus, any of the poets tell us, how the Gods,
, • , , .. at times rcfcmbling foreign gucfis, Wander o’er cities i11 all-various forms•.
Nor let any one belie Proteus and Thetis. Nor bring in Juno, in tragedies or other poems, as having transformed herfelf like a priel1efs, and collccl:ing for the lifc-fuftaining fons of Inachus the Argive River. Nor let them tell us many other fuch lies. Nor let the mothers, perfuaded by them, affright their children, telling the fiories wrong ; as, that certain Gods wander by night,
Refcmbling various gucfis, in various forms,
that they may not, at one and the fame time, blafpheme againfi the Gods, and render their children more dafiardly. By no means, faid he. But are the Gods, faid I, fuch as, though in themfelves they never change, yet make us imagine they appear in various forms, deceiving us, and playing the mountebanks? Perhaps, faid he. But what, faid I, can a God cheat ; holding forth a phantafin, either in word or deed ? I do not know, faid he. Do not you know, faid I, that what is truly a cheat, if we may be allowed to fay fo, both all the Gods and men abhor? How do you fay? replied he. Thus, faid I : That to offec. a cheat to the mofi prin cipal part of themfelves, and that about their moll: principal intere.ll:s, is \\hat none willingly incline to do; but, of all things, every one is moll: afraid of potfeffing a cheat there. Neither as yet, faid he, do I under fi:md you. Becaufe, faid I, you think I am faying fomething venerable: but I am faying, that to cheat the foul concerning realities, and to be fo cheated, and to be ignorant, and there to have obtained and to keep a cheat, is what every one would leail: of all choofe; and a cheat in. the foul is what they moft efpecially hate. Moll: efpecially, faid he. But this, as I was now faying, might moll: juftly be called a true cheat,-igno rance in the foul of the cheated perfon : fince a cheat in words is but
OdyJr. lib. 17. vcr. 485.
VOL, I,
G a kind
T H E R E P U B L 1 C,
a kind of imitation of what the foul feds ; and an image afterwards arifing, and not altogether a pure cheat. Is it not fo ? Entirely. But this real lie is not only hated of the Gods, but of men likewite. So it appears. But what now ? With rcfpeft to the cheat in words, whe11: has it fomething of utility, fo as not to deferve hatred? Is it not when employed towards our enemies ; and fome even of thofe called ciur friends; when in madnefs, or other difiemper, they attempt to do fome mifchiefl In that cafe, for a difiuafive, as a drug, it is ufeful. And in thofe fables. we were now mentioning, as we know not how the truth fiands con• cerning autient things, making a lie refembling the truth, we render it ufeful as much as poffib]e. It is, faid he, perfealy fo. In which the11 of thefc cafes is a lie ufeful to God ? Whether does he make a lie refem•
bling the truth, as being ignorant of antient things? That were ridiculous,. faid he. God is not then a lying poet. I do not think it. But fhould he make a lie through fear of his enemies? Far from it. But on account of the folly or madnefs of his kindred? But, faid he, none of the foolilh and mad are the friends of God. There is then no occafion at all for God to, make a lie. There is none. The divine and godlike nature is then, in, all refpeas, without a lie? Altogether, faid he. God then is fimple and. true, both in word and deed ; neither is he changed himfelf. nor does he deceive others; neither by vifions, nor by difcourfe, nor by the pomp of figns; neither when we are awake, nor when we fleep. So it appears, faid he, to me, at leafi whilft you are fpeaking. You agree then, faid I, that this fhall be the fecond model, by which we are to fpeak and to compofe concerning the Gods: that they are neither mountebanks, to change them,. felves; nor to miflead us by lies, either in word or deed? I agree. Whilft then we commend many other things in Homer, this we fhall not commend, the dream fent by Jupiter to Agamemnon; nt:ither ihall we commend
.!Efchylus, when he makes Thetis fay that Apollo had fung at her mar
riage, that
A comely off’spring Ole lhould raire, from ficknefs free, of lengtben’d days: Apollo, fmging all my fate,
And prai6ng high my Godlike ftate, Rejoic’d m:, heart I and ‘twa1 my hope, That all waa true Apollo (poke;
l!ut
Ta E R E P U B L I C,
But he, wl10, at my marriage feaft, Extoll’d me thus, and was my gucft; He who did thus my fate explain,
ls he who now my fon hath Oain,
When any one fays fuch things as thefe of the Gods, we thall thow dif. pleafure, and not afford the chorus : nor thall we fuffer teachers to make ufe of fuch things in the education of the youth ; if our guardians are to be pious, and divine men, as far as it is pofiihle for man to be. I agree with you, faid he, perfealy, as to thefe models; and we may ufe them as laws.
THE END 011’ THE SECOND BOOK,
:JG :.I
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK III.
THESE things indeed then, faid I, and fuch as thcfe, are, as it foems, what are to be heard, and not heard, concerning the Gods, immediately from childhood, by thofc who are to honour the Gods and their parents, and who are not to defpife friendihip with one another. And I imagine,. replied he, that thefe things have appeared right. But, what now? If they are to be brave, mufr not thcfe things be narrated to them, and fuch other likewife as may render them .leafl: of all afraid of death? Or,. do you imagine that any one can ever be brave whiHl: he has this fear within him? Not I, truly, faid he. But what? do you think that any one can be void of a fear of deat!-i, whilfl: he imagines that there is Hades,, and that it is dreadful; and, that in battles he witJ choofe death before defeat and flavery ? By no means.
We ought then. as it feems, to give orders likewife to thofe who under take to difcourfe about fables of this kind; and to entreat them not to, reproach thus in general the things in Hades, but rather to commend· them; as they fay neither what is true, nor what is profitable to thofe who are to be foldiers. We ought indeed, faid he. Beginning then, fuid, I, at this verfe, we 1hall leave out all of fuch kind, as this ;
And,
that
I’d rather, as a ruftic fiave, fubmit
To fome mean man, who had but fcanty fare,
Tban govern all the wretched lhades below ‘.
The houfe, to mortals and immortals, feems Dreadful and fqualid; and what Gods abhor 1
Hom. OdyJr. lib, IJ,
And,
And, And,
And,
And,
Aud,
T HE RE P U BL I C.
0 ftrange! in Pluto’s dreary realms to find Soul and it1 image, but no fpark of mind,
.He’s wife alone, th reft are llutt’ring lhades. The foul to Hades from its members fled 1
And, leaving youth and manhood,. wail’d its fate.
, …• ,. the.foul, like fmoke, down to the lhades
Fled howling,’. .•
As, in the hollow of a fpacious cave,
The owls fly (creaming; if one chance to fall Down from the rock, they all confus’dly fly; So thefe together howling went •. , , ,
We {hall reque!l: Homer and the other· poets not to be indignant if we raze thefe things, and fuch as thefe ; not that they are not poetical, and pleafant to many to be heard ; but, the rriore poetical they are, the lefs
ought they to be heard by children, and men who ought to be free, and more
afraid of fiavery than of death. By all means, truly. Further, are not all dreadful and frightful names about thefe things likewife to be rejetled ? Cocytus, and Styx, thofe in the infernal regions, and the dead, and fuch other appellations,.in this form, fuch as·terrify all who hear them. Thefe may perhaps, ferve fome other purpofe: but we are afraid for our guardiarn,; left, by fuch a terror, they be rendered more effem_inate and foft than they ought to be, We are rightly afraid of it, faid he. Are thefe then to be taken away? They are. And they mu!l: fpeak and compofe on a contrary model. That is plain. We !hall take away likewife, the be-. wailings and lamentations of illuftrious men. This is neceffary, if what is above be fo. Confider then, faid I, whether we rightly take away, or not, And do not we fay, that the worthy man will ·imagine that to die is not a dreadful thing to the worthy mau whofe companion he is? We fay fo. Neither then will he lament over him, at lea , as if his friend· fuffered fomething dreadful. No, indeed. _’\nd we fay this Jikewife, that fuch an one is moft of all fufficient in himfelf, for the purpofe of living
.’ Hom, 11, lib, 22, • Hom, Odyff. lib, 17.
happilyt
THE REPUBLIC.
happily, a11d that, in a difiingui1hed manner from others, he is leafi of all indigent. True, faid he. It is to him, then, the leaft dreadful to be deprived of a fon, a brother, wealth, or any other of fuch,like things. Leafi of all, indeed. So that he will leafi of all lament ; but endure, in the mildefi manner, when any fuch misfortune befalls him. Certainly. We 1hall rightly then take away the lamentations of famous men, and affign them to the women, but not to the better fort, and to fuch of the men as are dafiardly; that fo thofe whom we propofe to educate for the guardian1hip of the country may difdain to make lamentations of this kind, Right, faid he. We !hall again then entreat Homer, and the other poets., not to fay in their compofitions, that Achilles, the fon of a Goddefs,
Nor how
Lay fometimea on his fide, and then aAOn Supine ; then grov’ling ; rifing then again, Lamenting wander’d on the banen lhore ‘,
With both his hands
He pour’d the burning duft upon his head•.
Nor the reft: of his lamentation, and bewailing ; fuch and fo grea as he has compofed. Nor that Priam, fo near to the Gods, fo meanly fupplicated, and rolled himfelf in the dirt : ” Calling on every foldier by his name 3.”
But frill much more mull: we entreat them not to make the Gods, at
leafi, to bewail, and fay,
Ah wretched me I unfortunately brave
A fon I bore.
And if they are not thus to bring in the Gods, far lefs 1hould they dare to reprefeot the greatefi of the Gods in fo unbecoming a mamle( as this:
Uow dear a man, around the town purfu’d,
Mine eyes behold ! for which my heart is griCY’d: Ah me !.’tis fated that Patroclus kill
Sa,pedon ; whom, of all men, moll: I love•.
1 Hom. lliacl. lib. 22.
J Hom. Iliad. lib, 2 2.
3
Hom. Iliad. lib, 24.
Hom, Iliad, lib. 1 a.
For,
T H E :R E PU B L I C.
For, if, friend Adimantus, our youth ihould ferioufly hear foch things as thefe, and not laugh at them as fpoken moil: unfuitably, hardly would any one think it unworthy of himfelf, of himfelf being a man, or check him felf, if he ihould happen either to fay or to do any thing of the kind; but,. without any ihame or endurance, would, on _fmall fufferings, fing many lamentations and moans. You fay moil: true, replied he. They mull: not, therefore, do in this manner, as our reafoning now has evinced. to us ; which we mufi: believe, till fome one perfuade us by fome better.. They mufi: not, indeed. But, furely, neither ought we to be given to.
exceffive laughter; for, where a man gives himfelf to violent laughter, fuch:
a difpofition commonly requires a violent change.. It feems fo, faid he. Nor, if any one !hall reprefent worthymen as overcomCl by laughter, mufi: we allow it, much lefs if he thus reprefcnt the Gods. Much lefs, indeed,. faid he. Neither, then, thallwc reccivefuch things as thcfe from·Homer: concerning the Gods :
Vulcan miniftrant when the Gods beheld, Amidll them laughter unutinguilh’d rofc ••
This is not to be admitted, according to your reafoning; If you incline, faid he, to call it my reafoning; this, indeed, is not to be admitted. But furely the truthis much more to be valued, _.For1if tely we reafoned righi. and if indeed a lie be-unprofitable to the Gods, but ufeful to men, in the way of a drug, it is plain that foch a thing is to he entrutl:ed only to the phyficians, but not to be. touched by private perfons.. It is plain, faid he. It belongs then to the governors of the city, if to any others, to make a lie, with reference either to enemies or citizens, for the geod of the city ; but none of the refi: mufi venture on fuch a thing. But for a private perfon to tell a lie to fuch governors ; we will call it the fame, ana even a greater offence, than for the patient to tdl a lie to the phyfician; or for· the man who learns his exercifes, not to tell his mall:er the truth as to the indifpofitions of his body : or for one nQt to tell the pilot the real ftate of things, refpelling the thip and failor$, in what condition himfelf and the other failors are. Moft true, faid he. But if you find in, the city any one elfe making a lie,
1 Hom. lliad, lib. ,.
. •.of.
232 THE REPUBLIC,
. of thofe who artiils are,
Or prophet, 01· phylician, or who male The fhafts of fpears .. , .. ,
you ihall puniih them, as introducing a practice fubverfive and clcllruclive of the city, as of a ihip. We mufi do fo; if indeed it is upon fpeech that act.ions are completed. But what? ihall not our youth have need of temperance? Certainly. And are not foch things as thcfe the principal parts of temperance? that they be obedient to their governors; that the governors themfelves be temperate iu drinking, fcafiing, and in venereal pleafures. And we ihall fay, I imagine, that fuch things as thefe are well fpokeu, which. D.iomcd fays in Homer:
Sit thou in {ilcnce, and obey my fpeech •.
And what follows; thus,
The Greeks march’d on in lilence, breathing force 1
Revering their commanders; • . , , ,
and fuch like. Well fpoken. But what as to thefe? “Thou drunkard with dog’s eyes, and heart of deer 3 ;” and all of this kind, are thefe, or fuch other juvenile things, which any private perfon may fay againfi their governors, fpoken handfomely? Not handfomely. For I do not ima gine that when they are heard they are fit to promote temperance in youth; and though they may afford a pleafure of a different kind, it is no wonder. But what do you think? Jufi the fame way, faid he, But what of this? To make the wifeft man fay, that it appears to him to be the mofi beauti ful of all things,
. To fee the tables full
Of 8elh and dainties, and the butler bear The wine in flagons, and fill up the cup•:
is this p1oper for a youth to hear, in order to obtain a command over himfelf? Or yet this?
… , Moll: miferable it is,
To die of famine, and have adverfe fate •.
1 Hom. Iliad. lib, 4. • Hom. Iliad. lib. 4,
a Hom. Iliad. lib. 1. • Hom, Od, lib, 12. s Hom. Iliad, lib, 6,
Or,
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Or that Jupiter, through de/ire of venereal pleafores, ealily forgetting all thofo things which he alone awake revolved in his mind, whilft other Gods and men were afleep, was fo O:ruck, on feeing Juno, as not even to be witling to come into the houfe, but wanted to embrace her 011 the ground ; and at the fame time declaring that he is polfelfed with fuch defire, as exceeded what he felt on their lirft connexion with each other,
. Hid from their parents dear’.
Nor yet how Mars and Venus were bound by Vulcan, and other fuch things. No, by Jupiter, faid he. Thefe things do not feem fit. But if any inO:ances of felf-denial, faid I, with refpect to all thefe things be told, and praclifed by eminent men, thefe are to be beheld and heard. Such as this:
He beat his breall, and thus reprov’d his heart: Endure, my heart! thou heavier fate haft borne.
By all means, faid he, we thould do thus. Neither mufi: we futfer men to receive bribes, nor to be covetous. By no means, Nor muft we fing to them, that
Gifts gain the Gods and venerable kings.
Nor mull: we commend Phrenix, the tutor of Achilles, as if he fpoke with moderation, in counfelling him to accept of prefents, and affiil the Greeks ; but, without prefents, not to defill from his wrath. Neither thall we commend Achilles, nor approve of his being fo covet;us as to receive prefents from Agamemnon; and likewife a ranfom to give up the dead body of Hector, but not incline to do it otherwife. It is not right, faid he, to commend fuch things as thefe. I am unwilling, faid I, for Homer’s fake, to fay it, That neither is it lawful that thefe things, at leall:, be faid againll: Achilles, nor that they be believed, when faid by others; nor, again, that he fpoke thus to Apollo:
Me thou hall injur’d, thou, far,darting God! Moll baneful of the powers divine! But know,
Were I polfell of power, then vengeance lhould be mine••
Hom. Iliad. lib, 13. • Hom. Iliad. lib, u.
VOL, I, 2 H And
234 TH E R E P U B L I C.
And how difobedient he was to the river, though a divinity, and wa11 ready to fight; and again, he fays to the river Sperchius, with his iacred locks,
Thy lock to great Patroclus I could give, Who now i, dead . , . , ..• , ,
Nor are we to believe he did this. Anrl again, the dragging Hector round the fepulchre of Patroclus, and the flaughtering the captives at his funeral pile,-that all thefe things are true, we will not fay; nor will we futfer our people to be perfuaded that Achilles, the fon of a Goddefs, and of Peleus the moll temperate of men and the third from Jupiter, and educated by the moll wife Chiron was foll of fuch diforder as to have within him two dillempers oppofite to one another,-the illiberal and covet ous difpofition, and a contempt both of Gods and of men. You fay right, replied he. Neither, faid I, let us be perfuaded of thefe things; nor foffer any to fay that Thefeus the fon of Neptune. and Pirithous the fon of Jupiter, were impelled to perpetrate fuch dire rapines; nor that any fon of another deity, nor any hero, would dare to do horrible and impious deeds; fuch as the lies of the poets afcribe to them: but let us compel the poets either to fay that thefe are not the all:ions of thefe perfons, or that thefc perfons are not the children of the Gods ; and not to fay both.
Nor let us fotfer them to attempt to perfuade our youth that the Gods create evil; and that heroes are in no refpell: better than men. For, as we faid formerly, thefe things are neither holy nor true : for we have elfe where fhown, that it is impoflible that evil fl1ould proceed from the Gods,
\Vhy not? And thefe things are truly hurtful, to th hearers, at leafi. For every one will pardon his own depravity, when he is perfuaded that even the near relations of the Gods do and have done things of the fame kind: fuch as are near to Jupiter,
Who, on the top of Ida, hnc up-rcar’d To parent Jupiter an altar ;-
And,
Whofc blood dcriYcd from Gods is not extinll:.
On which acco\mts all fuch fables muft be fupprclfed; left they create in
our
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our youth a powerful habit of wickednefs. \Ve mull: do fo, replied he, by all means, What other fpecies of difcourfes, faid I, have we fiill remaining, now whilfl: we are determining what ought to be fpoken, and what not? We have already mentioned in what manner we ought to fpeak of the Gods, and likewife of d mons and beroe3; and of what relates to Hades, Yes, indeed. Should not, then, what y t remains feem to be concerning men? It is plain. But it is impoffible for us, friend, to regulate this at prefent. How? Becaufe, I think, we {hall fay that the poets and orators fpeak amifs concerning the ‘greatefi affairs of men: as, That moft men are unjufi, and, notwithfl:anding this, are happy; and that the juft are miferable; and that it is profitable for one to do unju.fily, when he is concealed; and that jufiice is gain indeed to others, but the lofs of the jufi man himfelf: thefe, and innumerable other fuch things, we will forbid them to fay ; and enjoin them to fing, and compofe in fable, the contrary to thefe. Do not you think fo ? I know it well, faid he. If then you acknowledge that I fay right, thall I not fay thi!,t you have acknowledged what all along we feek for? You judge right, faid he Shall we not then grant that fuch difcourfes are to be fpoken concerning men, whenever we thall have difcovered what jufl:ice is; and how in its nature it is profitable to the jufl: man to be fuch, whether he appear to be fuch or not? Moll: true, replied he, Concerning the difcourfes, then, let this fuffice. We mull: now confider, as I imagine, the manner of difcourfe. And then we thall have completely confidered, both what is to be fpoken, and the manner how. Herc Adimantus faid, But I do not underfl:and what you fay. But, replied I, it is needful you thould. And perhaps you will rather underfl:and it in this way. Is not every thing told by the mythologifl:s, or poets, a narrative of the pafi, prcfent, or future? What elfc? replied he. And do not they execute it, either by funpie narration, or imitation, or by both? This too, replied he, I want to underfiand more plainly. I feem, faid I, to be a ridiculous and obfcurc inftruclor. Therefore, like thofe who are unable to fpeak, I will en. deavour to explain, not the whole, but, taking up a particular part, thow my meaning by this particular. And te!l me, Do not you know the be ginning of the Iliad ? where the poet fays that Chryfes entreated Aga memnon to fct free his daughter; but that he was difpleafed that Chryfes,
ZH z wheu
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when he did not focceed, prayed againfl: the Greeks to the God. I know. You know, then, tlrnt down to thcfe verfes,
-The Grecians all he pray’d; But chief the two commandcre, Atreus’ fons-
the poet himfclf fpeaks, and does not attempt to divert our attention elfewhere ; as if any other perfon were fpeaking: but what he fays after this, he fays as if he himfelf were Chryfes, and endeavours as much as poffible to make us imagine that the fpeaker is not Homer, but the priefl:, an old man ; and that in this manner he has compofed almofl: the whole narrative of what happened at Troy, and in Ithaca, and all the adventures in the whole Odyffey. It is certainly fo, replied he. Is it not then nar ration, when he tells the feveral fpeeches ? and likewife when he tells what intervenes between the fpeeches ? Why not ? But when he makes any fpeech in the perfon of another, do not we fay that then he affimilates his fpeech, as much as poffible, to each perfon whom he intro duces as fpeaking? \Ve fay fo, do we not? Aud is not the affimilating one’s felf to another, either in voice or figure, the imitating him to whom one affimilates himfelf? \Vhy not? In fuch a manner as this, then, it feems, both he and the other poets perform the narrative by means of imitation. Certainly. But if the poet did not at all conceal himfelf, his whole action and narrative would be without imitation. And that you may not fay you do not again underfiand how this fhould be, I fhall tell you, If Homer, after relating how Chryfes came with his daughter’s ranfom, be feeching the Greeks, but chiefly the kings, had fpoken afterwards, not as Chryfes, but fiill as Homer, you kl:iow it would not have been imitation, but fimple narration. And it would have been fomehow thus : (I fhall fpeak without metre, for I am no poet:) The priefi came and prayed, that the Gods might grant they thould take Troy, and return fafe; and begged them to refiore him his daughter, accepting the prefents, and re vering the God. When he had faid this, all the re!l: fhowed refpect, and confented ; but Agamemnon was enraged, charging him to depart in frantly, and not to return again; lefl: his fceptre and the garlands of
the God 1hould beof no avail ; and told him, that before he would re-
– – fi
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flare his daughter fhe fhould grow old with him 111 Argos ; but ordered him to be gone, and not tu irritate him, that he might get home i11 fafety. The old man upon hearing this was afraid, and went away i11 filence. And when he was retired from the camp he made many fup plications to Apollo, rehrarfing the names of the God, and reminding him and befeeching him, that if ever he had made any acceptable dona tion in the building of temples, or the offering of facrifices, -for the fake of thefe, to avenge his tears upon the Greeks with his arrows. Thus, faid I, friend, the narration is fimple, without imitation. I underfiand, faid he. Underfiand then, faid I, that the oppofite of this happens, when one, taking away the poet’s part between the fpeeches, leaves the fpeeches themfelves, This, faid he, I likewife underfiand, that a thing of this kind takes place refpecting tragedies. You apprehend perfcllly well, faid
I. And I think that I now make plain to you what I could not before ;
that in poetry, and likewife in mythology, one kind is wholly by imitation, fueh as you fay tragedy and comedy are ; and another kind by the nar ration of the poet himfelf: and you will find this kind moil: elpccially in the dithyrambus: and another again by both; as in epic poetry, and in many other cafes befides, if you underfiand me. I underfiand now, re plied he, what you meant before. And remember too, that bdore that we were faying that we had already mentioned what things were to be fpoken ; but that it yet remained to be confidered in what manner they were to be fpoken. I remember, indeed. This then, is what I was faying, that it were neceffary we agreed whether we thall fulfer the poets to make narratives to us in the way of imitation ; or, partly in the way of imitation, and partly not; and, what in each way; or, if they are not to ufe imitation at all. I conjecture, faid he, you are to con fider whether we !hall receive tragedy and comedy into our city, or not. Perhaps, replied I, and fomething more too; for I do not as yet know, indeed ; but wherever our reafoning, as a gale, bears us, there we mufl: go. And truly, faid he, you fay well. Confider this now, Adimantus, whether our guardians ought to practife imitation, or not. Or does this follow from what is above? That each one may handfomely perform one bufi nefs, but many he cannot : or, if he !hall attempt it, in grafping at many things, be !hall fail in all ; fo as to be remarkable in none. Why !hall
he
‘238 THE REPUBLIC.
he not ? And is not the reafon the fame concerning imitation ? That one man is not fo able to imitate many things well, as one. He is not, Hardly then fl1all he perform any part of the more eminent employments, and at the fame time imitate many things, and be an imitator ; fince the fame perfons are not able to perform haudfomely imitations of two dif ferent kinds, which feem to refemble ead1 other; as, for infiance, they cannot fuccccd both in comedy and tragedy : or, did you not lately call thefe two, imitations? I did ; and you fay true, that the fame perfons can not focceed in them. Nor can they, at the fame time, be rhapfodifis and allors. True. Nor can the fame perfons be al\;ors in comedies and ill tragedies. And all thefe are imitations, are they not? Imitations. The genius of man feems to me, Adimantus, to be ihut up within fiill ldfer bounds than thefe ; fo that it is unable to imitate handfomely many things, or do thefe very things, of which even the imitations are the refemblances, l\,tofi true, faid he, If therefore we are to hold to our firfr reafoning, that our guardians, unoccupied in any manufalture what ever, ought to be the mofi accurate manufacturers of the liberty of the city, and to mind nothing but what has fome reference to this; it were furely proper, they neither did nor imitated any thing elfe; but, if they ihall imitate at all, to imitate immediately from their childhood fuch things as are correfpondent to thefe; brave, temperate, holy, free men, and all fuch things as thefe ;-but neither to do, nor to be defirous of imitating, things illiberal or bafe, lefi from imitating they come to be really fuch. Or have you not obferved, that imitations, if from carlieft youth they be continued on wards for a long time, are efiablithed into the manners and natural temper, both with reference to the body and voice, and likewife the dianoetic power? Very much fo, replied he. We will not furely allow, faid I, thofc we profefs to take care of, and who ought to be good men, to imi tate a woman, either young or old, either reviling her huiband, or quar relling with the Gods, or {peaking boafiingly when ihe imagines her folf happy ; nor yet to imitate her in her misfortunes, furrows, and la mentations, when fick, or in love, or in child-bed labour. We ihall be far from permitting this, By all means, replied he. Nor to imitate man- or maid.fcrvants in doing wh_at belongs to fervants. Nor this nei ther. Nor )’Ct to imitate depraved men, as it feems, fuch as arc dafl:ardly,
and
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and do the contrary of what we have now been mentioning; reviling anJ railing at one another; an,i fpeaking abominable things, either in toxicated or fober, or any other tnings fuch as perfons of this fort are guilty of, either in words or actions, either with refpeft to themfolves or one another. Neither mufl: they accufiom themfelvcs to refemble mad-men, in words or aclions. Even the mad and wicked are to be known, both the men and the women ; but none of their all:ions are to be done, or imitated. Mofi- true, faid he. But what? faid I, are they to imitate fuch as work in brafs, or any other handicrafts, or fuch as are employed in rowing boats, or fuch as command thefe ; or any thing elfe appertaining to thete things ? How can they, faid he, as they are not to be allowed .to give application to any of thofe things ? But what ? thall they imitate horfes neighing, or bulls lowing, or rivers murmuring, or the fea roaring, or thunder, and all foch like things ? We have for bidden them, faid he, to be mad, or to refemble madmen. If then I under fiand, replied I, what you fay, there is a certain kind of fpeech, and of narration, in which he who is truiy a good and worthy man ex preffes himfelf when it is necelfary for him to fay any thing ; and an other kind again i.:nlike to this, which he who has been born and edu-: cated in an oppofite manner always po!felfes, and in which he expretfes himfelf. But of what kind are thefe? faid he. It appears to me, faid J, that the worthy man, when he comes in his narrative to any fpeech_ oc action of a good man, will willingly tell it as if he were himfelf the man,. and will not be afuamed of fuch an imitation; moil efpccially when he imitates a good man acting prudently and without error, and. failing fel dom, and but little, through difeafes, or love, intoxication, or any other mi,fortune. But when he comes to any thing unworthy of himfelf, he will not be fiudious to refomble himfelf to that which is worfe, unlefs for a fuort time when it pruduces fome good ; but will be afuamed, both as he is unpractifed Ill the imitation o_f foch chara&:rs. as thele, and like,. wife as he rudges to degrade h1mielf and fia1i,I. among the models of baf.,r characcers,. tiif.la ning it in his dianoetic ‘ part, and .doing it only for amufcme11t. It is likdy, faid he. He will not then make ufe of fuch a narrative as we latel,v roentioned, with reC,:rence to the compofitions of Homer: but his compofition will participate of both imitation and the
! lice the notes at the end of the Si:1th Book.
other·
240 T H E R E P U B L I C.
other narrative ; and but a fmall part of it will be imitation, in a great quantity of plain narrative. Do I feem to fay any thing, or nothing at all? You exprefs, replied he, perfell:ly well what ought to be the model of fuch an orator. And, on the other hand, will not the man, faid I, who is not fuch au one, the more depraved he is, be the readier to rchearfc every thing whatever; and not think any thing unworthy of him? fo that he will undertake to imitate every thing in earnefr, and likewife in the prefence of many; and fuch things alfo as we now men tioned ; thunderings, and noifes of winds and tempefts, and of a:rcles, and wheels, and trumpets, and pipes, and whiftles, and founds of all manner of inllruments, and voices of dogs too, and of fheep, and of birds. And the whole expreffion of all thefe things fl1all be by imitation in voices and gefrures, having but a finall part of it narration. This too, faid he, mufr happen of neceffity. Thefe now, faid I, I called the two kinds of diction. They are fo, repHed he. But has not the one of thefe fmall variations 1 And if the orator afford the becoming harmony and meafure to the diclion, where he fpeaks with propriety, the difcourfe is almofr after one and the fame manner, and in one harmony ; for the variations are but fmall, and in a meafure which accordingly is fomehow fimilar. It is indeed, replied he, entirely fo. But what as to the other kind? Does it not require the contrary, all kiuds of harmony, all kinds of meafure, if it is to be na turally expreffed, as it has all forts of variations? It is perfeclly fo. Do not now all the poets, and fuch as fpeak in any kind, make ufe of either one or other of thefe models of diB:ion, or of one compounded of both ? Of neceffity, replied he. What then fhall we do? faid I. Whether
:lhall we admit into our city all of thefe ; or one of the unmixed, or the one compounded? If my opinion, replied he, prevail, that uncompounded one, which is imitative of what is worthy. But furely, Adimantus, the mixed is pleafant, at leall. And the oppolite of what you choofe is by far the mo!l: pleafant to children and pedagogues, and the crowd. It is moil: pleafant, But you will not, probably, faid I, think it fuitable to our government, becaufc with us no man is to attend to two or more employ ments, but to be 4t1ire fimple, as every one does one thing. It is not indeed fuitable. Shall we not then find that in fuch city alone, a fhoe-maker j,s oply a ilioemaker, and not a pilot along with {hoe-making, and that
6
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the huiliandm::m is only a hufbanclman, and not a judge along “ith huf bandry; and that the folclier is a foldier, and not a money-maker befides: and all others in the fame way ? True, replied he. And it would appear, that if a man, who, through wifdom, were able to become every thing, and to imitate every thing, lhould come into our city, and fhould wi{h to !how us his poems, we fhould revere him as a facred, admirable, and plealant perfon : but we fhould tell him, that there is no fueh perfon with us, in our city, nor is there any fuch allowed to be: a11d we lhould fend him to fome other city, pouring oil on his head, and crowning him with wool: but we ufe a more aufl:ere poet, and mytho logifi, for our advantage, who may imitate to us the diclion of the worthy manner; and may fay whatever he fays, according to thofe models which we efiablifhed by law a firfi, when we undertook the education of our foldiers. So we fhould do, replied he, if it depended on us. It appears, faid I, friend, that we have now thoroughly difcuffed that part of mufic refpecl:ing oratory and fable ; for we have already told what is to be fpoken, and in what manner, It appears fo to me likewife, faid he. Does it not yet remain, fai<l I, that we fpeak of the manner of fong, and of melodies? It is plain. May not any one difcover what
,1 e rnufi fay of thefe things ; and of what kind thefe ought to be, if we are to be conlifient with what is above mentioned? Here Glauco laughing faid: But I appear, Socrates, to be a firanger to all thefe matters, for I am not able at prefent to guefs at what we ought to fay: I fufpect, however. You are certainly, faid I, fully able to fay this in the firfi place, that melody is compofed of three things; of fentimcnt, harmony, and rhythm. Yes, replied he, this I can fay. And that the part which con fifls in the fentiment differs in nothiug from that lentiment which is not fong, in this refpccl:, that it ought to be performed upon the fame models, as we jufi now faiJ, and in the fame manner. True, faid he. And furely, then, the harmony and rhythm ought to correfpond to the fentiment. Why not? But we ohferved there was 110 occalion for waitings and lamentations in compofitions. No occalion, truly. \Vhich then are the querulous harmonics ? Tell me, for you are a mulician. The mixed
Lydian, replied he, and the !harp Lydian ; and fome others of this kind. Are not thcfo, tbeu, faid I, to be rejected r for they are unprofitable even
VOL, I, .2 I to
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to women, fuch as are worthy, and much more to men. Certainly. But intoxication is moll: unbecoming our guardians ; and effeminacy and idlenefs. Why not? \,Vhich then arc the effeminate and convivial har monies ? The fonic, replied he, and the Lydian, which are called relax
ing. Can you make any ufe of thefe, my friend, for military men? By
110 means, replied he, But, it feems, you have yet remaining the Doric, and the Phrygian. 1 do not know, faid I, the harmonies; but leave that harmony, which may, in a becoming manner, imitate the voice and accents of a truly brave man, going on in a military action, and every rough adventure ; and bearing his fortune in a determinate and perfe vering manner, when he fails of fuccefs, rufhes on wounds, or deaths, or falls into any other diil:refs: and leave that kind of harmony Iikewife, which is foited to what is peaceable ; where there is no violence, but every thing is vol\lntary ; where a man either pcrfuades or befeeches any one, about any tning, either God by prayer, or man by inll:ruction and admonition: or, on the other hand, where one fobmits himfolf to another, who bcfecchcs, iull:ructs, and perfuaLl.:s; and, in all thefe things, alls according to intellel’l-, and does not behave haughtily; demeaning himfelf foberly and moderately ; gladly embracing whatever may. happen : leave then thefe two harmonies, the vehement and the voluntary; which, in the mofi handfome manner, imitate the voice of the unfortunate and of the fortunate, of the mod.:ratc and of the bra\’e. You delire, replied he, to leave no others but thofe I now mentioned. \Ve fhall not then, faid 1, ha\·e any 11ced of a great many firings, nor of the panarmonion in our fongs and melodie3. It appears to me, replicll he, we {hall not. \Ve fhall not nourifh, then, fuch workmen as make harps and 1j)inets, and all thofe infiruments which confiil: of many firings, and produce a variety of harmony. \Ve !hall nut, as it appears. But what? \Vill you admit i11to your city foch workmen :is make pipes, or pipers? for, are not the infiru me1:t:; which conlifi of the greatefl: number of firings, and thofe that pro duce all kinds of harmony, imitations of the pipe? It is plain, replied he. There are left JOU fl:ill, ! id I, the lyre and the harp, as ufcful for your city, and there might likewifo be fomc reed for {hepherds in the fields. Thus reafon, faid he, fhows us, We then, replied I, do nothing dire, if we prefer Apollo, and Apollo’s infirumcnts, to l\1arfyas, and the iufiruments
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of that eminent nrnlici:m. Truly, replied he, we do not appear to do it. And by the dog, faid I, we have unawares cleanfcd again our city, which we faid was become luxnrious. And we have wifely done it, replied he. Come then, faid I, and let us clcanic what remains; for what concerns rhythm {hould be foitable to our harmonies ; that our citizens purfue not fuch rhythms as arc diverlilicd, and have a variety of cadences; but obferve what are the rhythms of a decent and manly lite, and, whiHl: they obferve thefe, make the foot and the melody fobfervient to fentiment of foch a kind; and not the fcntiment fubfcrvient to the foot and melody. Hut what thcfe rhythms are, is your bulinefs to tell, as you. have done the harmonies. But by Jupiter, replied he, I cannot tell. That there are three fpecies of which the notes are compofed, as there arc four in founds, whence the whole of harmony, I can fay, as I have obferved it: but which are the imitations of one kind of life, and which of another, I.am not able to tell. Ilut thcfc things, faid I, we rnufi confokr with Damon’s affiitancc: what notes arc fuitable to illiberality and infolence, to madnefs or other ill diipofition ; and what notes are proper for their cippofites. And I remember, but not difiincll ·, to have heard him calling a certain warrior, compofite, a dactyl, and heroic meafure ; ornamenting him I do not know how, making him equal above and below, in breadth and length : and he called one, as I imagine, Iambus, and another Trochreus. He adapted, be/ides, the lengths and iliortneffes ; and, in fome of thefe, I believe, he blamed and commended the meafure of the foot, 110 lefs than the numbers themfelves, or fomcthing compounded of both ; for I annot fpeak of thefe things; becaufe, as I faid, they are to be thrown upon Damon. To fpeak difiiuclly, indeed, on tbcfe matters, would require no finall difcourfe: do not you think fo? Not a fmall one, truly. But can you determine this, that the propriety or impropriety correfponds to the good or ill rhythm ? Why not? But, with re ‘1ecl to the good or ill rhythm, the one correfponds to handfo:ne expreffion, conforming itfelf to it ; and the other to the reverfe. And, in the fame way, as to the harmonious, and the difcordant: fince the rhythm and harmony are fub fcrvient to the fentimcnt, as we juil: now faid ; and not the fentiment to
thefe. Thefe, indeed, faid he, are to be fobfervient to the fentiment. But what? faid I, As to the manner of expreffion, and as to the fentiment
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itfelf, ml!ll: it not corretpond to th temper of the foul? \Vhy nod And all other thin s corrcfilOml to the exprcfiion. Yes. So that the beauty of expref lion, fine confonancy, and propriety, and excellence of numbers, are fubfer vi..:nt to the good difpofition; not that {h1pidity, which in complaifant lan guage we call good temper; but the dianoetic part, truly adorned with excel lent and beautiful manners. By all means, replied he. Mufi not thefe things be always purfued by the youth, if they are to mi11d their bufinefs? They are indeed to be purfoed. But pilinting too is fomehow foll of thele thi:1g ; and every other workmanO\ip of the kind; and weaving is full of thefe, and carving, and archite8ure, and all workmanlhip of every kind of velfels : as is moreover the nature of bodies, and of all vegetables: for in all thefe there is propriety, and impropriety; and the impropriety,. difcord, and diffonance, are the fifl:ers of ill expreffion, and depraved manners; and their oppofites are the filters, and imitations, of fober and worthy manners. • ‘Tis entirely fo, replied he. Are we then to give injuncl:ions to the poets alone, and oblige them to work into their poems the image of the: worthy manners, or not to Lompofe at all with us? or are we to enjoin all other workmen likewife; and refirain this ill, un Jifciplined, illiberal, indecent manner, that they exhibit it neither in the reprefemations of animals, in buildings, nor in any other workmanlhip? or, that he who is not able to do this, be not fuffered to work with us? left our guardians, being educated in the midft of ill reprefentations, as in an ill pafture, by every day plucking and eating much of different things, by little and little contract, imperceptibly, fome mighty evil in their foul. But we mufl: feek for fuch workmen as are able, by the help of a good natural genius, to invefiigate the nature of the beautiful and the decent : that our youth, dwelling as it were in a healthful place, may be profited on all fides; whence, from the beautiful works, fomething will be conveyed to the fight and hearing, as a breeze bringing health from falutary places; imperceptibly leading them 011 direclly from childhood, to the refemblance, friendfl1ip, a11d harmony with right reafon. They iliould thus, faid he, be educated in the moft handfome manner by far. On thefe accounts therefore, Glauco, faid I, is not education in mufic of the greatdl: importance, bc:caufe rhythm and harmony cuter in the {lrong eit manner into the inward part of the foul, and moil: powerfully a/fell:
it
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it, intro<lucing at the fame time decorum, and making every one decent if he is properly educated, and the reverfe if he is not? And moreover, bccaufc the man who has here been educated as he ought, perceives in the quickefi: manner whatever workmanlhip is defective, and whatever execu. tion is unhandfome, or whatever pro<lull:ions arc of that kinll; and being dilgufi:ed in a proper manner, he will praife what is beautiful, rejoicing in it ; and, receiving it into his foul, be nourilhed by it, and become a worthy and good man: but wlu1tevcr is bale, he will in a proper manner
<lelpife, and hate, whilfi: yet he is young, and before he is able to be a partaker of reafon; and when reafon comes, foch an one as has been thus educated will embrace it, recognizing it perfecHy well, from its intimate familiarity with him, It appears to me, replied he, that education in mufii; is for the fake of fuch things as thefc, Juft as, with reference to letters faid I, we are then fufficiently inftrutled when we are not ign.orant of the clements, which are but few in number, wherever they are concerned; and when we do not dcfpife them more or lefs as unnece!fary to be ob ferved, but by all means endeavour to underfi:an<l them thoroughly, as it is impoffible for us to be literary men till we do thus. True. And if the images of letters appea ed any where, either in water or in mirrors, fhould we not kn<>w them before we knew the letters themfch-es? or docs this belong to the fame art and ftudy? By all means. Is it indeed then according as I fay? that we {hall never become muficians, neither we ourfelves, nor thofe guardians we fay we are to educate, before we under- fiand the images of temperance, fortitude, liberality, and magnificence, and the other fill:er virtues; and, on the other hand again, the contraries of thefe, wbich are every where to be met with; and obfcrvc them wherefo ever they are, both the virtues themfolves, and the imag.es of them, and delpife them neither in finall nor in great infi:anccs; but let us believe 1hat this belongs to the fame art and fiudy. There is, faid he, great neceffity for it. Mufi not then, faid I, the perfon who lhall have in his timl beautiful manners, and in his appearance whatever is proportionable, and correfponding to thefe, partaking of the fame impreffion, be the mofi: beautiful 1i1eclaclc to any one who is able to behold it? Exceedingly fo, But what is mofi: beautiful is mofi: lovely. Why not? He who is mufical fhould furely love thofo men who are mofi: eminently of this kiud; but if
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246 T R E R E P U B L T C.
one be tmharmoni:1u, h2 fl,..11 not lo\’C !Jim. He lhall not, replied he, if the perfr111 h,:: any \\’ay ddccl:i,e as to I.is iuui: if it:tlved it were in his boJy, he wnuLI bear with it, fo as to be willing t<> aff.iciatc with tum.
I u11der!l:a11d, faid I, that your favourites a1·,; or l1J,·e been of this kind.
And I agree to it. Bnt tell me this, Is t:1erc any communion between temperance and exceffive pleJfore? How can there? taid hl’., tor foeh pleafure caules a privation of intellea no leis than grief. llut has it com munion with any other virtue? By no means. But what, has it com munion with infolence and intempernncc? Moil: of all, Can you men tion a greater and more acute plcati.1re than that rdpccting vc1v.:real con cerns? I cannot, faid he, uor yet one that is more infanc. But the right love is .of foch a nature as to love the beautiful, anJ the handfome, in a temperate and a mufical manner. Certainly. Nothing then which is infane, or allied to intemperance, is to approach to a right love. Neither mu!l: plcafurc approach to it; nor mufl: the lover, and the perfon he loves, have communion with it, where they love and arc beloved in a right manner. No truly, faid he; they m11!l: not, Socrates, approach to thefe, Thus then, as appears, you will efiabli{h by law, in the city which is to be efiabli{hed, that the lover is to love, to converfe, and affociate wit theobjeas of his love, as with his fon, for the fake of virtue, if he gain the confent: and as to every thing befides, that every one fo converfe with him whofe love he folicits, as never to appear to affociate for any thing beyond what i, now mentioned; and that otherwife he (hall undergo the reproach of being unmufical, and unacquainted with the beautiful. It mufl: be thus, replied he. Does then, faid I, the difcourfe concerning mufic fccm to you to be finiilied ? For it has terminated where it ought to terminate, as the affairs of mufic ought, fomehow, to terminate in the love of the beautiful. I agree, foid he. Bnt, after mufic, our youth are to be educated in gymnafl:ic. But what? It is ti.ircly necelfary that in this likewife they be accurately di(ciplined, from their infancy through the whole of life. For the matter, as I imagine, is fomehow thus: hut do you alfo confider. For it does not appear to me that whatever body is found, doth, by its own virtue, render the foul goocl; but contrariwiie, that a good foul, by its virtue, renders the body the be!l: which is poffible: but how docs it appear to you? In the fame manner to me Jikewife,
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replicJ he. If then, when we have fofficiently cultivated the dianoetic part, we lhall commit to it the accurate management of the concerns of the body; lhall not we, as we arc only laying down models, (that we may not enh1rg,:) all: in a right manner? Entirely fo. \Ve fay then, that they are to abO:ain from intoxication; for it is more allowable to any, tha11 to a guardia1i, to be intoxicated, and not to know where he is. It were ridiculous, faid he, that the guardian lhould 11:and in need of a guardian. But what as to meats? For thefe men are wrefilers in the nobleft comb:it: are they not? They arc, \Vould not then the bodily plight of the wreft Jers be proper for fuch as thefe? Probably. But, faid I, it is of a drowfy kind, and dubious as to health: or, do you not obferve, that they flcep out their life? and, if they depart but a little from their appointed diet, foch wrcO:lers become greatly and extremt”)y difoafod. I perceiv.e it. But foine more elegant exercife, faid I, is requifite for our military wrefiler,; who, as dogs, ought to be wakeful, and to foe, and to bear in the mofi acute manner; and, in their expeditions, to endure many changes of water and of food, of heat and of cold, that fo they may not have a dubious fiate of health. To me it appears fu. Is not then the bell: gymnail:ic a kind of lifier to the fimplc muiic, which we a little before defcribed ? How do you fay? That the gymnafiic is to be fimple and moderate, and of t’.1at kind moO: efpecially which pertains to war. Of what kind? Even from Homer, faid I, one may learn thcle things: for you know, that in their warlike expeditions, at the entertainments of their heroes, b-: never feafis them with fi{hes, and that even whiHl: they were by the tea at the Hellefpont, nor yet with boilctl flcfl,, but only with ro tl-, as what foldiers can moll: calily procure: for, in fl1urt, one can every where more eafily make ute of fire, than carry vdfcls about. Yes, indeed. Neither docs Homer, as I imagine, any where make mention of foafonings: and thi; is what tl1c other wrcll:lers unJerftaad, that the body which is to be in good h.1bit mufi abll:ain from all thc1-:: things. They rightly under!laud, faid he, and abO:ain. You do not then, friend, as appears, approvt: of the Syrac.:ulian table, and the Sicilian variety of meats, fince thts oth<!r appears to. you to be right? I do not, as appears. You will liknvitc clifopprove of a Corin thian girl, as a mifirefa, for thofe who arc to be of a good habit of body. By all means, truly. And likewifo of tl101c delicacies, as they are reckoned,
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248 T II I:: H E I’ U B L I C,
of Attic confections. Of necdiity. For all feeding and dieting of this kind, if we ompare it to the melody and fong pro<lt1ccd in the panar monion, and in all rhythms, {hall not the comparifo11 be jnll? Why not? And does not the diverlity in that cafe create intemperance, and here difcafe ? But fimplicity, as to mufic, creates in the foul temperance; and, as to gymnafiic, health in the body. l\foll: true, faid he, And when in temperance and difeafes multiply in the city, ihall we not have many halls of jufiice and of medicine opened? And will not the arts of jufiice anJ of medicine be in requefi, when many free perfons fuall earnt:fily apply to them ? \Vhy not ? But can you addt1ce any greater argument of an ill and bafe education in a city, than that there il10t1ld be need of phyficians and fupreme magiihates, and that not only for the contemptible and low handicrafts, but for thofe who boaO: of having been edt1cated in a liberal manner? Or, does it not appear to be bafe, and a great fign of want of education, to be dbliged to obierve juO:ice pronounced on us by others, as our mafiers and judges, and to have 110 fcnfc of it in our(clves ? Of all
things, this, replied he, is the moll: bafe. And do you not, faid I, deem this
to be more bate £1:ill; when one not only fpends a great part of life in courts of juO:ice, as defendant and plaintifF; but, from his ignorance of the beautiful, imagines that he becomes renowned for this very thing ; as being dexterous in doing injufiice, and able to turn himfolf through all forts of windings, and, ufing every kind of fubterfuge, thinks to efcape fo as to eyade juilice ; and all this for the fake of fmall and contemptible things ; being ignorant how much better and more handfome it were fo to regulate his life as not to fiand in need of a flccpy judge ? This, replied he, is fiill more bafe than the other. And to £1:and in need of the medicinal art, faid I, not on account of wounds, or fome incidental epi demic diftempers, but through floth, and fuch a diet as we mentioned, being filled with rheums and wind, like lakes; obliging the fkilful fons of fculapius to invent uew names for difeafes, foch as dropfies and
catarrhs. Do not you think this abominable? Thefe are truly, replied he, very uew and frrange names of difeafes. Such, faid I, as were not, I imagine, in the days of _,£fculapius : and I conjecture fo from this, that when Eurypylus was wounded at Troy, and was getting Pramnian wine to drink with much flour in it, with the addition of cheefe; (all which
fcem
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249
teem to be phlegmatic,) the fons of JEfculapiu, ueither blamed the woman who prefented it, nor reprehended Patroclus, who had prefcutcd the cure. And furcly the potion, faid he, is abfurd for one in fuch a cafe. No. faid I, if you conlidcr, that, as they tell us, the defcendants of .!Efculapius did not, before the days of Hc1 o lieus, praEl:ifo this method of cure now in ufe, which puts the patient on a regimen: but Hcrodicus being a teacher of youth, and at the fame time infirm in his health, mixing gym nafiic and medicine together, he made himfelf moil uneafy in the firft place, and afterwards many others befides. After what manner? faid he. In procuring to himfolf, faid I, a lingering death ; for, whilfi he was conita,ntly atkntive to his difeafo, which was mortal, he was not able, as I irm1gine, to cure himfclf; though, neglecting every thing befides, he \\ a friU Qfing medicines; a1,1d thus he paffed his life, fiill in the greatefi un eafinefs if he departed in the leafi from his accufiomed diet ; aa<l through this wifdom of his, ilniggling long with death, he arrived at old age. A ,nighty reward, fai<l he, he reaped of his art ! Such as became one faid I, who did not undcrfiand that it was not from ignorance or inex perience of this method of cure that JEfculapius did not difcover it to his defcendants ; but becaufe he knew that, in all well regulated fiates, there
,.-as fome certain work enjoined eYery one in the city, which was 1 ecef iary to be done, and that no one w’as to be allowed to have the leifure of hcing fick through the whole of life, and to be attentive only to the taking of medicines. This we may pleafantly obferve in the cafe of labouring peo ple ; but we do not obferve it in the cafe of the rich, and fuch as are counted happy. How? faid he. A fmith, replied I, when he falls fick, thinks it fit to take from the phyfician fome potion, to throw up his dif eafe, or purge it downwards, or, by means of caufiic or amputation, to be freed from the trouble: but if any one prefcribe for him a long regimen, putting caps 011 his head, and other fuch things, he quickly tells hilll
th4 he has not leiforc to 1\1! fo:k, 11 r does it avail him. to live in this manner, attentive to his trouble, an(! negligent of his proper work; and fo, bidding foch a ph) fician farewell, he n:t un1s to his onlinary diet ; and,
if he recovers his health, he contiunes to ma11age his own affair$; but if his body be not able to fopport the difrafr, he <lies, an is freed from troubles. Ii frcms proper, taiJ he, for fuch ,qi one to 1.1fo the \nedicinal VOL, J. ZK art
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art in this manner. Is it not, faid I, becaufe he has a certain bufinefs. wl ich if he does not perform, it is not for his advantage to live? It is plain, replied he. But the rich man, as we fay, has no fuch work allotted him, from which if he be obliged to refrain, life is not worth the having. He is furely fai<l at lcafi to have none. For you do not, faid I, attend to what Phocylides fays ; that one ought fiill, whilfi there is life, to practife virtue. I think, replied he, we attended to that for merly. Let us by no means, faid I, differ from him in this. But let us inform ourfelves \\ hether this exceilive attention to one’s difeafe is to be the bufiuefs of the rich ; and that life is not worth keeping, if he does not give this attention; for that fuch a life is indeed a hinderance of the mind’s application to mafonry and other arts ; but, with refpell: to the exhortation of Phocy!ides, it is no hin<lerance. Yes, by Jupiter, faid he, it is, and that in the greatefi degree when this exceilive care of the body goes beyoncl gymnafiic. Neither does it agree with attention to private reconomy, or military expeditions, or fedentary magiftracies in the city. But what is of the greateft moment is, that foch application to hf’alth is ill fitted for any fort of learning, and inquiry, and ftudy, by one’s felf, whiHl: one is perpetually dreading certain pains and fwimmings of the head, and blaming philofophy as occafiouing them; fo that where there is this attention to health it is a great obftacle to the prallice of virtue and improvement in it; for it makes us always imagine that we are ill, and always complain of the body. That is likely, faid he, And ihall we not fay that .1Efculapius too underftood thefe things, when to perfons of a healthful conftitution, and fuch as ufed a wholefome diet, but were afflicted by fome particular d1feafe, to thefe and to foch a con il:itution he prefcribed medicine, repelling their difeafes by drugs and incifions, and enjoined them their accufiomed diet, that the public might fuffer no damage But he did not attempt, by extenuating or nouriihing diet, to cure fucb confiitutions as were wholly difeafed within; as it would but afford a long and miferable life to the man himfelf, and the de-. fcendants which would fpring from him would probably be of the fame kind: for he did not imagine the man ought to be cured who could not live in the ordinary courfe, as he would be neither profitable to himfelf nor to the ftate, You make .AUculapius, faid he, a politician. It is plain,
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faid I. And his fons may fhow that he was fo. Or do you not fee, that at Troy they excelled in war, and likewife prall:ifed medicine in the way I mention? Or do not you remember, that when Menelaus was wot1nded by Pandarus, they
Wafh’d off’ the blood, and Coft’ning drugs applied f,
But, as to what was necelT’ary for him to eat or drink afterwards, they prcfcribed for him no more than for Eurypylus ; deeming external ap plications fufficient to heal men, who, before they were wounded, were healthful and moderate in their diet, whatever mixture they happened to have drunk at the time. But they judged, that to have a difeafed con fiitution, and to live an intemperate life, was neither profitable to the men tl1emfelves nor to others ; and that their art ought not to be em ployed on thefe, nor to minifier to them, not even though tl1ey were richer than Midas. You make, faid he, the fons of .JEfculapius truly in genious. It is proper, replied I; though in oppofition to us the writers
of tragedy, and Pindar, call indeed .JEfculapius the fon of Apollo, but fay
that he was prevailed on by gold to undertake the cure of a rich man, who was already in a deadly fiate; for which, truly, he was even firuck with a thunderbolt : but we, agreeably to what has ueen formerly faid, will not believe them as to both thefe things; but will aver, that if he was the fon of the God, he was not given to filthy lucre ; or, if he were given to filthy lucre, he was not a fon of the God. Thefe things, faid he, arc mofi right. But what do you fay, Socrates, as to this? Is it not necelT’ary to provide good phyficians for the fiate? and mufi not thefe, moll: likely, be fuch who have been converfant with the greatefi number of healthy and of fickly people ? and thefe, in like manner, be the bell: judges, who have been converfant with all forts of difpofitions? I mean now, faid I, thofe who are very good. But do you know whom I deem to be fuch? If you tell me, replied he. I 1hall endeavour to do it, faid I ; but you inquire in one quefiion about two different things. As how ? faid he. Phyficians, replied I, would become moll: expert, if, beginning from their infancy, they would, in learning the art, be converfant with the greatefl: number of bodies, and thefe the moil: fickly ; and laboured themfelves
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under all rhatrner of difoafos, and by natural confl:itution were not quite healthful; for it is not by the body, I imagine, that they cure the body; (elfe their own bodies rnuld at no time be admitted to be of an ill con fiitution,) but they cure the body by the foul ; which, whilfl: it is of an ill confl:itution, is not capable to perform well any cure. Right, faid he. But the judge, friend, governs the foul by the foul; which, if from its childhood it has been educated with depraved fouls, has been converfant with them, and has itfelf done all manner of evil, it is not able to come out from among them, fo as accurately, by it[elf, to judge of the evils of
_others, as happens in the difeafes of the body ; but it mufl: in its youth be unexperienced and unpolluted with evil manners, if it means to be good and beautiful itfelf, and to judge foundly of what is ju/t And hence the virtuous in their youth appear fimple, and eafily deceived by the unjuit, as they have not within themfelves di!po/itions fi,11ilar to thofe of the wicked. And forely this at leall:, faid he, they do often fotfer extremely. For which reafon, faid I, the good judge is not to be a young man, but au old, having been late in learning wickednc!s, what it is; perceiving it not
_as a kindred pofiellion, refiding in his own foul, but as a foreign one, in the fouls of others, which he has for a long time fiudied, and has under- ftood what fort of an evil it is, by the help of fcience rather than by pro per experience. Such an one, faid he, i, like to be the moil: noble judge. And likewifc a good one, faid I; which was what you ·require<l. For he who has a good foul i good. But the other notable and fufpicious man, who has committed much of iniquity himfelf, when indeed he con verfcs with his like, being thought to be fubtle and wife, he appears a notable man, being extremely cautious, having an ·eye to thofe models which he has within himfclf; but when he approaches the good, and the more aged, he appears fooli/h, fu1J>icious out of feafon, and ignorant of integrity of manners, as having within 110 models of foch a kind: but however, bc:iug more frequently converfant with the wicked than with the wife, he appears, both to himfolf and others, to be more wife, rather than more ignoraut. This, faid he, is perfeclly true. We muJI: not, therefore, faid I, look for foch an one to be a wife and good judge, but the former one; for indec<l vice can never at all know both itfrlf and virtue. But virtue, where th,· temper is inflrutlcd by time, iliall attain
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to the knowledge of both itfelf and depravity. This one, then, and not the wicked, as it appears to me, is the wife man. A:id I, replied he, am of the fame opinion. Will you not rhen e’lablilh i11 the city fuch a method of medicine as we have mentioned, along with fuch a method of judicatun: as !hall carefully preferve for you thofe of your citizens who are naturally well diipofed both i11 min.J and in body?
and with refpect to thofe who arc otherwife, fuch as are fo in their bodies, they !hall fuffer to die ; but fuch as are of an evil nature, and incurable With ref\)eB: to their foul, thefe they fhall themfelves put to death ? This, fa.id he, has appeared to be befi, both for thofe who foffer it and for the city. .And it is plain, faid I, that your youth will be afraid of needing this jufiiciary, whilfi they are employed in that fimple mufic, which, we fay,. generates temperance. Why will they not? faid he. And, according to the very fame fteps of reafoning, the mulician who is willing to purfuc gymna ic, will choofc to do it fo as not . to require any medicine unlef there be ncceffity. It appears fo tome. And he will perform his exercifes, and his labours, rather looking to the irafcible part of his nature, and exciting it by labdur, than to firength ; and not as the other wreftlers,. who eat and drink and engage in labours for the fake of bodily ftrength. Mofl: right, faid he. Why then, faid I, Glauco, they who propofe to
·teach mufic and gymnafiic, propofe thefe things, not, for what fomc imagine, to cure the body by the one, and the foul by the other, Wha:t then? replied he. They feem, faid I, to propofe them both chiefly 011 the foul’s account. As how? Do not you perceive, faid I, how thofe are affected as to their dianoetic part, who lnve all their life been converfant with gymnall:ic, but have never applied to mufic ? or how thofe are affected who ·have lived in a method the reverfe of this? What, faid he, do you fpcak of? Of rufiicity, faid I, and fiercenefs, and again of foft nefs and rnildnefs, I know, faid he, that thofe who apply themfelves immoderately to gyrnnafl:ic, become more rull:ic than is. proper; and thofc· again who attend to mufic alone, are more fcift tha1i is becoming for them, to be. And furely, faid I, this rufl:icity, at leaft, may impart an irafcibility of nature, and, when rightly difciplined, may become fortitude; but, when carried further than is becoming, may, as is likely, be both,more fierce and troublcfome. So it appears to me, faid he. But what? does not the
philofophic •
T HE R E P U B LI C.
philofophic temper partake of the mild? And when this difpofition is carried too far, may it not prove more foft than is becoming; but, when rightly difciplined, be really mild and comely? Thefe things are fo, But we fay that our guardians ought to have both thefe ditpofitions, They ought. Ought not then thcfe to be adapted to one another? Why not? And the foul in which they are thus adapted is temperate and brave. Certainly. But the foul in which they are not adapted, is cowardly and favage. Extremely fo. And when one yields up himfelf to be foothed with the .charms of mufic, and pours into his foul through his ears, as through a pipe, thofe we denominated the foft, effeminate, and plaintive harmonies, and fpends the whole of his life chanting and ravilhed with melody; fuch an one, at the 6rfi, if he has any thing irafdble, foftcns it like iron, and, from being ufelefs and fierce, renders it profitable. But when fiill perfifl:ing he does not defifi, but inchants his foul, after this, it melts and diifolves him, till it liquefies his a1Jger, and cu.ts out, as it were, the nerves of his foul, and renders him an effeminate warrior. It is certainly fo indeed, faid he. But if, faid I, he had from the beginning a temper void of iPafcibility, this he qui kly effectuates; but, if ir.afcible, it renders the mind weak, and ealily turned, fo as inll:antly to be enraged at trifles, and again the rage is extinguilhed: fo that, from being irafcible, they become outrageous and paffionate, and full of the morofe. So indeed it happens. But what now? If one labour much in gymnaftic, and feafl: extremely well, but apply not to mufic and philofophy; lhall he not, in the firft place, having his body in a good condition, be filled with prudence and courage, and become more brave than he was before ? Cer tainly fo. But what, when he docs nothing elfe; nor participates in any thing which is mufic Iike, though there were any love of learning in his foul, as it neither taftes of any fiudy, nor bears a fhare in any inquiry nor reafoning., no·r any thing befides which is mulical, mull: it not become feeble, and deaf, and blind, as his perceptions are neither awakened, nor nourilhed, nor refined? Juft.fo. Such an one then becomes, as I imagine, a reafon-hater, and unmufical; and by no means can be perfuadcd to any thing by reafoning, but is carried to every thing by force and favagenefs, as a wild bcaft; and thus he lives in ignorance and barbarity, out of mea fore, and impolithed. It is, faid he, entirely fo. Correfponding then to
thefc
THE REPUBLIC. 255
thefe two tempers, I would fay, that fome God, as appears, h;r, g:vea me1r two arts, thofe of mufic and gymnafiic, in reference to the iraicibl.: a,id the philofophic temper; not for the foul aud body, otherwifo than as a by-work, but for that other purpofe, that thole two tempers might be adapted to one another; being firetched and flackened as far as is fit. So indeed it appears• Whoever then lhall in the mofi handfome manner mingle gymnafiic. with mufic, and have thefe in the jufiefi meafure iu his fout, him we ihall moft properly call the mofi completely mufical, and of the befi harmony; far more than the m:111 who adjufis to one another mufical firings. Moll: reafonably, faid he, Socrates. Shall we not then, Glauco, always have need of foch a prefident for our 11:ate, if our government is to be preferved? We fhall mofi efpecially have need of this. Thofe then may he the models of education and difcipline. For why fhould one go o\er the dances, the huntings of wild beafis, both with dogs and with nets, the wrefilings and the horfe-raccs proper for fuch perfons? for it is nearly manifefi that thefe naturally follow of courfe, and it is no difficult matter to find them. It is indeed, faid he, not difficult. Be it fo, faid I. But what follows next? What was next to be determined by us. \Vas it, which of thefe fhall govern, and be governed 1 What elfe? Is it not plain that the cider ought to be governors, anJ the younger to be the governe.l l It is plain. And is it not likewife plain, that the befi of them are to govern? This too is plain. But are not the heft hufban,lmen the mofr affiduous in agriculture? They are. If now our guardians are the betr,. wilt they not be mofi vigilant over the city? They will. Mufi we not for this purpofe make them prudent, and able, and careful likewife of the citv? \Ve mufi dtJ fo. But one would feem to be mofi careful of that which he happens to love. Undoubtedly. And ooe fhall mofi efpecially love that to which he thinks the fame things are profitable which Jre fo to himfelf, and with whofe good efiate he thinks his own connec.1ed; and
where he is of a c mtrnry opinicn, he will be contrariwife atfet1ed. J ull:
fo. We mull choofe t 1cn from the other guardiam fuch men as thall
moll of all others a;,pe:u to us, on obfer\iation, to do with the grcatcll: cheerfoluds, till”ou;:1 the whole of life, whatever they think advantageous for lhe fid e, an i wh l[ : PP Jrs t,> be difa,hantagcous th y will not do by any means. Thefo are tuc: ,;,oft p:oper fa.J he. Ir truiy appears to me,
that
256 T H E R E P U B L I C,
that they ought to be obferved through every fhge of their life, if they be tenacious of this opinion, fo as that neither frau<l nor·force make them inconliderately throw out this opinion, that they ought to do what is beft for the fiate. What throwing out do you mean? faid he. I will tell you, faid
I. An opinion feems to me to depart from the dianoi:tic part voluntarily or involuntarily. A falfe opinion departs voluntarily from him who unlearns it; but every true opinion departs involuntarily. The cafo of the vohrn tary one, replied he, I underftand ; but that of the involunt:iry I ·ant to learn. What now ? Do not you think, faid I, that men arc involuntarily deprived of good things; but voluntarily of evil things? Or, is it not a11 evil to deviate from the truth, and a &pod to form true opinion? Or, does it not appear to you, that to conceive of things as they really are, is to form true opinion? You fay rightly indeed, replied he. They do feem to me to be deprived unwillingly of tnie opinion. Do they not then futfer this, either in the ‘way of theft, enchantment, or force? I do not now, faid he, underll:and you. I feem, faid I, to fpeak theatrically. But, I fay, thofe have their opinions fiolen away, who are perfuaded to change their opinions, and alfo thofe who forget them; in the one cafe, they are imper ceptibly taken away by time, and in the other by reafoning. Do you now underfiaud iu any meafure? Yes. And thole, I fay, have their opinions forced from them, whom grief or agony obliges to change them. This, faid be, I underftand, anJ yon fay right. And thofc, I imagine, you will fay, are inchanted out of their opinions, who change them, being be witched by pleafure, or !educed by fear, being afraid of fomething. It fcems, faid he, that every thing magically beguiles which deceives u&. That then which I was now mentioning mull: be fought for: who are the befl: guardians of this opinion ; that that is to be done which is beft for the fiate: and they mufl: be obfen·ed immediately from their chik.hood, fetting before them fuch pieces of work in which they may mofi readily for get a thing of this kind, and be deluded; and he who is mindful, and hard to be deluded, is to be choien, :rnd he who is otherwifo is to be rejccled. Is it not fo? Yes. And we mu{l: appoint them trials of bhours an<l of pnin , ii1 which we mull: obferve the fome thingf. Right, foid he. Mut1: we not, faid I, appoi11t them a third contefi, that of the mou;1tebank kind; and obferve them as thole do, who, when they lead 011 young horles againil:
noifcs
T H E R E P U B L r C. 257
noifes and tumults, obforve whether they are frightened? So mufi. they, whilfl: young, be led into dreadful things, and again be thrown into plea fures, trying them more than gold in the fire, whether one is hard to be beguiled with mountebank tricks, and appear compofcd an,idO: all, being a good guardian of himfolf, and of that mulic which be learned, ihowing himfelf in all thefe things to be in jufi: meafore and harmnny. Being of foeh a kind as this, he would truly be of the greatdl: advantage both to himfelf and to the fiate. And the man who in childhood, in youth, and in manhood, has been thus tried, and has come out pure, is to be appointed governor and guardian of the fiate; and honours are to be paid him whilll: alive, and when dead he ihould receive the highefi. rewards of public fune-‘
rat and other memorials. And he who is not foch an one is to be rejeaed. Of fuch a kind, Glauco, faid I, as it appears to me, is to be the choice and efl:ablifhmcnt of our governors and guardians, as in a iketch, and not accu rately. And I, faid he, am of the fame opinion. Is it not then truly moll:
jt1ft, to call thefe the moll: complete guardians, both with reference to enemies abroad, and to friends at home ; fo as that the one ihall not have the will, nor the other have the power to do any mifchief? And the youth (whom we now called guardians) will be allies and auxiliaries to the decrees of the governors. I imagine fo, replied he. What now, faid I, may be the contrivance of thofe lies, which are made on occalion, and of which we were lately faying that it is a moll: generous part, in making lies, to perfoade the governors themfelves mofi efpecially; or, if uot thefe, the refi of the fiate? \Vhat fort do you mean? Nothing new, faid I, but fomcwhat Phrenician, which has frequently happened heretofore, as the poets tell us, and have perfuade<l us, but has not happened in our times, nor <lo I know if ever it {hall happen: to perfoade one of it furely requires a fubtile per fuafil,n. How like you are, faid he, to one who is averfo to fpeak ! I ihall
.ippear, faid I, to be avcrfc with very good reafon, after I tell it. Speak,
faid he, and <lo uot fear. I fpeak then, though I know not with what courage, and ufing what exprefiions, I {hall tell it. And I ihall attempt, fir!l of all, to perti.iade the governors themfelves, and the foldiers, and after- , wards the rc!l of the fiate, that, whatever we educated and infiruel:ed them iu, all thefo particulars fecmed to happen to them aud to befall them as dreams; but that they were in. truth at that time formed and educated within
voL, r. 2 L the
2.58 THE REPUBLIC.
the earth ; both they themfelves, and their armour and their other uten fils, being there likewife fabricated. An<l after they were completely fafhioned, that the earth, who is their mother, brought them forth; and uow they ought to be affected towards the country where they are, as to their mother and nurfe; to defend her, if any invade her; and to confider the reO: of the citizens as being their brothers, and fprung from their mother earth. It was not without reafun, faid he, that fomc time fince you was aihamed to tell this falfehood. I had truly reafon, faid I. But hear however the reO: of the fable. All of you now in the fiate are brothers (as we thall tell them in way of fable); but the God, when he formed you, mixed gold in the formation of fuch of you as are able to govern ; therefore are they the mofi honourable. And filver, in fuch as are auxiEaries ; and iron an<l brafs in the huibandmen and other handi crafts. As you are all of the fame kind, you for the moO: part refemble one another : and·it fometimes happens, that of the gold is generated the filvcr, and of the filver there is a golden defcendant; and thus every diffc:r ent way are they generated of one another. The God gives in charge, firfi of all, and chiefly to the governors, that of nothing are they to be fo good guardians, nor are they fo firongly to keep watch over any thing, as over their children; to know what of thofe principles is mixed in their foul&; and if their defcendaut ihall be of the brazen or iron kind, they fl1all by no means have compaffion ; but, affigning him honour proportioned to his natural temper, they ihall puih him down to the craftlinen or huiliand men. And if again any from among thcfe !hall be born of a golden or filver kind, they thall pay them honour, and prefer them; thofo to the guardianthip, and thcfe to the auxiliary rank: it being pronounced by the oracle, that the llate is then to periih when iron or brafs lhall have the guardianihip of it. Have you now any contrivance to pcriuade them of this fable? None, faid he, to perfuade thefo men themfelves; but l can contrive how that their fons and pofierity, and all maukinJ afterwards, ihall believe it. Even this, faid I, would do well towards makino- them more concerned about the fiate, and one another; for I almoil un<lcrfiand what you fay. And this truly will lead the fame way as the oracle. Ilut let us, having armed thefe earth-born fons, lead them forwards under their leaders; and when they are come into the city, Jet them confider where
it
T H E R E P U B L I C.
it is bell: to place their camp, fo as bell: to keep in order thofo who are within, if any one ihould want to difobey the laws; an<l lil.ewifc defend a_;ain!l: thofo without, if any enemy, as a wolf, ihould come upon the folJ. And when they have marked out their camp, and performed facrilices to the proper divinities, let them creel their tents: or, how are they to do? Jufi fo, faid he. Sliall they not be fuch as may be fufficient to defend them, hoth from winter and fommer? Why not ? for you fcem, faid he, to mean houfes. Yes. faid I, but military ones; not fuch as are cofily. What do yon fay, replied he, i3 the diff..:rence between the one and the. other 1 I will endeavour, faid I, to tell you; for, of all things, it is the mofi dread• fol, and the moll: lhameful to thepherds, to breed foch kind of dogs, and in fuch a manner, as auxiliaries of the flocks, as either through intemper ance or famine, or fume other ill difpofition, the dogHhcmfolves ihould attempt to hurt the iheep; and, infiead of dogs, refemble wolves. That is dreadful, faid he, why is it not ? Mufi we not then, by all means, .take care left our allies do fuch a thing towards our citizens, a they are more powerful; and, inll:earl of generous allies, refemble favage lords? We mull: take care, faid he. Would they not he prepared, as to the greatefl: part of the care, if they were really well educated? But they are fo at leafi, replied he. And I faid : That is not proper to be confidently affirmed, friend Glauco; but that is proper which we were now faying, that they ought to have good education, whatever it is, if they arc to have what is of the grcatdl: confequence towards rendering them mild, both among themfrlves and towards thofe who are guarded by them. Very right, faid he. Befides then this education, any one of under/landing would fay, that their houfes, and ;ill their other fubfiance, ought to be fo contrived, as not to hinder their guardians from being the very bell of men, ai1d not to fiir them up to injure the other citizens. And he will fav true. Jf then they intc1ul to be fuch, confider, faid I, whether they 011.ght to live and dwell in fomc foch manner as this: Firfi, then, let none poffels auy fubfiancc privately, unlcfs there be the greatell: necellity for it: next, let none have any dwelling, or fiore-hou!c:, into which whoever inclines·may not enter: as for neceffaries, let them be fuch as temperate and brave warriors may require; and as they are infiitute,I by the other citizens, let them receive foch a reward of thejr guardianthip, as to have neither over-
2 L 2
THE REPU.BLJC.
plus nor deficiency at the year’s end. Let them have public meals, as in encampments, and live in common, They mull: be told, that they have from the Gods a divine gold and filver at all times in their fouls ; and have no need of the human. And that it were profane to pollute the poffcffion of the divine kind, by mixing it with the poffeilion of this mortal gold; becaufe the money of the vulgar has produced many impious deeds, but
that of thefe men is incorruptible. And of all the men in the city, they alone are not allowed to handle or touch gold and filver; nor to bring it under their roof; nor carry it about with them; nor to drink out of filver or gold : and that thus they arc to preferve themfelves and the fl:ate, But
whenever they fhall poffefs lands, and houfes, and money, in a private way, they fhall become ftewards and farmers infiead of guardians, hateful lords inftead of allies to the other citizens : hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted againfl:, they fhall pafs the whole of their life ; much oftener and more afraid,.,of the enemies from within than from without, they and the refl: of the fiate hafl:eniug fpeedily to defirullion. For all which reafons, faid I, let us affirm, that our guardians are thus to be confiituted with reference both to their houfes and to other things. And let us fettle thefe things by law, Shall we? By all means, faid Glauco.
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
THE
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK IV.
AoIMANTUS hereupon replying, What now, Socrates, faid he, will you fay in your own defence, if one fhall fay that you do not make thefe men very happy? for, though it is owing to thefe men that the city reaHy exi{h, yet they enjoy no advantage in the city, fuch as others do who polfels lands, build beautiful and large houfes, purchafe fuitable furniture, offer facrifices at their own expeufe, give public entertainments to firan gers, and poffels what you was now mentioning, gold and filver, and every thing which is reckoned to contribute towards the rendering men happy. But one may readily fay, that, like hired auxiliaries, they feem to po!fefs nothing in the city but the employment of keeping guard. Yes, faid I; and that too only for their maintenance, without receiving, as all others ao, any reward bdides. So that they are not allowed fo much as to travel privately any where abroad, though they fhould incline to it; nor to bell:ow money on others, nor to fpend it in fuch other methods as thofe do who are counted happy. Thefc and many fuch things you leave out of the accufation. But let thefe things too, faid he, be charged againfi them. You aik then, what we lldl fay in our defence? I do. Whilfi we go on in the fame road, we fhall find, as I imagine, what may be faid: for we !hall fay, that it were nothing firange if thefe men, even in thefe circumllances, fhould be the happieft poffible. Yet it was not with an eye to this that we ell:ablif11ed the city; to have any one tribe in it remarkably happy beyond the rell:; but that the whole city might be in the happidl: condition ; for we judged, that in foch an one we fhould moll: efpecially find jull:ice, and injull:ice in the city the worft ell:abli!hed : and that, upon thoroughly examining thcfe, we ihou1d determine what we have for fame time been in fearch of. Now then, as I imagine, we are forming a happy
fiate,
262 T H E R E P U B L I C.
fiate, not felecling fome few perfons to make them alone happy; but are efiablilhing the univerfal happinefs of the whole : and we £hall next confider a fiate which is the reverfe. As if then we were painting human figures, and one approaching lhould blame us, faying, that we do not place the mofi beautiful colours on the mofi: beautiful parts of the creature ; for that the eyes, the mofi beautiful part, were not painted with purple, but with black; fhould we uot ieem to apologize fufficient!y to him, by faying,
\V onderful critic ! do not imagine that we ought to paint the eyes beau
tiful, in fuch a way as that they would not appear t0 be eyes ; anJ fo with reference to all other parts. But confider, \\’hether, iu giving each parti cular part its due, we make the whole beautiful. And fo now, do not oblige us to confer fuch a happinefs on our guardians as fliall make them any thing rather than guardians: for we know too, how to array the huibandmen in rich and cofily _robes, and to enjoin them to cultivate the ground only with a view to pleafore; and in like manner, thofe who make earthen ware, to lie at their cafe by the fire, to drink and feafr, neglecting the wheel, and working only fo much as they incline: and we know how to confer a felicity of this nature on every individual, in order to render the whole fiate happy. But do not advife us to all: after this manner; fince, if we obey you, neither would the hufbandman really be a huiliandman, nor the potter be a potter; nor would any other really be of any of thofe profeffions of which the city is compofed. But, as to others, it is of lefs conf.:guence; for, when fhoemakers become bad, and are de generate, and profcfs to be fhoemakcrs when they are not, no great mif chief happens to the fiate : but when the guardians of the law and of the fiate are not fo in reality; but only in appearance, you foe how they entirely ddl roy the whole coufiitution ; if they alone {11all have the privi lege of an affiueut and happy life. If we the11 arc for appointing men who fhall be really guardians of the city, the leall: of all hurtful to it; and he who makes the objection is for having them rather as certain farm,·rs, and as in a fefiival-meeting, not in a city, certain public entertainer,, indulging in jollity, he mufi mean fomcthing cite than a city: we mull: then con!ider wht:ther we efi,;bli{h guardians with this view, that they may have the greatefl: happii1efs; or if we cflablifh them with a view to the happinefs of the whole city, let us fee whether this takes place; and le-t us oblige thefe
allies
THE REPUBLIC. 2ff3
allies and guardians to do this, and we mufl: perfuade them they fhall thus become the bell: performers of their own particular work; and we mufl: acl towards all others in the fame manner. And thus the whole city being increafed, and well confiituted, kt us allow the feveral tribes to participate of happinefs as their natures admit. You feem to me, faid he, to fay well. Shall I appear to you, faid I, to fpeak right in what is akin to this? \Vhat is that ? Confider whether other artificers are corrupted by thefe things, fo as to be made bad workmen. What things do you mean? Riches, faid J, and poverty. As how ? Thus: Does the potter, after he becomes rich, feem fiill to mind his art? By no means, faid he. But will he not become more idle and carelefs than formerly? Much more fo. Shall he not then become a moro u01fkilful potter? Much more fo, likewife, faid hc. And forely, being unable through poverty to furnilh himfelf with tools, or any thing elte requifite to his art, his workmanlhip fhall e more imper fectly executed, and his f.,ns, or thofe others whom he infiruBs, fhall be inferior artifi,,. How lhoukl they not? Through both thefe, now, poverty and riches, the workrrianlhip in the arts is rendered kfs perfeB, and the artill:s themfrlves become leis expert. It appears fo. We have then, it feems, difcovered other things, which our guardians mull by all means watch againll:, that they may in no refpeB efcape their notice, and fieal into the city. What kind of things are thefe? Riches, faid I, and poverty: as the one is productive of luxury, idlenefs, and a love of novelty; and the other, bcfi<les a love of novelty, is illiberal, and produl:live ofmifchicf. They are entirely fo, faid he. But confider this, Socrates. How <hall our city be able to en:;agc in war, fince <he is polfelfed of no money, efpecially if il1e be obliged to wage war againfi a great and opulent fiatc? It is plain, faid I, that to light againfi one of this kind is fomewhat difficult; but to fight againll: two is a more eafy matter. How fay you? replied he. Firfi of all, now, faid
I, if they have at all occafion to light, will they not, being expert in the
art of war, fight againft rich men ? They will, faid he. What then, faid I, Adimantus, do not you think that one boxer; who is fitted out in the bell manner poffible for this exercife, is eafily able to fight agaiufl: two who are not expert boxers, but, on the contrary, are rich and unwieldy? He would not pahaps eafily fight with both at once, faid he. Would he not, faid I, though he had it in his power to retire a little, and then tum
Oil
THE REPUBtIC.
on theone who t’hould be the forthefi advanced towards him, and (hike him, and by doing this frequently iu the fun and heat? Might riot a pcr fon of this kind eaiily defeat many foch as thefe? Certainly, faid he; that would be uo great wonder. But do not you think that the rich have more knowledge and experience of boxing than of the military art? I do, faid he. Eaiily then, as it plainly appears, will our athletics combat with double and triple their number. I will agree with you, faid he ; for you feem to me to fay right. But what if they fhould fend an embaffy to an• other !late, informing them of the true fituation of the affair, telling them, We make no ufe of gold or filver, neither is it lawful for us to ufe them, but with you it is lawful; if then you hecome our allies in the war, you will receive the fpoils of all the other ftates : do you imagine that any, on hearing thefe things, would choofe to fight againft (hong and refolute dogs, rather tcyan in alliance with the dogs to fight againft fat and tender
:t’heep ? I do not think it; but, if the riches of others be amaffed into one
ftate, fee that it does not endanger that which is poor. You are happy, faid I, that you imagine any other deferves to be called a ftate befides fuch an one as we have eflablit’hed. Why not? faid he. We muft give others, faid I, a more magnificent appellation ; for each of them coniiils of many ftates, and is uot one, as is faid in way of irony: for there are always in them two parties at war with each other, the poor and the rich ; and in each of thefc again there are very many : to which if you apply as to one, you are mifiaken entirely ; but if, as to many, you put one part in poffe:ffion of the goods and power of another, or even deliver up the one to the other, you (hall always have the many for your allies, and th<” few for enemies; and, fo long as your ftate !hall continue temperately, as now cftablifhed, it ihall be the greatefi. I do not fay it ihall b:! accounted fo, but !hall be really the greatefi, though its defenders were no more than one thoufand ; for one fl-ate fo great you ,viii not e:ilily find, either among the Greeks or Barbarians, but many which are ccounted many times larger than foch an one as this. Arc you ofa different opinion? No, truly, faid he. Might 11tt this, then, faid I, be the beft m,1rk for our rulers how large to make the city, and what extent of ground to mark off for it in proportion to its bulk, without attending to any thing fur ther? What mark? faid he. I imagine, faid I, this : So long as the city,
4
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on its increafe, continues to be one, fo long it may be increafo<l, but not beyond it. Vcry ri; ht, faid he. Shall we not then lay tliis further in junll:ion on our guardians, to take care by all means thu-t the city be nei ther 1inall nor great, but of moderate extent, anJ be one city ? We thall probably, faid he, enjoin them a trifling affair. A more trifling affair fiill than this, faid I, is that we mentioned above, when we obferved, that if any defcendant of the guardians be depraved, he ought to be difinilfed to the other clalfes; and if any dcfcendant of the others be worthy, he is to be raifed to the rank of the guardians; and this was intended to thow that all the other citizens ought to apply themfelves each to that particu lar art for which he has a natural genius, that fo every one minding his own proper work may not be many, but be one; and fo likewife the whole {late may become one, and not be many. This indeed, faid he, is frill a more trifling matter than the other, We do not here, faid I, good Adimantus, as one may imagine, enjoin them many and great matters; but fuch as are all trifling, if they take care of one grand point, es the faying is, or rather that which is fufficient in place of the grand. What is that ? faid he. Education, faid I, and nurture ; for if, being well edu• cated, they become temperate men, they will eafily fee through all tbefe things, and fuch other things as we omit at prefe11t, refpecting women, marriages, and the ·propagation of the fpecies. For thefe things ought all, according to the proverb, to be made entirely common among friends. That, faid he, would be moil right. And furely, faid I, if once a re public is fet a•going, it proceeds happily, increaling as a circle. And whilfi good education and nurture are prefcrved, they produce good ge niuses ; and good geniuses, partaking of foch education, produce fiill better than the former, as well in other refpell:s as with reference to pro pagation, as in the cafe of other animals. It is likely, faid be. To fpeak then briefly, this the guardians of the {bte mull oppofe, that it may not, efcapiug. their notice, hmt the con!litutiop; nay, above all things, tbey mull: guard againfi this, not to make any innovations in gymnafiic and mufi<‘, contrary to the efl:ablithed order of the fl:ate, but to maintain this order as much as poflible; being afraid lefi, w hilfl: a man adopts that poetical cxprcfii-on,
. Men moll; admire that fong,
WJ1ich molt partakes of novelty,
VOL, I. 2M one
266 THE REPUBLIC.
one fhoulJ frequently imagine, that the poet means not new fongs·, but a new method of the fong, and thould commend this. Such a thing is nei ther to be commended nor admitted; for, to receive a new kind of mufic is to be guarded again!l, as endangering the whole of the conflitution : for never are the meafures of mufic altered without the greatefl politic laws, according to _Damon, with whom I agree. You may place me likewifc, faid Adimantus, among thofe who are of that opinion. We mull: erect then, faid I, fom.e barrier, as would feem, fomewhere here, foy our guardians themfelves, with regard to mufic. A tranfgreffio11 here, faid he, eafily indeed fieals in imperceptibly. It does, faid I, in the way of diverfion, and as produll:ive of no mifchief. For neither indeed does it produce any other, faid he, but that becoming familiar by degrr.es it in. fenfibly runs into the manners and purfuits; and from thence, in inter.:· comfe of dealings one with another, it becomes greater; and from this intercourfe it enters into laws and policies with much impudence, So crates, till at lafi it overturns all things, both private and public. Well, faid I, let it be allowed to be fo. It appears fo to me, replied he. Ought not then our children, as I faid at the beginning, to receive directly from. their infancy au education more agreeable to the laws of the confiitution? becaufe, if their education be fuch as is contrary to law, and the children be of fuch a nature themfelves, it is impoffible that they thould ever grow up to be worthy men, and obfervant of the laws. \Vhy, is it not ? faid he. But when handfome amufements are appointed them from their infancy, and when, by means of the mufic, they embrace that amufement which is according to law (contrariwife to thofe others), this mufic at teads them in every thing elfe, and grows with them, and raifes up in the city whatever formerly was fallen down. It is true, indeed, fatd -he. Aud thefe men, faid I, dilcover thofe efiablithments which appear trifling,
:md which thofe others defiroyed altogether. \Vhat efiablithments? Such as thefo : Silence of the younger before the elder, which is proper; and the giving them place, and rifing up before them, and reverence of pa
,-ents; likewifo what !having, what clothes and fhoes are proper, with the
whole drefs of the body, and every thing elfe of the kind. Are you not of this.opinion? I am. But to efiablifh thefe things by law, would, I imagine, be a filly thing, nor is it done any where ; nor would it ftand,
though
T H t R E P TT B L 1 C. ‘2157
though eltabliihed both by word and writin . Fur, how is it poffible? It feems then, faid I, Adimantus, that a man’s character and conduct will nlways be according to his education, let him apply himfelf afterwards to what he will: or, does not the like alway6 produce the like? \Vhy not?
And we may fay, I imagine, that at laft it arrives at fomewhat complete and vigorous, either good, or what is the reverfe. Why not? faid he. I would not then, faid I, for thefe reafons, as yet, undertake to fettle by law
foch things as thefe. Right, foid he. BL1t what now, by the gods, faid I, as to thole laws relative to matters of exchange, and to their traffic one with another in the forum, and, if you pleafe, their traffic likewife among their handicrafts, their fcandals, bodily hurt, and raifing of lawfuits; their inftitution of judges, and likewife fuch impofts and payments of taxes as may be neceffary either in the forum_ or at !bores ; or in general whatever laws are municipal, civil, or marine, or what other laws there may be of this kind; !hall we dare to eftablifu any of thefe? It is improper, faid he, to prefcribe thcfe to good and worthy men ; for they will eafily find out the moft of them, fuch as ought to be eftablifhed by law. Yes, faid I, friend, if at leaft God grant them the prefervation of the laws we forinerly explained. And if not, faid he, they will fpend the whole of their life making and amending many fuch laws as thefe, imagining that they !hall thus attain to that which is bell-. You fay that fuch as thefe
!hall lead a life, faid I, like thofe who are fick, and at the fame time unwilling, through intemperance, to quit an unwholefome diet. Entirely fo. And thefe truly mull: live very pleafantly ; for, though they deal with phyficians, they gai11 nothing, but render their difeafes greater and more complex; and they ftill hope, that when any one recommends any medi cine to them, they !hall, by means of it, be made whole. This is en tirely the lituation of fuch difeafed perfons as thefe. But what, faid I, is not this pleafant in them? to count that man the moft hateful of all, who tells them the truth ; that, till one give over drunkennefs and glut• tony, and unchafl:e pleafure, and lazinefs, neither drugs nor cauftics, nor amputations, nor charms, nor applications, nor any other fuch things as thefe, will be of any avail, That, faid he, is not quite pleafant; for to be enraged at one who tells us what is right, has nothing pleafant in it. You are no admirer, faid I, as it would feem, of this fort of men. No, truly.
2 M 2 Neither
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Neither then, though the whole of the city (as we were lately faying) lhould do foch a thing, would you commend them: or, is not the fame thing which is done by thefe people, doue by all thofe cities, which, be ing ill-gO\•erned, enjoin their citizens not to alter any part of the confiitu tion, for that whoever ihall do fuch a thing is to he put to death; but, that whoever ihall with the greatefi chcerfulnefa reverence thofo who govern in thi, fafhion, and !hall gratify them in the moil: obicquious manner; and, anticipating their deli.res, be moil: dexterous in fatisfying them, ihall be reckoned both worthy and wife in matters of higheft importance; and be held by them in the grcatefl: honour ? They feem to me at leaft, faid he, to do fhe very fame thing, and by no means do I commend them. But what again as to thofe who defire to have the management of fuch fiates, aud are even fond of it, are you not delighted with their courage and dex terity ? 1 am, faid he ; excepting fuch as are impofed 011 by them, and fancy that they are really politicians, becaufe they are commended as fuch by the multitude. How do you mean? Do you not pardon thofe men ? faid I. Or do you even think it is poflible for a man who cannot meafure himfclf, when he hears many other fuch men telling him that he is four cubits, not to believe this of himielf? It is impoffible, faid lut. Then be not angry in this cafe ; for fuch men as thefe are of all the moft ridiculous, fiuce, always making laws about fuch things as we now men tioned, and always amending, they imagine that they ihall find fomc period of thefc frauds refpelling commerce, and thofe other things I now ipokc of, being ignorant that they are in reality attempting to defiroy a hydra. They are furdy, faid he, doing nothing elfe. I imagine then, faid I, that a true lawgiver ought not to give himfelf much diHurbance about fuch a 1pe(ies of laws and police, either in an ill or well-regulated fl:ate; in the one, becaufe it is unprofitable and of no avail; in the other, becaufe any one can find out fome of the laws, and others of them flow of courfe from the habits ariling from their early education. \Vhat part then of the infiitutions of 1.iw, faid he, have we yet remainiug? And I faid, that to us indeed there is nothing remaining; but, however, to the Delphian Apollo there remains the greate!r, uoblefi, and moil: important’ of legal
inil:itutions. Of what kind ? fai<l he. The inltitutions of temples, facri
fices, and other wodhip of the Gods, da:mons, and heroes; likt:wifc the
dcpofiting
TIit :REPUBLI-C.
depofiting the dead, and what other rites ought to be performed to them, fo as to make them propitious. For truly fuch things as thefe, we our fclves neither know ; nor, in founding the fiate, will we intruft them to any other, if we be wife ; nor will we make ufe of any other interpreter,
-except the God of the country. For this God is th’e interpreter in every country to all men in thefo things, who interprets to them fitting in the middle of the earth, And it is well efi:abliihed, faid he, and we mull: do accorJingly.
Thus now, fon of Arifio, faid I, is the city efiablilhed for you. And, in the next place, having procured fomehow fufficient light, do you yourfol.f obferve, and call 011 yoltr brother and 011 Polemarchus and theft: others to affifi us, if by any means we may at all perceive where juftice is, and where injufiice; and in what refpect they differ from each ot!rer: and whi<:h of them the man ought to acquire, who propofes to himfelf to be happy, whether he be concealed or not concealed both from Gods and men, But you fay nothing to the purpofe, replied Glauco; for you your felf promifed to inquire into this, deeming it impious for you not to affift the cc1ufo of juftice by every poffible meaus. It is true, faid I, what you remind me of, and I mufi do accordi11gly. But it is proper that you too ihould affifi in the inquiry. We ihall <lo fo, faid he. I hope then, faid I, to difcover it in this manner, I think that our city, if it be rightl,t ellabliihed, is pcrfocl:ly good. Of neeeffity, faid he. Then it is plain, that it is wife, and brave, and ti.mperate, and ju/}. It manifeftly is fo. Whichever then of thefe we thall find in it, lhall there not remain behind that which is not found ? Why not? For as if we were in quell: of one, of any other four, in any thing whatever, if we difcovcred this one at the fir0:1 we would be fatisfied ; but if we thuuld firft difcover the other three from,this itfelf, that which we were inquiring after would be known; fot it.is plain it would be no other but that which remained. You fay right, faid he. Since then there are in our fl:ate thofo four above mentioned, fhaU we not,.inquire about t em, according to the fame manner? It is plain we ought. Firft of all, then, to me at leaft, wifdom appears to bi!. confpicuous in it ; and concerning it there appears fometbing very un common. What is that? faid he. Surely this city which \\’e have de
fcribed appears to me to be wife, for its councils are wife ; are they riot ?
They
270 T H E R E P U B L f C.
They are, And furely this very thing, the ability of counfeUing well, ts plainly a certain fcience; for men nowhere counfel well through igno rance, but through fcience, It is plain, But there are many and various fpecies of fcience in the fiate. Why, are there not? Is it then from the fcicnce of the carpenters, that the fiate is to be denominated wife and well-counfelled ? By no means from this, faid he, is it faid to be: wife, but to be mechanical. Is then the fiate to be denominated wife, when it confults wifely through its knowledge in utenfils of wood, how to have thefe in the befi manner poffible? Nor this neither. But what, is it for its kuowledge of thefe in brafs, or for any thing elfe of this kind? For none of thefe, faid he, Nor yet for its knowledge of the fruits of the earth is it faid to be wife, but to be fkilled in agriculture. It feems fo to me. But what, faid I, is there any fcieuce among any of the citizens in this city which we have founded, which deliberates, not about any par ticular thing in the city, but about the whole, how it may, in the beft manner, behave towards itfelf, and towards other cities? There is t uly. What is it, faid I, and among whom is it to be found ? This very guar
<lianilup, faid he, is it, and it is among thefe governors, whom we lately denominated complete guardians. What now do you denominate the fl:ate on account of this knowledge? Well-counfelled, faid he, and really wife, Whether then, faid J, do you imagiHe the brafs-fmiths, or thefe true guardians, will be moll: numerous in the fiate ? The brafs-fmiths, faid he, will be much more numerous. ,And of all, faid I, as many as, having any knowledge., are of any account, will not thefe guacdians be the fewefi in number? By much. From this .fmallefi tribe then, and part of the frate aud from that ,prefidiug and governing fcience in it, is the whole city wifely efiablifhed according to nature ; and this tribe, as it 11ppears, is by nature the finallefi, to whom it b.elongs to !hare in this fcience, l’Vhich of all others ought alone to be denominated wifdo,n, You fay, replied he, perfectly true. This one, then, of the four, we have fouud, I know not how, both what it is, and in what part of the frate it reticles. And it feems to me, faid he, to be fufficiently defcribed. But forely as to fortitude, at leaft, it is no difficult matter, both to find out itfolf, and the particular part of the city in which it refides, on account cf which virtue the city is denominated brave. As how ? Doth any
one,
T H E R E P U B L I C. 271
one, faid I, call a city brave or cowarclly, with reference to any other than that particular part of it which makes war and fights in its defence? No one, faid he, calls it fuch, with reference to any other part. Fur I do not think, faid I, that the other tribes who are in it, whether they be cowardly or brave, have power to render the city either the one or the other. No, indeed. The city then is brave likewite in one particular part of itfelf7 becaufe it has within it a power of foch a nature as {hall always prcferve their opinions about things which are dreadful, that they are both thefe very things, and of the very fame kind which the lawgiver inculcated on them in their education? Do not you call this fortitude? I have not, faid he, entirely comprehended what you fay; but tell it over again. I all for titude, faid I, a certain prefcrvative. \Vhat fort of prefervative? A prefer vative of opinion formed by law in a courCe of educntion about things which. are dreadful, what thefe are, and of what kind: I called it a prefervative at aU times, becaule they were to retain it in pains and in pleafures, in defires and fears, and never to call: it off; and, if you are willing, I thall liken it to what in my opinion it bears·a near refemblauce. I am willing. Do not you know then, fa.id I, that the dyers, when they want to dye their wool fo as to be of a purple colour, out of all the colours they firll: make· choice of the white; and then, with no trifling apparatus, they prepare and manage it, fo as bell: of all to take on the purefi colour, and thus they dye it; and whatever is tinged in this manner is of an indelible dye; and no wathing, either without or with foap, is able to take away the pure colour: but fuch wool as is not managed in this manner, you know what fort it proves,. whether one is dieing other colours, or this, without the due preparation beforehand. I know, faid he, that they are ealily wathen out, and are ridiculous. Imagine then, that we too, according to our ability, were aiming at fuch a thing as this, when we were choofing out our foldiers, and were infirulling them in mufic and gymnaftic : and do not imagine we had any thing clfe in view, but that, in obedience to us, they thould in the bell: manner imbibe the laws as a colour; in order that their opinion. about what is dreadful, and about other things, might be indelible, both by means of natural temper and fuitable education: and that thcfe wathes,. however powerful in effacing, may not be able to wath away their dye,. pleafure, which is more powerful in eJfelting this than all foap and athes,.
6 • paill
THE REP U B L’I C.
pain• and fear, and <lerire, which exceed every other cofinetic, Such a power now, and perpetual preforvation of right opinion, and fueh as is according to law, about things which are dreadful, and which are not-, l call and confiitute fortitude, unlefs you offer fomething elfe. But I offer, faid he, nothing elfe: for you feem to me to reckon that- fuch right· opinion of thefe things, as arifes without education, is both favage and forvile, and not at all according to law, and you call it fomething eH than fortitude. You fay 1nofi true, faid I. I admit then, that this is fortitude, Admit it further, faid l, to be political fortitude, and you fhall admit rightly: but, if you pleafe, we fl1all iuquiri- about it more perfecHy another time; for, at prefent, it is not this, but juil:ice we were feeking·; and with regard to the inquiry concerning this, it has, in my opinion, been carried far enough. You fpeak very well, faid he. There yet remain, faid I, two things in the city which we mutl fearch out: both temperance, and that for the fake of which we have been fearching after all the refl:, to wit;, juil:ice. By all means. How now can we find out jufiice, that we may not be further troubled about temperance? I truly neither know, fa1d he, nor do I wifh it to appear firfi, if we are to difmifs altogether the con
fideration of temperance; but, if you pleafc to gratify me, confider this· before the other. I am indeed pleafed, faid I, if I be not doing an injury. Confider then, faid he. We muil: confider, replied I; and as it appears from this point of view, it feems to refemble a certain fymphony and harmony more than thofe things formerly mentioned. How ? Temper ance, faid I, is fomehow a certain ornament, and a government, as they fay, of certain pleafures and defires; and to appear fupG(ior to oneielf, f know not how, and other fuch things, are mentioned as vefliges of it; are they not ? Thefo are the principal vefiiges of it, fuid he. Is not then the expreffion, ‘fuperior to onefelf,’ ridicul01,1s? For he who is foperior to himfolf muil: fomehow be likewife inferior to himfolf, and the inferior be the fuperior; for the fame perfon is fpoken of in all thefe cafes. Why not? But, to me, faid I, the expreffion feems to denote, that in the fame· man, with refpell: to his fonl, there is one part better, and another worfe-; and that when the part more excellent in his nature is that which governs the. inferior part, this is called being fuperior to himfelf, and exprelfes a commeud,atipn ; but when through iU education, or any kind of convcrfe,
4 that
T II E R E P U B L I C.
‘that better part’, which is fmaller, is conquered by the crowd, the worfe part; this, by way of reproach, both exprelfes blame, and denotes the,
·perfon thus affected to be inferior to himfclf, and altogether licentious. So it appears, faid he. Obforve then, faid I, our new cit;’,. and you lhall find one of thefe in it: for you will own, it may jull:Iy be faid to be fuperior to itfelf, if, where the Letter part governs the worfe, that fl:ate is faid to be temperate, and fuperior to itfelf. I obfcrve, faid he, and you fay true. And furely one may find a great many and various defires and plcafures and pains more efpecially among children and women and domefiics, and among the greateft and mofi depraved part of thofe who are called free, It is perfectly fo. But the fimple and the moderate defires, and foch as are
·Jed by intellecl:, and the judgment of -right opinion, you will meet witlt
·both in the few, and thofe of the befi: natural temper, and of the befi: edu c;ition. True, faid he. And do not you fee thofe things in our city, that there too the defires of the many, and of the bafer part, are governed by the defires and by the prudence of the fmaller and more moderate part ? I fee it, faid he. If then any city ought to be called fuperior to pleafure1 and defires, and to itfelf, this one is to be called fo. By all means, faid he, And is it not on all thefe accounts temperate ? Very much fo, faid he And if, in any other city, there is the fame opinion in the governors and the governed about this point, who ought to govern, it is to be found i11 this, do not you think fo? I am firongly of that opinion. In whom thert of the citizens will you fay that temperance refides, when they are thus nffecl:ed, in the governors, or the governed? In both of them fomehow,
{aid he. You fee then, faid I, that we jufily conjectured of late, that tern• perance refembles a kind of harmony. • For what? Becaufe not as forti. tude and wifdom, which refide each of them in a certain part, the one of them making the city wife, and the other courageous, not after this manner doth it render the city temperate; but it is naturally diffufed through the whole, connecting the weakell:, and thofe i11 the middle, all in one fymphony, either as to wifdom if you will, or if you will in firength, or in fubll:ance, or in any other of thofe things ; fo that moll: jufily may
we fay, that this concord is temperance: a fymphony of that which is
naturally the worfe and the better part, with reference to this, which of rhem ought to govern in the city, and in every individual, I am entirely, •
voL. r. 2 N faid
T H E R E P U B L I C.
faid he, oft.he fame opinion. Be it fo then, faid I. There are now three things in the city, it would feem, clearly difcovcred: but with refpecl: to that other. fpecies which remains, by which the city partakes of virtue; what at all can it be ? Is it not plain that it is juil:ice? It is plain. Ought we not now, Glauco, like fome huntsmen, to furround the thicket, care fully attending left jufrice fomehow efcape, and, difappearing, remain un difcovered ? For it is plain that fhe is fomewhere here. Look, therefore_ and be eager to perceive her, if any how you fee her Cooner thau I, and
:point her out to me. I wifh I could, faid he; but if you employ me as a11 attendant rather, and one who is able to perceive what is pointed out to him, you will treat me perfeclly well. Follow, faid I, after you have offered prayers along with m’e, I will do fo; only, faid he, lead you the way, To me this feems, faid I, to be a place fomehow of difficult accefs, and fhady : It is therefore dark, and difficult to be fcrutinized; we muft however go on, ‘We mufr go, faid he. I then perceiving, faid, Io ! Io! Glauco, we feem to have fomewhat which appears to be a footllep; and I imagine that fomething ihall not very long efcape us. You tell good news, faid he. We are truly, faid I, of a flow difpofition. As how? It appears, 0 bleffed man! to have been long fince rolling at our feet, from ihe beginning, and we perceived it not, but made the mofi ridiculous figure,. like thofe who feek fometimes for what they have in their hand; fo we did not perceive it, but were looking foinewhere off at a difiance, and in this w y perhaps it efcaped us. How do you fay? replied he. Thus, faid J, that we feem to me to have been fpeaking and hearing of it long fincct and not to underll:and ourfelves, that in fome meafure we expreffed it. A long preamble,{aid he, to one who is eager to hear. Hear then, faid I, if I fay any thing. For that which we at firll: ell:ablifh d, when we regulated the city, as what ought always to be done, that, as it appears to me, or a fpecies of it, is j.ifiice. For we fomewhere efiablifhed it, and oftc11 jpoke of it, if you remember; that every one ought to apply himfelfto one thing, relatiQg to the city, to which his genius was naturally moil adapted. We did {peak of it. And that to do one’s own affairs, and not to be prag
niatical, is jufi:ice. This we have both h rd from many others, and have often fpokeu of it ourfelves. We have indeed fpoken of it. This then,. friend, (aid I, appears to be in a certain manner Juftice; t.o do one’s own
affairs&
T .H E R I: PU B L I C.
affairs. Do you know ,1v·hence I conjecture this? No; but tell, faid he. Belides thofo things we ha:ve already confidered in the city, viz. temperance, fortitude, and wifdom; this, faid I, feems to remain, which give power to all thefe, both to have a being in the fiate, and, whilfi they exifi in it, to afford it fafety ; and we faid too, that jufiice would be that which would remain, ifwe found the other three. There is ueceffity for it, faid he. But if, faid I, it be neceffary to judge which ·of thefe, when fubfifiing io the city, ihall in the greateft meafure render it good; it would be difficult to determine whether the agreement between the governors and the gpverned, or the maintaining of found opinion by the foldiers about what things are dreadfol, and what are not; or wifdom and guardianOiip in the rulers ; or whether this, when i-t exifis in the city, renders it in the greatefi meafure good, viz, when child and woman, bond and free, artificer, magifirate and fubjecr, when every one does their own affairs, and is not pragmatical. It is difficult to deter• mine, faid he: How thould it not be fo? This power then, by which every one in the city performs his own office, is co-rival it feems for the per fection of the city, along with its wifdom, temperance, and fortitude. Extremely fo, faid he. Will you not then confiitute jufl:ice to be this co-rival with thefe, for the perfection of the city ? By all means. Connder it likewife in this manner, whether it thall thus appear to you. Will you enjoin the rulers to give juft decifions in judgment? Why not? But will they give juil judgment, if they aim at any thing preferable to this, that no one {hall have what belongs to others, nor be deprived of his own? No; but they can only give jufi judgm nt., when they aim at this. And do they not aim at this as being jufl:? Yes. And thus jufiice is acknow!edged to be the habitual practice of one’s own proper and natural work. It is fo. See then if you agree with me. Jf a carpenter take in hand to do the work of a thoemaker, or a 1hoemaker the work of a carpenter, or exchange ither their utenfils or prices; or if the fame man take in hand to do both, and all elfe be exchanged ; do you imagine the fl:ate would be any way greatly injured,? Not very much, faid• he. Bur I imagine, that when one who, is a, craftsmun, or who is born to any lucrat-ive employment,
{hall afterwards,,’.being pulfed up by riches, by the mob, or by firength, or any other fuch thing, attempt to go into the rank of counfollor and guardian, when unworthy of it; and when thefe fhall exchange ut nfils and rewards
2N2 W
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with one another; or when the fame man-{hall take in hand to do all thefe things at once ; then I imagine you wiU be of opinion that this interchange of thefe things, and this variety of employments practifed by one, is the· de!huclion of the fiate, By all means. Pragmaticalnefs then in thefe· three fpecies, and their change into one another, is the greatefi hurt to the fiate, and may mofl: jutl:Iy be called its depravity. It may fo truly. But· will not you fay that injuftice is the greatefl: ill of the fiate? Why not ?· This then is injufiice. But let us again fpeak of it in this manner. When• the craftsman, the auxiliary and the guardian-band do their proper work•. each of them doing their own work in the city; this is the contrary of the other, that is jufiice, and renders the city jufi. It feems to me, faid he, to, be 110 otherwife than thus. But tet us not, faid I, affirm it very firongly :, but if it thall be allowed-us that this fpccies of thefe, when it enters into any
individual, is likewife jufiice in him, we thall then be agreed; (for what thall we fay?) if not, we!hall confider fomething elfe. But now let us finith that
fpeculation, which we thought proper, when we judged that, ifwe attempted. firfl: to contemplate jufl:ice in fome of the greater objects which poifefs it, it would more eafily be feen in one man; and a city appeared to us to be the moft proper objetl: of this kind. And fo we eftablilhed the very heft we could, well knowing that jufiice would be in a good one. Let us now transfer and apply to a tingle perfon what has there appeared to us with. refpecl to a whole city: and, if the fame things correfpond, it thall be well ; but, if any thing difforent appear in the individual, going back again to the city, we thall put it to the proof; and, inftantly confidering them, when placed by one another, and firiking them, we thall make jufl:ice ihine out as from flints ; and, when it is become manifoft, we thall
.firmly eftablith it among ourfelves. You fay quite in the right way, faid he, and we muft do fo. Why then, faid I, when we denominate any thing the fame, though diffi:reut in degrees, is it diffimilar in that refpecl
in which we call it the fame, or is it fimilar? It is fimilar, faid he. Tho
jufi: man then, faid I, will differ nothing from the jufi: city, according to the idea of jufiice, but will be fimilar to it. He will be fimilar to it, faid he. But indeed with refpetl to this inquiry, the city at leaft appeared then to be juft, when the three fpecies of di1pofitions in it did each of them its own work, viz. th,e temperate, the brave, and the wife, by virtue of their
own
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own proper natures, and not according to any othcr.affi:lt’ions and habits. True, faid he. And ihall we not, friend, jt:dge it proper, that the indi vidual, who has in his foul the fame principles (viz. temperance, forti tude, wifclom), ihall, from having the fame alfefrions with thofe in the city, be called by the fame names? By all means,. faid he. \Ve have again, 0 wonderful man ! fallen into no mean fpeculation concerning the fuul ; whether it contain in itfelf thofe three principles or n:ot. Into no mean one, as I imagine, faid he. And it is likely, Socrates, that the common faying is true, that things excellent are difficult. It appears fo, faid I. But know well, Glauco, that,, according to, my opinion, we ihall never comprehend this matter accurately, in the methods- we are 1tow ufing in thefe reafouings, for the road leading to it is greater and longer : we may however, it is likely, fpeak of it in fuch a manner as may be worthy 0f our former difquifitions and fpcculations. Is not that defirable? faid- he.. This would fatisfy me for my own part,. at prefent, at leafi. This,. faid I,. lhall to me too, be quite fufficient. Do not then give over, faid he, but purfue your inquiry. Are we not, then, undei, a, neceffity, faid I, of acknowledging that there are in every one of us the fame forms and manners which arc in· the city? for from uo where elfo did they arrive thither. For it were ridiculous if one thould imag-inc that the irafoible difpofition did not arife from the individuals-. in cit cs, who have this. blcmiih, as thofe of Thrace, Scythia, and, in fome mcafure,. almofi all the higher region ; and the fame thing may be faid with refpecl: to the love of learning,, which one may chiefly afcribe to this country ;, or with reference to the love of riches, which we may fay prevailed efpecially among the Phrenicians and the inhabitants of Egyft Very much fo, faid: he. This then is fo,. faid I; nor is it difficult to·be known. No, indeed. But this is difficult to determine, whether we perform each of thefe by the fame power; or, as they are three, we per.form one by one power, and another by another; that is, we learn by one, we. are angry by another, and by a certain third we defire thofe pleafures r.elating to nutrition and propagation, and the other pleafures of affinity to thefe. Or do we, in each of thefe, when we apply to them, all: with the whole foul? Thefe
things are difficult to be determined in a manner worthy of the fubjell:. So h feems to me, faid he. Let us then, w this manner, attempt to deter-
6 mine.
27B T H E R E P U B L [ C.
mine thefe things, whether they are the fame with one another, or different. How arc we to do it? It is plain, that one and the fume thing cannot, at one and the fame time, do or futf r contrary things in the fame refpea, and with reference to the fame object; fo that, if we any where. find thefe circumfiances exifiing among them, we !hall know that it was, not one and the fame thing, but feveral, Be it fo. Confider then what l am faying. Proceed, replied he. Is it poffible for the fame thing to fland and to be moved at once in the fame refpea? By no means. Let us determine thi more accurately Hill; left, as we proceed, we be any way uncertain about it. For, if one fhould fay that when a man fiands, yet moves his hands and his head, that the fame perfon at once fl-ands and is moved, we ihould not, I imagine, think it proper to fpeak iu this manner; but that one part of him fiood, aud another part was moved. Should we not fpeaking this manner? In this manner. But if one who fays thefe things ihould, in ‘a more jocofe humour il:ill, and facetioufly cavilling, allege that tops fl-and wholly, and are at the fame time moved, when their centre is fixed on one point, and they are whirled about,-or that
. any thing elfe going round in a circle in the fame pofition doth this,-we fhould not admit it,·as it is not in the fame refpecl: that they fiand fiill and1 are moved: but we ihould fay, that they have in them the flraight line and the periphery ; and that, with relation to the firaight line, they ftood ; (for towards no fide they declined); but with relation to the periphery, they moved in a circle, But, when its perpendicularity declines either to the right or left hand, forwards or backwards, whilfl: it is at the fame time whirling round; then in no refpecl: doth it fiand. Very right, faid he. Nothing then of this ltind ihall move us, when it is faid: nor !hall any., one perfuade us, as if any thing, being one and the fame thing, could do1 and foffer contraries at one and the fame time, with reference to the fame objeet, and in the fame refpect. He !hall not perfuade me, faid he. But< however, faid I, that we may not be obliged to be tedious in going over all.thefe quibbles, and in evincmg them to be falfe, let us proceed on this fuppofition, that fo it is ; after we have agreed that, if at any time thefe· thiugs appear otherwife than as we now fettle them, we !hall yield up, again all we ihall gain by it. It is neceffary, faid he, to do fo. W ou)dl not you then, foid I, deem thefe things among thofe which are opp·ofitc to:
3 one
T lI E R E P U B L I C. 279
one another; whether they be aclions or paffions, for in this there is no difference ; to alfont, to wit, and to dilfent, to defire to obtain a thing, and to reject it; to bring towards onefelf, and to pufh away ? I would deem thefe, faid he, among the things which are oppofite to each other. What then, faid I, with refpell: to thirfiing, to hungering, and in general with refpell: to all the paffions ; and further, to defire, to will, and all thefe, may they not fomehow be placed among thofe fpecies which have now been mentioned? As for example, will you not always fay that th foul of one who has defire goes out after that which it defires, or brings near to it that which it wifhcs to have? Or again, info far as it wants fomething to be afforded it, like one who only fees an objecl, that it intimates by figns, to have it brought near, defiring the allual poffeffion of it? I would fay fo. But what, to be unwilling, not to wifh, nor to defire, fhall we not deem thefe of the fame kind, as to pufh away from the foul, and drive otT, and every thing elfe which is oppofite to the former? Why not? This being the cafe, ihall we fay there is a certain .fpecies of the defires? and that the moft confpicuous are thofe which we call thirfl: and hunger? We fhall fay fo, replied he. Is not the one the defire of drinking, and the other of eating? Yes. Is it then, when confidered as thirfi, a defire in the foul of fomething further than of drink ? It’ is ccording to the nature of the thirfr. Is there then a thirft of a hot drink, or of a cold, of much or of little, or in fhort of fume particular kind of dri;1k? for, if there be any heat accompanying the thirft, it readily occalioAs a defire of a cold driuk; but if cold accompanies it, then there is excited a defire of a warm drink: if the thirfl: be great, through many circumftances, it occafions a defit·e of much drink, but if fmall, a defire of a little drink : but the defire itfelf to thirft never creates the defire of aoy thing elfe, but of drink itfelf, as its nature prompts;. and in like manner of the appetite of hunger with relation to meat. Thus every defire, faid he, in id.elf, is of that alone of which it is the deli re; but to be a defire of fuch or foch a particular fpec.ies,are adventitious circumftances. Let not thenanyone, faid I, creat.e us any trouble, as if we were inadvertent ; that no one defired drink, but good drink ; or meat, but good meat : for indeed all men dcfirc that which is good. If then thirfr be a defire, it is of what is good; whether it be of drink, or of whatever elfe it is the defire. And i11. the fame way O£
all
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all the other. delircs. Perhaps, replied he, the man who flwnlJ mc11t1011 thcfc things would feem to fay fomething material. Rut however, faid I, whatever thing, are of fuch a nature as to belong to any genus, have a general reference to the genus ; l:,ut each particular of thcfe refers to a particular fpecies of that genus. I hav.e not undedlood you, faid he. Have you not underfiood, faid l, that greater is of filch a kind as to be greater than fomewhat? Yes, indeed. Is it not greater than the ldfer? Ycs. And that which is confiderably •greater than that which is confiderably Ie!fer; is it not? Yes. And that which was formerly greater than that which was formerly ldfer; a1,d that which is to be greater than that whiclt is to be le!fer ? \Vhat elfe ? faid he. And after the fame manner, what is more numerous with refpell: to what is Iefs numerous, and what is double
,..vith reference to what is half, and all fuch like things ; and further, what is heavier with refpell: to lighter, and fwifter to flower, and further 11:ill, hot to .cold; and all fuch like thing,;, are they not after this manned Entirely fo. But what as to the fciences? ls not th.e cafe the fame? For, fcience itfelf the fcience of learning itfelf, or of whatever elfo you think proper to make it the frience: but a certain particular fcience, aud offuch a particular kind, refers to a certain particular objett, and of fuch a kind. ‘\,Vhat I meau is th.is. After the fcien.ce of building houfcs arofe, did it not ieparate from other fcienees, fo as to be called architell:ure? ‘What elfe? \Vas it not from its being of fuch a kind as none of others were ? Yes. \Vas it 11ot then from its being the art of fuch a particular thing, that itfelf became foch a particular art ? And all other arts and fciences in like manner? They are fo. Allow then, faid I, that this is what I wanted to exprefs, if you have now underfiood it; where things are confidered as having reference to other things, generals alone refer to generals, and particulars to particulars. I do not howe” er fay that the fcience altogether refembles that of which it is i:he fcience ; (,as if, for example, the fcience of healthy and fickly were itfelf healthy and ficldy ; or that·the fcience of good and evil were it felf good alld evil.) But as fcience is not confiituted the fcience of that thing in general of which it is the tcience, but only of a certain quality of it (to wit, of jts healthy and fickly 11:ate), fo itfelf comes to be a certain particular fcience ; and this caufes it to be called no longer funply a fcience, but the medicinal fcience; the particular fpecies to which
it
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it belongs being fuperadded. I have undedl:ood you, faid he, and it ap pears to me to be fo. But will not you, faid I, make thirfl: now, what ever it be, to be one of thofe things which refpell: fomewhat elfo, confi dered as what it is, and it is furely thirll? I will, faid he, and it refpecls drink. And does not a particular thirll: defire a particular drink ? But thirll: in general is neither of much nor of little, nor of good nor bad, nor, in one word, of any particular kind ; but of drink in general alone is thirll: in general naturally the defire. Entirely fo, indeed. The foul of the man then who thirfis, fo far as he thirlts, inclines for nothing further than to drink ; this he defires, to this he hafiens, It is plain. If then at any time any thing draw back the thirfiing foul, it muft be fame dif ferent part of it from that which thirfl:s, and leads it as a wild beall: to drink: for, haye we not faid that it is impofiible for the famr- thing, in the fame refpects, and with •the fame parts of it, to do at once contrary things? It is indeed impofiible. In the fame manner, I imagine, as it is not proper to fay of an archer, that his hands at once pufh out and likewife pull in the bow; but that the one hand is that which pufhes our, and the other that which pulls in. Entirely fo, faid he. But whether may we fay, that there are; fame who when athirll: are not willing to drink? Yes, indeed, faid he, there; are many, and many times that is the cafe, What now, faid I, may one fay of thefc perfons? Might it not be faid, that there was in their foul fomewhat prompting them to drink, and likewife fomething hi11dering them, different from the other, and fuperior to the prompting principle ? It foems fo to me, faid he. Does not then the refiraining principle arife from reafou when it arifes; but thofe which pufh, and drive forwards., proceed fro,n pafiions and difeafes? It appears fo, We fhall then, faid I, not unreafonably account thefe to be two, and different from one another; calling the one part which reafons, the rational part of the foul ; but that pait with which it loves, and hungers, and thirfis, and thofe other appetites, the irrational and concupifcible part, the friend of certain gra tifications aud pleafures, We fhall not, faid he ; but we may moft reafon ably confider them in this light. Let thefe then, faid I, be allowed to be di!l:incl: fpecies in the foul. But as to that of anger, is it a third princi ple, or has it affinity to one of thofe two? Perhap& it has, faid he, to the concupifcible part. But I believe, faid I, what I have fomewhcre heard, voL, I, 2. o how
TaE REPUBLIC’,
how that Leonti:us, the fon of Aglaion, as he returned from the Pyrreum-,. perceived fome dead bodies lying in the fewer, below the outfide of the north wall, and had both a defire to look at them1 and at the fame time: was avcrfe from it, and turned himfelf away;. and for a while he flrug gled with his defire, and covered his eyes ; but, at lafl, being overcome by his appetite, with eager eyes, running towards the dead bodies, Lo now, faid he, you wretched eyes t glut yourfelves with this fine fpectacle. I too, faid he, have heard it, This fpeech now, faid I, lhows that anger fometimes oppofes the appetites, as being different one from another. It fhows it, indeed, faid he. And do not we often perceive, faid I, when,
the appetites compel any one contrary to reafon, that he reproachesa himfdf, and is angry at the compelling principle within him r And whe1’1!
the rational and concupifcible are in a fiate of fedition, anger in fuch a perfon becomes as it were an ally to reafon: but when the appetite goes·. along with reafon,’ theu anger gives no oppofition. You will fay, I ima• gine, that you have perceived nothing of this kind in yourfelf at auy t.ime, nor yet in another. No, by Jupiter, faid he. What now, faid I,. when: oue imagines he does an injury, the more generous he is, is he not fo, much the lefs apt to be angry, when he fuffers hunger and cold,. or any other fuch things, from one who inflicts, as he imagines, thefe things with. juftice? And, as I have faid, his anger will not incline him to rife upt agaiu.ft fuch an one. True, faid he. But what? when a man imagines he is injured, docs not anger in fuch an one burn? is he not. indignant? and docs he not fight, as an. ally, 011 the fide af what appears to QC juft? andi
under all the fofferings of hunger, cold, and fuch like, does he not bear up1 and conquer; and ceafe uot from his generous toils, till either he accompliih,
them, or die, or be refrrained by the rational principle within him, like a. dog by the thepherd, and is rende.red mild ? It perfecUy refembles, faid he, what you fay; for, in our ci1y, we. appointed the auxiliaries to be obedient, as dogs, to the rulers of the ci y, as to fhepherds.. You r,ightly undedland, fuid I, what I would fay. But have you betides confidered this? As what ? That here the reverfe appear,s concerning the irafcible from that, in the former cafe: for there we were: deeming it the fa.me with the con cupifcible; but now we fay it is far from it; or that, in. the {edition of the foul, it mu.ch rather jo_ins its arms with the rational part, Entirely fo,,
faid
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faid he. Is it then as fomething different from it, or as a fpecies of the rational ? fo as that there are not three fpecies, but only two in the foul1 the rational and concupifcible. Or, as there were three fpecies which completed the city, the lucrative, the auxiliary, the Iegillative; f<J, in the foul, this irafcibl.e is a third thing, naturally an auxiliary to the rational, if it be not corrupted by bad education ? Of neceffity it is, faid he, a third. Yes, faid I, if at lcafi it appear to be any way dilferent from the rational, as it appeared to be difiina from the concupifcible. But that iii not difficult, faid he, to bt: feen. For one may fee this, even in little children, that immediately from their infancy they are full of anger; but fome appear, to me at leaft, never at all to partici.pate of reafon ; and the moll: arrive at it but late. Yes, truly, faid I, you fay right. And one may yet further obferve in the brute creatures, that what you fay is really the cafe : and befiaes this, it is likewife attefied by what we formerly mentioned from Homer •,
lfu breaft he ftruck, and thus his heart reproved.
For, in that palfage, Homer has plainly made one part reprehend another; the part which reafons about good and evil, reprehend the _part whicfl is uureafonably angry. You fay per{ell:ly right, faid he. Thefo things, faid I, we have with difficulty agreed to ; and it is now fufficicntly acknow• le?ged, that the fame fpecies of principles as are in a city are in every individual, and in the fame number. They are fo. Mufi it not there fore of neceffity follow, that. after what manner the city wa5 wife, and in what refpect, after the fame manner, and in the farne refpecl, is the indivi1. dual wife alfo. Why not? And in what refpects, and after what manner, the individual is brave, in the fame rcfpecl, and after the fame manner, is acity brave. And fo in all other refpects, both of them are the fame as to virtue. Of neceffity. And I think, Glauco, we thall fay that a man is jufi in the fame way as we faid a city was fo? This likewife is quite neceffary. But have we not fomehow forgot this, that the city was juft, when every one of the three fpecies in it did_ each its own work? We do not appear to me, faid he, t ve forgot it. We muft then remember likewife, that each one of
I Odylt lib. 20. Yet, 18,
a o a 1lS’
!lS4 TH E R E P U B L I C.
tis will be jufi, and do his own work, when he doth his own afl’ai1s within himfelf. We mufr, faid he, carefully remember it. Is it not then proper that the rational part ihould govern, as it is wife, and hath the care of the whole foul? an<l that the irafcible part ihould be obedient, and an auxiliary of the other? Certainly. Shall not then the mixture, as we obferved, of mufic and gymnaflic make thefc two harmonious, railing and nouriihing the one with beautiful reafouings and difciplines, and un bending the other, foothing and rendering it mild by harmony and rhythm? Moil: perfectly, faid he. And when thofe two are in this manner nou riihed, and have been truly taught, and inftrutled in their own affairs, let them be fet over the coucupifcible part, which in every one is t!ie greater part of the foul, and in its nature moll: iufatiably defirous of being gratified: and let them take care of this part, left, being filled with thefe bodily pleafures, as they are called, it become great and vigorous, and do not its own work, but attempt to enOave and rule over thofc it ought not, and overturn the whole life of all in general. Entirely fo, fa.id he, And might he not, faid I, by this principle, guard likewite in the bell: manner againll: enemies from without, by its influence both over the whole foul and body likewife, the one deliberating, and the other fighting_ in obedience to its leader, and executing with fortitude the things deliberated?
It is fo-. And I think that we call a man brave, when, through all the
pains and pleafures of life, the irafcible part preferves the opinion
_dictated by reafon concerning what is terrible, and what is not. Right, faid he, And we call him wife, from that fmall part which governs in him, and dictates thefe things, having in it the knowledge of what is advantageous for each one, and for the whole community of the three themfelves. Perfectly fo, But what, do we uot call him temperate_, moreover, from the friend!hip. and harmony of thefe very things, when the governing and governed agree in one, tbat n:afou ought to govent, and w en they do not .raifo .fe<lition? Temperance, faid he, is no other than this, both as to the city and the in<l.ividual. But, as we have often faid, he fhall be jufi, by thefe things, and in this manner. It is q iti: neceffary. What then, faid I,. has any thing blunted us, that we ihoulµ think j,. fiice to be any thing elfc than what it has appeared to be
in a city? Nothing appears to me at leafr, faid he, to have done it..
J3.ut
THE RE PUB LI C, 285
But in this ma,mer, let us, by all means, confirm ourfeh•es, if there yet remain any doubt in the foul, that can he an objcllion to this principle, by bringing the man into difficult circumfiances. As what.? Such as this: if we were obliged to declare “Con-..r11ing fuch a .city, and concern ing a man horn and educated conformably to it, whether we thought fuch a one, when intrufl:ed with gold or filver, would embezzle it; do you imagine that any one would. think fuch a one would do it fooner than thofe who are not of fuch a kind? No one, faid he. Will not fuch a one then be free of facrileges, thefts, treacheries, againfi companions in private, or the city in public? He will be free. Nor will he ever, in any ihape, be faithlefs, either as to his oaths, or other declarations. How can he! Adulteries, and neglect of parents, impiety againfi the Gods, will belong to every one elfe, fooner than to fuch an one. They will be
long to every one clfe, truly,. faid he. And is not this the caufe of all
thefc things, that, of all the parts within him, each one thing does its own
work, as to governing and being. governed?. This. is it, and nothing elfe.
:Do you defire jufiice to be any thing elfe, but fucb a power as produces fuch men and cities? Not I truly, faid he, for my part. Our dream then which we conjectured is at lafr accomplifued; that when we firft began to build our city, we feemed., by fome God’s affiftance, to have got to a. beginning and pattern of jufiice. Entirely fo. And that, GJauco, was a certain image of jufiice, according to which, it behoved the ma11
.who was fitted br nature for the office of a ihoe,maker, to perform pro
.perly that office, and to do nothing elfo, and he w;ho is a carpenter to i,,erform that office, aad all others in the fame way. It appears fo. tAnd of fuch a kind truly was jufiice, as it appeared to us, I do not mea11 as to external action, but concerning that which is really internal, .r
atjng to the man himfelf,. and thofe things which are properly his own ; uot allowing any principle iii himfelf to attempt to do what belongs· to others, nor the principles to be pragmatical, engaging· _in one. another’s atfairs ; but in reality well efiablithing his own proper affairs, and holding the government of himfelf, adorning himfolf, and becoming his own friend, and attuning thofc thre_e principles in the mofi natural manner, a& three mu tical firing , bafe, tenor, and treble, e.r whatever others may cha9 e to inter vene. Thus he will be led to combine.allthete togetber,.and become of mallf
. 3 an.,
280 THE REPUBLIC.
an entire o_nc, temperate and attuned, and in that manner to perform whatever is done, either rn the way of acquiring wealth, or concerning the management of the body, or any public affair or private bargain; and in all thefe cafes to account and call that all:ion juft and haudfomc, which
:always fufiains and promotes this habit; and to call the know ledge which prefides over this action, wifdom : but to call that an unjuft allion which (!iffolves this habit, and the opinion which prefides over this, folly. You fay perfell:ly true, Socrates, faid he. Be it fo, faid I. If then we lhould fay that we have found out a juft man and city, and what jufiicc is iu them, I do not think we fhould feem to be altogether telling a lie. No, by Jupiter, faid he. May we fay fo? \Ve may fay it. Be it fo, faid I. But we were next, I think, to confider injufiice. That is plain. Mufi: it not then be fome fedition among the three principles, fomc pragmati ca1nefs and intermeddling in things foreign to their proper bufinefs, and an infurrecl.ion of foi:ne one principle againfi the whole foul, to govern in it when it docs not belong to it, but which is of fuch a nature, as what really ought to be in fubjection to the governing principle? I imagine then we lhall call their tumult and mifiake by fuch names as thefe, injufiice, intemperance, cowardice and folly, and in general all vice. Thefe things, faid he, arc fo. To do injufiicc then, faid I, and to be injurious, and like wife to do jufily, all thefe mu1¼ be very manifefi, if, to wit,’ injufiicc and jufl:ice are fo. As how ? Becaufe they are no way different from what is falutary or noxious: as thefe are in the body, fo are the others in the foul. How? faid he. Such things as are healthy confiitute health, and fuch as are noxious produce difeafe. Ycs. And mull: not the doing jufily pro. duce jufiice, and doing unjull:ly produce injull:ice ? Of neccffity. But to produce health, is to efiablilh all in the body according to nature; to govern and to be governed of one another; and to produce difeafe, is to govern and be governed, one part by another, contrary to nature. It is indeed. Then again, to produce jufrice, is it not to efl:ablith all in the foul according to nature, to govern and be governed by one another? And injuiliee is to govern aid be governed by one another, contrary to nature. Plainly fo, faid he. Virtue then, it feems, is a fort. of health, and beautJ, and good habit of the foul ; and vice the difeafe, and defor mity, and infirmity. It is fo. Do net then honourable purfuits lead· to
the
THE REPUBLIC.
the acquifition of virtue l but dilhonourable ones to that of vice ? Of ne ceffity. What remains then for us, as feems, to confider, is, whether it be profitable to do jufily, and to purfue what is honourable, and to be jull:; whether a man under fuch a character be unknown or not? Or to do unjull:ly, and to be unjull:, though one be never punithed, nor by chall:ifement become better ? But, faid he, Socrates, this fpeculation feems now, to me at leall:, to be ridiculous. For if, when the nature of the body is corrupted, it be thought that life is not worth having, not even though one had all kinds of meats and drinks, all kind of wealth, all kind of dominion; when the natur-e of that by which we live is dif ordered, and thoroughly corrupted, thall life then be worth having, though one can do every thing elfe which he inciiues, except afcertaining, how he thall be liberated from vice and injufiice, and acquire jufl:ice and virtue, fmce, to wit, both thefe things have appeared as we have reprefented them ? ft would be truly ridiculous, faid I. But, however, as we have arrived at fuch a point as enables us moft difl:incl:ly to perceive that thefe things are fo, we mull: not be weary. We mull:, by Jupiter, faid he, the leafi of all thin.gs defrll:. Come then, [aid I, that you may likewife fee how many principles vice pofreffes, principles which, as I imagine,· arc worthy of attention. I attend, faid he, only tell me. And truly now, faid I, fince we have reached this part of our difcoude, it appears to me 115· from a lofty place of furvey, that there is one principle of virtue, but thofe of vice are infinite. Of which there are four, which defurve to be mentioned. How do you fay ? replied he. There feem to be as many fpecies of fuul as there are of republics. How many then? There are live, faid I, of re publics, aud five of the foul. Tell, faid he. what thefe are. I fay, replied I, that this, which we have gone through, is one fpecies of a repubfic ; and it may have a two-fold appellation; for, if among the rulers there be one furpaffiug the reft, it may be called a Monarchy ; if there be feve ral, an Ariftocracy. True, faid he. I call this then, faid I, one fpecies; for, whether they be feveral, or but one, who govern, they will never alter the principal laws of the city; obferving the nurture and education WC have defcribed. It is not likely, faid he.
THE END- OF THE FOVRTB BOOX,,
THE
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK V.
I DENOMINATE then indeed both fuch a city and republic, and fuch a man as we have defcribed, goo.I and upright; and if this republic be au’ upright one, I deem the others bad and erroneous, both as to the regula
tions in cities, and the ell:ablifhing the temper of foul of individuals, and that in four fpecjes of depravity. Of what kind are thefe? faid he. I was then proceeding to mention them in order, as they appeared to me to rife out_ of one another: but Polemarchus fl:retching out his hand (for he fat a little further off than Adimantus) caught him by the robe at his fhoulder, and drew him near; and, bending himfelf towards him, fpokc• fomething in a whifper, of which we heard nothing but this: Shall we let pafs then ? faid he, or what fhall we do ? Not at all, faid Adimantus, fpeaking now aloud. And l replied, What then will not you let pafs? You, faid he, for it was to you I alluded. You feem to us to be growing negligent, and to fieal a whole branch of the difcourfe, and that not the leaO: confiderable, that you may uot have the trouble of going through it; and you imagine that you efcapt:d our notice, when you made this fpeech fo fimply, viz. that, both as to_ wives and children, it is manifeft to every one that thefe things will be common among friends. Did not I fay right, Adimantus? Yes, faid he: but this, which was rightly faid, like other parts of your difcourfe, requires explanation: to fhow what is the manner of their being common ; for there may be many kinds of it. Do not omit then to tell which is the method you fpoke of; for we have been in cxpdl:ation for fome time pall:, imagining you would, on fome occa fion, m ke mention of the propagation of children, in what way they 111ould be propagated; and, when they are born, how they fhould be nur tured; and every thing relative to what you fpoke concerning wives and
children
T H E R E P V Il L I C. 28!)
children being in ccmri10n ; for we imagine, that it is of confiderable, 11ay, of the utmofi importance to the fiate, when this is rightly performed, or otherwife. But now when you are entering on the confiJeration of another conftitl:tion, before you have fufficiently difcutfed thefe things, it feemed proper to us what you now heard, not to let you pafs, before you went over all thefo things, as you did the others. And you may count me too, faid Glauco, as joining in this vote. You may eafily judge, Socrate faid Thrafymachus, that this is the opinion of us all. What is this faid I, you have done, laying hold of me? \,Vhat a mighty difcourfe d you again raife, as you did at the beginning, about a republic, in which I was rejoicing as having now completed it, being pleafed if any oue woµld have let thefe things pafs, and been content with what was then faid! But you know not what a fwarm of reafonings you raife by what you now challenge, which I forefceing pa!fed by at that time, left it thould occafion great difl:urbance. What then, faid Thrafymachus, do you imagine that thcfe are now come hither to melt gold, and not to hear reafonings ?
Yes, faid I, but in meafure. The whole of life, Socrates, faid Glauco, is
with the wife, the meafure of hearing fuch reafonings as thefe. Hut pafa what relates to us, and do not at all grudge to explain your opinion con cerning the objecl: of our inquiry,-What fort of community of wives anµ childre11 is to be obferved by our guardians, and concerning the nurture of the latter while very young, in the period between their generation and their education, which feems to be the moll: troublefome of all. Endea vour then to tell us in what manner it thould be done. It is not eafy, happy Glauco, faid I, to go through theie things; for there are many of them hard to be believed, whether the things we fay be poftible; and though they could eafily be effecl:ed, whether they would be for the befl: might frill be doubted : wherefore, dear companion, I grudge fornewhat to touch on thefc things, lefl: our reafonings appear to be rather what were
:to be wiihe<l for, than what could take place. Do not at all grudge, faid he; for your hearers are neither fiupid, nor incredulo.us, nor ill-affected towards you. Then I faid, Do you fay this, moll: excellent Glauc0, with a dcfire to encourage me? I do, faid he. Then your difcourfo has a quite contrary etTccl:, faid I; for, if I trull:ed to myfelf, hat I underfiood what I am to fl\y, your encouragement would do well. For one who under.. voL. 1. 2 P fiands
T H E RE P U B L I C.
il:ands the truth,about the greatefi and the mofi interefiing affairs,(peaks with
.fafety and confidence among the wife and friendly; but to be diffident of one felf,. and doubt fut of the truth, and. at the fame time to be haranguing as I do now, is both dreadful and dangerous; not only left he fuould be expofed to ridicule (for that is but a trifling thing), but left that, mifiaking the truth, I not only fall myfeif, but draw my friends along with me into an error
about things in which we ought lea(!: of all to be mifiaken. I adore there fore Adrafiia, for the fake of what, Glauco, I am going to fay. For I trufi
it is a fmaller offence to be a man-flayer without intc:-ntion, than to be an impofl:or with regard to what is good and excellent, jufi and lawful: and it were better to hazard foch a thing among enemies than friends ; fo that you mull: give me better encouragement. Then Glauco, laughing : But, Socrates, faid he, if we fuff’er any thing amifs from your difcourfe, we fuall acquit you as clear of a11y man-flaughter, and as no impofior: fo proceed boldly. But indeed, faid I, he who is acquitted at a court of jufiice is deemed dear of the crime, as the law fays; and if it be fo in that cafe, ’tis reafon able it fuould be fo in this. For this reafon then, fai<l he, prnceed. We mufi now, faid I, return again to what it feems fuould, according to method, have been recited before; and perhaps it is right to proceed in this manner, that, after having entirely finifhed the drama refpell.ing the men, we go over that which concerns the women; efpecially fince you challenge me to pro• ceed in this manner. For, in my opinion, men who have been born ;md
-educated in fuch a manner as we have defcribed, can have no right poffeffio!l and enjoyment of children and wives, but in purfoing the fame track in which we have proceeded from the beginnit1g .: for we have endeavoured, in our reafoning, to form fomehow men as the guardians of a flock. We have. Let us proceed then, having efiablifhed likewife affairs relating to propaga tion and education in a manner fimilar to that of the males; and let us confider whether it be proper for us to do fo or not. How do you mean? replied he. Thus : Whether fuall we judge it proper for the females of our gua:r ia.l\ dogs, to watch like ife in the fame manner as the males do, and to hunt
-along with them, arid do every thing elfe in common? Or fhall we judge it
\’foper for the.m to manage domdlic affairs within doors, as bei11g unable for the OMier exercifes, becaufe of the bringing forth and the 1u1rting the whelps; and the males to labour, and to have the whole oan of the flocks i
They
T H E n E p u B L I a.
They arc to do all, faid he, in common. Only we are to employ the females as the weaker, abd the males as tho fironger, Is it poffible then, faid I, to employ any creature for the fame purpofes with another, unlefs you give it the fame nurture and education as you give the other? It is not poffible, lf then we lhall employ the women for the fame purpofes as we do the men, mufi we not likewife teach them the fame things? We mufi. Were not both mufic and gymnaftic beftowed on the males ? They were. Thefe two art therefore, and thofe likewife rehiting to war, muft be befiowed alfo on the women, and they mufi be employed about the fame things.. It is reafonable, faid he, from what you fay. Yet as thefe things, faid I, are contrary perhaps to cufiom, many of thefc things we are now fpeaking of may appear ridiculous, -if prac!l:ifcd in the way we mention. Extremely fo, replied he, What, faid I, do you perceive as the mot’I: ridi.. culous part? Or is it plainly becaufe that you fee the women naked i11 the Pal.efira wrefiling with the men, and not only the young women, but even the more advanced in years, in the fame manner as old men in tho wrell:ling-fchools, when they are wrinkled, and not at all han.dfome to tho eye, yet fiill fond of the exercifes ? Yes, by Jupiter, faid he. Beaaufe it might indeed appear ridiculous, at leaft as matters fiand at prefei1t. Mu we not therefore, faid I, fiuce we have entered upon th_is difcourfe, be afraid of the railleries of the men of pleafantry, whatever things they may fay with regard to fuch a revolution being introduced, as well in gymnaftic as in mufic, and particularly in the ufe ‘of arms, and the management of horfes? You fay right, replied he. But fince we have entered on this difcourfe, we mufi go to the rigour of the law, and beg thefe men not to follow their own
uftoms, but to think ferioufly, and remember, that it is not-long ago fince thefe things appeared bafe and ridiculous to the Greeks, which are only ‘1
now’ to the moft of the barbarians: fuch as to fee naked meu. And when fu{l the Cretans, and afterwards the Lace<la:monians, began their exercilce• it was in the power of the men of hi.lmour of that t to torn all th°’9 things ‘into ridicule. Do not you think (o? I do. But I imagine, that when upon experience it appeared better to firip themfclves of all tbcfa things, than to be wrapped in them, what was ridiculous indeed to the eye, was removed by the idea of the heft, mentioned in ow rcafoniog • and this
!0o fuowcd manifefily., that h is a fool who deems aJ.1y thing ridiculous
2,p 2 but
T H E R E P U B L I C.
but what is bad, and attempts to rally upon any other idea of the ridiculous but that of the fooli(h and the vicious, or to be fefious in any other purfoit but that of the good. By all means, foid he. Is not this then lidl: of all t<> be agreed on, whether thefe things be poffible or not? And we mufi allow it to be a matter of difpute, if any one, either in jell: or earnefi, incline to· doubt, whether the human nature in the fema.le fex be able, in every thing, to bear a ihare with the male? or if it be not in any one thing? or if it be able in fome things, but not in others? and among which of thefe are the affairs of war? Would.not the man who thus fets out in the moll: handfome manner conclude too, as it feems, moll: handfomely? By far, faid he. Are: you willing, then, faid I, that we ourfelves, infl:ead of others, difpute about thefe things, that the oppofite fide may not be deftitute of a defence ? No.: thing hinders, faid he. Let us then fay this for them : That there is no need, Socrates and Glauco, of others to difpute with you about this matter; for yourfelves in the beginning of your cfiablilhment, when you efl:ablilhed your city, agreed, that it was neceffary for each individual to praltife one hufinefs, according to their feveral genius. I think we acknowledged it; for why ihould they not ? Does not then the genius of the male differ widely from that of the femal,: ? Why does it not ditfer? And is it not fit: to enjoiu each a different work, according to their genius? \Vhy not? Are not you then in the wrong now, and contradicl: yourfelves, when you fay that men and women ought to do the fame things, whi)(1 their nature is extremely different? Can you in anfwcr to thefe objeclions, admirable Glauco, make any defe11ce? It is not quite an eafy matter, faid he, to do it immediately; but I will entreat you, and do now entreat yo1J, to go through the arguments on our fide, whatever they may be. Thefe arc the things, Glauco, repijed I, and many oiher fuch like, which I long ago forefeeing, was both afraid and backward to touch on the law concerning the_ pof feffion of wives, and the education of children.· It is not eafy, by Jupiter, replied he. It is not, faid I. But the cafe is thus: If a: man fall into a fmaJl filh-poru:J. or into the middle of the greatefl: fea-, he ma!l: !1:ill fivim in the one no It:fs than in the other. Entirely fo. Mufi not we fwim then, and endeavour to efrape from this reafoning, cxpccl:ing that either fome dolphin is to carry us out, or that we ihall have fome other remark able deliverance? It feems we mull do fo, replied he. Come then, faid I,
let
T H E R E P U B L I C.
n,t. us fee if we can any where find an our-gate; for we.did acknowledge that differcnt:natures ought to fl:udy differendhiugs; but the nature of ma11 and woman is different; yet now we fay that different natures ought to il:udy the fame things: thefe are the things which you accufe us of. Cer tainly. How generous, Glauco, faid I, is the power of the art of contra. dilling! How? Becaufe, replied I, many feem to fall into it unwillingly, and imagine that they are not cavilling, but reafoning truly, becaufe they are not able to underfl:and the fubjell, hy dividing it into its proper parts; and under this arguing will purfue the oppoftte of their fubjecl:, ufing cavilling inficad of rcafoning. This is indeed, faid he, the cafe with many; but does it at prefent extend likewife to us? Entirely fo, faid I. We feem then unwillingly to have fallen into a contradiclion. How? Becaufe we have very firenuoufly and very keenly afferted, that when the nature is not the fame, they ought not to have the fame employments; but we have
:not in any refpect confidered what is the charalterifiic of the famenefs or diverfity of nature, nor to what it points: we flopped then, when we had affigned different purfuits to different natures, and to t)ie.fame natures the fame purfuits. \Ve have never indeed, faid he, confidered it. It is there fore, replied I, fl:ill in our po er, as appears, to quefl:ion ourfelvcs, whether the nature of the bald, or of thofe who wear their hair, be the fame, and .
:not different ? And after we fhould agree that it was different, whether, if
the bald made fhoes, we fhould allow thofe who wear hair to make them? or, if thofe who wear hair made them, whether we fhould allow the others? That were ridiculous, replied he. Is it in any other refp Et, faid_ I, ridiculous then, that we did not ,vholly determine the fameuefs -and.
,diverlity of nature, but attended ouly to that fpecies-of divedity_and fame•_ uefs which refpccl:s the employments themfelves; jufl: as we fay that the phylician, and the man who has a medical foul, .have one and the fame nature? Do not you think fo? I do. But that the phyfician and architect have a different nature. Entirely. Aud fo, replied I, of the nature of meu and of women, if it appear different, in refpect to any art, or other employment, , we {hall fay, that this different employment•is to be affigned to each fepa rately. But if their nature appear different only in this, that the female brings forth, and the male begets, we !hall not fay that this has at all fhown the :
m. n to be different from the woman in the refpecl: we (peak of. But· we
!hall
‘l” II E R E I’ U B L I C.
fl.ail fiill be of opinion, that both our guardians and their wives ot13ht to purfue the fame employment5. And with reafon faid he, Shall we not then henceforth defire any one who fays the contrary, to inlhull: us in this point, what is that art or fiudy refpecling the efiablill1111c11t of a city, where the nature of the man and woman is not the fame. but diffc::rent l It is reafonable, truly. Poffibly fome one may fay, a5 you was faying fome time fince, that it is not eafy to tell this fufficiently 011 the fudJen, but that it is not difficult to one who has confidered it. One might indeed fay
.fo. Ate you willing then that we defire foch an opponent to lillen to us, if by any means we thall thow him that there is in the admini{hation of the city no employment peculiar to the women ? By all means. Come on then, (/hall we fay to him) anfwer us. Is not this your meaning? That one man has a good genius for any thing, and another a bad, in this re fpell:, that the one learns any thing eafily, and the other with difficulty ; and the one with a·little inftruclion difcovers much in what he learns; but the other, when he obtains much infirucl:ion and care, does not retain even what he has learned: with the one, the body is duly fubfervient to the mind; with the other, it oppofes its improvement: are there any other marks than thefe by which you would determine one to have a good genius for any thing, and another to have a bad one? No one, faid he, would mention any other, Know you then of any thing which is managed by mankind, with reference to which the men have not all thefc marks in a mare excellent degree than the women ? Or, {hould we not be tedious, if we mentioned particularly the weaving art, and the dreffing pot-herbs and vicluals, in which the fe male genius feems to be fomewhat confiderable, and is moll ridiculous where it is furpa!Ted ? You fay troe, faid he, that in the general, in every thing the one genius is fuperior to the other, yet there are many women who in many things excel many men : but, on the whole, it is as you fay, There is not then, my friend, any office among the whole inhabit ants of the city peculiar to the woman, conlidcred as woman, nor to the man, confidered as man; but the gcuiuses are indifcriminately ditfufed through both : the woman is naturally fitted for tharing in all offices, and fo is the man ; but in all the woman is weaker than the man. PerfeaJy fo. Shall we then commit every thing to the care of the men, and no thing to the care of the women? How thall we do fo? It is therefore, I
3 imagine,
THE REPUBLIC,
imagine, as we fay, that one woman too is fitted by natural genius for being a phyfician, and another is not; one is naturally a mufician, and another is not? \Vhat elfe? And one is naturally fitted for gymnafiic, and another is not; one is fitted for war, and another is not, I at leafl: am of this opinion. And is not one likewife a lover of philofophy, and another averfe to it; one of high fpirits, and another of low? This likewife is true. And has not one woman .a natural genius for being a guardian, and another not? And have not we made choice of fuch a genius as this for our guardian men ? Of fuch a genius as this. The nature then of the woman and of the man for the guardianlhip of the city is the fame, only that the one is weaker, and tbe other fl:ronger. It appears fo. And fuch women as thefe are to be chofen to dwell with thefe men, and be guar dians along with them, as they are naturally fit for them, and of a kindred genius. Entirely fo. Aud mufl: not the fame employments be affil:!,ned to the fame natures? The fame. We are now arrived by a circular progrdlion at what we formerly mentioned; and, we allow that .it is not contrary to nature, to appoint for the wives of our guardians mufic and gymnafiic. By all means. We arc not then eftabli!hing things impoffi ble, or fuch as ca11 only be wiil1ed for, fince we efiablilh the law according: to nature ; and what is at prefent contrary to thefe things, is contrary to• nature rather, as appears. It feems fo. Was not our inquiry to hear of what was poffiblc and bcfi? It was. And we have agreed, that thefe things are poffible. We have.· And we; mufl: next agree, that they are bell:. It is plain we mull:. In order therefore to make a guardian woman, at !call: the education will not be different from that of the men, efpecially as (he has received the fame natural genius. It will not be different. What do you think then of fuch an opiniou as this ? Of what ? That of imagining with yourfelf one man to be better, and another worfe,-or do you deem them to be all alike? By no means. In the city now which we efiablilh, whether do you judge, that our guardians with this education we have dcfcribcd, or fhoe-makers with education iu their art, will be render ed the better men? The quell:ion, replied he, is ridiculous. I uuderfia11d you, faid I, But what ? Of all the other citizens, are not they the befi? By far. But what? Will not thefe women too be the bdl:. of women? They will be fo, replied he, by far.. Is there any thing better in a city tha11
that
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that both the women and the men be rendered the very befi 1 There is not; This .then will be effected by mutic and gymnafiic, bein6 afforded them ac cording as we have defcribed, \Vhy will it not 1 We have then efiablifhed
a law which -is not only poffible, but moreover befl: for tllf’ fiatc. We. have. The wives, then, of our guardians muft be unclothed, fincc they are to·put on virtue for clothes; and they mut1 bear a p:1rt in war, aud the ather guardianlliip of the city, and do nothing elfe. But the lightefi part of thefe fervices is to be allotted to the women rather than to the men, on account of the weaknefs of their fex. And the man who laughs at naked women, whilft performing the exercifos for the fake of what is bell:, reaps the empty fruit of a ridiculous wifdom, and in no refpell: knows, as appears, at what he laughs, nor why he does it. For that ever was and will be deemed a noble faying, That what is profitable is beautiful, and what is hurtful is bafe. By all means. Let us fay then, that we have efcaped one wave; as it were, having thus fettled the law with refpect to the women, without being wholly overwhelmed, ordaining that our male and female guardians are to manage all things in common : but our reafon ing has been confifient with itfelf, as it refpell:s both what is poffible and likewifo advantageous,
It is truly no fmall wave you have efcaped, faid he. You will not, re plied I, call it a great one, when you fee what foJlows. Mention it, faid he, that I may foe. That law, replied I, and thofe others formerly mentioned, are adopted, as I imagine, by the following. Which? That thefe women mufr all be common to all thefe men, and that no one wo man dwell with any man privately, and that their childreil likewife be common ; that neither the parent know his own children, nor the chil dren their parent. This is much greater than the other, .as to the incre dibility, both of its being poffible, and at the fame time advantageous. I do not believe, replied I, that any one will doubt of its utility, at lealt, as if it were not the greateft good to have the women and children i11 common, if it were but poffible. But I think the, greatefi quefiion will be, whether it be poffible or not? One may very readily, faid he, dif pute as to both. You mention, replied I, a crowd of diiputes. But I thought that I !hould at leafl: have efcaped from the one, if its utili y had
.been agreed on, and tha.t it !hould have only remained to confid · its pof-
fibility.
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fibility. But you have not, faid he, efcapcd unobferved; gh·e then an ac
·cou11t of both. I mufi then, faid I, fubmit to a trial. But, however, in dulge me thus far: allow me to feafi myfelf, as thofe are wont to feaf\: themfelves who are fiuggi1h in their dianoetic pa:rt, when they walk alone. For men of this fort, fometimes before they find out how they 1hall attain what they defire; waving that inquiry, that they may not fatigue them. felves in deliberating about the poffibility or impoffibility of it, fuppofe they have obtained what they defire, and then go through what remains. And they delight in running over what they will do when their defire is obtained, rendering their foul, otherwife indolent, more indolent fiill. I am now effeminate after this manner, and wi{h to defer thofo debates, and to inquire afterwards whether thefe things be poffible. But at prefent, holding them po/Iible, if you allow me, I will confider in what manner our rulers 1hall regulate thefe things, when they take place, that they may be done in the moO; advantageous manner, both to the fiate an9 th guardians. Thefe things [ 1hall endeavour, in the firfi place, to go over with your affifiance, and the others afterwards, if you allow me. I allow, faid he, and inquire accordingly. I imagine then, faid I, that if our
,ule_rs are worthy of that name, and in like manner thefe who are their
auxiliaries, their miniO:ers in the government, the latter will be difpofed to do whatever is injoined them, and the former will be ready to command; enjoining them fome things in direll: obedience to the law, a11d imitating the law in whatever things are intrufied to them. It is likely, faid he. Do you now, faid I, who are their lawgiver, in the fame manner as you have chofen out the men, choofe out likewife the women, making their genius as limilar as poffible: and as they dwell and eat together in com mon; and as 110 one poffe!fes any of thefe things privately, they will meet together ; and being mingled in their exercifes and other converfa tion, they will be led from an innate neceffity, as I imagine, to mutual
_.embraces. Do not I fecin to fay what will neceffarily happen? Not, replied he, by any geometrical, but amatory ueceffity, w!:ich feems to be more puugent than the other, to perfuade and draw the bulk of mankind. Much more, faid I. llut after this, Glauco, to mix together in a clifor
<lerly manner, o.r to do any thing elfo, is neither holy in a city of happy perfons, nor will tbe rulers permi: it. It were uot jufi, iaid he. It is VDL, r. 2 Q plain
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plain then, that af\er this we mull: make marriages as much as poffible facred ; but the moll: advantageous would be facred. By all means. How then !ha\I they be moft ad¥antageous? Tell me that, Glauco, for I fee in your houfes dogs of chace, and a great many excellent birds, Have you then indeed ever attended at all, in auy refpecl, to their marriages, and the propagation of their fpecies ? How ? faid he, Firfi of all, that among thefe, although they be excellent themfelves, are there not fome who are moft excellent? There are. Whether the1 do you breed from all of them alike? or are you careful to breed chiefly from the bell:? From the bell:. But how ? From the youngefi or from the oldefi, or from thofe who are moft in their prime ? From thofe in their pnme. And if the breed be not of this kind, you reckon that the race of birds and dogs greatly degenerates. I reckon fo, replied he. And what think you as to horfes, faid I, and other animals? is the cafc any otherwife with refpell: to thefe? That; faid he, were abfurd. Strange, faid I, my friend ! What extremely perfect governors mufi we have, if the cafe be the fame with refpecl: to the human race ! However, it is fo, replied he; but what then? Becaufe there is a neceffity, faid I, for their ufing many medicines : for where bodies have no occafion for medicines, but are ready to fubjell: themfelves to a regimen of diet, we reckon that a weaker phyfician may fuffice; but when there is a neceffity for medicines, we know that a more able phyfician is then requifite. True ; but with what view do you fay this? With this view, replied I. It appears that our rulers are obliged to ufe much fiction and deceit for the advantage of the governed; and we faid fomewhere, that all thefe things wc;re ufeful in the way of medicines. And rightly, faid he. This piece of right now feems not to be the moll: inconfiderable in marriages, and the propagation of children. How now? It is proper, faid I, from what we have acknow ledged, that the bell: .men embrace for the moll: part the beft women; and the moft depraved men, on the contrary, the moft depraved women; and the offspring of the former is to be educated, but not that of the lat ter, if you defire to have the flock of the moh perfect kind ; and this mufi be performed in fuch a manner as to efcape the notice of all but the governors themfelves, if you would have the whole herd of the guar:.
·’1ians to be as free from [edition as poffible. Moft right, faid he. Shall
there
THE R E.P UBL I C. 299
there not then be fome feO:ivals by law efiablilhed, in which we lhall draw together the brides and bridegrooms? Sacrifices• too mufl: be per formed, and hymns compofed by our poets fuitablc to the marriages which are making. But the number of the marriages we lhall commit to the rulers, that as much as poffible they may preferve the fame number of men, having an eye to the wars, difeafes, and every thing elfe of this kind, and that as far as poffiule our city may be neither too great nor too little. Right, faid he. And certain lots too, I imagine, lhould be made fo. artificial, that the depraved man may, on every embrace, accufe his fortune, and not the governors. By all means, faid he. And thofe of the youth who diftinguilh themfelves, whether in war or any where elfe, ought to have rewards and prizes given them, and the mofi ample liberty of embracing women, that fo, under this prdext likewife, the greateO: number of children may be generated of fuch perfons. Right; And lhall the children always as they are born be received by magifirates appointed for thefe purpofes, whether men or women, or both? for the magifiracies are in common to women as to men. They are fo. And when they receive the children of worthy perfons, they will carry them; I imagine, to the nurfery, to certain nurfes dwelling apart in .a certain place of the city. But the children of the more depraved, and fuch others
,as are any way lame, they will hide in fome fecret and obfcure place, as is proper. If they want, 1aid he, the rac of guardians to be pure. And fhall not the(e take care likewife of their nurfing, in bringing to the nur fery the mothers when their breafrs are foll, pracl:ifing every art, that no one know her own child, and in providing others who have milk, if thefc ihall prove infufficient ? And they lhall likewife take care of thefe nurfes, that they fuckle a competent time : and they lhall appoint the nurfes and keepers to be ‘¥akcful, and to take every other neceffary toil. You fpeak, faid he, of great eafe to the wives of our guardians, in the breeding of children. It is lit, replied I. But let us in the next place difcufs that which we chiefly intended. We faid that true offspring ought to be ge nerated of perfons in their prime. Are you then of opinion with me, that the proper feafon of vigour is twenty years to a woman, and thirty to a man? Of what continuance are thefe feafons? faid he. The woman, rep,lied I, beginning at twenty, -is to bear children to the fiatc until the
2 Q 2 age
300 T·H E R E P U B L I C.
age of forty ; and the man, after he has paffed the moll: raging part of his courfe, from that period, is to beget children to the flute until the age of fifty-Ii\ e. This indeed is the acme, replied he, in both fexes, both of body and of rnind. If then any one who is older or younger than thefe 1haU meddle in generating for the public, we fhall fay the trefpafs is neither holy nor jufl-, as he begets to the fl:ate a child, which, if it be concealed, is born and grows up not from facrilices and prayers, ( which, upon every marriage, the priefieffes and pridl:s, and the whole of the city, fhall offer, that the defcendants of the good may be fiill more good, _and from ufeful defcendants fiill more ufefol may a rife); but is born from darknefs, and with a dreadful intemperance. Right, faid he. And the law, faid I, mull: be the fame. If any ofthofe men, who are yet of the age for generating, lhall touch wome11 of a proper age, without the concurrence of the magifirate we fhall confider him as having raifed to the fiate a bafiardly, illegitimate
. and unhallowed child. Mofl: right, faid he. And I imagine, that whe11 the women and men exceed the age of generating, we fhall permit the men to cohabit with any woman they incline, betides their daughter and mother, and thofe who are the children of their daughters, or thofe upwards from their mother: and fo likewife the women to embrace any bu-t a fon and father, and the children of thefe, either downwards or upwards: all this liberty we will allow them, after we have enjoined them to attend care fully, in the firfl: place, if any thing fhould be conceived, not to bring it to the light ; but if, by any accident, it fhould be brought forth, to expofc it as a creature for which no provifion is made. All thefe things, faid he,. are reafonably faid. But how thall fathers and daughters, and thofe other relations you now mentioned, be kn.own of one another? They fhall not. be known at all, faid I. But from the day on which any one is a bride groom, whatever children are born in the tenth or in the feventh month.; after it, all thefe he fhall call, the male his fons, and the female his daug!iters,. and they thall call him father. And in the fame way again, he thall call the children of thefe grandchildren, and they again fhall call them grandfathers. and grandmothers: and thofe who were born iu that period in which their fathers and mothers were begetting children, they {hall call fifiers and. brothers, fo as not to touch each other, as I juft now faid. But the law thall allow brothers and fifl:ers to live together, if their lot fo fall out, and
the
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the Pythia11 oracle give confent. M0fi right, faid he. This, Gbuco, and fuch as this, is the community of women and children, among your city guardians: and that it is both confomnt to the other parts of our polity, and by far the befl:, we mufl, in the next place, efiabliih from reafon; or how ihall we do? J ufi fo, by Jupiter, faid he. Did not we then agree on this at the beginning? ro inquire what we can mention as the greatell: good with relation to the ellabliihment of a fiate, wtth an eye to which the lawgiver ought to cnacl: the laws, and what is the greatcfl: evil; and then to inquire, whether what we have hitherto gone over contributes towards leading us in the fieps of this good, and away from that evil? By all means, faid he. Is there, then, any greater ill to a city than that which lacerates it; and, infl:ead of one, makes it many? Or, is there any greater good than that which binds it together, and makes it one? There is not. Does not then the communion of pleafure and pain bind them together, when the whole of the citizens as much as polfible rejoice and mourn in the fame manner, for the fame things when they are obtained and when they are loft? By all means fu, replied he. But a feparate feeling of thefe things defiroys it, when Come of the citizens are extremely grieved, and others extremely glad, at the fame futferings of the city, or of thofe who are in it. Why not? Does not then fuch an evil as the following arife from this, when they do not all jointly in the fiate pronounce tbefc words, mine, and not mine? And will not that city be be::il: regulated,. when every individual, with regard to the coueen1s of another, in the fame way with him, pronounces thefe words, mine, and not mine? By far. And it is fuch as comes nearefi to one man. As when our finger is any how hurt; the whole common feeling fpread through the body to the foul, with one co-ordination of its governing part, perceives it, and the entire whole mourns along with the di{heffed part: and fo we fay that the man is difireffed in his finger: and the reafoning is the fame as to any other part of a man, both with refpelt to grief, when any part is in pain; or with refpecl to pleafure, when any part is at eafe. It is the fame, faid he. And to return to your quefiion, the city which comes nearefi to this is governed
i.n the bcfl: manner: and when any one of the citizens receives any good or. ill, foch a city, I imagine, will mofl: efpecially fay, that ihe herfelf receives it, and the whole city rcj,oicc or mourn together. Of necefiity, faid he, this
4 1nufi
302 T·It E R E P U B L I C.
muft prevail in a city governed by good laws. It may be time for us to go back to our city, and confider how thofe things are in it which we have ‘agreed on in oui· reafoning, whether they prevail moft in our city, or more in fome other. We mufi do fo, replied he. What now? Are there not, in other cities, governors and people? And are there not likewife in this? There are. And will not all thefe call one another citizens? \Vhy not? But befides this of citizens, what does the people call their governors in other flates? Mafiers or lords in mofi fiates, and, in democracies, this very name, governors. But in our city, befides that of citizens, what does the people call their governors? Their prefervers, faid he, and helpers. And what do they call the people? Rewarders, replied he, and nourifhers. And in other cities, what do the governors call their people? Slaves, replied he. And what do the governors call one another? Fellow rulers, faid he. And ours, what? Fellow guardians. Can you tell, whether any one of the governors in othe’r cities can addrefs one of their fellow governors as his kinfman, and another as a {lranger? Very many fo. Does he not then reckon and call the kindred one his own, and the {hanger one as not his own? Juil fo. But how is it with your guardians? Is there fo much as any one of them, who can deem and call any one of their fellow guardians a {hanger? By 110 means, replied he; for, with whomfoever any one meets, he reckons he meets with a brother or fifier, a father or mother, a fott or daughter, or the defcendants or ancefiors of thefe. You fpeak moll: beau tifully, replied I. But further, tell me this likewife, whether will you only efiablifh among them, by law, thefe kindred names? or will you alfo enjoin them to perform all their all:ions in conformity to thefe names? With refpect to parents, whatever the law enjoins to be performed to parents, fuch as reverence, and care, and obedience. And that otherwife it will not be for his advantage, neither in the fight of Gods nor of men, as he acls what is neither holy nor jufi, if he do other things than thefe. Sh.all thefe, or any other fpeeches from all our citizens, refound directly in the cars of our children, both concerning their parents, whom any one !hall point out to them, and concerning other relations? Thefe things !hall be faid, replied he; for it were ridiculous, if friendly names alone refounded,
without any actions accompanying them. Of all cities, then, there will be the greateft harmony in it, when any one individual is either well or ill,
as
T I-I E R E P U B L I C.
as to the expreffion we lately mentioned, viz. mine is well, or mine is. ill. Mofi true, faid he. Did not we fay too, that their common plea fores and pains will accompany this opinion and exprefiion? And we faid rightly. Will not then our citizens moll: efpecially have this in common which they call my own; and, having this in common, they will of: all others moft efpecially have in common pleafure and pain? Extremely fo. And along with the other parts of the confl:itution, is not the community of women and children among the guar.dians the caufe of thefe things l This is it moll: efpeeially, replied he, But we agreed, that this was the greatefl: good of a city, likening a well efl:ablilhed city to a body, in its being affelted with the pleafure and pain of any part. And we rightly, faid he, agteed on this. This community, then, of women and children among our auxiliaries, has appeared to us to be the caufe of the greatefl: good to the city. Extremely fo, replied he. And furely we agree at leafl: with what went before ; for we fomewhere faid, that they ought neither to have houfes of their own, nor land, nor any polfeffion ; but, receiving their fubfifl:ence from others, as a reward for their guardia11fl1ip, they lhould all fpend it in common, if they intended really to be guardians. Right, faid he. Do not therefore, as I fay, both thefe things which were formerly mentioned, and frill more what we now fpeak of, render them real guardians, and prevent the city from being lacerated, by their not at all calling one and the fame thing their own; but one one thing, and another another; one drawing to his own houfe whatever he can polfefs, feparate from others, and another to his, which ill different from the other ; and having both wives and children different, which occafion different pleafures and pains, which are private, as belonging to private perfons : but being of on! opinion concerning their home, and all of them pointing towards the fame thing, as far as poffible, to have one common feeling of pleafore and pain? E tremely fo, replied he. But what? !hall law-foits and accufations againfi one another be banilhed from among them, fo to fpeak, by their polfeffing nothing as private property but ·their bod_v, and every thing elfo being common, from whence they lhall be liberated from all thofe difiurbances which men raite about money, children or relations? They will of receffity be liberated from thefe, Neither indeed can there be reafonably among them any altions raifed for violence or unfeemly treatment. For,
3
304 T H E R E P U B L I C.
making the protection of their perfons a necelfary thing, we will own it to be handfome and jufi for thofe of equal age to help one another. Right, fuid he. And this law, faid I, hath this right in it likewife: that if any one be in a paffion, gratifying his paffion in this manner, he is lefs apt to raife greater ieditions. It is entirely fo. The elder £hall be enjoined both to govern and to chafiife the younger. That is plain. And furely the younger, as becomes them, £hall uever attempt to beat the elder, or in any .othec way to offer violence to him, unlefs appointed by the gover nors; nor will they, I imagine, in any fort, di{honour them; for there are fufficient guardians to hinder it, both fear and reverence ;-reverence on the one hand refrraining them from alfaulting, as it were, their parents, aud f.ear ou the other; lefi• others £hall affifi the fuffcrer; fome as fons, others as brothers, and others as fathers. It happens fo, faid he. In every refpetl: then, as far as relates to the laws, the men {hall live peaceably with one another: Very much fo. And while thefe have no feditions among themfelves, there:: is no danger’of any other city raifing diil:urbancc:: agaiufi thefe, or that they fhall fplit into faclions. There is not. As for the Idler evils, from which furely they will be freed, I do not choofe, becaufe of the impropriety of it, fo much as to mention them. That flattery of the rich ; that indigence and folicitude in the education of their children, and in procuring money for the necelfary fupport of their family, which is the portion of the poor; fometimes borrowing, and fometimes being defpited, and fometimes ufing all manner of ihifts, in procuring provifions, which they give to the management of their wives and do meftics: how many flavifh and mean things, my friend, they fuffer in all thefe refpecls, are not en:n worthy” to he mentioned. And they are manifeft, faid he, to one blind. They will be delivered from all the1e things, and will live more blelfedly than that mofl: bleffed life which thofe live who gain the prize in the Olympic games. How? Thofo are efteemed happy, on account of a finall part of what thefe enjoy. But the victory of thefe is more noble, and their maintenance from the public is more com plete; for the viclory they gain is the fafety of the whole city; and both they and their·children are crowued with their maintenance, and all the other necelfaries of life, as laurels, and receive honour from their city while alive, and at their death an houourable fuueral. The mofi noble
rewards!
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rewards! fai.l he. Do you remember then, faid I, that iu our former rcafoniugs, I do not know who it was objell:ed to us, that we were not makin our guardians happy, who, though they had ‘it in their power t() have the whole wealth of their citizens, had neverthelefs uothing at all ? and we propofed to coulider of this afterwards, if it fell in our way ; but that at the prefont we were making our guardians only guardians, and the city itfclf as happy as poffible, but without regarding one particular tribe in it, with a view to make it happy. I remember it, faid he. What think you now of the life of our auxiliaries, which appears for more uoble and happy than that of thofe who gain the prize at the Olympic games? It does not at all appear to refemble the life of the leather-cutter, the handicraft, or farmer. I do not think it, faid he. But however, it is. proper that I mention here ·what I likewife faid on a former occafion, that if the guardian fhall attempt to be happy in foch a way as to be no longer. a guardian, nor be content with this moderate, and fieady, and, as we fay, befi life; but, being feized with a foolith and youthful opinion about happinefs, fhall, becaufe he has it in his power, be driven to make him felf the mafier of every thing in the city, he !hall know that Hefiod wa& truly wife, in faying that the half is fomehow more than the whole. 1£ he take me, faid he, for his counfellor he will remain in foch a life. You allow then, faid I, that the women aa in common with the men, as we have explained, with refpea to education and the brc:eding of c.hildren1 and the guardianfhip of the other citizens ; both in remaining in the city, and in going forth to war; and that along with the men they ought to keep guard, and to hunt like dogs, and in every cafe to take a fhare in all things as far as they can; aud that while they do thefo things they will do what is bcfi, and 110 way contrary to the nature of- the female, with rcfpcll: to the male, by which nature they are made to alt jointly with one another. I agr<.e,_ faid he. Does not then this, faid I, remain to be dif euffed, whether It be poffible that this community take place among men likewife, as among othc_r animals? and hoo/. far.it is poffible. You vc prevented me, faid he, in mentioning what I was going to afk. For, with relation to warlike affairs, it is plain, I imagine, faid I, how they will fight. J:-Iow ? faid he. That they will jointly go out on their military expeditions, and befides will .carry along with them fuch of their children_
\’OL. I. 2 .II. as
306 T H E REP U B L I C.
ns are grown up, that, like thofe of other artifis, they may fee what ir will be neceffary for them to practife when they are grown up ; and, be fides feeing, that they may fervt: and admioifter in every thing with rcla:. tion to the war, and affift both their fathers and mothers. Or, have you 11ot obfcrved what happens in the common arts ? as for infiance, that the children. of the potters, minifiering to them for a long t)me, look gn be fore they apply themfelves to the making earthen ware? Yes, indeed.
\,Vhether now are thefe or our guardians to infiruct their children with greater care, by the practice and view of what belongs to their office? To foppofe thofe, replied he, ould take greater care than our guardians, were ridiculous. But every creature fights more remarkably in the prefencc of its offspring. The cafe is fo ; but there is no fmall dange1·, Socrates,. when they are defeated, as is often the cafe in war, that when their chil dren, as well as themfclves, are cut off, it ihall be impoffible to raife an other city. You fay true, replied I; but you imagine we ought, firfi of all,. to take care never to run any rifle. No, by no means. What then, if they are at all to hazard themfelves in any cafe, is it not where, if they fucceed, they ihall become better men ? That is plain. But do you ima• gine it a fmall matter, and not worthy of the rifle, whether children, who are defiined to be military men, fee affairs relating to war, or not? No; it is a matter of confequence with refpect to what you mention. We muft,. then, firfi endeavour to make our children fpeclators of the war, but con trive for them a place of fafety-and then it ihall do well, thall it not? Yes. And thall not then, faid I, our parents, in the firfi place, as being men, not be ignorant, but underftand which of the camps are, and which are uot dangerous? It is likely, faid he. And they lhall bring them into the one, but with refpea to the other they will be 011 their guard. Right. And they will probably fet governors over them, faid I ; not fuch as are the moil: depraved, but fuch as by experience and years are able leaders and pedagogues. It is very proper. But we will fay many things haye happened contrary to expectation. Very many. With reforence there fore to fuch events as thefe, it is proper that whilft they are children they procure wings, that fo, in any neceffity, they may efcape by flight. How do you mean ? faid he. They mufi, when extremel young, be mounted on horfes, and taught to ride on horfeback, and brought to fee the battle,
4
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not on high-mettled and warlike horfes, but on the fleeteft, and thofe that arc the mofi obedient to the ;cin ; for thus they thall, in the heft manner, obforvc their proper work, and, on any neceffity, thall efca c with the greatdl: fafety, following the aged leaders. You feem to me, faid he, to fay right. But what, .faid I, as to the affairs of war? how are you to ma nage your foldiers, both with refpea to one another and their enemies ? have I imagined rightly or not? As to what? faid he. That whoever of them, faid 1, leaves his rank, throws away his arms, or does any fuch thing from cowardice, muft he not be mad_e a handicraft, or land-labourer? By all means. And (hall not the man who is taken alive by the enemy be given gratis to any who incline to employ him in the country juft as they pleafe ? By all means. And arc you of opinion, that he who gains a characl:er, and excels, ought, in the firft place, in the expedition itfelf, to be crowned in fome meafure by every one of the youths and boys who are his fellow foldiers? or think you otherwife? I am of opinion, for my part, they ought to be crowned, But what, and get the right hand Iikewife? This likewife. Hut this further, I imagine, faid I, you are not yet fatisfied about. What ? That they embrace and be embraced by every one. They thould moll: of all others, faid he : and I will adci to this law, that whilll: they arc upon this expedition no one thall be allowed to refufe them, whoever they incline to embrace, that if any happen to be iu love with any one, male or female, he may be the more animated to win the prizes, Very well, faid I ; for we have already faid that there are more marriages provided for the good citizen than for others, and more frequent choice in fuch matters allowed them than others, that the defcendants of fuch an one may be as numerous as pof fible, We have already faid fo, replied he. But furely, even according to Homer’s opinion, it is jufi that fuch of the youth as are bra e be honoured in this way. For Homer fays that Ajax, who excelled in war, was rewarded with a large thare at the entertainments, this being·the moll: natural reward to a brave man in the bloom of youth, by which he at the fame time acquired honour and ihength. Moft right, fuid he. We thall then obey Homer, faid I, at leafi, in thefe thing$, And we thall honour the good, both at our facrifices, and on all fuch occafions, in as far as they appear to be deferving, with hymns likewife, and with thofe
2 a 2 thingt
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tr.ings we lately mentioned; an<l bcfi<les thefe things, with feats, a11d dillies and full cup ; that at the fame time we may both honour and ex:ercifc: the virtue of worthy men and women. You fuy moll: admirably well, re plied he. Be it fo. If any one of thofe who die in the army thall have diil:inguifhed himfelf, fhall we not, in the firfi place, fay that he is of the golden . race? Moll: efpccially. And thall we not believe Hefiud,. telling us, that when any of thefe die,
Good, holy, earthly clremons, they become, Expelling evils, guardians of mankind 1 ?
\Ve thall believe him. And we fJiall alk the oracle in what manner we ought to bur! d:l!moniacal and divine men, and with what marks of di Hinllion; and thus thall we bury them in that very manner which thall be explained. \Vhy thall we not ? And we !hall i11 all after time reverence aud worfhip their tombs as thofe of dremons. And we !hall enact by Jaw, that the fame things be performed, and in the fame manner, to any who thall have been deemed to have remarkably dill:inguifhed themfelves in life, when they die of old age, or a11y thing elfe? It is right, faid he. But what now ? How fl1all our foldiers behave towards enemies? As to what? Firfi, as to bringing into flavery. Do you think it juft that Greeks thould enflave Greek cities ? or rather, as far as they are able, not foffer any other to do it, and accuftom themfelvcs to this, to be fparing of the Grecian tribe, bei11g greatly on their guard againfl: being enflaved by the Barbarians ? It is, faid he, in general, and in every particular cafe;, beft to be fparing. Are they not to acquire any Grecian flave themfelves, and to counfel the other Greeks to aa in the fame manner ? By all means, faid he. They will the more, at leafi, by fuch a condutl, turn themfdves againft the Barbarians, and abfiain from one another. But what? To 11:rip the dead, faid I, of any thing but thei1· ‘arms after they conquer them, is it handfome or not? It gives a pretence to cowards not to go againft the enemy who is alive, as being neceffarily occupied when they are thus employed about the one who is dead; and many armies have been loft by this plundering. Very many. And does it not appear to you to
Hcfiod. Op. ct Di. lib. 1,
be
TH E R I!: P U B L J C. aog
be illiberal and for<lid, an<l the part of a womanifh and little mind, to firip the dead body, and deem the body of the deceafed an enemy, when the enemy is fled uff,and there is only left behind that with which he fought? Or, do you imagine that they who aft in this manner do any way different from dogs, who are in a rage at the fiones which are thrown at them, not touching the man who throws them? Not in the leaO:, faid he. We muft kt alone then this {hipping the dea<l, and thefe hinclerances arifing from the carrying off booty. Truly, faid he, thefo mufi be baniihcd. Nor ihall we at any time bring the arms into the temples, as if we were to dedicate them, at Jeafl: not the arms of Grecians, if we have any concern to obtain the bene volence of the other Greeks: but we ihall rather be afraid, letl: it ihou)d be a kind of profanation to bring into the temple fuch things as thefr· from our own kinJinan, unlefs the oracle ihall fay otherwife. Mofl: right, replied he. But what, with reference to the laying wafie Grecian lands, and burning of houfes, how ihall your foldiers behave towards their e11emies ? I ihould be glad, faid he, to hear you fignifying your opinion. Truly then, faid I, in my opinion, neither of thefe ought to be done, but only one year’s produce to be carried off. And would you have me tell you the reafon why this ihould be done ? By all means. It appears to me, that as thefc two words, war and fedition, are different, fo they are two different things which are fignified by them : I call them two different things, becaufo the one is domcfiic and akin, the other foreign and firange, When hatred is among ourfelves, it is called fedition ; wheri it refpeels foreigners, it is called war. What you fay, replied he, is no way unreafon-. able. But confider now, if I fay this likewifo reafonably: for I aYer that the Greek nation is friendly and akin to itfolf, but is foreign and ftrange to the Barbarian. This too is right. When then the Greeks fight with the Barbarians, and the Barbarians with the Greeks, we ihall fay they wage war, and are naturally enemies; and this hatre<l is to be called war. But when Greeks do any fuch thing to Greeks, we ihall fay that they are friends by nature, and that Greece in fuch a cafe is difiempered, and in fedition; and fuch a hatred is to be cal!ed a (edition. ] agree, faid he, to account for it in the fame manner. Confider then, faid I, that in the fodition now mentioned, wherever foch a thing happens, and the city is disjointed, if they fequcfl:er the lands, and burn the houfes of one another, how de- .
firull:ive
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11:ruaive the fedition appears, and neither of them feem to be lovers of their country: for otherwife they would neve, dare to lay wafie their uurfe and mother; but it would fuffice the viaors to carry off the fruits of the vanquifhed, and to confider they are to be reconciled, and not perpetually to be at war. This indeed is by much a more mild fentiment than the other. But what now? faid I. Is not this city you are efiabliih ing a Greek one? It thould be fo, replied he. And {hall not they be good
and mild r By all means. And thall they not be lovers of Greeks? And
thall they not account Greece akin to them ? And thall they not have the fame religious rites with the refi of the Greeks? By all means. A differ ence then with Greeks, as with kinfmen, will they not denominate a fedi tion, and not a war? They will. And they will behave as thofe who are to ‘be reconciled. By all means. They thall then be mild and moderate,
not punifhing fo far as to enOave or defiroy, fince they are moderate, and not hofiile. Jufi’fo, faid he. Neither then, as they are Greeks, will they
fequefier Grecian lands, nor burn their houfes ; nor will they allow that in every city all are their enemies, men, women, and children ; but that always a few only are enemies, the authors of the quarrel: and on all thefe accounts they will neither choofe to lay wafie lauds, as the greateft number are their friends; nor will they overturn the houfes, but will carry on the war fo far as till the guilty be obliged by the innocent, whom they difirefs, to make reparation. I agree, faid he, that we ought to behave fo towards our own citizens when we are fet againft one another; and to behave fo towards the Barbarians as the Greeks at prefent do to one another. Let us then likewife eftabli{h this law for our guardians,-neither to lay wafie the lands, nor burn the houfes. Let us efi:abli{h it, faid he, and this further, that thefe things, and thofe too you mentioned formerly, are right : but it appears to me, Socrates, if one is to allow you to fpeak in this manner, that you will never remember what you formerly paffed by, when you entered. on all that you have now faid ; viz. how far fuch a government is poffible? and in what way it is at all poffible? For, ifit be at all poffible, I will allow that all thefe good things will belong to that city, and the following likewife which you have omitted ;-that they will, in the befi manner, fight againfi their enemies, and of all others leall abandon one another, recognizing thefe names,and calling one another by thefe,-fathers,
fons,
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fons, and brothers; and if the female 1hall encamp along with them, whe ther in the fame rank, or dtaw11 up behind them, that they will {hike terror into the enemies, and at the fame time affift if ever there be neceffity for it,
i know that in this way they will entirely be invincible. And I plainly fee
too what advantages they have at home, which we have omitted. But fpeak no more about this government, as I allow that all thefe, and ten thoufaud other things, will belong to it, if it aclually- cxifi. But let us endeavour to perfuade one another of this itfelf, whether it be poffible, and in what refpetl it is fo; and let us omit thofe other things. You have fuddenly, faid I, made an affault on my reafoning, and make no allowance for one who is fighting; for perhaps you do not advert, that, with difficulty, I am efcaped from two waves, an.d now you are bringing upon me the greateft and moft dangerous of the three. After you have feen and heard this, you will entirely forgive me; allowing, that I with reafon grudged, and was afraid to mention fo great a paradox, and undertake to examine it. The more, faid he; you mention thefe things, the lefs will you be freed from explaining in what refped this government is poffible. Proceed then, and do not delay. Mufi: not this then, faid I, in the firft place, be re membered, that we are come hither in fearch of jufiice, what it is? and what injufiice is? It mult; faid he. But what is this to the purpofe? Nothing. But if we difcover what juftice is, thall we then judge that the jufi man ought in no refpell: to differ from it, but in every refpt:d to be fuch as jllfiicc is? and /hall we be fatisfied if he approach the nearefl: to it, and, of all others, partake of it the moil:? We 1hall, faid he, be thus fatisfied. As a model then, faid I, we were inquiring into this, what kind of thing jufiice is; and we likewifc were in queil: of a juft man; and con fidered what fort of man he fhould be, if he did cxifl:. We likewifc in quired what injufiice is, and what too the moO: unjufi men-in order that, looking into thefe two models, what kind of men they appeared with refpccl to happinefs and its oppofitc, we might be obliged to acknowledge concerning ourfelves; that whoever 1hould mofi refemble them in charaaer fhall have a fortune the moft refembling theirs; and not for this end, to 1how that thefe things are poffiblc or not. In this, faid he, you fay true. Do you imagine then that the painter is in any degree the leCs excellent, who having painted a model of the moll: beautiful man, and brought every
thing
312 T H E R E P U B L I C.
thing fully into his pie.ce, is yet unable to fhow that fuch a man does really exifl:? By Jupiter, faicl he, I do not. What then, have we 11ot made in our reafonings (1hall we fay) a model of a good city? Yes, indred. Haye we then fpoken any thing the worfc, do you imagine, on this account, that we are not able to fhow, that it is pofiible for a city to be efl:abli1hcd fuch as we have defcribed? No, indeed, faid he. This then, faid I, is the truth of the cafe. But if truly I mufi IlOW likewife, on your account, hafl:cn to this, to fhow how efi,ecially, and in what refpecls, it is mofl: pollible, in order to this difcovery, you mufl: again grant the fame thing as formerly. What things? Is it poffible for any thing to be executed fo perfectly as 1t is defcribed? or, is fuch the nature of praclice, that it approaches not fo uear the truth as theory, though fome may thi11k otherwifo? But whether will you allow this or not ? I allow it, faid he. Do not then oblige me to fhow you all thefe things, and in every refpeB, exifl:ing in fall:, fo perfcBly as we have defcribed in our reafoning; but if we be able to find out how a city may be efl:ablifhed the nearefi poffible to what we have mentioned, you will fay we· have difcovered that thefe things which you require are pofiible? Or will you not even be fatisfied if this be obtained? For my own part, I fhould be fatisfied. And I too,fai<l he. We are now, it fcem&, in the next place, to endeavour to find out and to !how what, at
all, is the evil which is now prall:ifed in cities through which they are not
efl-ablifhed in this manner ·we have defrribed; and what is that fmallefi change, which, if made, would bring the city to this model of government; and let us chiefly iee, if this can be effecl:ed by the change of one thing, if not by the change of two, if not that, by the change of the fcwefi things in number, and the fmallefi in power. By all means, faid be. l!pon the change then of one thing, faid I, I am able I think to fhow that the fl:ate can fall into this model of government. But the change is not indeed frnall nor eafy, yet it is pofiible. \Vhat is it? faid he. I am now come, faid J, to what I compared to the greatell: wave: and it fhall now be mentioned, though, like a breaking wave, it fhould overwhelm us with exceffive laughter and unbelief. But confider what J am going to fay. Proceed, replied he. Unlefa either philofophers, fa.id I, govern in cities, or thofe who are at prefent called kings and governors philofopbize genuin.ely a!ld futficiently, and thefe two, the political power and phi-
lofophy,
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lofophy, unite in one ; and till the bulk of thofe who at prefent purfue each of thefo fcparately are of neceffity excluded, there !hall b:: no end, Glauco, to the mifcries of cities, nor yet, as I imagine, to thofc of the human race ; nor till then !hall ever this republic, which we have gone over in our rea fonings, fpring up to a poffibility, and behold the light of the fun. But this is that which all along made me grudge to mention it, that I faw what a paradox I was to utter: for it is difficult to be convinced that no other but this republic can enjoy happinefs, whether public or private. You have thrown out, Socrates, faid he, fuch an cxpre1liou and argument, as you may imagine will bring on you a great many, and thefe courageous to fuch a degree as to put off their clothes, and naked to fnatch whatever weapon fortune affords each of them ; and, as if they were to perform prodigies, rufl1 upon you in battle array. And unlcfs, mowing them down
with argument, you make your efcape, you will pay for it by fuffering mofl: fevere ridicule. And are not you the caufe of all this ? faid I. But in alling handfomely at leaft, replied he. However, in this affair, I will not betray you, but defend you with fuch things as I am able. And I am able both by my good-will and by encouraging you, and probably I will anfwer your quefiions more carefully than any other; only do you endea vour, with the help of fuch an affifiant, to !how thofe who are backward to believe t’hcfe things, that the cafe really is as you repre1ent it. I mufi en deavour, faid I, lince even you afford fo great an alliance. And h,erc it fcems to me to be neceffary, if we are any how to make our efcape from thofe you mention, accurately to define to them what kind of men thefo are whom we call philofophers, when we dare to affert that they alone ought to govern, in order that, when they are made perfectly manifeft, any one may be able to defend himfclf, when he aiferts that to thefe it naturally belongs both to apply themjc-lves to philofophy, nd likewife to take upon them the government of the !late: but others are to apply themfoh·es ueither to philofophy nor government, but to obey their leader. It is proper, faid he, to de/inc them. Come then, follow me this way, if together any how we
.!hall fofficiently explain this matter. Lead on then, faid he. \\’ill it then be ueec.!fol, faid I, to. remind you, or do you remember it, that when we fay of any one, that he loves any thing, when we fpeak with propriety, he mull: not appear to love one part of it, and not another, but to have an affeclion for the whole? I need, it feems, replied he, to be put in mind; VO L 2S for
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for I do not underfiand it perfell:ly. It might become another, Gfauco replied I, to fay what you fay; but it does not become a man who is a lover, to forget that all thoie who are in their bloom fling fomehow, and give etnotiot’I to one who is amorous, and a lover, as they are deemed worthy b<>tn of refpelt and of being faluted. Or do you not behave in this manner towards the beautiful ? One, becaufe flat-nofed, !hall be called agreeable, and be commended by you ; and the hook-nofe of the other, you fay, is prince y; and that which is in the middle of thefe is according to
the t!”atteft fymmetry : the black are faid to be manly to behold ; and the fair to be the children of the Gods :-but this appellation of pale green, do you imagine it is the invention of any other than of a flattering lover and one who eafily bears with the palenefs, proviiled it is in the bloom of yo\lth ? And, in one word, you make all kinds of ptc!te11ces, and fay every thing fo as never to reject any one who is of a blooming age? lfyou incline, faid he• to judge by me ofother lovers, that they aa in-this manner, I agree to it for the fake of the argument. And what, faid I, with refpeel: to the lovers of wine ; do you not obfervc them acting in the fame manner, cheerfully drinking every kind of wine upon every pretext ? Yes, indeed. And yoo perceive, as I imagine, that the ambitious like.wife, ,if they cannot obtai11 the command of a whole army-;w-ill nke the third command; and, if they cannot be honoured by greater and better men, are content if they be
·honoured by the lower and more contemptible, being defirous of honour lit any rate? It is perfectly fo. Agree to this or not: if we fay, oue is delirous of any thing, fhall we fay that he defires the whole fpecies, or that he defires one part of it, but not another? The whole, replied he. Shall
-we not then likewife fay, that the philofopher is defirous of wifdom, and that not of one part only, but of the whole? True. He then who is averfe to ditciplines, efi1ecially if he be young, and has not at all underfianding to clifcern what is good, and what is otherwife, !hall not be caHed a lover of
!earning, nor a philofopher; in the fame manner as we fay of one who is difguficd with m\:ats, that he neither hungers after nor defires meats, nor is a lover but a hater of them. And we {hall fay right. But the man who readily inclines to tall:e of tvery difdpline, and with pleafure enters 011 the fiudy of it, and is inf tiable of it, this man we !hall with juftice call a philofopher: !hall we not? On this Glauco faid, There will be many fuch ph&lofophers as thofe Vf!ry abford: for all yeur lovers of !hows appear to J me
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me to be of this kind, from their taking a plcafore in lea ruing; and your
.ftory lovers are the mofi fiupid, of all to be reckoned among philofopherJ rat leaft. Thefe indeed would not willingly attend on fuch reafoniugs, and fuch a ditquifition as this. But yet, as if they had hired out their ears to
_li/1:en •to every chorus, they run about to the Bacchanalia, omitting neither thofe of cities nor villages. Shall all thcfe then,·and others fiudious of fuch things, and thofe who appl)’ to the inferior arts, be called.· .by us phi lofophers? By no means, .fa.id I, but rcfcmbling philofQphers. But whom,
-faid he, do you call the true ones?• Thofe, faid I, who are ddirous of ditcerni11g the truth. This likewifc, faid he, is right. But how do you mean? It is not eaf}’, faid I, to tell it to another; but you, I imagine, will agree with me in this. In what? That fince the beautiful is opp<;>
_fite to the deformed, the!e arc two things. \Yhy are they not?_ And if
they are two, then each of them is 011e. This alfo is granted. And the
.reafoning is the fame concerning ju/1:icc and injufiice, good and evil. An\i
.concerning every other fpecies of things the argument is the fame-that each of them is one in itfelf, but appears to be many, being every where diverfified by their communication with afl:ion and body, and with one another. You fay right, faid he. In this manner then, faid I, I feparate thefe, and fet _apart thofe you now mentioned, the lovers of public thows, of handicrafts, and mechanics ; and then apart from thefe I fet thofe qf whom we dilcot1rfc at prelent, whom alone we may properly call philofo phers. How do you fay? replied he. The lovers of common il:orie’I and of fpeclacles delight in fine founds, colours, and figures, and every thing
.which is compounded of thefe; but the nature of beauty itfelf their di noetic part is unable to difcern and admire. Indeed the cafe is fo, faid Jte. But as to thofe then who ar.e able to approach this beauty itfelf, and _to behold it as it is in itfelf, mull: they not be few in null}ber? Extremely fo. He then who accounts fome things beautiful, but neither knows eauty itfelf, nor is able to follow if one were to lead him to the know ledge of it, does he feem to you to. live in a dream, or to be awake? CQi:i•. iider now, what is it to dream? Is it not this, when a man, whether afleep or awake, imagines the fimilitllde of a thing is not the fimilitu4e, but really the thing itfelf which it refeml:,les? I for my part would aver, replied he, that fuch a perfon is really in a dream. But what now as .to hi n who judges oppofite t,o this, wbo 1mderfumds what, beauty is •it–
:u 2 fclf,
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felf, and is able to difcern both it and fuch things as participate of it, and neither deems the participants to be beauty, nor beauty to be the parti cipants ? whether does fuch an one feem to you to live awake, or in a dream? Perfedly awake, faid he. l\fay we not then properly call this man’s dianoctic perception, as he really knows, knowledge, but that
of the other, opinion, as he only opines? By all means. But what if the perfon who we fay only opines things, but does not really know them, be enraged at us, and difpute with us, alleging that what we fay is not true ; fhall we have any method of foothing and perfoading him, in• a gentle manner, by concealing that he is not in a found !l:ate ? At leaft there is ·need of it, replied he. Come now, confider what we fhall fay to him. Or do you incline we fhall thus interrogate him? telling him, that if he knows any thing, no one envies him for it, but we fhall gladly fee him poffeffed of fome knowledge; but only tell us this, docs the man who has knowledge, khow fomething or nothing ? Do )’OU now anfwer me for him ? I will anfwer, faid he, that he knows fomething. Whether fomething which really exifts, or which does not ? What does really exill:: for how can that be known which has no real exiftcnee? We have then examined this fofficiently, though we might have confidered it more folly; that what really is, may be really known; but what does 110t at all exifi, cannot at all be known. We have examined it moll: fufficiently. Be it fo. But if there be any thing of fuch a kind, as both to be and not to be, mufi it not lie between that which perfealy is, and that which is not at all ? Between them. As to what really is, then, is there not know ledge? and as to that which is not at all, is there not of necdftty igno rance? And for that which is between thefe, we mufi feek for fomething between ignorance and frience, if there be any fuch thing. By all means. Do we fay then that opinion is any thing? \Vhy not ? \Vhether is it a different power_ from fcience, or the fame ? Different. Is opinion then converfant about one thing, and fci1;:11ce about another, by virtue of the fame power, or each of them by virtue of a power of its own? This Jail:. Is not the power of fcience converfant about what really exiih, to know that it is ? Or rather it feems to me to be neceffary to difiinguifh in this manner. How? We fhall fay, that powers are a certain fpecies of real exifiences, by which we can both do whatever we can do, and every being e1fe whatever it can do. Thus, I fay, that feeing and hearing are
4 among
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among thefc powers, if you underfiand what I mean to call a fpecies. I underfhmd, faid he. Hear then what appears to me concerning them, For I do not tee any colour of a power, nor figure, nor any of fuch qualities,
:is of many other things, with reference to which I diil:inguiih fome things with myfolf, that they are different from one another. But as to power, I regard that alone about which it is converfant, and what it etfccls; and 0!1 tl1i,, account I have called each of thefe a power. And the power which is convcrfant about and ctfol\s one and the fame thing, I call the fame power, but that converfant about and etlccling a diiferent thing, I call a dif
ferent power: but what fay you? In what manner do you call it? Jufi fo,
replied he. But come agai11, excellent Glauco, whether do you fay that fcience is itfelf a certain power, or to what clafs do you refer it? I refer it to this clats of power, faid he, as it is of all powers the moO: {l:rong. But what now ? Shall we refer opinion to power, or to fome other tj:,ccies? By no means to power, faid he; for that hy which we form opinions is nothing elfe but opi1,ion. But you owned fome time fince, that fcience and opinion were not- the fame. How, faid he, can ever any one who poffeffcs intellec1 reduce under one, that which is infallible, and that which is not infallible? You fay right, fa.id I. And it is plain that we have allowed opinion to be a different thing from fcience. \Ve have. Each of them then has naturally a different power over a different thing. Of ne celftty. Science has a power over being ittelf, in knowing real exillence, how it exills. Yes. But we fay that opini:m opmes. Yes. \Vht·ther docs it know the fame thing which lciencc knows? and fuall that which i known, and that which is opined, be the fame? or is this impollible ? Impoliiblc, faid he, from what we have allowed: liucc they are naturally powers of different things, and both of them arc powers, opinion and frience, and each of them different from the other, as we have faid ;:.,from thefo things it cannot be, that what is opined is the fame with that which i:, kno\\’11. 1f then being itfclf be known, muft it not be different from the being which is perceived by opinion? Difrerent. Does he then who opines, opine that which has no exiffence? Or is it impo/lible to opine that which doth not exift at all? Confider now, does not the man who opines, refer hi opinion to fomewhat? Or is it poilible to opine, and yet opine nothing at all? lmpoflible. But whoever opines, opines fome one thing. Yes. But forcly that which <loes not cxifi, cannot be called any one thing, but molt
properly
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properly nothing at all. Certainly fo. But we necdlai-ily referred ig norance to that which does not exift, but knowledge to real cxiilencc, Ri’ght, faid he. Neither therefore docs he ·opine being, nor yet that which is not. He does not. Opinion then is neither knowledge, nor is it ignorance. It appears it is not. Docs it then exceed thefo, either knowledge in perfpicuity, or ignorance in obtcurity? It does neither. But does opinion, faid J, feem to you to be more 1,bfcurc than know
ledge, but more perfpicuous than ignorance l By much, faiJ he. But does it lie between them both then? lt docs. Opinion then is in the middle of thefe two. Entirely fo. And ha ·e we itot already faid, that .if any thing appeared of fuch a· kind, :is at the fame time to be, and yet not to be, fuch a thing would lie between that which has really an exiilence, and that which Joes not at all exifi, and that neither fcience nor igno rance would be converfaut about it, but that which appeared to<bc be tween ignorance and fcience? Right. And now that which we··call opi nion, has appeared to·be between them. lt has appeared. It yet remaillS for us, as it feems, to difcover that which p11rticiputes. of both thefc, of being, and of non-being, and which with propriety can be called neither of .them perfeclly, that if it appear to be that ·which .i,11_: opined, :We may jullly .call it fo, affigning to the extremes what is .extreme, and to the middle what is in the middle. Shall we not do ;thus l Thus. Thefe things being determined, let this worthy .man, I will fay, tell and anfwer me, he who reckons that beauty, and a certain idea of beauty there is none, always the fame, and in the fame refpell:s ; but this lover of beau tiful objells rccko1 s there are many beautiful things, but can never endure to be told that there is one beautiful, and one jufr, and fo of others. Of all thefe many things, excellent man! {hall we fay to him, is there any,which will not appear deformed, and of thofe jufi which will not appear unjufi, of thofe holy which will not appear profane? No; but !)f ne ceffity, faid he, the beautiful things themfelves mull: in fome refpech appear even deformed, and others in like manner. But what? many things which are double, or twofold, do they lefs really appear to be halves than doubles? No lets. An<l things great and finall, light and heavy,
1hall they be denominated what 1ve call them, any more than the oppofitd No; but each of them, faid he, always participates of both. \Vhether
· cheo is each of thefe many things that which it .is fa.id to be, or is it not?
It
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Jt is like thdr riddles at feafis, faid he, and the riddle of children about the eunuch’s ftriking the bat, puzzling one another in what manner and how far he {lrikcs it. For all thefc things have a double meaning, and it is impofiible to know accurately that they are, or are not, that they are both, or neither of the two. How can you do with them then ? faid I, or have you a better clafs for them than a medium between being and non being ? For nothing feems more obicure than uon..being in refpell: of having no being at all, nor more perfpicuous than being in refpecl of real• being. l\Iull true, faid he. \Ve have then difcovereJ, it feems, that moft of the maxims of the multitude concerning the beautiful, and thofe other things, roll fomchow bet ween being and non-being, \Ve have accurately difoo,·eml it. But we formerly agreed, that if any foch thing fhould appear, it ought to be called that which is opined, and not what is known; and that which fiucluates between the two is to be perceived by the power between the two. \Ve agreed. Thofo then who contemplate many beautiful thing , but who never perceive beauty itfelf, nor arc able to fol-
low another leading them to it; and many jufi things, but never juO:icc itfotf, and all other things in like mauner, we will fay that they opine all things, lint know none of the things which they opine. Of neceffity, 11:i<l h::. But what now ? Thofe who perceive each of the things them fr.lvcs, aiwup cxiHiug in the fame manner, am) in the fame refpell:, fhall
,1 e not fay that they know, and <lo not opine? Of ncceffity this likewife. And ih:ill we not fay, that thefe embrace a11J love the things of which, they have know ledge, and the others the things of which they have opi nion? Or do ,..-e not remember, that we faid they beheld and loved fi11e founds and colour , aml foch thi11gs ; but that beauty itfelf they do not a:lmit of as any real being? \Ve remember. Shall we then aft wrong in calling them lovers of opinion, rather than philofophers? And yet they will be greatly enraged at us if we caU them fo. Not, if they be per• foaded by me, faiJ he ; for it is not lawful to be enraged at the truth,. Thofo then who admire every thing which Im n real being, are to be called philofophers, and not lovers of opinion. lly all means.
1’HE END OF THE FIFTH B.OOK,
THE
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BOOK VI.
THOSE now who are philofophers, faid I, Glauco, and thofe who arc not, have, through a long compafs of difcourfe, with difficulty difcovered themfelves what they feverally are. Becaufe, perhaps, it was not eafy, faid )le, in a 1hort one. So it appears, faid I. But I fiill think they would have better difcovered themfelves, if it had been requifite to (peak con cerning this alone, and not to have difcuffed that multitude of other things, when we were to confider what differenc_e there is between a jufi life and an unjufi. What then, faid he, are we to treat of next? What elfe, faid I, but of that which is next in order? Since thofc are philofophers who are able to pafs into contact with that which always fubfifis fimilarly ac cording to the fame • ; but thofe who are not able to accompli1h this, but who wander amidfr many things, and fuch as are every way 1hifting, are not philofophers; which of thefe ·dught to be the. governors of the city? Which way, faid he, 1hall we determine in this, and determine reafon ably? \Vhichever of them, faid:), appear capable of prefcrving the laws and infiitutions of cities, thefo·• re- to be made guardians. Right, faid he. This now, faid I, is certainly plain; whether a blind or quick fighted guardian be proper for guarding any thing. Why is it uot plain ? faid he. ‘Whether then do thofo appear to you to differ from the blind, who are in reality deprived of the knowledge of each particular being, and have neither a clear paradigm in their foul, nor are able, as painters looking up to the truefl: paradigm, a1id always referring themfelves thither, and contemplating it in the mofr accurate manner poffible, to eftabli1h here too in like manner jufl: maxims of the
Viz. an intelligible and intellcclual ell”cnce.
beautiful,
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beautifui, and jufi, and good, if there be occafion to efl:abli{h them, and to guard and preferve fuch as are already efiablifhed? No, by Jupiter, faid he. They do not differ much. Shall we then appoint thofe to be guar dians, or thofe who know each being, and who in experience are nothing behind thofe others, nor inferior to them in a11y other part of virtue? It were abfurd, faid he, to choofe others, at leafr if thefe are not deficient in other things ; for in this, which is almofl: the greatell:, they excel. Shall we not then fpeak to this point,-ln what manner the fame perfons thall be able to have both the one and the other of thoie things ? By all means. It is then firfi of all neceffary, as we obferved in the beginning of this dif courfe, thoroughly to underfl:and their genius; and I think if we (ufficiently agree refpell:ing it, we thall likewife agree that the fame perfons be able to poffefs both thefe things, and that no others but thefe ought to be the governors of cities. How fo? Let this now be agreed among us con cerning the philofophic geniuses, that th<;y are always defirow of fuch learning as may difcover to them that dfence which always is, and is not changed by generation 01· corruption. Let it be agreed. And likewife, faid I, that they are defirous of the whole of fuch learning, and that they will not willingly omit any part of it, neither fmall nor great, more honourable or more dithonourable, as we formerly obferved concerning the ambitious, and concerning lovers. You fay right, faid he. Confider then, in the next place, if, befides what we have mentioned, it be neceffary that this alfo fhould fub{ifi in the genius of thofe who are to be fuch as we. have dcfcribed. What? That they be void of falfehood, nor willingly at any time receive a lie; but hate it, aud love the truth, It is likely, faid he. It is not only likely, my friend, but is perfell:ly nece{fary, that one who is naturally in love with any thing fhoi1ld love every thing allied and belonging to the objects of his affell:ion. Right, faid he. Can you then find any thing more allied to wifdom than truth? How can we? faid he. Is it potiible then that the fame genius can be philofophic, and at the fame time a lover of falfehood? By no means. He then who is in reality a lover of learning, ought immediately from his infancy to be iil the greatefi meafure defirous of all truth. By all means. Hut we know fomehow, that whoever has his delires vehemently verging to one thing, has them upon this very account weaker as to other things, as a current
VOL. 1. 2 T diverted
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“diverted from its channel. Why are they not ? But who(oever hath hi defires running out after learning, and every thing of this kind, would .b¢ converfant, I think, about the pleufure of the foul itfelf, and would for fake thofe pleafures which arife from the body, provided he be not a coun
,terfeit, but fome real philofopher. This foHows by a mighty neceffity. And foch an one is moderate, and by no means a lover of money. For the reafons why money is with fo much trouble anxioufly fought after, have weight with any other than foch an one to make him folicitous-. Certainly. And furely fomehow you mull: likewife confider this when you are to judge what is a philofophic genius, and what is not. What ? That it do not without your knowledge partake of an illiberal turn: for pulillanimity is moil: oppofite to a foul which is always to purfue earnefily the whole and every thing of that which is divine and human. Moll: true, faid he. Do you then fuppofe that he who poffeffes magnificent conceptions in his dianoetic part, and a contemplatim1 of the whole of time, and the whole of being, can poffibly coniider human life as a thing of great confequence, 1t is impoffible, faid he.. Such an one then will not account death any thing terrible. Leafi of all. A cowardly and illiberal genius, then, wiH not, it feems, readily participate of tr,ue philofo phy. It does not appear to me that it will. \Vhat now, can. the moderata man, and one who is not a lover of money, nor illiberal, nor arrogant; nor cowardly, ever poffibly be an ill co-partner, or unjuft? It is im poffible. And you will likewife confider this, when you are viewing from its infancy what is the philofophic foul, and what is not, whether it be juO: and mild, or unfocial and favage. By all means. Neither indeed as I think, will you omit this. What? ‘Whether it learn with facility or difficulty. Or do you expect that ever any one will love any thing fuf liciently, in performing- which he performs with uneafiuefs and. witb difficulty, making fmall pr refs? It ca1u10t be. But what if he can re tain nothing of what he learns, being quite forgetful, is it poffible for him not to be void of fcience How is it poffible? And when he labours unprofitably, do you not imagine he will be obliged at lafi to hate both himfelf and foch praltice? Why mull: he not? We ihall never then reckon a forgetful foul among thofe who are thoroughly philofophic, but we ihaU re4.uire it to be of a. good memqry. By all means. But neve;r.
ihall
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1hall we fay this at leafi, that an unmufical and indecent genius leads any where elfe but towards intemperance, Where elfe ? But whether do you reckon truth allied to intemperance or to temperance ? To temperance. Let us require then among other things a 1ianoetic part naturally tem perate and graceful, as a proper guide towards fpontaneoufly attaining the idea of each particular being. vVhy not ? What now ? Do we not in fome mcafure feem to you to have difcuffed the neceffary qualifications, and fuch as are confequent to each other, in a foul which is to apprehend being fufficiently, and in perfell:ion? The moll: neceffary, faid he. Is it
!)61lible then for you in any meafure to blame fuch a fl:udy as this, which a man can never be able fofficiently to apply to, unlefs he be naturally poffeffed of a good memory, learn with facility, be magnificent, graceful, and the friend and ally of truth, jufl:ice, fortitude and temperance ? Not even Momus himfelf, faid he, could find fault with fuch a fl:udy. But, faid I, will it not be to thcfe alone, when they are perfell:e<l by educatioll and age, that you will entrufl: t!:ie city ? Here Adimantus faid, Indeed, Socrates, no one is able to coutra<licl: you as to thefe things; but all who hear you at any time advancing what you do at prefent, are fomehow af fected in this manner. Being led off a little by your reafoniug on each quefiion, through their inexperience in this method of quefl:ion and anfwer, when all the!e littles are collecl:ed together, at the clofe of your reafon ings, they reckon that the mifiake appears co111iderable, and the contrary of tbeir firfi concellions ; and like thofe who play at talus with fuch as are dexterous, but are themfelves unfkilfol, they are in the cud iliut up, and can do no more; fo your hearers have nothing to fay, being iliut up by this other kind of game, not with pieces, but with your reafonings. Though the truth at Jeafl: is not by this any way advanced: I fay this with refer ence to the prefent inquiry; for one may tell you that he has nothing to oppofe to each of your quefiions by way of argument, l;ut that in facl: he fees that all thofe who plunge into philofophy, 11pplying to it not with this view, that being early infin1llcd they may be liberated from it when in their prime, but that they may coutinue in it much longer, become the moll: of them quite awkward, not to fay altogether depraved; and thofe of them who appear the moil: worthy, do yet fuffer thus much from this ftudy you fo much commend, that they become ufelefs to the
z T ;>, public,
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public. When I had heard this, Do you imagine then, faid I, that fuch as fay thcfe things are telling a falfehood? I do not know, faid he, but would gladly hear your opinion. You would then hear that they appear to 911C to fay true, _ How then, replied he, is it right to fay that the miferies of cities !hall never have an eud till they be governed by philo fophers, whom we are now.acknowledging to be ufelefs to them? You afk a quefl:ion, faid I, which needs an anfwer through an image. And you, faid I, are not wont, I think, to fpeak through images. Be it fo, faid I. You jell: now, when you have brought me on a fubjcll. which is fo dif ficult to be explained. But attend to the image, that you may fee further with what difficulty I affimilate ; for the fufforings of the moft worthy philofophers in the management of public affairs are fo grievous, that there is not any one other fuffering fo fcvere : but in making our fimile, and in apologizing for .them, we muft collect from mauy particulars, in the fame manner· as painters mix the figures of two different animals together, and paint a creat,1re which is both goat and fiag in one, and others of this kind. Conceive now that fuch an one as this is the pilot of a fleet, or of a fingle ihip, one who exceeds all in the thip, both in bulk and in ftrength, but is fomewhat deaf, and fees ‘ii1 like manner but a ihort way, and whofe 1kill in fea affairs is much of the fame kind. Conceive likewife that the failors are all in [edition among themfelves, contending for the pilotihip, each imagining he ought to be pilot, though he never learned the art, nor is able to ihow who was his mafier, nor at what time he learned it, That betides this, all of them fay that the art itfelf cannot be taught, and are ready to cut in pieces any one who fays that it can. Imagine further, that they continually furround the pilot himfelf, begging, and doing every thing that he may put the helm into their hands; and that even fometimes when they are not fo fuccefsful in per fuading him as others are, they either kill thefe others, or throw them overboard ; and after they have by mandragora, or wine, or fome other thing, rendered the noble pilot incapable, they manage the ihip with the affiftance of the crew, and whilft they drink and feafi in this manner, they fail as it may be expected of fuch people. And befides thefe things, if any one be dexterous in affifting them to get the government into their own hands, and m fetting afide the pilot, either by perfuafion or force,
they
T H E R E P U B L I C. S25
they commend foch an one, calling him failor and pilot, and intelligent in navigation; but they contemn as ufelefs every one who is not of this kind, whilll: they never in the leall: think that the true pilot mull: ne cclfarily pay attention to the year, the feafons, the heavens, and fiars, and winds, and every thing belonging to the art, if he intends to be a governor of a ihip in reality : but the art and pracl:ice of governing men, whether fome be willing or not, they think impoffible for a man to attain in conjunction with the art of navigation. Whilft affairs are in this fituation with regard to the ihips, do you not think that the true pilot will be called by the failors aboard of ihips fitted out in this manner, a ilar-gazer, infignificant, and unprofitable to them ? Undoubtedly, fard Adimantus. I think then, faid I, that you will not want any explana tion of the image, to fee that it reprefents how they are affecl:ed in cities towards true philofophers, but that you undedl:and what I fay. PerfeB:ly, faid he. FirH of all then with refpect to this, if any one won ders that philofophers are not honoured in cities, teach him our image, and endeavour to perfuade him that it would be much more wonderful if they were honoured. I will teach him fo, replied he. And further,
that it is indeed true, what •you now was obfervinOo’•. that the heft of thofe who apply to philofophy are ufelefs to the bulk of mankind; but how-
ever, for this, bid them blame fuch as make no ufe of thefe philofophers, and not thefe philofophers themfelves. For it is not natural for the pilot to entreat the failors to allow him to govern them, nor for the wife to be reforting to the gates of the rich. But whoever pleafantly faid this was mifiaken; for this is truly the natural method, that whoever is fick, whether rich or poor, mufi of neceffity go to the gates of the phyfician, and who ever wants to be governed mull: wait on him who is able to gov<“ra ;. for it is not natural that the governor who is really of any value ihould entreat the governed to fobjecl: themfelves to his government. But you will not greatly err, when you compare our prefeut political governor.s to thofo failors we now mentioned, and thofe who are called by them in fignificant and fiar-gazers to ·thofe who are truly pilots. Mofi right, faid he. From hence then it would feem that the bell purfuit is not likely to be held in efl:eem among thofe who purfue fiudies of an op polite nature ; but by far the greatefi and mofi violent accufation of phi-
lofophy
826 THE REPUBI.IC.
lofophy is occafioned by means of thofo who profcfs to fiudy it ; the moO: of whom, you fay, your accufer of philofophy calls altogether depraved, and the very befl: of them of no advantage to the fiate ; and I agreed that ‘OU fay the truth, did I not ? You did. And have we not fully ex plained the caufe why the bcfi of them are of no advantage? We have. Would you choofe then, that we fhould in the next place explain the reafon why the mofi of them mull: of 11eceffity be depraved, and th.it we endeavour to demonfirate, that of this, philofophy is by no means the caufe. Entirely fo. Let us attend then, and begin our reafoning, calling t-0 mind what we formerly obferved concerning the natural genius which necelfarily belongs to the good and worthy.-And what was a leading part in it, if you remember, was truth, which he mufl: by all means wholly purfue, or el!e be a vain boa!l:er, and never partake of true philofophy. It was fo faid. ls not this one part of his charaller perfeclly contrary to the prefent opinidns of him? It is very much 1<.>, replied he. Will it 11ot then be no fmall defence, if we be able to i110w that the true lover of learning is naturally made to afpire to the knowledge of real being, and uot to refi in the many particular things which are the ohjells of opinion, but goes on, and is not blunted, nor ceafes from his love of truth till he comes into C(‘ntacl with the n:iture of every thing which is, by that part of the foul whofe office it is to come into contact with a thing of this kind. But it is the office of that part of the foul which is allied to real being ; to which when this true lover of learning approaches, an<l is mingled with it, having generated intelleQ: and truth, he will then have true knowledge, and truly live and be nourifhed, and then he becomes liberated from the pains of parturition, but not before. This, faid he, will be a moll: reafonable defence. What now, will it be the part of foch an one to love falfehood, or, entirely the contrary, to hate it? To hate it, faid he. But whilll: truth indeed leads the way, we can never, I think, fay that any band of evils follows in her train. How can we ? But, on the contrary, we may aver that fhe is followed by found an:l moderate man ners, and fuch as are accompanied with temperance. Right, fai<l he. \Vhy, now, 11eed we go over ·again and range in order the whole qual:ties of the philofophic genius ? for you no doubt remember that there belong to men of this character fortitude, magnanimity, facility of learning, and
3 memory:
TH.E REPUBLIC’. 327
memory= and when you replied that every one would be obliged to agree to what we faid, we quitted that fubjecl:, and turned to that which is the fobjecl: of di1courfe at prefent, on your faying that you obferved fome of the philofophers were infigni6cant, and many of them altogether depraved. And while we were examining into the caufe of that calumny, we are now come to this, whence it is that many of them are depraved. And on this account we have gone over again the genius of true philofophers, and have necelfarily defined· what it is. It is fo, faid he. It is neceffary now, faid T, that we cotdiJer the corruptions of this genius, and in what manner it is Jdl:royed in the moil: ; but one finall particular efrapes us : who thofe are that they call not dtpraved, but ufe lds. And next, what thnfe geniuses are which counterfeit the phiJo.. fophic nature, and pretend to its purfuit: and what is the nature of thofe fouls who afpire to a purfuit which does not belong to them, and is above their reach: for thefe, by their manifold errors, have every where,.· and among all men, introduced this opinion of philofophy which you· mention. \Vhat fort of corruptions, faid he, do you mean ? I fhall en•· deavour to rehearfe them, faid I, if I be able. And this now, 1 think;
€very one will allbw us, that fuch a genius, with all thofe qualifications we have enjoined one who is to be a perfect philofopher, rarely arifes among men, and that there arc but few of them: do not you think fo? Entirely fo. And of thofe few, confider how many and how great are the caufes of· corruption. What are they? That which is mo(l of all wonderful to hear, that each of thofe things we commended in the genius of a philo fopher, corrupts the foul which poffelfes them, and withdraws it from phi l’ofophy ;, fortitude, I mean, and temp.erance, and all thofe other qualifica tions which we have difculfcd. That is Jl:range to hear, faid he. And further Jl:ill, faid I, befidcs thefe things, all thofe which are commonly called good, fi.tch as beauty, riches, il:rength of body, a powerful alliance in the city, and every thing akin to thefe, corrupt and withdraw it from philofo phy ; for you have now a fpccimcn of what l mean. I have, replied he, and would gladly underil:and more accurately what you fay. Underfrand then, faid I, the whole of it aright, and it will appear manifeil:, and what we formerly faid will not feem to be abfurd. How then, faid he, do you
bid me act ? With refpea to every kind of feed, or plant, faid I,. whethe11
of.,·
328 T H K R E P U B L I C.
of vegetables or animals, we know, that whatever does not meet with the
.proper nourifhment, nor feafon, nor place belonging to it, the more vigo rous it is by nature, the more it 1s dcfeclive in the excellencies of its kind ; for evil is more contrary to good, than to that which is not good. Why is it not ? It is then reafonable, I think, that the bell: genius, when meeting with nouriiliment foreign to it, iliall be more changed to what is evil, than a bad genius. It is. And fhall we not, Adimantus, faid I, in the fame manner, fay that fouls naturally the bell:, when they meet with bad education, become remarkably depraved? Or do you think that great iniquity, and the extremeft wickednets, arife from a weak genius, and not from a vigorous one ruined in its education; but that an imbecil genius will never be the caufo either of mighty good or evil? I do not think it will, faid he, but the cafe is as you fay. If then this philofophic genius, which we have cfiablifhed, meet with foitable infirull:ion, it will, I think, necdfarily grow up, and attain to every virtue; but if, when fown in an improper foil, it grow up and be nourilhed accordingly, it will on the other hand become perfectly the reverfe, unlefs fome one of the Gods afford it affifiance. Or do you think, with the multitude, that certain of ttie youth are corrupted by the fophifis, and that the corruptors are certain private fophifis, which is worthy of our notice ? Or think you rather, that the perfons who fay thefe things are themfelves the greatefi: fophill:s, conveying their inflruclion in the mofi powerful manner, and rendering young and old, mc-n and women, fuch as they with to be? When do they effccl: this? replied he. Wb.en many of them, faid I, are fet down, crow_ded together in an affembly, in their courts of jullice, the theatre, or the camp, or any other public meeting of the people, witb much tumult they blame fame of the fpeeches and acl:ions, and commend others, roaring and vociferating the one and the other·beyond meafure. And betides this, the rocks and the place where they are refounding, the tumult is redoubled, whilfi: they thus blame and applaud. In fuch a
fituation now, what kind of heart, as we fay, do you think the youth are to have? Or what private inll:rutlion ca11 make him withfiand, fo as not
to be ·perfecHy overwhelmed by fuch blame or applaufe, and, giving way, be borne aloug the fiream wherever it carries him, and fay that things are beautiful and bafe, according as thefe people fay, a11d purfue the things
4 they
T JI F. R E P U B L I C.
they purfue, and become of the very fame kind himfelf? This, faid he, mull by an abundant neceffity happen, Socrates. But, faid I, we have not yet mentioned, what mull: of the grcateft uecdiity be the cafe. \Vhat is that ? faid he. That which thefe infiructors and fophitls foperadd by allion, not being able to perfuade by fpcech: or, do you not know, that they punill1 with di(graces, and lines, and deaths, the man whom they cannot perfuade ? I know that, faid he, extremely well. \\’hat other fophifl: then, or what private reafonings do you think capable, drawing oppolite to thefe, to overpower them ? I know none, faid he. But is it not bcliJcs, faid I, great folly even to attempt it? For there neither is, nor was, nor ever can be, a ditferent method of attaini11g virtue, betides this education by thefe fophifis. I mean a human method, my friend; for a divine one, according to the proverb, I keep out of the q1Jefiion: for you muft know well, with reipccl: to whatever temper is prcferved, ·and becomes fuch as it ought to be in fuch a confl:itution of politics, that you will not fay amifs when you fay that it is preferved by a divine defiiny. Nor am.I, faid he, of a different opinion. But further now, be/ides thefe things, faid I, you mufl: likewife be of this opinion. Of what? That each of thcfo private hirelings, which thefe men call fophifts, and deem
the rivals of their art, teach no other things but thofe dogmas of the vul gar, which they approve whe11 they are affembled together, and call it
wifdom. Juft as if a man had learned what were the wrathful emotions
and defires of a great and ftrong animal he were nouriihing, how it mull: be approached, how touched, and when it is mofl: fierce or moft mild; and from what caufes, and the founds which on thefe feveral occafions it was wont to utter, and at what founds uttered by another, the animal is rendered both mild and favage; and, having learned all thefe things by affociating with the animal for a long time, ihould call this wifclom ; and, as if he had cll:ablifhcd an art, ihould apply himfelf tQ the teaching it ; whilil: yet, with reference to thefe dogmas and detires, he knows not in reality what is beautiful, or bafe, or good, or ill, or jufl, or unjuft, but 1hould pronounce all thefe according to the opinions of the great animal, calling thole things good in which it delighted, and that e\·il with which it was vex.ed, and ihould have no other meafurc as to thetc things. Let us likcwifr fiippofc that he calls thofe things whi-:11 an: nccdfary, bcauti- voL. r. 2 l’ ful
ful and juil:, but that he hath uever difcovered himfelf, nor is able to lhow o another,. the nature of the nece.(fary and the go.od, how much they really. differ from each other. Whilfi: he is fuch an one, does he not, by Jupiter, appear to you a 1 abford teacher? To rue he appears fo, faid he. And from this man, hinl<; you, does he.any way differ, who deems it wifdom to have under(}-ood the auger and the pleafores of the ID\1ltitude, and of alfemblie of all kinds of men, whether with relation to painting, mufic, or poli tics? F r, if any one converfes w.ith thefe, and lhows them either a poem, or any other produll.ion of art, or piece of ad,minifi:ration refpecling the ity, and makes the multitude the judges of it, he ia under what is callec,1, a Diomedrean ‘ neceffity, which is above all other neceffities, q_f doing whatever they commend. But to lhow that thete things ar.e in reality. good a.nd, beautiful, ha.ve you at a[)y time heard any of them advance a reafou that was not quite ridiculous? Nor do I think, faid he, I ever
!hall. WhilO: you attend then to aU thefe things, bear this. i11 mind, thaA the multitude never will ad.mit or reckon that tliere is the one beijutifol itfelf, and not many beautifuls, one thing iife(f which has a Jintle Jul,
ftjlence, and not.many fuch things. They will be the lafi: to do fo,_ replied he. It is impoffible then for the multitude to be l,)hilofophers. 1mpoffi ble. And thofe who philofophize mufr of neceffity be reprm ched by them. Of neceffity. And likewife by thofe private perfons, who,. in converfing with the multitude, defire to pl af th m. It is plain. From, this fratc of things. now, what fafety do you fee for the philofophic genius. tp continue in its purfuit0 and arrive at perfec’l:ion ? And confider fron,i
A Diomed n necellity is a proverbial expreflion applied to thofe who do any thing from necellity; and originated from the following hillory: Diomed and Ulylres, having 11:olen the Palladium from Ilium, returned by night to their fhips, But Ulylres, being ambitious that the glory of the deed might be given to him alone, endeavoured to flay Diomed, who walked be-. fore him with the Palladium. :Qiqmed, howevi:r, by the light of the moon, behofding the fhadow of the fword raifed over him, ca gh,t hold of Ulylfes, bound his hands, ordered. him to walk before him, and; 11:riking him on the back with the broad part of his fword, arrived among the Greeks. This note is exual\ed from the Greek Scholia on Plato, colleaed. from many manufcripts by Ruhnkenius, and publilhcd at Lyons 1800. Ai; this work is but juft come to my hands, I could not avail myfclf of it bef re; bu I ll1all endeavour to fupplY, this deficiency in the additional notes at the end of this volume, and Iha!! Cele.a what appears to me to be molt important, as notes to this and the fubfequent book.a and dialogues. Unfortunately, thcfe Scholia are moftly grammatical.
what
T .H E R E P U B L I C. a§i
what was formerly faid, for we have allowed that facility in learning, memory, fortitude, and magnanimity belong to this genius. We have. And thall not fuch an one, of all men, immediately be the firft in every
thing, efpecially if he has a body naturally adapted to the foul? Why lhall he not P faid he. And when he becomes more advanced ii1 age, his kindred and citizens, I think, will incline to employ him in their af
fairs, Why will the}’ not? And making tupplicatlohs to him, and payin’g
hit’n homage, they will fubrnit to him, and anticipate and. flatter befot hand his growing power. Thus, faid he, it ufually happens. What now,
faid I, do you think foch an one will do, in fuch a cafe, efpecially if he happen to belong to a great city, and be rich, and 6f a noble defceitt, anl:I withal beautiful and of a large fl:ature? Will he not be filled with ti.frii vagant hopes, deeming himfelf capable of mariaging both the affairs of Greeks
and Barbarians, and on thefe accounts carry himfelf loftily, without any fo;. lid judgment, full of ofl:entatiou and vain conceit? Extremely fo, reptied lit!. If one thould gently approach a man of tli.is difpofition, and tt:11 him th truth, that he has no judgment, yet needs it ; but that it is not to be ai::quired
but by one who fubjecls himfelfto this acquifition, do you think that, with ail these evils about him, he would- be ready to hearken ? Fat from it fiticl he. If now, faid I, through a good natural temper, and a11 innate dif pofition to reafon, any one thould foinehow·be made fenfible, and be btrii and drarn towards philofophy, what do we imagine thofe others will do, when they reckon they thall lofe his company, and the benefit which they received from him ? Will they not by every action, aud every fpeech, fay and do every thing to the man not to fuffer himfelf to b’e perfuaded; and to his advifer, to render him incapable by 1.nfnaring him in pri•ate, and bringing him to public trial? This, faid he, m\1ft of neceffity ha’ppen; Is it likely now fuch an one will philofophize? Not altogether. You fee then, faid I, that we were not wrong when we faid that even the very parts of the philofophic genius, when they meet with bad education, are
in fome meafure the caufe of a falling off from this purfuit, as well as thofo vulgarly reputed goods, riches, and all furniture of this kind. We were not, replied he, but it was rightly faid. Such then, faid I, admirable friend! is the ruin, fuch and fo great the corruptiofr of the befi ge nius for the nobleft purfuit, and which befides but rarely happe11s, as ·we
2 u 2 obferv d ;
332 T H E R E P U B L I C.
obferved; and from among fuch as thcfc are the men who do the greaten mifchicfs to cities, and to private perfons, and likewife they who do the greateil good, fuch as happen to be drawn to this fide. But a little genius 11ever did any thing remarkable to any one, neither to a private perfon nor to a city. Moft true, faid he. Thefe indeed, then, whofe bufinefs it chiefly was to ;ipply to philofophy, having thus fallen off, leaving her defolate and imperfect, lead themfelves a life neither becoming nor genuine; whilft
·other unworthy perfons, intruding themfelves on philofophy, abandoned in a manner by her kindred, have difgraced her, and loaded her with re proaches, fuch as thefe you fay her reproachers reproach her with: viz. that of thofe who converfe with her, fome are of no value, and moft of
_them worthy of the greateft punilhments. Thefe things, replied he, are commonly faid. And with reafon, replied I, they are faid. For other
_contemptible men feeing the field unoccupied, and that the poffeffion of it is attended with dignities and honourable names, like perfons who make their
·efcape from prifons to temples, thefe likewife gladly leap from their handi crafts to philofophy; I meau fuch of them as are of the greate/l addrefs in their own little art. For, even in this fituation of philofophy, her remain ing dignity, in comparifon with all the o.her arts, fiill furpalfes in magni ficence; of which dignity many are defirous, who by natural difpofitio are unfit for it, and whofe bodies are not only deformed by their arts and handicrafts, but whofe fouls alfo are in like manner confufed, and crulhed
. by their forvile works. Mufi: it not of neceffity be fo? Undoubtedly, fai<l he. Does it then appear to you, faid I, that they are any way dif ferent in appeanmce from a black1inith, who has made a little money, bald and puny, recently liberated from chains, and walhed in the bath, with a new robe on him, jufi decked out as a bridegroom, prefuming to marry the daughter of his mafter, encouraged by the po,crty and forlorn cir cumftances with which he foes him opprefied? There is, faiJ he, no great difference. \Vhat fort of a race mufi: fuch as thefe produce? Mull it not be bafiardly and abjec.l:? By an abundant neccffity. But what now! When men who are unworthy of infi:ruclion apply to it, and are conver fant in it, in an unworthy manner, what kind of fentiments and opinions (hall we fay are produced? Mufi they not be fuch as ought properly to be termed fophiiins, and which polfefs nothing genuine, or worthy of true pru-
dence?
T H E R E P U B L J C. 333
deuce? By all means fo, replied he. A very fmall number now, faid I, Adimantus, remains of thofe who worthily are converfaut in philofophy,
who happen either to be detained fomehow in banifhment, and whofe oo-e-
nerous and well cultivated difpofition perfifts in the fiudy of philofophy, being removed from every thing which tends to corrupt it; or elfe when, in a fmall city, a mighty foul arifes, who defpifing the honours of the ftate entirely neglell:s them, and likewi(e with juftice defpifing any fmall thing arifing from the other arts, his well-born foul returns to philofophy. Thefe the bridle of our friend Theagis will be fufficient to refirain; for all other things confpire to withdraw Theagis from philofophy, but the care of his health excluding him from politics makes him attentive to that alone. for as to my genius, it is not worth while to mention the dremoniacal fign; for certaiHly it has happened heretof re to but one other, or to none at all. And even of thefo few, fuch as are tafting, and have tafted, how fweet and bleffed the acquifition of philofophy is, and have withal fufficiently feen the madnefs of the multitude, and how none of them, as I may fay, effects any thing falutary in the affairs of cities, and that there is no ally with whom a man might go to the affiftance of the juft and be fafe; but that he is like one falling among wild beafis, being neither willing to join them in injufiice, nor able, as he is but one, to oppofe the whole favage crew; but, before he can benefit the city or his friends, is defiroyed, and is unprofitable both to himfelf and others : rea foning Oil all theie things, lying quiet, and attending to his own aftairs, as in a tempeft, when the dufi is driven, and the fea agitated by winds, ftanding uuder a wall, beholding others overwhelmed in iniquity, be is. fatisfied if he fhall himfelf anyhow pafs his life here pure from injufiicc and unholy deeds, and make his exit heace in good hopes cheerful and benignant. And he i11all make his exit, faid he, after having done nona of the finallefi matters. Nor the greateft neither, faid I, whilH he has not met with a republic that is fuitable to him; for, in a fuitable one, he fhall both make a greater proficiency himfelf, and fhall preferve the affairs of private pcrfons as well as of the public. 1t appears then, to me, that we have now fufficiently told whence it happens that philofophy is accufed, and that it is fo unjuftly, unlefs you have fomething elfe to offt:r. But. faid he, I fay nothing further about this point. But which of the prefent republics do you fay is adapted to philofophy? Not one indeed, faid I; but
J tm
THE REPUBLIC.
this is what I complain of, that there is no conftitution of a city at prefent worthy of the philofophic genius, which is therefore turned and altered, as a foreign feed fown in an improper foil, which degenerates to what is ufual’ly produced in that foil. After the fame manner this race, as it has not at prefent its proper power, degenerates to a foreign fpecics: but fhould it meet with the bell: republic, as it is the bell: in itfelf, then fhall it indeed difcover that it is really divine, and that all befidcs are human, both as to thetr genius and their purfuits. But now you feem plainly ro be going to aik which is this republic. You are mifiaken, faid he; for this I was not going to afk: but whether it was this which we have defcribed in eitablifh ing our city, or another. As to, other things, faid I, it is this one, and this very thing was then mentioned, that there muft always be in the city fome thing which ihaH have the fame regard for the republic which you the Jegiflator have when you eftablifu the laws. It was mentioned, faid he. But it was not, fuid I, made fufficiently plain, through fears which pre> occupied you, when you fignilied that the illuftration of the thing would be both tedious and difficult ; and it is not indeed altogether eafy to difcufs what remains. What is that? In what manner a city fhall attempt phi lofophy and not be defiroyed; for all grand things arc dangerous, and, as the fayi11g is, fine things are truly difficult. But however, faid he, let our dif. quifition be complete!:! in making this evident. Want of inclination, faid J, ihall not hinder, though want of ability may. And being prefent, you· fhall know my alacrity, and confider now how readily and adventuroufiy I am going to fay,’ that a city ought to attempt this ftudy in a way oppofit’e to that at prefent. How? At prefent, faid I, thofe wl10 engage in it are firiplings, who immediately from their childhood, amidft their domefiic affiirs and lucrative employmel’lts, apply themfelves to the moft abfrrufe parts of philofophy, and then they depart moft confummate philofophers, I call the moft difficult part, that refpell:ing the art of reafoning. And in all after time, if, when they are invited by others who pracl:ife this art, they are plcafed to become hearers, they think it a great condefccnfiou, reckoning they ought to do it as a by-work :-but when they approach to old age, befipes .fome few, they are extinguilhed much mo.re than the Heraclitea11 •
}ftraclitus the EphcGan faid that the fun dcfcending to the weftcrn fea, and fctting in it, waa cxtinguilhcd; and that afterwards, afccnding above the earth, arriving at the eaft, it was qrtin enkindlcd,; and that this took place perpetually. Sec the lntrodutlion to the Timeu1.
fun,
THE REPUBLIC, ass
fun, bccaufe they are never again rekindled, But how fhouJd fhl!y a8: l faid he. Quite the reverfe. Whilft they are lads and boys they lhould apply to juvenile iufl:rultion and philofophy ‘, and, in taking proper care of their body, whilfl: it lhoots and grows to firmnefs, provide for philofophy a proper affifl:ant : and then, as that age advances in which the fuul. btgins to be perfected, they ought vigorouOy to apply to her exercifes; a11d when ftrength decays, and is”no longer adapted for civil and military employments, they lhould then be difmiffed, and live at pleafore, and, excepting a by-work, do nothing elfe but philofophize, if they,propofe to live happy, and, when they die, to po!fefs in the other world a deftiny a apted to the life thej· have led in, this. How truly, faid he, Socrates, do you feem to me to fpeak witl11 zeal ! Yet. I think, the greater part of your bearers will {lill more zeal.. ouOy oppofe you, and by no means be perfoaded, and that Thrafymachus· will be the firfl: of them. Do not divide, faid I, Thrafymachus and me, who are now become friends ; nor were we enemies heretofore. For wo fhall no way defift from our attempts, till we either perfuade both him awl the refl:, or make fame advances towards that life at which when they arriver they fhall again meet with foch difcourfes as thefe. You have fpoken, faid he, but a ihort time. None at all, faid I, with refpelt at leaft to the whole, of time: but that the multitude are not perfuaded by what is faid, is not wonderful; for they have never at any time feen exifting what has no\\’ beet&; mentioned, but rather fuch difcourfes as have been induftrioufly compofod, a 1d have not fallen in fpontaneouOys as thefe do at prefent. But as fot< the man who has arrived at the model’ of virtue, and is rendered· fimifar to it iu the moil: perfea manner poffible both in word and in deed, they have never at any time feen fuch a man, neither one nor more of the kind. Or do you think they have? By no means. Neither yet, 0 bleffed man! have they fufficiently attended to beautiful and liberal reafoning , fo as ardently to invefiigate the truth, by every method, for the fake of know;.
Socrates by philofophy here means the mathematics ; and agreeably to this Plotinus alfc> Cays, that youth lhould be taught the mathematical difciplines, in order to become accufiomcd to an incorporeal nature.
a This is faid ironicallr, For truth comes fpontaneouRy; 6ncc thc’foul ·does not’ rcfemble an unwritten, but an ever-written tablet; hcrfelf, as Proclus well obfcrves, infcribing the cha ratlcrs in hcrfclf, of which (he derives an eternal plcnitu_dc from intcll«t.
4 ing
336 T II E R E P U B L I C.
ing it, faluting only at a di{bnce fuch intricate and contentious debates, as tend to nothing elfe but to opinion and firife, both in their courts of jufiice and in their private meetings. The cafe is jufi fo, replied he. On thefe accounts then, faid I, and forefeeing thefe things, we were for merly afraid. However, being compelled by the truth, we did affert, that ueither city nor republic, nor even a man in the fame way, would ever become perfect, till fume neceffity of fortune oblige tliefe few philofophers, who are at prefent called not depraved, but ufelefa, to take the govern ment of the city whether they will or not, and compel the city to be obedient to them ; or till the fons of thofe who are now in the offices of power and magifiracies, or they themfclves, by fome divine inlpiration, be poffefi’ed with a genuine love of genuine philofophy: and I aver that no one has reafon to think that either of thefo, or both, arc impoffible; for thus might we jufily be laughed at, as faying things which are other wife only fimilar to willies. Is it not fo? It is. If then, in the infinite fories of pafi ages, the grentdl neceffity has obliged men that have arrived at the fummit of philofophy to take the government of a fiate, or foch men now govern in fome barbarous region, remote from our obfer vation, or !hall hereafter, we are ready in that cafe to contend in our reafon ing, that this republic we have dcfcribed has exified and fobfifis, and !hall arife :rt leafi when this our mufe !hall obtain the government of the fiate: for this is neither impoffible to happen, nor do we fpeak of impoilibilities, though we ourfelves confefs that they are difficult. I am likewife, faid he, of the fame opinion. But you will fay, replied I, that the multitude do not think fo too. It is likely, faid he. 0 blefi’ed man! faid I, do not thus altogether accufe the multitude; but, whatever opinion they-may have, without upbraiding them, but rather encouraging them, and removing the reproach thrown on philofophy, point out to them the perfons you call philofophers, and define difiin£1ly, as at prcfent, both their genius and their purfuits, that they may not think you fpeak of fuch as they call philofo phers; or, if they mean the fame men, you will tell them they have con ceived a ditft:rent opinion of the men from what you have, and give very different anfwers about them from yours. Or, do you tbiuk that one man can be enraged at another, who is not in a paffion? or, that a man l11all envy the envious, who is himfelf bot void of envy, and is of a mild dif-
pofition ?-
T II E I{ E P U B L I C. 337
polition ?-I will prevent you, and fay that l think there is in fome few fuch a naturally bad temper, but not in the greater part of mankind. I likcwife, faid he, think fo. Are you not then of the fame opinion with me in this ? That thefe men are the caufe of the multitude being ill affcl\ed towards philofophy, who openly revile what is no way becoming them, behaving in a fcoffing and dit1afi:eful manner towards the multitude, always making difcourfes about particular men, and doing what is leafi: of all becoming philofophy. Certainly, faid he. For fomehow, Adimantus, the man at lcaft who really applies his dianoetic part to true bemg, has not leiforc to look down to the little affairs of mankind, and, in fighting with them, to be filled with envy and ill nature ; but, beholding and con• templating fuch objecls as are orderly, and always fubliil: in the lame manner, fuch as neither injure nor are injured by each other, but are io all refpccls beautiful, and according to reafon, thefe he imitates and refembles as far as poffible; or, do you think it poffible by any contrivance that a man fuould not imitate that, in converfing with which he is filled with admira tion? It is impoffible, replied he. The philofopher then who converfe1 with that which is decorous and divine, as far as is poffible for man, becomes himfelf decorous and divine. But calumny is powerful in every thing. It is entirely fo. If then, faid I, he be under any neceffity, not merely of forming himfelf alone, but hkewife of endeavouring to introduce any thing he beholds there among mankind, in order to form their manners, both in private and in public life, would he prove, think you, a bad artifl: of temperance and of jufiice, and of every focial virtue? Not at all, faid he. But if now the multitude perceive that we fay the truth of fuch an one, will they be angry at philofophers, and diibclieve us when we fay, that the city cau never otherwife be happy unlefs it be drawn by thofe painters who follow a divine original? They will not be angry, ta.id he, if they per ceive fo: but what method of painting do you mean ? When they have obtained, faid I, the city and the manners of men as their canvafs, they would fidl: make it pure; which is not altogether an eafy matter. Rut i11 this, you know, they differ from others, that they are unwilling to meddle
either with a private man or city, or to prefcribe laws, till once they either receive thefe pure, or purify them themfelves. And rightly, fuid he. And after this, do not you think they will draw a fketch of the republic r Why
JIOI… l, zx llOt?
338 T H E R J: P U B LI C.
uot? Afterwards, I think, as they proceed in their work, they will fre quently look both ways, both to what is naturally jufi and beautiful, and temperate aud the like; and likewife again to that which they can efiablifli’ among mankind, blending and compounding their human form from different· human cl1arallers and purfuits, drawing from this. which Homer calls the divine likenc1s, and the divine refcmblance fuL fifiing among men. Right, faid he. They will then, I think, 1lrike out one thing and infert another, till they have rendered human manners, as far as is poffible, dear to the Gods. It will thus, faid he, be the moll: beautiful picture. Do we now then, faid I, any way perfuade the1e men,. w·ho, you faid, were coming upon us in battle array, that fuch a painter· of republics is the man we then recommended to them, and on whofe ac-·. count they were enraged at us, that we committed cities to him, and will they now be more mild when they hear us mentioni-ng itr Certainly,. faid he, if they be’ wifo: for what is there now they can further quefiion?
\Vill they fay that philofophers are not lovers of real being and of truth?. That, faid he, were abford. Or that their genius, as we defcribed it, is not allied to that which is befi? Nor this neither. What then? Whilfi: their genius is foch as this, and meets with fuita\}le exercifes, thall it not become perfectly good and philofophic, if any other be fo? or, will you fay thofe will be more fo whom we fet afide? Not at all. Will they fiill then pe enraged at us when we fay that till the philofophic race have the government of the city, neither thcr miferies of the city nor of the citizens thall have an end, nor ihall this republic, which we fpe:ik of in the way of fable, arrive in reality at perfelliou? Perhaps, faid he, they will be le1s enraged. Are you willing then, faid I, rhat we fay not of them they are lefs enraged at us, but that they are altogether appeafed, and pcr fuaded, that if we make no more of them, they may at leafl: confent by their blu01ing ? By all means, faid he. Let them then, faid I, be per foaded of this. But is there any one who will call this into quefiion, that thofe of the philofophic genius do not ufoally fpring from kings and fovereigns? Not one, faid he, would allege that. And though they wen· born with a philofophic genius, one may fay they arc under a great neceflity of being corrupted ; for indeed that it is a difficult matter for thefe geniuses to be preferved untainted,. even we ourfelves agree. But
that
TH E R E P U B L I C. 33!)
that in the infinite feries of time, of the whole of the human race, there fhould never be fo much as a fingle one preferved pure and untainted, is there any who will contend ? How can there be any one? But furely, faid I, a fingle one is fufficient, if he exifl:s, and has a city fobjecl to him, to accompliih every thing now fo much dilbelieved. He is fufficient, faid he, And when the governor, faid I, has eftabliihed the laws and cufioms we have recited, it is not at all impoffible that the citizens fhould
be willing to obey him. Not at all. But is it wonderful or impoffible, that what appears to us fhould alfo appear to others? I oo not think it,
faid he. And that thefe things are hefl:, if they be poffible, we have fufficiently, as I think, explained in the preceding part of our difcourfe. Sufficiently indeed. Now then it feems we are agreed about our legif
·1ation ; that the laws we mention are the bell:, if they could exifi ; but that it is difficult to eftabli{h the11t, not, however, impoffible. We are
·agreed, faid he. After this has with difficulty been brought to a con clufion, fhall we not in the next place confider what follows? In what manner, and from what difciplines and fiudies, they fhall become the prc fervers of our republic? and in what periods of life they {hall each of them apply to the feveral branches of education? We mull: indeed con fider that, faicl he. I acted not wifely, faid I, when in the former part of our difcourfe I left untouched the difficulty attending the poffeffion of women, and the propagation of the fpecies, and the efiablifhing governors, knowing with what envy and difficulty they muft be introduced, or be carried 110 forther than theory. For now we are under no lefs a neccffity of difcuffing thefe thi1igs at prefent. What relates to women and children
•is already finifhed; and we mull: uow go over again, as from the begin• ning, what refers to governors. We faid, if you remember, that they
-thould appear to be lovers of the city, and be tried both by pleafures and by pains, and appear to quit this dogma neither through toils nor fears, uor any other chang ; and that he who was not able to do this was to be rejected; but he who came forth altogether pure, as gold tried in the fire, was to be appointed ruler, and to have ho11ours aud rewards paid him both alive and dead. Such were the things we faid wbilft our rea foning paffed over, and concealed itfclf, as afraid to roufe the prefeut argument. You fay mofr truly, faid he, forl remember: it, For I was
:& X 2 averfe,
114.0 THE R E PU :B L I C.
averfe, my friend, to fay, what I mufl: now venture to afi’ert; but now we muft even dare to affert this : that the moll: complete guardians muft be made philofophers. Let this be agreed upon, replied he. But confider that you will probably have but few of them: for fuch a genius as we faid they muft of ueceffity have, is wont but feldom in all its parts to meet i1t one man ; but its different parts generally fpring up in different perfons. How do you fay? replied he. That foch as learn with facility, have a good memory, are fagacious and acute, and endued with whatever quali fications are all,ied to thefe, are not at the fame time firenuous and mag nificent in their dianoetic part, fo as to live orderly, with quietnefs ancl fiability, but that foch are carried by their acutenefs wherever it happens,, and every thing that is frable depaFts from thew. You fay true, replied
. With regard then to thefo firm habits of the mind, which are not at all verfatile, and which one might rather employ as trufiy, and which are difficult to be moved at dangers iu war, are they not of the fame temper with reference to learning? They move heavily, and with difficulty learn, as if they were benumbed, and are opprefied with fleep and yawning,. when they are obliged to iabour at any thing of this kind. It is fo, replied he, But we faid that he muft partake of both thefe well and handfomely,. or elfe l1e ought not to fuare iu the moll: accurate education, nor ma gifl:racy, nor honours of the fl:ate, Right, faid he. Do not you think this will but rarely happen ? How 1hould it not ? They mufi: be tried then both in the things we formerly mentioned, in labours, i11 fears, and in pleafures; and likewife in what we then paffed over, and arc now mentioning ; we muft exercife them in various kinds of learning, whiHl: we confider whether their genius be capable of fufiainiug the great eft difciplines, or whether it fails, as thofo who fail in the other things. Jt is proper now, faid he, to confider this quell:ion at leafi in this manner. But what do you call the greateft difciplines? You remcq1ber in fome meafure, faid I, that when we had difl:ingui{hed the foul into three parts, we determined concerning jufiice, temperance, fortitude, and wifdom, what each of them is. If I did not .remember, faid he, it were jufl: I ihould not hear what remains, Do you likewifo remember what was faid before that? What was it ? We fomewhere faid, that it was pofiible to behold thefe in their 1110ft beautiful forms, but that the journey would be
4 w
THE REPUBLIC. 341
tedious which he mull: make, who would fee them confpicuouOy; that it was poffible, however, to approach towards them in the way of our de monlhatious above mentioned ; and you faid that thefe were fuffkient ; fo what was then advanced came to be fpoken far lhort, in my own opinion, of accuracy; but, if agreeably to you, you may fay fo. To me at leall:, faid he, they feemed to be difcu1Ted. in meafure ; and the refi: fecmed to think fo too. But, friend, faid I, in (peaking of things of this kind, fuch a meafure as leaves out any part whatever of the truth is not altogether in meafure. For nothing that is imperfecl: is the meafore of any thing. Though fome at times are of opinion, that things are fufficiently well when thus circumllanced, and that there is no neceffity for further inquiry. Very many, faid he, are thus affccl:ed through in dolence. But the g\lardian of the city and of the laws, faid I, has leafi: of all need of that paffion. It appears fo, replied he. Such an one, then, my friend, faid I, mull: make the more ample circuit, and labour no lefs in learning than in the exercifes : otherwife, as we were now faying, he will never arrive at the perfection of the greateft and moll: fuitable learn ing. But are not thefe, faid he, the. greatefl:? Or is there yet any thing greater than jufiice, and thofe virtues which we difcuffed ? There is fomething greater, faid I. And even of thefe we mull: not contemplate only the rude defcription, but we mufi not omit the highefl: finilhing. Or is it not ridiculous in other things of fmall account to employ our whole labour, and fl:rive to have them the moll: accurate and perfect, and not deem the higheft and moil: important affairs worthy of our highefl: attention, in order to render them the moll: perfect ? The fentiment, faid he, is very jull:, But, however, do you think, faid he, that any one will ditinifs you without afking you, what indeed is this greatefl: difcipliue, and about what is it converfant, when you call it fo ? Not at all, faid I, but do you yourfelf alk me; for affuredly you have not feldom heard it, and at prefcnt you either do not attend, or you intend to occafion me trouble in railing oppofition. This I rather think, fince you have often heard at leafi, that the idea of the good is the greatefl: difcipline: which idea when juf.. tice and the other virtues employ, they become ufcful and advantageous. You now almofi know that this is what I mean to fay, and befides this, that we do not fufficiendy know that idea, and that without this know•
ledge,
34’2 T H E R E fl U B L I C.
‘ledge, though Vl’e un3erfl:ood every thing clfe in the highefl: degree, you know that it is of no advantage to us: in t.he fa,ne manner as it woul<l avail us nothing though we poffelfed any thing whatever without the pof (elfion of the good: or do you think there is auy greater profit in pof fe{l’jng all things without the po!feffion of the good, than in knowing all
things without the knowledge of the good, knowing nothing at all that is beautiful and good? By Jupiter, not I, faid he. But furely this too at lt:afl: you know, that to the multitude pleafore feems to be the good ; •and to the more elegant it feems to be prudence. And very ridiculoufly, faid
he. How indeed can it be otherwife? replied I, if, when they upbraid us
that we know not what is the good, they tell us that they know, and call it the prudence of what is good, as if we underftood what they fay when they pronounce the word good. Moll: true, faid he. Hut what? thofe who define pleafure to be good, do they lefs err than the others 1 or are not thefe too obliged ‘to confefs that pleafures are evil ? Extremely fo. It happens then, I think, that they acknowle<lge the fame things are both good and evil, do they not? Undoubtedly. Is it not evident, then, that there are great and manifold doubts about it ? \Vhy are there not ? But what? is it not alfo evident, that with reference to things ju!l: and beau tiful, the multitude choofe the apparent, even though they be not really fo? yet they ad:, and polfefs, and ap.pear to polfefs them ; but the acquili tion of gooch, that were only the apparent, never yet fatisfied any one ; but in this they feek what is real, and here every one dcfpifes what is only the apparent. Extremely fo, faid he, This then is that which every foul purfues, and for the fake of this it does every thing, prophefying that
it is fomething, but being dubious, and unable to comprehend fufficiently what it is, and to po!fefs the fame fiable belief refpecl:ing it as of other things; and thus are they unfuccefsful alfo in other things, if there be in them any profit. About a thing now of fuch a kind, and of foch mighty confequence, thall we fay that even thefo our befi men in the city, and to
whom we commit the management of every thing, thall be thus in the dark ? As little at leail: as poffible, faid he. I think then, faid I, that whil!l: it is unknown in what manner the jufi. and beautiful are good, they are not of any great value to a guardian to polfefs, if it be likely he fhall
)..now thefe, whilfi he is ignorant of this ; but 1 prophefy that no one will
arrive
THE REPUBLIC, S4S
arrive at the knowledge of thefe before he fufficiently knows what the good is. You prophefy well, faid he. Shall not then our republic be completely adorned, if fuch a guardian be placed over it as is fcientifically knowing in thefr things? It mull: of neceffity, faid he. But with re1pell: to yourfelf, whether, Socrates, do you fay that the good is fcience, or pleafure, or fomc:thing elfe befides thefe? You was ever, faid J, a worthy man, and manifefl:Jy fuowed of old 1hat you was not to be fatisfied with the opinions of others about thefe things. Nor does it appear to me jufi, Socrates, faid he, that a man fhould be able to relate the dogmas of others, but not his own, after having fpent fo much time in inquiring about thefe particulars. But what, faid I, does it then appear to you jufr for a man to fpeak of things of which he is ignorant, as if he knew them? By no means, faid he, as if he knew them; yet however, according asc he thinks, thofe things which he thinks he fuould be willing to tell us. But what, faid I, have you not obforved of opinions void of fcience how deformed they all are, and that the befi of them are blind? Or do thofe who without intellect form right OJ?inion feem to you, in: any refpell:, to differ from thofc who are blind, and at the fame time walk frraight on the road? lu no refpelt, faid he. Are you willing, then, that we fuould examine things dtformed, blind, and crooked, having it in our power. to hear from others’ what is clear and beautiful? Do not, by Jupiter, Socrates, faid Glauco, defifi at the end; for it will fuffice us, if in the fame way as you have fpoken of jufi:ice and temperance, and thofe other virtues, you likewife difcourfe concerning the good. And I .too fuall be very wdl fatisfied, my friend, faid I ; but I am afraid I fuall not be able ; and, by appearing readily difpofcd,. I /hall incur the ridicule of the un. mannerly. But, 0 blelfed man! let us at prefont difinifs • this inquiry, wha’t the good is; (for it appears to me a greater thing than we can arrive at, accordi.ng to our prefent impulfe,) but I am willing to tell you what the off,pring of the good appears to be, and what mofi rcfembles it, if this be o1grceable to you; and if not, I thall difrnifs. it. But tell us, faid he; for
1 Viz. From the genera of beings more e-rcellent than human-natne, fuch 2s daemons and heroea.
Socrates foys this in confequcncc of the inability of his auditors to undcrfland the nature of
the good: fur, as it is well obferved in the Greek Scholia on this part of the Republic, through the inapitudc of fubordinate natures, fuch as are more excellent are unable: to energize. n«f’I
;•:,p Tw, “‘””‘ ugTrpo,v a,,1,rn. i,101 1a 11111<p1rt-rov:,; ,.iu,111Tcui:iv mprri,,
you
344 T H E R E P U B L t C.
you fhall afterwards explain to us what the father is. I could with, faid I, both that I were able to give that explanation, and you to receive it, an<l not as now the offspring only. Receive now then this child an<l offspring of the good itfelf. Yet take care however that unwillingly I deceive yo11 not, in any refpecl:, giving au adulterate account of this offspring. We fhall take care, fui.d he, to the befi of our ability; only tell us, I fhall tell, then, faid I, after we have thoroughly aifented, and I have reminded you of what was mentioned in our preceding difcourfe, and has, been frequently faid on other occafions, What is it? faid he. That there are many things, faid I, beautiful, and many good, and each of thefe we fay is fo, and we difiinguifh them in our reafoning. We fay fo. But as to the beautiful itfelf, and the good itfelf, and in like manner concerning all thofe things which we then confidered as many, now again eftabli{hing them according to one idea of each particular, as being one, we affign to each that appel,
lation which belo\lgs to it; and thefe indeed we fay arc feen by the eye, but are not objects of intellectual perception ; but that the ideas are per ceived by the intellect, but are uot feen by the eye. Perfectly fo. By what part then of ourfelves do we fee things vifible? By the fight, faid he. And is it not, faid I, by hearing, that we perceive what is heard ; and by t other fenfes, all the other objeels of fenfe ? Why not? But have you not obferved, faid I, with regard to th artificer of the fenfes, how he has formed the power of fight, and of being vifible, in the mofi perfect ,nanner? I have not entirely perceived it, replied he. , But confider it in this manner. ls there any other fpecies, which hearing and found require, in order that the one i;nay hear, and the other be heard, which third thing if it be not
. prefent, the one fhall not hear, and- the other not be heard ? There is nothing, faid he. Imagine then, faid I, that neither do many others (that I may not fay none) require any fuch thing: or cau you mention any one that does require it? Not I, replied he, But with reference to the tenfe of feeing, and the objelt of fight, do not you perceive that they require fomething? How ? When there is fight in the eyes, and when he who has it attempts to ufe it, and when there is colour in the objects before him, unlcfs there concur fome third genus, naturally formed for the purpofe, you know that the fight will fee nothing, and the colours will be invifible, What is that you fpeak of? faid he. What you call light, faid I. You fay
true,
THE REPUBLIC. 345
true, replied he. This fpecies then is not defpicable; aud by no finall idea are the fenfe of feeing, and the power of being feen, connected together ; but by a bond the moCt honourable of all bonds, if light be not dilhonour able. But it is far, faid he, from being <lilhonourable. Whom then of the Gods in heaven can you affign as the caufe of this, that light makes our fight to fee, and vifible objeas to be feen, in the bell: manner? The fame as you, faid he, and others do; for it is evident that you mean the fun. Is not the fight then naturally formed in this manner with reference to this God ? How? The fight is not the fon, nor is that the fun in which fight is ingeneratcd, which we call the eye. It is not. But yet I think that of all the organs of fenfe it is moil folar-form, Very much fo. And the power which it poffeffes, does it not poffefs as difpenfed and flowing from hence? Perfectly fo. Is not then the fun, which indeed is not fight itfelf, yet as it is the caufe of it, feen by fight itfelf? It is fo, faid he. Conceive then, faid I, that this is what I called the offspring of the good, which the good generates, analogous to itfelf; and that what this is in the intelligible place, with refpect to intellect, and the objects of intellect, that the fun is in the vifible place with refpect to fight and vifible things. How is it? faid he: explain to me yet further. You know that the eyes, faid I, when they are no longer directed towards objecrs whofe colours are lhone upon by the light of day, but by the fplendour of the night, grow dim, and appear almofi blind, as if they had in them no pure fight. Jufi: fo, faid he. But when they turn to objects which the fun illuminates, then I think they fee clearly, and in thofe very eyes there appears now to be fight. There does. Underfiand then, in the fame manner, with reference to the foul. \Vhen it firmly adheres to that which truth and real heing enlighten, then it under fiands and knows it, and appears to poffefs intellecr: but when it adheres to that which is blended with darknefs, which is generated, and which pcrilhes, it is then converfant with opinion, its vifion becomes blunted, it wanders from one opinion to another, and refembles one without in tcllecl. It has foch a refemblance. That therefore which imparts truth to. what is known, and difpenfes the power to him who knows, you may call the idea of the good, being the caufe of fcience and of truth, as being known through intellect. Aud as both thefo two, knowledge and truth, are fo beautiful, when you think that the good is fomething different,
vo L, 1. 2 Y and
846 THE REPUBLIC.
and fiill more beautif’ul than thefe, you !hall think aright. Science and truth here are as light and fight there, which we rightly judged to be folar-form, but that we were not to thin\i they were the fun. So here it is right to judge, that both thefc partake of the form of the good; but to foppofc that either of• them is the good, is not right, but the good itfelf is worthy of fiill greater honour. You fpeak, faid he, of an inefiimable beauty, fince it affords fcience and truth, but is itfelf foperior to thefe en beauty. And you never any where faid that it was pleafure, Predict better things, faid I, and in this manner rather confider its image yet further. How? You will fay, I think, that the fun imparts to things which are feen, not only their vifibility, but likewife their generation, growth and nourithment, not being itfelf generation’· Why not? \Ve may fay, therefore, that things which are known have not only this from the good, that they are known, but likewife tha.t their being and efLncc arc thence derived whilfi. t/re good itfelf is not eifcnce, hut beyond elfence, tranfcending it both in dignity and in power•. Here Glauco, laugh-
ing
When we confider the generation of things illuminated by the fun, we lhall find that it ia pcrfealy unbegottcn. For, according to the Platonic ph1lofophy, the fun alone of all things in the univerfe which are conneaed with a body is without generation, neither receiving ant acceffion nor diminution. Hut every thing elre which it illuminates receives light from a different part of it, through the motion of the folar fphc.-e about it proper centre, which at different times fends different rays in a circle to the celefiial and fublunary bodies. The fun however has generation and corruption fo far as it is illuminated, jufl as the moon alfo receives augmen tations and diminutions of light. So far therefore as the fun illuminate,, it is unbegottcn; and according to this it is affimilated to th, good, and not fo far as it is a body. See more concerning the fun in the Notes to the Cratylus. •
‘Ih,good, which is here celebrated by Socrates as that which reigns in the inttlligible plare,
is neither the fam with that which fuhfifls in our nature, (for we rank in an order far below
·intelligibles) nor with that form of thing, good, which is coordinate with the jufl and tl,e bca tiful. For, forms being twofold, fome alone diflinguilhing the 1fa11m of the things f,lhioned by form, but others their p,,:frElio111, the genus of effence, fame an,! different, and the form of animal, horfe and man, and every thing of this kind, givt diflinclion to effence and fubjecls; but the form of th, good, the beautiful and the ju!l, andh like manner the form of virtue, health, lloength, and every thing of a fimilar nr ,ure, are perfcelive of the beings to which they belong : and of fome, cllcnce is the leader of every thing, but of others th, good, For, as Plato fays, every thing mull necelfarily participate of etrence; and whatever prefervca, gives perfeclion to, or defends any being muft be good. Hence, fince thefe two are leaden, the one of form• which give fubfiftcnce to things, and the !)ther of fucb as are the fourccs of
3 their
TH E R E P U B L I C. 347
ing ‘ very much, faid, By Apollo this is a divine tranfcendency indeed! You yourfelf, replied I, arc the caufe, having obliged me to relate what appears
to
‘ The Greek Scholiall: on the laughter of Gtauco obferves, “That tl,is laughter is through tranfcendency; for th, go,d is uncomparable with refpefl to all things. Or this laughter may be confiderecl according to a mundane fignification; for the junior and mundane Gods are ob
{curcly fignificd by it; fince every thing corporeal is a jell: when compared with intelligible,.
Eut to jeft and laugh belong to youth, And
Amidfi them laughter unextinguifh’d rofe
is faid concerning the mundane Gods. Glauco therefore being analogous to a mundane perfon very properly fpeaks laughing. f,h””‘ ia T•• u’1trpCoh,v” ‘”””‘Y”f•T••’Yap Ta’.,a9o, a,rh.,, ‘1tpo, ‘lfa>Ta’
a>-1′.AI, TO ‘)1!1-.0ltJ,, l’ITO, 1’)1110(1µ.Jo,,• o, yap vro, 1141 f.’Y1’0rJ’J,llOI 0EOI TOUTO (lege TOUTf) al1’TTorra1· – ‘Yl’IOf
fap TO UfJJIJ4TIMO’I War TOI’ 1/0)ITOI’ 7rapa..C”MJJ nov• TO fs Wa1(11, Xa1 ‘)IE1’iSV TQW HAW O”‘EJOV” 1″0,
AvC,u-,o, ‘ ap m>pTo ‘YEh.,, l’-“”ap,vv, Sro,.-,.
‘IIEfl ‘T(dV Eo/Jto<1µ.Jr»V up11Ta1 Struv• Q .,,, OIIV ‘)1’4U1′”1V ava>-o-r , l”fltOrJ’JJ,l’:J ‘1f’f0 “1’1t’ff’ EIXO’l’AJ’ ‘)’f).011J, ,.,,..,.
their perfraion; it is nece{fary that one of thefe lhould be fubordin.ie to the other; I mean that th, go,tl which is allotted a coordination among forms that are the fources of pcrfeaion fhould be fubordinate to tjfi.·11tt, which-ranks among caufrs whence fubfifiencc originates, if th, g,od is being and a certain being. For it is either the fame with or different from eff”ence, which the 1′.leatean gueft in the Sophi Ila lhows to be the genus of being. And if th, good is the fame with efTence, an abfurdity mull: enfue: for being and well-being are not the fame. But if th, good is fmncthing difforent from e!rence, it mutt necetrarily participate of dfence, in con fcquence of that being the genus of all forms, But if ·genera are more anticnt than forms, th, go?d which ranks among forms, and is pofterior to their genus, will not be the good which reigns over intclligibles; but this mull: be a!rerted of that good under which this and every form is arrangcJ which poficlr<s being, and which is the leader of the other genera of being. Wheu therefore Plato fays that th, good reigns over intelligiblcs, he means that good which is fuperior to efleuce.
llut to lead us up to this fupreme good, he appears to employ three orders of good as fo many
flrps in this arduous afcent; vi.t. that which is impartitipablc and fuperdlcn.ial, 1lu1 which is irnp:1rtirip:1blc and ctlential, and that which is effenti1l and particip.,:_,I·, Oi thef the Jail: is fuch as our rn\ture contains; th, good which ranks among forms is tllential; and that which is bcy<•ncl efTence i; fupcre!rcntial. Or we may fay that th, go?d which fubtill:s in us may be con fi,.!crcd as a habit, in cnnfequence of its fub(ifting in a fubjelt; the next to this ranks as efTeuc.-, and a part of dli::nce, I mean th, good which ranks among forms; and the lafi as that whicl, is neither a h:1bit nor a part, When therefore Socrates fays, “That to the multitude pleafurc fee,ns to be th, gm!, and to the more elegant it feems to be prudence,” he fignif,e, that gpotf which is refident in our nature, and which, from its being an imprellion of the ineffable principle of thing,, may be called the fummit or flower of our dic11ce. And wl:en he alfo fays that 11.c iilea of tte gcod is the gteatcfi difcipline, which renders boat fuch thi_ngs as are jull, and other
2 T 2 thi11gs
THE REPUBLIC.
to me refpell:ing it. Aud by no means, faid he, flop, if fomcthing does noC hinder JOU, but again difcufa the refrmblancc relating to the fun, if you
have
things which employ it, ufeful and profitable, and that we do not (ulliciently know it,-thcfe alfcrtions accord with th, good which is in us, with that which is in forms, and with that which is undcrftood to be before all things. For the idea of th, good lignifies a participated form, a feparate intelligible, and that which bas a feparate fubfill:ence prior to imelligibles; lince the term iJ,a, according to Plato, inclicates that objea of defire which is eflablilhe,I prior to all things, viz. prior to all things belonging to a certain ferics. Thus, for inllance, th, good in onr nature is prior to every thing elfe pertai11ing to the foul; th, good which ranks among forms is prior to every thing which is the fourcc of elfential pcrfetlion; and th, good which reigns ill the intelligible world is prior to every fcries, aml to all things.
Again, when Socrates fays, “Let us at prefent difm_ifs this inquiry what th, good is, for it appears to me a greater thing than we can arrive at according to our prefcnt impulfe,” it may be inferred, that thou11,h he appears to fay fomcthing concerning th, good from an image, and to unveil fomething pertaining to things occult, yet he does not unfold the whole truth concerning it; and this perhaps in’ confequence of Thrafymachus and Clitopho being prcfent, and not thinking it fit to difclofe the moll: myll:ical truths to fophifta. Hence, on his afferting after• wards that th, good is fupercffential, he appeared to Glauco to {peak ridiculouOy ; and in con
{cqucncc of Glauco in vain attempting 1he vifion of that which is beyond all things, he again fays that he willingly omits many things, and alone unfolds the analogy refpecling the fun. But if his hearers had been adapted to fuch difcourfeo, he would have difclofed to us many and truly theological particulars refpeeling it; and fuch as he difclofts to us in the Parmenides concerning the 011,. •
As we have faid, therefore, Plato, transferring the invell:igation from th, good which is in us, and concerning which thofe inquire who fay that it is prudence or pleafurc, to th, good itfelf, and beginoi11g the image refpeeling the fun, in the fir!t place, he exhorts hii )1earers to take care that he docs not give them an adulterate account of the offspring of th, good; calling the fun the offspring, and transferring the term adulterate from the impre!lions in coin. He alfo indicates that the mode of teaching by analogy is not fafe. For there is danger of introducini fophillry into the demonflration, by confidering things beyond what the analogy will admit. Thus, in the prefcnt in ance, if in confequence of Plato affcrting that the fun is analogous to th, good, fo far as the former is the caufe of light, as the latter is of truth, fome one fhould con fider the fun, no longer as the caufe alone of light, but fo far as it is moved, and thould invefti gate-that which is fimilar to this motion, in the good, he would no longer preferve the proper analogy. For the fun is not analogoufly affumed, fo far as he is a thing caufed, but fo far as he is a caufe alone; fince it is impollible to a/fume any thing which is in all refpeels fimilar to th1
:ood. For every thing poll:erior to th, good, by the alfumption of fomcthing becomes worfe than th, good; one thing by affuming intelligence, as intellecl; another by affuming motion, as foul; and another by the alfumption of generation, as body. If therefore, in intellclls, in fouls, and in hodies, you confider that which is firft in each, as analogous to th, good, you mull confider it fo far only as it is limilar to th, good, viz. fo far as it is the leader 0£ its fubjccl fcrics, and· is
imparticipablc
THE R E P U B L I C.
have omitted any thing. But I omit, faid I, many things. Do not omit, replied he, the finallefr particular. I think, faid I, that much will be
omitted:
imparticipable with refpeel: to a fubordinate nature, and not fo far as it is feparated from th, good, For every thing which is atrumed analogoully to th, good, mull necelfarily potrefs diffimili tude in conjuncl:ion with limilitude. Analogies however and ratios are not atrumed acco,ding to the difiimilar, but on the contrary according to the limilar.
Again, when in the beginning of this difcourfc about the good, and wilhing to determine that fame forms arc intelligible and others fcnlible, he makes mention of the beautiful itfelf and th, good itfelf, and, placing thefe as the forms of many things beautiful and good, he fays that fenfible forms are feen indeed, but are not the objecls of intellell:, but that ideas are the objelb of intellell:, and not of the fenlible eye,-it is evident that he refers us to ideu, and the uni• verfal prior to the many. If therefore Plato had added nothing further, we !hould not have had any authority from the Republic for conceiving any other good than this, which is the firfl: among forms that give perfection to things; but !ince he ton<:hcs on the analogy refpeeling the fun, light and light, he in a wonderful manner atrerts that all intelligible ideas, the beautiful itfelf, the good itfelf, the jufl: itfelf, and not thefe only, but thofe of acl:ions alfo, are illuminated by the good. Here therefore he afccnds to the firll: caufe of wholes, which he is unable to call by a better name than the good: for th, good is the mofl: venerable of all things, and is that whiclL all things defire; and that which all things defire is the caufe of all. Fearful however Jell: we lhould apprehend a firfl: of Cuch a kind as that good which is the caufo of pcrfell:ion alone in ideas, he !hows in the lirfi place that the go4d is beyond fciencc and truth, in the fame manner as the fun is beyond fight and light ; and afterwards he evinces that it is the primary caufe of intelligibles, and is fuperetrential, in the fame manner as the fun is above generation; and thus he !hows that the good itf,!f is the firfl: caufe of the good and the beautiful in forms, and- of all intelligible etrences.
But that we may not deviate from the doctrine through analogy, he fays that the fun is analogous to the good, not according to any thing elfe than his being the caufe of light, through which all vi!iblc things are feen: I mean, not fo far as the fun has a body, and a corporeal place, and is moveable, And again, fuch a light is analogous to truth, not fo far as it po!fetres interval. or all-various refraclions, but fo far only as it imparts the power of being feen to things viliblc, and fight to things that fee; in the fame manner as truth imparts to intelligibles the power of being intellell.ually apprehen,led, and to intelliient natures the power of intellcll:ual per• ception; and vif,ble objell:s are analogous to intelligibles, not as fubfifiing in place and being moved, but as vi!ible alone.
Thefe things being premifed, it is lhown by Socrates that th, good is beyond truth, in the fame manner as the fun is beyond light: and hence it follows that th, good docs not participate of truth. For that which is above truth neither i., truly, nor can trrily be any thing elie: fo that if th, good it, but i, not truly, it will be that which is not truly being. But this is impollible. For, according to Plato, that which is not trul1 being fublifis after true being, But th, g0<d is not true being, fince it generates truth; and it mull: be entirely unreceptive of that which it generates. But all true being nccc!farily participates of truth. Hence it follows that th, g.. d
+ ia
350 T H E R E P U B L I C.
omitted: however, as far I am able at prefent, I lhall not willingly omit any thing. Do not, faid he. Underfl:and then, faid I, that we fay thefo
are
is above being. For, if being is truly being, but th, gootf gives fublillence to truth, which is in• (cparable from and charal\erizes being, it mull alfo be above -being,
Again, when Socrates fays, ” You know that the eyes, when they arc no longer direllcd towards objects whofe colours arc /hone upon by the light of day, but by the fplendour of the night, grow dim, and appear almoll blind, as if they had in them no pure light. But when they turn to objel\s which the fun illuminates, then I think they fee clearly, and in thofc very eyes there appears now to be light:” he here makes a divilion in things vifible into colours, light, eye•, and the fun. Afterwards he adduces things analogous to thofe in the objects of intellell, as follows: “Undcrlland then in the fame manner with reference to the foul: when it firmly adheres to that which truth and real being enlighten, then it undcrllands and knows it, and appears to pofi”efs intelle8 : but when it adheres to that which is bl nded with dark nefs, which is generated, and which pcrilhcs, it is then convcrfant with opinion, its vifion become blunted, it wanders from one opinion to another, and refemblcs one without intel Ie8.” Socr,1tes, ther fore, affomes being analogous to colour, truth to light, and th, gcotf to the fun. He alfo places being after truth, in the fame manner as colour after light and the fun. ‘Ih,goatf therefore is beyond being. For he docs not fay that which l-1i11g, enlighten, but that which b,i11g enlightens. If therefore th, gcotf is above being, it will alfo necdfarily be above ell”ence.
Having alrerted thefe things throui:h analogy, he adds what is flill greater, that th, geo,/ is
the caufe of intelligibles, not of their being underftood only, but alfo of their rlrence, in the
fame manner as the fun is the caufe to things vifible, not only of their being fcon, but of
their generation, nouri/hment and incrcafe ; and, as he is not generation, in like manner th, xootf is not ell”cnce. It is evideRt, therefore, that th, good, being the caufc of an intelligible ell”cnce, will be in the moll eminent degree fuJ’Crell”ential; for thele, as will appear from the Parmeni.tes, arc fuperclfential clfonccs, or, in other words, beings abforbcd in the fuperdlential, It likcwifo follows from this anul0gy that truth alfo is fuperell”ential, for Socror s fays rh.i this illuminates all things that are known, in the fame manner as the light of the fun irradiates viii hie objech. Truth inde,d ap1,cars to be an illumination from the fupercffcntial principle of wholes, which both intdiigible and intcllccl:ual nature• participate, and whith unites them to thcmfdvcs, and ro each other. Hence it is faid to impart the power of being intellel\ually·
•pprehcn,k,l to the former, and of intcllec\ual vifion to the latter: for thefe could not be con j.>ine,: without a ccrtJin commo:1 bond, As light therefore illuminateff vifible and vifive na tures, but conjoins both through limilitude, imparting to both a i:reater li ht than they con t”ined before-in the fame manner that which ia intcllcllive and that whi<-h is illlclligible, being unite,! by truth, coal fce with each othCT.
From hence alfo it will follow that tht good cannot be known citl,er by opinion or fcience, That it ca1inot indeed be known hy opinion may be eafily proved. l’or Plato, with greJt pro. priety, confiders the object of opinion aff thot which is partly being, and partly non-being. It is alfo evident that th good is not the obje8 of fcience. l’or, if every object of fcicncc is known
from
T H E R E P U Il L I C. 3/H
arc two; and that the one reigns over the intelligible genus and place, and the other over the vifible, not to fay the heavens, lefi I ihould feem to you
to
from a caufe, that of which there is no caufe cannot be fcientifically known. And if th, gooJ is above truth, it will not be fo known as intelligibles are known to intellellual natures. It can therefore only be known by a divine projeltion of the fummit of the foul, a projeaion of that which is better than intcllea, and which Plato* calls the ray of the foul. According to Plato, the foul inclining this ray fhould projell: herfelf to th, good through an ablation of all things poftcrior to it. For he clearly fays that it is neceffary to take away the idea of th, go,d from all things, and thus to incline towards it the ray of the foul, if we intend to perceive it, itfelf by itfelf. From t hefe things therefore it is evident, by what kind of-knowledge th, good is known, how it is known, an,! how it is the !aft difcipline, and what the dialellic method con- tributes to the Yifion of it, by leading the i tellell of the foul up to it, through a fcientific fcries of ablations.
Again, fince Socrates alTerts that th, good is not only beyond elTence, but likewife above that which is (rorENIIV<:1 Tou ”'””• it follows that it is not proper to fay th, good is; and hence neither is ir proper to fay that it is not ; for again this afiertion th<1t it i, mt is common to other things, lo whkh non- being is adapted. Both therefore muft be faid, that it i1 neither being nor non being; and in confequence of this, it is called by fome unknown and ineffable; fince every thing is c,thcr being or non being. Nor mull we fuppofe, when Plato calls th, good known, and the !all: difcipline, and every thing of this kind, that he removes us from an indefinite energy about it, and apprehends it to be known in fuch a manner as beings: for thcfe arc known,. and arc the objec1s of fcientific knowledge, according to that moft accurate mode of fcience which he defines, and according to which he defpifes the fciences which originate from hypo thefis. For thus he fpcaks, teaching us his conceptions about thefe particulars: that other· fciences, or which appeor to be fuch, make hypo:hefes their principles; but dialeclic alone being impel!«! to the principle, takes away hypothefes, till it difcovers that which is truly the principle, not as an hypothcfis, but truly unhypothetical. But fuch a principle is th, on,, in which every fubfiftence of things known terminates.. From thefe things, therefore, it is evi dent, that calling dialcl\ic the Jefenfi•e enclofure of things which appear to be fciences, and defining that which is truly fcience, he fays that dialeE!ic, beginning from a11 unhypothetic prin ciple, conr.ders the natur of every thing. If therefore beholding alfo the idiom of th, good,. and in what refpell it differs from other things, this fcience fpeculates from an unhypothetic principle, this perhaps will he a certain fcience, and a fcicncc of th, good, what it truly i,, or is not. Bur if this is the principie of all thing,, an:! a principl cannot be alTumed of a princi pl , Y. wha_t co trivance can it be faid that there is a certain fcience of th, good? For every fc1ent1hc obJct.t 1s apprehended from an unhypothetic principle; and that wl,ich is fo apprc-
.,. In tlie 7th book of this Dia_logu,, near the end: A, man is a microcofm, this r”y of his foul will.
e,id ntly be: a.nct.logous to truth, or fup reff”ential light, in th,: intel!ig:li?e wo_rl•t will he the fummit of
th< im,I, and that which the Platonift, very properly call 1h, on, and the flo·N<r of our nature: for it i1111
illumina1io11 from the indfabl• principle of all things..
hcndcd!
352 ‘f H E· RE P U B L I C.
to employ fophitlry i11 the exprcflion : you undcrfiand then thefe two fpe cics, the vifible and the intelligible ? I Jo. As if then you took a line, cut into two unequal parts, and cut over again each fccrion according to the fame ratio, both that of the vilible fpecies, and that of the intelligi ble, you will then have perfpicuity and obfcurity placed by each other. In the vifible fpecics you will have in one feftion images: but I call images, in the lirfi place, fhadows, in the next, the appearances in water, and foch as fubfift in bodies which are denfe, polifhed and bright, and every thing of this kind, if you underfiand me. I do. Suppofe now the other
:!c:clion of the viliblc which this refembles, fuch as the animals around us, and every kind of plant, and whatever has a compofite nature. 1 fup pofe it, (aid he. Are you willing then that this fetlion :::ppear to be divided into true and untrue ? And that the fame proportion, which the objecl of opinion has to the objell: of knowledge, the very fame
bended is properly a fcientific objec¼ : but the go,d is not apprehcndod from n unl1ypothetic principle, becaufe it has not any principle whatever. So that, ii this is the definition of fcicnce, the good is by no means an objell of fcicntific knowledge, l•rom hence alfo it again follows that th, g,od is not being, fince Plato moll clearly a!J’erts that fcience is of being; but that faith per• tains to that which appears and is fcnfible, the dianoetic power to dianoctic objeEl:s, affimilation to things affimilated, opinion to fenlibles and things allimilated, and intclli ence to intelligibles. And this he not only aOerts here, but in the Tima:us alfo he fays, ” That what elrencc is to generation, that faith is to truth, and attributes arguments which cannot be confuted to beings, but alfnnilative ar uments to generated natures, lignifying that fcience is fpeculativc of true beings. If therefore heiug is the objel\ of fcientific knowledge, but th, good cannot be fcien tifically known, th, good is not being.
Hence we mufl conclude that the good is only to be known by an ablation or all things from its ineffable nature; and this is what Socrates infinuates when in the 7th book he fpeaks of fe. parating the idea f th,• good from all others, and as in a battle piercing through all arguments. It is not therefore either fcience, or truth, or being: and if employing thcfc things as principle■ we are willing to confider the confequences, we {hall find that if th, good is not being, it is nei ther fame nor different, neither moved nor at reft, neither po!J’e!J’es figure nor number, is nei ther fimilar nor diffimilar, is neither equal nor unequal, nor participates of time ; di which Parmenides collech in the firft hypothefis, and, having collelled, add<, that there is neither fcience nor opinion ·or th, on,, for it is beyond generation and e!J’ence. So that whatever is
.a!J’ertcd of tht on,, in the Parmenides of Plato, muft alfo necelfarily be a!J’crtcJ of th, good, from what is here ,ldivered by Plato concerning it ; and hence th, good, according to Plato, is the fame with the 011,. We not only therefore have this information from the alfcrtions of So,
,:rates, that th, good is not the objeEI: of fcientific knowledge, but that it may after another man.
l)er be known through arguments and ablations,
proportion
T H E R E P U B L I C. 353
proportion has the refemblance to that of which it is the refemblance ? I am, indeed, faid he, extremely willing. But confider now again the fell:ion of the intdligible, how it was divided. How ? That with re fpccl: to one part of it, the foul ufes the former feelions as images ; and is obliged to invefiigate from hypothefes, not proceeding to the beginning, but to the conclulion : and the other part, again, is that where the foul proceeds ftom hypothdis to au unhypothetical principle, and without thofe images about it, by the fpecies themfelves, makes its way through them. I have not, ‘faid he, fufficiently undedl:ood you in thete things. But again, faid I, for you will more eafily underfiand me, thefe things having been premifcd For I think you are not ignorant, that thofe who are conver fant in geometry, and computations, and fuch like, after they have laid down hypothefes of the odd and the even, and figures, and three fpecies of angles, and other things tht: lifters of thefe, according to each method, they then proceed upon thefe things as known, having laid down all thefe as hypothefes, and do not give any further reafon about them, neither to themfelves nor others, as being things obvious to all. But, beginning from thefe, they direclly difcufs the reft, and with full coufent end at that which their inquiry purfued. I know this, faid he, perfell:ly well. And do you not likewife know, that when they ufe the vilible fpecics, and rea fun about them, their diauoctic power• is not employed about thefe
fpecics,
The rational and gnoftic powers of the foul receive a triple divilion : for one of thefe is opinion, another the dianoetic power, and another intcllell:. Opinion therefore is converfant with the univerfal in fenfibles, which alfo it knows, as that ,11ery man is a biped, and rhat all colou·r is the objca of light. It likewife knows the conclufions of the dianoetic energy; but it does not know them fcientifically. For it knows that the foul is immortal, but is ignorant
,vhy it is fo, bccaufe this is the province of the dianoetic po,ver. Hence the Eleatean gueft in the Sophifta very properly defines opinion to be the termination of the dianoetic power. For the dianoctic power, h•ving collelled by a fyllogi!lic proccfs that the foul is immortal, opinion 1’eceiving the conclulion knows this alone that it is immortal. But the dianoetic power is that which pall”cs through as it were a certain way (.a”o, ,.,.” Jl”‘””) by making a tranlition from pro politions to conclulions, from which alfo it ,leri,cs its appellat:on. Thus, for inilance, the dia noctic power invclligates whence it is that the foul is immortal. Afterwards, beginning from things moll clear, it paffes on to the objell: of in,efiigation, faying that the foul is fclf-moved; that which is fclf-moved is alfo perpetually moved; and this is immortal. The foul therefore is immor• ta!. Arni this is the employment of the dianoiitic power. But the provi11cc of i11ttll1fl is to dart VOL, I, i Z • itfelf
354 THE REPUBLIC.
fpecies, but about thofe of which they are the rcfcmblances, employing their reafonings about the fquare itfelf, and the diameter itfclf, and not about that which they defcribe? And, in the fame manner, with refe rence to other particulars, thofe very things which they form and defcribe, in which number, fhadows and images in water are to be reckoned, thefe they ufe as images, fceking to behold thofe very things, which a man ca11 no otherwife fee than by his dianoetic part. You fay true, replied he, This then I called a fpecies of the intelligible;. but obfcrved that the fou1 was obliged to ufe hypothefes in the invcfiigation of it, not going back to the principle, as not being able to afcend higher than hypothefes,. but made ufe of images formed from things below, to lead to thofe above,- as per fpicuous, a! objecls of opinion and difiincl from the things themfelves. I underftand, faid he, that you fpeak of things pertaining to the geome trical, and other lifter arts. Un<lerfiand now, that by the other Cea.ion of the intelligible, I mean that which reafon itfelf attains, making hypothefei; by its own reafoning power> not as principles, but really hypothefes, as· fteps and handles, that, proceeding as far as to that which is unhypothetical, viz. the principle of the un.iverfe, and coming into contact with it, agai11 adhering to thofe things which adhere to the principle, _it may thus de fcend to the end; ufing no where any thing which is fcnlible, but forms themfelves, proceeding through fome to others, and at length in forms termi,. nating its progreffion 1• I underil:and, faid he, but not fufficiently. For you.
feem:
itfelf as it were to things themfelves, by fimple projeclions,_like the emiffion of the vifual ray1o and by an energy fuperior to demonllration. And in this. refpell: intellell is fimilar to the fenfe of fight, which by fimplc intuition knows the objell:s which prefent themfclves to its· view. That we allually polfefs all thefe gnoftic powers, thua diftinguifhec.l from.each other, is evident from our polfeffing the.fo different kinds of knowledge ; for it is impoffible that one and the fame power could know things demonftratively, and in a manner fuperior and inferior to demonftration ; fince diverfity of knowledge muft arife from a divcrfity of gnoftic energy.
It may alfo be proper to obfervc that opinion is the boundarr. of the rational part of the foul and that the phantafy, or that power which apprehends things invcfted with figure, is the fum mit of the irrational part, under which anger like a raging lion,. and dclire like. a many-headed beaft, fubfift.
With refpell: to the manner in which Plato reprefents the diftribution of all things by the
{ellion of a line, it is necelfary to obferve, that as the proitreffion of all things from th, or1, i1
continued and united, Plato prefents us with an imag!= of this continuitr in one line, througli
the
THE REPUBLIC. S55
fi:em to me to fpeak of an arduous undertaking: but you want, however, to determine that the perception of real being, and that which is intelligi• ble, by the fcience of reafoning, are more confpicuous than the difcoveries made by the arts, as they are called, which have hypothefes for their fidl: prin-ciples ; and that thofe who behold thefe are obliged to behold them with their dianoetic power, and not with their fenfes. But as they are not ahle to perceive, by afcending to the principle, but from hypothefes, they appear to you not to polfefs intellecl: refpecl:ing them, though they are intelligible in conjunll:ion with the principle. You alfo appear to me to call the habit of geometrical and fuch like concerns, the dianoetic part, and
the 6militude and coherence of fecondary natures always proceeding from fuch as are 6rft, no vacuum by its intervention feparating them from each other. For, as th, on, produces all things, it is neceffary that their proceffion from him fhould be continued : for the continued is allied to tht 011,. And the caufe of this continuity is the 6militude of thofc fellions which are in a confequent to thofc which are in a precedent order : for limilitudc is oncnefs. On this account he affumes one line, but this he cuts into two parts, and thefe not equal but unequal: the parts arc however two. For in the Philebus he exhorts thofe that fpeculate things, after tht n,, to confider two things, if they have a fubliftence, if not, the number which is allie,1 to the duad. The divifion therefore of all things into u11equal parts, indicates the rank of the divided natures, the inequality according to continuity exhibiting an image of inequality ac cording to hyparxis. But each of thefe unequal feet ions he cuts analogous to the fir{l; divifion of the line; this analogy again clearly manife!ling the fubjeclion through famenefs of fccon dary from primary natures. For analogy is identity of ratio, and the moll: beautiful of bonds, as we learn in the Timreus, and is the judgment of Jupiter, as we are informed in the Laws. As therefore the univerfe was fabricated accor<ling to analogy, all things receiving an indiffolublc friend/hip with each other, fo all things proceed bound, and in mutual confent through analogy.
Ilut as there arc: four fell:ions of one line, two of thefc, which complete its larger foclion, Plato e!lablifhes as the genus of the imelligible, but the other two, which form the ldrer divi fion, as the genus of that which is vifible. For it was neceffary to allign the larger focl:ion to the intelligible, as being more excell<nt, and comprehending the other, but the lelfor to that which is vilible ; for it is comprehended in the intelligible order according to caufe. And that which is comprehende,1 is cycry where lefs than that which comprehends, whether the com prehcnfion is con.tidere,1 according to elfence, or according to power, or according to energy ; as is fcen in all continued am! divided natures.
I only add that Plato in this reprefcntation of the feries of things, by the fel\ions of a line, follows the Pythagoreans, Brontinus and Archytas; but his explanation is both more elegant and more extended, as the learned reader may be convinced by confulting that part of the Anec dota Gra:ca of Yilloifon, wbicb contains the Treatife of Jamblichus on the common l\lhthe
matical.Science.
11ot
T·H E a’IP lJ BL I er.
not inteliea I ; the dianoetic pan fubfifiing between opinion and intellecl. You have comprehended, faid I, moil: fufficiently: and conceive now, that correfponding to the four fel\:ions then: are theie four paffions in the foul; intelligence anfwering to the higheft, the dianoetic part to the fecond; and affign faith to the third • and to the laft affimilation. Arrange· the likewife analogoufiy ; conceiving that as their ohjel\:s participate of trut fo thefe participate of perfpicuity. I \lnderfiand, fuid he, and I atfent,. and I arrauge them as you fay.
The Qriginu here is ,.,..,., .., ; b11t from the verf10a of Ficiau,._ i.t aepear, that we lhoulcl:
read IIM’ o,n, ,ow. And the fcnfc indeed sequircs thia-emendadon.
THE END OF THE s.aTB SOO••
THE
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK VII.
AFTER thefe things now, (aid 1, affimilate, with reference to erudi tion, aud the want of erudition, our nature to foch a condition as fol lows. Confider men as in a fubterraneous habitation, refembling a cave, with its entrance expanding to the light, and anfwering to the whole ex tent of the cave, Suppofe them to have been in this cave from theif childhood, with chains both on their legs and necks, fo as to remaiR there, and only be able to look before them, but by the chain incapable to turn their heads round. Suppofe them likevvife to have ,he light of a fire, burning far above and behind them ; and that between the fire and the fettered men there is a road: above. Along this road, obferve a low wall built, like that which hedges in the fiage of mountebanks on which they exhibit their wonderful tricks. I obferve it, faid he. Behold now, aloug this wall, men bearing all forts of utenfils, raifed above• the wall, and human ftatues, and other a11imals, in wood and ilone, and furniture of every kind. And, as is likely, fome of thofe who are carrying thefe are fpeaking, and others filent. You mention, faid he, a wonderful com parifon, and wonderful fettered meu. But fuch, however, as refemble us, faid I; for, in the fidl: place, do you think that fuch as thefe fee any thing of themfelves, or of one another, but the fhadows formed by the fire, falling on the oppofite part of the cave ? How can they. faid he, if through the whole of life they be under a neccffity, at leaft, of having their heads unmoved? But what do they fee of what is car rying along ? Is it not the very fame ? \Vhy not? If then they were able to converfe with one another, do. not you think they would deem it r,roper to give names to thofe very things which they faw before them ? Of necefiity they mull:. And what if the oppofite part of this prifon had an
4 «h
358 T H E R E P U B L I C.
echo, when any of thofe who paffed along fpake, do you imagine they would reckon that what fpake was any thing elfe than the paffing iliadow? Not I, by Jupiter! faid he. Such as thefe then, faid J, will e:Jtirely judge that there is no.thing true but the 1hadows of utenfils. By an abundant neceffity, replied he. With reference then, both to their free dom from thefe chains, and their cure of this ignorance, confider the nature of it, if fuch a thing fl10uld happen to them. When any one fhould be loofed, and obliged on a fudden to rife up, turn round his neck, and walk and look up towards the light; and in doing all thefe things fhould be pained, and unable from the fplendours, to behold the things of which he formerly faw the ihadows, what do you think he would fay, if one fl10ul<l tell him that formerly he had fcen trifles, but now, being fome what nearer to reality, ;md turue<l toward what was more real, he faw with more rectitude ; and fo, pointing out to him each of the things paffing aloog, thould quefiion him, and oblige him to tell what it were; do not you think he would be both in doubt, and would deem what he had formerly feen to be more true than what was now pointed out to him ? By far, faid he, And if he lhould oblige him to look to the light itfclf, would not he find pain in his eyes, and ihun it ; and, turning to foch things as he is able to behold, reckon that thefe are really more clear than.
thofe pointed out? Jufi fo, replied he. But if one, faid I, fl1ould drag
him from thence violently through a rough and fieep afcent, and never ftop till he drew him up to the light of the fun, would he not, whilfi he was thus drawn, both be in torment, and be filled with indignation? And after he had even come to the light, having his eyes filled with fplendour, he would be able to fee noue of thefe things now called true. He would not, faid he, fudJenly at leafi. But he would require, I think, to be ac cufiomed to it fome time, if he were to perceive things above. And, firfl: of all, he would moft eatily perceive ihadows, afterwards the images of men and of other things in water, and after that the things themfelves. And, with reference to thefe, he would more eafily fee the things in the heavens, and the heavens themfelves, by looking in the night to the light of the fiars, and the moon, than by day looking on the fun, and the light of the fun. How can it be otherwife? And, lafi of all, he may be able,
J think, to perceive ilnd contemrlate the fan himfelf, not in water, nor re-
femblances
THE R E P U B L I C.
(emblances of him, in a foreign feat, but himfelf by himfelf, in his own proper region. Of neceffity, faid he. And after this, he would now reafon with himfelf concerning him, that it is he who gives the feafons, and years, and governs all things in the viiible place ; and that of all thofc things which he formerly faw, he is in a certain manner the caufe. It is evident, faid he, that after thefe things he may arrive at fuch reafonings as thefe. But what? when he remembers his firft habitation, and the wifdom which was there, and thofe who were then his companions in bonds, do you not think he will eftecm himfelf happy by the change, and pity them ? And that greatly. A1ld if there were there any honours and encomiums and rewards amoug themfelves, for him who mofi acutely perceived what palfed along, and befi remembered which of them were wont to pafs foremofl: which latefl:, and which of them went together;. and from thefe obfcrvations were moft able to prcfage what was to happen; does it appear to you that he will be deiirous of fuch honours, or envy thofe who among thefe are honoured, and in power ? Or, will he not rather with to fuffer that of Homer, and vehemently defire
As labourer to fomc ignoble man To work for hire . , •..,.
and rather fufFer any thing than to pofTefs fuch opuuons, and live after· fuch a manner? J think fo, replied he, that he would fuffer, and embrace any thing rather than live in that manner. But confider this further, faid. 1 : If foch an one thould defcend, and fit down again in the fame feat,. would not his eyes be filled with darknefs, in confequence of coming fud denly from the fun?’ Very much fo, replied he. And thould he now again be obliged to give his opinion of thofe thadows, and to difpute about tht”m with thofe who are there eternally chained,. whilfl: yet his eyes were dazzled, and before they recovered their former frate, (which would not be effecl:ed in a thort time) would he not afford them laughter? aml would it not be faid of him, that, having afcended, he was returned with vitiated eyes, and that it was not proper even to attempt to go above, and that whoever thould attempt to liberate them, and lead them up; if ever they were able to get him into their hands, thould be put to death ? They
would.
36o THE REPUBLt-0.
would by all means, faid he, put him to death. The whole of this image now, faid I, friend Glauco, is to be applied to our preceding difcourfe; for, if you compare this region, which is feen by the fight, to the habitation of the prifou ; and the light of the fire in it, to the power of the fun ; and the afcent above, and the vifion of things above, to the foul’s afcent into the intelligible place ; you will apprehend my meaning, fmce you want to hear it. But God knows whether it be true. Appearances then prefent themfelves to my view as follows. In the intelligible place, the idea of the good is the lafi objell: of vifion, and is fcarcely to be feen ; but if it be feen, we muft collec9: by reafoning that it is the caufe to all of every thing right and beautiful, generating in the vifible place, light, and its lord the fun ; aud in the intelligible place, it is itfelf the lord, producing truth and intel lea • ; and this muft bel)eheld by him who is to all: wifely, either privately
or
Every thing in this cave is analogous to thinga vilible; the men, animals and furniture of every kind in it correfponding to the third, and the fhadows in it, and the images appearing in n1irrors, to the fourth frllion in the rlivilion of a line at the end of the preceding book. Things fenGble alfo are imitations of things dianoctic, or, in other words, of the objclls of fcientific energy, which form tl1e fccond fellion of Plato’s line. For the circle and triangle which are dcfcribed upon paper are imitations of thofe which geometry confiders; and the numbers which are beheld in things vilible, of thofe which the arithmetician contemplates; and fo with refpell
10 every thing clfe. But obferve that Plato here does not confider human life fo far as it i1 elfcnce, and is allotted a particular power, but merely with reference to erudition and the want of erudition. For in the ninth book he affimilates our efrencc to an animal whofe nature ia mingled from a man and a lion, and a certain many-headed bcalt. Bui the prefent image in the iirlt place fhows what human life is without erudition, and what it will be when educated con•
formably to the. abO\•ementioncd fcctions, and acquiring knowledge correfponding 10 that arrangement. flu the next place, when Plato fays that we mull conceive a road above between the fire and the fettered men, and that the fire from on high illuminates the men bearing uten fils, and the fettered men who fee nothing but the !hadows formed b:, the fire, it is evident that
there is II certain afcent in the cave itfelf from a more abjell to a more elevated life. By this afcent, he fignifies the contemplation of dianoetic objells, (which form the fecond fel\ion of his line,) in the mathematical difcipline1, [For as the (hadows in the cave correfpond to the fhadows of vifible objclls, and vifible objells are the immediate images of dianoetic form3, or the effen. tial reafons of the foul, it is evident that the objelh from which thefe fhadows arc formed muft correfpond to fuch as aye dianoihic. It is req11i61e therefore, that the dianoctic power, exer cifing itfelf in thcfe, lhould draw forth from rheir latent retreats the reafons of thefe which lhc contains, and lhould contemplate thefe, not in images, but as fub61ting in herfelf in impartible invo lution; which when !he evolves, !he produces fuch a beautiful multitude of mathematical theorems.
After
TH E R E P U’ B L I C.
<>r in public. I-agree with you, faid he, as far as I am able. Come now, faid I, and agree with me like wife in this. And do not wonder that fuch as
arrive
After thcfe things, he fays ” that the man who is to be led from the cave will more eafily fee what the heavens contain, and the heavens themfelves, by looking in the night to the light of the fiar , and the moon, than by day looking on the fun, and the light of the fun.” By this he fignifies the contemplation of intelligibles : for the !tars and their light arc imitations of intclligibles, fo far as all of them partake of the form of the fun, in the fame manner as intclligibles are charallcrizeJ by the nature of th, good. Thefe then fuch a one ‘mull contemplate, that he may underfiand their effence, and thofe fummits of their nature by which they are dciform proceffions from the ineffable principle of things. But if as prior to the vifion of the fun it is requilite to behold the whole heaven, and all that the heavens contain ; in the fame manner prior to the vilion of th, good, it is neceffary to behold the whole intelligible order and all that it comprehends, we may fro!” hence collell that fome things in intelligibles arc analogous to the whole !tarry fpheres.., but others to the !tars which thofe fphcrcs comprc- 1,end, and others again to the circles in them. Hence too, the fphcres themfelves, conlidered as wholes, may be faid to be images of thofe Gods that are celebrated as total t; but the circles• of thofc that are called total, and at the fame time partial+; and the !tars, of thofe that arc propetly denominated partial§ Gods.
After the contemplation of thefe, and after the eye is through thefe accultomed to the light,
as it is requifite in the vilible region to fee the fun himfelf in the lalt place, in like manner, accord• ing to Plato, the idea of th, good mu( be feen the lalt in the intelligibfe region. He likewifc adds, in a truly divine manner, that it is fcarcely to be fecn; for we can only be conjoined with it through the intelligible, in the vcfiibule of which it is beheld by afcending fouls, The inttlli giblc indeed is the firfi participant of th, good, and indicates from itfclf to thofc that are able to behold it, what that nature ia, if it be lawful fo to fpeak, which is the fuperintelligible caufe of the light it contains. For the light in an intelligible e1Tence is more divine than that in intcllec• tual natures, in the fame manner as the light in the !tars is more divine than that which ij in the eyes that behold them. Thus alfo Socrates, in the Philebus, fays, that th, good is apprehended with difficulty, an<I is fcarcely to be feen, and that it is found with threi: monads, and thefe intelligi
),le, arranged in its vellibulc, .truth, beauty, and fymmctry. For thefe three produce the fir!l being, or being itfclf, and through thefe the whole intelligible order is unfolded into light, With gre•t propriety, therefore, does Plato afTert, that the idea of thr good is to be feen the Jail thing in the intelligible : for the intelligible is the feat of its vifion. Hence it is feen in this, as fo its lirft participant, though it is beyond every intelligible, And in the lafi place Plato exhorts J1im who knows tl.t good, ” to collell by reafoning that it is the caufe to all of. every thing right and beautiful, in the vifible place generating light, and its lord the fun, and in the intelligible
., For an account of there fee the I ntroduclion to the Tim:i:ua.
t That is to fay, all the Gods denominated intelligible and intellectual. Sec the IntroduAion to the
Parmtnides.
i That is to fay, the fupermr.Ddane God,. § Thcfe are of a mund, ne charactcriftic.
vo:… ,. ptace
T H E R E P U B L I C.
arrive hither are unwilling to act in human affairs, but their fouls always hafien to convetfe with things above; for it is fomehow reafonable it ihould be fo, if thefo things take place according to our abovementioned image. It is indeed rcafonable, replied he. But what? do you think that this is auy thing wonderful, that when a man comes from divine contemplations to human evils, he iliould behave awkwardly and appear extremely ridiculous, whilfi he is yet dazzled, and is obliged, before he is fufficiently accufiomed to the prefent darknef , to contend in courts of jufiice, or elfewhere, about the fhadows of jufiice, or thofe fiatues which occafion the iliadows ; and to difpute about this point, how thefe things are apprehended by thofe who have never at any time beheld juAice itfelf? This is not at all wonderful, faid he. But if a man po!feffes intellect, faid I, he mull: remember, t_hat there is a twofold difiurbance of the fight, and arifing from two caufes, whed we betake ourfelves from light to darknefs, and from darknefs to light: and when a man confiders that thefe very things happen with reference alfo to the foul, whenever he fees any one difiurbed, and unable to perceive any thing, he will not laugh in an un reafonable manner, but will confider, whether the foul, coming from a more fplendid life, be darkened by ignorance, or, going from abundant ignorance to one more luminous, be filled with the dazzling fplendour, and fo will congratulate the one on its fate and life, and compaffionate the life and fate of the other. And if he withes to laugh at the foul that goes from darknefs to light, his laughter would be lefs improper, than if he were to laugh at the foul which defcends from the light to darknefs. You fay v.ery reafonably, replied he. It is proper then, faid I, that we judge of them after fuch a manner as this, if thofe things be true. That education is not fuch a thing as fome announce it to be ; for they fome how fay, that whilfi there is no fcience in the foul, they will infert it, as if they were inferting fight in blind eyes. They fay fo, replied he. But our prefent reafoning, faid I, n·ow ihows, that this power being in the foul of every one, and the organ by which every one learns, and being in
place being 1tfclf the lord of all things, producing intcllea and truth.” For, if it generates the fun, it mull by a much grearcr priority be the caufe of thofe things which originate from the fun, md if it is the caufc of effi:ncc to intelligiblcs, it nusll be celebrated as in a greater degree the ca11fc Qf 1hing1 of which thcfc are the taules.
the
TH E R E P U ll L I C. S63
the fame condition as the eye, if it were unable otherwife, than with the whole body, to turn from darknefs to light, mufi, in like manner, with the whole foul, be turned from generation, till it be able to endure the contemplation of being itfelf, and the mofi fplendid of. being; and this we call the good. Do we not ? We do. This then, faid I, would ap pear to be the art of his converfion, in what manner he iliall, with greatefi eafe and advantage, be turned. Not to implant in him the power of feeing, but confiJering him as poffeffed of it, only improperly fituated, and nol looking at what he ought, to contrive fome method by which this may be accompli!hed. It feems fo, replied he. The other virtues now then of the foul, as they are called, feem to be fomewhat refembling thofc of the body (for when, in reality, they were not in it formerly, they are afterwards produced iu it by habits and exercifes); but that of wifrlom, as it feems, happens to be of a nature fomewhat more divine than any other; as it never lofes its power, but, according as it is turned, is ufeful
.and advantageous, or ufelefs and hurtful. Or have you not obferved of thofe who are faid to be wicked, yet wife, how iliarply the little foul fees, and how acutely it comprehends every thing to which it is turned, as hav ing no contemptible fight, but compelled to be fubfervient to wickednefs: fo that the more acutely it fees, fo much the more produ8ive is it of wickednefs? Entirely fo, replied he. But however, faid I, with reference to this part of fuch a genius ; if, immediately from childhood, it iliould be {l:ripped of every thing allied to generation, as leaden weights, and of all thofe pleafures and lulls whic:h relate to feafiings and foch like, which turn the fight of the foul to things downwards; from all thefo, if the foul, being freed, ihould turn itfelf towards truth, the very fame principle in the fame men would moll: acutely fee thofe things as it now does thefe to which it is turned. It is likely, replied he. But what? is not this Jikely, faid I, and necelfarily deduced from what has been mentioned? that ueither thofe who are uninfiru6e<l and unacquainted with truth can ever fufficiently take care of the city; nor yet thofe who allow themfelves to fpend the whole of their time in learning. The former, becaufe they have 110 one fcope in life, aiming at which they ought to do whatever they do, both in private and in public; and the latter, becaufe they are 11ot willing to manage civil alfairs, thinking that whilft they are yet alive,
3 A -i they
364 T H E R E P U B L T C,
they inhabit the iflands of the blelfed. True, faid he, It is our bu!ineG then, faid I, to oblig<1 thofe of the inhabitants who have the be£t geniuses, to apply to that learning which we formerly faid was the greatefi, both to view the good, and to afrend that afcent; and when they have afcended and fufficiently viewed it, _we are not to allow them what is now allowed them. What is that? To continue there, faid I, and be unwilling to defceud again to thofe fettered men,. or ihare with them in their toils, nd honours, whether more trifling or more important. Shall we therr, faid he, all: U!lju!t!y towards them, and make them live a worfe life when they have it in their power to live a better? You have again forgot, friend faid I, that this is not the legifiator’s concern, in what manner any one tribe in the city ihaU live remarkably happy;- but this he endeavours t effe uate in the whole city, connecling the citizens together; and by neccffity, and by peduafion,. making them ihare the advantage with one another with which they are feverally able to benefit the community: and the legiflator, when he makes fuch men in the city, does it not that he may permit them to go where each may incline, but that himfclf may employ them for c-onnecling the city together. True, fai.d h I forgot indeed. Confider then, faid I, Glauco, that we ihall no way injttre the philofophers who anfe arnong us, but tell them what is jufi, when we oblige them to take care of other!!) apd to be guardians. We will·. allow,,. indeed, that thofe who in other cities become philofopher.s, with. reafon d() not participate of the toils of public 0ffices in the fiate (for they fpring up of themfrlves, the policy of each city oppofing them, and it is jufr, that what fprings of idclf,. owing its growth to. none, iliould not be forward to pay for its nurture to any one); but. you have we generated’ both for yonrlclves, and for the refl of the fiate, as the leaders and kings in a hi\·e, and have educated you better,. and i 1 a more perfell: manner than they, and made you more capable of iharing both in the rewards and labours attending public offices. Every one then mufr, in part, defcend to the dwelli11g of the others, a11d accuO:om himfelf to behold obfcure objecls: for, when you are accuftomed to them, you will infinitely better perceive things there, and will fully know the feveral images what they are, and of what, from your having perceived the truth concerning things beautiful, and_juO:, and good. And thµs, as a real vifion, both to us and
4 you:
TH.E REPUBLIC.
,-ot1, {hall the city he inhabited, aud not as a dream, as moft cities are at prefent inhabited by fuch as both aght with one another about fhadows,
;md raife fedition, about goveruing, as if it were fome mighty good. But the truth is as follows : 1u whatever city thofe who are to govern, are the moft averfc to undertake government, that city, of neceflity, will be the heft eftablilhed, and the moft free from fedition ;- and that city whofe governors ‘are of a contrary character, will be in a contrary condition. Entirely fo,. replied h . Do you think then that our pupils will difobey us, when they hear thefe injunctions, and be unwilling to labour jointly in the city, each bearing a part,. but fpend the moft of their time with one another, free from public affairs? Impoffible, faid he. For we prefcribe juft things to juft men. And each of them enters on magiftracy from this confideration beyond all others, that they are under a necdiity of governing after a manner contrary to all the prefent governors of all other cities. For thus it is, my companion, faid I,. if you difcover a life for thofe who are to be our governors, better than that of governing,. then it will be poffible for you to have the city well efiablithed ; for in it alone. thall thofe govern who are truly rich, not. in gold, but in that in which a happy man ought to be rich, in a good and prudent life. But if, whill1: they are poor, and defiitute of goods of their. own, they come to the pub lic, thinking they ought thence to pillage good, it is not poffible to have the city rightly ellablilhed. For the conteft being who fhall govern,. foch a war being domefiic,. and within them, it defl:roys both themfelvest and the refi of the city. Mofi true, faid he. Have you then,. faid I, any other kind of life which defpifes public magiflracies, but that of true philofophy? No, by Jupiter !. faid he. But, however, they ought at.leaft not to be fond of governing who enter on it,. otherwife the rivals will fight about it. How can it be otherwife? \Vhom elfe then will you oblige to enter on the guardianfhip of the city, but foch as aro moft intel. ligent in thofe things by which the city is befi eftablifi1ed, and who have ether honours, and a life better than the J?Olitical one ? No others, faid he. Are you willing then, that we now confider this, by what means fuch men !hall be prod11ced, and how one Chall bring them into the light, as fome are faid, from Hades, to have afcended to the Gods ? \Vhy lhoold I not be willing? replied he. This now, as it feems, is not the turning
of
366 T H E R E PU B L l C.
of a fhell ‘ ; but the converfion of the foul coming from fome benighted day, to the true re-afcent to real being, which we fay is true philofophy. Entirely fo. Ought we not then to confider which of the difciplines pot:. feffes fuch a power? Why not? What now, Glauco, may that difci pline of the foul be, which draws her from that which is generated to wards being itfelf? But this I confider whilll I am fpeaking. Diel not we indeed fay, that it was l’leceffary for them, whilfi young, to be wrell Iers in war? We faid fo. It is proper theu, that this difcipline likewife be added to that which is now the object: of our inquiry. \Vhich? Not to be ufelefs to military men. It mull indeed, faid he, be added if poffi ble. They were fomewhere in our former difcourfe inllrucl:e<l by us in gymnallic and mufic. They were, replied he. Gymnallic indeed fome how refpe6s what is generated and dellroyed, for it prefides over the in creafe and corrnption of body. It feems fo. This then cannot be the dif• ciplinc which we invelligatc. It cannot. Is it mufic then, fuch as we formerly defcribcd ? But it was, faid he, as a ‘counterpart of gymnallic, if you remember, by habits inllrull:ing our guardians, imparting no fcience, but only with refpel\: to harmony, a certain propriety, and with regard to rhythm, a certaiu propriety of rhythm, and in difcourfes, certain other habits the fillers of thcfe, both in fuch difcourfes as arc fabulous, aud in fuch as arc nearer to truth. But as to a difciplinc refpecling fuch a good as you now invelligate, there was nothing of this in that mufic. You ha”.c, mofi accurately, faid I, reminded me; for it treated, in reality, of no fuch thing. But, divine Glauco, what may this difcipline be? For all the arts have fomehow appeared to be mechauical and illiberal How fhould they not? And what other difcipline remains dillinll: from mufic, gymnallic, and the arts? Come, faid I, if we have nothing yet further befidcs thcfe to take, let us take fomething in thefe which extends over them all. What is that? Such as this general thing, which all arts, and dianoetic powers, and fciences employ, and which every one ought, in the firft place, neceffarily to learn. What is that ? faid he. This trifling thing, faid I, to know completely one, and two, and three : I call this
The Greek Scholia inform us that thi, is a proverb, faid of rhofc who do any thing quickly. It is alfo the name of a fport, It is likewife applied to tho!e wh rapidly betake rhemfelves to
!light, or to thofc who arc cafily changed,
, 9 fommarily
THE REPUBLIC.
fommarily number, and computation. Or is it not thus with reference to thefe, that every art, and Iikewife every fcience, mull: of neceffity par ticipate of theft? They mull: of neceffity, replied he. And mufi not the art of war Iikewife participate of them? Of neceffity, faid he. Pala medes then, in the tragedies, ihows every where Agamemnon to have been at leaH a moll: ridiculous general ; or have you not obferved how he; fays, that having invented numeration, he adjufied the ranks in the camp at Troy, and numbered up both the ihips, and all the other forces which were not numbered before ; and Agamemnon, as it feems, did not even know how many foot he had, as he underfiood not how to number them: but what kind of general do you imagine him to be? Some abfurd one, for my part, replied he, if this were true. Is there any other difcipliue then, faid I, which we (hall efiabli{h as more necetfary to a military man, than to be able to compute and to number? This moll: of all, faid he, if he would any way underfiand how to range his troops, and frill more if he is to be a ma11. Do you perceive then, faid I, with regard to this difcipline the fame thing as I do? What is that! It feems to belong to thofe things which we are invcfiigating, which naturally lead to intelligence, but that no one ufes it aright, being entirely a condull:or towards real being. How do you fay? replied he. I Chall endeavour, faid I, to explain at leafl: my own opinion. With reference to thofe things which I diftinguiih with myfelf iuto Cuch as lead towards intelligence, and foch as do not, do you confider them along with me, and either agree or ditfent, in order that we may more difiinclly fee, whether this be fuch as I conjecture refp ing it.-Show me, faid he. I Chow you then, faid I, if you perceive fome things with relation to the fenfes, which call not intel1igence to the inquiry, as they are fufficiently determined by fenfe, but other things which by all means call upon it to inquire, as fonfe does nothing fane. You plaiuly mean, faid
he, fuch things as appear at a difrance, and fuch as af”e painted. You have not altogether, faid 1, apprehended my meaning. Which then, faid he,
. do you mean? Thofo things, faid I, call not upon intelligence, which do
not itfue in a contrary fenfation at one and the fame time; but fuch as iffue in this manner, I eil:abli(h to be tho.fe which call upon intc1ligence: fince here fenfe mauifefis the one fenfation no more than its contrary, whether it meet with it near, or at .a diilance. But you will underfl:and my mean-
ing
T ‘H E R E P U B L I C.
ing rrore plain’y in this manner. Thefe, we fay, are thue fingers, the little fing!r, the next to it, and the middle finger. Plainly fo, replied he. Confider me then as fpeaking of them when feen Bear, and take notice of this concerning tbem. What? Each of them alike appears to be a finger, and in this there is no difference, whether it be feen in the middle or in the end; whether it be white or bfack, thick or fiender, or any thiug elfe of this kind ; for 111 all thefe, the fuul of the multitude is under no neceffity to queftion their intellell: wh&t is a finger; for never does fight itfelf at the fame ti.me inti.mate finger to be finger, and its contrary. It does not, replied he. Is it not likely then, faid J, that fuch a cafe as this at leafl: thall neither cail upon nor excite intell’igence? It is likely. But
-what? with reference to their being great and fmall, does the fight
. fufficiently perceive this, and makes it no difference to it, that one of them is fituated in the middle, or at the end ; and in like manner with reference to their thickue.fs’ and fiendernefs, their foftnefs and hardnefs, does the touch fufficiently perceive thefe things; and in like manner the other fenfe!l, do they 110 way defell:ively maJJifefl: fuch things? Or does each of them all: in this manner? Firfl: of all, mufl: not that fenfe which relates to hard, of neceffity relate likewife to foft ; and feeling thefe, it reports to the foul, as if both hard and foft were one and the fame ? It does. And mufl: not then the foul again, faid I, in foeh cafes, of neceffity be in doubt, what the fenfo points out to it as hard, fince it calls the fame thing foft likewife; and fo with reference to the fenfe relating to light and heavy; the foul mt1fl: be in doubt what is light and what is heavy; if the fenfe intimates that heavy is light, and that light is heavy? Thefe at leaft, faid he, are truly abford reports to the foul, and fi;md in need of examination. It is likely then, faid I, that firfi of all, in fuch cafes as thefe, the foul, calling in reafon and intelligence, endeavours to difcover, whether the things reported be one, or whether they be two, Why not? And if they appear to be two, each of them appears to be one, and di£l:inll: from the other. It does. Aud if each of them be one, and both of them two, he will by intelligence perceive two difiina; for, if they were not difiincl:, he could not perceive two, but only one. Right. The fight in like manner, we fay, perceives great and fmall, but not as difl:incl: from each other, but 5lS fomething confufed, Does it not? It does. In order to obtain per
fpicuity
T H E R E P U B L I C.
fi,icuity in this affair, intelligence is obliged again to confider great and fo1all, not as confofed, but clirl:inll:, after a manne1: contrary to the fenfe of 11,_;ht, True. And is it not from hence, fomehow, that it begins to queition m, vVhat then is great, and what is fmall? By all means. Ami fo we have called the one intelligible, and the other vilible. Very right, faid he. This then is what I was jull: now endeavouring to exprefa, when I faid, that fame things call on the dianoctic part, and others do not : and fuch as fall ou the fenfe at the fame time with their contraries, I define to be fuch as require intelligence, but fuch as do not, do not excite intelli gence. I undedland now, faid he, and it appears fo to me. What now? with reference to number and unity, to which of the two claifes do you think they belong ? I do not underfiand, replied he. But reafon by analogy, faid I, from what we have already faid: for, if llnity be of itfelf fofficiently feen, or be apprehended by any other fenfe, it will not lead towards real being, as we faid concerning finger. Hut if there be always feen at the fame time fomething contrary to it, fo as that it lhall no more appear unity than the contrary, it would then require fome one to judge of it: and the foul would be under a neccffity to doubt within itfelf, and to inquire, exciting the conception within itfclt and to interrogate it hat this unity is. And thus the difcipline which relates to unity would be of the clafs of thofe which lead, and turn the foul to the contemplation of
real being. But indeed this al leafi, faid he, is what the very fight of it
etfclts in no finall degree : for we behold .the fame thing, at one and the fame time, as one and as an infinite multitude. And if this be the cafe with reference to unity, faid I, will not every number be affected in the fame manner? Why not? But furely both computation and arithmetic wholly relate to number. Very much fo. Thefe then feem to lead to truth. Tranfceudently fo. They belong then, as it feems, to thofe difciplines which we are inveil:igating. For the foldier mull: neceflarily learn thefe things, for the difpofing of his rapks; and the philofopher foe the attaining to real being, emerging from generation, or he can never become a reafoner. It is fa, replied he. But our guardian at leafi hap pens to be both a foldicr and a philofopher. Undoubtedly. It were proper then, Glauco, to ell:abli{h by law this difcipline, and to perfuade thofe who are to manage the greatefi affairs of the city to apply to computation, and
VOL, 1. 3 a fiudy
370 T H E R E P U B L I C.
:fiudy it, not in a common way, but till by intelligence itfelf they arrive at the contemplation of the nature of numbers, not for the fake of buying, nor of felliug, as merchants and retailers, but both for war, and for facility in the energies of the foul itfelf, and its converfion from generation to truth and effence. Mofi beautifully faid, replied he. And furely now, I perceive likewife, faid I, at prefout whilfi this difcipline rcfpecl:ing com putations is mentioned, how elegant it is, and every way advantageous towards our purpofe, if one applies to it for the fake of knowledge, and not with a view to traffic! Which way? replied he. This very thing which we now mentioned, how vehemently does it fomehow lead up the foul, and compel it to reafon about numbers themfelves, by no means admitting, if a man in reafoning with it fhall produce numbers which have vifible and tangible bodies ! For you know of fome who are ikilled i11 thefe things, and who, if a man in reafoning fhould attempt to divide unity itfelf, would both ridicule him, and not admit it; but if you divide it into parts, they multiply them, afraid le:fi anyhow unity fhould appear not to be unity, but many parts. You fay, replied he, mofi true. What think you now, Glauco, if one fhould a{k them: 0 admirable men ! about what kind of numbers are you reafoning? in which there is unity, foch as you think fit to approve, each whole equal to each whole, and not differ ing in the finallefi degree, having no part in itfelf, what do you think_.they would anfwer? This, as I foppofe; that they mean fuch numbers as can be conceived by the dianoetic part alone, but cannot be comprehended in any other way. You fee then, my friend, faid I, that in reality this difcipline appears to be neceifary for us, fince it feems to compel the foul to employ intelligence itfelf in the perception of truth itfelf. And furely now, faid he it effects this in a very powerful degree, But what? have you hitherto confidered this? that thofe who are naturally {killed in com putation appear to be acute in all difciplines ; and fuch as are naturally flow, if they be in:firucted and exercifed in this, though they derive no other advantage, yet at the fame time all of them proceed fo far as to become more acute than they were before. It is fo, replied he. And
furely, as I think, you will uot eafi1y find any thing, and not at all many, which occafion greater labour to the learner and fiudent than this. No,
indeed. Ou all thefe accounts then, this difcipline is not to be omitted,
9
T H E R E P U B L J C. 371
but the btfi geniuses are to be infirull:ed in it. I agree, faid he. Let this one thing then, faid I, be efiablilhed among us ; and, in the next place, let us confider if that which is confequent to this in any refpell: pertains to us. What is it? faid he: or, do you mean geometry? That very thing, faid I. As far, faid he, as it. relates to warlike affairs, it is plain that it belongs to us; for, as to encampments, and the occupying of ground, con tracting and extending an army, and all thofe figures int.a which they form armies, both in battles and in marches, the fame man would differ from himfelf when he is a geometrician, and when he is not. But furely now, faid I, for fuch purpofes as thefe, fome little geometry and fome portion of computation might fuffice: but we mufi inquire, whether much of it, and great advances in it, would contribute any thing to this great end, to make us more eafily perceive the idea of the good. And we fay that every thing contributes to this, that obliges the foul to turn itfelf towards that region in which i:; the moil: divine of being, which it mufl: by all means perceive. You fay right, replied he. If therefore it compel the foul to contemplate effence, it belongs to us; but if it oblige it to contemplate generation, it does not belong to us. We fay fo indeed. Thofe then who are but a little converfant in geometry, faid I, will not difpute with us this point at leafl:, that this fcience is perfectly contrary to the common modes of fpeech, employed in it by thofe who praB:ife it. How? faid he. They fpeak fomehow very ridi(‘uloufly, and through neceffity: for all the difcourfe they employ in it ,1ppears to be with a view to operation, and to practice. Tht1s thty fpeak of making a fquare, of prolonging, of adjoining, and the like. But yet the whole of this difoipline is fomehow fl:udied for the fake of kuowledfe. By all means indeed, faid he. Mufi not this further be affentc::J to? What? That it is the knowledge of that which always is, and not of tl-i:1t wlJich i:.: fometimes generated and defl:roycd. This, faid he, muf1- be g.-auteJ; for geometrical.knowledge is of that which alwar is. It v.oukl teem then, generous Gbuco, to draw the foul towards truth, and to be prod11ffve of a dir.noetic energy adapted to a philofopher, fo as to raifo this power of the. ti-ul to things above, infl:ead of caufing it improperh, as at prefenr, to contemplate things below. As much as pofiible, replied he. As much as p0llible then, faid I, mufi we give orders, that thofe in this moft beautifol ct(y of yours by no means omit geometry;
3n2 fur
T H E R E P U B L I C.
for even its by-works are not inconfiderablc. ‘What by-works? faid he. Thofe, faid I, which you mentioned relating to war; and indeed with reference to all difciplines, as to the underfianding of them more han<l fomely, we know fomehow, that the having learned geometry or not,
makes every way an entire difference. Every way, by Jupitcr ! faid he.
Let us then cfiabliih this fecond di!ciplinc for the youth. Let us ell:ablilh
it, replied he. But what? lhall we, iu the third place, cfiabli(h afiro11omy? or are you of a different opinion ? I am, faid he, of the fame : for to be well ikillcd in the feafons of months and years, belongs not only to agri culture and navigation, but equally to the military art. Yo_uarc pleafant, faid I, as you fcem to be afraid of the multitude, left you f11ould appear to enjoin ufelcfs difciplines: but this is not altogether a contemptible thing, though it is difficult to perfuade them, that by each of thcfe difciplines a certain organ of the foul is both purified and exfufcitated, which is blinded and buried by frudies of another kind ; an organ better worth faving than ten thoufand eyes, fince truth is perceived by this alone. To foch there fore as are of the fame opinion, you will very readily appear to reafon admirably well: but fuch as have never obfcrved this will probably thiuk you fay nothing at all : for they perceive uo other advantage in thefe things worthy of atte!ltion. Confider now from this point, with which of thefe two you will reafon ; or carry on the reafonings with neither of them, but principally for your own fake, yet envy not another, if any one lhall be able to be benefited by them. In this manner, replied he, I choofe, on my own account principally both to reafon, and to quefrion and anfwer. Come then, faid I, let us go back again: for we have not rightly taken that which is confequent to geometry. How have we taken? replied he. After a plain furface, faid I, we have taken a folid, moving in a circle, before we confidcred it by itfolf: but if we had proceeded rightly we f110uld have taken the third argument immediately after the feco11d, and that is fome liow the argument of cubes, and what participates of depth. It is fo, replied he, But thefe things, Socrates, feem not yet to be diicovercd. The reafon of it, faid I, is twofold. Becaufe there is no city which fufficiently honours them, they are Oightly invefiigated, beiug dim ult; an,J befides, Jhofe \\ ho do invefiigate them want a leader, without wl:ich they cannot difco,er them. And this kader is in the firfi place hard to be
obtained;
T II E R E P U B L I C. 3i3
obtaineJ; and when he is obtained, as things are at prefont, thofe who invcfligate thefe particulars, as they conceive magnificently of themfelves, will not obey him. But if the whole city prefided over thefe things, and helJ them in elkem, fuch as inquired into them would be obedient, and their inquiries, being carried on with affiduity and vigour, would difcover themfclves what they were: fince even now, whiHl: they are on the one hand defpiled and mutilated by the multitude, and on the other by thofe who il:udy them without being able to give any account of their utility, they yet forcibly, under all thefe difadvantages, increafe through their native grace: nor is it wonderful that they do fo. Becaufe truly, faid he, this grace is very remarkable. But tell me more plainly what you were juil: now faying; for fomehow that fl:udy which refpells a plain furface you called geometry. I did, faid I. And then, faid he, you mentioned aflronomy in the lir/1: place after it. But afterwards you drew back. Becaufe, whilfi I am hafiening, faid I, to difcufs all things rapidly, I advance more flowly. For that augment by depth which was next according to
,11cthoJ we paffed over, becaufe the inve/l:igation of it is ridiculous; and after geometry we mentioned afironomy, which is the circular motion of a folid. You fay right, replied he. We efiablith then, faid I, afironomy as the fourth dili:ipline, foppofing that to fobfi/l: which we haYe now omitted, if the city thall enter upon it. It is reafonable, fai<l he. And now that you agree with me, Socrates, I proceed in my commendation of afironomy, which you formerly reproved as unfeafonable. For it is evident, I conceive, to every one, that this difcipline compels the foul to look to that which is above, and from the things here eondull:s it thither. It is probable, faid I, that it is evident to every one but to me. For to me it does not appear fo. How then do you think of it? replied he. In the way it is now pnrfocd by thofe who introduce it into philofophy, it entirely makes the foul to look downward;. How do you fay? replied he. You foem to me., faid I, to have formed with yourfolf no ignoble opinio11 of the difcipline rclpcc1i11g thi1igs above, what it is: for you fcem to think,. that if any 011c contemplates the vario.us bodies in the firm,unent, and, by earnell:Iy looking up, apprehends every thing, you think that he has in. tclligencc of thdc things; and does 11ot merely foe them with his eyes;
;rnd perhaps you judge right, and I fooli{hlJ·· For I, on the other hand,
3 am
T 1-1 E R E P U B L I C,
am not able to conceive, that any other difciplinc can make the foul look upwanls, but that which refpeas being, and that which is invifible; and if a man undertakes to learn any thing of fcnlible objects, whether he gape upwards, or bellow downwards, never lhall I fay that he learns; for I aver he has no fcience of thefe things, nor ihall l fay that his foul looks upwards, but downwards, even though he ihould learn lying on his back, either at land or at fca, 1 am punifl1ed, faid he; for you have juftly reproved me. But which was the proper way, faid you, of learning aftronomy different from the methods adopted at prefent, if they mean to leant it with advantage for the purpofcs we fpcak of? In this manner, faid I, that thefe varie gated bodies in the heavens, as they are varied in a viiible fubjecl:, be deemed the moO: beautiful and the moil: accurate of the kind, but far in ferior to real beings, according to thofe orbits in which real velocity, and real flownefs, in true munber, and in all true figures, are carried with 1,efpecl: to one ano’ther, and carry all things that are within them. \Vhich things truly are to be comprehended by reafon and the dianoetic power, but not by fight ; or do you think they can ? By no means, replied he, Is not then, faid I, that variety in the heavens to be made ufe of as a para digm for learning thofe real things, in the fame manner as if one fl10uld meet with geometrical figures, drawn remarkably well and elaborately by Dredalus, or fome other artift or painter? For a man who was fkilled in geometry, on feeing thefe, would truly think the workmanfl1ip moA: excellent, yet would eileem it ridiculous to confider thefe things fcrioufly, as if from thence he were to lear; the truth, as to what were iu equal, in duplicate, or in any other proportion. \Vhy would it not be ridicu lous 1 replied he. And do not you then think, that he who is truly an ailronomer is affected in the fame manner, when he iooks up to the orbits of the planets? And that he reckons that the heavens and all in them are indeed efiablilhed by the demiurgus of the heavens, in the moil: beautiful manner poilible for fuch works to be eftablilhed ; but would not he deem him abford, who ihould imagine that this proportion of night with day, and of both thefe to a mouth, and of a month to a year, and of other ftars to fuch hke thmgs, and t_owards one another, cxi!ted always in the fame mam1er, and in no way 1- fren:d any.change, though they have a body, and are vifible; and fearch by every method to apprehend the
truth
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truth of thefe things ? So it appears to me, replied he, whilfi I am bear mg you. Let us then make ufe of problems, faid I, in the fiudy of afiro uomy, as in geometry. And let us difinifs the heavenly bodies, if we intend truly to apprehend afironomy, and render profitable infiead of un profitable that part of the foul which is naturally wife. You truly e11joi11 a much harder tafk. on ail:ronomers, faid he, than is enjoined them at pre fent. And I think, replied I, that we mufi likewife enjoin other things, in the fame manner, if we are to be of any fervice as law-givers. But can you fuggefi any of the proper difciplines ? I can fuggefi none, re plied he, at prefent at leafi. Lation, faid I, as it appears to me, affords
\JS not one indeed, but many fpecies of difcipline. All of which any wife man car1 probably tell; but thofe which occur to me are two. What are they? Together with this, faid I, there is its counter-part. Which? As the eyes, faid I, feem to be fitted to afironomy, fo the ears feem to be fitted to harmonious lation. And thefe feem to be filler fciences to one another, both as the Pythagoreans fay, and we, Glauco, agree with them, or how 1hall we do? Jufi fo, replied he. Shall we not, faid I, fince this is their great work, inquire how they fpeak conceming them-and, if there be any other thing betides thefe, inquire into it likewife? But abon all thefe things, we will fiill guard that which is our own, \Vhat is that? That thofe we educate never attempt at any time to learn any of thofe things in an imperfect manner, and not pointing always at that mark to which all ought to be diretled: as we now mentioned with reference to afironomy. Or do not you kt1ow that they do the fame thiug with re gard to harmony, as in afironomy? For, wbilfi they meafure one with another the fymphonies and founds which are heard, they labour like the afironomers unprofitably. Nay, by the gods, faid he, and ridiculoufly too, whilfi they frequently repeat certain notes, and lifien with their ears to catch the found as from a neighbouring place ; and fome of them fay they hear fome middle note, but that the interval which meafures them is the finallefi ; and others again doubt this, and fay that the notes are the fame as were founded before ; and both parties fubjell the intellea to the ears. But you fpeak, faid I, of the lucrative muficians, who perpetually harafs and torment their things, and turn them on the pegs. But that the comparifon may not be too tedious, I 1hall fay nothing of their com-
plaints
T H E R E P U B L I C.
plaints of the firings, their refufals and fiubbornnefs, but bring the image to an end. But I fay we ought not to choofe thcfe to fpeak of harmony, but thofe true mulicians whom we mentioned. For thefe dl> the fame things here as the others did in afironomy; for in thefe f}·mphouies which are heard, they fearch for numbers, but they pafs not thence to the pro blems, to inquire what numbers are (ymphonious, and what are uot, and the reafou why they are either the one or the other. You fpeak, faid he, of a divine work. It is then indeed profitable, faid I, in the fearch of the beautiful and good, but if purfued in another manner it is unprofitable. It is likely, faid he. But l think, faid I, that the proper method of in quiry into all thefe things, if it reach their communiou and alliance with each other, and reafon in what refpell:s they arc akin to one another, will contribute fomething to what we want, and our labour will not be unpro fitable; otherwiie it will. I likewiie, faid he, prophefy the fame thing. But you fpeak, Socrates, of a very mighty work. Do you mean the in troduclion, or what elfe ? faid I. Or do we not know that all thefe things are introdull:ory to the law itfclf? which we ought to learn; for even thofe that are fkilled in dialectic do not appear expert as to thefe things. No, by Jupiter, faid he, unlefs a very few of all I have met with. But whilfl: they are not able, faid J, to impart and receive reafon, will they ever be able to know any thing of what we fay is necdfary to be known? Never will they be able to do this, replied he. Is not this itfelf then, Glauco, faid I, the law? To give perfection to dialectic; which being intelligible, may be faid to be imitated by the power of light; which power endea vours, as we obferved, firfi to look at animals, then at the fiars, and Ja(l: of all at the fun himfclf. So when any one attempts to difrufs a fubjell: without any of the fenfes, by reafoning he is impelled to that which each particular is ; and if he docs not defifi till he apprehends by intelligence what is the good itfelf, he then arrives at the end of the intelligible, as the other does at the end of the vifible. Entirely fo, faid he. \Vhat now? Do not you call this progreffion dialell:ic? What elfe? And now, faid I, as in our former comparifon you had the liberation from chains, an<l turning from thadows towards images, and the light, and an afcent from the cavern to the fun; and when there, the looking at images in water, from an inability at firfi to behold animals and plants, and the
light
T H E R E P U n L I C, Si7
light of the fun; fo here you have the contemplation of divine phantafm , and the {hallows of real bcinzs, anti not the fh,1dows of images lhadowcd out by another light of a limibr kind, as by the fun. Aud all this hufim:ts rcli)ccling the arts which we have difruffcd, has this power, to lead b.:ck again that which is bcr1: in the foul, to the contemplation of that which is Lc!l in beings; as in the former ca!c, that which is brightcil: in the body i, led to that which is moil: fplendid in the corporeal auJ vitibk place. [ admit, faitl he, of thefo things ; thoug!1 truly it appears to me extremely difficult to admit of them, and in another rc!i>Ld it is Jifficul: not to a<lmit of them. But howcvc:r (for we fhall hear thcfo things not only now at prefent, but often again difcufs them), efl:abliihing thefe things as now cxpreffed, ltt us go to the law itfelf, and difrufs it as we have finifhecl the introduclion. Say then what is the me,de of the p’1wer of dialeclic ‘, and into what fpccies is it divided, and what arc the patbs leading to it ? For thefe, it is likely, conducl: us to that place, at which w;;cn we are arrived, we fhall find a refiing-place, and the end of the journey. You will not as yet, friend Glauco, faid I, be able to follow; for otherwiie no zeal fhoulJ be wanting on my part; nor fhould you an_v longer only fee the image of that of which we are fpeaking, but the truth itfdt: But this is what to me at leafi it appears; w hcther it be fo in reality or not, this it is not proper firenuoufly to affirm; but that indeed it is fomewhat of this kinJ may be fircnuoufly affirmed. May it not? \Vhy not? And further that it is the power of dialell:ic alone, which can difrover this to one who is fk.illed in the things we have difcuffed, and that by no other power it is poffible. This alfo, faid he, we may fl:renuoufly affirm. This at leafi no one, faiJ I, will difpute with us: That no other method can attempt to comprehend, in any orderly way, what each particular being is ; for all the other arts rclpcc’t either the opinions and defires of men, or generations, and compofitious, or are all employed in the culture of things generated and compounded. Thofe others, which we faid participated fomewhat of being, geometry, an<l fuch as arc connecl:ed with her, we
fee as dreamiug indeed about being; but it is impoffible for them to have a
‘ For a copious account of the clialcclic of Plato, which is the fame with the metaphyfics of Arifiotle, fee the lntrouuclion .aml Notes 10 the ParmeniJes,
VOL, I, 3 c true
378 T H E R E P U B L I C.
true vilion, lo long as employing liypothefes they preferve ‘ thefe immove able, without being able to affign a reafon for their fubfiHence. For where the principle is that which is unkuown, and the conclufion and intermediate fleps arc counetl:cd with that ·unknown principle, by what contrivance can an alfent of foch a kind ever become fcieuce? By none, replied he, Does not then, faid I, the dialectic method proceed in this way alone, to the principle itfelf, removing all hypothefes, that it may firmly cil:abli{h it, and gradually drawing and leading upwards the eye of the foul, which was truly buried in a certain barbaric mire, ufing as affiil:ants and circular leaders thofe arts we have mentioned. which through cuftom we fre quently call fciences, but which require another appellation more clear than opinion, but more obfcure than fcience? \Ve have fomewhere in the former part of our difcourfe termed it the dianoctic power. But the con troverfy is not, as it appears to me, about a uame, with thofe who inquire into things of fuch great importance as thofe now before us. It is not, faid he. Do you agree then, faid J, as formerly, to call the lirft part fcience, the fecond the dianoctic power, the third faith, and the fourth affimilation ? and both thefe !aft opinion ? and the two former intelli gence? And that opinion is employed about generation, and intelligence about e!fence ? Like wife, that as cffcnce is to generation, fo is intelligence to opinion, fcience to faith, and the dianoctic power to affimilation? But as for the analogy of the things which thefe powers rcfpccl:, and the twofold divifion of each, viz. of the object of opinion, and of intellect, thefe we omit, Glauco, that we may not be more prolix here than in our former rcafon ings. As for me, faid he, \\’ith reftrence to thofe other things, as far as I am ;ihls to follow, I am of the fame opinion. Rut do not you call him lkilicd j,: ,\i.1leflic, wlio apprehends the reafon of the cffence of each particuLr ! And :is for the man who is not able to give a reafon to himfelf,, and to another, fo for as he is not able, fo far will you not fay he wants intelligence of the thing? Why !hould I not fay fo? replied he. And is not the cafe the fame with reference to the good? Whofoever caunot d<.:line it by reafon, foparating the idea of the good from all others, and 4s in. a battle piercing through all arguments, eagerly {hiving to confute,.
‘ fofiead. of rwll’t here, I rcaJ rr,,{ou171,
not
‘f H E R E P U B L I C. 3ifJ
not according to opinion, but according to dfence, and in all thefo march i1:g forward with uncle, iating reafon,–fuch an one kno\\’S nothing of ti!,.· good i{f’elf, nor of any good whate\’er,; but if be has a:t:tincJ to any image of t; t goo:f, we mufi fay he has attained to it by opinion, 11ot b_v lcicnce; t!iat in the prefcnt life he is fleeping, and converfant with lk’.’..1rns; and that before he is roufed he will defcend to Hae.le,, and there be p:·ofoundly and perfrftly bid aflcep. Dy Jupiter, i:tid lie, l will ilru116ly aver all
thcfc things. But forely you \\’ill 1L,t, I t1,iuk, alhw your own cl1iL!re11
at leaft whom you nourifhc(l ,t11d educatd in n:a1;-m:t1g, if ever in reality you educate them, to have the fopremc govcrn:nent of the moil: import ant affairs in the fiate, wl1illl: th::y arc vci,{ of rcafun, as lett.:rs or’ the alphabet. By no mc,\lls, replied he. You will then L:y down thi to them as a law: That in a moll: efpccial manner they attain to that part of education, b_v which they may bt:come able to que,:io·1 and anfwer in the mofi fcientific manner. I will fettle it by law, fa.id he, with your affifl:ance at leafi. Docs it then appear to you, faid I, that dia!cclic 1, to be placed on high as a bulwark to di!ciplines? and that no other ditcipline can with propriety be raifed higher than this ; but that every thing refpecl: ing difciplin s is now finiihed? I agree, faid he. There now remains for you, faid I, the difiribution: To whom ihall we amgn thefe ditciplines, and after what manner ? That is evident, faid be. Do you remember then our former eladion of rulers, what kind we cbofo? H,iw ihould I not ? faid he. As to other things then, conceive, faid I, that fuch geniuses as thefc ought to be foleckd. For the moil: firm and brave are to be pre
ferred, and, as far as polfible, the mofl: graceful; and befides, we mu!l: not only feek for thole whofe manners are generous and fl:ern, but they mufl: be po!fdfed of every other natural difpofition conducive to this edu cation. \Vhid1 difpoliticns do you recommend? Ti1ey muit have, faid I,
0 ble!fed man ! acutenefs with refpecl: to difciplines, that they may not learn with difficulty. For fouls are_ much more intimidated in robufl: dif ciplines, than in fl:rcnuous exercifes of tl,e body ; for their proper labour, and which is not in common with the ‘body, is more dome!l:ic to them, True, faid he. And we mufi feek for one of good memory, untainted, and every way laborious : or how elfe do you think any one will be willing to endure the fatigue of the body, and to accomplifh at the fame time fuch
3 c 2 learning
360 T H E R E l’ U B L I C.
barning anJ fiu<ly i Ko one, faid he, unlcfs he be in all reipccls of a naturally good <lifpofition. The mifiake then about philofophy, and the contempt of it, have been occalioned through thefc things, becaufr, as I formerly faid, it is not applied to in a manner fuitable to its dignity : for it ought not to be applied lo by the bafiardly, but the legitimate. How?
faid he. In the firfi place, he who is to apply to philofophy ought not, fait! I, to be lame as to hi, love of labour, being laborious in fomc things, and averfe to labour in others. But this takes place when a man loves
wrefiling and hunting, and all exercifcs of the body, but is not a lover of learning, and loves neither to hear nor to inquire, but in all thcfo refiJecls has an averfion to labour. He likewife is lame, in a different manner from this mau, who diflikes all bodily exerciCe. You fay mofi true, re plied he. And !hall we not, faid I, in like manner account that foul lame as to truth, which hates indeed a voluntary fallehood, and bears it ill in itfolf, and is beyond meafore enraged when o.thers tell a lie; but eafily admits the iHrnluntary lie; and, though at any time it be found ignorant, is not
difpleafed, but like a favage fow willingly wallows in ignorance r Ry all means, _faid he. And in like manner, faid I, as to temperance and forti tude, and magnanimity, and all the parts of virtue, we muft no lefs care-• fully attend to what is bafiardly, and what is legitimate; for when either
any private ptrfon or city undcrll:ands not how to attend to all thefe things, they unawares eIT.ploy the lame and the bafiardly for whatever t,hey ha:vc occafion; private perfuns employ them as friends, and cities as governors. The cafc is Clltircly fo, fa.id he. But we, faid T, mull: be ware of all foch things ; fur, if we take foch as are entire in hotly and in mind for fucb extentive learning, and exercifo and in.flrutt them, jui1ice herfelf will aot blame us, aud we !hall prefcrve both the city aud its con-• fiitution: but if we i11troduce perfoas of a different dcfrription into tht:te affairs, we {hall do every thing the reverie, and bring philofophy under ftill greal<.r· ridicule.. That indeed ·were {hamefol, faid he. Certainly, faid J, But I myfelf foilm at prefout to be i;>mcwhat ridiculous. How fo? faid he. l forgot, fa.id I, that we were amutia:; ourklves, aud fpoke with too great keenneis; for, whilft I was [peaking, I looked towards phi l fophy ; and feeing her moil: unworthily abufcd, I foem to have been filled wich indignaLio11, and, as ·Deing enraged at thofc who are the caufc of it,
to
T II E R E l’ U B L I C. 3Sl
to have fi,oken more carnefily vrliat I f1id. No truly, faid he, not to me your hearer at lcafl:. But for me, faid I, the ij,c,1ker. But let us llllt forget thi , that in our former election W\! made choice of old men ; but in this election it will not be allowed us. For we mufl: not ldicve Solon, that one who is old is able to learn many things; Luthe is lcfs able to effect this than to run. All mighty and numerous labours belong to the young. Of necefiity, faid he. Every thing then relating to arithmetic and geometry, and all that previous inflruttion which they ihould be taught before they learn dialectic, ought to be fet before them whilfl: they are children, and that method of teaching obferved, which will make them learn without compulfion. Why fo? Becaufe, faid I, a free man ought to learn no difripline with flavery : for the labours of the body when endured through compullion render the body nothing worfe: but no compelled difcipline is lafl:ing in the foul. Trnc, faid he. Do not then, faid I, 0 bell: of men! compel boys in their learning; but train them up, amufing themfrlves,. that you may be better able to difrcrn to what the genius of each naturally tends. \Vhat you fay, replied he, is reafonable. Do not you remember then, faid I, that wc faid the boys arc even to be carried to war, as fi,ecl:a tors, on hodcback, and that they are to be brouzht nearer, if they cau with fafety, and like young hounds tafl:e the blood ? I remember, laid he..
\Vhoever theu, faid I, {hall appear the mofl: forward in all thefo labours, di(ciplines, and terrors, are to be folcctcd into a certain numuer. At what age? faid he. \Vhcn they have, faiJ 1, linilhed their neceffary cxcrcifes; for during this time, whilfi it continues, for two or three years, it is im po!Tible to accomplilh anything cite; fur fatigue and flecp arc enemies to learning; and this t,10 i none of the leail: of their trials, what each of them appears to be in his e::xercifos. Certainly, faid he. And after this• period, faid I, let foch as formerly have been folec1cd of the age of twenty receive greater honours than others, and let thole diiciplines which in their youth they learned fcparately, be broug t before them in one view,. that they may foe the alliance of the difciplines with each other, and with. the uature of real being. This dilcipline ii:dced will alone, faid he, remain. firm in thole in whom it is ingenerate<l. And this, faid I, is the greatefl:.
trial for di!ringui!hing between thofe gcniu·,c, \vhich are naturally fitted fo1-
,fokllic, and thofc which are not. lk• who. perceives this alliance is.
fkillcdl
382 T H E R E P U B L I C.
1.l<illed in dialecl:ic; he who does not, is not. I am of the fame opinion, faid he. lt will then be neceffary for you, faid I, after )·ou have obfcrvcd thefe things, an<l focn who are moil: uppnl\ eel in thde, being ftd.ile in difciplincs, an<l fl:ablc in war, aud in the other thi:1gs dbbliil1e<l by bw, to make choice of foch after they cxcl·c<l thirty years, fr:lecling fro.11 thofc chofen formerly, and advance tiiem to gn:atc.:r 1,ol!ours. Yo mull: like wife obferve them, trying them by the power of diakclic fo as to afrcrtain whic:· of them without the aflillance of I.’.s eye , or any other fonfr, is able to proceed with truth to being itfolf. f\n<l here, my cumpauion, is a work of great caution. lu what principttll.,v ? fail’ he. Do not you perceive, faid I, the evil which at prefont attends dialcclit:, how great it is? \Vhat is it, faid he, you mean 1 How it is fomchow, fai<l I, full of what is contrary to law. Greatly fo, replied he. Do) ou think then, faid I, they fidfer fome wonderful dung, and will you not forgi\’e them? H,,w do you mean? faiJ he. Jufl: as if, faid I, a cer:ain foppolititious child were educated in great opulence in a rich and noble family, and amid(!: many flatt..:rcrs, and Gw;,U P’TC ive, when grown up to manhood, that he is not dcfcended of thofe who arc faid to be his parents, but yet lhould not difrnYCr his real parents ; can you di1 ine how fi.1ch an one would be uff.·cted both toward3 his fl tterers, and to\\’ards his fuppofed parents, both at the time when he knew 1; ·,t!1ing of the cheat, and at that time again when he came to perceive it? Or arc you wining to hear me while I prcfagc it? I am “iilini;, faid he. I prophdy then, faid I, that he will pay m,,rc honour to ,his father and mother, and hi, other fuppofcd relations, than to the flntterers, and that he will lds neglell: them when they are in any want, and be leis apt to do or fay anything amifs to them, and in matters of confrquence be lefs difobedient to them than to t!:ofc flatterers, during that period in which he knows not the truth. It is likt:ly, faid he. But when he perceives the real fiatc of the affair, I again prophd)’, he will then flacken. in his honour and refpell: for them, an<l attend to the flatterers, and be remarkably more perfuadcd by them now than formerly, and truly live according to their manner, converting with them openly. But for that father, and thole foppofed relations, if he be not of an entirely good natural <lifpofitiou, he will have no regard. You fay every thing, faid he, as it would happen. But in what manner does this comparifon refpecl:
3 thofo
T II E R F. P U B L J C. 38l
tho(,c.1-bo arc converfant with diale€tic? In this. We have certain dog mas from our childhood concerning thing jllfi and beautifol, in which we have been nouri01ed as by parents, obeying und hononring them, \Ve have, faid he. Arc there not lik.i:1;·ifo other purfoits oppofite to thefe, with pleafores llat.tering our fouls, and drawing them towards thefo? They do not however perfuadc thofc who arc in any degree moderate, but they honour thofe their relations, and obey them. Thefe things are fo, What now, faicl I, when to one who is thm affoclcd the quefiion is propofed, What is the beautiful? anJ when he, an(wering what he has heard from the lawgiver, is refut<::d by reafon; and n:afon frequently and every way convincing him, reduces him to the opinion, that this is no more bealltiful than it is deformed ; and in lhe fame manner, as to what is jull: and good, and whatever clfc he held in highell: efiecm, ,vhat do you think foch an one will after this do, with regard to thefe thing,, as to honouring and obeying them? Of neceffity, faid he, he will neither honour nor ubcy them any longer in the fame manner as formerly. When then he no longer deems, faid I, thefo things honourable, and allied to him as formerly, and cannot difcover thofe which really are fo, is it pofiible he can readily join himfelf to any other life than the flattering one? It is not pofliblc, faid he. And from being an obf..:rvcr of the law, he 1l1all, I think, appear to be a tranfgreffor. Of necefiity. Is it not likely then, faid I, that thofe iliall be thus alfecled who in this fituation apply to reafoning, and that th::y i110uld deferve, as I was jufi now faying, great forgivcnefs? And pity too, faid he. Whilfi yotJ take care then, left this compaffionable cafe befall tbefe of the age of thirty, ought they not by every method to apply them felvcs to reafoning? Certainly, faid he. .And is not this one prudent caution? that they tafie not reafonings, whilfi they are young : for you. have not forgot, I fuppofc, that the youth, when they firfi tafte of reafon ings, abufc them in the way of amufement, whilfi they employ them always for the purpofc of contradiclion, And imitating thofe who arc· rcfut rs, they themfelves refute others, delighting like whelp3 in dragging: and tearing to pieces, in their reafonings, thole always who are near them. Extremely fo, faid he. And after they h.ive confuted many, and been, themfclves confuted by many, do they not vehemently and 1peedily hty afide· all the opinions they formerly poffeffcd? And by thefe means they them-
fdves,,
Digitized by Goosle
384 T H E R E P U B L I C,
fe!ves, and the whole of philof;>ph_,, are calum11;:1tcJ by others. Mo{l true, faiJ he. But he who is 0t a nper ag -, (,id I, will not be dil}1ofed to {hare in fuch a maJnefs, but will rather imitate him ,, ho inclines to rc:afon and inquire after truth, than one who, for the fake of di,·erfion, amufes him-
. fcit and contradicts. He wili hkewite be more moddl himfelf, an<l render the practice of diiputing more honourable i11f1.::ad of being more diil1onour able. Right, faid he. \:Vere net then all our former remarks right!y made, in the way of precaution, as to this point, that thofe geniuses ought to be decent and fiablc, to whom dialccl:ic is to be imparted, anJ not as at pre feut, when every common genius, and fuch as is not at. all proper, is admitted to it? Certainly, faid he. \Viii not thc11 the double of the former period fuffice a man to remain i11 acquiring the art of dialectic with perfeverance and application, and doing not’.1ing cite but in way of counter part excrcifing himfelf in all bodily exercifes? Do you mean fix years, fai<l he, or four? ‘Ti’s of no coniequence, faid J, make it five. After this you mufi compel them to defrend to that cave again, and oblige them to govern both in things relating to war, an<l fuch other magiHracies as require youth, that the, may not fall fhort of others in experience. And they mu{l be fl:ill further tried among thefe, whether, being drnwn to every different quarter, they will continue firm, or whether they will in any meafi.1re be drawn afide. And for how long a time, faid he, do you appoint this? For fifteen years, faid I. And when they arc of the age of fifty, fuch of them as are preferved, aud as have excelled in all thefe things, in aaions, and in the tciences, are now to be led to the end, and are to be obliged, inclining the ray of their foul, to look towards that which imparts light to all thi1_1gs, and, when they have viewed the good itft!f, to ufe it as a para digm, each of them, in their turn, in adorning both the city and private perfons, au<l themfelvcs, during the remainder of their I ife. For the moil: part indeed they mufl: be occupied in philofophy ; and when it is their turn, they mull: toil in political affairs, and take the government, each for the good of the <.:ity, performing this office, not as any thing honourable, but as a thing neceffary. And after they have educated others in the fame manner fiill, and· left foch as refemble thcmfelves to be the guardians of the city, they depart to inhabit the iflands of the blefi. But the city will publicly
.erect for them monuments, and offer facrifices, if the oracle alfent, as to
fuperior
TI! l:: Ht 1’ Li 8 L l C. 385
fup.:ri()r bcings; and if it do not, as t happy an:! divin men. Ym1 h.we, Socrates, faid he, like a {btuary, made our governors ull-beautiful. AnJ
our governeifes likewife, Glauco, faid 1•. For do not foppo!c that I have
1[1t>kcn what I have fa.id any more couceming the men than cc:,ncerning the women,-fuch of them as are of a fufficient genius. Right,·f.iid he, if at lcatl: they are to !hare in all things equally with·the men, as wc related,
\Vhat then, faid I, do you agree, that with reference to the city au,I rt:• public, we have not altogether fpoken what can only be cou!idered as withes; but foch things as are indeed difficult, yet pofiible in a c rtain refpef.t, and in no other way than what has been mentioned, viz, when thofe who are truly philofophers, whether more of them or a tingle one, becoming governors in a city, !hall defpife thofe prefent honours, confider- ing them as illiberal and of no value; but etleeming rec.litude and the honours. which arc: derived from it above all things; accounting the juft as a thing of all others the greatcfr, and mo!l: abfolutely ncceff’ary; and minifiering to it, and, increafing it, thoroughly regulate the conftit tion of their own city? How ? faid he, As many, faid I, of the more advanced in life as have lived ten years in the city they will fend into the country, and, removing their children away from thofc habits which the domcil:ics poffefs. at prefent, they will educate them in their ow11 manners and laws, which are what we formerly mentioned : and the city and republic we have defcribed being thus efiabliihcd in the fpecdicft and eafiefr manner, it will both be happy itfclf, and be of the grcatefr advantage to that people among whom it is eftabliihed. Vcry much fo indeed, faid he. And you feem to me, Socrates, to have told very well how this city ihall arifc, if it arife-at all. Are not.uow then, faid I, our difcourfes fufficient both con cerning luch a city as this, and concerning a man fimilar to it? For it is alfo now evident what ind of a man we !hall fay he ought to be. It is evident, replied he ; and your inquiry fecms to me to be at au end•.
THE END OP THE SEVENTH BOO.It.,
VOL, I. THE
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK VIII.
BE it fo. Thefe things, Glauco, we have now affentcd to ; that in this city, which is to be efiablifhcd in a perfect manner, t!le women are to be common, the children common, and likewife the whole of education. In like manner, their employments both in peace and war are to be common; and their kings are to be fuch as excel all others both in philofophy and in the arts of wa . Thefe things, faid he, have been affented to. And furely we likewife granted, that when the governors are marching with the foldiers, and fettle thcmfelves, they fhall dwell in fuch habitations as we formerly mentioned, which have nothing peculiar to any one, but are common to all: and befides thefe houfes, we likcwife, if you remember, agreed what fort of p;:iffeffions they 1hall have. I remember, faid he, that we were of opini.on, none of them ought to poffefa any thing as others do at prefent ; but, as wrefilers in war and guardians, they were to receive a reward for their guardianfhip from others, or a yearly mamtenancc 011 thefe accounts, and were to take care of themfclves and the rcfl: of the city. You fay right, faid I. But fince we have finifhed this, let us re· coiled: whence we made this digrcffion ; that we may now proceed again in the fame way. That is not difficult, faid he: for you were mention ing much the fame things of the city with thofc you have done at prcfcnt; faying that you confidered fuch a city to be good, as it was at that time defcribed, and the man to be good who refembles it; whilfl: yet it iecms you are able to defcribe a better city, and a bett,;r man. And you faid moreover, that all the others were wrong, if this was right. Of the oth r republics, you faid, as I remember, there were four fj1ccies, which de ferved to be conlidered, and to have the errors in them, and the lawlds people in them, obfcrved; in order that when we ha\’e beheld the whole
3
T II E R E P U D L I C. :JSi
n:· them, aaJ whetl we h:ivc agrec:d which i the bcfl-, and which is the
,1 or{l man, we may inqt1irc whether the Lcfl: man be the happiell:, anti the worfi the mofl: miforablc.:, or otherwifc. And whea I atkerl you, whid1 YGU call the four republics, Polemarchus and Adimantus hercl:pon inter upted ; and you, in this manner having refumed the fuhject, are come to this part of the reafoning. You ha ;e recollecl:::d, faid I, moll: accurately. Again therefore afford me the fame opportunity, and, whilfi I afk you the fame qucflion, endeavour to fay what you thca intended to affert. If in deed I am able, faid I. And I am truly defirous, fai<l he, for my part, to hear which you call the four republics. You {hall hear that, faid I, with out tlifficulty. For they are thefc I mention, and they ha\’e names too. There i, that which is commended by many, the Cretan and the Spartan. There is, focondly., that which has a iecondary praife, called Oligarchy, a republic foll of many evils; that which is different from this, and follows next in order, a Democracy; and then genuine Tyranny, different from all thcfc, the fourth and lafi difoafc of a city. Or have you any other form of a republic bdonging to any difl:inct fpecies ? For your little principali ties and \’enal kingdoms, and fuch like republics, are fomehow of a mid dle kind between thefe, and one may find of them as many among the barbarians as among the Greeks. They are indeed, faid he, faid to be very many, and very fl:rnnge ones. Do you know now, faid I, th:it there is fomehow a neccffity that there be a many fpccics of men as of repub lics ? Or do you imagine that republics are generated fomehow of an oak 1, or a rock, and not of the manners of thofe who are in the city, to which, as into a current, every thing elfo likewifc is drawn? By 1w means do I imagine, faid he, they are generated from :my thing but from hence. If then there be live fpecies of cities, the fpecies of fouls in inc!i viduals {hall be likcwife five. \Vhy not? ‘vVe have already difcuffed that which refcmbles an Arifiocracy, which we have rightly pronounced to be both good and jufi. ‘vVe have fo. Arc we now, in the next place, to go over the worfc fpecies, the contentious and the ambitious man, who
The Greek Scl,oliaft on this pdfage obferves, that the antients apprehended their anceffor& were generated from oaks anti rocks, bcca11fo mothers ufed to place their infanta in caverns and the trunks of trees. For men, in times of remote ntiquity, were accullomed to have con- nexion with \\’Omen ucor o ks or rocis. •
3 D 2 is
388 THE REPUBLIC.
is formed according to the Spartan republic ; th.:n him refcmbling an Oligarchy; and then the Democratic and the Tyrannic, that we may contemplate the mol1 unjufl:, and oppofo him to the motl- jufl-, that our inquiry may be completed? viz. how the motl- finifhed jul1icc is iu rnm parifon of the moft finiihed iujullice, as to the happinefs or milcry of
the poffdfor ? that Co we may either follow injufiice, being pcriitadc<l by
Thrafymachus, or ju(bce, yielding to the prefent reafoning? By all means, faid he, we mufi do fo. Shall we then, in the fame manner as we began, confider the manners in republics, before we confi,ler them .in private per fons, as being there more confpicuous? And according to this method the ambitious republic is fir ft to be confidered (for I have no other name to call it b.y, but it may be deraominated either a Timocracy ‘, or a Timar chy), and together with it we !hall confi er <} man ref1>mbling it ; after wards we !hall confider an Oligarchy, and a man refembling Oligarchy; then again, when’wc have viewed a Democracy, we !hall contemplate a Democratic man ; and then in the fourth place, when we come to Ty ranny, and contemplate it, and likcwifc a tyrannic foul, we fh:111 endea vour to become competent judges of what we_propofed, Both our con templation aud judgment, faid he, would in this manner at leaft be agree able to reafon, Come then, faid J, let us endeavour to rcl:1tc in what manner a Timocrncy arifcs out of an Aritl-ocracy. Or is not this plain, thnt every republic changes, by means of that part \\·hich poffeffes the magiftracies, when in this itfclf there arifrs fc:<lition; but whilfi this
agrees with itfelt though the fiate be extremely f111all, it is impoflible to be .changed? It i; fo, indeed, How then, Glauco, fhall our citv ce chauged? Or in what ihape {hall om allies and rulers fall into fr,lition with one another, and among themfclves ? Or are ou willing, that, like Homer, we invoke the l\fofes to tell us, ” How fid\ Ji.:dition rofe ?”
J\nd fh:i!I we fay, that whilfl the_y talk tragically, pl:tying with us, and rallying us a.& children, they yet talk ierioully and foblimdy ? In what manner? Somchvw thus. Ir is in.deed difficult for a city thus confiitutc<l
A·gcvmune11t in which l1onour1 fubfofl with a view lo polfdlions was Clllcil by the
anri,nts a Timocracr, lt wa& oppofed r,u Democrat)’, brcaufe rhc mofl wealthy and not tire
pear were the 7-ulcrs in this government, Jufl as an Oligarchy was oppofcd to an Arifiocracy,
uui’c iu the former not th befl, l,nt a few onlv, ,,ml thofc the wurft, govcrnc,11hc city,
T u E n E p u n L I C. sag
to ee changed. But as every thing which is generated is obnoxious to corruption, neither will fuch a con!l:itutiun as this remain for ever, but be dilfolvcd. And its dilfolution is thi,. N•it only wit’.1 refpccl: to terrefirial plants, but likewifo in tcrrc!hial animals, a fertility I and fierility of f ul as well as of body takes place, when the revolutions of the heavenly bodies complete the periphery of their refp<-ltive orbits; which are fhorter to the fhorter lived, and contrariwife to foch as arc the contrary: and with reference to the fertility and fierility of our race, :dthough thofo arc wife that you have educated to be governors of cities, yet will they never, by reafon in conjunction with fenie, obicrve the proper fcafons, hut overlook them, and fometimes generate children when they ought not. Blllt the period to that which is divinely generated • is that which t!ie perfect
number
1 All the parts of lhe ut,ivcrfe are unable to participate of the providence of diviniry i’n a lifllilar manner, but fomc of its parts enjoy this eternally, and others temporally; fomc in a primary and others in a fccon,1.uy degree. For the univerfe, being a pcrfell whole, mutl have a firft, a mi,ldle, and a Jaft parr. But its lirft parts, as havinl( the moft cxceilent fuhfiftencc, muft always exift according to nature; a11<I its hill p,irts muft fometimes ful,G{l according to, and fometimes contrary to, nature. Hence the celeftial bo,lies, which are the tirll parts of the i:ni,·erfe, perpetually fubfifl: acconling to nature, both the whole fpheres and the multitude co ordinate to thefc wholes; (fee the Introdu::lion to the Tim:cus) and rhe only alteration which they experience is a mutation of figure, and variation of light at dilfcrent periods: but in the fublunary region, while the fpl1eres of the elements remain on account of their fubliflence as wholes, always according to nature; the parts of thefe wholes have fometimes a natural ar,d fometirr.es an unnatural fubGftence: for thus alone can the circle of generation unfold all the
,·ariety which it contains,
The dilferent periods in “hid, thefe mutations happen, are called by Plato, with great pro priety, periods of firtility a11djhrility: for in thefe perio.ls a fertility or fierility of men, ani mals, and plants takes pbcc ; fo that in fertile periods mankind will be both more numerous., and upon the whole fuperior in mental anJ bodily endowments to the men of a barren period. And a fimilar reafoning mufl be extended to animals and plants. The fo much celebrated heroic age was the refult of 011c of thcfc fertile periods, in which men tranfcending the herd of man kind both in prallical and intellellual virtue abounded on the earth.
The Grc<k Jcholiafl: on this place well obfcrves, that Plato, by that which is divinely gc• nerated, docs not mean either t!,e whole world, though the epithet is primarily applicable to this, nor the celeftial regions only, nor the fublunary world, but ‘””Y thi•g ,uhit-h is p,rp,tunily und circularly mowd, whether-in the heavens or under the moon; fo far as it is corporeal, calling it gwerattd, (for no body is fclf-lttbfil!ent) but fo far as it is perpetually moved, divin,: for it imitates the moft divine of things, which poficfs an ever-vigilant life. But with refpell to the·
J;’etfe
3QO T H E R E P U B L I C.
number comprehends; and to that which is generated by man, that in which the augmentations furpaffing and furpaffed, when they {hall have received three refiitutions and four boundaries of things affimilating and diffimilating, incrcaling and decreafing, {hall render all things correfpondent and effa.ble; of which the fefquitertian progeny, when conjoined with the pentad, and thrice increafed, atfords two harmonies. One of thefe, the equally equal, a hundred times a hundred; but the other, of equal length indeed, but more oblong, is of a hundred numbers from effable diameters of pentads, each being deficient by unity, and from two numbers that are ineffable; and from a hundred cubes of the triad. But the whole geome tric number of this kind is the author of better and worfo generations ‘.
Of
pcrfecl number mentioned here by Plato, we mun not only direll: our attention to a perfcll: number in .vulgar arith\l’etic, for this is rather numbered than number, tends to perfell:ion, and
is never perfell:, as being always in generation; but we mull: furl’cy the caufe of this number, which is indeed intelleclual, but comprehends the definite bourulary of c,·cry period of the world.
0EIOY ‘)’O l!TOV OU ‘TOY 0Aov f/)>ICTI ICO(lµOv, “Ital wpor,70U{AE’J(I)’ ‘TOUTOV, Oll’TE ‘TOY O oupav , µovov, OU’TE ‘TO inro O”EA>1Vl1l’t
a:Ma w-a11 ‘TO aEl1t:IVJ170V “‘” ‘lfE,Qlff)Epoµ.uov, u-r’ EV oupavr:,, u9′ U7ro tTEA>tV>tll” w, µ.rv (f(AJµ. T’1COV ‘)’U’V)fTOV 1ta,.ouµrn1r
.,o’u ‘Yap uo,µ.a auOu,rouTa-rov· ii, o”‘ aE11e:n·))Tov, Suov· µ.iµEJTai ‘)’ap Ta Sr10TaTr.1v (lege SuoTaTa TfAJV) ovTC111 a.”‘tpU’lfVO’I 1,covTa r.111v• TOV TEAno, 0’ ap,9µ.flv ou µ,ovov X,fJI voi,v l’lfi a’aJC.Tu>-.o,v -r,9rv-rar OuTo, 7ap ta-T,v ap19µ.,,n,
µ,a’Mllv, : ap,Sµor, Ital ‘TEAEIOIJ,Ut’\IOV, 1’al ou1’i’1rOTE ‘TEJ..sio, at, ‘Yl’)’VOJ,A.EVOr aJ..”” Tl1V a;•rn:iv ‘TOlJTOV 11otpa11 µ.rv
ovuav, ‘1lffiEX,OU7AV J’, TOV ‘lrEr.’tpar;µrvov Opov TJ!f Tori 11oc-µ.ou ‘ltao-11, ‘lftpioOc11.
‘ The obfcurity of thcfe numbers, which is fo great as to have hecome proverbial among the antients, is not clucidjtcd in any of thofe invaluable remains of Grecian philofophy which hal’e furvivcd to the prefcnt time. And yet it may be fairly concluded that this myflerious paffage was moll: fatisfaclori!y unfolded by the commentaries of fuch men as Jamblichus, Syrianus. ancl Proclu,, on this part of the Republic, though they have unfortunately peri01cd in the wreck of ages. The following attempt, however, may perhaps /how that it is not impoflib!e to penetrate
this my!l:ery, though deprived of fuch mighty aid, fince it is only to be folved by the afli(bnce
of Mathe/is, who at all times willingly a&, mininrant to lnfpiration.
In the firft pbce then, let _us conli,ler what Plato means by augmentations furpafiing and fur paffcd; things a!limilating and diflim:lating, intrea.fing and decreaGng, correfpon,lcnt and cffable. Augmentations furpaOing, arc ratios of greater inequality, ,·iz. when the greater is com• pared to the leffcr, and are multiples*, fupcrparticulars, fuperpartients, multiple-fuperpar-
* Multiples ratio is when a greater quantity contains a ldfer many times. Snperparticular ratio i3 when the greater contains the ldfer quantity once, and fome part of it bdi<le,; and fuptrpartient ratio, is when the greater aontains the ldfer quantity once, and certain parts of it likewife. Again, multiple fuperparticular ratio is when the greater coptains the lell”tr many fimu and Come part of it befides; and multiple Cuperpa,tient ratio is when the greater contains the klfer many times, and alfo fomc of its parts,
ticulan
T II E R E P U B L I C. sg1
Of which when our governors being ignorant, join our couples toge ther unfo:..fonably, the children !hall neither be of a good genius, nor for
tunate.
ticulars and multiple-fuperpartients. But augmentations furpa!Ted are, ratio of lelfer in equality, viz, wl1en the le{fer is compared with the greater quantity, as for inll:ance, fub. multiples, fubfuperparticulars, fubfuperpartients, and thofe which are compofcd fro•n thefe three. Thofe numbers are called l>y Plato aj/imihting and tii!Jimi/,,ting, wh:ch are denominated liy
ari1hmeticians.Ji111i/n,. • and d!flimi/ar: but he calls thofe in,,-enjng and drcr,ef,n:;, which they denominate a/.nmding t and diminijh,d, or mor, than pt1feE1 and imperfeEJ. Thi11gs corrcfpondent and eff.ble, arc lioun<laries which correfpond in ratio with each other, and can be c•preffcd in
numbers either integral or fractional, fuch as are thefc four terms or boundaries, 27, 18, 12, 8, which arc in fdquialter and fubfcfquialter ratios; fince thefe mutually correfpond in ratio, and are cffable. For efTable quantities are thofe which can be expreffetl in whole numbers, or fractions; and, in like m3nner, inetf.ble quantities are fuch as cannot be exprclfed in either of thefc, and arc called b1 modern mathematicians Curds.
In the next place, let us confider what we are to underftand by the fefq11it,rtinn progmy •vh.tn
co1yoi1ud euith th, pentad and thrice increnfd, nfferdi11g t,uo hnrmn,.i,s. By thejefq11it,,-tia1J progm1 then Plato means the number 95: for this number is compofed from the addition of the fquare• of the numbers 4 end 3, which form the firfl: fcfqnitcrtian ratio, (viz·. 25) and the number 70, which is compofed from 4? and J?, and therefore coufif!s of two numbers in a fefquitertian ratio. Hence, as 95 is compofe<l from 25 and 70, it may with great propriety be called a fefquitertian
progeny. Thi number conjoined with 5 an,! thrice incrcafed produces ten thoufand and a
million: for too X 100 = 1cooo, and 10000 X 10::, = 1000000. But it muft here be
obfervcd that thefe two numhers, as will /hortly be fecn, appear to be confidered by Plato as analogou’I to two parallelopipedons, the former, viz. ten thoufand, being formed from Io X 1? X 100, and the latter from tcoo X 10 X 10:,. Thefe two numbers are calle,\ by Plato two h rmonies, for the following reafon : Simpliciu1, in his Commentary on Arill:otle’s books De Ccelo, informs us that a cube was denominated by 1hc Pythagor:x:ans hnrmony; becaufe it confill:s of 12 bounding lines, 8 angles, and 6 fid;• ; and 12, . (i, are in harmonic proportion: for the difference between 12 and 8 is to the di/Ference between 8 ond 6, i. e. 4 is to 2 as the fir!l term to the third, i. e. as 12 to 6, which, as is well known, is the law of harmonic pro portion. As a paralldopipe,lon therefore has the fame numbtr of fides, angles, and bounding lines as a cube, the reafon is obvious wl1y the numbers 10000 and 1000000 are called by Plato harmonies, Hence alfo it is evident why he fays “that the other of thefe harmonies, viz. a.
* Similar numhcrt arc thofc whofc fiJcs are proportional, i. •· which ha1·c the fame ratio; but diffimi-
lar nmr.bers thoft: whofc fitic1’ arc not proportional. ‘
t As porfdl numheu arc thare which are <qua\ to their parts collc cd inta one, furh ;,s 6 and 28,
(for tht rarta of the forrr.cr arc J, 7, 3, which arc equal to 6, aod ti-i parts of the latter are 14, 7, 4, 2, 1, the aggrcgato cf wh:ch is 2S) fo a diminifi1td number is ,hot which is greater than th• fum of its parts, as 81 whcfr parts are 4.1 2, 11 the ag31·cg1tc of which i;:; i; anJ an aboun.:!ing numbc:r is that whk·b. i, eii;c<eded by t.h• fu111 of its i•aru, as I z, wbofe parts arc (, • 3, : , 1, tbe fum of which is 16.
million._
T 11 E H E P U B L T C.
tunate. And t:10ugh the former gO\·ernor; {hall. infiall the [x;fi of them in the office, they ncverthcleis being unv,’orthy of it, an<l coming to h:n c
thQ
million, is of equal length indeed, but more oblong:” for,if we call ic.o the brea,hh ,n,I 10 the depth both of ten thoufand and·a million, it is e\’i1lent tbot the latter number, when ronfiderccl as pro duced by 1c.oo X 10 X 100, will be analogous to a more oblonf( p2rallclopipedon than the form r. Again, when he fays “that the numher 1000::,00 confi(ls of a hundred numbc1s from cf!:ible rliamctcrs of pentads, each being clef1cic11t by unity, and from two that are inell:iblc, and from a hundred cubes of the triad,” his meaning is as follows: The number 1000000 confi!ls of a hundrecl numbers, i. e. of a hundred fuch numbers as 10000, each of which is compofcd from effable dia.meters of pentads, &c. But in order to uncledhncl the truth of this alli:riion, it is neceffary to obferve that there are certain numbers which are called hy arithmeticians cffablc diameters. Thefe alfo are twofold; for fome are the diameters of even fquarcs, nn<l others of o<l,l fquares. And the diameters of cffable even fquares, when multiplied into themfelvcs, produce fquare numbers double of the f,1uares of which they are the diameters, with an excefs of unity : Thus, for inftance, the number 3 multiplied into itfelf pro,luees 9, which is double of the fquare num-
, ber. 4, with an cxcefs of unity; am\ therefore 3 wiil be the di,m1cter of the even fquarc 4. But the diameters of dfable odd fquare numbers are in power double of the fquarcs of which they are the diameters, by a deficiency of unity. Thus, the number 7 multiplied into itfclf produces 49, which is double of the odd fquare number 25 by a deficiency of unity. This being pre mifed, it follows that the number 10000 will confift of a certain number of heptads; for 7 is the elfable diameter of the fquare number 2 5 : and from what follows it will be found that this
number is 1 386•
.But the number 10000 not only confills of 1386 heptads, but Plato alfo adds, “from two numbers that are ineffable•,” viz. from two numbers the roots of which cannot be exaclly ob· tained, nor expre/fcd cithtr in whole numbers or frallions, fuch as the roots of the numbers ,
and 3• The numbers 15 and 13 arc alfo of this kind ; and, as we {hall fre, appear to be the
numbers lignified by Plato. In the la!l place he adds, “and from a hundred cubes of the triad,” viz. from the numb r :i.;o; forthis is equal to a hundred times 27, the cube of 3, The numbers therefore that form 10000 areas below:
1386
7
10000
viz. 1386 heptads, two ineffable numbers 15 and 13, and a hundred times the cube of 3, j, e. 27c: and the whole geometric number is a million.
* As every number may be meafured by unity, no number ii properly lpe king ineffable; but the truly ineffable belongs to continued quantity,
On
T II E RE P U B L T C. 393
the p,lwcr their fothcr3 had, will begin to b:: negligent of us in their guardia11{hip, in the liril: place eil:eeming mufic lefs than they ought, and i11 the next place the gymnic exercifes. Hence our youth will become kts acquainted with mufic. And the guardians which fh;ill be appointed from among thefo will not be altogether expert guardians, to diftinguiili, according to Hefiod and us, the feveral fpecies of geniuses, the golden, the filver, the brazen, and the iron : but whilfi iron i mixcJ with filver and brats with gold, dillimilitude arifos, and unharmonious inequality. And \\’hen thcfe arife, wherever they prevail, they perpetually generate “‘·ar and enmity. To fuc.b a race of men as this, we mufl: fuppofe them t-0 fay, that fcdition belongs whenever it happens to rife. And we {hall fay that they have anfwered jufl:ly, replied he. And of neceffity, faid f,
for they are Mufes. \Vhat then, faid he, do the l\fofos fay next ? \Vhen fcdition is rifcn, faid I, two of the fpecies of geniuses, the iro and the brazen, will be drawn to gain, and the acquilition of lands and houfes, of gold and filver. But the golden and the filver geuiuses, as they are not in want, but naturally rich, will lead fouls towards virtue and the original confiitution; yet as they live in a violeut manner, and raw contrary to one another, they will make an agreement to divide their lands
and houfes between them, and to dwell apart from one another: and then enflaving thofe who were formerly kept by them as free men, as friends, .and tutors, they will keep them as domefiics and fiaves, for fervice in war and for their own prote.:l:ion. This revolu tion, faid he, foems to me thus to arife. Shall not then this republic, iaid J, be fomewhat in the middle between an Arifrocracy and Oligarchy? Certainly. And the change ihall happen in this manner, and on this change what fort of life !hall it lead? Or is it not plain, that in fome things it {hall imitate the former republic, and in others Oligarchy, as being in the middle of the two, and ihall likewife have fomewhat peculiar
to ittelf? Jufi fo, replied he. Shall they not then, in honouring their
One Maffey, who publilhed a Greek and Latin edition of the Republic, at Cambridge, in the year 1713, obfcrvesrefpecling this mon obfcure paffage, “that what Plato diftinl’tly mean; by it, he neither knows nor cares; fince it appears to him that what affords fo much difficulty has but little weight.” ” id in hoc loco difiinf.tc velit Plato profel\o nefcio, nee curo. Qitod
.enim tantum dillicultatis pra:bet minimum pomleris habere fufpicor.” This is in the true fpirit oi a verbal critic: and the rcafon which he alligns for this carele!foefs is admirable; fince oil the fame aoc,:iunt the higher parts of the mathematics ought to be rejecltd.
voL. r. 3 E rulers,
T H E R E P U B L I C.
rulers, and in this that their military abfiain from agriculture, from mechanical and other gainful employments, in their efiablifhing common meals, and in fiudying both gymnafiic exercifes and contefis of war, in all thefe things fhall they not imitate the former republic? Yes. But in this, that they are afraid to bring wife men into the magifiracy, as having no longer any fuch as are truly fimple and inflexible, but fuch as are of a mixed kind; and in that they incline for thofe who are more forward and rough, whofe natural genius is rather fitted for war than peace, and in that they efieem tricks and firatagems, and fpend the whole of their time in continual war, in all thefe refpells fhall it not have many things pecu liar to itfelfr Yes. And fuch as thefe, faid I, fhaH be defirous of wealth, as thofe who live in Oligarchies, and in au illiberal manner, value gold and filver concealed in darknefs, as having repofitories of their own, and domefiic treafuries, where they hoard and hide them, and have their houfes circularly enclofccl, where, as in nefis altogether peculiar, they fqua11der every thing profufely, together with their wives and fuch others as they fancy. Mofi true,· faid he. And will they not likewife be fparing of their fubfiance, as valuing it highly, and acquiriug it not in an open manner, but love to fquandcr the fobfiauce of others, through their diffolutenefs, and fecretly indulging their pleafures? They will likewife fly from the law, as children from their father, who have been educated not by per fuafion but by force, having neglelted the true mufe, which is accompa nied with reafon and philofophy, and honoured gymnafiic more tha11 mufic. You defrribe entirely, faid he, a mixed republic, compou11ded of good and ill. 1t is indeed mixed, faid I. One thing is mofi remarkable in it, from the prevalence of the irafrible temper, conteutiou, and ambi tion. Exceedingly, faid he. Docs not then, faid I, this republic arifo in this manner ? And is it not of foch a kind as this, as far as the form of a republic can be de!cribed in worJs where there is not perfect accuracy; as it foffices us to contemplate in defcription likewife the mofi jufi and the mofi unjufl: man ; and it were a work of prod-igious length to difcufs all republics, and all t-he various manners of men, without omitting any thing ? Vcry right, faid he. ,vhat now will the man be who correfponds to this republic? how fhall he be formed, and of what kind? I think, faid J\dimantus, he will be fomewhat like Glauco here, at leafi in a love of t:ontention, Perhaps, faid I, as to this particular. But in other refpecls
9 he
T H E R E P U B L I G. 3!)5
he does not feem to me to have a natural refemblanc;: of him. In what? He muft uecelfarily, faid I, be more arrogant, and unapt to rnufic, but fond of it : and fond of hearing, but by no means a rhetorician: and fuch an one will be rough towar<ls certain fiaves, without defpifing them, as he does who is fufficiently educated. He will be mild towards fuch as are free, and extremely fubmi/Iive to governors; a lover of dominion, and a lover_ of honour, not thinking it proper to govern by eloquence, nor any thillg of the kind, but by political management and military performances, being a lover of gymnafhc and hunting. This indeed, faid he, is the temper of that republic. And lhall not fuch au one, faid I, defpifc money, whilft he is young? Bt:t the older he grows, the more he will always value it, becaute he partakes of the covetous genius, and is not fincerely afi:cll:ed towards virtue, becaufe defi:itute of the bcft guardian. Of what guardian? faid Adimantus. Rcafon, faiJ I, accompanied with mufic, which being the only inbred prefervative of virtue, dwells with the polfeffor through the whole of life, You fay well, replied he. And furely at leaft fuch a timocratic youth, faid I, refembles fuch a city. Certainly. And foch an one, faid T, is formed fomehow in this manner. He happens fometimcs to be the young fon of a worthy father, who dwells in an ill regulated city, and who flrnns honours and magifiracies, and law-foits, and all fuch public bufinefs, and is willing to live neglected in obfcurity, that he may have no trouble, In what_ manner then, faid he, is he formed? When firft of all, faid I, he hears his mother venting her indig nation, becaufe her huiband is not in the magifiracy, and complaining that ihe is on this account ncglell:cd among other women, and that lhe obferves him not extremely attentive to the acquifition of wealth, not fighting aud reviling privately and publicly in courts of juil:ice; but behaving 011 all thefe occafions indolently, and perceiving him always attentive to himfelf, and treating her neither with extreme refpect nor contempt ; on all thefe accounts, being filled with indignation, lhe tells her fon that his father is unmanly, and extremely remifs, and foch other things as wives are wont to cant over concerning fuch huibands, They are very many, truly, faid Adimantus, and very much in their fpirit. And you know, faid I, that the domeftics likewife of fuch families, fuch of them as appear good-natured, fometimes privately fay the fame things to the fons; and if they ice any one either owing money whom the father does not fue at law, or in any other
3a w
T H E R E P U B L J C.
way doing injufiice, they exhort him to puni!h all fuch perfons when ht: comes to be a man, and to be more of a man than his father. And when he goes abroad, he hears other fuch like things. And he fees that fuch in the city as attend to their own affairs are called fimple, and held in little efieem, and that foch as do not attend to their affairs are both honoured and commended. The young man now hearing and feeing all thefe things, and then again hearing the fpeeches of his father, and obferving his purfoits in a near view, in comparifon with thofo of others being drawn by both thefe, his father watering and increafing the rational part in his foul, and thefe others the concupifcible and irafcible ; ;md being natu• rally no bad man, but fpoiled by the bad converfations of others, he is brought to a mean between the two, and delivers up the government within himfelf to a middle power, that which is fond of contention and irafcible, and fo he becomes a haughty and ambitious man. You fecm, faid he, to have accurately explained the formation of fuch an one. \Ve have now then, faid I, the fecond republic and the fecond man. We have-, faid he. Shall we not after this fay with .if:fchyhis?
” \Vith dill”rcnt cities diff”rcnt men ccord.”
Or, rather, according to our plan, !hall we firfi efiabli!11 the cities? By r11l means fo, replied he. It would be an Oligarchy then, I think, which focceeds thi3 republic. But what conftitution, fa.id he, is it you call an Qligarchy? 11mt republic, faid I, which is founded on men’s valuations, in which the rich bear rule, and the poor have no {hare in the govern ment. I underftand, faid he. Mufi we not relate, firil-, how the change
.is made from a Timocracy to an Oligarchy? \Ve muft. And forcly at leafl: how this change is made, faid I, is manifcfi e, en to the blind. How ? That treafury, faid I, which every one has filled with gold defiroys foch a republic; for, firfl: of all, they find out for th;mfelves methods of expeufo,
:ind to this purpofe firain the laws, both they and their wives difobeying them. That is likely, faid he. And afterwards, I think, one obferving another, and coming to ri\’al one another, the multitude of them arc ren dered of this kind. It is likely. And from heuce then, faid I, pro ceeding fiill to a greater dcfire of acquiring wealth, the more honour able they account this to be, the more will v·i:-tue be thought difhonour-
ablc:
THE REP U :SL l C.
atile : or is not virtue fo different from wealth, that, i( each of them be placed in the oppolite arm of a balance, they always weigh oppolite to each other? Entirely fo, replied he. But whilfl: wealth and the wealthy are honoured in the city, both virtue and the good mufi b<: more diiho noured. It is plain. And what is honoured is always pmfued, and what is
diihonoured is negle£ted, Jull: fo. Jnfiead then of contentious and am,.
bitious men, they will at lafl become lovers of gain and of wealth: and they will praifc and admire the rich, and brin them into the rnagifiracy, but the poor man they will defpife. Certainly. And do they not then
make laws, marking out the boundary of the Oligarchic confiitution, and regulating the quantity of Oligarchic power according to the quantity of wealth, more to the more wealthy, and lefs to the lefs, intimating that he who has not the valuatio11 fettled by law is to have no !hare in tnc: government? And do they not tranfacl thefe things violently, by force
of arms, or eflabliih fuch a republic after they have previouily terrified. them? Is it not thus? Th•Js indeed. This then in ihort is the conl’l:itu tion. It is, replied he. But what now is the nature of the republic, and what are the faults we afcribed to it? Firfi of all, faid I, this very thi11g, the confiitution itfolf, what think you of this? For confider, if a man fhould in this manner appoint pilots of thips, according to their valuations, but never intru/1: one with a poor man, though better fkilled in piloting, wh.;t woulJ be the confoquence? They would, faid he, make very bad navigation. And is it not in the fame manner with reference to any other thing, or any government whatever? I think fo. Is it fo in all cafes but in a city? faiJ I, or is it fo with reference to a city likewifo?. There mo!l: cfpccially, foid he, in as much as it is the moil: difficult, and the grcate/1: g,wernment. Oligarchy then would feem to have this, whid1 i, fo greJt a fault. It appears fo. But what? Is this fault any thing lefs? \V hat? That fuch a city is not one, but of neceffity two; on J:Ot1tiil:i11g of the poor, and the other of the rich, dwelling in one place,. and :1!ways plotting againfi one another, By Jupiter, faid he, it is- in no refpecl: Ids. But forelr neither is this a handfome thing, to be incapable to wage any war, bccaufe of the necefiity they arc under, either of em ploying the armed multitude, a11d of dreading them more than the enemy thcmlclves; or not employing t:1em, to appear in battle itfelf truly Oli-
garchic,
sgs ,T H E . n E P U B ‘L I C.
garchic, a:id at the fame time to be unwilling to advance money for the public fervice, through a natural difpofition of covetoufnefs. This is not handfome. But what? with reference to what we long ago condemned, the engaging in a multiplicity of clifferent things, the fame perfons, at the fame time, attending in fuch a republic to agriculture, lucratiw: employ• m.ents, and military affairs, does this appear to be right? Not in any degree. But fee now whether this form of republic be the firft which introduces this greateft of all evils. \Vhat i3 that? That one !hall be allowed to diCpofe of the whole of his effects, and another to purchafe them from him, and the feller be allowed to dwell in the city, whilfi he belongs to uo one clafa iii the city, and is neither called a maker of money, nor me•
.chanic, nor horfe-man, nor foot-foldier, but poor and defiitute. It is the fii·fi, fa.id he. l}ut yet fuch an one !hall not be prohibited in Oligarchic governments ; for otherwife fome of them would not be over-rich, and others altogether poor. Right. But confider this likewife. \Vhen fuch a rich man as this is ipcnds of his fubfiance, was it of any more advan tage to the city with reference to the purpofes we now mentioned? or did be appear to be indeed one of the magifirates, but was in truth neither magifirate of the city, nor fervant to it, but a wafter of fubfiance? So he appeareJ, replied he. He was nothing but a wafier. Are you willing then, faid I, that we fay of him, that as when a drone is in a bee-hive, it is the difeafc of the fwarm; in like manner fuch an one, when a drone :11 his houfe, is the difeafe of the city ? Entirely fo, Socrates, replied he. And has not God, Adimantus, made all the winged drones without any fling; but thcte with feet, fome of them without fiings, and fome of them with dreadful flings? And of thofe who are without fiings, are they who continue poor to old age; a11d of thole who have ftings, are all tbefe who are called mifchievous. Moft true, faid he. It is plain then, faid I, that in a city where you obferve there are poor, there are fome where in that place concealed thieves and purfe-cutters, and facrile.. gious perfons, and workers of all other fuch evils. It is plain, faid he. What then? Do not you perceive poor people in cities under Oligarchic government ? They are ;ilmoft all fo, faid he, except the governors.
,And do we not think, (aid I, that there are many mifchievous per• fo1,s i1) tnem with ings, whom the magiftracy by diligence and by
fe
T H E R E P U B L 1 C. • agg
force refirains? W c think fo indeed, faid he. And ihall we not fay, that thro gh want of education, through bad nurture, and a corrupt confti tution of fiate, fuch fort of perfons are there produced ? We fhall fay fo. Is not then the city which is under Oligarchy of fuch a kind as this, and hath it not foch evils as thefe, and probably more too? It is nearly fo, faid
he. We have now finilhed, faid I, this republic Iikewife, which they calI Oligarchy, having its governors according to valuation. And let us now confider the man who refembles it, in what manner he ariles, and what fort of man he is. By all means, faid he. _-\nd is not the change from the Timocratic to the Oligarchic chiefly in this manner? How ? \Vhen foch a one has a fon, firll: of all, he both emulates his father, and follows his fieps; afterwards he fees him, on a fuddeu, dallied on the city, as on a rock, and walling both his fobfiance and himfelf, either in the office of a general, or fome other principal magifl:racy ; then falling into courts of jufiic:e, defiroyed by fycophants, and either put to death, or {lrippcd of his dignities, difgraced, and loling all his fubfiance. It is Jikcly, faid he. When he has feen and fuffered thofe things, friend, and has loft his fob fl:ance, he infiantly in a terror pulhes headlong from the throne of his foul that ambitious and animated difpotition, and, being humbled by his poverty, turns his attention to gain, lives meanly and fparingly, and, applying to work, collects wealth. Or do you not think that fuch a man will then feat in that throne the covetous and avaricious difpofition, and mah it a mighty king within himfelf, begirt with ti.iras ‘, and bracelets, and fceptres? I think fo, faid he. But he, I imagme, having placed both the rational and the ambitious difpoiition low on the ground on either tiJe, and having enflaved them unJer it,• the one he allows to reafon on nothing, nor ever to inquire, but in what way leffer fubfiance {hall be made greater; and the other again he permits to admire and honour nothing but riches and. the rich, and to receive honour on no other account but the acquilition of money, or whatever contributes towards it. There is no other change,. faid he, of an ambitious youth to a covetous one fo fudden and fo powerful
‘ The tiara, fays the Greek Scholiafl on this place, is that wl,ich is called l11rb,:fia. It is an ornament for the head, which the Perfian kings alone wore in an upright, hut the commanders of the army in an inclined polition. Some alfo call it lilar;,, ae Theophraftuti in his treatifc concerning the kingdom o! d,t Cyprians,
as
400 T 11 E R E P U B L I C,
as this. Is not this, then, faid I, the Oligarchic man? And the change into foch an one is from a man relembling that republic from which the Oligarchic republic arifes. Let us contider, now, if he any \\’ay refcmblcs it. Let us confider. Dues he not, in t!ic firfl: place, rcfcmblc it in valu ing money above all things? \Vhy does he not? And furcly at leaf!: in being fparing aud laborious, fatisfying only his neccffary dcfires, and not alloll’i11g of any other expenfes, but fubJuin6 the other defires as fooliih.
Ccrtairily. And being, faid I, an emaciated man, and making gain of
every thing, a man inknt on hoarding, fuch as the multitude extols-will not this be the man who refemblcs foch a republic? It appears fo to me, replied he. Riches then mufl: be moO: valued both by the city and by fi.1ch a man. For I do not think, faid I, that fuch a man has attended to education. l do not thi11k he ha , faid he; for he would not have taken a blind one ‘ to be the leader of his life. But further O:ill, confider this attentively, faitl I,’ Shall we not fay that there arc in him, from the want of education, the defires of the drone, fume of them b·’.igarly, and fame of them mifohievons, forcibly kept in by fome other pmfoit ? Entirely fo, faiJ he. Do you know then, faid I, where you will beO: obforve their wickednefs? \Vhere? foid he. In their tutelages of orplia:, , or in what ever die of this kind comes -iu their way, where the) have it much in their power to do injutl:ice. True. And is not tbis now manifdl, that in every other commerce of life, wherever foch :111 one atl:s fo as to be ap proved, appearing to be juft, and, by a certain moderate behaviour, refiraius the other wrong defires within hirn, he do<:s fo, not from any perfuafion” that it is not better to ind11!ge them, nor from fober reafon, but from nece!Tity and fear, trembling for the reft of his fubfiance. En tirely fo, faid he. And truly, fa.id I, friend, you ihall find in moO: of them ddircs partaking of the nature of tbc drone, where there is occafion to fpend the property of other . Vcry much fo, faid he. Such a one as this, theu, will not be without fedition within himfolf; nor he one, but a kind of double man he will, however, have for the moft part defires governing other de/ires, the better governing the worfe. Jt is fo. And on thefc
Viz. wenlt.h.
” Viz. as the Greek Scholiafc wdl obferves, not perfuading himfclf, nor giving an orderly mctio-11 to the parts of his foul, and iludying virtue on account of that which is more excellent.
accotmts
T II E H E I’ u B L I C. 401
accounts fuch a· one, as I imagine, will be more dcccnt than ma11y others, bt1t the true virtt1e of a harmonized and confillent foul would far clc:tpc him. It appears fo to me. And the padimonious man will, in private life, be bt1t a poor rival for any viB:ory, or in any contefr of the honour able kind, And being unwilling, for the fake of good reputation, or for any fuch contefts, to fpend his fubftance, being afraid to waken up ex
-penfive defires, or any alliance or conteft of this ki11d, fighting with a fmall part of his forces in an Oligarchic manner, he is generally defeated, and increafos his wealth. Vcry true, faid he. Do we then yet hefitatc, faid I, to rank the covetous and parfimonious man as moft of all rcfcmbling the city under Oligarchic government ? By no means, faid he. Democracy now, as feems, is next to be confidcred, in what manner it arifes, and what kind of man it produces when arifen; that, undcdl:and i11g the nature of fuch a man, we may bring him to a trial. We fhall in this method, faid he, proceed confiftcntly with ourfelvcs. Is not, faid I, the cha1igc from Oligarchy to Democracy produced in fome fuch way as this, through the infatiable detire of the propofed good, viz. the dcfire of becoming as rich as poffible ? How? As thofe who are its governors govern on account of their poffeffing great riches,· they will be unwilling, I think, to rellrain by law fuch of the youth as are diffolute from having the liberty of fquandering and wafting their fubfiance ; that fo, by pur chafing the fubftance of fuch perfons, and lending them on ufury, they may 0:ill become both richer, and be held in greater honour. They will be more unwilling than any other. And is not this already manifefi in the city, that it is impoffible for the citizens to efteem richt:s, and at the fame time fufficiently polfefs temperance, but either the one or the other muft of neccffity be ncglecl:ed? It is abundantly plain, faid he. But whilfi in Oligarchies they neglect education, and futfer the youth to grow licentious, they arc fomctimes under a neceffity of becoming poor, and thcfc foch as are of no ungenerous difpofition. Vcry much fo. And thefe, I imagine, fit in the city, fitted both with flings and with armour, fome of them in debt, others in contempt, others in both, hating and confpiring againfi thofo who polfefs their fubfiance, and others likewife, being dcfirous of a change. Thefe things are fo. But the money-catchers fiill brooding over it, and not frt”min?; to obferve thefe; wherever they
vor.. r. 3 F fee
402 THE REPUBLIC.
fee any of the rell: giving way, they wound them by throwing money into their hands, and, drawing to themfelves exorbitant ufury, fill the city with drones, and the poor. How is it poffible they ihould not? faid he. Nor yet, faid I, when fo great an evil is burning in the city, are they willing to extinguiih it, not even by that method, reihaining any one from fpending his fubll:ance at pleafure ; nor yet to take that method, by which, according to the fecond law, fuch diforder might be removed. According to which? According to that, which after the other is fecon dary, obliging the citizens to pay attention to virtue; for, if one fhould enjoin them to traffic much in the way of voluntary commerce, and upon their own hazard, they would in a lefs fhameful way make money in the city, and likewife Iefs of thofe evils we have now mentioned would arife in it. Much lefs, faid he. Bul at prefent, faid I, by means of all thefe things, the governors render the governed of tl)is kind. And do they not render both themfelves and all belonging to them, and the youth likewife, luxurious and idle with refpecl: to all the exercifes of body and of mind, and effeminate in bearing both pleafures and pains, and Iikewifo m.dolent ? \Vhat elfe? As to themfelves, they neglecl: every thing ut the acquifition of wealth,. and pay no more attention to virtue than the poor do. They do not indeed. After they are trained up in this manner, wh n thefe governors and their fubjells meet together either on the_ r.oad in their journeying, or in auy other· meetings, either at public fpeclacles •, or military marches, either. when fellow-failors or fellow foldiers, or when they fee one another in common dangers, by no mean1 are the poor in thefe cafes contemned by the rich ; but very often a robufi: fellow poor and fun-burnt, when he has his rank in battle befide a rich man bred up in the ihade, and fwoln with a great deal of adventitious fleih, aod fees him panting for breath and in agony, do not you imagine that he thinks it is through their own fault that fuch fellows grow rich. and, that they fay to one another, when they meet in private, that our rich_ men are good for nothing. at all l l know very well, faid he,
By public fpccbcles here, Plato means folemn fdliwals, wl1ich, as the Greek Scholian on this place informs us, were called fp,Elac/,s, from the concourfe of 1hofe that came to Z.,”4/d the c:el…bration of them. For the tranfat\ion1 on chefe oc:cafi1>ns were entirely dillhcnt from thufe at any other period of life.
that
THE REPUBLIC.
that they do fo. For, as a difeafed body needs but the finallcfi !hock frcm without to render it fickly, and fometimes without any im• preflion from without is in fedition with itfclf, will not in like mauncr a city refembling it in thefe things, on the finalle!l: occaJion from without, when either the one party forms an alliance with tho Oligarchic, or the other with the Democratic, be fickly, and 6ght with it itfelf, and, fometimes without thefe things from abroad, be in fedition ? And extremely fo. A Democracy then, I think, arifes when the poor prevailing over the rich kill fome, and banifu others, and fuare the places in the republic, and the magifiracies equally among the remainder, and for the moll: part the magi!l:racies are difpofed in it by lot. This truly, faid he, is the eftablifument of a Democracy, whether it arife by force of arms, or from others withdrawing themfelves through fear. In what manner now, faid I, do thefe live, and what fort of a republic is this.? for it is plai11 that a man of this kind will appear fome Democratic man. It is plain, faid he. Is not then the city, in the firft place, full of all freedom of action, and of fpecch, and of liberty, to do in it what any one inclines? So truly it is faid at leafi, replied he. And wherever there is liberty, it is plain that every one will regulate his own method of life in whatever way he pleafes. It is plain. And I think that in fuch a republic moft efpecially there would arife men of all kinds. How can it be otherwife? This,. faid I, feems to be the finefi of all republics, As a variegated robe diverfified with all kinds of flowers, fo this republic; variegated with all forts of manners, appears the finell:. What elfe? faid he, And it is likely, faid I, that the multitude judge this republic to be th befi, like children and women gazing at variegated things. Very likely, faid he. And it is very proper at leafi,0 bleffed man ! faid I, to fearch for a republic in fuch a fl:ate as this. How now ? Becaufe it contains all kinds of republics on account of liberty; and it appears neceffary for any one who wants to confiitute a city, as we do at prefent, to come to a Democratic dty, as to a general fair of republics, and choofe that form which he fancies. It is likely in deed, faid he, he would not be in want of models. But what now, faid I, is not this a divine and fweet manner of life for the prefent: To be under no neceffity in foch a city to govern, uot though you were able to govern, nor yet to be fubjeft unlefs yo\1 incline, uor to be engaged in war when
3 t,· 2 • others
404 ‘l’ H E R E P U B L T C.
others are, nor to Ii, e in peace when others do fo unlefs you be deGrous of peace; and though there be a law rell:r.iining you from governing or a<l minifiering juilice, to govern 11e\’crthe\cfa, anJ adminiiler juilice, if you incline? It is likely, faid he; it is pleafant for the prcicnt at lcail. But what now, is not the meckncfs of iome of thofc who are condemned very curious? Or have you not as yet obferved, in foch a republic, men con demned to death or banilhment, yet neverthelds continuing fiill, and walk ing up and down openly; and as if no one attended to or obforved him, the condemned man returns like a hero? I have obfcrved very many, faid he. But is not this indulgence of the city very generous, not to mention the fmall regard, and even contempt, it !hows for all thofe things we cele brated fo much when we fettled our city, as that unlefs a man had an extra ordinary genius, he never would become a good man, unlefs when a child he were infian!Jy educated in things handfome, and !hould diligently apply to all thefe things! how magnanimou!ly does it defpife all thefe things, and not regard from what kind of purfoits a man comes to acl: in political affairs, but honours him if he only fays he is well affeaed towards the mul titude? This contempt, faid he, is very generous indeed. Thcfe now, faid I, and fuch things as are akin to theie, are to be found in a Democracy; and it will be, as it appears, a pleafunt fort of republic, anarchical, and variegated, difiributing a certain equality to all alike without difiincl:ion.
\Vhat you fay, replied he, is perfetlly manifcft. Confider now, faid I, what kind of man fuch an one is in private; or, firft, mufi we not confider, as we did with refpell: to the republic, in what munner he arifes? Yes, faid he. And docs he not in this manner arife, viz. from that parfimo11ious one, who was under the Oligarchy as a fon, I think, trained up by his father in his manners? Why not? Such a one by force governs his own pleafures, thofe of them which arc expcnfive, and tend not to the acquilition of wealth, and which are called unncceffary. It is plain, faid he, Are you willing then, faid I, that we may not reafon in the dark, firfi to deter mine what delires arc ncceffary, and what are not? I am willing, faid he. May not fuch be jutlly called ncceifary, which we arc not able to remove;:111d fuch as when gratified are of advantage to us? For both thefe kinds our nature is under a ncceffity to purfoe ; is it not ? Very firongly. This then
we 1hall jufily fay makes the ncceffary part in our delircs. JnJrly. Bur
what
T H E R E P U B L I C. 405
what now ? Such defires as a man may bauith, if he fiudy it from his youth, a11d (1.1ch as whilfl: they remain do 110 good, if we fay of thefe that they are not nccdfary, {hall wc not fay origlit? Right indeed. Let us felecl: a paradigm of each of them, that we may underfiand by an example what they are. It is proper. Is not the dclire of eating, fo far as is conducive
to health and a good habit of body ; and the defire of food and vicluals, of
0
the necelfary kin<l? ·1 think fo. The delire of food at leafl: is indeed ucccffary on both acco1.1nts, as meat is advantageous, and as the want of it mufi bring life to an end altogether. lt is. And the dctire of vicr.uals is likcwife neccffary, if it anyhow contribute anything towards the good habit of the body. Certainly. But what? Such defire even of thefe things as goes beyond thefe purpofes, or fuch delirc as refpell:s other meats than thefe, and yet is capable of being curbed in youth, and, by being dif ciplincd, to be removed from many things, and which is hurtful both to the body, and hurtful to the foul with reference to her attaining wifdom
and temperance, may not fuch delire be rightly called unneceffary? Moft
rightly, indeed. And may we not call thcfe expenlive likewife, and the others frugal, as they are conducive towards the actions of life? Why not? In the fame manner, furely, thall we fay of venereal delires, and the others. In the fame manner. Ami did we not, by him whom we jufl: now denomi nated the drone, mean one who was full offoch defires and pleafures, and was governed by fuch as arc unneceffary? but that he who was under the neceffary ones was the parfimonious and Oligarchic ? Without doubt. Let us again mention, faid I, how the Democratic arifes from the Oligar chic ; and to me he appears to arifc iu great meafure thus. How ? When a young man nurtured, as we now me,1tioned, without proper infirull:ion, and in a parfimonious manner, comes to tafl:c the honey of the drones, and a{fociates with thofe vehement and terrible creatures who are able ro pro cure all forts of pleafures, and every way diverlified, and from every quar ter ;-thence conceive there is fomehow the beginning of a change in him from the Oligarchic to the Democratic. There is great neccffity for it, faid he. And as the city was changed by the afiifl:ance of an alliance from without with one party of it with which it was akiu, will not the youth be changed in the fame manner, by the affifiance of one fpecies of defires from without, to another within him which refembles it, and is allied to
it?
406 t H E R E P U B L I C.
it? By all means. And I imagine at leafi, if by any alliance there be given counter-affillance to the Oligarchic party within him, either any how by his father,· or Y others of the family, both admonifhing and up braiding him, then truly arifes fedition, and oppreffion, and a fight within him with himfclf. Undoubtedly. And fometimes indeed, I think, the Democratic party yields to the Oligarchic, and fome of the defires are defiroyed, but others retire, on a certain modefiy being ingenerated in the foul of the youth, and he again becomes cultivated. This fometimes takes place, faid he. And again, I conceive, that when fome defires retire, there are others allied to them which grow up, and, through inattention to the father’s infin.ill:1011, become both many and powerful. This is ufual!y the cafe, faid he. And do they not draw towards intimacies among them felves, and, meeting privately together, generate a multitude? What elfc ? And at length, l think, they fcizc the citadel of the foul of the youth,
nnding it evacuated both ofbeautifol difciplines and purfuits, and of true rea foning, which are the befi guardians and prefervers in the dianoetic part of men beloved of the Gods, Very much fo, faid he. And then indeed falfe and arrogant reafonings and opinions, rufhing up.in their fiead, poffofs the fame place in fuch a one. Vehemently fo, faid he. And does he not now again, on coming among thofe Lotophagi •, dwell ” ith tliem openly ? And if any affiflance comes from his friends to the parfirnouious part of his foul, thofe arrogant reafonings, fhutting the gates of the royal wall againft it, neither give entrance to this alliance, nor to the amhalfadorial admo nitions of private old men ; but, fighting againO: thefc, hold the govern ment themfelves. Aud denominating modefiy £1:upidity, they thruf1 it out
.difgracefully as a fugitive, and temperance they call unmanlinefs, and, abufing it mofl: fhamefolly, expel it. Perfoading thcmfc:lves likewifo that moderation, an<l decent cxpeufc, are no other than ruO:icity and illiberality, they banith them from their territories, with many other and unprofitable dclires. Vehemently fo. Haviug emptied and purified from all rhefe defires the foul that is detained by them, and is initiated in the great iny
fteries, they next lead iu, with encomiums aud applaufcs, infolence and
.anarchy, luxury and impudence, thining with a great retinue, and crowned.
1 By the lAitophagi we mull undcrlland, fays the Greek Scholiaft, that falfc and arrogant i:cafons and opinions arc allegorically ligniliul.•
6 A
THE REPUBLIC. 407
Aud infolence, indeed, they denominate education ; anarchy they call liberty; luxury, magnificence; and impudence, manhood. Is it not, faid J, fomehow in this manner, that a youth changes from one bred up with the neceffary de.Gres into the licentioufoefs and remilfnefs of the unne• celfary and unprofitable plcafures? And very plainly fo, replied he. And fuch a one, I think, after this leads his life, expending his fubfiance, his labour, and his time, no more on the riecelfary than the unnecelfary plea fures: and if he be fortunate, and not exceilively debauched, when he is. fomewhat more advanced in years, and when the great crowd of defires is over, he admits a part of _thofe which were expelled, and does not deliver himfelf wholly up to fuch as had intruded, but regulates his pleafures by a fort of equality, and fo lives delivering up the government of himfclf to very incidental defire as it may happen, till it be fatisfied, and then to anuthi-r, undervaluing none of them, but indulging them all alike. En• tirely fo. And foch a one, faid I, does uot lifl:en to true reafoniug, nor admit it into the citadel, if any thould tell him that there are fome plea fores of the worthy and the good de/ires, aud others of the depraved, and that he ought to purfue and honour thofo, but’ to chafiife and enflave thefe. But, in all thefe cafes, he dilfents, and fays that they are all alike, and ought to be held in equal honour. Whoever is thus affecl:ed, faid he, vehemently acts in this manner, And does he not live, foid I, from day to day, gratifying after this manner every incidental defire, fometimes indulging himfelf in intoxication, and in mufic, fomctimes drinking water, and extenuating himfdf by abfiinence; and then aga\n attending to the gymnic exercifes? Sometimes too he is quite indolent and carelefs about every thing; then again he applies as it were to philofophy; many times he acls the part of a politician, and in a defultory manner fays aud does whatever happens. If at any time he aireas to imitate any of the military tribe, thither he is carried ; or of the mercantile, then again hither; nor is his life regulated by any order, or any neceffity, but, deeming this kind of life pleafant, and free, and blelfed, he follows it throughout, You• have entirety, fa.id he, difculfed the life of one who places all laws what ever on a level., I imagine at leafi, faid I, that he is multiform, and foll of very diff.:rent manners·; and that, like the city, he is fine, and variegated,. and that very many men and women would detire to imitate his life, as he
contains
408 T H E R E P U B L I C.
contains in himfelf a great many pat.terns of republics and of manners. He does, faid he. \\’hat now ? Shall fuch a man as this be arrano-ed as refcm bling a Drmocracy, as he may truly be called Democratic? Let him be fo arranged, faid he. But it yet remains that we difcufs, fai<l I, the mofi ex cellent republic_, and the mofi excellent man, viz. Tyranny, and the Tyrant. It does, faid he. Come then, my dear companion ! in what manner does Tyranny arife? for it is almofl: plain that the change is from Democracy. It is plain. Does not Tyranny a rife in the fame manner from Democracy, as Democracy does from Oligarchy? How? What did QJ;garchy, faid I, propofo as its good, and according to what was it confiitutcd? It was with a view to become extremely nch, was it not ? Ycs. An infatiable defire then of riches, and a neglelt of other things, through attention to the acquifition of wealth, dcfiroys it. True, faid he, And with reference to that which Democracy denominates good, an infatiable thirfi of it de
{1:roys it likewife ?’ But what is it you fay it denominates good? Liberty,
faid I. For this you are told is mofl: beautiful in a city which is under a Democracy, and that for the fake of liberty any one who is naturally free choofes to live in it alone. This word Liberty, fa.id he, is indeed often mentioned. Does not then, faid I, as I was going to fay, the infatiable de/ire of this, and the neglclt of other things, change even this republic, and prepare it to fl:aud in need of a tyrant? How-? faid he. When a r.ity, faid I, is under a Democ_racy, and is thidl:ing after liberty, and happens to have bad cup-bearers appointed it, and becomes intoxicated with au unmixed draught of it beyond what is neceffary, it puniihes eve11 the governors if they will not be entirely tame, and afford abundant li
berty, accuGng them as corrupted, and Oligarchic. They do this, faid he. But fuch as are obedient to magifl:rates they abufe, faid I, as w. illino;:-, flaves, and good for nothing, and, both in private and in public, commend
and honour magifirates who refemblc fubjecls, and fubjccts who rclcmble magifl:rates; mufl: they not therefore neceffarily in fuch a city arrive at the fummit of liberty? How is it poffible they ihould not? And mull: not this inbred anarchy, my friend,defcend into private families, a11di11 the end reach even the brutes? How, faid he, do we alfert foeh a thing as this? Jutl: as if, faid I, a father fhould accuftom himfelf to refemble a child, and to be afraid of his fons, and the fon accufiom himfelf to rcfemb]e his father, and
3 neither
T H E R E P U B L I C.
neither to revere nor to fiand in awe of his parents, that fo indeed he may be free, as if a firanger were to be equalled with a citizen, and a citizen with a fl:ranger, and, in like manner, a foreigner. It is jufl: fo, faid he. Thefe things, faid I, and other little things of a like nature happen. The teacher in fuch a city fears and flatters the fcholars, and tlic frholars defpife their teachers and their tutors in like manner: and il’l general the youth refemble the more advanced in years, and contend with them both in words and deeds: and the old men, titting down with the young, are foll of merriment and pkafantry, mimicking the youth, that they may not appear to be morofe and deipotic. It is entirely fo, replied he. But that extreme liberty of the multitude, faid I, how great it is in fuch a city as this, when the men and women flaves are no lefs free than thofe who purchafe them, and how great an equality and liberty the wives have with their hdbands, and huiliands wi h their wives, we have almofl: forgotten to mention. Shall we not then, according to JE!chylus, faid he, fay whatever now comes into our mouth ? By all means, faid I ; and a ord ingly I do fpeak thus : With reference even to brutes, fuch of them as are under the care of men, how much more free they are in fuch a city, he who has not experienced it will not eafily believe: for indeed even the puJ’Pies, according to the proverb, refemblc their mi!lreffes; and the bodes and affes arc accu!lomed to go freely and gracefully, marching up againil: any one they meet on the road, unlefs he give way; at d many other foch things thus happen full of liberty. You tell me, fai<l he, my <lream; for I have often met with this when going into the country. But do you obferve, faid I, what is the fom of all thefe things collected together I how delicate it makes the foul of the citizens, fo that, if any one bring near to them any thing pertaining to flavery, they are filled with indignation, and cannot endure it. And do you know, that at length they regard not even the laws, written or unwritten, that no one by any meaas whatever may become their mail:crs? I know it well, faid he. This now, friend, faid I, is that government fo beautiful and youthful, whence Tyranny fprings, as it appears to me. Youthful truly, replied he; but what follows this? The fame thing, faid I, which, fj)ringing up as a difoafe in an Oligarchy, de firoyc<I it; the fame ar;!ing here in a greater and more powerful manner, through its lice11tioufoeis, enflaves the Democracy: and in reality, the yor,, 1. 3 G doing
T H E R E P U B L I C.
doing any thing to excefs ufually occafions a mighty change to the reverfc: for thus it is in feafons, in vegetable and in animal bodies, and in re publics as much as in any thing. It is probable, faid he. Aud excefiive liberty feems to change into nothing elfe but excefiive flavery, both with a private perfon and a city. It is probable, indeed. It is probable then, faid I, that out of no other republic is Tyranny conftituted than a Demo cracy ; out of the moil exceffive liberty I conceive the greatcfi: and moft favage flavery. It is reafonable, faid he, to think fo. But this I think, faid I, was not what you was afking; but what that difeafe is which enflaves Democracy, refembling that which defi:roys Oligarchy? You fay true, replied he. That then, .faid I, I called the race of idle and profufe meu, one part of which was more brave, and were leaders, the other more
-cowardly, and followed. And we compared them to drones; fome to fuch as have frings, others to fuch as have none. And rightly, faid he, Thefe two now, iaid I, fpringing up in any republic, raife difiurbance, as phlegm and bile in a natural body. And it behoves a wifo phyfician and law-giver of a city, no lefs than a wife bee-mafier, to be afraid of thefe, at a great diftance principally, that they never get in; but, if they have entered, that they be in the fpeediefi manner poffible cut off, together with their very cells. Yes, by Jupiter, faid he, by all means. Let us take it then, faid I, in this manner, that we may fee more difiinctly what we want. In what manner? Let us divide in our reafoning a Democratic city into three parts, as it really is; for one fuch fpecies as the above grows through licentioufoefs in it no lefs than in the Oligarchic. It does fo. But it is much more fierce at leaft in this than in that. How? In an Oligarchy, becaufe it is not in places of honour, but is debarred from the magifiracies, it is unexercifed, and does not become firong. But in a Democracy this, excepting a few, is fomehow the prefiding party, and now it fays and does the moll: outrageous things, and then again approach ing courts of jufiice, it makes a humming noife, and cannot endure any other to fpeak different from it; fo that all things, fome few excepted, iii foch a republic, are adminifiered bJ foch a party. Extremely fo, faid he.. Some other party now, foch as this, is always feparatcd from the multi tude. Which WhiUl: the whole arc fomehow engaged· in the purfuit of gain, fuch as are naturally the moil: temperate become for the moft
3 • l’art
T H E R E P U B L I C. 411
part the wealthiell:. It is likely. And hence, I think, the greatefl: quan tity of honey, and w·hat comes with the greatcfi eafe, is pre/fed out of thefe by the drones. For how, faid he, can any one prefs out of thofe who have but little? Such wealthy people, I think, are called the pafiure of the drones. Nearly fo, replied he. And the people will be a fort of third fpecies, fuch of them as mind their own affairs, and meddle not with any others, who have not much fubll:ance, but yet are the mofi numerous, and the moll: prevalent in a Democracy, whenever it is fully alfembled. It is fo; but this it will not wilh to do often, if it does not obtain fome
lhare of the honey. Does it not always obtain -a il1are, faid r, as far as
their leaders are able, robbing thofe that have property, and giving to the people that they may have the mofi themfelves? They are indeed, faid he, lharers in this manner. Thefe then who are thus defpoiled are obliged to defend themfelves, faying and doing all they can among the people. \Vhy not? Others then give them occafion to form defign$ againfi the people, though they lhould have no incliiiation to introduce a change of government, and fo they are Oligarchic. Why not? But at length, after they fee that the people, not of their own accord, but being ignorant and impofed on by thofe flanderers, attempt to injure them,-do they not then indeed, whether they wiU. or not, become truly Oligarchid yet not fpontaneoufly, but this mifchief likewife is generated by that drone flinging them. Extremely fo, indeed. And fo they have accufations, law-fuits, an!f contefis one with another. Very much fo. And are not the people accufiomed always to place fome one, in a confpicuous manner,· over themfelves, and to cherilh him, and greatly increafe his power? They are. And this, faid I, is plain, that whenever a tyrant arifes it is from this prefiding root, and from nothing elfe, that he blolfoms. This is extremely manifefi. \Vhat is the beginning then of the change from a prefident into a tyrant? Or is it plain, that it is after the prefident begins to do the fame thing with that in the fable, which is told in relation to the temple of Lycrean Jupiter, to whom was dedicated the wolf in Arcadia? What is that? faid he. That whoever tafied human entrails which were mixed with thofe of other facrifices, necelfarily became a wolf. Have you not heard the fiory? I have. And mull: not he in the fame manner, who being prcfident of the people, and receiving an extremely fub-
3 a 2 miffive
T H E R E P U B L I C.
miffive multitude, abfiains not from kindr”d blood, but unjufily ac• cufing them, (of fuch things as they are wont) and bringing them into courts of jufiice, fiaius himfelf with bloodfhed, taking away the life of a man, and, with unhallowed tongue and mouth, tailing kindred blood, and befides this, banifhes and flays, and propofes the abolition of debts, and diviiion of lands,-mufi not fuch an one, of neceffity, and as it is defiined, be either defiroyed by his enemies, or exercife tyranny, and, from being a man, become a wolf? Of great neceffity, faid he. This is he now, faic.l I, who becomes feditious towards thofe who have property, and, when he fails, he goes againft his enemies with open force, and becomes an accomplifhed tyrant. It is plain.· And if they be unable to expd him, or to put him to death; oi1 an accufation before the city, they truly coufpire to cut him off privately by a violent death. It is wont in deed, faid he, to happen fo. And, on this account, all thofe who mount up to tyranny invei1t this celebrated tyrannical demand’, to demand of the people certain guards for their perfon, that the affifiance of the people may be fecured to them. Of this, faid he, they take fpecial care. And they grant them, I imagine, being afraid of his fafety, but fecure as to their own. Extremely fo. Andwhena man who has property, and who along with his property has the crime of hating the people, obferves this,-he then, my friend, ac.cordiug to the an!wer of the oracle to Crrefus,
….Tocraggy Hermus flies,
Nor fiays, nor fears to be a coward deemed. , ..
Becaufe he would not, faid he, be in fear again a fecond time. But he at leafi, I imagine, faid ), who is caught, is put to deatl’1. Of neceffity. It is plain, then, that this prefident of the city does not himfelf behave like a truly great man, in a manner truly great, bur, hurling down many others, fits in his chair a confummate tyrant of the city, infiead of a prefident.
\\’hy is he not? faid ·he. Shall we confider now, faid I, the happinefs of
This, fays the Greek Scholiaft, is fai,I of l’ilifiratus, who, infi,lioufly endea\’ouring to tyranni2e over the citizens, gave himfelf many ancl dange,ous wounds, and then prefented himfelf to tLe Greeks as if he had been thus wounded by his enemies. He alfo requefie<l guards for his body, and received three hunclred fpearmen from the city ; which introducing into h,s
]1oufe, aud rendering fobfervient to his purpofe, he tyrannized over the Athenians.
the
T H E R E P U B L I C. 413
thnnan, and of the city in which fuch a mortal arifes? By all means, faid he, let us confider it. Does he uot theu, faid I, in the firll days, and for the lirfl: fcafon, fmile, and falute every one he meets; fays he is no tyrant, and promifes many things,both in private a11d inpublic;and frees from debts, and diO:ributes land both to the people in general, and to thofo about him, and affects to be mild and patriotic toward3 all? Of neceility, faid he. But when, I think, he has reconciled to himfclf fome of his for-t:ign enemies, and defiroyed others, and there is tranquillity with reference to thefe, he i11 the firll place always raifcs fome wars, in ordi::r that the people may be in need of a leader. It is likely. And is it not likewife with this view, that, being rendered poor by payment of taxes, they may be under a neceility of becoming intent on daily fufienance, and may be lefs ready to confpire againll him? It is plain. And, I think, if he fufpell:s that any of thofe who are of a free fpirit will not allow him to govern,-in order to have fome pretext for defiroying them, he cxpofes them to the enemy; on all thefo accounts a tyrant is always under a neceility of railing war. Of neceility. And, whilO: he is doing thefc things, he mufl: readily become more hateful to his citizens. Why not ? And mull not fome of thofe who have been promoted along with him, and who are in power, fpeak out freely both towards him, and among themfelves, finding fault with the tranfacl:ions, fuch of them as are of a more manly fpirit? It is likely. It behoves the tyrant, then, to cut off all thefe, if he means to govern, till he leave no one, either of friends or foes, worth any thing. It is plain. He mull then carefully obferve who is courageous, who is magnanimous, who wife, who rich; and in this manner is he happy, that willing, or not willing, he is under a nccc!Iity of being an enemy to all fuch as thefc; and to lay foares till he purify the city. A beautiful purification, faid he. Yes, faid I, the reverfe of what phylicians do with refpecl: to animal bodies; for they, taking away what is worO:, leave the befi ; but he does the contrary. Becaufc it fcems, foid he, he mufi of nectility do fo, if he is to govern. In a bleffcd neceffity, then, truly, is he bound, faid I, which obliges him either to live with many depraved people, and to be hated too by them, or not to live at all. In fuch necefftty he is, replied he. And the more he is hated by his citizens whilll he does thefe things, lhall he not fo much the more want a greater number of guards, and more faithful ones? How is it poffible he lhould not? ‘Who then are the faithful, and from whence
ihall
414 T H E R E P U B L I C.
fhall he fend for them? Many, faid he, of their own accord, will come flying, if he give them hire. You fcem, by the dog, faid I, again to mention certain drones foreign aud multiform. You imagine right, re plied he. But thofe at home, would he uot incline to have them alfo as guards? How? After he has taken away the citizens, to give the flaves their liberty, and make of them guards about his pcrfon. By all means, faid he; for thefe are the moil: faithful to him. \Vhat a bleffed poffdlion, faid I, is this which you mention belonging to the tyrant, if he employ fuch friends and faithful men, after having ddhoyed thofe former ones ! But furely fuch at leafi, faid he, he docs employ. Aud fuch companions, faid I, admire him, arid the new citizens accompany him: but the worthy men both hate and fly from him. Why fhould they not ? It is not with out reafon, faid I, that tragedy in the general is thought a wife thing, and that Euripides is thought to excel in it. For what ? Becaufe he uttered this, which is the ‘mark of a coudenfed conception, ” That tyrants are wife, by the converfation of the wile’,” and he plainly faid thofc were wife with whom they hold converfe. And he commends too, fai<l he, Tyranny as a divine thing, and fays a great many other things of it, as do likewife the other poets. Thofe compofcrs then of tragedy, faid I, as they are wife, will forgive us, and fuch as efiabliih the government of cities in a man ner nearly refembling ours, in not admitting them into our republic as being panegyrifrs of Tyranny. I think, faid he, fuch of them at leafl: as are more polite will forgive us, But going about among other cities, I think, and drawing together the crowds, and putting to fale their fine, magnificent and perfuafive words, they will draw over the republics to Tyrannies and Democracies. Extremely fo. And do they not further re ceive rewards, and are they not honoured chiefly by Tyrants, as is natural, and in the next place by Democracy? But the further on they advance towards the republics, the reverfe of thefe, their honour forfakes them the more, as if it were difabled by an afrhma to advance. Entirely fo. Thus far, faid I, we have digreffcd: but now again let us mention in what manner that army of the Tyrant, which is fo beautiful, fo numerous and multiform, and no way the fame, fhall be maintained. It is plain, fai<l
This, fays the Greek ScholiaR, is from the Ajax of Sophocles, but here it is fai,I to be an iambic of Euripides. He adds, there is nothing wonderful in poets according with each other, This iambic is in the Antigone of Euripides,
he,
T H .E R E P U B L T C. 41.5
he, that if at any time there be any facred things in the city, thefe they will fpend, that fo what they fell for may fiill anfwer their demands, an<l the people be obliged to pay in the lighter taxes. But what will they do when thefe fail them? It is plaiu, foid he, that he and his intoxicated companions, and his affociates, male and female, will be maintained Ollt of the paternal inheritance. I underfiand, faid I, that the people who have made the Tyrant will nourilh him and his companions. They are under great neceffity, faid he. How do you fay? replied I. \Vhat if the people be enraged, and fay that it is not jufi, that the fon who is arrived at maturity be maintained by the father, but contrariwife that the father be maintained by the fon ; and that they did not make and ell:ablilh him for this purpofe, to be a flave to his flaves when he lhould be grown up,. and to maintain him and his flaves with their other turbulent attendants ; but in order that they might be fet at liberty from the rich in the city, who are alfo called the good and worthy, by having placed him over them? And now they order him and his companions to leave the city, as a father drives out of the houfe his fon with his turbulent drunken com• pauions. Then, by Jupiter, lhall the people, faid he, know what a beafl: they are themfelvcs, and what a beafi they have generated, and embraced,
and nurtured, and that whilll: they are the weaker they attempt to drive out the fironger. How do you fay? replied I. w:m the Tyrant dare to
offer violence to his father, and, if he cannot perfuade him, will he {hike him? Yes, faid he, even ilripping him of his armour. You call, faid I, the Tyrant a parricide and a miferable nourilher of old age : and yet, as it is probable, Tyranny would really feem to be of this kind ; and according, to the faying, the people defending thcmfrlvc3 againfi the fmoke of flavery amid free men, have fallen into the flavilh fire of defpotifm; inll:ead of that exceffive and unfcafonaLle liberty, embracing the moft rigorous and the mofi wretched flavery of bond-men, Thefe things, fa.id he, happen. very much fo. \Vhat then, faid I, lhall we not fpeak modell:ly, if we. fay that we have fufficiently lhown how Tyranny arifes out of Democracy,. and what it is when it docs arife? Vcry fufficien.tly, replied he.
THE l!ND OF THB E.IGUTH BOOE,
THE
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK IX.
THE tyrannical man himfdf, faid I, remains yet to be confidered, in what manner he arifes out of the Democratic, and, when he does arife, what kind of man he is, and what· kind of life he leads, whether mifer able or bleffed. He indeed yet remains, faid he. Do you know, faid J, what I frill want?. What is it? We do not appear to me to have foffi ciently ditringuiihed with refpecl: to the delires; of what kind they are, and how many; and whilll: this is defeftive, the inquiry we make will be lefs evident. May it not be done opportunely yet ? faid he. Certainly. And confider what it is I wifl1 to know about them ; for it is this: Of thofe pleafures and defires which are not necdfary, fome appear to me to be repugnant to law : thefo indeed feem to be ingenerated in every one; but being puniihed by the laws, and the better defires, in conjuncl:ion with reafon, they either forfake fomc men altogether, or are lefa numerous and feeble ; in others they are more powerful, and more numerous. Will you inform me what thefe are? faid he. Such, fai<l I, as arc excited in Oeep; when the other part of the foul, foch as is rational and mild, and which governs in it, is afleep, and the part which is favage and rufl:ic, l:eing filled with meats or intoxication, frifks about, and, driving away fleep, feeks to go aud accomplifh its practices. In foch a one you know it dares to do every thing, as being loofed, atid dilengagcd from all modefl:y and prudence : for it icrnplcs not the embracc.;s, as it imagines, of a mother, or of any one elfc, whether of Gods, ot men, or of bcalls; nor to kill any one, nor to abftain from any fort of meat,-and, in one word, is wanting in no folly 11or impudence. You fay m,>fl: trnc, replied he. But I imagine, when a man is in health, and lives ternpcratdy, and goes to fleep, having excited the rational part, and fea(lc<l it with worthy
r-:afonings
TH E R E P U B L T C. ,117
rcafonings and inquiries, coming to an unanimi’ty with himfelf; and allowing that part of the foul which is defiderative neither to ‘be ftarved nor glutted, that it may lie quiet, and give no difturbance to the part which i be.ft, either by its joy or grief, but fotfer it by itfclf alone and pure to inquire, and defire to apprehend what it knows not, either fonie tb.ing of what has exified, or of what now exifls, or what will exift here after ; and having lik wife foothed rhe irafcihle part, not futfering it to be hurried by auy thing, to tra,nlports of anger, and to faU afleep with 11gitat paffion : but having quieted thefe two parts of the foul, and ex cited the third part, in which wifdom refKles, fhall in this manner take refi ·;-by fuch an one you know the truth is chiefly apprehended, and the vi/ions of his dr,,eams are then leall: of all repugnant to law. I am alto gether, faid he, of this opinion. \Ve have, indeed, been carried a little too far in mentioning thefe things. But what we want to be known ·is this, that there is in every one a certa.in li’>e£ies of defires which is terrible, fa vage, and irregular, even in fome who -entil”ely feem to us to be mode rate. And this fpecies becomes indeed manifetl: in fleep, But confider if there appear to be any thing in what I fay, and if you agree with me, But I agree. Recollect now what kind of man we faid the Democratic one was : for he was fomehow educated from his infancy under a parfi• monious father, who valued the avaricious defires alone; but fuch as were uot neceffary, but rofe only through a love of amufement and finery, he defpifed, Was he not ? Yes. But, being converfant with thofe who are more refined, and fuch as are foll of thofe defires we now mentioned, running into their manner, and all fort of infolence, from a detell:atiou uf his father’s padimony ;-however, having a b:tter na_tural temper than thofe who corrupt him, and being drawn oppofite way5, he fettles into a manner which is fituatcd in the middle of both ; and participating mode rately, as he imagines, of each of them, he leads a life neither illiberal rior licentious, becoming a Democratic from an Oligarchic man. Tl1is was, faid he, and is our opinion of fuch an one. Suppofe now again, that when foch a one is become old, his young f-:-n is educated in his manners. I fuppofe it. And fuppofe, too, the fame things happening to trim as to his father; that he is drawn into all kinds of licentioufoefs, which is termed however by foch as draw him off the moil: complete liberty; ar’.4 that his voL, 1. 3 11 father
4JS TH E R E P U B L I C.
fithcr and all the domefiics arc aiding to thofe defires which are i_n the middle, and others alfo lend their aflifiance. But when thofe dire ma gicians and tyrant-makers have no hopes of retaining the youth in their power any other way, they contrive to excite in him a certain love which prcfidcs over the indolent defires, and foch as minificr readily to their pleafures, which love is a certain winged and large drone; or do you think that the love of thcfe things is any thing clfe? I think, faid he, it is no other than thii;. Aud when other defires make a humming noife about him, full of their odours and perfumes, and crowns, artd wines, and thofe pleafores of the mofi diffolutc kind which belong to fuch copartner fhips; and, being ii1creafed and chcrilhed, add a fiing of defire to the drone, then truly he is furrounded with madnefs as a life-guard, and that preftdent of the foul rages with phrenfy; and if he find in himfelf any opinions or defires which feem to be good, and which yet retain modefiy, he kills them, and pulhes them from him, till he be cleanfed of temperance, and is filled with additional madnefs. You defcribe perfecHy, faid he, the formation of a tyrannical man. Is it not, faid I, on fuch an account as this, that, of old, Love is faid to be a tyrant? It appears fo, replied he. And, my friend, faid l, has not a drunken man likewiie fomcwhat of a tyrannical fpirit? He has indeed. And furely at leafi he who is mad, and is difiurbed in his mind, undertakes and hopes to be able to govern not 011ly men, but like wife the Gods. Entirely fo, faid he. The tyrannical character then, 0 divine man! becomes fo in perfeclion, when either by temper, or by his pur fuits, or by both, he becomes intoxicated, and iu love, and melancholy. Per fectly fo, indeed, Such a one, it feems, then, arifes in this manner. But in what manner does he li\’e? As they fay in their plays, replied he, that you will tell me likewife. I tell then, faid 1. For I think that after this there are feafiiugs among them, and revellings, and banquetings, and miflreffes, and all fuch things as may be expected among thofe where Love the tyrant dwelling within governs all iu the foul, Of necefiity, faid he. Ever) day and night, therefore, do there not bloifom forth many and dreadful defires, indigent of many things? Many indeed. And if they have any fupplies, they are foon fpent. What elfe? And after this there is borrowing and pillaging of fub ftance. What elfc? And when every thing fails them, is there not a neeeffity that the dcfires, on the one hl\nd, nei.lling in.the mind, thall give frequent
aud
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and powerful cries; :Ind the men, on the other hand, being driven as by fiiugs, both by the other <lefires, and more efpecially by love 1 itfelf, com. manding all the others as its. life.guards•, fhall rage with phrenfy, and fearch what any one pollcffes which they arc able, by deceit or violence, to carry away? Extremely fo, faid he. They mu(l: of necellity therefore be plundering from every quarter, or be tormented with great agonies aud pains. Of neceffity. And as with fuch a man his new pleafores poffefs more than his anticnt ones, and take away what belonged to them, {hall not he deem it prop r iu the fame manner, that him:clf, being young, fhould have more than his father and mother, and take away from them, and, if he has fpeut pis own portion, encroach on that of his parents? \Vhy will he not? faid he. And if they dn not allow him, will he not firft endt:avour to pilfer from and beguile his parents? By all means. And where he is not able to do this, will he not in the next place ufe rapine and violence?-
1 think fo, replied he. But, 0 wonderful man ! when the old man and the old woman oppofe and fight, will he not revere them, and beware of doing any thing tyrannical? I, for my part, am not quite fecure, faid he, with reference to the fafety of the pare1its of iuch an one. But by Jupiter, Adimantus,do you think that, for the fake of a newly beloved and unnecefiary miflrefs, foch a one would give up his antiently beloved and neceffary mother; or, for the fake of a blooming youth newly beloved, and not necef fary, give up his decayed, his ueceffi1ry and aged father, the moO: antient of all his friends, to firipes, and fotfer thefe to be enfiaved by thofe others, if he fhould bring them into the fame houfe? Yes, by Jupiter, I do, faid he. It feems, faid I,’ to be an extremely bleffed thing to beget a tyrannical fon. Not altogether fo, faid he. But what, when the fubfi:ance of his father and mother fails fuch an one, and when now there is the greatefi: fwarm of pleafures affembled in him, fhall he not firfi break into fome houle, or late at night (hip fome one of his coat, and after this fhall he uot rifle fome temple; and in all thefe aaions, thofe defires newly loofcd,
from flavery, and become as the guards of love, fhall along with him rule over thofe antient opinions’he had fr.om his infancy, the efi:ablifhed decifions
Viz. the/,,,, of evil, when it falhions evil images in the phantafy. Schol. Grzc. P·. 189-
Viz. evil defires, alling as life-guards to love, vanquilh the good opinions which fuch meq
formcriy polrdfed, Idem.
co1}cerning
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concerning good and evil; thefe detires which heretofore were only loofe from their flavery in fleep, when he was as yet under the laws, and hiir father when under Democratic government, now when he is tyrannized over by love, fuch as he rarely was when afleep, fuch fhall he be always when awake; and from no horrid flaughter, or food, or deed of any kind, fhall he abftain. But that tyrannical love within him, living without any refiraint of law or government, as being fole monarch itfelf1 will lead on the man it poffeffes, as a city, to every mad attempt, whence he tnay fupport himfelf, and the crowd about him; which partly enters from without, from ill company, and, partly through their manners and his own, is be come unrefitained and licentious. Or is not this the life of fuch a one? It is this truly, faid he. And if there be, faid I, but a few fuch in the city, and the refi of the multitude be fober, they go out and ferve as guards to fome other tyrant, or affifi him for hire, if there be any war; but if the-y remain in peace and quiet, they commit at home in the city a great many fmall mifchiefs. Which do you mean ? Such as thefe : they ftenl, break open houfes, cut purfes, {hip people of their clothes, rifle temples, make people fiaves; and where they ca,n fpeak they fometimes turn falfc in formers, and give falfe tefiimony, and take gifts. You call thefe, faid he; fmall mifchiefs, if there be but a few fuch perfons. What is fmall, faid I, is fmall in comparifon of great. And all thofe things, with regard to the tyrant, when compared with the wickednefs and mifery of the city, do not, as the faying is, come near the mark; for when there are·many fuch in the city, and others accompanying them, and when they perceive their own number, then thefe are they who, through the foolifhnefs of the people, efiablifh as tyrant the man who among them has himfelf mofi of the tyrant, and in the greatefi ftrcngth, within his foul, It is probable indeed, faid he; for he will be molt tyrannical. Will he not be fo, if they voluntarily fobmit to him? But if the city will not allow him, in the fame maimer as he formerly ufed violence to his father and mother, fo now again will· he chafl:ife his country if he be able; and bringing in other young people, he will keep and nourifh under ubjecl:ion to thefe, his formerly beloved mother- and father-country, as the Cretans fay? And this will be the iffue of fuch a man’s defire. It will be entirely this, faid he. But do not thefe, faid I, become fuch as this, firfi in private, and before they
govern?
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govern? In the fidl: place, by the company they keep, either converfing with their own flatterers, and fuch as are ready to minifier to them in every thing; or, if they need any thing themfelves, falling down to thofe they converfe with, they dare to affume every appearance as friends; but, after they have gained their purpofe, they ad as enemies. Extremely fo. Thus they pafs the whole of their life, never friends to any one, but always either domineering, or enllaved to another. But liberty and true friendfhip the tyrannic difpofition never tafl:es. Entirely fo. May we not then rightly call thefe men faithlefs? Why not? And furely we may call them mofl: of all unjufi, if we have rightly agreed about jufiice, in our former reafonings, what it is. But we did rightly agree, faid he. Let us finifh then, faid I, our worll: man. He would then feem fuch a one awake, as we defcribed as alleep. Entirely fo. And does not that man become fuch a one, who being moll: tyrannical by natural temper, is in poffeffion of fupreme power, and the longer time he lives in tyranny, the more he becomes fuch a one? Of neceffity, replied Glauco, taking up the difcourk. And will not the man, faid I, who appears the moll: wicked, appear like wife the mofl: wretched ; and he who !hall tyrannize for the longeft time, and in the greateft meafure, !hall he not in reality, in the greateA: meafure, and for the longeft time, be foch a one? But as many men as many minds. Of necefiity, faid he, thete things at leafi mufi be fo. And would this Tyrannic man differ any thing, faid I, as to fimilitude, when compared with the city under tyranny, and the Democratic man when compared with the city under democracy, and after the fame manner with refpecl: to others? How lhoul<l they? As city then is to city, as to virtue and happinefa, will not man be to man in the fame way? Why not ? What then ? How is the city which is tyrannized over, in refpecl: of that under kingly govern ment, fuch as we at the firfi defcribed? Quite the reverfe, faid he; for the one is the bdl:, and the other is the worft. I will not afk, faid I, which you mean, for it is plain; but do you judge in the fame way, or otherwife. as to their happinefs and mifcry ? And let us not be firuck with admira tion, whilfl: we regard the tyrant alone, or fame few about him; but let us, as we ought to do, enter into the whole of the city, and confider it ; and going through every part, and viewing it, let us declare our opinion. You. propofe rightly, faid he. And it is evident to every oue that there is no.
city
421 T H E RE PU B L I C.
citv more wretched than that which is under Tyranny, nor any more happy than that under regal power. If now, faid I, I ihould propofe the fame things with refpecl: to the men, lhould I ri5htly propofe, whilft I
account him worthy to jud e auout them, who is able, by his dianoctic
power, to enter within, and foe through the temper of the man, and who may not, as a child beholding the out(ide, be firuck with admiration of tyrannical pomp, which he makes a lhow of to thofc without, but may· fufficiently fee through him? If tben I lhould be of opinion, that all of us ought to hear fuch a one, who, having dwelt with the man in the fame houfe, and having been along with him in his aai0ns in his family, is able to judge in what manner he bclrnves to each ot his domellics, (in which moil: efpecially a man appears !hipped of theatrical lhows,) and likewife i11 public dangers; after he has obferved all thefe things, we {hall bid him declare, how the Tyrant ,is as to happinefa and mil-;;ry, in comparifon of others. You ·would advife to thefo things, fail! he, mofi properly. Are you willing then, faid I, that we pretend to be ourfelve5 of the num ber of thofe who are thus able to judge, and that we have already met with fuch men, that we may have one who ihall anfwer our quefl:ions? By all means: Come then, faid 1, confider in this manner. Recollecl: the refemblance of the city, and the man, to one another, and, thus con fidering each of them apart, relate the paffions of each. \Vhich paffious? faid he. To begin firfi, faid I, with the city, Do you call the one under Tyranny, either free or enfbved? Slavilh, faid he, in the greatdl: degreo poffible. And yet, forely, at leafi, you fee in it mall:ers an<l free men. I fee, faid he, fome fmall part fo. But the whole in it, in the general, and the moil: excellent part, is difgracefully and miferably flavilh. If then the man, faid I, rcfrinbles the city, is it not neccffary that there be the fame regulation in him likewife ; and that his foul be foll of the greateft flavery and illiberality ; and that thefe parts of his foul, which are the nobleft, be enflaved, an<l that fome fmall part, which is mo(l; wicked and frantic, is mafier? Of necefiity, faid he. vVhat now? will you fay that fuch a foul is flaviOi, or free? Slavilh fomehow, I fay. But does not then the city which is flavilh, and tyrannized over, leaft of all do what it inclines? Very much fo. And will not the foul too, which is tyrannized over, lcafi of all do what it lhall incline, to fpcak of the whole
foul;
T H E RE P U B L I C. 423
foul I ; but, hurried violently by fome flinging paffion, be full of tumult aud inconfiancy? How lhould not it be fo? But whether will the city which is tyrannized over be necelTarily rich or poor? Poor. And the foul under Tyranny be of neceffity Iikewife indigent and infatiable? Jufl: fo, faid he. But what? Mufi not fuch a city, and fuch a man, of ne ceffity be full of fear? Very much fo. Do you think you will find more lamentations, and groans, and weepings, aud torments, in any other city? By no means. But with reference to a man, do you think that thefe things are greater in any other than in this tyrannical one, who madly rages by his defires and lufis? How can they ? faid he. It is then on confidera tion of all thefe things, and other fuch as thefe, I think, that you have deemed this city the mofi wretched of cities ? And have I not deemed right? faid he. Extremely fo, faid I. But what fay you again with reference to the tyrannical ma1i, when you confider thefe things? That he is by far, faid he, the mofi wretched of all others. You do not as yet fay this rightly, replied I. How? faid he. I do not as yet think, faid I, that he is foch in the greatefi degree. But who then is fo? The follow ing will probably appear to you to be yet more miferable than the other.
\Vhich? He, faid I, who, being naturally tyra11nical, leads not a private life, but is unfortuuate, and through fome misfortune is led to become a Tyrant. I conjeaure, faid he, from what was formerly mentioned, that you fay true. It is fo, faid I. But we ought not merely to conjell:ure about matters of fuch importance as thefe, but mofl: thoroughly to inquire into them by reafoni11g of this kind: for the inquiry is concerning a thing of the greatefi confequence, a good life and a bad. Mofi right, faid he. Confider then whether there be any thing in what I fay; for, in confidering this quefl:ion, l am of opinion that we ought to perceive it from thc£e things. From what? From every individual of private men, viz. foch of them as are rich, and poffefs many Oaves ; for thofe have this refem blance at leafi of Tyrants, that they rule over many, with thi difference, that the Tyrant has a, great multitude, There is this difference. You
The reafoning power of the foul of a tyrant, fays the Greek Scholiall, p. 190, being van qui!hed by anger and rlefire, the foul does not accomplifh th.11 which it wilbcs; but not alling according to its better p2r1, it i• faid, as fpeaking of the whole foul, to do what it wifhes in the fmalle!t degree: for the whole foul docs not then all;.
know
,424 T H E R ‘t PU B L I C.
know then that thefe live fecurely, and arc not afraid of their domeil:ics. What lhould they be afraid of? Nothing, faid I; but do you confider the reafonl Yes. It is becaufe the whole city gives affiftancc to each parti cular private mau. You fay right, replied I. But what now ? If fome God fhould lift a man who had fifty £laves or upwards out of the city, both him, aod his wife and children, and fet him down in a defert, with his other fobllanee, and his domefiics, where no freeman was to give him affifrance,-iu what kind of fear; an<l in how great, do you imagine he would be about himfelf, his children and wife, left they ihoul<l be de firoycd by the domeftics? In the greateft poffible, faid he, I imagine, Would he not be obliged even to flatter fome of the very £laves, and pro. mife them many things, to fet them at liberty when there was no occafion for it; and appear to be himfelf a Batterer of fervants ? He is under great neceffity., faid he, to do fo, or be defiroyed. But what, faid I, if the God thould fettle’rouud him many other neighbours, who·could not cndur.c if any one 1hould pretend to lord it over another ; but, if they any where found fuch a 011e, ihould puniQ1 him with the extrcmeit rigour? I ima gine, faid he, that he would be ftill more difire1fed, thus befet by every kind of enemies. And iu fuch a prifon-houfe is not the Tyrant bound, being fuch, by difpofition, as we have mentioned, full of many and moil: varim1i; fears and loves of all kinds? A11d whilft he has in his foul the greateft defire, he alone of all in the city is neither allowed to’ go any where abroad, nor to lee foch things as other men are defirous of; but, creeping into his houfe, lives moO:ly as a woman, envying the other citi. zens if any of them go abroad, and fee any good. It is entirely fo, faid he. Al’l<l beftdes foch evils as the:fe, does not the man reap fiiH more of them, who, being under ill policy within himfelf, (which you jufi now cleeined to be the moll wretched Tyranny,) lives not as a pri,vate perfon, but through fome fortune is obliged to act the tyrant, and, without holdiug the government of himfe}f, attempts t.o govern others, as if one with a body difeafod, and unable to fupport itfelf, were obliged to live not in a private way, but in wrefiling and fighting againfi other bodies? You .fay, Sgcrates, replied he, what is altogether moll likely and true, Is not then, friend Glauco, faid I, this condition altogether miforable ? and does not the Tyrant live more iuiferably fiill, than the man deemed by
you
THE ntPUBLiC. 425
you to live mofl: miferably ? Very much fo, faid he. Ti•ue· it is theh,: though one may fancy otherwiCe, that the truly tyrannical an is truly flavilh with refpelt to the ireatefi flatteries and flaveries; and is a flatterer· of the moll: _abandoned mell; not” iloes he ever in the finanen degree obtain the gratification of his defires1 but is of all the moll: indigent of moll: thing3, and appears poor incited, if a iniu1 khows 11ow to contemplate his whole· foul; and full of fear thtough the whole of life, being filled with anxieties and grlefa, if i11deed he refemble, the confiitution of that city which he
0a-overns. But he does refernble it Ddes h.e not? Extremelv• , faid.he. And {hall we not, bt:fides thefe things, likewife afcribe to this man what·
we formerly mentioned1 that he muft necelfarily be, and, by governhig fiill, become more than formerly enyious, faithlefs, unjufr, Unfriendl?, unholy, and a general recipient and nourither bf afl wickednels; and from all thefe thillgs be mofi efpecially unhappy himfelf, and then render all about him unhappy likewife ? No oile, faid he, ‘\\1ho hath underfia1iding will contradict you. CdnH! t1ow, fald I, as a judge who pronounces, .after confidering all, fo do you tell me, •ho, according td your opinion; is the firfi as t.o happinefs, and who fecond, and the refl irt drdct, they being’ five in all? The Regal, the Timocratic, the Oliglirchic; the Democratic, and the Tyrannic. But the judgment, fai1l he, is eafy; for, as if I had entered among them, I judge of them as of public performe·rs, by their virtue and vice, and by their hapfiitiefs, and its contrary. Shall we then hire a Herald? faid I. Or thall I myfelf declare that the fon of Ariflon hath judged the bell: and jufieft man to be the happiell:; (and that this is the nian who hath mofi of the reg_al fpirit; and rules himfelf with a kingly· power;) and that the worft and the mcrll:,unjuft is the moft wretched; and that he again happens to be the ma:n who is mofi tyrannical, who in tin: greatell: degree tyrannizes over himfelf, and the city? Let it be publithed by you,1 faid he. Shall I add, faid I, whether they be unknown to be fucli· or not both to all men and Gods ? Add it, faid he. Be it fo, faid I: this·
would fectn to be cine proof of ours. And this, if you are of the fame· opinion, muft be the fecond. Which is it? Since the foul, faid I, of every individual is divided into three parts, in the fame manner as the city was dividoo, it wilJ, in my opinion; afford a focci11d proof; What is that?· It is this. Of the three par ts of the foul, there appear to me to be three
VOL. 1. 3 1 plcafures,
4’26 THE REPUBLI.C.
pleafui-es, one peculiar to each. And the defires and governments are in· the fame manner. How do you fay? replied he. There is one part, we faid, by which a man learns, and another by which he is irafcible; the third is fo multiform, we are unable to exprefs it by one word peculiar to itfdf, but w_e denominated it from that which is greatefi: and moft impe tuous in it ; for we called it the defiderative, on account of the impetu ofity of the defires relative to meat, drink, and venereal pleafures, and whatever others belong to thefe; and we called it avaricious likewife, be caufe it is by means of wealth mofi efpecially that fuch defires are ac complifhed. And we fai<l rightly, replied he. If then we fay that its pleafure and delight are in gaiu, {hall we not befi of all reduce it under one head in our difcourfe, fo as to exprefs fomething to ourfelves, when we make mention of this part of the foul ? and, calling it the covetous, and the defirous of gain, fhall we not term it properly? So it appears to me, faid he. But what? Do not we fay that the irafcible ought to be, wholly impelled to fuperiority, victory, and applaufe? Extremely fo. If then we term it the contentious and ambitious, will it not be accurately expreffc-d ? Mofr accurately. But it is evident to every one, that the part of the foul, by which we learn, is wholly intent always to know the truth; and a.s to wealth and glory, it cares for thefe leafi of all. Extremely fo. When we call it then the defirous of learning, and the philofophic, we lhall call it ccording to propriety. How fhould we not? And do not thefe, faid I, govern .in fouls, one of them in fome, and in.others another, as it happens? Juft fo, faid he. On this account then, we faid there were three original fpecies of men; the philofophic, the ambitious, and the avanc1ous. Entirely fo. And that there were likewife three fpecies of pleafures, one fobjecl to each ofthefe. Certainly. You know then, faid I, that if you were to aflt thefe three men, c;ach of them apart, which of thefe lives is the mofi pleafanl, each would moft of all commend his own. And the avaricious willfay, that in comparifon with the pleafure of ac quiri g ealth, that arifing from honour, or from learning, is of no value, unlefs •one make moi1ey, by them. True,. faid he. And what fays the ambitious i fuid I. Does not he deem the pleafure arifing from making money a fort of urthen ? And ]ikewi(e that arifing from learning, uulefs lcaming bring him honour, does he not deem it fmoke and trifling? It’
is
T II E R E PU B L I C,
. 4’2T
is fo, faid he. And we thall fuppofe the philofopher, faid I, to deem the other plcafures as nothing in comparifon of that of knowing the truth, how it is, and that whilfl: he is always employed in learning fomething of this kind, he is not very remote from pleafure; but that he calls the other pleafures truly necelfary, as wanting nothing of the others, but where there is a neceffity for it. This, faid he, we mufr well underfl:and. When therefore, faid I, thefe feveral lives, and the refpecl:ive pleafure of each, difpute among themfclves, not with reference to living more worthily _or more bafely, or worfe or bettei·; but merely with reference to this of liv i11g ore pleafantly, or on the conttary more painfully,-how can we know· which of them fpeaks moll: conformably to truth? I am ndt quite able, faid he, to tell. But confider it thus. By what· ought we to judge of whatever is to be rightly judged of? Is it not· by experience,· by· P t!- dence, and by reafon ? Or has any one a better criterion than thefe ? How can he? faid he. Confider now; of the three mf”n, who is th’e moll: experienced in all the pleafures? Whether does it appear to you that tlie avaricious man, in learning tn,th . itfelf, what it is, is more experi enced in the pleafure ari!ing from knowledge, than the philofopher. is in that arifing from the acquifition. of wealth? There is, faid he, a great difference : for the philofopher, beginning from his childhood, mufl, of ueceffity, tafl:e the other pleafures; but what it is to know real beings, and how fweet this pleafure is, the lucrative man has no neceffity of tafie ing, or of becoming experienced in; but rather, when he earnefily eudea vours to cffcll: this, it is no eafy matter. The philofopher then, faid I, far furpaffes the lucrative man, at leafi in experience of both the pleafures. Far indeed. But what with reference to the ambitious man? Is he more experienced in the pleafore arifing from honour, than the philofopher is in that arifing from intellecl:ual energy? Honour, faid he, attends all of them, if they obtain each of them what they aim at : for the rich man is honoured by mauy, and fo is the brnve, and· the wife ; fo as to that of honour, what fort of plcafure it is, all of them have the experience. But in the contemplation of being itfelf, what pleafure there is, it is impoffible for any other than the philofopher to have tafl:ed. On account of ·expe rience then, faid I, he of all men· judges the bdl:. By. far. And furely, along with prudence arleafr, he alone becomes experienced. •Why fhould
3 1 i bo
THE R.EP-UBLiq.
he not? But even the organ by which thefe pleafures mufi be judged is not the or,gan of the lucra.tive, nor of the ampitious, but o( the philo-· fopher. Which is it? We faid fomewhere, that they mufi be judg d of by reafon, did we not ? Yes But reafoning is chiefly the: organ of the philofopher. How iliould it not ? If then the things to be dctermi1u:d were bell: determined by riches and gain, what the lucrative man com-. mended, or defpiled,· would of ueceffity be moll: agreeable tp truth. En-. tirely. And if by honour, and viBory and bravery, mufi it not be as the. aµil>itious and contentious man determined? It is evident. Rut fince it is, by cxperietlce, and prudence, aucj. reafon,-of nece$ty, faid he, what the; philofopher and the lover of reafon commends muft be the; moil: true•. 6£ the three pleafures, then, that is the moll; pleafant which belongs t that part of the foul by which we learn mofi, and he among u·s i.tl. whom this part governs lives the moft pleafant. life, How can it, faid he, be ot,h.erwifo? For the wife man, being the fovereign commender,, coq:imends his OWi) life. But which life, faid I, does our judge pronounce the fecond, and which the fecond pleaf\\re ? It is plain, that of the war-. like and ambitious man ; for this is nearer to his own than that of the luc1;ativ.e. And that of the covetous, as it appe rs, is l ft of all. Why np ? faicj. he. Thefo things now have “thi1s ft1cceeded one another in ord!!r, · Aue! the juft man has twice now ov.ercome the unj:uft, The third victory now, aJ.at the_ Olympic games, is facred to Olympic Jupiter, the viqqr·; for confider, th’1t the pleafure of the others is i1ot every way g !1uin , bu_t_that of the w,ife man. is: nor are they pure, but fomehow 1 !1dQow,ecj_ v r,. as I appear tp, myfolf to hav.e. heard froril one of the. wiff; men. And this truly would be the gr ateft and moft complete dowtifall of the \Jnjuft. Extremely fo. B1.1t how do you mean ? I ll1all tqus trace it. qut, faid I, whilft in fearching you anfwer my qucftions. A{k tQ ll,, fl!-id he. Tell me then, replied I, do we not fay that pain is oppo fi !! to ple!lfur ? Entirely fo. And do we not fay likewife, that to feel 11\;ither_ pleafure nor pain is fomewhat ? We fay it is. That being in the
1nid J . of botl t cf-e., it is a cert11in tr;mquillity of the foul with reference
to.,t m. Do you not thus underfiand it? T,hus, replied he. Do you not reme1t1ber, faid_ I, the fpee hes of the difi:afed1 which they utter in their
fickn fs.? Which ? How tl1\lt nothing is more pleafant than health, bu,
• • 3
that
TH E; R E’P UBL J C.
that it efcaped their notice before they became fick, that it wai the rno{l; pleafant. I remember it faid he. And are you not wont to hear thofe who are under any acute pain fay, that there is nothing more pleafant thall a cetlation from pain? I am wont to bear them, And you ma}’ perceive in men, I imagine, the fame thing., when they are in many other fuch like circumfiances, where, when in pain, they extol a freedom from pain, and the tranquillity of fuch a.fl:ate, as being the mofl: pleafant, and do not extol that of feeling joy. BccauCe this, it is likely, faid he, be comes at that time pleafant and defirable tranquillity. And when any one ceafeth, faid I, to feel joy, this tranquillity from pleafure will be painful. It is likely, faid he. This tranquillity, then, which we juft now faid wa between the two, win at times become each of thefe, pain and pleafure. It appears fo. But is it truly poffible, that what is neither of the two. thould become both? It does not appear to me that it is. And 0furely al! leafi, when any thing pleafant or any thing painful is in the foul, both fenfations are a certain motion ; are they not ? Yes. But did not that which is neither painful nor pleafant appear juft now to be tranquillity,. and in the middle of thefe two? It appears fo, indeed. • How is it righ then, to deem it pleafant not to be in pain, or painful not to enjoy plea fore? It is by no means right. In thefe cafes. then, tranquillity is not really fo, faid I, but it appears pleafant in refpecl of the painful, and painful in refpecl: of the pleafaut. And there is nothing. genuine in thefe: appearances as to the truth of pleafore, but a certain magical delufiou. Als our reafoning thows, faid he. Confider then, faid I,. the pleafurcs which do not arife from the ceffation of pains, that you may not frequently in• the prefeut difcourfe foppofe that thefe two naturally thus fubfifi, viz. that pleafure is the ceffation of pain, and pain the ceffation of pleafore. How, faid he, and which pleafures do you mean? There are man1- others, faid I, but chiefly if you wilh to confider the pleafures from finells ; for thefe, without any preceding pain, are on a fudden immenfely. great, and, when they ceafc:;, they leave no pain behind them. Mofl: true; faid he. Let us not then be perfuaded that pure pleafure is the removal of pain, or pain the removal of pleafure. Let us not. But yet, faid I. thofe which extend through the body to the foul, and which are callecl pleafures, the greatefl: part of them almoft, and the mo.ft confiderable, ar.!)
of
430 THE REPUBLIC.
of this fpecies, certain ceft1tions of pain, They are fo. And are not the preconceptions of pleafore and pain, which arife in the mind from the expectation of thefe things, of the fame kind ? Of the fame. Do you know then, faid I, what kind they are of, and what they chiefly refem ble ? What ? faid he. Do you reckon, faid I, there is any fuch thing in nature as this, the above, the below, and the middle? I do. Do you thit\k then that any one, when he is brought from the below to the mid dle, imagines any thing elfe than that he is brought to the above? and when he frauds in the middle, and looks down whence he was brought, will he imagine he is any where elfe than above, whilll: yet he has not feen the true above? By Jupiter, faid he, I do not think that fuch an one will imagine otherwife. But if he ihould again, faid I, be carried to the below, he would conjecture be was carried to the below, and would conjecture according to truth. How ihould he not ? Would he not be affell:cd in all thefe refpects, from his not having experience in what is really above, and in the middle, and below? It is plain. Would you wonder then, that whiHl: men are inex-· perienced in the truth, they have unfound opinions about many other things,
–and that as to pleafure and pain,and what is between thefe, they are likewife affeaed in this fame manner? So that, even when they are brought to what is painful, they imagine truly, and are truly pained; but when from pain they are brought to the middle, they firongly imagine that they are arrived at fulnefs of pleafure. In the fame manner as thofe who along with the black colour look at the gray, through inexperience of the white, are de cei\’ed ; fo thofe who confider pain along with a freedom from pain, are deceived through inexperience of pleafure. By Jupiter, faid he, I ihould not wonder, but much rather if it were not fo. But confider it, faid J, in this manner. Are not hunger and thidl:, and fuch like, certain empti neffes in the bodily habit? ‘vVhat elfe? And are not ignorance and folly an emptinefs in the habit of the foul? Extremely fo. And is not the one filled when it receives food, and the other when it poffeffcs intellect? Why not ? Hut which is the more real repletion, that of the lefs, or that of the more real being? It is plain, that of the more real. Which fpe cies, then, do you think, participates moll of a more pure efience ; whether thefe which participate of bread and drink, and meat, and all fuch fort of nouriihment; or that fpecies which participates of true opinion aud fcience,·
and
T H E R E P U B L I C. 431
and intelleB:, and·, in fhort, of all virtue? But judge o:”:t in this manner. That which adheres to what is always fimilar, and immortal, and true, and is fo itfelf, and arifes in what is fuch, does it appear to you to have more of the reality of being, than that which adheres to what is never fimilar, and is mortal, which is fo itfelf, and is generated in a thing of this kind? This, faid he, differs much from that which is always fimilar. Does then the effence of that which is always fimilar participate more of effence than. of fcience? By no means. But what with relation to truth? Nor of this neither. Ifit participate lefs of truth, does it not likewife do fo of effence? Of ueceflity. ln fhort, then, do not the genera relating to the care of the body participate lefs of truth and effen e, than thofe relating to the care of the foul? By far. And the body lefs than the foul; do you not think fo? I do. Is not that which is filled with more real beings, and is itfelf a more real being, in reality more truly filled than that which is filled with lefs real beings, and is itfelf a Iefs real being? How fhould it not? If then it be pleafant to be filled with what is fuitable to nature, that which is in reality filled, and with more real heing, mufi be made both more really and more truly to e11joy true pleafure; hut that which participates of lef, real being, mull: be lefs truly and firmly filled, and participates of a more uncertain and lefs genuine pleafure. Moll: neceffarily, fa.id he. Such then as are unacquainted with wifdom and virtue, and are always converlant in feafiings and foch like, are carried as it appears to the below, and back again to the middle, and there they wander for life. But never, paffing beyond this, do. they look towards (he true above, nor are car tied to it; nor are they ever really filled wich real being; nor have they ever tafted folid and pure pleafure; but, after the mauner ofbr\ltes looking always downwards,and bowed towards earth and their tables, they live feeding and coupling; and from a lull: of thefe things, kicking and pufhing at one another with iron horns and hoofs, they perifh through their unfatiablenefs, as thofe who are filling with unreal bei_ng that which is no real boing, nor friendly to them-, (elves. You pronounce moll: perfealy, Socrates, as from an oracle, faid Glauco, the life of th multitude. Mufi they not then, of ncceffity, bC’ convcrfant with pleafures mixed with pains, images of .the true pleafure. fhadowed over, and coloured by th ir pofition befide each other? fo that both their pleafures and pains w·ill appear vehement, aud engender their
macl_
THE REPUDLIC.
mad paffions in the fooliih. Hence alfo they mull: fight about the1e things, as Stefichorus fays thofe at Troy fought about the image of Helen, through ignorance of the true one, Of neceffity, faid he, fomething of this kind muit take place. And what as to the irafcible part of the foul? Mufi: not other fuch like things happen, wherever any one gratifies it, either in the way of envy, through amhition, or in the way of violence, through contentioufoefs, or in the way of anger, through morofenefs, purfuing a glut of honour, of conquefl:, and of anger, both without reafon, and with out intelligence? Such things as thefe, faid he, mufl: neceffarily happen with reference to this part of the foul. vVhat then, faid I, !hall we boldly fay concerning all the pleafures, both refpecling the avaricious and the ambitious part, that fuch of them as are obedient to fcience and reafon, and, in conjunction with thefe, purfue and obtain the pleafures of which the. prudent part of the foul is the leader, !hall obtain the truefl: pleafures, as far as it is poffihle for them to attain true pleafure, and in as much as they follow truth, pleafures which are properly their own; if indeed what is heft for every one be mofl: properly his own? Hut furely it is mofi properly, faid he, his own. When then the whole foul is obedient to the philofo• phic part, and there is no fedition in it, then every part in other refpells performs its proper bufinefs, and is juft, and alfo reaps its own pleafures, and fuch as are the befi, and as far as is poffible the mofi true. Certainly, indeed. But when any of the others governs, it happens that it neither attains its own pleafures, and it compels the other parts to purfue a plea.. fore foreign to them, and not.at all true. It does fo, faid he. Do not then the parts which are the moft remote from philofophy and reafon mofi cfpecially effel\uate fuch things? Very much fo. And is not that which is mofl: remote from law and order, likewife mofl: remote from reafon? It plainly is. And •have not the amorous and the tyrannical defires ap peared to be mofi remote from law and order? Extremely fo. And he royal and the moderate ones, the leail remote ? Yes. The tyraut then, I think, fuall be the mofl: remote from true pleafure, and fuch as is moft properly his own, and the other !hall be the leaft. Of neceffity. And the tyrant, faid J, !hall lead a life the mofi unpleafant, and tho king the moa pleafant. Of great neceffity. Do you know then, faid l, how much mo,,c unplcafant a life the tyrant leads than the king? If you tell me, faid
he.
THE REPUBLIC.
he. As there are three pleafures, as it appears, one genuine, and two illegitimate; the Tyrant in carryin3 the illegitimate to extremity, aml ftying from law and reafon, dwells with Havifh pleafores as his life-guards, and how far he is inferior is not eafily to be told, u11lefs it may be done in this manner. How? faid he, The Tyrant is fomehow the third I remote from the Oligarchic characler; for the Democratic was in the middle between them. Yes. Does he not then dwell with the third image of pleafure, dillant from him with reference to truth; if our former teafon ings be true? Jull fo. But the Oligarchic is the third again from the Roral, if we fuppofe the Ariflocratic and the Royal the fame. He is the third. The Tyrant then; faid I, is remote frotn true pleafure, the third from the thitd. It appears fo. A plain furface the11, faid I, may be the image of tyrannical pleafure, as to the computatidn of length. Cettainlj. But as to power, and the third augmet1t, it is milt1ifeft by &ow great a di!lance it is remote. It is tl’Y<lnifefi, faid he, to the computer at leaft. If now, converfely, any one Ehall fay the King is difiant from the Tyrant as to truth of pleafure, as much ivs is the diftance of 9, and :zo, and jOO, thaU he not, on completing the multiplication, find him leading the more pleafant life, and the Tyrant the more wretohed one, l>y thrs Caine difiancc? You have heaped up, faid he, a prodigious: a:cco\Jnt of The difference be tween thefe two men, the juft and the unjufi, with reference to pleafure and pain. Yet the numbers are true, faid I, and cor-refponding to their lives, if indeed days, and nights, and months, and years, correfpond to them. Bu’t thefe, faid he, do correfpond to them. If the1l the good and juft man furpa!fes fo far the evil and unjufi man in pleafore, in what a pro-.
-digious degree further !hall he forpafs him in decorum of life, in beauty
The following numbers arc employed by Plato in this place. He con6den the Royal cha racter as analogousto unity, the Oligarchic to the number 3, and the Tyrannic to the number
9. As 3 therefore is triple of unity, the Oligarchic is the third from the Royal charal\er I and in a fimilar manntr the Tyrant is dinant from the Oligarchifi by the triple in number; for 9 is the triple of 3, juft as J is the triple of 1. But 9 is a plane number, the length of wliidt is 3, and alfo its breadth. And a tyrannic, fays Plato, ia the lafi image of a royal life. He alfo cllls 3 a P•wrr, becaufe unity being multiplied by it, and itfelf by itfclf, and 9 by it, there will be produced 3, CJ, 27. But he calls the third augment 27, arifing from the muhiplieation of the power 3, and producing depth or a fulicl number. Laftly, 27 multiplied into itfclf’pro duces 719, which may be confidercd as a perfell: multiplication, this number being the 6th power of 3; -and 6 as is well known is a pcrfcll: number. Hence, •• the King is analogout to
,, he is faid, by Plato, to be 729 times diftant from the Tyrant.
voL, 1. 3 K and
434 t H E R E P U B L I C.
and in virtue! In a prodigious degree, by Jupiter, faid he, Be it fo, faid I. Since now we are come to this part of our argument, let us reca pitulate what we fi;fi faid, on account of which we have come hither: and it was fomewhere faid, that it was advantageous to do injufl:ice, if one were completely unjufi, but were reputed jufi. \Vas it not fo faid? It was indeed. Now then, faid I, let us fettle this point, fince w_e have now fettled the other, ·with reference to all:ing jufily and unjufily, what power each of thefe poifeifes in itfelf. How? faid he. Let us in our reafoning fa!hion an image of the foul, that the man who faid thofe things may know what he faid. Whu kind of image? faid he. One of thofe creatures, faid I, which are fabled to have been of old, as that of Chimrera, of Scylla, of Cerberus ; and many others are fpoken of, where many particular na tures exified together in one. They are fpoken ofinder.d, faid he. Form now one figure of a®creature, various, and many-headed • , having all around heads of ·tame creaturei, and of wild, an<l having power in itfelf of changing all thefc heads, and of breeding them out of itfelf. This is the work, faid he, of a lkilfol former : however, as the formation is eaiier in teafoning, than in wax and fuch like, let it be formed. .Let there be now one other figure of a lions and one of a man; but let the firfi be by far the
·greatefi, and the fecond be the fecond in bulk. Thefe are eaf)·, faid he, and they are formed. Conjoin now thefe three in one, fo as to exifi fome how with one another. They are conjoined, faid he. Form now around them the external appearance of one of them, that of the man; fo that to one who is not abli: to fee what is within, but who perceives only the ex. ternal covering, the man may appear one creature, This is formed around, faid he. • Let us now tell him, who aiferts that it is profitable to this man to do injufiice, but to do jufiice is U1tprofitablc, that he alferts nothing
elfe, than that it is profitable for him to feafi the multiform creature, and to m.tke it llrong; and likewife the lion, and what refpecls the lion, whilft the man he kills with famine, and renders weak, fo as to be dragged whichever way either of thofe drag him; and th.at he will alfo find it adva11- tage01ls never to accuO:om the one to live in harmony with the other, nor
.to make them friends. but fuffer them to be biting one another, and to
‘ By this many-headed beaft, dyir, is ligni6cd.
The lion lignilies nng,r, and the figure of a man r1afa11; for the wbolc foul is divided into rea£on, ani:,cr, ard dcfirc. •
light
T H E R E P U B L I C. 435
fight and devour each other. He, faid he, who commendeth the doing injufiice, undoubtedly alferts thefe things. And does not he again, who fays it is profitable to do juftice, fay that he ought to do ancl to fay fuch things by which the inner man {hall come to have the moO: entire com mand of the man, and, as a tiller of the ground, thall take care of the many-headed creature, cherilhing the · mild ont>s, an& nourilhing them, and hindering the wild ones from growing up, taking the nature of the lion as his ally, and, having a common care for all, make them frie11dly to one another, and to himfelf, and fo nourith them? He who commends juO:icc undoubtedly fays fuch things as thefe. In all refpecls, then, he who commends jufiice would fcem to fpeak the truth, but he who commends injuO:ice, to fpeak what is falfe; for, with regard to pleafure, and ap plaufe, ancl profit, hi! who commends jufiice fpeaks the truth, and he who difcommcnds it fpeaks nothing genuine. Nor does he difcommend with underO:ancling what he difcommends. Not at all,. faid he, as appears to me at leall:. Let us then in a mild manner perfuade him (for it is not wil lingly he errs), afking him, 0 bldfed man ! do not we fay that the maxims .of things beautiful and bafe become fo, upon fuch accounts as thefe? Thofe are good which fubjell: the brutal part of our nature moll: to the man, or rather perhaps to that which is divine: but thofe are evil which enflave the mild part of our nature to the brutal. Will he agree with us? or how ? He will, if he be advifed by me, faid he. Is there the1i any one, faid I, whom it avails, from this r afoning, to take gold unjufily, if fomething of this kind happens, if, whilft he takes 1he money, he at the fame time fubjells the heft part of himfelf to the worO:? Or, if,’ taking gold, he {hould enflave a fon or daughter, and that even to favagc and wicked men, !hall we not fay this would not avail him, not though he thould receive for it a prodi_;ious furn? But if he enflaves the moll: divine part of himfelf to the moll: impious and moll: polluted part, without any pity, is he not wrdched? and docs he not take a gift of gold to his for mi>re dreadful ruin, than Euriphyle did when the received the necklace for her hulband’s
life ? By far, faid Glauco ; for I will anfwer you for the man. And do you not think that to be intemperate, has of ol.d been difcommended on
fuch acc0UJ1ts as thcfe, becaufe that in fuch a one tliat terrible, great and multiform beafi was indulged more than was mec-t? It is plain, faiJ he. And are not arrogance and morofenefs blamed, when the lion an<l the
3 K -z ferpentinc
-436 TII:I! REPUBLIC,
ferpentine difpofition increafes and frretchos beyond mcafure?- Entirely fo. And are not luxury and effeminacy blamed becaufe of the remiffoefs and loofenefs of this difpofition, when it engenders in the man cowardice ? What elfe? Are not flattery and illiberality blamed, when any one makes this irafcible part itfelf fobjec\ to the brutal crew, and, for the fuke of wealth and its infatiable lufi, accufroms the irafrible to be affronted from its youth, and infiead of a lion to become an ape? Entirely fo, faid he, But why is it, do you think, that mechanical arti and handicrafts are de fpicable? Shall we fay it is on any other account than this, that when a man. has the form of that which is heft in his foul naturally weak, fo as not t<>i be able to govern the creatures within himfelf, but to minifier to them. he is able only to learn what flatters them? It is likely, faid he. In order then that fuch a one may be governed in the fame manner s the befr man. is, do we not fay that he mufi: be the fervant of one who is the bell:, and who has within h’im the divine governor ?· uot at all conceiving that A thould be governed to the hurt of the fubjea” (as Thrafymachus imagined), but, as it is bell: for every one to be governed, by one divine and wife, moft efpecially poffeffing it as his own within him, if not fubjecling himfelf to it externally ; that as far as poffible we may all refemble one another and be friends, governed by one and the fame? Rightly, indeed, faid he. l\nd law at leafr, faid I, plainly thows it intends fuch a thing, being an ally ·to all in the city ; as does likewife the government of children, in not allow ing them to be free till we efl:ablifh in them a proper government, as in a city ; and having cultivated that in them which is beil, by that which is heft in ourfelves, we efiablifh a fimilar guardian and governor for youth, and then truly we fet it free. It !hows indeed, faid he. In what way then !hall we fay, Glauco, a’nd according to what reafoning, that ·it is profitable to do injufiice, to be intemperate, or to do any thing bafe, by which a man !hall indeed become· more wicked, but yet thall acquire more wealth, or any kind of power? In no way, faid he. But how !hall we fay it is profitable for the unjufr to be concealed, and not to foffer pµnithment ? or does he not indeed, who is concealed, ftill become more wicked? but he who is not concealed, and is punifhed, has the brutal part quieted, and made mild, and the mild part fet at liberty. And the whole foul being fettled in the bell: temper, in poffeffing temperance and jufiicc, with wifdom, acquires a more valuable habit than the body does,
3
T H E R E P U B LI C. 437
in acquiring vigour and beauty, with a found conftitution; in as far as the foul is more valuable than the body. Entirely fo, faid he. Shall not every one then, who potTetTes intellect, regulate his life in extending the whole of his powers hither, in the fidl: place, honooring thofe difciplines which will render his foul of this kind, and defpifing all other things? It.is plain, faid he. And next, faid I, with reference to a good habit of body anrl its nourilhment, he will fpend his life in attention to- thefe, not that he may indulge the brutal and irrational pleafure; nor yet with a view to health, nor, principally regarding this, to become {l:rong and healthy, and beaut fol, unlefs bx means of thefe he .i.s to become temperate likc\’IVi,(e: but b. always appears to adjuft the ham10ny of the body for the fu.lte of rh¢ fyrn phony which is in the foul By all means, fai.d hey i! R’illlteed M is tto be truly mufical. That arrangement then, faid I, and fymphony arifing from the poffcffion of wealth, and that vulgar magnificence, he will not, in con. fequence of being aftonithed with the felicity of the multitude, increafe to infinity, and bring on himfelf infinite evils. I do 11ot hink it, faid he. But looking, faid I, to that polity within himfelf, and raking care that nothing there be moved out of its place, through the greatne& or ftnall uefs of his property, governing in this manner as far as he is able, he will add to his fubfiance, and fpend. out of it. Entirely fo, faid he. He will regard honours likewife in the fame manner ; fome he will willingly partake of, and tafie, which he judges will render him a better man, but thofe which he thinks would ditTolve that habit of foul which fubfifis within him, he will fly from both in private aud in public. He will not then, faid he, be willing to act in polities, if’ he takes care of this. Yes truly, faid I, in his own city, and greatly too. But not probably in his country, unlefs fame divine fortune befall him. I under fiand, faid he. You mean in the city we ha,·e now ellqJ)lilhed, which exifts in our reafoniug, fince it is nowhere on earth, at leatl:, as I imagine. But in heaven, probably, there is a model of it, faid I, for any one who inclines to contemplate it, and 011 contemplating to regulate himfelf accord.:.• ingly ; and it is of no confoqueoce to him, whether it does exilt any where,, or fhall ever exifi here. He does the duties of this city alone, and of no other. It is reafonable, laid be.
THF. END OF TllF. NINTH BOOK,.
THE
THE REPUBLIC.
BOOK X.
I OBSERVE, faid I, with reference to many other things, that we have efiablifhed a city in a right manner, beyond what all others have done, and among thefe efiablifhments, I mean that refpeding poetry ‘ as none of the
leaft.
‘ The following ad irable account of poetry, from the Explanation of the more difficult queltions in the Republic, by Proclus, will I doubt not be highly acceptable to the reader, as it both contains a molt accurate and fcientific divifion of poetry, and perfecUy reconciles the prince of philofophers with the firft of poets.
” There arc three lives in the foul, of which the belt and molt perfcc\ is that according to which it is conjoined with the Gods, and lives a life molt allied, and through the highelt fimili tuclc united to them; no longer fubfilting from itfelf but from them, running under its own intellcll:, exciting the ineffable impreffion of th, on, which it contains, and connec\ing like with like, its own light with that of the Gods, and that which is molt uniform in its own elfence and life, with th, ont which is above all elfence and life. That which is fecond to this in dignity and power, has a middle arrangement in the middle of the. foul, according to which indeed it is converted to itfclf, defcending from a divinely infpired life; and placing intellec\ and fcience as the principles of its energy, it evolves the multitude of its rcafons, furveys the all-various muta tions of forms, collell:s into famenefs intellell:, and that which is the objecl of intellect, and cxprclfes in images an intcllcclual and intelligible .e!Tencc. The third life of the foul is that which accords with its inferior powers, and energizes together with them, cmplo) ing phantafies and h·rational fenfes, and being entirely filled with things of a fubordinate nature.
“As there are therefore thefe three forms of life in fouls, the poetic divifion alfo fupcrnally proceeds together with the multiform lives of the foul, and is divcrfified into firfi, middle, and
)aft genera of energy. For, of poetry alfo, one kind has the higheft fubfiftence, is full of divine goods, and eftablilhcs the foul in the caufes thcmfclvcs of things, according to a certain ineffable union, leading that which is filled, into famencfs with its replcnilhing fourcc; the former im materially Cubjcc\ing itfclf to illumination, but the latter being inciied to a communication of light; thus according to the Oracle • perfelling works, by mingling the rivers of i,{corruptiblc fire.’ It alfo produces one divine: bond and a unifying mixture of that which is participattd and the Flfticipant, cftablilhing the whole of that which is fubordinate in that which is more
excellenr,
T H E R E P U B L I C. 439
leail:. .\Vhich? faid he. That no part of it which is imit:itive be by any means a,lmitted. For it appears, now mofi of all, and with greatcil: per
fpicuity,
excellent, and preparing that which is more ,livine alone to energize, the inferior nature being withdrawn, and concealing its own idiom in that which is fupcrior. This then, in 11,ort, is a mania better than temperance, and is diltinguilhcd by a divine charaa,.riltic. _And as every different kind of poetry fubfilts according to a different hvparxis, or fummit of divine elfcnce, fo this fills the foul energizing from divine infpiration, with fymmetry; and hence it adorns it lafl energies with meafures and rhyrhms. As therefore we foy tlt•t prophetic fury fubfifta according to truth, and the -amatory according to beauty, in like manner we fay, that the poetic mania is defined according to divine fymrnetry.
“The fecond kin,! of poetry which is fuhordinate to this firlt and divinely infpired fpccies, and which has a middle fuhlill nee in the foul, is allotted it• elfence, according to a fcicntific and intellcaual hab;t. Hence 1t knows the effence of things, and loves to contemplate beautiful works and reafonings, and leads forth every thing into a meaforcd and rhythmical interpretation, For you will fil)d many progeny of good poets to be of this kind, emulous of thofc that 4re truly wife, full of admonition, th befl counfels, and intellcltual fymmetry. It likewife extends the communication of prudence and every other virtue to thofe of a naturally good difpofition, and· affords a reminifcence of the periods of the foul, of its eternal reafons, and various powers.
“The third fpecies of poetry fubfcqurnt to thcfe, is mingled with opinions and phantalies, receives its completion through imitation, and is faid to be, an,l is nothing clfe than imitative poetry. At one time, it alone ufes aflimilation, and at another time defends apparent and not real a!limilation, It confiderably raifes very moderate paflions, aflonilhes the hearers; together· with appropriate appellations and words, mutations of harmonies and varieties of rhythms, changes the difpofitions of fouls; and indicates the nature of things not fuch as they are, but fuch aa they appear to the many; being a certain adumbration, and not an accurate knowledge of things. it alfo eltablifhes as its end the delight of the hearers; and particularly looks to the paffive part of the foul, which is naturally adapted to rejoice and be affiicted. But of this fpccies of poerry,. as we have faid, one divifion is aj/imilati’Ut, which is extended to rec\itude of imitation, but the· other is pha11t11Jlic, and affords apparent imitation alone.
“Such then in lhort are the genera of poetry. It now remains to lhow that thefe are alfo men
tioned hy Plato, and to relate fuch particulars as arc conformable to his do mas refpecling each. And in the firfl place we ll1all difcufs thofe wonderful conceptions refpctling divine poetry which may be collelted by him who does not ncgligemly perufe his writings. For, thefe things being pre1·ioully determined, it will I think be eafy to affign a1,t renfons refpeaing the fubfequent fpecies. In the Phredrus, then, he denominates this divine poetry, • a pofTeffion from the· Mufcs, and a mania, and fays, that it is fupernally impartcd to a tender and ‘folitary foul; but that its employment is to excite and infpire with Bacchic fury, according to odes, and the reft of poetry, and its end, to inllrucl: poflerity in celebrating the infinite· tranfacl:ions of the antients.’· From thefc words, it is 1•crfcaly evident that he calls the original and firlt-operating caufe of
poetry, the gift of the Mufes, For, as they fill all the other fabrications of the father of the_
univcrfe, both )he apparent and unapparent, with harmony and rhythmical motion, in lite
n1annca·
◄40 Tl-IE REPUBLIC.
fpicuity, that it is not to be admitted, fince the fcveral forms of t.he foul have been difiinguifhed• apart from one another. How do you mean 1
That
manner in the fouls which are poll”ell”ed by them they produce a vefiiJ\e of divine fymmetry which illuminates divinely infpired l’oetry. But lince the whole energy of the illuminating power is in divine adYCnts, and that which is illuminated gi,es itfclf up to the motions pro ceeding from thence, and, abandoning its own habits, fpreads itfdf under the energied of that
whic:h is di,ine and uniform ; on this account, I think, he denominates fuch an illuminatio11
a po..f,jpon and ma,,ia. He calls it a pojfdf,011, becaufe the whole illuminated foul gives itfelf up to the prefent effell: of illuminating deity; a,id a mania, becaufe fuch a foul abandons its own proper energies for the idioms of the illuminating powera.
” In the next place, he defcribes the habit of the foul potfell”ed by the Mufes; and fays it ought to be tmder and falitary. For a foul hard aqd refilling, an,! inobedient to divine illumi nation, is difpofed contrary to the energy of divinely infpired potrcllion; lince it thus rather fub6fis from itfelf than from that which illuminates, and is incapable of being properly im pretfed with its gifts. But a foul which is poll”effed by other all-various opinions, and is filled
,rith reafonings foreign froni a divine nature, obfcures divine infpiration, mingling with the m1>tions thence derived its own lives and energies. It is requifite therefore that the foul whic:h is to be poffcll”ed by the Mufes lhould be tender and folitary, that it may be properly paffive to, and perfeftly fympathize with, divinity, and that it may be impallive, unreceptive,
and unmingled with refpell: to other things.
“In the third place, therefore, he adds tRe common employment of fuch an aptitude, and of polkffioo and mania from the Mufes. For to excite and infpire with Bacchic fury, is the pro vince both of that which illuminates and that which is illuminated, and which gives completion to the fame thing; the former moving fupernally, and the latter fpreading itfelf under the moviag caufe. Excitation is indeed a refuneclion and unpervertcd energy of the foul, and a convcrlion· to divinity from a lapfe into generation. But Bacchic fury is a divinely infpircd motion, and an unwearied dance, as it were, towardi a divine nature, giving perfell.ion to the poll”effed. But again, both thefe are rcquilite, that the poffeffcd may not incline to that which is worfe, but may be eafily moved 10 • more excellent nature.
“In the fourth place he add,;, that the end of this divine poetry is lo inl!rull. po!lerity in celebrating the infinite deeds of the antients. Hence, he evidently tcfiifics that human affairs become more perfell: and fplellllid when they arc delivered from a divine mouth, and that true erudition is produce,! in the auditors of fuch poerry. Not that it is adapted to ju1·enile tuition, but pertains to thofe that arc already perfcll. in politic difcipline, and 1equire a more my!lic
tradition refpell:ing divine concerns. Such poetry, therefore, in!lrulh the heareu more than any other, when it is divine, and when its divine nature becomes manifefi to its auditors. Hence Plato very properly prefers this poetry which fubfifis from the Mufcs in tender and foli tary fouls, to every other human an. ‘For the poet, fays he, who approaches to the poetic gates without fuch a mania, will be impcrfcll., and his poetry, fo far as it is dill.ated by pru ncnce, will vanifh before that which is the progeny of fury.’ In this manner, therefore, <lees Socrates in the Pha:drua iofirul\ us in the peculiarities of divine poetry, which differs
both
THE REPURLIO. 441
That I may tell it as to you, (for you will not accufe me to the compofers of trageJy, and the refi of the imitative kind) all foch things as thefe feem
tO’
both from divine prophecy, and the telellic art, and refer its firft unfolding into light, to
the Gods,
“With thefe things alfo, what he fays in the Io accords, when he is diu:omfu,g with llbc rhapfodifl about this fpccies of poetry; for here he moll clearly evinces that the poetry -of Homer is divine, and, to others that arc converfant with it, is the caufe of enthufiaflic energy. For when the rhapfodill: fays, that he can fpcak copiouily on the poems of Homer, •but by no means on the writings of other poets, Socr:rtes affigning the reafon of this fays, ‘ It is not from art, that you fpeak well concerning Homer, but’ becaufc you arc moved by a divine power.’ And that this is true is indeed perf:lHy e\’ideut, iFor thofe who do any thing by lU’t, arc able to proJuce tl,e fame elrecl in all fintilars ; but thofe -that operate by a certain dui:Dc power about any thing which fubfill:s with fymmetry, can no Jonger thus operate with refpc& to other things which necell”arily have the fame power. Whence then a power of this kind is derived to the rhapfodill:, which particularly connclls him with Homer, but no longer with other poets, Socrates afterwards teaches us, ufing the llone which is vulg rly called Hercu- 1:i:an, as a moll: perfpicuous example of the moft perfec\ polrcffion from the Mufea. ·• Thie fione then,’ fays he, ‘not only draws to itfelf iron rings, but inferts in them a power attraltivc of things fimilar, fo as to enable them to draw other rings, and form a chain of rings, or pieces of iron, depending one from another.’
“Let us in the next place hear what Socrates adds fimilar to thefe things, refpecling divine poetry. ‘Thus then,’ fays he, ‘the Mufe makes men divine ; and from thefe men thus infpircd, others catching the facred power form a chain of divine enthufiall:s.’ Here, in the firll: place, he fpeaks of the divine caufe in the fingular number, ca.Bing it the Mufe, and not, as in the Phzdrus, a potTeflion from the Mufes, and a mania pertaining to their whole multitude, that he may refer all the number of thofe that arc moved enthuliall:ically to -one monad, as ‘it were, the primary principle of poetry, For poetry fubfilla uniformly and occultly in the firll mover; but fecondarily, and in a revolved manner, in poets moved by that monad; and lall:ly, and in a minill:rant degree, in the rhapfodills, who arc led back to this caufe through poets as the media, In the next place, by extending dwine infpiration fupernally, as far as to the la{l mixtures, he evidently, at the fame time, celebrates the fecundity of the fir!t moving principle, and molt clearly evinces the participation of the firlt participant,. For that poets lhould be able to excite others by their poems to a divinely infpired energy, indicates that there is a moft confpi• cuous prefencc in them of a divine natul’C, Confcquent co thefc things, therefore, he alfo a.dd1 what follows refpdling the po!Teflion of poets, “The belt epic poets,’ fays he, ‘and all fuch as excel in compofing any kind of verfes to be recited, frame t1’lt thofe their admirable poem, from the rules of art, but, po!Te!Tcd by the Mufe, they write from divine infpiration, Nor is it othcrwifc with the belt lyric poets, and all other fine writers of verfes to be fung.’ Aud again, afterwards, he f.iys, 1 For a poet is a thing light and volatile, and facred, nor is he able to write poetry till he bccom,·s divine, and has no longer the command of his intcllea.’ And lailly, he atlJs: ‘Ilence it is that the poets indeed fay many fine things, whatever their fub-
\’OL, I, 3 L jc«
442 TH E R E P U B L I C,
to be the ruin of the <lianoctic part of the hearers, viz. of fuch of them as have not a medicine to enable them to difcern their peculiar uature.
From
jell be, jull as you do concerning Homer; but, not doing it through any rules of art, each of them is able to fucceed from a divine delliny in that fpeties of poetry only to which he is im pelled by the Mufe.’
“In all thcfe citations, therefore, Plato evidently ellablilhcs divine poetry in a divine caufe, which he calls a Mufe; in this emulating Homer, who at one time looks to the multitude, and at another to the union of the ferics of the Mufcs; as when he fays, ‘0 Mufes, ling,’ and
Sing me the man, 0 Mufe.’ In the middle of thi11 principle of cnthufiaftic motions, and oF the !aft echoes• of infpiration, beheld in rhapfodills according to fympathy, Plato eflablilhcs poetic mania, moving and being moved, fupernally filled, and transferring to others the illu mination which originates from thence, and which imparts one conjunllion to the Jail partici pants with the participated monad.
“With thefe things alfo we may coharmonize what is faid by the Athenian gueft in the third book of the Laws concerning poetry, and wh,t Timaeus fay, refpelling poets. For the former fays
That the poetic gen s is divinely infpired, that it compofes facred hymns, and, with certain Graces and Mufes, relates many things that have been truly tranfa8ed ;’ and the latter e,c. harts us to follow poets infpired by Pha:bus, as ‘being the fons of Gods, and knowing the con• ccrns of their progenitors, though their atrertions are not probable, and arc unaccompanied with demonrlrations.’ From all which it is eafy to underftand what the opinion of Plato was concerning divine poetry, and tl\e poets charallerized according to it; and that thefe are efpc ci•lly mctrengers of divine names, aml are in an eminent manner acquainted with the affairs of their fathers. When, therefore, he takes notice of mythical li8ions, and corre8s the more ferious part of the writings of poets, Cuch as thofe refpeeling bonds, carlrations, loves, venereal cllnnellions, tears and laughter, we mull fay that he alfo cfpecially terlifics that thefe things are properly introduced, according to the theory, which is concealed in thefo Cymbals, as under veils. For he who thinks that poets are particularly worthy of belief in affairs refpeeling the Gods, though they fpeak without demonrlration from divine information, mull certainly admire divine fables+, through which they deliver the truth concerning divine natures, And he who calls the poetic genus divine, cannot alfo afcribe to it an impious and gigantic opinion refpeel ing divine concerns. He likewifc who evinces that the atrertions of poets arc attended with certain Graces and Mufes, m.url entirely confider an inelegant, unharmonious, and ungraceful phantafy, as very remote from the theory _of divine poets, When therefore in his Republic he eftablilhes by law, that poetry, and the indication through fables, are not adapted to the cars of youth, he is very far from defpiling poetry itfelf, but removes the juv nilc habit, as unexercifed in the hearing of fuch thing$\ frol’l liclion of this kind, for, as he fays in the Second Alci biades, ‘The whole of poetry is naturally cni,smatical, and is not obvious to the under ftanding of every one.’ And hence, in the Republic, he clearly fayr• ‘ That a youth is not
* For ct’11”,X7J/A-a-rw, in the original read ixr.”lj;(.”:l”‘:-1:rwv.
t Jo!lead of reading .-o,i o -ro,s 11-•’••s after 30tsp,0t.-,’:’oa I read .-w, .,a,ov, p,dous,
able
T H E R E P U n L I C.
From what conlideration, faid he, do you fay fo? It mufi be fi1oke11, faid I, :.iithough a certain fricndfhip, at lcaft, and reverence for Honer,
which
able to diftingui!h what is allegory, and what is not.’ We mufl: fay, therefore, that he en tirely admiu infpiml poetry, which he calls divine, and thinks it proper that thofe by whom it is poifoficd lhould be venerated in filence. And thus much concerning the firft kin,! of poetry, which fubfifts, from a divine origin, in tender and folitary fouls.
“In the next place, let us contemplate that fpecies of poetry, which has a fcientific knowledge of things, and which energizes according to intellecl and prudence ; which unfolds to men many names concerning an incorporeal nature, and leads forth into light many probable dogmas refpeeling a corporeal fubfiilence; inveftigatcs the moft beautiful fymmetry in manners, and the difpofition contrary to this; and adorns all thefe with proper meafures and rhythma. The Athenian gueft fays, that the poetry of Theognis is of this kind, which he praifes beyond that of Tyrtreus, becaufe Theognis is a teacher of the whole of virtue, and which extends to the whole political life. For the one admits a fidelity which receives its completion from all the virtues, expels from politics that moft true vice fedition, and leads into confcnt the live• of thofe that are perfuaded. But the other praifes the habit of fortitude by itfelf alone, and exhorts to this thofe that neglecl the other virtues. It will however be better to hear the words themfelvcs of Plato*: ‘ We have, too, the poet Tbeognis a witnefs in our favour, who was a citizen of the Megarenfian& in Sicily, For he fays, •
Who faithful in infane fedition keeps, With filver and with ruddy gold may vie.
We fay therefore that fuch a one will conducl himfelf in the mofi difficult war, in a manner nearly as much fuperior to the other, as juftice, temperance, and prudence, when conjoined with fortitude, arc fuperior to fortitude alone. For no one can be found faithful and found in feditions without the whole of virtue.’ Here, therefore, be admits Theognis as partaking of political fcience, and all the virtues.
“But in the Second Alcibiades, defining the moll: right and fafe mode of prayer, he refers it to a certain wife poet: ‘To me,’ fays he, ‘Alcibiades, it feems probable that fome wife man or other, happening to be conneclcd with certain perfons voicl of undcrftanding, and obferving them. to purfue and pray for things which it were better for them /till to be without, but which appeared to them good, compofe,I for their ufo a common prayer; the words of which are nearly thcfc : King Jupiter, grant us what is good, be it or not the fubjetl: of our prayers, and avert from us what is evil, though we fl1ould pray for it.’ For the fcientific man alone kuows how to di!lingui!h the fcparation of good and evil, and a convcrfe with a divine nature adapted to the middle habits of men. And on this account Socrates calls the poet that com• pofed this prayer a wife man, as forming a judgment of the natures of thofe that prayed, nei• ther through divine infpiration, nor right opinion, but through fcience alone, as ri:garding their habits, and preferving that which becomes the beneficent powers of the Go,ls. For, to convert all of them through prayer to the one royal providence of Jupiter, to fuf11c!1d the fub•
” See the l ll book of the I.awe.
3 L 2 liftence
T H E RE PU B L t C.
which I have had from my childhood, refirains me from telling it; for he feems truly both to have been the firll: teacher and leader of alJ ,thefe good
compofers
Sifl:ence of good from t’he power of divinity, to obliterate the generation of true evils through the benevolence of a more excellent nature, and, in lhort, to alrert that thefe things are unknown
to thofe that pray, but arc feparated by divinity according to proper boundaries, is the work of wifdom and fcience, and not of any thing cafual. Vcry properly therefore do we fay that fuch poetry is wife and fcienti6c. For the poetry which is able to affign right opinions to mid dle habits, muft itfelf fubfifl: according to perfell fcience.
” In the third place, therefore, let us fpeak concerning imitative poetry, which, we have already iaid, at one time affimilates things, and at another expretres them according to appearance. The Athenian gueft clearly delivers to us the affimilative part of this poetry; but Socrates, in the Republic, defcribes its phantafiic part: and how thefe differ from each other, I mean the.
-allimilative and phantafl:ic fpecies of imitation; the Eleatean gueil fulliciently informs us: ‘ For I appear,’ fays he, ‘to perceive two fpecies of imitation, one, the conjellural or allimilative art, which then efpecially takes place wh n fome one gives birth to imitation by imparting to every partic\llar fuch things s arc fit, in length, breadth, and depth, according to the fymmetries of its exemplar, and befides thefe things cc!ours alfo,-THE&, Do not all imitators endeavour to effell this ?-GUEST, Not thofe who perform or paint any great work. For, if they were to im• part to ther,; the true fymmetry of things beautiful, you know that the parts above would appear fmaller, and thofe below largerthan is fit; through the one being fren by us afar of!; and the other near.-THE.IE, Entirely fo, Artiils therefore, bidding farewell to truth, <lo not produce in images truly beautiful fymmetrie5, but thofe which appear to be fo.’ Very properly there fore, I think, does the Eleatean guefi at the end of the dialogue, wi{hing to bind the fophifl: hr the definitive method, efiablilh one part of the art effellive of images to be affimilative, and the other pbantafiic; the one fabricating the image fuch as is the exemplar; the other preparing
that which it produces to appear like that which it imitates. However, of allimilative poetry1 the Athenian guefi fpeaks feparately in the fecond book of the Laws, where he treats of m•fic
which does not make pleafore its end, but a true and fimilar imitation of its exemplar, to which place we refer the reader.
” But Socrates fpeaking in this book of phantall:ic poetry, and having lhown that a poet of
.this kind is the third from truth, and imitative, compares fuch poetry to a pil’lure, which repre fents not the works of nature but of artificers, and thefe not fuch as they are, but fuch as they appear. Hence, he clearly evinces that the phant•ilic fpccies of poetry regards pleafure a’one, and the delight of thofe that hear it, For, of imitative poetry, the phantafiic falls lhort of the allimil•tive, fo far as the latter regards rellitude of imitation, but the former th<!’ plea furc produced in the multitude from the energies of the phantafy. Such then are the genera of poetry which are th ught worthy of diflinll;ion by Plato; one, as helter than fcience, an• other as fcientific, a third as converfant with, and a fourth as falling off from, right opinion.
” Thefe things then being determined, let us return to the poetry of Homer, and contem plate refplendent in it every poetic habit, and particularly thofe which regard reclitude and beauty. For when he energizes cnthufia!Ucally, is potrefi’ed by the Mufcs, and narrates m flic
conc<ptiont
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compofers of tragedy: but the man mull: not be honoured preferably to the truth. But what I mean mull: be fpoken. By all means, faid he, Hear
me
conceptions about the Gods them(dves, then he enCTgizes according to the.lint and dmnely inCpired Cpecies of poetry. But when he relates the life of the foul, the diverfitiea in its nature,. and fuch political concerns as pertain to it, then he efpeci lly fpeaks fcientifically, Again, when he prcfcnts us with forms of imitation adapted to things and perfons hemfclvc , then he employs aflimilativc imitation. But when he dirccls his attention to that which appears to the multitude, and not to the truth of things, and thu, feduces the fouh of his hearers, then be ia a poet ac.cording to the phantallic fpecies. To illu!lrate what I mean, that I may begin from the h(l imitation of the poet, he fomttimes dcfcribes the rifing and fetting of the fun, not as eacb of thcfe is, nor as each is effected, nor imitating thi, in his verfes, but as it appears to us througb diftance. This then, and every thing of this kind may be called the phantaftic part of hi, poetry. 13ut when he imitates heroes warring, or confulting, or fpeaking according to the forms of life, fome as prudent, others as brave, and others as ambitious, then l lhould fay that this ia the work of a!Iimilative poetry Again, when in confequence of knowing either the <liverfity oi fubfiflence in the parts of 1he foul, he unfolds and teaches it, or the dilforence between the image and the foul by which it is ufed, or the order of the elements in the univerfe, viz. of earth, water, rether, heaven, or any thing elfe of this kind, then I fi1ould confidently all”ert that this originated from the fcientific power of poetry. And after all thefc, when he teaches us concerning the demiurgic mouad, and the triple diftribution of wholes, or concerning the bonds of Vulcan, or the conneclion of the paternal intdleclion of Jupiter with the prolific
<livii,ity of Juno, then I fl1ould fay that ht is clearly enthufiaftic, and that fuch like f•bles arc devifcd by him, in confr,1uence of his being polli:lfed by the Mufes. But Homer hi111telf alfo manifefls in the bard Uemodocus, an energy originating from the Gods, when Ulylfes faya of his fong, that he began it impelled by a God, that he was divinely in[pired, and that the Mufc; loved him, or the God that is the leader of the Mufes :
The Mufe, Jove’s daughter, or Apollo, taught Thee aptly thus the fate of Greece to ling, And all the Grecians, 4ardy deeds and toils•.
And that Homer by Oemouocua intended after a manner to reprefent himfelf, and introduced’ him as a pattern of his own calamities, is an opinion fulliciently celebrated. And the verfes,.
,viih clou.ts of darlr.nefs quench’d his vifual ray,. But gave him lkill to raife the lofty lay,
appear direclly to refer to the fabled blindncfs of Homer. He therefore clearly contends, that Demodocus fays what he does fay from divine infpiration, But it is well that we Juve men tioned Demo,locus, anti his ,livinely infpired fong. For it appears to me that the mufician1· who arc thought worthy of bei:1g mentioned by Homer, unfold the abovcmcntioned genera. of poetry. For Demodocus, as we have faid, was di,·inely infpired, both in narrating divine
Ody[, lib, viii, v<r, 488,.
T H E RE PU B L I C.
me then, or rather anfwer me. Aflc. Can you tell me perfcclly, what at all imitation is? for I do not myfelf altogether undcdl:and what it
1neans.
2nd human concerns, and is fai_d to have fufpended his mufic from divinity. But Phcmius, the lthacenfian bard, is principally charallerized according to a mere knowledge of divine and human affairs. For Penelope fays to him,
Alluring arts thou know’ll, and what of old Of Gods and Heroes facred bards have told •.
The third is the lyrill ofClytemnellra, ho was as_it feems an imitative poet, employe,1 right opinion, and extended the melodics of temperance to that female. Hence, as long as he remained with her, lhe perpetrated no unholy deed, in confequence of her irrational life being charmed to temperance by difciplinative fong, The fourth mufician may be placed as ana logous to the phanta!l:ic fpecics of poetry; and this is that Thamyris with whofe fong rhe Mufes being indignant, are faid to have caufed it to ceafe, For he was converfant with a mufic much more diverfified and fenfible, and calculated to plcafe the vulgar. Hence he is faid to have contended with the M11fes, as preferring a more various mufic to that which is more fimple and more adapted to thofe divinities, and as falling from the benevolence of the Goddclfes. For the anger of the Mufes does not refer any paffion to them, but indicates the inaptitudc 0£ Thamyris to their participation. This then is the fong which is moll: remote from truth, which
. calls forth the paffions of the foul, and is phanta!l:ic, and neither poflelfes with refpell to imita tion, right opinion, or fcience. We may therefore behold all the kinds of poetry in Homer, but particularly the enthuliallic, according to which, we have faid, he is principally·,charallc rifed. Nor are we fingular in this opinion ; but, as we have before obferved, Plato himfelf, in many places, calls him a divine poet, the moll: divine of poets, and in the highe!l: de gree worthy of imitation, But the imitative and at the fame time phanta!l:ic poetry bas a moft obfcure fubfiftence in Homer; lince he never ufcs it but for the purpofe of procuring credibility from the vulgar, and when it is perfdlly unavoidable, As there fore, if a man entering into a well rcgulaterl city, and beholding intoxication there cm• ployed for a certain ufeful purpofe, lhould neither imitate the prudence in the city, nor its whole order, but intoxication itfelf alone,-as in this cafe the city is not to be blamed as the pufe of his conilull:, but the peculiar imbecility of his judgment; in like manner, I think, tra gic poets, being emulous of the Jail: fpccics of Homeric poetry, fl,ould refer the principle of their error not to Homer, but to their own impotency. Homer therefore moy be called the leader of tragedy, fo far as tragic poets emulate him in other refpells, and di!l:ribute the different parts of his poetry; imitating pha11tajiii:alty what he alferts ‘!/Jimilotiw!y, and adapting to the ear. of the vulgar what he compofes fcientifically. Homer, however, is not only the teacher pf tragedy (for he is this according to the Jail: fpecics of his po try), but likewife of the whole of that which is imit;itive in Plato, and of the whole theory of that philofopher,”
Proclus concludes his apology for Homer with obferving as follows: “The reafon,” fays he,
# as it appears to me, that impelled Plato to write with fuch feverity again!l: Homer, and the
* Odyff, lib, i.
imitative
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means. And lhall I then any how t1nderfiand it? faid he. That would be no way firange, faid I; fince thole who are dim-fighted perceive many things fooner than thofe who fee more clearly. The cafe is fo, faid he• but whilfi you are prefent, I lhould not be able to adventure: to tell, even though fomething did appear to me. But confider it yourfelf. Are you willing then, that we hence begin our inquiry in our ufual method? for we were wont to fuppofe a certain fpecies with refpell: to many individuals to which we give the fame name; or do you not undedl:and me? I un dcrfiand, Let us fuppofe now fuch among the many, as you pleafe ; as,. for example, there arc many beds and tables, if you pleafe. Why are there not? But the ideas ‘, at leafi refpecling thefe pieces of furniture,.
are
imitative fpecies of poetry, was the corruption of the times in which he lived: for philofophy was then defpifed, beinh accufod by Come as ufdefs, and by others entirely condemned·. On the contrary, poetry was then held in immo,lerote admiration; its imitative power was the fubjec!’ of emulation ; it was confidered as adequate alone to difciplinative purpofes; and poets, becaufo·. they imitated every thing, perfuaded themfelves that they knew all things, as is evident from., what Socrates fays in this dialogue. Hence l’lato, indignant at the ptevalence of Cuch an opinion, thaws that the poetic and imitative genus wanders far from the truth, which philofo phy, the fa1•iour of fouls, imparts. For, from the fame benevolent w_i{h through which he accufes· the fophHls and popular orators, • unable to contribute any thing to virtue, he .ilfo bbmes the. poets, and particularly the compof.:r; of tragedy, and fuch imitators as devife that which may charm their hearers, an,l not that which may promote virtue ; and who inchant, bat do not inftrucl, the multitude. B,1t he confiders Homer as deferving a fimilar reprehenfion, becaufe he is tlie leader of this fpccies of poetry, and affords to tragedians the feeds of imitation. For thus it was requilite to recall the men of his age from aftoniihment refpec1ing poetry, through, an immoderate attachment to which, they neglecled true difcipline. With a view therefore t the inllruclion of the multitude, to correll: an abfurd phantafy, and exhort to a philofophic life. he reprobates the tragedians, who were then called public preceptors, as direcling their attention to nothing fane; and, at the fame time, remits his reverence for Humer, and, ranking him in the fame clafs with tragic poets, blames him as an imitator.
“Nor is it wonderful, that the fame p et lhould be called by him, both di¥ine, and the third, from the truth. :For, fo far as he is poffeffed by the Mufes, he is divine; but, fo far as he is, an imitatcr, he is the third from the truth,”.
We mull not fuppofc that Plato, in fpeaking of the idea. of a be,! and table,. mean to lignify: that there is an i<lea of each of thefe i:1 the intellecl of the demiurgus of the univcrfe; or, in f11ort, that there are idcos of things artiGcial; but he calls by the name of idea, the reafon or· produclive principl which fubGfts in the dianoetic power of the ·artificer: and this reafon, ha fays, is the olT,pring of deity, becaufe he is of opiaion, that this very artificial principle itlelf
ia,
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are two ; one of bed, and one of table, Yes. And are we not wont to fay, that the workmen cif each of thefe fpecies of furniture, looking to wards the idea, make in this manner, the one the beds, and the other the tables which we ufe? and all other things after the fame manner. For no one of the artifis makes, at leaft, the idea itfelf; for how can he ? By no means. But fee now whether you call fuch a one as this an artifi l Which ? One who does all fuch things, as each manual artificer does. You mention fomc:: tkilfol and wonderful man. Not yet, at lcafi; but you will much more fay fo prefently ; for this fame mechanic is not only able to make all forts of utenfils, but he makes alfo every thing which fprings from the·earth, and he makes all forts of animals, himfelf as well as others: and befides thefe things, he makes the earth, and heaven, and the Gods, and aH things in heaven, and in Hades under the earth. You mention, faid he, a perfeclly wonderful fophifi. You do not believe me; but tell me, does it appea\- to you that there is not any fuch artifi? or that, in one refpecl, he is the maker of all thefe things, and in another he is not? or do you not perceive that even you yourfelf might be able to make all thefe things, in a certaiti manner at leaft? And what, faid he, is this manner? It is not difficult, faid I, but is performed in many ways, and quickly; but in the quickefi manner of all, if you choofe to take a mirror, and carry it round every where; for then you will quickly make the fun, and the things in the heavens, quickly the earth, quickly yourfelf, and the other animals, and utenfils, and vegetables, and all that was now mentioned. Yes, faid he, the appearances, but not however the real things. You come well, faid J, and feafonably, with your remark; for • I imagine that the painter too is one of thefe artifts. Is he not1 How is
it pofiible he Jhould not? • But you will fay, I think, that he does l)0t
make what he m:ikes, true, although the painter too, in a certain man ner, at leaft•, makes a bed, does he not? Yes, faid he, he too makes only
is imparted to fouls from divinity, Proclu , on the Parmenides, well obferves, that an argument of the truth of this may be derived from hcnce,-that f’lato calls a poet the third from, or with rcfpell: to, the truth, placing him analogous to a painter, who doc, not make a bed, but the image of it. The form of bed, therefore, in the dianoetic part of the artificer, ranks as lirft with refpell to truth; the bed which he makes as fecond; and that which is painted ij the third. But if there was an idea of bed in the intcllell of divinity, the painter would be the fourth and 1101 the third from the truth.
6 the
T II n E I’ u n L I C. 4-19
the appearance. But what with reference to the ld-:n:1kcr: Did you not indecJ fay, jufi now, that he docs not make the form which we far cxi11,, which is bed, but a particular bed? I faid fo i:1decd. If thrn l;t: docs not make that which is, he does not make real h,ing, bllt fomc foc’.i thing as being, but not being itfrlf: bllt if any one lhould fay, that the work of a bed-maker, or of any other handicraft, were real being, he would foem not to fay true. He would, faid he, as it mufi appear to thofo who arc convcrfant in fuch kind of rcafonings. Let us not then at all wonder if this likewifc happen to be fomcwhat obfrllre with reference to the truth. Let us not. Are you willing then, faid I, that, with reference to thefo very things, we inquire concerning the imitator, who he really is? If you are wilii11g, faid he. .Are there not then thefo three forts of beds? One which exit1s in nature, and which we may fay, as I imagine, God made, or who elfe? None, I think. And one which the joiner makes. Yes, faid he. And one which the painter make . Is it not fo? Be it fo. Now the painter, the· bed-maker, God, thefc three prefide over three fpecies of beds. They arc three, indeed. But God, whether it were that he was not willing, or whether there was Come .neceflity for it, that he lhould not make but one bed iu nature, made this one only, which is really bed; but two foch, or more, have never beeq produced by God, nor ever will be pro duced. How fo? faid he. Becaufo, faid I, if he had made but two, again· one would have appeared, the form of which both thefc two would have poffcffed and that form would be, that which is bed, and not thofe two. Right, faid he. God then, I think, knowing thefo thiugs, and willing to be the maker of bed, really, and really exifiing, but uot of any particular bed, nor to be any particular bed-maker, produced but one in nature. It nppears fo. Are you willing, then, that we call him the planter of this, or fomething of this kind? It is jufi, faid he, fince he hns, in their nature, 1 rnd.:: both this, and all other things. But what as to the joiner? Is not he the workman of a bed? Ycs. And is the painter, too, the workman and maker of foch a work? By no means. But what will you fay he is with relation to bed? This, faid he, as it appears to me, we may moft
re<ifonably call him, the imitator of what thefo are the workmen of. Be it
Jo, faid I; you call him then the imitator who makes what is generated the third from nature ? Entirely fo, faid he. And this the compofer of voL. r. 3 1\1 tragedy
T H E R E PU B L I C,
tragedy fl1all be likewifc, fince he is an imitator, riling as a fort of third from the King and the truth; and in like manner all otht:r imitators. It feems fo. We have agreed then as to the imitator; but tell me this con cerning the painter, whether do you think he undertakes to imitate tach particular thing in nature, or the works of artifis ? The works of artifis, fa.id he. Whether, fuch as they really are, or fuch as they appear? Deter mine this further, How do you fay? replied he. Thus. Does a bed difrer any thing from itfelf, whether he view it obliquely, or direll:ly oppofite, or in any particular pofition? or, does it differ nothing, but only appears different, and i’n the fame way as to other things? Thus, faid he, it appears, but differs nothing. Confider this too, with reference to which of the two does painting work, in each particular work; whether with reference to real being, to imitate it as it really is, or wi h re ference to what is apparent, as it appears; and whether is it the imi tation of appearance, or of truth? Of appearance, faid he. The imitative art, then, is far from the truth : and on this account, it feems, he is able to make thefe things, becaufe he is able to attain but to fome fmall part of each particular, and that but an image. Thus we fay that a painter will paint us a {hoemaker, a joiner, and other artifrs, though he be 1killed in none of thofe arts ; yet he will be able to deceive children and ignorant people, if he be a good painter, when he paints a joiner, and fhows him at a difiance, fo far as to 1nake them ima gine he is a real joiner. Why not? But this, I think, my friend, we mull: confider with reference to all thefe things; that when any one tells us of fuch a painter, that he has met with a man who is fkilled in all manner of workmanfhip, and every thing elfe which every feveral artifi underflands, and that there is nothing which he does not know more accu rately than any other perfon, we ought to reply to fuch an one, that he is a fimple man, and that it feems, having met with fome magician, an<l mimic, he has been deceived ; fo that he has appeared to him to know every thing, from his own incapacity to di!l:inguifh between fcieuce, and ignorance, and imitation. Moll true, faid he. Ought we not then, faid I, in the next place, to confider tragedy, and its leader, Homer? fince we hear from fome, that thefe poets underfiand all arts, and all human affairs, refpecling virtue and vice, and likewife all divine things; for a good poet
mufi
T II E R E P U B L I C. 45,1
muft necclrarily compofe with knowledge, if he means to compofc well what he compofes, elfe he is not able to compofc, It behoves us then to confider whether thefe who have met with thofe imitators have been deceived, and on viewing their works have not perceived that they are the third difiant from real being, and that their works are fuch as can eafily be made by oue who knows not the truth (for they make phantafms, and not real beings); or whether they do fay fomething to the purpofe, and that the good poets in reality have knowledge in thofe things which they feem to the multitude to exprefs with elegance. By all means, faid he, this is to be inquired into. Do you think then, that if any one were able to make both of thefe, that which is imitated, and likewife the image, he would allow himfelf ferioufly to apply to the workmanlhip of the images, and propofe this to himfelf as the beft thing in life? I do not. But if he were in reality intelligent in thefe things which he imitates, he would far rather, I think, fcrioufly apply himfelf to the things than to the imita tions, and would endeavour to leave behind him many and beautiful aclions, as monuments of himfelf, and would fiudy rather to be himfelf the perfon commended than the encomiafi. I think fo, faid he ; for nei ther is the honour nor the profit equal. As to other things, then, let us not call them to account, afk.ing Homer or any other of the poets,’ whether any of them were any way fk.illed in medicine, and not an imitator only of medical difcourfes, for which of the antient or latter poets is faid to have refiored any to health, as JEfculapius did? or what ftudents in medi cine has any left behind him, as he did his defcendants ? Nor let us aik them concerning the other arts, but difmifs them: but with reference to thofe greatcll: and mofi beautiful things which Homer attemph to fpeak of, concerning wars and armies, and conftitutions of cities, and the edu cation belonging to men, it is jull:, fomehow, to quefiion him, whiHl: we demand of him : Friend Homer, if you be not the third from the truth with regard to virtue, being the workman of an image (which we have <ldined an imitator to be), but the fecond, and are able to difcern what purfuits render men better or worfe, both in private and public, tell us which of the cities has been by you better ·confiituted, ns Laced mon was by Lycurgus, and many other both great and finall cities by many others, but what city acknowledges you to have been a good lawgiver,
3M 2 and
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and to have been of advantage to them. Italy and Sicily acknowledge Charondas, and we Solon ; but will any one acknowledge you as the be nefactor of any city? I think not, foid Glauco. It is not then preteudcd even by the Homerics themfolves. But what war in Homer’s days is recorded to have been well condu8:ed by him as leader, or counfellor? Not one. But what are his difcoveries ? as among the works of a wife man there are many difcoveries and inventions fpoken of, refpell:ing the arts, and other affairs ; as of Thales the Milcfian, and of Anacharfis the Scythian. By no means is there any fuch thing. But if not in a public manner, is Homer faid to have lived as a private tutor to any who de lighted in his converfation, and have delivered down to pofierity a certain Homeric manner of life ? in like manner as Pythagoras was remark ably beloved on this account, and, even to this day, fuch as denomi.. nate themfe\ves from the Pythagorrean manner of life appear to be fomehow eminent beyond others. Neither is there, faid he, any thing of this kind related of Homer. For Creophilus 1, Socrates, the companion of Homer, may probably appear more ridiculous fiill in his education, than in his name, if what is faid of Homer be true. For it is faid that he was greatly neglected when he lived under Homer’s tuition. It is faid indeed, replied I, But do you think, Glauco, that if Homer had been able to edu cate men, and to render them better, as being capable not only to imitate with refpett to thefe things, but to undedl:and them, would he not then have procured himfelf many companions, and have been honoured and
beloved by them ? But Protagoras the Abdcrite, and Prodicus the Chian1 and many others, are able to perfuade the men of their times, converfing with them privately, that they will neither be able to govern their family, nor yet their city,· nnlcfa they themfelves prefide over their education ; and for this wifdom of theirs, they are fo exceedingly beloved, that their com panions almoft carry them about on their heads. Would then the men of Homer’s time have left him or Hefiod to go about finging their fongs, if he had been able• to profit men in the WJ y of virtue ; and not rather have
According to the Greek Scholia!l on this place, Creophilus was an epic poet of Chios. Some relate of him that Homer married his daughter, and that Homer dwelling in his houfc, he
had from him the poem of the Iliad. His name, to which Socrates alludes, Jignifies a lover of flefh.
a retained
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retained him with gold, and obliged him to fiay with them ? or, if they could not perfuade him, woulJ they not as fcliohrs have followed him every where, till they !\ad obtained fuffieient education? You teem to me, faid he, Socrates, to fay what is in every refpecl: true. Shall we not then eflablilh this point,-That all the poetical men, bcginniug with Homer, are imitators of the images of virtue, and of other things about which they eo:.. pote, but that they do not attain to the truth : but as we jufi now faid, a painter who himfolf knows nothing about the making oflhoes, will draw a lhoemakcr, “‘ho lhall appear to be real to foch as are no in telligent, but who view according to the colour and figures? Ent:rdy fo. In the fame manner, I think, we lhall fay that the poet colours o,·er with his names and .words certain colours of the feveral arts, whilfi he under fiands nothing himfelf, but merely imitates, fo as to others fuch as himfelf who view things in his compolitions, he appears to have knowledge: and if he fays any thing about thoemaking in meafure, rhythm and harmony, he feems to fpeak perfcdly well, and in like manner if of an expedition,. or of any thing elfe: fo great an inchantmcnt have thcfo things naturally, fince you know, I think, in what manner poetical things appear when
fiript of mullcal colouring, and exprelfed apart by thcmfclves, for you have fomewhere beheld it. J have, faid he. D0 they not, faid I, re femble the faces of people “n·ho are in their prime, but who are not beau-· tifol, fuch as they appear when their bloom forfakes them? Entirely, faid he. Come now, and confider thi . The maker of the image, whom we call the imitator, knows nothing of real bein,;, but only of that which is apparent, Is it uot fo? Ycs. Let us not theu !eave it exprelfed by halves, but let 11s fufficiently perceive it. S,!}’ on, replied he. A painter,. we fay, will paint reins, and a bridle. Yes. And the leather-cutter, aud the fmith, will make them, Certainly. Does then the painter under fiand what kind of reins and bridle there ought to be? or 1101 even he who. makes them, the finith, uor the leather-cutter, but he who knows how to· ufe them, the horfeman alone ? Mofi true. Shull we not fay it is fo in every thing clfe? How? That with reference to ea::h particular thing, there are thcfe three arts, That which i to ufe it, that which is to make it, aud that which is to imitate it. Ycs. Are then the virtue, and the beauty. and the ret1itude of every utenlil, mid ::nimal, and altion, for
11othing
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nothing elfe b\lt for the ufe for which each particular was made, or gene rated? Juft fo. By a great neceffity, then, he who ufes each particular rm1ft l::e the moft fkilfol, and be able to tell the maker what he makes good or bad, with reference to the ufe for which he ufes it: thus, for exam ple, a player on the pipe tells the pipe-maker concerning pipes, what things are of fervice towards the playing on the pipe, and he will give orders how he ought to make them, but the workman docs not fo. How fuould it be otherwife? Does not the one then, being iutelligcut, pronounce concerning good and bad pipes, and the other, believing him, make ac cordingly ? Yes. With reference then to one and the fame infirument, the maker !hall have right opinion concerning its beauty or deformity, whilft he is converfant with one who is intelligent, and is pblige<l to hear from the intelligent; but he who ufes it !hall have fcience. Entirely fo. But whether !hall the imitator have fcience from ufing the things he paints, whether they be liandfome and right, or otherwife? or !hall he have right opinion from his being necelfarily converfant with the intelligent, and from being enjoined iu what manner he ought to paint? Neither of the two. The imitator then !hall have neither knowledge, nor right opinion about what he imitates with reference to beauty or deformity. It appears not. The imitator then fhould be very agreeable in his imitation, with regard to wifdom, concerning what he paints. Not entirely. But however he will imitate at leafi, witqout k 1owing concerning each particular in what refpecl it is ill or good; but ir is likely that he will imitate fuch as ap pears to be beautiful to the multitude, and thofe who know nothing. What elfe? We have now, indeed, fufficiently, as it appears, at lcaH, fettled thefe things : That the imitator knows nothing worth mentioning in thofe things which he imitates, bt1t that imitation is a fort of amufement, and not a ferious affair. And likewife that thofe who apply to tragic poetry in iambics and heroics, are all imitators in the highdl: degree. Entirely fo. But, by Jupiter, faid I, this of imitation is fomchow in the third degree from the truth. Is it not? Yes. To what part then of man does it belong, having the power it po!felfes? What part do you fpeak of? Of fuch as this. The fame agnitude perceived by fight, does not appear in the fame manner, near, and at a difiance. It does not. And the fame things appear crooked and ftraight, when we look at them
in
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in water, and out of water, and concave and convex, through the error of the fight, as to colours. All this difl:urbance is manifefl: in the foul ; and thi, infirmity of our nature painting attacks, and leaves nothing of magical fedull.ion unattempted, together with the wonder-working art, and many other fuch-like devices. True. And have not the arts ofmea furing, numbering, and weighing, appeared to be mo!l: ingenious helps in thefo things, that fo the apparent greater or lefs, the apparent more or heavier, may not govern us, but the numbered, the meafured, and the weighed? How 1hould it be otherwife? But this again is, at leafl:, the work of the rational part in the foul. It is fo, indeed. But whil!l: reafon often mcafures and declares fome things to be greater or lefs than other things, or equal, the contrary appears at the fame time with reference to thefe things. Yes. But did not we fay that it was impoffible for the fame perfon to have contrary opinions about the fame things at the fame time? An<l thus far we faid rightly. That part of the foul, then, which judges contrary to the meafure, would feem not to be the fame with that which judges according to the meafure. It would not. But furely, at lea!l:, that which trufl:s to meafure and computation would fcem to be the bell: part of the foul. Why not? That then which oppofos itfelf to this will be fame one of the depraved parts of us. Of neceffity. It was this then I wi1hed 1hould be agreed upon, when I faid that painting, and in fhort imi tation, being far from the truth, delight in their own work, converfing with that part in us which is far from wifdom, and are its companion and friend, to no found nor genuine purpofe. Entirely fo, faid he. Imitation then, being depraved in itfelf, and joining with that which is depraved, generates depraved things. It feems fo. Whether, faid I, is the cafe thm, with reference to the imitation which is by the fight only, or is it likewife fo with reference to that by hearing, whic!-i we call poetry? Likely as to this alfo, faid he. We 1hall not therefore, faid I, trufi to the appear ance in painting, but we 1hall proceed to the conlideration of the dianoetic part with which the imitation through poetry is converfant, and fee whether it is depraved or worthy. It mull: be done. Let us proceed then thus: Poetic imitation, we fay, imitates men aB:ing either voluntarily or invo luntarily; and imagining that in their all.ing they have done, either well or ill, and in all thcfe cafes receiving either pain or pleafore : Does it
6 any
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any more than this? No more. In all tl1t fo, now, docs the man agree with himfolf? or, as he <lifagrccd “ith rucr,;ncc to light, and h ,.J C’.m trary opinions in himfclf ot t!ie fame things at one a11d the fi11nc time, docs he, in the fame manner, difagrcc likcwife in his acl:icn_s, and light with himielf? But l recollect tlu t there is no occafion for us to fettle this at leafl:; for, in our rcafonings above, we fufficicntly determined all thefe things, that our foul is full of a t!10ufa.nd foch contrarieties exifting Ill 1t. Right, faid he. Right indeed, faid I ; but it appear, to me necef fary to difcufs now, what was then omitted. As what? fai<l he. \Ve faid fomewhere formerly, faid I, that a good man, wheu he meets with fuch a fortuue as the lofs of a fon, or of any tliiug ell which he values the mofi, will bear it of all men the eaiidl. Certainly. Ilut let us now confider this forther,-whether will he not grieve at all, or is this indec,l impoffible, but he will, however, moderate his grief? The truth, faid he, is rather this lafi. .But tell me this uow concerning him, whether do you think that he will firuggle more with grief and oppofc it, when he is obferved by his equals, or when he is in folitudc, alone by himfclf? Much more, faid he, when he is obforved. But when ahn<‘, he will venture, I think, to utter many things, which, if any one heard him, he would be afhamed of, and he will do many things which he would u0t wifh any one faw him doing. It is fo, faid he. Is it not then reafon and law which command him to reftrain his grief,-but what drags him to grief is tl:e paffion itfelf? True. As then there is in the man au oppofite conduce, with regard to the fame thiug, at one and the fame time, we mufi nectffa rily fay that he has .two coudull:ors. \Vhat elfc? 1\nd tlrnll we uot fay that one of them is ready to obey the law wherever law leads him? How? Law in a• manner foys that it is bell in misfortlmes to have the greatcfl: tranquillity pollible, aB<l uot to bear them ill ; fi11ce the good and evil of foch things as thele is not manifefi, aud fioce uo advantage follows the bearing thefe things ill; and as nothiug of human affairs i, worthy of great concern; and, be/ides, their grief proves a hinderauce to that iu them which we ought to have mofi at hand. What is it, faid he, you fpeak of? To deliberate, faid I, on the eveut; and,,as on a throw of the dice, to regulate
.his affairs according to what cafis up, in whatever way rcafo11{hall declare
to be befi: and not as children when they fall, to lie fiill, and wafte the
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time in crying; but always to accufiom the foul to apply in the fpeediell: manner to heal and recl:ify what was fallen and fick, difmiffing lamenta tion. One would thus, faid he, behave in the bell: manner in every con dition. And did not we fay that the bell: part is willing to follow this hich is ratioual? It is plain. And ihall not we fay that the part which leads to the remembrance of the affiitlion, and to wailings, and is infa tiably given to thefe, is irrational, and idle•, and a friend to cowardice ? We ihall fay fo truly. Is not then the grieving part that which admits of much and of various imitation ? But the prudent and tranquil part, which is always uniform with itfelf, is neither eafily imitated, nor, when imitated, cafily underfrood, efpecially by a popular alfembly, where all forts of men are alfembled together in a theatre. For it is the imitation of a difpofition which is foreign to them. Entirely fo. It is plain, then, that the imita• tive poet is not made for fuch a part of the foul as this. Nor is his {kill fitted to pleafe it, if he means to gain the applaufe of the multitude. But he applies to the paffionate and the multiform part, as it is eafily imitated. It is plain. May we not then, with juftice, lay hold of the imitative poet, and place him as correfponde1rt to he painter? for he refembles him, both becaufe, as to truth, he effecl:s but depraved things, and in this too he refembles him, in being converfant with a different part of the foul from that which is bell:. And thus we may, with jufiice, not admit him into our city which is to be well regulated, becaufe he excites and nourifhes this part of the foul, and, firengtheuing it, defiroys the rational. And as he who in a city makes the wicked powerful, betrays the city, and defl:roys the bell: men, in the fame manner we fnall fay that the imitative poet efiabliihes a had republic in the foul of each individual, gratifying the foolifh part of it, which neither difcerns what is great, nor what is little, but deems the fame things fometimes great, and fometil.l].es fmall, forming little images in its own imagination, altogether remote from the truth, Entirely fo. But we have not however as yet brought the greatefr accufa tion againfl: it: for that is, fomehow, a very dreadful one, that it is able to corrupt even the good, if it be not a very few excepted. How 1hould it not, fince it alls. iu this manner? But hear now, and confider; for fomchow, the bell: of us, when we hear Hoiner, or any of the ti:agic writers, imitating fome of the heroes when in grief, pouring forth long voL. 1. 3 N fpeeches
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fpeeches in ,their forrow, bewailing and beating their breafis, you know we are delighted; and, yielding ourfelves, we follow along, and, fympathiz ing with· them, ferioufly commend him as ·au able poet whoever moil: affects us in this manner. I know it. But when any do1r.eftic grief befalls any, of us, you perceive, 011 the other hand, that we value ourfelves on the oppofite behaviour, if we can be quiet, and endure, this being the part of a man, but that of a woman, which in the t)ther cafe we com mended. I perceive it, faid he. Is this commendation then, faid I, handfome one, when we fee fuch a man as one would not deign to be onefelf, but would be afhamed of, not to abominate buc to delight iu him, and commend .him ? No, by Jupiter, faid he ; it appears unreafon able. Certainly, faid I, if you confider it, in this manner. How ? If you confider that the part of us, which in our private misfortunes is forci bly rell:rained, and is kept from weeping and bewailing to the full, being
by nature of fuch a kind as is defirous of thefe, is the very part which is
by the poets filled and gratified : but that part in us, which is naturally the befi, being not fufficiently infrrucled, either by reafon or habit, grows remifs in its guardianfhip over the b”wailing part, by attending to the fufferings of others, and deems it no way difgraceful to itfelf, to commend and pity one who grieves immoderately, whilft he profeffes to be a good man. But this it thinks it gains, even pleafure, which it would not choofe to be deprived of, by ddpifing the whole of the poem. For, I think, it falls to the fhare of few to be able to confider, that what we feel with refpetl: to the fortL1nes of others, mull: neceffarily be felt with refpecl: to our own. Since it is not eafy for a man to bear up under his own misfor• tunes, who firongly cherifhes the bewailing difpofition over thofe of others. Moft true, faid he, And is not the reafoning the fame with reference to the ridiculous? For when you hear, in imitation by comedy, or in private converfation, what you would be afhamed to do yourfelf to excite laughter, and are delighted with it, and imitate it, you do the fame thing here as in the tragic: for that part, which, when it wanted to excite laughter, was for merly refrrained by reafon from a fear of incurring the characl:er of fcurrility, by now }t;tting loofe, and allowing there to grow vigorous, you are often imperceptibly brought to be in your own behaviour a buffoon. Extremely fo, fa.id he. And the cafe is the fame as to venereal pleafores, and anger, and
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the whole of the pafiions, as well the forrowful as the joyful, whi,ch truly, we
·have faid, attend us in every aclion; that the poetical imitation of thefe h:!s the fame effect upbu us; for it nouri!hes and waters thofe things which ought to be parched, and confiitutes as our governor, thofe which ought to be governed, in order to our becoming better and happier, iuftead of
·being worfe and more miferable. I can fay no otberwife, faid-he. When therefore, Glauco, faid I, you meet with the encomiafts of Homer, who tell how this poet infitucted Greece, and that he deferves to be taken as a mafier to teach a man both the management and the knowledge of human affairs; and that a man !hould regulate the whole of Ifo life according to this poet, we !hould indeed love and embrace fuch people, as being the heft they are able ; and agree with them that Homer is moll po tical, and the fidl: of tragic writers: but they mufi know, that hymns to the God , and the praifes of worthy all:ions, are alone to be admitted into the city. But if it ihould admit the pleafurable mufe likewife, in fongs, or verfes, you would have pleafure and pain reigning in the city, infiead of law, and that rcafon which alway appears befi to the community. Moft true, faid he. Let thefe things now, faid I, be our apology, when we recollect what we have faid with reference to poetry, that we then very properly difmitfed it from our republic, fince it is fuch as is now defcribed: for reafon obliged us. Aud let us tell it further, le!l: it accufe us of a certain roughnefs, and ru!l:ic:ty, that there is an antient variance lietween philofophy and poetry; for fuch verfes as thefe,
That bawling bitch, which at her miftrefs barks,
And And
He’s great in empty eloquence of fools,
On trifles fiill they plod, bccaufc they ‘re poor;
and a thoufand foch like, are marks of an antient oppofition betweeu them. But neverthelefs let it be faid, that if any one can affign a reafon why the poetry and the imitation which are calculated for pleafure ought to be in a wdl regulated city, we, for our part, !hall gladly admit them, as we are at leafi confcious to ourfelves that we are charmed by them. But to betray what appears to be truth, were an unholy thing. For are not you yourfelf,
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my friend, charmed by this imitation, and mofi efpeciaily when you fee it performed by Homer ? Very much fo. Is it not juft, then, that we intro duce it apologizing for itfolf, either in fang, or in any other meafure ? By all means. And we may at leafl: grant, fomehow, even to its defenders, fuch as are not poets, but lovers of poetry, to fpeak in its behalf, without verfe, and ihow that it is not only pleafant, but profitable for republics, anp for human life ; and we ihall hear with pleafure, for we ihall gain fome what if it ihall appear 11ot only pleafant but alfo profitable. Eow is it poffible we ihould not gain? faid he. And if it happen otherwife, my friend, we ihall do as thofe who have been in love when they deem their love unprofitable,-they defift, though with violence: fo we in like manner,
through this inborn love of fuch poetry that prevails in our befi republics, ihall be well. pleafed to fee it appear to be the befl: and truefl: : and we all hear it till it is able to make no further apology. But we ihall take along with us this’ difcourfe which we have held, as a counter-chum, and incantation, being afraid to fall back again into a childiih and vulgar love, We may perceive then that we arc not to be much in earnefi about fuch poetry as this, as if it were a feriaus affair, and approached to the truth; but the hearer is to beware of it, and to be afraid for the republic within ‘1imfelf, and to entertain thofe opinions of poetry which we mentioned’!- I entirely agree, faid he. For great, friend Glauco, faid I, mighty is the con teft, and not fuch as it appears, to become a good or a bad man : fo as not to be moved, either through honour, or riches, or any magiftracy, or poetic imitation, ever to neglect jufiice, and the other virtues. I agree with you, from what we have difcuffed, and fo I think will any other. But we have not yet, faid I, difouffed the greateft prize of virtue, and the rewards laid up for her. You fpeak of fame prodigious greatnefs, faid he, if there be other greater than thofe mentioned. But what is there, faid I, can be great in a little time? for all this period from infancy to old age is but Jittle in refpell: of the whole. Nothing at all indeed, faid he. What then? Do you think an immortal being ought to be much concerned about foch a period, and not about the whole of time? 1 think, faid he, about the whole. But why do you mention this? Have you not perceived, faid I, that our foul is immortal, and never perilhes? On which he, looking at me, -nd wondering, faid, By Jupiter, not I indeed, But are you able to
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fuow this? I fuould otherwife all: unjufily, faid I. And I think you your felf can lhow it, for it is in no refpecl: difficult. To me at leafl:, faid he, it is difficult; but I would willingly hear from you this which is not difficult. You {hall hear then, faid I. Only fpeak, replied he, Is there not fome thing, faid I, which you call good, and fomething which you call evil? I own it. Do you then conceive of them in the fame manner as I do ?
How ? That which t!dl:roys and corrupts every thing is the evil, and what preferves and profits it is the good. I do, faid he. But what? Do
you not fay, there is fomething which is good, and fomething which is bad, to each particular? as blindnefs to the eyes, and difeafe to every animal body, blafiing to corns, rottermefs to wood, ruft to brafa and iron, and, as I am faying, almoll: every thing has its connate evil, and difeafe? I think fo, replied he, Arid when any thing of this kind befalls any thing, does it not render that which it befalls bafe, and in the end diffolves and defiroys it? How lhould it not? Its own connate evil then and bafenefs deflroys each particular; or, if this does not defiroy it, nothing elfe can ever dellroy it. For that which is good can never defiroy any thing, nor yet that which is neither good nor evil. How can they ? faid he. If then we fuall be able to find, among beings, any one which has indeed fome evil which renders it bafe, but is not however able to dilfolve and defiroy it,
{hall we not then know that a being thus confiituted cannot be defiroyed at all? So, replied he, it appears. What then ? faid I, Is there not fomething which renders the foul evil? Certainly, replied he; all thefc things which we have now mentioned, injufl:ice, intemperance, cowardice, ignordnce. But does then any of thefe diffolve and deflroy it? And· attend now, that we may not be impofed on, in thinking that an uujufi and foolith man, when he is detected ac.l:ing unjulUy, is then ddl-royed through hi injufiice, which is the bafenefs of his foul: but confider it thus. As difeafe, which is the bafenefs of animal body, diffolves and defiroys body, and reduces it to be no longer that body; fo all thofe things we mentioned, being <lcfiroyed by their own proper evil adhering to them and poffeffing them, are reduced to a non-exill:ence. Is it not fo ? Yes. Confider now the foul in the fame manner. Does injufl:ice, or other vice, poffeffing it, by poffeffing, and adhering to it, corrupt and deface it, till, bringing it to death, it feparates it from the body? By no meaus, faid he. But it were abfurd,
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faid I, that any thing fl10uld be ddl:roycd by the bafrncfs of another, but not by its own, Abfurd. Fur con11der, Glaucc, faid r, that neither by the
bafenefs of victuals, whether it be their mouldinef;, or rottennefs, or w Rat• ever clfo, do we imagine our body can be dcfiroyccl ; but if this bafenefs in them create in the body a depravity of the body, we will fay that, through their means, the body is defiroyed by its own evil, which is difeafe. But we will never allow that by the balenels of food, which is one thing, the body, which is another thing, can ever by this foreign evil, without creating in it its own peculiar evil, be.at any time defiroyed. You fay moll: right, replied he. _’\ccording to the fame reafoning, then, faid I, unkf; the bafenefs of the body create a bafrnefs of the foul, let us ne\·cr allow that the foul can be deftroyed by an evil which is foreign, without its own peculiar evil, one thing by the evil of another.• There is reafon for it, faid he. Let us then either refute thcic things as not good rt”afoning; or, fo long as they are unrefuted, let us at no time fuv, that the foul fhall be ever in any degree the more defiroyed, either by burning fev<“r, or by any other difeafe, or by fiaughter, not even though a man fho11lJ cut the whole body into·the fmalle!l: parts pof(ible, till fome one fl1ow that, through thefe fulferings of the body, the foul herfelf becomes more unjuft and unholy. But we will never allow it to be faid, that wheu a foreign evil befalls any thing, whil!l: its own proper evil is not within it, either the foul or any thing elfe is deftroyed. But this at leafl:., faid he, no oue can ever £how, that the fouls of thofe who die arc by death rendered more unjuft. But if
.any one, replied I, lhall dare to contend with us in reafoning; and, in order that he may not be obliged to own that fouls are immortal, fhould fay, that when a man dies he becomes more wicked and unjuft, we fhall fomehow jufily demand of him to fl1ow, if. he fays tru-:: in tcllillg us this, that injuftice is deadly to the poffeffor, as a d1fcafe; a!ld that thofe who embrace it are defl:royed by it as by a difcafe defirullive in its own nature
-thofe mo!l: fpeedily who embrace it mofi, and thofc more flowly who
embrace it. lefs. And not as at prefent, where the unju!l: die having this punilhment inflicte,i 011 them by others. By Jupiter, faid he, injufiice would not appear perfellly dreadful, if it were deadiy to him who practifes it (for that were a deliverance from evil); but I rather thiuk it will appear to be altogether the reverfe, defhoying others as far as .it can, but render-
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ing the unjufi extremeTy alive, ancl, in conjunl\:ion with being alive, wake ful likewife; fo far, as it feems, does it dwell from being deadly. You fay well, replied I; for, when a man’s own wickednefs and peculiar evil is infofficient to kill and deftroy the foul, hardly can that evil, which aims at the defiruclion of another, defiroy a foul, or any thing e]fe but what it is aimed againfi. Hardly indeed, faid he, as appears to me at leafr. Since therefore it is defiroyed by no one evil, neither peculiar nor foreign, is it not plain that, of neceffity, it always is? and, if it always is, it is i mortal.? Of neceffity, replied he, Let this then, faid I, be fixed in this manner. And if it be, you will perceive that the fame fouls will always remain, for their number will never become lefs, none being
<lefiroyed, nor will it become greater; for if, anyhow, the number of immortals was made greater, you know it would take from the mor tal, and in the end all would be immortal. You fay true. But let us not, faid I, think that this will be the cafe, (for reafon will not al low of it) nor yet that the foul in its truefi nature is of fuch a kind as to be full of much variety, diffimilitude, and difference, confidered in itfelf. How do you fay? replied he. That cannot eafily, faid I, be eternal which is compounded of many things, and which has not the mo!l: beautiful com pofition, as hath now appeared to us to be the cafe with reference to the foul. It is not likely. That the foul then is fomcthing immortal, both our prefent reafonings, and others too, may oblige us to own : but in order to know what kind of being the foul is, in truth, one ought not to con.: template it as it is damaged both by its conjunction with the body, and by other evils, as we now behold it, but foch as it is when become pure, fuch it mufi by reafoning be fully contemplated; and he (who does this) will find it far more beautiful at leafi, and will more plainly fee through jufl:ice and injufiice, and every thing which we have now difcuffed. We are now telling the truth concerning it, fi.1ch as it anpears at prefent. We have fcen it, indeed, in the fame condition in which they fee the marine Glaucus’ , where they cannot eafily perce::ive hi3 antient nature, becaufe
1 According to the Greek Scholia!l, Glaucus is faid to hlve been the fon of Sifypl,us ancl Merope, and to have become a mariilc d:i:mon. For, meeting with an immortal fountain, and, defcending into it, he became imll’nrtal. Not being able however to point out this fountain to. certain perfons, he threw h:mfclf into the fea; and once every year courfcd round all thorc1,
a.nd itfands in conjunltion with whales,
the
T H E R E P U•B L I C.
the antient t)’lembers of his body are partly broken off, and others are worn away; and he is altogether damaged by the waves: and, befides this, other things are grown to him, fuch as ihell fiih, fea weed, and fiones: fo that he in every refpell: refembles a beafl:, rather than what he naturally was. In fuch a condition do we behold the foul under a thoufan<l evils. But we ought, Glauco, to behold it there. Where 1 faid he. In its philofophy; and to obferve to what it applies, and what intimacies it affecls, as being allied to that which is divine, immortal, and eternal; and what it would become, if it purfued wholly a thing of this kind, and were by this purfuit brought out of that fea in which it now is, and had the fl:ones and ihell fi(h ihaken off from it, which, at prefent, as it is fed on earth, render its na ture, in a great meafure, earthy, fiony, and favage, through thofe aliments, which are faid to procure felicity. And then might oue behold its true nature, whether multiform, or uniform, and every thing concerning it. But we have, I ‘think, fufficiently difcuffed its paffions, and forms in human life. Entirely fo, replied he. Have we not now, faid I, dif culfed every thing elfe in our reafouings, though we have not produced thofe rewards and honours of jull:ice (as you fay Hdiod and Homer do)? but we find jufiice itfelf to be the befl: reward to the foul; and that it ought to do what is jufl:, whether it have or have not Gyges’ ring, and, together with fuch a ring, the helmet’ likewife of Pluto. You fay mofl: true, faid he. Will it not now then, Glauco, faid I, be attended with no envy, if, befides thefe, we add thofe rewards to jufl:ice and the other vir tues, which are befiowed on the foul by men and Gods, both whilil: the man is alive, and after he is dead ? By all means, faid he. Will you then rdl:ore me what you borrowed in the reafoning? What, chiefly 1 I granted you, that the jufi man (hould be deemed unjufl:, and the unjufl: be deemed to be jufl:. For you were of opinion, that though it were not poffible that thcfe things ihould be concealed from Gods and men, it ihould however be granted. for the fake of the argument, that juftice in itfclf might be compared with i11jufi-ice in itfclf; or do you not remember it?
‘ The helmet of Pluto is faid to be an immortal and invitiblc cloud, with which the Gods arc invefted when they wilh not to be known to (ach other. And it is applie,I a& a proverb to thofc th;it do any thing fecmly.-SchoJ. Grzc. in Plat, p. 197._
I ihould,
T II E R E P U B L T C. 4.65
I !hould, indeed, be unjufi, faid he, if I did not. Now after the judgment is o\·er, I demand again, n behalf of jufiice, that as you allow .it to be indeed efieemed both by Gods and men, you likewifo allow it to ha\·e the fame good reputation, that. it may alfo receive thofe prizes of vidor}, which it acquires from the reputation of jufiice, and bellows on thofe who poffefs it; lince it has already appeared to befiow thofe good things wh.icl) arife from really being jufi, and that it does not deceive thofe who truly embrace it. You demand what is jufi, faid he. \Vill you not then, faid I, in the firfi place, refiore me this ? That it is not concealed from the Gods, what kind of man each of the two is. \Ve will grant it, faid he. And if they be· not concealed, one of them will be beloved of the God;, and one of them hated 1 , as we agreed in the beginning. We did fo. And !hall we not agree, that as to the man who is beloved of the Gods, what<:ver comes to him from the Gods will all be the befi poffible, unlefs he has fome neceffary ill from former mifcarriage. Entirely fo. We ·are then to think in this manner of the jufi man, That if he happen to be in poverty, or in difeafes, or in any.other of thofe feeming evils, thefe things to him ilfue in fomething good, either whilfl: alive, or dead. For never at any time is he neglecl:ed by the Gods who inclines earnefily to endeavour to become jufi, and prall:ifes virtue as far as it is poffible for man to refem ble God. It is reafonable, replied he, that fuch an one !hould not be neg. lecl:ed by him whom he refembles. And are we not to think the reverfe of thefe things concerning the unjuft man ? Entirely. Such, then, would feem to be the prizes which the juft man receives from the Gods. Such they are indeed in my opinion, faid he. Bii.t what, faid I, do they receive from men? Is not the cafe thus? (if we are to fuppofe the truth) Do not cunning au<l uujufi men do the fame thing as thofe racers, who run well at the beginning, but not fo at the eud? for at the firfl: they briik.ly leap forward, but in the end they become ridiculous, and, with their ears on their neck, they run off without any reward. But fuch as are true racers, arriving at the end, both receive the prizes, and are crowned. Does it not happen thus for the mofl: part as to jufi men ? that at the end of every aclion and iutercourfe of life they are both held in efieem, and rece1ve
That is to fay, one of thcfe through aptitude will receive the illuminations of divinity, and· lhc other through inaptitude will fubjell himfelf to the rower of aven ing da:mons,
VOL, I, 30 rewards
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rewards from men. Entirely fo, You will then fuffer me to {ay of thete what you yourfelf faid of the unjufi. For I will aver now, that the juft, when they are growu t1p, thall arrive at power if they defire magiftra. cies, they thall marry where they incline, and thall fettle their chil dren in marriage agreeably to their withes ; and every thing clfe you men• tioned concerning the others, I now fay concerning thefe. And on the other hand I will fay of the unjuft, that the moft of them, though they may be concealed whilft they are young, yet being caught at the end of the race, are ridiculous, and, when they become old, are wretched and ridiculed, and thall be fcourged both by foreigners and citi• Zens, and they !hall afterwards be tortured, and burnt ; which you faid were terrible things, and you fpoke the truth. Imagine you hear from
me that they fuffer all thefe things. But fee if you will admit of what I
fay. Entirely, faid he, for you fay what is jull:. Such as thefe now, faid I, are the prizes, ‘the rewards and gifts, which a juA: man receives in his life-time, ·both from Gods and men; befides thofe good things which juf tice contains in itfelf. And they are extremely beautiful, faid he, and likewife permanent. But thefe now, faid I, are nothing in number or magnitude, when compared with thofe which await each of the two at death. And thefe things muft likewife be heard, that each of them may completely have what is their due in the rcafoning. You may fay on, re plied he, n t as to a hearer who has heard much, but as to one who l1ears with pleafure. But, however, I will not, faid I, tell you the apologuc of Alcinus ; but that, indeed, of a brave man, Erus the fon of Armenius, by defcent a Pamphylian; who happening on a time to die in battle, when the dead wern on the tenth day carried off, already corrupted, he was taken up found ; and being carried home, as he wai; about to be buried on the twelfth day, when laid on the funeral pile, he revived • ; and being re-
vived,
In the manufcript Commentary o£ Proclus on thi1 book of the Republic, five examples are given of perfons that have revived after they han been for many days dead. That part of the Commentary containing thcfc czamples ia preferved by Alexander Morua, in his ” Notie ad quzdam Loca Novi Focdcris,” which, as the book is fcarce, I lhall prefent to the public, for the fake both -0£ the learned and unlearned Englilh reader, •
Proclus 1hen, after having obfervcd that fome in his time ban been (een fitting or Randing on 1he fcpulchrca in which they had been buried, whidi, Ca71 he, ia alfo rela1ed by the anticnt1
oI
TD REPUBLIC. 467
vived, he told what he faw in the other ftate, and faid : That after his foul left the body, it went with many others, and that they came to a certain
dzmoniacal
c,f Arilleas, Hermodoru1, :rnd Epimcnides, fubjoins the fc,Uowing e:samplc, taken from the Hillary of Clearchus, the difciple of Arirl:otle: ” Cleonrmus, the Athenian, who was a man fund of hearing philofophic difcourfts, on the death of one of his affociates, becoming YerJ Corrowful, and gi•ing himfdf up to dcfpair, appzrently died, and was laid oat according to cuftom. His mothCT, as !he was folding him in her cmbnces, taking off his garment, and’
!tiffing him, pcrcei.cd in him a gentle brhthing, and, being extremely joyfol on the occa6on; delayed his burial. Cleonymus in a lhort time after was rellored to life, and told all that he faw and heard when he was in a feparatc A:ate. He faid that his foul appeared, as if liberated from certain bonds, to foar from its body, and that, having afcended above the earth, he faw in it places all-varimas, both for their figure and colour, and flreams of rivers unknown to men, And that at !aft he came to a certain region facred to Vella, which was under the dlrellion oC
dzmoniacal powCTS in indefcribable female forms.” X.>.so,,.”‘°’ o A”””‘ff, ,,i11110″‘ “”‘P .,., n
.,…..,., Aoya,, lT<IIP”” T… , IIIIT!’ TtAn,T,,..,r”‘, rrp1tAy0, ytro,…,., UC ..s”l’.”‘”h 1>.i,ro,J.u”•”” Tf, “””
,.,,,.,…, a’of1111, “l”TIII “”””‘ °”””” #AT41 .,., ••,.., ‘lf,.1/T,… ‘lftp•C,:i’Mou,.. r 41UTO, i, ,….. y, “‘”‘ ,.,….,.,. ,.0,
.,,,.,.(.,..,,. TOU “Po””””” 90•1.umo, “‘•Ao•••• “”” “”””” “””‘” .,., rr,yo,, ,.,,, flP”X””‘ “‘””””” “””fl
ft,01 •’l’l<l•l”••I• fflfC”¥ l'”””” ‘Y”O!”m 111’•0′”‘” TDr ,.,.,.,. ,ro, fr l:. raru,.., ‘”‘””fO’T” IUIT,:i /W’P°’
.,.,,,,,”,, Ml ll’l”Uf ;,.. TlfW”II XOlf'{ “‘ l&tM ci,a TOU “”””T°’ ,>a,… 4U0IIO”Un’. 1″111 ‘”‘ 0111 a.vnu ,x,,,
fl'”‘”” “”P” .,., !”””‘°’ om •• l ..,..,, ;t.f,. T,_ ,.,..,…,.,,, .,.., n1Atno1 ,r”fOh,To, l’fT••po, ,.,,_., –
“”‘”‘ i,,r,p ,..,, ,itr., “• n “””?’ ,r…….>.,,rwr, “”‘ .,.,, “”‘lfPIJW’• “”‘ “°” ‘X.P”I””‘•, uc ;w,..,.,.,. ,..,._
a,rpo,ra,r,-,:i “”P””O’f° “”‘ ,.,”‘°’ OlfUC•””°’ “‘ .,•.., X”f’O’ itpo, TIii Bnlaf, •• ,r P'””” ;t..,. ,,.,, ;t.,”l”•I Ill
,_.,…,.,..,, PP'””S ,..,,,..,,.,.,,,..,,.
The fecond eumple is from the hiltorian Nawnachius, ” who llourilhcd (( ys Proclua) in the time of our anliefton, and is of one Polycritus, who was an illul!rious and principal man among the JEtolians. This Polycritua died, and returned to life in the ninth moath after hia death; came to the general alrembly of the &olians, and joined with them in their confu(. tations about what meafures were heft to be adopted. luero the Ephelian, and other hifto rians, tellify the truth of this, in that account of tranfal\ions which ther fent to king
Antigonus, and their other abfent friends.• Tor ,,..,,..,…,,.T., A•T”Atl’..,. A•.-“‘”YX.•1111 ,-“”°’T”•
a-a, .. OMV,1Y, lttxi 11.vr&Cu«rr;u 1’11″‘ ,.., JltlTa TO, .9araTot’ trhl1′ U, a,•,•,s'” llf ……,,O”,ar um,,.,..,, A.Ta, r,
…,. ,,..,..c.•M•””• “” ,.,…,.,. ,.,,. ,,, .CouM.,.,..••…. TO..-…….. ””‘P™f”‘{··i.l”””‘ ,.., F4,,..,, CIAMlllf
inopc_, Aff•,,..,. Tl T” ,,_.,,,., UC,:i».il ;,…..,, ,,,..,, 41,rO,HTI T,a tT’1/’C«na ‘l’f”‘.,.,.,..”•
The third ia as follows: “In Nicopolia alfo (fays Proclus), not long lince, the fame thing happened to one Eurynous. Thia man, who was buried before the city, revived fifteen dara after, and faid that he faw and heard many wonderful things under the earth, which he wu ordered not to relate. He lived fome time after this. and his condutl was more jnll: after ru1 revival than before.” K,:,1 •• .-o..-o ,..,.,, ,:,AAA • .., n “!’ N… ,..,.,,, .,.,, •• r,a ,roAl\1111 ‘l'”YD'””•••
El,,…., TD “””””‘ T,:il/TO, ,rdri,, •”• T,:iffrT/J& ffP’ Tiff ffDAIOlf i,,ro Tar ’11’f’O””””rTllr1 .. ac ,,. /AfT,:i ll’lrTI
.aai lruTllt ;,,..,,,., .,.l ..llf”r, •.., A17ri, vr1 ll’DAAII ,.., ,&>, uc uwrm, i11n “” !..,,,..,…..,.. ••A••”””‘ a”
‘ 3 o .a ff41na
THE REPUBLIC.
dremoniacal place, where there were two chafins in the earth, near to each other, and two other openings in the heavens oppofite to them, and
that
.,ra,Ta «pp>1Ta l{IUMTTEIV1 “”‘ rr.1C11»ra1 xpo,or OUI< O l’)’O>, lUII o/{19 ,a, 1<a,0TtpOY /1,ITa T f a,a:11111i,
“r.ponpov.
The fourth is of Rufus, a priell: of the Theffalonians, who lived near the time of the hill:o• rian Naumachius. This man was rdl:ored to life the third day after his death, for the p.irpofe f performing certain facred ceremonies, which he had promifed to perform, and, having fuJ. filled his promife, again died. XO,,, ;,, ‘””‘• ,-,ro,oTa Poul{lov, TOY 11< 4>,,.,,,..,,..,, T”‘ •• M… ,a-•.,.,., ‘””
>r 1v 0,crO'””-ov,x?” 1£1′)’10″111’ apx,tpr»rrU JJ, a ,619rna· TOflTOY “lap awo9,nona -rp1Ta1011 avC1C’1A1vc:i,, Nat avaC”11VTta
IHl’HY OT, inro Tw, x9ovuuY il,r1wr,4Sn Src.iv, nca Ta, .Sra, Ew,-rr cT?! Tf a’J1µ, “‘ i11nrT,G01’-t110, ITU’YX”vi, “”‘ µ,,K,p•
‘Ill, 1.111vAJv fTU/Jt”IC’>.np•urt.J, 1’11’1,u,wra a1191s a?To9avm,..
The fifth and Jail: is of one Philon,ea, who lived undu the reign of Philip. ” She was the daughter (fays Proclus) of -Demoll:ratus and Charite, who lived in Amphipolis, and died foon after her marriage to one Craterus. She revived, however, in the lixth month after her death, and, through her love of a youth named Machates, who came to Dcmo!lratus from his own coun try Pelle, had connell:ion with him privately for many nights fuccef!ively. This amour, how• ever, being at length dctcll:ed, {he again died; previous to which !he declared, that !he all:cd in this manner according to the will of terrefl:rial daemons. Her dead body was fcen by every one, lying in her father’s houfe; and on digging the place, which prior to this had contained her body, it was feen to be empty, by thofe of her kindred who came thither, through unbc· lief of what had happened to her. The truth of this relation is te!lified both by the epifiles of
Hipparch1ts and thofc of Arrida:us, to Philip, in which they give an account of the affairs of Amphipolis :” Ka, TOV •• •fi”‘” TDUTOU inr”fX”‘ 11>,Mva,o, •aTa ‘Tou, ll>1Al’lr’l/”OU (Ja111>.iu11avTo, “1–otou,•
‘”‘°” a’E al1T11V .9vyaTtpa 4’1’1µ.0<ITfDlTOU &al Xa.p1TOU) T”1V Aµ,J7fO)JT(JJV YEO’)’a.µ,t)V Tf”-EUTJ’IO”Mav, E’Yf’YGl/QITO a-,
KpaTr”‘1· T,WTJ1V i?’, EXT IJtl’I” µ,1Ta TQV Savi3Tov ava,Uc.1VaJ, ‘”” Tf VEal’ICT1”¥ Ma,caT!’, W”f” To, 4nµ,o -rpa10,
afi•••,..,, ,,. IlrMn; Tn;,raTp1 0,, M9pa “”””‘”‘ a”,a -rov r.po, “‘”To, •pna ‘ll”OAM’ • •!•; ,u1<Ta;· .,.. l{l.,p.,g,..
,a, ow9,, a,roBan1v, wpon1Iou<1tJ.Y 1’a.Ta Sou1′.?10’1v T<.u 1?r1x.Bol’U’1v a-a,l’Or(JJ, auT?’ TaUTa.”w1wpaxk1, “41 :,parr8at
‘lf’11’1′ n11pav EV “?’ ‘ltaTfr:U7• wpo1mµ.fVYJV oui1 , xa, 1oii ,rponpov ,Ea,.uvo, CWTJl) TO u-a,µ,a T03°0V avopux6at’rt.l •rnJ,
lf'”•a1 TOI) OlMliOI) 1w’ ,n,T1″1V 1>-.Bovt1t l’u:s ‘nlV awurTI’° 1’AIV ‘)’fo/OVOT4JJ” ‘”” Ta.uTa f11Aouv Hf.lQ”TOh2) Ta, #’Ell
vrap’ ‘Ir.r.apxou, Ta; . r.ap’ Aep,..,au rea,11ua,; nu, T.. ‘ll’f”‘f””‘T” Tn, ..,.,,.,,.a ,.,, l’)’l<E)(.flfllf/J,IVOU’ .,.po,
IAl’l/”‘1/”0,,
Proclus then with his ufual fagacity obferves, concerning the cauf,. of this phrenomcnon, as follows: “Many other of the antients have collell:cd a hill:ory of thofe that have apparcntlr died, and afterwards revived ; and among thefe are, the natural philofopher Democritus, in his writings concerning Hades, and that wonderful Conotes, the familiar of Plato. • • • For· the death was not, as it feemcd, an entire defertion of the whole life of the body, but a ccffa tion, caufed by fome blow, or perhaps a wound. But the bonds of the foul yet remained rooted about the marrow, and the heart contained in its profundity the emp.yr uma of life; and this remaining, it again acquired the life which had been extinguilhed, becoming adapted to anima• tion.” T,iv µ,iv ,rrp, TlilV c:&wo9i:ini, OO!avTaw, 171″EITt:i av.::iC,orwr”‘v, i1’Top1av aMo, ,., wo>->-01 Twv wa>.a:1lu, 16po1uar, Mal 11µ.o1tp1To, Cl f)uo-n,o, n To,, 7rrp1 TOU <f. ou “‘I “‘”‘ “‘” Tov Savµ.ao–ro, e.1EU’::lll KoveuTnv, ,.,”
3 Il T61,01
T H E RE P U B L I C.
that the judges fat between thefe, That when tht:y gave judgment, they commanded the jufi to go to the right hand, and upwards through the heaven, fixing before them the accounts of the judgment pronounced; but the unjuft they commanded to the left, and downwards, and thefe likewife had behind them the accounts of all they had done, But on his coming before the judges, they faid, it behoved him to be a mefienger to men concerni•1g things there, and they commanded him to hear, and to contemplate every thing in the place. And that he faw here, through two openings, one of the heaven, and one of the earth, the fouls depart ing, after they were there judged; and through the other two openings he faw, rifing through the one out of the earth, fouls full of fqualiduefs and dufi; and through the other, he faw other fouls defcending pure from heaven ; and that always on their arrival they feemed as if they came’ from a long joumey, and that they gladly went to refi: themfelves in the meadow, as in a public affembly, and faluted one another, fuch as were· acquainted, and that thofe who rofe out of the earth afked the others concerning the thi-ngs·ab’ove, and thofe from heaven afked them concern-·
Il>.aT.,,o, 1Tcupor,• * ” *t 0•!’1 ‘1 o .9avaTOf “‘ a,rwa.>.r,w,,, ;,, ‘°””• ..,,,””””‘”‘”‘ ‘””‘ Tow rAll’lff’ft
..,.,_, inro ,.,. ,ri-•r•, Ti,o,, 1<,.,, Tou Tpl!Ull””To,, ,rcop11To” Tn, i, “‘”””‘ 01 “‘P’ Tor ,..,,._., ,,.,.., n, it,.,,…,
,.,.,,.,,,,(“I'””• •cu ,; xap ,”‘ TO ‘””‘”P'”””‘ ..,,, ‘”‘”‘ “-“” .,,.,,,..,., ,,.,. fl..,,.. “””• TOUTo• 14,vonos, aiA,,
“””XT”<1l>TO ….”‘”‘q'”””‘”” ‘””‘ ,.,,,,,a,-…. “‘POS …. +i,x,;.,,, ,,.. .,.,….
Laftly, Proclus adds: ” That it is. poffible for the foul to depa,-t from, and enter into du!
body, is evident from hi_m, who, accordiag to Clearchus, ufed a foul-attratling wand,on a fleeping lad, and who perfuaded the dzmoniacal Ariftotlc, as Clearchus relates in his Treatife on Sleept that the foul may be feparated from the body, and that it enters into the body, and ufes it ati i lodging. ·For, ftriking the lad with the wand, he drew out, and as it were led his foul,· _for the purpofe of evincing that the body was immoveable when the foul was at a diftancc from it, and that it was preferved uninjured. The foul being again led into the body, by means of the
wand, after its entrance related every particular. From this circumftance, therefore, both other fpecbtors; and ·Ari(l;otle, were perfuaded that the foul is feparate from the body.”_:
(h, , “‘” ,t.,,a, ..,,, ,l,u,i:”;, Ml!U 11u”‘”” :tu,aTo, IIJ TO””””• in o, =o”‘”P”‘ ,,., K ‘”PX!’ T, ,j,v,i:10• !’
pa, “‘” “l”VO,: .,… _TIU ‘”‘”””””” TOU iias,.io…or, .,.. ‘ltllua, TO> i..,, o, ApttrTOTrM, ,..,,,,, Q 10.,..,x”‘;
iV 70,s ‘ll’ffl il?’l’l’OU f)nu, “W’E, I T)!’ iux;””, °”a11ax,01p,,t-ra1 TOU <TtJJµ,:H·o,, Mal °” EIO”(UTIJ• ,,, ‘l’O tr01µ,a, ._ .,,
xpr,Ta1 ,wT , 01011 JCaT1&o/c.>’)’1 · T 7″P pa r.:, ?r>-J1!as Tov wa1o’a, -r11, ,l,ux”‘ iEi”1tuD’EJEv, ac.u 010, a1a11, oT•
aUT”IS ‘1f0,’p,,., TOU <T6’µ.a.TO” a1’1Vt1TOV urta’E,!i TO 0”1Jµ,«, Nal aCM:n “‘”‘ µ,Evov.-Aun,s a,yoµ,En,v w”1n, ,,,, ptz,aa,,,,
tJ,!Ta T,t, no o, a?ra’Yyrir1, !HaCTTa” TOl_”(ap ouv, EH TOUTOU ‘1l’ICT’nU’1al TOUS TE aMou, T1’S TOl””Tl!S ;tTTop,as .StaT:C;;.
*'” To Ap1a-Tcnin xwp1uTr,v r111.2:1 Tow l.lfAJ[J.(l,7o, ‘TJfV 1’,u,c,,,.
t_ There is au unfortunate chafm here in the manufcript, of two or three lines.
iug
i11g the things below, and that they told one another; thofe wailing and weeping whilft they called to mind, what and how many things they fuf., fered and faw in their journey under the earth; (for it was a journey of a thoufand years) a11d that thefe again from heaven explained 1heir cm joyments, ancl fped:acles of immenfe beauty. To narrate many of them, Glauco, would take much time ; but this, he faid, was the furn, that. whatever uujuft ael:ions any had committed, and how many foever any Qt had ipjured, they were punifhed for all thefe feparatdy tenfold, and_ that it was in each, according to the rate of an hundred years, the life of man being confidered as fo long, that they might fuffer tenfold punifhment for the injuftice they had done. So that if any had been the caufe offllaiiy deaths, either by hetraying cities or armies, or bringing men into flavery, Qf being c;onfederates in any other wic ednefs, for each of all thefe they reaped tenfold fufferings; and if, a.gain, they had benefited any by good c3eeds, and had be<!n jull: and holy, they were rewarded accordi11g to their deterts. Of thofe who died very young, and lived but a little time, he told what was not w_or.th relating in refped: of other things. But of impiety and piety towards the Gods and parents, and of fuicide, he told the more remarkable retributions. For he faid he was prefent.when one was afked y anoth r, where the grea, Arid us was? This Aridreus had been ty rant in a certam city of Pamphylia a thpu’ind_ years before that time, aud had killed his aged father, and his elder brother, and had done many other unhallowed deeds, as it was reported : and he faid, the oue who was afked, replied : He neither comes, faid he, nor ever will come hither. For we then furely faw:_ this likewife among other dreadful fpcd:acles : Whe11 we were near the mouth of the opening, and were about to afcend after having fuffered every thing elfe, we beheld both him on a {udden, and others lil ewife, moft of whom were tyrants, and fome private per
{ons who had committed great iniquity, whom, when they imagined they were to a,fcend, the mouth of the opening did not admit? but bellowed when any of thofe who were fo polluted with wickcdnefs, or who had not been fufficieutly punifhed, attempted to afcend. And then, faid he, fierce men, and fiery to the view ‘, fianding by, and underftanJing the
llr thcfc, d;iemons of a punilhing atlcrillic are lignificd.
6
bellowing,
THE lEPUBLIO.
bellowing, took them and led them apart, Arid ,19 and th tett, b-inc!h’rg their hands and their feet, and, thrufiing dowa their head, and pulli11g olr their ikin, dragged them to an outer road, tearing them 011 thorns ; de
claring always to thofe who paffed by, 011 what accounts they fu’ifered thefe things, and that they were carrying them to be throw!\ into T11r• tarus. And hence, he faid, that amidfi all their various terrors, thts terror
furpaffed, leO: the mouth thould bellow, and that when it was ftlent every one moft gladly afcended. And that the punifhments and torments were fuch as thefe, and their rewards were the reverfe of thefe. He alfu added, that every one, after they had been feven days in the meadow, arifing thence, it was requifite for them to depart 011 the eighth day, and arrive at another place on the fourth day after, whence they perceived from above through the whole heaven and earth, a light extended as a pillar, mofily refembling the rainbow, but more fplendid and pure; at which they arrived in one day’s journey; and thence they perceived, through the middle of the light from heaven, the extremities of its ligatures extended ; as this light was the belt of heaven, like the ttanfverfe beams of thips keeping the whole circumference united. That from the extremities the diftaff of ueceffity is extended, by which all the revolutions were turned round, whofe fpin<lle and point were both of adamant, but its whirl mixed of this and of other things ; and that the nature of the whirl was of fuch a kind, as to its figure, as is any one we fee here. But you mull: conceive it, from what he faid, to be of fuch a kind as this : as if in fome great hollow whirl, carved throughout, there was fuch another, but leffer, within it, adapted to it, like caik.s fitted one within another ; and in the fame manner a third, and a fourth, and four others, for that the whirls were eight • in all, as circles one within another, having their lips ap-, pearing upwards, anJ forming round the fpindle one united couvcxity of oue whirl; that the fpindle was driven through the middle of the eight; and that the firO: and outmoft whirl had the widefl: circumference in the lip, that the fixth had the fecond wide, and that of the fourth is the third wide, and the fourth.wide that of the eighth, and the fifth wide that of the
BJ he eight whirl , we mull: undcrll:and the eight ftarry fpbett11 ‘Yia. the fphcrc of the
fixed ftars, and the fpherea of the fcvcn planets,
(eventh,
T.HE REPUBLIC,.
feventh, the fixth wide that of ,the fifth, and the feveuth wide that. of the third, and the eighth wide that of the fecond. Likewife _that th circle of the largefi is variegated, that of the feventh is the brightcll, and that of the t:ighth hath its colour from the {hiniug of .the feventh ; that of the fecond and fifth refomble each other, but are i;nore yellow than the reft. But the third hath the whitcfi colollr, the fourth is rcddiih; _the fecond in white nefs furpaffes the fixth; and that the diltaff mufi turn round in a circle with the whole it carries; and whiUl: the whole is turning round, the feven inner circles are gently turned round in a contrary motion to the whole. Again, that o.f thefe, the eighth moves the fwiftefl: ; and next to it, and equal to one another, the feventh, the fixth, and the fifth; and tl;at the third went in a motion which as appeared to them completed its circle it; the [<1,me way as the fourth. The fourth in fwiftnefs was the third, and the fifth was the fecond, and it was turned round on the knees of neceffity. And that on _each ‘of its circles there was feated a Syren on the upper fide, carried round, and uttering one voice variegated by diverfe modulations. But that the whole of them, being eight, compofed one harmony. Tha there were other three fitting round at equal difiance one from another, each on a throne, the daughters of Neceffity, the Fates’, in white vefl:7
ments,
In order to underfiand what.is here delivered by Plato refpeaing the Fates, it is neccfi”ary to obferve that there is an order of Gods immediately above thofe of a mundane charal\eri!tic, which was denominated by antienr theologilts liberated, and fuperceleftial. The peculiarity of this order is reprefeqted to us by Plato, in what he now fays concerning the Fates. ” In this place, therefore (faya Proclus), Plato inltrul\ing us in the order of the univerfe, which fuper nally pervades through the whole of mundane natures, from the inerratic fphere, and in that order which governs human life, at different times propofing elellions of different lives, and varying the meafure of jultice adapted to them, he refers the primary caufe of this order to a monad and triad exempt from mundane wholes. And to the monad he afcribes au infpcclive government, extending its dominion at the fame time to all heaven, nnd reprefents it as being impartibly prcfent with all things, as governing all things indivifibly, and according ·to one energy, and as moving wholes with its molt fubordinate powers, But to the triad he affigns a progrellion from the monad, an energy proceeding into the univerf:, and a divifible fabrication.
}’.or that which i•. fimple and united in the exempt providence of the monad is produced into multitude, through the fecondary infpeclion of the triad.
“The one caufe, therefore, (i. e. the monad} pofi”efi”es more authority than the triadic m1.1lti tude, For all the variety of powers in the world, the infinity of motions, and the multiform difference of rcafons, ia convolved by the triad of the Fates ; and this tria,I is again extended to
one
T H E R E P U B L I C.
ments, and having crowns on their heads; Lachefis, and Clotho, and Atropos, finging to the harmony of the Sirens; Lachefis linging the pan, Clotho the prefent, and Atropos the foture, And that Clotho, at cer•
taia
one monad prior to the three, which Socrates calls necellity, not as governing wholes by vio lence, nor as obliterating the {elf-motive nature of our life, nor as depriv«I of intellccl and ihe moft excellent knowledge, but as comprehending all things intelleclually, an,! introducing bound to things indefinite, and order to things difordered. It is likewifc fo called by Socrates, as caufing all things to be obedient to its government, and extending them to the good, as fub jecling them to demiurgic laws, and guarding all things within the world, and as circularly comprehending every thing in the univerfe, and leaving nothing void of the jullice which per tains to it, nor fuffering it to cfcapc the divine law.
•• With refpeel to the order in which the Fates arc arranged, it appears from Plato in the Laws, that the firft is Lachefis, the fecond Clothe, and the third Atropos. And here it muft be di ligently obferved, that Socrates ufes the parts of time as fymbols of comprehenfion according to caufe. For that which wa1, was once future and the prcfenr, and that which now i,, was once future; but the future is not yet the paft, but has the whole of its cll’encc in becoming the fu ture. Thefe three caufes, therefore, or the three Fates, arc analogous to thcfc three portions of time : and of thefe, the moll perfecl, and which comprehends the others, is that which lings the pall; for the pall, having once been both the prcfent and the future, may be confidcred as comprehending thefc. The next to this in perfcclion ia the pref,11t, which partly comprc• bends, and is partly comprehended; for it comprehends the future, and is coinprchcndrd in
-the pall. But the third i, the future, which it i;omprchcnded both in the pall and the prcfcnt ; the latter unfolding, and the former bounding, its progrcffion. Hence Lachcfis is the primary caufc, comprehending in hcrfelf the others; and Clotho is allotted a fuperior, but Atropos an inferior order. And en this account Lachefis moves with both her hands, as in a greater and more total degree, giving completion to the more partial energies of the other two. But Clotho turns the fpindlc with her right hand, and Atropos with her left, fo far as the former precede, with refpeel: to energy, but the latter follows, and, in conjunc9:ion with the former, governs all things. For in mortal animals the right hand is the principle of motion; and in the wholes of the univerfe the motion to the right hand comprehends that to the left,
“Obfcrve too, that as it was before £aid that the whole fpindle is turned on the knees. of Nc cellity, fo the fable fufpends the providence about partial fouls from rhe knees of Lachefis, who, with her hands, as with her more elevated powers, perpetually moves the univerfe, but potretrca with fubjeclion in her knees the caufes of the periods of fouls.
“In the next place, let us confider the fymbols with which the fable celebrates their dominion, Their walking then in the celellial circles fignifies their exempt and feparatc government. But their being feated on thrones, and not in the circles themfclvcs, like the Sirens, indicate& that the receptacles which arc firft illuminated hy them are cftabli!hcd above the celcftial orbs. .For a throne is the vchidc and reccptadc of thofc that arc f ated on it: and this pcrfpicuoufly Gg nifies that thefc divinities are proximately placed above the mundane Gods. Their being fcated at equal difianccs manifells their orderly fcparation, their fubjeclion proceeding accurding to L 3• ffl h
T II E R E l’ U B L I C.
taiu intervals, with her right hand laid hold of the fpi11dle, and along with her mother turned about the outer circle. And Atropos, in like manner, turned the inner ones with her left hand. And that Lachclis touched both of thefe, feverally, with either hand. After they arri,·c here, it is neceifary for them to go directly to Lache!is. That then a certain pro phet firfl: of all ranges them in order, and afterwards taking the lots, and the models of lives, from the knees of Lachelis, and afcending a lofty tribunal, he fays :-The fpc:ech of the virgin Lachefis, the daughter of Ne ceffity : Souls of a day ! The beginning of another period of men of mor t l race. The d.emon ihall not receive you as his lot, but you ihall choofe the dremon : He who draws the firfr, let him firfl: make choice of a life, to which he mufl: of neceffity adhere: Virtue is independent, which every one fuall partake of, more or lefs, according as he honours or diihonours her: the caufe is in him who makes the choice, and God is blamelefs. That when he had’faid thefe things, he threw on all of them the lots, and that each took up the one which fell befide him, nd that he was allowed to take no other. And that when he had tl:lken it, he knew what 11umber he had drawn. That after this he placed 011 the ground before them· the
models of lives, many more than thofe we fee at prefent. And that. they were all-various. For there were liyes of all forts of animals, and human lives of every kind. And that among thefe there were tyrannies alfo, fome of them perpetual, and others defrroyed in the midfr of their great-
analogy, and their ditlribution fupernally deriYed from their mother : for that which is orderly i11progreOion, and according to dignity in energies, i1 thence imparted to the Fates. The crowns on their heads indicate the purity • of 1heir intcllel\ual fummita. Their white garments ligoify that the efl”ences which participate of thefe divinities are intellellual, luciform, and full of divine fplendour. And as it is faid that one of thcfe ling, the paft, lhe fecond the prefent, and the third the future, this indicates that all their externally proceeding energies are elegant, intellel\ual, and full of harmony,
“Laf\ly, the Sirena Jignify the divine Coult of the celdlial fpheres, who incline all thing• through harmonic mot.ion to their ruling Gods. The fong of thefe, and the wcll-meafured mo tion of the heavens, are perfelled by the Fates, who call forth the fabricative energy of Necellity into rhc univerfe through intellellual hymns, ancl convert all things ‘to tbemfclves through the harmoniout and elegant motion of wholes.
For crown■are of gold; 111d gold, from it1incorraptibilit:f, ud Dffll’ admittillg ruft, i1 an imap of intcllcclual and divine purity.
3
THE REPUBLIC,
nefs, and ending in poverty, banilhment, and want. That there were alfo lives of renowned men, fomc for their appearance as to beauty, fl:rength, and agility; and others for their defcent, and the virtues of their ancefiors. There were the lives of renowned women in the fame man ner. But that there was no difpofition of foul among thefe models, be caufe of neceffity, on choofing a different life, it becomes different itfelf. As to other things, riches and poverty, ficknefs and health, they were mixed with one another, and fome were in a miJdle fiation between thefe.
There then, as appears, friend Glauco, is the whole danger of man. And hence this of all things is mofi: to be fiudieJ, in what manner every one of us, omitting other difciplines, lhall become an inquirer and learner in this fi:udy, if, by any .neans, he be able to learn and find out who will make him exper and intelligent to difcern a good life, and a bad ; and . to choofe every where, and at all times, the be£l: of what is poffible, confidering all the things now mentioned, both compounded and feparated from one another, what they are with refpetl to the virtue of life. And to underfiand what good or evil beauty operates when mixed with poverty, or riches, and with this or the other habit of foul; and what is e!fel\:ed by noble and ignoble defcent, by privacy, and by public ftation1 by firength and weaknefs, docility and indocility, and every thing elfe of the kind which naturally pertains to the foul, and likewife of what is acquir ed, when blended one with another ; fo as to be able from all thefe things to compute, and, having an eye to the nature of the foul, to comprehend both the worfe and the better life, pronouncing that to be the worfe which
{hall lead the foul to become more uujufi, and that to be the ‘better life which {hall lead it to become more jufi, and to difmifs every other confideration. For we have feen, that i9 life, and in death, this is the be£l: choice. •But it is neceffary that a tnan lhould have this opinion firm as a11 adamant in him, when he departs to Hades, that there alfo he may be unmoved by riches, or any fuch evils, and may uot, falling into tyrannies, and other fuch prall:ices, do many and incurable mifchiefs, and himfeif fuffer fiill greater : but may know how to choofe always the middle life, as to thcfe things, and to thun the extremes on either hand, both in this life as far as is poffible, and in the whole of hereafter. For thus man becomes mofl happy.-That .then the meffenger from the other world further told, how that the prophet fpokc thus: Even to him who comes
3P h’
T.H E RE P U BL I C.
lafi, choofing with judgment, and living confiftently, there is prepared a defirable life; not bad. Let neither him who is firfi be negligent in his choice, nor let him who is Jail: delpair. He faid, that when the prophet had fpoken thc:fe things, the firfi who drew a lot ran infiantly and chofe the grcateft tyranny, but through folly and infatiablenefs had not fofficiently examined all things on making his choice, but was ignorailt that in this life there was this dcll:iny, the devouring of his own children, and other evils ; and that afterwards, when he had confidered it at leifore he wailed and lamented his choice, not having obferved the admonitions of the prophet above mentioned. For that he did not accufe himfelf, as the author of his misfortunes, but fortune and the dremons, and every thing infiead of himfelf. He added, that he was one of thofe who came from heaven, who had in his former life lived in a regulated republic, and had been virtuous by cufl:om without philofophy. And that, iu 1hort, among thefe there were not a few who came from heaven, as being unexercifed in trials. But that the moll: of thofe who came from earth, as they had endured hard1hips themfelves, and had feen others ill hardfliips, did not precipitantly make their choice. And hence, and through the fortune of the lot, to moft fouls there was an exchange of good and evil things. Since, if one 1hould always, whenever he comes into this life, foundly philofophize, and the lot of elell:ion 1hould not fall on him the very l’aft, it would feem, from what has been told us from thence, that he 1hall be happy not only here, but when he goes hence, aud his journey hither back again 1haH not be earthy, and rugged, but fmooth and heavenly.
. This {pellacle, he faid, was worthy to behold, in what manner the feveral
fouls made· choice of their lives. For it was pitiful and ridiculous and wonderful to behold, as each for the moll part chofe according to the habit of their former life. For he told, that he faw the foul which was formerly the foul of Orpheus making choice of the life of a fwan, through hatred of woman-kind, being unwilling to be born of woman on account of the death he fuffered from them. He faw likewife the foul of Tha myris making choice of the life of a nightingale. And he faw alfo a fwan turning to the choice of human life ; and other mufical animals in a
fimilar manner, as is likely And that he faw one foul, in making its choice. choofing the life of a lion; and that it was the foul ofTelamonian Ajax, 1hun ning to become a man, remembering the judgment given with reference to the
armour,
T H E R E P U BL f C. -t7’/
armour, That after this he faw the foul of Agamemnon, which, in hatrdl alfo of the human kind, 011 account of his misfortunes, exchanged it for the life of an eagle. And that he faw the foul of Atalante choofing her lot amidfl: the refl:, and, having attentively obferved the great honours paid an athletic man, was unable to pafs by this lot, but took it. Next to this, he faw the foul of Epreus the Panopean going into the nature of a fkilful workwoman. And that far off, among the Jail-, he faw the foul of the buffoon Therfites alfuming I the ape. And that by chance he faw the foul of Ulylfes, who had drawn its lot laO: of all, going to make its choice: that in remembrance of its former toils, and tired of ambition, it went about a long time feeking the life of a private man of no bufinefs, and with difficulty found it lying fomewhere, neglell:ed by the refl:, Aud that 011 feeing this life, it faid, that it would have made the fame choice even if it had obtained the firft lot,-and joyfully chofe it. That in like manner the fouls of wild beafl:s went into men, and men again into beafl:s : the unjuft changing into wild beafl:s, and the jufl: into tame ; and that they were blended by all forts of mixtures, After therefore all the fouls had chofe11 their lives according as they drew their lots, they all went in order to Lachefis, and that fhe gave to every one the dremon • he chofe, and fent him along with him to be the guardian of his life, and the accomplifher of what ne had chofen.-That fidl- of all he conducts the foul to Clotho, to ratify under her hand, and by the whirl of the vortex of her fpindle, the defi-iny it had chofen by lot: and after being with her, he leads it back again to the fpinning of Atropos, who makes the defi:inies irreverfible.
_’\nd that from hence they proceed direllly under the throne of Neceffity;
and that after he had pa!fed by it, as all the others paffed, they all of them marched into the plain of Lethe 3 amid{l: dreadful heat and fcorching, for
he
‘ The foul of a man never becomes the foul of a brute, though it may be bound to it, and. as it were carried in it by way of punifhment, Hence Plato fays, th,t the foul of Therfitea ajfum,d the ape; lignifyiog that it entered into the body of an al’e when it wa, animated, and not before.
See the note concerning dremons at the beginning of the Firft Alcibiades.
3 By Leth, we mull under!land the whole of a vifible nature, or, in other words, the realms of generation, which contain, according to Empedocles, oblivion and the meadow of Ate ; and, according to the Cha!Jrean Oracles, the light-hating world, and the winding ftreams, under which many are drawn. ty th, dr,ndful heat n11d fcorching, Plato appears to lignify the! fphent of fire, through which dcfccnding foula pafs. And as, throui:h an anxious attention to mortal
concerns,
478 TltE REPUBLIC,
he faid that it is void of trees and every thing that the earth produces, That when night came on, they encamped befide t e river Amelete, whofe water no veffel contains, Of this water all of them mull: neceffarily drink a certain meafure, and fuch of them as are not preferved by prudence drink more than the meafure, an<l that he who drinks always forgets every thing. But after they were laid afleep, and it became midnight, there was thunder, and an earthquake, and they were thence on a fodden carried upwards, fome one way, and fome another, approaching to genera-
, tion like fiars. But that he himfclf was forbidden to drink of the water. Where, however, and iu what manner, he came into his body, he was entirely ignorant; but fuJdenly looking up in the morning, he faw himfelf already laid on the funeral pile. And this fable, Glauco, hath been pre forved, and is not loll:, and it may preferve us, if we are perfua<led by it ; for thus we fhall happily pafs over the river Lethe, and fhall not contami- nate the foul. •
But if the company will be perfuaded by me; coufidering the foul to be
immortal, and able to bear all evil, and all good, we 1l1all always per fevere in the road which leads above; and fhall by all means purfue jufiice in conjunfiion with prudence, in order that we may be friends both to our felves, and to the Gods, both whilfl: we remain here, and _when we receive its rewards, like vit1ors affembled together; and we fhall, both here, and in that journey of a thoufand years which we have clcfcribed, enjoy a happy life,
concerns, things eternal are neglel\cd, hence he fays that fouls defcending into the plain of Lethe encamp betide the river Amdete, i. e. through a connel\ion with body they pafs into extreme negligence ; and there fall afleep; lignifying by this their being merged in a ,cotporeal nature, no longer poifeffing vigilant energies, and being alone connrfant with things analogous to the dclulions of dreams. Eut when he fays that no veifcl contains the water of Amelete, this fignifiea that nothing can rellrain the ever-flowing nature of body, This, however, it muft be obferved, is the condition of the foul while conne8ed with a grofs aerial body, and before its J’erfefr defcent to the earth: for the defcent from celeftial bodies to fuch as arc tcrrene is eff”el\cd through an aerial body. Souls therefore being laid alleep in this body, at midnight fall
10 the earth ; i. e. when they enter into a terrene body they become involved in profound night.
‘)’HE END Qi’ THE TENTH AND LAST BOOK OF THE REPUBLIC.
ADDITIONAL
