The Republic
recently become friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies; for I
shall go on striving to the utmost until I either convert him and other
men, or do something which may profit them against the day when they
live again, and hold the like discourse in another state of existence.
You are speaking of a time which is not very near.
Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison with
eternity. Nevertheless, I do not wonder that the many refuse to
believe; for they have never seen that of which we are now speaking
realized; they have seen only a conventional imitation of philosophy,
consisting of words artificially brought together, not like these of
ours having a natural unity. But a human being who in word and work is
perfectly moulded, as far as he can be, into the proportion and
likeness of virtue—such a man ruling in a city which bears the same
image, they have never yet seen, neither one nor many of them—do you
think that they ever did?
No indeed.
No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noble
sentiments; such as men utter when they are earnestly and by every
means in their power seeking after truth for the sake of knowledge,
while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which the
end is opinion and strife, whether they meet with them in the courts of
law or in society.
They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.
And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth forced
us to admit, not without fear and hesitation, that neither cities nor
States nor individuals will ever attain perfection until the small
class of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt are
providentially compelled, whether they will or not, to take care of the
State, and until a like necessity be laid on the State to obey them; or
until kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or princes, are
divinely inspired with a true love of true philosophy. That either or
both of these alternatives are impossible, I see no reason to affirm:
if they were so, we might indeed be justly ridiculed as dreamers and
visionaries. Am I not right?
Quite right.
If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour in
some foreign clime which is far away and beyond our ken, the perfected
philosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be compelled by a
superior power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to assert
to the death, that this our constitution has been, and is—yea, and will
be whenever the Muse of Philosophy is queen. There is no impossibility
in all this; that there is a difficulty, we acknowledge ourselves.
My opinion agrees with yours, he said.
But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the multitude?
I should imagine not, he replied.
O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will change
their minds, if, not in an aggressive spirit, but gently and with the
view of soothing them and removing their dislike of over-education, you
show them your philosophers as they really are and describe as you were
just now doing their character and profession, and then mankind will
see that he of whom you are speaking is not such as they supposed—if
they view him in this new light, they will surely change their notion
of him, and answer in another strain. Who can be at enmity with one who
loves them, who that is himself gentle and free from envy will be
jealous of one in whom there is no jealousy? Nay, let me answer for
you, that in a few this harsh temper may be found but not in the
majority of mankind.
I quite agree with you, he said.
And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which the
many entertain towards philosophy originates in the pretenders, who
rush in uninvited, and are always abusing them, and finding fault with
them, who make persons instead of things the theme of their
conversation? and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers than
this.
It is most unbecoming.
For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has surely no
time to look down upon the affairs of earth, or to be filled with
malice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever directed
towards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring nor
injured by one another, but all in order moving according to reason;
these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as he can, conform
himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverential
converse?
Impossible.
And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order, becomes
orderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but like every
one else, he will suffer from detraction.
Of course.
And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself,
but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into that
which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilful
artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?
Anything but unskilful.
And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is the
truth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve us,
when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed by
artists who imitate the heavenly pattern?
They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will they
draw out the plan of which you are speaking?
They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which,
as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a clean
surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein will lie
the difference between them and every other legislator,—they will have
nothing to do either with individual or State, and will inscribe no
laws, until they have either found, or themselves made, a clean
surface.
They will be very right, he said.
Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the
constitution?
No doubt.
And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will often
turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will first look
at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at the human
copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of life into the
image of a man; and this they will conceive according to that other
image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form and
likeness of God.
Very true, he said.
And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, until
they have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the
ways of God?
Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.
And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you described
as rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of constitutions
is such an one as we are praising; at whom they were so very indignant
because to his hands we committed the State; and are they growing a
little calmer at what they have just heard?
Much calmer, if there is any sense in them.
Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they
doubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being?
They would not be so unreasonable.
Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to the
highest good?
Neither can they doubt this.
But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed under
favourable circumstances, will not be perfectly good and wise if any
ever was? Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected?
Surely not.
Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until philosophers
bear rule, States and individuals will have no rest from evil, nor will
this our imaginary State ever be realized?
I think that they will be less angry.
Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but quite gentle, and
that they have been converted and for very shame, if for no other
reason, cannot refuse to come to terms?
By all means, he said.
Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected. Will any
one deny the other point, that there may be sons of kings or princes
who are by nature philosophers?
Surely no man, he said.
And when they have come into being will any one say that they must of
necessity be destroyed; that they can hardly be saved is not denied
even by us; but that in the whole course of ages no single one of them
can escape—who will venture to affirm this?
Who indeed!
But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a city
obedient to his will, and he might bring into existence the ideal
polity about which the world is so incredulous.
Yes, one is enough.
The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have been
describing, and the citizens may possibly be willing to obey them?
Certainly.
And that others should approve, of what we approve, is no miracle or
impossibility?
I think not.
But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this, if
only possible, is assuredly for the best.
We have.
And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted, would
be for the best, but also that the enactment of them, though difficult,
is not impossible.
Very good.
And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject, but
more remains to be discussed;—how and by what studies and pursuits will
the saviours of the constitution be created, and at what ages are they
to apply themselves to their several studies?
Certainly.
I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and the
procreation of children, and the appointment of the rulers, because I
knew that the perfect State would be eyed with jealousy and was
difficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was not of much
service to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The women and
children are now disposed of, but the other question of the rulers must
be investigated from the very beginning. We were saying, as you will
remember, that they were to be lovers of their country, tried by the
test of pleasures and pains, and neither in hardships, nor in dangers,
nor at any other critical moment were to lose their patriotism—he was
to be rejected who failed, but he who always came forth pure, like gold
tried in the refiner’s fire, was to be made a ruler, and to receive
honours and rewards in life and after death. This was the sort of thing
which was being said, and then the argument turned aside and veiled her
face; not liking to stir the question which has now arisen.
I perfectly remember, he said.
Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold word;
but now let me dare to say—that the perfect guardian must be a
philosopher.
Yes, he said, let that be affirmed.
And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts which
were deemed by us to be essential rarely grow together; they are mostly
found in shreds and patches.
What do you mean? he said.
You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity,
cleverness, and similar qualities, do not often grow together, and that
persons who possess them and are at the same time high-spirited and
magnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly and in
a peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by their
impulses, and all solid principle goes out of them.
Very true, he said.
On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be depended
upon, which in a battle are impregnable to fear and immovable, are
equally immovable when there is anything to be learned; they are always
in a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep over any
intellectual toil.
Quite true.
And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those to
whom the higher education is to be imparted, and who are to share in
any office or command.
Certainly, he said.
And will they be a class which is rarely found?