The Republic
and I imagine that there is also a difference in their natures; the one
is expressive of what is internal and domestic, the other of what is
external and foreign; and the first of the two is termed discord, and
only the second, war.
That is a very proper distinction, he replied.
And may I not observe with equal propriety that the Hellenic race is
all united together by ties of blood and friendship, and alien and
strange to the barbarians?
Very good, he said.
And therefore when Hellenes fight with barbarians and barbarians with
Hellenes, they will be described by us as being at war when they fight,
and by nature enemies, and this kind of antagonism should be called
war; but when Hellenes fight with one another we shall say that Hellas
is then in a state of disorder and discord, they being by nature
friends; and such enmity is to be called discord.
I agree.
Consider then, I said, when that which we have acknowledged to be
discord occurs, and a city is divided, if both parties destroy the
lands and burn the houses of one another, how wicked does the strife
appear! No true lover of his country would bring himself to tear in
pieces his own nurse and mother: There might be reason in the conqueror
depriving the conquered of their harvest, but still they would have the
idea of peace in their hearts and would not mean to go on fighting for
ever.
Yes, he said, that is a better temper than the other.
And will not the city, which you are founding, be an Hellenic city?
It ought to be, he replied.
Then will not the citizens be good and civilized?
Yes, very civilized.
And will they not be lovers of Hellas, and think of Hellas as their own
land, and share in the common temples?
Most certainly.
And any difference which arises among them will be regarded by them as
discord only—a quarrel among friends, which is not to be called a war?
Certainly not.
Then they will quarrel as those who intend some day to be reconciled?
Certainly.
They will use friendly correction, but will not enslave or destroy
their opponents; they will be correctors, not enemies?
Just so.
And as they are Hellenes themselves they will not devastate Hellas, nor
will they burn houses, nor ever suppose that the whole population of a
city—men, women, and children—are equally their enemies, for they know
that the guilt of war is always confined to a few persons and that the
many are their friends. And for all these reasons they will be
unwilling to waste their lands and rase their houses; their enmity to
them will only last until the many innocent sufferers have compelled
the guilty few to give satisfaction?
I agree, he said, that our citizens should thus deal with their
Hellenic enemies; and with barbarians as the Hellenes now deal with one
another.
Then let us enact this law also for our guardians:—that they are
neither to devastate the lands of Hellenes nor to burn their houses.
Agreed; and we may agree also in thinking that these, like all our
previous enactments, are very good.
But still I must say, Socrates, that if you are allowed to go on in
this way you will entirely forget the other question which at the
commencement of this discussion you thrust aside:—Is such an order of
things possible, and how, if at all? For I am quite ready to
acknowledge that the plan which you propose, if only feasible, would do
all sorts of good to the State. I will add, what you have omitted, that
your citizens will be the bravest of warriors, and will never leave
their ranks, for they will all know one another, and each will call the
other father, brother, son; and if you suppose the women to join their
armies, whether in the same rank or in the rear, either as a terror to
the enemy, or as auxiliaries in case of need, I know that they will
then be absolutely invincible; and there are many domestic advantages
which might also be mentioned and which I also fully acknowledge: but,
as I admit all these advantages and as many more as you please, if only
this State of yours were to come into existence, we need say no more
about them; assuming then the existence of the State, let us now turn
to the question of possibility and ways and means—the rest may be left.
If I loiter for a moment, you instantly make a raid upon me, I said,
and have no mercy; I have hardly escaped the first and second waves,
and you seem not to be aware that you are now bringing upon me the
third, which is the greatest and heaviest. When you have seen and heard
the third wave, I think you will be more considerate and will
acknowledge that some fear and hesitation was natural respecting a
proposal so extraordinary as that which I have now to state and
investigate.
The more appeals of this sort which you make, he said, the more
determined are we that you shall tell us how such a State is possible:
speak out and at once.
Let me begin by reminding you that we found our way hither in the
search after justice and injustice.
True, he replied; but what of that?
I was only going to ask whether, if we have discovered them, we are to
require that the just man should in nothing fail of absolute justice;
or may we be satisfied with an approximation, and the attainment in him
of a higher degree of justice than is to be found in other men?
The approximation will be enough.
We were enquiring into the nature of absolute justice and into the
character of the perfectly just, and into injustice and the perfectly
unjust, that we might have an ideal. We were to look at these in order
that we might judge of our own happiness and unhappiness according to
the standard which they exhibited and the degree in which we resembled
them, but not with any view of showing that they could exist in fact.
True, he said.
Would a painter be any the worse because, after having delineated with
consummate art an ideal of a perfectly beautiful man, he was unable to
show that any such man could ever have existed?
He would be none the worse.
Well, and were we not creating an ideal of a perfect State?
To be sure.
And is our theory a worse theory because we are unable to prove the
possibility of a city being ordered in the manner described?
Surely not, he replied.
That is the truth, I said. But if, at your request, I am to try and
show how and under what conditions the possibility is highest, I must
ask you, having this in view, to repeat your former admissions.
What admissions?
I want to know whether ideals are ever fully realized in language? Does
not the word express more than the fact, and must not the actual,
whatever a man may think, always, in the nature of things, fall short
of the truth? What do you say?
I agree.
Then you must not insist on my proving that the actual State will in
every respect coincide with the ideal: if we are only able to discover
how a city may be governed nearly as we proposed, you will admit that
we have discovered the possibility which you demand; and will be
contented. I am sure that I should be contented—will not you?
Yes, I will.
Let me next endeavour to show what is that fault in States which is the
cause of their present maladministration, and what is the least change
which will enable a State to pass into the truer form; and let the
change, if possible, be of one thing only, or, if not, of two; at any
rate, let the changes be as few and slight as possible.
Certainly, he replied.
I think, I said, that there might be a reform of the State if only one
change were made, which is not a slight or easy though still a possible
one.
What is it? he said.
Now then, I said, I go to meet that which I liken to the greatest of
the waves; yet shall the word be spoken, even though the wave break and
drown me in laughter and dishonour; and do you mark my words.
Proceed.
I said: ‘Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of this
world have the spirit and power of philosophy, and political greatness
and wisdom meet in one, and those commoner natures who pursue either to
the exclusion of the other are compelled to stand aside, cities will
never have rest from their evils,—nor the human race, as I believe,—and
then only will this our State have a possibility of life and behold the
light of day.’ Such was the thought, my dear Glaucon, which I would
fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant; for to be
convinced that in no other State can there be happiness private or
public is indeed a hard thing.
Socrates, what do you mean? I would have you consider that the word
which you have uttered is one at which numerous persons, and very
respectable persons too, in a figure pulling off their coats all in a
moment, and seizing any weapon that comes to hand, will run at you
might and main, before you know where you are, intending to do heaven
knows what; and if you don’t prepare an answer, and put yourself in
motion, you will be ‘pared by their fine wits,’ and no mistake.
You got me into the scrape, I said.
And I was quite right; however, I will do all I can to get you out of
it; but I can only give you good-will and good advice, and, perhaps, I
may be able to fit answers to your questions better than another—that
is all. And now, having such an auxiliary, you must do your best to
show the unbelievers that you are right.
I ought to try, I said, since you offer me such invaluable assistance.
And I think that, if there is to be a chance of our escaping, we must
explain to them whom we mean when we say that philosophers are to rule
in the State; then we shall be able to defend ourselves: There will be
discovered to be some natures who ought to study philosophy and to be
leaders in the State; and others who are not born to be philosophers,
and are meant to be followers rather than leaders.
Then now for a definition, he said.
Follow me, I said, and I hope that I may in some way or other be able
to give you a satisfactory explanation.
Proceed.
I dare say that you remember, and therefore I need not remind you, that
a lover, if he is worthy of the name, ought to show his love, not to
some one part of that which he loves, but to the whole.
I really do not understand, and therefore beg of you to assist my
memory.
Another person, I said, might fairly reply as you do; but a man of
pleasure like yourself ought to know that all who are in the flower of
youth do somehow or other raise a pang or emotion in a lover’s breast,
and are thought by him to be worthy of his affectionate regards. Is not
this a way which you have with the fair: one has a snub nose, and you
praise his charming face; the hook-nose of another has, you say, a
royal look; while he who is neither snub nor hooked has the grace of
regularity: the dark visage is manly, the fair are children of the
gods; and as to the sweet ‘honey pale,’ as they are called, what is the
very name but the invention of a lover who talks in diminutives, and is
not averse to paleness if appearing on the cheek of youth? In a word,
there is no excuse which you will not make, and nothing which you will
not say, in order not to lose a single flower that blooms in the
spring-time of youth.
If you make me an authority in matters of love, for the sake of the
argument, I assent.
And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing the
same? They are glad of any pretext of drinking any wine.
Very good.
And the same is true of ambitious men; if they cannot command an army,
they are willing to command a file; and if they cannot be honoured by
really great and important persons, they are glad to be honoured by
lesser and meaner people,—but honour of some kind they must have.
Exactly.
Once more let me ask: Does he who desires any class of goods, desire
the whole class or a part only?
The whole.