—Then what we have to say is how it would be possible for the same persons to have both qualifications, is it not? Quite so. Then, as we were saying at the beginning of this discussion, the first thing to understand is the nature that they must have from birth; and I think that if we sufficiently agree on this we shall also agree that the combination of qualities that we seek belongs to the same persons, and that we need no others for guardians of states than these. How so?
We must accept as agreed this trait of the philosophical nature, that it is ever enamored of the kind of knowledge which reveals to them something of that essence which is eternal, and is not wandering between the two poles of generation and decay. Let us take that as agreed. And, further, said I, that their desire is for the whole of it and that they do not willingly renounce a small or a great, a more precious or a less honored, part of it. That was the point of our former illustration drawn from lovers and men covetous of honor. You are right, he said. Consider, then, next whether the men who are to meet our requirements must not have this further quality in their natures. What quality? The spirit of truthfulness, reluctance to admit falsehood in any form, the hatred of it and the love of truth. It is likely, he said. It is not only likely, my friend, but there is every necessity that he who is by nature enamored of anything should cherish all that is akin and pertaining to the object of his love. Right, he said. Could you find anything more akin to wisdom than truth? Impossible, he said. Then can the same nature be a lover of wisdom and of falsehood? By no means. Then the true lover of knowledge must, from childhood up, be most of all a striver after truth in every form. By all means. But, again, we surely are aware that when in a man the desires incline strongly to any one thing, they are weakened for other things. It is as if the stream had been diverted into another channel. Surely. So, when a man’s desires have been taught to flow in the channel of learning and all that sort of thing, they will be concerned, I presume, with the pleasures of the soul in itself, and will be indifferent to those of which the body is the instrument, if the man is a true and not a sham philosopher. That is quite necessary. Such a man will be temperate and by no means greedy for wealth; for the things for the sake of which money and great expenditure are eagerly sought others may take seriously, but not he. It is so.
—And there is this further point to be considered in distinguishing the philosophical from the unphilosophical nature. What point? You must not overlook any touch of illiberality. For nothing can be more contrary than such pettiness to the quality of a soul that is ever to seek integrity and wholeness in all things human and divine. Most true, he said. Do you think that a mind habituated to thoughts of grandeur and the contemplation of all time and all existence can deem this life of man a thing of great concern? Impossible, said he. Hence such a man will not suppose death to be terrible? Least of all. Then a cowardly and illiberal spirit, it seems, could have no part in genuine philosophy. I think not. What then? Could a man of orderly spirit, not a lover of money, not illiberal, nor a braggart nor a coward, ever prove unjust, or a driver of hard bargains? Impossible. This too, then, is a point that in your discrimination of the philosophic and unphilosophic soul you will observe—whether the man is from youth up just and gentle or unsocial and savage. Assuredly. Nor will you overlook this, I fancy. What? Whether he is quick or slow to learn. Or do you suppose that anyone could properly love a task which he performed painfully and with little result from much toil? That could not be. And if he could not keep what he learned, being steeped in oblivion, could he fail to be void of knowledge? How could he? And so, having all his labor for naught, will he not finally be constrained to loathe himself and that occupation? Of course. The forgetful soul, then, we must not list in the roll of competent lovers of wisdom, but we require a good memory. By all means. But assuredly we should not say that the want of harmony and seemliness in a nature conduces to anything else than the want of measure and proportion. Certainly. And do you think that truth is akin to measure and proportion or to disproportion? To proportion. Then in addition to our other requirements we look for a mind endowed with measure and grace, whose native disposition will make it easily guided to the aspect of the ideal reality in all things. Assuredly. Tell me, then, is there any flaw in the argument? Have we not proved the qualities enumerated to be necessary and compatible with one another for the soul that is to have a sufficient and perfect apprehension of reality?
And Adeimantus said, No one, Socrates, would be able to controvert these statements of yours. But, all the same, those who occasionally hear you argue thus feel in this way: They think that owing to their inexperience in the game of question and answer they are at every question led astray a little bit by the argument, and when these bits are accumulated at the conclusion of the discussion mighty is their fall and the apparent contradiction of what they at first said; and that just as by expert draught-players the unskilled are finally shut in and cannot make a move, so they are finally blocked and have their mouths stopped by this other game of draughts played not with counters but with words; yet the truth is not affected by that outcome. I say this with reference to the present case, for in this instance one might say that he is unable in words to contend against you at each question, but that when it comes to facts he sees that of those who turn to philosophy, not merely touching upon it to complete their education and dropping it while still young, but lingering too long in the study of it, the majority become cranks, not to say rascals, and those accounted the finest spirits among them are still rendered useless to society by the pursuit which you commend. And I, on hearing this, said, Do you think that they are mistaken in saying so? I don’t know, said he, but I would gladly hear your opinion. You may hear, then, that I think that what they say is true. How, then, he replied, can it be right to say that our cities will never be freed from their evils until the philosophers, whom we admit to be useless to them, become their rulers? Your question, I said, requires an answer expressed in a comparison or parable. And you, he said, of course, are not accustomed to speak in comparisons!
—So, said I, you are making fun of me after driving me into such an impasse of argument. But, all the same, hear my comparison so that you may still better see how I strain after imagery. For so cruel is the condition of the better sort in relation to the state that there is no single thing like it in nature. But to find a likeness for it and a defence for them one must bring together many things in such a combination as painters mix when they portray goat-stags and similar creatures. Conceive this sort of thing happening either on many ships or on one: Picture a shipmaster in height and strength surpassing all others on the ship, but who is slightly deaf and of similarly impaired vision, and whose knowledge of navigation is on a par with his sight and hearing. Conceive the sailors to be wrangling with one another for control of the helm, each claiming that it is his right to steer though he has never learned the art and cannot point out his teacher or any time when he studied it. And what is more, they affirm that it cannot be taught at all, but they are ready to make mincemeat of anyone who says that it can be taught, and meanwhile they are always clustered about the shipmaster importuning him and sticking at nothing to induce him to turn over the helm to them. And sometimes, if they fail and others get his ear, they put the others to death or cast them out from the ship, and then, after binding and stupefying the worthy shipmaster with mandragora or intoxication or otherwise, they take command of the ship, consume its stores and, drinking and feasting, make such a voyage of it as is to be expected from such, and as if that were not enough, they praise and celebrate as a navigator, a pilot, a master of shipcraft, the man who is most cunning to lend a hand in persuading or constraining the shipmaster to let them rule, while the man who lacks this craft they censure as useless. They have no suspicions that the true pilot must give his attention to the time of the year, the seasons, the sky, the winds, the stars, and all that pertains to his art if he is to be a true ruler of a ship, and that he does not believe that there is any art or science of seizing the helm with or without the consent of others, or any possibility of mastering this alleged art and the practice of it at the same time with the science of navigation.
—With such goings-on aboard ship do you not think that the real pilot would in very deed be called a star-gazer, an idle babbler, a useless fellow, by the sailors in ships managed after this fashion? Quite so, said Adeimantus. You take my meaning, I presume, and do not require us to put the comparison to the proof and show that the condition we have described is the exact counterpart of the relation of the state to the true philosophers. It is indeed, he said. To begin with, then, teach this parable to the man who is surprised that philosophers are not honored in our cities, and try to convince him that it would be far more surprising if they were honored. I will teach him, he said. And say to him further: You are right in affirming that the finest spirit among the philosophers are of no service to the multitude. But bid him blame for this uselessness, not the finer spirits, but those who do not know how to make use of them. For it is not the natural course of things that the pilot should beg the sailors to be ruled by him or that wise men should go to the doors of the rich. The author of that epigram was a liar. But the true nature of things is that whether the sick man be rich or poor he must needs go to the door of the physician, and everyone who needs to be governed to the door of the man who knows how to govern, not that the ruler should implore his natural subjects to let themselves be ruled, if he is really good for anything. But you will make no mistake in likening our present political rulers to the sort of sailors we are just describing, and those whom these call useless and star-gazing ideologists to the true pilots. Just so, he said. Hence, and under these conditions, we cannot expect that the noblest pursuit should be highly esteemed by those whose way of life is quite the contrary. But far the greatest and chief disparagement of philosophy is brought upon it by the pretenders to that way of life, those whom you had in mind when you affirmed that the accuser of philosophy says that the majority of her followers are rascals and the better sort useless, while I admitted that what you said was true. Is not that so? Yes.
—Let us begin, then, what we have to say and hear by recalling the starting-point of our description of the nature which he who is to be a scholar and gentleman must have from birth. The leader of the choir for him, if you recollect, was truth. That he was to seek always and altogether, on pain of being an impostor without part or lot in true philosophy. Yes, that was said. Is not this one point quite contrary to the prevailing opinion about him? It is indeed, he said. Will it not be a fair plea in his defence to say that it was the nature of the real lover of knowledge to strive emulously for true being and that he would not linger over the many particulars that are opined to be real, but would hold on his way, and the edge of his passion would not be blunted nor would his desire fail till he came into touch with the nature of each thing in itself by that part of his soul to which it belongs to lay hold on that kind of reality—the part akin to it, namely—and through that approaching it, and consorting with reality really, he would beget intelligence and truth, attain to knowledge and truly live and grow, and so find surcease from his travail of soul, but not before? No plea could be fairer. Well, then, will such a man love falsehood, or, quite the contrary, hate it? Hate it, he said. When truth led the way, no choir of evils, we, I fancy, would say, could ever follow in its train. How could it? But rather a sound and just character, which is accompanied by temperance. Right, he said. What need, then, of repeating from the beginning our proof of the necessary order of the choir that attends on the philosophical nature? You surely remember that we found pertaining to such a nature courage, grandeur of soul, aptness to learn, memory. And when you interposed the objection that though everybody will be compelled to admit our statements, yet, if we abandoned mere words and fixed our eyes on the persons to whom the words referred, everyone would say that he actually saw some of them to be useless and most of them base with all baseness, it was in our search for the cause of this ill-repute that we came to the present question: Why is it that the majority are bad? And, for the sake of this, we took up again the nature of the true philosophers and defined what it must necessarily be? That is so, he said.
—We have, then, I said, to contemplate the causes of the corruption of this nature in the majority, while a small part escapes, even those whom men call not bad but useless; and after that in turn we are to observe those who imitate this nature and usurp its pursuits and see what types of souls they are that thus entering upon a way of life which is too high for them and exceeds their powers, by the many discords and disharmonies of their conduct everywhere and among all men bring upon philosophy the repute of which you speak. Of what corruptions are you speaking? I will try, I said, to explain them to you if I can. I think everyone will grant us this point, that a nature such as we just now postulated for the perfect philosopher is a rare growth among men and is found in only a few. Don’t you think so? Most emphatically. Observe, then, the number and magnitude of the things that operate to destroy these few. What are they? The most surprising fact of all is that each of the gifts of nature which we praise tends to corrupt the soul of its possessor and divert it from philosophy. I am speaking of bravery, sobriety, and the entire list. That does sound like a paradox, said he. Furthermore, said I, all the so-called goods corrupt and divert, beauty and wealth and strength of body and powerful family connections in the city and all things akin to them—you get my general meaning? I do, he said, and I would gladly hear a more precise statement of it. Well, said I, grasp it rightly as a general proposition and the matter will be clear and the preceding statement will not seem to you so strange. How do you bid me proceed? he said. We know it to be universally true of every seed and growth, whether vegetable or animal, that the more vigorous it is the more it falls short of its proper perfection when deprived of the food, the season, the place that suits it. For evil is more opposed to the good than to the not-good. Of course. So it is, I take it, natural that the best nature should fare worse than the inferior under conditions of nurture unsuited to it. It is. Then, said I, Adeimantus, shall we not similarly affirm that the best endowed souls become worse than the others under a bad education? Or do you suppose that great crimes and unmixed wickedness spring from a slight nature and not from a vigorous one corrupted by its nurture, while a weak nature will never be the cause of anything great, either for good or evil? No, he said, that is the case.
—For there is not, never has been and never will be, a divergent type of character and virtue created by an education running counter to theirs—humanly speaking, I mean, my friend; for the divine, as the proverb says, all rules fail. And you may be sure that, if anything is saved and turns out well in the present condition of society and government, in saying that the providence of God preserves it you will not be speaking ill. Neither do I think otherwise, he said. Then, said I, think this also in addition. What? Each of these private teachers who work for pay, whom the politicians call sophists and regard as their rivals, inculcates nothing else than these opinions of the multitude which they opine when they are assembled and calls this knowledge wisdom. It is as if a man were acquiring the knowledge of the humors and desires of a great strong beast which he had in his keeping, how it is to be approached and touched, and when and by what things it is made most savage or gentle, yes, and the several sounds it is wont to utter on the occasion of each, and again what sounds uttered by another make it tame or fierce, and after mastering this knowledge by living with the creature and by lapse of time should call it wisdom, and should construct thereof a system and art and turn to the teaching of it, knowing nothing in reality about which of these opinions and desires is honorable or base, good or evil, just or unjust, but should apply all these terms to the judgements of the great beast, calling the things that pleased it good, and the things that vexed it bad, having no other account to render of them, but should call what is necessary just and honorable, never having observed how great is the real difference between the necessary and the good, and being incapable of explaining it to another. Do you not think, by heaven, that such a one would be a strange educator? I do, he said. Do you suppose that there is any difference between such a one and the man who thinks that it is wisdom to have learned to know the moods and the pleasures of the motley multitude in their assembly, whether about painting or music or, for that matter, politics? For if a man associates with these and offers and exhibits to them his poetry or any other product of his craft or any political. service, and grants the mob authority over himself more than is unavoidable, the proverbial necessity of Diomede will compel him to give the public what it likes, but that what it likes is really good and honorable, have you ever heard an attempted proof of this that is not simply ridiculous? No, he said, and I fancy I never shall hear it either.
—Bearing all this in mind, recall our former question. Can the multitude possibly tolerate or believe in the reality of the beautiful in itself as opposed to the multiplicity of beautiful things, or can they believe in anything conceived in its essence as opposed to the many particulars? Not in the least, he said. Philosophy, then, the love of wisdom, is impossible for the multitude. Impossible. It is inevitable, then, that those who philosophize should be censured by them. Inevitable. And so likewise by those laymen who, associating with the mob, desire to curry favor with it. Obviously. From this point of view do you see any salvation that will suffer the born philosopher to abide in the pursuit and persevere to the end? Consider it in the light of what we said before. We agreed that quickness in learning, memory, courage and magnificence were the traits of this nature. Yes. Then even as a boy among boys such a one will take the lead in all things, especially if the nature of his body matches the soul. How could he fail to do so? he said. His kinsmen and fellow-citizens, then, will desire, I presume, to make use of him when he is older for their own affairs. Of course. Then they will fawn upon him with petitions and honors, anticipating and flattering the power that will be his. That certainly is the usual way. How, then, do you think such a youth will behave in such conditions, especially if it happen that he belongs to a great city and is rich and well-born therein, and thereto handsome and tall? Will his soul not be filled with unbounded ambitious hopes, and will he not think himself capable of managing the affairs of both Greeks and barbarians, and thereupon exalt himself, haughty of mien and stuffed with empty pride and void of sense He surely will, he said. And if to a man in this state of mind someone gently comes and tells him what is the truth, that he has no sense and sorely needs it, and that the only way to get it is to work like a slave to win it, do you think it will be easy for him to lend an ear to the quiet voice in the midst of and in spite of these evil surroundings Far from it, said he. And even supposing, said I, that owing to a fortunate disposition and his affinity for the words of admonition one such youth apprehends something and is moved and drawn towards philosophy, what do we suppose will be the conduct of those who think that they are losing his service and fellowship? Is there any word or deed that they will stick at to keep him from being persuaded and to incapacitate anyone who attempts it, both by private intrigue and public prosecution in the court?
Do you see, then, said I, that we were not wrong in saying that the very qualities that make up the philosophical nature do, in fact, become, when the environment and nurture are bad, in some sort the cause of its backsliding, and so do the so-called goods— riches and all such instrumentalities? No, he replied, it was rightly said. Such, my good friend, and so great as regards the noblest pursuit, is the destruction and corruption of the most excellent nature, which is rare enough in any case, as we affirm. And it is from men of this type that those spring who do the greatest harm to communities and individuals, and the greatest good when the stream chances to be turned into that channel, but a small nature never does anything great to a man or a city. Most true, said he. Those, then, to whom she properly belongs, thus falling away and leaving philosophy forlorn and unwedded, themselves live an unreal and alien life, while other unworthy wooers rush in and defile her as an orphan bereft of her kin, and attach to her such reproaches as you say her revilers taunt her with, declaring that some of her consorts are of no account and the many accountable for many evils. Why, yes, he replied, that is what they do say. And plausibly, said I; for other mannikins, observing that the place is unoccupied and full of fine terms and pretensions, just as men escape from prison to take sanctuary in temples, so these gentlemen joyously bound away from the mechanical arts to philosophy, those that are most cunning in their little craft. For in comparison with the other arts the prestige of philosophy even in her present low estate retains a superior dignity; and this is the ambition and aspiration of that multitude of pretenders unfit by nature, whose souls are bowed and mutilated by their vulgar occupations even as their bodies are marred by their arts and crafts. Is not that inevitable? Quite so, he said. Is not the picture which they present, I said, precisely that of a little bald-headed tinker who has made money and just been freed from bonds and had a bath and is wearing a new garment and has got himself up like a bridegroom and is about to marry his master’s daughter who has fallen into poverty and abandonment?
—There is no difference at all, he said. Of what sort will probably be the offspring of such parents? Will they not be bastard and base? Inevitably. And so when men unfit for culture approach philosophy and consort with her unworthily, what sort of ideas and opinions shall we say they beget? Will they not produce what may in very deed be fairly called sophisms, and nothing that is genuine or that partakes of true intelligence? Quite so, he said.
There is a very small remnant, then, Adeimantus, I said, of those who consort worthily with philosophy, some well-born and well-bred nature, it may be, held in check by exile, and so in the absence of corrupters remaining true to philosophy, as its quality bids, or it may happen that a great soul born in a little town scorns and disregards its parochial affairs; and a small group perhaps might by natural affinity be drawn to it from other arts which they justly disdain; and the bridle of our companion Theages also might operate as a restraint. For in the case of Theages all other conditions were at hand for his backsliding from philosophy, but his sickly habit of body keeping him out of politics holds him back. My own case, the divine sign, is hardly worth mentioning—for I suppose it has happened to few or none before me. And those who have been of this little company and have tasted the sweetness and blessedness of this possession and who have also come to understand the madness of the multitude sufficiently and have seen that there is nothing, if I may say so, sound or right in any present politics, and that there is no ally with whose aid the champion of justice could escape destruction, but that he would be as a man who has fallen among wild beasts, unwilling to share their misdeeds and unable to hold out singly against the savagery of all, and that he would thus, before he could in any way benefit his friends or the state come to an untimely end without doing any good to himself or others,—for all these reasons I say the philosopher remains quiet, minds his own affair, and, as it were, standing aside under shelter of a wall in a storm and blast of dust and sleet and seeing others filled full of lawlessness, is content if in any way he may keep himself free from iniquity and unholy deeds through this life and take his departure with fair hope, serene and well content when the end comes.
—Well, he said, that is no very slight thing to have achieved before taking his departure. He would not have accomplished any very great thing either, I replied, if it were not his fortune to live in a state adapted to his nature. In such a state only will he himself rather attain his full stature and together with his own preserve the common weal.
—At present, said I, those who do take it up are youths, just out of boyhood, who in the interval before they engage in business and money-making approach the most difficult part of it, and then drop it—and these are regarded forsooth as the best exemplars of philosophy. By the most difficult part I mean discussion. In later life they think they have done much if, when invited, they deign to listen to the philosophic discussions of others. That sort of thing they think should be by-work. And towards old age, with few exceptions, their light is quenched more completely than the sun of Heracleitus, inasmuch as it is never rekindled. And what should they do? he said. Just the reverse. While they are lads and boys they should occupy themselves with an education and a culture suitable to youth, and while their bodies are growing to manhood take right good care of them, thus securing a basis and a support for the intellectual life. But with the advance of age, when the soul begins to attain its maturity, they should make its exercises more severe, and when the bodily strength declines and they are past the age of political and military service, then at last they should be given free range of the pasture and do nothing but philosophize, except incidentally, if they are to live happily, and, when the end has come, crown the life they have lived with a consonant destiny in that other world.
—But the figure of a man equilibrated and assimilated to virtue’s self perfectly, so far as may be, in word and deed, and holding rule in a city of like quality, that is a thing they have never seen in one case or in many. Do you think they have? By no means. Neither, my dear fellow, have they ever seriously inclined to hearken to fair and free discussions whose sole endeavor was to search out the truth at any cost for knowledge’s sake, and which dwell apart and salute from afar all the subtleties and cavils that lead to naught but opinion and strife in court-room and in private talk. They have not, he said. For this cause and foreseeing this, we then despite our fears declared under compulsion of the truth that neither city nor polity nor man either will ever be perfected until some chance compels this uncorrupted remnant of philosophers, who now bear the stigma of uselessness, to take charge of the state whether they wish it or not, and constrains the citizens to obey them, or else until by some divine inspiration a genuine passion for true philosophy takes possession either of the sons of the men now in power and sovereignty or of themselves. To affirm that either or both of these things cannot possibly come to pass is, I say, quite unreasonable. Only in that case could we be justly ridiculed as uttering things as futile as day-dreams are. Is not that so? It is. If, then, the best philosophical natures have ever been constrained to take charge of the state in infinite time past, or now are in some barbaric region far beyond our ken, or shall hereafter be, we are prepared to maintain our contention that the constitution we have described has been, is, or will be realized when this philosophic Muse has taken control of the state. It is not a thing impossible to happen, nor are we speaking of impossibilities. That it is difficult we too admit. I also think so, he said. But the multitude—are you going to say?—does not think so, said I. That may be, he said. My dear fellow, said I, do not thus absolutely condemn the multitude. They will surely be of another mind if in no spirit of contention but soothingly and endeavoring to do away with the dispraise of learning you point out to them whom you mean by philosophers, and define as we recently did their nature and their pursuits so that the people may not suppose you to mean those of whom they are thinking.
—Or even if they do look at them in that way, are you still going to deny that they will change their opinion and answer differently? Or do you think that anyone is ungentle to the gentle or grudging to the ungrudging if he himself is ungrudging and mild? I will anticipate you and reply that I think that only in some few and not in the mass of mankind is so ungentle or harsh a temper to be found. And I, you may be assured, he said, concur. And do you not also concur in this very point that the blame for this harsh attitude of the many towards philosophy falls on that riotous crew who have burst in where they do not belong, wrangling with one another, filled with spite and always talking about persons, a thing least befitting philosophy? Least of all, indeed, he said.
—But tell me, what is the manner of that sketch you have in mind? They will take the city and the characters of men, as they might a tablet, and first wipe it clean— no easy task. But at any rate you know that this would be their first point of difference from ordinary reformers, that they would refuse to take in hand either individual or state or to legislate before they either received a clean slate or themselves made it clean. And they would be right, he said. And thereafter, do you not think that they would sketch the figure of the constitution? Surely. And then, I take it, in the course of the work they would glance frequently in either direction, at justice, beauty, sobriety and the like as they are in the nature of things, and alternately at that which they were trying to reproduce in mankind, mingling and blending from various pursuits that hue of the flesh, so to speak, deriving their judgement from that likeness of humanity which Homer too called when it appeared in men the image and likeness of God. Right, he said. And they would erase one touch or stroke and paint in another until in the measure of the possible they had made the characters of men pleasing and dear to God as may be. That at any rate would be the fairest painting. Are we then making any impression on those who you said were advancing to attack us with might and main? Can we convince them that such a political artist of character and such a painter exists as the one we then were praising when our proposal to entrust the state to him angered them, and are they now in a gentler mood when they hear what we are now saying? Much gentler, he said, if they are reasonable. How can they controvert it? Will they deny that the lovers of wisdom are lovers of reality and truth? That would be monstrous, he said. Or that their nature as we have portrayed it is akin to the highest and best? Not that either. Well, then, can they deny that such a nature bred in the pursuits that befit it will be perfectly good and philosophic so far as that can be said of anyone? Or will they rather say it of those whom we have excluded? Surely not. Will they, then, any longer be fierce with us when we declare that, until the philosophic class wins control, there will be no surcease of trouble for city or citizens nor will the polity which we fable in words be brought to pass in deed? They will perhaps be less so, he said.
—Instead of less so, may we not say that they have been altogether tamed and convinced, so that for very shame, if for no other reason, they may assent? Certainly, said he.
—We were saying, if you recollect, that they must approve themselves lovers of the state when tested in pleasures and pains, and make it apparent that they do not abandon this fixed faith under stress of labors or fears or any other vicissitude, and that anyone who could not keep that faith must he rejected, while he who always issued from the test pure and intact, like gold tried in the fire, is to be established as ruler and to receive honors in life and after death and prizes as well. Something of this sort we said while the argument slipped by with veiled face in fear of starting our present debate. Most true, he said; I remember. We shrank, my friend, I said, from uttering the audacities which have now been hazarded. But now let us find courage for the definitive pronouncement that as the most perfect guardians we must establish philosophers. Yes, assume it to have been said, said he. Note, then, that they will naturally be few, for the different components of the nature which we said their education presupposed rarely consent to grow in one; but for the most part these qualities are found apart. What do you mean? he said. Facility in learning, memory, sagacity, quickness of apprehension and their accompaniments, and youthful spirit and magnificence in soul are qualities, you know, that are rarely combined in human nature with a disposition to live orderly, quiet, and stable lives; but such men, by reason of their quickness, are driven about just as chance directs, and all steadfastness is gone out of them. You speak truly, he said. And on the other hand, the steadfast and stable temperaments, whom one could rather trust in use, and who in war are not easily moved and aroused to fear, are apt to act in the same way when confronted with studies. They are not easily aroused, learn with difficulty, as if benumbed, and are filled with sleep and yawning when an intellectual task is set them. It is so, he said. But we affirmed that a man must partake of both temperaments in due and fair combination or else participate in neither the highest education nor in honors nor in rule. And rightly, he said. Do you not think, then, that such a blend will be a rare thing? Of course. They must, then, be tested in the toils and fears and pleasures of which we then spoke, and we have also now to speak of a point we then passed by, that we must exercise them in many studies, watching them to see whether their nature is capable of enduring the greatest and most difficult studies or whether it will faint and flinch as men flinch in the trials and contests of the body.
—That is certainly the right way of looking at it, he said. But what do you understand by the greatest studies?
You remember, I presume, said I, that after distinguishing three kinds in the soul, we established definitions of justice, sobriety, bravery and wisdom severally. If I did not remember, he said, I should not deserve to hear the rest. Do you also remember what was said before this? What? We were saying, I believe, that for the most perfect discernment of these things another longer way was requisite which would make them plain to one who took it, but that it was possible to add proofs on a par with the preceding discussion. And you said that that was sufficient, and it was on this understanding that what we then said was said, falling short of ultimate precision as it appeared to me, but if it contented you it is for you to say. Well, he said, it was measurably satisfactory to me, and apparently to the rest of the company. Nay, my friend, said I, a measure of such things that in the least degree falls short of reality proves no measure at all. For nothing that is imperfect is the measure of anything, though some people sometimes think that they have already done enough and that there is no need of further inquiry. Yes, indeed, he said, many experience this because of their sloth. An experience, said I, that least of all befits the guardians of a state and of its laws. That seems likely, he said. Then, said I, such a one must go around the longer way and must labor no less in studies than in the exercises of the body or else, as we were just saying, he will never come to the end of the greatest study and that which most properly belongs to him. Why, are not these things the greatest? said he; but is there still something greater than justice and the other virtues we described? There is not only something greater, I said, but of these very things we need not merely to contemplate an outline as now, but we must omit nothing of their most exact elaboration. Or would it not be absurd to strain every nerve to attain to the utmost precision and clarity of knowledge about other things of trifling moment and not to demand the greatest precision for the greatest matters? It would indeed, he said; but do you suppose that anyone will let you go without asking what is the greatest study and with what you think it is concerned? By no means, said I; but do you ask the question.
—You certainly have heard it often, but now you either do not apprehend or again you are minded to make trouble for me by attacking the argument. I suspect it is rather the latter. For you have often heard that the greatest thing to learn is the idea of good by reference to which just things and all the rest become useful and beneficial. And now I am almost sure you know that this is what I am going to speak of and to say further that we have no adequate knowledge of it. And if we do not know it, then, even if without the knowledge of this we should know all other things never so well, you are aware that it would avail us nothing, just as no possession either is of any avail without the possession of the good. Or do you think there is any profit in possessing everything except that which is good, or in understanding all things else apart from the good while understanding and knowing nothing that is fair and good? No, by Zeus, I do not, he said.
—Least of all, he said. I fancy, at any rate, said I, that the just and the honorable, if their relation and reference to the good is not known, will not have secured a guardian of much worth in the man thus ignorant, and my surmise is that no one will understand them adequately before he knows this. You surmise well, he said. Then our constitution will have its perfect and definitive organization only when such a guardian, who knows these things, oversees it.
—I could wish, I said, that I were able to make and you to receive the payment and not merely as now the interest. But at any rate receive this interest and the offspring of the good. Have a care, however, lest I deceive you unintentionally with a false reckoning of the interest. We will do our best, he said, to be on our guard. Only speak on. Yes, I said, after first coming to an understanding with you and reminding you of what has been said here before and often on other occasions. What? said he. We predicate to be of many beautiful things and many good things, saying of them severally that they are, and so define them in our speech. We do. And again, we speak of a self-beautiful and of a good that is only and merely good, and so, in the case of all the things that we then posited as many, we turn about and posit each as a single idea or aspect, assuming it to be a unity and call it that which each really is. It is so. And the one class of things we say can be seen but not thought, while the ideas can be thought but not seen. By all means. With which of the parts of ourselves, with which of our faculties, then, do we see visible things? With sight, he said. And do we not, I said, hear audibles with hearing, and perceive all sensibles with the other senses? Surely. Have you ever observed, said I, how much the greatest expenditure the creator of the senses has lavished on the faculty of seeing and being seen? Why, no, I have not, he said. Well, look at it thus. Do hearing and voice stand in need of another medium so that the one may hear and the other be heard, in the absence of which third element the one will not hear and the other not be heard? They need nothing, he said. Neither, I fancy, said I, do many others, not to say that none require anything of the sort. Or do you know of any? Not I, he said. But do you not observe that vision and the visible do have this further need? How? Though vision may be in the eyes and its possessor may try to use it, and though color be present, yet without the presence of a third thing specifically and naturally adapted to this purpose, you are aware that vision will see nothing and the colors will remain invisible. What is this thing of which you speak? he said. The thing, I said, that you call light. You say truly, he replied.
—The bond, then, that yokes together visibility and the faculty of sight is more precious by no slight form than that which unites the other pairs, if light is not without honor. It surely is far from being so, he said.
—But as for knowledge and truth, even as in our illustration it is right to deem light and vision sunlike, but never to think that they are the sun, so here it is right to consider these two their counterparts, as being like the good or boniform, but to think that either of them is the good is not right. Still higher honor belongs to the possession and habit of the good. An inconceivable beauty you speak of, he said, if it is the source of knowledge and truth, and yet itself surpasses them in beauty. For you surely cannot mean that it is pleasure. Hush, said I, but examine the similitude of it still further in this way. How? The sun, I presume you will say, not only furnishes to visibles the power of visibility but it also provides for their generation and growth and nurture though it is not itself generation. Of course not. In like manner, then, you are to say that the objects of knowledge not only receive from the presence of the good their being known, but their very existence and essence is derived to them from it, though the good itself is not essence but still transcends essence in dignity and surpassing power.
—By images I mean, first, shadows, and then reflections in water and on surfaces of dense, smooth and bright texture, and everything of that kind, if you apprehend. I do. As the second section assume that of which this is a likeness or an image, that is, the animals about us and all plants and the whole class of objects made by man. I so assume it, he said. Would you be willing to say, said I, that the division in respect of reality and truth or the opposite is expressed by the proportion: as is the opinable to the knowable so is the likeness to that of which it is a likeness? I certainly would. Consider then again the way in which we are to make the division of the intelligible section. In what way? By the distinction that there is one section of it which the soul is compelled to investigate by treating as images the things imitated in the former division, and by means of assumptions from which it proceeds not up to a first principle but down to a conclusion, while there is another section in which it advances from its assumption to a beginning or principle that transcends assumption, and in which it makes no use of the images employed by the other section, relying on ideas only and progressing systematically through ideas. I don’t fully understand what you mean by this, he said. Well, I will try again, said I, for you will better understand after this preamble. For I think you are aware that students of geometry and reckoning and such subjects first postulate the odd and the even and the various figures and three kinds of angles and other things akin to these in each branch of science, regard them as known, and, treating them as absolute assumptions, do not deign to render any further account of them to themselves or others, taking it for granted that they are obvious to everybody. They take their start from these, and pursuing the inquiry from this point on consistently, conclude with that for the investigation of which they set out. Certainly, he said, I know that. And do you not also know that they further make use of the visible forms and talk about them, though they are not thinking of them but of those things of which they are a likeness, pursuing their inquiry for the sake of the square as such and the diagonal as such, and not for the sake of the image of it which they draw? And so in all cases. The very things which they mould and draw, which have shadows and images of themselves in water, these things they treat in their turn as only images, but what they really seek is to get sight of those realities which can be seen only by the mind.
—True, he said.
This then is the class that I described as intelligible, it is true, but with the reservation first that the soul is compelled to employ assumptions in the investigation of it, not proceeding to a first principle because of its inability to extricate itself from and rise above its assumptions, and second, that it uses as images or likenesses the very objects that are themselves copied and adumbrated by the class below them, and that in comparison with these latter are esteemed as clear and held in honor. I understand, said he, that you are speaking of what falls under geometry and the kindred arts. Understand then, said I, that by the other section of the intelligible I mean that which the reason itself lays hold of by the power of dialectics, treating its assumptions not as absolute beginnings but literally as hypotheses, underpinnings, footings, and springboards so to speak, to enable it to rise to that which requires no assumption and is the starting-point of all, and after attaining to that again taking hold of the first dependencies from it, so to proceed downward to the conclusion, making no use whatever of any object of sense but only of pure ideas moving on through ideas to ideas and ending with ideas. I understand, he said; not fully, for it is no slight task that you appear to have in mind, but I do understand that you mean to distinguish the aspect of reality and the intelligible, which is contemplated by the power of dialectic, as something truer and more exact than the object of the so-called arts and sciences whose assumptions are arbitrary starting-points. And though it is true that those who contemplate them are compelled to use their understanding and not their senses, yet because they do not go back to the beginning in the study of them but start from assumptions you do not think they possess true intelligence about them although the things themselves are intelligibles when apprehended in conjunction with a first principle. And I think you call the mental habit of geometers and their like mind or understanding and not reason because you regard understanding as something intermediate between opinion and reason. Your interpretation is quite sufficient, I said; and now, answering to these four sections, assume these four affections occurring in the soul: intellection or reason for the highest, understanding for the second; assign belief to the third, and to the last picture-thinking or conjecture, and arrange them in a proportion, considering that they participate in clearness and precision in the same degree as their objects partake of truth and reality. I understand, he said; I concur and arrange them as you bid.