The Republic
influence over the cities of Magna Graecia. There was much here that
was suggestive to the kindred spirit of Plato, who had doubtless
meditated deeply on the ‘way of life of Pythagoras’ (Rep.) and his
followers. Slight traces of Pythagoreanism are to be found in the
mystical number of the State, in the number which expresses the
interval between the king and the tyrant, in the doctrine of
transmigration, in the music of the spheres, as well as in the great
though secondary importance ascribed to mathematics in education.
But as in his philosophy, so also in the form of his State, he goes far
beyond the old Pythagoreans. He attempts a task really impossible,
which is to unite the past of Greek history with the future of
philosophy, analogous to that other impossibility, which has often been
the dream of Christendom, the attempt to unite the past history of
Europe with the kingdom of Christ. Nothing actually existing in the
world at all resembles Plato’s ideal State; nor does he himself imagine
that such a State is possible. This he repeats again and again; e.g. in
the Republic, or in the Laws where, casting a glance back on the
Republic, he admits that the perfect state of communism and philosophy
was impossible in his own age, though still to be retained as a
pattern. The same doubt is implied in the earnestness with which he
argues in the Republic that ideals are none the worse because they
cannot be realized in fact, and in the chorus of laughter, which like a
breaking wave will, as he anticipates, greet the mention of his
proposals; though like other writers of fiction, he uses all his art to
give reality to his inventions. When asked how the ideal polity can
come into being, he answers ironically, ‘When one son of a king becomes
a philosopher’; he designates the fiction of the earth-born men as ‘a
noble lie’; and when the structure is finally complete, he fairly tells
you that his Republic is a vision only, which in some sense may have
reality, but not in the vulgar one of a reign of philosophers upon
earth. It has been said that Plato flies as well as walks, but this
falls short of the truth; for he flies and walks at the same time, and
is in the air and on firm ground in successive instants.
Niebuhr has asked a trifling question, which may be briefly noticed in
this place—Was Plato a good citizen? If by this is meant, Was he loyal
to Athenian institutions?—he can hardly be said to be the friend of
democracy: but neither is he the friend of any other existing form of
government; all of them he regarded as ‘states of faction’ (Laws); none
attained to his ideal of a voluntary rule over voluntary subjects,
which seems indeed more nearly to describe democracy than any other;
and the worst of them is tyranny. The truth is, that the question has
hardly any meaning when applied to a great philosopher whose writings
are not meant for a particular age and country, but for all time and
all mankind. The decline of Athenian politics was probably the motive
which led Plato to frame an ideal State, and the Republic may be
regarded as reflecting the departing glory of Hellas. As well might we
complain of St. Augustine, whose great work ‘The City of God’
originated in a similar motive, for not being loyal to the Roman
Empire. Even a nearer parallel might be afforded by the first
Christians, who cannot fairly be charged with being bad citizens
because, though ‘subject to the higher powers,’ they were looking
forward to a city which is in heaven.
2. The idea of the perfect State is full of paradox when judged of
according to the ordinary notions of mankind. The paradoxes of one age
have been said to become the commonplaces of the next; but the
paradoxes of Plato are at least as paradoxical to us as they were to
his contemporaries. The modern world has either sneered at them as
absurd, or denounced them as unnatural and immoral; men have been
pleased to find in Aristotle’s criticisms of them the anticipation of
their own good sense. The wealthy and cultivated classes have disliked
and also dreaded them; they have pointed with satisfaction to the
failure of efforts to realize them in practice. Yet since they are the
thoughts of one of the greatest of human intelligences, and of one who
had done most to elevate morality and religion, they seem to deserve a
better treatment at our hands. We may have to address the public, as
Plato does poetry, and assure them that we mean no harm to existing
institutions. There are serious errors which have a side of truth and
which therefore may fairly demand a careful consideration: there are
truths mixed with error of which we may indeed say, ‘The half is better
than the whole.’ Yet ‘the half’ may be an important contribution to the
study of human nature.
(a) The first paradox is the community of goods, which is mentioned
slightly at the end of the third Book, and seemingly, as Aristotle
observes, is confined to the guardians; at least no mention is made of
the other classes. But the omission is not of any real significance,
and probably arises out of the plan of the work, which prevents the
writer from entering into details.
Aristotle censures the community of property much in the spirit of
modern political economy, as tending to repress industry, and as doing
away with the spirit of benevolence. Modern writers almost refuse to
consider the subject, which is supposed to have been long ago settled
by the common opinion of mankind. But it must be remembered that the
sacredness of property is a notion far more fixed in modern than in
ancient times. The world has grown older, and is therefore more
conservative. Primitive society offered many examples of land held in
common, either by a tribe or by a township, and such may probably have
been the original form of landed tenure. Ancient legislators had
invented various modes of dividing and preserving the divisions of land
among the citizens; according to Aristotle there were nations who held
the land in common and divided the produce, and there were others who
divided the land and stored the produce in common. The evils of debt
and the inequality of property were far greater in ancient than in
modern times, and the accidents to which property was subject from war,
or revolution, or taxation, or other legislative interference, were
also greater. All these circumstances gave property a less fixed and
sacred character. The early Christians are believed to have held their
property in common, and the principle is sanctioned by the words of
Christ himself, and has been maintained as a counsel of perfection in
almost all ages of the Church. Nor have there been wanting instances of
modern enthusiasts who have made a religion of communism; in every age
of religious excitement notions like Wycliffe’s ‘inheritance of grace’
have tended to prevail. A like spirit, but fiercer and more violent,
has appeared in politics. ‘The preparation of the Gospel of peace’ soon
becomes the red flag of Republicanism.
We can hardly judge what effect Plato’s views would have upon his own
contemporaries; they would perhaps have seemed to them only an
exaggeration of the Spartan commonwealth. Even modern writers would
acknowledge that the right of private property is based on expediency,
and may be interfered with in a variety of ways for the public good.
Any other mode of vesting property which was found to be more
advantageous, would in time acquire the same basis of right; ‘the most
useful,’ in Plato’s words, ‘would be the most sacred.’ The lawyers and
ecclesiastics of former ages would have spoken of property as a sacred
institution. But they only meant by such language to oppose the
greatest amount of resistance to any invasion of the rights of
individuals and of the Church.
When we consider the question, without any fear of immediate
application to practice, in the spirit of Plato’s Republic, are we
quite sure that the received notions of property are the best? Is the
distribution of wealth which is customary in civilized countries the
most favourable that can be conceived for the education and development
of the mass of mankind? Can ‘the spectator of all time and all
existence’ be quite convinced that one or two thousand years hence,
great changes will not have taken place in the rights of property, or
even that the very notion of property, beyond what is necessary for
personal maintenance, may not have disappeared? This was a distinction
familiar to Aristotle, though likely to be laughed at among ourselves.
Such a change would not be greater than some other changes through
which the world has passed in the transition from ancient to modern
society, for example, the emancipation of the serfs in Russia, or the
abolition of slavery in America and the West Indies; and not so great
as the difference which separates the Eastern village community from
the Western world. To accomplish such a revolution in the course of a
few centuries, would imply a rate of progress not more rapid than has
actually taken place during the last fifty or sixty years. The kingdom
of Japan underwent more change in five or six years than Europe in five
or six hundred. Many opinions and beliefs which have been cherished
among ourselves quite as strongly as the sacredness of property have
passed away; and the most untenable propositions respecting the right
of bequests or entail have been maintained with as much fervour as the
most moderate. Some one will be heard to ask whether a state of society
can be final in which the interests of thousands are perilled on the
life or character of a single person. And many will indulge the hope
that our present condition may, after all, be only transitional, and
may conduct to a higher, in which property, besides ministering to the
enjoyment of the few, may also furnish the means of the highest culture
to all, and will be a greater benefit to the public generally, and also
more under the control of public authority. There may come a time when
the saying, ‘Have I not a right to do what I will with my own?’ will
appear to be a barbarous relic of individualism;—when the possession of
a part may be a greater blessing to each and all than the possession of
the whole is now to any one.
Such reflections appear visionary to the eye of the practical
statesman, but they are within the range of possibility to the
philosopher. He can imagine that in some distant age or clime, and
through the influence of some individual, the notion of common property
may or might have sunk as deep into the heart of a race, and have
become as fixed to them, as private property is to ourselves. He knows
that this latter institution is not more than four or five thousand
years old: may not the end revert to the beginning? In our own age even
Utopias affect the spirit of legislation, and an abstract idea may
exercise a great influence on practical politics.
The objections that would be generally urged against Plato’s community
of property, are the old ones of Aristotle, that motives for exertion
would be taken away, and that disputes would arise when each was
dependent upon all. Every man would produce as little and consume as
much as he liked. The experience of civilized nations has hitherto been
adverse to Socialism. The effort is too great for human nature; men try
to live in common, but the personal feeling is always breaking in. On
the other hand it may be doubted whether our present notions of
property are not conventional, for they differ in different countries
and in different states of society. We boast of an individualism which
is not freedom, but rather an artificial result of the industrial state
of modern Europe. The individual is nominally free, but he is also
powerless in a world bound hand and foot in the chains of economic